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ghoulsbounty · 6 months ago

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From a Previous Life

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bound and fearful, you seek answers from a mysterious stranger about the fate of those you love.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of death, pregnancy, non-detailed talk about experimentations, angst, grief, swearing, judgement, flirting (if you squint)

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: My first Cooper fic! I've had this idea going around my head for a hot while and I really could go on, and on with more (yearning, smut, etc) but I just wanted to get out an initial one-shot that could potentially turn into more if any one likes it (or I end up adding to it anyway!) I'd love to hear your thoughts 💌

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Silently, you moved through the desolate wastelands, each step stirring clouds of dust and veiling the once lively towns now reduced to rubble. Somewhere in California, though the exact whereabouts blurred, you were leagues away from the sanctuary you once called home, apparently almost two centuries ago. Time, to you, was an elusive concept, for the stiffness in your joints and the lingering ache betrayed the recent thaw from cryo-sleep. Your mind remained ensnared by fog, a residue of the drugs coursing through your veins during preservation.

Yet, your senses, dulled by centuries of slumber, detected his presence long before he materialized. Heavy footfalls pierced the barren silence, prompting a cautious glance over your shoulder. There he stood, solitary amidst the wasteland, a gun slung lazily across his back and a weathered ten-gallon hat shadowing his features. Perhaps he had spotted you, perhaps not; regardless, neither of you quickened your pace, silently agreeing to maintain a wary distance.

Ever cautious, you abruptly veered into the next structurally sound building, bracing for a potential standoff. Praying it wouldn't come to that, for the meagre supply of bullets salvaged from a fallen vault security guard, coupled with his erratic pistol, offered scant reassurance. The art of marksmanship was foreign to you, a skill unbefitting a woman of virtue in the world before its descent into chaos. Your pride lay in nurturing the home, not in extinguishing life.

"What would your husband make of this sight?" you thought. Clad in the worn remnants of the blue and yellow jumpsuit issued upon vault entry, now stained with blood and grime from your desperate flight. Would he mock your dishevelled appearance, your unadorned face and frayed nerves? Would he marvel at the pistol clenched tightly in your grasp, its weight unfamiliar and your trembling fingers poised on the trigger? Could he shoulder this burden, like you wish he was here to do so? Such musings left you unsettled, your husband's whereabouts a lingering question mark, conspicuously absent from your side.

Peering cautiously from beneath the window sill, your gaze swept the scorched landscape beyond. The lone figure should have drawn near by now, should have approached the building where you lay in wait, yet his silhouette remained absent from the horizon. Instead, the frigid touch of a gun barrel against the back of your skull sent a shiver down your spine, your body tensing instinctively under the ominous threat. You suppressed the cry that clawed at your parched throat, swallowing hard as you slowly lowered your pistol to the ground beside you.

"That's it, nice and slow," he instructed, his voice gruff with a hint of amusement. "You might be my easiest catch yet."

Realization dawned upon you—he had been tracking you. You inwardly chided yourself for your naivety before complying, raising your arms slowly with palms outstretched. Encountering no one in these barren lands, you were uncertain of the customs among people so removed from your time. You were one of them now, but survival demanded adaptation.

"Please, I don't have any money," you offered, hearing his scoff. "I mean it. Take my gun, you can have it."

His movement rustled the air, his presence brushing against you as he leaned to retrieve your pistol. A low hum of amusement escaped him, and you felt the cold barrel of his gun pressing against your skull before it vanished altogether.

"I don't want your hunk of junk, sweetheart," he drawled, tossing it back to the ground beside you. "Doubt it can punch through a tin can. No, what I seek is your cooperation."

"O-okay, yes," you agreed, the words tumbling from your lips almost too hastily, embarrassment flushing your cheeks.

A nudge at the side of your heel prompted you to turn and face him. You complied, shifting on your knees, arms growing weary as they remained raised above your head while you awkwardly pivoted to meet his gaze.

The scream tore from your throat as you beheld him, sending shivers down your spine. He loomed above you, his visage warped by decomposing, discoloured flesh that swathes his form. Cracked lips parted to reveal yellowed teeth in a perpetual grimace, his once vibrant eyes now a haunting shade of blue-green, still clinging to a trace of humanity amidst the decay. You recoiled at the absence of his nose, now a dark cavity amidst cartilage and bone.

"That's not polite," he admonished, his narrowed eyes betraying annoyance. Trembling under his scrutinizing gaze, you stammered out an apology, extending a trembling hand to ward him off as he took a step forward.

"Please, leave me alone. I-I don't have anything," you pleaded, but he showed no sign of relenting. Your fingers curled around the pistol on the ground, raising it shakily in his direction.

"Well now, what are you going to do with that?" His smirk deepened as you aimed the weapon at him.

His amusement infuriated and terrified you in equal measure. You were aware of your body shaking, aware that he saw it too. You hadn't formulated a plan, hadn't considered the consequences. But you'd never faced a situation like this, especially not with someone so grotesque yet strangely human. He spoke like a man but resembled a monster, reminiscent of the creatures from the old sci-fi holo tapes your husband used to rent on Friday nights, leaving you cowering behind embroidered cushions until the credits rolled. You weren't built for this, but just like only hours before, you must fight.

With a tight grip and clenched eyes, you pulled the trigger. The recoil sent you crashing against the wall, the impact jarring your head as the bullet ricocheted through the room, narrowly missing the man and striking a nearby doorway with a sharp ping.

"Well, that was disappointing," he remarked, his head cocked and lips drawn into a condescending smirk. "You finished, sweetheart?"

With a mixture of annoyance at your failure and frustration at his dismissive demeanour, you tossed the pistol at his feet. Your head throbbed, and as you tentatively touched the back of your skull with trembling fingers, you were unsurprised to find them stained with blood.

"Are you going to kill me?" you panted, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

He shook his head, kicking at the dirt with his pointed boot before crouching in front of you. "Not much use to me dead, not much use to me at all if you don't cooperate," he emphasized, his tone dripping with implication.

"Fine," you huffed. "What do you want?"

A triumphant hum escaped him as he straightened up, retrieving a long rope from his hip and tossing it into your lap. "Tie your hands together," he commanded.

You hesitated, eyeing the rope and then him with uncertainty. His tone shifted, imbued with a hint of authority as he spoke again. "The rope goes around your wrists or around your neck. Either way, you don't want me to be the one to do it."

With deft fingers, you hastily wound the rope around your wrists, striving to fashion a knot that would hold without chafing your skin too severely. He bent down, giving the tether a firm tug to test its security before nodding in approval. Seizing the other end lying in the dirt, he yanked it harshly, nearly causing you to stumble forward onto the unforgiving ground.

"Get up," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

You complied, awkwardly pushing yourself to your feet without the use of your bound hands. There was a pregnant pause as you gazed at him expectantly, awaiting further instruction. However, he simply tugged on the rope, turning to lead you out of the dilapidated building and back into the sprawling wasteland.

You followed him into the desert expanse, both of you shrouded in silence save for your intermittent attempts to coax answers from him. Questions about where he was taking you, what he planned to do with you, hung in the air, but he offered no response. Instead, he whistled a tune, leaving your inquiries to dissipate into the wind.

As frustration reached its boiling point, you dug your heels into the sand, exerting force against your restraints as the rope cut into your skin. A hidden thrill coursed through you as you witnessed his hulking frame falter against the resistance, a fleeting moment of satisfaction before he regained his footing. His narrowed gaze met yours from beneath the shadow of his hat.

"I'm cooperating," you asserted, your voice strained. "You can—should at least tell me where we are going. Why you're doing this to me."

A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders slumping as he gazed skyward before meeting your eyes once more. "You're sure dumb for a pretty thing," he muttered, retrieving a flask from the recesses of his torn duster and taking a long swig. "I guess that's how they like to keep you down there."

As he turned to face you fully, his eyes rolled at your bewilderment before he elaborated. "Not much up here untouched nowadays, so when you see a little rabbit wandering the lands fresh from her cage, a smart man doesn't think twice before he acts."

Anger surged through you at his mocking words. Barely escaping your 'cage' with your life, barely comprehending the aftermath of the bombs, and now captive again—this time by a man, no, a monster, likely more sinister than those who had ensnared you initially.

"You already said you're not going to kill me, so you're going to fuck me or sell me," you asserted, mustering more confidence than you truly felt, chin lifted defiantly as he scrutinized you, tucking his flask away.

"Now you're catching on," he replied cryptically, offering no further explanation as he tugged at the rope and resumed walking. Your mind whirled with apprehension at his ominous response. Which fate awaited you? Both? The thought churned your stomach, imagining the touch of his weathered, calloused hands, pondering the atrocities he may have committed before and the ones he might be willing to commit now. You resolved not to make it easy for him, determined to fight tooth and nail if necessary.

"I can hear you thinking from over here, vaultie," he called back. "I ain't gonna fuck you," he added with a smirk, glancing briefly over his shoulder at you before continuing. "Ain't my type."

You scoffed, your brows furrowed in disbelief at his audacity. Doubt crept in, questioning if someone like him truly had preferences, more inclined to prey on anything within reach rather than adhere to any type. He resembled a monster more than a man, and you suspected his instincts remained consistent regardless of his words. Out here, where the population had dwindled to ashen, skeletal remnants of unfortunate souls caught in the blast, it seemed unlikely anyone could afford to be picky.

"What happened to you?" you demanded, your voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

He visibly stiffened at your question, briefly halting his movements before resuming with a dismissive gesture. He heard you, yet chose not to respond.

"I said, what happened to—"

"I heard you," he snapped, cutting you off. "Doesn't mean I owe you an answer."

You huffed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I'm just trying to understand what's going on! Yesterday, I was in my kitchen baking a key lime pie and dancing to the radio, and then—"

"Miss your cage, vaultie?" he interjected, a cruel chuckle escaping his lips. "If you miss it so much, why are you out here?"

Straining against your restraints, you heard him sigh in annoyance as he came to a halt. Turning to face you, irritation etched on his ghoulish features, he regarded you with a jutted hip and clenched gloved fingers tightening around the rope. "I'm not talking about the vault," you said earnestly. "I was in my home yesterday, just a normal day. Then the sirens blared, so loud I couldn't think. My neighbour, she came to my door, told me we had to leave, find safety. I didn't want to go without Glenn, but everyone was running, scared. I was too."

"When we reached the vault, it was chaos," you continued, his attention now fully captured, eyes glazed. "So many people, struggling to get in. But we made it, and... my neighbour, Patti—she's my friend. She had just given birth to her first child, a beautiful baby boy." You swallowed hard, suppressing the bile that threatened to rise in your throat. "They were supposed to let us in, we were pre-selected. But when we arrived, they turned Patti away. Shot her husband when he fought back," you recounted, the horror of the memory still fresh. "Then chaos erupted. The first nuke fell, and I was pushed through to the vault door. I lost Patti."

He regarded you with a sombre understanding, silently urging you to continue.

"When I entered, it wasn't like the commercials," you spat bitterly, recalling the false promises of safety. He cleared his throat. "That actor, going on about how great the vaults were—'a vast and wonderful place,'" you mocked with disdain. "Mine wasn't like that. It was... They did unspeakable things to us, to unborn children, and there was no recourse. It wasn't right. I knew what they wanted, deep down, but my head told me not to be so naïve. Vault-Tec was supposed to be saving us."

Tears welled in your eyes as the memories flooded back, as vivid as if they had happened yesterday, because to you they did. "They threw us into pods, froze us until they needed us. Took us out for testing and... I was the last one. Everyone else had... died, from the testing," you choked out, the pain of loss still raw. "I fought to survive, because I couldn't let what happened to those women and their babies happen to me or mine."

He listened intently, his eyes widening as he took in your story. His gaze flicked to the small swell of your stomach below your tied wrists, realization dawning.

"So I need to know," you implored, your voice trembling with fear. "Is what happened to you also what happened to Patti and her baby? Will it happen to mine?"

He studied you, and you felt yourself shrink under his penetrating gaze. You hadn't intended to divulge so much, to reveal your condition that you had desperately tried to conceal until it could no longer be hidden, to relive the trauma that still haunted you, though in reality centuries had passed since its occurrence. Yet, you needed answers. You needed to know what lay ahead in this desolate wasteland, and if you possessed the strength to face it.

"Yes," he answered quietly, his voice laden with a heavy solemnity. "It will, in time."

Fresh tears traced their path down your cheeks, and you nodded in understanding, raising your bound hands to wipe at your wet nose. "Okay," you whispered, then smiled sadly in resignation as you rubbed your wrists gently over your stomach. "At least up here, we had a little freedom for a time."

You felt the rope that he had been keeping such a tight hold on slacken before being dropped to the ground. Stepping towards you, he gingerly took your wrists and began working on the knot, untying it with ease before meeting your gaze from beneath his lashes. "You just gained a little more."

"You're letting me go?" you asked, doubtful.

"I'm letting you choose," he corrected, his voice carrying a peculiar weight as he rubbed the tender, burned skin of your wrist where the rope had left its mark. His thick thumb felt rough against your flesh as it traced over you in a gentle, swiping motion. "There are things worse than me out here, sweetheart. Are you going to take your chances?"

His words hung heavy in the air, and you met his gaze defiantly. "I don't need your pity."

"Good, because I ain't giving you none," he replied, his tone firm.

You held his gaze, neither of you willing to be the first to look away. Moments ago, he had been intent on taking you to an undisclosed location to sell you for whatever passed as currency in this wasteland, but now he presented you with a choice—a grim ultimatum. Stay with him or fend for yourself in the harsh wastelands. Neither option was ideal, but you hadn't lasted a single day on your own before being apprehended by him. Perhaps it was better to stick with the devil you knew, especially if there truly were worse threats out there as he claimed.

"I'm going to get bigger, you know. I'll slow you down," you warned him. "And I can't fight."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he gathered the discarded rope and secured it at his hip. "I've seen you shoot, but I've yet to see you fight. I think a few vault security guards could probably vouch for you, though," he teased, a hint of admiration in his voice. "You can't stay with me forever, nor would you want to. I'll take you to a safe haven for women in your condition. It's a few months' journey north from here. Until then, try to keep up."

You pondered his words, feeling a sense of relief at the prospect of a safe haven and the promise of being escorted there, despite the long journey. "Why the change of heart? What's in this for you?" you asked, curious about his sudden shift in demeanour.

His expression tightened, his gaze drifting to the small swell of your stomach that you now cradled protectively. "Righting some wrongs from a previous life," he answered solemnly, not waiting for your response before turning and beginning to walk away. He paused momentarily, waiting for you to follow.

"I don't know your name. What do I call you?" you called out after him.

He pondered for a moment, gazing out into the vast desert before turning back to you, tipping his hat in acknowledgment.

"Ghoul, for now."

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout #fallout prime #fallout fanfiction #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout x reader

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miss-musings · 6 months ago

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Crosshair's 10 Most Impressive Shots in "Star Wars: The Bad Batch"

We're now officially three weeks removed from the series finale, so I thought it'd be a fun time to look back at our favorite sniper and review some of his most impressive shots.

Note, I'll be ranking items from "The Bad Batch" TV show only, so there won't be any entries from "The Clone Wars" S7.

I did get a lot of input from folks here and on Twitter, and a lot of people ended up saying the same ones. I put them on here along with a few of my own.

As for how I determined the order, I judged based on a combination of: the distance of the shot, the size of the target, the speed of the target (if applicable), other external factors like light conditions and weather, and "internal" factors like Crosshair's physical and mental state.

You're free to disagree with which ones I picked and how I ordered them. It's all subjective.

Also, I don't proclaim to be an expert in marksmanship nor am I a military sniper. But, I do have a general baseline for how difficult Crosshair's shots would be IRL. I used to go shooting with my dad a lot at both indoor and outdoor ranges, and I was pretty decent at both pistol- and rifle-shooting. So, that's what I'm using to judge Crosshair's shots.

With that out of the way, let's dive in with #10:

10. Killing Lt. Nolan in 2.12 "The Outpost"

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I probably wouldn't have put this one on the list for myself, but I had multiple people suggest it should make the cut.

While this shot is very important narratively, it's not very impressive from a purely technical perspective.

I mean, hitting a relatively stationary human-sized target from a few meters away... It's definitely not the most impressive shot on Crosshair's resume.

However, I did feel it was worth adding to the list for the simple fact that Crosshair is physically exhausted and mentally broken in this scene. He basically uses the last of his strength to kill Lt. Nolan, because he immediately collapses right afterward.

Also, Crosshair might be right-handed, but he's pretty good at shooting his pistol leftie. We don't really see the shot hit Nolan, but if you zoom in after his body hits the ground, you can see that Crosshair shot him straight through the heart. He wasn't leaving that bastard alive after everything he and Mayday went through.

9. Lunch tray ricochet in 1.01 "Aftermath"

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Even though this isn't a shot in the traditional sense -- considering there aren't any firearms involved -- I had to put this on the list for two reasons.

One, I had multiple people suggest it; and two, because I've watched this scene dozens of times and only recently found out that Crosshair actually hits two clones with his lunch tray.

He initially throws it at the clone Tech was fighting, presumably knocking him down. But then it ricochets so hard that it basically clotheslines another clone who's just standing there, minding his own business. Dude was hit so hard, he was like floating in midair for a split second.

Also, this plays into my headcanon that Crosshair would be excellent at any sports that require excellent aim and coordination. If he was on a basketball team, he'd be a three-point specialist for sure!!

8. Plan 55 ricochet in 3.12 "Juggernaut"

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This is the closest thing we get to a trickshot in S3, so I had to include it on the list.

Here, we see Crosshair's quick-thinking and perfect aim take out several troopers at once by purposely ricocheting his shot off the magnetically sealed doors.

As we know from “A New Hope,” magnetically sealed doors/surfaces are no joke. You really have to know what you're doing or someone's gonna get hurt. Thankfully, Crosshair is a freakin' pro at this!

It honestly reminds me of all those crazy pool shots where you have to plan out four or five bounces/angles ahead to get the angle you really want.

7. Downing a spaceship on Ryloth in 1.11 "Devil's Deal"

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NOTE: This is the only clip I couldn't readily find on YT. So I included the clip of Crosshair killing Orn Free Taa from the same episode to maintain symmetry in this Top 10 list.

Don't let the clip fool you. The shot I'm actually talking about takes place before this, when Crosshair -- from like 300 meters away, mind you -- takes down a fast-moving ship by shooting one of the engines.

Look, I love S3 Crosshair with all my heart, but his shooting abilities were severely diminished after his time on Tantiss. When I was doing my S1 rewatch and got to this scene in 1.11, I was like "Oh yeah, I forgot Crosshair used to be able pull off crazy shit like this."

It's actually sad how many of his made shots in 1.11 are like an inverse of his missed shots in 3.11. Here, Crosshair easily shoots a tracker onto Hera & company's ship, and later shoots the engine with no problem, despite the speed and distance.

In 3.11, though, he misses CX-2's ship and fails to track Omega back to Tantiss. 😭

6. Shooting Wrecker's knife in 1.01 "Aftermath"

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Now we're getting into the really impressive shit! Most of these remaining entries have Crosshair shooting small targets and/or fast-moving ones.

In this instance, it's both. Wrecker throws the knife like this is skeet-shooting or something, and Crosshair just very casually shoots it into a droid.

Have you ever seen someone who was so good at their job/hobby that they make it look effortless? Like they're not even trying? This happens to me sometimes when I watch the Olympics. I'm like, "That's not so hard. I could probably do that." And then I try it for like half a second, and I'm like, "Oh no, those people are insane."

That's how good S1-2 Crosshair is. He makes shooting a fast-moving knife look effortless.

5. His four-kill trickshot in 1.15 "Return to Kamino"

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These next three are all no-brainer entries. I think the biggest question will be why I went with the order I did.

Here, we have Crosshair displaying two very important elements of marksmanship/sniping: patience and careful aim.

Crosshair evidently set up at least four mirrors (I counted the ricochets in the shot) well in advance in the exact spots he needed to take down his Imperial squad, if need be. That's some serious foresight and preparation -- to know exactly where everyone would be standing, and have all the mirrors ready to go ahead of time.

He must've set them up even before he brought Hunter into the training room, or Hunter would've seen them and probably signaled his teammates.

He's also hitting a target that seems to be somewhere between the size of a golf ball and baseball from like 10-20 meters. And with his sidearm.

I know everyone loves the hallway mirror ricochet to kill the squadron of battle droids in TCW Season 7, but it didn't qualify. But, honestly, I think this one is more impressive anyway. He hit the first 1.15 mirror from farther away than he does in TCW S7, and he's using his pistol in 1.15 rather than his rifle and scope.

Talk about accuracy!

4. Sniping the tank in 2.03 "The Solitary Clone"

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Oh man! I think we all love this one, right? It's just one of my favorite sequences in the entire show -- the framing, the colors, the effects of the dirt flying up behind him.

I love how Crosshair baits the droids to get the exact angle he needs, and the dude clearly has nerves of steel for staring down the barrel of a tank without flinching. I wonder how many times he's done it, considering he seemed to know exactly how to beat them. I'm guessing at least a dozen.

This is another example of "expert making their expertise look effortless," when in reality, we'd all shit ourselves if we attempted to do the same.

Honestly, sometimes I wish we could've had this version of Crosshair face off against Hemlock in 3.15 -- the dude who stared down the barrel of a tank and didn't flinch at the most literal version of "kill or be killed."

3. Stairwell trickshot in 2.03 "The Solitary Clone"

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While I love the tank sequence more for the aesthetics, I have to rank the 2.03 stairwell trickshot above it.

That's partly because Crosshair's still physically and mentally recovering from nearly getting choked to death. But, it's also partly because -- just like with Wrecker's knife -- Crosshair is shooting a target that someone else is throwing.

That means he has to adjust to whatever trajectory and speed they throw it at and compensate accordingly, which can understandably be very hard to do in a split-second.

And, in this situation, Crosshair can't even see the puck directly. He's looking at it through at least one or two layers of reflective mirrors. Dude's reaction time is insane!

He also manages to take down at least four or five droids with a single shot, including the tactical droid, which is several meters up the stairwell and into the next room.

I'm not sure if the clones learned any advanced mathematics during their training on Kamino. But if they did, I think Crosshair would've loved geometry and maybe trigonometry too! He would also absolutely kill in a game of pool. I wanna see him go to the SW equivalent of a pool hall, and show Omega that he can hustle people too! He just needed to find a game that would better suit his strengths. LOL

Anyway, as insane as this shot is, Crosshair has two others on his resume that are even more impressive:

2. Saving Omega & AZI in 1.16 "Kamino Lost"

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This is one of three entries on this list that *no one* mentioned when I asked for suggestions, but I had to include it. That's because it is -- without a doubt -- the most bafflingly impressive shot Crosshair makes in the entire show.

I have watched this scene dozens of times, and I still have no idea how he knows where Omega and AZI are.

Initially, I thought -- as others did -- that he's using an infrared scope to see their body heat in the water. But, that doesn't appear to be the case.

The only times I can recall Crosshair activating an infrared capability is when he has his rangefinder, which is attached to his helmet. As we see in episodes like 1.01 "Aftermath" and in 3.07 "Extraction," he specifically has to put the rangefinder down in front of his eye to use the infrared option.

No, his scope is just that -- a regular scope. The infrared capability is only attached to his helmet's rangefinder, which he doesn't have in this scene.

Thus, I have no idea how Crosshair is using a regular-ass scope to find Omega and AZI in the dark ocean. The point of a scope is to see better, and I don't know what he might see beside more darkness. AZI's eyes aren't active and, even if Crosshair spots Omega's flashlight, Omega dropped it when she went after AZI, so it's not exactly on her.

I'm willing to believe that Crosshair has better eyesight than the average human in the Star Wars universe or IRL, but his eyesight must be insane if he can see them in the water, even with a scope.

But, whether it's eyesight, some other enhanced sense or just plain luck, Crosshair knows where in the vast, dark ocean they are — not just the angle but the depth too!

It's really hard to tell how far down they are, but I'd say at least 20 meters. And if he is able to see them somehow, he might have to adjust the shot for refraction in the water too.

Plus, unlike the other entries on this list, Crosshair isn't shooting a blaster bolt. He's shooting a cable, meaning he'd have to adjust his shot to accommodate its weight and trajectory once it hits the water. Additionally, with how Omega and AZI are situated, he needs to have the cable hit and latch onto AZI, without hitting Omega in the process, and get the exact angle needed to drag both of them to the surface.

Like I said: I have absolutely no idea how he made this shot. It's definitely the most impressive one he makes in the entire show based solely on external technical factors.

But of course, there is a parallel shot later in the series that's his most impressive one of all...

1. Freeing Omega in 3.15 "The Cavalry Has Arrived"

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I will never shut up about this scene. It's been living in my head rent-free for three weeks already, and will continue to for several months.

This is undoubtedly the most important shot in Crosshair's life: the shot to save his kid and free his family from Hemlock once and for all.

And everything is working against him: It's dark. It's raining. Omega and Hemlock are like ~40 meters away. The target is the binders between their hands, which is like 3-5 centimeters wide, and won't exactly be stationary. Oh, he's using CX-2's stolen blaster, which doesn't even have a scope on it!!!

We the audience get a POV of what Crosshair sees from over his shoulder, and I can barely see Omega's face, let alone her hands!! I said in the previous entry that Crosshair's eyesight has to be better than the average person's because, holy hell, how can he see that?!?

And, even worse, Crosshair is physically and mentally spent in this scene. He had to return to his own personal hell -- the place where he was tortured and traumatized for months -- then got beaten in a fight and had his dominant hand chopped off.

He and Hunter are running on pure adrenaline at this point. They are absolutely hellbent on getting their kid back, even if they die or collapse in the process. They were practically hobbling out of the CX lab together, and when they crouch down on the bridge, Crosshair has to steady himself against Hunter because he doesn't have his other hand.

And, as the final cherry on top of this proverbially shitty sundae, Crosshair absolutely terrified of missing.

A few episodes ago, the guy couldn't hit stationary fruit from like ~15 meters away with a scope in daylight and in a controlled environment. He even tells Omega: "Close doesn't count. It's either a hit or a miss." Because in a high-stakes situation like this, missing your shot could mean death for you or someone else.

Crosshair already feels like he failed Omega because he missed the shot on Pabu. And now, he has to make an even tougher one with every disadvantage stacked against him and her life literally in his hand.

I don't blame the guy for doubting himself.

Thankfully, Hunter and Omega have complete faith in him, and despite everything he's been through in S3, he has faith in himself.

And so, in the shot to end all shots in "The Bad Batch," Crosshair hits his target and frees Omega.

He and Hunter then subsequently turn Hemlock into Swiss cheese before Omega gives Crosshair a much-needed hug, causing me to cry for the 100th time.

I'll admit: as much as I would've loved seeing another mirror trickshot or some other crazy ricochet in the finale (or just S3 in general), this scene is basically perfect.

It also makes for a nice little parallel to the S1 finale, where Crosshair saved Omega's life after she saved his. Here, as he says himself, he goes back to Tantiss to free her because she freed him first.

As someone said on Twitter when I asked for ideas about this list:

"(Crosshair) put his whole heart and soul in this shot, and he didn't miss. He couldn't afford to."

Like I said: this was the shot that freed the entire Bad Batch family from Hemlock forever. So, I think by default, it had to be No. 1 on this list.

*******

Anyway, thanks for reading! It'd be fun to put together another TBB list like this. I guess I'll have to pick a subject first, though, because I don't have any ideas. If you have any, send them my way!

(EDIT: For anyone who’s also on Twitter, give me a follow. @CatchingClassic )

#Youtube #the bad batch #tbb #tbb spoilers #bad batch #tbb season 3 #tbb series finale #tbb season three #tbb crosshair #the bad batch crosshair #clone trooper crosshair #crosshair tbb #star wars #sw tbb #star wars tbb #clone force 99 #star wars the bad batch

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mayberrycryptid · 2 months ago

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Steve’s Navy Record - Or, I noticed something interesting

From Pinterest, no credit given. Edit: found source, added link below!

While digging around for photos of the team’s headquarters, I found a close up somebody had taken of Steve’s display of his Navy medals and ribbons. What I found interesting is that his service is noted from 1993 to 2010. I know he went through BUD/S in 1999, and I guess I just never stopped to consider that entering the Naval Academy is considered part of his career.

Also, for anybody who needs it, here is the list of Steve's medals and awards. I posted it once before when somebody asked, but that was ages ago:

Personal decorations

Silver Star

Bronze Star, w/"V" Device

Purple Heart, w/1 gold award star (2nd award)

Joint Service Commendation Medal

Navy & Marine Corps Commendation Medal, w/2 gold award stars (3rd award)

Joint Service Achievement Medal, w/1 bronze oak leaf cluster (2nd award)

Navy & Marine Corps Achievement Medal

Combat Action Ribbon, w/1 gold award star (2nd award)

Unit awards

Presidential Unit Citation

Joint Meritorious Unit Award

Navy Unit Commendation

Service awards

Fleet Marine Force Ribbon

Campaign and service awards

National Defense Service Medal

Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal, w/3 bronze service stars (4th award)

Afghanistan Campaign Medal, w/3 bronze service star (4th award)

Iraq Campaign Medal, w/2 bronze service star (3rd award)

Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal

Global War on Terrorism Service Medal

Humanitarian Service Medal

Service and training awards

Sea Service Deployment Ribbon, w/4 bronze service stars (5th award)

Foreign awards

George Cross

Marksmanship awards

Navy Expert Rifleman Medal

Navy Expert Pistol Shot Medal

Other accoutrements

Special Warfare insignia

Naval Parachutist Badge

tagging @cowandcalf cuz I know you are as obsessed with every detail of Steve’s naval career as I am😁

#steve mcgarrett #steve’s naval career #h50

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praline-elegy · 3 months ago

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The marksmanship portion of a modern pentathlon consists of pistol shooting, but shh, based on vibes—which do you think Sungchul embodies?

Note: Kim Ye-ji and Yusuf Dikeç both competed in air pistol while Daehan Choe participated in air rifle, which are two different sports shooting disciplines.

Kim Ye-ji is a South Korean pistol shooter, winning silver in the women's 10 meter air pistol event.

Daehan Choe is a South Korean air rifle shooter, placing 7th in the men’s 10 meter air rifle event.

Yusuf Dikeç is a Turkish pistol shooter, winning silver in the mixed team 10 meter air pistol event. He also placed 13th in his individual event.

#fence comic #sungchul park #fence polls #it was oddly difficult finding the name of daehan choe from the memes #every other source i looked at named kim ye-ji and yusuf dikeç #fence comics

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roseghoul26 · 8 months ago

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Part 3

Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

"'Do you love me?' You asked, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Arthur nodded, gazing at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

'Then say it. I promise you, nothing bad is gonna come from it.'"

Synopsis: A retelling of the mission "Blessed are the Peacemakers", where instead of Arthur getting kiddnapped, it's you.

Tags: fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut, smut, torture, mentions of sexual assault, no actual SA, dutch is father figure, so is hosea, arthur morgan deserves everything, fem reader, afab!reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, not beta read

Author’s Note: soooo this was meant to be the final part but i got carried away so now there are four parts :D

also like 99% sure the location i describe later in the part doesn’t exist but im too lazy to figure out an actual one so just go with it please. and i have no idea if the robbery plan “arthur” came up with actual works. there’s a reason i write fanfiction and don’t rob houses.

part 1 ❉ part 2 ❉ part 3 ❉ part 4

Arthur had stayed by your side ever since then. He was gone some days, returning to you exhausted and sleepless, but still returning nonetheless. He helped take care of you as you recovered, attending to your every need with no complaint (you had joked that you were going to turn into an actual princess with his treatment)

By the end of the first week of your return, you had regained enough strength to get up on your own, being able to take small walks around camp and chatting with the others. You found yourself being able to stay awake longer, only having to stop a rest once or twice throughout the day. Also, most of your superficial wounds were pretty much healed at this point, small scabs and scars the only proof of their existence.

By week two, you had started contributing with the chores, doing lighter work around the camps like sewing. You stayed outside of your tent more and more now, the weather at Clemens Point usually pleasant. The wound on your shoulder was doing much better now, and where deep purple bruises once resided were patchy yellow marks.

When the third week rolled around, you were starting to go insane, having been confined to the one place for so long. You were pretty much back to normal, your energy returned and your wounds healed. You had begged every person who left camp to take you with them, but to no avail.

You had even begged Charles to take you out hunting, but the steadfast man didn’t budge. Upon seeing your disappointment in his rejection, he relented… partially. Finding a spot far enough away from camp to not be an issue, but close enough for safety’s sake, Charles set up a small practice range for you to shoot your bow and guns at. You had hugged and thanked him profusely, your fingers itching to pull a trigger. He just requested you to not make him regret his decision.

The rest of the time that week was spent at the range, building back up the strength and endurance in your arms and shoulders. Your aim at the beginning was questionable, to say the least. Targets you’d normally have no issue hitting were becoming difficult, and you struggled to hold your pistol up for longer than ten seconds, your hands shaking and straining at the effort. Still, you persisted, and you found your marksmanship began to, slowly, come back to you.

It was now the first day of the fourth week, the evening sun soaking the range in gold. It wasn’t particularly hot out, yet you still found yourself wiping beads of sweat from your brow as you started down the barrel of your rifle. There was one target left, a small green bottle roughly 200 meters downrange, slightly obscured by some hay barrels until only a portion of it was visible to you. Every other bottle lay shattered except for this one, which you’d been trying to get for what felt like forever.

Grumbling angrily to yourself, you refocused on the object, sheer spite keeping your feet planted at the range instead of returning back to camp to retire for the night. There was a slight breeze, not enough to deter the path of the bullet, but enough to cause a few pieces of hair to flick you in the face. Your eyes focused on your target, and the world around you seemed to grow still. It was right in your sights, and you just had to squeeze…

You took a deep breath in, holding it for a split second, before releasing it. Your finger moved with your lungs, squeezing the trigger gently. A loud blast shook through you, and if there were any birds still sticking around, they would have flown away at your angry outburst afterwards.

The bottle stood intact, and you swore it was grinning smugly at you. With a huff, you released the empty shell, joining the growing pile at your feet. The sound of hoofbeats from behind caused you to lower your weapon, slinging it over your shoulder. The motion caused a slight tinge of pain to shoot through you, going away as quick as it came. Still, you couldn’t help the slight grimace of pain from appearing on your face as you turned to see who was behind you. The place that Charles had selected for you was just off the entrance of camp, so you had a slightly obscured view of people coming and going.

The sight of a familiar brown horse, and the sound of an even more familiar gruff voice had you smiling widely. Quickly scooping the empty shells into a bucket, the fresh one burning your hand slightly, you headed back to camp.

As you approached, you heard many voices all at once, all greeting Arthur as he got off his horse. As he patted his steed, you saw him glazing around, eyes darting around as he searched for something. He must’ve not found what he was looking for, as he had a slightly confused expression as he made his way toward Dutch. The leader of the Van Der Linde gang stood outside his tent smoking a cigar as he warmly greeted Arthur, clapping the younger man on his shoulder. Arthur had his back to you as he talked with Dutch, and you were just out of earshot of their conversation, barely in the camp at this point.

Passing Pearson’s wagon as you approached Arthur, you saw Dutch look around as well. When his gaze landed on you, he greeted you with a friendly smile, before pointing at you with his cigar over Arthur’s shoulder.

Your lover spun around, an enormous grin on his face when he finally locked eyes with you. Finally close enough to hear the two of them, you heard Dutch say “We’ll talk later,” practically shoving the younger man away from him and towards you. He gave Dutch an incredulous look before returning his attention to you, smiling impossibly brighter when you were finally within arms reach of him.

Setting the bucket and gun down at your feet, you wrapped your arms around his waist, burrowing your face in his chest as you held him close. A pleased hum left you as you felt one of his hands hold the back of your head, the other wrapping around your hip. “Hello, princess,” you heard him say. Tilting your head back so you could see Arthur fully, you stood up on your toes so you could kiss him. He held your kiss longer than what was probably appropriate for being in the middle of camp, but you couldn’t care less. After pulling away, he rested his head against yours, one hand still around your backside. His hat sat precariously on his head, dangerously close to falling off.

“Hi, Arthur,” you breathed. “I’ve missed you.”

“Already? It’s only been a week. I’d’ve thought you’d been sick of me already.”

“Never.”

“And just what were you up to while I was gone?” You saw him eye the bucket and rifle forgotten behind you, and the two of you took a step back from the other, still close enough to touch though.

“I’ve been doing some shooting. Charles set it up for me.”

“Did he now?” He asked, not out of jealousy, but more out of concern of you overexerting yourself.

“It was either that, or take me hunting. I’ve practically begged everyone in camp to take me out. I’ve gone a little crazy being stuck here.”

Arthur chuckled. “Noted. So,” he gestured to the weapon, “any luck?”

With a tight-lipped smile, you turned and picked up the items, the rifle going back over your shoulder. You stepped out of the shade created by Dutch’s tent, the light causing your eyes to scrunch close. It was close to sundown by this point, but a nice amber glow still washed over the camp, with the lake turning into a body of lava. “Mostly,” you scoffed, and began walking back toward the range, determination now taking over you again.

You expected to hear footfalls behind or beside you, but when you didn’t, you turned back around with a puzzled expression. Arthur just stood there, still in the shade, mouth parted slightly as he stared at you.

Cocking your head, you thought that might get his attention, but you started to feel a little self conscious (and worried) when he continued to just look at you. “Is there something on my face?” you joked half-heartedly, tapping a rhythm on your waist as you awaited a response.

The cowboy had a slight rosy tint on his cheeks as he shook his head, but he still held his eyes on you. “Nah, it’s just… you look beautiful.”

That was certainly not what you were expecting to hear, nearly dropping the bucket of empty bullet casings. “Well, thank you, Arthur,” you responded bashfully.

“I mean it,” he continued, slowly walking towards you now. “I mean, you always look beautiful, but somethin’ ‘bout the light… you look like an angel, like you were taken out one of them paintings.”

You certainly didn’t think so yourself, but with the way Arthur looked at you, you just had to believe him. His hands now cupped your face, thumbs rubbing gently against your cheeks. “My angel…” he said, the words leaving his mouth gently like a secret.

He held you, transfixed, until someone else in camp awkwardly cleared their throat. His hands dropped back to his sides, but he still had a lovesick look in his eye as he gestured for you to continue walking. “After you, my angel.”

The two of you walked in silence for a few moments. “So what am I, princess or angel?” You teased, willing your heart to slow down. You could feel Arthur’s heavy gaze on you as you walked.

“You can’t be both?”

“‘Fraid not. One or the other.”

“Says who? ‘Cause they clearly haven’t met you.”

“You’re a silly man, Arthur Morgan.”

“I’m only tellin’ the truth! I swear!”

Finally reaching the practice range, you stood where you had prior, and you set the bucket back down. Turning your head to look at Arthur, you were slightly startled at his closeness. Wrapping around your midsection, he rested his head on your shoulder that didn’t hold your rifle. “‘Sides, you love it,” he continued. Kissing your temple lightly, he rocked with you back and forth, just enjoying the feeling of having you in his arms. You didn’t bother to reply; you both knew what your answer would be.

Resting your hands atop his, you leaned back into him, your purpose for being where you were forgotten temporarily. The last rays from the setting sun lit up the field, but the growing darkness was beginning to take over. Sighing, you lightly stroked his arm, rousing his attention. “If you’re trying to distract me, you’re doing a good job at it.”

“Sorry,” he drawled, the slight laugh in his voice making it clear that he wasn’t at all.

“I’ve got one more target. After that, I’m all yours.”

After a beat of silence, Arthur responded by opening his arms to let you out. The lack of heat from his body caused a slight shiver to wrack your body, the cooling night temperature not helping either. Bringing up your rifle and staring at your target through the scope, you found it hard to concentrate with his eyes on you. Still, you took a deep breath in, then pulled the trigger upon its release.

The shot from the gun shattered the peaceful atmosphere in the field, a few birds that had returned flying away instantly, their angry squawks and your angry curses following the blast. The shot went wide by a few inches, to your not surprise. Incoherently grumbling, you discarded the empty round, the new one loading in with a click.

You fired off a few more rounds, each one missing your target by a small bit. It was getting late now, and it was starting to get hard to see the bottle now.

Bringing the gun up again, you were about to fire, until a soft wait from behind you caused you to lower the weapon, looking over at Arthur confused. “No, no, bring the rifle back up.” As perplexed as you were, you complied, bringing the gun up like you were going to fire it, but keeping your finger off the trigger. You watched out of the corner of your eye as Arthur stalked around you, eyes scanning over you, assessing.

You tried to keep still, but you couldn’t help but shift your feet nervously as his ocean blue eyes observed you. “You’re holdin’ it differently,” Arthur finally spoke, and you lowered the rifle back down.

“Huh?” Bringing it back up again, you did a mental scan of your body. Nothing felt different, but then again you did have a significant time off from using your guns. Maybe your marksmanship wasn’t coming back as well as you thought.

“Nothin’ major,” Arthur continued. “It’s… it’s your shoulder. The left one. You’re rollin’ it forward more, and I think that’s what’s affecting the shots.”

So you tried rolling back your left shoulder, the injured joint stiff as you readjusted. Apparently that wasn’t enough, and you felt Arthur come back behind you. His chest brushed your back as he brought his arm up to your left shoulder as you held your gun up, holding it but not pushing yet. “Let me know if I’m hurtin’ you,” he murmured, and you could feel his other hand settle on your waist.

After you nodded, you felt him press the shoulder back. It was slightly tender, but it didn’t hurt too bad. When he was satisfied with your new posture, which was starting to feel familiar, he mirrored the other hand on your waist. His lips were dangerously close to your ear as he leaned in, the fingers on your waist tightening ever-so-slightly. The proximity, while not unwelcome, caused you to take a sharp intake of breath.

“Take a deep breath,” he instructed, a satisfied hum leaving him when you did so. God, his voice was doing nothing to help your flustered state. “Good… now, shoot.”

Praying that your exhale wouldn’t come out shakily, you breathed out, pulling the trigger as you did, like who had so many times before. However, this time, instead of the sound of the bullet hitting the hay bale, the sound of glass shattering hit your ears.

Lowering the gun slowly, a joyous laugh left you as you finally registered you hit the target. Spinning around so you were facing Arthur, you smiled brightly, the same expression on his face. “Atta girl,” he practically purred, taking the rifle from your hands and setting it on the ground beside the two of you with a thud. His praise caused a jolt of warmth to shoot through your body, causing your blood to feel like it was simmering.

Linking your hands around his neck, you played with some of the hair that stuck out from under his hat. “How’d you know I was holding it wrong?” you asked. “It wasn’t even that obvious, you said so yourself.”

You felt him shrug. “I dunno.”

“Spend a lot of time lookin’ at me, then?” Looking up at him, you could tell that some of his confidence was beginning to falter, scared of what your reaction would be to his answer.

“I…” he trailed off, and you could feel his fingers, which had returned to your waist, begin to pick nervously at your clothing.

“I don’t mind.” It must have alleviated some of his worries of making you uncomfortable, because his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you nearly flush with his own. His eyes darkened at the contact, and when you tugged slightly at his hair, and a similar whine to the one he let out last time left him. The two of you had shared a good amount of kisses over the past few weeks while Arthur was still here, but they ended before anything happened. This was only the second time you’d heard that noise from him, and you had forgotten how addicting it was.

He said your name in warning, and you gave him the most innocent look you could muster.

“You must look at me a lot if you’re able to notice something like that.” You couldn’t help the teasing tilt in your voice.

“It ain’t my fault you’re breathtaking. And I sure as hell ain’t the only one who looks at you.”

“You’re the only person whose eyes I want on me.” Grabbing one of his wrists, you dragged his hand up your body, bringing it up until it reached your chest. His breath hitched at the action, staring at you with pleading eyes as his hand hovered uncertainty over your breasts. “And the only person whose hands I want on me, too.”

He pulled you impossibly closer, space nonexistent between the two of you. His lips were mere centimeters from yours, and you could feel his shaky exhale as you rocked your hips against his. There was a new heated tension in the air, something you hadn’t experienced with each other yet, but you were more than willing to cross that line tonight.

“I love you,” he whispered, an utter devotion in his eyes that you’d only seen in the most zealous devotees. But there was nothing holy about the way his lips crashed against yours, desperate and needy and hungry.

The hand that once rested on your waist cradled the side of your neck, holding you securely as he kissed you. His other hand finally made contact with your chest, and you let out pleased groans as he felt you, causing your mouth to part slightly. Eagerly taking this opportunity, Arthur’s tongue swept into your mouth, and your hands fully tangled into his hair as he deepened the kiss. His hat fell somewhere on the ground, the soft thump unheard by both of you.

He continued exploring your chest, and you craved nothing more than to rip your shirt off so you could feel him touch on your bare skin. Imagining the calluses of his hand running across the delicate skin caused you to shiver, which didn’t go unnoticed by the cowboy. You felt him smile against your lips, before moving his kisses to your jaw, to underneath, then trailing down your neck.

“You like that?” his spoke, voice debauched.

“Your hands…” was all you were able to get out before your focus dissolved.

“What ‘bout them?” He spoke between kisses, littering them across your neck.

“I want… I want you to touch me.”

He squeezed your chest gently. “I am.”

“Take my shirt off… please.”

“As much as I’d love that, we don’t want the whole camp to see you now. You only want my eyes on you, right?” You felt his teeth nip gently at the base of your throat.

Groaning, you rolled your head back, partially out of frustration, and partially to give Arthur better access. His touch left your chest, trailing back down your body, inching closer and closer to your center. Rutting your hips up, you tried to meet him halfway, but he remained just out of reach. Instead of touching you where you wanted, you felt light touches circle your waist, lightly brushing the small of your back before settling lower. Grabbing a handful of your ass in his large palm, you felt him smile against your neck as you let out a surprised noise.

His other hand left your neck, and in a show of strength lifted you into his arms, both hands now holding your backside. Interlocking your legs around his waist, you couldn’t help the shocked laugh that left you. It was no secret that Arthur was a strong man, his muscular build evident of that, but the effortlessness in the way he picked you up had your stomach doing somersaults.

Still attacking your neck with kisses, you felt him begin to move forward until you felt bark against your back. “Arthur…” you panted, and you heard a pleased groan leave him. An unmistakable hardness pressed into you now, and you felt yourself unconsciously rolling your hips against him. Your own name left his lips, the last syllable trailing off into a moan, which he muffled in the crook of your neck.

“Please. I need you, Arthur,” you whined out, and Arthur lifted his head up, resting it now against your own.

“Here?” Arthur asked, breathlessly. When you nodded, you could see him fighting with himself internally. “You sure? It’s… you deserve better. Should take you out… get us a room. Hell, get us an actual bed.”

“I just need you.” You ran your fingers through his hair, the brown locs haven been thoroughly tussled by your hands. Pressing a light kiss on the crooked bridge of his nose, you poured as much sincerity as you could in the action.

“Fuck… alright princess. But we’ll have to be quick. Someone from camp-”

An unmistakable raspy voice cut through the clearing, startling poor Arthur to the point he nearly dropped you. “Arthur!” John called out, and you felt the man below you grow deathly still.

“Where the hell are you, Arthur?” John called out again, and you could tell that Arthur was debating whether or not to respond. When the younger outlaw yelled out again, he let out a regretful sigh, before slowly lowering you to your feet. Your knees wobbled, and you held on to his broad shoulders momentarily for balance. A small proud smile adorned his face, which promptly fell when he heard John’s voice again.

“What?” He yelled back, not even trying to hide the annoyance in his voice. His hands were on your waist, tapping randomly as he awaited a response. You saw the light from John’s lantern begin to illuminate the clearing, so you tried your best to fix up Arthur’s appearance, smoothing out his clothing and adjusting his hair. Based on how the two of you looked, it wouldn’t be hard to determine what was happening, but you wanted to save some of the man’s dignity when facing John.

Looking down, you saw him adjust himself, trying and failing to hide the obvious tent in his pants. Luckily, it was getting quite dark out, so he wouldn’t have to try too hard to hide it. You gave him a sympathetic smile, and he just sighed defeatedly. “Don’t kill him,” you half-joked, noticing the death glare he gave the figure approaching the two of you.

Pulling away from you, he turned and walked over to John, you trailing behind him by a few steps. Gathering up the items you’d brought, you returned the rifle to its home over your shoulder. Out of the corner of your eye, barely visible due to the lack of illumination, you saw Arthur’s hat lying in the grass, which had been knocked off his head by your hands.

You put it atop your own, and you found it sliding around as you walked up to the two men, wrapping your arm around Arthur as you joined in the conversation, which was turning into more of an argument.

“You’re needed back at camp,” you heard John say angrily, not even looking at you as he stared the other man down.

“And I’m sayin’ it can wait. I’m busy.”

“Oh, really?” John challenged. “Doin’ what?”

Arthur just gave him a pointed look in response, expecting John to figure it out.

“No, really. What is so important right now?”

You could hear Arthur roll his eyes. “Maybe the wolves really did eat your brain, Marston.” You let out a chuckle at that, and John finally seemed to notice your existence. Confusion, then realization, then finally embarrassment washed over his face as he took in your disheveled state and Arthur’s hat on your head.

John shook his head, refusing to make eye contact with you any longer. “Just… just get back quickly,” he muttered, leaving the two of you as quickly as possible. You heard him grumble something under his breath, before wrapping you into a tight hug, locking your arms to your body. His hat barely stayed on as you tried to look up at him, and you saw his eyes widen as he registered what you were wearing.

“You’re makin’ it real hard to leave, ya know?”

“So are you.”

“Yeah…” he agreed, yet made no move to loosen his grip.

Arthur held you for a few moments, the fire that had been growing during the last minutes subsiding to a small candle flame. As much as you both wanted to just continue, the duty to the camp and gang took priority, especially for Arthur.

Wiggling out of his arms, you returned the hat to its owner, but the angle you placed it at caused it to cover his eyes. “C’mon, cowboy. Giddyap,” you teased, lightly smacking his backside while doing so. You started walking back to camp, following the direction John went

You had gotten a few feet away before Arthur began bounding towards you, causing you to break out in a sprint. Laughing wildly, you ran through the trees, the branches whizzing past your face as you ran towards camp, Arthur hot on your heels.

Because you weren’t far from camp, it only took a minute or so before you ran in, panting in exhilaration. Running to your tent, you looked behind you, expecting Arthur to be right there. When you were met with empty air, you halted, dirt skidding up at the sudden stop. Looking around, you peered through the darkness, barely able to see anything in the evening light.

You saw Javier, Bill, and Micah all sitting around a nearby campfire, mindlessly conversing while Javier strummed on his guitar. You saw Molly in her and Dutch’s tent, which was between yours and Arthur’s, getting ready to retire for the night. Abigail was with Jack, sitting with him on her lap while Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen sat around another fire, drinking and laughing with each other. But for the life of you, you couldn’t find Arthur.

Without warning, you found yourself pulled into a strong embrace, the smell of leather and gunpowder filling your senses as Arthur grabbed you. A startled noise left you, turning into laughter as you felt his place a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “Gotcha, princess.”

“You scared me! How’d you do that?”

He gave you another kiss on your cheek in apology. “I’ve got my ways.”

“Is that all the explanation I’m gonna get?”

Arthur paused for a moment, debating your words. “Yes.” When you just shook your head in amusement, he gave you one last kiss before letting go, albeit reluctantly, and he walked around so he was facing you.. “I’ve gotta go see what they want,” he huffed. And… I just wanna say I’m sorry for tonight. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Arthur.” You tried to reassure him, but he continued to frown slightly. Cupping his face with one palm, your thumb brushed the top of his cheekbone lightly, and you felt him relax under your touch. “I know you’ll make it up to me, eventually. Tonight, just come see me when you’re done. I’ve… It’s been hard sleeping without you.”

“Alright,” he conceded, kissing your hand before returning it to your side. “Go get ready. I’ll be back shortly.”

“You better not keep me waiting, Arthur Morgan,” you warned, backing into your tent slowly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, princess,” he said with a wink, then turning and walking toward Dutch, who stood with his arms crossed, watching the whole interaction between you two. You chuckled to yourself, knowing Arthur would never hear the end of it from the other men and camp. As your tent flaps closed shut, you heard Dutch say something to Arthur, who grumbled something out in response. A hearty laugh from Dutch filled the camp, and you just knew that Arthur’s face was beet red right now.

Undressing quickly, and now only in a chemise, you sat atop the bed, you glanced around your tent. Your tent, which was slowly becoming Arthur and your’s tent, was still lit up by candlelight. Your shared bed (which was yours and Arthur’s cots pushed together) sat in the middle, with the same pelt operating as your flooring. Arthur had yet to fully “move in” with you, but most of his belongings, which wasn’t a lot, sat beside yours. You guessed that in a few weeks he’d be offering his tent to the other members of camp.

Picking up your copy of A Cristmas Carol, you began reading, trying to pass the time as quickly as possible.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

As much as you tried to stay up, the minutes turning to hours as you waited for Arthur to return, you ended up falling asleep, not even tucked into the bedsheets. Your book lay open if you lap, as it had fallen out of your grip.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you remember how the words on the page began to blur, and how it became so hard to focus on the narrative. Eventually, you succumbed, no longer fighting the growing heaviness on your eyelids.

The bed shifting caused you to stir, groaning slightly as the kink in your neck made itself known, the awkward sleeping position causing your body to protest. You felt the blanket get pulled out from under your legs and wrapped around your body, then a warm body cuddling up next to you, arm resting on your midsection. Shuffling back until your back was flush with their front, you heard Arthur murmur out an apology for waking you.

You adjusted so your head was now resting on your pillow, and you wove your fingers through Arthurs. “It’s alright,” your voice was heavy with sleep. “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry,” his breath tickled your ear as he spoke. “Dutch wanted me and Lenny to go scout somethin’ out. Went longer than we thought.”

You let out a light hum, and a yawn threatened to overtake you as you spoke. “Tell me more in the mornin’. Get some sleep.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” Arthur replied, nuzzling into your hair and sighing deeply.

Sleep came back easily, and you found yourself being roused a few hours later by the smell of coffee and light chatter. You and Arthur had swapped positions in the night, and you woke with an arm across him and your legs intertwined.

As carefully as possible you disentangled from him, halting all movement when you heard his breathing change. Eventually you were free, and you sat on the edge of the bed. Glancing behind, you saw Arthur still fast asleep, a light snore coming from the man.

It was nice, seeing him so at ease. The normal furrow in his brow was smoothed over, the creases around his eyes seemed less prominent. Everything about him seemed softer somehow, like all the troubles in his life had been sucked out of his body while he slept. You just hoped that one day you might bring him that same peace in the conscious world.

Stretching as you stood, you quickly got dressed, being careful not to make any loud noises. You wore something simple today, opting for a pair of pants and a shirt. Eying Arthur’s growing pile of belongings, you chose to wear one of his button ups. You smiled as you put it on; despite being freshly cleaned, it still smelled like him.

Tucking the blue shirt in, you left your tent after putting your boots on. The bright morning sun caused you to squint heavily, making your way to the communal coffee pot. If you had to guess, you’d say it was about nine or so in the morning, most of the camp up at this point. Saying good morning to those you passed, you poured two cups of coffee, the liquid precariously sloshing over the edge of the cups as you walked back to your tent, drinking yours while you walked.

You were about halfway back when you spotted Lenny sitting at one of the tables, who kept anxiously looking up at your tent while cleaning his gun. He gave you a polite smile as you approached, which heavily contradicted the impatient way he tapped his foot. As you got closer, you saw how tired he looked, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Good morning, Lenny!” You greeted, trying your best to sound chipper.

“G’morning, miss,” He tried his best to not sound annoyed, you could tell.

“Care to tell me why you’re glaring at my tent?” You teased.

Sheepishly, he dropped his gaze, the tapping of his foot slowly subsiding. “Sorry, miss. It’s just… I need Arthur up, and he’s in your tent, and I don’t wanna be improper and walk in there…”

Laughing loudly, you set one of the cups down on the table before patting him lightly on his shoulder. “You’re too good for us, kid. I’ll go get him up for you… if I get to come with you two, that is.”

“How’d you… you don’t even know what we’re doing.”

Shrugging, you took a sip of your drink. “I like surprises. So, do we have a deal? I’ll save you from having to walk into a lady’s tent, and then I get to tag along on whatever y’all are doing.”

“I guess,” Lenny sighed, but you could tell he wasn’t upset. He sounded more tired than anything.

With a final light tap on his shoulder, you picked up both drinks, taking another hearty sip from your own. “Thanks, Lenny.”

“Nah, thank you. From me and my dignity.”

His response had you rolling your eyes, shaking your head as you entered your tent. Excitement was growing in you, your desire to finally leave camp finally being fulfilled. Arthur was still passed out, and you felt bad for reaching down and shaking him gently. You watched his eyes flutter open, and you smiled warmly.

“Good morning, pretty boy,” you brushed his hair back, and his eyes threatened to close again. He was barely awake, and you could tell because he had barely any reaction to what you called him. “Lenny’s waiting for you.”

That seemed to stir him, and he practically shot up out of bed, nearly causing you to spill both of your drinks. He cursed to himself, rubbing away the sleep from his eyes as he paced around the tent. He was still fully dressed from last night, the only things missing being his hat, shoes, and gunbelt, which you watched him grab and put on, turned partially away from you as he dressed. The furrow in his brow was back, and you also noticed the heavy dark circles under his eyes.

Pressing the hot beverage into his hand, which he took with a soft thank you, you set you own on the nightstand before fixing the collar of his shirt which got all messed up during the night. “What time did you get back?”

“Late,” he responded between gulps, either not noticing or caring that the liquid was scorching hot.

“Arthur…” you sighed. “You look exhausted.”

He just shrugged, neither agreeing with or denying your statement. “How long has it been since you’ve slept for more than four hours?” You’d always noticed how tired Arthur always was, pushed to his limits day in and day out, and this conversation wasn't new for either of you. Even before the two of you became lovers, you’d always hound him on his sleep, or lack of it. It was, however, the first time you’d asked him that question, and you could tell he was trying to come up with an answer or excuse. You found yourself coming up with a plan that would get you and Arthur away from camp, at least long enough to let him sleep for a while.

“After we get done with whatever you and Lenny are doing, me and you are gonna take a little vacation. And you can’t say no.” You added that last bit when he opened his mouth to protest.

As he woke up more, a confused look crossed his features as he comprehended what you said, and he turned towards you. “We?”

“Yup. I’m going with y’all.”

“I don’t…” he trailed off with a sigh, realizing that arguing would be pointless. “Are you sure?” You nodded. “Alright. We’ll fill you in on the details on the way there. Shouldn’t be too complicated.” He took a final gulp of his drink, and set the empty cup next to yours. “Also, you don’t gotta worry ‘bout me, princess. You focus on getting yourself back to normal.”

“But I am pretty much back to normal! And you’ve taken such good care of me these past few weeks, it’s time I return the favor.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe I don’t. But I’m gonna do it anyway. I want to help you, to care for you. And like I already said, you can’t say no.”

“You’re difficult, woman,” he shook his head, as if amused by your antics. “We’ll discuss this later. Don’t wanna make Lenny wait any longer.”

“Alright,” you accepted. “I’ll see you outside, love.”

Arthur actually short-circuited at the use of the new pet name, and you giggled as he stood there dumbfounded, and you left the tent before he could say anything. “Arthur’ll be right out, Lenny!” you shouted out, the man’s head snapping up as you spoke.

Getting to his feet and slinging the very ocean repeater over his shoulder, Lenny gratefully smiled at you. “Thanks again, miss. Did he tell you anything or…?”

“Nothin’. Said you tell me on the way there, and that it ain’t supposed to be too difficult, apparently. Not that anything ever ends up that way,” the final part you muttered more to yourself, and it went unheard by the other.

“You got a bandana? Gonna end up needin’ it. What we’re doing ain’t exactly lawful.”

“My favorite. Lemme go grab one-”

“I got it. Here,” you felt the cloth placed around your neck, Arthur securing it with a knot. “Go ahead and meet us by the horses, Lenny. We’ll be right there.”

With a nod, the younger gunslinger headed toward the hitching post. Adjusting your hair so that it sat over the bandana, Arthur then combed the stands back so that they were tucked behind your ears. “Is that my shirt?” He asked once Lenny was far enough away.

“You just noticed?” You chuckled, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder.

“Shut it, princess.”

“Never.” You stuck your tongue out at him, then started heading toward Lenny. “You don’t mind, right?”

“God, not at all. I’d give you all of ‘em if it meant I’d get to see you wear ‘em every day.”

“Then what’d you wear?”

“Nothing, but I suppose you’d like that.”

Rolling your eyes, you faced forward to hide your expression as you imagined a shirtless Arthur. “Hush now,” you feebly reprimanded.

“Never.”

By this time you had reached your destination, mounting your horse (after thanking Lenny for saddling him up) who knickered excitedly. Both of you hadn’t been out of camp in some time, and you both missed the feel of the wind in your hair and the exhilaration of the ride. You wanted nothing more than to just bolt out of camp, but you held steady, tapping your fingers to try and let out some of the building energy within you.

Arthur, after mounting, took the lead as your group exited camp. After saying goodbye to Javier, who was standing at the front of camp on watch, Arthur began explaining the plan, going at an easy trot as the three of you rode, looking over at you as he spoke.

It was a home robbery, and a rather large one at that. Located east of Valentine, about a mile or so from Emerald ranch, stood a large multi-story house that was rumored to be filled with precious items and jewels. Lenny and Arthur’s scouting provided intel about the guards that patrolled the ground, getting their general numbers and learning the relative schedule they operated on. By learning that information, they were able to figure out when it was best to move in order to not be spotted.

Originally, when it was just going to be two of them, only Arthur was going into the house itself, Lenny staying back on watch, ready to create a distraction that would allow Arthur to leave unnoticed. But now that you were tagging along, it was up to you to decide what you wanted to do: join Arthur, or send Lenny with him and be on watch yourself.

“Well, saying the last time I was on guard duty didn’t go so great, I’ll go in with Arthur.” Your “joke” seemed to only amuse you, but then you saw the way Lenny tried to hide a light chuckle.

When Arthur had finished explaining, you were still only about a quarter of the way there, the casual pace Arthur had set making your journey slow. You tried not to seem too fidgety, knowing that Arthur and Lenny were quite tired and probably wouldn’t like to go as fast as you’d like, but there were a few times when you had to slow down TT and ease him back; it seemed you were both getting antsy.

Arthur, bless him, took notice of this, and he moved himself off the road to let you take the lead. Taking your spot, you cocked your head, trying your best to keep your eyes on him. “Go to Emerald Ranch. Wait for us there.”

“Huh?”

“You look like you’re about to pull out all your hair. Go ‘head and ride out ahead of us, fast as you like… but be safe. We’ll meet you there.”

You’re sure you looked crazy with the excited grin on your face. “You’re serious?”

“Very. Now,” Arthur shooed you, “go.”

“I love you, Arthur Morgan,” you said, before taking off in a cloud of dust. It took little encouragement from you to get TT moving, snorting wildly as he pushed as hard as he could, happy to finally stretch his muscles out. With a loud whoop that bounced off the rocks and trees, you quickly rode away, Arthur and Lenny becoming small specks on the horizon. Arms outstretched and your eyes closed, you took in the feeling of the wind finally being back in your hair, trusting TT to take you to where you needed to go.

You hadn’t even realized you were crying, the sheer happiness you were feeling overwhelming you. Yes, you loved being at camp, and you loved the people there, but you were starting to feel trapped. You knew that being put on a “bedrest” was for your health and to allow you to fully recover, but it was exhausting. You were still an outlaw at heart, and you needed to roam. You couldn’t be tied down to a place for so long, and a part of you knew that’s why you and Arthur became friends in the first place: two wild hearts that needed space to ride free, the only bonds holding you being the ones you held for each other in your hearts, not where you called “home” or where you lay your head at night.

Opening your eyes again, the world around you passed in a blur as TT ran, hooves barely hitting the ground. As you passed other riders, you heard them cry out, startled, but you paid them no mind. Right now, you were allowed to be as selfish as you wanted on the road. You were barely able to make out a signpost that showed that you were going in the right direction.

Patting his neck, you urged your horse onward, leaning forward and wrapping your arms around him, just like the last time. However, instead of it being the ride between life and death, it was a ride of pure joy. Joy that you had survived and overcame so much. Joy that you finally confessed to Arthur the love you had for him, and that he felt the same, and you were now closer to him more than you ever thought possible. Joy that despite the honestly shitty cards you and the gang had been dealt, you were all still thriving, able to create bonds and relationships in spite of the hardships.

Life, in all of its bullshit, was treating you well. You were going to enjoy it for as long as you could, and you were going to do everything in your power to bring Arthur the same joy you felt.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

You arrived at Emerald Ranch nearly fifteen minutes before the other two.

Letting your horse drink heavily from one of the many troughs available, you walked around the area, chatting with a few of the farmhands as you waited for Lenny and Arthur to arrive. You had even traded some items with the fence, Seamus, for a little extra cash, in the middle of stuffing it into your saddlebag when you heard them approach.

“You already robbed the place?” Lenny joked as you remounted, falling back to your original position in the formation. You were surprised, however, when Arthur didn’t take the lead, instead motioning for Lenny to lead the way as he took his spot next to you.

“Y’all were taking too long,” you chuckled. “Nah, just selling a few trinkets I had.”

“Get a good amount for ‘em?”

“Nothin’ crazy. But money’s money.”

“Take what you can get, I guess,” Lenny shrugged, falling into silence as he continued forward.

“How was your ride?” Arthur asked, finally speaking since meeting you at the ranch, which you had now left.

“Amazing. It was… needed. Thank you, Arthur.” You beamed brightly.

“Of course. Can’t blame you for wantin’ to do that.” You watched him glance towards Lenny to see if he was paying attention before leaning over, as well as he could, to whisper to you. “And, for the record, I love you too.”

“I guess if we’re saying things for the record,” Lenny didn’t even bother to turn around as he interjected, “then you should know that this one turned bright red once you left. Didn’t think I’d ever see a man like him that flustered, but here we are.”

“Aw,” you cooed, flicking the rim of Arthur’s hat down as he was still leaning close to you. “Did I embarrass you, Arthur?”

“Am I really gettin’ ganged up on by both of y’all?” Arthur sat back upright now, scoffing in disbelief when you and Lenny both nodded. “I see how it is, then. Well, I’ll just leave you two to it…” Arthur sighed, a slight grin peeking up at the corners of his mouth.

“No,” you dragged the word out, nearly falling out of your saddle as you reached to grab his reins. “I’m sorry,” you laughed.

“I ain’t,” Lenny countered.

“Remind me why I keep you around, kid?”

“Well, it ain’t up to you if I stay or go. And I distinctly remember you asking me to go with you on this.”

“And I am startin’ to regret my decision.”

“You can always change your mind. Want me to go get John? Or Sean?”

“I pick you, cause unlike them, you don’t annoy me. Which is slowly startin’ to change.”

You had held on to Arthur’s reins during this entire exchange, you head moving back and forth as they spoke. “What has gotten into both of you?” You couldn’t help laughing in surprise.

Finally, Lenny looked at you. “Sorry, miss. Just… tired.”

“Promise me you’ll get some sleep when we get back. Both of you,” you made sure to look at Arthur when you said this. “I’ll talk to Dutch, see if I can’t get a break for the two of you. There are sure as hell others who can do this type of work, if only for a day.”

“That ain’t necessary-” you cut Lenny off with a raised brow. “Alright. Thanks, miss.”

“Of course. And don’t think I forgot about what I told you, Arthur.”

“No I didn’t.” He responded unenthusiastically.

Wonderful. Now,” you finally let go of Arthur’s horse, “let’s go rob these sons of bitches.”

It took about twenty minutes for your group to reach your target, pulling off the trail and into a thicket as the house came into view. Dismounting and then sending the horses away, you stayed crouched behind Arthur as the two men made their way to the house, keeping to the dense underbrush, remaining undetected by the guards you saw.

Arthur held a hand up, and you came to a halt, and he pulled out binoculars and a pocket watch. Quickly surveying the area, he then handed the binoculars to the other man before checking the time. “Right. Here’s the plan. You see them guards over there?” Arthur pointed to two of the guards that patrolled one of the side entrances to the house. “They rotate out every hour, meanin’ theres about a two minute window where there’s no one. That’s when we move. Inside, from what we can tell, isn’t heavily guarded, but be cautious. There shouldn’t be any homeowners or servants or anything like that either.”

Arthur now pointed at the house. “Once we’re inside, you can take the top floor. When you’re done, meet where we entered. Lenny will give us twenty minutes, then he’ll create a ruckus, giving us an opportunity to leave. We’ll meet up at Emerald Ranch, then head back.” He took a deep breath. “Make sense?”

“Yeah. How long until the next rotation?”

“It’s 10:53, so about seven minutes. I’ll give you a heads up.”

Nodding, you settled back on to your haunches, adjusting the equipment on your body as you waited. “Are you fine with what you’re doing, Lenny?”

“Yes, miss. Ain’t my first time doing it. Arthur can vouch for me.”

“He'll be fine.”

Content, you sat in silence for the next couple minutes, staring off into space until someone pulling your hand had you refocusing back on reality. Arthur’s face was now covered by his bandana, but his eyes crinkled as he pulled you along, and he motioned for you to affix your own bandana. Securing the fabric, you relinked your hand with his, keeping crouched as the two of you approached the house, being mindful of any branches or twigs that you might step on that would alert the guard.

Just like Arthur had said, when the top of the hour rolled around, the two guards stationed at the side left, turning their backs to you as they moved to their new spots. Glancing both ways, he bolted for the side once he deemed it clear, holding on tight to you. The door, thank goodness, was unlocked, and the two of you slipped inside, seemingly unnoticed.

The first part, and arguably the hardest, was done. Glancing around, you took the large bag that Arthur handed you as you both took in as much as you could. You were standing, wll, crouching in a large walled in dining area; a large oak table stood in the center adorned with expensive china and silverware; a tall china cabinet stood in the corner, various baubles hiding within the shelves; a large staircase was directly at your right, which you started to make your way towards, stopping when Arthur grabbed your hand.

“Promise me, that if you get caught, you’ll get the hell out. Run. Don’t look back.” He spoke low to not alert anyone, but it made it no less emphatic. His words were surprisingly familiar; the last time he spoke like that was right before you got kidnapped.

“And my answer is still the same: I can’t promise anything, but for you I will try.” It was all you could say before you went back to trying to climb the staircase, time being a limited resource. You had seen the fear in Arthur’s eyes, and you could feel your own worry for him as well. Things were different now, and there was more on the line this time. But you couldn’t afford any anxieties; you had a job to do.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

You had to commend yourself on a job well done, clearing the top floor quickly and efficiently. You bag was almost filled to the top, and you slung it over your shoulder, looking like some evil version of St. Nicholas. The house had no shortage of jewelry, gems, and other valuable items, and you doubted whoever owned them was going to be missing them for long.

Shuffling slowly down the stairs so as to not make too much noise, and you sat on the bottom step as you waited for Arthur to finish, as you literally had no room to carry anything else. Making sure your bag was securely closed, you peeked through one of the windows that were parallel to the door you had entered. Two new guards stood watch, chatting with each other without a care in the world, not aware that two people were currently robbing the place of all its valuables.

Arthur only took a few more minutes than you, bag equally as heavy as he plopped down next to you on the stairs. Pulling out the pocket watch, he read the time, before turning towards you to read.

11:16.

Sighing, you leaned back, the back of your head thumping against the hardwood flooring. You dared not speak, just in case, but you let your guard down slightly. There was no one in the house, just as Arthur had said. It seemed like this whole adventure was going to go off without a hitch, for once.

Maybe you were too relaxed, because when you felt Arthur rest his hand on your thigh, you jumped out of your skin. It was hard to tell because of the mask, but you think he whispered an apology. As Arthur rubbed the muscles there, you felt yourself relaxing again, resting your head back and closing your eyes.

You weren’t expecting Arthur to slowly bring his touch further up your thigh, massaging as he went. Peeking at him, you found him already looking at you. He halted his exploration, raising his brow in silent questioning as he tested the waters. When you nodded, he didn’t continue, still giving you plenty of time to change your mind if you wanted.

“Please,” you doubted he could even hear you, but he seemed to understand, continuing up your thigh at a slow pace. He shifted closer to you, the creak of the wood barely audible over your heartbeat hammering in your ears. Still holding eye contact with you, he continued his ascent, mere inches away from the junction of your thigh and hip.

Instead of moving inward, however, you felt his touch disappear before reemerging on your other thigh, repeating the same process as he caressed you. You said nothing, only letting out small pleased sighs that were only audible to you.

Finally reaching the apex of your thigh, his squeezing and massaging turned to featherlight touches, barely felt through the material of your pants. Running his fingers across your hips, he repeated the motion a few times, laughing when he heard you finally let out an audible noise, which was a frustrated huff. Like last time, he was so close to where you wanted him to touch you, but he remained so far. You knew that he wasn’t going to do anything here, in the middle of robbing a home of all things, but a part of you hoped that he would just throw all caution in the wind and take you right there.

As soon as the touches started, they left. Arthur leaned back, looking almost startled in a way, like he’d just been snapped out of a trance of sorts. “Shit… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tease-”

Shouting from outside had his head snapping towards it, and you were immediately on your feet, peering outside the window with Arthur behind you. His proximity behind you wasn’t helping you calm down, but you forced it down. There would be time later to get him back for his teasing, but right now it was time to go.

Lenny, back on his horse, had approached the house, standing far enough away to lead the guards away from the house. The two guards were only a few feet from Lenny now, and roughly twenty feet away from the house, giving you enough clearing to leave. They were engaged in a heated discussion, one of the guards training his gun on Lenny while the other did more of the talking.

Both of you slung the bags over your shoulders, the metal items clunking as they were jostled around. Grabbing your hand, he led you out the front door, moving slowly to not create any too much noise. The argument with Lenny seemed to have the guards full attention, and loud enough to allow you guys to move faster.

Before long, you were far enough away to safely whistle for your horse, who came running from a nearby bush. Both of you secured your bags to the horses, riding as far away from the house as you could and toward Emerald Ranch. Pulling the bandana off, the breeze did little to cool you down, the fire consuming you only able to be put out by one thing. The look in Arthur’s eyes as he rode away had you shifting in your saddle, but not because you were uncomfortable. You took off after him, and you took a steadying breath.

It was going to be a long ride back.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2

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greatworldwar2 · 6 days ago

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• M50 Reising Submachine Gun

The .45 Reising submachine gun was manufactured by Harrington & Richardson (H&R) Arms Company in Worcester, Massachusetts, USA, and was designed and patented by Eugene Reising in 1940. The three versions of the weapon were the Model 50, the folding stock Model 55, and the semiautomatic Model 60 rifle. Over 100,000 Reisings were ordered during World War II, and were initially used by the United States, though some were shipped to Canadian, Soviet, and other allied forces.

Reising was an assistant to firearm inventor John M. Browning. In this role, Reising contributed to the final design of the US .45 ACP M1911 pistol. Reising then designed a number of commercial rifles and pistols on his own, when in 1938, he turned his attention to designing a submachine gun as threats of war rapidly grew in Europe. Two years later he submitted his completed design to the Harrington & Richardson Arms Company (H&R) in Worcester, Massachusetts. It was accepted, and in March 1941, H&R started manufacturing the Model 50 submachine gun. H&R promoted the submachine guns for police and military use, and the Model 60 for security guards. After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941 the US was suddenly in desperate need of thousands of modern automatic weapons. Reising's only competitor was the .45 ACP Thompson submachine gun. The US Army first tested the Reising in November 1941 at Fort Benning, Georgia. During this test, several parts failed due to poor construction. Once this was corrected, a second test was made in 1942 at Aberdeen Proving Ground, Maryland. In that test, 3,500 rounds were fired, resulting in two malfunctions: one from the ammunition, the other from a bolt malfunction. As a result, the Army didn't adopt the Reising, but the Navy and Marines did, due to insufficient supply of Thompsons.

The Reising submachine gun was innovative for its time. In comparison to its main rival, the famous Thompson, it possessed similar firepower, better accuracy, excellent balance, a lighter weight, a much lower cost, and greater ease of manufacture. Despite these achievements, the poor combat performance of the Reising contrasted with favorable combat and law enforcement use of the Thompson mired the weapon in controversy. The Reising was far less costly ($62) compared to the Thompson ($200). It was much lighter (seven vs. eleven pounds). The Model 55 was also more compact (about twenty-two vs. thirty-three inches in length). The M50 Reising's delayed blowback operation, often classified as hesitation lock, works as follows: as the cartridge is chambered, the rear end of the bolt is pushed up into a recess, in a manner similar to tilting-bolt locked breech guns; but whereas such weapons rely on an additional mechanism to unlock them, in the case of the Reising the end of the bolt that pushes against the back wall of this recess, is subtly rounded, while the wall is correspondingly curved. On firing, the extreme pressure from the propellant gases is thereby able to force the bolt-end down, back to the horizontal. From here the bolt can move to the rear removing the cartridge from the chamber; but the combination of mechanical disadvantage and friction the force of the gases must overcome to push the end of the bolt down has achieved a delay of a fraction of a second, allowing pressure in the barrel to drop to a level sufficiently low for safe and efficient cartridge extraction. The Reising was made in selective fire versions that could be switched between semi-automatic or full-automatic fire as needed and in semi-auto only versions to be used for marksmanship training and police and guard use. The Reising had a designed full-auto cyclic rate of 450–600 rounds per minute but it was reported that the true full-auto rate was closer to 750–850 rounds per minute.

The U.S. Marines adopted the Reising in 1941 with 4,200 authorized per division with approximately 500 authorized per each infantry regiment. Most Reisings were originally issued to Marine officers and NCOs in lieu of a compact and light carbine, since the newly introduced M1 carbine was not yet being issued to the Marines. Although the Thompson submachine gun was available, this weapon frequently proved too heavy and bulky for jungle patrols, and initially it, too, was in short supply. During World War II, the Reising first saw action on August 7th, 1942, exactly eight months to the day after Pearl Harbor, when 11,000 men from the 1st Marine Division stormed the beaches of Guadalcanal, in the Solomon Islands. The same date of Guadalcanal's invasion, the Model 50 and 55 saw action with the 1st Marine Raiders on the small outlying islands of Tulagi and Tanambogo to the north. Serious shortcomings in both guns were becoming apparent. The reality was that the Reising was designed as a civilian police weapon and was not suited to the stresses of harsh battle conditions encountered in the Solomon Islands—namely, sand, saltwater that easily rusted the commercial blued finish, and the difficulty in keeping the weapon clean enough to function properly. Tests at Aberdeen Proving Ground and at Fort Benning, Georgia, had found difficulties in blindfold reassembly of the Reising, indicating the design was complicated and difficult to maintain. The producer, H&R, had not yet mastered mass-production technologies in 1940-1941, and many of the parts were hand fitted at the factory just like the company did with their commercial firearms. While more accurate than the Thompson, particularly in semi-automatic mode, the Reising had a tendency to jam. The Reising earned a dismal reputation for reliability in the combat conditions of Guadalcanal. The M1 carbine eventually became available and was often chosen over both the Reising and the Thompson in the wet tropical conditions.

In late 1943 following numerous complaints, the Reising was withdrawn from Fleet Marine Force (FMF) units and assigned to Stateside guard detachments and ship detachments. After the Marines proved reluctant to accept more Reisings, and with the increased issue of the .30-caliber M1 carbine, the U.S. government passed some Reising submachine guns to the OSS and to various foreign governments (as Lend-Lease aid). Both the Soviets and Canada purchased some Model 50 SMGs, others were given to various anti-Axis resistance forces operating around the world. Many Reisings (particularly the semiautomatic M60 rifle) were issued to State Guards for guarding war plants, bridges, and other strategic resources. After the war, thousands of Reising Model 50 submachine guns were acquired by state, county, and local U.S. law enforcement agencies. The weapon proved much more successful in this role, in contrast to its wartime reputation. Production of the Model 50 and 55 submachine guns ceased in 1945 at the end of World War II. Nearly 120,000 submachine guns were made of which two-thirds went to the Marines. H&R continued production of the Model 60 semiautomatic rifle in hopes of domestic sales, but with little demand, production of the Model 60 stopped in 1949 with over 3,000 manufactured. H&R sold their remaining inventory of submachine guns to police and correctional agencies across America. Decades later, in 1986, H&R closed their doors and Numrich Arms (aka Gun Parts Corporation) purchased their entire inventory.

#second world war #world war 2 #world war ii #wwii #military history #firearms #firearm history #submachine gun #m50 reising #us military #marine history #weapons of ww2

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janesimsten · 10 months ago

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WIP: The Marksmanship mod now has pistols. :)

#janesimsten #ts4mods #ts4 #sims 4 historical

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galaxirin · 8 months ago

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54 for Micolash, Laurence, and Ludwig?

What’s their instinct in a fight / flight / freeze / fawn situation?

Micolash:

Freeze for a bit but weirdly enough?? I see him being quick on his feet and much more resourceful when it comes to being threatened. If something comes into his office he always has his trusty scalpels, augur of ebrietas, and even the call beyond to keep himself safe from the initial attacks before running since he knows he’s not the best at combat

Laurence:

My Laurence is a gunsmith so quick draws of pistols are his main source of weaponry. An expert in marksmanship as well so he’ll go for the head or disarming his opponent quickly. But he’ll let Gehrman or Ludwig do the dirtier work of disposing the body while he makes sure his clothes weren’t splattered with blood.

Ludwig:

This is where things get interesting. His training as a Knight in Cainhurst made him extremely quick in his feet so any sudden attacks he will dodge first. Hell keep a distance as well, checking his opponent on how many weapons, what kind, and how he can successfully take them down. And through that he will use his sheer size and strength to subdue his opponent and keep them alive for interrogation if they were human, but if it was a beast he’ll use his sword to make sure its death is swift.

#thank you for the ask!! ❤️❤️#bloodborne #laurence the first vicar #ludwig the holy blade #soulsborne #micolash host of the nightmare #rin asks

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commandantexekial · 2 months ago

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File: Commandant Exekial

NAME: Exekial

DATE OF BIRTH: August 16

GENDER: Male

HEIGHT: 173 cm

WEIGHT: 68 kg

HAIR COLOR: Light gray

EYE COLOR: Bluish gray

NOTABLE FEATURES: Black cloth eyepatch over right eye, thick scar running up left side of neck

HOBBIES: Card throwing, weapons training, hand-to-hand combat, reading, drawing, journaling

LIKES: Bubble tea, video games, Gray Raven

DISLIKES: Bureaucracy, Punishing Virus, hospital visits

WEAPONS OF CHOICE:

PRIMARY: Standard pistol

AUXILIARY: Twin kamas

STRENGTHS:

Above-average marksmanship with pistol

Excellent at dual-wielding blades

Quick thinking and snap judgment

Tenacious and persevering

WEAKNESSES:

Overwhelming tendency of self-sacrificing

Difficulty in understanding big-picture view

Handling bureaucracy

Making speeches in debates

#punishing gray raven #pgr commandant #pgr oc #oc #this is literally for myself for fic-writing purposes #(i can't draw lol)#anyways

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defensenow · 6 months ago

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youtube

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cyllres · 4 months ago

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Promise | KNY x Reader

Character Profile

(note: everyone underage would be aged up, while the rest remains the same age. except for Kagaya he's 25 here because I made an oopsie and made yn too young when she met him, lol)

Name: Y/n Kuro (formerly Y/n Toshiro)

Age: 10 when she's in the Toshiro Clan, 18 in the present

Appearance:

Hair color: H/c

Eye: E/c

Demon Slayer Uniform: She wears the typical Kakushi uniform that cosniste of a dark-tinted versions of the standard Demon Slayer uniforms consisting of a modified gakuran jacket and hakama pants. For footwear, she wears plain white jika-tabi with reed-colored flats. To protect her identity, she wears dark head coverings with white linings, and a paper-like mask with three dark lines tied around her face, divided into two sections, one in the front and the back, left to hang freely to allow her to speak and breathe easily.

Height: —

Skin color: —

PHOTO FOR REFERENCE ONLY

Weapon she carries: Tactical double barrel shotgun, Nichirin Sword

Abilities:

Marksmanship: Y/n has the ability to both accurately and consistently hit her intended target while using a firearm. She can hit her target from a significant distance using as few rounds as possible, demonstrating precise control and a steady hand. Her proficiency extends to various types of firearms, including pistols, rifles, and even sniper rifles, (but she mainly uses a Tactical double barrel shotgun) making her a formidable opponent in ranged combat. She practices regularly to maintain her sharp shooting skills, often incorporating complex scenarios to simulate real-life situations.

Swordsmanship: While Y/n isn't highly skilled with swords, she knows the basics of handling a blade. She can perform fundamental techniques such as parrying, thrusting, and slashing with a reasonable degree of competence. Her training allows her to defend herself in close combat situations, though she prefers to rely on firearms.

Love Interests:

Tanjiro Kamado, Zenitsu Agatsuma, Inosuke Hashibira (seperate)

Genya Shinazugawa

Giyuu Tomioka

Tengen Uzui (+his wives)

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Shinobu Kocho

Mitsuri Kanronji (+Obanai Iguro)

Kagaya Ubuyashiki (+Amane Ubuyashiki)

#reader insert #demon slayer x reader

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lacrymatoryao3 · 10 months ago

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Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 7: New Year’s Eve, 1899 and Day, 1900

[1][2][3][4][5][6]

To the world, Arthur Morgan is dead. As he tries to face the idea, in a lush valley in Ambarino he comes face to face with a woman from his past, and they must reckon with an era long gone. Especially when she has secrets of her own.

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

4,410 Words (AO3 Link)

“Gettin’ real good at that.” Arthur said sitting on an old barrel, watching Arthur Francisco blow the bottles apart off the nails hammered into the beaten and pellet scarred section of fence. Now and again he would pull out his pistol, taking a shot from his hip to impress the boy despite his fingers starting to go numb even in gloves after a couple of hours in the cold.

Ana had given Arthur Francisco some instruction. He was better for his age than he imagined most boys were. Like his mother his focus was incredible. His stance was solid, his feet apart to match his shoulders and his left foot slightly ahead of his right with its knee facing the targets. He had a decent grip on the rifle, the stock at his dominant shoulder but far enough so it wouldn’t strike his collarbone. He knew not to hold his finger on the trigger unless he was ready to fire. He aligned the barrel with the eyesight and checked it with the attached scope. Arthur made some minor corrections with him over the past week. He had gotten comfortable enough rather quickly.

Arthur remembered an instance when his father tried to teach him to shoot. It didn’t go well. In fact, none of the memories he had of Lyle Morgan were positive except when he died. It wasn’t long after his mother was buried, Lyle trying to give him some semblance of survival kills. He wasn’t going to live forever, after all. A fact Arthur began to savor at one point. In the end, like any time he tried to be a parent, it ended with his hand striking the back of Arthur’s head and the young boy shedding hidden tears after. The only thing he learned from the miserable son of a bitch was using violence to stay alive.

Then he met Dutch and Hosea. It was the first time men had shown him any sort of care, rather than tolerance. The marksmanship he came to depend upon came from their patience. They didn’t lambaste him when he didn’t hit the target, they didn’t lay a hand on him when he needed more instruction, they just kept at it until he was good to handle it on his own.

He had made a promise to himself when Isaac was born and he saw the baby for the first time. He was going to be the opposite of what his father was to him. He tried to balance his two lives, one with the family that had accepted him and gave him love he didn’t have after his mother was gone, and the one consequence thrust upon him to build until it was torn away from him at the cost of two innocent people’s lives.

Looking back, he wasn’t the father he could have been. He’d show up every three months or so, stay a week, and ride back off leaving Eliza to fend for herself with whatever support he could give to her. Though he was always happy to see him, Isaac barely knew him and Arthur didn’t learn enough about him either. Somehow, for some twisted reason, he was given the chance to try again. He could be the father he pledged to be the first time, without the responsibilities of a gang to distract him.

He didn’t know this one either… At all. He didn’t get the glimpses of him as he grew. Arthur Francisco had no idea about him in return, or the fact Arthur was the father he asked about. It had never come up for anyone. Arthur and Ana hadn’t spoken about if or when or how to tell him, and his namesake never said anything. As it stood, this man that suddenly appeared in his life was just a friend of his mother’s from a long time ago. Arthur wondered if he had some sort of inkling. It wasn’t impossible to put the pieces together. They had the same first name, the same color of eyes… Whatever he thought, he was keeping it to himself.

Ana had only given her son a small ration of ammunition to practice with. It was even smaller on New Year’s Eve. There was a schedule they had to follow. Once it had ran out they started walking back to the nice, warm house where Arthur talked the boy through how to use gun oil. Arthur Francisco got most of it on the rag and as a result on the rifle, but his hands were still coated in the greasy fluid when it it got put away. It took him several tries to wash it off.

“What you thinkin’ about huntin’ anyway?” Arthur asked, holding his hands over the stove to take the chill out of them.

“I’m not sure yet,” Arthur Francisco said, “I’d like to at least get a deer. If I’m lucky maybe an elk or moose someday.”

“Ever hunted them before?”

“I’ve tracked them. Couldn’t shoot them. Only animals I’ve killed have been rabbits and turkeys.”

Arthur Francisco began to explain the movements of several deer in the area. He knew exactly where they grazed depending on the season and snow cover. He learned one herds schedule so well he looked at the clock in the kitchen and told Arthur where they were. He also knew the general territories of the elk and moose in the mountains up north according to the roving hunters and trappers who would come and go from Canada. The boy was on his way to being an expert hunter, something Arthur never felt he’d been. He improved a bit after Charles showed him the methods he used. He never was able to master a bow and arrows until then, though he had to admit he still preferred a gun. Either way he hoped he’d be a little bit useful. He had taken down plenty of deer, a few elk, a couple of moose, and other animals in his time. Pearson never went without meat, at least. Arthur used the opportunity to tell the story of the one thing he was proud of: killing that massive and nasty, scarred and half blind grizzly bear above O’Creagh’s run awhile after he and Hosea practically ran from it.

As the time ticked by Ana had finally appeared from upstairs, carrying a the overnight bag she packed for Arthur Francisco. She had been running around the house all day. She cleaned the house top to bottom, mopped the floors with cinnamon and water, made everyone bathe, she put a candle on a white plate surrounded by grains and spices to burn out and buried the waxy remains. On the stove for dinner she had a stew with salted codfish and olives. In the oven was two pans of Mexican styled cornbread, one for them and the other for the Liang family who Arthur Francisco was going to spend the night with since Mrs. O’Hogan was expected to give birth any day.

They finished dinner with a spoonful of lentils. Something that apparently a token of good luck for the coming year. After cleaning up Arthur and Ana accompanied Arthur Francisco to the inn, along with the corn bread. As soon as they went back to the house, Ana disappeared upstairs again to get ready for the party.

She envied men at times. The ordeal getting dressed for any formal occasion was less time consuming for them. They didn’t have the expectation to be as beautiful as possible. Just her hair was a time consuming process. She split the layers in half, braiding the top much like she normally did but more elaborately and higher onto her head. She left the bottom loose and flowing, allowing it to curl in its natural profusion. To think other women envied her for that thick mop she had to care for. She wasn’t a whore anymore, and hadn’t been for over 16 years. If it wasn’t so socially unacceptable she would have cut at least half of it off years and years ago once she had escaped.

One thing it had taught her was how to do her face up without making it too obvious she had product on. She massaged her face, neck, and chest with a soothing cream that was intended to keep her complexion youthful and even… well, as possible. She was getting old and there was only so much she could do about it. When it dried and absorbed she covered it with a fine powder that she had to mix with cocoa and cinnamon to match her skin tone. She covered her eyelids with a subtle dusting of charcoal, then wetted a tiny brush from one of her son’s old paint sets to apply a darker line along her eyelashes. She added some blush to her cheeks and stained her lips with a waxy rouge.

Ana removed her robe and stepped toward the clothing laid out on her neatly made bed. Her stockings and the Combination – an assemblage of the top of a thin strapped chemise sewn to the drawers which made the waist less clumsy – was a heavy knit wool for the cold weather. She slid the low heeled pumps that matched the color of her dress onto her feet, then put on her corset. It was much more rigid and slightly tighter than her normal one, partially for vanity and making the gown’s bodice fit better. She covered it with a ruffled front camisole. The idea was it would keep the dress from being too tight around the breasts, but it really only seemed to give the illusion that they were bigger than they really were. One petticoat was heavy, lined with glazed cotton quilted into black satin. The second petticoat was much finer, a sheer underskirt to cover a back padding that supported the dress’s train… or make her ass bigger, she didn’t really question American fashion anymore.

“You almost done there, Anie?” She heard Arthur’s voice on the other side of her door after a soft knock. Perfect timing.

She opened the door and motioned him inside, “Good! Can you help me with the back of this?”

Arthur had seen women in various states of undress. Whether it was the women in camp, the working girls in whatever town he was in, he’d seen her in a lot less layers than she had on. Yet, he still couldn’t be casual about it. It still felt indecent of him to be there. He obliged, of course, standing behind Ana and focusing of fastening the back buttons of her gown’s bodice and only that. He turned away from her to let her put on the skirt, a shy attempt at maintaining her modesty around him.

Ana shook her head, muffling her laugh with a smirk. She put on her gloves and a set of pearl jewelry she received as a wedding gift before ending the charade, “Well? I think you can look at me now.”

She didn’t look like the same woman. She was regal in her champagne yellow gown with irises draping down the fabric in delicate golden silk threads. The train made her appear smaller, delicate, the most feminine she had ever looked. Her rigid stance still dripped with the same wild pride she had since he met her.

Arthur smiled, one of the few genuine ones he could recall over the last few years, “Almost don’t recognize you. Didn’t think you could seem dainty.”

“Oh, I could still take you down if I needed to.” She replied keenly.

It made him laugh. The girl he knew was still in there. Just waiting for the moment to resurface.

Ana folded her jacket over her arm, a closely matching black opera coat overlaid with yellow lace and lined with black fur. Arthur held the door open for her, “I have no doubts you could.”

The Grange hall was a nondescript structure, built like an oversized double shotgun house. It could have been easily passed by, even with the sign hanging from the porch roof that wasn’t readable until they were right in front of it. The entryway had a strong scent of oak from the wall panels. Arthur underestimated the population of the town. People came flooding into the hall with them in droves to the point it started to make him nervous.

A young man who was a member of the Grange fellowship took their coats. They entered the main meeting hall to join the throng of people. It certainly wasn’t a high class affair like the ball that wretch Bronte held in Saint Denis. It was much looser, less focus on formalities and more on the locals having fun. What people wore ranged from simple evening wear they could afford, to just what they put on when going to church on Sundays. On the stage was a volunteer brass band. It was immediate that they weren’t professionals, but while they didn’t play well it was enough to dance to without being grating.

Lounging at the end of one of the benches that spanned the walls underneath the windows was a man. He was about as tall and built similar to Arthur, though clearly several years older. His face was much more weathered, with a default expression of solemnity and seriousness. His heavy horseshoe shaped mustache and eyebrows where an ashen white, as was most of his hair except his long muttonchops and ends swept behind his ears that reached his shoulders which still retained traces of auburn. He seemed to be studying everyone who crossed the gaze of his oddly piercing dull gray-green eyes. The simpleness of his wool blue-black suit stuck out or the occasion, until Arthur noticed the overly polished brass six pointed star sheriff badge pinned to his chest.

Ana approached nonchalantly him, “Good evening, Sheriff! Even working on a night like this?”

Seeing her, his eyes lit up and he stood to greet her, “Ah! Mrs. Gardener! It’s good to see you! You look lovely as you always do!”

Something about how they talked didn’t sit well with Arthur. He couldn’t entirely place why, but there was a twinge in his chest. Maybe the fact he was the Sheriff that caused it, or how suddenly warm he became to her. He quietly reminded himself, regardless of what once was, she was no longer his. It didn’t stop the simmering instinct to get her away from him, protect her from whatever he was eyeing her for.

Ana motioned to Arthur to join them, delicately leading him by the arm, “Sheriff Strange, this is Mr. Arthur Callahan. He’s been staying and working with me for a few months now. Arthur, this is Sam Strange, Cain Valley’s sheriff. Mr. O’Hogan told you about him if you were interested in maybe helping with some bounties or whatever else.”

“Sir.” Arthur acknowledged gruffly.

The Sheriff looked him over, “You look tough enough. Could use more strong men in these parts. Especially once the thaw starts. With the lower states pushing back against ‘em, we’ve been getting a lot of gentlemen hoping to cause mischief like they used to. If Mrs. Gardener can give you the time, stop by the station.”

A few more pleasantries were exchanged before they moved on to the banquet table in front of the stage. The centerpiece was a large crystal bowl of spiced punched that had cherries and orange slices floating in it. Behind it were bottles of rather cheap wine and champagne and carefully arranged glasses. On plates to the side were dainty snack foods like crackers and cheese, small fruit tartlets, and different kinds of finger sandwiches. Ana poured Arthur and herself some wine. She identified the eligible women in attendance. Many of them she knew and she narrowed them down to an acceptable age.

“Have you seen anyone you think you’d like?” Ana asked innocently.

Arthur had forgotten about Ana’s plans on finding him a woman, “Can’t say I’ve been paying much attention.”

Ana started subtly pointing out she settled upon, “The really tall blond lady over there in the pink dress? That’s Ingrid Svensson. Her sister Astrid is the school teacher, because of that she’s not permitted to attend events like this. Astrid is 25, Ingrid is 27… Over on the other end, the two women chatting in the corner in red and green? One is Nina Weimann. She’s also 27. Her father is the barber. The other one, her friend, is Zofia Grabowski. She’s 28, came here from Poland to marry a miner. He apparently died before she arrived and she wandered up here. She works as a milk maid and a laundress… The woman next to Sheriff Strange is his daughter, Louise. She’s 30 and her surname is still technically Covey. She was married for a while, but moved to Nevada for a year and got a divorce… Just walking in, in that bright purple is Margot Lambert. She’s a bit more closer to your age, 33. Her grandfather was a French trapper to staked a mine claim here. Even after it dried up they remained. They’re good people. Run the bank now. Just… Pick out whoever you like and I’ll introduce you. Or all them, we can make a circuit.”

Arthur followed her gesture. There was nothing about any of the women, not that they weren’t attractive and he was sure they were nice, that piqued his interest.

“What makes you think I’m keen in any of them?” He muttered.

Ana playfully poked his back, “Oh come on, Arthur.”

Arthur jumped away from her and laughed, “Why you so determined to get rid of me?”

“I’m not trying to get rid of you!” She defended, “But you need someone. My god, when was the last time you even bedded anyone?”

His eyes widened in surprise at the question, sputtering out in reply, “When was the last time you did?!”

Ana swallowed down the last of her wine and poured another, “Too goddamn long, that’s when.”

Arthur sat down on one of the long benches as Ana joined the Contra group dance. Just watching it overstimulated him. For one so fast paced he’d have made a complete clown of himself if he had tried. Ana stuck out, a jewel among them in her rich dress. Her skirts billowing about as she glided from one partner to another. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, striking a match with the sole of his shoe. He took a few hard puffs. Jealousy reared itself in his emotions again, especially with the men who became her momentary partner. Being unable to quell it was further frustrating him. What the hell did he want? Even more, what the hell did she want?

Ana had much more to drink by the time she rejoined him. Her face was rosier with the amount of alcohol in her blood, her eyes sparkling, and a wide smile on her face. She dropped beside him heavily and joyfully wrapped her arms around him.

“Don’t sit there with such a sour face!” She teasingly chided, “You used to know how to have fun! Come on, the next dance we have!”

She led him hand in hand to the floor. Her steps weren’t as graceful as they were at the beginning of the party. Arthur himself had a bit to drink, but he didn’t indulge as heavily as Ana did. He had to be on his best behavior, after all.

When the waltz began Ana had brought herself closer to him than the usual. She led at first, a comical sight for a woman whose head only reached his chest. Once he was refamiliar with the movements she let him. She sighed and laid her head on him. In her deep brown eyes was a deep affection that was always in the background of her gaze towards him. Something that came to the surface once her inhibitions were thoroughly suppressed. He hadn’t seen it in so long. It was pure and unconditional, unashamed and not awkward or close to ashamed like he had with Mary the last few times she and Arthur had crossed paths.

He didn’t know how deep it went for her. How safe she felt with his arm around her, his hand resting on her back. It was the same when they were young, like his presence was where she felt the most right and where she belonged. If she could tell him, she would. Instead she simply savored the brief moment, rather than the endless ideas of what could have been.

The champagne began being passed around as it grew closer to midnight. The band stopped when another member of the Grange came onto the stage. With his watch in hand he began announcing the minutes to midnight. Once 10 seconds were left the crowd joined in, counting down from 9 until the new year finally arrived.

It was 1900. A new century. Everyone was cheering. The church bell began to toll in celebration and the band played Auld Lang Syne with some singing loudly along and other throwing small pieces of food or coins at the door to the entry hall, a superstition to prevent hunger or poverty in the coming months. There was another tradition Ana had wanted to fulfill, one that caught Arthur off guard. She turned to him, standing as tall as she could and kissed him on his cheek.

It lingered on him on the way home. He didn’t understand the messages she was sending him. One moment she was trying to find him a bride… The next she was pressed against him and she had her lips on his face. He was considerably less drunk than Ana was, who spend the time gushing about their shared memories, but he was enough for the contradictions to annoy him.

Ana felt his mood shift. His energy was always so strong when his mood changed, comparable to the air when a sudden storm rolled in. Another thing her son had in common with him. It sucked the mirth inside her, replacing it with cold and anxiety. She waited until they were inside where it was warm to confront him about it.

“What’s bothering you now, Arthur?”

“It’s just…” Arthur grunted, pausing and slamming his fist on the capped post at the bottom of the bannister, “What you want from me, Ana?”

She blinked, his image swayed in her foggy vision, “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Bullshit!” He barked, “You get all nice and cozy to me, then you act like you don’t want me!”

Knowing him, how easily he felt rejected, made what he said painfully sear through her. Her instincts to hide weakness made her straighten, to fight the regretful tears starting to string her eyes, “It’s… It’s not that I don’t want you.”

That only further agitated him, “THEN WHAT THE HELL IS IT?!”

“BECAUSE I WILL NEVER BE MARY!” Ana shouted back. She covered her face. The dam had burst and she couldn’t allow him to see it. She softened her voice, “I accepted, ten years ago, that you would never love me the same level as I loved you.”

She started to laugh at how ludicrous she sounded, “That’s it! The truest form of love I can show you is a path where you can actually enjoy life. It doesn’t matter if it involves me. I’ve had a good life, I want the same thing for you.”

No matter what she said the result was still the same. While Arthur’s anger was gone, the self loathing that haunted him filled every fiber of him. He just stared at her, remorse etching the lines in his face deeper. He reached out to her, “Anie…”

“No. I just can’t…” She stumbled passed him up the stairs.

He heard the door slam. He just stood there. He’d rather she had just called him names, confirmed what he already knew about himself. What did happen made him feel worse. Something clicked as his silent chastisement paralyzed him. He didn’t know what it was, but it was enough for him to follow. Ana was probably undressed by now, in her nightwear. He just hoped he didn’t totally miss the chance to make something right. He hesitated at her door. From the other side were her muffled sobs.

He didn’t knock. Ana didn’t react to him entering and softly closing the door behind him. He sat next to her on the bed, only able to muster a weak “Ana…”.

“Will you at least try?” She said weakly, staring at him with red and watery eyes, “For me? For our child?”

Arthur rested his palms of Ana’s cheeks, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears that stained her face, “Yeah. I can try.”

He pulled down the blankets of her bed. She wearily obeyed, allowing him to help her lay down and tuck her in, “But, for now, you need to rest. You had a lot to drink tonight.”

He lowered the flame in the kerosene lamp on the side table to a dim glow. Once he was satisfied that she would be okay, he got up. Before he could get too far away from her, Ana grabbed his wrist.

“Please don’t leave me…”

Her hold on him was strong, desperate. Ana knew it shouldn’t be. She was the one who left him. She was no more worthy of it than any common whore. In her state, she just couldn’t be alone, away from him.

Arthur couldn’t say no, not with her despondent mood and woeful expression of heartbreak. He nodded. He did, however, instruct her to let him undress. She closed her eyes as he quietly stripped himself of his confining clothing, making sure his union suit didn’t show too much. The innocence of it aside, he did have some apprehensions sharing a bed with her. He hadn’t done anything of the sort in years, to the point he couldn’t really remember exactly when. Still, he crawled in on the empty side next to her. He put his arm around her, where she instinctively rested her head and hand on his chest.

“Since the party didn’t seem to go well,” Ana whispered as sleep came, “Do you want help finding Mary? I’m still willing.”

Arthur pulled her closer, covering her more, “You don’t need to worry about her no more.”

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 posting #rdr #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #rdr2 community #red dead 2 #red dead redemption arthur #red dead redemption community #arthur morgan rdr2

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