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myfairgunslinger · 4 years

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Title: Red Dead Revenge: Kiss of Death [Part 6]

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC x John Marston

Warnings: Smut, Minor Cursing

Summary: Back at camp and things get tense. Maeve is left to recall the night John left while waiting in anticipation.

A/N: Hey guys! I know it's been a while but I'm back with a new chapter. Been pretty busy but I finally had time to write this out so hopefully it was worth the wait. Warning: There is smut in this chapter! So hope you enjoy! Italics means flashbacks.

Chapter Six: Dirty Laundry

The trip back to camp was a rather silent one with John's countdown to his hollering contest with Abigail, Arthur still resenting the lying pair, and Maeve lost in her thoughts of the Bollard Twins. The ride was also hot, the sun was at it's highest as it beat down on the trio. Maeve wiped the beads of sweat off her forehead letting out an exhausted sigh. She had a long sleepless night, they all did.

"Tired already?" John asked her, trying to make conversation. Maeve gave him a nod, "I'm gonna sleep in my bed roll until tomorrow."

"That is unless, Mrs. Grimshaw let's you," Arthur chimed in from up ahead, "She usually puts everyone to work some kind of chore at some point."

Maeve rolled her eyes, "She's been kind to me. And if doing chores is the worst thing I can do for the gang than by all means, bring on the chores."

Arthur and John eyed one another for a moment before the older of the group let out a chuckle, "It's nice havin' you around, sweetheart."

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When they finally arrived to camp John dismounted quickly to then offer Maeve assistance on getting down. She refused him wanting to only interact with him until after he had his talk, making Arthur sneer at the rejection, "Don't tell me you're gonna try winning her back. You're just makin' a damn fool of yourself, Marston," he said when Maeve was out of ear shot.

"You sound more bitter than usual, old man," John snarked, "Almost as if you don't want it to happen."

"I don't," Arthur said unstrapping Boadicia's straddle so her back could rest, "Just leave the poor girl alone. She's been through enough trouble. Doesn't need you and that joke you call your marriage to weigh in on her."

John's nose flared, "So now you care? You know you really send mixed signals with being mean to her face then the second she turns around you're worried about her well being. Startin' to think this behavior of yours is you being smitten with her."

The accused man shut his eyes, made a scoff at John then turned to face him, "I don't care what happens to her," Arthur stepped closer, "Anymore than I care for what happens to you," his eyes burned, they soon caught sight of the perfect person for this moment, "Abigail!" John's eyes went wide thinking he could have stalled his talk with her for a moment longer.

"Hey, Arthur," she said holding a cup of coffee close to her, "John," the woman said in a neutral tone, "How did the trip to town go with the new girl?" she asked not having a clue what was to come.

Arthur smiled a devilish smile while keeping his eyes on John, "It went well. John ended up joinin' us too. He told me the most lovely story while we were in Armadillo. You should tell her exactly what you told me, John," Arthur took in the dread on John's face, "Word for word."

Abigail glanced between the two men, thinking them strange, "Uh John, what's he talkin' about?"

John had his hands on his hips glaring back at John, "Nothing, Abigail. Can we talk alone for a minute?"

"You'll need more time than that," Arthur called out. "Do you know when to shut up?" John snapped at him before turning to Abigail to lead her to his tent.

Maeve had watched from afar as Arthur walked away from the 'married couple'. This was it. The actual moment of truth. She only wondered what was gonna happen after. If Abigail would forgive him and take him back or would John still stay with her. Part of Maeve still felt their connection was there and he must have too.

She laid down on her bed roll with so many thoughts on her mind, most of them about John. If he did want to come back to her, would Maeve even take him back?

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"Yes," she gasped out softly when he kissed the flesh of her neck, "Just like that, John," They were very much in the middle of an intimate moment. John's arms were wrapped around her naked body, holding Maeve close.

Their legs were entangled until John had used his knee to part hers. His lips kissed down her chest to graze over her soft bosom. John's hands wrapped around her wrists to pin them above her head, having such a lustful look in his eyes. Maeve breathlessly spoke, "Please."

What followed was John thrusting himself into her, each penetration causing her to fill the room with her screams. They found themselves always making love those first few weeks after their first passionate night.

John's hands were so gentle against her skin, his eyes always getting lost on her face especially when she slept next to him. A faint smile would always sneak it's way on to her face as she dreamed while a small frown would appear on his when he thought about the big question. How much longer was he going to stay here with her?

One early morning he thought too long of this question that when Maeve woke up, she found him sitting up, lost in his mind.

"What's upsetting you, sweet face?" Maeve looked up at him with tired eyes.

John was caught by surprise when hearing her voice. He looked over at her, pushing for a smile to not worry her so much, "Just had a bad dream, is all."

"Wanna tell me what it was about?" John shook his head. He laid back down with her and pulled her close so he was spooning his girl. Maeve wondered what type of dream would cause him to be this sad, what she didn't know is that it was John waking up to reality.

She glanced outside to see the daylight peeking through the curtains and Maeve pulled away to get up quickly, "Oh my, I gotta go." John whined for a short moment, "Do you have to?"

Maeve started to put on her clothes that were scattered over the floor, "Do I want to? No way! I'd rather stay and cuddle with you, maybe get breakfast and come back here so you can do that thing you were doing with your hands last night," John chuckled but kept staring at her. Maeve was putting on her boots now, "But I promised my mother I was gonna send out this package," she looked around for the wrapped box. Cecilia had to mail a dress to Valentine.

Maeve found the box set on the chair, "There it is. I was gonna get this to the post before today's mail was collected. And I'm cutting things really short as it is."

"You sure are," John reached out to grab her hand and pulled her back to the edge of the bed. Maeve attempted to tug back, "John! I gotta go!" He still kept her, grinning, "Not until you give me something that I want."

"Oh my goodness! You are so horrible!" Maeve scoffed out a laugh then leaned down to kiss his lips softly. John kissed her back then parted away after a moment, "I'm the horrible one, when you're supposed to be doing errands, but instead you're here with me in secret."

"Everyone has their flaws, John," she said. However, things weren't much of a secret. Her parents weren't stupid to think she's working a lot more at the saloon. They had started to catch on that she's met someone.

'When are we meetin' him?' her mother had asked one day taking Maeve by complete surprise. At first, Maeve had denied that their was a 'him', but a sober Cecilia is more sharp than any blade, 'My sweet, you used to have this annoyed look on your face every time you came home. Now all I see is you havin' this far of look as if your head is in the clouds. So who is he?'

Maeve opened the door to John's room but then shut it to turn back to him, "Forget something?" he asked. Looking at John, Maeve opened her mouth to say, "I want you to meet my parents."

John stared at her not sure of what to say. He thought she would have asked sooner, but when that happened he assumed it would be later. She trusted him enough to meet her folks, to show him her home. The man then gave her a smirk that could melt any woman. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maeve felt a kick to her side, the opposite one to her wound, pulling her out of her memories, "Ow! Hey!" It was Mrs. Grimshaw standing over her, "Miss Milley, the time for laying about is over. The ladies of the camp and myself can use your help today for laundry duty."

The younger woman looked up at the gang's arbiter and thought of how Arthur wasn't kidding. She got up to get to work, "What am I doing?"

Susan was happy to see she didn't get any lip or complaining unlike the other women around here, "I need you to go get the laundry from all the men."

Maeve's eyes glanced over to John's tent which still occupied him and Abigail, "Umm... all the men?"

Susan winced her eyes at her for moment, wanting to know why that question was asked, "Will that be a problem?" which could have been said in an intimidating tone that Maeve did take in that way at that moment. However, Mrs. Grimshaw was genuinely curious if it would be an issue. Who had a problem with her new girl?

"No. No, problem at all...just checking is all. I'll go get this done," Maeve picked up a large basket to scurry off, "Meet them at the buckets when you're done!" Susan called out.

Maeve wasn't sure were to start off so she figured why not with Arthur. When getting to his tent he wasn't there but a pile of his clothes were on the ground as if he knew someone would come for them. It was on to the next man.

"Mister Strauss?" she approached him as he was looking at his books that had details of loans, "Do you have anything for me to add to the wash?" The old man picked up a pile of clothes that was under his chair, "Be careful with my shirts. They are to be washed delicately and do not use cheap soap! It's the least you can do for me since I stitched you up!"

The girl rolled her eyes at his entitlement when tossing his clothes in the basket, "So wash vigorously with basically animal fat? You got it, Doctor!"

He grumbled out, "That is the opposite of what I said!"

"Yeah, yeah I heard you," Maeve snarked.

"The first and last time I do anything to better your health! Which you still have not said thank you for!" He shouted to her. Maeve tilted her head, "I haven't? Wow...see you around then!" Maeve moved on to the next tent as Strauss said what Maeve could assume as curses in German.

It was Bill's tent who was cleaning his rifle out. Maeve wasn't sure what to make of Mr. Williamson other than he was big and burly with a hat that was flat on one side, "Do you have any clothes for me to wash?"

Bill took out some pants and a shirt that were filthy beyond comprehension and the smell was enough to get Maeve to gag, "Uh..sorry, ma'am. Had a busy week."

Holding her breath Maeve forced a smile, "It's fine...I'll just wear a clothes pin on my nose." When she was about to leave Bill did ask for her attention, "Ma'am can I ask a favor when you wash my pants?"

"Sure?" Maeve didn't know where this was going but he continued, "Can you do something in the groin area so I won't....chaff? It's uncomfortable," his voice was low but Maeve wanted to express an 'Aww' for the man for trusting her with that detail, "I'll see what I can do, Mister Williamson."

The next couple of tents were Sean MacGuire and Javier Escuella both whom didn't have any requests when washing their clothes, just comments of: "Ain't you a pretty little lass! Makes me think heaven likes to drop it's angels on us, ay Javier?" The other man was tuning his guitar as Sean continued, "Tell you what, you wash my clothes and I'll give you a proper thank you later tonight?" he winked.

Maeve clenched her teeth together and shook her head, "No, thank you. Stayin' at camp is plenty of a reward," Sean tossed his clothes in the basket, "If ya change yer mind, the offer is always there."

She made a shutter and held the basket out to Javier who decided to comment, "She's not interested you. Why would she be? When she can be with a real man?" Javier flirted with raised eyebrows when placing his shirts in.

The girl was already getting fed up with this, "Fellas, I have five other tents I have to go to today. Is this gonna happen a lot when I come to collect?" The two men shrugged and answered simultaneously.

"Maybe."

"Most certainly."

Maeve rolled her eyes to move on to the next person, which was the cook Pearson. His clothes smelled of meat and blood with stains of stew. After him was Uncle and all his booze scented union suits.

"These are your pajamas. What about your clothes you wear everyday?" Maeve asked him.

"You want me to take 'em off?" he went to slide off the strap of his overalls and Maeve shouted out a, "No! No! Please!" then picked up the basket to run off to Dutch's tent. This entire time Arthur had kept his eye on Maeve, seeing how well she was handling herself with the men around camp.

"She seems to be doing fine," Hosea said not looking up from his book that he was reading. Arthur turned to his father like figure, "I suppose so. Miracle she resisted the charms of the more seductive members of the gang."

"Javier?"

"I meant Uncle," they both had a laugh about that until Hosea closed his book after marking it with his finger, "It is nice to see you care about someone again."

Arthur scoffed while pointing his thumb to the woman, "I don't care about her."

"Really?" Hosea wanted to laugh at the denial, "Then why you so interested in seeing the men of camp conversing with Miss Lily?"

"It's Milley-- shit!" Arthur cursed himself as Hosea pointed at him going, "Ah ha! I got ya!"

"Oh that doesn't prove anything!" He tried to defend himself but Hosea knew better, "It's not a crime to take a liking to the girl, Arthur. We all know how you have a weakness for brunettes with a pretty face and need rescuin' from some force or another."

He shut his eyes, "Please don't bring her up. As far as I can tell, Maeve is nothing like Mary. Or Eliza for that matter."

"Which is a good thing. Maybe Maeve won't hurt you like Mary did," Hosea did frown at the mention of Eliza, "And you did say that Miss Milley can hold her own based on what you told me when you found her."

Arthur placed his forearm against the pillar holding up the tent to rest. He knew what Hosea was getting at with that statement. Maeve was a fighter, a strong and stubborn one at that. He stared at her when she was listening to Dutch go over in extreme detail on how to wash his vests. As if sensing being watched, Maeve turned her head to see Arthur.

They gazed at each other for what felt like a long moment before one corner of Maeve's mouth lifted then raised her hand up to give him a gentle wave, like she had back on the first night that they met right before leaving the saloon.

"Now--Miss?" Dutch interrupted them to say while still holding his vest, "You need to let this soak for a while. It's important."

Hosea set his book down on the table, "Arthur, you're not with anyone. She's not with anyone, for now. You both seem to like one another. What's keepin' you?"

Arthur moved away from the pillar and looked down at his feet knowing the answer. He was just unsure if he should answer it, even if it wasn't his to tell. The outlaw brought his eyes to Hosea who was waiting to hear his answer.

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Maeve held up a blue frill-chested blouse against her body while looking in the mirror to see if it was the shirt she wanted to wear for tonight. With a soft frown, Maeve had another button up blouse in her hand that was a light pink with sleeves going to her elbows. She liked that one more and put it on while wearing her black skirt with a dark gray strip pattern going vertical on the fabric.

She went over to look at herself in the mirror by her window to practice her smiling while saying, "Mother, Father...This is John Marston. Don't pause for so long," she took a breath stressing too much over this simple introduction, "Mama, Papa-- ew no," she waved her hand in frustration. Maeve tried again, "Everett, Cecilia, I'd like you to meet Mister Marston. Oh, come on! That's much too formal. Why is this so difficulty to say? You got him to agree with meeting your parents and your parents actually want to meet him," Maeve said to herself in the reflection. Resetting her composer to be that of a more relaxed state, Maeve said, "Mom, Pa. I'd liked you to meet John. John Marston."

She liked that delivery enough to smile at herself, "Now give us your blessing to get married. John get down on one knee," Maeve giggled at herself, "Maybe just worry about them meeting for now."

A loud ringing was heard from the grandfather clock from downstairs. It rang seven times notifying Maeve that John would be here soon and she hasn't even started on dinner, "Oh no!" she hurried down the stairs in a panic. A great scent filled her nose when she ran into the kitchen and it was delicious.

"Ma?" Maeve couldn't believe her eyes. Cecilia had her hair up in a nice bun wearing a pale yellow silk blouse with small pink flowers embroider on it and a pink floral pattern skirt to match. Her golden earrings dangled from her lobes. It wasn't Cecilia's outfit that surprised Maeve, what took the daughter for a loop was that her mother was cooking without a drop of alcohol close by, "Yes, my sweet?"

The platter Cecilia was holding had freshly cooked prairie chicken with some vegetables, "This--this looks amazing. I was gonna settle on canned goods and salted beef. Ma, where did you find time to make this and--" she sniffed the air again catching a whiff of dessert, "peach cobbler?"

Her mother let out an amused laugh, "Well, when you put the bottle down for a day or so you find other things to fill in your time. Besides couldn't have you stressing out so much on what to feed our guest while you gussied up. Then it would have been for nothing. And how often is it that you take interest in a boy?" Everett had walked in the kitchen and the older woman waved her hand to him to catch his attention, "What was the name of that one boy Maeve shoved in the mud back in Saint Denis?"

The father was setting the table, "That was one of the Wilson's boys. Neil, I think," he chuckled.

"He doesn't count because I didn't like him," Maeve stared at her mother, eyes filled with gratitude now, "In all seriousness, thank you. I am at a loss of words," Everett was eyeing the food, "If our guest isn't here in the next fifteen minutes, I'm eatin' without him. It is a sin to let that go cold," Even her father wore his best button up shirt that was a hue of green with suspenders attached to his dark town pants. Everett went as far as having a fresh shave done to his face.

Cecilia rolled her eyes, "You eat anything without that man present and you sleep outside with the horses, Mister."

Maeve grinned at her mother's warning, "She's very serious pa, better watch out." Everett put his fists on his hip to say in a playfully firm tone, "I did not shave off my beard to have you two gang up on me!"

Cecilia went to take out the peach cobbler to place it down on the table while saying, "Everett, enough horsin' around," her husband glared at the notion she even used that phrase, but let her continue, "This dinner is very important to our daughter and we will treat it as the most important night of our lives."

The daughter of these two hilarious yet supportive individuals was touched. Maeve smiled lovingly at them. Cecilia then added, "And with any luck this man will come take Maeve away to marry her and have eight children together."

Maeve stared at her mother, "Eight?! Are you insane?"

"No, I really want to be a grandmother. I miss having a baby around the house," Cecilia smiled. Everett groaned, "Oh gee, all the cryin' and poopin'. I miss that too," he said sarcastically, "Glad, Maeve grew out of that--well you can still do those I just don't have to put up with it."

"Oh my!" Maeve laughed out. She didn't appreciate this then, but all this banter did ease the girl of all the stress she had about having this dinner.

Outside the house, looking in on this family through the windows was John. He had been standing out here since Maeve was talking to herself in the mirror. Seeing her with her folks, laughing and being decent people, John realized something he didn't want to. If he went in there, he'd ruin all of their lives with being the man he is. He'd ruin Maeve.

Looking at where she came from it was everything he wanted as a child, even now. How long would it be before he started robbing out of desperation or shooting people? How long would it be before anyone recognized him on a wanted a poster and he had to run again? He couldn't let this family go through any of that, they were too good for it, too good for him. It was bad enough he was sneaking around with their daughter, being in love with her. If he went into that house right now, they would accept him and he would love them making it so much harder for when that day came. The day where everything came to an end for John Marston.

The conflicted man took a final look at that happy family before turning a way to get back to the saloon for a few drinks and then getting ready to leave Blackwater. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John's tent was going to be last for Maeve. She did not want to walk in on their talk; not out of fear, but getting shot again was something Maeve didn't find to be fun. Being stabbed seemed annoying as well which was a quieter approach for an angry wife to pull on his husband's ex-lover. Maeve could only imagine the nasty things that will be said to her once Abigail gets out of the tent. Whore was going to be a popular one. Homewreckin' Slut would be another wonderful pet name. Maeve knew this whole situation was not her fault since John never mentioned his marriage, but why did she feel so damn guilty then?

Maeve sighed out when getting the Callander brothers' clothes, "Can you get this back to me before tomorrow morning?" Mac requested for his bloodied blue shirt, "I wanted to hit the town and this is my best shirt." The girl nodded adding it to the rest. She glanced at John's tent to see if anyone came out and still there was nothing. Slowly approaching the dreaded tent, a voice called out to her, "Abigail will get John's clothes."

Maeve turned to see it was Hosea saying this as he approached her with a single dirty shirt. She was rather suspicious as to why the older man went out of his way to deliver his laundry to her, "Are you sure that's all you want done?" The man nodded, "Positive," was all he said when walking back towards his tent, “Huh.”

When she picked up the now heavy basket she started to walk to where Susan instructed, that is until a small child ran right in front of her, startling Maeve to drop the clothes, "Oh my!" It was Jack who stopped to turn on his heel to stick out his little tongue to blow a raspberry.

Maeve scoffed at the little child, "The words you're lookin' for are excuse me, Miss." He put his hands up, thumbs touching his temples, wiggling his fingers, and blew out another raspberry.

She winced her eyes, "I don't know why I expected manners out of a kid being raised by a bunch of outlaws," Maeve got on the ground to pick up the dropped articles of clothing as Jack ran off again.

"He's almost three, what did you expect?" she heard Arthur and tilted her head up to see him standing over her. Maeve answered with, "I don't know. Maybe him offering to help a lady carry such a large load of clothes down to the washing area?"

Arthur smirked at her sarcasm, "You expect too much. Hate to see what you have in mind for John."

Maeve's lip corners dropped after Arthur had said that, "I didn't expect a lot, actually," she aggressively put the clothes back in her basket.

"Say that Abigail doesn't murder him or you, you and John plan on running off into the sunset together?" he said coldly. Maeve went to stand up, "You know something? I think I like you better when I'm drunk."

Arthur scoffed, "Wouldn't be the first time a woman's told that to me."

"Yeah? That's a surprise! Why would any woman, sober or drunk, wants to be around you when you act like such a fool," Maeve grabbed her basket starting to leave. "I'm the fool? You're the one pining after a married man."

Maeve set the basket down hard and whipped around to stomp over to her antagonizer, "I didn't know he was married!" she hissed when being inches from his face, "I didn't know he was a father either! I didn't know! He never said anything to me about it. If he did, maybe nothing would have happened."

Arthur rose an eyebrow at her, "Maybe nothing would have happened?" Maeve let out a breath while staring at a rock on the ground, "Yeah...you heard me."

"Maeve that's--well that's not really good either," his tone dropped from antagonizing to actual concern for her. There weren't many people around them during their discussion which they both were thankful for.

"Arthur, we--" she started, "John and I were--well what I thought--," Maeve felt so stuck getting the words out until she finally said out loud something even Maeve never wanted to admit again, "I loved him and I wanted him more than I ever wanted anything."

Arthur watched her as she spoke, "Haven't you ever just felt an intense feeling for someone? Being around them just drives you insane with excitement?" Maeve asked him, "And then to have 'em walk out of your life just when you think things are going well? Well enough that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with 'em?"

How he wanted to say, 'Yes' or that he knew that feeling of rejection all too well from his former love. How he had his heart ripped out yet still had to keep going. Perhaps he was being just a little too harsh on Miss Milley.

Maeve got the basket when he said nothing, "I get it...I'm the bad guy no matter how the situation is. Call me whatever name you got, Mister. Been preparing myself to hear nasty words all day," Arthur reached his hand out to her, "Gimme," he said referring to the laundry. She gazed at him as if he was going to pull a prank on her, but he didn't. After he gestured his hand again for it Maeve let him carry the load.

They didn't say anything on the walk over to the wash buckets. A few of the ladies greeted Arthur when he set down the clothes, "Gee Arthur, you tryin' to impress the new girl?" Karen said smoking a cigarette instead of scrubbing shirts like Tilly and Mary-Beth.

Maeve got some clothes to start on. She ignored the girl's teasing, wanting to get this over with to go back to her lumpy bed roll. Arthur was a bit taken back by Karen's bluntness but just said, "Well, Miss Milley is in a bit of trouble, ya know." Maeve's head snapped up to Arthur, on the verge of being mortified if he said anything. "Oh really?" Karen took a long drag before blowing out the smoke. He noticed Maeve's expression then said, "Mrs. Grimshaw gave her the task of collecting the men's clothing. How cruel and smelly is that?"

The girls laughed and Maeve, her laugh was nervous relief, "Told ya she would get lovely in a matter of days," Karen pointed out then flicked her but away to take some wet clothes to the clothes hanger.

"Yeah, you did..." Maeve stared at Arthur for a moment, mouthing a 'Thank you' to him. He gave a soft nod to the girl then tipped his hat, "Ladies, always a pleasure," and walked back to the camp.

Maeve got started on scrubbing each article of clothing, it was a long process. From Dutch's request to have his vests soak longer in the water, to softening Bill's pants so he wouldn't chaff. Her fingers were tender and raw by the time she finished washing. Thankfully, Tilly helped by hanging up the wet laundry as she went.

Susan had came over to check on the girls and was pleased to see that they got this done, "I knew I could count on you to get this done, Miss Milley. You're a fine addition to our gang."

Maeve smirked but nodded to Tilly, "Miss Jackson was a big help too." "Well you both earned some stew," Susan started to lead them back to camp. Maeve made a face at that reward, "I thought we did a good job, Mrs. Grimshaw."

Tilly barked out a laugh when approaching the stew pot, "Here you go, Miss. Nice to see you gettin' a meal in," Pearson handed her a bowl noting how she didn't eat much. "Thanks," Maeve walked by her bag about to take out a can of her favorite fruit when she saw, sitting by the fire, John, not eating. He looked exhausted and frustrated which must have meant his talk went about as well as anyone expected.

Maeve was brought up with a decision now. Go eat her food on her bedroll or go sit by John to see how he's doing.

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It was past midnight by the time Maeve arrived at the Blackwater Saloon. Only the worst went through her head as to why John didn't show up to dinner. Had he been robbed? Did he get in a fight? Did he die? There had to be an explanation as to why he never arrived.

Maeve hitched Liability to a post before running through the doors, startling Lou, "What are you doin' here, Miss Milley? Thought you were off?" he seemed annoyed that she was there at this time.

"Where's John?" she asked. Lou pointed upstairs, "Where else?"

Maeve climbed the stairs in a hurry and found John shutting the door to his room. She stepped closer to him when saying, "John, what happened to you? I was worried sick when you didn't show up! I thought--" she noticed the bag over his shoulder. He hasn't even looked at her yet, "John? Where are you going?"

He let go of the door handle, "I have to leave. Tonight."

"What?" she was so confused, "Why? What's so important that you had to skip out on meetin' my parents?"

While he was facing her, the brim of his hat was covering his eyes, "Nothing, Maeve. I've been here too long and it's time I move on."

'You mean move on from me', is what Maeve thought to herself, "Is it me?"

"Mae--"

"No! What did I do to you? Did I say something?" Her eyes welled up, "If you weren't ready to meet them, it's okay! We could have done this a different night. I can wait for you, John. We can do this whenever you want. Just please--" her eyes begged him not to leave.

This was really tugging at his heart. He knew she would wait a century if that's what it took. Part of him did want to drop everything and just embrace Maeve, stay with her forever and start over. That would end and every thing he's tried to hide from her for so long would come out.

Not just that he had a wife and child, but his entire past of being an outlaw. That entire history of being a thief, a murderer, all of it was enough to scare any sane woman like Maeve running for the hills. She would end up resenting him or worse, turning him in.

"Maeve, I'm not who you think. I'm not that man you want to bring home to your folks," he finally tilted his head up to see the tears steaming down her face, "You're not gonna even let me decide that for myself?" Maeve's voice raised. She took a moment to breathe, "Let me come with you."

John shook his head, "I'm not askin' you to leave your family. To abandon your life here."

Frustrated, Maeve clutched her fists, "I want a life with you! You idiot! I don't care if we have a quiet, boring one or an adventurous one where we travel. I just want to be with you because I--I--," her voice started to shake. She shut her eyes for a moment then opened them to look John in the eye as she told him, "I love you."

With a heavy heart, John uttered an, "I'm sorry," staring right back at her, "but you don't belong in my life and I don't belong in yours."

Her mouth dropped open as he walked passed her to head down the stairs. Maeve's heart beat fast against her chest as John slipped away. There was an empty shot glass on the table close to her. Maeve on impulse grabbed it in her hand and threw towards the wall that was right by John's head whistle letting out a yell, "I hope you're sorry for the rest of your life!"

John jumped and looked back at her, "Are you nuts?" Maeve huffed a breath at him, eyes scorning with rage something John never thought he would see in her.

"I'm sorry I ever met you!" her words bit like venom. John nodded his head once, as if understanding her rage. In his head I figured she'll get over him faster now. He said taking one last look at her, "Good-bye, Maeve."

As the saloon doors swung shut, Maeve crouched down on the stairs letting out angered sobs. Lou had stood up from behind the bar after having to hide. He looked up at his employee, "Miss Milley?" ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maeve watched John from across camp, his eyes still on the fire in front of him. She hated him for so long after he left. After he left her confused, angry, but most of all heart broken. Cecilia and Everett were there to bring comfort like they always had for her, but that was the only time where it became difficult.

All that girl pondered the entire time she was observing John was whether or not he deserved to have her attention. To have any emotions that she could give. To have her give him a second chance. The answer Maeve needed to hear, would be no. But that definitely wasn't the answer she wanted to hear.

Maeve stood up, leaving her untouched stew behind as she walked across the camp to go to John. Each step brought her closer to him, to the possibility of putting behind their complicated past. When she was just approaching the fire John's head looked up to see her there and just as his face used to do when he saw Maeve, it lit up. Not fully, just enough that he had a smirk on his face.

And then it was ruined by a shrill voice, "Hey!" Maeve tensed up turning to see a pissed off Abigail approaching her, "I believe we need to have a talk, Miss Milley!" the wife hissed her name as if saying a curse word.

All that dirty laundry wasn’t quite done yet. In fact, Maeve was left out to dry "Shit."

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/oc #John Marston #john marston/oc #rdr2 fanfic

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years

Text

Second Chances - Ch. 8

Finding Courage

Warnings: Swearing, angst, grief, fluff with an extra serving of fluff!

Word count: ~10,000

**Author’s note: A book is mentioned that wasn’t published until 1999, but humor me. It’s fiction!

It’s been three weeks since Arthur brought you back to camp. Your ribs and head have mostly healed and cause little pain. Your leg, on the other hand, still has a ways to go. You are starting to get bored and stir crazy, trapped in camp. Strauss determined, shortly after you came back, that you would need around 6 weeks of recuperation, and Grimshaw is hell bent that you don’t leave Arthur’s tent until you can walk again.

Nearly everyone in camp has come to your aid in relieving the boredom. Mary-Beth will sometimes come and sit next to you, discussing books as the two of you knit. She brings you the materials so you don’t have to leave the cot. Javier occasionally sits next to you and plays his guitar or tells you stories about Mexico. One day Jack even comes, offering you a string of flowers to wear around your head that he made himself. You feel extraordinarily grateful to all of them. However, no one can light a candle to Arthur’s efforts.

He’s hardly left camp, determined to take care of you. He brings you coffee every morning and Pearson’s stew every night. As much as you appreciate it, you also wish he’d go out and do things for himself the way he did before you left. He has done one thing for you that you have greatly enjoyed. Nearly every afternoon, he comes into the tent with a book and he reads to you. Sometimes, he’ll hand you the book and have you do it, but you secretly adore it when he’s the one reading. You love hearing his deep, gentle voice. His face softer when he reads, brightening his eyes.

You feel bad for taking the man’s tent and cot. A week after you returned, you tried to offer it back to him, saying you could go sleep in your own tent and bedroll, but he refused, stating you needed it more than him. He’s been spending his nights sleeping close to you, usually on the ground propped up against the crates.

It’s nearly afternoon now and Arthur’s been in camp all day. You’ve been keeping an eye on him, watching as he does chores during the morning. He approaches you, smiling.

“Hey there, Y/N,” he greets, sitting down in the chair that’s remained in the tent. “I need to go huntin’ again, Pearson’s gettin’ real low. But listen, I ain’t gonna go far. When I get back, we can read some more if ya like.”

“Sounds good. I hope Hosea has a new book, think we’ve breezed through his collection already.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure he has one ya ain’t read. ‘Sides, I’m shoar Mary-Beth would be more than happy to lend ya one of hers.”

You sigh, a soft smile on your lips. “Wish I could go with you,” you admit. “I’m getting so bored! If only this damn leg would get better.”

“I know, ya just gotta be patient. Anyways, I need to get goin’.”

He stands up and heads off. Over the past couple of weeks, you’ve been careful with your emotions around him. You’ve done nothing to show you’re still interested, despite it being completely true. If anything, your feelings have gotten stronger, but so has your friendship, and you refuse to let anything ruin that again. He climbs onto Artemis’s saddle and leaves after waving to you.

You wave back, feeling your heart sink. A few days after you had returned, you remembered what happened to Rain. The pain from your leg has been nothing in comparison to the loss of your horse. You tell yourself she was just a horse, an animal. Still the pain of losing such a close friend and companion is so deep sometimes you feel like you’re drowning. You’ve been trying your best to hide it all from Arthur and everyone else, but there are few things you’ve done that are more difficult than suppressing them. Now that no one is around to see you, you lie down on your side, facing the wagon. You silently acknowledge the pain now and let the tears stream down your face, soaking the pillow. It feels like someone shot you in the chest, leaving a gaping hole that cannot be filled. You wish you couldn’t feel anything, it would be so much easier. You purposefully clench your leg in a way that you know will force it to flare, the physical pain is a great distraction and far preferable to what you feel in your heart.

You must have fallen asleep; someone shakes your shoulder gently.

“Y/N, ya awake?” Arthur quietly asks.

You turn, rubbing your sore eyes, looking up at him and sitting up. “Yeah, yeah I am.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya. I have somethin’ for ya, though.”

You look at him as he sits down and reaches into his satchel. “I stopped in Valentine, needed to get somethin’ from the store. Found this, thought ya might like it.”

He hands you a thin book. The green cover has a sketch of a horse’s head, framed in gold ivy. You read the words above the sketch. “Black Beauty,” you say.

“Yeah, thought it might be different. I ain’t never read it before. Figured we could try it.”

You smile as your eyes begin to water. “Thank you, Arthur.”

He smiles sadly at you. “I know ya miss her, darlin’. Rain. She was a good horse.”

“The best,” you say, wiping your eyes. He grabs your hand, running a thumb over it. “It’s hard, sweetheart. I still miss Boadicea. Every day, ‘s matter of fact.”

“But you have Artemis, and I know how much you like her.”

“I do, but that don’t mean I don’t miss Boadicea. What I’m tryin’ to say is it’s okay to miss her, but that don’t mean ya can’t get another horse and care about it, too.”

You can’t prevent the tears falling again. “I just… it makes me feel so weak to feel this way. Sometimes it’s like I can’t breathe.”

“I know,” he says, squeezing your hand. “But to be honest, if ya didn’t feel this way, I’d be more worried about you.”

You sit there in silence, trying to wipe the tears from your face, which seems pointless since they keep falling. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a thin cloth, handing it to you.

“You wanna tell me about her?” he asks softly, taking hold of your hand again.

You smile, despite the pain. “Yeah” you sniff hard, composing yourself enough to talk. “When I was about 10 or so, my grandma had this big, black mare. She got pregnant. I was staying in her cabin when the horse went into labor. My grandma was one of the toughest people I ever known. She had me help her with the foaling. While we were in the barn, a huge thunderstorm came on us. Rained like the devil. My grandma handed her to me right after she was born. I held her head in my lap while we waited for her to start breathing. She was so goddamn cute! We stayed up for hours, cleaning her up, petting her all over. Then she finally stood. When she started nursin’, my grandma told me to name her. I remember listening to the rain outside; that’s how I named her.”

You wipe your eyes as a new wave of tears hits you. Arthur rubs your hand encouragingly. “My grandma told me that she wanted me to take care of the foal. I didn’t live with her, but I visited her every day after that. She showed me how to train her to take a halter, bridle, saddle. Then she taught me how to groom her, clean her feet. When she was about a year, she taught me how to ride on her. We learned together. I can’t tell you how many trail rides I went on with my grandma after that. She used to tell me how Rain would pine for me when I wasn’t there.”

You smile fondly at the memory, your chest clenches painfully. “Then my grandma died a few years later. My dad sold every horse she had, including Rain’s mom. Made a lot of money, too. He tried to sell Rain as well. That was the scariest time of my life. I thought I was gonna lose her. Somehow, though, I convinced him to let me keep her with his grumpy old gelding. She came with me when I got married. I remember one time my husband was outside. He was real drunk, stumblin’ all over the place. He somehow made it inside our pasture. Rain walked over to him just so she could kick him!” you chuckle, Arthur joining in. “Probably a good thing he was drunk; he couldn’t remember a thing about it later on. I’ve always been able to trust her. Knew she’d never let me down. She was the only thing I could depend on after my grandma died. And now I’ve lost her!”

Your voice gives out as the pain overtakes you, forcing your knees to your chest. Arthur lets go of your hand and places it on your back, rubbing gently. He stays silent as you sob into your hands. When you begin to quiet down, he speaks up.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. I never knew you had that kind of connection to her. Makes me and Boadicea seem like a regular pair of fools. But I want ya to know something.” He takes his hand and places it under your chin, turning your wet face to look at him. His thumb wipes away a tear from your cheek. “She’s happy, I’m shoar. She’s up there in a great prairie, where she can eat, drink and play all day long. She still remembers ya, though, and no matter what happens, she’ll always be with ya. Don’t ever doubt it. She wants ya to be happy because ya made her so happy.”

You close your eyes, fresh tears dripping from your eyes. Arthur’s face is so close you can feel his hot breath on you. You open your eyes and see yourself reflected in his blue ones, the scar on his chin. His scent envelopes you; that smell of pine and leather. He’s starting to lean in, you can’t stop looking at his lips.

Reverend Swanson stumbles over, waving around a bottle. “One night when I was frisky,” he starts singing loudly. Arthur and you dart away from each other, startled by his sudden presence. “After drinkin’ some potent whisky!” He continues on. His red, puffy eyes find the pair of you and he smiles broadly, making his clumsy way to you.

“Hey, you two! I want ya to know,” he stumbles, leaning against the pole that holds up the canvas above your heads. “That you are children of God! Children of God!”

He suddenly slumps onto the ground, unconscious.

“Damn it, Swanson,” Arthur grumbles as you giggle. He stands up and picks up Swanson, kicking his empty bottle away. You wipe your eyes as he heaves the Reverend back to his own cot. You hear someone calling his name after that, asking him for his help.

Sometime after the incident with Swanson, you’re lying in the cot still. You’ve managed to compose yourself after your meltdown, but you still hold the book Arthur brought you. You haven’t opened it, waiting for him to return so you can read it together.

Charles enters the tent, holding a long, wooden cane. He looks at you; he seems nervous. “Hello, Y/N,” he greets.

“Hey there, Charles,” you smile.

He holds up the cane. “I, ugh… I made this for you. I know you won’t be able to walk for a bit, but I thought it could help you.”

You look closely at the cane as you take it from him. It’s made of dark wood, the handle has been carved into the intricate form of an owl. You run your thumb over its orb-like eyes.

“Charles, this is amazing!”

He gives you a rare smile. “I just wanted to let you know how much this camp’s appreciated you. Ya know, Pearson’s stew hasn’t been this lean on meat since Colter.”

You chortle. “Well, that means a lot to me, Charles. Thank you so much.”

He nods and leaves. You glance back at the cane, admiring the delicate carvings. You feel honored to receive such a beautiful gift, despite the fact that you and Charles have rarely even spoken to one another.

Arthur returns, followed by John, Bill and the O’Driscoll prisoner, whom you learned a while back is named Kieran Duffy. He looks around nervously, particularly at the tree he’s been tied to since the gang arrived here. You’ve spent hardly any time around him since you yourself were a prisoner of sorts until recently and didn’t want to be seen interacting with a known enemy. You come to a decision, determined to pull it off.

You throw off the blanket, swinging your legs so they dangle off the cot. Your thigh complains at the movement, but you ignore it. You press your feet to the ground, basking in the feeling of grass against your skin again. You grasp the cane as hard as you can, using it to begin lifting yourself up.

“Woah, woah!” a voice calls out, getting close to you. Lifting up your head, you see it’s Arthur. “What ya doin’, girl?”

He approaches you so quickly you sit back down on the cot.

“I’m bored, Arthur. I been layin’ here for weeks! I wanna get up, see the world. Even the other side of camp would be a welcome sight.”

He huffs, standing in front of you. “I know. I don’t know if yer strong enough, though. Don’t want ya hurtin’ yer leg again.”

You straighten up. “I can handle it just fine, Arthur. Besides, I have this to help me.”

You lift up the cane. Arthur grabs and inspects it. “Where you get this from?”

“Charles. Said he made it for me.”

“Well, that’s real fine,” he says, smiling as he hands it back to you. “Tell ya what, ya can try standin’ and walkin’, but I ain’t leavin’ yer side.”

“Deal.” You situate the cane again, using it to pull yourself up. Arthur offers you his hand, which you take. He helps lift you up, letting you put a good portion of your weight against him as you slowly start to press down on your leg. Although it hurts like hell, it seems like it will hold your weight. For now, at least.

Arthur takes a step away from you, still holding onto your hand. He gestures to you, telling you to walk forward to him. You take a hesitant step, moving the cane with your leg. You can tell instantly by the shaking and the pain that if Arthur weren’t there, you’d have fallen already. You look down, shaking your head.

“Maybe you’re right, Arthur. I don’t know if I can do this.”

He sighs heavily. “I ain’t surprised. Well, can ya stand on it at least?”

You slowly nod, a little unsure.

“Good. Ya mind if I…” he gestures his arms towards you, wrapping one around your waist while the other approaches your knees. You realize he’s offering to pick you up. You nod your head and drape an arm over his shoulder before he sweeps you up effortlessly into his arms. You hold on tight to your cane; it dangles from your grip as he swings around and walks towards the hitching post where Artemis is tied. You see Hosea and Grimshaw looking at the two of you, smiling. You try your best to prevent the blush in your cheeks as he carries you over to the large grey horse, setting you down close to her. He stands behind you, letting you use him as a pillar to lean on in case your leg gives out.

You test your aching thigh, finding it capable of holding you up. You reach up with your arms and pat Artemis’s neck. She rumbles softly, the sound low and deep, swishing her tail. Her ears point back so she can hear you, her eyes soft as she chews slowly.

“Ah, knew she’d remember ya,” Arthur says softly behind you. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a treat, handing it to you. You take it and offer it to the large horse. You continue to pet her as she munches on it.

After a few moments, your leg begins to remind you that it’s still wounded. You do your best to turn to Arthur. “Thank you for this,” you say, smiling up at him, limping. “You’ve no idea how nice it is to pet a horse again. Even if it’s not…”

His hand reaches up and settles on your upper arm, his thumb tracing lines. Without a word, he sweeps you up into his arms and towards the tent. You hear from the direction of the campfire the sound of Javier playing his guitar.

“Arthur, wait. Will you take me to the campfire?”

He stops and looks. “Shoar, why not?”

He changes directions and takes you over, setting you down carefully on one of the logs. You adjust your leg so the pain is hardly noticeable. Arthur sits down close to you, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

Javier stops playing, looking up at you. “Hola, Y/N,” he says.

“Hi, Javier. Please don’t stop playing on my account.”

He smiles as his fingers expertly pluck at the strings again. “Glad to see you finally out of that tent.”

“Me too. Arthur here’s too kind to let me use it, but I’m ready to leave.”

The two men chuckle. Arthur hands you his cigarette. You take it and drag from it as Javier begins singing in Spanish. The sound of the guitar and his voice washes over you. You’d take this any day over Dutch’s gramophone, especially since you swear Dutch likes to play it either late at night or unforgivably early in the morning. It’s amazing it hasn’t mysteriously disappeared. You hand Arthur back his cigarette, trading smiles with him.

A few days later, you’re standing in camp, leaning against the table where Lenny and Micah play five finger fillet. You’ve been standing up each day, even taking a few steps, trying to gain the strength back in your legs. You feel particularly proud today since you managed to walk all the way to the table by yourself, despite the pain. You had to use the cane, of course, and it took an unimaginably long time, but you did it. Your leg throbs painfully now, having been strained by the walk.

Arthur’s not in camp. Dutch had sent him out early this morning to go meet with someone named Trelawney with Charles and Javier to retrieve Sean. Word is that Sean is being held near Blackwater by bounty hunters, so the group left to go and get him back. You have to say you’re looking forward to seeing him again. He always has a way to lighten up the mood in camp. You just hope nothing goes wrong.

Hosea approaches you as you lean up against the table.

“Hello, Y/N,” he says as he uses a mortar and pestle to grind up some herbs. You recognize it instantly. After Grimshaw and the others had you cleaned and stitched up, Hosea made a highly useful combination of grounded herbs to help with the pain. Swanson had given you a dose of his morphine previously, but you didn’t like how fuzzy it made you feel. It also tended to make you feel nauseous and sick. You wondered how he managed to take it so frequently. Soon afterwards, Hosea introduced you to the herbs. They didn’t knock out the pain as effectively as the morphine, but at least they didn’t make you sleepy.

“Keep on giving me that stuff, Hosea, and I’ll live to be a hundred,” you joke as he leans next to you.

He laughs. “That’s the idea. How’s that book you and Arthur been readin’? What’s it called again?”

“Black Beauty,” you say fondly. You and Arthur have been reading from it nearly every day since he brought it to you. You’ve grown fond of it, even though it makes you miss Rain.

“That’s the one. Ya mind if I borrow it when yer done?”

“Sure. Don’t know if it’s really up your alley, though.” Arthur mentioned that Hosea was more of a mystery fan when it came to books.

“I’m always open to new stories,” he says with a sly smile. “Arthur tells me yer gettin’ real good with readin’ and writin’.”

You smile. “Yeah. Hard to believe only two months ago, I couldn’t read. Seems like a lifetime ago that I was runnin’ on my own.”

“It’s lucky Arthur found ya. You’ve been good for each other.”

You smile wider, staring off into the camp as Hosea continues to grind the herbs. Lenny, standing in the trees, shouts that someone’s coming. Javier prances in on Boaz, his silver paint; Sean sitting behind him. He hollers loudly, calling the entire camp’s attention to him. Charles follows behind, rolling his dark eyes.

“Fear no more, ladies and gents!” Sean yells loudly in his thick Irish accent, spreading his arms wide open. “The life of te party is back!”

You can’t help but laugh as he hops off Boaz; you can tell by Javier’s face that he was quite the companion. Javier dismounts, muttering in Spanish, stalking off to the campfire.

“Ol’ Grimshaw!” Sean yells as Susan walks past, holding a cup of coffee. “Don’t ya worry, lass! I’ll get these girls whipped up into shape again! Pearson!” he yells at the cook, skinning a rabbit. “That pot o’ yours will never ‘ave been fuller now I’m back!”

Pearson and Grimshaw laugh. Sean turns and sees you next to Hosea. He notices the the way you hold your leg, cane in hand.

“Ah, it wouldn’t be right if ya didn’t have some new injury to show off!” he guffaws, approaching you. You can’t help but chuckle with him. “You and John could be best mates! Ol’ Scar Face and the One-Legged Belle!”

You guffaw, “Yeah, ‘cept I still have my leg, ya dolt!”

He stands next to you and drapes an arm lazily over your shoulder, not noticing your attempts to gently shrug it off.

“Ah, o’ course, o’ course. Bet ya gave te bastard who tried rippin’ it off quite a time, though. Hardly known a better butcher than you, ‘cept for old Arthur maybe!”

You giggle, finally pulling his arm off of you. Hosea walks off, shaking his head fondly. Just then, Arthur trots in on Artemis. You turn to face him, smiling widely. He smiles back as he dismounts.

“Ah, and if it isn’t ol’ grumpy Morgan now! Don’t know why ya hang wit’ him so much. Such a downer, that one!”

You laugh, waving him off. Sean struts away, calling to Uncle. Arthur comes and stands in front of you, hands on his gun belt.

“Ya manage to get over here on yer own?” he asks.

You smile proudly. “I sure did! Only took me half an hour. Glad you got Sean out of there, even if he talks too much.”

“Yeah, he might be a loud mouth and a braggart, but he’s a good kid.” He smiles, reaching into his satchel. He pulls his hand out, which is clenched around something.

“I, ugh,” he begins before clearing his throat loudly. “Found this when I was headin’ back. Well, after I helped some wildlife photographer get his bag back from a greedy coyote. Reminded me of you.”

He opens his hand and reveals a necklace made of a silver chain. Dangling from it inlaid in a silver clasp is a small sapphyre. You look up at him after admiring the stone.

“Arthur, you didn’t have to get me this,” you say. “How much this cost you?”

He huffs. “Technically, it didn’t cost me nothin’. Some guy on the trail bumped into me, then demanded I apologize.”

You laugh. “I imagine that didn’t end well for him.”

“No, it didn’t. He’s fine, though, if yer wonderin’. I only took his money and found this in his pocket. I was gonna sell it until I saw it proper. Thought you might like it.”

Your heart swells as he puts it around your neck, latching the chain to the hook. You admire it as it rests on your chest, then look up at him again.

“Thank you, Arthur. But seriously, you should have sold it. Bet ya could’ve gotten twelve dollars for it, if not more.”

“Nah, I think I prefer it this way. Looks nice on you.”

His hand comes up to settle on your upper arm. You find yourself placing your hand on his chest, feeling the stamped leather of his red vest. He starts pulling you closer, shrinking the gap between you. His eyes are mirroring yours.

You hear someone yell Arthur’s name. John walks up and the two of you split immediately, hoping he didn’t see you standing so close to one another.

“Morgan,” he says again. The look on his face says he didn’t notice your close proximity to one another, and if he did it doesn’t show. “Mary-Beth said somethin’ ‘bout that train goin’ south to Saint Denise. I think we oughta start plannin’ on it, see if we can take it.”

Arthur sighs in frustration as you lean back on the table. “Robbin’ trains are a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, but she did some diggin’. The take should be real good. ‘Sides, I have a few ideas for it.”

“Fine,” Arthur says. He glances at you before leaving with John, heading for the other side of camp. You clutch your cane and start preparing yourself to walk back to Arthur’s tent.

“Well, well,” says a greasy voice from behind you. “Looks like Ms. High-and-Mighty decided to grace us with her presence and leave her cozy little tent!”

You turn and glare at Micah.

He sneers at you. “Was wonderin’ when you’d finally leave Morgan’s cot. Not that I’m surprised. I thought you’d have invited him into your bed a long time ago.”

You stand up as straight as you can, ignoring the pain. “I ain’t that kind of girl, Mr. Bell. Besides, I’d let him or anyone else in this camp in my bed before I’d ever let you even come close.”

He snickers. “Ya always did have a soft spot for him, didn’t ya? Well, I hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but he’s still got somethin’ for that Mary girl. Now I bet she’s a fine woman. The kind that could make a man wanna kill another man. Doubt anyone would even look twice at you if she were around.”

Your temper flares. You know he’s just trying to upset you. “How would you know, Micah? Ya ever seen her? I doubt it, the sight of you is enough to make anyone nauseous.”

Laughing again, he approaches you. “Because Morgan only goes after pretty girls.” He grins nastily at you as he leaves. You wish your leg was stronger, you’d already be giving him a good beating. Instead, you turn away and stare off into camp, trying to ignore what he said. The warm feeling you had before is gone. You clasp the cane again, heading back to the tent.

Night has come. Pearson, Karen and Uncle have pulled out bottles of alcohol to celebrate the return of Sean. The Irish man stands on a box, giving an almost taunting yet endearing speech about how everything’s going to be okay now he’s back. You can’t help laughing with the others as you lean on Pearson’s wagon. Karen approaches you with a bottle of whisky.

“Here, girl!” she proclaims, handing you the bottle.

“Nah, I really shouldn’t. I just took some more of those herbs Hosea’s been givin’ me, I doubt they’ll mix well with that.”

“Ah, don’t be so worried! ‘Sides, it can’t hurt too much.” She winks and shoves the bottle in your hand and you take a sip. She walks off, swaying a bit.

You grasp your cane and walk over to the campfire slowly. Uncle, Sean, Javier, Pearson and Arthur sit around it, drinking and joking. As you sit next to Arthur, Uncle breaks out into song.

“When I was just a lad, you know, I met a gal from Blue Bordeaux, she had blonde hair and blue eyes too,” he starts and the others join in the song. You can’t help but laugh at the heavily inappropriate song, drinking more.

“That’s what ya call the ring dang do!” the men finish, roaring with laughter.

“Yer a dirty man!” Arthur chuckles as you hand him the bottle. He takes a long drink as Dutch calls from his tent.

“That’s all well and said, but how about something a bit more civilized?” He turns around and switches on his gramophone. Classical music sweeps over the camp. Arthur gets up to go and speak to John and Charles. You stand up, too, leaving your bottle behind. You don’t really want to drink anymore, despite the fire in your belly. You find yourself limping past Dutch’s tent and stop when you see the man dancing slowly with Ms. O’Shea. They laugh sweetly when Dutch twirls her around. You can’t help but smile.

Arthur wanders past you, finishing a bottle of beer. You call his attention to Dutch and Molly.

“They seem so sweet together,” you mumble, your head feeling a little misty. “Y’know, I never known how to dance.”

He looks at you curiously. “Well, I ain’t much of a dancer neither, but ya wanna try?”

You stare up into his eyes, unsure. “I don’t know, Arthur, with this leg…”

“Ah, don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll help ya.”

He offers you his hand. You toss your cane a few feet away and take it. You reach up and place your hand on his sturdy shoulder as his hand hesitantly slides onto your waist. He starts leading you around in a slow circle. The mixture of herbs and alcohol has greatly dulled the pain from your legs as well as your regular inhibitions, although you still limp. He takes his hand from your waist, bending you down backwards and pulling you back up, releasing a giggle from you.

“Well, Mr. Morgan,” you laugh. “I never knew you could be so graceful!”

He huffs. “Turns out I’m just full of surprises.”

He leads you in a circle again, breaking it up every once in a while with a dip or a flourish. Your heart flutters every time, you can’t help but breathe in his scent and gaze into his blue eyes.

The pain in your leg is starting to flare, making you long for the bottle of whisky, when Arthur grabs your hands and twirls you around delicately. He spins you back towards him and pulls you in close, enveloping you in his strong arms. You wrap your arms around his waist, tucking your head under his chin. The sound of his heart pumps fast in your ears. You feel your own beating a thousand miles a minute. His arms wrap tighter around you as he sways you back and forth, no longer circling. Despite all the efforts you’ve made to not let him know how you feel, you revel in the feeling of his skin against yours, the feeling of his cheek resting on your head. You never want this moment to stop as you close your eyes.

The music suddenly ends, you hear Dutch compliment Molly. Arthur’s arms relax, releasing you. You have to adjust your leg quickly so you don’t stumble, taking your weight back and feeling somehow colder. His eyes are hidden beneath his hat, but he’s wearing a smile.

“Sorry if that was a little too close for comfort, Y/N,” he sighs. “I just… been wantin’ to do that for a while now.”

You giggle, unable to hide the blush crawling up your cheeks. “No, Arthur, that was… well, it was nice.”

You stretch up as much as you can and kiss him on the cheek, turning away to watch Karen lead Sean into John’s tent.

Two weeks have gone by since Sean’s party. The ambience in the camp has shifted; it’s become lighter and happier. At night, the sounds of laughter often echo from the campfire. Your mood has greatly improved as well, now that you’re no longer restricted to Arthur’s tent. You’ve been moved back into your own for nearly a week after Grimshaw declared your leg is healed enough to withstand lying on the ground. You still have to walk around with the cane sometimes, but you can go for a period of time without it.

You’re standing at the washbin, scrubbing at some dishes when you hear a familiar snort. You turn and see Arthur riding in. He smiles widely at you when he sees you, and you return it without hesitating. Ever since the night Sean came back and the two of you danced together, your friendship has blossomed. Of course, it has also deepened your feelings for him, although you’re still reluctant to mention or even show it. You’ve become conflicted by his behavior though. When the two of you are hidden from the eyes of the others in camp, Arthur will usually grab your hand or put his hand on your shoulder or back. Sometimes he’ll even pull you into a quick hug.

He approaches you, rubbing his hands together.

“There she is!” he says happily. You return his greeting.

“How’s yer leg?” he asks, putting his hands on his gun belt. You turn your face back to the water, blushing. Nothing makes you want to wrap your arms around him more than when he stands like that.

“‘S doin’ good!” you say, continuing to scrub. “I’ve hardly had to use my cane today.”

“Well, good, I’m glad. Say, ya wanna go into town?”

You look back at him. “God, I’d love to. So sick of seein’ this camp.”

“Let’s go then,” he says turning away and going back to his horse. You begin to follow, limping a bit, but then stopping as he hops onto the saddle. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know if I can ride a horse yet, Arthur, with my leg.”

“We’ll go slow, darlin’,” he says, reaching his hand towards you. “Just let me know if it gets to be too much.”

You grab his arm and he lifts you up behind him, not letting you go until you’re situated. Your thigh twinges a bit, but the pain is manageable. You nervously slither your arms around his abdomen. He turns Artemis down the trail, walking her slow. When he gets to the main trail, he turns to you.

“How ya doin’?”

“Good. You might be able to go faster, actually.”

He kicks Artemis into a trot; she picks up the pace, swishing her long, black tail. He keeps her at that pace all the way into town.

You almost admit that you’ve missed seeing the muddy town and its simple folk, but then you realize that even after six weeks, nothing can really improve this dump named Valentine. He slows Artemis to a walk as the two of you pass the train station and livestock yard. You see a large, white tent to the left up ahead.

“What is that?” you ask, never really having paid attention to it before.

“Think it’s one of them movin’ pictures I been hearin’ folk talk about,” he answers, pulling up to it.

“I never seen one of them before,” you admit, taking one of your hands away from his waist.

“Well, let’s change that,” you can hear by the tone of his voice he’s smiling. He stops Artemis outside the tent and swings his leg over her head, slipping off. He puts up his arms, helping you off. Your stumble a bit as your leg adjusts to the weight, but he doesn’t let go of you. Once you’re balanced, he offers you his arm and walks you up to a man standing behind a desk, offering tickets. He pays $2 for them and walks you inside.

Inside, the tent has a projector pointed at the opposite wall, rows of seats filed under the projector’s beam. You pick two seats; there’s only a couple of other people in the tent. Just as the two of you sit down, the show starts as the electric lights dim. It consists of nothing more than some images with some type of moving element. A man narrates over the scenes, telling the tale about why the bear hibernates during winter. You’re fascinated; you’ve never seen an image move before.

As you’re watching, Arthur lifts up his arm as he scratches the back of his neck. He then drapes it behind your head, resting his hand on your shoulder. You lean into him, feeling your cheeks grow hot. You’re glad the tent is dark so he can’t see.

The show ends, the lanterns glowing again. Arthur removes his arm as the two of you stand. He smiles at you as he hides his eyes under his hat again. You take hold of his hand as you both walk out and back to Artemis. He lifts you back onto her then climbs up in front of you, carrying on to the middle of town.

He hitches Artemis outside the saloon, helping you off. The two of you head inside and he buys you dinner, despite your comments that you can buy your own food.

“Ya think ya might be up for a huntin’ trip soon?” he asks as you both eat.

You pause, chewing. “I dunno, I hope so. Be nice to get out again for a few days. I just… don’t know if…”

“I know, yer worried about yer leg. But ya seem to be doin’ good. I bet ya can handle it. ‘Sides, ya deserve to get out. Been cooped up in Horseshoe too long.”

You smile at him. “Well, there’s that then. Only problem is I don’t have any weapons anymore. Those damn monsters took ‘em when they… after I got captured.”

“Well,” he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Gun smith is right ‘cross the road. Bet we could get ya another bow, maybe some guns.”

“That’s a fine thought, Arthur,” you say, taking the last bite of your lamb. “‘Cept, I doubt I got enough money. And before ya say it, I don’t want ya spendin’ anymore money on me.”

He laughs softly. “A’right, fine.”

You nod your head, happy that’s settled. The two of you head out of the saloon.

“Ya mind if I go get a bath? I haven’t had a proper one for far too long,” you say. He nods his head, saying he’ll go back into the saloon and order some drinks while you’re gone. You go and order a bath. Before you enter the water, you take off the bandage from around your thigh. Grimshaw showed you weeks ago how to change it, which must be done every couple of days. You go to a tall mirror in the corner of the room, turning around and twisting your neck so you can inspect the wound. It’s ugly, but at least the stitches are gone. You frown at the angry red line that marks where you were shot by the arrow. You tell yourself it could have been a lot nastier; at least the wound didn’t get infected.

You sink down into the tub, sighing happily as you scrub the old sweat and dirt from your skin. You get up, dry yourself off, and redress your leg. You head outside, thanking the hotel clerk as you exit, and see Arthur standing next to Artemis, holding a Springfield rifle. You approach him, wondering what he’s up to, when he hands you the rifle.

“What’s this?” you ask, taking hold of it. You realize it’s brand new. The metal’s carved with intricate, weaving patterns, and there’s an engraving of a wolf in the handle.

“‘S for you,” he responds.

“What? Arthur! I told ya not to buy me anything!”

He guffaws. “”S too late now! ‘Sides, I wanted to. Also, got ya this.”

He hands you a bow and a quiver of arrows. You blush, sighing deeply. You feel frustrated yet grateful. “Why are you doin’ this, Arthur? I coulda gotten these myself.”

“I know. I just wanted to.” You sigh, defeated before leaning up and place a kiss on his cheek. You notice the red on his cheeks, but say nothing.

He hops onto Artemis, offering to take your new weapons back to strap onto Artemis. You hand them to him, resigned and hop on behind him with his help. The two of you trot back to camp as the sun begins to descend. When Arthur hitches Artemis and dismounts, he speaks up.

“So, tomorrow sound good for huntin’?” He helps you off again, not letting go of your hand.

Smiling, you answer. “Of course. One question, though. I… obviously don’t have a horse anymore. How are we going to work around that?”

“I’m shoar ya could borrow a horse from camp. Plenty a people here ain’t gonna be usin’ theirs for the next few days.”

You shrug your shoulders.

You’re lying in your tent, the singing of birds and the cool air gently waking you from your sleep. You hear someone walking towards your tent. Arthur’s deep voice calls your name. You sit up and peak out of your tent.

The sky above his head is still dark but the horizon is fading into a soft, light blue, rivaling the color of Arthur’s eyes.

“Ya ready to go?” he asks.

“Now? This early?”

“‘Course,” he smiles. “We can get more time in if we leave now.”

You stand up, stretching and putting on your hat. You’re glad that you had approached Hosea the night before asking to take out one of the draft horses that usually pulls the wagons. He also offered you a spare saddle and bridle to take. You go groom a large dun Belgian Draft, strapping the saddle to her and fitting on the bridle. She stomps her foot, making you a bit nervous. You swallow, gather your courage and mount her, your leg only twinging a little. Arthur comes up, strapping on his satchel, smiling.

“Got on yer own just fine, did ya?”

You smile and nod, patting the mare’s neck.

He hops onto Artemis and the two of you head down the trail at an easy trot. You’ve no idea where he’s leading you, but you follow him obediently, enjoying the sweeping views of New Hanover: the distant river, the wide canyon, the orange that is beginning to take over the sky. He leads you up into Valentine and passes the stables, trotting merrily down the faint trail which winds down the hill and towards the river. The two of you cross it, glancing at the sound of a man in a nightgown standing waist-deep in the river, screaming at some invisible being to get away.

You both continue on until you reach an intersection in the trail, heading up the mountain. The temperature begins to drop slightly, and far up ahead on the mountain you see distant trees topped in snow.

The trail levels out and you head down the left side, travelling along it until a pond comes into view. Arthur slows to a stop and you do as well, admiring the sight. The wide pond is beautiful, rippling calmly, its far banks flanked by deer and ducks. You spot the arching antlers of an elk in a nearby copse of small pines. On the other side of the pond, the land rises up into a tall mound, topped with a ram and multiple bighorn sheep, browsing among the trees. You look to the left, to the open grass sloping down the hills and towards the train tracks tucked into a gorge.

“Arthur, this place is beautiful,” you say.

He turns back to see you. “Found it right before we left Colter. This the place we tried robbin’ that Cornwall train. This is Cattail Pond.”

You lead the dun mare to the water. She dips her head and drinks as you dismount, removing the bow and quiver. You adjust your gunbelt slightly, making sure the knife is still in place. You’re happy these things got saved, along with your sawed-off shotgun.

Arthur pats Artemis, telling her to stay put. He approaches you, situating his own bow.

“Now, if ya need anythin’, ya just call me.”

You nod, the both of you wandering into separate directions to hunt.

By midafternoon, you approach the large mare, heaving an elk pelt onto her bag. She snorts as you strap it down, swishing her tail. You glance up the hill towards the main trail and you see silhouettes of horses, grazing. You pull out your binoculars and zoom in on them. You spot a pure black saddler, a palomino, and a dun Appaloosa stallion, his hindquarters heavily spotted. For some reason, you can’t take your eyes off him. You study him as he raises his head, snorts and then goes back to grazing. Arthur approaches you, a white ram pelt tucked under his arm.

“What ya lookin’ at?”

You point ahead at the stallion. “That horse. He’s real pretty. I always had a soft spot for Appys.”

He pulls out his binoculars and looks with you. He lowers them and turns to you.

“Well, go get it then.”

“Huh?” “Go get it!” he says, gesturing to the horse. “Go get on his back and tame him. Bet ya won’t even have to try hard.”

You look at him doubtfully. “Arthur, even with a good leg, I don’t think I could do that. No way I’m coordinated enough. ‘Sides, I wouldn’t even know the first thing.”

“Ya even been bucked off before?”

“Oh yeah. Rain’s mom bucked me once. Flew off and landed like a sack of potatoes.”

He chuckles. “It really ain’t that hard sweetheart.” He goes on to explain how to break a mustang, to maintain your balance until the horse tires out.

“C’mon, girl. How ‘bout I lasso him, ya get on his back. We’ll work together.”

You hesitantly agree. Arthur pulls out his long rope, already knotted. He gestures for you to follow him, hunching slightly. The two of you sneak up the hill slowly, walking as quietly as possible. When you’re close enough, you call out to the stallion, Arthur stopping behind you.

“Easy boy!” you call. “Easy.”

His head launches up as he snorts heavily. He stomps his feet, his ears darting in every direction. You walk towards him slowly, your arms slightly raised.

“Stay calm, boy. I just wanna make friends. You’re real pretty.”

Surprisingly, the stallion doesn’t run but he continues to stomp, tail flicking. You get closer, almost within patting distance, when he rears up. You quickly take several steps back when Arthur’s lasso flies up and over his head, wrapping around his neck.

“Now, Y/N!” he yells.

You dash over and launch yourself onto his back. The stallion begins bucking and plunging, roaring in anger. You grab hard onto his mane, twisting and turning your body to maintain balance. He rears again, nearly throwing you. You clutch to his neck as Arthur yells at you to hang on. He slams back into the ground, you feel yourself start to slide over his side when Arthur catches you, pushing you back onto him.

“There,” he says, breathing hard. “Think ya wore him out.”

The stallion stomps his feet again, tossing his head. You straighten yourself up, patting his neck.

“There,” you pant and pat his neck. “We’re friends now.” You reach into your saddle, offering him a treat.

“That was real good, Y/N,” Arthur praises. He tells you to stay on his back as he leads the horse to the other two. For the next few hours, the two of you work together with the horse, getting him used to being touched. By the time the sun sets, you’ve managed to get the bridle and saddle from the Belgian onto him. You hitch him to the tree as Arthur sets up his tent, spreading out your bedrolls. You pat the horse fondly before turning and kneeling next to the fire.

After cooking a few hunks of meat, the both of you decide to call it a night. Your thigh is sore and achy from the strains of taming the appaloosa. You limp over to the tent, sighing as you lie down. Arthur settles himself behind you. You twist your body so you’re lying on your back. You face him, your eyes already growing tired.

“Night, Arthur,” you sigh, closing your eyes. You feel his hand takes yours as he bids you goodnight.

It’s still dark when you wake, but you can tell by the songs of the birds that morning is near. Your leg hurts quite a bit, which is probably why you’re awake so early. You force yourself to get up, going to Arthur’s grill where the fire was, even though all that is left is a pile of smoldering coals. You reignite it with some nearby dried pine needles. You add some grounded herbs for the pain to a tin cup, adding some hot water from Arthur’s percolator to it. You drink it quickly, despite the awful taste. You add some coffee to the percolator, drinking that as well.

Despite the early hour, you’re wide awake. You hoist yourself up, grunting a bit, and approach the appaloosa stallion still hitched to the tree. You feel a tightening in your gut when he grumbles a deep, happy snort at you, reaching for your outstretched hand with his muzzle. You offer him a treat, patting his neck. You admire the fine white hairs on the back half of his body, the smattering of brown spots. You suddenly feel inspired.

You turn away and take a seat by a large log near the water of the pond. You pull out the journal from your satchel and turn to a blank page. You start to sketch the horse, trying to match the delicate lines of his neck, his slender legs, the long tail. You can see in your head how Arthur would have drawn it since he’s shown you a number of his own drawings. You stop and see your work, feeling unimpressed and dissatisfied. You sigh, disappointed.

“How ya doin’ with that?” Arthur says, plopping himself next to you.

You smile. “It’s crap.” You show him the sloppy lines. You can tell he’s trying not to laugh.

“Let me help ya,” he says, putting an arm behind you. You flip to a new page and he takes your hand in his, guiding the pencil along the page. Every now and then, he’ll point to the horse, drawing your attention to certain details. He shows you techniques to bring out different textures and patterns. After only a few moments, the shape and details of the stallion begins to appear.

The sun is well-risen now, illuminating his face, his scruffy beard turning gold. He’s so close you can see the scar of his chin once more, the specks of green in his blue eyes.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you almost whisper. “None of this would be happening if it weren’t for you.”

You can’t stand it anymore You don’t want to hide your feelings for him. So what if he doesn’t feel anything for you? All you want is to show the entire world how you feel about Arthur Morgan. You take your hand from his, reaching up and placing it on his cheek. You almost expect him to pull back, but he doesn’t. You glance briefly at his lips before you stretch up and place your own against them. You breathe in deeply, absorbing his scent as he stiffens to your touch. You pull away. Well, he knows what you think of him now.

You open your eyes; his face is unreadable. You let your hand slip from his face, feeling a sinking in your chest. You fool, you think. Of course he wouldn’t want this, your kiss. You distance yourself more from him, looking down.

“I… I’m sorry, Arthur,” you say. You snap your journal shut, sliding the pencil back into the leather strip quickly. “I didn’t mean to…”

As you begin to stand up, his hand suddenly reaches and gently touches your neck, pulling you to him. His lips crash into yours as his other arm wraps around your shoulders. You reach up and loop your arms around his neck, memorizing his lips with your tongue. His hand leaves your cheek and knots into your hair.

You pull away from him, panting heavily. He places his forehead against yours.

“Ya’ve no idea how long I been wantin’ to do that, darlin’,” he mutters deeply. The sound of his voice sends shivers up your spine.

“You don’t have to want anymore, Arthur Morgan,” you sigh. He leans in and kisses you again. You kiss him back hard, pressing yourself into him. His arms pull you into his broad chest. You kiss one another until you’re forced to pull back again by the need to breathe. He guides your head to settle onto his shoulder and you cuddle into him, your arms still wrapped around his neck.

You both sit there, watching the sun climb higher into the sky. His hand traces patterns into your back as you brush your hands through his hair.

After a while, he pats your back.

“Ya ready to go hunt again, sweetheart?” he places a kiss on your forehead.

“Mmm. Do we have to? It’s perfect here.”

He laughs softly, the sound reverberating through you. “I know, darlin’. I don’t want this moment to end either. But camp’s gotta eat.”

You sigh heavily. Arthur Morgan, the outlaw who would break his own back to make sure the people he cares about are taken care of. You reach up and place one more kiss to his lips before standing up. He follows your lead, grabbing his hat from the tent before wandering over to Artemis to remove his bow. You grab yours as well, scanning the environment for signs of animals.

For the next few hours, the two of you go about, bringing down animals and butchering them. You aren’t as smooth with the bow as usual. You keep getting distracted by the memory of Arthur’s lips against yours.

You stalk a whitetail buck near the train tracks. You hide in a clump of bushes and see him grazing. You notch an arrow and take aim for him. You let the arrow fly; it plunges into his side. The buck falls, but then stands up again, running off. You follow as quickly as you can, ignoring the pain in your leg. He falls again after a few yards, brought down by blood loss and shock. You approach him, trying to ignore his cries. You kneel down, pulling out your knife.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” you say, knowing how painful it is to be struck by an arrow. You plunge the knife into his heart. You skin the carcass and start heading back up the hill towards the pond and the horses. By the time you reach the top of the rise, you’re panting heavily; your thigh burns. You sit down to give yourself a break. Arthur calls to you from across the pond in the trees. You can’t understand what he’s saying, but you wave your hand to show you heard him. He calls again, and again you wave.

You start massaging your leg through your jeans, trying to soothe the pain. You hear splashing and look up. Arthur’s wading across the pond up to his calves, coming towards you. He calls to you again from the bottom of the hill.

“Ya a’right?” he yells.

“Yeah, leg’s just being a pain.”

He climbs the hill, approaching you. He kneels next to you, looking hard at your leg.

“I’m a’right,” you say. “Like I said, leg’s bein’ difficult.”

He looks up into your eyes. He sighs heavily. “Maybe we oughta head back. Ya ain’t much use huntin’ if ya can’t walk.”

“I can walk, just need a break, Arthur,” you say indignantly.

“I know, darlin’. Ya have to remember yer still healin’. Do this for me?”

You sigh, defeated. “Fine. Let’s just see if we can bring back something whole for camp.”

He nods, helping you stand up. He takes the pelt from you then grabs your hand as you both wander over to the horses. He throws the pelt over the stallion.

“Ya thought of a name for yer boah?”

You bite your lip. “Yeah, maybe.”

He looks at you, waiting for you to say. When you don’t, he speaks. “Well?”

“Rannoch,” you finally say. “His name is Rannoch.”

He raises his brows. “Rannoch, huh? Where’d ya get that?”

You shuffle your feet. “My grandma used to read me a story. ‘Bout a stag named Rannoch, born the night his dad was born. I wish I could remember the name of the book. I’d love to read it again. Was my favorite.”

“I like it,” he says, putting a finger under your chin, lifting your face. “Suits him.”

You smile, glancing over to Rannoch. He flicks his tail, eating from a bush, completely uncaring about his name.

“Well, let’s do a bit more huntin’,” he says. You agree and the two of you head back out, away from one another. After several moments of stalking, you bring down a bighorn sheep. You bend down to pick it up, but as you start standing your leg gives out.

“Shit!” you yell as your knee slams into the ground, the carcass slumping back down. You feel your wound quickly, determining that it’s fine. Turns out your leg just isn’t strong enough to carry the extra weight. Arthur comes dashing out of the trees, attracted by your yell.

“I’m fine,” you holler as you stand up, testing your leg. “Will you help me? I can’t carry this thing.”

Arthur approaches, smiling mischievously as he lifts up the sheep onto his shoulder with ease. You follow him back to the horses, where he straps the sheep onto Rannoch.

“I’ll be back,” he says, walking back into the trees. You brush Rannoch while he’s gone. After several moments, he returns, hauling the body of a doe. He straps it to Artemis. You both saddle up the horses and mount up. Arthur puts a lasso around the Belgian Draft, pulling her along behind him as the two of you leave Cattail and head back to camp.

The sun has set when you both enter the trees to Horseshoe. Karen’s on guard duty, she calls to you.

“Nice horse!”

You thank her as the two of you go up the trail, approaching the hitching post. You dismount, then turn to Arthur. The two of you are standing between the horses, blocked from view of the camp.

“Arthur?” He turns. “Thanks for takin’ me out and for… everything else.”

He smiles, putting his hands on your shoulders. “Anythin’ for you, darlin’. Can I ask you a favor, though?”

“‘Course.”

“D’you mind if we keep this between us for now?” You pull away, surprised and even a little hurt. He must see your emotions on your face.

“It ain’t that I’m ashamed,” he scrambles, pulling you close. “I just… want to keep this quiet for now. Besides, we both know how the others will talk. And maybe I like the idea of havin’ ya to myself for now”

You chuckle, relaxing in his arms. “Yes, I do know. But promise me it won’t be long?”

He smiles, pulling you into a tight hug. “I promise.” He leans down to kiss you, shielded from the others by the horses and the darkness.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x oc #Van Der Linde Gang #rockstar games #r* games #it's so fluffy i'm gonna die!#i'm awkward #second chances

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jamesbucksiclebarnes · 5 years

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Rating: Mature

Chapter List: [1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5] | [6] | [7] | [8] | [9] | [10] | [11] | [12]

[AO3 Link] | [Fic Page]

Tag List: @crossbowking

SERIES SUMMARY:

"Not human. She was not human. They all knew it. Could almost feel it, but couldn't make sense of it. That was why they were afraid. Not because of what she used to be Before. But because of what she was now."

Having found herself serving as the right-hand to the Governor for too long, Synnove le Jacques does her best to make things right with the people of the Prison. Stuck beside her partner in crime, her irritatingly obnoxious and hideously problematic best friend, Merle, she does her best to fight back against the monster she has let the Governor become.

CHAPTER TITLE: To Love the Unlovable.

By the time I’d come back inside, Merle had destroyed the entire collection of mattresses on the first floor. He’d made it partway through the second floor, too, though someone had stopped him before he could ruin them all. I didn’t doubt Rick had likely found him, rummaging through the thin foam within the stained mattress cover for whatever source of substance he could use to take a brain-vacation. Whatever had transpired between them, Merle was no longer in the cellblock. Rick looked troubled, sitting upon one of the metal tables with Hershel, staring blankly out toward the upper window. I wondered if he were rethinking his decision.

Probably not.

When I walked past him, his gaze flicked to me and the creased in his forehead smoothed out. I met his gaze evenly as I passed, giving him a slight nod before walking past him into the corridor of cells. He could take whatever he wanted from that exchange. I didn’t care. It wasn’t as if I had accepted the likelihood I would be back with the Governor before nightfall. I didn’t. In fact, the thought of it made me almost physically ill. But I wouldn’t put these people at risk for my own sense of comfort. Not like I had for so many others beneath Philip’s reign.

Searching for Merle became more of a chore than I’d been prepared for. I passed Carol in the cellblock corridor. She gave me a pensive look, stopping mid-step and opening her mouth as if to say something before snapping it shut, having thought twice about whatever it was she’d been about to voice.

“You seen Merle?” I asked her. It was the first thing I’d ever said to her directly. She looked slightly troubled by the question.

“Yes,” Carol answered. “He’s down there.” She thrust a thumb in the direction she’d been walking from, thin lips pursed into a frown. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”

“I don’t,” I responded with a snorted chuckle. “He’s a lot easier to deal with when he knows you won’t take his shit.”

She gave a non-comital hum, watching me as I walked past her, toward where she had gestured.

“For the record,” I called over my shoulder. “Don’t hold back when it comes to him. He’ll see right through you, anyway.”

She didn’t respond, but I knew she’d understood what I’d meant. I didn’t need to look behind me to know she was watching me walk away.

The sound of Merle’s voice is what lead me to him, down the series of steps and into one of the machine rooms beneath the cellblock. He wasn’t alone when I arrived, standing silently enough that neither of the Dixon brothers within the room noticed me at first.

“He ain’t got the stomach for it,” Merle was saying plainly, seemingly amused. “He’s gonna buckle. You know that, right?”

Daryl nodded, slight though it was, to indicate his agreement. “If he does, he does.”

“You want him to?” Merle asked. He spotted me, then, standing at the bottom of the staircase, though made no mention of my presence to his little brother, who had his back to me.

I could see how tense his shoulders were and guessed he was likely quite uncomfortable with this conversation. As if he were toeing some kind of line even he was unsure of. As if he were still undecided upon whether his need for his brother’s approval outweighed the place he’d found and the man he had become without him.

After a moment, Daryl responded with a shrug. “Whatever he says goes.”

Merle coughed out a harsh, humourless laugh. “Man. Jacques, you wanna come in here and find out if my little brothers still got a set of balls? I mean, are they even attached anymore – and if they are, do they even belong to you?”

Daryl jerked his head to the side, looking at me over his shoulder. He barely kept his eyes on me for more than a millisecond before turning away, cheeks red.

Merle snorted again. “You used to call people like that sheep. What happened to you?”

“What happened with you and Glenn and Maggie?” Daryl snapped back.

I felt my own shoulders tense at that question, jaw clenching as the memory played itself back over and over again in my mind. Merle’s eyes turned to me as he chewed his lip.

Daryl stepped sideways, blocking off his older brother’s line of sight to me. “I ain’t askin’ her, I’m askin’ you.”

“I’ve done worse,” Merle answered.

I cringed.

“You need to grow up,” Daryl spat, his voice harsh and low. “Things are different now.”

At that, Merle snorted, taking a step to the side in order to gesture at me around his brother’s form. “Grabbing up those little love birds weren’t just me, little brother. She’s just as guilty as I am but ain’t none of you looking at her like she’s the damn devil.”

That was because they didn’t know better. Merle, they’d had a series of bad experiences with. Me? I was just some girl that had come to her senses and was trying to do right by them. They knew too little about me to look at me the way some back at Woodbury did. And I hoped it remained that way.

“What’s that about, huh? Do I gotta get myself a nice set of tits and a tight ass before I get any respect?”

I reached out to the open toolbox sitting atop the shelf in the wall to my left, grabbed a loose screw, and threw it at him over Daryl’s shoulder. The metal struck him in the forehead, and he stumbled back a step, lifting his hands to his face with a curse.

“God damn it, woman!” he yelled.

“Watch your mouth, asshole,” I growled.

He looked at me through the gaps in his fingers, glaring. I just looked evenly back at him, brow raised, daring him to say something else.

Daryl glanced over at me, silently watching, waiting to see which one of us broke first.

It was, unsurprisingly, Merle. He looked away, dropping his hands with a grumbled huff. “Ya’ll are just doin’ the same damn thing we did, anyway,” he stated, looking back to his brother. “Snatchin’ someone up and delivering them to the Governor.”

Ah. So, he didn’t know. Rick hadn’t told him the whole story. I wasn’t surprised, of course. Daryl had made the point quite obvious that Merle wouldn’t go along with the plan if he knew I was at risk, too. I could tell he was concerned that I was about to tell him. The way Daryl partially turned his head to look at me out of the corner of his eye, the hair hanging over his forehead obscuring the look from his brother’s view, told me as much.

I didn’t say anything. There was too much of a likelihood that Merle would lose his shit if he knew, and none of us here, in this room, needed that.

“It’s different,” I said softly after a moment of silence. “Rick thinks it’s the only way. That we can’t win this fight.”

“And he’d be damn right,” Merle answered. “If we didn’t have you.”

I gave him a pointed look, warning him to watch his wording. He knew I didn’t intend on informing these people that I used to literally murder people for a living. We both had the same inkling none of them would take that knowledge too well.

“Don’t give me that fucking look, woman,” Merle hissed. “I’m right and you know it. Why the hell am I going? What we should be doin’ is sending you. Get you nice and close to him so you can do your thing.”

Daryl turned to the side in order to look between me and his brother, one thin brow slightly raised.

“You tell Rick that strategy?” I asked tensely.

Merle scoffed and tossed his metal hand out in a wild gesture. “You think I’m stupid?”

“That a trick question?”

“Shut up,” he growled. “I’m just sayin’. Why bother sending him Michonne, like it’ll make some kind of difference? We all know he ain’t gonna stop just ‘cause we asked nicely.” Merle looked to his brother, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “Maybe you and your friends need people like me and Jacques around, huh?” he mused. “Do their dirty work for ‘em. Be the bad guys. How’s that hit you?”

Daryl just looked back at him, a miserable look in his eye as he watched the man he called brother standing before him, prepared to be the villain everyone already saw him as. After a moment, the younger Dixon let out a sigh and said, in a soft voice that almost tore my heart from my chest, “I just want my brother back.”

I felt my expression soften and my throat tighten a little. When my gaze slid across to Merle, I forced myself to take a deep breath. His expression was almost as miserable as Daryl’s, though I could see the moment he shut himself off, put up that wall between his mysterious inner workings and his outside persona.

“Damn it, man. Get out of here.”

He waved his brother off, turning away from him and continuing with his mission to rummage through the entire prison block, looking for crystal.

Daryl stood there for a moment, watching his brother’s back with a sad frown before he realised, I was watching him. Once his eyes locked onto mine, he straightened his slouched shoulders and took a deep breath, wiping the sorrowful expression from his face.

Without another word, he turned away and climbed back up those stairs, every step weighted by the world atop his shoulders.

I watched him go silently, my own mirrored sadness beginning to boil, simmering until it had morphed into anger. Once I was sure the younger Dixon was out of range, I whirled on Merle. He had straightened, having also watched his brother leave, and caught sight of my hardened expression. The way his eyes widened would have made me laugh under any other circumstance. He turned instantly, making a run to hide behind one of the machines in the centre of the room. I chased after him, just missing getting a grip on his shirt by a centimetre.

“Get back here!” I yelled, following him through the gap between the machines.

He ducked behind another one just before I could reach him. “No! You’re gonna hit me!”

“Damn right I’m gonna hit you!”

We continued this stupid dance for another minute, while Merle tried to multitask between running from me and trying to explain himself.

“It ain’t like I’m gonna change!” he called from behind the green mechanical monstrosity to my left. “No point givin’ him hope!”

“You can say that without being a dick about it!” I called. “And stop bringing me into it!”

He poked his head out from behind the machine. “I wouldn’t have to if you’d just do what you damn do!”

“I’m not going after him on my own,” I snapped, leaping forward and trying to get a hold onto the sparse hairs on his head.

He ducked back behind the machine before I could, running around to the other side of it as I chased behind him. “Why the hell not?”

“Because Rick –“ I paused mid-step. “Because Rick hasn’t asked me to.”

“You’re kiddin’ me,” Merle groaned, stepping out from the machines. “You’re just jumpin’ from one damn master to another.”

“Fuck off,” I hissed. “It’s more than that and you know it.”

“You don’t want Officer Friendly finding out your dirty little secret, that it?” Merle asked patronizingly.

“Mostly, yeah,” I admitted, though my tone was harsh. “What the hell does it matter, anyway? You know Woodbury will suspect me if he’s killed like that. How would that help us, huh? Do you think Martinez would look the other way because it’s me? Or do you think that’ll spur him into taking vengeance into his own damn hands?”

Merle let out a long breath before turning and thrusting his fist into the green metal side of the machine by his left.

“Sending in Michonne won’t help, either.” I lifted a hand to rub my face, looking to the sky in exhaustion. “Doesn’t matter what Rick thinks. Phil only made the terms to deliver us to him to make things easier for himself when he finally decides to lay waste to this place.”

Merle went silent and still. I didn’t notice for a few moments, too busy trying to calm myself, to let my shoulders relax as I breathed in and out through my nose. This entire thing was starting to stress me out.

When he spoke next, his voice was different. Softer, almost unguarded. The tonal shift surprised me so much, my attention snapped directly to him so fast I almost broke my damn neck.

“Promise me somethin’,” he said.

My face went blank as I gave him an even stare. “You know I can’t do that.”

“The hell you can’t,” he responded, taking a step toward me. “You just won’t.”

“I’m not like you. I make a promise, I have to keep it,” I answered.

“You sayin’ I don’t?” he asked, shifting slightly back into that aggressive tone of his.

“No. You know what I’m saying.”

Merle had no idea what I was. I’d never told him, never planned on it for the obvious reason of possible immediate annihilation. But he knew something. Though he’d never outright asked, as if voicing the question would make it all-too real, I’d given him enough information to go off without actually saying anything that would enable him to put a decent picture together.

Enhanced senses, inability to lie, the way I was bound to my word…

He knew enough. Enough to know better than to ask me for a promise.

“Just one thing,” he pressed, pushing off the machinery he’d been leaning on to stand in front of me, closer than he usually dared. “Please?”

I blinked up at him, my entire body jerking in surprise. “Did you just say “please”?”

He looked down at me without answering.

I found myself stuck on repeat. “Did you just, completely unironically, say the word “please” to me?”

“Syn…”

And now he was calling me by my first name? What the hell was going on? I looked up at him, at the earnest expression on his otherwise harsh face, and felt something odd settle at the pit of my stomach. It was an unease, an instinctual feeling of wrongness, as if, somewhere deep down, I knew something about this interaction wasn’t… right.

After a moment, I licked my lips and swallowed back against the strange sharp sensation in my throat. “Okay,” I breathed. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Promise me you’ll look after my brother,” he said. There was no scorn beneath the words, no condescending smirk or smug little grin. It was a true, honest request.

This entire thing was too weird. “Merle…” I began, tilting my head to regard him, to really look at him. “What are you going to do?”

He sniffed and straightened, plastering on a grin that I don’t think even he believed as he opened his arms and made a face. “What make you think I’m gonna do anything? I’m offended you’d even ask.”

“Do not lie to me, Merle Dixon,” I hissed, reaching up to grab the neckline of his wifebeater and pulling him close to me.

The startled look in his eye faded quickly, replaced by that same odd look he’d had a moment earlier. Fear? No. Something else, something more. Resignation?

He was going to do something stupid. I just knew it. But what?

“You said you’d promise,” he said, his voice low, barely louder than a whisper.

I stiffened slightly. He was right. I had.

With my lip curled up over my teeth in a snarl, I said, “I promise to do my best to look after your brother.”

That irritatingly pleasant pang of magic shot through my body, signalling the solidification of that promise into my very core.

With a growl that was more animalistic than human, I shoved Merle backwards. He stumbled a step, slightly put off by the strength of it, reaching out to catch himself with his good hand on the corner of the machines.

“Thank you,” he said.

Every cell in my body felt as if it were on fire with the force of my anger in that moment. How dare he force me into that! Whatever the reality of his knowledge about me, he knew I wouldn’t be able to break that promise. Knew it just as well as he knew I could hear him calling out my name, even as I passed through the gate and back into the cellblock.

#The Walking Dead #twd #the walking dead fanfic #twd fanfic #the walking dead fan fic #twd fan fic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon #merle dixon #synnove le jacques #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #the monsters among us

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jugheadfanfics84-blog · 6 years

Text

Hell of a Ride

Chapter One

New Girl

Today was it, the day I started Riverdale High. I sigh, picking my phone up and looking at the time. 6:00 a.m. I stretch and pull the covers back, deciding I better start the day. I walk through my apartment to the kitchen and pull out some cereal and milk. I pour myself a bowl and eat while scrolling through Facebook.

My life had finally fallen together a few days ago. My mom and I had always had a rocky relationship but this had broken it completely. She had started dating another guy, not out of the ordinary she went through them like underwear, well, I had found drugs in the guys pants pocket, while doing his laundry that apparently counted as one of my chores. I gave my mom an ultimatum, him or me. She picked him. I had packed up all my stuff and called my dad. My dad had left when I was younger but he had contacted me a couple years ago, explaining why he vanished.

My dad had sent me some money to get me started, way more than I asked for. I got this apartment which was on the Southside, not too far from a bar I had passed, and got me a used Jeep Wrangler. As soon as I got into town I started applying at any places I could and got a job at Pops as a server. I had plenty of cushion money but I wanted to make my own money and not depend on my dad’s so the money he gave me went into my savings account.

I step out of the shower and blow dry my hair, curling it with a round brush as I went. I brush out the curls to make waves. I put on my makeup and brush my teeth. I walk into my room and sigh, looking into my closet. The one thing I didn’t do was go shopping for new school clothes. I had to do that today after school. I pull out a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a sheer checkered shirt, and a black tank top. I got dressed and threw on my combat boots. I put all my new supplies in my bag and head out to my Jeep.

When I pulled into the school and parked I got several weird looks. I roll my eyes and walk into the office. I tell the secretary my name and get my schedule. “Watch out for those new Southside kids. They are a little rough.” I scoff and shake my head. I had heard all the rumors about the Serpents and the Southside and I thought it was all stupid. As I walk around the school looking for my locker I run into someone tall. I look up to see a guy in a letterman jacket, he had brown hair that was gelled back.

“Well hello there, cutie.” He says winking at me. I smirk at him.

“Hi, bye now,” I say continuing on the search for my locker.

“Hey, wait up. No introductions? I’m Reggie.” He says smiling at me.

“(Y/N). Are we done now?” I ask, getting irritated.

“Well aren’t you just a little spitfire. We are going to get along fine.” He says throwing his arm around my shoulders. I grit my teeth and pull his arm from around my shoulders and knock him to the floor, pinning his arm behind him. “We aren’t going to be doing anything. Stay away from me, perv.” I say in his ear and then shove his arm away and continue to walk down the hall, earning several glares.

“Okay, not to be to forward, but that was absolutely amazing.” I hear from behind me. I turn to see a pink haired girl in a uniform smiling at me. I smile back and chuckle.

“Thanks. I don’t take to well to guys who are like him. Privileged and think they are God’s gift to women. It never did sit well with me at any of my schools.” I keep walking and she starts to fall in step beside me. I look over and finally find my locker. “Ah, here we are,” I say putting in the combination and throwing my bag in, grabbing a few notebooks and a couple mechanical pencils.

“My name is Toni. I actually just transferred here.” She says smiling and holding out her hand. I shake it.

“(Y/N). Are you one of the Serpents that I was just warned about?” I ask chuckling. She laughs and nods.

“Yes, I am. I promise we don’t bite.” She says shaking her head.

“Don’t worry, I don’t listen to people’s judgemental shit. I like to get to know people on my own.”

“I think me and you are going to get along great.” She says. I nod in agreement.

The rest of the day went on quickly. I had a lot of classes with Toni, and I met her friend Jughead and his girlfriend, Betty. I became fast friends with them too. After school, Toni took me to meet her girlfriend and captain of the River Vixens, Cheryl.

“Cheryl, this is (Y/N), she just transferred here,” Toni says introducing me to Cheryl. Cheryl was tall and had very long red hair, she had on red lipstick and a yellow and white shirt with the letters HBIC on the back. I smirked,

“Hello, (Y/N) thank you for keeping my girlfriend so busy today. I had a lot of stuff to do.” I smile at her and nod.

“I should be thanking her. She was very helpful today.” I say shaking Cheryl’s hand.

“So will you be trying out for the River Vixens?” She asks me. I smile and shake my head. “No, I was on the dance teams at my old school but I don’t think I’d make a very good cheerleader.”

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun!” Betty says jogging up to us. “All of us on the squad together.” I sigh and think about it. I was supposed to be shopping for new clothes.

“Can it be tomorrow? I really need to go get some new school clothes.” I ask smiling. Cheryl smiles at me and nods.

“Take Toni with you, she knows the way to the mall in Greendale,” Cheryl says. Toni smiles and kisses her girlfriend goodbye and follows me out to my Jeep.

“This is yours? And you live on your own?” Toni asks in disbelief.

“My dad gave me some cushion money, which is why we will be stopping at the bank,” I say getting in.

After stopping at the ATM so I could pull a few hundred dollars out, Toni gave me directions to Greendale Mall. On the way, we listened to music and sang some songs together. We also talked about our pasts, how I ended up Riverdale and such. She asked me about my romantical history and I told her it was nonexistent as we got out of my Jeep.

“You’re kidding? Not one boyfriend?” Toni asks me, shocked.

“I’m not kidding at all,” I say opening the door and walking into the huge mall.

“Topaz!” I hear someone shout. I turn to see a very tall guy and another guy who is almost as tall as the first come towards us. The tall one had a black eye, black jet black hair that was slicked back and had dog tags hanging around his neck. The other guy had brown hair, had on jeans, boots and a flannel shirt with a leather jacket over top. He was very attractive. I blush and turn my head.

“Oh, god which one are you blushing at?!” Toni says before I can answer the two guys reach us.

“Who’s the Northsider?” The shorter one asks I see the tall one snicker.

“Actually she’s a Southsider. This is (Y/N), she just moved here. You guys would have met her if you showed up to school. She put Reggie on the ground this morning.” She says chuckling. They both look at me in disbelief.

“Her? She’s so tiny.” Tall one says. I glare and step forward. “Wanna be the next one?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Feisty. I love it.” He says laughing. “I’m Sweet Pea and this is Fangs.” I look over at Fangs to see him chuckling.

“Well I have to use the restroom, so Fangs why don’t you escort (Y/N) to Hot Topic?” Toni says, winking at me.

“Why can’t I do it?” Sweet Pea asks Toni.

“You can walk with them but I don’t think you will be escorting her anywhere without her throwing you off the second floor,” Toni says laughing and walking away.

“Well, follow me, milady.” Fangs says sarcastically. I smile and nod

“So, (Y/N) how are you liking Riverdale so far?” Sweet Pea asks, walking beside me.

“It’s not bad, I met a really cute guy today,” I say, getting on the escalator. I hear Sweet Pea chuckle behind me. Once we step off he puts his hand on his chest.

“Well, I’m just absolutely flattered.” He says winking at me.

I laugh and shake my head. “No, no. Don’t get me wrong, you’re pretty attractive but I was talking about someone else.” I fought every instinct to turn towards Fangs and wink. I did think he was attractive, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for something serious.

“Well is he a Serpent?” Fangs asks me, I turn to look at him and feel the betrayal of my blush creep up onto my cheeks.

“I just remembered...I gotta use the bathroom. I’ll be back.” Sweet Pea says winking at me and walking away.

I look back at Fangs and look down to the ground. “I don’t really want to say.”

Fangs smiles and pulls my face up by my chin. “Is someone scared of boys?” he teases.

“No, someone is scared of getting hurt. I’m not looking for anything serious right now.” I tell him.

“Ah, I see. Well, how about after you are done shopping with Toni, we watch some movies?” He asks me. A few hours alone with him couldn’t hurt.

“Sure, give me your number and I’ll text you when I’m home. You can come over and we will find something on Netflix.” I hand him my phone as he hands me his. I put my number in and hand him his phone back.

After Toni and I got done shopping, we went back to my trailer where she picked out a few movies Fangs likes and added them to my list on Netflix. She also helped me pick out an outfit. Once she found out Fangs was coming over she had gotten ecstatic. I tried to explain to her that I wasn’t ready for a relationship.

“Toni, I’m just not ready. I’ve never been in one before so I wouldn’t even know how to act.” I told her. She had just shaken her head.

“Okay, what about friends with benefits? Or are you a virgin?” She asked me. I rolled my eyes.

“No, I’m not a virgin. I lost it to my best friend back home before he got with his girlfriend.” I explained to her.

“So what about just being fuck buddies for now?” She asked again. I groaned.

“I don’t know, Toni. I don’t even know if he’s sexually attracted to me.”

“Well, we are gonna pick out an outfit and trust me you’ll know.” She had said winking.

It was going to be a long night.

#riverdale #riverdale x reader #riverdale x you #riverdale smut #riverdale x reader smut #fangs #fangs fogarty #fangs x reader #fangs forgarty x reader #hell of a ride #chapter one

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toydreamer · 7 years

Note

Do you have any drawing tip p.s love your work

Hi Anon! And thank you for the love! (♥ó㉨ò)ﾉ♡Well for starters, it’s the regular drill of basics and fundamentals are really important. It’s all about understanding the structures and foundations before you can move on to building/creating things. I myself had a really hard struggle with it because I’m mostly self-taught for many years, my knowledge weren’t sufficient enough and I gloss over many knowledge that I took for granted until I went back to art school for a year and had it drill back into me. So I actually wasted a lot of time and went the longer way instead. And only now am I properly relearning again. To avoid being like me, work on the fundamentals because you can’t run if you don’t even understand how to use your legs. Sorry if this comes off a bit brutal but I’m really serious about this point. I felt the damages enough since it truly cost me my precious time. As for tips, I won’t talk about the usual drawing tips because I’m sure there are answers already available everywhere. And better answers than what I can provide. But I like to drop some main points that are like my golden rules to think about everytime I art. It’s more food for thought tips. ^w^

1. Art isn’t just about drawing a picture, it emulates a world you want to create hence everything is related to one another. Environments, characters, lighting settings, compositions to make things believable they gotta blend well together. Think of it as if it’s real world with the exception that rules can be broken. How you break it is your choice to make and will define your works. 2. Stories are a must! Because it relates to people and makes your works more interesting! Ideas, inspirations, easter eggs even are little tidbits to making your story yours to create. How you tell your stories will determine who makes up the audiences that connect with your works. 3. Don’t be fixated on finding your own style. Let it come to you.This is one that I wanna emphasize the most because this thought dealt the most damage to me through the years. To me, style is never a fix. It can and will change because the things you like don’t tend to stay the same over the years. By finding new things that you like, discovering new tastes adds on to your already current hoard of what you love and might love. So why limit yourself to a box when you can have an entire ocean for you to explore? 4. I’m the cameraman. This ties in with compositions. How you compose your work upfront says a lot already about your work. How do you want your audience to relate to the story contents? The vibes? The mood? It’s a lot to think about to be honest but I swear this is the one good way of putting yourself into your work. Imagine yourself in your world in a 3d space. This is on the more advanced stage but you could give this some thought. 5. Challenging yourself. I usually set up a goal in mind for every piece of work I do. And I make sure to hit that mark and learn something with every new work. That way I don’t mindless-ly go about doing things and wasting my time. Always have a goal in mind and work on it and complete it! Don’t leave your works hanging or you’ll never finish them. Like it or not just finish it! And move on.

This usually requires maximum amount of discipline which is basically testing your mental patience. 6. Move out of your comfort zone. I don’t have to explain too much on this. This one is the same thing as the style part. 7. Be yourself and just go all out and have fun.It’s useless if you don’t even find it fun. That’s a chore if anything. And that’s missing the whole point too. 8. Go out and see the world as much as possible. Be there to experience things firsthand, explore all the little corners. The world is an endless place filled with beauty everywhere. Who knows what you will find? And that’s it! I hope it helps you, Anon and those that find yourself stuck. So far this are from my own experiences. Thanks again! Sorry if it’s abit lengthy. Heh

#ask #anon #It's an essay lmfao #sorry I'm so wordy XD #but topics on art always got me like this #toydreamer chitchats

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buckyscrystalqueen · 7 years

Text

Bikers Don’t Belong in Wyoming: Part 1

Pairings: Chibs x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 6.657

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four am always came entirely too fast for you. You could go to bed at noon the previous day and four in the morning was still so damn early. The incessant beep of your alarm that you had to put in your bathroom to make sure you actually got up always blared at you; screaming at you to get your day started.

“Alright!” You shouted at no one as Bucky, your German Shepard whined and stretched on the floor at the door of your bed. “Fuck, I’m up!” You grumbled to yourself as you stumbled into the bathroom, slamming your hand down on the white radio box and flipping the switch to the radio. With only half your attention, you listened to the day’s weather report and part of a local news story as you washed up and prepared for yet another long day.

By 4:15, you were dressed in jeans and a long sleeved flannel, pulling on your work boots as you flipped on the outside lights of your house. You bumbled down the steps as you lit your morning smoke, stomping through mud and muck from a freak September thunderstorm the night before and over to your four wheeler as Bucky relieved himself and trotted over to you. No words needed to be said as the two of you headed across your property toward the barn, your pup keeping up with your quad easily despite the wet terrain.

At 4:18, you pulled up in front of your barn, just like you did every single morning. You killed the engine as Bucky sniffed around, looking for four-legged intruders that were looking for your grain or chickens. You missed him catch an unfamiliar scent but the low, menacing growl he let out only partially startled you since he growled at everything that came near his mama.

“Oh, you’re fine.” You groaned as you pulled open the side door and flipped on the lights. Bucky darted past your legs and his growl got even louder. You glanced over and did a double take at the sight of a motorcycle that didn’t belong to you in your barn. Your stomach clenched as you grabbed the closest weapon you had, a pitchfork, and slowly walked into your barn.

“I know you’re in here.” You called out as your (Y/E/C) eyes danced around to the places the intruder could be hiding. “Come out now and I won’t sick my dog on you.” Bucky’s growl got even louder as he paused in front of one of your currently empty horse stalls on the far wall of the barn. The intruder didn’t make a sound as you gripped the wooden handle of your weapon of choice tighter in your hand. You inched closer and swallowed against the lump in your throat.

“Last chance, dude. He’s a vicious monster, I’m warning you.” You called out as you paused right outside the door. With shaky hands, you grabbed the door that wasn’t latched all the way and pulled it back, prepared to stab whoever was on the other side. You only had a second to grab Bucky to keep him from attacking the battered and blood covered man that was laying on the floor.

“Back, Buck. It’s OK.” You said as you tossed your pitchfork to the side. You swore under your breath as you yanked your dog back and ducked into the horse stall, hating that you couldn’t call ‘9-1-1’ for help. “Hey, can you hear me?” You asked as you pushed the man’s shoulder with the toe of your boot. He let out a half groan, thankfully alive but he gave no other response. Your mind went into overdrive as you raced out of the stall, making sure Bucky didn’t get in, and grabbed your first aid kit. You turned away from your work bench before turning back and grabbing a length of chain and a lock. “This better be worth it.” You grumbled as you headed back over to patch up the guy before you started your chores for the day.

5:34 AM. A low groan came from right next to you as you sat in the opening of the horse stall milking your cow, Widow. You didn’t move your head as the man moved around in the hay. You put your foot on top of the gun that was in the back of his jeans and moved it so that he could see it next to your milking stool.

“Wanna tell me what you were doing in my barn?” You asked without looking over at him. He sighed as you did the same thing with his knife, leaving both of them sitting beside you way out of his reach.

“I’s escapin’ the storm.” Heat flooded your core at the unexpected Scottish accent and you glanced over at him. His half lidded eyelids barely covered his brown eyes as he ran his hand through his medium length brown and grey, blood splattered hair. “Time’s it?”

“5:30 in the morning.” You said as you turned back to your job. “You probably have a concussion from whatever gave you that cut on your head…” You missed him nodding in agreement as he cut you off.

“Yea, but I don’ do ‘ospitals.” You nodded at him as you got the last bit of milk from Widow.

“Good thing I wasn’t gunna call them anyways.” With a brush of your hand on Widow’s side, you grabbed the full bucket and moved it out of the way. You stood up and moved your stool out of the stall as you brushed your hands on your jeans. “You wanna tell me what this is?” You asked as you grabbed a leather, sleeveless jacket you had found in his bag off the stall door and held it up. He sighed as he pushed himself up into a seated position.

“It's a kutte.” You nodded slowly as you looked at the reaper on the back again.

“So you’re a gang banger. Classy.”

“Not a gang bang’a. Motorcycle enthusiast.” You smirked as you put the kutte back down on the door and lead Widow to the main back door.

“Well what is a motorcycle enthusiast doing in Wyoming?” You called out as you let Widow off her lead and into the yard. You walked back over calmly as the man tried to get up only to realize he was chained down by the waist. “Oh yea. For my own protection.” You heard Bucky growl from where you were forced to tie him up across the barn. You glanced over at your pet and looked back at the stranger. “That’s for yours. Bucky’s not a fan.” The man nodded as he situated himself against the wood bars on the side of the stall.

“Can I at least ‘ave a smoke?” You huffed a laugh as you headed toward his stall.

“Not when you’re sittin’ in hay.” You grabbed his gun and knife off the floor and traded them for a bottle of water, which you rolled over to him. “You can just hang out right there until I finish my morning chores then I’ll decide what to do with you.” He nodded, too tired to even fight back as you closed the door to the stall and locked it with another padlock. You looked over the door at him with a cocky smirk. “You could have just knocked on the house door. I would have let you sleep on an actual bed and not some wet hay.”

“Aye. Should’ve.”

——

6:45 AM “So what are you running from, Mr. Motorcycle?” You asked as you walked beside Captain America, your deep brown Quarter horse who was carrying your stranger up to your house for you. You had tried to get him to walk but he had apparently lost a lot more blood than was on the floor of your barn because standing wasn’t working too well.

“It’s Chibs.” He said around a cigarette as he looked down at you. “Just… runnin’s all.” You nodded slowly as you processed the information.

“(Y/N).” He nodded and glanced around your property in the light of the rising sun. He flicked his ash far away from you and your horse and gestured around.

“’s’all yers?” You looked up at him to see what he was talking about, glanced around, and nodded.

“Inherited it when my grandparents passed. 36 acres of pain in the ass and bullshit if you ask me.” He chuckled as you pulled Cap’s reigns at the garden gate. “But usually no one bothers me and I don’t bother anyone else. Usually.” You glanced up at him and offered him your hand. “Don’t jump, slide.” He nodded as he carefully swung his leg over Cap’s neck and slid off his bare back. You tied off the reigns and helped Chibs through your garden to your back porch. “So, can I trust you to just stay here? I gotta get the milk and eggs from this morning and last night for the market.” He nodded as he carefully sat down.

“Aye. If ye’ll let me, I’ve no intention ta go anywhere soon. Ridin’ wit’ a concussion ’s’no fun.” With a small giggle and a nod, you went inside to get him a glass of sweet tea.

“Wouldn’t imagine so. I will say this though.” He looked up at you expectantly as you came back outside and handed him the cup. “You’re lucky as shit you landed in my barn. One more down, you would have gotten shot on sight. I just happened to have been raised better than the Old Man McDonald down the road.”

“Could tha’ be anymore stereotypical?” He asked as you closed and locked the back door to your house, just in case Chibs got curious.

“Yea, that song wasn’t written about that crotchety ass mother fucker, I promise you.” You headed through your garden as Bucky laid down on your porch, eying the man. “Leave him alone.” You said as you climbed onto Cap’s back and pointed at your dog. “He’s just gunna watch you because he’s an asshole.” With a small nod from Chibs, you clicked your tongue and gently but forcefully kicked Cap’s sides until he took off in a gallop back across your land.

——

8:10 am.

“So where are ye takin’ me?” Chibs asked as he got into your passenger seat, a little worse for the wear but stronger on his feet. He had on clean clothes and thanks to a shower, the blood was gone from his body and hair, revealing an extremely handsome, scared face, you hadn’t noticed that morning. You grunted a bit as you set the wire racks of goats and cows milk next to the two dozen eggs you were going to sell at the farmers market in the cooler and climbed into the bed of your grandfathers 1948 Chevy 3600 truck; a classic you were known for at the farmers market.

“Well, since I don’t know you and don’t trust you, you’re coming to work with me.” You grabbed two bags of ice off the floor of the bed and carefully poured it on top of the glass bottles.

“What do ye do for work?” He called out through the sliding window on the back window of your truck. You glanced up at him as Bucky jumped up into the truck and took his spot on his bed at the front of the long truck bed behind the drivers seat.

“You’re lookin’ at it.” You said as you tossed the two empty bags into the cooler so you could refill them when you got home. “I’ve managed to pick up the family business. It’s a fucking joy.” Chibs chuckled as you strapped down the cooler.

“Don’ sound like much joy.” With a small, unseen shrug, you grabbed your duffle bag, containing your money bag and your ‘real’ business and tossed it in the back.

“Yea, you get up every day at four am and go to bed at eight thirty at 28 years old. Tell me how much you like it.” You shut the bed of the truck and strapped it closed. “But it’s not like I have a social life anymore anyways. I live in the middle of no where and was home schooled because I did rodeo most of my life. Now I’m just the local deal…” Your words caught in your throat as you got into the cab of the truck and you quickly recovered. “dead head. No one likes to hang out with the girl who spends her Friday nights bathing pigs or mucking stalls.” Chibs nodded as you turned your truck over and put it in gear, heading into town.

“So why’d ye not call the law?” He asked as you headed into town.

“Don’t like cops.” You watched him nod out of the corner of your eye as he looked out the window with a smirk.

“‘ave ‘nythin’ ta do wit�� the fact that ye grow weed?” You slammed on the brakes a little harder than necessary at a stop sign and looked over at him as Bucky stood up to figure out why you stopped so abruptly.

“How the fuck did you know that?” He chuckled as he looked back over at you. He lifted his sunglasses on top of his head and turned in the seat with his arm casually across the back of the bench seat.

“Lass, as a motorcycle club member, I’m very, very familiar wit’ the smell of marijuana. That duffle of yours doesn’t cover it as well as ye think.” Your wide eyes danced between him and the duffle in the bed of your truck.

“How…” you looked back at him as he dropped his sunglasses back on his face. He chuckled and pointed at the road.

“Ye gon’ drive, love?” Your jaw snapped closed and with a loud huff, you turned in your chair and continued down the road.

“I hate you right now.” You grumbled as you turned down the main road. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye as he chuckled to himself. “Yea, fine. I grow. Hence the reason I wasn’t leaving you at my house and why I didn’t call the cops on you this morning.” He nodded as he looked over at you.

“Thank God for weed then.” You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face as you nodded.

“For your sake, yea. So, now that you know something big about me, it’s your turn. What are you running from?” His smile fell the slightest bit as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Ye would go there.” With a small sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair avoiding the cut you had butterfly stitched that morning. “’T’is a long story, lass but the short-a it is, m’club’s been under the microscope a the law. This right cunt’s tryin’ ta make me look like a rat an’ I ain’t no fuckin’ rat. So, instead’a dyin’, I ran ’til the dust settles.” You nodded slowly as he looked over at you, waiting for your reaction.

“Did you guys kill a guy? You kinda look like you could kill a guy.” His worried look turned into a smile as he shook his head.

“No, luv. I didn’t kill a guy. Like I said, long story.”

“Well I appreciate you sharing that much. Now, we’re on a slightly more even playing field.” You glanced over at him as you stopped at the first light on the outskirts of your home town. You could just make out the ‘Welcome to Opal’ sign in the distance and you turned toward Chibs. “So how did a guy from Scotland end up in little, old Opal, Wyoming?” He shrugged as you pressed on the gas at the green light.

“I was headed ta Canada. Had ta get far away from California ‘nd the surrounding states where the otha chart’a’s are. Got caught in the storm an’ saw the lights’a yer barn.” You nodded slowly as you pulled into the lot that held the farmers market every day on the edge of town. You headed down to your designated tent, a bright, one of a kind, hand dyed red color and parked so the bed was under the tent at the end of the line.

“So here’s your job. You can just sit under the tent with me, watch for cops but don't try to sell weed. Milk and eggs are fine. I just know my regulars are and I have this UC that's been trying to bust me for months. He thinks I sell pills though, the fucking idiot. So you know nothin’. Oh, and feel free to flirt with the old women that will flirt with you. They’ll buy more eggs.” He chuckled as you both got out of the cab of the truck.

“Well this’ll be an interestin’ experience. I’ve never been ta a market like this ‘fore.” You nodded in understanding as you dropped the bed of your tailgate and flipped down your hand made sign with your milk and egg prices. You pulled your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket and sat down on the bed in front of your cooler as Chibs did the same next to you.

“It’s boring as fuck.” You grumbled around your smoke. “You sit from 8:30 in the morning until somewhere between noon and two when the milk and eggs are gone, though most of my customers aren’t here for the milk….” Chibs nodded in understanding as you watched the other farmers open their own booths. “It’s just… annoying.”

“’s’work though, lass. Betta then sittin’ at ‘ome.” You looked over at him with your eyebrow raised as Mike, your early morning usual headed over from his booth two spots down.

“I’d rather be doing this at home.” Without even having to look up, knowing he was as much of a morning person as you were, you grabbed his eighth from your bag. He wordlessly handed you forty bucks as he pocketed the weed and walked away. You glanced over at Chibs as you reached behind you and dropped the money in your duffle. “I’d much rather do that at home.”

“Well now you’ve me for comp’ny.” He said with a smile as he moved the duffle towards you and moved backwards into the truck so he could lean on the side. “‘Sides, ‘ow bad can it be?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

11:13 am.

“… it was luvly chattin’ wit’chew too, luv.” Chibs cooed as you shook your head slowly behind him. The mother of two that had been chatting him up for the past twenty minutes waved at him as she set your last two milk bottles in the cooler in her wagon. With a smirk, you looked at him with your eyebrow raised as he turned to you to give you the money for the milk. “What?” You burst out laughing as you grabbed the front of your completely empty cooler.

“I’ve been coming here five days a week, every single week of my life minus winters and rodeos and I have never, EVER seen milk and eggs sell so fast. My grandpa couldn’t even do that.” He shrugged as he sat down on the bed of the truck and peeked in the duffle.

“Looks like ye’ve done good yerself.” He said as you glanced at your nearly empty duffle.

“You make for a good distraction. You know, I may just have to keep you and that cute butt and that hot accent around. Give me a few hours of break every day.” He chuckled as you tossed the last eight bucks in the duffle and zipped it closed.

“Well luv, I’ve no where else ta be.” You smiled at him as you jumped off the bed of your truck to head home early for the first time in your life.

“Well then let’s go teach you how to work on a farm.”

——

“So today is Sunday.” You said to Chibs as you shoved open the big front doors of your barn. “Meaning it’s church day for most of the people in town. Therefore, my greenery business takes a hit in the afternoon which is OK because it gives me time to get the horses washed. Which is good for you because they are the easiest animals to get someone started with other than the pigs.” You stepped into the tack room and flipped on the light, gesturing for the Scot to follow you in.

“This is the schedule I had my employees working… back when I had employees.” You said as you gestured to the large, weekly calendar on the wall. “I stick to it as best as possible but there are only so many things a girl can do by herself. So, as you can see, Sunday…” You pointed at the list of chores you did on Sundays and tapped your finger on the board. “Wash horses and Bruce, mow back lawn and gardening. Now, the back lawn can get fucked for all I care. It’s almost winter so it’ll die out. I’ll worry about it next year.” You said as you turned to grab the stuff you would need to wash your four horses.

“My garden was attacked by rabbits, or ‘coons or something in the summer so there’s nothing out there. Now for Bruce…” You sighed as you handed Chibs the bottle of shampoo and two rope leads. You walked with Chibs over to the very first stall where Bruce, your angry, stubborn donkey lived. The donkey sensed your approach and went ballistic, kicked the door repeatedly and began braying at the top of his lungs.

“Yea, yea. Shut up!” You called out over Bucky’s protective barking as you pointed at the grey donkey. “This fucking dick is Bruce a.k.a. the Hulk. He was my grandad’s and my pop and this one guy that used to work for us were the only people he trusted. Now, he’s just a fucking douchebag but I just can’t get rid of him. Don’t go near him, don’t try to feed or pet him. Don’t even look at him. Just leave him alone. Bathing him is a royal pain in the ass and I’ve moved it to Wednesdays when I don’t have to go down to the market.” You turned on your heel and dropped the bucket of cleaning tools by the tie up in the middle of the barn and grabbed your leads off the wall.

“Ye got yer ‘ands full ‘ere, eh, lass?” You smirked as he set down the shampoo and followed you to the corral on the side of your barn.

“Six cows, five goats, four horses, two pigs, two dozen chickens, a donkey with an attitude problem, a German Shepard that thinks he’s a person and a large, hydroponic pot farm in my basement.” You glanced over your shoulder at him with a smirk as you unlatched the gate. “You could say that ten time over.” You whistled to your horses as you stepped into the pen with a smile.

“So you’ve met Captain America.” You said as the deep brown horse came over to greet you. “All of my animals are named after Marvel characters in case you were wondering. This is Wanda and Pietro.” You said as you pointed at two brown and white thoroughbreds as they walked over. “And the strangler is Winter after the Winter Soldier who is my favorite, obviously. She’s my personal horse. Most of the other animals were hand-me-downs from my grandpa that he let me name but Winter is the first one I bought with my own money.” The white Arabian waited patiently as you teetered the other three horses to their leads before heading over to her. You whispered sweet nothings to her as she rubbed her nose against your side.

“Yea precious, it’s bath day. Maybe we can convince mommy’s new friend to go for a ride with Cap after the twin’s bath, yea?” Your horse whinnied as she brushed her nose against your cheek, bringing a laugh to your lips. “Ok, Ok. Yea, I know pretty girl.”

“Yer very good wit’ ‘em, luv.” Chibs said as you clipped the lead to Winter’s halter. You smiled and nodded toward him.

“It’s hard work. Very hard work but it’s worth it in the end.” You let go of Winter’s lead and walked over to Wanda and Pietro. “Alright, so there is a process with these guys. Pietro has to be led first on your left side.” You said as you moved Chibs in-between the two thoroughbreds.

“He always gets led in first or else he bites the other horses. Wanda has to stay to your right because she will kick if a horse is behind her.” Chibs nodded as you handed him the two leads and showed him how to hold them. “Now, once we’re inside, we’ll wash Wanda first then Pietro. If you do it the other way around, Pietro will get all fidgety and rear up… trust me when I say it’s not fun to have a horse land on your feet.”

“‘ow do ye keep this all straight?” Chibs laughed as you pushed the gate open wide.

“Practice. I move animals around twice a day, every day. In and out, back and forth. You learn quick which animals don’t like what and what you have to do to keep everyone calm.” He nodded at you as you both headed into the barn. With quick hands, you loosely tied Winter and Cap to the barn door to get in front of Chibs. “Now, the horses all have their own stalls. They will know if you mix them and they get a little teen girl with a zit on prom day crazy about it.” You said as you took Wanda’s lead and tied her to a ring on one of the posts for her bath.

“So down the line we have Bruce, an empty spot, then Cap goes in where I found you, then Winter, Wanda and Pietro. An empty spot for the chickens in the winter then the goats. Got that?” He repeated the list down to you as you took Pietro and moved him down to his stall with a nod. “Good. I can write the names down if you need until you are used to it.

Now, the ONLY time you can put the horses in the same stall is if we’re breeding them OR during a lightening storm like last night. In a case like that, Cap goes in with Winter because she get’s really worked up and it’s not good for her. Alright, while I get Wanda started, how about you put Cap and Winter in their stalls. You’ll see empty buckets of water in the front corner, just use the hose to fill them all up.” With a smile and a nod, he headed toward the door as you maneuvered Wanda into the middle of the isle.

“What do we think, think he’ll make it on the farm?” You asked her as you grabbed the rope from the far side of the middle isle to keep her away from the stalls. She huffed at you as you grabbed the hose off the wall and dragged it out to the middle of the walkway and you nodded in response. “Yea, I guess we will see.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4:27 am. Two months later.

“Watch.” Chibs called out as he grabbed a bail of hay from the second story of your barn where all your feed was and tossed it over the edge to put in with the chickens. You took a sleepy step to the side as you headed toward the end of the barn with five goat sweaters over your arm. Over night, you had managed to get 6 inches of snow, the first of the year and the two of you were spending the morning settling the animals in for the winter weather so you could go back to bed.

“Don’t forget that stack of blankets.” You called up to him as you grabbed your stool and milk pail. You heard a mocking grumble a few seconds before a loud, soft ‘plop’ landed a few feet behind you. “Thank you.” The grumbling continued from the Scot, who was even less of a morning person than you were, as he headed over to send grain down the chutes to all of the animals. The barn stayed nearly silent for the next hour as the two of you worked like a well oiled machine; making sure everyone was fed, milked and comfortable for the day.

“Tha’ sand should be ‘ere day afta t’morrow.” Chibs said as the two of you headed out of the barn to your four wheeler to ride back up to the house. With a giant yawn, you nodded as you climbed onto the four wheeler behind him.

“We’ll need to pull that salt out of the garage tonight then.” You said as you wrapped your arms around his waist and laid your head between his shoulder blades. You felt the quad rumble to life as Chibs kicked it into gear and headed back up to the house, covering your hands with one of his to hide them from the cold. Neither of you had brought up the ‘dating’ talk but Chibs only slept on your couch for two weeks before you moved him into your bedroom where he had been ever since.

“I ‘ate that damn dog right now.” He growled as he parked next to your garden. You looked up at Bucky who was happily watching the two of you from the warm house through the back door window. “Gets ta stay in tha ‘eat. No snow for ‘im.” You rolled your eyes as you kicked the snow off your work boots and grabbed a cigarette from the pack on the window sill.

“And both of us are going to be right back in bed in 20 minutes and he’ll be on the floor.” You reminded him as you sank down on one of your rockers. You rolled your head tiredly toward him as Chibs sat down next to you with a smile.

“Mornin’ luv.” You smiled as he lit his cigarette and reached out for your hand.

“Mornin’. Welcome to your first day off in two months.” He chuckled as the two of you rocked back and forth and watched the snow fall peacefully on your property.

“‘ave ta say, I’m lookin’ forward ta spendin’ most’a the day in bed with ye.” You nodded slowly as you took a long drag of your cigarette.

“I would agree with you on that one. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve had a day off let alone a day off with someone else.” He hummed in agreement as the two of you finished your smokes in silence. With no words, you both stood up and headed inside to go back to bed. Your unmade bed looked so inviting and you barely had enough time to get out of your morning work clothes to just your tank top and panties in the walk from the bedroom door to your side of the king sized bed. You felt Chibs flop down next to you and immediately scoot to the middle of the mattress so he could pull your back into his chest.

“I used ta run guns.” He said quietly as he pulled the thick blankets up over both of you. You tucked your cold feet against his shins as he fit his body into yours, opening up to you for the first time since he got there. “Messy shite. The feds took a likin’ ta the club…”

“Honey, you don’t have to…” You started as you rolled your head back as far as the position would allow. He picked his head up off the pillow and gave you a small smile.

“I want ye ta know me, luv. I need ye to.” You nodded as you spun in his arms. With a smile, you laid your head on his arm and put your cold nose against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. He put his leg over your hip and pulled you as close as physically possible. You felt him take a deep breath as he gently kissed the top of your head. “Ye need ta know I’m technically married, lass. We’re estranged, she lives in Scotland wit’ m’daught’a… and another man. I care about ‘er, always will but I will neva be wit’ ‘er again. I need ye ta know tha’, lass ‘cause I’m fallin’ for ye… ‘ard. I luv ye, (Y/N).” You moved your head back on his arm and searched his brown eyes. He gave you a weak smile as he reached up and moved a stray strand of hair off your face.

“Ye don’ ‘ave ta say anythin’ back right now. I take no offense ta it ’t’all. I jus’… I see myself ‘ere for a while an’ tha’s not somethin’ I can’t not share.” You nodded slightly as tears welled in your eyes.

“I got married right out of high school. Kid I used to rodeo with. First kiss, first fuck… first love… He had it all.” Chibs nodded as he brushed his thumb across your cheek. “Three months, two weeks, five days; that was how long I was married before I became a widow. Drunk driver.” You heard him take a deep breath and you shook your head. “It’s OK. It’s been eleven years, six months…” You looked up at him with a tight lipped smile and shrugged. “And I stopped counting the days shortly after you got here. You’re not the only one in love in this bed, baby.” His smile stretched across his face as he leaned down and gently captured your lips in his. His hand slid up your back and tangled in your hair as you cupped his jaw in your hands.

“I luv ye.” He whispered against your lips with an award winning smile that warmed your heart. You ran your fingers through his hair and gave him a chaste kiss.

“I love you, too.” He gave you one final kiss before pulling you into his chest as tightly as he could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Babe, don’t you dare.” You laughed as you unclipped the leads from Gamora and Nebula’s halters as you led the two cows into your winter day pen. You didn’t move fast enough and got blasted in the cheek with a snowball. “Filip!” Your boyfriend’s loud, deep laugh rang out through your yard as he closed the horses in their side. You glared at him and stormed out of the pen.

“I ‘ad to luv.” He laughed as you grabbed a handful of snow off the rails. You smirked at him as you left the snow loose and closed the door of the corral behind you.

“Oh, you had to, did you?” You asked as you took off running toward him. He had no time to prepare himself as you leapt onto his back and shoved the snow down his coat and shirt.

“Oh ye shite!” He shouted as he turned and dropped both of you into the couple feet of snow by your garden. You screamed at the shock as the two of you grabbed handfuls of snow and attacked each other, not caring that it was six in the morning and you still had chores to do before it got too late. In that moment, you were just two people in love.

“OK! OK, you win!” You giggled as you blocked your face with your arm. You waited for Chibs to roll off you with a huffed chuckle and then grabbed an armful of snow and dropped it on his face.

“Ye rotten wench.” He shouted as you jumped up and ran as fast as you could back to the barn to safety. “Ye’ll pay for tha’ luv!” You glanced back over your shoulder at him as he shook out his shirt and jacket and followed after you. You giggled as you grabbed the leads from around your neck and hooked up Widow and Pepper to bring them outside. “Ye know ‘ow fuckin’ cold t’is?” You smirked as you handed him the leads so you could get the goats.

“You started it, baby. You can only blame yourself.” He leaned over and kissed your cold cheek as he headed back out. You stuck your head out of the barn to wait until the last two cows were in the pen as Bucky came over to herd the goats into the pen after them.

“Send ‘em.” Chibs shouted. With a thumbs up, you flipped the latch on the goat’s stall and let Star-Lord, Rocket, Groot, Hawkeye and Falcon out.

“Alright, let’s go. This way.” You said over Bucky’s barks as the two of you guided the animals to their day home. The pen you used for winter was a repurposed barn in the back with one of the sides removed. It opened to a field about one hundred square yards with a wood fence splitting it into two sides. It had tall, wood sides to protect the expanse from the colder elements. You put the cows and goats on one side and the horses on the other so that they weren’t cooped up in the barn 24/7 for months on end. You kept your distance as Chibs gently maneuvered Rocket around the gate with his foot and into the pen before closing and locking the two gates for the day.

“I vote tha’ we muck afta the market.” Chibs said as he ambled over to you. “I’m froze.” You nodded in agreement as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and rubbed your back. You buried your cold face in his neck as he walked you back toward the barn.

“Wanna just skip the market and go back to bed? If people want weed they can come to us.” Chibs nodded as he moved his hands down your back to your ass.

“I could stay in bed wit’chew all day long, lass.” You hummed with a smile as you both stopped at the back doors of the barn to close them up.

“That honestly sounds like heaven.” He looked up at you with his eyebrows raised as you latched the back door and locked it.

“Why don’ we do it then, luv? Ye can ‘ire someone ta run the farm…” Your stomach flipped as you glanced over at him with a shake of your head.

“That’s not an option.”

“Sure ’t’is, luv. Ye’d be ‘ere ta watch…”

“It’s not an option because I can’t afford it, Chibs.” You said as you stopped in the middle of the barn. You shook your head and sighed as you forced yourself to vocalize the issue you had been mentally avoiding for months. “Babe, I’m losing this farm. I have three, maybe four months before my accounts hit the red. I started growing as a last ditch attempt to save the place but I can’t keep up with it and the animals. When you showed up three months ago, I thought I had a chance but…” Tears welled in your eyes as you looked up at your loft and you shook your head. “My grandpa’s dream is done. I fought for eight years but…” Your words were cut off with a sob as Chibs wrapped his arms around you.

“Why didn’t ye tell me, luv?” You shrugged as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“There’s nothing you could have done, honey.” He swore softly and kissed the top of your head.

“Yer not alone in this, luv. We’ll figure this out t’get’er.”

Part 2

#Chibs x Reader #Bikers Don't Belong in Wyoming

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aquarianlights · 7 years

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how have you been doing?

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No, actually, I’ve been okay. Haha. Thank you for asking. Just been.... adulting like crazy. Like... I scheduled all these appointments at the last second...moved in with my friend and his bf... have driven three hours to these appts and three hours back... every day for a week except yesterday. I had to drive to the fucking DMV and get an NC ID card coz my Drivers License is still Florida.... And idk where my legal residency actually is...lmao. But I had to have an NC ID to get in with the pain specialist. So I drove 2.5 hours to the DMV....got that changed...2.5 hours back. Next day, chronic pain specialist appt. 3 hrs there....3 hrs back... with crippling joint pain.... Next day, psych eval appt. 3 hrs there....3 hrs back. And this all happened like...2 days after I moved here... a close to 4 hour drive...from where I was...and I’m waiting on a fuckton of calls back... but monday is a holiday AHHHHHHH so I can only call certain people and do certain adult things on monday...then I gotta call EVERYONE on tuesday and do all the things I couldn’t do monday on tuesday... I have a whole damn list. So finally...yesterday and today have been free days. So I spent them spending 25 dollars for an application fee to this new college I’m attending as a transient student. I now have 6 vet tech classes and am adding 2 gen ed transient classes. I will have my AA by the end of this coming semester...and have my OTHER AA by the time I have my BA or am almost finished with my BA. And then I will have two AA’s...one in vet tech and one in a medical transfer track degree.... And my BA.... and then onto my masters..IF I PASS THIS FUCKING TEST AND DON’T GET WAITLISTED.I have been relentlessly studying for the TEA’s all weekend. Just nonstop. Started adding exercise coz apparently the treatment for lupus and fibromyalgia is exercise???????? So I just...pop 100mg of lyrica or more in the morning, exercise via sit ups and push ups, make some iced coffee, take a mini jog, go home and do chores like dishes and taking trash out (there’s not a lot to do cleaning wise coz this place is spotless), then I get on my tasks for the day which I have been forcing myself to do no matter how much physical/mental pain I’m in. If I have to take a 5 minute break to slit my wrists or thighs or sides, that’s fine. I do it, play with the blood, feel the endorphin rush, pop more lyrica.....maybe add in some valium if I’m feeling I need it (that’s rare, though...I don’t fuck with benzos too much anymore coz I control my panic disorder through exercises...like...jumping jacks and running and sit ups and acting like I’m in the military and being screamed at by The Rock or something lmaaaooooo...it actually does calm my panic attacks down a fuckton because it forces endorphins through my body and reduces adrenaline and forces me to focus on my breathing...so my valium script is..... well... I pop em when I feel the “need”. or when I actually cannot slow my heart down via a panic attack). Drove to the college here....talked to advisers...they couldn’t help coz they don’t have late start semesters...had to call my other transient class school and cancel coz I don’t live there anymore...went to another college talked to another adviser about transient classes...they set me up with another college...it’s a 45 minute drive, but hey. For two classes? Bruh, I got that.Uhhhhh.....been doing a LOT of paperwork....catching up on vet tech seminars I missed via recordings. Getting in with the “back to work” program with my disability people... TRYING to get a job without getting my disability taken away...but I have to see a rheumatologist first and I’m waiting on a call back from the one my PCP referred me to...and waiting on a call back from my PCP about a fuckton of stuff...she’s a 4 hour drive away so.

trying to find time to make a 12 hour drive to NOLA to get all my stuff and say goodbye to my roommates for 6+ months.

Again, relentlessly studying for the TEA’s coz I’m scheduled to take them this summer after my AA is earned. And I’m legitimately terrified..... I mean, I’m applying to a fuckton of pre-med programs but........... the admit rate for EVERY pre-med program is insane.... Like...if you don’t get a perfect score on all four sections of the TEA’s...you’re fucked. Akjghfkklaglskjf NO CALCULATOR. [internal screaming]

I have a 2-page-long list of things to do on monday and tuesday. Tomorrow is gonna be a bitch. It’s 1:53am right now.....I have to be awake at AT LEAST 8am and I’m STILL studying for the TEA’s but I think I’ve given up coz I was looking at a bar graph and it asked me what kind of graph it was and I put down line graph as my answer and I just looked at what I wrote and was like “....????????” So it was at that point that I knew I needed to stop. They suggest 50 minute study sessions with 10 minute breaks 3-5 times a day for about 6 weeks minimum. My personal TEA’s test guidance counselor person....told me to study for 8 months. He told me the average TEA’s studying is 8 months. I FEEL LIKE I’M ABOUT TO TAKE A FUCKING BOARD EXAM JFC. The TEA’s are so daunting and intimidating....ugh. Shoot me. Like... I have NO PROBLEM with 3 sections...there’s just...1 section...that I’m destined to fail........ So I’m terrified.

Getting psych help. They wanna set me up with an ACTs team. Which is... a doctor, a nurse/PA/CNA/whatnot, a therapist (psychologist), and a psychiatrist. People for med management and for me to talk to. All in one sitting... minimum of 3 times a week.... Coz I’m having anger blackouts as though I have weed in my system and I have NEVER had anger blackouts without an herbal substance in my system, specifically weed. Holy fuck it’s scary. And my intrusive thoughts are no longer thoughts...they’re genuine desires and pleasure dreams. (Not sexual...mental pleasure.) I lost 6 hours of time the other day while sending voice clips to my friends while going over 100 miles an hour on a highway. I sounded literally psychotic in my voice clips (albeit, my diagnoses dictate I am psychotic, I have never sounded like it before). I mean...I could have KILLED people. Or myself. Or both. or animals....Holy fucking hell. 6 hours...a lot of driving... some of it was parking in an abandoned parking lot and doing... I’m not sure what... 6 hours of time gone. And I’m losing more and more time every day due to anger-induced blackouts. I literally called my mother a cunt. I...I attacked her verbally like a 12 year old hormonal boy who needs to be put in a fucking time out. And I have no recollection of it. At all. But the texts and voicemails and call logs are all there. It’s fucking scary coz I could hurt or kill someone...or myself. Came close NYE. Sheriff talked to me NYE....I somehow have this weird theatrical charisma that everyone just....... believes is real when it’s really just me acting. And I talked him down from him being all “There are multiple reports of you having slit your wrists open and downed pills and multiple reports of you saying homicidal things” to “Oh okay I will call them back and tell them you’re okay. You should text them and tell them you’re okay yourself, though.” I was in a hotel for a week....that was... I lost a lot of time there. Going back and forth between the hotel and my PCP. Getting my room in order.... keeping track of my finances for the first time in my entire life.... getting my car switched to my name and under a new insurance...changing my license... lots and lots of document-related stuff...lots and lots of phone calls and voicemails and call-backs...lots and lots and LOTS of appointments.... SO MUCH joint pain. I have lupus and fibromyalgia...but they think it’s a flinching disorder that is in my head from childhood physical abuse and adult sexual and physical abuse. Like...apparently my brain is producing pain and visible lesions akin to lupus, fibro, osteoprorosis, arthritis, etc... and the pain is VERY real...but it’s cured psychologically because it’s psych based...not physical. Like..the physical pain is real...but it’s produced by my brain? If that makes sense? Like...you know the report a million fucking years ago (idk maybe like 5 or 10 years ago???) or that lady (or was it a guy?) who froze to death while trapped in a freezer that was turned off? Yeah, that’s me. I’m the type of person who---if trapped in a freezer that was turned off and I didn’t know it was turned off---would freeze myself to death with my own brain. So...the trauma from childhood physical and mental/emotional abuse and neglect...and trauma from adult sexual and physical abuse and a bit of verbal/emotional abuse....apparently is causing this “flinching disorder”??????????? But I meet criteria for both lupus and fibro...but he thinks it’s this other thing...and ....

Like I said at the beginning...

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

Also trying to get Echo here.... but need to go to NOLA first...which I will be doing this month. Figuring out when exactly after Monday and Tuesday’s stuff I need to do..... Go to NOLA for at least a week...come back...get Echo and the rest of my things... Cut a certain two people out of my life entirely. . .SO MUCH TO DO.Fuck, bruh. I’m exhausted and in CONSTANT extreme physical pain BUT.......................................................it’s cool. Did you know you can get high on lyrica? I sure as hell didn’t. I accidentally took over 500mg in one sitting....all at once... Bruh, it felt like I had taken 2 tabs of acid, popped maybe 4 blues, and drank a full Four Loko. It was intense. The walls were breathing, I couldn’t walk, everything was blurry, felt like I was floating, kept dropping things, laughing at everything...couldn’t see...couldn’t read or write... felt tingly all over... Imagine constant vertigo like...no matter what position you’re in or if you move or stay still. Just.. That feeling you get when you stand up too fast? Yeah. Imagine that.....for hours....no matter what you do... CONSTANT VERTIGO/LIGHTHEADEDNESS FOR HOURS! Felt like I was on a cloud... but also... Even the appropriate doses of lyrica make it so I can’t walk in a straight line.... I keep bumping into walls and falling up stairs and dropping EVERYTHING and falling over ....OH MY GOD I FELL OUT OF BED THE OTHER NIGHT. THIS IS A QUEEN SIZED BED...I WAS ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE....AGAINST THE WALL...AND SOMEHOW I FELL OUT OF BED ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF A QUEEN BED THAT COULD FIT FOUR OF ME.............. ?????????????? I was on the ground like...with the vertigo ...going ... “?????” Oh my FUCK.

I’m not even stressed, though. Like...high pressure, high risk, chaos, spontaneity, impulsivity, self gratification, advancement, pressure pressure pressure, strict deadlines, things that could change at a moments notice, being on call practically all day every day for certain things.... Like... I love it. That’s why I chose emergency medicine... It is when I perform best, when I feel best, and when I can focus best. I can’t focus if nothing is going on around me.... It makes me extremely distracted by my own LOUD AF thoughts and minor whispers of voices that are coming back so SOMETHING IS NOT RIGHT WITH MY MEDS but they’re gonna fix it but I refuse to EVER get back on an anti-psych so I will ONLY work with them on trying to fix my current meds or switching to a different mood stabilizer...IDK.

Bought a fuckton of medical textbooks that I have just been...pouring over...while I should be devoting that time to studying for the TEA’s...... UHAgain... “How am I” is answered as:AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I turn 26 next month. Holy fucking wow................................................................

Uh. Okay. Rant over....Wow, good job, Killian. Verbosity wins again.It’s 2:16am now. Jfc. I need to lay down. My world is spinning. Fucking lyrica, man.........

Thank you for asking, though.... Makes me feel like maybe someone cares about my general wellbeing...or something... Idk. Makes me feel good,though. And happy. Happy that someone cares enough to ask. I appreciate it, fren. I really do. And I hope you’re doing well and thriving like I am. c:

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