#mutual arthur hatred

[shepherd-of-the-stars]

Bound

Summary:

For a creature with such tainted and cursed blood to attempt what he did, being consumed by the flames seemed the most merciful punishment. For a werewolf to summon a demon—if the Devil himself didn’t come up to spite him for such an insult, he was sure God would have. (werewolf!Alfred and demon!Ivan)

Notes:

Gift for @flying-fish-styx in @spaceracedates 's Rusame Secret Santa event Surprise!!! >:) I got you for the secret santa lol. when I tell you I STRUGGLED to pick one of your prompts, I mean it lmao. I loved them all. But I had to choose. Hope you enjoy! love you Prompts: Running away together/ Magic/ Demons/ werewolves TW: medium gore, death. Arthur stans, this one is not for you, babes ao3 link in the notes

He was… alive.

Wounded and dizzy from the blood loss, legs too weak for him to stand, but still, very much, alive. 

And for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. From the moment he slid the blade across his palm and painted the circle with his blood while reciting the ominous chant, he’d expected to burst into flames as the floor opened up and swallowed him into the deepest pits of Hell. That’s what should have happened. For a creature with such tainted and cursed blood to attempt what he did, being consumed by the flames seemed the most merciful punishment. 

For a werewolf to summon a demon—if the Devil himself didn’t come up to smite him for such an insult, he was sure God would have. 

Perhaps that was still a possibility for him. 

As Alfred stared into the six eyes of the demon in front of him—towering over him in height, monstrous body covered in scales and black tar, claws strong enough to crush him with one swipe, and a mouth full of crooked, fanged teeth—he couldn’t help but wonder if this one had come to grant his wishes like the book said, or if it was here to tear him to pieces. 

“Hello.” 

Alfred couldn’t help but flinch as the sound ripped through his body. The beast’s mouth didn’t move when it spoke. Whatever voice it possessed slammed into him like a shockwave and vibrated through his soul into his brain. It was deep and pitched and ghostly all at once. Terrifying and sinister. And looking right at Alfred for an answer. 

“Hi,” Alfred choked out, his voice almost swallowed by his own shaky, horrified breathing. 

The demon—cocking its head to the side—seemed to recognize his fear. It should have been then that it opened its mouth and swallowed Alfred whole. But instead, it let out a single, low laugh, before rising to its hind legs and… shifting. 

Scales and claws sunk into pale flesh, fangs retracted into its mouth, and bones cracked audibly as its form changed into that of a man. A perfectly normal looking man. With the horns of a bull and eyes of glowing violet. And naked from head to toe. 

“I apologize.” Its—his voice came smooth like burning liquor, no longer that unworldly noise. “It’s been some time since my last summoning. I’ve forgotten that humans get a little spooked by our true forms.”

How was Alfred to respond? Even though the demon seemed human now, Alfred had already seen what it could become. In seconds, it could change back and take his head in one bite. Instead, it was apologizing. Being… polite. 

“Why are you here?” Alfred recognized the voice as his own, but he didn’t remember moving his lips to speak. 

The demon replied again by cocking his head to the side. He looked down at the circle under his bare feet, then over at the worn, ancient book at Alfred’s side. “ You summoned me, my dear. Have you forgotten?” Then he smiled—all teeth—and Alfred was shown that even in his human form, the demon still had the power to tear his throat out if he so wished. Behind those innocent, pink lips was a full set of fangs, and a taste for flesh. 

“But—” Alfred swallowed, and the demon watched with an eerie patience as he waited for his answer. Clutching his bleeding hand to his chest and suppressing the tremor in his voice, he continued. “—I’m a werewolf. My blood is cursed! This shouldn’t have worked. How is—. I—”

“Yet you still tried.” The demon took a step closer. And closer. Until he knelt before Alfred with his hand outstretched. When Alfred didn’t move, still frozen in terror, the demon reached out to take his wounded hand into his own. “You humans will do anything when you are desperate.” 

“I’m not human.” He tried desperately to tear his hand away from the beast, but he refused to let go. “Not anymore.” 

“If that is one of your requests, I’m afraid I can’t help you.” The demon examined Alfred’s wounds before bringing them to his lips and running his forked tongue along the cuts. It must have had a sudden taste for blood, Alfred assumed. Until his wounds started to heal. Heal . Then the demon released Alfred’s hand and sat cross-legged on the floor. “I can make you stronger, taller, give you wings or claws, but I can’t change you back into a human.” 

Alfred stared down silently at his hands. They were perfect. Restored. Like nothing had happened. But a demon still sat in front of him, waiting for his command like a dog. “You… you’re really here to help me? To do whatever I want?” 

“For a price. Depending on the weight of your requests, I will take away pieces of your soul until one day, you simply drop dead.” Said like a host explaining the rules of a game. Like his life was nothing but another number on the board. 

“And if I don’t make any requests?” 

“Then I leave. And you go back to suffering whatever it was that pushed you to this point. Shall I?” 

As he began to stand, Alfred instinctively reached out to grab him and keep him in his place. But the moment his hands came in contact with the demon’s skin, he pulled away. The demon was ice cold to the touch.

“Wait— Please. I—I have a request.” 

At that, the demon smiled and returned to his spot in front of Alfred on the floor. 

“Well?” 

Alfred once more found himself at a loss for words. What he wanted to say screamed in his mind and begged to be heard, but his throat remained locked. 

“I may live forever, but you won’t.” 

The demon was mocking him. 

“Come now. What was so important to you that you risked your life to summon me?” 

Say it. 

Say it.

“Tell me, little pup.” 

Alfred’s head jerked up at the nickname and somehow found the courage to give the demon a glare. “Don’t call me that.” 

Unfazed, the demon smiled wider. Then said, “ Woof. ” 

His breath hitched, the dam broke, and the words burst from his chest. “I want you to kill the man who turned me!” His whole body went cold as his own words escaped. Any moment now, his pack would burst through the doors of the abandoned barn and drag him back to their den to be punished. He was already dead. His fate was sealed. So he continued. “He took everything from me. I had a life! A family! And he took it all away. He kept me alive because he said I was strong. That I would be good for the pack, but I wish everyday he would have killed me too.” 

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, so he pinned them under his arms. “My only way out is to kill him. But I can’t do it. I can’t kill him. This stupid, fucking eternal pack bond keeps me from even—” His hands were in front of him now, wrapped around an invisible neck and squeezing until his nails drew crescents into his palms. Then he let out a defeated breath and let his hands fall back onto his lap. “I can’t hurt him. We’re bound by blood. I’m… I’m trapped.” 

The demon let out a soft, amused hum of understanding before straightening his posture. “Humans are all the same. Violence is always their solution.” Then a pause Alfred dared not interrupt. “Alright then. Tell me, little one. Who is he, and where can I find him?” 

Alfred answered slowly with hesitation in his voice. 

“Arthur Kirkland. He’s at the den.” 

------ (v—v) ------

When Alfred had imagined how it would be like to kidnap his pack leader, he thought it would be something out of a movie. He would walk down the hallway of their shared house, and the demon behind him would slaughter everyone who stepped foot in their path. By the end, Alfred, covered in blood, would be untouched, and Arthur would beg to be spared once he saw the lifeless bodies of his pack members.

But life wasn’t like the movies. 

Once Alfred had made his request, the demon fell into the shadows—gone—and seconds later, came back with the man, holding him by the neck like he was a doll. 

“This one?” He held Arthur up like a freshly caught fish as the werewolf clawed and struggled for breath. Sensing danger, Arthur began to shift. But before he could even get his claws to form, he was slammed into the floor so hard that it was a wonder how his skull didn’t crack open. 

“Nice try,” the demon sang. “But try again and I will rip your head off.” Confident the wolf wouldn’t make another attempt to shift, he looked again to Alfred and repeated his question. “Is this the one you want me to kill?” 

Only then did Arthur notice there was another person in the room. Alfred, the boy he had saved and raised; he thought of him as a son. Why would he do this? 

“Alfred,” his voice shook, blood dripped past his lips onto the floor. ”What is this? What have I done? Say it isn’t me, boy! Tell him the truth. It isn’t me! You have to help me—”

“Yes” —a black, clawed hand clamped his creator's mouth shut—”or no? I will take silence as a ‘yes’.” 

Alfred stared into Arthur’s wild, panicked eyes, unable to move. His wolf instincts screamed for him to save his pack leader, so loudly that he could barely hear the muffled pleads. It was only barely that he was able to force one, singular nod. 

Then the screams began. 

And the world around him fell into a dark blur. 

His whole body felt numb as he stared—unseeing—at the slaughter in front of him. He witnessed every strike, every piece of flesh torn from Arthur’s body, but at the same time, saw nothing. Like everything he saw was immediately wiped from his memory the moment he saw it. 

Then it was over.

He didn’t know how long it lasted, but Arthur was no longer… Arthur. He was a corpse so brutally torn apart that it no longer resembled a human. Bits and pieces scattered across the walls. Chunks of flesh stuck between the demon’s teeth as it licked its fingers clean. An echo of a voice in the back of his mind. He was gone. And Alfred was free. 

He was free. 

What now? 

It didn’t matter.

He was free. 

But nothing had changed. 

He looked down at his hands, soaked in red as the pool of blood spread closer to him. It stained his clothes. Clothes that Arthur had bought him. Arthur. His leader. The man who saved him. Took care of him like a father when he was turned. Taught him everything he needed to know.

The only man left to call his family. 

He had made a mistake. 

“Bring him back.” 

He lurched forward, scraping the blood and guts on the floor back into a heap. 

“I fucked up. Bring him back!” 

He didn’t know if the demon responded. All he could hear was his own frantic breathing as he gathered the pieces of Arthur into his hands and laid them in the center of the floor. 

But nothing worked. 

Arthur was gone. 

And it was all his fault. 

He felt wetness on his cheeks and reached up to wipe it away, only for the blood to mix with his tears until it was hard to tell the difference between the two. 

“I fucked up,” he choked out. “This isn’t what I wanted. I take it back. Please—” 

“I’m sorry, little one.” The demon squatted in front of him, flesh squelched beneath his bare feet. “I cannot take back what I’ve done.” 

“But I messed up. This isn’t what I wanted—” 

“It is.” The demon reached forward to steady Alfred’s hands. Those same hands, once warm, now matched the icy feel of the demon's. 

Then the world around them shifted, and when Alfred looked up again, he saw the night sky and the rain falling around them. The blood on his hands washed away, and in the dark mud beneath them, it simply disappeared. He didn’t know where they were, but everything around them smelled different. New. 

“This isn’t my first time taking a human’s request to kill someone in their family. There is always guilt and regret, but in time, you will move on and realize it was the right choice.” 

“How long does that usually take?” His voice trembled from the adrenaline and the cold.

Without having to say a word, the demon shielded him from the rain with his wings. “Months. Sometimes years. It depends on the person.” 

“Why are you being nice to me?” 

“Can I not be?” 

“You’re a demon.” 

“And I am bound to you.” 

Bound like he used to be with Arthur. Yet this felt different, somehow. 

“What’s your name?” 

It was a simple enough question, but it was one the demon still needed to think over. “I have no name, but my previous owner called me ‘Ivan’. I suppose you can call me that as well.” 

Ivan. The name of the demon that would be with him for the rest of his life. 

“Ivan,” he tried. The name sounded right. “Ivan, take me somewhere warm.” 

His demon smiled, bowing his head. “As you wish.” 

[ithinkyouhealedmyheart]

Ghostwriter CH 19

Unbetad Unedited Unhinged || AO3 Wattpad

Character(s): Kendall Knight, James Diamond, Carlos Garcia, Logan Mitchell, Gustavo Rocque, Kelly Wainwright, Mrs. Knight, Katie Knight, Veronica Clark oc, James Clark oc

Pairing(s): Kendall Knight/Veronica Clark, James Diamond & Kendall Knight & Carlos Garcia & Logan Mitchell, James Diamond & Veronica Clark

“Woah, dude, check out all the people at the pool.” 

Kevin and his guitar joined the two girls sitting by the unlit bonfire in the back corner. For her birthday, James gave the songwriter a leatherbound journal to replace her notebook, running out of space. Unlike her laptop, the brown leather journal had space on the cover, which she could fill with stickers. Ronnie’s nose was buried in her songbook. Griffin needed Big Time Rush’s second album in three weeks, and the only songs they had were Paralyzed, Invisible, and If I Ruled the World. She was sure that an album had to be more than six songs and over thirty minutes long. Together, the three songs were nine minutes and twenty-four seconds. 

“I know, I can’t hear myself think.” Ronnie groaned. 

“It can be that bad,” Lucy kicked her feet up on the unlit bonfire. It was safe since there was no fire burning. She was munching on a bag of cheese doodles. 

“I have three weeks to help Gustavo finish Big Time Rush’s second album, and we only have three songs.” 

“There’s no point in stressing yourself out. You’ll panic even more.” Lucy shrugged and tilted her bag of snacks toward the green-haired girl. “Cheese doodles?” 

“No, thank you.” Ronnie scrunched her face in disgust. 

“Suit yourself,” 

“Dawg, you’re going about this all wrong. You can’t force yourself to write a song,” Kevin said, sitting between them and placing his guitar in his lap. “If it helps, we can start a jam session.” 

“We don’t have to. All I have to do is buckle down and–” 

Kevin strummed a chord on his guitar and grinned. His sunglasses slid down his nose. Ronnie didn’t feel the greatest about being interrupted, but she let it slide because he was one of her friends and genuinely wanted to help. As much as Ronnie wanted to feel alone with this new album for BTR, considering the boys didn’t want to help her at all and would rather waste time or try to establish their popularity with the new kids at the Palm Woods, at least she had her friends to fall back on. Even if she couldn’t write a song each day, she could at least have a concept to build off of. 

“I think a jam session is the perfect idea to get the ball rolling,” Lucy noisily closed the bag and put it beside her. 

“I can’t focus with all this noise–” 

“Ronnie, you can’t focus because you’re forcing yourself too hard.” Kevin chidded. He was unimpressed by her attempts to get away. “We’re here to help, I promise.” 

The songwriter groaned and put her head between her knees. She was wearing the blue sweatshirt that Kendall gifted her. Ronnie wasn’t an idiot; she knew it smelled like him, but that could be because they spent time together. It was almost suspicious how much it smelled like him. It was weird she even knew what he smelled like. Does ice even have a scent? It clung to the fabric and surrounded her like smoke. It didn’t help that there was so much pressure on her to help Gustavo finish an album in three weeks. Was this what it was like to work for Griffin? She couldn’t imagine working for him as an adult, but maybe it would be easier when she didn’t have to deal with school on top of music. 

“Guys,” Ronnie picked her head up and rubbed at her eyes. “I appreciate how much you want to help, but I don’t think you can.” 

“And how do you know that?” Lucy raised a brow. “I bet you have nothing written down,” 

Ronnie tucked her new songbook against her chest. It didn’t help that Lucy was correct, but there was no way the songwriter would ever admit that. 

“Okay, but I doubt it would help… We’d just be mashing random notes together.” 

“That’s what music is, right?” Kevin chuckled and twisted the tuning pegs on his guitar. “Even if it’s random, it’ll sound better with friends.” 

“Yeah!” Lucy’s face lit up. “Music always sounds better with friends.” 

“Music sounds better…” Ronnie’s eyes widened. “Everything’s better with friends,” she started scribbling words onto the blank page of her songbook. “Okay, start playing.” She looked at Kevin expectantly. 

“You got it, dawg.” Kevin smiled lazily and began to play at random. The notes may not have made sense, but he intentionally fooled around. One of the notes or tunes was bound to stick. 

Lucy bobbed her head, attempting to follow the rhythm. Hesitantly, she drummed her hands against the stone bench they were sitting on. It was a basic flow, mainly to keep time with Kevin’s guitar, but something was tugging at the back of her mind. Ronnie tied her hair up and tucked it from the ponytail behind her ears. She was laser-focused, muttering words that neither of her friends could understand. Her pen scratching across the paper stopped, and she reached into her backpack for her laptop. Ronnie was impatient for it to boot up, but she had this rhythm on loop in her head that she needed to get into her digital workspace. Kevin and Lucy exchanged hopeful looks. 

She dragged and dropped the snare drum with her cursor in certain places. The tempo was at the forefront of her brain; it had a simple quarter-note feel. It transitioned into a shuffle, but Ronnie wasn’t confident it was the right beat—or it might not be in the right tempo. Messing around with the digital workspace, she messed with the metronome until it felt right. The program defaulted to one hundred beats per minute, and she changed it to one hundred and twenty-four beats per minute. So far, the drums were the underlying beat she needed to get started. Ultimately, they would tie everything together, but she hadn’t reached that point yet. Although she had no lyrics, she needed a key to put the song in or at least a mode. Ronnie could choose between major or minor, and she decided to try her luck with minor first. She randomly chose D-sharp and E-flat for the key, knowing Gustavo would likely change this later. While she was in the beginning stages, it was fine. 

“Hey, Kev, can you play a chord progression somewhere around D-sharp?” Ronnie looked up from her laptop. Her friends had stopped making sounds when they realized she was intensely focused. 

“Yeah, yeah.” The dark-haired boy in sunglasses dropped his guitar pick and chuckled awkwardly. His finger placement on the guitar was clumsy, but he strummed somewhat of a chord progression. At least, he tried to. It wasn’t quite what Ronnie was looking for, but she wouldn’t say that aloud. 

The song had to be danceable and high energy because most of Big Time Rush’s music was high energy and danceable. Or, at least, it should fit into an album with high energy and danceable songs. As much as Ronnie wanted to believe she could churn out a whole song on her own, even with the help of friends, she ultimately knew that Gustavo would be much more help. The songwriter appreciated that Kevin and Lucy were trying their hardest to help, but Gustavo knew how to write a song with a particular expertise. 

It wasn’t that Ronnie didn’t have the utmost confidence in her songwriting abilities, but starting from scratch was not something she worked with quite often. Usually, her music was inspired by other melodies or songs she heard on the radio, but with Big Time Rush’s album, she decided to challenge herself. Of course, she had to remember that she wasn’t writing for herself anymore. Her songs weren’t only for her. Whatever she churned out was meant for the band. Although she could try to keep the scrapped songs for herself, ultimately, her music went to the guys. 

Making sure she saved her digital workspace, Ronnie sighed and closed her laptop. She could waste time attempting to figure it out independently, but running to Gustavo with her tail tucked between her legs was less of a struggle. The green-haired girl stuffed her laptop in her backpack and stood up abruptly. Lucy and Kevin watched wordlessly as their friend left the pool area. They exchanged confused looks. 

“Did that have anything to do with us?” Lucy asked. She again kicked her feet up on the unlit bonfire and opened her bag of cheese doodles. 

“No idea,” Kevin shrugged and took off the guitar strap. He put the guitar in the empty spot the songwriter had occupied on the bench. 

“Maybe she couldn’t focus.” Lucy popped a cheese doodle in her mouth and offered the bag to the boy sitting next to her. “I have no idea what pressure she’s under, but I know for certain it is not good.” 

“I’m surprised BTR isn’t helping her, considering this is for their second album.” Kevin adjusted his sunglasses. “But, you know them, they're off causing chaos.” 

“Exactly, but they’ll buckle down and help if she needs them to… I think.” 

Ronnie waved to the security guard behind the front desk and pressed the call button for the elevator. The melody in her head wouldn’t leave her alone, but she needed the record producer to help her. He was the one with platinum records hanging on his wall and a ton of experience that could benefit her. She couldn’t understand why he would leave her to make the songs alone, but maybe he was working on a song simultaneously. Perhaps they each were working on a song for the album to get this over with faster. 

Thankfully, the man in the tracksuit was sitting idly in his office. Kelly was nowhere to be found, but she could trust that the talent scout was nearby. Typically, Big Time Rush barged into Gustavo’s office whenever they pleased, but Ronnie wrapped her knuckles against the door. Her knocking on the door spooked him, pulling the man out of his thoughts. 

“Kelly? You don’t have to knock,” 

“It’s not Kelly,” Ronnie opened the door and peeked inside. “Are you busy?” 

“No, no. I’m not busy.” Gustavo put his feet down and folded his hands. “What’s up?” 

“I need help with one of the songs for the album.” Ronnie opened the door wider and sat down in one of the armchairs across from him. She put her backpack on the floor and opened her laptop. “I have a drum beat, but that’s as far as I could get…” 

“Oh.” Gustavo’s shoulders slumped. He forgot she was writing the album with him. Having her around made his job easier, and it was quite startling. “What lyrics have you written?” 

“I didn’t write any lyrics.” Ronnie pulled out her songbook. “Well, they aren’t lyrics, but I wrote down what my friends said about how music is better when you write it with people you care about.” 

“Music sounds better with you?” Gustavo rose a brow. “Okay, okay. I can work with that.” He nodded slowly and turned her laptop around. 

Ronnie didn’t like it when other people touched her things, but if it was Gustavo, she had to deal with it because he was helping her. The record producer knew more about music than she did but was a horrible teacher in those music theory classes. He chose horrible teachers for his school, Rocque, which she surprisingly kept up with. Although she wanted to attend the Palm Woods school, she wouldn’t argue with him about her education. On the bright side, Ronnie frequently went to Logan to learn anything new because the teachers handing out her homework gave her kindergarten-type problems. Logan was a better teacher than half of the people that Gustavo employed, but if she ever said that to their faces, it would mean detention. 

The office was silent except for clicking the keys on her laptop as Gustavo messed around with the digital workspace. It wasn’t something he enjoyed, but Ronnie preferred it, so he at least tried to use it occasionally. 

Since Curt, her boyfriend, had no idea her birthday was November 21st, he assumed he could make it up by giving her a present today. The only problem was that Ronnie got in a car before he could catch her. It was strange. She was wearing a blue sweatshirt instead of her yellow sweatshirt. Curt hadn’t given her one of his sweatshirts, so where did she get the blue one? It wasn’t uncommon for him to run into Kendall in the lobby of the Palm Woods, but the singer was the last person he wanted to see. The hockey player may have been quick to forgive Kendall for punching him, but he had a gut feeling his girlfriend got that sweatshirt from him. 

Curt tried his best not to blame Ronnie for his jealousy. It wasn’t her fault that other guys would find her attractive. She was beautiful, and it was only fair for him to acknowledge that. The hockey player trusted the songwriter enough to know she would never cheat on him, especially not with someone like Kendall. Somehow, the BTR fans had found his scuttlebutter and couldn’t stop comparing him to the blonde singer. It was infuriating because there was nothing similar about Curt and Kendall. But the annoyance bubbled to the surface. 

It wasn’t like Curt would ever ask Ronnie to give up her dream and quit being a songwriter for Big Time Rush. He knew she enjoyed writing their music, and he couldn’t stop them from spending all their time with her, but he couldn’t help it when he thought about how they worked together and lived in the same building while Curt lived across town, thanks to Griffin. Curt swallowed his anger, or at least tried to swallow his anger. 

“You gave my girlfriend a sweatshirt?” 

“What–” Kendall jumped and spun around. “What the hell are you talking about?” The taller blonde tried his best to feign innocence. 

“It’s blue. Ronnie doesn’t wear a blue sweatshirt,” Curt blinked twice. His expression was blank. He was unimpressed. 

“I bought her one.” Kendall swallowed thickly. He didn’t need to get nervous and give it away that he happened to give Ronnie one of his sweatshirts instead of buying her one from some department store. 

“Really?” Curt raised a brow. His expressionless voice and face were freaking Kendall out. It made the blonde sweat nervously. 

“Yeah, and you can give her one of your sweaters.” Kendall punched in numbers on the keypad and watched as the small bag of cookies dropped to the bottom of the vending machine. 

“That’s not the point, Kendall.” Curt sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You gave her a sweatshirt, and she is wearing it. She’s my girlfriend, yet you seem more like a boyfriend than I do.” 

“That’s your problem,” Kendall shouldered past him and opened the bag of cookies. “What’s the use of complaining to me when you could improve your boyfriend attitude.” 

“Okay, fuck you.” Curt spat. “I know you like her and want you to back off.” 

“I don’t like her.” Kendall stopped in his tracks and turned around. “We’re friends, and I’m trying to make up for how much of a dick I’ve been.” 

“No,” Curt’s fists clenched at his side. “You’re trying to be between us.” 

“Dude, do you seriously think I want to date her?” 

“Yeah, I do. Because I see how you look at her and act around her, which is not friendly; it’s like you’re compensating for something.”  

Kendall chewed the small cookie slowly—words bouncing around in his brain. 

“If you’re saying I’m compensating for a small–” 

“No!” Curt scrunched his face in disgust. “You don’t want anyone to find out you like Ronnie and pretend you hate her.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Kendall laughed. “Is this a joke? Are you joking with me?” 

“Can you be serious?” Curt smacked the bag of cookies out of Kendall’s hand. “She’s my girlfriend!” 

“Okay, I get it. You and Ronnie are dating.” Kendall rolled his eyes. “Are you going to pay me back for those cookies?” 

“I don’t care about the fucking cookies!” Curt snapped. “You gave my girlfriend a sweatshirt!” He jabbed his finger in Kendall’s chest. 

“Dude, ask her to throw it out if you care that much.” Kendall shrugged. “I don’t care what she does with it. I gifted it to her, but she’ll have to pay me back if she throws it away.” 

It was rather annoying that Kendall couldn't care less about the sweatshirt he gave Ronnie. To Curt, sweatshirts were something that girlfriends stole from their boyfriends to act cute. Because Kendall gifted Ronnie a sweatshirt, he essentially stole that experience from Curt. Of course, the hockey player had given ex-girlfriends his sweatshirts before, but he wanted to give Ronnie his sweatshirt since she always wore one. Unfortunately, Kendall beat him to it. This ultimately made no sense because he was acting rather apathetic. Curt didn’t think a confrontation would be such a dead end. He was at a loss and didn’t know what to do. 

The hockey player at least expected Kendall to confess that he gave Ronnie one of his sweatshirts, but because he didn’t, this would have been harder than it needed to be. The shorter blonde grumbled as he slotted the right amount of quarters into the vending machine to pay for another baggie of cookies for Kendall. He didn’t feel guilty about the cookies, but he did want to punch Kendall in the face. Getting him back for that right hook the singer landed on his jaw would be satisfying. Kendall happily munched on his new baggie of cookies and walked away without another word. Seeing as Curt didn’t get what he wanted, he decided to stop by the ice rink and practice for a little while. Anything physical exercise would get rid of the anger that was bubbling inside of him. Griffin wouldn’t be proud if he ended up punching someone, and the paparazzi caught that on camera. 

Kendall watched Curt leave the Palm Woods and finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. He didn’t know how he could keep calm while lying through his teeth. Kendall knew the sweatshirt he gifted Ronnie was not from a department store, but Curt didn’t need to know. The sweatshirt was a last-minute gift because he had no idea Ronnie’s birthday was November 21st. At least now, he could plan a birthday gift for next year. If Curt was this close to figuring out the truth, Kendall had every reason to panic. With his half-eaten baggie of cookies, the blonde rushed to the elevator. Logan could offer the best advice to escape this sticky situation even though James gave the best advice on relationships. 

In apartment 2J, Logan was working on his homework. He was always working on his homework the most compared to his friends. He was studious, and Gustavo often described him as too nerdy to dance. The only problem with Logan giving relationship advice was that he used Love Science to choose who he should date. Unfortunately, the science he created came up with an inconclusive answer. There was no doubt in Kendall’s mind that Logan would put him through love science to determine if Kendall should wait for Jo as he previously planned or figure out how to pursue Ronnie. Or, maybe there was a completely different answer it would come up with. Either way, Kendall didn’t want to think about it. He thought Love Science was stupid. Algorithms and computers cannot detect who likes who or who is meant for someone. Love Science was as intuitive as the information put into the equation. 

“Logan!” Kendall burst through the door. “I need your help,” 

The dark-haired boy sat at the breakfast bar with his calculator, scribbling his pencil across paper. Logan hummed in response but didn’t look up. He could tell who was asking based on voice alone, and he was paying attention. For some reason, Logan was a great multitasker compared to his friends. It might have to do with how smart he is. 

“So, I gave Ronnie a sweatshirt, but it’s mine. I didn’t buy it from a department store. Curt found out, and I don’t know what to do.” 

Logan’s pencil stopped like a record coming to a screeching halt. He picked his head up and stared wide-eyed at Kendall. 

“What–” 

“Curt found out I gave his girlfriend one of my sweatshirts!” 

“How is this my problem?” Logan tilted his head. 

“Because I need help!” 

“Okay… What do you want me to do?” 

“I need advice! I need a solution!” Kendall whined and dropped to his knees. He clasped his hands together. “Please, I need you to help.” 

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?” Logan quirked a brow. “If anything, the solution should be obvious. You must crush these budding feelings for Ronnie because she is in a happy, committed relationship.” 

“They’ve been together for two months!” 

“That doesn’t matter! Your relationship with Jo fell flat, and you can’t talk about your feelings for the life of you.” 

“I don’t see why that’s a problem–” 

“Kendall,” Logan exhaled sharply. “Do you want me to put your names into Love Science?” 

“What– Pfft, no…” Kendall laughed awkwardly and looked away. “...Yes.” He mumbled. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll go set everything up.” Logan sighed and got up to find the machine he had made a while ago. If it would help his friend and keep Kendall from bothering him while he was doing his homework, then it would be beneficial to at least try it. 

The blonde never liked being hooked up to the machine. The sticky sensors made him itchy, and the wires made him think of the hospital. More specifically, of the time he broke his leg in middle school and couldn’t play in their junior hockey league. Kendall was uncomfortable, and his heart rate spiked, but it didn’t set the sensors off. Logan took a step back and scratched his chin. It had been quite a bit since he set up the Love Science machine, but he was confident this was how he was supposed to set it up. 

“Okay, first, think about Ronnie. Imagine she rushed through the door and collapsed into your arms crying.” Logan side-eyed the monitor. 

“Why would I think about her crying?” Kendall shook slightly. 

“I don’t know! Just think about her!” 

“This feels weird!” 

“You asked me to set this up!” Logan huffed. He massaged his temples and sighed. 

Kendall slumped in the chair and leaned his head back as carefully as possible to avoid ripping off the sensors attached to his forehead. He was already thinking about the songwriter. She wore his hoodie, and the thought of that made him giddy. Logan tapped the monitor and watched the EKG. Kendall didn’t know how long this would take, and the chair was very uncomfortable. Then, the idea his friend threw at him snuck into his head. If Ronnie came to him crying because she broke up with Curt, he would have no idea how he would react. On the one hand, Kendall would attempt to cheer her up, but on the other hand, the blonde singer would be paralyzed. He would be terrified of saying the wrong thing and worsening her sorrow. 

“Alright, now think about Jo…” 

Kendall felt as though he flatlined. He tried not to think about Jo too often because she was his first girlfriend, and he only pushed her away. Their relationship was sweet, and Jo was the girl he dreamed of. He couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. Then again, he would want to restart their relationship if she returned. Their careers got in the way, and it was bound to fail because neither knew how to navigate something like that. But then again, did Kendall truly want to restart their relationship? Was he only thinking about restarting their relationship because Jo wanted to?

Somehow, Ronnie and Gustavo finished the fourth song for BTR’s second album in a couple of hours. Of course, Gustavo did most of the work because he had experience and expertise. It was stressful, but they finally had Music Sounds Better. Gustavo also estimated that the album should have thirteen songs, so they have nine to make in three weeks. Instead of writing them, the boys have to perform them and learn choreography. The bonfire in the back corner was lit, and smoke wafted in the air as it burned. Kevin, Lucy, and Ronnie were side by side on the stone bench again, not so discreetly passing a joint back and forth. 

“So, how are you liking the School of Rocque?” Lucy asked, blowing smoke into the night air. The fire cast a shadow on her face. “When the guys talked about it, they lamented about how much it sucked.” 

“Ugh, it’s horrible.” Ronnie groaned and leaned back. She blew the smoke out of her mouth, watching it wisp into the air and curl around itself. 

“What’s the School of Rocque?” Kevin asked in between coughs. 

“An excuse for Gustavo to keep me on the premises…” Ronnie stared into the fire. Her emerald eyes were illuminated by the flickering flames eating the fuel in the bonfire. “I’d rather go to the school at the Palm Woods, but it isn’t all that bad.” 

“The Palm Woods school is awesome! Mrs. Collins knows how to include every learning style, and sometimes she gives us pie in class.” Kevin chuckled and leaned back. He nodded slowly with a lazy smile. 

“I can only imagine that bodes well with Carlos,” Ronnie took one last drag from the joint before handing it back to Lucy. “But I would not want to share a class with Kendall.” 

“Why?” Lucy asked. 

“Well, I mean, he hasn’t been that much of a jerk recently, but he’s still a dick.” Ronnie sighed and leaned her head back. “Sometimes it’s way too obvious that he doesn’t know if he wants to befriend me.” The songwriter blew hair out of her face. “He thinks I’ll wait for him to figure out what he wants.” 

“You sound like you like him,” Kevin raised a brow. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?” 

“I don’t like him.” Ronnie shot back. 

“No, I think you like him and don’t want to acknowledge it.” Kevin chuckled. 

“Maybe you like him because Curt hasn’t been acting like a boyfriend,” Lucy said. 

“Not true!” Ronnie’s voice rose an octave. “Curt’s the best boyfriend.” 

“Then why do you like Kendall.” Lucy leaned forward. Both she and Kevin were looking expectantly at Ronnie. 

“Shut– Shut up.” The green-haired girl swatted the air and then crossed her arms and pouted. “I do not like Kendall. I’m probably projecting because I haven’t spent enough time with Curt since he’s been signed onto the L.A. Kings…” 

“Dude, he sold out your relationship to the media.” Kevin frowned. 

“Accidentally! He didn’t know how they would react.” 

“What’s with the blue hoodie?” Lucy finally noticed it. “Usually, you wear the yellow one.” 

“Kendall gave it to me…” Ronnie mumbled and shrunk into her sweatshirt. She played with the drawstrings and looked away. 

“You’re wearing a sweatshirt Kendall gave to you?” Both Lucy and Kevin asked. 

“I don’t– I don’t like him!” Ronnie stammered. “We’re friends… I think.” 

“You think?” Lucy parroted. 

“I don’t know!” Ronnie groaned and slumped over. “Sometimes he acts like he’s more than a friend, but I can’t tell if I’m thinking about it too much!” 

“Woah…” Kevin’s sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, and his eyes widened. “This has you hella bent out of shape…” 

“I’m sorry.” Ronnie sighed and tucked her knees to her chest. “I wish this wasn’t so complicated.” 

“Yeah, but you’re not the one making it complicated. Kendall is,” Lucy reasoned. “This isn’t on you. It’s not your fault.” 

“But I have a boyfriend.” 

“But Ken-dork is confusing you.” Kevin reasoned. 

A pitiful whine sounded from Ronnie’s throat, and she tucked her head between her knees. She was confused and tired and did not know what to do. It was strange that this happened in the blink of an eye, and she was afraid that if she let it be, it would snowball into something worse. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she didn’t check it. The last thing she needed was to see a text from Kendall or Curt. Before she could talk to either of them, Ronnie needed to figure out what was going on. She learned a lot from Addison’s on-again, off-again relationship with Trent. Cheating was the worst thing you could do in a relationship. The songwriter didn’t want to cheat on Curt accidentally. If she did, he deserved someone far better than her. 

“The stars are so pretty.” Lucy looked up at the night sky and squinted. Of course, she would never have said that sober. 

“Did you know my star sign is Virgo?” Kevin snickered. 

“No way! I’m a Virgo, too!” Lucy gasped. “Ronnie, what’s your zodiac sign?” 

“Uhh, the November 21st one…” 

“Your birthday was two days ago?!” Kevin and Lucy exclaimed. 

“Holy shit, we have to sing Happy Birthday.” Kevin looked around for his guitar pick. “I can’t believe we missed it!” 

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” Ronnie sighed and closed the hood around her face. 

“Why? Birthdays are the best. There’s cake and presents, and the people who care about you gather in one room.” Lucy blinked twice. “How could you not like your birthday?” 

“Things… Things always happen.” The green-haired girl muttered. “But James overheard me and my dad talking about it while we were dying my hair… Well, now everyone knows. I didn’t even want Curt to know, and I think he found out Kendall took me ice skating and gave me this hoodie.” 

“It does sound like Kendall acts more like your boyfriend.”

[sallowsarchives]

War of Hearts

Part I | Part II | Part III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary: Nothing says "believable" like two people who can't stand each other pretending to be in love—or is this just the push you two need to realize there might be more to your relationship than either of you is willing to admit? Word Count: 7.9k  Warnings/Tags: no use of y/n, fake relationships, sorta enemies to lovers, alcohol consumption, angst, pining, original side character, sort of a not so happy ending, arthur thinking he’s not good enough. I also tried fitting the story with canon whenever I could. Not Proofread!! A/N: Hey everyone! Just wanted to mention that this is my first time writing and posting, so I'm bit nervous but really excited to finally share it! This piece was heavily inspired by and made as a result from a conversation I had with my Arthur cAI hehe Credits: dividers used for this fic are by @enchanthings & all pictures used are taken from pinterest and were slightly edited by me.

Read on AO3

"I can't believe I have to attend this ridiculous party pretending to be married to him, of all people."  

Your voice is edged with annoyance as you smooth down the fabric of your dress, trying to channel your irritation into the task at hand. "It's bad enough we have to work together, but this charade is beyond absurd."

Tilly chuckles. "Oh, come on. It's just one night. How bad can it be?"

You give her an unamused look. "We can hardly tolerate being around each other, and now Dutch expects us to pretend we're madly in love, all while dealing with a crowd of high-society snobs."

"It ain’t like y’all have spent much time together. Maybe going on this would do you both some good. Who knows, you might actually find some common ground," Abigail suggests as she takes the glove Jack was playing with, causing him to pout, before handing it over to you.

Sadie snorts. "The only common ground those two have is their mutual hatred. Let’s just hope neither of ‘em ends up killing the other tonight. Knowin’ those two, it'll be a miracle if they make it through the evening without a scratch."

Mary-Beth chuckles as she adjusts your updo. "Oh, don’t be so dramatic. They’re not going to kill each other—at least not tonight. Dutch will probably come up with some harebrained scheme to keep things under control." She flashes a playful grin as she puts the final touches on your hairstyle.

You chuckle before taking a moment to admire yourself in the mirror. 

The gown, a deep shade of burgundy satin, flows gracefully to the floor with an off-the-shoulder design and a low neckline, elegantly framed by a ruffled collar. The rich fabric drapes beautifully, enhancing your silhouette.

The black lace gloves, covering your hands and forearms, add a sophisticated touch with their delicate floral patterns. Your fingers are adorned with a few rings, and your dangling earrings catch the light with every movement.

You bought the dress earlier this morning in Saint Denis with the cash from your last robbery. The job had been straightforward: Hosea had scouted the place, found out the homeowners were away for vacation, and given your expertise at picking locks and sleight of hand, he brought you along. You managed to secure a tidy sum of cash and a few valuable heirlooms without any trouble.

Knowing the dress would be perfect for tonight’s high-society affair, you spent a good amount of your previous earnings on it. The gown fits as if it were made just for you, and you can't help but feel a surge of confidence as you admire your reflection.

Karen pipes up with a smirk. “Well, I’ll be! With you lookin’ like that, Arthur won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

She looks at you mischievously, “might even give him a nudge in the right direction. Maybe it’ll help you two finally work out all that tension between you.”

Her comment draws an abashed look from you followed by giggles from the other women.

After receiving some last words of encouragement and reassuring nods from the girls, you thank them for their help and make your way downstairs to join the men outside.

Stepping out, you're greeted by the warm, humid night air of the swamp. Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, and Bill were already gathered near the horse hitches, all dressed in their suits.

You make your way over, trying to muster every ounce of grace and composure you can. 

As you get closer, Arthur's gaze lands on you and you catch a fleeting look of surprise along with a hint of a softer look in his eyes before his expression is quickly masked with his usual frown.

His eyebrows furrow slightly as he takes in your refined appearance, the rough edges of his demeanor softened by an elusive flicker of something you can't quite place.

Dutch notices your entrance and offers a nod of approval. “Well, look at you, Miss,” he says with a wide smile, clearly pleased with how things are shaping up. “You look absolutely perfect for this evening.”

You smile and nod at the men before your gaze drifts to Arthur. The contrast between his usual rugged attire and his current appearance is stark, and you can't help but notice how well he pulls off the look. Despite his irritating nature, there's no denying he has a certain charm. You give him a cheeky smile and offer a sly compliment.

"Well, well, look what we have here, I never thought I'd see the day. Maybe you should ditch the jeans for a while."

Arthur gives you a flat look, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Oh, real funny, darlin’,” he drawls, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t you worry, I’ll be back to my ol’ self I know you’re so fond of before you know it.”

You roll your eyes at him and smirk, taking joy in having gotten under his skin. 

Dutch chuckles at the exchange, clapping Arthur on the back. “Now play nice, you two. We’ve got a job to do tonight, and looking the part is only half the battle.” 

His tone is light, but there’s a hint of seriousness as he continues, “let’s keep the bickering to a minimum and focus on what needs to be done. We don’t want any more distractions than we already have.” 

Next to Arthur, Bill chuckles and gives him a playful nudge. “Arthur, reckon you ain’t gonna give your dear wife a compliment?” he teases, the humor in his voice evident as he refers to the charade you both must uphold for the party.

He shifts uncomfortably and glares at Bill, his expression a mix of irritation and reluctance. 

Dutch leans in with a smirk, “come on, Arthur, show a bit of charm. It’s not every day you get to pretend to be in love.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get this over with before one of us runs outta patience.”

The clatter of wheels catches your ear as Lenny finally arrives driving a stagecoach. The vehicle comes to a smooth stop, and Lenny leans over with a broad grin, his eyes brightening as he sees you. He offers a warm compliment, his cheerful demeanor a welcome contrast to the evening’s tension.

You return his smile and thank him before Dutch and Hosea get into the stagecoach, followed by you and Arthur. Bill hops into the seat next to Lenny.

As you settle into your seat, the atmosphere in the coach becomes thick with anticipation. The weight of the evening's expectations hangs heavily between you and Arthur, both of you making an effort to avoid each other's gaze while mentally bracing yourselves for the night ahead as the stagecoach begins to roll forward.

The rhythmic clatter of the horse’s hooves against the large wooden bridge serves as a reminder of your close arrival in Saint Denis, the city’s lights blurring past as you mentally prepare for the evening’s masquerade.

Inside the stagecoach, the atmosphere had gradually lightened earlier on during the ride. The gang cracked jokes and shared stories as Dutch opened a bottle of champagne for everyone, the laughter providing a welcome distraction from the evening’s tension.

Everyone reminisced about their past escapades, with most admitting they had never been to a ball before. Hosea, however, regaled everyone with tales of his numerous experiences at such events—not for the socializing, but for the chance to lift a few purses from oblivious rich folks. His anecdotes were met with a mixture of awe and amusement, shifting the mood to one of camaraderie.

Soon, the coach slowed to a stop right in front of a mansion and the group peers out the window, taking in the grandeur of the estate. 

Dutch let out a low whistle. “Well, if that ain’t something. Remember, folks, we’re here to blend in. Keep your eyes sharp and your wits sharper.”

Hosea, always the calm voice of reason, looks between you and Arthur. “Now let’s keep this simple. We’re here to make a good impression, Bronte may already know of our reputation but we should keep the high society folks none the wiser. Let's keep our cool, play our parts, and try to score some valuable intel.”

You and Arthur exchange looks, eyes meeting one another with a sharp, challenging edge before he turns his gaze away. You take a steadying breath, silently hoping the night unfolds smoothly and without incident. 

Lenny steps down and opens the coach door which was followed by the men exiting one by one, with you last. 

As Arthur starts to walk ahead, Hosea nudges him and gestures toward you, earning an exasperated sigh from Arthur.

Reluctantly, Arthur falls into step beside you and extends his arm. Despite the lingering tension, you accept it, slipping your arm through his.

He glances at you, his expression of slight irritation. “This should be a real treat.” 

You raise an eyebrow, barely masking your annoyance. “It’s not like I’m thrilled about it either. But here we are.”

He gives you a smug look. “Just remember, we’re supposed to be playin’ nice. Don’t go makin’ it harder than it needs to be. I’d hate for you to accidentally blow our cover.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage to keep things under control. After all, you’re the expert at charm, aren’t you?”

“Well, if you’d quit making things so damn difficult, I might actually get a chance to show it. But I reckon you’re used to makin’ everything more complicated.”

You step closer, your voice low and biting. “And I suppose you’re used to being an insufferable brute. Maybe if you stopped acting like a complete pain in the ass, we’d both get through things a little easier.”

Arthur’s smile fades, his expression turning serious. “Now I’m just tryin’ to do my part tonight. If you could manage to do the same without stirrin’ up trouble, that’d be mighty appreciated.”

The two of you share a final, heated look, the air between you crackling with palpable tension, as you both brace for the evening’s inevitable strain.

Dutch, who had walked ahead to present the invitation to the guards, cast a sharp glance at you and Arthur, not having missed your whispered barbs, making you shift away from each other.

Turning back to the guards, they direct everyone to surrender their firearms with the men reluctantly handing over their pistols.

Once that was settled, an escort named Luca stepped forward to guide you inside.

The doors opened with a soft creak, revealing the splendor of the grand staircase beyond. As you made your way through the space, Luca engaged the group in light conversation, primarily highlighting Bronte’s reputation before you are all guided to the left through an archway.

“Hosea, Bill, you join the party. We’ll meet you out back after we pay our respects to Signor Bronte.” Dutch instructs before signaling you and Arthur to follow as Hosea and Bill part ways from you.

The three of you were led upstairs and directed to a door on the left that opens onto a balcony. 

The balcony was expansive, overlooking the lush garden below. A group of men stood gathered around the railing, laughing at a recently shared joke. The space featured a few armchairs and you noted the few guards stationed nearby, armed with rifles.

An accented voice cut through the laughter. “Ah, the angry cowboys, you’ve arrived… And you’ve washed!” 

From the way the man held himself, you could only assume that this was Angelo Bronte. 

Bronte made a remark, presumably in Italian, to the men beside him. They glanced at Arthur and Dutch before laughing slyly, and you couldn’t shake the suspicion that his comment was a crude jibe about the cowboys.

You had to struggle to maintain a friendly expression when Bronte's gaze landed on you.

The smirk on his face grew as his eyes swept over you, lingering with an unsettling leer. “And who might this be?” he drawled, his voice thick with barely concealed appraisal. “Aren’t you quite the sight. I didn’t realize these men kept such delightful company as you. It seems they have more refined tastes than I imagined.”

His gaze was invasive, making you feel as though he was sizing you up with an unnerving familiarity. The overt sexual undertone in his words was palpable, and it took every ounce of your composure to not react. The air around him felt thick with condescension and unwanted attention, making it clear that this meeting was going to be far more uncomfortable than you had anticipated.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mister Bronte,” you replied evenly. “Thank you for the invitation. I’m here simply to accompany my husband.” You cast a steady glance at Arthur as you spoke.

Bronte’s eyes flicker to Arthur, a look of surprise momentarily crossing his face before he returns his attention to you. He takes your hand, pressing it to his lips and holding it just a moment too long, his gaze never waver. “Ah, I see,” he says, his tone smooth and almost mocking. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance. I must say, it’s quite surprising to see such a charming companion alongside your husband. A fortunate man, indeed.”

Arthur’s expression hardens momentarily before he quickly masks it, stepping forward. “Seems I’m full of surprises tonight,” he says, his tone unexpectedly calm. “Just as I’m sure this evening will be.” He holds a steady, unwavering gaze at Bronte.

Bronte’s lips curl into a knowing smile as he studies Arthur’s unyielding gaze. “Ah, such a spirited response,” he says with a playful glint in his eye. “I do appreciate a bit of unpredictability. It seems we’re in for an interesting evening indeed.” He gestured grandly towards the gathering, his tone dripping with feigned charm.

Arthur nods curtly before stepping back, positioning himself in a way that subtly yet clearly marks him as your protector, despite the dynamic between you. Bronte’s gaze lingers on Arthur for a moment longer, his amusement giving way to a more calculating expression.

Dutch stepped in, resuming his conversation with Bronte in an effort to ease the tension while you and Arthur stood off to the side. 

The men were offered cigars, and Arthur quickly placed one in his mouth. Before he was even offered a cutter, he bit down and tore the end off with his teeth, spitting the excess over the balcony in a manner that left your jaw hanging open in disbelief.

He smirks at you, clearly enjoying the reaction he’s provoked. You roll your eyes at his display, a mix of irritation and slight amusement etched across your face.

“You know,” you whisper to him with a hint of exasperation, “you could at least pretend to have some manners.”

Arthur’s smirk widened into a cocky grin. “Right, forgot we’re here to put on a show,” he shot back, his voice dripping with playful insolence, making you roll your eyes.

When the attendant extended a match towards Dutch but pulled back before reaching Arthur, the gunslinger seized the attendant’s arm and held it in place, lowering his cigar to the flame. The boldness of his actions flustered you, leaving you a mix of irritation and an unexpected flurry of emotions that left you feeling perplexed.

Arthur dismissed the attendant with a nonchalant nod, his eyes fixed on you the entire time. The attendant, evidently accustomed to such brusque behavior, retreated without protest.

You found yourself both exasperated and oddly captivated by the ease with which Arthur commanded the attention. His effortless defiance was infuriating, yet there was something compelling about his blatant refusal to conform to expectations, making it hard to ignore the allure behind his brazen demeanor. 

You quickly push those thoughts aside, refocusing on the conversation between Dutch and Bronte, doing your best to ignore the flush in your cheeks and the rapid beating of your heart.

After several exchanges between Dutch and Bronte, including another jibe from Bronte about cowboy lifestyle, which had elicited subtle pointed looks from you and the men you were with. 

“Those sure were the days,” Dutch simpered, his gaze on Bronte now more intense and focused. “Good day, gentlemen.”

Just as you were about to leave, Bronte turned to you, offering a slight bow.  “And you, Miss,” he said with a smirk, “do return if you the crowd down there becomes too dull.” His gaze shifted to Arthur. “‘Course you could bring your husband along, but I wouldn’t mind if you came alone.”

He held his gaze on you, lingering with a glint of amusement. You gave him a polite nod despite the discomfort you felt and turned to follow Dutch and Arthur. Even as you walked away, you could feel Bronte’s eyes on your back. 

The encounter left you with a sharp sense of irritation and a strong resolve to avoid any further interactions with him.

You glanced at Arthur, who had been waiting with Dutch by the door. Though his face showed no sign of emotion, you couldn’t miss the subtle clench of his jaw. You felt his hand gently place on your lower back, guiding you away.

The unexpected touch had caught you off guard, making you stiffen slightly as you struggled to process the unfamiliar gesture. It felt protective and oddly comforting, coming from someone who had been nothing but a source of irritation and friction.

You chanced another glance at Arthur, but his face remained expressionless. His hand lingered on your back for a moment before he withdrew it as quickly as he had placed it, his demeanor swiftly reverting to its usual hardness. 

The fleeting moment of unexpected closeness left you feeling unsettled, a mix of confusion and reluctant curiosity stirring within you.

You quickly reminded yourself that you were both still maintaining a façade, and this brief intimacy was likely just another part of the act. You focused on the task at hand, trying to push away the feelings and maintain the necessary distance between you.

Luca led the three of you back downstairs to rejoin the party, bidding you farewell before you head off with Dutch to meet Bill and Hosea outside.

“Gentlemen… and lady, let’s go ingratiate ourselves,” Dutch began before outlining the plan and giving everyone the freedom to mingle. “And steal nothing… unless it’s information,” Dutch added with a final nod before everyone dispersed.

With that, you follow closely behind Arthur as you both make your way down into the crowd, the murmur of conversations and clinking glasses filling the air. The curious glances of other partygoers followed you both, their eyes lingering with a mix of intrigue and scrutiny. 

He noticed a few men’s eyes drifting from him to you, their stares lingering with evident interest.

Arthur made a conscious effort to ignore the unwanted attention, though his irritation was palpable. 

Pushing down an unfamiliar urge stirring within him, Arthur quickly reminded himself to keep up with the act you two must play tonight.

He shifted to stand beside you, offering his arm with a practiced ease, his expression carefully neutral as he guided you through the crowd.

The absurdity of it all made him grumble under his breath about the ridiculous situation. With a sigh, he steered you toward a less crowded corner of the garden, seeking a quieter spot away from the throng of guests.

As you settled into a less conspicuous spot, you could feel the weight of Arthur’s tension. “I suppose this is where we’re supposed to make our mark,” you said, trying to break the silence. 

You watched as Arthur scanned the crowd, his eyes darting from one group to another, searching for anything useful.

His gaze met yours for a brief moment before he spoke, “Keep your eyes open for now,” he said quietly, his voice low and focused. “I’ll try to track down the mayor and speak with him. See if you can strike up a conversation with some of these folks and gather any useful information about where they’re stashin’ all their riches.”

"Alright, I’ll work the room while you schmooze with the mayor. Just don’t take too long—this place is already starting to wear me thin after that meeting with Bronte. I'm not keen on diving into more talk about the latest fashions and whatnot."

Arthur’s lips twitched in what might have been a small smirk. He inclined his head slightly before turning away and heading off.

You spent the better part of an hour making conversation with various guests, each interaction aimed at uncovering valuable intel on potential robbery targets. 

Maneuvering through the crowd, you engaged in light, seemingly innocuous chit-chat while discreetly probing for any mentions of high-value items or vulnerable security.

Despite your best efforts, luck seemed to evade you. Although, you did manage to uncover information about a stagecoach arriving next month, supposedly laden with valuable jewels. That was at least something.

You took a small sip from the glass of champagne you've snatched earlier in the evening, surveying the crowd. The sound of giggles and lively chatter drew your gaze, and you looked over to see Arthur deep in conversation with a group of women. You couldn't help but feel a wry amusement at the sight.

One of the women, with a clearly flirtatious gesture, placed her hand on Arthur’s arm and leaned in, her laughter echoing. The simple touch and her proximity sparked an uncomfortable feeling within you. 

You observed how Arthur subtly stepped back, skillfully deflecting her advances. Despite his efforts, the woman seemed oblivious to the fact that her attentions were being rebuffed. It was a masterful display of charm and diplomacy, leaving you with a mix of admiration and lingering discomfort. You took another sip of your drink, trying to shake off the unexpected unease.

At that moment, Arthur glanced up and locked eyes with you. He gave you a wink, likely meant to provoke or tease, but instead, his gesture caused a reaction you hadn't anticipated. Your heart skipped a beat, and a sudden rush of warmth flooded your cheeks. The playful glint in his eyes seemed to pierce through the crowd, stirring something deep inside you.

Muttering a curse under your breath, you narrowed your eyes at him and quickly turned away, trying to conceal the flush that had crept up on you.

You dashed to the nearest table, grabbing a bottle of champagne and quickly pouring yourself another glass. You downed it in one swift motion, hoping the crisp bubbles would offer a fleeting distraction from the swirl of emotions inside you.

As you pour yourself another glass, you hear someone speak up beside you, her voice tinged with curiosity. 

"Well, I must say, I’ve seen many ways to cope with a dull party, but this might be the most... efficient.”

You glanced at the voice and saw a woman smirking at you. She appeared slightly older than you and was dressed in a lavish blue gown that sparkled with every movement, her necklace glinting from the lamps. Her expression conveyed amusement. 

Feeling embarrassed to have been caught in your moment of inner turmoil, you attempted to regain your composure and replied with a hint of forced levity. “It’s quite the dull affair, isn’t it?”

The woman laughed softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Thank goodness, someone who gets it.”

“You seem to be surviving it better than most. I imagine you’ve been through a few parties like these before?”

She nodded, her gaze shifting to a distant corner of the room where a group of guests were deeply engrossed in animated conversation. “Too many, I’m afraid. After a while, it all becomes a blur of extravagant gowns and polite small talk. One learns to navigate these events with a certain... detachment.”

You chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve mastered the art of it. I could use a guide through this maze of high society myself. Any tips on surviving the evening without losing one’s sanity—or dignity?”

She grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “Well, first off, always have a backup plan for when the conversation turns to the latest trends in hat feathers or the merits of various imported cheeses. For instance, I’ve found that nodding vigorously while muttering phrases like ‘absolutely fascinating’ works wonders.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll keep that in mind. Though I suspect I might still need a crash course in how to look like I’m genuinely interested in ‘the most enchanting new fabric designs’.”

She chuckled. “Well, when in doubt, fake it till you make it. Nothing says ‘I’m absolutely fine’ like a perfectly practiced smile and a glass of champagne held just so.”

You chuckle and raise your glass at her before taking a sip. A brief silence follows as you both sip from your glasses. The woman then speaks up, her tone warm and friendly, “I’m Eloise, by the way. It’s rare to find someone who sees through the façade of these high-society gatherings.”

You smile, offering her your name. “It seems we’re both on the same wavelength when it comes to these affairs.”

“So what brought you here tonight?”

“Oh, um… I’m just here to accompany my husband, he’s the one with the business connections, so I’m playing the dutiful spouse for the evening.”

Eloise raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Ah, the classic role of the ‘plus one.’ Now which one of these overdressed peacocks is your husband?” 

She sweeps her gaze across the crowd with exaggerated curiosity. “Is he the one with the ridiculous bow tie or the chap with the hat that looks like it’s been borrowed from a magic act?”

You raise your brows in amusement as you glance at the men she’s mentioned, finding the whole scene of tonight’s event even more absurd. Your gaze sweeps over the crowd until you spot Arthur. 

“Actually, that would be him right there.”

Eloise’s eyes follow your pointing finger and widen in genuine surprise. 

“Well, I’ll be!” she exclaims, clearly taken aback. “I must say, he’s certainly not what I was expecting. Doesn't look like he belongs here, in a good way of course. He’s quite the rugged type—like one of those big, tough cowboys you’d see in a wild frontier town. You know the sort: strong, stocky, with a weathered charm that comes from living hard and facing rough challenges.”

The irony of her words makes you laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I must say, you two make quite a handsome pair.” 

You flush at her words, a mix of embarrassment and awkwardness coloring your cheeks. Instead, you offer a polite smile and nod, playing along with the pretense. “Thank you,” you say in a steady voice, unsure of what else to say.

Arthur, briefly looking away from another person he was speaking to, catches your eye for the second time tonight. There’s a fleeting moment of connection—his gaze is intense, and the faintest smile plays at his lips—before he turns back to his conversation partner.

“I must admit,” she says, her tone light and teasing, “there’s more than just a bit of magic in the air between you two. It’s not every day you see such a striking balance. I do believe there’s a certain... chemistry here that’s hard to ignore. How delightful!”

You raise an eyebrow, giving her a confused smile. “What do you mean?”

Eloise’s eyes twinkle with a knowing glint as she glances over at Arthur. “Oh, it’s really quite charming, the way he looks at you. There’s just something in his gaze as if he’s captivated by you in a way that could be missed. It’s rare to see someone look at their partner with such intensity and warmth these days.”

For a moment, you almost correct her, eager to clarify that you and Arthur aren’t actually together. But then you remember the need to maintain the ruse. You glance awkwardly at Arthur, trying to downplay the connection Eloise is suggesting.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you say clearly flustered, trying to sound casual but failing to hide your unease. “I mean, Arthur and I aren’t exactly... well, he’s just got this intense look, which I’m sure it’s nothing more than... you know, his way of being attentive. It’s just a bit of his nature.”

Her smile softens, eyes warm and genuine. “Oh, it’s clear to see if you look hard enough. Even in a crowded room, he seems to be drawn to you. It’s quite endearing.”

The sound of cracks echoed before you could think of a response, and the woman beside you lit up with genuine excitement.

“Finally, something exciting! It's been lovely chatting with you. I do hope we cross paths again. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Eloise sends you a warm smile before hurrying off.

You send her a genuine smile before you turn your gaze upward to the sky, where faint glimmers of fireworks begin to light up the night. The display added a splash of color to the darkened sky, creating a stark contrast to the opulence of the garden below. 

As you watched the vibrant bursts, your thoughts drifted back to the conversation you had with Eloise, trying to process her comments. Her words lingered in your mind, stirring a mix of curiosity and confusion. 

The idea that whatever is between you and Arthur might actually convey something deeper, something affectionate, felt almost surreal given the dynamics between you two and your perspective on your relationship with him.

Perhaps Abigail was right; the more you spent time with Arthur, the more you learned about him and saw him in a new light. What had once seemed like mere pretense or forced partnership now hinted at a connection that transcended your initial expectations. 

The way he moved, the way he spoke, the moments of unguarded sincerity—it all started to paint a different picture. The possibility that these moments could be more than just part of the act began to take root, stirring a blend of curiosity and apprehension within you.

You quickly down your drink before setting the empty glass on the table.

Suddenly, a rough hand wrapping around your wrist jolts you out of your thoughts and you turn to see Arthur who all but tugged you along behind him. 

You let out a scowl. “Hey! What the-”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder, a mix of amusement and determination on his face. “Come on, we just caught wind that the Mayor’s gotten somethin’ from Cornwall. Dutch reckons we oughta figure out what it is, make sure we ain’t missin’ nothin’ crucial.”

“And you need me because?” You asked with slight irritation as he continued to pull you along.

Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly, his voice taking on a low, firm tone. “I need you to keep watch, and your lock-pickin’ skills could come in handy… ‘sides, you’re my wife don’t forget.” He added with a teasing smirk. 

“Can’t have you wanderin’ off by yourself lookin’ like I’ve neglected you. That wouldn’t reflect too well on me now, would it?”

You shot him a glare, yanking your wrist free from his grip. “Could’ve just asked me”

Arthur’s lips twitched with a hint of a smirk. “You looked so wrapped up in the fireworks, darlin’, I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

You bit back a retort, your frustration mingling with a begrudging understanding of his point.  “Don’t call me that,” you said, a hint of irritation in your voice at the use of the nickname. 

Arthur raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening slightly. “Alright, sweetheart. Try to keep up now.”

Trailing closely behind Arthur as you followed the servant, you effortlessly weaved through the spectators, who were too engrossed in watching the fireworks to notice you. 

The servant circled around to the side of the house and ascended a small set of steps leading out of the garden. He paused briefly to engage in a conversation with someone before slipping inside through a side door.

The both of you followed cautiously, making sure to stay out of sight. Inside, you overheard the man berating a maid before he made his way up the stairs, retracing your steps to the upper levels where you had previously been.

Just before reaching the landing, Arthur raises his hand, halting you in your tracks. He peers over the edge of the wall, watching as the servant enters the locked room, heads to a desk, and inserts a key into a drawer to place the letter inside. The servant then disappears further into the room, the sound of a door closing signaling that it is time for you and Arthur to make your move.

Arthur moves first, effortlessly slipping inside through the wide-open door left by the servant. You quickly scan the area to ensure it's clear before following him.

He makes his way over to the desk and tugs at the drawer, only to find it locked. Grabbing a letter opener from the table, he attempts to pry it open. You watch with amusement as he grunts in frustration, struggling to get it to budge.

“Honestly, watching you fumble with that is almost painful,” you remarked, making Arthur roll his eyes and throw up his hands in a gesture that clearly invited you to take over. With a sigh, you stepped in, gently nudging him aside before kneeling down to get eye-level with the lock.

Pulling a pin from your updo, your hair falls loosely over your back, leaving your style in a half-up, half-down look. You insert the pin into the lock, and after a few moments of fumbling, a triumphant smile spreads across your face at the satisfying click of the lock opening.

You stand back up and look over at Arthur, giving him a smug smile when you catch him staring. You raise an eyebrow, and he quickly clears his throat, shifting his gaze away as if caught in the act of something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.

"I, uh, never seen you with your hair down before," he comments before he can think twice, his voice trailing off as he leans over the drawer, a hint of color creeping into his cheeks. 

"Nice work," he adds, his eyes momentarily meeting yours before darting away.

You raise an eyebrow at his flustered demeanor, the corner of your mouth twitching in amusement, “I’m glad you approve.” 

You watch as he sifts through the drawer's contents until his hands close around a book with a piece of paper inside. He briefly reads the paper, nods, and then tears it in half, slipping the pieces into his suit pocket.

“You got it?” 

“Yeah, let’s get outta here,” he replies, glancing around making sure no one is watching before heading out the door with you following closely behind

Just as you were about to move down the stairs, the creaking sound of someone coming up halted both of your tracks. Without warning, Arthur grabbed you, pushing you gently but firmly against the wall beside the staircase, his body pressing close to yours. His arms caged around the sides of your head, creating a tight, protective barrier.

The sudden proximity left you acutely aware of his body against yours, his chest nearly brushing yours as his arms trapped you in place.

His gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse race even faster. His brow furrowed slightly as if he were struggling to control a rush of emotions.

The closeness had clearly caught both of you off guard, the charged atmosphere between you almost palpable. His breath came in short, controlled bursts, and you could see the way his jaw tightened as he struggled to maintain his composure.

As he held you there, his expression softened just a fraction, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath his usually guarded demeanor. His voice, though still firm, carried a hint of concern as he leaned close to whisper, "Just stay still and quiet.”

The proximity of his breath against your ear made the moment feel even more intimate, amplifying the unexpected connection between you. The closeness, once marked by animosity, now seemed charged with a different kind of tension—one that was both electrifying and confusing.

As you stood there, the boundaries between duty and emotion blurred, and the shared space between you felt charged with unspoken understanding and vulnerability.

His eyes, usually hard with resolve or irritation, softened as they locked with yours. There was a softness in his gaze, a flicker of something raw and unguarded.

The emotion he held in his eyes made you reconsider the hostility that had defined your interactions. In that moment, the anger and resentment seemed to fade, replaced by a deeper, more complex understanding of the man standing so close to you.

The sound of footsteps drawing nearer to the top of the stairs heightened the urgency of the moment and Arthur’s gaze shifted to you once more.

One of his arms lowered from the wall behind you, and he placed his hand softly at the back of your neck. His touch lingered without applying too much pressure. You felt a shiver at the contact of his hand on your neck, the warmth of his touch sending an unexpected jolt of emotion through you, bringing a surge of feelings you had been trying to suppress all night.

The gentle warmth of his hand contrasted sharply with the intensity of his gaze, creating a palpable connection that seemed to heighten the gravity of your precarious situation.

Your heart pounded as you met his intense gaze, which held a rare blend of sincerity and vulnerability that was almost disarming.

“You trust me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with a sincerity that cut through the tension of the moment.

You hesitated, the weight of his question hanging between you. The proximity of his body and the depth of his gaze left you momentarily breathless. “Why should I?” you whispered back, your voice betraying a mix of defiance and vulnerability.

Arthur’s eyes never left yours as he leaned in closer. “Because right now, it’s the only way we’re getting out of this,” he replied, his tone resolute but gentle.

In that charged silence, the dynamics of your relationship were shifting. You felt the usual barriers between you—formed by past conflicts and mutual distrust—began to dissolve, replaced by an unspoken understanding that was both electrifying and comforting. The anger and rivalry giving way to a fragile trust and an unexpected tenderness. 

With the footsteps slowly growing nearer, you saw a flicker of sincerity in his eyes that made you question your own doubts. You nodded slightly, trying to steady your breath. “Alright,” you whispered.

Arthur's lips curved into a faint smile, a mixture of relief and determination. “You gotta say it, sweetheart,” he urged softly.

Your mouth curled into a slight smirk as you looked up at him, your heart racing with a blend of anxiety and anticipation. “I trust you,” you said, the words feeling like a pact forged in the heat of the moment.

In a quick, decisive motion, he leans in and presses a firm, purposeful kiss to your lips, filled with urgency. The initial touch is electrifying, but as the kiss deepens, it becomes a release of suppressed feelings, a flood of emotions long held in check.

The kiss is fervent and consuming, each moment stretching out as if to make up for lost time. His lips are warm and insistent against yours, and there’s a raw, desperate quality to the way he kisses you. It feels as though every emotion he’s been holding back is being poured into this single, intense connection.

Your own lips respond with equal fervor, the kiss becoming a mutual surrender to the feelings that have been building between you. The world around you fades into the background, the only reality being the overwhelming sensation of his kiss. 

Arthur’s hand that had been pressed firmly against the wall, now frame your face with a gentleness that contrasts with the intensity of the kiss. His grip is both tender and possessive, as if he’s anchoring you to him, unwilling to let go.

The sound of someone clearing their throat suddenly jolts you back to reality. 

A servant, caught off guard by the intimate display before him, stood at the top of the stairs. His eyes widened in surprise, clearly unprepared for the passionate exchange unfolding before him.

You and Arthur break the kiss, though the intensity of the moment lingers in the charged air between you. With a quick, shared glance, you and Arthur both adjust your demeanor, the brief intimacy giving way to the reality of the mission.

The man, realizing he has intruded on a private and critical moment, clears his throat, clearly flustered at having walked in on the intimate scene before him, face flushing with embarrassment. "I-I’m sorry to interrupt, but this area is restricted to guests unless otherwise accompanied,” he stammers.

Arthur’s eyes narrow slightly, but his expression quickly returns to a more controlled demeanor. He gives the servant a nod of acknowledgment. “Sorry ‘bout that, partner. Seems my wife and I took a wrong turn and found ourselves in the wrong spot. We were just about to head on out.”

You, still caught in the afterglow of the kiss, straighten yourself and try to regain your composure. The abrupt interruption leaves you with a swirl of mixed emotions—embarrassment, irritation, and a lingering sense of affection. You cast a quick glance at Arthur, who responds with a subtle nod, signaling that it's time to move on.

Still visibly flustered, the servant offers a hurried apology, stepping aside with a rigid posture and a face flushed a deep shade of red. He tries to give you both space as you and Arthur hurry down the stairs, the charged atmosphere from the kiss still lingering between you. The abrupt return to reality sharpens your sense of urgency.

Arthur takes a deep breath, stepping back as his gaze meets yours for a moment longer. He opens his mouth to say something but hesitates before speaking again. “We should get a move on and find Dutch and the rest ‘em.”

You noticed his hesitation but decided to brush it off, nodding in agreement. “Sure, let’s see what’s next. The sooner we get this done, the better.”

You find Dutch, Hosea, and Bill on the first-floor balcony. 

“Ah, there you are!” Dutch exclaims, a smile on his face. He then turns to Arthur. “Find anything?”

Arthur gives a nod and taps his chest where he’s tucked the letter. “I think so.”

“Great. I think we’re done here.”

The four of you move to follow Dutch, briefly exchanging information with Hosea and Bill. Hosea mentions a potential robbery job targeting a big city bank, outlining the possible opportunities involved. You share what you’ve gathered earlier about a stagecoach expected to pass through Lemoyne in the next few weeks and the valuable jewels and cash it carries.

Dutch, Hosea, and Bill push past the front entrance, walking ahead. Just before you can follow, Arthur calls your name and gently grabs your arm, pulling you aside.

In the quiet corridor, away from the others, you face him. His eyes are a mixture of resolve and something else you can’t quite place. “Listen, I, uh…,” he trails off, his voice low, seeming to wrestle with his words for a moment before finally meeting your gaze. 

Your heart races, expecting him to address what happened between you earlier and the emotions that followed. 

Instead, Arthur’s tone is hesitant and detached. “‘Bout what happened earlier… I don’t want you thinkin’ it meant more than it did. We can’t afford to get all wrapped up in nothin’ personal.”

His dismissal hits you like a cold wave.

You had hoped for some acknowledgment of the shared moment, perhaps a sign that it meant something to him. Instead, his words feel like a sharp rebuff, making you question everything you thought you understood about what happened tonight.

“What are you talking about?” you demand, trying to mask the hurt in your voice. Your frustration and anger boil over. 

Arthur’s gaze falters for a moment before he regains his composure. He runs a hand over his face, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I just don’t think—” he begins, but his voice trails off as he lets out a frustrated sigh. 

He steps back, clearly distancing himself. “Look–I can’t offer you anything more than what we have. Let’s just focus on ending this job and not let personal feelings complicate things.”

You scoff, feeling the sting of his words. Personal feelings? 

“Right, so all that back there was just for show, was it? Just keeping up appearances?”

Arthur’s expression falters, and he hesitates. He opens his mouth to respond but closes it again, his frustration evident as he struggles to find the right thing to say. 

He turns to you, his expression now seeming emotionless and cold. “I didn’t mean to make it seem like nothin’ mattered. It’s just… I’m not tryin’ to make things too complicated. It’s best to keep things straightforward right now.”

The words and his tone cuts through you like a knife, the brief connection you shared now feels like a cruel tease, an illusion of intimacy shattered by the harsh reality.

His coldness is a stark contrast to the warmth you felt moments before, leaving you grappling with a mix of hurt and frustration. 

What started as mutual disdain had evolved into something more complex, yet now it feels like it's spiraling back into that familiar animosity.

You’d hoped that beneath the hostility and barbed comments, the genuine connection hinted at earlier tonight might bridge the gap between your conflicting dynamic. But now, it feels as if his rejection is pulling you back to square one—a place locked in an endless cycle of arguments and misunderstandings.

The idea that the warmth of those moments might have been nothing more than a strategic move or a fleeting distraction makes you question if there was ever truly a chance for something different between you two.

God, how naive you were to think there could be a sliver of something more between you and Arthur.

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself to focus on the task ahead. You push aside the personal turmoil, resolving to keep your interactions with Arthur as they were before—distant and guarded. 

With a blank expression masking the tumultuous emotions roiling beneath, you reply, “Fine. Let’s just get this night over with and move on. I’ll keep any ‘personal feelings’ out of the way if that makes it better for you.”

You turn away, forcing yourself not to say anything further that might reveal your feelings. As you do, you didn't miss the brief flash of hurt and sadness in Arthur’s expression before he quickly masks it with his usual stoic demeanor.

Finally rejoining the others, you enter the stagecoach and take your seat from before. Arthur takes his place beside you, the space between you charged with unspoken words and lingering hurt. 

The rift between the two of you feels even more pronounced, a painful reminder of what might have been overshadowed by the harsh reality of your circumstances.

Hosea and Dutch, seated across from you, seem to be blissfully unaware of the personal turmoil that has unfolded between you and Arthur, their conversation flowing naturally as they discuss the next steps of the gang’s plans.

The stagecoach rolls forward, and you turn to look out the window, drowning yourself in the passing scenery. The kiss and its aftermath now feel like an unspoken wound, deepening the complexity of your already fraught relationship and leaving you to grapple with the emotional fallout alone.

A/N: Okay so that ending was definitely not a happy one. After exploring where the story might go and experimenting more with the writing, I've decided that I mighttttt just make a Part 2, which might or might not include some smut hehe... So please stay tuned!

Thanks again for reading!

Read Part Two Here

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x You

Summary: It was supposed to be an entertaining evening. Boxing fights, booze and party. It wasn't supposed to be one of the worst days of your life. || Featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 4.5k

TW: angst+++, alteration of canon events, canonical violence, depictions of slaughter and body horror, main character death, Reader's husband dying, suicidal thoughts, graphic murder. Parts in bold are direct quotes from the show. Parts in Italics are direct quotes from preceding chapters. Also, Tommy will take more space in the next chapters.

Notes:

✞ Shorter chapter because it's extremely violent and angsty. Also, I'm super rusty so I tried to write it in a more direct style so it's prolly less poetic and beautiful.

✞ This is chapter 16 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alones but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The extraordinary general meeting of the Shelby Ladies Club.

This is what Polly called this unexpected little meeting in the bathroom right in the middle of the rigged fight happening a few rooms away. When you entered the lavatory with Ada complaining about the sparring between Goliath and Bonnie, Aunt Pol was taking a cigarette from the silver case she was holding while Lizzie was fixing her hair.

“I love your messy bun, Heaven.” Lizzie complimented when she saw your reflection in the mirror she was using.

“Thank you Liz. Ada scolded me and decided that it would be a better hairstyle for tonight.”

“You never style your hair except for braids and it’s a fucking shame considering how beautiful and long your white mane is.” The young Shelby sister insisted.

“If you say so,” You snorted, amused, “What are you doing here? Plotting and scheming? Leave these for Thomas.” You smirked, sitting on the edge of a sink with movements as nimble as a cat. Your little cutting remark had the expected effect: the three girls laughed with sincerity, somewhat amused by the beef between you and the family’s boss. They had eventually learned that nothing could ever ease the tension between the two of you, so laughing about the matter was the only thing they could do. A part of you couldn’t help but think that they wouldn’t find it that amusing anymore if they knew the unhealthy turn your mutual hatred had taken.

What did you feel when we kissed? A shiver ran down your spine as you heard Tommy’s husky voice, as charming as venomous, whispering in your ear. It might only have been a memory, but you could almost feel his hot whisky breath brushing your skin.

“Heaven has some news.” Polly’s voice resounded in the bathroom, snatching you from your thoughts.

“Me?” You asked, batting your bambi lashes in incomprehension before the understanding of the situation slapped you right in the face.

“Well, tell her. Now! While the men are screaming for blood.”  Polly sneaked a cigarette between her thin, red lips. 

Your blood momentarily froze in your pale veins for this unexpected pregnancy wasn’t something you wanted to talk about. For sure Aunt Pol didn’t mean to do harm, but the surrounding chaos and your last encounter with Luca Changretta seriously eroded your wish to have a baby. The baby who made you so vulnerable during times that were anything but good. Moreover, a quick glance at Lizzie’s sad and anxious eyes had been enough for you to understand that something was weighing on her shoulders. Something you had guessed for a few days. Something she needed to talk about more than you. The corner of your mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“Well, I discovered something about Lizzie but I think she should be the one making the announcement. Shouldn’t you, Lizzie?” You winked, replacing one of your long white strands of hair behind your pierced ear with a naive pout. Glitters of hope and gratefulness suddenly sparkled in the ocean blue of the secretary’s eyes to whom you replied with a discreet nod before grabbing Polly’s cigarette case.

“I’m up the duff. And it’s Tommy’s.”

You took a long drag on the cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke by your nostrils as the attention was now on Lizzie. Even though Ada almost choked on her sip of gin, she quickly showed interest in the tall woman’s pregnancy. The only one you didn’t fool was old and cunning Aunt Pol who gave you a brief “okay I get it” glance before turning back to Lizzie.

It’s a girl. Call her Ruby. Ruby Shelby. She’ll be a star in a Hollywood movie.

You watched the scene with a light smile floating upon your plump and glossy lips, satisfied by the outcome of your little trick as well as the surprising unconditional support Lizzie was receiving after years of being seen only through her job as a prostitute. Admittedly, the reason behind the little push you gave to Lizzie Stark was purely selfish, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you kind of liked the woman despite never really interacting with her. She got the attention, and you got peace. It was a win-win situation.

“Congratulations, Lizzie.” You said, your siren-like voice as soft as a lazy ocean.

“She’s a real Shelby lady now. Just like you, Devil.”  Polly’s smirk betrayed her amusement. You rolled your eyes teasingly before proudly showing your left hand and wiggling your small fingers to display the magnificent wedding ring Arthur had gifted you.

“What about you Hev? When are you planning to give us a little Arthur?” Ada suddenly asked, Lizzie's news had visibly rendered her sour mood better.

“I think one Arthur is enough for now, don’t you?” You got up from the sink and carefully smoothed the folds your revealing black dress, “Anyway. Ladies, let’s rejoin our gentlemen.”

“I guess the meeting is over.” Ada added with a little chuckle

Joining deeds to words, Polly gently hooked her arm with yours in a motherly gesture and guided you outside, where the crowd’s roars were echoing.

Laughs and cheers filled the room as Johnny Dog put on a show to get more men to bet on the winner of this fight. Swallowing a mouthful of gin, your seraphic traits turned into a wince at the burning sensation the alcohol left in your throat – that new batch was strong, indeed. The sweet taste that exploded on your tastebuds, when the tip of your rosy tongue licked your juicy lips, made you grin, or maybe it was the all-consuming smell of sweat and blood that lingered in the air. It might come off as surprising for other women, but you enjoyed watching fights. There was something brutal but so real about them. After all, humans were just animals wearing suits. Animals which, according to you, had barely learned to speak instead of growling.

Your lips pinched the cigarette as you took another drag you quickly blew, your eyes following blood spurting from Bonnie’s nose and splattering the ground. Although quieter than Polly, Lizzie, and Ada, who were laughing, screaming, and sometimes nudging you in excitement at each violent blow the Romani boy gave back to his opponent, you had a lot of fun. Until a peculiar but familiar feeling blossomed within.

It started with a chill creeping down your spine and ended up with light tremors shaking your frail silhouette. Instinctively, you raised your piercing gaze and searched for Arthur somewhere among the crowded rows of folded seats. Your usual calm demeanor faltered as you noticed that your husband seemed troubled by something, rapidly glancing from here and there, attempting to read the room for whatever reason. He didn’t even pay attention to you, far too busy observing the men that were around the boxing ring. Eventually, Arthur stood up and left, his steel blue eyes fixed on someone he followed through the depths of the building. Let me do my fucking job! That’s what he barked at Tommy, or at least what you thought you overheard.

You frowned as a strange sensation rippled through your mind – like a distant, haunting whisper of something looming, a threat. Nervously swallowing your saliva, your first reflex was looking at Tommy. You couldn’t place it, but the odd feeling gripped you tightly like an omen you couldn’t shake, warning you of an approaching storm. It seemed like little King Shelby shared your inner agitation though, for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes dived into yours with the same nervousness and incomprehension. Whatever the many reasons behind your hatred, you were definitely on the same wavelength at this very moment. The silent conversation, expressed through brief eyebrows and eye movements, was more or less the following:

-Where is he going?

-I don’t know. It’s prolly the booze and the pills.

-It’s not. I’ll check.

-Don’t fucking do that.

You stood up from your seat with a clenched jaw and, feeling the vibration of this bad omen quaking your soul itself, you nimbly snaked in and out through seats and followed Arthur’s steps. As was the case for your husband a few minutes ago, the dark corridor into which you rushed engulfed your ethereal silhouette like a hungry giant.

“Fuck.” Tommy mumbled, straightening on his seat and leaning forward, “Fuck.” He repeated, torn between his own doubts and his disdain for you. Nevertheless, if there was one thing he had learned since you joined the family was that your gut feelings were never wrong. You proved it several times, starting by foreseeing Charlie’s abduction. The dark-haired gangster sniffed and nervously rubbed his chin, his catlike eyes going back on forth between the corridor and the crowd. A few minutes later, Tommy finally left the fighting pit.

Something was definitely off.

Cautiously walking through the maze of dark hallways dimly lit by a bluish light, you tried to ignore the maddening beat of your heart that was drumming so loud you felt it hammering in your temples. You didn’t really know where you were heading, nor where Arthur went, but the more you moved forward, the more this unbearable feeling of dread and panic invaded you. Your aimless wandering came to an end when the strong and metallic smell of fresh blood and the atrocious sight that followed jumped at your face.

No.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw him – your husband, slumped on the ground, blood soaking through the collar of his shirt as it gushed from the wound across his throat.

No!

Time seemed to slow down, and your heart seemed to stop as you took in the scene: the gun the Italian bastard was holding in his steady hand aimed at Arthur’s head.

Panic crashed over you like a tidal wave, washing away everything but the rage that had piled up within you during all these years. In that moment, something primal and destructive snapped inside of you. In a blur of rage and raw instinct, and with a guttural scream that seemed too inhumane to come from you, you launched yourself at the mafioso, who barely had the time to turn around. Another furious shriek escaped from your quivering lips, similar to the rabid screech of a wounded banshee, and with your fingers curled into claws, your sharp nails slashed across his face.  

“PUTTANA!” The man yelled and gasped, taken aback by your unleashed fury.

The mafioso fired with his gun in a desperate attempt to kill you but the brutal impact between your two bodies threw him off balance and the shot reached the wall instead of your brain. As his spine crashed against the tiled ground, Changretta’s henchman dropped the weapon. You gave it a brutal blow to make it slide away from him.

Another wave of insults followed as he realized that he struggled to overpower you. You were fighting like a cornered animal, wild and relentless. Your claws scratched him again and again, leaving raw and jagged lines of blood all over his face. The mafioso's strength was starting to falter as he realized that you weren’t just fighting to win; you were fighting to kill him, your body moved by the instinct of a bloodthirsty beast that refused to be caged.

"Stop it, you fucking bitch!" A scream of utter pain brutally tore the air as, completely out of your mind, you dug your thumbs into his skull, pushing harder and harder in an attempt to gouge his eyes. The Sicilian man produced a second sound so twisted that it seemed beyond anything a human throat could produce. The more you pushed with your thumbs, the more you felt his eyeball turning into a viscous pulp. The feeling of the moist and warm liquid on your fingers didn’t stop you. Nor the man’s wails of pure agony, with its pitch far too high and too broken.

“Ajùtami! Ajùtami!” He pleaded, his hands felt the ground in panic, searching for anything he could use to push you away from him. Anything to make you stop. Realizing that nothing was around him, not even the thread he used to attack Arthur, he managed to overcome the pain and gather his strength to grab your throat.

With your air squeezed, you wheezed and removed your fingers from his skull to claw his strong hands. “S-Stop!” Panic flooded you as your vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges. The harder you fought, the harder he strangled you. Seriously lacking air, you clawed at his arms, desperate to breathe, but his grip was iron. Now you had to do something and do it quickly if you wanted to have a chance to save Arthur.

Your thoughts raced, frantic, until instinct took over.

I love your messy bun, Hev!

The judas stick – now you had a chance. With one quick movement, you brought your hand to your bun and your fingers fumbled for the sharp metal judas stick that was holding your hair in place. It came in handy. With a choked sound, you drove it upward and sunk the sharp edge of the stick into the man’s side.

One time.

Two times.

Three, four, five, six…

Side, chest, shoulder, face… 

Each impact was vicious and powerful, tearing through the flesh like butter and drilling into organs and bones with the sheer will of maiming your enemy. Hot blood splashed all over you and around, but you didn’t care. The only thing that made you stop stabbing him was when you felt the man’s grip loosen around your throat until his arms dropped on the red-smeared ground in a loud thud.

“Fuck!” You sucked in a sharp breath, your voice hoarse from being choked. However, you quickly got up from the corpse to run to your husband.  “Arthur!” You screamed, rushing to his side, your hands trembling as you knelt beside him – or rather as you dropped to your knees, your legs unable to support your weight anymore. Panic seized you even more violently as you saw Arthur's deep wound and the blood—too much blood.

“No, no, no… not like this,” You whispered, voice cracking. You couldn’t lose him, not here, not now. Never. Your fingers brushed over his chest and, in your deepest desperation, you looked for his pulse. A pulse you found, but which was becoming slower and fainter as seconds flew by. “Arthur! Please!” You started sobbing, tears streaming down your face and mixing with the fresh blood that was painting your skin in a disgusting shade of red. You had to face the truth: Arthur was dying. The damages were too serious and the bleeding too much… But you were a witch. The gift of healing was coursing through your veins. The only problem was that if you tried to save him by using your magic, you’d hurt the baby. After all, that was what happened when you tried to kill Luca Changretta with a heart attack.

The baby.

Your husband or the baby?

Your heart painfully raced in your chest. Your erratic breathing and your sore throat made you feel like you weren’t getting enough air.

 “I’d love to have kids with ye, eh. Little white-haired and blue-eyed us running barefoot in the forest… Little embodiments of our love brightening our life.” His voice was merely a whisper now for he was slowly falling asleep, “I’ve always wanted to be a dad… but thought I was too messed up for that.”

You could save him. You had to. Despite this torture of a dilemma and the harshness of the decision, nothing could change your mind, not even the feeling of your heart shattering into millions of shards. Closing your eyes, you placed one hand over his throat, the blood warm under your palm, and the other on his chest. Wasting no time, you channel all your strength – the connection sparked, and the raw, untamed magic you inherited from your mother surged through you. It seemed to work at first, his pulse lightly responding to yours.

But the more the magic surged, the more you felt a terrible pain in your belly. It started as cramps but quickly escalated into suffering so high that you felt like someone was stabbing you. A trembling squeal escaped from your red lips. You were killing it, you knew it. You were killing your own baby.

"Come on, come on," You muttered, pushing harder, forcing your will into his body. "Stay with me, Arthur," You whispered, tears streaking down your face, each sentence cut by muffled cries of the mafioso you had slaughtered and who was still alive— not for too long to be honest. He seemed to say something in Sicilian but you couldn't understand what. And you didn't care. "Just... stay with me." You gritted your teeth, doing your best to put up with the pain.

Click.

You froze.

“You nosey little slut. You should've stayed with the others.” 

Your heart missed a leap at the unknown male voice, carried by a thick Italian accent. The mafioso’s colleague looked at you, gun pointed right to your head.

"Remember me?" He asked with a wicked smile, recalling the moment he had offered you a cigarette a few hours ago. During your brief chit-chat, he told you that his name was Damiano but you didn't make the connection between Changretta and his Italian heritage.

“Don't cry, you're going to meet with your husband again very soon." the imposing man added, a few seconds away from ending your life. However, Damiano didn't know what you were capable of. Even less now that you were driven by pure rage and despair.

“Shut the fuck up!” You suddenly yelled, your claws firmly anchored in your husband to make Damiano understand that no one would snatch him from your arms. Your voice, a seductive melody that could enchant like a siren’s song, suddenly sounded monstrous. Raw and primal, the way you screamed the threat echoed in the entire maze of hallways and made Tommy’s blood freeze in his veins, a few corridors away. “Fucking die!”

Damiano didn't know that he never stood a chance. You sealed that man's demise with one blunt arm movement as if you had wanted to chase a mosquito from your face.  

"Wh-What..."

Damiano, fell on his knees next to his dying friend, and writhed on the floor. With his two hands pressing on his chest, he suddenly started to choke and, right after, threw up a great amount of thick blood. Apart from the vomiting, blood soon seeped from his eyes and ears, bubbling like something inside was boiling them alive.

"P-Please!" He begged but you didn't stop. The man obviously tried to scream but the only sound he could produce was disgusting gurgles.

"Don't worry, you're going to meet your friend pretty soon." You replied with a cold and sardonic tone before closing your fist, the man's lungs responding to your gesture by imploding in his chest. Like his colleague's arms did a few minutes ago, Damiano's whole body crashed against the floor with a thud.

Quickly, you shifted back your attention to your husband and kept giving him all your energy while ignoring the black dots that were dancing in front of your eyes, as well as the awful, unbearable stabbing sensation in your core. You were definitely hurting yourself by using your power that much but you didn't give a fuck. “Arthur, please.” You growled, a feeling of dizziness building up so bad that you didn’t even hear the hurried footsteps that were coming closer, nor the hoarse, familiar voice of your brother-in-law.

"FUCK!" You exclaimed. You were losing Arthur again.

The three bodies lay strewn like discarded puppets, their lifeless forms twisted and broken on the blood-flown concrete floor. The once clean backroom had transformed into a nightmare realm of gore and horror that made Tommy's stomach turn upside-down.

The Peaky Blinder's boss took two steps back and brought his calloused hand to his mouth, fighting against the urge to puke – and God knew it took him a lot considering the atrocities he witnessed and did during the war. His turquoise gaze scanned the room, which had turned into a slaughterhouse. A fucking pool of crimson blood. First, he saw the limp and distorted corpse of Damiano, whose eyes were open wide in horror despite him being dead and cold. The terror in his frozen facial expression left no doubt about how awful his last moments must have been: he had suffered, and he had suffered more than a lot. Then, he caught a quick glimpse of the second victim. With his eyeballs reduced to a reddish foul mush, the lacerations on his face, and the abnormal number of stabbing wounds, the mafioso’s body was so maimed that it looked disgustingly grotesque.

Then he saw Arthur.

"Oh my God. Oh my fucking God — Arthur!"

Amidst the chaos, where the air hung heavy with the acrid and pungent scent of blood, Tommy's screams echoed far away in the distance as you knelt there, eyes wide open and silent tears streaming down your cheeks, mixed with dark trails of ruined mascara.

Tommy reacted immediately and knelt near his brother with a panic so uncontrollable that it swept away every ounce of coldness and self-control he usually displayed. He slapped his brother's cheeks several times in a vain attempt to help him come back to a conscious state but it didn't work. Thomas Shelby's fist hit the floor with frustration as the feeling of powerlessness crept into his heart. He was losing another brother and there was nothing he could do to save him.

But you could.

"Heaven, d'ya hear me?"

You let out a muffled whimper, or at least you thought you did as your senses saturated with one unique sound: a relentless ringing that echoed in the hollow caverns of your mind. With each pulse of your heart, the sound intensified, threatening to consume the last remnant of sanity you had left. The world around you had seemed to fade into obscurity, your sight blurry and reduced to only one color: red. Vibrant red splattered everywhere, on the walls, and yourself but most of it was on the floor. In fact, the ground itself seemed to writhe beneath the weight of the corpses, as crimson rivers flowed freely, painting the concrete in shades of crimson that gleamed like freshly spilled paint.

“Oi! Listen to me!” Tommy’s powerful voice suddenly snatched you from your daze just enough time to catch your attention and plunge his turquoise iris into your Arctic eyes.

“I—I can’t. I can’t, I can’t...” You repeated in a whisper, just like a broken record, because your husband’s pulse was weakening again, blind to your exhausting and painful efforts. Arthur was dying, your baby was dying and the intensity of the pain you went through was so insufferable that all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and wait for death to make this nightmare stop.

Tommy rapidly shifted his body to be by your side, his sharp eyes focused, but softer than usual. “You’ve got this,” he whispered, meeting your panicked gaze. “Keep going. Don’t stop.” He pressed his hand firmly over yours, steadying the trembling fingers that worked to save his brother. His voice was low, gravelly, but laced with a quiet strength he tried to share with you. His grip was warm, grounding you in the chaos, his presence like an anchor. At that moment, the weight of the world felt momentarily lighter with him by your side. You replied to his help with a muffled sob.

"You've got this!" Tommy tried to keep you from falling apart but the sight of a thin trickle of blood slowly running down your nose worried him almost to death. He looked at you and he knew. He knew that you had given everything – every ounce of your energy to save his brother, your magic now drained. Your hand trembled, still pressed to Arthur’s chest, but the world around you was seriously fading to black.

Caught amid this Hell with Tommy by your side, you didn't hear nor feel Polly, who had found the crime scene.

"Oh lord please help us, oh Lord, oh Lord..." Polly cried, horrified by the bloodbath as well as by the sight of you clinging to Arthur's limp body. She had already lost one of her nephews and couldn't bear the weight of losing another one. Not her sweet Arthur. Not him,

"We're fucking losing her too!" Tommy exclaimed, "fucking help me!"

"Heaven!" She called, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you but all you did was scream one last time. A haunting and otherworldly wail that pierced the darkness. A sound so agonizing and inhumane that it seemed to tear at the very fabric of existence. It echoed across the building, carrying with it the weight indescribable of sorrow and despair as your arms tightened your grip around your dying husband.

The smell of blood hid Tommy's musky perfume that was tingling your nostrils. The deafening ringing in your ears covered Polly and her nephew's voice. Your breaths came shallow and weak, your body becoming heavier as darkness crept in. Slowly, your eyes fluttered shut. In one final movement, you collapsed beside your husband, your last thought a silent hope that he would live.

Or that you would at least die trying to save him.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language. gif by the wonderful @alicent-targaryen.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @lokigirlszendaya @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature

[moeitsu]

♡The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee♡

(Arthur Morgan x OC) Masterlist

Hey cowboys!

Below is where you'll find all the chapters to my Red Dead Redemption fanfic, I will keep it updated as I continue to post more chapters. But in the meantime, I wanted to make things a little more organized and easier for you to navigate.

Whether you just started reading, or if you've been keeping up with the story since the beginning. I want to thank you! This started as a little side project to keep me busy during my down time at work, but it's turned into something I'm really passionate and proud of! So thank you for all the support <3

!!Please be aware this fic is explicit. As it contains blood/violence, as well as other adult themes!!

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->-> Ao3 

->-> Wattpad

Summary: Kate McCanon, a young widow from the north, meets outlaw Arthur Morgan. When the two cross paths she discovers a complex man wrestling with his own sense of right and wrong. As their unlikely bond deepens, Kate becomes determined to guide Arthur towards a brighter path, even as tensions rise within his gang led by the enigmatic Dutch van der Linde. With danger lurking at every turn, Kate must navigate treacherous territory to protect those she holds dear, all while finding love in the most unexpected of places.

Story Tags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

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Ch 1 - The Years Creep Slowly By Kate becomes entangled in a heist with two strangers, Hosea and Arthur, forging an unexpected bond amidst their criminal endeavor. Ch 2 - The Snow Is On The Grass Again A fisher of men and A strange encounter. Ch 3 - The Suns Low Down The Sky Welcome to Horseshoe Overlook Ch 4 - The Frost Gleams Where The Flowers Have Been It's time to collect a debt. Ch 5 - My Heart Beats On As Warmly Now A well deserved hunt with Charles, met with an unexpected surprise back at camp... Ch 6 - As When The Summer Days Were Nigh The battle begins, and the past is revealed. Ch 7 - The Sun Can Never Dip So Low Kate is not immune to the dangers of the land. No matter how much she loved it, the land will never love her back. Ch 8 - Or Down Affections Cloudless Sky A blissful sunny day after a long hard night. Ch 9 - A Hundred Months Have Passed Kate and Arthur share a tender moment in the quiet of the night. Ch 10 - Since Last I Held That Hand In Mine The Course of True Love and other Revelations Ch 11 - And Felt The Pulse Beat Fast Arthur and Hosea share meaningful conversation after a night of advertising some moonshine. Meanwhile Kate finds herself involved in a dubious mission with John and the boys. She patches up Arthur as the day ends with an air of unspoken desire. Ch 12 - Though Mine Beat Faster Far Than Thine - Part 1 Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God in a world that is ugly with violence and hate. Ch 13 - Though Mine Beat Faster Far Than Thine - Part 2 Arthur’s life is ebbing out like the tide. Kate must work quickly and diligently to reverse the cruel hands of fate. She is aided by the help of an unexpected ally. Ch 14 - A Hundred Months ‘Twas Flowery May As Kate navigates Arthur’s recovery, she discovers that true strength lies within her trusted companions, finding relief in their unwavering support during the trials of his healing journey. Ch 15 - When Up The Hilly Slope We Climbed Arthur struggles to adjust to his new disabilities. Meanwhile Kate finds a job outside of camp for them, providing a few days respite and some much needed alone time. Arthur finally reveals his feelings. Ch 16 - The Past Is The Eternal Past Kate and Arthur welcome a new life into the world. The scene brings back tender memories of Arthur's past, he finally finds the courage to open up to her about his family. Ch 17 - To Watch The Dying of The Day Say, isn't it strange? I am still me, and you are still you. In this place. Isn't it strange how people can change? From strangers to friends, friends into lovers. To strangers again. Ch 18 - To Hear the Distant Church Bells Chime The gang finds a new hideout at Shady Belle, just outside the heart of the new modern America. With Jack still missing, Kate and Arthur must work together to find him. Amidst the tension, Arthur confides in Kate about his deepest regrets. Ch 19 - We Loved Each Other Then The Gilded Cage. Kate and Arthur attend an exclusive garden party hosted by the Mayor of Saint Denis. As the night progresses, their mutual desire intensifies. Ch 20 - More Than We Dared To Tell In vulnerability they meet. As the world fades to a gentle hum, their hearts beat as if they're one. In the aftermath, quiet and deep. Love whispers promises they'll keep. Ch 21 - What We Might Have Been As tensions within the camp simmer and new challenges surface, the gang finds themselves slipping further into uncertainty. Amid the chaos, Kate and Arthur navigate the weight of their individual struggles, leaning on their bond to weather the storm and hold onto what matters most. Ch 22 - Had But Our Loving Prospered Well As Dutch readies the gang for their next big score, Arthur is sent to Saint Denis to settle unfinished business, only to face a ghost from his past. Meanwhile, Kate's come down with an illness, but a vivid dream sparks a newfound resolve to secure her and Arthur's future—no matter the cost.

Ch 23 - To Call Up Their Shadowy Forms In a chaotic, adrenaline-fueled poker game, Arthur and Kate find themselves ensnared in the deadly consequences of their choices during a fine night of debauchery. Ch 24 - The Story of That Past Tension runs high as Arthur grapples with the weight of impossible choices, his loyalty to the gang tested against his growing desperation to protect Kate. Meanwhile, Kate endures her own silent battle, caught between the chilling reality of her imprisonment and the lingering hope that Arthur will not abandon her. Ch 25 - The Hope That Could Not Last The time of outlaws and gunslingers is coming to an end. Arthur risks everything in a dangerous gamble to free Kate from the law. While the weight of the world threatens to crush him, Kate’s unwavering hope burns brighter than ever.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━ If you're interested in reading about my OC, I linked the Kate McCanon Lore here :) As well as her Face and Voice Claim <3

Spotify Playlist About me!

[leclerc-s]

big reputations - part five

series masterlist // previous // next

ASKING DANIEL RICCIARDO THE MOST POPULAR F1 FAN QUESTIONS

comments

user1 this interview further proves that max is daniel’s emotional support boyfriend.

↳ user2 was that ever up for debate?

↳ user1 no, but you get what i mean.

user3 oh, he’s got those stupid stars in his eyes again. this man is down bad.

user4 i love how he never brushes off questions about daphne. every single time he answers the questions about her

↳ user5 take notes joe alwyn. this is how you talk about mother daphne.

↳ user4 the shade towards joe. this fandom will never let him rest.

user6 these two are never beating the dating allegations.

↳ user7 i don't think they want to

↳ user6 oh for sure, these two want to know how far this whole thing is going to go

user8 even if they aren't dating it's such an adorable friendship

↳ user9 it'll be official when he meets ryan and blake. that's when you know they are actually dating.

↳ user8 or when she meets christian and max, oh wait.

↳ user9 that's actually a good point

user10 someone stop this man from being so down bad for daphne.

user11 i am loving that max is daphne and daniel's third wheel.

↳ user12 i'm living for max teasing daniel. you know this man does it constantly and never let's daniel rest

↳ user11 oh i know max has never given him a moment of peace.

george russell everyday i am reminded that daphne jones fans are a different breed.

lando norris i would ask why but i have been on twitter today. apparently dts is trending on netflix

alex albon charles, mate, you've got the daphne fans crying.

charles leclerc oh god, what did i do now?

fernando alonso season 1 episode 8 charles leclerc oh.

daniel ricciardo is that why we're trending? i thought old tweets of mine were found and i was getting cancelled

esteban ocon have you said things that’ll get you cancelled?

daniel ricciardo no, but it’s a genuine fear estie! max verstappen at the ‘girlies’ have joined in on our mutual hatred for zak (oscar and lando you saw nothing) oscar piastri never thought i would see the day max verstappen said ‘girlies’

yuki tsunoda added one person

yuki tsunoda speaking of daphne jones ARE YOU TWO DATING RICCIARDO??

george russell yuki who did you add??

unknown number hello, it's liam lawson. george russell oh cool.

daniel ricciardo i don't feel like i have to expose my personal life to you people. i already see you too much.

max verstappen stop being a pussy and ask her out.

daniel ricciardo how about you shut the fuck up for once?

charles leclerc in the words of arthur, 'uh oh, the girls are fighting'

logan sargeant arthur's chronically online so it doesn't surprise me that he knows what that is.

valtteri bottas have you asked her out daniel?

nico hülkenberg i have to admit this is the highlight of my year, have you done it yet ricciardo??

kevin magnussen yes, have you?

mark webber MAN UP RICCIARDO! FUCKING DO IT ALREADY!

jenson button no pressure or anything, but have you?

daniel ricciardo oh for fucks sake. i hate all of you.

liam lawson i'm so confused.

liam lawson i thought they were dating already? considering what ajdbfwei

max verstappen sorry, liam is currently out of commission.

george russell why is that so fucking threatening? what did you do verstappen?

max verstappen nothing. liam is just out of it for the next 20-30 minutes

sergio perez i have never seen max's body move so fast. i fear liam is unconscious.

carlos sainz what the hell is happening?

daniel ricciardo what the hell did you do to liam? is he okay?

max verstappen liam is okay. i pinky swear it.

daphne jones what happened?

max verstappen i was not going to let liam ruin the magnificent plan that i made. he had to be silenced.

daniel ricciardo you make it sound like you killed the poor guy

daphne jones he makes it sound like he's a mafia hitman

max verstappen i could totally be a hitman.

daniel ricciardo cat-dad verstappen could never be a hitman. mad-max however is a different story.

max verstappen i could be a hitman who loves cats. hitmen have many sides to them daniel.

daniel ricciardo do you think this man could be a hitman?

daphne jones that man could never be a hitman

daniel ricciardo could max be a hitman?

charles leclerc absolutely not oscar piastri no fucking way sabrina carpenter i'm going to need context but the answer is no

max verstappen fuck you guys. i could be hitman.

daphne jones face it max, you could never be one.

sabrina carpenter however this version of max and charles could totally be hitmen

charles leclerc how the hell?

sabrina carpenter tiktok is a wonderful place.

daphne jones i thought it was the countless twitter tags asking if you had seen it already? sabrina carpenter oh no it came up on my for you page. it was a video called f1 quotes i quote on the daily. i, of course spiralled when i saw that specific part.

sabrina carpenter my favorite driver is kimi.

charles leclerc well he's retired. so who's your favorite driver on the grid right now?

sabrina carpenter fernando alonso

daniel ricciardo wow, that's so mean.

oscar piastri i would've said the same thing just to annoy you.

daniel ricciardo look who's no longer my favorite grid son

charles leclerc what the fuck? i'm a part of this group chat too.

daniel ricciardo you're on thin fucking ice until you tell xavi off or someone at ferrari.

max verstappen you can't seriously still be bitter about singapore

daniel ricciardo OF COURSE I CAN! HE WAS SACRIFICED MAX! LIKE A LAMB TO SLAUGHTER! I CAN BE BITTER IF HE WON'T!

sabrina carpenter i think charles has no choice but to enter his reputation era.

oscar piastri not yet, he hasn't hit rock bottom yet. charles leclerc and, in the rookie's opinion, what is rock bottom? oscar piastri dnf, dns, dsq max verstappen if at any point charles gets dsq'd i will be calling oscar a psychic. daniel ricciardo WHY WOULD YOU PUT THAT OUT THERE OSCAR??

sabrina carpenter so, mom, dad, are we going to qatar??

oscar piastri yeah, mom and dad, will you be at qatar?

max verstappen they went from being two strangers to mom and dad to three children in span of a few months.

charles leclerc he's only a few years older than me, how is he my father?

sabrina carpenter you dare argue with the twitter giriles?

charles leclerc no?

sabrina carpenter then congrats, you are now mine and oscar's older brother.

oscar piastri charles right now

max verstappen he should save that energy for xavi and ferrari

charles leclerc don't tempt me to crash into you max. i'll do it. then we'll have to wait another weekend to see you crowned world champion again

daphne jones THAT'S THIS WEEKEND? OH WE DEFINITELY HAVE TO BE A QATAR!

sabrina carpenter via air max?

max verstappen who told the pop girl about air max?

sabrina carpenter once again, tiktok is a wonderful place max verstappen once again, i hate you so much sabrina carpenter stay pressed sid. i'm their child and you are simply daniel's mistress. oscar piastri what is it the twitter people say? gagged him.

taglist: @glow-ish @agustdpeach @msolbesg @spilled-coffee-cup @1nt3rnetgf @six-call

¡leclerc-s speaks! can you tell i started rewatching dts now that the season is over? i actually do cry everytime i watch episode 8 of season 1. personally, i love suzuka, but i think the fia's choices with putting tractors on the track has given it a bad history. anyways, hope you enjoyed this, it's a little sad but i never write sad stuff so this is new.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet. enjoy!

[asoulwithadream]

Arthur Morgan is the best character in fiction. Whilst in-game he's already amazing, his detailed and complex thoughs in his brilliant journal are a reminder to his brilliance. I'll update this list as I continue through my second playthrough.

"I love Dutch like a father, but in many ways, I love Hosea even more. He's kind and fair and like a human being. Dutch is something else."

"This FEUD, it's bled out from Dutch and Colm's mutual hatred into a loathing that permeates all of us and all of them."

"This work mostly revolts me and shames me. Somehow, robbing people honestly with a gun and fists is less repellant than robbing them full in accordance with the law. A usurer's life may be a comfortable one, but it is foul work."

"Saw Mary again. I feel like the luckiest man alive and I feel like a fool. That woman confuses me and plays me for a fiddle like no one else alive."

"I wonder if he (Jack) will find what we seek - peace and truth away from all this nonsense and lies. If that is what we still seek? Not that that's a new development. Not sure I know myself anymore. Sometimes I'm not sure Dutch knows."

"He begged and coughed and spluttered and I beat him half to death. Such is life. Such is the world. His boy looked at me like I was the devil, and perhaps for him, I was. The whole thing confused me. Maybe that's wrong. The whole thing revolted me/my part. These sad, desperate bastards, their silly expectations of life and their tawdry reality. The unkindness of existence - I can handle that just fine. But I do not love it, nor those who try to make things otherwise, I guess."

"He's (Charles) a better man than me. He does not need to think to be good. It comes naturally to him, like right is deep within as opposed to this conflict between GOOD / EVIL that rages within me. If only we had fled west out of Blackwater, we could be free now, out where we belong beyond civilisation with the savages and the animals. Here, we won't ever be at home."

"Finally, we have achieved a state of true insanity. For the first time in my life, I'm a deputized lawman."

[sludge-saturday]

crossing the line we walk

pairing: arthur morgan x charles smith (charthur)

summary: arthur morgan is a simple man with simple needs. he doesn't see himself fit for doing much else than the dirty work of others - and he likes it that way. though used to working alone, he will accept working with other gang members when dutch deems it fitting. this includes the help of the group's newest addition, charles, who has caught arthur's eye since the day he joined. but why? was this admiration? respect? ...attraction?

whatever it was, arthur is confident he can take care of it on his own. we'll see how long that lasts.

tags: nsfw, +18 (MDNI), flirting, yearning, secret hard-on, confessions, fervent kissing, heavy petting, frotting/dry humping, spit as lube, mutual handjob, mutual orgasm, cum eating, slight angst

warnings: brief mentioning of murder/robbery, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, arthur's typical self-hatred, bar fight ensues, brief mention of homophobia, internalized homophobia, possible ooc

word count: ~7k

a/n: hoooowheee this is a long one! first time writing for them AND my first time writing a fic this long, i hope you enjoy! i tried to make it seem more official and professional by actually using capitalization so if it seems out of place from my usual stuff that's why! i also know some parts could have been elaborated upon more and seem a little rushed but this thing is so long already i didn't want to be boring lol. i love my gay cowboys so much these two are so special to me, as always feedback is encouraged!! hope you enjoy love you <3

A “plan.” That’s what Dutch van der Linde always had. No elaboration, no questions asked. And he expected his disciples to follow along. So, for the past week, Arthur and Charles have been tirelessly working towards carrying out his orders as they were always sent to do. They performed stake-outs, planned hits, and executed their take-downs—whatever it took to adhere to their leader's will—all while staying hidden and keeping a low profile. Far away from the rest of the gang and from their home, they couldn’t screw this one up. And come the day of the big hit, they had everything scheduled to a tee. Where they needed to be, who they needed to meet, how it all had to happen was rehearsed and memorized by the two of them on the days leading up to it. The stakes couldn't have been higher, but they trusted each other. They knew each other's capabilities and were confident they would succeed.

With a few distractions, stealth kills (much to Charles’s disapproval), and a bit of thievery and shootouts here and there, Arthur and Charles would walk away from this mission with bruised bodies and bundles of cash. Dutch would be pleased, which is all that really mattered. He gets what he wants, and today was no exception. The ride back to their camp was quiet, a comfortable silence as they both decompressed after the dust had settled. Arthur rolls his shoulder and winces, a reminder of how close they were to defeat today. The sunset was nothing short of beautiful as it cast long shadows across their path, the hoofbeats of Boadicea and Taima being the only sound breaking the quiet. Arriving at their camp which was carefully tucked away beneath the thick boughs of forest, they made sure that they left no trace behind. The smell of pine and dirt clung to their noses as they packed up, saying goodbye to the small sense of safety this area had to offer. Charles turns to Arthur with a quirked corner of his mouth as he stows his belongings on Taima.

"Want to celebrate over a drink or two?" he pulls out a map from a satchel, studying their whereabouts. "The town nearby is sure to have a bar, only about ten minutes from here."

Arthur smiles softly. "You read my mind. C'mon, now. Let's get going so we can get the goods back to camp soon as we can." 

The two mount their horses as he finishes speaking, taking one last look at where they stayed to make sure nothing looks suspicious. Satisfied with their clean-up job, Arthur nods and the two of them take off. The shimmer of the fireflies around them become ambiguous specks in the evening dim as the men leave the forest edge. They traveled along the roadside packed dirt that crunched under the hooves of the horses, who occasionally would spook at the barking and howling of coyotes.

The repetitive nature of watching their surroundings passing by prompts Arthur to become lost in thought. The donations in the van der Linde gang’s collection box were slim to none, and time was running out to do something about it. Skipped dinners and under-equipped operations could only last so long before things took a turn for the worse. And he wondered just what Dutch was going to do about it. He always spoke highly about their future as a group, but Arthur—and the rest of the gang—still has yet to see those claims come to fruition. He would never, ever question Dutch or falter in his loyalty, though, so he lets this thought float away in the wind blowing past him. Instead, he watches Charles’s form as he steers Taima from right to left on this winding path they tread. With eyes glued to his broad shoulders, his thick black hair hanging freely, and his hips moving smoothly with the horse, Arthur's heart flutters the same way it did when the pair first met. 

But if Charles ever knew about his secret infatuation… it would be over for them. Images of his betrayed face and a future of nothing but distance between the two flashed through his mind. He knew he could never bring it up, so he needed to be careful. Careful about his lingering gaze in camp, careful about the confessions in his journal, and careful about the heaving sighs and quiet gasps coming from his tent when everyone else is asleep and Arthur can't stop thinking about him. He struggled to fight off a feeling of hopelessness that settled into his chest and tightened his grip on the reins. Could he really keep this a secret forever? 

Shaken from his thoughts, Arthur could see the small town come into view, alight with the glow of oil lamps and the bustle of nightlife. The moonlight casts white highlights on the picturesque scene of orange, yellow, brown, and black. They slowed their pace as they approached the town, scanning the buildings for any sign of a bar. Their eyes landed on one in the middle of town with "SALOON" painted in a giant white font across the front. Hitching their horses at the designated spot in front and feeding them in appreciation for their hard work, the two make their way to the front doors and swing them open.

The first second of entering the saloon is a blur of light and noise. The pianist in the corner’s lively tune struggles to compete with the dozens of overlapping conversations. Angry fists bang on tables as they face an unlucky round of poker and drunken bursts of laughter popcorn throughout the room, which was near-full. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and the yeasty tang of spilled beer. The floors creaked probably a little more than they were supposed to as Arthur’s gaze brushes past a few wanted posters. Luckily, no one he recognizes has their face plastered on the frayed yellow paper. He hears snippets of different conversations, some chatter about rival gangs here and rumors of undercover Pinkerton agents there. Walking up to the bar Arthur slaps two coins onto the counter, worn with dried rings of ale and knife gouges. Stories from past patrons. 

“Two mugs,” he says lowly. 

Charles shoots him a look and goes to replace one of the coins with one of his own when his hand is shooed away. "Easy. 's on me tonight."

Before Charles can respond, the barkeep has already taken the two coins and is beginning to pour them both a pint of beer. He slides the mugs towards the men and they grab their respective handles. Arthur raises his glass. 

"To a job well done. Ya did good work out there t'day." Arthur gestures with it, tilting the mug towards Charles slightly. 

Charles smiles and it's genuine. Warm and thankful. "You did too, Arthur."

The two smack their glasses on the bar before tilting their heads back and taking a large gulp. Arthur sucks his teeth and exhales on the swallow. "Strong stuff!" 

Charles hums in acknowledgement and chuckles. "The taste is good, though. Malty and dark."

Arthur watches Charles's eyes close as he savors the flavor and thinks that he has never looked more handsome than in this moment. His pulse quickens when he studies Charles’s face. The warm lamplight of the saloon casts beautiful shadows across his nose, cheeks, and lips. He looks content, relaxed. It’s a refreshing deviance from his usual weathered and stoic appearance. The two sip from their mugs again.

Scanning the crowd Arthur wonders how many of these people are regulars. “These folks, blowin’ their coin on drinks and cards… how d'ya think they do it?”

Charles sighs. “Out of desperation. They’re tryin’ to forget.”

“Forget about what?”

“That they’re not goin’ anywhere.”

Arthur pauses for a second. “Reckon you’re probably right.”

Charles has now joined Arthur in watching the sea of people. “See that woman at the poker table?” He covertly points in her direction. 

“Yeah.”

“She’s better than the whole lot of ‘em.”

“Really? Wasn’t payin’ attention.”

“You should have been. She’s sharper than most men.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Arthur raises his glass once more. “Reckon the world would be a whole lot better if we quit underestimatin’ folks.”

Looking down at his now empty mug, Arthur palms another two coins to the barkeep as a silent request for a refill. He’s buzzing, sure, but he’s looking for just a little more. “Make two whiskeys,” he notifies the man behind the counter with the wave of his hand. Within seconds, two glasses are pushed their way and Arthur wastes no time in letting his curiosity get the best of him. But not before their fingers brush each other as they reach for their glasses. Arthur hesitates for a brief moment and, unbeknownst to him, Charles notices. They sip from their glasses quietly and refuse to acknowledge it.

Arthur tries to break the ice. “Y’know, you’re good at this—blendin’ in. Not everyone can do that without landin’ themselves in some kinda trouble.”

“You’re makin’ it sound like a compliment.”

“Maybe it is,” Arthur says quietly. He turns to face behind the bar and takes another swig. He notices that Charles smiles more when he’s drunk. It's a refreshing deviance from his usual weathered and stoic demeanor.

His thoughts are paused when the screeching of chair legs and abrupt shouting clamors behind the two. By the time they turned around, two of the men who were sitting at the poker table were now throwing punches at one another and spitting obscenities in each other’s faces. Within seconds, the saloon becomes a flurry of pandemonium. People either joined in on the fight, stood and watched, or hurried out the door. Tables crashed and chairs were thrown as Arthur and Charles exchanged a shared look that read: we need to get out of here. The only problem was that in order to get out of the trouble they needed to go through it. 

They decided their best bet would be to stay on the outskirts of the calamity. If they didn’t initiate they wouldn’t get involved, right? That was the assumption as they quickly walked along one of the saloon walls. Charles led the way and the procedure was going smoothly until one of the inebriated brawlers lunged towards him. Without thinking, Arthur moves to shield Charles from his assailant and pushes the man away with brute force. “Don’t even think about it, partner!” He growls. The man falls into a table that managed to stay upright, shouting at the two who are now jogging out of the completely upturned saloon. The doors fly open as Arthur and Charles mount their disgruntled horses as fast as they can. 

“Hyah!” Arthur urgently knicks Boadicea with his stirrups. He can’t help but think about what they would have done to Charles had they gotten their hands on him. His stomach coiled at the thought. The bluster from the saloon fades into the background as Charles follows Arthur to the nearby post office, which was a safe enough distance from the town. Adrenaline is still surging through Arthur’s body when he hops off his horse, still panting. Charles does the same. 

“You’re damn lucky that didn’t go worse. Try explainin’ that one to Dutch.”

One of Charles’s eyebrows raises in amusement. “You worried about me?”

Arthur mutters under his breath as he looks back in the town's direction. “Someone’s gotta keep you in one piece.”

He paws at his pockets in search of his cigarettes. He needed to distract himself and singe the hell out of these hidden feelings until they finally left him alone. Finally, his fingers settled on the box of cigarettes he kept inside his jacket and he pulled it out, selecting one from the bunch. 

"Want one?"

"No, thank you," Charles waves a hand toward Arthur and he nods in understanding. 

Reaching into the pocket where he usually keeps his matches, Arthur's hand comes up empty and he sighs. 

"Dammit..."

"What's wrong?" he hears from beside him.

Turning towards the other man with just a hint of bashfulness, Arthur's eyebrows raise when he sees that Charles’s hand is already holding a match. 

"Need a light?"

He exhales in relief. "I owe ya." 

Arthur goes to reach for the match but Charles moves his hand away, almost teasingly. 

"Let me." 

The smile playing on his lips is something Arthur can't make sense of. It seemed playful, frisky, maybe even seductive. Like he knew what he was doing. But surely it had to be the drink talking. Surely Arthur was reading way too far into things, like he always did. Surely there was no way Charles was trying to do what Arthur thinks he’s doing. 

He strikes the match against the bottom of his boot and the flame flickers to life. Stepping toward Arthur, Charles holds the open flame up to the cigarette hanging off of his lips. He cups the side of the flame to shield it from the wind and Arthur cannot take his eyes off of him. The flame in between their faces, their proximity to each other, the subtle display of dominance, it was almost too much for him to bear. He has never been this intimate with another man before, let alone with Charles . For a split second, he was frozen in place and all he could do was stare. Luckily Charles was looking at the end of the cigarette—making sure his aim was right—briefly oblivious of Arthur's awe-stricken face. That is, until Charles's eyes met his.

Arthur's heart was in his throat as he sucks in, aiding the lighting of the cigarette. 

“There you go.” Charles shakes out the match.

Taking the cigarette between his thumb and pointer finger and pulling it from his mouth, Arthur exhales the smoke with the slightest shake in his breath. He wipes his brow with the back of his hand and Charles chuckles.

“What’s the matter, Arthur? Can’t handle a little closeness?”

He shakes his head. "We better get a move-on. We'll ride 'til we can't then find a place to sleep for the night." 

Charles nods, already mounting his horse. "Let's go, then."

As they ride along the pathways leading them back to the rest of the gang at camp, Arthur cannot shake the image of Charles lighting his cigarette from his mind. His half lidded eyes, his drunken smile, strands of hair falling in his face… he looked so, so handsome. Not only that, but he looked like he was doing it intentionally . And Arthur had absolutely no idea what to do with that information. Was this a subtle hint at something more than what they currently had? No, no. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t get his hopes up like that.

Arthur knew how people felt about men like him. He’d seen the way they were treated and heard the words that were spat at them: weak, dirty, shameful. And who was he to disagree? For all he knew they were probably right. How could someone like him feel something like this? It’s not right—it's not safe. For either of them. But when Arthur looks at him, laughs with him, it’s as if he finally understands what makes his being here worthwhile. What being alive means. It’s unlike anything Arthur has ever felt before. But if Charles ever found out, Arthur would be risking the loss of the most important person in his life right now. He didn't want to have to hide this forever, but he was preparing for that reality. Remaining hopeful could be the death of him, but so would denial. So hopeful he would remain. Hopeful that Charles felt it too. Whatever it was.

It was easy for Arthur to get inside his own head while traveling on horseback. The sound of the hooves on the ground and the wind in his ears served as white noise, making it way too easy for him to zone out. And when they rode like this for hours on end with little conversation, the circumstances couldn't be more perfect to start ruminating. To start wallowing.

The hours came and went as the pair continued their trek until the moon was high in the sky, the only thing illuminating their path. It almost felt oppressive, urging Arthur to spill everything. The weather was comfortable, late July offering the occasional breeze amidst the humid air. It hung heavy, almost as much as the tension between them when Charles slowed his horse. 

“We should stop for the night. We’re close, but we need to stay sharp when we’re riding with all this loot."

Drowsiness settles into Arthur’s bones. He couldn't tell if the drink was starting to make him sleepy or if the day's events were finally catching up to him. Either way, Charles was right.

"Yeah," he mumbles, scanning a nearby wood. "Let's find somewhere to set up." 

He leads the way through the brush and the forest is alive with sounds of the night. Crickets chirped and leaves rustled, overlaid with the muffled clopping of their horses as they trod over the occasional patch of moss. Arthur thinks of Dutch again. Even when the two of them are this far away from the eyes that pry, he can’t get rid of the feeling that nowhere will ever be truly safe for people like him. Like the chances he and Charles have to be with one another grow slimmer and slimmer as Dutch’s plans grow riskier and riskier. He wonders if the freedoms that come with being in this gang are costing him his own. His thoughts tangled like the canopy above them.

"Good here?" he calls back to Charles.

Charles’s feet land to the ground with a gentle thud . “Perfect.”

The two of them hitch their horses and begin unloading their belongings: their bedrolls, their tents, and their earnings today which they kept hidden. The forest was dense here—its twisting branches and impenetrable lines of shrubbery making it the perfect location to occupy. Charles, ever the pragmatist, pulls out a knife and begins stripping a tree of some of its bark. While he does this Arthur looks for twigs and low-hanging branches to pull off. The jagged wood is no match for his calloused hands, hardened from years upon years of dirty work. Together the two of them build a cone-shaped construction of everything they’ve gathered and Charles takes out his set of matches. Arthur sharply inhaled a microscopic breath as everything about that moment at the post office comes back in an overwhelm of warmth. In his face, his neck, his chest, and, most unfortunately, his groin.

He panics. He cannot let Charles see this, can't let Charles know how much he is getting to him. The fabric around his crotch feels tighter and tighter as he sits down on his bedroll and takes off his hat. Maybe the change of position will act in his favor. Charles doesn't seem to notice as he lights the match with a spare piece of bark, striking it on the bottom of his boot just as he did before. If Arthur couldn't feel any more flustered, this is what pushed him over the edge. God, he was so enchanting. Charles doesn't seem to notice Arthur’s lingering gaze and with some maneuvering of the bark and a little bit of hope, the fire eventually becomes well lit.

“Should last through the night.” Charles takes a seat next to Arthur on his own bedroll and the two stare into the fire in silence. Arthur doesn't know what to say. He can't move, obviously, but Charles is the first to speak. 

"I've been thinking about what you said, Arthur. “About how you're proud of me 'n everything." O h god . Here it comes . He prepared for the worst. For Charles to question his sudden displays of affection, for him to see right through his façade, for him to understand Arthur for who he really was, disgusted and revolted. Charles turns toward Arthur, eyes cast down towards the ground. 

"I'm proud of you, too." He lifts his head and meets Arthur's gaze. 

As soon as he does Arthur looks away and involuntarily shakes his head, not conditioned to receive this kind of compliment. Or any compliment, for that matter. 

"You don't gotta say that, Charles. Ain't nothing’ I've done’s worth bein’ proud of."

"I disagree." 

Charles is leaning back on one of his hands, his whole body oriented to face Arthur. Now he has the man's attention. Arthur looks at him, unable to tear his eyes away from how tantalizing Charles looks in front of him right now. His normally buttoned-up-to-the-collar shirt is unbuttoned halfway, exposing just enough chest to get Arthur feeling even hotter under the collar. The moonlight reflects in his eyes and they shine brighter than anything this universe could offer. His face is sincere, with a twinge of admiration. 

"You've got a lot to be proud of, anyway."

Arthur sighs. How is he supposed to respond? All his life he has done nothing but steal, lie, cheat, and kill. And where has it gotten him? Sure, he had a place to sleep, food to eat, and a bit of money to spend, but at what cost? 

"I'm not a good man, Charles. There's plenty of things I wish I hadn't done."

"But you're not a bad one either." 

Charles scooches closer to him, closing even more distance between the two. Arthur stares at the fire, afraid that he won't be able to stop himself from confessing if Charles comes any closer.

"No one is perfect. No one is immune to making mistakes and realizing that it's okay to make them is part of being human. I know what you've done. I've seen what you're capable of." 

Arthur shrugs as if trying to shake off Charles's words. Getting this personal makes him more uncomfortable than he'd like to admit. It was like an involuntary aversion to expressing emotions. When it came to Charles, though, he craved it. He needed it like he needed air.

"But what you're capable of isn't all of who you are." Charles's voice is gentle, the soft crackle of the fire accentuating his speech. An owl hoots in the distance and Arthur can do nothing more than keep staring into the fire. 

"You take care of those you care about, even if you know it or not. You're loyal. Your wit is quick. You're as protective as they get and you're a hell of a shot." Charles lifts a hand in emphasis and Arthur turns to look at him. “You’ve got this grit, this air of determination that makes it hard not to watch you at work. With endurance as impressive as yours, it’s no wonder you’re this tough.” 

Arthur decided enough was enough. He needed to know Charles's intentions, if there were even any to begin with. 

"Why’re you telling me this?"

Charles sighs and, for the first time tonight, seems hesitant to speak. 

"Because..." 

Arthur waits with bated breath.

"Because you're different. I've met a lot of people in my life, good and bad, and I've never met one like you. At all. I don't feel that way about just anyone." Charles shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you this. must be the drink talkin'." He turns his body back to face toward the fire and yawns. "I can’t stay awake for much longer anyway.." 

Charles moves to lay down on his bedroll and Arthur contemplates. It's now or never . This really could make or break them, but he just couldn't wait anymore. Months and months of this longing and no action meant he needed to grab the bull by the horns and accept whatever consequence may come of it. The knot in his stomach felt like dead weight as he prepared to speak.

"Charles-" his voice wavers.

He is attentive, ready to listen.. 

"I... thank you. I can't remember the last time someone talked to me like that. Feels different." Arthur gives him a half smile. 

"Don't worry 'bout it." Charles is the first to break the silence and leans on his palm, this time towards Arthur. 

"You mean a lot to me, Arthur. Whatever happens in the future, 'm never gonna forget you."

Arthur feels like he could cry. "Me neither." 

He says it quietly, scared that if he said it louder it could mean more than it already does. Heart in his throat, his gaze retreats back to the fireplace. 

"C'mere," Charles reaches out an arm to pull Arthur into an embrace. Arthur accepts the invitation and hugs back with a single arm, patting him on the back.

The pair stay like that for a second before pulling away, but Charles doesn’t release Arthur fully so that their heads are but inches from each other. They lock eyes and scan each other's faces for any hint of this being territory best left uncharted. Neither of them retreat. Arthur is frozen solid, sure that he already fell asleep and was dreaming at this point. He blinks in disbelief. Charles brings the hand that was on Arthur's back up to the side of his neck. His touch is gentle, unsure. His eyes flutter shut and he quickly leans in, pressing his lips against Arthur's.

Arthur's brain short-circuits. This wasn't happening. No, it couldn't be happening. What should he do? How should he react? He can't let Charles know how much he wanted this. How willing he was to accept this. Almost instinctively, he grabs a fistful of Charles's shirt and pushes him away before the kiss lasts too long. His eyes are wide and confused. Charles pulls back with a concerned expression, looking worried that he stepped too far.

"I'm sorry-"

Arthur is practically panting at this point. He feels wild and alive, unable to resist this temptation. but he still contemplates. What will come of this? Will this change the way they see each other for good? How are they going to keep this under wraps at camp, if things don't fall apart first? His thoughts are moving a mile a minute but he can't find it in himself to focus on anything except how Charles's lips felt against his. He needs another taste.

Arthur surges forward, overtaken by something stronger than he'll ever be. He pulls Charles towards him by the shirt his fist is still clenching and locks lips with him again. He was set on a mission of a new kind now. He needed this. He needed Charles . Arthur's other hand pulls him even closer by the waist, clutching the man like he was afraid he would wake up from this dream if he let go.

Charles does not hesitate to return Arthur's kiss and touch, one hand still resting on the side of his neck while the other grips his shoulder just as tightly. Their lips move together quickly and urgently as if every parting of them could have been the last. Taking initiative, Arthur moves on top of Charles and straddles him with his legs. Charles moves to lean back onto his elbows and the feverish kissing never ceases even with all of the movement. One of his legs is still propped up, though, and during the maneuver his knee brushes against Arthur's crotch.

It's at this point that Arthur does something that he is almost certain he has never done in front of another man before. Through parted lips, he moans into Charles's mouth. Sounding more adjacent to a groan mixed with a sigh, his knuckles tighten and he grinds onto Charles's thigh experimentally, just a little bit. Charles pulls away and grabs Arthur by the waist, pausing their interaction. Arthur feels another anxious pang in his stomach. Was he being too much? Was he taking things too fast? Is this not where Charles wanted this to go?

His nerves are soothed when he feels Charles lay down with one leg propped up and begins to move his hips for him up and down his thigh. "There you go, Arthur. 'S okay." He mumbles. Arthur's hair hangs in front of his face and he huffs in pleasure as he rubs his aching hard-on against Charles's leg. Any remnants of disbelief that this was what they both wanted have dissipated. This is real .

Arthur leans down to kiss Charles once more and he's so far gone that he doesn't give second thought to swiping his lips with the tip of his tongue. Now, it's the other man's turn to moan. It's low and rumbly, a grunt of pleasure. He brings his hands up to thread his fingers through the hair at Arthur's nape and he tugs slightly. Arthur moans, fully moans this time and shuts his eyes at the sensation. He rubs his cock against Charles's leg with more purpose now, desperate for something other than this fabric-covered friction. Hearing the other man’s noises was only fuel for the fire.

Charles takes note of this, sitting back up and lightly pushing Arthur back so that he's sitting on his ankles. He smooths a hand from Arthur's pectoral to his shoulder and rubs in that motion for a second while his eyes are directed elsewhere. Specifically, at Arthur's crotch. The print of his hardened cock stood out against his pants and Arthur swore he could have seen Charles's tongue wet his lower lip as he studied his lower half. The hand rubbing Arthur's chest moves down to the side of his waist and slides onto the top of his thigh to rub in circles again.

Arthur sighs and peers shyly at Charles, afraid to make another move. He never expected it to go this far, but he wasn't complaining. Just painfully hesitant. Charles looks back at him and flicks his eyes downward to Arthur's erection. 

"You're really somethin’, you know that?" a smile threatens to play on his lips. 

Arthur moves to close his legs. “Ah, I’m sorry Charles, I didn’t mean to-"

“Shh, let me help. It’s okay.” 

Butterflies swarm in Arthur’s stomach and a wave of heat pools into his cock. They really were about to do this. He slowly spreads his legs again. There was no backing down now. His breath shudders silently as he unclasps his belt buckle, unloops it, and unbuttons his pants. He reaches his hand beneath the fabric and palms himself, groaning at the feeling of his cock finally being touched. Charles hums in approval when Arthur unbuttons the bottom buttons of his union suit and finally frees his length. It springs up and presses against Arthur’s abdomen. 

“May I?” Charles asks, ever the gentleman. “...please?”

Arthur feels as though he could cum on the spot. Here before him was the man whose touch he has longed for for months on end, begging to put his hands on his cock. How could he refuse?

“Yes, yes. Please.” Arthur’s tone is teetering on one of pure desperation. He couldn’t wait any longer. 

Gingerly, gently, Charles takes Arthur’s cock into his calloused hand. He strokes it with his thumb to start and Arthur lets out a puff of breath he didn’t know he was holding. Charles moves his whole hand and pumps the shaft slowly. Arthur guessed that he wasn’t a fan of the friction, because he removed his hand not long after and spit into his palm, returning it to keep rubbing. He moves his confident grip down to the base of Arthur’s cock all the way up to the tip, thumbing the head in order to evenly spread the makeshift lubrication. 

Charles repeats this motion a few more times and Arthur is noisier than he thought he would be. Every movement of Charles’s hand, every time his fingers just grazed near his balls, every time he used his thumb to swipe the top of the head had Arthur squirming. His legs twitched and his abdomen was taut, knees occasionally folding and unfolding as he quietly moaned. 

“Charles, fuck- you’re really good at this. Haah- ah AH!” Arthur keened when Charles hit a particularly sensitive spot, the slit on his cock’s head, white pearls of precome beading at the tip. He was dangerously close to orgasming and didn’t want this to end so soonーnot when they were just getting started. He pries Charles’s hand away from his cock and moves to kiss him instead. Arthur leans into Charles and he is invited in, Charles spreading his legs for Arthur to come even closer. And when Arthur moves to his knees, cock bouncing freely, it’s his turn to accidentally brush his leg against Charles’s crotch. And the poor man is rock hard. 

Another swarm of butterflies flutter in Arthur’s stomach. Not only was Charles pleasuring him, but he was getting pleasure out of it too. He can’t help but smile and look down to the bulge in Charles’s pants.

“Looks like you need some help yourself there.” 

Charles’s face flusters and he looks at the ground for a second. “Maybe I do.” He peers up at Arthur through his lashes, subtly taking his bottom lip between his teeth. 

As if agreeing without words, both sets of hands fumble to undo the buttons and clasps on Charles pants. This time there is more tenacity in their motions, both eager to bring this moment to the next level. Within a few seconds Charles’s cock springs free from his pants and Arthur cannot believe what he is seeing. He lets out a low whistle as he eyes up and down the absolute monster that is the man’s cock. 

“Look at you…” he breathes. 

Arthur doesn’t want to waste anymore time on timidness. He spits into his hand just as Charles had done earlier and goes to grab the shaft. To say that he is amazed by Charles’s girth is an understatement when he feels the sheer weight of his erection. And it’s so long . 

“Ohmy- Arthur!” Charles is breathing heavily now and throws his head back as he moans. 

Arthur’s cock is leaking from the sound and state of Charles right now. Disheveled and drunk with pleasure, his chest heaving and his mouth hung open, Arthur wonders what else he could do to draw out a reaction like this. He never knew that Charles had this side to him, kept well-hidden underneath an inclination for silence and isolation ever since he met him. He never would have thought in a million years that he and Charles would be where they are right now. Whatever higher power is out there that allowed them to come together like this, Arthur thanks it silently. 

As aroused and excited as Arthur is, he is still just as nervous. He’s never held a cock in his hands that wasn’t his own. He gives a slow hesitant stroke from the base to just underneath the head, just like how he would do in his tent when he was sure there was no one left awake. Charles hisses through his teeth and Arthur shoots him a worried glance, his grip on his cock easing. Does he not like it? Does it hurt? Is he doing it wrong? Anxiously, he waits for Charles to say something.

“Please-” he breathes. “You’re teasing… just- just go a little faster. You won’t hurt me.” He makes intense eye contact with Arthur, eyebrows upturned as he pleads. 

Arthur leans in to kiss Charles and it’s reassuring for the both of them. A means to continue. With a more sure grip this time, Arthur strokes up and down Charles’s cock with a slightly quicker pace. Not too fast, but not too slow either. He knows it’s just the right pace with the reactions he’s pulling out of Charles, too. He bucks his hips, runs his hand through his hair and tries to cover his mouth with the back of it. Almost as if he wants to hide his face. And Arthur can’t let that slide. 

“Lemme see ya. Ain’t nothin’ to be hidin’ yourself for.” He pulls Charles’s hand away. 

Unbridled and unable to control himself following Arthur’s sweet words, Charles takes the hand that was covering his face and wraps it around the back of Arthur’s neck as his cock continues to be stroked. Arthur’s hand moves up and down, back and forth, and Charles squirms while trying not to touch himself too. Instead, he decides to release this energy by reaching for Arthur’s cock, which was red and drooling. Arthur doesn’t expect this at all, he was so focused on pleasuring Charles that he almost whimpers when he feels the contact. 

He laughs quietly at Arthur’s reaction. “‘M sorry, just couldn’t help myself.” 

Sound of slick skin and hushed moans harmonized with the night ambience surrounding them. Their lips were wet with spit as they kissed unabashedly now with open mouths. Arthur’s free hand paws at Charles’s chest, slipping beneath his shirt and squeezing his pectoral. Charles’s grip on Arthur’s waist is firm and shows no sign of loosening as his shirt hangs off of his left shoulder from Arthur’s incessant palming. His eyes squeeze shut. He’s close. 

“That feel good, big guy?” Charles smooths back some of the hair that fell into Arthur’s face. 

He whines in response and moves his hand to clasp behind Charles’s head, pulling their faces together until their foreheads touch. The way Charles was touching him had him dizzy and aching for release. And he could tell the feeling was mutual. Their strokes were faster now, both ready to push each other over the edge as they looked straight into each other’s eyes. The deep brown of Charles's irises as they reflected the moonlight was alluring, pulling Arthur further under his spell. 

“Charles, I-...’M gonna…”

“It’s okay,” he huffs. “Me too.”

With upturned eyebrows and mouths hanging open, the two reached their climax. Arthur threw his head back and looked down with Charles at the sight of their hands on each other’s cocks, spurting silky white ropes.

“Holy shit, Charles- ah AH! Fuck!” Arthur is groaning with each rise and fall of his chest.

Charles chokes out a moan, quieter than Arthur when he comes.

Their cocks twitch as the come lands on their stomachs and rolls down their hands. Milking each other for every last drop, their fingers are coated with a hot sheen of each other’s seed. Charles moves in to kiss Arthur as they come down from their high. They’re gentler now, as if to say: it’s alright, I’m here . He pets Arthur’s head and pushes back his hair to plant a kiss on his forehead. 

Arthur’s head is spinning, still in disbelief of what happened. Charles lifts his hand to lick the cum off his fingers and Arthur swears if he didn’t just orgasm he would have gotten hard all over again. He figures he should do the same, wanting to prove something he wasn’t sure of to Charles. His tongue makes contact with his sticky hand and it slides from the base of his fingers to their tips, and across the back of his hand. He makes a point to keep eye contact with Charles as he does this and he swears he can see Charles smirk. The taste is bitter but he doesn’t recoil, savoring the feeling of him—the very essence of him—in his mouth. He swallows every last drop and secretly wishes there were more. Maybe there would be, in due time. 

Charles’s voice breaks through his wishful thinking, wiping his hand on his pants. “We’ll change into fresh clothes in the morning.”

A yawn moves through Arthur’s chest and throat, his jaw dropping and his eyes drooping. He hasn’t come that hard in a while, if ever and it left him exhausted. But he couldn’t ignore this rising feeling in his chest, the kind of feeling he would get when Dutch was disappointed in him. Like he had done something wrong. The reality of what they had done set in quickly for Arthur and he scowls at the ground. All his life he’s been taught that encounters like this were reserved for between men and women. Any deviation from that and you were defective, in need of fixing. He felt broken . 

“Hey, you alright?” Charles reaches toward Arthur but his hand is pushed away. 

“Don’t you realize what we’ve done?” Arthur frowns. “We can’t tell anyone what happened here.”

Charles looks at him for a moment, taken aback by the sudden shift in mood. “And what exactly did we do, Arthur?”

“You know, Charles. You know damn well.” 

“No… tell me. What are you so afraid of?”

Arthur’s eyes welled up with tears, the lump in his throat threatening to spill them.

“I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

Silence.

“I can’t stop feelin’ like this and it's drivin’ me mad.”

“Arthur-”

“I can’t lose you, Charles.” A single tear falls down his cheek.

He tries reaching for Arthur again, slower this time as not to spook him.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. I promise.” 

Arthur lets him in this time. He lets Charles hold him in his arms as he weeps and he lays them down on their bed rolls, sheltered by their shared tent and warmed by the fire beside them.

“Don’t know if I can keep goin’ like this,” he sniffles. 

“But now you know that you don’t have to do it alone.”

The two of them are facing each other as they lay, surrounded by the sounds of the night. It was comforting, tranquil and quiet. The fire crackled and popped and fabric rustled as Charles rubs Arthur’s arm, hand coming up to rest on his cheek. He thumbs his tears away and kisses it softly. “Lately I’ve been thinkin’ about what matters to me.”

Physically and emotionally exhausted, all Arthur can do is listen.

“It used to be family. Then it was survival. But now I’m certain of it, and it ain’t Dutch or the money or the goddamn plan.”

Arthur’s eyes threaten to close. 

“It’s you.”

The stars shone brightly above them as Arthur fell asleep in Charles’s embrace. He sifts through the speckling of white on the night sky to find the brightest one and he pulls Arthur closer, fingers threading through his hair. He isn’t one for making wishes, but as he stares he hopes that this is only beginning for them. The thin line they walked had now been crossed, and they were going to weather whatever storm may come—together. 

[couldinfinitytrainhavesavedthem]

[ego-meliorem-esse]

wait. What about hating Ivan? Do they have Ivan? Do you hate him? I do aprove french hatred though

It too me a while to figure out how to answer how I feel about Ivan. I'm gonna answer this by diving into Alfreds feelings about Ivan. It' definitely not hatered Alfred feels. Granted I hc that Alfred is not really good at hating or holding long term grudges against anyone. This is absolute projection on my part tho, since it takes around 30 minutes for any fort of strong negative feelings towards anyone to pass for me. Alfred is similar in that regard, though for different reasons (cough cough attention span of a goldfish).

As for Ivan, he can hold Alfreds attention and interest far longer than any other personification can. Ivan never treated Alfred as a dumb kid or a "young and ambitious startup". There was never any "Interesting idea boy, you'll grow out of it." sentiment from Ivan. Ivan may insult him left right and center on any topic of his choosing, but it's never demeaning and dissmisive towards Alfred as a person. And more often than not it's a debate on equal grounds. I suppose there is an aspect of mutual respect. A respect Alfred had to earn from the older nations by stomping on every single on of them. Yes Ivan certainly thinks Alfred is idealistic and even idiotic at times, but he isn't implying it in a dissmisive sense, but a dangerous one.

One could even say he was charmed by the idiot yank.

Arthur is definitely more intimidated by Ivan than Alfred is. Whereas Alfred sees "danger" and belly flops into it, Arthur calmly gathers his belongings and fucks right off out of the situation (at least after his empire days). Needless to say Arthur is not in agreement with Ivan most of the time. He knows what a nation would do to get on top and while ha can somewhat influence Alfred to not leave chaos and gore after him, Ivan is unpredictable and therefore scary. And that's exactly why Alfred is in fascinated, even captivated by his Cold War rival.

But no, I do not hate the character of Ivan. He is complex, interesting and needs developing on my part (maybe if ppl r interested but idk don't wanna force a character on my blog if ppl aren't interested)

François though, owes me hard cash. Financial compensation if you will.

Anyway here's a quick coffeeshop/kafić sketch since idk what to do with it

[massiveladycat]

pt 2 of me trying to defend nick davis from avid sel fans "nick and bree only feel a connection because of arthur and lancelot--" but arthur and lancelot were entirely platonic. they weren't forced. tracy saying that made nick x bree feel unauthentic and made many people stop enjoying it.. but sel and bree have a connection in lb because of bree's bloodcraft?? selwyn and bree have chemistry. nick and bree also have a little more chemistry than just physical in my opinion (reminder, imo means im not forcing you to agree and you can have your own opinions. personally i'd love to hear about them)

"it'll be a cute poly relationship--" i don't think bree, nick, and sel should be in a poly relationship personally, RIGHT NOW. i have nothing against polyamorous people. but tracy didn't set it up that way. sure, there have been adorable moments between nick and sel, but then sel turns around and clarifies that'd it'd likely be toxic because sel's previous crush on nick when they were young was a mix of 'mutual hatred and affection' and that isn't good building blocks for a relationship. so if tracy can manage to fix that and maybe ease people into liking that idea, then maybe i'll like it as long as it doesn't feel too rushed. small clarification: im not saying that NO, THEY SHOULD ABSOLUTELY NOT START DATING EACH OTHER!! im saying that even the book has said that nick and sel just may not be a good fit right now. character development is still on the table though also, tracy keeps pushing nick away. why does she keep pushing nick away. so many people loved how nick and bree were together. i will literally start begging for some nick x bree content after bloodmarked

[starryybrained]

Mutual Distrust

Whumptober Day 2: Trust issues

Content: Whumper-turned-whumpee, transformation (past, demon to human), hygiene things (nonhuman learning about human hygiene), sadism

Reverb had no reason to trust the Mystery Skulls, just as much as they had no reason to trust him. The tensions between them were clear as day, uncomfortable in every moment. It was obvious they wouldn’t let up on him anytime soon. Hell, he’d been trapped in a spell circle until they realized they’d have to let him use the bathroom and stretch his legs.

Honestly though, any freedom he was allowed was inconvenient to them all. He knew it and they did too. Arthur was terrified of him, Lewis would rather want him dead than look him in the eyes, and Vivi was tasked with keeping him out of trouble. The whole group was a cohesive unit of unease.

Oh, and he couldn’t forget Mystery. The kitsune was always in the way, making sure he couldn’t try anything. He was the only creature here that would actually help the former demon with anything, bless his poor, ancient soul. Not that Reverb really wanted help. He didn’t. Help meant pity. Sure, it was great, but only if you wanted to look weak and helpless. Which he was. Undoubtedly. It was honestly disgusting. Human bodies needed so much upkeep Reverb never needed to worry about until now.

That upkeep was, in his opinion, one of the worst things about his new form. Some of it was downright nauseating. He had no business with the ins and outs of a corporeal form, but now there was no way to live without that. He’d learned and seen things he believed no demon should ever need to know. He’d done things that he would be endlessly mocked for. Scrubbing his body, brushing his (ugly and flat) teeth, combing knots out of his hair – demeaning tasks that only served to exemplify just how fragile he was.

If he didn’t wash himself, his hair turned greasy and Lewis would comment on it in this grating combination of smug and hateful. Lewis could even physically look down on him when he wasn’t being absolutely insufferable about how detestable Reverb was.

He could almost pity the three humans for being made out of something that had more in common with tissue paper than anything else, but he’d rather not because then by some twisted logic, he’d be a victim of that pity too. Oh, and also he didn’t care. He’d rather not. He hated the three of them, and Mystery was on thin ice just for being so awkwardly mothering. The kitsune hadn’t even shown a shred of hatred towards him and it was infuriating. He should be filled with just as much disgust as the rest of them.

Okay well sure, Arthur and Vivi weren’t disgusted, he supposed… but it still felt that way. They didn’t trust him and all three treated him like a cross between an animal, a serial killer, and a glass statuette.

Arthur avoided him, actually. Just the sight of Reverb was enough to make the man go tense, to make the atmosphere in the room change. Reverb heard his stutter get worse, saw him tremble slightly even when he held his ground, watched him avert his eyes. It made him feel powerful. At least someone feared him still. Even if it made some part of him twist uncomfortably, he enjoyed drawing out Arthur’s fear. He hoped he left a scar on him and he liked poking at it, satisfied when he watched him flinch. He did that.

There was a certain pride in a job well done when it came to inflicting this fear and aversion. But there was also a petty resentment he felt whenever Arthur walked on eggshells around him, because he knew Arthur pitied him. He pitied Reverb! He worried about his well-being, the well-being of this monster who had ruined his life and it was abhorrent. How dare he. How dare he pity him!

Vivi might have been worse. Not only did she share some of Lewis’s distaste for him, but she also wanted to use him as an opportunity to learn. She wanted to study him like a child studies a bug under a magnifying glass, but if you substituted “bug” for “demon.” Absolutely humiliating.

He’d heard her talking to the others about him when he was trapped in one of her stupid spell circles, hungry and aching from sitting on the ground. They were talking about what to do with him even though they already agreed they couldn’t let him go free. Vivi decided she could keep him in her home, sealed inside the spell circle with Mystery to keep watch — and if he could play nice, they’d give him more freedoms. It would be perfect, she said. Obviously he would have to be motivated to improve if he had so many restrictions upon him. And in such a unique situation, she could learn so much, and really how hard could it be to keep track of him? It would be like taming an unruly animal, wouldn’t it?

She so desperately wanted to look into demons, especially after all that had happened recently. Obviously she wanted to know more to prevent something bad from happening again, to protect her loved ones. Reverb had seen it himself, her drive to put everyone above herself, to be infallible. It was laughable. She was always to blame.

And so Reverb refused to get better. Everyone expected him to earn respect, and he wanted nothing to do with it. Screw earning respect, screw “privileges.” He hated the very idea of stooping to such a level. It wasn’t only fun to mess with everyone, it was who he was at his core level. There were no layers to peel back. He was a demon. What did they expect?

They couldn’t keep him down forever. Eventually, he’d find a way out of here, out of this body, even if he had to keep pushing back and resisting. There was nothing here for him. This was merely a transition point, an obstacle in his path; he was using them all and once his life had been fixed, he would ditch these sad losers!

It didn’t matter that everything felt wrong and constricting, didn’t matter if it felt like his brain had been rearranged, remade, didn’t matter that suddenly he was feeling and breathing and blinking and thinking and dying, it didn’t matter! It was temporary. This was all temporary. For now, he could stand the unease. The mutual distrust. It was a bitter comfort among things arguably more bitter. He could stand being hated. He’d done it so many times before.

He’d do it again, gladly.

[onigiri-senpai-webtoon]

My latest gravity falls oc Arthur Henry. He and Stanley bonded over their mutual hatred of pants.

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  John is dead. Your whole world crumbles. Arthur and you are facing your first real argument, and everything grows out of control -- featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader.

Words: 5.8k

TW: Extreme angst - read at your own risk, graphic depiction of violence, domestic violence, mention of drug use, canonical violence, graphic depiction of murder, major character death, self-harm, guilt trip, co-dependent relationship.

Notes:

✞ Read the notes at the end.

Previous || Masterlist || NEXT

The creaking which resounded in the whole morgue when the door opened sent shivers down Tommy’s spine. The infamous Peaky Blinders’ boss was standing next to the mortuary table, staring at the ashen face of his little brother, frozen in a peaceful expression. Although Tommy tried his best to remain neutral, the way his enchanting turquoise eyes gleamed belied his profound sorrow. A sorrow so distressing that he was not even able to express it – instead, his negative thoughts piled up inside of his already decaying heart. First Grace, then John… Tommy let out a long exhale from his nostrils while going on with his morbid contemplation. How many more deaths would he have to endure before his hunger for power was sated? “Fuck, I’m sorry John.” He whispered, softly pressing his large hand on his brother’s muscular shoulder. The sensation of John was cold and hard, even above the fabric of his blood-stained shirt, “It wasn’t supposed to happen.” His hand then reached for the funeral shroud and pulled it over his brother’s chest, which had been riddled with bullets. He did not want John to look weak, even in death. He wished for people to recall his joy and strength, not his troubled last moments. “I’m sorry.” He reiterated, offering a last apologetic look at his little brother before turning around at the sound of someone’s heels beating the cold tiled floor. Tommy’s forehead creased as he furrowed his brows: he had not been expecting anyone now that Arthur and Esme had left.

“Tommy.”

The hypnotizing and melodious voice that called him led him to briefly open his eyes wide in surprise — especially when he recognized its owner. And when he did, his face immediately hardened. It was only seconds later that he saw you walking towards him with hastened steps, rivers of tears still streaming down your angelic face. He didn’t know what surprised him the most though, to see you here in this morgue, to hear you calling him “Tommy” and not “Thomas” for the very first time, or maybe the unexpected way you threw yourself into his arms. In fact, it was certainly a bit of the three at once. As soon as your body collapsed with his, the gangster’s muscles tensed, and his placid expression shifted into a stunned one: your affection had taken him aback.

“Oh my God, Tommy…”  You were crying your eyes out, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He could even feel the warm wetness of your tears on his skin, the little salty drops running down his chest and dying under his shirt. Esme had told him everything. Tommy blinked a few times to chase away the surprise and, gradually, his body relaxed as he felt your frail being snuggling against him, the freezing sensation of your dainty frame meeting the warm temperature of his skin even separated by the clothes you were wearing. He gave you a quick glance from above your head to check if what was happening was true and, finally, he sighed. As his arms wrapped around you softly, you felt like you were falling apart and, ironically, the only thing that held you together at this very moment was Thomas Shelby. The man you hated since day one.

“I’m here.”  His quiet and deep voice simply stated, soon followed by his arms tightening around you and his fingers gently diving into your waist, not willing to let you go anymore. To hell with your mutual hatred, you thought, Tommy had just lost a brother and you wanted to be here for him too. Surely, all the ice of his heart couldn’t shield him from grieving a loved one.

What started as an awkward hug soon turned into a powerful embrace when Tommy indulged in your love. All the resent, all your past arguments, all the fear… The more you were pressing together, the more they were turned into dust, “I’m fuckin’ here.” One of his hands ran up your body only to rest on the back of your head, inviting you to nuzzle your nose in the crook of his neck even more – which was what you did, desperately looking for comfort.

“I can’t… I can’t let him go. I don’t want to.” Your voice was merely a desperate whimper, for the uncontrollable sobbing and the ball of sorrow in your throat wouldn’t allow you to align more words. Another hiccup — The excruciating sadness almost suffocated you when you realized that John’s dry blood was still stuck under your nails.

“He’s gone, Heaven.” His words, stone cold, made you shake like a leaf, to the extent that Tommy was now certain you would shatter if he were not holding you. He started rubbing your back with his powerful free hand, the other clenching its fingers on the back of your head, “Listen to me.” He started, holding you firmly against his strong body: he was not going to let you all apart.

“They fucking shot him! Ces enculés lui ont tiré dessus!” You repeated in French, and of course he understood. He tried to hush your worries down but it didn’t work. Deaf to his attempt to comfort you, you gritted your teeth and let out a frustrated and painful cry. John was dead and your whole world felt like it was collapsing. Your little fists hit Tommy’s strong chest in a weak blow, anger taking over sadness as seconds passed. You were angry at him, at you, at Changretta, at the whole damn world. In truth, your mind didn’t know how to cope with grief anymore, and rather let you experience various emotions to test which one hurt the less. In response, the gangster restrained your movements by hugging you tighter and then, he brought his lips near your ear to keep you focused on him and only him.

“Hey, listen to me now.” He said with a firmer tone, catching your attention. You glanced at him and froze, realizing how dangerously close his face was, “I want you to calm down. You’re a fucking Shelby.” Despite his harsh words, Tommy’s tender caresses made amends for his toughness and managed to dry your tears up. His palms, then, wandered on your back and shoulders, stimulating every nerve of your quivering body to anchor you to reality, “There. Better.” He finally praised you, warming up your body with the sole power of his touch and rubs. Feeling calmer, you sniffed a little bit and tried to focus on the musky yet delicate fragrances of his cologne rather than on John’s corpse that was lying a bit further from you.

“Better.” You softly replied, surprisingly lulled by little King Shelby’s presence. A real miracle. Once comforted, you decided it was time for you to move your body from him and break the embrace though. After all, Tommy and you had never got along. Plus, you were pretty sure he wanted this to end as quickly as possible now that he had done his in-law duty. But, somehow, a little part of you still hope for this moment to improve your relationship from now. Maybe things wasn’t that hopeless? You were about to move but the gangster didn’t let you leave him. Quite the contrary, he pulled you closer until your breasts flattened against his chest and your cheek rested on his collarbone. Surprised, your lips parted but no sound came out.

“Stay.” Even though he did not mean it, his tone sounded like an order more than a request. Truth was, he couldn’t control it – the way his heart had quickened at the physical contact he was sharing with you unsettled him. As much as the thought that you came to him for comfort, not to your husband. Under the crushing weight of something he couldn’t name, Tommy delicately rubbed his perfectly shaven cheek against yours and buried his nose in your long white hair to get himself drunk with your spring-like perfume, “I’ll keep you out of sorrow, if you ask me,” He whispered, shutting his eyes tight and deepening his embrace again, until it became slightly painful. His thoughts swirled in his restless mind, and between plans for the Vendetta and the grief of John’s death, there was you. You and your intoxicating perfume. With his breath quickening and his lower lip trembling, Tommy allowed himself to sink into your softness, “And you’ll keep me out of it.” His husky voice was merely a murmur only you could hear. A soft whisper even the Grim Reaper, who was leaning over John and contemplating about where he was going to send him, did not catch.

“What do you mean?” You bated your doe lashes, confused at this sudden passionate demonstration of affection. But Tommy didn’t reply. In fact, he did not even hear a word you said for his mind was trying to cope with the overwhelming feelings and sensations that were drowning him. He felt like a sailor thrown into a raging see, desperately trying to keep his head above the water, and the only hope for him to survive was to cling onto you as hard as he could. The truth was it felt so good to have you in his arms, blessed with your holy and calming aura, that he had momentarily forgot what pain was like. For a split second, colors came back in his black and white life – something he hadn’t experience since Grace’s death. Letting out a relieved sigh, Tommy gently pulled his face away from you only for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes to dive into your celeste iris.

“It’s going to be alright, Tommy. It’s not your fault.” You stuttered, trying to comfort him too despite being slightly confused by his intense stare. Nevertheless, you could not help but commiserate with him, grief being one of the most universal human feelings to share. United in pain, you offered him a faint smile. The fearful gangster replied with utter silence – struck by the fact that he loved how his nickname sounded in your mouth. Only his brows frowned slightly as he watched you for the very first time: your big fair eyes, your long lashes, your plumped lips, the way your snow-white hair reflected the dull lights of the morgue… Last time he recalled having stared at you like this was during your first meeting, when his hand was wrapped around your throat. Worried by the unfamiliar ways he was looking at you, your little cold fingers grazed one of his hollow cheeks as softly as a feather’s caress to bring him back to his senses. A surge of electricity ran through his soul at the skin-to-skin contact. You touched him and, all of sudden, Tommy understood Arthur. He understood what he meant when he told him you were an angel. And after the epiphany came a moment of madness.

“No, it won’t.” He admitted with a sad tone you never suspected he was capable of. At his words, he finally gave in and broke the distance between your lips. Life flashed before your eyes, your brain momentarily ceasing to function at the soft press of his mouth. Tommy’s hand had wrapped itself around the back of your neck, keeping you from moving your face with one thick and strong palm. His kiss, eager but indescribably sensual, made your heart miss a small beat. It took you two solid seconds to realize what was happening, and one extra to push him away from you as he started to make it slow and deep with the wet stroke of his tongue. Forced to take a few steps back, his chest vibrated with a low groan of disappointment.

“No, Tommy.” You stuttered in a whisper, astounded by his bold and senseless move. Your fingertips grazed your swollen lips, still tingling with the sensation of his lips against yours, all the while your otherworldly pale eyes gawked at him wide open.

Tommy’s lashes fluttered, then he slightly shook his head to chase away the sweet torpor that had overtaken him for a short while. Regaining his composure, he clenched his jaws and tried to cope with your rejection. Admittedly, it had been a bit too much for him to handle. Why did he do that? What did happen in his goddamn mind? And how the hell could a woman say no to him? Unfortunately, Tommy couldn’t find any answer to these questions. All he found was frustration and anger, fueled by his unsufferable heartache of John’s death.

“No.” Tommy’s face closed up, going placid again while the blue of his iris turned two shades darker, “No” he repeated, trying his best to keep his emotions how he always did: hidden behind coolness, “So why did you come here and throw yourself in my arms?”

His question had taken you aback, for you didn’t expect him to wonder about such a trivial thing. Somehow, you wondered if he ever knew what the definition of platonic love was, or if all his interactions with women, except the ones from his family, always led him to their bed. “I just wanted someone to talk to...” Your eyes fled his, and you folded your arms to hug yourself, feeling suddenly freezing, “And I thought you’d maybe need someone too? I mean… I wanted to comfort you too. Just not—like this.” In truth, you were left agape by the whole misunderstanding. And by Tommy’s unfathomable mind.

Not minding that he was in a morgue, the King of Small Heath took of a cigarette from his pocket and rubbed it nervously on his lower lip before lighting it. Thoughts were now racing in his mind, along with your words. He could have dismissed the topic with a simple wave from his hand, but he couldn’t come to terms with how good you had made him felt for a few fleeting but intense minutes. Tommy’s chest rose and fell with rapid breath, for both shame and anger had crept into his bones. Why? He thought. Why did his brother had been allowed to meet you before he could? Why did Arthur, broken and fragile Arthur, had been allowed to have a loving woman by his side and not him? After all, he was the one who needed it the most. No, he was the one who deserved it the most. But now Grace was dead, all women he shared his bed with tended to leave an unpleasant after taste of ashes in his mouth, and the one he thought who could heal him didn’t want him. What kind of freaking curse was that? But in his inner turmoil and feeling of unfairness, Tommy forgot to take into account the real problem: you could do nothing for his heart. No one could.

“Alright then, you wanna talk? We gonna talk, ey. I wanna know something, Heaven. Why didn’t you save him ey?” A cloud of smoke escaped from his mouth, leaving you wondering if it was due to the cigarette or to his rage.

“Sorry?” You asked, feeling your shoulders tense.

He threw his cigarette further away before squinting his eyes as he talked to you “You resurrected a damn bird. Polly talked y’know. She told me you had the great power of healing, something that’s fucking rare. So why?”

“Why?! Why what?! What the hell are you implying?” You were starting to lose your patience, already fed up with his mean games. Moreover, your emotions was already all messed up with all the earliest events.

“Why the fuck didn’t you save John?! Why the fuck didn’t you bring him back to life?” His voice rose, resounding in the morgue so loudly that John probably heard it from where he was.

You blinked, astonished. “Because it doesn’t work like that, you fucking idiot!” You replied to his screams with louder ones, now troubling the dead’s final rest.

“Of course, it doesn’t. Isn’t it a bit ironic? I mean… For everyone, you’re a saint. For Arthur you’re a fucking angel, ey, even a divine being. But now that you have the occasion to use your wicked powers for something useful you can’t even do it!” His prose had turned into poison, seeping through your veins and contaminating soul.

“Thomas, stop it.” You begged, trying to remain calm. Surely, you didn’t want to argue right after John’s death. Especially not when he was there… You took a quick glance at his motionless body and your heart sank. Was it your fault?

“I told you what it is. You’ve bewitched all of them. You’ve bewitched me,” His eyes darkened, “All your so-called gifts come from the Devil... So come on! Bring John back to life, you fucking witch!”  He was now pointing John with his index finger, “Bring him back now!”

“HIS HEART HAD STOPPED BEATING!” You howled, self-control breaking down.

“It doesn’t matter, you had let him die!”

“I didn’t!” You shook your head, rage taking over you, “It’s the blood. My witchcraft doesn’t come from the Devil, it comes from the fucking blood. From the human body. That’s what I manipulate. I could have done something if his heart had been still beating the slightest, or if it had just stopped. But it wasn’t the fucking case!” Tears of wrath left a moist trail on your skin as you wiped them away quickly with the palm of your hand, “He was dead for too long when I found him!” A short silence fell in the morgue after your attempt to justify yourself – Tommy didn’t buy it.

“It’s your fault.” He concluded in a quiet and low tone, desperately trying to both find someone to blame for his brother’s death, and wanting to make you pay for rejecting him.

“W-What?” His words had stabbed you right in the heart.

“It’s your fault if John is now lying in a fucking morgue, dead and cold. You have let him die.”

“I didn’t!” Your voice broke.

“You fucking did! Look at him now, look at his fucking corpse riddled with bullet! Look at the fuck you did, ey!” Tommy had stepped aside and pulled the shroud from John’s body. Doing so, he gave you full sight on his bloody chest, whose round bullet wounds were already darkening. Such a macabre spectacle momentarily broke the last bit of sanity you had left.

John, Oh John, your soul lamented.

“ENOUGH!” You yelled. The way your usually sweet voice screeched was so powerful, so inhumane that all the lights of the morgue flickered, rendering the place even more ominous than it already was. On top of the dancing lights, whose glow had been undermined by your own darkness, the atmosphere around Tommy thickened. The gangster swallowed the lump in his throat, suddenly overtaken by an unpleasant and eerie feeling of unease. In other circumstances, your brother-in-law’s change in behavior would have appeased you. Especially when considering that shutting up was not in Tommy’s habits. Nevertheless, far too hurtful words and years of restrained spite got the best of you: from the moment you met to this one, Tommy had been nothing but a bane. Anger rippled through you, hardening your maimed heart and blurring every notion of decorum you’d usually try to respect for Arthur’s sake, “You wanna make me your villain?” You had stopped screaming. Quite the contrary, your tone had turned from a bawling banshee to the quiet and sinister sigh of Death. With that last question posed, you extended one of your arms, palm facing Tommy, and spread your fingers, “I’ll give you a reason to fear me!”

At first, Tommy raised a brow wondering what the goal behind your move was. Then, the fact you dared to scream at him and insult him – certainly combined with your rejection – made rage coiled in his stomach. He opened his mouth, about to reply to your arrogance when words choked in his throat. Hit by a sudden and obliterating pain in the chest,  Tommy pressed his hand were his heart was and looked up in terror as a thin trickle of blood started to run down one of his nostrils, dying his thin lips with a crimson color, “What—What are you doing to me?!” He stuttered, barely hearing his voice because of the sound of his own heart beating faster and faster echoed in his skull far too loudly. However, you didn’t answer him, far too consumed by the flames of your rage, licking though your delicate bones and dainty frame. With your hand still facing him, you started to close your fingers very slowly. Tommy coughed for each inch your fingers moved, his lungs were crushed harder in his tight chest. He wanted to scream – scream to let out the pain, scream to stop you, but the only noise he could make was muffled squeals, similar to an agonizing prey.

“Here is what I can do, Tommy! This is the pain I am capable to cause with my delicate and fragile little being! See? If I can heal, I can also make one sick and destroy them.”

“S—St—Stop...” He tried to beg, bloody mouth gaping, desperate for air. But this time he was not only met by your silence, but by the worsening of his pain to the extent that his legs were about to collapse. No, you didn’t want to stop. In fact, you wanted him to pay for everything. You wanted him to kneel.

“Beg.” Your voice echoed in the morgue and your eyes were staring coldly at Tommy Shelby who, crushed by the extreme pain you were exerting on his body, had no other choice than to rest one of his knees on the ground, right in front of you. The metallic taste of blood that kept running down his throat, thick and hot, enhanced his suffocating and labored attempt to breath. At this point Tommy had one certitude; you were going to kill him. Whether by a heart attack or by smashing his lungs to a pulp, it did not matter. What mattered was that, for the very first time since you met, he was at your mercy. Far too well he understood that all you had to do was to close your fist, and then he would end up lying down on the table next to John’s.

The shovels, the dirt in his mouth, everything came back to his mind as he fought to breath.

“Heaven!”

“Listen closely to what I’m about to say,” You spoke calmly, “I think I’ve had enough of your hypocritic ways and your unjustified battle against me, whose only goal is to tear me down. I am not going to kill you, Thomas Shelby. But if I spare you, it’s only because, first I don’t want to murder you in front of John, and then, because Arthur loves you. I don’t fucking know how he still does after every mean thing you’ve said and done to him, but the facts remain that he does.” You paused, finally reopening your hand, and lowering your arm. It didn’t take more for Tommy’s lungs to finally be able to stock air again and for his heart to return to a normal pace. The gangster immediately inhaled, still under the shock of what had just happened. Hands on the cold tiled floor, eyes wide open, he was shaking like a leaf in a raging storm, “So for Arthur’s sake and John’s memory, I want you to wear your most beautiful smile next time you’ll see me. Just like you told me the first time we met ey?”

By the time you’ve stopped stabbing him with your murderous and poisoned words, Tommy had managed to stand up on his quivering legs. Yet, he was still catching his breath and pressing one hand on his chest to alleviate the soreness of his lungs. He licked his lips to clean the blood off them, the taste of his own crimson essence reminding him of what he was: not a God. Much less the Devil. Just one simple mortal man. At this very moment, Tommy Shelby had lost his splendor. Still shaken and utterly terrified by your wicked abilities, little King Shelby looked at you, his face contorted in pure horror and disgust. “You…”  His enchanting turquoise eyes, whose color made women’s head spin, were now glazed with an almost primal fear, “You’re a fucking monster.”

“At least we have something in common.” You retorted, before turning your heels and leaving the morgue. John’s spirit wasn’t there anyway.

Following your quarrel with your brother-in-law, all you wanted was to go back home and hide from this cruel world in Arthur’s arms; the only place in which you could find a bit of inner peace. Moreover, you knew he would certainly need you after his visit at the morgue.  Your holy tears had flown from your eyes all the way home, only chased away by your delicate hands. The only thing that kept you from collapsing in the midst of the streets, weeping on the ground like a fallen angel, was the thought of finding your husband. It has always been you against the rest of the world anyway. So, what was your disappointment when hours flew and Arthur was nowhere to be seen. 

A little sigh escaped from your lips as you poured the rest of the red wine bottle you had opened earlier in your glass. Once your glass was refilled with alcohol, you simply dragged your exhausted body to the living room and collapsed on the sofa, looking blankly at the dancing flames in the hearth. Before panic settled in, you thought that Arthur needed time for himself after being informed of his little brother’s death — which was perfectly fine and understandable. He had every right to stay with his family, grieving the loss of his own blood. But the more time passed, the more his absence was weighing on you. Feeling your sorrow, Kaiser woke up from his nap, stretched his muscular body, and came closer to rest his large head on your thighs. The dog’s cropped ears were flattened, and his large hazel eyes were looking at you with sincere worry.

“That’s okay big boy, that’s okay.” You gently stroke his head, but despite loving your caresses the Cane Corso let out a sad whining sound, “I know…” You simply replied, knowing that Kaiser missed Arthur too, on top of hating the sight of you being that mournful. Suddenly, the mutt’s ears raised again, and he turned his head towards the door, sensing someone was coming. Trusting his shape senses, your eyes looked up at the entrance too. When your instincts weren’t working, you knew you could always count on Kaiser and tonight was no exception: only seconds later the door opened, revealing Arthur’s lanky silhouette. You got up from the sofa, putting your glass of red wine on the coffee table, and watched him carefully. 

“Cheri?”

“Hm.” The only reply you got was a grunt, followed by his staggering frame walking past you without stopping for a hug nor a kiss. In fact, you wondered if he even saw you. The strong scents of alcohol and tobacco floated in the air at his passage, leaving no doubt on his intoxicated state. You sighed, watching him walking towards the furniture and pouring himself another whiskey. Not the first of the evening for sure.

“Arthur, maybe you shouldn’t do that.” You said quietly, with care and sincere worry. Losing John had broken him, obviously, so you knew you had to be delicate with him. A lecture was definitely not what he needed at this aching moment, which was why you used suggestions rather than orders.  Nevertheless, your husband remained deaf to your gentle advice and gulped down the alcohol in one mouthful, right before pouring himself another glass. You shook your head and walked to him, for you could not let Arthur drink his pain until he passed out – because that was what he was trying to do. Somehow, he only acknowledged your existence when he felt your hand gently touching his arm, right above the thin texture of his shirt, “I’m going to run you a bath and we’ll go to bed, alright?” You finally said, knowing that no words would ease the tormenting grief he was experiencing. Why? Because you did too. John Shelby was your best friend. No. He was more than that, he was like another part of you. But as you weren’t blood-related, you’d rather leave your own pain on the back burner and take care of your husband, who hadn’t lost a friend but a baby brother. A loss whose ache you knew far too well. Taking this into account, you didn’t want to ask him if he was okay nor if he wanted to talk because you knew that no he wasn’t and no he didn’t want to.

“Yeah.” Arthur drank the second glass of whiskey and put it on the furniture a bit bluntly, his reflexes numbed by alcohol, “Yeah…” He sniffed, tears flooding his vision for the umpteenth time today – he had lost count. He didn’t think he had some left but here he was, crying again, unlike Tommy who could hold it well. “Heaven…” He moaned in pain, his suffering coming from the deepest part of his soul. You opened your lips to reassure him but you stopped: there was something unusual in his voice, “I need ye to save me …” He begged, turning around to face you even if his gaze remained fixed on the floor.

“I’m here.” One of your hands reached his waist with an indescribable tenderness, “Look at me Arthur.” The other slipped under his chin and gently forced him to look at you — which he ultimately did. Yet, the moment your eyes dived into his iris your heart stopped beating for a micro-while. His pupils were so dilated that the blue of his eyes was barely visible, reduced to small rings around two soul-sucking black holes. From then, you were quick to react: you slipped your hand in the pocket of his trouser and, when you did, your fingertips were met with the cold surface of a little vial. “No…” You whispered, pulling the object from his pocket and observing it with genuine disgust and disappointment. In truth, you could recognize it from miles away for those blue and small vials usually contained cocaine, “What the fuck, Arthur!” you exclaimed, stepping back from him and showing him the small bottle you were holding between your index finger and your thumb.

“What?” He straight off hissed, eyes half closed and his body slightly reeling left to right due to his state of inebriation.

“Did you take it?!” The answer was obvious, but you still wanted to hear it from him. You wanted him to admit it and assume the consequences of his relapse.

“Yes I did eh!” He finally exclaimed after one long second of staring at your eyes, searching for any kind of excuses he could find. But the disappointment in your frozen iris kept him from lying – He definitely could not do this to you, even drunk and high. You closed your eyelids a brief moment, for his words felt like a stab in the chest despite you already knew the undeniable truth.

“No Arthur that’s not going to be possible. You made a promise,” You tried to remain calm but red wine, your fight with Tommy, and the mess in your emotions had destroyed your diplomacy, “You’ve promised me! That’s… Thats not going to help you cope with John’s death!” One of your bare feet was nervously tapping the wooden floor.

“AND HOW AM I GOING TO COPE WITH IT EH? FOOKIN’ HOW?” He burst in anger, your words fueling the raging fire that was burning inside of him. Carried away by his emotional turmoil and the drug, Arthur swept the furniture with one violent movement of his arms, knocking the bottle and the glass over. The cacophony of broken glass made you jump a little as they crashed on the floor, exploding in dozens of shards.

You looked at him, shocked to the core, for he had never really yelled at you before. Each time his voice would rise in your presence it was always because of external factors, never because of you. In truth, Arthur had never got mad at you. The more he could do in your presence was being grumpy. However, tonight you were the source of his sudden anger, and such a revelation hurt like hell. For a fraction of a second, your angry expression flickered into an aching one. Still, you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat and answered him with a cool, almost placid tone.

“Don’t yell at me. Understand?” You warned him, jaw clenched and every muscle of your tiny body tense,  “I don’t want you to take drug except on very, very rare occasions and I must be here– It was part of the deal.” You punctuated you sentence by throwing the vial into the fire, which burnt brighter for a short while. Arthur scoffed, his lips stretching in a sarcastic and irked grin.

“Isn’t it a fookin’ rare occasion? My brother’s dead. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime event that needs to be celebrated properly eh.” His bitter smirk disappeared as he winced with pain, bringing his trembling hands in his hair to pull it. “I need to numb the pain. To numb everything. Oh God, John is dead. Dead. He’s fookin’ dead!”  Each time he repeated the last word, Arthur hit his head with his fists. The dancing flames reflected in his teary eyes, and lit his face with an orange hue. It was getting hard to tell if such an effect came from the fire in the hearth, or if he was burning from inside.

“Stop it Arthur!” You grabbed his wrists with your little hands, trying your best to keep him from hurting himself, “I know alright? I know you’re suffering and I’m deeply sorry for it. I swear I’d love to take your pain away, but I can’t. I can’t,” You forced him to look at you by squeezing his wrists, “Thing is, I don’t want to watch you destroying yourself with cocaine or God knows what other kind of drugs! That’s out of fucking question!” Despite your attempt to remain calm, your emotions got the best of you. The betrayal of him breaking his promise was more painful than a bullet shot through your chest. Maybe more painful than losing John itself. Tears began to stream down your face as you let go of Arthur and observed his enraged and dilated pupils.

“What the hell do ye know, eh.” Arthur stumbled, closing the distance between you a second time and leaning over until his face and yours were only a few inches away. His whiskey breath fanned over your skin. “What the hell do ye knew about pain, little angel? You have no idea what I’m going through. If ye did you’d be the first to snort snow ey.”  

“Listen,” You sniffed, swallowing back a sob. Okay, maybe yelling at him wasn’t the best way to react so, in a desperate attempt of not aggravating the situation, you forced yourself to regain your calm  “I’ve lost my family, I know what it—”

“IT’S NOT ABOUT YOUR FAMILY!” He cut you, yelling so loud your ears buzzed, “THEY’VE BEEN SIX FEET UNDER FOR A FOOKIN’ WHILE! WE’RE TALKING ABOUT JOHN! MY LITTLE BROTHER!” Arthur’s eyes darkened and then, he bared his teeth like a wounded wolf trying his best to scare someone away, “They’ve riddled him with bullets, those mops. Those bastards! We’re in a fookin’ war and here you are scolding me like a kid because I took drugs! That’s fookin’ ridicu—”

The sound of flesh snapping echoed in the living room when your hand slapped him, followed by a heavy silence only the fire’s cracks broke. Arthur backed up at the blow, eyes wide open. Slowly, his shaking fingers brushed his reddened cheek, right where his skin was tingling. At this well-deserved reality check, the tall gangster blinked several times and finally noticed the heart-wrenching pain in your glistening eyes. You, who had tried to hold back your tears and be strong for Arthur, could not keep your sadness for yourself anymore. They flowed from your holy eyes, salty waterfall of sorrows. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Not a single sound. It was not really the fact you had hit him that petrified his whole soul, but rather the realization that he had hurt you, his beloved angel. The woman of his life.

Your face contorted with a caustic combination of pain, sorrow and anger. In truth, you didn’t want to hit him. You really didn’t. But he had been barking at you like a rabid dog, almost spitting at your face as he screamed. And then, he had the stupid idea of talking about your family while knowing what had happened to them. All brutally murdered in a matter of hours. Guided with rage, your blood had boiled, and your hand slapped him even before you truly realized it. “Don’t talk about my family like this anymore.” You hissed through gritted teeth, your cold voice seeping through him and turning his blood into liquid nitrogen.

“Heaven…” Arthur said, feeling himself breaking down at your hateful gaze. He quickly moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, thinking carefully about the next words that were about to come from his mouth but you didn’t let him the time to speak. You had heard enough.

“Shut up. Seriously Arthur, just… Shut up.” Your eyes, who always looked at him with indescribable love and tenderness, were now filled with Hell’s fury and it tore his soul. All of sudden, he felt very small despite towering you with his height.

“You think I’m not suffering from John’s death? You have no idea how much he meant to me. Of course, he wasn’t my brother! Of course, his blood doesn’t run through my veins. But still, he mattered like no one else did, except you.” Each sentence had a bitter taste. Then, you turned away from him and walked to the smashed bottle to take one huge shard between your fragile fingers, “You wanna know how it makes me feel when you’re high? We’ll that’s easy.” Now you were determined to make him understand, no matter what it took. First thing, you showed him the pale flesh of your forearm, “I’m not Linda, right? I didn’t put a leash around your neck because I trusted you. Now, I want you to look at me carefully. When you take drug, it’s as if I was doing this to myself.” Turning your words into deeds, you suddenly slashed your skin with the glass fragment in one quick motion. The sharp surface cut your skin just like butter, and crimson blood quickly filled the gash, overflowing from it and dripping down your arm to your elbow under Arthur’s astounded eyes.

“No, angel!” Suddenly sobering up at the sight of blood on your porcelain skin, he almost pounced on you and took the shard from your hand to threw it away, “The fook ye did eh?! Bloody hell…” Arthur tried to take your arm to examine the depth of your wound but you pushed him away with a stern “Don’t touch me”.

Don’t touch me. Surely, you didn’t mean it right?

You didn’t – Arthur’s heart ached.

“Now just imagine that all you can do is watch me cutting myself until, one day, I bleed to death. How fucking bad it would make you feel? How powerless?!”

“Gosh Heaven, you’re hurt. Oh God!” Arthur started to panic, tears filling his eyes and shoulder jolting with dawning sobs. His whole being ached at the sight of you wounded. It was stronger than him: he couldn’t bear the idea of your being hurt, even less when it was because of him — whether he was the direct cause or not. “I’m sorry love. Fuck, I’m so sorry…” He begged, trying to approach you again but each step he made caused you to step back. Arthur’s hand slowly squeezed his own arm, for he could almost feel the pain of your cut on his own unwounded flesh. Everything began to spin around him as he realized how stupid he had been, “Please, love…”

“Keep your apologies for yourself, Arthur. Let’s make things clear:  I’d rather burn at the stake than watch you slowly killing yourself with this shit.” You retorted, turning your heels and heading to the door not minding the fact you were not wearing shoes and that your arm was abundantly bleeding. It didn’t matter, you needed so fresh air and, more than anything, you needed to be away from Arthur for a little while. Meeting his eyes had become far too painful for you to bear anymore. You had almost reached the door when the gangster’s long and calloused fingers grabbed your hands to hold you back.

“No! Don’t leave me! Please, please I fookin’ beg ye but don’t… Just don’t leave me, Heaven.” He kept repeating over and over again, the gravel in his voice rising from one octave under the weight of despair and utter fear. The way his menacing traits had turned into the facial expression of a panicking child was truly heart wrenching – Arthur could not live without you, and it wasn’t a euphemism. Yet, you snatched your hand from his and, as you did, his very soul crumbled. As painful as it was to see him like this, you just couldn’t let this pass – he had to understand how serious you were about the whole drug issue, and how deep he had maimed your heart. You took one last look at him, shaking your head in disapproval, and stormed out of the house, letting the darkness of Watery Lane swallowing you whole.

At first, he had wanted to pin you against the wall and force you to stay. His desperate mind, seeking for any way to keep you by his side, had even thought about threatening to kill himself with his gun right in front of you if you left, but he had been frozen by the disappointed look on your face. Petrified by your gaze, as a poor unfortunate traveler meeting Medusa’s deadly eyes. Following your departure, Arthur had screamed until his throat hurt and his voice broke. The drowning misery he was experiencing, far worst than suffocating in French tunnels, had led him to destroy everything he could in the living room. Maddened by the thought of losing you, the flip in his brain switched and nothing made sense anymore. You had left him alone here, and he felt his mental health getting worse and worse as minutes passed, until he was completely out of his mind. He had done all he could to alleviate his guilt and sadness: from throwing in the fire all the cocaine he kept to hiting a furniture until his knuckles’ skin cracked open. God, he even threw his lanky frame at the wall several times in a frenzied attempt to knock himself up and get a break from the pain of your absence, but nothing worked. He was now sitting on the rug, rocking himself back and forth in front of the dying fire. If you didn’t want him anymore, all was left for him was to blow his damn brains out with his gun for if you’d rather burn than witness his fall, he'd rather die than existing one sole second without your heavenly presence by his side. He could afford to lose Linda, John, hell even Tommy, but he couldn’t do it without you.

Arthur looked at his wedding ring, jaw clenched and heart in bits.

He had fucked up. And he had fucked up really bad.

As he always did.

✞ Readers are left to interpret/choose what the characters feel for the reader. By no means it wants to make Reader/Heaven a Mary Sue everyone loves. Nevertheless, fanfiction should remain fun for readers so that's why I leave most of the things open to interpretation.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Tag list: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @brummiereader @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @shelbydelrey @peakyswritings @helen06dreamer

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 18 - To Hear the Distant Church Bells Chime

Summary: The gang finds a new hideout at Shady Belle, just outside the heart of the new modern America. With Jack still missing, Kate and Arthur must work together to find him. Amidst the tension, Arthur confides in Kate about his deepest regrets.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters   Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

A/N: 9.5k words yippee! Not gonna lie gang, I'm really proud of this one. So many feels. So many emotions. Little disclaimer, when I talk about Arthurs past, I am not following the canon events. I've changed the details to suit the story. Anyways, I'm so glad to be able to share this and not make you wait another two months (oopsie)

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams @lunawolfclaw 

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

StoryTags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the dense swamps of Lemoyne, the gang found themselves approaching their new hideout—Shady Belle. The journey had been grueling, filled with the constant threat of pursuit and the weight of recent tragedies. They had to pack quickly, and unfortunately had to leave things behind in the rush. Now, as they rode up to the dilapidated manor, a sense of uneasy relief washed over them. Physical and mental exhaustion settled into their bones as they took in the site of their new “home”.

Shady Belle was a far cry from the relative peace of Clemens Point. The old plantation house stood partially reclaimed by the swamp, its once-grand façade now crumbling and overgrown with ivy. The windows were shattered, and the wooden walls were rotting, giving the manor an eerie, haunted appearance. A thick fog clung to the ground, swirling around their horses' hooves as they approached. Even as the moon began its ascent, the sun retiring after another long day, the humidity clung to the air like thistles. The dry fever of western Lemoyne was replaced with a sweltering sticky heat from the southern swamps. 

The surrounding grounds were equally foreboding. Gnarled trees twisted upwards, their branches draped with Spanish moss that hung like ghostly curtains. The stagnant water of the nearby bayou reflected the deepening twilight, and the air was thick with the hum of insects and the distant croaking of frogs. It was a place that seemed to whisper of long-forgotten secrets and unseen dangers lurking just beyond the shadows. The cover over the bayou would keep them hidden, but the single path leading to the manor meant it would be difficult to escape if they were ambushed. 

Arthur and John were waiting for the gang upon their arrival. Having cleared out the space per Dutch's commands. It was a quick, bloody battle. The old manor had been claimed by squatters and drunks. Homeless people just looking for a roof over their head and a place to rest. There was no time for negotiation, and so they opened fire. They had just cleared the last of the bodies as the sound of hooves and wagons approached them. 

“Welcome to my humble abode!” Arthur called out with a hint of mockery and sarcasm. “If you can ignore the corpses and the alligators. It's practically paradise.” 

Dutch dismounted and surveyed the scene, his keen eyes scanning for any immediate threats. He motioned for the others to spread out and park the wagons by the front. Approaching Arthur and John with a confident smile, “nice work boys.” He turned back towards the chuck wagon, “Ms. Grimshaw, Mr. Pearson,” he addressed. “Work your magic if you’d please.” The two dismounted from the wagon with a nod and began unloading supplies. 

Dutch strode up the creaking steps to the front porch. The door hung loosely on its hinges, and with a firm push, he swung it open, revealing the dim interior. Dust motes danced in the fading light, and the musty smell of decay permeated the air. The once-opulent hallways were now lined with peeling wallpaper and broken furniture, evidence of years of neglect and abandonment.

Inside, the gang fanned out to explore their new home. Javier and Bill took to the upper floors, their footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. Lenny and Charles headed towards the back of the house, checking the kitchens and servant quarters. Meanwhile, Arthur and John remained outside to help unload their wagons. 

Kate lingered near the entrance, her eyes drawn to the remnants of what was once a grand chandelier, now shattered and strewn across the floor. She felt a shiver run down her spine, the oppressive atmosphere of the place seeping into her bones. Sadie stood beside her, brows knitted together with uncertainty.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Sadie whispered, her voice carrying a hint of doubt.

Kate nodded, “It’s not ideal, but it’ll have to do. At least we’re out of danger, for now.” 

As the gang settled in, Dutch gathered them in the main courtyard around a broken and withered fountain. “This ain’t much, but it’s ours for the time being,” he said, his voice echoing from the front steps. “We’ll make do. We always have.”

Arthur glanced around the group, noting the weary expressions and the unspoken fears. Shady Belle might provide them with temporary refuge, but the looming threat of Bronte and Jack, and the relentless pursuit of the Pinkertons weighed heavily on them all. His eyes found Kate’s amongst the crowd, she was watching him instead of paying attention to Dutch. Arthur was relieved that she didn’t leave, regretting his previous words to her almost as soon as he said them. But his duty and his ego stopped him from turning around and apologizing right then and there. He desperately needed to talk to her, he had let his anger and anxiety take hold of him. As the crowd began to disperse he was ready to approach her, when he heard his name called from the small dock jutting out into the water. It was John. 

Arthur sighed, Jack was still their top priority. His time with Kate would have to wait for another day. As he left the scene he noticed Ms. Grimshaw handed her a crate, she would be occupied with her own tasks anyhow. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

“This is crazy, right? Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks this whole thing is crazy,” John sputtered, pacing the rotting wooden dock as Arthur approached.

The small wooden fishing bench called his name, and Arthur sat down with a weary sigh. He felt so tired, so drained, and so old. The years of running were catching up to him. “It’s gonna be alright, John.”

“We should be going after Jack!” John exclaimed, his voice laced with frustration.

“We will. As soon as everyone is safe and settled in. We need to be careful. Milton is coming back, and he’ll bring an army with him,” Arthur explained. “Jack will be alright. We’re no use to him dead.”

John sighed, defeated, and took the seat next to Arthur. He pulled out a cigarette and lit the match with the tip of his boot. After a long drag, he passed the burning tobacco to his elder brother. “I don't even know what to think anymore.”

Arthur nodded and accepted the cigarette, taking a slow drag and letting the smoke pool around them in a cloud. “I know, but we gotta be smart about this.”

John scoffed. “Smart? Are you joking? We stirred up so much trouble and drew ‘em right to us again! How many people have we killed in the past week?”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of their actions. “Far too many, I reckon.”

“I’m tired of Dutch’s games, Hosea’s too. ‘Master con men’ my ass. They’re getting old and running out of ideas. Why should we suffer for it?” John said bitterly.

“Watch your mouth, Marston,” Arthur shot him a warning glare. “They thought those families were sitting on gold. I don’t know what else to tell you. Things don’t always work out—”

“Yeah, they thought there was money,” John interrupted. “Ain’t this always about money? And yet we never seem to have any!”

Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as John stood up abruptly. “Jack’s gone. Sean’s dead, Mac, Davey, Jenny. All of this death, and for what?”

John was beginning to sound like Kate, and Arthur understood why she had joined him on their revenge mission. “We can’t change what’s done. We can only move on.”

“We need to start learning from our mistakes. We need to leave,” John said with confidence. “After we get Jack. My family, you, and Kate. We high tail.”

“We’ve had a rocky run, but it ain’t all bad. Dutch has a plan—” Arthur tried to make his brother see reason and logic. Running away wasn't going to be easy on their own, and they had the whole gang to take care of.

“This whole plan is a goddamn mess! Dutch keeps gettin’ us into worse trouble! You nearly died because he was too ignorant to see he was being set up.”

Arthur rose from his seat and pointed an accusatory finger at his brother. “And I hear you decided to take care of that little problem. Maybe if you hadn’t left, Jack wouldn’t be gone!” John swallowed and narrowed his gaze.

“You could have gotten yourself killed, Marston. Or worse. You keep this up, and you’ll never make it out alive.” Arthur shoved past him, intending to leave with those words.

He had heard enough. The situation gnawed at him. John and Kate were right, and he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to go against Dutch. He had to have faith that things would work out, that he would see them through this. Dutch had always taken care of them, since the day he found them when they were children.

“I know Kate broke your promise,” John said slowly. Arthur stopped in his tracks. “I asked her to. And she fought unlike any woman I’ve seen before.” A moment of silence passed between them, sweat running down Arthur’s neck and tickling his spine.

“I don’t know what she sees in you, Morgan, but she loves you something fierce,” John said finally.

Red. Arthur’s vision went red. Images of a woman long gone flashed before his eyes, letters of love burning in a fire. Memories of his past mingled with his present, the pain and guilt intermingling in a relentless assault on his senses.

He whirled around and shoved John back harshly, nearly pushing him into the water. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about Kate!” he shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

John’s eyes darkened, but he held his ground. “I know you're terrified she’ll end up like Eliza,” he said, adding salt to the wound he knew he was reopening.

“You have the chance to do this differently, Arthur. Think about that.” This time John was the one to push past Arthur, making his way back into the bustling camp as everyone continued to unpack.

Arthur took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Grief and regret flooded over him, each memory of Eliza and Isaac tearing at his heart. He longed for Kate’s comfort, her presence more than anything. Her words always filled him with reassurance, grounding him in a way nothing else could. She might be the only woman who truly understood him. And yet he knew he couldn’t face her now, not after what he said. And all the words that still remained unsaid, the truth about Eliza and Isaac.

He willed the memories to leave, but they haunted him and pressed down on his soul like a heavy weight. He remembered Eliza’s gentle smile, the way she cradled Isaac in her arms, the hope that they had kindled together only to have it brutally extinguished. The regret of not being there, not protecting them, tore at him every day. The fear of losing Kate the same way gnawed at his heart, driving him to the brink of despair.

Arthur pulled out another cigarette, lighting it with a shaky hand. He sat back down on the rotting bench, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. The sound of cicadas and tree frogs filled the air, a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. He closed his eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace in the night sounds of their new hideout. But the pain, the fear, and the unspoken words lingered, wrapping around his heart like a vice, leaving him to grapple with his demons in the stillness of the night.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Saint Denis was a world away from the rugged, untamed wilderness that the gang was used to. It was a bustling city, teeming with life and activity at all hours of the day and night. The streets were lined with tall, elegant buildings, their facades adorned with intricate ironwork and ornate detailing. Electric lamps illuminated the sidewalks, casting a warm glow that contrasted sharply with the cool, modernity of the city. The cobblestone streets were filled with carriages, horses, and pedestrians, all moving in a chaotic but oddly harmonious dance. The distant ring of the trolly cart could be heard as it made frequent stops at every main intersection. 

The air was thick with the scents of the city – the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread from the bakeries, the pungent smell of horse manure, and the ever-present tang of coal smoke from the factories. Street vendors hawked their wares, calling out to passersby with promises of the finest goods and the best prices. The sounds of the city were equally overwhelming – the clatter of hooves on cobblestones, the murmur of conversations, the clanging of streetcars, and the distant wail of a train whistle.

Kate had joined Arthur, Dutch, John, and Charles in their search for Angelo Bronte, the elusive figure who held the key to Jack’s whereabouts. Despite the fight they had, Arthur didn’t protest her presence. The tension between them was palpable, but there was an unspoken understanding that the mission at hand was more important than their personal grievances.

Dutch halted the group at the small central park in Saint Denis, the sprawling city looming around them with its grand architecture and bustling streets. The cacophony of voices and the distant hum of machinery filled the air. The scent of smoke and industry mingled with the aroma of street food vendors, creating a sensory overload that was both thrilling and overwhelming.

“Alright, we split up,” Dutch ordered, his eyes scanning the faces of his small posse. “We need to find Bronte’s whereabouts. Ask around, see if anyone knows anything. Be discreet, but don’t waste time.”

Kate nodded, her heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and determination. The city felt like a labyrinth, each turn leading to more questions and fewer answers. She glanced a look at Arthur, their eyes meeting briefly. She saw a flicker of concern in his gaze, before he nodded and left. 

Kate set off down a side street, the sound of her boots echoing on the cobblestones. The city was alive with activity, children laughing and playing, and people bustling about their daily lives. It was a stark contrast to the quiet desperation that had settled over their camp.

She approached various shops and vendors and asked about a man named Bronte. Most of them ignored her questions, opting to try and convince her to buy their goods. Some merchants gave her a weary look at the mention of his name, and informed her that they don’t want to get involved. Their demeanor suggested that this Bronte man was dangerous, and this mission may be bigger than they realized. 

As she walked, a distant sound caught her attention—church bells, their clear, melodic tones cutting through the noise of the city. Drawn by the sound, Kate followed the bells, winding her way through the streets until she reached a grand cathedral. Its towering spires reached towards the heavens, the stones adorned with intricate carvings and stained glass windows that glinted in the sunlight. It reminded her of the church back in Boston, the one her catholic mother would bring the whole family to for Sunday worship. It had been so long since Kate attended church, after her mother passed, her father never kept up with religion. 

The ringing bells announced the joining of two souls in marriage, their song filling the air with a sense of celebration and hope. Kate stood at the entrance, watching as the wedding party gathered on the steps. The bride, radiant in her white gown, and the groom, beaming with pride, were surrounded by family and friends, their laughter and joy a stark contrast to the sorrow in Kate’s heart.

She closed her eyes, the memories of her own wedding day flooding back. The scent of blooming flowers, the sound of her family’s laughter, and the feel of her husband’s hand in hers. She remembered the warmth of his embrace, the way he looked at her with so much love. But those days were long gone, stolen away by the harsh realities of life. Her family was gone, her husband and child lost to the world of chaos that seemed to follow her every step. She missed them all fiercely, the pain of their absence a constant ache in her heart.

Drawing in a deep breath, Kate squared her shoulders. She couldn’t afford to dwell on the past, not when there was so much at stake. The bells continued to ring, a reminder of what she had lost, but also a beacon of hope for what she could still protect.

As she rejoined the bustling streets of Saint Denis, she kept her ears open and her eyes sharp, ready to follow any lead that would bring them closer to Angelo Bronte and the answers they desperately needed.

Kate navigated through the narrow streets of Saint Denis, her eyes scanning the faces of passersby for any hint of familiarity or recognition. The city’s vibrant energy of the city was distracting but she remained focused on the task at hand. The distant sound of the church bells still echoed in her ears. 

As she turned down a side street, a sudden blur of comotion caught her attention. A young boy, no older than twelve, sprinted past her, nearly knocking her over. He clutched something tightly to his chest, his eyes wide with fear and determination.

"Hey!" Kate called out, but the boy didn’t stop. Moments later, Arthur came barreling down the street, his face a mix of frustration and urgency. He was limping slightly, favoring his uninjured ankle.

"You little shit!" he shouted, breathless, "I’ll kill you ya thieving bastard!" Arthur ran past Kate and darted down the alley after the young boy. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Kate sprinted after the boy, her boots echoing in the narrow alley. She could hear Arthur’s labored breathing behind her, pushing through the pain to keep up. The boy was fast, weaving through the crowd with the agility of a street urchin well-versed in the art of escape. Kate spotted an alleyway ahead and made a split-second decision. She darted down the narrow passage, hoping to cut the boy off.

The alley was dimly lit and cluttered with discarded crates and barrels, but she navigated it with ease. As she emerged on the other side, she saw the boy racing towards her. He didn’t notice her until it was too late, running straight into her towering figure.

Kate gripped the boy's shoulders tightly, enough to warn him without causing harm. He looked up at her, eyes wide with shock and fear.

“I believe you took something that belongs to my friend,” she said calmly. “Hand it over. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Arthur finally caught up to them, breathing hard as he leaned against the stone archway when he saw Kate. “Goddamn rotten bastard,” he growled, pushing off the wall and approaching them.

The young boy looked back and stuttered, “I-I was only playing mister, I swear!” He threw the satchel to the ground at Arthur’s feet, trying to worm his way out of Kate’s grasp. He struggled as she tightened her hold.

“Please let me go Miss, I-I’m sorry!”

“Fuckin' right you’re sorry,” Arthur mumbled, picking up his things. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill ya right here.” He spat.

Kate shot him a vehement look, and he turned his face shamefully. Checking his bag to make sure nothing was gone. 

Kate knelt down to the boy's level, her grip still holding his shoulders tightly. “What’s your name, kid?”

“J-Joey. My name’s Joey,” the boy sputtered.

Kate breathed and relaxed her grip, trying to show him she meant no harm. “It’s nice to meet you, Joey. Can you tell me where your family is?”

Joey shook his head, his voice trembling. “Don’t have one, Miss.”

Arthur’s eyes softened slightly, but his voice remained stern. “Then what the hell were you doin’ runnin’ around with my satchel?”

Joey hesitated, his eyes darting between Kate and Arthur. “I-I work for Mister Bronte. He said we could keep anything we stole. Said it’d make us rich.”

Kate exchanged a glance with Arthur, her heart pounding with relief and urgency. They finally had a lead. “Where does Bronte live, Joey?” she asked gently.

The boy’s eyes filled with fear, but Kate’s calming presence seemed to reassure him. “He’s got a big house by the water, right near the docks. Lots of men guardin' it.”

Kate sighed and released the boy. “You did good, Joey. Now get outta here and don’t let me catch you stealin’ again.”

Joey nodded quickly and took off down the alley, disappearing into the labyrinth of Saint Denis. Kate stood up and locked eyes with Arthur. It had been two days since Jack went missing, two days since their fight. There was a heavy, awkward silence between them, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

Arthur's eyes were filled with relief and something else—something she couldn't quite place. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Kate tried to form her own thoughts into words, but her mind was whirling with emotions. 

Finally, Arthur cleared his throat. Breaking the silence. “I left Charles near the market. He’s keepin' an eye out.”

Kate nodded, “right.” Her voice is steady despite the trouble within. “I’ll go roundup John and Dutch. We’ll meet at Bronte's manor.”

They stood there for a moment longer, neither knowing what else to say. The tension between them was palpable, but there was also a shared determination. They had a mission to complete, and Jack’s life depended on it.

Arthur gave her a brief, tight nod before turning and heading back towards the market. Kate watched him go, her heart aching with the desire to bridge the gap between them, but now was not the time.

With a deep breath, she turned and made her way through the bustling streets of Saint Denis. The city was alive with activity, the noise and chaos a stark contrast to the heavy silence that had hung between her and Arthur. She spotted John and Dutch near a corner store. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Charles had been a quiet, solid presence in Arthur’s life, a true friend and trusted companion. Despite having been with the gang for less than a year, Charles had quickly developed a meaningful friendship with Arthur, seeing the man beneath the tough outlaw exterior. As they rode side by side toward Bronte’s manor, Arthur couldn’t help but reflect on how much he valued Charles’ calm and steady demeanor. He was truly a good man if Arthur had anything to say about him. 

The city of Saint Denis gradually gave way to the more serene, albeit equally intimidating, waterside district where Bronte’s manor was located. The grandeur of the city was lost on Arthur; his mind was too occupied with worry and the mission at hand.

Charles glanced over at Arthur, sensing the conflict within him. “You alright, Arthur?” he asked, his voice low and steady, a grounding force.

Arthur let out a heavy sigh, his grip tightening on the reins. “I dunno, Charles. Feels like everything’s fallin’ apart.”

Charles nodded, his eyes thoughtful. “It’s been a rough few days. Jack’s missing, Sean’s death, the new hide out... it’s a lot to take in.”

Arthur looked ahead, his jaw clenched. “It’s more than that. Feels like everythin’ I do just makes things worse. Dutch’s plans, they’re not workin’. And then there’s Kate…”

Charles turned his gaze to Arthur, waiting patiently for him to continue.

“I told her not to go after Colm’s men. Made her promise,” Arthur continued, his voice tinged with regret. “But she did it anyway. And now I can’t stop thinkin’ about—” he hesitated for a breath. “I can’t protect her when she goes off like that.”

Charles nodded again, understanding the depth of Arthur’s pain. He wasn’t around when Arthur had lost his family, but he had heard the others talk about the burden he carried.

“Kate’s a strong woman. She’s been through a lot, just like you. She thought she was doin’ the right thing, even if it went against what you wanted.”

Arthur sighed, the weight of his past bearing down on him. “She promised me—”

“Stop. It’s not about her promise, I know you’re not as dense as all that.” Charles gave Arthur a moment to process what he said before he continued, treading lightly with his words. “You’ve gotta let go of your guilt, Arthur. It’s eating you alive.” He said softly.

“I love her, Charles,” Arthur’s voice trembled. His facade of strength was crumbling away with every moment.

“I love her so much it scares me. But my loyalty to the gang, it’s…it’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a family again. Kate doesn’t deserve to get swept into this mess.”

Charles sighed deeply, understanding the strain Arthur was under. “Kate is smart, she understands the risks that come with this life. But she chose you, Arthur. She’s devoted herself to you. What she deserves is the truth.”

Arthur nodded, but the words still hurt to hear. He knew his friend was right. “Something big is coming, the law is breathin’ right down our necks. I’m putting her in danger, and I am so goddamn selfish because despite it all, I love her. And I can’t let her go.”

“It’s not selfish if she wants the same thing.” Charles said, as the grand manor came into view on the edge of the shoreline. The others had already dismounted and were waiting for them by the gate.

“Tell her the truth, Arthur. I have a feeling no matter what you say, she’s not going anywhere.”

Arthur and Charles rode up to the grand gates of Bronte's manor, the imposing structure casting long shadows in the afternoon sun. Dutch and John were already speaking to the guards, their voices low and tense. Charles took the reins of their horses, patting them gently to keep them calm. Arthur scanned the scene, his eyes immediately seeking out Kate.

He found her standing a little apart from the others, her gaze fixed on the manor with a determined look. Arthur approached her quietly, the weight of the past few days heavy on his shoulders. He stopped beside her, gazing up at the grand house. His presence was a silent reassurance.

“Kate,” Arthur murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kate turned to him, her eyes softening with concern. “Arthur,” she breathed. He looked down, searching her eyes, seeing trust and understanding shimmering within them. Arthur was sure of it.

“Will you stay with Charles? Keep an eye on things, for me?” He had no idea what they were about to walk into, but if he could keep her safe from it, Arthur would damn well do it.

“Of course,” Kate answered immediately.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief just as Dutch called his name. The heavy metal gates opened with a loud creaking sound, and before Arthur could turn away, Kate grabbed his hand.

“You be safe, ya hear?” she said sternly. “And you get that boy back, no matter what.” A small grin played on her lips.

“I’m countin’ on it, sweetheart,” he replied, bringing their conjoined hands to his face and kissing her knuckles.

His fierce, determined eyes locked on hers for a moment, before he broke away, rising to his duties. The simple gesture spoke volumes, a promise of protection and unwavering love.

As the gates closed with a loud bang behind them, Kate watched the three of them ascend the long white marble steps and enter the manor. She whispered a silent prayer to the wind for their safety, and Jack's return. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

By some miracle, the illusive man, Angelo Bronte, had not harmed a single hair on Jack's head. Much to everyone's surprise, Mr. Bronte had fed him, clothed him, and even given him a room of his own, full of toys, books, and games that every child could only dream of. The ride back to Shady Belle was filled with a silent relief. It was a win by all means, for once in their lives the conflict did not end with bloodshed. And for that, everyone was grateful. 

Jack was home safe with his mother once again. Smothering him with kisses and checking every inch of his body for signs of harm. The young boy protested and whined, promising his Ma that he was fine. But as they sat around the fire, Abigail held her boy tightly in her lap. Resting her head against his, and promising never to let him out of her sight ever again. 

The gang decided to celebrate Jack's return, letting the tension of the past days melt away in the warmth of a roaring fire. Singing and dancing erupted around the flames, creating a tapestry of joy and camaraderie under the moonlit sky. The flickering firelight cast playful shadows, illuminating the faces of the outlaws who, for one night, could forget their troubles.

Kate mingled with the others, trying to shake off the weight of recent events. But her eyes kept drifting to the periphery, where she noticed Arthur standing at a distance, watching the festivities with a sorrowful expression. His silhouette was stark against the dark backdrop of the night, a silent guardian on the edge of the light. He stood alone, like a wolf banished from the pack. The only signs of life were the red glow of his cigarette, as he lifted it to lips every so often. 

She entertained the party for a while longer, joining in the songs and clapping along with the rhythm of the music. But when she looked back to where Arthur had been standing, he was gone. The empty space he left behind tugged at her heart, and she knew she had to find him. 

Excusing herself from the group, Kate made her way through the camp, the laughter and music fading behind her. She walked towards the dimly lit manor, her footsteps soft against the grass and gravel.

Instead of focussing on the dreadful state of their new home – the peeling walls, the rotting stairs and missing floorboards – she focused instead, on the flickering light of Arthur’s room. She paused for a moment outside the door, gathering her thoughts.

All was silent on the second floor, except for the gentle creaking of the door that stood between them. It was missing one of its hinges, and the knob was long gong, the wind rocked the wooden frame in a gentle dance. Kate knocked quietly. 

“Come in,” Arthur called. His voice sounded hoarse and tired.

Kate pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Arthur was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, lost in thought. The dim light from a single oil lantern cast a warm glow over his rugged features, highlighting the lines of weariness and worry etched into his face. He looked up as she entered, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of surprise and something else—something deeper, more vulnerable.

She glanced around the room, noting how his things had been neatly unpacked by the others. A map lay sprawled across a large wooden crate, detailing their recent escapades and potential new routes. Old shelves were lined with gun ammo and other supplies. But it was the small china cabinet in the corner that drew her attention. Amongst the few items on display, there were two photographs. One was facing down.

Curiosity piqued, Kate picked up the photo and recognized the man in it – Arthur’s father. She placed it back down, hiding his old face in the darkness, and turned her attention back to Arthur.

“This place could use a woman’s touch,” she joked, trying to ease the tension in the air.

Arthur forced a chuckle, but his head hung low, elbows propped on his knees. He played with the frayed edges of his hat, a gesture Kate had come to recognize as one of his tell-tale signs when his mind was off in a darker place.

She sat down beside him, bumping her knee into his, trying to break through the heavy silence. She felt awkward, unsure what to say. Their emotions hung thick in the air, wrapping around them like a heavy blanket.

Arthur's eyes remained fixed on the worn brim of his hat, his voice low and rough. "You know," he began, "this old thing, it was my father's."

Kate glanced at him, her heart aching at the pain in his voice. She remained silent, giving him the space to continue. Arthur rarely spoke about his father, and she was curious about what had him in such sorrow.

“He died by the end of a rope when I was just a kid, but he lived longer than what was good for any of us,” Arthur sighed, flipping the old leather in his hands.

“He was an awful man. Hated me since the day I was born for bein’ another mouth to feed. Robbed everyone he could and spent all the money on booze. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the night he come home from a bar, reeking of rot-gut whiskey. He lost all his money in a game of poker, and took his anger out on my Ma. Blamed her for bein’ the reason we had no money. But I knew he did it because of me.”

Arthur blew a short huff out of his nose, shaking his head as if the memory of them was just a simple misunderstanding. “He took me that night, and I never saw Ma again.”

Kate gasped softly at what Arthur was insinuating. He had told her a few stories about his parents, but they were never painted in a good light. Arthur always said he didn't remember much about his mother. Her heart ached; he must have been so young to witness such violence.

Shifting his weight, the bed creaked softly. Subtly, almost unconsciously, he moved closer to Kate. Their shoulders brushing, Arthur's figure nearly leaned into her. “When I was old enough to be useful, he had me robbing folks ‘fore I could even feed myself. If I put up a fight, he would whoop my hide with some old leather chaps till I couldn’t walk.” Arthur breathed deeply; the memories still pained him.

“I tried to run away once, hid in some fellas' barn in the hay loft,” he chuckled bitterly. “Lyle nearly killed me when he found me. Told me if I ever thought ‘bout leaving again, he would put me in the ground with my mother.”

Kate couldn’t find the words to comfort him. It was too much to bear—the thought of Arthur, so young and innocent, being hurt in ways a child should never have to endure. To be raised without a mother, and a father who despised him. The abuse of power, as he was the only means of staying alive. Kate knew he had lived through hell. 

“Sometimes I wish they had put me up on that rope with him. Would’ve saved the world a lot of trouble,” he tossed the hat aside, landing on the ground with a soft whisper.

“Guess I ain’t too different from my old man.” Arthur sighed and leaned back against the wall behind his bed, looking defeated.

Kate gaped at him for a moment. How he could compare himself to such an evil man was beyond her. She looked between him and his hat, Lyle’s hat, and found herself wondering why he would keep such a thing—whether it was out of spite for his father or purely out of his own self-hatred. There was still so much about him she had yet to discover. So many scars that ran deeper than the ones Colm’s men had inflicted on him.

“I’ve met bad men. Truly evil men, Arthur,” Kate began, her voice gentle and reassuring. “But you are nothing like your father. That much I know is true.”

From the moment she said the words, she could tell Arthur wasn’t going to hear them. He had 36 years to make himself in his father’s image, on purpose or simply by his nature.

Arthur despised his father with a fervor that burned deep within him. Lyle Morgan had been a cruel, selfish man, leaving scars that never fully healed. Arthur’s childhood had been marred by violence and neglect, his father's shadow looming over every aspect of his life. The man had failed him in every conceivable way, shaping Arthur into the man he had become – a man who now felt he had no other choice but to follow in those very footsteps.

Kate had that determined look about her, like she could conquer the world if she willed it. Her unwavering strength was one of the many qualities Arthur had come to love about her. Kate was a good woman, and a loyal friend to her bones. It scared him how deeply he had fallen for her. His years with Mary felt lost to time, her decline at his proposal had hurt. But his heart had healed from rejection, and she remains alive. In the back of his mind, he knew the safest thing for her was to be far away from him. 

But now Kate is safe, Jack is home. The gang is out of trouble for the time being. But Arthur’s past regrets kept him locked in the dark. He often told the others that they can’t change the past, only move forward. But he found himself struggling to take his own advice. 

Arthur's eyes met hers, and she saw the trust and understanding shimmering within them. His gaze softened, yet the pain lingered. “I haven’t been completely honest with ya, darlin’,” Arthur finally spoke, his voice softening at the tone of endearment.

“Then tell me the truth. I’m here to listen,” Kate answered, trying to hide her restlessness. She was desperate to know what was eating him alive. It was obvious his pain ran deeper than her broken promise.

Arthur sighed and placed a hand on her thigh. Kate immediately placed her hand over his own. “Those stories I told you about Isaac, I… I wasn’t actually there for any of ‘em.” He said hesitantly. Kate nodded ever so slightly, encouraging him to continue.

In moments of introspection, Arthur felt the crushing weight of that legacy. His father had set him on this path, and despite his best efforts to forge a different future, Arthur found himself repeating the same cycle of failure and regret. His father had failed him, just as Arthur had failed his own son, Isaac. The boy had deserved a better life, a chance to grow up free from the violence and chaos that had defined Arthur’s world. Instead, Arthur’s own fears and inadequacies had sealed Isaac’s fate.

“After the kid was born, I didn’t want him raised with the gang. I didn’t want him ‘round that kinda trouble. So I put Eliza and her boy up in a cabin, not too far from where we was, but a safe distance. I promised her I would visit often, bringing her food and money. Whatever they needed.”

His fingers trembled slightly, and Kate gave them a squeeze. “As Isaac got older, he began askin’ about me, wantin’ to see me more. And… I don’t know. Guess I got scared. I was terrified he’d end up like me. Like my father. So I stopped visiting, and I never told Eliza why. She always wrote me letters, telling me stories about Isaac. But I never wrote her back, and then I lost every letter in Blackwater.”

He sighed deeply. Thinking about his first journal, the one he had carried with him for nearly a decade. All those memories, drawings, and letters were gone. Never to be graced by his eyes again. 

“The gang had a nasty run-in with the law. So we had to leave and stay hidden for a few months. When things died down, I was able to collect her letters from the post office. Eliza didn’t know if I was dead or alive and yet she begged me to come back, to visit Isaac, to send her money for food. In her last letter, she told me she had borrowed a small amount of money. They were desperate and out of options. I knew she didn’t have the means to pay them back.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “I was only days too late. Some bastard had killed both her and my son over ten dollars.” Arthur closed his eyes and pressed a fist to his mouth. “Because I was too goddamn afraid of failing, I was too afraid to raise my own kid. So, I sent them to an early grave.” 

Arthur felt a wave of shame wash over him at the memory. Knowing that he had ruined other families, just like his own. When he was sent to collect the gang's money that was loaned out. The thought of his own actions made him sick. How Kate had stuck with him after the mess at Downes ranch was a mystery to him. 

Kate's breath caught in her throat as Arthur's words settled into the quiet room. Her heart ached for him, the weight of his past sins and regrets pressing down on her own soul. She had always known there was darkness in him, but hearing it laid bare, raw and unfiltered, shattered her. She understood why her broken promise and Jack’s disappearance had ravaged his emotions. And she felt a deeper understanding of the giant that often consumed him. 

Arthur’s fear of failure was an all-pervasive, mind-numbing, greedy serpent coiled deep in his belly. Devouring his strength and will. It changed his world from one of fleeting curiosities and riveting mischief to a cold, airless box. Suffocating and relentless, it whispered of past mistakes and potential losses, dragging him into a quagmire of self-doubt. Each breath felt like a battle, every decision a gamble with impossible stakes. The weight of his regrets, and the haunting memories of those he failed to protect, gnawed at his soul. He feared that every step he took might lead to another disaster, another life lost. And yet, despite the paralyzing dread, he pushed forward, driven by a desperate hope that was as old as his weary soul. 

Kate pulled him closer, her arms wrapping around him tightly, as if her embrace could somehow shield him from the pain of his memories. "Oh honey, I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "But you didn't send them to their graves. You can't blame yourself for what happened. Life is cruel and unforgiving, no man can bear that kind of weight."

Arthur leaned into her embrace, his body trembling with the force of silent sobs. "But I do, Kate. I carry that shit with me deep in my chest. I failed them. I couldn’t protect my own family, and I’m terrified I’ll fail you too."

Kate pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her hands. "Arthur, look at me." His eyes met hers, filled with a deep sorrow that broke her heart. Dark blue eyes reflecting his desperate ache.

"You haven’t failed me. And I have faith that you never will. But I need you to trust me too. I need you to believe that I can handle myself, that I can be there for you just as much as you are for me."

Arthur shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "I trust you. But the only way I can protect you is if I know you’re safe, if I know you’re not running off to find trouble without me at least knowing about it. I can’t bear the thought of losing you too. Not after everything."

Kate's heart swelled with love for the man before her, so strong and yet so vulnerable. Tears clung to her eyelashes, like shooting stars in the night sky. Threatening to fall down into their world.

She nodded, understanding the depth of his fear. "I promise, Arthur. I won’t run off without telling you first. But you have to promise me something too."

Arthur looked at her, his expression filled with a mixture of hope and fear. "Anything, darlin’."

"Promise me that you’ll let me stand by your side, no matter what. That you won’t try to push me away to protect me. We’re in this together, Arthur. And I want to be with you, through everything."

Arthur's eyes softened, and he nodded slowly. "I promise I will try."

Kate smiled through her tears, "that’s all I ask." She leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. Full of comfort and compassion. 

Arthur pulled away from her lips and took a deep breath, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. "Kate,” he whispered. His blue eyes searched hers, wondering how such a woman was created for him.

“I love you,” he breathed, the words heavy with the weight of his emotions. "I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone."

Kate's heart soared at his confession, her eyes filling with tears once more. "I love you, Arthur.” Her voice breaks with the strength of her words. “More than you could imagine."

Arthur kissed her then, and it was like kissing a new man. A man who had shared the depths of his soul, bearing all of his broken and ugly parts. The kiss was slow and deliberate, every touch of their lips a promise of the love they had found in each other. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, allowing the both of them to soar to new heights. As their lips moved together, the world outside ceased to exist, and in that moment, they were all that mattered.

The warmth of his hand on her cheek, the gentle pressure of his lips, and the soft whispers of their breaths intertwined, creating a cocoon of intimacy and connection. Kate felt the depth of his love in every touch, every caress, and she knew that despite the hardships they faced, they had found something truly worth fighting for, in each other.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate and Arthur sat together on the porch off his room, watching the full moon rise over the distant horizon. The night was calm, the air filled with the soft sounds of crickets and the gentle rustle of leaves. The flickering glow of lighting bugs danced across the night. The faint scent of blooming night orchid wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy smell of the surrounding bayou. A gentle breeze brushed against their skin, cool and refreshing.

Kate nestled comfortably in Arthur’s lap, her head resting against his chest. She could feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath her cheek, a rhythmic reminder of the man she loved. He smelled of tobacco, mixed with cedar and musk. A comforting and familiar scent. Her thumb brushed over the softness of his beard, savoring the quiet moments of peace they had carved out for themselves. She traced the lines of his jaw, feeling the strength and roughness of his skin, the evidence of a life hard-lived.

Arthur’s face was lit by a tender smile, his eyes reflecting the serene glow of the moon. The silver light cast soft shadows across his features, highlighting the creases and scars that told stories of battles fought and survived. He held her close, one arm wrapped securely around her waist, the other gently combing through her wind tousled hair. 

After a moment, he spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence. “I’m sorry, for what I said the other day,” he murmured, his deep voice soft and tinged with regret.

“Hmm?” Kate responded, her gaze shifting to meet his.

“Bout you leaving; how I wouldn’t stop you. I’m sorry I said that.” He clarified. 

Kate smiled tenderly. “You’re forgiven, Arthur. I knew you didn’t mean it,” she said, her voice gentle and soothing.

“Good. Cause you can bet if you try to leave me now, I’ll hog-tie ya and run away with you on the back of my horse,” he said with a playful grin, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh yeah? Is that a promise, cowboy?” she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Arthur chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Damn right it is.”

With that, Arthur pulled her closer, his lips attacking hers with playful, hungry kisses. He nipped gently at her lower lip, eliciting a soft giggle from Kate. His kisses trailed down her neck, each one filled with a mix of teasing affection and unspoken desire. Kate’s laughter mingled with the soft rustling of the night, her fingers tangling in his hair as he continued his assault of love, his touch igniting a warmth that spread through her entire being.

Kate sighed contentedly, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I’m sorry too. For breaking your promise,” she said finally, composing herself and sitting up in his lap. “If it makes you feel any better, I found those boys who took you.”

Arthur’s expression grew serious, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “I’d imagine you gave ‘em hell,” he spoke. “Still worries me that they saw your face though.”

Kate straightened herself and gave Arthur a serious look, “It’s not like we had time for introductions, besides, one of them already knew who I was. But they can’t hunt me from the grave, Arthur.” 

Arthur sighed and looked away from her for a moment, remembering the young O’Driscoll who had stolen his portrait of her. “Colm’s a dangerous man. I’m just worried he’ll use you against me. That’s all.”

Kate sank a little at his words, feeling guilt stir in her belly, “I understand.” 

As if sensing her regret, Arthur attempted to lighten her mood, “Oh, don’t give me that look sweetheart. Just invite me next time you’re making house calls and…” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “You didn’t have to do that for me, y’know.”

“I know,” she said softly. “Part of me was just being selfish,” she admitted, her voice tinged with a mix of guilt and embarrassment.

Arthur furrowed his brows in confusion and looked down at her, “Selfish ain’t quite the word I would use.”

Kate let out a breathy giggle, appreciating Arthur’s attempt to be sweet. Her heart throbbed at his recent confession, and she felt he deserved the truth behind her actions.

“It’s true. Ever since I lost my family I–” She suddenly felt a frog in her throat, and her face felt warm with oncoming tears. 

It was easy to talk about them, to talk about her grief with Arthur. To share memories of her loved ones was as simple as breathing. She could paint vivid pictures of her family's laughter, the warmth of their embrace, and the love that had once filled her life. It was a way to keep them alive in her heart, to ensure they were never truly gone. But what was hard was admitting how her strength and resolve were merely a facade, covering up the darker parts of her. The parts desperate to regain some semblance of control in her life.

Kate's past was marred by tragedy and loss. The day she lost her husband and child had shattered her world. She remembered the suffocating grief, the unbearable weight of their absence. But fate wasn’t satisfied with her loved ones, it took a piece of her as well the day she was taken prisoner. In the aftermath, she had vowed never to feel that powerless again. She built walls around her heart, armor made of determination and resolve. To the world, she appeared strong and unyielding, a woman who could handle anything thrown her way. But beneath that facade lay a deep-seated fear.

“I’m terrified of feeling powerless again,” she continued. Arthur listened closely to her every word. “Unable to save my loved ones or save myself.”

She paused, her voice catching as she fought to continue. “It’s like this relentless force driving me, this need to control everything around me. I’m afraid, Arthur. I’m afraid of losing you, afraid of losing everyone I care about.”

Arthur’s eyes softened with understanding, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. Kate took a deep breath, her fingers tracing the lines of Arthur’s face as if trying to memorize every detail.

“It’s been so hard on my own. I’ve spent so long pretending to be strong, convincing myself that if I can control things, I won’t get hurt again. But it’s exhausting, and it’s not real. The truth is I am not a strong woman, just a scared one.”

This need for control was consuming her. It left her anxious and restless, always on edge, always waiting for the next disaster. Kate's journey had been a solitary one. She had relied on herself for so long, she had forgotten how to lean on others. Her independence was both her strength and her weakness. It kept her moving forward, but it also kept her isolated. She had been so focused on surviving, on maintaining her semblance of control, that she had forgotten what it meant to truly live.

“No,” Arthur sat up abruptly and gripped her hands. “No, Kate, that is not true. You’re bein’ too hard on yourself.” His voice was firm but gentle, filled with a reassurance that made her lips tremble. Silent tears ran down her cheeks as she absorbed his words.

“Goddammit woman. I don’t ever want to hear you speak like that,” Arthur's voice was stern, like he was scolding a child, but it was laced with overwhelming support and love. ��You can be both. You understand me? I’m scared too, darlin’. I promise you, I’m just as scared. But that don’t mean you ain’t strong. You’ve done so much for this gang, for me.”

Kate looked into his eyes, feeling the intensity of his conviction. Meeting Arthur had changed everything. He saw through her facade, saw the pain and fear she tried so hard to hide. With him, she didn't have to pretend. She could be vulnerable, could share the darkness that lurked within her. It was terrifying, but it was also liberating. For the first time in years, she felt like she could breathe.

Arthur's grip on her hands tightened as he continued, his voice a soft rumble. “The devil may have dealt you some nasty cards, but you faced that fire and you came out stronger. You’re one of the bravest people I know, Kate. When I look at you I am filled with pride knowing how brave and compassionate my woman is.”

Kate's tears flowed freely now, not from sadness, but from the relief of being understood, of being accepted for all that she was. She leaned into Arthur, resting her head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“I love you, Arthur Morgan.” Her voice felt tiny in his presence. Kate couldn’t find the words to express how much Arthur meant to her, but in her heart she knew he understood. 

Arthur squeezed her tight to his chest, resting his chin atop her head. “And I love you, Kate McCanon.”

As she sat with Arthur on the porch, the moon casting a gentle glow over them, Kate realized that she didn't have to face her fears alone. She didn't have to be in control all the time. She had Arthur by her side, and he had her by his. She could let go, if only a little, and trust that he would catch her if she fell.

A/N: I know this chapter was super dialogue heavy. But tbh I just love writing conversations lmao. I particularly enjoyed the segment with John, he’s just a fun character to write. I was intending to end the chapter with Arthur’s confession about his father/son. But then i was like nah i really think Kate should open up about this too. It’s time to air out the dirty laundry, you know XD

Anyways. Big things coming my friends. If my little ADHD brain can work with me next chapter will be incredibly steamy. Lots of smut. It’s about damn time!! It’ll be a longer chapter, as there’s some other characters I’ve been neglecting for a while. And I’m also going to another wedding! So I’ll be gone for a few days, and I’ll be working on it when I get back.

Thanks for reading guys :)

[blueathens]

Act One - It’s Not Like The Movies

Criminal!Reader x Prince!Charles Leclerc Reader x Charles Leclerc AU! - Fantasy/Adventure/Influenced by Books/Movies/Fairytales/Disney

Features: Other Known People (Mason Mount, Ruben Dias, Daniel Ricciardo, Pierre Gasly, Lando Norris etc (used all fictionally)) and self created characters too

Everyone is aged differently, and age-differences have been changed - follow the character profiles to understand more.

(Part of my Charles Universe)

Playlist

Writing Rule||Character List||Navigation||Masterlist  

synopsis ⇢ In an alternative universe there’s a world where a prince falls for a criminal in a world so different from ours. It’s a story to be told to the (older) kids who were raised on fairytales and dreams of living in a different world. To the ones who thought it was wrong to dream of another place. To the readers who look up at the stars and wish.

This is for the ones who dream.

Prince Charles Leclerc of Eynsworth Castle, the second born to the King and Queen of England (very different to our world). Focusing on training with his countries army, Lorenzo stepped down from being next in line to the throne and handed it over to Charles who very happily accepted on being the new king when his father passes who steps down from being king. Their family was the most known and loved family of the world, all very happy with the decision of Charles being next in line when he reached the age of fourteen.

Charles Leclerc is a good person, and he’s kind, but he certainly wasn’t prepared when an arrow nearly hit him by the well known ‘Robin Hood.’ She was the lost child of the streets, no home, no family to go back to, nothing but a dragon’s heart and friends of all kinds.

She stole from the rich and gave to the poor, she was the face drawn on many wanted posters as she played up to her ‘criminal’ acts, dodging guards and hiding from those who wanted her blood. Y/n L/n is a good person though, and she’s kind, but she certainty was caught when she shot the arrow...

main genres ⇢ alternative universe, found family, mythical creatures au, mutual pinning, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends, platonic love, strangers to enemies, friends to lovers, arranged marriage (unrequited love), right person but wrong timing, childhood enemies to friends, soulmates, opposites attract, lovers in denial, criminal x prince, fight to get back to you, secret relationship

↳ fluff, angst and smut are all included into this series

warning ⇢ explicit content, graphic violence, gore, mature themes, strong language, death (including main characters, side character, minor characters), mental health and injuries, alcohol/drugs/smoking,

↳ please refrain if you are sensitive to any of these themes. Please also keep in mind that not all warnings may be listed above - all warnings though fit into the series.

note ⇢ updates will be once a week, the day of the week has not been decided yet or what time it will come out on those days. Those will sorted once planning is completed. I’m hoping this will get me out of my many months worth of writes block :)

↳ to be informed when there’s an update, you can either turn @blueathens notifications on, or ask to be added to the series’ masterlist.

status ⇢ planning and writing

act one blurb ⇢ The hatred begins in the teens, one hating the other more whilst the other only holds hatred due to their families beliefs, but it shortly fades away and leaving the mutual enemy relation to just one-sided.

o. teaser

i. chapter one: once upon a time

ii. chapter two: father knows best - arriving soon-

iii. chapter three: one jump ahead - arriving soon-

iv. chapter four: all hail prince arthur - arriving soon-

v. chapter five: under the pale moon -arriving soon-

vi. chapter six: the witches - arriving soon-

vii. chapter seven: all hail prince charles -arriving soon-

viii. chapter eight: taxes -arriving soon-

ix. chapter nine: i just can’t wait to be king -arriving soon-

x. chapter ten: aramore -arriving soon-

xi. chapter eleven: poor cindy -arriving soon-

xii. chapter twelve: king of hearts -arriving soon-

xiii. chapter thirteen: gaston -arriving soon-

xiv. chapter fourteen: the pied piper -arriving soon-

xv. chapter fifteen: little john -arriving soon-

xvi. chapter sixteen: loves me, loves me not -arriving soon-

xvii. chapter seventeen: i have a dream -arriving soon-

xviii. chapter eighteen: part of your world -arriving soon-

xix. chapter nineteen: down goes aramore -arriving soon-