Hi, my name is Mothra, and i'm here to write for my magnificent mutuals and anyone else who enjoys my art forms. My current fixation is Harry Potter but if you request something that I know, then I might cook something up for you :)
DISCLAIMERS! Sfw requests will always take priority over Nsfw. Requests will be slow depending upon how much I'm enjoying the current media/how busy I am. Sometimes I post vent posts on here just to let myself and my feelings out.
Rules for Requests
List of Fandoms
List of Characters
Masterlist
Feel free to request anytime, and I will get back to it when I have the time. ♡
why tf I'm only finding smut of everything, i want to read a good hurt/comfort, angst or fluff but i only find sex, I hate that it's the most popular thing and the one people write about the most ರ╭╮ರ
like, I'm always grateful of what people write, but sometimes i just need to disconnect from everything and read something sweet, something that stings just right. and I've already read the same 6 things from my notes a thousand times (｡•́︿•̀｡)
What if the children go to schools unafraid of tear gas and bullets?
What if the birds come back, and the bees are healed, and every species moves from endangered, to threatened, to thriving?
What if the rainforest ADVANCES?
What if every parking lot had solar panels? What if every structure had solar panels? What if we built climbing gyms and terraced gardens in the skeletons of old coal power plants?
What if you baked your neighbor bread, and they shared their home-grown blackberries?
What if every person who needed a home, had one? What if every person who needed healing was healed?
What if every body was treasured for what it was, not what it should be?
What if every trans child's parents attended their graduation, their wedding, their new-name-day?
What if every warehouse became a closed-circle repair station? Goods flowing out, and back, and out again? What if landfills started to SHRINK?
What if the water and air were clean? What if there was enough public transit that the cars dwindled, leaving the streets safe for kids on bikes, evening deer, midnight cats and foxes?
What if the children go to schools unafraid of tear gas and bullets?
What if the birds come back, and the bees are healed, and every species moves from endangered, to threatened, to thriving?
What if the rainforest ADVANCES?
What if every parking lot had solar panels? What if every structure had solar panels? What if we built climbing gyms and terraced gardens in the skeletons of old coal power plants?
What if you baked your neighbor bread, and they shared their home-grown blackberries?
What if every person who needed a home, had one? What if every person who needed healing was healed?
What if every body was treasured for what it was, not what it should be?
What if every trans child's parents attended their graduation, their wedding, their new-name-day?
What if every warehouse became a closed-circle repair station? Goods flowing out, and back, and out again? What if landfills started to SHRINK?
What if the water and air were clean? What if there was enough public transit that the cars dwindled, leaving the streets safe for kids on bikes, evening deer, midnight cats and foxes?
One of the foremost reasons I like solarpunk is that in the mainstream, being eco-friendly is about sacrifice. Don’t buy new things, don’t buy plastic, don’t take unnecessary trips—etc. It’s not sustainable unless you’re a saint. It’s exhausting to abstain from consumerism without having alternatives like the things Solarpunk emphasizes: community, resources held in common, sustainable hobbies like gardening and mending (and all other sorts of repair), free and accessible public transportation, etc. Solarpunk is about creating a world where being eco-friendly is about joy, not deprivation.
Part of the reason I'm so adamant about encouraging people to get comfortable with bugs, my own interests aside, is because we cannot have a bright, solarpunk future without them.
A green future is not a bugless future. It is, in fact, a fairly bugful future. If you care about ecological stability, then you need to start with bugs, because they're the most at risk with our current use of pesticides.
[COMPLETED, 2nd person POV, Magneto x Female!Reader] As a void stabilizer, your purpose was defined by the heavy burden of holding the multiverse together. However, a single day can change the entire course of your detached existence. What begins as a high-stakes mission to save a tiny island on earth spirals into a devastatingly human awakening of your senses as you cross paths with the Master of Magnetism.
I AM GUILTY OF WRITING ANOTHER MAGNETO X READER FANFIC BECAUSE OF HIS LATEST MARVEL RIVALS SKIN 😩👏
Chapters: 20/20
Fandom: Marvel Rivals (Video Game), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Max Eisenhardt/Reader, Erik Lehnsherr/Reader, Magneto/Reader
Summary: As a bartender putting yourself through grad school, you never thought your life would get more exciting in the college town of Rhodes...until you meet a certain man of the...undead variety.
Word Count: 1,637
Warnings: Mature themes such as cursing, violence, blood, and smut.
A/N: Here's the beginning of the revamped Vampire!Arthur series. I'm very excited to get this one off the ground!
| Next Chapter >>
11:57 pm.
If there was one thing that you could say about Arthur Morgan, was that he was a romantic at heart.
He held you in his arms, worshipping you, your body, your very soul. It was as if his entire world revolved around you, and only you.
His lips caressed yours, devouring your mouth in a sensual kiss that left you breathless. His hands trapped you to his body, your soft curves molding to his hard angles.
Your own hands explored every surface within your reach. His soft hair, his broad shoulders, the expanse of his back. Everything about him was...strength, power, a force of nature. Since you learned his secret, your better senses told you time and time again to run.
But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Not when he treated you like a goddess. Not when everything about him was so alluring.
You bit his bottom lip, dragging it slightly as you parted the kiss for a breath of air. Your hands were gripping the shirt he wore, tugging it off without hesitation. His blue eyes smoldered in the moonlight streaming into your bedroom window, a small smirk playing on his lips.
“Eager, sweetheart?” he asked with a chuckle, his hand reaching to caress your cheek.
A smile tugged at your mouth. “Maybe,” you responded, placing your hands on his chest and pushed him.
Well, more like he gave to your pressure. He lay back onto the plush comforter and soft pillows, to which you straddled his hips. His cool hands rested along your bare thighs, gaze never leaving your face.
Your one palm remained against his chest, above the still heart that hadn’t beat in over a century. Sliding it down, you could feel every ridge of muscle, marveling at how they flexed at your touch. His abdomen rose in a deep breath when you paused below his navel, just at the waistband of his jeans.
He smoothed his hands against your thighs, thumbs swiping the warm inner skin, close to your heat. You bit your lip in anticipation, a flush crowding your cheeks as you unzipped his jeans. His arousal barely concealed by his clothing peeked through, just as those lingering hands of his skated underneath your shirt.
The stark difference in temperature made you twitch in surprise, before the sudden feel of it melted into one of soothing pleasure when he gently squeezed your breasts. Your nipples budded between his fingers, the tips rolling against the peaked flesh.
With minimal effort you freed him of his confines, his length standing ready and waiting. You wrapped your hand around him, pleasantly surprised by his girth. Slowly you stroked him from root to tip, earning a low groan from him.
A smile formed as you continued, thoroughly enjoying the way his eyelids fluttered, and his breath hitched from your touch alone. The sight sparked a deeper heat in your core, unfurling and growing with need. And as if he read your mind, one hand skimmed back down your belly to between your legs, the thin fabric of your panties the only barrier between his thumb and your clit.
He pressed against the sensitive bundle of nerves, causing your toes to curl and your grip on him to tighten. You sighed out his name, hips twitching in search of more friction. Seconds passed before his hand met your skin again, granting you the pleasure you needed.
But the ache wouldn’t be satisfied by his fingers alone. You wanted him, needed him. And from the way his half-lidded stare met yours, the feeling was mutual.
His lips parted, and in a split second the tips of elongated canines were noticeable. The sight made your heart skip a beat, stirring an instinct that told you to flee for safety. But you quelled it, knowing he would never hurt you on purpose.
Gaze meeting yours, his ministrations slowed but didn’t stop. His expression softened as he sat up, removing his other hand from your shirt to cup your cheek again. “You nervous?”
You stared at him for a split second, momentarily distracted by the pulses of pleasure still spreading through your body. His words made sense, he was, for all intents and purposes, a predator. You should be nervous, even he himself said it many times since your first encounter with him.
But he’s been nothing but kind and gentle to you. Always asked if things were okay before proceeding with anything. To hold your hand, to touch, to kiss…
And you wanted him from day one.
“No,” you answered, although your heart rate picked up with the anticipation. Your free hand raised to his mouth, fingers gently grazing his fangs. He parted his lips further to allow you the exploration. The edges felt sharp, and if you pressed harder, you’d for sure puncture the skin.
“I can hear your heart racin’,” he spoke quietly, reaching to gently grasp your wrist. “You don’t gotta do this.”
“I want to,” you affirmed, twisting your hand along his length. You smiled as his head tilted back, face slack. “I won’t back down now.”
Arthur breathed in deeply, leveling those gorgeous eyes with yours. “You tryna undo me?”
You giggled softly. “Arthur, if I wanted to do that, I’d be on my knees and taking you in my mouth, sucking YOU dry.”
His eyes flared at your words. “Not that I’d complain ‘bout that,” he groaned, the finder at your core sliding through your folds to find home in your entrance. The invasion was welcoming, and your muscles clenched. “God damn,” he breathed. “You’re…ready.”
Another flush crept across your face, although there was no need to feel shy. He wanted this as much as you did, and you ground against his hand. “I am,” you moaned. “Don’t make me wait.”
You could feel his hand spasm underneath you, and the desperation flitted across his face, before being replaced with a look of…what you could only describe as hunger. He moved his hand to your underwear, shoving it aside while his other hand pushed his jeans down further. He then guided you to hover over him, and then you sunk down, the head of his dick parting your inner walls until you were fully seated upon him.
There was a moment of silence, you allowing to adjust to the fullness, and him…his fingers pressed hard in the flesh of your hips. Every muscle in his body was tense, as if ready to snap. But he waited for you, fixated on your face for any signs of unease or pain.
But there was none. Once the initial stretch settled, your body waited for more. You rolled your hips, allowing every inch of him to caress you. And the moan he uttered…decadent.
Your rhythm picked up, rolling and bucking against him slow and deep, the pleasure even more intense with each movement. A swear slid from his lips as he began to match your movement, a roaming hand once again disappearing under your shirt. Your arms wrapped around his neck for extra leverage while he toyed with your breasts. He leaned forward and placed open-mouthed kisses on your neck, the graze of his fangs against your heated skin caused you to jolt. The heady arousal and anxious anticipation mixed, and you moaned his name.
Fingers curled into your hair when he moved to crush his lips to yours. It was sloppy, all tongue and teeth and heavy breaths. Even with those razor-sharp canines, he was careful to not puncture your tongue, even the thought of him sucking blood directly from your mouth sent a shiver down your spine.
A cool finger danced across your clit, igniting you even further. You gasped into his mouth, arching your back against his solid torso. Every part of you was on fire, and an all too familiar sensation coiled deep in your belly.
“Arthur,” you mewled. “I’m gonna cum!”
He was relentless then, moving faster than what you thought was humanly possible, fiddling you like a well-practiced instrument while he thrust up. Within seconds you imploded in a wave of pure pleasure, and your cries were swallowed by his kisses.
As you came down, he leaned forward, his weight pushing you down to the bed. Your legs wrapped around his waist to keep from separating. Somehow, he didn’t stop his hips from grinding against yours, though had slowed significantly when he caged you between his arms.
Those eyes were gleaming in the moonlight with an expression of awe. He smiled down at you, reaching to caress your face. His features grew serious, even when he was still moving in and out of you.
“Last chance to get outta this,” he murmured. “You sure?”
You nodded, knowing he wasn’t talking about sex.
He was silent for a moment. “I…ain’t gonna feed on anyone else then. You okay with that?”
Again, you nodded. He’d explained this to you before, that in vampire and human relationships, the act of taking blood was exclusive between the two unless absolutely necessary. It was an intimate act, based on love and trust. And even if the concept scared you a little, you absolutely trusted Arthur. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have suggested it.”
Arthur smiled again, one full of…relief. He dipped his head and placed a gentle kiss on your lips, and whispered, “It’ll hurt for a second, no more.”
“I trust you.”
You heard his intake of breath then, as if he were shocked at your words. But his actions said otherwise, as he placed sweet kisses along your jaw and down your neck, against your pulse point. His rhythm deepened then, and your mind was quickly diverted to the pleasure he elicited. Your back arched again, sighing out your pleasure as the fangs grazed against your skin.
summary: The fragile sepulchral finding except her charm happens to hold an unknown, eerie strength. What can be sensed by women and children remains invisible to Arthur… or perhaps it is his wish to not see what he truly lusts after?
tags: canon-typical violence, some gore, yearning, and obsession that might not be exactly healthy, heavy making out, non-descriptive smut
wc: 8.3k
a/n: carmilla who??
❝Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!❞ – Bram Stoker's Dracula
Saint Denis’ cemetery was a place that could make a grown man shiver, even if visited in daylight. Arthur chuckled, when John admitted that he hated passing the gate every time he was leaving the city. He spoke to kill the silence, but Arthur’s mockery only made it worse.
Now he was spooked himself. It wasn’t a sunny day perfect for a walk, like the one Marston spoke of. It was midnight. The chill in the air didn’t make it any easier, nor did a hand keep over their guns.
Scaring off grave robbers was an easy job. They were supposed to be feared ones, but some unknown power took over them, and turned being confident and fearless into an idea only a fool would put to life.
Something was very wrong, and Arthur could sense it. He wouldn’t trust John’s intuition much, but when it came to his own… And now it screamed to spin on his heel, and never look back to the necropolis. Still, making a man like him resign because of an unpleasant feeling was impossible.
“Did you hear that?” John turned his way, crouching behind a grave.
“Might be our robbers. Let’s move.”
“No- no, Arthur,” he couldn’t believe his ears, but John’s voice broke violently, as he clutched to Arthur’s sleeve, to keep him down, “let’s wait for a bit longer.”
Arthur shook his head in disapproval, but he couldn’t make himself move.
He lost his temper only when he was startled by something over his back. A shush, barely a whisper, made him jump and turn around. John looked in the same direction, then turned to him, ready to suggest leaving.
“Enough of that,” Arthur ordered, now truly irritated, “let’s move.”
He fixed the grasp on his gun and turned the corner.
Immediately they were bewildered by a scream. Arthur could hear the other man choke on air behind him, but he didn’t stop.
The noise still occurred, when they ran closer, but it seemed to change its source. It was clearly the voice of a man. A man who was currently being skinned alive.
Arthur stepped into a wider alley, and he could see the grave robber. He could judge by dirty clothing and an awful fetor of dirt and decay. He was curled up, almost embracing one of the gravestones, like it could protect him from all that’s evil in the world.
“Hey, you…”
Arthur could see a twitch in the air. Something shifted, but he didn’t realize what. All he knew was that one moment he saw a volatile figure move his way, and another he could feel something bump into his chest.
Something… Someone, actually. It was only the eerie atmosphere that made him not quick enough to draw his gun and shoot before the person got close, and he was now gravely grateful for that.
Looking down, he was met with scared, glassy eyes. The ethereal cloud that he saw shift turned out to be a terrified young woman in a dress stained with blood.
There was no time for him to have a proper look at you, but the sense of your fragileness hit him. For a few seconds, he allowed your chests to touch, listening to his own heartbeat that he mistakenly took for two.
“Help…”
He wanted to move his calloused hand up to cradle your face.
“It’ll be alright now,” he whispered, snapping out of his respite and moving you carefully to his side. “Stay close to me.”
He looked at John, who was standing over the deadly scared grave robber. Well, at least their job was done – there was no way this man was stepping through this gate ever again.
“The man speaks of a murderer still around, Arthur,” he reported quickly.
“Not just a murderer,” the man yelled, outraged, “a-a beast!”
“I’ll turn into a beast if you don’t start making sense, pal.”
He raised his head to John, startled by the threat, but he didn’t dare to say anything else.
“He’s right, there’s someone here,” you said weakly, looking up to the man who still had his arm draped over your middle.
“Who?”
“I don’t know, mister. I only heard a scream and…”
“A miss like you shouldn’t be here at this hour.”
“I would agree, if I wasn’t already here,” you smiled almost apologetically, making Arthur want to clutch at you even tighter.
“Are you injured, miss? The blood, it’s…”
“No. I think I ran close to the beast… Maybe it’s the victim’s blood.”
Before he could demand that one of you tell him right now what the hell is going on here, the scream could be heard again.
“Stay here.”
“No!” you shouted immediately, like you were prepared for the order not for your own good, but for his.
He couldn't know that he survived that night only thanks to your presence by his side. “No, mister! You won’t go back, if you leave me here now, and I… Please, I don’t want to die here.”
Arthur couldn’t deny a fragile woman, especially when you clung to his chest like your life really depended on it.
He took your hand in his bigger, sensing the coldness in your body. He nodded to John to step right behind you, as they had no idea from which side you could expect the danger to appear. It turned out there was nothing to be feared. Not anymore at least.
The beast has already fed, leaving behind only a pathetic shell of past life – a still warm corpse of a young man, displayed on the ground in the position of agony. He tried to clutch to his throat, before his hand were violently broken. His lower face, down to his chest, looked like a hole of endless gore. There was no longer any use for the fancy engraved silky tissue he kept in his top pocket.
“Don’t abandon me here,” you plead, when the men lead you outside the cemetery, all while whispering about the job. “I have nowhere to go…”
“Arthur, let’s go,” John said quickly, trying to rush him to get on his horse and forget about this godforsaken night.
But Arthur couldn’t do that. Not anymore.
He raised his hand in your direction to take it. Now he could look, without death looking from up his shoulder. He let out a hum, when he noticed the scars at your hands and neck, making you take a tentative step back. He shushed, like you were a scared child, making sure to not alert you anymore.
You smiled to yourself when some time later you were embracing him from the back, cheek brushing over the rough material of his vest.
Arthur… Well, he just couldn’t allow the sight of those bloody luring lips to go forgotten.
He dreamed of them every night in the following weeks. As well as your hair, that shined in the moonlight, your curves hidden under light clothes – ones that you would never wear outside his dreams. He noticed that he never again saw this petrified look on you. Now, it was even hard to imagine you with eyes teary from fear.
Fear was your old friend, one you welcomed and used like it owed you something.
Folks were scared, indeed, but they could also see the advantages you brought. No one has ever collected money, jewelry and valuable things at this haste – no one dared to ask. The camp was uneasy, animals restless, but what you brought was your payment.
It would be a fool’s move to turn you away. A grand addition, that didn’t require much care, little food, and a small cot just beside Arthur’s tent. Even if Dutch van der Linde wouldn't care for money in the way he did, he would never tell you to leave.
Not that Arthur would allow anyone to even think about such a thing.
He wasn’t blind. He knew what kinds of looks the women gave you, but he told himself they would eventually get used to you. What he didn’t know was that sleep turned almost impossible for them. Shutting their eyes for a few minutes felt like a risk, that later left them with shallow, ragged breath. Jack was restless. He clung to his mother’s chest at nights, even though when the sun rose he sent you the brightest of smiles and demanded that you play with him.
A sweet little thing he was. The watchful presence of Abigail made it less enjoyable, but you cherished the rare moments of peace, when you could feel that your violence, the disgust you have sacrificed, was actually an aim to protect. And this kind boy was amongst the ones you kept your watch over.
Arthur found the greatest amusement in staring at Micah when you were close. He was partially aggravated that the bastard was allowed to look at you at all, but it gave him satisfaction of how uncertain Bell was. He had no idea how to act, how to maintain his uneasiness.
Dutch tried to get close to you, drawn by the blinding elegance. You tried to offer your disinterest as gently as you could, but Dutch’s case demanded more fierce means. You started to scare him on purpose.
“I happened to notice that you hold a particular liking… something fond even, for the black goddess.”
“I'm sorry?” You raised your head in a comically tired expression.
“You like the night, miss,” Dutch explained, either indifferent to your ostentatious reluctance, or simply blind to it.
“Ahh, that. Yes, but it's not from my fondness for it. I simply don’t like sleeping.”
“How's that? Are you not used to the primeval way, sleeping on the ground?”
“I don’t mind sleeping on the ground. I don't like being vulnerable, though. I would never allow myself that out here.”
“There’s no need to be afraid, miss. This is a camp full of strong men, willing to protect you women from strangers and just about anyone who…”
“It’s not strangers I fear. It’s the ones I know, and I recommend the same to you, sir.”
He contemplated the thought for a moment, then bid you good night and disappeared to his own tent.
Arthur insisted on keeping you company after he realized your issues with sleeping. He was easy to persuade, though, and understood that you were used to your few hours of sleep. He already had not enough time for rest. Always gone, always occupied, on the run or doing Dutch’s orders… Staying up for no particular reason would be foolish. He was ready to do that – he really wanted to, but you forbid him, over and over again.
Actually, ever since bringing you to camp, he slept like a baby. Throughout his life he was always plagued by his sins, his mistakes – remorse crawling up his spine whenever he closed his eyes. Now he was calm. Like there was an envelope of safety around him, shielding him of his usual night struggles.
The cemetery memories came back to him from time to time, but – weirdly – it seemed to be warm, hopeful. He could have easily forgotten about the beast, that corpse, because all he saw over and over again, was you. In his dreams you weren’t scared anymore. You were this everyday you that he knew much better than this strange terrified woman that he never saw again.
He was oblivious to the eerie aura that you brought everywhere you looked. Other gang members tried to deny it, especially in the beginning. They told themselves it was merely being merciful to a poor unlucky girl, who found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now had nowhere to go. Some quickly realized that the truth was much different, others took more time, but carefulness was common. Well, carefulness greater than usual. Even if ones like Dutch mostly ignored the bad feeling in his gut – Arthur simply didn’t have it.
He strolled around, holding his morning cup of coffee. Miss Grimshaw complained to him for days, and even if he wasn’t very fond of investigating the disappearance of chickens, someone had to do that.
Mornings were peaceful nowadays. Like mutual anxiety, the fear only appeared in the late evening. Arthur almost smiled at the sight of you, talking with the girls.
“It's not sudden evil that should be feared. Not violence, really,” you muttered, apparently in response to a conversation you were having.
You rolled your eyes after Karen made a face to mock your wise tone, but Miss Jones was fast to agree.
“Aye, I'll tell you what's the worst kind of evil,” she stated, and barely moved her finger to point out Grimshaw, sitting next to Person’s cart. “The silent bickering, mumbling and plotting. Gossip and being intrusive. That's the worst.”
Other girls giggled, and all you could do was shrug and smile.
“That is exactly what I mean. And hell, I knew a lot of that in Saint Denis… some real criminals are nice, compared to that.”
“Well, I think I would turn into an evil crone myself if I had to live in Saint Denis!” added Mary-Beth.
You were all women used to freedom and the wilderness – it was hard to disagree that the city could turn people into their worst versions. You hummed, making them all look at you.
Their attention flattered you, to be truthful. It was nice to have some devoted listeners, like they initially sensed some advantage; perhaps the one in years, or experience… And a strange experience it was.
“Every city man has to have something from a murderer in himself… I mean, how mad do you have to go to lock yourself there – in this cage of buildings?”
Arthur let out a laugh when he stepped closer and heard you speak.
“(Y/n), you scarin' the girls again?”
“So it seems, but I’d prefer the word ‘advising’.” Your smile could brighten his day, he would swear. “And what are you doing, dear?”
He didn’t curse out your patronizing tone. He never did. Even though you sometimes spoke to him like you would to his horse, when the huge beast huffed in discomfort, he never seemed to mind. He joked about it once, that wild women like you and Mrs. Adler could have him in a grasp. It was respect that this world lacked towards females.
“Grimshaw said some animals are missing,” he said frankly. “Gonna go look around, I might find something.”
“Animals?”
You rose from your place, leaving your own coffee behind. Winking to the girls when they chirped jokingly, you took Arthur’s arm. He didn’t mind that, either. Simply obeyed, strolling with you in a direction only you knew.
“Chickens,” he added quietly.
“Oh, chickens… That’s how they use you these days? Fearless outlaw on his hunt for chickens.”
“Ain’t you a funny lady?” he grunted, not really touched at heart.
He didn’t find many works discrediting, and knew you don’t think that about him. You sometimes amused him with your wit, sharp judgment and hidden meanings he didn’t catch, but somehow he knew you were never offending him. Even if he tended to call himself a rustic simpleton – which angered you a bit every time – he was not a foolish man. He knew and understood things, and being smitten couldn’t kill all of that.
“We all have to eat,” he still decided to mumble a quick explanation.
“We sure do,” you agreed, falling into your thoughts just for a quick moment. “Perhaps it’s the foxes?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Well, I found some bones the other day…”
Now he knew where you were leading him.
“Alright, show me.”
You stopped just outside Horseshoe Overlook, on the edge of the trees, close to the railroad. It was a surprisingly quiet walk.
Arthur shook off the remaining drops of his drink and placed the cup back in his satchel. While having your arm in his, intertwined like you’d really hold a lady, he placed a now free hand on yours. He could feel something shift in the air, some warm and welcoming breath of the wind. Like a kind harbinger of your good mood, it enveloped him, forced to keep his eyes on the side of your face.
But you didn’t look his side. Arthur cherished that you didn’t shake his hand off of yours, and that was enough, but he still hoped you’d turn your head to him.
“It’s here.”
He was suddenly pulled back down to earth. You dismissively pointed to a patch of dug-up dirt, a small pile that, when you tumbled it with your boot, uncovered some bones.
It was certainly the remains of the chickens.
“So it is the foxes then…” he said out loud, but intended to assure himself in his mind. He was no longer sure if it was about him, or about you. An instinct, a hunch of an experienced man that walked side by side with death, told himself all of this was wrong.
You looked so peaceful, though. Looking around, you seemed disinterested, but not to show him nonchalance.
“I thought so,” you agreed, looking at him with a small smile.
Whatever he saw a few nights ago, wasn’t what he thought it was. A familiar figure hovering close, hidden by the trees and dawn, was not you, and blood streaming down its jaw and neck was something he only imagined. It was surely not true.
Now the pile of bones – he couldn’t bring himself to question.
“Shall we go back, or do you want to look around?”
“Nah, what should I look for? Tropes to track the thieves and explain that they can’t do that again?”
“Sure. Explain with buckshot.” He only hummed in response, so you shrugged. “I know I would.”
“Too much bother. We’ll probably leave that place in a few days anyway.”
“And it would be great if we had some chickens left when we do that,” you remarked, and he could tell you were thinking about something. “You know what? I would and I will take care of that. Think you can lend me a rifle?”
He looked you up and down, and you didn’t even quiver under his sight. Sometimes he thought he was only a step of willpower away from gasping; once a while, in times like this, you looked with the eyes of wisdom that not even Hosea possessed. And, well, Mr. Matthews was someone Arthur considered the wisest person he knew. It felt like you could see right through him, not because you knew him so well already, not because you played some wicked trick, but you knew the nature of people like him. Nature of people – in general. He wondered if there was still any chance to surprise you, perhaps… impress?
“Will you ask nicely and bring it back?”
He surprised the both of you as bold words escaped his mouth. It shook him a bit when he realized he was standing close – closer than innocent – and looked you straight in the eyes from under his hat. You shot him an equally bold smile, like you were proud of your student, and placed a hand on your chest.
“Sure thing. Well, at least about bringing it back.”
“I'll hold you to it,” he claimed, but you both knew that he didn't really care. He was suddenly withdrawn, wondering how he got so brave just a moment ago.
Arthur wasn't a shy man by any means, but he could be awkward, too quiet and insecure at times. Usually he paid it no mind, he was simply too occupied by things, but when he stayed back with you, allowed himself to think about something else than survival… Well, he tended to think too much.
Lucky for him, you were always quick to assure him he was alright, and damn, you were good at that. You didn't force him into listening to things he didn't believe in, nor rush him to let more words out. All you did was smile, look back to him or simply brush the back of your hand on his arm. It was enough. It was everything he needed.
Now, that's how he was around you. He sometimes said things he didn't plan, just like there was some inner need in him. Something laying inside, long forgotten.
He told you about his youth, his lost family… about Mary. He didn’t know why, but he never came to regret it, nor question his choice.
“I suppose she had some good points about this… lifestyle,” he claimed, changing being broken into worry that you'll think he's complaining or god forbid fault another woman in your presence.
“She could have,” you agreed. “It must be unthinkable to a lady like that.”
“You're a lady like that. You come from town…”
Oh, Arthur had no idea what kind of a lady you were.
“Then I must come from a very different town,” you giggled, but he could tell there was a hint of surprise in you. “I'm not like your Mary. Whether it's a good thing or not.”
You were different, he knew that. You were not judgemental, fussy, also not restrained… But was it any good? While Mary could have mastered a delicate secret of living, a woman like you was a brutal connoisseur of surviving. The town's ladies were always a step back – reasoning, drawing conclusions, learning from their mistakes. And you? You were long gone, rushing forward, never staying in one place for too long.
Every experienced outlaw could sometimes envy you for your skills. That's why it was so easy to welcome you into the gang. You weren’t just a good thieve, someone who could disappear in a crowd to show up with pockets filled with jewelry. You weren't simply a good shot with a steady arm and exquisite eye. You could be whatever was needed.
When it was to your advantage, you could look helpless, a frail little lady with wet eyes that made people believe. You could play a poor girl without a penny to her name, and still have bartenders slide drinks up your nose that they knew you can't pay for. It wasn't their mercifulness, but the advancement of your act.
But you didn't like pity, no. It was easy, simple and left you fed, rich and taken care of by strangers, but where was the fun? No, it was the last resort.
You could also be angelic, and that's what Arthur saw. Sometimes he couldn't even imagine how you looked while working – even though he saw you more than enough – because it felt so unreal.
He was reluctant about asking you to accompany him to rob a stagecoach, because he didn't know if you'd like the act. He belonged to people who liked clean jobs. A trustful strategy, avoiding risk if possible. A damsel in distress or a hurt girl were the most useful roles, but you could disagree.
If it meant putting your well-being at risk, he'd prefer to not ask at all.
So Hosea decided for him.
The older man approached you late in the evening, his eyes glossy from tiredness, and asked if you would be so kind as to keep an eye on his Arthur. Now, who were you to say no to dear mister Matthews? The man only smiled, proving to you he was not only immune to your nocturnal ascendancy, but also kept his mind away from worry.
It wasn’t hard to notice that you fancied adding little details to your performances. An innocent smile, just to bare your teeth a little, a spooky mention of misfortune, prophecy of unlucky faith… To Arthur, it seemed like you had fun scaring the folks, saying meaningless things to entertain yourself before he stepped up from the shadows with his gun, demanding surrender.
Somehow, in the short seconds when the victim’s attention turned to him, you always managed to disappear. He always found you already going through the contents of the carriage, usually just sending him a wink to knowledge that the action was successful on his side.
“Doin’ alright there?”
He looked up to you, and when you silently asked for assistance, he raised his hand your way, to help you get down. He caught your cold hand steadily, not allowing you to slip or waver while stepping over the baggage.
“You scared me for a moment,” he admitted when you stayed silent, finally standing on the ground next to him.
He instinctively reached out to move your hair to the side and look at your neck, just to make sure you-...
“Don’t tell me you were truly worried?” You laughed, setting his mind straight. You didn’t mind though, his worry nor interest. “I must have performed really well then.”
He hummed, watching you show him that your neck and the side of your head were untouched by any bruise, not stained in blood like he thought it was, when he watched from afar. The poor bastard that you robbed – that was now on the run, probably on his way to get the law, shortening your time – seemed to believe the same… Arthur expected he’d never know what the man saw, that made him so worried and so trustful of your difficult situation. His will to help a woman in trouble was almost admirable.
“We are close to the town.”
“I know, darling, you said it before,” you noticed, absolutely unnerved. Your fingers carefully slipped over the cash that you gathered, quickly counting, before handing it to the man by your side. “Take it, in case something happens, and we have to go.”
“Don’t want to split it?”
“No.” You didn’t let him say another word. He could notice your sudden turn, and your glares behind your back, to the heavy clouds coming from the south. “Now,” you picked his attention, pointing to the stuff on the carriage, “there are some weapons, pelts, good ones if you ask me… ammo, food.”
“Good enough. If we’re quick we can go back before the rain.”
“We won’t get that far to camp,” you observed, like the fact unnerved you too, “and it will be dark soon.”
He thought for a moment, allowing himself to place a cigarette between his lips.
“Alright. We’ll hide the cart, find a place to spend the night, and go back tomorrow.”
“I like the sound of that.
You could consider yourself very lucky, because just when you moved far enough from the place of robbery to lower the risk, and turned to the left off the track, you found an abandoned homestead. Arthur whistled at your horses, accidentally scaring the one attached to the cart.
“Wait here, I’ll go take a look,” he said, getting down, and moving up the hill to make sure the place was secure.
He noticed that you were quieter and looked around, against your usual confidence, but wouldn’t dare to comment.
Just minutes later the cart was carefully hidden in the barn, doors locked and covered by some wood. Arthur passed you his revolver, just in case, when you were walking to the other building.
The inside was dim, and it made him more careful. At first, he wished he could rip the old dusty drapes from the windows to let some light in, but then he saw your steady figure, he nodded and moved after you.
He stepped close. You could always hear his steps behind you – just like now, when it was the only sound except the anxious whisper of the storm coming outside, and your own blood rushing in your veins.
When Arthur heard your surprised yelp, he felt like the money in his pocket didn’t matter at all. Once again he saw what he imagined a few hours ago – you were covered in blood, beaten and in danger…
He couldn’t help but worry that it was a harbinger of the near future. Now, when you stood with a stranger behind you, a jagged knife placed to your throat, Arthur’s finger was trembling over the trigger.
The attacker who looked like a madman held you close to him, and you would swear he bit your ear, as he leaned forward.
“It’s my cover,” he rasped out, proving that he hadn't spoken in a long time. He then pointed his weapon to Arthur, “You take your bitch and get the fuck away from here…”
None of you moved, but after another moment of his painful grasp, he let you go, pushing you to the side.
“We’re not leaving,” you stated confidently, leaving no place for argument.
But the man didn’t care. Why would he? Why would he be scared of merely a woman, since her companion didn’t seem so sure? Not to admit that the current locator was not one of clear mind, so there was no way of getting to him straight.
“(Y/n), maybe we should…” Arthur tried, being aware that you still stood halfway between him and a man he considered danger.
“We are not,” you repeated quietly, now saying it only to him, “leaving. I’m not…”
“Then you’d have to stay here forever,” wheezed the stranger, raising his hand with the blade.
Before he could get to you, Arthur shoved him back, falling to the ground against his struggling body. You caught the revolver he dropped in the process, but he didn’t need any help. Before you noticed, Arthur pushed the man even more to the floor, smashing his head onto it again and again.
When the tussle ended, he quickly rose to his feet, afraid to look your way. He worried he’d see fear on your face. Fear of him.
Little did he know, you stared at the warm corpse with a hint of disgust and… hunger. Perhaps it was the need that made you loath the sight so much.
“Move him to the other room, would you?” you suggested, regaining your voice.
Arthur breathed out and nodded.
It wasn’t just a cabin, but a real house. Still the roof looked troubled, and the room where you were attacked seemed like the safest part of the building. Setting out your things, you stayed away from the windows, telling yourself it’s just to avoid any attraction from outside.
The discomfort on your face was obvious to Arthur when he returned, but it wasn’t aimed at the crimson that stained his hands. You looked like you didn’t notice, only smiling weakly and reassuringly. He found himself unable to move for a bit, not wanting to startle you or do something he would regret.
“I will go make sure the horses are alright,” he offered, also intending to bring some blankets. “Want to go with me?”
He wasn’t sure if you’re alright to stay here alone, with just a wall separating you from a dead body. You shook your head and promised you’re okay.
Now he knew you paid the corpse a visit.
You looked happier when he got back. Stronger. An eerie feeling – something impossible to explain, but thrilling – made him excited when he noticed the signs of your sloppiness. Like you, being careless could be a show of trust. He was aware of your sense for details. There was no way you allowed the few drops of blood on your chin to remain, without your consent. You knew, and you didn’t mind that he looked.
He wondered if you perchance as well bathed in the blood of the innocent, because how would a woman so wise, so educated over her years, keep her face untouched by this wicked world? A terrifying look of hypnosis, pure and chaste at the same time.
“Arthur?”
He almost choked on his own breath, when you called him out to step out from the shadow. Shadow, that was not an obstacle to you. “Thank you.”
“What?”
“For saving me. I got too confident and allowed him to distract me.”
“Ah, this.”
“Will you get inside?” you asked, when he stayed hoovering at the doorstep.
He got closer, closing the door after him, but still swayed on his feet like a restless idiot that couldn’t find a place for himself. He could hear you giggle quietly. A sweet sound that was cut short by a thunder.
Something that he could mistake for equal electricity shone in your eyes, making your face more stiff. You clenched your jaw, distress creeping up your spine, but you still turned his side. He knew, even if he asked no questions. He knew, and he was drawn by the devil in you – something that was not your doing.
“I would like to thank you properly, if you’d let me.”
The rough hands of a killer trembled, not with hesitation but want. He took a few more steps, and you took his slowness for hesitation. “You don’t have to fear me.”
“I know. It’s not you that I fear.”
“Oh, is it so awful to give in under the things we want?” He had to fight his whole body to remain still, when you raised to your feet, and carefully tangled your fingers with the collar of his shirt. “I think I don’t do that often enough, but what is survival without satisfaction…?”
He could taste the blood on your tongue. Like an unchained animal, his hand fled to your hair, tugging it too hard, just to control himself just a moment later. You answered with a bite to his lip, making sure to not cut the skin. A guttural sound, that could come straight from hell, escaped his throat, silencing your silent moans. It was too beautiful to not listen and devour.
When your back hit the wall, he held you up, after he learned all of your back and hips. The grip on your tight was so hard that it would certainly be bruised in the morning, but you were too occupied by his scent to notice. Your senses were so divinely touched, the mix of sweat and something metallic marked him no matter how much you tried to deny it.
He pulled away, even more turned on by the string of his own saliva that he wiped off the corner of your lips. He was out of his breath, but he still managed to look obedient. He was ready to take, but still awaited commands like a hunting hound.
He thanked fate, god or whatever there was, that you allowed him to move.
Losing track of time, he had no idea how much you spent on moving against each other, breathing down each other's throats and sinking in your lustful sounds. The wall creaked when he pushed onto you more, making him halt just a bit.
Then a thunder rattled again.
“I’m not staying here.”
He had his face hidden in your hair, and staying away was difficult now. Yet, he noticed how you stayed still, your grip growing harder on his back, almost painful.
“Darlin’,” he whispered, surprised and in a rough voice. His mind was still gazed at the recent thrill.
“I won’t spend the night in this place, you can stay or go with me.”
He was taken aback by your coldness. Quickly, he noticed it was the fear talking.
“I- is it the storm?”
“I’m not afraid of the storm, Arthur,” you spat, cradling his face at the same time. “It’s the wetness. The air was getting thick. Feels like being in a cold grave.”
He was here for your commands, and whatever you wished, he would obey. You could come back for the wagon tomorrow, think about it later… He knew Strawberry was close, and if you moved now, you could find yourself in a comfortable room at the hotel.
You entered the town like a good dog and its butcher to be. He would bare his teeth at anyone who stepped too close to you. He asked no questions about your panic, nor judged.
Well, you made sure to offer him very little time to overthink.
The morning was quiet. The storm that you managed to forget about, since the sounds were drawn out by your yearning, turned into a nice warm drizzle.
Arthur held you close, opening his tired eyes. Then he sat up like he was struck at the sight of bruises marking your body. You had to kiss the way up his neck, that was too marked by you, to calm him down.
You winked at him when the two of you got dressed and walked down the stairs, overhearing a story about ghosts that, apparently, bothered the locals. Not only that, but you would swear someone mentioned the nearby abandoned house just when you got close.
“Folks talk the spirits were particularly loud last night. Right before the storm came… Terrible sounds, they say.”
Arthur almost choked, but he managed to make it look like he coughed in his sleeve.
“Morning,” he said to the owner, handing him the key to your room.
Just when the thing was back on its place in a drawer behind him, the owner turned to his previous conversation pal. “I said it right away, we gotta fetch for a real priest.”
Well, Arthur didn’t mind a ghost if it’s a one he lusts after. He felt like he found a chance with the woman by his side – even if she was an evil spirit, a tormentor. He found himself kneeling at the altar of long forgotten hope.
Shame it was an altar defiled with blood, and for once it wasn't a doing of his own stained hands.
“It's wickedness to put one’s woman to danger willingly,” said Arthur in a gruff voice, not daring to look you in the eye. “I ain’t allowing you that…”
His words made you cluck. As unsurprised as he could be, he kept staring away from you, to remain in his strong opinion. He knew forbidding you anything was pointless, but if it was about your safety he was willing to argue.
“Oh, shush you silver-tongued cavalier,” you answered jokingly, disarming him absolutely. “It’s also one’s woman’s purpose, to make one’s life easier.”
“Can we not use one’s anymore?” He gruffed.
“I’d love to. You started it though.”
You chipping made him roll his eyes at his own inconsistency. At least it warmed his heart to know that you were not only a strong person, ready to protect yourself, but you could also talk yourself out of trouble.
Part of Arthur wanted to scream in anger when you offered and insisted on going with him. If not for Dutch who happened to be your witness and nodded eagerly that it’s a good idea, Arthur would try to explain, talk gently to not offend you, but show his point of view. The gang’s leader destroyed it all by his talk about how effectful the two of you could be together. Now any word of disagreement would sound like a discredit to your capacity.
Some foolish O’Driscoll Boys set their camp close. Too close for their own and van der Linde’s safety. Someone had to take care of it one way or another, but Arthur would prefer to have one of the men by his side. It would be more risky, that’s true, but he would feel better.
On the other hand, though… He didn’t allow himself to dwell much on it, but he was glad he had you close. It was selfish, perhaps childish even, but being able to lay his eyes on you all the time was a reward enough. He told himself that it’s because he knows what’s happening to you, and can always react. That’s why he recently detested being away from camp so much.
He resented the thought that he also liked to watch over you for the safety of others.
“You’re the most stubborn woman I know.”
You scoffed, looking at him as you both swayed side by side on your horses.
“Didn’t you grow up around Grimshaw, Mr. Morgan?”
It made his thoughts stop at once, and he had to fight to maintain his breath calm. You, calling him Mr. Morgan in your playful, teasing but never too bold way shouldn’t bother him that much, but it did. Or perhaps it should? It should irritate him, make him roll his eyes back in annoyance, not thrill. Yet here he was, fixing his posture in the saddle as his whole body seemed to suddenly work against him. His bones felt stiff, palms sweaty and eyes glued to you.
“I don’t care for ‘er that much,” he muttered after a comically long pause, so you could move on from the talk already and forget, “and she never put herself in danger by her choices. She just… bothers others.”
“Is that your way of indirectly proving to me that you care? About me?”
“Indirectly?” He wanted to swear that you were so far on your horse now, because he dreamed of nothing else but catching your hand and raising it to his lips. “Oh, I’ll prove and promise you much more, woman. Straight, if you’d like.”
“I would,” you answered with a small smile. Sometimes in your kindness he saw bits of mercy, indulgence, but now… Now it seemed like he made you sweetly sheepish. “Maybe later, though.”
“Still, I don’t like that you insisted on goin’. I could have it done in no time with Charles or Javier…”
You sighed heavily, leaving him unanswered for a moment, just like he did to you. Just when you were on your feet again, your horses hidden in the bush away from the main road, you stood in front of him. “And it never crossed your mind,” you started, making him halt in loading the weapon, “that just as much as you care about me, I care about you and your well-being?”
It should, obviously, but Arthur felt blessed enough that you allowed him close. He never considered himself worthy, but the longing was too bad for him to abandon his blessing for whatever sake it could be.
“You have no reason to care about an old fool like me,” he stammered, and you smiled. The look of indulgence yet again; he couldn’t pin how the hell that didn’t make him angry, didn’t call for him wiping the look off of you. “A woman like you could have anyone, why would you…”
“Doesn’t matter why, but I do.”
It made him shut up, like you wanted.
You stepped closer, placing your hand on his chest. If only he could, he would lead your fingers into the flesh, straight to his heart. You had a grasp on it anyway. Spectral or occultic – it didn’t matter to him.
“I care, and the fact that you believe it or not changes very little. I’m not allowing you to march into the enemies’ camp just like that and have your life at the mercy of other men.” Your voice felt close, intimate even, making Arthur hold his breath as he looked at you. If he lowered his head just a bit, your noses would brush. “And trust me, I have nothing against your friends. Still, they are… just men, and men make mistakes. I won’t afford a mistake about your life. Understand?”
He fought the gulp and nodded instead.
“Good. Now come on. You still have something to prove to me later.”
He moved after you like a good dog, but the second you two heard the O’Driscolls drunken laughter, his wit and reliability took the reins of him again. Making sure your weapons were close, you made a silent agreement. Arthur found a good spot, close enough, but allowing him a view over the camp.
He watched as you limped their way. It amused him every time, making him grow more understanding of Dutch’s desperation to keep you in the gang. Your act of a helpless damsel, suddenly looking fragile and on the edge of dying from fear, could fool every heartless bastard right away.
Now it was about getting them all in one place, so Arthur could be sure no one would surprise or ambush you. It wasn’t long before he pulled the trigger for the first time. The O’Driscolls scattered around, jumping behind crates and taking cover, where they would be met with your attack.
Throwing the rifle to his shoulder, Arthur made his way down the small hill, finishing a few of them. The metal of his revolver felt like fire, burning his skin when he tried to focus on something else than looking around for you.
When he finally found you, you stood still and confident, despite the blood streaming down your chest. Arthur calmed when he saw the corpse laying at your feet and the man’s turned out eyes. His throat was ripped out, and he didn’t even have time to clutch his hands to it before death found him. The blade of a clean knife you held in your hand seemed to shine in the sun.
If you were a damned creature of evil, then so was Arthur. The sight thrilled him, and it was not just a vulgar attachment to violence that he felt.
The awe that he allowed was a mistake. He could feel long fingers break the skin on his shoulder alongside a steel rope that choked him. It was much worse than a cold barrel put to his temple that he felt many times. Still, the words spat right into his ear made no sense when all he could focus on was you.
Your expression turned from confidence – something almost indifferent to the massacre around – to pure anger. Bewilderment that made you bare your red-stained teeth. Oh, how Arthur wanted to taste your lips right now.
Perhaps it was the lack of air that made his mind dizzy, imagining things, but in the blink of an eye he saw you disappear in a cloud of ash.
The next thing he registered was the sound of being strangled and the feeling of the rope going softer, until it finally fell from his throat. He coughed, catching his breath again and looked at the last remaining O’Driscoll, who fell to the ground with a reddened neck, bones smashed and misplaced.
“I never applauded barbaric behavior, you know,” you spat, taking a step back and wiping your mouth. “I hate how often it’s necessary.”
You looked ashamed, willing to explain if he demanded, but it didn’t even cross his mind. Arthur was drawn to the bloody mouth you now tried to hide behind your sleeve.
“Don’t care what you are,” he whispered in a voice barely conscious. His lips were inches above yours.
You placed a hand on his heart, allowing him to feel the thrilling cold, but he only bent his neck to be closer. He chased your mouth like a starved animal, desperate for the blood he could drink from it.
Scratching his cheek didn’t pull him out of the insanity. You had to push him back violently, so he would snap back to his clear mind.
“I will have to leave now.”
“You… what?”
“You heard me.” He did, but he refused to believe that. “The man at the cemetery. He was the last one I killed with my bare hands in a long time. The break kept me sane. Now that it’s destroyed… Well, I don’t trust myself to go back amongst people.”
“You care for them… You- you won’t hurt them,” he tried to reason, afraid to startle you by making a step your way.
“Oh, I wish it was this simple.”
“You are not a beast, (Y/n).”
“I’m not,” you agreed, and he was a moment from whining why then are you so stubborn again. “Some say I have no heart, but I bet to differ. I have loved before. This century happened to be quite generous for me… but it ends badly every time. People I care about get slaughtered for sins that aren’t their fault. I just want you to know… I know life without safety or care. Love only meant lust to me, but you… you made me love you truly, Arthur.”
“Then…” He wanted to ask you to stay, but he saw how pointless that was. He could read it from your face. You made up your mind, and that was it. “You made me a lucky man.”
He cherished that you weren’t reluctant to get close to him. He held you close, memorizing how your embrace felt.
“Richmen fascinated me no longer,” you admitted, looking up at him with a smug expression. “When I saw you… strong arms, strong will. Oh yes, you are much more appealing than money and silks.”
“All I need to hear is that you will be alright,” he pleaded.
“Of course I will be alright. It’s you that I worry about.”
“No need to.”
But you knew what fate awaited him. With a sight, you freed yourself from him.
“We have to part for the sake of your friends and their safety, though…” You took a while to think, fixing your clothes and hair, just to disappear in the woods a moment later. “I can promise you, Arthur, for when you face death, I’ll make sure to be by your side. Then and always when you’d need me.”
You befriended death like an acquired sister, and if you could intercede for him, you would. Death, after all, was evilness that everyone benefited from, an outcome that nature sought for. It seemed like it was only your kind that grew to appreciate it.
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