#paradisecost; arthur

[zzapzzaptasers]

I'm on the wrong blog rn but I'm mobile so WHATEVER. ANYWAY I saw one of those starters is like "it's all gonna work out for us, we deserve it" and all I can think about is Arthur and Darcy in the Fuck Off AU and I just. WEEPS A LITTLE

She repeats it to him like a mantra as they run, horses flying over land to somewhere they ain't never been before, burdened down only with the things they absolutely need. It's enough money to start fresh, sure, but it's also enough that Dutch might come looking.

But maybe not.

Lord Lemon and Caliban snort at the dry grass and she tells him they deserve it. It's just a small little building near the bank, one room and falling apart, but there's a large shed out back that could be made into a stable, and Darcy's already telling him in hurried whispers what they can make of it.

She doesn't know if he believes her, but if he doesn't, he pretends real well.

And that's the crux of the work, the pretendin'. It doesn't take all that much to forge the right papers for new identities, to start a new job for her at the bank and to get Arthur established as some kinda veterinarian.

It's all gonna work out for us

The hard part is pretending, walking next to him and looking up at him like he's the only person she's ever loved, that she never once thought of leaving him, that she couldn't ever. There's a reputation to build amongst the towns people, normal folk who they would have once seen as targets and fools.

We deserve it.

But one day, well, the pretendin'? It ain't so hard.

And maybe Arthur doesn't believe her, but she sure as hell starts to believe herself, bringing him two apples in the barn -- one for the horse he's trying to break, and one for him.

It's all gonna work out for us -- we deserve it.

@paradisecost

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

@paradisecost ----> Arthur and Darcy

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

She is a-shivering and a-shaking and she’s not sure if it’s love or fear anymore that keeps her lashed to Dutch’s designs, to his plans.

(Is there even a plan anymore?              --traitor)

It’s easy to see, even for a naïve girl brought up well-to-do like, that things aren’t like they were ‘sposed to be, that Micah had dug his dirty, filthy hands in to Dutch too deep and Dutch, in turn, had her and Javier and Bill too tightly wound, like he had the strings tied to their souls in his grasp and all he had to do was yank em.

She feels yanked.

“I don’t much like fighting with you, Mister Morgan.”

Not Arthur. Somewhere along the way she’d dropped the affection, although she can’t be damned to pinpoint the spot, the exact point where their easy friendship had deteriorated, and thinking of him only brought the same kinda ache she felt when she thought about her ma or her dad.

Or the she that she used to be, all laughter and schooling, with a future set in business and comfort and bright possibilities. Choices and freedom, so easily taken from her, time and time again, by the love for a man.

“But I ain’t got much of a choice. Go back up north and get married to that man? I ain’t doing it.            And I ain’t gonna swing for anything less than loyalty,            I can promise you that.”

Stepping in close, she can smell Arthur; all medicinal herbs and whiskey, masculine man and leather and the smoke of guns discharged and underneath it all the sour smell of impending death, of old and fresh blood mingling and suddenly Darcy’s throat feels like an open wound, too. Her rifle drops from her hands and she reaches out to hold the sleeve of his coat like a child lost and looking to be guided, her thumb grazing against the knob of his wrist.

It is at once a strangely intimate gesture from Darcy and so, so distant from the woman who had once kissed him just cause. Like she wants to hold his hand and yet cannot bring herself to touch him for all the hurt and rage that bubbles inside of her.

“If’n Dutch is gone, n’I’m gone.            That’s my choice.”

✖ mean Arthur @ Darcy time

“Look if you--if you wanna keep runnin’ around after folks who don’t care for you no more, that’s your choice, but- but-”

It takes effort not to cough, or cry. Arthur swallows against the dry hack rising up in his throat. He’s so damn tired. Tired of trying to hold his world together with both hands, tired of trying to make Dutch see sense, or at least get folks away from him so he can’t hurt them no more.

Darcy, Javier, Bill--they just can’t see what’s happening. Dutch has got his claws in too deep. Arthur couldn’t see it either, not ‘til it was too late--or maybe he was just too damn weak to admit it, to try and do anything about it ‘til now.

“Look just--for once in your damn life, you got a choice, a real choice, and, and--Dutch? Dutch, he’s gone, Miss Darcy. He’s so far gone he don’t know us from his enemies no more. If you can’t see that, then maybe you’re gone too.”

[secondhandmckie]

100 - Hosea has just died, Danny finds out via Arthur :)

Nonverbal Meme

He'd sat down, at Arthur's urging. That was probably for the best, because even as Danny felt the chair beneath him, his knees felt weak enough to give out. The words from Arthur's mouth had slowly begun to lose their meaning and replaced with an odd roar in his ears.

Dead.

That was something that could be expected, considering their line of work. Something Hosea himself had teased could happen at any time, and was therefore cause to not give a shit. Had he known? If it was looming, why hadn't Hosea said anything? Why hadn't he said goodbye?

His fists clenched and unclenched atop the table, easing himself back into reality and to meet Arthur's eye.

"I...see." He managed after a moment, and, regardless of the fact that he still didn't trust the strength of his legs, Danny stood to busy himself. One couldn't be trusted to remain still with a broken heart. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I know he was important to you."

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

[Arthur] [ comfort ] your muse pulling mine into a reassuring hug . [ Listen. They don't normally Do Feelsy Shit but Arthur can't NOT if she's upset. ): ]

She hadn’t meant to shoot a man’s horse -- it’s one thing to fall so deep into Dutch’s world that Darcy abandons her own ideas about peace and pacifism and every man’s right to live (at first only if they threatened others right to live -- namely herself or anyone else in the community -- and then whomever Dutch said to because surely he would not steer her wrong), and it’s another to kill a horse who had no choice in being ridden by a yack. And maybe the whole thing’s trivial; afterall, what is a horse’s death after a man’s?

But Arthur scoops her up all the same, folding himself awkwardly around her like he’s not quite sure how the whole thing is done without kissin’ and even that’s been a long time gone for him.

She presses her face into his chest until her throat had gone raw, until there’s nothing left of her voice except the rasp of loss and agony and who even is she anymore? And Arthur just stands there and lets her, arms a band across her shoulders, her lower back.

When Darcy pulls back, his shirt is soaked and snotted, and she knows she looks a right mess. Still, she pats his shoulder and turns, afraid to say anything and have to hear him tell her what she already knows.

She’s too soft for this. This world ain’t right for her.

(But the difference, see, is that Arthur wants her to go, and she wants to grow)

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

[arthur] “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text. [ it's sufferin' time ]

[TEXT]: fuck. I mean G-DDAMN. I shoulda listened but nah not me no siree can’t tell me a g-ddamn thing

[TEXT]: and the worst part is Arthur like if i’d’a known how this all woulda played out I’m not certain i’d’ve been strong enough to change it

[TEXT]: and you’d still be up on that mountain alone. G-d it just kills me to think of you up there alone. No matter what you say you or any of us deserve, it was more than that

[TEXT]: if i’d’a just BEEN there, maybe it could be different...

[TEXT]: i’d’ve atleast put a slug in that fucking schemin snake.

[ERROR: MESSAGE NOT SUCESSFULLY SENT

NUMBER NO LONGER IN SERVICE]

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

[arthur] [ push ] your muse pushing mine into bed. [ consider: there's only one bed and darcy is ofc being a little shit and ARTHUR'S T I R E D, GET IN THE DAMN BED ALREADY IT'S SNOOZE TIME while we ignore the blatant tension between us. ]

“You don’t need to be so rough, Mister Arthur.”

Darcy grumbles, but the bed is soft and her friend is warm besides her and the day has been long, the ride uncomfortable. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows this is scandalous, that there are already whispers about the two of them that bother Arthur way more than they bother her, but her brain has already shut off the place where worry lives and Darcy nuzzles her face in against his shoulder and breathes in that smell that belongs only to him.

She’s out like a light in two full breaths.

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

[arthur] “⁇” for a DRUNK text. [ (: ]

[TEXT] u kno arthur

[TEXT] dumb isnt the worst thing in the world 2 b my education done me no good favors in this life

[TEXT] oh 2 b a big strong hambsom man with endless potential for kindness

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

[arthur] (text): ill show you mine if you show me yours

[The text comes promptly: it’s the span of Darcy’s left side of her rib cage, a deep purple spreading from nearly her hip to— is that soft curve the underside of her breast?

It’s hard to tell, with the dappled shade of the woods]

[TEXT]: ow :(

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

[arthur] “@” for a SCARED text.

[TEXT]: we fucked up we fucked up we fcked up [TEXT]: pinkerton is here why is pinkerton here how could they know [TEXT]: there’s hundreds of these safes out this wayhow could they know this was theone we were hitting  [TEXT]: I don’t wanna die here arthur i wanna see you again and tell you about how I almsot took micahs head off “accidentally” and show you the flower the girl in the grocers told me about that gets you absofuckinglutely roostered and maybe try kissing you again i dunno

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

[Arthur] ✺ for my muse’s reaction to yours pulling mine up over their shoulder [ time to HOIST that gal like it's nothin' ]

“Lemme at ‘im, Arthur, or I swear you’ll never get no peace again!”

She’s struggling in his arms, ready to throw herself with fervor at the second cook who has learned in no time at all exactly how to get under her skin and stoke a secret anger until she’s near ‘bout ready to blow.

(Of course, how is she to know that Arthur has never really known peace and will certainly never know it in the rest of his limited days?)

But suddenly Darcy’s world is upside down and, bewildered, she freezes entirely, folded in half over the broad shoulders of her....friend. Blood rushes to her cheeks and not just cause she’s not rightside up, her lower lip pushed out in a pout like that might hide the shame that bubbles up in her gut.

“Is this really necessary?”

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

dream meme: arthur (:

Send a name to have my muse react to having had a sex dream about that person

[His scruff feels good against her neck, her shoulder, against her stomach, and it’s her first real time and she thinks, abstractly, she should be nervous, she should be afraid -- but it seems impossible to be nervous, to be afraid when it’s Arthur. She clasps his shoulders and drags him back up, hitching her hips underneath his, can feel the press of him, and she’s begging him knowing full well he won’t say no--]

On the cusp of something, Darcy jolts awake. It’s bright already, and she’s late, the sounds of everyone around her a background menagerie, but she lays a few extra minutes in her cot, pleasantly comfy in a way she can’t remember being since she left home.

Even when she does get up, puts her boots on, collects her rifle, it’s all lazy, slow motions. Her feet bring her to Arthur’s setup, and she ducks her head down into his space with a soft smile. There is no evidence to be found of anything untoward ever crossing her mind once about him.

“Do you reckon you got some time to accompany a poor, defenseless lady down on her luck today?              There’s one of ‘em safes in a town twenty miles from here              n’ I could shore use someone with some kinda skill at my back.”

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

[arthur] “And what about me?” He says it without even thinking about it, then backtracks quickly, waving a hand in dismissal. "Ah, you--I didn't mean--you don't have to answer that."

Send “And what about me?” and my muse will give yours one compliment!

Darcy blinks, taken aback by Arthur’s want, something he immediately tries to erase as if his hand could dissipate the words from the air.

“Why, Arthur, you sure wouldn’t be jealous, now, wouldja?”

And perhaps she has been talking at length about her admiration for the camp, from Dutch to Hosea to even Ms Grimshaw -- still, it’s almost cute how he interjects, curious, and then bashful to be caught like that.

She leans in close, bumping her shoulder against his.

“You have the patience of a saint, Mister Morgan, even if you do complain an awful lot about the things you have no need to agree to do.                 I damn near thought I was impossible to teach, and here I go having not accidentally shot anyone’s eye out in days.”

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

🌶 [ Oh you know I HAVE to send this for Arthur ]

“Oh shore.” Darcy murmurs, affecting the slow and easy way Arthur speaks, his voice like a tumbler full of rocks turned top over bottom, slowly.

She’s got a pair of hares held by their ears that she’d shot earlier but Silver has taken over for Pearson for the afternoon and while she has no reason to dislike the man, she can’t help it.

She doesn’t want to see him and she doesn’t want to speak to him.

But Arthur has his hands out for the carcasses, after ribbing her thoroughly, making her simultaneously irritated and full of laughter, and Darcy can’t help but smile at him.

There’s a subtle kindness in him— he can’t be outright, of course, and he’ll hide it in barbs, but it’s as part of him as that voice she likes so much, as that fire in his gut.

“Much appreciated, Mister Morgan.”

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

[arthur @ darcy] “hey! somebody’s gonna get hurt with that thing! ain't dutch teach you how to shoot properly yet?"

She hadn’t expected the recoil of the Winchester, the way it bucked in her hands. It sends her shot wildly off center and creates an ache in her shoulder— surely, there’ll be a bruise there.

The shot had almost hit Arthur, and Darcy flushes pink with embarrassment at the gravel of his voice.

“Maybe I’da meant to shoot you, Arthur.

— Ever think about that?”

But she drops the rifle from her shoulder, let s the muzzle point down to the wet, muddy earth between her boots.

“You got a few pointers or are you just here to criticize?”

She smiles, big and genuine, the rouge on her lips like blood.

[zzapzzaptasers-a]

Arthur will gladly help with cleaning and packing--it gives him something to do--but even he HAS to ask: "Why you got so much CRAP in here?"

“Mental illness, bud, and years of struggling with money. What if I needed this shibari rope again even though I realized it wasn’t my thing?

— it is Darcy’s thing though. Weirdly. I give her a lot of weird things I don’t dig. Kinda like I keep a buncha useless shit in my closet.”

He contemplates if a Wonder Woman Shield someone else made for a cosplay that got misplaced in the last move should fit into a garbage bag or not.

“Just— sit on the bed and talk to me. We’re getting to the real weird shit.”