1-800-apricot

[1-800-apricot]

Would love to see a fic with Cook and a female artist reader who’s on the quiet side. Set during season 3.

Thank you so much for this request, Anon! It's not much but I rlly enjoyed writing it :)

Here it is though! Hopefully you enjoy <3

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Honeycomb

James Cook x Gn!Artist!Reader

Cook wasn’t the loyal sort. But when he met you it was hard not to want to be. There was a certain sweetness about you. He couldn’t ever put his finger on it, but he loved it. It was like some sort of drug. The sort that made him all warm and fuzzy inside.

That was how he ended up laid on a blanket in some park with you. It was one of those rare days where the sun was actually shining. A sketch book sat in your lap, watercolors next to you. It was a relaxing atmosphere. The dull chatter of nearby park goers, the sound of the occasional bird, and the scratch of pencil against paper. It was a symphony of sounds he’d become increasingly familiar with.

It was thanks to you. You who looked so pretty with your furrowed brow and the sun highlighting your features. There was just something about you that glowed when like this. Taking a sip of his beer, he looked back to the sky. It was blue with streaks of white clouds. Peaceful. 

Their friends probably would’ve poked fun. Said that the great Cook was acting no better than a house cat. Lying and basking in the sun, admiring his surroundings. He brushed off the thought and instead grabbed a ring from the pile next to you. It was a habit of yours to take them all off when drawing. He didn’t really get it but he just went along with it. 

Next to the rings sat a small bear-shaped bottle of honey. Another oddity of yours since you didn’t even like honey. You always said it was for ‘good luck’ and that it was ‘cute’. Again, he didn’t get it but went along with it. That was routine for many things between you two and it worked quite well. 

Slipping the ring over one of his fingers, he held out his hand to you. A grin on his face as you finally looked up at him.

“We’re engaged.”

“Are we?”

“Yeah. You’ve got to buy me a dress now.”

“I see.”

Others might’ve viewed it as a cold interaction, but he knew better. He knew you. The small smile on your face and the warmth in your voice was clear as day to him. They were quite a pair the two of them. Polar opposites, not understood by others, and yet they knew each other perfectly. It was relieving in a sense.

And with that thought, he finally got up and took a swig of beer. Naturally you looked up to see what he was doing only to be met with his lips on yours. It wasn’t new and yet it felt the same as it did the first time. Your heart was beating out your cheeks, face warm as you looked back to the paper. He looked as well, grinning and lying next to you as he took in the sketch of himself. It was well done of course. Just as everything you did was.

“I haven’t colored it so it’s plain.” You explained quietly as you carefully grabbed your watercolors and wettened the brush. Handling compliments was never your strong suit.

“That’s all right, honeycomb. It’s just as pretty without.” And he meant it. He thought it was perfect.

masterlist

based off this request

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[1-800-apricot]

Two Minutes

Eric Love x Gn!Reader

Eric Love wasn’t the type of guy you’d imagined falling for as a child. You’d always been more for the typical Prince Charming caricature. And yet here you were. Going into your 20’s with a boyfriend who was behind bars. He wasn’t a bad man. You knew that. But he wasn’t good either. Not at the moment anyways.

You despised visiting the prison. The one he’d been moved to when he'd become ‘too much’ for the juvenile facility. When that happened he said that he wasn’t getting out. You got upset, too dependent on the optimistic hope that he’d get out. The idea that he wouldn’t get out felt like a personal blow even if you knew it wasn’t.

Despite this hurt, you continued to visit when you could. The place was hell. From the overall downtrodden atmosphere to the scrappy furniture in the visiting room and constant surveillance. You understood the reasons for these things of course but still. You weren’t sure how he dealt with it. Maybe he didn’t. You didn’t want to think about it.

The preferred method of communication between you two was phone. The calls weren’t too often and they weren’t long. It didn’t matter in the end though. You’d learned to cherish the seconds you got, and there were far worse situations out there.

When Eric called it was around the same time and you always kept yourself in the house when you anticipated him to ring. It was a rather fun game really. And it was rewarding when you got to sit in the chair, phone to ear as you listened to the lilt of his voice. Eyes trained on the picture you had of him that sat next to the phone. You often tried to imagine his facial expressions as you listened to him talk. Was he smiling or frowning? Was it sincere or sarcastic? It was a painful mystery that you could only hope would be solved soon.

Your temple rested against the back of the chair as you listened to Eric talk. He was yammering on about on thing or the other, no real purpose to his words other than to fill empty space. It was something you appreciated. After long hours of dealing with jackasses and waiting tables, you got to hear him. Even if it was just for two minutes, it was two minutes of him.

So maybe Eric Love wasn’t the prince you’d thought up of as a child. But he was so much more than that. He knew you inside and out. He had a big heart, even if he didn’t always utilize it. And he cared. Deeply. It showed through many times. From the little things that he gifted you during visitation to the cards he wrote to you. He tried. That was more than enough for you.

masterlist

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Crayons

S1!Thomas Shelby spends time with his youngest daughter

Tommy wasn’t new to being a father. You two had had multiple children before the war. But little Orla was different. She’d been conceived not long before he left to fight and was born in his absence. She carried his face, his blood and yet he hardly knew her. He’d witnessed all your other children as they grew. Their first words and steps. And yet he couldn’t say the same for her.

Perhaps that was the reason he avoided her after coming back home. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her for too long or to think of her too much. It was cruel and he knew it. But you didn’t understand how hard it was looking at your own child who hardly recognized you. It was hard enough dealing with battles of the past echoing in his mind; now he had to look at the little girl that he didn’t get to raise.

You tried to reason with him but it was nearly impossible. Between the alcohol bottles and self pity there was no room left for logic. So it continued. Or it did until the day you had something to do and had no one to look after little Orla. So naturally, you hand her over to Tom. It’s his daughter after all. He tried to get out of it of course, but he couldn’t. So that’s how he ended up here. Sat in his little office with his daughter sat next to him equipped with a crayon set and paper.

Tommy would never admit it to anyone, but it was rather relaxing. The girl wasn’t as hyper as he’d expected. Instead she simply sat there and colored whilst he did flipped through papers to read through and mark things.

It was an hour in that the girl shook his forearm. Light blue eyes staring into light blue eyes. It was almost uncanny to him; he wasn’t sure that even his sons looked so much like him. But before he could ask what she wanted, she was holding out multiple sheets of paper with crayon drawings.

“They’re horses. Mummy said you like horses.”

“I do.”

He murmured, carefully taking the drawings from her. They certainly looked like a four-year-old drew them. And yet he wasn’t sure he’d seen any piece more beautiful. He flipped through them, examining them as if they were professional pieces from a museum. He nodded a bit, glancing up at Orla and holding up the drawings.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I like cats.”

“Cats eh?”

“Mhm.”

The girl went back to drawing, head down and focused. But Tommy couldn’t do the same. So he carefully grabbed a piece of paper and a couple of crayons that she wasn’t using. The picture he drew wasn’t particularly good but it wasn’t bad either. It was a simple image of a cat laid on a cat bed.

He stared at it for a long time before sliding it over to her. And for a moment she didn’t acknowledge it. But eventually she did and it felt like his world stopped for just a second. It was a moment of humanity for the infamous Tommy Shelby and he wished to cling to it.

Orla’s eyes sparkled as she took in the sight of her father’s drawing. In honesty it wasn’t the quality of it that made up its value, but the fact he made it with her in mind. Even if neither of them recognized that. She looked up to Tommy, smiling brightly.

“It’s very pretty.”

“It’s not, but I hope it can hold you over while we find a cat.”

The girl gasped, hand over her mouth before squealing in delight. She quickly scrambled out of her seat and hugged her father. It took him a few seconds to accept it, but he didn’t mind. Not at all.

masterlist

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[1-800-apricot]

||Introduction||

« Scorpio • 17 • She/Her • INTP »

Hi, my name here is Apricot. This blog here is for fanfics and fandom stuff. It’s just my little oasis away from the world and I hope for anyone visiting that it can bring you the solace that it brings me! My writing isn’t perfect but I’m trying my best and just trying to have fun with it!

Another thing I do want to make clear to anyone stumbling across my blog: this is a safe space. So no bigotry will be tolerated. Another thing is that I don’t currently write nsfw for the simple fact that I’m a minor and want to keep this a minor safe zone (for the most part) since they’re hard to find. The no nsfw rule might change up a bit after October but for now please respect these things <3

Also, before requesting anything check out the request information for rules and what characters I write for :)

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Masterlist

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MASTERLIST

Here are the rules and characters for requests

Last Updated: July 23, 2025

🎞️ = coming soon/in progress

Red Dead Redemption 2

Arthur Morgan

Imagine dancing with Arthur Morgan

Imagine emotional distance with Arthur Morgan

Imagine being Arthur Morgan’s ex-lover

Imagine a dying love with Arthur Morgan

Peaky Blinders

Thomas Shelby

Crayons || Thomas Shelby & his youngest child

Cillian Murphy

SAS Rogue Heroes

Paddy Mayne

Ready? Shoot. || F!Liaison!Reader

Eoin McGonigal

🎞️ Silver Springs || Platonic!F!Reader

Jack O’Connell

James Cook

Raspberry Lip Gloss || Gn!Reader

Honeycomb || Gn!Artist!Reader

Eric Love

Two Minutes || Gn!Reader

[1-800-apricot]

This has been on my mind for a bit but I recently watched Starred Up and I rlly liked the film. I was considering writing for Eric Love but I’m sort of hesitant due to the sensitive subjects of the film and the character himself. So ig I was wondering

[1-800-apricot]

So quick question. I’ve not been writing as of recent but I’m gonna get back to it like right now lol. I just wanna ask y’all abt the Platonic Paddy x Reader story. It’s gonna have to be a in two parts since I started it and it was longer than intended. One part is background info where it’s mostly just reader and Eoin and their history (platonic for the most part) and the next would basically be reader and Paddy getting to know each other and building their friendship in the wake of Eoin’s death. So,

I’ll probably add more to this little universe with time but for now I’m gonna focus on the main story

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Raspberry Lip Gloss

James Cook x gn!reader

You weren’t really one to bring guys into your room. But Cook was different. That was what you told yourself anyways. In reality Cook was like any other teenage boy. He was looking for one thing only, and if he was lucky he’d find something along with it.

Did this discourage you from letting him in? At first it did. But as time went and you spent more time together at parties, things changed. His typically rough and chaotic demeanor felt softer. More controlled. Maybe it was just rose-colored glasses, but what did it matter? It’s not like this affected anyone but you two. After all, Cook didn’t do relationships and you weren’t in any.

So here you laid on your bed with him beside you. A music player sat between you two as some album that Cook insisted upon played. Usually he’d be far more energetic, but from what you’d gathered, he had a hangover. Something that wasn’t particularly surprising to you considering his habits.

Despite his state, it was moments like this that reminded you that Cook wasn’t just some rambunctious party boy. There was something underneath all that. Something far more fragile than he would ever admit to.

Time skipped on and they continued to lay there, occasionally mumbling the lyrics or making jests. The moment felt like a breeze on a sweltering day. A relief. But it wouldn’t last.

The album played its end and cut off. You hadn’t cared much for it, but you said you did for him. He agreed as you two laid there for a long while afterwards. Cook eventually sat up, sitting there for a moment before going to grab the cd. He mumbled something about needing to go somewhere. You didn’t say anything, just watching in silence. A part of you didn’t want him to leave, but you wouldn’t dare ask him to stay. So you just watched as he shuffled off the bed.

There was a pause as he looked back at you. His gaze trailed over you for a moment before going and leaning down to kiss you. It wasn’t the first time and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last.

Pulling away, Cook muttered a quick goodbye before climbing out your window. He was never willing to confront your family. Something you didn’t mind.

A few minutes went by and you’d turned on some other cd, thinking of Cook as much as you hated to. That was until you heard your phone vibrate. Grabbing it from your nightstand, you checked who it was from. And you couldn’t help but smile when you saw who it was from.

‘what lipgloss you got on?’

‘raspberry, why?’

‘its a bloody nice flavor, wear it again next time?’

‘maybe i will’

You definitely would, but he didn’t need to know that. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and tried to fight off the butterflies. Damn that boy for making you so smitten.

make sure to leave a like and reblog is you enjoyed <3

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Currently working on the next Paddy fic. This one kinda focuses on Paddy and Eoin’s queerness and has reader as a platonic party compared to a typical romance. Might take a sec to post since I’m writing on paper and transferring it to this tho. I’m liking it a lot better than my last, but that’s probably cuz I’m better at angst lol

Anyways, after this one I’ll probably write for some other characters or write imagines until there’s another story idea for him.

Thank y’all for the support🫶

[1-800-apricot]

Ready? Shoot.

Paddy Mayne x F!Liaison!Reader

Description | The last thing Paddy Mayne had expected was a lady from GHQ to show up in the desert. He and you both must find a way to adapt

word count | 1.4k

cw! | mild misogyny, language, guns, drinking

credits | @the-a-word-2214 for the idea, @/enchanthings for the dividers

note | I’m not entirely happy with how this turned out but I wanted to go ahead and write something since I haven’t in so long. Feel free to send in a request or dm since they’re open <3

Paddy Mayne hadn’t expected to meet a woman when creating the SAS. There were nurses in the military, sure. However the SAS was a regiment built upon the very idea of sacrificing themselves. No nurses would be wasted upon a bunch of men with a death wish. The likelihood of a woman was made even less likely considering they were stationed within a desert. A particularly harsh section of desert at that. From howling sandstorms to battering heat, the abandoned fort they resided in was no place for a woman. But then again nothing went as expected out here.

They’d gotten word that a liaison would show up sooner or later. It wasn’t exactly a well kept secret that GHQ was keeping a close eye on them. They were an experiment after all. So they just accepted it. Then there was a letter updating that the officer had been sent out, that they’d arrive soon. A name was provided. A surname anyways. It wasn’t something they thought much of. Why should they need to?

So imagine Paddy’s surprise, everyone’s surprise, when the officer that steps out of the car is wearing a skirt. A fucking skirt. Shock wasn’t an effective word for the feeling. It was like a joke with no punchline.

There was nothing particularly special about the woman at first glance. The clothes she wore were suitable for the desert so she was clearly informed. There was a suitcase in her hand. It was enough to make him want to scoff.

The typically rowdy soldiers were silent for a long, long moment. The woman, the officer, approached him and Stirling. Paddy looked to the man, expecting even an ounce of a similar emotion. Irritation, shock, something. There was nothing. The bastard had known. He must have. There was little explanation otherwise.

He watched as you and Stirling shook hands, exchanging names and what one could classify as pleasantries. Then the attention turned to him. Paddy didn’t hold the same warmth. He didn’t take your hand when you offered it and he only gave a curt answer of his name. There was a brief moment, hardly even enough to notice, where her expression soured. But just as quick, she smiled again.

“It’s good to meet you, Major Mayne.”

You hadn’t expected to be put out in the desert. More often than not you did secretary and assistant tasks compared to this. That wasn’t to say you weren’t a teensy bit excited. You’d wanted to do more traditional liaison work, however this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind.

Originally you’d believed you knew the desert terrain from being stationed in Cairo. However you couldn’t have been more wrong now that you were in this place. The days were sweltering and the nights were freezing. And with the lack of proper shelter, she found herself stuck trying to shield and lessen the effects. The only upside you’d found with the living conditions was the fact that you got a tent to yourself.

The men there weren’t so bad though. They were crude and annoying, sure, but they never invaded your space or pushed boundaries. Perhaps it was because of the many conversations you’d had with them since your arrival. Maybe they’d been threatened. You didn’t much care for the reason, you were just happy to not have to deal with it.

However this didn’t stop Paddy from being rude. Well, maybe rude was the wrong word. He was more willfully ignorant of you. There was no clear desire to talk or help you, something that fit you just fine. Or it would’ve had he not been one of the ones GHQ wanted a report on. Due to this, you’d started forcing herself to approach him and talk to him.

This particular instance was in the morning, a time where it wasn’t too hot and wasn’t too cold. Some men were sleeping, some were awake. It was nice mix that made the camp quiet but not silent. The sun was golden and the sky was a milky blue.

“Lovely day, isn’t it, Major Mayne?” You chirped as you approached him. There was no reply. You persisted, speaking of things like the upcoming mission until he spoke.

“Do you know how to shoot?” You were silent, watching him as he continued to smoke.

“No. Do I need to know?”

“Well we’re not out here playing fucking hopscotch. What’re you gonna do in case of attack?” What was there to say? She never thought of that. Her job was always that of an assistant, she hadn’t considered self defense.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never had much use for a gun. I mean, I can use one.” That elicited an eye roll from Paddy.

“Are you good at it?”

“Well no-“

“The we’ve got our answer right there.”

It wasn’t ever really discussed that he’d teach you how to shoot. It sort of just happened. He picked up a simpler gun, nothing like the ones he carried himself, and he walked you to a more secluded area despite his apprehension. It was then that you decide what you’d perceived as willful ignorance was more similar to watchful silence. Interesting.

He placed down a few different object for you to aim at. A can, a glass, some tins. “You’re gonna need to hit these. And I don’t mean graze them, soldiers won’t run away because of something as insignificant as a bullet graze.”

You could only nod before kneeling. Bringing the gun up, you aimed at the first thing. A can. Once you were confident in your aim, you fired. And your bullets missed accordingly. Not even a graze.

Paddy neared after about half an hour of attempting to guide with words. Frustration was high on both ends. He kneeled behind you, the warmth of his body radiating as he lightly pressed against you. His rough hands carefully guided your position before leaning down and speaking into your ear.

“Ready? Shoot.”

And you did. And you hit it. Letting out a cry of excitement, you instinctively turned to see his reaction. You hadn’t expected anything, but for a split second you could’ve sworn there was a ghost of a smile. A flicker of warmth and amusement in those eyes. It was a small moment of connection, a spark, but you turned away with a sheepish but proud grin on your lips.

This went on a couple more times before he decided they needed to trek back to camp. It was hard not to notice how a certain tension had developed between them. One that made the air around them almost lighter. For you anyways. You’d never been happier holding a gun.

From that moment on, you found yourself caught in Paddy’s orbit. You frequently sat next to him in the mornings. Sometimes you two shared words, speaking of a variation of topics. From guns to literature. But sometimes you two also shared silence. Reveling in what peace you could get as you wrote reports back to GHQ. You were fond of both.

As time stretched, so did the time they spent together. They started sitting together after dinner. He even shared the occasional sip of liquor. It tasted like absolute dogshit to you, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

It was a night like that. One where they were the two sat in front of a fire alone, Paddy reciting poetry you didn’t understand a lick of. It didn’t bother you. Not a bit. Your mind was fuzzy with liquor and you were just happy to be there. The words didn’t need to make sense as the warmth of cheap whisky ran down her throat.

“How d’ya know all those fancy poems?” It was a silly question. But it made sense to you in that moment.

“Suppose I read.” It was a simple statement, and yet you made a sound of exaggerated realization. As if it hadn’t crossed your mind before.

It was a comfy air between them as he continued with the poetry with the occasional interjection from you. Liquor continued to be poured. The rations you’d built up of it finally being out to use. Though after a while Paddy decided that you’d had enough. Your eyelids were drooped and words slurred.

Putting your arm around his neck, he carefully guided her up and began to approach the tent. Your tent. You closed your eyes at one point, feeling as he laid you down. There was a pause though. A moment of tension. Though there was no kiss or anything of the nature, his hand lingered for just a moment before removing himself from the tent entirely.

It was then that she decided something.

Major Paddy Mayne wasn’t so bad.

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[1-800-apricot]

Got my first paddy fic in the making plus another idea lined up!! It should be posted within a day or two. Feel free to send an ask or dm if you have a request/idea🫶 I do other Jack O’Connell characters as well, just check my pinned post for rules :)

[1-800-apricot]

Requests Open

Cillian Murphy:

Thomas Shelby

Jonathan Crane

Robert Fischer

Jack O’Connell:

Paddy Mayne

James Cook

Red Dead Redemption 2:

Sean MacGuire

Molly O’Shea

Note: I’m gonna expand these lists, specifically for Jack O’Connell and Cillian Murphy, so if there’s a character of theirs that you don’t see here feel free to request anyways. These are just the characters I know best currently.

I’m currently taking requests to do imagines, oneshots, and headcanons. All of which can be expanded upon and turned into a series if wanted.

Rules:

No explicit NSFW. I’m willing to make references and such to sex but nothing crazy.

I only do gender neutral and female readers, it’s what I’m comfortable with.

Please specify what time or part of the series/movie your request is in

[1-800-apricot]

imagine a dying love with arthur morgan

Thinking about leaving Arthur Morgan. The love that once blazed had fizzled out. The death of your love had been some sort of foreboding tragedy. Coughing and sputtering as it attempted to carry on only to fall over. Too ill to move forward.

You’d held on for as long as possible. But there was only so long you could stay in a freezing bath when you yearned for a warm one. The cold seeped into the marrow of your bones as you attempted to find warmth in the fever that plagued your love. But even a fever gave you chills.

Arthur had never meant for this and you knew it. There was only so much you could expect from an outlaw like him. But even this felt like some sort of fate that he could’ve avoided. There were so many what-if’s that lingered. What if he’d listened for once? What if he’d stayed in camp longer? What if he’d been less guarded?

All this pondering was useless though. The damage had been done. The sickness born in the lungs had settled in their bones. And soon it’d sink its teeth into their minds. It was a bittersweet revelation. And perhaps you yearned to avoid it. What you couldn’t see couldn’t hurt you. 

It was a faulty theory at best. In fact it was hardly a theory. More so a bargaining. But you’d take it because it was all that was left. There were only embers of love left. And only so many breaths left to take. The smoke from past blazes had suffocated you both. And that was why you had to run from this. To save whatever love you had left and your own sanity with it

The last night with Arthur had been an awful one. It’d been sweet and intimate. A rare thing and poorly timed. It nearly chained you down again. And you weren’t really sure if you’d leave until you actually did. But that was the effect of his gentle touches and scratchy kisses. Hell he’d even held you. Your head in the crook of his neck and it made you wonder. Had he known of your plans? Could there be any other reasons for his sweet behavior?

You weren’t sure of the answer that night and you likely never would be. After a moment of his rasped stories, you spoke. It came out harsher than intended. Fearful you wouldn’t be able to say it. 

“I have something to tell you.”

Arthur Morgan stilled for the first time in a very long time. Few thoughts and fewer motions. The kisses from his chapped lips burned on your skin. God. Why did this have to be so difficult? Why did his silence have to be so suffocating?

But after a few moments of choking on words you spat it out. That you’d be leaving in the morning. A beat. You held a breath. He let out a strangled one. The tension and grief filled the air. Although there were no signs of it to anyone but them. It was a laughable end for such a passionate love. But what could be done? Even the strongest soldiers had to fall some time.

Arthur tightened his hold on you. Perhaps it was a way to keep you close. Perhaps it was only stress and a clench of a hand. Who was to say? It was only a few moments later that he cleared his throat with an ugly noise. 

“Ok.”

That was it. No fight. No plea. No bargaining. Did he care so little? You feel anger begin to spark. All this time and devotion spent on him and that’s what you got? An ok? It took considerable effort not to lash out. To attempt to enjoy what might be their final moments. You cling to each other. Hate and love mingled in your hearts as sleep began to cradle you. 

It was a milky pink sky that greeted you upon awakening. No warmth of your lover. A part of you held out hope though. Even as you saw all his necessary traveling items missing. You held out hope.

You collect your things and carry them to your horse. Avoiding the questioning of others. Eyes searching for any sign of your lover. Or ex-lover perhaps. But there were none. And as you approached your horse, it was confirmed. Arthur’s horse that often rested next to yours was missing.

After all the battles of their love, it was like some sort of treaty had been offered. A peaceful end to it all. Would you take it? Was there even a way to end this peacefully? Surely not. Even if things ended quietly, the aftermath would maim them enough. 

Despite this, you load your things onto your horse. One by one. Slowly and methodically. The way that needed to be done for a long trip. One where you didn’t plan to stop often. An escape. 

It was the first time you’d packed your horse like this by yourself. Usually Arthur would accompany you whenever going on trips. Whether it was for your company or for your protection hadn’t mattered. Because at the end of the day he was by your side. 

Things were different now though. And Arthur’s fleeing had confirmed that. Arthur Morgan was nothing more than a man. One who would run from the consequences of his actions. But even he could not outrun the sickness that had developed between them.

a/n: im back. this is a prequel to this fic. my requests are also open and you can find my rules and characters i write for here. thank you for reading!

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imagine being arthur morgan's ex-lover

Thinking about Arthur Morgan reuniting with you. An old flame that never seemed to completely go away. Whose blazes had engulfed the forest of his heart only to dissolve into a root fire.  

And then he saw you. And as he stepped back into that charred oblivion he could see the smoke rising from the ground. Embers and licks of flames begin to rise once more. And perhaps this is when it hits him. The flames of your love had never choked themselves out. Rather they’d moved out of sight. Surviving with what they could find.

And God when he saw you. The way the sun framed your features. The way you styled your hair. Even the way you dressed. After all these years. Arthur Morgan could’ve died a happy man with the sight in front of him. He was sure. He could almost taste the smoke.

You would spot him quick enough. And for that split second his heart raced. But the curve of your lips were quick to dull as shock took over your expression. A tightening in your chest. A feeling far from Arthur with that awestruck expression of his. This was suffocating. 

The look on your face did not get past Arthur. He should’ve just walked away and acted like he never saw you. But he couldn’t. Not when this was his chance to hear you once more. So he made his way toward you. And as he approached perhaps you should’ve fled. There was only ever one ending to this story. You knew it because the two of you had played it over and over again. 

But you didn’t flee. Instead you stood there and watched as he neared. Perhaps you weren’t much better than him. Perhaps moths did still live in your stomach despite the lavender you douse yourself in. The very thought was enough to make you start to move however it was too late. After years, Arthur Morgan stood in front of you. 

He looked different. Time hadn’t been kind on him but that wasn’t to say he looked bad. He didn’t. But it was hard to ignore how tired he looked. The way the sun had aged his skin. Or the way the years of cigarettes seemed to have turned his voice raspier. Through it all though? There were still glimpses of your Arthur.

Maybe that was the most sickening part. That past all that had happened, there was your Arthur. The one you would’ve never left. That thought was shut quickly though. This was not him and the person that was with him all those years ago is no longer you. Perhaps this did not register within his mind though. 

The conversation was slow. Rocky even. His unsure questions and your short, stunned responses. But it seemed within minutes you had found a rhythm and a groove. One that the two of you had so often moved and spoken to. It felt eerie. Like stepping into a haunted house. Except you’d witnessed what exactly caused the haunt. 

You couldn’t testify how long you stood and talked to the man. There were lulls in the conversation where you should’ve and could’ve pulled back. Where he’d led you to a dead end but then he found something else to speak of. It had been something that amused you in the past. But now it was exhausting. That was what it was meant to do though. To wear you down and make you give into whatever was being sold. Even if he didn’t show it Arthur Morgan was raised by a conman. 

And it almost wore you down. It almost made you hand over the last of your coins. Just to feel the heat of his love once more. To rekindle the fireplace flames of your love. But you had to remember. While there had been no man quite like Arthur that also meant there’d been no devastation quite like his. 

So the conversation came to a lull and he searched for more to say. And instead of taking comfort in the growing embers, you cleared your throat. The next words would be the end. You both knew it. The final flag flown in a useless war. You’d thought it would’ve made you more devastated. Like it had all those years ago. However this wasn’t a farewell to love anymore. It was a farewell to all the destruction it's caused. 

So you took a deep breath. Bile might’ve risen but you pushed it down. You declared you needed to go and he nodded albeit a bit numbly. You exchanged goodbyes. And you turned away from him. 

“I missed you.”

Damn you. Damn you. Damn you. It was so unlike him and you hadn’t seen it coming. But no one was around and perhaps it should’ve been expected. Even the mighty could get desperate. This wasn’t a decision though. There wasn’t a choice to be made. So you turned and spoke your final words to him. Words that solidified that this war of love was over.

“You’re the loss of my life, Arthur Morgan.”

a/n: this imagine was based around the song 'loml' by taylor swift. i'm thinking of making a prequel to this where reader originally leaves but i'm not sure. anyways hope y'all enjoyed <3

[1-800-apricot]

imagine emotional distance with arthur morgan

Thinking about sitting by the campfire and smoking a cigarette. The smoke would’ve been smothering. If only it were not lit and fed by a broken heart. If only the smoke was not filling the cracks and crevices of years worth of wear. If only there was no yearning.

There was love and adoration. Yet this was not quite enough. Not for the west and not for an outlaw. It was something you should’ve realized. And after so many years you did. It was not a life where you could thrive without wealth. And neither you nor him had wealth. But you never minded. Not really.

Maybe you couldn’t provide him with green and gold. But what you could provide was company and comfort whenever he slept or wept. Mending his clothes, washing the stains, folding and packing it with care. So while you could not provide wealth, you could provide warmth. 

This was not enough though. Not for the cruelties of the west or the hardened outlaw. The west that took and took and took. Sweltering days and freezing nights. Bandits and bullets. Empty stomachs and empty wallets. The west was not meant for the weak. Those were the words spoken so often to you. Whether they implied something or not did not matter. 

Perhaps you knew your love and adoration might not be enough for the west. However you’d been so sure that it would be enough for your outlaw of a lover. So sure that if you let yourself fall in step with his gang then perhaps everything would be alright. His criminal nature hadn’t bothered you. What did it matter after all? It didn’t. That's what you told yourself when you heard his sweet words and saw his kind eyes.

But he was an outlaw nonetheless. A sort that couldn’t be relied upon. At least not for what you wanted. He could provide care. That was nothing tricky. He could provide what he considered protection and safety. That was no issue. However it was when you yearned for something deeper than skin or tissue. Something that didn’t build up the fabric of the body but rather the soul. This was when the outlaw could not be relied upon. 

He could offer a version of security only available in his market. However it came with a price. A price that the pair were slowly becoming indebted to and crushed under. 

Arthur Morgan was a good partner. Trustworthy when you worked together. Desirable for a practical partnership. You heard eachother out when needed and to the naked eye it seemed fine. It all seemed to reach past the skin and bones and to the soul. 

However after so many lonely nights and dismissed worries. It was made clear that Arthur Morgan wasn’t always a good lover. He could offer a warm body at night but when you hoped for more than that? Something to quell the midnight melancholy. You'd be met with hesitance. Hesitance to let himself be. Hesitance that forbade him from putting down his armor and weapons. Hesitance that was vital to have in a place where you had to doubt everything and everyone’s intentions. 

But this hesitance when laying next to a lover with nothing more to illuminate them than the moon and stars above? It was a stark reminder. Arthur Morgan was an outlaw before he was anything else.

So you sit by the campfire. Taking comfort in the smoke that hurts your lungs. Because the only other option was taking comfort in the arms of the outlaw that hurt your heart.

a/n: this is a revision of this drabble i did a couple days ago. i wasn't satisfied w/ it and it had a lot of errors so i changed it up some. anyways i hope y'all enjoyed <3

[1-800-apricot]

imagine dancing with arthur morgan

Thinking about dancing with Arthur Morgan late at night. The night had now aged and people had found their way to bed. But you and Arthur remained awake. Perhaps his senses had been dulled by a couple swallows of bourbon. And perhaps your own mind had been lightened by the impending sleepiness. 

It was a rare instance of true emotional intimacy with Arthur Morgan. A man raised and trained for crime. A man who might’ve been a lover but rarely moved past practical romance. Yes there were instances that could be mistaken for the intimacy of deeply intertwined lovers. However, that was nothing more than fool’s gold. It shimmered like intimacy but it was not made up of it. 

Instead it is when Arthur’s breath was tinted with alcohol. Not enough to forget himself, but enough to free his mind of the duties that chained him down. This is when he loves deeply. When he bares his soul to you. Unguarded and vulnerable.

The dimming camp fire would cast a glow upon both your figures. Just enough to see an outline of each other's features. The darkness above and around offered a backdrop. Painted with blues, greens, and violets. Stars splattered across the large expanse of the heavens. No signs of life beyond drunken mumblings, crickets, and your own breathing. And just like that there was your stage. 

A place where you both could play whoever you wanted. He didn’t have to be an outlaw and you didn’t have to justify his actions. Instead there were only two lovers illuminated by a campfire and surrounded by darkness. He’d take your hand after minutes of silent contemplation and quiet conversation. The steps would be messy at first. Unsure and hesitant until confidence and comfort grew between you. 

There was no music to accompany the two as you moved in unison. However there were sweet nothings and whispered dreams to replace that. Words that were sweeter than any song and falser than any fairytale. This was part of loving Arthur Morgan. Forever speaking of  dreams that would never come to fruition. That ranch out west and cabin up north would never be built. 

Even as you two crafted a picture of it. Whispering your details of these places and lives. Sharing what all you’d do as he agreed and spoke of what he’d do in return. Embroidering details into what you imagined would be a tapestry of the future. It all seemed so lifelike. Arthur had always been a good artist. 

He didn’t always complete his art though. Sketching out how it’d look. Adding details as he went along. But that was all. There was no color. No completion. Only ideas of what could be. Knowing what it looked like but never truly understanding what could be.

This was the truth of loving Arthur Morgan. Where the truest intimacy he could give was tainted in bourbon. Not a soul to witness the loving kisses and devoted words. Silhouetted by a hazy glow as you two swayed back and forth. Forever living in fantasy. Forever dreading separating from the other as you both knew in the end you were doomed to return to reality. The fiction you created for your stage would remain just that. Fiction.