#and arthurs a light sleeper

[arthur-lesters-uvula]

Collage/University AU Jarthur where they are roommates and absolutely hate each other for the first few weeks before they bond over something completely nonsensical

[justaz]

thinking about arthur who has crazy quick reflexes and is a relatively light sleeper who woke up to the sound of someone in his room and saw merlin crouched down messing with his keys before softly asking “whatre you doing?…before breakfast?”

[live-laugh-lenney]

LOCKED IN | ARTHUR FREDERICK

chapter three is here! i'm so sorry about the wait but i'm hoping to become a lot more regular with my schedule and posting this story. thanks for all the love so far! feedback is always welcomed and my inbox is always open so please, please, please don’t hesitate to let me know your thoughts on the story. enjoy! <33

MASTERLIST

- C H A P T E R T H R E E -

“YN, to the Store Room.”

“Are you really going to make me get out of bed to come for a brief chat, Sugarlips?” YN groaned, letting out a disgruntled sound as she rolled over and planted her face into her pillow. She felt Steph rub her shoulder from above the duvet, having perched on the edge of YN’s bed as they said their good morning’s to each other. “I’m so cold. Don’t make me go.”

“Maybe it’s another secret challenge…” Steph wondered, standing from her place and grabbing fistfuls of the duvet with both of her fists, “come on, lazy bones. Up you get.”

“I’m cold,” she reiterated, feeling the chill of the bedroom air hit at her exposed legs, “please. Do not make me get up.”

Her socks felt twisted and uncomfortable on her feet and she guessed it was a good enough reason to sit up on the mattress because she couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling below her ankles. The sleeves of her jumper had risen to her elbows, the cuffs feeling tight around her arm and left crease marks in her skin, which she would use as knowledge that she had slept brilliantly through the night. 

Because she was finding it much easier. 

Everyone was pretty relaxed around one another now and everyone had adjusted to routines and little habits that needed to be done before ending their day. Snoring became a sound that soothed her to sleep rather than woke her from her slumber. The background chat that came in the mornings became her alarm clock and she didn’t mind waking up to join in with whatever topic they were talking about. Everyone’s mess became everyone’s mess around the house and she found herself busying her mind by tidying the different rooms in the house every so often. Because once she picked a t-shirt up or put a pair of shoes away at the end of someone’s bed, she had to pick the rest up. Time was still a struggle and she was finding it hard to go about her day without reaching for her phone or her laptop, needing some kind of escape from the small bubble, for just a moment but it was a detox that she’d be thankful for once she left the house and went back to the normality of her day-to-day life in London.

She slipped her feet into her slippers, a big and yellow smiley face adorned on the front in a carpet-like material, and scuffed down the alley of the beds and into the hidden room round the corner, opening the door and closing it behind her.

“Good morning, YN.”

“Sugarlips,” she greeted with a soft smile, sitting down and crossing her legs like she was back in a school assembly, hands holding her ankles to keep them in place, “what information can I grace you with this morning? Since you woke me up and had me leave the warmth of my bed.”

“How did you sleep last night?”

YN smiled a genuine smile at the camera.

“I slept brilliantly, thank you,” she nodded, sticking her two thumbs up, “I really did, honestly. It’s becoming so much easier to just fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. No snoring keeps me awake now.”

“That’s good for a light sleeper.”

“I am not a light sleeper, let me tell you, Sugarlips. I just struggle to get to sleep, especially in a place where I’m surrounded by strangers who might look at me weirdly in my sleep,” she took a second to clear her throat into her fist before she continued, “once I’m snoozing and I’m all comfortable and warm, I’m out for the count.”

It sounded like heaven.

Most people could only dream of falling asleep as soon as they clambered under their bedsheets and and as soon as their heads hit the pillow behind them. As soon as their eyes closed and as soon as their brain switched off from the day, into a state where nothing was able to distract them from a much needed slumber after a busy day of working. 

YN saw it as a curse.

Where she loved being able to nap anywhere she wanted, loved being able to have a quick ten minute shuteye session on the train or in the back of a taxi cab, there had been many times where she would curse herself for being such a deep sleeper. Many a time where she’d slept through an alarm and had been late for work or for a meeting or for something as important as a video shoot for a channel she had been asked to be a guest on, many a time where she had overslept on a day off and wasted half of her day in bed because she was far too sleepy and far too comfortable to move elsewhere in her house (and why would she need to move if she had no plans?), and there had been many a time where she had overstayed her welcome in hotels because she would work hard for the event she had been invited to and really reap the benefits of being in a five-star bed in a five-star hotel building in a location that she could only dream of working in. 

In a house full of people who slept so differently, she felt it was more a blessing than a curse, at that very moment. 

“Who do you think is the loudest in the house?”

“Oh god, in what way?” YN sat herself up a little straighter in the chair and clasped her hands together in an excitable way, “because if we’re talking in general, I’d have to say Spuddz. He’s such a loud character who gets passionate and really excited about things that happened in here.”

YN had become used to his antics now.

Spuddz was the prankster of the house who liked to play jokes when there was a tiny lull of boredom; he’d hide and jump out at people when they walked passed him, he’d take away something they would use quite often and pretend he had no idea what they were talking about to only place it somewhere so inconspicuous that they wouldn’t even think to check there, he would jump on someone if they were snoozing under the covers in the bedroom, and he’d tell the wackiest jokes that you’d just have to laugh at because it was his delivery rather than the punchline that made it. 

He brought a bit of chaos to the place and he was entertaining, to say the least.

“But if we’re talking about snoring, god, then it has to be Jokeman. Without a doubt. I feel bad for Arthur having to sleep next to him,” YN admitted and shook her head in amusement; there were many times when a group of them would giggle amongst themselves at the sounds escaping his nose and throat, “I think I’ve just learnt to drown everything out now. It’s become such common knowledge in the house that you just learn to live with it, almost like it’s background noise.”

“And who do you think is the messiest in the house?”

“The messiest? Oh god,” she cackled softly and rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers, holding them there for a brief moment as she tried to recount everything from the last two days of being in the Locked In house. Her mind raced between everybody; their beds in the bedroom, their section of the bathroom, who left their shoes out and about and how they were when it came to cooking and cleaning after themselves. Including herself in the mix because she knew she wasn’t the cleanest person that entered the house. “I honestly, honestly couldn’t tell you. I feel like we’re all incredibly messy. My clothes are always all over the place. Spuddz always chucks his clothes out of the bathroom when he’s getting ready. All of us girls leave make-up everywhere when we’re getting ready in the mornings,” she tapped her chin in thought, “everyone contributes to the mess without really thinking about it.”

“Everyone?”

“Well, apart from Arthur, I guess. He might leave the odd bowl out from breakfast but he’s pretty neat with everything. His bed is always so pristine in the mornings,” she smiled softly, “he’s a neat freak, I think they call them.”

She remembered just what his bed looked like when she woke up that morning. Not a single trace of him left behind; no dip in the mattress where his body had situated through the night, no dip in his pillow from where he’d laid his head, no crease or lump to signify he was still there. He’d seemingly woken up before everyone that morning, she assumed, because his duvet was pulled up and his pillows were neatly placed at the head of the bed like he was done with it for the day, and YN wondered where he’d gone before Steph had made her way to her bed and flopped herself down. 

“I need him to start making mine, I think. Nothing is allowed to touch that bed from the moment it’s made, till the moment he gets in it at nighttime. He hates it.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The kitchen, just after lunchtime, was the perfect level of quiet. 

With the humming of the kitchen fridge and the whirring of the extractor fan above the oven and the trickling sounds coming from the tap once everything had been washed and left to dry on the drying board, it held a sense of silence that was the complete opposite to how it was just a mere half an hour ago; lunchtime being the time when everyone congregates in the kitchen to decide who wanted what for lunch with the limited items they had left from their big shop down just over two days ago. Shouting over each other as they let everyone know their orders on fried eggs opposed to scrambled, ketchup instead of baked beans and who wanted nuggets instead of sausages. All whilst other conversations were happening between he housemates. 

Chaos.

A lovely chaos but pure chaos, none-the-less.

“So, Youtube chat.”

“Yes,” YN grinned, taking her seat on the stool beside the brunette dressed in her peach tracksuit, “the one you wanted to have earlier?”

Anastasia nodded softly, watching as YN opened the pack of digestive biscuits and set them between the two of them.

“Now, I’d say we’re quite similar in what we do on Youtube, wouldn’t you think? I think we’d both fall into the subtopic of Lifestyle,” Anastasia stated, reaching for another chocolate biscuit from the pack that YN had placed on the kitchen island not too long before, pairing nicely with the two cups of tea she had made when Anastasia had asked her if she fancied going for a private chat somewhere - so they could get to know each other in a little bit more of a deeper level than just leaving it at a minor introduction, “I do a little bit of everything and I find I can’t stick to one topic in life. Where most of these guys have make-up or football, I feel like I dabble in a bit of every kind of thing you can show on Youtube.”

“Quite similar? I’d say very similar in terms of what we post,” YN laughed softly, “I just sit and chat. Almost like a vlog-style but not in the format of a vlog. I’m also yet to introduce my family onto my channel, like my parents and my grandparents and whatnot, and I want to make sure they’re comfortable before I bombard them with a camera in their face,” she took a sip from the mug of tea in her hands, “I have no siblings so it’s just me doing my own content. With the occasional pop up from a friend.”

“Do you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

“I don’t,” she shook her head, placing the mug back down on the island top and pulling the sleeves of her jumper over her hands, “no boyfriends for me currently. I’ve been so thrown into this Youtube thing over the last twelve months that I just don’t find myself looking.”

“Not even just swiping Tinder or?”

YN shakes her head.

Sure, she had the dating apps downloaded on her phone; Tinder, Hinge and Bumble. 

But they were only there because her friends had encouraged her to put herself out there in the world of dating and had practically downloaded them to her phone themselves one night when they were together. Insisting that she had something good going for her and that people needed to see the true her and not the girl she portrays herself as online and in her Youtube videos. She found herself using them a couple of times, when curiosity got the better of her and she was in the mood to be nosey, when she was at home by herself and trying to find something to cure her boredom… yet nothing ever came out of swiping right or agreeing to a conversation that would become the driest chat she’d ever had.

“I feel like boyfriends, in this line of work, are something hard to find.”

Boyfriends would come and go in her life. 

Where she would love to have someone to settle down with, go on late-night drives with and take romantic walks through London with, her job came first. With her schedule being something that would almost look crazy busy to someone with a normal 9-5 office job and with her job being something out of the ordinary and not a sit-down job, it was something she thought would scare people off; who would want cameras in their face all day? Who would want their life to be broadcast for millions of followers to see? It would be somewhat of a dealbreaker between her and someone she liked to be around so she saved herself the heartache.

“Yeah, I find that everyone feels intimidated by it when I say I’ve got 1.3 million subs. The look of overwhelm on their faces just says it all really.” 

“Not that I’m holding back on relationships but,” YN sighed heavily and the feeling of dejection ran through her body, “I guess I’m just waiting for someone worth it. I don’t want to go through heartache after heartache, dealing with break-ups, when I could have saved myself from it from the very start.”

“Youtube is tough of the private life sometimes,” Anastasia agreed, nodding softly and she chewed upon a bite of a digestive biscuit held in her hand, chocolate coating her fingertips, “but once you find someone who loves you for you, who supports you and becomes your number one fan, who cheers you on and agrees to do things you want them to do for content, yeah… it’s the best feeling in the world.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“When was the first Nike Air Force 1 first released?” 

Johnny turned from the screen he read the question from and looked to face his team; Jemel, Jamie, Anastasia and YN, all of them looking at the four answers with puzzled looks on their faces as they thought long and hard about what the correct answer could be. Throwing around different ideas, conferring as a team, looking frantically at the brand-new white shoes on YN’s feet as they searched for any kind of clue that could give away what the answer could be.

“Does it say anything? At all?” Jemel questioned, looking over YN’s shoulder and shaking her head, “nothing at all.”

“Just split the items across the board. At least we win something, if not nothing,” YN suggested, “but put more on what we think may be the correct answer. If we win then there’s a lot of our items to have and, if we lose, then there’s a small minority of our items. A win-win either way.”

Johnny split the luxury items according to how YN stated, confirming with his team what number they were going for, dividing everything up and placing them on the dropboards before him.

“Lock in number 4. 1991,” Johnny confirmed, standing back from the table, “fuck.”

Number 2 dropped before them.

Number 3 dropped before them.

“Look me in the eye,” Johnny stated confidently as he made eye contact with the four players of his team, “this isn’t going anywhere. This,” he waved around the pile of items on number 4’s dropboard, “this isn’t going anywhere. Just look me in the eye and trust me.”

Trusting him is what they did…

… and trusting him is what they wish they didn’t do.

Number 4 dropped before them and they watched as the majority of their luxury items disappeared beneath the table. Sounds of complete shock filled the challenge room as they watched the events happen before them, leaving one tiny luxury left behind on number 1’s dropboard. YN frowned as she watched the collection of Cadbury’s Caramel chocolate bars disappear, her heart instantly dropping with them, and her face dropped to her hands. 

“You’re joking,” Jemel groaned behind his hands, hiding his face and dragging his palms down his cheeks, “we were certain.”

“Johnny, we’re not listening to you again,” YN frowned playfully at him as he paced the floor in front of the table, “you were so confident.”

“We’re a team, we all went for it. If you thought differently, you should’ve said,” he bit back in a tone that sent an ache through her chest. Making YN’s fake frown turn into a real frown. The creases on her forehead became more prominent, her eyebrows furrowed closer together, her eyes held a dark look behind them and she chewed her tongue in order not to fight back with him - it was a game after all. “Next question, next question.”

Cashews were on the line.

And the question was to do with the population of London, with answers varying between 2 million and 13 million, yet YN chose to keep herself from inputting an answer, staying put and staying silent. 

She watched as they dropped into the table and Johnny slammed his palm upon the tabletop, jumping in her place on the bench beside Anastasia, her cheeks going bright red and she could feel the two men behind her as they hunched over and groaned into their hands, crouching towards the floor. 

“They were cashews, the least they owed us was cashews,” Johnny hurled the words into the room, “cashews.”

The blue team thought they’d done the worst out of both teams partaking in the challenge… until the red team took their turn. 

As quick as the new piles of luxury items had been placed on the four dropboards, they had quickly disappeared after they gave the wrong answer to their first question. A question on Chunkz and his music. With a musically-inclined person in their team. 

The irony couldn’t have been any better.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Which one of you is doing the secret hiding challenge thing?”

Arthur broke the silence that had fallen amongst the group, all eyes focusing on him as he stood before the group, asking the question that had been brewing in his mind for the most of the afternoon once he realised a piece from his chess set had gone missing. Knowing that Jokeman wouldn’t have done it and that YN wouldn’t have taken it from him because she hadn’t had a reason to mess with him like that, and he hoped she didn’t take his accusation personally, but he had his suspicions on who it could be. 

“It’s not me,” he pointed to himself, “and it’s not you,” he pointed to Anastasia, “so who is it? Someone’s taken the rook from the chess set.”

YN gripped hold of the edge of the make-up table with her fingertips and leant back upon the yellow stool she was perched upon and tilted her head back to look at him, genuine concern on his face as he looked around the room and made eye contact to see if anyone was lying to him. His eyes holding more on those he thought could be the culprits. 

“It’s not me, I promise,” YN smiled softly, “I’ve barely been down there all day.”

Arthur looked down and nodded, “I know it’s not you.”

“How?” Johnny asked, “it could have been? Just because you fancy her, it doesn’t mean she couldn’t have stolen it as a joke or something.”

YN rolled her eyes.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d done to annoy Johnny and it hurt her brain to think about anything she could have said to him, in the three days they’d been there and in the very few conversations they’d had, that would have upset him or given him a reason to treat her poorly with his words. 

The words twanged at her insides and she frowned, eyebrows pinching together and her eyes went darker than usual, and she busied herself by cleaning up the make-up table in front of her and organising things into a more structured layout. 

And it wasn’t just YN who was upset by his words.

Arthur wanted to bite back. He wanted to defend her but it wasn’t worth the hassle because he would have fought in a game that would have had dangerous consequences on the outside world; he wasn’t a fighter, he wasn’t one for confrontation and he didn’t need to argue back in front of cameras that would have picked up the entire thing. He watched her, eyes flickering back to her every now and then, and he could see YN’s mind thinking the same thing with the way her eyes were dark yet still holding a touch of her usual spark when she made eye contact with him. 

“Bold on that one, Arthur,” Jokeman laughed from next to him, in an attempt to lift the mood and nudged him in the arm with his elbow, “although, YN’s far too sweet to even think about making someone so paranoid. This man is going through it right now. Look at him.”

Arthur’s cheeks flushed a bright pink.

“I just, I’ve been down playing chess for most of the day and I haven’t really seen YN all day so I didn’t think she’d do it,” he explained, “she might have done it behind my back or when I disappeared for a moment but I don’t think she would have done me over like that. She knows that chess is one massive love of mine.”

YN’s cheeks mirrored Arthur’s and she felt the heat creeping up her neck. 

He disappeared from behind her and into the bedroom where she could hear him asking Anisa, Jamie and Spuddz on whether they had taken the rook to his chess set and, once they swore to him that they didn’t, whether they knew who did take it from the board because he was determined to find the one who had done it.

“I think it’s you,” he stated, looking at Steph as she feigned shock, a hand placed over her heart and her eyes widening, “it has to be you. I’ve asked everyone else.”

“It’s not me,” Steph argued, shaking her head and placing her hands on her hips, “Arthur, it’s not me. I didn’t do it.”

“We’ve been upstairs,” Anastasia chimed in, “she wouldn’t have done it. She couldn’t have done it. She’s been with me.”

“I’ve managed to cross everyone else off the list. It’s you,” he frowned, “it has to be you. I’ve asked everyone else and they’ve all got pretty good alibi’s.”

He stood and waited for a reply. His eyes darted between the two girls before him. 

“Well, it’s not me,” Steph said, “it’s not, I promise you.”

Getting nowhere close to finding out who took the chess piece, Arthur gave up. 

A permanent frown etched on his face for the entire early evening and annoyance written across his body, his body language changing from his usual bouncy self to a more constricted self, because he was being kept away from doing something he enjoyed doing. Something that helped pass the time. Where others had the art of coming up with conversations to help them through the lingering hours, Arthur didn’t and he didn’t excel in conversations with people as well as everyone else so chess was his solace.

Minutes passed by, that turned into hours passing by, and by then, they’d all disappeared and dispersed into another room. YN found comfort on a beanbag with a blanket wrapped around her, to the back of the room where everyone had seemingly congregated so she could still listen to what was going on and she could still be a part of conversations that were happening, and it was the one thing she was thankful people understood about her; how she liked to be by herself, with her own thoughts, without forcing her to do things she didn’t want to do.

And her moment was torn from her when she watched Steph take Arthur aside.

She wasn’t staring, she wasn’t really interested in what they were saying and she didn’t really care for them being sat together and having a chat in the corner, but what seemingly bothered her was how she pulled him into a hug and kept him close, arms wrapping around his neck as his snaked around her waist. And she felt a pang of… dare she say it… she felt a pang of jealousy surge through her chest and she found it hard to take her eyes away from what was happening. She knew the cameras were on her and she knew they were watching her every move, as they were with Arthur and Steph, and deep down she knew she needed to stop feeling that way… yet she couldn’t stop herself.

“I did take your chess piece,” she announced proudly, “it was me. I’ve hidden it in one of the kitchen cupboards.”

And YN was torn from her distant gaze as he let out a blaring ‘I knew it’ into the quiet room and shot up from his seat, chasing Steph from room to room and ending out on the patio of the house where, just for a tiny second and through the gap between the doorframe and stairs, YN saw a second hug happen.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

‘Steph, your Shrimp 🍤 crew is absolutely here 💯 goooooo Steeeph 🤩’

“Shrimp crew?” YN laughed and looked across to Steph, “what’s that about?”

“It’s because my posture is always like this,” she hunched over in demonstration and brought her chest to her knees, letting her posture drop compared to the straight back she was sitting with prior and YN cackled softly, “it’s so bad so I just call my little following the Shrimp crew.”

“Do you know that girl?” Arthur questioned and looked at her and everyone snickered around them, even YN had a small smile tickle at the corner of her lips as she looked at his flushing cheeks and clueless look behind his eyes, “what?”

“It’s a comment, bro,” Johnny teased, pushing Arthur’s shoulder in amusement, “just a comment.”

‘Here we go!!!’

“Saffron,” Steph cooed, “that’s so cute.”

“That’s my best friend,” Anastasia grinned, pointing her fingers at the camera and smiling wide, “that’s my best friend. Love you Saff!”

‘I can’t wait, rooting for Jamie!! (LDN movements)’

“Jamie!” 

Everyone cried out his name once they read the comment on the screen and he stood to his feet, a bashful look on his face and he played shy for the group and for the cameras, clasping his hands before him and doing a tiny twirl before he sat back down on the sofa.

‘Arthur is too sweet. What a winner’

Everyone clapped for the comment and Arthur blushed a bright pink, Jokeman clapping him on the shoulders and giving him a gentle shake, cheering behind him. 

YN blushed when he looked at her after the noise and the commotion had died down, giving him the softest thumbs up and the cheesiest grin she could muster, and he shot her a wink before he turned back around and looked back at the screen. 

‘YN all the way! Love you girl! Smash it in there!’

“Yes, girly,” Anisa grinned and wrapped her arm around YN’s shoulder, pulling her into a hug as gave cheers of agreement with the comment before them, “guys, this is my winner right here. Along with me, of course. We can split the prize money.”

Arthur gave her the cheesiest grin he could muster and threw her a thumbs up, in the same fashion that she had done to him, and she giggled to herself and looked to her hands. 

The cutest, she thought to herself, absolutely adorable.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•····��·················•✦•······················•✦

The house had finally settled.

And, for YN, it was the first real moment of solitude that she’d felt that day. Night time seemed to be the first time, that day, where she managed to find time to herself, and it was like a breath of fresh air after another day spent navigating through people, friendships, challenges and tasks to win points throughout the show. She didn’t have to convene with anyone, no conversation was needed and she could finally be at peace with her thoughts as she reminisced on what was happening around her.

As her housemates retreated upstairs, either already asleep or engaged in the familiar ritual of preparing themselves for bed, she found herself drawn to the sanctuary of the lounge. She’d said goodnight to everyone as they made their way into the bedroom as she collected her lounge clothes and slippers so she could chill out in the living room, dragging the duvet down the stairs behind her, and saying goodnight to the last few housemates who were trudging themselves up the stairs.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you all day,” Arthur hummed quietly, taking the seat beside her on the sofa and pulling some of the blanket from her legs so he could cover his own from the chill in the air, “I definitely haven’t spoken to you all day, I don’t think.”

She smiled softly and shrugged gently, cosying back into the sofa and pulling her legs up to her chest.

“Are you okay?” 

He gazed at her face as he waited for an answer, whether it be a change in emotion or verbal, yet nothing seemed to make it obvious to him. 

“I’m fine, I’m just…” she watched as Spuddz and Jamie walked through the lounge area and towards the kitchen, saying their goodnights as they were the last two to disappear upstairs and get ready for bed, “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” he pointed out, watching as the features of her face contorted into a look that seemingly made her look like she was about to cry, “did I say something?”

“No,” she frowned and she refused to let the tears that had been stinging at her eyelids come to bay, “I’m fine, honestly. I think I’m just overtired and now I’m struggling to feel tired enough to lay down and go to sleep so I just feel all-”

“Emotional?” 

She nodded and giggled softly, pulling the blanket up to her chin and focusing her attention on the soft fabric between her fingertips.

“You weren’t upset about what happened earlier, were you?”

He didn’t need to remind her; the situation had sat at the front of her brain for the majority of the evening. 

“Not really, it just annoys me that they insinuate things after everything we do together or whenever one of us defends the other,” she admitted, shrugging her shoulders and the stinging of tears seemed to subside a little as she spoke about what she had bottled up all day, “I think I just need to stop letting words affect me and grow up a little, I guess.”

“I think it was a valid reason to be upset,” Arthur said, “there’s a lot of loud voices in here that it’s hard not to feel upset when something is said with a little vigour and brashness. If it helps, I was going to bite back but I didn’t think it was worth it… he has a lot more fans than I do. I think, publicly, I’d have been torn to pieces.”

YN smiled softly at him and shook her head, “I think you’d have a lot of defence behind you. I’d be your number one defender, for sure.”

“Likewise,” he jabbed his elbow into her side, “we make a great team.”

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

is charles a blanket burrito man?

Arthur groaned quietly as he pulled his boots off in the entrance of the cabin, wriggling his toes to try and work some warmth back into them.

It was tempting to go throw himself down on the sofa and build the fire up to thaw out, but it was already well past midnight and sleep was singin' her siren song awful pretty. Arthur shrugged his coat off, hanging it on the peg by the door before padding over in his socked feet to the foot of his and Charles' bed.

Charles had expressed earlier in the day, in no uncertain terms, that if Arthur wanted to spend half the night sketching outdoors in the middle of February that he'd do it very much alone.

Arthur had attempted to explain that the way the light fell on the deer that liked to visit the salt lick in the paddock couldn't be captured quite right from their cabin window. That sometimes you had to do hard, uncomfortable things for art.

Charles had snorted into his evening peppermint tea, rolling his eyes.

"Draw them in the spring, then," he'd said, which was a frustratingly reasonable stance.

Which, of course, meant that Arthur had to go out at a god-forsaken hour, freezing his nethers off, to do it his way, reasonable or not.

The price for his stubbornness lay before him now, tucked snugly (smugly!) in the heavy weight of the pair's down comforter.

Absent of Arthur's body-heat (which was, of course, superior to any mere confection of cloth and feathers), Charles had a habit of tucking the covers of their bed close to his body. Tonight he looked positively entrapped, wrapped tighter than the burritos Arthur and Javier would buy off the rancheros back when the Van der Linde gang was running in New Austin.

A bare peep of Charles' face poked through the top of the arrangement, a sliver of warm brown skin and glossy, black hair ruffled with slumber.

Arthur peeled his shirt and jeans off. He crossed his arms, shivering in his union suit, as he thought through how to approach the situation.

In all honestly, Arthur gave the problem of how to get into their bed and under the covers bundled tightly around his husband's peacefully slumbering form more consideration than he'd given some bank robberies. Charles wasn't a heavy sleeper by any means, and he'd likely not even mind that Arthur was tryin' to crawl into the snug little cocoon he's built himself.

But he looked so damn peaceful, the dark fan of his lashes against one visible cheek the sweetest sight Arthur'd known, a brush of charcoal against umber that Arthur was loath to disrupt.

"Okay," Arthur whispered to himself carefully nudging one side of his body onto the bed. He worked his way slowly, doing his best to ensure the dip of the mattress would be gradual enough as to not wake his softly snoring lover.

Once he was fully on the bed, Arthur wriggled himself gradually closer, shivering slightly as he sidled up against the near edge of the blanket burrito. With one hand, he felt along seam for a loose edge, hoping to gradually work his way under the covers.

He'd just managed to un-tuck a corner when the whole heavy mound of bedding shifted. Suddenly, Arthur found himself trapped fully under the heavy comforter himself, Charles' chest pressed to his side as long limbs thick with muscle wrapped over him, tugging him in close.

"Loud," Charles grumbled, snuffling his face into the space between Arthur's shoulder and neck. He huffed, breath hot and damp against Arthur's chilled skin as he nuzzled a kiss against his throat.

"And cold," he groused, pulling the covers tighter over their bodies.

"Could warm us both up right quick," Arthur offered, using his free hand to tuck the bedclothes under him, doing his level best to restore their bedding to Charles' preferred state of affairs.

Arthur felt more than saw Charles' frown, shivered pleasantly at the ticklish scrape of his stubble against Arthur's skin as he shook his head.

"Go to sleep, Arthur," Charles yawned, settling heavy and warm at Arthur's side. "Try your luck in the morning. Tired."

Arthur chuckled, pressing a kiss to the silk-soft hair at the crown of his husband's head. He resigned himself to a pleasant, chaste night as an overgrown hot water bottle.

"Night, sweetheart."

[yanderepuck]

How do they sleep?

Napoleon: he's got a weighted blanket that weighs 50lbs/25kg. He is sleeping so soundly that Praise could be under attack and he's sleeping through it. He was told that he could sleep when he's dead and well.. he's supposed to be dead.

Mozart: a pretty light sleeper. He has excellent hearing and he hears everything, making it hard to sleep. 100% sleeps with an eye mask on and has a 25 step skin care routine. Also silk sheets. Definitely a side sleeper

Leonardo: on the floor. Standing up. Sitting in a chair. Anywhere but his damn bed. Comte is talking about something and Leonardo just falls asleep while he's going on. Light snoring as well. His coat is so big because he uses it as a blanket. He is also sprawled out taking up as much space as he can. Get him something bigger than a twin bed PLEASE. Sleeps naked if he's in his bed.

Vincent: get this baby a bed. He's sleeping on his side or on his back, but he can't curl up. He has pillows on the floor because he has fallen off the couch before. GET HIM A BED. He loves to cuddle a pillow in his sleep, holding it close to his chest.

Theo: he almost always falls asleep by blacking out but he's laying on his stomach with one leg bent. Somehow he is able to breathe with his face buried in the pillow. His room needs to be pitch black. Wakes up with very messy hair

Arthur: falls asleep at his desk half the time. Face down in the papers. Gets an outline of his glasses on his face. But in bed he's curled up. Sleeps on his side with his legs bent. Almost curls into a little ball. Definitely a pillow cuddlier

Isaac: he just sleep walks. He can't even have peace in his sleep. But he sleeps up against the wall, the blanket almost over his head. Needs to have a window open which sucks because Dazai WILL COME IN. also has a weight blanket.

Jean: definitely a back sleeper. Wears two eye patches instead of one. Only time he takes shis eye patch off really. It never stays on in his sleep so he has to take it off. Stares up at his skylight until he falls asleep.

Dazai: naked. Butt ass naked. And if he has to get up to get something he will not put a robe on. Why are you awake? He's a side sleeper and drools a little. That's how you know it's a good sleep.

Will: silk sheets and pajamas. Puck sleeps next to him meaning they cuddle almost every night. He sleeps on his side to be able to hold Puck and pet him. very light sleeper however. Small noises wake him up. Cannot sleep through storms.

Comte: he's wearing a dumb little night gown and night cap. It is silk tho. Not much can wake him up. Sebastian normally has to yell in his face to get him to wake up.

Sebastian: sleeps on his stomach and feels his body just melt into the mattress after carrying his whole damn vampire family on his shoulders everyday. Someone get him a weighted blanket. He needs it. He still has his phone and uses some weird song as his alarm.

Vlad: like a little baby. He takes up as much space as possible and his blanket is barely on his bed. He rolls around a lot which makes his hair a disaster. Also a light snorer.

Faust: once he's cozy you're never getting him out. He also didn't go to bed until the sun already started to come up. Pulls his blanket over his head in hopes Charles won't bother him. Never works.

Charles: he doesn't. But when he does he's a light sleeper, curled up on his side cuddling all those pillows. He would love fuzzy pants. Louis curls up with him to get some cuddle time.

Drake: he's so used to sleeping on a ship that getting used to a normal bed is hard. Wants to be rocked like a baby. Sleeps on his side or back because of this tho. Pulls the blanket up high. Definitely a sleep talker/grumbles in his sleep.

Galileo: too busy outside looking at the stars. His thoughts keep him up. A sound sleeper though. When he falls into a deep sleep there's no getting him up.

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel

Chapter 3: intent << chapter one <chapter two

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he's alive. He's been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, low honor Arthur, NSFW content, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader and an allusion to slut shaming. Also a single grain of daddy kink

WC: 3125

Hello! Thanks so much for reading and for all of your support, this Arthur is everything to me and while he is def maybe a bit ooc I still love him ❤️❤️❤️

Tags: no TB, weird toxic relationship, Arthur is sort of delusional omg

You answer Arthur's needs. He isn't so keen on losing that.

You're not sure how you drifted to sleep. The warmth you feel when you wake has you sweating, kicking at quilts. You huff at the feeling of all of the blankets. You rise and peel some off but then you remember the man from yesterday. He had done things to you. He sleeps beside you like a rock. You stare at him, at his peaceful face. He doesn't look all that bad, really. He's rather manly looking. He reminds you of what dime novel heroes would look like. You remember all of the things he had said about you. How he’d marry you, how you’d be his wife. You shake your head. Something tells you're sick for thinking that he meant it.

But how could he not? He did show you how a man was supposed to treat a woman. Though no man had taken you to bed by force, staking some sort of marriage claim before defiling you. You deliberate leaving, getting on Lucky and braving the storm. No matter how cold and wild the weather is, how desolate the road is. But you were very warm here. He had made you feel things no man had ever made you feel. Made you feel pretty and… loved. Even if he hadn't said the last part. All of your thinking has only given him a chance to wake, he must be a light sleeper. He wakes all at once, not taking several moments to do so like you had.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” He seems glad just to see you, even more to see your naked breasts in his face. His voice is rough with sleep and he sounds so enamored. You whisper back to him, almost afraid to speak. He’s up and out of bed in a blink, legs tossed over the side. At the center of him is his manhood, a bit stiff but not nearly as much as yesterday. Unable to fight the girlish part of yourself, you look away despite yesterday's activities. He pulls you up with him; dresses you, as if you were a child, one of his workman's shirts over your head. He dresses himself as well, trousers and a similar shirt.

You're quiet and contemplative, letting the man, (no longer quite a stranger) kiss you good morning, hands on your face to keep you still. He looks like he’s in disbelief, as if waking from a dream of a young woman in his bed, he woke up to find her there.

You let him guide you along, a lot like he did yesterday. After letting you alone to use his chamber pot, you leave the room to meet him. The fire died out overnight and it's actually quite crisp this morning. He tends the fire as you watch on, not quite sure what he wants you to do. He throws some firewood on, lighting some tinder from the box. The wood lights a few moments later. The quiet without the fire is heavier, even as the wind whistles, but the crackling returns.

You follow him to the kitchen as he helps start a fire there as well.

“I could get used to seeing you in this kitchen,” he turns to you, grabbing you from the distance you had tried to keep. He’s rubbing again, arms cage you in, rough hands on your belly. He turns you around, holding you. “Why don’t you show me that cookin’ you said was gonna impress me? Real hungry man, ya know,” His tone leaves no room for an argument. But you give one anyway.

“But I don't know where anything is, what you want to eat…” Timidly you put a pot on the stove. He goes over to the mantle, several untitled leather books sit neatly. Then he's watching your confounded face, a pencil in his hand. He sits down at the dining table, facing you.

“Well, figure it out, can't be all that difficult,” You feel odd looking through the man's things but you suppose he’s invited you to.

You look around, there are plenty of cans of vegetables, fruit in the cabinets. Even some fancy canned salmon. Crackers and candies, and tinned biscuits. You spot plenty of basic staples; flour, saleratus, vanilla. All of this food must have been so expensive. He even has something of an ice box with fresh vegetables. You decide to make something simple, toast with butter, and a can of salmon fried in more butter. You cut some potatoes to fry. You decide to snoop more, seeing what all he has in his kitchen. He has quite a few dried spices, wild carrots, some hanging garlic and herbs. You go back to minding the food, flipping and stirring. Taking your time to serve it all up on plates.

When you turn again, finally acknowledging him out of the comfort you had gained by pretending he wasn't there, he has that smug look. You're not sure you’ll get used to that either. You gently place his serving in front of him as he moves his journal aside.

“Looks like you fared well all by yourself,” He seems so happy, smiling like a fool. Even happier to dig in. He must have been out here alone for a long time if simply having you cook a meal makes him this happy. Although you had done other things which had gotten you a similar reaction. He eats it with no complaints and you partake with him, in the wooden chair across from him. It's certainly not bad and you're glad to be eating. You had been sapped of all your energy, especially after what happened last night.

As you eat, Arthur decides it is a good time to give you more details of his plans for you.

“Have a few things I wanna get through your head…” He sets his fork down and you flick your gaze up to meet his. As always, Arthur has that easy stare, like there isn't a care in the world that he’s trapped a girl in his house. You surely have not tried running yet but something tells you (perhaps the guns on the wall and the hunting trophies) that you wouldn't last very long. You don’t think he’d shoot you but you can see him hunting you like a doe. You sit quietly, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m gonna be as clear as day with ya, don't wantcha gettin’... confused about what you’re here for er how long you’re gonna be here for,” You nervously shuffle your legs under the table. There's an edge in his words but he speaks like he’s telling you a simple fact; gospel.

“Like I said yesterday, I weren't makin’no joke,” You remember his words, how he had promised to marry you. It is the first time a man has even mentioned marriage in your presence barring your own father.“I know that perhaps this ain’t what you had in mind but I know it’s what you need,”

“You won't be leavin’ here, leavin’ me,” The finality in his words is grave, making your stomach drop into what feels like the soles of your feet. You don’t know why you want to cry, tears track down your face. He watches the tears drip down, a small tweak in his eyes, the corners of his mouth, say he doesn't want to see you cry. You suppose, he thinks it's what needs to happen and your tears are a small price to pay.

“But, my ma, my pa, I can’t- you can’t keep me here,” You stand abruptly, panicking. “You can’t do this, it’s not right,” he’s up out of his chair, much faster than you thought. The look in his eye is hard. He blocks the path to the door, he’s much too wide. His face is deadly serious, the wolf in this wolf's den. You spin and pick up a knife from the counter behind you but in turn, he seized the opportunity to grab you from behind, hand on your wrist so tight, pinning you against the counter with his hips and torso. The knife drops and so does your chance to get out of Arthur’s house. You sob and fight against him until you’re too tired. You come back into yourself to notice that he’s been petting and shushing you, holding on to you. You’ve been muttering the word please over and over.

“I’ll let that one slide, sweetheart, like seein’ you put up a little fight,” His hands pet down your arms. The wind and the fireplace ground you in the silence between his words. It’s a whisper down your neck, your head safely tucked into his chest. He puts a sweet kiss in your hair like you didn't just try to pull a knife on him.

“But you try that again, you won’t like it, you hear me?” You sniff and grip the front of his shirt. “What happens when you don’t listen to me, honey?” The following nod you give is frantic and perhaps a bit over the top. “You’re a good girl, ain’tcha?” You look up at him, his fingers trail down your cheek. He gives you a soft, adoring look, a look no man has ever given you. Something must be wrong with you, the way your heart flutters like a hummingbird.

“So damn lucky you walked in here, girl, didn’t think I’d have another chance for this,” His fingers drift down to your hips and then a rough squeeze on your behind. Your little noise of surprise makes him laugh.

“Don’t know how much longer this storm’ll last but once it does, we can go and see your ma, pa, I’ll ask him if he’ll lemme take you away, give you away so you can be my woman,” His fantasy coming true excites him, he gropes down your ass, one hand on your neck; gentle but you can feel his phantom strength, just underneath his skin.

“And if he says no?” You whisper, your words are terse and challenging. However, a small drop of fear clouds your defiant attitude. What should happen if your father does say no? Would Arthur kill him and take you anyway?

“Don’t really matter to me, you’re mine anyway, I’ll tell him his little girl spread her legs easy for me, let me have her right on my bed as thanks for saving her life,”

You give him an obstinate stare at first but then your eyes dip down, thinking how unfortunate it is that he’s right. You did say that at his prompting. You bite your lip. At least he wouldn’t kill your father, just humiliate you in front of your family and make you out to be a whore. He pulls you close, leading you to the couch, so warm in front of the fireplace. He has you on his lap, his knee, like when you were a girl on your own father’s lap.

“Ain’t tryna be mean, honey, but that's what happens when you take that tone with me,” He has a cigarette from the packet of premiums on the table. All of the fight has run out of you like a half cooked egg yolk, spilling all over the plate. Back to the docile creature you suppose he liked. Though he had said he liked seeing you fight his hold on you too. But you know you’ll never win. You had your chance. You could either wait patiently for another or evoke more punishments from him, more of his spankings. You had pushed enough for today.

Relaxing against him, he receives you like you've always been at his side, like you’re made to fit in the slot under his arm. With how he talks about you, he must think that to be true. He tries to offer you a puff from his cigarette but you shake your head. He really is sweet; nice. The only issue is he prefers to be sweet to you on his terms. And his terms are quite severe. Should you have met him under different circumstances; you think, you would have liked him.

“Don’t smoke?” You repeat yourself, shaking your head again. “You some kinda teetotaler?”

“I don't like the taste… or the smell,” you reluctantly tell him. He holds it for a second, looking down at the white crisp paper, the end smokes and swirls the room in the smell of burnt tobacco. He ruminates for a second, exhaling in a steady stream before nodding, stubbing it out in the tray. You hadn’t expected him to do something like that, if anything, you thought he might have blown the smoke in your face just to make a point. A lesser man might have done such a thing. But what did you know about lesser men?

He continues the day by asking about you, the things that you like to do, what your home looks like, your favorite food. You answer his questions, thinking hard about how to respond. You tell him your favorite things to do, your knitting and embroidery, polite and respectable hobbies for a girl your age. You even get so excited as to show him a kerchief you had embroidered. He looks at you with his signature easy gaze and smile, petting your hair and making you shyly fold it into fours. You feel a child showing their favorite person their paper boat made from a newsprint.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” His fingers twitch but he forms a fist and lets it go when it happens again. He looks at you, hand on your thigh. You sit as husband and wife but tell each other things as if you've met at the approval of your parents.

“What do you like to do?” Like the questions you’ve asked him before, he’s almost excited to answer questions that you give him. Your desire to know more about him seems to liven him up in a way.

“Hm, like to read, I guess; write. Took a likin’ to drawin’,” his voice is raw and nervous, the first time you’ve seen him perhaps too far from what he feels is his element. “Guess you could say I like hunting but I do that cause I have to most of the time,” a slow nod shows your acceptance of his answer.

“What do you like to draw?” He seems even more bashful, you think he looks quite cute when he’s averting your eyes. He fumbles even more with his hands and fingers.

“People, places, lots of animals, plants. Used to go all over and draw anything I thought was interestin’. I don’t get out as much as I used to. Saw lots of odd things and strange people. You must think I’m a strange old pervert,” his chuckle is dry and humorless; for just a moment, he’s lucid about his own ideas of what he wants of you. Then he’s back to his own world, a world where he isn’t lonely anymore, perhaps. The corners of his lips turn up slightly, his fingers brush against your hair and then your cheeks, warm from the fire.

“I- I’m not sure what you are,” You whisper, too shy to look up at his doting and love sick smile. This situation might not be ideal. But somehow, the way he looks at you is so loving, you're not sure you can even see him hurting you gravely. Can see him doing as other men do.

“Your man, now, I guess,” he looks downward, at his hand drifting along your skin, a skiff on Flat Iron Lake. In his eyes is a small despair. An old longing that betrays all that he has done so far, the opposite of his lascivious desires from the night before. He’s Arthur but not, a different man who hardly remembers the other, the one who licked you and had you on his bed, made you beg for him. Then there’s that jaded and hardened man when he squeezes at the plumpness of you, no undergarments to protect you from his roaming touch.

Arthur pushes gently at your boundaries, enjoying the way you disquiet, your shy squirming. He revels in your reactions and the way you respond to him, whether you like it or not. He moves to take up more of your space, taking you down from his knee to lie down on the sofa.

“You make an old pervert like me feel like the only man in the world, sweetheart,” he’s kissing and kneading at you, like fresh made dough, sinking into softness. His fingers brush the most sensitive parts, making you jerk and laugh, even if you had no intention in doing so. Kisses on your stomach make you push at his head, trying to fight your body's will. Eventually, he relents. You sigh and ask without putting any thought behind it.

“Why are you- why do you wanna marry me? I don’t understand, I just met you…” The crackling fire and his breathing are all you can hear. Your brief respite in his play fighting and sweet words fades so quickly, it gives you whiplash. He sighs as well, as if thinking very hard.

“Couldn't help myself. Always had a habit of takin’ things that wasn’t mine. You walked in here, needin’ my help. Felt nice… to help; make myself useful. Haven't been no use to nobody in a long time,”

“And you were so goddamn pretty, like an angel walked through my door and you let me take your coat. Looked up at me with these eyes,” His fingers are gentle, roughened skin along the crease at the edge of your eye. His sweet words fade into his determination, his sureness for your future. “You needed me, could tell you needed me, needed somebody to make sure you didn’t go out alone in a goddamn blizzard,” His voice is embittered for a moment. You still have no idea what possesses a man to do such a thing; lock up a woman in his home to make her his wife.

“Lone wolves don't last long on the plains,” He mutters more to himself than you. You think that maybe he thinks of you both as two lost souls uniting with each other. Two lone wolves even though you had a family. Maybe he is right. If they hadn't told you to go out and get someone to help, this wouldn't be happening. You lament that you won't be there to help your grandmother but the storm would have prevented you anyway. Though not as bad as yesterday, it still blew enough to rattle the windows and the snow hadn't stopped. You're lucky that Arthur seems to be quite the homesteader. Even in your thoughts you are somewhat thankful for the safety he provides. Even still when you think about the price you’re paying for it.

Thanks for reading! Any feedback is appreciated !

[pookietv]

vivid dream | arthur hill

i got these two asks (one and two!), blended them together and thought this idea was so adorable i had to serve it up to you folks (especially bc arthur hill is SO underrated) so enjoy!

waking up in the middle of the night wasn't too unexpected for you - you had always been a light sleeper, getting up to get water, or go to the bathroom, or because of arthur's light snoring.

but when you woke to the sound of slight sniffling coming from the side of the bed, your head slightly raised from the pillow to see your boyfriend sat at the edge of the bed, still in the black tank top and red plaid pajama bottoms he slept in, slightly hunched over, small noises coming from him, like he was crying.

you sleepily pulled yourself up, your arm reassuringly wrapping around his stomach as you rested your chin lightly on his back.

"arthur? babe, whats up?" you said, your eyes still slightly lidded as you patiently traced your thumb over his tattoos in a soothing motion.

"it's really nothing, honestly," he murmured out, a short unconvincing half laugh slipping from his mouth as he hastily wiped at his glazed over eyes, head slightly turning to face you.

"something's clearly bothering you if you're awake in the middle of the night, crying quietly so i don't hear you," you said softly, pressing a small kiss against his shoulder, "it's really okay if something isn't okay, arthur,"

"its... its silly," he said, in a voice that was half shy, something arthur was rarely ever around you.

"i don't mind. i'm sure i've gotten upset over sillier things. i remember you having to comfort me when my flowers died," you smiled gently, trying to at least make him feel like he wasn't the only one in the world who had sometimes overly-emotional reactions.

he smiled half heartedly and nodded, and you lay back a little, gently tugging his arm as a signal he should lay back too, as you gently tucked his head against your chest, your fingers gently tangling into his hair as he lazily placed his arm around your tummy.

"i had a nightmare, i mean, it's stupid, i'm a grown man, haven't had a nightmare since i was a kid," he shook his head a little, clearly upset with himself.

"you could have woke me, you know, i wouldn't have minded one bit," you said gently, and he nodded a little.

"it was just... i mean, it was very real, and it was like, one of my biggest fears, and i just, i don't know, woke up in panic mode and then i realised you were here, and i didn't wanna wake you, just seeing you still here calmed me enough, i just was trying to calm down, i suppose."

your fingers carding through his hair still continued as you could feel his breathing now steady against your chest.

you nodded softly, "arthur, why wouldn't i still be here?"

"well, i had a dream we split up. i-i don't know, it kind of didn't make any sense. i upset you, or something, and you were gone, and i was just stuck in my room, alone, and all your stuff was still here and i couldn't do anything without just reminders of you, and it really scared me cause it was so realistic, it was like a vivid dream, i don't know," he babbled out, and you felt if it was possible for your heart to melt a little bit, it probably did then. it was just so unspeakably arthur for that to be his biggest fear.

"i'm not going anywhere, you softie," you said, in a softened but smiley voice in any hopes to lift him up a little, "that's not something you ever have to have as your biggest fear."

"i know, i know, i just didn't like it, thats all." he said, lifting himself up slightly so he was laying more at your height, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

you smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around his torso now instead, tucking your head into the crook of his neck tightly, slightly laying on him.

"you're just adorable, arthur. you're the sweetest, most boyfriend boy ever." you giggled slightly to yourself, pleased that he was smiling himself.

"what on earth does 'boyfriend boy' mean?" he grinned slightly, you both still sleepy clearly as you babbled against the pillows, wrapped almost as close as you could be to one another.

"i mean you're just so... i don't really know how to describe it, i guess i mean devoted. you worry about me and think about me and miss me so deeply i think, it's just so... boyfriend coded." you laughed a little to him, and he rolled his eyes, laughing a little to himself also.

"boyfriend coded? i literally am your boyfriend!" he smirked in a softly mocking way.

"i know! i just mean you're a very good boyfriend, that's what i mean."

"so you're just trying to glamourise calling me a simp?"

"hmm. maybe that is what i'm doing," you said softly, in a teasing voice, and he lay his head in the pillow in a mock huff.

"do you think if i go back to sleep again and you leave in the dream once more i'll at least be free from your teasing?" he quipped back, and it was your turn to roll your eyes now.

"oh shut up and go to sleep, you." you said softly, tucking your head slightly more into arthur, feeling your bodies even into a more relaxed state as you tried to both settle back down.

[thyateira]

What is happening? Today there is a great silence over the earth, a great silence, and stillness, a great silence because the King sleeps; the earth was in terror and was still, because God slept in the flesh and raised up those who were sleeping from the ages. God has died in the flesh, and the underworld has trembled.

Truly he goes to seek out our first parent like a lost sheep; he wishes to visit those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death. He goes to free the prisoner Adam and his fellow-prisoner Eve from their pains, he who is God, and Adam's son.

The Lord goes in to them holding his victorious weapon, his cross. When Adam, the first created man, sees him, he strikes his breast in terror and calls out to all: 'My Lord be with you all.' And Christ in reply says to Adam: ‘And with your spirit.’ And grasping his hand he raises him up, saying: ‘Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give you light.

‘I am your God, who for your sake became your son, who for you and your descendants now speak and command with authority those in prison: Come forth, and those in darkness: Have light, and those who sleep: Rise.

‘I command you: Awake, sleeper, I have not made you to be held a prisoner in the underworld. Arise from the dead; I am the life of the dead. Arise, O man, work of my hands, arise, you who were fashioned in my image. Rise, let us go hence; for you in me and I in you, together we are one undivided person.

‘For you, I your God became your son; for you, I the Master took on your form; that of slave; for you, I who am above the heavens came on earth and under the earth; for you, man, I became as a man without help, free among the dead; for you, who left a garden, I was handed over to Jews from a garden and crucified in a garden.

‘Look at the spittle on my face, which I received because of you, in order to restore you to that first divine inbreathing at creation. See the blows on my cheeks, which I accepted in order to refashion your distorted form to my own image.

'See the scourging of my back, which I accepted in order to disperse the load of your sins which was laid upon your back. See my hands nailed to the tree for a good purpose, for you, who stretched out your hand to the tree for an evil one.

`I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side, for you, who slept in paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side healed the pain of your side; my sleep will release you from your sleep in Hades; my sword has checked the sword which was turned against you.

‘But arise, let us go hence. The enemy brought you out of the land of paradise; I will reinstate you, no longer in paradise, but on the throne of heaven. I denied you the tree of life, which was a figure, but now I myself am united to you, I who am life. I posted the cherubim to guard you as they would slaves; now I make the cherubim worship you as they would God.

"The cherubim throne has been prepared, the bearers are ready and waiting, the bridal chamber is in order, the food is provided, the everlasting houses and rooms are in readiness; the treasures of good things have been opened; the kingdom of heaven has been prepared before the ages.

The Lord's descent into hell - A reading from an ancient homily for Holy Saturday.

1. Jesus is Taken down from the Cross - Edward Arthur Fellowes Prynne // 2. The Valley of Tears - Gustave Doré // 3. Anastasis fresco - Chora Church, Turkey // 4. Christ in Hell - Sascha Schneider // 5. The Ressurection - Solovetsky Monastery // 6. Ecce Homo - Mihály Munkácsy // 7. Ecce Homo - Peter Paul Rubens // 8. Resurrection of Christ - Worms Cathedral // 9. The Harrowing of Hell - Fra Angelico // 10. Coronation of the Virgin - Fra Angelico // 11. The Last Judgement - Michelangelo

[dollypopup]

Hello!! I was just wondering if you had / knew of any Colin headcannons that aren’t pen centric (I love that girl but 😭😭 idk ppl write / view Colin like he just exists for pen and it’s so mf tiring)

!!!!! OH BOY DO I!!!!! (I love this ask, thank you so much, I am VIBRATING with excitement)

+The first horse Colin learned to ride on was named by him and he called him Blot. (shoutout to @waterfireflyer2 for this one!!!!) He had initially meant to name him BOLT, as in he's so fast like a bolt of lightning, but he misspoke and he was Blot forevermore.

+Colin was the shortest of his siblings, including Daphne AND Eloise up until he was about 14. Year after year, he went off to Eton, a scrappy, scrawny little thing and came back equally as tiny. Then, one year, he outgrew approximately 6 pairs of pants in one summer and showed back up to Aubrey Hall with his ankles and wrists bare out too small clothes, taller than even Anthony

+His sisters LOVED giving him makeovers when they were growing up. He was a consistent companion at tea parties. They'd have to put him in Fran's dresses because he was too small for Daphne's or El's

+Colin had a stuffed animal that he carried with him EVERYWHERE as a child. Wherever Colin was, so was King Arthur, his little teddy bear. He spent a lot of time looking for the PERFECT stick sword for him to hold and insisted on making little paper crowns for him to wear

+Colin's favorite brother is Benedict. He was the one who used to pick Colin up and put him on his shoulders so Colin would feel tall

+Anthony taught Colin how to box

+Once, Colin almost broke his arm trying to save the family dog, Biscuit, when he scrambled into a really small hole under a tree and couldn't get out. Turns out, if the dog is too big, so is Colin. He was stuck for like five hours and wriggled wrong. Ended up spraining his shoulder, but Biscuit and he both got tons of extra treats and attention, so it was worth it

+Colin used to sneak into the kitchen to swipe food for Violet when she was going through grief to try to cheer her up. He made an altar of uneaten snacks and rough drawings and flower bracelets for her in his attempts. The staff all knew, but they didn't give him a hard time about it

+Colin was very, very adept at disappearing. Most of the time, people didn't come looking for him (too many kids in the house to always worry, besides). Longest he was missing was three days and they found him in the barn with his favorite cow, Petunia, and a tummy ache from living off of sweets

+Colin taught Daphne how to throw a punch and Daphne taught Colin sarcasm

+He learned how to cuss at Eton

+He and Fran used to duet together. She'd play piano and he'd sit next to her. They would take turns pushing the pedals (@orangepeelshortbreadcookies is the mastermind for this one!) and come up with nonsense songs to sing together. Their hits include 'Catch and Toast' (of course) but also 'Biscuit ate the Butter' and 'Mud Bugs in our Rugs'

+Greg thinks Colin is the coolest brother

+Colin's favorite Greek god is Athena

+Colin always had a hard time making friends. People tend to LIKE him, he's a nice person, but anything beyond the surface level is difficult for him to maintain. He compartmentalizes a lot of his negative feelings or prefers to deal with them on his own. It makes confiding in people really difficult for him

+Colin once tried to learn how to play the violin. It. . .didn't go well

+When Hy was first born, Colin would sneak into the nursery to sing her lullabies

+Colin had a hard time sleeping on his travels. Seasick on the boat and then wary on land, he became an increasingly light sleeper. Most of his journal entries were written at night

+Colin is naturally left handed, but learned to write and fence and do most things with right as well because of the society they live in. He writes his journal and important letters with his left, however. You can only tell because the handwriting looks different

+Colin really enjoys arithmetic. HATED his religion courses, though. He found it hard to read through a lot of the verses, especially aloud

+The family member who responded to most of his letters was Hyacinth. She wanted to hear about the different foods and animals he saw, so he tailored his letters to fit her interests. Her letters back were pages on pages long and he kept every single one

+France, in particular, was lonely for Colin.

+Colin's favorite Family Member in Law is Kate. Hands down. Kate's favorite Family Member in Law is Eloise, but Colin's a very close second.

+Colin learned to sew when he was traveling

+Colin didn't get to spend a lot of time with his Dad when he was still alive. As a result, he mostly gravitated to Violet and had a bit more of an arm's length relationship with his father.

+After Colin was horsewhipped by his dad in the stables (canon according to book lore), he never used a flogger with a horse again

+Colin knew about Eloise's dealings at the printer shop and he supported her

+Colin visits Edmund's grave the least out of all his siblings

+Colin's middle name is Christopher

+Of all the siblings, Colin has the best spice tolerance

+Colin lost a baby tooth in a fist fight with another boy at Eton whilst he was going through grief over losing his father. Anthony had to pay extra to keep Colin at the school

+Fran once cut his hair so unevenly in a makeover that they had to concoct a plot of how he got tree sap in it to keep her out of trouble

+Colin used to help Violet make the paper birthday crowns and was very adept at folding. Colin would also help her when they were spinning thread and yarn from sheering the sheep. He spent a lot of time with his hands out for Violet to wrap skeins around. He always had the softest hands because of the lanolin and got made fun of for it by some of the boys at Eton

+Colin's favorite flower is a morning glory. he likes how they look like colorful little trumpets

+After his growth spurt, when he got into an argument with Anthony, he said 'Are you just mad because I have the high ground?' and got an earful about being disrespectful

+Colin was a particularly surly teenager from the ages of 16 to 17 in particular

+Colin's favorite passtime he spent with his dad was feeding ducks at the pond at Aubrey Hall. He named every single one of them

+Colin hates shooting and hunting, and frankly, he's not very good at it

+Colin's unconventional talents include: whistling whole songs, picking the best blackberries in the summer, and somehow having every single cat ever adore him despite the fact that he's very much allergic

+Colin is ticklish

+Colin is a gold medal hair braider and was in high demand amongst his sisters for night time hair styles when their governess and nanny would wind them too tight

[isopodcowboy]

Rdr2 Sleep Headcanons

I wrote these at like 3 am last night so they ain't great but eh, just tryna get back into writing headcanons n such.

Lemme know if there's anyone else you'd wanna see, might make a part 2

Part 2

________________________________________

Arthur:

•Really light sleeper

•Literally wakes up anytime he hears an out of place noise

•It is a wonder how he manages to do all the shit he does with how little rest he manages to get

*When he does get to sleep though, he snores pretty quietly and doesn't move much

•Tends not to sleep with a blanket since he runs hot

John:

•America's #1 blanket stealer

•Abigial wakes up in the middle of the night shivering meanwhile this dude is all cuddled up and cozy on the other side of the bed

•Says the most batshit things in his sleep

•Almost never remembers his dreams though

•He doesn't snore but he does move around a lot in his sleep, one time he woke up laying sideways on the bed

Charles:

•It takes him AWHILE to fall asleep, he just can't turn his brain off a lot of the time. Always thinking about something

•When he does get to sleep though he sleeps like a log, doesn't move much and pretty much stays asleep until morning

•Wakes up right before the sun rises without fail

Javier:

•He falls asleep pretty easily but wakes up a few times a night for water n stuff

•His hair looks like shit in the morning lmao he's gotta brush it right after he wakes up otherwise he looks like he's been through some shit

•Pretty vivid dreams, he has a lot of nightmares about his past but they don't phase him as much anymore

Kieren:

•Bro is stressed it takes him a long time to fall asleep, especially when he first joined the Van Der Linde gang

•After he gets to know everyone he probably sleeps a lot better, though still pretty fitful, prolly moves and twitches a lot

•He's probably fallen asleep with the horses before just cause he'd rather hang out with them as opposed to everyone else 💀

[the-once-and-future-love]

27. Good Merlin Fics I've Read Recently (7/12/23)

A Glimpse Into The Future by fahrenheitlove A Night To Remember by Clea2011 a prince is never late (unless you're merlin) by lydiasgrace (Ancient) Greek To Me by BeautifulFiction Arthur's Bane by nishiki Arthur, Sincerely by MerlinLikeTheBird Be My Mistake by justiceformerthur Bwnyfacys by Jockles [gen] The Cat’s Pajamas by MerlinLikeTheBird Dandelions in Spring by elusive_eventuality Destiny by diner_drama Determination by diner_drama Distance Traveled by Mcguffan Don't Try To Pin This on Me by whumpling (LiGi) (gen) Dragon's Legacy by Zaharya

Magical Sleeper by Noel803 Meteorology (five ways to defuse a prince) by Fahye Ninety-Nine Percent Complete by this_is_kelly One Fool Thing by Of_Ivy_and_Gold Our Shared Wardrobe by InkThroughHerVeins Rainbow is the Colour (the Red Thread Remix) by Clea2011 So Near, So Far, So In-Between by Mirayla, Mischel tantivy by iz_the_original that I'm better off on my own by TukeIHNW The past and pending by glim The King and the Land Are One by PeaceHeather The Royal Prat and the Cave of Destiny by who_la_hoop The Scroll and the Sword by Elizabeth This isn't funny! by orphan_account Though Love Like Light Can Flee by horsecrazy through storm and hellfire by prattery time, mystical time by andiwriteordie Watching You Like I'm in Love by General_Jellyfish, remaymber when you let your fingers linger by Imagined Who Are You? by whumpling (LiGi) [gen] Woad Blue by MerlinLikeTheBird The Wisdom Of The Ages by tehfanglyfish You Have To Let Me Go by whumpling (LiGi) [gen] Your Eyes Glow by Eldritch_Ambrosi

[contremineur]

A black-chinned hummingbird lands on a metal wire and rests for five seconds; for five seconds, a pianist lowers his head and rests his hands on the keys; a man bathes where irrigation water forms a pool before it drains into the river; a mechanic untwists a plug, and engine oil drains into a bucket; for five seconds, I smell peppermint through an open window, recall where a wild leaf grazed your skin; here touch comes before sight; holding you, I recall, across a canal, the sounds of men laying cuttlefish on ice at first light; before first light, physical contact, our hearts beating, patter of female rain on the roof; as the hummingbird whirrs out of sight, the gears of a clock mesh at varying speeds; we hear a series of ostinato notes and are not tied to our bodies’ weight on earth.

Arthur Sze, Sleepers

from here

[live-laugh-lenney]

LOCKED IN | ARTHUR FREDERICK

chapter two is all yours! a bit of a messy chapter to squeeze a lot in but i'm happy to get it out! so much love from chapter one and i'm so glad you're enjoying it so far. feedback is always welcomed and my inbox is always open so please, please, please don’t hesitate to let me know your thoughts on the story. enjoy! <33

CHAPTER ONE

- C H A P T E R T W O -

YN was tired.

Oh boy, was she tired.

She knew that being in a bed that wasn’t her own, that didn’t have her knitted blanket or had the indent of her body arching the mattress or her multiple stuffed teddies that all held such sentimental value, was going to be a struggle. And she knew it was going to be tough for the first night, and maybe the second, but it was something she knew that she would overcome as the days went on… she was a grown woman after all. 

As her eyes opened and adjusted to the brightness of the natural light slipping through the gaps in the blinds of the window, she felt the stiffness of her back upon the mattress and the curled up position she’d found herself in clearly hadn’t been the most ideal position to fall asleep in but she felt safe, almost, as she closed her limbs in upon herself and closed herself off to the world. A way to protect herself in a foreign building. 

She craned her neck up and took a glance around the room to see if she was the first one to wake up - but when she met the eyes of Anisa in the far corner of the bedroom, she grinned tiredly and waved half-heartedly, being quiet enough to not wake any of those who were still deep in their slumber. Johnny. Jemel. Jamie. Their bodies still forming human-shaped lumps under their covers, all still upon their mattresses with their eyes closed, breathing slowly as they enjoyed their last few minutes of peaceful sleep before the day tore them away from the comforts of serenity. She panned her vision over the row of beds before her, seeing empty and unmade beds, taking a guess that they had either decided to take a proper look around the house now that it was morning and a brand-new day or had either chosen to get ready for the day. Looking to her left, Anastasia had clearly risen for the day because her bed was empty and made up for when she was ready to clamber back at the end of the day… but to her right, Arthur was in the midst of waking up himself. A tired and crooked smile on his mouth once he made eye contact with YN.

“Good morning,” he greeted her, “did you sleep okay?”

“Eh, so-so,” she hummed, stretching her arms up and curling her fingertips into her palms, feeling the air between her bones crack from movement and, truthfully, she would have been lying if she didn’t find the sound (and the feeling) quite satisfying, “just strange not being in the sanctum of my own bedroom. Being in my own bed. Sharing a space with nine other people is still a bit weird for me.”

“Yeah, it’s a strange concept,” he nodded in agreement, leaning up on the palms of his hands and sitting up, leaning against the headboard and smushing the pillow between his back and the fabric of the headboard behind him; his bare torso which her eyes dropped down to when the duvet had slipped from his upper body, revealing a small indication that he was, in fact, well kept and looked after himself. Cheeks flushing but her vision almost immediately diverted back to his face. “Jokeman snores, too. In fact, so many people snore. More than I thought there would be.”

YN snorted in amusement and propped herself up, a little more upright, against her own headboard. 

The snoring was something she could handle.

Days before she entered the house and moments before she thought too in depth about the possibility of anything bad happening, she’d already guessed at the high likelihood that a handful of those in the group of ten were those that snored in their sleep… or talked in their sleep… it wasn’t going to be smooth-sailing each night with peace and tranquility. She wasn’t that much of a light sleeper so bumps in the night and noises, that could scare anyone awake, never seemed to phase her or rip her from her slumber so she knew she’d have been fine dealing with the sounds that came with nighttime.

Moments before she lulled off into her sleep, she’d heard footsteps quietly creeping down the alley of the columns of beds. Followed by a few hushed voices, the muffled laughter and then gentle giggles of those who slipped out of the room because they weren’t quite ready to call it a night and didn’t want to keep anyone else from getting some well-earned sleep themselves, and she probably would have joined them if her eyeballs hadn’t felt like they’d been slit with the edges of paper. Aching and almost crying to have a rest, almost watering at the mere temptation of laying down, barely able to open back up once they’d closed for the night. 

“I was exhausted,” she sighed and dug the palms of her hands into her eyes, “once my head hit that pillow and my eyes closed and I fell asleep, there was no way I was waking up. Which is weird because I felt like I was up almost every other hour to change sleeping positions.”

“I’m such a light sleeper so any noise kept me awake,” he frowned, eyebrows furrowing on his browline, “it sucks really. Hoping it gets a bit easier to deal with, to be honest. It’s all brand new when you’ve never really slept in the same room with anyone else for a while.”

“It’s like a huge sleepover,” YN gushed, the smile on her lips widening, “I love sleepovers.”

“We should definitely plan a sleepover outside of this place when it's all over,” he suggested, eyes widening when he’d realised just what he had suggested, stumbling over his words as he tried to find a way to dig himself out of the hole he’d plopped himself into, “obviously, with everyone else. Like a reunion kind of thing once this is all over.”

“That would be amazing,” YN agreed.

“I, too, think that would be amazing,” Jemel chimed in from his bed, having rolled over to see who he had woken up with, “good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Morning, Jemel.”

Both came out simultaneously, almost drowning the other out, the bedroom falling into a silence that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable as everyone seemingly kept to themselves as they prepared for the day ahead. Sheets were rustling as others roused from their slumbers, announcing themselves with gentle greetings and waves before rubbing the sleep from their eyes, taking in the room now they’d spent the night there. How clothes had been chucked on the floor, shoes left strewn across the galley between the beds, how people had already made themselves at home. 

“I’m gonna start getting myself ready for the day otherwise I will stay in this bed all day,” YN stated, preparing for the chill in the air to hit at her bare legs showing from the cycling shorts she’d chosen as her sleeping attire for her time in there, “I almost have dread in my stomach for what they have in store for us today.”

She internally groaned as she kicked the duvet from her body and twisted around, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, toes touching the ground as she stood to her feet. 

“Hopefully something fun,” Arthur said, “I can't imagine they’ll be too harsh and throw us in the deep end from the first day.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

YN nursed the cup of tea in her hands, bringing the rim to her lips and taking a sip of the warm liquid, letting it slide down her throat and feeling it warm her up ever so slightly more than before. Legs swinging from the stool she was perched upon at the island counter in the middle of he room, watching Spuddz and Steph flit around the kitchen as they dried up the dirty plates and cutlery from those that had just eaten breakfast not too long ago; YN being one of those who had scoffed down a plate of scrambled eggs on toast, smothered in tomato ketchup, and covered in salt and pepper. Her favourite way to demolish a meal at breakfast.

She saw a pair of male legs trot down the stairs, bare feet padding down the wooden steps, and she hadn’t a clue who it was until they reached the lower floor of the house, thinking they must have been feeling brave to step foot on the cold kitchen tiles. 

Arthur. 

A white towel wrapped around his sodden lower half and hanging low on his hips, water still trickling down his shoulders and down to his elbows from the wet hair at the nape of his neck, hair swept to the side and showing more of his forehead that he’d keep hidden behind a fringe when it was dry and styled how he liked it to look. 

She wasn’t looking but… she was looking. 

Respectfully.

He hadn’t seen her sat at the kitchen island, briskly walking past in a haste to get somewhere more private to get himself dressed, and she was thankful he didn’t lock eyes and notice her as she watched him walk through the kitchen - she knew the cameras would have picked that up and she knew those at home would have picked up how her demeanour had changed. Maybe not the way her face deadpanned to the naked chest before her. Maybe not the missed breath that caught in her throat and almost caused her to choke on her cup of tea. Maybe not the skip of her heart that she felt happen behind her chest, that she was surprised was still intact after the heavy thumping of her heart muscle. But she knew the cameras would have picked up that moment, itself, and that was enough for people to pick apart. 

She would have wanted the ground to swallow her whole if she made eye contact with his brown eyes… but would she have regretted getting caught? She’d be lying if she said yes. 

“What do you reckon the plans are for the day?”

Steph tore YN from the distant gaze she had fallen into, sitting beside her with her own cup of tea, the stool twirling on its spot as she set her legs beneath the countertop. The sleeves of her long-sleeved bodysuit damp from the water in the kitchen sink but she didn’t seem to care at the uncomfortable feeling it must have emitted. 

“Something fun,” YN hummed, setting her mug down on the coaster before her and clasping her hands together, resting them on her thighs, “given what last year was like, they’re gonna keep us on our toes. For sure.”

“You reckon? I was hoping for a day full of getting to know one another,” Steph laughed into her cup, placing the rim against her bottom lip and taking a good sip of her tea, or coffee; YN couldn’t figure it out, “no, definitely something fun. We’re a fun bunch already, I can tell. So I hope they give us a challenge that gets us all laughing.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Silence followed.

In the distance, you could hear the chaos unfold from the bellowing laughter and the shouting that bounced around the walls and, usually, she’d had been out of her seat to find out what the commotion was all about… being nosey; a flaw that she’d say she hated about herself but she just couldn’t help wanting to be a part of everything happening around her. Especially if it was something they’d be speaking about throughout the day, referring back to with inside jokes, insisting it was the ‘funniest thing to have witnessed’. 

Except she was content sitting with Steph as she gave an aura that felt comforting, like they could sit together without needing to speak, and they’d still have a lovely time together.

“You’re looking real cute today,” Steph admitted, “that activewear co-ord is a must buy when I’m out of this place.”

“You think so? I figured we never really know what’s gonna happen in this place so it’s always good to go practical but also comfy,” YN stated, looking down at the shorts adorning her legs, enough to show off a little thigh but not too scandalous enough to show anything more, and a matching jumper sitting loose and baggy on her upper body that hid her curves away from the cameras and felt too soft to take off, “comfy and casual.”

“And gorgeous,” she winked, sliding off her chair and holding out her hand in YN’s direction, wiggling her fingers and awaiting the warmth of her hand before pulling her from the stool she was perched upon, “come on, let's go and sit with the others on the sofas. Feel like we’re missing all the good stuff going on in there.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Time to herself.

YN found that was something that she was going to lack having in a house full of ten people for the next two weeks. 

She lived alone back in London so she was used to her own company in her own living space, she was used to being alone with her own thoughts, and she was used to talking to herself (and sometimes answering herself), so it felt weird not being able to enter a room and be by herself for just a couple of minutes. She loved being around other people, she loved her friends, and she loved the conversation that came with being around more people but she thrived more by being by herself; she could get more done, she felt productive, she could think about things in more depth and she could enjoy the peace and quiet that she gave herself. She knew she was throwing that away once she agreed to be a part of the show during this season and she thought she’d have been okay… but she was struggling being a people-person when she really wasn’t, not one hundred percent.

Anytime the group came together and she saw it as an open opportunity to dash away and hide, she took it… 

… and right now, that solace space was the make-up area outside the bathroom. 

Where everyone had taken refuge in the downstairs lounge area, she had dipped away and disappeared up the stairs for a moment where she didn’t need to talk about her life or how she expected the rest of her time in the house to go. Using the excuse of needing to use the toilet so no one would follow her, not that it would have bothered her if someone wanted to check on her and make sure she was okay, in hopes she could have a ten minute break to recuperate with herself and herself only. 

“You didn’t do any of that in the bathroom, did you? Did you do your make-up before you went in there?”

“What?”

A weird question, YN thought. Random and completely out of the blue, unsure as to why he’d even need to ask that question as well as to why he did ask the question. And his presence along with the sound of his footsteps jogging up the stairs, her name rolling off his tongue, and the break in the quiet had startled her because he wasn’t the first person on her list that she expected to come and find her. Although, in the pits of her stomach, there was a butterfly that tickled at her insides once she looked at him..

She stopped applying the lipgloss to her lips so she could reply to the question Arthur had shot in her direction, his figure coming to a halt in the open doorway of the bathroom, hands hesitant to touch anything that she may have touched with her fingertips.

“Your make-up. Did you do it before you went into the bathroom?”

“No, I just came out of there. I’m just applying a touch-up now. Why?”

“I’m just, I’m highly allergic to make-up. Something to do with the ingredients. I’m allergic to almost all of it, weirdly. I don’t know what specifically but whenever I’ve been with a girl who was wearing make-up, I would come out in hives and get rashes across my neck so I really don’t want a flare up to happen on camera,” he waffled on, nervously laughing as he lingered in front of the door, “I’m severely allergic.”

“Well, I won’t be giving you a kiss then,” YN teased softly, her face brightening with a deep pink shade that kept creeping across the expanse of her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose, “just in case.”

His own cheeks started heating up. Flirting or… banter? He was unsure, as someone who was terrible at reading social cues, but whatever it was and whatever made them feel so comfortable around each other, he felt okay with whatever was happening. 

“No, seriously, did you apply it just now? Because I’m allergic to so much stuff in it. If I touch it, I’m in need of medical assistance straight away.”

“I’m just using lipgloss, no powders or anything. Just touching up,” she told him, “I promise. I’ve not touched it. You’re safe to go in.”

“You’re serious?”

“I’m a hundred percent serious. I never touched anything but this lipgloss,” YN admitted, holding her hands up in the air, “you can trust me, Arthur. I wouldn’t lie about something this serious. I’d be made a villain if I did that to you.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and she looked at her appearance in the mirror and, through the reflection, her eyes dipped to the cotton-wool pads sitting in a packet on a stool behind her. 

Maybe she could go make-up less for the rest of the day… 

… yet Arthur felt terrible.

With a secret challenge being given to him that morning, of lying to his fellow housemates throughout the day for bonus points, he had dread sitting low in his stomach that made him nervous to think about let alone attempt a little white lie. Given that the majority of the people around him didn’t know much about him privately, he knew that he could spew a lot of make-believe in their direction and insist it was the truth. His only query was whether he was believable enough for them to not question anything about it. 

“Thank you,” his voice echoed from the bathroom, muffled by the closed door that hid away his privacy, and she smiled softly at the sincerity of his voice. A cotton-wool pad soaked in make-up remover collecting the foundation and the concealer that was coating her cheeks, smearing moisture across her skin that she used a dry pad to soak it up, “the last thing I wanted to do was scare you with a reaction on the second day.”

“Yeah, I’d have walked out if that happened,” she admitted, “moved country, changed my name, deleted myself off the internet and gaslighted people into believing I never existed. One mention of myself and I’d deny everything,” she diverted her attention from her reflection in the mirror and to the man standing in the doorway of the bathroom, “seriously.”

“I’d still come and find you.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The last hour was playing on her mind.

Arthur’s admission confused her; she hadn’t felt a lot of them in the house were at the stage where they were sharing facts and secrets so private and so confidential about themselves that no one really needed to know about them. She thought it was sweet, because he felt comfortable enough to tell her bits about his life that he’d never shared with anyone before, but she also thought it to be inessential. 

And in a daze, zoning out and forgetting where she was, with her eyes focusing on the far distance of the garden where the sun kissed the grass where the grass met the fence guarding the perimeter of the house, completely unaware of what was happening around her and how everyone was treating the moment as a karaoke session. The chill in the air was bitter and it covered her exposed skin in goosebumps, her legs still bare as she’d not yet changed from the shorts she’d worn for breakfast that morning, the jumper being the only article of clothing to give her a sense of warmth.

“Grant my last request and just let me hold you..”

She situated herself on the padded garden chair she found herself on, listening to the chorus of voices singing Paolo Nutini before her, all in different pitches and octaves and it sounded like a complete mess yet she couldn’t help but join in.  

“Lay down beside me..”

She found herself swaying beside Johnny with mirrored movements, hands following in suit, and their small chorus came to a quick end once Arthur had stepped foot out the patio doors with a football, gaining interest from the boys who she was sat with, involuntarily positioning themselves in a semi-circle so they could kick and pass the ball amongst themselves.  

“I was saying to these guys here,” Arthur started, looking to his left and indicating to Anisa and Anastasia, juggling the football between his hands as he stood before everyone in the huddle they’d all chosen to stand in, “you know that I do reaction and commentary videos? Well, I actually started on a singing channel-”

There’s a chorus of ‘oooh’s and ‘aaah’s that sounded around the group.

“-and I started off doing covers but… this is actually a bit of a sad story, to be fair,” he took a pause and looked around the group before him. All eyes on him as they awaited to hear the next sentence out of his mouth, “I did it for the longest time but the dislike to like ratio was through the roof. My family were literally just like ‘you’ve got to stop, you’re honestly wasting so much of your time, you’ve got to give it up.’”

A chorus of gentle and sympathetic sounds came from various members of the very few of them listening to him, unknowingly frowning like they were part of this story, and he continued without a query.

“Like, I think my family just thought I was so tone deaf that they were like, ‘if we invested money in singing lessons then it would just-’ like, they didn’t want to entertain the full stream of becoming a singing talent on Youtube,” he feigned a smile and nodded slowly, “it hurt. It crushed me.”

“Did you want to pursue it?” 

“Yeah, of course, but they just drummed into me that it wasn’t worth it so I carried on posting them and hoped that over time I’d just get better and better from practising and I’d progress without the need for lessons and such. No need for a tutor or whatever,” Arthur explained, shrugging nonchalantly and chucking the ball to Jamie, who had silently beckoned for the ball in his hands, “I finally realised that maybe it was just not doing well so I stopped. Deleted the channel. Never spoke of it again… until today and I’m hoping it doesn’t come back to bite me on the arse now I’ve brought it up again.”

“The internet is a cruel place sometimes,” Spuddz stated, hums of agreement following suit, “brutal.”

“That I now know,” Arthur gave a tight-lipped and sympathetic smile, “not that anyone has recognised me for it yet or anything.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Arthur and YN to the Store Room.”

As YN stood to her feet, Arthur felt the tug on his wrist from the cold restraint of the handcuffs clipped together, prompting him to stand on his own two feet, following her in suit as they trudged through the bedroom. Their shoes squeaked on the floor beneath them with each step they took, descending the couple of stairs outside the bedroom and entering the store room, closing the door behind them in case Sugarlips went on the topic of gameplans for the challenge they were all partaking in that day.

The handcuffs suddenly felt heavier to her. 

Every so often, throughout the afternoon, YN would forget she was attached to Arthur by their wrists and it would be in moments like that, where they were sitting together and talking about the metal elephants in the room, that she was reminded of the challenge they’d all been set. She enjoyed the feeling of having Arthur close to her side, it gave them more of an opportunity to get to know one another because they had no choice but to talk to each other… and Arthur would very much agree to that. 

“How do you feel having zero points?”

“Sugarlips, I don’t like the assumption in your voice there,” YN playfully frowned at the camera, standing high on the tripod before her and Arthur, “you’re assuming we’re not going to get any points for this challenge.”

“The challenge is almost over. The day, too.”

“We’ve still got time,” Arthur stated, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, “have some faith in us. We’re a dream team.”

“A dream team you are,” Sugarlips said, “everyone is loving you two together.”

“It’s because we bring the content,” YN teased the camera, “we might not be winning but we’re having fun and that’s all that matters. Because it’s not all about winning, it’s about the fun times we had and the friends we made along the way.”

“Great friends,” Arthur grinned widely, lifting their locked-up hands up and sticking out his little finger in hopes that YN would latch hers around it. To which she obeyed. And they shook their hands in a polite way, “see?”

“Friends,” Sugarlips reiterated and a smirk appeared on YN’s lips at the insinuation, her eyes diverting from the camera and to her lap, head dipping down to her chest in an attempt to hide to desire in her eyes that she know would never go ignored, “you’re definitely more friendly than everyone else, Footasylum is loving the attention you’re bringing to the brand.”

“Oh, I bet you are,” YN jeered and, beside her, Arthur gave out a snort in the form of a laugh, “we better be getting some proper recognition for this, Footasylum.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

If there was one thing Arthur found complete comfortability in, it was chess.

Seeing the chessboard in one of the cupboards in the house, he felt a little more at home because it was something he was used to playing on the outside to pass the time or to keep himself busy. 

At home, he had a board set up that he would test out different matches on and play against pretend partners to try and better his approach whenever he did play someone with a good ability to the game. On his phone, he had apps that allowed him to play games against people from all across the globe, some taking their time and allowing him one move a day and some taking just mere minutes before the game was over because it was a challenging game for those who didn’t understand the thought behind each and every move. Whenever he was with his friends, he was testing them on what each piece was and how they could move on the board, explaining what checkmate meant and the easiest ways to win each match they played. It was his hobby outside of work and it brought him immense pleasure in winning every game, an accomplishment in his eyes.

“You’ve been spending a bit of time with YN, haven’t you?” Jemel questioned Arthur, coming to his rest period of his workout and asking almost completely out of the blue, into the silence as Arthur taught Spuddz the rules of chess, “in fact, a lot of time. Not that it’s a bad thing. She’s lovely from what we know of her.”

“It shouldn’t be a bad thing,” Arthur laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck as he leant back on the beanbag beneath him and watched as Spuddz thought about his next move on the board in the middle of the table between them, “she’s lovely. She looked a bit nervous walking in yesterday and I was just being a nice person, I guess. That’s who I am.”

Jemel smirked at Arthur's admission and Spuddz cackled before making a move with one of his pawns on the board.

“Just give us a go to get to know her,” Spuddz smacked Arthur on the knee closest to him, heat rising up the back of the boy’s neck, “don’t keep her all to yourself.”

“We’re just becoming friends, that’s all,” Arthur held his hands up in admittance, slight panic coursing his veins because he wasn’t searching for love or treating Locked In like a reality TV show based on finding love within the two weeks, and he didn’t want to seem desperate enough and make it seem he was giving his undivided attention to one person, “she’s easy to talk to. And we’ve only been here less than twenty-four hours.”

“It only takes twenty-four hours, buddy,” Spuddz teased him, standing to his feet and playing on the red blush that covered Arthur’s cheeks, “she’s a lovely girl though. Never really heard of her before her name was mentioned in the line-up. She must be new on the scene outside but she’s got something good going for her.”

“She’ll make it on the outside because of how nice she is and how she gels with everyone so quickly,” Jemel said, wrapping his hands around the bar of the weights he was lifting, flexing his arms as he pulled each one close to his chest before releasing the muscles, “she’s definitely going to become a known person from this, regardless of whether she wins or not. I think she’s a gem.”

“Yeah,” Arthur nodded, eyes still attached to the chequerboard on the table, “me too. Besides, we’ve been handcuffed together all afternoon so of course, we’ve spent a lot of time together today.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Jemel said, placing the weights down by his feet and leaning back on the seat of the piece of gym equipment he was perched upon, “to be fair, me and Steph had some in depth conversations today whilst being handcuffed together so I definitely think that challenge was to help us figure out who we’re able to get close to here. Some of us have gelled together really quickly.”

Spuddz and Arthur nodded in agreement, their attention going back to thinking about the moves they could make on the chessboard between them, Arthur’s hand hovering over one of his pieces as he thought carefully about what his next move would allow and whether he could get himself into a position that would give him a pretty good chance at winning.

“It has me excited though,” Spuddz claimed, “like, the next two weeks are going to be great fun getting to know each other and what we’re all truly like.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Why is Arthur on-”

“Arthur, why do you have 4 points?”

“Well,” he laughed and clapped his hands, rubbing them together in a mocking manner, “I was given a secret challenge to do, throughout the day today, where I had to lie to you guys.”

“Lie to us?”

“Arthur-”

“So, I told you guys I started out posting singing covers on a Youtube channel that didn’t take off…” he paused as everyone remembered the conversation from earlier that morning, “yeah, that one was a lie.”

He watched as mouths fell gaped open.

“I also had convinced YN that I was highly allergic to make-up and that I’d swell up really badly if I came in contact with it,” he slowly looked up and made eye contact with YN and she stood there in shock, her eyes widening, “I lied about that. I’m not allergic. If you take a closer look, you’ll see I’ve got a really spotty forehead and I’ve got concealer covering them up…”

“You sneaky git!” She screeched, laughter emitting from the group and she took long strides in his direction and gave his shoulder a smack with her palm, “you really had me worried. I kept thinking I’d accidentally smeared foundation or setting spray on the door handle of the toilet or something and that you were gonna stumble in with a face so swollen up that it could have killed you.”

She frowned and he placed his arm over her shoulder and pulled her into his side, her face disappearing under his arm and into his armpit, hiding the blush that made come over all hot and bothered yet she could feel him laughing, “I’m so sorry.”

“What was the third?” Jemel asked, leaning on the back of the sofa, “you’ve done well so far.”

“So the third was that I had to tell Jamie I was part of an academy as I grew up. I wasn’t. The guy I told you about was just great at football in university, played for the football team, but he didn’t step foot in an academy in Jersey to my knowledge,” he admitted and Jamie just stared at him in shock, “that one wasn’t so difficult to play along with.”

“Nah, but, I actually believed you. I actually believed you,” Jamie stated, “I know you’re from Jersey. I know you play football. I know you’re good at football. I saw you at Clash of Creators, bro.”

“That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I thought, for sure, you’d have caught on,” Arthur laughed, his arm squeezing YN tighter to his side as she stood with her arm wrapped around his waist, “but oh my god, that was so fun. And so worth the four points.”

“You’re a bloody good liar, Arthur Television,” Steph cackled, reaching towards him and squeezing his shoulders, “that was scary good.”

“I studied law for good reason,” Arthur smirked, “it can come in handy sometimes.”

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 45

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/156741244

Savigne woke up with the kick. Her eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight and the orange glow of the embers in the hearth as she lied there, listening to the movement in her belly.

Soon, the profoundness of the situation washed over her: first night in her cabin. Well… not her cabin yet, but nevertheless, a cabin! An enormous jump and a true milestone! All the years of waking up and heading to work in the heat, the rain and the cold; of hours of sweat and back pain, of passing by shop windows and telling herself she can’t afford it, of never rewarding herself beyond a bath a week, of sleeping in tents…all the schlepping and sweating and hauling distilled into this tiny but intense droplet of success.

Her heart percolated with contentment and the happiness of having achieved what she had set out to do. Ever since she had been a little girl she had fantasized about having a place of her own, that was reserved for her. And now she was here. Even better, on the way here she had stumbled upon something she had never dared to hope: a man to share it with. Her self confidence swelled like a tsunami, dwarfing all her setbacks, her stumbling steps, her slide backs.

Quietly and very carefully she slipped off the bed, then paused to listen to Arthur’s deep breathing to make sure he didn’t wake. He was a light sleeper but lucky for her, he was drained from the activities of yesterday. She carefully crept around the haphazardly strewn about crates and items to the window next to the hearth to look out. Nothing but moonlight and trees. No snoring of fellow orphans. No distant murmur of people sitting, drinking, laughing around a fire. No buzzing of insects and croaking of frogs. The silence behind walls was so much thicker than the silence behind the fabric of a tent. It felt bizarre and dreamlike and she understood why some characters in the books she read were compelled to pinch themselves at times. She stood for a long time, watching the faint swishing of trees in the distance and silently telling the baby poking around inside her why this was such a monumental day.

Then the whisper of fabric, a hand patting the bed. She froze like a child playing hide and seek, hoping he would go back to sleep but her hopes were spoiled when the next moment he bolted to sit upright and the dark shadow of his head turned in her direction.

“Savigne? What you doin’ there?”

Before she could answer he was out of the bed and by her side, eyes darting as if to spot danger outside the window.

“Calm down,” she soothed. “I’m just taking in the view. It’s very quiet.”

His shoulders sank in relief and he ran his hands over his face to wipe off the sleep. His hair was all mussed and sticking upright in spots. She grinned and rose on her toes to comb it back.

“Course it’s quiet: it’s late,” he yawned and shuffled over to poke through the embers of the fireplace before he threw a few more logs in to revive the fire. The room grew immediately brighter when they caught flame. He looked up at her from his haunches. “Everythin’ okay?”

“I think you’ve asked me that twenty-seven times now since yesterday. Yes, everything is okay!” All throughout the packing and then the riding and then when she sat on the bed as he hauled some of the crates in: "You okay?" Obviously, she hadn't been okay. You would think that being around the gang and having lived through the spells of violence she had, she would have been more okay. But there was definitely something different about seeing a person you knew get killed. Still, for his sake if not her own, she had nodded repeatedly and said she was okay and eventually, her anxiety had subsided.

“Wouldn’ be askin’ if you wasn’ perched by the window like a crow in the middle of night,” he grumbled.

“Grub kicked me awake. And then it was too quiet, so I couldn’t sleep.”

He came back over and splayed his hand on her belly. His teeth flashed in the moonlight when he felt the movement. “Feels stronger.”

It didn’t feel any different to her at all, but he seemed elated by the idea so she said “A little.”

“Think breakfast helped,” he mused.

She bit back her chortle at the childish conclusion that eating breakfast two days in a row could make a baby immediately stronger. But just when she was about to tease him, she glanced up at the giant of a man standing next to her, his massive left paw sitting on her bump, his eyes narrowed with concentration as if he was trying to crack a bank safe, and couldn’t bring herself to pierce his delusion.

“Maybe,” she smiled instead.

He nodded and grunted in satisfaction before he took her hand and pulled her back to the bed. The room was awash in the orange flicker of open fire from the hearth and warm and toasty. It smelled pleasantly of fir and burnt wood. They sat next to one another for a while and looked around the room, trying to absorb the bizarre reality that somehow they had made it, that they were here at last. As far as cabins went, it was small and humble, but for two orphans who had stumbled from one makeshift temporary living arrangement to another, the accomplishment felt colossal.

“Feels like a dream,” she whispered. “I walked for so long, I think I forgot the journey had a destination.”

“Should ‘ave left when y’asked back in the Bayou,” he murmured and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Been doin’ nothin’ but losin’ since. Losin’ time. Friends. Money.”

“Are you still crying over that money?” A sullen shrug of the shoulders. “I was poor all my life and I know how you used to live. We’ll be fine.”

“Wasn’ just for us.”

“The grub will be fine. It’s just going to drink milk for a year. Cheap!”

He laughed softly and looked away. There was a wariness and sadness to him that made her uneasy. Maybe this was typical after big, calamitous events. Maybe he had been like this after Mary or Eliza. Maybe he had washed up like this in Guarma after that failed heist. But she was used to the confident Arthur and felt unsure what to do about it.

“I’m sorry about Dutch,” she said quietly and watched him grimace, eyes set on the fire. In the orange glow he looked tired and older. “It must be hard to lose family later in life.” She laid a hand on his knee and he laced his fingers with hers.

“We had a bad run since Blackwater,” he sighed. “Wasn’ gettin’ better and I don’ think was goin’ to. Reckon we was just gonna die off one by one.”

“Still…we did part a little…abruptly. I didn’t get to say goodbye to anyone…” It had been unsettling, the way he had urged her out of there. How he had ushered her on a wagon and spurred the horses as she had tried to get a last glimpse over her shoulder. She could sense his tension and his anxiety, but she didn't quite understand what about. “You don’t really think…” She tried to finish the sentence, but it wouldn’t come. It felt wrong to even think it, let alone say it. The people in the gang had held her hand when she was sick and had shown compassion when she was lost.

He gazed into the fire a long time. “Don’ know what I thought,” he muttered at last, wiping a palm over his face. “But Dutch leavin’ changed things and I wasn’ gonna stick around to see how folks was gonna shape up.”

She squeezed his fingers and he turned to look at her, a half smile playing on his lips in the dim firelight.

“Do you think…” she worried her lip, “...if I had never come to stay in that camp…maybe you’d be in Tahiti right now, happily eating mangoes?”

“The hell!?” was his surprised response.

“Think about it: you would have never moved away from camp, you and Dutch wouldn't have fallen out, Micah wouldn't have happened, and-”

“Get in!” was his frustrated exhale as he rose and shooed her to bed. “Grub makin’ you stupid again.”

She eyed the boxed in side closer to the wall with suspicion. “Why do you want me to lie on that side?”

“Cause that’s where you sleep?”

In the tent, this had been their arrangement. Because he would come and go at odd hours, she used to lie closer to the wagon and he on the side that faced the tent, so he wouldn’t wake her up with his comings and goings. But given that this wasn’t going to be the case anymore, she suspected that he wanted to make sure she didn’t slip out of bed without waking him like she just had earlier tonight. 

“This side faces the fireplace, it’s warmer.” She resisted.

“Get in, I’ll keep you warm,” he drawled.

“You just don’t want me to get up without you knowing,” she mumbled and crawled over.

“Woman,” he sighed, joining her under the covers and wrapping an arm around her. “What if you roll off, ever think of that?”

“Why would I roll off? I’m not a child.”

“I can tell yer better cause yer itchin' for a fight,” he mumbled into her neck before he gave it a kiss.

For a long while she listened to the crackling of the fire and watched the sliver of moonlight on the cabin wall. 

“Thought ya liked the quiet?” was his late murmur when she wouldn't fall asleep.

“I do, I’m just not used to it.”

“What was you gonna do if you bought a cabin for yerself?”

“Probably perch by the window like a crow.”

She grinned at his chuckle. After another long moment of silence she whispered: “Do you miss the gang?”

“The gang we left just hours ago?” was the sheepish question from behind her.

“Yeah,” she caressed his hand on her stomach.

“No.”

“Do you miss the camp itself?”

“No.”

“Do you miss the-"

“No more baygals for you.”

“What!? Why not?”

“Makes ya twitchy.”

“You didn’t complain about me being twitchy when we came to the cabin after the hotel…” was her coy response.

There was a pause. Then: “‘M buyin' you baygals every day.”

She laughed and pressed her back into his chest. 

“Go to sleep” he kissed her neck.

“I can’t.”

"Go to sleep or 'm gonna have to make ya."

"How? Will you sing me a lullaby?" she chuckled.

"Yer the one who will do the singin'," he drawled and his hand glided up to gently cup a breast.

"How can you even think about that after the day we had? Jesus!" But she knew how: Sex was how he relieved his stress and frustration and anger. Arthur always ran hot and heavy and truthfully, now that the grub was driving her crazy, so did she.

“Ya shouldn’ have reminded me ‘bout this morning in the kitchen.” His hand spidered down and gently cupped her cunt over her bloomers. God, I'm turning into such a loose woman, she thought. When his hardness bloomed against her buttocks, her pulse quickened and soon enough she slipped into the same mood despite - as she had scolded him a moment ago - the events of the previous day.  

"Seriously?" she grinned and rubbed her buttocks against his erection. 

“It’s called a husband bulge,” he drawled as he placed an open mouthed kiss under her ear. She burst into laughter at that and he took it as an invitation to get friskier, rose on his elbow and tugged at her shoulder to make her lie on her back.

“Stop,” she chuckled, trying to evade the lips that were chasing hers. “We’re not even married!”

“Ya never heard of playacting in bed?” The hand threw up the hem of her nightgown below the covers and slipped under the waistband of her bloomers. She clamped her legs close and laughed harder.

“You want us to play a married couple?” She squirmed and flailed and wrapped her fingers around his wrist to arrest its journey.

“Or I can be the robber…” he leaned down and kissed the corner of her lips. “…and you can offer me somethin’ other than money…”

“What the fuck?” she chortled but the act of laughing loosened her thighs and a moment later his hand darted between her legs and quickly traversed the patch of hair. 

He kissed her long and sweet as his fingers brushed up and down her folds and she shivered with desire. She let go of his wrist and combed through his hair. “How does that one go?” she whispered when he broke the kiss.

He ran his tongue over his teeth in contemplation, looking down at her. 

“I come in late night...” he drawled, fingers tracing and brushing and ghosting. “...sneak in a window...you hear me downstairs...and come to the stairs…” He paused for a moment and added: "Naked.”

She exploded into laughter and pressed her face into his chest. “Why would I be naked?”

He grinned down at her. “Cause that how you sleep.”

“But I don’t.”

The tip of his ring finger ever so slowly teased her opening and she bit back a moan. “It’s pretend.”

“Okay then…" she panted, "...I'm naked BUT...I have the bed cover," she bit her lip as the finger playfully entered her, moved out, entered again. "...wrapped around my shoulders.”

He thought on this for a moment and nodded in acceptance. “Ma’am,” he said roughly. “‘M gonna need all yer money.” The finger spiraled deeper to the second joint, and this time she did moan, undulating her hips in an effort to pull it deeper.

He looked at her with expectation and she watched the movement of his hand under the covers as it pulsed, stroking her and felt herself get wet. “I," she swallowed, "I...pull out a gun and shoot you?”

He laughed darkly, watching her face twist with pleasure, her hips twitching with need. “Where this gun at if yer naked?”.

“It’s…well…" she arched a little as her muscles clamped on his finger and he pushed it deeper while his thumb brushed her clit. A jolt of electricity ran down her spine. "I...left it on the stairs...in case...something like this...happens.”

He snickered at that. "Can't make up shit that makes no sense," he warned her and curled his finger to brush over her sensitive spot and she arched again as her mouth fell open. He dived in to kiss her, tongue brushing against hers, lips suckling and gently biting hers.

She moaned and clawed at his shoulder when leaned away again to watch her with hooded eyes. His cock hardened further against her hip as she twisted helplessly next to him.

“Okay fine," she panted, wishing he would just fuck her already. "I have...a secret...pocket in my covers.”

A chuckle as he slipped a second finger in and curled both. "What I say 'bout shit that make no sense?" Her legs fell apart and her eyes rolled up in her head as her spine bowed again. Already she was drenched but he didn't increase his pace, just casually worked her into a frenzy with every dip of his digits. "'Sides," he drawled, watching her writhe, "Ya can't shoot."

“Okay," she whined, nails digging into his shoulder, feeling the muscles work under his warm skin. "Okay...I run back...to the bedroom...Jesus...and lock the door!”

“I kick it in,” he whispered, leaving a trail of hot kisses on her neck and biting her earlobe.

“Then..." she moaned again as she felt fire erupt in her gut. She was so close, if only he went deeper... She tried to shift her hips to make that happen but he mischievously drew back his fingers. "I take the gun...from under my bed..." she panted and glared up at him, "...and shoot you.”

“Ya can’t shoot, Savigne!” he reminded her and without warning the fingers sank all the way in while his thumb circled her clit. A low moan reverberated through her.

“Okay then...oh god…I...uh...jump out the window!”

“Yer on the second floor. And naked,” he tsked. He withdrew his fingers and crawled on top of her, careful not to put his weight on her belly. “I throw you on the bed and pin you down.” He settled on his elbows and looked down at her. “Ma’am, ‘m gonna need all yer money,” he growled. He rubbed his cock against a thigh. “Unless…ya got somethin’ else to offer?”

Bastard had worked her up and now was teasing her. “You know what?" was her frustrated huff. "Take the money.” He blinked in surprise. “What? I’m naked. Defenseless. What am I supposed to do?”

“Yer supposed to bargain,” he chuckled and licked her neck.

"No. Take the money.”

“Yer really bad at this,” he laughed, teeth playfully biting her neck, refusing to give her what she wanted if she didn't play along.

“Damn it!” she hissed. “Mister Robber, can you please put a pillow under me and fuck me already!?”

He snickered and rose to his knees to pull off his shirt. The soft light of the fire danced on his chest and in his eyes.

“Yes ma’am.”

The next morning she woke up to the whoosh of cold air that followed him in when he returned with eggs that they had left in one of the outside crates to remain cool. She watched him place a trivet on the fire in the hearth and crack eggs into a pan for breakfast and languished naked under the covers, feeling intensely content and happy.

"We should put up a curtain for the bedroom," was her husky assessment. "So our bed and our clothes here don't smell of food."

He hummed in agreement and went around the crates to find the cutlery.

"You know what I miss?" she drawled, watching the economy of his movements.

A grunt of a response. 

"Sleeping on my stomach."

He chuckled. "You gonna get up, princess?"

"I hate breakfast," she mumbled as she sat up and fished around for her nightgown and her bloomers.

"Grub likes it." He set the table and retrieved the pan to dole out the breakfast, then set a pot of coffee on the trivet.

There was no convincing him otherwise so she dressed, put on her wool socks and padded over to the table and sank into a chair. They looked at each other across the table and grinned simultaneously.

"This is nice, isn't it?" was her hushed whisper. He nodded as he poured her coffee. She ate, unable to wrap her head around it. Domestic life: something neither had really experienced before. It felt so...strange. Peaceful.

When she was a little girl, sometimes they used to play House in the orphanage and one of the most heated debates was what a family talked about at the breakfast table. This subject used to mystify them because at dinner people probably talked about the day they had, but breakfast? Some girls said people didn't talk about anything at all and just ate. The Sisters always frowned on chatter during meals so this seemed plausible. But there were other girls who insisted real families had long breakfasts where men read the paper while women put jam on their husband’s toast and talked about buying new dresses.

"Thinkin' I'll set up our tent for Marston," he gulped his coffee. "Better than what he has. Warmer."

She was surprised by his generosity because Arthur was stingy and didn't part with his stuff easily.

"You know what? We should have a nice dinner. Food makes everyone feel better.”

"Lazan ya?" he perked up. 

"Sure," she grinned. "Also pie. What kind of pie does John like?"

He paused. "Why?" was his suspicious question. His generosity had limits.

"Because we have to invite them?" she said, incredulous. 

"Why?" 

"Because it would be rude not to?"

He scoffed. "They fine."

"That's preposterous. John literally helped to build the place!”

"Course he was gonna help, told him to."

She gave him a long cool look and repeated: "What kind of pie does he like?"

"He don' like no pie," was the dismissive response.

"Bullshit," she laughed, amused by how territorial he became every time food was the issue. "I was told everyone likes pie."

"See..." he settled back in his chair, "...you do stuff like this, you gonna set an example. Then we gotta feed these coons all the time."

"Nothing wrong with that. I like cooking, I’ll just cook a little more.”

“Ain’t gonna happen,” he waved the idea away.

“Are you suggesting we snuggle in the cabin and eat lasagna while they starve out there?”

“They ain’t gonna starve,” he objected. Then, under her long hard gaze, offered “I can take a plate over for Jack?”

“So the hungry parents can watch while he eats?”

“They grown, Savigne. Plenty game around.”

“In my culture its very rude to exclude people from food. Especially family.”

“You as American as me,” he snorted. “That ain’t a thing here.”

“It’s absolutely a thing, you just grew up around the wrong people. I can go to the market after work today."

He took a frustrated breath, glanced at her, then decided the lasagna was worth the inconvenience. "Fine. One dinner."

She chewed with amusement and shrugged as if to say 'we'll see'. The man actually thought he owned her cooking, imagine that!

Afterwards she dressed up and said she can go to work herself but he insisted. “Heard there’s robbers ‘round here,” he grinned while he helped her up the cart.

She was so happy she felt like she would come apart at the seams and babbled all the way to the steakhouse. Then she ran off, eager to give Luther the news, turned around and ran back to kiss him on the cheek.

“Don’t forget the baskets!” she yelled as she ran off again. “And to ask what kind of pie John likes!”

John was sitting by the fire, drinking his coffee and silently bristling about the mess he found himself in. No gang, no Dutch, no money and no clue how to make more. To make matters more complicated, stuck around a city where his face was too recognizable as someone who had recently escaped from prison. Worse still - everyone around him perfectly happy. Abigail happy. Jack happy because that's just how the kid was wired. Arthur and Savigne obviously happy. I'd be happy too if I was snug in a cabin right now, he thought sullenly and huddled into the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. As if he had spoken of the devil, Arthur rolled around the bend and rode to park by his cabin.

Deep down he knew of course that it wasn't any of the people here that he was upset with, but a man who was probably hundreds of miles away by now. But that man was gone and these people here were...well...here. He knew it was the stupid part of his brain thinking. He was going to come here anyway. Had agreed to it, had even wanted it. But that plan hadn't included him being broke, did it? Ain't nobody's fault but yer own, he thought. Should have saved when you could. 

He watched Arthur stride over in his no nonsense manner and drank his coffee dry because most likely he was gonna be asked to do something. Again. I paid my dues, he thought, and I ain't in the mood, so 'm just gonna say no. 

When he arrived, those judgy blue eyes crawled over their makeshift camp and their dew speckled blankets and the dim campfire. 

"Marston," was the rough greeting. "Come with."

He sighed and rose to his feet. So much for saying no. Coward. 

They trudged towards Arthur's wagon that stood aside, a number of crates still stacked in it from last night. His arms started to hurt with the idea of carrying those things again. 

"Why y'ain't pitch yer tent?"

"Was tired."

Arthur didn't say anything but he knew him well enough to sense the disapproval emanating from him like heat from a stove. 

As he had feared, he was told to help unload the wagon. Good thing I was given time to have coffee at least, he thought sourly. Pack up, pack down. Pack up, pack down. The physical work served as a reminder why they were here in the first place and he found himself saying "We gonna go after that bastard or what?"

Blue eyes flicked at him, then away. "To do what?"

"To get our money back," he spat. Then, the floodgates being finally released, the poison he had built up in his head all night bubbled over: "I got nothin'. I don' know how to make more. 'M stuck here now and the kid eats like a damn locust and I can't do nothin' cause I gotta lie low!”

Arthur didn't answer right away. But after the last crate was stacked aside he gave John a long look. "Lemme ask you somethin'. Say we find these guys. What you gonna do? 'Sides askin' nicely, that is."

John restlessly raked a hand through his hair and rolled his shoulders. "Reckon gonna ask not so nicely then."

"He gonna say no. Then what?"

He chewed his lips and looked away. "Why would he say no? Maybe he say yes?"

Arthur gave him a look. "He didn' steal that money to hand it over when yer ugly mug shows up. He gonna say no. Then what?"

His shoulders hitched. Of course Dutch was gonna say no. He knew this. But he was angry because he was desperate and he was desperate because he couldn't do nothing. 

"You gonna shoot Dutch, Marston?"

"He deserves it," was his low mutter. 

"Ain't arguin' that. 'M askin' if you gonna shoot him."

"Maybe."

"No y'ain't," was the snort. "Y'aint gonna shoot Dutch but maybe he shoot you." John waved that notion away but Arthur's eyes hardened. "I know you thinkin' he ain't gonna do it. And might be yer right," was the low addition. "But if we was asked two days ago if he would slink out with our money, we would have said no to that, too. Think on that."

Arthur motioned for him to tie the horses off the cart and on to the wagon. He thought on how Dutch had accepted Bronte's invitation to the ball and simmered. "There was signs..." he grumbled as he untied Frost.

"Sure there was signs," was the grumble. "But we was blind, that's my point. We don' know what he gonna do and findin' out might cost us our families."

"You, me, Sadie and Charles - ain't no way he can say no to that!”

"Yesterday I thought the same," the older man sighed as he worked. "Cause I was angry. Today my head clearer."

Course yer thinkin' clearer, John thought sourly. Cause yer warm and yer stomach full and knowing you, you got money in yer pocket. On top of that yer fuckin' right. Again. He huffed to himself and yanked the belts tight. When he looked up, Arthur was watching him.

"John." The softness of the voice stilled his hands. "I know. Believe me, 'm thinkin' the same. 'M hatin' the same. But we gonna be alright."

He stood there, trying to swallow his anger. His disappointment. His helplessness. It took him a few moments but somehow he managed. He glanced over to Abigail and Jack. "Don' know how 'm gonna look after my family," he admitted at long last. "Never had to, before. Not really." He was bewildered at what he was saying and had a moment of panic where he felt like he had said too much. He inspected his boots, waiting for Arthur's expected rough teasing. Maybe a slap on the back of his head. Probably words that questioned if he was a man or not. None of it came.

"We gonna have to learn together."

John looked up, startled.

He had seen Arthur's softer side often enough. Mostly to Jack. Definitely to Savigne. But to him? Rare as a streaking star. Not in years. He stilled, not sure how to react. The moment stretched on and he flustered as if he was a teenager all over again.  

"How?" he managed to croak at last. 

Arthur climbed up the wagon and jabbed his chin for him to do the same. "First we gonna set up this wagon for you."

"Really?" he blinked, his surprise deepening. Arthur nodded and spurred the horses towards John's campfire. "Has a nice bed. Then we gonna head over to Shady Belle and retrieve them pillars so we can set up the tent proper. Has a second skin, should be warm."

"Okay," he said as his mood lifted. "Yeah, okay. Yer tent was nice. Think them pillars still there?"

"Hope so," Arthur grinned. "Them and the ice box. Then tomorrow, we go to Saint Denis. There a guy who pays good money for feathers and flowers."

"The hell for?"

"Rich people shit."

He turned this over in head and the more he thought on it, the lighter he felt. Hope bloomed in him and he rolled his shoulders as a weight slid off. “Yeah," he said "Okay. Sounds good.”

Halfway there Arthur suddenly asked "What kinda pie you like anyway?"

John blinked. "Pie? Dunno...Plum?"

An incredulous look by the other man. "Plum?" was the disbelieving question. 

"Yeah. Plum's nice."

"You makin' shit up or what?"

"I ain't," was his defensive response. "Had it once. Was nice."

"You ain't never ate plum pie," Arthur scoffed. "Where you ate this pie?"

"At a saloon."

"So that mean you was drunk and couldn’ tell."

"'M telling ya, it was plum."

"Right," was the skeptical click of a tongue.

They set up the wagon, then walked the horses to the cart and argued all the way to Shady Belle and that entire time not once did he think about Dutch again.

When she came out he was surprised to see Luther lumber after her. “Luther is coming to the market with us,” she said. “I’ll sit in the back.”

“I can sit th-” Luther tried but Savigne was already scrambling up into the bed of the cart like a spider. He gave Arthur a look, grumbled as he climbed up the front.

Arthur gave a deflated sigh of his own and set the course to the farmers market. On the way she chirped about this and that and both men listened patiently until Luther told her to take a breath, after which she calmed down a little. But as soon as they arrived at the market, she grabbed a basket and ran off, came back, asked him for money, ran off again. 

“Lord above,” Luther said gruffly, lighting a cigarette and offering another to Arthur. “Woman yapped my damn ears off all day. Congratulations. Told ya she was gonna say yes.”

He shifted on his feet and tried to tamper down the grin that threatened to slice his face from ear to ear. Savigne ran back with bags of fruit and emptied them into the large basket he was holding. 

“Ya need money?” the black man blew out smoke.

“No?” was his surprised response. “We good,” he rolled his shoulders.

“I ain’t sayin’ ya shouldn’ pay it back,” Luther clarified to calm his bristling.

“‘M a grown man, I can make my own,” he said, a bit miffed. It still stung that he had lost his entire savings, and to nobody’s surprise, Savigne had run off to tell Luther first thing.

“I know you can,” was the huff. “But ‘m sayin’, better come to me than I read ‘bout it in the damn papers later.”

He waited until she ran off again before he said “Ain’t gonna do that no more. Thinkin’ maybe I’ll do some huntin’…There a feller who pays for plumes and orchids, might do that.”

Luther nodded sagely. “Don’ buy shit. Come by Sunday with the cart, church has some stuff youse can use.”

Arthur gave him a look under his brows. “Charity?”

“What, you too rich for charity, big guy?”

He bit his cheek and watched her haggle with one of the vendors. “Not anymore,” he sighed.

They smoked in silence until Luther said “Ya wasn’ here, was in the papers. They found who killed Ecco.”

“That so?”

“Vampire said he done it.”

“‘Scuse me?” was his startled response.

Luther nodded and grinned at him. “There a bloodsucker in Saint Denis, you don’ know ‘bout that?”

“The hell?”

The cook grinned wider. “Some sick fool goin’ ‘bout suckin’ people dry.”

“This real?” was his question as he opened the lid for Savigne to dump in bags of dry beans and lentils.

“Who knows?” Luther waved his cigarette. “He been runnin’ hoops ‘round the law for years. Claimed he done it and said chef tasted so fine, he couldn’ stop at blood. Ate him from eartips to toes.”

“Why he lie like that?”

“Cause the freak likes scarin’ folks and teasin’ the law?” the cook shrugged.

“Works for me,” Arthur chuckled, then did a double take, handed the basket to the other man and strode over to wrestle the potato sack from Savigne’s arms.

“Woman, you mad?” he hissed as she resisted until he yanked it off, slapped it over a shoulder and walked to the mouth of the alley to drop it into the cart.

“See how bossy he is?” she complained to Luther before she ran off further into the market.

“Talked to Mister Harrison,” Luther ground his stub under a heel when Arthur returned. “She ain’t gotta come in Mondays and Wednesdays no more.”

Arthur grunted his approval and took back the basket. The streetlights above them flickered on one by one and cast their soft glows on the market. “How you convince him?”

“Wasn’ hard.” the lips bowed. “Told him those are slow days and he gonna save money. Thems magic words to men like him.”

Arthur thought about thanking him but felt like Luther would be insulted at the notion that he needed to be thanked. He wondered dimly what his life would have been like if he had had someone like this around him in his younger years instead of Dutch. Someone who did right by him with no expectations in return.

“You take care of my girl,” the black man said to him suddenly with unexpected seriousness. 

“You goin’ somewhere?”

“Ain’t we all, eventually?”

The cowboy gave him a long head to toe, finding himself irked. “Could lose some weight, you know?”

“Then I won’ be as pretty,” was the grin of a response.

He didn’t push and he didn’t know why it unsettled him. Somehow his mind went to losing Hosea and recently Dutch, and the idea of losing Luther as well rattled him. Which was odd because he barely knew Luther. He thought of something to say and all he could come up with was “Reckon you know a priest?”

“I know just the one,” Luther mused. “Lips nice and tight. When you wanna do this?”

He opened the lid for Savigne to drop in vegetables and waited for her to walk away. “Was up to me, tomorrow.”

Luther gave him a sharp look. “You gonna wed my girl dry like that?”

“Thinkin’ you forgot I gotta be discreet,” was the sheepish response.

“Discreet is for mice. Ain’t sayin’ we gotta invite a hundred folks, but we can make it a day.”

“I got no one but Marston and I doubt she got anyone ‘sides you she trust enough to invite to a wedding with a wanted outlaw.” 

“Well youse leave that to me. I got lotta friends we can trust,” Luther harrumphed. “Case you forgotten.”

Arthur nodded in acceptance.

“Did you ask John what kind of pie he liked?” she said when she returned, dropping off her wares into his basket.

“Did. Apple.”

“Okay,” she said and ran off to the fruit vendor again.

Their eyes collided. “Fool said plum,” was Arthur’s dry confession.

Luther’s dazzling white teeth appeared. “Well done.” A hand clasped his shoulder just the way Dutch used to. “Cause there ain’t nothin’ better than American apple pie.”

[ccghastly]

Arthur and Sleep

A series of Headcanons. 

When he's in camp he is out, nothing short of gunfire and screaming can wake him

The hustle and bustle of camp actually helps him sleep, he's a very light sleeper when camping alone or out on the range. I lied, If there's a sudden silence in camp that will also wake him up

If Miss Grimshaw saw him ride in she wakes him at around 10am, if he rode in during the night and she didn't see him, she leaves him to sleep. She also shoos away and scolds everyone else that tries 

Dutch! You leave that boy alone and let him get some sleep. If you need something done why don't you go bother Uncle, the useless layabout!

John is very jealous of how Arthur can sleep in full daylight like it's nothing. John only gets good rest if it's completely dark, hence why he bothers to completely batten down his tent every night

Arthur is a sleepy cuddle monster, if anyone gets within arms reach he will cling on and drag them down for cuddles. Which would be all well and good if he wasn't also a living furnace

He gets so warm during the night. It feels like the moon crests and he just starts sweating. Hates sleeping in an enclosed tent if it's not raining, thus why he refuses to use the sidewalls of his tent in camp. He needs any bit of a breeze that he can get. Great for the colder months however. Everyone wants to share a tent with Arthur in the colder months.

Jack gets first priority cause he's a child and he's teensy, but it is a vicious race for who else gets to share. Hosea is usually also a shoo in because he has Papa privilege, but Javier has a suspicious habit of being in the tent just chatting away when the time for bedding down comes and for Arthur to kindly extend an invitation to just stay the night. So, of course Javier obliges him.

Javier is Mexican down to his bones, he does not like the cold.

Arthur can and will nap absolutely everywhere in the camp, but it happens most often if he's sitting with someone. If there's a gap in conversation there's a 50/50 chance of him dozing off. And these odds rise in proportion to the length of the silence. Charles finds it very cute, he's very honored that Arthur trusts him that much. Hosea takes direct advantage of it by inviting Arthur for a chat then deliberately timing things so he falls asleep. Sean and Lenny have made a sport of timing it and the whole camp gets in on betting on how long it'll take this time, the current record is One minute and twenty-seven seconds.

Kind Anons have requested versions about the others so here's those links if that interests you↓

John and Sleep

Charles and Sleep

Javier and Sleep

[sushisocks]

DO U HAVE ANY ANGSTY SEAN HEADCANONS??? OR ANY AT ALL??

DO I HAVE ANGSTY SEAN HEADCANONS???!? Is my tumblr url sushisocks??? I'm including just a couple non-angsty ones that are v important to me bcz we're here to have fun, after all lolol

Lets start out with a light one; Sean absolutely has ADHD and dyslexia. Everybody knows Sean can't read, but nobody asks WHY Sean can't read despite frequent opportunities to learn. Based on the camp interactions with Lenny, we know he has been willing to attempt to learn, but has given up. This reads a lot more like learning disability to me, than it does laziness!!

In a similar vein; Sean taking frequent naps/falling asleep a lot is because he's a light sleeper - he has had a hard time falling asleep and staying that way ever since his father got murdered in his bed by the law. Left an impression Sean can't really shake even when surrounded by friends and allies - it's easier to nap when it's light out and people are awake in the area. Combine that with the ADHD and suddenly he's sleeping when he's not supposed to - like on guard duty.

Btw Sean has REAL BAD nightmares so that doesn't help at ALL either

Sean's mom probably passed when he was very young - he doesn't have any tangible memories of her in the same way he does his dad. Telling stories about him is how Sean keeps the only real family he had alive.

SIMILARLY I imagine it was just the two of them fleeing to America together; Sean was right there when Darragh got killed in his sleep - I imagine him waking up to a gunshot tbh.

In previous posts I've talked some about Sean's parallels and similarities to Arthur. Consider; Sean having similar self-esteem issues as Arthur, but instead of being quiet and disparaging about it, Sean covers it up by boasting and talking a big game. Nobody tries to talk Sean up because they all think he has a big ego, and it sort of just feeds into the insecurities Sean already has & is trying to avoid thinking about.

Also; Sean is generally an open book about his feelings, but he struggles a LOT with being truly vulnerable or getting at the deeper stuff. He'll also always downplay and make a joke out of truly traumatic and desperate situations he's been in. Though he DOES tell you what happened, he's chuckling and acting like it's nothing. (This isn't even a headcanon, he actually does this very consistently. It's why Karen is so mad at him in that one camp interaction after the party lol)

The only times Sean feels comfortable not being The Camp Clown is when Dutch isn't around, with a limited amount of people to witness. He still feels weird about the fact that he did actually try to kill him, when they first met, like he actually pulled the trigger (I feel like people are prone to forget this abt him), and he's never sure if Dutch might resent or distrust him a little for it. Same goes for Hosea.

A MacSummers one I came up w on discord literally yesterday; Sean has a Claddagh ring heirloom he got from his late mother through his late father. He gifts it to Lenny at some point, who doesn't realize the symbolism, just the sentimental value. Lenny wears it on a chain around his neck.

The previous one could work for MacJones too but tbh I think it hits harder for MacSummers lol (im biased)

Sean blocked out a lot of what he experienced while holed up at Ike Skelding's; the teethpulling and the burned feet were probably some of the lighter things he had to endure.

Sidenote the fact that his feet were fucking burned being as brushed off as it is makes me fucking insane. How bad were they burned Sean? Are you in pain atm? Should you be walking?