#Shades of Orange {For Arthur} | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tearsof-scarlet · 1 month ago

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When Thieves and Cowboys Meet - Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Word Count: 5774

Tags: A bit of angst.

Warnings: Guns and gun shots

Synopsis: In the bustling streets of Saint Denis, you’re a skilled pickpocket, always looking for your next mark. When you spot a quiet, distracted man scribbling in his notebook, you seize the chance to steal his prized pocket watch. As fate would have it, your paths cross again, pulling you into a dangerous game of trust, survival, and unexpected connection.

A/N: I like to think of this as one of Arthur's side missions early in the game (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

You had survived on your own for years now, carving out a life in the shadows of Saint Denis. Wit and charm were your weapons of choice: disarming, distracting, deceiving. Independence wasn’t easy in a city that devoured the weak and the honest alike, and sooner or later, the honest part of you had to go.

So you turned to work that thrived in the cracks. The kind with no rules, no guarantees, and no real honour. But you were good. Too good. Years of practice had refined your hands into tools of silent precision. Picking pockets wasn’t just survival anymore. It was instinct.

That’s how you found yourself leaning against a crooked iron pole in the middle of the Saint Denis market, half-shaded by the orange wash of the setting sun. The crowd pulsed around you in a blur of motion and sound. Horse hooves clattering on cobblestone, traders shouting over one another and laughter mixing with the clink of coins. It was chaos. Beautiful, familiar chaos. The kind where eyes wander, attention splits, and no one ever notices a gentle tug at their waist.

You scanned the crowd with a calm, practiced gaze. A glint of opportunity caught your eye: an older man, coat creased and heavy with wealth, his back pocket sagging with what looked to be a thick roll of money. He stood talking to a fruit vendor, oblivious.

You slid off the pole, letting your body sway with casual purpose. Passing stalls of spiced meats, dusty tomes, and tattered lace, you feigned interest, pointing, pausing, moving like someone who had all the time in the world. When you reached him, he hadn’t shifted. Still bargaining. You came up behind, eyes flicking left and right.

No one watched.

Your hand hovered, graceful and sure, fingers ready to make contact—

But just before you could reach the pocket, his hand snapped back. He plucked out the money and handed it to the vendor in one smooth motion.

You nearly groaned aloud.

The frustration clawed at your throat as you withdrew and melted back into the crowd, jaw clenched tight. One month’s worth of rent and meals, gone in a heartbeat. You slipped back to your post, shoulders tense, the failure bitter in your mouth.

The clocktower began to chime six. You watched the shadows lengthen over the stalls. Vendors were starting to pack up; buyers thinned into evening ghosts. With a sigh, you shoved off the pole, ready to call it for the day.

But then movement caught your eye.

Across the square, under the arch of a rusting gate, a man sat alone on the brick ledge. His head was bowed, hat tipped forward, completely absorbed in whatever he was scribbling in a weather-worn notebook. Ink-stained fingers moved slowly, methodically. Lost in his own world.

But it wasn’t the notebook that interested you.

From the waistcoat at his chest, a glimmer of gold peeked out—a pocket watch, gleaming faintly in the sunset. It rested just outside the pocket, still latched to a fine little chain. Old. Polished. Valuable.

Your lips parted slightly, and you ran your tongue over them without thinking. That watch could be gone in seconds. Easy enough. The railings behind him gave you cover, and he was so focused on his writing, you doubted he’d notice a bird flying past, let alone your hand brushing past his coat.

This time, you told yourself, would be different. This time, you wouldn’t miss.

You circled around the iron gate, weaving between crates and shadows, until you reached the back of the ledge where the man sat. All the while, you stole glances forward—he hadn’t moved. Still buried in that notebook like the world didn’t exist.

Good.

With measured steps, you drew closer, boots light on the cobblestones. Your eyes swept the square, alert for wandering eyes or the unmistakable blue coats of the law. No one seemed to notice you. Not yet.

Reaching the railings behind him, you knelt down slowly, one knee brushing against stone as you pretended to fuss with your shoe. Another glance—he didn’t even flinch. Still scribbling, still lost.

Now.

You moved your hand through the bars with the precision of a seasoned artist. First a scan around—just one more look to be sure. Then, your fingers glided forward, careful and deliberate, brushing over the rough wool of his waistcoat. You worked by feel, not sight. You’d done this a hundred times. Maybe more.

But then you looked up—to watch his face for any sign he’d noticed.

And you froze.

Just for a moment.

The angle gave you a perfect view beneath the shadow of his hat. His jaw was strong beneath the scruff, lips parted slightly in focus, brow furrowed in thought. He was older than you, weathered by life, but handsome, in a way that made something flicker hot and unwelcome in your chest.

Focus.

You clenched your jaw, fingers moving again, slipping into the pocket. They brushed against something cool and metallic. The chain. You pinched it between your fingers, felt the tension of the clip, then with practiced ease, you fished the watch free and detached it in one smooth motion.

Ten seconds. That’s all it took. But it always felt like a lifetime.

In the next breath, you were rising, turning, walking away like nothing had happened. No panic, no guilt. Just that sweet rush under your skin. It was an art form, and you were a master.

You moved through the thinning crowd with a spring in your step, fingers curling around your prize. Slipping it from your pocket, you admired it in the fading light. The golden watch was a little battered, scratches, a small dent on one side but it had a weight to it. A soul. The kind of thing someone kept close for years. Still, you couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at your lips. Even damaged, it would fetch a tidy sum from the right merchant. Maybe enough to lie low for a while. Maybe enough for a hot meal and a real bed.

In the days that followed the theft, you kept your head low and your routes unpredictable. You pulled a few small jobs, lifted a coin purse on the tram, swiped a silver ring from a drunk passed out in an alley but nothing bold. Nothing like the watch. Strangely, despite knowing its worth, you couldn’t bring yourself to sell it. It sat heavy in your coat pocket every day, cool against your fingertips, as if it had fused to you. You told yourself it was just caution, that the heat hadn’t died down yet but deep down, you knew it was something else. Something about that watch, or maybe the man you stole it from, had gotten under your skin.

The market bustled with its usual chaos, steam rising from food carts, boots scraping over stone, the clang of metal and chatter mixing in the dusk. Arthur had only meant to grab a few supplies and be on his way. He wasn’t the lingering type, not in a city like this. But as he tied his horse near the fountain, something in the crowd caught his eye. A flicker of movement. A familiar gait.

Then he saw her.

She stood at a produce stall, half-shadowed by crates of overripe apples. Her coat was different, her hair pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck, but he knew. Arthur’s eyes narrowed slightly. It was her. The thief. The girl who’d lifted his damn watch right off his coat like it was nothing.

She didn’t see him yet. She was too busy haggling over a bruised peach, her hand deep in her pocket, still guarding it, maybe.

Arthur didn’t move. He just watched her for a moment, caught off guard by the flutter of something he couldn’t name. She was… beautiful. Not in the delicate, polished way society women tried to be. No, she had edges. Real ones. Fierce, sharp eyes and a mouth that looked like it had forgotten how to smile gently. And yet something about her made his chest tighten, annoyingly so.

He should’ve been furious. Hell, he had been. But standing here now, all he could feel was a strange twist in his gut. A question he hadn’t figured out how to ask.

Then her eyes lifted, lazy at first, scanning the crowd, and locked with his.

You froze.

And in that single heartbeat, Arthur’s expression didn’t change, but his stance did. Straighter. Steadier. As if the chase had just begun again.

“Hey, you!”

The shout cracked through the market like a whip.

Your body stiffened, heart slamming into your ribs. The man stood tall now, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, no longer the quiet scribbler. His gaze locked on yours like a wolf catching sight of prey. There was no mistaking it, he’d seen everything. And in your pocket, was his stolen watch.

You barely had time to think. You did the one thing you always told yourself you'd never do unless it was absolutely necessary.

You ran.

Boots slapped against the stone as you darted into a narrow alleyway, shadows swallowing you whole. Behind you, a sharp whistle cut through the air. Your stomach dropped. He had a horse. Of course he had a damn horse.

Cursing under your breath, you pushed harder, legs burning as you burst back onto a wider street. The alleys of Saint Denis were a maze, but the streets were rivers, flooded with people, noise, smells. You weaved through the crowd, shoulders brushing bodies, ignoring the curses and stumbling feet around you.

But the thunder of hooves followed like a storm rolling in.

You didn’t look back. Instead, you spotted your chance, a saloon just up ahead, loud with music and laughter spilling through its open doors. Without hesitation, you flung them wide and slipped inside. Warm light hit your eyes. The air was thick with sweat, cigar smoke, and slurred voices.

Threading through the chaos, you ducked past card tables and drink-slick floors, keeping your head low. A drunk nearly crashed into you, but you slipped past him, your eyes scanning. There at the end of the room was an open window. Without a second thought, you leapt. Your hands caught the frame as your legs swung through, the rough wood scraping your knees. You pulled yourself out, landing with a dull thud in the alley behind the saloon, breath ragged.

Down the narrow path, over discarded crates and broken bottles, your body moved on instinct. Your legs ached, but the adrenaline numbed it. You turned sharp corners, ducked under rusted fire escapes, and pushed through a heavy curtain of drying laundry. The golden watch thudded against your chest with every step, like a heartbeat out of time.

You swerved left, hoping the maze-like alleys of Saint Denis would work in your favor. But the city had its own mind. This path dead-ended at a tall iron fence. You skidded to a halt, breath ragged, then spun around to backtrack.

A voice called out behind you, rough and Southern, with just a hint of grit:

“Stop runnin’.”

Arthur Morgan sat atop his horse at the alley’s mouth, eyes fixed on you, jaw set like stone. The watch glinted in his gaze more than it did in your hand. For a split second, neither of you moved. You could see now how tired he looked, not physically, but deep in the eyes. As if he’d seen more than any man ought to.

You turned, desperate, lunged for the fence behind you. Your fingers caught the bars. You got one foot up. But he was off the horse before you could swing your other leg over.

An arm wrapped around your waist, firm and unyielding. He dragged you down with ease, feet hitting the cobblestone as you kicked, shoved, twisted but it was like trying to shake a mountain.

“Let me go!” you snarled, thrashing.

“Not happenin Missy.”

You shoved hard against his chest as hard as you could, but it didn’t even make him budge. For a moment his grip loosened—not out of weakness, but surprise.

Your face was inches from his now, your breaths ragged and tangled, the stolen watch still caught between your hand and his coat. You didn’t dare drop it. Not yet.

“I didn’t know it was yours,” you lied through your teeth.

He huffed a breath. “You think that makes it better?”

You had just parted your lips to answer him, some blend of guilt and defiance ready to tumble out, when the distant echo of hooves disrupted the hush of the alley. They grew louder, sharper, until the silhouettes of riders emerged from the mouth of the street.

The clinking buckles, polished boots, and unmistakable navy coats gave them away instantly.

“Ah, well, well, well…” one of the officers called, voice curling with smug amusement. “If it ain’t Miss ______.”

Your breath caught in your throat. No. Not now. Of all the cursed moments, why this one? Why him?

“I gotta say,” the man continued as he swung from his saddle with a heavy thud, “you’ve stirred up a mighty bit of trouble tryin’ to find you.”

Arthur’s brow creased, his whole frame shifting beside you. You felt the weight of his confusion, the sudden looseness in his grip. His hands dropped from your arms as he turned to face the men, his gaze flicking between their uniforms and your stunned expression.

The officer stepped closer, eyeing you both with a sneer that made your stomach twist. “Much obliged, sir,” he said to Arthur, clearly mistaking the scene. “We appreciate the help bringin’ her in. You’ll be compensated real generous for it.”

Arthur didn’t speak as his frown deepened. And then the officer, noting his hesitation, reached into his coat and retrieved a folded poster, stained and creased from use. He shoved it forward.

Arthur took it with slow fingers.

WANTED — DEAD OR ALIVE.

A charcoal sketch stared back at him. You. Fierce eyes. That same wildness in the jaw he’d just been admiring. But what stole his breath was the print at the bottom.

$1,000 REWARD.

His gut tightened. A thousand dollars. Enough to feed the camp, keep Dutch off his back, pay off a dozen bounties. His fingers clenched around the paper. He couldn’t help it. It was instinct and survival. For all of them.

And then he looked at you. You weren’t speaking. Just watching him, silently pleading, those wide, terrified eyes boring into his like they were begging for a future that was slipping through both your fingers.

Arthur’s throat went dry.

“So what happens to the young lady once y’all take her in?” he asked, voice steady despite the storm inside him.

The officers hesitated, exchanging a brief look before one of them finally answered.

“She’s been wanted three years over. Stolen from some high places. Jewellery, ledgers, secrets.” He gave you a look like you were poison.

“She’ll hang. Most likely by week’s end.”

Arthur’s heart knocked once, hard in his chest. He’d seen plenty of deaths. Dealt plenty, too. But this? You weren’t some outlaw gunslinger. You were... something else. Sharp. Beautiful. Alive in a way most people forgot how to be. And now, standing here, trembling just inches from him, he could feel your fear. It wasn’t put on. It wasn’t a game.

Your breath stilled in your throat, a cold dread creeping up your spine. God, you’d always figured you’d die fast, maybe in a back alley with a knife in your gut or a bullet in your back, but a hanging? In public? Like some animal?

You couldn’t tear your eyes from Arthur.

He stood rooted in place, silent, the bounty poster limp in his gloved hand. His jaw clenched, brow furrowed deep. The flicker of uncertainty in his eyes was plain to see, even now. You didn’t dare speak, you didn’t want to beg. Not yet. Not in front of the law.

“Well?” one of the officers prodded, growing impatient. “Hand her over then, sir. We’ll take it from here.”

Arthur looked at the poster again. One thousand dollars. More than enough to feed the camp. Enough for Dutch to finally get his way for a while. Medicine for the sick. Bullets. Blankets. Hope.

And yet he looked back at you. You, the pickpocket who’d nearly gotten away with it. The same woman who’d been dumb enough to still carry his watch like it meant something. The same woman who despite the fear trembling beneath your skin, held her chin a little too high and her mouth a little too tight, like you still wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of crying.

Arthur let out a slow breath through his nose.

“You said she stole from the people of this town?” he asked, voice low.

“That’s right,” said the officer, his patience thinning. “From saloons, shops, tourists, even the mayor’s own nephew. The girl’s a damn plague.”

Arthur gave a slow nod, slipping the poster back into the officer’s hand.

“Alright,” he said, his voice calm, almost disarmingly so. “Just needed to be sure.”

The officer grunted in approval, taking the paper and tucking it away.

And that’s when Arthur moved.

With a speed that contradicted his size, he turned, grabbed your wrist, and yanked you toward him. Before the lawmen could blink, he had you behind his back and his revolver drawn, barrel glinting in the fading light.

“Don’t,” he warned, low and deadly, “try nothin’ stupid. Stay behind me”

“What the hell’re you doin’?!” one of them barked, hand flying to his own holster.

But Arthur already had you moving, his body shielding yours as he backed you both toward his horse, who had shifted anxiously at the alley’s edge.

You didn’t dare breathe as his arm tightened around your waist, lifting you onto the saddle with practiced ease. The world tilted, leather creaked, and then he swung up behind you.

“Hold on,” he muttered, just before he spurred the horse hard.

The animal lunged forward with a powerful thrust of muscle, hooves striking sparks on cobblestone. Gunshots cracked through the alley, shouts rose up but the horse was already surging down the street, dodging carts, cutting corners, Arthur’s arms braced tightly around you.

Your heart was hammering, not just from the chase, but from the heat of him behind you—his breath near your ear, the strength in his chest pressed to your back. You didn’t dare look behind, but you could hear the chaos fading, the yells dimming into distance.

The city blurred past, brick and lamp-light twisting into streaks as you raced toward the outskirts. It was only once the trees of the swamp replaced buildings, and the din of Saint Denis gave way to crickets and wind that Arthur finally slowed the horse, pulling it to a heavy-breathing trot near the riverbank.

He said nothing at first, only climbed down and held out a hand to help you dismount. Your legs trembled when you touched the ground, though whether it was from fear, adrenaline, or the feel of his hand steadying yours, you weren’t sure.

He looked at you then. Really looked.

“You alright?” he asked, voice gravel low, yet touched with something softer.

You nodded, chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. “Why’d you do that?”

Arthur’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, not yet. “Guess I don’t like bullies much,” he said. Then, after a beat, “And maybe I didn’t want to see you hang.”

You blinked at him, stunned. And before you could speak, he turned, busying himself with adjusting the saddle. But you caught it, that glance over his shoulder, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long.

The woods were quiet, save for the rhythmic lap of water against the riverbank and the tired huffing of Arthur’s horse as it cooled beneath the trees. You’d ridden hard, the scent of Saint Denis still clinging to your clothes, sweat mixing with smoke and fear. Now the forest pressed in around you, a quiet cocoon of moss and moonlight, offering both shelter and judgment.

Arthur hadn’t said a word since he pulled you up behind him and galloped out of the city. Not one. He’d only stopped once the lights of Saint Denis had vanished behind the treeline and the moon had risen high above the horizon, full and pale. You sat now on a fallen log near the river’s edge, arms wrapped tightly around your knees. Every muscle ached. Your breath had long since steadied, but your heart hadn't.

You heard the jangle of his saddle as he shifted, rummaging through a bag that didn’t need rummaging. He wasn’t looking for anything. He was buying time.

You knew the silence wouldn’t last.

And then, his voice, low and dry:

“You were carryin’ it.”

Your head turned, eyes narrowing. “What?”

Arthur straightened, facing you now. There was a glint in his eyes, something sharp, something hurt. “The watch,” he said, jaw tight. “You still had it. All this time. A whole goddamn week.”

Your stomach turned. You stood slowly. “So?”

“So why didn’t you sell it?” he snapped. “You’ve been runnin’ from the law, sleepin’ in alleyways I’d bet, and you still got a gold watch tucked in your coat like it’s some kind of family heirloom. Why?”

“I don’t know!” you fired back, voice rising with the heat of it all. “I just... couldn’t.”

Arthur threw his hands up. “Jesus, that makes no sense—”

“No, it doesn’t!” you cut in, stepping toward him, eyes blazing. “But I tried, alright? I tried to pawn it. Twice. Got all the way to the damn counter and then... I just couldn’t. It didn’t feel right.”

He stared at you, arms crossed, his posture unreadable.

“It’s just a thing,” he said flatly.

You shook your head, laughing bitterly. “Yeah, maybe to you. But to me it started to feel like more than that. Like it wasn’t just something I took. Every time I touched it, I thought about you. I imagined you scribbling in your notebook. I guess I felt guilty.”

Arthur blinked, his expression faltering. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, suddenly looking like a man who didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Damn,” he muttered. “You’re a strange one.”

“You think I don’t know that?” you said, quieter now, chest heaving. “I knew it was an old watch. I couldn’t help but think it meant something special to you.”

He nodded slowly, eyes dark under the brim of his hat. Then, after a long pause, he said something you hadn’t expected.

“That watch belonged to my mama.”

You blinked. Your breath caught.

“She gave it to me when I was a boy,” he went on, voice low and rough-edged. “Didn’t have much, but she held onto that thing like it was made of diamonds. Said it’d keep me grounded. Keep me good. After she passed, I kept it close. Not ‘cause I needed the time. Just ‘cause it was hers.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. The air around you grew heavier.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “I didn’t know.”

Arthur didn’t say anything right away. He just stared at the fire, the flickering light making shadows of his thoughts.

After a moment, you reached into your coat and pulled it out. The gold glinted faintly in your palm. It looked smaller now. Fragile, almost. Like something sacred.

“I think,” you said gently, rising to your feet, “this belongs with her. With you.”

You stepped toward him, hand outstretched.

Arthur looked at it. Really looked. For a second, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he reached out and took it. His fingers brushed yours, rough and warm. The touch lingered just a moment longer than it needed to.

“Thank you,” he said softly, eyes meeting yours.

“No,” you shook your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Don’t thank me. I should’ve never taken it.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But you gave it back. That’s more than most would’ve done.”

You both stood there, the fire between you, and something else too—something quieter, less defined. A flicker of understanding. The hint of something beginning.

Arthur looked down at the watch in his hand, then tucked it carefully into his coat. When he looked back at you, some of the weight behind his eyes had eased.

“You ever steal from me again,” he said, voice dry, “I’ll tie your damn hands together.”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself. “Fair enough.”

Arthur shifted his weight, the fire casting gold across the planes of his face, softening the hardness in his jaw. He seemed to be wrestling with something, the way his thumb absently brushed the edge of the pocket where the watch now rested. You watched the movement, strangely comforted by it, though the silence between you had grown thick.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes still on the flames. “So…” he said, voice low, “what now? You got a plan?”

The question hit harder than you expected. You blinked, staring at the fire like it might conjure something useful—anything. But all that came was the truth.

“I don’t know,” you said quietly. “I didn’t really think I’d get this far.”

Arthur glanced at you, head tilted slightly, brow furrowed in something like sympathy—but not quite. Not pity, either. Just understanding.

“That bounty’s not gonna disappear on its own,” he said, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “Sooner or later, they’ll come lookin’ again.”

You huffed a breath, tired and bitter. “You think I don’t know that? Hell, I’ve spent the last three years running like my life depended on it. Because it did.”

He nodded slowly. “I get it. I do. But running ain’t living.”

You shot him a look, tired but sharp. “You ever try paying off a thousand-dollar bounty with a pocket full of nothing?”

Arthur didn’t smile, didn’t scold. He just said, “I’ve seen worse debts settled. There’s ways. You lie low. Work slow. Save what you can. There’s a fella up near Valentine… keeps quiet. You got the money, he’ll wipe your name clean from the boards.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh, folding your arms. “You really think I could walk into a post office and hand over a thousand dollars like I’m buying a train ticket? I wouldn’t even know where to start. I don’t belong in that kind of life.”

Arthur didn’t answer right away. He reached over and picked up a small twig, tossing it into the fire. Sparks hissed and danced upward, vanishing into the black sky above. Then, finally, he said, “Then maybe you start with someplace to rest. Someplace where nobody’s lookin’ to string you up.”

You looked at him sharply. “What are you saying?”

“I’m sayin’ you come back with me,” he said, simply. “To camp.”

You stared, lips parting slightly. “You want me to go with you?”

Arthur shrugged, eyes meeting yours under the brim of his hat. “We got people there… folks like you. Like me. People who ain’t got nowhere else to go. Misfits. Outlaws. Folks the world don’t much care for.”

“And they’ll be fine with me? A wanted thief?”

“They’ll be fine with what I say,” he said, a flicker of steel in his voice. “And I say you’re with me.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. The idea of belonging somewhere—even temporarily—felt foreign, dangerous. You’d trusted before. It had gotten you scars.

“Why would you do that?” you asked. “Why risk it?”

Arthur looked down, pulling the watch out again. He turned it over once in his hand, the firelight kissing its worn gold surface. “Because someone once told me to look out for people. My mama. She believed in kindness… even when it didn’t make sense. Said if you can offer it, you should.”

You felt something shift in your chest. A tightness you hadn’t noticed before, loosening.

“I gave the watch back,” you said, softly. “That doesn’t mean I’m good.”

Arthur looked up at you then, gaze unwavering. “No. But it means there’s somethin’ good still left in you.”

Your breath caught, and you had to look away, afraid of how much his words touched a part of you that had been buried for too long. The part that still wanted to be worth something. The part that was tired of running.

After a moment, you spoke, barely above a whisper. “Alright.”

Arthur blinked. “Alright?”

“I’ll go with you,” you said, louder now. “To your camp.”

A slow nod from him. “We’ll leave at first light. Ride out steady. Shouldn’t take more than a day.”

You settled back against the blanket he’d laid out for you, the warmth of the fire slowly seeping into your bones. You could hear the soft creak of leather as Arthur stood and moved to check his saddle, always watchful, always aware. But now, strangely, you didn’t mind the silence. It wasn’t hollow anymore.

You glanced at him, silhouetted against the glow of the fire. Something had changed. Not everything. Not yet. But enough.

The fire burned low by the time you both fell quiet again. The night stretched out around the clearing, blanketed in a hush that was almost peaceful. You lay back against your bedroll, arms crossed loosely over your chest, the stars wheeling slowly overhead.

Arthur was only a few feet away, leaned back against a fallen log, hat tilted low but not quite asleep. He was still keeping watch, out of habit more than necessity. You wondered if he ever really slept.

Sometime after you heard his breath even out, slow and steady, you stirred. Quietly, careful not to wake him, you sat up. The night air was cool, brushing against your face like a whisper. The fire cracked softly, casting long shadows against the trees.

You weren’t trying to pry.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But your eyes drifted to his satchel, slouched beside his bedroll. The flap hung slightly open. Inside, the edges of a worn leather notebook peeked out—well-used, softened at the corners, the spine nearly breaking from how often it had been opened.

You hesitated.

Then, before you could second-guess it, your fingers slipped inside and pulled it free.

Your eyes darted to Arthur. He hadn’t stirred.

You opened the book slowly.

Pages full of writing met you, observations, thoughts, pieces of a mind far more contemplative than you’d imagined. His penmanship was rough but steady. Sometimes angry, sometimes careful. But it was the drawings that made your breath catch.

Landscapes. Campfires. Horses in motion. A man you recognized as Dutch. A child you didn’t.

You turned the pages gently, your eyes catching on a sketch unlike the others. The lines were softer here, less hurried. The charcoal strokes delicate but deliberate, capturing a fleeting moment with surprising clarity.

There you were.

Leaning against a weathered wooden pole at the edge of a bustling market street. The fabric of your coat folded naturally around your shoulders; the hood pushed back just enough to reveal a few loose strands of hair falling over your forehead. Your posture was casual but guarded, one knee bent, foot resting lightly against the pole’s base, arms crossed loosely as if bracing against the cool air or perhaps the weight of your own thoughts.

Your gaze was cast sideways, eyes narrowed just a fraction, watching something—or someone—beyond the edge of the paper’s frame. The tension in your jaw was subtle, a quiet challenge in your stance. Not quite defiance, but the careful distance of someone used to being overlooked yet unwilling to be caught completely unaware.

Around you, the market swirled in faint outlines: bustling figures with baskets, stalls heavy with produce, blurred shapes of horses and wagons. But your figure stood still, a stark contrast to the life rushing past. The artist’s hand had paused here, capturing not just your form but the quiet intensity in that moment, the unspoken story behind your watchful eyes.

It was a glimpse of you before everything happened, before the theft, before the chase. A moment frozen between uncertainty and something almost like hope.

The drawing held more than just your likeness. It held the first spark of connection. Arthur had seen and somehow kept.

You closed the notebook slowly, heart heavier than before. He had noticed you long before you ever dared to look at him.

In that small, quiet way of his, Arthur Morgan had been thinking of you, too. Even when you were gone. Even when he thought you might’ve betrayed him.

You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, closed your eyes, and let sleep finally come warmer than it should have been. Not from the fire. But from something else entirely.

The first light of dawn filtered through the wooden slats of the barn, casting long shadows across the dusty floor. Outside, the world was just beginning to stir, the distant calls of roosters, the soft rustle of wind through the trees. Inside, the quiet was filled with the rustle of leather and the soft clink of metal as you and Arthur packed your few belongings.

You folded your coat carefully, tucking the now-returned watch safely inside your bag. Arthur was busy saddling his horse, his movements steady and sure, but every now and then he glanced your way, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You caught his eye and, with a mischievous grin, called out, “Cowboy.”

He looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged, voice light but teasing. “I don’t know… just feels right.”

Arthur smirked, tightening the straps on his saddle. “Well then,” he said, turning fully toward you, “guess I better come up with a name for you too.”

You arched a brow. “Oh yeah? And what’s that gonna be?”

He stepped closer, eyes gleaming with that familiar mix of amusement and something softer, almost like affection. “Thief.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that spread across your face. “Thief, huh?”

“That’s right. Fits you,” he said with a wink.

And just like that, the nickname stuck, an odd, imperfect bond between two people caught somewhere between past mistakes and a new beginning.

Together, you swung up onto the horse, ready to leave the town behind and head toward the uncertain promise of the camp, and whatever came next.

#attenzione pickpocket #arthur morgan #read dead redemption 2 #rdr2 imagine #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan drabble #rdr2 #arthur my beloved #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut

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lm-tomatito · 9 months ago

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Espilver week day 1: Invisible

Satbk au (Espio is a dragon and a poet)

Big thanks to @seaweedraindraws for this au idea✨

Sir Lancelot sends his son, Galahad, to take down his first dragon, but the silvery knight wants to save this mysterious creature instead. He decides to go and warn them, which becomes a difficult task with how hard it is to find their cave. Fortunately, someone seems to be guiding him along the way. But who..?

All that was surrounding the youngest knight of the roundtable was nature. Tall trees and bushes painting the place with different shades of green and brown, some of their fallen leaves and the yellowish grass beneath him making a crunchy noise when his heavy boots stepped on them, birds chirping in the distance with the company of some bugs and the calming rustling of the wind against anything it touched… A beautiful scenery Galahad would've happily enjoyed if he wasn't in his current situation, holding the map with notes scribbled to the side his father gave him early in the morning.

“The day has come. You must finish your training today.” Sir Lancelot had said to him, a serious voice as usual tinged with a bit of eagerness only him and King Arthur were able to notice with ease. He knew his father was expecting him to accomplish his mission, he knew he could. He was correct, yes, the young knight had trained with him for a long time now.

But… Slaying a dragon? Lancelot was known for being the best at it, protecting the king and the people from them all the time. He had told him how dangerous dragons were since he was found as a small child.

And yet, he couldn't help but question why they had to do it. Surely there were nice dragons? What exactly made them so different from themselves? Was it just their large size and them being able to breathe fire?

Galahad sighed with a mix of worry and frustration. He knew his decision to warn and hopefully befriend this creature would disappoint his father, make him go mad even. He let out a soft little laugh. Lancelot could be very intimidating, he had experienced that, but just thinking about him showing a strong emotion like anger was still amusing to the light furred hedgehog.

His anxious expression rushed back to his face once that image was over. He wasn't even sure if he would be successful in his own mission. Because with the now tranquil ambience around him, a sign that the birds once lively chatting were now sleeping, and the orange and purple hues adorning the sky made him realize just how much time simply finding the cave the creature was seen at had been wasted. The sun slowly taking cover behind the mountains made things worse since, without the sunlight, reading his father's handwriting would be almost impossible, and he'd be forced to find a a place to rest.

He definitely didn't want to be vulnerable though. Not with the feeling of someone watching him.

The uneasy feeling of someone or something just staring at him had been present for a while now, a part of his mind focusing on finding where it came from while the rest of him was discussing his decision and how annoying the whole situation was being. But the knight couldn't find anything, not even with his full attention on it now. His frustration almost made him just shout to whatever was watching him when he noticed something on the ground.

A single red rose.

The hedgehog had almost stepped on it by accident. He kneeled down taking it in his hand, inspecting it with intrigue, alert in case it might be a trap. There was nothing though, it was just an innocent beautiful flower. As pretty as it was, it still unnerved him a bit. Why was this here? There weren't rose bushes, or a flower seller passing by, not even a rebellious young girl making rose arrangements at such late hours.

Nothing but an almost unnoticeable trail of rose petals. They were scattered in a way others would simply ignore it and not think of it as a path to follow. But he knew what it was, and quickly considered if he should follow it or not. Clearly someone was trying to get him to go this specific direction, but why? And who?

Without realizing it, he just started walking through the adorned ground, avoiding the delicate petals. For some reason, just thinking about accidentally stepping on them made him feel bad. If this was a trap or not, he didn't know, curiosity had already won in any case, and he didn't want to seem like an easily afraid or insecure knight to whoever was watching him.

After a while, he dropped his guard for a bit when he found himself in front of the cave he was supposedly trying to find. Did… Did someone guide him? Or was this actually a trap? He'd definitely think of the latter if the cave was dark, big, and intimidating. But that wasn't the case. Instead, the cave looked… Calm and inviting, like someone lived here. There was no sound, yet it felt lively, with nice plants adorning the outside next to what seemed like miniature trees. And there was the slight recognizable smell of tea.

Strange. Maybe he was mistaken? Why was he guided to someone's home?

“You have arrived at last.”

The young knight didn't want to admit how he almost let out an exclamation of surprise. He was hardly scared like that, him getting used to his father's teachings and the king's pranks, but the bizarre circumstances made him lower his guard.

Quickly composing himself, he looked behind him where he heard the hush and somewhat elegant voice. Looking at the other's attire only made him return to his confused state.

A poet. Here? Was he the one living in this place? He seemed so serene and proper, definitely because of the way he stood, relaxed but elegant, his bright colored scales contrasted with dark hued clothes and a long cape adorned with gold, expected from someone used to moving people with rhymes, agile words and songs. Why was he..?

A small cough brought him back from his thoughts. As calm as the other appeared to be, he could notice the reddish color in his cheeks and scales, realizing he had been admiring the poet for a while, which made the knight feel embarrassed too.

“I assume you are in search of the dragon. I apologize for the confusion. It's probable you thought of this as a trap.”

“It isn't?” The hedgehog asked bluntly and with a tinge of innocence. This surprised his current companion. Galahad secretly reprimanded himself and hoped the other didn't think of him as an inexperienced adventurer. The slight smile he gave to him made him feel calm again almost instantly.

“I assure you it is not. I simply wished for you to not get lost following the wrong path.” Seeing the puzzled face on the youngest one, the poet spoke again “The path you were following. I purposefully mislead others from finding me. Letting my home be known by everyone would be quite troublesome. You do not seem to have any intentions to cause harm, so I decided to aid you in your search. Would you perhaps be interested in enjoying some tea?”

With how amicable and peaceful the ambience felt around the poet, Galahad just nodded and followed the other inside. Just as he was about to enter the… House, he supposed he should refer to the place instead of calling it a cave, he understood the words the other had said before.

“Purposefully mislead… Your home… Are you..?” He stood in surprise, a rush of embarrassment invading him almost instantly. The poet simply smiled with amusement, a special glint in his yellow eyes. This knight was very endearing.

#espilver week 2024 #espilver week #sonic fanart #sonic au #satbk au #satbk sir galahad #silver the hedgehog #espio the chameleon #espilver #silvespio

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missust3l3vision · 2 months ago

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Orange Sunglasses - Arthur Frederick fluff

Description: Arthur is allowed the very rare chance to wear your sunglasses, too bad he's as forgetful as the day he was born.

Arthur pouted dramatically as I spoke. He was already eyeing my favourite pair. Rather than offering them you crossed your arms.

"I swear to god if you steal my sunglasses again I will kill you"

"Baby pleaseeee" he begged "I don't have any to wear" which was true. Only due to the fact he lost all his pairs.

"Look, you can borrow a different pair, and only for the day. I don't want to be late to the beach. You know what Chris can be like" Arthur let out a laugh before grabbing a particularly ugly pair of glasses, earning an eyebrow raise from you.

They had thick orange rims and low quality shades. Did they go with any outfits? Not even a little. But they were a go to pair, they you packed everytime.

Finally at the beach the group were all there, Chris filming some video that you weren't apart of. Rather you sat off to the side either tanning or going into the ocean. When they finally wrapped up Arthur immediately joined you.

"Ughh its almost dark!! I thought it would’ve been a shorter shoot" he complained as he slid the sunglasses off his hair to his eyes.

You simply stood up in the water, the waves reaching your waist. It was not a surprise to you, his filming always took longer than he expected.

"Its okay, you have the day off tomorrow right? We can come back" Arthur smiled wide before giving you a tight hug, your wet bikini top soaking his shirt

"Ack! Now my shirts wettt" he cried out, gaining laughs from his friends who were only a few feet away. All of them in just their swim trunks. Letting go of you he ran to the shore, taking off his shirt.

"Hey Y/n can I ask you something?" George asked standing only a few feet away. Once you had nodded he went on to ask "Is there any reason Arthur's wearing those glasses?"

Turning pink you explain, the boys all getting a kick out of their forgetful friend. Once Arthur returned them all taking turns teasing him. Arthur took it in stride, struggling to walk in the water he trudged to you.

"You're all just jealous my girlfriend shares her most precious accessories with me" earning groans as he kisses your cheek. The glasses nudging against your cheekbone.

"Nah mate I'm jealous that you can pull them off so well" Chris says teasingly.

"Don't worry Chrissy, I'm sure they make sunglasses in your size" you say earning gasps from the group before the others piling onto short jokes.

Arthur's hand slid down your arm and squeezed your hand. A silent thank as it directed attention off of him. He was never one to shy away from pda, rather he hated putting you on the spot.

Squeezing back his smile was small but earnest. The group spent another hour on the beach before packing up and leaving to go back to their hotels. Y/n and Arthur being the last on the beach, as they walk along the shoreline.

The sun was setting beautifully and the two walked with light conversation being a background noise to the crashing of waves.

Turning to face Arthur he took your hands in his and brought them to his lips to kiss. You could feel yourself melting before noticing something.

"Arthur" Your tone snapped him out of his daydreaming look "where are your sunglasses?"

Terror washed over him. His hands slapping to his hair where as he had dreaded, the glasses were missing. His mind raced trying to think of where he could have lost them. Maybe the water?

"Fuck" he said exasperated. Not only had he done exactly what you asked him not to do, he lost your glasses. "Can I buy you a different pair?"

"How about you buy me dinner instead" you said with a sigh, as much as you were disappointed he lost them, you knew in your heart it wasn't his fault.

"Deal...and I can sleep in the bed right?" Letting out a bark of a laugh you reached up, kissing his lips quickly. Him closing his eyes like he always did.

"Let's see how well you do at dinner and we will go from there"

#uk youtubers #arthur frederick #arthur fredrick #arthur tv #ukyt #arthurtv x reader #arthurtv #george clarkey #Chris Md #fluff #arthurtv fluff #original ☆#husband ☆

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novaursa · 3 months ago

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Arthur Dayne x reader

Where he manages to get away with baby Jon and make it to Dorne and live happily ever after with maybe Martell or a servant (works for house Dayne) reader(childhood sweethearts 🙏🏼)? 👀👀

What We Kept

- Summary: Arthur and you make a home in Dorne.

- Pairing: martell!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

The heat of Dorne wraps around you like a second skin, warm and dry, clinging to your limbs as you step barefoot across the sun-warmed tiles of the villa courtyard. A light wind stirs the orange blossoms, their perfume thick in the air, mingling with the salt carried inland from the sea. The villa is quiet at this hour, the kind of golden silence that comes in the lull of midday—when even the cicadas fall still, and the world exhales. Your fingers are stained with crushed figs from the breakfast you had with Jon on the terrace, his small hands sticky as he reached for another piece, laughter bright and unburdened in the way only a child’s can be. He does not know yet the weight he carries in his blood, nor the fire that gave him breath, nor the cold that hunts his name across the North.

“Nymeros,” Arthur calls softly, your chosen name in this second life. You turn toward him, and the sight of him still steals your breath—his hair longer now, sun-bleached and tied back in a leather cord, a short beard shadowing his jaw. He carries Jon on his hip, the boy’s arms thrown around his neck, head resting trustingly against his shoulder. “He fell asleep halfway through the story,” Arthur adds with a smile, and you know without asking that he had been telling him tales of knights and swords, of dragons and valor—stories without truths, only the bright glint of legend.

You reach for your son, your fingers brushing through the soft dark curls at his temple. Jon stirs slightly, murmurs something incoherent, then nestles closer to Arthur. Your heart swells at the sight. “He’ll be too old soon to be carried like this,” you say, keeping your voice quiet, though a smile plays on your lips.

Arthur chuckles and shifts Jon’s weight. “Then I shall teach him to ride. And fight. He has fire in him. He’ll not sit still long enough for lullabies soon.”

You nod, your gaze drifting toward the distant horizon, where the hills of Dorne roll toward the sea. “He’ll be strong,” you murmur. “But I want him to be happy. Safe. Free from what we left behind.”

The world believes you dead. Both of you. The Tower fell in blood, but not before you and Arthur slipped away under cover of shadow and smoke, with a babe swaddled in crimson and silver silk. The North mourned the Stark girl and the child she bore; the Kingsguard and the Martell princess lost to the madness of war. Even Ellia, your sister, had not known—she had already been lost to the flames of the sack, a memory that still haunts you in dreams. You cannot undo what was done, but here, in this quiet corner of Dorne, you’ve made a life out of the ashes.

You step inside the cool shade of the villa, Arthur beside you, Jon still asleep against him. The room smells of lavender and sandalwood, of old books and parchment. It is a peaceful home, filled with the laughter of your son, the brush of Arthur’s hand against yours, the sound of wind through silk curtains. You pour wine into a cup, hand it to Arthur, and watch him as he sinks into the cushions with a quiet sigh.

“I had a dream last night,” you say after a long moment. “Of the Tower. Of Lyanna. Her voice echoes sometimes. She said… ‘Promise me.’”

Arthur’s expression tightens, though he says nothing at first. He brushes his fingers through Jon’s curls, and his voice is quiet when he speaks. “We did what we could. We kept the promise. He’s alive, and he’s here. Loved. That is more than she ever had.”

You nod slowly. The guilt is a low, ever-present ache beneath your ribs, but you draw breath and force yourself forward, as you’ve done every day since that night. “Do you ever think about returning?” you ask. “To the world we left?”

Arthur looks at you, his violet eyes thoughtful. “And do what, my love? Face Ned Stark with his sister’s child in my arms? Reveal the truth and tear down everything that’s been built since? No. I have you. I have him. That is all I want.”

You look at him—at Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, now known as Arrion Sand, the wandering sellsword who vanished into the Dornish hills with a lover and a child. He has traded blade and glory for silence and peace. You reach across the table, taking his hand, tracing the calluses there. “You would’ve made a fine father to any child. But to him… to our son, you are everything.”

He lifts your hand to his lips and kisses it, reverent and slow. “And you,” he says, voice rough with feeling, “have made this broken world beautiful again.”

That night, Jon stirs restlessly in his sleep, and you rise to soothe him. He dreams of wolves and stars, of great white beasts with eyes like moonlight. You hum softly until his breathing evens, your hand resting on his back. You watch his little chest rise and fall, and you think of Lyanna again—wild, fierce Lyanna—and of Elia, your quiet sister, gentle and kind. Both gone. But their legacies burn in the child before you. Not a Targaryen. Not a Stark. Not a prince.

Just Jon.

Your son.

#asoiaf #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon #fire and blood #house martell #house dayne #got/asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf x you #arthur dayne #arthur x reader #arthur x you #arthur x y/n #x reader #reader insert

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bluecanvasshoe · 7 months ago

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Runaway

Part two of Arthur Morgan & teen!reader

Warnings: BIGGGGG Rdr2 spoilers, mentions of racism, after the gang gets split up, big time jump, no beta reader, i tried to be historically accurate!!!, descriptions of a panic attack

Summary: It's been a few years since the gang split up. You don't know anyones whereabouts, nor do you know if they're alive or not. But in your new, mundane life, you find a lead to your past. (PS: the most of the story is snippets of the gang splitting.)

AN: sorry this took so long.......... stuff is happening in my life and i found this in my drafts while looking for a distraction. i also didnt know if this was good or not, and idk if u guys would like the big change in the story but i hope u guys like this!!!

word count: 1.9k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

------

Beaver Hollow sucks. Everything sucks. Honestly, maybe this entire gang sucks.

Dutch sent you two out, acting as messengers for Eagle flies and his father. Neither of you agreed that what Dutch was doing would benefit their tribe, but Eagle Flies was determined. His courage, although strong, blinded him.

After you and Arthur had gone on that fishing trip not long ago, you’ve found yourself hanging around him more often; not that he minded. Naturally, you two started talking. You opened up about your past before the gang, and he told stories of his youth that hadn’t already been shared around the campfire.

However, this came with some downsides.

You and Arthur had an argument the other day. Well, you tried to have an argument, and Arthur listened.

You and Arthur went hunting this time. The sun was setting, and crickets emerged along with god-awful amounts of mosquitoes. After countless tries at Arthur’s bow and arrow you grew more and more frustrated. Turns out, it’s not as easy as pull and release. Because of the added factors of your now seemingly constant anger and the frustration of each failed attempt, you blew up at Arthur.

This included the usual, “people are worried; Dutch is insane; do something,” pleas coming from you, and Arthur’s “i know, kid; kid, I know; we’re trying our best; keep it down the camp’s gonna hear,” replies.

You went to bed that night fuming. ’We’re doing our best’? Come on! After all that’s happened, the best is far from the current situation of the gang. He’s just lying through his teeth, and for what?

You can take the truth.

The path below you two crunched as gravel dug deeper into the earth, your horses occasionally huffing as they walked along the trail. Tall, top-heavy trees were scattered amongst pine, birds chirping and singing on sturdy branches. Wildflowers that sprouted in vibrant shades of orange and purple were scattered along the sides of the path, mingling with short grass that wasn’t entirely green, yellowing as the year grew old.

Critters, mainly squirrels or chipmunks, ran across the beaten path. It gave both of you quite the scare as you rode along, not wishing to kill the poor creatures for no inherent reason. The air was chilly, but not cold. It wasn’t warm, but it was stuffy. From the ridge, you could see more trees separated by a shimmering lake in the distance, which was surrounded by… more trees.

“It’s been a weird few days,” Arthur spoke up, his voice gravelly, rough. He sounded hesitant and almost awkward, like he was trying to talk, but couldn’t find a good starter.

You cleared your throat, “Yeah. Do you… is Dutch… Does this sorta thing happen often?” you asked vaguely, glancing at Arthur in your peripheral vision.

“What do you mean?

“...This. Y’know the runnin’ east, and… people dyin’. It’s makin’ me worried, Arthur.”

Arthur fell into a short, thoughtful silence, disrupted by a harsh cough to the side. He cleared his throat and looked forward again, reaching ahead to pat his horse on the neck. “This ain’t happened before. Lots of folks are worried, but… We’ll do what we can, kid, just try to stay strong.” He replied, using the same excuse he’d use for every other person at camp.

You hesitated. The gang had been doing what they could. They had for a long time, but it only seemed to kill people. Dutch lead the gang with determination, mowing down anyone standing between him and his unachievable goals. These decisions, however, came with sacrifices. Sacrifices that stood behind him, praised his actions and followed his lead like a lamb, because they wouldn’t be able to do such a thing if it weren’t for him. Sacrifices that never stood in his way. Sacrifices that were lucky to have a grave, to be spoken of afterwards.

What if you became one of them?

“But Dutch, he- he made these choices, and… I don’t… he’s not right in the mind,” You reasoned in the nicest way possible, praying that the man beside you wouldn’t be ticked off by your remark. Judging by his opinions on the gang’s recent affairs, though, you don’t think he will.

Arthur, again, was silent. You took this as an opportunity to continue.

“I’m scared, Arthur. I’m really scared.” God, that’s not how you wanted to sound. Saying those words sounded like a plea, like you were a child. But what you said was partly how you felt, and maybe honesty was what was needed at the moment. Anxiousness and anger bubbled under your skin, the seeds of upcoming dread sprouting from when they were sown at the Blackwater robbery. “It- this ain’t normal. This is bad, Arthur, there must be somethin’ we can do.”

“I know, trust me, and I wish there was,” Arthur sighed, adjusting his gambler hat. “I’d be lyin’ if I said I weren’t scared, too. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. It ain’t fair to you; you’re just a kid.” He finished, neither agreeing or disagreeing with your previous statements. “But I’m… look, we’re all doin’ our best.”

Now, you know that’s true. You’re not stupid; but really? I mean, the gang had been on the run for months. So many people have died, and now Arthur’s saying that’s the best that they could do? Bullshit. Frustration simmered in your chest, like an urge that needed to be quelled. It itched and burned, your jaw tensing as he spoke.

“I know, but that’s- we wouldn’t be here if we were doin’ our best, I mean, God, come on, so many folks are dead, and it ain’t gettin’ better-” “Kid, please-” “and people are worried! People have died, Arthur, and Dutch won’t give up. Please, Arthur, just listen-” “I am listenin’, but-” “nothin’s getting better, people are scared, and- and what’s wrong with you? You ain’t been actin’ like you usually do, people are worried-” “That’s enough. We’ve already discussed this,” Arthur interrupted, his voice serious and hardened. It cut through the sound of birds chirping, the sound blurring into the background as your stomach practically dropped. Arthur never spoke to you in that way, meaning you likely crossed a line; with the tensions and questions coming from the members of the gang, it’s not surprising he was a little fed up.

You took a deep breath, glancing at him before looking forward once again. “I just- Arthur, we’re worried. We wanna know what’s wrong.”

The two of you fell into silence once more. This time, though, the sound of birds, leaves, or wind didn’t fill it.

“Kid, look, this isn’t your business. You shouldn’t be the one worried about this stuff, this ain’t what you should be spendin’ your time on.”

“Arthur, please-” “No, and I ain’t gonna say it again.”

So that was that.

In the back of your mind, something screamed that you had to do something, anything. But Dutch was so on edge, and after Micah did who knows what with the dog, Cain? You’re a little scared to step out of line.

But when Molly was shot by Ms. Grimshaw, you screamed at her. Then, when everyone chose sides, you went with Arthur.

Dutch stood at one side of the camp, shouting at Arthur with Micah by his side. With him stood Micah and Javier, though the latter was aiming his gun towards the hazy, darkening sky. You, despite the fact that the others told you to go, stood with Arthur, Sadie, John and Charles. Without a gun to aim at the others, you simply stayed to show who your loyalty lay with.

And then the men came.

The law.

You ran, and you ran hard. But horses were no match for a scrawny teenager's legs, and you didn’t get far before a lawman tackled you down.

At the moment, the only thing running through your head is that this has got to be a nightmare. No, this is a nightmare. Your vision almost seemed to darken, everything around you growing suffocatingly close. The lawman’s shouting drowned in the dark abyss of tree shadows and your cotton filled ears. Your heart beat out of your chest, and in the back of your mind, you knew that this was happening. That this isn’t a nightmare.

They dragged you away kicking and screaming, away to the shit filled streets and swampy air of Saint Denis. You could’ve sworn you’d seen John before you were taken away from the gang’s campgrounds.

Now, your life lay in the biassed hands of the law, and not a mentally ill middle aged man and the snake in his ear. You thought that you would’ve been sent to the gallows without another thought, but despite being an ‘outlaw’, you never truly committed crimes. At least, no one saw you commit your crimes. Therefore, the law deemed you a kidnapped child in need of a ‘civil’ way of life.

So, you were taken to what they called the “orphan trains”. An ominous thing that you were not thrilled for. They were trains that’d take orphaned kids from big cities to the lonely midwest, a place you were so unfortunately familiar with.

-----

It had been years.

Years of helping the woman you were supposed to find maternal collect eggs, of tilling crops, of scrubbing dishes with rowdy, annoying kids you were meant to call your siblings. Of birthdays past without the gang; and now, you were almost an adult.

But one day, your foster dad left his newspaper on the dining table, a mistake he would regret later. The newspaper said something that, after months of mundane and domestic boredom, piqued your interest.

Morning light streamed through the lacy curtains of the kitchen’s windows, the wood of the house creaking under the pressure of the wind.

Your foster dad, David, was reading the daily news, an ankle on his knee as he went about his morning routine while you were sitting at the dining table quietly. Your foster mother, Anne, was washing dishes from breakfast when one of the boys you’d been living with barged through the door of the house.

The woman startled, dropping a dish into the water. “Jeremy!” Anne scolded, looking at the boy.

“I think one of the horses is having a baby!” he shouted, two of the other kids following him and saying things along the lines of ‘hurry up, come on!’ at the man and woman. David shot up from his seat and Anne dropped what she was doing, telling you amongst the chaos to finish up the dishes as she left the house.

You stood from your seat, watching everyone rush out with slight annoyance. When the door shut, you pushed out your chair, the wood making a screeching sound as it slid across the hardwood floors. Standing up, you walked over the creaky wood to David’s newspaper that sat on the dining table.

It was full of boring deals and uninteresting stories, but one stuck out. It was about an underground fighting ring, which wouldn’t have caught your eye if it weren’t for the witness statements.

One in particular said some very distasteful things about a man of mixed race, but the summary was that he was Indigenous and African-American.

Indigenous and African-American.

You only know one man who is of those two ethnicities. Granted, you don’t know many people; but still, Indigenous, African American, and an outlaw? Come on.

The second after you read that passage, you made a plan. You’d leave at the dead of night, as soon as possible. Maybe it’s not solid, nor is it well thought through, but there’s no time for that. That night, you pack your things as light as possible.

And then, you finally start your journey back to Saint Denis.

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pinescent-and-gingerbread · 1 year ago

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Can I request a drabble where Arthur comforts a female reader who has a broken heart? The reader's ex-boyfriend cheated on her and left with another woman.

Here we go! I took the liberty to name Reader's ex Jim (pretty random name for that place and time so I thought it would fit alright.)

I hope you'll like it anon!!🙌

࣪ ˖✧ The World is living.

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Warnings/Tags: Mention of cheating, reader's ex is a loser (boo him), reader is in a pretty bad mental state but Arthur is here to save the day, cursing cause he's mad as hell someone hurt you. ✦ Words: 1,5k ✦ a/n: As Anon had requested a drabble I tried to keep this short! Takes place in Clement's Point because the lake is so good for that kind of work, reader is part of the gang. Clearly this drabble is a big hug to all my sis out there who have been poorly treated by their ex🫶🏻

You were sitting by the shore, just behind camp. Flat Iron Lake was always beautiful at that time, just before dawn. Frosty, pastel colors on the sky and the water surfaces, melting into a soft shade of pale lavender and teal blue. You could only hear the occasional chirping of birds, splashing of an adventurous fish jumping out of the water, and lonely howls of coyotes.

The World was living.

You couldn't understand how. How did the World was still turning while you were hurting that much? It should have stopped. It should have. This was the only option after what you had been through.

You felt tears watering your eyes again. You couldn't sleep, as often lately, so you just had decided to come and sit here in the sand to do something, anything else than just lying in your cot, alone in the cold night, alone in the cold silence, alone in the cold emptiness. Alone, so alone even though you were surrounded by people at camp; it didn't mattered. He was gone now, and everything felt tasteless without him, everything looked drearier, even the beautiful morning scenery under your eyes.

You were now crying hard. Damn it, you didn't even knew you still had water in your body for it. You had cried so many times in the past few days your eyes were permanently red, your cheeks scarred by two trails of dry tears; you felt like one of those oranges that people squeeze to get the juice, leaving behind only a corpse of fruit devoid of all substance.

You couldn't do it anymore, it hurt too much. You buried your face in your hands, sobbing once again, trying to let out the sorrow that was eating you up from inside like a noxious parasite since he had left you.

"Y/N? Is everythin' okay?"

You tilted your head up, a slight feeling of panic and shame crashing on you as you searched for your interlocutor.

It was Arthur. He was a few meters away from you, empty bucket in his hands. He probably was on his way to the lake to fill it, but had heard you crying. You weren't too surprised to see him this early, Arthur had never slept much, he was always up before you in normal time, already helping everyone around camp.

He looked at you in the eyes, waiting for an answer. He seemed genuinely concerned; you realized you hadn't seen him for a while since he had been on a difficult job for weeks, he probably should have came back during the night, but you were far too deep in your own dark thoughts to have noticed it. He was clearly clueless and surprised about your state, his arms hanging awkwardly by his sides, his blue work shirt's sleeves rolled up carelessly.

"N-no..." You only answered, trying to wipe what you could of the literal torrent of tears flooding out of your eyes, but it just wouldn't stop, you felt even more ashamed. You must have looked pitiful right now.

Arthur let go of the bucket, letting it fall on the ground without an ounce of care. He then slowly approached you, and sat down in the sand next to you, leaving a little space between your two bodies. He didn't look disturbed or annoyed, but almost as stoic as usual. Except for his eyes. His eyes were telling a hundred stories even if he didn't wanted it. Their azure color bright and deep, you almost recognized a hint of sadness in them, as if he was pained seeing you like this.

"What's happenin' to ya, miss?" He inquired, voice deep and maybe a bit more empathetic than usual. He wasn't extremely expressive in usual times, so yet you could feel just by his presence how he cared about your well-being.

"It's Jim... He... He slept with one of these pretty girls from the Parlour House and he left me for her..." Saying it was making it all even worse. It was making it all too real. You struggled to get those words out, your tone cracking up as if they were crushing your vocal cords.

More tears, your eyes shutting close in a pained expression, the ache in your heart physically hurting you, as if someone had opened your thoracic cage and was crushing it with his bare hands. In a way, that's exactly what he had done to you.

"Goddamn piece of shit..." Arthur mumbled before looking at you, his intense indigo stare fixated on your face. He felt genuinely sorry, and outraged for you. Who in the world could have to audacity to hurt such a sweet girl like you? He was starting to clench his fists, feeling his blood boiling, a silent kettle on a burning fire. After a few seconds of hearing you cry, he couldn't hold it anymore, empathy getting the better of his rage, and opened his arms to gently pull you against him.

His strong, wide body enveloped you, and you let him. You buried your face into his chest, not really thinking about it, your hands wrapping around his waist, and gripping tight on his shirt. Looking clingy or odd was your last concern, you were way too blinded by your pain. You started crying loudly, wanting to make everything go out of you, your pain, your sadness, Him, everything.

"Yeah, that's it girl, let it all go..." He encouraged you, in a calm and quiet whisper. One of his hands had found its place behind your head, gently caressing it, the other resting around your waist. He carried you, as you screamed your pain to the World, as you poured all these gnawing feelings outside of you.

"He's a damn fool, Y/N. You deserve way better than him, lemme tell ya." Arthur murmured to you, voice still deep and caring. You could also hear behind that a hint of genuine anger in his tone, as he truly was pissed at Jim for having harmed you like this. "And you're gonna be okay, alright sweetheart?"

You slightly nodded into his chest, barely able to answer something properly. His scent and warmth were enfolding you, and you felt like you were somewhere else now, somewhere sunny. Somewhere pleasant. Somewhere better.

As the minutes went by, and his embrace didn't loosen, you slowly started to get out of your personal darkness, breath calming, thoughts clearing. You were taking in the fact that usually, Arthur wasn't frankly fond of hugs or other physical attention, and you felt thankful. He was doing this just for you.

"You're gonna be okay." He repeated like a silent vow. You felt like he was going to make sure of it. And for the first time in days, you honestly believed these words. You were going to be okay. It would take time, of course, but you just knew you would, as certain as the Sun was rising and setting every day.

You gently pulled back, both of you still holding each other in your arms, sitting on the sandy shore, but not as close, so you could look at this face. Your tears had soaked his shirt. You tried to apologize for it, but he quickly opposed it, telling you he had been covered in far worse than your tears. You smiled a bit, knowing he was right.

"Thank you so much for that Arthur..." You told him, genuinely feeling so grateful.

"Eh, I may be a cold-hearted killer, but I wouldn't have let a sweet lil' flower like ya cry..." He asserted, a slight grin on his face. You noticed how he looked a bit reassured himself, less worried. Maybe, just like his affection towards the other members of the gang, Arthur actually cared much more about you than what he was letting everyone see.

He carefully wiped the last tear from your cheek, thumb feeling rough but gentle against your skin, before getting up, his hands leaving your body but not going too far away as he proposed one of them for you to take and help you get up. You gladly took it, enjoying the warm contact of your fingers on his skin.

"I just feel like... I'm not enough..." You concluded with a pained tone, your eyes looking down at your feet. The fact that on top of having broken up with you, Jim had left you for another woman, was absolutely destroying you, making you feel like you were worthless. It was also this feeling that was so hard to handle; so hard to live with.

"Listen t'me." Arthur told you a bit more firmly, his eyes searching for yours. He knew how you felt, he felt bad about himself every day of his life. He didn't wanted you to feel like this in any way, ever. "Don't let this bastard make ya feel shitty. You're a beautiful, sweet, kind young woman, that is the truth." He asserted, his hands squeezing yours in a comforting gesture before letting go of them.

"Thank you, Arthur..." You said once more, feeling like you were repeating yourself, but he didn't seem to mind. He was walking back to where he had left the bucket, grabbing it to finish his chore.

"Ah, no worry, miss." He said to you with a smile, now feeling better as you felt less depressed. "Let me tell ya, this piece of shit better be far by now, 'cause I'm goin' to beat the Hell out of him if I ever see him again." He added, still smiling, but you knew he was being dead serious, and he was way more than capable of it. You almost chuckled, thanking him for the third time and telling him you wouldn't mind if he did.

He noticed the little grin that had curled up your lips. He loved it. His days at Clement's point weren't the same without your bright smile and your pleasant presence.

The Sun had completely risen now, the camp slowly emerging from its slumber. The first drowsy voices of your companion softly filling the air, yawning, saying greetings, some already teasing, merging with the sound of nature around you.

The World was living.

And now, so you were.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #pinefic #arthur morgan comfort

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notstardust · 14 days ago

Text

✶WITH ARMS WIDE OPEN || Charles Leclerc

Chapter 1: Retour

warnings: Mentions of alcohol abuse. Post-breakup depression

word count: 2.6k

📆January 10, 2022 🌍Milan, Italy.

"Hands up, baby, hands up Gimme your heart, gimme, gimme your heart Gimme, gimme..." The baby laughed heartily at the show her mother was putting on for her; she was sitting in her high chair with a plate of fruit that she hadn't finished eating yet. Amélie was moving around, holding a wooden spoon in her hands that she used as a microphone while singing along to the music.

As a singer, she was terrible, but the little show seemed to entertain her daughter immensely, and she didn't plan on stopping anytime soon, at least until the food was ready and she could give her full attention.

"I don't know if you're laughing with me or at me, mon petite soleil," she said, approaching her and gently tapping her little nose with her finger, causing the child to smile widely.

Amélie sighed at the sight of dimples appearing on the child's face.

Eliane was identical to her father, like a smaller, female version of Charles; she had very light brown hair, almost blonde, her eyes were green, and she had also inherited that mole under her eye that Amélie liked so much. However, when Eliane smiled and those two dimples formed on her cheeks, she was the spitting image of her father.

Almost as if the girl was reading her thoughts, she started talking to her. Eliane was a very talkative girl, and at two years and five months old, it was impressive how many words she knew and how one could hold a conversation with her.

"Mom," she said, taking a piece of fruit and putting it in her mouth, "Where dad?"

It was a question she asked frequently, and Amélie didn't lie to her. She would usually search the internet for any information about Charles and tell Eliane his latest location, but she had never told her who he was or shown her a picture.

"I don't know right now, sweetheart," she replied while continuing to cook. "He must be working."

"Cars?"

"Yes, sweetheart, with the cars," Amélie chuckled and went back to her cooking.

"Where ThurThur?"

"Uncle Arthur is..."

The sound of the phone interrupted her, and she practically ran to answer it. She lowered the volume of the music and then hurried back to the kitchen. "Hello?"

"Hello, sweetheart!"

The voice of her mother made her smile widely. Eliane noticed this and looked at her with curiosity as she spoke. They talked for a few minutes; her mother asked how Eliane was and many other things, but she knew that something wasn't right. There was something in her mother's voice that let her know.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

"Amélie... Your grandmother has been a little ill. Nothing too serious, don't be alarmed, but it would be good for her to see you. You two have always been close."

Of course, it hurt her a lot that she hardly ever saw her family. Usually, they would always travel to Italy to visit her, but she hadn't been to Monaco since the day she decided to leave. Only her mother knew the reason behind her decisions, and although she didn't entirely agree with it, she ended up supporting her.

"She could finally meet Eliane..."

She was afraid to face everything she had left behind. She was afraid that everything she had tried to hide for so long would simply be uncovered in a matter of weeks. But she also longed to go back home and relax in the shade of the orange tree in her backyard and taste some of her mother's homemade food.

Moreover, in her two years of life, Eliane hadn't left Milan. She was used to living among buildings, runways and the fabrics in her mother's workshop. In the past six months, the little girl had fallen sick three times, and Amélie had already thought that perhaps a change of scenery could do her good, but she hadn't planned anything yet.

"Does Eliane have to come?" she asked, biting her nails.

"I would love for you to bring her; she would surely love it here."

"I will go, alright? As for Eliane, I'll think about it. It's difficult."

"I understand, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry, girl, I can't," Olivia said with regret. "I'll be away during those days."

Apart from Olivia, she had a couple more friends in Milan, but she wouldn't leave Eliane with anyone other than her, and if that wasn't possible, there weren't many other options.

"Then I won't be able to go," she said, thinking it over, and Olivia looked at her. "Taking her with me is too risky. Just look at her, she's the spitting image of Charles."

"She also looks like you," Olivia murmured, shrugging. "Besides, he'll be busy doing manly things like driving in circles."

Amélie chuckled and shook her head, taking a sip of coffee as her gaze drifted to a fixed point outside the window.

"Why don't you come up with an escape plan?" the blonde looked at her best friend, confusion painted on her face. "Let's assume Charles won't be in Monaco because he has things that will keep him away”

"Sure..."

"But if he happens to be there, you can come up with an emergency plan. Have a father figure for Eliane and a convincing story to keep him at bay with questions."

"A father?" she asked, making a face. "Where am I going to find that? The only heterosexual man I'm friends with is Arthur, and that would be too cruel."

"That's not true. You know many drivers, one of them must be your friend," Olivia said, sinking into her seat and holding her coffee cup in her hands.

"Let's see... Pierre is Charles' best friend, I highly doubt Max would be up for this kind of thing, George is too English, and..."

She fell silent for a moment, and Olivia could interpret that silence. She leaned forward, clearly interested in her friend's expression.

"What are you thinking? Who? Who will be the fake father of your daughter?"

"Pleaseeee," she pleaded, leaning on the kitchen counter. "I dare say you're more of my friend than Charles'."

"Why would you say that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, you come here quite often, Eliane calls you 'Estie,' and you're listed as an emergency contact at her daycare."

"First of all, I really like your pasta, that's why I come. Secondly, everyone calls me that, and third... I love Eli."

"And you haven't told anything to Charles," she added, looking at him curiously. "Admit that you're a better friend of mine than of Charles'."

The Frenchman pondered for a moment, realizing the truth in her words. Over time, the friendship he had once shared with Leclerc had weakened. They still got along, but it wasn't the same as it used to be in their childhood. On the other hand, Esteban and Amélie had quite a few mutual friends and had spent time together during their adolescence and now adulthood. In fact, they had met in Italy just a few months after Amélie had left Monaco, and it didn't take long for Ocon to put the pieces together and deduce that the blonde's unborn baby was Charles' child.

He didn't say anything, of course, because it wasn't something he had to disclose. Besides, Amélie seemed desperate when she begged him not to say anything, and he concluded that something had happened.

"Do you think he'll buy the story?" he asked seriously, then picked up Eliane, holding her and placing their faces close together. "Amélie, look at us, we don't look alike at all."

"We can say she looks like me," she shrugged. "Besides, it's only in case we run into him, which I highly doubt will happen, and I'll try to spend as little time as possible in Monaco."

Esteban thought about it for a couple of seconds, then sighed and shook his head. He looked at Eliane, and the little girl smiled at him charmingly.

"Fine, I'll do it," he resigned, causing Amélie to squeal and rush to hug him. "But I can't be in Monaco all the time. Still, I'll let you use my incredible name for your facade, and if you need me to come, then I'll come."

"Thank you, Esteban, thank you," she said, planting a kiss on the Frenchman's cheek.

He woke up with a terrible headache, the result of the past ten hours of drinking. He looked beside him, hoping there wouldn't be anyone next to him, and let out a sigh of relief when he confirmed he was alone.

The relief turned into a pang of pain in his heart when he realized he still respected Amélie's place even though three years had passed since she had left.

Every year, he returned to the apartment they once shared when Charles was in Monaco. He had left it untouched when she left, choosing to move to another place rather than making changes to the space where he had been truly happy. She had left a few dresses, a couple of perfume bottles, and a few bracelets that Charles had never taken off since then.

He knew it wasn't healthy and that it didn't do him any good, but he didn't care. He enjoyed reminiscing about Amélie.

Of course, he had the company of other women, but none made him feel as fulfilled as Amélie did. That's why he had a reputation for jumping from relationship to relationship; none lasted much longer than a few months, and they all ended for the same two reasons: The girls grew tired of trying to please Charles completely, or he grew tired of not finding anyone even remotely similar.

Amélie had completely removed herself from his life, blocking him on every single social media platform. Charles hadn't attempted to search for her with a private account because he didn't want to know if she had found someone else—it would break his heart.

He stumbled out of bed and, despite wanting to avoid it, headed straight to the bathroom to throw up what was left in his stomach. He rinsed his mouth and then made his way to the living room.

He turned on the sound system and began searching for a song on his cell phone, completely ignoring the hundreds of messages from Pierre, Arthur, Max, and Carlos. He knew his friends were always concerned about him, but he needed that time alone. He didn't like everyone telling him to move on, that he would find someone better, to him, all of that was pure bullshit. Charles knew he would never find anyone better.

"Hands up, baby, hands up Gimme your heart, gimme, gimme your heart Gimme, gimme..."

The song made him smile widely, as if it transported him back in time to the night he and Amélie had first said "I love you" to each other. He could still remember her singing it at the top of her lungs, dancing with a huge smile on her face and cheeks flushed from the two beers she had drunk.

He played the song a couple more times while sitting on the balcony. Tears escaped from his eyes occasionally, and it terrified him. It terrified him because his crying was no longer as loud and desperate as it had been before, and he wondered if he had run out of tears or if his love for Amélie was fading away.

He shook his head at that thought; his love for her would never fade, he was sure of it.

"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!" The pounding on the apartment door made him jump. "I'M GONNA KNOCK IT DOWN, CHARLES!"

That was Max's voice. The Monegasque furrowed his brow and hurried to open the door. He knew Max was capable of breaking it down if he wanted to, and Charles definitely didn't want that, so he quickly opened the door.

The Red Bull driver entered as if it were his own home, disapprovingly looking at Charles' state.

"What are you doing here?" Charles asked, still slurring his words.

"I came to make sure you're still in one piece, idiot," Max glanced around, noticing the multiple bottles scattered around, and made a disgusted face. "Did you really drink all of this?"

"Pierre told you to come?"

A sarcastic laugh escaped his lips as he grabbed a couple of bottles, tossing them into a black bag that was on the coffee table in the living room. Surely Charles had bought it to clean up his mess.

"No one told me to do anything" Max said confidently. "I decided to come because everyone is worried about you."

As Verstappen spoke, he continued to throw away anything that looked like trash in that place. He even considered putting Charles in the bag because of how pitiful he looked.

"I don't need to hear another lecture about how I should get over Amélie and the damage I'm doing to myself by waiting for her."

"I'm not here to give you that," he shrugged.

"No?"

"No, Charles," he said, approaching him and grimacing at the smell of alcohol. "I know your friends want you to be well and stable, but I know that's impossible when you've lost the most precious thing to you, and I know hundreds of motivational talks won't do shit for you."

"Really?"

"Yes, so I brought you something better," he slumped into one of the armchairs and patted the seat next to him, waiting for Charles to sit beside him. "In this situation, Leclerc, you have two options: either you give up and accept that she will never come back, or you look for a window of opportunity and try to make her return."

"Are you here to shatter my illusions?"

"Totally the opposite, I came to give you what could be your window of opportunity," Charles looked at him intently, and Max took out his phone, typed something, and showed it to him.

It was Amélie's Instagram profile, and that made Charles's stomach churn. Knowing that it was real, the fact that she had moved on with her life sent a shiver down his spine.

"Max..."

He didn't say anything else and just tapped on Amélie's profile picture. A story unfolded immediately, and Charles's heart skipped a beat because he recognized the garden of Amélie's house perfectly. He had sat there thousands of times. He considered the possibility that it could be an old photo, but the caption "Back home" confirmed that she was in Monaco.

"Why are you showing me this, Max?" Charles asked.

"Because I'm not like Pierre or Carlos; if the love of my life came back, I would want someone to tell me," he shrugged. "Now, if you want her to consider paying attention to you again, you have to get out of this shitty episode."

"Do you think that will happen?" Charles wondered.

"I don't know, Charles, you're Schrödinger's damn cat right now," Max said, running his hands through his face in visible frustration. "So if you want to find out, take a shower, let's go for a good breakfast, and let's make you look your best in case you run into her."

Charles's heart started pounding at the mere thought of seeing her again. The idea of being close to her, of seeing her beautiful blue eyes once more, made him want to jump with excitement, and Max noticed it.

"This might be your last chance, Charles," Max added.

"Why are you doing this?" Charles asked.

"Because I'm tired of seeing your sad eyes. They make me feel awful every time a podium slips away from you. You've already lost too much, and I want to fight with you for the championship. I want to feel satisfaction in beating you, not pity."

Charles looked at him, furrowing his brow, and then burst into laughter while shaking his head gently.

"Thank you, Max."

#f1 fanfic #formula 1 #motorsports #original character #arthur leclerc #charles leclerc #max verstappen #secret baby

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wrensa-goblin · 3 months ago

Text

ok so I made John, Arthur, and Oscar bracelets

John is yellow bcs of his past. The moons represent the dreamlands and the stars are just there for aesthetic. Arthur’s was the second one I made. He has a muddy-ish kind of mossy green main bead. Once again we have the stars. Then we have some gears which is made to contrast John’s. Arthur’s gears represent his was of trying to methodically make sense of the world around him. I tested it and the gears don’t work together and that was importantly to the design. His purposeful approach to the worlds is represented by this. Near the end there are yellow beads. This is both for his eyes, the companionship of John, and how he carries pieces of John within himself. I am a firm believer that if you tore them apart, there would still be bits of the others mind just bcs of how much they’ve shared and learned from the other. Yeah.

Oscar’s is green bcs I had green left over. I believe that he is either this shade of green, orange, or burgundy aesthetic wise. The moons represent scratch. There are John’s and Arthur’s colors in there too. Mostly Arthur’s as Oscar doesn’t know about John but still saw some of the effects (talking to himself and other stuff). These are all symmetrical except Oscar’s on one of the areas where there is yellow, there is the singular shiny bead on the other side. This represents the loss John has caused him (and also bcs I just had a shiny bead but think of the symbolism)

I wanna make more next time I go to the store but I’m probably gonna go through these beads first (I have some leftover) (*looks over at my pile of beads that I decided were too pretty for me to wear*) (*puts that on list of things to mention in therapy*)

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #arthur lester #arthur lester malevolent #arthur malevolent #john doe malevolent #malevolent john #john doe #john malevolent #malevolent john doe #malevolent arthur #malevolent oscar #oscar malevolent #father oscar malevolent #bracelets #symbolism

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insomniac4000 · 7 months ago

Note

141-George Clarke

Your lipstick’s everywhere! George Clarke

Georges flat was usually chaotic with three content creators living together and a couple more being very frequent visitors, but tonight it was unusually quiet. Chris and Arthur were out filming, leaving George to relax in the kitchen with Aimee. She sat on the countertop, her laughter filling the space as George teased her about her inability to peel a clove of garlic without making a mess.

“I’m telling you, it’s an art form,” he said, waving the peeler like a wand.

“Oh, please,” Aimee replied, rolling her eyes. “Let’s not pretend you’re a culinary genius. Before I came along you were Deliveroo's best customer!”

George grinned. “I’m not pretending. I am a culinary genius.”

Their friendship had been the foundation of their relationship. For months, George and Aimee had danced around their feelings, but a few weeks ago, it had shifted. Aimee’s hand brushing his during a late-night movie session turned into a kiss, and from there, something undeniable had begun.

Now, in the soft glow of the kitchen lights, the air between them was thick with unspoken warmth.

“Alright,” George said, placing the orange slices in a bowl. “Masterpiece complete. You’re welcome.”

Aimee leaned forward, plucking a slice. “Thank you, oh great chef.”

Her playful sarcasm was cut short as George moved closer, standing between her knees. His hands rested on the counter on either side of her, and for a moment, neither spoke.

“You know,” George said softly, “we could just tell them.”

Aimee raised an eyebrow. “Chris and Arthur? You really think that’s a good idea?”

“They’re going to figure it out eventually,” George replied.

“True, but I’d rather not have them gloating about being right this early. Besides, I like having you as my little secret,” she teased, poking his chest.

George laughed. “Fair enough.”

He tilted his head upwards, and Aimee leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that quickly deepened. His hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer as the rest of the world melted away with her on the counter top still asserting dominance.

Neither of them heard the front door open.

Chris strolled into the flat, Arthur following behind, both mid-conversation with Arthur trying to convince Chris to do another TikTok to promote his new song.

“I just keep making a complete tit out of myself, what the—” Chris stopped abruptly in the kitchen doorway, his eyes widening. Arthur nearly bumped into him before looking over his shoulder.

“Oh, my God,” Arthur muttered, blinking at the scene before them.

George and Aimee sprang apart like teenagers caught sneaking out. Aimee’s cheeks flushed crimson, and George’s ears turned a matching shade.

“Uh, hey, guys,” George said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Chris raised an eyebrow, arms crossing. “Hey? Hey?” he repeated, his voice dripping with mock incredulity. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Aimee blurted.

“Oh, it’s not?” Arthur asked, smirking. “Because it looks like you two were very...friendly.”

“Guys, seriously,” George said, stepping forward in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

Chris tilted his head, studying George. Then, with a grin, he pointed. “Mate, your face.”

“What?” George asked, frowning.

Chris chuckled and pointed to Aimee. “Your lipstick is everywhere.”

George’s hand shot to his face, wiping at his cheeks, chin, and mouth. Aimee groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“Subtle,” Arthur quipped, leaning against the doorframe.

“Alright, fine!” George exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “We’ve been seeing each other. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Chris replied, his grin stretching wider. “I mean, this is amazing material.”

Aimee glared at him. “If you post anything about this online, I swear—”

“Relax,” Chris said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Your secret’s safe with us. For now.”

Arthur snickered. “But seriously, how long has this been going on?”

George sighed, sitting at the kitchen table. “A few weeks.”

“A few weeks?” Chris exclaimed. “And you didn’t tell us? We live together!”

“We wanted to keep it low-key,” Aimee explained. “No drama, no teasing.”

Chris feigned offense. “Tease? Us? Never.”

“Sure,” Aimee said dryly. “Because you’re known for being so mature.”

Arthur laughed. “She’s got you there, mate.”

George leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Alright, you’ve had your fun. Can we drop it now?”

Chris and Arthur exchanged looks before nodding—though their smirks suggested the teasing wasn’t over.

“So,” Chris began, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite George. “When’s the wedding?”

Aimee groaned. “I’m going home.”

“Don’t run away,” Arthur said, stepping aside to let her pass. “We’re just getting started!”

She shot him a mock glare before heading to the door. George stood, grabbing her jacket from the hook.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Chris and Arthur exchanged a look.

“Well,” Arthur said, “that was unexpected.”

Chris leaned back in his chair, a sly grin on his face. “Oh, it’s expected now. We’re never letting him live this down.”

Outside, George and Aimee lingered by her car.

“I told you this would happen,” Aimee said, laughing softly.

“Yeah, yeah,” George replied, smiling. “But it’s kind of a relief, isn’t it? No more sneaking around.”

She tilted her head. “True. But now we have to deal with their constant commentary.”

George shrugged. “We’ll survive.”

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

“And besides,” he added, “you’re worth it.”

Aimee smiled, resting her forehead against his. “You’re lucky I like you, Clarke.”

“Oh, I know,” he replied, grinning.

As they parted ways, George returned to the flat, bracing himself for whatever Chris and Arthur had planned.

But as he stepped back into the kitchen, he found them surprisingly quiet.

“Alright,” Chris said, gesturing for George to sit. “We’ve decided to take it easy on you.”

“Really?” George asked skeptically.

“Sure,” Arthur said. “For now.”

George sighed, slumping into his chair. “Thanks, I guess.”

#george clarke #george clarkey

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spinningwebsandtales · 1 year ago

Text

Vita Nova

Orm Marius X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Spoilers, mentions of death, crying, hurt/comfort, reader has some trauma, suggestive themes, angst, and fluff

Word Count: 4.2k

Fic Swap with @the-marshals-wife

(A/N:) Happy (belated) New Year everyone! And my first fic of 2024 and it turned out to be a whopper! My lovely best friend and I just adore the Aquaman movies and in light of the new movie that dropped around Christmas we decided to do a ficswap together! This bad boy is my contribution and you lucky readers get to read it! I hope I can make the other Orm fangirls happy with this as I honestly had way too much fun writing it as you can see! Over 4,000 words of just Orm goodness! I look forward of sharing more writings in this new year and I'm glad I could open up with this! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Reader's POV is in italics.

SPOILERS FOR AQUAMAN AND THE LOST KINGDOM BELOW

DO NOT CONTINUE AHEAD IF YOU HAVE YET TO SEE THE MOVIE!

Orm stood upon the beach, his toes buried in the warm sand as the setting sun painted his features in orange and pink hues. His heart longed for Atlantis once more as homesickness always reared it's ugly head when he was feeling alone. While tension still remained between him and his older brother, deep down he was grateful for Arthur, giving him a new chance at life. With Atlantis finally revealing themselves to the people of the land, he no longer had to be so secretive about himself, except when it came to Atlanteans. He had burned too many bridges that most likely would never have the chance to be rebuilt. He sighed deeply as the warm salty foam washed over his feet.

Orm turned, leaving his regrets and longing to drown in the crashing waves. While he could see why his brother loved the land dwelling humans, Orm normally avoided them as much as he could. Especially when it came to his time on the beach, he rather not be bothered. And despite the world knowing, he still swam in deserted parts of the beaches he visited. His favorite places were around the docks where the shade kept him cool and various sea creatures stuck around. The fish and small crabs made him feel a little less lonely and made everything feel more like home.

Orm's bare feet padded against the planks of the dock as he tugged his shirt over his head. The breeze rippled his blond locks and whispered promises of a good evening swim. His vision staying straight ahead, Orm was preparing to run and dive into the bright blue water when a yelp caused him to stumble and he fell to the dock. He almost slid off when a slender hand caught his wrist and kept him from rolling off and slamming into a boat.

"Are you okay?!"

A feminine voice had him blinking against the pain in his skull before he finally got his eyes to focus. Orm sat up quickly, backing away from the woman looking at him with genuine concern. It was an emotion Orm was unacquainted with.

"I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention," the woman blushed getting to her feet and brushing the front of her shirt and shorts off. A quick flash of annoyance had him glaring before Orm sucked in a deep breath and calmed the raging tide threatening to overtake him. She offered him a hand up and old him would have swatted it away with a snarl, but new him remembered his older brother and took her offered hand. She shuffled her feet before him awkwardly, refusing to look up in embarrassment. Though Orm was worried he was intimidating her, though he wasn't trying at the moment.

"Sorry again," she apologized once more only to break the silent tension between them.

"I wasn't paying attention," it was the most polite thing he could say. "Though I can't help but ask. Why were you laying across the dock?"

Her cheeks flushed bright crimson, a pretty red color, and now she really refused to look up at him, more interested in her bare feet. This in turn made Orm feel more awkward, like he had pushed across some threshold that he should have never even touched.

"You'll laugh," she mumbled. Her gaze quickly darting up towards him before once again looking away. When she noticed that he wasn't going to say anything else her shoulders sagged in defeat.

"I like watching the fish. They feel like they're my friends and they're so peaceful living their lives without a care in the world," she whispered. "I've also always dreamed about Atlantis and going there and now that it is truly real I can't help but long for it even more. Silly huh?"

Orm shook his head and smiled remembering his home fondly, "No it's not. I think it's a wonderful dream."

Though home always brought a smile to his face, in this moment of his life it brought a pang of sadness with it. One mistake had taken his chance of ever seeing that beautiful city ever again. And here he just met a mere human upon an empty dock longing for the same as him. Maybe he had more in common with the humans of this side of the world than he had first realized. She smiled and nodded, happy to have someone not laugh at her for a change. She walked away moments later leaving him to ponder upon the dock as the waves whispered softly against the sand. Then Orm dived in.

Usually Orm moved around a lot. If he liked a place more than others he'd normally stay for a few days. But for reasons he didn't want to know he had stayed in this particular spot for weeks. And it wasn't because the food was anything extraordinary nor was the beach one of the most beautiful he's seen. If he dug down deep inside he knew it was because of that one moment, where he had seen a glimpse of that beautiful humanity that Arthur was always talking about to him. So Orm did what every normal man would do, he kept his distance and watched her from afar. She visited the dock he had found her at nightly, just to talk to the fish and to watch the sun set behind the horizon of the ocean. She would hum tunes, almost stroking the water with her gentle hands. She would hide sometimes as people would come to the beach calling out a name he had never heard. What would shatter his heart more than anything was when she would come some nights crying. His heart would clench as her salty tears dropped into the ocean. He shook his head fighting the urge to go towards her. But she was different, she wanted to know his world, that she had no idea he was from. That he had once been a prince, let alone a king of that world but it didn't matter, not anymore. He was dead to that world and he had to find his place in this one.

It didn't take many times of him watching the lone girl sob on the dock before Orm concocted a plan. Atlantean technology to help humans make the trip undersea had yet to be brought to them. Except for the scuba gear the humans already had invented, but Orm wanted his plan to be perfect. So he would do something that would make his older brother proud and possibly bring an end to his life. To get what he needed he would have to venture back to the Sunken Citadel and hope that the pirates that still lived didn't kill him at first glance.

You didn't know what kept bringing you back to this particular beach, though you had a inkling that it was in false hope of finding that same blond haired man that you had tripped. He was a complete stranger and yet you found yourself hoping to see him once more. So every night you came, no matter how bad things got at home you escaped bringing yourself to this little place of serenity, hoping, waiting, that you would see him again. But every night became a disappointment, though you enjoyed seeing the fish. The sun quickly set seeping the warmth from the Earth but the ocean water still held those waning rays of warmth. The lights of the dock quickly blinked on illuminating the surrounding water so you could still watch the fish swim peacefully by. You hummed a quiet tune as the waves lapped against the barnacle crusted wooden posts. A shadow darted by causing you to suck in a quick breath. Sharks would sometimes come up or a curious dolphin but this creature was too fast to be one of them. Your heartbeat quickened but against your better judgement you stuck your hand back down along with your head, trying to find this mystery that had suddenly come upon you.

Orm had a difficult time in the Sunken Citadel and he had gotten into a few brawls, but he did get what he searched for. It had cost him, but if his well thought out plan worked as well as he hoped, it would all be worth it. He made his way back to the normal spot and he had timed his return just right. As his mystery woman he had begun to adore made her way out onto the normal dock. She was light on her feet and she greeted some of the boatmen, who were leaving, politely before going to her same spot Orm could always find her. She stuck a hand in the water tracing the patterns of the fish below as they swam close to the surface. She had a small content grin on her face as she enjoyed the creatures below the surface. Orm moved his arms slower, trying to keep from interrupting this moment as he was more than happy to watch her for a little while. She hummed a tune while tucking strands of untamable hair behind her ear, only for a breeze to send them back to fluttering. He sucked in a breath letting the peace of her presence wash over him. And then he went under the surface and swam close by and quickly. He heard her gasp and he grinned to himself. He could have a moments fun at her expense, especially with the gift he was bringing her. Despite not knowing what he was she braved the unknown and he had to admire that about her. She was proving his theory of humans being a cowardly race wrong every moment he watched her.

You searched timidly for any sign of the shadow you had seen. Your eyes darting across the eerily still waters. You were about to pull yourself back up onto the dock when an arm breached the water and grabbed onto your wrist. You screamed yanking yourself backwards and the person attached to the hand around you came up with your panicked movements.

Orm laughed loudly at your terrified face while he treaded the water. He had never been one to play tricks as he had been trained as a prince of Atlantis, but he found it quite fun. The woman he had yet to put a name to a face laid on her back panting, trying to regain some form of control.

"Why did you do that," she screeched once she finally found her breath.

"Think of it as payback for making me fall on my face the first time we met," Orm smirked as he lifted himself from the water easily.

She took in the fact quickly that his upper torso was bare and the form fitting pants only seemed tighter by the fact that they were dripping water everywhere. She looked away, pink coming to her cheeks.

"You come out here every night," Orm said after a few moments of awkward silence.

Her head whipped around and her eyes widened in surprise.

"How did you know that? I never see you around!" Those moments of wishing to see him again, hoping he'd be around, and he had been hidden from her the entire time.

"I was," Orm paused. He knew he couldn't just tell her that he had been watching her from afar. But he didn't want to lie. "I was swimming."

"Swimming?" Now she was suspicious of him. As she rightly should, though they had already met once he was still a stranger.

"I'm a decent swimmer." Understatement of the century Orm thought to himself.

"I can see that," she gestured towards him before darting her gaze away once more.

Orm chuckled. He liked that little of color that would pop up in her skin. He found it endearing and despite himself his heart began to pick up speed. He offered out a hand and she glanced at it warily.

"I'm Orm," he offered in greeting. "Orm Marius. I should have introduced myself that first day we met."

She laughed, taking his offered hand. "(Y/N). And I should have thought of it too. But I did almost make you faceplant into the water. Though it seems like it wouldn't have bothered you so bad if you had."

Orm shook her hand, reveling in how smaller it was compared to his. "Do you mean to tell me that you wish you had let me fallen into the water now? Instead of rescuing me?"

"Well after you just basically scared the daylights out of me, yes."

Orm pouted playfully, "And here I brought you a gift."

"A gift?!" Once again those beautiful colored eyes glowed in delight. It sent his heart a flutter and he could have sworn it skipped a beat. Is this what his mother had possibly felt when she looked upon the man that fathered Arthur?

"I think I am rather partial to it now," he teased. "Maybe I will just keep it for myself."

"You can't just say that you brought me a gift and then keep it for yourself. That's mean," she whined.

Orm couldn't keep stringing her along though he was finding it fun just to get a rise out of her. He brought the gift from behind his back and he wasn't expecting her to jump up and down. Her confusion was to be expected and he found himself grinning once more. She was so expressive, he found it endearing.

"Your dream of seeing Atlantis stuck out to me and their technology is above what your people have. I wanted to show you a part of that life even if it is just a small glimpse."

He was revealing himself. His heart was almost leaping out of his chest. He had kept his identity a secret, revealing nothing to the humans he had contact with. She would be the first and he didn't know what to do if she didn't accept. She placed her hands on the oxygen helmet, a question on her lips. But without a word he once more grabbed onto her wrist and lead her to the end of the dock. She wordlessly tugged the pirated good on her head and with no hesitation followed Orm into the water.

Orm dived down, keeping a good grasp on her hand, their fingers interlaced as he didn't want to hurt her by tugging on her joints by the speed he could swim at. The oxygen mask was working like a dream and despite the time of the evening the moon was doing a good job of lighting the sea life below the ocean. She gasped in awe at the sea creatures and plant life below. But mostly she gaped at him.

"You are," she hesitated saying the word.

Orm nodded. "I am."

You absolutely couldn't believe your eyes. A true Atlantean. It was everything that you could have ever dreamed of and as he kept you from floating away this moment was more than you could have ever dreamed of.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," Orm didn't want anything left unsaid. This was his chance. His chance to be himself and to stop being so alone in this world that he was learning more about every day. His time in Atlantis was done and now he was going to have to start anew. Maybe you were that new chance that he had been needing for a long time.

"It's okay," she answered. Her voice muffled in the helmet. Fish swam by coming near to Orm, pecking at his arm. He shooed them away gently causing her to laugh. "You don't have to explain yourself. We had just met that day and even at this moment we are still basically strangers. But I'm glad I met you Orm and your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you," he choked. Gratitude had been lost on him long ago but as he looked at this young woman, so genuine and beautiful in his eyes, that feeling was no longer a stranger. "Would you like to see more of my world?"

"Absolutely!" No hesitation and no fear. Orm kept her close, keeping her safe as he swam them further out into the sea.

Back on dry land you couldn't believe what your eyes had beheld. The world under was far beyond anything you could have ever imagined as Orm helped steady you. Spending that much time in the water had left your legs a little wobbly and you glared at Orm walking perfectly though he did have to take a moment to cough up water. You held out the helmet towards him but he shook his head pushing it back into your chest.

"Keep it," Orm insisted. "I want to take you out more now that you have it. There's so much more I wish to show and tell you. I hope that you don't mind."

She shook her head, stepping towards him. "I would like that so much."

Without a second thought she embraced him, squeezing Orm tightly before backing away, that familiar blush coming back to her cheeks. Reaching out Orm brushed a stray droplet of sea water off her cheek.

"Until tomorrow," he whispered and she nodded quickly.

Days had followed that moment before it had turned into weeks. Orm met with her daily, the helmet in tow every time as they explored together. She the underwater world he had grew up in and him emotions never before explored. Orm knew he couldn't take her far below the surface as he wished. He was trying his best to get a suit that would keep her from being crushed by the water pressure or freezing from the depths, but it would take some time. The helmet was easy to obtain, well easier than the suit. But she didn't complain nor did she beg him for more. Always content with their outings he began to realize that he looked forward to every second they spent together every day. It didn't take Orm long to figure out the emotions he was feeling and everything seemed to fall into place. She was beginning to swim closer to him as every day passed. Gentle touches and encounters that would leave her in awe and him trying to not overstep his bounds.

She swam closer keeping to his side as the day began to wan and like everything good in life their time together was ending that day. Orm always took his time bringing them both back to shore whenever it was time to head back in. She never seemed to be in a hurry herself and it had Orm wondering on things that he couldn't ask her when they first me. He wondered why she came by herself every day and those moments she had hid on the dock as several people had come searching, yelling her name. He wondered at the days that she had came crying as if she could no longer smile. And now that he had gotten to know her more it was something he could no longer keep himself from asking about.

Back on shore she removed the helmet and rung the sea water from her hair. Orm stayed near as he gathered up the courage to ask her. He was about to ask her about something she had yet to give up willingly and he didn't want to cause her to shut him out. He honestly didn't know if he could take losing her. He breathed in deeply gathering up all his courage, he stepped closer and grasped onto her shoulder to gain her attention and steady himself. She grinned up at him before it fell at the seriousness in his blue eyes.

"What is it," she asked covering his hand with hers that still laid upon her shoulder.

"Why do you come to the docks every day? And why do you hide from the people that call out to you and cry on some days?"

There he asked and he felt faint as she looked down at the waves lapping at their bare feet.

"You saw those moments too?" She whispered.

"I did," Orm confessed. " I've come to care for you these past few weeks and I can't help my curiosity getting the best of me. Knowing that you hurt or have any reason to hide is too much for me to bear."

She paused for a moment, gathering her strength. "I was in a bad relationship. I got out of it but the pain is still there and some days are worse than others. I find peace out here and that's why I always come and then I met you. And despite me telling you why that day, you didn't laugh at me like he and several other people did. I was really glad. You made me happy. Part of me was hoping that I'd get to see you again and yet I was afraid of getting hurt again too."

"That was brave," Orm cooed bringing her into his arms. He was warm despite the lack of shirt and all the time spent in the water. She shook from the cold and from telling things that had been hard on her. "You're the bravest and kindest person I have ever met."

"I'm not really," she answered.

"You really are," Orm breathed. "I'm the coward. I didn't like this part of the world at all. I tried to destroy it because of my older brother. I blamed him for a lot of things and I hated him. I still don't love him as a little brother should but my hatred cost me. I was prince of Atlantis once and I was even it's king for a short spell. But that was taken from me and now I am thought of as dead. I cannot go back there because I have officially been killed in action." Orm sucked in a deep breath as he feared what you would do now that you knew about his darkness, though he kept going. "This is both my punishment and my new life. This is both my brother's way of blessing me and cursing me. But I don't see it as a curse anymore, not that I know you now."

"Orm," she sniffled.

He tugged her in, her trembling body pressed to his as he tried to will any form of comfort into her smaller body. He felt lighter and more at peace than he had ever felt and while she held onto him tightly, Orm lost the battle on his emotional restraints. Holding her out he took in the sight of her, clearly seeing everything about her for the first time. And for the first time in his life, he felt truly loved. Not for being royalty of Atlantis or because they had to. Genuine love that asked for nothing in return. He leaned down towards her his stature always towering over her and it wasn't until his lips met her warmer ones did the fireworks start shooting off in his head. She didn't shove him away and she didn't protest so Orm pulled her closer. Deepening the kiss as he could taste the salty water still on her mouth and the scent of the ocean breeze on her skin. In that moment she was everything to him and he could want for nothing else as long as she stayed. She cupped his cheek, stroking his skin before Orm finally pulled away. His chest heaved and he couldn't bring himself to give her up just yet. He continued to hold her against his chest, not ever wanting this moment to end.

"Is it okay that we start a new life together," her voice quivered in uncertainty. She felt like she was going too fast or overstepping her bounds.

"I think I would like that more than you know," he agreed. This was when his life started. That new beginning he wanted for so long, that he dreamed about in that prison cell. This was the moment he longed for and had no idea. That moment he met her had been fate and had lead him to this moment. Their days together didn't have to end when their feet touched the shore, it was only the start of something on the shore. While he was her guide in the water, here on the land and in the midst of people it was her turn to guide him. She took his hand, taking the responsibility for teaching and leading in stride. They would learn together what this life meant and what it meant to know each other and keep together through thick and thin. Orm had baggage and come to find out she did too. But Orm didn't see that, he saw a woman who could light his way. She saw a man that had found redemption and was looking for a way to claim it. The sun had set behind them on the beach but the dawn was rising before them as they left hand in hand towards the life they would find together. Like two ships destined for each other, a new life was just beginning.

#Orm Marius X Reader #Orm Marius / Reader #Aquaman #Orm Marius Imagine #Aquaman Imagine #Orm Marius Fanfiction #Orm Marius #DC Universe #Not My Gif #My Writing

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estellardreams · 1 year ago

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Deltarune Brawl!

Mass attack! Twenty OCs! Let's goooo!

Attacking everyone tagged below:

@somemismatchedsocks

@emthimofnight

@6larosie9

@silvers-starrway

@ekaycheem

@einelitas

@yellowvixen

@polkychu

@zhampip

@totaleclipse573

@sonlc

Skaerial

Lunateaq

So a bit of info on how I got all of this to happen:

This was planned to be a sorta-battlefield between Seafoam and Stardust where both dark worlds collided and both individual parties from both side met and... Didn't get along. Hence fighting.

Their colors were based on the theory/idea between Additive colors and Subtractive ones. The idea goes that the main deltarune cast are composed of additive colors (Susie: Red, Kris: Blue, Ralsei: Green) and their dark forms are basically inverting those colors. It also makes them appear much brighter with heavier darks because the colors are blending together at the center.

For more info, read this.

So then I began to design everyone according to both their hypothetical role type and their Subtractive color type.

By role type, I mean that I divided everyone up into three categories with some basic rules attached:

Since the original models were all pixel art, it's hard to tell in any official designs if there's anything else besides basic features, so that's where the "slightly detailed" phrasing comes from.

I mainly based their roles on personality... Also part of a theory that the dark world forms are based on everyone's subconscious. With that in mind I chose outfits I thought everyone would like.

And as for the background... Those are custom saturated colors.

Mainly based on color theming I decided to heavily saturate the icons for seafoam and stardust and then go into a color pallette generator and lay down the core three colors.

And that's basically how I got the background set up.

For Subtractive colors, there were three categories: Magenta, Cyan, and Yellow.

Magenta typically leaned towards pink and red shades with complementary colors. Cyan had blue, purple, and green as complementary colors. And Yellow had green and orange as complementary colors.

For our Sub Cyans we have: Kaiko, Stellar, Sakura, Nymph, Rosemary, Sunshine, Mallow, Meredith, Orion, and Naomi.

For our Sub Magentas we have: Rime, Terios, Juice

And finally, for our Sub Yellows we have: Camellia, Maria, Tulip, Arthur, Keira, Estelle, and Azarael.

And that's it! Experimental color pallettes inside a mass attack of everyone fighting each other! Hope you all like it!

#artfight #artfight 2024 #sonic #sonic oc #sonic au #digital art #sonic fanart #🌸mine #This took almost seven hours I hope it was worth it-#Spiritrune au

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sheriffaxolotl · 5 months ago

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Bleed, Survive, Remember (Chapter 13) Arthur Morgan x Reader

Start: Chapter 1 Previous: Chapter 12 Next: (TBA)

Summary:

You looked down at your hands, the weight of her question settling in. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been on my own for so long. It’s just hard to picture it any other way.” Sadie studied you for a moment, then let out a soft sigh, her expression softening. “Look, I ain’t gonna pretend I know what’s goin’ on in that head of yours. But I do know this—you keep thinkin’ like that, you’re gonna push away somethin’ good before you even give it a chance.”

Chapter 13: Doubts and Worries

Word count: 12.6k

︻デ═一・・・・・・・一═デ︻ The dawn crept slowly over the horizon, painting the sky in muted shades of orange and pink, a delicate masterpiece that heralded the start of another day. The camp stirred awake around you, the soft clinking of tin mugs and hushed murmurs of early risers forming a quiet symphony against the backdrop of the fading night. You sat by the lookout point, hours already lost to your thoughts, the world moving on without you. Cradling a lukewarm cup of coffee, you let the faint warmth seep into your hands as you watched the first rays of sunlight chase away the lingering chill.

Arthur’s departure had come before the sun fully claimed the sky, marked by the soft crunch of his boots on dirt and a low, muttered explanation to Dutch. “Bringing…,” he’d said reluctantly, the name swallowed in his clipped tone, “back from Strawberry.” His words carried an edge, a hesitation that felt out of place—or perhaps too telling. He hadn’t looked your way, hadn’t offered so much as a glance. The weight of the previous night lingered heavily, thickening the air between you. As he disappeared into the pale light of dawn, a shadow of unease trailed after him, leaving you alone to wonder what—or who—awaited him there.

The name Strawberry tugged at the edges of your memory. It was a town you’d passed through once, years ago—dusty and quiet, its charm subtle and fleeting. At the time, it hadn’t seemed important, just another stop along the road. But now, the name carried a strange weight, as if it held more significance than you could yet understand. What business Arthur had there—or who might be waiting for him—remained a mystery that gnawed at the back of your mind.

You lingered near the fire, your coffee forgotten and growing cold as the camp stirred around you. The sound of horses being saddled and low voices exchanging plans for the day was little more than background noise. Your thoughts were fixed elsewhere—on him. On the way his presence seemed to command every inch of space, even when he wasn’t there. On the brief, electrifying touch of his hand against yours as you passed Tater’s reins, and the cigarette he’d shared with you like it was a secret meant only for the two of you.

And then, the word: Pretty.

It echoed in your mind, soft yet unshakable, its weight pressing against your chest like a brand. You weren’t sure what unsettled you more—hearing it from him, or how much it had mattered to you. That single word had cracked something open inside you, a vulnerability you weren’t used to feeling. You traced the rim of your tin cup absently, the memory of his voice replaying in your head, his rough yet sincere tone resonating as if he were still standing beside you.

The camp slowly came to life around you, but the gnawing feeling in your chest only grew. You glanced toward the direction Arthur had ridden, the pale morning mist swallowing him whole. Whatever awaited him in Strawberry, it felt as though some part of you had gone with him—pulled along by unanswered questions and the pull of something you didn’t yet dare to name.

You had planned to speak to Arthur once he returned, to explain your silence, to quiet the doubts he seemed to carry. But now, as the day stretched on, you began to wonder if any of it would matter. His absence, coupled with the lingering weight of your own thoughts, made the hours feel longer, more oppressive. Every glance toward the road leading to Strawberry felt like a question unanswered.

For now, though, you needed a distraction—something to pull you away from the gnawing uncertainty, from Miss Grimshaw’s sharp eyes and sharper tongue. The older woman had already noticed your restlessness, her gaze cutting like a blade as she appraised you. You weren’t about to let her rope you into another round of chores disguised as punishment. No, you needed to be out there, moving, doing something to clear your mind.

Hunting felt like the perfect escape. The woods had always held a kind of solace for you, their quiet vastness offering a reprieve from the weight of human complications. There, amidst the trees and the earth, your worries always seemed smaller, more manageable. Besides, bringing back a fresh kill would silence any grumbling about your absence and prove your usefulness. But practicality lingered—if you managed to bring down something big enough to feed the camp, you’d never be able to haul it back alone.

Your gaze swept over the camp, taking in the familiar scenes of daily life. Karen and Tilly laughed near the wagons, their light-hearted banter a stark contrast to the tension simmering inside you. Hosea and Abigail were deep in conversation, the older man gesturing animatedly as Abigail nodded along. Bill was busy with Pearson, the two of them muttering about supplies, and John had disappeared on one of his usual, mysterious errands.

Then your eyes landed on Sadie. She was seated in her usual spot, a tin cup of coffee cradled in her hands, her sharp gaze fixed on something far beyond the camp’s edge. Even in moments of stillness, there was a ferocity to her—a quiet intensity that made her seem like she was always on the verge of action, like a blade just barely sheathed.

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of her presence giving you pause. Adjusting your coat against the lingering chill of the morning, you took a slow, deliberate step toward her, the soft crunch of your boots on the ground breaking the stillness. As you approached, her gaze didn’t waver, though you could feel the subtle shift of her awareness, a quiet acknowledgment of your movement.

“Mrs. Adler?” you ventured, your voice carrying just enough volume to reach her without startling her. The words felt tentative in your mouth, not out of fear, but respect.

Her eyes flicked toward you, narrowing slightly as she took in your presence. “What is it?” she asked, her tone guarded but not unfriendly.

“I was thinking about heading out to hunt,” you explained, nodding toward the tree line in the distance. “Could use the help if you’re up for it. Thought it might do us both some good to stretch our legs.”

Sadie raised an eyebrow, setting her coffee down with a soft clink. “You askin’ me along for the company, or because you don’t trust yourself out there alone?”

A grin tugged at the corner of your mouth. “If anything, I’d trust you to keep me out of trouble. Besides, I figured you might want a break from camp, same as me.”

She stared at you for a moment, the weight of her gaze heavy, as if she were sizing you up. Then, without a word, she stood, brushing her hands off on her skirt. “Alright,” she said simply.

Relief and excitement mingled in your chest. You nodded, already turning toward the hitching post to ready the horses. Sadie followed behind you, her boots crunching softly against the dirt. You passed by Pearson’s wagon, where the cook was already bustling about, grumbling as he chopped vegetables for the day’s stew. A couple of the boys loitered nearby, exchanging quiet conversation, but they didn’t spare you more than a brief glance.

You adjusted your hat against the low-hanging sun, its rays stretching long shadows across the camp as you reached the hitching post. The horses stood tied there, restless, their breath rising in plumes of steam in the cool morning air. As you saddled Tater, you couldn't help but glance toward the road where Arthur had ridden off earlier that morning. The ache in your chest lingered, a dull, persistent reminder of the conversation left hanging between you, unfinished and unresolved.

“You ain’t gonna be much good out there if you’re distracted,” Sadie said, her voice cutting through your thoughts like a whip. She was watching you, one hand on her hip, her sharp gaze unrelenting. “Are you good, or do I need to turn back and let you mope on your own?”

You straightened up, shaking your head quickly. “I’m good,” you said firmly, forcing the tension out of your shoulders. You noticed Sadie glancing toward the horses again. “Still no luck with one of your own?” you asked, voice softer now.

She shrugged, a flash of frustration crossing her face. “Guess I’ll be riding with you for now.”

Without a word, you offered her a hand, just a simple gesture. She hesitated for a moment before grasping it, swinging herself up behind you with practiced ease.

The two of you set off toward the treeline, the morning sun climbing higher in the sky as the camp faded into the distance behind you. The air was crisp, the scent of pine and damp earth filling your lungs. It was quiet at first, the only sounds the rhythmic clopping of hooves and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.

Finally, Sadie broke the silence. “So, what’s eating at you?”

You glanced at her, startled. “What makes you think something’s eating at me?”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Please. I might not be one for small talk, but I know a distracted mind when I see one. You’ve been staring off into space all morning.”

You hesitated, the weight of her observation pressing down on you. It wasn’t like you to open up easily, but something about the way she carried herself—steady and unapologetically real—made it easier to speak.

“It’s that Mr. Morgan fella, ain’t it?” Sadie said suddenly, her tone light but edged with curiosity.

Your head snapped toward her, startled again. “What? No—why would you think—”

Sadie gave you a side glance, one brow raised. “Don’t play dumb. I might not know him all that well, but I can tell he’s got a soft spot for you.” She smirked faintly. “Men like that don’t look after just anyone.”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly on the reins. “Arthur’s just… kind, that’s all,” you mumbled. “He’s the type to help anyone if they need it, even with what you said...”

“Kind, huh?” Sadie’s voice held a hint of skepticism. “Well, sure. He’s kind enough, I’ll give you that. Helped me out back in them mountains when I thought my whole damn world had ended.” Her gaze turned distant for a moment, a flicker of something heavy passing over her features before she shook it off. “But I’ve seen the way he acts around you, and trust me, it ain’t just ‘kindness.’”

You felt your cheeks heat, her words hitting a little too close. “You’re imagining things,” you muttered, your gaze falling to the trail ahead.

Sadie let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “Maybe. But if I am, then explain why he’s always got that quiet look about him when you’re around. Like he’s thinkin’ on somethin’ he doesn’t quite know how to say.”

You didn’t answer right away, your mind spinning. Sadie barely knew Arthur, but her words carried weight. She had a way of cutting straight to the heart of things, and it unsettled you how easily she seemed to see through the walls you tried to keep up.

“I’m just saying,” Sadie continued, her voice softening slightly. “He seems like he ain’t the kind of man to show his hand often. So when he does? You might wanna pay attention, that’s all I’m suggesting.”

Her tone was lighter, almost teasing, but there was a sincerity in her eyes that made it hard to brush her off.

“It’s complicated,” you admitted after a long pause, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sadie snorted at that. “Course it is. Nothin’ worth anything ever ain’t.” She dismounted from behind you, her boots thudding against the dirt. “But complicated don’t mean impossible.”

Her words hung in the air as you dismounted, the crunch of leaves underfoot the only sound for a moment. Sadie glanced back at you, her expression softer now.

“Now,” Sadie said, her tone shifting to something more pragmatic. “Let’s see if we can bag ourselves something decent, huh?”

You nodded again, grateful for the distraction, but even as the hunt began, her words lingered in your thoughts. The gnawing feeling in your chest remained, now accompanied by the weight of her insight.

Sadie moved with purpose, her sharp gaze scanning the ground and the tree line as she led the way deeper into the woods. You followed close behind, rifle in hand, but your mind wandered. The conversation you’d had back at camp—more accurately, the things left unsaid—still hung heavily on you. Sadie hadn’t pushed further, but you knew it wasn’t over. Sadie Adler wasn’t the type to leave things be if she thought there was more to the story, and that was something you were starting to understand about her.

She crouched low, studying a faint trail in the dirt, the outline of hoofprints barely visible amongst the scattered leaves. “Deer,” she said quietly, motioning for you to come closer. “Looks like it’s headin’ east. Fresh tracks.”

You nodded, following her example, and you both moved quietly through the underbrush. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves, the occasional snap of a twig, and your steady breaths. It didn’t take long for Sadie to break the silence.

“So, you gonna tell me what happened to put you in such a funk back at camp? Or am I just gonna have to keep throwing guesses at you?”

Her question was blunt, casual, but there was no mistaking the sharpness behind it.

You stiffened, your grip tightening on your rifle. “I’m not in a funk,” you said, a little too sharply.

Sadie snorted, not even glancing your way as she stepped over a fallen branch. “Sure you’re not. That’s why you’ve been moping around like a kicked dog all morning.”

You opened your mouth to protest but shut it again, realizing it wasn’t worth the effort. “It’s… complicated,” you said finally, the words heavy with hesitation.

Sadie straightened up, glancing back at you with a knowing smirk. “You already said that. Complicated how? He say somethin’? Do somethin’?”

You hesitated, eyes darting across the forest, but the weight of her gaze was unyielding. There was no avoiding it now. Sadie wasn’t going to let it slide.

“He just... he said something last night,” you admitted reluctantly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Something I wasn’t expecting.”

Sadie’s brow arched, her curiosity piqued. “Oh yeah? What’d he say?”

You paused, the memory of Arthur’s words still fresh, lingering like the smoke from a spent fire. “He said I was pretty.”

Sadie stopped in her tracks, turning fully to face you now, a mixture of disbelief and amusement in her expression. “That’s what’s got you all twisted up? The man called you pretty?”

Her words hung in the air, and you felt your cheeks warm, a flush creeping up your neck.

Sadie’s lips twitched, but she didn’t laugh. Instead, she gave you a long, steady look, her eyes narrowing with that quiet intensity she had a knack for. “You really are somethin’ else, you know that?” she said softly, the teasing tone now absent from her voice. “The way you’re acting, you’d think he slapped you instead of callin’ you pretty.”

You felt your cheeks warm again, your fingers curling tighter around the rifle. “It’s not just what he said,” you murmured, barely meeting her gaze. “It’s how he said it. Like he really meant it… and I didn’t know how to handle that.”

You glanced away, pretending to scan the horizon for any sign of movement, though the weight of Sadie’s gaze burned into you. It all sounded so absurd when you said it out loud—worrying over a word like “pretty” as though it were some foreign, dangerous thing. You’d faced down bounty targets, crossed paths with men twice your size who wanted you dead, but here you were, feeling undone by a simple compliment. And not just any compliment—a quiet, sincere one, spoken by a man who rarely gave much of himself away. It wasn’t just silly; it felt embarrassingly small, like a crack in the armor you’d spent so long building around yourself.

Sadie studied you for a long moment, her expression softening slightly. “Let me get this straight. Arthur Morgan—big, quiet, probably thinks too much for his own good—tells you you’re pretty, and instead of takin’ it as a compliment, you’re out here second-guessin’ the whole damn thing?”

You averted your gaze, feeling the heat of your face spill down your neck. “It’s not that simple.”

Sadie let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head as she folded her arms. “Sure it is. Man like him don’t go around sayin’ things like that unless he means it. Trust me on that.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Sadie raised a hand, her expression turning alert. “Hold that thought,” she murmured, motioning toward a break in the trees ahead.

You followed her gaze and saw it—a deer grazing in a small clearing, its ears twitching as it nibbled on the grass.

Sadie gestured for you to take the shot, stepping back slightly to give you space. You steadied your rifle, your breath slowing as you took the time to line up the shot. But even as you focused on the task at hand, Sadie’s words continued to echo in your mind, cutting through the fog of uncertainty you’d been lost in.

You exhaled slowly, and the shot rang out, sharp and true. The deer dropped instantly.

Sadie nodded in approval, clearly not expecting you to have such a steady hand. “Good shot,” she said, her tone lighter now. “Now, let’s get this back to camp. And on the way, you can tell me why the hell you’re so scared of somethin’ good for once.”

You sighed, shaking your head, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. Leave it to someone else to get straight to the heart of things, whether you were ready for it or not.

Sadie led the way toward the downed deer, her steps sure and confident as she pulled her hunting knife from her belt. You followed behind, slinging your rifle over your shoulder.

She crouched beside the deer, inspecting it briefly before starting the process of field dressing. “You’re lucky it dropped clean,” she said, her voice casual as she worked. “Would’ve been a damn sight harder to haul back if it’d run too far.”

You crouched beside her, your hands slower than usual as you helped where you could. Your mind kept circling back to her earlier words.

“Why do you think I’m scared?” you asked finally, your voice quiet.

Sadie didn’t look up, her hands steady as she worked. “Ain’t it obvious? You’re overthinkin’ it, tryin’ to find all the ways it could go wrong instead of just lettin’ it be. I’ve seen plenty of folks do it—hell, done it myself more times than I care to admit.”

You frowned, her words striking closer to home than you wanted to admit. “I just… it doesn’t feel like it’s that simple, Sadie. It feels… complicated.”

She let out a dry laugh, glancing up briefly. “There’s that word again. Complicated. Seems to me you’re makin’ it complicated all on your own.”

You sighed, sitting back on your heels as you watched her work. “It’s not just about what he said. I mean… I don’t—well, I don’t feel like I’m the kind of person people look at like that. I can’t imagine myself fitting into someone else’s life, I guess.”

Sadie paused, wiping her hands on her skirt before turning to meet your gaze directly. Her sharp eyes locked onto yours, piercing yet steady, and there was no trace of judgment in them—just the blunt honesty she wielded like a weapon. “And what kind of person is that, huh?” she asked, her voice low and firm. “The kind who’s too good for a little happiness? Or the kind who’s so stubborn they can’t see when someone’s tryin’ to let ‘em in?”

Her words stung, not because they were harsh—but because they were true.

Sadie studied you for a moment, then let out a soft sigh, her expression softening. “Look, I ain’t gonna pretend I know what’s goin’ on in that head of yours. But I do know this—you keep thinkin’ like that, you’re gonna push away somethin’ good before you even give it a chance.”

You looked away, your fingers brushing over the edge of your rifle absentmindedly. “It’s not about … well…” you muttered. “I just… I don’t know how to let someone in. I’ve spent so much time on my own, it’s hard to picture it being any other way.”

Sadie studied you for a beat longer, her expression softening ever so slightly. “You think that makes you different from the rest of us?” she asked, her tone quieter now but still laced with conviction. “You think you’re the only one who’s had to learn how to let someone in after livin’ alone too long?”

You didn’t answer right away, her words hanging in the stillness between you. The faint rustle of the wind through the trees filled the silence, and you could feel her watching you, waiting for your response.

When you finally looked up, her gaze hadn’t wavered. There was no pity there, no softness meant to coddle—just the unflinching truth of someone who’d lived it herself.

“Look,” she said, her voice steady but gentler now. “It’s not about bein’ perfect or havin’ all the answers. It’s about tryin’. Lettin’ someone in doesn’t mean you’re weak, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean you gotta have it all figured out. You just take it one step at a time. That’s all anyone can do.”

Her words sat heavy in the air, not suffocating but grounding, like a weight you hadn’t realized you needed to feel. You nodded slowly, unsure of what to say but knowing she wasn’t wrong.

She paused, her gaze drifting to the horizon for a moment, her expression tightening just slightly. “You think Jake was perfect for me when we first met?”

The mention of her late husband took you off guard, and you stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

“He wasn’t,” she said plainly, though there was a softness in her voice that wasn’t there before. “He was too quiet, too damn stubborn for his own good. Took me months just to get him to say more than two words in a row. But he was good, y’know? He saw me for who I was, not who I thought I should be.”

Her hands stilled for a moment as she glanced down at the deer, her expression momentarily distant. “I almost let him go once, early on. Thought I wasn’t the kinda woman he needed. But Jake? He didn’t care about what I thought I was or wasn’t. He just… wanted me.”

Sadie’s voice softened further, her tone almost wistful. “And now, after everything… I’m damn glad I didn’t push him away. I didn’t know how much I needed him ‘til he was gone.”

You swallowed hard, her words settling heavily in your chest. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Adler. About Jake.”

She shook her head, her usual fire returning to her voice. “Don’t be sorry for me. Just don’t be stupid. If there’s somethin’ real between you and that man, don’t let it slip through your fingers ‘cause you’re too scared to see it for what it is.”

You nodded slowly, her words resonating in a way you hadn’t expected. Sadie returned to her work, the sound of her knife cutting through the quiet.

After a moment, she spoke again, her tone lighter. “Tell you what. Next time that man says somethin’ nice to you, try this—don’t overthink it. Just take it for what it is. You might be surprised what happens.”

You couldn’t help but smile faintly, her bluntness oddly comforting. “I’ll think about it,” you said softly.

Sadie snorted, shaking her head. “Don’t think about it. Just do it.”

The two of you worked in a steady rhythm, finishing the task at hand. The deer was packed securely onto Tater, and you walked alongside Sadie, the weight of the animal resting between you. The silence that stretched out now felt companionable, not strained.

After a while, curiosity got the better of you. “How’d you get so good at this? Hunting, I mean.”

Sadie glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Jake and I, we shared the work on the ranch,” she said, her tone softening. “Life wasn’t easy, but we made sure we both pulled our weight.”

You followed her gaze ahead, the quiet woods unfolding in front of you like an endless trail. “Sounds like you had a good life.”

Sadie exhaled, the fire in her voice dimming to an ember. “Mm, that I did,” she said, her words laced with a quiet affection. “He wasn’t perfect, but he was mine. And he knew me better than anyone ever could. We ran that ranch like a team, no matter how hard it got.”

You studied her for a moment, noting the way her expression softened when she spoke of him. It stirred something in you, a curiosity mixed with a tinge of yearning. “You and him must’ve had something special,” you murmured.

Sadie nodded, her eyes distant, focused on something only she could see. “We did. Never doubted each other, not once. We shared everything—the good, the bad, all of it. Didn’t matter what came our way.” Her voice dipped lower, taking on a wistful note. “He didn’t care what I could or couldn’t do. He just… trusted me. And I trusted him.”

Her words settled in the air between you, heavy with meaning. They made you wonder what it would feel like to have that kind of bond—so steady, so sure. “Sounds like he was a good man.”

“The best,” Sadie replied softly, the words almost a whisper. “And I know how lucky I was to have him, even for the time I did. But…” She paused, her voice faltering just slightly as her gaze drifted downward. “I miss him every damn day.”

The weight of her admission pressed against your chest, a pang of sympathy tightening your throat. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Adler,” you said quietly.

Sadie blinked rapidly, her jaw tightening as unshed tears glistened in her eyes. She wiped at her face roughly with the back of her hand, her usual sharpness cracking just enough to reveal the raw grief beneath. For a moment, the walls she’d built around herself faltered, letting you glimpse the depth of her loss.

You stepped closer, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, offering your presence instead of words. Grief hung thick in the air, raw and unrelenting, like it had nowhere else to go but here, between the two of you.

“I…” Sadie started, her voice catching. “I ain’t used to this.” Her tone was rough, her eyes staring blankly ahead. “Ain’t used to… to letting it out like this.”

“Oh, Mrs. Adler,” you said softly, keeping your hand steady on her shoulder. “It’s alright. You don’t have to hold it all in.”

Sadie drew in a shaky breath, her composure fraying further with every exhale. Despite her efforts, tears streaked her cheeks, glinting in the soft light. “You don’t know what it’s like. Losing someone like him…” Her voice broke, and she let out a hollow, bitter laugh. “It feels like… like I don’t know how to live on from here, without him. Don’t know who I am without him.”

You didn’t speak right away, letting the silence linger—a quiet space for her to fill. Your hand remained firm on her shoulder, a grounding presence. You understood more than she might realize. The ache of your father’s absence was still sharp in your chest, a wound that time hadn’t fully healed. There were mornings you still expected to hear his voice, to feel the steady comfort of his guidance. But this moment wasn’t about your grief; it was about hers.

Sadie trembled slightly under your touch, her composure unraveling with every word. She took another ragged breath, shoulders shaking as she struggled to contain the storm inside her.

When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, stripped of its usual edge but no less resolute. “He was… my everything. My partner, my family. The only man who ever really saw me. And now… now I don’t know how to go on without him.”

You squeezed her shoulder gently, a touch firmer this time—a reminder she wasn’t alone. “You don’t have to go through it alone, Mrs. Adler. I’m…” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I’m planning to stick around a while longer. So, please, talk to me. About anything you need. You don’t have to carry this on your own.”

Sadie’s breath steadied slightly, her gaze finally meeting yours. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, but a flicker of something warmer broke through the grief—gratitude, fragile but genuine.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice raw and unguarded. “For… this.”

“I’ll be here,” you replied, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “Whenever you need.”

Sadie nodded slowly, wiping her face one last time as she straightened her shoulders. “Let’s finish what we came here for,” she said, her voice steadier now, though a faint tremor still lingered beneath the surface. “We’ve got work to do.”

You nodded, falling in step beside her as she turned back toward the deer. The silence between you grew almost comfortable, weighted with shared understanding rather than tension. After a while, Sadie broke it, her tone lighter but carrying a trace of the vulnerability she’d just revealed.

“Thank you… for bringing me out here,” she said softly. “Haven’t done anything like this since… well, it feels good. To be out again.”

You glanced at her, catching the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I’m glad,” you said honestly. “Sometimes getting out of camp is the best way to clear your head.”

Sadie nodded, her gaze drifting to the treetops as a wistful expression crossed her face. “Jake and I used to do this,” she murmured. “Hunt together, get away when the ranch got to be too much. It wasn’t just one of us pulling the weight—we did it all together. Work, worries, everything. But being out here…” She gestured to the trees, the deer, the sunlight dappling the ground. “It’s like it was just us. Away from the noise. It felt right, y’know?”

You watched her, noting how her sharp edges softened as she spoke, the harshness in her tone replaced with something tender. “I think I understand,” you replied quietly. “Out here, it’s different. Simpler. Easier to breathe.”

Sadie looked at you, her lips curving into a faint smile, brief but genuine. “Yeah. Easier to remember what matters. What’s worth fighting for.”

Her words lingered in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You hesitated, unsure if now was the time to speak, but her openness felt like an invitation.

“My father and I used to come out like this, too,” you began, your voice softer than usual. “Not hunting—he wasn’t much for game. But we’d walk for hours, sometimes just tracking something to see where it led. He said it was about knowing the land, understanding it.” You paused, a faint smile touching your lips. “But I think it was his way of keeping me out of trouble.”

Sadie chuckled softly, the sound rough but sincere. “Smart man. Sounds like he knew how to handle you.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “He tried, anyway. Taught me everything he could. Shooting, tracking, survival—all the things he thought I’d need to get by. Didn’t think I’d end up using half of it.”

Sadie glanced at you, something thoughtful in her expression. “Bet he’d be proud, though. Seein’ how you’ve made it this far.”

Her words caught you off guard, and you glanced down, unsure how to respond. “Maybe,” you said after a moment. “He always told me to keep moving, no matter what. Said standing still was worse than failing.”

Sadie’s smile widened slightly, though her expression softened with a touch of wistfulness. “Sounds like my kinda man. No nonsense, practical. Bet you gave him hell as a kid.”

You laughed quietly, the sound light and easy, a contrast to the stillness around you. “Oh, I did. More times than I can count. But he always managed to reel me back in. Even when I didn’t deserve it.” Your voice dropped a little as you added, “Losing him… felt like losing the ground beneath my feet. Like I didn’t know where I was supposed to stand anymore.”

Sadie nodded, her expression turning more serious. “Yeah. That’s what it feels like, doesn’t it? Like the whole damn world shifts, and you’ve gotta figure out how to walk again.”

You met her gaze, the raw truth in her eyes echoing your own grief, making the ache in your chest swell. “Yeah,” you murmured. “It does.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was no longer uncomfortable—it was shared, a quiet understanding hanging in the air.

Finally, Sadie broke the stillness, her tone lighter but the emotion still there. “Y’know, Jake used to say I was better at hunting than him. Always made me laugh, ’cause the man couldn’t track a damn thing without me pointing it out first. But he was better with the horses, better with people. We balanced each other out.”

You smiled softly, picturing the way she must have worked alongside Jake. “Sounds like you were a good team.”

“We were,” she said simply, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. “And it’s hard not having that anymore. But… talking about it helps. Surprised me, but it does.”

“I get that,” you said, your voice quiet but understanding. “Sometimes it feels easier to keep it all in, but when you finally let it out…” You glanced at her, offering a small, reassuring smile. “It’s like you can breathe again.”

Sadie nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Maybe you’re right. Been holding my breath since, I guess.”

You gave her a gentle smile. “Well, I’m here to remind you when you need to let it out. And I don’t plan on going anywhere just yet.”

Her lips quirked in a small smirk, and the familiar fire returned to her eyes. “Good. Someone’s gotta keep me from losing my damn mind. God knows I'll lose it when they bring that brute Micah back.”

Your curiosity piqued, you tilted your head. “Micah? Haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him yet.”

Sadie snorted, a bitter edge to the sound. “Pleasure ain’t the word I’d use. That man’s a piece of work, through and through. Cocky, loud, thinks he’s the smartest one in the room when he’s really just…” She paused, her tone hardening. “Well, you’ll see soon enough.”

You frowned, sensing there was more beneath her words. It wasn’t uncommon for folks in the gang to butt heads—life on the run had a way of rubbing people raw—but the way Sadie spoke of him made it clear there was something deeper than mere annoyance. “He’s really that bad?”

Sadie pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, the wind tugging at the fabric as it passed through the trees. “I only spent a little time with him, back up in Colter. That was enough. The way he talks—like he’s got the whole world figured out. But it’s all just noise. And he’s got a temper. Not the kind that burns out quick—the kind that lingers, festers.”

You raised a brow, processing her words. “Sounds like someone to keep an eye on.”

Sadie gave a curt nod, her lips tightening. “You’d better. I didn’t spend much time with the gang at first—was too busy trying to stay afloat—but even then, he rubbed me the wrong way. It’s like he’s always testing folks, pushing to see how far he can go before they push back.”

You leaned in a little, intrigued. “Did he ever push you?”

Sadie’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Not exactly, but the first time I met him…” She shook her head, a humorless chuckle escaping her. “Practically chased me around my own damn house when I was frantic and out of my mind. Thought for sure he was an O’Driscoll come to finish me off.”

You blinked, taken aback by the image. “He really did that?”

“Yeah,” Sadie replied, the disgust in her tone unmistakable. “Barged in like he owned the place, yelling about how I should calm down, like I hadn’t just watched my whole life burn to the ground. He might’ve been tryin’ to help, but the way he handled it…” Her hand tightened into a fist for a moment before she released it. “Let’s just say it didn’t exactly make him my favorite person.”

You frowned, imagining the scene vividly. “Doesn’t sound like the most tactful introduction.”

Sadie huffed, the corner of her mouth twitching into a bitter half-smile. “That’s one way to put it. He’s got a knack for making everything worse, even when he thinks he’s helpin’. Or maybe he just doesn’t care if he does.”

You mulled over her words, storing them for later. “Sounds like a real piece of work,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Sadie smirked faintly, the fire in her eyes never fully fading. “You’re not wrong. Just… keep your wits about you when you meet him. That’s the best advice I can give you.”

You sighed, glancing up at the sky as the sun dipped lower, painting the trees in a golden light. “Well, no use worrying about him for now. We’ve got bigger things to handle.”

Sadie adjusted her coat and glanced back toward camp. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

The two of you fell into a quiet rhythm as you made your way back through the woods, the sound of leaves crunching underfoot mixing with the distant calls of birds. The peacefulness of the forest contrasted with the weight of the conversation, but it was a welcome change.

After a few moments, Sadie broke the silence, her tone lighter but still laced with her usual sharpness. “You know, you and Arthur…” She paused, her words seeming to weigh on her. “You two need to figure things out. Whatever this is between you, I mean.”

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. Truth was, Arthur had been on your mind more often lately, and it wasn’t as simple as just putting those thoughts into words. Every moment spent with him felt steadying, grounding, and a little too comfortable for someone like you. The way he looked at you, the way he was there in the silence, made something stir in you that you weren’t entirely ready to name.

But you weren’t sure what to say to Sadie, not when the weight of it still felt so unfamiliar.

“We’ll figure it out when we need to,” you said, keeping your voice steady, though the words didn’t come as easily as you hoped. “I’ll speak to him once he gets back to camp.”

Sadie shot you a knowing look, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Good. But don’t wait too long, alright? The longer you both dance around it, the messier it gets.”

You nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. There was truth in what she said—something you’d already known, deep down. The tension between you and Arthur had been building for a while now, unspoken but palpable. Each shared glance, every quiet moment between the two of you, was becoming harder to ignore. It wasn’t just about the moments—it was what they meant, the space that had been carved between you, and the silence that had grown too loud.

As you rode back to camp, with Sadie seated behind you on Tater, the woods stretched out around you, the soft rustling of leaves a gentle backdrop to your thoughts. Sadie’s words lingered in your mind, stirring a quiet sense of possibility. Maybe—just maybe—letting someone in wasn’t as complicated as you’d made it out to be.

And maybe, when Arthur Morgan finally returned from Strawberry, you’d find a way to stop second-guessing and allow yourself to believe in the possibility of something good.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

The journey back to camp felt slower than usual, the weight of the deer heavy between you and Sadie as you both guided Tater along the path. The crisp air carried the sounds of distant birds and rustling leaves, but there was a quietness in the way the camp came into view, like a hush had settled over everything.

Once you arrived, you went about unloading the deer, the camp already beginning to take notice of your return. Sadie stepped off Tater’s back, gesturing for a couple of the men to help with the carcass, but your attention quickly shifted to Arthur as he dismounted from his horse.

He was back from Strawberry, but something about him was different. The usual calmness that accompanied his return had been replaced by a tense energy, his movements sharp and more abrupt than they’d been before. The camp, usually filled with chatter and the occasional laugh, seemed quieter now, the air heavier.

You overheard bits of conversation—Micah, something bad had happened in Strawberry—but Arthur remained unusually tight-lipped. His eyes flickered with something darker than usual when anyone dared approach him, and the weight of his silence told you everything. There was something wrong, something heavier hanging over him now, and you couldn’t ignore the shift.

Whatever had happened in Strawberry had changed him. And it had changed him in a way that wasn’t easy to overlook.

The mention of Micah in connection with Strawberry only deepened the mystery. From what little you’d gathered, it wasn’t just some ordinary run-in. Whatever had happened in Strawberry had left a mark on Arthur, a stain that only seemed to deepen the hardened quiet that surrounded him now.

You had seen Arthur in moments of doubt before, but this felt different. The camp, once lively with talk and laughter, seemed to mirror his turmoil. People whispered, their voices lower than usual, glancing toward Arthur as he busied himself with camp tasks. He kept to the edges, his shoulders heavy, as if carrying a weight that none of them could see.

The way he avoided your gaze when he passed you made your chest tighten, a pang of something you couldn’t define twisting through you. His usual quiet presence had turned into a distant hum, an almost unbearable silence hanging between the two of you.

The moments you’d once shared with him—the stolen glances, the quiet moments by the fire—felt like memories now, distant and unreachable. The silence between you now wasn’t the comfortable kind that you’d grown used to. This was different, like an invisible wall had been erected, and no words, no actions, could seem to break it.

You watched him from a distance as he moved through the camp, his movements slower, more deliberate. The memory of the vulnerability he’d shown you the night before still lingered in your mind, but now it felt like a lost thing, buried under a fortress of silence he had built.

As the evening drew near and the fire crackled low, you found yourself standing near the edge of camp, your thoughts tangled in the same rhythm of tension that seemed to hang in the air. Arthur walked past, his boots crunching over the gravel as he made his way to his tent. His broad shoulders were hunched against the evening chill, his back rigid.

Your hand brushed against the cigarette tucked in your pocket—the one you’d kept from the night before. It was a small reminder of something unspoken, a piece of something that now felt far out of reach.

“Arthur,” you murmured softly, the sound of his name more of a breath than anything else.

But he didn’t stop. Didn’t turn.

The weight of the day pressed heavily against you—Micah’s name still lingering like a bad taste, and Arthur’s distance had left an ache you couldn’t name. Things had shifted, fractured, and the cracks felt deeper now, the distance between you and Arthur more daunting than ever.

For a while, you gave him space. You understood the need to pull away, to regroup, and you tried to busy yourself with the familiar rhythms of camp life—tending the fire, checking the horses, preparing meals. Each task felt mechanical, a distraction from the gnawing ache in your chest.

As the hours passed, the sun dipped lower in the sky, bathing the camp in hues of orange and gray. The usual camp chatter was reduced to a quiet murmur. Even the horses seemed restless, their movements mirroring the unease you felt.

But the silence couldn’t stretch forever. The weight of it pressed down harder with each passing hour, until it became unbearable. You knew Arthur needed space, but leaving things unspoken risked letting the distance between you grow irreparable.

With a deep breath, you finally made your way to his tent. The fire outside crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the ground. The camp was nearly deserted, most of the others lost in their own routines.

You paused at the entrance, the faint smell of leather and tobacco wafting out. The lantern inside cast a soft glow, just enough to make out his silhouette. There he was—sitting on the edge of his cot, his back to you, his posture stiff, like a man carrying the weight of the world.

The silence between you seemed to stretch, a tangible thing, suffocating the air. You knew you needed to bridge the gap between the two of you, but something held you back. The distance felt too vast, the moment too fragile.

Finally, you took a step closer, your voice soft, almost tentative. "Arthur."

He didn’t move at first. His shoulders were rigid, his head bent slightly, as if lost in thought. For a moment, you thought he might pretend he hadn’t heard, might let the silence grow between you.

But then, he shifted, just enough to turn his head, his profile catching the light. His eyes were tired, shadowed with something you couldn’t quite read, and his expression was closed off—guarded, like he was bracing for something.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice low, gravelly, like he hadn’t used it in hours.

You hesitated for a beat, your heart hammering in your chest. This wasn’t how you imagined it would go. But now, standing in front of him, you knew you couldn’t leave things as they were. Not anymore.

"We need to talk," you said, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

There was a long pause. The kind of silence that stretched into discomfort, heavy and unyielding. When he finally turned to face you fully, his gaze was unreadable, a mix of weariness and something darker—something that hurt to see.

“What’s there to talk about?” he muttered, his voice rough, like the words themselves carried a weight that pained him.

“You know what,” you replied gently but firmly. “Last night—what you said.”

His eyes flickered, the briefest flash of vulnerability crossing his face before he quickly looked away. He ran a hand through his hair, the motion restless, as if trying to brush off the thoughts gnawing at him. “I shouldn’t’ve said anything,” he muttered, his voice distant. “Didn’t mean to burden you with it.”

“You didn’t,” you said, stepping closer, the sincerity in your voice unwavering. “What you said… last night, Arthur. That’s not something you just… say and then forget about..”

Arthur sighed, his gaze distant again, as though lost in his own thoughts. The weight of the day’s silence hung between you both, thick and suffocating. “It was just whiskey talk,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His voice lacked its usual steadiness, wavering with uncertainty.

“That’s what you keep telling yourself?” you asked gently, your voice quieter now, softer. “I don’t believe that.”

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, his expression growing more guarded, the walls rising again. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said after a beat, his voice quieter now, almost as if he was resigning himself to the way things had to be. “I say things when I’ve had too much—things I don’t mean.”

You couldn’t help but take a step closer, the distance between you both narrowing, but the emotional chasm between you felt impossibly wide. “You… didn’t mean it?”

Your words hung in the air, fragile and uncertain, like a thread about to snap. Arthur’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the tension between you was almost unbearable. He looked lost, his uncertainty etched into every line of his face. The weight of his words seemed to press down on him, and you could see the battle raging inside him—whether to retreat further behind his walls or let you in.

I didn’t mean to—” he started, his voice faltering, but his gaze dropped to the ground, the sentence left unfinished, hanging like a door half-open, waiting for something to push it all the way.

You took a slow step forward, the flickering light from the fire outside casting dancing shadows across his face. The space between you narrowed, but the emotional distance felt like an insurmountable mountain. Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, but you pushed past the fear, the uncertainty, the doubt.

“I want…” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “I want you to mean it.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched tightly, as though the truth was something he couldn’t bring himself to face. “Didn’t I just tell you—”

His eyes darted back to you, his expression tense, his brows furrowed. The words you spoke had caught him off guard, and for a fleeting moment, he looked more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He shifted slightly, uncomfortable under your gaze, as though unsure how to handle the weight of the moment.

The silence stretched again, each second feeling heavier than the last.

Arthur cleared his throat, looking down at his hands before glancing back at you. His voice was rougher now, laced with confusion. “You… what now?” The disbelief was evident in his tone.

“I—” You stumbled over your words, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve said it like that.” You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “It just felt like… maybe you didn’t want to forget what you said last night. Like maybe you meant more than just… ‘whiskey talk.’”

Arthur frowned, his expression darkening as he processed your words. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he turned away again, his restless movements betraying his discomfort.

“I meant it,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But not in a way you probably want.”

The surprise of his admission caught you off guard. You hesitated, blinking at him. “Not in a way I want?” you echoed softly, unsure of what he was trying to say.

Arthur let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair again, his frustration evident. “Look, I’m not good with this kind of thing,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze. “Never was.”

You stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking, your heart thudding louder now. “Neither am I, Arthur. But if what you said meant…”

Arthur’s head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a sharp intensity. There was a flicker of confusion and surprise, his usual composed demeanor faltering for a moment. “What?” His voice was quieter now, the edge replaced by something raw.

You stumbled slightly, your breath catching as you tried to gather your thoughts, the awkwardness of the moment pressing down on you. “You said—” You paused, your pulse racing, unsure how to finish. “You said you felt like a fool around pretty girls. That part, Arthur… it surprised me.”

Arthur frowned, his jaw tightening as if bracing for some sort of verbal attack. “What, you’re surprised? That a dumb outlaw like me can feel stupid around women?” His tone was dry, but beneath it was something defensive, like he didn’t want to show any vulnerability.

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up. “No, that’s not what I meant.” You stepped even closer, your voice soft but firm. “It’s just… that, you, um… damn it.” You mumbled, the words heavy on your tongue before finally forcing them out. “That meant you really think I’m pretty?”

Arthur stared at you, his brow furrowing in confusion, as though your words didn’t quite make sense. For a moment, he was silent, his eyes scanning yours, trying to figure out why you’d ask such a question. The wall of defensiveness he carried cracked, his expression softening, uncertain.

“Pretty?” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost to himself. “You’re—what? You think you’re not?” His usual composed facade slipped, replaced by something more vulnerable. “I don’t… what are you gettin’ at?”

You held his gaze, unwavering. “I don’t know. I just never thought about it. It’s not something I pay much attention to.” You shrugged slightly. “I just never thought I fit that picture—the one people expect, where women are supposed to be soft or delicate.” You met his eyes again, firm but unafraid. “That’s not me.”

Arthur stood still, his gaze softening in a way you hadn’t seen before. “You fit more than you realize,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I never figured you for nothin’ but strong.”

Your heart stuttered at his words. “Strong, yeah,” you said, forcing a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “But strong doesn’t mean pretty.”

Arthur took a deep breath, his thoughts visibly churning. “Strong’s prettier than you think,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he seemed to catch them. His dark eyes remained locked on yours, his expression thoughtful. “There’s more to you than you let on.”

Your chest tightened, a strange mixture of discomfort and warmth spreading through you. His gaze was intense, unguarded now, and there was something about the way he was looking at you that made it hard to breathe.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly.

Arthur blinked, surprised by his own vulnerability. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve figured somethin’ out,” you said softly, stepping back, the warmth of his gaze too much to hold onto.

Arthur stood there, quiet, his expression thoughtful but unreadable. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension lingering in the space between you.

Arthur let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing just slightly as he watched you step back. The tension between you eased, but the weight of the moment remained. He studied you, disbelief still evident in his expression, but there was a quiet relief that you didn’t seem entirely thrown off by his words as he’d feared.

“I thought… after last night,” he began, his voice low, hesitant, “I thought maybe I’d messed it up. Said somethin’ I shouldn’t have, made you feel uncomfortable.” He ran a hand through his hair again, the familiar gesture grounding him.

You shook your head softly, a small smile touching your lips. “You didn’t mess it up,” you assured him, your voice steady. “I just—” You paused, thinking carefully before continuing, “I guess I just didn’t realize you saw me that way. That you’d see me as…” You glanced down for a moment, then met his gaze again, your eyes clear. “…pretty.”

The word felt awkward on your tongue, almost childish in its simplicity, and you couldn’t help but feel a little silly for saying it out loud. Was that really what had you so tangled up inside? You’d faced danger head-on, stared down bounty targets, and traded bullets with outlaws without batting an eye, but admitting this—letting yourself be vulnerable in front of him—made your stomach twist with nerves. You felt almost foolish, like a girl baring her heart for the first time, even though you knew you weren’t that naive anymore.

Arthur’s gaze softened, but the confusion remained, like he wasn’t quite sure how to process what you’d said. His brow furrowed again, the vulnerability in his eyes shifting to something more uncertain. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again, chewing over his thoughts. You watched as he tilted his head back slightly, his fingers scratching through his stubble as his brows knotted in sync with his thoughts.

“I don’t know what I’m doin’ either, you know?” he murmured, his voice quiet, as if admitting it out loud somehow made it all the more real. “Never thought I'd be standing here, sayin' this stuff.” He took a slow breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his words. “I ain’t good with… well, this.” He half-laughed, though it was strained, his eyes briefly looking away. “Never been good at it.”

You looked at him, your heart aching, unsure of how to respond. “Same here,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I’ve spent so long just keepin’ my distance, tryin’ not to get caught up in… any of it. Guess I never figured I'd be standing here either.” Your gaze shifted downward, unable to meet his eyes for a moment, as if the honesty between you was something too intense to hold.

Arthur studied you for a long beat, his eyes searching yours, as though looking for the answer to a question he hadn’t quite asked yet. “But somethin’ is there, ain’t it?” His voice was low, hesitant, but the quiet intensity in it made it feel like he’d already known the answer. “I can’t ignore it.”

You exhaled slowly, your heart racing. “Yeah. There’s somethin’ there,” you whispered, barely able to breathe as the words hung in the air between you. The acknowledgment felt both terrifying and liberating, like stepping into a new reality you hadn’t been prepared for.

Arthur let out a quiet breath, his gaze never leaving yours. He didn’t know what to say next. Neither of you had the words to make sense of it, but somehow, it didn’t matter. The silence stretched on, comfortable but heavy with the weight of all the things you both knew but weren’t ready to voice yet.

“You think this is... somethin’ we can figure out?” he asked quietly, as though the answer might be something that would change everything.

You hesitated, the weight of the question settling deep inside you. “Maybe,” you answered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m really not sure how to even start.” Your gaze met his again, steady now, filled with a mixture of uncertainty and something that felt like hope.

Arthur nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, the weight of his thoughts evident in the way his jaw tightened and then relaxed. “Reckon there ain’t no guidebook for this kinda thing,” he muttered, his tone laced with a wry humor that softened the intensity just a little. “Not for people like us, anyway.”

A faint smile touched your lips, though it was more of a reflex than anything else. “No, I guess not,” you said, the words carrying a quiet honesty. You weren’t sure what "people like us" meant exactly, but you understood all the same—two people who’d spent more time fighting their way through life than being civilized.

The silence between you lingered again, but it felt different now, less heavy, though still filled with the uncertainty of what came next. You looked down for a moment, letting your gaze fall to the ground, before lifting it back to him. “I guess we don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

Arthur’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile crossing his face. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice soft, almost relieved. “Ain’t no rush.”

And yet, neither of you moved to step away. The space between you, small as it was, felt like it carried the weight of something fragile and new. The tension was still there, but it wasn’t the kind that begged to be resolved. It felt like it could sit there for a while, quietly growing, waiting for the right moment to take shape.

“You know,” you said finally, your voice a little steadier, “for all the things I’ve gotten good at—keeping my head down, staying out of trouble—this…” You gestured vaguely between the two of you, a rueful smile playing on your lips. “This isn’t one of them.”

Arthur chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, easing some of the nervous energy between you. “Join the club,” he said, his tone light, though his eyes still held that quiet, searching intensity. “I’ll admit I ain’t had much practice at it either. Not for awhile.”

That small, shared moment of levity helped to ease the weight of the moment, and you found yourself exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Guess that’s one thing we got in common,” you said, your voice quieter now but still carrying a faint trace of humor. “We’re both terrible at this.”

Arthur’s smile deepened, a rare softness settling over his rugged features. “Reckon there’s worse things to be bad at,” he said, his voice low and warm, like the crackle of a campfire on a quiet night. “Long as we’re bad at it together, might not be so terrible.”

You tilted your head, studying him, the gentle humor in his words striking a chord somewhere deep inside you. “Together, huh?” you said, the word feeling foreign but not unwelcome as it rolled off your tongue.

Arthur’s smile lingered, his eyes catching yours with a flicker of something unspoken but undeniable. “Yeah,” he said, his voice carrying the hint of a grin. “Together. Ain’t such a scary word, is it?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Depends on who you’re stuck with,” you replied, a teasing lilt in your voice. “Could be a real nightmare.”

Arthur chuckled, the low rumble of it grounding the moment. “Guess I’ll just have to do my best not to make you regret it, then.”

“Mm-hmm,” you mused, pretending to consider it. “Well, so far, you’ve been tolerable, Arthur. Let’s see if you can keep it up.”

“Tolerable?” he repeated, mock-offended, placing a hand over his chest. “And here I thought I’d been downright charming.”

You smirked, your eyes narrowing playfully. “Charming, huh? When was that?”

“Think it was when I was dancin’ with ya,” Arthur said, his voice dropping just slightly, the warmth in his tone stirring something deep inside you. He took a careful step closer, the space between you shrinking. “Holdin’ ya close…”

Your smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of something you couldn’t quite name. He wasn’t teasing now—not really. The memory of that moment, of his arms around you, came rushing back, and you suddenly felt hyperaware of how close he was. The air between you shifted, crackling with a tension that was both familiar and new, like the quiet before a storm. You couldn’t seem to pull your eyes away from him, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The space between you felt too small, too charged with something unspoken.

“Oh, is that what you were doin’?” you managed to quip, your voice a touch breathier than you intended. “I thought you were just tryin’ not to trip over your own boots.”

Arthur chuckled, the low, rich sound making your pulse quicken. “Maybe I was,” he admitted, his smile easy but his eyes holding a quiet intensity. “But you didn’t seem to mind much.”

Arthur’s hand lingered against yours, the rough pads of his fingertips brushing your knuckles, sending a quiet shiver up your spine. His dark eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, searching yours as though trying to memorize every detail. “You didn’t mind,” he corrected, his voice low, almost disbelieving. His thumb ghosted over the back of your hand, the gentleness of the gesture belying the tension in his frame.

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t.” The words were simple, but the way they hung between you carried so much more—an unspoken acknowledgment of everything you’d been holding back.

His breath hitched, and his hand moved, calloused fingers brushing your cheek now, so careful it made your chest ache. Arthur’s gaze flicked down to your lips and back again, his brow furrowing slightly, like he was afraid of doing the wrong thing, of breaking the fragile connection between you.

You remembered Sadie’s words in that moment—‘you’re gonna push away somethin’ good before you even give it a chance’—and right now, you didn’t want to do that. Didn’t allow yourself to overthink for once.

Instead, you remained still, allowing yourself to give what might happen a chance. When you didn’t pull away—when you tilted your head just the slightest bit, leaning into his touch—it was as if a dam broke inside him. His hand, already trembling from the restraint he’d been holding, moved more confidently now, cupping your cheek as his thumb traced the curve of your jaw. His gaze flickered to your lips again, but this time, there was no hesitation in the way he slowly leaned in, his breath mingling with yours.

You shifted subtly, closing the space between you, your gaze flickered to his lips. The moment hung precariously, fragile and electric, the air around you charged with a tension that made your pulse race. Slowly, deliberately, you leaned in further, your hand brushing against the front of his jacket, fingers lightly grazing the worn fabric as if seeking an anchor. His presence surrounded you, the faint scent of tobacco and leather filling your senses, grounding you even as the rest of the world seemed to blur.

Arthur’s lips met yours gently at first, his kiss tentative, testing. The sweetness of it, the quiet reverence, made your chest ache in a way that felt both overwhelming and inevitable. His other hand found your waist, steadying you, his thumb tracing a feather-light line along the curve of your hip, as though anchoring himself to the moment. His lips moved against yours slowly, unhurried, savoring each second like it was a fleeting dream he didn’t dare wake from.

But then you responded. You leaned in closer, your fingers curling tightly into the front of his jacket, a soft sound escaping your throat—a sound that seemed to unravel him. The tenderness gave way to something deeper, something more raw and urgent. The kiss deepened, his lips pressing more firmly against yours as though trying to etch this moment into his soul. His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his touch igniting something inside you that you couldn’t ignore.

The world outside of the small bubble of warmth and connection seemed to vanish. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heart through the fabric of his shirt, the way it matched the frantic thrum in your own chest. His breath quickened as his hand moved, fingers tracing the curve of your back, making your spine arch involuntarily. You could now taste the faintest hint of whiskey on his lips, grounding and familiar, yet new in a way that left you dizzy. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel, all at once.

Your breath hitched as the intensity between you grew, the air around you seeming to heat in an instant. Arthur kissed you like a man starved, years of restraint crumbling as he finally allowed himself to take what he’d been holding back for so long. His hand moved to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as his lips claimed yours with a fervor that made your knees weak.

You clung to him, your hands fisting his jacket as you pressed closer, the feel of his broad chest against yours grounding you even as the world seemed to tilt. His mouth was hot and demanding, the taste of tobacco and faint traces of coffee lingering on his lips—intoxicating and entirely him. There was nothing hesitant in the way he kissed you now; it was raw, consuming, and utterly unapologetic.

When you gasped softly against him, he didn’t hesitate. He angled his head, deepening the kiss further, his grip tightening on your waist as though he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, tentative yet deliberate, seeking entrance. The soft, teasing motion sent a spark through you, making your breath catch and your resolve crumble.

When you parted your lips, he took his chance. His tongue slid against yours, the movement slow at first, like he was savoring the moment, before becoming bolder, more insistent. It was a dance, each motion drawing you deeper into him, leaving you breathless and lightheaded. The intimacy of it sent shivers down your spine, your fingers curling tighter into his shirt as you melted into him.

Arthur finally broke the kiss, his lips lingering against yours for a heartbeat before pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breathing was ragged, matching the rapid rise and fall of your own chest, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your jaw as though grounding himself in your presence.

“Been wantin’ to do that for so damn long,” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly, thick with emotion.

You let out a shaky laugh, your lips still tingling from the force of his kiss. “Me too,” you admitted, the words soft but resolute, a confession that felt long overdue.

Arthur’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, though it couldn’t quite disguise the hunger that still simmered beneath the surface. His hand slid down from your neck to rest on your shoulder, his fingers brushing against the curve of your arm as though trying to commit the feel of you to memory. “Reckon I don’t know what I did to deserve you lettin’ me,” he murmured, his tone a mixture of awe and disbelief, “but I ain’t about to let it go to waste,” he murmured, leaning in again.

Just as Arthur's lips hovered inches from yours, the sharp crack of a branch snapping in the distance shattered the moment. Hosea’s voice followed soon after, calling your name from somewhere across camp, cutting through the heavy stillness like a knife.

Arthur stiffened, his body tensing as though the sound had yanked him out of a dream. He pulled back slightly, his breath still unsteady, and his gaze lingered on you. The fire in his eyes softened, replaced by a flicker of frustration and resignation. The moment you’d both been tumbling toward unraveled in an instant.

Before you could catch your breath or gather your thoughts, Hosea’s measured footsteps drew closer. Arthur stepped back fully now, a faint crease forming between his brows. His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but instead, he settled for a quiet, “We’ll finish this later.” His voice was low, more promise than question, but tinged with a reluctance that mirrored your own.

The approaching footsteps stopped just beyond the edge of Dutch’s tent. Hosea appeared, his ever-calm demeanor intact, but his sharp eyes missed nothing. In his hand, he held something you immediately recognized: the stolen satchel. His gaze flicked between you and Arthur with an unreadable expression before settling on you. He raised the bag slightly, its contents swaying like a pendulum, heavy with implication.

“Thought you might want this back,” Hosea said evenly, though there was a subtle edge to his tone, a warning beneath the politeness. “Figured it might explain a few things.”

Your stomach dropped like a stone, the weight of the satchel a stark reminder of everything you’d been trying—and failing—to keep buried. The heat from your moment with Arthur dissipated, leaving behind a cold knot of dread that settled deep in your gut. You had forgotten about the damned thing.

Now, with it thrust between you and Hosea’s probing gaze, there was no more running. Every careful lie and half-truth you’d told to protect yourself felt like they were unraveling all at once.

Arthur’s gaze snapped to the bag, his jaw tightening. He crossed his arms over his chest, his posture shifting subtly, protective but cautious. His eyes moved to you, searching for an answer that you couldn’t yet give. You felt his silent question as surely as if he’d spoken it aloud: What the hell is going on?

“I think it’s time we talk about this,” Hosea continued, his tone unflinching but still calm. He set the bag down on the crate beside him, the weight of it thudding softly. It wasn’t just a satchel anymore—it was a ticking clock, and you could feel time slipping away with every passing second.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you struggled to pull your thoughts together, to decide what to say or do. The lingering warmth of Arthur’s kiss felt like a distant memory now, replaced by the stark reality of what Hosea was asking for. No more delays.

Arthur broke the silence first, his voice gruff. “What’s in there?” His question was directed at you, but his eyes never left Hosea. There was no anger in his tone, just a quiet demand for the truth.

You hesitated, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. Your throat was dry, and every word you tried to form seemed to dissolve before it reached your lips. Finally, you exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to meet Hosea’s gaze. “Guess we’re gonna need more than just a seat for this,” you murmured, your voice tight but steady.

Hosea’s brows lifted slightly, a flicker of acknowledgment passing over his face. “I’d say so,” he replied, gesturing for you to follow him toward the fire. “Let’s start with the truth, shall we?”

Arthur’s hand brushed your elbow briefly, a silent reassurance, before he followed. You didn’t dare look at him, too afraid of what you might see in his eyes. Regret? Anger? Or worse—disappointment.

As you moved toward the fire, the weight of the satchel seemed to grow heavier, as if it carried more than just stolen goods. It carried your past, your choices, and the dangerous truths you’d been avoiding for so long. And now, with Arthur and Hosea at your side, there was no more room for evasion.

The campfire flickered ahead, casting long shadows across the ground. You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself for what was to come.

One way or another, this was the moment everything would change. ︻デ═一・・・・・・・一═デ︻

Hello, 2025! The start of the new year really knocked me off my feet—university work has been non-stop, and my job has me absolutely wiped. 😮‍💨 But hey, I finally made it through!

I think I’ve edited this chapter about five times before I was truly happy with it. (Perfectionism? Maybe. Worth it? Absolutely. 😌) Hopefully, you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed crafting it—after all that effort, it’s gotta be worth it, right?

Oh, how I love Sadie. I absolutely adore her, and I knew I had to give her and the MC a moment to connect. Building their friendship is something I’m so excited about—it feels like such a natural dynamic, and there’s so much potential for camaraderie and mutual understanding between them.

And—finally! We’re seeing some progress with those pesky feelings. Can you tell that we (the MC) are terrible at dealing with emotions? Yeah, not great. But! A kiss! A moment of vulnerability, before... well, before that interruption from Hosea. Leave it to him to have perfect timing, huh?

What did you think? Let me know—I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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