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itsallgoodmann · 3 months ago

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I'm going to act like I did not sob throughout the entirety of writing this story holy shit.

"Charles Knew that Love Existed Because Arthur was Love"

Desc: Arthur tells Charles about his condition and they both slowly realize they care a lot more about each other than they originally thought. Apparently loss can really strengthen emotions, especially unresolved ones.

(Heavily implied Charthur, comfort, angst, death, grief, mutual confession of love...You get the idea. Inspired by the fanart above (not mine obvs!))

"Hey Charles," Arthur sat down on the crate next to Charles, overlooking the main campfire. Charles gently rubbed gun oil on his sawed-off shotgun, thinking quietly to himself, like he always did.

"Arthur." Charles nodded at Arthur, glancing at him quickly before looking back at his gun. Arthur put his hands in his lap, clasped together tightly. He closed his eyes briefly, trying his best to gather his thoughts. He had known Charles for less than a year, but somehow Arthur felt more connected to him than Dutch.

Arthur didn't want to tell him. In fact, Arthur couldn't think of a thing he wanted to do less than tell Charles the truth...

Because he was dying. Famous gunslinger Arthur Morgan, taken by a goddamn lung disease. How ironic. Charles deserved to know, he had been so kind to Arthur. Arthur remembered the weeks after the O'Driscolls had kidnapped and shot him, and who stayed by his wagon the longest.

Not Dutch, not John, not even Hosea.

Charles.

"You shouldn't get up," Charles said bluntly, staring into Arthur's blue eyes, glazed over in a Morphine-filled daze. Arthur shook his head like he did every time someone told him not to do something. It didn't stop him from hoisting himself up so his head rested on the back of the wagon. Charles just shook his head, a small smile on his face.

"Swanson's Morphine is certainly doing its job," Charles muttered, mostly to himself, Arthur scoffed in return.

"Why you here anyways?" Arthur took a deep breath and tried not to wince at the stitches from the gunshot wound in his abdomen. Charles chuckled, a lighthearted noise that made Arthur smile...Even if it was mostly because of the Morphine.

"Just, watching... Got nothing better to do." Charles shrugged his shoulders and continued sharpening his knife next to Arthur's wagon.

"I think in the time you've been with us-" Arthur took a moment to think about what he was going to say, his words slightly slurred from the drugs.

"I've never heard you speak more than two sentences to anyone." Arthur shook his head, smiling. Charles rolled his eyes.

"I just don't have much to say, I guess." Charles shook his head, but couldn't help the smile that graced his face.

"Charles...Smith... The lone wolf... A man of few words." Arthur put his hands up and made a gesture like he was reading a newspaper headline.

"If I knew you were going to act like an idiot I wouldn't have given you the Morphine." Charles shot back, but he didn't take any offense. How could someone take offense to the ramblings of a Morphine drunk Arthur? Arthur acted like he had been shot (very fitting), giving Charles an exasperated look.

"The lone wolf does speak!" He said dramatically, drawling out the 'does' to annoy Charles even more.

"You should sleep Arthur," Charles finally said, putting away the knife and other sharpening materials.

"Y'know..." Arthur yawned, the euphoric sensation of the Morphine and the drowsiness that healing cost was really getting to him.

"I'm quite fond of you, Mr.Serious." Arthur slurred, moving his head down to the pillow and looking up. Charles studied Arthur's expression, trying to read his true emotions. Arthur's eyebrows were relaxed, his lips upturned in a lazy smile. He could see the crow's feet that appeared next to his eyes, and the scar that was on the bottom of his chin. Charles meant to ask about it, but never did.

"You've always been the hardest worker in camp," Arthur yawned again, and Charles shushed him.

"Go to sleep Arthur, for god's sake."

"Somethin' on your mind?" Charles' deep voice brought Arthur out of his thoughts, and Arthur nodded. Charles looked at him, narrowing his eyes a little bit. Charles must have had an inkling of what Arthur wanted to speak about. He was quiet, but he wasn't stupid. At this point, no one could deny Arthur looked sick...Real sick. His collarbones were sticking out from his pale splotchy skin, his clothes were now bagged around him. His eyes were bloodshot, and when he ate there was a large coughing fit that followed.

The cough. It made Charles' ears ring, the violent shake of his chest, the crackled wheezes that followed. Charles saw the bloodstains on the inside of Arthur's sleeve.

"You wanna ride with me?" Arthur blurted out, Charles took a second but nodded.

"Always." He said curtly. Charles walked with Arthur over to his horse, before he mounted Taima. Arthur led the way to the outskirts of Annesburg, before riding aimlessly towards the mountains surrounding the Wapiti Indian Reservation.

"Yer a smart man Charles," Arthur started, taking in short breaths, thinking hard about how to word things. This did nothing but make Charles nervous.

"Arthur," Charles said in almost a warning, like he was afraid Arthur was going to beat around the bush and never get to the point. Charles didn't like it when people weren't straightforward. However, Arthur was the only exception to this rule. The only noises that accompanied them through the ride were the clopping of hooves on rock, and the rushing of water from the nearby Dakota River.

"If things go bad, you get yourself out of there, alright?" Arthur coughed but tried to stifle it, which only made it worse.

Charles wanted to get off his horse and punch Arthur in the face. Not because he was angry at Arthur...

But because he was scared. Charles Smith, the fearless lone wolf. It wasn't like Charles hadn't experienced loss before, hell, in the last few months it was constant... Davey, Sean, Kieran, Hosea, Lenny, Molly... Charles was sad, of course, but life went on. The sun still shone the next day, the coffee was still brewed like normal, and the songbirds still chirped their melodies.

"You got... More to lose." Arthur said, his voice softer, more vulnerable. Charles shook his head, immediately shooting back,

"No. Come on. Don't start talking like that." It was obvious though, even when Arthur explained it.

"I didn't tell you before," Arthur took in a wheezing breath.

"I saw a doctor."

Charles wanted to jump into the Dakota River and feel his entire body go numb from the cold. He wanted to push his hands to his ears and hum until he couldn't hear Arthur's words anymore because they cut like a knife. They made him bleed like no one had ever done before. Instead, Charles gripped the reins of Taima tighter, slowing down to a gentle trot.

"It's pretty bad, and it's gonna get worse."

Charles shook his head, but luckily Arthur didn't notice. He bit his lip and tried to make sense of it all.

"Take a left down this trail," Charles said softly, pointing to the slightly worn trail into the thick woods of the Cumberland forest. Charles led Arthur to a clearing, where a thick, lush layer of grass grew, and flowers erupted from the space.

"I don't remember much of my childhood," Charles said, dismounting his horse and motioning for Arthur to do the same. Arthur followed Charles into the clearing and they both sat down on a fallen log, covered in bright green moss.

"My mama though, she taught me all about the herbs..." Charles smiled gently, then motioned to the flowers. Arthur looked at him, confused.

"These are flowers..." Arthur corrected, Charles just shook his head and chuckled.

"She taught me about the flowers too, if you'd let me finish." Charles pointed to the flower with stems that held a few dozen tiny bundles of red flowers, with a bright yellow center.

"Blood flower," Charles said, Arthur nodded, listening intently. Charles then pointed at the other flower that covered the clearing, a stem that held a single, cupped, red flower.

"Field Poppy," Charles informed, Arthur could have probably guessed that, but just hearing Charles talk was enough. There were a few minutes of comfortable silence, the horses quietly grazing near them.

"Did the doctor say how long?" Charles was careful with his words, but he wanted...No, needed to know.

"A couple weeks, a couple months..." Arthur drawled, coughing again. This time the fit was so bad Arthur wheezed for breath afterward. Charles rubbed Arthur's back, hoping the contact would soothe something, even if it was just his soul.

"You're a good man, Arthur Morgan." Charles forced through gritted teeth, afraid if he said more he would have to wipe tears off his face. Arthur chuckled.

"I ain't a good man,"

Charles frowned, if only Arthur could see himself through Charles' gaze. The way he glowed, Arthur's soft smile and kind words. He acted tough, but he loved. Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, promising himself he wasn't going to break down.

"I'm only going to say this once, Arthur," Charles warned.

"You're one of the best men I know." Charles smiled bittersweetly like it should be obvious to Arthur.

"You're kind, hard-working, loyal, and smart." Charles removed his hand from Arthur's back, before resting it on his shoulder.

"Hell, you've probably saved my life countless times." Charles sighed, then made eye contact with Arthur. What a horrible choice. Icy blue eyes, bloodshot and tearstained, inflamed with the pain of the human condition. Charles stared back at Arthur with warm brown eyes, trying to keep his equanimity. He was normally very good at it, a skill he prided himself on, but this was different. At that moment, in the clearing, Charles realized something.

He was soft for Arthur Morgan. He wanted to see Arthur happy, he wanted to see him thrive. It took everything in Charles not to scream about how he loved Arthur Morgan... And, more importantly, how much he loved the way Arthur loved. Freely and fully. Arthur rarely shared by the campfire, but when he did it was always a story about saving a man who got bitten by a snake, or a woman who was stranded because her horse died.

"Yer' a good man Charles, one of the best." Arthur choked out, now trying to keep his own composure. Charles just smiled, it was all he could do. But Charles broke when Arthur made eye contact with him again, his face wet with the streams of hot tears that poured down his cheeks. It was instinct as he opened his arms for Arthur, hugging him tightly. In a useless wish, Charles thought about how he regretted not doing this earlier. Arthur clung to Charles and Charles clung just as much back. Arthur wrapped his arms around Charles, burying his head into Charles' chest. In a swift movement, Charles gently brought his hand up to the back of Arthur's head, his other arm wrapped securely around him. They both sat there for a good while, breathing in the scent of each other and trying to memorize the way their bodies fit so perfectly together.

"Shouldn't leave things unsaid, should I?" Arthur finally said, breaking the silence. Charles nodded, still holding Arthur close to his chest.

"Then I think I love you, Charles." Charles wasn't going to debate what exactly Arthur meant by this. Charles didn't care. He loved him back.

"I think I love you too, Arthur," Charles murmured, now gently carding his fingers through Arthur's hair.

"I always imagined you were a Bison," Arthur muttered softly, Charles nodded.

"Dutch told me I was like a buck... Unlikely friends." Arthur chuckled, but it ended in a painful cough that Charles tried his best to soothe.

"You think we'll meet in another life?" Arthur looked up at the sky, it was now dusk, and the stars were beginning to appear. Charles nodded,

"I hope so." Arthur smiled at the response, a real nice smile.

"Then I'll look forward to meeting you all over again." Arthur was always the best at bringing out even the most buried emotions. Charles froze, trying not to lose it. He didn't want Arthur to go. He can't let go. He was never able to let go, everything he ever lost is covered in claw marks from when he tried to make it stay. Charles choked back a sob, gently lifting Arthur's head to place a tender kiss on his forehead. Arthur's blue eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, every decision Arthur ever made had spun through his mind, all leading up to this one single exchange. Perhaps death wasn't going to be that bad. Charles brought both of his hands and cupped Arthur's jaw, looking at him, trying to memorize the face.

Charles knew that love existed because Arthur was love.

That's why, when Charles carried the limp, cold, body of Arthur Morgan down that mountain, one arm around his torso, the other around his leg, he made sure to stop by that clearing. He uprooted those flowers and planted them on his grave. It was the least he could do.

"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for Righteousness."

A/N- Woah! First fanfic on this account! Last time I regularly wrote fanfiction was when I was sixteen (I am in my twenties now). Couldn't get Charthur out of my head so I created this (it got very out of hand very fast). Unfortunately, I do not apologize for the amount of heartbreak this may cause you.

If you would like to leave a request, go for it! I am a full time college student, and I do work two jobs, so there's no telling if I'll ever get to it, but if it's a good enough request I'm sure I'll make time. It's weird to be so familiar yet unfamiliar with creating a fanfic post, but alas, I'll stop yapping. Hope you enjoyed the fic!

Fanart used can be found here, credit to conconarts!

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heavenlymorals · 6 months ago

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Red Dead Redemption 1 and 2: Realism Vs Romantacism

(Warning: Spoilers for RDR2 and RDR1 and that this is a long post.)

But first, let's get a better idea on what these genres and philosophies actually entailed.

During 19th century America, there were two famous genres of literature that became wildly popular- Romantacism and Realism. These genres shaped many philosophies and are interwoven into so many famous stories that it is kinda insane, but today, for this retrospective, I want to speak on how these two genres shaped both RDR1 and RDR2.

Romantacism came as a sort of critique of the Enlightment Era. The Enlightment Era was a period of reason and rejection of spirituality. It focused a lot on what was real and in front of a person rather than the experience and interpretation of an event or thing. Dutch represents this idea in this line to John where he says:

"Real. Oh how I detest that word. So devoid of imagination."

And to Arthur:

"We are dreamers in an ever duller world of fact, I'll give you that."

Romantacism is such a broad subject but there were generally three aspects of it that was generally consistent- the relationship between man and himself, man and nature, man and god, and how those experiences create the essence of life. The idea of the oversoul in Romantacism is a deep understanding of nature and spirituality that makes someone as equal to God himself, or that's the simplest way that I can explain it. Romantacism is also about the experience between man and man and ideas of hope, dreams, new beginnings, friendships, life, and love. (Dark Romanticism is way more gloomy, but many of the characteristics are still the same. For this post, though, we'll focus on just Romantacism.)

But what romantacism is about overall is the authentic experience of life and the personal interpretation of it- no matter how imaginative it is. This is where romanticisation occurs. Of war, of historical periods, of certain types of living, etc. etc.

Since that is romantacism, what is realism? Well, I'm sure you already know, but realism is supposed to be a representation of what life actually is and usually in a negative way. Realism isn't concerned with the imagination of an event as it is more concerned with what life is actually like and how it affects people. There really isn't much more to say then that. Realism is about real life and usually in a negative way. For context, realism became popular in the US after the Civil War as for the first time, a lot of people saw such intense pain and death and debauchery.

Like, If "Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen is a romantacised story of a woman's love life during a historical time period, then Kate Chopin's "The Awakening" is a story soaked in the constructs of realism. This is just one comparison of the two genres.

So what does this have to do with Red Dead Redemption? Simple. Each game represents one of the genres as its main focal point for story telling.

RDR2 is a game that is all about romantacism, especially if you play it as it should be played as high honor Arthur Morgan.

Arthur's main storyline is about finding redemption, sure, but he finds that redemption through the authentic experience of life and his interpretation of it. Prior to his tuberculosis, Arthur saw himself as only a cog in the bad machine that was their life. He robbed, intimidated, and killed without much thought to what it actually meant for him because well, this is the way it is and how it always has been.

However, when he gets tuberculosis, his attitude changes. With the limited time he has left, he brings himself to ponder life itself and interprets it in a way that contrasts his previous thought process that the world is dark and gloomy and that he's just another part of it. In his limited time, he begins to see good. If not in him, than in others. In the love people have for others, in the strength that people have for others, in the passion that people have for others.

Arthur begins to appreciate life itself and that's also why the stranger missions in chapter 6 are so much more personal as a whole- Arthur's interpretation of life becoming better in the short time he has left makes him much more heartfelt and sentimental- a key component of romantacism. He helps a widow who could've died out there for no reason other than wanting her to live and live well. He becomes friends with a veteran and helps him out even though he knows that death is around the corner for him and his time with the man would be short. And of course, the debt missions and the helping of Edith. Arthur forgives the debts, gives money, and sees human life as far more valuable than the debt.

And in the end? Arthur saves John and dies knowing that he tried his best to not just survive but to live. That's his experience and his interpretation of it- becoming a better man and valuing people more than things. And then there is the epilogue- there is hope and happiness and a sense of accomplishment. All the pain feels over and a new light has been cast onto life.

In fact, this archetype in Romanticism, which is about finding redemption through the larger human experience, is quite famous overall. It's not unique to just Arthur Morgan. One of the most famous romantic stories of the era was Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein", and Victor Frankenstein undergoes a similar journey, albeit more subdued than Arthur's.

In the beginning of the book, Victor starts out as a representation of realism. He's obsessed with science and doesn't really care about his family and friends. He goes on for long periods of time just thinking about science because of his own hubris and desire to become famous and accomplished. He rejects art, love, and all the things that constitute the human experience for the sake of science, which represents realism. As he begins to see the faults in his actions and the mistake of creating his monster, things begin to change. He becomes more interested in his friends, his fiancée, and life itself as a concept rather than what it is in front of him.

Yes, Mary Shelley wrote the book as a criticism of the unregulated pursuit of science, but if you dig deeper, it's not just about that. It's about keeping romance, ideals, and the human experience in your heart, because without them, things will be worse than they already are. Many ideas and philosophies aren't realistic, but we keep them to enrich the human experience. That is what Romanticism is about, and that is what Arthur Morgan's story is about. Like Victor, his story could be boiled down to a rejection of realism and an embrace of Romanticism.

And besides just the story being a love letter to Romantacism, there is the scenery too. As stated, one big part of Romantacism is nature and RDR2's nature is just gorgeous. It's bright and scenic and beautiful like a lot of romantic paintings. Arthur connects to nature by living in it and drawing it and experiencing it. Even the ambiance of the landscape is calm and relaxing, adding to the beautiful experience of the American wilderness.

So what about Red Dead Redemption 1? Red Dead Redemption 1 is all about realism. It doesn't care about ideals or hopes. Its story is one of realism, portraying the realistic end of an outlaw. Where Red Dead Redemption 2 ends with John and his family finally getting the life they've always wanted and possibly starting over again, Red Dead Redemption 1 rejects that. The Pinkertons find John, and he is set out to kill his brothers-in-arms. He can't escape his old life, even if he wants to—it will always come back to haunt him. John has killed and robbed and done so many terrible things that the dream of him being able to settle down and just be a farmer in the end is just that, a dream. Even when John does what Edgar Ross wants him to do, he gets shot down like a dog in the end anyway. He has to pay for his sins, and in a sick way, this is justice for all the men he has killed before in his outlaw life. There is no other end for John realistically than to be put down like a dog. It is his tragedy, his fate, and a realistic fate for an outlaw.

John's path is lonely. Most of the people he meets are people that he does not want to be associated with. Seth is a creepy grave robber, Irish is a drunk bastard, and West Dickens is just a scamming piece of s*** who doesn't scam the rich and people who already have too much, but he scams the poor, the working man, the person who is uneducated. They are all very realistic criminals, and John has to deal with it because all he wants is his family and the men that the Pinkertons sent him to capture. The people that he does respect, like Leigh Johnson and Bonnie McFarland, are professional relationships at best. John has to rely on himself and only himself, which is a very popular theme in realism. Unlike in Red Dead 2, he has no one to turn to, no one to watch his back. He has no family and no friends. He is alone, and he has to deal with his sins because the world will not forget, as he mentions time and time again.

Romanticism is dead. Ideals are dead. A young woman's pursuit of God leaves her dead in the desert, and John can do nothing to help her. The idea of the noble West is torn apart by violent gangs that do nothing but rape, kill, and steal. Men come to exploit the pain of colonialism. Eugenics is a thriving science. The most apparent example that ideals are dead is the Mexican revolution. Abraham Reyes makes the people believe that he will be better, that he will be the Messiah for these peasants, but the reality is that he turns out to be just as bad or even worse than the already established dictatorship in the country. And John doesn't care. He's not there to be a hero for the people; he's simply there to grab Javier and Bill and then go. That's why he is just as comfortable working for the dictatorship as he is working with the rebels. He does not care. All he cares about is his family, and anything bad that happens to others pains him, but it is not his problem. That is what realism is about. It's not the interpretation of life, but what life actually is, and a lot of times, life is cruel and bitter and terrible. Things are unfair, and sometimes people have to pay with their life and identity.

John dies in the end, and like a lot of children and wives of these outlaws and criminals, Abigail and Jack suffer. Abigail does not last long, as she dies just a couple of years later, and Jack has to bear the sins of his father on his back, like many children of outlaws and criminals did. Even when Jack kills Ross, there is no sense of triumph, no happiness or joy; it's just an empty feeling of "what now?" Where revenge in Red Dead Redemption 2 is idealized and romantic, even beautiful in a sense, revenge in Red Dead Redemption is empty and grotesque, leaving the player with nothing but emptiness. There's nothing left; everything is gone.

And just look at the scenery of Red Dead Redemption. Yes, it's beautiful, sure, but it's dull and dark. There isn't a lot of color, there aren't a lot of people or animals; it's drab. If RDR2 is a field with a pretty Instagram filter on it, then RDR1 is the field without the filter. The ambience of the game is also dark and weary, putting the player on edge as John cannot relax like Arthur can. John needs to find his family as he has to pay for the sins of his outlaw life.

Although Romantacism isn't a very popular genre today, often overshadowed by realism, both genres of literature and philosophy are paraded in these games.

Arthur is the romantic hero- someone who finds his own meaning of life and turns hopeful and idealistic because of it. RDR2 is a romantic game.

John is the realistic hero- someone who deals with the cards that life gives him and is exhausted from it as he knows his singular efforts won't cause an end to his pain. RDR1 is a realistic game.

And I just think that's very cool. Understanding those two genres of American literature allows the player to understand the games on a deeper level.

(I ain't reading allat)

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr1 #red dead redemption #john marston #dutch van der linde #abigail marston #jack marston #romantacism #realism #literature #character analysis #story analysis #philosophy

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viceofdionysus · 6 months ago

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Watermelon Moonshine

Arthur Morgan x F!reader

Word Count: 6.3k Rating: 18+

Summary: When Arthur finally finds the courage to ask his crush out, the evening goes better than he ever could have imagined. Especially with a little help from Peterson's famous Watermelon Moonshine.

Contains: Drinking, teasing, hair tugging, making out, dirty talk, fngering, PiV (unprotected), biting, multiple orgasms, wrist holding, manhandling, one ass slap, cumming inside.

A/N: This was heavily inspired by Lainey Wilson's song Watermelon Moonshine. Divider is from @saradika-graphics

After a several sharply cool days, the morning dawns with the soft promise of spring. You step outside your bungalow door and tilt your face up to the early morning sky. It's still cool, but the weatherman is calling for it to warm up. Abigail calls out a welcome from the neighboring bungalow and you return it with a smile. She hoists Jack onto her hip and starts up the path that leads to the big house. John comes out a few minutes later, heading in the opposite direction. You take one more deep breath and the head off in the same direction. While John continues on the path, you take the diverging path to the barn.

You press the side door open and step into the cool dark. A norse nickers softly as the door shuts behind you. The scents of hay and dust swirls around you, undercut with new leather. You breathe deeply, letting the smells settle in your nose. The dirt under your feet is hard packed from years of treading over it. You bid good morning to each horse as you pass their stall and each greets you in their own way.

In the early morning quiet, you work peacefully, parceling out food and water for each horse. As they crunch through their feed, you cross to the front of the bar and unlock the double doors. You roll one back and then the other and then take a moment to stand in the open and take a deep breath. The mountain air fills your lungs as it dances playfully past you. There's a joyful whiny from behind you as the breeze reaches the horses. You turn and find Merlin, the youngest of the horses, prancing in anticipation in his stall.

“Alright boy, I'm coming.” You laugh at his antics.

One by one you let the horses out and they make their way to the paddock. You follow them out, watching them closely for any potential issues. You make a mental note that Old Boy is ready for new shoes. At the doors, you take a minute to watch them roam the paddock. The Count leads them, regal and proud, the rest of the horses falling in behind him.

After your moment, you turn back to the barn and square your shoulders. The rest of your chores are less demanding, but no less important.

🐎

Arthur leans against the section of fence he's just finished pounding in and takes a sip of water. The clouds have burned off and the sun is relentless in its gaze. He takes a moment to consider and then peels his shirt off. The fabric clings briefly to his sweat soaked shoulders before it pulls loose. He tosses it in the general direction of his toolbag, unconcerned with where it lands. As he turns he hears the bright sound of laughter and turns towards it instead. When he spots you, he feels the same clutch in his belly that he always feels at the sight of you.

He watches you lead a lean horse around the paddock, laughing as it tries to stick its head in your various pockets. He’s too far away to hear what you say, but he watches the way your mouth moves, pulling into a smile at the end. The horse shakes its head at you, but seems to resign itself to not getting treats. He smiles at the scene, so distracted that he doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps.

“Well now, that is quite the pretty sight.”

Arthur startles and whips around. He levels a glare at John and sneers. “And what is it you want?”

“Finished my side,” John grins, “Figured I’d come see if you need any help, seeing as you’re so old.”

“If I’m so old, how is it that I've finished two and half sides in the time it took you to do one?”

John shrugs, mischievous glint in his dark eyes, “Maybe you’re rushing, trying to get done so you can go talk to the Horse Mistress.”

Arthur flushes, heat rising rapidly to his cheeks. “M’not rushing.” He leans over and shoves John, but John just laughs. “Go start over there.” Arthur points.

He sees John consider picking at him some more, but then he just shrugs and swaggers over to where Arthur pointed. Arthur turns his attention back to the section he was working on and tries to put you out of his mind. It works for a little bit, but then he hears you laugh again. The hammer that he was midswing with misses the nail, but not his thumb. He drops the hammer with a swear and pulls off his work glove. It’s a little red, but it doesn’t look like there’s anything broken.

“Distracted Arthur?” John calls.

“Shut up.” Arthur grumbles, but not loud enough for John to hear. He looks up and meets your gaze. He can’t tell what your expression is, but he hopes it might be worried. He raises his uninjured hand in a wave. You wave back and then turn back to the horse.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad.” John sing-songs.

Arthur turns around and offers a very different hand gesture to John.

“You should ask her out.”

Arthur ignores him, turning back to the fence, until he feels a hand on his shoulder. He sighs and turns to look at John. John meets his gaze and offers a crooked smile.

“C'mon, Arthur, ask her out. You deserve to have some fun.” He says softly.

Arthur shakes his head and John frowns.

“I,” Arthur stops himself and reconsiders, “She wouldn't want to go out with me.”

“How do you know that if you haven't asked her?” When Arthur remains silent, John shakes his head, “And you say I’m the stupid one.”

Arthur lashes out, quick as a viper, and wraps an arm around John’s neck. He drags him down and gives him a noogie, “That’s because there ain’t nothing but pebbles rattling around up here.”

John laughs and tries to wiggle free, but Arthur’s grip on him is firm. John wriggles again and it quickly devolves into a good natured wrestling match.

As you take the bridle off of Freya, movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. You turn in time to see Arthur pull John down and rub his knuckles over John’s head. You laugh to yourself and shake your head. For all that they deny they’re brothers, they act more like it than some blood siblings you’ve known. Freya trots off as you lean against the fence, watching them wrestle. John manages to slip loose and dances a few steps back, his mouth already running. You can’t hear what they’re saying from here, but knowing John, it’s something that’ll get him in trouble. He’s still yapping when Arthur bum-rushes him, taking them both to the ground. Arthur makes quick work of it, pinning John with a knee between his shoulder blades. Suddenly your mouth is dry and your imagination is running rampant.

Before you can get too distracted by images of Arthur pinning you down, there’s a nudge at your side. When you look over, Freya is looking back at you. You nod, at a loss for words, and walk her back to the barn. If you stop and steal another glance over your shoulder, that’s no one else’s business, but your own.

Freya trots into her stall and then looks at you expectantly. You laugh at her and go to retrieve the grooming tools.

“You’re such a primadonna.” You tell her when you return.

She just snorts at you and tosses her head. You offer her an apple before stepping into the stall with her. While she’s happily crunching away, you set to work. It’s good methodical work for letting your mind wander. Unfortunately your mind wanders right back to Arthur.

“Oh alright.” You sigh and let your mind indulge.

You work intently, curry combing and brushing Freya’s sides before moving on to pick her hooves. She stands calmly for you, letting you work without issue. When the door to the barn opens, your fingers are wrapped in her mane, braiding the hair tightly.

“Just a second.”

You finish the braid and tie it off. You look up and feel your thoughts scramble.

“Arthur, hi,” You manage.

“Ma’am.” He answers, “Dutch said that you had something for me to look at?”

“Yes! Of course.” You step out of Freya's stall, shutting the door behind you, “Right over here.”

Arthur looks up in time to see you walk away. He tracks the movement carefully, committing it to memory. He looks up and meets your eyes.

“Sorry.”

“No worries. I saw you working out in the sun earlier, you must be exhausted.” You hesitate, “This doesn’t have to be done today, it can wait.”

“No ma’am.” Arthur answers instantly, then rubs a hand over the back of his neck, “It’s just…it’s better to take care of it now.”

“Okay. It’s these stalls here, the dividing wall is starting to lean.”

Arthur walks over and stands next to you. He looks at the wall and the steps into the stall and squats to get a better look.

“I should be able to get this fixed up today. No problem.”

“That’s great news! We have some new horses coming next week and I wasn’t sure where to put them.”

Arthur watches you smile and idly thinks it's the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Do you want to go out with me?” The words are out before he even has a chance to think about them. He’s stuck between wanting to take them back and wanting to hear your answer.

“I’d love to.” You bite your lip, “When, where?”

He has no idea, and he’s saved from answering by the door banging open. John stumbles in and shoots you a boyish grin.

“Hey Arthur! Need a hand?”

“No, I got it.” Arthur grumbles, “Go be unhelpful somewhere else.”

John offers a half hearted salute and bangs his way back out of the barn. You glance over at Arthur and laugh at his perturbed expression.

“Where were we?” You ask, “Oh yeah, you were asking me out.”

Arthur blushes and ducks his head, “Well now.”

A bold feeling takes over your mouth, “I already said yes, Arthur. You figure out where we’re going and you let me know. Now, I’ve got to get a move on, Jack's got a riding lesson today.”

He watches you walk away and shoots to his feet.

“Five o’clock, I’ll pick you up.” He calls.

You look over your shoulder and nod, “I’m looking forward to it.”

The door swings closed behind you and he leans heavily agaisnt the wall.

“Well shit.” Now that he's followed his impluse, he has no idea what to do next.

🐎

“No.”

“Please!”

“I'm too busy for this nonsense Arthur. You asked her out, you figure it out.”

“Mrs. Grimshaw.” He waits until she turns towards him, then he pulls out the puppy dog eyes she can't resist. “Please.”

She hurumphs and spins on her heel, “Wait here and do not touch anything.”

Arthur slides his hands in his pockets and glances at the clock. He can just squeeze in a shower, but he'll have to skip the shave. Tilly breezes into the room and smiles.

“Well hey, Arthur. Rumor has it you finally bucked up and asked our horse mistress out.”

“Yeah.”

Tilly nods, “Good. You won me $20.”

Arthur laughs, “Glad I could help.”

Tilly plants her hands on her hips and looks him up and down, “That what you're wearing?”

He shakes his head, “No.”

“What are you wearing then?”

“I don't know?”

She shakes her head, “You should wear the blue shirt, the one you wore to the wedding. She liked you in that.”

Arthur perks up, “She did?”

But Tilly's already across the room. “I hear Mrs. Grimshaw, I gotta skedaddle.”

She slips out one door as Mrs. Grimshaw comes in the other. A picnic basket swings from one hand. She marches over to Arthur and thrusts it at him.

“You treat that girl nicely tonight,” she pokes him in the chest, “And you let yourself have some fun. Now get outta my way.”

“Yes ma'am!” He doesn't have to be told twice.

She plants her hands on her hips and watches him dash out of the house. She rolls her eyes and turns to where Dutch is standing at the foot of the stairs.

“Word is Arthur has a date.” He says.

“Word would be correct. It's about time, I was starting to think I'd be gone and buried by the time he plucked up the nerve to ask her out.”

Dutch just laughs, “We'da hassled him into it long before that, but I'm glad he came to it on his own. Come on Susan, let's have a drink in honor of our boy.”

While Arthur sprints back to his bungalow, picnic basket in tow, you're pacing your small bedroom.

“I said yes! Why did I say yes?”

“Because you've been saying yes to that man since you got here.” Abigail answers from your closet.

You sink onto your bed, head in your hands. “What am I going to wear? Where are we going? What if we don't have anything to talk about? What if I make a fool of myself?”

Abigail leans back to look at you past the closet door, leveling a stern look at you. “You aren't going to make a fool of yourself. You and Arthur will have plenty to talk about. You're not going to worry about where you're going. And you're going to wear this.”

She steps back from the closet, a few clothes draped over her arm. She drops them in your arms and nods with satisfaction.

“I happen to know that he loves when you wear that color.”

“Yeah?” A soft feeling wraps around your heart, “I’m really overthinking this aren’t I?”

Abigail laughs, “Yeah, but if it makes you feel better, so is he.”

“That does help.” You sigh and smile, “I just really want this to go well.”

“It will.” Abigail sits next to you, “Tonight is going to be great.”

You lean your head on her and take a soothing breath. She wraps an arm around you and tugs you closer.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. You can babysit Jack next time I manage to talk John into a date.”

“I’d love to.”

Abigail looks down at her watch and pushes to her feet. “C’mon, you gotta get ready! Go shower while I look through your accessories.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” You laugh and leave her to it.

When you come back into the bedroom after your shower, there’s a few accessories waiting for you on the edge of your dresser. Wear these and have fun!, the little with them says. You smile and start getting dressed. You finish just as there’s a knock on the door. Taking a deep breath, you turn and look in the mirror and then give yourself a nod.

You cross the small bungalow to the front door and pause. You take another deep breath and then open the door. Arthur stands on the other side, a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand. You feel yourself go soft at the sight of him.

“Hi.” You say, feeling your face warm.

“Hey.” He answers. His eyes flick down to the flowers and he raises them quickly, “I didn’t have time to get you a real bouquet, but I saw these flowers by my bungalow and I thought they looked nice.”

“They’re beautiful.” You take them from him and smile, “Let me put them in some water real quick. Come on in.”

He follows you and shuts the door behind him. He looks around the bungalow and notes how you’ve decorated it and made the space feel like you. His eye catches on an art print on the wall and he walks over to it. He takes it in, appreciating the lines and the colors.

“That was a housewarming present when I got the job here.” You say, “I love looking at it.”

“It’s beautiful work.”

“You do some art yourself, don’t you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, “Rough sketches mostly.” His mind wanders to the pages filled with your face, the studies he’s done of your various expressions. Idly, he wonders if you would sit for a full portrait for him.

“I’m sure they’re great. I saw you sketching Jack and Merlin the other day.”

Arthur chuckles at the memory, “Yeah, they were having so much fun. It was a great moment to sketch.”

“You’re sweet with him.”

“Ah, he’s a good kid. His father’s a bit of a dumbass, but he’s trying.” Arthur shakes his head, “Are you ready?”

“I am.”

You take his offered hand and cross the short distance to the door. Arthur looks over as you open it and sees the flowers in a little vase, centered on the kitchen island. He smiles, knowing you’ll see them there and think of him.

Outside he leads you to his truck and opens the door for you. He shuts it and circles around to slide into the driver’s seat.

“Where are we going?” You ask as he starts the truck.

“It’s a surprise.” He shoots you a grin and you smile in response.

“Alright, Mr. Morgan, but I’m trusting you.”

He turns left on the dirt road that runs past the farm, and takes you closer to the mountains. You watch the scenery pass for a few miles before shifting your gaze to track over Arthur’s form. He’s wearing the shirt that you like so much. Your eyes trail over his shoulders, appreciating the way he fills out the shirt. He flexes as he adjusts and your mouth waters as the material pulls tight across his bicep. He looks over at you and his brow wrinkles in concern.

“You alright? Do we need to turn around?”

“No!” You clear your throat, “No, sorry, just lost in thought for a minute. I’m okay.” His concern doesn’t seem to lessen, so you reach over and grip his bicep, “I’m really okay.”

“Alright then. We’re almost there anyway.”

And true to his word, a few minutes later, he pulls off the road and onto a small side road. The truck bumps down the road for a bit before Arthur turns off into the brush. He drives for a few more minutes and then you gasp. A beautiful pond comes into view, edged by a pretty meadow.

“Oh Arthur! This is amazing.”

He smiles, pleased by your reaction, “I found it a few weeks ago. I wanted to come up and sketch, but I haven’t had the time.”

He hops out of his side and quickly makes his way around to open your door. When you start to get out, he grabs your waist and lifts, his muscles flexing deliciously. When he sets you back on your feet, you grin at him, feeling a little distracted by the feeling of his hands on you.

“Thank you.” You said, suddenly feeling a little bashful.

“Course.” He smiles down at you, “Let me grab the basket.”

You offer to help him carry the picnic basket and he shakes his head adamantly, “No ma’am. Mrs. Grimshaw would have my hide if I had you carry something.”

“She doesn’t have to know.”

“She always knows.” Arthur answers, “Always.”

You laugh, the sound ringing pleasantly through the meadow. Arthur crooks his arm and you slide yours through it. He guides you through the meadow to the base of a beautiful weeping willow, her branches reaching down gracefully. He sets the basket down at his feet and snaps the blanket open. He adjusts it after it falls and then moves the basket to anchor one corner. He looks over at you and offers his hand. Smiling, you accept and let him help you onto the blanket. Arthur holds your hand as you lower to the ground, helping steady you before sinking down next to you.

“Is this okay?” He asks softly.

“It’s great.” You answer, “You did good Arthur.”

A pleased smile crosses his face, “Good. I’m glad you like it.”

There’s a sparse few inches of charged space between you and Arthur. You shift towards him, feeling like a moth to the flame. He shifts closer, closing the space even more. You meet his eyes and see something flash through them before he clears his throat and pulls away.

“Mrs. Grimshaw packed us a picnic.”

“Well, let’s see what she packed us.”

Arthur reaches past you and snags the basket. He’s so close you can feel the warmth pouring off him. It’s tempting to lean in, but you remind yourself that the way to calm a horse is to let it come to you. He settles next to you, the basket in his lap. He flips the lid open and pulls out the container on top.

“Fruit.” He sets it on the blanket and pulls out the next one, “Cheese. Vegetables. Chicken Salad sandwiches. And,” He pauses, his brow furrowed.

“What is it?”

Gently Arthur extracts the mason jar from the basket, “Peterson’s famous Watermelon Moonshine.”

The light reflects a faint pink from the jar as you look at it. Slowly you raise your eyes to meet Arthur’s.

“Well, she certainly wants us to have fun tonight.” You say and see Arthur smile.

You reach out for the jar and Arthur hands it over easily. Slowly, you roll it between your hands, watching him.

“What are you thinking Arthur?”

He hesitates and then decides to stop reigning himself in, “I’m thinking how pretty you look and how I should have asked you out a lot sooner.”

“Well.” You shift towards him, “We’re here now.”

Keeping your gaze steady, you reach past him and snag one of the containers. You draw back past him, brushing your arm over his bicep. You hear his deep, unsteady breath at the contact and barely manage to keep from smiling.

“This fruit looks amazing. So…juicy.”

He tracks your movements as you select a piece of fruit and bite into it. Your moan has him feeling hot under the collar.

“What’s the matter, Arthur? Aren’t you hungry?”

“Darlin.” He’s not sure if he’s warning you or pleading with you.

You bite your lip even as you smile, “Do you want me to stop?”

“Yes. No. Dammit.” He frowns at you, “I can't think straight when I'm around you.”

“Okay,” You smile at him. He watches as you scoot around to face him, your knees bumping his, “Let's do this.”

“Do what?”

“Ask me whatever you want to know and I'll do the same, but we drink for every question we ask.”

He grins, “You sure?”

“Absolutely,” You shoot him a wink. “Hit me with your best shot.”

He ponders for a moment, the silence stretching easily between you.

“Alright, I got one.”

“Fire away, cowboy.”

“Why'd you say yes?”

“Because I've been stupid about you since I got here. I remember getting out of the truck that very first morning and you were carrying lumber and berating John about something.” You smile at the memory. “You were so exactly like I'd imagine cowboys to be. Tall and broad and handsome.”

He ducks his head, but you can still see him watching out of the corner of his eye. He sips the moonshine before looking back at you. You motion for the jar and he hands it over easily.

“Why'd you ask?” You ask and then sip. The alcohol burns sweetly down your throat.

Arthur takes a moment, his thoughts tumbling over themselves. “Because I saw you that first morning and it was like watching the sunrise after a long night.”

“Arthur.” You sigh.

He flushes and looks away, “Well, you know, since we’re being truthful.”

You wait him out, until he turns back towards you. You hold your hand out to him and he takes it, curling your hand into his larger one.

“Got another question?” You offer him the jar with your other hand.

He keeps his eyes on your face as he lowers his mouth to the jar and drinks. You feel the heat spike in your core.

“Why horses?” He asks, his tongue darting out to collect the droplets of moonshine on his lips.

“They’re majestic and wild, even when they’re tame. And they’re so good at picking up on who we are as people. If a horse likes a person, I know I can trust them. Your horse, for example, you adore her and she adores you.”

“Ah, she’s a good girl. Best horse I’ve ever had.”

“The love shows. She would follow you into hell if you asked her to.”

“She’s fond of you too. I’ve never seen her take to one of our horse handlers like she has with you.” He gently nudges the jar back to you.

You take it, and ask your next question. It goes like that for a while, passing the jar, answering questions, taking your pick of the food. But then you take the half empty jar from him and ponder your next question. You take a drink, deeper than before, and let the alcohol sit on your tongue before swallowing.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“Yes.” He looks almost surprised by how fast he answers.

You take another sip and then set the jar aside. Arthur watches as you shift to your knees, your hands slowly sliding up your sides. Awareness settles sharply between you and him as you wait. You think for a moment, he's not going to take the offering, but then he shifts forwards and his hands splay wide over your hips. Carefully, he drags you forward until you can straddle his legs. He reaches one hand up and gently traces the lines of your face, the sensation sending shivers down your spine.

“Arthur.” You whisper.

“You're absolutely incredible, you know?” He answers, “The Greeks couldn't have done better.”

And then he kisses you. He starts softly, teasing your lips gently, pulling back and dipping carefully back in. His hands slide into your back pockets and he gently kneads your ass. Your hands come to his shoulders, his shirt soft beneath them. He finally pulls back enough to break the kiss and you can hear the ragged edges of his breath. He rubs his cheek over yours softly before kissing the spot beneath your ear.

“Absolutely magnificent.” He whispers in your ear.

He doesn't give you a chance to respond before he's diving back in. He draws you deeper this time, kissing you until you can't tell where you end and he begins. His hands are firm on your ass, giving you nowhere to go but further into him.

Slowly, one of his hands slips out of your pocket and his fingertips trace up your spine. He swallows your moan with a smile. His hand wraps around the base of your neck and gently he pulls you even deeper.

You respond with a slow roll of your hips, pressing down against the hardening outline in his jeans. He groans against your lips, so you do it again. Even your best fantasies have never come close to sounding as good as he does right now. Without realizing it, your hands sink into his hair and grips gently. Easily, you tug at his hair. He moans, low and long, at the sensation.

He sucks your bottom lip and gently sinks his teeth into it until he hears you moan. Your hips move against him, his bucking up in response. You tug his hair again, a little more firmly, and he presses his aching bulge against your clothed core.

At your whine, he shifts up to his knees. His mouth continues to explore yours as he raises you up. His muscles flex beneath you as he gently lowers you to the blanket. He pulls back and raises back to his knees to look at you.

“Now that's what I'd call a feast.”

You shiver under his gaze, feeling for a moment like a lamb being surveyed by a wolf. He lowers himself slowly, pressing against every inch of you until he's face to face with you again.

“Arthur.” You say softly.

His eyes trace over your face, taking in your kiss swollen lips and heavy eyelids.

“Got a question for you, darlin.” He keeps his eyes on your face, “You want me to eat that pussy?”

Warmth blooms over your face even as electricity jolts through you.

You think about it. His mouth on your pussy, his tongue doing amazing things with your clit. It's a beautiful thought and one you'd like to think about more.

“Darlin?” He asks, drawing you back from your thoughts.

“Not tonight, but I'll put your mouth to use soon enough.”

He grins down at you and then kisses you. It's hard to tell if it's Arthur or the moonshine that has your chest feeling warm, but the answering heat in your core is all Arthur. Above you, he shifts his weight to one elbow and traces his fingertips down your body with the other. When he reaches your breast, he pauses to cup it, to tease your nipple through the fabric. Your whine has him smiling and he continues on. He pauses again at your waistband, teasing the skin there gently.

“Arthur!” He chuckles and pops open the button.

The sound of your zipper seems loud in the clearing, but maybe that's because everything else seems to have fallen silent. You're distracted from that thought by Arthur fingers sliding into your underwear. He parts your lips gently and slowly strokes through them.

“This all for me darlin?”

“Yes.” His finger sinks into your aching pussy, “Arthur!”

He smirks and withdrawals his hand from your underwear. He sucks his finger into his mouth and moans at the taste of you.

“Darlin, you're the best thing I've ever tasted.”

His hands come to the edge of your jeans, the fingers curling under. He looks up at you, his eyes questioning. At your nod, he tugs your jeans and underwear down to your ankles in a smooth motion. He leaves them tangled around your ankles and lifts your legs. You let your legs fall open to accommodate his broad frame.

He keeps his gaze on your face as he unzips his jeans. Your eyes flick down and watch as he shoves his jeans down, his cock springs free. Your core pulses at the sight of it as your mouth waters. He lets his cock rest on your stomach for a moment, letting you feel the weight of him, before he shifts forward. He takes your mouth in a flash of lust. Gently he bites your bottom lip and revels in your answering moan. Without thinking about it, he ruts against your stomach, the length of him dragging across your sensitive skin.

“Arthur! Please!”

Arthur stops and pants over you for a moment before he draws back. He slides his hands under your thighs and lifts your legs higher around his waist. You let your tangled ankles come to rest against his back. He watches you as he slides his cock through your folds, collecting your wetness.

He leans forward and cups your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. You meet his gaze, his blue eyes heavy lidded.

“You ready darlin?”

“Arthur, I've never been more ready for anything in my life.”

He chuckles and shifts his weight backwards. Gently he nudges your opening with the head of his cock. He listens to your quiet moan with a smirk. Your eyes slid closed as pleasure sings across your senses.

“Eyes on me darlin.” He says.Your eyes snap back open, meeting his.

Slowly, he presses forward, your wet heat pulling him in.

“Darlin.” He groans, “You feel so good.”

“Arthur!”

He takes his time, pressing in slowly. Inch by inch, he slides in until you're full of him. Your hands grip the blanket tightly as he fully hilts himself.

“You good darlin?” He asks, his voice sliding into husky.

“So fucking full.” Your hips grind against him, heated pleasure curling through you.

“Darlin.” He groans. “You're going to drive me crazy.”

You manage to grin at him, “Maybe we should drive each other crazy.”

He pulls back slowly, dragging his length along your sweet spot. You gasp, your head falling back, exposing the line of your throat. He falls forward, his cock pressing back in, and sinks his teeth into your shoulder. Pain sizzles into pleasure, your hips bucking wildly against him.

One of your hands splays across his back, the other cradles the back of his head, your fingers carding through his hair. He lets go of your shoulder and turns his head to kiss your neck. You gently tug his hair and you can feel his answering laugh vibrate through you.

He tucks his face into your neck and slowly rolls his hips. He listens to your sounds, letting them guide him.

There's stars in your vision and they're not all from the night sky above. Everytime Arthur rolls his hips, he drags his cock along your sweet spot.

“Arthur.”

“Let it come darlin.” He murmurs, kissing your shoulder. “Want to feel you come on my cock.”

You can feel yourself clenching around his cock, your orgasm rapidly building. He keeps rutting, getting lost in the feeling of your pussy. When your orgasm explodes, pleasure snapping through you, your legs tighten, drawing him closer. He groans as your pussy tightens around him.

“Well damn darlin.” He says softly in your ear.

He shifts his weight to his elbows and looks down at your face. You open your eyes and smile at him. You cup his face and kiss him. You can feel him shifting above you, his hands taking hold of your wrists and gently drawing your hands down. He guides your hand above your head and clamps one hand down on both your wrists. He looks down at you and you nod at the question in his eyes.

He grinds his hips slowly and then pulls back halfway before pressing in again. Slowly he starts to thrust faster, harder, not letting you have any time to breathe.

The sound of skin on skin and both your accompanying moans break the silence of the night.

Arthur lets go of your wrists and instead grips your waist. He hauls you up without apparent effort and settles you across his lap. He thrusts up, setting a demanding pace. His hands stay on your waist, gripping you firmly and pressing you down. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold on.

“Love feeling you around my cock darlin.” He says, “You're doing so fucking good for me.”

“Arthur. Arthur. Fuck.”

He chuckles, “You gunna come again for me?”

You nod frantically. He kisses you, one of his hands coming to your ass. The slap on your ass has you gasping into this kiss. His chest rumbles as he laughs. The hand on your ass comes to rest on your lower back as his other cradles your neck. He kisses your forehead and then presses his forehead against yours.

“Come on then darlin. Let me feel you.”

He presses his hips up, filling you completely and you can feel the brush of his pubic hair across your clit. He rocks his hips without pulling out and pleasure overwhelms you. Your scream sends several frogs splashing into the pond. You hear Arthur groan and then you feel his cock twitching. Your walls flutter around his cock as he comes.

You leave one arm wrapped around his neck, tracing his face with your other hand. He turns and nuzzles your wrist before pulling you down for a kiss.

Slowly he lays you down on the blanket before pulling out. His cock glistens with your combined juices as he pulls his jeans back up.

“Wouldn't have pegged you for the commando type.” You say.

He chuckles, “I was thinking about more important things earlier.”

He pulls your jeans back up and then stretches out beside you. His fingers trail over your side as he watches your face.

“I'd like to draw you like this.”

“Spread out on a blanket by a pond?”

“Blissful.”

You smile and snuggle into him. “Any other ways you want to draw me?”

“Every way you'll let me.” He dips his head and kisses you.

You hum, “That could be arranged.”

He kisses you again. The world around you settles softly as the crickets chirp and the frogs croak.

“Should we get back before everyone starts to wonder?”

“Darlin, they were already wondering, let's really give 'em something to wonder about.”

“I can support that. I'm too comfortable to move anyway.”

You reach your arms overhead and stretch.

“Do you know the constellations?”

Arthur slides down to lay on his back beside you, his gaze on the night sky.

“Sure. That's Dutch's tent and that one's John being thrown from a horse. And that one over there is real special, that's Pearson's soup pot.”

You laugh, the sound carrying over the water.

“What about that one?”

“That one?” He looks at the North Star for a moment, “That's the one they'll always guide you home.” He looks down at you and kisses you.

As he settles back on to his back he makes a mental note to ask Charles for a book on constellations.

“You see that one?”

You follow his finger, “Yeah.”

“That's Trewlaney fleeing the sheriff.”

You lay your head on his shoulder and laugh. He revels in the sound, already thinking of new ways to get you to laugh.

“Hey,” he waits for you to look at him, “I'm real glad you said yes.”

“I'm real glad you asked.” You answer, imitating his accent.

He gently grasps your chin and kisses you. You let him tilt your head and deepen the kiss.

The water laps quietly nearby, the frogs croaking a symphony. The moon finishes her rise, spilling soft light over the clearing. But your focus never shifts from Arthur. He kisses you until he can't taste the moonshine on your lips anymore and then he kisses you some more.

#arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption two #alfred pennyworth x reader #my writing

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marsprincess889 · 1 year ago

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From Rohini/Mrigashira to Jyeshta _ Morgan le Fay and The Morrigan

I've always been drawn to and fascinated by the Arthurian legends. Its characters are as vivid as they come and still serve as the original archetypes to the tropes that they inspired.

One very popular character is Morgana or Morgan le Fay. She's the original ambiguous witch, the polarizing character who is multi-faceted but easily recognized. The character Morgan le Fay and the goddess Morrigan have been closely linked together.

I did a little research on actresses that have played her in various adaptations and three nakshatras were prominent, especially as a certain placement. While there were other nakshatras that arose, such as Dhanishta, Magha and Revati, the ones I'm going to talk about were prominent in the most famous adaptations and not just as primary placements.

So, let's begin with exploring her place in the Arthurian Legends a little bit. In most instances, she's king Arthur's sister, protecting him and generally being a benevolent goddess/enchantress, but in later versions of the legends, she exhibits a dual nature that is capable of both good and evil. Morgan le Fay means "Morgan the Fairy", so her magical abilities and identity are indicated in her name. She's first mentioned in Vita Merlini (The Life of Merlin), a Latin poem dating around the year 1150, believed to be written by Geoffrey of Monmouth. There she's depicted as a great healer and that trend continues for a while with the chivalric romances written by Chrétien de Troyes, a French troubadour. In Le Morte d'Arthur, written in the 15th century, she's Arthur's half sister, sharing a mother- Igrayne with him. She marries unhappily and takes on numerous lovers, including Merlin(despite being his apprentice) and has unrequited love for Lancelot. She also has a hatred for Arthur's wife- queen Guinevere. In that same century, Thomas Malory makes her the biggest enemy of Arthur, who tries to usurp the throne and takes part in his downfall. In the end, she reconciles with Arthur and takes him on his final journey to Avalon.

This is a very brief exploration of her character, but her traits, including her ambiguity are apparent. She's both a helper and an enemy, but most importantly, Morgan le Fay is an enchantress.

The nakshatras that arose most prominently in the charts of actresses who've played Morgana were Rohini, Mrigashira(Snake yonis) and Jyeshta(the nakshatra that's opposing them both). The most consistent pattern in their charts was the Rahu-Ketu axis in Rohini or Mrigashira and Jyeshta. Most of them had Exalted Ketu in Jyeshta, with a couple examples where it was flipped and Rahu was debilitated in Jyeshta, and mostly they had Rahu in Mrigashira, and sometimes Exalted Rahu in Rohini. The most famous portayals of Morgana were actresses also with a primary placement in one of those three nakshatras.

Helen Mirren in Excalibur (1981) - Ascendant in Mrigashira.

Helena Bonham Carter in Merlin (1998)- Sun in Rohini

Katie McGrath in BBC'S Merlin (2008-2012) - Moon Conjunct Rahu in Rohini, Ketu in Jyeshta

Other examples:

Alicia Witt in The Librarians- Jyeshta Ascendant

Elizabeth Hurley in Marvel's Runaways- Rahu in Mrigashira and Ketu in Jyeshta

Whoopi Goldberg in A Knight in Camelot- Rahu in Jyeshta, Ketu in Mrigashira

Joanna Lumley in Prince Valiant- Rahu in Mrigashira, Ketu in Jyeshta

Julianna Marguiles in The Mists of Avalon- Sun in Mrigashira

There are other examples, but i've listed the more famous ones and you get the gist.

The good? The bad?

The witch.

As i've said, her character is most famous for her moral ambiguity. The snake yoni nakshatras- Mrigashira and Rohini are a great representation of Morgana's benevolent, Morgan le Fay aspect. They're both internally satisfied and preoccupied with more gentle matters, with Rohini sitting completely in the sign of Taurus and Mrigashira bridging the signs of Taurus and Gemini. Both nakshatras are opposite Jyeshta- the nakshatra sitting fully in Scorpio, concerned with everything occult and being constantly dissatisfied, hungry for more, never trusting anyone, in a stark contrast to the abundant nakshatras of Rohini and Mrigashira. Jyeshta can be associated with Celtic goddess Morrigan. For those who don't know, The Morrigan is a triple goddess consisting of three separate goddesses: Badb, Macha and Nemain. The Morrigan is the goddess of war and death, heavily associated with crows, just like Jyeshta nakshatra.

I want to focus on my favorite Morgana- Katie McGrath from BBC's Merlin and analyze her story and character arc, including how they relate to the snake yonis and Jyeshta.

Morgana in BBC's "Merlin".

Morgana in "Merlin" starts off as a sweet, helpful ward of the king Uther Pendragon of Camelot. In this adaptation, we're immideately introduced to the fact that magic is banned and the punishment for practising it is harsh. During the beggining of the pilot episode, we see Morgana sympathizing with the punished and defending them against Uther, exhibiting honorable traits such as bravery and fairness.

Morgana watching the execution of a magic-user

She's an ally to Merlin, Arthur and Guinevere (who in this adaptation begins as Morgana's servant), frequently helping them even if it means going against the king and eventually, especially if so.

As time goes by and she discovers her magic, her hatred for Uther and her thirst for power grow.

SPOILER ALERT

At the end of season 3 she usurps the throne, revealing that she has been betraying the king and her old friends for some time. That's the beggining of her transformation, her tapping into her own abilities and power and embracing dark magic.

Katie McGrath has Moon and Rahu in Rohini and Ketu in Jyeshta. The beggining of her character becoming the archetype of the goddess Morrigan is marked by the reveal of her true alliance and also by the change of her appearance. After that episode, she no longer wears beautiful dresses or is adorned by ornate jewelry, nor is her hair shiny. Her hair became dry and disheveled, she started wearing all black and became scary looking, her appearance matching her true nature, completely embodying the Jyeshta archetype.

The nakshatra of Jyeshta is where we master the battle and the art of war (I explore Jyeshta in this post). It's ruled by the goddess Dhumavati- the old hag who is eternally hungry and dissatisfied, not unlike Morgana in the later seasons. If before she was just a suspect or a traitor, later her name was enough to induce terror in anyone. Her arc is very telling of why both the snake yonis nakshatras(Mrigashira and Rohini) and Jyeshta came up most in the charts of the actresses who have played this character. It's the transition from the benevolence to enmity and the constant back and forth between the good and the bad that defines the character, her magical and occult abilities(associated with Jyeshta) being a consistent characteristic. In the end, she's remembered as an independent figure, having no real ally other than herself, forever ambiguous and morally grey, a truly iconic female character that's been remembered for nearly a millenium. We're still telling her story, and I think we will be telling it for a long time to come.

That's it! If you enjoyed this post please reblog, comment or like, especially reblog and comment. If you like Arthurian legends, Merlin or just enjoy vedic astrology then let me know your opinions. BBC MERLIN FANDOM IF YOU END UP HERE PLEASE INTERACT WITH ME I'd love to talk about the show and please, do tell me what you think about this post.

EDIT: So I've been informed in the comments that Katie's birthday is most likely wrong, but the overall statistic hasn't really changed, those three nakshatras are still dominant.

Love you all, take care.

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applepiesupreme · 1 month ago

Text

American Apple Pie

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

Rating: Explicit

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

Chapter 35

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/151573546

When Savigne eventually managed to get dressed and head to the horses, Frost was gone. She huddled into her jacket and turned Cricket around to ride out, eyes scaling the surroundings to see a trace of him, despite knowing he would only return when he wanted to and he wasn't going to hang around and sulk like a child this close to camp.

Forget about that, she told herself, there's a much bigger disaster you're hurtling towards right now.

Chef Ecco, dead. Judging by the buckets of blood on his clothes, absolutely and definitely dead. How? Where? She half expected to ride into work with the Law swarming the grounds because he was found in some gruesome way in his mansion, stabbed in his bed. Or pinned against a streetlight on Broadway. Or worse - at Antoine's. Stuffed into the freezer. Cut into pieces, limbs scattered around the kitchen counters.

So when she stabled her horse and walked into Antoine's and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, it threw her off a little. The kitchen was gearing up for the day like any other day, the staff slowly trickling in, changing clothes, preparing their counters. No bloody tracks on the sparkling corridors that led from here back to Shady Belle. No Arthur Morgan bounty poster angrily impaled on a wall to make a point.

At first, she was relieved. Then, knowing what she knew, the prospect of waiting for the shoe to drop made her more nervous. She tried to focus on her work but her mind was like a monkey, scrambling off to increasingly wild directions, refusing to focus, refusing to sit still. She had always been good at letting work take over and turning everything else off when she was here, but today, it seemed impossible. Every time the doors swung in as someone entered and left the kitchen, her eyes flicked up and her heart jolted. Every time someone yelled an order or dropped a utensil, she had to make an effort not to jump.

Around noon, just when she was calming down and starting to think that she was going to make it to the end of the day without an incident, the Law finally came in, but it was pretty underwhelming. A bunch of men in suits strolled into the kitchen as if they just wanted to check it off their list, looked around, had jovial conversations with the sous chef and some of the staff. They walked around pretending to take notes but looked like they were here to satisfy their own curiosity about what the famous Antoine's kitchen looked like, even bantered with some of the cooks and greedily munched on the samples they were offered.

She wiped her sweaty palms on her apron and tried to focus on her work. Then she thought that it would be very suspicious if she didn't look curious at the very least, so she started to mimic others.

Edward glided to her station under the pretense of borrowing some parsley and whispered "You know what's going on?" She whispered back that she didn't. Ironically, Edward would be smugly pleased if he had any inkling of Ecco's demise because he despised Ecco. Nothing personal really, he despised Ecco because Edward simply despised anyone who held authority over him and dared to exercise said authority on him. His father was a wealthy surgeon and a well known patron of Saint Denis and he was here dabbling in cooking only to spite his father who wanted his son to continue the family tradition of becoming a surgeon. If his father had asked him not to stick his hand into a burning stove, Savigne suspected that Edward would immediately and gladly do so and probably not even regret it. Ecco had been forced to thread the needle with this one because advancing him to the dinner shift would have offended his father but so would have firing him. So Edward was stuck here in the early shift with the rest of them, secretly fuming at the slight but also stubbornly refusing to quit and move on to something else. They exchanged whispers until one of the lawmen, a man with a perfectly round gut that looked like he had stuffed a soccer ball under his clothes and a meticulously twirled mustache cleared his throat and they all stilled to listen.

"Ladies and gentlemen. As you must have guessed, we're the Law. I’m Mr. Turner my colleague is Mr. Greenbough. We’re here because Chef Ecco's servants have filed a missing person report."

A murmur sighed across the room. Savigne leaned back on the counter and crossed her arms, trying to go for the 'mildly intrigued' look and hoping she was doing a halfway good job of it. Sweat trickled like ice water down her back.

"Apparently he didn't come home last night."

There was no dramatic reaction to this whatsoever.

“At this point, he could be anywhere and we're just treating it as such. He could have met...a friend…last night." The insinuation that this might be a lady friend somehow came through and there was a polite flutter of cleared throats. "Could have met several acquaintances. Maybe he drank a little too much, lost track of time and decided to stay at a nearby hotel instead of going home. Maybe he was intoxicated, boarded a train and passed out only to find himself somewhere else this morning..."

None of these sounded like the Ecco she knew but going by the way Mr. Turner laid these options out, these were the usual reasons upper strata people went missing. After all, Ecco was just a name to them and without digging deeper, they couldn’t possibly know the man was the definition of meticulous routine.

"Of course something much more serious could have happened, too. But there's no reason to jump the gun just yet.” Mister twirly mustache exchanged some whispers with his companion. "However," he said, a little bit more somber. "We were told that your chef likes to keep a schedule. So it's definitely unusual that he didn't come home yesterday and that's why we're here. We are taking this very seriously," he underlined and rose a little on the balls of his feet. "Like we do all cases in Saint Denis."

"Now..." he said, stepping a little forward, theatrically, "...have any of you seen or heard anything regarding Mr. Ecco after he left here the night before?"

The cooks just looked at each other, confused.

"This staff is the early shift," the sous chef explained. "They go home early afternoon. I think you should ask the dinner shift."

"Yes well, we knew that of course," the lawman said mildly but blinked as if he hadn’t. "And we will. But we're covering all our bases."

The lawmen swept their eyes around the silent room. Their attitude might look affable, but their eyes were hard and crawled from one face to the other, over hers and then away. Eventually Mr. Turner nodded.

“If any of you have any information about this, hear anything of value or interest, please visit our office. There will be complete anonymity. Thank you.”

And that was that for that day. She knew it wasn’t the end of it by all means, but the hurdle for today was behind her now. She left the restaurant in the afternoon, calmly walked around the corner, then broke into a run and hauled ass to the steakhouse.

“Luther!” she ran up to him, flushed and upset. “Did Arthur come here?”

“Why would he come here?” he said mildly, flipping his steaks.

“Because he found out,” she whimpered.

“Found out what?”

“You know…” she hissed, took a hasty look around and stepped closer. “The thing!” He gave her a ‘use your words’ look and she crept closer still. “The chef!!”

His eyes frosted. “Ain’t I promised not to tell him?” he rumbled.

She shriveled a little under his glare. “Yeah…but…”

“But what?” he said with a sharp tone. “You accusin’ me of somethin', Savigne?” That tone of offense combined with Luther straightening to his full height made her feel abashed.

“N-no,” she stammered, squirming on her feet. “I just asked.”

“Good,” he said, miffed.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. Then: “But it gets so much worse, Luther!” she whispered, furtively looking around before she hastily added “He…took care of it!!” She nervously bit on a nail and started to tap her foot.

“Also good,” was the gravely answer.

“How can you be so calm? It’s a fucking disaster!” Luther just maddeningly flipped steaks. “He was so mad,” her voice shook, her foot tapping vigorously. “Furious! He was so upset at me…” she trailed.

“Told ya you should ‘ave told’im.”

When this opened the floodgates, as basically any little thing did these days, he softened a bit, sighed and brought a napkin over. Then he pushed the stool her way, so she morosely climbed on it and sniffled until her nerves settled a little.

“Savigne,” he drawled, “Yer man right to be upset with ya.”

“But…”

“Ya don’ trust him.” She opened her mouth to object but he was faster: “Ya don’. Ya treat him like a dumb child. Like he don’t have the smarts to do his job right.”

“His job?”

“Yeah, his job,” he confirmed. “Evadin’ the law.”

“He has a bounty on his head! He’s not some secret assassin who covers his tracks, so the ‘evading’ bit is just luck.”

“Possible he handled this more…discreet, ain’t it?”

“How are you getting that?”

“Cause this involve youse and ‘m thinkin' he gonna be careful so yer name don’ link to it,” he explained as if she was a child. Then added “That what I would do, anyway.”

She thought on this for a while and she couldn't find an argument against it so her nerves wound down a little.

“The Law came in today. Apparently he never made it home.”

“So there ain’t no body.”

“Yet,” she corrected. She leaned in, eyes shifting around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard. “There was a lot of blood on him. A lot.”

“See, yer still doin’ it.”

“Doing what?!” she huffed with frustration.

“Actin’ like he some dumb wild beast who saw red and butchered that roach in the middle of the street. He done that, Law wouldn’ be strollin’ ‘round, lookin’ for him, would they?”

She turned this over in her head, brows furrowed and her face pinched in concentration. He pushed a plate towards her.

“No thank you,” she mumbled. “My stomach is in knots.”

“Unknot it and eat,” he said roughly.

She cut off a piece and chewed furiously. He jabbed his fork at her. “Yer man clever. Might be they never find this guy.”

“Isn’t that…hard to do?” she said, feeling her heart rate steady.

Luther bowed his lips. “Hard ain’t same as impossible.”

She chewed on her steak, surprised by her ravenous hunger. “Like how? For example.”

Luther sighed and rolled up his eyes to the ceiling in thought. “Ya can…tie rocks to a man’s feet and drop’im in deep water?” he offered. A few moments later: “Could burn’im? Scatter them ashes and bones?” She pursed her lips and tilted her head in reluctant agreement. “Still wild places in this country nobody set foot in years, ya know. Ya bury a guy there, who gonna find him? Yer man travel far, he knows these tucked in corners, no?”

“I guess,” she mumbled, somewhat mollified. “But they will keep looking. After a while, not finding a body will just confirm he’s dead. And they’re smart.”

He drew a circle in the air with his cigarette. “A man only clever until he meet a man more clever.”

“What if they talk to me?” she froze with the idea, talking with a full mouth. “I’m a horrible liar.”

Luther snorted. “Imagine Mister lawman is Arthur then. Lied to him just fine, didn’ ya?”

She glared at him as she swallowed.

“Seriously?! And here I was thinking how nice you’ve been to me lately.”

“Ain’t a single nice bone in m’body,” he said proudly and slapped another steak on her plate and to her amazement, she found that she had room for that one, too.

Third day after he watched Savigne ride out from Shady Belle’s balcony, Hosea pulled out his old rocking chair, huddled into his warm jacket, brought out last week’s newspaper and waited. He knew Arthur would come in sometime between her departure and her arrival to visit his tent as he had done these past days and wasn’t surprised when exactly that happened a few hours into his wait. Coward, he thought as he watched him walk into camp and head straight to his tent in his no nonsense manner, and decided enough was enough. He ambled down the rotting stairs, grabbed two mugs of Pearson’s vile coffee and went after him. It was a nice Fall day, but even this far in the South it was starting to get too brisk and chilly for his old bones.

“Arthur!” he called when he arrived as he went and sat in the chair facing the camp, carefully placing the mugs of coffee on the table.

Few minutes later Arthur stepped out of his tent. He looked like he had been sleeping rough. Hair tussled, beard a mess, bags under his eyes. No doubt he was drifting around camping and drinking, indulging in plenty of self pity and rage on the side. The old Arthur. Left to his own devices, this could go on for a tediously long time, so the moment for intervention was now.

“Where have you been?”

“Around,” was the harrumph.

“Been trying to catch you for days but you’re slinking in and out of camp like a thief.” His eyes crawled over the new attire he had changed into and the provisions in his arms. “Did you come in just to restock?”

The grunt of a reply. Well he’s certainly back to his sullen ways, Hosea thought sourly. A sullen Arthur was a tiresome one - no different from a child really, infuriatingly belligerent and stubborn. Too bad for him, Hosea was mentally well prepared for the battle that was about to ensue.

“Sit with me.”

The younger man ambled over wordlessly and dropped into the other chair diagonal from him, placed his carton of cigarettes and extra clothes on the ground next to him.

Hosea decided to start off nice. Dutch was the “cool” parent. That left him the role of the gentle but firm one.

“Everything okay, son?”

A hitch of shoulders.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“No.” was the morose answer as he picked up his mug and drank it.

“He speaks!” Hosea said dramatically. “Where have you been?”

Another shrug of those massive shoulders. Whatever Savigne was feeding him was going straight to his shoulders, they seemed to stretch wider by the day.

“Listen here, you use your words when I’m talking to you! It’s disrespectful to grunt around like a caveman.”

The stern voice worked as Arthur looked at him for the first time. “What d’ya want?”

“I want to know where you've been, let’s start there.”

“Told you. Around.”

“Why? And don’t shrug those mountains again!”

“Just campin’,” he huffed.

“Son, you’re a man.”

“Am I now?” was the sarcastic response as he fished for a cigarette.

“I sure damn hope so!” Hosea flared and was glad that it gave Arthur pause. “I understand you guys had a fight.”

“How ya know that?”

“For one thing, I have god damn eyes. And also, I spoke to Savigne.” The blue eyes flicked up to him. “Don’t look at me like that, she was in a state, sitting here day after day, waiting for your ass to return from wherever the hell you went, so yes, I spoke to her. Also, I ate the lasagna that was meant for you, and let me tell you, it was delicious.” He huffed and resettled in his chair. He felt his papery heart start to thud with anger and he was glad for it. Because to cut through Arthur’s boorish nonsense, one needed a forceful kick.

“Now, I’m old and I’m not going to be around forever. If this job goes right, I expect to be out of your life sooner rather than later. So the least you can do is listen to me and answer me with some respect.”

“Fine,” spat the other man, taking another irritated gulp from his coffee.

“I don’t know what happened and she wouldn’t tell me. Also, I don’t care. You had a fight, that’s fine. What’s not fine is running away and camping and drinking. You’re acting like you did after Mary and Eliza but she’s right here. That ain’t right.”

“Need to cool off, ‘m mad,” he growled. “Was a mistake to talk to her before I did and don’ wanna make it again.”

“You clamp down like this, won’t be someone here to talk to when you come back. What could she have possibly done to deserve this?”

Arthur was about to shrug his shoulders again and when Hosea’s eyes flared up, self corrected and scratched his beard instead.

“Did she go with another man?” Hosea pushed.

“No?” was the surprised answer.

“Okay. Did she…I don’t know…steal from you?” He knew these questions were ridiculous but that was the point he was making.

Arthur muttered under his breath in frustration.

“Let’s see what else, did she-”

“She lied to me.”

“Okay?” An annoyed look was hurled his way. “Ain’t saying that’s nothing, but sometimes people lie because they have good reasons.”

Arthur stewed in quiet disagreement for a time. Hosea could tell that the lie mattered to him and he was unwilling to engage in a conversation that diminished it. He decided that trivializing it would only make Arthur stubbornly clutch at it harder, just like tugging in a game of rope made the other person plant their feet, lean back and pull harder. So he decided to change tactics and let go of the rope entirely:

“Okay then,” he eased back into his chair, taking a sip from his coffee. “You know what…” he mused, casually watching a murmuration of birds, “…you’re right. You gave it a good go, that’s all I asked. Guess it wasn’t meant to be. Sometimes when it’s over, it’s over. Better to move on than drag it out.”

There was a short silence. “Didn’ say it’s over…” was Arthur’s sullen objection.

He bowed his lips and droned on unperturbed: “Probably best, really. She can go back to her city and you can join Dutch in Tahiti. Farm mangoes or whatever nonsense he plans on doing out there.” In the corner of his eye he saw the other man shift in his chair, resisting the urge to talk up. “She doesn’t know you as well as I do, so she thinks it was just a fight - a disagreement. But seeing the way you are, I can tell you’re done. You’re done and maybe you don’t know to break it to her…” he sighed and scratched an ear, “Don’t worry son, I’ll talk to her. When she comes in tonight I’ll-”

“The hell ya ramblin’? Ain’t like that, ‘m just coolin’ off.”

“That’s fine, you go cool off. In Tahiti.”

Arthur clicked his tongue in annoyance.

Hosea sharpened his tone: “I raised you better than this. You don’t have the guts to end it, I’ll damn right do it. She deserves better than being led on.”

“Nobody endin’ nothin’,” Arthur spat back with frustration. “Lost my head, is all.”

Hosea gave him a dry look. “I’ve seen you like this before. You get like this when your pride is dented. Let’s see: after that, you start feeling sorry for yourself. Are we at that stage yet? Have you started to wonder what she sees in you? Oh no, I think you’re past that. Are we at the part where you’ve decided she doesn’t love you? That this…lie…means she never did?”

He knew he hit the mark by Arthur’s reaction of tightening his crossed arms, looking away and huddling into his jacket. Arthur was a simple man, and thank god for that because as stubborn and difficult as he was, it was a good thing that he wasn’t overly complicated on top of that.

Hosea could see it as clear as day: the drifting around, bare basic camping, long nights of indulgence with alcohol and a healthy meal of self-doubt and self pity. Sure, he walked around like he owned the ground he stood on, but that was just the forward facing side of the coin. In the back was a child that had been abused by an alcoholic and adopted by a set of fools. A child who had learned that he needed to be useful in this world to be wanted, to “belong”, and a child who had thrown himself into this endeavor with zeal. Who had mercilessly honed himself to become faster, better and more loyal than anyone else so he was indispensable. So he was never unwanted again.

Whatever confidence he had built over the years had been crushed by Mary’s rejection and then he had fumbled the Eliza situation and ever since, Arthur had been meandering between a hefty dose of doubt about his self worth and a childish pretense of how he didn’t give a damn in the first place. But in his heart of hearts, he did give a damn of course. Because from the richest to the poorest, the ugliest to the prettiest, all people gave a damn and everyone had a need to be wanted and valued. It was the whip on the back that flogged people to do all manner of things and the weak spot for every human being.

Hosea took a deep breath. “Listen son,” he said calmly, “Savigne isn’t perfect. She has her own issues. For one thing, she has no other people. I know we’re a circus, but we at least tried to be people to each other. So, bad as it was, you had a semblance of a family. She didn’t grow up like that, she’s going to be lacking in some ways. It’s like a scar. When you love someone, you have to look around it. You can’t look around it, it’s time to move on.”

“Ain’t movin’ o-”

“I’m talking here, did you drop your manners wherever the hell you camped?!”

Arthur crossed his arms even tighter and shifted in his chair with disgruntlement.

“Second, she has fear of attachment. She came here, she staked that tent a mile away and bolted in and out of camp like a fawn. You used to yap my ear off about it, so I know you know damn well what I’m talking about here. She was like a wild thing when she joined us, trying to convince everyone and mostly herself she can cut it alone.”

He coughed softly and took a sip of coffee to clear his throat.

“But then the damnest thing happened,” he continued with a raspy voice, “She took a leap of faith. With you. Couldn’t have been easy for her. But she did it and since, she’s doing her best to stick to it. She obviously loves you, why else would she put up with your nonsense - you’re no Prince Charming. She’s been waiting for you to get your act together. For that alone, she deserves some grace.” Hosea punched his finger on the table.

“We agree on this bit?” he prodded when Arthur didn’t say anything.

There was a reluctant nod in his direction.

“Okay. What else you got?”

Arthur took a frustrated breath. “Dropped the ball, Hosea,” he sighed, eyes scanning the horizon.

“Then pick it back up!”

The younger man chuckled darkly but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “What’s the point of me if I drop the ball?” He smoked silently for a spell, trying to find the words. “Ain’t charmin’. Ain’t rich. Got no legacy, no job. Only thing I built is this damn tent here. ‘M an ugly bastard with a bounty on m’head. What does a man like me bring to the table? Tell ya what: ‘M big and I shoot fast, that ‘bout it. M good at enforcin’ and protectin’. If I can’t do even that, what’s the point of me?”

Hosea sighed. “We all come from dirt and we’re all going back to dirt. There ain’t a point to any of it. For the blink of an eye we’re here, we dance a little, we love a little, cry a little and then it’s done. Look at me.” He waited until those blue orbs met his. “The point of you is to make her happy. Because making her happy will make you happy. That’s it, there’s nothing else. Lucky for you, she has abysmal standards.”

“Thanks a bunch,” was the sour response.

“Don’t talk back at me!” Hosea snapped. Arthur had been a rebellious, wild cub when they found him, always testing the limits of Hosea and Dutch’s patience. Gentle coaxing got you only so far with him, you had to kick him down a few notches when you wanted him to listen. “If you aren’t up to the job, just say so, I will cut her loose for you.”

The younger man glared at him.

“Well?”

“Oh so I can speak now?” was the question dripping with sarcasm.

“Yes, you may speak now.”

“I ain’t walkin’ away,” was the rumble of a response.

“Could have fooled me.”

“I said…”

“Don’t hiss like a damn viper.”

A loud frustrated sigh, then a calmer repeat: “I said…I need to cool off.” the big arms were raised apart. “That what ‘m doin’.”

“Cool off in your tent.” The sullen huff of disagreement and the stubborn rolling of shoulders that he received in return him fired up his temper again and Hosea decided that it was time to bring out the big guns. All this coaxing and sweet talking was wasted on a simple man who had simple triggers.

“Nice to know you don’t care that something could happen to her while you’re busy cooling that melon of yours.”

“The hell?!” was the startled response.

“Did you forget you’re in an outlaw camp?” Hosea spat. “Micah has been eyeing your tent since you left. He ain’t stupid, he knows something’s amiss.” It was true and made Hosea’s toes curl to see it.

That jolted Arthur alright. He sat up a little. “Son of a…”

“Bag it!” Having located the crack in the armor, Hosea mercilessly pushed in the blade. “Can’t blame the dogs for circling when the wolf prances off. Let’s leave Micah aside - what if there’s another O’Driscoll raid? All it takes is a stray bullet. What if the Pinkertons come through here and shit gets ugly?” He watched Arthur’s rising color and kept pushing: “Forget all that - what if some vagabonds stroll in this way?” He waved his hand to the woods to his back. “We wouldn’t even hear a thing! She’s sitting here by herself, a small woman who can’t shoot, defenseless, far from everyone else while you’re gazing up at the stars and philosophizing about the meaning of it all! Is Savigne your god damn woman or not?”

“Ya know damn well she is!” was the possessive growl of a reply.

“Then you’re a poor excuse of a man!” he hollered. “You asked her to stay! Well here she fucking is and where are you? You’ve decided to drift off and abandon her! Look at me!” He relished the storm churning in Arthur’s eyes when he did. “You will either let this woman go or pick that damn ball back up, because by god, if something happens to her while she’s alone in her tent, I’m going to shoot you myself!” He snapped the lapels of his coat sharply and sat back in his chair, breathless from his tirade but deeply satisfied by the result:

Finally: a chastised Arthur. Incredible how much damn work it took. More bull than man, this one. John only needed a sharp look, bending Arthur around corners was back breaking, sweat inducing labor. He pitied the mother who had carried this stone of a man.

There was a long silence as Arthur ground his teeth, probably kicking himself in the balls for his oversight again but Hosea sipped his coffee and let it play out because it was well deserved.

At long last the younger man ran a palm over his beard with resignation. The blue eyes that flicked up at him now were devoid of indecision, but full of quiet anger. “Micah really lookin’?”

“You’re going to start a tussle over that now?”

“God damn right I will!”

“Micah’s looking because you’re not here. Start with that.”

“I get that,” was the morose reply.

“You’d be stupid to think that man doesn’t have a bone to pick with Savigne,” Hosea said, calmer, watching the choppy waters in Arthur’s eyes. “Because of what you did alone. Men like him don’t slink off and count their lucky stars. No, they dream of an opening to even the score. That man thrives on hatred and I shudder to think what he dreams of doing to those he hates.” Hosea sighed and finished his coffee. “One thing you and I will always agree on is that Dutch should have kicked that weasel out long time ago. But his jealousy of you blinded him. Still blinds him.”

“The hell the rest of ya good for?” Arthur bristled. “Ya tellin’ me every time I leave, she’s defenseless?!”

“Don’t raise your hackles at me like a porcupine! Of course we’re here but she’s far out and he ain’t got bells around his ankles, does he? If he kills her…” he swallowed the word ‘after’ to avoid getting Arthur even more worked up. Micah’s previous attempt was an obvious indicator of what he would do to Savigne, given the chance, and didn’t need spelling out, “…who can say it was him, not some vagrant passing through? You think Dutch won’t back him up when he says it wasn’t him?”

Arthur’s face darkened as the old wounds seared. “‘M gonna kill that bastard.”

“You’d be doing the world a favor,” Hosea sighed. “Now, since we’re on the topic of Dutch, I said I’ve been chasing your tail and I have, because of that bank job. I need you to back me up against Dutch.”

“Said I would,” Arthur grumbled, distracted by whatever he was building up in his mind about the previous conversation.

“Okay then let’s go talk this out. I want to do this soon, very soon and get the hell out of this part of the country. It’s getting old.”

He rose to his feet and so did Arthur. The supplies remained where they were as they trudged off and Hosea knew the camping trips were over.

From the corner of his eye he saw her pause when she spotted him sitting at the table, writing into his journal. Then she broke into a run, basket jangling awkwardly and he felt a twitch in his gut at her haste.

“Hey,” she panted when she arrived. There was trepidation in her voice but he could tell she was overjoyed to see him and it mollified his gnarly, twisted heart a little.

He grunted a greeting in response. She hesitated for a moment, then went into the tent and emptied her basket. Then she came out, fisting her skirts, unsure what to do.

“You want me to make dinner?”

He was starving but responded with a curt “No.”

She carefully sat on the other chair. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

She bit her lip and thought of something to say. “The Law came to the restaurant…”

When she didn't go on, he grunted “And?”

“First day they were pretty casual about it but they look more and more serious and irritated every time they come. At this point, it’s all the newspapers talk about, all Saint Denis is talking about. Everyone assumes he’s dead of course, it’s been three days.”

When he didn’t comment, she went on: “People are going crazy trying to come up with answers because it’s like he went up in smoke.” He sketched on, ignoring her hawk-like observation for a reaction. “His usual driver said he got off at a street corner and walked away, saying he was going to meet someone. Said he does that from time to time and it wasn't his business to ask who. That’s all they have.” She paused to give him the chance to comment and seemed disappointed when he didn’t. “He was the main suspect for a while but he’s an old man with a stellar record and apparently Ecco used to tip him very well, so he has no motive.”

“They won’ find nothin’.”

She nodded and swallowed. He could tell questions were brimming in her, percolating, but also that she didn’t have the courage to ask them yet, and maybe never would.

“I know.”

“How so?” was his cool question.

“I’m sure you were…careful,” was her belated response.

This did surprise him. She had obviously done some thinking on the matter and concluded that he wasn’t a slobbering idiot. The correct riposte to an offered olive branch was to graciously accept it, but instead what fell out of his mouth was “Ya done hit yer head?”

He winced when her face fell. Christ, I’m such a fool. He forced his paused hand to resume scribbling nonsense into the journal.

“We have leftovers in the ice box, want me to heat them up?” she recovered after a moment.

Truthfully, he would kill for the lazan ya that he knew to be in the ice box right now, but his damn pride flared up and he said “No.”

“Okay.”

He was morosely disappointed she didn’t insist.

“Are you staying tonight?”

“Am.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “That’s good.”

He knew he was being ridiculous and boorish when she was trying to make peace, but that hurt he had nurtured and fed in his chest these past days had grown and wouldn’t be appeased that easily. It hungered for pain - a little bit of hers and a little bit of his. He wished he could pull Ecco out of that damn swamp and butcher him all over again. Hosea was right, after Mary he had fed this very same black slug in his chest. You would think a man would grow and mature and learn since then but apparently Arthur Morgan was incapable of growth because that slimy thing was back, fat and ravenous for more.

After a while she went in and brought back her book and the lantern to sit and read with him. He could tell she wasn’t really reading, only pretending to read, but that was okay since he was sitting here filling his journal with stupid mindless doodles and pretending to sketch.

Out there by himself he had managed to work himself into a sullen rage, but sitting here across from her it all seemed ridiculously petty. She must love him to stick around all this mayhem. Either that or she was mad. Several times he worked himself up to start some nonsense conversation to soften the tension, but couldn’t quite get there, so he morosely scribbled on, filling pages with spirals and circles and long, winding lines.

As time passed and his grumpy silence continued, he could tell by the pinching of her brow and the settling sourness on her shoulders that she was growing increasingly upset and agitated about the situation. It was sweet, really, how she still thought of him as a better man than he really was, expecting things from him that one would expect from a better man. In truth he was selfish and proud and got some sick satisfaction from seeing her squirm, all hot and bothered by his lack of engagement.

“You know, there’s a man in this book who reminds me of you,” she quipped as the night grew late. “His name is Heathcliff.”

He grunted with indifference but in his head he thought ‘Here comes the flattery’, and a little flattery was well deserved if you asked him.

“Yes. He’s bitter and vindictive and petty.”

This startled him. His eyes flew up and he found her looking back from under her eyebrows. “Ya wastin’ yer time tryin’ to piss me off,” he scoffed, halfway to pissed off already.

“He ruins everyone’s life including his own because of his pride,” she pursed her lips.

“Good for him,” was his acerbic retort.

“Even pushes the woman who loves him away.”

He took a deep breath and pressed the pencil so hard on the page, the tip broke. He threw the pencil on the table and fished for another. “If she was yappin’ much as you do, understandable.”

“Actually he spends his entire life regretting it.”

“Lemme guess, a woman wrote that book.”

“How is that even relevant?” she bristled.

“Yeah. It’s a woman,” he muttered with smug satisfaction as he went back to filling the page with lines and circles again.

“At this rate, he will die old and alone, Arthur!”

“Lucky man.”

She catapulted from her chair and dashed into the tent at that and he sat there, pinching the bridge of his nose. Fucking idiot. Just shoot yourself and be done with it, fucks’s sake.

He listened to the furious banging and scraping from inside the tent and morosely packed his journal and tools away into his satchel, rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath and headed in.

She was almost tearing her clothes off in her vigor to undress and when he walked in, stomped to the back of the crates as if undressing in front of him was inappropriate now. This irritated him and his irritation sparked up something fierce when she came around holding her clothes awkwardly over her nightgown as if he was going to jump on her and fuck her like he was some beast. To his annoyance he felt his traitorous cock begin to harden at the idea and stubbornly set his jaw and waited for her to pass, then stalked to the crates and fished out her old bedroll.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleepin’ on the bedroll.” he growled as he shook it out. If he joined her on that bed he was sure as hell going to prove her right and end up pouncing on her. His cock hardened even more at the idea and his pride curdled.

“I’m not a leper,” she muttered under her breath as she climbed into the bed.

“What’s that?” was his cool question even though he had heard her perfectly fine.

“You know, when I was mad at you and my hand was almost chopped off…” he snorted at the exaggeration but she ignored it and talked on“…I still slept in this god damn bed!”

You passed out that first night with your clothes on and the second night plastered yourself against the cart as if I was the leper. “Guessin’ that wasn’ for my sake, was cause the bed is comfortable,” he shot back.

The covers were kicked off and she emerged, looking absolutely fucking delectable with that fire blazing in her eyes. “No! It’s a matter of respect!”

“We both know ya have no respect for me!” He grabbed one of the pillows, annoyed, and threw it on his bedroll.

She scrambled off the bed and came stomping over. “That’s my pillow!” She took it and headed back. The damn things were a pair and identical.

“Gimme the other one then.”

“Take it yourself,” she shot over her shoulder.

He clenched his jaw and came for the other pillow as she settled back in, rigorously beating the covers around herself.

“I hope you get back pain,” she muttered. He turned the light off. “Also,” she picked it back up, “Thank you! Sleeping alone in this huge bed is actually fucking wonderful.”

“Enjoy.”

“I am enjoying it!”

“Enjoy it in silence.”

There was a blissful interval during which he shifted on the roll and thought of how fine her ass looked now, all plush and round and hardened further and then he thought on that god damn lazan ya in the ice box, but Savigne was worked up and wasn’t going to give him peace that easily:

“I saw a huge spider run off on the ground the other day, you enjoy that, Heathcliff!” she hissed. That put a grin on his face because the odds of her casually sleeping in the bed if she had really spotted a huge spider instead of torching the whole tent were about zero.

“Better than the scorpion in the bed.”

A few minutes later he heard her sniffling and sighed in regret. He was starting to think Hosea was a fool and he was doing more harm than good by being here but the idea of Micah or anyone else coming in here sent a jolt of frost through his heart so he stayed, sullenly ashamed for the days he hadn’t. Lucky nothing had happened, really, because if it had…

“Why did you come back anyway if you hate me so much?” she interjected his dark ruminating.

“I built this damn thing,” he said roughly and regretted that, too. “For us,” he added to soften the blow.

“Put up my tent then, I’ll go sleep there.”

He sighed. Everything he touched, he ruined. “Yer ass won’t fit in there no more,” flew out his mouth before he could stop it and he winced again. You’re just all rotten inside, aint you?

The sniffles got louder at that. Did Savigne cry this much before? Seemed like lately she was ready to go at it at the drop of a hat. This made him think of Maebell and Luther’s story and that led him to think about Ecco and he started to get angry again.

“Fine! I’ll put it up myself. I don’t want your stupid bed anymore.”

“I tossed that thing long ago,” he said and told himself that he had to make sure to take it out of the crate and toss it for real before she came back from work tomorrow or she was likely to put up the damn thing.

“Why the fuck would you toss my tent?!” she yelped.

“Fool that I was, didn’ think we need it no more,” he harrumphed and turned to face her.

A while passed but he could tell by her breathing that she wasn’t asleep.

If I had any sense, I would go over there and fuck her stupid, he thought. And then go eat that lazan ya. Instead ‘m lying here like a fool. Serves me right. Only a fool would lie on a god damn bedroll when there is a splendid woman in his bed and delicious food in his ice box.

“To think that I almost thanked you today,” she hissed.

“For?”

“Forget it, I’m never telling now.”

“Ya must be proud ya didn’ stoop that low.”

“Very proud, thank you very much!”

She was probably pouting right now. Get up and kiss her you fool. And yet, he remained where he was, sighed and shifted to lie more comfortably. Who knew bedrolls were this uncomfortable? The camping had been miserable for that alone and now that he was back, he had chosen to continue the misery in his own tent. Fucking brilliant.

A long time passed as he lied still to the background of her tossing and turning. It occurred to him then that if anyone else treated her this way, he would probably bash their head in, and here he was, doing it himself and he didn't even have a good reason other than some hurt pride. Over what? An understandable lie? Or was it more likely that he was angry at himself and taking it out on her? His ire should have died with Ecco, but morsels of it lingered on and he hated himself for it. His ruminations scattered when she whispered his name to check if he had fallen asleep and he pretended he had. Then she was still a while longer but he sensed that she was going to talk if she was convinced he was asleep because she did this from time to time - talk to herself in the late hours of the night.

At long last he was proven right when she whispered “I was going to thank you for what you did.”

His heart turned in his chest and his eyes flew open in the dark.

‘M done waiting, he thought.

After that bank job ‘m riding back here and ‘m kissing her senseless, he thought.

And then, when she’s too breathless and flustered to say no, ‘m sliding that damn ring on her finger, he thought.

He lied there listening to her sleep and thought all manner of things that wouldn’t come to pass.

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan smut #low honor arthur morgan #mid honor arthur morgan #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #fluff #smut #fanfic #dom arthur morgan

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disastrouscanasta · 7 months ago

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tag game! tagged by @star-spangled-bastard, thanks so much!!

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

My welsh name is technically shared with a very famous Welshman, but that was an afterthought, lol

As for Arthur, yes, Arthur Morgan from my favourite video game ever

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?

No idea

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

Nope

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED?

I used to do a lot of sports, but the most recent ones were football and archery

DO YOU USE SARCASM?

Yes

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?

Clothes

WHAT'S YOUR EYE COLOUR?

Swampy brown, with a teensy bit of green

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

Horror films my beloved

ANY TALENTS?

I can read fairly fast

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?

Writing, watching films

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?

No :(

HOW TALL ARE YOU?

About 170cms

FAVOURITE SUBJECT?

History and English, always and forever

tagging @blood-mocha-latte, @someguywriting, @almost-a-class-act :)

#tag game

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animasolaoriginal · 7 months ago

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Who inspired Ben?

Ben is basically a very tall, strong but not too muscular man with messy dark (brown) hair and brown eyes and a full but trimmed dark beard (and a dimple on his right cheek).

He's technically the love child of a lot of people, but the biggest inspiration is Joel Miller from The Last of Us (though Ben isn't as old, only in his late thirties while Joel is 51/56).

And since Innocence Lost is set in the Wild West, I was also very inspired by Arthur Morgan from Red Dead Redemption 2 (and the game as a whole), who was actually 36, so a little younger than Ben (even though he looks older imo). Ben's outfits were also inspired by him.

And then we have a few famous and not so famous faces that remind me of Ben as well, most notably Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Karl Urban and Jensen Ackles - and some random dudes I found on the internet.

I wish I could find one actor/character/dude where I'd be, "Yes! That's Ben!", but I haven't found the one yet (though Jensen Ackles in a cowboy hat and with a beard comes pretty close, also age wise, if only he had brown eyes...). So he'll probably always look a little different in my #inspiration posts. But I think you get the picture.

Screenshots of Joel and Arthur are mine. Credits for all the other pictures that I found randomly on the Internet to their respective owners. (If you see your picture here and would like to have it removed, tell me!)

READ INNOCENCE LOST HERE

#inspiration #innocence lost #cowboy #original character #ben #the love child of #joel miller #arthur morgan #jensen ackles

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nocompromise-noregrets · 1 year ago

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Writers' Month 2023 Masterlist

Thank you as always to the mods of @writersmonth, one of my favourite events, to everyone who prompted me this year, and to everyone who kudos'd, commented, liked and reblogged!

1 blossom and on an island - An Outcrop of Rocks and Grass for @spiced-wine-fic - Rings of Power, Bronwyn and Arondir spot a potential settling place.

2. camping - and we will carry on - Hobbit, modern reincarnation AU, Bard takes the kids camping, in the hope that the place he found last time will help them recover from their loss.

3. festival - She's So Fine - Hobbit, modern heavy metal AU, Sigrid isn't quite sure what she's doing when she invites the rest of Thranduil's band back to their campsite, after Thranduil's dragged her da off into the darkness, especially because Thranduil's bass player is the most beautiful woman she's ever laid eyes on.

4. memories - Everything We Have Learned for @verecunda and @glorf1ndel - LotR/Hobbit, part of My Heart Is An Empty Vessel, Legolas and his father begin to talk about his mother at long last.

5. sun and poolside - Summer Sun - King Arthur (2004), one uncomfortably hot day, the people of the fortress take a trip north of the Wall.

6. surf - Ride the Waves for @antares0606 and @bae-owyn - LotR, part of A Little Piece of the Sea, Imrahil tells Legolas of a popular pastime among the young (and not-so-young) of Dol Amroth.

7. in the mountains - A Silver Ribbon and the Sea for @spiced-wine-fic - Rings of Power, Bronwyn on the journey to Pelargir.

8. fishing - One of Us - Fishermen's Friends, Morgan joins Jim on the boat one morning, and they figure out his place in the band.

9. warmth and home for the summer - Fresh Water for @spiced-wine-fic - Rings of Power, Bronwyn, Arondir and Theo investigate the island across the bay from Pelargir.

10. sandcastle and lifeguard AU - Unpredictable for @eowyn7023 - Hobbit, Sigrid meets a very nice lifeguard when Tilda gets into trouble swimming in the Long Lake.

11. sweat - Like A World Ending - Peaky Blinders, Arthur Shelby never came home from France, not in any of the ways that matter.

12. lemonade and band AU - Walk of Shame for @scary-grace - Hobbit, modern heavy metal AU, Bard hadn’t been looking forward to doing the walk of shame back to the campsite from Thranduil’s tour bus, but having company does take some of the edge off it - although given that the company is his eldest daughter, he isn’t entirely certain how to feel about it.

13. fan and cruise ship - A Fan for the Stage for @myeaglesong - Hobbit, modern heavy metal AU, Thranduil's band is booked on a metal cruise, and Bard and co are invited along.

14. bonfire - A Talisman for @redeemer46 - Hobbit, part of My Heart Is An Empty Vessel, Thranduil has never quite been able to understand why the people of Dale kept the Midsummer bonfire as part of their celebrations, after what happened to their old home.

15. blue and neighbourhood barbecue - Better Late Than Never for @antares0606 - Hobbit, part of the modern AU A Kiss In The Cold And Dark, at a street party for the coronation, Thranduil gets to know some of Bard's friends, and makes a decision.

16. energy - Ash and Dust for @piyo-13 - LotR, the twins are so tired of their endless quest for revenge, but they can't admit it to each other, and they can't stop.

17. at a wedding - Court Etiquette for @inthecrevicesofmycrispytoes - Hobbit, Thranduil is very bored at the wedding of Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins, but then he meets the new King of Dale, who has never been to one of these events before.

18. restaurant AU - Mr Underhill's Finest Seafood Specialities for CyanSoul on AO3 - LotR/Hobbit, Frodo is flustered to realise that famous food critic Thorin Oakenshield has booked a table at his Uncle Bilbo's seafood restaurant. Not nearly as flustered as his Uncle Bilbo, though, it turns out.

19. cloud, Passing Shadow - LotR, the twins take a moment to rest, after the end of the War of the Ring.

20. fireworks - A Rain of Coloured Stars for @myeaglesong - LotR, on the slopes of Mount Doom, Frodo has a brief, bright memory of home, before the Ring came into his life and changed it beyond repair.

21. hammock - Outwitted - LotR, the twins have a habit of hogging Glorfindel's hammock, but Glorfindel doesn't really mind all that much.

22. human/non-human AU - Rewilding for CyanSoul on AO3 - LotR, modern merpeople AU, Faramir, recovering from the loss of his brother and his father in the wake of Eye-Corp's failed attempt to ruin their seaside home with a giant golf course and marina, meets a strange woman swimming in the sea near his uncle's island home... (CyanSoul tells me this is the first mermaid!Éowyn fic on AO3! :D )

23. storm and in the woods - always played a part for @scary-grace and @spiced-wine-fic - Hobbit, modern reincarnation AU, Thranduil watches Bard's children exploring the ruins of his home, and marvels at how alike they are to their predecessors, how much he has missed them.

24. summer - Climbing Upwards for @spiced-wine-fic - Rings of Power, Bronwyn and Arondir, in their first full summer on the island, contemplate the future, and Arondir gives their new settlement a name.

25. relax and at a concert - floating high above for @eowyn7023 - Hobbit, modern heavy metal AU, Sigrid, at a really sensational rock show, takes a moment to drift off, thinking of how great her life is just now.

26. found - the tale as it is told for Anon (if you have an AO3 please let me know, I'd love to make this a gift to you!) - LotR, Imrahil tells Legolas how Dol Amroth was founded and named.

27. on the beach - a treaty of friendship and love for @verecunda - LotR, part of A Little Piece of the Sea, Legolas has a conversation with Imrahil's grandson Alphros, and another with Lothíriel, about Imrahil's sons' disdain for him.

28. bright and mythological AU - Restoration for CyanSoul on AO3 and Anon on here (if you have an AO3 please let me know, I'd love to make this a gift to you!) - LotR, modern merpeople AU, Faramir adjusts to having a mermaid for a - well, 'girlfriend' isn't the right word, and he's still not quite sure what is.

29. fireflies and at a cabin - Honey-Cakes and Mead for @sallysavestheday - LotR/Silmarillion, Glorfindel and Ecthelion, reunited, pass a quiet evening in Valinor.

30. happy and children - little sunshine for Anon (if you have an AO3 please let me know, I'd love to make this a gift to you!) - LotR/Hobbit, Thranduil and little Legolas encounter a deer and her fawn, and Thranduil learns that there is still happiness in his world, although his wife is gone.

31. fall and at a hotel - Another Night in Room 305 - Hobbit, modern AU, Bard has to go home at the end of his conference, but hopefully he and Thranduil will be able to stay in touch…

31 fics for 31 days, 38,483 words (phew!) - back next year!

Next from me: Innumerable Stars 2023, and a fic whose premise came to me in a dream. :D

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rinkaywie · 2 years ago

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What Have I Done?

Arthur Morgan x Gn!Reader

Warning: Angst.

An: I'm sorry.. also im so sorry if theres mistakes

——————————

A child of the man who works for the law is dating an outlaw?! Being Milton's child was hard. You eventually escaped from him. May 19, 1886, the date you've joined tha Van Der Linde gang, full of outlaws. They didn't trust you at first, of course. They knew your father was Milton, a famous lawman.

It took over a year to gain their trust. But you did it by killing some other lawmen, and doing your best to help the gang. You eventually fell in love with one of the best guy in the gang. Arthur Morgan. He wasn't aware of your feelings. It took so goddamn long for him to open up to you and to trust you. But when he did, oh, your heart melted. The two of you started dating in 1895.

Now let's skip to 1899. The city bank robbery. As you were getting ready, someone chapped at the nape of your neck, making you unconscious.

A familiar laugh can be heard. "Sorry it took me so long." A chuckle. "They always had Arthur by their side so i couldn't get to them."

That voice... Could it be? That fucking bastard. Micah. Micah Bell. You've always hated him, never trusted him. His voice disgust you. He was always hitting on you. Luckily, you had Arthur by your side.

You felt so weak. You couldn't keep your eyes open... Why were you on the floor? Micah's talking to someone, someone familiar. Someone you haven't seen in a long time. Darkness again.

Finally opening your eyes. "Good to have you back." Oh no... "[Name]." Your father. You were still tied up and laying on the floor.

"I'll make you a deal." He said. "If you tell me where Dutch is. I'll set you free."

Dutch Van Der Linde... The founder of the gang. He was the one who started the gang, alongside with Hosea Matthews. They were the one who found you on the streets. Dutch took you because he knew you were related to Milton, he did that so he can scare Milton. But instead, you've joined the gang and they warmed up to you. Hosea was one of your favourites, he treated you like you were really a part of the family.

"I would never." You spat. "It's a trap. I know it. You'll never set me free even after i told you. And i will never do that. Besides, you have Micah on your side.

"Micah wouldn't tell me. Now, tell me where they are, and I'll set you free. I might even not hurt Dutch and his people. But if you don't, once i find them, I'll kill them in sight."

Your eyes widened. Speechless.

A kick on your stomach. You yelped in pain. "Stop." Your father said. "If you say so." Oh god. Micah. Your father simply didn't care about you. All he cared about was to capture Dutch Van Der Linde.

"Are you sure... You won't hurt anyone?" You asked.

"Not a soul."

"If you hurt them. I'll fucking tear you to pieces."

"Where's [Name]?" Your boyfriend asked. "Let's leave them for now, they might still be in camp. We dont have time to go look for them." Dutch said as he rode his horse faster. Arthur simply groaned but agreed.

"Dutch, get out here!" Your father yelled. He was holding Hosea, pointing a gun at him. You needed to act like you didn't care at all. Even though it broke your heart. Dutch and the others were still inside the Saint Denis City Bank.

Arthur and your eyes met. He was shock. Why were you with Milton? Did you rat them out? He looked so heart broken, making your heart shatter even more.

"Mr Milton... Let my friend go... Or folks... They are gonna get shot unnecessarily." Dutch yelled back.

"Your friend?" Your father asked, sarcastically. "HA! Why would i do that?"

"Come on, Milton!" Dutch yelled, annoyed. Panicked.

"It's over. No more bargains. No more deals."

"Mr. Milton... This is America. You can always cut a deal."

"I've given you enough chances." And with that. Your father let go of Hosea and... He shot him... No. NO. You were too frozen to move. The person, who cared about you, was killed by your own father. Your mouth opened, but before you could speak, a bullet ran through your arm. You looked up to see... Dutch pointing a gun at you.

You were pulled away by another lawman, preventing you from getting shot again.

"What have i done...?"

You were hiding inside a building, on the very top floor. And that's when you heard Arthur's voice. "Lenny... He's... He's dead!"

No... Not Lenny... Lenny Summers was your bestfriend. He was always there for you when you needed someone.

You peaked out of the window and saw the others running away, leaving Arthur all alone with Lenny's dead body. You took the opportunity to quickly pull Arthur inside.

"Hey!-" He yelled as he bit your hand. "Arthur! Fuck!" You yelped in pain as you unwrapped your arms around him.

"[Name]... I should've known..." His voice was so bitter. Where was his sweet voice?

Your eyes were full of fear. "A-Arthur... It's not what it looks l-like..." Your arms were in front of you, you slowly stepped back as Arthur slowly walked towards you.

"You are just like your father." The words that left his lips destroyed you. You've always hated your father. You couldn't keep the tears anymore, all of them started flowing down.

"I... I didn't m-mean to..."

"Tell me why i shouldn't kill you. Right. Fucking. Now." He rarely even swore. Your mouth hanged open but nothing came out of it.

"I guess we have an answer." He huffed. He grabbed his knife from his holster and stabbed you with it.

"A-Arthur..." You said as you fell backwards. That's when he realized what he has done. No... He already lost so many... He quickly fell on his knees next to you. Holding you close as tears were streaming down his face.

"What were you even thinking...?" He said. He didn't even know if he was saying that to him or to you.

You were already loosing so much blood. You used all of your left energy to get something out of your pocket. It was a letter. You gave it to Arthur before you take your last breath.

"Oh, Arthur. My beloved, Arthur.

Why did it come to this? As you're reading this, I'm probably dead. You didn't deserve any of this. I know I don't have the rights to apologise but I'm terribly sorry. My father told me he wouldn't hurt anyone. But it was obviously a lie. I did everything, but i had no choice. Me and Kieran are so alike. It took so long for us to gain your trust, because we came from your enemies. But in the end, we both died the same way. Killed by our own people. Oh, Arthur. I love you, truly. I'd do anything to go back in time just to be with you again. I'm truly sorry, my love."

More tears were streaming down his face. He was sniffling. "What have i done...?" He thought.

!Not My Gif!

#red dead redemption #arthur morgan #rdr arthur morgan #red dead redemption arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr #arthur morgan red dead redemption #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption x reader

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merry-andrews · 1 year ago

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Scandalous relationship Arthur/Micah:

"I'm sure I won't be disappointed, Mr. Van Der Linde"

They meet at a restaurant,

"I tell you Micah, the boy got talent. As beauty is always important in our kind of job, the boy proved he can act much better than every actors or even actresses we got!"

Micah chuckled, lightened his cigarrete then shook his hand, threw burned match away. He took a long drag on his cigar then huffed the grey, thick cloud out through his nose. Hummed

"I guess we have to wait 'n' watch, then"

Dutch laughed, hand moved to pat on Micah's shoulder "you'll see my dear friend, I'm telling the truth when I say you'll love him once you throw just one look at him"

Micah smiled "you talking too much, old man" the two laughed together when someone cleared their throat, interrupted them to get their attention "excuse me, gentlemen.."

Micah turned to him first. Bulky, blonde, blue eyes and big, square jaw bone. Overall a pretty creature, a young man, was looking right back at him.

His heart skipped a beat, by the look in the other man's eyes Micah guessed he felt the same too_ "ah! Arthur! Right on time!" Dutch smiled, he got up to shake Arthur's hand, extended a hand toward Micah "here is mr. Bell one of my best friends. He liked to meet you, you know son, he's the biggest producer in this state! "

Micah chuckled "now Dutch..you're just exaggerating"

Dutch laughed. He turned his attention to Arthur again "here's Arthur Morgan. My dear, beloved son who followed our family occupation in cinema. We're so proud of him" then with a lower tone added "me and Hosea" like a proud father smiled kindly to Arthur.

"Mr. Bell" Arthur held out his hand for shake, smiled politely to Micah. "I heard 'bout your reputation, saying you're the producer of many famous movies."

Micah shook his hand and three men pulled chairs to sit around the table "you flatter me, mr. Morgan. I should say I heard about you just enough. Say you're the best in your job"

Dutch excited, said "oh he is! His teacher was the best director of whole world"

A waitress brought the food they ordered as Micah asked Arthur "I'm here for a job suggestion. The one you'll never reject. You'll be famous in less than two months and the money, well I pay everyone who works for me very generously."

Arthur lifted his glass of wine to take a sip, blue eyes behind thin rim looked at Micah. Micah felt he needed wine himself really badly, his throat was saddenly too dry.

"You working on a new project mr. Bell?"

"A new movie. The project is big enough to be risky. my financial manager said we putting real big money in this one and I want the bestest of bests to play in my movie."

Arthur smiled, he put his glass down "and exactly what made you to come looking for me?"

Micah said "you may don't know it but your reputation is more extended than what you think. Mr. Van der linde here is one of my old friend so when he heard I'm looking for new actor, he suggested to come and see you"

The corner of Arthur's lip went up, like a teasing smirk. "And…?"

Micah felt he's sweating under the collar "and apparently with what I heard and see I have to say I'm not disappointed for this travel"

Arthur nodded. Kind smile turned back to his handsome face "well I'm glad to work with your team, mr. Bell"

#I may or may not write rest of it! but here it is!#after many years gathering dust in my documents I finally made a post about it yay #au post #au posting #my posts #micah bell #arthur morgan #morbell #arthur morgan x micah bell #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 micah

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hannahhook7744 · 1 month ago

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I Still Hear The Songs, Reminding Me Of A Friend…

Summary: The story of how the owner of Camelot Beauties, Gwen Smith, from the city of Camelot Heights, came to be a mother. Beginning Notes: Thanks to @princess-of-morkva on tumblr for inspiring me to write this. This will be published on ao3 later when I have time. Trigger warnings: Implied child abandonment, swearing, panic, improper heating of a bottle, etc. LMK if I need to add anything to the list.

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End Notes:

This is a Modern Merlin au in which the characters of Merlin (aside from Immortal Leon and Merlin, and Arthur who hasn’t risen yet) have been reincarnated.

The older characters such as Uther, Giaus, etc have also been reincarnated but those characters have died (some of them got the happy endings they never had before and others…like Uther…did not).

I got the name ‘Artie’ from Disney’s Descendants because I would have liked to see him utilized more. I got Morgie’s name from there, too.

Some of the characters have had their names ‘modernized’ or changed, because they can’t all have been reincarnated with the same names. For instance, Sir Ewan has been renamed to Ezra.

Artie is a newborn and Morgie is two. Gwen is 26, Morgana and Forridel are 30, Morgause and Ed are 21, Mordred and Kara are 17, Ezra/Ewan is 24, Sefa is 19, and Elyan is 29.

Forridel and Morgana are together.

Gwen is single because Arthur hasn’t risen yet and though she doesn’t remember anything, she feels as though something is missing from her life.

Ewain/Ezra and Sefa work at Camelot Beauties (a flower and boutique shop) as of now.

Elyan is a photographer and travel blogger.

Forridel/Del owns an occult shop called ‘West's Occult Shop’, which is just up the road from Gwen’s shop.

Next to Gwen’s shop is Morgan’s Place (a restaurant and gay club/bar), owned by Gwen’s best friend—Morgan Le Fay.

Morgause Le Fay is a lawyer and her boyfriend, Edwin 'Ed' Mercer, is a famous magician.

Mordred Barlow le Fay is Morgause and Morgan’s adopted little brother, and he works occasionally at Morgan’s Place. Kara also works there.

Ghost Arthur will not remember any of this when he rises.

The song Gwen listens to is “The Last Pendragon” by Tuatha De Danann, because I thought it’d be fitting.

If you have any other questions, feel free to ask.

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“So the dragon went away,

He who sustained the kingdom for long time.”

Gwen hummed along to the song that was playing on the radio, feeling an odd sense of melancholy as she swept up the fallen flower petals that the fan had blown from the flower side of her shop into the boutique side. Smiling to herself as Ezra and Sefa argued among themselves over who’s turn it was to clean the bathrooms—the sound of the heavy rainfall outside almost drowning the sound out.

It was a day just like any other.

“He was our leader, he kept the land:

The king of kings.”

Any moment now, Del would walk by and grab them so they could head over to Morgan’s Place where they would meet Elyan, Mithian, Ed, and Morgause and help set up for dinner like they always did and relax for an hour before Morgan had to go set up the bar upstairs for her nighttime usuals.

Dinner was sure to be perfect.

The day was sure to be perfect.

“ARTHUR THE KING—THE LAST OF THE PENDRAGON—”

Suddenly, the radio went haywire—the volume turning all the way up and the song fading out to a static that was so loud and horrible that it was like someone jabbed knitting needles into their ears.

Sefa threw her hands over her ears, nearly knocking over the tip jar.

Gwen dropped the broom, startled. Grimacing,

And Ezra swore.

Only then did they notice the muffled wail of an infant from outside the shop.

Which only caused Ezra to swear again. “FUCK!”

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“Come on, come on….” Gwen muttered under her breath impatiently, scrunching her cellphone between her ear and shoulder as she checked over the baby someone had forgotten on the door stoop of Camelot’s Beauties. A baby who had been on said door stoop for who knows how long after closing. “Come on, Elyan, pick up!”

She’s been trying to call him for an hour.

Sefa, Ezra, and her didn’t know how to handle a baby—Tristan & Izzy’s Youth Center didn’t have any babies that they could take care of whenever they had time to volunteer, and Morgan had pointedly refused to let Gwen babysit little Morgie until he was older after she’d accidentally melted one of his bottles.

And, since Morgan was currently getting some baby things for the baby she insisted they’d need until a social worker was sent over, calling Elyan—who used to babysit when he was a teenager—it was.

Now, if he’d just answer.

“Hey sis, what’s up—”

Gwen let out a sigh of relief. Thank God. “Elyan, I need your help—someone left a baby on the steps of my shop—”

Her brother cut off her rambling, sounding almost amused by her panic, the traitor“—On my way. Be there in ten.”

“Thank you.”

“You know you can always count me. Now…just focus on taking care of the baby and don’t freak out too much, okay? They can always tell when you’re freaked out and it only freaks them out even more.”

…Well, that explained why they couldn’t get the little …guy?...to stop crying.

Ezra’s swearing could still be heard from the break room as he tried to figure out whether they should call the emergency number or the non-urgent emergency number, calling google several names Gwen had never even thought of before and Sefa was panicking in a language she didn’t know. Which, given the fact that Sefa had said she didn’t know any languages other than English on her resume was more than a little concerning.

Not to mention that Gwen wasn’t exactly calm herself.

Damn it.

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The baby was indeed a boy—something they discovered when Morgan had finally showed up with one of Morgie’s old onesies and blankets, one of his old stuffies, some formula and diapers, and some baby medicine and freaked out when she realized that he was still in his wet car seat and rushed to change him. Something she was still glaring at them for as she played with the tiny blonde.

The baby looked as small as Morgie did when he was first born, so that’s how old they assumed he was, and he was pale with sparkling blue eyes and a messy tuff of dark brown hair that was sticking up even after they had dried and combed it.

And he was still sniffling slightly even now that he was all dry. Something Gwen was sure she’d never stop feeling guilty over—wishing she had thought of getting him out of that seat sooner instead of just feeling revealed when she realized he wasn’t physically hurt. Who knows what he might catch just because she hadn’t thought of it.

“And just wait until you meet my son, Morgie. I’m sure the two of you will be the best of friends like your mama and I—”

Gwen was so upset by her lack of thought, in fact, that she didn’t even register what her best friend had said until much later. And by then, she was already signing the adoption papers for the poor little boy that she had named Arthur after the song that had been playing when they found him. Giving him the middle name Merlin after her best (male) friend.

Arthur Merlin Smith.

It was a fine name and it felt right.

Not that her son’s preferred nickname of Artie wasn’t a fine name.

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Arthur watched sheepishly from the World of the Dead as his wife (former wife?) and sister (former sister?) argued in hushed whispers while their employees, friends, and siblings ran around above Camelot’s Beauties trying to baby proof Gwen’s flat in a panic as Morgan occasionally barked orders at them. Reminding them of things they needed to do as Gwen questioned if all of it was really necessary.

Merlin not so subtly using magic to do his part of things when he thought no one was looking as Gwaine tried and failed to build a crib (swearing in old english when he accidentally hammered his thumb). All while Mordred and Kara ran after Morgie and Stephanie, who had somehow gotten their hands on Gingalain and Dragonet.

Then, rubbing the back of his neck as he slowly turned to face his family, he gave what one would call an almost embarrassed smile. “I guess I could have gone about that a better way…that wouldn’t have given Morgana and Guinevere heart attacks.”

Ygraine,her brothers, Uther, Giaus, Tom, Luella (Gwen’s mother), and many others, such as Bailnor and Hunith, facepalmed.

“Uther, Tristan, Agravaine, Nimueh, Giaus, Geoffry! Don’t you dare facepalm! This is all your fault!”

Gaius and Geoffrey accepted Ygraine’s scolding in stride while the other four all sputtered.

“What?!”

“How is this my fault?!”

“They’re the ones who raised him!”

The blonde stared at her brothers and husband, hands on her hips. “I’m not even gonna dignify that question with a response. Honestly, it’s a miracle how much of a wonderful boy Arthur turned out with all the stunts you lot pulled.”

Arthur scrunched up his nose, sighing. “I don’t know whether I should feel offended or feel complimented.”

No one answered him, which only made him sigh more: oh how he couldn’t wait to get out of here and be with his Guinevere and their friends again.

It was better than here.

Merlin Edit for Merlin Week;

September 29—Favorite Au/Modern Merlin.

(Context: How Gwen met her {adopted} son, Artie, in my Modern Merlin au—It's Time, It's Time, It's Time!).

#merlin #merlin week #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #the adventures of merlin #merlinweek #merlinweek2024 #merlin2024week.#merlin2024week #merlin edits #edits #merlin fake scenes #guinevere pendragon #gwen pendragon #sir elyan #artie pendragon

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