neptunebloomx

[neptunebloomx]

[neptunebloomx]

"I did it for you" has gotta be my favorite form of betrayal. You gave me a gift I never asked for, and now I have to look around at the world you destroyed with the knowledge that it was gift wrapped and addressed to me.

[neptunebloomx]

HIIIII could I PLEASE get a arthur headcannon where he loves y/n but she’s rich and respectable and he’s not?

oooooo ofccc

lovesick!arthur who never should’ve fallen for you in the first place—because you’re too good, too sweet, too respectable for a man like him. You come from money, wear delicate silk gloves, and have this grace about you that Arthur feels like he’d ruin just by standing too close.

lovesick!arthur who knows he ain’t got a single damn thing to offer you. You’ve got fine dinners, high society parties, and expensive jewelry—what could he give you, aside from dirty hands and blood on his knuckles?

lovesick!arthur who damn near faints when you start sneaking out of your family’s estate just to see him. Late at night, barefoot in the grass with your dress hitched up so you don’t trip, a breathless, “Arthur—I couldn’t stay away.” And Arthur just stands there like an idiot, hat in hand, jaw slack. “Yer crazy, girl.”

lovesick!arthur who’s painfully aware of how rough he is compared to you. Like the first time you ever held his hand, his immediate reaction was to pull away, mumbling, “I-I’m too dirty, miss, you shouldn’t—” but you wouldn’t let him go,squeezing his hand tighter. “I don’t care, Arthur.” And God help him, that nearly killed him on the spot.

lovesick!arthur who desperately wanted to take you on a real date—but he’s got no money, no fancy carriage, no fine dinner to offer you. So instead, he mumbles about some lousy little stargazing spot he knows, “It ain’t much, but… reckon it’s real pretty out there.” and you beam like he just offered you the world. “I’d love that, Arthur.”

lovesick!arthur who spends the entire day before your date agonizing over it. He tries to brush his hair back, scrubs his face raw trying to get the dirt off, and he even tries to find a nicer shirt but—hell, he doesn’t have anything fine enough for you.

lovesick!arthur who nearly backs out of the date because he’s so ashamed. He’s pacing by the river, muttering to himself, “Stupid, stupid—why’d ya think she’d wanna sit in the dirt with you, Morgan?” But before he can leave, he sees you running toward him, all breathless and beautiful and smiling, and he’s done for.

lovesick!arthur who physically freezes when you arrive—because there you are, dressed in one of your finest gowns,pearls around your neck, and here he is… just a scruffy outlaw who couldn’t even set up a proper date. “Darlin’, I-I’m sorry, this ain’t… this ain’t much.”

lovesick!arthur who looks like he’s about to cry when you just grin at him, not a hint of disappointment in your eyes. *“Arthur. I didn’t come here for something fancy—I came here for you.” And that right there? Might’ve been the moment he fell in love for real.

lovesick!arthur who awkwardly leads you to the stargazing spot, apologizing the whole time. “Ain’t got no picnic or nothin’. Just thought—well, figured ya might like the sky.” And when you sit down in the grass without hesitation,hitching up your dress and patting the spot beside you, Arthur just stares like you hung the stars yourself.

lovesick!arthur who can’t stop fidgeting because you’re so close, and you smell like expensive perfume, and your gloved hand keeps brushing his in the grass and—Jesus Christ, he’s dying.

lovesick!arthur who actually flinches when you suddenly rest your head on his shoulder, voice soft. “It’s beautiful, Arthur.” And Arthur, stiff as a board, croaks out, “Y-yeah. S’pretty, ain’t it?” (He wasn’t talking about the stars. He was talking about you.)

lovesick!arthur who keeps beating himself up the whole time. “She should be eatin’ steak in some damn ballroom, not sittin’ in the dirt with me.” But then you lace your fingers through his—delicate little fingers intertwined with his scarred, calloused hand—and suddenly Arthur doesn’t think he could let go if he tried.

lovesick!arthur who completely freezes when you tilt your face up toward him, real soft and hopeful. “Arthur… would you kiss me?” His whole body seizes like ma’am, you wanna do what?

lovesick!arthur who very shakily cups your face—hands rough, scarred, trembling like he might break you—before finally leaning down and kissing you, soft and uncertain like he’s terrified you’ll pull away. (You don’t.)

lovesick!arthur who damn near passes out when you make this soft little noise against his mouth, one hand curling into his shirt—and that’s when Arthur completely caves, deepening the kiss with a low, desperate hum. Like he needs you to know he’s in love with you.

lovesick!arthur who damn near cries when you pull away, breathless and starry-eyed, and just whisper, “I think I’ve loved you since the first day I saw you.” Arthur literally has to look away because Jesus Christ, he’s gonna cry. “Don’t say that, darlin’… I ain’t no good fer ya.”

lovesick!arthur who breaks apart when you suddenly reach behind your neck, unclasping your fine, delicate pearl necklace—probably worth more than his entire life—and gently slip it over his head, letting it fall against his chest. “It’s yours now.”

lovesick!arthur who immediately tries to give it back, stammering, “No, no, I-I can’t take that, darlin’, it’s too—” but you just cup his face, smiling softly. “It’s mine to give. And I want you to have it.”

lovesick!arthur who wears that damn necklace every single day after that—tucked under his shirt, right against his heart.

lovesick!arthur who never takes it off, not even during bounties or jobs or gunfights, and when the gang teases him about the little glint of pearls under his shirt, Arthur just mutters, “Ain’t none o’yer business.”

lovesick!arthur who completely breaks down the next time you see him and press your forehead to his. “I love you, Arthur.” And Arthur, voice cracking, can only rasp, “…Goddamn it, I love you too, darlin’.”

lovesick!arthur who knows this can’t last forever—you’re rich, respectable, and too good for an outlaw like him—but every time you kiss him, clutch his necklace, and promise “I’ll come back to you,” Arthur clings to that hope like it’s the only thing keepin’ him alive.

lovesick!arthur who falls asleep every night with one hand clutching that necklace, silently praying, “Please let her come back t’me. Please.”

[neptunebloomx]

devotion, sacrifice, dedication

I, II

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader (Charlotte Whitman)

summary: charlotte now lives at camp, time to get accustomed to being in a gang. first up? shooting a gun.

author's note: i'm realizing this whole story might be a bit slower than i anticipated. i have a whole plot in my head, but it might take a while to get there. oops. they gotta warm up to each other first unfortunately.

cw: guns, (i don't think anything else, if i'm wrong please let me know)

word count: 2.7k

The policemen arrived early Sunday morning. Charlotte guided them to the section of her yard where she wanted Josiah buried. She sprinkled the remaining daisy seeds she had on the fresh dirt covering Josiah. She knelt down to his grave to give her final goodbyes.

Arthur arrived later that day. The two fixed her burlap sacks to Sable. Charlotte led her horse to the front of her home and was met with a beautiful pinto. She approached the mare and placed her hand on its neck.

“What’s her name?” Charlotte asked Arthur without taking her eyes off the mare.

“Boadicea,” Arthur walked up behind Charlotte to observe his horse, “she’s gotten me out of plenty of tough spots.” Arthur chuckled and mounted his horse.

Charlotte mounted Sable and followed Arthur as they left her home. She refused to look back for fear that she would get cold feet. She could not, she would not turn back. She would ride until she reached a life that brought her joy in every facet.

The pair rode for forty five minutes before Charlotte spotted a flame in the gaps between trees. Arthur led her through dense forest before they reached a clearing. Four tents were scattered about without any rhyme or reason. A fire was situated in the middle with large stones surrounding the logs. A rather large buggy was parked off to the side with three horses grazing in a meadow not too far away.

A tall man emerged from the largest tent. He was dressed in all black, save for his white undershirt, complete with a black hat atop his head. He had a very strong face which was weathered from the sun like Arthur’s. His facial hair was mere stubble, save for his prominent mustache and goatee.

“Seems like Arthur’s returned with a stray,” the man’s voice oozed authority. It was the kind of voice that commanded attention, one you’d be able to place from a mile away. The tall man walked up to Charlotte, “has Arthur named you yet, or is he still deciding?” Charlotte straightened her spine and looked the man in the eye. She would not let him think he intimidated her. She was starting a new life, one that wasn’t controlled by fear.

“I have a name and it certainly wasn’t given to me by Mr. Morgan,” the man let out a small chuckle at Charlotte’s words, “Charlotte Whitman. I expect to be addressed as such.” She would not stand for this stranger calling her a “stray”.

“Her husband died and she had nowhere else to go. Figured we could house her ‘till she got back on her feet,” Arthur explained the situation to the man in front of Charlotte.

“Well,” the man paused and scratched his dimpled chin, “I am mighty sorry to hear that, Miss Whitman. I’ll ask Miss Grimshaw to set you up a tent. For now just rest up. We’ll talk about your duties in a couple of days.”

Charlotte watched as the man walked off to speak with a woman. She didn’t look to be that much taller than Charlotte. Her hair was swept up in a plump bun. She wore a simple dress, one that seemed comfortable enough to get to work in. Miss Grimshaw, Charlotte assumed.

“That was Dutch. He means well, just not used to newcomers quite yet. He’s talkin’ to Miss Grimshaw,” Arthur points over to where Dutch is speaking with Miss Grimshaw, “we’d all starve if it weren’t for her.”

“I count four tents, but there’s only three of you here,” Charlotte surveyed the camp for the elusive fourth member of the group.

“That would be Hosea. He’s currently out on,” Arthur paused, “business. He’ll be back in a couple of days.”

Charlotte didn’t want to know what “business” entailed. All she cared about was shutting herself in whatever tent Miss Grimshaw set up for her.

It took a few hours before her tent was ready, but in due time Miss Grimshaw led Charlotte to a canvas tent. Living a life of choice meant trading her bed for a cot inches off the ground and yet she couldn’t have been happier. 

“Dutch said your husband died?” Miss Grimshaw’s voice was aged, full of experience.

“Indeed he did. I found out about two weeks ago. Police said he probably died about a month before that, though,” the more Charlotte spoke about it, the easier it seemed. It seemed easier, but it wasn’t, especially considering the life in front of her now. The way Charlotte felt created a pit in her stomach. She felt a little joy.

“I’m sorry to hear that Miss Whitman, it’s an awful thing to lose the man you love,” Miss Grimshaw gave Charlotte a small, comforting smile.

“Charlotte’s just fine and don’t you worry Miss Grimshaw. There was no love there in the end,” Charlotte let out a humorless chuckle. “Thank you kindly for the tent. I appreciate the work you did to put it together.”

Miss Grimshaw smiled and left Charlotte to her own devices. Charlotte tied the open flap of her tent to one of the posts and collapsed on her cot. It was foreign, and yet the four canvas walls comforted her. She looked around at the contents of her tent. Miss Grimshaw had placed the cot Charlotte laid on, a small wooden shelving structure, and a beaten up chest at the foot of Charlotte’s cot. She sat up and began slowly emptying the contents of her burlap sacks into the chest. Everything found its way to the chest except for two small framed pictures: one of Charlotte’s parents on their wedding day, and another of the farm where she grew up. 

She stayed in her tent until it was time for dinner. It felt odd—having nothing to do. Charlotte couldn’t remember a time during her marriage where she had absolutely nothing to do. Something always needed tending to. Dishes needed to be washed, floors needed to be swept, laundry needed to be done, the garden needed tending, and it was all her responsibility. But, today and tomorrow and the days before Dutch gave her a job, she could do nothing if she so chose. Maybe Charlotte would pick up a hobby, or maybe she would stare at the sky. Whatever she did, it would be her choice.

///

It took a couple days before Dutch gave Charlotte a job. She was to go hunting for herbs and spices. Miss Grimshaw was complaining to him, he said, of the food being tasteless and he wanted her to fix it. Charlotte could do that. She was raised on the land and she had learned it.

She spent the rest of her day with Sable travelling from meadow to meadow collecting herbs. Sage, mint, thyme, oregano—anything she could get her hands on. By the time she reached camp, as the sun began its descent, Miss Grimshaw was more than happy to throw them in the pot for dinner.

For a while that was Charlotte’s routine. Before she began her work for the day, Charlotte would sit on the shore of the lake near camp drinking a cup of coffee. In the morning she tended to the horses, making sure their feed was full and replacing their water from the day before. By nine all the saddles would be cleaned, and by ten all the horses would be brushed and given whatever treat Charlotte could find in her satchel that day. After she tended to the horses, Charlotte was off to find spices for dinner. Sometimes she would find something special: a wild carrot here, some huckleberries there. Sometimes she’d use them to snack while she searched, other times she would give them to Miss Grimshaw for that day’s dinner.

Arthur was often already awake when it was time for Charlotte’s morning coffee. He would trek off into the woods nearby to find firewood and begin chopping for the day. The two would share pleasantries as Charlotte passed Arthur on her trips from the horses’ water trough and the lake. She missed the time she and Arthur would spend together on their walks. Sometimes Charlotte was able to steal longer conversations with Arthur before he was whisked away by one of Dutch’s requests, but those moments seemed few and far between.

After a few weeks at camp, Arthur stopped by Charlotte’s tent as she was lacing up her boots for the day. He gently leaned an arm on one of the wooden posts holding up the canvas as his other hand rested lazily on his belt buckle. With the morning sun to his back, Arthur’s figure was beautifully outlined by sunlight.

“Dutch said if you’re to stay, you need to learn how to shoot,” Arthur looked around Charlotte’s tent as he spoke. He hadn’t had time to check in since she began living at camp. “How’s about you let dinner be bland tonight and we have a little shootin’ lesson?”

Staying with the gang long term. That wasn’t something Charlotte had particularly thought about, but it wasn’t something she was completely opposed to. She liked her routine she had developed and her ability to travel anywhere during her day. She’d spent more time with Sable in the past couple weeks than she had during her entire marriage. Charlotte could get used to this life, she thought.

“One problem Mr. Morgan, I don’t have a gun,” she stood up to meet his eyes which were cast in shadow.

Arthur pulled a revolver out of one of his holsters. He flipped it around so he was holding the barrel with the handle outstretched to Charlotte. It was a beautiful piece of machinery. She took the firearm from Arthur’s hand and let her fingers travel over it. The gun seemed like it was well taken care of. There wasn’t a speck of dirt in sight. The silver metal of the barrel shone in the sun and the wood of the handle was soft and smooth. 

The revolver felt heavy and foreign in her hand. Charlotte had never held a gun before. Her father believed that if she were to be able to marry into a wealthier family, she shouldn’t be familiar with such unbecoming objects and behaviors. Arthur watched Charlotte as she explored the weapon he handed her.

“Problem solved,” Arthur broke the silence between the two, “are you ready?”

Charlotte gave him a quick nod and the two left for their horses. When it was time to mount Sable, Charlotte awkwardly held onto the revolver. What was she to do with it? Surely she couldn’t hold it while she rode, but she didn’t have holsters like Arthur. Arthur noticed her studying the weapon in her hand.

“How’s about I hold onto it until we get there?” Arthur offered, to which Charlotte gladly handed the gun over. She felt her cheeks redden with Arthur’s acknowledgement of her looking completely out of her element. Arthur holstered the revolver and quickly mounted Boadicea. “Now it might not be my place to say this Miss Whitman, but it might be high time to consider a belt and some pants.”

Pants. Truthfully she’d never worn pants before. It was one of those unbecoming behaviors her father disapproved of. She had been riding Sable and walking around more often than she was used to. If Dutch really wanted her to be armed, she’d need a holster. Maybe it was time she tried pants, only Charlotte didn’t have any money. She considered Arthur’s suggestion as she awkwardly mounted Sable in a way she wouldn’t have to if she had worn pants.

The two rode off to the edge of a meadow Charlotte was familiar with. She’d visited this meadow often since she’d been at camp, it was ripe with mint. Arthur led Charlotte a ways away.

“We’ll hitch the horses here, otherwise they’ll spook with the shots,” Arthur hitched Boadecia to a tree and Charlotte followed suit. The pair walked for a bit before Arthur was satisfied with their distance from the horses. He unholstered his revolver once again and handed it to Charlotte. “Now with the way you stared at it earlier, I take it you’ve never held a gun before?”

Charlotte sheepishly replied, “Never.” Arthur chuckled.

“Makes sense. I don’t know if I’d want to send my child to a gun totin’ school teacher,” Arthur pulled a gun out of his last belt holster. “This is how you’ll want to hold it. Don’t choke the life out of it, but keep a good firm grip.” Charlotte tried to replicate his grip. “Keep your first finger near the trigger and your thumb wrapped around it like this,” he held his gun out for her to observe, “the rest of your fingers should just hold the handle and keep it steady.”

Charlotte did as she was told. Now that she knew how to hold it, the revolver felt amazing in her hand. She felt powerful.

“This here is a revolver, typically holds six bullets. After you fire six times, you’ll have to put more bullets in the barrel,” Arthur emptied his revolver into a tree, causing Charlotte to jump. He then opened the cylinder and demonstrated the need to reload the bullets individually. “You want to try firin’ it?” Charlotte nodded, intrigued by the weapon in her hand. “Alright. You’ll want to pull back the hammer,” Arthur pointed out the small piece of metal bridging the gap between the handle and barrel of the gun, “before you fire.”

Charlotte followed instructions, pointed the revolver at a tree, and pulled the trigger. The crack made by the gunshot bounced off the trees. The revolver kicked back as she shot and she damn near lost hold of the thing. She took a few steps back due to the sheer power of the gun. The ease with which Arthur just fired the same gun impressed her. He didn’t flinch, his wrist didn’t move. He was a well oiled machine. One that she could learn from.

“That was incredible, I see why you’re in this line of work,” Charlotte readied herself for another shot. “How do you stay steady after you fire?”

“Keepin’ a firm grip on the handle,” Arthur closed her hand around the handle a bit tighter, “try again.”

Charlotte fired again at the tree. Still a lot of kick back, but not as much as her first shot. By the time the shooting lesson was over, Charlotte and Arthur had killed a handful of trees twenty times over. As Arthur readied Boadicea for their ride back to camp, Charlotte inspected the gun wrapped across his back. It was significantly bigger than the revolver she had been working with all day. It was magnificent. She reached out and let her fingers graze the wood of the weapon.

“What’s this one called?” Charlotte couldn’t help her curiosity, she hadn’t noticed how close she’d stepped to Arthur. He turned slightly to look at her over his shoulder and she lifted her eyes to meet his. Arthur held her gaze, savoring her palpable curiosity. Oh, how he enjoyed her curiosity.

Arthur brought the weapon over his head and held it in his hand, “This is a rifle. You use this when you’re tryin’ to shoot something from a distance.”

“When can I shoot it?” Charlotte was in awe of this gun more than the revolver. Arthur laughed at her overenthusiasm.

“How’s about you get used to the revolver before we try somethin’ more advanced?” He slung the rifle back over his head and mounted Boadicea. Charlotte’s disappointment was obvious, but nothing compared to having to hand the revolver back to Arthur before she mounted Sable. “Get a pair of pants and a holster, and this is all yours.”

“Do you mean it?” Charlotte’s disappointment washed away.

“I don’t believe in a lady bein’ defenseless. I don’t want to have to go around worryin’ about you.”

“You worry about me Mr. Morgan?” Charlotte teased. Arthur chuckled to himself. Maybe he enjoyed her taunting more than her curiosity.

“Just don’t want you gettin’ held up while lookin’ for your herbs and spices. We need those—I don’t want to go back to the stew we had before you came along,” Arthur waited for Charlotte to ready herself on Sable’s saddle before beginning the journey back to camp.

Charlotte needed to make money. She lived a life of freedom and choice now. That meant she needed pants and a holster.

[neptunebloomx]

devotion, sacrifice, dedication

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader (Charlotte Whitman)

summary: reader is stuck in a bad marriage. she finds company on her walks back from teaching at the schoolhouse. something of a friendship begins to form.

author's note: so in all honesty this is an excerpt from the middle of a fic i've been writing. this has a bit more focus on her no-good-son-of-a-bitch husband, but i think i picked a piece of it that made sense without having any backgroud besides the summary. if someone out there enjoys it, maybe i'll write some more!

cw: mention of alcoholic/abusive husband, mention of starvation (not purposeful, but due to poverty), death

word count: 3.6k

They walked together for weeks. Sometimes Arthur would be missing for a few days, but he always came back. Sometimes they walked in silence while other times were filled with conversation. Charlotte found herself walking slower as the days came and went. She would purposefully stop during their walks to tie her shoe or to feign interest in something beyond the path. Arthur indulged her. She knew he was an outlaw, but didn’t act afraid of him. He didn’t get much of that these days.

There were no shoes on the front step.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” Did she ask him too fast, she wondered. Did she sound too eager?

“A man always appreciates some coffee,” Arthur replied. He flicked his cigarette on the ground and put it out with his boot, spurs jingling as his foot twisted.

Charlotte opened the door to her home and felt an odd sense of shame. In her morning rush to get to the schoolhouse she left the bedroom door ajar and the bed unmade. She hadn’t cleaned up Josiah’s partially eaten dinner from the night before. Charlotte was acutely aware of the seemingly endless amount of dust in her home that she could have sworn wasn’t there before.

“I am awful sorry Mr. Morgan, we don’t get many visitors,” Charlotte hurriedly marched over to shut the bedroom door before swiftly taking care of Josiah’s plate. She watched as Arthur perched his hat on the frail coat rack. Some of his chin-length hair fell in his eyes before he swept it back with his right hand.

“It’s a might better than what I got goin’ for myself back at camp. I don’t mind one bit Mrs. Harmon.” His words brought her some semblance of ease, but she still wished she had swept a bit the night before.

“How do you take your coffee?” Charlotte lit the coals under her stove and started a pot of coffee.

“Nothin’ in it ‘cept a splash of whiskey,” Arthur took in her home. It had been a while since he’d been invited into a person’s home without the intent to do anything illegal. It felt odd, but it was something he appreciated.

Charlotte knelt down to her husband’s liquor cabinet. She scanned bottles of varying levels of fullness. There was whiskey in there, she knew, that Josiah only drank on special occasions. This was special enough wasn’t it? This was the first time she had invited a friend to her home in the year since she and Josiah were married.

“Your husband appreciates his alcohol,” Arthur noted the abundance of alcohol in the cabinet.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Charlotte let out a dry chuckle as she rose with the special-occasion-only whiskey and added a splash to the pot before stirring it, “I suppose I shouldn’t be, but I’m surprised he’s not home yet. Ever since he was let go he’s been spendin’ more time at home.”

Charlotte knew what Josiah not being home meant. He would come home in a drunken stupor, stumbling around making a mess for her to clean up in the morning. She would push herself as far to the edge of the bed as she could stand before he opened their bedroom door. Charlotte knew not to disturb him when he came home in a state. She’d learned. 

Once the coffee was fragrant, Charlotte took it off the stove and poured Arthur a cup.

“You make a mean cup of coffee, Mrs. Harmon,” Arthur’s tongue flicked across his lips as he savored the flavor left on them, “I’ll have to stop by more often.”

Charlotte wore a small smile in response to the compliment and hope of future cups of coffee. She quickly turned to put Josiah’s whiskey away so Arthur wouldn’t be able to tell that with one compliment she felt how she did when she first laid eyes on Josiah. 

Hopeful.

She’d met a friend. She’d invited someone to her home for the first time. Her friend didn’t seem to look down upon her humble lifestyle, if anything he understood it. But, she didn’t know much about her new friend.

“How’d you start outlawin’?” Charlotte cleaned her pot and put it away as she spoke.

“Runs in my blood. My daddy was a criminal and after he died I found my own way to it,” Arthur’s hand found its way to his face to scratch his stubble.

“What happened to your mother?” Charlotte questioned, finally sitting at her table with Arthur.

“My momma?” Arthur took a long sip from his coffee. Charlotte suspected he was trying to find the whiskey in the dark liquid, “‘Fraid that’s a story for another time, Mrs. Harmon, and one that needs a lot of liquor.” Arthur finished his coffee and set the cup down on Charlotte’s table, “Thank you for your hospitality. I hope to see you again soon, I do enjoy our walks.”

Charlotte watched as Arthur retrieved his hat and put it back in its rightful place atop his head. He tipped the brim of it before walking out her door. She rose from her chair to watch him from her window. After he faded from view Charlotte went into a cleaning frenzy. Everything needed to be just so if she were to have him over again.

By the time she finished cleaning the sun had long since set. It was long past the time for Josiah to come stumbling through the door and yet he wasn’t there. She filled an extra bowl with the stew she made for dinner and left it on the table for Josiah. She laid curled up on the edge of their bed and drifted to sleep.

Josiah was neither in bed when she woke nor on their padded bench which was a sorry excuse for a sofa. His food still laid out on their table, not one bite had been taken. There was nothing out of place. When he came home in a state, Josiah had no care for how tidy their home may have been. Nothing had been touched or moved. 

Charlotte readied herself for a day of teaching but her mind was absent. She’d hoped he was okay. Maybe he spent the night in an inn or looking for work. God, she’d hoped it was the latter. The schoolhouse paid her, sure, but it wasn’t nearly enough to support the both of them. She wasn’t even sure if it was enough to support herself. 

At the end of her school day she began her walk home. Arthur accompanied her. She told him about her day, what the children were learning. She told him which students needed extra help and which ones excelled. He listened as she told him about her upcoming lessons and how she planned on teaching them. 

Josiah’s boots were missing again. Arthur couldn’t come in for a cup of coffee that day. He told Charlotte his gang needed him elsewhere and left with a tip of his hat. Charlotte stood on her step as he walked away. One day, she’d hoped, he would show her his camp. She wanted to meet the people he worked with. Arthur was the first outlaw she’d met, much less talked to and he wasn’t so scary.

Her home was eerily silent without Josiah. She grew accustomed to his barely audible mumbling and his presence within their home. She ate dinner silently and left a bowl out for him to eat whenever he walked through the door. 

///

Josiah never ate his bowl of stew. It was a few days before Charlotte stopped wasting a portion of food to put in a bowl for him. It was a week before she realized she was in real trouble. Josiah hadn’t shown up and she didn’t know if he ever would. One night away from home was not uncommon for him, but an entire week was a different story. It was time for Charlotte to go to the store and all she had was the money from the schoolhouse.

Two loaves of bread, a can of corned beef, baked beans, and a wedge of cheese. That was all Charlotte could afford for the week. The rest of her money was spent on horse feed. While in town she asked around for Josiah. Her search led her to the saloon.

“Haven’t seen him since Tuesday,” the barkeep spoke while cleaning a glass.

“That was one week ago and I haven’t seen him since,” Charlotte tried to keep her worry at bay. She clutched her bag of measly provisions. She knew she could not last long on her salary alone. “Did he mention where he was headed when he left?”

“No, ma’am. Alls he was saying was that he’d better look for a job. But then again, I’ve heard him say that before.”

Charlotte was defeated. Josiah had no friends, no one who would know where he’d gone. He had no boss to report to, no group he belonged to. The only people familiar with him were Charlotte and an unhelpful barkeep. “Thank you anyway.”

She walked home with her items. Arthur was missing. Disappointment threatened to rear its ugly head, but Charlotte had more important things on her mind: a missing husband. She half hoped to see boots on the front step when she arrived.

The front step was empty.

Charlotte set her paper bag on her table and organized her food in her cabinets before taking the horse feed out back. She was greeted by a beautiful black mare. Josiah had saved up to buy the mare for Charlotte when they were only seventeen. She was only four when Charlotte first laid eyes on her. She and Josiah were walking when she spotted the mare in a corral. None of the horses paid the pair any mind except for the one as black as night. The mare approached the two and ushered her face to Charlotte. She reached out to the horse’s mane. At that moment she vowed the two would be united. 

Josiah found a job with the rancher who owned the mare and was eventually able to buy her for Charlotte. Sable. A name fit for the jet black mare.

“I know you’re hungry, Sable girl,” Charlotte approached her companion with her food.

Sable ate quietly while Charlotte sat with her. After she finished, Sable was swiftly tacked up by Charlotte. They walked along paths and into the woods, near creeks and rivers and lakes. Along rolling hills, farms, and meadows. The two were searching for any sign of Josiah.

The stars soon announced their presence and forced Charlotte to cease searching for the day. That night after she ate, Charlotte laid in the middle of their bed and clutched Josiah’s pillow.

///

Three more weeks passed with no sign of Josiah. Charlotte was slowly starving, she knew it. She was lucky to be a woman with a job, but as a woman with a job her compensation was laughable. Feeding herself and Sable proved difficult, but she would not give Sable up. So, the two began to wither away together.

When he wasn’t away for whatever job he needed to do, Arthur walked with Charlotte. She’d invited him in many times since Josiah had been gone. Although she couldn’t afford to make him a cup of coffee anymore, Arthur didn’t seem to mind. Every time Charlotte’s stomach audibly rumbled something in Arthur’s expression changed. A change she couldn’t quite recognize.

After two weeks of Josiah being gone, Arthur would show up with a squirrel or a rabbit on many of their walks. He would insist he didn’t need it, that he’d shot too many and had one to spare, and that she should take it. She welcomed the food and soon began to rely on it.

After a month of Josiah not returning, Charlotte heard a commotion while sitting with Sable. She took Sable and followed the sound. The pair was led to a small lake near Charlotte’s home. Policemen were on the makeshift dock. They’d fixed ropes to one of their horses and were dragging something up from the water.

The first thing Charlotte saw were the boots. Boots that had been missing from her front step for a month. Then she saw familiar pants and jacket.

She wasn’t aware she was wailing until one of the policemen rushed to her and steadied her as her legs gave out. She fell to her knees and the policeman knelt with her.

He wasn’t missing. He was dead. He would never be coming back. She would never survive.

The policeman set her atop his horse and tied Sable to his saddle horn. She mumbled the directions back to her home. The policeman brought Sable to the stable out back and escorted Charlotte into her home.

“We’ll be coming by to make funeral arrangements,” he said, clearly unaware of how to handle the situation. “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

“A funeral isn’t necessary,” Charlotte could only manage to stare at the floor, her voice barely a whisper, “he had no next of kin besides me. He had no friends. I just need someone to come by and bury him.”

Josiah. Gone. She’d known him since the pair was nine years old. Charlotte was smitten with him the second she saw him. Ten years and it ended with him at the bottom of a lake.

“Alright then. We’ll be taking him until someone comes to bury him. They’ll come back with the body and you just tell them where you want him,” the policeman must have seen the look on her face because he quickly corrected. “I’m sorry for my crudeness, ma’am. I am truly sorry for your loss. That’s a…” he trailed off, trying to find the right words, “truly horrible way to find your husband. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

She slightly nodded her head in acknowledgement. Charlotte watched as the policeman quietly left her home. 

He drowned. He wasn’t looking for a new job, he wasn’t drunk in a saloon. Hell, she would’ve rather he’d snuck off with another woman than find him dead. Anything would have been better than this. 

Charlotte didn’t return to the schoolhouse that week. The policemen, in one of their few visits, informed her they would post a notice on the schoolhouse door that the school was closed for the week. She couldn’t drag herself out of bed. She laid on his side of the bed and drank him in while replaying the memories she’d made with him.

She and Josiah running around their families’ farms. Their nights spent under the stars. Josiah would stroke her hair as he told her about the life they would have together. He would tell her how he intended to marry her as soon as he was able. As their wedding date grew closer he was increasingly short with her. Charlotte originally chalked it up to prenuptial jitters, something that would eventually pass. 

Oh, she was so happy on her wedding day. She saw it as the start to the life Josiah had promised her. The two had eloped due to her father’s disapproval. She came from a poor farming family and was planning on marrying into another poor farming family. He’d wanted better for her. “Move to Saint Denis” he’d tell her. Her parents planned on scraping together the pennies they had for her to move and find someone who could provide her with a better life. One with stability, love, and wealth, if she were lucky. 

But she loved Josiah. Her childhood friend. He painted her beautiful pictures of the life they could have. They would own land, have children, and die old together. God, how she wished that’s how they turned out. Old and happy and comfortable.

It was five days until Charlotte heard a knock at her door. She couldn’t get up to see who it was. She was firmly planted in bed. Charlotte had only left bed twice that week to eat whatever food she could manage to whip up. 

She heard the door open and heavy boots take a few steps in.

“Mrs. Harmon?” A familiar voice called out. She couldn’t even manage to feel excitement at the voice of her friend. Charlotte’s bedroom door opened and a set of blue-green eyes landed on her. “Josiah still not back?”

She didn’t know why, but his words broke something in her. Charlotte hadn’t cried all week, she only felt numb. Yet here she was, weeping in front of her only friend. She felt pathetic, like a wounded animal.

Arthur walked over and sat at the foot of Charlotte’s bed. He looked about as lost as the policeman who escorted Charlotte home, but his presence was all she needed. 

“He’s…” Charlotte tried to speak but choked on her sobs. “He’s dead,” she slowly sat up, something she’d barely done all week, “they found him in the lake. He probably passed out drunk or—I don’t know.” She hugged her knees close to her chest. “He’s gone.”

“I’m mighty sorry to hear that, Mrs. Harmon,” Arthur offered his condolences.

“Whitman,” Charlotte rested her head on her knees and looked at Arthur. His eyes pierced hers, “it was my name before I took Josiah’s.”

She’d taken his name and this was how he left her. She’d done so much for the two of them despite his promises. She was his maid, his courtesan, his wife and this was she was left. Though Charlotte felt guilty, in that moment her pain and sorrow morphed to rage. Pure and unadulterated. Oh, but she was so angry. Angry for loving him once upon a time. Angry for marrying him. Angry at him for changing. Angry at the thought of the life they could have had. Angry at Josiah’s waterlogged fate.

“My daddy never wanted me to marry him,” Charlotte admitted to Arthur. “I guess I should have listened.” Charlotte chuckled to herself, “he did wrong by me and here I am crying over him. How pathetic.”

The two sat in silence for a while. Charlotte thought back on the weeks without Josiah. How hungry she’d been, how little she had. It was summer but what would happen come winter? What would she do when she couldn’t afford firewood? How would she manage if her boots wore through?

“I don’t know what I’m to do, Mr. Morgan,” Charlotte was defeated. She loved the schoolhouse, but knew she wouldn’t be able to support herself as a teacher. She refused to walk the streets. Charlotte resigned to just slowly withering away.

She looked at Arthur to see a storm behind his eyes. Waves crashing against each other in the deep ocean of his eyes. His jaw was tense. He was contemplating.

“Come with me. I’m sure Dutch won’t mind as long as you pull your weight. We’re unruly, but we do right by our own,” Arthur looked at her. She couldn’t deny the sincerity in his eyes.

Live with outlaws? He couldn’t be serious. She would have to leave the schoolhouse, abandon the children. But if that were true, if she would be provided for so long as she pulled her weight, there may be no other option. Charlotte, lost in thought, paused for a long while.

“I need to be here when they bury him. After he’s buried, I’ll go. The policemen said someone will be by with his body on Sunday.” Charlotte looked around her home. She didn’t have much to take with her. All of her belongings that would be worthwhile to take with her would likely fit into one, maybe two, burlap sacks.

“Then I’ll be back in two days’ time,” Arthur rose from her bed, “again Mrs.— Miss Whitman, I am very sorry for your loss.”

“I guess it isn’t all bad, I won’t be woken up in the middle of the night by a drunken man bursting through the front door,” the numbness washed over Charlotte once again. Arthur chuckled at her remark.

“No, I guess it isn’t.”

Arthur left her home. Charlotte managed to leave her bed. Leaving her home would be good for her. Bad memories were held in its walls. Shouting, tension, nights spent on her back. All the things she wanted to remember of Josiah happened before she left her family’s farm. She was mourning the man he used to be, she thought. With his passing, Josiah killed any possibility of him changing his ways. Charlotte wasn’t mourning a love lost, she was mourning the loss of a presence. Despite her lack of friendships before Arthur Morgan, she always had someone there. Whether her former husband was a positive or negative presence was a completely different question. No matter what, she was never alone. Even though she was being taken in by a gang of outlaws, she wouldn’t be alone.  

When Charlotte managed to pull herself off the side of her bed and walk to her kitchen, she was greeted by two skinned and cleaned rabbits. Arthur made up for her absence the past week. She’d make rabbit stew for dinner. Something of a celebratory meal.

When Arthur and Charlotte first met she had wanted nothing more than a life filled with choice. One where she didn’t feel trapped in a marriage she didn’t want or shackled to a house. She still had that desire, she just never expected this would be the way she achieved that life.

She spent the rest of the day and all of the next day sorting through the items within her home. Separating what was hers versus Josiah’s, what she wanted to keep versus what was better left behind. Two burlap sacks later and Charlotte had packed up her clothes and sentimental items.

[neptunebloomx]

'he would not fucking say that' maybe he would if he knew he was starring in his very own porn fic for the sole purpose of delighting some freaks on archive of our own dot org. maybe he'd play it up for the cameras. ever consider that

[neptunebloomx]

Race: When yer famous, The woild is yer erster

Henry: Ya What?

Everyone: *completely bamboozled*

Race: *is confusion* yer erster

Everyone: *more bamboozled*

Race: yA KNOW YA FANCY CLAM WITH THE PEARL INSIDE

Everyone: ThAts An OysTeR rAcE yOu UnEdUcAtEd SwInE

[neptunebloomx]

Pretty Girl

 Kind of a song fic? Not really though? Requested by anon

-🎃

Your eye caught Race’s from your usual selling spot. Your partner would do anything to sell his papes, even if it meant flirting with every pretty girl. Every time he did you found yourself growing quiet and receding. You had to play it off like it was nothing when he’d come back with a big smirk on his face and a dime in his hand.

    “She’s a doll, yeah?” He’d say sometimes, to which you’d roll your eyes and mumble a ‘sure Race.’. He thought anything with two legs that were willing to spread was a “Doll”. You never had anything against the ladies, just that they were always so proper, prim, and pretty, and you were… you were just a newsie. They were all so clean and smelled like flowers. You lived with a bunch of boys in a lodge and it was a miracle if you could bathe once every week. You often stared at yourself in the small mirrors in the bathroom with the old skirt you used to wear (Having switched to pants as it was much easier to maneuver and work with them), always wondering if Race would pay more attention to you if you wore it.

    He was flirty with you at the beginning, but it died down to normal friend talk as time went by and you switched outfits. You even went as far as to cut your hair to make it easier. You kept it in a short bob, long enough to still frame your face, but short enough where it wouldn’t get caught under your bag.

    Katherine, being the wonderful sweetheart she was let you join her in her home and rant. She offered to let you wear one of her dresses if you wanted, but you refused, claiming it wasn’t who you were.

    “Hello, ma’am,” Race shot one of his award winning smiles towards a girl in a frilly pink and white dress. It was breathtaking to say the least, adorned with roses and lace. Her long flowing hair was pinned in a romantic fashion, lips and cheeks painted in rosy colors. You really regretted looking over at Race. He’d removed his hat, letting his sandy curls go untamed. His lips were curled into a bright smile, but it was his eyes that caught your attention. A look that could only be described as lust was in them. In that moment you would’ve given anything to be that lady. To have Race look at you like that. You quickly sold your last three papers and headed straight to Katherine’s house, mumbling to Race where you were going, leaving him with the girl.

    “Do you think it’ll fit me?” You asked, eyeing a soft yellow dress. Katherine didn’t answer, only pushed the dress from blocking your view of her. She had a stern look on her face.

    “I thought dresses weren’t ‘you’.” She said, using quotation marks. You felt your cheeks grow warm from being called out. You shrugged.

    “Why not give it a try. It’s been awhile, besides the one I had was old.” You said, trying to convince her. She wasn’t having any of it.

    “Is it Race?” She asked, arching an eyebrow.

    “Maybe.” She huffed out a long sigh.

    “Don’t wear a dress because he said he wants you to-”

    “He didn’t! I just wanna look pretty.” You mumbled the last bit, shoulders hunching slightly. Katherine sighed again. She stepped forward, placing her hands on your shoulders.

    “You’re already pretty, and if Race doesn’t like you for the newsie you are, he’s not worth it. Trust me, love comes when you least expect it.” She said, pulling you in for a hug. You smiled against her and pulled back.

    “Thanks, Katherine. I’m still gonna wear the dress though.”

    You ended up staying the night at Katherine’s. The next day you looked over yourself in the full mirror, smiling. You headed out to get your papes, hearing the newsies whisper and whistle. You smiled and bowed sarcastically. Oscar offered to throw in a few extra if you ‘popped up the skirt and showed me the goods’. You rolled your eyes and went to your usual selling spot.

    “Well, is that the Queen?” Race’s familiar voice came from behind you. You turned and flashed him a smile, along with a curtsy. He pulled his hat off and fanned himself. “How’s you expect a guy to stay cool when ya make ‘im all flustered.” He joked. Your own cheeks flushed at his comment. He smiled, though something was different about it, it wasn’t his normal nose crinkle smile, just a soft, not quite reach the eyes smile. It hurt to be honest. Maybe you just didn’t have a chance with him. He placed his hat back on and began selling.

    You sold out a lot quicker than you normally did. You also had a increase in men buying from you. You were down to one, and decided to give the whole, flirting a try. You found a rather young man, stepping beside him. He stopped immediately, eyes raking over you.

    “Pardon me sir, but care to buy the daily news. You’d sure make a girl awfully happy.” You dragged out the word happy, your lips curling into a smile. You could feel another set of eyes on you. You glanced behind the man, seeing Race leaning on a street lamp, gnawing on the end of his cigar. His glare was trained on you and the man. Brushing it off you looked back to the man, fluttering your eyelashes at him. He smiled at you, eagerly digging into his pocket for the money. He pressed a quarter into your palm, finger tips running along your palm. Your gut wrenched at the feeling, but you kept a tight smile on your face, even throwing in a wink and a giggle as you walked away.

    You wriggled your eyebrows at Race, who was still glaring at you. You lifted up the quarter, showing it off. Maybe flirting wasn’t such a bad sales pitch. You took in how pissed (And hot) Race actually looked. You pocketed the money, crossing your arms.

    “What’s wrong with you?” You asked, pursing your lips. His jaw wa visibly grinding and for a moment you were actually worried. “Race?” He moved suddenly, grabbing your arm and pulling you in a nearby alleyway. He pushed you against the rough brick wall, smashing his hands on either side of you. You cowered for a moment before pushing yourself at full height, even though he was still a good few inches taller, and pushed out your chest.

    “The hell is wrong with you?” You yelled, not caring that he was only a few feet away.

    “Me? The hell is wrong with me? You’s is the one throwin’ yaself all over that guy!” He snapped back. You let out a loud laugh.

    “Coming from the guy who flirts with literally all his customers,” You paused for a second, eyes scanning over his face.”Why?”

“What?” Your question caught him off guard.

“Why do you care?” It was his turn to laugh.

“You’s my sellin’ partner I gotta make sure you ain’t gonna get distracted from some rich guy and leave me!” He shifted in his spot when you threw up your eyebrows. “Leave me to sell by myself, I’d have to get Mush back and he’s gettin’ to be a freeloader.” Race’s freckle speckled cheeks began to grow a deep red color.

“I’ve been dealing with that ever since we’ve been partners. You’re always flirting with the pretty girls leaving me in the dust behind like-” You paused, this wasn’t sounding like a rant. More like a confession. You snapped your mouth closed, turning your head away from him. After a solid minute of silence Race spoke up.

“Yellow’s my favorite color.” He mumbled, voice having cooled down. You glanced over at him, his blush had only spread over his nose and over his ears.

“I know.” You mumbled back. “That’s why I wore it.” You watched the cogs turn in Race’s mind, then finally click into place. His blue eyes widened and his shoulders relaxed a bit.

“Oh.”

That’s it. That’s all you got. ‘Oh’. After confessing you liked him and were jealous that all girls, except you got his attention, all you got was ‘Oh’.

“Yeah. You have no place to tell me how to sell.” You ducked under his arm, going to leave the alley, but he gripped your wrist and pulled you back in. He pressed you against the wall again, but this time his hands grabbed your arms, then they slid down to your hands.

“You, uh, like me?” He asked, usure. You could feel his shaky fingers and sweaty palms. Had you done that? Had you made Racetrack Higgins nervous?

“Hell, I might be in love with you, Higgins. Who knows, never got to act upon it.” You said, trying in any way to lighten the tense mood. His breath stopped for a second as his eyes flicked from yours to your lips. Without warning he bent down and pressed his lips against yours. One hand curled around your waist, the other to your face, holding you tight against him.

You jerked away when you heard clapping at the end of the ally. Katherine stood there with a huge smug smile on her face.

“I knew you liked each other!” She laughed. Your face flushed with embarrassment. “Hey (Y/n), keep the dress.” She said with a wink.

[neptunebloomx]

Ice Skating Race x Reader

Summary: You go ice skating with your very attractive selling partner who you’ve been crushing on since forever.

Word Count: 1.4k

Author’s note: I actually pulled some of this story from a personal experience I had while iceskating with a past bf so enjoy.

warning: cuteness will make your heart explode!

“Wake up sunshine,” You feel someone nudge your shoulder.

You open your eyes to find Race wearing a coat that you could’ve sworn you saw Jack wearing the other day and a huge grin playing on his lips.

“Yous better have a good reason for waking me up so early Higgins,” You groan as you pull the blankets closer to your chin, not wanting to get up.

“Y/N it’s the middle of the afternoon, ya slept through the circulation bell.”

It was December, one of the coldest and most miserable months out of the year. Your hands were still freezing from the day before, selling papes while it was snowing outside wasn’t the best for your health, but if it meant being by your selling partner Race all day, then you would have to live with it.

The sheets were pulled off and the cold air washed over you as you curled up into a ball, reaching your arm out to try and grab ahold of the blankets.

“No! Please it’s freezing in here!”

“Well I have a few ideas on how I’ll warm ya up,” Race teases, a flirty tone laced in his voice.

You hide the blush in your cheeks and you grab the blankets back from him and you hide underneath them.

“Up and at em, let’s go!” Race shouted as he pulled on your leg but your hands quickly grabbed the railing on the bed, holding on for dear life.

“Race! What is ya doing! Please, I just wanna sleep!” You cry out as you turn over and look up at him, in his right hand is two pairs of ice skates.

“Where did you get those?” You ask as you sit up, suddenly wide awake.

“Not important, but I’m takin ya skating,” Race says as he holds up the skates.

You run your fingers through your tangled hair in an attempt to make it less messy, trying to look somewhat presentable in front of your selling partner.

“Skating? Like now? It’s freezing outside,” You point out, looking over to the window which is already decorated in intricate patterns of frost.

“Y/N come on, the cold neva hurt nobody,” Race teased as he went over to his bunk and tossed you a coat and a scarf that Elmer had knit.

You slipped on Race’s coat, the smell of smoke and aftershave lingering on the collar and sleeves,“ Ever heard of hypothermia?”

“Hippo what?”

—–

“Need some help?” Race kneels down in front of you as you sat down at a bench, struggling with the laces of your ice skates

Your hands were shaking from the cold, making it hard to tie your laces. As Race ties them you can’t help but stare at his face, his cheeks and nose already pink from the cold and his blonde hair was sticking out of his cap in every direction, snow-sprinkled on his hair and clothes.

Your heart was beating out of it’s chest but you shook the feeling away. You had grown feelings for Race, you hoped it wasn’t painfully obvious like Albert had said. Race was your best friend, you had thought that maybe your crush on him would just be a small phase but it’s been months and your feelings for him haven’t subsided.

It was his fault, how could you not fall for him? His random hugs from behind or the nicknames he gave you like doll or sunshine hit you like a ton of bricks. The way his eyes would scan the room to try and find yours or how he would always volunteer to be your selling partner made you sure that he felt the same way, but you were proven wrong when you heard him and the other boys talk about cute customers they had that day.

It was painful falling for your best friend, you knew that if you told him how you felt and if he didn’t share the same feelings, you would lose him. While Albert and Romeo were confident Race would feel the same way about you, you just couldn’t wrap your mind around the idea.

“Yous ready?” He asked, snapping you out of your daze, his hand reached out for you to take it. You take his hand and he pulls you up with two hands so you don’t fall face first.

He backs up until he’s on the ice, his grip on your hand tightens to try and steady you as you glide onto the ice. Once both of your feet are on the ice you exhale and you slowly glide one foot over the other,  starting to get the hang of it. You let go of Race’s hand and you raise one fist in the air, feeling like a champion.

“Ha! This isn’t so bad-”

Your left foot slips from underneath you and you feel yourself starting to fall over, your hands quickly grabbing Race’s collar and a handful of his shirt, trying to regain your balance.

“Woah hey,” Race’s arms wrap around your waist, holding you steady,“ I got yous, don’t worry doll.”

You look away from your feet and instead you look up at Race who’s eyes shift down to your lips and then back to your eyes. A wave of embarrassment rushed over you, he’s not thinking about kissing you..is he?

“Thanks Race, uh I’ll be more careful,” You stutter as you step away from his warm embrace and you spin around quickly, skating away from him.

You don’t get very far, you feel his familiar touch grab your hand and he pulls you into him in a swift movement.

“Yous like me, don’t cha?” He asks and your first instinct is to laugh.

“Me? Yous think I like ya? Higgins, come on quit playing around,” You laugh nervously and try to pull away from him but his grip on you stays firm.

“Yous beautiful when ya nervous Y/N,” Race says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and that’s when you realize how close you two are.

“Yous crazy, stop saying things like that. I think the cold is turning your brain into slush,” you try to play this off as cool as possible, but you can feel butterflies in your stomach-Maybe a wasps nest seems more realistic.

“I mean it doll, look there’s somethin I been meaning to tell ya,” Race says softly and your heart drops.

“Yous been my best friend eva since ya soaked me back when we were kids. See, the reason I took ya out here wasn’t cause Albert ditched me…it’s cause I really like ya. I know yous feel the same way cause Romeo told me but if he was lying then I’m just makin myself look like an idiot. I thought this place was romantic or whateva and I’m just gonna go for it- can I kiss you?” For the first time ever, Race rambles on, his smooth and flirty side was completely eclipsed by a nervous and anxious Race.

You knew that if you didn’t kiss him soon, you would pass out from how bizarre this whole thing was so you nodded as Race’s hand moved to cup your face and the other moved toward your waist.

The kiss didn’t feel like what you thought it’d be like, his lips were soft and cold and you could hardly stand the smell of smoke but his lips tasted like the cigar he had smoked earlier, you could taste it all day.

There were no fireworks like the books had described but instead felt like you were surrounded by warmth. It felt like you were wrapped up in a blanket, feeling safe and without a care in the world, there was no doubt people were staring but you didn’t care. All you cared about was that you were in the middle of an ice rink in Manhattan, kissing your best friend while snowflakes danced around your heads.

You both pulled apart for air and Race had the biggest smile on his lips, “ You taste like heaven.”

You roll your eyes and you push Race playfully, forgetting that you two were on slippery ice. Race starts to fall over and you reach out to grab him but he pulls you down with him. You fall on top of him as you both let out a groan.

“ Gee Y/N, eager are we? I thought yous would at least buy me dinner first,” Race teases as you smack his chest.

[neptunebloomx]

very underrated photo

[neptunebloomx]

Baby It’s Cold Outside (Racetrack x Reader)

Words: 981

Plot: Race forced (Y/N) to dance with him when it starts to rain.

Characters: Racetrack, Reader, Romeo, Buttons, Sniper, Mush, Random yelling person 

A/N: I tried to finish this last night, but I couldn’t. I hope you enjoy it!

Request: I hope you don’t stress ur self out too much with all these requests but could you do a flirty race x reader (the two of them aren’t dating - both super good friends) where it’s raining outside while they’re selling papes together & she just wants to get inside but he wants to be cliche and pulls her in to dance with him in the rain & then they kiss and it’s just filled with fluff ??? LOVE you and keep doing what ur doing 💗

Warnings: None? I may have cussed, i don’t remember. I do that a lot. And they pick on Finch a little bit.

@sincereythenewsies @-episkey-  @hogwartsfanfiction03 @theys-a-joke @girlslikefoodandwifi

“Sky don’t look to good today,” Romeo pointed to the dark cloud overhead. “Anyone even gonna be out on tha streets ‘sides us?”

“One can only hope.” Buttons sighed, shoving his hands further into his pants pockets. “Hey, you’s guys know if anyone else got an extra pair’a gloves?”

“Finch should,” You say with a shrug, trying not to shiver from the cold. “Dunno if ‘e lost ‘is old ones though.”

“Of course ‘e did! Finch can’t even keep track’a ‘is shoes when they’s on ‘is feet!” Race, your best friend and selling partner, piped in while twirling his unlit cigar between his fingers, eyes twinkling with amusement. You all giggled, nodding in agreement. The four of you approached the gates before most of the other newsies. Mush and Sniper greeted you as you arrived, immediately going into a discussion over what the headline might be.

“Whadda you’s think, (F/N)?” Mush asked you.

“Dunno. Don’t really matta, headlines don’t really sell tha pape.” You shrugged, scratching the back of your neck.

“They’s sure do help though.” Sniper grumbled, copying your action unconsciously. “Specially when they’s exciting. Which is never.”

“Not true, tha one from last Wednesday was exciting.” Romeo said, reminiscing. Race rolled his eyes.

“You’s don’t even rememba the headline from last Wednesday.” He accused. Romeo scoffed

“Not true!” He crossed his arms across his chest with a pout.

“Then what was it?” Race mirrored his friend with a smirk. Romeo’s cheeks turned a light shade of red. “Ha, told ya.”

“… Shuddup.” You all laughed as more newsies approached. The conversation went on for a bit before they put up the headline. It was nothing too exciting or breath-taking - which meant you and Race would have to work extra hard at coming up with obscure headlines.

“Couldn’t there be something more exciting?” Buttons complained.

“Like what?” Romeo asked.

“I dunno. An earthquake? A hurricane? Some kinda natural disasta.” You all nodded in agreement.

“How many papes you’s gettin’?” Race asked, nudging you.You nudged him back.

“A hundred. Like always.” You tell him.

“With this weatha?” He raised an eyebrow.

“We’ll be done before the first drop’a water hits tha ground.”

It didn’t take long after buying your papers for you and Race to hit the streets, shouting at the top of your lungs the first thing that came to mind.

You were down to fifteen papes when the first drop of water hit you. You brushed it off as just some morning dew from one of the street lamps. But then it happened again. And again. In less than a minute, the sky split open and rained down, soaking you and Race instantly.

Citizens ran for cover, ducking under awnings and dashing inside buildings. You throw your bag above your head to stop the onslaught of water, though it was really no use. You grab Race’s wrist and pull in in the direction of the lodging house.

“Hey, hey, what’s tha rush?” He laughed, pulling you to a stop. “Can’t we just enjoy the moment?” He grinned.

“We ain’t gonna get any more papes sold, and we’s gonna get sick if we stay out in tha rain!” You shout over the rain, tugging in a sad attempt to get Race to follow you. With a laugh, he pulls you forward into his arms. You shiver in dismay.

“Come on, (F/N). Dance with me.” He spoke closely to your ear, his warm breath sending even more shivers through your body.

“Race, c’mon, we’s is gonna get sick,” You pulled back, staring in the direction of the lodging house. The run-down building was just in your view, and you longed to change clothes and bury yourself under your thin blanket.

“No we ain’t!” Race insisted, tugging you back. “Please?” He stuck out his bottom lip in a pout. “Just this once?” How could you resist those beautiful blue eyes?

“Fine, fine.” You sigh. “Only this once, Racetrack.”

“I knew you could never resist me.” He flashed you a toothy grin, which you could barely see through the rain. He took your hand in his, and gave you a twirl.

“Oh shuddup, jerk.” You grumbled, positive he couldn’t hear you. You two danced for what seemed like hours, pirouetting in puddles and tap-dancing on cobblestone. It was until the rain started letting up that you realized just how tired you really were. With a final twirl, you fell into Race’s arms while giggling.

“Bet yah don’t regret joinin’ me now.” He teased you, arms wrapping around you tightly. You roll your eyes, looking up at him through the rain.

“Shuddup.”

“Neva.” He stuck his tongue out at you playfully, giving you a light squeeze. You two stood this way for a good long while, just looking at each other.

“Children these days. Kiss each ‘er already!” An unfamiliar voice called out from beneath a nearby shop awning. Your face became warm against the cold rain, mentally preparing to shout back when Race pressed his lips against your own. You were speechless, to say the least, but found yourself kissing back almost immediately.

“I thought you’s didn’t listen to rules, Racetrack Higgins.” You found yourself giggling as you pulled away. Race laughed heartily and placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’s is smart enough to realize when I’s gotta listen.”

“Thank goodness.” You pull away, tugging him towards the lodging house. “So yous’ll listen to me when I’s say we should be headin’ back now?”

“I ain’t gonna argue.” He picked up his pace to walk beside you, holding your hand.

“I’s need a showah.” You groaned as you two approached the front steps.

“Want I should join yah, sweetheart?” He asked, pulling a cigar out of what seemed to be nowhere. You roll your eyes and smack his chest lightly.

“One step atta time, babe. One step atta time.”

[neptunebloomx]

jack: if we disband the union

spot:

[neptunebloomx]

unbelievable : part three

reader x racetrack higgins

[newsies]

previously: “‘Seeya tomorrow, partner.’ He grinned, walking away I took a few moments to compose myself before going to join Davey and Crutchie, all the while thinking if the way he’d been looking at me.”

a/n: this took so long oh dear,,,, sorry? i’ve been having some trouble lately. this is kind of boring, but i’m all about a good slow burn :) it’s not my best and i feel like it’s shorter too, but i’m working on planning out some of the upcoming parts so i don’t have as much trouble writing them. hope you enjoy !!

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five 

__________

I spent that night Katherine’s again, but I was out the door before she was even awake. I used some of her more effective methods to pin up my hair and wrap my breasts, happy with the way it had turned out. When I got to the news stand they still hadn’t put up the headline, but many of the boys were already waiting. I spotted Crutchie and went over to him, sitting beside him. He smiled at me and slightly tipped his hat, making me grin back.

“This is gonna be hard,” he said quietly. “Now that I know youse can talk and I still can’t talk to ya.” I shrugged and gave him a sympathetic look. We sat in silence, watching as some of the other boys goofed off. Eventually, Crutchie had to get up to go settle a dispute between a few newsies. He was only gone for a minute before someone had sat down in his place.

“Mornin’ Mute, how’d ya sleep?” I looked up to find Race smirking down at me. I shrugged as a response, trying to keep my cheeks from going red. It was a lot damn harder not to get flustered around him now that he kept looking at me like I was his next meal. At least I knew my voice had no opportunity to betray me.

We both looked up as the rest of the boys began to remark about the headline. It was some story about a disease going around in a neighboring state, which was definitely something that could be sold easily. In line, Race took my money and paid for our papes together. As I walked by I could feel the Delanceys glaring at me and did my best to ignore it. I let out a small sigh of relief as Race and I headed out for the day.

We got a few buyers on our way to our usual area, all of them giving the same horrified expression as Race announced that a ‘deadly disease’ was ‘bound for New York.’ He grinned at me proudly every time he sold a pape and it was one of the most adorable things I’d ever seen. He was definitely doing it on purpose, he had to be.

“Buy a paper, Miss?” He asked an older woman passing by. She smiled kindly at us as I held out a paper to her. 

“Oh, I don’t know…” She definitely didn’t seem to want to buy one, but Race was persistent.

“Don’t ya want to read about the disease that’s been spreadin’?” He grinned charmingly. Her eyes widened and she handed him money quickly,grabbing the paper from my outstretched hand. As she walked away, I spotted a woman with a younger boy I assumed was her son. I walked over to them with papers in hand. By the time I was standing in front of them the woman was smiling kindly at me, but she was hesitant. I held the paper out to her, acting timid. She gave a confused look at my lack of words/

“My partner here,” Race walked up behind me, beginning to explain. “He can’t speak, and he cant afford an education ta learn dem fancy sign language, either.” The woman’s face contorted with pity as she glanced at her own son. 

“Here, take a dime,” she smiled at me. I took it slowly, pretending to stare at it in awe as she took the pape. Whenever we were in a situation like this I always acted like I was younger, and faked being surprised at any small act of kindness. It helped them feel like they’d done something good rather than fall for a trick, and that meant selling more papes.

“And that is why you are the perfect selling partner,” Race whispered from behind me. His breath was tickling my neck and I tried my best to keep my breathing normal at his close proximity. I would get used to this, eventually. I had to, otherwise I was in trouble.

We continued selling for the rest of the day, able to get ride of our papes pretty quickly by spreading stories of the disease that was ‘certain to be the cause of mass death in New York.’ When we finally sold the last pape, I was starving. From the way he stared longingly though the windows of restaurants and diners we passed, I could tell Race was too. I hit his arm to catch his attention and pointed at a stand selling fruits. he nodded and walked over while I waited for him.

He returned with two apples and we walked while eating them. Before we were done, we reached the alleyway that I had used to escape the Delancey brothers. Race had shown it to me on our very first day of selling together. We ducked into it and sat beside each other, leaning against one of the brick walls.

“Does it make this weird for you?” I blurted out while we were eating in silence. Race turned to me with a confused look and I sighed. “Me being a girl - does it make this weird for you?”

“Course not,” He smirked. I could tell in an instant that he was about to flirt with me again. in order to save my dignity, I spoke up again before he could.

“So it doesn’t change anything between us?” His smirk grew wider and even more cocky at my words, if even possible.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” He was leaning closer to me, and it was occurring to me that we were in an alley alone. And, really, how well did I know this boy? Definitely not well enough to be allowing him to get this close when there was no one around to hear if something happened.

“It’s getting dark,” I stood up, brushing off my pants. “We should be heading back.” I looked down to see him still sitting, slightly bewildered. I could understand why - a girl who blushed every time he grinned at her at just blatantly denied the chance of him kissing her. I felt guilt flood me at the thought of having led him on.

He stood up and we started walking, a rather uncomfortable silence falling between us. We made it all the way back to the lodge without saying a word. I was slightly worried that I had wounded his pride and he wouldn’t want to keep selling with me, but at the same time it was ridiculous of him to think that. He’d only even known that I was a girl for a little over a day. He didn’t know me at all, and it wasn’t like he’d been opening up to me while he still thought I was a boy. We were still basically strangers.

And strangers definitely should not be kissing in dark alleys all alone at night. Not as long as one of those strangers was me.