#It was the year of Arthur Morgan and I'm okay with that

[wickedscribbles]

I posted 1,158 times in 2022

407 posts created (35%)

751 posts reblogged (65%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@felinitie

@inthetags

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I tagged 1,038 of my posts in 2022

Only 10% of my posts had no tags

#arthur morgan - 216 posts

#rdr2 - 120 posts

#red dead redemption 2 - 108 posts

#wicked answers - 94 posts

#wickedscribbles - 65 posts

#red dead redemption - 30 posts

#red dead photo mode - 25 posts

#star wars - 23 posts

#🥺🥺🥺 - 22 posts

#obi wan kenobi - 21 posts

Longest Tag: 109 characters

#i just know a bunch of whiny old white conservative republicans would stop listening to the stations for this

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

An Unexpected Muse: Part One

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Summary: There’s a cowboy in your Intro to Drawing class. You’re not exactly sure why he’s here. Not because he sticks out, all broad shoulders and grizzled beard amongst the kids who barely count as adults. But because he’s so, so much better than what the class requires. 

Requested by @so-may-you-all​! 😊

If terfs or transphobes come within ten feet of this fic, it’s on sight. 🔪

Pairing: Trans Arthur Morgan x Art Teacher AFAB Reader, she/her pronouns (Second Person Perspective) I gave her a last name for the purpose of being addressed, but other than that, there are no descriptors! 

Rating: Explicit

Tags: modern AU, college/university AU, small town/rural setting AU, trans Arthur, high honor Arthur, fluff, crushes, lust at first sight, flirting, getting together, dom/top Arthur, smut, very explicit consent, pet names, dirty talk, begging, vaginal fingering, teasing, banter, nipple play, falling in love

Word Count: 11.3K

Requests are currently closed! Thank you for understanding!

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

Eight students in your Intro to Drawing class.

For a summer enrichment course, that’s an impressive number. You glance over the names on the sheet of paper slid into your little campus mailbox, relieved to have more than two in attendance. (That had been an awkward couple of months.) For now, though, the classroom is empty save for you, smelling of paint and dust as it always does. The ancient tabletops are stained and splattered from decades of masterpieces come to life under fledgling fingertips, the linoleum floors cracking under the weight of time.

It’s an old room, the only one in this entire building still accessible for classes. The running water feels like a miracle. It’s sweltering in the summer, freezing in the winter, and one of your favorite places in the world. Separate from the rest of this little campus’ collection of buildings, it’s a decent walk to get to what’s now known just as the art room. No one really minds at the start of summer. Your set of keys gets you access to the rest of what the two-story has to offer. A crumbling gymnasium and an empty pool, the top floor full of files and records that won’t fit in the main administration building anymore. The art room’s storage area, small and stuffy.

This campus is a magic place. Okay, you might be biased. Despite being raised without religion, this tiny Catholic college gave you some of the best academic years of your life. Such a relief after the bluster and chaos of high school, to find this hideaway tucked in the woods. The small class sizes and the relaxed nature of the instructors were…well. To call it all a blessing might be a little too on the nose. You’d made friends here, excelled in every course, and four too-short years later, graduated magna cum laude with your Bachelor’s in Arts Education.

Then it was off to the next university, to earn your Master’s, but you’d never forgotten this place. When you were licensed to teach, you were thrilled when they’d called you back to be a full-time instructor. Sure, the pay isn’t phenomenal, but it’s close to home – and every day you get to come back to your old campus. To the old, tall trees and the faded brick, and the library with its secret rooms perfect for studying (or coffee breaks). The family of ducks at the pond recognizes you now when you sit down to sketch them, quacking and waggling their tails as they swim circles on the surface.

Yes, you’re happy to be back in the art room after a few weeks away. Taking a sip of your latte, you lean against one of the tables as you pick up the attendance sheet. Enrichment courses are even more casual than your usual classes. Open to the public, they’re non-credit courses, given for fun for those interested or for the local population who might find themselves bored. There’s not much to do in such a rural area. Along with Intro to Drawing, there’s a creative writing workshop, a self-defense course, and a basic photography course.

“Let’s see…” you mutter, scanning the list of names. Jessica. Emily. Nicholas. Kayla. Amber. Alyssa. Arthur. Cody. Ooh, that’s a lot of A names. You’re bound to get Alyssa and Amber confused for at least a week or two. Lord help you if they look anything alike. For a teacher, you’re not the best with names; you assign a discerning feature to the students to help the name stick in your head. One year you had identical twins whose names both began with K and almost lost your mind.

Well, this is it. You look around the room with a happy sigh, anxious to open the windows and get it all aired out. For the next nine weeks – eighteen meetings spread across Mondays and Wednesdays – this will be a place of still lifes, charcoal smudges on fingertips and elbows, eraser shavings and intense study. Music playing through the windows and light conversation, getting to know one another, talk of current events (but no politics). Inside jokes formed, memories made, and at the end of the course, their proudest work hung up in the hall of the main building. Starting the semester gives you a giddy feeling every time.

Little do you know that one name on your list is going to stand out like no other, and flip your life around in ways you never even considered.

—-------------

They file in, some coming alone, others in pairs. Most show before the class is due to start at nine, and you give them bright smiles, maybe a little wave. You’re overdoing it, but you can’t seem to help your excitement. It’s the first day of the enrichment courses, and these people want to be here. Not because their parents think it’ll look good on their resumes or they need an arts credit. They’re here because they want to create, and enjoy doing it, and something about that makes your heart swell with joy.

You’ve got light acoustic music playing from your phone in the background, because you have no clue what this group likes to listen to yet. With the twenty-somethings, it’ll usually be the latest pop hits. Sometimes it’s movie soundtracks or musical numbers. Either way, you try to keep it cheerful. Classical music is always something nice to fall back on, if no one can decide.

As nine o’clock passes, you count the heads in the room, and come up one short. That’s okay, you think. We’ll wait for a minute. There’s little pressure to be strict with time, after all. You’d bet that almost everyone here is nineteen through twenty-five at most, fresh-faced and somewhat nervous in their introductions to one another. The bright sounds of awkward laughter colors the air as they exchange names.

The clock’s hands show 9:10, and you decide to begin the class with hope that your last missing student will show. You shift on your stool at the front of the room, and the low buzz of conversation dies down, the eyes in the room going to you.

“So we’re going to go ahead and get started,” you begin, clasping your hands together. “We’ve got a straggler, but that’s okay. So! Welcome to –”

BANG.

With a sound so loud half the people in the room jump, the outer doors to the building slam open. From the doorway of the art room you can see someone who just might be your straggler fall inside. Oh, shoot. You’d forgotten to put up that sign about the door sticking in the heat. Good old fifty-year-old buildings. Had he gotten himself stuck out there?

As the whole room stares, in walks a man who almost has to duck to enter the room. He has to be at least a decade older than everyone here, you think, giving him a sheepish half-smile as he edges his way in. He wears a light blue button-down rolled up at the elbows and worn jeans, looking like he could’ve stepped right out of a Wranglers ad. Oh. Oh, no. He’s hot. Even with his face tinged with the faint pink of a blush, he looks like the kind of man who works with his hands, rough and calloused. The kind of man you’d very much be swiping right on had he shown up on your phone’s neglected dating app.

“Sorry,” he says at once. “The – the door – well. Sure y’all heard it.”

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72 notes - Posted March 25, 2022

#4

My first DALL-E simulation, I’m so proud of myself 😅😅

76 notes - Posted July 4, 2022

#3

Flowers in the Scorched Earth

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Surprise! This popped into my head yesterday and I wrote it all in one sitting. Hope you like hurt/comfort 😭

Summary: Pregnant with Arthur's child, you appreciate how careful he is with you -- though sometimes you find yourself smothered. One night in the middle of an argument neither of you meant to start, you find out just why he feels the need to handle you so delicately.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x AFAB Reader, she/her pronouns (Second Person Perspective)

Rating: Teen and Up 

Tags: SPOILERS, do not proceed if you haven’t played the game, pregnancy, high honor Arthur, protective Arthur, angst, hurt/comfort, grief, childbirth, fluff 

Word Count: 2.2K

Requests are currently closed! Thank you for understanding!

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

~ Another reminder that there are spoilers for the game within! Proceed with caution!~

Not even born yet, and this baby’s a wild one. Kicking you at all hours of the night, sitting right on your bladder, making you crave the most irrational things. You’re swollen up everywhere – all the places you’re supposed to be, and in places you didn’t even consider. Your ankles are so big and puffy you can’t even wear your shoes. You had no idea that your body would be working this hard, changing so much, yet you wouldn’t go back and do things over. Not ever.

You’re overjoyed to be pregnant with this child, with the baby you and Arthur made together. When you told him, when you were certain – you were scared. You’re running with a gang of outlaws, for God’s sake, and at the time you were nowhere near ready to bring a baby into the world. All it’d taken was one time, one slip, to create a life.

The plethora of emotion that’d gone over Arthur’s face, on the other hand, numbered in the dozens. Disbelief. Terror. Hesitation. Happiness. Joy. And every shade in between until he was taking your hands, asking you over and over if you were sure, were you really sure. He’d gone to his knees where you sat and spread his hands over your stomach, trying to feel for some small bump.

From that day forward he looks after you first, and does the gang’s dirty work second. There’s no room for argument. For a while before either of you knew you were pregnant, there’d been idle talk of going away, of getting out of the gang and building a life together somewhere, but now the matter is far more pressing. You know that Arthur’s working himself ragged trying to earn extra money, enough to get some land for the two of you to settle somewhere, build a house. He keeps telling you he’s “going to do things right”.

He looks so tired, but whenever he’s back at camp, he’s never off his feet for a minute. Not if you’re trying to do something like get your supper or help the girls with the wash. Arthur doesn’t want you going anywhere on your own, doesn’t want you hauling your round self up on your mare for a ride out of camp to clear your head. Even when he’s gone, you know he tells the girls to keep an eye on you, not to let you work yourself too hard.

It’s beyond exasperating. As the weeks go by, you’re getting your energy back, eager to do more around the camp again, to move. The nausea of the first few months is fading, and you’re not anxious to just sit around like some little wife. You’re bored out of your mind. Bad enough that you’re stuck in camp, no longer allowed to go out robbing.

You know he means well. You do. Every look and touch he gives you is soaking in love and gentleness, and how can you fault him for loving you too much? But somewhere, you have to put your foot down. You’re still a human being, beyond the pregnancy, and you’re so damn tired of being pent up.

The words just slip out one night when you try to get out of bed for a drink of water. You’re tired, lower back aching from the weight of the child you’re carrying. The crate with the water pitcher is on the other side of the tent, and you brace yourself against the edge of the cot to get up, to roll yourself into a sitting position. You’d thought Arthur was drowsing behind you, breathing deeply. He falls asleep almost as soon as his body hits the bed, these days.

The frustration of waking him up – or him never being asleep in the first place – is what does it, you think. Of him still putting your needs so far above his own, when it’s so obvious that he’s exhausted. It makes you feel angry and useless. When Arthur’s groggy murmur comes from behind you, telling you to lie back down so that he can get what you need, you’re quick to snap back.

“Jesus Christ, Arthur, I can get my own water! I’m pregnant, not an invalid!”

A thick silence trails in the air where you’d spoken, and your eyes fill with tears. Why would you say that? He was only trying to help you. He’s only ever trying to help you. You turn from where you’re perched on the edge of the cot, throat thick with wetness, unable to see him in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m – I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

You feel the cot shift as Arthur moves to sit up. “S’okay,” he mumbles. “You’re allowed to have your emotions. It’s a lot to do.”

Of course he would let you off that easy. You rub the heel of your hand at your eyes, angry at the tears flowing down your face, and fumble for the lantern. At least he lets you light it, perhaps afraid that doing it himself would spark another outburst. The soft glow makes the circles under his eyes look even darker, and you lean forward with trembling fingers to brush the hair off of his face.

“Arthur, why are you doing this?”

He leans into your hand, eyes closed, like the softness of your touch is something he’s been craving. “Doin’ what?” Even his words sound weary, and if this weren’t a conversation that needed to happen, you’d dismiss it, tell him to lie back down and get his rest. Too soon, he’s looking back at you, brow furrowed, upset that you’re sitting there in a mess of tears and sorrow. “Sweetheart, please don’t cry. I’m okay. It’s okay.” His big hand cradles your face, thumb tracing your cheek, and your lip wobbles.

“You’re n-not.”

God, you hate to cry, hate to be seen as the emotional pregnant woman who can’t keep it together, but you’ve reached a breaking point. Because the man you love isn’t taking care of himself, and you can’t stand it. He’s never been one for self-preservation, but this is terrible. You aren’t even certain he’s eating more than once a day, and for what? You don’t want to thrive if it means he suffers.

The baby isn’t happy either. They know you’re awake and agitated, and one little foot goes kicking out in your stomach. You place a hand there, trying to soothe them, and Arthur’s eyes trail down. You can see the worry in his face plain as day as his hand goes to cover yours.

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102 notes - Posted February 26, 2022

#2

Oh dang, ficlet requests, so exciting!! Because my cat attacked my foot while I was thinking: Arthur + a bunch o' kittens? Maybe with a femme!reader but thats not necessary!

hhhhhh yes 🥺🥺 I love that idea 💖 Thanks for the suggestion! 

Tiny Pink Noses 

Summary: You find a box of kittens -- and call upon Arthur for help. 

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x AFAB Reader (Second Person Perspective)

Rating: General 

Tags: allusions to animal cruelty, modern au, fluff!! very fluffy 

Word Count: 1,093 😅

“And someone just left them there,” you hiccup into the phone between tears. “They’re so t-tiny and they’re crying and I don’t know what to do –”

“Now, hold on, slow down –”

You try to listen to Arthur and keep a hand on the top of the box at the same time. Sitting in your parked car on the side of the street, you take a few deep breaths for good measure. You’d been walking back to your car after a morning shift at your nearby workplace when the box had caught your eye, slightly damp from the spring rain and pushed up against the side of a building.

There were no words written on it, nothing like free kittens!. No one around to watch them. Just four tiny bundles of fur crowded inside, their little eyes peering up at you desperately. You picked the box up without a second thought, carrying it to your car. It was only when you called Arthur that you started crying, not having a clue what to do. Your apartment doesn’t allow pets, and they look so hungry and small. You have no idea how long they’ve been there, abandoned, alone. How could someone do that? What is wrong with people? It breaks your heart.

“Let’s just… slow down,” Arthur says again. You nod, though he can’t see you. His voice is soft in your ear, comforting, and you’re grateful for his ability to keep his head when you’re currently losing yours. “Why don’t you drive over here and we’ll see what we got to deal with?”

“Okay,” you answer. “Okay, I’ll – be there in a few minutes.”

Arthur lives a few miles outside of town, on a gorgeous piece of wooded property. He’s waiting for you on the front porch as you pull up the gravel drive, thumbs in his front pockets, and the knot in your chest loosens at the sight of him. From the backyard, Copper barks his welcome, wagging his tail furiously. You put the car in park and unbuckle, careful as you scoop up the box. The scuffle of claws against the cardboard meets your ears as you lift up, opening the car door.

He holds the front door open for you, and you utter a thanks. Gathered around the coffee table, you sit the box on the ground, unfolding the flaps. At once, two needy faces peek out at you, black with splotches of orange. Their tiny meows echo loud as the other two hurry to catch up, realizing that there’s an opportunity for escape.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Arthur mutters, moving to sit on the carpet. “Look at ‘em.”

One of his big hands moves to scoop a kitten out of the box, leaving their little paws dangling. It lifts its head to sniff at him before letting out a particularly loud demand for food. To your amusement, you watch a small smile light up Arthur’s face – though he’s always claimed to not be a cat person. He places the kitten close to his chest to comfort it before grabbing another, letting it explore along his lap.

Now that they’re in a safe place, you feel a lot better about the whole thing, even if you still don’t know what to do with them all.

“Guess the first thing we oughta do is get ‘em fed,” he says after a few moments of watching them play. “And call the shelter. I can’t keep ‘em, and I know you can’t.”

You think for a minute. The pet store in town should have what you need, but you don’t want to leave the kittens alone. If one of you stays here with them, then the other can call the animal shelter. Arthur graciously volunteers himself to stay put with the little bundles of fur – emptying the box of all four kittens into his lap as you gather your keys and phone.

When you return with kitten formula, bottles, and a litter box, they’re all right where you left them. Arthur’s leaned up against the living room wall, murmuring something too quiet for you to hear as you bring the supplies inside. But the tone of voice he’s using is sweeter than you’ve ever heard him use, and the little kitten peering up at him honest-to-God looks like it’s hanging onto every word. As you draw closer, some of what he’s saying becomes distinguishable.

“...Gonna get you fed, okay, kitty? Yeah, nice and round and healthy little fella. We’re gonna take care of you. You’re never gonna live in a box again.”

“I got the stuff,” you say quietly, grinning as you hold up the bag.

Arthur blinks, flushing a little as he realizes you must’ve heard some of the adorable monologue. “Oh – uh – good. I called the shelter, ‘n they said we can drop ‘em off tomorrow mornin’.”

“Now we just have to feed the poor little things,” you say, studying the back of the formula box. “Who knows when they ate last.”

You might not know when the kittens ate last, but they act like they’ve never had food in their lives. With you and Arthur armed with tiny bottles in each hand, you take turns feeding each little black-and-ginger furball their share of lukewarm milk, wincing a little as they grip your hand with earnest claws.

Once they’ve had their fill, their bellies round, you deposit them onto a soft blanket pulled from the couch. Something melts in your heart as a few of them knead the material with their tiny paws, letting out purrs before drifting off to sleep. They look peaceful, curled up against one another, and you’re so happy that they’re alright. At the shelter, they’ll get veterinary care and plenty of attention, and go into foster care before they go up for adoption. A few hours ago you’d been so upset about these little ones, but now they’re sleepy and full, their mouths wet with milk.

As it turns out, one of the four kittens never gets put up for adoption. Though Arthur had insisted he couldn’t keep a cat, one snuck its way into his life anyway. Once he realized that Copper would get along with one, you think he was sold on the idea completely. You’d seen the way he’d looked at them that first day as you’d opened up the box. The smallest kitten – Jellybean, he calls her – goes straight from foster into Arthur’s home, and grows into a longhaired tortoiseshell beauty.

Every now and then, you can still catch him talking to her.

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161 notes - Posted April 20, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

If At First You Don’t Succeed

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Note:The second Valentine’s Day post! Enjoy 🥰

Summary: Arthur intends to help you do something entirely new. 

Pairing:  Arthur Morgan x AFAB Reader, she/her pronouns (Second Person Perspective)

Rating: Explicit 

Tags: smut, fluff, high honor Arthur, soft Arthur, praise kink, sexual inexperience, dirty talk, explicit consent, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, voice kink, pet names, gentle sex, PIV sex, doggy style, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks)

Word Count: 2.3K

Requests are currently closed! Thanks for understanding.

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

"Arthur, I can't," you whimper.

You're lying naked in his lap, pressed against his bare chest while the bulge of his clothed crotch nudges you from behind.

"I think you can, sweet girl," he answers, his low voice right in your ear. "Don't give up so soon, now. Lemme take care of you. Jus' relax."

Taking a deep breath, you try to do as he says, to ease some of the tension keeping your spine stiff. He feels your effort and praises you with a pair of kisses to the side of your neck.

"There we go," he whispers. "There's my good girl."

You can do nothing but shudder at that, goosebumps breaking out everywhere. You want this so badly to work -- but have no idea what to expect from it, either. All you can do is trust in Arthur, as you've always trusted him before, to guide you through this. To hope it works this time.

The thing is: you've never had an orgasm. Never, in your life. Not with a partner, not on your own. By now you're starting to feel like something's wrong with you, or it's just not meant to happen. Tonight, though, Arthur is determined to help you get there. No pressure, you think.

Not that he's the problem here. All throughout the night Arthur's been so slow and careful with you, leading up to this. All the fear seems to be in your own head, unfortunately. You don't want to disappoint him. But also -- what will it be like if you do come for him?

"Are you overthinkin'?" He teases.

"Maybe." Arthur knows you too well.

You hear him chuckle. His hands come up to caress your body, first your breasts, then your thighs. Through where you're pressed together, you can feel the steady beat of his heart, and it's comforting. You focus on that, trying to give yourself up to sensation.

Because everything he does feels good; his broad, calloused hands know what they're doing. They move slow, with purpose, making everywhere he touches more sensitive.

"How's that feel, angel?" His murmur reaches you, sounding far away, and it takes you a minute to answer.

"Feels good," you say, not quite recognizing your voice. "It's -- it's nice, Arthur."

"Mmm." He growls low in your ear, a sound of approval, shooting hot pleasure to your core as you feel it rumbling his chest too. "Good."

For a while, he keeps on like that, hands wandering their paths. Not touching anything specific; your thighs, up your chest, then back again. Simply feeling you. Then one of his hands comes to rest on your right breast, grasping it lightly, while the left nudges your thighs open a little wider.

"Spread those pretty legs for me now, girl, alright?" His voice is still soft in your ear, accompanied by a kiss, letting you know you can stop if you want to. Instead you nod, eager now, opening yourself up for him. You feel his cock twitch where it's pressed against your back.

While the hand on your breast is busy squeezing and kneading, the one between your thighs is awestruck at the wetness it finds there. You actually feel Arthur's fingers falter, stutter, like he wasn't expecting you to be as wet as you are. Your face feels hot, and you open your mouth to apologize, but Arthur speaks first.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, tracing two loving fingers over your most private place. "Oh, such a good girl. So sweet 'n ready, ain't you?"

The reverent attention takes your breath away. Here you thought that this was something to be ashamed of and he...likes it. It's a good thing. And you didn't even know. There's not a trace of anything but honesty in his voice to suggest otherwise.

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400 notes - Posted February 14, 2022

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[clauscielo]

✧ yearning

pairing: joel miller & reader, arthur morgan & reader.

warnings: angsty. self-conscious, touch starved men. age difference, slight nsfw for joel.

requests are open!

joel looked at himself over and over again in the mirror. it had been so long since he'd cared about his appearance… last time he'd worried about looking good was in his teens. he would've laughed if someone had told him a few years ago that he'd be worrying about this again.

but here he was. looking at himself with contempt. his wrinkles, his gray hairs… the bags under his eyes, his teeth, his skin marred by sun and survival. and when, somehow, he finally managed to find himself..., not necessarily attractive, but halfway acceptable, he'd then look at you and his whole world would fall apart.

you were beautiful.

no matter how hard he looked at you, he couldn't find a single flaw. in some conversations you had mentioned some insecurities you had, but he was unable to understand them. you were just perfect.

“are you okay? you were taking so long,” you said, concerned. and he just stared at you, pained, analyzing every detail of your face, comparing it to his own.

“i'm fine. let's go,” he replied with a heavy sigh. his voice quivered slightly, perhaps from the effort he made carrying his backpack, or from something else.

he had long ago realized his feelings for you. normally he wouldn't care about feeling something for someone, attraction, or whatever. but this was different. he wanted you, deeply. he drooled over you. every night, he closed his eyes, imagining how your bare body would look, how your bare breasts would be, how it would feel to be inside of you. god, he hated himself for it, but he loved to fantasize about you before he went to sleep, the image of you being the last thing on his mind before he drifted off to sleep, sometimes even conjuring up dreams that were exquisite to him.

but when morning came, he could hardly look you in the eye. he felt disgusted, ashamed. you trusted him, and joel felt as if he was betraying you, with all these thoughts of his.

you were too young for him. you were too naïve for things to work out between you two. you were… too good for him.

and yet, he still allowed himself the luxury of watching you sleep when you rested next to him some nights, leaning against his shoulder, your lips half-open, soft little snores escaping from them. he loved you. he really did.

“you get some rest,” he whispered, stirring on the couch, a little restless. the scent of your hair flooded his nostrils, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. he wasn't sure he could take much more of this.

“joel…” you snuggled a little more against him. “take me to bed…?” you whispered, half asleep, if not completely asleep.

“ah… sure,” he murmured. he carried you in his arms and gently, laid you on your bed. you opened your eyes a little and as he looked at you, he felt like kneeling before you and begging your forgiveness, for all the things he craved with you, for being so nasty and for never being enough.

“don't go,” you asked, your voice low. and he nodded, his gaze low with guilt.

“i won't, baby,” joel said, his voice barely a whisper, “i won't.”

you hated washing dishes. you preferred anything to this. you didn't know why, but it disgusted you terribly. the remains of breakfast mixing with the remains of lunch and dinner under water and soap... and when you touched some lump of unknown origin without wanting to, you panicked. was there anything worse than this?

being in a gunfight, maybe. you weren't so sure either.

whenever it was your turn to do the dishes, you procrastinated longer than it actually took you to clean them. you'd spend a whole hour whining, dreading the moment you'd have to face such a horrible, excruciating task. and then it would only take you fifteen minutes to get it done. it was the same thing, every time.

so arthur, whenever he got the chance, helped you. almost every time, he stood in for you, he cleaned up while you stood by his side, chattering about whatever nonsense, his gaze lost in your smile, his mind in the sound of your voice.

and of course, every time he got you off the dishes, you were so effusive with your words and gestures of gratitude.

“i sure do ‘ppreciate this, arthur. thank ya kindly,” you sighed, stroking his arm and squeezing it a little. he relaxed under your touch, a goofy grin creeping across his face, his cheeks warming.

he felt like a complete idiot. a young lady as pretty, as cheerful, as deep and intelligent as you, with a bitter simpleton like him? it was ridiculous. it would never happen.

his smile faded as he stared at the dishes he was washing. his chest ached at the thought that he could never be honest with you, could never touch you, hold you, whisper the words of love he thought every time he looked at you. he was disgusted with himself for being so attracted to someone like you. what the hell was he thinking?

arthur would do anything to make you happy. and it might seem stupid, but seeing you so relieved and grateful for something he did, even if it was as silly as washing the dishes, made him feel... important. important to you. and he loved it when you stayed by his side while he did it, telling him your stories, your thoughts.

he just wanted you to love him. and he liked to fantasize that you did, every time you touched him, every time you smiled at him, every time you got close to him because you wanted to and not because you had to.

“thank ya so much, arthur. you're the best,” you told him, with a coy smile, watching him dry his hands after he had washed each and every one of the dishes. he smiled sadly. he didn't want this brief moment with you to end.

“thank ya? the hell ya mean? that’ll be five dollars,” he replied, jokingly. you laughed.

“how ‘bout one little kiss? that enough for ya?” you asked.

he turned red and stammered, surprised by your answer.

“and what good would a kiss from you do me?” he replied, defensively, flustered. but when he saw your smile fade, morphing into an expression of embarrassment, he regretted it. “i’m sorry. didn’t mean it like that. just caught me off guard,” he muttered.

you giggled, stood on tiptoe, and planted a sweet kiss on his cheek.

[wolvieswhiskeyclaws]

"I'm Yours" ||

Arthur Morgan x GN!Reader

Rating: None

Length: 1.3k words

Asked by @yyiikes IN LOVE WITH THIS SO MUCH ?? we need another part when he finally says it back

Part 2 of "Here With Me"

Oh, I can absolutely do that for you! I adore this man so much and he's been occupying my mind a lot, so I'm glad to have you guys enjoy my writing! I'd love to do more!

*

‘It's been a few weeks. A few weeks of my silence and their patience. I don't know what else I could possibly say to them that I already haven't written or thought here, it's… it's obvious, ain't it?’

*

Arthur stared up from his leather journal as he leaned further back against the tree in camp, the cover of the shade made it easy to stare at you across the camp as you did your usual chores, completely unaware of the set of eyes on you. The brim of his hat offered that extra layer of protection from being caught, but even if he were caught, would he even deny it?  No, he wouldn't, and he just chuckled at himself at how obvious it had been to probably everyone, excluding himself until recently.

Yes, he truly did have feelings for you, whether he cared to address them or not. He would have just chalked it up to loyalty to those in the gang, but you were a different case altogether. When he was faced with you being injured, it struck a nerve with him, and the urge to protect you outweighed anything that required any sense of logic, his instincts just took over, and that wasn’t just caring for a fellow gang member, there was something more in the depths of his gut. Arthur’s eyes flickered back down to the page and there you were, sketched carefully across the page like you were a carved statue. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d focused on such little details of you face, how he paid that much attention to those small things that made your face so…you.

He’d been thinking of you so often now, his mind full with so many ways to get you alone to have a talk, but no matter what he did, there was always someone wanting his attention, a day’s work was never finished. Today, it was a day of peace, or at least he’d hoped it would be, it was early and there were people who were barely awake. Arthur had let out a sigh and slipped the journal back into his satchel, then pushed himself from the ground and got to his feet. Instead of making his way straight to you, he went to pour himself a cup of coffee to calm his nerves, the warmth of it in his hand made him focus when he couldn’t. 

You’d been petting the horses after feeding them, and his eyes barely wavered from you for more than a moment, the intensity would have worried onlookers if it weren’t the people he’d known for years, but they knew how Arthur was. ‘He keeps his walls up’, ‘he’s not much of a talker’, all those things that were said about him weren’t necessarily a lie, but there was more to it than that. He did feel, he felt more than he let on because things of that nature were much more complicated. The one person in camp that he felt he could really talk to,besides yourself, was Charles, and even he had given him the best advice he could. 

“Talk to them,” he said bluntly. “Don’t be ashamed to tell them, they obviously put enough trust in you to confess. So, even if you don’t feel the same, it’s best to tell them exactly what you feel.”

Charles was always smart, incredibly intuitive, and Arthur was always the second guesser, but overall, his friend was right. He had been so wrapped up in thinking that he didn’t notice you going for your own cup of coffee right beside him. Arthur stood beside the fire and stared out at the water, the trees along the horizon brought him comfort in serene moments like this, but as if his body was reacting, he turned to see you staring up at him.

“You okay there?” You asked, a small smile on your lips as you brought the cup up, taking a small sip. 

Arthur cleared his throat and nodded as he brought his own cup to his lips, his eyes darted from you to the water again. “Been thinkin’ is all,” he said gruffly. 

You nodded in reply and hummed. “Yeah, I felt bad bothering you, but I wanted to be sure.” You had wanted to reach out to him to offer your support, or any comfort he might take solace in, but you decided against it. 

What you were greeted with though was Arthur beckoning you toward the large rock that sat by the shoreline. You would follow him, of course, and looked around curiously as he motioned for you to sit on the rock. As much as you wanted to question him, you kept your mouth shut and waited, patience was a virtue with this man. He then removed the journal from his bag and flipped more than halfway through until he stopped on a page, and then handed it to you with little to no hesitation while you balanced your coffee in one hand with the journal in the other. 

As you were about to ask, your eyes caught the drawing on the left, it was you, and it was sketched so beautifully that you were at a loss for words as you stared at it for a while. Arthur cleared his throat after a moment and chuckled as he tapped the other side of the journal, which was filled with words written in neat writing. You’d never seen his journal before, so all of this was a lot to process, the fact he trusted you with it in the first place showed how important you’d been.

Wordlessly, he stood there as you read the page. 

‘It's been a few weeks. A few weeks of my silence and their patience. I don't know what else I could possibly say to them that I already haven't written or thought here, it's… it's obvious, ain't it? Of course I love them, I have for a while now and it scared me. I’ve loved in my lifetime and yet, whenever I had, something bad always followed, like a curse upon my heart. But if there’s one thing I’d been told that really stuck with me, it was to take a gamble on love. It’s ridiculous to be afraid of something so natural and yet it’s been the hardest thing to admit. But I admit it, I love them. And I ain’t gonna regret it, not this time.’

When you finished, you stared up at the gunslinger with large eyes, you were struck with disbelief, dazed at the fact that this man was so articulate with how he felt and how he saw you… Your eyes went back to the pages and you stared for a long while, unable to truly say how you felt. 

Arthur shifted and took a large drink of coffee, then looked back at you. He then chuckled to himself and sighed. “Is this how you felt when you told me all that stuff and I said nothin’?” He asked you. “Because now I get it, that’s… agonizin’ to wait.” He offered a wide smile and continued to sip his coffee. 

“Arthur… I…” You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t say it, this man had your tongue. Quickly, you stood up with his closed journal, then threw your arms around his bulky frame, which almost caused him to drop his coffee, and most definitely spilled a majority of yours.

He laughed and looked down at you, your arms around him as you hid your face in his jacket. Arthur patted your shoulder gently at first, then he pulled you in with one arm and hugged you in return. This ain’t so bad, could get used to this. 

The sun was finally beginning to rise in the sky, the colors like a watercolor painting as the pinks and purples slowly faded with the hues of gold, and staring out at the sky while you were wrapped around Arthur was more of a dream than you could have ever imagined. His hand placed gently on your shoulder, allowing you to just remain with him, taking in the comfort of his scent. 

You could get used to days like this.

[mrm0rgansw0man]

Can I request something real quick?

Arthur founds out he has a daughter but she’s living in the streets type orphan…

i got WAYY too into this story lol i hope you enjoyy!! Xx

i took a little bit of creative liberty with this one and it was just a blast to write

Daughter of Legend

"She looks just like you, Arthur!" Dutch said, elbowing Arthur arm and wiggling his eyebrows.

"There's no way..." Arthur mumbled, his voice sounded distant. His mind was somewhere else.

"Arthur! We need to go talk to her at least. I mean, look at the girl!"

"Oh fine!" Arthur grumbled. There was no way. She couldn't be..unless... No... Wait... Oh god-

"Hey! Why don't you men jus' take a picture of me if yer' gonna keep starin'! Piss off!"

That voice pulled Arthur from his thoughts, and drew a laugh from Dutch.

"So sorry, little Miss!" Dutch said, raising his hands in the air. "We just-"

"No! Men like you only want one thing from a girl like me- and you can't have it! You friends with the men who came after me the other night? If you come any closer I'll scream!" The girl spat. And fucking god it just broke Arthur's heart. Was it really her?

"Honey.. we're not here to hurt you. Promise." Arthur said, looking the girl in the eyes. Icy blue, just like his. "I jus'..."

"You..." The girl started, cautiously making her way towards Arthur. The southern drawl of her voice sounding all too familiar. "Do I... Are you...?"

"Is your name Victoria...?" Arthur asked softly, his voice raw with emotion but also full of hope.

The girl's eyes welled up with tears, her mouth was agape. Dutch had taken a step back, watching in awe from a distance. Now he understood why Arthur had reacted the way he did.

The girl nodded viciously. She knew who she was talking too, but she couldn't dare believe it to be true. Because what if it wasn't him? Even though she knew it was.

"Victoria Morgan..? Is that your name?" Arthur breathed out. Was is real?

"Yes!" Victoria cried, covering her mouth with her palms. She shook her head viciously. This was real, this was happening. It wasn't just a hopeful daydream she allowed herself to indulge in anymore. Her whole body shook the fore of her sobs, she began to fall forawrd.

Arthur ran forward, catching his little girl in his arms.

"Daddy!" Victoria sobbed, she wrapped her arms around her father and sobbed into his chest. Not even his strong and secure arms wrapping around her could calm her. "Oh it's you it's you I thought you forgot about me! I thought you left! I couldn't find you! Dad!"

Victoria wailed. A sound so painful and raw, it was barley contained by Arthur chest. He silently wept, a steady stream of tears flowing down his face.

"Oh my sweet baby girl.." Arthur said shakily. He cradled Victoria's head in his hands. Just like when she was a baby. It quieted her down a bit, just like when she was a baby. "I looked so hard for you and yer' Mama.... So so hard baby.."

"She's dead daddy..." Victoria whispered. "I- I-"

"Shhh Shhh honey it's okay." Arthur said softly. "You don't need to tell me nothin' now. I'm with you now. I'm never lettin' you outta my sight again."

"I've been so scared.. I tried to find you, for years daddy. I needed you so bad." Victoria whispered.

"Look at me." Arthur said, pulling away from Victoria slightly and holding her face so he could look her in the eyes. "You will never leave my side again. I'm gon' protect you. 'M here now, you just try and forget everythin' that happened to you over all these years. I'm gonna take care of you now."

"Nothin' else matters now that I'm by your side?" Victoria said with a sad laugh. Arthur returned the laugh. He used to say that same thing to Victoria when he'd come back to visit her injured. To stop her from worrying.

"That's right baby, that's right." Arthur said, using his thumbs to wipe away Victoria's stray tears.

"Arthur.." Dutch started, not really sure what to say. "Go..go get your little girl back to camp. I'll finish everything up here. But we need to talk when I get back."

Arthur nodded gratefully. Victoria ignored anyone and anything that wasn't her father, feeling safe in his arms but still stuck in that constant mode of survival and terror.

"I never though I'd see your pretty face again." Arthur said with a light chuckle. "You've grown t'be such a beautiful young woman.. I'm s' sorry I couldn't have been here to watch it happen."

"It's okay." VIctoria said with a smile. "It wasn't by choice, on either of our parts."

"Mhm." Arthur nodded. He smoothed down the ruffled bits of his daughters honey blonde hair. "You're 15 now, god there's so much I need to tell you. S'much we need to talk about.. C'mon. Let's get you home."

Arthur scooped up Victoria in his arms, and made his way over to his horse. He got Victoria settled before climbing on behind her. Neither of them could believe this was real.

"I never thought I'd see you again..." Victoria said softly. Arthur took one arm off the reins and squeezed his daughter in a hug. "Your Arthur Morgan? The gunslinger? And was that Dutch Van Der Linde?"

"That's right honey." Arthur chuckled. "I forget last time I saw ya' you were too young to know I had a name other than 'daddy.' "

"I only knew your last name, cause I heard mama call you Mr. Morgan a few times." Victoria said with a sigh. "I never even knew her name...."

"Eliza." Arthur said softly. Victoria nodded, though she didn't speak. He understood, I mean, what was there to say?

"When she.. y'know. She knew the people were comin'. She sent me out the back door, told me to run straight into the woods near the house. To get in deep, and told me not 'to come back, to wait there for her. She never came to get me. I stayed hidden till the next mornin' before I went back to the house and found her."

Arthur let out a deep and heavy sigh. Sweet Eliza, murdered. Gone. Dead. Her last act was to protect their daughter. God the woman she was. Arthur could shoot himself in the foot, if only he had done things differently.

"Do you know who they were?" Arthur asked quietly. Victoria sighed, running her hands through her hair as she began to think back to that horrible day.

"I remember her sayin' something about a bunch of 'Irish bastards' but that's 'bout it." Victoria said, so casually. If only she knew the information she had just given to her father.

Arthur's head swam, he couldn't hear anything other than the pounding of his heart in his ears.

Irish bastards.

Irish fucking bastards.

O'Driscolls.

a/n: will definitly be doing a part two of this! i get wayyy to invested in these requests and drabbles lol Xx

[javier-pena]

So ... I recently hit 10,000 followers, which is completely insane to me!! I wish I could thank each and everyone of you who has been here since the beginning or who followed two days ago personally, but that's just not possible. Instead, I'm doing a small request-based fic celebration 🤭

What is it about?

You can choose from a list of characters and a list of prompts (or send in your own) and I will write a (hopefully) short fic (1-3k words) based on your request. You can choose a stand-alone fic or request something that fits into one of my longer stories (Hubris, Triumvirate, In Plain Sight, the Javi G universe). Please send in your requests until April 27!

How to send in your requests?

Please send me an ask (anonymous or not) specifying the following:

Step 1: Do you want your fic to be reader insert?

Please specify the gender (if there is no specification, I will most likely write f!reader, but I might choose something else if I think it fits the prompt). You don't have to choose just one character, you can also choose more, e.g. Javi Gutierrez x f!reader x Dieter Bravo x Agent Whiskey. Your request doesn't have to be reader insert, you can also request a specific dynamic, e.g. Javier Peña x Joel Miller.

Step 2: Do you want your fic to be nsfw?

If you want your fic to be nsfw or if you don't want it to be nsfw please specify this in your request. If you don't, I will write whatever fits the prompt.

Step 3: Is there anything you want me to avoid?

If there are any triggers, themes, character traits etc. you don't want me to include, please tell me. The fics will come with warnings but I wouldn't want to write something you can't/don't want to read for whatever reason.

Step 4: Choose one or more character(s)!

I will write for the following characters. You can send in a different character too, but there is no guarantee I will write your request unless it's another character from the movie/show that's on the list (e.g. Tommy Miller).

Dieter Bravo (The Bubble)

Clint (Freaky Tales)

Jack Daniels/Agent Whiskey (Kingsman: The Golden Circle)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Ezra (Prospect)

Lucien Flores (The Uninvited)

Javi Gutierrez (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)

Joel Miller (The Last of Us)

Frankie Morales (Triple Frontier)

Arthur Morgan (Red Dead Redemption 2)

Javier Peña (Narcos)

Tess Servopoulos (The Last of Us)

Silva (Strange Way of Life) - I will not write x f!reader for Silva

Dave York (The Equalizer 2)

Step 5: Choose a promt!

You can choose up to three of the following prompts or send in your own.

"Is it okay if I sleep here tonight?"

"And what are you going to do about that?"

"I would love to spoil you, can I do this for you?"

"I can't stop thinking about kissing you."

"I don't like you!" "Finally something we can agree on."

“My tongue still remembers the way you taste.”

“Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you.”

"Can you just look at me? Please?"

"Don't play with me."

"It's not your choice."

"Please tell me I can touch you."

"Make me beg for it."

"Oh, you're hard to please."

"Let's ruin ourselves for anyone else."

"You're still holding back, just let go."

"I don't want you to say that you love me. Love will not fix anything. It just makes everything more complicated."

"Don't look at me like that." "How am I looking at you?"

"I cannot change my feelings for you, believe me, I fucking tried."

"You knew how I feel about you. You have to have known."

"Don't make me jealous."

"I'm going to be here when you wake up."

"I could make you beg for it." "I would love to see you try."

"I already have a boyfriend." "That's great. Invite him as well."

"It was just a kiss."

"I don't feel like we're close enough to have this type of conversation."

"Oh, jealousy looks good on you."

"Do you still have feelings for me?" "Well, do you still have feelings for me?" "I asked first."

"Three years was not enough to get over you."

"What if someone sees us?"

"You're not my dirty little secret. And I never want you to think that."

"No, I refuse to believe that you would do that to me."

"You're just saying that to be nice. No need to pity me." "What I feel for you is definitely not pity."

Step 6: Have fun!

And if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to message me!

[amrass]

8 films that inspire my RDR2 fanfics

So this is for the kind and patient anon who asked me for some movie recs relevant to my writing, and for anyone else who might be interested.

This list has genres like western, drama, crime and horror. Most of the films have darker themes, half are non-English, and some have that surrealistic edge that I try to emulate as a nod towards Rockstar games. I consider fanfics closer to screenplays than literary fiction, and so it feels natural that this list has an emphasis on fun!!!

1. Il Grande Silenzio / The Great Silence (1968)

I've said it before and I'll say it again, this is my favorite western film of all time. It is a classic, a spaghetti (Italian) western made by Sergio Carbucci ("the second greatest spaghetti western director"), and it has a Morricone score - buuut it is set in snowy mountains as opposed to deserts, have anti-fascist themes and is revisionist and dark.

The main character Silence, who is an outlaw who kills bounty hunters, reminds me of Arthur Morgan, and the main villain, the evil bounty hunter Loco, of Micah Bell. I think it served as an inspiration for them. It's great if you want to get that western atmosphere seen through a colder lense.

-

2. Utvandrarna & Nybyggarna / The Emmigrants & The New Land (1971 and 1972)

These two movies are best seen as one imo, as they follow the same Swedish family of farmer immigrants through the 1800s, as they travel across the sea to settle in the USA. These films are great for getting into the history at the time, as they are quite accurate, and might give you a realistic portrait to "lawful" human beings lived and died, such as Abigail and John in RDR1-2. To say it's a harsh life puts it mildly, but there is also joy, and I love how unflinching this film is in showing the life at the time. Great for seeing why it isn't easy for the Van der Linde Gang to settle down.

The last one might be the most relevant since it's set wholly in the USA, but personally I adore the shift from the Scandinavian landscape to the American one, a contrast that helps me describe it better. It has great actors you might associate with Ingmar Bergman films (no one is as good at dying as Liv Ullmann lol, kudos).

PS: PLEASE DON'T WATCH THE NEWER NORWEGIAN REMAKE. THE SWEDISH VERSION IS SUPERIOR.

-

3. The Thing (1982)

AHHH I couldn't not put it here, and not only because the main character wears a cowboy hat, or it being my favorite horror film. No, this one is just great for learning how to write tension. The whole movie is super tense, and made more so by the characters being smart, the stakes being high, and the whole setting being used. It’s also gory and FUN.

-

4. Le Cercle Rouge / The Red Circle (1970)

Lolol when I first wanted to watch this I got the German one made many years prior, which was pretty meh. Afterwards I watched the correct version, and MAN, truly a great heist film. It really gives young Dutch & Hosea vibes. This one is great how at showing how much planning and carefulness one has to do if one wishes to lead a life of crime, and how it might not save you. It’s also just a cool movie. Old school cool.

-

5. Le Trou (1960)

More tension ... And god, the sound picture in this movie is something else. This is a French prison escape film, and can help you if you want to see just how important loyalty is among criminals. It really has that harsh, high testerone vibe to it lololol, and I'm sorry, but the French butts in tight and sexy prison uniforms are a sight to behold.

-

6. Sin City (2005)

Okay this is the sort of film I can't watch with just everyone because it's so exploitative and over-the-top, but it's my favorite comic book style movie. It has extreme violence, very sexy men and women in nice coats or underwear, and it's just so much fun. The character Marv reminds me of low honor Arthur Morgan, and Dwight, of high honor John Marston. I love the comics too. Just know that this isn't for everyone, but it is very me.

-

7. Female Trouble (1974)

LOLOL another film that isn't for everyone, but it's kind of considered mandatory viewing if you're queer. I know this is an odd choice to inspire RDR2 fics, but I write crack fics, and believe it or not they require work as humor requires a degree of form, seriousness and precision.

I love also John Waters so much, I remember watching this exact movie with my first queer friend at sixteen and we were like, hugging and kissing each other in sheer joy. I am inspired by this type of surralist, over-the-top, dark humor across all my stories. Tbh if Divine showed up in the Rockstar universe, probably toned down for Rockstar due to marketing reasons, would you be surprised? I'd love to see her on a horse spray painted with glitter.

-

8. The Hateful Eight (2015)

I almost translated this movie title into Italian just for fun, but ... Yeah, I guess I had to kind of end this list with a circle composition, what with The Hateful Eight being inspired by Il Grande Silenzio and all, and those two GIFS before the list being from the film.

I grew up with Tarantino movies, and when I watched this in the cinema I liked it but was underwhelmed. It's only after rewatching it a couple of times that I started to really, really like it. I like and understand the references, I love the atmosphere, it just helps remind me how fun a movie can be. It's also great for giving characters the necessary degree of coolness. I reference this one a lot in all my works, and would love to do write a fic directly inspired by this.

-

That was it! I can mention some more movies I like that are kind of relevant to this list: Army of Shadows, Django, Man Without a Past, Werckmeister Harmonies, Jackie Brown, Diary of a Country Priest, The Price of Fear (French one!), Event Horizon, Hellraiser, Braindead, Green Room, Rec, Withnail and I, Ravenous …

I always welcome movie recs! Just know that I got specific tastes lol.

Thanks for reading!

[immajustvibehere]

A Fool Remains Foolish

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

summary: Drunk Arthur stumbles into the hotel bathroom to get a deluxe bath. He's too drunk to recognise a woman he used to know and love in past.

tags: weirdly fluffy, drunk Arthur, soft Arthur, he aint no outlaw when he's naked, if you squint you'll see hints of nsfw content

3000 words, 15 minutes reading time

When you discreetly opened the bathroom door to tend to a customer who had ordered a deluxe bath you surely hadn't expected this. You immediately recognized him. It was his soft voice in which cursed himself when he struggled to get out of his pants which gave him away. Then he turned around and undoubtedly, that was Arthur Morgan, hammered and naked in front of you. This familiar body stumbled around in the bathroom, trying to cover his private parts while steering towards the steaming bathtub.

"Sorry, Miss. I'm-", he interrupted his slurring with a chuckle darkly, "I'll behave."

You shook your head smilingly: "I thought we didn't allow drunkards to take baths. We had some who drowned."

"I can swim, I won't drown, don'tcha worry ‘bout me", the man had finally found his way into the bathtub, now submerging in the warm water. Not without spilling half the tub.

As he closed his eyes to enjoy the feeling of a hot bath, you couldn't help but grin like an idiot. Arthur fucking Morgan. You thought you'd never see him again. The last time you spoke to him was about ten years ago. Maybe even more. He obviously hadn't recognized you yet. Maybe a decade of anything but an easy life had changed you, or maybe it was your new hairstyle. Even more likely, it was that he was drunk enough to not know his own name. You watched as he tried to grab the soap, missing it two times before giving up.

"You just relax, Mister", you said kindly and picked up the soap, "that's my job anyways."

"Oh, right!", Arthur remarked as if he had just remembered you were in the room too. You started to soap him up, tracing the lines of his tense muscles with a wet rag. He had changed a lot too, not for the worse though.

"I have a bet going on", Arthur explained in a loud voice "with my friend Lenny, ya know? He thought I wouldn't get a woman to wash me."

"Looks like he lost that bet", you laughed.

"Sure did", Arthur exclaimed. After some giggles he slurred something barely intelligible before he hummed approvingly when you moved on to his hair, massaging the soap into his wet strands. You jumped when the man plumped forwards. You feared he had passed out. But instead, he had just chosen to make an incredibly sudden move to rested his head on his arm which lay still on the brim of the bathtub.

"Yer real kind, miss", he mumbled, "haven't been touched like this by a woman in years."

After you weren't quick enough to think of a response he apologized in a sad voice: "Sorry, maybe ain't appropriate to say that..."

"That's okay", you reassured, "though I don't understand. You're a handsome looking fella."

"I think...I'm payin' you to say that", Arthur stuttered his thoughts. You laughed and because he heard that, he allowed himself a chuckle.

"Trust me, you're paying me to wash you. The money ain't enough to come up with lies", you rinsed his hair, careful not to get soap into his eyes. Which was rather difficult, considering his head position wasn't ideal, hanging almost over the bathtub. The warm water running down his back earned you a content sigh.

"Yer pretty. I'm sure ya got a strong husband back home to take care of ya", he peered at you, still not recognizing you.

"Can't say that I have", you answered truthfully. Having your old lover ask you that made your heart beat quicker. It was as if he attempted to flirt with you, though very poorly.

"Huh? Anyway, I'm a bad man, Miss. Women are right to stay far away from me", he explained quietly, his words transforming into a hum after you continued to his shoulder, working hard to massage his muscles.

"That so...", you whispered a reply.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Most of the night was a blur for Arthur. When he woke up the next morning, the first thing he had to worry about is how he managed to get a bed. He was facing a window with drawn, worn-down curtains. Nevertheless, it was still rather bright in the room, too bright for his hangover. And still, he remained in that position for a while, just until he had woken up a bit more.

Then he rolled over onto his back while fearing that the bed underneath him was rolling over too. He blinked and vaguely recognized the ceiling. He had slept some nights at the Saints Hotel to be familiar with its commodities. A sigh of relief followed. Of all the places he could have passed out, a hotel bed seemed a rather harmless one. But then he caught a glimpse of a human figure sitting next to him.

"Aw shit", he mumbled in a gravelly voice. "I got myself a whore?"

He lifted his heavy arms to pinch the bridge of his nose. The question was more a question to himself, insulting the woman next to him wasn't really his intention...it was more a way of talking himself down for having sunk so low in his drunken state. Either way, he didn't have a lot of time to sulk about it, because a hand slapped him right across the face. Not so hard to seriously hurt, but definitely firm enough to quicken the waking up process.

"You have an odd way of thanking me", you remarked with a sigh. You watched as Arthur properly opened his eyes, staring at you with his blue orbs. God, you had missed them so much. In all the time that had passed since you had last seen him, you had never found a man whose eyes impressed you like Arthur’s had done. Not that this was a feature he had control over, but it added to his offense when he was drunkenly mumbling self-deprecations all night.  The dim light hadn't given you a proper opportunity to see them, but now he looked up to you from his pillow, his eyes wide in surprise.

"Y/n?", he mumbled unbelievingly.

You nodded.

"Oh shit", Arthur remarked, flopping back into his pillow, and pressing his fists onto his eyes. He must be dreaming. When he dared a second look, he shamelessly looked you up and down. Just to make sure you were really there. But you quietly sat next to him, an opened book in your lap and dark rings under your eyes.

"That really you?", he asked. Just to verify his aching head wasn't deceiving him.

"Of course it's me, you damn fool", now you couldn't suppress a smile because you saw the red colour coming to his cheeks.

"How-", Arthur started.

"Remember getting a deluxe bath while absolutely shit-faced?", you asked.

Arthur pondered for a while, not sure if those flashes of images were remains of a dream or had really happened. So he carefully answered: "Maybe."

"Well, I had the pleasure to keep you from drowning while scraping two weeks’ worth of dirty off your body", you now giggled, secretly enjoying how the man squirmed uncomfortably under your words.

"Sorry I didn't recognize ya", Arthur apologized, trying to sit up but deciding against it when it proved too much of a hassle. Also, his blanket slipped, which made him realize for the first time since he had woken up that he was completely nude. He lifted the blanket just an inch to make sure, wondering if the situation could get any more embarrassing.

"You vomited on your clothes, I had to get you out of them. Don't worry, I cleaned them. There's not one cloud in the sky and a decent wind so they might be dry in the afternoon", you explained.

Arthur sighed and mumbled: "Guess it don't matter much. I bet I made a fool out of myself in the bathroom already."

He found some comfort in your soft smile, relieved that you didn't show any intention of teasing him about it. You thought back to last night, giggling in reminiscence: "Oh, just a bit. You stumbled across every possible obstacle, and I practically had to drag you up the stairs but that aside...you were manageable."

Arthur joined in in your chuckle, more out of embarrassment than the ability to laugh about himself.

"Should've jus' kicked me out", he suggested.

"I suppose", you shrugged "You're lucky I like you and was happy to see you again or I might have had you arrested."

Arthur blinked at the ceiling. 'You're lucky I like you'? What was that supposed to mean? You might have been lovers ten years ago, but you hadn't been speaking in past tense. Him making a fool out of himself surely wouldn't be enough to rekindle old feelings. And yet, when he turned his head to look at you, he understood. Your cheeks had blushed from the sudden confession and your eyes were glowing in anticipation and excitement. He still couldn't grasp 'why', but for some reason you really seemed to care about him. Hell, you had been taking more care of him in one night than any women ever had. Arthur opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn't entirely sure what. But you were faster.

"I'm sure you're thirsty. I'll get you a glass of water and check on your clothes", you stated, jumping out of bed eagerly, despite being exhausted from the two hours of sleep you had gotten.

When you returned barely ten minutes later, Arthur had passed out again. Lying on his stomach, soft snores filled the room. You couldn't help but smile, put the glass down and slipped under the blanket. At least he's somewhat sober now, you thought. There was no danger of him suffocating on his own vomit, so you might as well rest. The bed wasn't the biggest, but it was comfortable enough for two people, if they weren't skittish about a bit of cuddling.

You didn't want to be indecent though. Arthur was still naked. His clothes were still damp and fluttering on the clothing line on the balcony of the hotel. Arthur's face was turned towards you. You watched as his eyelids twitched; his mouth slightly open. His hair was dishevelled. Guess that happens when you fall asleep with wet hair, not like he had given you a good opportunity to dry it after he had passed out.

Being close to him felt familiar, though completely different at the same time. The two of you were young when you dated, now, neither of you were what could be considered young. Arthur had gained one or two scars on his face, even more on his body, as you had remarked in the bathtub yesterday. But he was still handsome, despite what he may think. It's new though, this talking himself down and apologizing for existing. He wasn't quite that humble when you were together. You wondered what had happened.

With Arthur's rhythmic snores and the exhaustion wearing your body down and making your eyelids heavy, it didn't take long until you finally fell asleep.

It was way past lunchtime, the sun was already threatening to disappear behind the mountains, when Arthur finally woke up again. He was turned towards the window again and his eyes fell onto the glass of water on his nightstand, which he eagerly gulped down. When he turned in bed, determined to rest for only five more minutes before getting up, he suddenly found his face only inches from yours. Drowsy as he was, he had forgotten you were there. But now it was his time to look at your sleeping face in awe. Strands of hair had fallen into your face, one of your hands rested on the pillow, being the only barrier between him and you.

He was going nowhere. Not until you had woken up and brought him his clothes. So he might as well stay in bed and watch you...no, that didn't feel right.

Arthur turned onto his back to stare down the ceiling. Occasionally, he got distracted when you shuffled closer and snuggled up to him. It did feel good to have a warm and soft body next to him. Too good, almost. You weren't his lover anymore and you had already gone through a lot of trouble to care for him this past hours, he didn't want to be the one to have inappropriate thoughts about something that was so long ago and that surely wouldn't be happening again.

"Y/n", he whispered.

There was no reaction whatsoever. You didn't even move an inch. Your arm was snaked around his and he felt your legs pressing against his. Your mouth was so close to his bare skin, he could feel your hot breath. It gave him goosebumps.

"Y/n", he repeated more firmly, turning his body to lie on the side again. Your arms were untangled, and his warm legs were no longer touching yours. You blinked.

"Sorry to wake ya", Arthur whispered, his hand moving one strand of hair out of your face before he remembered to not do it, but to keep a respectable distance. As much as he could in one bed.

You blinked a couple of times before you groaned: "Oh no, sorry. I didn't want to sleep for so long."

"It's okay, darli-...", he cleared his throat, "I just...." Arthur couldn't bring himself to ask you to stand up to get his clothes.

"I'll get them in a minute", you said apologetically, knowing exactly what he was hinting at. Arthur felt bad and sat up, resting his back against the cool bedrest: "Don't worry 'bout it. Take yer time."

You stretched and sat up next to Arthur. You checked him out in the corner of his eye. Now that he only had the blanket covering his low abdomen, starting to cover the area where a thicker trail of hair led down to...

"You're still running with Dutch?", you asked in an attempt to distract yourself.

"Yeah", Arthur answered, his gaze towards the ceiling again.

Your eyes fell on your book that rested on the nightstand: "How's Hosea? I had to think about him a lot last night when I was reading to stay awake. It was him who taught me, remember?"

"I do", Arthur replied thoughtfully, vaguely remembering the scenes of you back in camp when it was still only a small group of people. You had been a quick learner. He remembered bugging Hosea to teach you faster, because he wanted to spend time with you alone and not watch you pronounce letter after letter. What a fool he was back then.

"Hosea's doing good. Still a strong man, I'm sure he'll outlive all of us", Arthur said to your great pleasure.

"He better!", you grinned, "tell him I said hello." But then you wondered if Arthur even wanted to do that. Because it implied telling someone that you two had met again and somehow...you weren't sure if Arthur wanted that. That's why you didn't even wait for an answer and slipped out of bed and announced you'd get his clothes. Arthur shuddered at the cold that suddenly replaced the spot where you had been, but nodded as reply.

As soon as you handed him his clothes and he remarked that they were cleaner than they had been in years, he didn't bother waiting until you offered to leave the room. He sat at the edge of the bed and started to dress himself. His back was turned towards you, but he felt foolish telling you not to watch or leave, reminding himself constantly that he was a drunk idiot last night and there were probably some naked shenanigans that he had done last night that you weren't disclosing to save some of his dignity.

His gun belt clattered as he fixed it around his hip. Arthur looked like a different man. He wasn't the helpless, flirty drunk who you bathed yesterday, neither was he the drowsy man you had slept next to. All of a sudden, he was an outlaw again. A man on the run, a man who many dreamed about seeing him swing. That was what had bothered you ten years ago when the two of you had ended things.

You asked yourself if it still mattered to you now.

Dressed and ready to leave, he took some money out of his satchel and attempted to hand it to you: "For yer trouble. And for keeping you from workin' the whole day."

You crossed your arms: "Couple of hours ago you were disgusted because you thought you woke up next to a working girl and now you try to pay me like one?"

Arthur was stunned. You were right, of course, but he didn't quite grasp the fact that you done all this for him for free. When the money was back in his satchel, the two of you hugged.

It wasn't one of those short, friendly hugs with patting the back of the other. No, it was an intimate hug. Like two friends that met again after years. Or even better, two lovers that found themselves confronted with old feelings. Arthur hugged you tighter, resting his cheek against your head.

"Guess of all the girls I could've made a fool of myself, 'm glad it was you last night", he mumbled.

Your face being pressed into the crook of his neck, he felt your lips curling into a smile.

"Where are you holed up? Will you stop by again?", you suddenly started to feel anxious that this is the last time you'll see Arthur. Not now, not after you haven't felt this safe and happy to be there for somebody.

"We're not far from here. ...I'll be around, sure", as Arthur said those words, he didn't quite believe them yet. But as soon as he had his back turned towards you to walk off to his horse, he knew that he'll be back sooner rather than later.

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

I mean, if y'all want...I think a second part is the logical way of approaching this story. But it depends on your feedback hehe

And as pretty much always, this was developed in a cooperation with @little-honeypie

taglist: @photo1030 @stilinskiwitch

[concretevampire]

An Indulgence

arthur morgan x f!reader ꔫ 1k ꔫ drabble/blurb about affection (or lack thereof) and whatnot

A/N: hi everyone, I'm back from the dead! sort of. it's an understatement to say that I've been busy. between exams, finals, and portfolio preparation, I can't seem to catch a break. I would have loved to have something more substantial to post but alas. hope y’all are well!

Hugs are not something that crosses his mind often. Nor remembers.

But it is no understatement to say that Arthur is touch starved beyond incomprehensible belief. For a long time, the closest thing he’d gotten to a hug in years (decades, he jokes sometimes) were the quick pats left on his back by the various men in the gang; festering marks of unbridled, masculine brotherhood, and nothing more. There’s an odd, silent code between all of them that touch– that love– cannot cross a certain line. 

And if it did, the world would simply collapse because hugs cannot formulate within the constraints of existence. It would break fundamental laws. If gravity no longer clawed at everyones boots and limbs, maybe then Arthur supposes he could share a hug with John. Or Dutch. Or Hosea. Maybe Charles. Sean too. 

When it comes to this, he often envies the affection that women give each other so freely, so often. 

He stares at the way Tilly braids Mary-Beth’s hair, how Abigail lets her fingers linger at the curve of your elbow, or the way you help Karen lay down and rest after a bit too much to drink— even if she’s slapping at your hands. 

He wants this. He yearns for this unbridled affection. Yet then he thinks about the other men in camp and realizes perhaps it’s best that they all keep their emotional distance. 

But Arthur likes hugs. He really does, and he’s not particularly frugal with them. 

The various women he’s saved along the road, each equally shaken and ruined, have wrapped their arms tightly around his chest, sobbing ‘thank you’s and ‘thank God’s into his shirt– and Arthur can never quite find it in himself to spare them of an arm around their shoulders, his hands rubbing soothingly along the space between their shoulder blades. He understands. 

He’s got a corruptive, self-hating need to be a hero. 

Not to forget his troublesome stint with Mary (which never seems to end), and the blink he shared with Eliza. Eliza and Isaac. It seems that beyond hugs, affection comes naturally in Arthur’s life, as rare as it is. This rarity has corroded and cauterized him, because whatever cottonball tidbits plug up his arteries, well, they might as well be non-existent. 

Time has tapped on his forehead diligently, and he’s become whatever sand-ridden, tumbleweed-pushing, gunslinging-outlaw history will immortalize him to be. To an extent, Arthur’s accepted that he’ll be nothing more. That this is his legacy. 

But then there are these moments where he’ll be in camp, standing in front of his small mirror, tilting his chin left and right. Do I need to shave? Maybe trim? And then he’ll feel it. 

Your arms, wrapping comfortably and gently around his middle. Loose enough for him to punch you away and put a bullet in your head if he really wanted to. When he doesn’t do this, you’ll press your cheek harshly to Arthur’s vertebrae, filling that metaphorical chip on his shoulder with the expanse of your lungs. One deep inhale in: mud, tobacco, sweat, sweetgrass, and pine. With your exhale he hears you silently say all sorts of things: I missed you. Did you miss me? How are you? Are you okay? You better be or I’ll kill you. 

It always makes him smile, gently and nearly silent under the thrum of crickets and frogs (you always make sure to embrace him when everyone else is half-asleep) and his hand drops lazily to splay over your own fingers, playing tug-o-war with his shirt. 

And with your deep warmth seeping into the sinew of his back, Arthur will then tangibly remember that he likes hugs; that affection is in fact a part of his day-to-day life. 

Even then, it’s not often that he can truly afford to wrap you up in his arms and press his cheek to your temple, murmuring abstract words quietly as he holds you to his chest. He doesn’t have the time and energy. Actually, it’s more capacity than anything else. He would kiss you if his lips were’t bruised and swollen from a brawl. Hold your hand if his fingers weren’t broken. Hug you if there weren’t a gunshot wound in his shoulder. Fuck you if he had gotten more than four hours of sleep in the past week. 

Arthur’s wealth in physical affection is generally meager. It is both his fault and the world’s. What can he say? He was dealt a poor hand, and like most men, he seldom knows how to play these cards right. 

But you’ve cheated the game. You peaked— perhaps to his discomfort— at his stack of ones and threes and inadvertently handed him your royal flush. Earlier on you probably would have played against him; but he’s blessed to find that you now share a weak real estate worth a pack of cigarettes. He knows this fact more than you. Of course, you’re not impervious to the result of your shared affection but you certainly aren’t aware of the extent to which it envelops him. 

How he adores you, wants to demolish you with gnashing teeth and teary eyes. And simultaneously, Arthur simply wants to wash the clothes you wear and clean the plates you eat from. 

It’s an uncomfortable dichotomy, one that encapsulates the push and pull of Arthur’s psyche that he can’t entirely wrap his own head around. You know about this struggle; he’s hoarsely whispered it to you after returning on week-long excursions on Dutch’s behalf. 

I killed someone, he’ll whisper. They didn’t deserve it. It’s likely they did, because he’s usually a good judge of character, but you have no real way to tell. He’s never quite shaken up per se, but he’s disappointed in himself, oddly enough. He’ll hold your hands tightly with both of his, thumb rubbing numbingingly to your strangely naked ring finger. Fervently, as if his confession will mutate him into the monster of the West’s legends. 

The only real thing you can do to soothe him is by forcing food down his throat and letting him sleep by your side. Let your nails scrape softly against his scalp and cultivate the fields of his dreams. 

So perhaps when things are harsh, harsher than usual, he finds it in himself to seek you out, rather than the other way around. And he’ll clasp one gently ruined palm around your forearm, and press your hearts together. 

[pippin-katz]

you may or may not be the person who needs to know this, but you're the only person I can think of to share this with, and if I don't tell somebody, I might explode:

so there are some similarities btwn Merlin/Arthur and Alex/Henry, right?

and like

Alex : Merlin :: Henry : Arthur

right?

so isnt it weird the both Nick & Bradley James are Libras, while both Taylor & Colin Morgan are Capricorns? and both pairs have a three-year age gap? and while they share the same signs, the 90s babies/RWRB pairs have their birthdays at the end of the month before their 80s babies/BBCMerlin counterparts...

just so many weird coincidences, and I had to share it with *somebody*! thank you for listening/reading!

Dude I feel you on needing to tell someone something or you’ll explode; that’s my life lmfao

Now regarding what you’ve shared, that is really fucking weird! Those are some pretty specific details for them to share. I’m not a huge astrology person, but maybe there’s just something about that pairing that works? Especially when they’re close in age?

Post Writing Note: This spiraled so far out of my hands that it smashed my plans for the day. I've been writing this since 9:30AM and I'm now finishing at 4:20PM. You have been warned.

Taylor and Nicholas

What’s crazy is that Colin and Bradley’s dynamic off screen is similar to Nick and Taylor’s.

While Alex is a loud and outgoing character, Matthew mentioned in an interview that Taylor is actually on the quieter/more reserved side most of the time. I was a bit surprised, but if you pay close attention, he actually does seem like he’s quieter than Nicholas. It's more noticeable in the draw-off video and their little promos with the teapot. He's definitely enthusiastic, but in a different way than Nick, who acts like he just took a shot of concentrated caffeine.

But you can also see it in the friendship quiz if you look for it. It's there in the way that Nick is more... I'm not sure how to describe it- maybe scatterbrained? Or ditsy? I don't mean that as an insult by the way.

It's like he has pent-up energy and wants to be entertaining for the camera, so he initiates most of the jokes and sarcasm, while Taylor is kind of just chilling. He definitely makes some jokes, but the ratio between which of them is the first to say something that starts a joke is heavily skewed towards Nicholas. He also randomly forgets what's going on, and goes off on tangents where he bounces from one thing to the next.

I looked and looked for GIFs, but I couldn't find some of the moments I'm talking about, so I'll just write them out:

Nicholas gives Taylor 10 points, and he's like "wait, wait, did I get it right?" and Nick's like "yeah" before immediately remembering that he got it wrong even though they had just had the conversation

Nicholas gets a question right and he says "point for Taylor" and Taylor is like "no, for you" and Nick corrects himself with "point for Nick", then jokes and points between them like "you're Taylor, I'm Nick, okay, got it"

Taylor asks the bonus question about the major sporting event in Indiana, and Nicholas starts randomly listing names, like "the Big Game, the Big Football Game, the Bowl, the Indiana Bowl, the Great State Champion Lacrosse Game of Indiana" instead of stopping to think or letting Taylor give him the hint you can see he's been waiting to say between laughs

Nicholas randomly starts being sarcastic or hyperbolizing his behavior when talking: - "Taylor is the one American person who knows where London is on a map." - "I believe you competed in [the Cooper's Hill Annual Cheese Race] yourself, didn't you?" - "I'll give him a point." Taylor laughs because it took a couple tries to get the right answer. "The points, they are bountiful and plenty. We don't have to be stingy with them."

Nicholas describing a corndog by holding an invisible "weird thing that goes on a stick" and pretending to eat it while going "nhgnhgnhgnhg" as he spins it.

He also reacts more to Taylor getting questions wrong than Taylor reacts to him getting questions wrong. There's the whole bit about the "chip butty" and "English fry-up" that leaves Nicholas acting all annoyed, whereas Taylor sort of just starts immediately helping him with hints when he gets something wrong.

Basically, Nicholas probably has some form of ADHD and it seems to manifest as hyperactivity. Nicholas being so hyper and enthusiastic is ironic considering how quiet and calm Henry is as a character. It's such a drastic contrast between them.

Taylor is much more chill. He's definitely hyper around Nick, but there is a difference in them. Notice how Taylor just watches Nick do his silly intro, but Nicholas starts making movements with his hands and expressions during Taylor's. Also Taylor was talking completely normally until then, when he ended up doing the point at the end.

Similarly, Nick is the one who starts chanting USA, and Taylor joins in. We obviously see the difference when they each summarize the film. Nick is basically a hamster in a ball speeding across a room with how he tells it, and Taylor simplifies it a ton and delivers it monotone; yes, it's a joke, but it still highlights the contrast.

Bradley & Colin

I'm using past tense with Bradley and Colin because we only have videos of them from over a decade ago, so they've definitely changed since then.

The thing is, Colin was funny and vocal, but there were a lot of times where he got quiet, and he always felt more reserved, in the sense of there being more to him than what he's showing. He seemed to have a lot of layers to him that you didn't get to see unless you actually got close to him, if that makes sense.

I wouldn't call him quiet, but like in the video diaries and interviews of him and Bradley, he always seemed much calmer than him.

Colin was always very funny, but he was also self conscious. During one of the behind the scenes quest videos, Bradley talked about how he and Colin would create songs together, but whenever he wanted to show someone, Colin was dead silent. Bradley actually turned to him as was like, "What, is it stage fright?" and Colin is like, "I don't know what you're talking about." in a way that clearly shows he's deflecting the question because he's nervous or embarrassed. Bradley pointed and was like, "And that right there is a perfect example of what I mean".

Merlin is very bright and outgoing (at least before he develops depression in later seasons 🥲). He basically had no shame about most things. When he met Gwen while in the stocks and covered in food, he acts completely normally, like there's nothing weird about it. Obviously, this boy waltzed into Camelot and called the fucking prince a prat to his face. He was really bold and openhearted. Colin always felt more closed off, even though he wasn't always quiet.

What's crazy is that Arthur is much more refined and serious than Bradley. It's not to say Arthur is never silly or unserious, because he is, but his default mode is very composed because he's a prince and later a king. Bradley was like a fucking hurricane behind the scenes. He was know for driving everyone a little crazy because he was so hyper. He got his video camera taken away cause he was apparently being too annoying to the rest of the cast and crew.

Wrap-Up

Here's similarities I thought of in a rapid fire list, including what you said and what I covered:

The brunettes are both the "quieter" or "calmer" of the two.

The blonds both play a prince.

The brunettes both play a character who came from a place of humble beginnings.

The brunettes' characters are both usually the one to start the insults/banter.

The blonds are the more vocal of the two about their affections and admiration for the other.

The blonds are both Libras.

The brunettes are both Capricorns.

The age gap is the same for both pairs: 3 years.

I am going to make an entire post dedicated to the similarities between Bradley, Colin, and Merthur, and Taylor, Nicholas, and FirstPrince, because I have more, but it was getting more into the characters' so I'll save those for later.

What was that you were saying about needing to tell someone something or you would explode again? Nah, not me, could never have that problem. I'm so normal about this.

Thank you for sharing, I have no idea what to do with this information, but I am glad I have it. It will now haunt me 😂

Thanks for reading!! If you enjoyed this essay & would like to support me, you can give me a tip on my Ko-Fi! ☺️

[forgetminot]

Hey! Hope you are doing okay 🩷

I have a little request (if you feel comfortable, of course). I would love for you to write about Arthur Morgan x F!reader (Or GN), both are former lovers and they are reminiscing their time together. You can make it romantic, anyway you want. 🩷

Distant Memory

✿ Arthur Morgan x F!reader ✿

Warnings : TB Arthur (based in chapter 4 after he has been diagnosed- iM sOrRy) angst, fluff, past relationship, use of y/n.

Authors Note : I took the 'anyway you want' and rolled with it. I loved writing this thank you for the request queen 💙💙

Summary : You run into a familiar face and spend some time catching up and reminiscing.

You didn't expect him to look so... fragile- he wasn't well and you could see just from a quick glance in his direction. You turn around suddenly, retracing your steps as you follow behind the man and place your hand gently on his shoulder.

"Arthur?" He turns, slightly startled as you call out his name; you take in his appearance, his face was sunken and his complexion sallow. "It is you-"

"Y/n?" He speaks your name so softly you hardly hear him say it. "What are you doin' here?" He questions, motioning his hand to the busy streets of Saint Denis.

"Just visiting, it's nice to get away from the country now and then." You smile gently. "It's good to see you." You whisper.

"It-" He brings his hand to his mouth, coughing harshly. "-It's nice to see you." He responds as he wipes his hand against his shirt.

"You don't look well, Arthur..." You frown, taking his arm and stepping to the side of the street to stay clear of the bustling road. "How are you, how's the gang?" You ask. You knew little of the gang, only hearing stories from Arthur and seeing pictures of their faces littered on wanted posters.

"The gang-" he chuckles. "The gang has seen better days and, well, so have I." He sighs, leaning on his right side against the brick wall.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be, was going to happen sooner or later." He replies bluntly.

"What happened?" You ask.

"How much time you got?" He asks back.

"I'm not going anywhere." You smile faintly. "Would you like to go somewhere more quiet? It would be nice to catch up after all these years." You suggest.

"Uh, yeah, we can do that." He nods. "Do you have a horse?" He questions as he whistles loudly, watching as his horse trots towards you both.

"I took the train here." You respond.

He lifts himself onto his steed and holds out his hand for you, which you gladly take; he pulls you up and you sit behind him, placing your hands carefully on either side of his waist. He tells you to hold on tight as you both make your way out of the city, dodging people and wagons as you go. You ride in silence for a while and you watch as the landscape changes from thick, murky swamps to the vivid greens of the plains.

"This should do." Arthur says as he pulls tightly on the reins, bringing the horse to a complete stop. He gets down from the horse first and offers his hand once again for you to take.

"Thank you." You smile kindly as your feet touch the ground.

"Course, no problem." He nods and heads towards a small lake, sitting on the ground a few feet from it; you follow after him and sit beside him, grateful that the grass is dry and not caked in mud. "How's your family?"

"Oh- My mother passed not too long ago." You sigh. "She was sick, went in her sleep."

"I'm sorry to hear that, she was always a nice woman."

"She still was, until the end." You smile faintly. "My Pa is well, still strong after everything." You laugh. "I know the both of you never saw eye to eye."

"He never liked the whole outlaw thing." Arthur grins.

"So, what happened?" You ask, referencing back to the gang.

"What hasn't happened?" He scoffs. "Job back in Blackwater went bad, real bad- Dutch shot some innocent girl and he ain't been right since." He sighs. "Then we lost Sean, always thought I'd celebrate the day that annoying boy left." He chuckles lightly. "He was like a brother to me..."

"I'm sorry to hear that." You respond kindly.

"Lost Hosea and Lenny not too soon after that, bank job in Saint Denis went horribly wrong."

"So, that's what all the wanted posters are about." You acknowledge. "Hosea- you used to mention him all the time."

"He was a better father than my real one ever was." He hums. "Always told me I was an idiot for not running off with you."

You giggle. "I can't imagine how that would have turned out."

"Would have been nice." He replies suddenly, surprised by his own response.

"I think you're right." You beam.

"You do?" He questions, coughing lightly.

"You were always good to me, Arthur. Always looked out for me, made me feel safe." You smile sadly. "Maybe in another life, we would have made it work..."

"If i didn't have people to look after I-"

"I know." You cut him off. "You were always so loyal, it's one thing I loved about you."

"Wasn't loyal enough to you." He sighs.

"I always knew that the gang came first, even if you didn't want to say it out loud." You place your hand over his. "They're family."

"You could have been family too." He mumbles, taking his hand from yours as he coughs roughly into it.

You frown, moving your hand to his back. "You're sick, ain't you?" You say, already knowing the answer.

"I'm dyin'" He laughs coldly. "Got tuberculosis, beating a guy for a few bucks."

"Oh, Arthur..." You rub your hand up his back slowly. "I- don't know what to say- I'm sorry." You sniff sadly.

"Dont be, I deserve every last second of it." He states bluntly.

"Don't say that!" You scold.

"I ain't the same man you fell in love with." He responds.

"Even so, no one deserves this."

"I'm a killer, Y/n." He laughs, standing up. "I hurt people, I steal from 'em too."

"There's always some good in people, Arthur. You always did good." You express, standing up to meet his eyes.

"The person you knew, he's just a distant memory." He admits.

"I don't believe that." You step closer, taking both his hands in yours. "I don't think that part of you would just disappear, Arthur."

"You don't know me no more." He shakes his head.

"I do, because the person you are talking about wouldn't have spared me a second glance: wouldn't have helped me up onto his horse and sat next to me by the lake." You grip his hands tighter. "Maybe, if you really think you have changed- you should use the time you have left to be good."

"I- I'm tryin' to help people." He sighs.

"You are a good man, Arthur Morgan." You smile softly. "And I don't think you are too different from the man I never stopped loving." You place your hand against his cheek gently.

"Wish I never left." He whispers, placing his hand on top of your small one.

"We can't change the past." You frown.

"I'll do better." He insists.

You nod, leaning up and placing a quick kiss to his cheek. "I know."

[verdemoun]

Time for another ✨hypothetical ask✨ What of Black Belle timewarped who would she interact with? I just know she would absolutely love Grimshaw (they would bond so quickly at being girlbosses during the 1800s managing to survive in an outlaw life and I can see them being shipped together as well) plus how she would or wouldn’t get along with the rest of the gang and how she would die to timewarp in the first place?

Also a seperate hypothetical in which all of the gunslingers timewarp because Black Belle seeing how Jim “boy” Calloway turned out would be funny (I am super hyperfixated on Black Belle do you notice?/rh)

Okay I was putting this off because I don't want to interrupt my Kiervier fantasies but the demons in me want Blackduffy so I'm gonna need at fat hear me out here.

Black Belle shouldn't fucking die she should be proof that people can be outlaws and survive if they learn to pull their heads in and don't be an idiot Dutch. She would've cornered Mary-Beth around 1907 asking if one of her novels were about a peculiar, handsome feller called Arthur Morgan. She wrote about him too accurately to not have been at least an associate if not a dear friend of, and Mary-Beth would have had a panic attack because Black Belle is 1. hot 2. serving outlaw/bounty hunter vibes 3. super hot. She could live with Mary-Beth as companion 'spinsters' and Mary-Beth went onto write what would be considered the first lesbian novel with a genuinely happy ending. Black Belle having that dangerous mysterious energy Mary-Beth craves as well as also having the sensibility to acknowledge when it was time to stop being an outlaw.

but HYPOTHETICALLY-

Black Belle dies in 1900 when the bounty hunters caught up with her. Unlike Colm, she was still grinning right up all the way through her execution, using her final moments to brag about the extraordinary life she's lived. Her corpse was still grinning, and looked absolutely macabre in the newspaper photos.

Arthur was going about his business as normal, a typical, delightful day of taking Isaac out for lunch (Isaac picks a restaurant and then watches his dad react to new cuisines like it's rumspringa) when someone whistles across the street and calling 'well well, fancy seeing you again sugar'

Isaac immediately sniggered at the thought of someone calling his dad sugar and Arthur knew he wasn't going to be living it down anytime soon

Black Belle is a queen and had been doing decently okay, staying at a motel while she figured out what was happening. 'Didn't expect this many bluecoats in Heaven, let alone nosey little photographers.'

Isaac was immediately obsessed, which Arthur dreaded but he can't help feeling a little jolt of admiration too because who doesn't admire what a badass woman Black Belle is.

He introduces her to the gang because there is a silent pledge to help people 'lost in time'.

Annabelle, bless her heart, has a type. She might live in a two bedroom studio with the guest room supposedly already rented out to Grimshaw but of course suddenly it's no issue.

Susan thought it was adorable how tongue tied Annabelle was for such a well-spoken, world-travelling human rights advocate but the fact Black Belle is a short queen was suddenly meaningless the second she sets her eyes on Susan Grimshaw and (having to look up) said 'ain't you as stunning as starlight'.

She immediately moved in with them. Still no one sleeps in the guest room.

Black Belle gives no shits about women suddenly being able to wear pants. Like cool for women love that for women but she was an outlaw who outsmarted the law, bounty hunters, and men in general for over 20 years in a dress. She wasn't going to start wearing pants now.

Of the gang (other than her wives) she actually gets along best with Uncle. Uncle and her are both regular bar flies at the pub Susan works at, trading stories of the old days and challenging each other to drinking games and being outraged at the discovery of having to pay for peanuts while Susan stares in admiration of her short queen and disgust at Uncle.

[jjmbbg]

Father-son's Day

(Disclaimer: John is fourteen years-old)

It had been a while since John joined them, and while the brat —as arthur sometimes called him, to annoy him— didn't really get along with the rest at first, there was something special between him and Hosea.

Maybe it was because he was the first to feed him, or the first to offer him a change of clean, dry clothes after taking him to the town to take a hot shower (something John never had to tell the truth), or because he was the first in going to him when he was hurt or looked noticeably sad.

Whatever it was, John had a certainly different affection for Matthews, and the truth is that neither Arthur, nor Dutch saw themselves capable of discussing it.

Now, on a day like any other, while Arthur was wandering through the forest trying to hunt some animal and Dutch was in the town nearby doing whatever God knows, John was frowning trying to write very long words without spelling mistakes (Hosea scolded him for writing an "E" backwards).

Next to him, the adult was reading a book while he occasionally leafed through what Marston wrote down to corroborate his progress.

— It's with "b", not with "v" —he corrected him, pointing out the third word.

— Shit —John huffed, frowning again.

— Hey, vocabulary, John. Where did you hear those words?

— From Arthur —he murmured, crossing out the word and writing it correctly next to it.— I'm getting bored. Can't we do something else?

— Finish the other words and we'll do something else, okay?

— 'Kay.

John continued writing, and uttering the occasional insult, being scolded for the latter.

— I'll tell Arthur to stop swearing in front of you —Hosea said, or maybe to himself, John wasn't sure, sometimes the older man talked to himself.

— I finished! —he exclaimed happily.

— Well, first I must see if you wrote correctly.

John snorted and crossed his arms, watching every facial expression on Hosea at every word. A few seconds later a smile formed on his lips.

— Just one spelling mistake, you're improving, son —he congratulated him. John smiled too, not believing it.— Well, you said you wanna do something fun? —the young man nodded.— Go get the rods, we will bring the most enormous fish you have ever seen in your life.

If John's smile could get bigger, here it is. Excited, he got up from the chair and ran in search of the canes, even colliding with Arthur, who arrived with some rabbits in his hand.

— I'm sorry! —the minor apologized.

— And what's wrong with the brat now? —Morgan asked him, raising an eyebrow.

— We'll go fishing. And don't call him that.

— The brat's gonna drown.

— From the shore, Arthur. And don't make fun of him, you didn't know how to swim either at his age.

Something that was never lacking in Hosea is that he was always going to defend John from Arthur and vice versa, sometimes they attacked each other and Hosea was the mediator. And with strangers I don't even explain it, even someone gives one of those two a dirty look and that someone would already be dead.

Hosea would do anything for them, for his sons.

— I have them! Come on! —he yelled from the other side of the camp.

Hosea stood up and said goodbye to Morgan with a soft, short nod. He climbed onto his horse and helped John get on, beginning the journey towards the river that was half an hour from the camp.

— Do you think we'll catch something huge?

— We are in good times, surely yes.

— And will we catch many?

— That's the idea —Hosea answered looking at the trees.— Maybe tomorrow we could try to cut down a tree.

— Oh really? —the emotion in Marston's voice was noticeable.— That would be great.

When they reached the river, they positioned themselves to the side with the reeds.

— Hosea... can I ask you something?

— You know you can —he smiled at him.

— Does Arthur hate me?

— He doesn't hate you, John. His way of showing affection is like that.

— He's not mean with you —the boy murmured.— Only with me... and I understand that he doesn't love me, but I don't know... it's different when he makes it clear to me.

— He loves you.

— Has he told you? —he questioned angrily. The silence was enough.— Of course not. I want him to like me, but I don't know how to do it.

— He is a tough nut to crack.

— Arthur is not a nut...

Matthews laughed, he had forgotten that John didn't fully understand metaphors.

— It's a way of saying, I mean it's difficult to get into his heart, but that doesn't make it impossible. Keep insisting.

— It's just... I'm getting tired of insisting —he admitted.

— You'll find out the way, I assure you.

— Okay- Oh! Look! —he shouted when something seemed to grab the bait from his rod.— What do I do?!

— Keep calm first —Hosea said, pulling his rod out of the water. He approached John.— Now, spin the reel slowly... like this... very good John, and now a little faster. Excellent!

— It's huge! —Marston shouted excitedly.— Are we going to take it?

— Sure.

After catching that one, John wanted to stay for hours doing it, catching too many and letting the little ones go. When the sky began to darken, they decided to make the return trip.

While Hosea was telling the horse where to go, he felt John heavier than usual, he turned his head to look over his shoulder and saw him asleep, leaning on his back.

An involuntary smile decorated his lips.

— You had a busy day, mhm —he murmured, more to himself than to John.

[clauscielo]

⊰⊹ pure, uncorrupted

pairing: arthur morgan & virgin!reader.

summary: you are too pure, too naive. and he hates to see other men fantasizing about tainting you. so, before someone else does - he decides to do it himself.

warnings: mentions of rape/sexual abuse, past physical/psychological abuse, corruption kink, arthur takes reader's virginity, arthur is protective, but lonely and hates himself. legal age gap, oral sex (fem receiving), p-in-v sex, loving sex, creampie - english is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes!

he would never forget that day. trelawny had told them a few weeks earlier that, southwest of valentine, just a mile from the village, there was a farm: two houses and a barn. trelawny claimed there was a large amount of money hidden there, illegitimately earned by the family.   

that's why they went. micah, bill and arthur set out into the night, riding toward that farm. thieves robbing thieves.   

the family consisted of a father and two sons. they had no choice but to wipe them all out. arthur had never liked to take the lives of innocent people, but these people... they didn't feel right.   

the house was very untidy inside, grimy, and there was a padlocked door on the upper floor. while micah and bill ransacked the downstairs, he took a look at the bedrooms, and of course, kicked in the locked room door.   

you were in there. cowering on the bed, pressed against the wall, shivering and sobbing. you had heard gunshots and banging, you had tried your best not to make any noise, but they had found you. arthur was perplexed. he studied you for a few seconds, processing the situation: this family had you locked in this room. you were wearing torn and dirty rags, and your room was even more neglected. there were flies, food from days ago, and only one bed in the room.   

“it's okay, it's okay. i ain't gonna hurt you,” he finally said, slowly approaching you.   

micah arrived shortly after, and a crooked smile came across his face.   

“well look at this, morgan! i say we have some fun. bill, get up here!” his cruel words irritated arthur deeply.   

“get out of here, you foul thing! wait downstairs!” he raised his voice, and micah only let out a challenging laugh. still, he obeyed, after arthur shot him a menacing glare. 

you, still shaking and weeping on the bed, watched him. the thought that the man in front of you had protected you from the others, soothed you a little.   

arthur couldn't kill you. how could he kill you? it wasn't an option.   

“what are you doing here, girl?” he moved a little closer and noticed that one of your legs was covered in bruises.   

“i-i was... grounded,” you mumbled, between sobs. arthur frowned and clicked his tongue.   

“were those your father and brothers?” he asked, his hand hesitantly stroking your forearm, seeking to calm you.   

you nodded, hot, copious tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. he sighed.  

“they're dead. i'm sorry,” he began, and his heart shrank at your obvious expression of relief. “you can come with us, we won't hurt you. we'll take you to valentine,” he added.  

you nodded, raising your arms toward him. arthur accepted the gesture, and with his strong hands on your armpits, he lifted you and carried you in his arms, heading for his horse.   

you refused to stay in valentine that night. you begged again and again to be taken with them. and this snarling, distrustful outlaw, softened at the image of you, a forlorn young woman alone in this world that had so embittered him over the years.   

“we're taking her,” arthur said to the other men.   

“morgan! we can't afford another mouth to feed!” bill protested.   

“we're taking her,” he insisted, his tone firm and intimidating, and the others snorted.   

 it had been months since that night. you were accepted into the gang of outlaws arthur lived with, but you had a hard time adjusting. you developed an unhealthy attachment to the man who had rescued you, who you considered your hero. whenever arthur was in camp, you followed him, trying to talk to him. being close made you feel better. but he was very cold most of the time.   

“girl, really, you need to leave me alone. what d'ya want now?” he said, his tone showing irritation, when you approached to talk to him for the tenth time today.   

 your smile vanished, your expression transforming into one of pain and embarrassment. you blushed and lowered your gaze, and before you could say anything, he snorted heavily.   

 “i'm sorry. i'm sorry, i just like to be alone, you know that,” he replied, exasperated. 

 you fiddled anxiously with the edge of your blouse, pursing your lips sheepishly.  

“i just wanted to be with you for a little while,” your voice came out shaky and low. arthur's heart almost melted.   

“come,” he said, curtly, sitting down on his bed.   

“no, n-no need. i'm sorry to disturb you.”   

“come,” he repeated, louder now, as a demand.   

 you shrank back but obeyed and sat down next to him. he looked at you, his blue eyes scrutinizing your sad, anxious expression, his frown easing.   

“i can't be with you all the time,” he explained. your lip quivered, and you nodded.   

“i know. i know. i'm sorry.”  

“it's not because i don’t want to. it's because this... this thing you got with me, it can't go on,” he said, his hand stroking your hair, tucking a lock behind your ear, his actions contradicting his words. “you're gonna have to leave here someday. and if we don't stop this in time...” his words trailed off.   

“i don't want to leave.”   

“you're absolutely gonna leave. don't be silly. you don't belong in this kind of life. when you get your strength back, i want you out of here.”

 you looked at him, wide-eyed, silent.   

“don't look at me like that,” he spat, annoyed. but a second later, he sighed. “we're not doing you any good. not me, not anyone here. you understand that, don't you?”   

“i don't have anyone else. i'll be alone,” you said, your heart racing with fear.   

 arthur stroked your cheek, thoughtfully. he had grown so fond of you these past few months, that he could hardly imagine his life without you anymore. but the rational part of him knew you had no future here, not with someone like him.   

 that's why he pushed you away. that's why he tried to ignore you. he couldn't stand seeing the way you looked at him, like he was a hero, a savior. because arthur was nothing like that. arthur was a criminal, a murderer, a ruthless, bitter, outlaw with no future, someone who only brought tragedy into people's lives.   

“i don't like it when you're this mean to me,” you muttered, pouting, still hurt by how he had greeted you when you came.   

“i know. forgive me,” he whispered, looking at your hand. he wanted to take it, to feel it, but didn't dare to.   

 weeks passed. arthur hated the way the men looked at you. micah, especially. that sick, deranged bastard. he mocked your innocence, your naivety.   

“well, i've been dying to deflower that little lassie, the new one. ever since we saw her at the farm i been saying we have fun with her, but morgan won't let us,” protested micah, sipping from his bottle of whiskey, one night by the fire.   

“do you think she's a virgin?” javier replied with curiosity.  

“please!” interjected bill, laughing. “that girl doesn't even know what screwing is.”   

 “of course she doesn't. i told her to blow me the other day and she just looked at me with those dopey eyes of hers,” micah cackled.   

 arthur overheard the conversation and felt his insides boil. listening to those nasty old men, talking so crudely about a young, proper lady like you, made him sick.   

 “what the fuck are you talking about?” arthur snarled. he snatched the whiskey bottle from micah's hand and faced him, with an annihilating glare. “if you ever talk about her like that again, you better make sure i don't hear. or i'll cut that throat of yours so you never say a fucking word again,” he said, his voice low and intense, getting micah to turn away, letting out a nervous laugh.   

 he retreated to his tent, furious, and was startled to find you there. he put his hand to his chest and shook his head. “what are you doing here, you want to scare me to death?” he wheezed, anger still boiling inside him.   

 you looked at him with a smile and showed him a flower crown in your hands. “look what i did,” you declared, proudly, your eyes on his, perhaps seeking approval in his expression. he eased back and couldn't hide a soft smile, gentle and loving. he took the floral diadem and placed it on your head.   

 “beautiful,” he whispered. you blushed heavily and pressed your lips together, excited.  

“i was reading and in the book, it explained how to make it and what flowers were ideal for it. i think it turned out really pretty,” you explained.   

 “yes. it looks very pretty. but you should be sleeping,” he scolded you.

 “i'm sorry. i was excited and wanted to wait for you to come back,” you defended yourself. he smiled.   

 he couldn't help but bring his hands to your face. you were so precious, so candid and credulous. and those abhorrent men were talking about deflowering you just a few minutes ago... it made him feel like throwing up.   

the affectionate gesture surprised you. your cheeks grew warmer. “what's wrong?” you asked, uneasy, and he dropped his hands to either side of his body.   

 “nothing. nothing,” he huffed, rubbing his face with his hand, frustrated, confused.   

 he knew he didn't do you any good. but how could he let you go? the world was full of disgusting men like micah. men who wouldn't hesitate to hurt this girl he had come to love.   

 he pushed past you and sat down on his bed.   

 “i want you to keep away from micah no matter what, do you understand? whatever he says to you. you stay away. and if he bothers you, you come and tell me immediately,” he said, without looking at you, his tone stern.   

 you didn't answer, you just nodded. you would do anything this man asked of you.   

 “are you sad?” you asked, moving closer to him. arthur was slow to answer, still not looking you in the eye.   

 “yeah. i am,” he admitted, sighing. you sat down next to him, and hugged him, trying to comfort him and also, seeking solace.   

arthur wanted to push you away, to scold you for invading his space, to urge you to leave him alone. but he couldn't do that anymore. he didn't want you to leave, and each and every time he had asked you to stay away, he had betrayed himself. he let himself enjoy your touch, your scent, and your warmth for the first time. he closed his eyes and leaned in slightly, sliding his arms around you.   

 “forgive me for being a sorry son of a bitch to you,” he whispered, very remorseful.   

“it's okay. forgive me for always being annoying.”   

 “you're not annoying. don't ever say that again,” he replied, his chest vibrating against yours every time his husky voice made itself heard. “i've been a real jerk.”   

 you fell silent. you didn't understand what this was about. and arthur was grateful for your ignorance. he wouldn't know how to comfort you, how to make you forget those nauseating words if you had heard how you were spoken of before.   

 “i need to lie down, sweetheart. i'm very tired,” he mumbled, pulling away a little. the affectionate nickname made your heart skip a beat. you nodded, watching him lie down, his expression one of displeasure.   

 “can i stay with you?” you whispered, fearful that he would say no. but he nodded without hesitation, and you settled in next to him. his heart was about to burst out of his chest. he let you snuggle up to him, and his arm slipped loosely around your waist.   

 “gonna stop by saint denis tomorrow to run some errands. wanna come with me?” he asked, and you looked up at him, your eyes widening with excitement.   

 “really?” arthur let out a chuckle and confirmed. “yes, please. i'd like that very much.”   

your excitement stirred something inside him. he felt a warmth in his chest that he had never felt before. such a sweet being like you...and your father and brothers had you locked in a filthy room, only to be discovered by men who just wanted to fuck you and leave you stranded. what would have become of you if he hadn't gone and robbed that farm with the others that night?   

“okay, sweetheart.” he used the nickname again, which made you grin like a fool. “i'm gonna sleep now, okay?” he said, and stretched his arm over you, reaching over to the bedside table to put a glass over the candle to put it out.   

 you pouted, and rested your head on his chest. “okay,” you whispered back, closing your eyes.   

 arthur was trying to hide it, but he was so nervous. it had been ages since he'd been this close to a woman, let alone a woman such as yourself. his pants had started to tighten since you first curled up with him, though he tried to act normal, his heart pounding in his chest.   

innocently, you ran a leg over his thigh, sighing. his arm tightened around your waist. he was restless, tense, and kept shifting his posture every few minutes.   

 inevitably, his eyes opened in the darkness. he couldn't sleep.   

“i like being like this with you,” you whispered when you noticed he was still awake. “it gives me... this nice, funny feeling in my tummy,” you added, and arthur let out a shaky sigh.   

“oh, yeah...?” he replied, absently, your words replaying in his mind.   

 “yes... it always happens to me when i'm around you,” you confessed, your candid statement making his cock grow harder in his pants.   

“don't get used to it,” he growled. you looked up, saddened.   

 “don't you like being like this, together?” you asked, your voice low and apologetic. arthur exhaled hoarsely.   

 “too much, darlin'. too much,” he admitted, without looking at you. he was getting carried away.   

 you slid slowly onto his lap, and his breath hitched.   

 “what in the world are you doing?” he whispered. he panicked, feeling your pelvis right on top of his erection, which he had been trying to hide all this time.   

 “i want to be real close to you,” you whispered. “do you mind?”   

 he looked at you with pleading eyes and shook his head, he was speechless. he tried to push you away, but his hands wouldn't move.

 “the book talked about this too... about men, women...” you began, your voice shy as you explained.   

 “no. we're not doing this, girl,” he protested. but he didn't really mean it. the least he wanted right now was for you to get off of him.   

 “please...” you begged. “i just want to know how it feels.”   

 his face was burning, his cock throbbing desperately in his pants, needing urgent relief. so you were indeed a virgin.   

 this wasn't right. he wouldn't take advantage of you.   

 “why?” you wanted to know.   

 “you're a virgin,” he declared, in a low gasp. you didn't respond, just shrank back a tiny bit, with shame. “my god, you're a virgin... no, i... i can't. i can't.” he covered his face.   

 arthur had never been with a virgin before. let alone a virgin with a life like yours. were you even aware of the importance of what you were asking? 

 “oh, don't do this to me, please,” he whimpered, his hands sliding over your thighs, down to your buttocks. you blushed and let out a sigh of pleasure, rolling your hips against his, trying to ease the burning between your legs. arthur let out a low moan, his eyes half closed, his cheeks red.   

 “baby... we can't... not with me,” he whispered, desperate.  

“i want it to be with you,” you murmured. and he had no more strength to resist.   

“do... do you want me to put it inside you?” he asked, pressing his pelvis against yours, making you feel his whole erection, warm and big against you.   

 “yes, please...” you begged.   

 “oh, sweetheart...” he swallowed, flustered. it had been so long since he'd last had sex, and now he had a beautiful, untouched woman in his lap, begging to be fucked. it felt like a goddamn dream. and he felt disgusting about it, but he was so turned on by the idea of taking your virginity. he felt like a hypocrite.   

 his hand slid down your ass cheek and under your nightgown. his fingers reached for your panties, his arm around your leg to touch you.   

 “you're so wet,” he murmured. he closed his eyes for a moment, the heat feeling a little overwhelming. “take off your nightgown, baby.”   

 obedient, you removed the garment slowly, remaining in his lap, your body covered only by your bra and panties. arthur exhaled, salivating, his gaze gliding over every inch of your exposed skin.   

 “you are exquisite,” he said to himself, almost as a reproach. he shouldn't have to be doing this. but he couldn't stop. he just couldn't. he began to unbutton his shirt. “can i see your tits?” he asked, rhetorically, since he knew that without complaint you would take off your bra. and so you did.   

 his lips and tongue immediately landed on the soft skin of your breasts, after having devoured you with his gaze for a few seconds. his lips left kisses, his tongue caressing and frolicking around your nipples. you moaned and stirred on his lap, immersed in pleasure and desperate for more.   

 he removed his shirt, and eagerly, unbuckled his belt. 

 “gonna get on top, it may hurt a little this way,” he whispered between kisses. you nodded, and let him grab you by the thighs, your arms around his neck as arthur changed position.   

 he laid you down gently, and his hands crawled up your thighs, spreading your legs. his eyes lowered to your crotch, the fabric of your underwear was visibly wet.   

 “darlin'... i'm not gonna last. haven't done this in a long time,” he said, his hands shaking a little, he was so horny he could barely think coherently.   

 “i-it's okay,” you murmured sheepishly.   

 he knelt between your legs, and placed soft, warm kisses on the sensitive skin of your thighs, moving closer and closer to your center. he kissed your pussy over your underwear, and pressed his face to it, inhaling your scent.  

“delicious,” he purred, closing his eyes, sucking and kissing over the fabric. his hands, big and strong, squeezed your flesh, eager to feel you. his right hand traveled down to your crotch, pushing aside the annoying material of your panties. “what a pretty little pussy,” he growled, and glued his mouth to it, licking between your warm wet lips, sucking on your clit, devouring you like a hungry man.   

you moaned, your legs trembling. his hands pressed against your thighs, spreading them wider, and when his fingers left your panties, they again came between you and his touches.   

 “fuck,” he hissed in frustration, and roughly, he yanked them off you, sinking his face back between your legs, parting you wide and devouring you with both intensity and desperation. 

 “i'm going to put my fingers in, okay?” he warned, looking down at you, his beard wet with your juices, his cheeks red. you nodded, your gaze clouded with pleasure. his ring and middle finger teased your sensitive, dilated entrance. slowly he slid them inside, feeling the rough texture of your insides tightening around his thick digits. he moved them slowly inside you, curving and massaging your insides lovingly, while his tongue and lips fed on your juices and moans, sucking on your sensitive, sweet spot.   

 “you're so tight,” he gasped. he pulled away briefly, to pull down his pants. his cock sprung, flushed and swollen, eager for the delicious relief only you could bring him. “look how you got me, baby...” he whispered, wrapping his member in his left hand, squeezing it slowly. “how you get me, always.”   

 your pussy clenched around nothing, feeling emptier than ever. “please... arthur,” you whimpered. he looked at you, unsure, was he really doing this? you deserved better than this. something so much better than this.   

 but the urges in his body were too strong, they absolutely ruled him. he placed his cock against your center, gripping it firmly, and rubbing its tip between your lips, pressing lightly as it met your entrance, tiny but eager.   

 “darlin’... what the hell are we doing?” he said, sliding in just the tip, which was thick enough to make you whimper. “ow... baby.”   

 you felt so full. you looked down, and you could see his thick member, disappearing inside you. your pussy throbbed and squeezed him, unable to adjust to his size. he was huge.   

 before he got it all in, arthur had to pull it out a little. “you're too tight,” he let out a pitiful whimper. “i'm gonna cum.” he added with embarrassment.   

 he pulled out, taking a deep breath. he leaned down to kiss you. he kissed your lips lovingly. god, he'd been so rude, not kissing you all this time. he relished your lips, and you could feel the wetness of his beard against your chin and cheeks. he penetrated you again, and this time he entered you somewhat more easily.   

 “enjoy, sweetheart... just enjoy,” he whispered, watching your face contort in pleasure. he had to close his eyes, imagine the horses, the flowers, the bees, the smell of the barns, or he would cum right there, inside you. he pushed it all the way in, his tip pressing against your cervix. “does it hurt, honey?” 

 “no, no... i... it feels so good...” you moaned. you felt so full, his cock was so thick you felt like there wasn't an inch of you he wasn't touching right now. every little movement of his hips, pressing against yours as he nestled his face into your neck, made you shudder.   

 “fuck... yes, squeeze me like that,” he begged, closing his eyes tighter, starting to move his hips, his hands squeezing your thighs and pressing them against the bed, spreading you wide to penetrate you deeply. “thank you, thank you...” he gasped hoarsely.   

 your small hands clung to him, your nails sinking into the flesh of his back, his big, strong back, as his whole body enveloped and filled you.   

 one of his hands slipped between your bodies, and he began rubbing your clit, each thrust making his member bury itself deep and hard inside you, your tight body giving him no respite.   

 “please tell me you're close. i can't hold on much longer,” his voice sounded strained, cracked. the bed creaked beneath you, his hips slapping against your ass every time he bottomed out inside you. 

 “yes, yes, please don't stop,” you whimpered. his hot, sweaty skin clung to yours, the heat under the sheets thick. his smell, salty and masculine flooded your nostrils, and his cock filled you, again and again, your snug cunt squeezing, sucking him deeper and deeper inside.   

your orgasm was intense. you trembled beneath him, your cries and mewls getting louder, and you writhed, your pussy milking him dry. arthur frowned in concentration, letting out soft grunts and whimpers as he moved within you. he came too, couldn't help it, his legs quivering as well. his thrusts became ragged and desperate, his eyes rolled back slightly as his cum filled you, hot and thick. "oh, god," he whined quietly. his strong arms hugged you closer, pressing you tighter to him as he left you completely full of him.   

 “d-darling,” he gasped, shuddering on top of you, his strokes slowing, until he stopped. his hands, scratchy from work and guns, slid over your sweaty skin and squeezed your breasts and hips, before holding you tight. “don't leave me, please.”

[shoesterrs]

VDL Gang but Animals

I know this has been done countless times, but here's my version! Some have a cool explanation and some are just,,, silly :)

Dutch Van Der Linde: Black Panther

I think it's fairly widely accepted. He gives off the vibes of a big cat, hard to remember they're wild animals and not just big lovable kitties.

Hosea Matthews: Corsac Fox

This one was oddly tough. It was pretty easy to make him a fox, but I had a lot of other ideas. I do think he looks A LOT like a corsac fox, and acts a lot like a fox in general, clever and cunning.

Arthur Morgan: Stag

What'd you expect? This is just perfect for him, no other questions are being taken, thank you.

John Marston: Golden Eagle

That picture is so. So so John Marston. It looks just like him dude. I see a lot of people say he's a wolf, and I get that, but BIRD OF PREY. Wolves are more often seen as very territorial and constantly with their pack. I see John Marston more as a loner, especially with the lonely vibes in RDR1. And going from weird little looking baby to BIG MAJESTIC BIRDDD. I don't know I'm a big bird fan. He hunts down his old friends in RDR1 and that is very bird of prey of him. And the bird symbolism? OAGH freedom and independence but also strength and courage. And they mate for life 😀

Javier Escuella: Coati

Very out of field uhh. Okay. So in all sorts of different cultures, coati can represent change and protection, but also greed and gluttony. They're often depicted as protectors or crafty and mischievous creatures. Javier is very protective and loyal of his family, and despite trying not to, he's changed a lot throughout the years. Coati. End quote.

Bill Williamson: Javelina

Hii he's a silly little javelina, blind and stupid but also so so horrifying. Big family protectors, travel alone or in packs, and this picture spoke to me. I LOVE JAVELINAS!!

Micah Bell: Gila Monster

The largest venomous lizard in the US (I think), these badass lizards hunt down their prey by locking them in their jaws and biting down, slowly injecting venom. MICAHHH - Dutch is his prey, or fucking ANYONE and GOD iusghfja

Charles Smith: American Bison

Sweetheats <3 ofc he's an American Bison. Chonky boys, very connected to Native American culture. Hella protective but so so chill. And silly.

Sean Macguire: No fucking idea maybe a woodpecker

Lil assholes who like to swoop at me for some reason these ableist birds. Anyways. They got those strong head muscles. Perfect for him. Love to cause noise. Bird vision. Yep

Lenny Summers: Otter!

sweethearts with an evil mind <3 They often symbolize curiosity and playfulness. Young hearts. :( gonna make myself cry

Sadie Adler: Cougar

Often thought loners, but value their social family and friends. Purrs doesn't roar REAL Sadie's fierce as hell and a fantastic bounty hunter BAM cougar

Karen Jones: Secretary Bird

she looks like a secretary bird finished. My sister gave me this idea and I LOVE IT. "execute snakes by stamping on them" JUST USING 'EXECUTING' IS KAREN ENOUGH. QUEEN.

Tilly: Black-Footed Ferret

I want to put her in macaroni.

Mary-Beth: Barn Owl

Freakin NERD. I don't like this one very much, think she's more of a cat maybe?? But neither a cat or a barn owl fits her personality. Going more with what is represents, owls representing ya know nerds and magic and all that. And I guess barn owls are real good at being sneaky and Mary-Beth is a good pickpocketer :)

Uncle: Raccoon

Weird, gluttonous, and trash animals? Uncle. But for real, raccoons might not look threatening but they can put up a FIGHT. Reminds me a lot of Uncle.

Abigail Marston ;): Red Shouldered Hawk

Very protective, gets PISSED. Abigail probably would kill like a bird of prey for her family. Love her. Love hawks. Also really wanted to make the Marston family BIRDS OF PREY heh

Jack Marston: Brown Falcon

Silly little guy, but still a predator. Hunts down Edgar Ross. Absolutely a bird of prey.

Miss Grimshaw: Emu

Miss. Grimshaw would single-handedly win a war against Australians. Therefore, emu. Cannot fly but has personality for years.

Simon Pearson: Turkey

Very American, balding, and they represent giving and food of course. I wanted to make him a sea related animal, like maybe a Manatee or a Walrus?? But I REALLY like turkey.

Leopold Strauss: Weasel

Evil fucker, that one weasel from Zootopia yes I just referenced that, also I want to toss him in macaroni.

Josiah Trelawny: Raven

Very clever, often represent magic. "Spiritual messengers". Also found that they represent "divine timing" which is funny as hell to me and very Trelawny. I play a silly DnD thing where I DM and roleplay as the entire freaking Van Der Linde gang and I made Trelawny just kind of show up at the simultaneously the worse and best times.

Reverend Swanson: RED SPOTTED TOAD!!!

MY FAVORITE CHARADCTER!!! and i gave him a toad :) BUT i like toads! Especially this silly guy <3 They represent transformation (very Swanson look at him go) and are often attached to witchcraft which I think is fucking hilarious for a reverend. These guys spend the day in rock crevices and come out during the night - they can survive 40% body water loss. Good for the morphine and alcohol :D

Kieran Duffy: Ring Tailed Cat

Look at those big eyes and tell me that's not Kieran. They get hit by cars all the time and that's soooo Kieran Duffy of them. They're super shy and timid but also hella adventurous to the point of stupidity. I've only ever seen one in the wild in my life and it very aggressively yelled at me. Wherever you are, sorry little dude.

Last but not least, Molly O' Shea: Bleeding Heart Dove

Another one my sister recommended. OH the symbolism, I could write a whole essay, it HURTS. Doves are obviously very common symbols for freedom and love. The plumage looks like a gunshot through the chest. HELLO!?!? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?!??! It's a bleeding heart. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. They're freaking gorgeous majestic creatures, a symbol of resilience and beauty in the Philippines

And that's it?? I think. Would love to hear y'alls thoughts!

[sky-is-the-limit]

I'm sorry but your posts questioning Mary's actions are so REAL bc what the actual fuck..that woman had the opportunity to have ARTHUR MORGAN!!! and threw it away like it was nothing and then people go on to ship them together and defend their relationship and I'm just like girl what are you even defending?!? her constantly calling on Arthur to do some chores for her and after he's done she just sends him on his merry way???! I'm sorry but that's not healthy at all and even if Arthur is a "bad" man who kills and robs he doesn't deserve to be played like that, hell all the camp women try to convince him not to go visit her but he just can't stop himself (I just need one night with him he'll forget what is a mary and what is a linton)

There's people who legit ship them?!?😭 What even???? That woman didn't deserve an inch of him and don't start with the "back in the day-" girl, if you legit cared about that man and wanted him, you'd try and do everything to be with him.

She literally told him to change his ways with that disappointing look like girl ik you agree with your lame ass dad, leave Arthur alone. Even if she genuinely loved and cared for him all those years ago, feelings can change and turn into manipulation.

She literally only reached out to him to use him for help. And I understand the first time, it was her little brother who had a good relationship with Arthur but her dad!??!?! Fuck that. I declined and don't regret it one bit, I'll do it the second and third time as well.

You knew that he was an abandoned kid who had nothing and got raised by a literal gang. What made her think that he'd be a lawman? Or ditch the only family he had ever known and change one of his greatest qualities which was loyalty to be in a suit and play 'lord'? As if they wouldn't hate him still and treat him like shit for the life he previously had.

The goodbye letter pissed me off so much. What was the reason? If you loved him, why torture him like that knowing that he still cared about you even though you hurt him. She literally made him feel unworthy of love. Sending back the ring? Something that he gave you with so much love? For what? And I don't remember which girl was it, either Karen or Mary-Beth, who said that 'that girl doesn't deserve you' damn right she doesn't. She never did.

No one says that she had to settle for an outlaw, but tormenting and manipulating a man who gave you his heart and more is messed up. Especially Arthur who was so kind and caring despite his upbringing. You were hopeless for your brother? Okay, ask for help and MOVE ON. Leave that man alone. Nah, fuck that girl.

If you wanna know what real love and loyalty is, take a look at Abigail.

[holyfvckbats]

Hey Angel, here! I'm a 21+ female (PST) who is also a 10 year experienced roleplayer/writer who loves to take her mind on a trip from the outside world. I use music to help me set a scene for the majority of my writing. I use discord, write only in third person, and I always try to mirror write but it always turns out being a little more especially when I'm excited.

I'm currently obsessed with trying to find writing partners that fit the vibe. Not only do I want writing partners, I would love to make new friends. If I'm not writing then I'm working. If I'm not working then I'm playing video games, listening to music, probably high off weed or I'm sleeping. Regardless I'd love to meet new people.

Here are some topics that peak my interest:

• Stranger Things - Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Billy Hargove, or Argyle x OC.

• Euphoria - I just like how the colors play a big part in the show. I don't necessarily want to be any of the characters but I wouldn't mind doing a spin off of it.

• The Bear - Carmey. Do I need to say more? I don't care if I make an OC and someone writes him for me or I write against your OC but hot damn.

• Red Dead Redemption 2 Online- I play this game a lot on Xbox. Ever want a partner let me know. I'm honorable. Also I love Arthur Morgan and would love to write Sadie against him. Always thought they would make a good couple since that one little mission in Rhodes.

• GTA 5 - I don't play the online version as much anymore but I'm more interested in Trevor and a personal OC character against him.

• Stardew Valley - I love this game. I love the little stories and how you can fall in love with certain characters. I always want my character to marry Penny for the story and Emily for the clothes.

• fandomless roleplay is okay too, I mean like I said I want friends/writing partner. Maybe you think we'd hit it off then why not conjure something together.

I guess I should say one last thing before I close this off. My main face claim is Demi Lovato. I am a fan of hers but even if I were to do a celebrity RP, I would never impersonate/pretend to be the real her. Also if you want to write, I can double, and play male or female characters. Minors DNI as always. Also mxm is not for me, sorry but I'm totally fine doing mxf, fxm, or fxf.

If I by chance have managed to catch your attention please like this and coment. If I disappointed you could you do me a favor and repost it or share it with someone you think would peak the same interest. As always, thank you for your time in reading everything and may you have a wonderful New Years. ✨