#also in case you're wondering what arthur's doing with his hand

[serawritesthings]

hi! Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. I don't know if you're accepting requests, if you not, just ignore. But I'm wondering how you would write something related to a jealous Arthur Morgan, high honor of course (with smut or without smut sincerely you know what looks best). the way you write is addictive and passionate, i believe anything you write from this would be great.

OUR DEAR, GREEN LITTLE FRIEND

Pairing | Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader Summary | Oh, jealousy. When the thought of you straying too close to the comfort of Charles, the green monster claws its way into Arthur's head. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, tiny bit of angst, description of violence and wounds, fluffy at times, smut Word Count | 10k A/N | Hi everyone! I just HAD to write this request, hope you like it! Also, thank you dearly anon♡

While many found the biting cold of the climate north of West Grizzlies to be bitter–sharp air seeping into your very bones–you saw it oddly liberating despite the current predicament. The circumstance was dire, indeed, and you pondered many times if this would finally be the end for all of you, thinking of the incredible luck you had managed to have so far. Fate, or an astonishingly fascinating knowledge on how to escape the grappling arms of the law with a suspicious amount of people trashing through the roads in utter, sheer panic.

Glancing around you as you huddled closer to the fire, hands rubbing furiously against the wool of your gloves to gain even the slightest warmth to your biting fingers, you were met with the flushed cheeks of your comrades. The skin that now glistened from the melting snowflakes was caressed by the warm, orange glow from the flames lighting up the small hut you had taken residence in. 

The road leading to here had been long, and the time spent in the wagon that did nothing to shield you from the penetrating wind that howled into the night, your thoughts had been entirely focused on the man who now lay dead a few meters away, tucked in some fabric to shield the paling flesh of a corpse. While the thought might not make you uncomfortable, it did its thing on the others who looked weary at the covered man. 

You had done your best to tend to him amidst the severe trembling of your fingers and numbness spreading through you the longer you rode in the worrying storm, finding his blood still staining the cotton of your gloves–a reminder that you had done what you could to help the poor fellow. Despite not knowing him well enough to shed a tear, death was still a death, and a slight melancholy set its claw in all of you as you tried to regain some warmth. 

“Stupid man.” Glancing beside you, you took notice of the dark-haired woman muttering angrily as she held a sleeping Jack close to her body. 

“What’s wrong?” You inquired quietly, curious of her obvious disdain.

“John Marston is what’s wrong.” Blazing heatedly into the fire, you could almost see the depths of hell through her furious eyes. “He didn’t come back with the rest.” Shifting her eyes to yours for a quick moment that, although short, showed the worry hidden beneath her anger. 

Nodding slowly as you leaned against her slightly in comfort, you realized you hadn’t taken notice of the man’s absence until now. Returning with empty hands and another mouth to feed had instead been the case, no Marston as far as the eyes could see as he probably whirred around in the blizzard somewhere.

“Do you think he…” As you spoke, you trailed off, growing unsure of your words while realizing your comments might be prodded into a sensitive subject. 

“No.” Firmly, she sniveled harshly, shaking her head in protest. “No, he wouldn’t leave again.” Although her words were sure, you still felt a lingering doubt cloud your mind, remembering being told of his earlier departure from the gang that caused more scars in their relationships than good–not that it wasn’t faulty from the very start.

As you were about to let your prying win against your common sense, you were interrupted by the door being audibly slammed open, the noisy winds from outside growing louder as snowflakes whirled inside. Walking inside was the prominent figure of Charles, nodding respectfully to its residents as the door shut behind him, once more letting the warmth settle.

“Folks.” He mumbled quietly, treading through everyone huddling by the fire as he glanced curiously at the new woman before settling beside you. You glanced up at him, taking in his snow-covered self before lingering on his hand that rested motionless on his legs, bandages visible under his gloves.

“It’s not too bad; the cold seems to numb the pain.” A slight smile graced your lips at his observance, finding it unique to the man to be so tentative to everyone around him. Letting out a small laugh, you reach to remove your gloves before taking his hand in yours so you could lay it in your lap, unwrapping the bandages to examine the burns covering his skin.

You had given it a quick look-over before you had to tend to Davey, doing the best you could to ease his pain you were sure would be unavoidable. Although the sight was quite gruesome, it didn’t look as bad as you had expected.

“You’re stronger than me, that’s for sure. I would be a crying mess if I burned my hand like that.” Your voice was gentle as you started to rewrap the fabric around his hand, finding it increasingly irritating you didn’t have the tools you usually did that would indeed do a fine job at lessening his pain.

You had managed to gain a slight smile from the otherwise aloof man, probably finding your words humorous. “Let’s hope it’ll never come to that.” 

Sharing a look, you heard the door open once again, the irritated voice of Uncle damning whoever was letting in the cold for the second time. Both you and Charles laughed slightly, and as you looked up, you were faced with a pair of squinting, blue eyes, the icy cold from the outside seemingly enhancing their sharpness although making a welcomed warmth spread through you as they gazed over you in a quick motion–departing to look at the hand that rested in your lap.

“A sad loss, folks,” Hosea stated as he stepped onto the wooden planks, speaking out loudly in the otherwise calm hut, groaning as he helped Arthur lift Davey’s lifeless body, limp like a ragdoll. 

Glancing subtly, you observed him as Arthur’s bulky form lifted easily, unlike Hosea, admiring how he made it seem so effortless. The others called him the camps workhorse, and you didn’t fail to see why, keeping your eyes firm on the man as he carried him towards the door. 

He shrouded you in uncertainty; he did, and you weren’t sure how to behave in his bold presence. You often felt like a goody two shoes, and even though you weren’t the perfect picture of a law-abiding citizen, you could honestly say you were a wimp compared to Arthur. 

You should be embarrassed, you really should, but there was something in his eyes– something that made your heart race. Utterly shameless, yet desperate to lock gazes again despite contradicting yourself and avoiding them every chance you could. Before you could get caught this time, you directed your eyes, focusing on tightening the bandages so they wouldn’t come loose. 

“Try to be careful, will you, Charles?” You spoke quietly while patting his hand, motioning that he was all set to go, but his hand stayed, giving you a grateful look. 

“Thank you.” His soothing voice was hushed as the loud bang of the door slammed shut not long after, ridding you of the tumult after their departure. 

–

Oh, it burned. It burned so deep in his loins that it felt like he would erupt into flames any second. Despite the cold surrounding him, he was sure it could be possible the more he was left with his thoughts. The hushed whispers, the soft touches, and the ever-so-gentle look in your eyes made him want to empty the little food in his stomach. 

“Sneaky little rat,” Arthur grumbled to himself as he shoveled his way through the deep layers of snow. Here he was, out in the cold, tortured by the howling winds of the snowstorm, while Charles remained inside the warmth of the hut, seated next to you, all because of a slight burn. 

He knew what he was up to–what any man would do if it meant getting your attention–and he wasn’t humored. Taking advantage of your good nature was downright uncalled for, bordering on immoral, which Arthur would probably realize wasn’t Charles’s character if his mind didn���t seek to find faults with the man the more his blood boiled.

He scoffed to himself, stabbing the ground maliciously, imagining your warm hands around his instead, the nimble fingers of yours tending to him as you moved in closer, your sweet smell reaching his nose as you gazed up at him, face blushed from the cold with lips begging him to warm them up with his. The thought did nothing more than cover his whole body in shivers, only to be reminded that it wasn’t him that received that attention from you.

“What are you huffing about over there, Arthur?!” Hosea’s strained voice attempted to shout over the loud winds, standing up to rest momentarily.

“Why don’t we just bury him when the storm has settled?!” Annoyance was apparent in his voice, the green jealous monster still wreaking havoc in his mind.

“I told you, the snow will be too heavy tomorrow, so we need to finish it while we still can!” He groaned, starting to shovel once more. “And I’ll be damned, we are going to give Davey a proper burial. He deserves that much!”

As Hosea blabbered on about justice and other forms of respect Arthur had no intent on listening to, he zoned out, feeling sorry for himself as he imagined you might be keeping close to Charles right this moment, warming yourself to his body in a desperate search of bodily heat. Rubbing the melted snow off his face, Arthur damned the heavens above for making him the unluckiest bastard in the West. 

Despite Arthur seeming dead set on you being lovey-dovey with a man you barely knew, Charles had left you after making some small talk, mentioning that he would try and get some well-deserved rest after the tumultuous past few days. Many others did as well, attempting to ease their minds from the constant threat against their back amidst the terrible cold.

Although, as days passed and John being back rid you of Abigail’s constant muttering, the cold only seemed to take its toll on you, unlike the others who quickly got used to the environment. Furthermore, the days only seem to get longer up in the mountains, and you wondered obsessively when you would get the chance to leave–damning everyone who thought seeking out Colm O’Driscoll in your compromised state a good idea instead of moving forwards.

Despite your dismay, you put yourself to use like the others, preparing to help Pearson in the grim act of cutting through the poor deer that had been brought back. While the sight gladdened you, knowing you would finally get a meal in your stomach, the brooding aura of a chestnut-haired, blue-coated man seemed to rain over you endlessly.

What could you have done to gain his stinging glare? It was almost cutting through you entirely from the burning that resided deep in his eyes, watching you ferociously, making your hair stand on edge. When he had returned with Charles, it had been nothing short of unpleasant ever since, although thankfully–despite his glare–his harsh words were directed towards Pearson instead of you, which you were glad for.

“How’s the cold treating you?” Glancing away from the two men bickering, you laughed slightly at Charles’s innuendo, dressed worse for wear as you pulled the thick, woolen scarf tighter around your neck, hugging yourself to keep warm.

“Could be worse, I guess,” you said, clouds like smoke surrounding you as you talked.

“I suppose. Still, I don’t want you freezing your fingers off.”

“Mhh,” you nodded thoughtfully, speaking up after silence. “Who would look after your hand if that happened?”

He chuckled heartily at your unsuspected joke, and you glanced up at him bashfully, a light smile covering your face at his apparent amusement. While your embarrassment of being so easily swayed by the cold, it felt nice having someone take notice of your obvious discomfort, even though you would say you were pretty good at keeping it to yourself. You couldn’t be surprised, though, well aware you and Charles were both tentative to your surroundings, always knowing but rarely telling.

“Here.” Taking off the large gloves covering his hand, no doubt doing an excellent job keeping him warm, he grabbed your trembling hands in his, rubbing them between his pleasant temperature hand and bandage-covered skin before gliding the fabric over yours. 

“No, Charl-” you protested, trying to stop him from continuing. 

“They’ll do you more good than me, I promise. They’re just in the way.” Stubbornly, he planted your hands back into your lap, petting them like you had done to him some nights ago before raising with a huff. 

“Thanks for the help, Arthur.” Charles nodded at the now grumpy man observing him as he rested against the wood of the wooden wall with arms crossed, seemingly ignoring Mr. Pearson’s lecture about the navy he felt so strongly about, only providing a quick tilt of his hat before heated eyes were set on you.

Your gaze faltered, the blush on your face from the cold only intensifying the spread of warmth you felt from gaining his profound stare–something you rarely took notice of. It wasn’t that he didn’t look at you; he probably looked too much at times, but he was never so ardent with it, scrutinizing you under their heavy weight–making you feel ten times smaller under his towering height. 

“Well, why don’t you skin the deer, Arthur? I’ll help you cut them up in a while, miss.” Mr. Pearson’s words were hasty, and you didn’t miss the bottle glistening under the sunlight as he tried hiding it behind his coat, scurrying away. He would, in fact, not be back; you were sure of that much. 

It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with Arthur, and you never strayed too close, finding his presence somewhat daunting. Not that you’ve had many chances to speak amidst all the chaos surrounding you, and being relatively new to the gang meant the trust lacked significantly from both sides. But, the intrigue was always present in every glance and movement.

You felt his gaze fixed on you a moment longer as you stared heedlessly at your hands, rubbing them together anxiously, having no clue what to do with yourself. While you weren’t one to speak the ears of others, you never had any problem socializing with those around you–but Arthur, he was something else entirely. Finally, though, he moved, approaching the hanging carcass.

“How are ya?” His sudden words surprised you, hanging awkwardly in the air.

“Oh, um. Good?” You cringed at yourself, finding the words stuck in your throat as his voice rumbling was loud and confident.

“Cold?” 

“A bit,” you said softly, staring at his back as he heaved the skin away from the animal, movements rigid and harsh. “Charles gave me his gloves, so it’s a little less chilly now.” You stumbled over your words, admiring his strength unabashedly as he hauled the skinned deer over his shoulder, slamming it down the table with a loud bang. He gave you no answer, instead bringing out the knife in his belt to do the job you were assigned to.

“Oh, let me!” Standing abruptly from your seat, you stepped towards him hurriedly in shame, feeling like you were just lazying around while Arthur was doing all the hard work. 

Grabbing his thick coat to let you take his position, you found him staying right where he was, looking down at you when your hand rested on his bicep. It was unusual for him to be so close, and a blush warmed your cheeks as his towering frame became more apparent when standing a short distance from one another.

“S’alright.” He spoke lowly. “I’ve got it.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as he gazed wholly at you, letting you know he had no problem with helping you. It warmed you, finding his action kind–just like the small acts of kindness he reserved for the other girls. You would sometimes glare after them, intensely jealous that Arthur seemed to have a soft spot for them, yet acting like you didn’t exist.

“Anything else I can do to help since you just did my job for me?” A shy smile found you, peering up at him as he sniveled, glancing at you while you sat on the bench again.

“Well, you’ve already done your charity work for the day, so you’re fine.”

“Charity work?” You wondered, staring at him curiously as he cut through the meat. “What do you mean?”

He only sighed heavily, like you should be able to understand his cryptic words. 

“He won’t die from a small burn; it ain’t enough reason to coddle the man like a child,” he grumbled. 

It took you a while to get the gears turning, but when you did, you felt yourself grow shy from his statement. “Charles? His hand isn’t looking too good…”

“Yeah? Well, you shouldn’t be so forward. You’ll give the poor man false hope.” He scoffed, stabbing the poor carcass harshly.

Staring at his back in disbelief at the sudden hatred, you had trouble understanding where it came from and why he suddenly grew so invested in whom you diverted your attention. You and Arthur rarely spoke, only changing quick words occasionally ever since you found yourself staying with the gang, and for that reason, you had failed to understand the reason for his hatred.

It seems all you ever did was look after everyone else, paying attention to their various troubles and tribulations regarding bodily harm. It wasn’t strange to you, and by no means did you give anyone false hope, merely trying to find your place with these people, an attempt to prove your usefulness.

“False hope?” You questioned, baffled. “I’m trying to help; I fail to understand how that is a problem.” 

“It ain’t a problem!” He grumbled, voice roaring hotly in his chest as he resheathed his knife and began to make his way out, repositioning his hat without glancing at you. You followed him, stopping short by the table as you didn’t want to stray too close to the fuming man.

“Well, it is since you are so angry about it?!” If this was how he carried out every conversation, you were glad the exchange of words wasn’t typical between you, more so the simple fact that your company had never seemed to bring him any enjoyment. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Wha-” He stops short, suddenly turning around and stalking towards you in significant strides. Gasping at suddenly having him so close, you backed away; his sharp eyes penetrated you as the warm blue of his orbs turned ice cold, glaring daggers into your own.

“What’s wrong with me?” He spoke dangerously low as his brows raised, grabbing your upper arms as he hoisted you up the table without an ounce of struggle. “I’m not the one taking every small, insignificant chance to take advantage of your good nature.”

“Charles’s not like that. He’s very kind.” You spoke in his defense, leaning back from his prolonged stare that seemed to cut through you deeper the more he stared. You had always pitied the people who got on Arthur’s lousy side, finding his presence at those times unnerving. 

Now, it seemed you were at the receiving end of it, and while it chilled you to the bones, you weren’t sure if your beating heart were because of fear or the thought of him being the closest to you he’d ever have.

You had never quite got to admire his eyes, always hidden under his furrowed brows and squinting eyes. Now that it wasn’t because of the blazing sun down west, it was from the blaring whiteness of the snow surrounding you as you found his eyes glaring at the current climate more often than not–displeased.

His eyes being dead set on you didn’t help as you could hear his breathing grow heavier, the warmth of his breath hitting your cold cheeks as his broad frame blocked the chilly winds from reaching you.

“Kind, huh?” Although momentarily distracted, you recovered as you heard him speak in a low voice, still finding his assumptions wildly out of reach while insulting you and Charles. Times were hard, and if you couldn’t look after one another, it would surely lead to your doom–Arthur, if anyone, should know that.

“Yes, kind.”

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he backed away from you, shrugging his shoulders while walking away–like your conversation hadn’t happened in the first place.

“Sure.”

–

It wasn’t like Arthur didn’t know how to restrain himself, for he applauded himself for avoiding his apparent anger when Charles had, yet again, stolen away your attention–not that Arthur had any plans on striking up a conversation with you anyway. 

It became clear to him that when you two were left alone, you almost turned into a living statue, barely responding to him. It was unlike you, for the time he had spent observing you, you had no problem talking to anyone else–and although it was usually calm, it never deterred you from gaining the likes of the others and liking them in return.

Why did you cringe away from him and not Charles, he pondered, glaring at the picture that plagued his mind. The reason he knew, deep down, but his stubbornness didn’t let him justify your actions. In all honesty, Charles was a more reliable man than himself, intentions often apparent with a slight sense of, well, goodness perhaps—something Arthur didn’t possess in the slightest.

Goodness, in all honesty, wasn’t something he was too familiar with, and he didn’t doubt one second that you found his character to be callous, seeing as the dirty work no one wanted to do fell upon him; work everyone else found to be too cruel to do themselves. He could almost feel your disapproving gaze when he picked up his slack from Mr. Strauss’s poor victims that he always tried to prolong, and while it wasn’t his most favorable way of lending a hand, sometimes he did it out of spite. 

If that’s what you thought about him, then he couldn’t do much to sway your opinion, finding it much easier to continue with his ways than realize that your sudden carefulness off him wounded him more profoundly than he let on.

And, he was indeed a harsh man in your eyes, and although his company wasn’t entirely unwished for, he was still grim–ignoring your presence like you weren’t there most of the time. It made you wildly unsure of him, but the allure he had kept bringing you back, always wondering when you would see a glimpse of him again. You chastised yourself for it, more so now that you got a taste of his famously sullen mood that pestered everyone around him, but your eyes were still drawn to him when he was nearby. 

Maybe it wasn’t what everyone else would describe him as, but you thought of him as mysterious. Gods, you have stayed with this group for quite some time now. Not once had he spoken to you more than the standard greeting, and you didn’t know much about him besides the sharp-shooting, brutal force of a man who had no problem letting his thoughts be voiced, even though the listeners might be less inclined to its harsh deliverance.

He had been cruel, sure, but you couldn’t help but remember how close you had been before when he spewed words that clung so viciously from his tongue. Faintly, you remembered the deep scent of gunpowder and smoke, something you were certain probably penetrated his skin by now, but also the slightly musky scent hidden underneath. Your head raced in curiosity, wondering how his hands would grab you if it wasn’t in anger. Was he even capable of that, you pondered.

It’s ridiculous you knew those thoughts were born from misconceptions and assumptions. You had heard how he behaved amongst the camp women, forever gentle and careful, and you had sharpened your ear when you’d been told timidly about his earlier flings. He could be more heartfelt than your head let you acknowledge, and the thought made your head spin even more with your endless imagination.

Despite the inner turmoil that filled you from your earlier argument, you had avoided him for some days now, and it seemed to grow easier the colder you got, huddling close to the fire with every chance. It was the only thing keeping your thoughts occupied, wondering when you would get to leave this desolated mining town that grew more covered in snow the longer you chose to stay.

“Do you need help, Hosea?” Just after you spoke, heavy blankets were handed to you, the fabric made from a thick wool that looked heavenly. “Yes, thank you. I take one step outside; I fear that it will be the end of me.” You only stared warmly at Hosea, who patted you on the back. “Don’t you worry, miss. We found more blankets we thought had been lost in that dreadful storm, so we all will sleep warmer tonight.”

“Oh, of course, I’ll help-” Despite the whistling winds that had picked up as the sun shone its last tendrils, you didn’t oppose the idea, but you were interrupted by a mischievous look handed to you by the older man.

“Make sure Arthur grabs one, too; you know how he gets.” Before you could question his meaning, he slunk away, pulling the warm fabric tighter around his shoulders without a glance at you, chuckling merrily. You chose not to ponder too hard on his strange ways, instead making your way to the door, shivering badly as you stepped outside.

Smiles were all you were greeted with as you handed them off, and it was no surprise as it was a welcome sight to everyone to gain some extra warmth to wrap around themselves. Although feeling content by being of help, you couldn’t help but wonder where Arthur could be, a single blanket now left in your hands.

Grumbling to yourself, you stepped out from the hut Dutch and Molly resided in, glancing at a smaller building some paces away, finding the orange glow of a candle lighting up the smaller barn where the horses were kept. A small smile found you, finding it very fitting for him to be where there were fewer people. 

Although slightly fearing what could come to be an awkward encounter, you found yourself being too forgiving many times, and you damned yourself for it. What he said hurt you deeply, making you ponder if you had given Charles other signals than intended. It could be a possibility, yet you had never had too many romantic dealings with men to presume that that was the case, but his eyes held something tender the last few times you spoke as you recalled it.

“Arthur…” As you stepped inside after pulsing through the thick snow, you searched for the blue coat you had grown familiar with in this weather. “Are you here?” You asked quietly, wondering if he could hear you.

You cautiously stepped further into the barn, placing your feet steadily on the ground before you so you didn’t slip and embarrass yourself. It was friendly out here, you could admit, the snow muting every sound and almost making every slight sound caress your ears. 

As you stepped further inside, it turned out he was here, and he took no notice of you as you rounded the corner to gaze at his seated form, seemingly writing something in his journal. It was an unusual sight. Sometimes, you observed him as he wrote in his journal back at camp, yet you didn’t make a habit of it, too shy to question him at the time.

How he didn’t freeze to death in this climate was beyond you, his fingers bare as he scribbled, fingertips red from the cold and dirty from the chalk. You made a motion to speak up once again but found yourself tongue-tied as you took him in, and as you did, the thought struck you that he wasn’t writing but drawing.

How unlike him, you thought, watching his brows furrowed from time to time, fingers moving expertly while the soft glow of the candle beside him almost softened his features. Your presumptions might be harsh, but you had never found him to be a man well-versed in the creative aspect of life, and while the brutal ways of his life spoke for him, you found it to make him slightly more approachable. 

“I didn’t know you draw.” You stated fondly, his eyes fitting into yours the moment the first word left your mouth, growing visibly stressed as the journal was planted into his coat pocket. A rough cough left him as he did, eyes faltering when he saw your observant gaze linger on him unabashedly.

“I don’t.” A small laugh left you at his abrupt words, not teasingly but perhaps warmly, choosing not to bug him since he grew uncomfortable before your questioning eyes. 

You were given an expectant look that reminded you of your actual business here as you stepped inside the building, closing the barn door behind you to shut out the wind that somehow managed to find its way through the cracks in the walls. 

“Here, we found some more blankets. Hosea asked me to bring you one.” You met his eyes briefly as you stretched out your arms for him to take the blanket, eyes faltering to it at his piercing gaze.

“Hosea, huh?” A scoff left him, resuming his arms to cross over his chest, shaking his head slightly. “You keep it.”

“No, I-” 

“Nah, you chattering your teeth keeps us up at night. Take it.”

His words should have taken you back since his voice was stinging, but a light laugh left you, knowing he was right. Wrapping yourself in the soft, warm blanket, you surprised Arthur by sitting beside him, heavily clad shoulders touching each other as you did. 

“I don’t understand.” You stated, staring at the large shadows that flickered on the wooden wall before you. “How can you not be cold? I feel like if I spend one more day out here, I’ll freeze to death.”

You turned your head towards him, caught off guard when you felt his gaze already set intensely on you. Your eyes faltered to his chest, growing shy as you always did when you had his attention on you. It wasn’t unwanted, but you didn’t know what to do with yourself in moments like that, unused to the fire that always burned so deep in his eyes.

“Used to it, I guess.” His voice rumbled hotly in his chest, fingers flexing against his will as he took the chance to observe you. He had never had the opportunity to see your face this close. Your wet lashes clung together as you blinked, undoubtedly from the heavy snowfall outside, framing your eyes that Arthur always noticed were so very easy to read, yet at many moments also locked away.

“I don’t believe you.” How could anyone possibly get used to this? It was raw, pure torture. 

You didn’t get an answer, and as you returned your gaze towards the wall, Arthur’s eyes found your features again. He had indeed been cold before you came, but it was his only chance to find a moment of peace; the thought of spending another night in that god-forsaken hut with his dear friend and his lover giggling the night away grew incredibly distasteful.

Here, he could finally hear his thoughts, the solitude of the snow muting every sound heavenly; the only noise was the familiar scribbling in his journal as he wrote about the past few days. Though his head was calmer than before, he still dreamt of your fingers encasing his like they had done Charles, the small, elegant touches rising his arms slowly, making him shiver wildly as the scene flashed before his eyes. 

He knew he shouldn’t think of you like that, and he certainly had no right to be angry at Charles since he felt so unabashedly filthy things about you, but he couldn’t help it. Your every scent, every motion set his blood afire; small deeds of good you always found yourself doing so harshly contrasted his actions he couldn’t help the fact that you intrigued his whole being. 

So good, so… soft and warm. As he stared at you, all he wanted was to reach out and pull you closer to him so he could feel your shivering body close to him, knowing many ways to warm you up. Sighing, he removed his hat, running his fingers through his hair as the thoughts took a turn he always hated himself for.

“Hey, I uh…” Arthur trailed off, finding the words he wanted to speak stuck in his throat. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, like I did back then.” He stared before him, yet he felt your eyes heavy on his.

He did feel bad, and it had been the reason for his brooding temper since then, not coming to terms with his wrongdoings until now. He had probably scared you, he concluded, and could only assume he was right as you had done your utmost to avoid him as of late.

“Don’t be,” you said with a light smile, not expecting his apology, even though he didn’t say sorry directly. “It’s a lot right now, I understand. But I still don’t understand why you’re so angry at Charles.” You were briefly met with a light sigh, eyes flickering to yours before diverting the flickering candle. 

“Nah, forget it. Just me being stupid is all.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. Maybe you’re mean sometimes and grumpy,” you said, giving him a teasing glance. “But not stupid.”

A scoff left him at your words, yet you could see the corners of his mouth chirp up lightly. “You’d be surprised.”

As your snickering died down, you rested your head on the wall behind you, not wanting to leave the quiet comfort you found yourself in nor the conversation that panned on longer than you had anticipated, much to your surprise.

“Why are you out here if you are so cold, girl?” He questioned you, catching a glimpse of your almost blue lips. “Go on inside; you’ll freeze to death if you stay here.” It would be best for you to return because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his thoughts progressed like they did before in your presence. As he placed the hat on his head again, he glanced down quickly, doing a double take as he found you staring at him. 

Was the cold finally getting to your head, or was it simply being in the presence of the man you were so unsure of but wildly intrigued by? You couldn’t tell, but the warmth spreading in your stomach as he glanced down at you spread ferociously through your stomach, almost warming you to your fingertips. 

Suddenly, Arthur moved his arm slightly, and the motion made you jump, leaning away from him as you unconsciously drew closer to him. You couldn’t tell, but it almost felt like your body sometimes contradicted your mind, defying your sense of morality.

“Are you afraid of me?” He questioned, gazing at you unexplainably. Both of your breaths were audible in the quiet night, blowing like smoke out your mouths as the world around you blurred. It wasn’t like Arthur couldn’t contain himself around women, but you were something else entirely. Only in his wildest dreams did you stare at him like that, like you were expecting–waiting– for him to do something. 

Yet, you looked guarded, like a cornered lam, waiting for the right moment to sprint away. You pulled away, only to lean in further, the cogs in your head turning something so awful in your mind, observing his every move yet not registering your own that reached out to him.

And gods, did he want to do the same; his internal battle proved to be more difficult as your hand gripped his coat tightly, only wanting to warm your blue lips with his own and show you how he could warm you up better than Charles’s damned gloves ever could.

“Sometimes.” You let on, voice shaking from both anticipation and uncertainty.

Leaning down towards you hesitantly, he felt hot all over when he realized you didn’t shy away from him like expected, mouth only parting further as he drew closer. As you did, you felt your breath hitch when a hand was placed on your upper back, Arthur’s weight only making you glide further down the wall until your head was resting in the crook of his elbow.

“Arthur…” He was so close now you could almost feel his heartbeat through the vast amount of clothing, breath hitting your cold, blushing cheeks as he leaned closer, the calling of his name only drawing him in. He was sure you had bewitched him, for not a single thought in his mind was about anything but the woman in front of him, entirely and utterly overtaken by what was solely you.

And through those few moments between frustration and desperation, all senses of logic disappeared as the skin of your lips conjoined, drawn together like magnets that snapped together like they never wanted to be apart again. Eyes grew shut, the only sound now the deep humming in Arthur’s chest as your hands found his cheeks, caressing the chilly skin under your palm with your thumbs.

It was ragged and scarred, a deep contrast to your own that had never tasted the metal of a gun and the blood of a foe, and the thought made a gasp rise in your throat as his weight fell heavier onto yours, pressing you into the hay-filled, snowy ground. 

“Tell me to stop.” He grunted against your now wet lips, only taking a second before joining them again. He was covering your entire body as he lay above you, resting his weight on his elbows as your head rested on his arm. 

“No…” You mumbled, words almost not audible against his desperate mouth, feeling just as affected by the desire as he did. You felt his face scrunch up almost painfully before he took the hand that rested on your back to glide under your coat, resting it on the side of your waist as he stroked gently, feeling the curves that hid underneath the damned fabric.

It was torture. It was an unexplainable torture that you would freeze to death if he removed the clothes that covered you, and he would surely go insane if he couldn’t feel the skin he imagined would be so very soft under his rough fingers. Just a taste, he thought sinfully to himself, slowly lifting the fabric of your shirt from under your skirt’s waistband, worming a freezing hand inside to feel the warmth that hid underneath.

You gasped at the sudden sensation but were quickly silenced as his tongue massaged your own, and the slight moan that left you only made a groan rumble loudly in his chest. The feeling of his cold hand rose your skin, stroking every bit it came across as if memorizing it to his brain, mapping out every single inch. 

It was too much for you, the sheer desperation and want, not knowing what to do with yourself or how to dampen the intense feelings that nailed your firm to the ground. Every bit of you grew into static, and every touch from Arthur sent shockwaves through your body as his fingers caressed you.

“Come here.” Opening your eyes, you found his, although lidded with desire, gentle eyes gazing into yours, pulling his hand reluctantly from your waist to help you sit up. “I won’t let you lay on the ground.” 

You only stared at him as he seated you on his lap, chest flush against his as his hands stroked along your arms as if to warm you up, tightening the blanket around your shoulders. You felt your heartbeat pick up at his actions, your stomach fluttering fiercely as he ensured you stayed warm.

You could tell he grew wildly unsure as you remained silent, clearing his throat as if he had been in a daze before speaking. 

“If you’ll have me, that is.” You didn’t give him a chance to say more, hands finding sanction in his hair as the motion knocked off his hat, exposing the sandy locks he always kept hidden underneath it.

“Stupid question.” You mumbled softly against his mouth, pressing yourself closer to him as your fingers started fiddling with the buttons on his coat. You could already feel the heat emitting, and your fingers grew hasty as you tried to move faster, the motion of your lips faltering against his eager ones.

You would have been ashamed if it weren’t for Arthur being just as stressed about getting the buttons of your coat loose, hands wounding their way around your waist and pressing you closer to him the moment they became undone. Likewise, you wormed your arms under his shoulder, gasping as you felt the heat buried underneath the fabric, hugging him close as you placed your face into the crook of his neck. 

Breathing in your scent, Arthur revealed in the way you nuzzled against him, feeling a warmth spread in his groin when the thick coat didn’t keep the pressure of your middle away from him any longer. It was heaven, he concluded, trailing his hands down to your backside as he caressed the curves, pushing you flush against his.

Oh, how he reveled in it. He was selfish; there was no denying it any longer, but he craved you so profoundly it would eat him up bit by bit if he couldn’t have you. It wasn’t about Charles any longer; it was about the fact that you had never spared him a glance, almost bordering on fearing him, deciding that everyone else company had been much safer than his own. 

He knew it and had seen it in your eyes countless times. Arthur wasn’t unfamiliar with the look of utter horror plastered on people’s faces, for he faced it every day, and he wanted nothing more than to show you that you had no reason to feel that way with him, for he would never put a single finger that was unwished for on you.

And he couldn’t possibly hold it against you, for he wasn’t a good man, quite the opposite actually, and every lingering touch made him hate himself even more, wishing you would find it in you to push away from him–let him know that if he ever touched you again, you would kill him. 

But, he would find that you didn’t, instead only pressing yourself even harder against him in the cold of the night, breath shaking something so terribly as he moved your lower region against his in a gentle movement. It only fueled his want for you, hands struggling their way up your skirt, caressing your stocking-clad legs as he did, reaching your undergarments with a content sigh. 

His touch lighted a path up your legs, the cold nothing but a memory now even though the brisk air found its way underneath your skirt, following his hands that caressed your inner thighs in soft motions.

It was suspenseful, waiting for the skin to touch the skin, for his strong hands to wound around you as he had already wormed himself around your heart. And as he did, the coil in your stomach grew so incredibly tight you felt like it was too much like his touch alone wounded your every fiber, but instead of hurt, it was an undeniable pleasure that hit you tenfold.

The hand that had crawled its way inside your undergarments stroked alongside your tender parts, never touching you where you wanted him the most–the place that longed for his touch. He had to be teasing you; there was no other explanation as he smiled softly at your expression, gasping for air as you gripped the sides of his arms, trying to push against his fingers. 

“Ah, sweetheart.” He only cooed at you, gripping your wrists with one hand as his other finally glided over the wetness of your heat, gazing directly into your eyes with his sharp gaze, admiring your pleasure-filled face that begged him to give you more, to provide you with his all. And, as he spread your folds with his fingers, the filthiest whimper of pleasure left you, laying its noise into the quiet night with no worry about anyone hearing, only fools deciding to stray outside in this bleak, frigid night. 

Falling into his arms yet again, you let him enter a finger into your warm cavern, gasping desperately for air as the unfamiliar stretch widened you, dragging wonderfully against your clenching walls. It was vile, the way Arthur reveled in how tight you felt against his finger, and as he pondered on how you would feel when he pushed it you. The thought made a striking, white pleasure shoot through him, making him grunt out against your neck.

“That good?” He spoke out, adding another finger into you while placing wet, hot kisses against your blazing neck, wanting nothing more than to hear your heavenly sound of approval. 

You attempted to nod, but the motion was interrupted by the increasingly more extensive stretch from both of his fingers; gasping like a madwoman as you moved against his hands, wishing to pull his fingers even deeper into you, dissatisfied when you realized it didn’t do the job.

He could only groan when he realized your intention, slipping his coated finger from your warm heat, bringing them to his mouth quickly while his other hand found the zipper of his jeans, fumbling in a stressed fashion to get rid of the constraint.

A dissatisfied moan left you as he did, wishing for nothing more than to feel the delicious stretch yet again carry alongside your walls. But, as he fumbled with his zipper, you quickly got your senses together. You helped him undo his suspenders, then slipped underneath the fabric to trail your hand alongside the apparent bulge that stretched underneath, finding his groans to fuel your actions. 

For a short while, your eyes met amidst the hurry your bodies experienced, and the moment slowed down to a halt as your lips found each other once more, moving against one another like starved men. You couldn’t be closer to him, and he couldn’t possibly be closer to you, and while you earlier had pondered that this was a good idea, you couldn’t imagine anything else at this moment.

And, as your hand wrapped around him momentarily, Arthur could feel his brain’s short circuit, like he had never been able to hold a single thought in his mind his entire life. You had to have bewitched him, for he complied to your every touch, body moving against your every move like your hand was glued to his body.

“God,” he mumbled against your lips that massaged his own, thrusting against your hand as you stroked him tenderly, gasping against him quietly. It wasn’t hurried but warm and slow, basking in each other’s presence like you had never before discovered the feeling of another’s touch against your own.

“That good?” You replied teasingly, mimicking his earlier words as you smiled a toothy smile, feeling him chuckle lowly at your apparent teasing, giving you a playful slap on your behind as his breathing picked up.

Suddenly, you felt a hand encase your own. As he removed it from his throbbing member, he only grabbed you closer, wounding his arms around your back as he pulled you into a hug, the feeling of him underneath you wonderful as you glided along it–moaning wantonly as the friction shot sharp streaks of pleasure up your body.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll warm you up.” As he spoke, he could feel himself shudder as your wet lips encased his tip, groaning audibly as he thought you rubbing against him. You were illegal, he concluded, for nothing could ever be allowed to feel this good–it wasn’t possible.

“Please,” you gasped against his lips, moving your hips slightly as you felt his hands circle your waist. “Please, Arthur.” 

He hushed you quietly, finally feeling you wrap your lips around him as he slowly entered your warm cavern, the walls fitting him snugly as a grunt left him unexpectedly, lost in the pleasure you brought him. 

While it felt too good to imagine, you could only keep your mouth open at the sensation, wondering how something could ever fill you up quite as good as this. Without a single thought, you sat down entirely, feeling him stretch you wonderfully as you wrapped around all of him, wounding your hands around his neck. 

You didn’t need to move much, for he thrust up into you when you had gotten used to his size, feeling yourself being hitched up to his body as the motion made your whole body rise to then fall back down on him, once more filled to the brim. His grunting in your ears filled your senses, and while the slight consciousness entered your mind, wondering what you were doing, you pushed it far back, relishing in how your body responded to his.

Despite the cold that was surely creeping into your bones the more you stayed out here, the sound of skin against skin filling the empty spaces around you made you feel more connected to each other than you had ever felt with anyone else. 

You started to move with him, bringing down your hips to meet his while he thrusts into you, growing more desperate by the minute. You found the hands hugging your waist, circling their arms around it, pushing you even further against him as you rested your hands on his cheeks, having no choice but to stare into his lidded eyes as he grunted roughly underneath you. 

God, how he wanted to push you down onto the ground and drive into you, damning the snow that covered the ground. Instead, he glided down further from the wall, feeling your weight press against him more as your head found sanction in his neck, feeling his thrusts grow more in power as he pistoned into you harder from the new position.

“Arthur.” You breathed out, feeling the stretch of him grow as the position made him reach even deeper inside you, one arm reaching down to grab your bottom so he could hold you firmer against him.

“I know, honey.” He murmured, head growing dizzy as you clenched around him so wonderfully, mewling sweetly into his ears as you let him take control. 

Did it make him an evil man for reveling in what he knew Charles would never gain from you? Maybe it did, but those thoughts were placed far back in his mind as your lips found his, small moans now muted as you grew desperate for his affection, growing insatiable to once more feel the fondness that laid in his every touch.

He had been so angry that someone else had gained the courage to do what he couldn’t, realizing he had been too late. Yet now, as you remain unknowing above him, it only made his lips plant themself firmer against yours, determined to make you understand that nobody could make you feel this way except him.

Grabbing the blanket off your shoulders, he threw it down towards the ground as you gasped, stroking your waist tenderly before slowing his movements. 

Your breath heaved something so terrible, your voice shaking as you spoke. “Don’t stop, Arthur. Please.” He felt his stomach coil at your words, throbbing inside you as he moved to a seated position.

“I ain’t stopping, sweetheart,” he let on, leaning you backwards lightly. “Lay back for me, okay?” You did as he said without a protest, the cold now gone as your legs spread from him.

He almost groaned from the sight, taking a moment to observe you as you stared at him through lidded eyes, blushed cheeks so wonderfully red against the whiteness of the snow you almost looked like an angel–your hair spread like a halo around your head where you laid on the blanket.

Crawling over you quickly, he grunted as he felt your hand encasing itself around him, stroking slowly as you guided it to your clenching hole. For a moment, he felt a relief spread through him at the feeling of your walls surrounding him before the sheer and utter desperation set in, beginning to move into you at a faster pace than before. 

Your breath hitched at the sudden movement, yet you gripped his arms to keep him there, not baring the thought of him stopping again. Being over you gave him more control, and his primal instincts set in as the coil in his stomach shot burning flashes throughout his body, wanting nothing more than to feel your warm walls around him forever. Maybe it was the desire talking, but he swore that the thought of you being like this with any other man than him would make him heave.

Encasing his arms around you as your hands found his hair, he felt your legs wrap around his waist, now so close he was grounding into you relentlessly. Rough yet tender, he moved into you with care, but you could feel that he was holding back as he panted above you.

“Don’t stop!” You begged him once more amidst his thrusts, pulling on his strands as his lips found the softness of your neck. Why you were begging, you couldn’t say, oblivious to the words leaving your mouth in utter bliss.

“Hm?” He mumbled, smiling lightly from hearing your ruined voice beg him. He felt like a sick man gaining pleasure from it, but his mind was too hazy to take notice, longing to hear those words leave your sweet mouth once more. “What was that?”

“Don’t stop,” you voiced breathlessly as his hand found your breast, rolling the nub softly between his rough fingers. Despite your begging, for his own sickly twisted pleasure his hips ceased their movements, moving torturously slow as he raised his elbows to stare at your tear-filled eyes.

They shot open as he slowed his pace, displeased he didn’t listen as you already felt shameful for sounding so desperate. You couldn’t help it, for it felt too good, and now that he had stopped, you wished he never had. Was he teasing you? The thought made you blush from embarrassment and annoyance, pleading with your eyes.

“No…” You mumbled, trying to move against him, yet his hands held you firm against the ground.

“Say it.” Arthur’s voice was coarse as he spoke, grabbing your hand to place tender kisses on it as your displeased sounds reached his ears. He only got a confused look, smirking slightly at the longing and apparent dissatisfaction plastered on your face. A biting shadowed lust replaced his usually sharp eyes as he watched you, carnal written deeply in his eyes.

“My name, sweetheart. Let me hear you say it.” Suddenly, he pistoned his hips against you, driving up your wet walls as a mewl left you from the sudden force. You felt his intense eyes on you as your eyes shut momentarily, and through your blurred vision, they didn’t stay open for long.

“Arthur,” you moaned, eye-rolling into the back of your head as your back arched, a wave of pleasure shooting through you at his demands. He held the same controlled yet sensual pace, knowing he’d slip out of you if he went any harder. Still, his accuracy was wicked–hitting the right spot with every move.

“That’s it,” he praised you, placing another kiss on your palm as his thrusts increased, grunting roughly as your walls squeezed him tightly. You break into sobs as you reach out to grasp his arms, tilting his head up just enough to let you know he’s watching you, his hazy gaze roving over the devastation on your face. 

The snow around you mutes the sound of skin hitting skin as he sets a brutal pace. “I didn’t tell you to stop, sweetheart.” The deep rumble in his chest as he spoke the words laced with possessiveness made your heartbeat pick up faster than it already was, the light ringing in your ears increasing as your body was hoisted up with each of his thrusts.

You call his name like a prayer amidst the pleasure, and satisfaction at hearing his name come so sinfully from your mouth made his eyes roll back, knuckles turning white from gripping the ground so harshly. Oh, you had no idea that every noise you let out from his advances made his heart soar with pride, feeling the softness of your skin under the palm of his hands.

Arthur feels the abrupt stop of movements from your hand, gripping tightly on his arms as you spasm around his cock, clenching tightly as the pads of his fingers come down to rub at your swollen nub as your orgasmed, a loud whine leaving you at the contact. It’s too much for you, the sensation too unfamiliar yet devastatingly addictive–not knowing if you wanted to drive your hips away from his brutal assault or enjoy him even more profoundly. 

Even if you had decided on the prior, he didn’t let you, pushing you firm against the ground as he twitched inside you at the noises you let out, groaning lowly as he came inside your warm walls, planting himself deep inside you. 

“Christ-” He grunts out, teeth clenched as you feel his cock throb inside you, cum gathering at the base of him as his hips slow to deep thrusts, grinding into you in sheer pleasure as the knot in his stomach unleashed, feeling you placing small kissed on his neck.

The slight motion made him smile amidst his pleasure-filled mind, caressing the curves of your waist as he nestled his head into your neck, still panting heavily. As you both calmed down, it didn’t take long for your hand to find his, fingers wounding themselves around the others in the blissful aftermath.

As you opened your eyes after catching your breath, you found a pair of blue ones already gazing at you. You didn’t speak for a while, both of you trying to digest the situation as tiny snowflakes could be seen falling from the sky through the cracks in the walls. It reminded you of how cold you should have been, but with Arthurs’s broad chest covering you, it felt like you were clinging to a furnace.

“Shit, you must be freezing.” He suddenly let out, shaking his head slightly as if in a daze before rising to pull you with him. As he pulled your skirt down your legs, rubbing them between his hands to warm you up, you could only stare at him in quiet wonder.

“What?” He grumbled out, sniveling lightly as he glanced at you. Had you not wanted this, he wondered, doubt starting to fill his mind. You were too quiet for his liking, only staring at him as he tried to prolong touching your soft skin, fearful of the hurtful words that were sure to come. 

“Are you jealous of Charles?” 

If crickets had been this far north, they would surely be the only thing audible as Arthur stopped. Bear of a man, hardy and stubborn to many, yet a faint blush could be seen rising to his cheeks as his face lowered–wishing so dearly he could find his hat that had seemingly disappeared so he could hide.

If he had been looking at you, he would have seen the toothy smile covering your face, a tender laugh leaving you as your assumptions became reality. You had to give him credit, though, for he had you completely and utterly fooled. 

“No.” He stated firmly, rising on his legs to pull up his pants. He found himself unable to, though, your hand grabbing his suspenders to pull him back down. The same heat that had lessened in his stomach came back as he felt your nimble touch caress him through his pants, gaining a mischievous look from you as you widened your legs. 

“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll give Charles his gloves back if you stay here and keep me warm.” 

Oh dear, that would do it. Whatever thoughts that filled his mind flew out the window, wholly consumed by you as your hands caressed his back, staring expectantly up at him. 

“Only me, right?”

“Only you, stupid.”

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(2)

To Build Cathedrals

Robert Fischer x reader, Arthur x reader (if you squint)

description - You leave your dad to go look for a new architect as you and Arthur set up the workspace. But your mind is plagued with dreams of its own.

word count - 2.7k (ooo we're getting bigger)

warnings - allusions to sexual assault, mentions of death, allusion to child abuse

a/n - This chapter looks more into how y/n's mind is shaped much like her father's and we also see a hint of Arthur and y/n's relationship (and yes it is weird that she sees him as her uncle). I've realised this is gonna be a slow burn for Robert x reader because of the chronology of the inception plot I'm trying to follow; I promise it'll be worth it!

Previous Part Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

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

Dad and I stood as statues outside the university. It all felt so familiar from my youth but when I walked through, I felt as absent as a stranger.

“He’ll want to see you.”

“I’ll leave the conversation to you. He doesn’t want to see me.”

“That’s not true.”

“I know what he thinks of me. You didn’t have a choice, I did. In his eyes, I chose wrong.”

Dad let his arm rest on my shoulder in a silent act of comfort. I sucked back the tears, so he thought I was okay. The reality was I wanted nothing more than to run in there and jump into my grandads arms. But I couldn’t, in good fait,h knowing he thought of me as the girl who abandoned her siblings for no life at all.

I wiped away a rogue tear.

“Anyways, Arthur needs me to help him set up. But I’ll be waiting at the warehouse, okay. And I promise I won’t leave to go anywhere without Arthur.” I raised my hand to cup his cheek, so he felt the sincerity of my words. I went to leave my father to his search.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find someone as good as you were.”

Without turning back, I shouted. “Find someone better!”

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

*Cobb’s pov*

“You never did like your office.” Dad raised his head surprised to hear my voice, even more shocked to see my body.

“No space to think in that broom cupboard.” He quipped. “Is it safe for you to be here? Where’s y/n?”

“Extradition between France and the USA is a bureaucratic nightmare. Y/n is fine, she’s with Arthur.”

“I think they might find a way to make it work in your case.”

I made my way down and sat the meek gesture of toys on his desk.

“Look, y/n bought these, she thought the kids would like them. Saw them in Amsterdam.”

“It’s gonna take more than the occasional stuffed animal to remind those kids that they still have a father…and a sister. Y/n knows that.”

“She’s trying her best. She wants to make the best out of the situation she’s in.”

“The situation you put her in.” His voice became stern, and I cowered like a small boy.

“It was her choice. She said that she couldn’t let me go just like that.”

“She was your child; you shouldn’t have let her have the choice in the first place. The choice was life or death and you let her choose death just so you could imagine you still had a family and that it all hadn’t crumbled before you.”

“Yes. I am being selfish because I like that she’s still with me. I like having her here because without her I couldn’t cope.”

“You let her follow you into this life and it seems she suffers the consequences the most.”

“She told you?”

“She told grandma.”

“What the projections or the subjects do is unpredictable. Sometimes they respond to the presence put in front of them, in her case, a beautiful young girl.”

He looks down, ashamed of what he’s hearing.

“Look I’m just doing what I know. I’m doing what you taught me.”

“I never taught you to be a thief.”

“No, you taught me to navigate people’s minds. But after what happened, there weren’t a whole lot of legitimate ways to do that.”

He suddenly felt the meaning of my visit and retreated back into his chair. He punctuated the silence.

“What are you doing here, Dom?” I paused, wondering how to phrase this without inviting a lot of questions.

“I think we found a way home. It’s a job for some very very powerful people. People who I believe can fix my charges permanently. But I need your help.”

“You’re here to corrupt one of my best and brightest.” He taunted me by brandishing the end of his pen.

“You know what I’m offering, you have to let them decide for themselves.”

“Money.”

“Not just money. You remember, the chance to build cathedrals, entire cities, things that never existed. Things that couldn’t exist in the real world.”

“So, you want me to let someone else, follow you into your fantasy.”

“They won’t actually come into the dream. They just design the levels and teach them to the dreamers.”

“Design it yourself.”

“Mal won’t let me.” I saw his face droop at the mention of her. Already sighing at the sight of my delusion.

“What about y/n, she was always better than you were anyway.”

“She refuses. She’ll help with a maze or a paradox occasionally when she gets bored of our architects incompetence, but she won’t build herself anymore. I don’t know why. She won’t tell me.” He sat forward in his chair. Eyes pleading with me to bring y/n home.

“Come back to reality. Please.”

“Those kids are waiting for their father and sister to come home. That’s their reality. This job-this last job- that’s how we get there. I would not be standing here if I knew another way. I need an architect who is as good as I was.”

“I’ve got someone better.”

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

“Ariadne?” A perky petite girl runs to meet Miles’ inviting hand. “I’d like you to meet Mr Cobb.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“If you have a few moments, Mr Cobb has a job offer he’d like to discuss with you.”

“A work placement?”

“Not exactly.”

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

*your pov*

I made it to the warehouse and walked in to see Arthur fiddling with different pieces of equipment.

“You look funny handling tech equipment in that suit.” I loudly teased to get his attention.

He turned towards me with a smile. “Thought you’d be with Cobb and the new recruit.”

“He can do it without me; besides I didn’t fancy the third degree from grandad.”

“He’s just protective. This job isn’t exactly made for you.”

“What? You don’t think I can handle myself?”

“Oh, don’t worry I know you can. The scar on my eye proves it.” We laughed together in a way we hadn’t done in a while. I’d always found comfort around Arthur. When I first left with my dad, I was young and innocent. I had no idea what I’d signed up for. So, once we started working with Arthur I began to loosen up a little as I felt I had someone I could truly trust. Yes, there were people like Eames who came around for the odd job and who I could rely on on the mission. But Arthur was different. I trusted him in a way that encapsulated my whole heart.

We began to unpack the equipment, preparing for when dad would be back to introduce the new recruit to dream-walking. I had just found some old deck chairs stuffed at the back that I dragged to the centre. They made a horrible squeak as the metal scraped on concrete.

“Are you okay?” Arthur pondered.

“Yeah why?”

“Just after Nash and that last job, I worried you would shut down.”

“This could be Dad’s chance to clear his name, I got no time to shut down.” I put on a confidence and winked his way before punching his arm as I passed for good measure.

“Anyways,” I spoke facing the window. “It’s not like I’ve not dealt with that before. It’s old news.”

“I know.” Arthur said solemnly, refusing to look my way. “But you shouldn’t.”

“Well, it happened, it happens, and it’s going to happen again.” I giggled through my tear-filled eyes. I felt Arthur’s presence behind me, bringing me into the lightest hug.

“You know I’m here for you. And if you don’t want to tell your dad when it happens, that’s fine but promise you’ll at least tell me. You know I love giving a guy a good punch, especially on your behalf.”

I turned around in his arms and found our noses almost touching.

“Thank you, Arthur. My knight in shining armour.” I could see the muscles in his neck strain as he very gently leaned in. I copied and moved until our lips softly grazed.

*SCREEEEECH*

We jumped back from each other, in a spook.

“That’ll be them I guess.” I quickly fled the scene and brushed my fingers against my lips. That was about to happen, wasn’t it?

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

Ariadne gasped as she awoke. Her eyes were flamed, and her pupils darted around the room, trying to make sense of it all. The music bubbled throughout the room adding a flare of theatrics to the situation. This was her second time under, so I assumed her jerk meant she hadn’t woken up in the most pleasant way.

“You’re okay, you’re okay.” Arthur quickly reassured her. Calming her down through gentle caresses.

“Why didn’t I wake up?”

I answered whilst making sure Dad was okay. “Because there was still time on the clock, and you can’t wake up from a dream unless you die.”

“She’ll need a totem.” Dad announced, already leaving the room.

“Dad give her a minute, geez.”

“What? Dad? Wait what?” Ariadne was shaken and looked between Cobb, and I confused.

“A totem it’s a small, personal-“

“That’s some subconscious you’ve got on you, Cobb! She’s a real charmer.”

“Ah I see you met my mom.”

“She’s, his wife?” She asked breathlessly, looking up at me. I nodded sadly.

“So, a totem, you need a small object, potentially heavy, something you can have on you all the time.” Ariadne covered her eyes to mentally acknowledge what she had just been through. I knew none of Arthur’s words were registering. It was too soon. She needed to go away so she can see how addicting it feels. I remembered my first time. I was so scared, but it was a delicious fear. “Something that no one else knows.”

“Like a coin?”

“No, it needs to be more unique than that. Like this is a loaded die,” Arthur brought out his totem, similar to mine. “I can’t let you touch it, see that would defeat the purpose. Only I know the balance and the weight of this loaded die. That way when you look at your totem, you know that you’re not in someone else’s dream.” I stuck my hand in my pocket to feel my own. It was a picture of me, James, and Philippa but it has a small mistake on it. In the picture I have braces, when in reality I’ve never worn them.

I left Arthur and Ariadne to talk and went to check on my dad. He had the spinning top again. We both watched it spin out, helpless to do anything else. When it fell, he loudly exhaled. I knew he had to do it, I just didn’t know why.

We both re-joined Arthur to find that the girl had left. It was probably all too much for such little time. And any run in with Mal’s projection would make anyone uneasy.

“She’ll be back. I’ve never seen anyone pick it up that quickly before.”

“I’ll try not to be offended.” I said with a smirk. Dad kissed my forehead. “Of course, except you, sweetie.”

“Reality’s not gonna be enough for her now, I remember the feeling.”

“When she comes back, you’re gonna have her building mazes.”

“Where are you gonna be?”

“I gotta go visit Eames.” I quietly clapped and celebrated in the corner. Eames was my favourite person to work with and we’ve always had a great partnership since our first time when I was only 15. He was the one who taught me impersonation and forgery, much to my dad’s admiration. If Arthur was like my uncle, then Eames was my rebellious older brother, letting me get away with anything I wanted.

“Eames? No, he’s in Mombasa, it’s Cobol’s backyard.”

“It’s a necessary risk.”

“Well, there’s plenty of good thieves.”

“We don’t just need a thief. We need a forger.”

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

Arthur had reluctantly gone home for the night. I promised him I would be fine sleeping in the warehouse since my dad was away. He didn’t trust me, but he knew he couldn’t argue with me. I mean I didn’t lie. I did want to sleep.

I got myself comfortable on the deck chair and let the sedative seep into my veins.

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

*your dream space*

I opened my eyes in the lobby of the hotel. Over the years I had fashioned my subconscious in this specifically navigable layout. I could bury things on different floors, and revisit things in different rooms.

It was empty. Just how I liked it. Projections of your mind are easier to get rid of than you think. I clipped my heels all the way down to the large metal elevator. I entered into the 1920s style tiled lift and looked at the numbers. -3, -2, -1, 0, 1, 2, 3.

My painted finger pressed harshly down into ‘1’.

The lift rung to life and pushed me up into the crevices of my mind. And as quickly as it started the doors were back open on to a brightly lit white corridor. The hall was as clean and perfect as I wanted to keep these memories. I opened up the door ‘101’.

Inside I saw James, Philippa and I dancing at the beach. As my projection pushes her feet through the sand, I curl my toes as I feel it soft beneath me. We are running about playing a game of tig as mom and dad look on from the picnic blanket laid out with food. The colours have faded like an old photograph, and I struggle to make out the different faces.

I decided to jump ahead a little and reach for room ‘111’.

I walk hand in hand down a beautifully decorated woodland path. Mom and dad flank me on either side. I stand tall, a child of 11, in the midst of my very own dream. That was the first time. Like the previous one it’s colours have all but gone.

I hurry back into the elevator and change the floor to number ‘2’.

This floor is harshly painted yellow, and its lights flicker incessantly. I trudge down the disgustingly patterned carpet to room ‘204’. My hand questions itself as it reaches for the handle. The door flies open into the living room of our house. I stand face to face with my mother in all her beauty. She is shouting.

“You are not my daughter; don’t you think I’d know if you were.”

My young voice shakes as it answers. “Mom, please, it’s me. You have to believe me.”

“You. Are. Not. Real.”

Her hand grasps the kitchen knife and raises it. I slam the door shut and hear the yelp of my self projection. I wait to calm my heavy breathing. I don’t want to remember her like this but it’s the only room she frequents now.

My limp body returns to the lift, and I finally reach for ‘3’. The box whirrs to life and almost gently raises me up into the final floor. This is my newest creation, where I store the unexplained and the prophetic.

I walk out onto the beautiful sage green corridor, adorned with expensive antique decorations. I make my way to room ‘301’. The door softly creaks open, and my eyes are blinded by a white light filtering in from an open window. The transparent net curtain hinders my eyeline. But in front of me I see the silhouette of a man. He is only wearing a pair of briefs and I am able to make out the lean but structured outline of his body. His hair is thick and luscious. A few chocolate strands have fallen to kiss his sharp cheekbones. I struggle to discern a face, yet I still feel stuck in this man’s gaze. Like his eyes have me in their grip. I push my way through the netting, but it works against me, rooting me to the spot. I struggle and I struggle. The constraint of the curtain becoming too much to bear. It’s difficult to breathe in my panic.

“Are you alright?” The strangers voice is the last thing I hear permeating the darkness before I’m woken up by the clock. The sedative wore off.

I sat there for a minute, gathering my breath. He was there. Again. He’s always there. No matter what I build, or where I hide, he finds a way through.

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

I wonder who that mysterious man could be ;)

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage

[vickyvicarious]

I wonder if Van Helsing interpreted the hand clasping as different than gratitude?? It was so obvious to me that Arthur was grateful for Seward's offer to spill his blood for Lucy. But then I have seen the argument that all three suitors have a deep rivalry that they only express through blood transfusion. Not that I personally agree.

Honestly, I'm not totally sure. I'm in the same camp as you where the handclasp reads as such obvious thanks. I hesitate to think of what else it could even be seen as - I guess a too-hard squeeze, like someone pretending to thank you but making a point that they're mad about it? That feels so backwards and weird to even contemplate, giving the entire surrounding situation. Somehow, I can't imagine Van Helsing going quite so far as to actively observe the handclasp and think it equals jealousy. I mean, Arthur is there crying about how he'd die to save Lucy, and he's the one who called Jack in in the first place.

I guess you're asking because of Van Helsing's comment on 10 September, after Jack actually does give her blood:

"Mind, nothing must be said of this. If our young lover should turn up unexpected, as before, no word to him. It would at once frighten him and enjealous him, too. There must be none. So!"

I think Van Helsing has a pretty strong tendency to default towards "men do this" and "women are like this". He's got tons of benevolent sexism going on. And I think, particularly when he isn't thinking hard about a particular individual he knows well, he just assumes things. Men don't like women who make 'ugly' faces. Men get jealous. He throws those comments out there without even thinking about them. Which would make this less a case of him seeing Arthur squeeze Jack hands and thinking "oh boy he's a jealous one!" and more just... a base assumption that any man would probably get jealous.

I also think there's something to be said for the context of these kinds of quotes. Van Helsing uses this super gendered assuming language most when he's asking people to do something, at least as far as I recall. So when he wants Lucy to cheer up, he makes a joke about her man not liking her making an ugly face. He also wants her to stop frowning at his flowers specifically because he doesn't want her to be skeptical about this treatment, so he uses this as a lighthearted joke to distract from any skepticism and lead into his "no but really these are medicine" speech. I might even go so far as to say that he tends to use these kinds of statements specifically when trying to lighten the mood a little while still getting his way. A sort of social lubricant based on widespread 'understandings' of how men/women are 'known to be'. Plenty of people do it all the time to get positive engagement in a story or whatever: saying "you know how men/women are" and getting them to laugh and nod along, etc.

So here, he knows it would frighten Arthur to know she needed blood again. I think it's more that fact, than Jack specifically giving it to her. Maybe he fears Arthur would get in the way somehow - either by calling in some other doctor (who stands almost no chance of saving her) or by hanging around himself. Having his blood on hand might be useful if needed, but hopefully it won't be, and having him around asking questions is just another stressor/possibly uncontrollable factor Van Helsing doesn't want. And he might try to offer up his blood and not be well enough to donate it anyway, since they took a lot from him not too long ago. Maybe he wouldn't take super well to being told no if that happened, who knows (another possible angle for the jealous line). So Van Helsing really doesn't want Jack to share the news. So he requests he doesn't, and adds in this more lighthearted jealousy thing too. Partially because he's just assuming Arthur would be without thinking about it, and partially just to not sound too overbearing/frightening with his request.

That's my guess. Though, as you say, there are plenty of people who read the book and assume all the suitors harbor a secret hatred for one another because they just can't understand that anyone wouldn't. So it's always possible Van Helsing does the same. If anyone, I think he'd be the most likely of the cast to do so.

[immajustvibehere]

Low honour Arthur "not too fast. I ain't had a good look at ya"

Captured & Captivated

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

oneshot: low honor Arthur, bounty hunting

warnings: nudity, suggestive, mentions of sexual themes

summary: You get caught by a bounty hunter. After some consideration, he is ready to grant you your freedom...in exchange for a little strip show.

2700 words, 15 minutes reading time

The moment you heard some twigs break you knew it was too late. No matter how fast you tried to jump up and draw, the cold grip of someone's gun hit your temple with such force that you barely caught the shadow of the man who had ambushed you. You were out even before your body slumped to the ground. As consciousness and the events that had caused you to lose it slowly started to return to you, you not only felt your throbbing head but also a dull nausea that left you wondering what you had gotten yourself into. You opened your eyes to find yourself thrown over the back of a horse, your head dangerously dangling around with your gaze on the floor. Uncomfortably close to two very strong, brown hindlegs of a stallion. Having a visual to pair with the sickening motion of a trot didn't help at all, you feared of losing balance and slipping off. The realisation that your hands and legs were tied didn't do anything to relief this anxiety.

"Good. Yer awake", a voice drawled almost enthusiastically. "That you?", the man who you couldn't quite see – since turning your head so far up would definitely lead to you falling off the horse – asked, before he dangled a bounty poster in front of your face.

"No", you spit, almost chocking on your lie.

"Huh", the piece of paper disappeared from your field of view, "Looks an awful lot like ya though. Guess it's close enough to fool the law, don'tcha think?" The man was clearly amused. And he was right. The drawing had a striking similarity to you. Well, it was you after all. They hadn’t even bothered to draw a worse picture, no. It had every little detail of your goddamn face. You'd pay decent money to just have it changed magically right now. But you had bigger problems now, though your head with a pretty sum on it was the reason you were having those problems in the first place.  

"Sir? Can we stop?", you pleaded after the horse had crossed a rocky path. You felt sick. Certainly, you would throw up any second now and you weren't so sure if this gentleman would take kindly to you throwing up all over his horse. However, you waited in vain for an answer.

"Sir, I'm going to be sick!", you tried to announce. He only clicked his tongue and took his time to think of a reply. "We won't stop." "I'm not kidding. I feel real sick and I'd hate to get my lunch on your horse just in case it decides to throw me of if I do so if we could just-", you babbled on quickly in the hopes it would annoy the man enough to finally stop. Instead, you just heard him mumble a "Shut up" before his flat hand met your face and you were unconscious yet again.

You woke up to the crackling of a fire and its warmth on your face. Ropes cut into your skin as you became aware that bark was uncomfortably pressing itself into your back. You were tied to a tree, right opposite of a campfire. Finally, your eyes had adjusted to the dark of the night and you could look at the man who you had to thank for the ordeal. He sat only a few feet away from you, some sort of notebook open on his one thigh, the other one was momentarily used as a table for a can of beans which he slowly spooned into his mouth.

"You're no bounty hunter, sir, are you?", you asked after a couple of moments passed without the man noticing your waking up.

"Not normally, no", he answered without looking up.

"Why not letting me go? Twenty dollars sure aren't worth the trouble", you tried your sweetest voice. You knew that pretty much anybody would go through a hell lot of trouble for twenty dollars, but you were ready to try every trick in the book to get out of this. You'd cry and beg and promise because any humiliation would be better than rotting in jail.

"Seein' as you threw up all over my horse, I'd like to have those 20 dollars", the man stated, now finally looking up. His expression was cold. You could tell he wasn't having a good time.

"I'm sorry. But I did warn you", you tried a desperate smile.

The man considered you for a while. He simply sat there, looking you up and down like he was searching for something specific, yet, he didn't seem to know what exactly it was he was looking for. Then he fumbled with a pack of cigarettes, fiddling one out.

"What did ya do anyway? Ya got a pretty face for a criminal, too pretty if yer ask me", he mumbled, rolling the cigarette between his fingers before he put it to his mouth, now searching his pockets for some matches.

"Did do nothing. I was framed for stealing though", you said. Your feet awkwardly shuffled in the dry earth; your position was rather uncomfortable.  

"So...", the man started with a deep voice, pausing to light his cigarette, "What would you offer me if I let ya go?"

There was this look again. While he was lazily smoking, he had leant back until his back touched the fallen trunk that was behind him, his eyes roaming your body like it was his - in a sense it very much was at the moment. Now it was your move to offer something for your freedom. You didn't have much, that's for sure. Your belongings were barely worth twenty dollars and you carried nothing on you that was of significant value. You sighed. Not because you didn't have anything materialistic to offer, but because you knew that's not what he was after.

"What are you suggesting, sir?", you asked, uncertainty and insecurity in your voice spurring on the cowboy in front of you.

"Strip for me and I'll let ya go", his eye-contact was making your knees tremble. (Or was it just due to the unbeneficial position he had tied you to the tree?). It didn't sound like a suggestion or offer, rather like a threat. And yet, you released a breath…you had expected worse. When you formed the words "What?" he simply clicked with his tongue and grumbled a "Ya heard me girl."

You nodded. At first a bit hesitantly, then strongly. To hell with it, stripping was better than hanging. "Okay. Okay yeah, I'll do it", you hoped that your nervousness wasn't too obvious. You felt like it made you fragile, like you exposed your weakness. Striping? No problem?! You'll get off some clothes. Don't even have to pretend that there's someone there looking. It'll be fine. Better than rotting in jail. Still, you swallowed huge when the man stood up and approached you. He appeared so determined, looking down on you like you were a scared rabbit.

With a sharp knife he sliced clean through the ropes. You looked down to your wrist in which the rope had painfully cut, the man still in front of you, when the knife was suddenly pushed into the bark next to your head. It made you yelp, you couldn't help it.

"If ya try to run, yer dead. Understood?", he warned, leaving the knife where it was, turning his back towards you and walking back to his spot. It was just for a second that you looked to the knife next to your head, just for a moment that you considered just taking it and...maybe attack him? It was stupid the longer you thought about it, you had no chance against a brawny fellow like that. Also, when you looked at him again, he sat there, his revolver resting on his thigh, pointing towards you. You knew he had read your thoughts.

A bit hurriedly you got out of your boots and started to unbutton your blouse when his voice made you pause. "Slow down, girl. Take yer time. Ya better make it worth the twenty bucks", he took a long drag from his cigarette after he had finished his command. Your face dropped. In no way was simply stripping off your clothes worth twenty bucks, and for sure this gentleman wouldn't be pleased with your body...not twenty dollars like pleased. Ugly was not one of the attributes you would use to describe yourself, but neither was particularly pretty or even...worth paying for to see naked. When the man in front of you saw you pondering, something in his expression shifted. It was only for a mere second that he slightly scrunched his nose and raised his eyebrows, only an inch that he moved his suddenly restless body on the ground. But you caught it. Caught this short moment where it honestly looked like he was stressing about having expressed some doubts about the way you look. Like he hadn't been ignorantly staring at you most of the time you were out, like he hadn't given your appearance a whole side in his journal.

"I'm not good at this kinda stuff, mister", you admitted anxiously, your hands still on your buttons where they had been when he had urged you to slow down.

His voice suddenly was raspy, not like the low growl and drawl from before, but as if he had choked on his own saliva. "Don' worry, darlin'. I'm easily satisfied", he smiled. Warmly. The second he saw you gaining back just a bit of your confidence, his warmth was all gone. He shifted, leaning back on the trunk and watched you like a hawk, his eyes yet again cold with not a hint of a smile on his face. But for you, that was fine. You realised that he is a human too, even though he might not seem very happy about exposing himself.

Your eyes fell on an opened bottle of whiskey. You nodded towards it: "I might perform better after a drink", you suggested sweetly. "Sure", the man shrugged, back with his low Southern drawl. He didn't care if you drank some of his whiskey, he'd invite you to chuck down the whole thing, as long as he could stare at you doing so, especially with the few top buttons of your blouse open.

When you bent forward you had already decided to make this into a game for you. The gun was still pointing in your direction and a man twice your size was watching you like a prison guard, so you might as well try your best to secure your freedom. Bending down, you exposed a bit more of your cleavage and taking up the bottle carefully, you let a drop of alcohol escape your mouth just to catch it with your finger and lick it off. This earned you an audible grunt from the gentleman in front of you.

With a smile you turned around, showing him your back and steadily exposing your shoulders. You unbuttoned the rest of the blouse, letting it slide to the ground. The cold night air hit your skin and made your hair stand up. For a second, you thought you'd shiver, but a step closer to the fire prevented you from cooling down too much. You turned around again, watching the face of the man as he gawked at you slowly raising your skirt. Firstly, you only showed an ankle, then you raised it more until almost all of your lower leg was exposed. The man in front of you was transfixed on the little patch of skin on your leg, so he hadn't realised that your other hand had been busy with loosening the strings of your skirt and when it suddenly completely dropped into the dirt you could see his surprise.

The cowboy took a deep breath. One of his hands wandered towards the pistol, gripping it until his knuckles went white, maybe to divert your attention away from the bulge that was growing in his crotch, which he palmed with his other hand.

"You want me to-", you started.

"Sure", came his answer.

As slowly as you could possibly managed you got out of your tank top. Just like that, you were left half-naked and feeling a bit awkward. You began walking towards the man, keeping your distance, and circling him twice. You felt ridiculous, telling yourself this wasn’t exactly seductive, but he seemed to like it. His eyes never left you. This time, without asking, you got out of your panties.

A quiet whistle of appreciation came from the man and it conjured a smile to your face. For a second you had forgotten that you were stripping for your life, it felt strangely wholesome and safe. But when a gust of wind hit you, it made you shiver violently.

"Sir- May I-"

"Not too fast. I ain't had a good look at ya", his voice was low and considering. So you remained still a moment, before you took up the bottle again, deciding to let the alcohol warm you from inside.

"Mhh, gimme that, would ya?", with his pistol he pointed at your blouse and tank top. You were a bit confused but picked it up and brought it to him. Approaching, he didn't even bother trying to look you in the eye when there was so much else to be looked at. You handed him your clothes, which he took and after a second of hesitation threw into the fire.

Your cry got stuck in your throat. The warm chuckle of the man and the crackle of your clothes burning was all that could be heard.

"Alright, then...", the man announced, flicking his cigarette away, "yer free to go."

"Wai- what? You just....you just burned my clothes? What do you mean I'm free to go? How am I supposed to go? Naked?!"

"Yer still got yer skirt."

"Yes but?!"

Suddenly, the man stood up. The figure you had looked down to for the last five minutes grew in front of you like a mountain.  

"Go. I give ya yer freedom. Walk off! And look pretty doin' it", with his head he nodded towards the dark outline of the open country. There was nothing out there except a chilly night, wild animals and starvation.

"You're kidding, right?", you asked, "I'm gonna die out there. I'm like…a served table, easy food”, you heard him whisper a 'that's for sure' under his breath "and not just for the animals! I'm gonna freeze to death."

"Not my problem, darlin'", he smiled dismissingly, turning away from you to stir the fire, "Thanks for the show, though."

You stormed off, quickly slipping into your underwear and skirt, crossing your arms in front of your naked breast and walking off. You didn't walk far, just behind some trees where the light of his fire wouldn't reach you. You should just wait until he falls asleep, rob him, maybe kill him, take his horse and ride of like nothing ever happened. You were still mulling over your plan, trying to keep feeling in your hands by blowing hot air into your palm when you heard his raised voice from the fire.

"Ya know, ya can always come back and join me by the fire. I'll keep ya warm. If...yer not havin' some funny business on your mind...", he offered.

No way he knew you were still there. And yet…what were your options? If he knew you were close, he wouldn't go to sleep any time soon and you'd freeze and...god damn it. With tilt head he watched you leaving the shadows. He hadn't seen you for maybe a couple of minutes but the joy he felt when his eyes found your bare skin again was indescribable. You didn't hesitate to sit as closely to the fire as possible, right next to the whiskey bottle.

"Have any plans so I won't freeze to death? Got any spare clothes?"

"I'm sure we'll think of s'mthin'", he teased.  

[sashaisready]

Chapter One

Lee Bodecker (The Devil All The Time) x Femme Reader

A year after the sudden death of your husband you find yourself at a loose end, unsure what to do next. You're also learning about your sexuality - your hidden desires and fantasies creeping out now you're no longer playing the role of the good wife. A certain Sheriff in town could be the one to awaken something in you...

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2

Warnings: sexual references, references to death of a spouse, reader feeling shame for sexual urges

You've always enjoyed sex. Everything from the awkward fumbles with teenage boys in your youth, to consummating your marriage with Arthur. You liked the thrill of knowing what was to come, the warm feelings slowly building in your stomach, the anticipation of knowing where the initial kisses were leading. You liked the way warm hands felt on your bare skin, how lips felt pressed against your neck. You liked sweet nothings in your ear, the feeling of him between your legs, knowing he was seconds from filling you as he lined himself up.

You didn't understand the other wives who joked about not liking it, squealing with laughter at long lunches over cheap wine. They spoke about laying back and letting their husbands get on with it as they made grocery lists in their heads. You felt different, not wanting to share that you were an active participant, often initiating it yourself. Wearing lingerie to entice him, exploring yourself with your fingers to learn how your body responds. They would think you were some sort of a whore, a sex crazed maniac who can't control her hormones. It wasn't very ladylike.

In the early days of your marriage you spent many an evening with Arthur exploring each other's bodies and discovering what felt good for you both. It took you a bit of time to work out what you liked, how you liked to be touched, and guiding Arthur accordingly. You learnt a lot about how the male body responded too. But it was worth it, and you'd both enjoy the trial and error. He'd worship at the altar of your body, pleasuring you with tenderness and care as he took his time bringing you across the finish line. He was a tender lover, sex for him was a physical representation of your love.

Sometimes you wanted it harder. You'd ask him to use more force, or go faster, or if he could describe what he wanted to do to your body as he did it. You told him you liked it when he put his full weight on you, that you'd like him to tug on your hair. Once you asked him if he'd like to finish in your mouth, or across your breasts.

But he didn't like it. He didn't want to be rough in case he hurt you. He didn't want to be crass and disrespect you.

"You're my wife, sweetie" he would say, his brows furrowed with concern. "I love you. I respect you. I don't want to treat you like a whore".

You would feel deep shame at that. Wondering if there was something wrong with you, for asking your husband to do such things. For thinking of them. For desiring them. So many wives would bite your hand off to have a husband like yours, a husband who touched you so tenderly. How could you be so ungrateful?

So you stopped asking. You would make love to him, and it was always making love rather than sex, gratefully accepting the worship he offered. The classic missionary position as he looked lovingly into your eyes. You wouldn't always climax, but that was alright. You enjoyed trying, and appreciated the effort he made. You'd never describe what you did as fucking. But you did want to be fucked, even though you were too nervous to tell him.

Over the years as you settled into your marriage and each other, your physical intimacy dwindled. He would still kiss you goodbye when he left for work of course, snaking his arms around your waist as you cooked for him, giving you a peck on the cheek in public. But sex became a rare event. Birthdays. Christmas. Anniversaries. Valentine's Day. Sometimes after a few too many drinks. It became perfunctory, an item on your couple to-do list - alongside painting the fence or baking a cake. It was always nice of course. Nice was very much the word. Never earth shattering. Never terrible. Always nice. You were like roommates, close friends, sharing a space and happily co-existing. You no longer felt like a wife, but a friend.

Once, you found an dog-eared, battered book stuck behind a shelf at the local library. It was an erotic novel. You snuck it out in your purse so the librarian wouldn't know. You hid it under a loose floorboard in the study and would read it during the day when Arthur was at work. It contained long, overwrought descriptions of graphic sexual acts and had hand drawn diagrams alongside them. You would find yourself blushing as you read some of the words and gasped at the positions in the illustrations, your mind blown that people did such things. That they even conceived of them! You would feel a warm flutter between your thighs as you read, occasionally slipping a finger between your folds and gasping at your slick as you withdrew, glistening in the light.

The best part was that all the women in the book all loved sex. They were not ashamed. They enjoyed feeling pleasure, they enjoyed the hedonism. You knew they weren't real, and this was most likely all written by a man, but it comforted you anyway - that women could maybe feel like that. Like you. Like maybe it wasn't such a terrible thing to enjoy different types of sex, and to desire different things to your husband.

Towards the end, in the lead up the Event, you would go to bed early as Arthur watched television downstairs. You would think of movie stars, of former boyfriends. Sometimes even men you saw in town. In your mind you'd insert them into the passages from your filthy book. Your brain became the world's lewdest playwright. You'd touch yourself as you fantasised about all the things these men did with you. TO you. Your fingers would circle frantically across your clitoris, the intensity within building and building.

How rough they were. How feral they were. Mainly you thought about how much they desired you. You were the most important thing in the world to them in that moment. Their eyes burning with passion and deep lust for you. You were the personification of what they craved. Arthur never looked at you like that. In these fantasies you'd be well and truly fucked, your body ruined as you came apart, there'd be no sign of what you and Arthur did together.

Eventually you'd muffle your cries into your pillow as you climaxed. Your body shaking as you rode each wave. You never slept better than you did on those nights. Something about having Arthur downstairs, blissfully unaware of what you were doing above his head, made it even more tantalising.

Although you would feel guilt when he eventually came to bed. He'd kiss you on the forehead and whisper good night. The familiar shame would return. It felt as if you were betraying him. But you couldn't help yourself.

And now he was gone. The car crash, or the Event as you referred to it, had taken your husband. One moment he was driving to work and the next, the local police were knocking on your door. You knew something had happened to him as they'd taken their hats off before you'd even opened the door. You missed him deeply every day. Not as a lover, but as your best friend.

Nobody in your lives knew that your marriage was essentially over when Arthur died. That you were both just comfortably going through the motions. You had been weighing up if you should leave a few weeks beforehand. Was this life was going to be enough for you for the rest of your days? You missed passion, you missed being in love - rather than just loving someone, only ever feeling platonic fondness.

It wasn't really something you could bring up during the funeral plans as your family fussed over you. They'd all driven down in convoy, descending on you and enveloping you. It was all too much. The way he died. How sudden it was. The only person you could really talk to was gone, and you couldn't even tell him all of it when he was here. Despite how you rarely had an hour to yourself during that initial aftermath, you felt very alone in the world.

You had a moment at the funeral where you realised you couldn't remember the last time you and Arthur had made love before he died. Your heart ached, wishing you could've known it was the last time - to hold him a little closer, to kiss him a little deeper. And now you couldn't even remember it.

The funeral and all the administration that comes with a sudden loss came and went in a flash. The town treated you well after the Event, a sea of well-meaning neighbours brought endless casseroles and pies to your door. Your freezer still had some in even now.

Sheriff Lee Bodecker had been a friendly face, although you didn't know him very well. He was there when they told you about Arthur, catching you when your knees buckled. He would pop by occasionally to check in on you, but you wondered if that was also to help his re-election chances. He had been on the charm offensive since his divorce, working hard to remind Knockemstiff he was a good guy. But you weren't sure about him. Something wasn't...right. You couldn't put your finger on it. You thought he was handsome. He said all the right things. Part of you wondered if you were afraid of him, despite him never giving you a reason to be.

There was also deputy Davey who often accompanied the Sheriff. You liked him much more. He had a warm, welcoming face - rounded rosy cheeks, kind brown eyes. Always said sweet things to you, he had a comforting presence like some people just do. Like it's innate. He was married to Julie who you didn't really know but had always been warm towards you. She held your hand once in the grocery store. She had seen you crying in one of the aisles a few weeks after the Event and just did it. Didn't even say anything, just quietly held your hand. You trusted both of the Daveys. You'd heard through town gossip that they were having trouble getting pregnant, and hoped they would get there in the end.

After the funeral you withdrew into yourself. Arthur was a sensible man and his savings and life insurance meant you were taken care of financially which you thanked him every day for. The house was paid off now thanks to the big payout. Part of the reason you had moved to Knockemstiff after you got married was because property was cheaper and Arthur thought it was a good investment. He was right, as always. Now you got a small cheque every week which more than covered your essentials. Not having to worry about money during all this was a huge blessing.

It had been nearly a year since the Event and you were at a loose end. You'd wondered if you should sell the house and start over somewhere new. Somewhere not haunted by memories of your deceased husband across every square foot. But you didn't know where to go or where to begin. The world was overwhelming to you. You had never been by yourself before, you didn't know how to navigate it.

You made small talk with the locals, occasionally going to church bake sales or town celebrations. But you didn't really have any friends there. Not anymore. Some of the women were still shooting you the same sympathetic half smiles they had been treating you to since Arthur's death. They had fear in their eyes. They didn't know how to deal with you. It was as if you were contagious and you might somehow kill their husbands just by being in their very presence. Your identity was just The Widow and that was who you were to them.

You had recently started doing a couple of shifts every week in the diner. You didn't need the cash, but it was nice to have a purpose - even if that purpose was carrying plates and making milkshakes. Being with people again was nice too. It felt odd, but it was nice. Good to be out of that house. Most of the town still kept you at arm's length but a few of the regulars had warmed up. The high school kids didn't care who you were and would playfully tease you about your apron, and you'd playfully tease back about them only nursing two cokes between the six of them. Some of the old fellas would talk to you about the weather, then insist of giving you a big tip because you always got their coffee just right. You could slowly feel yourself thawing out, coming back to the world again.

Sheriff Bodecker would come in sometimes too. You wouldn't talk much, Gina the other waitress often waited on him just because she always did, and she knew what he liked. Sometimes you could swear that he would be peering over at you during your shifts. But you never knew if that was just your imagination.

At night you still touched yourself, reading the illicit book openly now Arthur had gone. You mewled loudly as you came against your hand - no longer needing to restrain your moans. But you desperately missed sleeping alongside a warm body. You were desperate for the touch of another person. Every inch of you starved for physical affection. You sometimes had dreams where Arthur casually walked back through the front door and climbed into bed with you, telling you it had all been a big mistake and he was fine - he was home now. He'd pull you into his arms and you'd wake up, bereft, as if you'd lost him all over again.

The players in your fantasies were in a steady rotation. Sometimes movie stars, sometimes that muscular man you'd once seen loading a delivery van outside of the town bakery. Sometimes it was an old teenage boyfriend who made you cum for the first time in the backseat of his car.

Tonight you were at it again, reading your book and thinking about your various dream men as you neared your climax. You were surprised that just as you began to come undone who else but Sheriff Bodecker popped into your head. His shocking blue eyes staring back at you. His strong arms wrapped around your body, holding you down. Your wrists restrained by his handcuffs as he explored you with his mouth. The gentle swell of his belly warm against your flesh. You suddenly came hard, crying out and shuddering.

You sat up, confused at your own subconscious as you came out of your post orgasm haze. That was a surprise.

If only you'd known what lay ahead for you. All thanks to that damn library.

[qprsmackdown]

what submissions have the most convincing propaganda: rather for being silly or being serious

hi anon. mod zazie here. i read through every single one of the submissions to answer this because i am insane. and the results are as follows ^-^

techno & phil fans are INSANE over "for you phil, the world!!" as they should be!! i, too, read bunfloras' phil & techno fics. but even if i didnt already know who emeraldduo was, you all have VERY GOOD propaganda. Immortal lifelong best friends... <3

dsmp fans i love you im holding out my hand to you in a gesture of friendship. hello. both mods are also mcyt fans and dsmp fans. we know abt characters vs ccs. we also despise cc!dream. you are safe here. im sorry that previous polls have traumatized you :((

c!tubbo/c!ranboo fans also fucking turned out you have VERY convincing propaganda

ive never read the locked tomb, know nothing of the characters, but to the submitters who sent in Camilla Hect and Palamedes Sextus youve convinced me. VERY good job. where can i find your media i need to learn more. no like fr

jrwi fans are you okay. good lord /pos. also youll be pleased to know WE HAVE NOT ONE BUT TWO SUBMISSIONS OF THE GREATER MANA POLYCULE

to the etho/skizz fan who submitted an essay. hi. i think youre so right for putting them in a httyd au. very convincing propaganda. also are you okay.

hi silmarillion fans. do you need hot cocoa.

jrwi fans are literally so not normal about their guys. sorry to call you out but oh my god not a single one of you is normal /pos. its great.

not a fnaf fan but "Theyre also both canonically queer, if that helps. That has nothing to do with the lobotomies or the dying and being revived as a soulless walking corpse, though." is the sentence of all time. i hope whoever wrote that is doing well.

good evening to the homestuck fan who wrote jake & dirk propaganda so convincing that for a moment i wanted to go check out their media only to remember its Homestuck and ONLY to the homestuck fan who wrote jake & dirk propaganda so convincing that for a moment i wanted to go check out their media only to remember its Homestuck.

we've been over the jesus christ/mary magdalene submission but did you know apparently there's actual evidence to back it up? lots of it in fact? i did not expect to read that tonight (for future reference slash in case you're curious i am an atheist & cycad is christian)

the little women fan has some SERIOUS propaganda. my respect o7

hello to the autistic sp (south park) fan who wrote a genuine essay on kenny mccormick and eric cartman. wish you well (and like, we got a voltron submission as well. i dont know either of those shows/fandoms at all besides vague knowledge that they're not great but eh we're here to have fun. who cares (this is in response to you mentioning you didnt know if sp was allowed (i dont know actually youd have to ask cycad but im like 95% sure its fine (can you tell i have adhd))))

GIGOLAS FAN SPOTTED. they didnt write a lot of propaganda but HELL YEAH WE GOT SOME LOTR FANS HERE. theyre so qpr to me you dont even KNOW

i didnt even think about link/zelda being a qpr before this but you have convinced me. youre so right. they Are

besties who drink poison together STAY together!!! (merlin and arthur). fuck yeah baby!!! i have never seen merlin bbc

oh moirails are a homestuck thing i saw those in our asks and was unsure what they were

CANON QPR IN FABLE SMP? oh i need to check that out. fable smp fans ik this is a long shot but if anyone wants to give me reccomendations for where to start watching.

hiya qsmp fans. no need to worry you have turned out in both numbers AND propaganda. wowzers.

we have One submission for q!quackbur but now im wondering why no one has submitted c!quackbur. theyre literally homoeretic business rivals whose relationship could be viewed as platonic or romantic. smh

Roman and Youngblood from Roleslaying with Roman have very dedicated fans.

divorce quartet the divorced qp polycule ever but also im very biased. (both scott/cleo and scott/martyn were submitted multiple times)

we have some very fun ocs & real life qp relationships and im so here for it.

oh hey lifesteal smp i know those guys. wow damn theyre kinda fucked up arent they.

POLYARCHIVES SUPREMACY <3 BASEDBASEDBASED

POLYMECHS SUPREMACY ALSO SO BASED

Hi. Person who submitted both jesus/mary magdalene and now hamlet/ophelia. I love you. You are here to cause CHAOS and i for one applaud you for it. Can we kiss /j

[neathbound-fiends]

o/ secret, nightmare, monster, hunt :) (for anyone in case your blog has multiple ocs)

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them? Answering for Arthur because I actually really like this question for him: he never wants anyone to know that he is the only living creature that knows what happened when the ship went down. He doesn't want Warren to know that he watched her father's death. That he started looking after her to fulfill a promise to a dead man, and only after spending time with her actually developed a fondness that has outweighed that initial purpose. He intends to take this knowledge to the grave with him (and Florence, and Elliott, and Elliott's former almost brother-in-law, who are the only people who know the truth, and have been sworn to secrecy)

nightmare: What does your OC have nightmares about? How do they deal with their nightmares? Do they tell people, or keep it to themself? Answering for Elliott: he has nightmares often of dying at zee, especially after his close call. The feeling of frigid water submerging him, of hands clawing at his feet, his legs, his hair, whatever they can possibly gain purchase on, trying to drag him down with them. He can't help but wonder if the hands he's violently kicking away from himself are those of drownies, or of his fellow crewmen. He's terrified that he shoves them away regardless, consumed with the soul deep desire to live because he's too much of a coward to die like he should. He wakes with a strangled shout of panic, clawing the blankets off of himself and drenched in cold sweat, and apologizes hoarsely to his lover if he's in bed with him that he's so sorry for waking him (yes. It was the dream again. Go back to sleep, he's just...going to go read. Work on the mending. Something out of bed to occupy himself)

monster: Is your OC monstrous in any way? Is there something that makes them monstrous? Are they aware of their own monstrosity? Do they accept it or reject it? Answering for Doc: being as he's a devil, he is inherently, by nature, monstrous, but even if he wasn't, I think he'd choose to be a monster. He's well aware of it, and makes absolutely no effort to change this about himself. A bee is going to sting. A wild dog to bite. He is going to do what he does, and there will not be any guilt about it. Hell rewards monstrosity, and though he doesn't care about Hell, he does care about winning, and he doesn't intend to play any game that he isn't going to come out on top by any means necessary

hunt: Who or what is your OC hunted by? A person, a feeling, a past mistake? Is your OC able to let their guard down, or are they constantly alert? Answering for Florence: she is on the run from...everybody, really. When you dabble in as many different illegal practices as she does, you're obviously on the wrong side of the coppers, but also being a blackmailer makes one no friends but many enemies, and being a smuggler puts her in competition with everybody else in that arena. Former lovers, victims of her theft, victims of other crimes; she's always on the run. More than just legally, though, she is a woman who is always on the run from the idea of ever being hurt again. She is haunted by the spectre of her husband's death, and the raw ugly pain that comes from being widowed as a young mother and everything you worked for and dreamed of slipping through your fingers. She is never going to be hurt again, and that's a promise and a THREAT

[ambriel-angstwitch]

I Carrion (Icarian) through the lens of Merthur

If the wind turns If I hit a squall Allow the ground to find its brutal way to me

So this is the intro of the song which starts out by introducing the destructive nature of the path of Icarus. Which Merlin himself parallels. Icarus is a lesson that the constant desire for more will lead to one’s destruction. Merlin’s desire to save Arthur was what doomed him in the end

I feel lighter than I have in so much time I've crossed the borderline of weightless One deep breath out from the sky

This describes the feeling of flying from Icarus but also the feeling of a relationship. It demonstrates both as all consuming feelings. Merlin and Arthur’s love for eachother alleviates some of the weight that they both carry.

I've reached a rarer height now That I can confirm All our weight is just a burden Offered to us by the world

Merlin and Arthur are both heavily burdened by destiny. Arthur is expected to be a great king and Merlin is expected to help him become one by guiding and protecting him. So in a sense their weight isn’t truly their own rather something that was thrust upon them. This lyric is also likely a reference to Atlas who unwillingly holds up the sky but it is a burden that he cannot escape without destroying the world.

And though I burn how could I fall?

This line speaks to the naivety of Icarus and Merlin. They realize that there is a burning, there is something dangerous but fail to acknowledge that it will cause them to fail. Merlin in the early seasons was far too trusting, he fell for peoples tricks and he didn’t want to believe people would turn bad.

When I am lifted by every word you say to me

This is the second line in the pre chorus which speaks to the power of the love that the narrator (in this case Merlin) and his lover (Arthur) have for each other in order to support the fact that they will not fall. Merlin feels as though they can soar and do anything through/for their love. Then with Arthur Merlin raises his spirit. It’s worth noting that Merlin is Arthurs number one encourager and advisor. He values his words above pretty much anyone else’s. But since this is an Icarus metaphor being lifted also has a negative connotation. Being high up is what leads to their destruction so while it feels good at the time it will eventually turn sour. This speaks of being willing to take risks, they are willing to risk the fall to fly with eachother

If anything could fall at all. It's the world that falls away from me

Speaks of the ignorance of Icurus and the denial of Merlin. Both don’t believe or don’t want to believe that they can fall. Rather believing or willing anything else to fail instead.

You have me floating like a feather on the sea

In the story of Icarus he dies by hitting the sea this is instead rather peaceful imagery implying that he at least believes that his love will stop him from coming to harm. This is a lot like how Merlin consistently saves Arthur from things that would kill him.

While you're as heavy as the world That you hold your hands beneath

This is a large contrast to the previous line. This shows the perspective of the other lover (Merlin) who carries the burden. While Arthur is saved from harm Merlin has to fight while gaining no respite or recognition. (Just like Atlas who is condemned to hold the sky)

Once I had wondered what was holding up the ground. I can see that all along, love it was you all the way down

Arthur must sometimes wonder how they beat unbeatable odds whether that be randomly fallen bandits or creatures that can only be defeated by magic, and of course he must wonder who sent the light to him in the cave. But once magic is revealed he realizes that it was Merlin all along

Leave it now I am sky-bound If you need to, darling Lean your weight to me

With this revelation he can finally offer Merlin someone to lean on, a respite. He doesn’t need to carry the burden of the entire world all alone anymore.

We'll float away But if we fall, I only pray Don't fall away from me

Eventually it comes to a point where accept any danger their love might cause as long as they stay together. They can fall as long as they stay together

I do not have wings, love I never will Soaring over a world you are carrying If these heights should bring my fall Let me be your own

Merlin’s focus has always been Arthur his love his companionship and his safety to the point where he does not care whether or not he meets his own demise. Where Icarus disregards his safety to see the heavens so does Merlin for love as he prioritizes Arthur’s over his own over and over again

Icarian carrion

Icarian is to share characteristics with Icarus most often excessive ambition. Which Merlin shows by trying to bring back magic but save Arthur though those were both prophesied. Carrion is dead putrifying flesh which shows that though it is hinted throughout the song that lobe might be able to save Arthur still dies (and so does Icarus)

If the wind turns If I hit a squall Allow the ground to find its brutal way to me. If I should fall on that day I only pray, don’t fall away from me

The song ends with a repeat of lyrics that have already been sung. They all emphasize some main points of the song though which is the desperation for love and the inevitable demise

[agirlattea]

Sincerely, a Rainbow of stories for you: 

Please Tell Me the Story of the Rainbow: Part 11

(Location: Exhibition at an Old Castle, Central Kingdom, Day Time)

Murr: Ahaha! Your sugar got eaten!! 

Rutile: Well, it’s fine, I can still release make more! &lt;Ortnik>...... 

Shino: No. Great job, Mithra. 

Akira What? 

Arthur: That’s right. See Luka? He ate one and he’s fine. 

Luka: …

Luka shrank back and lowered her eyes at the sudden attention. She didn’t look scared, but confused. 

Akira: Luka... Can I have one too? 

Large lilac eyes blinked twice as I gently picked up the sugar that Rutile remade and bring it to my mouth. 

Akira: ...Yes, it's delicious. Rutile sugar has a gentle taste. 

Rutile: Is that so? I'm happy to hear it. 

Once Luka saw this, she timidly picked at the sugar, and with slightly trembling hands, brought it to her mouth. 

I could hear the cute sound of sugar rolling in her little mouth. 

Luka: …! 

It’s delicious... 

Immediately, Luka’s expression softened and,like a flower blossoming suddenly, the air around her became soft. 

Aslan: Luka… 

Rutile: So you liked it! Luka, I'm so happy to see you smile. Your smile is probably better than sweet sugar: I think it has the power to cheer someone up! 

Arthur: Indeed. And isn’t her complexion looking a little better? 

Heathcliff: I think so. She’s not so pale anymore… I’m glad everything worked out. 

Aslan: Thank you, everyone… It's been a while since I've seen her look like this. 

Isn’t that wonderful, Luka? Let’s thank everyone for their kindness. 

Shino: Look, isn’t this one of a kind? 

Shino used magic to pick up the fallen picture and hand it to Luka. The ivy that had been writhing around had since calmed down. 

Shino: It's an important picture book. 

Luka: …Yes, thank you.

Shino: Hehe, you're welcome. 

Murr: Hey, where's the sparkle from earlier? 

Heathcliff: Sparkle? 

Murr: The sparkles in every color of the rainbow! Didn't everyone see it? 

Akira: Rainbow-colored... did it look like a magic powder? 

Murr: Yes, that! Where did it disappear to?

Luka: Ah… 

Looking confused, she hid behind Aslan's back again, holding the picture book in her arms. 

Murr: Well, then. I’ll give you more sugar!

<Ernul Ranbul> 

When Muru chanted a spell, a large amount of sugar fell from the ceiling. 

Like rain illuminated by the sunrise, Like stars falling from the sky, Like petals blown along by a whimsical spring breeze.

It fell gently down on her. 

Luka: …!! 

Luka took a deep breath as her big eyes opened even further, sparkling as they caught the reflection of the sugar. 

The expressions on the wizards' faces were strange, though naturally, I couldn’t look away from her. Rutile, standing next to me, was also captivate by the dazzling encounter. 

Murr: Hey, wont you tell me? 

Luka: …Um…

Oz: What is going on here? 

Arthur: Lord Oz! 

Luka: …! 

Luka gasped and ran off, her silver hair swaying as she left. 

Akira: Luka! 

Aslan: ...I apologize on her behalf!. 

Aslan bowed his head slightly, and followed after Luka. 

Murr: Huh? Even though she seemed to like Sugar. I guess Oz's face was too scary!

Shino: In any case, what should we do? There's a sea of ​​sugar all over the floor. 

Akira Oh, that’s right! 

Arthur: We must clean it up quickly. There are still other visitors here…

Mithra: Dis kina creening isn oo ad *Crunch crunch* 

Heathcliff: Um… Mithra, what did you say just now? 

Rutile: “This kind of cleaning isn’t too bad”… that’s great to hear! 

Murr: Let’s fix it quickly with magic! <Earnul Ranbul> ! 

Oz: … 

While Murr chanted his spell, Oz stared silently in the direction Luka had run. 

Akira: Is something wrong, Oz? 

Oz:  That girl seemed strange to me. It is as if something that is supposed to be there is not... or perhaps it has not yet sprouted? 

Akira: It hasn't sprouted...? 

Oz: The source of all magical power……. the heart.

I slowly thought over Oz's words in my mind. 

I looked at him questioningly, but he simply shook his head, swinging his long hair. 

Oz: This is merely hypothetical. Magic comes from the heart. 

More importantly, Sage, did you not hear that child’s story from that amber-eyed man? 

Young wizards struggle with controlling their magic and are easily confused. 

The twins are in charge of security at this exhibition. Just to be safe, I recommend reporting this incident. 

(Location: ???, ???)

Luka: Hey, Roxy. Do you know Sugar? 

A sparkling sweet lump like a star created by Wizards. 

I wonder if I could make some too. 

I've never done it before, so I don't know how but... 

Hey, Roxy... My head is spinning, and I… feel restless all the time…

I don’t have much time left. 

I have to finish the picture book as soon as possible.

After all, Aslan has worked so hard. 

I don't know what I want to do. After all, once the picture book is completed... 

The whole time I’ve been here it’s been so warm I almost thought I was back inside the egg but, right now I feel warm inside too. 

Hey, where is the boundary between outside and inside? 

If I stay here, I wonder if I’ll melt into this world like sugar candy.

Sweet, sweet, sugar candy. 

Like the sugar I ate earlier... 

Sweet… crisp... sparkling... 

More… more…

(Location: Magic Manor, Living Room, Central Kingdom, Afternoon)

Snow: I see… in other words, the world depicted in picture books is neither a fantasy nor a fabrication of literature…

White:  But instead what a young girl named Luka actually saw through her eyes. 

After returning to the Manor, I visited the twins with Oz, Arthur, and Rutile. 

Akira: That’s correct. I didn't ask Luka herself, but that is what I heard from Aslan. 

Apparently, she’s possessed these special powers since he was very young. 

Rutile: Besides, when I saw Luka staring at an empty space, I heard her calling out for someone named "Roxy". 

Snow and White: Roxy?

Rutile: Please take a look at this. 

When Rutile opened the picture book, an illusion spilled out and a fluffy, rainbow-colored creature appeared. 

Rutile: This is Roxy. In the picture book, she is depicted as a dear friend of a young girl. 

White: Somehow, this is truly… a creature worthy of the title “mythical creature”. 

Roxy is probably the name that that child bestowed upon it. 

However, ‘tis rumored that this species no longer exists in this era. They have gone extinct. 

Very little has been recorded about this species.  In the first place, they were always rarely spotted. 

Akira: Now that I look closely… the creature by Luka’s side must have been Roxy. 

Rutile: Yes, not the one depicted in this picture book, but the real Roxy... 

White: Hmm. What do you think, Oz? You must have observed the girl in person. 

Oz: Her magic was weak. However, she had a strange presence. 

It would not be surprising if she had a connection with such a creature.

Snow and White: Oh…

(Location: Magic Manor, Shylock’s Bar, Central Kingdom, Night Time)

Shylock: I see… so she was able to draw such a details World because she’d witnessed it for herself. 

Word of Luka’s special powers quickly spread throughout the Magic Manor. 

The topic was also discussed at Shylock's bar. 

Shylock: I must say I am quite interested in this world that the rest of us are incapable of viewing. I would love to speak to her about it. 

Shylock's eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth turned up as he smoked from his pipe. I was taken aback by his bewitching expression.

Shylock: Master Sage? Your face looks red. Even though I haven't given you any alcohol, have you gotten drunk, perhaps? 

Akira N-no! Umm... 

Rustica: Maybe you were the one who got drunk, Shylock, with that sweet smile. 

Bradley: I'm sure this’d be too harsh on a child's tongue, though. 

Shylock: Oh? It’s an honor. In that case, allow me to provide this service for you. 

Looking at the glass Shylock held out to him, Bradley smiled, showing his canines.

Bradley: Hey, shopkeeper. What are you trying to do with me by serving me such hard liquor? 

Shylock: I would like to introduce you to the comfortable world of drunkenness. Though, I don't imagine you to be the type who gets drunk on alcohol. 

Bradley: You certainly have an interesting hobby. Fine, I'll go out with you. *

Clearing his throat, Bradley grinned and tipped his glass.  

At the end of the counter, where a light drinking competition had begun, Faust sat at the bar. 

Faust: However, I had no idea that Luca Carol was such a young witch. 

Rustica: I was quite surprised as well. But I'm sure there is a mysterious world that can only be reflected through pure eyes. 

I hear that young children are particularly sensitive to such things. 

Akira: Snow and White also said that childhood is the time when most people, whether humans or wizards, have special powers unconditionally. 

I've heard stories like that back in my world as well. 

Faust: That's probably right. The degree varies from person to person, but children tend to possess sensibilities that adults lack.

Though they’re too young to handle them properly, all their senses are excellently sharp. 

However, there are not even a handful of people who retain these traits as they grow into adults. That girl must have had a hard time not having many people who understood her. 

Akira: Yes… it seems she didn’t have a very good environment until she was taken in by Aslan. 

Apparently her struggles stemmed from others seeming her mysterious world to be “creepy”…

Owen: No matter how weak she is, she's still a witch. What is there to struggle with?

Akira: Owen… 

Owen, who was sitting on the sofa, leaned heavily against the backrest, arching his body. 

He turned his head in my direction and continued speaking.  

Owen: Even if a Wizard is abandoned, they can live on their own. 

It’d be fine to just wield that special power to keep others away or make them fear you. 

Translator’s note: 

*I kid you not, he said “付き合ってやるよ”. I did some research and in this context “付き合っ” means “date” and “てやるよ” would mean “I will”, so congratulations ShyBrad/ BradShy shippers! 

As always, I’m still learning the language so if anyone more qualified than me objects to this translation, please let me know so I can fix it :) 

Back to event Masterlist

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Resting head in partner's lap for Peter and Arthur?

The bartender and his best customer, a match made in heaven~

Obviously for my human Arthur au, since it's the only one I have with these two, haha.

On with the fic!

--

The movie they were watching was quite terrible, Arthur wasn't going to lie, but he was going to keep his mouth shut. It's not that it was the worst he'd ever seen, but he just wasn't a big fan of horror movies like Peter was. However, it was his boyfriend's turn to pick the movie, and he decided on some nonsense from the eighties.

Said boyfriend was sprawled on the long couch in his penthouse, one leg resting on the back, the other on the cushions, a strong drink was resting on his chest with a lid and a bendy straw so he could drink without making a mess.

His head was resting on Arthur's lap, and he had been using it as a pillow since the moment he laid down. He was making comments about the film, either complaints about the special effects, or some odd trivia he knew.

"This is," Arthur frowned, drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch, "a bit more... bloody than you said it would be."

"Oh yeah, I mean, it's infamous for this scene in particular. Look at that blood spray! Had to build a whole room specifcally just for this one effect!"

"I see..." Arthur was very much not a fan of the contents on the large screen before them, but Peter put up with them watching Arthur's choice last week, and that's only because one of the characters seemed to look like Arthur to him. He was now asking the bartender to grow a beard because he could clearly pull it off..

Yes, no, that was not happening any time soon.

"Sorry." Peter sighed and looked up at Arthur. "I know it's not your type of movie."

"It's your type, dear." Arthur commented, using his free hand to brush a few stray bangs from that pretty face. "Granted, I am not a fan of blood and gore, and terribly dressed villains, I rather like when we spend time like this."

"You do?"

"Yes, it's just the two of us, alone, having a nice time together. And besides, you deal with my movie choices."

"Well... I mean, they're not all bad. You just like more serious stuff, or period dramas."

"I liked the last movie you picked."

"Well, yeah, Silence of the Lambs is a classic, 'course you'd like a thriller over a slasher."

Arthur nodded, he'd rather watch something that made him think than feel like he was going to lose his dinner. "You liked when I picked out that King one."

"The Shining? Cause that's also a classic! And your bar kinda looks like the one in that movie, all old school and quiet, sophisticated, and here comes the deranged famous guy who sits down for a drink while you, the handsome bartender in red, gets him that drink."

The bartender laughed and started to run his fingers through Peter's hair, gently dragging his nails, and getting a very pleased noise in response. "You think you're deranged?"

"Well, I probably looked the part the first few times I came in covered in blood and ash." Peter smiled and relaxed under the touches. "Alright, I'll leave slasher movies off the list of my movie selections next time. How are you on monster films?"

Arthur sighed. "Depends, I rather like the classics over some of the more... sexual content."

"Is that a dig at my show."

"Maybe."

"Ouch, okay, fair." Peter laughed. "Alright, I'll pick out classics, for you." He was quiet for a moment before he smirked. "I'm including the Hammer Horrors in that."

"I don't believe I know what those are." The smirk only grew and Arthur feared he might have to do a bit of research later.

--

In case you're wondering, they're watching Nightmare on Elm Street (which really did have to build a whole room for the infamous blood fountain scene). Arthur's choice was Far From the Madding Crowd. Peter will deny that he cried watching it, he will also deny that he yelled at the TV in William's defense.

I will deny that I did the same thing.

[cambrian-creature]

I fucking dare you to infodump Inception lore I dare you, do it coward

🫵👁️👁️

Be me: (loves hearing my friends infodump about things they care about)

You've opened a can of multi-layered worms, my friend.

I'm gonna talk about the Hallway Scene. Have I told you about the Hallway Scene? It's on the second level, in the hotel, and they've missed the first drop. The first drop was supposed to be when the van one layer up went off the bridge, but they didn't time it right so now they're in freefall and that means there's just no fucking gravity on the second layer.

None.

Shit's floating everywhere, people are floating everywhere, my guy Arthur's floating everywhere while in the middle of a fight.

But here's the thing about that: this movie is live action and it's fucking 2010. They can't CGI this and make it look good. And they can't have bad CGI cause it's a big-budget slick sci-fi action movie and ya boi Chris is not gonna settle for shitty CGI. So what do they do? They build three fucking identical hallways. There's the main set, another that's on its side like a big tube, and a third that fucking SPINS. And you're gonna say "well Cam, that's not revolutionary, they did that for Space Odyssey in like the early 60s" well did they make a guy float in the 60s? I don't know I haven't seen Space Odyssey. I don't think they did though.

Anyway. On top of that, there's also a room that spins, which is way harder to deal with cause it's so much bigger and there's way more space to just fucking fall.

So with their three spatially fucked sets, they're ready to film. They call up Joseph Gordon Levit's go-to stuntman and- SIKE! There's no stuntman. It's all him. They just fucking put JGL through the spin cycle and he made it look SO COOL. And weak-ass Leonardo DiCaprio had a stunt double for his role of "pretend to be asleep and get floated around on some wires" lmao. Imagine asking for a stunt double for that after hearing the guy playing your sidekick did THAT. I would simply die. And if you're wondering why I'm not mocking Elliot Page for the same shit, it's because I like him and I do not like dicaprio.

Anyway. You asked me about lore and I am so sorry for going off about the technical bits it's just like my favorite practical effect ever and I take every opportunity to talk about it.

In terms of lore, I never see anyone talk about this but I'm obsessed with how much they change the world? Like obviously there's the scene where Ariadne bends Paris in half like a sandwich and then makes a bridge out of mirrors, and it's immediately shown why you Shouldn't Fucking Do That (see: stab wound), but later we see Eames bend reality so casually all the time.

He changes his own appearance several times, and at one point pulls a grenade launcher out of absolutely nowhere like goddamn Bugs Bunny. And it's fascinating to me as a character detail.

Now that I'm thinking about it, Cobb, Arthur, and Eames all ensure control over their very tricky environments in such interesting ways. Like Cobb tries to control his wife, mentally bringing her back from the dead, trapping her as a shade in his memory. This backfires spectacularly, becoming the main conflict of the movie.

More subtly, we see Arthur's need for control in his appearance (they're thieves in an abandoned warehouse, he doesn't need to wear a waistcoat and keep his hair perfectly jelled all the damn time) and his fondness for paradoxes like the infinite staircase. He needs to have the upper hand on his opponent at all times Just In Case.

Eames, by comparison, seems way more chill, generally a "go with the flow" kinda guy, but I feel like he relies on his tricks a lot. He casually manipulates people, gives himself an extra weapon, probably cheats at poker. I think he's just as messed up as the rest of them.

So putting aside Cobb's severe everything, I wanna look at Arthur and Eames. We learn very little about any of the characters aside from Cobb, but what little we do learn can be built on to form vague yet cohesive backstories.

Arthur is ex-military. My evidence being some of his speech patterns, his knowledge of dreamshare tech as a military tool, his experience with it that implies he's been at it for a long time (it hasn't existed for very long), and his apparent need for organization and order.

In contrast, Eames is a con artist. We first see him playing poker in a dingy bar, his whole job is to lie and manipulate people, and he keeps a sloppy, unprofessional appearance that's probably really good for making people underestimate him.

Both are highly skilled, very experienced, and shown to be good at improvising when shit goes down. Honestly, I think they make Cobb look like an absolute fool most of the time. He's like the guy from Teen Titans who doesn't have any powers and just says "Teen Titans go!" instead of doing shit. I don't like him very much in case you haven't noticed. Cobb, that is. I'm pretty neutral about Robin.

Anyway. Good Movie.

[someone-with-a-boring-username]

[WIP]

a painting of Arthur and Charles i have been working on for a while now. 

it’s not even close to be finished, so a lot of it is still pretty rough looking. 

i’ve still decided to post it, though, because i’m not sure when (or if) i’m gonna continue this.

[charliedawn]

I wonder how Penny (and Pennywise) would react if they bite someone( I feel like Penny is more likely to do this lol) and the person's arm immediately regrows/heals and the person is like *gives them 'really?!' look* "next time ask, ok?!" *annoyed sigh 'cause now they have blood on their new shirt*? I guess the person could be either a new patient or a nurse, either works. (And bonus if it's not too much?! How the other patients react to witnessing this?) I also apologize for my bad english, I'm still learning. Hope you have a wonderfull day/night!

Penny was playing fetch with you when he suddenly got too excited and accidentally bit down on your arm, splattering blood all over your clothes.

You : "Penny ! This t-shirt was new !"

Penny *giggles* :"Sooooooorrrrrryyyy...." (not sorry at all)

Penny wouldn't feel guilty, as he knows that he can't really hurt you and would let his affection run wild around you, which means more bites and body parts missing. However, he always waits to be sure you're not really hurt before running away, afraid that one day your power won't work anymore..

Pennywise was surprised when you suddenly hugged him from behind and instinctively bit you.

You : "What the...?! That actually hurt !"

Pennywise *crosses his arms over his chest and pouts* : "Well..You deserved it ! I already told you..I don't like being touched.."

You *sigh* : "You really had to rip my arm off to make your point though ?"

He would feel guilty, but wouldn't show it and would only discreetly warn the medical staff, in case you really got hurt. He doesn't like biting, but it does happen once in a while when he's either pissed or being touched. It's instinctive. But, he does try to moderate himself, especially when you're around.

Their reaction :

Once your secret is out ? Freddy would have only one objective in mind: test your limits. He would slash you (with your permission of course) and use every single weapon he can get his hands on..

Freddy *holding a gun and shooting you multiple times* : "Welp..Bulletproof. Check."

He was actually about to massacre the clown who had hurt you when he noticed your arm grow back. His first reaction was relief...Then, he was actually upset that nobody had thought of informing him.

Michael *frowns at Penny/Pennywise in disapproving dad mode*

Arthur didn't know you could regenerate, so he actually shot the clown who had bitten you in the head..It's only when he saw your arm grow back that he actually let out a small nervous laugh of relief.

Arthur : "Well..That was certainly a surprise ?"

Five : "...What the heck are you ?"

He would be so shocked that he wouldn't react at first, but as soon as he would see your arm grow back, he would have questions. Who are you ? How did you acquire such a power ? You won't leave that room until all of his questions are answered.

Penny/Pennywise will get the beating of their life. Doesn't give a sh*t that you can regenerate. They hurt you. He's going to kill them. You'll have to stop him or reassure him enough in order not for them to fight.

Brahms was angry at first and almost attacked the Penny Brothers when you suddenly regenerated your arm. However, he stayed upset afterwards because he was worried about you and because the Penny Brothers knew about it and none of you told him.

You : "Brahms. I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to learn it this way."

Him *humphs unhappily before hugging you* : "...Don't do that again.."

Don't. Just don't. They would release the beast and he would either kill everyone or would get the Horde killed. Two options that aren't very good for all of you. This is why the Horde should be the last ones witnessing this, or the first informed of your power.

[friendlyneighborhoodcapricorn]

okay okay so I suddenly had a creative outburst and now I have way too many headcanon requests to send to you but I'll do one after the other, so I'm starting with this because it's wonderful (I'm sorry but you're getting all the romantic requests here, it's your fault for befriending me, I am such a hopeless romantic at heart):

dating sir lancelot! and like specifically sir lancelot after like, the end of season three. because when I was hunting for gifs this morning, I got one of like the scene where he's wearing that red shirt and walking to merlin and then merlin stains arthur's shirt and he's like "I'm sure you'll find a way to get that out" and I CRIED that scene is so beautiful because it could be him, it could be his happiness, that's the life he's always dreamt of and he gets ripped from it in the span of a year and I hATE THAT

I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS

These are going to be as much for me as they are for you lol

Dating Lancelot would include...

First things first: you've never seen anyone as nervous as Lancelot was the day he asked you out. Poor guy was a bright red, stuttering mess. It was kind of adorable.

Actually, Lancelot gets flustered easily in general.

You called him “Lance” once, very affectionately, and when you got no reaction, you turned around to see him bright fucking red. So naturally, you keep calling him by that nickname, do you have any idea how cute he looks?

That red shirt he’s wearing in the gif? It’s yours now. You don’t even steal it, he just lets you borrow it once because you’re cold and then decides it looks much better on you so he tells you to keep it.

He loves it when you play with his hair. It’s the fastest way to get him to fall asleep after a long day (when it’s longer, he’ll shyly ask you to brush it).

Okay, now for some Angsty Times™️: Lancelot has been through some shit. His entire village, including his family, was slaughtered before his eyes when he was just a child. And even though it happened a long time ago, he still has nightmares about it.

He’ll wake up soaked in sweat, gasping for fresh air to try and forget the scent of fire and blood. He always tries his best to be quiet, but you always wake up -almost as if you can feel his distress.

Some nights are better than others. Some nights he manages to shake his nightmare off by simply holding your hand and talking with you. Some nights he won’t talk at all, and he certainly won’t go back to sleep. In case of the latter, he wants you to go back to sleep, but you won’t leave him to deal with this on his own.

Alright, that was Angsty Times™️, please tune in next time for more!

For someone who flusters so easily, Lancelot is a very physically affectionate person. Once he knows you’re fine with it, he’s always touching you in some way: his arm around your shoulders, his hand in yours,… it’s a reassurance, to him, that you’re there.

Gwaine gives both of you the “hurt them and I’ll kill you” speech. While the two of you were standing next to each other. Just randomly came up to you and went “Lancelot, if you ever hurt (Y/N), I will kill you with my bare hands. (Y/N), if you ever hurt Lancelot, I will kill you with my bare hands.” Then he just walked off. You and Lancelot still laugh about it.

Since Lancelot isn’t just a knight, but a Knight of the Round Table, he’s often needed when things go south. They’re Camelot’s first line of defence, a beacon of hope for all those who needed. And while you couldn’t be more proud, you worry -regardless of whether or not you’re a knight yourself.

It happens painfully often that Lancelot returns home injured because he was protecting someone else. Being protective, being a shield for those who don’t have one, is what defines him.

And even though you scold him for not being more careful, you aren’t angry. How could you be, when he’s doing nothing other than being the man you love?

Lancelot is also a sneaky little shit when he wants to be. Expect to be tugged into corridors for a quick or not so quick kiss.

And on that topic, he loves surprising you. Loves sneaking up behind you, just so he can wrap his arms around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder. If it’s been a while since he last saw you, he’ll literally pick you up and spin you around until he gets dizzy and almost crashed you both into a wall.

Okay, that’s about all that comes to mind right now, but I hope you liked them!!

[littlestarofthewest]

This is for the lovely @sweet-by-and-by for the @rdrevents secret winter exchange. Sorry I'm posting so late, real life always gets in the way of fandom things. Hope you can still enjoy it!

Last Minute Love

Pairing: Arthur x gn reader | Words: 1,545 | Tags: modern AU, fluff, references to the pandemic

Arthur keeps checking his list while trying not to run into any of the last minute shoppers. They empty the shelves as if all the shops are going to stay closed in 2022. 

He quickly sidesteps a lady who obviously never heard of social distancing, colliding with someone behind him instead.

"I'm so sorry," he says while turning around.

"It's alright," the person says, but their eyes grow big a second later. "Arthur?"

Arthur almost didn't recognize you with the mask on, but then he gets lost in your eyes, his heart racing. "Hey, it's- uh, it's you. Hi."

"Yeah, just some last minute shopping for tonight," you say, moving the box in your hand as if you want to hide it while your eyes roam over the contents of Arthur's shopping card. "You're going all out, huh?"

Arthur rubs his neck, feeling way too exposed. "I'm not much of a cook, but I'll try."

"I'm not much of a cook either," you say with a laugh and hold up the frozen pizza in your hand.

"You could join me for dinner," Arthur says, the words just toppling out of his mouth before he can think about it. "But I guess you have plans."

"I couldn't impose on your guests," you say, still smiling, and Arthur has a hard time collecting his thoughts. He always gets so nervous around you these days.

"No guests," Arthur says. 

Feeling foolish, he grows red, his voice way too high when he tries to explain himself. "Most people I know just want to stay home. I just thought I'll wear something nice, cook a good dinner and try to forget about everything for a bit, you know? Even if it's stupid."

"Oh, it's not," you say, stretching out your hand as if to touch his arm, but with a side glance at the other shoppers you pull it back. "I think it's a great idea."

Spurred on by your lovely smile, Arthur dares to try again. "So, do you want to come over tomorrow? Maybe?"

"Dress all fancy, not feel like an imprisoned goblin for a change and have a home cooked meal in nice company?" you ask, raising your brows overly high. "I don't know, I think I'll stick to frozen pizza."

Arthur laughs with you, but his heart beats like crazy until you finally assure him that you'll be there. 

After making sure that he got everything he needs, Arthur hurries home. Now that he knows that you'll come over, he has a lot more things to do. Arthur has to clean up his place, and - what's even more important - put the finishing touches on his present for you.

☆

You've changed your outfit three times when you tell yourself that you can't go on like that. You need to make a decision now, and Arthur probably won't care either way. There are a ton of great things you could say about him, but he's not exactly concerned about fashion.

You use the little time you have left to check Arthur's present again, wondering once more if you should even give it to him. It feels like it might be too much, so you also have a gift card in your pocket in case you chicken out on giving the real present to Arthur.

With butterflies in your stomach, you drive over to Arthur's place. By the time you reach his door, you feel light headed and ready to run away. You and Arthur have been friends for years, but over the last year you crushed on him worse than anybody else ever before.

You can't even say what changed, but whenever you see him, you want to be closer and can't stop thinking about kissing him. You get the same feeling the second Arthur opens the door. 

His hair is a little more tamed than yesterday, and he's wearing a black suit and a white button down shirt, having only forgone the tie. You have a hard time breathing, let alone speaking, so Arthur greets you first and ushers you into his apartment.

"You look wonderful," he says with a smile and your brain finally kicks back into gear.

"You, too. The suit - well, suits you very well."

Arthur moves his shoulders as if to get rid of something and makes a face. "Don't know. Feels strange."

"You're just not used to it," you say. "Maybe you need more occasions to wear something nice."

"Guess I have to invite you more often then," Arthur says, making you all giddy. You have to remind yourself that Arthur sees you as a friend and that this is not a date.

You hold your head up and sniff the air. "Smells delicious. If you keep cooking like that, I'll come over every day."

"Come on then," Arthur says, leading you into the kitchen.

Now that you reminded yourself of your friendship with Arthur, you manage to calm down. You enjoy your food and talk about whatever comes to mind without feeling awkward. That's how you end up on Arthur's couch after dinner, well fed and happy.

"I'll admit, this was way better than frozen pizza."

"Glad you liked it," Arthur says, and you're happy to hear an inkling of pride in his voice. "And it gets better. I have a present for you."

"Oh, me too," you say, slapping your hand against your forehead. "I forgot it in the car."

By the time you get back to Arthur, you're nervous again. You can't tell him that you ran out just to fetch a gift card, so you have to give him your actual present.

He unwraps it with such care as if it's a living thing he doesn't want to hurt. What Arthur finds inside is a wooden box. All sides are embellished with different carvings of trees and flowers and on the top, there's the head of a stag. 

"What is this?" Arthur says, his eyes big.

"You can store art supplies in it," you say, lifting the lid to show Arthur the compartments inside. "And you can use these holes as pencil holders."

"It's beautiful," Arthur says while running his fingertips along the stag's antlers. "Where did you get this?"

You wish you could have avoided that question, but now that Arthur asked, you can't lie to him. "Well, I uhm- I made it."

"You carved this yourself?" Arthur asks, now right out staring at you.

"This is actually the third one I made. The first two didn't look that good," you say, shrugging your shoulders. "I needed a hobby during the lockdown, you know."

"So you just became perfect in wood carving?" Arthur asks. There's so much awe in his voice that you can barely take it.

"No big deal," you say, trying to play it down, but then Arthur smiles at you as if the sun just came up.

"This goes on my desk. Abigail keeps nagging me about not taking enough care of my art supplies and now I can put them all in one place. Thank you so much."

The idea of Arthur looking at your box and thinking of you whenever he draws makes you dizzy and you wish you could take a breather, but then Arthur holds his present out to you.

"It's not that impressive," he says, "but I wanted you to have this."

There's something like worry in his voice and your heart beats faster as you unwrap the paper. Inside is a picture frame, holding a drawing. Actually, it's more like four drawings in one. Each corner shows the same place, but at a different season in the year.

"Arthur," you say, lost for words. 

"Remember when we took that walk through the park and you showed me that spot?" Arthur asks, his voice a little shaky. "I often walked past there after that and one day I sat down and had to draw it. It's just a really nice spot."

Of course you remember. That day you ran into each other by accident and ended up sitting on your favorite bench. It snowed a little, you could feel Arthur's leg warm against your own and he lent you his gloves because your fingers were freezing. Looking into Arthur's eyes, that was the first time you felt that tingling feeling in your chest and that longing to be closer. 

"It's beautiful," you say. "Thank you so much."

You lean in, meaning to kiss Arthur's cheek, but he turns to look at you, and you barely miss his lips, putting a quick peck to the corner of his mouth.

You both freeze and you're about to apologize, but Arthur doesn't seem to mind how close you are. Pictures rush through your mind. The day in the park, and all the times you met Arthur since. His smiles, and innocent touches that feel so much more meaningful now. There's a reason you spent months carving a box for Arthur. Maybe there's a reason for his drawing, too.

You take a quiet breath, taking in Arthur's warmth, his scent. Then you kiss him again, not missing this time.

Arthur kisses you back and butterflies take flight in your stomach. You never thought that last minute shopping could be such a good idea.  

[cafecitoeddie]

Going through my drafts because I wanted to clean up 30 posts worth and I found this Merlin/Arthur drabble I wrote maybe... 11 years ago? i was so ashamed of my writing back then... so anxious and scared to post anything but now MEH. 

Anyway, have frat boy Arthur rooming with a very pretty, very weird Merlin. <3

--

Arthur felt like he was three sheets to the wind. He'd heard that phrase used by his cousin Morgana once when she'd been, as she said, "completely sloshed." Or was it one sheet in a gentle breeze? A warm, sea breeze? Three sheets to the nor'easter wind. Yes, that is what he was currently feeling. He was a sheet ambling along in a strong nor'easter wind. That thought alone made him laugh hysterically, enough to cause several heads to pop out of doorways and stare at him before flipping him the finger and moving back into their own rooms.

He frowned at the floating heads popping out of doorways because how dare they have floating hands and flip him the finger with their-- floating fingers? Stupid floating heads.

God, it was only-- he paused, bringing his wrist up to check the time on his watch, stared for a few moments wondering where the hell it had gone before realizing he had never actually worn a watch before this moment in time-- some time after 1:57 because as official timekeeper for keg stands that was when the last one had happened.

What was his room number again? What was the meaning of life? He decided not to ponder the second question but he did know the answer to the first. He stopped in front of his own doorway before remembering Merlin had the key. 

Ah. Merlin. Where was the cheeky bastard now? 

"Merlin! Merlin! Merlin!" He cried out to the empty hallway. The hallway did not respond.

"I'm right here," came a voice from behind him. "Move or else I can't open the door." 

"Merlin! You ninja! Don't scare me like that!" Arthur wondered when Merlin had found the time to learn all of his ninja skillz with a z. The boy did nothing but bury his face in his volumes and volumes of history books and run errands for his uncle. But why would they employ the help of Merlin for their ninja-y ways? Merlin was clumsier than a horse on roller blades, not that he'd ever seen one but he imagined it was very clumsy.

"I've been right behind you since we left the party! 'Come now, Merlin, we must make haste back to my chambers to drinketh some more,' you said. And because I am a good friend and don't want to be stuck with whatever paperwork I'm sure to be doing in case you die, I followed you. That and you're a moron and probably forgot that I had the key." Arthur turned around and saw Merlin leaning up against the wall, arms crossed looking peeved. 

"I did not say that." Arthur was sure he had never said drinketh before in his life. "You're a liar."

"Whatever, Arthur. Also, you're horrible at "making haste." We left the Baseball House at 2:02 and it's 3:15. It took you over an hour to walk three blocks." Merlin looked like he was willing to commit murder any second now, yup, any second he would be chopping bitches up. Arthur laughed at his own mental images. "What? What's so funny?"

"You, chopping bitches up." 

"I'm-- I'm not even going to ask."

Arthur watched as Merlin dug the key out of his pocket and stepped forward, shoving him out of the way with a muttered 'idiot.' 

"Come on."

Arthur ambled after Merlin, walking into their room with the air of someone who had just beaten the record for longest keg stand in FSU's history. He knew his father would not be proud of the fact, which was precisely why he did it. He wondered if Merlin had seen him do it.

"Hey Merlin. Merlin. Merlin. Hey. Hey. Hey, Merlin."

"What, Arthur?!" Merlin was moving things around in the clutter and mess of stuff that was atop his bed, making room so he could lay down. Arthur had half the mind to ask Merlin to sleep with him on his bed but gloating was much more important. Besides, his trousers didn't need any more incentives to get any tighter than they already were from watching Merlin strip his shirt off. Maybe he should take them off... Huh.

"Did you see me do my keg stand?"

"Yes, I did. Oh, about that. Are you sure you weren't scared when Gwaine tipped you over the keg like that?" Merlin was staring at him, eyes narrowed, looking somewhat horrified and really-- pink. Arthur was sure he was already doubting whatever Arthur was going to say.

"What? No!" 

"So... you're telling me you weren't even a little bit scared?"

"Of course I wasn't!" How dare Merlin think a measly keg stand would tame the great Arthur Pendragon, captain of FSU's Rugby Club, captain of the debate team, and all-around awesome dude. How dare he! "I'm a warrior. You learn a lot of things through rugby, Merlin! You learn to control your fears, to—" 

Arthur, so busy not staring at Merlin's chest, never saw his computer chair mysteriously get in his way. He walked right into it, slipping a little as the chair slid away from him. He kicked it, cursing when it only moved a few more feet away from him. Stupid chair. Arthur walked over to his bed before plopping down and staring up at Merlin's chest— face.

"You looked scared," Merlin said, looking as if though he was struggling not to fall down laughing. 

"Everyone was enjoying themselves," Arthur replied frowning. He was pretty everyone had been. "Well... Gwaine got a bit quiet towards the end there."

"I'm pretty sure it was because he thought he almost killed you." Merlin rolled his eyes before plopping down on his own bed, leaning back against the mountain of stuff still on it. 

"Perhaps I should go see him." Arthur struggled to get up and stay upright.

'"Are you sure that's a good idea? You can barely stand up."

"Are you saying I'm drunk?" Of course he was drunk but he didn't need Merlin telling him that. And why was he still blushing?!

"No. I'm just saying I don't think you should be wandering around the hall." Merlin was very pointedly not looking at anything other than Arthur's face. Did he have something on it? Was his hair alright?

"And why is that?" Arthur, taking a lot longer than he would've liked, was making his way to the door and he was-- almost-- there!

"You're not wearing any trousers." Okay, maybe, Arthur thought, Merlin was coming down with something. He still wasn't any less red. Only now, he seemed to staring intently at Arthur's— Oh! Would you look at that? No trousers!

"Good point. Well... I suppose Gwaine won't mind." Gwaine was a good fellow. Annoying as fuck with all his "Princess Pendragon" bullshit but he was fun to be with and okay, maybe Arthur just wanted to check on the status of Gwaine's Shot Glass From Every State Collection. He had 37 the last time Arthur checked but Gwaine had recently visited his great aunt Mildred in Kentucky so he must have gotten a new one!

"Wait!" Arthur spun around just in time to see Merlin rush past him to the door. "You shouldn't go anywhere. Uhm. Without your, uh, trousers. No. You-- shouldn't."

Arthur was certain Merlin was sick. He was red, really really red.

"But Gwaine is-- Gwaine. He probably won't be wearing any trousers either!" 

"Exactly. So don't go."

"But he went to Kentucky!"

"What? No! It doesn't matter. No pants no go!"

"But--"

"No!"

Arthur frowned. Fine. If Merlin didn't want Arthur to see Gwaine's Shot Glass Collection, then he wouldn't. Not tonight at least. Maybe tomorrow night!

"You suck." Arthur stuck his tongue out at Merlin making sure the other boy knew just how much. "Now I have to walk all the way back to my bed."

"I'll-- I'll help you."

Arthur watches Merlin get closer and huh-- Merlin looked very pretty when he blushed. Actually, Arthur knew that he looked very pretty doing, well, almost anything. Not that he ever stared at Merlin enough to know that but-- Okay so maybe he did.

"You're very pretty," Arthur mumbled. There. Now Merlin knew. Oh wait. That wasn't good, was it.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"But I heard--"

"Nope."

Merlin grabbed his shoulders and for a few moments, the room spun. He was then shoved none too gently in the direction of his own bed as he heard Merlin say 'just go to sleep!' from behind him.

Yes, maybe sleep is good, Arthur thought as he landed haphazardly on the bed. Sleep-- sleep was good, very good. Arthur pulled himself up to lay completely on the bed, barely managing to cover his legs before he felt sleep overtake him.