#parts to look forward to: Micah finally gets a bath

[lilac-and-lemon-whumps]

Whatever I Decide

@themerrywhumpofmay Day 7: “Relax” Comfort | Branded | Trembling 

Micah leaves his room for the first time. 

Part 1 | Masterlist

Cw: it as a pronoun, vampire whumper/dubious caretaker, human whumpee, fear of punishment, references to scars and forced eating, allusions to past whump (asphyxiation, whips)

Diego was hungry. 

It wasn’t too bad yet, though he knew it would only grow the longer he waited. Faria had invited him out to feed at one of the local BOT bars—blood-on-tap, some new generational fad that sounded a little too hipster for Diego’s tastes. Whether he wanted to spend the evening drinking mildly stale blood or not (“Ethically sourced,” Jonah, Faria’s partner, would laugh), and was leaning much further toward not anyway, Diego couldn’t leave the house unattended yet. 

While he had no idea what exactly he was going to do with the pet he didn’t ask for but was given by the state regardless, he didn’t want to see the poor thing hurt itself or, Crowley forbid, find a way to escape and only get itself killed in the end. The paperwork would be a nightmare.

A knock on his door reminded Diego of the second reason he couldn’t go out tonight and instead had to favor one of his blood packs from the fridge. 

“Mr. Silva?” The representative from the pet center stood at his door, package in hand. She handed it over along with a slip for him to sign off on before nodding in thanks and retreating back to her car. Diego didn’t bother to close the door but simply sighed and unwrapped the package where he stood in the entryway. 

So. The moment of truth.

The bubble wrap crinkled when he pulled out the item. He quickly glossed over the chain, looking for any identification. 

Annnnnd there it was. 

“—Chow?”

Diego frowned. The collar he held was stained a dark red, soft yet firm leather with a little pendant hanging from the center in the shape of a bone. It was on this pendant that the word “Chow” lay, engraved silver that must have cost his sister a pretty peso for. It looked more like something one would put around a dog’s neck, but then again, Diego knew his share of friends and colleagues who treated their pets just the same.

Diego was tempted to call Faria. In the past couple of weeks, she’d become his sort of confidant when trying to figure out how to handle the strange creature. Until today, Diego had no name to call it by, and not for lack of trying. The human refused to tell him its name, and if it reacted any other way than the usual blanching and curling in on itself when Diego asked, Diego would have had half a mind to punish it for being so stubborn. 

But…Chow? What a stupid name for a pet. Gabi may have had refined tasted in other outlets of her life, but apparently that did not extend to naming her things.  

“Perfect,” Diego muttered. When the state representative called to say they’d salvaged a few more of Gabi’s belongings in the remains of her car, one item that looked to be nothing other than a pet’s collar, Diego had been almost excited. He would take any information on the pet, seeing as his sister left nearly squat for him to figure out when it came to maintaining the human she’d had for the past however many years. 

Even the human’s documentation was nowhere to be found. If he were stupid, Diego would have pried more into it. All human pets are supposed to come with a standard buyer’s contract, blood type, name and age if applicable, etc. The representative’s suggested Gabi had probably just misplaced the documents when alive. It was a polite out for the much more likely reality that Gabi had purchased the human illegally. 

As closest kin, Diego immediately earned possession of Gabi’s belongings. Which, of course, included the human. 

Even in death, his sister was making Diego’s life complicated. 

*

Micah had been studying the skin of his wrists when the door to the enclosure swung open. He didn’t hear the sound of a key, but before he could wonder if it had been unlocked all along, his new owner walked in, a familiar object hanging from his left hand. 

Micah froze.

“You’re awake,” his owner said in lieu of greeting. His eyes followed Micah’s to the object in his hand. “Oh. You recognize this, don’t you?” 

Micah looked between the collar—his collar, the red one that Miss Silva would put on him for their public outings. Sometimes, most times, she’d tighten it until he could barely breathe and he had to lay his head on her knee when he thought he’d pass out—to Mr. Diego’s face. Was he angry? Jealous, knowing the collar was a reminder that Micah used to belong to someone else? How did he get ahold of it? 

Mr. Diego approached until his legs hit the side of the bed. He dangled the collar in front of Micah’s face, who could only watch as the collar’s silver bone with the damning inscription swung back and forth like a ticking clock. 

“Chow.” Mr. Diego slowly drew out the word. “Is that your name? The one you refuse to tell me?”

Mr. Diego didn’t sound mad, but his words were enough to send Micah’s heart racing. Ever since Micah had been forced to disobey and eat what Mr. Diego gave him, Micah was waiting to be punished. Miss Silva favored the whip and her nails, but the unknowing of what Micah’s new owner would do was worse. 

And the other day, Micah had been so sure Mr. Diego was going to—to feed from him. Micah had awoken at some unknown time, wrists sore and bleeding from the old ties his owner had been using. When Mr. Diego had taken Micah’s wrists and brought them to his mouth, so, so close to those fangs that haunted Micah’s worst fears, his new owner had simply licked the wounds until the cuts and scratches healed. 

Micah knew, rationally, how vampire saliva and venom could work. And while Micah had been a good dog with Miss Silva, who never drank from him or drained him dry like the other bad animals she’d have shipped in, she also never licked Micah’s wounds closed. A punishment was a punishment, after all.

If Micah was being punished for eating, or for the few times he’d spoken, he had no idea when that would be. But now, maybe he was catching on. Mr. Diego had found his old collar. Surely he was going to put it on Micah, perhaps see how tight it could go until the dark swallowed Micah once again. 

(Six notches. That’s how many Micah could take.)

(Micah knew that as much as Miss Silva had.)

“You’d think I put you in a freezer with how pale you are,” Mr. Diego murmured. He set the collar down on the bed’s side table. Micah tried not to look surprised. “I need to ask you some questions. If you’re not going to speak, I need you to at least nod or shake your head. Can you do that for me?”

It was a trick question. It had to be. Pets were too stupid to communicate with their owners. But if Mr. Diego was asking him to…surely the punishment for following an impossible order would be lighter than disobeying?

Slowly, and feeling like he might throw if he had anything of substance in his stomach, Micah moved his head up, then down. 

“Oh, good boy,” Mr. Diego’s eyes lit up. Micah started. “Just like that. I’m going to free your hands, and then we’re going to go in the main room and talk. Or, I’ll talk. Nod for me again if you understand.”

Main room? Micah was leaving his enclosure? Distantly, he felt himself nod for his owner, but the uncertainty threatened to drown everything out. 

Calm down, he told himself. You deserve any punishment he decides. 

“I should’ve tried asking this way the first time.” Mr. Diego unlatched the new leash that had come in for Micah. Micah much preferred these over the old ties, which had cut into his skin every time he moved wrong in his sleep. These new ones were much softer, and had enough give for Micah to move his arms where he liked rather than be strung out like a doll. 

Once Micah’s hands were free, Mr. Diego picked up the collar again. As much as Micah tried, he couldn’t hide his sharp inhale quick enough to not draw Mr. Diego’s attention. 

“Let me guess,” his owner mused, waving the red leather. “You don’t like this, do you?”

Another trick question. It didn’t matter what Micah liked. If his owner wanted to collar him, then Micah should be honored to be so cared for. Now that Miss Silva was—not here—Micah was Mr. Diego’s to do with as he pleased. Micah’s wants and likes had nothing to do with it. 

“What did I say?” Mr. Diego tsked. With his free hand, he ran his thumb over Micah’s lips, drawing down to his chin. Maneuvering Micah’s head himself, he moved Micah’s head side to side, then up and down in a faux nod. “Nod for me, or shake your head. I do not enjoy repeating myself.”

Micah waited a beat before realizing what his owner intended. Pressing his lips tight together so not to accidentally make a sound, Micah slowly shook his head and waited to be slapped for his insolence. 

But nothing came. Micah hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until he felt the pad of Mr. Diego’s finger tapping at the side of his temples in a silent command. 

“Why,” his owner said quietly, “are you so afraid of me?” 

Micah blinked. And then, because he had no idea what else to do, he nodded. 

Mr. Diego scoffed but he didn’t say anything more. Nor did he fasten the collar around Micah’s neck, or slap him for taking so many liberties, or tell Micah to get into position. Instead, he looped the collar around his wrist and, before Micah could think to react, picked Micah up in his arms. 

* To say the human tensed would be putting it mildly. The pet—Chow? Such a stupid name—went from soft skin to solid stone in Diego’s hold the second he had the human wrapped in it. A very frightened, shaking stone, that is. 

“Shhh, you’re okay,” Diego soothed. He placed one hand on the small of its back and rubbed gently as he made his way out of the human’s quarters and back into the main area of the ranch house. What surprised him the most wasn’t necessarily how small it was, because he could easily tell that just by looking. It was how light it was, even for a human.  

Not for the first time, Diego worried about the pet’s eating habits. 

He set the human on the couch beside him, and for a moment the pet stayed wrapped around him before it realized it was being put down. “There you are. Just get comfortable. I’ll say this now, because I’ve been told I need to be as clear as possible with you: you’re not in trouble—uh, Chow.” Despite the assurance, the human still made a face before quickly hiding the expression. Diego latched on to the information. Diego was slowly but surely learning what set off the human, so he wasn’t too surprised at how it tensed when Diego’s shoulder brushed its as he sat down. But it did finally nod, and Diego did not miss how its eyes quickly flit around the lit room, taking in the new space. 

Probably, Diego realized, it was the first time it had seen a fully lit room since Gabi’s old house. He never bothered turning on the lamp in the human’s space. 

“First order of business then. I want a name to call you by. Do you want me to call you Chow? Is that your name?”

The human wouldn’t meet his eyes. The silence stretched. Just when Diego was about to give up and move to the next question, mentally making a note to start a tally count for infractions, the human surprised him. 

“My name is-is whatever you dec-decide, Sir.”

There it was again. His pet could talk. But despite this seeming accomplishment, it immediately shrank into itself after speaking, shoulders bowed as if to fend from attack. 

Diego wasn’t stupid. The signs were all there since the moment he received the pet. The scars on its legs when they had to change its clothes. The two wounds on its back Faria had to stitch up. The way it cowered like a kicked dog, how it looked ill upon speaking, why it never ate by its own choice. 

He remembered his friend’s words when they’d last spoken over the phone. Fair. Diego had quickly cut her off, not wanting to hear slander about Gabi no matter how hard of feelings they left off on before her death. 

But looking at the broken, very much malnourished form of this pet, blue veins more visible than its sunken eyes, Diego had to swallow back a surprising rush of sympathy for the human. Diego had never been cruel for the sake of being such. He was a reasonable man, who approached the world as logically as he knew how. Logic told him humans were below them, to be used as nourishment or, at times, as pets for the very cherished. Logic told him humans were weak, unnaturally short and thin boned, common for prey animals. 

What logic did not tell Diego, however, was the depth to which this human must have been treated to be so damn afraid all the time. It looked like the wind could put up a better fight than this pet. Even the humans in their colonies did not act this way before their superiors. Obedient, yes. Deferential, yes. But…but this? Abject terror and utterly irrational behavior…

For a species that was so determined to hide from harm and stay alive, it made no logical sense to deny food and willingly resist speaking when, by all accounts, it would be easier for both of them to not do so. 

“I like it when you speak,” Diego told it. “Will you tell me why you always stop yourself?”

That was obviously not the right thing to say. Its wrist wounds from the other night were all healed, but it scratched at the invisible marks as if they still bothered him. Its upper teeth bit so hard into its lower lips Diego almost expected to smell blood soon.

Diego was much too old to react like a child who’d turn feral at their first taste of human blood. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle his reactions around a bleeding human—he very much well could. It was just, well. Even in its current state, the human was admittedly adorable. And who could resist tasting a sweet face like that when it was just so ready to take?

The human did not seem to share Diego’s happy thoughts. It was pale and looking a bit green as if it’d been at sea too long. What wiry muscles it still had were coiled so hard Diego wondered if it was in pain by that alone. 

“Relax, sweetheart.” Acting more on instinct than anything, Diego pulled the pet into his arms again, doing whatever he could to soothe it. Again, it tensed. Again, it froze, waiting for something. 

And then, after almost a minute of Diego waiting a patiently as he could (Faria would never let him live it down if she saw), Diego smelled the tell-tale signs of salt before he felt the drops hit his chest.

“You cry so sweetly,” Diego sighed, not unkindly, and completely unsure if that was a proper thing to tell a pet. He remembered Faria’s advice over the phone: treat it like a child. Speak gently to it. Tell it explicitly what it's allowed and not allowed to do. “But you’re allowed to make noise, little one. You’re allowed to speak, if you wish. I would like you to speak, if that means anything.”

Diego took inventory of the human while he had it so close. It’d been over two weeks since he got the poor thing, but he hadn’t truly studied it since those first two days when the pet had been drugged out of its mind for transportation. It’s hair was a bit matted, what once was probably curly dark locks tangled and grown out beyond what was healthy. He’d probably have to cut it, and most definitely wash it at the very least. To be honest, Diego had been avoiding the issue of bathing and had settled on wiping it down with soap every few days while it tried not to struggle. If the pet freaked out about food, what would it do if Diego tried to strip it? 

“I’m…I’m s-sorry.”

The little hiccup of noise from where the pet had its face curled into Diego’s chest immediately drew Diego from his thoughts. He didn’t dare move, not wanting to give the pet any more reason to startle. Not for the first time Diego wished he were Faria, who could comfort any human with the slightest word. He just wanted a name, damn it. 

But despite his own impatience, he couldn’t be annoyed for long. Diego wasn’t sure what it said about the human who, despite its obvious terror of him, had burrowed itself so sweetly into Diego’s arms as if Diego could protect it from the very thing it feared. 

“Why are you apologizing?” Diego asked. 

“‘Dogs aren’t suh-supposed to talk, sir.” Its voice was muffled where it spoke into Diego’s chest, one hand clenched tight into Diego’s button down. He was definitely going to have to dry clean it. 

Diego focused on the matter at hand. “If I wanted you sorry, I’d let you know. Whatever rules Ga—whatever rules you were once told do not apply here.” Diego wasn’t sure how much the pet knew about its new state. Did it know that Gabi was his sister? Most likely not. Diego had avoided communicating too much with pet despite having two weeks to bring it up to speed. 

In Diego’s defense, he had been terribly busy sorting out the funeral situation and deciding on Gabi’s belongings, whether to donate, keep, or trash the ridiculous hoard of material items she’d collected over the past seventy years. On top of that, Diego had to move his office work remotely while he figured out what he would do with the pet. Keep it? Sell it? Get a few weeks worth of his own fresh blood before ridding himself of the whole ordeal? The human’s food that it barely even ate was expensive, after all. 

“Here, you are allowed to speak. In fact, that is a rule. You will speak when I ask you a question,” Diego settled on telling the human. “Understood?”

Diego could practically feel the human’s hesitation, as if sensing a trick. “...Yes, sir?” it finally breathed. It was more a question than an assurance, but Diego would let it slide for now. 

He finally wondered aloud the thought that had been creeping up. “Was food another rule? Is that why you refuse to eat?”

No answer now, at least not aloud. What was that, a second infraction? Third? Diego mentally noted it for later, before hearing a small sniffle and then the quietest, Yes, sir, he’d ever heard.

Huh. Diego thought about the last time he’d seen his sister, what, ten years ago? What had she been thinking, getting a pet and hardly allowing it to eat? It was common knowlege that prey creatures had to rely on food much more often than their superiors. Where Diego could go days, maybe a week if he really pushed himself, without feeding, humans needed to at least once a day, two or three for maximum energy.

Besides. How did Gabi feed off a pet who looked this deprived of...of everything? Surely she didn’t keep it just to have it around.

“You are allowed to eat here. And speak. I need you healthy and honest, little one. How else am I going to get any use out of you?” Diego rubbed the pet’s shoulders as another wave of silent tears overcame it. Good hell, Diego wanted to sigh. 

“Your old owner’s rules mean nothing here, alright? It’s like you said: 

“It’s whatever I decide.”

*

Taglist: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @thecyrulik @deluxewhump @melancholy-in-the-morning @pumpkin-spice-whump @cicatrix-energy @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings

#yes this is a whole day late i do apologize it's been a busy weekend #vampire whump #whump #dubious caretaker #I really wanted to incorporate branding because I have a set scene in mind #But its too early into the story to add yet so ill have to wait for later #parts to look forward to: Micah finally gets a bath #Diego punishes Micah #to feed or not to feed from Micah #Branding! #Diego learns Micah’s name #Backstory on Micah with Gabi (miss silva) #fear of punishment #all of the previously stated are not in any set order I will get to each of them when I do (or whatever seem to be requested more lol) #Diego and Micah #the merry whump of may #forced eating mention #collar mention

[neon-junkie]

Obedience Training

Summary: Dutch isn't happy with the way Micah left Strawberry, so he asks Arthur to help punish him.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Micah Bell x Dutch Van Der Linde

Word Count: 2162

Rating: NSFW

Tags: A lot of sin, Threesome, Light dom/sub, Anal, Face-fucking, Anal creampies, Facials, Obedience training, First time, Orgasm denial, Humiliation, Degrading.

Notes: ahahahah my first time writing these three >:3 I'm a slut for these ships, so why not just combine them all together?! I'm also pretty happy with how I've written Dutch, considering he's not one of my strong points, so go me!!

"Dutch?" A concerned voice from outside asks. "Arthur! Come in, son," Dutch calls out to him. Arthur does as he's told, just like the loyal lapdog he is. Only he seems to regret it the instant he walks into the tent. He takes a step back, eyes trying to focus on anything but what was going in front of him. 

Dutch is in the middle of his tent, knees on the floor with the vilest human being beneath him. Arthur knows straight away what's going on, it's hard not to notice that Dutch has his cock buried inside Micah, who looks more than embarrassed in having Arthur walk in on them, his head down in shame. Dutch had beckoned Micah into his tent one quiet afternoon, promising him talk of his time in Strawberry. Micah was expecting to gloat about the score he got for Dutch, but he found himself being urged onto his knees as Dutch spoke down to him, telling him that he'll need to do a lot more than bring back some money to make up the mess he left Strawberry in. Micah will do anything for Dutch's approval. Anything. Dutch knows this and used it to his advantage, both punishing Micah and getting himself off. His grip on Micahs hair was tight as he urged Micah to suck him off whilst his own fingers prepped his virgin ass. And here he is, hands and knees on the wooden floor of Dutch's tent, with the man himself coming to a halt in his ass so he can have a conversation with Arthur, ignoring the man below him. Micah's trying his best not to make any noises, but his green neckerchief was untied from his neck and wrapped around his cock, tight enough to make any man whimper as they attempt to hold back on touching themselves. "Ain't this... uh... a bad time?" Arthur questions, as he turns his head around and stares at the tent flaps. "A bad time? Quite the opposite, son," Dutch laughs. "You're just the person I was hoping for. Won't you be so kind as to come and kneel down in front of Mister Bell here?" Dutch asks, though Arthur knows it's an order. And for once, Arthurs willing to question it. "You want me to what?" Arthur questions, his eyes briefly flicking over to Dutch, trying to ignore the mess of a blonde man underneath him. "You heard me right. It seems we need to give our newest member here a lesson in obedience. Maybe then he won't run around shooting up towns over such meaningless things like his guns," Dutch tells him, a slight grit to his teeth. "Well... alright then," Arthur pauses for a moment before walking over, kneeling down in front of Micah who's trying his best not to make eye contact with Arthur. Dutch watches eagerly, but his smile quickly fades when he realizes that Micah is more useless than he thought. "Well, Micah?" Dutch asks as he slams his hips down into him, knocking the wind from Micah's lungs. "You know what to do. Don't make poor Arthur here wait."   Micah's still hesitant before slowly looking up at Arthur. His eyes trail south, settling on his pants. He slowly reaches out and attempts to undo the button with one hand, the other hand still holding his weight up. Arthur enjoys watching him struggle but undoes his gunbelt in the meantime, letting it fall to the tents wooden floor with a thud. For obvious reasons, Arthur isn't hard, and Micah waits a good few moments before taking his flaccid cock in his hands and slowly begins to pump it. "Dutch, this is... erm..." Arthur fumbles about with his words. "I know. Don't view it for how it is on the surface. View it as two men teaching their newest member what loyalty and obedience are all about," Dutch hisses, slamming his cock into Micah again with a firm grip on his hips. He pushes his member all the way in, leaving it there whilst he continues to watch Micah slowly jerk Arthur off. Arthur pauses again, looking down at Micah who has his eyes on his cock. Arthurs is thankful that Micah isn't looking up at him again, wanting to burn that image from his memory. He eventually asks Micah "is that it?" To which Micah frowns at Arthur and feels like biting his dick off in the moment. "Just look at that scowl he's giving you, Arthur. He's quite clearly untrained, and the sooner we fuck that attitude out of him, the better," Dutch huffs, deciding to start slowly thrusting himself back into Micah, who reacts by clenching his eyes shut and lets out a whimper, still not use to the sensation. For some sick and chaotic reason, Arthur decides to side with Dutch on this one. If he ignores the fact that this is Micah Bell with his cock in his hand, then it really isn't too bad. He'll just pretend it's someone else and treat them like he would with any other common whore. "Well, you heard him. Get to work," Arthur tuts, and Micah scowls at him again. Finally, Micah begins properly pumping Arthurs shaft, his palm and fingers pressing tightly against it as works his hand up and down his length. Arthurs cock begins to slowly grow, more so if Arthur doesn't look down at the blonde beneath him. "Just put it in your mouth, Micah," Dutch spits. He's getting tired of being impatient and rewards Micah with a harsh slap to the rear as he picks up the pace. Micah shudders underneath him, hating that stinging feeling left behind on his cheek, but he knows that's just a minor punishment he'll receive if he doesn't start putting some effort in. So he begrudgingly opens his mouth and slides Arthurs's length in, scrunching his nose and eyes up the second his tongue presses against the base of Arthurs cock. There's a harsh tug to Micah's hair as he feels Arthur grip hold of it, his eyes looking down at him to make sure Micah doesn't try any funny business. Micah takes his time with bobbing his head along Arthurs's length, still reluctant to do so. There's another sharp slap to his rear, and Micah realizes he's being watched, so he picks up the pace. "Well, it's not the worst I've ever had, but it's still pretty bad," Arthur chuckles as continues to look down on Micah, whose eyes remain shut. They snap open the second Dutch replies "why don't you show him how it's done then, son?" Micah gags the second Arthur starts moving his hips, trying to push his head off his cock but Arthur keeps him firmly in place, tugging his hair harshly. Dutch continues to thrust into him, and Micah's ass has only recently stopped hurting. There's a thin beaded trail of precum dripping from Micahs cock, pooling on the wooden floor below, and more gets pushed out every time Dutch hits that spot deep inside of him, followed by a shiver down his spine. Having his mouth around Arthurs's length may not be the most enjoyable thing in the world, but Micah feels pure bliss whenever Dutch goes deep, though he'll never allow himself to show these men just how much he's enjoying it. However, a few whimpers and moans are pushed from his lips, mostly muffled by Arthurs's length. The more Arthur fucks his mouth, the more spit gets pushed from the corners of his lips, dribbling down his chin and onto the floor below. He already looks like a mess, with his scruffed shirt hanging off one of his shoulders, a few buttons missing, and the pool of precum beneath his cock that grows larger from the second. Micah is embarrassed at the state he's allowed himself to get into, especially at the hands of one of his least favourite men, but he tries to just enjoy parts of the experience. Micah is thankful that Arthur bathes often, as his pubes continue to brush against his nose every time Arthur bucks his hips against his mouth, forcing him to gag again. Dutch seems content, fucking Micah's virgin ass with one arm hanging by his side, the other lightly placed on the small of Micahs back as if he's lazily riding a horse. Dutch moves his hands to grip onto Micah's hips, pushing his shirt out the way so he can grab hold of the slight muffin top that Micah has. His sudden picking up of pace catches Micah off guard, who is pushed deeper onto Arthurs cock. He has to pull off so he can cough, and only gets a brief second to calm down before Arthurs grabs him by the scruff of his hair and puts him back on, holding his head in place as he fucks his mouth. "Mister Bell?" Dutch questions, leaning over the blonde man a little so he can speak more directly into his ear. Micah lets out a muffled response, his eyes snapping open as he tries to look over his shoulder at Dutch. "You won't go misbehaving again, will you?" Dutch questions. Micah lets out a muffled "no,'" shaking his head at the same time. "Good, good. Because if you do, there'll be much worse consequences. And I'll have you know, that it won't just be me buried in your ass. That's for starters," Dutch informs him, that usual sternness to his voice. Micah tries his best to let out a muffled "yes, boss," and has to snap his eyes shut again as Arthur forces his head to face forward, returning to his quickened pace. "You close, Arthur?" Dutch asks. "Yep," Arthur replies, his eyes meeting Dutch's. "Good. Make sure Micah remembers this, won't you?" Dutch asks him. "Course," Arthur replies, looking back down at the blonde who seems more than concerned. Arthur pulls his length from Micah's mouth, forcing his head to tilt back uncomfortably. He keeps Micahs head in place with the harsh grip to his hair, and Micah knows exactly where this is going when Arthur begins to tug on his own cock. Micah manages to shut his eyes and close his mouth just in time, his brows furrowing as Arthur spills his load on Micah's face. It splatters across his cheek and forehead, narrowly missing his eyes. Micah feels more than disgusted and shamed when he begins to feel Arthurs cum slowly dripping down his face, running along his beard and moustache. Is Dutch chuckling? His laughter quickly turns into a mix of a grunt and a moan when Dutch pushes his cock as far as he can into Micah's ass, holding it deeply as he cums against Micah's prostate, making the blonde shudder and whimper, his own cock begging for release. He can feel his balls turning blue, but he dare not remove his own neckerchief from his cock, not wanting to get a minimum punishment of a slap on the ass.   Dutch pulls out of him, letting out a sigh as he stands upright, tucking his cock away. Arthur does the same, wiping his hands off on his jeans as if that'll remove the sin he just endured. "I think we'll leave Mister Bell here to clean himself up," Dutch tells Arthur as he fishes a cigar from his pocket. "Sure," Arthur nods, getting ready to leave. "You heard me, Micah," Dutch says as he looks down at the man after lighting his cigar, the smoke beginning to fill his tent. "Clean up then get out there and do something useful for once," Dutch tells him. "Sure, boss," Micah manages to say as he sits back on his knees, his chest rising and falling heavily. Arthur leaves the tent, and Dutch is about to until he turns back to Micah. "Oh, and you can remove that neckerchief," Dutch tells him as he points down at his reddened cock. "Sorry, son. I forgot it was there," Dutch grins, exiting the tent to leave Micah to clean up. As much as Micah wants to finish himself off, he can't, especially when Arthurs load is still on his face, and Dutch's load is dripping from his abused hole. Micah undoes his neckerchief from his cock, using the cloth to clean himself as well as he can. Once he feels somewhat clean, Micah tucks the neckerchief in his pocket and attempts to clean up his appearance, tucking away his still throbbing cock and wiping down his shirt. He places his hat back on, making him feel a little more like himself, and exits through the back of Dutch's tent. Micah manages to get over to Baylock without anyone noticing him, not that the camp would anyway. He hisses as he gets in the saddle, his ass beginning to feel sore, but he pushes on and rides away, heading out to get a bath in town and hopefully finish himself off.

#rdrwriting #VanderMorBell #Morbell #Vanderbell #VanderMorgan #mmm #obedience training #nsft #smut #arthur morgan #micah bell #Dutch Van Der Linde #arthur morgan x micah bell #micah bell x dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr 2 #red dead #red dead 2 #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2

[secretobsessionstuff]

Ooo! I have a request! Maybe Alexi comes home from work in the pouring rain because he forgot an umbrella and had to wait in the rain for a while and he’s just really feverish and cold when he finally gets home, and falls into Micah’s arms. After he warms up he falls asleep on the couch, but then, he wakes up abruptly and is sick all over himself and the couch, and Micah is there to just help him through it! You can choose how it ends but yeah! I think this would be cute!!

Enjoy another medically inaccurate sickfic in which I blend the symptoms of a cold and the stomach flu!

Alexi hated the bus with a passion. He hated the inconsistent schedule, the flock of weirdos one was sure to find on public transport, and the 45-minute-long commute that would have taken 15 minutes in a car. Tonight, he was particularly mad at how late the bus showed up. There he was waiting in the pouring rain, using his light jacket as an umbrella, and hopping from foot to foot trying to keep warm. It was in vain though because an unnatural chill clung to his skin. He could feel the goosebumps on his arms as he kicked himself for not wearing warmer clothes. It wasn’t supposed to rain that day, but alas the sky had darkened, and the clouds burst opened.

A shiver and rainwater ran down his back, making him feel miserable. Also, he was already feeling pretty miserable even before a ton of rain fell on him. The prospect of getting on a damp and crowded bus made his stomach growl in sync with the thunder. When the bus finally arrived (14 minutes late!!), he wasn’t sure if he was happy to see it or not, but he got on because fuck the rain, and fuck his immune system, and fuck the entire concept of time. Time didn’t exist but he sure as hell felt it pass during those long non-existent minutes.

The bus wasn’t too crowded, unfortunately it wasn’t too warm either. He still shivered and wrapped his arms around himself once he found a spot to sit. He hugged himself partly because he was cold and partly because his belly really wasn’t feeling well.

Through the magic of fevers, Alexi closed his eyes for two seconds and when he opened them, he was home! He could have gotten jumped during that entire bus ride and it was all thanks to his brain’s ability to slip into a fever-induced trance. That didn’t happen though. What did happen was at the very moment when he opened his eyes, he felt his stomach churn nauseatingly. He staggered off the bus and somehow persevered through the short walk home.

The rain was freezing cold, making the goosebumps travel up his neck and into his face. He was almost home and just wanted to face-plant into Micah’s shoulder. Crying also sounded pretty good in that moment, only because the rain would hide the tears, also because life wasn’t being very fair. Sure, he slept at his desk most of the day, and yeah maybe he lashed out at his coworkers, but that didn’t mean he deserved to get caught in a downpour.

The universe made it up to him though by giving him the perfect boyfriend. As soon as Alexi walked through the door, dripping wet and soaking the floor, Micah cooed and ran over to him.

“Why didn’t you call me, Lex?” Micah said as he helped Alexi take off the wet jacket. The sleeves stuck to his skin when Micah pulled at them, making the whole jacket turn inside out. Neither boy cared.

Alexi’s response was a wet sneeze and a moan. His wet hair fell into his eyes as his head fell forward from the sneeze. Sad soggy strands of golden curls stuck to his forehead, looking like limp noodles. If they were noodles, Alexi’s fever would have cooked them against his skin. Micah pushed aside the wet hair, and in doing so, felt the heat coming off his boyfriend.

“Oh baby, you’re on fire,” Micah said as he pulled Alexi into a hug. It was like hugging a vibrating space heater because Alexi shivered uncontrollably.

“I – I don’t f-feel well,” he stuttered, his bottom lip quivering.

Micah grabbed Alexi’s hand and led him away from the door. “Come on, let’s get you in dry clothes.”

“But I’m tired.” Alexi pouted and felt himself be compelled towards the nearest place to crash. He spotted the couch and made a beeline for its soft cushions.

When Micah looked back, Alexi wasn’t following anymore. Instead, the boy threw himself on the couch and grabbed a blanket to hug. “But don’t you want to get warm?”

Alexi shook his head and closed his eyes. “I just want to sleep.”

This wasn’t the direction Micah wanted to go in, but he didn’t think he’d have much luck talking to his boyfriend. The boy was so out of it, and had already begun snoring due do congestion. Micah let out a frustrated sigh. Okay he could work with this. He just needed to get Alexi into dry clothes.

It took about ten minutes, but finally Micah managed to slip off Alexi’s soaking wet socks, and exchange them for a fluffier pair. He again turned Alexi’s pants inside out as peeled them off his wet body. Baggy grey sweatpants took their place. Finally, a fresh t-shirt that smelt like dryer sheets replaced his work shirt. He could do nothing about his hair but eventually that dried on its own in a crazy knot. While Micah struggled to do all this, he was acutely aware of the fever burning through every inch of Alexi’s skin.

When all that was done, Micah fell into the chair next to the couch. He didn’t want to leave Alexi alone in case he woke up and decided to spontaneously combust, so he just scrolled through his phone for an hour. Occasionally, Alexi mumbled in his sleep which Micah would think is cute if it weren’t being caused by a virus. But the mumbling suddenly stopped when Alexi jolted awake.

He wasn’t sure what had woken him up, but for a millisecond Alexi was aware of the intense nausea overwhelming his senses. Before he had a chance to react of say anything, he shot up and promptly vomited all down his torso. A fountain of pale puke gushed from his mouth, coating his chest and part of the couch in a sickly smelling bile.

Micah practically dropped his phone on his face out of shock. The first thing he heard was the gurgling retch that tore up Alexi’s throat before seeing his boyfriend lurch forward. Out of instinct, he stood up in a rush, not really sure how to help. The damage was done and now the only thing he could do was pat Alexi’s back while another wave of sick forced its way up.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay,” Micah said while keeping Alexi’s shoulders steady.

It was incredibly disorienting to wake up and to suddenly be heaving. Alexi felt dizzy and lost, unable to catch his breath or focus on anything other than the pain in his belly. He could feel the slow circles being traced on his back which helped him a little, but he still felt like utter crap. A sick belch burbled up from his stomach, bringing with it a small stream of bile that Alexi let fall from his mouth.

“Désolé…” he mumbled with his head hanging low and saliva clinging to his lips. He wasn’t sure why he was saying sorry, but it felt like the only thing he could do. He couldn’t hold his head up, he couldn’t stop his body from shivering, he couldn’t even find English words.

“No, no, that’s okay,” Micah said, wondering how he was going to clean this all up. Such clean clothes now had to be thrown in the wash after being worn for an hour. But none of that mattered, at least not yet. He gave Alexi the chance to catch his breath and allow his stomach to settle before moving him. What he originally thought was just the flu, had suddenly turned into something worse. He needed to fix this right now. “Alright, can you come with me to the bathroom?”

Alexi nodded weakly and followed Micah. His vomit-soaked shirt stuck to his stomach and was a pain to take off. He just stood in the shower while Micah undressed him apparently for the second time that day. His dirty clothes remained in the bath with Alexi got hosed off in lukewarm water.

“I’m almost done,” Micah said as he passed the showerhead over Alexi’s bloated belly. He was back to shaking now that the cold water ran off his arms, so Micah tried to be quick.

It came as another surprise to Micah when Alexi, with his head fallen forward, opened his mouth and burped up a weak stream of frothy vomit. A shallow heave caught in his chest as he retched in the tub.

“Oh, babe,” Micah said as he washed the sick down the drain, “your belly must be so upset.”

Alexi nodded, sending little droplets of water falling from his hair. “Make it stop.”

“I will,” Micah foolishly promised as he turned off the shower and wrapped Alexi in a towel. “We’ll get you in bed and all of this will be over.”

“But, but I –”

“Shh,” he whispered while helping Alexi into pajamas and drying his hair in a towel. His hair came out looking like a lion’s mane but at least it was dry. “I’ll put a bucket on the floor, and I’ll be next to you all night.”

And Micah kept his promise, never once leaving Alexi alone in the bed, even when the boy fell into a deep sleep.

#emeto #emetophilia #sickfic #Alexi #Micah #fever #vomiting #puking #my ocs #flu #stomach flu

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 32

Stand Unshaken

Warnings: swearing, blood, a lot of heartache

Word count: ~4500

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You stand near the river, watching the sun rising, your heart feels as though it’s gone. Not even broken, just gone. John calls your attention. 

“Y/N, let’s go! We gotta keep moving.” 

You blink, tears cascading down your cheeks. “John, I…” 

Without warning, your knees give out. When you land, your injured knee screams in agony. John runs to you. 

“Y/N, please. We gotta do this.” 

You look up at him, silhouetted in sunlight. His dark eyes glisten with unspilled tears. 

“Please, Y/N.” 

It takes all your strength and will to get up, but you do. John pats your right shoulder, glancing at your left which is still bleeding freely from where one of the Pinkertons shot you. You nod to him, signalling you’re ready. 

He runs ahead again, skirting alongside the Kamassa River. You follow to your best abilities, but it doesn’t take long before you have to stop again. John stops and glares at you as you’re hunched down, trying to catch your breath. 

“Come on, Y/N. We’ll steal some horses soon, get there faster.” 

You straighten up and look at him, feeling like you’re about to fall to pieces again. You look to your right and there, in a clearing bathed in golden sunlight, stands a stag. His head is bowed as he grazes, but when your eyes land on him, he lifts his head, showing huge proud antlers. Your mind automatically goes to Arthur and how you just left him on the mountain to die. 

The stag gazes at you for what feels like an eternity. Finally, it blinks and turns, walking slowly and calmly into the trees back in the direction you came from. From somewhere in the corners of your subconscious, a voice echoes. It’s the voice of the blind man you met a couple of weeks back. 

“When the golden stag lifts his head, that is when you must go backwards rather than forward,” the voice says. Understanding rushes through you. It finally makes sense what he was saying. You have to go back. You’re meant to go to Arthur.

“Y/N!” John hollers. 

You look at him, your face set in determination. “Go, John. Find your family. I have to go back.” 

“You gonna let yourself get killed? Y/N, come on! Arthur didn’t want that for you.” 

You sigh, trying to keep yourself together. You straighten up as much as you can, Arthur’s hat shading you from the bright light. 

“I know what I’m doing, John. Now go. Go and watch Jack grow up, try and make Abigail happy. She loves you more than you know.”

John looks at you pleadingly. “Y/N-”

“Just go! They need you more than I do, and to be honest, you have more to live for than I ever did. Just please, for me, go and live a good life, okay?”

“You wanna go back and get killed, fine. But all it will mean is that Arthur died for nothing.” 

“No, John. He… he died for you. And so am I.” 

Before he has the opportunity to say another word, you run off as quick as your exhausted body will allow, back towards the forest. John calls your name, but you ignore him and eventually he stops calling. As you reach the trees, you look back and find he’s gone. You sigh, resolved to what you’re heading into. 

The trees provide ample shade and cover as you run, retracing your steps. You never should have left that goddamn mountain, no matter what Arthur said. If you don’t end up dying today, you’ll never forgive yourself for leaving him there. You just pray that by some power or force, he hasn’t died yet. Could it be possible he’s still breathing?

As you think about the circumstances in which you parted, tears begin pouring down your cheeks again. You don’t let it stop you though. You have to keep going. You push your injured and tired body on, tripping occasionally. Every time you do, it gets harder and harder to get back to your feet, but the thought of finding Arthur alive pushes you on. 

A shot suddenly rings out, a thin oak you’d just passed exploding. It brings you to a stop. From out of the bushes comes Micah, pointing his pistols at you, his face heavily bruised and bleeding.

“Ah, hello Mrs. Morgan. Or should I say, Morgan’s widow? I was hoping I’d see you again.”

“Micah, you son of a bitch.” 

He chuckles. “Always did have a mouth on you, miss. I gotta say, I admire that in a woman.” He holsters one of the pistols, sneering at you. 

“You sold us out,” you snarl, your hand brushing against the butt of your revolver. “You killed Mac, Davey, Jenny, Lenny and Hosea.” 

He laughs again. “You left one more name out, miss.” 

You pause, unsure of who he means. You look behind him, expecting to see Dutch. Instead, Cleet and Joe are there, pointing their rifles at you.

“Dutch-” you begin. 

“Oh, Dutch is fine, far as I know. Last time I saw him was right before I shot Arthur in the head.” 

Your heart drops and you suddenly feel cold. He laughs again. 

“That’s right, miss. To be honest, I didn’t think it’d be that hard to kill him. I’ve been trying for some time. I knew quite a bit about Dutch and his boys before I even met him. I must admit, I was jealous. The man has talent at being a notorious outlaw. Has a certain level of charisma few can achieve. Colm told me all  about him.” 

“Colm? Colm’s been dead a while.” 

He laughs again, slowly pacing in a large circle around you. “Now come on, Y/N. Thought you was smart. I was one of Colm’s boys long before I met Dutch. But he didn’t have the drive or the talent of ol’ Dutch, so I got out before he had the chance to cut me off. That was when I met Dutch.” 

You keep a firm eye on Micah, trying to think of a way to kill him. Your best bets right now are to keep him talking, keep him distracted. He obviously doesn’t find you as much of a threat, otherwise you’d already be dead. 

“I’m guessing you kept in touch with some of Colm’s boys though?”

“Well of course. Cleet and Joe were part of his gang too, until Colm was hung and his gang fell apart. But I was able to leak info on both Dutch and Colm through them. Gotta say, it was entertaining for a while to see them running in circles like that.” 

Micah adjusts his hold on his pistol. “I knew right when I met Dutch he’d be easy to manipulate. He saw my talents, what I could do. Knew I could be an asset. But when he introduced me to Arthur and Hosea, I knew they’d have to go before I could do anything to Dutch. They were his voices of reason, the one thing that kept him from falling over the edge.”

“So you were planning for them to die all along?” 

“Never did like either of them much, to be honest. Hosea never had any spine, and Arthur, well, he always thought he was better than everyone else, always too big for his britches. But Dutch trusted his advice, so I knew he’d have to go. I tried to take care of him clear back after he busted me out of the Strawberry prison. I met one of my old buddies from Colm’s gang up there, and he was in my cell. He thought I was still close to Colm, never was very bright, so he spilled all about a stage robbery. 

“After Arthur busted me out, I got word to Cleet and Joe that Arthur and I would rob the stage and have Colm set up his own trap. Thought killing Arthur would be easy, but of course he survived. Like a cockroach.” 

Micah begins a new circle around you, Cleet and Joe slowly getting closer to you. He continues, “I knew I’d have to be more clever to take Arthur out, so I came up with the plan for Colm to snag him and turn him in to the Blackwater bounty hunters. I was sure Dutch would go rescue him and either he or Colm would end up dead. It went perfectly to plan too until you had to go and rescue him. After that, I knew I’d have to come up with something really good to take Arthur out.”

“But you were in the Pinkertons pockets?” 

He smiles again. “That’s how you choose to see it. They offered me my freedom and even quite a bit of money if I brought them Dutch or Hosea, so I told them about the Blackwater ferry job. Only Dutch and Hosea got away and the Pinkertons refused to give me what they promised. Said Dutch either had to be shot or hung before they’d keep their end. I spent a lot of time thinking of a new trap.  

“Then Dutch met Bronte and got fooled by him. When I saw how angry he was, I could see the cracks. The only thing keeping him together was Hosea. Arthur had a hand in it too, but Hosea truly was the one thing guiding Dutch. So I told the Pinkertons about the bank robbery and what Hosea’s plan was. And that trap was sprung perfectly, I couldn’t have planned it better.” 

You’re shaking by this point. How dare he do this to Hosea, to Arthur, everyone? Micah laughs again as he sees how you take the news. 

“But you ended up in Guarma,” you say. “Something tells me that wasn’t planned.” 

He licks his lips. “No, that wasn’t. But I played my part, pretended to be a good boy. When we got back though, Milton found me and offered me double the cash. Oh, the money, Y/N. If you were offered that amount in exchange for leaving Arthur, you’d do it.” 

“No I wouldn’t. Arthur is one of the few people in this world you can’t put a price on.” 

Micah smiles again. “How hard it must be for you, knowing he’s dead. Ah, he truly was a good man. How hard he tried to keep Dutch’s head from spinning. How he loved you. But when he announced that you two were getting married, I knew the only way to take him down was through you.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Joe shifts nervously behind Micah. 

“I set the trap that ended with you getting that pretty little cut across your face. Must admit, it didn’t end the way it was supposed to. Joe messed up, he and George were supposed to kill you. I figured if you were dead, Arthur would be so hurt and turned around by your sudden absence, he’d be easy to get rid of. Turns out you’re just as stubborn when it comes to dying as he was.”

“You goddamn traitor,” you say, your eyes tearing in anger. “After all the gang has done for you. After Dutch took you in, fed you, paid you and this is how you repay him?”

“I’m a survivor, Y/N. Ain’t no one out there looking after me except my damn self, so I’m gonna do whatever I can for me.” 

You can feel the tension rising in the air, the inevitable ending coming. You flex your hands, preparing yourself. 

“Oh, Y/N. You can’t imagine my delight in this. Morgan was a huge pain in my ass for far too long. Even though he was on the verge of death when I found him, he gave me quite a beating. Maybe, as a final gesture of how I appreciated him, I’ll take you before killing you.” 

Your heart races faster as you realize what he intends to do to you. 

“I’d like to see you try, Micah,” you snarl, trying to sound braver than you feel. 

You predict what he’s going to do and just as he aims down at your leg to take you down, you roll and dodge to the side. As he aims again, you charge him, slamming your body into his, forcing him down. The pistol flies from his hand. Cleet and Joe are about to fire when Micah yells to them.

“Do nothing! She’s mine!” 

He punches you in the face hard, throwing you off. Slightly dazed, you try to get up but he crawls on top of you, wrapping his hands around your throat and squeezing. One hand releases you briefly so he can remove your revolver from its holster and tosses it to the base of a tree. You grapple with his hands, but it’s fruitless, so you shove your fingers into his eyes and he lets you go, crying out in pain. You then ram your uninjured knee into his groin, which allows you to toss him off. You get up and dart towards the pistol, but Cleet’s foot comes out of nowhere, connecting with your cheek. Stars erupt in your eyes and you fall down again. A heavy weight slams down on your back, keeping you pinned.

“Oh, you’re a fighter, Y/N. It’s gonna make this all the much more satisfying.” Micah reaches down and grabs you by the throat again, but you pull out your knife and rake it across his arm, forcing him to release you. The weight on your back disappears, allowing you to get to your feet. 

Micah slams into you, pinning you against the tree. He wrestles the knife from your hand, throwing it into a bush. Then, his bruised face enraged, he places a hand over the wound on your upper left arm and squeezes, causing you to cry out in pain as your arm feels like it’s about to fall off. 

“You little bitch,” he growls. With his free hand, he grabs you by the throat again. You raise your right hand, trying to prod his eyes again but he releases your left arm momentarily to slap it away, still squeezing your throat. The sides of your vision are beginning to fade to black. 

Suddenly, the sound of a pistol firing rings out and blood explodes from Micah’s side. He releases you, stepping back in shock and you slide down to the bottom of the tree, trying to remember how to breathe. 

From behind a boulder, Dutch walks out, aiming his pistols at Micah. 

“You shot me, Dutch. You-” 

“You betrayed me, Micah, betrayed us,” Dutch growls. He must have heard everything. 

Even though your vision is blurry, you look down and see your revolver’s gold barrel peaking through the leaf litter. You pick it up and shoot Micah in the chest until the barrel’s empty. His throat makes a gurgling sound as he steps back again, blood spilling from his chest. He looks at Dutch and then falls, his body twitching. Cleet and Joe run off as Dutch fires at them, but they get away. 

You lower the gun, your entire body flooding with pain. Dutch turns slowly to look at you and then he holsters his pistols. He glances at Arthur’s hat, still on your head. 

“Mrs. Morgan, I-” 

“Shut the fuck up, Dutch, and help me up.” 

He sighs and approaches you, grabbing your extended hand. You get to your feet, groaning in pain. Dutch looks as though he’s about to take you in his arms to help you walk but you slap him away, Micah’s words burning in your ears. 

“Arthur,” you gasp, glaring at him. “Is he…?”

“I… I don’t know. I… he…” 

“Micah says you were there when he...” 

Dutch swallows. “I didn’t see him die. He was on his way out, no doubt and I… I walked away.” 

You take a few steps back from him, wanting nothing more than to rip his throat out. However, you know you’d be dead at this moment if it weren’t for him.

“Get out of here, Dutch. But just know that if I see you again, I’ll be there to kill you.” 

He looks at you sadly for a brief moment and then walks away. You watch him go to be sure he won’t turn on you until he disappears through the trees. 

You’re alone again, and the weight of everything and the physical excursions slam into you, forcing you to bend down again. You don’t take a moment though before you’re picking up your revolver and knife. You have to find Arthur. Micah was lying. He didn’t shoot him, he couldn’t have. You won’t believe it until you see him. 

You continue walking on, running when you can stand it. It’s late morning by the time the mountain comes into view. Your body screams at you, begging for you to stop and rest, but you don’t. You can’t. 

You climb up the mountainside again, just as you did before when the Pinkertons were chasing you. After what feels like a monumental effort, you find the ledge where Arthur said good-bye. After inspecting the rocks and grass growing on it, there’s definitely signs of a struggle. On the rock wall, there’s a spot of blood. Then you see the impression of a body lying in the dirt. Leading away from it and up alongside the ledge, which winds up the mountainside, is a trail of blood. You follow it, curving around the bend and then you see him.

Arthur’s propped up in a sitting position against the ledge wall. Did Micah drag him there? You run the last few steps and then fall to your knees, ignoring the pain from your left knee, as tears overtake you. 

He’s covered in blood from the wound on his hip and his face is badly bruised and cut, but there’s no bullet. You sigh, a little relieved that Micah was at least lying about that part. His eyes are closed and his lips are dry. You grab his shoulders and shake them, crying out his name. 

“Please,” you beg. “Arthur, honey it’s me. I’m here. You can’t die!” 

He doesn’t respond, so you press a finger to his throat. To your surprise, you feel a pulse. It’s weaker than it should be, but it’s there. 

“Arthur!” you cry out. Then, you reach into your satchel and pull out an almost empty bottle of rum. You uncork it and turn the bottle over above his face so the liquid splashes him. He suddenly gasps and his eyes flick open. 

“You’re alive!” you cry out, throwing the bottle. He sucks in a pained breath, his eyes staring up into the sky. It’s almost like he can’t see you. Trying to keep yourself in one piece, you press a hand to his cheek. 

“Arthur, it’s me. Can you see me?” 

He takes in a few more deep breaths and then his eyes finally move, landing right on you. He opens his mouth to speak but only a small croak comes out. Realizing he must be thirsty, you take out another bottle of alcohol, pouring a small amount into his open mouth. He winces as it goes down his throat, but then he licks his lips and closes his eyes, still breathing heavily. 

“Arthur?” 

He looks at you again. “I told you to get out of here,” he says with a deep groan.

With a loud sob, you touch his face with your hand. “I know, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t live with myself knowing you died here alone.” 

He lifts his hand to brush your face. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Thank you for coming back.” 

He winces in pain again, dropping his hand. You study his face more, realizing there’s a red tint to his skin. The sun is burning him. 

“We need to get you off this mountain,” you say, looking around as if the answer of where and how you’ll move him will be there.

“Where?” he asks in a weak voice. 

You think for a moment. “Hamish. Hamish isn’t too far away. Arthur, we’ll go to Hamish.” 

Arthur closes his eyes again. “I can’t walk, darlin’. My… my hip.” 

“No, you can’t. But I can. I’ll get him and we’ll come back for you. Arthur, can you at least keep yourself hydrated?” 

He nods, opening his eyes again. You touch his face briefly before getting to your feet again. You reach into your satchel and pull out more bottles of whiskey. “I’ll be right back, gonna get something before I fetch Hamish.” 

Before he has the chance to ask what you’re doing, you run down the ledge and down the mountain and back to where Artemis and Rannoch died. When you see their bodies, your heart breaks. But you can’t allow yourself to mourn, not now, not yet. Arthur needs you. You slide their saddle bags off and sling them over your shoulder, struggling a bit with their combined weight. Somehow though, you manage to make it back to where Arthur is. 

He watches you intently as you take out his tent from Artemis’s saddlebag and position it over him, shading him from the sun. You make sure to keep the opening free so it doesn’t get too hot. When it’s done, you kneel beside him and unbuckle his pants, to which he questions. You tell him to relax and open his jeans and his union suit to reveal the wound above his hip. It looks awful, but it doesn’t look infected yet. You pour some whiskey onto it, making Arthur cry out. You apologize profusely and then place a strip of cloth to soak up what bleeding there still is. You rebuckle his pants in order to hold the fabric in place and keep pressure on the wound. 

Just as you finish and are about to announce you’re going to get Hamish, Arthur grabs your leg. 

“Sweetheart, come here.”

You look at him, worried. “What is it?” 

He slides a hand behind your neck and pulls you down, kissing your lips. His lips are hot, too hot and after a moment you pull away. 

“Arthur, I’ll be back. Hamish and I, we’ll come get you, okay? I promise, I’ll be back.” 

He nods and you take off his hat, about to give it to him when he grabs it and puts it back on your head. “You need it more than I do right now.”

You nod and kiss him again. “Don’t die on me now, you hear?” 

His lips stretch into a small smile. “I ain’t gonna die. I got you by my side.” 

You blink, a few more tears escaping, and stroke his face again. Then, with another enormous effort, you get to your feet and leave the tent. You throw Arthur another glance and promise him you’ll come back. He nods in acknowledgement but says nothing. He closes his eyes again and rests his left hand over the wound. 

You turn and head down the mountainside again. Your body is so tired and hurt that even your scar from when the Murfree shot you in the leg burns. It causes you to limp even more, but you keep going. Finally, you hit the road, but of course no one’s there. Sighing heavily, you turn down the path and begin heading down the path toward O’Creagh’s Run. 

After only taking a few steps, you hear the sound of a horse coming down the path towards you. Looking behind, you see a man trotting on a small liver chestnut morgan. 

“You there, can you help me out?” you call out.

“I don’t need or want your company, now get lost.” 

Without hesitating, you pull out your revolver and shoot him in the back of the head as he passes. He falls off and his horse stops. You’re surprised it didn’t spook and run off, but you approach it, glaring down at the man’s corpse. 

“Coulda been nice, buddy, but whatever. This is easier.” 

With some difficulty, you drag his body into a cluster of bushes and then go to the horse. He fumbles with his bit but doesn’t react otherwise, just looks at you with a steady eye. 

“Good boy,” you say, patting his neck and then climbing into the saddle. The effort is tremendously painful, but you get settled soon after and then kick the morgan into a canter. You silently acknowledge your luck when the lake comes into view. What would have taken you an hour to do on foot takes you a matter of minutes. 

Buell stands outside the small cabin and he rumbles in greeting when he sees you. Patting the morgan’s neck, you dismount but your foot gets caught in the stirrup due to your exhaustion and you fall, pain coursing through your entire body. 

The sound of uneven footsteps comes from the cabin and then Hamish’s voice calls out. 

“Y/N, what are you doing here? What’s going on?” 

You look up, tears leaking from your eyes again. “Arthur… needs help. Please. I…” 

“Hey, take it easy.” He kneels down next to you and helps you sit up. “Where is he?” 

You take a few deep breaths and tell him. He nods. “Okay. Can you ride a little more? It’ll be faster for me to get to him if you can show me where he is.” 

You nod and try to get up, but you can’t do it on your own. Hamish grips you under your arms with surprising strength and lifts you up, then he helps you back into the morgan’s saddle. He mounts Buell and grabs the reins. 

“Alright, Y/N. Come on, show me where he is.” 

Without a word, you guide the morgan into a steady trot back the way you came. A few moments later, the mountain comes into view. 

“I heard gunfire coming from this direction. You two have anything to do with it?” Hamish asks. 

“I’ll explain later,” you croak as you guide him up the mountainside on the morgan. When you reach the ledge, you stop, hoping Arthur’s still breathing. Hamish helps you get off and then you limp painfully around the edge of the mountain until the tent comes into view. 

“There,” you point. Hamish pats your back and goes to the tent opening, peering in. “Well, Mr. Morgan, you got yourself quite a girl. Looks like she’s been through hell and back. Course, you don’t look much better.” 

A small groan comes from inside the tent. Hamish enters it and you hobble to the opening, grateful to find Arthur’s responsive to Hamish. His eyes immediately find you and you start taking a few steps towards him when your legs finally give out and you collapse. The last thing you see is an eagle soaring above as Arthur calls your name.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur x female reader #arthur morgan x female #arthur morgan x female reader #Van Der Linde Gang #R* Games #rockstar games #I'm awkward #second chances #i'm literally crying

[nisaadventures]

I’m turning 30 in 10 days... yikes.

The last year of my life has sucked... lol. Okay, it wasn’t all bad. I’m exaggerating... but I’m also not. I know there were plenty of nice moments in the last year... but when I think about the last year of my life, its just full of so many firsts... awful firsts... 

First time celebrating their birthdays without them...

First holiday season without them... anyone else miss mom’s turkey? Most people don’t like traditional thanksgiving dinner because the turkey is more often dry... mom’s was never dry... Okay the key people.. Don’t actually cook your stuffing in the turkey. Its just going to suck all the juice life out of your bird... I mean come on. Trick #1 stuff the turkey with fresh cut oranges and yes, you can leave the skin on... #2 do majority of the oven time in an oven bag to keep the moisture in. #3 cook breasts down. Its the part thats usually most dry, so duh... keep it in the juicy, buttery goodness of the pan. I never made the entire meal, I usually just helped mom with everything. These are just some things I’ve taken away in my observations. 

Halloween trip to Disneyland without them... Disney is always a good time, but I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t feel heavy in some way... and that is saying something because Disneyland is my happy place lol. 

Looking forward to 2020... Hoping that it had so much better in store for us. 

Dear lord... what a joke. 

Going to Hawaii for our “family trip” without them...

A pandemic without them... I mean yes, I’m thankful they aren’t out there with COVID on the rise... I’m glad they’re not stuck at home because COVID. Mom and Michael are both too much of busy bees to be cooped up in the house for too long. 

Not going to lie... picking up where they left has been hard. All of moms plants... The dogs.. Taking care of the backyard, where Michael usually would. Mom would definitely do too much at once. She’d be out in the yard planting something and pulling out something else in her damn UGG boots! wth mom?! Those are expensive! lol. “Oh its fine.. I’ll wash them.” Omg lol. Either that, or she’d be over here trying to move heavy a$$ pots by herself and I’d have to stop her before she hurt her back. Ayiyi. 

Keanu and Aria’s birthdays without them... seeing my babies sad and missing their grandma, grandpa, and aunties has been hard. It will be out of nowhere sometimes... and all the nights of Aria waking up in the middle of the night crying. I feel you baby girl... I get it. I miss them too... Its okay to be sad... Mantras... 

You were her little rays of sunshine. Grandpa and grandma loved you SOOOO much. 

Mom would babysit the kids on Saturday mornings, while Kuya, Vaness, and I went to workout. They’d go get breakfast, pancakes and eggs, at UJs. She’d take them to Target, the dollar store, Walmart, etc. just so they could look and maybe get something to play with together. She always crafted with them. 

Living in this house... especially with COVID... has been hard. I miss just sitting at the dinner table, eating sho mi, and talking about work. Mom and Michael getting all worked up over some crazy manager, or something going down with the union.. yup, that’s where I get it from... advocacy and leadership skills FTW.  One thing they could always talk about for HOURS was work lol. 

I remember when I was a little girl, Mom would let me play in the bathtub until I was all wrinkled. She would let me bring all my toys into the tub. At one point I even had a care bear doll that she, for some reason, let me take in the bath lol. She’d throw it in the dryer for me after I was done. 

I remember going to the grocery store with mom and leaving with two full a$$ grocery carts because we had a full house at all times. I mean it was Kuya, my cousin Jojo, my brother Derric, my cousin John, Bubba, my cousin Jay, me and whoever else was over the house lol. When Kuya was in high school, it was all of his buddies partying at our house and crashing on the floor in the living room, dining room, and all the couches. She was the #1 host for sure.

“Are you hungry? Did you eat yet?” 

Thats love. 

All of Kuya’s high school friends called her Mom. My friends called her Mama Fern. She loved that. 

I remember playing hide n go seek in the dark in our tiny town house.. Later in the bigger house on Glenbriar... where mom actually tripped and broke her arm... But she laughed so hard she peed her pants, so she was a good sport? lol. Needless to say, we sort of stopped playing after that.

I remember making dim sum with mom for the first time. Such a hot mess, flour and food everywhere, but so fun. We definitely didn’t do that again until there were more adults around to help lol. Mom knew how to run through a kitchen like a tornado. Hot mess! but the best cook. 

Mom was always careful. She always wanted to make sure we were safe, that I was safe. I couldn’t go outside unless one of the boys was with me. When I would swim she would get nervous, even though I learned how to swim at a young age thanks to Kuya. One day, we were having a bbq, lots of family over, I was playing in the jacuzzi (drawing on the wall of the jacuzzi with a piece of chlorine... don’t play with chemicals kids lol) and she thought I was drowning? So she jumps her a$$ in there fully clothed and yanks my a$$ out. I was shocked as hell, so I naturally started crying hella hard and complaining about the fact that she scratched me when she yanked me up out of the water lol.

Keep in mind that that was not the first time one of the twins jumped into the pool fully clothed to “save” someone hahaha. 

 Speaking of fully clothed in the pool... The time auntie tripped and fell slo-mo style (that questionable, are you going to catch your balance, speed) into the pool LOL. Mom was dead laughing at her. Most hilarious video. 

Those twins lol. 

Jeeze.. speaking of the twins. They had this crazy connection. Tell me why when mom got sick with suspected viral meningitis and had to be hospitalized... Auntie straight up followed her right into the ICU with viral meningitis... 

Who remembers their 50th birthday? Talk about doing it BIG. So much fun. All the performances. Lani was there... KMA performances and kuya and John getting down for Maglalatik. Who doesn’t like seeing some half naked, buff dudes, bang coconuts together? haha. The twins getting down with their hula performance. Cute!

I remember when Mom and pops were going through their divorce and she would text me after midnight. I was going to Sac State and of course I was team NO sleep at the time. I would be in the AIRC studying. I’d comfort as best as I could from a distance... and then come home on weekends to be there with her when I could. 

She found her footing again. Started going to the gym with Kuya more... Started running all the time... all of her half marathons and finally she did the Nike Women’s Marathon. 

Hiking Half Dome with her. What.a.badass. 

That is really how I see her. She was so badass. When she was my age she had my 9 year old Kuya and I was on the way... She was working and supporting us and then eventually decided to make a better life for us, and went back to school... NURSING SCHOOL. wth. I can’t even imagine doing that right now, but reminding myself of where she has been and how much she PUT IN WORK... That keeps me grounded in the fact that we are responsible for our lives. If you want something, you have to work for it. You can’t just hope for better... you make better happen. 

I guess its that reminder... her strength... her and Michael’s love and hard work... That keeps me going. 

Being mindful... being thankful... acknowledging my own strength... 

But with that said... August has been increasingly hard. I don’t like to think about my birthday. I don’t even want to plan anything. They’re not here... I can’t celebrate with all my loved ones and friends. Thank you COVID... 

We’re just getting closer and closer to the anniversary? Nah.. lets not call it that... anniversary sounds like something nice... something to celebrate... This is NOT that. The day your loved ones are taken is not something to celebrate... I mean honestly, if I had to pinpoint the worst day of my life, that was it.... When I think about that day I can’t breathe. Terrible memories... so many sleepless nights. I’ve come so far. Its still hard, but I’ve come a long way. 

Anyway... this post is sort of random and nostalgic. Things I hold onto. Things that make me happy cry... Things that weigh heavy on my heart. 

Here’s my playlist for grief... reminders of them... collected over the last year:

Aloha for now -Kaleo Vai & Passion 

One day at a time -Jennifer Chung

In the end - Gabe Bondoc, Melissa Polinar, Passion

Round and around -Kolohe Kai

Fade Away -Rebelution

Alive -The Green

New Day -Kimie’

Angels above me -Stick Figure

Memories -Maroon 5

Wish you pain -Andy Grammer

100 -Katchafire

Everyday life -Coldplay

Out of the darkness -Isla vista worship, Bre Reed

Amen -Andra Day

Grateful -13 Crowns feat. Poo Bear

Rainbow Connection -Gwen Stefani

Be okay -ZOE worship 

With you -Eryn Allen Kane

Dont worry -Mesto feat. Aloe Blacc

Just livin’ -Sensi trails, Kbong

Remember me -Miguel, Natalia Lafourcade

Even more -Major

Let it be -Xav A.

Give Thanks -Iya terra, Stick figure

Mr. Sun -Sammy Johnson

Rest easy -Thrive, Nico of Tribal Theory

Sunny Days- Allen Stone

Today’s a new day -Common Kings

Mother’s Love -Jonah Jaxon, Micah G

The bones -Maren Morris, Hozier

Give you blue -Allen Stone

And we remain -Johnnyswim

Yellow -Kina Grannis

Streetcar -Daniel Caesar

Meant to be -Bebe Rexha, Florida georgia line

All you need to know -Gryffin, slander, Calle Lehmann

Like I’m gonna lose you -Jasmine Thompson

#ohanaovereverything #threeoh #grief #memories #family #loss

[mileycyprus-hill]

The Little Things

A RDR2 imagine with Arthur x gender neutral reader

It was supposed to be a short fluffy imagine, buuuuut once I started I couldn’t stop. TB? Nah, just misdiagnosed pneumonia that nearly kills our poor Arthur. Or chronic bronchitis, who the hell knows in those days, he just needs to quit smoking.

Warnings: violence; so much fluff you could choke on it

It’s 1903. It’s been four years since the gang split up and you rescued Arthur from that rat Micah. He was covered in knife wounds and barely clinging to life. Micah was ready to stab Arthur in the back as he crawled. But you were quicker. You ran into Micah’s back, knife in hand, with all of your might and stabbed him in his right lung. You didn’t even see Dutch leaving the three of you to die near the cave. 

Luckily, you had the strength to carry Arthur to your horse and take him to the Wapiti Reservation. It was an extremely lengthy and challenging recovery for Arthur. There were nights you laid next to him and worried he wouldn’t wake up the next morning. It seemed that one day he’d improve, but the next he’d be in a feverish sweat and unresponsive.

But that was long ago now. While he’ll never fully recover his strength, the important thing is he’s alive. And with you.

You stayed with the tribe for seven months while Arthur recovered. The pair of you then wandered the country for a while before deciding to move to Canada, inspired by Charles’ idea. Charles promised Arthur that he would spread the news that he died there at Beaver Hollow. So the two of you could start a new life, with new identities.

You both came across an abandoned cabin deep in the woods. It needed work, but it was a cute little cabin with a small barn nearby. Perfect for the two of you.

You encourage him to let you carry the brunt of the house work. He wants to be useful and help, as being the work horse is the only life he’s ever known. However, you do your best to remind him that he’s not the young man he once was. You’d rather not see him collapse like he did when he overworked himself trying to patch the leaky roof on your humble home. You refresh his memory of how upset you were when you sprinted to his side while he laid on the ground unconscious.

Arthur is now nearing his 40th birthday, and he decides he wants to go hunting.

Well, he decided to, but it took days of relentless begging on his part to persuade you to let him go. You were ready to put your foot down until he made a good point on how you’ve been babying him for the past couple years you’ve owned this house together.

To be honest, he was right. You felt guilty, but you implored you had a good reason to coddle him. You nearly lost him once, you didn’t want to risk losing him again. 

So off he went early one morning before dawn. You barely felt him rise out of bed. You woke when he kissed you goodbye. You couldn’t help but sleepily mumble to him, “Be safe out there.”

A few hours go by as the sun slowly rises. You decide the cabin needs some deep cleaning.

Throughout the day, you scrub and repair nearly every corner of the house. You’re nearly finished in the bedroom when you walk over to Arthur’s side of the bed.

As you walk over to his nightstand to put something away, you step on a loose floorboard. You feel it shift oddly under your weight with a loud squeak.

That’s odd. Never noticed that before.

You kneel down and inspect the loose floorboard. It looks like someone used it as a floor safe, as you notice the scratch marks on one end where the person most likely used a knife to raise it up.

You go to the kitchen to grab a knife. Your heartbeat quickens at this discovery. Could there be valuables left by the previous owner? Jewelry? Perhaps even gold?

You finally wiggle the knife in the board enough to pop it up. You reach down into the small space and discover a cigar box.

As you open it, you gasp in surprise.

What you find is of no monetary value. But it’s still a treasure to you.

They’re letters. And cards. And small trinkets. All given to Arthur from you.

He kept every single one from the day he met you.

Even little notes you once left at his bedside telling him you were out on a job. They didn’t mean much to you, but they meant a lot to Arthur.

As you sort through the box, you read each one.

Arthur,

Out with Mary-Beth in Rhodes to get supplies. Bill is escorting us.

See you soon.

-Y/N ❤️

-----------------

Arthur,

I noticed you got into a bit of a brawl with a local. So I picked up some salve for you. Be sure to use it on those cuts.

-Y/N :)

----------------

You come across a valentine card. It’s actually the first one you gave him. You were just friends at that point, but you wanted him to know how much you admired him. You were still too shy and decided to sign it anonymously and leave it at his tent while he was gone.

On the front of the card was a faded drawing of a cherub with a bow and arrow, surrounded by red roses and blue birds.

On the inside, you had tried your best to write in your prettiest handwriting:

Happy Valentine’s Day!

You are sweeter than sugar. You bring the sunshine on a rainy day. Your laugh makes my heart skip rope. Your eyes make the sea green with envy at their beauty. Don’t forget that you are loved.

Yours truly,

A secret admirer

You chuckle at the memory. You forgot about that sappy love card. You were never a good poet. While a part of you wanted him to know it was you at the time, you were still nervous and embarrassed. You remember cursing yourself for listening to Mary-Beth. She was the one who came up with the idea.

Looking back at it now, you’re glad you listened to her.

You remember the note you received the next day in reply,

Y/N,

Thank you for the card. Didn’t think I’d recognize your handwriting? Though I hope I’m right. If you’d like to, meet me under the big birch tree where we target practice.

If not, I understand.

- A.M.

You suddenly feel a tear roll down your cheek at the memory. You never thought he kept all of these notes and letters from you. You were delighted knowing that you hold such a special place in his heart. 

As you continue reading them, you don’t hear the front door open, or the quiet footsteps behind you.

“Y/N?”

You nearly jump off the floor and give a quick yelp. You turn around to see Arthur standing behind you. Confusion covering his face, until he sees the letters you have clutched to your chest.

You see him staring at you. You stammer nervously, “I- I’m sorry. I-I-I didn’t mean to snoop around your uh, things. It’s just that uh...I noticed the uh, floorboard here a-and...”

Arthur smiles at your awkwardness. He steps forward with his right hand out to you, tinged red in blood and dirt caked under his fingernails. He gently grasps at your shoulders.

“I guess you had to find out sooner or later,” Arthur says with a shrug.

“I know it’s silly,” he mumbles. “But I couldn’t throw ‘em away.”

You grip the letters even tighter against your chest. You can’t help but smile at how sheepish he’s acting right now. 

Big, tough guy Arthur Morgan is blushing. 

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck, “I liked keepin’ ‘em and readin’ ‘em whenever I needed to. I’d keep a few in my saddlebags and read ‘em whenever I was gone. Made it feel like you was there next to me.”

Arthur continues, “After that whole mess back at Beaver Hollow, I was worried I lost ‘em. So, I asked Charles to look for ‘em for me when we was with the Wapitis.”

As he continues explaining, he slowly plucks one of the notes from your grip.

“I’m glad I put ‘em in a lock box, cause when Charles found it, it was all burnt up.” he chuckles while looking at the note in his hand. “Luckily, these were safe.” 

“Arthur,” you finally say. He raises his head to look at you with those beautiful eyes of his. 

“This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.” Your blink as tears escape your eyes. “I’m glad you kept them.”

You open one arm up and embrace Arthur in a tight hug, kissing his cheek. You take a small step back to break the hug until Arthur pulls you back. He wraps both his arms around you and nearly squeezes the breath out of you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. The papers crinkle in the tight embrace. 

“I love you so much,” he says.

“I love you too,” you reply. 

Together, you put the letters back in the box and under the floorboard. 

You then cook a wonderful stew with the venison he had gotten that morning. 

Later in the evening, you treat Arthur to a bath. While massaging his head, you ask Arthur what he’d like for his birthday.

“Just you,” he says, leaning his head back to look up at you.

You smile and brush your lips against his. He parts his soft lips as you continue to kiss him. He slips his tongue gently into your mouth, tapping the tip of your tongue with his. 

The two of you proceed to make love three times that night. 

#and there it is #i'm terrible at smut #so that's where it ends #for now #self indulgent fic #cause i once found a box full of love notes and doodles i gave my hubby years ago #and it made me cry #he also says the same stuff for his birthday wishes #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x gender neutral reader #fan fiction #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2

[chillincucumber]

like i know I’m late on the whole rdr2 wagon, but i finished the game (not the epilouge part yet, just started tht). And I have to say, it really feels like I lost a very close friend when it came to the ending of Arthur’s story. I went through his whole story slowly, making him hunt, collect herbs, do the nicer challenges and visit every corner of the map I could get my hands on. I laughed and cried when it came to some side missions, I went back to some towns to visit those NPCs whose dialoge changes over time, and honestly, dressing up Arthur in nice clothes and making sure he got bathes was a nice highlight. I saw this man slowly change and come to the realization that he could be more than what Dutch made him and what he thought of himself. Saw this man think that he could be capable of good and not just some “dumb brute”. Saw with my eyes as I read his journal and saw his sketches, that Arthur Morgan was a good man who cared for the gang and would do anything for them.

I cried helplessly when Sean got shot, and then Hosea and Lenny. I got so angry at Dutch that I had to stop the game. I got so scared of Dutch when he drowned Bronte in the swamp. I was as shocked as Arthur was. I literally called out for Charles to let Arthur stay with him because he wasn’t happy in the gang anymore, everything was going to shit. But damn Charles and his wisdom that Arthur was needed elsewhere, becasue it was true, and I knew, and Arthur knew. and how he said goodbye to Sadie, seeing his last friend leave him alone and beside himself as he went back to camp to end it all. Sadie stayed by Arthur until he sent her off to make sure his family was out. Sadie and Charles were there for Arthur since day one and were so good to him.

 I really felt what Arthur felt in each of those moments, that slow creeping fear of the unknown and the sudden reality of death, no escape when he was diagnosed with TB. I saw his fear of himself when he talked to Sister Caldera, and did that destroy me, finally hearing him speak his insecurities and something genuinely thinking he could do good and liked being good, that the world could be a good place. I cried so much for this man that even if the game steeled me for his death, however it was, it  hurt so much to have to watch Arthur crawl and fight and be beaten and left alone to die on that mountain. 

And for Arthur to be at peace at the fact that he got everyone that mattered out of the gang, and still trying to convince Dutch, who for only a brief moment had clarity, that Micah was the rat, but died knowing he did what he could and was at peace....well fuck. I sobbed and cried myself to sleep because it was such a way to go, it fit him, but it stole some sembalance of potential for me, for Arthur. He got his rest, his peace in death, while I tried to prolong it by avoiding story missions. It felt like I was marching him to death, and it hurt knowing that I couldn’t stop it. 

So yeah, call me dramatic but this game really helped me through some tough shit and it made me happy. I have never invested so much of myself and time into something like a character. I looked forward to seeing his dooddles of birds after using the binoculars! If i think too hard on Arthur I get sad all over again, but I’m thankful I got to expereince his story, even if he doesn’t know how much it meant to see it to its end, or just how much it meant to meet him at all. 

#rdr2 #rdr2 spoiler #just my thoughts #not all of them #but the emotional ones #I both loved and hated Dutch #but I just hate him now #but not as much as Micah #I miss Hosea #when i went to his grave i shed a few tears #for Arthur and me #Sean had so much life in him #Lenny my boy #and molly omfg #MOLLY DIDNT DESERVE TO DIE #AND SUSAN #susan #I DONT LIKE THINKING HOW SHE WAS JUST KILLED LIKE THAT #everything still hurts #ah #ive hurt myself again #this is so sadalexa play Hurt by Johnny Cash

[the-canary]

Wednesdays - L.T (7/10)

Summary: Only you had the balls to deal with his outrageous order on that day. You just didn’t know how bad it would get. (Barista!Reader/Lance Tucker).

A/N: omg, they shared a room and stuff happens <3. 

Feedback is always appreciated.

It takes you a week and a half to have everything settled. You talk with your professors and they give you a pass or more work to do on the side. Madison smiles and tells you to do a good job, you are representing her brand off-course. One of the other teachers at the ballet school will cover you for the weekend that you are gone, much to your students’ annoyance. Micah and some of the other baristas agree to pick up your shifts.

It’s difficult and it’s annoying, and you know that Lance Tucker would never appreciate all that you are willing to go through because of his one fucking ask, but the girls’ smiles when they see you walking towards them in the early hours of that Wednesday morning make it all worth it -- then they proceed to hound you about everything while complaining that it's too early and the ride with Tucker killed them.

Lance doesn’t seemed to be doing any better, running on protein bars and there is an annoyance in his eyes that you have never seen before -- quite different from the one that you usually are able to draw out of him. He doesn’t look at you, but the flight delay doesn’t help when you see him coming close to killing the poor flight attendant when they make that announcement.

“Hey,” you call out to him, as he almost punches one of the pillars, “Have you had any coffee or anything real to eat since last night?”   

“Are you a fucking Starbucks advertisement?” Lance growls out in annoyance, as blue eyes met your own but you just shrug it off. You knew that even now Lance kept his physique in top shape, but you knew from your own personal experience that it wasn’t the best, so you grab his shoulder softly.

“Look, I’m gonna get some breakfast...maybe buy something for the girls,” you explain calmly and clearly ignoring his temper tantrum, “Do you want anything or not?”

“Decaf,” he states as you give him a cheeky grin, “Maybe a sandwich.”

“Got it,” you smile and pat his shoulder, “And don’t worry so much. It’s bad for your blood pressure, champ.”

You laugh and turn around before calling out to the girls on who wanted to get something to eat with you. You don’t ever see that Lance’s eyes were on you the entire time as you moved away from him. The place you had touched him scorching like he had never felt before.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucked.

Lance knew he was fucked the moment Sally --his previous video girl-- threw him out for yelling another name when they were together. Your name, to be exact.

He hadn’t slept with anyone in the past three weeks as a result, as he tried to realize what the hell was going on in his head as it keep going back to you. Utterly annoying you who smiled liked you didn’t give a damn in the world, who worked so hard doing all your things without a care for what anyone else thought, but who made his girls laugh and could put them in order when need be -- who looked down on him and just seemed to move forward and faced him head on.

Maybe, Lance Tucker was turning into a masochist in his old age?

“Coach,” Katherine’s voice breaks his thoughts as he turns to look at the young woman, “You need to stop looking at her and just say something already.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lance answers back as he glance down the hall once more to see your head moving about once more. He was sure that you had fallen asleep after being up so early, taking care of the girls, and eating such a heavy breakfast that consisted of airport food.

“You’re doing it again,” Katherine states in a sing-song sort of voice that makes Lance look at her in annoyance, “Just tell her how you feel or bang her...since that’s what you always seem to do.”

Lance just glares at the teenager, as she simply shrugs and puts on her earbuds once more. Lance tries his hardest to not look at you for the rest of the flight, he fails a couple of times.

However, there are bigger fish to fry than his questionable feelings -- like the prelims and as he stand in front of the hotel room door with you at his side, on who was going to sleep on the couch and on the bed.

“So, this is what you do with the video gal, huh?” you question with a raised eyebrow as Lance rolls his eyes and opens the door -- your suspicious of what the girls had told you being true and while Lance did in his personal time didn’t bother you --- he was a grown man after all-- that you had to deal with the aftermath of it all going sour did.

Lance doesn’t answer. He had yelled enough at the poor staff already, but there wasn’t anything that could be done at the height of tourist season for the area and that some other teams were staying at the same hotel as well. It was the best situation, but you were going to have to make due with it.

“Take the bed if you want,” Lance states without even looking at you, though his annoyed gentleman behavior bothers you for just a moment. That is quickly pushed out the window when you notice said man is taking out clothes and bath items.

“What are you doing?” you can’t help but ask as he pauses for just a moment.

“Airplanes are always disgusting,” he explains, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Oh okay,” is all you manage to say, unsure and a little weirded out that Lance could be so comfortable around you already, but maybe he was used to strange woman being around him all the time, “I’ll go check on the girls then.”

You get up and leave your things on the bed before rushing out. It wasn’t that you weren’t used to seeing the male body, but after so many years of putting off dating and being with others for your on personal endeavors -- it came as a bit of a shock how easily the situation changed. It might seem a bit prudish but you were going to give Lance his space during this time and you could only hope he did the same as well.

Lance couldn’t help but smile and laugh at just a little at how quickly you ran out the room.

This was going to be an interesting week, was all he thought to himself before checking out the bathroom.

@TUCKERGYM: TEAM GOLD AT IT AGAIN!

[inserted is .gif of Lance, Katherine, and the rest of the team imitating the Tucker money sign]

--And it certainly had been an interesting week between Katherine getting first  place and the rest of the team making taking in some solid scores, you were starting to think that something had changed between you and one Lance Tucker. However, the question was why.

Maybe, it was because you were the only other adult on this trip when dealing with bunch of teenage girls that were excited to be in a new city -- it called for some “co parenting” from the two of and you were pretty sure that Lance didn’t usually let them go out, that was a different story --just a bit-- with you around. It also might help that the two of you were watching the same videos over and over again in the hotel room for training purposes and you were making shorter videos and stuff to post on social media.

Lance tended to curse at the screen a lot, as you shook your head though the creakiness of the old mattress when you moved about tended to bother the man in a different way.

All in all, the week was uneventful between the two of you. Lance kept his distance from you when you were in the room together and while some part of you knew Lance Tucker wouldn’t give you a second glance --he could do so much better-- there was a part of you that wanted to know the Tucker charm as you watched in from afar during the tournament talk and laugh with other women.

That's the part that was slowly coming to the surface that was scaring you the most out of all this.

However, it wasn’t due to Lance’s lack of trying that you didn’t see that he actually was trying to get a rise out of you. He didn’t wear his USA jacket in doors, biceps fully on display when you guys were alone in the hotel room. He made you sit with him from time to time to see the videos, sometimes a little too close for comfort but still no reaction. He had even tried the towel around his waist when coming out of the bathroom, only to be thwarted by either you already being asleep or the girls dragging you away.  

Lance didn’t know if he was just out of his element, or if he has finally found a woman that didn’t see him of all people in that way. It was killing him, so he goes to his last resort on the last day you are together -- the good old wine and dine ‘em.

“A dinner? Just the two of us?” you can’t help but question just a little, as he nods thinking deep down that you are going to turn him down, “What about the girls?”

“They’ll be doing their own thing for once. I’m allowing it,” Lance explains as you stare at him in momentary shock. He was normally strict about the girls’ schedule from what you had seen, “But, think of this as a thank you...for going the extra mile for us.”

“Sure, I’d love to,” you smile and it dazzles him for a moment.

The Grotto Ristorante was a cute little Italian place just across the street from the hotel and while you didn’t have any great attire for a sudden evening dinner, you tried your best with a black skirt and a fancier blouse that you had brought for professional purposes. However, the real shock came in seeing Lance, who always walked around like a USA Gymnastics billboard, dressed in a simple button up blue skirt ands slacks.

You cursed at your momentary breathlessness as he reached and said: “Let’s go.”

Laughing and drinking over pizza has you sharing stories that you aren’t usually inclined to share though it does have Lance laughing once you tell him about the summer you spent in a cast due to a dare with some older kids and a pond you used to live near. You laugh at some of his riskier escapades, especially the one that had him running around naked after getting caught with one Hope Ann Gregory.

Maybe you have one too many drinks at the restaurant, but the mood continues into your hotel room as you bat your eyelashes for him to order room service. You let out a giggle when he does and while you are usually more reserved than anything else when it comes to this sort of thing, the bright look in Lance’s eyes does something to you that you haven’t felt in a very long time.     

“Okay, tell me one thing I don’t know about you,” Lance asks, as he watches sway back and forth for a moment, at awe in your tolerance level.

“It might not look like it,” you start off as you lean in a bit more, “But, I teach ballet. I almost went professional a long time ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“That’s two questions,” you sigh out, somewhat more somber about this than anything else you had been talking about, “And because I got sick, I starved myself after I got injured. I need to stay away from ballet a long time after that.”

“Show me something,” he states almost as if he doesn’t believe. You don’t blame him, but you do plan on proving him wrong.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh just a little trying to get into formation and do a simple pirouette. However, the alcohol in your system causes you to get dizzy for more than a moment, as you are close to falling -- Lance rushes to grabs you causing you both to fumble onto the bed.

Lance, the more sober of the two of you, rolls over so that he’s on his side while you are laying your stomach. You let out a laugh and turn to meet his blue eyes that don’t seem to let go of you for an instance.

“Tada,” you let out in breathless chuckle as the man just shakes his head.  

“You’re really something else, you know that?” he questions as you turn to face him. You blink in confusion for a moment, unsure of what Lance is trying to mean though it becomes a little clearer when he cups your cheek softly and leans in a bit more.

“Always running around, talking to me like you own the place,” Lance keeps going. His own lips lose from the alcohol now, “But, you’ve been in my head for days, maybe since the first time you glared at me.”

“Lance,” you question softly but instead of fighting back like you would with him, you match his stride and pulling in his shirt just a bit. The look he was giving you was once that you hadn’t seen in a very long time and you were sure that in this state you weren’t in the mood to fight back for once.

“Just once,” he breathes out, while staring at your lips and at your eyes.

You’re sure somewhere in the back of your mind you are going to regret this later, but you’re too lost in the moment and the alcohol to ignore whatever is drawing you in as you hook your hand over his neck and bring him in. Soft plush lips met your own in a quick peck, but he is quick to bring you back in a longer kiss as Lance moans a little when you place your hands over his cheeks and move in closer to place your body over his the best you can. His hands end up placed on your hips, thumbs rubbing circles where your skirt meets your blouse.  

“Fuck,” he sighs out when you two finally break apart for air. His eyes closed as he relishes in the feeling of finally having you this close, of being able to move into something else. However, that thought quickly disappears at the sound of soft snoring.

Lance groans in utter frustration and annoyance as he realizes that you have fallen asleep, as you move about for a moment—seeking out his warmth— before leaning into his shoulder and letting out a small sigh.

A sigh that did things to Lance and once again he has come to realize — he was fucked.

#lance tucker #lance tucker fanfiction #lance tucker x reader #lance tucker fic #lance tucker drabble #The Bronze #the bronze fanfiction #series: Wednesday #fabiola trying to write

[kumkaniudaku]

Daddy Duty

Next Chapter >>

A/N: You know I rarely start a story without a note to y’all. Daddy Duty was originally a short drabble that wanted to make into a slightly longer fic. The first draft was 4,000 plus words. I wasn’t even halfway done. So, it’ll be split into a series because you know I love a good series. Here’s part one. I figured, what better way to celebrate my birthday than with a little fluff. The rest of the series should be out tomorrow. Good night and thank you to everyone that sent me birthday wishes. All of you are amazing. And even if you didn’t, you’re still amazing. I’ll shut up now. 

Word Count: 2,150

Warnings: Cursing. 

Your body bounced up and down, one breast free from your button up and bra, as you walked around your bedroom looking for your shoes. The second go at motherhood taught you that a child feeding from your breast didn’t stop you from completing daily activities. In five months, you’d learned to cook, clean and complete simple hygiene tasks with your son attached to you.

“Slow down, Noah,” you giggled at your baby boy. “Mommy has plenty to share.”

“Good, ‘cause I got next.” Chadwick’s long arms wrapped around your waist to pull you against his chest. His chin dropped to rest in the space between your shoulder and neck to observe his son.

“You hear Daddy being silly,” you cooed, catching a glimpse of a smirk from Noah. “Daddy’s a baby, too.”

“I’m not being silly; I'm serious. He’s gotta learn to share one day.”

“The milk is for him,” you scoffed, accepting his kiss on your cheek before he moved to sit on his side of the bed.

“I don’t want the milk. I want the titty. I miss it.”

“You just had one in your mouth last night before you went to bed.”

“Is this not a whole new day,” his smile grew at the memory of burying his face in your chest as much as you would let him the night before. You rolled your eyes in response.

“Alright, AJ, that’s enough. You’re just eating because it’s there, not because you’re still hungry.”

Noah’s small whine was nearly enough to change your mind and allow him to feed for as long as he wanted but, you remained strong. Chadwick offered his assistance by motioning you over and grabbing his son from your arms.

“Mama’s gotta go, son. She’s leaving us to fend for ourselves.”

“Don’t tell him that,” you exclaimed while hitting him in the back of the head with a pillow. “I’m only gonna be away for the day, and I already feel bad about it.”

Despite your reluctance and initial decline, you agreed to help Yvonne with an event she was planning. After leaving your position with the Sparks to focus on your family, the opportunities to work on your terms came rushing in. The Lakers and Clippers were still in negotiations with your representatives to bring you in as a special consultant, and Yvonne frequently used you for your clerical skills when you had a free moment. You assumed being a stay at home mom would be enough to fulfill you but, you still felt the tug to work outside of your home.

“Aww come here, baby,” Chadwick shifted Noah to one arm to make room on his lap for you. With a pout, you slid into the open space and rested your head on his bare shoulder. His kisses to you hair and forehead worked double time to cure your worry and guilt. “You don’t need to feel bad. You’ve been taking care of two kids non-stop for five months. It’s okay for you to go out and work for a day.”

“Yeah but, my babies. Who’s gonna take care of my babies?” You knew full well what you were doing. Looking up at Chadwick’s frown made you giggle in satisfaction.

“Haha, my wife is so funny. Get off me,” he joked, helping you stand to your feet. “I’m on Daddy Duty today so, you know we gon’ be alright. Nothing but candy and cartoons all day. Right, CoCo Jr.?”

Noah smiled a gummy response to his father’s playfulness, not completely understanding what was happening around him. His golden brown skin, just a few shades lighter than his father’s, matched your’s to a “T.” His brown eyes and button nose looked copied and pasted from your face to his and resized to fit a baby’s proportions. You prayed for a baby that resembled you in some way, and God blessed you with a twin of your own. But, only in physical appearance. Noah’s laugh was boisterous like his father’s, and their facial expressions often mirrored each other’s. While you had your personality twin in Micah, Noah was Chadwick through and through.

“So that means you’ll be calling me to complain by 12:30?”

“You’re acting like you won’t be calling to check in by then anyway.”

“Oh no, sir,” you hands extended retrieve Noah as you walked through the threshold of the bedroom into the hallway. “I won’t be calling. You, on the other hand, have a monster that needs to be awake.”

Chadwick followed your head motions to Micah’s room and groaned. He’d forgotten about how his precious little girl could act in the morning. Usually, he’d let her sleep in on the weekends, but she had a ballet class that she needed to get ready for. Fixing his facial expression, he turned his head to you and flashed his bedroom eyes.

“Can you do it, baby? You’re so beautiful and loving. Did I mention smart? And your cooking-”

“Nuh uh, you’re on Daddy Duty right? Task number one is showing me you can handle the monster you created. Move along. She’s gotta be dressed before I leave.”

“And when do you leave?”

“Ummm,” you took a look at the Piaget watch on your wrist to judge the time. “In about...thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes!? It’s gon’ take ten to get her awake!”

“Then you better hurry. This is test number one.”

You giggles as Chadwick turned on his heels to start the dreaded trek to his twin’s room. Micah was a well-documented morning grump. It was a daily battle to get her up and ready for school, one that you had perfected, but not without your share of mishaps. If Chadwick was going to succeed, he would need to shed his sweet parent persona and put his foot down.

“You wanna see Daddy try and wake up your big sissy? You think he can do it,” You asked Noah, receiving a spitty gurgle in response. “That’s what I said. No chance.”

Stepping closer to the door, you could hear the battle getting off to a shaky start. Chadwick had managed to pull Micah into his lap, but her body stretched across his arms like a wet towel as he tried to get her to respond to his pleas for her to wake up.

“C’mon, Princess. Daddy really needs to get you dressed before Mommy leaves so she can make you breakfast. You want french toast, don’t you?”

“Nuh uh,” she huffed, clamping her eyes shut and crossing her arms.

“Micah, don’t do that. I promise it won’t even take that long. Your hair is already pretty, and you took a bath before bed last night. All you have to is put on your outfit, brush your teeth and wash your face.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Micah Noelle,” your voice started both father and daughter as you stepped further into the room. Micah’s head popped up immediately, knowing the tone you were using only led to two possible destinations: getting dressed or getting spanked. “Get up and get dressed, now. We will not tell you again.”

The lanky child quickly shimmied from her father’s lap to shuffle out of the room and into the bathroom down the hallway. You gave Chadwick an amused look and shook your head.

“Tip number one: don’t give her an option. You can’t always be the nice guy, baby. She’s stubborn.”

“Sound like someone else I know.”

“Yeah, but you’re getting better. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the way you flipped his insult back to him. While he chaperoned Micah’s morning routine, you made use of your extra time to finish breakfast for the house. With Noah in the baby carrier against your chest, you maneuvered around the kitchen preparing french toast and fruit for everyone with teeth. Quick feet rushing down the stairs did little to prepare you for the brown body speeding into the kitchen and crashing against your legs.

“I see my diva is finally dressed. Do you like your new leotard?” Your hands ran over Micah’s “lemonade” braids, making a mental note to tell her Chadwick to take them out before you got back home.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” she half-heartedly replied, more focused on playing with her brother’s fingers and getting his attention for a smile.

“Can I get some of Mama, too?” Before you knew it, all three of your babies were attached to you and soaking up their last few moments of your warmth. Chadwick ran his hand over Noah’s head and sighed. “We’re gonna miss you, baby. I hope you know that. We love Mama, right kids?”

“Yeah,” Micah exclaimed, setting off a nonsensical barrage of babbles from Noah. Your laughter turned into a sad smile as you looked at your family. Was leaving a good idea?

“I know. It’s only for a day, and I’ll miss yall, too. Don’t forget about me.”

“How could we forget about the lady that gives the best kisses and hugs in the whole wide world,” Chadwick spoke into the crook of your neck before kissing you.

“And paints the best nails.”

“I thought you said I paint the best nails, Twin?”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, daddy.”

Your family moment was interrupted by the beep of your alarm alerting you to the moment you weren’t looking forward to. “Well, it’s time for me to go. If only I had three people to walk me to my car. A big strong man, a cute little girl, and chunk baby preferably.”

“Ooh, I’m a cute little girl! And AJ is a chunky baby.”

“Then who’s the big strong man,” you inquired, looking between her and a smiling Chadwick.

“I dunno, but daddy is here. He can come, too!”

“Woooooow. Okay, I see how it is around here.”

The light banter continued to the driveway, temporarily making you forget that you would have to leave for a full twenty-four hours. When you reached the end of the paved path, you and Chadwick made the switch off, trading Noah for your overnight bag and crossbody purse.

“See you later, Boop,” you cooed, kissing her nose and smoothing her hair. “See you later my little Pookie,” Noah giggled at your silly faces and raspberries against his cheeks. “And my big Pookie,” Chadwick was the last to receive affection, relishing the opportunity to kiss you like he would never see you again. His free arm snaked around your waist, pulling your body into his to get you as close as possible. The whispered ‘yuck’ in the background made both of you giggle as you pulled away.

“Be safe, girl. Come back home to me. To us.”

“I will. I promise.”

He pressed another kiss onto your forehead before opening your car door. “Alright kids, blow Mommy kisses. Tell her bye.”

“See you tomorrow, babies. Aaron, Noah has enough milk to last until I get home. Try giving him some of the baby food I made. They’re in glass jars in the fridge. Take down Micah’s braids and put her hair in a bonnet. Make sure-“

“We got it, we got it,” Chadwick assured. “Dad can handle a day by himself. Call me when you get settled.”

The realization came crashing down on you that an entire 24 hours without a loving hug or kiss from your three favorite people, turning the corners of your lips downward. “I love you. I’ll miss you.”

“We miss you already, baby,” closing your door, Chadwick poked his head through the window for one last kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you. Kiss the kids for two times for me tonight.”

Nodding in agreement, he stepped back to allow you to back out of the driveway. Solemn silence sat over the three remaining members of the Boseman clan as they thought of what life would be without you for the remainder of the day.

“Well, kids, what are we gonna do without Mommy today?” A shrug from Micah and a short grunt from Noah didn’t provide many answers. When Chadwick opened his mouth to speak, a foul aroma threatened to trigger his gag reflexes. “Oh, my-what is that?”

With her thumb and index finger pinching her nose, Micah offered an answer. “I think it’s AJ. He’s stinky!”

“Boy, what is your mama feeding you? You smell like a grown man. Is it on your legs, too? You couldn’t give me two hours of calm before you shi-pooped all over the place?”

“Did you say a bad word, Daddy? I think you did.”

“Go inside, Princess. Find your ballet shoes and finish your breakfast,” he quickly responded, turning Micah’s body toward the house. Following his daughter, his took a peek at the soiled area at the bottom of Noah’s onesie. “This is ridiculous, AJ. How you get it on your back!?”

                                _____________

TAGS: @njadont @k-michaelis @wakandanmoonchild @idilly @texasbama @afraiddreamingandloving @inxan-ity @daytimeheroicsonly @onyour-right @brianabreeze @sisterwifeudaku @ironsquad @killmongerdispussy @90sinspiredgirl @willowtree77785901 @maynardqueen101 @heyauntieeee @halfrican-heat @purple-apricots @lalapalooza718 @blue-ishx@profilia @ljstraightnochaser @girl-wtf-lmao @dramaqueenamby @royallyprincesslilly @melaninmarvel @thiccdaddy-mbaku @lavitabella87 @purplehairgawdess @unholyxcumbucket  @airis-paris14 @uhlxis @oshasimone @maliadestiny​ @drsunshine97​ @cozyshack2​ @zxddy-panther​ @queentearra​ @skysynclair19​ @retro-melanin​ @mermaidchansons​ @misspooh​ @melanisticroyalty​ @babygirlofwakanda​ @wakanda-4evr​ @sarahboseman​ @karensraisns​ @blackmissmarvel​ @wakandankings​ @kaykay4454fan​ @ororowrites​ @awkwardlyabstract​ @mixedmelanin​ @brownsugarcocoabutterwildflowers​ @sunflowerpsalms​ @panthergoddessbast​ @justanotherloveaffair​ @jaeee-http​ @iliketowrite1996​ @blackpantherismyish​ @thompettiedatheaux​ @msincognito67​ @reignsxjackson​ @yaachtynoboat711​ @syreanne​ @ilcb7​ @minim236

#chadwick boseman #chadwick boseman imagine #chadwick boseman fan fiction #chadwick x reader #chadwick boseman x you #chad x coco #coco x chad #black panther fics #black panther fan fiction #black panther fiction #black panther #black panther fanfiction

[hellsbellssinclub]

Across the Stars. Part 6

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/   Ao3

Okay! So this is the first of many Qui-Gon Chapters that are going to be happening along side Obi-Wan’s adventures. 

One of the things that imminently happened when Obi-Wan walked through the doors of the Tardis is that he changed the past. He changed the past and the universe around him. If you weren’t already aware (or haven’t seen the posts) this means the following: 

Qui-Gon Jinn does not want to take another Padawan because he enjoys working alone or with an experienced Master, not because his last Padawan Fell.

Xanatos Du Crion is not a Fallen Jedi. But he did leave the Order.

Hego Damask is still alive.

There are other little changes and they will be expanded upon in later Qui-Gon Chapters. This is mostly just a teaser chapter. World building if you will.

I am slowly working on next arc’s plan for Obi-Wan, the Doctor and Donna. So far I have the first part planned. I will start work on that soon.

Chapter may come out slower from now on as I do not have a plan set out for me like I did before. But I am keen to write this fic and enjoy it with you all.

(Also, tell me if I should post this as another part of the series on Ao3 or not. I am curious on what your opinions are.)

One Week before Obi-Wan Kenobi goes missing.

Qui-Gon stepped off the ship and let out a small breath of relief. Though he may not be fond of the planet itself, Coruscant was the closest thing he had to a home and by the Force he could not wait to get to his rooms and just bask in the warmth of his bath for the next several hours.

After he yells at the Council for sending him on that stupid, useless mission that cost the lives of nearly thirty people, of course.

A deep, almost angry frown made its way onto Qui-Gon’s weathered and dirty face as he slowly walked towards the Temple. Once again, another mission that the Council had sent him has ended in death and pain. The Senate no longer does proper checks into requests for Jedi and the Jedi are limited on what they can and can’t research because of new legislation that restricts them.

Which means more often than not, Qui-Gon is faced with loose/loose situations where people die because he does not have the information he needed for the mission.

Qui-Gon feared deep within his heart that someone was trying to either kill off all the Jedi in what would, at surface glance, look like accidents, or worse, have the Order look so incompetent that people would either oust them or have them killed.

One way or another, these last few missions had been terrible and Qui-Gon knew it was only going to get worse. He hoped Tahl had managed to gather any information she could on the legislation so they could hopefully counter it.

Sighing quietly, Qui-Gon released his fears and anger into the Force. Neither of those emotions would help him. He needed to have a clear head when he dealt with the Council and he needed to be mindful that he does not project his emotions, especially the more unpleasant ones, within the Temple.

It would do him no good to be yelled at by the Wookiee Crèche Master for projecting near the younglings and scaring them. Again.

All but dragging his feet along as he walked, Qui-Gon gathered what was left of his energy and prepared for the explosions that were to come from the Council Chambers.

-

Qui-Gon leaned his head against the back of his door and listened to the lock engage with relief. Finally, he was home.

It had been a long, blood month and a half and oh he was so relieved to be back in his own personal space. All of his plants pulsed softly with the Living Force and Qui-Gon was silently thankful that Tahl had watered and fed them while he was gone.

And she must have cleaned out his kitchen as well, seeing as he could not smell any rotting fruit or vegetables.

Smiling softly at the generosity of his friend, Qui-Gon shuffled himself to the bathroom and ran himself a bath. He would worry about his messages and what he should eat after he has washed off the top two layers of skin and dirt that is stuck to him. Urgh, and he has to do something to his hair. The mattered mess looks like something a bird would nest in.

And quite frankly, he does not want a bird to be nesting in his hair. His love for animals and the Living Force only goes so far.

Shaking his head, Qui-Gon peeled off the tattered and worn robes, that he would have to get replaced (he was not looking forward to that confrontation with the quartermaster about him, once again, destroying his robes), and sank himself down into the hot water with a groan of relief.

He was going to be useless until the water became cold. Even then he was tempted just to lay in the gentleness of the water and allow himself to sleep.

-

After washing his hair until it was damned well clean enough that one would not mistake it to be a bird’s nesting area, Qui-Gon lazily dozed in his tub. He allowed himself to sink into a light mediation and to feel the gentle pulsing Light that came from every member of Temple that milled about.

On other planets, Qui-Gon would focus on the Living Force of the trees, the plants, even the soil. Coruscant is a giant city. There was little to no green to be found naturally on the planet anymore and everything was soaked in pollution. He could also not focus on the people that often when he mediated, as a lot of the presences he could feel came from the Senate.

And those presences were often filled with greed and desperation. He tired once to mediate with those presences. He spent a week in the healer’s ward as a Padawan because of it.

No, it was best to stick to the Order and how his Jedi brothers and sisters feel within the Force. Their Light was gentle and kind against his weary soul. Like a soothing balm.

Perhaps he really was burning himself out like Micah and Tahl have been telling him. Maybe he should take a break from everything. Spend a year away from the Order. Go to some Outer Rim planet filled with the Living Force and just relax for a bit.

Yeah that would be nice.  

Qui-Gon let his head rest again the rim of the tub and relaxed into the gentleness of the Force.

At least he did until his bathroom door was opened unexpectedly.

“Force Damn it all Tahl!” Qui-Gon jerked and quickly covered himself. “Can’t you see I am in here?!”

Tahl rolled her eyes at him and dumped a towel that he had neglected to grab on the toilet seat for him. “Oh please. You have nothing on you that I have not seen before. Hurry up and stop being such a pampered little Senator. Mic and I brought dinner.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and counted backwards from ten before letting out a low sigh. “Get out of my ‘Fresher Tahl.” There was no point in fighting her. Tahl would drag him out of the bath by the hair and make him sit naked and wet on his couch if he did not do as she said. She has done so several times and Qui-Gon was in no rush to repeat the experience.

Tahl rolled her bright gold and green eyes at him but thankfully left. Qui-Gon sighed and silently mourned that he would not be able to have a quiet night to himself.

Still, it is nice that he has friends that have brought him food. And hopefully alcohol.

Standing and stepping out of the bath, Qui-Gon towelled himself dry and walked calmly into his bedroom with the quiet hope that he still had clean underwear somewhere in his draws.

-

Dinner was loud, rowdy and the most fun Qui-Gon has had in months.

His two crèche mates had brought enough food to cover his small dining table and enough alcohol to have them on the floor laughing about the Loth Cat that Qui-Gon had brought back to the Temple when he had been an initiate. Slowly, but surely, the three of them nodded off to sleep on the floor; all of them full of food and alcohol and resting half on top of one another and in awkward positions that were going to make them all cranky come morning.

When the dawn came, several loud groans of displeasure were sounded from the occupants on the floor. None of them had thought to shut the curtains and were rudely awaken by the glaring sun in their eyes.

“Urgh.” Qui-Gon pushed Tahl’s foot out of his face and tried to roll over, only to bang heads with Micah. “Force Damn it!” He growled, cursing in pain.

The Weapons Master merely grunted and rolled onto his stomach and went back to sleep.

After several minutes of accidently hitting one another, Qui-Gon managed to get untangled from both Tahl and Micah. Leaving Micah where he slept, Qui-Gon and Tahl shuffled to the bathroom and kitchen respectively. Qui-Gon stumbled to the toilet and relieved his bloated bladder before shuffling to the shower to wake himself up.

By the time he got out of the shower Tahl had made a simple breakfast with whatever was stocked in his kitchen and had made tea. Micah had finally woken up and was resting his head against the table, looking pathetic. His old friend never did handle his hangovers well. He would be his normal self soon enough though when he got some food into him.

The three of them sat at the table, slowly eating the food (which was really good. Tahl was a better chief then half of the galaxy renown chiefs that Qui-Gon had met) and the tea that tasted stale and old. Qui-Gon mentally sighed and made a note to go to the lower levels later that day to get some more tea and food for his shelves.

“Did Xanatos ever reply to your message to him?” Micah low voice startled Qui-Gon from his thoughts. Qui-Gon blinked at his friend and sighed, placing his mug of tea down by his plate.

“He did. He has agreed to talk to me again by the end of the month.” Qui-Gon admitted, knowing full well that lying in any form to these two was not a smart idea. “He was very… polite and calm when we spoke.”

“You managed to get a holo call with him?” Tahl asked in surprise, her dark eyebrows raising. Qui-Gon shrugged and toyed with some of the food on his plate.

“I left the Comm number in the message and I wasn’t busy at the time.” He said, looking down. “He looks well. Healthy. The treatments have been working.”

“That’s good to hear.” Micah sighed and gently clasped Qui-Gon’s shoulder. There was a pause before Micah continued. “You do know no one blames you for what happened. No one. Not even Xanatos himself. You need to let your grief and regret. You cannot change the past Qui. No one can.”

Qui-Gon let out a low breath and gave a tired nod. He had heard those words so, so many times in the last several years and while he knows that they are true, he cannot help the feels that still plague him. Nor the doubts that eat at him at night.

“I know. I know. I need to organise another meeting with Healer Vantie. I’ll do that after we finish eating.” Qui-Gon rubbed a hand over his face and shook off his friend’s hand. He could only stand to be touched for so long while sober.

“You also need to get more food, clean clothes and speak to Yoda before noon meal as he left you a message while you were in the shower.” Tahl stated, stealing his tea. Qui-Gon glared at her and Micah snorted beside him.

“You are the worst. Both of you.” He grumbled in half-hearted annoyance. The two of them snickered and the rest of the morning went by in companionable silence.

#across the stars #hellsbells wrote something!!! #it's qui-gon's time! #tahl #micah giiett #there are little mentions of things you should be on the look out for the qui-gon chapters as they will hold key plot points