#please do ignore that this is an older timey setting and she looks too modern. its not out of place oo 🌀🌀

[crescentmp3]

hii, as i was redesigning celeste i made three different outfits to pick from - could anyone probide an opinion?

+ bonus me trying to pick a new hairstyle and deciding she's fine

[sunshinexlollipops]

I hate any and all pizza. Is that a crime? ‘Cause all my friends think that’s a crime. 🍕

OKIE OKIEEEEEE— I heard you all.

Here’s PART TWO to “Need a Lift?” with a bit of a twist. ;)

(click HERE to read part one!)

“Pick Me Up Lines”

“You don’t like pizza?”

“No, never have. My friends say I’m weird for it, and John threw me in jail over it because he said it was a crime, but that’s just my prefences.”

“That’s…”

You blink, looking at Arthur from where he drives as though he were an alien instead of a man. Well, you guess it would make more sense either way— him not being a man. After all, he literally lifted your car by hand and—

“I just don’t like how heavy it is,” Arthur scratches at the peach fuzz lining his chin, “Like grease from the pepperoni or cheese? It’s too much.”

“But jail?”

“It wasn’t an actual jail,” he clarifies, “But there’s a cell and everythin’. Didn’t really work when I bent the bars to get out.”

You stare at the man.

“You bent metal over a debate on pizza.”

“I am very strong about protectin’ my beliefs.”

“Or just very fucking strong,” you mutter, and you shake your head and earning a chuckle from Arthur before you ask, “Do you like garlic bread at least?”

“Well, yeah. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it.”

“Okay… So you’re not entirely a lost cause,” you murmur as Arthur takes a turn, “But still— no pizza?”

“If you wanna eat pizza, that’s just fine by me. I don’t want you to think you gotta eat somethin’ I like. That ain’t really the point of a date.”

You blink, cheeks burning then as you stare at Arthur. He seems to catch onto your reaction then, and the collar of his frock coat folds as he looks at you.

“What?”

“You just said the D-word.”

“That ain’t the D-word.”

“Yes it is,” you turn to him then in your seat, pointing a finger at him, “Do you not know how to spell it?”

Huffing, Arthur grumbles, “Last I checked, it’s spelled D–I–C—”

“No! Not dick, Arthur!” the man coughs as you hit him lightly on the shoulder, “You said… d… date.”

“How are you literally so comfortable with sayin’ the d-word but not date—”

“YOU SAID IT AGAIN—”

“Because that’s what we’re doin’!” Arthur laughs at you then as he stops at the red light, “We’re gonna have dinner together. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

Rolling your eyes lightly, you huff, looking out of the foggy and snowy window, “I’m not sayin’ that.”

“Well, I don’t like pizza and you don’t like the word date,” Arthur hums, “Strange folks, we are.”

You also have superhuman strength?

“It’s not that I don’t like the word or what we are doing, it’s just that it’s kind of unexpected. Like, I was supposed to go home and watch Umbrella Academy on Netflix, and now here I am, going to have dinner with who I am positive is the bumpkin inspiration for Luther Hargreeves.”

“Luther-who-now?”

You ignore Arthur’s question and sigh, drawing an absent squiggle into the condensation on his car window. As your finishing your abstract masterpiece of boredom, you begin to notice the overall construction and architecture of Valentine change. Suddenly, all the buildings begin to pick up a western theme, and your mind bogles as you look down one road to find it entirely looking like an old western town from the late 1800’s.

Well, how a western outlaw town would look buried under six inches of piling, white snow.

“What in the hell?” you look back at Arthur then, “Did we suddenly time travel? Like… I have a Toyota man, not a tardis.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“I would be more surprised if you did. But don’t worry, I’m not much of a Doctor Who fan. I only watched it for David Tennant and that was all I would allow myself.”

“Remind to ask you about what you said later,” he mutters.  

Arthur slows as you arrive to a saloon-themed diner of all things, donned with the gaudy name of “The Chuckwagon” written in an old timey font with a cartoon rendition of an Armadillo tipping its hat at you. You take in the double doors with decals on them to appear like the clip art version of wooden saloon doors, and the fact that the roof has even an arched top to appear like an old wagon topped with canvas.

“Uh.”

“Appearance is weird, but the food is good,” Arthur says with some defense.

“Care to explain why the entire town has gone Clint Eastwood on me?”

Arthur sighs as he parks his tow truck, “This is gonna sound weird, but… We’re a tourist attraction here. One of those re-enactment places you sometimes hear about.”

“Oh! So that’s what you meant by it not being an actual jail!”

He nods, “Precisely.”

Your eyes lighten up as the prospects pile up before you.

“For the love of everything holy, please tell me you’re the sheriff—”

“No, that’s Dutch, but sometimes I play the deputy. Otherwise… I play a bounty hunter.”

“Sweet mother of… At least tell me you’re from somewhere southern?”

“No. I’m from California. LA, actually… only reason I have an accent is that it got stuck,” Arthur then clears his throat, talking without an accent, “I used to sound like this.”

Your voice is quiet in the cab as Arthur silences the engine and undoes his seatbelt, “Oh my god…”

“We’re a bit of a weird town, but that’s how we are… Dutch actually owns all these places, runs it during the summer. Obviously this is the off season, so we do other stuff to stay afloat like being an in-between point for major cities around here. It pays well when it’s the height of tourist season.”

You both exit the car, and you look over to him as you step onto the curb and head towards the Chuckwagon. The harsh wind whips at your face and hair, and you feel your skin heat up as Arthur goes to pull one of the doors to the themed diner.

“Thought people didn’t really go to these kinda places anymore?”

“Well, we have other stuff apart from the re-enactments, but it helps with shows like Westworld comin’ out.”

Under your breath, you hiss, “I’m gonna have a stroke…”

Arthur doesn’t seem to hear you as the bell above the doors rings upon your entry.

The inside of the diner looks just like the outside, with the wood-paneled walls and the fake potted cactuses that sit at each table, a designated repetition like the salt and pepper shakers and napkin dispensers.  

Immediately, as Arthur stops at the podium and you pause at his side, a girl walks up to the hostess station, grinning like wild as she twirls one of her blonde curls.

She’s dressed in appropriate attire for the location, except with a more modern, dignified twist. With her white and purple dress, she looks straight out of a western flick with a poor budget as you wave at her lightly.

“Ah now, Arthur, who is this fine thing you’re thinkin’ ‘bout right now?”

“My date,” he says easily.  

Flushing a bit, you wave a slight hand at the blonde as she narrows her eyes on you.  

“Again with the d-word!” you nudge his side, to which Arthur lightly rolls his eyes.

“Hm,” there’s a twinkle in the woman’s gaze, much like the blue glitter in her eyeshadow as she grabs two menus from the podium and beckons you both to follow, “Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“I’m not from here… Arthur, he found me on the road, stuck in this stupid storm with my car just about dead.”

“Oh Arthur, you’re such a hero! Trust me, she thought you were impressive!”

“But—“

“I’m not a hero, Karen.”

“Yeah, but to your date, you’re Superman.”

Snorting as she stops in front of a both, and you and Arthur go to seat yourselves, he comments idly as the waitress sets your menus onto the table, “I ain’t no Clark Kent.”

“Please! Some glasses and hair dye, and you’d be perfect!”

You have to agree. He’s got the powers and everything, after all. Only thing that’s stopping him is the wardrobe.

“Hey, even your date agrees!”

Frowning lightly, you realize, “I didn’t say I did—“

“Nah. I was Deadpool once for John’s Halloween party and that was enough.”

Eyes widening, you gape, attention diverted, “You dressed as Wade Wilson!?”

“Yes. And I can say I’m not a fan of spandex.”

Laughing, Karen jests, “The other people sure were, though.”  

“Karen,” he pushes.  

“Alright, well I’ll leave you two be for a minute. But expect me to come back ‘round! I wanna know more ‘bout you!”

You grin sheepishly at Karen as she sways back into the rest of the diner, and then you look back to Arthur.  

“So is she part of the re-enactments thing?”

“No. She ain’t in character. She’s just like that,” Arthur explains, “Bless her heart.”

“I’m guessing most of you are here for the re-enactments thing?”

Arthur nods, picking up his menu, “Most are. There’s a few who don’t. Like Hosea, he doesn’t exactly partake. But he’s older and his job is more so financial-based than anything with actin’. He helps keep Dutch and this place in line… Probably the only reason we’re still open after all these years.”

You hum, looking at the armadillo brandishing his lasso on the front of the menu as someone else approaches your table.

“My my, Arthur Morgan! You sly dog!”

You look up to see another woman, her hair also done in curls like Karen’s, but her sandy hair is pulled back along the top and held together in a braid that cascades down her shoulders like the rest of her hair. She’s dressed in period-appropriate attire just like Karen, except her tacky dress is a light blue that is what you wished the sky looked like right now.

“Hey, Mary-Beth.”

“Say, what could I get you two to drink?”

Arthur hums, rubbing his chin, “Guess I’ll take a coffee. Black, please.”  

Scribbling his request down, Mary-Beth then regards you, “And what would you like?”

“Sweet tea, I guess.”

“Lemon?”

Shrugging you shake your head, “I’m indifferent about them.”

“I’ll bring some on the side just in case you want some,” she winks, “I’ll grab those drinks and be right back to take your order.”

Mary-Beth offers a polite and curt smile to you both before walking to the drink station in the corner of the room.

“Guess I should look at the menu then…”

“Most of the food here is pretty good. Pearson has gotten better over the years, so any decision you make should be fine… Just avoid the soup of the day. It’s always chili no matter what. It’s all he can make.”

You sputter a small laugh, but go back to looking at the listed foods.  

“What do you plan on getting?” you ask.

“Probably the cowboy burger,” he answers, rubbing at his chin with one hand, “I’m in the mood for some crispy onions.”

Nodding, you take in Arthur’s decision as you try to make your own.

After a bit of browsing, you decide to just go along with Arthur and get a burger. You fold your menu back up and set it on top of Arthur’s before setting your eyes on him.

He’s already looking at you, brows creased and gaze focused, and you quirk an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“Nothin’… Just think I’ve talked about myself a lot. I was wonderin’ a bit about you.”

You flush some, smirking, “Well, I was visiting my family up here, holidays, ya know? I live a few hours away for school and whatnot. I’m trying to study for programming.”

“Oh, like computers n’ stuff?”

You shake your head with a laugh, “Nah, like video games and stuff.”

Arthur looks like he wants to ask more, but he is cut off by Mary-Beth returning with your drinks. She sets Arthur’s steaming mug of coffee down before before grabbing your glass of tea and placing it on your side of the table.  

“Know what you want?”

“Yeah.”

Arthur goes first, “I’ll have the cowboy burger. No mayo, extra pickles.”

Noting his meal down, Mary-Beth looks to you.

“And you?”

Swallowing, you tell her, “I guess I’ll have the same? No mayo or tomato though. Regular amount of pickles.”

“Looks like that’s it! I’ll be back to check on you a couple of times, but otherwise the food shouldn’t take long!”

“Thanks, Mary-Beth,” Arthur grins, sipping at his coffee.  

“Thank you,” you smile at her.

“No problem!” she beams, “If y’all also need anythin’ let me know!”

Mary-Beth leaves, and you look over to Arthur.

“She’s really nice,” he tells you, “Probably the sweetest here in Valentine.”

“So. This town, Valentine… why haven’t I heard of it before?”

Arthur hums, finishing his sip of coffee before answering, “Like I said, it’s not dying but we aren’t major either. It’s gotten a little better over the past few years, and like I said, were the first town on the highway for a minute, so people pit stop here all the time anyways. Guess we’re kinda more a local thing or something you happen ‘cross.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you like it?”

Humming, you place your hands around your glass of tea, “Not sure how I feel about it. Ain’t like a piece of pizza to me yet.”

Chuckling, he sends you a warm look.

“Hey man, I’mma dog you like your name is Clifford for as long as I can for that one.”

“As I’ve noticed,” Arthur tilts his head at you then, “So, you said you wanted to make video games?”

“Oh yes,” you brighten some, “It can be pretty rough depending on what you’re doing… and certain developers aren’t doing too hot or mismanaged like hell, but I love video games. And a lot of people do too, if they’re done right,” you pause, “You play anything?”

Arthur pulls out his cellphone, an older smart one by the looks of it. Now considered ancient with the new models coming out. Honestly, you were expecting a flip phone at this rate, so you’re gonna count your blessings where they lie.  

“I play solitaire sometimes. And there’s an app I mess with occasionally. Just one of those puzzle ones, and I had Mancala on here until I had the moves memorized and it was just click n’ go. But I don’t really get involved with games.”

You fiddle with your straw, twirling it in your glass as you specify things, “What about on a console? Xbox, PlayStation? You play anything there?”

“Nah. The most I own is a DVD player at my house. I never really played games overall.”

You hum, “Sounds kinda fitting. At least you don’t have a VCR.”

Rolling his eyes playfully, Arthur asks, “What about you?”

“I’ve played a few things across quite a few platforms. I don’t really have a specific favorite or something I’m diehard for. If I like something, then I like it. Doesn’t matter what it’s on or about.”

Grinning, Arthur nods, “That’s commendable.”

“I just wanna make something everyone enjoys. Something anyone can have fun with, ya know?” you stop moving your straw then, focusing entirely on the man across from you, “I just wanna be able to create that feeling I had as a kid, playing something and enjoying myself. And to share that with other people.”

“That’s a beautiful thing to want.”

Flushing, you sheepishly ask, “What about you? Why did you decide to come to Valentine?”

“Ah. I liked actin’ but I’m not a huge fan of the industry. There’s a lotta problems there. And I guess I’ve always like country life but I’m too modern to exactly accept it entirely. So this was easy. I was actually on my way up to New York and my car broke down kinda outside of town, and found my way here. Just stayed ever since.”

“Huh.”

You sip at your tea then, thinking.  

“Guess we both just kinda wandered down here.”

Smirking, Arthur explains, “Valentine is just like that. A lot of people don’t expect to stop here, but they do. It’s gotta way if growin’ on ya.”

“I suppose so… I haven’t seen anything like it.”

“It’s a strange place, for sure…”

You nod, thinking back to when Arthur lifted your car. There’s nothing but snow and strange in this bitch.  

“You have questions,” he notes.  

Looking up from your tea to the aspiring actor gone tow-truck cowboy, you blink.  

“Questions?”

“Obviously,” Arthur takes a sip of his coffee before setting his mug down, the dark liquid steaming as his licks his lips before speaking once more, “I saw your face earlier. Both when I was towin’ your sedan, and at the gas station. You haven’t brought it up so far, and honestly… it’s kinda strange.”

“A lotta things are strange here,” you whisper, “You think me refraining from asking why that is happens to be one of them?”

“Well yeah. Man lifts a car in front of you no problem, and all you do is tell me I’m a Netflix character. You’re not a Buzzfeed quiz.”

“I’m not rude, either.”

Snorting, Arthur explains, “Would it be rude to really ask why it’s possible when you know it shouldn’t be?”

“Hey, as long as you got me outta that ditch and didn’t murder me, I was fine with the super strength. You’re like a ninja turtle. Except you’re not a turtle. And you hate pizza.”

“I don’t hate pizza.”

“You don’t love it either.”

“I know what I like to eat,” he says, and your eyebrows raise as his gaze heats a little, “Depends on if what I come across matches my taste.”

Your mouth goes dry, your heart hampering away in your chest as Mary-Beth seems to appear in front of you with your food.

“Here ya go! Two burgers! And I brought a bowl of pickles out for you, Arthur.”

“Thanks,” Arthur sends her a grin, all friendly like he hadn’t just eyed you like a god damn snacc.  

“You still okay?” Mary-Beth asks you.  

Flushed and flustered, you are only able to nod.  

“Awesome!” she grins, “I’m gonna give you all some space, and I’ll check on you in a minute!”

You look down at your plate, and you hear what almost sounds like static at your side. Glancing up, you see that the space beside you where Mary-Beth once was is now suddenly vacated entirely.  

Bugging out of their sockets, your eyes move to Arthur, who seems completely unbothered by the sudden disappearance of your waitress and his friend.  

“She does that,” he says easily, picking up his burger, “She can teleport. Wish I could. She saves so much on gas.”

You look at your plate, your mind going elsewhere as you stare at your food.  

“You’re… you’re not the only one who can do weird things?”

“We all can. Honestly, we all wound up here one way or another by happenstance. We all have somethin’ ‘bout ourselves that ain’t normal, too.”

Looking to where Karen stands at the booth, looking in the mirror of her compact blush as she reapplies her make-up, you find yourself asking, “What can she do?”

“It’s kind of annoyin’ at times when she will play with you,” Arthur takes a bite of his burger, chewing, “but Karen? She’s a telepath.”

“And our cook?”

The man deadpans, “Oh, Pearson? He can transfigure things. Except his ability is kinda broken… it all just becomes chili.”

You can’t help it, despite your shock, your burst out laughing.  

Arthur looks startled for a second, obviously not expecting that kind of reaction, but he smiles nonetheless.  

After it dies on your tongue, you ask, “You said everyone has a strange ability?”

“Yes. Well, except for Micah. He’s a bit sour about it, and honestly, he’s an asshole before that, and he’s also grumpy about bein’ the janitor of the place too. But everyone kind of has their own specialty. I’m sure you can guess mine.”

“An unexplainable and unnatural amount of strength?”

Chuckling, he nods.

“You know,” he begins, “You’re takin’ this a lot better than I expected.”

You shrug, murmuring, “I suppose there have been weirder things to happen to me.”

“Are you sure ‘bout that?”

“Don’t John Cena me.”

His brows furrow with confusion then, “Who now?”

Shaking your head, you mutter, “Nevermind…”

The man buns, taking a bite of his burger as you pick at your fries.  

Honestly, it is a lot to process, and your brain? Well, you might as well be staring at a blue error 404 screen. There’s no way you could grasp enough brain cells to wrap your mind around the concept of a western re-enactment tourist city being filled with people just as unordinary as the town itself.

You find your curiosity getting the better of you, and you lose your focus on your plate of food.

“You mentioned Dutch and Hosea, the people who kinda run this place. What can they do?”

“Oh, Hosea can predict the future, to an extent. And Dutch, he has the ability to turn invisible. Which is funny, ‘cause all the man wants it to be seen.”

Humming, you ask, “How many of you are there?”

“Eighteen,” he tells you, “not includin’ me or Jack.”

“Jack?”

“Abigail and John’s son. We don’t know if he’s got an ability or not.”

“Oh. Cool,” pausing, you glance up at him, “Is this all supposed to be a secret?”

“We don’t like to make it known, but… I feel like I can trust you,” Arthur states, “And even then, it’s hard for anyone to believe if they don’t see it themselves.”

Blushing a bit from his initial admission, you nod, “Point made I guess.”

Taking another bite, Arthur speaks with his cheek propping out like a chipmunk’s, “Are you gonna eat?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Got distracted.”

You munch on your burger absentmindedly. And as you eat, you know that Arthur’s eyes don’t leave you. He’s obviously gauging you, and with the way his eyes squint, it’s like he struggles.  

Which is weird.  

You’re pretty much an open book when it comes to your feelings. You always have been.  

As you finish your burger, Arthur offers an inquisitive look.  

“How’s the food?”

“It’s not pizza,” when Arthur chuckles, you relent some, “It’s pretty good.”

“The chili is too. But you can try that next time.”

Blinking, you tilt your head, “Next time?”

“Well, you’re gonna have to stay here for a minute. This blizzard isn’t gonna let up for a few days, and it’s gonna take a couple more for the plows to come through and clear this all out.”

Nodding, you sigh, “Of course…”

“You sound delighted about that.”

“It’s not that I’m not enjoying our time together,” you insist, and you reach over, placing your hand over Arthur’s, “I don’t feel bad about meeting you at all.”

You see Arthur’s face scrunch up in confusion, but then his features slacken, his eyes glazed a little as he looks to you.  

“Yeah… same.”

Quirking a brow at him, you remove your hand, cheeks burning as he stares at you while you shove your hands into your jacket pockets.  

“Well, food’s eaten. What do we do now?”

“Why pay, of course!”

“JESUS CHRIST—“

Mary-Beth bursts out laughing at you as you clutch at your chest.  

The air somewhat glitters around her from where she appeared, and Arthur seems to shake off whatever came over him as he sees her.

“I’ve been called worse, but I’ll take it!”

She sets a black checkbook down onto the table.

“It’s no rush to either of ya.”

“We’re both done. Ain’t no rushin’ for us,” Arthur snatches the checkbook before you’re even able to get your hands out of your coat pockets, “And I got it.”

“Such a gentleman!” Mary-Beth winks.  

Rolling his eyes lightly, Arthur places a twenty and some ones into the checkbook, “Keep the change.”

“He’s treating both of us,” Mary-Beth nudges you then.  

Nodding at her, you watch as Arthur stands and Karen comes up to your table.

“Leavin’ already?”

“Seems like that’s what you do once you eat n’ pay,” Arthur jokes.  

You stand up as well, glancing at Karen and Mary-Beth as they openly judge you. Their hands are on their chins and everything.  

It’s like those two old guy muppets judging you, as though Arthur had picked you up off of Sesame Street instead of the snowed-in highway.

“Girls,” Arthur warns without much heat.  

He comes over to your side, putting a hand at the small of your back as the girls come closer.  

“Arthur, we’re just curious!”

“I know ya are. But it’s been a long day, and—“

Karen huffs, “You just wanna take the date to the hotel. Or your place. Whichever. Long as it’s got a bed.”

Arthur stops, voice dying and crackling out miserably. You glance to him, cheeks burning.  

Arthur wanted— …

Oh.  

O h.  

Oh fuck. He wants to fuck—

“You ain’t gotta be like that, Karen.”

“It’s okay. They don’t mind either.”

“Karen!”

Wait. Karen can read minds. Right.  

Meaning. She can hear you.

Right now.  

Thinking of Arthur burying his dick in you like your car did with the snowbank he pulled you out of which OH—

“I ain’t even gotta use my powers to know. Just lookin’ at you two and I can tell you wanna test how soundproof Grimshaw’s hotel is.”

“KAREN—“

She shrugs, nonplussed in the wake of your own and Arthur’s mortification.

Mary-Beth only nods at Karen’s words, and you wish a hole would open up here in the floor to swallow you whole.  

“Can we leave please?”

“Be our guest,” Karen gestures to the door then, “But don’t worry. I’ll hear about it. Either from Grimshaw or from across the road.”

“Karen,” Arthur sends her a pleading look.  

You both scurry past her, escaping out of the Chuckwagon and our into the freezing world outside of it.  

As you rush to Arthur’s tow truck, your mind can’t help but play a loop on what just happened.  

You both get into the cab of the truck, the space of it barely warm from where you had been in it before. Arthur rushes to start the car, and as soon as it rumbles to life, you both reach to adjust the AC.  

Your fingers brush against one another, and you swallow thickly as Arthur stalls.  

Arthur gets that same look about him as he did in the restaurant as you pull your hand away, and you look out of the window.  

Some moments pass, and the air is as tense as it is cold as the heater in the tow truck slowly comes back from the brink of freezing.  

“Hey…”

You glance back at Arthur, cheeks redder than the man’s as he looks at you.  

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want you to think we gotta do anythin’ or whatever. I’m not gonna ask you to do anythin’ because I helped you, or that I’m interested and want somethin’ back. You only ever have to do anything you chose and are comfortable with,” you’re taken aback with some surprise then, “Karen really went over the line back there and—“

You cut him off by pressing your lips against his, and you feel Arthur go slack against you.  

His lips are chapped, but soft past the dryness of his skin. But it doesn’t come close to the way his hand comes up the side of your face, and his fingers work their way into your hair.

His lips work against your own finally, and you make a small noise before Arthur finally breaks away.  

He’s panting lightly, and you go back into your seat, breathing.  

And of course, that’s when you look into the foggy windows of the Chuckwagon to see Mary-Beth and Karen whooping at you.  

“Oh Jesus—“

Arthur pulls his tow truck away from the parking lot then, and onto the road, and you both ride on in silence for a moment or two.  

It’s as Arthur gets down the end of the road, his truck going to turn, that he regards you.  

“So… you okay if I take you to my place, or did you want to head to the hotel after we grab your things?”  

You can’t help it, but you laugh and shake your head, your smile as warm as the cab of the tow truck now.

“We can pick it up on the way to either, if you want.”

“There’s somethin’ else I’d like to be pickin’ up—”

“You are the worst.”

Triumphantly, he declares, “But I’m not pizza.”

“No,” you smirk, “No you’re not.”