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wobblesthecowgirl · 21 days

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I'm No O’Driscoll!

Chapter Two: Six Point Cabin

Tags: Arthur Morgan x Femreader, enemies to lovers, O'Driscoll reader, game plot, Arthur doesn't have tuberculosis, eventual smut, age difference, 18+, mild gore

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Hello again! Chapter two is a lot longer and we are kinda getting into it. I know Arthur and reader hate each other but you can't rush enemies to lovers!

Chapter One

Chapter Three

Days had gone by and Y/n hadn’t eaten a proper meal. In fact, she wouldn’t have had anything if it wasn’t for Mary-Beth feeding both her and Kieran scraps of food when the other gang members weren’t looking. Y/n always made sure to thank her, repaying her kindness with respect. She doesn’t have to do that, but she’s got a good heart.

Arthur and Dutch had tried asking about Colm a few more times but without being fed, the two O’Driscoll’s were too tired to respond (that and Y/n was too suborn. She hated this gang as much as the other one). Today however, seemed much different.

It was sunny, a light breeze and the birds were chirping, it would’ve been a calming day if it wasn’t for the predicament. Arthur strode towards the two of them and stood in between the two trees. When she was tied up, the gang made sure Kieran and Y/n couldn’t reach one another, their feet being only a foot apart from each other.

“When is this going to end…” Kieran whined as Arthur got to them, not ready for another day of questioning and torture.

“You both got some speaking to do of your own, about that old gang of yours.” He folded his arms like he always did, which Y/n rolled her eyes at. Here we go again.

Kieran was standing again, whereas she couldn’t, her thigh slightly better but due to her condition, it was healing slower than it should. Kieran groaned, “I said I told you. I don’t know nothing.”

Arthur shook his head, the tiny rope on his hat swung with it, “That’s what I thought.”

Dutch came striding over, his voice cheerful and booming, causing the woman to jump.

“Hold your horses there! It seems the cat has got our friend’s tongue’s.” He stood with Arthur, with a bigger guy before continuing, “I was thinking Mr Williamson could have a word.”

Y/n eyed him carefully; she had been trying to get as much information on everyone, being sat doing nothing makes you people watch. She was sure this guy was called Bill. He had a creepy grin on his face and pointed at Kieran.

“We can start with you. You ready to talk, boy?”

“I told you mister, I told all of you. I don’t know nothing, ok?” He sighed, “Th-They ain’t no friends of mine. I just been ridin’ with them for a while.”

Bill interrupted him, his spit flying out his mouth, “Bullshit! You’re close with this O’Driscoll, and you told us you weren’t close with any of them! So how about you tell us the truth.” He turned to the gang’s leader, “Dutch, what do you want me to do?”

Y/n’s heart dropped. This interrogation session was different than the others, it was much more sinister.

“Hurt him. So the next time he opens his mouth, it is to tell us what is going on.” Dutch’s mouth was twisted into a sly smile, his voice dripping with ill intent.

“Who am I kidding? One of the O’Driscoll’s boys couldn’t open his mouth, but he’d tell a lie.” He got in Kieran’s face before turning to Bill, “Screw it. Let’s just have some fun,” He made a cutting motion with his fingers, “geld him.”

Bill cheered as Y/n pulled at her restraints, “No! You get away from him!” She screamed as Dutch laughed down at her.

“Maybe you’ll talk for him!”

“What’s he doing? Where’s he going?” Her friend panicked, watching Bill bring a pair of long tongs from the fire.

Arthur hadn’t said anything, only stood watching the scene unfold before him, waiting to see who would crack first.

“Oh, don’t worry. They’re only balls boy! Just gonna cause you trouble.” Dutch began to ramble about Rome but the two hostages weren’t listening, instead watching Bill cheerfully make his way over. Kieran’s trousers and pants were then pulled down, and Y/n made sure to look up, in attempts to save the poor boy’s dignity.

“No, no, no, no! You’re kidding right?” Kieran cried, trying to back away but the tree blocked him.

“You disgusting pigs!” Y/n snapped, still wriggling and kicking, her thigh screaming at her to stop.

“You sick bastards! What do you want from me!” Even Kieran was swearing now, fear causing him to sweat profusely.

“Well, you are going to talk. The only question is now, or after we get these little fellas off?” The three men were surrounding Kieran. The pair of tongs getting closer, yet he still wasn’t cracking.

“Ok! I’ll tell you!” Y/n shouted; she couldn’t sacrifice her friend getting hurt over a gang who didn’t even realise they were missing. All the men turned to her, the weapon getting a bit further away from him.

“Six point cabin.” She stated, and when they looked at her she sighed, “That’s where the O’Driscoll’s are. That’s where Colm is lying low.”

The men seemed satisfied, as Bill shouted at Kieran, “Why didn’t you tell us that first, boy?”

“I didn’t know the location!” He whimpered, still keeping an eye of Bill’s hand, and trying to cross his legs.

“But I know where that is! I can take you there. I don’t like him. I mean, I like him even less than I like you. No offence.”

“Oh, none taken.” Dutch cackled. Arthur finally joined in on the conversation. He leant down to Kieran and said, “Ok then, partner. Why don’t you and your friend take a few of us up there. Right now.” He untied Kieran who quickly pulled his trousers up, and Arthur approached Y/n.

“I ain’t helping you!” She spat, her not shot leg kicking out in protest. She could hear him grumbling as he untied her, and when she refused to stand, he grabbed her bicep and forced her up. His grip was purposefully strong, but she couldn’t focus on that, instead, she focused on the fact that she couldn’t stand or walk properly. Being sat for days on top of her wound made her useless.

“I got this, Dutch. Should be fun.” He reassured his leader before turning his attention back to her, “Alright you, come on. Can you walk?”

“What does it look like?” She gritted her teeth, limping slowly to what she assumed was his horse after watching him ride to camp on it. She could feel him chuckling behind her, “Well at least I ain’t gotta worry about you running away.”

Another snide remark from this man and I’ll kill him on pure adrenaline and a pocketknife.

Kieran jogged over to the best of his ability to help her, but she held her hand up to stop him. She didn’t want to appear weaker than what she already did, and if the two kept acting close, the gang would use that against them like how they already did.

“Let’s hope you both ain’t trying to trick us, O’Driscolls.” Arthur warned.

“We ain’t no O’driscoll.” Kieran corrected which only caused the older man to snap back, “But you sure as shit was.” After that, he called for John and Bill to tag along, and Kieran gave them the directions.

“John, you take this little rattlesnake with you. Any nonsense, kill him.”

John nodded, pointing to his horse so Kieran could hop on.

“Don’t do anything rash.” Y/n called out to him as John sat on the front of his horse. Kieran nodded at her as if to say ‘same to you’.

“You’re with me, woman.” Arthur got on his horse, and looked down at her. She looked up and from this angle, she could see how his stubble was neatly kept and his moustache was slightly longer. His eyes were light and the were small scars dotted across his cheek.

I can’t wait to put a bullet through his head.

She grabbed the saddle but winced when she shifted her weight to her bad leg. With a grunt, Arthur extended his hand which only caused her to raise her chin at him.

“You can put your filthy hand away, I don’t need your help.”

“Well, it sure looks like you do. Stop being so stubborn, girl.”

“I hope you drop dead on this mission.” She spat, pulling herself up in an awkward manner, seating behind him with as much distance as she could get. Why does he have to have the biggest horse known to mankind?

“Are they taking us to Colm?” John asked as the three horses galloped out the camp and through the trees that gave comforting shade to the summer’s sun.

“Look, I-I-I’ll give you more directions when we’re close, but if I know where we are, it’s up past Valentine.” Kieran strutted as John moved further up for the rest of them to follow. Y/n tuned out the men the entire ride there, all she heard was talk about throwing knives, O’Driscolls, and horse shit. Instead, she watched the dust kick up from the hooves of the horses, the leaves blowing in the wind, and the occasional people passing by.

Arthur asked Bill if he still had the tongs, to which he replied with the fact he had a knife.

“Keep that in mind, young fella.” He yelled at Kieran, “Right in the forefront of it.”

“What about the woman?” Bill asked; Y/n saw him shrug.

“I’ll just shoot her other leg. I doubt she’ll get far.” His voice found humour in this, and she could only grit her teeth at how helpless she was. She was stronger than this, much stronger, and these idiots didn’t even know it.

“It’s passed these hills. Better get there before I get your gun.” She threatened and couldn’t help her smirk as she saw him instinctively reach for his holster. They stopped their horses at the clearing and planned to reach the cabin from foot. Arthur got off first and looked at her, wondering if she was going to ask for help. Of course she didn’t. Instead, she swung her leg over and jumped down, falling to her knees from the sudden impact. She kept her pained cries inside, only earning a small grunt. Kieran made his way over and helped her back on her feet, which this time she didn’t push him away. When she was steady, Kieran began to walk towards the cabin’s location.

“There’ll be a bunch of fellers hiding out there too.” Kieran stated as the group were crouched behind a log, peering into the woods. A couple of men were further than the rest, taking a toilet break against a tree.

“Are these fellas armed?” Arthur asked.

“Armed. Drunk. Wary of strangers.” Kieran nodded.

“And Colm O’Driscoll?”

“Most likely.” Y/n intervened, “Probably passed out sleeping soundly. After a day of bossing people to their deaths.”

The three O’Driscoll’s continued to talk to one another as Dutch's group tried to conduct a plan. The O’Driscoll’s got close, so John grabbed Kieran and covered his mouth with a gun to his head. Arthur did the same. His giant, calloused hands roughly gripped Y/n face to silence her, the other hand on her shoulder. She could feel his breath on her ear, but she didn’t move a muscle. Not because she was scared, but because doing so would be pointless. If she screamed, either John would shoot her, or her former gang mates would.

“I’m gonna let go of you now, if you so much as move an inch, I’m shooting you in the head this time.” He whispered in her ear, as she stifled a grunt, her eyebrows knitted together. He slowly let go, making sure she didn’t move, and began making his way over to the enemy with his throwing knife, stabbing all three with Bill. John turned to Kieran and Y/n, his eyes narrowed.

“I need to help them. You two stay here, if you try to escape we will hunt you down. Understood?” Kieran nodded while she only rolled her eyes; she was getting tired of all the empty threats. They watched as John descended down the hill.

“We can’t keep doing this, man.” She spoke up after a quick breather, her leg aching. He only hummed in response, too busy trying to get a better look of what was going on. As she scoped the scene, a familiar shine in the corner of her eye caught her attention.

“Is that..” It was. It was a sniper rifle. It was the first time she had a genuine smile. Oh, what a beautiful sight, a beautiful sight that is now mine.

She hopped down the hill, carefully as to not alert either gang, and picked up the gun. Its cold metal only warmed her heart, as she looked through the scope and nodded her head; it wasn’t the best, but it’d do. She heard her friend scramble after her, not wanting to be left alone.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” He scolded, the both of them a bit startled at the sudden loud bangs of guns at the cabin.

“What do you think? I’m going to scope that big grunt and get us the hell out of here. We can wait till they kill all the O’Driscolls, then I aim from a distance an-“

“No! Being alone is too risky! We would get hunted down! Our best bet is to warm up to the Van Der Linde gang and-“

It was her turn to interrupt him, she looked like she had been shot a second time, “What? Are you insane! Have you lost your mind?”

“I’m trying not to lose my head!” He snapped back, much to her surprise. He rubbed his eyes, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. Just… hear me out ok?”

“They will kill us after today you know? We gave them what they needed, Bang. Bye bye us.”

A twig snapped, the two of them now on high alert. An old O’Driscoll had a gun pointed at Kieran, but Y/n quickly head shot him within milliseconds. He thanked her, a hand to his chest.

“Come on, we are sitting ducks here.” She began to limp to the cabin, the gunshots had died down significantly. When they got there, the place was littered with dead bodies.

She made her way to the wooden shed and saw the rest of them there. Arthur had his back turned; it would be so easy. She aimed her rifle at him, just as he got knocked down by a frenzied O’Driscoll with a gun pointing down at him. Saves me a job, she first thought, but Kieran’s previous words nagged her. Nagged and nagged, before she huffed in annoyance. Damn you, horse boy.

She shot the man on top of Arthur between his brows, he went limp, and Arthur pushed the now dead body off of him; blood had splattered on his coat and face. He laid there for a moment, not even acknowledging her, before getting up and peering his head inside the cabin and was suddenly filled with rage. He stormed towards her, his face red.

“You set us up! Come here!” He was towering over her now, their anger mutual.

“No she didn’t!” Kieran tried to defuse the situation which only made Arthur angrier.

“You both did, Colm O’Driscoll ain’t here!”

“If I wanted to set you up, I would’ve used this very rifle in my hand to shoot you dead!” She seethed, raising the rifle as proof she did just in fact save his life.

“She has a good point, Arthur.” Bill butted in, sort of on her side. Arthur paused for a moment, seemingly taking in the situation before shooing her away and saying, “Alright then, go on, get out of here.”

“Eh?” Kieran puzzled, stepping closer to Y/n who only furrowed her brows at him. A trap? Get our back turned to shoot us?

“I’m letting you run away, now go on. Get out of here.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice, come on Kieran.” She was about to walk off, or hobble away, when he grabbed her wrist.

“That’s as good as killing us. Out there, without you, Colm O’Driscoll’s gonna lose his mind about this.”

She groaned, sick of this argument, and Arthur didn’t seem too pleased either, only asking, “So?”

“So, we’re one of you now.” He stated, earning a scoff from Y/n.

“Oh please.”

He shot her a warning glance and for once she obeyed. Arthur rubbed his eyes before murmuring, “Give me a break.” He looked at them both, thinking hard about his next decision.

“Alright then. But I’m warning you both…”

“We get it!” Y/n groaned, throwing the rifle on the ground to his feet so he didn’t keep going on.

“You fellas get to camp, quick. Hey Bill, you tell Dutch, old Kieran and little Y/n ain’t worth killing. Just yet.” He stated, already making his way inside the cabin to find the money stashed in the chimney.

Y/n got on John’s horse this time with said man, deciding the man with the giant scar on his face was still better than Bill, who only this morning was excited to burn a man’s balls off.

“Don’t think for second you’re one of us.” John barked as they began their journey back to camp.

“Trust me. I’ll never have the desire to be accepted by any of you.” She scoffed, all of them going silent as the sun began to set, and the cold air giving her goosebumps.

#rdr2 fandom #rdr2 #rdr2 community #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader

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twola · 1 year

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Passerine : Chapter 1

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

When a run-in with an O’Driscoll leads you to a fate worse than death, it’s up to Arthur to pick up the pieces.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Next

“Don’t look so glum there, cowboy. I’ll be sure to put your money to good use.”

Arthur Morgan glares from across the table, pushing the pile of coins in your direction.

“The hell are you gonna do with that money?” He spits, but cannot help the grin that begins at the side of his mouth.

You toss your braided hair over your shoulder. “As I damn well please, Mister Morgan. I think I’ll take myself to town.”

Pushing the dominoes into the center of the table, you stand and relieve Arthur of his money.

“Maybe I'll find me a nice stable boy and treat him to dinner.” You tease, knowing just how to rib the man in front of you.

He snorts, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one at the table, “Ain't you just a proper lady, wine and dine the boy before robbin’ him blind.”

“Claro, Arthur, sounds like you have some experience with that.” Javier chuckles from his seat across the campfire. You look over at Javier and wink, laughing under your breath.

Arthur rolls his eyes, taking a drag from his cigarette. You laugh as you deposit the coins into the pocket of your dress.

“The pleasure was all mine, Mister Morgan.” You curtsy in an exaggerated manner before stepping away from the table and taking your leave.

Arthur shoots up as you walk away, heading toward where the horses are hitched across the camp. A pleased smile crosses your face as you hear his heavy footsteps behind you.

“C’mon now, you ain’t really gonna go blow that money in Valentine of all places,” Arthur complains, taking a drag of his cigarette as he follows you.

“Cattle town is gonna be the best place to pick up a strapping young stablehand, Mister Morgan. Besides, didn’t you and Lenny just blow through an embarrassing amount of money in Valentine two weeks ago?” You spin on your heel and press your pointer finger into his chest accusingly.

“That was - that’s… that’s different.” He sputters, almost dropping the cigarette from his mouth. A tinge of red stains his cheeks as his eyes dart away from you.

“Mhmm. Sure…” You roll the second word in a drawl imitating the man’s rough voice, the ‘u’ sounding more like an ‘o’ and ‘a’ smashed together.

He scowls in response.

“Are you seriously going to Valentine for that?”

You laugh, reaching your horse.

“I’m gonna go check out a lead I heard from one of the workin’ girls in town.” You pull on the strap of the horse’s saddle, tightening the holster where your repeater is tucked into.

“Y’want company?” Arthur asks, dropping his cigarette on the ground and snuffing it out under his boot. God, this man is about as obvious as they come.

“Nah, I’m a big girl. ‘Sides, I’m just lookin’. I’ll be sure to find ya when it’s ready to hit though.” You pull yourself up into the saddle of your gelding, a young silver-coated trotter.

“I’ll be back to take more of your money, I promise, Mister Morgan.” You laugh as you settle yourself in the saddle, looking down at him as he rolls his eyes at you. “Don’t miss me too much, cowboy .” You lower your voice to sweet registers as you lean over your saddle closer to him.

The very hint of a blush blooms on his cheeks again before he looks back to the ground.

This dance, the give and take, the teasing, it’s all burning in your gut deliciously. Somewhere along the way of robbing, thievery, and general skullduggery that the gang lived by, you and Arthur began this flirtation.

You’d be blind not to notice him - especially when he’s been apt to chop wood shirtless around camp. Karen may or may not have smacked you upside the head after catching you staring.

And you - you know you’re not any vixen - you certainly don't have Karen’s bosom, but you’ve noted Arthur’s stare at times, lingering for longer than is socially appropriate.

Also, there’s Mary Beth and Tilly teasing you that Arthur looks at you like a lost puppy. Karen drolls on that whatever this is between you is getting obnoxious and you two should just get in bed together and get it over with.

Maybe if Blackwater hadn’t happened the way it did, you’d have done that by now. It's been a while since you’ve been on your back for anyone , and certainly, since joining this gang a year back, you’ve been trying your damnedest to prove your worthiness as a thief, without sleeping your way around the camp.

But Arthur… Arthur; the stalwart enforcer, the muscle, the fearless, at times ruthless second in command… Somehow, underneath that bloody and hard exterior is a quiet, unsure, and unconfident man.

You're in the painfully obvious stage of…. whatever this is between you, where the attraction is undeniable, the tension is palpable. Perhaps it was when Arthur insisted on teaching you how to shoot when a coach robbery in Colorado went south. Perhaps it was the way he curled his arms over your back to help you aim the repeater. Perhaps it was the way his rough, low voice whispered in your ear to keep both eyes open when aiming…

Speaking of which, his rough, low voice interrupts your thoughts.

“You be careful now, Miss.”

“Always am, Mister.”

Arthur nods and gives you a two-fingered salute as you urge your horse into a trot away from the camp, passing Karen on your way while on guard duty. She waves, and you toss some crude joke at her, to which she laughs back, fading out of view as your horse makes it past the brush and woods to the main road. The gang had settled at Horseshoe Overlook several weeks ago after the mess of Blackwater and the terrible time in Colter. Things were slowly returning to normal - jobs were starting up again, there was money to be made.

The golden late afternoon sun falls behind the mountains as you steer your horse through the Heartlands, skirting east of Valentine and into the heavily wooded Cumberland Forest.

Some harlot with loose lips was talking up a client she had, some feckless man from the East who set up in a cabin north of Cornwall’s oil fields. Sounded like he had money, by the way the girl was talking in the saloon. All you had to do was a little scoping out, recruit some of the men for the job, and reap the benefits. You could see the pleased look on Dutch’s face when you bring back the haul, having orchestrated an entire robbery and provided for the gang. You would finally feel worthy .

The low light of dusk descended on the forest by the time you reach your destination. You hitch your horse just off the road, grabbing your binoculars and slinging your repeater over your back before quietly trapezing through the high grass and trees toward the clearing where the cabin stood. Luckily for you, the side you approached from sloped down a rocky hill, and there was a ledge perfect for spying upon the cabin and its occupants.

You sidle up to the ledge and stoop to your knees, then to your belly as you pull a pair of binoculars from your dress pocket.

There we are.

Sprawled out on the ledge, peering through your binoculars with a repeater strapped across your back, you grin. A light is lit within the cabin, shadows of its occupant moving around. Hell, from the one window you can see in, things look clean and new. A sitting duck. You decide to stay another half hour to see if you can delineate any other people in the cabin.

None such exist. You snort, giggling to yourself with glee - this was going to be great. Tomorrow you would recruit Arthur and Javier, maybe John if he was feeling up to it, storm into this cabin, and rob this city slicker blind. Foolproof .

“You think you can just move in on my spot, huh, missy?”

A cold shiver goes down your spine as you whip your binoculars to the ground in front of you. Sprawled out on the grass of the ledge, it was near impossible to reach your repeater at this angle.

Not that it would have helped anyway.

The butt of a rifle meets the back of your head and all goes black.

You awaken with a piercing pain in the back of your skull. It takes you moments for your vision to come into focus, but when it finally does, you find yourself indoors, the stench of stale cigarettes nearly overbearing.

Blinking, your eyes become less cloudy as you realize that you’re bound. Your hands are tied tightly behind your back, the fibers of rope rough against your wrists. You lay atop a bed of some sort, though calling it that would be generous. You struggle against your bindings, groaning against the fabric tied tightly against your mouth, gagging you.

A door opens across from you, and as you strain to get your bearings in the dark, the light from a lantern floods the room. Decrepit, falling apart, dirty - a wardrobe with a door hanging off and random items thrown in. Bottles litter the floor.

A chair with a rifle- no wait - a repeater slung over the back of it, hanging by a strap.

Your repeater.

“Now, what do we have here, little miss?”

Your eyes dart back to the stranger walking into the room, the man places the lantern down on a side table.

“I got to thinkin’- who could this little lady be that’s scopin’ out my lead?”

He leans on the bed, uncomfortably close. You squirm as far as you can from him on the bed, your teeth clenching down on the gag in your mouth.

“Yer one of Dutch’s girls, ain'tcha? Colm’ll love this.”

O’Driscoll.

Of course. Dutch had said Colm was operating in the area. Hell - it wasn't two weeks ago that a bunch of the men cleared out a safe house full of them; the green-scarved assholes. Stupid, stupid. Why didn't you take up Arthur’s offer to come with you?

You narrow your eyes at the man and finally notice the green bandana at his collar, tucked into his dirty flannel shirt. He pulls an old, beat-up cabbie hat from his head and tosses it to the ground. His dark hair is disheveled, as is his beard.

“I’ll be bringin’ you back to our camp. Colm will want to be speakin’ wit ya. Y’know, he can be quite a convincin’ man.”

You continue to try and scoot yourself away from the man, a dirty, rough-looking scoundrel - just what you pictured when an O’Driscoll came to mind. Unfortunately, the bed where you’ve been deposited is against the wall, and you've quickly run out of real estate to put between you.

“The boys are hittin’ that house now, ain't gonna lose it to any stinkin’ Van der Lindes.” He spits with derision over Dutch’s name.

He turns and spits on the floor before moving closer to you. You try to buck and withdraw further to prevent him from touching you, but between his encroaching figure and the wall, you are trapped.

“But while we’re waitin, might as well have some fun.” He grabs your leg to stop you from moving. He yanks, hard, pulling you across the bed toward him. You yell into the gag. He pulls your boots off and tosses them across the room, they skitter across the floor. His hands dive under your skirt, finding your knees, and where your stockings end at your thigh. They are peeled from your legs as you try to squirm from his grasp.

Tears run down your face as you struggle, the screams reduced to animalistic cries with the fabric between your teeth. You pull on the ropes binding your wrist but are unable to make any headway other than rubbing the skin of your wrists raw behind your back.

“Y’know, pretty little thing like you, maybe I should make you my wife.”

The man looks over you, giving you a toothy grin. He leans over and takes your shirt in two hands and pulls, buttons fly and fabric tears as you struggle against him, yelling against the gag in your mouth. The shirt is pulled from your body in torn pieces before he starts to pull at the fastening of your skirt. You buck your knee up and hit him on the chin. Smarting from the blow, he works his jaw a bit before slamming his fist across your face.

You’re left dazed, vision going temporarily black. You feel your skirt loosen around your waist. There is a tearing of cloth, ripping, and as you’re reeling from the blow to your head, you feel your bloomers torn from your hips. Your threadbare chemise is all that shields your body from this man.

The terrible clicking sound of a belt being undone pierces the stillness.

“Now, now, you haven’t been too nice to me tonight, miss. Think it’s time ta teach you some manners. I know ol’ Van der Linde prolly doesn’t teach you shit.”

He climbs onto the bed, looming on his knees above you. You try to wriggle your arms free, but the rope behind your back is tight against your wrists. You meet his eyes as a cold sweat overtakes you.

He laughs, the bastard. Standing on his knees above you, he undoes the buttons of his trousers one by one. He yanks his shirt up his abdomen before peeling his trousers down to his knees, one hand stroking his hardening cock.

You scream again but gagged as you are, your efforts are in vain.

Hands return to your thighs. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying hard to close your legs, but strong fingers move up to your thighs again and shove your knees apart. Fabric is pushed, higher, higher. The hem of your chemise is hiked over your hips, baring your naked skin to your captor. He lets the fabric go and it pools around your ribcage.

Tears burst from your eyes as you begin to hyperventilate behind the gag.

“Pretty miss.”

You feel the blunt head of his cock push against your opening, insistently demanding entry. A sob wracks your body as the man above you grunts, pressing hard against you. A piercing pain flashes through your hips, and the opening of your cunt burns as he breaches you, the head of his cock forcing his way in. You’re not prepared for anything like this, and the drag of his skin against yours is a pain like you’ve never felt before.

He groans in pleasure, pushing further into you, and tears continue to spill from your eyes as the pain worsens. He presses his whole body down on yours, your arms screaming in pain as they are forced into an unnatural angle beneath both your body and his.

You thought the burning would never end, the scraping of your inner walls, but the man finally bottoms out, and with a pleasurable moan, he thrusts himself fully inside you, his pubic bone hard against your own.

He rolls his hips, pulling out slightly, and pushing back in. In some small mercy, your body has betrayed you, and your cunt becomes wet enough that the pain becomes less and less excruciating. The energy, the fight, the fire you had, it all seems to have left you, with each heinous thrust of your captor into you, your body becomes more and more limp. Your soul crushed with each squelching noise and moan from the man atop you.

He continues on, and you turn your head, staring at the wall. It’s all you can do, focus on the crack in the beam supporting the structure. Your body moves back and forth on the bed as he rolls his hips against yours, thrusting in and out, in and out. He looms over you, his arms bracketing in your head, hips mashed together, warm skin on warm skin. If it weren’t so painful, so raw, so violating , it would remind you of lovers past, tangled up in bedsheets and limbs.

But this feels like it’s never going to end. It feels like hours that he takes you, each push of his body into yours is a little less of you left.

“Fuck , you’re tight, woman.” He grits out, thrusting harder into you, more erratically, “So g-good.”

Thankfully, he finally pulls out of you, stroking himself to completion, and spatters his spend over your mound.

He grunts as he rolls off of you, stumbling off the bed and pulling his pants back up. He redoes his belt without looking at you.

“You’ll be a popular one ‘mongst the boys, with a tight little cunny like that.”

You stare at the wall, unable to think, unable to move. Your chemise lays limply on your stomach and your legs hang open, your muscles scream against the abuse.

“Maybe later I’ll fuck ye in the ass, surely yer even tighter there.” The man reaches over and grabs a handful of your behind from the side as if to stake his claim.

You just close your eyes. He removes his hand from your skin as he mumbles something. The door opens and closes to the bedroom of this small cabin. You're left alone, your cunt aching, arms protesting, voice hoarse.

What seems like hours later, you hear a loud commotion outside the door. A violent crack pierced the night. You pray that it’s not more men coming to violate you further, tears flowing from your eyes again. You’re unable to find the strength to do anything. You can’t endure this endlessly. Maybe they will have mercy on you and kill you.

The door bursts open.

You are barely able to raise your head, but you make eye contact with the room’s new occupant. It is not your captor, nor any of his green-scarved comrades.

No, it is a lumbering man with honeyed hair and a black hat you’d recognize anywhere.

“Jesus Christ.”

Close, but Arthur Morgan is the closest you could get to a savior right now.

He slams the door behind him.

You cannot do anything but stare, your limbs don’t work, and your muscles protest. Even your neck gives out, and your head lays back on the bed, a strangled noise coming from your throat.

That’s how Arthur finds you. Bound and gagged, sprawled out on a dirty bed. Stripped to a chemise, hiked up over your hips. Your legs open, another man’s drying spend splattered in the dark hair shrouding your cunt. All you can do is stare at the ceiling with cold and broken eyes.

Arthur rushes over to you, throwing his rifle to the floor. It clatters in the silence of the room. He grabs the hem of your chemise, pulling it down over your thighs to give you some semblance of modesty, before grabbing his knife and cutting the fabric tied around your jaw.

You take a shuddering breath, and turn your eyes to the ceiling, unable to look at him. He leans over you and takes his knife to the ropes binding your wrists. They snap, and you somehow find the strength to whip your arms to your front and curl your knees into your chest, trying to make yourself small.

Arthur slowly, carefully places his hand on your shoulder, and you shiver under his touch, a sob escaping your mouth.

“Darlin’.”

Your head, tucked into your knees, raises, and your eyes, full of tears, find his. He stares down at you with such gentleness, but in those blue eyes, a sadness, a fear glimmers.

Your face crumbles as you sob again. Arthur quickly sheds his brown leather jacket and lays it over your shoulders. He sits down on the bed next to you.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to camp.”

“N-no.” You stutter. The thought of anyone else seeing you like this was terrifying. You can’t take the stares of the others. You couldn’t take the fawning of the other women, the clucking of Susan as a mother hen when one of her girls gets hurt. Hosea’s pitying expression. Dutch’s righteous anger. You couldn’t take the pity, the tutting, the attention.

“I don’t- I don’t want to go back there tonight.”

You don’t want to go back there dressed only in a chemise, horseless, with tear-stained cheeks. It would be obvious to everyone what happened.

“Alright. Okay. We’ll figure it out. But we gotta get out of here. Ain’t no tellin’ when anyone else’ll be back.” Arthur looks over his shoulder at the door to the bedroom.

He moves from the bed, taking his rifle and slinging it over his shoulder. You pull his jacket around your shoulders tighter. He moves about the room, surveying out a dirty window before grabbing your repeater from the chair and swinging it over his shoulder as well.

“Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

He unholsters his revolver from his belt, pushing the door open and shutting it quickly behind him.

You swipe at your eyes in the silence with the back of your palm. You barely have enough time to collect yourself before Arthur swings the door open and you jolt. He reholsters his revolver and moves toward the bed.

“C’mon, got the horse out front. Let’s get outta here.”

Without letting you stand; or even question him, he swings his arms around your frame, hoisting you from the bed as if you were nothing. One arm hooks under your knees, the other behind your back. You allow it. Normally, you would scoff at being treated like some damsel.

But things weren’t normal now.

Arthur’s heavy steps echo through the cabin as he moves quickly, out the door of the bedroom and through the main room, which was in just as much of a state of disarray. In moments he’s passed through the front door, onto the porch for a step, and into the glen where a ramshackle camp had been set up.

The moon shines bright in the sky. It must be close to midnight.

You peer over Arthur’s shoulder as he moves away from the structure. A crumbled body lays on the porch, contorted in an unnatural position. The bloodied face of your captor stares back at you, a bullet hole between his eyes. You close your eyes and turn away, leaning your head onto Arthur’s collarbone.

His arms tighten around you as you release an audible, shuddering breath.

Arthur swings the mare to the north of Valentine, westward to avoid any other bandits in Cumberland, skirting the cliffs along the Dakota.

The blue waters of the river gently rush by as Arthur slows his mare to a walk, her heavy breathing loud in the night as she’s worked up a lathing sweat on her coat.

You’re astride the saddle, Arthur’s jacket wrapped around your frame, fit securely against him, where he holds you tightly with one arm across your stomach and one hand fisted in the reins as he sits behind you.

He allows the horse to splash several steps into the waters before she stops to lean her head down to the river.

You look at the water for a moment as the mare drinks her fill.

“Can- can we stop here?”

He pulls on the reins, urging his mare back toward the bank of the river. She whinnies with discontent. “What d’ya need?”

The arm around your stomach tightens its hold briefly.

“I… I want to wash off.” You say softly, almost too soft for him to hear it. But he does, his mouth pulled into a straight, serious line.

“Course.” He says, voice gruff. Arthur swings his leg back over the horse’s rump, his spurs jingle as his boots hit the ground. He gently places his hands on your waist, slowly, assuredly pulling you from the horse.

“D’ya need-”

“No. I’m fine.” You interject, not able to meet his eyes. You shrug off his jacket and press it toward him, he takes it as you turn away, walking barefoot toward the riverbank. You slowly edge around stones along the shoreline, trying to save your feet from any sharp edges.

You slowly wade into the water, not bothering to strip yourself of the chemise you’re wearing. Arthur turns away, stepping back from the riverbank.

You wade out several steps until the water laps at your knees. You gather the soaking wet hem of your chemise and pull it above your hips with one hand, the other one cupping water and bringing it up to your cunt, rinsing away the viscous reminder of your violation.

You openly sob, shaking, as you drop the hem of your chemise and start to sink further into the water. You vaguely hear splashing behind you and before you know it, you’re lifted out of the water.

Arthur walks you back to dry land, his arms looped protectively behind your back and under your knees. He places you gently on an overturned log next to the tree where he’d hitched the horse.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna freeze in just your underthings like that.” Arthur places his leather jacket around your shoulders again. You can’t stop crying, your voice cracking over shuddering breaths.

“P-please don’t take me back to c-camp.” You stutter, shivering, voice cracking as tears spill down your cheeks unbidden.

Arthur sighs, taking his hat off his head to wipe his forehead. He places it back on his head before looking around.

“How about I get you a room in Valentine for the night? I’ll buy you a new dress ‘nd then we can figure it out.”

You nod, swiping the back of your hand over your cheeks in a sad attempt to dry your eyes. Another shuddering breath escapes you.

He patiently helps you climb onto the horse’s saddle, settling himself in behind you and leading the mare away from the riverbank. The moon hangs high in the sky as the hour churns later, closer to midnight as you reach the road eastward to Valentine. Over the hours, the sky darkens, clouds moving to obscure the light of the moon as thunder rumbles in the distance, a storm rolling in from the mountains.

Arthur curses under his breath as the wind blows in the scent of rain. Still another hour to Valentine, even pushing the horse at an uncomfortable pace. He pulls you closer to his body as fat drops of rain begin to fall.

By the time you reach Valentine, the roads are choked with mud and a soaking rain pours from the sky. You shiver under Arthur’s coat as he urges the mare around the back of the Saints Hotel. He slides off the saddle of the horse, looking up at you.

“I’ll go get a room. You can meet me at the back door over there.” He says before pulling you down off the horse by your waist, putting you on the ground gently. You shuffle his coat to cover your head as he hitches the horse to a post.

Your feet squelch in the mud as you make your way to the back wooden stairs, waiting for Arthur to return. It's only a few moments before he does, rounding the corner in the night like a man on a mission.

“Here”, he presses a key into your hand, “second door on up the steps. I’m gonna go down to the general store ‘fore it closes to get some clothes and food.”

Arthur pulls a revolver out of his belt, pressing that in your hand as well. “Don’t open the door for anyone but me.”

You nod gravely, pulling his jacket tighter around you. As the rain falls, you slowly make your way up the stairs, and Arthur watches you enter the hotel before turning down the muddy street toward the store.

You pad quietly down the hall, reaching the door Arthur had mentioned and inserting the key into the lock. The door swings open and you quickly shut it behind you.

You place Arthur’s jacket over a chair, tucking the revolver into a pocket, and rub your arms as you move closer to the fireplace. Fortunately, with the weather, the hotel staff had kept the fire lit. The room was small, the wallpaper fading, but for Valentine, it was the best one could get. You survey the room before landing in the mirror, finally looking at yourself.

The mirror reflects a ghastly sight, and your dirty, threadbare chemise does little to shield you. Your hair is half out of its braid, plastered to your skin. Your feet are covered in mud, shoeless as you are. Red-rimmed eyes betray you in the reflection.

You grit your teeth and yank the chemise off of you, throwing it in the fireplace with a groan of frustration. The fabric, though wet in areas, quickly caught aflame.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, breathing heavily. Searching your reflection, you look for something , some mark, some scar, some kind of wound that showed what you had been through. Your kind, outlaws, wore scars like badges of honor. Javier’s dance with the gallows painted on his neck. John’s bout with wolves across his face. Bullet wounds and stab marks are a testament to the survival of this kind of life.

You sigh, tears escaping your eyes again. As you look over your nude form, you grit your teeth. There was nothing, other than some chafing on your wrists from ropes and fading redness on your cheek.

Your hand starts to shake as you lift it from where it hangs at your side. A shaky breath, a barely concealed sob, the popping of the fire, that’s all the sound that exists in this room. Your shaking fingers move to the cradle of your hips, to the hair over your mound. Your index finger presses inward, parting the seam of your core as you wince. You’re swollen, and as you trace up to the opening of your cunt, you gasp aloud in pain, pulling your finger back from your irritated skin.

Your gasp melts into a full-blown sob as you sink to the floor in front of the fireplace. You weep, pulling your knees into your chest, trying to block out the memory of the man’s hands on you, his length inside you.

Trying to block out the look on Arthur’s face when he found you.

You wrapped yourself in a blanket and sat in front of the fire. Three quick raps on the door pull you from your fugue joltingly.

“Hey, it’s me.”

You stumble up, pulling the blanket closer around yourself, and unlock the door. You back away from it as it swings open, Arthur stepping in with his arms full of wrapped packages. He moves past you and deposits them on the bed, before turning back toward the door.

“I’ll let you dress. There’s plenty of food here. I’m going to take the horse just outside of town and camp there.”

Fear creeps into you. “B-but…”

Arthur turns and looks at you.

“P-please don’t go.” Your eyes water over again as you clutch the blanket closer to yourself.

“Are y’ sure?” He asks, pulling his hat off and shaking the excess water from it.

“I’d like you here.” You whisper.

“Whatever you need. I’ll do whatever you need.” He replies quietly, eyes trained on yours for a moment, sincerity in those blue-green pools.

He steps toward the fireplace, moving to kick off his boots and leave them by the door.

“I’ll… I won’t look.” He mutters, pulling a chair from next to the door and placing it in front of the fireplace, taking a seat and rubbing at his forehead tiredly.

You shuffle back toward the bed and unwrap the package Arthur placed there - a simple grey dress, long-sleeved with petticoats and a new chemise lay folded underneath the brown paper. You drop the blanket and let it puddle on the floor, dressing yourself in the clothes quickly.

“T-thank you. I’ll have to pay you for these.” You murmur softly, tying the last fastening on the skirt before turning around and facing him.

He nods his head in the negative, but continues staring at the fire. “No y’ don’t. It’s fine.”

You look around the room forlornly, but finally, exhaustion begins to set in. You sit on the bed and the wooden frame creaks under your weight.

“Y’okay?” Arthur does finally turn around and look at you, concern alight in his eyes.

It takes you a moment to respond.

The twinge in your hips, the hoarseness of your voice. The chafed skin of your wrists, the overextension of your muscles. The memory, weighing you down like an anchor.

You’re so tired.

“No.”

You can barely recognize your own voice. He certainly can’t. You don’t wait for a response as you move to lie down in the bed, turning away from him.

Arthur watches you settle in, pulling the worn blanket over yourself. Sighing to himself, he turns back to the fire, pulling his hat off and running his hand through his hair.

He shoulda killed that man slowly.

You awaken in bits, blinking into existence. Slowly accumulating to your surroundings, you press yourself up into a sitting position, finding yourself on the bed in a hotel room. Arthur is across the room, sleeping in a chair, his legs propped up on a chest, his hat over his face. The fireplace smolders with the last bit of embers from the night. Sunlight filters in through the dusty lace curtains.

Swinging your legs down to the floor, you wince slightly as the bed’s frame creaks loudly. Arthur jolts in his chair, his hat falling to the ground.

“Sorry…sorry-” you whisper, knowing how miserable it is to be woken suddenly.

“`S fine,” Arthur mutters, covering his mouth with his palm as he yawns.

You rub your upper arms quickly to warm yourself up, staring at the empty fireplace.

“Y’ want to go back to camp?” Arthur’s voice pierces the stillness that had settled in the room.

“Y-yes. I think so,” you pause, “Arthur…”

“Mm?” He doesn’t look up from pulling on his boots.

“Please don’t…. Don’t tell anyone.”

He stops, looking up at you. “Course,” nodding gruffly, a serious expression on his face. He places his hat on his head and throws his brown jacket over his shoulders. He moves toward the fireplace, grabbing the rifle and repeater balanced against the frame, and slinging them both over his shoulder.

“A-Arthur…” you pipe up again, your voice small, “I don’t, I don't have shoes.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows before cursing under his breath after looking at your feet, partially obscured by your skirts. “ Shit , lemme… Lemme go down to the store and get some.”

“I have more at camp. You don't have to. We’re goin’ straight there, right?”

He nods, and you make toward the door, “Just… check out and I’ll meet you around back.”

“Alright, I‘ll just be a minute.” He gruffly nods, grabbing the key to the door and heading out. You hear his heavy footsteps make their way down the hall and the stairs.

You sigh, straightening your skirts, and look yourself over in the mirror for a moment. Was it obvious? Did you look different? Would people know?

It would not do to dwell. You move to the door, open it, and quietly relatch it before quickly moving down the hall and out the back door, rounding the raised deck to the old staircase behind the hotel. The wooden stairs creak under you, as you carefully pad down to the enclosed yard behind the hotel. You cringe when you look at the wet, muddy ground between you and Arthur’s horse, several feet away, hitched to a post outside the hotel’s property.

Arthur rounds the corner from the front and looks at you standing on the last stair. You frown, “I’ll be right there.”

The outlaw doesn't take that answer. Rolling his eyes, he stalks toward you, his boots squelching in the mud.

“Wait, Arthur-”

He picks you up like a sack of potatoes, over his shoulder, your behind high in the air as he turns toward his mare several feet away.

You screech indignantly, “Put me down, you big oaf!”

“I'm sure your ladyship doesn't want to be in the mud with us low-lives.” He snorts, reaching his mare after passing through the soggy ground.

“I swear , Arthur-”

Arthur heaves you forward, and you grunt in surprise as you land on the rump of the horse, his hands sliding to your waist to steady you. Your hands fly to his shoulders for more support.

For a moment, everything was as it was. The back and forth, the playful name-calling. The blush rises on your cheeks as you feel his fingers curl ever so slightly against your waist.

And then you wince briefly, a shot of pain through your hips, and Arthur pulls back his hands as if they burned you.

“ Shit , I didn’t-” he stutters, eyebrows raised and eyes wide.

“Wasn’t you. Wasn’t you.” You reply quietly, your hands leaving his shoulders.

He frowns, his eyes moving from you to the ground, where the horse’s hooves stamp lightly; the mare irritated by Arthur’s jolting.

Arthur runs his hand down the mare’s neck, leaning in to whisper something in her ear, calming her. He takes another look at you, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The return to camp is blessedly uneventful. You even manage to slip in without anyone noticing your bare feet. You are able to sneak into your small tent and at least throw an old pair of boots on before anyone notices you’ve returned.

Charles speaks to you first, having found your gelding making his way back to camp. You’re able to craft a story about being bucked outside of Valentine, and how it was fortunate for you to be marooned so close to town, where you hung around knowing someone with the gang was liable to swing by. It was believable, especially with Charles knowing that your horse could still be temperamental. He doesn’t push with any further questioning.

People don’t bother you. You’re able to settle into normalcy, or at least feign it.

The nights turn cold, and much like the spring blizzard that trapped the gang in the Grizzlies, cold winds blow down from the mountains. A day is spent hanging extra canvas on everyone’s tents to guard against the chill on the overlook.

And you find yourself staring at the pitch of your small tent in the small hours of the morning, as the campfires have burned down to embers and even the hardest drinkers have gone to bed.

You can’t sleep. Your bedroll against the ground gives you little solace as you sigh, rolling over for the umpteenth time. It’s not necessarily insomnia keeping you awake.

It’s fear. It’s been days since you returned to camp atop Arthur’s horse, and you’ve gotten sleep in fits and bursts, but one harrowing nightmare about green bandanas and a laughing voice and hands all over you has shaken your already winnowing psyche.

You roll fully to your stomach, pressing yourself up to your hands and knees. Tossing the woolen blanket you were under aside, you grab a dress from the pile of clothing and shrug it on over your chemise before crawling out of the tent.

Wrapping your arms around yourself against the cold, you quietly shuffle across the campsite toward a large wagon not far from the edge of the overlook.

Sighing, you run your hand through your hair to calm your nerves. The worst he could do would be to throw you out, right?

That would be pretty terrible, you muse as you snuck between the canvas flaps of the large tent.

“A-Arthur.” You whisper.

The outlaw shoots up in his cot, about to reach for his knife on the table next to him before he realizes it’s you.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” He grunts, his voice rough with sleep.

“I just- just… can I stay with you?”

“Sure- sure. Here,” he pulls the blanket off of him, making to stand up from his cot, “I’ll sleep on the ground.”

“N-no,” you step forward, placing your hand on his shoulder, preventing him from standing, “I-…”

You sit on the cot next to him, wringing your hands together. “It’s just… y’ make me feel safe, Arthur.”

Silence falls between you.

“I’m sorry, I should go. I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

He places a large hand over yours, stopping you from standing. He lays back down, lifting the blanket to allow you to slot yourself next to him.

“C’mere.”

You slowly ease yourself down next to his form, a tight squeeze on the cot. As you press against him, he pulls the blanket over both of you, leaving his arm to lay over you.

It makes you feel secure. You settle in, placing one of your hands on his chest. You don’t remember falling asleep.

Arthur awakens with a crick in his neck. Why the hell was he sleeping on his side? Blinking awake, it only takes him a moment to realize that you’re pulled tightly against him, your head tucked under his chin, your hand lightly over his chest.

You were so full of fire and energy and life before. Now, you're curled into him with a fear that kept you up at night.

He swears he’s gonna kill every O’Driscoll he ever comes across.

You fall into a sense of normalcy. Days go by, you sew and do laundry on the cliff, you help Pearson with meals, and clean up after supper. You put on a cheery face and laugh and mask everything that you’re feeling inside, and by the time night falls, you are spent, bodily and emotionally.

The camp grows quiet in the night and you sneak to Arthur’s tent, into his waiting arms. After the first two days of waking him to ask to stay, he took to waiting until you crept in, pulling you into his embrace and somehow trying to make both of you comfortable on his cot, which was a lost cause half the time.

But you sleep. You actually sleep. Unlike the first few days of staring at the pitch of your tent, you get well-needed rest in this space.

Arthur’s turned the lantern down low, and sits in his cot clad in his union suit, sketching in his journal when you enter the tent, your long coat tight around your shoulders.

He quickly tosses the journal aside and stands up, moving toward you to help you slide the coat from your frame.

“Y’didnt need to s-stop.” You stutter, your teeth chattering.

“Was just waitin’ for you anyways.” He replies, placing your coat over the chest at the end of his cot. He pulls you toward the bed as he sits down, first moving to get himself comfortable, pulling the woolen blanket that was piled at the end of the bed over his frame. He lifts the blanket, motioning for you to crawl in.

It's a practiced movement at this point, for the past several nights, you and he have worked through awkward arms and elbows, sleeping positions that do not work, to what does.

You curl in next to him; your head laying on the curve of his shoulder.

“How did you know to find me?” You whisper, hand firmly on his chest. Your eyes can't meet his.

Arthur frowns. “I knew I shoulda just come wit’ you. I shoulda trusted my gut.”

One of his large hands moves to tuck an unruly strand of hair behind your ear. Finally, you're able to meet his eyes, those azure pools you would happily drown yourself in.

“Went to Valentine. Saw some O’Driscolls hauntin’ about. Figured I would go ruin their day. Heard ‘em talking about a new spot they had up in Cumberland.”

You swallow. You know how the story ends from here.

“ ‘M sorry, sweetheart. I shoulda been there for you.” His hand moves from behind your ear to cup your cheek, “I didn’t keep you safe.”

“Ain’t your fault.” You quietly reply back. Before he can retort back, you bury yourself in closer to him, pressing your forehead into the hollow of his neck.

“I promise, I’ll never let anythin’ happen to you again. I swear.” His rough voice whispers into your ear as he winds his arms tighter around you.

It’s a nice thought. Here, in his small cot, wrapped up in his large frame, you certainly do feel safe. But you know, you’re criminals, outlaws, robbers. There’s no way to keep that promise.

But you’ll allow it for now, at least.

He catches you staring out over the cliff, off into the distance, and the winding Dakota valley. It's still a cold and chilly place, and this morning, after you’ve crept away from his tent and redressed in your own.

Pushing a steaming cup of coffee into your hands, he tries to follow where your gaze goes, down the valley toward the cliffs on the other side of the river, in West Elizabeth.

“How would you feel ‘bout gettin’ outta camp? Just for a night.” Arthur postures. You don't look at him, taking a sip of coffee.

“Where?” Your voice is small after you swallow.

“Somewhere o’er there?” he motions toward the area you’re looking at, across the state line, “Just thought y’might need to get away.”

You look up at him, he’s always been a full head taller than you. “Alright, Arthur. When can we go?”

“Now, if you wanna. Already told Dutch I was gonna look up a lead over near the train station.”

Before you know it, you’re atop your gelding following Arthur down the trail toward the river, your repeater strapped to your back as if things were normal, you were heading out on a job. But you and he know, things have been anything but normal.

You travel for most of the day, down and up valleys and under the shadow of Mount Shann. There isn't much conversation, the plodding of the horse’s hooves taking up most of the air around.

As the afternoon sun begins to wane, Arthur brings his mare to a stop, “Let’s settle in here for the night.” he nods toward an open glen not far off the trail, obviously used as a campsite in the past, the charred remains of a fire in the middle of the clearing.

You bring your gelding toward the glen, and wordlessly, you two unpack and begin to set up a small camp. Arthur sets up a small tent while you gather kindling for the campfire.

By the time you return with a handful of kindling, Arthur is clearing out the ashes from the last fire. You place the branches on the ground next to him, and he takes pieces and arranges them before pulling a matchbook from his satchel, which he has tossed against a large overturned log.

In the silence, he gets the fire started and moves from a crouch to sit on the log, an arm’s length away from the growing flames.

You stand opposite him, unmoved since you returned to the camp.

“Can I ask you something?” You say, eyes still on the fire he’s stoking. It's the first you've spoken since leaving Horseshoe.

“Course,” he grunts, adding another piece of wood to the flames.

“Will you… touch me?”

A long exhale.

“Darlin’, I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

“Oh- I… I’m sorry. I…”

He couldn’t want you, not anymore. The way he saw you. Of course he doesn’t want to touch you after seeing you like that. You’re damaged goods .

You hang your head in defeat, cheeks blazing red. A sense of shame crawled over you as your vision clouded over with unshed tears. Before all this, the teasing back and forth, the heated glances, the good-natured ribbing… it was all gone.

“Darlin’….I don’t want to hurt you. You…you’re hurtin’ sweetheart, I don’t want to be the one hurtin’ you more.”

“I don’t want him to be the last person who touched me!”

You clap a hand over your mouth, surprised at your outburst.

“ ‘M sorry, I-I’ll go now-”

“Darlin’. It ain’t- I ain’t… surely, you can have a better man than me touch you. I ain’t a good man.”

“But I want it to be you, Arthur. I- I feel safe with you. You’re… you’re… I… I choose you.”

He looks at you with a pained expression.

“Please, Arthur. I…want to forget. I want to forget … his hands on me….” You shudder, “I want this to be my choice.”

Silence.

“…And I want you to choose me too.” Your voice drops into a low murmur as you stare at the ground. You’ve bared the last thing you’re hiding from him. He’s now seen and heard everything. He’s seen you at your worst, your lowest.

“Darlin’ girl. You’ve always been my choice.”

From his spot sitting on the overturned log, he reaches for your hand, dwarfing it in his own. His rough and calloused fingers close around yours.

“I never want to be the one hurtin’ you. I don’t know if you’re ready for this.” His thumb runs over your knuckles gently. You finally meet his eyes.

“ Please.”

Something in Arthur breaks, it cracks like a piece of porcelain. He gently places his hands on your waist, pulling you toward him. “Tell me what it is you want.”

“ You, Arthur.”

“C’mere,” he says, guiding you down to his lap, where you perch on his thigh, “we’re gonna go slow. You tell me right away if you wanna stop.”

Your hand moves to his jaw, and you lean in and press your lips against his. One of his hands finds the back of your head, the other splayed out on your lower back, as he gently presses his tongue against your lips, urging them to open to him.

You open your lips with a contented sigh and allow him to pull you even closer into his embrace, his tongue pressing against yours insistently. You don't know how many times you had envisioned this, before the O’Driscoll, when things were a bit simpler.

His hand slowly moves from your lower back to your behind, and he tests the waters by giving it a gentle squeeze. You yelp happily into his mouth, your hips moving over his thigh of their own accord, shifting in his lap. He gives a grunt of approval and squeezes your rear again.

Your hands find purchase around his shoulders, digging into the leather of his jacket. In one roll of your hips over his lap, your thigh juts up against his growing erection, hard and hot under you. In response, he bucks his hips up, to press against your thighs, chasing some kind of relief for his burgeoning cock.

You moan, loudly, into his mouth. He pulls away from your lips, breathing heavily. You’re also panting, your eyes meeting.

A question lays unasked between you, the inches between your wet lips and his, the twitching of his fingers against your rear, the hardness of his cock under your thighs. The dampness blooming between your legs.

You push yourself up against his shoulders, standing from his lap. He looks at you, questioning, his hands moving up to your waist.

“Please.” You say, stepping back from him and his arms fall to rest on his knees. You move toward the tent he had set up and look back at him anxiously as you lower yourself to your knees in front of the opening.

He shoots up from his seat, assuaging your fears.

You scoot back into the tent and lay yourself on the bedroll, watching intently as Arthur shrugs off his jacket and leaves it on the ground just next to the campfire. His gun belt clatters to the ground, clinking as it falls. He drops his hat at the mouth of the tent as he sinks to his knees to enter.

Arthur moves into the tent, his large stature overtaking most of the room in the small tent. He pauses, on his knees, and doesn’t move any further.

“Y’ sure you want this?” He asks, his voice low, but sincerity shines through.

You balance yourself on one elbow and reach with your other arm toward him, beckoning him to crawl over you. You kick your boots off and toss them to the side of the tent. He takes his off as well, spurs clinking as they fall to the ground.

Almost hesitantly, he leans over you, his arms bracketing in your shoulders and his knees on either side of yours. You meet him halfway, pressing your lips to his while throwing your arm around his neck, guiding him down over you. You lay out on the bedroll as he trails his lips from yours, leaving kisses down your jaw.

He suckles gently at your earlobe, and you moan in response. One of his callused hands cups your breast through your shirt, kneading it gently. Your hand flies to his hair, carding through it as you begin to pant.

Arthur looks at you, waiting, patient, and you open your knees slowly, letting him trail his hand up your thigh. He watches for any sign of discomfort, any hesitance, any fear, or pain.

He finds none, and presses forward, trailing his hands up, up to dust your inner thighs. You give a pleased sigh as he moves toward your center, bucking your hips slightly when he presses against your clothed core. Your bloomers quickly become even more damp under his ministrations.

You push at his suspenders, peeling them down his arms as his hands work to untangle themselves from your skirts.

Arthur sits up, pulling at the buttons of his black shirt and shrugging it off, reaching his union suit underneath.

You let out a breath, watching him unbutton the waffle-knit long underwear, with each button, more and more of his skin is bared to your stare. Pale underneath his clothes, his chest is scarred and marked and covered in wiry dark hair.

By the time he has undone all of the buttons on his union suit to his waist and peeled his arms from the fabric, he notices that you have made no move to disrobe.

“Y’alright?”

You slowly nod, averting your eyes from his frame.

“You wanna stop?” Arthur reaches out to you, placing a finger under your chin, gently tipping your chin up to bring your eyes back to his.

“How could you want me after that?”

“Oh, sweetheart….”

You pull away from him, whipping your head toward the tent’s opening. You place a hand over your forehead and release a ragged breath.

“I wanted you when I taught you how to shoot. I wanted you when you kicked my ass at dominoes. I wanted you each and ev’ry time you shared my tent. I want you now, ain’t nothin’ gonna change that.” Arthur places his hands on his knees as he moves to sit next to the bedroll.

“Y’sure?” You ask, your previous confidence waning.

Arthur chuckles, motioning to his crotch. “You want me to prove it to ya?”

You blink - indeed, his cock swells against his work pants as he shucks his boots off. You’re staring, again, at the bulge in his pants, held back by a measly few buttons.

You look up to his eyes again, and there’s such kindness, such truth, such gentleness, that your fears and reservations are assuaged. You reach for the buttons of your blouse, threading them through their eyes as he returns to stand on his knees in front of you; undoing the buttons of his trousers, opening the fly.

“Lemme show you how much I want you, woman.” His voice is low, cut like rough-hewn stone, and the reverberations go straight to your cunt.

You shed your shirt, tossing it in a corner of the tent out of reach. You begin to unlace your skirt as you hear the rustling of fabrics together and glance up to see Arthur rid himself of his pants, leaving only his half-undone union suit on his body. The fabric clings to every inch of him, every carved muscle and tendon, every bit of sinew binding this man together. His cock strains against the cotton.

Your skirt is tossed toward the corner of the tent where your shirt is crumpled.

“C’n I help ya?” He whispers, chest heaving.

“Yeah…yeah.”

He reaches forward as you lean back, his hands finding your waist and working on the fastenings of your petticoats. They slide from your waist and you move your hips to let him pull them from your body.

You pull your chemise over your head, baring your breasts to him, clad only in your bloomers. You see him swallow, his eyes scanning your frame. He removes his hands from you and starts to undo the last three buttons of his union suit. You recline, watching him, letting him take the initiative to bare himself completely.

He threads the buttons through their eyelets and pushes the fabric down from his waist. His eyes are on you, gauging your reaction, as he pushes the suit down, down over his hips, shoving the cotton down his thighs.

His large cock springs upward, framed by chestnut curls, his balls hanging heavy between his thighs. You look back up at his face, and your thumbs hook into the waistband of your bloomers and start sliding them down your thighs. You are both rid of the clothing in moments.

“God, yer beautiful,” Arthur murmurs, his hands tightly at his side, holding himself back.

“Touch me. ” You whisper, laying down on his bedroll. Arthur leans forward, crawling on top of you, placing one forearm next to your head to balance himself. His other hand traces your jaw before he lowers his head to catch your lips.

It’s gentle, surprising you. Arthur Morgan is a man made of violence and brute strength. You’ve seen him tear men apart and beat them stupid. You’ve seen him kill and maim and shoot and stab, but now, here with you, his hand traces down your neck, your chest, across your breasts, down, down to the cradle of your hips. All as he slots his lips against yours, gently, so gently opening them so that his tongue can press against yours, a low rumble echoing from his chest.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, moaning weakly into his mouth as his fingers snake between your thighs, gently pushing them apart. A single finger presses into the seam of your body, and you cry out in pleasure as he moves that finger up and down it. He grunts as he coats his fingers in your wetness, your eagerness for him.

It goes on for minutes, hours, years? You don’t know. But it’s so different, to be lost in pleasure instead of pain. Arthur presses into you and you touch him, wrapping your hand around his cock and pumping it slowly. Whispered, urgent words pour from your mouths, interspersed with moans of pleasure.

Settling between your hips, he braces his arms on either side of your head, and you feel the hot length of him press against your inner thigh. Wanting you. Needing you.

He leans in to kiss your brow. “Still alright?”

You nod, pressing your lips on his jaw quickly. He groans in response, pressing his hips forward.

The head of his cock nudges against your opening. Your eyes widen, and immediately, his hand finds your face, cupping your cheek gently. “We can stop, we don’t gotta do this.”

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, “I wanna be yours, Arthur.”

“You can be mine and we don’t have to do this, sweet girl.”

“You still wanna do this…right?”

“More than anythin’.” He confesses, “but we do what you want. There’s plenty of time.”

“Please. Please , I want you, Arthur.”

He presses forward, gently as possible. He doesn’t force. He doesn’t buck. He leans heavily on one elbow and draws one hand down your frame, fingers tracing across a pebbled nipple, your soft belly, and the cradle of your hips. He raises his hips only slightly, snaking his hand right to where your bodies meet, to where you’re stretched taut around him. He finds the bundle of nerves of your pleasure, rubbing it in circles. You gasp, a high keening moan he has to immediately smother with his lips. He continues his ministrations, and your eyes flutter closed, your hands moving to his back, nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin.

He groans, pulling back from your lips to breathe before laying his forehead against yours. Taking a breath, he pushes his hips down on you, fully sheathing his cock in your core. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t burn. It’s not anything like before. You’re left with the sensation of being filled, warm, and secure underneath him.

“Y’okay?” He whispers, pressing his lips to your cheek briefly. One of his hands runs through your hair, brushing it back from your forehead.

“ Yes,” you breathe back, “you’re so good…”

He smiles, and you’re smitten by the way the wrinkles at the edge of his eyes move. Arthur rolls his hips, sliding his cock inside you, and thrusting back, a long, slow stroke. You both moan as Arthur presses his face into the balled-up blanket next to your head, trying to suffocate the whine he is unable to keep to himself. One of your hands works up his neck to the nape, carding your fingers through the hair there.

His arms move to brace on either side of your head, and you cross your ankles over his hips as he raises his head above yours again. His jaw hangs open as he rolls his hips, moving both of your bodies atop the bedroll. You arch your back, throwing your head back on the blanket, baring your neck to him, where he leans in and places open-mouthed kisses on your skin.

Your breath becomes faster, high-pitched whines escaping your throat as he continuously rolls his hips into yours.

“A-Arthur…” you stutter, half whisper, half pleading.

He pushes himself up, looming over you with his hands planted firmly on the bedroll, on either side of your shoulders. He takes you in, your pupils blown, a red flush creeping down your neck and chest. Your breath devolves into panting.

“Oh sweet thing, gonna come for me?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as your hands move to clench his forearms. “Y-yes, yes - I’m gonna-”

A gasp tumbles from your lips when you feel him shift above you, a calloused thumb finding its way back to the hooded skin over your bundle of nerves, pressing in light circles on it as he continues thrusting into you at a clipped pace.

“I, oh god- keep goin’- don’t stop.” You cry, trying to keep the volume down as tears collect at the corners of your eyes. The stimulation of Arthur’s hand on your pleasure and the incessant roll of his hips sends you reeling.

“Tha’s it, come for me, darlin’…”

You thrust your hips upward, arching the small of your back as the wave hits you. Arthur covers your mouth with his own to stifle the keening cry you emit as every muscle fiber in your body clenches at once.

The glide of his cock as he rocks into you becomes even smoother as your slick covers it, warm and wet and cloying against his balls and all over your thighs.

Arthur groans into your mouth, pressing himself against you fully, crushing you into his chest, the entire length of his frame against yours.

He grunts out the syllables of your name as his thrusts become more erratic. He wants to spend inside you, so much , but that was a step too far, an irresponsible chasing of pleasure, an intimacy he has not earned with you. But the idea is planted in his mind, and as he courts that precipice, he can only think about how it would feel. Thrusting deep inside your warm body, feeling the constriction of your inner walls against his length. Maybe he’d be lucky enough and you’d come too, the spasming of your core drawing him over that edge, pouring himself into you.

“T-tell me where-” he grits out into your ear, panting.

You doom him with your reply. A death sentence, his life finally catching up with him. A merciless finality in high-pitched whispers.

“M-make me yours, Arthur-” you whine breathily.

He can feel the coil tightening low in his gut as he continues to thrust, grunting with exertion, trying not to plunge over that cliff just yet.

“Mine.” He grits out, pushing his hips deep into yours, and finally the rope snaps. Arthur doesn’t just fall off the precipice, he swan dives, “G-god, girl- fuck - you’re m-mine. ”

You whine, loudly , and he feels you flutter around him and he grinds himself hard against your pubic bone, releasing deep inside you, the warm spatter of him milked out by every clench of your cunt. An embarrassingly needy moan escapes him as he drapes himself over you, utterly and completely spent.

Arthur pants in your ear for a few moments, trying to catch his breath. A wet sheen of sweat has developed on your bodies, but now as the movement dies down and you both float down from your highs, you shiver slightly under him.

Arthur immediately pushes himself up, pulling his softening cock from you with a grunt, and repositioning himself to lay at your side. He draws a blanket over your nude forms, settling you in across his chest, his arm winding around your shoulder. You hum, satisfied, satiated, warm, and happy .

“You feelin’ okay, sweetheart?”

“Better now.” You sigh into his chest, your ear pressed over his heart, thrumming steadily in his chest.

“Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You smile and nod your head against him, “Not at all.”

He places a kiss on the crown of your head.

“Good. I’d like to do that more often, if you’ll have me.”

You press your hand over his pectoral, lifting yourself to fully look at him, your hair a messy curtain over both of you.

“I am yours now, Mister Morgan. Said it yourself.” You whisper with a grin.

Arthur’s other hand lightly traces up the ridges of your spine, “Means I’m yours too, beautiful girl.”

The blooming soreness in your hips doesn’t burn, it doesn't hurt. Arthur's large hands press against your skin, warm and secure. His frame dwarves yours, but in his arms, you feel safe. Dare say it, loved.

For this moment, at least, the world does not exist outside the tent. For this moment, at least, you can chase the demons out of your mind and slowly start to heal from the experience.

You know you’ll have Arthur next to you.

You smile, tucking your head into the curve of his neck.

“I like the sound of that.”

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fanfic #red dead smut #18+ minors dni #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan smut #passerine #twolafic #ao3 #rdr2 fandom

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deadaldipshit-jpg · 11 months

Text

↳ ❝¡SKZ AND THE FIRST TIME THEY SAID I LOVE YOU!❞

Hyung line x gn reader

Genre - fluff

Word count - 0.6k

An- it s been a while since ive posted fic so here is a really fluffly one for you guys, i hope you enjoy it

Chan `*:;,．★

Chan always thought that he would say I love you in the most romantic ways

He wanted it to be a special occasion

It was special, but not the way he thought it would be

It was late at night and he was busy in his studio

You entered the studio, food in one hand and a bag with a pillow and blanket in the other.

You removed his headphones, kissed his forehead

“I got you food cause I know you haven't eaten, and I brought you a pillow so you can take some rest. I can't have you overworking yourself.”

He didn't even think

“I love you so much, baby”

He didn't realise it until he saw the redness on your cheeks

“I love you too darling, now let's eat,” you said with a smile on your face, the blush on his cheeks now mirroring yours.

Minho `*:;,．★

After dating for a couple of months, he took you to meet his parents

And most importantly his cats

He could deal with his parents not liking you too much, cause everyone has opinions and different choices

But the cats were the ultimate test

His parents loved you

After dinner, you sat down on the couch with Minho and soonie approached you

She was sitting on Minho’s lap

She got up and walked to your lap and lay there

One by one, all of them came to you to receive an equal share of cuddles and scratches

He was looking at the four of you with so much adoration in his eyes

He didn't even realise it when he whispered “i love you”

He only realised it when you whispered it back

He was glad that your attention was on the cats cause he was left giddy with a soft blush across his face.

Changbin `*:;,．★

He was the only one who planned it

And actually timed it right

He planned an elaborate date for the two of you which involved you eating dinner at a posh restaurant, getting ice cream and then walking in the park

His plan was going so well

You had the most amazing time just talking laughing and enjoying each others company

Being with him at that moment was like a dream

It was so unreal that when he said ‘I love you” you genuinely thought you were dreaming

It wasn't until he wrapped you in his arms and whispered it in your ear, did you say it back and realised how amazing your night truly was

You felt as if all your worries had faded away, even if just for a night

When he heard you say it back, his heart practically jumped out of his chest

If you hadn’t been dating for just a couple of months, he would have proposed then, and there

Hyunjin `*:;,．★

You both were laying in a field under the stars

You had planned this date cause you knew how busy he could get

And you wanted him to be away from everything

You were cuddling hnder the moonlight

Just so happy to be in each others presence

You were laying on his chest and you were so blissful that you didn't even realize when you said the words i love you

The realization only struck you when you felt his heart start beating much faster

It took a moment for him to realise

But after it registered in his brain, he immediately said it back

He was planning your entire future when he heard its

He pulled you closer than humanely possible and just geld you in his arms

Basking in the live in the air

And the bright moon light

Taglist - @karma1289 @jaerisdiction @sunoooism @linocvpid @amethyistheart (comment or send an ask to be (un)added to the taglist)

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discount-shades · 5 months

Text

Dead or Alive: Family

Dead or Alive: Sugar and Jake

A/N: Someone asked if I was going to write about when Sugar told Jake she couldn’t have kids so here it is. It got away from me a bit…

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader

Warning: Trigger Warning: Abortion, Fertility problems, Western themed violence.

Word Count: 1200 ish

Summary: Some updates on Sugar and Jake after they leave the Dagger Gang.

Previous Masterlist Next

Frozen, you stare at the sheets before you. A smear of blood blemishes the otherwise snowy white bed linens. Another month and you were not pregnant. Blinking back tears, you pull out the sanitary belt from where you had tucked it in the back of the drawer before dressing for the day. Your time of the month was only a few days late and as much as you fought against it, as much as you tried to squash it down, you had hoped that this time it would be different.

Angrily you began to strip the bottom sheet off the bed. You had just put fresh linens on yesterday. Now you had to spend an hour washing and ironing it all again. You dump the sheet in the wash bin on the porch and begin filling it up from the pump by the back door.

Jake had been away last night. He had spent the evening on guard duty at the local jail cell. You shake your head ruefully at the change in circumstances. Move a few states east and Jake would be the prisoner that needed guarding and not the deputy holding the keys.

You will never forget the day that the sheriff had arrived at your door. Jake had volunteered to ride in a posse a month earlier and had helped apprehend a man accused of murdering a gold miner a few towns over. You weren't sure of the details, you only know that Jake had saved the sheriff's life.

When you answered the door the sheriff had held up wanted posters with Jake’s and your real names without saying anything. As you stared into eyes the uncommonly accurate likeness of your own poster you had felt your stomach drop to the floorboards. You tore your eyes away and gazed at the blue sky and the California mountains towering over the small farm you and Jake had built. The dirt road trampled into the dirt led to the idyllic little town you had settled beside. Everything you had ever wanted was right here and you had brushed aside a tear, sure that the jig was up.

You clutched at Jake’s hand as the sheriff spoke. “Before these came in I was planning on asking if you wanted one of these officially.” He had held up a shiny, sliver deputy’s badge to Jake. “I did some thinking and the offer still stands for Mr. Smith.” He used the fake name the two of you had been living under. “Or I’ll allow Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin and his wife one week to leave town, if that is your decision.”

He handed the badge to Jake. “If you want the job Mr Smith, I expect to see you tomorrow and I’ll read you in.” He passed you the posters. “If I do not see you tomorrow I will be back in a week to arrest the both of you.” With a final look that ensured that you and Jake understood his meaning, he tipped his hat and walked away.

That was seven years ago now and the only thing that had changed was the sheriff was now talking about retiring and had been encouraging Jake to run for sheriff when he did. Your mind returns to the task at hand and you grab the soap and washboard and begin to scrub the stain on the corrugated washboard. Once the mark is as clean as you will get it you wring out the heavy sheet and hang it on the line. Maybe you won’t bother ironing it again. Jake won’t care and no one else would notice if your linens had wrinkles.

After milking the cow and collecting the eggs you head inside and start on breakfast. Jake should be home soon. You are just finishing breakfast when he canters up on the pinto horse he had taken to riding since retiring Jet. The old black gelding now spent his days teaching manners to weanling foals and napping in the shade. You turn to smile at Jake as he walks through the door but your lower lip begins to tremble when you see the look on his face. He knows what the sheet hanging on the line means.

Forcing an overly cheery greeting past your lips you turn back to the stove so you don’t have to see the disappointment in his eyes. “It’s scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast today.” You begin to plate the food, hoping that the familiar routine will calm your emotions.

Jake’s arms wrapping around you finally slows your movements and you lean back into his chest. “It’s never going to happen.” It is easier to speak the thought that has been sitting in your mind for years if you do not have to look him in the eye.

“You don’t know that.” His lips are soft as gently kisses your temple. “It might still happen.”

“No,” You sigh, finally ready to confess the secret you have been keeping from your husband. “It won’t.”

Turning in his arms you look up into his green eyes. “I was pregnant before.” You watch his eyes widen in shock but he doesn’t let you go, in fact he tightens his grip on your waist. “It was before us, I was barely 18.” You continue waiting for him to push you away.

“It was before the quickening, but it had recently been made illegal so a doctor wouldn’t do it.” You can’t read his expression and don’t know if you should continue but find that you are unable to stop. The secret has been eating at you for years. “I tried tansy, pennyroyal, gin, hot baths… but nothing would work, eventually the madam where I was working made it happen.” You brush a tear away and drop your gaze, unable to meet his eye anymore.

“There was an infection. A doctor did treat me for that, and he said I might never be able to get pregnant.” You watch Jake’s chest as he takes a deep breath and sighs it out before pulling you in for a hug. He gently cradles the back of your head as silent tears slip down your face.

“So it will just be you and me then.” His chest rumbles under your ear at his words and you pull back to meet his eyes sniffing.

“Are you ok with that?” You search his face as he smiles sadly down at you.

Jake gives a little shrug. “I can imagine my life without children.” He gently kisses your lips. “What I can’t imagine is a life without you, Sugar.”

“You would have been a great father.” You say thinking about seeing him interact with the local school children.

“And you would have been a great mother.” You brush a tear away at his words but your heart feels lighter at his easy acceptance of your past. You no longer have to pretend that you are expecting to get pregnant. You no longer have to fake anticipation and hope that you have long given up on.

“I guess it’s just the way it goes sometimes.” You are finally able to bring a small, sad smile to your lips. “Some things are not meant to be.”

#jake seresin #hangman #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin/reader #hangman/reader #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun hangman #topgun maverick #western!au

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kataraavatara · 6 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/thought--bubble/734425326135967744/why-are-some-people-so-insanely-aggressive-when-it?source=share

Aegon can get away with things, even with crimes like rape, just because he's a man. Also, the poor children in the fighting pits wouldn't agree that he's the best for the kingdom.

wow! the post you shared was…something!

“Aegon is the first born, true born son of the king. He should be king by birthright. Recognizing that is how westeros works doesn't mean I agree with it. Just that I understand that is how it works.”

How is supporting his usurpation not agreeing with it? “I just understand the way Westeros works” um, did you think George wrote the story with the intent of you seeing the injustice of male supremacy and saying “🤷‍♀️ whelp that’s how things are. people should not change it.”

“he has the council of Otto and Alicent, and regardless of how people feel about them, they successfully ran a peaceful, stable kingdom while viserys was rotting away.”

Otto and Alicent got kicked to the curb as soon as Aegon started feeling a little temperamental.

“his children are true born, and there is no question on that. His sons ascension would not be questioned and most likely would be a peaceful transition of power. (Again, this is better for the people at large)”

Like Rhaenyra says, the only thing strong enough to tear down the house of the dragon is itself. If the Greens don’t throw a bitch fit, no one else is saying shit about King Jacaerys I and Queen Baela Targaryen.

“as scared of his duties as his is, he comes through and performs them. (i.e., has children with heleana, takes a crown he did not want to protect his family)”

Is having children with Helaena supposed to be a different at Rhaenyra not having Laenor’s biological kids? Because Laenor is a gay man? Because arguably both scenarios require one spouse forcing themselves on the other depending on whether you believe Aegon abuses Helaena or not, which I personally do. So we’re applauding Aegon for…*checks notes* Having sex? And that’s great that he (allegedly) stood up when he was convinced his family was in imminent danger, but where was the family man attitude when he was SAing servants, drinking 24/7, and (allegedly) molesting children?

“he is way more likely to take advice and guidance instead of thinking he is right about things all of the time. He has not exhibited Rhaenyra's tendency to weaponize her power in order to get away with shirking tradition and common law. (I.e. Weaponizing the term treason in order to force people to ignore the objective reality of her sons legitimacy)”

Uh, no. While Alicent and Otto were horrified by Luke’s murder, that guy threw a party to celebrate the death of his nephew. Again, this is the man who fired Otto for not being violent enough. Oh, and he hasn’t weaponized his power to get away with shit? What about the serving girls in the Red Keep in the book and Dyana in the show? What about the children in fighting pits?

And “Shirking tradition”?

Well, traditionally, a king should be studious, well read, study arms, keep himself in good physical shape and generally conduct himself in an appropriate way and as the model of chivalry that the rest of the men in the kingdom should emulate. Think of Jaehaerys (for all his flaws), Aemon, Baelon, Baelor Breakspear…Aegon was a pudgy man child who spent his days drinking and assaulting women.

And, when following Common Law, rapists are gelded and sent to the wall.

Rhaenyra’s biggest crime as of this point in being complicit in the death of one man because she feared for her children’s safety and sought an alliance with Daemon. The only other things she’s done wrong is going against a patriarchal medieval society.

Meanwhile, Aegon has raped a woman, all the serving girls at the keep are wary around him, watches children in fighting pits, has bastards and abandons them. Erryk is literally so sickened by his behavior he defects!

It’s very telling that Rhaenyra’s “crimes” of going against Westerosi tradition are seen as worse than Aegon’s actual crimes against the common people.

You’re right, anon. The double standards in this fandom are insane.

#anti team green #rhaenyra targaryen #dance of the dragons #pro rhaenyra #team black #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf

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flight-of-the-sacred-eagle · 3 months

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Invader Zim except it’s a rodeo au. Which means the Membranes are actually a rodeo family who compete in rodeos all over the country.

They’re world famous, with Professor, or I guess in this case something different (Rancher Membrane? Cowboy Membrane? Just Membrane?) being a multi time national rodeo champion bull rider. He was forced to retire after a bull gored and crushed his arms to the point of needing amputations. He now lives vicariously through his children, specifically Dib, while managing the ranch and doing sketchy science (because he’s still insanely good at it). Said sketchy science is possible due to him becoming friends with an even more sketchy scientist with even less regard for people. The horse he rides the most is a very sweet and caring quarter horse mare named Clementine, who is a bay with a white blaze.

Gaz is a barrel racer and a damn good one. She’s won first in a couple big rodeos, with her quarter horse named Shadowhog. Shadowhog is a black mare with a white blaze and socks and is just as standoffish and angry as she in. Gaz still enjoys video games, but not as much. She also is the best trick roper in the family, and has experience in break away roping. She’s really good at it, but prefer barrel racing since she thinks it takes more skill. Dib thinks she’s making fun of him, but she really isn’t. She’s dabbled with bronc riding but is too lightweight. She is using in charge of herding on the ranch. She also is still one of Membrane’s creations.

Dib is a tie down roper who desperately wants to get into team roping but like. He has no friends. He’s fairly good at tie down roping, though hasn’t won anything. Membrane wants him to be a bull rider. Dib would rather die. He has a curious, playful dappled gray quarter horse mare named Mothman, and is still in love with the paranormal and would rather explore it than compete. Membrane hates this. Dib kinda loves horses and spends a lot of time with not only Mothman, but the other horses on the ranch like Shadowhog, Phoenix, Megera, ET, and Professor. Dib is also still a clone because Membrane is still stupid smart and has access to less than ethical equipment.

Zim is still an alien. He still wants to take over the earth. He was still banished. The only difference is that he lands in the country when Dib is about 15. Membrane happened to have a flyer for a ranch hand up and Zim decides the human thing to do is take a job. His base is in the shape of a barn that’s right outside of Membrane Ranches. Membrane gives him the job and a cowboy hat and Dib is immediately like “that’s an alien Wtf” but Membrane ignores him. And then proceeds to insist on having Zim trained as a steer wrestler due to his strength and gives him a palomino quarter horse gelding named ET (Dib finds the irony hilarious), who is irritable and must be bribed with treats.

The ranch is named Membrane Ranches and has thirteen horses (four ranch horses- Clementine, Peggy (Appaloosa mare), Foodie (paint quarter horse gelding), and Generator (bay quarter horse gelding); two barrel horses- Shadowhog and Megara (chestnut quarter horse mare with white socks); one tie down roping horse- Chupacabra (paint quarter horse stallion); one steer wrestling horse- Covenant (buckskin quarter horse mare); four generic roping horses- ET, Mothman, Phoenix (nearly white quarter horse gelding), and Doppler (black quarter horse gelding); and one bronc- Wildfire (bright chestnut mustang with a white blaze and socks); as well as sixty head of cattle.

Dib gets tasked with teaching Zim the ropes of steer wrestling and ranch work. They try to kill each other between the very much forced lessons.

Zim is a shit ranch hand at first hates it because of germs. Dib uses this as an opportunity to lie and say all humans are fine with germs and Zim very reluctantly agrees. He does eventually start to get used to it, eventually becoming a fairly good ranch hand. He gets surprisingly protective of ET. ET gets surprisingly close to Zim, always nickering when he comes in.

Zim eventually gets told his mission is fake and Dib awkwardly comforts him. The next week he’s dragged to a rodeo (a massive one) and immediately starts getting very overwhelmed by the extremely loud noises and scents and the bumping. He’s not competing but Gaz and Dib are. Dib completely missed the tie down roping because he’s taken Zim away from the crowds and noise to decompress. (Not because he cares but because he’s not gonna let the alien do something stupid clearly).

Membrane is very annoyed.

A couple years later and more rodeos later Dib is nineteen and wins first at one of the largest rodeos in the country. Zim also competes and gets second. Dib (and Gaz who gets first in a lot of big rodeos) are invited to another big event. Zim comes with.

The night before the competition, Dib and Zim notice a runaway steer. Dib gets it around the head and Zim gets it by a hind leg. Dib realizes that holy shit they could be a roping team. At the same time a roping team is forced to drop out so the pair sign up.

They wind up getting forth. Gaz is thrilled that Dib is able to do what he’s wanted to do. Membrane is angry because he wanted to get Dib to bull riding after tie down roping inevitably wore him out.

Dib and Zim eventually become world champion team ropers. And they eventually make their own ranch. And maybe kiss.

#invader zim #invader zim au #zim invader zim #dib membrane #invader zim dib #iz dib #iz zim #zadf #zade #Zadr #cowboy au

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tragedy-peanut-gallery · 1 month

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do you have any headcanons for the maidenvault princesses?

I think I have a couple! Some of these might be gathered from previous headcanon posts so forgive me if I’m repeating myself again lol

Daena:

- canonically a daddy’s girl, definitely thought her father and brother were the coolest people alive as a kid though didn’t completely understand the trauma her dad was still grappling with until after his death

-loved her sisters and naerys but probably had a bit of a Not Like Other Girls goth phase when she was little, poor girl 💀

- tried to bond with the Last Dragon, but was forbidden from ever going into the dragonpit and never managed to succeed in sneaking in until after the dragon died. Probably named her horses dragon names like Meleys and Meraxes because she wanted to imagine she was riding one of them

- likely did consider running away entirely in the few times she broke out, but felt bad about abandoning her sisters and decided to stay for their sake (even tho she got kinda mad at them abt it)

- when it comes to her relationship with aegon…… okay ngl I do think she willingly slept with him, but was kinda coerced into doing so because he helped break her out and was pressured into feeling like she owed him

- Mentioned this before but she and Barba had a very horrible toxic frienemy-ship. Like, they hated each other, probably openly talked shit about one another but also shit-talked everyone else in the Maidenvault and stayed up all night talking about how much they fuckin hated it there

-She definitely loves Daemon cause he’s her baby boy but was bitter at being made pregnant to begin with. Her relationship with him was loving but really unhealthy

- Idk how she dies? I’m pretty sure she’s supposed to have died young, honestly I headcanon sometime in her late 20’s/ early 30’s but she gets a cool rad hot girl death like. Idk. Fighting a wolf. Or getting caught in a storm and getting shipwrecked

Rhaena:

- Okay so I think she might be the sister we know least about so she gets the most fanfic-y writing cause I’m getting silly with it. For starters, absolutely her mom’s favourite, probably took a lot after Daenaera in looks and was overall really cute and sweet as a kid

- That being said!! In her maidenvault era, she was absolutely deranged. Like, still a nice girl, but because she was weirdly okay with being trapped in the maidenvault to begin with I do think she started acting like a weirdo. Like, when Daena went all in refusing to admit who her baby daddy was Rhaena was saying shit like “well maybe the father should be gelded and thrown naked onto the sept to be beaten with sticks. In a holy way :)”

- Still Naerys’ favourite cousin and ngl Naerys was probably her favourite cousin too, but their views on the faith were a littleeeeee different. Because of how weird she gets I kinda like to think she was also just weird about her views and how the faith works. Thinks even a bad thought needs to be severely punished and probably did hurt herself just a littleee in the process which Naerys absolutely did not fuck with

- Developped agoraphobia post-maidenvault era. Started getting really anxious about just being outside so immediately went to be a septa just to close herself inside another holy-ish place because that’s kinda what she saw as her protection. Unhealthy coping mechanism queen <3

- Idk I don’t have much on her beyond that. Think she died pretty peacefully? Probably some flu when she was older

Elaena:

- Childhood friends with Daeron because she was a little too young to really be playmates with her sisters or brothers. I want to think they had a normal familial relationship as kids? But then again this is the Targs we’re talking about here soo…..

- When she originally cut her hair it was so bad and fucked up that she needed Daena and Rhaena both to help fix it. She ended up with a very short bowl cut that she eventually grew out a little, and learned to maintain her own hair because she got so embarrassed asking for help 😭

- Was genuinely in love with Alyn, though a bittttt too young and sheltered to really realize how fucked up it was and how their relationship might’ve probably definitely ruined his marriage to Baela. Maybeeee it’s for the best he went missing-

- As for the whole Viserys Plumm thing…. Okay, I gotta be honest I kinda doubt Aegon was really the dad here. Tbh that does lean into some fun little horror elements if he is, but let’s bfr here Eleana would neverrrr sleep with AEGON of all people willingly??? Especially by then cause there’s no doubt in my mind he was starting to look pretty gross

- Tbh I think she and Myriah initially kinda had a strained relationship because of her initial sorta weird familial relationship with Daeron when they were younger, but they slowly started to get along and respect each other as members of the government

- I also headcanon her to have been the one to suggest the Aerys/Aelinor match (as mentioned previously I think she might be Aelinor’s stepmom just cause it works better timeline-wise)

- Honestly, she lived to be so old that ngl I kinda think she might’ve straight up died from natural causes like- seventy is a legendary age in westeros girlie outlived everyoneeee in her generation! Hell she might’ve lived long enough to see Egg become king before kicking it!

#I will tag this cause it is a bunch of character headcanons lol #daena the defiant #rhaena targaryen #elaena targaryen #asoiaf asks

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bluestar22x · 10 months

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The Riding Lesson

Summary: When you are hired at a ranch as a trail guide, the owner asks the foreman to teach you how to ride Western style.

Pairing: Jack Daniels x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ (to be safe)

Warnings: Some sexual tension and thoughts, lots of horsey terms

Word Count: 2,381

Author's Note: AU fic for the @pedrostories 1k celebration. Prompt quote was "Is that the best you've got?"

See my Main Masterlist for other Pedro character fanfics.

xxx

Summers were a busy time at Western Willow Ranch. Not only were there the beef cattle and their calves to tend to, but there were also guests coming and going for both morning and afternoon trail rides.

You were hired as a temporary employee, needed for the surplus of guests they got every year as the weather turned hot. Your role would be to help guide trail rides and keep the tack clean and polished.

Having grown up around horses and competed in jumping competitions back in California, you had plenty of experience for the job, except for one small detail.

You'd never ridden Western before.

You were confident you'd pick it up fast though. English and Western riding were different, but they weren't intimidatingly different. As far as you could tell, the only difference was the saddle shape, the speed of the horse, and the way the reins were held and used.

Though you figured you could probably teach yourself, you'd still agreed with the owner of the ranch to take a riding lesson with his foreman.

You had your riding lesson on your very first day, after you were shown around the farm by a stable hand and shown what a typical morning was like at the ranch.

The foreman was one of the few employees missing from the barn, having been out tending to the cattle.

After lunch in the employee building, you waited for him in the barn aisle as instructed, glancing at your watch every so often. The lesson had been set for one o'clock and it was ten minutes past.

He was worth the wait though.

He strolled into the barn with his mount moments later, the beautiful golden buckskin gelding following behind obediently, and you caught your breath.

Most horsemen didn't catch your attention. More often than not the horse was a lot prettier than their rider, but the foreman was handsome, and that was an understatement. Dark brown hair covered by a black cowboy hat, matching dark eyes, a mustache that fit his face perfectly, a strong jawline, curved nose, and an air of confidence to him, he was worthy of the front cover of every western magazine out there as far as you were concerned.

You couldn't help but feel disappointed he was technically one of your bosses. You didn't like mixing business and pleasure, but... damn... maybe if he didn't mind it, you could make an exception.

You shook your head at that thought. You haven't even said one fucking word to him yet. Down girl.

He said your name and it sounded like honey on his lips. You chewed yours. You really needed to chill, but it wasn't your fault his voice sounded sinful.

"That's me," you managed to say, lamely raising a hand up.

"Sorry about the wait, darlin'," he continued. "One of the calves got into trouble with the fencing."

"Are they alright?" you asked, genuinely concerned. You loved all animals, or at least, all the furry ones.

He nodded. "Yeah, he'll be just fine."

He held out his right hand. "The name's Jack Daniels."

You shook his hand firmly and repeated yours. "So, is this the horse I'm riding?" You nodded at his mount.

Jack shook his head. "Nope. Ace here is a one rider kind of horse. He don't like strangers. But I'm going to have you help me untack and groom him so I can show you the saddle and how to secure the cinch."

It turned out the cinch was like the girth on the English saddle, a strap that ran under the horse's belly to secure the saddle to their back. The cinch wasn't so simple to adjust as a girth was. The strap was longer and needed to be wrapped just right around the ring it looped through multiple times to fit proper.

You picked it up fast though, only needing Jack to show you twice to get it.

When you'd done up the cinch correctly three times in a row Jack let you untack Ace completely and had you carry the saddle back to the tack room. The saddle was probably three times as heavy as an English saddle, mostly due to the extra lift of the seat and the saddle horn. You managed to carry the saddle for the whole two minute walk to the tack room but it was a struggle, not that you'd have admitted it.

Once the tack was cleaned and put away you returned to Jack's side in Ace's stall. He was in the middle of brushing him with a soft brush and you joined in without a word, working on the horse's opposite side.

After Ace was completely groomed you both stepped out of the stall.

"Follow me to your horse of the day," Jack ordered, walking over to a stall at the back of the barn. You did as told and peered over the stall door.

A pretty little black and white mare was on the other side, too busy chewing her afternoon hay to pay attention to you and Jack.

"This here's Puzzle," he informed you. "She's an old gal. Nearly thirty. We don't ride her much anymore, but she's a great beginner horse. She'll be as patient as a lamb with you."

Were lambs patient? you wondered. Was that term even a thing?

Jack patted the saddle and bridle that were hanging over her door. "Had Bettie, one of the stable hands, get this for us this morning. I want you to groom Puzzle and saddle her up all on your own. Think you can do that?"

"No problem," you declared, setting to work.

It really wasn't a problem, though you did fumble on the cinch for a second before your short-term memory kicked in. Most else was pretty straight forward and Jack gave you an approving nod when you were finished.

"Great," he said, "Now she's all set to go, lead her out to the corral and we'll get going on the main part of this lesson."

You nodded and walked out of the stall with Puzzle close beside you. She was a cute thing. You were a bit sad she was too old to be assigned as your mount. Whichever horse you got would be at least a decade younger and more energetic. While those were the horses you were used to, you'd felt like you and Puzzle were already connecting.

Once you slipped into the outdoor corral, a round fenced in pen used for training horses, you settled the reins of the bridle over Puzzle's neck and the saddle horn before glancing to Jack for further instruction.

"Hop on," Jack commanded. "We'll get everything adjusted after."

You nodded and swung up into the saddle easily.

"How do the stirrups feel?" Jack inquired.

You tilted your heels down. "A little long. But they're supposed to be, right? Western isn't so tight?"

"It should still feel comfortable," Jack replied.

"It does."

"Good. Tighten that cinch one more time. Puzzle likes to stick out her gut when the saddle goes on."

You bent and reached to untie the cinch and tightened it, but when it came to securing it back you struggled due to the angle.

"Just takes practice," Jack assured you when you admitted you couldn't figure it out. "Here, let me help."

He approached Puzzle and tapped on your lower leg with a few fingers to signal to you to pull it back, still in the stirrup so he could get access to the cinch.

You did that and watched as he tugged on it once more before finishing the job.

When he was done, he grabbed your left lower leg, guiding it back into place, and the prolonged warm touch of his palm pressed against your jeans sent a spark through you.

What you would give for him to touch you in other places.

Jack stepped away to climb the fence and straddle it and you barely held your composure. Fuck, this job was going to be difficult, and it wasn't because of the new riding style you had to learn.

"Hold the reins with one hand centered over her neck," Jack instructed as he perched on the top railing.

You grabbed the reins and slid your fingers over into the correct position.

"Good, now take her around at a walk for a few turns and then a jog after," Jack said. "A jog's like a slow trot, for you, city girl," he added.

A decade ago teenage you would've stuck out your tongue at him, but mature you simply gave him another nod and followed his orders.

Jack was quiet as you put Puzzle through her paces, until she started jogging and you started pushing yourself up and down out of the saddle with her stride.

"What're doin' darlin'?" Jack questioned, frowning. "You sit in the saddle."

"Oh." You blushed as you sat down and slowed Puzzle. His confusion somehow had made you embarrassed about it. "It's posting. Do you not do that in Western?"

"Nope," Jack answered. "That saddle ain't made for that."

"Okay," you nearly squeaked.

You nudged Puzzle with your heels, encouraging her back into a jog and completed your task sitting down the whole time. You found that the jog was more tolerable to sit than a trot. Riding a trotting horse like that could be rough at times.

You stopped in the center of the round pen when you were done.

"How was that?" you asked almost shyly.

Jack gave you a small smile. "Excellent for your first time. It's obvious how many years you've ridden."

"Thanks."

"I think you're ready for a test run on the trail."

"On Puzzle?" you questioned.

Jack shook his head. "Like I said, she's too old. Gonna have to bring her back to her stall and get two fresh horses saddled up. Shouldn't take too long between the two of us."

You nodded and jumped off Puzzle. "Let's get to it then."

An hour later you and Jack were out on the plains of the surrounding Montana landscape, enjoying an easy stroll under the warm afternoon sun on two new mounts.

His was a solid chestnut mare named Trix, and yours was a black mare with a star marking named Karma.

As you moved over the landscape Jack pointed things out to you. The trailheads, the river that bordered the ranch, the cattle in the distance. Everything you'd need to know and would eventually know by the back of your hand.

The sun was beginning to fall westerly when he finished showing you around.

"You will not be alone the first few weeks you guide trail rides so we don't have to worry about checking those out today," Jack told you. "So I figure it's time to turn around."

You nodded and pulled the reins towards east, towards where the ranch house and barn were located. Jack did the same.

"Let's lope for part of the way," Jack decided.

You knew it was another test. "Sure."

He picked up the pace first and you sent Karma after him and Trix, making sure to keep enough distance between the horses as you caught up to them so not to cause them to bump into each other.

He observed you from the corner of his eye, a ghost of a smile on his pouty looking lips.

You tried not to get distracted by it, telling yourself he was only looking because he wanted to see how you were in the saddle at faster speeds, even though you sensed there was something more to it.

You were the first to slow your horse, and when Jack had Trix back at a walk beside you, he raised his eyebrows.

"Is that the best you got?"

You blinked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

He grinned at you and you realized then that Jack Daniels was a bit of a menace.

He gestured at a fallen log several yards away. "I heard about your jumping skills. Show me?"

You didn't know if Karma had any history jumping, but the log looked harmless, just thick enough to force the mare to jump it instead of walk over it. "Sure."

You kicked the mare and she immediately shot into a lope, headed straight for the log. You focused, got yourself into position as best as you could in the bulky western saddle, and the next thing you knew you were flying over the obstacle. The rush of adrenaline as you did was amazing as always.

After Karma landed on the other side you could hear Jack clapping.

You turned her back towards him as you both settled into a walk again.

"You two make a fine team," Jack said. "Think I'll tell Dusty to assign you to her."

You grinned. "That would be great." You still were kinda stuck on Puzzle, but you really liked Karma too.

You patted her neck and turned her to face the house once more. "Race you back, full gallop."

Jack smiled. "You're on."

After you and Jack had settled your horses back into their stalls, he turned to you for a final time that night.

"Any questions before I go?"

You shrugged. "Not really. Just...how was I today?"

He flashed you a charming smile. "You impressed me darlin'. Not that I have any right to be. You obviously know your way around horses and jumping them is not the easiest."

"Why did you test me then?" you inquired.

"Cause you could've lied on your resume," Jack replied.

True enough. But you had ribbons to prove it back home.

"See you around," he finally said, and you could've sworn he gave you a quick once over. When he smirked you were certain he had.

So you weren't the only one interested. This was a mutual thing. Your heart fluttered. There was a chance.

"See you around, cowboy," you returned smoothly.

He beamed at you, delighted that you had used a nickname for him and tipped his head. "Night darlin’."

And with that he left the barn, and left you to watch him go, eyes trained on the shape of his ass in his tight blue jeans.

You hummed appreciatively. This summer is going to be fantastic.

xxx

Tagged: harriedandharassed

xxx

Main Masterlist

xxx

#Jack Daniels Fanfic #Jack Daniels #Pedro Pascal Character Fanfic #pedrostories1k #f!reader #X Reader #Fanfic AU #Fanfiction #Mine

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abeautifulblog · 5 months

Text

youtube

(Leslie Fish - "Dane-Geld")

ROFL, I love it. 🤣 This is so fuckin catchy, I am beyond delighted that this song exists. Thank you for introducing this to my life, friendo. 🙏

But also: lol Kipling was so full of shit.

And apologies, but you have activated the hyperfixation, soooo...

DANEGELDS: WELL, AKSHUALLY---

DANEGELDS: I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED!

So, I should have been more clear in my last post: there's nothing inherently ¿🤨? about Burgred bribing vikings to go away, despite what the victorians would have you believe. Paying tribute to placate an aggressive foreign power was standard operating procedure in that era -- just one of the occasional costs of doing international politics.

I mean ffs, lol, THIS was the viking invasion of England:

Vikings land in Kent; Wessex pays them a danegeld to go away. Vikings go to East Anglia; East Anglia pays them a danegeld to go away. Vikings go to York; Northumbria tries to fight them and gets curb-stomped. Vikings go to Nottingham; Mercia pays them a danegeld to go away. Vikings go to Thetford; East Anglia tries to fight them and gets curb-stomped. Vikings go to Reading; Wessex gets curb-stomped for a bit and then pays them a danegeld to go away. Vikings go to London; Mercia pays them a danegeld to go away. Vikings go put down a revolt in Northumbria. Vikings go to Torksey; Mercia pays them a danegeld to go away…………….. but this time the vikings don't leave. (cue my fic)

(Really, Kipling? "We never pay anyone danegeld"?? Said no one ever. The mid ninth century is nothing but the Saxons playing hot potato with the vikings.)

The only ¿🤨? part about Nottingham was why Burgred bothered dragging the West Saxons out of bed to help him besiege the city, if he was just going to pay the vikings off without a single fight. Why assemble such a massive coalition army and then not use it? (That's what modern historians give him shit for, not the danegeld itself -- contrast this with how they tend to characterize Alfred's danegeld, that yeah okay sure, he paid one too, but he made the vikings work for it first.) To me, it suggests that either something about the situation at Nottingham changed, that made fighting untenable, or that having the army was the point -- that it was part of Burgred's leverage for encouraging the Danes to take the payout and go, rather than deciding to keep the city like they'd done with York.

The point is, no one was under any illusions that danegelds would buy a permanent peace -- what they bought you was time. If you were genuinely unprepared to fight off a viking invasion, then paying the danegeld was your best option. (Even if it makes later historians big mad that you didn't go heroically stiff-upper-lip yourself into an early grave.) Yes, your economy will take a hit -- danegelds were not ""trifling"" -- but it'll recover faster from a danegeld than it will from having your armies decimated/crops burned/towns looted/peasants carted off into slavery.

Bribing vikings was a reliable way to make them go bother someone else for a few years, while you (theoretically) got your shit together so you'd be better prepared for the next time they circled back round. Paying a danegeld, in and of itself, was not a dumb or lazy or shameful move -- so long as you treated it like the temporary measure that it was, and followed up with stronger steps. Wessex did; they made good use of the time they bought, and consequently they withstood the next round of invasions. Mercia did not, or not good enough anyway, and that's a different story.

But that's not how Kipling and the victorians felt about it -- they fuckin H A A A A A T E D danegelds. 😂 It didn't vibe with the English Exceptionalism that they were attempting to manufacture, a version of history in which the English were a godly-heroic race of brave and brilliant white people who righteously deserved to take over the whole world. Danegelds were a very embarrassing thing to have to explain -- how could their illustrious ancestors have been so spineless that they'd let themselves get shaken down rather than fight? Or so STOOOOPID, because don't they know that "once you have paid him the Danegeld / You never get rid of the Dane"???? (And with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, they could confidently say that paying danegelds had done Mercia and East Anglia no good.) It would have been far more palatable to their sensibilities if the Saxons had believed in death before danegeld.

But that's imposing an ahistorical set of values on the situation. There's nothing in the contemporary sources to indicate that the Saxons attached any particular shame or stigma to paying a tribute -- to the military defeats that had made it necessary, yeah absolutely, but not the payment itself.

In my opinion, what the Saxon kingdoms should be embarrassed about is not the danegelds, but how long it took them to get their shit together and recognize the vikings as a real threat, and then put aside their petty internecine squabbling to deal with it -- too long, for most of them, and too late by the time they did. It's depressingly familiar, to have one's society faced with an existential threat, while the people in power would rather use the opportunity to dunk on their political rivals than do anything about it. 😐

#Viking Facts tm

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lordgrimwing · 3 months

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Brewing Darkness #05

[For C+C week hosted by @candcweek. Prompt: Contrast]

It would have been easier to just say that Celegorm came back different, Curufin admitted to himself, tossing another pitchfork-full of hay from the barn loft to the mangers below, but he couldn’t say for sure Celegorm was different or if, in his absence, Curufin had forgotten how he was really like—how his laugh cracked sharp and loud like a whip, how he watched people with the same intensity as four-legged game, how he knew just what to say to pick a fight, how rough he could be during sex if Curufin didn’t restrain him. Had he missed his brother so much over the months since he ran off that he’d imagined a softer version of him to soothe the aching wound inside him?

He didn’t think so.

(Caranthir rather smugly told him that, no, Celegorm hadn’t changed, he was just finally done playing nice and picking favorites. Their brother, Caranthir said, was exactly like he remembered)

But even if Celegorm was different, did it matter?

The whole family changed in his absence. The things he did around the homestead still needed to be done. In the beginning, everyone said they were only filling in until he came back, but months passed and they got used to the new routine until it felt normal, until there wasn’t a visible hole left behind. When he returned, leading his gray mare, field dressed elk flung over her back like he’d only been away on one of his hunts with Aredhel, the spot he’d left wasn’t there any more.

Did it matter if his presence felt jarring and wrong sometimes? Did it matter if the shiver that went up Curufin’s back when he grinned at him sometimes felt like a knife scraping over his skin?

The sharp edges would wear down with time. Things would feel right again.

He’d been telling himself that for weeks now.

Mangers filled, he leaned the pitchfork against the wall and climbed down from the loft, stomach grumbling for dinner. Before, Celegorm saw to the animals in the evening, fed them, hauled water from the well, but Curufin and Maglor took over that chore. They hadn’t considered giving it back yet.

Maybe that was part of the problem. Celegorm couldn’t fit back into the family if they didn’t make room for him. No wonder he spent more time in town and alone in the woods now when there wasn’t anything for him to do here.

Distracted by his thoughts, Curufin didn’t realize he was walking past the gray mare’s stall. There was no greater proof that Celegorm’s old spot was gone than how everyone else seemed to have lost hard learned lessons about his horse.

The horse raised her head from the hay as the elf walked past. With an angry snort, she lunged for the stall door. Her teeth collided with the side of Curufin’s head as she tried to grab his hair.

He swore and dove to the farside of the aisle where Maedhros’ giant gelding stuck his shaggy head out to see what the ruckus was about. The vile mare snorted, pinned her ears back and extended her neck to try to nip the gelding. He tossed his head to the side (he was too tall to toss it up) and went back to his food.

“You haven’t changed,” Curufin grumbled at his brother’s beloved, temperamental horse as he rubbed the sore spot on his head (it matched the sore spots elsewhere gifted to him by Celegorm).

She snorted and kicked the door.

“Same to you,” He grumbled and left before she got any more worked up.

The walk across the yard to the house was quiet.

Nights became steadily quieter after Celegorm left and his dogs slowly disappeared. They were always disappearing, whether because they were killed by a predator, found a place with better food, or just got lost in the shifting trees and mountains. More often than not, those that wandered back were shot to put them out of their misery. Normally he was always bringing more home or paying extra attention to new litter of puppies so that the population stayed fairly stable. Once he ran off, though, no one replaced the ones that vanished, until only a handful remained. The nights were quieter without the dogs. No one cared (at least not enough to go looking for replacements in town).

Only, the night bird calls seemed to be disappearing too over the last few weeks. They were all growing discomforted by the building silence. Fëanor had taken to shutting himself in a shed with some project late into the night as he worried over the changes.

Something moved in the corner of Curufin’s eye. He took two quick steps toward the house before chastising himself for being so jumpy. The homestead was safe. There was no reason to act like a scared child alone in the dark just because things were a little unsettled. He turned to look for whatever had startled him.

“Hey, Curu,” Celegorm said, slinking out from the shadowed trees. He had a bow and quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder but his hands were empty.

Curufin’s chest relaxed. He hadn’t realized Celegorm went hunting and it was rather late to be walking alone, but everyone was adjusting to a new normal. “No luck today?”

Celegorm smiled. “I was just practicing.”

“Pa doesn’t want anyone in the woods after sundown.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. It wasn’t exactly a new rule, the dense forest grew harder to navigate with every passing year, but their father became more serious about everyone being in the glen by nightfall since last summer (since Aredhel crawled home and Celegorm went chasing after her abductor).

“I lost track of time.” He said it in that way that always meant he knew he did something he shouldn’t and would do it again. He got them into the best kind of trouble when they were kids.

The smile was mostly nostalgia. “At least you haven’t missed supper.”

“You’d feed me, anyway, even if I did,” Celegorm said, throwing an arm around his shorter brother’s shoulder and giving him an affectionate squeeze as they walked to the kitchen door. His hand and shirt sleeve were wet and cold against Curufin. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Only if you brought something for me to cook.” They spent many fond nights over stewed rabbit or fowl.

Celegorm barked out a laugh, sudden and loud in the silent yard. “I’ll be sure to bring you something fresh.” His hand squeezed Curufin’s arm, fingernails nipping at his skin.

#uh oh #me and *the entity* are rubbing our proverbial hands together so hard right now #one more c+c snap shot to go to finish off their relationship --- i mean the week #celegorm's mare is a monster #she has killed and she'll do it again #she's the meanest crankiest horse #celegorm #curufin #c+c week 2024 #old gods au #the silmarillion #grimwing writes

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keep-the-wolves-close · 4 months

Text

Steady Heart

Chapter 9: Change on the Rise

* Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton x OFC Stella Daniels

* Rating: M? (Still figuring out the rating system) (might eventually be M anyhow)

* Warnings: language, mentions of two different cancers: colon cancer and glioblastoma

* Word count: 3,540ish?

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot and @deanscroissant for being sounding boards for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, being cheerleaders, and allowing me to screech at them about things that have happened during the writing process. I seriously couldn't have gotten this far without y'all

Author's note: Since I have a few of these ready to go, I figured I would post an extra one early! I hope everyone is enjoying so far! I hope you love this chapter as well!

Stella trotted along on Abigail with Tank in tow down the sloped hill from the main house. She couldn’t help but hope Monica would be okay. She didn’t even want to begin thinking about the kind of rampage she’d have to bear witness to from Kayce if his wife wasn’t. ‘Monica’s young and strong. She’ll be okay.’

She could see Rip sitting on his bay gelding, Dude, off to the side of the cattle pen with Lloyd. Her shoulders stiffened and she plotted her course to the barn to put Tank up. Flipping her ball cap back around so the bill faced forward, she gave a silent prayer that she would go unnoticed.

The wide berth she gave the group of men proved to be ineffective at keeping her out of their attention. The men’s eyes all landed on her and she did her damndest to ignore them. ‘Just gotta make it to the barn.’

Ryan called out to her as he trotted closer. “Stella! What happened?”

She halted Abigail and Tank followed suit. Her eyes closed briefly, and she pressed her lips together and cursed her brother’s inherent need to be nosy. Stella scanned the crowd and found Ryan moving closer. She leaned in her brother’s direction which made Abigail turn to face the men.

“Something happened to Monica. He had to go to her. So I’m putting Tank away and then I’ll be keeping myself busy until Mr. Dutton comes back.” A snicker came from Rip. Stella bristled. “What, Rip? What is so funny about that situation?”

“He went and ran off and left you with the responsibility yet again, huh?”

Stella tossed Abigail’s reins in Ryan’s general direction and slid off of her mare in a fluid dismount. She squared her shoulders and stalked toward the foreman.

“Stella don’t!” Ryan yelled as he scrambled to either catch the reins or his sister, he wasn’t sure.

“Oh shit, here we go.” Colby sighed, turning to face the imminent destruction. He grabbed the reins from Ryan’s hand, allowing him to bolt off to his sister.

Rip’s motion mirrored Stella’s posture. If she was looking for a fight, he would give her one. It was the rules after all.

Ryan sprinted behind his sister and reached out for her arm. Stella ripped her arm out of his grasp just as he brushed her. “Get the fuck away from me Ryan!”

Ryan stood there with a hand out dejected. He dropped it with a slap. There was nothing anyone could do except be forced to watch Stella go against their boss. They wanted to jump in and save her before she self-destructed, but that wouldn’t fly with Rip. No one knew what could be done. They were stuck spectating like it was a car wreck.

“Stella, I'm gonna give you one chance to walk away.” Rip’s warning was deceptively calm.

Ryan pleaded from between. “Take the chance, Stell! Don’t do this!”

She snubbed her brother’s begging. “You know, when you barred me from the bunkhouse for a few days I said I wasn’t gonna fight you.” A fire was igniting in her eyes the closer she got to Rip. “But I’ve got the fuckin’ energy today. So come on!” She waved her hands at him before squaring herself up to him. “You seem to be so high on that horse, get off and make your damn point.” They came toe to toe as she finished. Stella huffed and puffed, rage rolling through her chest like fire. She and Rip locked eyes, or well eyes to sunglasses and the fire burned through her.

Rip surveyed her stoically from behind the shades, taking in her misplaced anger. He knew Stella was mad at herself because she knew he was right about her and Kayce.

“Well?!” She shouted and shoved his chest. Abigail squealed in the background.

Rip puffed from her hit. He gritted his teeth. “You can be mad but be mad somewhere else. Think about why you’re pissed. Because it ain’t at me sweetheart.”

“Oh shove it up your ass Rip! You just want to be able to say I told you so.”

“Cut the shit, Stella. You’re mad because you’re in denial.”

“Denial about what?!” She screamed.

“Kayce is gonna be the death of you. And I’m gonna be the one left with the task of burying you for your brother if you’re not careful.”

Stella screamed and lunged at Rip. She gripped his collar and he caught her. His sunglasses and her ball cap went flying. It was apparent to Rip that she didn’t want to hurt him. She needed to let the anger out. Stella pushed and pulled his chest, stretching his shirt collar askew. Quick as lightning, Rip reached around her back and grappled with her before he flipped her around onto his knee and dropped her to the ground on her back.

Stella laid there with the wind knocked out of her as dust streamed around her in a cloud. “What,” she tried to crawl to a kneeling position and hoped her breath would come back to her, “the fuck.” Ryan watched helplessly as his sister signed the warrant for herself.

“Like I said Stella,” Rip bent to pick up his sunglasses. “You can be mad, but be mad somewhere else. Other than your job, you aren’t to be here for anything else until I say otherwise. Not even for your brother.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Rip. John wants to talk to me when he gets back. After that, I’ll be gone.”

Rip reached a hand out to Stella to help her up, hoping they could squash the subject, but she left it hanging. She stood as tall as her bruised pride would let her and dusted herself off. He chuckled dryly and said, “okay Stella,” and walked back to his horse.

She made her way back to her brother and held out her hand for the reins. She didn’t dare look at Ryan for fear of seeing his pissed off glare. She knew she’d been out of line. Today had been more than enough, and it wasn’t barely even lunch time.

“What the hell has gotten into you, huh?” She heard Ryan ask while she took the reins from him.

Stella shrugged. “I don’t have an answer for you Ryan.” She didn’t even bother waiting for his reaction. She wanted to go back to the barn.

She circled the horses around and got them to the cross ties. One on each end of the hall. Starting with Tank she made quick work of breaking him down. Abigail stood patiently, but every so often tried to get Stella’s attention. She knew her girl was upset, but her attention seeking went ignored. Finally she placed the mustang in his respective home for the rest of the day.

When Stella got to Abigail after putting Tank up, the large mare nudged at her multiple times. Stella huffed. “What Abs? What? It was stupid, and yes he’s right. Kayce does get me into a lotta shit, but I willingly sign up for it. So there’s no one to blame but myself. Not even Kayce.” The bay roan looked at her as if to say, ‘yeah, so? You were an idiot.’ Stella finished up with Abigail. She placed her safely in the stall, patted her shoulder, and began her journey up the hill.

Stella perched on the porch side wall and waited for John to get home. She looked out along the rolling hills of the property pensively. From the talk with Kayce the other day about his father not giving her the position by herself, she was sure that’s what he would be telling her.

Behind her, a car pulled up and two doors slammed. Jamie and Beth rushed up the stairs, but stopped short when they saw Stella.

“Stella?” Jamie sounded confused.

She moved her gaze to the sibling duo and nodded. “Waiting for your dad to come back. He wanted to talk to me or something.”

“Seems to be a theme today.”

Stella’s face scrunched at Jamie’s vagueness. “What do you mean?

“We have to talk to him too.”

“Oh.” She looked back out at the horizon. Jamie sat on one of the patio chairs.

Beth found the other comfy chair and seeing Stella’s sullen features she asked, “why the long face?”

Stella regarded Beth carefully. Depending on how much information she gave the woman; it would either quench Beth’s thirst for knowledge, or send her on a manhunt to figure Stella’s problem out some more. “Someone said something that got under my skin. Currently removing it.”

Jamie snorted. “Wow, someone actually got under the Stella’s skin?”

“Eat a dick Jamie. I’m sure you’d love it.” Stella snapped back at him.

Beth actually laughed, and loudly. “See Jamie? Somebody else shares the belief.”

“Oh will you two grow the fuck up?” Jamie grumbled, displeased at the attack from both of the women.

“Now who’s under whose skin?” Stella smiled smugly at the lawyer.

“So what did this person say to you?”

Stella’s heart dropped with the follow up question. The monster hadn’t been satiated. “Their opinion was that I make terrible decisions.” She shrugged.

“I could have told you that.” Jamie said.

Beth and Stella both rolled their eyes at the man, but refused to acknowledge him. “Decisions about what?”

“The crowd I keep.”

“Who said it?”

“No one you know, Beth. It doesn’t matter.” That was Stella’s subtle hint to stop hunting. If she ratted Rip out to his long standing love, it would probably just make things worse. “It’s outta my head now anyway.” There was a cloud of dust she spotted down by the lower driveway. “I think your dad’s home. Who has first dibs?”

“Let’s let him decide, shall we?” Beth stood as John’s truck came to a stop.

Stella caught a glimpse of his face from the top of the steps. He was pissed. The siblings went in on their dad after he rolled his window down. Slowly she came up behind them. She would let them get to him first.

“How bad?” John immediately questioned.

“You tell me.” Jamie retorted.

John rolled up the window in his children’s faces. He picked up his phone and started talking. Stella smirked and looked at the ground and fixed her glasses. Both children knocked on the truck window aggressively.

John knocked back and brought the window back down. “Just hold on. Can I just have one fucking minute to myself here? Please?”

Stella almost laughed at the comically slow speed the window rolled back up. She turned her head and covered her mouth to hide her smile. John was so irritated with his children and whatever shenanigans they had gotten into today. Stella had just gotten rid of his ire. She didn’t want to bring it back. They heard as the phone clattered into the cup holder.

They watched the patriarch get out of the truck and deeply sigh. “What?” Jamie started to stammer with a response, but John held up a hand to stop him, “no, not yet.” John pointed at Beth. “You and I are gonna have a conversation.” He turned his gaze back to Jamie. “What?”

“Talk to me about cancer.” Jamie started off. Stella’s eyes widened. John glanced at her, and she backed up a few steps. She didn’t want to intrude. This wasn’t her business to know.

“Okay. What would you like to know?”

“For a start, how long have you had it?” Beth questioned. Stella could tell she was holding back.

“Well, I don't have cancer. I had a tumor in my colon. It was removed.” John explained with a chuckle. “Nice, uh... nice to see you two exhibit some real emotion.”

“This isn't funny.” Beth accused. She and Jamie followed after John and she kept going after her dad. “These aren't the kind of secrets that you can keep.” Stella tagged along behind them at a distance.

“Yeah, well, it doesn't seem like much of a secret.” John looked at Stella quickly.

“That could be its own problem.” Jamie brought up.

“Well, lucky I have you to take care of it.” John pointed at his daughter. “You come with me.” He started to turn around, but stopped short. “Stella, you wait outside. I’ll talk to you when I’m done.”

Stella nodded and made herself comfortable on the stairs. Jamie stayed outside with her, much to her dislike. He sat on the stairs next to Stella with a groan. Hanging in the wings with Jamie wasn’t on her bingo card for this year, but she figured she would try to be nice to him.

“I take it that things didn’t go well with whatever y’all were trying to do this mornin’?” She asked.

Jamie looked out at the horizon like she had. He looked lost. Stella could understand. Her and Ryan’s father, Roy, had been diagnosed with brain cancer and hadn’t told them until it was at the point he needed surgery. Unexpected news like that ripped apart every aspect of your foundation. Even if the person was out of the woods and seemed to be doing great. John was one of the lucky ones. Stella and Ryan’s dad on the other hand, hadn’t been.

Stella realized Jamie hadn’t answered her. “It’ll be okay, Jamie. Your dad is one of the lucky ones to get it all out. Just gotta make sure it doesn’t come back.” Roy’s tumor had grown back aggressively seven months after it was removed. Not even a month after the doctors found it again, he was gone.

“How would you be able to know that?”

“Because Ryan and I have been there.”

Jamie’s mouth audibly dropped open. “What?” He had no idea.

Stella watched as the emotions flickered across his face. “Yeah. Glioblastoma.” She picked up a leaf that had blown onto the step next to her. “We left after our dad passed, but he didn’t tell us until it was damn near too late.” She focused back on the horizon. “Stubborn and proud. That’s how we left it.”

“I’m sorry, Stella.”

She shrugged. “Nah it’s okay. It was a long time ago. Which is why we don’t talk about it.” Extending the proverbial olive branch, she smiled at him. “So trust me when I tell you, your dad isn’t hiding anything health wise. You’d be able to tell after a while.”

He nodded just as they heard the door whip open behind them. John stood there looking perturbed as ever, but he focused on Stella. “Jamie, I need to talk to Miss Stella here. So go do whatever it is you need to do about this morning.” Jamie nodded again and made his way off inside the house. Stella stood up at the bottom of the stairs and waited for John to meet her.

“So how’s that horse coming?” John started off.

Stella placed her hands in her back pockets. “He’s good. He really isn’t mean if you pay attention to what he’s telling you. None of the wranglers are patient enough. Maybe Lloyd, or Jimmy provided that someone is with him. I think Kayce being around also helps. There’s something kindred between the two of them.”

John smirked. “I know what you mean. I’ve seen it myself.”

Stella nodded and glanced around. She wasn’t sure what John wanted, but the air felt weighted. “So,” she cleared her throat, "what did you wanna talk to me about, sir?”

“Walk down to the barn with me.” He wagged his finger as he started to walk off.

“Uh, I’m not sure the barns a good idea.”

John stopped short and looked over his shoulder at her. “Why’s that?”

Stella sighed. “Well, Rip and I kinda got into it earlier. Other than my job he banned me from the ranch for a while.” Her cheeks heated up when she admitted her weak moment and John turned to fully face her.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah.” Stella toed the dirt with her boot. “I mean he had already banned me because I tried to fight Fred. Even though that bitch deserved it. I just decided I was gonna to push my luck even further today.”

“About what?”

“Huh?”

“What did you get into it about?”

“He just said something this morning that really got on me, and then he opened his mouth again.” She sighed. “I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Well that’s between you two. You make it right. In the meantime, I have a job proposition for you.” Stella’s face perked up at John’s statement. “So come down to the barn with me. I’m your boss over Rip anyhow.”

Stella wiped her hands on her pants. The closer they got to the round pen and the barn, the sweatier they got. The wranglers were still out and about. She spotted her brother and Colby off to the side, both of them looked concerned. She scoped the area out and couldn’t find Rip, making her nerves spike higher. Paired with the fact that the last time she was in this barn with John, she made herself look stupid. Not exactly happy memories as of late.

John opened the door for Stella and held it until she timidly walked through.

“So this position I want to offer you.” He waved at a hay bale that was on the side of the aisle. “Have a seat.” Stella plopped herself on the bale and patiently waited for him to continue. John leaned against the wall across from her. “I’m planning on having Kayce around more. So I want him to take Lee’s position.” She casted her eyes down. “I know that position was going to you, but I think you would be much better suited to help Kayce.”

Disappointment flashed across her face quickly, but John still caught it. “I thought you’d be overjoyed at getting to work with my son again.” He watched Stella look everywhere but at him. “But there’s also a second part of that position.”

“Don’t get me wrong, sir. I am excited to work with Kayce again.”

“But?”

She thought back to this morning when Kayce threw attitude her way. She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’ll make it work. What was the other part of the position?”

“Now that’s the part I think you’ll like.” John sat on the hay bale opposite her with a groan. “I was thinking about starting a broodmare program.” Stella’s eyes lit up. John held up his hand with a smirk. “Now hold on before you start chompin’ at the bit. It’s going to take a while to get proven and with Travis’s help, we might be able to hop a little faster, but I’m gonna need someone to be in charge of the broodmares. I wanted to offer that to you, since you have experience from your friend over at Grand Springs.”

“Can I ask some questions, sir?”

John waved his hand to the floor. “Fire away.”

“Now would we have broodmares for work horses, or show horses? Or both? That would determine what stallions I’m looking at, why I’m looking at them, and what I’m looking for. Are we gonna stand a stallion or two? Or are we just breeding from stud fees? Actually all that determines a lot of things.”

“Well what do you think would be better money wise?”

Stella’s heart stopped. She’d never been asked that kind of question before, and she certainly never expected John to ask her. “If I’m being transparent, there’s not much money to be made back in revenue that wouldn’t go back into the broodmares. With vet care and getting them artificially inseminated, constant appointments for them to be checked and after birth care, stud fees, if we send any yearlings to training.” Stella wracked her brain for all the information she’d gathered over the years working with Olivia. “There might be a little bit of money we might be able to scrape off the top depending on what the foals would sell for, but that’s why breeders, any reputable one anyhow, have their hands in a lot of pots at once if you catch my drift?”

“Because they make their consistent money stream from other partnerships and deals?” John asked.

“Exactly. It’s not a super profitable business. Unless you took the money from the sales of the foals or yearlings and flipped that into a different project of passive income, and used your other income for the care of the broodmares; I’m talking stud fees and vet care and the like. You might be able to scrape by with a little more.” She tapped on her leg, thinking.

“We would also have to make the Yellowstone broodmares marketable. There’s a lot that goes into this, Mr. Dutton. It’s not just breeding to breed. I would be extremely selective on who gets chosen for what. We would breed to better the breed. Not just because we’re trying to make a quick buck to save our ass from the fire. Whether it’s show horses or work horses, we should better the breed to make better show horses and better work horses for the future of the breed.”

There was a small smile on John’s face that put Stella on the edge of her seat. “What? Did I overstep?” Her cheeks reddened again.

John shook his head softly. “No. I just see it now.”

Stella eyebrows pulled together. “See what?”

“Well I’ve already witnessed the mean side, but the smart tenacity that both my sons and all my men stand for in you.”

“Ah thank you, but I’m just passionate about it. That’s all.” Stella shrugged.

“That’s good. Keep it. I’ll get back to you when I hear more from Travis. Might even have you and him talk. Until then, just help Kayce out as best you can.”

“Till my dying breath, sir.”

“That’s what I’m counting on. Now go ahead and go home for the day. I wanna see you working those couple horses tomorrow, ya hear?”

Stella smiled so wide the dimples in her cheeks almost split.

#yellowstone #kayce dutton #yellowstonetv #luke grimes #ian bohen #ryan #kayce dutton fan fiction #yellowstone fanfic #yellowstone fanfiction #beth dutton #jamie dutton #john dutton #kayce dutton fanfic

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