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readngandweepng · 2 months ago

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talking about ftm (high honor) arthur going through a pregnancy !!

some nsfw included but this is 90% sfw so still, minors dni. warning for lots of pregnancy talk and afab language. no pronouns for (top) reader mentioned. i’m not educated on pregnancy so bear with me on this. tbh this isn’t that interesting of a read, but i randomly started fixating on the topic of pregnancy and really wanted to do this. kind of long, only half proofread because i like to live with blissful ignorance.

btw the plot isn't really that fleshed out lol kind of due to it being formatted like a diary? but just imagine this in an alternative timeline where the gang is a lot more settled down. this is also entirely fluffy shit because i hate angst sorry,,,

i feel like arthur would be such a child magnet. completely against his will, town kids will flock to him and ask to see him shoot his gun or let them ride his horse. he’d return to camp with braids in his hair and crumpled flowers among weeds stuffed into his pockets. he’d be giving his silent blessings to abigail everyday realizing this probably isn’t even half of what she goes through everyday taking care of not only jack, but her own husband. arthur can’t blame you for the way you have to hide your laughter at the sight of him. he can’t catch a break, not only does he have to deal with the man-children at camp but he also has the admiration of kids he passes by occasionally in town who now have his face and horse memorized to the point where they’re waiting for him by store entrances. even more so than the bounty hunters, he thinks.

eventually they grow on him and he stops grumbling every time they stop him to ask to get piggybacked. and eventually, arthur starts to wonder just what it would be like to have a child with you—it’s a thought he brushes off just as fast as it came, but he can’t just brush away the dreams he has. soon, he starts thinking of hypothetical names; he meets a luther, sam, olivia, alexander, josephine. every person that introduces themselves, he stores them in the back of his head, just in case. because what if you had a daughter named dorothy? what if you had a son named jasper? would you name your children after charles, javier, mary-beth? it makes his heart ache thinking about it, but once the thoughts come flowing in they don’t stop. would your children have his eyes or yours? would they have curly hair or straight? would they have your smile? he hopes to god they do. he becomes so busy mulling over these things it gets you worried, wondering if something was wrong, if he was thinking of bad things. his face flushes beneath his hat when you ask and it quells your concerns. he can’t tell you what he’s thinking of though. honestly, he probably wasn’t even aware just how much he had on his mind. you leave him be, but your concern only makes his thoughts worse because it reminds him of how kind and attentive you are. he thinks about how good of a parent you would be and how good you’d be to him.

he’s thought of pregnancy before, but it felt almost mythical—in what world would an outlaw like arthur morgan have a child? if you’d raised the idea to someone like sean or john, they’d surely laugh in your face, probably spitting out their beer in the process. however charles and hosea, they’d entertain it; encourage it even, under certain circumstances. of course he wonders what kind of father he’d be. in his mind he’d certainly be a deadbeat, something akin to his father perhaps, and with the kind of life he lives how could he be so selfish to even entertain the thought? it hurts his heart in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. he thinks about the weight that lifts from his shoulders when he’s with you. he’s spent so much of his life being loyal to someone who even he knows doesn't completely deserve it. he sometimes feels unworthy of having a better life for himself, but letting you wiggle your way into his heart gives him the courage to move forward and take the opportunity to finally do something good for himself, because maybe, just maybe arthur morgan does deserve something nice. so he brings up the whole, having a kid thing.

of course arthur isn’t going to just straight up ask you, he’s going to beat around the bush a little. it’s an incredibly difficult thing for him to articulate, so he just sort of goes like, ‘you ever think about what it’s like being a parent?’ and maybe you start talking about john and his less than ideal role as a father and the work abigail puts in to take care of both jack and john, and even half the camp if you’re being honest. and then eventually after some foot tapping he asks if you would ever want children someday. he doesn’t specify whether with him or not, but the implication hangs in the air. you shrug with a simple ‘maybe’ as your answer before flipping the question onto him. he tilts his head down to hide his face with his hat as he tries to find his words. it’s endearing how shy he can get with conversations like these, and his reaction proves he’s been pondering the question a while already. you’d have to reassure him as gently as you can manage for a man like arthur. “with you, i’d do anything.” it would make his heart swell. tears would prick at his eyes but he’d be happy. and for once, hopeful.

there’s a chance you’re probably not going to tell anyone at camp just yet. at least not until you have no other choice where it’s completely unavoidable to talk about the bump arthur would be bearing. this would be a private affair between you and arthur, which is almost humorous to say considering what the hell even is a private life at camp with people like sean and uncle loitering around looking for gossip to drink to? he won’t ask for a night in a hotel but he also won’t be opposed to the offer. he’ll get embarrassed if you try to be too romantic with him but he does appreciate the gesture(s). even though it’s not your first time together he’ll be acting like it is. suddenly his body feels hot at the softest touches, your lips on his neck make him feel like he’s melting. it all starts to feel extremely real to him. arthur, with some convincing, will sit back and let you take care of him as you slowly open him up with your fingers and tongue. he’ll be cursing under his breath the whole time, barely even being able to look down at you without his entire face blossoming red. he’ll flutter around your fingers when you tell him how handsome he is, but arthur will have to kiss you to shut you up when you start talking about how pretty he’s gonna look pregnant.

when your cock slides into him he has to hide his face in your neck because he can hardly take it. his heart is racing and his palms become clammy but he doesn’t want you to stop. you go slow, making sure to bury your cock deep into him with every thrust. it’s not entirely different from your normal sex with arthur, however this time you do feel a different sense of urgency and desperation. his pussy sucks your cock back in every time you pull away with such ease, as if his body knows you plan on impregnating him. arthur’s legs shake beneath you but he denies that it’s from the nerves, until he double backs and tries to say, well, maybe it is because of the nerves so that he doesn’t have to admit his legs are shaking because your cock is hitting him so deep that he feels like he’s going to cry from how good it feels.

arthur’s perfect for this sort of thing. he’s so obedient about laying down and staying still so that you can fuck him. he doesn’t ask you to go faster or to slow down, he just keeps his legs open and takes your cock, which is why you know that regardless of whether or not he gets pregnant the first time around, he definitely will eventually. you fit so well inside him that a part of you wonders if he’s hoping he won’t get pregnant just so you can fuck him like this again. arthur quickly gets very blissed out. his moans become sweeter and he’s much more complacent, easily responding to questions he’d previously be too shy to answer; as his orgasm builds so does his confidence. his legs wrap around your waist and he looks you in the eye as he bucks his hips into your thrusts. when you tell him you’re close he kisses you, encouraging you to cum inside him. you grab his hips with one last thrust, burying yourself deep before you cum. arthur holds onto your wrists as he gently rocks up into you, his orgasm following. he’s out of breath and his legs are even more shaky as he slumps against the bed. you don’t pull out. the both of you stare at each other before you exchange one more kiss, one much longer and candid. you gently lay down atop him and he wraps his arms around you as you feather kisses to his neck. his body is still flush with shades of pink and red but you keep the thought to yourself. after a minute or two you ask how he’s feeling and by now he’s back to his usual self, keeping his eyes down as he answers you. for a second he insists you stay inside, but with a little convincing he allows you to pull out. he tries not to look, but he can’t help himself; your cock is shiny with fluid and he can feel you twitch inside him one last time, and then he’s empty, aside from your cum that keeps him feeling warm and full. you lay down beside him and instinctively you rest your hand on his stomach. the action has arthur shooing you away with a bashful look but he does the same. he surveys his stomach, and you can see just by looking at his face what it is he’s picturing.

a week later you and arthur have sex again. it’s at camp this time, in the comfort of your shared tent. he’s laid down on his stomach as you lift his hips up to fuck him. he takes you effortlessly, only occasionally having to keep his face to his cot to drown out a stray moan or two. before you finish you pull his hips up just a little bit higher, making sure you’re nestled as deep as you can go before spilling into him. the feeling of your cock pulsing against his walls makes arthur cum. his pussy convulses around you, making sure it squeezes out every drop. you both collapse back onto the cot as you pull out and roll off him to rest at his side. arthur immediately relaxes into the blankets when you softly drag your fingers down his back. his eyes open to look at you as he swallows, “think it’ll, y’know—work?” you swipe away the loose strands of hair that fall in front of his face and give a reassuring smile. “i hope so.” is your response, and it soothes him.

about 2 weeks later arthur comes up to you talking about a nauseating headache. he’d just got back from a trip into town and you could see from the way he’d been clasping his forehead on the way down from his horse that he’d been hurting for some time. you fetch him a cup of water as you sit him down on your cot, planting a gentle kiss on his temple as he takes slow sips from the cup. “have you been hurting anywhere else?” he shakes his head no. you ask him if you can write something down in his journal and he flips to a blank page before handing it to you along with his pencil. you mark down his headache at the top. it’s not confirmed whether he’s actually pregnant or not, you both know this, but you make note of it anyway. unbeknownst to you, as arthur reads what you’ve written his heart skips with every letter. he feels an almost childlike excitement at the thought of filling the page with symptoms of his (hopefully) developing pregnancy. you ask him if he’ll be okay, and he tells you yeah, he will be. arthur says it with such confidence it alarms you momentarily but the giddy smile on his face cuts your words of concern short. his headache is gone by the time pearson calls for dinner.

arthur doesn’t bring up the fact you’ve begun to hover over his shoulder the next few days. he hasn’t experienced any further symptoms since the headache and he can tell it’s driving you a little crazy. you try not to make it obvious when you ask him if he’s been feeling ‘different’ but he can see through it right away. admittedly, you may be getting a little too overbearing about things; for god’s sake he’s not even showing yet, he doesn’t need to sit down after lifting one damn hay bail. your attempts at beating around the bush have caused some eyebrows to raise at camp. arthur will remind you a lot that he’s perfectly fine and that he can take care of himself. he doesn’t need people poking and prodding at him on top of you stressing out to the point of not even letting him get up on his own horse alone. he appreciates the gestures, of course not admitting that he finds your concern endearing, but he also is his own man who needs some space every now and then. you respect his wishes and (try to) lay off the mothering.

the 4th week rolls in and arthur starts to experience some body aches. he wakes up some mornings and his hips and shoulders hurt like he slept on a boulder, which unfortunately dampens his mood for the rest of the day. you once reminded him a little too happily to write it down in his journal and he gave you a look so hauntingly sour you didn’t say another word to him for the next six hours out of fear. however you started offering massages to him that he gladly took after long days. one of these massages led into sensual heavy petting that resulted in you and arthur having sex almost three times in one night, where the next morning he woke up with a throbbing headache (which you wrote in his journal when he wasn’t looking). arthur had occasionally reminded you that his pregnancy wasn’t yet set in stone. despite his eagerness to become pregnant, he’d developed a habit of denial to protect himself from the disappointment of possible failure. however at the end of the week, abigail came up to him sipping a cup of coffee, another cup in her other hand, still in her night clothes. she handed him the full cup that he took with a quiet thanks. they stood in silence for a moment before abigail asked him if he’d been feeling alright. “just.. you need somethin’, don’t be afraid to ask, okay?” arthur tells you about the conversation and it makes you smile. he reminds you not to get your hopes up but the both of you know that by this point it’s a little too late for that.

a day into the 6th week and arthur throws up. he’d been making his way over to the stew pot for a bowl of dinner and the smell stopped him dead in his tracks. he stepped off behind some trees, vomited, and went to bed hungry. in the morning you brought up the idea of breakfast which unfortunately triggered another wave of nausea. you gave him some water to take sips from and let him have an hour before offering up an oatcake. he rejected it but didn’t vomit at the thought, so you urged him to have a bite or two to at least get some food in his belly. though reluctant, he ends up eating two oatcakes and on top of that stomachs a cup of coffee and eats a can of peaches you’d recently bought for dinner. the waves of nausea end up continuing on and off the rest of the week, resulting in a lack of appetite. he has to go to bed early because he can’t stand the smell of pearson’s stew. last night of the week you hold him against you, being sure to gently rub his stomach in slow circles. you place a kiss on his neck as your hand on his stomach stills. “so.. maybe?” your voice is quiet. he turns his head to kiss you on the lips. “maybe.”

by the end of the 7th week, arthur has told you about chest soreness and muscle cramps. he says they’re not so bad, but it’s the nausea that keeps a hold of arthur. he’s thrown up almost every morning and it’s starting to grab the attention of others at camp. you and arthur have felt abigail’s eyes on you for days now but by now you’ve gotten used to it. however a new face appears one late morning. “sit down a minute.” it’s hosea who ushers you over to one of the empty tables where he sits with a newspaper in hand. “how have you been?” you tell him you’ve been fine. he hums. hosea’s face almost looks sculpted in the early sun. “and arthur?” you hesitate a second. he’s been fine. you look away from hosea’s stone-cold gaze. he sighs. hosea tells you a little story, something about him and bessie. he tells you how bessie had always wanted children but due to his lifestyle they decided not to have any. “we already had john and arthur.” you nod. you definitely understand that. he’s quiet for a moment. “it was like looking in a mirror,” he turns in his seat. “seeing you and arthur.” you stare at him. there’s a melancholic look in his eyes, but there’s also wisdom and gratitude, one you have grown to respect and admire. later in the day you see arthur grab himself a cup of water. going up to him you remind him to take small sips which he stubbornly abides. you don’t tell him about your conversation with hosea, at least not until arthur tells you about his own. though neither of you are surprised by hosea’s spot-on observations, you are surprised by the lack of lecturing. apparently hosea had told arthur something about the strength of parenting and the importance of children to our future. arthur’s retelling is unenthusiastic, but you can tell hosea’s words won’t be forgotten despite arthur not really getting it. you go to bed after having dinner. you bought an apple just for arthur but he didn’t have the energy to bite into it so you sliced it up and, to his chagrin, hand-fed it to him and chased it down with some crackers. before settling down to sleep you flip open arthur’s journal and write down his pains and nausea. he’s asleep by the time you finish.

week 8 and arthur’s nausea hasn’t gotten any better. he now wakes up an hour earlier than he usually does. it’s a schedule you’re still getting used to, but you’re motivated by your new ritual of hunting rabbits just to make a meal out of it for arthur. at the moment rabbit is the one meat he can stand to eat without getting sick, and he seems to have developed a strong liking for peaches of which you’re sure to pop a can open for arthur to eat on the side. he hasn’t been eating as much as he used to, but thankfully you don’t seem to notice any weight loss as of yet. your eyes are on him like a hawk the second he takes his shirt off to change, which embarrasses your lover to no end. arthur told you he’s convinced you would notice if a single freckle on his body disappeared and you don’t deny the statement. you tell arthur to write down what he eats and what foods he can think of without feeling sick. by the end of the week, he doesn’t write down much besides peaches, rabbit, strawberries, almonds. so at least there’s something new. you spend the first day of the ninth week in valentine, popping into saloons and bribing the bartenders in letting you pay for a pound or two of almonds. you return to camp and make arthur a meal that he delightfully scarfs down before asking for another plate. that night arthur gets a little restless and you two have sex, however the morning after arthur gets so nauseous even dutch told him to take the day off to rest.

throughout the 9th and the start of the 10th week, you could see slight visible changes to arthur. one morning you’d woken up an hour later than him. you could see him hanging around the fire as he spoke to john, both of them sipping on a cup of coffee. you made your way over to them, and right when john turned to leave your eyes immediately darted down to arthur’s clothed chest. “what?” he asks, prickling under your gaze. for a second you couldn’t pinpoint what it was until it hit you. “your breasts got bigger,” arthur is dumbfounded as he hushes you down. “what the hell are you talking about?” your hands awkwardly fan out towards arthur but he just clicks his tongue and lightly shoves you. “don’t say them things,” he doesn’t have a hat on so he turns away to hide the color on his face. as he’s about to walk away you tell him to write it down and he damn near throws the coffee in your face. the rest of the week he still mentions some soreness in his chest (where he also curtly declined your offer for a massage..) and more hip pain. he also said he’d been a lot more tired lately. you told him to take it easy and rest early, which he normally would have declined, however the second he laid down he slept through the rest of the day and woke up to scarf down another rabbit and peach meal.

the 11th week moves forward and arthur starts to wake up a little more tired than usual. abigail has begun stopping by your tent occasionally with a cup of tea. “it’ll help,” is all she says. he says the tea tastes like ashes and dirt but he drinks it anyway and the lingering soreness of his body slowly dissipates like water trickling from a spilt canteen. one early morning you wake up at the same time as arthur. it’s before abigail comes around to give him some tea so you help him unbutton his shirt to ease some of his muscle cramps. upon doing so your gaze fixates on his stomach. you maneuver yourself behind arthur, wrapping your arms around him. he asks you what you’re doing and you just settle your palm on his stomach. “arthur..” you attempt to whisper but you can barely contain your excitement. “you’re starting to show!” he looks down at himself in amusement. “looks the same to me,” your palm cups the faint bump. “i swear it’s different—” he bats your hand away. “it ain’t!” but he’s got a warm smile on his face as he looks back at you. you offer to make him a meal but he sighs at the suggestion and asks if you happen to have fresh peaches on you. unfortunately you don’t, so you spend the next hour buying fresh peaches for him. he ends up eating about two a day and has to carry a full canteen with him due to his increase in thirst. after downing lots of water, he’s able to work up the energy to do chores around camp. once or twice he’s stopped by micah or bill so they can badger him about not doing any work but hosea is quick to put a stop to it. you’ll have to help convince arthur to take it easy because he hates feeling useless, although he doesn’t want any small, measly tasks handed to him either. take him with you to town and arthur’s mood will lift. also, give him the opportunity to pick something out to eat and he’ll take home a little bag of treats of which he ends up savoring for so long that sean somehow sniffs them out and eats the last one.

the 12th week you go hunting with arthur for slightly bigger game. arthur still hasn’t eaten any other meat besides rabbit, but you’re hopeful that you can maybe get something more in his diet. you’d originally planned on getting turkey but arthur insisted on deer so you decided to get both. by the time you’ve hunted and killed a deer as well as two turkeys, you’re far enough away from camp that you decide to set up a tent and camp out for the night. arthur’s already gnawing on a hunk of venison the second he gets it cooked but you still take out a peach from your satchel and slice it into pieces so you can occasionally hand him a slice. unfortunately he can’t finish the venison before he has to get up and vomit so instead you let him eat the rest of the peach and grab some leftover rabbit from your bag to cook. despite the slight nausea, arthur tells you he’s fine. you both talk for a while before you go to bed. you hold him close to you, covering him in a warm blanket. he can feel you smiling against his skin but decides not to say anything. he clasps your hands together and falls asleep, only waking up once or two to down a few gulps of water.

the 13th week dutch has you and arthur meet him at his tent where he sits with a book in hand. he rolls off some evelyn miller excerpt before closing the book and urging the both of you closer. “now, i want the two of you to understand that we are family. alright?” it’s nothing he hasn’t said before, but his words sound almost solemn with care. he goes on about sticking together and working to sustain the life that we worked for! he looks between you as he says this, looking into your eyes but not really making the mental contact. it’s all sort of nonsense, something arthur is definitely used to by now. still, the conversation brings relief. it means that one, dutch knows arthur is pregnant which is most likely hosea’s doing (who you pray to god gave a convincing argument to settle any concerns of dutch) and two, you and arthur’s child will have a home. you’re positive abigail is ready with her arms open to assist with whatever is to come, and with hosea’s support you at least have two, if not three when you count dutch, people who are willing to help raise a child, especially arthur’s. you two share a look when dutch dismisses you, but you don’t get a moment to talk before grimshaw is in front of you, her foot already tapping with irritation, though she greets you politely nonetheless. just the woman you wanted to avoid. she’s sporting her typical who do i gotta yell at to get any work done around here? look, however she doesn’t yell or sneer, she simply asks, “how have you been keeping?” the question is directed towards arthur who nods his head with a ‘just fine, miss grimshaw’. she purses her lips. “i see you’ve been busy.” your heads drop as you shuffle in place; you should have known it’d be arthur who got the heat. you open your mouth to speak but she cuts you off with a dismissive hand wave and a little scoff. “though i rather we had discussed this beforehand, what’s done is done—you won’t be leaving camp any time soon, mister morgan, not until that baby comes out. there’s still plenty of work that needs to be done ‘round camp.” it’s not what you expected to hear but you’re grateful nonetheless. you can’t argue further so you walk arthur back to your tent and gesture for him to sit down. no doubt the news will reach the rest of camp soon but it’s expected. at the very least arthur will have things to do while he’s forced to listen to people blathering nonsense in his ears all day.

14th week and you finally convince arthur to speak to strauss. you dislike the man as much as he does—if not more—but your concern for arthur’s health outweighs your disdain. you’d originally suggested a doctor in saint denis but the distance is what concerned you, figuring it’d be better to wait until arthur’s nausea was at its lowest before taking the risk, among many other things. so instead you kiss arthur goodbye as he makes his way over to strauss’ tent while you get on your horse and ride out of camp to find supplies you might need for the baby. now, you weren’t entirely sure what you were looking for, or what you were supposed to be looking for, but you waltzed into rhodes’ general store with confidence anyway. it’s the same as it always is, supplying the few things you usually get, however this time your attention is caught by the dolls that sit in the centerpiece. is it too early to buy something like that? what if your child doesn’t even like dolls? would they even have time to play with them? you move on. the cashier greets you, gesturing to the catalog of which you flip open. after going through the pages, among the cigarettes, soap, and ammunition, you find a few products that catch your eye; baby powder, more soap, blankets, clothes—not a lot, but some. the advertisements were foreign; you’re only just now realizing your lack of knowledge on child care. oops. as you scan the page(s) you hear the cashier retort some comment you ignore. what the hell is soothing syrup? you close the catalog. you decide not to make any decisions yet, at least not now—you’ll bring abigail with you next time—however you don’t leave the store empty handed; you cave, buying one of the dolls, one with a blue dress and dark, empty eyes. you figure you might give it to jack, see if he likes it. maybe him and your child will share toys and play together? feeling disappointed with just a doll in your satchel, you take the next few hours touring the tailors in saint denis. there wasn’t anything too interesting, only a small section for children’s clothes that didn’t offer much at all for a baby, but the experience was insightful nonetheless. on the way home, out of pure desperation you ransack an abandoned cabin. it was small, most likely only homing one or two adults. inside you find some blankets that you fold into your satchel, and sitting beside a rundown armchair, you spot a woven basket filled with yarn and fabric. the sight suddenly makes you feel guilty for taking it, as if there was anyone present to mourn its loss. you take it anyway, keeping it held close in front of you as you ride back home. the sun has begun to set, and arriving into camp you’re greeted by the smell of fresh stew. you make your way to your tent as subtle as you can with a basket in hand, and within it is arthur who’s nursing a bowl of stew. his mouth is full so your question comes first. apparently pearson decided on rabbit as tonight’s main course, as well as tomorrow’s. with a grateful smile, you gently set the basket down and greet your lover properly.

15th week and you’ve gotten swamped with work. you’ve begun fulfilling arthur’s jobs on top of yours and damn is it exhausting. you don’t dare complain though, not with arthur around else he’ll jump to his feet and tire himself out, so you power through it. you knew that arthur’s role around camp was a significant one, but you weren’t expecting so many people asking you for things; train robberies, got that easy. stage coach, even easier. possible money stashed away in a fancy suite in saint denis, sure, whatever. but then you have the girls asking you for things, simple stuff like jewelry or things they’ve lost, things with barely anything to go off of. and then there’s micah who’s deliberately sending you on wild goose chases just because he knows that you’ll do it, basking in your blind obedience with beastly perversion. right now on your metaphorical list you need to find oleander, a pocket watch, a pen or two (one hopefully with red ink and one with black, of course) several books, some type of yellow flower (god knows what) some spices, thyme, and then pearson needs you on hunting duty for fish and venison and everything and you’ve only just gotten a sliver of what arthur has to deal with in his day to day life and though you’re happy you’ve taken this weight off of his shoulders you are overwhelmed. you hardly get to see arthur with his new sleep schedule and your now packed one, but some mornings he’ll drink a little more coffee than usual just so he’ll stay awake long enough to kiss you goodnight and fall asleep with you holding him.

the beginning of the 16th week you almost get yourself shot trying to rob a stagecoach with bill, and somehow arthur could tell despite you not saying a word about it. ironically, the most difficult part of taking arthur’s load of work is trying to convince him not to intervene. his nausea has started to subside, but he’s still on a lackluster diet. you’ve tried sneaking in protein packed meat alongside the rabbit but his pregnancy seems to have granted him a laser-eyed tongue that can detect the slightest discrepancies. strauss had suggested possible foods to keep arthur upright and make sure he doesn’t become underweight, but he’s hardly touched anything you’ve given him besides the rabbit and peaches and almonds. which is why it’s almost a miracle when arthur starts craving something he didn’t used to care much for: violet snowdrop. you asked him if he’s ever even eaten some before and he just shrugs. no, it doesn’t exactly make for the most hardy meal ever, or like, really make a meal at all, but it’s something new and that’s good enough for you. you get on track right away, riding out to annesburg and picking as many as you can find. arthur eats it up like he hasn’t eaten in days, using it as an extra flair to his rabbit. the girls come by occasionally, offering different herbs and fruits that arthur might take a liking to. you’ve learned that (at least during his pergnancy) arthur HATES pineapple. just looking at a can of it makes him double over, so you keep stocking up on the fresh peaches and almonds. on one of your tracks to find a stagecoach, you came across a small farm, one that harbored a single bush of strawberries among their crops. it lights a fire in you, and you make sure that its owner(s) don’t spot you as you pick the few full-grown ones and wrap them in a piece of fabric within your satchel. again, not the most fulfilling food ever, but it’s something new, and anything that arthur will eat is something you’ll protect like glass. when you bring them out to him, he visibly lights up. there weren’t a lot on the one bush, but arthur is satisfied anyway. after he eats you retreat to your tent and sit down with him. he sighs when he sits, immediately leaning his full weight onto you. you can see the faint outline of his bump beneath his vest and it fills you with pride. you unbutton it and pull his shirt up just enough to show his stomach. you can’t stop smiling and it makes arthur bashful at the attention, but he instinctively puts his hand on his bump, most likely feeling as happy as you are in the grand scheme of things.

throughout the 17th and 18th week, mary-beth and tilly have come by your tent to check up on things. you can tell they’re excited, if not nosy, about the baby. mary-beth goes on about how romantic it is to raise a child with the person you love and tilly keeps asking about baby names. they’ve offered their ideas—most of them being names you’re certain are straight out of their fantasy books—and even their own names more so as a joke, though you’re not opposed to either tilly or mary-beth as a girl’s name. sean joins this as well, and every week or so he likes to remind you and arthur about how heroic the name sean would be for a baby boy. their investment is sweet and relieving, especially grimshaw’s when she bounds her way into a conversation however arthur doesn’t seem too happy about having to be reminded to wash up every day and drink as much water as he can handle. you’ve gotten your fair share of scolding although you can’t help but feel grimshaw is just going a little bit easy on you due to your hard work around camp if her screaming at uncle and reverend lazing about is any indication. she certainly is keeping the others in line, shooing away sean and the girls and anyone who tries badgering you within her sight. thankfully, no one’s been too pissy about it. you get an occasional comment from bill about giving us another mouth to feed but the malice dies down after a while and he starts to hang around like he’s invested in a story and is waiting for what happens at the end, along with kieran; you can feel his eyes on you when you’re with arthur, like he wants to be included and ask what’s up but fears rejection. you and arthur have deliberately not made any public announcements, instead resorting to let the news carry around naturally. it’s hard to keep things on the downlow when mary-beth is swooning at the thought of you taking care of arthur, and especially difficult when a drunk sean is going around offering to be the next one bed-ridden just so he can get out of doing chores like arthur. you suspect javier knows because he insists on singing specific songs while arthur is sitting by the fire, like he wants your baby to memorize them—and who knows, maybe your child will develop a love for music, become a pianist in a saloon, something like that (anything but an outlaw). regardless, things around camp are strangely serene, not as hectic as it may have been months before, and you can’t help but wonder if arthur’s pregnancy has somehow created a new environment, one more domestic and hopeful. sure, you get the occasional covetous looks from molly, or a passing comment from uncle and micah, but it’s nothing real. there’s something different being lifted into the air, something the gang hasn’t felt since blackwater. the future feels bright, and with the good word from strauss about arthur’s health, you’re no longer afraid, but at home.

the 20th week you return to camp after a short (and slightly uneventful) stagecoach robbery to see arthur being swamped with attention by the girls. now that arthur’s bump is starting to become noticeable even under his usual attire, he can’t avoid the excited squealing every time he’s in line of sight of either mary-beth or tilly. he could deal with just them two, but now he’s even got karen standing over his shoulder insisting he lets her put a hand on his stomach to see if there’s really something in there; her words, not yours. it’s a sweet sight, even when arthur harbors a look that would put an o’driscoll to their knees; the girls are unaffected, much to his dismay. when you get closer you can hear mary-beth going on about how something is ‘just like in the fairytales!’ you can’t imagine what arthur has had to put up with while you were gone, but at least you don’t have to worry about your child growing up with a lack of attention if the sight of karen holding arthur’s bump and urging the other girl’s forward to feel doesn’t prove it. upon seeing you, arthur heaves a sigh of what looks like both relief and frustration (probably because you’re just watching this all happen and not doin’ anything about it). tilly and mary-beth retreat back to their original positions as they greet you with a frivolous tone. “go on, girls. arthur—and the baby—need some space.” they walk back to their stations, and a comment from karen seems to cause the other two to burst into giggles. you can tell arthur’s exhausted so you lead him back to your shared tent. next to the woven basket you found, you see a small folded blanket. with flushed cheeks arthur tells you the girls made it. “you know, for the baby.” he says nothing else to you as he pulls his journal out, most likely to write about his day. it makes you feel a bit giddy. not that you weren’t interested in the life that is held within his journal, but the thought of you and your unborn child being on his mind and possibly recorded on the thin pages is a feeling you’ll be happy getting used to.

for the rest of the 21st week, it’s all chatter among the camp. there’s barely a moment of silence aside from when everyone’s asleep. arthur’s developed a habit of putting his hand on his stomach every time he sits down or gets up that almost always raises a comment he has to brush off with rosy cheeks. you can tell things are livelier—molly and dutch haven’t been fighting, abigail and john are spending more time together, even reverend, of all people, has stopped asking for money. people are drinking in celebration (precisely sean and uncle) who thankfully have been less obnoxious than usual aside from sean’s occasional ribbing, “o’l morgan’s got himself knocked up, did he?” yet, with a bottle in hand, he welcomes the two of you over to a table anyway and doesn’t mention it further. dutch seems to be in high spirits, laying it low on the planning and scheming and letting everyone catch a break. you haven’t left arthur’s side in days, your mother-henning even making abigail shake her head in amusement. a lot of camp members have to talk you into giving arthur space, grimshaw and hosea especially. sadie comes up to you occasionally with warmth in her eyes and praise on her tongue. despite her disinterest in children, she offers to find supplies in your place to allow you time with arthur. your heart fights its love for arthur and concern for sadie, but she gives you no choice in the end. at the moment, you are surrounded by friends and family. arthur keeps trying to turn mary-beth and tilly’s attention to you instead of his ever-growing stomach (from what you can make out they’re trying to guess whether the baby will be a girl or not) until hosea makes a short toast that shoos them away once more. the lack of quarreling makes being at camp relaxing, not only for the overworked (and cain, whose arrival makes bill and jack lively once more) but especially for your poor lover. his body aches strike back like lightning, but for once he can sleep without feeling like there’s work he needs to do and people he needs to help.

week 22 and arthur’s pains start to flare up again. he wakes up with it in his hips, shooting up to his back and down to his ankles. they seem to be worse than they first were, judging by the amount of time he spends lying in the same position, trying to stay still so as to not irritate it. you can only assume it’s helping to ease the pain, because arthur refuses to expand on it, most likely to keep you from worrying. unfortunately, it only worries you more. you practically throw strauss out of bed in furious concern, but he says the pains are normal and hold no real threat. you retreat back to arthur to hold him in your arms, smoothing your hand over his hips and thighs to try and massage the pain away. he hums, melting before your touch. you strike up a conversation in hopes it might distract from the aches. you first ask him if he’s hungry, and though he says yes, he doesn’t let you get up from your spot which you hope means that what you’re doing is helping. after a pause, you ask him how he’s feeling about the pregnancy. there’s a bit of back and forth as he tries to change the subject to you, but eventually he starts answering. he’s got his doubts and fears, but overall he’s happy. he’s satisfied, or at least the closest he’ll ever get to it. he’s unsure of himself, but one thing he knows is that he loves you, and he loves his child. his child, the baby. his chuckle is sardonic. you still haven’t picked a name yet. you’re not sure when you’ll settle for one, or if you’ve even put enough thought into it with all that’s been going on. you make a joke about naming them after dutch or molly and he elbows you with a smile. now, hosea isn’t the worst option. neither is charles or susan, or even abigail. sadie, too. arthur thinks of john, though he knows if he named his child after him he’d never hear the end of it. regardless, he reminds himself to write them all down in his journal later. you suggest a name or two, just ones you’ve heard in passing that you thought were interesting. he doesn’t say much as he ponders them, but his hand goes to his stomach as if he were trying to imagine it. his body has stopped aching for the time being, though despite the crick that has now formed in his neck he turns over to kiss you. your massaging of his hips and thighs turn into playful squeezing as you kiss his neck. the two of you mutually decide to spend your morning in bed until either dutch or grimshaw calls your name to get the day moving and the work started.

the start of the 24th week, arthur and you are eating breakfast together, away from the main campfire and away from the noise and smells. he’s eating strawberries that charles had found on his way back from a hunting trip. arthur finishes eating and wipes his hands on his jeans before he makes a surprised uhf! sound that has him staring you down with a tell anyone about that and it’s over for you kind of look on his face. you ask him what’s wrong and he tells you something about cramps in his stomach. you must have looked worried sick because he immediately adds that it’s not painful, just weird, like there’s a fish flopping around in his stomach. his description has you putting your hand on his forehead that he swats away like he would a mosquito. he means that it feels like there’s something moving—like the baby? a soft silence falls between you as you put your hand on his stomach. you feel nothing. he clicks his tongue, you ain’t feel it just yet because that’s what abigail had said. you smile anyway, and he shakes his head with a little laugh. you keep your hand in place as you admire him. he becomes bashful under your gaze but doesn’t stop you. you only pull away when you hear the crunching of dirt behind you as javier calls the both of you over to join the others in some early-morning bickering.

funnily enough, it’s not until the 26th week that jack finally learns about arthur’s pregnancy. “i thought you were just fat, uncle arthur!” an ego-killer for sure, as innocent as it was. abigail hushes him the same way she hushes john who you can only guess learns the news about the same time as his son, silently questioning arthur with a look that practically screams wait, you’re pregnant? though it’s better not to talk about it, for john (and abigail’s) sake. your break gifted by dutch is nearing the last of its days (or perhaps hours, depending on any bright ideas he comes up with) so you spend them with arthur and arthur alone. sadie and charles have done you wonders, charles going out to hunt and gather arthur’s current favorites and sadie robbing as many folk as she could find to spare you extra dollars, something you’d been afraid to attempt in concern for your possible absence to arthur and your baby. she also found what looked like a doll made of fabrics and yarn; some threads had been pulled from its scalp of which sadie commented upon it looking like uncle. you don’t exactly disagree. arthur’s appetite has grown. he says it feels like he’s never getting full, being able to eat three plate-fulls of food and still be hungry for three more. this makes arthur feel extremely guilty, fearing that he’s eating food that could be used to feed someone who’s “truly” hungry. it’s difficult to knock arthur out of these thoughts, but bringing up the baby and how, in reality, it’s most likely the baby that’s hungry, he finds it a little easier to eat just one more peach. the herbs he craves aren’t filling enough, but charles gave you some advice on how to feed arthur something hardier while keeping the taste that he desires. you thought it’d never work, using a thick rub for the meat you cooked for him. you just assumed he’d notice right away and spit it out, but arthur’s intense hunger wins him over. thankfully, no one really makes any harsh comments on arthur’s eating habits aside from the typical jokes thrown from sean or john, or micah even. sometimes jack will see arthur holding one of his peaches and he’ll ask if he can have a bite and of course arthur just gives him the whole peach because he just can’t reject jack like that, not when his emotions are all over the place and he’s thinking about his future child asking him for a peach he’ll probably still have a shit ton of left over (though god knows after his pregnancy is over arthur is probably never going to want so see another damn peach again). jack ends up being a lot better company for arthur, asking him questions that are difficult enough to answer that arthur can swerve around them with ease, much to jack’s frustration. as arthur eats, he thinks of his baby, mostly of their name. and then he thinks of his mother, beatrice. beatrice ain’t too bad a name. arthur doesn’t say it, but from then on he’s silently rooting for his child to be a girl. maybe a girl would have a better chance of living a civilized, pain-free life, anything unlike his own. as long as they grow up to be as kind as mary-beth, strong like sadie and intelligent like charles or hosea, arthur will be happy. though he doesn’t view himself to be much of a father figure (lord knows he didn’t exactly have much to look up to) arthur promises to protect his child with all that he has until his very last breath. he doesn’t plan on making the same mistakes again.

the 28th week, hosea manages to convince you into taking arthur out of camp. you decide on strawberry, deeming the quaint town to be one of the safer options. there, the first thing you do is take arthur into the general store to buy him some clothes. he’s not far along to bust out of his clothes just yet but you want to make sure he’s got something comfortable for when the time comes. the shirts you buy him are a size or two too big, and though you get a glance or two from the shopkeeper as he watches you drape the large flannel over his body to see if it will ‘fit’, you leave the store pleased with your purchases. there aren’t exactly a large variety of things to do in strawberry which you are silently grateful for; boredom means safety. you and arthur walk through the town, stopping occasionally to give arthur a rest so that he can sketch some flowers and birds in his journal and whatever cat or dog passes by, giving them a pet and a scratch as they make their way through the road. after you tend to your horses, you rent out a room as well as a bath for arthur of which you keep watch outside the door (arthur insisted on washing up alone, much to your disappointment). you practically have your ear pressed against the door before arthur opens it to reveal that he was in fact, still in one piece. strawberry’s hotel was beautiful and homey. in your mind it perfectly encapsulated arthur due to its warmth and closure. in the amber lighting, arthur is like dripping honey, sweet and alluring. in fresh clothes and still somewhat damp from the bath, his body fills out the cream-colored shirt perfectly. the faint outline of his swollen breasts urges you forward and you spend the rest of the night in bed, snuggling into the warm blankets after a slow, passionate endeavor between the sheets. arthur’s out like a light in your arms, his soft breathing like a lullaby, but you don’t get much sleep, instead keeping your eyes on the door and your ears out for any danger. his grasp is comforting, like his presence alone could cure any ailment. your hand falls to his side, just slightly cupped beneath his stomach above his hip and you can feel the faintest thump against your hand and then one more before it’s gone. now you can blame your lack of sleep on the excitement you felt waiting for arthur to wake up to tell him the news.

around 30 weeks is when arthur’s pregnancy takes a small turn. he’s been anxious for the baby since the start, but he’s now suddenly gained this excitement that has his typical pains and nausea pushed away to make room for his new schedule. you return to your shared tent to hand arthur a cup of coffee when you see him cleaning down the tables and cups. some of the clutter had been organized, the pictures safe, pushed the farthest away from the edge as possible. the lantern you kept had the same treatment, unlit and unlikely to fall from the edge. the basket you’d found is tidied, clothed with a soft blanket ( that you assume had been freshly washed considering you vaguely remember seeing it hanging from the clothes line) and set atop a table that rests right next to your cot. the doll sadie brought you sits next to it, still ratty as ever. usually the canvas falls down for complete privacy, but arthur had pulled away one of the ends to keep the sunlight shining in. he always looked ethereal in the morning, as if the sun shone entirely for him. he’s so focused on wiping down every surface he can touch in the tent he doesn’t see you approaching. when he notices you, he doesn’t stop cleaning but he keeps his head down with a shy smile on his face as he greets you good morning. you ask him if grimshaw made him do all this but he shakes his head and tells you with a soft voice, “jus’ felt like it i suppose.” you know that arthur is riddled with anxiety, but his words are just so sweet that you want to hold him close and cry. afterwards, you end up taking the girls into town. you originally only planned for you and abigail to go, but tilly and karen claimed to be painfully bored so now it’s them three, mary-beth, and sadie all tagging along with you. abigail helps you look for baby supplies as the other girls pop into saloons, probably finding folk to rob blind. at some point sadie ends up in the shop with you after throwing some drunkard into an alleyway and leaving with his pocket watch. it feels oddly comforting, just being in town with your friends and shopping for things for your child. you only wished arthur were with you, but the sound of yelling paired with the sight of tilly slapping a man flat across his face right outside of the general store makes you grateful he’s not. thankfully the trip wasn’t for nothing. though you’re not completely prepared (mainly due to the limitations imposed upon you by the lack of baby-prep valentine’s stores possess) you’ve got just about all that you need. and with what can be made by hand right at camp, clothing your child is no longer a concern even with so few store options. on the way back home, abigail had offered you some words of advice. they were blunt, but her words softened upon memory of the bond you shared with arthur. at least you had the choice—her final words of the day evoke a certain strength from you. back with arthur, you watch him eat peaches and strawberries, his hand resting on his stomach. his cheeks are rosy from the sun, and they only become more flush when you tell him how beautiful he looks, like he doesn’t look beautiful every second of every day anyway.

despite your compliments, arthur certainly doesn’t feel beautiful. at 32 weeks, arthur feels horrible. everything hurts, his hips, ankles, back, neck. he can hardly sleep, waking up multiple times at night due to an active bladder, most likely caused by all the kicking and fussing going on in his stomach. grimshaw has been on his heel more often, barking orders at him to sit and lay down if he’d been up on his feet too long. you’ve become victim to more and more of her scolding, partly due to your occasional absence when going out to gather food arthur will eat, and partly due to your ignorance as a soon-to-be parent. thinking about it, the whole camp has been facing grimshaw’s wrath, mostly the slackers who have now been distributed some of your work, allowing you to give arthur more attention. it’s frustrating how much he insists he’s fine, but at some point he can no longer keep up the facade, allowing you to slip a rolled up blanket between his thighs as he rests. he’d been getting a lot more hot at night, so you’ve kept a small tin of water by your bed to dip a rag in to lather some cool water onto his skin. at the very least, arthur’s nausea hasn’t worked itself up again, and he hasn’t thrown up in weeks. his headaches are back however, so you make sure that you bring arthur food he’ll eat enclosed within the comfort of your tent. every now and then you have to run sean or uncle off because they stink of alcohol but are too drunk to get the idea that arthur needs to be left alone. abigail is back to bringing over some tea she’d stashed away, generously letting arthur have the few amounts she had left. it’s definitely the most difficult part of arthur’s pregnancy either of you have had to endure. at least for the most part camp is relatively quiet, the only noise really being some of the chatter during breakfast and dinner, however groups begin to dissipate once the day really gets started and everyone splits off to do their chores. the best you can do for arthur is pull his hat down over his eyes to help with his headache and massage parts of his body that are in pain. unfortunately it’s not much help, the pain only subsiding naturally after hours have passed before coming back the next morning. you’ve tried several different sleeping positions, and only two have helped to lessen the pains, though not by a substantial amount. even through his exhaustion, arthur can look into your eyes and tell you he doesn’t regret a thing. there’s a bit of sarcasm on his tongue to mask his vulnerability, but you know it’s the truth. arthur morgan was never much of a liar anyway. his pains fade away with time, only leaving a dull ache in their wake. peaches are a good distraction, and though you were only able to get him the canned kind, he eats them anyway. he even has enough energy to sit with everyone by the fire before they all head to bed for the night.

2 weeks later at 34, arthur is very exhausted. not only mentally, but physically. the pains are on and off, varying to last for hours or minutes. when he does finally catch a break he doesn’t know what to do with his time. when he has the energy to walk and stand about, he gives his horse some attention like usual, petting them and making sure they’re brushed and that they’ve been fed. his horse bathes in his care, pushing his head into his hand and flicking its tail. his stomach’s big enough that he has to take smaller steps to get around, so it is just a little bit entertaining to see arthur try and bend over to grab some hay for his horse. he can’t blame you for laughing, but he definitely can blame you for getting him pregnant and making him go through all this pain and he will dodge around the conversation when you bring up how it was his decision as well. he has to go sit back down despite only being up for like five minutes, but don’t bring it up or he’ll kick you out of your tent for an hour. arthur becomes a little snuggly between the pain intermissions, he’ll try to scoot as close to you as he possibly can with his belly getting in the way. it’s kind of revolutionary when you discover you can very slightly lift arthur’s belly. it’s relieving enough that arthur can drift off to sleep and not wake up at the times he usually might. he still gets kicked a lot, and laying down with arthur you’ll hear him cursing his unborn child out a lot under his breath. you definitely know what their first words are going to be and it ain’t gonna be pretty. he does think it’s endearing how excited you get when you can feel the baby kicking beneath your hand, but at the same time he’s really grumpy and is momentarily really allergic to fun, sending you a glare everytime you giggle or smile. it’s kind of silly how much of an old man arthur starts acting like when he’s in pain, but you better believe the second the pain goes away he’s feeling like this baby is the best thing that’s ever happened to him and he starts tearing up a little. arthur’s really convinced that he’s not deserving of most good things so he becomes a little anxious, thinking about all the things that might go wrong. the third trimester is a really tough one for him, probably one of the worst states the gang has ever seen him. arthur’s not the easiest guy to lift the mood of but it really does warm his heart at your care and attention when you attempt to put him into a position that might put less stress on his body. he ends up keeping a grumpy reputation even when he’s walking about painlessly but most people like to joke about how pregnant arthur isn’t any different to normal arthur, complaining about back pain and acting like everyone’s a nuisance. which isn’t entirely unwarranted, considering even you find yourself having to drive away some of the nosier camp members who offer ‘assistance’ to get out of doing any real work outside of drinking and sleeping all day. hosea’s told you that everything is under control. him and dutch have probably had hundreds of conversations since they discovered arthur’s pregnancy. hosea most certainly doesn’t blame arthur for his work leave, but you can only hope that at least dutch will give him a break to let him rest after he gives birth. you envision dutch with his hands on his hips, barking orders to your newborn. it’s not particularly something you'd look past him doing.

36 weeks and grimshaw has finished setting up a separate tent for arthur. it’s mostly empty at the moment, aside from a cot that resides in the middle. there aren’t many supplies inside but she says she’ll get everything when the time comes, that time being when arthur goes into labor of course. tilly’s become a little anxious which you guess is because she’s been assigned grimshaw’s backup to help with delivering arthur’s baby alongside abigail. mary-beth also seems a little on edge, though she appears just a bit more excited than tilly. grimshaw’s ordered you to keep close to arthur, saying that if anything goes wrong he needs you there to assist her in helping him. all of a sudden the cheery atmosphere at camp turns into a dark cloud of anxiety that seems to only be raining over you and arthur. grimshaw’s cynicism is expected, though you’d hoped there’d be a little less to be worried about than your brain was telling you. abigail tries to ease your worries realistically. birthin’ ain’t easy but his body will know what to do. abigail’s still here ain’t she? and so is jack, and they’re fine. you don’t expect his birth to have been anything less than long and difficult, but she’s not wrong. arthur is strong. he’ll get through it. and if he doesn’t then his baby will, because arthur won’t let anything happen to his child, you know that much. you try your best to spend the last weeks of his pregnancy as normal as possible. arthur’s appetite hasn’t budged, he’s still eating peach and rabbit with violet snowdrop rubs and some sort of herb that charles managed to get arthur to eat without causing a wave of nausea. strauss says his diet could be better but at least he’s eating. he seemed a little underweight but not dangerously so. his belly is the typical size for thirty-six weeks, fat and round and in the way, as arthur likes to mention. his flannels keep him warm at night despite the occasional hot flashes. oddly, he doesn’t seem all that worried. you consider the idea that he might have just tired himself out worrying the entire first two trimesters but arthur tells you that for the second time in his life he’s entirely sure of what he wants (the first being you) and what he wants right now is his damn baby. it’s very heroically arthur, the way he says it with his drawl hanging off his words and his mouth full of peach. you don’t know how he does it, always staying strong despite the misery he’s forced to put up with. his fly is folded down to make room for his stomach that looks like it’s threatening to pop the damn buttons off his flannel but he’s still resilient as ever. even when he finishes his can of peaches and looks at you with such dejection as he reluctantly asks for another, he is absolutely gorgeous.

38 weeks and arthur wakes up with some, what you realize now, are contractions. it’s early in the morning where the only people awake are grimshaw and dutch. in about an hour or so the rest of camp will begin to stir. arthur doesn’t wake you up at first, assuming they were just regular pains. when the first wave rides out, he takes a deep breath and gets up to try and start his day. he’s not hungry, though he’s incredibly thirsty so he downs two cups of water before another wave of contractions begin. you’re not entirely sure how long they last, or how long they’ve been lasting, but by the time the sun has risen half the camp is awake now, and more importantly the girls and strauss are awake. you hurry over to grimshaw first and she has to ask you to slow down so you can properly tell her what’s wrong. she says something about it being early, early in the morning? early in the pregnancy? you can’t hear straight at the moment. arthur is trying to take deep breaths and the pain seems to be getting to him. you feel like you want to cry at the sight. grimshaw strikes you across the face, not too hard but certainly not delicately. it wakes you up and you can hear her now as she speaks to you. more hours have passed and arthur has been moved to the new tent. you’re crouched at his side, hovering but staying out of the way as grimshaw makes her way between strauss’ tent and the one arthur resides in. you try to stay calm so as to not pass your anxiety onto arthur, but he seems right as rain, breathing through the pain and letting you hold his hand that starts to feel wet coated with your nerves. you seem to be more scared than arthur, which both worries you more and also fills you with pride at his courage. you can only focus on arthur and the sweat that drips down his forehead, either from the pain or heat or stress. in an odd way you’d rather not know which one. thankfully he’s wearing a particularly large shirt so it doesn’t look like it’s too tight around his stomach. you unbutton it anyway, giving him some breathing room. at some point grimshaw takes off arthur’s pants, but she doesn’t seem concerned. from where you’re sitting you can’t see what’s happening. she’s focused, not talking unless she tells arthur to sit or lay down a certain way. at the very least she doesn’t mention anything about bleeding. at some point she tells you to get out to give everyone some space and you almost yell at her to let you stay but arthur is the final voice of reason who looks at you with such conviction you can’t even get a word out. you’re hesitant to go but charles comes in with a bowl and towels in hand and reassures you that everything will be fine. your legs move on their own, mary-beth even guiding you out of the tent before she’s directed back in by grimshaw. you’re at least greeted by hosea whose voice drowns out the chatter behind you. he walks you to a table, his hand on your back with friendly sentiment. some of the other camp members drop their chores to talk to you (only for a moment though, knowing grimshaw will get on their case if nothing gets done) but everyone’s presence just feels ghostly, like nothing is real. your blood runs cold. your hands are shaking so much you have to hold the cup of water hosea offers you with both of them. you can’t even take a sip because you’re certain it’ll just wind up on the ground and be a total waste. you keep looking back at the tent, it’s so far away you can’t hear the chatter but you occasionally see mary-beth coming out to fetch something from strauss’ wagon. when your eyes focus enough you can see some blood on her dress.

it’s hours before abigail comes up to you. you’re not entirely sure how long it’s been, having been dozed in and out of sleep, but when you stand up your legs are numb and shaking from the stress put onto them. thank god, the first thing she tells you is that he’s alive, and so is the baby. you almost faint pushing through the tent, your eyes jumping to arthur’s exhausted form. he’s holding your baby in his arms who’s currently wrapped up in a light green blanket. you have a healthy baby girl is what abigail says when you crouch down next to arthur. she’s got some dark hair on her head, almost reminiscent to arthur’s where there’s some shimmery, somewhat gold color that shines through when the light of the lantern hits it. you’re so close to arthur that you can feel the heat radiating off of him like he’d been doused in melted copper. he’s crying, or he was crying since you can see his eyes are glossy and tinted red at the corners. he offers you to hold the baby, and hesitantly you take her into your arms. she’s so small and fragile. her skin looks flawless, her puffy face perfectly crafted. she’s making the softest noises, almost so quiet you can barely hear them over the sound of you and arthur breathing. grimshaw tells arthur something you can’t focus on enough to hear. your daughter wriggles gently in your hands and (very delicately) arthur takes her back into his own to help feed her. tilly’s beside you now, taking arthur’s abandoned clothes to wash them up. before she leaves she asks you what you’re gonna name her. it’s not much of a question by this point. beatrice, of course. you’d read it somewhere in arthur’s journal and his lack of reaction to her question proves to you that the name had been set in stone for a while now anyway. beatrice’s eyes peer up at you, hazy and pure. they bloom with color, blue and grey like a cloudy sky with the sun peeking out to burst into gold just slightly. she makes a little huff that has your face finally cracking into some emotion. knocked awake out of your daze you can see arthur’s color on his cheeks, his eyes still glossy and hopeful and alive. he looks at you with so much love as he wipes away the tears falling from your eyes. later in the night, beatrice is whisked away to be swaddled into a new blanket of which the next morning she bursts out of with a stronger perseverance than you expected out of a newborn. dutch luckily grants both you and arthur some time to spend with each other and beatrice. it takes immense effort to get everyone away, and though unfortunately a few strays make their way into your tent to say hello to your daughter, things don’t feel as bad anymore. arthur doesn’t bother trying to get on his feet, not even to defend his daughter from curious eyes. you've had jack on his tippy-toes trying to see her, mary-beth gushing with a little toy in her grasp as she attempts to entertain beatrice, and even kieran and sadie among the shadows to observe in silence, but arthur only sighs in a stubborn acceptance. grimshaw’s presence alone is reassuring of her safety, but your confident voice and tender expression is what helps arthur drift to sleep to get at least an hour or two of rest. he doesn’t tell you the details of the birth, though the lack of yelling and screaming should probably be enough to reassure you things went fine for the most part. arthur is tense in sleep, every coo from beatrice causing a stutter or jolt from his body. still, he eventually wakes with high-spirits, his eyes sunken but filled with solace. your daughter still breathes, alive and healthy, along with arthur. you don’t take your luck for granted—both you and arthur got more than you could have ever imagined possible. beatrice is heaven scooped up in your arms, and though arthur can’t speak due to a mouth full of peach, he’s thinking the exact same thing.

#arthur morgan x male reader #rdr2 x male reader #my writngs #ftm character #afab character #top male reader #arthur morgan x reader #ik this is lowkey boring as hell lol but i promise i have another thing in the works #just wanted to get this out because i thought it was cute #any spelling or formatting errors are no longer any of my concern btw...#also im soo sleep deprived lmao

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fujoshoid · 1 month ago

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wren + remy and a glimpse into their youth

a little (a lot of) rambling under the cut

me and my best friend have been calling them siblings for about a year... but the other day we realized we actually have no idea if that’s even canon. i don’t really keep up with any lore so well it’s canon to me now. in the dol that lives in my head

i feel like they’re really heavily cemented into the role of older sister and younger brother despite being twins. ive always seen remy as the type who’s scary because she does evil things while wren is the type who’s scary because he laughs those things off… it would probably be “normal” for a younger brother to be disgusted if he found his older sister dissecting animals, but they have a relationship where wren can accept and avert his eyes from anything. in turn remy is also overly accepting of wren’s behavior.

i tend to imagine that remy is the oldest daughter who really does love farmwork but gets ousted from inheriting the family’s property because she’s a girl. it probably contributed to how cutthroat she is. i love thinking about that in comparison to a male Alex and his own farm…

on the other hand, wren is the youngest son loaded with work he has no interest in … im glad that things work out for them when they make it to adulthood.

remy is somewhat of a serial killer type to me. when she smiles it’s all blank behind the eyes, aside from when she smiles at well behaved cattle. she probably looks the most beautiful when she’s working.

her being exasperated at wren but never really cracking down on him and wren being so acceptant to following her orders is a dynamic that’s really cute to me. i love when twins in media have a relationship that other people can’t really understand >_<

#degrees of lewdity #dol #remy the farmer #wren the smuggler #animal death #pardon any errors … really not used to this format !!!!!#remy growing from a quiet and unsettling child/teenager into her adult self is really fun to me #same with wrens development from being stifled with expectations to confidently doing his own thing #once again i don’t keep up with any lore posted in q&as and im not in the discord so idk any real lore…#it’s fun to just make things up myself >_<

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dyrrn · 3 months ago

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I now have a little reference book of all of the lore from the tree of wisdoms!!! in the words of valentine dewulf: ‘hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee. hee.’

#book of hours #the joy of having a Little Book is unparalleled #I have some extras with very mild formatting errors and idk what to do with them #well if someone wants one then message me I guess I’ve got 5 spare #weather factory

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usagifuyusummer · 10 months ago

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Family Dinner Night!

Congrats Peri(winkle) for finally getting the Godparenting license!!! 🥳🥳🥳 - from your loving parents and godbrother 💖💖💖

More concept art and as usual my insane ramblings below.

I NEED TO GET THE CREATIVE URGES OUT OF MY HEAD!!! It has been bothering with my motivation to finish my gazillions of homeworks lmao. I have so many ideas I need to let out!!! It's suffocating. I hope this will satisfy my creative urges for a while... Or not I will yap about my FOP AU on a separate post (when I'm able).

I can't stop being sad thinking about this family lol. Timmy 😭😭😭

I am not kidding when I say that my head is just filled with so many things that I want to contribute in the FOP fanworks lol. There's a lot I want to do, but so little time...

For now, I've decided to practice my take on the FOP artstyle. I wanted to do something simple as drawing and coloring practice. That's why the coloring this time is flat with no shadings. I think the show doesn't focus on shaded colors too much (except on scenes where there's a heavy implication of day/night, for shock value, etc.).

Just wanted to draw something cute because I haven't been feeling so swell lately. Nothing too poetic or detailed this time.

Other than that, two of the outfits this time is actually inspired by @suki-na-kumo for Peri and an image I found floating around in Twitter/X (sorry I don't remember who shared it) for Timmy's design. Suki-na-kumo's FOP family redesigns are so cool and adorable! I like that they always include flowy attributes in Peri's outfits lol. It makes him look like a pampered brat (which he kinda is seeing how his family coddles him), an otherworldly prince and also a Twink TM (that is unavoidable lol). I kinda want to draw their other FOP redesigns, but I'll just go with Peri's first.

I am not sure where that 18 year old Timmy design is from, but it kinda can be his design for those who theorise him on becoming a lawyer as an adult. There's a lot of instances where Timmy is wearing a suit in the show, but this design is one of my favs due to the hairstyle change. My adult Timmy designs in the future will be influenced from this piece of official art. I wonder if there are more Timmy designs in the wild wild west out there that I haven't seen... It is certainly an interesting find (Teen AJ is also there, and his design also looks cool to me).

Cosmo and Wanda's oufits are something that I cooked up. I don't think the coloring looks good... I just did this on a whim, and for about 13 hours. Damn, I am procrastinating on my work lmao.

Still, the context this time is, that they've had a family dinner to celebrate on Peri's achievement on finally obtaining his godparenting license!!! Good for him!!!

This is an AU if Timmy somehow was able to find a loophole in the "losing your memories of your fairy godparents after you become an adult" rule. Because of that, he continued his life as normal (as Timmy's chaotic life can be), but this time he is able to keep in contact with his fairy family even if they're not contractually obligated to stick together. Timmy does live with the Fairywinkle Cosma's around his college to early work years, but he eventually was able to move out and live on his own at where he works as a lawyer after a while in his adulthood. (His birth parents eventually went on a lifetime vacation without him or just went away for too long that Timmy just lives on his own a lot after he is 18 and above...)

Despite living on his own nowadays (In a New Wish context), Timmy does keep in contact with his fairy family and visits them when he's not busy with his job. Cosmo and Wanda still took a long vacation in this AU, first due to, yeah, Timmy is no easy feat as a godchild lol, and second, they actually want to take their time to raise BOTH of their children (even if Timmy is no longer a child/godchild) and guide them until they're stable adults. Timmy during college years actually only stays with the Fairywinkle Cosma's on holidays, so when Timmy's busy with college, that is when Cosmo and Wanda take their time relaxing lmao.

Sometimes when they really want to have some time alone or when Peri wants to see his bro, they will send Peri to Timmy's college for a day or more. Timmy babysits Peri so much during his college years lol. They both had fun though! With a lot of Peri newfound nuclear fairy power shenanigans at Timmy's college lmao. Studying law and taking the bar exam has never been more chaotic with babysitting a nuclear powered fairy child.

There's a lot more on this AU that I've been thinking, but I'll stop here for now. I need to gather my AU ideas in one post sometime later.

Also, Peri and Timmy are both adults here, Peri's around his 20's here and Timmy is on his early 30's I think. Cosmo, Wanda, and Peri are in their human disguises here, because they want to learn more about human culture (A New Wish context) while also having the desire to be more in Timmy's life.

I headcannon Timmy to be kinda short in his adulthood. This is also a nod to that episode when his fairy family used imperfect human disguises, even Poof/Peri was taller than Timmy in his human baby disguise lol. And also hey, wearing braces during his teen years paid off! (his big teeth are visible only when he opens his mouth lol)

As usual, here's some concept art and a png lineart pic if you want to use it to color it better than I did lmao. (that was a long yapping session... thanks for reading)

#the fairly oddparents #fairly oddparents #fop #fop fanart #cosmo fairywinkle cosma #wanda fairywinkle cosma #poof fairywinkle cosma #periwinkle fairywinkle cosma #peri fairywinkle cosma #timmy turner #timmy tiberius turner #lmao nerd names #fop cosmo #fop wanda #fop poof #fop peri #fop timmy #nickelodeon #cartoon fanart #usagifuyusummerart2024 #infinite painter #found family #fairy #fop au ramblings in the description lol #tags might change if formatting is godawful #also first time drawing peri! as in the adult him his hair is kinda hard to get at first i drew him with eyeshadow #because he seems like the type to wear makeup maybe... timmy also wears eyeliner during his emo phase lmao peri's using his bro makeup #also also they are fighting in the written text on the photo lol this is around the time when peri got to change his name #timmy just has cain instinct he finds it funny that peri doesn't notice how it kinda rhymes with his family name lmao #so he's making fun of peri's error lmao cosmo and wanda are just sighing and amused at their shenanigans

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puraiuddo · 1 year ago

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༺JazzProwl Fic Recs༻

— brought to you by puraiuddo -

This is by all means not a complete list of banger JP fics! It's my personal favorites—those fics that lodged themselves in my brain for one reason or another and never left.

Hopefully this list satisfies at least some of the sudden influx of interest for JP fics (and given how well rec'ing a fic turned out last time...) But, nah for real, not to make rec'ing fics fake deep or anything, but I think the fandom would be a better place if people were more unapologetically enthusiastic about fics and less afraid to interact with authors. So if you use this list to find some fics you have to promise to leave some unhinged comments! ٩("•̀ᴗ•́")و ̑̑

But before I start, I want to acknowledge the prevalence of potentially stereotypical depictions of Jazz in regards to his speech (❞), criminal/violent/sexual characterization (▾), or backstory/origins (⟲) in the JP/TF fandom. I've attempted to flag fics with the corresponding symbols above, because I'd like to recognize those problems while still rec'ing for a variety of other fantastic qualities. That said, I'm not infallible so please use your own discretion.

I've also tagged fics with "hiatus" if it's been a while between updates, but the author hasn't made a comment—these fics are especially important to interact with, b/c you never know if the author stopped posting b/c they weren't getting any reviews!

Now, without further adieu...

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༺JazzProwl-centric༻

Mistakes on Mistakes Until— by jabberish

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 280,212 - Alt-War AU』

Ricochet's got a bad case of conscience and he's pretty sure it's about to get him killed. (aka I think I've read every defection/ex-Con au and now I'm forced to make my own. Jazz-centric.)

* (づ ᴗ _ ᴗ)づ♡ The crème de la crème of JP fics. I really can't properly articulate the sheer amount of love and respect I have for MOMU other than that if you haven't read it, your life is worse for it. Go read it. Then read it again. Now. (I've read it 4 times. No, I'm not joking) I love all the fics on this list dearly, but MOMU holds a very special place in my heart. Flawless characterization, flawless dynamics, flawless plot, one-of-a-kind writing style... it's got it all. Of note: I've not flagged it despite its premise, because it will expertly subvert your expectations and you need to read it to understand. Bonus: it's got a lot of well-deserved fanart!

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Untitled Series by Need2Scream

『(2/?) - ffn - Words: 158,064 - War AU - hiatus』

Where the Lonely Ones Roam - 116,327

"Say you have a little faith in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. Need to have a little trust in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. To where the lonely ones roam." Eventual Prowl/Jazz

Spark - 41,737 - hiatus

"Chase you deep into the unknown. In my dark, in my dark, you're the Spark."/ "Roam with me, come down to where all of the others fell. Get lost, in the dark to find yourself. Just remember what I said, 'cause it isn't over yet."/SEQUEL to Where the Lonely Ones Roam

*It's not clear by the summary, but the series is essentially about Jazz and Prowl's developing relationship as they overcome war-related trauma, intermingled with a spectacular amount of original lore. See the author's ffn bio for a rundown. The originality and attention to detail in the world building in this AU is awe-inspiring. There are 2 fics in the JP series, but the author has a bunch of other Gen fics set in the same AU and another on ao3. Bonus: some of the Gen fics are Jazz & Prowl-centric and can be read as romantic!

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Crime in Crystals Series by Aard_Rinn

『(7/?) - ao3 - Words: 258,030 - Crime/Hitman AU - hiatus - ▾ ⟲』

The Hitman - 6,942 - pt 1

Prowl is the last clean cop in Praxus, the final flickering light in the darkness. There are plenty of people who would like to see him snuffed.

2. The Clarification, 3. The Kill, 4. The Capture, 5. The Prime, 6. The Talk, 7. The Chase 8. TBD

*The main plot is broken into 7 separate fics, but it's all one continuous story. Read the whole thing! It's on my all time favorites. It's thrilling, tremendously action packed, and the character dynamics are some of my favorites. It's also hysterical and wholesome and I've reread it a stupid amount of times. Bonus: it's got fanart + there are 5 extra fics, including a Jazz-centric prequel, in the same AU.

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War Eternal Series by Hearts of Eternity

『(3/4) - ffn - 2m? idk it's insane - Bayverse War AU - discontinued - ▾ ❞ ⟲』

Where You and I Collide - 362,090 - prequel

Separately, Jazz and Prowl are like forces of nature- they are uncompromising and uncontrollable. But what becomes of their natures when these two unstoppable forces collide? Will one break the other, or will they both be stronger for it?

As We Come Together - 485,586 - pt 2 - Gen

While the surviving Autobots begin to flock to Earth in response to Optimus' call, trying to find a new home on the strange organic planet called Earth, some unfortunate bots are beginning to realize the price of war may have been too high. Sequel to Time

May We Never Let Go - 408,409 - pt 3 - Gen - d/c

Hell literally lies in wait above Earth as the Cybertronians and Earthlings coexist uneasily, rattled by every attack the Fallen and his master launch on them. With new evil rising, the powers that be on Earth and beyond are gearing up for war.

1. As We Come Together, prequel 2: Surface of the Sun

*Long, convoluted explanation coming up given that this series is obviously a whole different beast compared to likely any other fanfic series you or I have ever encountered in our lives... b/c the author is just superhuman or smth idk...

The series is officially listed as 4 parts (WYaIC, WTWHL, AWCT, MWNLG). Where You and I Collide is the JP-centric prequel to the other 3 Gen fics (that have substantial background JP). WTWHL is technically part 1 of the series, but it's sorta more character-focused ficlets than a continuous story... which is why I didn't specifically list it as a rec even if that makes things more confusing... (ᵕ¬ᴗ¬) Also the author didn't list Surface of the Sun as part of the series, but it's a direct prequel (like WYaIC) starring the Lambo twins and it's... oh it's so good... absolutely shatters my heart that it's been d/c'd.

I've not listed an exact world count, b/c if you want to read every bit of the AU with all its prequels and offshoots (which I would highly recommend and have done)... I'm not gonna do the math for you, sorry. The main 4-part story is ~1.7m+ which I realize is frankly insane and extraordinarily intimidating, but it is so sooo sooooo worth it. The author has created their own fully fleshed out TF world with its own lore and characters and the time and effort they've put into is mind-boggling .

Anywho, despite ultimately being d/c'd, the series is still tremendously readable and nothing about JP is left feeling unbearably unfinished. I also happened to track down the lovely author and beg for a summary of the ending, b/c I'm a bit of a freak and they very kindly provided it so if not knowing how a fic ends bothers you/prevents you from reading, you have the option of getting closure even if you can't have it written out.

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Fathomless by Sroloc_Elbisivni

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 19,949 - Fantasy AU - complete』

Jazz is drowning on dry land on the other side of the world. Once upon a time, before Jazz was born, the Rust Sea covered a swathe of Cybertron bigger than the territory of any city-state except Iacon. The sea had been more powerful than any engine besides the one at the heart of the planet itself, big enough to swallow a metrotitan in its depths, the birthplace of storms. Thing is, none of that was Jazz. He doesn’t remember those days, before he was himself, except in his dreams. And his dreams are terrifying.

*This fic makes me feel some type of way... it gives me shivers. It's so eerie and the premise is so unique. It's also beautifully bittersweet, which is a hard concept to pull off.

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The Judge by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 107,653 - Alt-War AU』

Prowl’s got a secret, and he’d rather be dead in the ground before he let anyone find out about it. Jazz’s got one too, but he’s not as good at hiding it. Prowl is a secret superhero, Jazz is a secret fanboy who doesn’t know that he works with the guy. By night Prowl is the virtuous hero The Judge, but by day he’s just an unassuming tactical officer.

*Jazz and Prowl are sorta painfully adorable in this fic and the JP is so sweet it makes my teeth hurt. Plus it's got a really fun premise with lots of shenanigans.

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Black on White on Black Series by pipermca

『(3/?) - ao3 - Words: 86,248 - fix-it, War AU - complete』

Anamnesis - 31,097 - pt 1

When Jazz and his team are lost on a mission, Prowl has to carry on alone. But a discovery a thousand vorn later could turn his life upside down again.

2. The Ghost of the Howling Plains, 3. Pulling Strings

*Super interesting sorta-kinda-fix-it fic and/or explanation for the events and characterizations in IDW. There are 3 stories in the main JP plot line. Bonus: there's 2 "Extras" fics for cut scenes from the main fics.

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Crystal Ghosts Series by Rizobact

『(2/2) - ao3 - Words: 85,688 - Fantasy AU - complete - ⟲』

Enduring as Crystal - 40,517 - pt 1

There were a lot of reasons Prowl visited the library. He never knew the most important one was waiting for him in the garden behind it.

Eternal as Love - 45,171 - pt 2

Prowl promised he would help Jazz, the ghost of the crystal chapel in the garden behind Praxus' central library. He just couldn't anticipate what shape that help would wind up taking.

*Another super unique premise! I love a good historical mystery and the imagery is specularly evocative! And I'm a sucker for the trope... which I can't reveal, because of spoilers.

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Untitled Series by Vaeru

『(2/2) - ffn - Words: 10,766 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Descant - 7,925 - pt 2

G1/Jux compliant. Requiem sequel. Prowl doubted that his desired image of Respected Superior Officer came across very well with a half-scrapped mech clinging to his hand, but he loomed as best as he was able and glared.

*Requiem is Jazz-centric and I'd say more of a prequel to Descant than Descant is a sequel to Requiem... if that makes any sense. Regardless of how you view it or what order you read it, it's fucking brutal. (-‿-“) Bonus: author also wrote another really great fic called Transformers: Juxtaposition which is Lambo twin-centric and OC-centric, but perhaps one of the only OC fics that I've ever enjoyed.

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Domino Milkshake by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - (1/?) - ao3 - Words: 24,886 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Jazz drunkenly pretends that he's dating Prowl. Only he isn't, and the mech is right behind him.

*It's a fake dating AU... what more can I say? I love the the begrudging developing romance and the meddling friends. Bonus: it's got fanart!

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Hunter's Spark by WandersUnderStarlight

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 43,645 - Alt-War AU - ❞』

Jazz disobeys orders to abandon the ruins of Praxus and runs into one of the Senate's dirty secrets.

*This author also has a few more JP fics that I enjoy like An Offer He Can't Refuse and Long Patrol. I gotta offer aisclaimer though: the fics are... fairly cliche and a bit OOC. Hunter's Spark is much more tame than the other two, though. They're all sorta a guilty pleasure of mine, because it's fun to enjoy Prowl being a bit of a BAMF and Jazz being a bit of a damsel on occasion even if objectively I understand why it's not everyone's cup of tea. ("￣▽￣";)ゞ But the author definitely deserves credit for creative and entertaining premises and a really nice writing style!

༺☆★☆★☆★-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-★☆ ★☆★☆༻

༺General༻

Little Brother by Meiza

『oneshot - ffn - Words: 64,542 - War AU - discontinued』

Prowl is infamous for being a logical, nigh emotionaless thinker who's better at battle calculations than interpersonal relationships. How he was roped into taking care of the last survivor of Praxus is anyone's guess.

*Prowl & Bluestreak centric, but Jazz has a solid amount of screentime. The subplot is pre-relationship, co-parenting JazzProwl and it's cute as hell. It's not 'officially' discontinued, but it hasn't been updated since 2010... so... At least it doesn't end in a cliffhanger. (╥﹏╥|||)

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Things We Don't Tell Humans by SineadRivka

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 363,057 - Bayverse War AU - complete』

This was a first for us Autobots; never before have we come in contact with a species like these humans, so eerily similar to our own race and twice as tenacious as Sparklings. The question was, how far can we trust the humans with our culture? Some things have translated between cultures without much effort. Other subjects, however…

*Please note the tags! Also... I'll be honest that I mostly skip to the JP parts and main plot points in this fic as it's about a very ensemble cast and I'm not interested in TF humans ... so I can't entirely vouch for the integrity of the whole thing. (￢ω￢;)

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Echoes of Messatine by MlleMusketeer

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 303,863 - Alt-War AU - complete - ▾ 』

Cybertron hurtles toward war, and only a handful of mecha see it. Not Megatron, whose inflammatory writings gain him agonizing attention from those on high. Not Ratchet, the Iacon Medical Center’s most prized practitioner, whose Dead-End clinic remains the worst-guarded secret on Cybertron. Not Overlord, whose iron hold over Cybertron’s underworld is beginning to falter. Not Orion Pax, whose concern over the sudden silence of one of his favorite writers drives him to take up his hero’s pen. Not Terminus, who only wants to survive. But Trepan and Senator Shockwave both know well what’s coming. One aims to use a defiant miner’s fall to crush the aspirations of the masses. The other wants to use that miner’s triumph to ignite them. Neither much cares about Megatron himself, or his ultimate survival. Therein lies their fatal error.

*Not clear from the summary, but the premise is essentially "what if Megatron got the matrix instead of OP" and how their pre-war lives would have to pan out for them to ultimately switch roles. Just a really fascinating, supremely well-done "what-if" fic, but also probably the weirdest one to put on this particular list, b/c JP turns into megatron/JP at the very, very end... but... I just kinda ignore that development since it happens in like almost literally in the last chapter and you can def read it as friendship up until that point... (¬⤙¬ ᵕ)

༺☓○☓○☓○☓○-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-☓○☓○☓○☓○༻

༺Mature༻

*listen... don't @ me. They're definitely saucy, but they're not explicit. Yada, yada... hey minors, don't read these! ...But we all know you will so just don't talk to me or anyone else about it, cool? Cool. (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

Intermission by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 5,049 - War AU - complete - ▾』

As the war stretched on for interminable vorn, Prowl found himself faced time and again with the mounting stress of his position. Many of those times he was forced to face alone, the gear grinding stress sending him to Ratchet for system overhauls and forced defrags. But every so often he'd be fortunate enough to have Jazz on hand, and when he did, well, it didn't take much. Pressing Jazz up against the wall, cramming him into corners, pinning him facedown over Prowl's desk. It didn't matter as long he could keep Jazz still.

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Audition by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 12,783 - War AU - complete - ▾』

If one were to be delicate, one would say that Jazz and Prowl are incompatible. The blunt truth? 'You just lie there with this blank expression on your face,' he'd been told by his last partner. Signal had stayed longer then most, willing to try since Prowl was so obviously doing his best, interfacing to please his partner and give him what Prowl himself disliked. In the end, though, it hadn't worked. 'You don't like me touching you, you don't like the mess, you don't even like the overload, and half the time I swear you're running economic simulations in your CPU you look that bored. I don't want that. I don't want you miserable, and I don't want me miserable, either.' So why can't Prowl stop wishing?

༺♡❦♡❦♡❦♡ -ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ- ♡❦♡❦♡❦♡༻

That's all, folks.

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ω-)✧ ~Happy reading!

and for the shit tumblr search/tag system, i offer: #jazzprowl #jazzprowl recs #jazz x prowl #jazzprowl fic recs #jazzprowl fanfic recs #tansformers fic recs #tf jazzprowl #tf fic recs

#jazzprowl fanfiction #jazzprowl fic recs #jazz x prowl #jazzprowl #prowljazz #jazzprowl fic list #tf jazz #tf prowl #transformers fic recs #tf fics recs #fic recs #yes i've combed through all of ao3 and ffn for everything i can get my hands on why do you ask? i suppose maybe i might read too much why?#call me spiders fanfic #purs post #purs fic refs #i've been much too meticulous with the formatting given that i'll inevitably notice errors that'll drive me insane later ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#but hey ADHD ease of reading amirite? i can't stand unifrom text in general... but a boring list of all things is straight up off limits #my brain shorts out #so y'all get this instead

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beneathsilverstars · 8 months ago

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It's hard, taking care of a kid when you're still growing up yourself, but Pétronille does her best. She's not sure it's good enough, but what else can she do? A series of scenes following Pétronille and Bonnie, from the first time they ran away to the second.

Rating: Teen and Up Category: Gen Characters: Pétronille, Bonnie Tags: POV Second Person, Minor Original Character(s), Specifically various citizens of Bambouche, Child Neglect, Child Abuse, Bipolar Pétronille, Suicidal Thoughts, breaking the cycle, kitchen mishaps, Shoes both remembered and forgotten, Drowning imagery, Bonnie's protectee guilt, Bonnie's A+ spelling Words: 10,541

#WHEW!! IT'S FINALLY READY!!!! i was hoping to get this posted in the early evening. not. 1am. but oh well i don't wanna wait till tomorrow #i always forget how long it takes to do tags and A/Ns and whatnot lmao #not to mention the final readthrough on ao3 for formatting errors and last-minute changes!!#isat nille #isat bonnie #in stars and time #isat fanfic #i think i'm the most proud of this fic out of anything i've ever written so ^^ i hope y'all enjoy ^^#well ok maybe i'm equally proud of The Traveler And The Pit but that's due to the concept as much as the execution and it's so short #as opposed to The Rising Tide which is 10 whole k of excellence in every way <3 if i do say so myself #esp after Sal's help as beta ^^#yayyyy i love writing!!!!#silver.fic #s.isat #isat #s.bonnie #s.nille #s.bonnie.nille

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toffeebrews · 1 year ago

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I desperately wanna post on here again so I'll drop some doodles on main. Do people still care about errorink in 2024? ( ink sans design by @/comyet and error design by @/loverofpiggies )

don't take these seriously...

#error sans #ink sans #errorink #undertale #undertale aus #ut #ut aus #sans aus #sans undertale #i miss you guys #AAA #toffeesart #they hold such a special place in my heart #my first enemies to lovers ship....#good times #also I'm sorry but error WOULD be a discord mod #sorry if it's formated weird tumblr won't upload it correctly.#error x ink

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critter-creature-or-beast · 10 months ago

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Image by Mkleine, CC BY-SA 3.0

#bluespotted cornetfish #smooth cornetfish #smooth flutemouth #cornetfish #flutemouth #fish #wet [critter creature or beast] wednesday #doing the poll by phone due to internet outage from bad weather yaaaay #sorry for any errors in formatting

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conarcoin · 6 months ago

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i have to edit the dsmp wiki for the first time in like 2 years bc only staff can change life counts, and i also end up having to revert someone adding "and then he committed suicide the end" to quackity's page 💀

#this is all i came on here to do #also fix one minor formatting error i guess

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waylamia · 9 days ago

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Fears (Crash and Collapse)

recommended listening: Spiracle by Flower Face

"Hey." He interjects, voice the same sort of steady and soft he uses on the street cats. "Yeah?" You cut the ignition. "Come sit down." He braces for freefall. "...Why?" And still, you fight for a controlled descent. "Just cuz." He shrugs, less an effort to be nonchalant and more an admission that, really, he thinks it should be obvious.

--> You're struggling to keep it together. Caleb has to make it worse before you'll let him make it better.

reader experience notes: reader is MC, and is waiting on the results of the hunter exam (20-22? probably?), MC/reader is gender neutral and not physically described.

content: hurt/comfort. spoilers and significant discussion of Skyline tender moment. manipulative Caleb because it makes me hard who said that. erm. I cried while writing this so just. warning for that. could very well be a skill issue. very much projecting my personal inability to let anyone help me until im at the very end of my rope onto MC (and. by extension. YOU. 🫵) pipsqueak usage as per usual.

Last fic I gave you MC being a little shit. This fic I give you Caleb being a little shit. Next fic? More of that probably. tbh. Lots of life going on in my life at the moment. Lots of uncertainty and insecurity. Caleb to cope. You know how it is. peace sign emoji.

approx. 7k words (me try to be brief challenge. failed. as per usual.)

also on AO3 (available to registered users only.)

You got really into horror sometime in your early teens.

The first time you suggest an old slasher for your weekly movie night Caleb is...mildly surprised. He's always known you to be someone who picks up their pace juuust a little when passing by a party store animatronic. The type of person who jumped when approached from behind.

It's not that you're a big baby-much as he teases you for it, much as he'd like it-it's just that you've always been a little... sensitive. Easy to startle, with a wildly active imagination. Still, he doesn't need to puzzle long over your newfound interest to figure it out. You'd been on a kick, for a while by then, trying to prove yourself. It was one of those things you didn't talk about. One of those things he just knew. Same way he knew this film choice of yours was gonna be a problem for you.

He just didn't anticipate the problem it was going to be for him, too.

You only just beat him to the punch suggesting you visit him at the DAA before your hunter exam. He'd already been planning on coming home after the fact, knowing in exact terms how wrapped up in your own head you could get, the damage you could do to yourself in complete quiet. Were his schedule not so tight he would've taken the week of and before to be with you, too. To help you study and prep your meals and keep you from spinning out. But he couldn't, not with back to back missions from the administration. As it stood he could hardly find the time to call or text or order you delivery. Honestly it'd been making him twitch.

He's had to settle for hoping that, in the single day he would see you before the exam, he'd be able to instill enough confidence in you to make up for the absence. Remind you that you've always been able to carve yourself a flight path through the wind shear.

He had thought that, with it being your suggestion to make the trip, you'd be willing to let him help.

That quickly proves not to be the case.

All day you've avoided the problem, all day he's let you. Ever ready and willing to bend to your desires, to meet your needs. That, unfortunately, is the crux of the issue. He could see it on your face. That the thought of the exam never really left you, yes, but more importantly that you had something you desperately wanted to say. You've been playing it very cool and he's sure, under the scrutiny of any other's gaze you would come across as completely composed. But Caleb knows every single one of your tells. Bags under your eyes, the way your gaze would drift, go distant, fall to nothing along with your falling expression. That minuscule catching of your breath at any mention of it, your fidgety fingers, your too fast talking.

All tells and no telling.

For all the plain-as-day he can see you, you still adamantly refuse to acknowledge it. To let him in. To let him help. It's a recurring problem between you two, and he knows he's every bit as guilty.

'More guilty!' your voice, in the back of his head. 'More guilty and way, way worse!'

He chooses to write it off as shyness. Not with him, never with him, but from being out in the open, at his place of work, under the observation of his colleagues. Surely that is what is responsible the staying of your tongue.

But when he draws you away, not into any real privacy-you have an uncanny ability to sense when you are being cornered-but onto the landing strip-and into your shared memory-and you still won't reveal your fears aloud? He can't help but to rake through every missed call, every too short text, every day not spent with you, and wonder which was responsible for cauterizing the vein that pumps blood from your heart to his. Which of his failures saw the knot tying your brain stems together untangling?

It's all backwards, he thinks. These things are supposed to get easier with age. But the older he gets, the older you get, the more distance between you, the more he knows something's coming-

Every separation feels final. He thought he had more time.

He does, at least today. He's finally able to coax it out of you, in the midst of reminiscing, on the runway. Even though he can still see the undercurrent of anxiety in your eyes, he's able to settle with your exclamation of belief in yourself as a landing plane roars overhead. He shakes his thoughts loose, leaves them out in the air to be consumed by the jet engine, breathes.

'I'll make you proud, too!'

'You already have.'

Breathes only for you to scream out a wish that steals the air from his lungs again. The one thing that he's found increasingly intolerable to grant you.

He's spent a whole life bargaining, with himself, and with you, and so he raises his wish to your own.

The land and the sky, and the horizon line where they meet.

'Little seagull in my next life, promise me you won't disappear again.'

You're going to be just fine. He'd decided it years ago. So even when he...

You're going to be fine.

And, you'll pass your exam on the first try, too. Truthfully, he's never had any doubt.

That first, daring movie night goes exactly how he expects it to. Your 13 year old, impulsive self sits through the entirety of it trying very hard not to look tense at his side. Suppressing startled movements at jumpscares and playing off every escaping jolt with a laugh about aging effects. He's impressed by the show you put on, even with his ability to see so clearly behind the curtain of it. He would love to tell you that he's always impressed with you, that you're plenty tough, because its true. And he would tell you, if it weren't for the part of him that didn't want you to know. The part of him that maybe wishes you weren't.

That... sounds bad doesn't it?

He doesn't... not want you to be tough. He doesn't wish you weren't strong. Proves it every day by helping you get stronger. Mentally, physically, emotionally. He knows he won't always be there to protect you. It's that he takes issue with. Every day you push yourself, to the extent he encourages and then beyond that. He wishes you wouldn't. Wishes you didn't have to.

All his life trying to be big enough for the both of you to fit in. All of yours trying to wriggle out of the cavity in his chest. To hold his hand, to match his pace... fundamentally, he understands.

He's just... trying to find a way to be ok with it.

Certainly hasn't made it there yet by the time the credits roll. He looks you over, equal parts curious and concerned for your state of mind, and is unsurprised to see his original assumption proven right. Instead of your usual, post-film, deep-into-the-night exhaustion he's met with wide awake eyes, flickering glances around the room, and fidgeting fingers.

Yuuup. You're scared. It's a matter of course that he knows.

So he stays up with you. Doesn’t call it what it is and doesn't bother to make you either, just claims he’s craving apple cider before dragging you into the kitchen to help him make it. By the time you're finished with the preparing and consuming of the beverage late-in-the-night has turned to early-in-the-morning. Your eyes now blinking shut at increasing intervals, head drooping only to shoot quickly upright. Caleb is sure to see you tucked into bed before making for his own. He figures that'll be the end of it. That next week will find the pair of you back to family friendly flicks and the odd action film, and the memory of warm apple cider and poorly covered laughter will overwrite that of the gore and fear.

It wouldn't be the first time you've forgotten.

When Caleb finally makes it home you're in a worse state than he left you.

Your exam has come and passed. All that's left is your hoping that you will too.

...He knows it's bad when you start in on the rambling. Knows that the mile a minute your mouth is running is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what is rumbling and roiling in your head. Glacial mass primed to be overturned. So he's careful, in the way he works around you, all movement steady and slow. Every step intentional, focused. A counterbalance to your pacing, your waving arms and sudden stops. The calm and the storm, equal in their challenge of each other.

"-honestly I think she'd be making the right call. I mean we'll be busy-or, well, hopefully we'll be busy and she's really not going to have time to be dealing with a side job anyways. She likes it well enough, obviously, but being a hunter is more important to her so as soon as she-if- ugh, no. It's Tara. She's so smart, she's going to pass, of course. And she's stubborn. So when-" You nudge a glass off of the side table as you continue your march back and forth in front of the couch.

Caleb catches it with his evol without even turning to look. Ushers the narrowly spared thing to the distant dining room table, as he drapes the big, cozy leopard print blanket over the couch cushions. He hums along as you continue speaking.

"-and anyways I know the corner store owner likes to treat the neighborhood kids to free ice cream on the weekends it just like, and this sucks obviously, but from a business standpoint I'm worried that-"

The big apple pillow, that calming tea you like steaming on the coffee table, that terrible animated movie you loved as a kid endlessly repeating its menu music on the tv screen. He nods, satisfied with his work, and plops down on the far end of the couch. Fluffing the empty space beside him as you press singlemindedly, obliviously on.

"-Gran has been working too much, again. I don't know why she works at all really. I mean I know why I guess. I just hoped that maybe- Well, when I- If. I mean. Or if not, then- next year at least, hopefully-"

Ok. That's enough.

"Hey." He interjects, voice the same sort of steady and soft he uses on the street cats.

"Yeah?" You cut the ignition.

"Come sit down." He braces for freefall.

"...Why?" And still, you fight for a controlled descent.

"Just cuz." He shrugs, less an effort to be nonchalant and more an admission that, really, he thinks it should be obvious.

It feels every bit like coaxing a cornered animal. Some frightened little thing that doesn't know that you mean well, all raised hair and hissing and averse to surrendering to open, waiting arms. Unknowing that a moment of stillness and calm is all that stands between it and warmth, shelter, and care.

But you aren't a cornered animal and you know exactly how well he means. Which leaves your peace, or lack thereof, to be determined entirely by your own whims and will. In this matter, you seem to be particularly unwilling.

Usually it's enough for him just to ask. For him to just softly say the words. Not today.

"I'm fine." You say. Liar.

"I didn't say you weren't." His brows raise, he's never liked it when you get defensive, it makes him anxious. Ground proximity warning. Missed call. 'Evol Monitoring Experiment will now commence'. Your bedroom door slamming shut.

Tolling bell.

"You're implying it." You cross your arms over your chest, defiant and irritated. He blinks, in lieu of rolling his eyes.

"I'm not implying anything, just come sit." He pats the space beside him on the sofa, brushes over the plush blanket encouragingly. You remain unmoved. "pips, sit down."

"I do not need you to tell me what to do." You bite out, bristling at his insistence. "You're stressing me out." You're losing altitude. His gaze cuts to meet yours.

"I think you're stressing yourself out." And he's going down with you.

You look like you're trying not to say something mean, and he hates it. How many times has he told you to tell him exactly what you're thinking? He can take it. He wants to.

"You need to sit down and try to stop thinking for a few minutes. The exam results will be posted on schedule. You won't speed up the clock by talking faster." He's teasing, and he knows it's the wrong call, even before he starts to say it. But he's desperate, and he knows you.

And so, he knows, with you like this...

"Obviously I know that! If you're tired of listening to me just say that. I'm not trying to ruin your time home by being a complete fucking mess." Tail spin. Good. Now, you can release the controls, and let him stabilize you.

"Woah woah hold on, hey. I'm not tired of listening to you. I'm never tired of listening to you." He shoots up, speaking in a gentle, if not a little frantic, tone, covers the distance between you in two sweeping steps. "I'm never tired of you, period. And you aren't ruining anything-" He grasps at your hands, only for you to jerk violently away. Breathing heavy and ragged.

"...Pips." You won't raise your head, completely refusing to look at him. Your arms are folded over your chest, hands shaking where they dig into the meat of you. He knows you're blinking back tears, he just knows.

"Pips, come on, come sit and we can talk about it, okay?" Why won't you just let go.

"I... think I'm gonna go lay down, actually." With the sentence barely choked out, you turn tail to your room, each of your echoing steps away a blade digging into the parts of him he always, and only, leaves exposed to you.

Caleb sits alone in the living room for a long while, steadying the knife as it twists. He knows you want to cry. And now, he knows you won't. Not when you know he's around to hear.

You want to do this, to get through this, alone.

The thought makes something bubble up in him. Like tar. Dark and wretched and thick. He'd left you on your own too long, left you with too much time to idle and fester, and he's being punished for it.

Its only a little bit past noon, but he's sure he won't see you again until dinner. So he might as well get started on it.

Caleb is on alert the moment he hears the quiet creak of you slowly pulling open your bedroom door. Doesn’t matter how late it is, how deep he is into sleep, he is always hyperaware of your presence in the house. Sometimes, he’d swear he could hear you breathing beyond the barrier of the door, the walls. Many times he’s come running to your bedside at an imagined hitch in your breath, only to find you peacefully asleep. He worries that you have nightmares. That somewhere, inside, your brain or your heart remembers. Tonight, at least, he’s certain that that isn’t what’s gotten you up. Your little feet pad across the floor of the hall, sound dampened by fuzzy socks and considerate caution, they stop just outside his door. Everything is silent and still. You’ve always been a polite kid. He wishes you wouldn’t be, with him. He’s tried to lead by example, barging into your room unannounced just to pester you and then go again, door open. The lesson never seems to stick. Because here you are, terrified and in the dark and still just standing outside the door, trying to figure out if he's still awake. In his mind’s eye he sees you with your ear leaned into it, careful not to brace your hands against it, lest the cracked thing fall the rest of the way open. It's always left a little bit open for you. In case you need him.

You should know better, by now, than to bother listening for any signs of activity. He can imagine your brow all furrowed, mouth curved into a frown at the silence beyond his door. He suppresses a grumble of irritation. He knows you feel guilty for how late movie night kept you both up-despite the fact that the extension of it was all his idea and-as far as you know-in service of his own desires-and that you don’t want to risk disturbing his rest further. He's yet to figure out how to make you stop thinking about stupid things like that. Caleb sits up in his bed, grabs a book off of his nightstand, flips it open, and summons his evol to pluck a pen out of the cup on his desk to drop on the floor. The clatter of it just audible enough for you to hear from beyond the barrier of the door. Only then do you press it open and speak. "...Caleb? Are you awake?"

He hums an affirmative and you push through the gap in the door, closing it behind you just as quietly as you’d entered, before turning back to him. "...why are you reading in the dark?" You ask accusingly. "What are you still doin up? don't you have an early day tomorrow?" He pokes at you. Hoping to distract you from scrutinizing his actions with an interrogation into your own. It’s proven effective, in the past. "Don't you?" You ask back, whip quick. And really he only has himself to blame for your mastery of redirection. Regardless, he tries again. “Movie scare you a little too bad pips?” His look is knowing, not questioning. Even in the dark, he knows you can hear it in his voice. You scoff. “No. I just wanted to-“ He turns on his nightstand light, and your present state comes out of the dark with it. Your jaw is tensed like you're biting your tongue, a bad habit you've had since you were little, and your arms are wrapped tight around the stuffed toy you’ve recently taken to insisting you didn’t need anymore. Your gaze falls to your feet.

"Uh huh?" It's a challenge, if you choose to take it. Or an observation, if you feel like being honest. Your voice comes out small, breaks a little on the words.“…Don’t make fun of me?” And he is genuinely a little hurt by that. “When do I ever?” His voice breaks too.

Dinner draws you out, as expected, and thankfully you're too wound up to call him on the early hour of it.

But the bridge between you is hardly crossed.

In an almost perfect inversion of your earlier verbosity, now its impossible for him to get a response of more than two words out of you. You do that. Explode and then collapse in on yourself. Go to some dark corner in your mind and decide everything you think and say is ridiculous and wrong and try to shrink yourself down into nothing. He's spent years getting good at bringing you back into the light.

And, failing that, bringing the light to you.

The problem being, currently, that he's tried most of his old tricks already. Tried being calm-and-comforting Caleb, and teasing-big-dummy Caleb, and bossy-older-brother Caleb. All he'd gotten was ignored, yelled at, and shut out... nothing was working.

He left you alone too long.

And really, what were they teaching you at school? What kind of stress testing did they put hunters through? If it's anything like the Aerospace Academy-

Thought cut off at the root. Rabbit hole not worth going down. He doesn't have the time for it. You've got four and a half bites left.

Chopsticks raised to your mouth. Three and a half, now.

Forget it. Full suppression fire.

"...You're definitely right about Tara. If she hasn't quit her job by the next time you two talk you really should encourage her to." He puts his own utensils down, focuses all his attention on you, on speaking steady and slow.

"Huh?" You look at him like he just said the sky is chartreuse.

"You'll both be busy, and the work will be demanding, especially to start, I know you know that-"

"Caleb what are you even talking abou-" You cut your own question off, brain catching up to his sudden topic change. He watches your face as you process it.

You hate it when he does this, reminds you that he remembers every little thing you say, recites it back to you. Your eyes widen in realization, and then embarrassment.

Normally, this is the part where he'd comfort you, tell you there's no reason to feel shy around him.

Not tonight.

"You said she likes the job 'well enough' but if it isn't her dream there's really no good reason for her to pursue anything else when what she really wants is right in front of her." Tonight, he just keeps pressing.

You, for your part, attempt to ignore him, just take the commentary for what it is. You raise another bite to your mouth.

Ah, he gets it. If his game is to get let in, your game is to get gone.

Two and a half.

"The extra money would be nice, sure. But not at the cost of her sanity."

"Caleb-" You push back.

"Also, if you ask me, I think the corner store owner has been wanting to close up shop for awhile now. He's getting older and, like you said, he's clearly more passionate about community care than running a business. I guess it's just a matter of letting go." His gaze is fixed on you, pointedly.

"Caleb, seriously. Stop."

"You have to trust that he knows what he's doing pip. He's been in the game for a long time. Longer than you remember probably."

"I don't want to have this-"

"-and I don't think either of us could get Gran to stop working if we tried. She'd die of boredom sitting in this house all day, with or without either of us in it. 'S got nothing to do with how much money you do or don't make, you should know that. That I've got you and I've got her too. Have the whole time."

"I know. I know, I wasn't trying to say-" You respond rapidly. Both of your voices picking up speed. "-none of which is going to matter anyway because you are the smartest person I know, and the most stubborn. If by some insane, unprecedented, cosmic fluke you didn't pass-"

"You don't listen to me!" You shout over him.

Do you hear yourself?

He isn't sure if he says it out loud, if he does, he didn't mean to. Either way you shake your head.

"You're not listening to me right. now." You take another bite, give yourself a second to think, before speaking again. "...I don't want to talk about right now, I don't want to think about it..."

"But you are." He stops you, matter of fact.

"I-I'm trying-"

"Stop. Stop trying." Change in tone, eyes softening. You have a soft spot for kicked dogs. "Give it to me." Not a question. Not a request.

You push your plate towards hims, half a bite, untouched.

"Thank you for dinner. I'm going to bed."

Mission failure.

Your door is shut and locked, this time, behind you. Like you don't trust him not to come in saying 'And another thing-'. And maybe you're smart for it, and maybe you're right, but its frustrating nonetheless. He doesn't know how to get through to you. It's so obvious that you need a reset. An emotional release before you take to the air again. There's no shot you'd pass a systems check like this.

He ruminates over it while he cleans up dinner, lifting a plate from the filled, soapy half of the basin to scrub. You can't stop the flood from coming. You've tried, it always comes. And he knows you'll hate yourself if it happens out there. In front of your friends, or the corner store owner, or a barista, or some other perfect stranger. It should happen here, needs to happen here, and soon. While Grandma's not home and no one but him can see you. Where no one else can get their hands on you when you're all raw and vulnerable. He runs water over the dish. Places it on the rack to dry.

The thought strikes him with the clink of the ceramic.

'I'm not trying to ruin your time home by being a complete fucking mess.'

...Yeah. He knows what he has to do.

He curls himself around you in his bed, blanket covering all but the very top of your head, you've always been close, impossibly close. Both physically and otherwise.

But this is different, feels different.

Sure, you'd shared a bed before, regularly, even. But sleeping together was only ever about comfort, about ease. Too tired to haul yourselves off the couch. Late afternoon study sessions in summer heat drawing your eyes closed. Muffled giggles settling to silence under the flashlit borders of a blanket fort. But this?

Since the research center, you've never curled into him like this, like you were hiding, like he could hide you. You aren't just sleeping next to Caleb, your brother and best friend and confidant. No, you needed to sleep with Caleb, your shield. You're protector. Your home. Your safest place. Not this house, not your room, not your bed. Caleb's. Caleb.

Your breathing went steady so fast, arms sagging where they wrapped gently around him. You fell asleep so fast.

It's good, he thinks, that you did. You can't say anything about his hammering heart if you aren't awake to hear it.

He replays the memory, over and over. The image, the feel of you curled up against him in the dark and quiet, all safe and warm, consumes him like fire. Fuels the furnace that pushes the machine of him to action.

He's carefully tilting and adjusting the stacked ceramic plates in the cupboard when he hears the resounding click of your door opening. He purses his lips, calls on his evol to hold the plates still and steady as he quietly, firmly, closes the cupboard. He has only just enough time to fling an apple from the bowl on the far counter into his waiting hand before you turn the corner. You blink up at him like you're surprised to see him there. It's been about an hour since dinner, and you know it only takes him minutes to do the dishes. So it would make sense for him to have retreated to his room, by now. With how quiet he'd been, in his focus, you were surely expecting him to be scarce. He fights not to roll his eyes, you only emerged because you thought he'd be long gone, then.

He disregards the thought, the game of cat and mouse will be a nonissue by this time tomorrow. For now, he's just glad he caught you. Can't have you setting things in motion too soon. He knows your guard is still up from earlier, can see it in the curve of your shoulders.

"D'ya need somethin pip?"

"No. I'm just..." You shuffle in place.

"...About... half a bite hungry?" He asks with a tilt of his head, gestures at the apple cradled in his palm.

He's already got a paring knife in hand by the time you nod. Is already cutting bunny ears into apple slices by the time you're sat on the counter.

It quickly becomes a pattern. Even as you continue to get older, distance yourself from him in myriad other ways. Became more and more independent, self-assured, self-reliant. All through your middle and high school years, if you watched a horror movie, you'd sleep in his room, in his arms, where nothing else could get you.

So when he came home to visit on your 18th and you queued up some jumpscare laden gorefest, he'd had an expectation for how the rest of the night would go.

It didn't. You didn't come to his room.

...Not on your own, at least.

Normally, on a morning like this, with both of you home, you'd wake to Caleb already making breakfast. Especially when you'd fought the night before. This morning, as he sat awake and waiting in his room, he'd run through the series of actions and reactions he expected from you.

You wake with a yawn, stretch your limbs, sit up only to fall immediately back with a groan. It takes you at least six tries, unchecked on, to make it out of bed. You'll stay there, barely awake in bed for anywhere from 3-35 minutes. Deciding whether or not you are going to go right back to sleep. Actually getting out of bed only if your stomach grumbles, or you hear Caleb in the kitchen.

You must've woken up hungry. He'd heard you step out of your room and down the hall, bright, early, and unprovoked.

You'll step into the kitchen, grumble an expletive and any combination of mean, dummy, idiot Caleb that comes immediately to mind, and then make yourself a piece of toast. It's the easiest way to get something in your belly without having to think, and its way, waay too early to be thinking. So you'll pop a slice of bread into the toaster, and reach up to grab a plate-

He's on his feet three seconds before the crash comes. Exact awareness of its source and cause hardly stopping the wave of panic that hits him, the immediate, pressing need to get to you.

He rounds the corner to the kitchen, inspects the damage. He wouldn't have done it at all, if he didn't trust your reflexes, and its clear that you did dodge. You're standing just a few small steps back from the pile of shattered ceramic at your feet. Your bare feet, he scolds himself internally, he had been counting on you to have your hard-soled slippers on. Your arms are raised, elbows tucked tight into your sides, hands floating in front of you like they are trying to figure out some way to be of use. Aside from your dropped jaw, your face is flat, still processing the mess on the floor before you, where it came from, the loud, sudden sounds of it.

"Pip-squeak..." He speaks low, endeavoring not to startle you into moving. You must have heard him rush down the hall. Or, you just know him well enough to know he'd be there. He takes a step toward you, already using his evol to push the nearest shards of ceramic away from your feet.

"I don't even know what happened..." You barely speak, like its hard to get the words out at all. An automatic response, no defense mechanism, no guard.

It's what he's been looking for.

"...are you okay?" He asks, voice coated in concern.

It's a trigger phrase. It serves it's purpose.

A gasped intake of breath, tears welling up in your eyes. You take a step back just in time for him to get his arms around you, stop you from slipping on something sharp, from sinking down to the floor.

"I-I don't even know- w-what I did!" You don't fight him, just let him hold you. Rub your arms while you shake and cry and sputter.

"I'm so... So tired. I don't- Caleb I'm so scared!" Now, everything bursts from you. The dam cracks, the flood comes. Any relief Caleb might have felt is overshadowed by his heart dropping at your words.

"Why're you scared, pip?" he squeezes you in tighter, one arm wrapped high around your back, hand cradling your head as he presses it into his chest. The other arm at your waist, ready at any time to move lower and lift you, whenever standing gets to be too much. He sways a little where he stands, an effort to soothe you, if only enough to keep you talking to him. Anyone but him would struggle to understand you through your blubbering.

"I'm-I'm afraid I'll fail. And I can't I just can't." You furiously shake your head in his chest. "I was so anxious during the exam-I know they could see my hands shaking during the written portion-and. AND I went down during the combat simulation. I mean I got up-I got up quick-but I went down, Caleb!" You're fully yelling now, every word sounds like its being punched out of you. He stays through it, same firm grip, same gentle movement. "I know there's next year, and the year after that, and the year after that. But what if it is that? What do I do if it's 'next year' forever?!" You stop abruptly at that. Left with nothing but to loudly cry against him, fists gripping harshly at the fabric of his shirt. The way he's wrapped himself around you, you can't see his jaw clench.

It's everything he expected to hear, everything he was afraid you would say. He takes deep, slow breaths, tightens and loosens his arms around you in time with them, encouraging you to do the same. Your staccato breathing starts to level out, sobbing reduces to sniffles.

"What... what if I'm just not good enough?" You sound wounded, cut open broken. Already devastated over something that hasn't happened. Something that won't happen.

Caleb lifts you up, gets your legs around his middle, steps over and through the mess on the floor like he couldn't care less about it, because its true.

"You're too hard on yourself..." He carries you to the living room, to the couch. "You're hardly the first person to have test anxiety, hardly the first hunter to trip up in combat." He flops down, takes you with him, rubs circles into your back, uses his free hand to massage your neck, the space just behind your ears.

"You're going to pass." He says it with certainty. In part because you need to hear it, but mostly because he believes it, without a shadow of a doubt. You whimper, squeeze your arms where they are wrapped around him.

"...what if-" You start to mutter.

"Nope." He cuts you off.

"But-"

"You're going to pass." He should've figured it out sooner. You're smart enough to reason the facts out without his help. You didn't need him to tell you there's always next year, that he's got you covered if something goes wrong, that there's nothing to be afraid of. At your core you know that. You didn't need a reality check.

"You're going to pass." A statement of fact, made with no room for argument.

You needed an anchor.

For a long time, you're silent in his lap. Pin-drop quiet interrupted only by the odd sniffle. Until, eventually, fight and fury and fear finally exhausted, your shoulders sag. Your body goes lax.

"Okay..." Delayed replay so quiet it almost goes unheard.

When you tuck your head into the side of his neck, he drops his own to nuzzle over you.

Caleb knew it was unfair, and that it maybe made him a bad person. But when the movie ended and all you did was yawn and waltz off to bed without a care in the world, something in him snapped a little. And truthfully, he thinks he's allowed. Routines are made to be stuck to. You're the one breaking rank here. He's been at the Academy, away from you, for months now. Heavens forbid he wants to cash in on his allotted snuggle time.

And so, he didn't feel bad when hooked Josephine's old landline back up to the power. Didn't feel bad when he called you back into the kitchen to help him do dishes.

"Uuugh... you know I'll just slow you down."

"Been doing your laundry all week pips, you owe me. Really, I should be making you do this aaall by yourself."

Continues, to not feel bad, as he thumbs his phone in his pocket to call the number.

"You might as well, if you're gonna be such a diva about-"

The landline rings. You jump at the sudden noise, face quickly warping in confusion, as you both stare at the offending machine.

"What the fuck?"

"Language, pip." He nudges your shoulder as the ringing stops, is careful to speak over the sound of him using his evol to disconnect the line once more. "Didn't grandma unplug that thing ages ago?"

"I... yeah, I mean. I thought so..." You take several cautious steps towards the phone, crouching down to inspect the line. "...It's definitely unplugged."

Caleb offers his most convincing, confused hum. "Well... that's weird." He shrugs his shoulders. "Anyways, if you want to do the dishes by yourself that's fine with me."

You keep your wary gaze locked on the phone. "No... no you should stay."

It's a fight to keep his grin down.

"Whatever you say pips."

You were lucid just long enough to agree to his idea of watching that old cartoon you love. To crawl mostly off of his lap and curl into his side, under the big leopard blanket, with the apple pillow in your arms. He thinks about getting up to make you tea but ultimately decides against it. Choosing instead to keep massaging your scalp. His gaze directed at the screen but unfocused, far away. He listens to your breathing change, feels your lashes flutter against his collarbone as your head droops, soaks in the warmth of you at his right side. A breath shutters out of him, his body goes lax.

It was all necessary. It was all worth it.

You fell asleep so fast.

By the time dishes are done and your teeth have been brushed you've settled back down. Seeming perfectly content to call it a night and go your separate ways. In any other circumstance, he'd commend your resolve.

As it stands, you're kind of killing him.

He knows he has to be careful. If his cards aren't played exactly right, you'll catch on, remember exactly how his evol works, and accuse him of messing with you. Seriously, you're so smart, too smart for his own good. So he has to think of something else. Something you can't trace back to him, something you can't excuse.

If, and only if, he offers Gideon a couple hundred bucks to make the late trip from Skyhaven to Linkon and-without being caught-knock at the front door, wait thirty minutes and then knock again...

Well. That's nobody's business but his.

He's brushing his teeth when the first set of knocks comes. Perfect. You pad from your bedroom over to the bathroom, poke your head in. "Caleb?"

"Mmph?" He muffles through a mouth full of toothpaste.

"Someone just knocked on the door."

He furrows his brow, spits into the sink. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." 'Go look!!' goes unspoken.

He moves casually through the house, with you all but clinging to him, his good little tail. He swings the front door open, looks around, ignores the rustling where he can see Gideon climbing up a nearby tree.

"Pips. There's nothing there." He looks at you seriously, face a mask of concern.

Your eyes go wide. "But- are you sure?" You move to push past him. He takes several steps out onto the porch, makes a show of looking around.

"Seriously pip, there's nothing." He looks you up and down, a performative study of you. "...think maybe the movie freaked you out a little?"

"No! Well.. ugh. Maybe, I guess." You rub your arm self consciously. "...Lets just call it a night."

He breaks into a smile. "Sure thing." He's about to call Gideon off, as you make your way back into the house.

...Right up until you shout 'Goodnight!' from down the hallway and shut yourself in your room.

Alright then, one last push.

And it comes, thirty minutes later on the dot. Four sturdy knocks at the front door. Caleb smiles to himself from where he lays flat on his back in bed. He hears it all. Your door being carefully cracked open, the silence that follows. Your feet down the hallway, toward the entryway, toward the door, the silence that follows that. The way your pace picks up as you race back to your room.

His phone lights up.

'Caleb.'

A typing bubble appears and fades again.

'Did you hear that??'

He stares at the screen, stone-faced, already getting into character.

'Hear what?' And really, he isn't being cruel. He's just righting the balance.

#caleb love and deepspace #lads caleb x reader #lads x reader #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x mc #calebmc #caleb x reader #yeah #if theres any super fucked up formatting or grammatical errors PLEASE let me know ive been staring at this motherfucker for DAYS #i'll try to read thru it later again but for now. making it the world's problem.#THANK YOU. FOR YOUR TIME.#sorry it takes me 3-6 business years to finish a fic LMAOOOO

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