#Arthur imagines

[heliads]

wish i could drag you back down - arthur x eames

Arthur wakes up in a time loop. It's not a dream. If he can't make his reality go back to normal, then he might as well find something to pass the time, and no one knows how to entertain like Eames.

tw: suicide mentions (trying to wake up from dreams)

masterlist

The first time the day repeats, Arthur doesn’t even realize it. Nothing stands out as particularly wrong. He does get a particularly strong surge of deja vu every now and then, but Arthur brushes it off as sleep deprivation and nothing more. He’s been going to bed later and rising earlier for a while now. It wouldn’t exactly be a surprise if his circadian rhythms were so off-kilter that he started doubting himself more than usual.

The second time the day repeats, Arthur assumes it’s a dream. Cobb has been branching out a lot lately; being with his family is good for his heart but frustrating for his mind. If you train a lab rat to escape labyrinths, and you give it trial after trial for years, what happens to the creature when you let it go free? Does it run through the tall, waving grass of its new home in the meadow in search of high maze walls to escape again? Does it chase the sound of plastic clickers, or thrust itself into danger time after time in the hopes of being rewarded with a treat of constant mass and type?

Cobb went home. It was good for him. Six months went by before Arthur started getting texts again. Harebrained ideas built around a core of truth. Suicide missions coupled with a baseless guarantee that they’d all walk out alive. His mind was restless. Eventually, Cobb gave up on the ruse and admitted that he wanted back in again. Saito was more than happy to finance him, knowing he’d get the bigger pot in the end. They’re all better when they have a task to complete.

This could be a dream, then. Maybe Arthur is the test subject this time around. Maybe he’s supposed to be doing something in this endless repeat. If the goal was to determine how many times a day could repeat without the subject realizing it, they’ve fucked that part up pretty well. Unless this isn’t the second time Arthur has been through this day. Unless he’s done this many times already. Maybe he’ll only remember when he gets out of the dream.

The third time the day repeats, Arthur starts killing himself. It’s the only guaranteed way to wake yourself up, isn’t it? He throws himself from the roof, but wakes up in the same day again, not the familiar workshop as expected with the rest of the crew surrounding him. Fine, then. Maybe Cobb put him a layer deep. The next day, he drowns himself. The day after that, he jumps off of a bridge into the ocean, just to be extra sure.

The sixth time the day repeats, Arthur realizes that this isn’t a dream at all. Cobb isn’t capable of putting a man more than three levels deep without them going into Limbo. If he really wracked his brain, maybe he could find a way, but it would be dangerous, and he would never do that to Arthur. And nobody else could do it except Cobb, so this shouldn’t be happening. 

Which means– Arthur isn’t sure. He had assumed this was a dream. There was no other logical explanation. He hadn’t yet tried his totem, so confident was he that this was not his true reality. A rookie mistake, maybe, but not in a case like this. Using the totem is for when it is impossible to distinguish real life from a false dream. In real life, days do not repeat. What else could this be?

On the morning of the sixth day, Arthur pulls a red six-sided die out of his jacket pocket. He sits down in a chair in front of his table, stares at the die, holds it until the sides grow warm, then convinces himself to roll it. He does not want to roll the die. He has no other choice but to roll the die.

The moment the totem leaves his hand, Arthur wishes he had kept it with him for good. If it had stayed forever atop his palm, cushioned by his fingers, it never would have hit the wood surface of the coffee table he only bought because the workman had no customers and looked at Arthur like a child whose parents didn’t make an appearance at the talent show. If he had kept holding that red die, it wouldn’t have skittered across the table, it wouldn’t have spun twice, and it wouldn’t have come to a stop with a specific number atop it, the white dots winking up at him mockingly.

Arthur snatches the die off the table like it personally offended him, then rolls it again. He doesn’t have to. Arthur knew from the moment he removed it from his pocket that it was a trick die, the very same one he made the first time a man named Dominic Cobb came knocking with a very strange job offer in hand. He knows what the outcome means. He knows that he is not dreaming.

This is the very worst outcome of them all. Arthur can wake up from a dream. If he’s in a dream, someone put him in there, or someone can pull him out. Or, someone can watch him from the other side, and keep him safe until they find a way to get him back to his desired reality. If this is reality, then Arthur has absolutely nothing tethering him to safety. He is floating in the middle of a vast and unknowable sea, worse than Limbo and absolutely unescapable.

Arthur is immediately terrified.

Arthur does not like being afraid.

Who does? Certainly not someone involved in the complexities of dreaming. Arthur’s control over what he does in a dream is mathematical. He plans out every detail. He ensures that nothing goes wrong. Right now, Arthur has no control. It is worse than dying. At least dying has a guaranteed end. Arthur cannot even use the cheat card of pulling a trigger to get himself out of this loop.

The answer, then, must lie somewhere within this day. Arthur is a reasonable man. Days do not repeat for no reason. If there is a question, there has to be an answer. Life would not look at him and decide to drive him mad forever without a just cause. If Arthur could just do something right, maybe save a life or solve a puzzle, if he can prove himself to be good again, maybe some force out there will take pity on him and put him back in the natural flow of time again. He just has to be good. That– that, he can do.

He even stops killing himself. Puts the gun away and stays far from heights. Checks the street three times before crossing. He heads into the warehouse they’ve been using as headquarters and sits down in front of Cobb, who’s eyeing Yusuf’s latest sedatives like he wants nothing more than to dive headfirst into unconsciousness again.

“So,” Arthur says as an abrupt preamble, “What are you doing to me?”

Cobb cocks his head to the side. “Pardon?”

Arthur just keeps staring him dead in the eyes. “I remember you sending me under, and now the day is repeating. What did you do to me? What were we testing?”

Cobb shakes his head slowly, looking at Arthur like he’s mad. Maybe he is. It’s only been seven days, but seven days of the same thing already feels like too many. “We’re not testing anything, Arthur. It’s just another day.”

“No, it’s not,” Arthur insists forcefully. “I’ve been here seven times now. You’re doing something, I know it.”

“Why me?” Cobb asks, genuinely confused. “You’re my friend. Why would I do anything to you?”

“You’re the only one who would,” Arthur says. It sounds terrible, so he adds on hastily, “You’re the one in charge of jobs. We all follow you. If anyone decided to send me under for something, it would be you. Just tell me what it is so I can get out of it.”

Cobb frowns. “You think you’re dreaming. Have you tried your totem?”

“Yes, I’ve tried my totem, and no, I’m not dreaming. The totem rolls true. It’s something else. I think we did a test run that’s messing with my mind.” Arthur says. He can feel his temper rising, but he tries to shove it back down again. He has always been in control. He won’t lose that tenuous thread of self preservation after only one week.

Cobb, by contrast, just looks the same as he always has. “We haven’t done anything to you in ages, Arthur. The effects would have worn off a long time ago. And besides, you’ve never had side effects from any runs other than initial surprise. You’re my best point man for a reason. You never have a problem, no matter what happens in the dream.”

Arthur starts to open his mouth, then closes it again. The problem is, Cobb’s assurance isn’t actually true. Arthur has been having problems. Ever since he started in this line of work, actually. He can’t stand to be underwater in real life, too certain that it’s just a means to wake him up from a dream. No more early morning lap swims for him, obviously, and one time he visited his family’s house by the lake and nearly threw up from the sound of all that rushing, pouring, revitalizing water.

More, too. His foot still has phantom aches from where Mal had shot it in a dream long ago. He looks for tells of a dream wherever he goes, even when he’s awake. Arthur has awful nightmares sometimes, where he’s being hunted by the dreaming for what he does to people’s minds while they’re asleep. He wakes up screaming, his throat raw. Cobb doesn’t know any of it, but of course he doesn’t. Cobb is hardly stable by himself. It takes Arthur to keep him together, and that won’t happen if Arthur permits himself to fall apart. So he stays solid. He stays good, and no one knows.

Arthur exhales slowly. Cobb trusts him implicitly. If there were anything, any experiment, any job, that could have had even the smallest of impacts on Arthur, Cobb would have said it by now. So, he forces another deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, and shrugs it off. “Alright, then. Guess I need to get more sleep.”

“Take care of yourself,” Cobb says absentmindedly. Arthur bites back a growl of frustration. That’s Cobb, always has been– greeting-card sympathies paired with life-or-death scenarios. It’s not enough to keep a group alive, but that’s why Arthur is there, to patch the cracks in the wall before it crumbles down on all of them.

Arthur stands, heading to the door. The movement goes unnoticed by Cobb, who is already turning back to peer obsessively at the sedative. Arthur is certain that if he checks in later, he’ll find his friend passed out on the cot he keeps hidden in here, deep in a dream Arthur will never ask about.

Arthur strides out into the center of the warehouse. His whole body feels tense with worry, yet his feet carry him aimlessly past his friends, who have already started to trickle in for the morning. Cobb was his best bet at understanding this, but if he doesn’t have any idea, who would?

A foot lightly kicks Arthur’s ankle as he walks, and he nearly jumps out of his own skin. He whips around to see Eames sitting idly in a lawn chair, monitoring an unconscious Ariadne by his side. His face, usually disconcertingly casual, takes on a note of curiosity at Arthur’s obvious reaction.

“Everything alright there, Arthur?” He asks. “Someone’s twitchy today.”

“It’s nothing,” Arthur says impatiently.

Eames scoffs. “That’s an awfully interesting sort of nothing if it can get your heart racing like that. Tell me about it sometime, I’d love to hear you brush it off.”

Arthur mumbles something involving just where Eames can stick his leftover syringe, which earns him an unbothered, shameless smirk. He has to force himself to walk away before he can let Eames get to him any more than usual. It’s startling, sometimes, how easy it is for Eames to get under his skin. One would think he would develop a stronger wall against the barbs after all this time, yet even years after their first contact, he’s still rolling his eyes and biting back insults like a high schooler. Frustrating. Yet reliable.

Arthur tries to keep his eyes open the whole day, waiting for signs of why this day of all days had to repeat, but he turns up with nothing. It truly is just another day. They’re about a few weeks away from their next job, so the stress is picking up but not majorly. Crunch time won’t come until later, provided that Arthur can manage to get himself out of this time loop long enough to make it there.

The eighth day, Arthur makes himself turn up to the warehouse earlier than usual. Yusuf usually works the graveyard shift, preferring the nights so he can make his sedatives without interference, but also to keep an eye on Cobb, who’s more sleepless than any of them combined. Dreamers’ sleep schedules are always haphazard, but Cobb is the worst of them all.

Yusuf is just packing up when Arthur arrives, bleary-eyed and clutching a coffee. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur waves the concern away. “Nothing better to do. Tell me, have you ever found yourself stuck in the same day?”

“The same day?” Yusuf asks, confused. “Yeah, some days are similar, but, you know. Time passes.”

“It hasn’t been passing for me,” Arthur confides grimly. “I’ve been repeating this same day for more than a week now. I’m not dreaming, either. I’ve tested with my totem.”

Yusuf pauses, his hand idling on the handle of his luggage. When he leans his weight back into the balls of his feet, Arthur can hear the ghostly clinking of dozens of little bottles inside. More sedatives for more days, more jobs. They’ll disappear from that bag at some point tonight, and Yusuf will unknowingly remake them in the morning, again and again until Arthur can extricate himself from this living nightmare.

“I’m not familiar with anything outside of a dream,” Yusuf admits. “You’re certain you’re not asleep?”

Arthur sighs, running a hand through his hair. “The totem says I’m not, but truthfully, I have no idea. Killing myself resets the loop. Living through the day resets the loop. I just thought, I don’t know, maybe you’d heard of someone with this problem.”

Yusuf’s gaze turns sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Arthur, but you’re on your own on this one. You’ve talked to Cobb about it, I presume?”

“Cobb can’t help,” Arthur says. “All the same, thank you for trying.”

Yusuf nods. “I’ll try and look into this. Maybe I can turn something up.”

Arthur inclines his head, knowing even now that nothing will come of it. He’s already tried researching the problem to no avail. “Just make sure you get back to me by midnight tonight.”

Yusuf looks at him searchingly, then wishes him the best of luck before leaving. Arthur watches him go and wonders what the hell he’s supposed to do with himself now. The only option is to continue testing the limits of the loop, seeing what he can and cannot do.

He ends up leaving the warehouse, getting into his car and driving out. Away. As far as he can go. He heads out of town and the next one, too, out of the state. He has to stop by a diner for lunch, unable to push off the growls of hunger from his stomach any longer. While waiting for his order to come in, Arthur realizes that there are several missed calls from Cobb and Ariadne. He hadn’t heard them come in, too feverishly fixated on the horizon always out of his reach.

He decides to call Cobb back, sliding down the seat of his booth towards the wall and keeping his voice quiet to avoid disturbing the other eaters.

“Arthur,” Cobb says in a rush of static the second he picks up. “Where are you?”

“Out,” Arthur answers vaguely. “What’s wrong?”

Oddly enough, he finds himself almost hoping for danger. Today and all of the todays before it have been exceedingly boring. If something did go wrong, it means there would be a break in the loop, and maybe he would get out after all.

“You tell me,” Cobb says. “Ariadne came to me in a panic about an hour ago, said you weren’t answering your phone. I’ve left you five voicemails, we were starting to get worried.”

Arthur’s gut twists with disappointment, and he finds himself replying with a little more bitterness than is strictly necessary. “What, a guy forgets to answer his cell for an hour or two and all hell breaks loose?”

Cobb sighs, gusty across the speaker of the phone. “You know that’s not what I mean. I’m just concerned, that’s all. Yusuf told me you were acting a bit strange today.”

Arthur snorts. Instead of helping him, Yusuf had gone to Cobb. Figures. “I’m fine. Just taking some time to myself. That isn’t illegal, is it?”

His order arrives, ferried over by a waitress so young she should probably be in school. Arthur thanks her, then tunes back into the call just in time to hear Cobb chastising for flaking on them. “You know I trust you, Arthur, but the sudden disappearance isn’t like you. The deadline is closing in. I can’t have people vanishing out of nowhere. It’s not good for the team.”

“Yeah, well, a lot happens with us that isn’t exactly good for the team,” Arthur mutters. His food is getting cold and he really just wants to hang up, feeling like a kid scolded for staying out past curfew. “I’m sure we’ll survive my day trip.”

He can hear Cobb’s voice over the phone. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Arthur’s lip curls. “How about you tell me? You and Mal?”

“That’s not fair, you know that,” Cobb breaks in. A pause. “Something really is wrong, isn’t it?”

Already, Arthur is sick of it, the tone settling into Cobb’s words like Arthur is some breakable thing, a recluse that requires special care when handled. “I’m fine, Cobb. Goodbye.”

Cobb starts to protest, but Arthur is already hanging up. Immediately, another call rings in through the line, but he shoves the cell deep down in his pocket until he can’t even feel the vibrations and digs into his food.

After that, he hits the road with a little more urgency, suddenly terrified that Cobb would do something stupid like send someone after him. Even a quick stop for gas has Arthur checking over his shoulder, certain he’ll see one of Saito’s cars pulling in one pump over.

Night falls and Arthur is far away, far enough that he can start letting his guard down. He’s several states over by this point. Arthur isn’t even sure where he is anymore, only able to tell by the frequency of certain license plates. Still he doesn’t stop driving, even when his eyelids feel heavy. It’s close to midnight now, but the white and yellow lines are still drawing him on, haunting him. Just a little further, and then maybe this day will let him go. He can sort out the drama with Cobb later. Forgiveness is always easier. They do it like breathing.

Arthur shifts in his seat. This much time spent behind the wheel has left him drained. He reaches without looking for the coffee he’d bought at the last gas station. It tastes sort of terrible, but it keeps him awake, which is what matters the most. His fingers are almost brushing the lid, and then something strange happens. He blinks, or he loses focus for just a moment, and then he’s not in the car at all, but waking up in his own bed again, back in his apartment, back where he’d started. The beginning of the loop, the day repeated once more.

Arthur screams, a guttural, frustrated sound. He can’t out-drive it, then. He reaches for the phone and books a flight, ends up literally on the opposite side of the earth by the time evening comes crashing down around him, but even on a different continent, Arthur wakes up the next day in the same place, the same bed. He can’t outrun it, no matter how far he goes.

So, he stays. Tries to talk to Cobb, who only gets worried. Tries to talk to Ariadne, who’s even worse. Eventually, he slumps to rock bottom and figures out there’s only one person left who might not get insufferably concerned about the prospect of Arthur’s rapidly deteriorating sanity.

He lets his feet spin off to a room on the side, where a certain incredibly difficult man is seated at a long table, scribbling notes and occasionally glancing at an open laptop. Eames looks up, startled, when Arthur takes a seat opposite him.

“Thought you were supposed to be helping Cobb,” Eames notes.

Arthur shrugs elaborately. “I’m always helping Cobb.”

Eames chuckles. “Fair enough. Now, have you come to ferry me a message, or are you just here to bother me and call it a check-in?”

“Depends on if you’re doing any work or just looking like it,” Arthur mutters, stung for no reason. “What are you doing anyway, online shopping?”

“Better,” Eames says, satisfied. “Cobb wants a few new forgeries. A few pretty faces to help us in the next job. Say, since you’ve obviously got nothing better to do, I’d love some help. What’s your type, Arthur? Librarians? Maybe a nun or two?”

“Bothersome but beautiful.” It rolls off the tongue before he can stop himself. Arthur will chalk that up to the mental strain of yet another week of repeated days and not read anymore into it, unlike Eames, who looks positively beatific as a slow grin spreads from ear to ear.

“Wonderfully put,” Eames says, savoring the words. “Now, I’ve got a few candidates. A or B?” He asks, turning two photos of women towards Arthur.

Arthur doesn’t even bother to look at them. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to recognize them. God forbid I ruin the element of surprise in our dream.”

No small amount of bitterness enters his voice as he says it, making Eames tear his eyes away from the women and towards Arthur. “Careful,” he says, tone uncomfortably light, “Do I hear complaining from my paragon of patience?”

Arthur snorts, staring at the floor. One of the table legs has undergone severe mutilation, probably from being recklessly collapsed over the years of having to run from one warehouse to another, all in the name of Cobb’s great game.

“I have plenty of patience,” he spits out. “What I’m starting to miss is motivation to keep going.”

Eames clears his throat pointedly. “Pretty sure those are the same thing.”

“Not actually,” Arthur muses. “Plenty of small differences to separate them. Only problem is, no one really cares about the details in the end. What matters is the big picture. And when you get bored of the big picture, Eames, there’s nothing left for you at all.”

This time, Eames really does look concerned. “What happened to you? Get up on the wrong side of the bed? Forget to buy your favorite type of hair gel and have to settle for a store brand?”

Arthur doesn’t even bother to laugh. He’s pretty sure he heard that joke two days ago, and maybe even last week, too. All said the same way. All the damn same, anyway. “What do you care? You’ll forget this conversation even happened tomorrow morning.”

He’s mostly talking to himself at this point, but Eames still reacts as if– well, as if they’d only been talking to each other, because they’re the only ones in the room. “You know, the others have been whispering about you all day. They’re saying something’s up with you, and I think I get it now.”

Arthur stretches out his legs. “The others. How specific.”

“You want specific? Cobb’s getting worried,” Eames tells him.

Arthur scoffs, an ugly sound. “Cobb’s getting– Cobb only worries when he remembers to think about us at all. He’s here for the mission, not the men.”

Eames rears back like Arthur had slapped him instead of just saying what he’s pretty goddamn sure is the truth. “Fuck you. Cobb is the only guy in this business to prioritize the safety of his guys.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Fuck you, you know I’m right. If he really cared, he wouldn’t have come back after he was reunited with his kids. Cobb cares about Cobb and you know it. Doesn’t it piss you off sometimes? Everything else does, I don’t know why you’d draw the line at this. You know,” Arthur says, drawing out the words, “It always bothered me. Him lying about Mal during the whole Fischer job. He knew she was a problem but he put us all in trouble by not saying a word. And hasn’t it started to rub you the wrong way, everything about her? He can’t stand to hurt her, not even her ghosts in his memory, but he could shoot me in a second, every time we went under. We’re expendable, Eames. We’re all expendable.”

Eames is heaving deep breaths like he’s been sprinting, but instead of getting violent, he keeps the madness tucked under, all that pent up aggression trapped in deep contractions of lungs and hidden from antagonizers in dress shirts sitting opposite him. “What’s gotten into you, Arthur? What did you see?”

Arthur snorts. “What the hell haven’t I seen? The job before Fischer, Mal’s apparition shot me in the foot and he wouldn’t even apologize. Cobb wouldn’t save us from himself, let alone anything big.”

But Eames just shakes his head. “That’s old news. You’ve kept that buried for months. Why bring it up now? You must have just dreamed with him. God, Arthur, what did you see?”

Arthur’s eyes flutter shut with hopelessness. “Nothing I didn’t already know,” he announces to the unforgiving darkness behind his eyelids, “Nothing I haven’t seen a thousand times before.”

Silence. At last, Eames’ voice breaks through the heavy weight of the room, cracked and uncertain in a way Arthur didn’t even know was possible, “I don’t know how to fix that, Arthur. I don’t know what to say.”

Arthur lets his eyes open slowly. He’s shifted back in his chair, so he’s staring up at the dingy warehouse ceiling. He wonders if killing himself again would do anything. Maybe it would just end the day a little earlier. “That’s a first.”

“Fuck you, Arthur,” Eames says, but there’s no heat to it.

“Fuck you too,” Arthur says, forcing a bit of cheer into the words. “Now, come on. Your supermodel forgeries aren’t going to get any younger. Run them by me again.”

Eames starts to protest, but Arthur is already sitting up and discussing the options for their next job, so the other man has no option but to take what Arthur is willing to give. He does keep sending worried glances Arthur’s way, which start to get under his skin. When the day resets again, Arthur will have to remind himself to stop complaining to other people. Eames, surprisingly enough, takes things a little too seriously. Never something he thought he’d say about the forger. But if there’s anything Arthur has learned while in a hellish cycle of this one same day, it’s that nothing is impossible.

He should put the whole conversation out of his mind, really, but even despite the expletives, Arthur realizes with a sinking feeling that he’d enjoyed that exchange with Eames more than any of the other ways he’d tried to fill his day. He’s got more time on his hands than he could possibly imagine. He might as well entertain himself, right?

The next day, Eames looks up, startled, when Arthur takes a seat opposite him.

“Thought you were supposed to be helping Cobb,” he notes.

Arthur shrugs elaborately. “I’m always helping Cobb.”

Eames chuckles. “Fair enough. Now, have you come to ferry me a message, or are you just here to bother me and call it a check-in?”

Arthur is less bothered this time around. “I’m here to ask a question.”

Eames arches a brow. “Didn’t realize you valued my advice so much. I’m touched, Arthur. Deeply.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “If you had all the time in the world and no consequences, what would you do?”

Eames blinks at him. “You mean, in general? How would I pass my time?”

Arthur nods. “Imagine you could do anything you wanted, and there would be absolutely no repercussions. What would you do?”

Eames blows out a long breath, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “That’s a good question. If there were really no consequences, I’d probably have some fun.”

“Fun,” Arthur repeats emptily. “Specifically?”

“Please tell me you know what fun is,” Eames deadpans. “Of course, for you, that might look like organizing a filing cabinet or two. You’re right, I should have specified.”

Despite this promise, Eames drifts off into silence. Arthur gestures impatiently with a free hand. “And?”

“I’m thinking,” Eames protests. “You like it when I do that, don’t you? Shoot, I’d do everything. Go gambling in Mombasa again. Take a joyride in a Ferrari that costs more than this city. Rent out an entire beach except for the pretty girls who want to sunbathe. Maybe even attempt a jewel heist. Who can say? But this question seems pointless, Arthur. Whatever I wanted, I could just do in a dream.”

“It wouldn’t mean anything,” Arthur says dismissively. “You’d know it was a dream, and when you woke up, you wouldn’t have done anything at all. Doing that stuff in real life, that’s more impressive.”

Eames snorts. “From the way you talk, I’d think you found a way. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten Saito-style rich on me. Help a brother out, would you? I could use someone buying me a round or two.”

“No wealth,” Arthur muses. “Just time.”

Eames looks thoroughly confused. “Not sure I follow, old friend. What have you done?”

There’s a low rush in Arthur’s lungs like someone is using his trachea to roll dice. On a whim, he decides to go with a gamble, and he starts telling the truth. “I’m stuck in a time loop. Not a dream, real life. The day repeats every night. Everything I do gets undone.”

Eames makes an incredulous sound in the back of his throat. “That’s absurd, Arthur. Been hitting the happy hours a little hard, have you?”

“It’s not a dream, and I’m not drunk,” Arthur says, kind of amused were it not for the fact that he’s boiling over with frustration. He’s not sure why he thought Eames of all people would believe him, but it’s even worse to know it didn’t work. “This is real.”

“I’m sure it is,” Eames starts to say soothingly, but he’s interrupted by Arthur thrusting his hand into his pocket and pulling out a cheap-looking six-sided die and rolling it on the table.

Immediately, Eames throws a hand over his eyes. “Shit, Arthur, what are you doing? None of us are supposed to see what happens to your totem except you.”

Arthur leans across the table, pulling Eames’ hand away. “I’m showing you to prove it doesn’t matter. Look, it’s on the right number. Not a dream. And I don’t care that you now know, you’ll forget when the day resets tomorrow.” He’s breathing heavily by this point, Eames staring at him with naked shock. “Do I seem crazy, Eames? Am I lying about this?”

Eames takes a shaky breath, licking his lips before he speaks. “I have to be honest, you do seem a little more like a madman than usual, but that does, uh, seem real. Alright, then. You’re in a time loop. Sure. Why not?”

Arthur blinks. “You believe me?”

Eames raises his hands in a universal gesture for what-the-fuck. “Why not?”

Arthur pauses. Something almost like relief slides over him. “I can’t keep having this conversation every day. Tell me something about yourself that no one else knows. That way, I can use it as proof instead of having to risk my totem every time.”

Eames frowns. “I don’t know, I like believing that you’d risk your dream stability for me.” At Arthur’s beleaguered sigh, he gives in. “Fine, fine. Um, a secret? I’m a really bad gambler. I’m there all the time because I think it lends a good ambience, but I rarely win.”

Arthur smirks. “Something we don’t already know, Eames. I’ve seen you run from casinos enough to know that you aren’t on a constant winning streak.”

“Fuck you,” Eames remarks absentmindedly. “Ok, you want something juicier. How about this– when I’m dreaming by myself, I always pick Adele for a song to wake me up.”

Arthur gapes at him. “You’re joking. Adele?”

Eames drags a hand over his face. “I regret this already. Yes, you heard me. Adele. She’s a wonderful singer, alright? I’m asleep practicing forgeries so often that I needed to pick a musician I wouldn’t despise after a dozen trial runs, and Adele has held up. Her songs are stuck in my head constantly, but that isn’t a bad problem, is it?”

Arthur leans back in his seat, chuckling delightedly. “Adele. I'll remember this forever.”

“Oh, shut it,” Eames mutters. “I’m sure you pick something ridiculous, too.”

“You’ll never know until you get stuck in a time loop, too,” Arthur informs him. “And for my sake, I hope that day never comes.”

Eames looks positively devious at this point, so Arthur quickly changes the topic. “So, I’m stuck in a time loop and I’m bored. What would you do?”

Eames seems affronted at the question. “Get out of here, obviously. Don’t tell me you’ve been staying in the warehouse this whole time? No wonder you look like you’re going mental.”

“I have left,” Arthur protests, “Two different days. I got a car and tried to get as far away as I could, then did the same thing with a plane the next day when it didn’t work. I’m not totally helpless.”

“That’s practically the same as staying,” Eames jeers. “God, you do need me. I bet you didn’t do a damn thing both times, just kept moving. You’re like a worker bee. Cobb may appreciate the devotion, but at this point, it’s downright pitiful.”

He stands up abruptly, making Arthur startle. “What are you doing?”

“Breaking you out of jail, if you won’t do it yourself. Come on, we’ve still got plenty of time left in the day.” Eames says, striding around the table and out the door, leaving Arthur to hurriedly follow after him.

“Where are we going?” Arthur asks.

Eames’ lip twists, thinking. “Well, I would want Mombasa, but I’m not wasting the time on a plane. There’s a casino a few streets down, it’ll do.”

“I’m not a gambler,” Arthur reminds him. “Not with cards, at least.”

“Then do it with dice,” Eames says briskly. “Or go back to work. Whatever floats your morally superior boat.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but tags along anyway. He does his best to play along, feigning interest when Eames immediately gets lost in a round of cards, but he can’t pretend that his attention doesn’t flag not long after they arrive. It’s late enough into the day that Arthur has no shame in meandering over to the bar and ordering himself a drink. He assumes Eames will be lost in his bets and losses for a while, but he’s hardly received his drink before the other man materializes out of the crowd by his side, not quite able to disguise a pout.

“You vanished rather quickly,” Eames remarks.

Arthur barely suppresses another eye roll, opting instead to take a sip of his drink. “I told you, Eames. Casinos and I aren’t the best of friends.”

Eames pulls a face, but instead of going back to his tables, orders a drink as well and takes a seat next to Arthur at the bar. “I’ll have to work to cure you of that habit, my friend. There’s a lot to love if you just give it a chance.”

“What, like debt and drunks?” Arthur asks dubiously.

“Try camaraderie with your fellow man and maybe, even, a bit of fun,” Eames retorts. “You have your fun and I have mine. Give my world a shot every now and then, it wouldn’t kill you.”

Something in his voice strikes a chord. He falls silent, and Eames takes the opportunity to settle their bill. Arthur waits until the bartender is busy ringing up the card, then asks lowly, “Don’t tell me you’ve already finished drinking, Eames. You’ve only had one.”

“Not for me, for you,” Eames says seriously. “I don’t want you drinking heavily today. Not with the way you’ve been talking.”

Arthur’s chest suddenly feels tight, as if his ribs have clenched down on nothing. “You’re worried about me, then?” He asks, trying to keep his voice artificially light.

“Maybe I am,” Eames replies. “Now, don’t distract me, I’m trying to calculate the tip.”

Arthur watches as he closes his eyes for the mental math, then scrawls a number far higher than 20% on the bill. “Feeling generous, I see. You know it’ll just be erased tomorrow, right?”

Eames shrugs, one easy movement. “The bartender, she’ll be happy today. So will I. It’s a win-win. She’s pretty enough to deserve a good day, don’t you think?”

Arthur snorts. “That’s what this is about, then? You’re trying to sleep with the bartender?” It wouldn’t be the first time Arthur has witnessed Eames’ seemingly irresistible flirting in action. It also wouldn’t be the first time he’s felt like he has a knife lodged between his ribs.

Eames grins wolfishly, then stands, adjusting his shirt collar. “Not tonight. The only one I’m preoccupied with is you, darling.”

Arthur scoffs, shoving him absentmindedly. “Oh, shut up.”

“Never,” Eames says happily, and proceeds to tease him the whole rest of the afternoon. Arthur doesn’t mind it much. There’s a small bloom of warmth down his sternum that keeps the joking barbs from landing.

It’s this odd feeling of victory that makes Arthur wake up the next morning and take the same steps towards Eames’ place in their warehouse. Cobb attempts to call out to him, wanting Arthur’s input on their new job– dream prosthesis won’t come easy unless we make it work– but he’s already breezing past. No sleep lost on that.

Eames looks up, startled, when Arthur takes a seat opposite him.

“Thought you were supposed to be helping Cobb,” he notes.

Arthur looks him in the eyes. “I’m in a time loop. I want you on my side again.”

Eames blinks. “Pardon?”

“Time loop,” Arthur says. “I’m stuck in this day. I can prove it, too. You listen to Adele when you dream by yourself. You love her music.”

Eames’ jaw actually drops. “How on earth could you possibly know that?”

“Like I said,” Arthur says, standing again. “Time loop.”

Eames looks mightily perplexed. “If this is your idea of a joke, Arthur–”

Arthur allows himself a rare smile. “I think the real joke is that you can listen to Adele a thousand times and never get sick of it.”

Eames glares at him. “It’s–”

“Not a bad problem, I know,” Arthur interrupts. “Now, I need you to do me a favor. Cobb will come in at some point, see me missing, and raise a fuss, maybe ring my cell half a dozen times a minute until I answer. You get the drill. I need you to tell him that I’m off on important business so he won’t pester me.”

Eames arches a brow. “What important business?”

Arthur shrugs. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Eames heaves a dramatic sigh. “All the time in the world, and you don’t put a single ounce of thought into it. Tragic. Well, I’m not going to abandon you to your own lack of imagination. Come on, we should hit the road before traffic comes.”

Arthur lets out a quick, curious breath. “I haven’t invited you anywhere.”

“Yes, but I’ve invited myself,” Eames says. “That’s why you told me about the loop, wasn’t it? Don’t tell me it was just because you wanted an excuse for me to call you in sick for the day, that’s boring. If this day doesn’t count for anything, there is no damn chance I’m working.”

Arthur searches for a reason to protest this and comes up short. They did have some fun the previous day, why not seize that moment again? “Alright. Your car or mine?”

“Mine, obviously,” Eames says. “Is it even a question?”

Arthur snorts as they head into the parking lot. “You know I can drive, right?”

“Maybe you can, but the greater question is if you should. You’d go the speed limit, I fear.” Eames tells him, unlocking the door and sliding behind the wheel.

“That’s the point of the limit,” Arthur points out. “And where are we going, exactly?” A beat later, he remembers the previous day. “No gambling. None.”

Eames hums under his breath, thinking. “You’re no fun. You know what, since I’m nice, I’ll do something for you. We’re going to a museum.”

“A museum,” Arthur says dryly. “And people ask me if I’m acting strangely.”

Eames pretends to be offended. “No need to disparage me, Arthur. I, too, am interested in the sciences.”

Arthur snorts. “Name one science.”

“Anatomy,” Eames answers, wiggling his brows. “Hands-on, preferably.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I regret asking. Tomorrow, I’ll tell someone else about the loop. Someone reasonable.”

“Rude,” Eames hums, pulling onto the thoroughfare. “Besides, I doubt that. The fact that you went to the trouble of memorizing a secret tells me you’ve been through this before. I’m your best option, darling. No one else is better than me.”

Again, Arthur tries to argue but can’t, so he pretends the sentence is too stupid for words instead of dead on the money. Eames can’t read his mind, but he’s grinning like he can, anyway.

True to his word, Eames does take them to a museum. Natural sciences. He seems to have a purpose as they wend through security and the various school groups scattered throughout the exhibits. It gets busy the further they head into the core of the museum. For a brief moment, Arthur loses sight of Eames in the crowd. Heart in his throat, he spins around, but sees nothing but the churning masses of strangers. Alone again, he is, and the day hasn’t even started yet. Something like a scream starts bubbling up in his throat, but then Eames is in front of him again, having doubled back to find him.

“Try and stay with me next time, huh?” He asks, one brow raised, and grabs Arthur by the hand when he starts moving again into a wing curving behind the main stairwell. Everything around them is dark, shifting shadows of coats and boots and displays, except for the bright point of contact where their two hands meet.

Arthur stares at it instead of where they’re going, lets Eames pull him whichever way the wind blows. Their hands seem to fit together perfectly. Dream-made. He swears he can feel his pulse thundering through his fingers, certain Eames must feel it too. Or maybe this is the rhythm of Eames’ heartbeat he feels in the whorls of his fingerprints, one divine pattern rippling through them both. Ba-dum, ba-dum. Two steps forward. A thousand miles cleared.

At last, they escape the main crowd and duck down a narrow passage. Vaguely, Arthur glances around and realizes they’re in the gemstones exhibit. Even with fewer people around, Eames doesn’t drop his hand, so Arthur doesn’t either. He is reminded of a contest with his school friends when he was just a boy. He was never the first to break, never the one to back down. Two men playing on a railway, the engine rattling towards them. He won’t go if Eames won’t.

Eames stops walking at last, and Arthur is consequently jerked to a stop beside him. “Look,” Eames says in a hushed whisper, pulling Arthur close by the arm so he can whisper in his ear. “That’s the biggest diamond this side of the coast.”

Eames’ voice is awestruck. Arthur drinks in the sight of him, illuminated only by the glow of the display lights around the glass case. His eyes are alight with mischief, but Arthur doesn’t recognize the usual drop in his stomach when the other man gets up to trouble until it’s far too late.

He should say something, he thinks. Arthur hasn’t even looked at the diamond yet. It simply doesn’t matter. “You came here to sightsee a rock?”

Eames sighs, a tortured soul with no one around to share his vision. “Think of the value. And it’s right there.”

“Surrounded by a case,” Arthur points out. “It looks solid.”

“You wouldn’t know unless you tried it,” Eames whispers.

Arthur’s eyes widen as he realizes what Eames is talking about. “No. Be serious.”

Eames grins brilliantly. “You said this was a loop, didn’t you? The day resets? No consequences? You have to take advantage of that at least once, surely. Look, it’s right there in front of you. All you have to do is reach out and take it.”

Arthur’s entire body is thrumming with adrenaline. “We’d be caught in moments.”

“You don’t know unless you try it. If it doesn’t work, you can yell at me tomorrow. If it does,” Eames laughs, quietly raucous and a hair’s breadth from the shell of Arthur’s ear, “you’ve got the best story in the world.”

Slowly, Arthur turns his head to stare at the diamond. It catches the light magnificently, he will admit. He can’t deny that the idea is tempting. “You’re crazy.”

“No,” Eames says with satisfaction. “You’re crazy for listening.”

Fuck. “Get ready to run.”

A caught breath by his ear; Eames, genuinely startled. Arthur doesn’t have time to be stung that Eames didn’t actually think he would do it, because he’s already taking two massive steps forward until he’s a hair’s breadth from the glass. He reaches into his pocket for something heavy and comes up with his cell. The metal breaks the case on the first go, stinging his knuckles as the skin comes in contact with the broken glass. Instantly, alarms wail through the display, security guards startled into action.

Arthur grabs the diamond and runs. He doesn’t even bother to look for Eames, trusting the other man to follow him. Sure enough, as he whips through the twisting, dark halls, there’s a disbelieving laugh by his side.

An arm wraps around Arthur when they break into the main room, forcing him to a stop. “I thought you said to run,” Arthur says, nervous.

“Only back there. We need to blend in,” Eames tells him. He doesn’t remove the arm. They keep walking.

Arthur shoves his bleeding hand, the one with the diamond, into his pocket. He can feel the cool weight of it warming against his palm, the facets true.

Eames ducks his face into the space under Arthur’s ear as they walk, appearing to all the world as two people sharing a good secret. “I can’t believe you actually did it.”

“You asked,” Arthur says petulantly. 

Eames’ grin is electric. “If I knew you would do everything I wanted, Arthur, I would have asked for a lot more.”

Something swoops in the pit of Arthur’s stomach, something that makes his next step a little wobbly. They’re about halfway through the main gallery when the shouting draws close, security guards on them again. Arthur almost hopes that their charade will work until one of them starts pointing at them. Swearing, he breaks into a run again, Eames at his side. He feels weightless, sprinting towards the security doors. Everything seems in slow motion– the chaos of the tourists, the dark shadows of the guards as they chase towards the pair– and then something heavy knocks Arthur’s legs out from under him, taking him down.

He rears up, ready to fight, but he’s surrounded by guards who cuff him in moments, a gun to his head while they pull the diamond from his pocket. Eames is arrested next to him, both of them dragged from the museum into waiting cop cars.

Arthur glances over his shoulder, unable to hide a grin. “We had a good run,” he calls over.

Eames laughs broadly. “Remember this one, Arthur.”

Then Arthur is shoved into a separate car, and the only sign that Eames was there at all is that laugh from down the road, mad and loud and goddamn addictive. He hears it tumbling in his ears all through the drive to the local police station, even when they try to question him, even when they lock him up. He simply has to wait out the hours until nightfall, and lets himself be entertained by the rush of adrenaline still coursing through him. Arthur has done crazy things before, but they’d only ever been in dreams. This was insanity, and better still, it was real. He feels like he’s been drowning all his life and only now come up for air. He wants it forever.

Arthur wakes up in his own bed, wrists uncuffed, hands uncut. The memory of that madman’s laugh is echoing through his ears, tumbling in his mind and making him mad enough to reach for his cell, smile, and dial someone. 

Eames sounds very confused over the phone. “Arthur? Why are you calling me? I’m maybe ten minutes from the warehouse. Surely whatever has gone wrong can wait until I get there.”

“I’m in a time loop and you love Adele,” Arthur informs him. “You know what, I’ve come around to it. She’s not bad.”

“I appreciate that,” Eames says, then, “What? How did you know?”

“You never listen when I say time loop,” Arthur chastises him. “You’re still in your apartment, aren’t you? I’ll pick you up. Bring swim trunks.”

“I think I like it when you’re bossy,” Eames remarks absentmindedly. “I assume you’ve cleared our absence with Cobb?”

“Cobb can shove it up his ass,” Arthur remarks, and smiles when he hears Eames choking on his coffee.

“I don’t know what you’ve done with Arthur, but I quite like the change,” Eames says when he opens the passenger door to Arthur’s car. “And, speaking of which, what the hell have you done with Arthur?”

“I’m still me,” Arthur informs him breezily as he cuts across traffic. 

Eames immediately fastens his seatbelt, swearing under his breath when Arthur takes erratic turns. “Why the hell are you carting around like you’re a getaway driver? Really, what has gotten into you?”

“I want a vacation,” Arthur says. “Let’s go somewhere fun. And sunny.”

For a long, frightening moment, Eames looks like he’s going to say something stupid like turn the car around, and then he just grins, shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s doing. “Whoever gave you a lobotomy overnight, darling, I’d like to shake their hand.”

“Fuck off,” Arthur grins as he exits onto the freeway.

“Fuck you too,” Eames says fondly.

They exchange idle chatter as they drive off. Eames rolls his window down, lets the wind course through the car and thoroughly mess up both of their hair. Briefly, Arthur feels a spit of annoyance rise up in him like a flare, an old habit that wants him to shut the windows and comb his hair until it lies straight again.

The anger is gone just as quickly, though, when he steals a glance to the side and sees Eames right there, skipping out on his day just because Arthur asked, and looking more free than Arthur has seen him in a very long time. It occurs to Arthur that he is not the only one who has been spiraling as of late, and even if Eames isn’t in a time loop, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been subject to stress. There are dark circles under his eyes, heavy as stone, and a tension in his shoulders that only starts to release once they’re half an hour from the city.

This is good for both of them. Arthur shakes his head slightly, raising a hand to at least somewhat soothe the errant pieces of hair back into place. He doesn’t even think he bothered to gel it today. Why bother, after all? Eames tracks the movement like a dog hunting prey, his eyes wide. His mouth opens as if he’d like to say something, but his tongue darts out to lick his lips and he stops himself before a single syllable comes out.

“You wanted a day at the coast?” Eames asks, squinting at the bright sun, when Arthur finally stops driving. 

It’s early enough that it’s easy to find a place to park in the sandy asphalt lot. Arthur nods, rolling his shoulders experimentally to try and release the pinch that’s settled between his bones. “When’s the last time you were at the beach, Eames? Outside of a job, I mean.”

Eames whistles. “Not sure. Then again, my memory’s been bad anyway.”

Arthur ducks his head. “I know what you mean.”

They all do. With the amount of times they’ve been sent into dreams, it’s easy to blur the lines between sleep and waking hours. Arthur has a pool of memories that he swears are real, just not enough to say for sure. Maybe he was here yesterday. Maybe he’s never been here at all. His mind would not know the difference.

It’s too fine a day for desperate musing, though, so Arthur forces a chuckle and says, “I can tell you’ve been stuck in that office too long. Your tan could use some work.”

Eames feigns outrage. “Pot and kettle, mate. You look like you were born in a filing cabinet.”

Arthur snorts, then heads away from the car towards the sand. He can’t help a deep breath of salt air– joke as he might, he truly forgot something could smell that fresh– and feels himself relax. Warm already, he strips his shirt off, letting the heat spread over his skin in rippling waves of summer.

A slight choking sound to his side, so quiet Arthur almost doesn’t notice it until he glances to his left. Eames has followed him like a good dog, and he’s watching Arthur, again with those wide eyes from back in the car. It’s like he’s never seen Arthur out of a dress shirt, some sort of teenage schoolboy bullshit. Arthur is certain it must have happened at some point, that Eames would have seen him shirtless, but maybe not. Eames would be capable of handling it, though. They’re not five.

Still, it does seem to take Eames an unnaturally long time to drag his eyes from the shadows of Arthur’s ribs, the swell of skin and flesh and bone towards his waist. Arthur won’t be troubling himself with what Eames may or may not find there, though. He’s already walking farther, sinking into a stray deckchair left behind by an absentminded beachgoer.

Truthfully, he isn’t entirely sure why he made Eames come with him at all. The beach isn’t an activity that requires another person, and Arthur could probably find more of his ill-gotten peace without a second soul around. Still, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind this morning that he wouldn’t call Eames, that he wouldn’t need him there, too. Another half of the whole.

Maybe it’s because, with Eames there, no one will call him from the home base and start asking questions about why he didn’t check into work that day. Yes, that must be it. It hadn’t happened the previous day, which means that Eames must be assuring Cobb and the others that he’s with Arthur. This is about security, obviously. About not being bothered. Eames can do whatever the hell he wants. Arthur is simply going to be here and be fine.

A shadow passes over Arthur’s form, and then a glass clinks onto the arm of the chair next to him. Arthur cracks open his eyes and sees that Eames has returned with two drinks, one for each.

“Where the hell did you find that?” Arthur asks, bemused.

Eames grins broadly. “I picked the lock on a minibar on a nearby dock. And don’t say a damn thing about it being too early to drink, I won’t hear sermons when you’re the one who came up with this whole idea.”

Arthur shakes his head, but laughs anyway, quiet under his breath in a way that makes certain only Eames will hear it. “You’re a fascinating man.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” Eames says, dragging over a chair so they can sit side by side. “All this time I’ve known you, and you rarely exhibit symptoms of spontaneity.”

Something rotten curls in Arthur’s stomach. “It’s not spontaneous, this. Let’s just say I’ve had plenty of time to think it through.”

“Right, right,” Eames says. “The time loop. You mentioned it on the phone.”

Arthur arches a brow. “You were paying attention?”

“You caught my attention with a certain secret I know for a fact I’ve never told a soul. Plus, I’ve never known you to make things up. If you say time loop, then shoot. Time loop.” Eames says, taking a long swallow of his drink, then makes a face. “Ugh. Practically lukewarm.”

Arthur stares at him. “You know, that’s still a wonder to me. You believe me every time.”

Eames meets his eyes steadily. “Like I said, you’re not the lying type. Besides, in our line of work, I’ve learned to stop thinking things are too crazy to ever happen. Usually, I’m proven wrong.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I’m not lying, and it’s not a dream.”

“So you’re just repeating the day?” Eames asks. “Shoot, I’d fuck around, too.” He leans forward eagerly. “How many times have you done this? Don’t tell me you got Cobb out here, that I won’t believe. The man wouldn’t go a day without a sedative if he could help it.”

Arthur can’t look at him anymore. “I haven’t shared a day with a single person but you. Nothing outside of conversations, I mean.”

Eames is oddly quiet, and when Arthur dares to steal a peek at him, he’s sitting perfectly straight. Gone is the usual slouch, the avant-garde curl of his spine. Arthur would say he’s never seen him so ill at ease, but Eames doesn’t look uncomfortable. Just– surprised, maybe. But not necessarily in a bad way.

“So I’m your top choice for road trips,” Eames says, each syllable trapped in this forced carefree voice that makes Arthur want to run. “Good, good. People have said I’m wonderful to be around, so this makes perfect sense to me. And how– how many times have we done this? Gone out and had a good time?”

Arthur, too, feels the need to keep his spirits light. They’re paper dolls under a magnifying glass, any wrong move would expose this moment to be as fragile as it feels. “Only a few. I– I didn’t want to ask at first.”

“Why not?” Eames asks, and Arthur might be lying but he swears there’s an undercurrent of actual hurt in his voice. “We know each other, don’t we?”

Arthur takes a sip of his drink to buy time to think of an answer that won’t make Eames look at him like that anymore. Down and out, like a kicked puppy. All big eyes and lips tugged low. “I thought you didn’t like me. You do have a fondness for making fun of me.”

“Bullshit,” Eames says, startling in his earnestness. “We’re not– we aren’t enemies, Arthur, we’re us. Fuck, is this why you made Cobb go get me in Mombasa for the Saito job? You thought I wouldn’t want to see you?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Arthur asks desperately. “Besides, I would have stuck out like a sore thumb in your little den of gamblers and you know it.”

Eames snorts. “That’s not far from wrong. None of my friends iron their pocket squares.” At Arthur’s sour look, he laughs for real but quiets down again. “And no, I wouldn’t have been mad to see you. I would have been happy about it.”

“Happy,” Arthur repeats on instinct. Hearing the word makes him respond like a marionette with tugged strings. So good to have a purpose without even being forced to think about it. He doesn’t believe he could think right now, not at all.

“Yeah,” Eames says, staring at the sky. “I would have been happy.”

They go quiet for a while. The sun rises. By the time noon comes upon them, the prolonged warmth has made Arthur feel limp and boneless, the world sweet with sleepiness. If he looked in the mirror, Arthur thinks he wouldn’t see a single furrow in his brow, not one crease around his eyes. All the troubles in the world have been smoothed over by one good morning in good company.

Eames rises, stretches, and looks over at Arthur fondly. “We should get out of the sun. Burns would ruin today. Plus, getting something to eat would be for the best.”

Arthur groans at the thought of moving. “Go catch me a fish or something.”

Eames laughs, a full-chested that makes his eyes as warm as the sun. “I have many skills, Arthur, but I lack that one. Come on, now. Get your arse out of that chair.”

Arthur glares at him dourly, but forces himself to his feet. He raises his hand to rub circles on the opposite shoulder where the joint has gone stiff, and Eames watches his fingers with perfect precision, hungry as he’d mentioned.

They beat a slow, ambling retreat back to the car. There’s a diner not far, and within half an hour, they’re munching down on sandwiches and drinking cold ice water. Arthur has entertained fine business luncheons with many courses crafted by expert chefs, yet he swears this simple meal tastes better than anything before. Once they’re done eating, they waste a few hours on the boardwalk, peeking in shops and making fun of the contrived boutiques that have sprung up out of nowhere.

All too soon, Arthur’s sun-started lethargy starts to catch up with him. Eames teases him for the way his eyelids keep drooping, but tells Arthur that he should get some rest anyway. There’s a local hotel nearby offering early check-in; Arthur suggests that they book a room. That way, they won’t have to drive back in the evening. It won’t matter that they won’t be home, this day will just reset anyway and all this good will be erased like their footsteps in the sand.

Arthur hardly remembers stumbling from the car into the hotel and asking for a room. The memories come in snatches– talking to the receptionist, taking the key in his hand, unlocking the door and just managing to get his shoes off before promptly passing out on the bed. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t remember even being able to crawl under the covers, but when he wakes an hour or so later, there’s a blanket tucked around him.

Eames can’t even make fun of him, because he’s sprawled out on the couch, the TV remote dangling loosely from his fingers. Arthur takes a moment to savor this moment– the dark eyelashes fluttering with every breath, the even keel of his chest, the way that, for once, his eyes aren’t darting around the room like he expects to be ambushed at every moment– and then gives the rest up to fate, pulling himself out of the bed and onto the ground. 

He keeps the movements soft and quiet, but Eames still startles awake, eyes flashing open. Arthur can see the moment he realizes that it’s only Arthur making noise, how he sags against the sofa again.

“Sorry to wake you,” Arthur says, his voice prickly from sleep.

Eames shakes his head, dragging a tired hand over his face. “Didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep at all. I’m not usually the type to nod off, you’d better not tell a soul about this.”

He’s joking, but Arthur can’t quite find it within him to laugh along. “Don’t worry,” he says, lip curling slightly, “you’ll forget anything happened tomorrow morning.”

Eames’ face tenses. He stands up, walks over to Arthur, really looks at him. Arthur can’t fathom what he sees. “It is getting to you, isn’t it?” He asks gently, one hand reaching out to rest on Arthur’s shoulder. It feels like an anchor in the longest night, the deepest ocean, of Arthur’s entire life. “Repeating every day, I mean. No one remembering but you.”

“How could it not?” Arthur can’t hide the bitterness in his voice. “Nothing we do today matters. It’ll all be erased tomorrow.”

“It will matter to you,” Eames says. “That’s enough, I think.”

His voice is earnest, and Arthur realizes that he truly believes in what he’s saying. That even if the world only goes on for Arthur, it’s still worth it. It is enough.

Arthur’s throat feels uncomfortably hot. He wonders if Eames can feel the heat prickling down to his shoulder, where the hand remains. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I do,” Eames says simply. Oh.

They pass the rest of the day quietly, meandering in and out of shops, being reckless with their money but mostly with their hours. At the end of the day, when evening tumbles over the beachfront town, they return to the hotel, and it is only now that Arthur realizes that their room only has a single bed. Eames doesn’t seem affected in the slightest, except for a slight flush in his cheeks. It surprises Arthur, how easy the whole thing is. Easy to climb into bed with a friend. Easy to hear the quiet rhythm of his breath in the dark. Easy to lean over until Arthur’s shoulder is pressing against the warm solidity of Eames’ chest. Arthur wants to tell himself to stay awake forever, to not fall asleep so he make every moment of this last as long as he can, the two of them so close, but Arthur is not always in control, and his eyes still remember the weight of the day, and soon, exhaustingly, he sleeps.

Arthur wakes up alone and cold. His hands reach out on instinct for a man who is not there, and it takes him aback how disappointed he feels. He only had Eames in his bed for a few hours, and already, it feels like his whole world has been ripped away.

Arthur sits up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. Not for the first time, he is struck by how exhausting his world has become. The thought of getting up, of trying at all, of going through the trouble of existing just for all that progress to be undone again like cheap thread pulling out of threadbare clothes, makes him want to throw up. Eames, across the city, has no memory of a sunlit beach, a shared bed, and that makes Arthur want to die. The whole world feels microwave-reheated, dull and barren and utterly without interest. 

So, for the first time, Arthur doesn’t try at all. He lies still and silent in his bed. He tries to sleep but can’t, so he stares at the ceiling and pretends he’s a corpse. That might be the only way he escapes the loop, packed in a coffin for good. His phone vibrates on his nightstand and Arthur ignores it. This goes on for a while, until Arthur loses patience and surges out of bed long enough to sweep the phone into a nightstand drawer and permanently silence the thing.

He assumes that’ll be the end of it, until he hears a loud knocking on his door about an hour later. Checking the clock, Arthur realizes it’s about early noon. Whatever. He closes his eyes again. Whoever’s there will go away soon enough.

Only, they don’t. The knocking continues, and then a voice starts to call out his name, muffled by the door and distance from his bed. Arthur still doesn’t answer. It doesn’t matter if his caller is upset, they’ll forget tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. There’s a metallic scratching at the door, and then, confusingly enough, someone’s in his bedroom.

A soft voice. “What the fuck are you doing, Arthur?”

Arthur slots open his eyes to see Eames standing over him. Genuine bewilderment fills him. “Why the hell are you here?” Arthur asks incredulously. “You don’t even remember yesterday, what the fuck.”

Eames squints. “Obviously I remember yesterday. You were normal yesterday. Not today. What happened, you got dumped?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Nothing happened. I’ve come to terms with reality. Go back to work, Eames. Tell Cobb I’m fine.”

“I’m not here for Cobb,” Eames says, and sounds so sincerely stung that Arthur actually bothers to open his eyes all the way this time. “I’m your friend, you arse, and I don’t take kindly when you disappear then don’t answer my phone calls. Or when I knock.”

“You knocked a lot,” Arthur comments.

“Yeah, and you didn’t answer any of them,” Eames mutters. He looks like he wants to use far harsher words, then sighs and sits down on the corner of Arthur’s bed. “I’ve never seen you like this. What happened? If this is about the job– look, Arthur, I’ve got my qualms too, but you could talk to us first.”

“The job,” Arthur muses. It’s been a while since he actually bothered to think about work. “What don’t you like about the job, again?”

Eames cuts him a sharp glance. “Don’t ask me that. As if there aren’t a hundred reasons to dislike what Cobb has planned. Is that it, then? You think this is a step too far?”

Arthur laughs. “This has nothing to do with the job.”

“This has everything to do with the job,” Eames explodes. “It’s fucked and we all know that. But you talk to me first about it before you give up, Arthur. You talk to any one of us. You don’t disappear out of nowhere. You don’t.”

Arthur honestly expects to see blood welling up from all the places his own words have struck flesh and bone. “Why do anything?” He echoes tonelessly. “You won’t remember this tomorrow. I could say anything in the world and you’d forget it. You hate me today but you’ll go back to normal tonight.”

And it’s true. Arthur could cut him to the quick, say a hundred terrible things and ruin this man forever. He thinks he’s seen enough of him to know the precise knives to launch, the ones that would make Eames despise him. He could burn this bridge for good, and then the next morning, he would be knocking on Arthur’s door again like clockwork. There are no impacts. No effects. Yet Arthur holds his tongue anyway.

Eames’ eyes hold pain without anything to hurt them. “I wish I knew what you were talking about, Art, but you’re going to have to tell me. I can’t read that mind.”

Arthur moves his gaze away from Eames, which aches, to the ceiling, which does nothing at all. “I’m in a time loop. Every day repeats and I’m the only one who remembers.”

“Alright,” Eames says steadily. “What day is this? How many times have you done it?”

Arthur jerks upright. His hair must be a mess, still sleep-mussed, but he doesn’t care. “You believe me? But I haven’t even told you the secret. The one only you know.”

“I don’t need a secret,” Eames says simply. “I’ve never known you to make things up. If you say time loop, then shoot. Time loop.”

“You said that yesterday,” Arthur whispers. Maybe before, too. He can’t remember. All the days blend together, a watercolor portrait descending into unintelligible, colorful soup.

“I’ll say it tomorrow,” Eames insists. “And the day after, too. However long it takes.”

“I don’t get it,” Arthur says. Both of them sitting on the bed, he’s close enough to study Eames’ face like a museum exhibit, searching for signs of reason in the middle of all this mess. “You’re so nice to me now, but we haven’t even done anything yet. I haven’t earned it yet.”

“You don’t have to earn anything. We’re friends, darling. I look out for you and you look out for me,” Eames says reproachfully.

Arthur nods thickly. The expression on his face must be truly tragic, because Eames clicks his tongue and reaches out, taking Arthur in his arms. Arthur chokes on air and wraps himself around Eames, breathing in the scent of his cologne, the fabric of his shirt. One of his hands fists in the material, his own personal way of guaranteeing that Eames won’t slip away into another turn of the loop.

“I’m not going away,” Eames says calmly. “Not even in the loop. I’ll come find you tomorrow, every day until you wake up. You aren’t losing me.”

“I always do,” Arthur gasps, his voice muffled into the crook of Eames’ neck. “No matter what I say, no matter what we do, you’re gone. Nothing matters.”

“Everything matters,” Eames contradicts. “Just come talk to me. Catch me up on what we’ve done. I’m still me, Arthur. We’ll pick up where we left off.”

His thumb rubs comforting circles onto the small of Arthur’s back. “I don’t deserve this,” Arthur says thickly.

“And why the hell would you believe that?” Eames asks, thoroughly nonplussed. “You aren’t the type to wallow, Arthur. You know your worth, but if you’ve spent too much time in this damn loop and you can’t remember, I’ll remind you. Over and over again, because you’ve saved my life so many times I’ve lost count, and it’s time for me to repay the favor. It’s you and me, Arthur. It’s you and me.”

“You and me,” Arthur repeats brokenly.

“That’s right,” Eames whispers. “Now, what do you want to do today? We can go out, or–”

“Can we stay here?” Arthur asks quietly. He’s had fun on every last tangent, but today, he just wants to sit, pressed up against the warmth of Eames’ chest, and remember how to put the pieces back together in a way that makes sense. For once, the burden of time doesn’t weigh on him. In fact, the possibility of another day like this, with Arthur peaceful and wanted, calls to him like a drug.

“That sounds good to me.” Still, Eames doesn’t move away quite yet. Arthur breathes in the peace of the morning, and at last, he starts to think. About Eames, mainly. About every bend in the road that has led them here.

He’s had many years of knowing the other man, but he hasn’t used them, not really. Always reverting back to the familiar pattern of bickering, even when he senses that there could be more. Refusing to allow himself the privilege of being close. Not believing that maybe, just maybe, Eames could want him in the way that Arthur wants Eames.

And how is that? At last, blessed with the relief of time, Arthur realizes it. Eames is everything. The angel on his shoulder, the demon in his ear. Urging him in a dark museum to steal a diamond. Telling him that the whole world can go to hell so long as Arthur comes out standing. This isn’t just a friendship, not to him. Maybe it hasn’t been for a while. Maybe it never should be again.

“I love you,” Arthur says, or he tries to. The words don’t come out quite right for reasons he cannot explain. “I love you,” he tries again, but something strange is going on. The words are distorted, like he’s underwater.

The feeling persists, pressure building on his temples. Arthur’s lungs expand and contract without getting him any air. It’s like drowning, the world fading to nothingness, and then he wakes up. Not in his own bed, but on a cot in a gray room. After a moment, the world comes into focus. Arthur is propped up on a makeshift bed in the warehouse they’ve been using to plan this job. Yusuf is idly checking the time with a stopwatch in his hand, and Cobb is starting to peer over at him.

“There you are,” Cobb says. “Now, how was it? Tell us everything. There are always kinks to be worked out with the first trial, but we really did have high hopes for this one–”

Arthur cuts him off, choking on nothing. “It was a dream?”

Cobb frowns, perplexed. “Yes, Arthur, it was a dream. You knew that when we sent you in.”

“No,” Arthur says. Everything is wrong. He’s in the clothes he was before, but the air feels different than it had. He’s out of the loop, that is certain, but this isn’t right, either. It can’t be right. “No, I wasn’t in a dream. I tried my totem so many times and it told me I was in real life.”

He paws feverishly at the needle in his arm, yanking it out and rushing off the cot like it might burn him. He stares around at the warehouse, head snapping from corner to corner like a caged animal.

“Yes,” Cobb replies, somehow still calm, “That was the point, remember? Dream prosthesis. A way of supplanting reality such that there is no way to recall that the patient is in a dream. Totems will fail to register that the user is in a dream.”

Arthur stares at him, chest heaving, and at last, he starts to remember. The loop– it was a dream after all. That was the point. He and Cobb, they’d designed it together. With the concept of finding victims while they were asleep rising in notoriety, targets are trained to recognize a dream when they were in it. The only solution, then, was to convince the target that they weren’t in a dream, even when they tried to wake themselves up, just like Arthur had so many times. 

Cobb had pitched it and Arthur had been horrified, but he’d also been a little bit fascinated. The idea was impossible, and impossibilities were alluring. He had just wanted to see if he could do it. And then, when the tech worked, Arthur volunteered to be the first to test it. He would go under and they would see what would happen. They would pull him out before brain damage set in, but Arthur would be able to mess around as much as he wanted. Targets would only be able to wake once they had discovered an all-important message. In this case, a secret more important than any other. There would be a failsafe in place, but it hadn’t worked. Instead, Arthur was forced to live through loop after loop, unable to escape, driven into madness and desperation and at last, at long last, the desired secret.

Arthur feels sick to his stomach. “Could you see what happened? Did you see what I did in the dream?”

Cobb shakes his head. “No one was down there with you, Arthur. That’s why I need you to tell me what happened–”

A voice cuts him off, footsteps approaching behind Arthur. “Cobb, shut it. The bloke looks ready to vomit. Work can wait.”

Arthur turns, and there he is, Eames at last, real and out of Arthur’s head. He has no idea about any of this, Arthur realizes. All this work for nothing. He probably doesn’t even care. A figment of Arthur’s imagination wanted to believe that Eames could love him too, just so Arthur could confess, but the real Eames won’t want this. He isn’t a dream. None of this is.

Bile rises in the back of his throat. This time, Arthur thinks he might actually throw up. Sweat sparking on his brow, he starts to move for the door, kicking into a run once he’s out of sight. It doesn’t matter what they think, he needs to get out of here now, before he vomits or does something worse, like start to weep. There is no Eames in this world who would knock on his door when he disappeared. No Eames next to him on the sunkissed beach, wanting him first. No one laughing one jail cell down, no one buying him drinks and pledging to make his loop worth living for.

He makes it out of the warehouse and down the alley behind it, out of view from the windows. Arthur gets his back to a brick wall and sinks down it, heedless of the dirt no doubt building up on his dress shirt. None of it was real. All of Eames’ promises, no more than figments of his imagination. A thousand ways to delude himself until he could admit that he loved Eames more than himself, and now he has nothing to show for it at all.

At least no one else had known. Once he collects himself, he can force himself back in there and put out the fires, maybe even tell Cobb what he wants to know. He won’t ever move on, but he can make the others believe he did. That, at least, should count for something.

Only, there’s one member of the crew who won’t be that open to ignorance. A pair of fine dress shoes appear before Arthur’s crouched form. He knows them immediately. He shouldn’t look, shouldn’t poison himself like this with the tantalizing idea of the man before him, but Arthur, like always, cannot resist Eames when he’s right there within reach.

Arthur looks up slowly, forcing himself to stand. It takes considerable effort to meet Eames’ gaze, which is worried like it had been this false morning in the dream of Arthur’s apartment. The expression is perfectly the same, even down to the minute details of every last furrow in his brow.

“What happened in there?” Eames asks quietly.

“I woke up,” Arthur says tersely. “Tell Cobb his plan needs fine-tuning. It works a little too well.”

“I won’t tell him shit until I know you’re okay,” Eames says, suddenly wrathful. “We all knew this plan was a fool’s errand, and then he had to go and put you in there– He should have been the one to go under first, and I fucking told him so, but he’s a coward. It shouldn’t have been you, Arthur. It shouldn’t have been you.”

One of Eames’ hands flies up to Arthur’s forehead to check his temperature. They both look equally surprised at the gesture, and Eames immediately snatches his hand away. “I’m fine,” Arthur croaks, obviously not fine. He still feels like he might throw up if he thinks about the loop for more than a few seconds.

Eames snorts. “I’ve heard five-year-olds lie more convincingly.” Then:  “I’ll kill him, I swear to God. Look at you.”

“That’s not great for my ego,” Arthur chokes out. “At least tell me you think I’m handsome before you use my looks as a reason this job should get scrapped.”

Arthur waits for Eames to laugh or tell him to fuck off, but instead he just sighs, deep and bone-rattling. “Let’s go home,” he says suddenly. “I don’t want you to have to be here anymore.”

Arthur’s brow creases. “Don’t I have to talk to Cobb again? He’ll be wanting details on the program.”

A sudden, violent rage pierces Eames’ eyes. “If Cobb asks for a damn thing from you in the next week, I’ll push him out of the window. Putting you through that– I’ll bet the failsafe didn’t work either, did it? He knew the coding was shaky. God, I’ll kill him. I will.”

Arthur reaches out on instinct, leftover residue from the loop, and slips his hand into Eames’. “Forget about him. I like the idea of going back to my place. If you don’t mind driving–”

Eames startles when Arthur takes his hand, but he doesn’t drop it, either. “Of course I’ll drive. I don’t think you’re capable of staying on the road, let alone between the lines.”

Arthur wants to protest this, but his head is still fuzzy from waking up, so he stays quiet and lets Eames lead him back to the parking lot, into the car. The ignition starts. Arthur watches it absentmindedly, feeling as if he could be a thousand miles away and seeing the whole thing through the screen of a TV. Eames keeps stealing anxious glances his way, and doesn’t even take the opportunity to needle Arthur about his driving or the state of his clothes. He must really be out of sorts, then. He feels it, too.

He blinks and they’re in his apartment. Eames is grabbing him a glass of water and telling him to sit down. Arthur slumps in one of his kitchen chairs, and hardly even notices the water when it’s deposited in front of him. “It felt so real,” he says quietly. “I know that was the point, but still. It was real to me.”

“What happened?” Eames asks. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“Not physically,” Arthur admits. Already, the whole thing seems ridiculous. A big mess out of nothing. “It was a time loop. The same day repeated over and over again until I realized something. I thought I was in there forever.”

Eames sucks in a breath. “Were you alone?”

“No, no. Everyone was there, but no one knew about the loop. I was the only one who remembered. No matter what I did, it reset the next day and no one remembered it.” Arthur recalls the water at last and takes a deep swallow. Anything to buy him time, to distract him from the slow horror dawning over Eames’ face.

“You said you only got out once you realized something,” Eames says carefully.

“I did,” Arthur replies. He doesn’t want to say it, God, but if Eames asks– he’d do anything, to keep him talking. To take this last moment of Eames caring about him and never let it go.

“Was it bad?” Eames asks.

Arthur lets his head hang low from his neck, examining the grain of the table. “You’d think so.”

Eames reaches over, pushing the heel of his hand into Arthur’s shoulder. It’s comforting, but it aches so far inside him that Arthur wants to die. “I’ve seen a lot of you, Arthur. Nothing there could make me hate you.”

“This will,” Arthur informs the table.

Out of his peripheral vision, Arthur can see Eames close his eyes briefly, as if begging for patience. “Try me.”

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

“I’m in love with you,” Arthur announces to no one in particular. Certainly not to Eames, who sits stock-still in his seat as if he were the one who had just woken up from many months of time loop days. As if he were the one who could not tell if he was dreaming or not, who was lost in deception just like Arthur himself.

For a moment, there is peace in Arthur’s kitchen. Dust motes hang suspended in the air, illuminated by the light through the window. Both of them sit so still they could be statues. A new addition to the museum they’d robbed in Arthur’s dream:  Mistakes made by man.

Then Eames surges forward, moving his hand from Arthur’s shoulder to his cheek, forcing Arthur’s head to raise just enough so Eames can kiss him. Immediately, Arthur kisses him back. Instinct again. An act so utterly right he would swear it’s coded in his DNA, a response written in him from the moment he was born. There is no part of Arthur that has not been waiting for Eames all his life.

“You idiot,” Eames murmurs against his lips, “I’m in love with you, too. Have been for years.”

“But–” Arthur can’t think of any argument, so he stops trying to fight and starts trying to kiss Eames again. It’s real, this time. Not a dream, not even a loop. Or maybe he still is dreaming after all, maybe this is another one of Cobb’s sick games to mess with his head until he stops believing in anything at all. It would make about as much sense as Eames breathing him in, telling Arthur whispered nothings about how he’s wanted him since they first met, how it drives him mad whenever Arthur so much as talks to someone else.

“I’m dreaming,” Arthur informs him.

Eames laughs against his lips. “You’re awake, or we’re both dreaming. Either way it doesn’t matter.”

And it doesn’t. What they have now is time, distant and constantly shifting. Tonight, Arthur will go to sleep, and he will wake up in a new day, one that won’t repeat or give him grief. He’ll come into himself again. He’ll remember how to live with consequences. And, better yet, he won’t do it alone. He could wake up tomorrow in someone else’s arms, not alone at last. Maybe he will. After all, he has endless days to change things around.

inception tag list: empty for now!

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[random-imagines-blog]

Imagine being an architect on Cobb's team and Arthur falls in love with you.

The way that you worked, the delicacy, the intricacy, it was unlike anything that Arthur had ever seen before. Staying in the dreams of your creation, even if for a little while, felt like walking into an art installation, with the most beautiful details that he had ever seen in his life - you were truly an artist. Arthur had grown enamoured with you, completely, and utterly. His face could do nothing to hide it, not when he lit up every time that you entered the room, not when he was constantly seeking you out to make sure that you were safe, close by, within view, no matter where you were. “Stop staring, you’re making me feel like I’m watching a Disney film,” Eames muttered. To which Arthur just flushed a new shade of red and looked away for a moment, hoping that you hadn’t heard his colleague’s words. You weren’t aware of his feelings - or so he thought. His fears were confirmed when you looked over at that moment, and stood up, walking over. A train voyage was taking the team towards their destination, and it was comfortable inside, cushy, and the way that you moved down the aisle like you owned it, just to sit beside him of all people. With him. He tried his best to look casual, to look out the window, adjusting his jacket, fiddling around with the sleeves. Truly, he was completely lost, and Eames sat across from him now, chuckling about it. “Let me leave you two lovebirds alone,” He said, standing up, winking over at Arthur as he moved to sit in a different spot. “He’s being an idiot,” Arthur said, daring a look over to your face, only to see that you too had an amused expression on your face. Though he loved it, he dreaded it right now, preparing himself for some teasing from you too. No, he didn’t think he could handle that. “He was right,” You hummed, looking over his face. “You really aren’t a big dreamer, are you?” His throat went dry. He licked his lips, straightened his back, and looked over to you. “What do you mean?” “Come on, Arthur. I’ve been waiting for weeks for you to say something. Anything,” You said, poking his arm. “But it seems like not even in your wildest dreams will you make a move. I’ve seen the way that you look at me, but you lack the actual … impulse to do anything about it.” He coughed into his hand, not expecting any of that. He flushed further, looking like a lobster with a sunburn at this point. His pale skin did nothing to cover that up. “I don’t lack the impulse,” He stammered. “I care about you too,” You interrupted. “How about we start there?”

Requested by: Anonymous

[violent138]

Dick spent so much time climbing, hanging off things, or solving problems upside down that it became a joke with the Titans that Robins think better like that. Fast forward a couple of years and Jason threatens to shoot the next person who flips him upside down when he's scheming (Artemis gets Bizarro to do it). Tim nearly kicks Kon in the face for flipping him over. Kara does it when Stephanie's being annoying, but mercifully by the time Damian's there, no one does it to him. Still, occasionally one of the Bats will be upside down because they got caught like that or fell through a vent and have a Eureka moment and everyone will feel vindicated and it starts up all over again.

[vvanillavveins]

I don't think we give Jonathan Harker nearly enough credit for his absolutely unhinged choices. In 1897, that pathetic wet cat of a man was written with enough grit, willpower, and raw human stupidity to rival any of our modern horror podcast protagonists. When faced with a centuries-old vampire, in a coffin, drenched in fresh blood, he really thought the best thing to do was to hit it in the face WITH A SHOVEL. The audacity. The misplaced confidence. The sheer desperation. No plan. No hesitation. Running on fear and spite alone. And i fucking love him for it. Truly the character of all time.

[outlawruben]

Do y’all ever wonder if Dutch and Hosea knew they were going to raise an absolute UNIT like Arthur? Like he was once a skinny and rambunctious 14 year old street orphan and they took a chance on him and fed him as he grew into a fucking BEAST who is arguably bulkier than the two of them combined, and has become the main brawn of the gang.

This is basically just an Arthur Physique appreciation post but GOD DAMN.

[budyak]

man i wish nature was real and i could go and touch some grass

[no-144444]

the grid: No Nut November!

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Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Arthur LeClerc.

thank you to the person that requested this!!!

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Oscar Piastri: wouldn’t do it. 

Even if every driver on the grid was offering 1,000€ each as a prize, he was not giving up fucking you for an entire month. 

Even though he looks like a sweetie pie he would absolutely be a freak in the sheets and he was not about to give up the only way he actually gets his frustration out (aka fucking you). 

Everyone kind of boos him for it but then half way through the month he gets to be smug while they’re all miserable and complaining, because he can fuck his girlfriend whenever he wants. 

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Lando Norris: would try, but definitely fail. 

He wouldn’t care about the prize, he’d just have such a ‘how hard can it be?’ attitude. 

Newsflash: extremely. 

You would not make it easy for him either; wearing the sluttiest clothes, basically giving him fuck me eyes all the time, enjoying it when you see him get hot and bothered. 

He snaps on his birthday, and fucks you for hours straight. You can barely walk the next day. 

He decides to own up and pay his part of the bet with no shame, he has a hot girlfriend and he likes fucking her, sue him! 

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Lewis Hamilton: wouldn’t even try

He’s uninterested in the things most of the grid do in their spare time, and he knows they’re uninterested in him too. They don't need to know about his sex life, but what people can guess is that it is very much alive. 

I mean… you two had a baby literally 8 months after your wedding, to the day. 

The other 3 kids don't exactly help his case… 

He’d say yes, just so he could be added to the group chat and he would tell you who is winning and losing.

He’d lose on the first day with no shame. Everyone knows he's just here for the public shaming of others. 

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George Russell: would win

Not saying he’s not a freak in the sheets, but he would set up the entire thing (group chat, the money pool, etc.) and he cannot be seen lacking. 

Even if it wasn’t his idea, he still needed to win. 

You do make the entire month absolute torture though. 

Matching sets, showing as much skin as possible, everything. 

Even walking around the apartment naked. 

But somehow, he doesn’t budge. 

At the end of the month he does fuck you for ages, and you literally cant get out of bed, let alone follow him to a race. He tells the media you’re sick and all of the drivers have the dirtiest laughs as he explains. Despite every question, they keep their mouths shut. 

George did announce that he won at the end, much to your chagrin. 

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Alex Albon: he’d last a while

 He would honestly be pretty good. 

He kind of breaks the rules, he constantly gives you oral and jerking himself off, but it wasn’t specifically stated in the rules (apart from the name… but whatever)

He makes it like halfway through the month until a particularly bad race result. 

He fucks you all night. 

When you both get to the paddock in the morning, George pays him a visit to collect the money like the smug bastard he is. 

He heard you two last night. 

He was 4 doors down. 

Oops. 

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Franco Colapinto: he’s the one who accidentally tells the press. 

We all know Franco is awful at keeping his mouth shut, and in an interview he somehow lets it slip that he needed to find George to give him money. 

They ask him what for. 

He says ‘the bet’ and explains that they’re doing NNN this year and that he lost. 

It was worth it though, you two hadn’t seen each other in months (you were busy in uni, he was busy at races) and he just had to have you. 

He made it like a quarter of the way into the month. 

He didn't really care. 

The drivers honestly just found it funny that he told the media. 

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Logan Sargeant: would make it most of the way, but just fall short by like 4 days.

He had done so well, ignoring all of your sexual advances for the majority of the month…

Then he got drunk. 

Drunk Logan and drunk you? Yeah, you’re fucking. 

He couldn’t keep his hands off you, and he paid the price. 

He paid up sheepishly the next day, George looked at him with the smuggest smile ever. 

Logan didn’t even care. He fucked you twice as much as before. 

He has to make up for lost time, right? 

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Daniel Riccardo: he would lose immediately.

This man is a 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀 

He would kind of do the same thing as Lewis, pay to just watch the rest of them loose. 

He does last a little bit longer though (in their eyes).

 He doesn’t pay up until the second week even though he’s been fucking you the entire time. 

He has absolutely no shame about it either. 

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Liam Lawson: he would almost win.

He's such a cutie. I think he’d somehow abstain for a while. 

He’d get to around the 26th, and then give up. 

The month was torture though. 

You literally would beg him every night, and he would just have to say no. 

You were impressed at how long he lasted. 

But then he gave in after he scored points in mexico...

Yuki ratted him out to George, he was very embarrassed.

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Charles LeClerc: he would lose immediately.

Charles is an idiot. 

He would lose the first day by accident, and then try to pretend that it doesn't count until George actually comes knocking on his drivers room door looking for the money. 

He heard you, of course. 

Charles reluctantly watches the rest of the month play out, bitter that his own forgetfulness took him out so early. 

He vows to win next year. 

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Carlos Sainz: wouldn’t do it. 

He’s not giving up fucking you for a month. No way. 

He also wouldn’t be interested in the sex lives of others enough to even pay into it like Lewis. 

His sex life is his own, and as much as he loves healthy competition, this is a race he’s happy to lose. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Max Verstappen: would be a huge bitch all month.

Dude is like a moody teenager when he’s not getting it. 

Daniel persuades him to do it and he makes it a few days in.

Literally turns into the biggest moody bitch ever.

By the 8th day everyone is begging you to just fuck him so he’ll stop being such a cunt to them.

You do. 

He pays up and spends the rest of the month fucking you. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Paul Aron: he would almost win.

He would last pretty long. Like maybe more than half the month

Despite his playboy facade, he’s actually more into cuddles and shit like that. 

 But after a bad race…

Yeah, he pays up with zero shame. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Arthur LeClerc: he would lose, in two ways. 

Y’know how quickly Charles lost, yeah he’d be worse.

He wouldn’t forget, he’d just think that he can get away with fucking you all month but of course, that doesn’t happen.

George comes knocking after Charles tells him he can hear you two.

You are deeply embarrassed that your boyfriend's brother heard you two having sex, and you impose a ban for the rest of the month. 

You say it’ll help you both be more aware of when and where you’re doing it, and how to not get caught by his brother again. 

He curses out his brother the next time he sees him.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[piastappies]

𝜗𝜚 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝜗𝜚

⋆ pairing. oscar piastri x wife!leclerc!reader

⋆ summary. christmas is never calm, when the piastris are involved, or one would think.

⋆ notes. another part of dad!oscar series 😁😁😁 its honestly one of my favorites ever. this is a small christmas fic, but i might write another part of christmas at the piastris 😁 not proofread (i will do that one day i promise)

BEFORE YOUR DAUGHTER WAS BORN, you and oscar never spent christmas together. it was pretty understandable, he went back to australia to see his family, while you ended up in monaco, spending the festive moments along your family and your brothers’ girlfriends. however, you’d always spend new year’s together — whether it was australia or monaco, no one could make you leave each other’s side. nevertheless, as suspected, the problems started occurring as soon chloe’s second christmas came up.

her first christmas happened just after she was born, so there was really no conversation about going anywhere with a newborn baby, while pandemic was still going crazy. christmas in the following year was putting more and more stress on top of your shoulders. you barely seen your family all year, so the need to fly home was even stronger than ever, you couldn’t though. beside his dad, oscar hasn’t seen his family much either and asking him to go see yours for holidays seemed unfair, you were not the only one, who missed the warm embraces of their mothers.

“why don’t we all just come to your place, love?” nicole, oscar’s mum, suggested on one afternoon, making the tension in your shoulders loosen a bit. “there’s no point in stressing yourself out about flying with chloe, when we can just come to you.”

it almost seemed like a plan put together beforehand, because a few hours later your mum has called you, suggesting the exact same thing. even if it was a plan, you really appreciated trying to ease your nerves about christmas.

and it became a tradition, one you held dearly to your heart.

it’s been still a few days left till the twenty-fifth, so it was only nicole, who flew to monaco, her daughters would arrive near twenty-fourth to have a day to recharge. you were bundled up in a blanket, a small girl sitting on your lap, not wanting to be away from you as her tiny fists had tightened their grip on your shirt.

“i get puppy?” chloe asked, tipping her chin upwards to have a look at you before turning her head — so fast you thought it would snap in seconds — to look between your husband and his mom. “please, please puppy?” she repeated, jutting her bottom lip and flashed her brown eyes at oscar.

you raised an eyebrow at the aussie, awaiting his response. the possibility of him cracking and accepting your daughter’s pleas was high, considering that chloe had him wrapped around her little finger, or rather around her wrist like a leash she could tug on, and at first thought her dad would do whatever she wanted him to. his gaze shifted towards you as he let out a sigh, his heart breaking as he’s about to disappoint his only daughter.

“ah, squish, but you have a dog already, don’t you?” nicole started, catching her daughter’s attention. chloe’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. she has a dog already? is he invisible? “basil and rosie are yours too, aren’t they?” she asked in a gentle tone, the four years old perking up at this revelation.

“i do!” she exclaimed happily, letting go of your shirt to clap her hands, a big beam creeping up on her lips. “basie and rosie!” she said, her head bobbing up and down ecstatically. “my doggies.”

“and leo.” you chimed in, gently rubbing your hand against chloe’s back. the mention of your brother’s daschmund made the beam falter. “you don’t like leo anymore, squish?” you asked, a bit taken aback at the sudden change.

a pout appeared on your daughter’s face, her tone slightly bashful as she tried to explain. “leo pee-ed on me.” oscar’s lips were pulled into a tight line as he tried to suppress a chuckle. “s’no funny!” she frowned at her dad’s antics.

“he was just excited to see you, baby.” you tried your best reasoning with your daughter. “leo’s still just a baby, you know? babies pee when they get excited, it means he reaaaally likes you.”

“daddy’s baby, too an’ he don’t pee on me.” she scrunched her nose, unmoved by your explanation. “daddy don’t like chloe?”

baby. that’s how you’ve been referring to oscar for as long as you could remember, making chloe think that her dad is as much of a baby as she is. in different circumstances, you’d just start laughing — some guys, your friends’ boyfriend or fathers, random people on the street, probably acted like babies towards their partners or maternal figures, but not your oscar. he was the eptiome of a great partner, friend, and a parent, despite being a bit messy and leaving socks on your bedroom floor a few times, if you wished for someone better, you’d still get your oscar, because there couldn’t be anyone better than him, not for you and your daughter.

“well… daddy loves you so, so much, squish.” he began coyly, kneeling in front of the couch, to brush his nose against chloe’s, as an act of affection. “but i’m not a doggie, am i?” he asked, and while your reasoning seemed completely off to chloe, she bought oscar’s within seconds.

“no, silly.” the four years old giggled, putting both of her hands on oscar’s cheeks, leaving a small, sloppy kiss on the tip of his nose. “you papa.” a beam stretched across her mouth. “no doggie.”

THE CHRISTMAS CAME QUICKLY, which you were profoundly content with. it was one of the rare moments, when you could spend the time with your entire family, both sides. there wasn’t enough words to describe the amount of love you held in your heart for oscar’s relatives. you spent lots of hours, talking to your in-laws on the phone, when you couldn’t see them in person. it was natural that you wanted them in your daughter’s life as much as possible.

usually, the apartment was as quiet as it could be with a preschooler, although with almost twenty people inside, it was a mess. a positive one, one you would cherish every time it happened. your mum chatting away with nicole, tim, and chris, your brothers engrossed in conversations with oscar, while you talked to alex, and oscar’s sisters as your soon to be sister-in-law played with your daughter on the carpet, leo sleeping on his usual spot on the couch.

when you all sat down to open gifts, chloe was no longer playing with charlotte as she occupied the spot on arthur’s lap, giggling quietly, when he tickled her once in a while just to pretend he didn’t as she tried to pat his hands away.

“i give gifts, too!” she suddenly spoke up, her voice filled with excitement, pointing to a dozen of tiny boxes standing neatly next to (or on top of) one another.

it was small figurines made out of modelling clay that your husband has bought for your daughter. it wasn’t much, but it made your daughter feel involved in the gift-giving tradition. of course, you helped her throughout the process, so the figurines wouldn’t be just colours mixed together with no shape.

“oh, mon étoile. did you make them yourself?” your mum asked, a warm smile stretching across her lips as she unpacked the tiny star made out of modelling clay. that’s what pascale always called chloe, étoile, which meant a star, because she was the brightest star in your mom’s universe.

chloe nodded proudly in response, puffing her chest as she unpacked arthur’s box for him. “‘s me!” she giggled in happiness, placing the figurine in her uncle’s hand. “now, you ‘ill ‘lways remember me!”

“i could never forget you, squish.” arthur whispered into her ear, though loud enough for you all to hear, making the girl laugh from the sensation of his face in such close proximity to her ear. “i’ll always have it with me, okay?”

in the end, everyone was enamoured with the small gifts made by your daughter, which made her feel super proud of herself. she got a few toys (that you’d previously accepted, because if you had one more loud toy, you’d shred yourself into pieces) and… a racing helmet.

“we are not doing a project piastri, or whatever you’d call that.” you announced, giving your older brother a judgemental look. was it a surprise that charles gifted your daughter a racing helmet? not really, as he’s been talking about taking chloe karting. “she’s four.”

“i was four, when i started too.” he argued, a bit playfully.

“look what that made you. crazy.” you shook your head, taking a glimpse of the mesmerised look in your daughter’s eyes. “she’s too small for a go-kart. you’d have to put velco strips on her back and the seat, so she wouldn’t fell out of the thing.”

“that’s doable.” the ferrari driver shrugged, as he helped chloe put on the purple helmet. “uncle charlie wouldn’t let his squishy face get hurt.” he cooed at the girl, making you roll your eyes in exasperation.

cheering and stressing over your husband’s career was a thing you could live with, but having both oscar, and your daughter racing and karting? your poor heart wouldn’t handle it.

“i drive like daddy soon?” the four years old in question said, her voice slightly muffled by the helmet. once again, she clapped her hands happily.

and somehow, after a nice meal and gift openings, you were stuck in a conversation with your brother about taking chloe karting, while she quietly asked one of your sisters in law what karting exactly was.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Matchmaking Brothers | Arthur Leclerc x Gasly! Reader

Summary: Having known each other since they were kids, Yn and Arthur only spent time together when their families rallied together for the sake of their older brothers. Recently, fans have noticed that they’re spending more time together than ever before. 

Warnings: None? Maybe swearing

Requested: Yes by @1800-love-me . asked for gasly reader and brothers best friend arthur. sorry but this is only a short one

Faceclaim: Madison Beer

F1 Masterlist

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

yn_gasly posted a new story 

arthur_leclerc replied don’t be like that  → you know you love having me → yn_gasly you ate all my crisps, begged me to order pizza and then cried because i “let you eat all that crap”  → arthur_leclerc but did you i make you laugh? → yn_gasly at your expense, yes → arthur_leclerc you’re meaner than when we were 12 → yn_gasly and you haven’t changed 

charles_leclerc replied don’t be like that, little gasly  → you know you miss us when we’re travelling  → yn_gasly what’s there to miss? → the bickering over racing? the sweaty socks left everywhere? competing over who can eat their pasta faster?  → charles_leclerc don’t deflect. i know you miss arthur → yn_gasly now i really don’t miss you 

francisca.cgomes replied send me that pic of pierre please

alexandrasaintmleux replied i’ll buy you a big glass of wine tomorrow 

pierregasley replied i hate you → i wish i’d smothered you with a pillow when we were kids → yn_gasly i wish you’d get out of my apartment

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

yn_gasly just posted

liked by jackdoohan, estebanocon and others

yn_gasly come to alpine, he said. it’ll be fun, he said. now i’m alone whilst he gets ready for quali and kiks has abandoned me also 

1,980 comments

arthur_leclerc come to ferrari, it’s more fun

→ pierregasly don’t you dare

→ alexandrasaintmleux we have leo

→ yn_gasly on my way! 

→ user1 was it leo or arthur who convinced you?

francisca.cgomes i didn’t abandon you! i had to pee! 

→ yn_gasly i was left alone! 

user2 i don’t know how any one could leave her alone when she looks that good 

pierregasly i’m sorry that i have a job?

→ yn_gasly you should be. i have to suffer every race weekend because of you 

→ user3 we all saw how tense she was during q3

→ user4 but also the way you jumped when you realised he was into q3

jackdoohan i promise i won’t let you be alone next year 

→ yn_gasly and this is why you’re my favourite alpine driver 

→ estebanocon i haven’t left yet, you know :(

→ yn_gasly you’re my second favourite, estie 

→ pierregasly pierre erasure

→ user5 oo doohan’s got moves. arthur better look out 

user6 can the test/reserve drivers of f1 fight? ‘cause yn is so fine

arthur_leclerc just posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, olliebearman and others

arthur_leclerc a stressful weekend that ended so well. what a special moment, couldn't be more proud 

1,699 comments

yn_gasly a huge congrats to charlie 🤍 so proud of you! i know you’ve dreamed of this day since we were kids. can’t wait to celebrate with you later 

→ charles_leclerc merci, little gasly ❤️

user7 can’t believe arthur managed to sneak in yn on a post dedicated to charles

→ user8 family friends my ass

→ user9 tbf she looked so good today 

→ user10 face card never declines liked by arthur_leclerc 

alexandrasaintmleux who’s that cutie in the last slide 

→ yn_gasly date me please

→ charles_leclerc whoa, when i said i wanted you to join the family, i didn’t mean by stealing my girlfriend 

user11 anyone else suspicious about his weekend "ending well" and then a pic of yn? 

→ yn_gasly his brother finally won monaco, babe. please go outside and touch grass. i just looked hot today 

→ user12 imagine getting called out by the queen herself

pierregasly why are you posting my sister’s cleavage, little leclerc?

→ yn_gasly why are you such an embarrassment 

→ arthur_leclerc i feel sorry for any man that dates you if he’s what they have to put up with 

→ jackdoohan i’d be happy to volunteer?

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pierregasly just posted

liked by francisca.cgomes, alpinef1team and others

pierregasly the gasly’s and the leclerc’s 

3,310 comments

charles_leclerc my favourite french family 

→ yn_gasly i thought you were your favourite french family 

→ charles_leclerc i know where you live 🔪

arthur_leclerc why does everyone else get a nice photo and i get the one where yn is trying to tackle me into the harbour?

→ pierregasly i thought it was cute! 

→ user1 and we agree. now tell us they’re dating

alexandrasaintmleux 💕

user2 you can tell yn and arthur are the little siblings ‘cause neither of them got a face shot 

→ yn_ln apparently we’re not as attractive as the others

→ arthur_leclerc i disagree 

francisca.cgomes okay but me and alex look hot

user3 love how kika and alex are counted as the gasly’s and the leclerc’s

→ yn_gasly of course they are. they’re family 

→ user4 and which one do you count as part of? 😏

user5 yn and arthur look a little closer than friends ngl 

→ user6 no because the way that they’ve been closer than the two confirmed couples 

→ user7 they’re literally clinging to each other 

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arthur_leclerc just posted

liked by scuderiaferrari, alpinef1team and others

arthur_leclerc grazie monza for some unforgettable memories 

2,009 comments

user8 if this isn’t confirmation that they’re together, i don’t know what is 

user9 she’s been converted? damn, he must be good in bed

user10 omg yn featuring in another grand prix post! 

user11 dick so good she forgot she was french

→ user12 ya’ll are unhinged but i can’t deny that this screams that they’re a couple

→ pierregasly i can’t believe i just had to read that 

charles_leclerc loving every outfit in this. nice to see all the family support 

→ pierregasly back off. she’s still my sister 

→ charles_leclerc for now 

→ user13 ???

yn_ln everyone calm down. we’re literally in the land of ferrari. it would be criminal not to support them

→ user14 but you’re french, not italian? 

→ scuderiaferrari you can’t fight the forza ferrari sempre 

pierregasly traîtresse! 

→ yn_ln well, i’m always abandoned in alpine. they treat me good in ferrari

→ alpinef1team we’re sorry. please come back to us. we’ll do better

→ francisca.cgomes please come back. i miss you yn

→ yn_ln oh yeah you all want me now

→ arthur_leclerc i’ve always wanted you

yn_gasly just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly and others

yn_gasly okay, guys. i did wear red for him

2,910 comments

charles_leclerc and i thought it was for me :( 

user1 arthur kind of confirmed this already with his post and saying he always wanted you 

→ user2 shush, we’re getting a glimpse into their relationship. don’t ruin it

arthur_leclerc and you look amazing in it ❤️

→ yn_ln almost as good as you do 

→ charles_leclerc but no one looks as good as i do 

→ alexandrasaintmleux just let them flirt, mon amour  

user3 the height difference between them is killing me

pierregasly you better tell him to keep his hands where i can see them

→ yn_ln you were the biggest advocate for us getting together

→ charles_leclerc no, that was me

→ pierregasly yeah until i realised he would be putting his hands on my baby sister! 

jackdoohan i guess i lost 

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requests are open!

i am currently away but coming soon; mark webber smau, lewis baby angst part 2 and a franco smau

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25

[lovemomhatepolice]

cutie patootie - f1 drivers multi!

navigation taglist requests

pairing: f1 drivers x fem!reader

warnings: nothing maybe a little swearing, sexual overtones, English is my second language!

type: fake! messages

summary: somehow you managed to get a picture of your boyfriend when he was a baby

more content: formula 1 masterlist, latest one-shot with lando norris, max verstappen nswf alphabet part 1, lando's birthday one-shot

charles leclerc

carlos sainz

(sientate sobre mi por favor - please sit on my lap)

lando norris

oscar piastri

george russell

lewis hamilton

max verstappen

alexander albon

franco colapinto

arthur leclerc

daniel ricciardo

ollie bearman

A/N: what little babies ahah, they still look 1:1, don't tell me they don't. you have to forgive me that the some parts are shorter, but this is the first time I write about them and enter them into my account

also - happy birthday to our little lando!! he's already so old ahah, if you want - come to the birthday one-shot

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[grymghoul]

Arthur gripped your hips, he suggested this position, not really suggested. He mostly had lifted you off him the second you had clenched around him, he took advantage of your orgasm to reposition you. His hand held your hips, keeping you up. He gave the curve of you ass an affectionate pat. "You're alright.." His voice was soft, the roughness of it soothing your nerves as your thighs trembled. "Arthur.. please." You weren't even sure if you wanted a break or more, the please seemed to go either way. "You okay?" He mumbled, that rough hand that was always gentle with you smoothed up your spine to the nape of your neck as he leaned over to kiss your shoulder. You panted as you nodded, soft hairs stuck to your forehead. "Want more?" It took you a second to process what he was asking and before you even processed what you were doing, there was a faint nod. He smiled against your skin, "Atta girl.." Arthur had never ending praise for you. For even the simplest of things. A good job for eating dinner or waking up in the morning. Any act of living earned praised, you were his world. His girl. His everything. During these tumultuous times, he found solace in the tiny hotel room he was able to steal you away in. He was able to pretend it was all different. Maybe you two had a home or at least the gang wasn't falling apart.. he snapped out of it as he leaned back, bringing your hips up again.

He eased into you, a breathless gasp followed by a higher pitch moan left your throat. He kept your back arched with one big hand pressed between your shoulders as his other gripped your hip. His blunt nails biting at your skin, leaving little crescents. He wasn't being particularly gentle but nonetheless paused to catch his breath. Your velvet walls were clenching around him, almost painfully tight and too hot. He let out a throaty groan, it came from up in his chest. Almost a breathless noise. Arthur threw his head back, his fingers drumming on your back lightly. He huffed, pulling his hips back, he could feel how you suctioned around him, so he didn't pull out completely. He didn't was to lose that. He snapped his hips, grinning at your breath hitching, nice and loud. You had abused your pussy riding him, until she was puffy and soaked. He offered occasional help, but he mostly thrusted upwards to surprise you when he felt you getting close. He liked watching you do all the work, so it was time to return the favor. Each time he pulled out and rolled his hips forward, they got faster and stronger. He leaned over you, slowly pressing his chest to your back. It was strong and warm, damp with sweat and his hair soft. His hand flew to the headboard, caging you between one arm next to your head and his firm bicep. Built like a piece of sinewy lumber, strong and unmoving, he had you trapped. The noises coming from your dripping cunt were filthy. How could you be soaked for him? A tough, gritty man. A killer. An outlaw. A bad, bad, bad-

"Arthur..!" The way you squeaked his name caught his attention, he could feel your walls around him, shit, your poor pussy never caught a break. He could feel you clenching and writhing and your nails dug into his thick wrist. But he didn't let up, even when you were pushed forward by the sheer force of his thrusts. "Don't- run from me." He gritted out, teeth clenched, his head pressed to the back of yours. His arm shifted, his forearm pressed to the front of your shoulder, keeping you from jolting forward. You were ruining the sheets, his thighs were sticky and slick with you, his dick coated in your cream, his hairs frothy. He wasn't even attempting to quiet himself now. "God.. damn it." Your legs gave out without his hand holding you up, you pressed flat on your stomach, feeling the sheets sticking to your wet skin, beads of sweat sliding down the column of your neck.

"Look'atchu.. You're a good girl.." His praises deep and guttural, he pressed you further into the mattress. Your moans had progressed into soft screams, your face half hidden in your pillow, hair messed. His hand that wasn't white knuckling the headboard slid between the mattress and you, finding your clit. Poor thing was twitching at just the slightest touch from him. "There ya go.. Takin' me and lookin' so pretty.." His lips pressed to the crown of your skull, your hair tickling his nose. With just a few soft circle from his finger, he ripped another orgasm out of you, you soaked his cock while he pounded you into the mattress. You were a sobbing mess, choking on your words. A mix of please, Arthur, I can't do it and don't stop, harder, deeper. He liked fucking the brains right out if your pretty head. Feeling your cunt drenched him and constrict around him so perfectly, like your pussy was made to take his thick cock and keeping it nice and tight and warm, seated so deep within you, made his stomach taught. His own legs trembled at the way his release hit him like a damn freight train.

"Fuck-" he had no words, nothing to describe how it felt, rutting his seed deeper in you with his dick twitching. He collapsed, mind empty, body numb, nearly crushing you and keeping the wind knocked from your lungs. Your hand patted his head. "Good job.. I can't breathe." Arthur's laugh was soft, his eyes closed. "Sorry, sweetheart."

[logansargey]

Y'all ain't ready for this convos yet tho

[not-neverland06]

conflicted spaces

Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

a/n: He doesn’t get TB in this. Why? Because this is fanfiction and I’m god and fuck canon (I just finished the game, I’m emotionally distraught and needed this)

Warnings: brief attempted SA

Summary: Your father is a gambling man and you’re always the collateral. He refuses to pay the wrong man and now you’re being dragged across country roads to a man you’ve never met. Arthur Morgan, an outlaw down to the bone, is in charge of making sure you get there in one piece. Except, he doesn’t feel right selling a woman off like she’s property.

You’re done being a doormat and letting the men in your life tell you what you’re worth. You’ve got three days to escape him, but you’re not prepared for the reality of the real world.

“Put your hands where I can see ‘em, cowboy.” Arthur’s shoulders tense and he curses under his breath. His hand darts to the revolver on his hip, but the second his fingers twitch towards it he hears a hammer being pulled back. The cool barrel of a gun digs into his neck and he raises his hand in surrender. 

The man behind him lets out a familiar laugh and tugs him around. Arthur rolls his eyes and glares at Dutch. “The hell are you doing?”

Dutch clears his throat, still laughing slightly. “Relax, Arthur, but if I had been an O’Driscoll you’d be dead right now.” Arthur doesn’t point out that the only thing they have to worry about out here are the Lemonye raiders. He’s more focused on why Dutch is even out here. Rarely does he leave Shady Belle to traverse the streets of St. Denis. 

None of them are particularly fond of the place. If he wanted to step in horse shit every other step he’d go to a stable. At least those smell better. Dutch slings an arm around Arthur’s shoulder, tugging him away from the saloon he was heading towards. 

“You’re gonna have to save the cheating for later, Arthur, I need you for something.”

“You know I don’t cheat,” Arthur jokes and Dutch grins at him and it’s nice. This is familiar to him. This feels right. Dutch has been odd lately, the jobs he’s been taking, the risks he’s been imposing, none of them feels like the man he knows. 

Now, Arthur would follow Dutch straight into hell without being asked. But he can’t abide by how he’s putting their people in harm's way. He’s felt like a stranger more often than not and he’s been doubting the people he shouldn’t. Right now, though, he can see the man he knows in the teasing curl of his lips. 

“What’dya need?”

Dutch pauses in front of a tailor and pats Arthur’s chest. “I need you to look prim and proper for a party we’ve got tonight.”

Arthur’s brows furrow cynically and he scoffs. “Someone invited us to a party?”

Dutch hesitates, a stiff smile on his face. “Well, let’s just say someone is interested in our work.” Arthur wants to question him further, he’s hiding something from him. But Dutch is pushing him towards the door of the shop before he can argue. “And get a haircut, we need to look presentable not like a bunch of mountain men.”

Arthur watches as Dutch leaves, something heavy weighing down on him. Dutch doesn’t usually tell people about his plans beforehand. At least not every step of them. But this is odd, he’s definitely hiding something and Arthur isn’t sure he wants to know what. 

With a resigned huff, he heads into the tailor. He has to mentally prepare himself for being stuffed into a starched collar and a stiff suit for the rest of the night. He hates these damn parties, hates having to pretend like he knows what the hell is being said. 

Most of the people that attend are educated or pretend to be. And when he lets it slip that he’s more likely to shoot a gun than read a book they turn on him like jackals. You can’t let them see that you’re different than them or you’ll never get a word in edgewise. 

The only part he enjoys is the booze and robbing them of their money. It’s not like they earned any of it. Most of it was made by breaking the backs of the people they mock for being too poor to afford a fancy suit. 

Arthur takes a deep breath and looks for the cheapest suit he can find in the overpriced shop. 

“Now,” Mr. Crane’s hand tightens around your bicep and he jerks you closer to him. You keep your face impassive, not letting him see just how much he’s hurting you. But you can feel your skin being stretched to its limits by his clammy fingers. “You’re going to behave tonight. I’ve got a few gentlemen I’d like you to meet.”

He looks at you expectantly but you keep your mouth firmly shut. His eyes narrow and he jerks you around roughly. “Understood,” you force the word out through gritted teeth. You’re trying to breathe as little as possible, not wanting to smell his cigar-laced breath any longer. 

Finally, after a tortuously long moment, he releases you. You take ten steps back, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles from the silk skirt he’d forced you in. You glance out the window of his office, watching as the workers scramble to set up the tables for tonight. You can hear cooks in the kitchen, shouting out orders for the food for tonight. 

Everything must be perfect. Mr. Crane never fails to deliver on his extravagantly indulgent parties. The man himself is the very embodiment of greed. You glance over with a disgusted sneer as he sinks himself into his leather chair and pulls out a wad of cash. 

He catches your eye and sends you a sickly sweet smile. “This,” he waves the money at you and you track the movement boredly. “Is how much you’re worth, sweetheart.” Your brows raise in amusement and you scoff. More than you thought he would put up for you. 

You wonder who he’s going to have transport you. He’ll need you out of the city soon, your father is starting to catch onto what’s happening. It took him long enough. You’ve been missing a month, you’d think he would have put two and two together faster. Then again, he’d never been very interested in you beyond what you were worth to others. 

“When will I be able to meet these gentlemen?” You ask, taking a step towards him. Your eyes dart towards the letter opener on his desk and for a brief moment you picture yourself strabbing it into his fattened jugular. 

But he flicks his wrist and like magic the door opens, his men coming inside and standing resolutely by your side. “Not anytime soon, my dear.” He looks to the men surrounding you and you take in a sharp breath, wishing you’d just taken the chance when you had it. “My associate is feeling quite tired, take her back to her room, please.”

They grab you by the elbows, even though it's entirely unnecessary. You wouldn’t run, and even if you did you wouldn’t get far with the chains he has hidden under your dress. A punishment for the first time you snuck from his home. You’ve been well behaved since then but he doesn’t trust you. 

You’re whisked away without another word. The trek of the stairs is a slow one. They’re forced to help you navigate by lifting your skirts and not tripping on the chains. It no longer brings you any satisfaction to cause a hindrance in any of their days. 

Before, you would think of being an annoyance as a small victory. But it’s not, it never was. It was just a way for them to keep you complacent by allowing you to think you’d done something for yourself. You believe your father used to do the same thing. 

It’s just another way of keeping you quiet. 

When you make it to your rooms, they shove you inside. Like clockwork, you hear the jingle of the keys and then the lock clicks. You sigh and take a step towards your vanity, working on touching up your hair. 

You think the worst part of this must be how well you’re treated. You have meals made by a private chef. Your quarters are decorated more lavishly than they ever were at your father’s house. Yet, you hear the suffocating tick of the clock as it counts down your doom. 

You’re not entirely sure what their plan is with you. You know your father had made a promise to Mr. Crane involving some land. Or perhaps it had been a wager. But as always, you were collateral when your father refused to pay up. 

You know Mr. Crane wants you out of town so that he has more time to negotiate with your father, to call in the interest he owes him. You also know the only reason your father is interested in finding you is because you’re meant to marry the son of a business partner in two months. The money he’ll get from that will be enough to finally pay off his debts. 

Except, now, Mr. Crane tells you that should your father refuse to pay you’ll be married to one of his associates. And the deal he’ll make from that will be enough to cover what your father has refused to pay. 

No matter what, you’re going to be married off to some man you’ve never met and yet again be a quiet trophy on a shelf. It’s a very convoluted situation, one which makes you think leaping from a window might be a better fate. 

None of the men your father or Mr. Crane is in business with are particularly kind. They’ve got more skeletons in the closet than there are in the graveyard. You doubt you’ll live a very happy life with whoever they pick for you. 

You slump forward onto the vanity, trying to fight off the burning feeling in the back of your eyes. You’ve known this would happen for years. Even before Mr. Crane had you kidnapped, you knew that this would be your destiny. You would never get to be one of the free-spirited women who fought for the right to choose. You would always be forced into this role. 

Yet, being so close to it coming to fruition makes you feel choked and suffocated. You can feel the noose around your neck tightening, the hangman’s fingers twitching as he waits to see you drop. 

You dig your nails into your palm, taking in a deep breath and fighting back the wave of despair. Where there is doom, you also see a sliver of hope. Your next journey will be a long one. He’s hiring someone to have you transported to an area further up the map. 

If you play your cards right you might be able to escape while you’re traveling. If you’re incredibly smart about this, thinking with your head and not your heart, you might have a shot at freedom. 

You take in a deep breath, reapplying your makeup and resolving yourself to another night of mindless entertainment. But you hold onto that fleeting feeling of hope. You have a shot, you just have to take it. 

Arthur’s heard of these parties before. Some Mr. Crane fella that likes to blow all his money on food and booze. He indulges his guests and when they’re weakest, gets their secrets from them. He’s a snake and everyone knows it. Yet, missing his party is social suicide. They have no choice but to go and indulge in him. 

Arthur had never had any interest in meeting him or doing any business with him. But Dutch had informed him that’s exactly what’s happening tonight. They’ll mingle for a little while, maybe scout some other jobs, and then Mr. Crane will invite them up to his office for a private discussion. 

Dutch still hasn’t told him what exactly their business with him is. He brought Hosea along tonight so he has to assume it’s not going to be anything violent. But he can’t think of anything else they could be good for. 

“Alright, gentlemen,” Dutch places his hands on Hosea’s and Arthur’s shoulders, a scheming smile on his face. “Try not to embarrass me.” He slips behind them, heading up the stairs of the home. Hosea and Arthur share a brief look before they split up, blending into the background of the garden. 

Arthur lurks near the bar, he knows he should be talking to these assholes, possibly learning something useful. But he can’t be bothered. He orders a whiskey, gaze surveying the partygoers. They’re all loud with painted faces and fake smiles. Not a goddamn person here seems to be genuinely interested in anything they’re doing. 

“First time?” The soft voice beside him catches him off guard. He glances to the side and is surprised to see that you’ve slipped past him. He hadn’t even noticed you slide up next to him. You laugh at the look on his face and it’s the first thing here that seems real. “Sorry, it’s just that look on your face, I recognize the disappointment. You’ve never been to one of Crane’s parties before?”

“No,” he clears his throat, still recovering from the surprise. “Uh, I can’t say I have.”

You suck on your teeth, narrowing your eyes at the people passing by. “They’re not worth the effort. Everyone who leaves here leaves carrying his debt on their back.”

Arthur chuckles a little, lips twitching up into a small smile. He’s surprised by your frankness, most people like to hide behind passive-aggressive digs. He appreciates the straightforward attitude. “Then why are you here?”

You shrug and Arthur finds himself enchanted. He shouldn’t be, he’s never been one for romance. He finds women pretty and he’s been in love before, but he’s never bought into the idea of love at first sight. Or any of that mushy stuff that Mary Beth devours in those books of hers. 

But you are absolutely gorgeous, dressed in a silk dress that’s so expensive he’s sure he could buy two new horses with it. Your fingers and neck are decorated in dainty jewels that you fidget with as you stare down at your drink. When you set your eyes on him again he thinks he might have been struck by Cupid’s arrow. 

“I don’t have a choice,” you finally answer, sending him a stiff smile. “What about you? Why are you here?”

Arthur suddenly remembers himself, remembers why he’s here and what he’s supposed to be doing. The fog in his head dissipates and he’s disappointed in himself. Pretty women have never done anything except get him in trouble. 

“Business,” he answers vaguely. Your eyes narrow and your brows twitch in discontent. Something like realization dawns on your face and you back away from him. The easy attitude you’d carried yourself with is gone, replaced by a vague look of distrust. 

“Right, should’ve known.” You let out a rough sigh and Arthur can’t help but feel like he’s said the wrong thing. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you again soon.” You slip past him before he can ask you what you mean. He hears the faint sound of metal clinking as you walk back up the stairs. 

Something silver flashes under your skirts but he can’t get a good glimpse of it. He feels unsettled as he turns back to the bar. The whole interaction was odd. From how stricken he was with you to how cold you turned. 

He doesn’t know what you saw in him but it was probably for the best that you left when you did. Neither of you needed the trouble the other would bring. He shakes his head, downing his whiskey and muttering nonsense to himself about not thinking with the wrong head. 

It’s not that much later that Dutch is appearing on the balcony and silently motions him forward. Arthur leaves the bar behind and slips up the same stairs you’d disappeared on. Dutch says nothing as he leads Hosea and Arthur through the house. 

The mansion is a maze more than anything. Arthur loses track of all the turns they take and the winding staircases they descend. Finally, Dutch stops them all in front of two large oak doors. He raps once on the door and then lets himself in. 

A large, balding man with a shiny head is perched on top of a leather chair. He looms behind his desk, fingers steepled as he greets them all with a false smile. “Ah, gentlemen, so nice to finally meet you.”

Dutch grins and motions to Arthur, “This is the man who will be doing the transporting, Arthur.” Arthur’s eyes narrow in confusion but he says nothing as Dutch moves to Hosea, “And this is my associate, Hosea. He’s a lot better with money than I am, Mr. Crane. You understand.”

Mr. Crane lets out a boisterous laugh that makes Arthur’s ears hurt and nods his head, his cheeks jiggling with the movement. “That I do! Well,” he waves them forward when they linger in the doorway too long, “come in, come in.”

Arthur closes the doors behind them as Mr. Crane lifts himself from his desk. There are two couches positioned in front of an unlit fire. He takes one of them and Dutch and Hosea take the other. Arthur perches himself on the armrest of their couch, eyes surveying the office like it might reveal the truth of their visit. 

“I trust Mr. Van der Linde has kept this all quiet?” 

“He has,” Arthur grouses. 

At the same time, Dutch says, “Of course, Mr. Crane. I promised confidentiality and Dutch Van der Linde is nothing if not a man who keeps to his promises.” Crane nods, looking satisfied and  Arthur holds back a laugh at how easily he seems to trust Dutch.

“Good, good.” He dips his hand inside his jacket and Arthur’s palm instinctively drops to where his gun should be. Of course, they’d had to give up their weapons before they came into the party, if he does has a gun Arthur can’t do a damn thing. 

But he doesn’t, instead, he pulls out the thickest stack of cash that Arthur has ever laid his eyes on. A loud thud resounds through the room as he slams the bills on top of the table between them. Arthur’s eyes widen and Hosea’s jaw nearly drops at the sight of it all. 

This would be enough to get them out of St. Denis tonight. Shock sours quickly into suspicion. What the hell has Dutch signed up for? “Now, this is the first half. This is simply for accepting the job and,” he gives them all severe looks, “for your silence.”

Arthur shifts uncomfortably on his perch and waits for Mr. Crane to finish. “The other half will be given once the package has been safely delivered.” There’s a certain lilt to his words when he says package that has Arthur’s hackles raising. Whatever is getting delivered is not going to be good. 

Crane turns towards the bookshelves on the wall and calls out, “Darling, won’t you join us?” Arthur figures the man must have lost his mind, they should just take the money and leave. But there’s a loud creak and something like metal gears grinding together. One of the shelves pops open and the panel swings forward. 

You pop your head out, glancing towards Crane and then taking a step forward. Arthur, without even thinking about it, finds himself sitting up, and brushing some of the dirt off his pants from the ride over. 

At first, he’s so confused by seeing you again that he doesn’t realize why exactly he’s seeing you again. Then you glance towards him, a knowing look on your face and it clicks. You’re the package. You’re what he’s meant to be transporting. 

He glares over at Dutch, when exactly did they get into the business of trading women?

Hosea voices his doubts in a much calmer manner. “If I may, sir, why does she need to be delivered so discreetly?”

Mr. Crane laughs and your face twitches unpleasantly. You grimace, glaring at the back of the man’s head with something like murder in your eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s done to cause such a visceral look of hate and he doesn’t want to think about it. This whole situation is bothering him. You’re not here willingly, which means you’re not going to be transported willingly either. 

None of this makes sense. Dutch would never have taken a job like this before, even when they needed the money. And there’s no way in hell a rich man like this one would want to pay a couple of grungy outlaws so much money. There’s got to be some sort of trick in all of this. 

Cran clears his throat, “She’s a daughter of a, well,” he frowns and struggles for the words. “Let’s just say we’re in a hostile competition for a lot of land. This land, boys, could be very beneficial in expanding my business. He’s not interested in selling and, well, desperate times, desperate measures.”

You scoff, laughing slightly at him and rounding the couch. Dutch ignores you, Hosea looks uncomfortable, and Crane continues prattling on without missing a beat. “Should her father not pay me, she will be married to the associate you’re bringing her to. He’s promised me enough land and money to cover what I lost to her father. And if he does pay, she’ll be returned in time for her wedding here.”

Arthur’s eyes dart towards you and you send him a bitter smile. It makes him shift where he sits, hating the way your eyes bore into him. “I just need someone who's not afraid of getting their hands a little dirty to make sure she behaves while she’s delivered to my friend,” Crane glances over at Arthur. He asses him, the bulge of his arms in the suit and the scars on his face, whatever he finds must be satisfactory because he smiles over at Dutch. 

Arthur stands, ready for Dutch to tell Mr. Crane that they’re not in the business of selling women off. But Dutch doesn’t, he smiles at Mr. Crane and reaches for the money, passing it off to Hosea to count. “Well, I do believe my friend Arthur is just the man for the job.” 

“I think you’re right, Dutch.” He stands up now, pot belly nearly bursting the buttons of his shirt, and reaches for Dutch’s hand. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Dutch smiles and takes his sweaty palm, “You as well, sir.” Dutch walks towards you and holds his arm out. “This way, my dear.” You glance between him and his elbow before rolling your eyes and reluctantly placing your hand on his arm. You follow him silently and obediently, no fight is left in you. Hosea follows after you both, a concerned look on his face. 

Arthur remains in the office, standing dumbfounded and staring at the doorway you’d disappeared through. He’s struggling to process what just happened. Arthur has helped people get home safely before and provided protection. But he’s never been one to traffic a hostage. 

Crane glances up, finally noticing him still standing there. He walks past him, patting his shoulder as he does and giving him an approving smile. “Don’t be afraid to take care of her should she get out of hand.” He’s nearly out the door but he looks back and adds, “Just don’t bruise her too much.”

Arthur’s fingers twitch for his revolver once more and he’s never wanted to shoot a man more. But he knows Dutch is waiting for him and he’d never make it out of here alive if he started a fight right now. Reluctantly, he makes his way out of the manor and towards where you’re all waiting for him. 

He’s fuming by the time he stops in front of Dutch. He’s trying to help you onto his horse and Arthur finally realizes what the metal sound he heard earlier is. There are chains around your ankles and you can’t maneuver yourself on the saddle. 

His eyes narrow and he glares at Dutch, “What the hell are you doing? We’re selling women now?”

Dutch glowers at the tone of Arthur’s voice. You watch them both passively, fiddling with the rings on your fingers and looking unbothered by the entire situation. “Watch yourself, Arthur,” there’s a clear warning in his tone but Arthur’s too upset to care. 

They’ve done a lot of bad things. They weren’t good men. But this was just going too far. “We need this, Arthur. You want to get out of here, you want to keep our people safe?” Arthur let out a deep exhale, gritting his teeth together and nodding reluctantly. Dutch huffs, “That’s what I thought. We’re not selling anyone, Arthur. It’s a simple delivery.”

His jaw clenches as he watches Dutch struggle to help you again. “It’s not going to work,” you inform Dutch. You lift your skirts, flashing him the chains he hadn’t seemed to notice yet. Neither of you gets a chance to say anything as Arthur pulls out his gun and shoots the lock off. 

He feels a little guilty at how startled you look. Your eyes widen until they look like they might bulge out. Your hands fly up to cover your ears as the sound rocks through you. It breaks violently through the silence of the night. 

Dutch turns and gives him a stern look, “Have you forgotten the meaning of subtlety?” Arthur can tell he’s trying not to shout and drag any more attention towards you all. 

Arthur glares at Dutch, something wicked brewing in his stomach. “The lady wouldn’t be able to ride a horse like that.” He mounts his horse and rides off without a look back. He can’t stand to be near you or Dutch any longer. 

The reality of what they’ve turned into hits him like a bag of rocks and it makes him irate. They’ve never been these people. Never traded a person off like they were an object. He’s sure plenty of people in camp would have a problem with this. But he doubts Dutch will let them know the truth until the job is done. 

And by then, everyone will be too happy with the money to complain. Dutch is nothing if not good at saving his ass. He’s hitching his horse as the rest of you ride into camp. He lingers by Diablo, resting a hand on the thick neck of the shire while Dutch helps you off the saddle. 

His eyes narrow in on the way Dutch’s fingers glide along your waist as you jump down. You take a step back the second your legs are steady sending Dutch a dirty look that almost makes Arthur laugh. 

He starts towards Dutch, ready to try and reason with him again. But he holds his hand up and walks away, not even giving him a chance to speak. Arthur lets out a rough sigh as Hosea comes up behind him. 

He pats his shoulder comfortingly, “You should get some sleep, Arthur. You’ll ride with her to Strawberry tomorrow morning.” He almost walks off but he whispers a quiet, “I’m sorry,” before he goes. 

Arthur glances towards you but you’re looking around the camp, eyes lingering on Javier as he sings by the fire. He swears he almost sees you smile but it's gone as quickly as it came. He takes his hat off, running his hand through his hair and letting out a tired sigh. 

“Alright, come with me,” he starts towards the house. It takes a minute to realize you’re not directly behind him. When he looks over your shoulder he sees you with your skirts lifted, tiptoeing through the mud and trying not to get your pretty skirts dirty. 

He rolls his eyes, storming back towards you. Your eyes widen at the look on his face and you stumble back a few steps. Undeterred, he bends over, throwing you over his shoulder and walking towards the house. 

Your hands claw at his back, desperately grasping onto his shirt so you keep your balance. He storms up the stairs, ignoring the alarmed looks he gets from others in camp. He can already hear them whispering, wondering who you are and why he’s dragging you into his room. 

They can make up whatever the hell they want. Arthur’s too pissed off to give a shit about rumors tonight. He drops you unceremoniously onto his bed and storms back out. He heads downstairs, rooting around in one of the chests for some extra clothes. 

You won’t be able to ride to Strawberry in those ridiculous clothes. You’ll need some pants if you’re going to sit on the horse properly. He tucks the outfit under his arm and makes his way back to you. 

When he opens the door your hand immediately darts away from his shaving kit and shoves itself under your butt. His brows furrow as he catches a flash of silver in your hand. He places the clothes down on the end of the bed, eyes drifting towards his shaving kit. Sure enough, his razor seems to be missing. 

He lets out a sigh and you tense up, hand clenching around your prize. He briefly debates taking it from you. But he figures you should be allowed a modicum of comfort. Even if you did try and use it against him it’s dull, he hasn’t sharpened it in a while and you wouldn’t be able to do much damage anyway. 

He lets you keep it, leaving you on your own without another word. He can hear the exhale of relief you let out when he walks away and it makes him feel just a little better about this. At least you’re not completely terrified. 

You change into the clothes Arthur gave you. They’re a little big, but you appreciate the pants. It’s much better than the ridiculous dresses Crane had you in. You collect your dress and toss it out the window of Arthur’s room, watching it sink into the mud pit below. It brings you some satisfaction to see Crane’s pretty silk getting ruined. 

You take off the jewelry you’d been given and stuff it into your boots. If you did manage to escape while you were traveling with Arthur then you were going to need some cash. You could sell off the jewels and hopefully, it would be enough to keep you comfortable. 

It feels nice, to wear real clothes. Not being dressed up like a doll for once. You envy some of the women here, who can wear what they want. There is an appeal to the outlaw life. As long as you’re on the right side of it, which, currently, you’re not. 

You slip out of the house before anyone has a chance to retrieve you. The whole night you were curled up around a dull razor with your eyes wide open. Spending a night surrounded by outlaws isn’t exactly restful. 

You figure you might as well try and walk around before you’re on the back of a horse for the rest of the day. There are more people up than you’d expected. Luckily, you don’t see Dutch around anywhere. You don’t feel like having to deal with any more of his false charm or empty apologies. 

The same man you’d seen strumming his guitar the night before is asleep next to the dying fire. A blonde woman catches your eye, she’s walking past some other women in dresses. They’re still asleep but she looks like she’s been up for hours. 

There’s a bit of blood on her pants and you briefly wonder what she’d been doing. “Who are you?” She asks, surveying you from head to toe with suspicion in her eyes. 

“A package,” you tell her bluntly, walking past her towards the only lit fire of camp. She follows you, a wry grin on her face as she watches you pour yourself some coffee. 

“You’ve got a real attitude, I like it.” 

You huff out a laugh, taking a sip of the burnt coffee and giving her a brief smile. “I’m sure my future husband won’t.” 

She rolls her eyes and scoffs, waving you off. “Husbands, good for nothing. I loved mine but he was useless as a sack o’ flour. You’re better off without them.”

Your smile turns strained and you look down at your feet, at the boots that aren’t your own. You’ll never get to dress like this again. Or speak like this to a woman who isn’t afraid to voice what's on her mind. 

“Yes, well,” you shrug and meet her eyes again, “I don’t seem to have much of a choice.”

Her eyes narrow and she frowns, “What’s that supposed to-”

“Mrs. Adler!” Dutch’s voice booms from across the camp and forces the others awake. Most of them grumble, but they’re quick to get started on morning chores. “I see you’ve met our guest,” he says your name with a flourish that almost makes you laugh. 

He’s a good actor. He’s especially good at covering up his mistakes. “Yeah, what’s going on, Dutch? Who is she? Why don’t you guys ever let me in on this stuff?” She fires off questions rapidly, you almost don’t catch them all. There are clearly underlying issues here other than your unexpected presence. 

“In due time,” he assures her, laying the charm on thick. But even you can tell he’s full of it. He’s not planning on letting her in on anything unless it benefits him. “And this is our guest, her fiancee has paid us handsomely to provide her safe passage back to him.” 

He walks towards you, laying a hand over your arm and squeezing slightly. You give Sadie a stiff smile and let him lead you away. “I do believe it’s best that you just wait for Arthur, dear.” He gives you a look that lets you know it’s an order, not a suggestion. 

Still, you play along, “I think you might be right, Mr. Van der Linde, thank you for the hospitality.” You run a tired hand over your face, sitting down on the stoop of the house and finishing off the rest of your coffee. Dutch watches you for a while, never straying too far from where you are and intercepting anyone who asks about you. 

He spins quite the romantic tale of your lost love and how he desperately wants you back. You wish it were true, that you were living out some wonderful fairytale and were about to be reunited with the love of your life. Instead, it feels like one long walk to the gallows. 

The wood creaks behind you and you don’t need to turn to see who it is. “Ready?” Arthur asks and you figure he means, ready to leave freedom and happiness and the will to live behind? 

No, “Sure,” you toss the rest of the coffee into the grass and leave the mug on the stairs. You get to your feet and let him lead you towards the horses. He shares a brief look with Dutch as you pass by him but it doesn’t look entirely pleasant. 

He makes his way toward a towering black shire and your eyes widen in horror. “What’s this?”

He works on saddling the horse up, not paying much attention to you. “This is Diablo.” You take a step closer and the horse starts huffing, swinging his neck towards you with his lips pulled back. You jump back a step back, eyeing him warily. 

Arthur glances over and lets out a low chuckle, “He won’t bite. He’s just curious.”

“Mhm,” you give him a disbelieving look. “You’ll have to excuse me for being wary, I’ve not met a lot of horses.”

Arthur looks a bit shocked by your admission. “Really?” He questions, sounding doubtful. 

You give him a brief smile and nod. “Hard to believe, I know, but I’ve lived a very sheltered life, Mr. Morgan. Haven’t had many opportunities for exploring on my own.” 

He opens his mouth, looking like he wants to say something. At the last second, he stops himself, instead taking a step closer to you. You flinch away from him when he reaches for you and he lets out a sigh. “You can’t spend the next three days terrified of him, come on.”

He coaxes you forward and you reluctantly step closer to the beast. He chuckles at the scared look on your face. You don’t appreciate how much amusement he’s gaining from this. “Come on,” he mutters, taking your wrist and leading you closer to Diablo. 

The damn thing is named Devil, how could you not be terrified of it? 

“He won’t bite, I promise.” You don’t trust him but he doesn’t give you much of a choice. He presses your open palm to Diablo’s nose and you wince, bracing for him to lash out at you. 

But he doesn’t, he lets out a soft knicker and it seems like he doesn’t even care that you’re there. You let out a relieved laugh, running your hand tentatively over his muzzle. It’s shockingly soft and oddly squishy. 

He doesn’t seem to mind as you awe over him. You smile and glance over at Arthur but it drops when you see the odd look on his face. He seems perplexed by your reaction and you can’t fathom why. “You really never have ridden a horse before, have you?”

You shake your head, “No. I told you.”

He purses his lips and nods. You don’t know what it is about this that’s bothering him and you don’t care to ask. If he doesn’t believe just how strict your upbringing has been then fine. “Alright, come on, we need to get a move on.” 

He leads you around to the saddle and helps you up on the back of the horse. It’s beyond odd, sitting on something in pants. Getting to spread your legs freely is something you are going to greatly enjoy during this journey. 

Arthur takes off without much warning and you yelp, throwing your arms around his waist to steady yourself. He glances over his shoulder at you but says nothing. You turn your head, watching as the camp gets smaller and smaller. 

The people mill about, greet each other, and break bread together. It hits you suddenly, this will be the last time you get to see people being free. If you don’t get out, if you can’t escape, your life will be filled with starched collars and powdered faces. You’ll never have a genuine conversation with someone again. You’ll be turned into pretty jewelry hanging off the arm of a man you never met. 

The ride to Strawberry is three days at least. You have three days to get your plan together and to escape. You almost feel sorry for Arthur and the repercussions he’ll have to face losing you. But not sorry enough that you’re not gonna try. 

Arthur’s speed evens out and you let your arms relax, easing away from him slightly. Your wrist jolts against the gun on his hip and you eye it curiously. If you had a gun there would be no doubt you could escape. You see Arthur’s fingers twitch on the reigns of the horse and you move your arms higher up his torso. 

You doubt you’ll be a quicker draw than he is. He is an outlaw after all. You don’t think he’d have many qualms about delivering you to your fiancee with a few extra holes in your gut. Your mind drifts to the razor in your pocket and you consider it for a moment. 

You’re sure you’d be quick enough to just whip it out and slit his throat. You sigh and dismiss the thought. You were a lot of things but you were not a murderer. There are lines you can’t bring yourself to cross. Besides, as wicked as what he’s doing to you is, you know he’s a good man. 

It was an instinctual feeling. Mr. Crane and your father were both horrible, evil men. They knew nothing but greed and would never be satisfied by all the riches they reaped. They were the type of men you looked at and knew deep down that there was nothing left to save. 

Arthur has undoubtedly bad things. You don’t become an outlaw without spilling some blood. He was weathered and rough from a hard life, but that didn’t mean there was nothing good left in him. You won’t have his blood on your hands, no matter how much you might want to get away from him. 

As grateful as Arthur is for the silence, it is odd. He’s helped a few ladies find their way back home before and for some reason, they seem to think he’s the best listener in the world. It seems everyone who rides with him wants to tell him their life stories. 

You’re completely silent, though. He has to keep looking back just to make sure you haven’t fallen off the back of the horse. You’re pretty complacent, following along with whatever Dutch said and coming along quietly. You seem beaten down, the fight dragged out of you. 

He wonders what Mr. Crane had done to you. A few times, he’s seen just a glimpse of the spark that used to be there. But it was snuffed out before he got a chance to know it. He almost wishes you would talk. It would distract him from what he was doing right now.

It didn’t feel right, bringing you along to marry a man you’ve never even met. He has to keep reminding himself that it would have happened no matter what. Ladies like you are always sold off into a profitable marriage. The only thing he’s doing is switching up who the fiancee might be. 

None of that makes him feel better, though. He should be helping you, not dragging you away to your worst nightmare. But, his people come first. The amount of money Dutch’ll get from this will be enough to get them all out of here. This could finally be the last score. 

You gasp behind him and he whips his head around, immediately expecting someone to be following along beside you both. Maybe your father’s men or just some raiders. But he doesn’t see anything except a herd of deer running through the trees. 

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances back at you. You’re watching them like they’re something spectacular. Arthur’s always been a fan of the quiet beauty of nature. He appreciates them in ways most folks don’t understand. But you’re looking at ‘em like you just found God. 

“Never seen deer before?” He teases, chuckling a little at your reaction. 

You startle, not realizing he had been watching. You clear your throat and look away from them sheepishly. He almost feels bad for ruining the moment for you. “No. No, I haven’t.” 

He knows it's possible, but it’s astounding to him that someone truly lived their whole life in the city. It just doesn’t seem right. Cities are full of shit, smog, and bad people. Not even having a moment out of that your whole life seems like torture. 

“I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts,” you mutter, eyes darting back to the tree line. But the deer are gone and you don’t look very interested anymore. 

“Right,” he shifts forward, the air between you awkward. He’d only meant it in jest. He didn’t mean to remind you of what was about to happen to you. He doesn’t like the silence, not this time, it feels wrong. It makes him stew in his shame and that’s a nasty feeling. 

Selfishly, he prods you for more. “A few days on the road, you’ll be eager for the city again.”

You laugh but there’s no humor to it. “I very much doubt that Mr. Morgan.”

“Arthur,” he corrects, “just call me Arthur.”

“Right,” your tone remains cold, “well if you don’t mind Arthur, I’d like to ride there in silence.”

He's got no other choice but to comply. If you don’t want to talk he won’t make you. He just wishes he could make this a little easier for you both. 

Camping is something. You don’t have a word for it. It’s nice to be out in nature and embrace it for the first time in your life. But you really would not mind the comfort of your bed right now. 

Rocks digging into your spine and head do not make for a good night’s sleep. You’ve been lying in front of the fire for hours, flipping around uselessly. It doesn’t matter how much you shift, the rock stays digging painfully into you. 

You let out a loud huff, flopping onto your back and glaring up at the starry sky in defeat. At least the view is nice. In the city, you can’t see the stars. The smoke’s too thick and you never get a good look at them.

Out here, they almost feel fake. They’re so bright and beautiful, you thought the paintings in the museum had always been exaggerating just how breathtaking a night sky can be. But you were wrong. And you hate that there’s a potential future where you’ll never get to see this again. 

“Would you quit squirming so damn much?”

You shoot up, resting on your elbows and glaring over at Arthur. He’s got his hat over his eyes, arms crossed, and looking like he’s been asleep for the past few hours. You hadn’t realized you’d been keeping him up. 

“Some of us aren’t used to sleeping outside,” you hiss, throwing yourself back down to the ground. He doesn’t say anything for a while and you figure that’s the end of it. You clench your eyes shut, counting sheep in your mind and trying to force yourself asleep. 

You hear boots crunching across leaves and your eyes fly open. Arthur’s standing over you, hands propped on his hips as he glares down at you. “Can I help you?” You snap when you get tired of the staring. 

He scoffs and shakes his head, kneeling to be eye level with you. You’re startled by the proximity, an odd heat creeping up your neck. “Come on, I’m gonna tire you out. Maybe then you’ll get some sleep.”

You gasp, astonished at the audacity of his suggestion. “Excuse me?” You demand, tone incredulous. 

His brows furrow before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Not like that,” he grouses. “Get up,” he doesn’t give you much of a choice. He places his hand under your back, shoving you onto your feet. You stand with a slight stumble, glaring at him as you brush dirt off your shirt and pants. 

You can’t help the snotty tone of your voice as you ask, “What are we doing?” 

“Huntin,’” He answers gruffly, going over to the horse and taking the bow out of his saddle. 

Your brows furrow as you recall the few stories your father told you of hunting bison. “Aren’t you supposed to use a rifle?”

He shakes his head and nods towards the treeline. You glance back at the fire before reluctantly following him into the dark forest. The moon is full enough that it provides just enough light for you not to be terrified of what’s lurking in the underbrush. 

“Got a friend,” he tells you, kneeling and glancing at some tracks on the ground. “Taught me how to hunt properly. Bows are quieter, less disruptive, and they provide quicker, cleaner kills.” He looks back at you and motions towards the arrows, “Less pain for the animal.”

Your face slacks with something like astonishment. All you’d heard from your father was the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of the kill. He never mentioned keeping anything from the animal, using it for meat, or about how long it took for them to die. You’d never thought there was anybody who actually cared for the creature’s comfort as it died. 

You suppose there’s going to be a lot about Arthur that’s different from the men you know. 

“Arthur,” a twig snaps behind you, and your eyes widen. You drop your voice to a whisper, not wanting to draw too much attention towards you both. “I don’t want to kill anything,” you hiss.

“Ha!” He barks out a laugh and you purse your lips in irritation. He stands and looks at you, chuckling again before shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be so confident in your huntin’ skill, kid.”

You click your tongue and glare at him, “Don’t call me that,” you snap. It’s the same patronizing nickname your father loved to use on you and you detest it. He raises his hands in surrender and you roll your eyes at the smirk on his face. “Then what’s the point of this?”

He shrugs and heads further into the trees, you have no choice but to follow along behind him. “Figure you should be taught a few skills before I get rid of ya.”

You want to argue with him that there’s no point. If you are given to Crane’s associate, you’ll never set foot in the woods again. However, if you do manage to escape him, learning a few survival skills wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

So, you keep your mouth shut and let him lead you through the forest. “How do you know where to go?” You ask, trying to figure out what it is he keeps looking at in the mud. He waves you forward, moving you so you’re standing directly in front of him. 

“You see that?” You have to squint, relying solely on the light from the moon, to make out what he’s pointing at. There are some tracks in the mud that look vaguely like hooves. “It’s buck tracks, you can tell by the size.” He kneels and when you don’t follow he tugs you down by the sleeve. “You can’t rely on just the tracks, though. You have to look for other signs of ‘em.”

You glance around, noticing some crushed twigs and grass a few feet ahead. “Like that?” You point towards it and he huffs in amusement. 

“Caught on quicker than I thought.”

You feel vaguely offended by that but don’t bother voicing it, just glare at his back as he gets up. You walk silently through the forest, letting Arthur show you which tracks to follow and which to avoid. You’re not comforted by how many cougar prints you find. You stare up into the branches always expecting something to already be looking down at you. 

Miraculously, no wild cat chooses you for dinner as you track the buck down. You find him near a small stream, antlers dipping into the water as he takes a drink. He’s got to be one of the most gorgeous creatures you’ve ever seen. 

You’ve lived your whole life in St. Denis. The most you’ve seen are overworked carriage horses and mangy dogs. No life slips through the cracks of that place. There’s just smoke and misery. This is nature, real beauty. It’s breathtaking, the way the leaves ripple in the wind and the starlight reflects in the water. 

You can’t imagine seeing this and wanting to tear it down to put up an oily machine that contributes nothing to the earth but death. It just makes you hate your father more. It also makes you more resolved to not be forced back into that life. You can’t do it. You can’t have this one taste of freedom and then let it go without a fight. 

Arthur pulls the bow out and nocks an arrow. You glance between him and the buck and rapidly shake your head. “No,” you hiss, “I don’t wanna kill it.”

He rolls his eyes and moves you in front of him. You don’t have much choice as he places your hands on the string and guides you into the right position. “Relax,” he murmurs in your ear as you fight against his grip. “You ain’t gonna kill it.” 

It doesn’t bring you much comfort, but if you’re going to make it on your own, sometimes you’ll have to do something you don’t like. “Now,” his hand drifts down your bicep and you suck in a sharp breath. “Don’t hold it too long, you’ll get tired.” 

It’s dawning on you just how close you both are. You’re kneeling on the ground with him behind you, essentially cradling your body to him. You’ve never been this familiar with a man before, it’s making your brain short-circuit. You can hardly pay attention to what he’s telling you. 

He lifts your elbow slightly and points you towards the left. “You need to keep your arm steady even after you let go or your aim will be off. Take in a deep breath and release on the exhale.” You give him an apprehensive look, still not wanting to hurt the buck. He just nods and there’s something in his gaze that lets you relax slightly. 

You release the string and the arrow flies over the buck’s head, burying itself into the tree behind it. Its head shoots up and it turns towards you both before dashing off. You let out an astonished laugh, glancing down the bow and then back at Arthur. 

“My god, I’ve never shot anything before.”

“Congratulations, you’ve killed your first tree,” he remarks dryly, but you see the glint of humor in his eye. 

He gets to his feet and offers you a hand up. You smile up at him, undeterred by his attitude. “Thank you for this,” you tell him earnestly. He gives you an odd look but nods anyway. He doesn’t understand just how important this is to you. Knowing how to do something like this is the difference between life and death when you’re on your own. Of course, he doesn’t realize you’ll be making an escape attempt soon. 

He retrieves the arrow from the tree and you run your hand over the curve of the bow. You wonder just how much he’d miss this if you took it from him. 

Arthur’s tearing down the camp and you’re standing by Diablo, feeding him some apples. You stroke absentmindedly over the horse's muzzle, watching Arthur intently. He’s too busy pulling the tent apart to be paying attention to you. 

You got better sleep last night than you did at Crane’s. He was right, hunting had tired you out. You were eager enough to sleep that you didn’t even feel the rough ground underneath you. He seems to be a little more lax about his watch over you. 

Something about last night must have eased him into a sense of comfort that you’re not going to run. That’s his own fault, though. You glance over the curve of the hill, noticing a carriage that will be passing by soon enough. 

You look back at Arthur and ease slightly away from Diablo. Arthur is still collecting the blankets and rolling them up. He turns towards the dying fire and tosses the rest of the coffee out. You take another step back and he keeps his back to you. 

Slowly, you release Diablo’s reigns, giving him one last apple before you turn on your heel and run down the hill. Your foot slips out from under you and you let out a loud yelp as you go flying headfirst down the grass. 

You land on your back with enough impact to make the breath rush out of you. But your descent is still going and you’re flipping over headfirst into the road. You slide forward, the dirt scraping up your chin as you cough and try and catch your breath. 

“Look out!” You roll out of the way just before the carriage rolls over you. Someone shouts your name from the top of the hill and you see Arthur glaring down at you. He starts towards you and you scramble to your feet. 

“Stop!” You scream, waving your arms wildly and chasing after the carriage. The man gives you a bewildered look as you throw yourself at him. “Please, sir, I’ve been kidnapped, you must help me get back to my husband.”

The man looks behind you, sees a very angry Arthur bellowing out your name, and moves to the side. “Hurry up,” he urges, giving you a hand on the bench beside him. You let out a relieved breath, taking his hand and throwing yourself the rest of the way up. 

He whips the horses, hurrying them along all the while Arthur is yelling after you. It’s not hard to believe that he would kidnap you. He looks half-crazed as he follows along behind you. You turn over your shoulder, giving him a brief wave and a smile. “Thanks for the help,” you tell the man beside you. You offer your hand and name. 

He glances down at it but doesn’t take it, instead looking forward and ignoring you entirely. Something uneasy settles in your stomach but you push it aside. You blame the feeling on the adrenaline still pumping through you. 

“Where are you headed?” You ask, glancing into the back of the carriage. You notice some moonshine and a crate full of guns but decide not to question it. 

“Said yer husband’s waitin’ for ya?” He demands, completely ignoring your question. You stare at the side of his face but his expression isn’t giving anything away. He comes to an intersection. You see a sign pointing towards a town and figure he’s going to take it, but instead, he pulls onto a smaller trail leading to the woods. 

“Um,” you clear your throat uncertainly, glancing back at the sign. “Yes,” your voice cracks and you know you sound like you’re full of shit. 

He laughs and the sound sends chills down your spine. You rip your eyes off of him, looking down at the horses and suddenly realizing just what you’d gotten yourself into. “You sure about that, little lady?”

Something cold digs into your side and you gasp quietly, looking down to see a gun pressed against your ribs. “You scream, run, or do anythin’ to piss me off and I’ll put a fourth hole in ya.” When you don’t say anything he digs it harder into you. “Understand?” He growls and you can do nothing but nod your head. 

You want to move, want to shove him off the side of the carriage and make a run for it. But you can’t, you’re frozen solid. You’re so petrified with fear you can’t even blink. You think you’re holding your breath, as if taking in air is going to set the gun off. 

He grins, a blackened curl of lips over rotted teeth, at your obedience and comes to a stop in the trees. “What are you doing?” You whisper, staring at the secluded area with a newfound sense of horror. 

“Shut up,” he snaps, his voice echoing through the quiet of the woods. You hear no birds or animals and you feel so alone it makes you want to cry. He gets off the carriage and turns towards you. “Down,” he demands. Your eyes dart towards the reigns of the horses and he pulls the hammer of the gun back. “Don’t even think about it.”

You lift your hands in the air, slowly slipping down the seat. He doesn’t appreciate you taking your time He grabs the front of your shirt, jerking you further into the trees and tossing you to the ground. 

You let out a rough groan at the impact, blood staining your shirt as your elbow slips across a jagged rock. It’s like something is snapped loose in your mind. He comes stomping towards you, kneeling between your spread legs and it finally clicks. 

You lunge forward with a shout and he rears back in surprise. You wonder how often someone’s actually fought against him or just let it happen. You don’t want to die, you don’t want to get shot by this scum, but there are a lot of things worse than dying. 

You grab the arm holding the gun, jerking it around, and knocking it out of his hand. “You bitch!” He hisses, bringing his open palm down across your cheek. The smack rings through the trees and ricochets through the air. Your head whips to the side so hard you think you might have snapped your neck. 

Blood dribbles out from your lips, your teeth having bitten into the fat of your cheeks. You spot the gun nearby, the silver of the barrel glinting from under the leaves. Just as you reach for it, he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles and dragging you back towards him. 

You feel like screaming as your hands desperately grasp at the dirt underneath you. But there’s not enough air to scream. You dig your nails into the mud, feel them split against the rocks, and kick at his chest hard enough to make him lose his breath. 

His grip on you loosens and you throw yourself at the pile of leaves. Hands groping for something solid. Just as he flips you over you wrap your hand around the handle of the gun. You pull the trigger and the bang is deafening. 

Your ears ring and your hands are trembling from the recoil. His jaw goes slack and he tumbles on top of you. You let out a grunt, breath pushed out of you by his weight. You scramble against his chest, something warm making your hands slip as you struggle to roll him off of you. 

You glance over, waiting for him to spring back up. But there’s something dark pooling around him and sinking into the dirt below. There’s a hole in his chest and his eyes are already flattening. You fall back against the earth, staring up at the trees above you. 

The sounds rush back to you all at once. The birds singing, deers prancing somewhere in the distance. You hear a stream rushing nearby and let out a stunned laugh. There’s a smile on your face but there’s nothing to be happy about. 

You think you might be in shock. Mind still trying to catch up to what just happened. You glance down at the gun in your hand and toss it to the side, not wanting it near you anymore. Only a second later do you reach for it again. 

You struggle onto your hands and knees, checking over yourself for any injuries that you might be numb to right now. The only blood on you is from the dead man on the ground. You keel over, hands on your knees, and suck in a deep gasping breath. 

You stumble back, limping towards the carriage. You dig around in the back of the wagon, tugging out a giant hunting knife and walking towards the horses. You cut them loose, keeping the rope on one of them and tugging yourself onto her back. You tuck the knife in your belt and nudge her side, leading her forward gently. 

You don't even have time to process the fact that you’re riding a horse on your own. Your body is moving on autopilot. You can only think about getting ahead, getting away. What just happened will hit you later. You slump against the neck of the horse, adrenaline leaking out of you and exhaustion catching up. 

He’s going to find you and he’s going to kill you. Leaving while he had his back turned. Getting on some carriage with a man you’ve never met before. How dumb do you have to be? You can’t trust people out here. Not when there are gangs, raiders, hell, he’s encountered a few cannibals. 

For all he knows, you’re already dead and he’ll be delivering a body to the train station. The thought makes him curse and urge Diablo forward. It’s not hard to follow the tracks of the carriage, what concerns him is when they lead into the forest instead of the town. 

“Goddammit,” he mutters, “the hell have you done woman?” He leaps off Diablo, figuring it will be easier to track you on foot. He follows the paths of the wheels, finding the wagon abandoned and the horses cut loose. 

His brows furrow in confusion as he wanders around the side and spots a lump in the leaves. All he can see is the bottom of a boot and blood splattered across the orange of the fallen leaves. 

His stomach plummets and he races towards it. But it’s not you buried under the foliage, it’s the man who offered you a ride. “What the hell?” He kneels, brushing the leaves off his chest and frowning when he sees the blood splattered all along his chest. 

He doesn’t need to look long to figure out what killed him. He’s sure the bullet buried in his heart did the job. Arthur curses and stalks away from the man. There are prints where the horses were but there are too many to tell which one you might have taken. 

He’ll have to rely on instinct to find you. You’re becoming a real pain in the ass for what was supposed to be a simple job. Still, he can’t help but be a little relieved that it was a stranger and not you lying dead on the ground. 

He turns back onto the road, taking the turn into town. Someone on horseback rides past him, they look disgusted by something up ahead and it makes alarms go off in his head. He urges Diablo forward, running the rest of the way into town. 

An unsaddled mare lazily eats some grass as the sound of a rushing river meets his ears. Diablo’s hooves sound off against the wood of the bridge. He finally sees what disturbed the other rider so much. 

You’re sitting on the railing of the bridge, legs dangling dangerously over the edge as you stare down into the crashing waters below you. Arthur gets off his horse, approaching you slowly. He doesn’t want to startle you and have you go tumbling over the edge. 

He calls out your name and you glance briefly over at him. Blood is splattered across your neck and the front of your shirt is soaked with it. He knows it isn’t yours but it still puts him on edge. “What’re you doin’ kid?” 

You don’t answer him, “Did you follow me?” He eases up beside you, straddling the railing so he can catch you if you slip. He nods and you let out a rough sigh. “Is he dead?”

He scoffs, “Sure as shit hope so, don’t know how someone would survive that.”

A manic laugh bursts through your lips and you double over your head falling into your hands. Arthur surges forward, steadying you before you dive headfirst into the river. “Alright, let’s go,” he quietly urges you around. You don’t put up a fight, letting him maneuver you how he likes.

He gets you on your feet and leads you back to Diablo. You latch onto the horse's reigns immediately, stroking your hand over his mane. Your silence is concerning. Arthur doesn’t know what your regular behavior is, the most he’s seen of you, you have been quiet. This is different, though. He’s seen this sort of quiet in women before and it never ends pretty. 

“You’re alright, come on,” he tries to keep his voice low so he doesn’t set you off. He keeps his hands light as they land around your waist, giving you help onto Diablo’s saddle. Your gaze is distant and you move like someone else is controlling your body. 

He collects the mare you’d brought along with you and leads both horses into town. He’ll have to get a saddle for her, she already seems attached to you. And maybe taking a horse with you into the city will let you escape a little. 

The town, at least, is on the way to Strawberry so he doesn’t have to worry about being too far off schedule. Though, that’s the least of his concerns right now. His eyes keep darting up to you. Waiting for you to try and bolt again or finally break down. It doesn’t look like anything is going on in your head, you seem completely distanced from the situation. 

It’s a good thing for him. He can’t handle a distraught woman. He’s not a kind enough man for it. 

He hitches the horses in front of the hotel. You turn in the saddle, staring down at him and waiting for a hand down. You slide easily through his hands, landing in the mud with a dull thud and heading up the stairs of the hotel without prompt. 

He huffs and follows after you. He doesn’t know how to explain the blood on your clothes away and hopes he won’t have to. The man running the place, thankfully, doesn’t have many questions. He looks disturbed but keeps his qualms to himself when Arthur slips him a little extra cash. 

Arthur guides you up the stairs with a light hand on your back, opening the door of the bath for you. “Alright, here’s your room key. I’ll be out for a while so, just,” he sighs, taking in the blank look on your face and shaking his head. “Try not to cause any more trouble.” You nod and close the door behind him. 

There’s no worries that you’re going to make a run for it again. He’s sure whatever happened in those woods was scarring enough to make you want to go back to the city and never see country folk again. He wouldn’t blame you, there are some nasty people out here. Himself included, but he could never imagine hurting a woman like that. It just ain’t right. 

He heads to the shop across the street, buying some new clothes for you that actually fight properly. The horses are brought to the stables and he goes ahead and gets a paper for your mare under your name. Diablo will be faster tomorrow if he doesn’t have to carry the weight of two people. You might make it to your handler in time. 

Arthur still doesn’t feel right about this whole thing. Leaving you with a man you’ve never met feels even worse knowing what happened to you today. He doesn’t think you being so calm about it all is a good thing. Shouldn’t women react?

Dutch likes to tell him women are a more sensitive breed. He’s seen some tough ones in his life, but this seems like the time to be in hysterics if there ever was one. He heads back to the hotel, planning on just leaving the change of clothes in your room. 

He passes by the bath and hears an odd sound seeping through the cracks. Frowning, he presses his ear up against the door. A man passes by him, giving him a disgusted look as he goes into his room. Arthur sighs but he stays where he is. 

It’s clearer now, you’re crying and it’s hard to listen to. It's the type that makes it hard to breathe. That sort of crying makes your ribs ache and bruise. It’s wrong to keep listening to such a vulnerable moment. So, he does what he planned, drops the clothes in your room, and then heads to bed himself. 

Sleep comes easier than he thought it would. It’s not as restful as he’d been hoping but it draws over him faster than it normally does. He’s always been a light sleeper, though. It comes from years of having to be on guard in case some O’Driscoll is gonna try and slit his throat while he’s asleep. 

When he hears the door creak his hand is already on the trigger of his revolver as he shoots up in bed. The glow of the lamps outside illuminates what’s clearly a woman’s form. But he can’t see your face until you take a step further into the room and the moonlight provides some light. 

“Arthur?” You whisper his name, peering into his room. “Are you awake?”

“I am now,” he grumbles. With a sigh, he shoves the gun back under his pillow and runs a rough hand over his face. “What'd ya want?”

You let out a low breath and rock back on your heels. “I’m sorry,” you mutter. “I just, I can’t sleep. I keep thinking he’s gonna creep out of my closet or bust through the door, I-”

You cut yourself off but he can hear the emotion thickening your voice. He clenches his eyes shut in irritation, arguing with himself over what he’s about to say. “You wanna sleep in here?” He mumbles reluctantly. 

You close the door immediately, practically running towards his bed. “You don’t mind?”

You’re not really giving him a choice, but he’s not going to say that to you. “No.” He grabs a pillow and blanket off the bed and rounds the end of the mattress. You frown as you watch him toss everything to the ground. 

“Well, what’re you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” He snaps, angrily gesturing towards the floor. “I’m givin’ you the bed.” 

You bite your lip and he feels horrible instantly because you look like you’re about to cry. He’s not trying to be rude but you woke him up in the dead of night. What’d you expect him to say?

“I was sort of hoping we could share the bed.”

His eyes widen and he glares at you in disbelief. “You mean-”

“No!” You cut him off with an aggrieved sigh. “You fool, that’s not what I mean at all. I just don’t want to be alone, alright?” 

“Look,” he scoffs and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m the man you want to bunk with for company, alright. I’m not that kind of guy.” You glare at him and snatch his pillow and blanket off the floor. 

“Don’t be so damn stubborn.” You aggressively fluff the pillows, throwing the covers back and gesturing towards them, your brow set in anger. 

“Right,” he huffs, “I’m stubborn.” He reluctantly crawls into bed and you follow behind him. It’s not that he minds sharing a bed with a pretty lady. He’s just not the sort of guy you should be coming to for comfort. 

He doesn’t think he can provide whatever it is you need at this moment. But you seem to think otherwise as you inch towards him slowly. He lays on his back, arms under his head as he watches you out of the side of his eye. You think you’re being subtle, slowly moving into his side until you’re flush against him. 

He doesn’t say anything to object and you don’t bring up the proximity. He doesn’t want to admit it but it is nice having someone else beside him. He’s so used to camping out on his own. He hasn’t had anyone beside him in a long while. He lost interest in women of leisure a long while ago. And ever since Mary, he’s given up on any sort of intimacy. 

He hates to admit it, but he finds himself easing towards the warmth you provide. The second you feel him reciprocating you’re inching a tentative hand around his waist, cuddling closer to him. He recognizes it for what it is. 

He’s always been looked at as someone who can protect, at least by the gang. He’s their muscle. To most others, he incites nothing but fear. It should be the same for you. But after what happened today, you just see someone who can keep the monsters in the dark away. 

He doesn’t mind being used like this. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and waits until he feels you settle to ease into sleep again. 

Arthur figures you should both get breakfast in town while you’re here. He reasons you should enjoy a hot meal before you’re on the road again. You don’t point out that you know he’s just trying to ease you into the day. 

You appreciate it, honestly, but yesterday wasn’t your first run-in with men like that. It’s become incomprehensibly normal in day-to-day life, even for a city girl like yourself. You’d cried everything out in the bath once you’d scrubbed your skin raw. 

You don’t think Arthur will ever understand just how much his presence helped you last night. If you’d been on your own, jumping every time you heard the wood creaking outside, you’d have driven yourself over the edge. He protected you, even if there was nothing to be protected from. 

You don’t think he gives himself enough credit. Ignoring the situation you’re both in and what he’s taking you to do, he’s a good man. While the caliber of the men you’ve met is questionable at best, he’s one of the best ones you’ve ever known. At the end of the day, he disagrees with the whole situation, but he’s doing this for his family. That’s admirable in its own way. 

But, god, does he have poor conversational skills. “So, yesterday.” You glance up from your toast, brows raised in question. He clears his throat, eyes darting between you and his food like he can’t choose what to focus on. “That man, did he…”

He trails off and you feel your hackles rise. “Don’t worry,” you hiss, a bite to your words, “I’m still pure for my husband. Your pay won’t be docked, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His hand clenches around his fork and his eyes bore into yours, “That’s not what I meant,” he growls. “I wasn’t worried about that,” he snaps, “I was worried ‘bout you, woman.”

You take in a deep breath, actively biting your tongue from saying something spiteful. He wasn’t being rude, that’s just what you’re used to. “I’m sorry,” you concede lowly. “Nothing happened,” you repeat without the attitude. 

“Well,” he huffs and goes back to his breakfast, “good,” he settles on dully. 

“Good,” you agree quietly, pushing the rest of your food around. You find your appetite dulled and you push the plate away. You lean back in the booth and stare out the window. The horses seem to be getting on well enough. “Did you name her?”

Arthur gives you an odd look and you nod towards the mare hitched next to Diablo. He swallows the food he’d been chewing and takes a swig of his coffee. “No, figured you’d want to do it.”

Your brows furrow and your lips quirk in confusion. “Why?”

“She’s yours, ain’t she?” He grouses. 

You shake your head, “Nope,” you tell him, popping the p. “I just took her so I’d have something to get me to town.”

“Yeah, well,” he sounds less sure of himself and he’s looking like he made a mistake. “I thought she’d be nice for you to have with you in the city. A way for you to get around without relyin’ on someone else.”

You can’t help but smile, something in your chest easing away at the kind gesture. “I appreciate it,” he lights up a little at your approval, but you crush it in an instant. “But I can’t keep her, I won’t be allowed to. I’ve tried to have my own horse before, hard to control something that can get away from you,” you tell him blankly. There’s no emotion in your voice because it’s something you’re used to. 

He looks slightly horrified at how blunt you are. He can’t comprehend not having that freedom but he fails to recognize that he’s got a leash of his own. You doubt a man like Dutch would ever let his main asset just run off to wherever he wants to. 

A few people walk into the saloon, the women giving you odd looks when they see the pants on your legs. You smile cheekily at them, reveling in what you know will be a short-lived experience. You’ve never been on the receiving end of a judgmental look like that. 

You’ve always blended in. Been the perfect wallflower for the men in your life. You were never something to gawk at or cause trouble. It’s a relief to stick out for once, to break the mould for the first time in your life. 

Arthur clocks the interaction and chuckles. “Missin’ the skirts yet?”

“Not one damn bit,” you tell him, smiling as you take a sip of your coffee. “I’m going to miss being able to run around without having to lug an extra four pounds of fabric behind me.” 

“Ya know, you could just wear some pants, you’ve got a choice.”

You grin patronizingly at him, propping your head on your chin and watching him finish the rest of his breakfast. “You don’t know city men very well, do you?”

“Glad for it,” he grumbles, distaste clear in his tone.

A laugh breaks through your chest, the first real one in a while. “I’m going to be marrying one, Arthur. I won’t have a choice in much of anything anymore.” You can tell he wants to object, tell you there’s always a choice. 

He’ll never truly understand what’s going to happen to you, though. You’re no longer human once you’re married. You’re cattle and property, meant to be bred and shown off. You accepted your fate a long while ago. And after you’re failed escape attempt, you’ve realized this is what you were always meant to be. There’s no point in fighting fate. 

“Don’t apologize or argue,” you tell him, no spite or bitterness in your tone, just the honest truth. “I don’t mind anymore, really. What place is there for me in this world, anyway? I can’t exactly take care of myself.”

“You did a damn good job yesterday,” he snaps back quickly. He doesn’t seem too keen on the way you’re talking about yourself. But you’re not lying. Yesterday was a wake-up call. If you let yourself get screwed over by a hillbilly that quickly then how were you ever going to make it on your own? In your defense, you were raised to be dependent, you never had a chance. 

“Sure, but that was a one-off incident. I’m not going to run again, Arthur. There’s no point. And there’s no point in fighting against the way things are, they’re never going to change for me.” You take in a deep breath, the easy mood ruined by your sincerity. 

“I’m just gonna wait by the horses.”

You slide out of the booth, leaving Arthur to stare pensively at his plate. You’ve nearly slipped through the door when Arthur calls out, “You should name her.” You pause at the doorway, glancing back at him. He’s settling the bill at the front and you walk back out to the horses. 

The mare picks her head up as you walk towards her, ears perked and tail flicking. “Hey, girl,” you run a hand over her muzzle, admiring the sleek silver of her coat. “I guess I should name you.”

You run a hand over her mane and swing yourself onto the saddle. “How ‘bout Bullet, it’s how I got you, anyway.” A dark joke, but it eases the macabre feeling hanging around you. 

Arthur walks out of the saloon, tucking his money away into his bag. He lifts himself onto Diablo, glancing over at you with a knowing glint. 

“Name her?”

You resent how smug he sounds. “Bullet,” you answer reluctantly. 

“Bullet?” He questions, tone incredulous. 

You grin at him, “It’s how I got her.” There’s a slightly stunned expression on his face before it slacks away into something more amused. 

He shakes his head and nudges Diablo forward, Bullet follows alongside him eagerly. “Clever,” he mutters.

“Not really,” you snort, running a hand over her neck lovingly. “But I think it works for her.”

“Your husband’s gonna have his hands full with you,” you know he means it in jest. The lightness of the conversation turns into something heavier. Realization sinks over both of you and the smiles slowly drop away. “I-”

“How much further to Strawberry, anyway?” You effectively cut off whatever train of thought he was going to follow, distracting you both from the truth. 

“Half a day,” he tells you, frowning when you refuse to meet his eye again. Half a day. That’s all you’ve got to enjoy the last bits of freedom you have. You’re gonna take your damn time getting there, that’s for sure. 

You slow down from the steady trot Arthur had led the horses into, easing Bullet into a slow walk. You’re slowly getting the hang of riding a horse. It’s easy when she’s so intuitive. By god, though, your ass is sore. 

Arthur shoots you a questioning glance at the slow pace and you shrug. “Might as well take the time I’ve got left.”

“You’re actin’ like you’re on death row,” he chuckles. 

“Aren’t I?” He falls silent and you don’t know what’s bothering him but you don’t have the energy to inquire. 

He’s slowing you down on purpose, he knows it and you know it. Neither of you says a damn thing about it but it’s bugging him. He shouldn’t be this bothered by a job. He knows how to separate himself from what he does. He just can’t this time. 

There’s something about you that glows. You’re sitting beside him on the peak of a hill, overlooking the roads below you, and laughing as you make up stories for the people that pass by. It’s a far cry from the beaten-down woman he’d seen at Crane’s house. 

Even after what happened yesterday, you somehow manage to seem happier. There’s nothing about it that makes him happy. This feels like the last goodbye of someone who knows they’re going soon. The last bout of happiness before they just give in. 

You’re not gaining your spark back, you’re just giving in to what you think is inevitable. But it doesn’t have to be inevitable. You could fight back you just refuse to. He’s sure growing up the way you have, you don’t think it's possible to stand up for yourself. 

But you don’t have to give in like this. You don’t have to roll over and let someone else dictate your life. Which is rich, coming from him. He’s practically Dutch’s lap dog now. Even when he disagrees he still follows along behind him. 

He shouldn’t even be thinking like this. He can’t criticize you for not standing up for yourself when he’s the one thing standing between you and freedom. “Not hungry?” You nod towards the uneaten meat on his knife. 

He shakes his head, plucking it off the blade and passing it to you. You give him an odd look before popping it in your mouth. “Ya know,” you mutter around a full mouth. You take a moment to swallow it down before smiling over at him. “I’ve grown up with private chefs my whole life, but there’s is something infinitely more satisfying about this.”

He takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair. He snorts at your comment, “I find that hard to believe.”

“No,” you shake your head, insistent, “I mean it. Being out here, hunting the game myself, I don’t know, it’s nice.” You shrug and lean back on your hands, gazing across the way at the trees and river. 

“You can always get a bow and go hunting.” He speaks to you like it's a cut-and-dry truth that you’re just not accepting. Your face screws up and you give him an annoyed glare. 

“No. I can’t,” you tell him again. Where your words were patient before, he can tell you’re growing irritated at how much he’s pushing this.

“Yes, you can,” he snaps. “You don’t have to keep yourself boxed up in some manor in the city. Get out, woman, do something with your life!” His voice echoes through the air and you flinch back from it, lips pulling down into a sneer. 

“You know, that’s really easy for you to say, Arthur. You have a goddamn choice. Sure, I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, little miss rich girl crying about being pampered.”

He lets out a rough sigh, “That’s not what I meant-”

You cut him off, getting to your feet and glaring down at him. “You got to grow up with a choice. What to do with your body, your life, your career. You get to have an education if you want it. Every goddamn door is open to you. You don’t get hated for not wanting to have a family. You get to choose. And as much as you insist I can too, you will never understand the position I am in.”

You kick dirt over the fire and head back towards Bullet. “It’s a double-edged sword, Arthur. Sure, my life might be comfortable, but it’s never really gonna be my life.” He stays there on the ground, too stunned to get up. 

You glare down at him, impatiently waiting for him to get a move on. This isn’t how he wants things to end. He doesn’t want you to go off thinking he’s just some ignorant fool. But he is, much as he denies it, he’s always been a fool. 

He should never have thought he could make a difference in your life. Not when he’s the one backing you into this corner. He could have helped you escape the very first night he saw you. But he was too selfish to let you go, now you’re both paying for it. 

He mounts Diablo and you both head back to the roads silently. You’re moving faster now, leaving him behind if he lingers in one area for too long. You’re too pissed off to enjoy the rest of your day and he hates that he ruined it for you. You, at the very least, deserved a slower journey towards your future. 

You’re in Strawberry before he’s ready, he’s sure you aren’t. “Hey, we could-”

“I think that’s him.” You cut him off before he says something stupid like spend another night in town before you go. He’ll miss you, he thinks. Odd, he’s known you such a short time but it’s been so different having someone beside him as he rides. It was nice, what he wished he and Mary could have had. 

Arthur follows your gaze and lets out a tired sigh. Sure enough, some prim and proper ass is standing in front of the ticket station, foot tapping impatiently. He’s got a large bag beside him, gaze wandering around expectantly. He doesn’t doubt the man who looks like he’s got a five-foot stick up his ass is Mr. Crane’s associate. He’s got the same slimy glint.

You slide off Bullet and Arthur follows suit, taking the reigns of both horses and leading them towards the platform. The man’s eyes narrow in on you before lighting up. He calls out your name and it’s like a mask being dropped over your face. 

The spark is gone once more, a subdued and demure smile resting on your face as you wave at him. “I apologize for my dress,” you tell him as you walk up the steps. “Pants were more conducive to such a long ride.”

He takes your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles that makes Arthur roll his eyes. “No apologies necessary, I brought you a change of clothes. I figured you would be less than put together after such a journey. I’m only sorry I couldn’t accompany you.”

You scoff and nod along, “Okay,” you mutter, not believing a word of his bullshit. You take the bag from him and move towards the saloon to find a room to change in. They both watch you leave, though the other man with a much more devious glint in his eye. 

Arthur’s hands tighten on the reigns of the horses, anything to keep him from reaching for his revolver. He’s already getting a bad feeling about this. There’s nothing trustworthy about the man in front of him. 

“Mr. Finch,” he holds out his hand and Arthur gives it a distrusting look before reluctantly shaking. Finch attempts to squeeze the life out of his hand but Arthur can barely feel it. He tightens his own grip and revels in the way Finch’s face blanches. 

“Arthur Morgan.”

Mr. Finch looks him up and down in the same way Crane had. He sees a commodity, not a person. “I trust,” he drawls, “nothing unsavory happened.”

Arthur feels rage bubbling in his gut. The only damn thing he cares about is whether or not you’re “pure.” Not if you were okay or injured during the journey. If he told him that he’d punched you out for talking back Finch would just ask if you were bruised. 

“She’s fine,” Arthur grits out. 

“Oh, good, good. Glad everything went smoothly.” Finch has a way of talking he’s found most self-important men do. He draws everything he says out, and forces you to listen to him speak. Makes you pay attention so he can pretend he has power for a moment. 

His gaze darts behind Arthur and he turns just in time to see you slipping out of the saloon. The dress Finch has provided you is ridiculously large. It poofs out at the waist in a way that makes Arthur wonder how you’re going to fit into your seat. 

You look beyond uncomfortable. Grimacing as you join them again. You try and plaster a smile on but it’s a struggle. You look to Arthur, a finality on your face that makes him want to throw you over his shoulder and run. He’s doing this for the others, he reminds himself. They’ll be on a boat to Tahiti in a week. 

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan, for everything.” The smile you leave him with is real, if just barely. Something lurks under your words that Mr. Finch will never understand and Arthur knows it will drive him crazy. 

“Let’s go,” Finch grabs your hand, looping it through his arm and tugging you towards the doors of the station. 

“Wait!” Arthur calls out, feeling foolish when you both look back at him with perplexed expressions. “You’ll be wanting Bullet, won’t you?”

Mr. Finch answers for you with a condescending tone, “She won’t be needing a horse, thank you.” You give him a knowing smile, turning away and slipping through the doors of the station and onto the train. 

Arthur stays rooted where he is, something crawling up in his chest and rooting around restlessly. The whistle blows and the wheels start cranking slowly forward. Arthur just barely catches a glimpse of you through a window as the train chugs past. 

“Shit!” He hisses. He tugs himself up onto Diablo’s saddle and urges him after the train. He was born a fool, he’s always going to be a damn fool. But he’d have to be a complete moron to just let you go. 

Mr. Finch keeps a painfully tight grip on your elbow, jerking you through the passenger cars and practically throwing you into your seat. You land with a thud, your arm bouncing against the window painfully. You keep a stoic expression, trying not to let him break you so soon. 

He takes a seat beside you, straightening out his jacket and tugging on his tie. Something white flashes in his jacket pocket and you lean forward, perplexed when you realize what it is. “What is that?” You question, not quite believing your eyes. Finch glances down at the thick wad of cash in his jacket and grins. 

“Oh, this? Mr. Morgan must have forgotten to collect the rest of his payment.” He sends you a condescending smile and you flinch away in disgust. “He was too enamored with my fiancee to pay much attention, I’m afraid.”

“That’s his money,” you snap, the volume of your voice catching the attention of a few other passengers. Finch sends them apologetic smiles, making you seem like a mad woman. “He earned that!” You object, eyeing the money warily. 

His hand snakes out, gripping you tightly around the arm and dragging you towards him until your noses are nearly touching. You nearly gag at the smell of his cigar-infused breath. It’s not like when Arthur would smoke one, you didn’t mind that. But this was making you sick to your stomach. 

“Let's get a few things clear, I will not be dealing with an obstinate wife. You can either get yourself in order or I’ll do it for you.”

Your lips pull back in disgust and you jerk yourself out of his grip. He’s not as strong as he pretends to be and you’re not going to be scared into submission again. “I’m not your wife yet. My father still has time to pay.”

He laughs at you, spittle flying from your lips and sprinkling across your cheeks. “He has time to pay, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be getting you back, sweetheart.” Your eyes widen with the realization and you want to throw yourself off the side of the train. 

You never had any chance to get out of this situation. Mr. Crane was always in control of it all. To even think of having a hope of getting back home was foolish. To believe for a second that you were going to escape this had been utter idiocy. 

He sees the crestfallen expression and sinks into his seat with a satisfactory look on his face. He thinks you to be subdued. But now you’re nothing more than a cornered animal with no other choice of escape. You’ve got nothing left for you, nothing to hold onto. 

As much as you’d thought you’d bonded with Arthur, you were still nothing more than a job to him. You were nothing more than a commodity to be traded between men. You would never have a say over your life. 

You have nothing, you doubt you ever actually had anything left for you. You glance over at the man beside you and feel a cool dread blanket itself over you. Nothing left to lose. 

There’s a solid weight tucked into the bodice of your dress. Its cool metal has been warmed by your skin. Its handle curves around your ribs and it only has one bullet left. You reach down the front of your dress, fingers curling around the revolver you’d stolen from a dead man. 

Finch glowers at your inappropriate behavior “What are-” You pull the gun out, turning it on him. He jumps back in shock and throws his hands in the air on instinct. “Please-” you revel in his pathetic pleading only for a moment. Pulling the trigger a second time is surprisingly easy. The screams that ring out through the train car are less enjoyable. “Shit!” He cusses, hands coming up to try and staunch the flow of blood pouring from his stomach. 

You slip your hand into his blazer, stealing the money before he can object. You run out of the passenger car, leaping to the flat car with all the cargo. It will take a few minutes for them to catch onto what happened and figure out where you went. 

You don’t know what you’re going to do now. You’re stuck on a moving train, there’s nowhere for you to hide. You hadn’t thought when you’d shot him, you just wanted that smug look on his face to disappear. 

“Where is she?” You hear the guards shouting out your name, flipping over crates to find you. They’re still at the front of the train, but you don’t have long until they start moving back here. 

God, what have you done?

You just know, if you made it to that train station, you were never going to make it out. His men would be waiting there to transport you. You’d be watched every second of your life, you can’t do it again. You can’t be locked in a gilded cage, that’s not a life worth living. 

There’s no escape for you. Nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide. You glance over the left side of the train. There’s a slight dip into a deep ravine. The crashing water looks almost peaceful from up here. 

You don’t know if it would be a quick death but you know it would be merciful compared to what’s waiting for you at your last stop. You keep your eyes on the water, see yourself taking control of your life for the first time, and take a step up on the rail. 

Someone shouts your name from the right side of the train and you gasp, arms circling wildly as you almost go toppling over the edge. They shout your name again, panic laced in the tone. This doesn’t sound like Finch or any of the other guards. You whip around and find Arthur riding his horse beside the train. 

“What the hell are you doing, woman?” 

Your brows furrow in confusion and your eyes dart between him and the ravine. “Jumping! What the hell are you doing?”

His gaze narrows and he shouts to be heard over the rumble of the train tracks. “Stopping you from being a goddamn fool. Get over here!” You hear the guards getting closer as they storm down the rest of the train. 

You don’t have long to make a decision, you can already see his horse struggling to keep up with the speed of the train. There’s a bridge coming up in a moment, he won’t be able to go any further and they won’t be able to come after you. 

It’s a split-second decision, one that has you pushing off the railing of the car and rushing towards him. You don’t have time to doubt yourself or plan this out further, you take a running leap off the train, towards his outstretched arms. 

He barely catches you in time, jerking on the reigns of the horse and bringing him to a sudden stop before all three of you go tumbling into the water. Shots fire off on the train, but they’re gone before they can do any real damage. 

Your chest heaves as you dangle from his arms, fingers digging into his shirt desperately. Your heart is pounding so hard against your chest that you almost can’t hear what he’s saying, but you get the gist of it. 

“The hell were you thinking? Trying to jump off the damn train! You’re a fool, woman.” He tugs you onto the saddle the rest of the way. As much as he tries to sound angry you can feel his relief in the way he squeezes you close to him. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, head sinking into his neck and breathing in the familiar scent. 

He sighs, struggling between yelling at you more and just enjoying the fact that he got to you before you did something neither of you could recover from. “You’re welcome, just,” he pauses, holding you a little closer, “don’t be so damn stupid again.”

You laugh and it’s a little wet as tears start to pool in your eyes. “I’m not planning on it.” You sit up, easing away from him and glancing over your shoulder. You watch as the train grows smaller until you can only see a plume of smoke and nothing more. “What the hell are we going to do?”

He sighs and turns the horse around. You maneuver yourself around, facing forward and pushing back against him.  “I don’t know. Dutch ain’t gonna be happy about you comin’ back with me.” 

You bite your lip, a hundred different possibilities swirling through your head. You’ve never been able to make a choice before, faced with it, you’re overwhelmed with options. You can’t pick one so you blurt out the first coherent thought you have. 

“What if we don’t go back?”

Arthur stills behind you, “What?” His tone is low and filled with something you know means he’s ready to say no. 

“Just for a little while,” you rush the words out quickly, trying to fight for a chance to get him to listen. “We can send this to the camp,” you tug out the wad of cash you’d stolen from Finch and Arthur barks out a laugh. You feel his chest tremble behind you and it makes you grin. 

“Did you steal his money?”

“Your money, technically,” you correct, grinning over your shoulder at him. “Besides, he doesn’t need it anymore.” He gives you a concerned look but you just wave him off. “We can send the camp some money and go off on our own for a while.”

“I don’t know, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” you interrupt, glaring at him. “It’ll only be for a little while, Arthur. Come on, I’m free for the first time in my life, enjoy it with me.”

He looks uncertain and you know it’s an odd notion to him, putting himself first instead of the camp or Dutch. You’re sure he’s never done it before. Breaking away from them instead of going about like the loyal soldier he is. 

“Just a little while?”

You nod, turning just enough to tuck the money in his pocket. “Just a little while,” you swear.

“John Marston!” You frown, turning away from the oven and glancing out the window. Arthur’s grinning by the gates of the horse pen, leaping over the wood, and walking out to greet someone. You abandon the stew, heading towards the door of your home. 

Outside are two horses, one with a woman and her son, and an abandoned one. The owner is currently bringing Arthur into a brief embrace, John, you presume. Arthur’s told you about him a bit. They weren’t always close but it was getting better before Arthur went away. 

Sometimes you feel bad, having dragged him away from everything he was familiar with. You meant it when you said you only wanted to be gone for a little while. You knew if you went back immediately there would be hell to pay with Dutch and you’d both be put to work. 

You’d be going from one owner to another. All you’d wanted was a few weeks on the road on your own. But a few weeks turned into six months and then a year, and it was Arthur telling you he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t stand what the gang was turning into. What Dutch was turning into. All you’d given him was an excuse to finally get out before it all blew up.

You walk down the steps of the home Arthur built, wiping your hands off on your apron. You give a brief wave to the woman you assume is Abigail. She waves back, slipping off the horse and helping Jack down. 

Arthur pulls away from John, turning towards you and motioning you forward. John gives you an apprehensive look. “Do I know you?”

Arthur gives him your name, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you in closer. “That job Dutch got from Crane.” John’s face lights up with recognition and he smirks. 

“I see,” he shakes his head and gives Arthur a knowing look. “It’s always a woman with you, isn’t it?” You snort at how aggrieved Arthur looks. “Well,” John turns towards you and smiles, “nice to finally meet the woman that got him under control.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you smile lightly at him, pulling away from Arthur. “Are you going to be joining us for dinner?”

“No, he’s not,” Arthur answers at the same time John says, “I would love to.”

Arthur and John share a look you can’t understand. You glance past John and wave Abigail forward, “Come in, please. I’d enjoy the company.”

“Forgive my obstinate husband, he tends to linger where he ain’t wanted.” She brushes past him and you lead her inside your home. Leaving Arthur and John to bicker outside. Jack stays outside, smiling up at Arthur. You know he’s missed the boy, you’re sure he’s okay entertaining them for one night. 

Abigail helps you set the table while Arthur and John catch up over a bottle of whiskey. Arthur tried to pull out a cigar but you’d shut that down quick. He’d had a cough a little while ago and the doctor advised cutting down on tobacco if he wanted it to go away. You know it’s hard but you’re cracking down on how much he smokes. 

“We got the money you sent,” John’s telling Arthur as they come over to join you all at the table. Jack eagerly hops into the seat beside Arthur before you can snag it and you grin. “Dutch blew it all and wouldn’t tell us on what. He kept saying we still needed another score.”

John shakes his head and the distant look in his eyes makes your stomach churn. “You’re a lucky bastard you got out when you did, Arthur, truly.”

“Hosea?” Arthur questions and you grimace at the look on John’s face. You can see Arthur deflate as John shakes his head. 

“There was a bank robbery, Molly told the Pinkertons we were going to be there, he didn’t make it.”

Arthur’s hand clenches around the fork and you wish you could say something that would make him realize it’s not his fault. “I should have been there,” he mutters. 

“Wouldn’t have done anything, man. Hosea had given up in the end. We all had. It was so damn divided, the family was gone.”

“Still.” Arthur insists, glaring down at his plate like it had offended him. 

“No,” to your surprise it’s Abigail that snaps. “Dutch was gone and that bastard Micah just kept pushing him over the edge. The only thing you would have done is get yourself killed. You’re damn lucky Arthur Morgan.”

You’re sure he’ll still blame himself later. Reason a hundred times over that had he been there something would have been different. Even if it was him on the other end of the gun he’d be happier knowing someone else hadn’t died when it could have been him. You couldn’t stand that these self-sacrificing ideals Dutch had drilled into him were still present. 

But you know Abigail and John help ease the guilt slightly. It’s on Arthur to let it go entirely, though you doubt that will happen anytime soon. John picks up on the change in mood, he’s reluctant to let the night sour so soon. 

He turns towards you with a look that makes you feel like you need to prepare for trouble. “So you did all that to escape getting married. And then you marry this moron?” He motions towards Arthur and you can’t help but laugh. 

“John!” Abigail snaps but he only smiles at her. You can see the way she fights the twitch of her lips and it makes you smile in turn. 

You correct him, “We’re not technically married-”

“Might as well be,” Arthur argues, glaring at John. You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours and gently squeezing. You can’t help but laugh at him. 

“Yeah, we might as well be,” you agree. “But it was never about not wanting to be a wife. I just wanted to have a damn choice. That’s what I got out here. I can hunt or cook. Sew or go out and make some money. And it’s a lot nicer being a wife out in the country than it is in the city, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Here’s hoping,” Abigail mutters. She glances towards Arthur, “That’s why we’re out here. We got word from a few people that you might be lurking around here. John’s thinking of getting a house, really settling down.”

Arthur sighs, leaning back in his chair and glaring at John. “That’s why you’re here? You want a handout,” he accuses. 

“No!” John snaps. “Dammit, Arthur, why you always gotta assume the worst of me?”

“Because it’s usually true,” Arthur mutters. “If that’s not what you want then what is it?”

John purses his lips and lets out a spluttering breath. “A loan,” he lands on, struggling to find the right word. 

Arthur barks out a laugh, slapping his hand on the table and poking a knowing finger into John’s chest. “I knew it!”

John swats his hand away and glares. “Look, Morgan, I only need a little. Just to buy some animals, get started on the house.”

“What’d ya want Marston, my whole damn house?”

Abigail lands a gentle hand on your arm and nods to the porch. “They’ll be at it for a while.” You nod and leave the table, following her to the swing out back. She settles down on it with a sigh, gazing out at the trees that line your home. 

“You’ve got a nice life out here.”

You smile fondly, “I like to think so. We’re thinking about getting a few cows, maybe starting a proper ranch.”

Her face lights up at the idea and she laughs. “That’s what John wants. It’s unbelievable how similar they are, they’re too thick-headed to see it.”

You can still vaguely hear them bickering inside the house. You peer inside and see Jack sitting at the table, watching them both with an entranced expression. You can’t help but grin at the look on Arthur’s face. He’s laying into John but he looks happier than you’ve seen him in a while. 

You know he’s missing everybody, has been for a long time. Maybe if Abigail and John are close by he’ll have that sense of familiarity again. “The others,” you start, turning back to Abigail. “Charles and Sadie, what happened to everyone else?”

“A few of them are living good lives, some of them aren’t. Most of them are drifting, not ready to give up the outlaw life just yet.”

“It’s hard to watch the world change while you’re still stuck in the same spot.” You brush some hair out of your eyes and smile at Abigail. “Me and Arthur are gonna help you and John. But I’d like it if you were both close by. It would be nice to have someone familiar near us, we’re pretty lonely up here.”

She gives you a brief smile back, “I think that would be nice.”

John’s voice picks up from inside and you jump, “Oh that’s a load of bull-”

Abigail’s smile drops and she leans over your shoulder to shout, “Watch it!” at John. You laugh when you see the perturbed look on his face. She motions towards his son and Arthur gives John a smug look. 

“You gonna help him?” You ask Arthur as you settle into bed later. He opens his arms, pulling you into his embrace once you’re settled under the covers. 

“John?” You nod, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, ‘course I’m gonna help him. But there’s nothing wrong with jerking him around a little bit first.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, tucking yourself under his chin. You almost think he’s asleep but then he’s speaking up again. “We should really do it.”

You pull back, brows furrowed in confusion. “Do what?”

There’s a certain look in his eyes that causes something to swirl in your stomach. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, just an excited one, “Get married.”

You give him a bewildered look, shaking your head in disbelief. Nearly five years you’ve both been living out here and he’s never once mentioned getting married. You never thought you two actually needed it. You always knew what you were to each other, how much you meant to one another. 

You were each other’s salvation. There’s no telling what graves you would be laying in were it not for Dutch bringing you both together. You hadn’t thought he wanted to be married, he always told you he’d given those dreams up. “You really mean that?”

He shrugs like it’s the easiest decision in the world. “Might as well, right?” 

You shake your head, but there’s no fighting the way your lips curl up. “You’re a fool, Arthur Morgan.”

He nods, dipping his head down to press a gentle kiss on your temple. He treats you so gently, it makes you want to cry. But then he goes and says something ridiculous like, “Yeah, a fool for you,” and he makes you laugh. 

You tug him down, lips nearly touching his. “Yes,” you whisper, “I’ll marry you.” You were always scared of living a life like this. Being tied to one man for the rest of your time on earth. But he’s not some city man looking to make you into a pet. He lets you live, breathe, and be free. He’s a partner not a warden and that’s all you’ve ever wanted. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[il-miele-che-scrive]

you know what people are saying when a girl gets cheated on? go for his brother.

a/n not tryna offend anyone, I just love a lil drama

Part 2 here

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username1 Miss Y/n Y/l/n getting cheated on? No one is safe fr

↳username2 Yeah cuz how's he casually cheating on a literal goddess??

username3 they were together for almost 2 years😭

username4 My therapist will hear about this

↳username1 And Arthur is paying the bill

username5 that's it I'm NEVER trusting a man

username6 Isn't that girl Y/n's friend too? Poor girl getting cheated on twice

↳username3 yes it is 😭 guess Arthur got it from his brother

username7 Except Charles didn't cheat 😭 he's a homie hopper but he got morals

username8 I don't worry about Y/n, she's gonna find a new bf, but she wasted almost 2 years on him

yourusername excuse my state i'm as high as your hopes

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username2 Miss girl about to enter her hoe phase

↳username3 As she should tbh

charlottesiine Lots of fun last night🤍

↳yourusername nothing will beat an ex wags night out

↳username2 best ex wags fr 😭

yoursister Next time I'm going too to keep an eye on you wtf

username4 Wait so Y/n and Charlotte are friends? When did this happen?

↳username5 Yeah cuz we've never seen them hang out back when ChaCha was a thing and suddenly the girls are partying together?

↳username6 I mean it could be just a "we both suffered a Leclerc so let's hang out" kinda thing

username5 WE BOTH SUFFERED A LECLERC 💀 no okay but that's valid

username7 Am I the only one noticing this post was liked by Charles?

↳username2 He knows his lil bro messed up lmao

username8 Okay guys so what are we betting on - did Charles like this post because of Y/n or because of Charlotte? Also, isn't he in a relationship?

↳username3 Charles has been single for a few months now, he's free to like whoever he wants lmao

↳username9 It's just a like it's not that deep

arthur_leclerc You were my cup of tea but I drink vanilla latte now

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username1 The AUDACITY some men have

username2 and she was her best friend 😭

username3 I really want to believe they broke up before he got with the best friend but I don't think it's true

↳username4 Y/n and Arthur literally attended Charles' race a few days before we got the pics of Arthur with the other girl

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yourusername you don't mean nothing at all to me

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yoursister And I didn't even have to stop you from calling your ex

↳yourusername why would I even wanna call him anyways

yoursister Riiight, you were too busy getting to know some other interesting people:)

username1 What is Y/s/n talking about?

↳username2 Or rather WHO is she talking about?

username3 No Charlotte in the post but Charles is in the likes again 😶

↳username4 Have you seen what this one gossip page posted? Charles being in the likes isn't the thing I'd worry about here

username5 WHAT.

username3 Care to elaborate?

username4 Charles was also at the club with Y/n. It honestly looks like it was organized by a friend of his and he took Y/n there

username2 OH

username2 That's what Y/s/n is talking about

username5 Our girl Y/n is getting promoted from F2 to F1 and I love to see that

↳username6 LMAO it's so funny because it's true 😭

↳username2 Do we know who else was at this party?

username4 Allegedly the party was organized by Gasly, so obviously there was his gf Kika, but also some fellow drivers like Albon, Russell, Sainz, Ocon, Ricciardo and their gfs

username5 I was joking but now it looks like Y/n is actually becoming an F1 wag now lol

username7 Gossip girl on wheels I've been saying it for months

username8 But the caption SLAPS

↳username9 no because it looks like Y/n and Arthur are having a caption war lol it's funny

username8 It's childish but let a girl heal from a heartbreak in peace

yourusername karma will take it from here

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username1 MISS GIRL?? WHO IS THE MAN??

↳username2 We all know it's Charles (allegedly)

username8 Nah cuz I told yall she's gonna find another boyfriend soon

yoursister Loving to see you happy again ❤️

↳yourusername just needed a little upgrade

username3 I have no proof but I just know it's Charles

username4 Do we think she went for Charles because she genuinely likes him or just to get back at Arthur?

↳username5 Wait until someone starts a "she cheated on Arthur with Charles" gossips

username6 My two favorite red flags

↳username7 The homie hopper and the brother hopper, a match made in heaven

username6 The homie hopper is so real, Y/n recently hung out with his ex Charlotte 💀

username8 What kinda brother gets with his brother's ex?

↳username9 Imagine the next family dinner lmao

username10 Y'all it's not even confirmed that the man is Charles, y'all are crazy

↳username6 The post was liked by all the F1 drivers and their partners that were on the party from Y/n's previous post, it says a lot

↳username2 What @/username6 said and also Y/n is now followed by half of the F1 grid AND the wags

charles_leclerc Not your cup of tea, but my glass of wine

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yourusername KARMA IS MY BOYFRIEND❤️

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[noodles-and-tea]

Your Arthur art of him thinking a TV is a magic mirror makes me think that he would have freaked tf out the first time he heard a phone ring.

"MERLIN! WHERE IS THAT ACCURSED NOISE COMING FROM!?" lmao

Old timey peoples reacting to modern tech is obvious, what I'm always more curious about is old timey people reacting to modern music for example, or a supermarket (this just in: medieval man faints in a Walmart)

I love Arthur and Merlin, I shall never get over them. Love <3 your art, it is most wonderful

Coming soon: Arthur in a grocery store

[cabinette]

Loose comic I made in the middle of the night.... I think John would like a camera!!!