#why don’t people say feller anymore. it’s such a perfect word

[enders-redemption]

rdr fan culture is playing the game, looking at so many posts, and reading so much fanfiction that arthur’s dialect unironically starts slipping into your every day vernacular

[cowboisadness]

Found You {Arthur Morgan x F!reader}

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

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

—–

Chapter 4 - Together

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

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

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

“You going to explain whats going on?”

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

“Not you too, Hosea.”

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[fedeipox]

The Way of Time (Rdr2 fanfic) - Chapter 6 (2/3)

Part 1 here: https://fedeipox.tumblr.com/post/640021017292636160/the-way-of-time-rdr2-fanfic-chapter-6-13

Chapter 6 (2/3) - Something acceptable

Words: 3,3k

Javier watched her carefully: her face had acquired an unusual glow and her eyes were sparkling with childish enthusiasm. He wasn’t sure she was understanding how hard and dangerous it was. Planning a robbery was no game, but at the same time her presence there was a great impulse for him, and he couldn’t understand why. 

“Let’s say we get rid of the sheriff, do you think you can hold off the doctor and all the men behind that door?” she asked.

“If I take the doctor as hostage, yes, I reckon killing three or four men won’t be a problem.”

“Killing?”

Their eyes met and it was at that moment that Javier had the certainty that she had no idea of what they were going towards. Did she really think that was some kind of game?

“How do you expect me to hold off all the men inside there without killing them?” he asked.

“I don’t know but please don’t kill them” she complained.

“What if they shoot first?”

“Well… in that case you can… defend yourself, I think. But not the doctor, please. He’s innocent of all of this. I mean, he has an illegal activity, but he’s still a doctor, he helps people.”

“What if he recognizes me and gives my identity to the sheriff?”

She seemed to think deeply about it, then, just like she had received the enlightenment she looked at him and said: “do you really think he’s going to the sheriff and tell him somebody robbed his illegal business?”

He had to admit it made perfect sense. Javier took a deep sigh looking straight at her and her big sweet eyes before he gave in. Yes, the man was a healer, an important figure for the town, that was the only reason why he wasn’t going to kill him. 

“So, for the sheriff, I might have an idea” she said in the end.

...

The plan was established, they all knew what they had to do, now the problem was put it into practice. Emily was proud of her ideas, years and years of thriller movies and crime novels had taught her how to plan a robbery, how to create a diversion, and most of all that you must always have a plan B. 

Even though she kept saying to herself that steal to other criminals wasn’t a real crime, she knew in her heart that it was an excuse, and she couldn’t get out of her head the idea that what they were doing was wrong. But at the same time the thought of a crime, of doing something that shouldn’t be done, excited her like a child at the sight of a playground, and she was both ashamed and afraid of that feeling. Was she turning into a criminal? One of those people who like doing bad things?

She leant her back against the wood of the building, right next to the door of the saloon, and waited patiently for Bill to come.

It was too late now for a rethinking: here goes nothing.

They had chosen Bill for the part of the drunk surly brawler, the perfect man according to Javier. He would put on a fight at the saloon and Emily was the one responsible of calling the attention of the sheriff to said fight, while Javier had to collect the money. 

The second saloon of Valentine wasn’t as big as the Smithfield, but Emily had sweared she wasn’t going to put another foot inside that terrible place. Besides, that one had also fewer customers, but definitely drunker, which was perfect for Bill to start a brawl without making too much an effort. 

He showed up from the end of the street, sitting astride on his huge brown horse that he stopped at the post. He slowly got down and adjusted his pants with an overdramatic attitude before he tied the animal and with a heavy and swinging walk he reached the porch.

“Miss” he said touching the brim of his hat.

Emily nodded to him just like they didn’t know each other. That was part of the plan. He got inside and asked for a whiskey with an unnecessary loud voice. She shook her head deploring the man’s acting skills, but it turned out his fake high tone helped their cause because someone complained about him and after an exchange of insults, Emily heard exactly what she needed: men punching each other.

Without wasting time she ran down the steps of the porch and on the muddy street to reach the sheriff’s office. With every step her boots dipped in the mud and in her mind she blessed whoever had invented the asphalt.

Javier looked at her as she reached the sheriff’s door and walked inside. He was standing right around the corner of the doctor’s building, checking the door for unusual movements or patients. No-one. That day the apothecary had no customers, which was perfect. If everybody had done their part well, and if Bill hadn’t caused any trouble, that job was going to be a success.

“Sheriff, I need your help, there’s a fight at the saloon” said Emily walking inside the poorly lit room.

There, there were two men dressed more or less in the same way and she had no idea who of them was the sheriff, so after she said the words she moved her eyes from one to the other hoping they wouldn’t notice her ignorance about sheriffs.

“Again? This town is a nightmare” said the man seated behind the desk, “which one?”

“Keane’s” Emily answered readily.

“George, go check it” he ordered to the other man.

Emily needed two seconds to understand what was happening: the sheriff was sending the deputy, that way he didn’t have to lift his ass from the chair, which was exactly what she wanted him to do.

“No” she exclaimed making both of them look at her.

“They have guns, sheriff, and they seem determined to use them. I think it’s better if you go check personally” she lied.

He brought a hand to his face to rub his eyes and took a deep breath before standing up.

“Okay, let’s go.”

As soon as she walked out, followed by the two men, Javier turned the corner of the building, gave a look around making sure no-one was watching him and raised his bandana on his face. With that and the large hat he hoped not to be identified by the doctor.

“Don’t do anything stupid, friend. I just want to take a look at the room on the back” he said raising his handgun to the doctor’s chest. 

“Sir, please, you don’t want to get involved with them, I-I promise you.”

“Let me choose who I want to get involved with. Now open the door.”

“Okay… okay.”

Emily turned her head for a second and glanced at the apothecary wondering how Javier was doing. In her heart she hoped he wouldn’t hurt anyone. Her friend, her kind Mexican friend, who kills someone in cold blood. The idea was extremely troubling for her.

“How many men are we talking about, Miss?” asked the deputy.

“Erm, two or three. They seemed quite dangerous.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of them.”

“No doubt.”

Javier followed the doctor until they reached the heavy iron door. He laid his back on the wall right next to it and with his gun still pointed at the man’s chest he made a brief nod of his head. The doctor knocked.

“Hey, i-it’s me. I-I’ve brought you fellers some food and whiskey” he said.

Javier heard the little window opening and flattened even more against the wall not to be seen.

“Yeah, it’s only the doc” said someone from the other side and then the sound of steel against steel made him understand it was his moment.

He grabbed the man from behind, pointing the gun to his head and pushed him inside the room among the confused expressions of four people.

When they reached the saloon, Emily let the sheriff and the deputy walk inside and deal with Bill and the other two drunkards, while she stopped on the porch waiting to see Javier in the distance telling her he was done.

“Hey, stop! Stop it right now! What are you doing?” she heard the sheriff shouting.

“This little piece of shit here was insulting me, I just came for a drink!” replied Bill. 

“You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, you big asshole!”

Another struggle started just in time when Emily heard a series of shots, one after the other, in the distance, and she imagined them coming from the doctor’s office. She moved her eyes from the men inside the saloon to the road, but thanks to the noise they were making, the sheriff and his deputy hadn’t heard the gunfire. She couldn’t tell the same about the people out in the street, who started looking around them suspiciously. 

Without wasting any more time, conscious that someone had heard the noise of his gun, Javier let the doctor go and started collecting all the money from the table at the centre of the room. Then, he looked inside the safety boxes, the crates, under the mattress, all under the shocked look of the doctor who hadn’t moved from where Javier had left him.

“You won’t say a thing, right?” he asked menacingly.

“Oh, n-no sir. Y-you’ve liberated me. T-they were awful, they were forcing me to do this.”

“Good, happy to help.”

After he took the last wad of cash, he walked to the back door, opened it and went outside.

“Okay, now go, and I don’t want to see your ugly faces ever again, is that clear! Or next time I’ll lock you all up for the rest of your pathetic lives!” said the sheriff kicking the three men out of the door.

Emily gave a last look down the road where Javier was waving at her before she turned around to smile at the sheriff and the deputy.

“Thank you, I was scared to death they could have killed each other” she said.

“Nothing to be scared about, Miss. These things always end with a couple of bruises and a broken nose, nothing more. Anyway, you better stay away from saloons, they’re not a place for a lady” replied the sheriff walking away.

Emily reached Bill, next to his horse, and whispered “done” before she walked down the road again to reach Javier who had left his horse behind the church. When she saw him in the distance, waiting for her with a cigarette between his lips, she couldn’t restrain her enthusiasm anymore and ran in his direction jumping around and radiating excitement.

“So, how much? How much?” she asked with a jiggling laugh.

“Shh quiet. I don’t know, I didn’t count them. Come on, let’s head back to camp.”

“How’s the doctor?”

“Still alive, but I can’t say the same about the four assholes in the room” he replied taking her form her waist and making her sit on the back of Boaz. 

“Were they armed?” she asked with a little less enthusiasm.

“Yes, and they were forcing the doctor to run the illegal poker game. He was the victim of all of that” he answered mounting up.

...

Unexpectedly, her reaction to those people death wasn’t as terrible as she imagined it to be, but she still couldn’t believe Javier had done it: the man right in front of her, to whose waist she was grabbing not to fall from the horse, had just killed four people. She was both intrigued and scared by him at that moment: what if he was one of those who enjoyed violence?

“How does it feel? When you kill someone?” she asked.

Javier didn’t answer immediately, he thought a little about it first. How did he feel when he killed a man? He felt nothing. He was aware that there were some people in the world who liked killing, who felt powerful by doing it, and other people who felt awful, but for him it was just a matter of survival. If the man who was facing him was a threat for his life, he had to kill him. Only once he had allowed his emotions to take over and he had paid the bitter price for that.

“It’s not the act of killing itself that makes you feel something, but the reason why you’re doing it” he explained.

“There is no valid reason for killing someone” she stated.

“Oh no, every reason is good for killing someone, you just have to decide if that reason is good enough for you.”

“If you put it that way, everyone could kill anybody in the world.”

“And isn’t it exactly what happens?”

“I disagree. What you do is acting like God, you have no right to do that.”

“But if I hadn’t killed those men, now we wouldn’t have the money to buy supplies for the camp.”

Emily huffed. It was impossible to argue with him, it was a tricky matter and he was both wrong and right, but what he had said made her think about something else.

“What about Dutch on that ferry? What good reason did he have to kill that girl?”

“He… we were up against the wall, our lives were in danger.”

“And killing a girl solved everything?”

“No y-you… you wasn’t there, you can’t understand.”

“Whatever you say won’t change my mind. Killing is wrong. Always.” Javier couldn’t understand: she kept saying that killing was wrong, but he had just killed four people to put some food in her belly, how could that be wrong?

When they reached camp they found Bill dismounting his horse. They parted the money in three exact parts and Emily found out she had gained twenty-five dollars and forty-five cents. Finally she had her own money and with it a part of her freedom, but to gain that freedom she had had to sentence to death someone else. 

Javier had said they weren’t good people, that they were coercing the doctor to give them the room for their affairs and obliging him to keep his mouth shut, and this, added to the fact that they needed that money for the supplies, made her feel a little less sorry for their death. Maybe what they had done wasn’t good, but at least acceptable. 

“Remember to put some in the box” said Javier before he walked away and he didn’t had to repeat it twice. 

Emily walked to Dutch’s tent where she found Miss O��Shea writing something on a paper. 

“Hi Molly” she said and walked all around the tent to reach the barrel with the box.

“Hi, how are you?” Molly asked politely.

“Actually, I’m pretty good. Look at this!” she exclaimed showing her the money.

“We’ve robbed an illegal poker game.”

“Good, so now we can make this place better.”

“What do you mean? Make it better?”

“Yes, we use the money in the box for supplies and camp improvements. Look” she said standing up and reaching her side.

“If you go to this page, you can see what everybody thinks it should be done to make this dump a little more livable. And here you have to write your name and what you are leaving in the box.”

Emily was amazed from how they had thought about everything. On the page of the improvements there were all kind of requests: from chickens, which surely belonged to Pearson, to pelts and covers to make the sleeping spots more comfortable, and there even was a joker named Mac who had written “a castle”, and right after another one named Davey - one of those who had died in the mountains, Emily remembered that - who had written “a brain for my brother”.

Emily laughed at those puns and then wrote her name on the donation page leaving on the box the spare five dollars and forty-five cents she had.

“Alright, thank you, Molly. Sorry if I interrupted you. What were you writing by the way?”

“Oh, nothing, just a stupid poem” she replied.

“A poem? Can I read it?”

“It’s not finished.”

“I don’t mind. Can I?”

...

Molly nodded and let Emily inside her tent, making her sign to sit on the cot by her side before she handed her the poem. She looked at her shyly as the girl ran her eyes on the piece of paper and when she ended her heart gave a slight jump.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“It’s great. Is this how it happened? With Dutch?”

“How do you know that’s Dutch?” she inquired.

“It’s obvious. So you came here, met him and fell in love with him, but now you feel like you gave him all you could give, and this makes you empty somehow, and this emptiness makes you feel worthless too.”

Molly kept looking at her with her mouth half open: how could she understand all of that from the poem? 

“How… how can you…”

“Can I tell you something? Don’t beat yourself up. Your worth doesn’t lie with him, your worth doesn’t lie with anyone but yourself.”

How? How could that girl so young, so innocent, so naive read inside her mind? 

“You don’t… you don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re young, you’re just a child.”

“Yes, you’re probably right. But I’ve seen too many women in love with men who don’t deserve them not to recognize one.”

“You know nothing! He loves me and I love him! Go, get out of here!”

She stood up and looked at Emily with her eyes on fire. She had centered the problem and now Molly felt vulnerable, and this weakness made her angry. 

“Yes, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that” she said in a hurry and stood up in turn.

“But if you… if you want to talk, about anything, I’m here, okay?”

Molly didn’t answer, she kept looking at Emily with that furrowed brow that hid all her insecurities, and in the end Emily walked out of her tent and away from her.

[rcris123]

He thought of Arthur sucking that man off.

He thought of Arthur; how he pinned that outlaw down on the bed. He remembered that look Arthur gave: long, thin strands of auburn hair drawn messily over his face, eyes glossed over, gaze sweet, awed and that mouth let to hang open. Those lips of his, square, yet full when he don’t purse them in a thin line, were quite the sight; in part ‘cause he ain’t seen someone with a mouth that damn pretty, the rest ‘cause it made Sebastian want to shove his cock down it.

But now Sebastian’s lips are ‘round someone else’s girth; he ain’t all that careful, man was moaning hard enough to sound satisfied. For 20$ that’s all he’s getting.

He kept thinking of Arthur. Underneath him. Or above him. It didn’t matter. It felt raw; the way rough and tender Arthur kissed and bitt his neck while Sebastian was still grabbing him by the collar. He wanted that; ‘cause it ain’t making him feel hollow. A body ain’t ever meant much; somehow back then it did.

It was always physical with him; he grabbed Arthur, pulled Arthur, dragged Arthur in – and Arthur pulled him out, touched his wounds... And Arthur fucked him; did it with charm, lifted him up against the wall like he was barely some bag of groceries-

The client cummed in his mouth; Sebastian swallows and pulls away. He’s hard, pants tight; not for this feller thou.

“Ohh—I wish my wife blew like that.” The man was a mess on the bed.

“What a shame...” Sebastian smiles as courtesy.

“Oh, she’s bland, mister. Plainest. But Pop said I gotta take a wife.” Man drags his pants up. “But she’s a nice woman. Wants kids.”

“Mhm...”

He sits up, tone overly sweet: “You ain’t plain, mister.”

Sebastian chuckles: “Don’t get over your head.”

“No no...” He sounded disappointed. “Is just, ye’r pretty. Handsome.”

“Get outta here.” He tries hard to play the flirty banter game, but it ain’t coming out quite as it should.

Why would it matter if Arthur thought he’s handsome...

An odd thought. He lets the man go downstairs first, before he climbs down himself-

“Arthur?...” The cock’s still hard between his legs and it twitches at the thought.

“He got Jack-” Isaac rushes at him; Sebastian pulls away.

Who?

“Valentini.” Arthur completes the sentence. “Valentini got Jack.” That man never sounded as angry.

Sebastian’s face changes to what must be a terrifying grimace, ‘cause Isaac slips away.

“Would you tell me where he lives.”

“You won’t go there.” Sebastian cuts him, harsh. The wounds Stefano gave him were gentle, and the man owns the city.

“Dutch’ll go. And John.” Arthur insisted. “But I need to know-”

“Flavian Street; the big mansion, opposite the park.” And just as Arthur was to pull away, he grabs him by the collar spins him round. “Don’t you get involved in this, you hear- Don’t you dare.”

He knows both Arthur and Isaac at this point and if any of ‘em get involved, either dragged by Dutch or something else Sebastian fears he ain’t gonna see the end of this. Or maybe he will, but not as himself and he ain’t knowing what’s scarier: dying or losing the chance of being someone again.

“And what will you do...” Arthur’s got his own concerns and the 4 other people in the saloon at this time stop to watch.

“Hopefully, my best.” A lie. The thoughts cooking up in his head are all but possibly the worst idea he’s had.

He lets go, but Arthur doesn’t. There’s words behind those lips, but they’re sealed shut so tight he thinks they ain’t ever gonna see the light of day. And somehow, he has a hunch as to what the man wanted to say, and that’s ‘cause they just got up on their feet, and for one day it almost felt hopeful. But fate ain’t about to give Sebastian that. And he dragged this man and his son along with it.

“I’ll make sure you get the boy back.” Sebastian had to say something to break this tension; cock’s gone flacid in the meantime, and still the way Arthur gripped him threatened to have gotten it hard again if the situation were any different. “I’ll see you back at camp.”

And he wished those words were true; the smile was practiced.

 “Why are you here?” One of Stefano’s men almost pointed a gun at him. “Thought you said no.”

“Changed my mind.”

“And you think it works that way.”

Sebastian looks up: there he was, Stefano sitting on the upstairs balcony with what looked like a glass of expensive wine tipped between fingers. Man raises the glass and even though he can’t see that far Sebastian knows he’s grinning, just before he shouts:

“Let him in!”

And in he’s let, then escorted upstairs to Stefano.

“Lucian is right. Why are you here, Sebastian?” The wine is twirled inside the glass before a sip is taken.

“I have a request.” Heart drummed in his chest.

The gulp is audible: “Oh?” Glass is set down. “And what would that be?”

“Erase someone’s bounty.”

Stefano chuckles: “I’m not the government.” And he spares a glance for Sebastian, eyeing him up and down, then returns to admiring the view: “But I can pull some strings.” And then the man sits up: “Just one question, dear old Sebastian. Why? Is it for the same reason that man and his son stood in when I came to see you. I hope you’re aware you’re a terrible liar.”

Sebastian simply had his lips pressed together and his chest out trying not to breathe too loudly or to simply break out in a fit of rage.

“But I’m still curious, what’s it about that outlaw that makes him attractive. I know he runs with Van der Linde. Yes, I have one of those sheep-fucker’s offspring. They came ‘round and asked. You sent them here didn’t you?” Stefano puffs with a grin, presses two fingers to his lips, taps and pins Sebastian, the quiet, stiff, unshaken Sebastian, with another gaze: “But I have to say, this is quite entertaining. You came begging to me. Or well as close to begging as those sealed lips of yours will come to.”

Stefano passes by him, purposefully on the right side so he can tap the shoulder he so much loves to brutalize.

“I’ll play your little game, Sebastian. I’ll look into your little cowboy friend.” And the man draws away, returning to his office, but not before: “Oh, and you’re free to try and escape, but I think you’re smart enough to know you won’t exactly be going out anymore. So make yourself at home, darling.”

 It’s not home, but he lit a cigarette in the middle of the downstairs living, lounged on the couch like he owned the place. Was there mud on his boots? He doesn’t care, they’re on the cushions.

Small steps trot in; Sebastian huffs out the smoke he held in his chest to look over the back of the sofa:

“Sebastian?”

He smiles.

“Hi there, Jack.”

“You came to stay with Papa Valentini too.”

Don’t call him that...

A quick draw of the cigarette: “Yeah...” but he’ll avoid that question: “How’s your reading these days, Jack?”

“Uhhhh...” the kid rolls his eyes back, then they dart across the room: “Will you tell Momma and Uncle Hosea that I don’t like reading? ‘cause I don’t.”

“Isaac likes reading.” Sebastian insists, standing up and coming closer; and by God Isaac tried to make the kid read, told him everything of the Knights of the Round Table. King Arthur, huh?

“Isaac’s different.” Jack pouts. “Isaac’s old.”

“He’s still just a kid.”

“No, he’s not.”

“He still plays with you, doesn’t he?”

“He does...” Jack muses. “But he’s always away. He’s busy with Uncle Arthur and Uncle Dutch. And Papa.” Well John was hardly the parent, but Sebastian knows he loved his son and could bet that the moment he got taken away he raised Hell. That’s a parent’s love.

Sebastian crinkles his nose: “Say, would you like to play with me? We’re gonna surprise Momma with how smart you’ve become, what you say?”

“Yeah!”

 One hour. Two. Three. It gets dark and there keeps being a shiver up his spine and down his arms as if he’s cold, but the air is hot and muggy like it’s always been in St. Denis.

Stefano moved in to sit across from them, legs crossed, gloved hands folded neatly in his lap. And Sebastian stiffened, Jack noticed, ‘cause he clutched him harder, while trying to teach him the animals.

Lucian came in at one point: “Signor Valenitni? Dutch van der Linde is back.”

“Oh, perfect.”

Jack perked up: “Uncle Dutch!?”

Stefano opens the door and the kid runs out like a dog on the hunt. Sebastian can only watch from inside; he doesn’t want to make it worse for Arthur- and there he was, Isaac in tow. So Stefano asked them for something-

He overhears the conversation:

“Signor Van der Linde, would you by any chance be interested in a social meeting with the upstanding citizens for this city?” He eyes Arthur, even if the man stood ways away, still in the saddle. John had the child in his arms, head pressed to the chest.

And with that Sebastian smells a trap.

That Dutch fell face first into: “O’course.”

They leave; Sebastian’s left alone with Stefano; a pang hollows his guts and a shiver runs up his spine.

Stefano lets Lucian close the door behind him: “I’m really curious to see what your little cowboy does at the ball when he sees you~”

A deep breath in to gather courage: “Then wait and see.”

“Oh, seems you’ve gotten cocky?”

“I do bite.”

Stefano hums almost as if aroused: “I’d love to see that, darling.”

 He never penetrated Stefano, or have it the other way around, but the man fucked Sebastian in more ways; other ways. The downstairs bedroom with the red sheets, always stained and smelling of blood; his blood. Man was sick, always asking the same thing: half dressed, cutting himself up, moaning in pain, because it got him hard. And he saw Stefano come completely undone in those days ‘till that party.

It might have looked like the work of a doctor, precise and clean: a long line stretched down the middle of his chest, above the bone and only the bone, with the purpose of drawing blood and looking pretty. It fucking hurt. He bent on his elbows shuddering, while Stefano pleased himself, snapping shots to the wet sound of masturbation. Sebastian hated it. Other times it was bearable ‘cause he got to get away. Now he’s here; no escaping. Yet. And Stefano strung him up, tied his feet, bound his hands, stabbed his shoulder, bruised his knuckles, his knees, his face, cut his lips, his temples.

He went numb; jaw, limbs trembling without even wanting to, vision blurring, head emptying and his self feeling entirely detached from the body just so he couldn’t feel it anymore.

But he thought, all those endless hours he thought of a way to get the fuck out of this place. There’s going to be a party and Stefano’s gonna get him there just to entertain some sick idea of a tragedy like he was some British Monarch. And Stefano sure as hell ain’t Shakespeare so Sebastian could be his Romeo or Macbeth.

He’s gonna get out. He thought of it long and hard and it had to work.

 He was still bruised when Stefano handed him the suit he was to wear; a top hat as well to hide the marks on his face. But it wouldn’t matter much. Lucian ain’t seen when Sebastian slipped a knife underneath the seam of his pants, that he then dangled loosely by a string attached to the suspenders. It grazed his leg, but he didn’t care. Jaw was clenched from all other pains; some more cuts ain’t mattering.

And in one more sloppy act Stefano left his precious camera idle and Sebastian free for barely a moment-

Sebastian was brought to the balcony at the Mayor’s house, along with other friends of his that he only spoke in Italian with. Sebastian didn’t understand much, but whenever one of them or ever Stefano for that matter tried to talk English to him he would reply in Spanish. He was brought up American but his Daddy taught him his mother tongue.

“Ah, there they are, the angry cowboys~” Stefano was most pleased with himself. It hurt biting that lip like he did but he couldn’t look at Arthur’s expression as he came onto the balcony.

Still he looked; the confusion, the betrayed, the heartache, then the flame that lit up when the man pursed his lips. Dutch only spared Sebastian a distrustful look before going on to converse with Dutch.

It’s small steps: from Arthur, from Sebastian. Arthur lights a cigar, lips wrapped around the girth while hands look for a light. The hat probably hid his face well enough that it’s only now, more upclose that Arthur finally notices the cuts and bruises, and his features slack then draw together even angrier.

Sebastian puts a hand on his free wrist- don’t he do anything rash.

But it ain’t seeming like Arthur was intending to. Instead he fumed in silence watching Stefano introduce the profiles of the St. Denis high society: the Mayor, Alberto Fussar, Evelyn Miller, Rains Fall. The way Stefano talked, as if he owned the universe of this city had even Dutch speechless, features slacked, offended.

“Maybe one day you’ll kill him for me-”

“We ain’t paid killers as such...”

“Oh, I am sorry-” Stefano wasn’t as openly amused now; the dark grin slipped in. “But you do need money don’t you.”

Arthur drew in a sharp breath.

“Yes.” Dutch said.

“It’s a setup...” Arthur said it on a sigh, a whisper, to Sebastian. And he wanted to say more but lips fell shut.

“You didn’t hear it from me but there’s plenty cash at the trolley station.” Stefano keeping musing to Dutch, drawing him in. “But do enjoy your party, fine gentlemen.”

Stefano draws closer in to the pair of them, arranging his gloves as if they slipped- Sebastian lets go, leaning in for barely a moment:

“Me encargaré de esto.” He knew Arthur didn’t understand a thing, but he’s hoping that’s enough to put the man’s mind a bit at ease

“Arthur!” Dutch beacons, and Arthur follows diligently downstairs, one more stolen look.

He’s sore when moving so he doesn’t do much of it; he’s waiting for the fireworks. For now he watches Arthur from the balcony, he slips into the crowd, to gather information, same as Dutch, Hosea and that Bill.

And there’s the fireworks. A glance at Stefano, before Sebastian heads down the stairs

“Sebastian.” The man’s voice is stern, scolding, maybe even frightening.

Something compels him to smile and pretend he didn’t understand: “¿Perdóneme?” And he keeps descending, step rigorous.

It’s loud and crowded; Stefano comes after him himself, fists clenched. That camera he pocketed is taken out right when he knew that the man’ll see it, walking towards the dock, where the crowd’s thinned. He hears Stefano calling him out, walking harsher.

As much as his torn body lets him Sebastian jumps in the boat docked there, untied the rope, but doesn’t depart yet, until he’s sure Stefano’s one foot away. Camera is dangled above the water.

“You think that’s a threat? I can always get a new one-”

Oops. Sebastian drops it, and it sinks to the depths of the lake.

“You seem pretty threatened.” Stefano puffs his chest out, jaw clenched. “Come on in.”

“Sebastian-” Teeth clatter onto each other and Stefano jumps on the boat.

With all the strength he has Sebastian pushes the boat off the shore and starts rowing. Stefano falls down, from the sound of it like it’ll leave a bruise. But he ain’t caring. No he ain’t caring at all. Sebastian keeps rowing as hard as he can. One short glance at the people of the party: they ain’t looking.

One hand slides under his pants to grab the knife, just as Stefano, bare handed and filled with rage stumbles up and forwards to strangle him. Sebastian’s numb to the pain, to the fact that he sliced up his own thigh lifting the weapon.

It’s swift, harsh, filled with hate. One short grunt from him.

Blade sticks clean into the skull, poking right underneath the jaw. Stefano goes numb with barely a wheeze. Eyes stare blankly forward as the body slumps on top of him.

Sebastian can breathe again; shakes the hands that pinned him off himself, blood gushes onto him, onto the boat. It’s warm and tastes like fucking revenge; it’s sweet and salty like expensive caramels. Rows are take back into his arms and keeps on traversing the lake. The throbbing of his torn thigh starting at last to sting. The fireworks die down not long after.

Body’s thrown in the swamp.

And Sebastian should row back to the mansion. Maybe he can still meet up with Arthur... and the rest-

That’s the shore there. Not much further to row-

He can’t walk. He can’t get out of the boat; falls face first in the mud just by the side of the road.

A coach stops. He recognizes those voices. Ah... here’s hoping...

[merciful--valkyrie-blog]

Arthur and S/O first kiss.

This is S/O and Arthur Morgan sharing their first kiss. Headcanons as well as a bit of scenery set up to really help deliver it home. So almost fanficcy? Fan-fictiony? Yeah. Those.

Arthur shouldn’t as a whole be as terrified as he is. But he is. The O’Driscolls have caused enough tension for him, that his mind isn’t able to escape the person at camp. The person he finds himself thinking about when he rides through the lazily sloping pastures, and endless meadows in New Haven. Or how his thoughts travel to them when he is in the mountains above the valley. Trying as he may, and struggling to keep warm with the snow thick around him. He thinks of them, and he knows how precious, how fragile life is. How simple it is to slip through his fingers, and so. He acts.

-Arthur is a man of literal word. His deep thoughts and actions comes when he is often alone, and or in the company of few. He’s learned from an early age, and even with those that he’s around that expressing obvious vulnerability is dangerous. He’s thought about what he should have done long ago. He’s thought about how stupid he was for not acting on instinct that has been roaring at his senses. How stupid he was for letting the possible chance to not act on urge, passion, and that sense of vulnerability to stop him.

-It’s when Arthur has returned to the camp. It’s a mild autumn evening. The sky is clear, and the stars are brilliant! Being the one only real audience that Arthur wants to witness him allowing that moment of such vulnerable exposure! But it’s a perfect night with the air being still, the grass hardly damp enough to cause any crispness that surely would be there in the morning. The camp itself is full of life. Each tent, to small area of clustered tables has lanterns, candles, and even a fire near to the central heart of the camp burning. It allows the heady smell of smoke to linger through the ground. Around the trees, and to linger past the earth musk of the horses and hay bales.

-Arthur at first doesn’t approach them. He saw them through the trees dancing, laughing, and even daring to sing along side those he had come to call his family. They blended so effortless together with those around! Their faces warm, and cheeks red from the moment of bliss, and merriment. He is slow to approach the camp. He doesn’t make it known he’s come back till he’s allowed his horse to be watered, and to stand ready at the post.

-S/o has been busy in the camp. They stayed to help with chores that had been neglected with the men being gone hunting, and or readying the next dangerous heist! After All, it’s not like Miss. Grimshaw will surely be chopping wood, or bucking hay. But the day has led to the night, and it’s beautiful time to laugh. Everyone being so tense, s/o is part of them. Dancing, and laughing. They stop when they feel the familiar presence behind them, and turn to see Arthur. He’s not one to dance, but usually is there. Standing somewhere among the shadows, either on his own or beside Dutch. As if he were a silent sentinel. A watchful guardian to those around.

-Conversation is light, welcoming back those that had been gone. That’s when it’s obvious something is on Arthur’s mind. His stormy eyes usually are calm, but they are turblunant as the frothy sea during a hurricane. That’s when he asks for s/o to come with him.

-People do stop, not all at once, but here and there curiously tilting their head and asking if everything is okay. The reply they get back is from Arthur, a grumbling polite way of saying, “Mind your business.” They do just that, figuring that whatever Arthur is leading s/o for, that they don’t need to meddle. He is a grown man, he can make his decisions.

-S/O’s horse saddled, and Arthur mounting his own horse; they ride away. Down through the slow descent from camp, ducking the trees that wish to snatch them free from their horses! Arthur is silent for majority of the ride. Unsure, S/O attempts to engage in conversation with him, but he just grunts. The brute of a man’s strange silence bleeds into the S/O, causing their own anticipation to mount high. Had they done something wrong? Was Dutch displeased with something they did, and now they were going to pay for the consequences that were seen fit? Surely not! It seemed that Arthur and S/O had been on a budding relationship. Their jokes, moments of laughter, and conversation brought them closer together. Almost as if they were near to being more than just comrades, more than just friends… so why the bristled silence and grunted answers?

-Arthur does not stop till he can’t see the camp’s glowing fires. Till all that remains is a dark smudged line where the trees stand around the camp itself, and only the smoke being the indicator of where the rest are. It’s then that he finally stops his horse, as well as S/O. It truly is a beautiful night. The stars are endless through the dark blanket! Glittering distant white lights, winking, and flashing through the sky. The grass almost seeming far more supple beneath their weight of the boots. The horses themselves are calm, and ignore them to eat at the green vegetation around them. Past them it’s perfect view of mountains past New Haven. The sloping earth leads the eye gently along the horizon and back. Calm, and scenery.

-S/O tries again to ask Arthur what’s bothering him, and why he took them from the camp to where they stopped. He fumbles for a real answer. Pacing back and forth rubbing the back of his neck out of such anxiety! Fuck, shooting a feller was easier than this!

- But he finally stops and looks to the S/O. Though, he’s close to them. So close they can smell the earth, the smoke, the slightest tinge of blood from his clothing. Even the musky cologne to the pomade he puts in his hair… despite the hat being on his head. They look upward to him, brows creased, their mouth opening and closing. They can’t ask further as to what is happening, because they Cowboy hasn’t even answered them!

-Arthur tells them. He explains his anxiety that has been gripping at him. Why the past couple of days he’s been distant, cold, almost callused to them. That they have been a light in troubled times for him, and he enjoys their company. But, that this also makes him fearful. He doesn’t want someone to exploit what he has with S/O. He doesn’t want for them to be put into unnecessary danger, all because of him! He explains Elizabeth, that she was a waitress that he had been with shortly. But that she became pregnant, and he did have a son. That he did make an effort to go and see them, of course when he could. But, they had been killed. When he had returned, it was to find two crosses and two freshly dug graves instead. From there, he closed off his heart. He made it to where if he were to care for someone, they’d be put at a distance. He wouldn’t subject them to such a fate, again.

-A little confused. S/O Inquires what this has to do with them. Why they couldn’t tell them at the camp. Arthur though, Arthur is a man of action. He had kicked himself for long enough for not acting on instinct. He didn’t know how to put quite to words what it was he was feeling. Or how S/O both exhilarated him, and left him wanting to live! As well as terrified him. Terrified him for a heart that shouldn’t have burned like it had. Terrified him to a heart that he was sure had fallen quiet. Yet, they had awoken it from the grave he thought he buried it in.

-Something like this? He doesn’t rush them. He won’t startle S/O. For all he knows, they could become a flightful wild horse, and run far from him! Mindful and careful. He does chuckle, and it’s low in his chest, with the slightest of smiles around his stubble lined lips. His actions follow first with his calloused palms gently brushing over their cheeks. He soaks in the redness that burns quickly to their face, the way their skin flushes hot even beneath his own hands! He wonders how he can even dare to put his hands against them without tarnishing, and ruining them. He watches them for a moment. His eyes wandering their face, counting their lashes, counting their freckles, and watching the way that their lips part in the slightest. As if to gasp, or ask a question.

-He’s been stupid. For not approaching them sooner. To allow this fear to settle in his gut and rule his actions. But he won’t be a coward anymore! He kisses them. For such a man that has crawled through blood, and worse, and killed many a man… he’s gentle. His palm rests to S/O’s cheeks. Fingers curled to their hair, and brushing past their earlobes. HE holds their head gently in his hands, and his chapped lips are to theirs. He waits for a baited breath for them to push him away, disgusted, and giving him reason to believe he was right to be a coward. But they don’t!

-It is both absolutely mind numbingly terrifying, and the most alive he has felt in so long. They are returning the kiss, they are validating his feelings, they are not rejecting him, they are allowing him to be vulnerable without exploiting that for benefit. From their jaw, his hands fall slowly along their neck. Still gentle, still careful and cautious. HE doesn’t want to harm them; in his mind he is the worth of burlap, and they are precious silk from faraway lands. He feels their heart pulsing beneath his fingers that pass over their neck, where the skin is thin against the blood rushing beneath. He settles with one hand at their shoulders, fingers spread wide to pull them close, and his other hand at their lower back. Still, they don’t run, but much to his surprise their hands are around his broad shoulders.

-Feels like both are going to run out of breath, despite their quick breaths they take through noses. It’s a poetic moment. The battered cowboy finally succumbing to what he should have done, and being rewarded for it. The kiss tastes of whiskey, of blood, of earth, of fear, of passion. It burns. It consumes. But it still is gentle despite the tangle of tongues, the tightening embrace of the other. How they cling to the other, as if surely they’d float away.

-In the end, Arthur is the one that slowly breaks the kiss. His own wind chapped cheeks flushed, his eyes darkened, and somehow his hat has been knocked free, and lies on the ground at their feet. He’s still in misbelief. He’s still astounded he kissed them, let alone that they kissed him! But his heart is quiet, so is his foolish mind.

[elizacornwall]

Vengeance is an Idiot's Game - Chapter 25 - The Spines of America

Read all the published chapters here. -------------------------------------------------- The ride to Emerald Ranch was much longer than anticipated, and although Moonshine’s back was broad enough for Eliza to sit comfortably and hold onto Morgan, her arms had started to cramp by the time they’ve arrived at the farm.

They trotted along the dirt road between cattle pens and arrived at a big green barn where Hosea had told them to meet him; he was in deep conversation with a sketchy looking man. Hosea had told her only briefly about the job they were about to execute, he seemed to like being cryptic and cloud himself in a bit of mystery. Arthur didn’t seem to know much more about it, but he always followed his old friend without question and she trusted him to know Hosea’s skill. “Arthur, Miss Eliza! This is Seamus, he’s our new partner”, he introduced the balding man next to him. “I ain’t no such thing!”, the man interjected, with a defensive gesture. He evidently didn’t want to fix any business relationships yet, and Eliza watched their little spiel with curious interest. Arthur helped her down off the horse and signalled her to wait by his mare, before he approached their potential partner himself. “Let us prove ourselves”, offered Hosea. Arthur interjected. “Prove ourselves? To this clown?”, he pointed at the guy next to his friend and scoffed. The man didn’t appreciate the brashness, even Eliza was surprised at the blunt manner in which he had just addressed the man. The guy turned and started to walk off. “Good day Hosea, good luck with your business dealings.”

Hosea was quick to follow, defending Morgan. Eliza followed Arthur to the bench where he had sat down, finishing the cigarette the stranger had thrown on the floor just moments before. She pulled a face, repelled, but followed his example and took a seat next to him, trying to hear what Hosea was discussing with Seamus. Arthur got called into their conversation and he took Eliza with him. “So you want us to take out the competition?” Hosea asked when they joined them. “Well, he- he’s not just an acquaintance, but a cousin… By marriage. I also wanted to see if you boys got what it takes.” Seamus’ eyes skimmed briefly over Eliza in her breeches. “Now if you survive that…” “Where is he?”, Hosea asked, cutting straight to the chase. “He’s in a farmhouse just northwest of here, called Carmody Dell.” He pointed back into the direction where they came from. “It’s just up the train tracks as you’re heading up towards Fort Wallace. There’s also some money in that house… But that’s your business, not mine. But don’t kill nobody”, he added quickly. “Folks know we ain’t intimate no more and they’ll know it was me.” “But you’re fine with us robbing your cousin?”, Hosea asked, amused. “By marriage”, Seamus replied. “And yes, I’d love it.” Eliza held back a chuckle as Hosea said “You heard the man. Let’s go rob his cousin!” They all turned back to the horses as Seamus added “By marriage!” and at this she couldn’t keep quiet and let out a stifled giggle. Hosea shot her a knowing look, his lips were curled into a smile. They mounted up and rode off towards the farm Seamus mentioned. When they were out of earshot, Hosea turned to Arthur. “Could have played that better, couldn’t you?” “I thought you wanted me there to show some strong arm? That’s usually how it goes”, he replied. “Yes, but… You know how this works!” “Come on Hosea, that feller’s a joke”, Arthur said and shot Eliza a look over his shoulder. She grinned back. “And that’s why he’s perfect! He won’t cause us any problems!” The old man seemed to have planned this turn of events all along, being a step ahead of everyone else on the team. “A safe spot to fence wagons and coaches? That’s easy money for us!” Eliza stayed quiet during the ride until they slowed down and neared their destination. It was a nice quaint little place with one pen of cows, much smaller than Emerald Ranch. It was small enough to be worked by just a single family, she was reminded of her home back in England and felt a stab of pain. After all these years, she still grieved her mother and the life they’ve had. They dismounted between some trees, hidden from anyone that might look in their direction. Hosea passed Eliza a bundle of fabric, which to her surprise turned into a skirt when she opened it. He asked her to put it on. “That barn in the back, stagecoach has to be in there. You and I will perform a little play, Miss Eliza, so Arthur can get in the house and see what else might be of use to us.” She complied and simply slipped the skirt over her head and chest, hiding the trousers underneath. Morgan was scanning the house with his binoculars. “We’ll head over and distract ‘em by putting up a little show while you sneak into the house, find what you can. Then get the stagecoach.” The younger man put his binoculars back in the saddle bag and his glance switched between Hosea and Eliza. “You got a plan for this play?” Eliza answered before he could. “How about we’re travelling uh – travelling chiropractors? It’s the new trend in Iowa, my father told me about lots of apparent charlatans trying to get some quick money with it, could be easy. I know a few treatment practises; I’ve seen Doctor Palmer perform an alignment on my father.” Arthur just stared at her blankly, but Hosea seemed thrilled. “That’s an excellent idea Miss Eliza, you truly are full of surprises. So you met the famous Dr. Palmer? What an honour it must have been, the man’s a genius. A genius I tell you young man!” He slapped Arthur’s back, who seemed to come to his senses and murmured something like an

agreement. “Let’s do it now.” “Alright then”, Hosea replied and offered Eliza his arm. “Don’t follow us! Wait until we have them distracted outside, then sneak into the house.” Eliza hooked under with Hosea and beamed at the man staying behind. “Good luck!” He waved it off, as if to say he didn’t need luck. He was a professional outlaw after all. She felt nervous and the well known twang of shame at the prospect of stealing from an innocent family made itself known in the pit of her stomach. They marched right up to the house, her heart was beating hard in the chest. She had come up with the idea on the spot and had no idea how the old conman usually worked. Thankfully, he took the lead naturally and greeted the young lad sitting on the porch of the house. “My good man! My good young man. Fair thee well! fair thee well. Is your father home son?” “Sure is” The boy eyed them up suspiciously and got caught on Eliza’s chest. She had opened it one button too many to be considered proper, if her mother saw her like this she would have gotten slapped. Her mother wasn’t here anymore though, and the more distraction she could provide, the better. She smiled at him.

“Get him down here please, get him down here.”

The boy could barely rip his eyes from her chest, but at least hadn’t lost all of his wits. “Get lost mister” was all he managed. Hosea, of course, would not. “I was lost!” he shouted, raising his arms towards the sky. “For many years, I was lost, many years. Now I’m not. You know what-“ The door of the house opened and a man in blue dungarees stepped out. “Here he is!”  Eliza let go of Hosea’s arm and addressed the man. “Are you by any chance the father of the house?” He looked grimly at her, not failing to notice her indecently exposed chest. “Sure.” She suppressed a snort. Men were so easy to manipulate. “Pleasure to meet you!” She did a little curtesy. “My good grandfather was just chatting to junior here-“ He cut her off, barking at Hosea. “You selling something partner?” Eliza was annoyed that he wouldn’t even give her as much as a greeting and answered: “We’re not selling anything good man, we’re giving it away. We’re here today to bring you the wonders of-“ “Spinal alignment!”, Hosea jumped in, a wide smile on his lips. “I’ve been saved, I’ve been found! The lord god almighty, or whomever built us, our brain’s in here but our soul is in our backs.” He played out every syllable of every word with the grandeur Eliza had only seen in theatre plays, he truly was an outstanding actor. “You sir, your back looks kinda tricky, and complicated”, he continued, not letting the man come to much word. “the young lady Doctor here can fix that for you! In just ten or fifteen sessions? She’s done wonders on me!” Eliza made sure to nod enthusiastically but kept in the background as it would be expected of a proper lady. “Whiskey suits me fine, Sir”, the man said, giving her a displeased look. He didn’t seem to think a female Doctor would be much good. She cleared her throat and took a step forward, now on the same front as Hosea. “Whiskey is part of what is causing the problems! It may be a short term solution for the pain, but its long term effect on your skeletal system is severe, resulting in possible Hemiplegia, Lumbago, Neuralgia and even Consumption.” This was total nonsense of course, but he didn’t look like he was well read so she took the chance to include some big words to make herself look like she knew what she was talking about. Hosea took the resistant man by the shoulder and guided him down the porch with a polite but firm grip. “You ever meet a scot who didn’t hobble in old age? But the English, I’m sure the lovely lady Doctor will confirm, they stand tall, Sir, and what do they drink? Gin! They drink Gin. And what is Gin made of? Juniper!” He beckoned Eliza to follow, as he led the man a few steps away from the porch, his son close behind. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Morgan slip from behind a tree and towards the house. Deftly done. Hosea was explaining the incredible facts about the different effects Juniper and Grain had on the human body and she had to try her hardest not to break out in laughter. The old man was a master of his craft, and she forgot all her guilt of robbing these people over the joy of watching him work his silver tongue. He got the man to lay on the table and invited Eliza to take over. She recalled what she could from when Dr. Palmer had treated her father and started, bending the man’s knees. Meanwhile, Hosea kept the men’s focus on himself with continued talk. How long would Arthur need to sweep the house? It wasn’t big, but it had more than just one floor, and she had no idea how efficient the outlaw could be in a limited time span. She proceeded to feel up and down his spine, trying to make out any difference but of course she wasn’t trained in this, so nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Eventually, she decided to try and bluff her way through; she stopped over the lower back area and gasped. She pushed lightly on it. “That’s the spot!”, he groaned. She smiled. It wasn’t the spot of course, but the hidden knuckle pressing on the bone in a rather painful way was successful. “Alright sir, this next bit may hurt a little. But rest reassured you will feel

much better after we’re done.” She pressed on different portions of his spine, while Hosea was showering him in affirmations about his granddaughter’s skill and how he had been stiff as a board before she came back from Iowa, where she’d learnt the ways of a chiropractor. Leaning her full weight on the man’s back caused him to push out his breath. She repeated the process slowly in different areas, the boy next to her was transfixed by her heaving chest as she did so. Please don’t look back to the house. She was increasingly nervous, trying to buy some time by mimicking Dr. Palmer’s process as best she could and cycling through the pressure techniques. After a couple more minutes she caught Hosea’s glance, he was still engrossed in the rather one sided conversation with their patient. He nodded at her, barely visible, and she gave the man one last push and sighed with relief, stretching her back that had gotten sore from the hard work she just did. “Now Mister, is this just a little better?”, she asked the man, as he slowly got off the table and back to his feet. “Y-yeah! It’s… It’s a little bit better!”, his voice sounded so astounded that Eliza was again at the verge of losing her mask. What a gullible fool. “A-ha!”, Hosea exclaimed, “What did I say, the child is a true magician. This session has been free, but perhaps we might call again?” “How much will it cost me?” The guy was back to his suspicious self, but his eyes weren’t quite as disregarding this time she thought. “Our rates are reasonable, Mister”, Eliza offered, following Hosea’s slowly retreating steps. "Have a think about it, we’ll be visiting again within a fortnight!” She gave a quick curtsy and Hosea waved them goodbye, slowly marching down the path where they came from. She was shaking with suppressed excitement and laughter, Hosea gave her a wink. When they heard the door shut, he shot a quick glance over his shoulder and pulled her off the path to the right, out of sight from the windows of the house. She had let go of his arm and was shaking in silent laughter, looking up at him as he placed both of his hands on her shoulders. “That was absolutely brilliant, Miss! Absolutely fantastic. Well done.” He winked at her again and pulled her in for a quick hug which she gladly returned. Oh how he reminded her of her late Uncle. “You got a real talent there young lady, I’m so glad we discovered that. Now let’s get to Arthur, he’s waiting in the shed, where I hope he’s found the coach.” They snuck up to the large shed a little way away from the main house of the farm, where Morgan held the door open just enough for them to slip through. Hosea opened the carriage door and helped Eliza up before he took a seat next to Arthur on the box. They drove out and the horses quickly gained full speed. Eliza could hear Hosea and Arthur conversing and laughing, they quickly exchanged the happenings in and outside the house. It didn’t take long until they were back at the green barn of Emerald Ranch, where the coach got parked in. Seamus seemed satisfied with the execution of this job and handed Hosea a stack of bills. They said their goodbyes and turned to Silver Dollar and Moonshine, the two grey horses had followed them all the way. The younger held his hand out to Eliza and pulled her up when she took it. “I hear you’re the next Ada Rehan! Nice work back there.” His compliment made her blush, she was glad he couldn’t see her behind his back. “Thank you. You’ve not done bad yourself I hear!” “Found their stash in the chimney. Fools always think that’s the safest place to hide their tin.” She laughed, enjoying the feeling of a job well done. “I’ll try to remember that!” The guilt she had felt earlier on was much easier to be shrugged off with the knowledge that she had found a skill that would help her contribute to the gang. They rode in a solid canter back over the sweeping plains, and soon she saw the familiar train tracks and the woods behind them. They split the money between them, making sure Hosea had the bit that would go into the lockbox. He

promised to put both their names in with his. Arthur helped Eliza dismount the huge mare and she stuck around to watch him take care of her and ready her for the night. He didn’t ask, but just got on with his work, taking off her saddle and bridle, brushing and feeding her. Eliza noticed a tenderness in his actions and words around Moonshine she never would have believed the man to be capable of. It was obvious that he loved that horse, and the mare returned his affection. It was wonderful to see. He finished his work and joined the girl at the hitching post, observing the horses with her. “We’ll get you on some horse training soon, I promise”, he told her. “And we’ll find ya a horse too.” Eliza smiled. “That would be lovely, but only if you don’t mind. I’m sure Sadie or Lenny could show me too. Or one of the girls.” She didn’t want to be a bother to him, especially since he was always busy doing Dutch’s bidding. She had a feeling their leader wouldn’t take kindly to distractions. “Sure they could.” He looked down at her and adjusted his hat, a sly smile playing on his lips. “But you really wanna be yelled at by that blonde harpy of a woman if you don’t hold the reins proper?”

She burst out in laughter “I guess not! She can be well scary I bet.” “You’d win that one”, he replied, “I’ve seen plenty of ruthless criminals in my years but if I didn’t want one person as my enemy it would be her.” He scratched the stubble on his chin. “She’s got guts and brain in equal measures, but ain’t afraid to storm in without a solid plan. And somehow always makes it out alive, I’ve no idea how she does it. It’s frightening sometimes.” Eliza agreed. “She really is either blessed by Fortuna or incredibly skilled. After what happened in Valentine…. I think both. How she got us out there alive I don’t know.” He was watching her attentively while she spoke, the question clearly written on his face. Eliza noticed and realised he wouldn’t know about that day, he wasn’t in camp. “I’ll tell you another time, it’s quite the story. But now I see Hosea is bragging about me to the girls, I better get over there and remind him that I’m not really his granddaughter Doctor.” He laughed and followed her glance, where Hosea stood in the midst of Tilly, Mary-Beth and Karen, spinning an undoubtedly more exciting tale about the day’s events than what really had happened. Eliza took her leave, not without thanking him again, and joined her friends to attempt some damage control.