#and that’s where arthur is when he meets the gang

[when-pigsfly]

// lucky charm

low honor!arthur morgan x female reader. mdni. dub-con fondling. i typed this on my phone and she’s unedited and and and and—

arthur knows dutch has his eye on you.

he’s got you by your elbow when he drags you back from the parlour house out in rhodes to meet the gang. assuages the concerns of having another mouth to pile food into with a long-winded account of your potential for pocket nibbling. you’d have nearly bested him, he says, if not for his reflexes. but arthur gets the feeling that it’s another one of his embellishments when you turn your cheek to look at a patch of dirt.

by the time he’s done, most have had enough time to take in the waxy pallor, the fact that you’ve been traveling alone, because what lady travels alone in these parts? in any parts? so the girls—save for molly—crowd in, pull your gills from his hook and shuffle you off to change you out of those dirty clothes before that wax starts to melt.

dutch is your second shadow around camp after that. telling you how smart you are for listening to his advice. smart is in short supply these days, apparently. he whispers it to you one night over the barrel that doubles as a table and a den for his rum.

(expensive—always expensive at night.)

he mentions that he saw you reading earlier, that’s good; it’ll be real helpful for something he’s got planned later. haven’t touched your rum, he reminds you. pushes the golden liquid toward your limp hand. it’s the good stuff—don’t tell mrs. grimshaw. oh, you don’t drink? no, no, that’s alright. fine by him. so he dumps what he’s poured into your glass into his while you take a dry gulp. he asks if you’ve got any family, pushes his knee just between where one of yours hugs the barrel, and the night noises seem to get louder.

not a one? oh, you poor thing—

and by this point, arthur’s already stuffed the heel of his hand into his ear to block out what he can and go to sleep. molly’ll pull dutch away at some point, anyhow.

so yes. arthur knows dutch has his eye on you.

(it’s just, he’s not quite sure he likes dutch right now.

but he loves a good joke.)

so when he catches you trying to put bullets through empty bottles out in the woods a week later, he crawls into your space. says looking pretty wont get you that shot.

you make it almost too easy for him. arthur watches as you shrink, and expand, and shrink again. you’re tripping over your sentences, and he thinks you bite the inside of your cheek one too many times, but you make him a deal: three bottles down in 15 seconds, and he has to take you out on a supply run.

your plan goes to shit, of course.

but arthur is nothing if not benevolent, so he brings you along anyways. tells you to stay close. no, a little closer than that. s’your head screwed on backwards, girl?

he’s not sure how you’ve managed to make it out here so long, so when he presses a searing palm to your lower back, brings you into his side, it’s with the careful consideration of someone that knows the kind of danger you’ll be in if you stray too far.

that’s what you’re telling yourself when your back is pressed to a wall of crates while shots are firing to your left, opposite shoulder scraping up against the brick wall to your right.

it’s a little harder when he’s squeezing your knee just a little too tight. rubbing circles with the pad of his thumb so hard that you think the flesh underneath might purple if the two of you make it to tomorrow. another bullet pops from his revolver, and when he sits back his body is a little closer. hand a little farther in. you’re almost certain he can feel the muscles jumping under his palm, even through the bunched up fabric of your skirt.

eyes shut, you wait for the noise to pass. it’s silent. your breathing is loud in your nostrils, but it’s silent. you can hear the people that’d caught you stealing following some other noise, and you go lax. finally. let this be the last time you try and play rough. your weight is in your heels, prepped to rock forward and stand, but a rough hand skimming your slit sends a jolt of electricity up your neck.

when you turn to look at arthur, he looks none the wiser. if the arm connected to the hand at your cunt weren’t attached to his body, you might be inclined to believe him.

(shh, shh, darlin’. i know, i know. just keep real quiet for me, hm?)

each pass of his thumb has you arching, knocking your head up against brick. you don’t have to look to know that your lips are drooling onto the ground below, but christ does it feel good. he’s gathering your arousal on his fingers, and you’re pleading for something, though you’re not sure what, and you can’t quite recall if you say thank you or why, or if your hips are wriggling away or pushing downward,

because arthur is pulling his fingers away from you just as quickly as he’d put them on you. like he’s grown bored. the sheen on his fingers catches the midday sun as he cocks the hammer on his revolver. loops his fingers over the trigger.

you watch in a daze as he leans out around the crates. but the moment he’s got his target in his sights, his arm falls into that well-worn position once he takes aim.

he’s nice enough to toss a cursory glance at you over his shoulder.

“thanks for the good luck charm, doll.”

bang.

(it’s dark when the two of you return; you’re thankful for it when you have to hobble back to your bedroll on shaky legs. you think you hear dutch clap arthur on the back, ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing—)

[greensaplinggrace]

contemplating an au where arthur ends up as a ward of the law after his father dies and is working kind of parallel to law enforcement when he meets the van der linde gang

[fluffypotatey]

Okay, but like...what if in "Queen of Hearts," Arthur followed through on his threat before Morgana did her sorcery frame-up, and he and Gwen just dipped (with Merlin, obviously)? Like, he leaves an Official Statement of Resignation on his desk with his signet ring, renouncing his claim to the throne and all that? The three of them are halfway to Essetir before anyone notices they're gone.

And on the way, they just happen to chance across some smugglers? Logic dictates that Tristan and Isolde started their hustle during Uther's reign for them to be as good as they are in S4 when Arthur had only been king a few months tops. They're still initially suspicious, ofc, but they warm up a lot faster considering the situation, and they're always down with someone who says "fuck the king" with their whole chest. The trio takes up with them bc they're always on the move and make a living on not being found, which is exactly what they need rn because Uther will be looking for them.

But if they want to stay, they gotta contribute. House rules.

Now, insofar, Tristan and Isolde are strictly transport. They're more or less fences. They don't do the actual theft part. But the trio can. Arthur can blend right in with the rich people they rip off, and he's bougie enough to pick out the Good Shit and pass on the knockoffs. Merlin and Gwen can blend right in with the servants to case the joint and swipe the goods, not to mention Gwen's knowledge of metalworking means being able to dismantle jewelry pieces without damaging them and making them untraceable, and Merlin can cover their tracks with magic (he'd have told them after they left) and create distractions as needed.

Arthur does have a small crisis when he realises he makes a better grifter than a prince, but then it's just really funny. He is now the Once and Future King of Thieves. Tristan and Isolde are the envy of the black market scene bc of their "secret weapons."

Bonus points if this is how they meet the rest of the squad bc legit the only knight that isn't a confirmed criminal is Percival, but he's also besties with Lancelot, so it's implied he might be.

Knights of the Criminal Enterprise.

you could have just kissed me on the spot you know

[twola]

Would it be possible to get some high honor!Arthur x reader thigh riding? 👀 Love your characterization of him!!

Y'all want the heck out of this specifically. I have three requests for the same thing! Here you go😚

-

Thank God for whiskey.

No, specifically, Arthur Morgan wants to thank a God he had never thought much of to bless him with whiskey tonight. It’s warm in his belly - the calmness of slight inebriation coursing through veins.

Your blush-stained cheeks are downright adorable as you reach toward him, leaning against that tree. He was not in the most social of moods tonight, smoking a cigarette further away from the campfire than usual. You float to him, your path not quite a straight line, but your eyes shine with just the right amount of gaiety.

"Mister Morgan, why are you out here by y'self?" Your foot glances against a root of the large tree and you stumble forward, and immediately Arthur drops his cigarette to catch you, his hands quickly circling your waist, steadying you and helping you to stand again.

"Watch out there, sweetheart. Almost took a tumble there."

"Nuh-uh, you caught me." You laugh, your hands moving to grip his forearms, "Knew you would."

"Now that's puttin' quite a bit of faith in me." He retorts, but does not remove his hands from you. You do not remove your hands from him.

"Some goddamn faith." Your voice lowers to imitate the boisterous leader of the gang, but you can barely finish the sentence without devolving into giggles.

Arthur snorts, half a grin sliding across his face.“C’mon, should get you to bed there.”

"Nooo, come with me. Wanna show you somethin."

Somehow, some way, you’ve dragged him further away from the campfire, back a bit into the woods. You point to a fallen log in the small clearing and he chuckles as he follows your order.

"Now what did you want to show me?" Arthur groans softly as he sits, his back sore from a day in the saddle.

You smile, stepping closer to where he perches.

"Nothin, just wanted to do this." You lean in immediately, before he can recoil and press your lips to his for a moment.

He stares, flabbergasted, but that gives you the opportunity to climb in his lap without any resistance, your hands grabbing greedily at his shirt as you perch yourself on one of his legs, facing him.

At that point, he gains just a bit composure and grabs your hips as you yank on the black bandana he has tied around his neck. Your lips mash together again, and after several moments, one of his hands trails up your back to wrap around the nape of your neck as he opens his mouth to you, and you greedily accept with a loud moan.

He cannot help but to groan in response, his tongue pressing into your mouth as your arms fly around his shoulders.

Thank God for whiskey.

He loses track of time there, tongues pressing against each other, his hands roaming all over your back, yours carding through his shorn hair.

It isn’t long until your rocking your hips atop him, and when you give a whine as you fully straddle his saddle-hewn thigh, he swears he goes lightheaded as all of his blood runs south.

Christ, you’re moaning like a whore as you dig your fingers into his shoulders, dragging your cunt along the hard bone of his femur. So damn close to his steel-hard cock, your thigh brushes it and his teeth carefully latch down on your shoulder. He needs to stifle the groan threatening to escape somehow.

You pant in his ear, whining in a needy high register as you thrust your hips back and forth, aided by his large hands clenched around your hips.

“That’s it, c’mon there darlin’, I know you’re gettin’ close.” He rumbles into your skin, tone husky and voice rough.

Christ, he’s getting close himself. Your desperate mewling and grinding of your cunt down on his leg has got him bucking up to meet you, his fingers digging into your skirts.

“Ar- Art- ngh - Arthur-” You moan, and he cups your ass fully, dragging you over his thigh.

Thank God for whiskey.

You’re goddamn beautiful when you come, your head thrown back, hips thrown hard against his leg, he swears he can feel a dampening spot on his trousers from your cunt.

One large hand flies up from your hips as you begin to still and yanks at your blouse, exposing the swell of your breast. He immediately moves his lips upon it, a mouthful of your skin stifling the groan as his hips buck up. He pulls you with his other hand, your thigh flush up to the bulge in his pants, and you whimper as he sucks on your breast hard.

A ring of teeth make indentations in your skin as he bucks up and spends himself in his pants.

It’s a moment before he unlatches his mouth from your breast, skin spit slicked and red.

The two of you stare at each other, panting, hair askew, breathless. Suddenly sober enough to realize what you had just done. Your slick noticeable along the seam of your bloomers. His spend cooling within his union suit.

Arthur internally curses.

Shit, did you regret what you just did? Was the fire in you just the whiskey burning off? Of course it was, how could a pretty, sweet little think like you want an old, washed up outlaw like him?

You frown slightly as he can feel his cheeks burning red with shame. In an instant, your hands move from his shoulder to the collar of his shirt, and you yank him into a smothering kiss. He is only surprised for a moment before his hands fly to your ass again, and he pulls you flush against him. Maybe in the morning, you’ll blush when you look at him with that pretty little smile.

Maybe you’ll wake up in his arms.

Thank God for whiskey.

[look-at-the-soul]

Every little thing you do- Part 1

Tommy Shelby x reader

Series Master list

✨So first part is finally here!! Please be aware this part is set to happen in different days therefore you’ll see a little divider in the middle… and also! There’s violence. Please note I’m trying to follow the ideas/education from back in the day so it won’t necessary fit for today’s way of seeing things.

Word count: 2,977

Waving her sister goodbye, Y/N headed outside. But to her surprise she found Scott stopping his vehicle.

“Hello sweetheart.” He greeted her with a quick kiss on her lips, she stepped back immediately in case her mother was watching behind the curtains.

“Scott, I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

“We’ll I lied and said I felt sick to get out earlier.”

This wasn’t something he’d do, but she listened to his explanation.

“I wanted to see you.”

Y/N looked over her shoulder, her parents were strict.

“You know you’re only invited for lunch and tea on Sundays.”

“I know, I know.” He moved back retrieving something from the car. “Got you these.”

“I love them, thank you.” Y/N pressed the bouquet of flowers against her chest, the fresh aroma invading her, a smile growing in her lips.

“Why don’t you go back inside and put them in water? Then meet me at the bakery around the corner.”

“Where are we going?”

Scott gave her a wide smile that took her breath away. “It’s a surprise, you’ll like it.”

Butterflies got spread all over her stomach, the expectation building. She hurried to the unexpected date.

“Listen, I want to apologize for acting shitty the other day.” Scott announced. “Can you forgive me love?”

Y/N nodded eagerly, pleased by his change of heart.

“It’s alright, just be careful next time.” Y/N suggested as he drove.

“Careful?”

“You shouldn’t have talked Tommy that way.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “There you go again, defending him. This why we fight.”

“No, Scott I don’t want a war between you two all the time, he didn’t like the way you talked to me.”

“Why does he always sticks his bloody nose in our business?”

“It’s not like that.”

“He’s always standing in the middle, I’m sick of getting orders from him, he leaves me the worst jobs just to please himself, he’s got people to do those things. I thought they wanted me to do other things, not to clean horses shit.”

“Scott I can’t interfere in your role among the gang, he already has done more than enough.”

“There it is, you’re defending him instead of being on my side…”

Y/N realized how unintentionally she always put Tommy on a pedestal, her boyfriend was right, feeling like he was belittled. She knew Tommy didn’t like him, and there was a possibility that she wasn’t impartial.

“I’ll see what I can do.” She finally gave in, not wanting to spend their time together fighting.

“That’s my girl.” He stopped the car on the sideway and began to shower her face with soft kisses.

”Do you need anything else?” Lizzie walked around the desk, resting against the bookshelf.

“What happened with the contracts you couldn’t find?” Tommy asked leaning back on his chair.

“Arthur took them by mistake.”

“Keep those locked.” He pointed a finger at her.

“Are you going to Karl’s birthday party?” She tried batting her eyelashes at him, but Tommy wasn’t looking at her.

“Yes, in a minute.”

Lizzie looked down at him again, hoping he’d ask her to join him.

“Heard Ada bought a huge cake.”

Tommy took his briefcase and hummed nonchalantly.

“I wrapped you a present for Karl, take it before you leave.”

She didn’t get a response.

Giving up to her wishes to be invited with the Shelby family, Lizzie shook her head. Collecting the remains of her dignity from the floor.

Tommy followed her with his eyes as she stomped her foot on her way out but dismissed it a few seconds later, not understanding her attitude.

The office was quiet when he crossed it, everyone had headed home already and his family were already in Polly’s house.

This was the first time he left considerably early in a long time. The need to release some stress made him reach for a cigarette. He had a dozen of things to do, a trip to London in the upcoming days, visit one of the fabrics… before he realized, Tommy parked outside Polly’s property.

Karl’s celebration was a rare family gathering. For his brothers birthdays they’d usually went to camp close to the river and drink all night. He wasn’t used to paper decorations and chocolate cake.

A small figure crashed against his legs. “Oh oh.”

Looking down, he found one of John’s kids. Was this Kate? Or Barbara?

“Careful.”

“There you are.” John appeared with a sandwich in his hand. “Go with your siblings.” He instructed his daughter.

“John.” Tommy called him mysteriously, with his hand motioning his brother to step closer. “Wipe your fucking mouth, you’ve got chocolate all over it.”

Stepping into the living room, he joined his family.

“Uncle Tommy!” Karl ran towards him with his arms open.

Tommy rubbed the kid’s back and offered him his present. “Happy birthday Karl.”

“Thank you!”

“Looks like you owe me money Pol.” Ada chuckled as she helped her son open his present.

Tommy looked from his sister to his aunt, studying them.

“Damn it. I thought he wasn’t going to show up.”

“So you made a bet?” He asked in disbelief.

He usually wouldn’t. But when it came to his sister, he made an effort.

“Where’s Y/N?” Polly asked with a frown.

“I sent her the invitation, thought you’d arrive together.” Ada explained staring at her brother.

But Tommy shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen or heard from her.”

“Shit! Pol! Help me out here!” John shouted holding his son James in his arms, he was bleeding and crying. “Smashed his fucking head.”

As Ada rushed to get some clean towels, Polly tried to comfort the child.

Stepping away from the chaos, Tommy leaned against a column to think he actually hadn’t seen Y/N in almost a week. A million thoughts filling his mind, trying to find a reason for her to be distant.

He needed to know if she was alright because she had always been close to the family, she was always considered part of it to all their gatherings; she was there for them at Freddy’s funeral, at John’s wedding…

“Now that we’re here all together, I’ve something to say.” Arthur announced stepping on a chair, oblivious that Esme and Polly were taking care of a bleeding child.

As the room went quiet, Arthur announced he and Linda were expecting a baby.

“Congratulations.” Esme managed to blurr through gritted teeth. “Now help me hold James, because I need to rearrange his arm.”

As Arthur walked past Tommy, his brother patted his arm and mumbled a low congratulations.

But the thought of Y/N not being with them, stuck in his head.

Y/N felt like sleeping on the couch. Her feet were swollen, Lady Winchester lost one of her precious earrings and decided to put everyone in the search until they found it under her vanity hours later.

Oddly her family decided to stay up late apparently as she could see the candles still on. But just as she set one foot inside, her mother pushed her abruptly.

“You’re a dishonorable daughter! We gave you everything!” One of her hands intended to land on her cheek but hit her on her ear instead.

“What happened?”

“Y-your aunt says you’re with a child, she saw you this morning and came to ask me.” Y/N’s mother was furious.

A woman came into view, her sister poking her head from the kitchen as her mother pushed her into the room next to it and closed the door. She demanded Y/N to undress and started touching her breasts.

“She’s with a child.” The elder woman confirmed, her hands still on her breasts.

Y/N’s face got paler by the second. Her mother gave the woman money and asked discretion.

A heavy silence filled the room, Y/N could hear a pin drop if someone threw one. Dizziness swept over her as her palms started to sweat.

“Your father will be so disappointed by you.” Her mother sentenced firmly. “You’re a whore, this sin will follow you from now on.”

Blood went to Y/N’s feet and she had to grab the vanity for support.

“You’ll tell Scott tomorrow and get him to ask your father’s permission to marry you before you start showing.” Y/N could hear her mother’s words as if she was underwater.

“I’ll save him the embarrassment, perhaps you can go to your grandmother’s house and hide there…” she was pacing the room as a maniac, Y/N was starting to process everything, she could hardly breathe.

“I didn’t know I could get pregnant without being married.”

Y/N’s mother laughed sarcastically. “It’s too late for that now, you should’ve waited until you got married!”

“You never told me this could happen.” Y/N felt on the edge of tears.

“I educated you with values, God only knows what you learned from that friend of yours.” Her mother mumbled something else Y/N couldn’t understand. Slowly she sat on the carpet, her skirt pooled around her hips and she finally sobbed. When one day Scott touched her breasts and it felt nice, electricity ran through her body. But he stopped right there. Then after taking her to the river, one of his hands sneaked under her skirt and moved her intimate clothes to the side and her body trembled. A week after that, he was about to start a fight with Tommy, for the night when they arrived after visiting Tommy’s new house. So in an attempt to make up for that fight, he took her to the river again and after kissing her, he told her he wanted to do something else. It had been over a month since she stepped in the middle of Tommy and Scott.

Y/N didn’t know she could feel such pleasure until he introduced himself into her body and she exploded of ecstasy. It felt right, he said he loved her and they went back a few days later.

Scott had said this should be between just the two of them, just as their love. But he never told her she could get pregnant.

Worry kept her up all night. She felt sorry for her poor father.

Covering her face with her hands, Y/N felt the tears rolling down her cheeks uncontrollably.

“Scott,” Y/N breathed with relief, all the worry from the past days when she hadn’t been able to reach out soon, forgotten. “I need to talk to you.”

“Y/N… I’ve to rest, haven’t had a decent sleep yet. Can we talk about this another day?” He had been out of the city, busy with God knows what, but this was important for her, for them, for their future.

Y/N studied their surroundings carefully, trying to keep her voice from shaking she placed her hands on his shoulders.

“We’re going to have a child, Scott I’m carrying your baby.” She whispered.

Scott blinked unamused by the news, his nostrils expanding profusely. Y/N wanted to reach out, to throw herself in his arms but as they were outside his house, she had to control herself. Keep her distance with him and behave accordingly.

But when he took a step back, she felt confused.

“I-I’m… this must be a mistake.”

“No, no. There’s a baby growing inside me.” She repeated, keeping her voice down. “We’ll need to figure out about the wedding, it’ll have to be something intimate and soon before it starts showing…”

“I’m not going to marry you.” Scott scoffed. “How can I be sure this child is mine? You could’ve slept with someone else just as you did with me.” He mocked her.

Before she could stop herself, Y/N found her hand flying to his cheek. Her palm tingled after the slap she gave him.

“How could you say something like that?”

“Don’t you ever dare to fucking touch me again!” He snapped. “And as for this little inconvenient… I’m not taking responsibility, you’re on your own.”

He gave her a disgusted look and walked inside his house. Leaving Y/N turned into a crying mess, she was hurt and disappointed by his reaction and terrified of the outcome.

Her mother sent her to talk to Scott to arrange the terms of the wedding and now she just realized he didn’t have her back. But what was worse, he thought she would sleep around like a whore.

Folding her arms, she walked with her head down. Guilt and embarrassment written all over her face. How would she deal with this? How would she tell her mother what Scott just said? She had been so sure she’d be able to hide it from her father by marrying Scott but now she was left in the worst possible way.

She cried uncontrollably feeling defeated, it was now too late to do something, but at the same time she didn’t know how she’d take care and raise a baby by herself.

“Where’s Scott?” Her mother hissed when her daughter appeared in her eyesight.

Y/N couldn’t speak, something heavy made her walk slowly. Her whole world was crashing down and now she’d have to face the consequences.

“He told me he wouldn’t take responsibility for a child who might not be his.” As the words left her mouth, she started crying again.

“Of course he would say that! What did you think Y/N?!” Her mother exploded. “He must think the worst of you now, how easily you have yourself away to him!”

“He told me he loved me!” Managed to shout through her tears and sobs.

Her mother’s hand flew rapidly and hit her hard.

A heavy silence surrounded them. Her cheek was burning from her mother’s slap.

“Leave Y/N!” Her grandmother intervened.

“She deserved that.” Her mother explained, she was beyond angry.

Y/N’s grandmother wrapped an arm around her granddaughter protectively.

“What happened?”

“Tell her, go on… tell your grandmother what you did.”

Y/N kept her head down, she felt like she couldn’t look her grandmother in the eyes. She had failed them terribly, the values and principles they had showed her were thrown through the window.

“No? Well, I’ll tell her myself.” Her mother warned. “Y/N didn’t wait until marriage, she gave herself away like a whore and is now with a child. Couldn’t keep her legs closed.”

“Well we’ll think of something, she won’t start showing right away.”

“There’s nothing to think mother, Scott is out of the picture he didn't accept the responsibility.”

“But he’s as responsible as Y/N.” Her grandmother pointed out thinking this wasn’t fair on Y/N.

“Your granddaughter’s honor is right on the floor, he even suggested the baby isn’t his.”

Y/N saw her mother pacing around the small room, it was making her feel sick.

“And your father arrives tomorrow… should we send her with your sister to Durham?” She pondered the possibilities thinking of her mother’s sibling.

“Absolutely not.” Her grandmother defended.

“Then what? What are we going to do?”

Y/N felt sick and rushed away from them. Her head was pounding, her stomach in a tight knot and her heart shattered into million pieces.

“Ma’am you can’t go in there.” Tommy heard from outside his office, then saw the door swing open.

“Mr. Shelby you’re the only one who can help me.”

Tommy rose to his feet in a second, the worry he found in Y/N’s grandmother raised all the alarms.

“What happened?”

“My son in law is hitting Y/N badly.” Her voice cracked, her hands reached for the sleeve of his suit. “You’ve to help her.”

Tommy took his coat from the rack and rushed to see what was happening.

“John, get Polly and meet me in Y/N’s house.” He demanded.

“I’ll go with them Mr. Shelby.” Y/N’s grandmother expressed, not wanting to make him wait.

Tommy doubted for a second, but with her hand, the elder woman ushered him, so it must be serious. Stepping in Y/N’s house without knocking because he heard her cries and pained screams from outside, but Tommy wasn’t prepared to find what he’d see.

Y/N was in the middle of the living room half her clothes shattered, kneeling on the floor and her upper body leaned over a chair, her back covered by the belt marks and blood.

He felt a rush of anger and disgust through his body. Tommy could practically taste his bile in his mouth, but as Y/N’s father was about to hit her again, he stepped in his way, holding the man’s hand firmly in the air.

“You touch her again, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Stay out of this Shelby, I’m dealing with this whore.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself or you’ll regret it.” Tommy muttered through gritted teeth.

John joined him with a couple of some of their men, they went straight to hold Y/N’s father away from her.

Y/N winced in pain when Tommy tried to help her up.

“This is a family matter!” Y/N’s mother shouted disturbed for the interruption. “You should respect that.”

“Yeah? Just like you’re respecting your daughter?” Tommy snapped, he lost all self control over this injustice.

“She has to deal with the consequences of her acts! Behaved like a whore, gets punished like one.”

Y/N felt her mother’s words like daggers to her heart. She wasn’t sure what felt more hurtful; her father’s hitting her with his belt or her mother’s words.

Tommy felt like throwing up, he apologized when he got Y/N in his arms and she complained from the pain.

“You can’t take her away!” Her mother warned, trying to stop Tommy.

He gave her a warning stare and mumbled; “watch me.”

Part 2

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[arthursfuckinghat]

Nothing can describe the way my heart shattered when Arthur asked if Dutch was going to go look for him after he was kidnapped by Colm in chapter 3- all he got was a "Oh of course, son" in the most pitiful, unassured tone of voice I'd ever heard from Dutch.

The three of them had set up a meeting point at "the fork in the road" if the O'Driscoll parlay went south, Arthur seemingly disappeared and didn't return for another day or so until he was physically crawling trying to get back to camp, and still nobody questioned where he was?

Yes, it's typical for Arthur to wander and find his own way home after missions, but the key word is AFTER. Arthur disappeared DURING the meeting and didn't regroup at the designated rendezvous point AFTERWARDS.

Especially dealing with the likes of the O'Driscolls, wouldn't that ring some kind of alarm? If not from Dutch or Micah, then wouldn't anybody else at the camp question it?

I imagine an (exaggerated) conversation like this probably happened if anyone at camp asked:

"Hey Dutch how was the meeting with the O'Driscolls?"

"It went fine we talked a bit then they left suddenly so weird"

"Where's Arthur then?"

"Oh I don't know we didn't see him after we split up for the meeting haha probably wandered off again typical Arthur"

God, if you're going to treat Arthur like the gang's workhorse, then act like you care about him at least.

Arthur is strong, but he isn't invincible.

[immajustvibehere]

Amidst a Crashing World (3/5)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Summary: Arthur returns to your cabin after you presumed him dead. The time between your last meetings have lead Arthur to a realisation.

tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no-tb-Arthur, literally your love redemption, maybe smut (but probably not), slow burn (but I mean how slow can a story really burn in five chapters?)

masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

6000 words

Sooner than expected, you heard of Arthur. Unfortunately, not because he sent you a note or stopped by again. As you rode into Annesburg three days after wishing him luck for the big score he had planned, the paper boys yelled through the town: "Saint Denis robbers still on the run! What happened to the gang of Dutch van der Linde? Find out in today's edition!"

Normally, you weren't too big on reading the newspaper, but this time…you hadn't never snatched it so quickly out of the boy's hand, leaving him to boast with the change you gave him. Hosea, dead. Lenny, dead. No account of any other names. You weren't sure who "a further gang member was arrested and awaits trial" meant. It only took a couple of days until everybody seemed to talk about it. Your main source of income being doing women's hair, you got a fair bit of gossip about the news.

Everything you heard from the ladies, took with a grain of salt. Either way, nobody ever mentioned Arthur by name. Your anxiety reached its peak when a rather well-off woman, not typically your demographic, had visited family in Saint Denis and brought an unsettling theory with her. Apparently, the most important members of the gang, including the leader, could have fled on a boat and drowned in the storm that was raging over the ocean the same night.

The "they have fled the country"-rumours were the most popular. Drowned in the ocean or not, the version varied based on who told you their theory. With every day you didn't hear the contrary and had no word from Arthur, you believed that you'd never see him again.

That was until one morning. You were working in your garden, busy with fixing the fence that had long stood neglected, when you saw a rider approach. Whether it was the hat or the horse you recognized first, you weren’t sure. But unmistakenly, the man on the horse that lazily trotted towards your cabin was Arthur.

You put your tools down and approached him, forcing yourself to walk calmly. The closer you got, the more unfamiliar he appeared. His beard had grown out, looking unkempt and way too long for what you were used to see him wear. Long strands of hair spilled out from under his hat. Arthur’s skin was darker than usual, even the unforgiving desert in the west hadn't left his skin as sunburned as it now appeared. Most of the red had settled into a golden-brown tan, particularly strong around the area where he cuffed his sleeves. For not seeing him for almost a month, this was quite a change.

A faint smile appeared on his lips when you reached him and walked next to his horse, leading it to your cabin.

"I thought I'd never see you again", you blurted out straight up.

Maybe a “Hello” or “Thanks for stopping by” would have been more appropriate, but the thought that had driven you insane the last three to four weeks just slipped out.

"I know. I'm sorry", Arthur jumped off his horse when you had reached your newly fixed gate. He looked at you, trying to take it all in. He had missed you; he had thought of you so much the last days and weeks, having you in front of him was a little overwhelming. But you looked like he remembered you. You weren’t wearing your fine clothes that you had worn when you caught him in your pond, but the worn jeans and shirt that had seen many fences painted and potted many plants looked good on you. It looked homely.

Arthur cleared his throat before he asked, "D'ya still cut hair?"

It was awkward...the ways he pronounced his question, the uncomfortable manner in which he scratched his way too long beard, seemingly unhappy with its new length.

Before you could answer, he added sarcastically: "Tried finding a barber on the Caribbean island but didn't came across someone I wanted to trust with scissors."

"Caribbean island?", you repeated questioningly, leading him into the cabin.

The tension between you felt peculiar. If tension were a tangible thing, you could have thrown a lasso and seemingly strangled it out of the air. But it wasn’t, so you and Arthur only struggled with finding your rhythm again.

"I came as soon as I could after returning...", Arthur explained apologizing, as if he had to rectify not visiting you sooner.

"Arthur. I thought you were dead", in front of your table, you stopped and looked directly at the man.

"'m afraid I have to disappoint", he chuckled, "Instead I'm here, asking ya for a cheap haircut because we lost...ten thousands in the sea."

"Ugh", you groaned, readying a chair for Arthur to sit on right at the table, "You sound so desperate, I might just give ya that haircut for free."

Arthur placed his jacket on a hinge next to the door and his hat on a free spot on the table. Again, it felt like he knew exactly where to place them, just as if he was coming home after a workday.

"Where d'ya want me, miss?", Arthur asked politely as if he had just entered a barber shop and there wasn't only one chair that looked prepared enough to serve as seat for his cut. You pointed at the chair a little absentmindedly, gathering your equipment and laying it out in the table in front of you.

"How short were you thinking?", you asked, walking around the seated man, ruffling his hair a little.

"Whatever you prefer", Arthur answered.

"What's that supposed to mean?", you asked, letting your finger scrape through his hair. His hair was wet at the roots, so you added surprisedly, "Did you just take a bath?"

"Might 've...", Arthur shrugged as if it was no big deal.

"You didn’t have to”, you reassured him, secretly amused by how endearing you found it.

"You wouldn't say that if you’d seen me before the bath. After three days in the Caribbean, killing half of the Pinkerton's agency and moving camp, you would have shot me on sight", Arthur joked, a bitter smile playing on his lips. Your answer was a soft chuckle.

After combing his hair, you repeated you question: "You're sure you don't want me to tell you how you want your hair done?"

"I trust ya", Arthur said.

"Mh, big mistake", you grinned. You caught Arthur's eye for a moment, and you could have sworn it was admiration in his expression. And trust, which honestly, was seldom for this man.

"I'll just cut it a little shorter than you had it when you first came to collect me", you said, waiting for his confirmation.

"...collect you and failed miserably at that", Arthur added.

"I thank the lord every day for that", you said jokingly. It was no laughing matter, though. You knew that as well as Arthur. The list of people the gang had lost in the last two months was long and you not rejoining was probably the only thing that had kept your name off that list.

You started doing Arthur's hair and one minute in, you decided to carefully pose the question of "What the hell happened the last couple weeks?". Arthur couldn't stop talking. He explained the plan of the bank robbery, explained when it went south. When Hosea was mentioned, he digressed a little. You too ended up sharing some anecdotes of the old man. You had loved him and felt a pang of guilt that you hadn't sent word to him that you were indeed fine. Hosea had been so kind to you when you expressed your wish to be on your own for a while, he had wished you the best and you had never even thought about sending a letter.

Then Arthur mentioned escape from Saint Denis. Your mouth went dry when Arthur recounted the storm, how he went overboard, nearly drowning and not knowing how lucky he was that he washed ashore on a beach. It was uncanny how some of the rumours you had heard mirrored the actual story.

Then came Guarma and everything that happened there. The return, the Pinkertons apparently following someone to Lagras and finally the move to Beaver's Hollow. They had been up there for a couple a couple of days now, and so much had already happened.

You listened, occasionally asked a question, but most of the time you were concentrating on not messing up the haircut. You had never heard Arthur talk that much before. Sober, that is. He can be quite a chatty drunk, but it seemed like he just wanted to get everything off his chest.

"How does that look?", you asked when you were done with his hair, holding a little mirror for Arthur to see.

His only response was a nob and a slight smile.

"Okay then", you spoke gently, "your beard's next."

The whole retelling of the last couple of weeks was what Arthur needed, but it killed his mood the same time. At least, that's what you though he was silent for. You cleared a spot on the table for you to sit on. It was way more comfortable sitting in front of Arthur while trimming his beard, but if you sat on a chair, you wouldn't have the height you needed.

You took a seat on the table in front of Arthur and noticed how his eyes immediately fixed on the ground.

"D'ya mind spreading your legs a little?", you asked. Despite the request confusing him a little, Arthur did as he was told and you put your on foot on his chair, so you wouldn't topple forward. Arthur tried his best to stifle the cough that worked its way up as he choked on his own saliva at this move.

"We're not going for a clean shave, are we?", you asked casually, trying to catch Arthur's eyes. He shrugged: "Whatever's easier for you."

You shook your head and began to trim his beard back to what you remembered he had the last time he visited you. Soon after you started, you noticed Arthur's cheeks getting warm and red. You were well aware that your cleavage was on his eye-level, probably the reason why he decided he was better off inspecting the floor. Meanwhile, you enjoyed gently tilting his head the way you needed it, finding no resistance from the man himself.

You talked only little, answering insignificant questions Arthur posed when the blade wasn't near his face, and he could actually move his mouth. You were almost done, only lining up his beard to give it an overall cleaner look, when Arthur said something out of the blue.

"Y'know, I been thinkin' about you. A lot," Arthur croaked, his throat dry all of a sudden.

"Mhm", you answered, not sure which direction that was supposed to go. You stopped shaving off the stubble on his neck when his Adam’s apple bobbed.

"Uh, I mean...", Arthur clears his throat, forcing you to stop the shave and look at him. Finally, his eyes found yours, "We're...uhm...friends, I hope." He forced a little chuckle that didn't sound genuine, especially under your curious gaze. You gave a quiet hum as sign of agreement.

"'s just that I...look, I understand if ya've found someone else. Hell, I took my sweet time and it wasn't fair how I treated you when you...", Arthur cleared his throat again, the words coming difficult to him, "when ya told me about yer feelings."

This was the point when your heartrate picked up and you felt your hands become sweatier. You had to put the blade down for a moment to wipe your hand on your shirt. Your mind was still caught on the line 'I understand if ya've found someone else'...like that had even been an option for you. For months you had tried to get over this man, then he came back waltzing into your life and you put your own ugly bounty poster on the wall as a reminder. And the you fixed the bedframe that he had fixed rather unsatisfyingly. You hadn't told him it broke the very same night he had “repaired” it. Nothing had changes the last year, you were pining as much for this man as ever...and yet, you didn't quite know how to react.

"I really like ya", he finally said, " I know well I don’t deserve it, but if ya wanted to give me another chance…"

"Morgan", you exhaled, "I got my boot between your balls and a blade at your throat...if you want to pull my leg I suggest you-"

"I mean it", and Arthur's gaze was so intense, this time it was you who struggled to watch him in the eye. You knew he wasn't lying. Hell, you hadn't really expected that he was just pulling your leg, you just said it to say something…to lighten up the mood that appeared so heavy again.

"Okay", you mumbled, barely able to disguise the tremor in your voice. Then you took the blade again, carefully turning Arthur's head upwards so you could better reach the hair you still needed to shave. There was this long and uncomfortable silence that neither of you wanted to break. You heard the birds outside, the blade scratching the skin and a heartbeat...if it was yours or Arthur's, you weren't quite sure.

Arthur thought that Guarma had been hell, but he found that your silence and okay was even more tortuous.

Finally, you were done. With a hairdressing brush you got rid of all the loose hair that decorated Arthur’s face. He gave you a slightly annoyed look as you tickled him behind his ears. Then you took the little towel that had prevented hair from falling into his shirt out in the garden to shake it out.  

The moment you stepped into the cabin again, Arthur's eyes caught yours and they were demanding an answer.

"I've never stopped loving you", the words burned as they left your mouth. The towel was thrown over an empty chair. Saying the words out loud…it changed something. Because as long as you had only thought them, there was this slim chance that they weren’t true. But there was no backing-out now, no denying.  

You continued: "But I can't...I won't rejoin the gang. I want to live here."

You said that because you knew that Arthur wouldn’t leave the gang for you, but you wouldn’t rejoin in either.

"Y/n...this thing is pretty much over", Arthur sighed. He was referring to the gang. He had alluded to it when he had recounted the happenings of the past weeks, especially breaking John out of jail and earning Dutch's disapproval. This was the first time he directly admitted it, "I want the Marstons safe...and the women...then it's done."

"Oh, so 'one more big score and then you can leave everything behind", you mimicked Dutch's voice. A tinge of animosity accompanied your words and this certainly wasn’t lost on Arthur. You couldn’t help but feel a bit unfairly placed in this situation.

"C'mere for a second", Arthur beckoned you, his eyes following every one of your movements until you stood in front of him, your hips brushing against the table. Arthur remained seated in his chair. Glancing at the man quickly, you congratulated yourself on having done a good job; his haircut looked sharp.

Then, suddenly, Arthur took your hand. It was such an unusual gesture, it alarmed you immediately. His hands were warm and rough, but not in an unpleasant way. Arthur held your hand lightly, as if he was afraid of hurting you.

"I promise this is the last time. In a week, we're going to hit a train with army pay. Wednesday evening. After that, I'm done", Arthur spoke earnestly.

"I can't-" believe you, you wanted to say, because you knew it had been the same story with Mary. You knew that once an outlaw means always and outlaw. Not even Arthur's word was enough to ensure that those bonds wouldn't bind him to his old life and to the gang.

"Don’t say nothing yet", Arthur interrupted calmly. He stood up and let your hand slide off his, as he walked to his satchel. He pulled out his journal and carefully put it next to you. With no hesitation, he opened and skimmed through it. You couldn't see most of the pages because he flipped through them so quickly.

"It ain't even half-way done", Arthur assessed, showing you the empty pages, "I'll leave that here 'n collect it in a week."

"What?", you questioned, frowning, "What if I decide to read it as a bedtime story?"

"'s nothing in there that yer not allowed to know", Arthur mumbled, "Contrary. Sometimes I think I'm much better expressing my feelings on paper. I've never been a good talker."

Silently, Arthur opened a page in his journal that had a little dog-ear. The left side was empty and only had smudges of pencil on it, on the right side there was this impressively detailed bounty poster. It had the layout of the bounty posters they have hanging all over town, obviously it wasn't printed, but hand drawn. You recognized your name, your 15-dollars-worth and then yourself, staring back at you. You hadn't imagined Arthur to be one to draw people, let alone portrait style. In the brush of his pencil you recognized that he might be more professed in sketching trees and animals, but it was a perfectly decent drawing of you. Hell, it was even flattering, compared to the atrocity they had on your real poster.

Arthur put the journal away, leaving it on top of a pile of books on your nightstand.

"I jus' need t'know if this is a place I'm allowed to return to", Arthur finally asked.

"Always", you replied without hesitation, your gaze still fixed on his journal. Is he trying in tempting you to read it? Because if that's the case, it was definitely working.

"So I won't be greeted with a gun in my face?", Arthur chuckled.

You sighed, taking a brush that stood abandoned in the corner of the room and started to swipe Arthur's hair out of the house. "If you're going to bring that up one more time, I swear I'll give you a reason to fear me", you quipped.

"Oh, I already fear you a great deal", Arthur said sarcastically.

You shot him an intense gaze.

"You staying for dinner?", you asked in between the sound of bristles scratching on wood.

Arthur shrugged, mumbling: "They won't miss me for another day..."

"Good. Then go hunt something", you asserted, gently shoving him outside by brushing against his boots until he took the hint.

"Yes ma'am...", Arthur mumbled, a hint of amusement in his voice. When you had successfully shoved him outside, you closed the door behind him, not without a bit of force. It left him slightly perplexed and wondering.

You had tried your best to hold your feelings together, but it had become a little much. Since Arthur's confession, your hands hadn't stopped shaking and you hastily put the brush aside, sitting down with your back against the door. There were so many feelings inside you that all needed to be addressed, but you struggled to even detangle them.

First and foremost: You had spent months pining for Arthur, only to be rejected in a cruel way and then again wasting months in trying to get over him. Just when you thought you were getting somewhere, he comes back into your life with a request that suggests anything but care for you. So, he leaves, and appears again. Then leaves again, presumed dead or out of country and now he's here again, asking for another chance as if you even had the power to reject him. You didn't know if Arthur would be able to make you happy. In a way, you feared it might be the opposite because there was still one score...one more score. He might die, or he might stay for another score, and another, and so on.

You stifled a sob. Scenarios played out in your mind, and they all converged into two possible outcomes, ending with Arthur dead or disappeared, disappointing you yet and yet again because one can't just stop being an outlaw. The 5000 on his head won't just disappear, presumed or actually dead - it didn't matter much.

"Son of a bitch", you hissed, mad at the situation.

You just wanted to be happy and find some closure for this surge of emotions that had held you hostage for months, if not years.  

"Y/n?", Arthur's voice was so soft when he called out your name, you almost jumped in shock because you thought he had long gone hunting. But his voice came from right in front of the door.

"You okay?", he asked quietly.

"Yeah", you croaked, and it sounded anything but convincing.

"Ya sure?", he wanted you to confirm.

"I just need some time to think...", you whispered, trying hard not to sob.

"I'll stay close", you heard him state, then there were his steps leading away from the house.

For a while, you just sat on the floor. How to proceed?

By the time Arthur returned, the door to your cabin was wide open again, the sun shining inside. You had made your decision.

"I got us a rabbit", Arthur announced, "already skinned it. Figured it ain’t your kinda work."

You responded with an appreciative nod.

"It’s a real beauty”, Arthur grinned, a wisp of humour in his eyes, “or was, anyhow.  I shot it with a small arrow so I reckon the meat-“ before Arthur could put the rabbit down on the table, you had sneaked in for a hug.

"Oh", Arthur stuttered, carefully placing the rabbit down. He lifted his bloody and dirty hands in the air to make sure not to get any dirt on you. Even though you wore clothes that had seen better days and apparently had been demoted to housework, he still didn’t want to get you dirty. Despite his desire to reciprocate the hug.

"Y/n…", he chuckled apologetically, "I need to get washed up."

At that moment, you suddenly looked up to him, your faces mere inches apart. He noticed your gaze drifting between his eyes and lips, then you leaned in, placing a gentle peck on his cheek.

The blush was immediate. Your hands instinctively found their way to his face and tenderly cupped his cheeks. They were just as warm as they had been when you cut his beard.

"I'm really glad you're here", you said, a smile playing on your lips.

"Yeah, I'm-" Arthur began, but you interrupted him with a proper kiss. It was a brief one, testing the waters if Arthur would be fine with that. As you pulled back slightly to assess his reaction, he didn’t hesitate a second, closing the distance between you once more. "I really …don't wanna get ya…dirty", Arthur mumbled between kisses. He could feel the corner of your lips curving into a smile each time you interrupted him. The man struggled to keep his dirty hands in the air.

The kisses quickly became more passionate, and when your hands left his cheeks, one to rest in the hollow between his shoulder and neck, while the other one boldly explored his chest region. It occasionally shifted to grab his arm and squeezing lightly.

Arthur mumbled your name warningly, twice. Then he couldn't help but put his hand in the small of your back, pushing you closer. His bloody hands would surely leave a mark on your clothes, but neither of you cared about that, as his hands became just as active as yours, sometimes cupping your cheek, at other times allowing himself to explore your body a little.

Arthur had just enough control to not place you on the rabbit, when he lifted you up on the table. When both of you became short of breath, Arthur rested his forehead against yours. Your legs had snaked around his, caging him in.

"Haven't done that in a long time", Arthur's voice was raspy as he tried to apologize for the somewhat sloppy make-out session.

"Me neither", you giggled and placed a final kiss on his cheek, "brushed your hair for nothing", you noted, looking up to Arthur's tousled hair. Your fault.

Arthur backed away a little, as much as your legs allowed him: "Christ." He had left signific signs of blood and dirt all over you.

"Mhh…", you hummed amusedly, "Ain't my fault you can't keep your hands to yourself."

"T'way I see it, darling…", Arthur smiled and tried to brush some dirt off your cheek with his thumb, "it's precisely your fault."

Arthur had headed to a keg outside to get cleaned. You decided to get cleaned up only after butchering the rabbit, as this would get your hands dirty again anyways. As the meat sizzled in the in the pan, you decided it was time to wash up as well. While you put the finishing touches on the dish, Arthur sat at the table, leisurely smoking a cigarette and observing you. He had asked if he could help you with anything, but you had declined, insisting that he had already done his part by hunting the rabbit. It was your turn prepare it.

When you plated the meal, it was really nothing too complicated, and yet, Arthur thought, for a free meal, it was perfect. You initiated a conversation; it was more light-hearted than the one you had when you cut his hair. The weightier themes seemed to have lifted from Arthur’s heart, and both of you sought distractions.

You told Arthur more about how you passed your days, gardening, drawing, riding into town. Really most of the money you earned the honest way, cutting hair and doing the odd delivery job for the grocery store.

It was frightening how easy it was to talk to Arthur. Two or three years ago, you would have never imagined, talking so freely to him. Though he'd always been kind, there was an air of unapproachability that had since crumbled completely after the heartfelt conversation you both shared.

The conversation where Arthur poured out his frustrations and regrets concerning Hosea's and Lenny's death, had brought a sense of liberation. It dawned on him how long it had been since he spoke so openly with anyone. Arthur leaned back into his chair. In front of him was his empty plate, opposite of the table, you sat within arm’s reach, chatting about an interesting traveller that came past your cabin a few months back. Arthur listened attentively, his eyes following the movements of your fingers skilfully rolling a cigarette.

Neither of you ran out of stories to tell the other. Arthur talked about people he had met on his travels, a clumsy photographer, a man obsessed with fast horses and racing.

You only realised how long you had been talking when the light in the cabin became sparse, the sun sinking closer to the horizon.

As the visibility waned, limited to the faint glow emitted by the burning tip of the cigarette, you finally rose to your feet to illuminate the cabin with the warm light of lanterns.

"I'll get my bedroll", Arthur announced, standing up with a grunt. He hadn't allowed himself to be this idle in a long time. All he had done today was sitting still for a haircut, killing one rabbit and then indulging in a lavish meal while engaging in easy conversation. His body had finally caught up with the stress of the last few weeks and he didn't know how to feel about how much his body ached. Despite the sun barely disappearing, Arthur would have been ready for bed. Funny, he thought, admitting one’s feeling for a girl could drain his strength that much.

At his announcement, Arthur noticed that you halted and were about to open your mouth as if to suggest something. But you didn't and let him venture outside.

When he took longer than anticipated, you followed him outside, only to find him leaning against the fence, his eyes in the sky. The sky was in this beautiful transition phase, going from hues of purple to a serene shade of blue with the first stars emerging in the east. You observed Arthur’s profile for a while, he didn't protest or showed any signs of being disturbed by your presence.

He was handsome. Something about his stature made you want to lean into him. But you didn't. Instead, you stood there, finding it hard to peel your eyes off him. Your lips quivered under the urge to say what you had thought earlier. After a big breath, you tried to say as casually as you managed: "I know my bed is too small for two people...but I was thinking if I put the mattress on the floor we could-"

"Y/N", Arthur interrupted you gently. He turned to look at you. Caringly, his hand found your shoulder, "It ain't right just yet."

Lying next to each other, cuddling, hugging, maybe stealing another kiss, you craved it badly. You finally had what you had desired for so long, you wanted it all at once. But Arthur knew that it would be unwise. He thought a lot about you, hell he did. And in his mind, he'd be too embarrassed to admit it of course, you had done way more than just kissed. But he knew it'd be wrong. He didn't want to fully commit just yet, and he didn't want to get your hopes up. It was genuine, when he said that the train robbery was the last score he wanted to do with the gang, but one train robbery is enough to get killed and he wouldn't dream about giving you this kind of pain. If he held it vague, if there was no sleeping close to each other, there was also no missing this proximity...if. Always if.

"Fine", you sucked in a little air, "but you take the bed then."

The two of you headed inside, Arthur with his bedroll clamped under his arm.

He shook his head: "It's your house, I can't jus'-"

"Exactly. It's my house, I can sleep in the bed every damn day. Besides, I don't figure you had a proper bed on Guarma, did you?", you teased.

"No, but-"

"Neither do you have one in camp so please- accept it", you looked up at Arthur rather desperately.

"Fine. You don't come complainin' to me if yer back hurts tomorrow", Arthur quipped.

"Oh, I'll definitely complain", you grinned. Arthur gave you his bedroll to spread in the corner where he had slept the last time. Arthur had sat down on the bed and watched you quietly as you readied your sleeping corner. When you glanced back at him, it was evident how weary he was, his eyes barely open, sitting up only out of politeness.

"You don't have to stay awake for me", you smiled, leaning against the table and studying the exhausted man. You noticed how tired he had become during your conversation. He had at least supressed three yawns.

"I jus'...haven't seen ya for so long, I don't want to waste that time with sleeping", Arthur explained. You found it cute he thought that way.

"You're not wasting anything", 'because we'll see each other again in a week, right?' you added in your mind. "I have this book I want to finish anyways, you just rest", you assured him.

You waited until he had settled in, exchanging a couple laughs about how unstable your bedframe was, and then you did the dishes. It didn't take you long, but Arthur was asleep when you had finished. He was turned towards the wall. On the nightstand was his journal. He had put it on top of the book you were currently reading. You took the book and settled on the bedroll.

You woke up to the sound of the bed creaking and blinked at Arthur, the first rays of the sun casting a warm glow on his frame. At some point during the night, he must have woken up and shed his clothes, as he now rested in the room clad only in his unionsuit.

"'m sorry, darlin'. I didn't want to wake ya", he apologized his raspy morning voice.

"It's okay", you yawned, forcing yourself to throw off your blanket to stand up, "I'll make some coffee."

In a couple big steps, Arthur was at your side: "You sleep some more, it's my turn for breakfast." Arthur squatted next to you and tugged you in before you could protest. You forced your tired eyes to stay on his face and not venture further down, pondering what the thin material might reveal.

When Arthur shot you a content smile, seeing you were up for no protest, a wave of panic washed over you.

"You won't just leave, right?", all of a sudden, you were wide awake.

"I won't", Arthur assured you.

"'cause if you do-", you started, a yawn interrupting your threat. Arthur chuckled at how cute and innocent you looked, happy that your yawn cut off before you could destroy that innocence with another gory threat.

"I'm way too scared of what you'd do", and then, to your surprise, he kissed your forehead. You only relaxed when Arthur had stood up again and indeed started to set up coffee. You were soon off to sleep again, only woken when the sizzling of fat in the pan woke you.

Arthur had made eggs. You ate in silence. A couple of times, Arthur tried to start a conversation, but you weren’t in the mood. He’d be gone in a couple of hours and you’d be left wondering if he’d ever return. Arthur knew that this was what was plaguing you, but he didn’t find the right angle to approach you.

You both did the dishes together, you helped Arthur by saddling his horse and then he had mounted it, looking down at you.

“Ya ain’t so happy about the prospect of me returning in a week, ‘s that it?”, Arthur joked.

“No”, you answered dryly, “I ain’t so happy about you leaving for a week.”

Arthur sighed and steered his horse closer to the fence: “Climb up here, I gotta tell ya something.”

Rather unwillingly, you climbed on one of the horizontal planks that kept your fence together. Arthur offered his hand for support and as an excuse to pull you a little closer. He kissed you, gently, on your lips.

“I promised I’ll be back, didn’t I?”, Arthur mumbled. He wasn’t convinced, and neither were you when you whispered a dire “Yeah..”

You didn’t like the good-bye kiss. In fact, you wished he hadn’t done that. It hurt even more, seeing him disappear between the trees in the distance. For a while, you stood there helplessly, wondering what to do next. Minutes passed before you ventured into your cabin, distracting yourself with some cleaning before your eyes fell on Arthur’s journal. You noticed a piece of paper sticking out. Without thinking, you opened the journal and the loose paper floated to the ground. You didn’t even bother picking it up, your eyes caught the first word written on top of the page. It was your name, written in Arthur’s familiar handwriting.

“Hell no”, you kicked the paper under the bed before you could read any further. You weren’t up for some heartfelt “Good-bye, in case I die I want you to know this”-letter. Frustration and anger bubbled within you as you scrambled into your good jeans and crammed your revolver into its back pocket. With a swift motion, you picked up your hunting rifle, mounted your horse and started to follow Arthur’s track.

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

next chapter: here

Shoutout to @little-honeypie who basically wrote the confession scene. I wouldn't have ever finished this if it weren't for them <3

taglist: @photo1030

taglist for this series: @pinkiemme @loveheartarthur @twola @shiokitsune @missredemption @kakashiislut @thewalkingdead1463 @yyiikes @renwai @walk-in-sunshine @rdrlady @ivybeeloved @trinswhimsys @reddedmiller @chiefqueefsosa @sauvignon-velvet @mrsarthurmorgan @readingcoco @pookiesnatcher @gloomdoomraccoon

[writers-hes]

The Blind Man

You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn’t realize that war could change you both. (angst, depictions of abuse, poverty, prostitution, canon-typical themes, death, war, time jumps, depictions of mental illness, abusive marriage)

They finally meet.

PART 1 / PART 2

PROTECTION SERIES TAGLIST | PROTECTION MASTERLIST navigation

BIRMINGHAM, 1919

There was nothing discreet with how you dressed. You were in all black, a black veil shielding you from the onlookers. Simon sent some money to Johnny’s wife, Beth, for a proper wake. His house was filled with white flowers and proper food. It’s the least he could do, that’s what he said. You were sitting beside the widow, trying to console her.

“Johnny used to talk about you alot,” she weeped. “‘That’s my girl! That’s my daughter and she’ll go places!’ That’s what he always said. He told me how you grew up in the brothel and how you were always willing to listen to his lessons in arithmetic.” Her eyes were red from crying and all you could do was console her. “Thank you for taking care of him…for taking care of us,”

“It’s nothing, Beth,” you assured her. “He let me into his bunker when my mum died,” you recalled. “He protected me from…from…as much as he could, you know?”

God. Just how many people could you lose in this fucking lifetime? First, your father but you’ve never really weeped for him. You never knew him. Second, your mum. She took care of you with how little she had. Third, Tommy. You never heard back if he was alive or not. Your protector. Fourth, Big Johnny. He’s always been the male figure that you considered as your father. Who’s next?

“I’m grateful for him,” you managed to choke out. You asked your security guards to go somewhere else, maybe a few feet or metres from the house. You wanted privacy. “I’m just so regretful to never have seen him and now he’s gone…”

Johnny died because of a rumble with some of the newer gangs in Small Heath. Some young lads mugged him on the way home and killed him. They threw his body by the docks where they thought no one would ever see him.

Your body suddenly fills with rage. Was this the work of the Blinders? Fuck. Why would they fucking do that? Beth excuses herself from you and you nodded. Picking on the rings on your fingers, you didn’t notice who sat beside you. 

“Seems like we only see each other at weddings and funerals,” You gasped, looking at the source of the familiar voice. How could you ever forget? She told you what you needed to do to survive. 

“Polly,” you gasped, extending your shaky hands towards her. “How have you been?”

“I’m good,” she replied. “Who would’ve thought, huh?” she asked. She lets you clutch her hand for support. “Where’s Simon?”

“He has business in Camden Town,” you replied. “He allowed me to go but there’s security around us right now. We can’t really talk, Poll—he’s going to, he’s going to—“

“I’ve handled it,” she said. “You can talk to me as freely as you would like, okay?” You nodded. 

“I’m sorry for…for leaving,” you whispered. Your voice wavers and you feel the wetness in your eyes. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Darling…”

“He threatened to kill Tommy, Arthur, and John if I didn’t obey,” you confessed. “During the…the war,” You shut your eyes to hide from Polly. Her heart aches. You’ve always been reluctant to show your emotions but you are visibly hiding now. Cowering from the fear of rejection and of humiliation from Polly Gray. “He said that-that he knew people who could finish the job.”

“Don’t hide,” she coos. Your obedience was not in vain but she’d never tell you that. She didn’t want Tommy to act impulsively and she didn’t want you to lose what you already have. “How are you? You don’t need permission from a man, you know,”

“I know,” you nod. “You always told me but…Simon is all I have now. He trusts me and I don’t want to break that trust that I’ve worked so hard on. You told me to take advantage of everything and I am,”

“What have you been doing?”

“I have trusts, bonds, and investments to my name now. Simon couldn’t take them away from me. All sealed with a document that my lawyers reviewed,” you told her. Once a prostitute, always a prostitute.

“Johnny and I taught you well then,” she nods in approval. “That’s good. We miss you,”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Where’s Ada? I’ve to thank her for the house,”

“If anything, she has you to thank. She’s been going there a lot since you left. She said she feels more at peace there,” Polly replied. “When are you leaving?”

“After the burial,” you replied. “I have to leave and go to uh, Italy with Simon,”

“For what?”

“Some…business thing.” you replied. 

“He’s showing you the world?” she asked, gesturing to your clothes. You knew it. It was too much for a funeral.

“Yeah. It’s too much isn’t it? I can-I can change into something else but, he likes these clothes,” you told her. “But can I—“

“No, you look good,” she says, stopping you from your worries. “You look like who you’re supposed to be,”

You look like who you’re supposed to be. If it was any other person, you’d be offended; but this was Polly. She always told you that you didn’t belong in Small Heath. “You’re too pure to belong here forever.” She’d always say. It’s funny, you felt like you never belonged in Simon’s world no matter how hard he tried to put you in it. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask about Tommy and his brothers. How could you? You were too scared to know the answer. If Polly didn’t mention it, it’s probably for the best.

“I do wish you’d visit us more but I know your circumstances,” she said. “I received the letter from Simon along with a cheque of a few thousand pounds,”

“Did you encash it?” you asked. 

“No,” she replied. Somehow, that gave you comfort. She couldn’t be bought. “I did it because I was so worried about what could happen to you. It didn’t have any details. It just said that he’d appreciate it if we cease all contact. He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

“No,” you shook your head. Not yet. “As unimaginable as it all is, he has never. I truly believe that he loves me, Pol. He tells me every day. He heeds everything that I say or do and has never had a mistress but I feel so terrible because I don’t love him that way,” you confessed, feeling like the weight of the world just lifted itself on your shoulders. “I’m terrible,”

“You’re not,” Polly said. “I told you to take advantage of everything but I never told you to love him, did I?”

-

You went home that day feeling lighter. You could always confide in Polly whenever you needed. You were just so heartbroken to know that that could probably never happen again. Your servants have left now. You told them that you didn’t need them during the night because of how small the house was. They stayed at a lodging for labourers nearby; except for the guards. They came with you wherever you go, even if it was only at a distance. 

You were putting away the heavy gold earrings in the vanity in your room. It was dark, except for the lamp that you opened by the bed. 

“You should really change your locks,” Your head whipped, earrings falling on the ground. 

“Tommy?” you asked, rushing towards him in your most comfortable clothes. It was a long sleeved pyjama shirt that Simon owned. Tommy didn’t like it. “Oh my God. You’re here,” you breathed, shaky hands touching his arm. “You’re here…you’re here,”

“And you’re here,” he says, his voice void of emotion. He looked for the pressed flowers in the frame that usually sat on your vanity. It was gone. “You left,”

“I didn’t want to,” you said, removing your hands from him when you felt how cold he was.

“Did you plan on coming back? At all?” he asked. His rage blinds him. Why was he so cold and cruel? Why couldn’t he tell you how happy he was to see you again? He didn’t know how to handle his emotions. Years of longing…of heartbreak…of wondering if he could ever be good enough came down on him. 

“Tommy?”

“It’s just a funny thing, isn’t it?” he chuckled, lighting up his cigarette. “You leave, make your way into the world, and then expect things to be the same.”

You frowned. 

“It’s a funny thing. You promised to wait for me and you didn’t,” he spat. “All I ever looked at was your photo in those four years and you—“

“I didn’t want to leave, Tommy,” you whispered. 

“But you did!” he exclaims. “You left me! You…you left me and married someone else. You decided that I could never grant my promises and fucked someone else. Like a…like…”

“Like what, Tommy?” you asked, stepping away from him. “Like a whore?” He’s never thought of you like that before.

“I never said that,”

“But you thought it!” You sit on your bed. “You see me like how everyone sees me. Fuck,” you shook, shielding yourself away from him. “How could you ruin this for us?”

“No, I’m—“

“Then, what? What is it, Tommy? You come in here to my house and pick a fight. You can’t blame me for the choices that I made! I had no idea if you were coming back. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Wait for me,” he demanded. “I told you to wait for me. I’ve been building us everything that we ever wanted but you were just so impatient,”

“How could I if you never wrote back?”

You looked up at him through teary eyes. You finally gave him the chance to look at you. You looked older, despite the garb that you were wearing. The sparkle was gone. You looked up at him. He’s different. Detached, cold, and emotionless. The blue eyes that used to convey so much emotion were gone. He wasn’t letting you in like he used to. 

You both changed.

A shimmer on your neck catches his attention. It was his mother’s locket. You catch his eyes casting down on it. 

“I forgot,” you croaked, looking away. “I’m supposed to give this to you.” He wasn’t your Tommy anymore.

“No, you should keep it,”

“It’s okay,” you nod, removing the locket from your person and putting it on the bed. It was the first time you’ve ever removed it and it felt like you were removing a leash. “You own it. You should give it to someone else. Someone that’s…that’s not me,”

“Y/N…love,” he tried but you shook his head. “It always belonged to you.”

“We’re not the same people anymore, Tom. You look at me and-and it’s how everyone else does,” you cried. “Like a whore. I’m selling my body and my future for a life like this. Right? I don’t want to have this anymore,” you said. “We grew apart and we’re older now. We’re not the same people,” You don’t love me anymore.

There was hell and there was a place below hell. It was where he was. How could he be so cruel to make you cry? How could he insinuate that you were all the same? How could you hint that he doesn’t love you anymore?

“I waited for you, Tommy. Waited for you to write back and at first, I felt…sad. Then, angry. You think I’m so disposable. So replaceable, right?” you asked. “I sent you letters every week. You always told me you’d protect me but you couldn’t even send me a letter telling me that you were alright. You couldn’t even protect Johnny!”

Maybe if he told you that it was Polly who intercepted those letters, you wouldn’t be so mad at him. Maybe you wouldn’t think that he’d abandon you so easily. Maybe you’d know that you were the only face that got him out of the tunnels. Maybe you’d know that it was your name that made him feel good. Like your name was some prayer he’s worthy enough to say every time that he felt like he was underground again. But how could he hurt you more than he already did?

“You were the one who replaced me,” Maybe you’d finally know that he loves you and that, if you could have just waited a little bit longer, you’d never have to worry if your hair was out of place.

“There was nothing to replace.”

-

Tommy brews in anger. To Polly, to you, and to himself. He couldn’t tell you that Polly intercepted your letters. He didn’t want to cut your relationship with her too. 

“Fuck!” he roared. The barmaid comes in and asks Tommy if he was okay. He shrugs her off but seems intent on staying.

“Do you want me to sing for you?” she asked. He leans back, uninterested. 

“Sure,”

“Happy or sad?” she asked. 

“Uh, sad,” 

“It’ll break your heart,” she says, smiling softly.

“Already broken,” he muttered. Already broken. 

He sits there, unmoving. To be honest, he didn’t know why he was so mad at you. He was truly, utterly, and irrevocably alone now that you were gone. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to being alone. He prefered it sometimes. Maybe it’s because he always expected for the two of you to be alone together. Like you always were. 

The fear of being unknown to you scares him. You’ve always known him—his whole heart and his whole soul. You’ve always known him but now, you’re gone. You’ll never know him the way you knew him. You were too different now and it rips through him like nothing else. You’ll never be there for him like you did. He’ll never know you like he did once. He could never pinpoint it but he hates how he was never enough for you. If only he could provide, if he could only protect, if only…

Here he thought he’d finally have a wink of sleep after four years. 

-

You were on the phone with your husband after Tommy stormed out in anger last night. You needed to be comforted, to be told that you were right and that everyone else was wrong. It was one of the few luxuries you allowed yourself when you were with Tommy but you were positive that you’ve lost him now.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. “I can always come down there, you know,”

“I know,” you nodded. “I just miss you,” 

“You do?” You could tell that that inflated his ego. “If it’s any consolation, I missed you too,”

“Do you think…do you think you can be here for the funeral?” you asked before you could even stop yourself. Why were you bringing him here when Tommy was around? Were you bringing him here out of spite? To make Tommy what? Jealous? But then again, was it a sin to ask for comfort from your husband? Tommy would never understand. He was quick to tell you what he thought of you yesterday. It was the first time he did it but you couldn’t get it out of your head. If to him, you were a whore, then a whore you’d be. 

It was the only thing you were good at anyway. 

“Of course,” he nodded. “This thing with Solomons is just shit work anyway. I’ll be there the day before. Will that be alright?” 

“Yes,” you whispered. Are you really willing to let him inside the fort you’ve built with Tommy? “I lost my mom’s locket today and I…” 

“You did?” he asked. He knew how important that locket was to you. You begged him to not take it off during your wedding. If only he knew. He bought you jewels but you never wore another necklace. “We can get you another one. Something that’s even more beautiful than the one you had.”

“I suppose so,” you sighed. “I love you,” 

“I love you too.”

And you weren’t sure if you were still lying. 

-

Simon arrives at your house sometime in the morning, before the sun rises. It was his first time seeing your house—being in your house. It was a small, shabby home with flowers. Have you always liked flowers? One of the servants opened the door for him and he entered. Poor you. Did you always live like this? 

He spots you reading a book on the couch when you look up at him.

“How was your trip?” You close the book and sit upright. “I hope it wasn’t horrible,”

“I’m here now,” he sits down, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. “You’ve been on my mind since you left. Is there anything I have to know?”

“I…I talked to Polly,” you confessed. The grip that he has on your waist tightens. “But we only talked about Johnny. She said that the police aren’t doing anything to know who killed him.”

“I see,” 

“But I left after that. I’ve never seen her since,” you said truthfully. “I told her that we couldn’t meet again,”

“Thank you for not breaking my trust,” he said, removing his grip on you. “You know it’s for us, right?”

“Yes, I know,” you nodded. This is wrong. This is all wrong. Why were you understanding him more? Are you only agreeing with Simon because you hated Tommy at that moment? What’s the sudden change? 

You were all gathered at Johnny's funeral. Simon was beside you, holding your waist protectively. Beth was a wailing mess by the coffin. They were putting him six feet under. Last night was the last time she’ll ever see Johnny’s physical body again. You were bowing your head down, trying to keep your tears away. Johnny had been the father figure and now, he’s gone too. 

The ceremony ends soon enough with Simon never letting go of your body. The Shelbys have noticed. Simon was basically hounding you so you wouldn’t have to talk to others. 

“I sometimes wonder if she stopped talking to us because she wanted to or if she was forced to,” Arthur said, looking at you and your husband. Ada was looking at Polly. They were the only ones who knew. They both agreed to never tell a soul because of how messy things could be. Tommy would wage a war if it concerned you. “The question is why is she letting him?”

Tommy walks to where you were. He clears his throat to make himself known. He watches your figure become rigid. Simon was looking at him, his hand still on your waist. If he could shoot this prick’s hand for even laying a hand on you—

“I’m Tommy Shelby,” he starts. “I just decided to come by and offer a quick greeting to your wife.”

“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” Simon replied, his voice was strained and you were scared. Terrified. “Y/N didn’t tell me about you. Have you, darling?” There was a threat in his voice.

“Oh,” you nod, licking your lips. Your voice was wavering. “Mr. Shelby i-is someone I knew when I was a child, darling. He left for the war and…and…”

“We haven’t seen each other since,” he finishes.  “I wish we could talk more,” Tommy added, confirming what he already thought. He didn’t spare you a glance and if he did, he didn’t make a show of it. “Mr. Coventry. Y/N,” he bowed, taking your gloved hand and kissing your knuckles. He walks away, leaving Simon’s anger and your anxiety behind him. 

Simon didn’t speak to you on the way back. You tried but he only dismissed you with a cold shoulder. When you arrived home, he dragged you by the arm to the living room. You watched while the servants dispersed to give you some privacy. It was funny how they always pretended that they knew nothing.

“Do you really think I’m fucking stupid?” he roared, his loud voice vibrating the walls of your home. “You talked to Polly Gray but didn’t meet Tommy. At all,”

“You have to believe me, Simon. I never…it’s my first time seeing him again!” you pleaded, scared for Tommy’s life—scared for yours. Your arm hurts but you have bigger problems right now. What was a little bruise anyway? “I didn’t even know if he was still alive,”

“Can you shut the fuck up?” he asked. “It’s like everything that you’re saying are…are lies! I gave you everything,” he spits. “I gave you and your friends money. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be in that fucking brothel fucking some twat who could never afford everything that I’m giving you. Is that what you want? Do you want to go back there?”

“Simon,” you tried. “I swear, I didn’t know he was still alive. Polly never told me. I—“

“Liar!” he says, stepping closer to you. He grasps your chin tightly, your head unmoving at the pressure. “I bought you. Don’t you dare fucking disrespect me. I own you,” 

“Simon, please…” you cried. “I swear to you I didn’t…”

“Shut up,” he spits. “You’re fucking disgusting,”

He shoves you to the floor and you cry. He leaves without looking at you. He didn’t apologise for what he did. It was the first time he showed you what you were to him. A property. You didn’t sleep that night; you were just on the balcony, looking at the docks, wondering what would’ve happened if you had just waited. 

-

The morning comes and you are tired. Simon just woke up and decided to stay with you on the balcony. 

“I’m sorry, angel,” he whispers. He wraps his arms around your shoulders. “I’m sorry for doing that. I promise to never do that again. I was just…so angry because Tommy Shelby came to us. Do you see why you’re not allowed to be here? Why I hate it when you’re in Birmingham? These fucking rats have no respect,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Simon, you said things,” you whispered, looking up at him. Tears stained your cheeks. Everything that he said replayed inside your head over and over.  What right did you have to demand his apology if he owned you? “You…”

Defeated, Simon sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You know that I’m doing this for us. I’m sorry,”

You could only nod wordlessly, blinking away the tears before they fall again. You didn’t notice the bruising on your jaw yet. You weren’t at the brothel anymore but up to what extent are you truly free? At the end of the day, you’re still weak. You still have nothing. At the end of the day, buttering him up doesn’t matter.

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1912

“One day, we’ll be able to buy those fancy, black cars and drive around London as much as we want.” Tommy said. He was in his work clothes, a greasy white shirt and his shaggy hair falling in different sorts of places. 

“We will?”

“Yes,” he nodded, his shoulder touching yours. You were just about to work when he pulled you away. He asked if you wanted to come with him to The Cut for a little while and you agreed, finding it hard to say no to him. “I’ll get you one and then, I’ll get you a horse.” 

“Don’t forget the house with a big lawn,” you giggled. 

“How could I forget?” he asked. “I’ll buy that first,”

“Would you hate me if things don’t work out the way we want them to?” you asked. “I’m just wondering,”

“Why wouldn’t it? We’re staying together,” Tommy said, casting you a confused look. 

“I mean, you’ll get a wife. I can’t live in the same house as her,” you said. “I don’t want to cause unnecessary problems for the two of you. I want her to be my friend too.”

“I’m not marrying,” he said. “Why should I marry? We come as a pair. Never one without the other. We won’t need anyone else,”

“That would be nice.”

“I get it,” he nodded. “You’re always my main priority. I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about all that yet. As long as you’re with me, I’ll be fine,”

“And if I’m not?”

“I won’t,”

“How are you going to do all this?” you asked. You always believed in Tommy.

“I’ll do everything,” 

“You’re a man of ambition, Tommy. Did you know that you can’t have ambition without being a little dangerous?”

He ponders. He’ll deal all of his cards and fold if it came to you.

There were a million things you wanted to tell him at that moment. He does, too. He looks at you so…lovingly and so naturally that it doesn’t seem like anything anymore. Tommy really didn’t fear anything, except when it came to you. He’s scared to tell you the truth because he might change the course of things. He’s scared to never fulfil all of his promises to you. He’s scared that he’ll never amount to anything other than a greasy boy that you took care of. 

He doesn’t say any of this, though, so he just smokes slow. 

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1919

“I have to do something about it,” Tommy told his brothers, taking a swig of his Irish whiskey. He was composed but his mind was running at a speed that he couldn’t quite catch up on. Were you happy in your marriage?

“Tom, it’s better if you could just let her go,” Arthur replied. “It’s not my place, hm? But we saw them yesterday. Maybe it’s for the best,”

“It’s not,” Stoic as ever, he looked ahead. 

“It’s a bad idea…” his older brother tried. “You’re fighting against a king. You’re not—“

“Why is everyone telling me that I can’t do anything? Why?” he asked. “I hardly recall asking for your permission, Arthur. You and Polly have been telling me what I can and can’t do.” 

“Tommy, think about it. With the fucking guns and taking on this whole…thing with her. It’s too big. So, just let it go, eh? You’ll get yourself killed,” John added. He knew of Tommy’s affections for you. Hell, he knew what Tommy meant. John discreetly watched you and your husband. You couldn’t maintain eye contact, you couldn’t speak freely without a stutter. It was so different from the Y/N that he used to know but Tommy couldn’t be persuaded. He was living on the edge of life in the war that it didn’t matter to him if he died or not. He’s free from the fear of death; he could do whatever he wanted. 

“I’m a man of ambition. You can’t have ambition without being a little dangerous,”

-

BANG! BANG! BANG! 

Tommy feels like the world was caving in. Fuck. He always hated sleeping, no matter how much he craved it. The darkness of his room and his closed eyes reminds him of the darkness of the tunnels. The walls and the tightness of the closed spaces; the unknown waiting on the other side. The lives he lost, the blood that his comrades spilled. He sits up, he hates how he couldn’t sleep because he’s always hearing the gunshots and the bombs in France. He hates being weak. Things were never the same and he so desperately wanted it to be. He couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. He couldn’t see the faint lamp that burned on his bedside table. The ringing in his ears doesn’t subside. It was just fucking dark. 

He looks over his bedside table and reaches for your picture. You always seemed to calm him no matter where he went. No matter what he does, you always seem to ground him.

“Y/N,” he whispered, taking a swig of his whiskey. As if that would just conjure you. He was sometimes convinced that your picture was an apparition of the time when everything was quieter. When his world had no guns and bombs. When you two were together. He frowns, taking his head in between his hands and cries. 

If only he was stronger. If only he was rich. If only he could fulfil all of the promises he gave you. If only.

-

If there was anything he regretted, it was how angry he was when he went to your old house for your first meeting. He’s been waiting to be graced by your smile for years but he couldn’t control the anger that brewed inside him. He was so guarded after the war. But those guards seem to crumble around you, leaving him defenceless and vulnerable like a child. 

A knock on his door arouses him. It was currently just before the sunrise; that hazy blue period that calms him before everyone else wakes. He checked from his window outside but there was nothing. Another knock comes and he sighs, going downstairs to check. He puts his gun behind him. He opens the door and it reveals you.

You were shaking like a leaf when his eyes landed on your figure. 

“I don’t know…where else to…to go,” you whispered. He goes out and looks around to make sure that no one’s there. When the coast is clear, he takes your hand and guides you to the living room. He was hoping that no one heard anything.

“Do you need anything?” he asked. 

“Just…water, please,” 

“Did you walk all the way?” 

“Yeah,” he hears you say while he pours you a glass. “Sorry for disturbing you,” 

“It’s alright,” he tells you, giving you the glass. 

“Yeah,” you replied, drinking the water to avoid any sort of communication with your old friend. “Tommy?”

“Hm?” he asked, sitting in front of you and it’s so different it hurts. He used to sit beside you, knee to knee. He had to blink multiple times to clear his vision—to make sure that you were actually there. “What brings you here?”

“I…I…” you couldn’t say a single word before you broke into tears. It was then when Tommy actually looked at you, the bruising on your chin, your defeated stance. He trembles in anger but forces himself to let it subside and comfort you. “S-sorry,”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, love,” he whispers, sitting beside you this time and rubbing circles on your back. “You don’t have to talk about it,”

“Would you still…would you still protect me?” you asked and you were aware of how selfish you sounded. “You’re right. I’m a-a whore,” you chuckled, looking away from him. “I know I’m being unfair…marrying Simon and then coming here…”

It appals him for you to think that he’ll ever stop protecting you. It disturbs him for letting you think that way because of one argument. 

Your chin was quivering as you tried to form a coherent sentence. 

“I thought…I thought I was free but he laid a hand on me,” you tried. “Gripped my chin and called me his property,”

You told yourself that it wasn’t Tommy’s fault. 

“All because you talked to me during the funeral,” you whispered. You couldn’t stop yourself and Tommy couldn’t stop himself from the emotions that linger. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault that you loved him. 

“Let’s run away,” It’s all his fault. All his fault that he loved you. 

“Tommy…” you whispered, shaking your head. “Did you know…did you know why I stopped talking to you?” you asked him. He didn’t. Maybe the reason why he’s so angry with you was because he didn’t know. “When you were in France, he told me that if I continue any form of communication with the Shelbys…he’ll locate you and your brothers and have the three of you killed.” You reveal to him. “You always said you’ll protect me but I wanted to protect you too.”

Your broken voice was something that he’ll never forget. Your fragile figure was something that he’ll never remove from his brain. You were…miserable. How could you let yourself be miserable for his sake? How could Simon let you cry? How could he break you? You were so strong, the strongest he’s ever known.

“I will kill him,” 

“Tommy, no,” you whimpered. “I’m here to tell you that…that the best way to protect me is to forget about me,”

“You can’t do that to me,” Tommy replied, his voice stern. He was trying so, so hard. “Not when I waited to come home for four years.”

“It’s the best way,” you pleaded. “You can go start a family or…or do something else but if you really want to protect me, you’ll forget about me,” 

You were so defeated, your figure curled to your heart like you were protecting yourself from everyone. Tommy could see the stutter of your body while you tried to control everything.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he tried, blinking the tears away but failing. His resolve was crumbling; popping the joints on his knuckles to ground him. It was then he noticed your nail beds, peeled and crusted with dried blood. You must have been thinking about it for so long. “You’re not giving me a choice here, love,” You must have been hurting.

“He’ll kill you, Tom. I wouldn’t be able to take it if I am the reason why your body’s thrown at The Cut.” you told him. “I let you go once without knowing for sure that you’ll come back alive. I’ll make sure that this time, you are.”

“So that’s it, eh?” he asked. “Your bastard husband threatens my life and you let him control you.” he licks his lips.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” you told him. “That's all I could do. You’re a man…you could have the world. I’m a woman and I can’t have anything unless I make it. This is me making it.” This is me making sure that I’ll never have to think about you. 

You left in the wee hours of the morning and Tommy lets you go without a fight. He thought that he was the one doing the protecting, when you’ve been protecting him all along. You were his most tender wound. Battle scars from France don't compare to the pain he’s feeling in the darkness of the house. Should he run after you? Should he heed your advice? What if he kills Simon? Will you be free then?

“Her husband’s dealing with Alfie Solomons,” he tells everyone during a family meeting. “I’ll deal with Solomons myself,”

“You’re waging a war that is bigger than all of us, Tommy,” Arthur said.

“I’m not asking for approval,” he only replied, his voice was monotonous; suppressing his emotions as much as he could. He swallows. “Information about Y/N’s home life has reached me. She told me that the best way to protect her is to forget about her.” He confessed.

“Well, shit,” Ada replied. “Surely…”

“Surely, I won’t.” he said, voice stern and determined. “I’ll deal all of my cards if I have to. Do you get that?”

“Tommy, it’s a bad idea. She’s right. With the fucking inspector on our throats and Simon Coventry…you’ll get yourself killed.”

“I have decided,”

“Then, what’s all of this for, then?”

“Just letting you know.” he says, looking at everyone’s face of disapproval. 

When he exits the Garrison, Polly runs after him. She was determined to let him let you go for your safety. It was a sticky situation that Tommy was putting himself in. A semblance of power doesn’t mean that he’s powerful but he couldn’t seem to understand that. 

“Tommy, do you want to save her because you want to or is it because you have to prove yourself to you?” she asked him, grasping his arm. 

“Polly—“

“Do you love her because you do or do you only think you do because you need her? It’s alright to let her go, Tom. You have to realise that maybe she’s correct,” she reasoned. “The more you move, the more she’s constricted—“ 

“You took her away from me, Polly,” he spits. “How can I not love her when I need her beside me to even get a wink of sleep? Her picture was all I looked at in France. She is the reason why I’m alive—why I’m here. You took her away from me and I am taking her back. Does that look like love to you?” he demanded, shaking her arm away. 

“You want to know what blinds a man as smart as you, Tom? Love,” she says. “You’re making things—“

“So I am blind,” he shrugs. “I vowed to protect her and that is a vow that I’ll take to the grave with me, Pol. You could help or not. It wouldn’t matter either way but you owe it to me to try. At least,” 

A beat passes, Polly doesn’t speak. He nods to excuse himself, walking away as the blind man.

-

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I’m so glad you’re still here.

Don’t forget to reblog / leave a comment if you liked it!

PART 4

TAGLIST:  @shelbydelrey @runnning-outof-time @duckybird101 @thenattitude @swordofawriter @litteltourtius​ @trixie23​ @everythingelseisextra​ @majesticcmey @liveat1am @dumb-wh @denabp16 @yvonna-chan @goldensunflowe-r @therosabel @hunnibearrr @dazecrea @daddyslittleattentionwhore @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @dang-shawty-okay @dasia21 @tsenthusiast1920 @aces-tattooartist @panda-luminary @ttaechi @spencerrxids @i-heart-food @fudge13 @affabletimelady @heartcereql @ce1iat @notalxx @1800-queen-trash

[vanderlesbian]

rdr2 men as girl dads

arthur, charles, john, dutch, + hosea

technically gn reader, but some things may be interpreted as being more fem? you are the other parent of the child

arthur morgan

+ he would definitely go to the women in the gang (and you of course, but he'll be more shy about it) to ask them questions. "is this what you ladies like?" before he gives his daughter a gift.

+ he'll document basically her entire life in his journal; write entries about her biggest moments and their times together, and he'll draw her all the time. there will be pages that are just covered in drawings of you and your daughter.

+ the other gang members would tease arthur for being "so soft" around his daughter and he probably gets real flustered about it, but you think it's adorable how gentle he is with her.

+ she will make flower crowns or put flowers in arthur's hair and a lot of the time he'll forget about it, so he'll walk around camp or even go out riding with a braid and flowers in his hair.

+ of course, your daughter would have some kind of knowledge as to what the gang does, but arthur will still try to hide violence from her. he'll make up silly excuses as to how he gets cuts or bruises, and he tends to hide his guns when around her. hell, he won't even really smoke when in her presence.

+ arthur is very accepting, and that especially applies to your daughter. if she wants to travel the world, he'd support it. if she said she wanted to be a dinosaur, he'd try his best to help her achieve that. the only thing he would say no to is being a gunslinger.

+ arthur's daughter would be a girl constantly surrounded by love. i can imagine her being artistic and creative like her dad, with the ability to get along well with anyone she meets. she would also be very expressive and bold, feeling that she can be whatever she wants.

charles smith

+ crafts dolls and other toys for her!!

+ he'll take your daughter out on nature rides or walks and will teach her all about animals and their importance. especially when she's a baby; he just finds it comforting to have a little friend he can talk to, even if she doesn't respond.

+ charles would be SO protective of his daughter. he would definitely teach her important rules of survival and how to handle weapons because he believes she can take care of herself, but he also can't help but step in immediately when the smallest altercations happen.

+ he also knows how cruel the world can be, and he doesn't want his daughter experiencing any of that. he likes to keep everything pg around her; if micah or someone is being inappropriate around her, charles will get upset quickly.

+ you can learn a lot from children, and charles is well aware of that. he's such an attentive listener when your daughter speaks to him, and will act like everything she says is revolutionary. he'll bring up a fact you've never heard of in a conversation with you, and when you ask him where he learned that from, he'll nudge his head towards your daughter.

+ i think charles' daughter would be a mini version of him, minus his use of violence lol. she would be quiet and only open up to those shes comfortable with, and would be very passionate about those she loves and the things she cares about.

john marston

+ you will always be able to tell when john dressed her because what in the hell is she wearing?

+ the goofiest dad but he's trying his best he swears!!

+ he's not the most vocally affectionate dad out there, but he'll randomly show up with gifts because he'll remember his daughter mentioning that she liked a specific item.

+ he'll also show affection by teaching her things. he doesn't really know what young girls would find interesting, so he just kind of assumes she would enjoy horseback riding or something of the sort. will definitely feel awkward if she expresses that she's bored.

+ john is trying, but he doubts himself and will always come to you for reassurance. he feels a lot better after speaking with you about things. "i'm just...bad at this stuff. you think she even likes me?" "john, she loves you more than anything, and i do too."

+ he's so bad at playing pretend, but he tries his hardest and you think it's so funny. if arthur catches him playing dolls with your daughter, he'll definitely tease him about it later. "dad, use your girl voice!"

+ a daughter raised by john marston would probably be rather shy, but also very kind, patient, and understanding. she might also take on some of her dad's sarcasm.

dutch van der linde

+ he would spoil his baby girl ROTTEN. he just can't seem to ever say no to her and will end up going into town himself to get a new stuffed animal for the kid the moment she asks for one.

+ dutch would definitely boast about how smart his daughter is. he would teach her to read and write as soon as possible and would feel so proud when she tells him about the things she read or wrote about. "she gets it from me, of course."

+ he would quite literally kill for his daughter. he's definitely the scary dad, but like in a way that she will casually bring up "oh yeah my dad has killed people" on first dates.

+ dutch's daughter would definitely be one to have a rebellious phase. i think he would tend to insist that she stays at camp because it's safest, but he would raise a girl that's curious about what the country is like outside of her tent. there would be many instances where dutch will send someone out—or himself to go find her after she steals a horse and runs off somewhere.

+ i feel like he would want to name his daughter something like...antique, or based off of some character from literature. things like ophelia, elizabeth, athena, victoria...

+ i actually think that dutch would raise a rather fiesty daughter. educated and bold, i think a daughter raised by the leader of the van der linde gang would grow to be a leader herself.

hosea matthews

+ i think hosea was born to be a girl dad.

+ he would so have a nickname for her that would stick with her for the rest of her life. something cute like dew drop or honey bee; and sometimes even the other gang members would call her by that nickname.

+ with the way hosea sits and listens to the women in the camp, he would do the same with your daughter. although he can be a stern parent when needed, he'll always listen to her before doing anything else.

+ he'd love to teasingly embarrass her in front of the others. "remember when you were wearing diapers until you were four years old?" "dad!"

+ HE KNOWS HOW TO DRESS A BABY!! and he would be so proud of himself. he'd probably be more excited over baby clothes than you.

+ oh he would treat her like a princess. i imagine him reading her fairytales as a child and will play along with her when she pretends to be a princess. if he could, he would build her a castle.

+ i believe that hosea would raise a humorous, kind hearted girl, who can also be rather mischievous. i can imagine his daughter being very outgoing and friendly, but very serious when needed.

[fllnordr]

I would really love for the rdr community as a whole to stop trying, (and failing), to defend Dutch, and shift the blame entirely onto Micah. Red Dead Redemption and Red Dead Redemption II are both beautiful and well thought out games both in the gameplay and the storytelling. But I think a lot of people simply ignore those things, hence my long rant of a post.

TLDR: I think Micah was intentionally written to be one dimensional, and Dutch was manipulative from the start. Arthur is just a unreliable narrator.

We play through Arthur's eyes and see/believe what he does. We can see Arthur's loyalty blinds him (and by extension, us) to Dutch's behavior. I would know peace if some folks to took a media literacy class. Red Dead one & two are shining example of the bias in an unreliable narrator. Video games are not exempt from literary tools because you control part of the story. That control is limited to the actions of your bias protagonist, in this case John and Arthur.

The same applies to Micah. Arthur never trusts Micah from day one, and so we as the player don’t trust him either. It would be incredibly lazy on Rockstar’s behalf to created as one dimensional of a character as Micah. But the thing is, Arthur views him that way, a no good money-hungry thief from the start. Arthur is able to see through him, but he is blind to Dutch’s similar behavior because of his loyalty. It’s an incredibly smart tool to use in video games. Once you replay the game without the blinders on of your first playthrough, you’re able to see that Dutch has behaved the very same ways from Chapter One, all the way through Chapter Six. The only difference is that Arthur (and we the player) is slowly becoming aware of the patterns for the first time.

Now, for the blatant mischaracterization of Dutch entirely. To blame everything on Micah diminishes Dutch’s character to such an extent it completely disregards the decades long manipulation he inflicted on the gang, that is very real and very obvious. I won’t get into the way each individual character’s behavior was effected by this, but I will speak about Arthur and John briefly.

Dutch takes in people that are vulnerable and that he knows he can manipulate for his own gain. Children included. Multiple children, in fact. He always has a plan, not to keep folks safe, but to keep everyone comfortably under his thumb. It was always, "Are you with me, or against me" from the beginning. Everyone was either a means to his end, or they were worthless. The second someone did not agree, it was a betrayal, and an attack. I don't doubt he did some things out of kindness, but there's always ulterior motives. Dutch is nothing but a man of pretty words that hide his manipulation.

Dutch maintains an air of grandiosity amongst the gang. He obviously holds the belief that he is above them in all ways. He believes he is their leader because he is simply better than the rest of them. He’s smarter. He’s this god-like figure in his mind. He’s their savior. Hence his distaste for any doubt, or even being challenged.

Lenny and the conversation he has with Dutch about Evelyn Miller for example. Lenny indirectly call’s Dutch’s empty words out and points out that both Miller (Dutch’s idol) and Dutch himself hide behind their flowery words and phrases. Or Arthur and Hosea voicing their concern about robbing Leviticus Cornwall, it’s seen as a betrayal. Or when Uncle pokes fun at Dutch in camp and Dutch says to him, “I would really like to kill you right now.” Dutch may not be entirely self aware, but any attack at him does dig at him for a reason. And this is all from chapter two! There has always been a pattern.

Dutch says he "saved" them. He saved Bill, and John, and Arthur and Lenny and Javier. He saved all of them, and he is above all of them. Dutch sees people as nothing more as tools to meet his goals. There are instances where he does seem to genuinely care, but the ulterior motive is always there.

Dutch and Micah were written with the idea that we see the story through Arthur’s eyes. Arthur is blinded by his decades long to loyalty to Dutch and slowly coming to the realization of the truth. Micah is incredibly one dimensional cause Arthur sees through him and views him as a rat from the start. The truth of the story can be seen through repeated playthroughs. Dutch’s paranoia from the start, questioning Arthur’s loyalty from Colter. Micah sniffing around about the Blackwater money from the beginning. Arthur’s journal entries about the his biased version of the truth. Media literacy is necessary even in video games. God.

[cowboydisaster]

Allo, Love! This is a prompt for your Christmas countdown. I’m thinking a snowball fight is needed. It can involve the whole gang at some point or just reader and Arthur. Maybe Arthur is grumpy cat and reader pelts him with a snowball and then another one, testing his patience until they end up wrestling in the snow. Then they end up getting a cold and are sick for Christmas. Hosea has to look after them both as they sit miserably by the fire.

Just a thought, no pressure.

🎄❤️

* ˚ ✦ Snowfall * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f!reader word count: 1k a/n: sorry that this was late, i was so tired after work last night lol. Thank you for the lovely prompt, it is so cute!!

cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: SIX days 'till christmas!

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

“You see any movement?” Arthur asks, eyes flush against a pair of binoculars, scouting the white hills below for some game to bring back to camp. He's intensely focused, in predator mode as his eyes stalk over the valley in search of prey. He continues following the planes of the hills, seeing only small game. It’s been a tough winter, but you seem to be out of the thick of it by now. 

It's a cold day. The ground is covered with a heavy layer of snow, and thick, ornate snowflakes trickle down from the overcast sky, dusting everything in white. The snow makes it easier to spot any tracks, as long as fresh snow doesn't fall on top of them. 

“Darlin’?” Arthur asks when you don't respond, eyes never leaving the hills. He sighs, a bit annoyed. You've been very little help on this trip.

His eyebrows furrow, and the binoculars are brought down from his eyes as he begins to turn toward where you were standing just moments ago. 

“Where'd you-” 

Cold, soft snow pelts him directly in the face, splattering across his nose and eyes. Arthur jerks back with shock, wiping the snow away with his arm, as a harmony of giggles surrounds him. 

His eyes meet yours, polar opposite expressions staring back at each other. You're smiling ear to ear, giggling at Arthur's deep set scowl. He grunts and sighs grumpily as he wipes the snow away from his face. The white mare at your side tosses her head in amusement, whinnying lightly as if she’s mocking him with you.

“Really?” Arthur grunts, shaking his head, grumbling, “A goddamn snowball? I'm tryin’ to hunt. Clear as the damn day that you ain't interested in helpin’ out, so if you could kindly knock the horseplay off, I'd appreciate it.” 

Arthur shakes his head, turning back around, quietly mumbling, “Jesus.” to himself at your behavior. He resumes the search, locating the spot down below where he had planted bait. 

Another snowball pelts Arthur, this time right in the back of the head. 

“For chrissakes, quit that, would ya?” Arthur tries to maintain his authority, because he knows that as soon as he cracks a smile, this hunting trip is over. But he can't help it as his frown breaks into a small huff of air, a little laugh escaping from his lips. 

You catch the little act, smirking. He's right where you want him now. Before he can even react, you grab another snowball from your hidden stash and whip it at him, hitting him square in the chest. 

Arthur looks down at the white circle of snow on his chest, painting your perfect shot. 

“Alright, that's it.” Arthur says matter of factly, wiping his hands together before marching towards you through the snow. You laugh, grabbing your pile of snowballs. You're not quick enough to defend yourself, screaming out as he scoops up a pile of snow, balling it up and throwing it right at you. The snowball explodes into flakes of ice upon contact with your arm. 

“Arthur!” You laugh, eyes going wide as you see him coming towards you.

As quick as you can, you throw a snowball, but he dodges it quickly. You gasp as he runs forward and pulls you towards the ground with him. The impact is soft of course, blankets of snow to protect you from the harsh ground. Your laughs ring out, and two curious noses sniff the ground above you, making sure you're okay. Jasper and Sugar conclude that everything is alright and then they trot off together, stopping to bump noses and groom each other.

“Reckon they’re sweeter on each other than even us.” You smirk, your eyes following the horses until they trail back to Arthur’s. His blue eyes bore into your own, overflowing with adoration. 

Arthur doesn’t reply as he pins your hands above your head. His cold nose lines against yours, lips just centimeters from your own. 

“Quit. hittin. me. with. snowballs.” Arthur enunciates every word, beautiful blue eyes staring right into yours, waiting for your promise. You hum, thinking it over, but then your eyes flicker down to his lips, mind becoming aware of the position he has you in. 

“Hmm.” You squint, leaning up, brushing your lips against his, “Sorry, Mr. Morgan. Afraid I can't do that. It's too funny.” You smile. He sighs.

“You're a heap of trouble, y'know that?” Arthur sighs. 

“I like to keep you on your toes.” You whisper, finally bridging the gap between you two. His hands tighten around your wrists, lips pressing together slowly until you deepen the kiss. Arthur hums against your lips, and you wrap your legs around his waist. 

The snow seeps into your coat, but you care none. Snowflakes fall upon you both, dusting you in beautiful sparkling white. 

– – –

“Children! Goddamn children, gettin’ yourselves sick as you did.” Hosea ushers you and Arthur towards the fire, sighing loudly as he wraps you in a blanket and hands you steaming cups of coffee. 

You had started a cough on Christmas Eve, and Arthur had followed shortly after. Now, on Christmas day, Hosea has been assigned the task of taking care of you pair of fools.

“Thanks Hosea.” You say sheepishly, voice hoarse and cheeks pink. 

“Won’t happen again.” Arthur grumbles, eyes cast down. 

You and Arthur share a knowing glance.

“Soon as I’m back in commission, it’s on.” You whisper to Arthur, scooping up a little ball of snow from the log you sit on, balling it in your frozen hands. 

“Dear girl, I heard that!” Hosea calls from across the fire where he crushes herbs for you both. 

Arthur places his hand on your thigh, pulling you closer to him, wrapping you tighter in your blanket. Sitting next to Arthur warms you right up, especially as he pulls you into his side, arms wrapped around you. 

“I reckon all we can do now is get better, sweetheart.” Arthur murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. 

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola

[lordofthecherubs]

Hello Euphoria [Part 2]

“You can tell me how you’re really feeling,” He said, attempting to meet your eyes. “I promise.”

His words helped to push you in the direction you needed to go with his conversation. Ripping off the bandaid. Confessing.

Tell him how you’re really feeling.

“I like you, Arthur.” 

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI. Smut. Slight Exhibitionism. Slow burn burned. Miscommunication.

The morning sun had a particular way of forcing its beams of light into a room, abruptly waking whoever inhabited it up with a striking light to their face. Along with that, the sound of people chatting and wagons moving product along a muddy ground seemed to be nonstop once the day started. Clearly, the gang wanted to get an early start to their chores, otherwise you wouldn’t have been disturbed in the midst of your sleep.

Just five more minutes, you pleaded with yourself.

Opting to keep your eyes closed after having been nearly blinded by the rays the sun had provided earlier, your bearings began coming to you, despite your efforts to push them off and remain in a blissful state of slumber. Turning yourself on your side, you felt a gentle warmth in your bed beside you. This feeling, while unfamiliar to your usual morning routine, was not unpleasant. Leaning into it, you sighed out contently in your attempt to return to dreamland, hardly noticing the sound of quiet breathing filling your ears behind you. 

Breathing?

Eyes shooting open with a newfound sense of urgency, you quickly sat up in the bed, scanning your surroundings. The space you were in was foreign to you. For starters, it had four walls and a roof over your head, far different from the usual scene of your tent nearly falling off its post over your makeshift bed. Not only that, but there was decor lain about— a dresser on one far corner of the room, and a nightstand that had a lamp along with an all too familiar hat beside where you were previously sleeping. 

Then, your eyes met soft chestnut hair. Was that… Arthur?

The cowboy, still deep into slumber, let out faint puffs of air with every breath he took. His skin appeared smooth to the touch, and your hand itched to reach out and find out if there was any truth to that thought. However, your body had different plans. All at once, you felt an onslaught of pain and discomfort, bringing back vague memories of the night before. Most of which were blurry, and rather snapshots of a moment instead of a reeling recollection of what had happened. All of this, with the added twinge of pain in your head and stomach, made you grow dizzy where you sat. 

Last you remembered, Dutch was going on about how the camp was appearing sluggish due to the sweltering heat. Then, he’d sent you and Arthur out to Valentine’s saloon. Once you got there, Arthur ordered you a revolting drink; just the thought of it alone was enough to make you wince as your stomach turned. 

The puzzle pieces began to connect in your still aching head.

You settled on putting the blame of your current predicament on having had too much to drink. Though you typically weren’t much of a drinker, you figured there had to be an underlying reasoning behind why you bit off more than you knew you could chew. 

Another glance at the cowboy beside you. There was no doubt that his presence had something to do with it. 

While you weren’t the kind of person who cared too deeply what others thought of you, you’ve always wanted to be someone that Arthur thought highly of. He was a noble man, by your standards. The way you felt towards him wasn’t anything like the way you felt for others in the gang. Yes, you cared about them as if they were your own family, but with Arthur, it was different. He was always the person that looked out for you, even when you assured him you could handle yourself. There was a certain softness you had when it came to him, and if you weren’t careful, it would consume you whole.

With the minutes passing by in your lost thoughts, the cowboy stirred in his sleep, looking as though he might wake up. Suddenly, you were filled with the overwhelming urge to be anywhere but here. 

It’s not as if you didn’t want to be around him. God, you’d give everything to be with him forever if he’d have you. But, you felt embarrassed of yourself, and of what you possibly did the night before. 

As your eyes averted to the space between your bodies, you knew Arthur hadn’t gotten into bed with you on his own will, especially while you were under the influence of alcohol. That wasn’t the kind of man he was. That’s why you liked him. 

Slowly, you pushed the covers of the bed away from yourself, urging yourself to get over the sticky feeling of yesterdays clothes as you attempted to crawl to the foot of the bed undetected. This task proved itself to be easier said than done, especially in the case that the person you were trying not to be detected by had his wits about him at all times, even in his sleep. Surprisingly, you made it to your desired location outside of the bed without too much disruption, looking around the bed for your shoes as you readied yourself to leave. 

While you reached for the pair of boots that you assumed Arthur had taken off for you after you’d fallen asleep, a gravelly voice sounded behind you, causing you to pause your actions and freeze on the spot like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“You awake already, cowpoke?”

Of course, how could you turn your back on a man such as Arthur Morgan and expect he wouldn’t notice you there? Turning your head in the direction of the voice, you were met with the sharp feeling of regret— and a twinge of heat boiling in your stomach. The cowboy sat upwards on the bed, strong arms carrying his weight as they pushed against the bed to aid him in this action. His hair was messy in a way that was perfect at the same time, and his eyes were half-lidded and tired, just as they had been the day before when Dutch woke him up for this mission.

This mission, that lead you to the situation you were in now, standing across from Arthur with your shoes in your hands and a guilty look on your face. To someone on the outside looking in, it would appear that something completely different had happened here. Perhaps they’d even expect you to waltz out of the building in a walk of shame. 

When met with silence as an answer to his question, Arthur spoke up again.

“Are you… leavin’?”

Your heart couldn’t help but break at the faint sound of disappointment in his tone. He wanted you to stay. 

In the past, you would have brushed off any suggestions of Arthur making an advance towards you. In your mind, it just wouldn’t make sense. How could he want to be anything more than friends with you? You were just another member of the gang, it was highly possible he didn’t see you as any different than he saw someone like Hosea or Tilly. Regardless of this, there was no denying those impressions of flirtatious nature now. Not when he continued to sit in the bed, looking as beautiful as he did, without any attempt to hide the look of dismay on his face. 

Arthur was a good man. In all likelihood, he was the best man you’d ever known in your life. You trusted him far more than you’d trust anyone else. He looked out for you, made sure you were doing alright, didn’t let anyone in the gang pick on you. So why was it so hard for you to face him right now? What was stalling you from just telling him how you really feel? 

The sound of movement signaled to you that he was getting out of bed himself, and you realized you still hadn’t said anything to him yet. Swallowing down feelings of anxiety and bashfulness, you opened your mouth to speak.

“I…” As the word left your mouth, your thoughts lingered in your mind. What could you say to him? Thanks for taking care of me while I was blackout drunk, Arthur. Sorry I can’t muster up the courage to say anything to you right now. Maybe later?

That would never work.

“If you’re worryin’ that you did anything you might regret, there’s no need.” Arthur sighed out, reaching to grab his hat as he threw his legs over the side of the bed. “It might not seem like it, but I wouldn’t—“

“I know you wouldn’t, Arthur.”

Finally, he looked at you again. Though, he didn’t say anything, clearly waiting for you to continue in your words.

“I just wanted to thank you. For taking care of me— I mean.” You nervously said, scratching the back of your neck as a heat of embarrassment began to rise.

Whatever you said must have been amusing, because Arthur let out a laugh as he stood up from the bed. “Thank me? All I did is what you asked me to do. No sense in thankin’ me for that.”

As the cowboy put his boots on, you couldn’t help finding yourself back in your usual place of staring. Every action done by Arthur was captivating to you. And, you’re sure the long drag of his fingers against the leather is not done on purpose, the same way the sudden weakness in your knees was not an instinctual reaction. Shaking your head free of thoughts that did not benefit the current situation, you tried to round up something to say to him.

But it was too late.

Already outside the front door of the room, Arthur cleared his throat. 

“I best get goin’ then…”

Before you could even implore him to stay, the cowboy was gone. There was a sudden coldness to the room now that he was no longer in it, causing you to wrap your arms around yourself softly. Probably one of the closest opportunities you ever had to tell Arthur how you truly feel, and you blew it by daydreaming about him when he was right in front of you. Perhaps if you had said something, it wouldn’t be a daydream anymore. It would be real. 

That statement alone was enough to get the gears turning in your head again. 

Maybe it didn’t have to end there.

With a newfound energy despite your hangover, you quickly made your way out of the room, using the railings of the stairwell to help guide you down the stairs and out of the hotel as fast as your legs could carry you. Once through the front door, you scanned the area for any traces of Arthur. Just outside the saloon, your horse stood alone. But, there were fresh footprints in the shape of a horseshoe that had traveled away from the spot next to it— a sign to which direction the cowboy had taken to vacate the premises. For once, you were thankful for the muddy streets that Valentine provided, hopping onto the back of your horse to follow the tracks wherever they would take you.

This process, while somewhat difficult, was not impossible. Almost immediately you noticed that Arthur had taken a different route than usual to exit the city. You willed your horse to keep a steady, yet swift pace to keep up with the path. If he was going back to the camp, you wanted to catch him before he got there. For the sake of him as well as yourself, the conversation you wanted to have was not one either of you would be too keen on having in front of the rest of the gang. 

As the sound of vendors and chit-chat began to pale in comparison to your horses footsteps hitting the ground, you knew you were making progress in your mission to find Arthur. Wherever he was going, it was not close to camp. For a slight moment, you felt that perhaps this was a bad idea. Maybe, you had really upset him. Maybe he didn’t want to see you at all. 

Shaking those thoughts from your head, you scanned the dirt beneath you for more telltale signs of where the cowboy had gone. Working along the path, you found yourself in the Heartlands, where previously muddy footprints were now faded into slight indentions on dirt roads. He couldn’t be too far now, you were only just minutes behind him if anything.

Suddenly, a familiar noise filled your ears. A sound only someone as observant as yourself would have picked up on, the particular way Arthur urged his horse to continue moving forward when it sensed that there was some kind of threat around. Silently, you thanked whichever God above who was responsible for this distraction along the road, because there was no telling how much longer this semi-chase would have gone on without it.

“Easy boy!”

Just as you rounded the corner of a small hill, you couldn’t help but beam at the sight before you. Arthurs hat sat on the ground along with him, evidently having been kicked off his horse due to whatever had spooked it. The cowboy, looking as defeated as he had prior to leaving the hotel, groaned from his spot on the dirt path at the sight of his horse continuing off without him, whinnying as it went.

This was your chance.

Slowly, you tugged on the reigns of your horse to urge it to continue forward leisurely, hoping that whatever had scared of Arthurs wouldn’t do the same to your own next. 

“Need a hand?”

At the sound of your voice, Arthur snapped his head in your direction, almost as if it was a second nature response to your presence. For a moment, he eyed the outstretched hand that came from where you sat on top of your horse, a small smile on your face. Had he not been so aware of his actions around you, he would have let on how weak even a grin in his direction by you would make him. So, instead of revealing that side to you just yet, he opted for reaching over to grab his hat on the dirt beside him, placing it on his head with a soft sigh. 

Then, he met your eyes.

There was no world where he didn’t give in to you.

“Suppose so.”

With this, Arthurs calloused hands reached forward and grabbed hold of your soft, yet firm ones, using it as leverage to ease himself upwards from the ground. Once he had finally made it off the ground, the two of you were detached— perhaps far too soon for either of your likings.

“Must’ve been a snake or somethin’.” He quietly said, hands resting comfortably on his belt as he looked in the direction the creature had run off to.

“Can’t say I blame him, the way those things slither around is real creepy.”

Finally, he smiled. There was that playful Arthur you knew.

The cowboy watched as you suddenly moved from your spot on your horse, sitting on the back of it, patting the now empty saddle in front of you. Clearly, he had confusion written all over his face, because you laughed and opened your mouth to explain to him what you had in mind.

“Listen, you and I both know just how fast that horse can run. Just ask the countless times I’ve watched you fire at the O’Driscolls while making ground at the same time,” You paused in your commentary when he half-smiled while shaking his head. “You can take mine for a ride to find him. Promise she won’t give you too much trouble.”

Arthur didn’t immediately give in to your offer, remaining where he stood as if debating on whether or not this was truly a good idea. Slowly, he reached for the saddle to help himself onto the horse, uncertainty filling his face. He knew you had a point, this was the smartest way to go about catching that horse before someone else did. But, was it a wise to be this close to you again after last time? 

From where you sat behind him, you couldn’t stop the smile that made its way to your face. Having this proximity to Arthur again would give you the opportunity you needed to fix things; and maybe even gather the courage to bring up another topic that’s been weighing in on your mind.

“So, while I’m fightin’ those damned O’Driscoll’s, you’re sat pretty watchin’ me?”

“Guess you’re a good view.” You fired back, a laugh escaping your lips.

The cowboy smiled to himself and moved his hands to tightly grasp onto the reigns of your horse, readying himself to take off. Though he didn’t say anything, the way he looked back to make sure you were ready signaled to you that you should probably hold onto something in order to not find yourself in a similar situation to the one you spotted Arthur in. It had been a while since you rode on the back of someone else’s horse, so you paused for a moment to decide your next move.

You could clutch onto the back of the saddle, though it wouldn’t provide you much support. Arthur must have sensed your hesitation, because in one bold move, he wordlessly reached behind him and grabbed onto one of your hands, placing it on his midsection for you to hold onto. When you were both settled, Arthur whipped the reigns, setting off to your desired location.

With the sound of the breeze blowing while your horse gained speed, you couldn’t help but notice that this ride was similar to the one into Valentine the day before. Quiet. But the silence was comfortable, almost too much so. Arthur whistled a couple times with each area he passed. You took in the way you could see him up close from where you sat, admiring the way his eyes were intently scanning every hidden spot his horse could have possibly ran off to. The still early sunlight of the day gave a warm look to his back, appearing as if it was just asking for you to lay your head on it. 

But you couldn’t. It already seemed to be a stretch to be holding onto him the way that you were, and you didn’t want to mess anything up— again.

***

As the time passed in your newfound mission to track down Arthurs horse, it appeared that he was growing uneasy. You assumed it was from the unexpected amount of time the task was taking, a pang of guilt filling your chest. The way things were now, it wasn’t looking as if the animal was going to be found anytime soon. 

The feeling of unrest began to consume you. The once comfortable quiet of this ride had grown uncomfortable with time. Possibly because you’ve had time to sit with your thoughts, and they were beginning to itch to be released from your head.

You sighed.

“Alright back there?” Arthur asked, turning his head to look at you momentarily.

All you did was nod in response, turning your gaze away from him. You feared that if you opened your mouth to say anything at all, you’d let slip what was really on your mind.

Arthur, seemingly unsatisfied with your answer, slowed your horses previously steady pace to a stop. “I could take you back to the camp, if you’d like. This could take a while—“

“Can we just take a break for a moment?” You cut him off, your voice strained.

Pulling the reigns, Arthur led the horse off the path and onto a shady part of the woods that had surrounded you. 

In an attempt to distract yourself, you analyzed the area. It was fairly quiet, and decently well hidden from the rest of the public. There was an abandoned makeshift camp left behind, some crates and a charred fire filling the space. Had you not stopped when you did, you would have missed it. 

When you looked back up, you saw Arthur tying up your horse on a tree towards the entrance of the small encampment, giving the animal a pat on its side before turning to make his way towards you.

At this, you shot your eyes back at the ground, a sudden interest in the leaves and grass that filled it.

His footsteps approached. 

“You sure you’re alright?” The cowboy asked, watching as you fidgeted where you stood. 

This wasn’t an occurrence out of the ordinary. Arthur, being the man that he is, often asked you about you wellbeing. Most of the time, you replied with a generic answer of assuring him you were fine— regardless of how readable your true feelings were. Then, he would have to pry to get you to talk, just as he was now. 

Glazed over eyes met his piercing ones.

“Oh, cowpoke—“

 “I’m okay, it’s just,” You paused, catching your breath in order to calm down. “I think there’s something I need to tell you.”

“You think?”

You looked back down at the ground at this response, wanting nothing more than to just sink into the dirt beneath you. 

Raising your head to continue with what you had to say, Arthur was suddenly far closer than he had been before, nearly towering over you. Had you not known the softer side of the cowboy, you would have cowered in fear at the sight. 

Reaching forward, he put a hand on your shoulder.

“You can tell me how you’re really feeling,” He said, attempting to meet your eyes. “I promise.”

Nodding your head, his words helped to push you in the direction you needed to go with his conversation. Ripping off the bandaid. Confessing.

Tell him how you’re really feeling.

“Arthur,” You began, staring at his chest in front of you. “I don’t know how to describe the way I feel about you. But, I can describe the way I feel around you.” 

He remained silent.

“You just… make me feel really warm. A type of warmth I’ve never felt before. Like a tight hug, or a heavy blanket. And I,” Finally, you forced yourself to meet his eyes, noticing the way he intensely stared back at you. “I feel different about you than I do with anyone else. I can’t really put my finger on why, but I’ve got an idea.”

“What’s that?” He softly asked, urging you to continue on.

“I like you, Arthur.” The statement was too vague for him to make any kind of assumption on, and he stepped forward to place both of his hands on your shoulders.

“Please.” He whispered. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I wouldn’t mind being with you the way we were this morning. Close, comfortable, together.”

That seemed to be enough for him.

In an instant, Arthur lurched forward, connecting his lips with yours in a heated and desperate kiss. The suddenness of the movement caused you to hesitate momentarily, but once you got your bearings, the two of you slotted your lips together like pieces of a puzzle. A perfect, long-awaited puzzle.

The cowboys hands made their way up to your face, holding onto your jaw on both sides to help the embrace grow deeper, wanting to be as close to you as possible for him. This action, caused you to whine out quietly, struggling to keep up with his movements despite desperate efforts to try.

Upon hearing this noise leave your lips, something ignited inside of Arthur. He wanted that. He wanted to hear more of that. While he could tell you weren’t entirely inexperienced, it seemed like you needed a bit of guidance through this. So, he used his tongue to push against your lips, urging them to part for his entrance into your mouth. 

The sound of the leaves blowing in the wind along with heavy, labored breathing was all that filled this old encampment. It felt like you were the only two people in the world. It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. More whines left your lips as you pressed your body against Arthurs subconsciously, adding to the warm feeling that was growing in your abdomen. 

“Arthur…” You said, finally pulling away to catch your breath, an anguished look on your face. You were drunk on him from only moments of kissing, and he knew it. 

Humming in response, he moved his efforts downward to attack your neck with kisses, lingering on certain spots for longer than others when he got the telltale reaction of your breathing hitching.

What he had not expected, though, was for the sudden roll of your hips into his slightly bent thigh.

Pausing his movements, he looked at your face again. Your cheeks were flushed a dark shade of crimson, and your pupils were blown wider than he’d ever seen before. 

“Please,” You begged. “I need you.”

Arthur thought back to the night before, when you pleaded with him to sleep in the bed with you. Your behavior now was quite similar to then. Only now, instead of feeling his heart grow soft in his chest, he felt himself grow hard in his pants. Despite the fact that you were quite literally asking for him to take things a step further, he couldn’t help the uncertain feeling in the back of his mind. Was now the best time? Did you really want this? Was any of this real at all?

Your hand grabbed hold of his wrist, leading him to a spot in the abandoned camp where a thin blanket laid on the ground. Then, you lowered yourself onto it, laying yourself down while looking up at Arthur with hazy eyes.

He wondered why he ever even bothered to think he could deny you of anything.

Quickly, Arthur kneeled down to where you were. Then, he moved to lean on top of you, taking in the way you looked. Whatever part of him that wanted to take this slow was cut off by the way you wrapped your legs around his midsection, locking his hips in with yours as he began to grind himself against you— a groan leaving his lips. With how euphoric he was already feeling, he wouldn’t last long like this. He needed to be inside you.

The cowboys hand hovered over the belt of your pants, slowing his movements to meet your eyes again. Silently, he asked for consent, not moving his hand any further until you nodded your head in reassurance.

Instantly, your clothes were practically ripped off your body, revealing a soaking wet cunt to the eyes of the man before you. In all honesty, he could have devoured you whole right then and there and been happy. But, he knew what you wanted. He knew what you needed.

Rough fingers met the swollen bundle of nerves before him, rubbing gently at it to gauge a reaction. It was evidently the right move, due to the way your back immediately arched, a soft moan escaping your lips at the same time. Then, taking two large fingers, he pushed them inside of you, stretching you out and preparing you for him. With how slick you were, his fingers glided in and out of you without much struggle, making his mind run wild with thoughts.

“Please, Arthur.” You begged once again, reaching an arm out towards him to pull his face towards yours. “I can’t wait any longer.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Pulling his long fingers out of your heat, he reached down in a similar fashion to removing your own clothes, tugging at his own pants to release his throbbing length from their confines in his drawers. It was almost sad, how desperate it looked, already leaking and eager to be inside you.

Then, he used his hand to angle himself at your entrance, already feeling you clench around nothing before he could fill the empty space inside you. With one movement, he slid into your cunt, both of you gasping out at the feeling. Inch by inch, he admired the way you took him, a strangled but pleasant look on your face. Through the process, he reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, smiling softly.

“You sure are pretty, cowpoke.” He muttered, still sinking himself into you.

In response to his compliment, you tightened around him, a reaction not entirely in your control.

Arthur laughed. “You like when I call you pretty, sweetheart?” His voice nearly a purr now, testing the waters of what you liked.

All you could do was bite your lip and nod desperately, digging your nails into his buff arms from where they caged you in on either side of your head.

While he would have preferred an actual response from you, he decided to let things be on your terms this time. 

As his length was fully bottomed out inside you, he allowed you a few moments to adjust, regardless of the voice in his head screaming at him to move. 

Your eyes were screwed shut as you got used to the feeling, head thrown to the side as the slight pain of the stretch began to subside.

Then, wordlessly, you gave him a signal to move by rolling your own hips up to meet his, the unexpected movement making the man nearly fall forward on his elbows above you.

“Jesus, cowpoke, you’re going to be the death of me.” Arthur groaned out, now snapping his hips forward to experimentally thrust into you. Then, he did it again. And again, and again, until he set a steady pace inside of you.

The feeling was somehow more amazing than you had imagined. Restless nights of dreams about this exact scene began to fill your head, only to be crushed away by the real deal. Arthur’s movements were relentless, but at the same time, he was still somehow gentle with you. 

The sound of both of your moans filled the area, and yours only got louder when Arthur reached down to rub at your clit again, his strong fingers creating a feeling that was extremely intense for you. 

“A-ah—, Arthur…” You managed to whimper out. 

“What is it?” He said back, somehow managing to sound composed despite the feeling of how tightly you wrapped around him.

“C-close.” You sighed out, eyes watering at the feeling of an approaching climax. 

Speeding up his movements not only inside of you, but upon the bud he was creating friction with outside of you, Arthur lowered his lips down to beside your ear. From there, he whispered, “Cum for me, sweet girl.”

And that, you did. Your vision went blurry, and the intense feeling you had experienced before was suddenly ripping through you like a tidal wave, your back arching off the ground and your jaw hanging slack. As he helped you ride out your orgasm, he couldn’t help but be thankful you had reached your climax as soon as you did, because he wasn’t far behind you.

Once you relaxed back down, Arthur pulled out of you, the feeling of warm release landing on your stomach pulled your eyes open to take in the sight before you.

Arthur Morgan, looking exhausted as ever, sitting above you. 

You giggled quietly.

Arthur laid himself down beside you to catch his breath, closing his eyes to momentarily take in all of what just happened.

“Not sure that’s where I expected that conversation to go.” You said with another laugh.

He laughed along with you, opening his eyes again to stare upwards at the trees providing shade where the two of you laid. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” 

Looking back at the man next to you, you sighed out contently. “I was just… nervous, I suppose. Wasn’t sure you’d feel the same way.”

Arthur, sitting up now, looked at the mess he made between your thighs. “I think the answer to that one is obvious now.”

From where you laid, you playfully pushed his shoulder, a smile filling your face. 

“Let me get you cleaned up.” He then said, pulling his pants back up and buckling his belt to stand up from where he was laying. He eyed the small camp momentarily, looking to see if there was anything suitable to fix the mess he created. When nothing met his satisfaction, he dug in his pocket for a moment until he pulled out a handkerchief. Leaning down with the colored piece of fabric in his hand, Arthur began to softly wipe away the substances, pulling your bottoms back up when he was done.

This was the part of Arthur you loved the most. Even despite being the person he was, or doing the things he did, he still found time to be sweet to you. He wasn’t the same person that was on those wanted posters all over Blackwater. He was soft. Gentle. Loving. Even now, as he leaned forward to place a tender kiss on your forehead, you felt yourself falling head over heels again. Only now, he knew you liked him. And he felt the same.

“Do you think the gang is—“

“Arthur! Arthur are you around here?”

A loud, familiar voice rang through the clearing of where the two of you were. Though it sounded recognizable, you couldn’t put a name to it just yet, only quickly standing up from your once comfortable spot on the ground. Whoever it was, you didn’t want them to catch you like this.

Both you and Arthur began walking towards your horse, a slight wobble in your step as you did so. 

“Okay there?” The cowboy teased, holding onto your arm as you made your way to lean against the horse.

“Just fine, mister.” You said back, kicking his boot playfully.

“Arthur!!! I have your horse, are you there?”

Suddenly, the voice was louder than before, clearly approaching your current location at any moment. Whoever they were, they did a better job of finding Arthur’s horse than the two of you did, that was for sure.

“I’m over here!” Arthur called back, whistling loudly to the voice.

After a few moments passed, the sound of horseshoes pounding against the ground made their way to you, and you were able to put a face to the voice.

“Arthur, there you are!” Lenny exclaimed, handing the lead of the other mans horse over to him. “You two never came back yesterday, we were all worried you’d been thrown in jail like old Micah, too.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed. “Micah’s in jail?”

Lenny nodded. “In Strawberry. Dutch wanted us to go break him out but you weren’t at the camp. Found your horse behind some old wagons, and thought somethin’ bad had happened.” He rambled, looking between the two of you.

“Wait, Dutch wants us to break Micah out of jail?” You scoffed, looking up at Lenny from where he sat on his horse.

“I know, I don’t want to as much as the rest of you, but it’s Dutch’s orders. He’ll be hung if we don’t get there soon.”

With a shared sigh, both you and Arthur hopped on the backs of your horses, readying yourselves to take off and follow Lenny.

“Guess we best get goin’, then.” Arthur begrudgingly said, gritting his teeth.

As Lenny turned around to ride in the other direction, he glanced back at the two of you. “So why didn’t y’all come back last night?”

With wide eyes, you looked at Arthur, who already had his eyes trained on you with a smile.

“Too much to drink.” He simply said, picking up his pace on the path.

As you rode up next to him, the two of you shared a knowing smile and flushed cheeks, following Lenny on your new mission to Strawberry. 

[thiscoldheart]

some details that i loved in la chimera (spoiler heavy) :

i posted this on twitter as well but i wanted to include it here too. i love this little moment here where italia rests her head on arthur's shoulder and for a brief moment, he's anchored to the present by that touch, but him being the orpheus that he is, just HAD to turn back and find himself gravitating towards the tombs, the past and his eurydice.

the fact that italia's name is literally italy in italian and by the end of the movie she creates a community of her own where she's looking out for those that are outcasted by society, in an abandoned train station named riparbella which literally means "to start again".

arthur's eye always being blocked by shadow throughout the movie until he sees the light at the very end

according to wiki, the goddess the statue is based on is cybele, goddess of nature, animals, wild places and represents the "creative and destructive force of nature." her phrygian name matar (mother) alludes to the fact that she was a "mediator between the boundaries of the known and unknown, the civilized and the wild, the worlds of the living and the dead." i love that this goddess' presence in the movie symbolizes arthur traversing between the living and the dead worlds and getting closer to beniamina. i love that by the end of the movie, the statue itself becomes unknown to human eyes and returns to the wild, far away from civilization, which is arguably the same fate that arthur meets as he dies.

the red string that's following arthur around is very reminiscent of the red string ariadne gives theseus to find his way through the maze. it's beautiful how this red string seems to appear only in his dreams at first but slowly starts crossing the boundaries of dreams and reality as the movie goes on until he is able to tug at it by the end and cross over into beniamina's world.

arthur, at the beginning of the movie, says "so it's you. my last woman's face." how cool is it that beniamina's face resembles cybele's?

arthur goes back to flora's house after being injured and her daughter finds him in the bathroom. spooked, she says "i thought it was a ghost" which arthur might as well be considering how he's essentially been a walking corpse this entire movie.

also a special shout out from the bottom of my heart to the sped up sequences, didn't even realize how badly i needed them until i saw them. the chaos in these sequences is everything to me. this is REAL cinema!

in general, one of the themes that i've come to love about this movie is how objects can have different meanings to everyone. an object like the bell arthur found was just "a thing that rings" whereas italia interprets it as a gift until she comes to realize it's been excavated from a grave. the statue was part of a shrine back when it was made, but to the tombaroli and the sellers, this is only a means to make more money. the train station started off as a place that symbolizes movement of people from the city to the countryside but has now become a home for the outcasts of society. the apotropaic phallus would've have warded off evil and bad luck back in the day, but is now used as a means of escape from the law. a simple red string is the literal lifeline for arthur as he tries to find his way back to his lover.

also want to give another shout out to the inclusion of the italian troubadours (our greek chorus) who beautifully spell out the tragedy of our protagonist and his gang.

speaking of music, i really liked this particular song italia was singing as she was practicing. the lyrics go "i'd like to explain to you, o god/ where my suffering lies/ but fate condemns me to weep/ to weep" and that's exactly when arthur finds her crying son. at least italia finds a way for her suffering to end by the end of the movie. maybe we can say the same about arthur too?

i'll probably add more as i keep rewatching the movie lol and make a thread of this on twitter too (x) thanks for sticking around and let me know what other cool details y'all noticed!

[twola]

The pines, they often whisper They whisper what no tongue can tell He who drinks from the deep water May he know the depths of the well

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➵Passerine

arthur morgan x f!reader, explicit, dark/heavy themes, ongoing

When a run-in with an O’Driscoll leads you to a fate worse than death, it’s up to Arthur to pick up the pieces.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

➵Devil's Backbone

arthur morgan x f!OC, explicit, longfic, ongoing

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Chapter I : Limpany : I | II | III | IV | V Chapter II: Diablo Ridge: I | II | III | IV | V Chapter III: Owanjila: I | II | III | IV | V | VI

➵Seven Deadly Sins

arthur morgan x f!reader, explicit, complete

Because if one thing is true, it is that Arthur Morgan is a sinner. Pure, organic, non-GMO smut. Someone catches feelings along the way.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Drabbles/One-Shots

➵➵ arthur morgan x f!reader, explicit ➵➵

➵The Fine Art of Knot Tying I, II, III ➵In the French Way I, II ➵Gone Fishin' ➵Barely Hidden ➵NSFW Alphabet ➵Virtuous ➵Convalescence ➵Regret Me Not ➵In Sickness ➵Cleanliness and Godliness ➵Painted Ribbons ➵Anything You Can Do  ➵Learning the Hard Way ➵Accounting and Other Arts ➵Caught ➵To Name a Vista ➵Pain Relief ➵Defying Conventions (ABO) ➵Mirror Image ➵Cartography ➵ Lookin' for Trouble ➵ Snowbound ➵ My Love and I Did Meet ➵ Stance ➵ Holy ➵Ache

[queer-ragnelle]

La Tavola Ritonda PDF is now available to read! Enjoy!

ID: When Isotta had returned to the pavilion, the tables were set out and food was prepared, and when water had been brought for their hands they sat down to eat. As they ate, Gariette looked out and saw Palamidesso going by looking for them, and pointed him out to Sir Tristano. Tristano got up and went to meet him, taking him by the hand and leading him into the pavilion, where he disarmed and sat at the table. They all passed that night in great joy.

Medieval Literature scans | Arthurian Retellings scans | Ko-fi ⤥Italian Name Guide Below Cut

Prose Tristan Gang

King Meliadus of Liones (Meliodas of Lyonesse)

Queen Eliabella (Elizabeth)

Tristano (Tristan)

King Marco of Cornovaglia/Tintoile (Mark of Cornwall/Tintagel)

King Amoroldo of Irlanda (Morholt of Ireland)

King Languis of Irlanda (Anguish of Ireland)

Queen Isotta the Blonde (Isolde 1)

Gouvernale (Governal)

Brandina (Brangaine)

Dinadano (Dinadan)

Daniello (Daniel)

Brunoro the Black/Ill-Cut Coat (Brunor le Noir/La Cote Male Taile)

Dinasso the Seneschal (Dinas)

King Scalabrino (Esclabor)

Palamidesso the Pagan (Palomides/Palamedes)

Isotta White Hands (Isolde 2)

Gheddino (Kahedrin)

Logres

King Artù of Camellotto/Longres (Arthur of Camelot/Logres)

Queen Ginevara (Guinevere)

Chieso the Seneschal (Kay)

Lucano (Lucan)

Fata Morgana (Morgan le Fay)

Pulzella Gais (Morgan's daughter)

Merlino the Prophet (Merlin)

Orcadians

King Lotto (Lot)

Queen Albagia of Organia (Morgause of Orkney)

Calvano the Lover (Gawain)

Agravano (Agravaine)

Gariens (Gaheris)

Gariette (Gareth)

Mordarette (Mordred)

Welsh

King Pellinoro of Gaules (Pellinore of Wales)

Prezzivale lo Galese (Percival of Wales)

Amorotto di Gaules (Lamorak of Wales)

Adriano (Drian)

Agravale (Aglovale)

French

King Bando of Benoich (Ban of Benwick)

Dama del Lago (Lady of the Lake)

Lancilotto of Gioisa Guardia (Lancelot of Joyous Guard)

Astore di Mare (Hector de Maris)

Lionello (Lionel)

Bordo (Bors)

Briobris (Biloberis)

Galasso (Galahad)

Others

Brunoro the Brown (Brunor father of Galehaut)

Bagotta (Fair Giantess)

Galeotto (Galehaut)

Sagramore (Sagramore lol)

Meliagans (Meleagant/Melwas)

King Brando of Magus (Bademagus)

Beast Glatisanti (Questing Beast/Glatisants)

[immajustvibehere]

Quiet, Solitude Hour

Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader

summary: On a hot afternoon, you find camp deserted with only one lazy cowboy to keep you company.

warning: slightly suggestive, Arthur is some years younger than he was in the game (it's up to you how much tho)

960 words, 5 minutes reading time

Credit to oolonglatte on Twitter! The drawing inspired this fanfiction :)

Camp was uncommonly deserted today. The majority was out on jobs, including Dutch and Miss Grimshaw, whose absence left a void in the usual hierarchy of overseeing and assigning chores. The sun blazed overhead, and whoever wasn't working was seeking shelter in the next saloon or going for a dip in a nearby lake. Even Mr Pearson, who normally remained within the bounds camp, had wandered off with Tilly to fish at a creek.

Having just completed the task of unloading hay from the wagon and neatly arranging it beneath a modest, hastily assembled shelter, you were convinced that you were the only one at camp. But then you saw a wispy thread of smoke rising from Arthur's tent. Not the black sort of smoke you get when you light a campfire, no, someone was smoking a cigarette. It must be Arthur, though his body was well hidden behind the crates that surround his tent.

You grinned as a prospect for diversion and amusement presented itself. You walked up to him, the grass and soil beneath your feet masked any audible approach. Slowly, Arthur’s body appeared. Recumbent upon his cot, Arthur wore nothing but jeans and boots. It looked as if he had hastily unclothed after a ride and now was trying to cool down. It was clear that he hadn’t expected anybody to be here, because even his belt was discarded in the grass, the jeans’ button and zipper had been undone nonchalantly, the latter halfway at best.

You observed the dark hair on his body that thickened beneath the curvature of his navel, only to lead down where it was swallowed by the shadow cast by his jeans. Arthur wasn't one to run around topless very often. You tried to remember when you ever saw him like this, only to realize it must have been years ago if ever.

You smiled contently. Arthur's eyes were closed and when he led the cigarette to his mouth, this happened on instinct and with a perfectly studied movement.

It felt forbidden, watching him like that. So you snuck away, heading for the create in the shadow where the gang kept some bottles of beer. The crate was buried in the ground to exploit every damp coolness that the earth had to offer. When you returned, two moderately cool bottles in hand, Arthur remained blissfully oblivious to your presence. The hand unoccupied by the cigarette, it had since shrunken significantly and would only be good for two more drags, was tracing circles on his lower abdomen. You watched as his fingers sifted through the strands of hair, a gentle caress which underlined that his thoughts were miles away.

Gently, you allowed the bottles to emit a soft chime as they touched and spoke softly: "Hope I'm not interrupting something?" More calmy than you had expected he'd react on the disturbance, Arthur's eyelids parted at a leisurely pace to meet your presence.

"'Course not", Arthur sat up slowly, smiling when you came closer, offering him a bottle. The remnants of his cigarette were extinguished before his fingers grasped the offered refreshment. Then he shifted along the cot, patting the fabric next to him. You sat down and only when your arm lightly brushed against his, Arthur seemed to wake up from his daydream.

He jumped up and put the bottle down on a table.

"Sorry I wasn't expecting someone to be here. Ain't proper to run around like that", Arthur grinned cheekily for a fleeting moment, before he stretched his limbs, righting his jeans and grabbing a shirt.   "Oh, come on!", you giggled, "It's damn hot today, I don't blame you."

Arthur's eyes rested on you for moment. He must have noticed that you also had more buttons unbuttoned than usual, because, though he put his shirt on, sleeved rolled up to expose his forearms, he didn't bother buttoning it, but only cramped the edges into his jeans.

"What've you been up to?", you asked as Arthur sat down next to you again. You still saw some of the drowsiness in him. The hot air had made him tired and if you hadn't disturbed him, he might have dozed off soon.

"Jus' been out riding. I was looking into a lead Hosea told me."

"Is it a good one?", you asked, smilingly. You didn't know where you took the courage from all of a sudden, but you put your hand on top of Arthur's that was resting between your bodies.

"Y-yeah, think so...", Arthur almost choked on the answer, surprised about the hand holding. Well, it wasn’t entirely unexpected, because the two of you had been sweet on one another for some time now. But Arthur's method of dealing with his feelings was to stay away from camp as much as possible, because there was no way you felt the same and he wanted to get over this silly crush. He hadn't expected you to...like him back. Not even talking about daring to do the first move.

"Nobody's going to be back for another hour…", you said, standing up to look around camp. Your hand was still loosely holding Arthur's who was watching you in awe.

"We should make use of this", you grinned suggestively.

Arthur's Adam’s apple visibly bobbed as he swallowed.

"Ya sure? Y/N I didn't know you felt like this...", Arthur said, visibly flustered.

"Now you know", your cheeks were flushed from the confession.

You sat down on Arthur's lap, facing him. Arthur's hands immediately wandered to your hip, holding it in place while looking up to you. Slowly, you pulled out the edge of the shirt that Arthur had crammed into his jeans, undoing the work he had done only a minute ago. But Arthur didn’t mind that at all.