#pretty jacket arthur will return

[fluffypotatey]

okay i’ve thought this for months but because my sight isn’t great for small pictures (icons) i always think gaius is your icon until i see your user and remember it’s arthur

what-ever do you mean??? i have always been Gaius! your sight has been correct this whole time :3

[emmcfrxst]

Giving Arthur Morgan the sloppiest soul sucking head of his life because that's what he deserves 👏

It’s no secret that Arthur likes you messy.

There’s nothing quite like seeing you covered in his cum; it satiates some sort of primal urge he’s way too embarrassed to ever admit he possesses — out of shame or for fear of being laughed at, he isn’t quite sure. It’s a delicacy he does not always have the privilege of seeing, what with the constant moving around, the never ending jobs, Dutch’s genius “plans” and the difficulties of having any kind of intimacy in a camp full of people— Arthur does not get as much alone time with you as he wishes he would. It’s on rare days like these; ones where he allows himself to be a little selfish as to take you out on a “job” that requires your specific skillset, that he does get to have you all to himself, soft and pliant and wanting. You’re a sight to behold, on your knees all for him, pretty eyes shining with tears as you take him down your throat until his thighs shake.

“Yeah, jus’ like that. Keep goin’, pretty thing.” his voice is raspy, breath catching on a syllable as you swallow around him eagerly, spurred on by his praise. Arthur has to look up at the sky for a moment as to not let himself come so soon, his gut tightening dangerously upon hearing you gag on his cock. Clenching his hands into fists, he chances a look down at you, brows furrowing in pleasure when your eyes meet, a needy moan leaving his parted lips when he notices you rocking your hips against one of your hands, thighs spread obscenely wide in the soft grass below you. He cannot seem to be able to stop himself from bucking forward into your mouth at the sight, making you gag again, a breathless apology on his lips. The action only seems to encourage you further somehow, free hand coming up to fondle his balls, rolling them between your slick fingers. Saliva runs down your chin, trickling all the way down between your breasts in an outrageously filthy spectacle; one that Arthur would pay good money to see more often. His thoughts are cut short by a particularly hard suck to his tip, your lips quickly being replaced by an expert swirl of your tongue, making him curse out loud and grip the bark of the tree he is leaning against. His knees buckle and for a moment he fears he’s going to fall to the ground, feeling your hands move quickly to grab onto his thighs to steady him. The aching desire that takes over his body upon feeling just how thoroughly soaked the hand that was between your thighs has become is almost mind-numbing and he finally lets himself unravel, orgasm carried along to the sloppy sounds of your mouth on him, hearing you moan before you swallow around him one last time, cum leaking from the corners of your lips. Breathing heavily, Arthur helps your gasping form up onto your feet, tucking himself away and putting his gun belt back into place before taking his jacket off and throwing it to the ground, hands moving to grip your hips to tip you backwards onto the grass.

“What are you doing?” you giggle, chest heaving in both exertion and arousal, allowing your lover to lay you down as he pleases, goosebumps spreading over your skin when he moves down your body, calloused hands groping at you.

“Returning the favor.” he replies, winking at you before disappearing between your thighs.

[shewrites444]

arranged - part 2 [thomas shelby x reader smut]

[ this is part 2 of my first thomas shelby fic, arranged, which you can read through the link. i will say this storyline is a bit heavier in terms of tommy’s tv character, given he can be, well, toxic. also, this fic is like extremely detailed, just as a fair warning. ]

word count - 3.4k

[ summary - months after their wedding night, the reader and tommy experience their first real issue at arthur’s birthday dinner. there’s much more to their relationship than they realize, as they physically prove to each other how deep their affections go. ]

[ warnings - jealousy, accusations of cheating, dirty talk, slight bondage, unprotected & rough sex ]

-

shockingly, the morning after tommy and i first slept together, we grew much closer to each other, so much so that i had a trusted role through the peaky blinders when it came to their finances and arrangement of meetings. tommy was reluctant at first, but given that i was the reason they were five times wealthier and also had much more property now, my points were well made to him and his family.

i wouldn’t say i was bossy, but i knew what i wanted, and despite tommy’s attitude in front of his family, he sure seemed to like it when we were alone. i thoroughly believed i knew him pretty well, even if we had only been married for four months now.

i knew i didn’t want to be the type of woman who stayed back home and let their husband do all the work, but there were days where i was exhausted, wether it was from staying up late working on the money distribution, or making sure tommy’s son was asleep before the sun was up. overall, i wanted to work, and i wanted to have a place in not necessarily the peaky blinders, but his family, because they were now mine too, and truthfully, the only people i had now that my father was gone.

something polly and i agreed to work on together was arthur’s birthday dinner. i wasn’t very close to arthur, which was perfectly fine, but i wanted tommy’s family to know i cared. polly needed the help anyway, given how busy the boys had been lately, so i kept my promise to help her set up, plan the guest list, and get the gifts for arthur. from what tommy told me, he seemed to be having a rough time lately, but a party would probably cheer him up and help him get out of such a negative headspace, even if it was only for a few hours.

after we finished setting out the utensils, i rushed upstairs to get myself ready before tommy came home. part of me was hoping tonight wasn’t all about business for tommy, because while we had grown much more fond of each other lately, his mind was still so enclosed in his work. i knew we weren’t in love, but we had something there - more than just physically.

as i was slipping on my evening gown, i hear the bedroom door creak open, turning around to see tommy, who looked up to me with a drunken smile. my eyes widen a bit, more confused than shocked to see him in such a drunken state so early, as i walk towards him, helping him slip off his jacket onto the hanger next to the door.

“arthur insisted we start the party early. i promise this wasn’t intentional, [y/n]. i don’t want to be in too much trouble so soon with you.” tommy said through a suggestive smile, taking my face in one hand before pulling me into a kiss, the taste and smell of whiskey heavy against his lips.

i return his kiss, but lightly push him off of me, walking back to the dresser to grab my necklace from the jewelry box. tommy walks over and takes it from my hands, brushing my hair off my neck and clasping the metal for me. i smile softly, looking to him through the mirror and shaking my head in disbelief, amazed that he even agreed to get drunk so early in the evening.

“i may have to monitor you tonight, tommy. how many drinks have you had?” i question as i turn around, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him into another kiss.

i feel his hands slide down my back and to my ass, attempting to lift me onto the dresser before i stop him once again. i shake my head, pecking his lips again before pulling away. “that gives me a pretty clear answer.” i tease, leaning down to slip on my heels. “i didn’t think i’d have to be babysitter tonight, especially for my husband, the most serious man i know.”

“oh, [y/n], you and i both know i can loosen up when i choose to.” he took my hand and walked towards the door, opening it and gesturing for me to walk through first. he snaked his arm around my back, holding me tightly, and protectively, as we walked down the wooden stairs. “who knows, maybe i’ll loosen this tonight too.” he pats my ass, tugging at the fabric of my silk dress, which only made me blush at his suggestion. i roll my eyes and link our arms together, opening the front door to begin our short walk to the brewery.

a fairly large crowd of tommy’s family and friends were already there, surrounding the bar and drinking more alcohol than what i’d ever seen in my life. there was a side of tommy’s family i wasn’t fully exposed to yet, and i knew i’d receive quite the introduction to it tonight.

“there’s some people i’d like you to meet tonight. is that alright?” he asks in a more serious tone, despite his drunken appearance. even with alcohol in his system, tommy still knew how to conduct business, and the room around him.

i nod at his question, to where he then takes me to the bar and gestures me towards several people, business colleagues and family friends, who were all very kind to me, and addressed me never by my first name, only “mrs. shelby”.

i felt someone bump into me, averting my eyes from the woman i was speaking to and to none other than arthur, who was so drunk that i was almost surprised polly wasn’t having a nervous breakdown at the sight of the much more than tipsy birthday boy. i give him a soft smile and shake my head, taking his arm and helping guide him to one of the round tables.

“i think you need water, arthur. let me go get you one.” i say, standing up and staring to walk towards the bar again, before his hand unexpectedly grabs me by the waist, forcing me down onto his lap. my cheeks go red in the matter of a millisecond, immediate discomfort and anxiety rising to the surface.

“stop it, arthur, please. just let me go get you something to drink.”

arthur chuckles, keeping his grip so firm on my waist that i genuinely couldn’t get up without causing a scene. “[y/n], i always thought you were too good for tommy, from the day i met you. change it up a bit, eh? he wouldn’t mind it for a night.”

i scoff, glancing down to the drunk arthur before aggressively pushing myself off of him, taking the drink he was holding in one hand away and setting it on the table across from him.

“fuck off, arthur. you’re his brother. i know it’s your birthday, but i am the last thing you’d be getting as a gift tonight.” i run my hands down my dress to brush off the wrinkles his grip created. “sober up.”

i turn around and walk away with a quickening pace, opening the brewery door and heading back to the house. a part of me was hoping tommy didn’t see that because i knew he’d make a scene, and tonight wasn’t the night to cause any trouble.

i walked into the kitchen and grabbed a cigarette, lighting it the second i sat down at the dining room table, sighing as i blew out the smoke and rested back into the chair. it wouldn’t leave my head, the whole situation. i knew i had to tell tommy because he’d be upset if he found it out from anyone but me, and i knew this was going to be some sort of trust test - if arthur was lying, or if i was. fuck. either way, i had to go back, or they’d be confused as to where i was, and the last thing i wanted tonight was for the attention to be on me.

walking back to the brewery with a cigarette in hand, i opened the door and returned to the reeking smell of alcohol. i wince as it hits my nostrils, forcing myself into the room that now felt so suffocating.

i feel a light tap on my shoulder and glance down to see polly, a frown on her face as she guides me to the corner of the room.

“you know have to tell me what happened, dear. i’ve got arthur in the other room, far away from tommy. i don’t think he’s aware of the whole situation, but arthur didn’t seem to help explain your side.”

i sigh, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall. “of course he didn’t. he tried being suggestive with me and pulled me onto him, made it look like something it definitely was not. i went back to the house to cool off. i don’t want tommy to think it was my doing. i would ne-”

“i know you wouldn’t.” polly gave me a small smile of reassurance. she look my hand and walked me towards the private room in the back, one part of the brewery that was set up more like a meeting room. “tommy’s in there, i think it’s best you go to talk to him. i know you’re being truthful, and i do think he believes you, dear, but he needs to hear it from you. not me.”

i nod, biting at my bottom lip as a pit began to form in my stomach, knowing that this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation. while i do think tommy believed me, or i at least hoped so, his image and my own was at stake. people who didn’t know me so well that saw arthur and i’s interaction may take me to be a cheater, and tommy to be carefree towards our marriage, even with his own brother coming into it. the entire situation wasn’t good for anyone.

i creak the wooden door open, meeting tommy’s eyes immediately upon entering the room. i shut it behind me and walk over, standing before the long table he was sitting at, silently. i sigh.

“you know i would never hurt you, tommy. he grabbed me, telling me he wanted me and that i was too good for you. you know i pushed myself off. i wouldn’t do that, ever.” i justify, crossing my arms and looking down at him as he stares at the table. “you, and your entire family, mean a lot to me. i would never want to put this arrangement, or us, in jeopardy.”

tommy sat up, walking towards me and reaching over to hug me softly, where i return his gesture by wrapping my arms around him tightly. i sigh, leaning my head onto his shoulder with relief. after a few seconds, he pulled away, grabbing me by the waist and helping me to sit on the table.

“you know how this looks for me, you, and my family though, right?” tommy begins, sliding up my dress, just enough for it to rest on my lower stomach. “i know you, [y/n], and i trust you, but members of the peaky blinders and others we work with don’t yet. they see you as more a placeholder for the void i haven’t been able to fill in years. do you understand that?”

i frown, looking up to tommy and reaching down to pull my dress back down. “tommy, that’s really not a nice thing to say to me. i don’t think anyone sees-”

“well, they fucking do.” he interrupts, grabbing my hands and setting them on the table.

he loosens his tie and pushes me down on my back, sliding the fabric off and onto my wrists, hastily tying them together above my head before pulling me down, my legs now fully hanging off the table, my heels falling down and onto the floor due to the angle i was laying at.

“you and i both know i don’t care much for what others think, but when it comes to this, to you, i care. you and i aren’t ever going to be perfect, but i think we have something, and i know you agree.” he says, unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants down, the sound of the metal clashing against the wooden floor. “we have more than just this,” he says, gesturing to our bodies, “but right now, i’m more focused on those people out there knowing at least apart of us is together.”

i gulp, a rapid heat forming in my core as i watch him undress himself into nothing but his half buttoned dress shirt. he pumps himself in one hand, the other reaching over to rub my clit, causing me to moan loudly upon touch.

he grinned at my response, looking between my legs and watching himself touch me. “you are mine, mrs. shelby. no one else’s. i know you know that, but it seems that i’ll have to prove it to everyone else in the world, too.” he walked closer, grabbing my panties that hung on one leg and slipping the off, before gesturing for me to open my mouth, shoving them inside.

“can you be quiet for just a few minutes, love? i don’t want to fuck you like a whore, but it seems that i have to.” he leaned down to kiss my forehead softly, lips then trailing to my ear. “if you can take it, i’ll let you have your fun with me after, hm? i’ve been so busy lately, we haven’t had much time together. i bet you want my cock inside that pretty mouth of yours, [y/n].”

i nod to my husband, feeling him grab my body and turn me around in response. he helps me to lean against the table, my arms still tied and now laying in front of me as i arch my back, pressing myself against tommy while he aligns himself with my pussy. i feel him slide inside me, moaning through the fabric in my mouth, as tommy does the same, but more freely, of course.

he grabs me by my waist, fucking me like there was no tomorrow for either of us. his hands hold my hips firmly, the sounds of our sweating skin slapping together filling the room, along with the accompaniment of my muffled moans. yet my mouth, being hung open, made my panties to fall out and onto the table, which only caused tommy to slap his hand harshly against my ass, making me yell at his touch.

“you really can’t control yourself, [y/n]? am i going to have to stop?”

“fuck - no, tommy, please don’t stop!” i shout, my hands flat against the table and my face resting on top of them while he rocked my body back and forth. “i-i can put them back, baby, just please don’t stop..”

“this isn’t like you, love, so fucking desperate.. although you always get what you want, so i can’t be surprised. are you getting fucked like you want? you like taking me from the back? it’s not your usual style.” he teases, reaching past me to grab the underwear, tossing them to the floor. “keep talking and they won’t have to go back. i never hear you like this, [y/n]. i like when you beg. i didn’t know you could act like such a slut.”

i shake my head, burying the side of my face into my hands as he only pushes himself deeper, his fast-paced strokes calming down and his rhythm changing into something so much slower, but so much deeper than before. i feel him in my gut, my eyes closing as i savor every thrust he gave me.

“i-i think about it like this, sometimes…” i mutter, leaning my head up and gasping, feeling tommy grab the back of my head with one hand. “you fucking me from behind, so fucking deep, practically torturing me through my orgasm… fuck, tommy, i want it to hurt so much that it feels good.. i want you to make me sore..”

tommy groaned, leaning down to angle himself in a way that he was so deep inside of me that his balls slapped against my clit with each movement. he wiped the sweat off his forehead before moving that hand to my ass, the other holding my waist firmly. “you have a way with words, don’t you, mrs. shelby? i can make it hurt, if that’s what you’d prefer. i can make all those people know how much my wife wants to be treated like a little slut.”

i blush, nodding at his words and resting my chin against the table. “fuck me like you own me, mr. shelby.”

“i think you’re going to have to prove yourself if you want me to do that, love.”

tommy slowly pulls himself out of me, my pussy rapidly pulsating as i adapts to his release, his hands helping assist me into leaning up and onto the floor, where he then laid on his back, erection in the air. i lay on top of him, where he unties the tie and sets it on the ground. he kisses me passionately, taking me by the waist and leaning me up.

“bounce on my cock until you can’t anymore, hm? you wanna hurt, right? this is the best way to do that.” he tilts his head, assisting me into sliding onto his length, causing both of us to heavily moan into the new position, which somehow, brought us both to an even better feeling than before.

“touch yourself for me, love. i wanna see how much you can take.” tommy commands, reaching over to hold both of my breasts, playing with the nipples as i move one hand down to my clit, rubbing the sensitive bud as i grind on top of him, his cock hitting my insides perfectly.

i chew my bottom lip, looking down to tommy as i fuck him, nothing but a plain look that still displayed pleasure on his face, watching me move up and down, my fingers pressing onto my skin while he plays with my tits.

i felt like i was melting, so overstimulated that i wasn’t sure how much longer i could even move. my eyesight was clouded by the sweat on my eyelashes, my entire body drenched in sweat while i fucked my husband through my own touch, my orgasm climbing to the surface and in a matter of seconds, reaching its peak.

“fuck!” i moan, riding it out as i came, my own fluids mixing with tommy’s while he pushed himself up, the two of us thrusting at each other, our bodies clashing through each of our climaxes. i feel tommy fill my insides, my own fluids leaking from between us as he cock blocked anything further.

i pull myself off of him, his orgasm dripping from between my legs as i slowly stand up, holding the table as support, watching tommy walk over to hold me, kissing me gently and leaving love bites across my neck, and chest.

“i’d prefer our motivation to fuck like that not be caused by an outside source the next time, mrs. shelby. if you want to be fucked like a whore, just say it. i think you know i don’t mind.” he grinned, kissing my forehead before walking over to a cart of drinks, grabbing a few towels and sitting me on the table, starting to wipe down my body.

“i don’t think i can be fucked like that for some time, tommy. i don’t think i’d be able to get out of bed in the morning.” i blush, watching him slide the towel down my inner thighs to wipe himself off of me. “we’ve been gone for awhile anyway, don’t you think we should get back to the party?”

“in just a minute, [y/n].” tommy says, setting the towel down before spreading my legs a bit further. he kisses between my thighs, before gently rubbing my clit, causing my back to arch at the touch. “i think my wife needs to cum again, don’t you think?”

i sigh, leaning back against the table and holding the sides of it. “fuck, tommy.” i moan feeling his arms wrap around my thighs, his face now buried between my heated skin. “i think so, too.”

[margowritesthings]

A Job Well Done

pairing: Arthur Morgan x reader (f) word count: 4944 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, oral (f giving), rough oral, a little choking, a touch of voyeurism, explicit language, it's pretty much a blowjob fic authors note: idk what to say... this started as a little drabble because me and my fiancé love having a little smoke together at night and.... well, here we are I guess?? i hope you enjoy you lovely lot, and if you've asked to be tagged and you're not please let me know!! I have a new system for keeping track of my taglist and I may have lost some requests in the transfer

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola@the-marsh-harrier @wildfloweroutlaw @photo1030 @luvliewriting@pine4pple-b0i *if i've missed you please let me know!!!*

You pull Arthur’s jacket tighter around your shoulders, settling into the old wooden chair while it creaks beneath you. Thanks to being in the middle of the Lemoyne swamps, it isn’t too cold despite the moon hanging so high in the sky above you, the jacket is more for comfort. From where you sit, you can see near the whole camp, watching lanterns flicker off incrementally as each member of your makeshift family retires for the night. A few of the boys stay up, drinking by the fire, their voices muffled and distant in the thick air.

It’s been a week to the day since you last saw Arthur, before he left to track a rather sizable bounty down and attempt to cushion out the camp funds, and God do you miss him. The days feel so much longer, nights so lonely you’ve considered saddling up and finding the bastard yourself just to bring him home sooner. Comfort can be found, though, in the ways Arthur’s presence has bled so deeply into your life that his physical being doesn’t even need to be here. 

His smell lingers on the jacket he left (the one he wore every day before he had to leave just so you could wear it when you missed him), that perfect mix of tobacco and whiskey and something so ineffably Arthur that you soak up every time you wrap it around your frame. 

He’s there in the routines you've built your lives around, intertwined as they are, the ones you can’t shake even if he’s not beside you. The cup of coffee in a morning, his so much better tasting than yours but you try anyway. The first morning after he left, you made two, ending up giving the extra to a very grateful Abigail to save face.

There’s a nightly routine, too. The one where you get ready for bed, then climb through the window to meet him on your balcony. He’s always there waiting with a cigarette hanging from his lips, patting his lap ready for you to crawl on. He’ll drag a match across his boot, (or sometimes the bottom of yours, if you’re still wearing them) lighting up the smoke before handing it to you. You’ll pass it between each other, catching up on your days, limbs entangled just how they should be as you watch Shady Belle fall asleep around you. 

Without him, those routines bring you comfort, grasping onto the remnants of your cowboy until his safe return. That’s why you’re sitting in this spot, pulling a cigar out of the little tin stash box Arthur left behind. Normally it’s just a cigarette, you could never survive a cigar a night and have the throat to tell the tale, but there’s something inexplicably Arthur about this brand of smokes, something you’re seeking tonight. 

You pluck a match from the tin, striking it against the table beside you, never having gotten the knack of igniting the thing on your boot as effortlessly as Arthur does, and light the cigar between your lips. The all-familiar woody essence dances across your tongue, your tired muscles relaxing from the first few tokes. 

It’s just you, the moon and the crickets as you sit on the balcony, Arthur’s smoke between your lips. You wonder what he’s doing. He should be sleeping, but knowing him he’s probably up planning, or doing exactly what you are right now. You pray he’s safe, hasn’t been gotten by the law or worse, gotten himself killed. You can’t let yourself even think about that, the very idea bringing a tremble to your limbs. To combat the sudden spike in anxiety, the next time you bring the cigar to your lips you drag in just that bit more smoke, letting it soak down your spine. Not nearly as experienced in smoking as Arthur, you cough a little, but you recover much quicker than you used to. 

Memories of that first time, of Arthur offering you the little brown stick and you nervously nodding, bring a little smile to your face. Oh, how you spluttered, Arthur giving you his drink on instinct, only realising that the whiskey burn would do the opposite of help once it was too late. You’d have been in your right mind to be embarrassed as hell, but by the way he chuckled as he rubbed circles around your back told you that he found it nothing but adorable. 

You sit there for a few minutes, basking in the precious peace so seldom found nowadays and taking a drag every now and then, the smoke riding a sigh from your lips. Your eyes slip closed, trying to shut off as many senses as you can to really connect with that smell and taste, imagining him emerging from your bedroom window to be here with you. 

He’s much less graceful than you are, often catching some part of his person on the windowsill when he climbs out onto the balcony. So many nights spent patching up little holes in his pant legs, right where that out sticking nail used to be in the frame before he ‘bested it in combat’ (i.e. pulled it out with a hunting knife and threw it ceremoniously in the lake). 

Manifestation is a powerful tool, you’ve always believed that, but you still nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a large hand grasp your shoulder just as you imagined, Arthur’s gruff, hushed whisper tickling the words “hey, sweetheart” into the skin of your neck. It takes you a second to catch your breath, heart racing from the shock before everything registers and reality sets in. 

“Arthur?”

He’s here.

“C’mere, darlin’.”

You fly out of your seat, the rickety old thing nearly splintering under the force, launching yourself into his open arms to burrow yourself into him.  Every part of him consumes your senses and you drink it all in like an addict. The smell, the real thing, much more of that Arthur essence than the whiskey or cigars, probably because he forewent breaks in his journey for those little pleasures to get back to you sooner. 

He seems to be taking you in as much as you are him, inhaling long through his nose and sighing it out contentedly, feeling whole again after so long without you in his arms.

“I missed ya’, beautiful.” He says softly into your hair, holding you tight against him, his knuckles brushing up and down the small of your back through layers of clothes you’ve stolen from him. 

“I missed you so much…” You mumble into his shirt, hardly able to breathe through the wall of hard chest muscle you’re pressed against, caring even less. 

It’s only then do you remember the cigar, forgotten and abandoned, smoking away on the table propped up on a jar lid turned makeshift ashtray. Most of the boys don’t bother with one, and neither did Arthur, until a fateful night a few months before you started dating when you first handed him the jar and told him you read something about birds and rabbits eating the butts of cigarettes. He kept the little piece of junk right next to his bedside, waiting for you to find it after that first night together. 

Arthur spots your momentary pull of attention, pulling his chest away to raise a brow down at you with a little chuckle rumbling his chest.

“Having a fancy smoke of a night, are we?” 

A cheeky little smirk- Arthur’s favourite, actually- tugs at the corner of your lips, waiting patiently for him to kiss it away.

“The smell reminds me of you…” you play coy, earring yourself that kiss when Arthur lifts you up to his height, kissing you softly, letting his world and yours fall back into place together. 

“Well I’m here now, angel. Wanna sit? Could do with a nice cigar with my girl to celebrate a job well done.” 

You’re eager to nod, heart fluttering at the prospect of getting to sit with him and hear all about his trip. He untangles from you to sit down first, patting his lap for you to crawl into. You fit perfectly together (you should do, you were made for eachother), head resting on his shoulder, legs splayed over his thighs with your arm draped over his shoulder. The cigar has gone out, so Arthur strikes a match so expertly on his spurs before shaking it out and placing his hand on the small of your back for support. You lean into him, watching him take puffs of the cigar and feeling the tiniest bit of tension leave his joints. He looks so natural with a smoke between his teeth, commanding an air of power with each movement he makes. Smoking doesn’t suit just everyone, you think, but God, does it suit him.

“We’re celebrating? You got the bastard, then?”

“Sure did,” he says, smoke spilling from his lips with each syllable. Arthur looks you over again, drinking in the dearly missed view, before kissing you on the forehead and flipping the cigar between his fingers to offer it up, “Eventually found him up in Fort Brennand, but he weren’t alone. Nearly lost a damn eye, but luckily only Woffard had to be brought in alive, so I dropped the other bastards and ran.”

You hang on his every word, your hero. You know he’s downplaying the fight, the danger of it all, but he does it so that you don’t worry every time he’s gone. It never works, and you always do, but you love him for trying. 

“Oh, Arthur, I’m so glad you’re alright…” You coo, pressing a hand to his cheek, feeling the weeks worth of stubble scratching against your palm. He nuzzles into your touch, not unlike a cat, and your find yourself keeping your hand there to mindlessly play with his hair, tipping his hat off to put on your own head. He chuckles, reaching to adjust it on you.

“Course I am, couldn’t leave you here all alone with this buncha’ fools, could I? Besides, someones gotta bring home the bacon around here, and you know Marston’s too trigger happy to bring a bounty in alive.”

“So you got the full price?” Your eyes gleam, the proudest smile on your features as Arthur nods and shifts both your weights for a moment to pull out a stack of bills and smack them on the table dramatically.

“You’re damn straight I did, baby.”

Of course he did. Arthur never fails, and God knows how much the camp needs this right now, freedoms diminishing by the day as Dutch makes more enemies and plans jobs that just seem to keep going wrong. But you don’t want to think about that right now. Right now, there is only you and Arthur, and the promise of a whole night spent with him uninterrupted. You hand him the cigar back, along with a stolen kiss, and he takes another mesmerising drag. The way he holds it, every so often tipping the ash into the first gift you ever gave him, it does things to you that you just can’t explain. It’s just a cigar, and yet you’re pressing your thighs together tight to futilely subdue the tightness coiling between them. 

“I’m so proud of you… I always am.” Unkempt locks of hair are twisted between your fingers, your face so close to Arthur’s you can pepper his cheek, temple and lips, whenever not occupied, with little kisses, Arthur’s hat sometimes tipping up against his forehead on your head. The two of you are always like this after a few days apart, unable to get enough of each other or keep your hands off one another. You shift your weight to access him better, catching his bottom lip between your teeth to press a long, tender kiss there. He hums under you, hand splaying under your jacket to grasp at your shirt. It’s seconds before you feel it, that hardening that nudges up against your thigh, prodding and reminding you just how much Arthur has missed you.

You pull away from the kiss, just enough to raise a teasing brow at how sensitive your cowboy is to your touch. He shrugs, unashamed, with that cheeky grin and those glistening eyes directed right at you. 

“What? I missed ya…” His words are accompanied with a pinch of your ass, which makes you writhe on top of his stiffness, the friction dragging a low growl from deep within his chest. 

“I can see that, cowboy… I missed you too. I missed you more.” You emphasise, nipping at his lip again and splaying your fingers across his chest. He rises to your touch, and you feel him stiffen more so under you. It takes a second of manoeuvring, but you’re soon straddling him, hovering above him like the angel he sees you to be. From this angle, with the moon behind you, you’re glowing. 

“You absolutely did not, you little siren…” He growls again, pulling at the flesh of your ass so that you’re grinding against him, the friction of denim against denim igniting you both and burning so wonderfully. 

“Oh, yeah? I can prove it.” There’s a little cock of your head, a raise of one teasing brow as you start to slide off him. He looks confused, disappointed, even, until your knees rest on the planks of wood on the balcony floor and he instinctively spreads his legs to give you the space between them. Your fingers splay across his thick thighs, and they tense under your touch, as does Arthur’s jaw. He’s starved after a week without you, clearly trying to reign in a control he’s struggling to possess. There’s no wonder, having his girl knelt before him like this. 

“You wanna take this to the bedroom?” He growls out, abandoning the still smoking cigar in the jar lid. You look up at him, peeking out from under the rim of his hat. 

“No.” You reach for the cigar, taking a few drags yourself before flipping it in your fingers just like he did and placing it between his teeth, “Finish your smoke.”

A distant laugh captures Arthur’s attention for a second, reminding you both just how close you are to the other gang members. You’re somewhat hidden by the railing, but if they looked in your direction, Arthur is fully visible from the chest up. A simple bob of your head- and you’re planning on plenty- would bring you into view. 

The look Arthur gives you when he quickly diverts his attention back from Marston and the others is downright feral, especially when your hands reach for his belt buckle. Nimble fingers make quick word of the obstruction, and you’re soon pulling Arthur’s thick, long length out from his jeans. He groans at your very touch, involuntarily bucking his hips up into your hand. 

You laugh, the sound a tempting little giggle as you tell him “Patience, cowboy…” 

He almost snarls in response, clearly having been goddamn patient enough over the last week where all he could do is fuck himself with your name on his lips and the thought of you knelt just like this between his legs at the forefront of his mind, always. 

Just as you lean in, when your soft lips trace over his rosy, swollen head, he pulls you back by plucking his hat from atop your head and throwing it to the side. He rests the cigar between the fingers of his free hand to free his mouth to speak to you.

“Need to see you while I fuck that pretty little moutha’ yours, angel…”

His words soak through you (and soak you through), and you just can’t wait a second longer, needy to have his cock deep down your throat, desperate for the burning of your lungs and the stinging in your eyes when he loses that control he so often vehemently clings to. 

Unable to wait a second longer, you run your tongue from base to tip, feeling every vein pulsing under your muscle and eliciting a deep groan from Arthur. When you finally take him in your mouth, his hand reaches to cup your cheek, following you down as you take as much of him as you can. 

“Fuck.” He groans, fingers reaching to tangle in your hair, scratching at your scalp. He’s probably louder than he should be, your eyes flickering to the general direction of the others as a warning, but they soon snap back to your cowboy, an intense eye contact burning at your skin as the head of his cock bumps the back of your throat. Arthur never takes his eyes off you, guiding you up and down his length and bringing the smoke to his lips. The tip of the cigar flares a deep, fiery orange, and smoke billows from his mouth with each laboured breath you coax from him. The way he’s sitting, fingers of one hand pulling at your hair, controlling your movements, and the other limply holding the smoke, he exudes a power many seek to master but never quite get. It makes your heart swell and your cunt throb for him, knowing on your knees before him is the only place you ever want to be, knowing only you inhabit it. 

You can taste Arthur, his salty essence leaking from the pure ecstasy you’re providing and spit pools in your throat, mixing with it and dribbling down your chin. Arthur catches it with his thumb, guiding you off his cock to push the digit into your mouth and let you suckle from it. You do, hungrily, adjusting on your knees to better take Arthur deep down your throat and-

“Arthur! That you?” 

Marston. 

For eyes widen at each other, Arthur instinctively pushing you a little lower by your shoulder to keep you out of sight. John hasn’t seen you, and you’d like to keep it that way, being in the incriminating position you are between Arthur’s legs. 

You spot the irritated sigh, the twitch of Arthur’s jaw as he plasters a fake friendliness onto his features and peers over the balcony to see his brother standing on the clearing below. 

“Sure is. Whatchu’ want?”

Straight to the point.

“We didn’t hear you get back. How long’ve you been here?”

All that tension you’ve worked so hard to dissipate comes back to Arthur’s form with a crashing force. You can almost hear his plea for just one second a’ goddamn peace, merely by the way he sighs before answering. 

“Not long, thought I’d try and sneak past you fools and get some shut eye.”

Subtle, cowboy.

Ever oblivious, or simply not caring, John continues, “How’d it go, then? You got the bastard?”

He has you pressed against his thigh to hide you from sight, cock standing to attention right beside your face. It’s too tempting, especially with a none the wiser Marston stood right below. When your tongue darts out, hovering above Arthur’s twitching, aching cock, his eyes flick down to you, warning residing deep in his eyes. You take it as less of a warning, more a challenge.

You wouldn’t.

Oh, but I would.

And you do. You lift up, just enough to fit the head of his throbbing cock past your lips and slide the whole length in. It bumps the back of your throat, but upon hearing Arthur’s strangled, poorly hidden groan, you can’t seem to stop yourself.

“Y-uh… Yeah, I got ‘em…” 

It’s impressive, how he can just about hold a conversation despite his cock being so far down your throat his balls rest on your chin. 

You can’t see John, but you can only imagine how his head must tilt and his brows must pull together at the strange response from Arthur. 

“You alright, brother?”

He won’t be.

You blink up at Arthur, feigning an innocent, near angelic expression as you inhale through your nose and push him even further into you. You hum, low and quiet, letting the vibrations pass through him. Arthur whimpers, instantly knocking any and all sounds you’ve ever heard from top spot and replacing them as your favourite in the whole world. 

“I-I’m fine. Just tired.” He tries to hint again, to no avail. His fingers are digging into your shoulder with a bruising force, that control slipping bit by bit with every passing second, every little movement. Tears prick at your eyes, that burning in your lungs you’ve been reaching for finally igniting. You’re stuffed with him, feeling so full that it’s hard to breathe. When you go to release him, to be able to gasp for precious air, you realise you can’t, Arthur’s huge hand holding you right in place with his palm flush against the back of your neck. Revenge. 

“Where’s the Mrs?”

A raise of a brow. You’re not married, but everything is so naturally right between you and Arthur that the gang just seem to have defaulted to that. It makes you beam, wanting nothing more than to be this man’s wife, the kind of wife that makes him cum down your throat while he has a menial conversation. 

“S-She’s- fuck…” When he grips harder at you, you gag around his length, tears now streaming down your cheeks and mixing with your spittle and the little bits of precum that leak out from Arthur. “She’s in bed. I-I better go check on her, a-actually.” He whimpers again, fingers now gripping into your hair to keep you in place. You’re not sure how much longer you can last like this, struggling to breathe, overflowing and, God, so wet for him. 

John sounds unconvinced. You’d giggle, if you could.

“Alright… Well, g’night, brother.”

Arthur barely manages a grunt, and you can feel his thighs tensing and twitching from the sheer effort of not bucking his hips up into you and giving the pair of you away. He stills, most likely waiting for Marston to fuck off already, before he rips you away from him and pulls you to your feet, gripping your aching jaw with force enough force to keep it open. 

“You goddamn siren.” He isn’t mad. He’s trying to be, but you know Arthur far too well, and he’s burning with a fire far hotter than mere anger. Need. 

The mischievous glint in your eye is all you can offer for response, what with his iron grip on your face, but you do manage to slip your tongue out and lick the pad of his thumb, tasting the mixture of fluids still lingering. 

It’s all getting too much, knowing what you just did and who you did it around, hearing Arthur unable to string a sentence together because of you. You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, so desperate for a release that you’re pathetically writhing in Arthur’s hold. He notices, forced anger on his features replaced with a cockiness that only comes from knowing he’s regaining the power in the situation. 

Your cheeks tingle when he releases you, sitting back in the seat and leaning back, one elbow resting on the arm of the old wooden chair and picking the cigar back up. God, you could ride him in that chair till morning, if you thought the wood wouldn’t splinter under the force. 

“You gonna finish what you started, my little siren?” He asks, taking an especially long toke from the smoke while he waits for you to drop to your knees before him. Your cunt throbs, screaming out for his attention, but it would seem your antics have earned you punishment. 

Your knees hit the wood with a force, though an involuntary whimper escapes you, hips grinding pathetically against nothing. Arthur notices, smirking like a goddamn cheshire cat at his little wanton whore. 

“Patience, angel.” Your own words echo back to you like a slap in the face. You definitely deserve this.

The grip you had on the power in this game you’re playing with Arthur officially disappears when his hand snakes around the back of your neck, grasping at your hair and winding it around his wrist like a leash. You have to tilt your head so the tugging at your scalp is a mere burn rather than a sharp pain, but that’s just where he wants you. 

“Now, little siren, I’m gonna teach ya’ some manners, and you’re gonna finish what you started, alright? And if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll think about getting that sweet little cunt of yours off…”

It’s all it takes, the promise of Arthur’s fingers deep inside you while he sucks on your clit just how you like it, lapping up your juices like a man starved, and the defiance in your eyes dissipates. Arthur bends you to his whim, messy, sloppy putty in his hands as he drags you onto his weeping cock. You’re all but drooling for him, leaking out of the corners of your mouth when he slips into you. Your scalp tingles with the pull, especially when Arthur involuntarily tightens his grip with a hiss of his breath. His tip bumps the back of your throat, but he doesn’t stop even when you’ve fit all of him in that you can.

“Fuck, good girl, just like that baby girl…” he groans, and when you open your eyes to look up to him, he is watching you with a gaze so intense you feel like it could tear you apart. The tension burns between you, coiling so tight the chirp of a nearby cricket could snap it. 

There’s an unspoken question in your eyes when you start to nearly choke on his length of when you’ll be released, but his eyes darken, “Come on, baby, you can take more, can’t you?” 

He seems to register your fear, but it phases him little. It seems more a challenge, really, coaxing him into rocking his hips into you, pushing you even further onto his cock until you feel it start to breach past your throat in a way you didn’t even know possible. You splutter, wriggling and writhing as you try your hardest to breathe through your nose. 

“Shh… good girl,” he coos, a ravenous look taking over your usually so lovable cowboy. You’ve pushed him, and God do you live for it. “Not much further… wanna see you take all of my cock, alright? You gonna do that for me, angel?” 

You can’t nod, but it isn’t much of a question, not much choice available with your limited movements and the way Arthur has completely commandeered your body. You’re irrevocably his, body and soul. 

It doesn’t feel possible to fit more of him in, your throat burning for relief that won’t come until Arthur is satisfied, but when he bucks his hips into you, you feel his base press against your nose. He groans hard, the noise initially from the sensation of having your throat wrapped around his cock, but when he sees the sight of you, tear stained and gagging on him, the moan is pulled out into a noise of pure ecstasy. 

“Good girl… my good fuckin’ girl.” 

His thumb rubs lovingly over your wet cheek, a sensation you cling to as the corners of your vision get fuzzy. Fuck, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold out, but you’re so desperate to feel Arthur’s spend trickling down your throat, feel him lose control and moan just for you that you’d honestly be willing to die for it. 

Your expression, complete with lust-fogged, watery eyes, and beautifully flushed skin, teases the last of Arthur’s restraint like a razor thin blade against that final thread. When it finally snaps, you’re allowed one gasp for air, before he’s thrusting back into you hard. You can feel him stiffen, even more so than before, as his hips splutter into your mouth and he starts to tumble over the precipice into that realm of pleasure that only the two of you share. 

“F-Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna-” But he interrupts himself with a visceral, primal groan, the vibration of it shattering the both of you. You take advantage of his practically inebriated state to regain some of your own anatomy, managing to swirl your tongue around his pulsing head inside your mouth. The hot, salty spend blooms across your tongue at that, Arthur guiding you by the cheek to bob up and down on his cock while he paints your throat white. His moans are a melody you’ll never tire of, animalistic and vulnerable all the same. 

It feels like it never stops, Arthur’s spend filling your mouth up and leaking out from the corners of your lip. You can hardly stay still, writhing your needy cunt against your own heel, desperate for a reward you’re earning when you look him in the eye and swallow it all down. Pride blooms across Arthur’s features, saturated with a love that warms you from the inside out. His thumb caresses your face softly, wiping the tear tracks as you finally release his cock from your mouth and he guides you to your feet, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then nose, then lips.

“My good girl…” He coos, barely above a whisper as you breathe each other in, both as breathless as the other. Your throat aches, your jaw burning, but you’d do it a thousand times over to experience what you just did all over again. 

“Now…” He splits the sentence with another kiss, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “Get on inside, sweetheart, I think you’ve earned yourself a reward.”

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I MISSED YOUUU AND YOUR WRITING :(

SO GLAD TO HAVE YOU BACK!!!!

When, or if you’re comfortable with sharing fics from your stash again, could you please revive these? (or perhaps secure them at ao3?):

The one where Matt was growing (but then failing to) some type of melon in cold dreary rainy England sometime in the late 18th / early 19th century

19th century Baby fight: Wee Jack standing up for baby Zee and punching Wee Ludwig , Matt swooping them up later to deescalate

Mid-19th century fight: Teen jack vs Angry livid Arthur because of a broken statue? Then he drops deceased because Zee and Laudanum 

21st century London: Drunk Matt involved in a bar fight cuz he flirted with a girl, and her boyfriend was not having it lol - Jack came to pick him up afterwards

I’m not sure if these were head canons or if you just briefly mentioned these, but they’re in my memory, and I can’t find them anymore from reblogs of your older/deactivated blogs and I still think about them to this day :(((((

Thank you! and Ah! Yes! I can get those written out or back on the blog in some form. Though, unfortunately the first three are what I've kind of started to call 'pseudo-short stories' because they're definitely getting detailed enough to be fics but have not been written out in any true narrative. I've put the ao3 link to the 4th in the comments and below the cut as its a 'real' short story in that its at least a narrative lol.

Whiskey, no so neat.

The woman before Matthew spread herself out on the barstool and looked at him like he was the first apple of autumn in his red toque and brown jacket. He liked it when they did that. There were coloured lights all around the door, a crowd of people, and house music everywhere. A good lager only cost 3 pounds, polished sterling, and he'd had a lot of them. The used glasses on the bar top behind them reflected pretty party lights until they looked like the aurora borealis in his smudged-up vision.

One-night stands made Matthew feel like something had just been invented, something brand new and worth a look at across the bar—valuable, even if only as an ephemeral novelty. Even if it was only because he was pretty.

She swung her arms around him and wound a loose bit of his hair around her fingers. Matthew kissed her and slid himself between her short skirt and black tights and the bar, kissing her again until he was panting and his heart was throbbing to the music at all the pulse points. He looked up at them in the mirror behind the bar, him and the woman. A man stood behind him, glaring murderously from under a ball cap.

"Problem?" Matt asked, looking over his shoulder, arms still slung around the woman's shoulders. He was drunk. He was far too fucking drunk.

"That's my girl."

Matt looked back at the woman.

She shrugged. "An ex,"

"You heard her," Matt laughed. That would have been the end of it at home.

"Get off her!"

"No, thank you," Matthew said, and the woman nudged him closer. They ignored the man. He swung himself around and hitched her up. It was the smoothest floor he'd ever been on, or he was wasted, and he slipped, had to keep adjusting and pushing forward to keep his arms around her and his mouth on her neck. Her moans drew up, and he sighed into her jaw. It's another twenty minutes, maybe twenty-five. They get more drinks. Matt drinks whiskey neat. His fourteenth glass or so. Time doesn't mean much. It clumps up like chunks of ice, making a whole solid in a glass. He's about to ask if she wants to return to her place or his when he's clocked in the face. He's still thinking about how he hopes it's her place because his place is his father's 19th-century sofa and a few quilts half the city over when he pushes her out of the way, hopefully to safety. He cracks an elbow into the glaring bastard's jaw, the way that makes even Alfred fucking hurt and is about to drag the asshole who hit him outside and high stick a few ribs until they're good and dented when Jack's in front of him. He'd forgotten this was a family outing.

"All right, mate, that's enough," He said, gripping Matt's shoulders and steering him towards the door.

The cold night air hit their faces, and they shivered. Matt's baby brother had been in his sunshine-drenched desert continent home until a week ago, and he felt terrible. He curled an elbow around Jack's neck, suddenly wobbly.

"I wasn't finished!" He hiccoughed. "And you should have worn a jacket,"

"Yeah, nah, you're done," Jack said, sounding beyond annoyed.

"I told you to wear a jacket, bud," Matt proclaimed, not responding to Jack but, like all of London, needing to hear him if his brother didn't.

"You're munted," Jack said, grinning. He tossed Matt's arm off and dragged the other over his shoulders like he didn't trust Matthew to stand up. "Just have fucken look at you,"

"But I'm right," Matt said, swerving and thrusting one hand out before him. He forgot to reach a finger out to make the point, lecture, and be the elder sibling. Shit. He hiccoughed.

"Let's find another pub," Matt said, turning around twice before he realized Jack was still to his left.

"You'll find someone to get in trouble over, you goddamn root rat," Jack said, tugging him down the sidewalk.

"Promise I won't,"

"Mate you just arc'd up at some random bloke," Jack said.

"Fucker hit me first!"

"Yeah, I'm sure Dad will love that explanation for why you almost took someone's head off over someone you've never met," Jack said, hailing a cab.

"But she was hot,"

Jack scowled at him.

"D'you even like girls?" Matt asked. He couldn't remember. "Tits are great,"

"Matt, how much did you drink?"

He blinked.

"Heh, too much." Curiosity crept up on him all of a sudden. "Do marsupials not have tits? Is that why you don't like tits?"

"Jesus Christ, mate," Jack was glowing in a street lamp halo of piss-coloured light.

"Come on, if we're out too late you'll still be hurling for that Honore Balzac lecture you wanted to see,"

"I wanted to honour my ballsack on that girl," Matt returned, giggling. Like a child. Like a girl. Except Zee never giggled. She was loud. She laughed as loud as she wanted. Good for her. Matt thought and wondered why his brain wasn't working anymore.

"The writer,"

He blinked. "Oh yeah, I knoooooow," He hadn't, but Matt pulled out the word and was very glad his baby brother held him fast by the waist and shoulder. Baby brother. Bouncy baby Jack hopped up the curb. He was tall. Jesus Christ, he was so tall. Matt grinned down at him as Jack tugged him along.

"I'm so proud of you,"

"How is it you are exactly the same drunk as you are sober?" Jack said, adjusting Matt's arm over his neck, but Matt could hear how pleased he sounded.

"What'stha mean?" Matt slurred.

"Means you're fucken gone, mate, doesn't it? Jesus but it does,"

"You sound," Matt hiccoughed and tried again. The last five shots were kicking in hard, apparently. "You sound Irish,"

"I am Irish you knob, c'mon Matt, make your bloody legs work would ya?"

He must have blacked out a little after that because they stepped off the curb and got into a car. But when the hell had Jack hailed a cab? No, not a cab. Dad's car. Hadn't that been left at the house? Shit.

"If I hurl—

"Do it out the window and I'll hose it off in the morning," A familiar voice said. Father. Dad.

"You called Dad?" Matt asked. His father raised a brow. "Shit! Shit! I didn't kill anyone!"

His father cocked an eyebrow in the rearview mirror. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, when did Matthew find himself in the car? He was stashed in the back on his side, unbuckled. The car was moving.

"You picked us up?" he said, astonished. The soft seat felt absolutely delicious, and he propped his cheek on it, but his stomach was sour—with anxiety, not his bar tab.

"I called him," Jack supplied.

"Why?" Matt said.

"Because you got wasted, horked on the curb and I didn't feel like hauling you all the way home,"

"You didn't have to call Dad!" The world tilted. His guts lurched. He might have been sick all over the car, but then he sat up, and gravity was happier with him. Or was he happier with gravity? His head spun. Had he been this drunk in the bar? He clawed his way towards the other side of the car and leaned between the front seats, holding the center console. "I'm really sorry,"

"It's fine," his father said. At the next stop sign, his eyes flicked up in the mirror, and Matt thought he meant it but still felt terrible.

"I was irresponsible," He said quietly. "Sorry,"

"Really, it's fine,"

"Sorry,"

"Sit back down,"

"Dad,"

"Sit your sorry arse down and buckle up or we will be having words about it!" Arthur snapped. "I mean honestly, Matthew Williams! How irresponsible can you be?"

"Yes, sir," He hated when Arthur whipped out his name like that. Jack and Zee have long since chosen their own, but they'd been given one at least. It was a firm, concrete reminder whenever Arthur said his name in that tone. You're like this because you're not mine. Not really. Secondhand son. Oxfam offspring.

He was beyond drunk if he was thinking like that. He fastened the buckle and remained silent. Jack tried a couple of times to start a conversation, but it got nowhere. Eventually, they sat in sullen silence.

Matthew was quiet but wanted to cry a bit when Arthur glowered in the mirror at him. He averted his gaze and stared at his boots, ashamed of himself for indulging in the drink or the girl. When they got to the house, Jack heaved him up, dragging him out of the car, arm over his shoulder, even when he got his sea legs. This is why he never drank as much as he could actually tolerate. He looked everywhere but at Dad, humiliated enough to stare at his feet. Or he was just so drunk he had to watch his feet move. He'd fall flat on his face even with Jack's balancing

He must blackout again because the next he knew, he was awake in a dark room, convinced he was falling, half-folded onto a chair.

"You with me, mate?" Jack was holding a basin, damp inside. He must have just rinsed it out because his mouth tasted like puke.

"Yeah," Matt said. "I threw up?"

"Yup," Jack said and gave him a pat.

"I suck,"

Jack smiled sympathetically. "Just a bit. You think you're done puking?"

"Nothing left,"

Jack guided him through their father's dark house, somehow steering them both through without breaking anything or falling over. He shoved Matt into the shower, and Matt clumsily washed his hair, hosed off sweat and puke, brushed his teeth, and somehow found himself competently toweling himself off. Jack had found their father's stash of clothes in all their sizes and threw them at him.

"Here, joggers and a jumper for your gangly arse," Jack slapped him gently on the back and Matt snorted.

"Jumper," Matt rolled the word around his mouth. "You're the kangaroo,"

"Jesus Christ you're still hammered. It's like dragging dad off the docks." Jack shook his head, and they somehow managed not to die crossing the hall to the spare bedroom. As soon as he crossed the threshold, Matt's face-planted into the bed and thought the flannel pillowcase was a thousand times better than any tits he would have otherwise fallen face into that night. Jack had said he was like Dad out of annoyance but Matt had the small, and embarassing, flicker of joy. He wanted to blurt out thanks but instead he just laid there in a better mood than he'd been since the car.

"Sit up," Jack kicked him gently on the leg, and Matt rolled over, dizzy.

"Don't want to,"

"Yeah, well, you should have thought about that before you got this drunk," Jack gave him another nudge, and Matt did as he was told. Jack held out a glass of water and a handful of tablets. "Take those, and drink all of that,"

Matt knocked the pills back and drank it all. Jack took the glass from him and filled it again, putting it on the bedside table.

"You're not going to go and choke to death in your sleep, right?" Jack asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked funny, and Matt felt terrible. His spiky hair was wilted, and Matt thought he should put him in the sun. But his head hurt, and light would make it hurt more, so he settled for flopping over and hugging his baby brother.

"I've literally never done that,"

Jack squeezed his shoulder and let go. "Dad has," Jack said, starfishing on the bed and shoving Matt onto the far edge.

"I'm not Dad," Matt said, sipping more at the water.

"You mind if I stay in here and make sure you don't?" Jack said. "You hammered is weird,"

"Sorry,"

"You're allowed," Jack said. "It's just weird,"

"Tell that to Dad, he hates me,"

"He wasn't happy, that's for bloody sure," Jack said. "But he wouldn't pop down to the shops at two in the morning to round up the full fry up if he hated you,"

Matt gagged.

"Sorry," Jack pat him on the shoulder.

"Saint Bibiana have mercy upon my soul," Matt groaned.

Jack snorted and gently shoved him onto his side. "Come on, get some sleep, you'll feel less like shit in the morning."

"You and I both know that's bullshit," Matt said, eyes shut against the spinning. "I deserve it,"

"You do not," Jack looked ready to smack him upside the head. "Don't be stupid. You're fine,"

"I'm sorry for being a prick,"

"You had fun for once, it wasn't your fault that whacker wanted a fight,"

"Still, I'm sorry,"

"Stop apologizing," Jack said again. "I puked on you plenty when I was little,"

Matt chuckled. "God, that's true. You vomited all the way to England like four times,"

"You're the one who never believed me when I said I wasn't done being sick!" Jack shot back, smiling.

"You'd been puking for ten hours straight that time, I didn't know how there could even be anything left in you," Matt's guts flipped. "Hgnn, no more puke talk,"

"All right, all right, mate, sleep time," Jack held the covers up, and Matt rolled under, burrowing under the duvet.

"Al right, all right. When did you get a brain cell?"

"Kiwi lets me have custody of it when she's off being the family shame," He snorted and flopped onto the mattress next to Matt. "Promise you won't puke on me, asshole,"

"Jackass,"

"Please, Jackass is my father. Call me Jack,"

Matt was snorting as he fell asleep.

[cbk1000]

Anyway, remember that one too-long fic I wrote about dumb gay people pissing about in Yorkshire with some cows? Here's another preview for the sequel to it:

The rain had lived up (or rather down) that month to all those expectations which Yorkshiremen have of May, when that blessed country might be either the very embodiment of God’s chosen, or abandoned; and on a day when it was coming down like stair rods, in the local parlance, and like horse piss, in Merlin’s, and a sheep had decided to get into difficulties (not, of course, in barn or shed, but in a sopping field in which he was obliged to kneel with the struggling animal whose progeny were making as much of a cock-up of the birth as the rain was making of his jeans), he decided to broach Arthur’s mood, on the logic that they might as well get all of the nastiness over at once. The three were in accord: weather, birth, temperament, and though he could do nothing for the first, he was sorting out the second, and might as well have a go at the last.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, fishing out a leg from that Shiva-limbed confusion.

“What?” Arthur asked. He was huddled into his jacket, looking exactly as pleasant as the sky.

“You’ve been in A Mood ever since we got back from the wedding, so either let me beat up your dad, or tell me what’s bothering you.”

“So, my options are: let you physically assault a man twice your age, or tell you something that’s frankly none of your business.”

“Oh, please, like Uther’s some frail old man. Pretty sure he could take a pounding as well as his son.”

“Never, ever, ever say anything like that to me again.”

“Different kinds of poundings, obviously. I mean, so far as I know. I was just trying to say the sturdiness is genetic, I’m sure, and there’s no harm in me punching him in the face.”

“Right,” Arthur said, and rolled his eyes, and knelt down to dry each lamb Merlin passed off after he had clipped the umbilical cord and sterilised the naval area. The farmer, seeing all was well in hand, had gone in for tea, and likely was tarrying there to let the youths ride out that grim business in their sturdy young bodies, which, Merlin found, did not feel nearly so young laid out in the mud, with the wind getting in under their collar. He was shivering in his wet knit cap and torn coat, which Arthur had endured quite uncharacteristically admirably, till finally, when Merlin had pulled out the last lamb, and with chattering teeth was completing the business of severing and sterilising the final cord, he said, “For God’s sake” and tossed one of the towels which had been brought out for the lambs over him, and briskly rubbed down his shoulders.

The farmer returned with tea, and the news that one of the ewes who had given birth the day before had completely prolapsed her uterus.

“Well, this one’s at least sorted,” Merlin said tiredly. “Just needed an epidural and a bit of musical legs. Let’s have a look at the other.”

The other was a sweet little lady called Jenni, who was standing with the telltale red mass the size of a tennis ball protruding from her, and bleating uncertainly. They were in a shed at least this time, so he could make a thorough examination in comparable comfort, during which he remarked with relief there were no tears, but merely what looked to him a relatively straightforward prolapse, which could be put back with a bit of patience. He injected a little anaesthetic, then washed the prolapse in warm water which the farmer had brought, and into which he had generously mixed some disinfectant. Then the bladder was emptied, which Merlin explained to Arthur could generally be achieved by simply elevating the prolapsed tissue till the urethra was straightened, and which he saw now to his pleasure was all, indeed, this one would require, instead of puncturing the vaginal wall with a needle, which occasionally such cases necessitated. Next he lubricated the vagina generously, carefully reinserted it, and then stood, with his hand casually in that intimate position, waiting till it was warm to the touch again. The farmer had gone off once more to see to other business, now men of experience were about this one, and so he decided he might as well, whilst dawdling about with the vagina, see why Arthur had been doing his own impression of some wounded genitalia.

“So,” he said, waiting with his hand up the ewe for it to be ready for suturing, “you going to tell me why you’ve been grumpy even for you?”

“I haven’t been.”

“Yes you have. Morgana and I have been complaining about it behind your back all week.”

“It hasn’t been behind my back, you’ve said, to my face, multiple times, ‘Why are you such a sour cunt?’ And that was polite, compared to what Morgana said.”

“Well, why have you? Look, if you’re worried I’ll get into it with your dad after hearing in-depth what an arse he is, don’t worry, I’ll only ring my aunty who’s a witch and ask her to curse him.”

“She’s not a witch.”

“You Englishmen are always shitting on our proud heritage.”

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 35

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/151573546

When Savigne eventually managed to get dressed and head to the horses, Frost was gone. She huddled into her jacket and turned Cricket around to ride out, eyes scaling the surroundings to see a trace of him, despite knowing he would only return when he wanted to and he wasn't going to hang around and sulk like a child this close to camp. 

Forget about that, she told herself, there's a much bigger disaster you're hurtling towards right now. 

Chef Ecco, dead. Judging by the buckets of blood on his clothes, absolutely and definitely dead. How? Where? She half expected to ride into work with the Law swarming the grounds because he was found in some gruesome way in his mansion, stabbed in his bed. Or pinned against a streetlight on Broadway. Or worse - at Antoine's. Stuffed into the freezer. Cut into pieces, limbs scattered around the kitchen counters.  

So when she stabled her horse and walked into Antoine's and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, it threw her off a little. The kitchen was gearing up for the day like any other day, the staff slowly trickling in, changing clothes, preparing their counters. No bloody tracks on the sparkling corridors that led from here back to Shady Belle. No Arthur Morgan bounty poster angrily impaled on a wall to make a point. 

At first, she was relieved. Then, knowing what she knew, the prospect of waiting for the shoe to drop made her more nervous. She tried to focus on her work but her mind was like a monkey, scrambling off to increasingly wild directions, refusing to focus, refusing to sit still. She had always been good at letting work take over and turning everything else off when she was here, but today, it seemed impossible. Every time the doors swung in as someone entered and left the kitchen, her eyes flicked up and her heart jolted. Every time someone yelled an order or dropped a utensil, she had to make an effort not to jump. 

Around noon, just when she was calming down and starting to think that she was going to make it to the end of the day without an incident, the Law finally came in, but it was pretty underwhelming. A bunch of men in suits strolled into the kitchen as if they just wanted to check it off their list, looked around, had jovial conversations with the sous chef and some of the staff. They walked around pretending to take notes but looked like they were here to satisfy their own curiosity about what the famous Antoine's kitchen looked like, even bantered with some of the cooks and greedily munched on the samples they were offered. 

She wiped her sweaty palms on her apron and tried to focus on her work. Then she thought that it would be very suspicious if she didn't look curious at the very least, so she started to mimic others.

Edward glided to her station under the pretense of borrowing some parsley and whispered "You know what's going on?" She whispered back that she didn't. Ironically, Edward would be smugly pleased if he had any inkling of Ecco's demise because he despised Ecco. Nothing personal really, he despised Ecco because Edward simply despised anyone who held authority over him and dared to exercise said authority on him. His father was a wealthy surgeon and a well known patron of Saint Denis and he was here dabbling in cooking only to spite his father who wanted his son to continue the family tradition of becoming a surgeon. If his father had asked him not to stick his hand into a burning stove, Savigne suspected that Edward would immediately and gladly do so and probably not even regret it. Ecco had been forced to thread the needle with this one because advancing him to the dinner shift would have offended his father but so would have firing him. So Edward was stuck here in the early shift with the rest of them, secretly fuming at the slight but also stubbornly refusing to quit and move on to something else. They exchanged whispers until one of the lawmen, a man with a perfectly round gut that looked like he had stuffed a soccer ball under his clothes and a meticulously twirled mustache cleared his throat and they all stilled to listen. 

"Ladies and gentlemen. As you must have guessed, we're the Law. I’m Mr. Turner my colleague is Mr. Greenbough. We’re here because Chef Ecco's servants have filed a missing person report."

A murmur sighed across the room. Savigne leaned back on the counter and crossed her arms, trying to go for the 'mildly intrigued' look and hoping she was doing a halfway good job of it. Sweat trickled like ice water down her back.

"Apparently he didn't come home last night."

There was no dramatic reaction to this whatsoever.

“At this point, he could be anywhere and we're just treating it as such. He could have met...a friend…last night." The insinuation that this might be a lady friend somehow came through and there was a polite flutter of cleared throats. "Could have met several acquaintances. Maybe he drank a little too much, lost track of time and decided to stay at a nearby hotel instead of going home. Maybe he was intoxicated, boarded a train and passed out only to find himself somewhere else this morning..." 

None of these sounded like the Ecco she knew but going by the way Mr. Turner laid these options out, these were the usual reasons upper strata people went missing. After all, Ecco was just a name to them and without digging deeper, they couldn’t possibly know the man was the definition of meticulous routine.

"Of course something much more serious could have happened, too. But there's no reason to jump the gun just yet.” Mister twirly mustache exchanged some whispers with his companion. "However," he said, a little bit more somber. "We were told that your chef likes to keep a schedule. So it's definitely unusual that he didn't come home yesterday and that's why we're here. We are taking this very seriously," he underlined and rose a little on the balls of his feet. "Like we do all cases in Saint Denis."

"Now..." he said, stepping a little forward, theatrically, "...have any of you seen or heard anything regarding Mr. Ecco after he left here the night before?"

The cooks just looked at each other, confused. 

"This staff is the early shift," the sous chef explained. "They go home early afternoon. I think you should ask the dinner shift."

"Yes well, we knew that of course," the lawman said mildly but blinked as if he hadn’t. "And we will. But we're covering all our bases."

The lawmen swept their eyes around the silent room. Their attitude might look affable, but their eyes were hard and crawled from one face to the other, over hers and then away. Eventually Mr. Turner nodded.

“If any of you have any information about this, hear anything of value or interest, please visit our office. There will be complete anonymity. Thank you.”

And that was that for that day. She knew it wasn’t the end of it by all means, but the hurdle for today was behind her now. She left the restaurant in the afternoon, calmly walked around the corner, then broke into a run and hauled ass to the steakhouse.

“Luther!” she ran up to him, flushed and upset. “Did Arthur come here?”

“Why would he come here?” he said mildly, flipping his steaks.

“Because he found out,” she whimpered.

“Found out what?”

“You know…” she hissed, took a hasty look around and stepped closer. “The thing!” He gave her a ‘use your words’ look and she crept closer still. “The chef!!”

His eyes frosted. “Ain’t I promised not to tell him?” he rumbled.

She shriveled a little under his glare. “Yeah…but…”

“But what?” he said with a sharp tone. “You accusin’ me of somethin', Savigne?” That tone of offense combined with Luther straightening to his full height made her feel abashed. 

“N-no,” she stammered, squirming on her feet. “I just asked.”

“Good,” he said, miffed.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. Then: “But it gets so much worse, Luther!” she whispered, furtively looking around before she hastily added “He…took care of it!!” She nervously bit on a nail and started to tap her foot.

“Also good,” was the gravely answer.

“How can you be so calm? It’s a fucking disaster!” Luther just maddeningly flipped steaks. “He was so mad,” her voice shook, her foot tapping vigorously. “Furious! He was so upset at me…” she trailed.

“Told ya you should ‘ave told’im.”

When this opened the floodgates, as basically any little thing did these days, he softened a bit, sighed and brought a napkin over. Then he pushed the stool her way, so she morosely climbed on it and sniffled until her nerves settled a little.

“Savigne,” he drawled, “Yer man right to be upset with ya.”

“But…”

“Ya don’ trust him.” She opened her mouth to object but he was faster: “Ya don’. Ya treat him like a dumb child. Like he don’t have the smarts to do his job right.”

“His job?”

“Yeah, his job,” he confirmed. “Evadin’ the law.”

“He has a bounty on his head! He’s not some secret assassin who covers his tracks, so the ‘evading’ bit is just luck.”

“Possible he handled this more…discreet, ain’t it?”

“How are you getting that?”

“Cause this involve youse and ‘m thinkin' he gonna be careful so yer name don’ link to it,” he explained as if she was a child. Then added “That what I would do, anyway.”

She thought on this for a while and she couldn't find an argument against it so her nerves wound down a little.

“The Law came in today. Apparently he never made it home.”

“So there ain’t no body.”

“Yet,” she corrected. She leaned in, eyes shifting around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard. “There was a lot of blood on him. A lot.”

“See, yer still doin’ it.”

“Doing what?!” she huffed with frustration.

“Actin’ like he some dumb wild beast who saw red and butchered that roach in the middle of the street. He done that, Law wouldn’ be strollin’ ‘round, lookin’ for him, would they?”

She turned this over in her head, brows furrowed and her face pinched in concentration. He pushed a plate towards her.

“No thank you,” she mumbled. “My stomach is in knots.”

“Unknot it and eat,” he said roughly.

She cut off a piece and chewed furiously. He jabbed his fork at her. “Yer man clever. Might be they never find this guy.”

“Isn’t that…hard to do?” she said, feeling her heart rate steady.

Luther bowed his lips. “Hard ain’t same as impossible.”

She chewed on her steak, surprised by her ravenous hunger. “Like how? For example.”

Luther sighed and rolled up his eyes to the ceiling in thought. “Ya can…tie rocks to a man’s feet and drop’im in deep water?” he offered. A few moments later: “Could burn’im? Scatter them ashes and bones?” She pursed her lips and tilted her head in reluctant agreement. “Still wild places in this country nobody set foot in years, ya know. Ya bury a guy there, who gonna find him? Yer man travel far, he knows these tucked in corners, no?”

“I guess,” she mumbled, somewhat mollified. “But they will keep looking. After a while, not finding a body will just confirm he’s dead. And they’re smart.”

He drew a circle in the air with his cigarette. “A man only clever until he meet a man more clever.”

“What if they talk to me?” she froze with the idea, talking with a full mouth. “I’m a horrible liar.”

Luther snorted. “Imagine Mister lawman is Arthur then. Lied to him just fine, didn’ ya?”

She glared at him as she swallowed.

“Seriously?! And here I was thinking how nice you’ve been to me lately.”

“Ain’t a single nice bone in m’body,” he said proudly and slapped another steak on her plate and to her amazement, she found that she had room for that one, too. 

Third day after he watched Savigne ride out from Shady Belle’s balcony, Hosea pulled out his old rocking chair, huddled into his warm jacket, brought out last week’s newspaper and waited. He knew Arthur would come in sometime between her departure and her arrival to visit his tent as he had done these past days and wasn’t surprised when exactly that happened a few hours into his wait. Coward, he thought as he watched him walk into camp and head straight to his tent in his no nonsense manner, and decided enough was enough. He ambled down the rotting stairs, grabbed two mugs of Pearson’s vile coffee and went after him. It was a nice Fall day, but even this far in the South it was starting to get too brisk and chilly for his old bones.

“Arthur!” he called when he arrived as he went and sat in the chair facing the camp, carefully placing the mugs of coffee on the table.

Few minutes later Arthur stepped out of his tent. He looked like he had been sleeping rough. Hair tussled, beard a mess, bags under his eyes. No doubt he was drifting around camping and drinking, indulging in plenty of self pity and rage on the side. The old Arthur. Left to his own devices, this could go on for a tediously long time, so the moment for intervention was now.

“Where have you been?”

“Around,” was the harrumph. 

“Been trying to catch you for days but you’re slinking in and out of camp like a thief.” His eyes crawled over the new attire he had changed into and the provisions in his arms. “Did you come in just to restock?”

The grunt of a reply. Well he’s certainly back to his sullen ways, Hosea thought sourly. A sullen Arthur was a tiresome one - no different from a child really, infuriatingly belligerent and stubborn. Too bad for him, Hosea was mentally well prepared for the battle that was about to ensue.

“Sit with me.”

The younger man ambled over wordlessly and dropped into the other chair diagonal from him, placed his carton of cigarettes and extra clothes on the ground next to him.

Hosea decided to start off nice. Dutch was the “cool” parent. That left him the role of the gentle but firm one.

“Everything okay, son?”

A hitch of shoulders.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“No.” was the morose answer as he picked up his mug and drank it.

“He speaks!” Hosea said dramatically. “Where have you been?”

Another shrug of those massive shoulders. Whatever Savigne was feeding him was going straight to his shoulders, they seemed to stretch wider by the day.

“Listen here, you use your words when I’m talking to you! It’s disrespectful to grunt around like a caveman.” 

The stern voice worked as Arthur looked at him for the first time. “What d’ya want?”

“I want to know where you've been, let’s start there.”

“Told you. Around.”

“Why? And don’t shrug those mountains again!”

“Just campin’,” he huffed.

“Son, you’re a man.”

“Am I now?” was the sarcastic response as he fished for a cigarette.

“I sure damn hope so!” Hosea flared and was glad that it gave Arthur pause. “I understand you guys had a fight.”

“How ya know that?”

“For one thing, I have god damn eyes. And also, I spoke to Savigne.” The blue eyes flicked up to him. “Don’t look at me like that, she was in a state, sitting here day after day, waiting for your ass to return from wherever the hell you went, so yes, I spoke to her. Also, I ate the lasagna that was meant for you, and let me tell you, it was delicious.” He huffed and resettled in his chair. He felt his papery heart start to thud with anger and he was glad for it. Because to cut through Arthur’s boorish nonsense, one needed a forceful kick.

“Now, I’m old and I’m not going to be around forever. If this job goes right, I expect to be out of your life sooner rather than later. So the least you can do is listen to me and answer me with some respect.”

“Fine,” spat the other man, taking another irritated gulp from his coffee. 

“I don’t know what happened and she wouldn’t tell me. Also, I don’t care. You had a fight, that’s fine. What’s not fine is running away and camping and drinking. You’re acting like you did after Mary and Eliza but she’s right here. That ain’t right.”

“Need to cool off, ‘m mad,” he growled. “Was a mistake to talk to her before I did and don’ wanna make it again.”

“You clamp down like this, won’t be someone here to talk to when you come back. What could she have possibly done to deserve this?”

Arthur was about to shrug his shoulders again and when Hosea’s eyes flared up, self corrected and scratched his beard instead.

“Did she go with another man?” Hosea pushed.

“No?” was the surprised answer.

“Okay. Did she…I don’t know…steal from you?” He knew these questions were ridiculous but that was the point he was making.

Arthur muttered under his breath in frustration.

“Let’s see what else, did she-”

“She lied to me.”

“Okay?” An annoyed look was hurled his way. “Ain’t saying that’s nothing, but sometimes people lie because they have good reasons.”

Arthur stewed in quiet disagreement for a time. Hosea could tell that the lie mattered to him and he was unwilling to engage in a conversation that diminished it. He decided that trivializing it would only make Arthur stubbornly clutch at it harder, just like tugging in a game of rope made the other person plant their feet, lean back and pull harder. So he decided to change tactics and let go of the rope entirely:

“Okay then,” he eased back into his chair, taking a sip from his coffee. “You know what…” he mused, casually watching a murmuration of birds, “…you’re right. You gave it a good go, that’s all I asked. Guess it wasn’t meant to be. Sometimes when it’s over, it’s over. Better to move on than drag it out.”

There was a short silence. “Didn’ say it’s over…” was Arthur’s sullen objection.

He bowed his lips and droned on unperturbed: “Probably best, really. She can go back to her city and you can join Dutch in Tahiti. Farm mangoes or whatever nonsense he plans on doing out there.” In the corner of his eye he saw the other man shift in his chair, resisting the urge to talk up. “She doesn’t know you as well as I do, so she thinks it was just a fight - a disagreement. But seeing the way you are, I can tell you’re done. You’re done and maybe you don’t know to break it to her…” he sighed and scratched an ear, “Don’t worry son, I’ll talk to her. When she comes in tonight I’ll-”

“The hell ya ramblin’? Ain’t like that, ‘m just coolin’ off.”

“That’s fine, you go cool off. In Tahiti.”

Arthur clicked his tongue in annoyance. 

Hosea sharpened his tone: “I raised you better than this. You don’t have the guts to end it, I’ll damn right do it. She deserves better than being led on.”

“Nobody endin’ nothin’,” Arthur spat back with frustration. “Lost my head, is all.”

Hosea gave him a dry look. “I’ve seen you like this before. You get like this when your pride is dented. Let’s see: after that, you start feeling sorry for yourself. Are we at that stage yet? Have you started to wonder what she sees in you? Oh no, I think you’re past that. Are we at the part where you’ve decided she doesn’t love you? That this…lie…means she never did?”

He knew he hit the mark by Arthur’s reaction of tightening his crossed arms, looking away and huddling into his jacket. Arthur was a simple man, and thank god for that because as stubborn and difficult as he was, it was a good thing that he wasn’t overly complicated on top of that.

Hosea could see it as clear as day: the drifting around, bare basic camping, long nights of indulgence with alcohol and a healthy meal of self-doubt and self pity. Sure, he walked around like he owned the ground he stood on, but that was just the forward facing side of the coin. In the back was a child that had been abused by an alcoholic and adopted by a set of fools. A child who had learned that he needed to be useful in this world to be wanted, to “belong”, and a child who had thrown himself into this endeavor with zeal. Who had mercilessly honed himself to become faster, better and more loyal than anyone else so he was indispensable. So he was never unwanted again.

Whatever confidence he had built over the years had been crushed by Mary’s rejection and then he had fumbled the Eliza situation and ever since, Arthur had been meandering between a hefty dose of doubt about his self worth and a childish pretense of how he didn’t give a damn in the first place. But in his heart of hearts, he did give a damn of course. Because from the richest to the poorest, the ugliest to the prettiest, all people gave a damn and everyone had a need to be wanted and valued. It was the whip on the back that flogged people to do all manner of things and the weak spot for every human being.

Hosea took a deep breath. “Listen son,” he said calmly, “Savigne isn’t perfect. She has her own issues. For one thing, she has no other people. I know we’re a circus, but we at least tried to be people to each other. So, bad as it was, you had a semblance of a family. She didn’t grow up like that, she’s going to be lacking in some ways. It’s like a scar. When you love someone, you have to look around it. You can’t look around it, it’s time to move on.”

“Ain’t movin’ o-”

“I’m talking here, did you drop your manners wherever the hell you camped?!”

Arthur crossed his arms even tighter and shifted in his chair with disgruntlement.

“Second, she has fear of attachment. She came here, she staked that tent a mile away and bolted in and out of camp like a fawn. You used to yap my ear off about it, so I know you know damn well what I’m talking about here. She was like a wild thing when she joined us, trying to convince everyone and mostly herself she can cut it alone.”

He coughed softly and took a sip of coffee to clear his throat. 

“But then the damnest thing happened,” he continued with a raspy voice, “She took a leap of faith. With you. Couldn’t have been easy for her. But she did it and since, she’s doing her best to stick to it. She obviously loves you, why else would she put up with your nonsense - you’re no Prince Charming. She’s been waiting for you to get your act together. For that alone, she deserves some grace.” Hosea punched his finger on the table.

“We agree on this bit?” he prodded when Arthur didn’t say anything.

There was a reluctant nod in his direction.

“Okay. What else you got?”

Arthur took a frustrated breath. “Dropped the ball, Hosea,” he sighed, eyes scanning the horizon. 

“Then pick it back up!”

The younger man chuckled darkly but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “What’s the point of me if I drop the ball?” He smoked silently for a spell, trying to find the words. “Ain’t charmin’. Ain’t rich. Got no legacy, no job. Only thing I built is this damn tent here. ‘M an ugly bastard with a bounty on m’head. What does a man like me bring to the table? Tell ya what: ‘M big and I shoot fast, that ‘bout it. M good at enforcin’ and protectin’. If I can’t do even that, what’s the point of me?”

Hosea sighed. “We all come from dirt and we’re all going back to dirt. There ain’t a point to any of it. For the blink of an eye we’re here, we dance a little, we love a little, cry a little and then it’s done. Look at me.” He waited until those blue orbs met his. “The point of you is to make her happy. Because making her happy will make you happy. That’s it, there’s nothing else. Lucky for you, she has abysmal standards.”

“Thanks a bunch,” was the sour response. 

“Don’t talk back at me!” Hosea snapped. Arthur had been a rebellious, wild cub when they found him, always testing the limits of Hosea and Dutch’s patience. Gentle coaxing got you only so far with him, you had to kick him down a few notches when you wanted him to listen. “If you aren’t up to the job, just say so, I will cut her loose for you.”

The younger man glared at him. 

“Well?”

“Oh so I can speak now?” was the question dripping with sarcasm.

“Yes, you may speak now.”

“I ain’t walkin’ away,” was the rumble of a response.

“Could have fooled me.”

“I said…”

“Don’t hiss like a damn viper.”

A loud frustrated sigh, then a calmer repeat: “I said…I need to cool off.” the big arms were raised apart. “That what ‘m doin’.”

“Cool off in your tent.” The sullen huff of disagreement and the stubborn rolling of shoulders that he received in return him fired up his temper again and Hosea decided that it was time to bring out the big guns. All this coaxing and sweet talking was wasted on a simple man who had simple triggers.

“Nice to know you don’t care that something could happen to her while you’re busy cooling that melon of yours.”

“The hell?!” was the startled response.

“Did you forget you’re in an outlaw camp?” Hosea spat. “Micah has been eyeing your tent since you left. He ain’t stupid, he knows something’s amiss.” It was true and made Hosea’s toes curl to see it.

That jolted Arthur alright. He sat up a little. “Son of a…”

“Bag it!” Having located the crack in the armor, Hosea mercilessly pushed in the blade. “Can’t blame the dogs for circling when the wolf prances off. Let’s leave Micah aside - what if there’s another O’Driscoll raid? All it takes is a stray bullet. What if the Pinkertons come through here and shit gets ugly?” He watched Arthur’s rising color and kept pushing: “Forget all that - what if some vagabonds stroll in this way?” He waved his hand to the woods to his back. “We wouldn’t even hear a thing! She’s sitting here by herself, a small woman who can’t shoot, defenseless, far from everyone else while you’re gazing up at the stars and philosophizing about the meaning of it all! Is Savigne your god damn woman or not?”

“Ya know damn well she is!” was the possessive growl of a reply. 

“Then you’re a poor excuse of a man!” he hollered. “You asked her to stay! Well here she fucking is and where are you? You’ve decided to drift off and abandon her! Look at me!” He relished the storm churning in Arthur’s eyes when he did. “You will either let this woman go or pick that damn ball back up, because by god, if something happens to her while she’s alone in her tent, I’m going to shoot you myself!” He snapped the lapels of his coat sharply and sat back in his chair, breathless from his tirade but deeply satisfied by the result:

Finally: a chastised Arthur. Incredible how much damn work it took. More bull than man, this one. John only needed a sharp look, bending Arthur around corners was back breaking, sweat inducing labor. He pitied the mother who had carried this stone of a man.

There was a long silence as Arthur ground his teeth, probably kicking himself in the balls for his oversight again but Hosea sipped his coffee and let it play out because it was well deserved.

At long last the younger man ran a palm over his beard with resignation. The blue eyes that flicked up at him now were devoid of indecision, but full of quiet anger. “Micah really lookin’?”

“You’re going to start a tussle over that now?”

“God damn right I will!”

“Micah’s looking because you’re not here. Start with that.”

“I get that,” was the morose reply. 

“You’d be stupid to think that man doesn’t have a bone to pick with Savigne,” Hosea said, calmer, watching the choppy waters in  Arthur’s eyes. “Because of what you did alone. Men like him don’t slink off and count their lucky stars. No, they dream of an opening to even the score. That man thrives on hatred and I shudder to think what he dreams of doing to those he hates.” Hosea sighed and finished his coffee. “One thing you and I will always agree on is that Dutch should have kicked that weasel out long time ago. But his jealousy of you blinded him. Still blinds him.”

“The hell the rest of ya good for?” Arthur bristled. “Ya tellin’ me every time I leave, she’s defenseless?!”

“Don’t raise your hackles at me like a porcupine! Of course we’re here but she’s far out and he ain’t got bells around his ankles, does he? If he kills her…” he swallowed the word ‘after’ to avoid getting Arthur even more worked up. Micah’s previous attempt was an obvious indicator of what he would do to Savigne, given the chance, and didn’t need spelling out, “…who can say it was him, not some vagrant passing through? You think Dutch won’t back him up when he says it wasn’t him?”

Arthur’s face darkened as the old wounds seared. “‘M gonna kill that bastard.”

“You’d be doing the world a favor,” Hosea sighed. “Now, since we’re on the topic of Dutch, I said I’ve been chasing your tail and I have, because of that bank job. I need you to back me up against Dutch.”

“Said I would,” Arthur grumbled, distracted by whatever he was building up in his mind about the previous conversation.

“Okay then let’s go talk this out. I want to do this soon, very soon and get the hell out of this part of the country. It’s getting old.”

He rose to his feet and so did Arthur. The supplies remained where they were as they trudged off and Hosea knew the camping trips were over.

From the corner of his eye he saw her pause when she spotted him sitting at the table, writing into his journal. Then she broke into a run, basket jangling awkwardly and he felt a twitch in his gut at her haste.

“Hey,” she panted when she arrived. There was trepidation in her voice but he could tell she was overjoyed to see him and it mollified his gnarly, twisted heart a little.

He grunted a greeting in response. She hesitated for a moment, then went into the tent and emptied her basket. Then she came out, fisting her skirts, unsure what to do.

“You want me to make dinner?” 

He was starving but responded with a curt “No.”

She carefully sat on the other chair. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

She bit her lip and thought of something to say. “The Law came to the restaurant…”

When she didn't go on, he grunted “And?”

“First day they were pretty casual about it but they look more and more serious and irritated every time they come. At this point, it’s all the newspapers talk about, all Saint Denis is talking about. Everyone assumes he’s dead of course, it’s been three days.”

When he didn’t comment, she went on: “People are going crazy trying to come up with answers because it’s like he went up in smoke.” He sketched on, ignoring her hawk-like observation for a reaction. “His usual driver said he got off at a street corner and walked away, saying he was going to meet someone. Said he does that from time to time and it wasn't his business to ask who. That’s all they have.” She paused to give him the chance to comment and seemed disappointed when he didn’t. “He was the main suspect for a while but he’s an old man with a stellar record and apparently Ecco used to tip him very well, so he has no motive.”

“They won’ find nothin’.”

She nodded and swallowed. He could tell questions were brimming in her, percolating, but also that she didn’t have the courage to ask them yet, and maybe never would.

“I know.”

“How so?” was his cool question.

“I’m sure you were…careful,” was her belated response.

This did surprise him. She had obviously done some thinking on the matter and concluded that he wasn’t a slobbering idiot. The correct riposte to an offered olive branch was to graciously accept it, but instead what fell out of his mouth was “Ya done hit yer head?”

He winced when her face fell. Christ, I’m such a fool. He forced his paused hand to resume scribbling nonsense into the journal. 

“We have leftovers in the ice box, want me to heat them up?” she recovered after a moment.

Truthfully, he would kill for the lazan ya that he knew to be in the ice box right now, but his damn pride flared up and he said “No.”

“Okay.”

He was morosely disappointed she didn’t insist.

“Are you staying tonight?”

“Am.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “That’s good.”

He knew he was being ridiculous and boorish when she was trying to make peace, but that hurt he had nurtured and fed in his chest these past days had grown and wouldn’t be appeased that easily. It hungered for pain - a little bit of hers and a little bit of his. He wished he could pull Ecco out of that damn swamp and butcher him all over again. Hosea was right, after Mary he had fed this very same black slug in his chest. You would think a man would grow and mature and learn since then but apparently Arthur Morgan was incapable of growth because that slimy thing was back, fat and ravenous for more.

After a while she went in and brought back her book and the lantern to sit and read with him. He could tell she wasn’t really reading, only pretending to read, but that was okay since he was sitting here filling his journal with stupid mindless doodles and pretending to sketch.

Out there by himself he had managed to work himself into a sullen rage, but sitting here across from her it all seemed ridiculously petty. She must love him to stick around all this mayhem. Either that or she was mad. Several times he worked himself up to start some nonsense conversation to soften the tension, but couldn’t quite get there, so he morosely scribbled on, filling pages with spirals and circles and long, winding lines.

As time passed and his grumpy silence continued, he could tell by the pinching of her brow and the settling sourness on her shoulders that she was growing increasingly upset and agitated about the situation. It was sweet, really, how she still thought of him as a better man than he really was, expecting things from him that one would expect from a better man. In truth he was selfish and proud and got some sick satisfaction from seeing her squirm, all hot and bothered by his lack of engagement.

“You know, there’s a man in this book who reminds me of you,” she quipped as the night grew late. “His name is Heathcliff.”

He grunted with indifference but in his head he thought ‘Here comes the flattery’, and a little flattery was well deserved if you asked him.

“Yes. He’s bitter and vindictive and petty.”

This startled him. His eyes flew up and he found her looking back from under her eyebrows. “Ya wastin’ yer time tryin’ to piss me off,” he scoffed, halfway to pissed off already.

“He ruins everyone’s life including his own because of his pride,” she pursed her lips.

“Good for him,” was his acerbic retort.

“Even pushes the woman who loves him away.”

He took a deep breath and pressed the pencil so hard on the page, the tip broke. He threw the pencil on the table and fished for another. “If she was yappin’ much as you do, understandable.”

“Actually he spends his entire life regretting it.”

“Lemme guess, a woman wrote that book.”

“How is that even relevant?” she bristled.

“Yeah. It’s a woman,” he muttered with smug satisfaction as he went back to filling the page with lines and circles again.

“At this rate, he will die old and alone, Arthur!”

“Lucky man.”

She catapulted from her chair and dashed into the tent at that and he sat there, pinching the bridge of his nose. Fucking idiot. Just shoot yourself and be done with it, fucks’s sake.

He listened to the furious banging and scraping from inside the tent and morosely packed his journal and tools away into his satchel, rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath and headed in.

She was almost tearing her clothes off in her vigor to undress and when he walked in, stomped to the back of the crates as if undressing in front of him was inappropriate now. This irritated him and his irritation sparked up something fierce when she came around holding her clothes awkwardly over her nightgown as if he was going to jump on her and fuck her like he was some beast. To his annoyance he felt his traitorous cock begin to harden at the idea and stubbornly set his jaw and waited for her to pass, then stalked to the crates and fished out her old bedroll.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleepin’ on the bedroll.” he growled as he shook it out. If he joined her on that bed he was sure as hell going to prove her right and end up pouncing on her. His cock hardened even more at the idea and his pride curdled.

“I’m not a leper,” she muttered under her breath as she climbed into the bed.

“What’s that?” was his cool question even though he had heard her perfectly fine.

“You know, when I was mad at you and my hand was almost chopped off…” he snorted at the exaggeration but she ignored it and talked on“…I still slept in this god damn bed!”

You passed out that first night with your clothes on and the second night plastered yourself against the cart as if I was the leper. “Guessin’ that wasn’ for my sake, was cause the bed is comfortable,” he shot back.

The covers were kicked off and she emerged, looking absolutely fucking delectable with that fire blazing in her eyes. “No! It’s a matter of respect!”

“We both know ya have no respect for me!” He grabbed one of the pillows, annoyed, and threw it on his bedroll.

She scrambled off the bed and came stomping over. “That’s my pillow!” She took it and headed back. The damn things were a pair and identical.

“Gimme the other one then.”

“Take it yourself,” she shot over her shoulder.

He clenched his jaw and came for the other pillow as she settled back in, rigorously beating the covers around herself.

“I hope you get back pain,” she muttered. He turned the light off. “Also,” she picked it back up, “Thank you! Sleeping alone in this huge bed is actually fucking wonderful.”

“Enjoy.”

“I am enjoying it!”

“Enjoy it in silence.”

There was a blissful interval during which he shifted on the roll and thought of how fine her ass looked now, all plush and round and hardened further and then he thought on that god damn lazan ya in the ice box, but Savigne was worked up and wasn’t going to give him peace that easily:

“I saw a huge spider run off on the ground the other day, you enjoy that, Heathcliff!” she hissed. That put a grin on his face because the odds of her casually sleeping in the bed if she had really spotted a huge spider instead of torching the whole tent were about zero.

“Better than the scorpion in the bed.”

A few minutes later he heard her sniffling and sighed in regret. He was starting to think Hosea was a fool and he was doing more harm than good by being here but the idea of Micah or anyone else coming in here sent a jolt of frost through his heart so he stayed, sullenly ashamed for the days he hadn’t. Lucky nothing had happened, really, because if it had…

“Why did you come back anyway if you hate me so much?” she interjected his dark ruminating.

“I built this damn thing,” he said roughly and regretted that, too. “For us,” he added to soften the blow.

“Put up my tent then, I’ll go sleep there.”

He sighed. Everything he touched, he ruined. “Yer ass won’t fit in there no more,” flew out his mouth before he could stop it and he winced again. You’re just all rotten inside, aint you? 

The sniffles got louder at that. Did Savigne cry this much before? Seemed like lately she was ready to go at it at the drop of a hat. This made him think of Maebell and Luther’s story and that led him to think about Ecco and he started to get angry again. 

“Fine! I’ll put it up myself. I don’t want your stupid bed anymore.”

“I tossed that thing long ago,” he said and told himself that he had to make sure to take it out of the crate and toss it for real before she came back from work tomorrow or she was likely to put up the damn thing.

“Why the fuck would you toss my tent?!” she yelped.

“Fool that I was, didn’ think we need it no more,” he harrumphed and turned to face her.

A while passed but he could tell by her breathing that she wasn’t asleep. 

If I had any sense, I would go over there and fuck her stupid, he thought. And then go eat that lazan ya. Instead ‘m lying here like a fool. Serves me right. Only a fool would lie on a god damn bedroll when there is a splendid woman in his bed and delicious food in his ice box.

“To think that I almost thanked you today,” she hissed.

“For?”

“Forget it, I’m never telling now.”

“Ya must be proud ya didn’ stoop that low.”

“Very proud, thank you very much!”

She was probably pouting right now. Get up and kiss her you fool. And yet, he remained where he was, sighed and shifted to lie more comfortably. Who knew bedrolls were this uncomfortable? The camping had been miserable for that alone and now that he was back, he had chosen to continue the misery in his own tent. Fucking brilliant.

A long time passed as he lied still to the background of her tossing and turning. It occurred to him then that if anyone else treated her this way, he would probably bash their head in, and here he was, doing it himself and he didn't even have a good reason other than some hurt pride. Over what? An understandable lie? Or was it more likely that he was angry at himself and taking it out on her? His ire should have died with Ecco, but morsels of it lingered on and he hated himself for it. His ruminations scattered when she whispered his name to check if he had fallen asleep and he pretended he had. Then she was still a while longer but he sensed that she was going to talk if she was convinced he was asleep because she did this from time to time - talk to herself in the late hours of the night.

At long last he was proven right when she whispered “I was going to thank you for what you did.”

His heart turned in his chest and his eyes flew open in the dark.

‘M done waiting, he thought.

After that bank job ‘m riding back here and ‘m kissing her senseless, he thought.

And then, when she’s too breathless and flustered to say no, ‘m sliding that damn ring on her finger, he thought.

He lied there listening to her sleep and thought all manner of things that wouldn’t come to pass.

[blueathens]

Act One Teaser (It’s Not Like The Movies)

Character Profiles||Playlist||Masterlist||INLTM Teaser

Not my gifs - credits to the makers

Teasers are from my planning - so not official! If you guys have any ideas for series’ then feel free to send them in - if used then I’ll credit you :) (e.g. references to Disney/fairytales etc)

If you want to be added to any taglist for any of my works - let me know and who/what for!

“That was reckless! What’s the point of being pretty if you’re completely brain dead!” “You think I’m pretty?”

It been a month and Charles was still fifteen, and they were still gone, and his father busied the young prince with meeting many well-known families around the world to see if their daughters, nieces, or even their granddaughters were well fit to be queen of their country – fit to be his wife. He didn’t care about any of them, not giving any of them his time of day as he sits boredly on his throne next to his fathers as Arthur tried to make conversation next to him to try and cheer him up. Pierre even joked that this was his favourite month of the year as he busied himself of making conversation with the girls of (or around) their ages. Charles was glad Pierre was happy, but he was quite the opposite as the one girl he wanted still hated his guts, and she was also the one girl his father wanted dead...she was also the same girl who hasn’t yet returned home. Charles Leclerc was fifteen and miserable and lonely and scared. It been two months and there were still not signs of them. His father was now busing him with more classes now that the girls has all gone home after the constant begging from Charles that he was still young and have more to learn – his father agreed, and it gave Charles time to think on how he could get out of the next time this would happen.

He tips her head like a dog at the window. The outside world is so interesting, and he is not part of it; just witnessing.

“You’re bleeding, Y/n.” Christopher’s hand brushes his cheek and Y/n copies the motion, her hand coming away bloody. “Oh.” She wipes her hand on her jeans. “It’s nothing, kid. Can’t even feel it.” It’s not a lie. She can’t feel the small cut on her forehead. It’s nothing compared to the sharp burn of the laceration on her back, or the persistent throbbing of her leg.

‘Smoking is a bad habit,’ Charles thought as he watched Y/n place the cancer stick between her lips, lighting the end of it with her lighter before taking a long drag, holds it, and then she turns her face to let out a long line of smoke, being considerate to not let the smoke be directly near Charles. ‘But man does she look good doing it.’

“Why did you punch that guy?” “He called you an idiot.” “Isn’t that what you call me on a daily basis too?” “Yes, because that’s what you are, but the world doesn’t need to know that.”

Charles shivered as the pair of them stood in the cold. "I swear it has never been this cold in Eynsworth before," his teeth cluttered together as he spoke. He glanced to his right at the sign of movement next to him. "What are you doing Y/n?" She pulled the jacket down the rest of her arm before gripping it into one of her hands and holding it out towards Charles. "Breaking those horrendous stereotypes."

“At least they can get my nose right,” she comments as she looks at Daniel’s wanted poster. “Unlike Danny’s.”

It was a simple comment, so simple yet it ruined Daniel. “You’re lucky that you’re always happy,” it repeats in his head whilst he clings to Y/n, holding her like she’s the air he needs to breath as he sobs in her arms. Yes, Daniel is always happy.

“Can you stand?” Charles asked. Y/n nodded shakily, trying to pull herself up onto her feet. Just as soon as she managed to get upright, her knees buckled. Y/n’s vision went blurry as she tried to grab the wall, or anything, really, to stop them from– Charles catches her before she hit the ground, helping Y/n to sit back down. “S-sorry,” she stutters “I-I-I–” “It’s okay,” Charles slips a hand under Y/n’s legs and another behind her back and picks her up easily. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“So how does someone like you sneak into a charity even hosted by the richest man in the city?” “I’ll take that as your way of saying you couldn’t stop thinking about me since the last time we met.”

[rosethreeart]

Arthur gets some Flashbacks to His Youth™️

Based off of this little convo with apersonwholikeslotus :>

I...Started writing cause this thought consumed my brain for a moment so here have a little snippet of the School of Punk AU of how this scene actually plays out :}

Arthur could hear the sound of his daughter’s pounding feet against the wood of the floor before he even saw her.

“Dad!” Abigail exclaimed, the flooring  beneath rapidly squeaked as eagerly shuffled in place.

Not wanting to lose his place in his book, he halfheartedly paid attention to her as he searched for his bookmark, “Yes, poppet?”

A few more footsteps later, this time muffled by the carpet she had just stepped onto, Arthur could see the silhouette of his daughter in his peripheral. 

Ah, there it was. Cheeky little thing slipped between the couch cushions. 

“Daaaaaad!” His daughter whined.

Sighing as he finished placing the bookmark in its designated slot, he looked up at her.

There she was, standing in the living room in his old punk jacket. It was a red so dark it was almost black, just like his daughter’s long and wildly curly hair. The patches he had sown on it when he was but a teen were still there, although some were fraying at the seams. The leather seemed to be fine, no leather rot in sight, much to his subconscious relief. It fit poorly on her as it was a few sizes too big, almost completely enveloping her arms and hands. 

“What do you think? Pretty cool, innit?” Abigail said as she gave a little twirl, showing it off.

“Yeah…” He said, not fully present in the moment. 

Abigail immediately stopped her little modeling gig, “Something wrong?” she asked.

Arthur blinked a few times in order to force himself to focus,”No. No, nothing is wrong.”

His daughter began to play with one of the small little pieces on the jacket,”Are you sure? I know I’m not really supposed to go up to the attic by myself, and—”

“It’s alright,” He said, cutting her off gently as he stood up. Were his knees always this achy? 

A bittersweet smile graced his lips as he approached his daughter who was staring curiously at him with bright hazel eyes. 

“That was my jacket you know,” He began to say as he adjusted said clothing to better fit the girl, “ Actually, I got it when I was about your age; maybe a little bit older.”

“Am I getting some dad lore?” Abigail said in that blunt manner of hers.

Arthur did a slight double-take, “Pardon?”

“Y’know? Dad lore? Where your dad never really talks about anything from their past until really random moments and it’s always the most bizarre thing you’ve ever heard?” Abigail stated as if she was asking him if he knew what a bird was. 

“No need to get cheeky,” he chided, “but I see your point.”

His eyes’ softened as he watched her nose crinkle and her braces-filled smile widened as she giggled. 

“Do you want it?” He asked her, “I…suppose I have no use for it anymore.”

“Does that make you sad?” Abigail said, tilting her head slightly.

Arthur chuckled, “I suppose the ever creeping march of time can be a bit disheartening, but it can be a wonderful thing too.”

“Are you getting sappy on me?” 

“Oh, very much so,” He said as he pulled his little one into a hug, which she gleefully returned. 

“Are you sure I can have it,” She asked, voice muffled by his sweater.

He caressed her leather coated arm with his thumb. It was odd to feel the leather of it on his skin again. It had been so many years since he had last seen, let alone felt it…

“Of course, darling.” He planted a quick kiss on her head, “Would much rather have you wear it than let it keep collecting dust up there.”

“Be careful with it,” He said a little more sternly than he intended, “it’s old…and important…and valuable…and—”

“I get it,” Abigail groaned, “it’s a frail old man whose seen stuff, just like you.” a smirk appeared on her face in that silly little way it did when she was joking.

“Oi!” He feigned hurt feelings, ”I’m not that old.”

“You’re getting there!”

“Don’t make me take that bloody jacket back.” He replied dryly.

“Nooo!” She laughed.

Arthur watched as Abigail eventually flitted away to show off her jacket to her step-brother. That thing had been there for him in his darkest of times, the weight it carried will always be there with him, even if the jacket no longer was. It was still hard to let that era of his life go, it seemed, however he was very glad that it found a new home with someone that he knew would love it just as dearly as he did. 

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Alright, @gr1d I can write more stuff for, as you put it, ‘Peter and his hot but mildly despairing bartender boyfriend’. :D

Warning: mentions of vampires, blood, patching up an injury 

On with the fic!

--

Arthur looked up from whatever it was he was doing behind the bar when Peter stumbled in, just around closing time, as was the norm for him when he was done with a night of vampire hunting.

“Oh good!” Peter grinned, walking into the place like the sway in his steps was on purpose and not because he had been slowly bleeding out from a fucking stab to the collarbone. “You’re still open! What’s the stronger, most colorful, most fruity ass drink you’ve got that’ll numb my physical pain? Not my mental pain, so that’s a good thing tonight!”

When Peter nearly collapsed onto the counter, he looked up at Arthur, who looked both fussy and worried. “You’re hurt.”

“Yep.” Peter replied, popping the P.

“Again.”

“Also yep.” He repeated, still grinning.

Arthur sighed, grabbed for something, and then moved to the small sink behind the counter, the one used for a quick wash. Peter watched him wet a clean rag, wring it out, and then walk around the counter. He carefully pushed Peter’s jacket collar aside to inspect the damage. “Goodness, Peter, what the hell happened this time?”

“Oh, ya know... vampire got me, but I got her in return! Still didn’t stop her from usin’, of all things, a fuckin’ nail file on me, but still, she’s dusted. Okay, not dusted, she turned into a nasty smellin’, viscus fluid and then just sorta... dissolved.”

“I’m going to need to disinfect this, keep the rag on that wound while I get the medical kit.”

“Can you make me that drink first?” Peter asked, but got a hard look from his boyfriend. “Fine, fine, medical care first, then fruity ass drink, got it.”

Arthur sighed once more. “Right, again, keep the rag there, apply pressure.”

Peter nodded, watching as Arthur excused himself to the back storage to get the special medical kit that he had put together for events like this. Probably the smart thing to do, when your vampire hunting boyfriend tends to get hurt. After all, that’s how they met! Yeah? Well, technically the second time they met, when Peter needed stitches. 

Really should have gone to a hospital or something, but he liked Arthur patching him up better. Arthur soon returned with the kit and got right to work removing what he needed. “It doesn’t look like it needs stitching up, but you will need to have dressing applied to it, and changed daily, got it?”

“Can’t you do it for me? You’re so much better at it than I am.”

“I can’t be over at your home every time it needs to be changed, Peter.” 

Peter pouted. “But I like when you touch me and take care of me, you’re so fussy about it, but you take such good care of my dumb ass.”

Arthur paused in disinfecting some gauze. He blinked three times, his face looking warm, before he cleared his throat. “I worry about you, after all, you are my boyfriend.” 

This made Peter smile, it probably looked dumb, but he didn’t care. “Aww, that’s sweet of you to say.”

“I think you’re suffering from blood loss right now, dear. Let’s get you patched up and get some sugar in you, first a soda pop and then you can have your monstrosity of a drink.”

“It’ll have sugar in it, can I have that?”

“No, alcohol is bad for you when you’re bleeding out, now let’s remove your shirt and get to work.”

The hunter snickered. “Always down to removin’ my shirt.” He said as he worked his coat off and then his shirt, knowing that Arthur rolled his eyes. “Alright, fix me up, pretty boy! Work those magic fingers of yours on me!”

“Must you?” Arthur asked, looking exasperated.

“Yep!” Peter smirked and let Arthur put his warm, calloused fingers on his skin.

--

Don’t be like Peter, please go to a doctor when you’re bleeding out.  

[acrossthearctic]

Manchester to Manchester

A very long but enjoyable day as I travelled to North Wales through Snowdonia National Park and then to Chester before reurning back to Manchester.

An early start in drizzle but by the time (about 45 minutes later )when we crossed the border into Wales it was sunny. A coffee plus a flat croissant ! was needed before my tour of Conwy Castle.

This shop had the most amazing sweet and savoury pastries and had the largest meringues I have ever seen.

Conwy Castle does not disappoint. It is possible to walk a complete circuit around the battlements of the castle and from the eight towers you get a great view over the harbour and the town - not to mention the suspension and tubular railway bridges .

The next stop was Llaneris, a pretty town where the mining of slate was a big industry. You can still see the remains of the quarries. There is also a sculpture commemorating ?the myth of King Arthur pulling the sword out of the stone

A fabulous drive through the beautiful Snowdonia National Park.

It was then onto Betws-y- Coed for a lunch stop. This cute town has a railway museum which attracts many visitors and is often called the entrance to Snowdonia.

I founds it quite amusing as it was 18degrees and "locals" were in sleveless tops and having their summer ice creams. We had 4 Australians among the 14 on the tours and we all were wearing sweaters / jackets .

A lovely drive through the rolling hills of Wales and then back into England and a visit to Chester.

Therev was ample time to visit The Rows with its covered arcades and half timbered Tidor style buildings as well walk the walls and visit the Cathedral.The Cathedral is lovely but I was not too taken with its Hornby Train Exhibition . It did not allow one to sit and reflect which I usually like to do in a church.

Then it was time to return to Manchester after a very long but enjoyable day.

[paulisded]

The Ledge #569: Jeremy Porter's Teenage Kicks

When I conceived the “52 Weeks of Teenage Kicks” project late last year one of the first things I did was to contact artists that I considered friends of the show. I’ve been blessed over the years to have some wonderful musicians regularly send me their latest projects.

One of those friends was Jeremy Porter, leader of Jeremy Porter & The Tucos. For almost the entire time I’ve been producing The Ledge, Porter has provided me with fabulous music, and has also introduced my show to many of his fellow musician friends. 

It was honestly no surprise when Porter responded that he was indeed interested in contributing a version of “Teenage Kicks”, but I was blown away by his overall plans with the tune. Tonight’s episode is the world premiere of his cover, which will be officially released next Friday (5/26) on his bandcamp page. While the track will be a “name your price”, proceeds from those who do the right thing and pay for the track will go to the Detroit-based charity, Hater Kitty Army, led by Sue Summers. “Hater Kitty Rescue Army is a neighborhood cat haven on Detroit's Eastside," Summers explains. "We have been serving abandoned cats for the past nine years by providing food, shelter, spay and neutering, and re-homing the ones we can.”

What is especially gratifying about this project is that Summers is not only a friend of Porter’s but a huge fan of The Undertones! “(They) were one of the first punk bands I saw in concert, at a tiny neighborhood theater that hosted all ages shows," Summers recently recalled. "The song 'Teenage Kicks' has always been a favorite teenage anthem of mine and still remains timeless.”

Besides Porter’s fabulous cover, tonight’s show is a hodgepodge of new and old favorites. Included is a tribute of sorts to Big Stir Records, as earlier this week they had a big announcement of six new signing to their label. It seems like a pretty obvious idea to devote a set to these artists, which include Graham Parker, The Spongetones, The Cyrkle, Flashcubes, Arthur, Alexander, and Sparkle*Jets UK. 

Sprinkled throughout the show are some of the other submitted versions of “Teenage Kicks” to remind everybody that I’m always looking for new covers. If you are a musician, or have any contact with artists that could record their own take on the classic, please contact me!

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD THE SHOW!

1. Jeremy Porter and The Tucos - Teenage Kicks

2. Jeremy Porter and The Tucos - Dead Ringer

3. Jeremy Porter and The Tucos - Walk of Shame

4. Jeremy Porter and The Tucos - Patty's Not Impressed

5. The Whiffs - Shot Thru

6. Paint Fumes - Holding My Heart

7. Local Drags - Heard About It

8. Uni Boys - Long Time No See

9. sparkle*jets u.k. - He's Coming Out

10. Arthur Alexander - One Bar Left

11. The Cyrkle - Don't Cry, No Fears, No Tears Comin' Your Way

12. The Flashcubes featuring The Spongetones - Have You Ever Been Torn Apart?

13. Graham Parker & The Rumour - Back To School Days

14. Malibu Lou & The Attackers - Teenage Kicks 

15. Teenage Kicks - Outtasite, Outtamind

16. The Exploding Hearts - Modern Kicks

17. The Decibels - Shake Some Action

18. Link West - Teenage Kicks

19. Lorne Behrman - Harlem River Serenade

20. Lone Wolf - Beggin Me

21. The Blips - Walking Home

22. The Lizardmen - Sorry

23. Blast Choir - Teenage Kicks

24. The Replacements - Another Girl, Another Planet

25. Husker Du - Green Eyes

26. Soul Asylum - Sometime To Return

27. Bash & Pop - Tiny Pieces

28. Tommy Keene - Back To Zero Now

29. Tommy And The Rockets - Rock 'n' Roll Wrecking Machine

30. Tommy and the Commies - Straight Jacket

31. Tommy Ray - Beer Wine & Whiskey

32. CHRISTOPHER CHANCEY - Teenage Kicks

33. The Trouble Seekers - Crazy

34. Shake Some Action! - Bang Bang

35. The Plimsouls - Hush, Hush

36. The Cheap Cassettes - Happy When It Rains

37. kingbubbatruck - Teenage Kicks

[finalslay]

@herosace sent : ❝ you want your jacket back? ❞

chris  asks  that  question,  and  arthur  can't  help  the  fond  grin  that  stretches  across  his  face.  while  it  is  his  favorite  jacket  that  redfield  has  stolen,  he  can't  bring  himself  to  ask  for  it  to  be  returned.  not  when  he  looks  like  that  while  wearing  it.  it's  just  a  tad  too  big  for  chris,  the  sleeves  slightly  too  long  and  covering  part  of  his  hands,  but  it's  the  matter  of  principle.  even  if  the  younger  does  have  jackets  of  his  own  that  he  could  be  using  instead,  there's  the  fact  that  chris  had  even  taken  in  it  in  the  first  place.  it  is  something  so  goddamn  endearing,  something  so  intimate  in  its  own  way,  and  there  is  no  way  arthur  can  bring  himself  to  take  it  back.  not  just  yet.  the  older  man  shakes  his  head,  arms  folding  across  his  chest  as  he  leans  against  the  wall  behind  him.    “  nah.  looks  good  on  you,  ”    arthur  answers. blue  eyes  look  chris  up  and  down,  before  then  nodding  his  approval.  he'll  take  it  back  later  on  today  —  but  for  now,  he's  more  than  content  to  let  chris  wear  it.    “  keep  it  for  now  ;  i'm  enjoyin’  the  sight.  ”    what  kind  of  man  would  he  be,  after  all,  if  he  didn't  enjoy  the  sight  of  his  pretty  boy  wearing  his  clothes?  chris  can  steal  as  much  of  his  shit  as  he  wants  ;  he'll  never  hear  a  complaint  about  it  from  arthur  morgan's  mouth.

[klutzyroses]

Could you do a headcanon on the Ikemenvamp boys reactions to getting a bunch of little kisses on their face from their significant other? I recently found your writing and I love it:)

Oh, thank you anon, and what a cute request!

IkeVamp HCs: Getting kisses on their face

How do they react to their s/o giving them multiple little kisses on their face?

Suitors: Napoleon, Arthur, Vincent, Isaac, Dazai

Napoleon

He can't help but feel a little embarrassed when he feels your soft lips peppering his face as your loving hands cup his cheeks.

He likes it really and can't help the fond smile it brings to his face so effortlessly, filling him with so much love for you.

He may wonder where this sudden onslaught of affection is coming from but he is not complaining...unless you choose to do this in public.

If he is left with lipstick dotting his face, he will feel even more embarrassed but he is still toasty and gooey inside.

He will definitely want to pay you back. You won't know when. You won't know how. But he will pay you back.

You would hardly expect it until he grabs your waist and sprinkles kisses all over your visage despite your protests and embarrassed squeals.

"Payback, nunuche."

He softly teases before his viridian eyes soften and he places a more tender kiss between your eyes, your lashes brushing his cheeks delicately.

"Mon amour..."

Arthur

The mystery author would be caught off guard for sure when you grace him with multiple kisses all over his face, holding his jacket to lower him to your level.

He may freeze a little for moment, blinking multiple times as he flushes pink.

He loves your open affection and it makes him want to keep you all to himself all day, cuddling you and spoiling you with love.

Leaving him with lipstick marks will not faze him too much, he is in no rush to wipe them off. If anything, he will probably tease you a little.

Never one to be outdone, you can be sure that he will surprise kiss you when you least expect it. Right out of the blue he will pull you to the side and give you a dizzying kiss that'll leave you weak in the knees.

And it won't end at that. You will be on the receiving end of many such acts of affection throughout that day.

The man just needs to let you know how much he adores you with every fiber of his being and you were everything he could ever need.

"I just want to show you how much I adore you, darling."

He purrs into your shoulder as he lays multiple kisses on you, his large hands brushing your ticklish sides like feathers, while he marveled at your sweetness as your squirm cutely.

"I want to love you until you can't take anymore."

Vincent

His timid giggles sound in your ears as you pepper his face with your sweet kisses, a joyous flush warm against your lips.

He feels so warm and fuzzy inside as his heart swells from your embrace around his shoulders as you peck his forehead, cheeks and nose. Oh how he loves you...

If he has lipstick marks left, he won't mind a bit, provided he even realizes. Actually he may forget they're there at all until Theo points it out to him. He doesn't think to wipe them off.

The painter can't resist tickling you lightly in response, wanting to hear your pretty giggles and watch you writhe in laughter in his arms as cerulean eyes gaze upon you tenderly.

He will quickly return the favour, looping his arms around your waist and meticulously kissing your cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, eyelids and finally, your lips.

"That's for being so sweet, my scatje. You're so cute..."

He pulls you even closer to him as he rests his head on top of yours, his smile easily outshining the radiant sun.

Isaac

His heart feels like it's going to explode when he is smothered in little pecks on his face with you laying on top of him, leaving him unable to escape your embrace.

You can feel the heat his reddened face emits against your plump lips with every kiss you leave on it.

He feels his heart pound uncontrollably as the affection he feels overwhelms him, the sensation of having you close to him in such moments makes him feel almost lightheaded.

If you leave lipstick marks, he might just collapse from how flustered he is. He is not leaving his room until they are completely gone, lest he be on the receiving end of ridicule.

He will pay you back, no doubt about it. The next time you are alone with him, he suddenly wraps you in an embrace and presses his lips to yours in a heart melting encounter, his hand caressing your cheek before gently pulling back.

"I had to get you back somehow, love."

His cheeks may be flush with apple red, but the mischievous little smile he has on his face is undeniable, because you are more flushed than he is.

Dazai

He didn't expect the barrage of kisses he is met with while you sit in his lap, slightly more elevated than him, but his surprise turns into a loving smile as he laughs ever so softly.

Your lithe arms coiled snugly around his neck as your soft lips covered his face like flower petals, his heart aching with adoration for you increasing with every contact.

He has no problem walking around with the lipstick marks left behind, regardless of how silly he might look.

He would be walking on air in all honesty with a slightly goofy smile on his face as he can think of nothing other than his precious one.

The next time he is graced with your lovely kisses, the novelist unexpectedly lifts his head and catches your soft petals with his own lips, just to tease you and see your adorable blush.

"It's my turn to shower you with love, sweet one~"

His playful tone is accompanied by a similar smile as he takes you in his arms and dips you back before raining kisses on your face, repaying you for every single one you gave him.

🌸

[shookspearewrites]

Heya @i-am-totally-a-weirdo my lil duckling, how are ya doing? Y’all will be excited to know that I finally finished uni! So I’ve got so much more time now to write ^^ I have missed you all so much 💛

- JJ x

~~~~~~~~~~

Theodorus van Gogh:

MC giggled as she clinked glasses with Arthur again and took a sip of her cocktail; Her cheeks flushed with warmth and painted peach, her pretty eyes gleaming with joy even in the terribly lit pub. The beautiful lady nuzzled her cheek against Arthur’s shoulder, smiling softly to herself when her friend snaked his arm around her waist to help hold her up and smirked down at her warmly, “You doing alright down there, luv?”

MC hiccupped and blushed bashfully, her crystalline eyes meeting Arthur’s own pair, “Mhm, don’t tell anyone but,” she raised her head to whisper into her friend’s ear, “I might be a little bit drunk.” The young woman giggled when met with Arthur’s expression of affection and faux-shock, “Am I in trouble?”

The Brit cupped his friend’s cheek and gently caressed her skin with his thumb, “Not at all, poppet.” Arthur put his now empty glass down on the bar and stood himself up on slightly wobbly legs before offering MC his hand, “Come on now, MC. Let’s get you home.” MC stood herself up slowly and took an unsure step toward Arthur. Her high heel caught on one of the legs of the stool she was sat on, causing the lady to fall forward into Arthur’s arms, the two of them landing with a hard thud on the wooden floor. 

“Hondje, what the fuck-?” Theodorus van Gogh, MC’s fiancé who’d just arrived in the pub from a busy day at work, scowled at the sight of his lover, drunk and straddling his best friend’s lap on the floor, both of their faces flushed red with embarrassment. 

“T-Theo,” MC met Theo’s cold, steely stare and scrambled to stand herself up, stumbling on her high heels and pulling her jacket closer to her chest, wanting to hide away from the prying eyes and drunken laughs of the pub’s other patrons. The Dutchman grabbed his lover’s wrist and pulled her out of the pub, his expression cold and unreadable as he strode towards their carriage whilst MC had to almost run to keep up with his long strides, “Theo, listen, let me explain-”

“Genoeg, hondje,” he almost growled, jealousy flooding his gentle heart when he glanced back and saw MC’s pink cheeks and the worry and tears pooling in her pretty eyes. He tired to gulp down the lump in his throat as he flung open the carriage door and ushered his beloved inside, following her in and shutting the door after he told the coachman where to take them. Theo glared at MC from where he sat on the plush velvet seat opposite her, cocking an eyebrow and crossing his arms across his chest, “What happened?”

Tears began to roll down MC’s cheeks as she cowered under Theo’s gaze, her throat dry as she tried to stutter out her explanation, “I h-had too much to drink and, and my heel caught o-on my stool and I fell. I didn’t want to be that close to Arthur,” she let out a sob. The lady reached out towards the art dealer and took his large left hand in her own delicate pair, squeezing it softly, “I love you. I-I only want you.”

Theo’s expression softened and he felt the tension in his chest loosen as he squeezed MC’s hand in return and reached his other hand out to wipe away her tears, “Hey, hey, het spijt me.” The vampire sighed deeply and crossed over the small carriage to sit next to his fiancée, smiling to himself when she snuggled up against his chest and her shoulders relaxed a little, “I love you too, schatje. Heh, next time I should stay with you and make sure you don’t get too drunk.”

MC snickered shortly, “You’ve got an even worse tolerance than me, though, Theo.”

“Oi,” he retorted, gazing down at his lover and ruffling her hair playfully until she giggled, “You can’t talk about me being a lightweight when you know I’m going to have to take care of you when we get home.”

“Take care of me huh?” MC met Theo’s gaze with an unfamiliar confidence, her cheeks flushing pink again and a glimmer of mischief in her eyes, “Well I am a lucky girl.”

“Behave, hondje.”  A little heat came to Theo’s own cheeks as his mind replayed images of many a sleepless night the couple had spent together before he took MC’s chin between his forefinger and thumb and placed a loving kiss on her lips.

[joanie-writes]

Cleaned Up

A quiet night, to contrast a crazy day.

Arthur x GN!Reader

Warnings: slightly NSFW

Word Count: 973

What a day. I still don't think my hearing has fully returned. Gunshots, screams, and whistles were all I heard for way too long.

Alongside my horse, is Arthur and his horse. God, he looks even worse than I do. I glance over him as he rides slowly beside me, looking ahead. His face is dirty and there's a bruise forming around his eye. There's dry blood running down the arm of his shirt where a bullet had grazed him. He notices me observing him, he looks back over at me asking, "Whatcha lookin' at buttercup?''

I smile at the familiar nickname, chuckling to myself I answer, "Just at how beat up you are, I haven't had a chance to look at you since we got out of that mess." He looks me up and down before replying, "You don't look too good either." I scoff and laugh, "Well, that's certainly not the way to talk to someone you love Mr. Morgan, is it?"

Arthur laughs, shaking his head, "Why don't we treat ourselves to a hot bath and a warm room tonight?" he offers, I pretend to think hard, tapping my chin and squinting my eyes before saying, "I would love nothing more."

We change directions slightly, heading over to the next town. Passing by the few ranch houses made me think briefly of a life outside of the gang with Arthur, having our own land, maybe a dog. But as we carry on past them, I'm pulled back into reality, I love being with the gang, almost as much as I love Arthur, and I could never take him away from the people that pretty much raised him.

The strange smell of a town hits my nose, and the dry blood covering my clothes and skin is made much more apparent to me as people nervously glance at Arthur and me, making me pull my jacket tighter to my body, and my hat down lower. We make our way over the hotel, hitching our horses and walking inside.

"Evening folks, what can I get you?" the man at the front desk, pushing his small glasses up his nose, "We'll get a room, and hm, uh I'll get a hot bath." Arthur says, knowing that couple baths aren't typically allowed. The man at the desk thanks Arthur after he pays, informing us both of the bath and room number.

I look to Arthur, "I'm um just gonna go have a smoke, see you in a bit" I say nonchalantly, walking to the back door as Arthur heads towards the bath. I give it a few minutes before heading back in, seeing the man at the desk gone, I make quick work of going to the bath that I knew Arthur was waiting for me in.

A thick cloud of steam greets me as I open the door, shuffling inside and smiling at my love. He had just finished undoing the buttons of his very dirty shirt. Smiling back at me, he makes his way towards me, starting with taking off my hat. Next was my shirt, and then my bloody jeans. I stood in front of him, now as naked as the day I was born. I don't feel the need to say anything, I'm more than comfortable with Arthur just like this. I smile softly as I remember the first time that he saw me bare, which was, in fact, an accident.

I help undress Arthur as he helped me, being very careful not to hit his bullet wound. A pile of clothes sits on the ground now, surrounding us, which is a lot nicer than the Pinkertons and angry townsfolk that surrounded us earlier. I walk over to the sink, wetting a cloth before making my way back over to him. I reach up, moving his dusty blonde hair from his face, “C’mon cowboy, let’s get you cleaned up.” I begin cleaning the dirt that clouds his beautiful face. I can feel him relax even more as I urge him to sit on the edge of the bathtub.

I continue to clean him up, as gently as I can. I take notice of every freckle on his face, the scars that adorn his skin, and the blooming bruises. "I love you, sweetheart." he murmurs, his eyes still closed, "I love you more." I say back, smiling once again.

Arthur gets up once I finish, grabbing another damp cloth to clean me. I look up at him as he wipes my face clean of sweat and grime, and I take notice of the subtle smirk on his lips. “What’s going through your head.” I ask quietly, putting my hand on his chest, “Just how lucky I am.” He answers, kissing me on the temple. I blush and leave it at that. He continues wiping away the blood that was both my own and some of others. I laugh as he kisses down my arm, ending the line with a kiss to the back of my hand.

After Arthur finishes, we climb into the bath, my back leaning against Arthur’s chest. My head is leaned into the crook of his neck, the soft scent of chamomile soap fills my senses. After such a trying day, this is heaven on earth. I feel his calloused but comforting hands stroke my hip gently, he sighs in relaxation. My mind wandered to how privileged I am, because I'm the only one that gets to experience Arthur like this, peaceful.

“We should do stuff like this more often,” I say, “we deserve it, you especially Arthur.” He nods, looking back down at me, “I know, hopefully one day we can just live, not shoot, or steal.” I nod back understandingly, “And get a dog.” I chirp, causing Arthur to laugh, “Of course, buttercup, anything you want.”