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#she ain’t worth it Arthur
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Unpopular opinion, but I’d fight anyone who tried to step between me & giving them the love they deserve.
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borzoia · 2 months
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Save a horse-- Ride a Cowboy!
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Arthur Morgan x f!reader Includes; PIV, cowgirl position, drinking, consensually fucking under the influence. MDNI
A/N; My take on the save a horse ride a cowboy trend.
It was a summer night, the saloon was packed with loud mouthed men drinking enough liquor to kill a boar. Ladies were scattered across the bar waiting for a sober(ish) man to swoop them off. Standing beside your two friends you swayed side to side, your shoes were definitely not made to stand for this long. Ignoring the nonsensical chatter of the girls beside you, you notice a familiar face– Arthur.
Arthur and you had a short history, when your horse escaped from your family’s barn he was quick to chase her down and bring her back seemingly calmer than when she ran. He’d help with you little favors from time to time, you’d repay him with homemade sweets and some liquor. He’d never stayed long than a few hours at a time, keeping the conversation simple as he let you talk most of the time. He was a sweetheart whether he’d like to admit it or not, but you could never quite get him to crack his shell.
You push past a few drunks who have no spatial awareness and stand behind Arthur, he’s rambling about some big bust he had with him and his gang, wordlessly you pluck the cowboy hat on his head, placing it on your own. He turns around with a glare that could kill but his face softens when he recognizes it’s you, he lets out a low laugh, quickly snatching the hat back.
You hop on the bar stool next to him, “Someone’s ready for a fight.” You remark. “Always.” He says slyly, throwing back what’s left in his glass. The rowdy group next to him laughs wickedly, playfully roughing him up, “You gon’ take that cowboy?” They tease, Arthur ignores them for the most part. “C’mon Arthur! Save a horse ride-”
Arthur slams the empty glass on the bar, “Hush now!” He growls, the men erupt in laughter unphased by the man’s outburst. “Bunch o’ children..”
Eventually they sulk away, going off to harass another bystander. You and Arthur get to chatting, you bring up his horse and he happily updates you on his well-being, he’s opening up more than usual, going on about the mini adventures he has in his day to day life, the little feud’s he gets into with the gang. He swears he’s no poet and even stops himself mid sentence to reiterate that, in your opinion he has a beautiful way with his words not in the fancy way, but he keeps your attention like no one else. “Them boys earlier..”  You start,
“Awh, they ain’t worth a breath.” He says. “So you know 'em?” You reply.
“Drinkin’ buddies, that’s all.” “They got you riled up with that ‘Save a horse’ crap.” You comment, he lets out a gruff laugh. “You know what that means?” He glances at you without lifting his head. You shake your head, sipping your whiskey, He laughs again the time avoiding your gaze. “What?” He ignores you, “C’mon, I ain’t a little girl!” You say, which only eggs him on, he finishes the bottle in his hand, shaking his head as the bottle slams down. “I ain’t your teacher.” He rasps, bringing his elbows to rest up on the counter. “Please!” You beg, shaking him lightly, “Thought you wasn’t a little girl?” He snapped. You roll your eyes, a dull silence falls between you, you turn away, observing the crowd of men and women dancing, laughing and drinking, you turn back to Arthur with a smirk, plucking the hat off his head once more and wearing it, he turns to snatch back but you leap from your seat, walking backwards with a wide grin. He’s pissed, you push past the crowds of drunks, til you hit the saloon doors, drunkenly you forget about the steps and nearly tumble down them, Arthur snatches your wrist, “Watch it, girl.” He scowls, he pulls you back up to the porch dragging you away from the few onlookers outside. “Sorry,” You mumble stumbling into the wooden railing. “You’re alright.” He says. “Why won’t you just tell me already?” Arthur sighs, readjusting his posture and hanging one hand on his belt. “It’s dirty.” He says quietly. “‘Save a horse– Ride a cowboy.” He says, your eyes widen a bit, the hat now loosely on your head. “I ain’t that kinda man,” He looks to the side, maybe it was the liquor or lack of people– but you laughed, in his face. “‘What you got hidin’ under that skirt for me?’” You mock his voice, leaning into him as you laugh, “Arthur you are a filthy man don’t lie.” “Watch your mouth.” He barks.
“Or what?” You retort.
He sighs loudly, chewing the inside of his cheek, you could see the moment on his face where he thought ‘Fuck it.’ He grabs your forearm, dragging you down the saloon steps, he knew the route to your apartment, hell he had an extra key, he crashed into your living room, slamming the door behind you two.
Before you knew it his mouth was on you, rough beard scratching your face, he pulls away, “where we goin’?” He rasps, “I don’t care,” you huff, “I need you.” He laughs against your lips, “And I’m filthy,’ he says before closing the gap, he guides you to the couch, laying you down gently, he next moves were the opposite, a rough hand find your waist, the other pushing up your skirt, massaging your thighs, but not daring to go any further. Your uncoordinated hands work to unbutton your blouse, there’s unexplainable heat beneath your skin and Arthur’s hands are ice cold, “Tell me to stop and I will.” He says in between kisses, “Don’t.” You exhale. Your words are a green light for him, he moves down to your neck placing open mouthed kisses down your soft skin, your hands get entangled in his brunette hair, soft gasps leaving your mouth, he palms one breast through your bra, tugging the strap down on the other side, he places soft kisses on your bare chest while the other hand roughly gropes you, the contrast was enough to make you whimper. 
His rough touch leaves you for a moment, moving to undo your bra with one hand, he tugs the fabric off of you, sitting back to admire your bare chest, “Look at you,” He remarks, you whine, dragging his hands back to your aching body. “Easy girl, you’ll have your turn.” He chuckles, undoing his belt and discarding it somewhere in the room, he unsheathed his cock, you immediately reach for it like your greedy, “Ah-ah, hands to yerself.”  he strokes himself for a measure, fondling your chest with his free hand. He lowers himself, pushing your boobs together and slotting himself between him, he grabs your wrists, pinning them on the arm of the sofa with one hand, with every thrust he lets out a low groan, using you as he pleases. “Fuck..” He moans as you arch your back closer to him, your chaste whimpers and whines are like music to his ears bringing him closer and closer to the edge. Suddenly he pulls away leaving your chest covered in precum.
Wordlessly he hooks his fingers around the hem of your skirt, pulling the garment down in one fell swoop, again he tosses it with no regard. He wraps his hands around your waist, flipping you over so you're on top, he lets you get comfy atop his hard cock, slowly rocking your hips back and forth. “Thatta’ girl..” He praises, slowly pushing your panties to the side, “C’mere girl,” He pulls you close, your chest to his, he places kisses on your collarbone as he slides inside your dripping core, you whine at the stretch, “Sh.. shh.. That’s it..” He lets you sit up at your own pace, guiding you into a slow rhythm, “Just like that, sweetheart.” His hands leave you to rest behind his head, giving you full control.
With a hand on the couch you steady yourself, keeping the slow pace, despite your inexperience you’ve heard plenty of talk on how to please a man, you grind your hips against his before lifting up and slowly coming back down, his tip is bruising your cervix even at the turtle tempo. Arthur takes the hat from his head, placing it on yours as you continue to ride him, it gives you a new filled confidence, you speed up, boobs bouncing as your hips slam down. Your moans bounce off the walls and you’re sure your neighbors can hear but god you’re drunk on his cock, Arthur throws his head back as your speed up, clenching around him when you hear his breathy groans, “Fuck..!” He moans, his half lidded glossy eyes meet yours and he snaps, “C’mere.” he says, pulling you close once more, he grips your ass and mercilessly pounds into you, fucking every sweet sound possible out of you, you repeat his name like prayer as the thread inside you snaps, your fingers tangled in his hair as you cum. His pace doesn’t relent, “Just a little longer sweetheart..” He breathily groans in your ear, pumping in and out of your cunt slower til pulls out and finishes. For a few minutes the two of you lay in silence, breathing heavily as you recuperate, you’re the first to break the silence. “You.. are a filthy man Mister. Morgan..” You pant, “Don’t sound like a complaint to me, cowgirl.”
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coyoteandthecowboy · 5 months
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comforting you after a rough day or two - rdr2 ladies (+ jack)
abigail 
she doesn’t let you sit down and cry about it, or mope in your feelings for too long— it’s not exactly tough love, but she isn’t as gentle as she could be either
of course, it is all with the best of intentions; she’s just trying her best to pick you up and dust you off, and if that means that she has to drag you onto your feet so that she can take you to a wash basin and wipe your face, then she will 
she’s all soft touches— brushing your hair back behind your ear, pressing a fierce kiss to your forehead, holding your hand— whatever it is that’s going to have you feeling better
“oh c’mon hon, don’t cry. you’re strong, and beautiful, and brave, and someone who can’t see that has earned themselves a kick in the teeth. even if that someone is you.“ 
if physical affection isn’t really your thing, she’s also really good at playing guard dog and keeping the others away from your tent. if looks could kill, the rest of the gang would probably be dead, minus jack
speaking of jack: he’s doing his best too. that chocolate bar in pearson’s wagon that he’s been eyeing ever since arthur brought it home? he’s running over to shove it into your hands, mumbling something about how he hopes you aren’t too sad and then taking off again
grimshaw
she’s one of the first people in camp to notice you’re missing, if only to make sure that you aren’t dead in a ditch after a job or trying to get out of your tasks. she’s very similar to hosea in that she doesn’t like layabouts
she’s more than ready to get after you about avoiding the washing when she finds you crying behind one of the wagons. you hadn’t wanted anyone to find you, which was why you hid there, but she has a talent for sniffing you out
she’s really blunt about it initially, partially because it’s how she herself was raised, but also because she isn’t quite sure what to do. even if her words are meant to be comforting, they aren’t, at least not initially— “there ain’t nothin’ on this earth worth being this upset over, y’hear? other folk have it a lot worse than we do.”
it isn’t until that inevitably ends up making you cry harder that she realizes her current approach isn’t working, gathers you up in a hug and apologizes without words. she might not be the best at handling a delicate situation, but her heart’s in the right place
in the end, she decides to give you the rest of the day off, and the next for good measure. gets you a handkerchief or two, a cup of coffee or tea, whichever you prefer, and then draws the curtains to your tent closed and tells you to lay down, at least for a little while
if anyone else says a single word about it, or complains about picking up the slack, she’ll shut that down right quick. she feels terrible about hurting your feelings, even if unintentional, and she isn’t about to let anyone else do the same
karen
karen isn’t much for talking about her own feelings when she’s drunk, let alone sober, but she’s a good listener. she’ll happily sit there while you cry your eyes out, or rant on about whatever it is that’s eating at you. the advice she offers isn’t always sound, or asked for, but she’s trying her best 
just because she turns to alcohol doesn’t mean that she’ll let you follow the same self destructive tendencies. after a few beers, she’ll make you drink a tin cup or two of water, or if you’re about to finish going through the pack of smokes, she’ll mention that that’s likely enough
“i think it’s time we take a break, don’t you? i mean, all that tobacco’s gotta be makin’ you hungry, and you ain’t eaten in a while. ‘sides, you’ll probably feel better after a bowl of stew. might be bland, or overseasoned, but it’s better than nothin’.”
for the most part though, her talent lies in distracting you. after you’ve explained the gist of your feelings, she’ll typically launch into a similar experience that she had once, which she’ll retell complete with voices and grand hand gestures in her best attempt to make you laugh
these subtle jokes and attempts at cheering you up will persist for a while, too, until she’s got the sense that you’re actually starting to feel better; karen’s a lot more perceptive than people give her credit for, especially when it comes to those she cares about
she’s big on physical affection, and with permission she gives bone crushing embraces that are enough to block the rest of the world out for a little while. hugging is definitely her favourite, and if you ask her to hold you for a while, she’ll be more than happy to oblige
mary-beth
when you come to her, she’ll offer you three different choices: getting it all out, talking things through with her, or offering her advice and her own experiences. if you just need somewhere quiet to sit for a while, she’s more than happy to scoot over on the blanket and offer you that too, but she’ll be vibrating a little with pent up words
assuming you’re okay with her talking though, she’ll very happily fill the air between you for a while, just with her own chatter, or with a passage from one of her books. this will also be accompanied by the option to rest your head in her lap or on her shoulder while you listen, and assuming that she’s reading to you, she’ll play with your hair with one hand, only lifting it up to turn pages, and hold the book in the other 
she won’t necessarily wax poetic about you, but she will tell you that she admires your strength and your heart. words of affirmation are very important to her, as are gifts, so little notes and letters of love and encouragement? those might start popping up from time to time too
“it’s hard to see you hurtin’ like this, y’know.. you’re a good person. a good friend. and me n’ most of the people in this camp think the world of you. you’re good, and kind, and funny, and.. i wish you could see half of what i do.”
it’s not much in her humble opinion, but she’ll pick flowers from the surrounding area for you and leave them next to your bed. she’s a massive floriography buff, and so she takes the time to make sure that she’s picked blooms with the proper meanings and nuances. even if you have no idea what they symbolize, it’s important to her that the bundle has the right sentiments
assuming that she’s able to convince dutch to let you two go into town, she’ll wander around with you window shopping and just spending time together. she’ll make up fake names for you, fake identities, make it a whole ridiculous charade. at the end of the day her main priority is making sure that you smile again. she misses your smile
molly
when she approaches you, it definitely takes a while for her to actually get close. for the first few minutes, she’s very nonchalantly observing you from a distance, until she’s got a good gauge as to whether you should be left alone, or whether you might want a friend
if it’s the former, she’ll redirect the other gang members relatively easily, just by telling them that so-and-so asked for them, or that she needs help finding a certain item; she won’t outright say you’re not to be disturbed, considering most everyone is nosy, whether with good or bad intentions— she wants to make sure you get your peace and quiet
if it’s the latter, she’ll continue edging closer until she’s finally close enough that she can ask you if she can sit down at your side. after that, she lets you dictate the amount of conversation. if you need an ear, she listens. if you need advice, she’ll offer her two cents here and there. if you just need someone to sit with you in silence, she’s content with that as well 
it’ll take her a while to open up to you about her own feelings, but once the conversation’s started, she’ll warm up before long, and it’ll eventually steer towards more pleasant topics. it’s been a long time since she was able to truly connect with anybody, and even if this is only the budding beginning of a relationship, she makes her cultivation of it a priority. she doesn’t want you to feel alone
“i know we aren’t close, but when i saw you sittin’ alone at the edge of camp, it made my heart ache a little. i.. i know how it feels to be so alone, even when you’re surrounded by people who care for you, or are supposed to care for you. so.. i guess i’m just here to remind you that you don’t have to handle this by yourself.”
she ends up encouraging you to try your hand at poetry considering it always helps her, and when you come back a few days later with a handful of verses for her to read, she’s practically glowing with pride
sadie
she knows how it is to feel like your world is caving in, and while she doesn’t exactly understand your specific situation because she isn’t in your shoes, she’s got a pretty good idea. depending on what you need, she’ll be more than happy to offer it
she’ll go out on jobs with you if only to make sure that you don’t get into more trouble than you can handle, as well as to help take your mind off of things during the trip out and the trip home. she’ll also offer up different bounties and other activities if it’s clear you don’t wanna stew in your own feelings
if she has the chance, she’ll make one of your favourite dishes, or try. it doesn’t always turn out super well. sadie can cook a mean steak dinner but couldn’t offer anything resembling cake even if with the best kitchen of the 1890s at her disposal (it’s because she treats recipes like a suggestion, as opposed to something you should follow)
“stop laughin’, i know it looks dumb, but i tried, okay? we don’t have a stove, or a proper oven, so it’s ended up a little bit- wonky, but— shut up! it’s not that funny you asshole, i did this for you!”
even if she’s teasing and picking on you to an extent, she makes sure to keep it good-natured and not to pick on anything that’ll make you upset. the other gang members however.. let’s just say that she’ll bully pearson to high heaven just to hear you snort in response
it might not always be super obvious, but she’ll tail you around camp to an extent just to make sure that you’re okay. sitting with you at the campfire, keeping an eye on you while you take a smoke break at the edge of camp. she’s not going to hover, she’s not your mother. but she does worry
tilly
tilly won’t make a big fuss over it or necessarily confront you directly— both because she personally prefers to process her troubles alone until she’s ready to seek someone out, and because she doesn’t want to invade your privacy 
as such, unless you ask for her company, she’ll spend her time doing smaller things instead in an attempt to make your life a little easier, whether that’s picking up some of the odd jobs around camp or finding someone to go in your stead for jobs, offering herself up if need be
“i just wanted to let you know that the washing is done and it’s hanging out back, the dishes are all clean too. and i know that you were goin’ to go out on that coach robbin’ job today, but i don’t mind lendin’ a hand. so.. you take a little while to yourself, okay?”
if you actually seek her out though, she’s more than happy to offer one of those little makeshift therapy sessions on the crates behind the wagons, or take a walk around the area to enjoy the weather and look at the wildlife
sometimes though, she understands that you just want quiet, and so she’ll idly flip through one of mary-beth’s books, just to spend time in the same spot as you and share the same air. she knows it isn’t much, but 
because of mary-beth she knows a decent amount about floriography, but she doesn’t really care for the full on meanings the same. at the same time though, she’ll also be very clear if she’s offering wildflowers or any other kind of bouquet that it doesn’t secretly reflect her feelings towards you, she just picked them because she thought they looked nice
(feel free to ask for more!! the version with the boys should be coming out relatively soon)
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cheesewedge · 4 months
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Faces in the Flames (18+)
Summary: On their way back to Clemens Point, Arthur and Maria encounter a gang they've never seen the likes of.
Word Count: 2,230
Tags: graphic descriptions of corpses, dialogue-heavy, violence, arthur x original female character
Taglist: @photo1030
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Thick fog drowns the swamp in mist. Moonlight leaks through the tendrils of the weeping willows and brings forth skeletal shadows of the bald cypresses. All air is heavy with the stench of rotten eggs. Maria looks around. Dozens of eyes red and unholy poke up from the water. Mosquitoes keep time with the gnats and flies, the odd bullfrog, and she swats the air to keep them away from her face.
“Jesus, it’s creepy out here.”
“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, we’re almost home.”
“Not really.”
“Y’ain’t gotta worry, I’ll keep you safe.”
“You always do. But that isn’t the point.”
“It ain’t?”
“No.”
“Okay, then what is it?”
“The point is I am this close to climbing in your saddle and staying there until we get home.”
Arthur laughs. “Well, you won’t get no complaints outta me.”
“Pff. Is that why you didn’t listen when I told you it was too late to travel?”
“Naw. I did it ‘cause I love hearin’ you chew my ear off.”
She raises her eyebrows and bends over her saddle horn in silent laughter, rising only to smack his arm. “I hate you.”
“Aw, ‘m only jokin’. But y’ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. ‘M always gonna keep y’ safe.”
“I know.” She reaches to place a hand on his thigh. She runs her thumb over him and smiles when he looks at her. 
“Can’t say it weren’t worth it for that trip.”
She pulls away. “That’s true. As awful as this is, I’d do it again to fuck you on silk sheets.”
“We can always turn around.”
“Yes, when I can walk again, we can turn around.”
He laughs. “‘M-‘m sorry. I weren’t too rough was I?”
“No rougher than I asked for.”
His eyes flick to hers. He smirks, but she reserves her smile for the road.
“Y’ know, there was a time when fellers had t’ pay for that kinda—”
Ophelia whinnies, stomping in place as if there’s a fire at her feet. Maria wraps the reins around one fist and grips her saddle horn with the other. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy. Take it easy. What’s wrong with you?” Through the shushes and pats to her neck Ophelia calms down just enough to avoid bucking Maria, but when nudged forward, she won’t move.
“Think I could tell y’.”
Maria turns to Arthur, his eyes fixed ahead of them. A man hangs bloated and still as stone from a cypress branch. His head droops toward his bound hands, waxen skin grey and cold as a winter sky. One of his shoes lies on the grass beneath him and the naked foot has long since rotted, consumed by fly eggs and a callous buzz of insects. 
“Jesus Christ.”
“Ain’t been here more than a couple days it looks like.”
“We should cut him down. See if he has any identification. He may have had a family.”
“Ain’t no business of ours. Poor bastard.”
“Arthur.”
Before he can protest she draws her pistol. A shot rings out as the body crumples down with an ugly thud. She dismounts. The man’s legs lie bent unnaturally beneath him. There’s a sweetness to the fetid odour of vomit and meat and the stink of shit clung to his trousers. Foam seeps from his nose and out past his protruded tongue. She buries her face in a handkerchief. 
“Come on, leave it. We gotta get outta here.”
She squats and tries his vest pockets. An opened bottle of gin and a few coins are left in one pocket before she searches the other and pulls out a folded piece of paper. 
if you find this i am dead
the Nite Folk haunted my dreams and now they haunt my waking hours too. I have tried to evade them but it is only a matter of time I feel before I am bested
the silence is overwhelming
pray for me
She doesn’t move.
“What is it?”
An arrow skims the bridge of her nose. She cries out, the burn immediate as another bolt pierces the air to take her hat with it and bring forth freakish hissing and a rush of bare feet from the trees, a trio of so-called men armed with machetes and clubs, their faces smeared in white paint and one’s naked torso slathered in blood with his bare teeth exposed as he hisses and chases after her.
Ophelia cries out and bolts to the other end of the road, Arthur’s mare just behind her after he dismounts and fires another round. One bullet punctures the stranger’s shoulder, another one his neck, but he raises the blade over his head and swings at Maria. She jerks away and lands on her rear, hands drowned to the wrist in mud as she kicks away. Blood, almost black in the moonlight, bubbles from his throat and spills down a rosary of human hair woven around his neck, tongue clicking in a manner only the others understand. She kicks. A bone snaps somewhere in the leg and he pauses, the whites of his eyes like distant moons when he swings the machete to catch the meat of her thigh. She lets out a pathetic sound, kicks again. He staggers to a knee without a sound and she fires her shotgun, closing her eyes against the splatter of teeth and blood. She fires again, though there’s nothing left to shoot at.
She holsters and claws at the mud to lift herself up. Both who went after Arthur lie dead in the road. She stumbles toward him with fire pulsing through her leg and hollers for Ophelia. 
“C-creepy bastards. Jesus, y’alright?”
“I’m fine. Let’s just get the fuck out of here.”
Ophelia trots down the path and rears when she steps over one of the men. Maria hobbles next to her and mounts with some difficulty, not daring to look at the thing by her feet as Arthur whistles for his mare. 
“Y’ sure you’re okay—?”
Maria whips her head to the trees. Torches bob not thirty feet behind them, another four, maybe five heads of caramelized rags amid hissing and clicking and the squelch of toes in mud. She watches them, her entire body tense in a war against itself to move, but all she can do is stare at the sickly parade of white faces seemingly born from the flames.
A gunshot. She looks at Arthur, unshaken with a snarl on his face before he fires again. An arrow lands in a tree trunk. 
“Let’s go.”
Another arrow whizzes by her head and she digs her heels in the stirrups, urging Ophelia toward Rhodes with Arthur right beside her. 
A defeated screech emerges from the fire and demands life of the swamp, Arthur and Maria’s vision clouded by the tattered apparitions of the Spanish moss, their faces assaulted by weeping willow limbs, everything like great beings from hell that scratch and snap at their heels until the swamp is so far behind them it’s like the remnants of a bad dream.
By the time they reach Clemens Point sweat leaks from their mares’ chests down their legs. Maria pats the side of Ophelia’s neck, whispers words of encouragement, but she tosses her head in the crownpiece until she’s hitched by the water trough. 
Maria stumbles off and inhales through her teeth when she lands on the grass. 
“Sweetheart, y’ okay?” 
She hobbles to her tent without an answer.
Arthur sighs and flicks his eyes to the shadow in his periphery. Kieran lugs a saddle toward Taima and hoists it on her back with a small grunt. 
“O’Driscoll.”
“Evenin’, mister.”
“Y’ mind givin’ our horses a look at? May o’ pushed ‘em a bit too hard comin’ back here.”
Kieran shuffles over with a look of concern that only worsens when he sees the mares. “Oh, Arthur. What’d ya do to ‘em?”
“I know, I know. Can y’ help?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Thank y’.”
He makes his way to the firelight shadows that stretch behind the cinched maroon fabric of Maria’s tent, pitched just beside his. Arthur shakes off his jacket and drops it onto his clothing trunk. Peels off his overshirt. His pants and boots. He pinches the fabric of his union suit and tries to fan himself dry but eventually relents, tucking a clean one under his arm as he steps into the night.
The stench of blood chokes him on the way into Maria’s tent. Her clothing lies abandoned — the front of her pants, her shirt soaked crimson. She stands with one foot on an upturned bucket and runs a rag down her naked leg, her camisole and bloomers spread like dead birds at her feet. He watches her glide the rag to one of her breasts. 
“Hey.”
“What’re y’ doin’?”
“Bathing.”
“How many a’ those you gonna take? Y’ just had one ‘fore we left Saint Denis.”
“Yeah, well, that was before I was covered in shit.” She bends to wring out the cloth and clutches her thigh.
“Sweetheart, let me see.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He sighs. “Am I gonna have t’ tie y’ to the bed?”
She limps to her cot. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” she says as he kneels in front of her, lifting her calf with both hands to bring her foot atop his leg. The wound isn’t as deep as he feared. It stretches across the width of her thigh and smells faintly of whiskey, already disinfected. 
“Y’ should wrap it.”
She reaches into her nightstand and hands him a roll of gauze and a small pair of scissors for him to wrap strip after strip around her leg, tucking it in on itself. “Thank you…w-what?”
He frowns at another cut, deeper than the first and curled across the bridge of her nose. She touches it. “Oh. Yeah, I know. It should be okay. I cleaned it, so all we can do now is let it heal.” 
He doesn’t answer. 
She looks at him, and in the silence spots the exact moment his eyes glass over with blame. She grazes the scar on his nose with a small smile, her voice quiet. “Now we match.”
“I ain’t ever wanted y’ to match all my scars.”
“Oh, me neither,” she says, and it gets a laugh out of him.
She sighs. “Arthur, I’m sorry. I should have left him there. Those things were just waiting for us.”
“S’okay. We got outta there.”
“I almost got us killed.”
“They was probably gonna ambush us anyway. Folk like that are jus’ waitin’ for folk like you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He grins. “Kind folk. Yer an easy target.”
“You mean a sucker,” she says, and when he grins a little wider she laughs and smacks his arm. “Go to hell.”
“Ha. Well, I told y’ to leave him.”
“Yes, and for once, you were right.”
He scoffs but doesn’t say anything else, the two of them smiling through a quiet moment born and lost in the breeze. 
“Arthur?”
“Mm?”
“Arthur, will…will you stay with me tonight?”
“‘Course I will.”
Her eyes sink to the goosebumps on her thighs. “Thank you.” 
“Hey. Look at me. S’over now.”
“I know.”
“Then how come y’ look like y’ just seen a ghost?”
She scoffs. “Maybe we did.”
He gently brings her foot to the grass and puts his hands on his thighs, rising with a grunt. “Y’ been spendin’ too much time in them books o’ yours.” He walks to her clothing trunk and pulls out a clean nightgown. “What’s it called?”
She smiles and takes it. “Dracula. And he’s not a ghost, he’s a vampire.”
“S’all the same to me.”
“It is not the same. You can kill a vampire, Arthur.” She slips her arms through the lace sleeves. “You can’t kill what’s already dead.” 
He unbuttons his union suit. “Good thing they ain’t real then.”
“And how do you know what’s real?”
“I ain’t ever seen one. And you ain’t ever seen one neither.”
She opens her mouth to speak but blushes instead, the dampened legs of his union suit peeled down his calves and discarded next to her underthings. He unfurls his clean one and navy fabric tumbles to his feet, a smirk on his face when he quirks a brow over his shoulder.
“Whatchu lookin’ at?”
She rests her elbows on her knees, cradles her chin in her open palms. “The scariest thing I’ve seen all night.”
“Yeah, y’ should see me up close.”
“That was always my favourite view.”
“Guess you’ve officially lost yer mind then.”
“That I did,” she says, and they smile at each other.
It doesn’t take long to assemble a makeshift bed on the grass—a bear pelt, her pillows, a worn out blanket that lost its colour years ago. She sinks onto it first, patting the space beside her before he turns out the lantern.
He barely lifts the blanket over his frame before she curls next to him, an arm draped over his stomach so she can lay on his chest, and when he presses his stubbled chin to the crown of her head she knows he’s smiling.
“G’night, darlin’.”
She hums long and high, fingers working the button just below his navel. “You know I’m just gonna open these again, right?” 
He chuckles. “Y’re already takin’ too long.”
27 notes · View notes
coltermorning · 11 months
Text
A Rival of Want (A Rival Of Wills Pt. 2, RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)
Summary: The perfect opportunity arises for you to get your revenge against Arthur.
Author’s Notes: Accidentally made this one extra extra long hah (imagine that) but it’s worth it I promise! Part one is here.
Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, smut, low honor Arthur Morgan, rough sex, bondage, NonCon
AO3 Link
~
A Rival of Want
Word count: 12032
You thought of your pride as you sat atop your horse, riding back into camp after a long few hours away. Your attempt at finding a score proved futile, and your mood had spoiled further because of it.
Ever since Arthur had committed such a vile act on you those weeks ago, you could think of little else. You were beginning to be paranoid it was affecting your daily merit as a result. Every lead you followed since had turned sour, all falling flat or proving unworthy of risking your neck. If you didn’t know any better, you would think Arthur’s little stunt had settled over you like a plague, saddling you with the bad luck you had worked so hard to give to him. But no matter the cause, you weren’t bringing anything in, and your pride was suffering for it.
You thought of this pride and how it usually brought you more success when you met Lenny walking to his post just outside of camp.
“That you, Y/N?”
“Hey, Lenny,” you responded, not in the mood for conversation but unwilling to be unpleasant to the kid as you liked him well enough.
“Have any luck?”
Your gaze sharpened, as did your tone. “No.”
He got the message, walking on with a small smile. “Sorry I asked.”
You knew better than to respond, not wanting to start a fight that wasn’t warranted. You were having trouble holding your temper down as it was, and you didn’t need to give it another reason to swallow you whole.
You rode on and hitched your horse, avoiding as many camp members as you could as you made way to your tent, wanting nothing more than to be left alone.
“Miss Y/N,” said a voice just behind you before you could so much as sit on your bedroll. You rolled your shoulders to ease their tension before turning slowly, like the action would rid you of your annoyance.
“Yes, Miss Grimshaw?”
“Dutch wants a word with you. He’s just over there, by the water’s edge.”
Thanking the heavens she hadn’t needed more work out of you, you nodded and made to pass her quick enough that she couldn’t dream up some new chore to give you.
You walked to the lakeside and saw Dutch standing alone, far from any listening ears. You wondered what on earth this could be about before calling out to him. “You asked to see me?”
“Ah, Miss Y/N.” Then, as he looked back out at the lake, “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“It is.” You looked to him, not giving him space to dally.
He met your eye and chuckled. “You’re all business, ain’t you?”
“I was under the impression that’s what you took me in for.”
He smiled. “You’re not wrong.” He took another beat, your patience waning. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you for some time now. About you and Arthur.”
With the one person you couldn’t stand brought up, you felt your fists clench in fury without even meaning for it to happen. You stayed silent, and Dutch went on.
“I take it you don’t like him any more than he likes you.”
He gauged you for a reaction. To get this godforsaken conversation over with quicker, you relented. “I’d prefer not to think about him at all.”
“Fair enough,” Dutch said. “But, well. Why should I be out of pocket over a failure of reason? Over a…need to outperform one another?”
He looked at you knowingly, and you suffered for it. Of course. Of course Arthur had caused you so much grief even Dutch had taken notice. You’d caused the great brute enough grief of your own too, but that was beside the point.
You swallowed your pride—a mighty feat. “You shouldn’t be.”
“Sure,” he said. “Sure. Just…consider what the two of you could accomplish if you put your heads together for once, worked with each other instead of against each other.”
“Have you given him this talk?” you asked. By the slight gleam in Dutch’s eye, you knew he hadn’t. Leave it to him to try to make you see sense instead of his golden boy. But when you considered it, maybe it was because you were the more reasonable one. You chuckled at the thought. “All right then. The next lead I find, I’ll bring him in on it. But please don’t ask me to make it a regular occurrence. I’m not agreeing to enjoying his company.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “And Y/N?” The amusement Dutch then leveled you with grated on your nerves. “Thank you.”
You nodded your head before turning and walking away, silently fuming as you did. Now, not only did you have to find a lead, but you would be forced to bring Arthur along and share in the profits with him. You could think of nothing worse. There was one thing though, one small bead of hope that may make such a thing worth it—revenge. Revenge would be easy if it was just the two of you. But you would have to figure out a way to get it without Arthur sniffing out your ill intentions. That would prove no small task. Your mind reeled with the possibilities as you made way to your tent, planning all the while.
~
Two weeks passed before you found something. It was exactly what you’d been banking on: small enough to only need two and big enough for one hell of a payout. That, in your book, was a win no matter if Arthur was along or not. So, begrudgingly, you sought him out at the campfire, using every ounce of will you possessed to fight the words out.
“You busy tomorrow?”
Arthur was one of two sat around the fire, the other being Uncle who you never had to worry about cutting into a job anyhow. Even still, Arthur looked around like he expected you to be talking to someone else. When his eyes landed on your flat expression and saw you were looking at him, he barked a laugh.
“I don’t believe it. You, asking me for a favor?”
You tried to block out the sound of that laugh, the memory of the last time you’d heard it. “Not a favor, no.”
“What then?”
Your tongue felt glued to the top of your mouth. You forced yourself to speak, the thought of revenge the only thing enabling you to. “I’m asking you to join me. On a lead.”
He laughed again, that same laugh. “Like hell you are. What’s in it for you?”
“Trust me, it wasn’t my idea,” you spat, not liking how this was going already. “Dutch asked me to.”
“Dutch?” Arthur turned to look at the gang leader’s tent, drawing your gaze to the very man you were speaking of. He was watching this unfold, nodding at you in approval. You clenched your teeth.
Uncle nudged Arthur from where he sat on the ground. “You better take her up on it, Arthur. Or else I will.”
“You won’t do shit you lazy bastard,” Arthur said on a laugh.
Your patience was wearing thin. “Look, you want in or not? Because I can just as easily ask-”
Arthur stood, silencing you. “I’m in.” The grin he leveled you with was full of a malice that burnt you up inside, made you want to strangle him. “What’s the take?”
“I’ll tell you the details tomorrow.” With that, you turned to go back to your tent, having had enough of his haughtiness to last you the whole night through and then some.
He stopped you with a hand on your shoulder, his touch making your skin crawl. “I didn’t ask for the details. I asked for the take.”
You turned slowly, fully prepared to have a shouting match with him until your eyes landed on Dutch. He was watching you in earnest. You closed your eyes to cool your temper, waiting a moment before replying calmly, “It’s a house robbery north of Valentine. Take’s good if my information’s sound.”
“And is it?” Arthur asked, settling back with his hands on his gun belt like he ran the damn world.
Your blood boiled. “It is.”
He gave you a look that screamed he doubted it, and before you could lose your head, you turned away from him and took measured steps back to your bedroll. Measured, so as not to spin around and gut the man where he stood.
Luckily, that was all the outlaw seemed to want from you for the time being, as you didn’t see hide nor hair of Arthur for the rest of the night. You tossed and turned in your bedroll nonetheless, dreading the coming day with him while going over your plan again and again. If all went well, you would get your vengeance. You would just have to withstand hours alone with him to get it.
When morning came, Arthur asked when the two of you would be leaving to which you shot down quickly, telling him not until the evening. The cover of darkness would be an advantage, something he was familiar with but called you on anyway. It was hard enough to keep your temper when he wasn’t questioning your every move, so you broke and snapped at him, your words like fire unleashed as they left your mouth.
“You ain’t calling the shots, Arthur, no matter how much you may want to. So either leave it, or I’ll find someone more willing to come with me.”
That stumped him. He grimaced at you but left you alone without a word. With that, you got through the rest of the day without another hitch, doing a few camp chores and cleaning your weapons, making sure all was in working order. When you were grooming your horse, preparing to saddle her, Arthur approached.
“We doing this or what?”
As annoyed as you were with him, you thought of what you had planned for after the robbery and smiled. “Mount up, cowpoke.”
“All right then,” he said with an eagerness that made your smile widen.
The pair of you rode off, heading for the homestead known as Firwood Rise. You hadn’t been back this way since the hell the gang had raised in Valentine ran you out of the area apart from scoping out this lead the past few days. It was a long way from Clemens Point—a place you had to be going to to get to. And, as you suspected from such a long ride, Arthur tried his best to get under your skin all the while. When you were mere minutes away and he asked if your soreness had ever gone away from taking such a beating from him, it took everything in you not to jump off your horse and drag him off his own, kill him where he fell. The temptation was never far these days. Instead, you leveled him with a flat look and didn’t answer, reminding yourself you would get yours in a few hours if all went according to plan.
Darkness hadn’t quite washed over the small homestead when you arrived, so you nodded to Arthur to follow you as you made way for the cover of trees just north of the place. You would wait a while, scope the place out, be sure you were correct in the family’s absence. It didn’t take five seconds for Arthur to speak his mind on the matter.
“I know this place. Woman scientist lives here. What the hell are we robbing, dinosaur bones?”
You didn’t know what on earth he meant by this. “What? No. I don’t know who lived here before, but a family just moved in a few weeks ago. Word in town is they took a trip to retrieve the rest of their belongings. Won’t be back for two more days.”
Arthur furrowed his brow. “You sure? Cause I just seen that woman a month ago, and that barn was full of- well. Some kind of monster if I’ve ever seen one. I don’t know how she could have managed to move it so soon.”
Again, you had no clue what he was on about. “I don’t know about any woman, Morgan. But I know about this family. Been watching them the past week. A couple and their boy, wealthy enough for all of us if their fancy clothes and belongings are any indication. Seems they wanted a life away from the big city,” you said with a chuckle. They would soon see where that got them if you and Arthur had anything to do with it.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” he mumbled, eyes on the house. You followed suit and watched as the silence stretched between you, a welcome respite.
When the sun finally sank and darkness took its place, you and Arthur went to work. He took the house, you the barn, knowing just what you would find. Sure enough, one of the finest coaches you’d ever laid eyes on greeted you as you stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind you. Why these people had ever brought such a thing all this way, you couldn’t begin to figure. They were asking for trouble even having it in the vicinity of Valentine, no doubt why you had heard of this lead in the first place. You’d made a deal with the man who gave you the lead too—bring him the wagon and he would pay you handsomely. It was so recognizable you weren’t sure what he would do with it but were happy to have it off your hands and to have money in your pocket. If all went as it was supposed to.
The barn was decidedly lacking in horses, but you were prepared for this and stepped back out to get your own. You led her over before taking liberty to a harness in the back of the barn, rigging your mare up to pull. When you were nearly finished, Arthur stepped inside.
“You weren’t kidding about these folks,” he said, leaving the door cracked behind him. “More money than they knew what to do with.” He eyed the coach as he said this.
“You got that right,” you said with a chuckle, nodding to the coach. “You ever seen anything like this?”
“Out this way? Never. They must be fools to keep something like this around.”
“I’m hoping to prove you right,” you told him. “I’m selling it to a man just outside of Valentine tonight.”
He eyed you. “Can he be trusted?”
“As well as any other no-good thief who gets others to do his dirty work.”
“Sure,” Arthur said with a chuckle. “You need my horse?”
“No, she’ll pull fine. Quite a sight we’ll make though, so I need you to ride ahead and keep watch so no one rides up on us.”
He nodded and whistled for his horse, peering through the crack in the door.
“Take good?” you asked him.
“Shit, better than good. I may start following you around for leads after this is over.”
You didn’t like the sound of that whatsoever and were somewhat rattled by the compliment. If your remaining plans for the night played out, you were going to do something that was much easier on your conscience if he wasn’t being so agreeable.
You shook the thought away and stepped back from your horse, making sure all was secure. “Get the doors open would you?”
Arthur obliged you, and within minutes, you were riding down the track toward town, toward enough money to have you grinning.
The pair of you thankfully didn’t meet anyone on the ride in and caught up with the man you would sell the coach to just north of town. To your annoyance, Arthur took it upon himself to do the talking.
“How much you giving us for it?”
The man seemed more dodgy than before, especially around Arthur, and you weren’t sure if it was because he would have tried to scam you out of a larger sum of money if you’d been alone or if Arthur was being overbearing and spooking him. You didn’t like the idea of either.
“I can do…three hundred, coach as fine as this.”
“Now, hold on,” you told him, abandoning your work at detaching your horse. “You told me seven hundred last week, not to mention we got the thing for you.”
Arthur’s gaze shot between you at word of such a large sum. “Seven hundred?” he roared, approaching the man. “You better up your offer or risk eating a bullet.”
“I- I can’t do better!” the man stammered. “M-maybe last week but…”
“But nothing,” you and Arthur said at the same time. You exchanged a glance.
“Find the money or I’ll kill you where you stand,” you pushed. “I want what I was promised. Every damn dollar of it.”
“I can’t, I- all I have’s four hundred. Honest!”
“Give it here then,” you said, reaching your hand out, annoyed that he had tried to keep a hundred for himself besides.
He moved to his saddle bag and pulled out the money, holding it close to his chest, reluctant to give it away. Arthur stepped forward and ripped it from his grasp, pocketing it.
“I expect the rest by the end of the week,” he said with enough of a threat in his voice to make the man balk.
“But- but I-”
Arthur grabbed him by his shirt collar. “You heard me. You don’t get it to me by then I’ll come find you myself. Understand?”
“Yes! Yes, I understand. I’ll get it. I’ll get it, all of it!”
“Good,” Arthur said, shoving him away. “Now get this thing out of here before you get us all killed.”
“Yeah, ‘course,” the man stammered, working at light speed trying to get his horse hitched to the coach. You reached over and undid the last buckle attaching your mare, leading her away.
“You head into town,” you told Arthur. “I’ll meet you at the saloon. Need to get this harness off her.”
“I’ll wait,” he answered, eyeing the man fumbling with his harness leather. “Want to be sure this fool gets out of here unscathed.”
“How thoughtful,” you quipped.
“I want my money,” he snapped at you. There it was—his wrath you so enjoyed pulling from him.
“You’ll get it,” you shot back. “If that man’s backbone’s any indication. Don’t gripe at me.”
“I ain’t griping.”
“You sure as shit are. And while you’re at it, give me my half. Don’t think I forgot.”
“Not here,” he grimaced, his voice low not from discretion but from rage.
You laughed as you pulled the harness off your horse, tossing it aside. “Yes, here. Now.”
“You ever heard of something called subtlety?” he asked, stepping into your space. “Finesse?”
You didn’t give an inch, meeting his anger with your own. “I have, and I know enough about it to know when I’m being cheating out of the take. Now give me my goddamn money.”
He chuckled, settling back with his hands on that godforsaken gun belt of his just as he had done the night before. The sight burned you up. “You’ll get your money when I decide to give it to you.”
“Oh, how high and mighty of you,” you said bitterly. “I roped you in on this because Dutch made me. This is my score.”
“And yet,” he said, looking to the ground with a smirk you couldn’t stand. “I’m the one with all the money.”
You couldn’t take it anymore. You snapped and shoved him, making him stumble backward a few steps, laughing as he did. That laugh just served to make you angrier, and you unsheathed your knife, the ringing sound of it scraping leather giving Arthur pause.
“You won’t,” he taunted.
“Give me what I’m owed and I won’t.”
You noticed a sudden lack of noise to your left and looked to see the man standing there by the coach, stunned at how quickly the pair of you had turned on each other.
“Are you insane?” you hissed at him. “Get going!”
“Right! Right,” he mumbled as he clambered onto the coach and flicked the reins, making the hulking thing lurch forward. Your gaze turned on Arthur.
“Where were we?” You angled the knife, fully expecting to have to slice him to pieces to get your money.
To your surprise, he smiled and opened his satchel, pulling out bills and separating them with a sigh. “Here,” he said, landing the money in your hand, not bothered in the slightest by your knife mere inches away.
“Thank you,” you said with malice, counting the money before putting it away. You would get a good look at the rest later, of his half, and be sure he wasn’t cheating you out of anything. If all went to plan.
He walked past you to head into town. “You coming then woman?” When you didn’t answer, he turned. “Or do you want another fight like before? Because I assure you, you’ll lose.”
That was it. Whatever thought you had about feeling bad for getting your revenge was long lost. You would make this work no matter if it took knocking him out cold with the butt of your gun to do it. You followed him without a word, scowling as you did.
The pair of you entered the saloon and were met with noise and drunkenness so thick it lit the room. The many patrons were long since three sheets to the wind with the late hour, and you were surprised there was even a person left to make food when Arthur stepped up to the bar and ordered it. He ordered a beer too, something you joined him in with a shaky hand. You wanted this to work so badly it had you nervous—something you nearly never were.
After Arthur ate and finished his beer, you spoke up with as much nonchalance as you could muster. “You wanna get a few rooms for the night or ride back now?”
He eyed you with a devilish gleam. “We can get a room. Don’t need two.”
You scowled at him as relief washed over you at his preference—it would make things much easier. “Like hell we don’t,” you spat, knowing the more you argued, the more he would dig his feet in and demand to share a room.
“No point in wasting money,” he grumbled. “Plus, I happen to know you agree with me.”
“Is that so?” you asked, sitting back and crossing your arms. “Please, enlighten me on my feelings.”
“Stop playing the fool and admit it,” he said. “You can’t stop thinking about that night.”
“That’s you, Morgan,” you said bitterly. “You can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve drawn a veil over that night. Didn’t happen, won’t ever again.”
“Sure,” he said with a grin that made you uneasy. Maybe he had plans of his own for the night. You were hoping to crush them nonetheless—you just had to find a way to get your hands on his drink.
Hoping this was your chance, you spoke with as much feigned anger as you could. “I’m getting another beer.” You stood and pushed back from the table, all sharp movements and impulse.
“Be a dear and get me one, would you?” he said sweet as honey, and you stopped with your back facing him, considering blowing your plan just to round on him and slap him silly. Instead, you swallowed your pride and moved to the bar. He had just unknowingly nailed the last hammer in his own damn coffin.
You ordered two beers, making sure Arthur was still turned the other way as you pulled the vial of powder out of your satchel and tipped it into his drink. You did so with hate thrumming through your veins—no guilt whatsoever reaching you. You did so with the memory of what he had done to you burning hot. You did so with a smile, knowing you would finally make him see just how it felt to be used, degraded, humiliated.
You swished his drink around and turned, putting on your best scowl as you approached him once more. You slammed the beer down in front of him and took a long pull of your own. “You owe me a quarter.”
“I don’t owe you shit,” he said, bringing the bottle to his lips. You tried with all your might not to watch him closely as he drank, praying he wouldn’t notice a change in taste. Sure enough, he didn’t.
“Why you gotta make it so insufferable to work with you?” you pushed, trying to keep his mind off his beer and his movements automatic.
“If I remember correctly, you’re the one that started all this,” he quipped. “Didn’t have to undermine me.”
You smiled, meeting his eye. “I did, actually. Just too damn funny not to.”
“This all a joke to you, is it?” He leaned in close. “You want me to teach you another lesson? Wipe that goddamn smirk off your face?”
You didn’t flinch, staying silent a beat before looking away, taking another sip of beer. “Two rooms. I don’t trust you to act a gentleman with one.”
His eyes narrowed. He leaned back in his seat and drank from his own bottle, his rage simmering if the look he gave you was any indication. You were sure now he was forming his own plan. Too bad it wouldn’t work.
After more heated conversation, enough to make Arthur start chugging his drink, you stood up and acted as though you were too angry to put up with another minute of his company. Waiting too much longer would foil your plans anyway. So, you began storming out and were met with his hand on your wrist.
“Where you think you’re going?”
“I’m getting a room,” you snapped. “Feel free to sit here and argue with the wall.”
“Not a chance,” he said lowly, a smile lighting his face. The sight nearly made you shiver—you prayed he wouldn’t shake off the mixture you’d made like it was nothing. Surely you’d gotten the portions right. You steeled your spine and reassured yourself as you yanked your arm from his grasp, leaving the saloon without a word.
The first sign of your plan in action showed through when he went to follow you and nearly stumbled down the saloon stairs, shaking his head a bit as he stepped to level ground.
“Wait goddammit,” he mumbled, walking fast to keep up. You didn’t cut him any slack.
Soon, you were through the hotel door, asking for two rooms.
“One,” Arthur insisted, coming in behind you. “One room. I told you, don’t waste your honey.” He blinked hard. “Money.”
You scowled at him. “Are you drunk? Two rooms, Morgan. It ain’t gonna put me out, I promise.”
He made to argue then stumbled slightly, making you reach out to catch him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I don’t…” He shook his head again then seemed to notice you were holding him upright. He yanked his arm away. “I’m fine.”
You rolled your eyes and turned to the hotel manager who was watching with a hint of distaste, like he was expecting Arthur to hurl any second. “Fine,” you said on a sigh. “One room please so this idiot doesn’t choke on his own vomit. Two beds.”
“Only got one bed in each,” he replied.
“Fine,” you repeated through gritted teeth, catching Arthur again as he swayed dangerously toward you. “First floor. I don’t think he’s got it in him to make it up the stairs.”
The manager slid you a key as Arthur mumbled something that sounded mildly threatening. You paid the man and yanked Arthur along. “What the hell is your problem?” He fought hard just to walk with you. “Can’t handle your alcohol or something?”
“Can handle- just fine-”
“Sure you can,” you said on a sigh as you propped him against the wall and unlocked the door, pushing him into the room. Right on cue, you watched his eyes roll back in his head as he dropped like a stone, hitting the floor with a sickening thud. That, if anything, would have him sore in the morning. You laughed to yourself as you closed the door behind you and locked it, ready to get to work.
After long enough that you worried you’d killed him, Arthur finally came to. And it took all of a heartbeat for him to come completely to his senses, his confusion at the situation he found himself in skyrocketing. He yanked his hands but found them tied, stilling.
“What the hell?” he growled, yanking again before you stepped around him, all pride and triumph.
“What’s the matter?” you taunted, leaning in face to face. “Rope cutting in?”
You saw his rage unleash, his face turning so red you worried he’d pass out again. “You little- let me out of these ropes! When I get my hands on you-”
“You ain’t in a position to bargain,” you interrupted. “Or threaten.”
He gritted his teeth, flashing them at you like an animal, yanking at his bindings. You had managed to sit him in a chair, tying his hands together not behind the chair but underneath it so that he didn’t have any leverage to pull away with lest he risk snapping his wrists. You had also bound his torso to the back of the chair, his ankles to its legs. He wasn’t going anywhere. And to top it all off, you waved his gun belt in front of his face, weapons and all.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” you told him. “Nobody takes anything from me. Ever. Not without payback, that is.”
“I’m gonna find a way out of this,” he growled. “And you’re gonna get it when I do.”
You pulled his knife out of its scabbard and brought it to his chest, pressing against the front of his shirt. “You try anything and I’ll give you something to yell about.”
You took the knife away with a small flick, making it cut through his shirt, just shy of piercing his skin. The anger wrenching his face was so severe you thought he would explode. But he didn’t, holding his tongue.
“Good,” you teased. “Best you keep that mouth of yours shut for this.”
“Don’t think I won’t yell loud enough for the whole town to hear,” he spat. “Get the law sent here to take you to jail where you belong.”
You held your hand up to silence him. “Enough. I’ll knock you out cold again if I have to.”
He flashed his teeth at you in a scowl and gave a harsh pull at his ropes, his body straining with the effort. “What did you do? Give me something to make me sleep?”
You laughed with malice, circling him. You came up behind him and whispered in his ear, “Something like that.”
He yanked his head back to head butt you, but you pulled away just in time, making him grimace, “Coward.”
You laughed again. “Call it what you want. You did the same to me if I remember correctly.”
“I didn’t have to put you under to do it,” he hissed. “Fought you down fair and square, tied you up, fucked you good-”
“Enough,” you repeated, circling back around to come face to face with him. “Before you give me ideas about just what to do with you.”
His breathing became labored he was so filled with fury. “You so much as lay a hand on me and you’ll regret it, that I guarantee.”
You smiled with as much wickedness as you could muster. “I don’t need to lay a hand on you, Morgan. Not yet, anyway.” With this, you sheathed his knife and tossed his gun belt on the end of the bed, facing him fully. “See, I know just how to torture you. And I don’t have to do a thing to you apart from make you watch.”
He scoffed. “You’re mighty full of yourself.”
“You’re getting the idea,” you quipped, bringing your hands to your hat, taking it off slowly.
He watched you like a hawk, wordlessly, as you began to undress right in front of him. Your shirt, stripped away, your chaps and boots and pants following suit. He seemed to be trying to prove a point, that what you were doing had no effect on him whatsoever, as his expression never changed from that of immense anger.
When you were left in just your underthings, you backed up to the bed and propped yourself up on it, smiling at him. “Want me to stop, Morgan?”
He shook his head in annoyance and looked out the window instead—a new tactic. You didn’t care. You would pull his gaze back soon enough. “Didn’t think so,” you whispered, the soft hiss of clothing filling the room as you stripped everything away.
You sat on the bed completely bare and spread your legs, the man you despised still refusing to look at you as you did. You smiled nonetheless, bringing a hand down to your inner thigh, moving it slowly toward your core. When you began touching yourself so intimately, your head fell back in a lazy laugh. “Oh, I just know this eats you up. You want so badly to take me, abuse me, make me yours. Won’t ever happen, Morgan.”
He let out an annoyed huff. You looked to him to find him still looking away—you knew why. “Won’t look at me, will you? Afraid to take this sweet sight in? Afraid of what it would do to you, make you feel?”
“Shut it,” he grumbled.
“You’re telling me I shouldn’t be worried? That the sight of me pleasuring myself wouldn’t drive you mad enough to break through those ropes and come give me what I deserve?”
“I said shut it,” he snapped, still looking the other way. You pushed a finger inside of you in retaliation, the feeling making you hum your approval.
“You don’t have the upper hand here,” you muttered, repeating what he had said to you all those nights ago, as he had taken you so roughly against that tree.
You thought you heard a growl of frustration but were too distracted to be sure as you began pumping your finger in and out. With that sudden pleasure, you brought your other hand down and started small circles around your clit, not giving in entirely just yet. But still, you let out a small sigh, arching your back against the bed.
You were sure Arthur would break soon and stole another glance at him. His frustration was still there, the scowl on his face somewhat laughable as he fought the temptation to look at you. You swirled your finger right where you needed it and moaned, and the sound made him clench his jaw. He was close to his breaking point. And you could do so, so much worse than this. How weak-willed he was when it came to you.
You kept on like this, getting nearer and nearer to an orgasm that would have you seeing stars. If only Arthur could pleasure you like this. He never would, not with that pride he had. But there were other things Arthur could do—hopefully things he would be more than willing to do once you broke him.
When your end was seconds away, you took your hand away to give Arthur the full view of your soaked core if he chose to swallow his pride and look. With that, you circled your finger on your clit like mad and soared, breaking over your pleasure as it shot through you, making you moan low and long. Your eyes shot to Arthur and saw his focused expression, saw that the bastard still hadn’t looked but that he was listening as intently as he could to every sound you made. Giving away his desire. Your plan was working.
“Too bad you couldn’t make my body do that,” you teased, knowing just the effect it would have.
“I did make you- do that.” That small hesitation was all you needed to hear. His gaze had shot to you and dipped down to your wetness, to your legs still spread wide before him. But, just as quickly, he steeled himself and locked eyes with you, refusing to look back down.
“Awe, what’s the matter?” you said with a pout, standing. “Not man enough to look at a woman all bare?”
You approached him. He didn’t respond, keeping his eyes on yours, his anger taking over once more. You just chuckled, leaning in close enough to prop your hands on his thighs. It was easier to tell how heavy his breathing had become this close.
“That get you all in a bother, Morgan?”
“You wish,” he spat.
You smiled wickedly and began moving your hand up his thigh, toward his manhood.
“Don’t touch me,” he said through gritted teeth, bucking his hips to get your hands away.
You stopped your pursuit, changing your approach. “That’s funny,” you said through a heavy bitterness. “I seem to recall telling you the same once. To no avail.”
He didn’t have a response to this. Good. Let him realize the suffering he had put you through. Let him feel it tenfold.
You straightened and climbed into his lap before he could so much as blink, making him begin to shoot some nasty insult or other at you before you stopped him by running a hand around his head, pulling his hair. The action forced him to look up at you, his teeth bared in anger again.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” you said lowly, settling on his lap and noting that he was half hard. “You ever try to touch me again without me wanting you to, and I’ll cut off each finger you use to do it. No one uses me like that. Understood?”
His grimace turned into a smile. “Like you didn’t want me to.”
“I’m sorry,” you said with venom, yanking his hair so his head was pulled back farther. “Did me telling you to stop mean nothing to you? Your idiot brain not able to comprehend what that means?”
“Oh, I heard you,” he taunted. “Heard those pitiful whimpers of yours as you tried to convince yourself you didn’t want it. But you did. Your pleasure gave you away. Hell, all this is giving you away.” He looked down at your body as he said it. You couldn’t stand the smug satisfaction on his face for a second.
“You’re missing the point,” you snapped.
“Careful,” he said. “Don’t let that temper of yours get the better of you.”
You were seeing red when you shoved him and stood, going back to the bed to get his knife. You debated it then, cutting him loose and threatening him with a gun until he left. Maybe he was right in some small way. Maybe finding your pleasure with him was a bad idea, playing right into his hand. You shook the thought away, knowing cutting him loose would be worse. He would just find a way to best you and fuck you senseless, break you. Not again. Tonight was about the opposite—you would break his will if it was the last thing you did. No matter if it broke your own in the process.
You turned back to him and saw his eyes flick up—he had been staring at your ass. It just made you all the angrier, and suddenly you couldn’t go through with your plan fast enough. You rushed him and ignored his demands for you to stop as you sliced through his pants at the knee, careful not to gouge his leg no matter how badly you may have wanted to, cutting a long line upward until you reached his hip and yanked up. You had torn his pants clean in two, his undergarments with them. You continued cutting until they fell below him in tatters, his manhood on full display, still half-hard. Your eyes flicked to his, to the anger boiling his blood.
“How does it feel?” you asked with a bitterness so thick you could taste it. You straightened and threw the knife behind you, making it clatter against the wall. Without hesitation you climbed into his lap once more.
“Stop it,” he spat, beginning to yank at his bindings, leaning away from you.
You caught the hair on the back of his head again and pulled, forcing him to look up at you. “No. You think about that the next time you want to manhandle me,” you said, moving your hips forward so that you sat against his cock. “You think about this,” you said, starting to move back and forth on him. “When you want to fuck me. How it feels to be helpless.”
“I ain’t helpless,” he spat, his anger still shining through despite his arousal now building beneath you.
“That so?” you teased. “Sure feels like you are.”
“I ain’t,” he snapped again, those words enough to make you smile as his voice cracked slightly on the second one.
“You’re giving yourself away, Morgan. You wanted this all along, didn’t you? Wanted me to ride you hard, make you find your pleasure.”
“You so much as try that, and I’ll-”
You interrupted him by taking his cock in your hand beneath you, lining up with his now-hard length. He gritted his teeth in response, trying hard not to give in to you.
You locked eyes with him and smiled wide. “What are you gonna do to stop me?” And with that, you sat down swiftly, with force, making you moan your satisfaction as his cock split you. He made a noise somewhere between a wince and a groan, still trying hard to defy you, still holding your eye.
“Don’t,” he warned. His voice was low enough for you to feel vaguely threatened by that, but you didn’t care. He felt too good inside of you for you to stop now.
“You never listened when I told you that,” you spat before rising up and sitting hard on him once more, beginning a harsh pace.
He did wince this time, shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth against the pleasure. He felt so good like this you moaned, throwing your head back as you bobbed up and down on him. You moved your hands to his shoulders to keep your balance and felt the tenseness there, his muscles straining against every instinct he had to let you do this to him.
“You gonna let your pride get in the way of your pleasure?” you said lowly, your voice husky with arousal.
“I got a stronger will than yours,” he answered, though his tone was saying otherwise.
“Then why are you so hard I can feel you in my guts?”
“Because of you,” he spat. “Doing such vile things in front of me. Because you had yourself dripping all over the damn bedsheets and made me want to break this chair into pieces and come fuck you so hard you can’t see straight.”
“What was that about a strong will?” you teased. “Admit it, Morgan. This isn’t about dominance. You want me. You want my body, want to make me yours.”
“You are mine. I got you so hooked on my dick you couldn’t leave me be, could you?” Just as he said it, you thrust down at the same moment he snapped his hips upward, burying himself inside you in a way that made you suck in a breath. “That’s what I thought,” he quipped.
“I ain’t doing this because it’s your dick,” you spat, still riding him with a harshness that was driving you high. “I could fuck anyone I wanted to. I’m doing this because you can’t stop me, because you took something from me and I’m getting it back.”
“What, your pride?” he said with an amusement you couldn’t stand.
That was it. Your anger boiled over, making you wrap your hand around his throat and push against him. He was forced to lean back as you took him harder, riding him so harshly your orgasm neared. You squeezed tight against his throat, making sure he couldn’t speak one more ill word against you. He tried nonetheless, nothing but a garbled, furious sound escaping him as you used his body to find your pleasure. Your breathing turned heavy, a long moan escaping your lips as you fucked him.
“I’m gonna come, Morgan,” you said with a smile, pushing so hard against his throat you hoped he would bruise. “All over your cock. And there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me.”
Just as you said it, he shoved his body forward in an attempt to get you off of him, but he was too late. You sat astride him one last time and went still as you came hard, your muscles clenching around him. He cursed you and pulled back, his anger overcoming him and aimed right at you. You didn’t care. The feeling of reaching such a blissful pleasure had filled you with a contentedness not even Arthur could shake.
You rose off of him and released him in the process. “You little-” he started, so mad he couldn’t even finish his sentence, his face red with fury as it had been when he woke. “Come here!” You just shook your head, smiling down at him as you backed away. “Get over here before I break this chair!”
You sat back on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him. “What’s the matter? Doesn’t feel so good to have it done to you does it?”
“At least I made you find your pleasure,” he growled.
“Now you’re getting it,” you teased as you reached for his satchel, dragging it over. “This is what it feels like to be a woman in a man’s world. Helpless, degraded, wronged. I told myself at a young age I would never feel that way, and yet you managed it. So how does it feel? To have it thrown right back in your face?”
“I ain’t a means to an end,” he snapped. “I fucked you into the dirt because you made me angry. Don’t act like you ain’t doing the same, like you’re better than me.”
There was a small amount of truth to that—you weren’t any better than him. But you never claimed to be. No matter his cutting words, he could do nothing to wipe the smile off your face. Especially as you proceeded to count the bills in his satchel and slowly lowered your knees down to the bed, spreading you legs wide before him once more in distraction.
He wouldn’t look down, his eyes glued to your hands on his belongings, a defiance running through him so hot he gritted his teeth and refused to take the bait. All you could do was laugh nonetheless, as his erection was still straining so hard against his belly it was a wonder you hadn’t made him find his pleasure already. That gave you a new realization as you tossed his satchel aside but kept the money in hand, noting with surprise that he hadn’t shortchanged you after all. “You like this, don’t you?” you teased, standing.
“What?” he spat, all wrath and pride, his gaze flashing between you and the money you took.
“Arguing with me like this, it turns you on, doesn’t it?”
“No.” Even though the word was sharp with truth, his body said otherwise.
You flashed him a wicked smile. “Then why are you still so hard?”
You sported a taunting gait as you took the few steps to join his money with your own, taking every last bit of it for yourself. His face contorted with rage not over any word you had said, not over anything you had done to him—he was furious about the money. Of course he was. You should have tried taking it sooner. You saw his jaw clench, his eyes darkening like his anger was blocking out all else. He looked down at his bounds, searching for a way to escape them. Panic set in before you could see reason—that he had no way out. He started pulling against the ropes nonetheless.
“It’s no use, Morgan.”
He kept trying anyway, not saying a word as he did, like his sudden fury had made everything else fall away, even his will to argue. He tugged hard enough to make the wood of the chair creak.
“Stop it.” He couldn’t possibly muscle his way out. Could he? He did it again, and you heard something snap. “Arthur,” you warned, wishing your fear hadn’t found its way into your voice.
You debated running before he could do anymore damage, but you were naked, more so than he was. You had a feeling all that you had done would fuel him with a determination so thick that he would catch you quicker than you could redress and get to your horse. When he yanked his leg forward and braced his foot against the floor, breaking the leg of the chair in the process, you made up your mind. You had no other choice.
You ran for your clothes and began dressing quicker than you ever had, leaving your undergarments as you yanked your pants up your hips, sliding your arms through your shirt and leaving it unbuttoned. You gathered his gun belt and weapons along with your own when you heard a sickening crunch of wood, the sound making you stop dead. You whipped around to see Arthur on the floor, the chair broken in half from its impact with the ground. He was free, tearing the ropes from his body, his smoldering gaze set on you. You sprinted around him and leaped over the outstretched hand he attempted to catch you with, reaching the door and flinging it open. You didn’t have a chance to step through it before it was slammed shut in your face.
You pulled the first weapon your hand could find and rounded on Arthur, but he knocked it away with a sharp wrap against your wrist. He yanked the remaining weapons out of your grasp and threw them behind him. You stood there staring at the gun you had let fall to the floor, refusing to look at him, unbelieving you had let this happen. You didn’t get to do this for long, as his hand met your throat in retaliation for earlier, and he slammed you against the door. Hard.
Your fingers scrambled to his hand, attempting to break his grip as stars began swimming in your vision.
“You do as I say,” he said so grimly you feared for your life. “Or you’ll be unconscious before you can say another word.”
As much as you hated to do it, being conscious was the better option, so you nodded.
“Good.” The evil satisfaction that lined that word made panic set in, deep and unrelenting.
He kept his hand on your throat and pulled your forward, making you meet his eye. The fury within them shook you. “You’re gonna strip and tie yourself up nice and tight to that bed. If you try to escape, I’ll whip the hide off you. You defy me, and I’ll take your body as I see fit. No talking. Got it?”
You nodded again, trying hard to keep a neutral expression on your face. You didn’t want him to see your fear.
He threw you forward with enough suddenness that you stumbled, catching yourself but only just. The ropes at your feet lay there like death sentences—would he harm you for what you had done?
“Hurry up,” he growled as he gathered the weapons from the ground, putting them on the dresser with the loud clacking sound of metal on metal.
You did as you were told, glad that he had put the weapons down. You undressed then tied the first rope around your wrist, the feeling making your panic flare up. There was a way out of this you knew, you just had to be smart. You had to think. But you couldn’t, not with the feeling of being trapped gripping you like a vice.
You finished tying the second rope and went to put the third around your ankles.
“No,” Arthur commanded. You turned to look at him to find that he had taken off his remaining clothing, his shirt held in front of him the only thing blocking his body from being on full display. Of all things, you looked to his broad shoulders, holding back your fear—he was powerful. Enough that you wondered what he was going to do to you, the damage he could do if he was angry enough.
“Don’t tie them together. I want those legs spread wide on the bed.”
There was your answer. You tied the remaining rope and stood tall, watching him as his eyes roved over your bare body without shame, without pause, without any of the stubbornness of before. For once in your life, it made you want to run. You had never truly been scared of him before, but after what you had done to him…
“On the bed,” he snapped, his gaze still predatory.
You reluctantly did as you were told, knowing where this was going and not enjoying the idea of being tied up again at his hand. You laid down on your back, watching him as traces of your familiar anger began to take hold.
Arthur tied your legs down first, then as if relishing in doing this to you, he brought your arms up slowly, one by one. There were moments you debated fighting him but knew you couldn’t overpower him, that it would just make whatever punishment he had planned worse. So you sat there limply, staring at the ceiling in defiance as he made sure your ropes were tight then crawled over you. You prepared for the worst. You prepared for your anger to eat you alive as he repeated what he had done all those weeks ago. Only, he didn’t.
“You listen to me,” he said lowly as he boxed you in below him. “You talk a big game, but I think it’s a load of horseshit. You say you don’t want this? Prove it.”
“How am I supposed to-”
“Shut it,” he snapped. He hesitated then, as if he was fighting some inner battle with himself. Still, his gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes hungry. Whether for violence or your body, you weren’t sure.
He started carefully, his words picked apart. “If you don’t say another word, I won’t fuck you. You stay quiet all you want, and I’ll punish you plenty, but I won’t fuck you if you can really prove to me you don’t want this.”
You sat there, leveling him with a smoldering gaze but refusing to speak. That request was simple enough, but it shocked you more than anything. Where was this sudden restraint of his coming from?
“But if you do make a sound, I’ll take that to mean you do want this, that you have all along. Is that clear?”
You nodded, wondering why he had given you a choice instead of taking what you knew he wanted from you. Especially after what you had just done to him.
You debated what exactly he meant by punishment when he moved down, surprising you further by laying his hand on your stomach, slowly sliding it down your body. What was he getting at, playing nice?
Five minutes later, you had your answer. By punishment, he had meant sensual torture. His hands had roved over your body so close to where you needed him but never yielded any pleasure, remaining just out of reach. You knew then what he was doing and where this was going—he wanted to work you up into an arousal so frustrating you couldn’t deny him. He wanted you to want him, to say the words to him, to demand he fuck you. He wanted all your anger at what he had done to you before to mean nothing. And that was something you just couldn’t give in to. But oh, did you want to. Especially as his hands worked you so roughly, as they kept squeezing your breasts, dragging across your skin but never your nipples. Especially as one hand kept running under you, gripping your backside as the other ran along your inner thigh, higher and higher. Your breathing had turned heavy, your body reactive to every touch. But still, you remained wordless, refusing to do what he was asking of you despite him touching you like this—something you never thought you would feel in this lifetime. Not from him.
He suddenly picked up his pace, one of his fingers coming so close to the relentless heat between your legs that you bit back a moan. He noticed, his hands stilling.
“Quit fighting it,” he said lowly, softly, with a voice you wanted to give in to. And he resumed his torturous work, one hand brushing over your ribs, toward your breast, the other between your thighs.
You wanted to. By all that was holy, did you want to yield to that request. But then your reason for doing any of what you had done tonight would be rendered obsolete. Then he would take everything to mean you just wanted to fuck him, that you had enjoyed him ravishing you in those woods. And you…well. Part of you had enjoyed it. With all of that painful pleasure, how could you not? But that didn’t mean this man could take whatever he wanted from you without your consent. Then again, that wasn’t what he was doing, was it? He was giving you a choice. An impossible one, sure, and an unfairly balanced one. But he wasn’t taking you without pause as you had expected him to, even after you had had your way with him and robbed him blind. So where did that leave you?
You wondered, if you steeled your will, whether or not he would give up. Whether he would get frustrated enough to snap and use your body to his liking anyway. Or would he lay here all night, running his hands over you body like little whispering promises of what was to come? Thinking of it that way, the giving nature of what he was doing…maybe he wanted you to want him. Maybe he was guilty over what he had done, and this was his hope that it hadn’t been entirely one-sided. Maybe this was his apology.
No. You reminded yourself of the glee he prided over you when he fucked you in those woods, the satisfaction he had plastered on his face afterward. The anger he leveled you with when you climbed in his lap earlier. No, this was not an apology. It wasn’t some selfless act either. It was meant to break you, to force you to give in to him on your own terms instead of his—something that would leave any further argument against him meaningless. It would mean you had wanted him all along even if you hadn’t, and you had no doubt he would wield that over you with pride, using it as an excuse to do whatever the hell he wanted to you for the rest of his days. And you couldn’t have that.
So, as much as you hated to do it, you attempted to block out all feeling as his hands continued their grating work. You forced your body to shut down, telling yourself it was only greed and lust circling you like predators, that you didn’t have to give in to either. Finally, you stilled your body, your mind, knowing you could not only ignore his need for you to want him, but best it. Arthur sensed this sudden resolve in you and stopped, looking to you. You locked eyes with him and smiled. Then his thumb came down on your clit, and you lost yourself entirely.
A moan hummed through you despite any will of your making, despite anything you could do to stop it. And, according to his terms, that counted as consent enough. A wicked grin split his face as he removed his thumb, climbing over your body, lining it up with his own.
“That’s all it took, huh?” he jeered. “You’re weaker than I thought.”
“No,” you uttered, knowing any word you said would damn you further. But this was far from begging for him to fuck you, and you fully intended to make that known. “Don’t.”
“What did I say?” he asked as his body rested flush against yours, his hard length moving against your inner thigh. “One word, one sound, and you’re done.”
“I know that, but I-” The head of his cock met your entrance, the feeling and how badly your body wanted it taking any words you had left. But, to your surprise, Arthur didn’t move any farther. He chuckled instead, relishing in taking your words away.
“Tell you what. I’ll give you one last chance. Only since I know you’ll waste it too.” He started grinding against you, never pushing into you, but his manhood slid against your thigh in a way that drove you mad. “I do all this to you and you still tell me to stop, and I’ll leave you alone.”
That was easy enough, something you were midway to proving as you opened your mouth to speak. But he interrupted you when the head of his cock nudged against your core, sliding not inside of you but upward—grating against your clit. You winced and closed your eyes tight, not needing that kind of pleasure in a moment like this. For you were stuck somewhere between wondering why he had given you such an easy out and realizing it wasn’t easy at all. Your body wanted him. Badly.
“Goddamn you,” you whispered, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe much less think as he started repeating that same motion, dragging his cock against your clit. You opened your eyes to see him grinning down at you, knowing just what effect he was having. “Goddamn you,” you repeated, the words full of venom. “This is all just some fucking power play to you, is it? That’s why you’re giving me another chance. Because it would stroke your ego so damn hard if I was begging you for this.”
“I didn’t say you should beg me,” he said, his smile spreading. “I said to tell me to stop. But you can’t, can you?” He shifted his body slightly before resuming his pleasure-filled torture, bringing a hand to your throat and pinning you to the bed. He brought his face beside yours, his mouth inches from your ear as he whispered, “Admit it. You want this. You can’t tell me no.” His words were full of arousal and pride, all male. And damn him for being right. The higher he worked you, the less you felt that you could deny him.
Your streak of defiance that you normally clung to, the pride alongside it that made you who you were, they were slowly losing their importance with each thrust of his length against you.
“Your silence is giving you away, I’m afraid.”
You shifted under his grasp, angry at his smugness. He chuckled but brought his hand away from your throat, bringing it to your breast instead. To your nipple this time. You tried hard to control your breathing as he flicked his finger across it, your body reacting to his touch.
“You gonna let your pride get in the way of your pleasure?” he teased, repeating what you had said earlier. Under very different circumstances. You considered it—he hadn’t given in. Not really. He defied you the whole time, never finding his own pleasure despite you using him so harshly. Maybe his will was stronger than yours. It certainly felt that way now.
“It ain’t pride,” you gritted out.
“No?” The amusement in his voice burnt you up, but not nearly as badly as when he moved, his cock going back to your thigh, inches from where you needed him most.
“N-no.” You hated the break in the word the moment it left your mouth, especially since it turned his smile feral.
“Then tell me, why is it you’re still holding back? And why is it you ain’t tried to throw me off you?”
Because as much as you wanted him now, you hadn’t the first time. And that mattered. “Fuck you,” you spat. “And get the hell off of me.”
He had the decency to look surprised for a beat, stopping his relentless pace against you. You waited for him to get up, for his face to fill with disappointment over truly being denied. Neither reaction came. Instead, anger overtook him, and his hand found your throat once more. “No.”
You balked at that word. “You promised,” you said through strained words, his hand restricting your ability to speak.
“I did no such thing.”
“So your word-” He plunged into you, his cock hitting you just where you needed him, making your body sing its pleasure, arching into the mattress. “-means nothing,” you finished, nearly breathless. You tugged at the ropes tying your hands, trying to get at his hand around your neck, but it was useless.
He buried himself in you, his pace brutal and fast. “You should have known better.” He suddenly sat up, bringing his hand away from your throat and dipping them under you, lifting your back. He slammed his length back into you while remaining upright. It was ungodly how good it felt. You held back the outcry on your tongue. “You shouldn’t have pulled that little stunt on me.” You could barely focus on what he was saying, your eyes nearly crossing with pleasure. “Should have known I would get you back for that sooner or later.”
Your pleasure overwhelmed you in seconds, and before you could so much as breathe a response, you came hard, all of his teasing from before and the build up to this reeling through you. That wasn’t all. He kept up his pace, burying himself in you so deep you thought you would die.
You managed to get a hold on yourself and opened your mouth to speak, but all you could manage was a breathy, “Arthur,” that made him laugh lowly. It was the way a lover breathed a name—pure submission and a revelation of just how much you wanted this.
“I know baby girl,” he said on a smile. “I know.”
You wanted to slap him for calling you that but couldn’t. You couldn’t do much of anything besides take the abuse he was giving you.
“Gonna fill you up so good,” he said breathlessly, and it was then that you noticed his chest heaving, his pace quickening.
The mention of him filling you with his spend shot a thrill through your bones, enough to make you swallow your pride and eat your words from earlier. “Do it,” you said, shame finding no place on your tongue. “I want it.”
He looked down at you in surprise. “I-”
“Shut up and fuck me, Arthur.”
His whole body tensed at your words. It was what he had been waiting to hear all night.
“Yes ma’am,” he said gruffly, and something about it satisfied you beyond anything else that had happened, beyond what you had done to get your revenge, beyond finding your pleasure. He succumbed to your request. And you soared with pride for it.
Just as a smile lit your face, Arthur came, his groaning pleasure a sight you wouldn’t soon forget as every muscle in his body tensed beyond measure. He had kept his word and buried himself deep within you, making you take every drop of his spend. And worse still, you loved it. You loved that he hadn’t backed off and left you there, that he had gone against his word and taken you anyway. As much as you hated to admit it, that kind of loving abuse thrilled you. It always had. You had never wanted some groveling, pitiful lover. You wanted an equal. And Arthur was all that and then some.
“You ever tell anyone I gave in, and I’ll kill you,” you assured him.
He was still attempting to catch his breath when he replied, a smile stretching across his face. “I don’t have to. You’ll be giving in to me every goddamn night from now on, loud enough for that whole camp to know it.”
With that sinful little guarantee, you found yourself smiling right back at him. “As I recall, you don’t keep your promises.”
“Oh, I’ll keep that promise. You can count on that.” On the last word, he pushed his lower body against you before pulling out every loving inch, your slick covering his cock, the sight making your arousal flare up once more. He saw where your gaze had landed and chuckled. “Maybe you’ll beg me for it after all.”
With this, and a nasty look shot at him, he got off the bed to redress, neglecting to untie you.
“You gonna get these ropes off me or wait for the next angry bastard who walks in here to take full advantage?” He laughed as he started pulling on his clothes, not deigning that with a response.
When he was fully dressed, having stolen a pair of pants that wasn’t cut to shreds from a dresser drawer, he turned to you and lit a cigarette. After taking a slow drag, he leveled you with a stare only a man could give, one frustrating in its smugness. His eyes raked over your naked body. “Would you have untied me?” You nearly laughed. Hell no. If Arthur hadn’t escaped that chair he was tied to, you would have left him to figure it out. This must have shown on your face, as Arthur shook his head. “Thought so.” He pulled his knife out of its scabbard and approached. “But, I’m feeling generous.”
To your surprise, he cut through the rope at your ankle nearest him. You waited for him to cut the next, but to your annoyance, he sheathed the knife and stepped back.
“Oh, how kind of you,” you said flatly, knowing you were nearly just as trapped with only one foot free. “Cut the rest.”
He just took another drag on that damned cigarette, smiling all the while.
“Morgan,” you warned.
His smile widened. He walked to your belongings on the floor, took every bit of the money you had stolen from him for himself, then turned and made way for the door. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” You were reminded of another night he had left you bound, angry as all hell, and reeling from brutal pleasure—another night he had taken everything from you.
“If you don’t untie me right now and give me my money-”
“See you back at camp,” he shot over his shoulder as he left the room. You debated screaming bloody murder at him, but before you could make up your mind, the door was slammed shut and you were without any means to free yourself.
“Fucker,” you murmured, knowing just how on top of the world he was likely feeling. It was meant to be you feeling that way. So, like any other woman who had been twice scorned, you began planning your revenge yet again. This time, you would make it right. You would leave no loose ends. Your pride and your anger would get you there, come hell or high water. Because when it came to rivaling Arthur Morgan, there was no one better suited to it than you.
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allzelemonz · 11 months
Text
Moving Day: Micah Bell X Male Reader
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Pronouns: None Mentioned, Reader is referred to as ‘boy’, ‘son’, and ‘mister’ Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: T/References to violence, Implied sex Warnings: Micah Bell is his own warning, Miss Grimshaw is a tough love mom, implied sex, references to violence Summary: Not wanting to upset the order Miss Grimshaw has in packing up camp to move, you let her know about you and Micah.
The sudden moves from camp to camp are common as a Van Der Linde gang member. A big job draws attention, Dutch orders a move when the law starts sniffing around or there’s just a need for fresh territory. A new town presents plenty of opportunities. The girls snoop around and find what’s worth the gang’s attention, Hosea runs his cons, and everyone spreads out to take on stagecoaches, trains, and homesteads. But things have changed since the last move and those in charge of camp need to be informed of these changes. Miss Grimshaw would kill you if you messed up her camp by leaving her out of the loop.
“Miss Grimshaw?” You ask, trying to sound as nice as possible and taking your hat off of your head to show her respect.
“Mister-” She sighs. “Unless you would like to assist, I am busy.”
She and the other women are loading up the supplies. Heavy crates and all.
“Of course, Miss.” You clear your throat, nerves making it dry. “I just don’t want to make things difficult when you’re unpacking.”
“Skip to it now.” She turns to you with her hands on her hips.
Something about her facing you makes this harder to say. “Mister Bell and I are sharing a tent now.”
You grip at your hat nervously, thankful you have something to mess with in your hands while Miss Grimshaw stares at you. You can’t look her in the eyes for long. The woman is menacing enough at a distance and you do well to keep out of her way whenever possible. Her eyes are like fire, but when you catch the nervous glance up at her face she just looks bewildered.
“My God, boy.” She sighs. “This camp is full of fine young men. What possessed you to lie down with a man like Mister Bell?”
You smile nervously. “I, um, I am not quite sure, Miss Grimshaw.”
“Well it would do you some good to rethink this.” She lowers her voice. “That Arthur Morgan is a fine man.”
At this you laugh, shaking your head. “I’m afraid I’m sure of my choice in life, Miss. I just wanted to make sure you were aware of the change for the sake of your packing.”
“Fine, fine. But if you have any trouble with that wretched man, I am sure most of us would have a fine time kickin’ him out of your tent.” She sighs, flattening her dress with the palms of her hands. “I will change our packing arrangements accordingly.”
You nod. “Thank you, Miss Grimshaw. Sorry to have disturbed you.”
“Oh, it ain’t you that disturbs me son.” She says. “Your choices, perhaps, but not you.”
She turns back to the carts and continues loading them up. It won’t take long for word to travel now. Miss Grimshaw will mention it to the girls and then it will spread like wildfire through the camp, even faster if it gets to Sean early on because he never shuts up. You place your hat back on your head and return to business of camp as everyone runs a few last jobs before you leave. Lenny and Sean are begging Arthur to go with them on one last robbery in the area, Bill and Javier already left for one. You find Micah next to Baylock, waiting for you so you can meet Dutch and a few others to hit the bank in the town you’re now leaving.
“How’d it go with the old witch?” He asks, adjusting the straps on his saddle.
“Fine.” You say, stopping near your own horse. “I’m sure the camp will be talking about it in a few days.”
Micah approaches you and pulls you closer, fitting his fingers under your gun belt. “Ain’t nothing wrong with people knowin’ ya belong to Micah Bell, is there?”
“Course not.”
He presses his lips to yours and your hands find his waist, snaking under his jacket. He chuckles when he pulls away and walks back to Baylock. “You’re lookin’ forward to it, people knowin’.”
The grin on his face makes you smile back. “I suppose.”
You both mount your horses and ride out to town where Dutch and a couple others wait by the saloon. As you hitch your horse, you catch the eye of Charles who has John whispering something to him. His eyes move from you to Micah. They know, word has spread faster than expected.
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sednonamoris · 1 year
Text
dear john
Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader
Summary: A year’s worth of letters, never sent.
Warnings: Angst, canon-typical language, epistolary chapter, emotionally constipated idiots
Word count: 1,236
A/N: I think the prior chapter does a lot of legwork for this one, but I really wanted to cover John's missing year in a succinct way that still got across the complicated feelings and hurt that came with it. I'm still deciding the direction the next two or three chapters will go - if we head straight to Blackwater and dig into the game's timeline at last or spend some more time before all that. All this to say the next updates might take a bit longer. If you have anything you really want to see please let me know!!
Series masterlist • AO3
Marston,
Goddamn you right to hell you stupid, yellow-bellied bastard. Too much of a coward to even say goodbye. Best friends, was it? Real funny way of showing it to leave me behind like that. A few weeks to clear your head I can understand, but over a month seems an awful long time.
I would have followed you anywhere.
Guess you didn’t care to have me along.
Ghost
Dear Marston,
I don’t have an address to post this to, but don’t think I’ll let you off easy. You don’t want to raise this kid? Fine. But you should come home. I miss The gang could use you. Arthur and I got a good lead on a bank but you know how twitchy the trigger fingers are on these Callander boys. 
I am fine, thanks for asking, and so is everyone else. Arthur is even madder than I am, so I wouldn’t expect letters from him anytime soon.
Ghost
Dear Marston,
There’s more work to be done between me and Arthur now that you’re not here to share the load. Arthur says you weren’t much help anyhow, but as much as I hate you for leaving we both know that ain’t fair. Tried to hunt rabbit with him the other day and he shot them all full of holes. Pearson almost laughed him out of camp when he went to hand in a brace anyhow. You at least remember to switch your ammo. 
My point is that we could use you, wherever you are. You’re a rotten friend for leaving like that.
Ghost
Dear Marston,
It’s awful tiresome being mad at you. I wish you’d come back so I could stop pretending and everything could go back to normal. 
Jack don’t know any better, little as he is, but Abigail misses you about as much as she curses your name. Dutch and Hosea miss you more, and Arthur does too even if he won’t say it. The worst is people who act like you’re dead, not gone. Almost knocked Bill’s teeth out for that the other night. 
I guess what I’m trying to say is that wherever you are I hope you’re happy, because we sure ain’t. 
Ghost
Dear John,
Camp’s on the move again. If you ever bother to come back I’m sure you’ll be able to track us, but I had to say it just in case. Like you’re even reading this letter I can’t send. 
The country out this way is even more beautiful than I dreamed. Growing up in a desert gives you a real appetite for green, and these plains go one forever and ever. We passed a river the other day with grey waters - nothing close to San Luis blue. It made me think of you and drowning. When Javier caught my stare he said he’d take me fishing. Maybe I’ll catch some real bass, not like Arthur’s pretend ones two summers ago. 
Ghost 
Dear John,
You’ll like our new camp. Everyone does. Even Trelawny crawled out of whatever fancy-pants hole he’s been in to drop a visit. He has a lead on a big blackjack game two towns over. Dutch wants Arthur to play. These little plains towns are small but there’s real money in some of the landowners.
I’ve got my eye on some nice horseflesh but Dutch wants me playing bodyguard just in case. I told him to send Davey instead and got a lecture on trust and family. He gave me that sad look at the end that always means he’s missing you.
Guess I ought to say I miss you too. 
Ghost
Dear John,
Sometimes I feel like I’ll never see you again, and other times it’s like you could walk into camp any second, easy as you like. Sometimes I see you in people we pass on the road, or in towns. Sometimes I feel it in my chest that you’re gone, like I’m missing a piece. 
I hope you’ve been safe, wherever you are. Hell, I even hope you have someone watching your back out there. We both know it should have been me, but it’s a little late for that now. 
I think about what I would have said if you’d asked me to come with you some nights that I can’t sleep. This gang is my family. I know I would have gone with you, but I also know I would have regretted it in the end. Maybe it’s better this way. Sure don’t feel like it. 
Your Ghost
Dear John,
I haven’t been fair to Abigail at all. Guess I needed you to leave us both to see that. She’s a hard worker and a natural mother and Jack is lucky to have her. I think you were too. Maybe you still are, if she’ll have you.
I caught Arthur making eyes at her across the fire the other night. If Mary Linton’s hurt weren’t so fresh I think he’d let her make an honest man of him.
I don’t know that anyone can make an honest man of you. 
If you ever come back maybe I’ll try. Or at least we can go on being dishonest together. Best friends, right? Since you left these letters have been my friends, and I have to tell you they’re a sorry replacement. 
Ghost
The day of John’s return happens just like you said; easy as you please. He rides in on his chestnut mare, one hand on the reins and the other shading his eyes from harsh midafternoon sun. There’s a guilty look shadowed on his face and the shyest smile you’ve seen on that sharp mouth of his.
You want to kill him. You want to kiss him. You settle for a withering glare he has the good sense to cringe from. 
“Where the hell have you been, asshole?”
“Lot of places,” he says, “but I… finally figured it was time to come home.”
Home. 
He says it while looking right at you. 
You should kill him. You should kiss him. But just like that he’s forgiven.
Dutch makes a speech and the gang welcomes him back each in their own way and you think Hosea even starts to cry. Abigail smacks him the second he gets close enough and then kisses him full on the mouth. John looks stunned, holding his face, and Arthur glares, and you still don’t know what to do with yourself. You just sort of stand there while your world tilts on its axis and watch it spin. 
When the night has finally quieted and everyone else has gone to bed you sit at the fire alone and burn the letters. Ink turns to ash. Every bit of love and longing trapped in those pages goes out into the air, smoke on the wind. 
From that smoke John appears, his eyes full of sorrow and regrets and a heartbreaking hope that has your chest in a vice grip. 
You rise slowly, like he’s some wild animal you might spook. Then before you have a chance to react he closes the distance between you and holds you close enough to hurt. In the crush of his embrace it finally registers that you have your friend back. Your best friend. Your John. 
“I really missed you, you know,” he rasps into the fabric of your shirt. 
“I know,” you say through the tears. “I know.”
“I know,” you sniffle through the tears. “I know.”
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azures-bazar · 7 months
Note
Gang members (Arthur, Sadie, Charles and Mary Beth) reacting to their fem S/O who is Turkish. How they react to her language, culture, beautiful olive skin and brown curly hair, golden honey eyes and teaching them about her culture (food, music, arts, belly dance, etc) and she shares her culture and language with the rest of the gang aswell! Also how they would defend her if anyone was ever racist towards her! 🥹❤️✨🥰
Headcanon - Turkish Beauty - Female!Reader
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Hey there sweetie ! Thank you again for your request ! + Javier ! 💖
I'm sooooo sorry if it took me so long ! As you know, my life now mostly consists in my job lol (and in the family I'm currently building).
This headcanon was hard to write since I know very little about Turkish Culture in general. At least I tried, any corrections are welcomed !
I tried making it as accurate as possible (but ended up creating a rather weird mixture between Turkey and Ottoman Empire, since it's supposed to be 1899 lol). If anything is offensive towards the Turkish culture, just let me know and I'll either edit my mistakes or completely delete the headcanon !
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Request : Female!Reader
Characters : Arthur Morgan, Sadie Adler, Charles Smith, Mary-Beth Gaskill + Javier Escuella
Relationship : Romantic, settled
Lines : About 9 per character
A/N : The Reader is Agnostic !
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Arthur Morgan : 
Let’s be honest : Arthur doesn’t know much about what is outside America (and perhaps Tahiti). When you tell them you’re Turkish, he is a little confused. "Wait up, ain’t Turkey a large bird ?" is the very first genuine question he asks when you talk about your country. After you explain him a few basics, he profusely apologises for his mistake, telling you his just a "dumb cowpoke", which he isn’t. He’s just clumsy.
You wear a nazar as a necklace. Arthur is curious, often asking you about the meaning of this beautiful eye-shaped pendant, staring at its dark blue, white, light blue and black colours. When you explain its use, Arthur is even more curious, asking you if he can have one for himself. "Maybe a nazar can be a lucky charm for me too, so the Pinkertons won’t ever find us !". 
On some occasions, you can be heard talking to yourself in Turkish, either when you think out loud or when you’re a little pissed with folks like Micah or Bill. Arthur doesn’t show it, but he’s thrilled when he hears you talk in Turkish, finding it beautiful. As he often says, he can barely speak English, but he still tries his best to learn a few words while listening to you !
Believe it or not, but Arthur knows how to count up to ten in Turkish. He made this surprise to you while the two of you were in his tent after a long day on guard duty. "Hey, listen to that, bir, iki, üç, dört…". You were so amazed by it, listening to his raspy voice and heavy Southern accent when he tried his best not to mess up ! When you asked him how he learnt how to count in Turkish, he just told you he has his own "sources".
Yes, he indeed went through your belongings to snatch a book written in Turkish. Still, how he managed to translate Turkish words into English is an absolute mystery even Arthur himself can’t really explain. He isn’t as dumb as he believes he is, him trying his best to learn a few words in your language is a proof of his hidden intelligence. 
At some point, you tried your best teaching Arthur to say a few basic sentences, such as "benim adım Arthur". Your favourite Van der Linde boy struggled a lot, but was indeed thrilled to make you even a little happy. Arthur is not as fast as John when it comes to learn things, but he is definitely devoted to whatever he does. And your proud gaze is absolutely worth any single grammar mistake (which might also be heard as a potential ancient invocation due to his mispronunciation) he would make. 
In case you’re being harassed by anyone, Arthur is very quick to jump in and defend you from all these folks causing you harm. Since it’s the United States in 1899, many folks are just blatantly racist. If you’re a few feet away from him, he will proceed walking towards you and wrap his arm around your shoulders. "Get away from my girl, I doubt ya wanna have a hole in your head, partner." is what he often says to calm things down. If it doesn’t, the situation ends up in a fist fight which often results in the two of you having to run away because Arthur "unexpectedly broke someone’s skull". 
Arthur is absolutely in love with your looks. Each time the sun shines on your face while you’re both around camp, he will proceed caressing your olive skin. And when your golden eyes meet his, he nearly faints due to your exquisite beauty. Your eye color is so unique that he can’t avoid blushing a little whenever you’re looking at him. A few pages of his journal are dedicated to you, as well as some drawings. He loves describing your golden eyes in his journal, comparing them to the sun. You are the light of his life, literally speaking. 
Each night, Arthur runs his fingers through your thick brown curls, slightly brushing them away from your beautiful face. You’re one of the most beautiful women he had the opportunity to meet, and your natural beauty made him fall in love with you on the day Dutch had brought you to camp. But don’t worry ! You’re so beautiful that he falls in love with you every day, even if he’s too proud to say it.
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Sadie Adler : 
For some reason, Sadie somewhat knows more about the world’s geography than the rest of the gang. She can’t forcibly place countries on a map, wherever they are republics, kingdoms or empires, but can actually tell that there is a huge continent across the Atlantic Ocean. So, when you tell her you’re from beyond the ocean, Sadie is indeed quite curious ! 
Sadie loves listening to you when you’re talking about your culture. She just sits there with starry eyes, gazing at you whenever you talk about its traditions. She is indeed fascinated by it, it feels so mystical compared with the life the Van der Linde gang is currently living. Having you tell stories about your country or about your culture and beliefs is certainly much better than Dutch’s speeches about freedom and MONEY.
She is pretty much your personal bodyguard whenever you’re alone. She knows you know how to fight, but she just loves you so much… and even ends up wanting to know more about Turkish fighting techniques. "How do folks fight in your country ? Like us ? Or do they still use swords ?". Her question seems pretty innocent for a woman who went through so much, but you don’t mind. 
You eventually end up telling Sadie about the Ottoman Slap, which is one of the Ottoman martial arts. "I wanna try it, I wanna try it !" is the very first thing an excited Sadie tells you when you explain her that it implies using her hands. You don’t even have time to explain anything to her that she is already on her way to give Micah an absolutely massive slap.
Sadie loves being around you when you do to town, and is quite protective towards you for a variety of reasons she can’t even explain. So, when she hears a few folks criticise your looks, your skin or your clothes, if not even your origins, she is quick to get into a violent fight and, quite often, wins it. Sadie even tries doing the exact same Ottoman Slap you told her about, but is likely to take out her guns to finish a fight if the situation goes worse. 
You two have fun altering Mr. Pearson’s stew with a few ingredients which match the Turkish recipes you have collected in one of your books upon traveling to the United States. Sadie loves the Tavok Sote, which is a Turkish chicken stew, and is even willing to chop vegetables for you, something she wouldn’t have done for anyone else. She just wants to spend all her free time with you, even if, as she says… she "ain’t gonna chop vegetables for a living". 
Sometimes, when she is on guard duty, Sadie will just slightly turn her head and look at your for a few seconds, analysing your beauty. Your black hair is often beautifully tied in a braid, your nazar bracelet hangs on your wrist, your colourful dresses make you look divine. She loves you, and if you pass by her while she is on guard duty, she will gently stroke your chin. "Here’s my beautiful balım." she would say before dropping a kiss on your lips.
At some point, after you told Sadie about belly dance, she is excited to learn it from you ! The very first time she tries it, she laughs as the feeling it gives her. She is not used to it, but absolutely loves it ! You like seeing her so happy to try new things, and can’t deny you did not expect her to enjoy belly-dancing this much ! She isn’t really good yet, but she really tries her best to impress you ! 
Sadie tries really, REALLY hard to learn a few words in Turkish. She already knows how to say some sweet words, like "balım" or "güzelim", and… a little set of swearwords. In fact, whenever you swear in Turkish, you can hear Sadie repeat the word after you, even if you told her you would rather want her not to say any swearwords in a foreign language. 
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Charles Smith : 
Charles is well aware about the countries surrounding the United States, such as Mexico and Canada, and knows a little about Europe due to him listening to Herr Strauss. He is very respectful towards you and asks a few questions he repeated to himself a few times. Charles doesn’t talk much, and each word he says are filled with a wisdom a very few 28 year olds have. Needless to say that, compared with John who is just two years younger and eager to ask foolish questions, Charles just thinks twice before saying anything.
Charles is, again, the quiet type, except when he is drunk or around Javier and Arthur at the saloon. And he is even more quiet whenever you’re talking about your culture by the fire. He just gazes at you with starry eyes, interested and fascinated by your country's customs and traditions. Charles doesn’t interrupt you, he doesn’t want to spoil your stories with his questions. He will have all the time he needs to ask them after you will finish. 
If he is on guard duty with you, there is a huge chance that Charles will likely end up asking you some details about your country. "What do Turkish people eat ? How do they fight ? How do they talk to each other ?". He is curious, and just wants to be around you, and only around you, to ask his questions. Even if he only answers with a soft smile whenever you answer him, he is so thrilled to learn new things. 
The simple presence of Charles near you is quick to make people shut their mouths whenever they want to insult you. Charles, being himself a man of colour, as the son of a Native American woman and an African American man, knows what it feels like to be downgraded due to the colour of his skin, especially in 1899. If he sees anyone offend you, he will just stand before you and calmly tell people of. "Please, leave this lady alone.". If it doesn’t work, after a few good punches, he will take you to someplace safe, apologising for all the mess he is not even the responsible of. 
When he has the opportunity to rest, which is often rare since he is one of Dutch’s strongest men, Charles just enjoys gazing at you. He loves the way you look, the way your beautiful hair flows around you whenever you make even a subtle movement. But what Charles loves the most about you is your voice, and how beautiful it sounds whenever you speak to yourself in Turkish. 
Charles doesn’t speak much, but he secretly mumbles each word you say in Turkish, and sometimes asks you what you just said means. He then proceeds repeating the same word once again. "Did I say it right ?" is the question he asks you the most whenever he tries talking to you in Turkish. He does his best, and it's a beautiful thing to watch. His smile in the end is worth it ! 
Like many folks, Charles is not indifferent to your golden eyes. Whenever you’re close to him, even if it’s already clear that the two of you are in a very stable relationship, his heart beats faster and his eyes twitch a little, he even blushes and stutters at times ! You, Y/N, are the only person who can make Charles Smith loose his words whenever he is around you ! Charles even commented your eyes more than once. "So your parents put all the gold of the world in these eyes of yours.". That’s quite a compliment ! 
You managed to bring up a Hookah with you, and a lot of gang members often ask you if they can use it. Charles was very curious to try it at first, especially knowing that you can sometimes combine the effects of tobacco with other plants. You made him try a mixture of regular tobacco with vanilla flowers, and Charles surprisingly loved it. "Damn. I like it. I like it !". It was probably the very first time you saw Charles so happy ! 
Charles loves laying next to you whenever people are already asleep or far enough from him, his head either on your thigh or on your shoulder. He knows that you will naturally start singing. You can’t resist singing a few beautiful Turkish songs you know, especially with Charles being so close to you. "It’s beautiful, breathtaking." he often tells you between two songs. 
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Mary-Beth Gaskill : 
Mary-Beth is quite aware of where Turkey is located, having red so many books about everything, and not only romance books as Ms. Grimshaw often says. She is thrilled to meet anyone who is not from the United States or from America in general, apart from Herr Strauss, indeed. But a woman like you is more interesting than an old loanshark ! 
You tried making a lentil soup based on what Mr. Pearson had in stock, and it made Miss Gaskill happy. "It’s peculiar and so different from Pearson’s stew ! How did you manage to do it ?" she asked. Mary-Beth barely knows how to cook, but is interested by your Turkish cookbook you brought with you upon being inducted into the gang. 
Sometimes, Mary-Beth daydreams while listening to your stories about your country. She just pictures so many people wearing bright colours, women doing bellydances while men are trained to fight. Mary-Beth is quite a romantic and re-interprets your stories inside her head, but genuinely likes asking questions about your culture. "What does a Turkish marriage look like ?". You try your best to answer, making Mary-Beth’s eyes get filled with stars. 
When the two of you are in town, you often get a side-look from passerby because of your origins. Mary-Beth is eager to fight for you, quickly taking your defence if someone tells you something inappropriate. Even if she knows how to fight, the two of you most likely end up in trouble if many folks try attacking you. But Mary-Beth is courageous enough to defend you, telling people off and throwing a few more or less impactful punches if needed. You two can’t even count the number of times you ended up at the Sheriff’s Office after a fight, having Dutch, Hosea or Arthur bring you back to camp. But a good fight was worth saving your honour. 
Even if you told her about henna and its use on very specific occasions, Mary-Beth is eager to try some on herself, on Tilly or on Karen, and even on Arthur who just grumbles when he sees her drawing figures on his wrists when he’s around camp. She doesn’t care about the fact that henna figures she made on herself is a temporary tattoo, she just loves it so much and is very skilled !
Mary-Beth loves reading, and it’s no secret for anyone. So when she genuinely asks you if she can borrow one of your books and read some pages out loud, you can’t say no. You just love listening to her when she tries her best to read some Turkish words properly with her sweet voice and adorable accent, and she loves the way you look at her and how proud you are whenever she tries either reading something out loud, or talking in your language. 
She likes asking you if she can borrow your dresses. Her favourite is a traditional Turkish gown you brought from your country, white and red coloured, with a matching headscarf. Mary-Beth loves it and often likes putting it on whenever she knows you will be around camp. She respectfully wears it and twirls around with it, thrilled to wear something as beautiful as a traditional Turkish gown. She sometimes digs into your jewerly, but you don't mind much.
When you told Mary-Beth about belly dancing, she was eager to give it a try ! Despite she did not know much about this dance or about the moves, looking a little uncomfortable while trying her best, she just gave you a rather nice performance, which was both funny and adorable. You fell for her as much as she fell for you. Between two moves, she even got to stroke your olive skin while blushing, which made you love her even more than ever !
She loves brushing your hair. It’s so thick and beautiful, she loves running her fingers through it, or combing it to create the most perfect hairstyles which could fit you on a daily basis. Mary-Beth loves you enough to compliment you anytime she tries something new on you. After all, you’re so beautiful ! So, mesmerising ! She keeps reminding this to you almost three or for times a day ! And this even in bed…
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Javier Escuella : 
Javier is definitely smart enough to say that Turkey is a part of the Ottoman Empire as of 1899. He is genuinely curious about everything, and loves asking you so many questions that you sometimes end up struggling to find a correct answer. "What are your people doing when they’re angry ? How tall is the Ottoman Empire ? Are all Turkish women as beautiful as you are ? What music do they play ? Do they believe in god ?". Many questions, too many. 
You don’t know how he managed to do this, but Javier has, very soon after you were inducted into the gang, tried talking to you in Turkish. Since he already speaks English and Spanish, he is willing to learn another language, just for you ! Javier tries his best, he really does. He even repeats the words after you whenever you correct him, and often compliments your language. "Ah, Turkish language is quite beautiful, mi amor ! Hard, but wonderful !". 
Privately, between two trees, while the rest of the gang was having fun by the fire, you showed Javier how you belly danced. He is absolutely not familiar to it, but spends his time gazing at your moves, at the way you shake your hips, the way you twirl at times. He loves it, and even ends up asking you if men can try doing it too ! He is genuinely interested, which is a pleasure to see ! 
Javier is often lost into his deepest thoughts when looking at you. Your golden eyes make him loose every word, even his most romantic ballads can’t express how smitten he is to you. He often tried singing about it, playing his guitar by the campfire, but nothing can describe the "hermosa chica de ojos dorados." that crossed his and the rest of the gang’s path. 
Whenever you’re out, Javier doesn’t let go of you, not even for a second. Sometimes the two of you get side-looks from people seeing two non-white people just enjoying their day in 1899. Javier doesn’t usually jump into fights and tries his best to tell people off. However, sometimes, random folks don’t cooperate, and it ends up in a brutal fistfight. "You won’t ever insult my girl again, puto !" Javier usually says when his opponent is either unconscious, or dead. He won’t let anyone insult you. Never ! 
When you joined the gang, you had a few belongings coming from your country, among which a few musical instruments such as an Oud, a Kaval and a Sipsi. Javier taught himself to use the Oud, pretty proud of himself whenever a nice melody was coming out of it. "It’s as easy as playing a guitar, but the sound is so beautiful !" he always says whenever he plays it… when you don’t play it yourself. 
Sometimes, when you’re the one playing some Oud, you like singing a few ballads from your country. Javier loves listening to you, often getting distracted if he is on guard duty. Your voice is so beautiful, so mesmerising ! Enough for him to loose the track of time whenever he listens to you. He usually doesn't understand your songs, but genuinely loves them ! 
At some point, only to make you a rather nice surprise after you went back from a robbery with Dutch and Micah, Javier decided to sing a personal song just for you, playing the Oud, while Uncle played the Sipsi, and Lenny used a barrel as a drum to add some rhythm. Javier just wanted to make you happy, especially after a robbery with your absolute friend Micah Bell. "Look ! Look Y/N !" he had told you, so excited. The song was in Spanish, played with two Turkish instruments and a barrel as a drum, but it was awesome ! 
Sometimes, late at night, when the two of you are nearly asleep, Javier usually tries his best to mumble you some sweet words in Turkish, running his hand through your black curls while gazing at you with a loving smile. He just loves making you happy, and knows how excited you are whenever he tries speaking your language. "Seni seviyorum, mi chiquita.". A rather peculiar mixture between Spanish and Turkish, but very sweet !
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amorgansgal · 1 year
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Of Swampy Dreams
Well as promised, here's my little fic based on the dream I had where Arthur shoved me through a window into a swamp, in order to escape from a house we were robbing! Anyway hope you all enjoy!
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‘Aw shit,’ you heard Arthur mutter behind you, as you were rifling through a drawer. Thus far this home robbery had not proved fruitful. The most you and Arthur had found was a couple of dollars, some brass candlesticks, a few cans of food and that was about it. Evidently, the tip Arthur had received from a thief he had helped escape the law, was either deliberately wrong or he had mixed up the houses.
‘What is it?’ you asked, glancing over your shoulder.
‘We got company, dammit, why the hell is he back so early?’ Arthur barely let you push the drawer back into place, when he was already hurrying you into a back room. Dusk was creeping in rapidly and you could barely see anything apart from what little light was let in from a window. The window was set quite high up in the wall and there was no other way of getting out what looked like was a glorified store cupboard.
‘Well shit,’ you whispered, ‘How are we going to get out of here?’
Arthur rolled his eyes and pointed to the window.
‘I can’t reach that!’ you snapped.
‘I’ll give you a leg up, but hurry up, quit yappin’!’
He forced open the window and cupped his hands together to form a little step. You sighed heavily and then placed your foot in his hands, while grasping the window frame and inelegantly hoisting yourself up. You were busy muttering under your breath about this all being a pointless waste of time, when you realised as you were wiggling out the window that the murky, stinky swamp of Lagras was right underneath rather than any wrap-around porch or solid ground.
‘Arthur, wait!’ you hissed.
‘We ain’t got time to wait!’
‘The swamp is-!’ But he had already shoved you through the window and you landed in the swamp with a squelchy plop. You were lucky to have taken a breath before you entered the murky water, but as you breached the surface you wiped away the weed and mud from your face, as Arthur landed beside you.
‘You goddamn ass-!’ you began to exclaim, but he was already dragging you off.
‘C’mon, don’t want to wait to get caught, hardly be worth Hosea breakin’ us out of jail. And I assume ya don’t want to get eaten by an alligator?’
You squelched your way out of the bog, sticking to the reeds and bullrushes, so the homeowner would not spot you both. Though you doubted very much he would even notice the missing two dollars and would probably think he had misplaced the candlestick. You made it to the road, though you hated the way your boots were stuck fast to your feet and your clothes were drenched. Arthur whistled for the horses and you glared at him.
‘Some god damn robbery this was!’ you muttered.
‘Look, it don’ always go to plan.’
‘We may as well have pick pockets in Saint Denis or played poker, we’d have earnt more money!’
Arthur sighed and caught your horse’s reins as she ambled up to you both. Lacey nickered softly and Arthur gave her neck an absentminded pat, before gesturing for you to mount up.
‘C’mon, we’ll ride back to Rhodes and I’ll pay for you to have a bath,’ he said.
‘Rhodes? Ride back to Rhodes? I’ve got to ride all the way back-!’
‘Well how else you goin’ to get home?’
‘We are finding a god damn stream or river and I am washing the worse of this off. You can grumble all you want, but you aren’t soaked from head to toe in stinky swamp water!’
You mounted Lacey, without Arthur’s help and he stomped off. You barely waited for him to mount up on Topaz, instead kicking your horse into a quick canter and riding off down the forest path. You heard Arthur mutter something under his breath as you passed him, but he soon caught up with you. The sun was just sinking below the horizon and the hum and whine of insects was slowly growing louder, the boggy warmth from the swamp was cooling rapidly. You knew you weren’t far from the Kamassa River and even though the water would likely be very cold, you would be glad to wash yourself off.
There was a small island ahead of you, right in the middle of the river, and you pushed Lacey across to reach it. Once you had reached the middle, you jumped off Lacey and began to strip off your dress.
‘Woah! Easy!’ Arthur yelled, then quickly turned away as you caught his eye.
‘What am I meant to do?’ You snapped. ‘You get a fire going, so I don’t freeze to death, while I wash off.’
You stomped off over to the river, though you heard Arthur mutter under his breath about you being ‘So goddamn dramatic!’ First you gave your clothes a good wash, though to get out the smell you would probably need to wash them properly back at camp, but a thorough scrub removed most of the mud. Once you were done, you headed back to the fire Arthur had got going and flung your soaked dress over a nearby tree branch. Arthur was determinedly focusing on adding more twigs to the fire and you rolled your eyes at his stubborn back.
‘Not like you ain’t seen Karen or Mary-Beth in their underthings!’ you muttered. Half the women would walk around in the evening and early morning in their chemises or combinations, you included. You didn’t know why Arthur was making a big show of respecting your modesty all of a sudden!
You carefully dipped your toes into the river and hissed at how cold the water was. You bit your lip hard, so you wouldn’t shriek as the water lapped at your calves, then your thighs and your belly. This would be a quick wash and no mistake! You took several breaths, then counted in your head ‘1, 2, 3…’ and dunked yourself under the water. You let out a small scream in the water and quickly surfaced. God damn, it was freezing! Your head felt like it was full of icy needles. You scrubbed yourself furiously, then sloshed your way to the shore.
You suddenly realised that you had been a bit of an idiot. You didn’t have any other clothes and your combinations were completely drenched. You would need to strip off and wear your blanket wrapped around you, hopefully Mr Morgan would not faint in shock!
You darted through the small camp, grabbing the spare blanket from Lacey’s back and making your way into your tent.
‘I thought you was just goin’ to wash yourself off?’ Arthur said, you saw him look up at you, then quickly avert his gaze. Granted you’d forgive the modesty act this time, seeing as your combinations were sticking to your skin and you could easily see your nipples through the thin cotton material.
‘Well I did!’
‘I thought you was just going to wash your hands and face.’
‘Hey, you were the one who decided we should rob a house with nothing in it in a damn swamp! And then you shoved me through a window into said swamp! You don’t get to act like we’ve both been making great, smart decisions here.’
Arthur let out a small huff of laughter and lowered his head. ‘Alrigh’, sorry. But get out those things, ya goin’ to catch ya death.’
‘As if I didn’t know that!’ you grumbled, then walked over to your horse and pulled off the spare blanket you had. You began to strip off your wet clothes and scrubbed yourself dry. Once you were dry and tied your hair up, you wrapped the blanket around you. You brought your combinations with you and flung them over the tree branch. You took a seat by Arthur, next to the fire, and tried to get yourself warm, though you kept shivering with the cold.
‘Yer a damn fool,’ Arthur muttered, bringing out some dried meat and a can of beans he left near the fire to warm up.
‘You’re the one who decided to rob an empty house!’
‘I had a tip!’
‘Oh yeah, and it was a really good one! We’d have made more money shooting an alligator or getting their eggs and selling that in town.’ You managed to say through chattering teeth.
Arthur sighed, then began to rub your arms, almost making you lose your grip on your blanket.
‘Hey, easy! Thought Great Aunt Arthur Morgan was going to faint if he saw my tits!’ you exclaimed.
‘Great Aunt what now?’
‘What? Most men would be quite happy to have a naked cold woman all alone in a wood with them, but you act like you’re going to faint because you saw my ankle!’ you grinned, even though you were cold and Arthur’s hands on your arms were very warm. You couldn’t help wriggling closer to him, in an attempt to get warm.
‘I ain’t like most men and I ain’t goin’ to faint on seein’ your goddamn ankle, just… just tryin’ to be respectful, that’s all.’
‘Oh Arthur, you really are a gentleman, shoving ladies out of windows into swamps and then almost pulling their blanket down when trying to warm them up.’
‘Do you ever shut up?’
‘Only when I’m being shoved through a win-‘
He suddenly cupped your face and pulled you in for a kiss. His hand slipped behind your head, tugging you in closer and you felt your cheeks burn, as his lips met yours and you almost went to put your arms around him, but then remembered the blanket you were still clutching to your chest. He was so warm and smelt of whiskey and smoke and something earthy and sweet. You almost wanted to wrap yourself up in his jacket. Your heart was racing, every nerve ending alive with electricity and he was still kissing you, passionately, deliciously. Finally, he pulled away, though his hands still gently cupped your face, as he gazed into your eyes and a shy smile graced his lips.
‘Sorry, ya still stink of the swamp,’ he said.
You smacked his arm, though you couldn’t help laughing. ‘Well you owe me a new dress!’ You smiled gratefully as he pulled off his jacket and draped it around your shoulders.
‘Sure, think it’s the least I can do.’
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scribblertown · 1 year
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Fates of the Fateless Ch. 5: A Broken Mystery
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Arthur nurses his morning cup of bitter brewed coffee. His lips pucker in distaste, he considers dumping the rest of it.
 Definitely not worth a whole extra quarter.
 Placing it to the side as he turns his attention to his book of memories, ramblings, and thoughts pondered but never spoken. Taking his worn, dull pencil into his hand and letting the words form themselves on the pages.
 Dutch has been scouting out the mine nearby. Place called Bingham. Never been much of a prospector for gold or any other valuable dirt these fools seem to think is worth dying over. No doubt he’s spun a tale to any who would listen to the ramblings of a man spouting promises and dreams. Though I suppose we all become believers if we have someone just as foolish to believe in something greater than ourselves.  
 I’m definitely one of them.
 He compliments the empty space with a drawing of the camp, emphasizing the Junipers as the center piece. Accidently smudging the corner with his thumb. Today’s been quiet, nothing really going on. Dutch off doing what he does best leaving the rest to await his next move. He can hear casual exchanges of the other camp members around him. His focus zoning into one in particular.
 “It’s alright miss, you’re safe now.” Bessie is speaking in a very hushed delicate manner. One he imagines a mother would use on a crying babe. He hears Tilly and Annabelle as well, uttering other words of comfort.
 “We’re here for you! You don’t have to go through this alone.” Annabelle tries to keep her voice chipper and her attitude confident. But it’s only met with silence. His eyes find the group of girls huddled around (y/n). Whom is hunched over, face covered with her hands and shoulders trembling. Bessie’s arms encircle her in an embrace, stroking the top of her head and humming a lullaby.
 They all sit in awkward silence before Tilly stands, “I’ll go get her a drink of water.” Arthur follows her to the barrel.
 “She alright?”
 Tilly’s face twists in discomfort. “I don’t know.” She clutches the now full cup of water in both her hands. “I don’t know what to do for her. She… She just seems so hopeless sometimes.”
 Arthur thinks back to the times he and the gang had taken in one another. Tilly being one of them. Lost, broken, hopeless.
 “We’ve all been there. It’s just a matter of keepin’ her goin’ till she’s got something to hope for again.”
 “Hm…” Tilly looks on at the group of women, (y/n) hasn’t lifted her head up once. Now curled up into a ball, attempting to shrink away from everything and everyone. “I suppose we just let her feel this way till she don’t feel it no more.” Tilly begins to walk away muttering one last remark under her breath that Arthur almost doesn’t hear. “I just hope it’s while she’s still alive…”
 The thought disturbs him more than it should. After all, he’s seen and even been the cause of death in many forms. But this leaves him with a sickness in his stomach.
 “It’s a sad sight.” Miss Grimshaw appears at his side, shaking her head and a look of pity on her face. Or maybe it’s disappointment. “Life ain’t been kind to us neither. But it’s best to move on quickly lest she wind up dead. Or worse. Stuck in this stupor for the rest of her miserable life.”
 Her words can be harsh at times, but Arthur’s knows she cares. Cares more than she would like to let on. “Well, she’s done a wonder at holding her own despite her circumstances.”
 “Hm, yes that reminds me.” Grimshaw lowers her voice a bit, “Dutch has been quite hesitant to include her in our dealings. But I simply can’t have her galivanting around camp without contributing to the camp’s funds forever. We ain’t a charity!”  
 In all honesty, Hosea was the one who thought to keep their little stowaway in the dark. At least for the time being.
 “She’s got enough to worry about. We don’t want to go scaring the poor girl.” Hosea had said. Most everyone else agreed.
 “She ain’t got family or kin, got no money, no trade, no skills. We don’t even know her surname.” Grimshaw huffs. “For all we know she plopped right out of the sky.”
 “Just… give her some time, ok?” Arthur gives her a pleading look. “And if you’re so worried about money, I’ll be sure to bring in some more.” Grimshaw’s once cold and stern face falls into one much softer.
 “No no, we’ve been quite alright money wise.” She’s quick to reassure Arthur. “She’s been a diligent student… and never shirks her work.” She lets out a huff and with it she lets go of some pride. “You be well Mr. Morgan.” She leaves just as quickly as she appeared.
 Tilly seems to of succeeded in convincing (y/n) to drink, the cup now in her hands and head held up for him to see her in all her woeful glory. Eyes puffy and swollen. Remnants of her tears clinging to her lashes and a distant look in her eyes. Looking right past him, as if he wasn’t even there.
 He watches for a moment longer, staring directly into those sad hollow eyes. And he wonders what lies behind those eyes.
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Worth the Price of a Bottle of Pop
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So, anybody want a crack-fic with Kayne, Arthur, and too much sugar even for an Outer God?
Sugar calculations now included at the end, because why not?
AO3
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“What is so special about you? I checked. I watched your life unfold, Arty. I went back to see… well. I watched you grow, you graduate, you fall in love! Or… like. Let’s call it like. I watched your parents kill themselves, I watched your wife die, your child drown… boy, you’ve had a lot of death around you!”
Which could be the reason, though boring as fuck. There was sometimes an aggravatingly stubborn balance the universe pooped out.
Like pinning a paintbrush to the canvas instead of letting it sweep.
Like stuffing a fist (with or without arm, unimportant) into a tuba before it went full Flight of the Bumblebee.
Like—
“And?” says Arthur, getting all tough (it was cute, Kayne could admit it, like a kitten going floof), as if none of that recitation had hurt him.
Oh, it hurt him. Kayne can see the bleeding, the deep and lambent ooze from the wounds in his soul this self-hating moron literally prevented from healing.
“And,” says Kayne, “I still don’t see what the big deal is. I don’t see why you managed to survive. Anyone else, and believe me, I’ve checked the math through trial and tribulation (though not my own)... anyone who would’ve opened that book and taken what you took from Hastur would’ve died. They all die! Popped like a ripe cherry.” And he laughs.
Because… well. They did.
Kayne hits pause and returns to one of his game’s saved states.
#
It isn’t enough to just watch Arthur’s life. Obviously, he’s missed something, so he tries again.
It makes sense to start with the closest connected factor?
But Parker just blows right the fuck up, and while it is pretty funny (the unpredictability of bloodstain patterns when magic was the murder weapon never ceases to delight) (and and and Arthur has a lovely screaming voice), it obviously isn’t the answer.
Whatever. He buys a bottle of pop (never quite tastes as good in later times) and returns to the game in progress.
#
“So?” Arthur challenges, just so very spunky.
“So what’s so special about the little boy from Arkham that made it so? What’s so strong about you that I can’t figure out?”
Ooh, from Arkham. That was an idea.
Pause.
#
Six tests in (and twenty-eight bottles of pop), Kayne’s finally sure it isn’t Arkham.
He tries people who moved there, and people who were born there.
He tries Anna Stanczyk, who’s indirectly tied to old Shubby via blood and family, and that doesn’t work.
He tries Frank Underhill, because at least that guy’s got a more direct connection to the idiot deities running around like bugs with delusions of grandeur.
Popped. Popped. Popped.
It ain’t location, and it ain’t blood. Hm.
Maybe it was Arthur himself?
Kayne goes back again, kills young Arthur, turns his body to ash, and lives his life.
It’s not like he hadn’t watched it a dozen times already. Really fucking easy to make all the same choices, and have all the silly conversations—
(And bathe in that self-torturing self-centered bizarro balance Arthur seems to have, which makes no sense because he hates it about himself but still chooses it and doesn’t even know why and isn’t that delicious?)
—and make the same connections and write the same songs—
(Maybe not all the same, maybe there are some special tricks hidden in the ones he performs himself for recording, but nobody’s gonna really notice until the bloodshed, and he timed it all to come true after the book opens so it won’t interfere with the test.)
—and fuck pretty Bella and make little Faroe—
(And she won’t come out the same, no she won’t, and surely it makes no difference to store her away instead of killing her because when she comes of age that’ll be a laugh and a half… but pretending she’s dead, anyway, which is so easy to do.)
—and making reluctant friends with Parker and becoming a P.I. and finally getting the gods-damned book in the mail and opening it up and—
Popped?
Popped.
Popped!
What the hell! He did everything right! It’s entirely Arthur’s body! Whatever he had in him should’ve worked, but nooo, instead he had to die, and ooze, and splatter Parker with skull bits, and that was a fucking waste of thirty-four years. Ugh!
He calms down by drinking fourteen bottles of pop in a row and melting the glass into madness-inducing runes.
Fine. Still no answers. Fine.
He peeks to make sure Faroe’s alive (because she is gonna be a riot when puberty hits), and finally resumes his game in progress.
#
“I… I don’t know,” says Arthur, which is not the answer Kayne wanted to hear.
“But you do. You have to, ‘cause if I don’t, that only leaves one other person. So we’ve both walked a mile in your shoes, kiddo. Take a wild guess: why are you so different?”
“What do you mean?” says Arthur, who really seems to be some kind of freaky one-off, and for someone so self-centered is really missing the point that this is all about him. “Why am I…”
“So different?” Kayne’s being patient because this has actually gotten interesting. “No wrong answers here. Come on, let me hear it. First thing that comes to mind. Shoot it out!”
And then Arthur makes up some absolutely Hallmark-level bullshit about being human, and Kayne has to pause the world again so he can laugh his ass right off.
Oh. Oh, that’s just… too much.
Human. Sure.
Though maybe it’s not completely off?
Kayne couldn’t replicate Arthur’s human soul, after all.
Could it be something… soul-related?
Huh.
That’d be weird.
Because Kayne sees souls (eats souls, shreds souls, cuts them into shapes and sews them together wrong), and Arthur’s really seems completely normal, utterly banal, which makes no sense unless there’s some kind of—
“What the fuck are you doing?” bellows Sothoth, and the whole, frozen world damn near crumbles down.
#
“What?” says Kayne with all the guilt-free confidence of a cat.
“There have been complaints,” says Sothoth, who looks like an office manager, whose double-breasted plaid suit somehow speaks money and dullness at the same time. “You’ve created at least a dozen unstable timelines, without warning anybody, in the span of an hour! What is going on?”
“Oh, it’s all for this guy.” Kayne waves his hand and points.
Sothoth adjusts his totally unnecessary c-bridge pince-nez (which nevertheless do a great job showing off the third eye he bothers manifesting) and looks.
There is a long, stupid pause.
“What the hell am I supposed to be looking at?”
“Right? You don’t get it, either!” Kayne feels weirdly justified in his confusion.
“It’s… a human, with part of… what the hell is that? Hastur? It looks like Hastur. Except it isn’t.”
“Yeah, that idiot tried to steal a portal and got cut in half. Hilarious, right? But lookit! He’s in a human! And he’s changed!”
“This shouldn’t be possible.” Sothoth’s tone has changed, too, and Kayne does not like it, because now, it is darkly and distinctly interested. “I don’t see why it happened.”
“Or why the human is alive.” Kayne can’t help boasting a little. “I’ve already checked him out. Little Arthur here is a great big weirdo! At least, I think he is.”
“An interesting human.” Sothoth is thoughtful. “How unusual.” His eyes (so many! That show-off) have gone a sick, corpse-yellow, and his red pupils slit with focus.
Nope, not letting that play out. “This one’s my game,” says Kayne. “I already licked it. My mess, my conundrum. I saw it first.”
“You’re just going to kill them,” Sothoth points out, which is completely accurate.
“Well, sure, but not yet. I want answers.”
Sothoth sighs and dabs his forehead with a handkerchief that matches his silk tie. He looks put-upon, wearily managerial, and his rings each carry more power than an entire exploding sun. “There. Have been. Complaints.”
“If somebody’s got a problem, tell them to come to me about it.”
“No, because you’ll just kill them, too,” Sothoth says, being so aggravatingly reasonable.
“So?” Kayne challenges.
Sothoth eyes him. “Are we going to come to blows about this?”
That’d be annoying.
They’ve already done it twice, and then had to go rebuild the universes from scratch or there’d be nothing to play in, and it was a pain in the ass, and all the resident Old Ones (great and otherwise) bitched the whole time, and it wasn’t fun, and Kayne doesn’t like things that aren’t fun.
Hence the killing.
“No,” Kayne mutters. “We’re not.”
“You’ll restrain yourself?”
Kayne snorts. “Sure, that’s what I like to do with my time.” Sothoth gives him a look, and Kayne rolls his eyes. “All right, all right.” He throws his hands in the air. “I’ll just deal with these two, okay? Just fuck with this timeline. For a while, anyway, until the little pea-bruised princesses calm down. I promise.”
He says nothing about the Faroe he left under Daniel’s tender care, because a fucking Freemason priest raising a girl in tight and miserable morality with chaos in her soul is bound to be hilarious.
Also, it’s not him messing with that timeline if she’s the one doing things, right? She lives there! It’s her reality to break!
Sothoth visibly does not believe him, anyway. Looks like he’s about to produce paperwork, or something.
Kayne crosses his arms.
Finally, Kayne’s fellow Outer God shrugs. “If you make a mess, you clean it up.” And he vanishes.
“Way to kill the mood,” Kayne mutters, and tunes back in.
“...that humanity that allowed this fragment of a god to stay within me,” Arthur is droning on, and it is still funny, but less than it was.
Kayne sighs. “Eh… maybe. Probably? Naw. No, I don’t think so. Maybe? Probably not. Got another guess?”
“I… I have no other guesses,” Arthur says, because he put all his pwecious heart and soul into that tooth-rot of an answer. “You know more than me, clearly, by a country mile.”
And Kayne cracks up.
Because even though he’d lived Arthur’s life, he had not expected that phrase, didn’t even know Arthur knew it. Surprise (which is delight) cranks the saturation back up to eleven and peaks his interest all over again.
What else can Arthur do that’s surprising?
“Wait,” says Arthur, doing one such thing right now. “You said you saw my life. My daughter. My wife. You… you lived my life?”
So Arthur caught that.
Even John had not, and John’s shock is just whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles.
“‘Lived’ is such a primitive word,” says Kayne, because he likes making people feel dumb. “Let’s just say… I understand you very well.”
Except he doesn’t.
He does not. This dorky little human, who would live and die and never make the history books, is surprising him.
“You know, I think I’m starting to like you,” he warns with great cheer.
And that should fucking terrify these two.
It doesn’t yet—but it will. It’s like making a joke they won’t get for a year.
This is all about planting seeds, after all, and seeing how Arthur’s soul makes them mutate.
So it’s worrying at Arthur’s emotional wounds via the music box, because Arthur’s soul bleeding is funny.
And it’s doomsaying to shake them both up and get them crazy to break away from “fate” (which isn’t a thing, but boy are these two afraid it is).
And a dagger, because a little violence never hurt anyone. Except whoever was on the other end, of course.
Then it’s off to the cheap seats, the metaphorical bleachers, where Kayne has settled in with some good old-fashioned popcorn and twelve 5¢ bottles of pop (real sugar, none of that corn garbage, which was funny as hell in terms of damage but tasted like absolute shit), and a show he’s going to remember for years.
And the dagger is used.
And the blood is great.
And everybody is wailing, and Kayne is having a blast.
Lucky them.
When he gets bored, he’ll kill them all—but he isn’t bored yet.
Lucky, lucky them.
(Was it luck? Naw. If it was, though, it’d be bad luck, and that sure was funny.)
So. This game. For a while.
Then off to see what Faroe is doing, and maybe nudge her along and see what she did if he went Vader to her Luke.
This, Kayne thinks, was well worth the price of a bottle of pop, and he cracks open another one and chugs.
---------
NOTES
So, hey! He drank 55 bottles of Coca-Cola.
In 1934, the bottles came in 6.5oz.
Each bottle contained 24.65g of sugar.
So, uh. By the end of this affair, he's had 1355.75g of sugar.
That's how you do it, I guess?
I am aware what I have wrought by creating a Faroe of this nature. We will see where THAT plot-bunny goes in the future.
And I'm quite sure all that sugar can't be good even for a being of chaos and death, but I'm sure as hell not gonna tell him.
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21witnokidz · 8 months
Text
IN THE GHETTO
Chapter 25
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“And then maybe I should add a love triangle somewhere in the middle right?”
“Oh I don’t know. Those are outdated and cliche if you ask me”
Mary-Beth was telling you about this new love story she was planning to write and she needed your input.
When you told her that love triangles were played out nowadays she looked a little disappointed in your answer.
“Oh but it’s your story Mary-Beth you put whatever you want. Just don’t expect me to take a liking to it” you put your arms up
Mary-Beth slapped your arm and went back to her writing.
“Oooh Y/n have I got some news for you” Lenny approached and he looked excited. Then again, he was pretty young and had his whole life ahead of him. It was normal for him to be excited about many things.
“So I was talk in’ around with the colored folk of Rhodes and there was talk of a place with lots weapons”
You raised your eyebrow and sipped your coffee.“Don’t we already got enough of that?”
“And money” Lenny added rubbing his fingers together.
You immediately shot up upon hearing that.
“Arthur let’s go!”
Arthur had just came back from a fishing trip but you were sure he wouldn’t back down on some money.
“Huh where we goin’?”
“I don’t really know myself but Lenny hear said there’s talk of money and weapons somewhere ain’t that right Leonard?”
“That’s right Arthur we better hurry before someone else gets it” Lenny said racing to his horse.
“Now hold on. You said there was TALK of there being money. How you know them folks wasn’t just gossiping?”
“What’s gossip worth if it’s free?” you asked.
Arthur just sighed and shook his head “She’s got a point” he whispered to himself, climbing back up on his horse after tying it up not even 5 minutes ago.
-
After a good ride and a witty conversation you guys finally made it to a place called Shady Belle. Lenny suspected those were where the guns were especially since there people guarding the place despite it looking abandoned.
“Well Lenny looks like someone did make it here before us”
“Well we can take care of this easy peasy” Arthur said pulling out his Bolt Action from his horse pouch.
You guys were able to take out the guards no problem just like Arthur said. Your main concern though is if the merchandise got caught within the gunfire.
You were searching beyond the dead bodies for the guns. Or the money. Or both. Before coming across a wagon with a box. You lifted up the lid and found a pile of brand new rifles.
“Thank god for black people” you whispered shaking your head.
“What was that? You found the guns?” Arthur came behind you.
“Yup. Anybody order a dozen fresh rifles?” You said holding the gun up.
“Perfect let’s take these back to Dutch!” Lenny clapped his hands.
-
“Arthur, Y/n, you’ve done it again” Hossa chuckled looking at the guns “and of course you did a fine job Lenny”
“Arthur come on let’s go. Me and Micah are on our way to this O’Driscoll hide out, you need to come with us” dutch came around already ordering Arthur as soon as he can me back”
“Uh ok. You comin Y/n?”
“Nah I think I’ll just stay here. Been a long day”
Arthur squeezed your hand and went off with dutch and Micah.
-
Arthur had gone to the hideout several hours ago. The sun was already down.
“I swear to god Hosea if something doesn’t come up soon I’m gonna lose my mind”
“Just calm down. Come on. This Arthur we’re talking about. The boy’s too damn stubborn to get himself killed” The older man tried to calm you. “now he might fuck around and fall off a cliff but someone actually taking Arthur Morgan’s life? They’d have to be Hercules”
Hosea rubbed your shoulders to try and calm you down.
But then you saw Dutch.
“Where is he? You better tell me something I swear to god”
“Now just listen-“ he began.
“Don’t tell me to just listen where’s Arthur?”
“Well.. they got him”
Your immediately dropped to your ankles.
“Now when he says that. He doesn’t mean death. It’s just that they literally have him… like hostage” Micah explained.
“Oh my god” you said in disbelief but quickly turned to anger. “And where were you huh!?” You started hitting Dutch’s chest while tears were spilling from your eyes.
“Y/n I promise we’ll look for him later it’s just too risky now” he tried to calm you.
You were feeling a little weak from all the stress so you just had to sit down. But that did not mean that you caught any rest.
You had no idea how late it was in the night but you were sure the sun would be coming up anytime soon.
That’s when you heard the sound of a horse in the distance. You looked off into the trees a silhouette. Just from his shadow alone you could tell it was Arthur.
“Arthur!”
He came into camp and as soon as he got off the horse he collapsed.
“Arthur came back! He needs help!”
Everyone came rushing out to help you get him up onto his bed.
“God I’m sorry dear boy. I’m so sorry”
“It’s too late for apologies Dutch, look at him!”
You rubbed the side of Arthur’s face lovingly “are you ok? Please tell me didn’t hurt you too bad”
He just nodded his head and leaned into your touch, too tired to speak.
-
Arthur had recovered from his injuries and the gang was back to normal.
You saw him looking off to the distance with some coffee in his hand when you approached him.
“Arthur?”
“Hey there darlin’. He wrapped his arm around you and kissed your cheek”
“You feel better?”
“Yea. I really appreciate you staying by my side during my healing process. Meant a lot to me”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s just- you’ve always cared so much for me. I’ve known you almost my whole life and we’ve always looked out for each other. I guess what I’m tryna say is.. I appreciate you”
“Yea you just said that you fool” you slapped his chest.
“No i- shit..”
Arthur put the journal back in his satchel and pulled out something else. It was a ring. And it had a beautiful diamond on it.
“I wasn’t sure how I was gonna do this but here I am. Y/n, will you make me the happiest man ever by being my wife so that I can have you for the rest of my life?”
“Arthur..” you couldn’t believe this is happening. I mean you always knew you were gonna marry Arthur but this was just so surreal to you. You looked into his eyes to see if he was being for real. And he was.
“Yes Arthur I’ll be your wife”
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sentanixiv · 1 year
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The Angel On His Arm What happens when I run around RDO too often with @sweet-by-and-by, who runs an adorable Mary-Beth rendition.
Leaves scurry across the half-cobbled roadway, signs of industrialization meant to take this one-horse town from an inconsequential speck into some place worth a telegram home to mention. Arthur takes stock of all but its name, this town ain't no more, nor no less, than any other shithole he's been to. They got a sheriff and a deputy, both too big for their  britches, and a stagecoach outpost that's more afterthought than thoroughfare. Way he sees it, they ain't too long for this area, seeing as there ain't much worth stealing to keep them 'round.
'Bout the only thing that matters is the fine tailor that's managed to set up shop. Driven out of bigger cities by bigotry, the fella runnin' it has no problems with authority, but plenty of problems with thieving. No one's welcome to it in his workshop and it's that unwelcome attitude what sees Arthur here, entering with Mary-Beth on his arm, fussing at him that things will be fine, she doesn't need to buy a new dress.
"You don't be worryin' none, Mary-Beth," he assures her with a quick, warm smile - the sort saved for them that he cares about. "You ain't needin' nothing, but you's deserving of it."
That puts a damper on her protests and turns her lips into a smile, bashful and sweet. Real dangerous thief, Mary-Beth is, because if she ain't able to steal a man's heart with one soft smile, she can empty his pockets in the moment of distraction it causes.
"You're too good to me, Arthur," she says demurely.
"That's about all I'm good for," he replies. Guides her towards the tailor, a man with a pensive look on his face that seems turned on the lady. Seems Mary-Beth may've been plying her trade here earlier.
The smack on his forearm, light, earns her a raised brow. "You're good for so much more than that," she chides.
"Maybe," he allows, tipping back his hat, "but that don't make me no good as a person."
"You're all that and more as a friend," she says, standing tiptoe for a chaste press of her lips to his cheek.
"Can I help you?" comes stiffly from the tailor.
Arthur coughs once into the back of his hand, then looks over the man. "Me? Nah. I ain't got no need for fancy things." He nudges Mary-Beth forward. "This lady, though. She's lookin' for something fine. Think you got anything worth her time?"
The flicker of annoyance in how the man looks at Mary-Beth has Arthur leaning back his weight on his heel, resting his hands along his gunbelt. That draws the focus back to him and he gives the man a slow, leisurely sort of nod to help encourage him along.
"Seeing as she helped herself in our last encounter," the tailor starts with a disdainful sniff, "I've no idea why she suddenly needs my help to enrich herself."
Ah, seems his assessment is right and Mary-Beth already danced about this man's wares and wealth. Arthur feels a surge of pride for that, and irritation at the reticence. "Now, I know you ain't saying nothing foul about my lady friend here," he warns.
Mary-Beth steps up, a bolt of fine burgundy fabric in her hands, and she smiles sweetly at the tailor, gives Arthur a quick glance asking to let her handle it. He steps back, always mindful to give a lady what she wants. Then her smile is fully brilliant, turned on the tailor as she lays the fabric out on the counter. "I'd like this in a skirt, please," she says, light as day, as though she's not come through and picked his register clean at least the once.  "And a vest, for my friend," she adds with a gesture to Arthur, just enough promise in it to be threat. "Blood is so very hard to get out, stains the material quite badly." Bats her eyes all innocent, the picture of an angel here on earth. "I'm hoping that starting with red will mean less stains in the future. Do you think that would help?"
The very picture of an angel, but Arthur chuckles as the words settle in and prove the lady equally capable of being quite the devil.
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businesstiramisu · 1 year
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Okay I rewrote the post. Thoughts on the last tenth (or so) of Worth the Candle:
[I don't really expect this to be interesting to anyone except me, but i do want to save these for future me, lol]
 I found the ttrpg Fel See Incident much more satisfying than the Aerb version. No, not satisfying, it was horrible. But it was exactly what the story had been building it up to be, for 1 million plus words, and that's quite an accomplishment. Whereas the Fel Seed of Aerb.... I think the problem is scope creep? When the stakes get Too High and the antagonists (or protagonists, for that matter) get Too Powerful my brain just gives up and I disengage. Like "sure, whatever, just tell me who wins". Whereas the ttrpg version, and the real world-level drama around it, felt horribly plausible.
I did like "we'll win the second time because, if Joon had gotten a second chance at the game, he would have let the players win." That was a nice bit of narrative reinforcement/article of faith.
 I love the Long Stairs. It's almost enough to make me think I should give SCP a more serious look, but I'm still worried the horror will be Too Scary for me. (And don't get me wrong I would hate to play a ttrpg campaign in it... actually, maybe it wouldn't be worse than usual? I could just follow the RDP instructions instead of my usual choice paralysis. well, depends on how often they come up. I probably wouldn't like having to make new characters constantly b/c they keep dying.) But like when Juniper wished they could've stayed in the labyrinth and explored the other cultures living there, I was right there with him.
The final reveal of Uther/Arthur..... hmmm, complicated feelings. On the one hand, ugh! why couldn't he just apologize, and admit to being terrible!! Well, he kinda did later... to Juniper, after they'd spent a long time rebuilding camaraderie and basically giving each other a pass for the horrible shit each considered the other to have done. And that was depressingly realistic. Well, idk that anything in my life compares (fortunately) but the most serious, scary arguments in my life have mostly gone like that.
Juniper and Arthur's ultimate goodbye felt appropriate, even cathartic. Raven and Bethel didn't get anything comparable though. Just Uther brushing them off (or in Ravens case saying "I understand this is hard for you but you've got to suck it up", basically). Which, yeah the world ain't fair. It wasn't justice, though. They didn't get their due like Juniper did.
The final conversation withe the dungeon master was also surprisingly satisfying! I liked it a lot more than when Sophie's World did the same thing. (And I've probably read more books that have the character confront the fact that they're characters in a novel, but that's what came to mind lol).
Maybe b/c it was really funny how the DM told Juniper "you're all characters in a novel I'm writing" and Juniper immediately rejected that explanation as bullshit.
Similarly, the Narrator, as the actual Juniper who was writing WTC
Heaven!Fenn though, felt overly self-indulgent to me. Which is maybe ridiculous, b/c the whole story is an exercise in self-indulgence/self-examination, but i dunno she just didn't work for me
Well, it's pretty hilarious that she was The One Person In Aerb Ever To Go To Heaven, and was always destined to be that one person. Hilarious in a pretty arbitrary way.
Someone in the comments to Ch. 245 or 246 said that "Worth the Candle but Reimer died instead of Arthur" is a great fanfic premise and... i dunno, it would be a massive amount of work, but it's tantalizing to think about. Seems like Aerb would have to be very different with--well, idk, would it be a whole collection of Reimer's characters, since he never seemed as devoted to one of them?-- instead of Uthur Penndraig, but with the themes of putting people on a pedestal, using their tragedies as an excuse to wallow in your own grief and depression and rage, and also the DM presumably having the same goals, I have to wonder how much it would even matter?!
Wow, the void beast was a metaphor for global warming?! kinda kicking myself for not picking up on that. Unless I just forgot about it; this story is really long.
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thanaredreamtof · 10 months
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soundtracks for threads @blindspct
These are just song songs that remind me of our pairings and threads right now :)
Arthur x Felicity
There is something about this song that just screams Arthur and Felicity to me. Especially the lines “don’t pretend that you don’t want me” , and “if I’m not the one for you, you gotta stop holding me the way you do”. I am loving writing them, and I can’t wait to get to the part where they realise their feelings and potential relationship is basically forbidden, but they get each other and enjoy each others company and are catching feelings the whole time while trying to push the other away. I love it.
Also the new Taylor Swift song Hits different - “oh my love is a lie, shit my friends say to get me by, it hits different, it’s hits different with you, catastrophic blues, moving on was always easy for me to do…it hits different…cause it’s you”
Both Felicity and Arthur have had their ‘catastrophic blues’ in the past, and again it’s this whole feeling of wow this is new and exciting but we can’t!!! And the way she sings about being so drunk and calling for the other one, reminds me of them. I can see Felicity showing up at Arthur’s after a few drinks and wanting to see him.
Alana x Sam
This one!!! Sam knows he screwed up and wants to get Alana back and is showing up at her office place, bringing her flowers and just wants to prove that he is going to be there for her.
“I would wait for ever and ever, broke your heart I’ll put it back together, I want you FOREVER AND EVER”
I could see Sam singing this to her in the kitchen, twirling her around and just smiling, hoping that things can go back to the way it was.
Bambi and Tommy
This song just reminds me of them walking up their hill, wishing they could spend more time together. Them going out on the town, spending time on Tommys farm, I can just see a montage of them with sunsets and laughing, him giving her a piggy back and running around the place, them dancing somewhere downtown.
The fact they definitely like each other but are scared to say it because they know it’s such a short time….ahhh “I scream for whatever it’s worth, I love you ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard HE LOOKS UP GRINNING LIKE A DEVIL, it’s new, the shape of your body it’s blue, it’s a feeling I got and it’s ooooooh it’s a cruel summer”
I love all of our pairings so much!!
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lewis-winters · 1 year
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Day 2: Impossible
part of my OC-tober 2022!
tw: internalized transphobia/queerphobia, a few slurs (one of which is reclaimed while one is used by a trans character as part of her internalized transphobia), period typical queerphobia, and mention of police brutality against queer folk in 1940s-60s.
Floyd left five minutes ago to get her a glass of water from the kitchen. He’s still there, currently, laughing up a storm with Babe, Nat’s glass still in his grip, his hand protectively covering the top out of reflex. Usually, Nat wouldn’t mind him taking his sweet time—he never does it quite enough, she thinks. Always bouncing back to her like an elastic band when he’s away for longer than he thinks is necessary, be it at home or here, visiting the Philly faction of their company. He deserves a little time with friends, at least. But in this very moment, she silently hopes Floyd would hurry the fuck up; Bill’s currently in the process of talking her ears off, and there’s only so much of it Nat can take before she takes a page out of Johnny’s book and does something asshole-ish. Like take the man’s crutch and hide it somewhere he can’t get it without help. Maybe the attic.
"I'm just sayin', Morse, if ya wanna get 'round Philly with no trouble, just get ol' Gonorrhea to escort ya and he'll keep ya safe."
Natalie scoffs. "If there's somethin' I don' wan' followin' me around anywhere, Sarge, it's gonorrhea," she says, tipping her head into her hand to hide the small groan of annoyance. How does Frannie deal with this day by day? He’s impossible. "And I told ya already: a girl like me draggin' 'round a man no matter who will definitely draw more attention than castin' it away."
"'Ey, wassat s'ppose to mean?" Bill grumbles. Though his original tone had carried along with it some humor, by now it's all gone. Replaced entirely by a concern that's got his brow all crumpled up in a scowl and his eyes all darkened with endless scenarios. Each one more sinister than the last. "Some bum givin' ya trouble?”
"Still amazes me that ya'll Philly boys always manage to answer ya'lls own dumbass questions with more dumbass questions," Nat marvels, shaking her head. "Nah, Sarge. Nothin' like that—not yet anyway. I’m a freak. I’m a girl with a cock, and I've heard enough stories o' fruits like me on the wrong side of a cop club or fists to know walkin' outside at any time o' day lookin’ like how I look—alone or no—jus’ ain't worth whatever it is ya out for."
"Yeesh, no wonder you'se all cooped up," Bill hisses, sympathetic, scowl digging in deeper. "Listen, Morse, I ain't the kind to get between a fella and his girl—"
"Unlikely. But go on."
"I'm gonna go ahead an' ignore the implications of that rude interruption," Bill huffs, though he does smile. Only a bit. Once he drops it, he's back to being serious. He continues; "Talbert's all worried 'bout ya. And whatever gots him worried gots all o' us worried, ya know?"
"Ugh," Nat groans, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Ya'll talkin' 'bout me behind my back now? Did Floyd put ya up to this?" Suddenly, the very long time he’s spending getting her a glass of water makes sense. The traitor.
Bill waves that off, though, determined to say his piece. "All I'm sayin' 's when Tab's all worried 'bout ya, then Arthur's all worried, and when Arthur's all worried—"
"I get it."
Bill shrugs, finally propping his crutches up next to the table to leave his hands free for his stump, that seems to be cramping. As he massages it, his mouth runs; “’M jus’ sayin’. It ain’t safe for you out there—”
Natalie scoffs. “’S why I stay inside—”
Bill cuts her off. “I know you’re scared,” he says, bluntly, shaking his head. “Hell, I’m scared too—Nixon an’ Winters ain’t the only ones keepin’ an eye out for ya. When somethin’ happens, people call me first, ya know. Not Winters. I mean, they’ll only do that if somethin’ ever happened t’ you or Tab, but I’ll still get that call, ya know? And I can’t shake the idea that one day, I’ll get a call, and it’ll be about you beaten bloody in some jail cell or. Or worse.”
He fixes her with one of those rare, grim expressions of his. The kind that comes with a chilling sort of clarity that looks too out of place on his face after years of housing nothing but a passing shadow of confusion and instant dismissal for her every time they so much as met each other’s gaze across the mess hall or in the middle of maneuvers. Now, he’s looking again, letting it be known that he can see her, and Nat can’t fathom it. This being seen so thoroughly by Bill Guarnere.
There was a point in time where she wanted nothing to do with him, convinced that he was one of those men who wouldn’t hesitate to put a fist through her face the second he found out what she really was. A part of her, the frightened part that runs on the fumes of anxiety, still thinks he is. But he’s proven himself a good man. Though he still has the tendency to stick his foot in his mouth, he’s still trying. That’s more than she’s ever asked from him.
She owes him some honesty. “Or worse,” Nat echoes, turning away to look at the ground. The curtains. The kitchen, where Floyd is still laughing, so handsome and so kind and so loving and so stupid, devoted to a tranny who could do nothing but bring ruin to his good name. Nat swallows, hard. “You know why I stay inside.”
“I know,” Bill says, so gentle. Nat doesn’t think he’s ever heard him so gentle; it makes something in the corners of her eyes grow warm. “It’s not safe for ya. But Natalie—” she turns to him, surprised. He smiles at her; “let us make it safe. We can do that for ya, ya know? You’re one of us, still. A sister. Ain’t it a brothers’ job to take care of their sister?”
A beat. “You,” Nat begins with a rasp. “You called me Natalie.”
“That’s your name, ain’t it?” Bill laughs, not unkindly. “Natalie.”
“It is,” she replies, for lack of anything else to say. Then, she does something she never thought she’d do for Bill Guarnere. She smiles. “You just want us to move to Philly, don’tcha?”
“C-Can’t fault a man for tryin’,” Bill blinks, his smile slipping for just a fraction before coming back in full force. “Did Frannie tell ya there’s an apartment—”
“You’ll have to fight Nix for custody.”
“He’ll give ya away for a crate of Vat 69.”
“The man’s tryna get sober.”
“A bottle, then. And a pack o’ luckies.”
“Ya know what?” Nat says, brightly. “That might actually work.”
Then, she laughs, and Bill can no longer hide his surprise—he’s never heard her laugh at any of his jokes, before.
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