#sometimes it's 'i am making one hell of a mess of things with arthur' and not really knowing why | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

verdemoun · 8 months ago

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How's timewarp Javier doing? I just know bro spawns and is absolutely and has no idea what the hell is happening. One moment he's in Mexico being hung and then the next he's spawned in the middle of a busy road. Feel like he'd be extremely happy to know the gang was mostly all back together cause I feel the fall hit him really hard (Dutch got some serious explaining to do). Maybe he even starts picking playing guitar back up.

Feel like he'd be enamored by YouTube aswell. Learned about it and the family tv's YouTube acc is filled with the most crazy recommended videos. Maybe he even starts making his own videos, maybe mostly about fishing, maybe a bit of blog style shit. Finds dude perfect and gets everyone else into it. (Let this man bottle flip)

TIMEWARP JAVIER MY BELOVED

☺

I am so sorry but in timewarp canon john was the one who killed javier. he was captured alive but through all the insults and forced laughter to hide the fact he was almost crying john would realise that shooting javier himself was kinder than handing him to the bureau alive to be tortured and executed in an american prison. and javier was terrified of being handed over to the us governemnt alive. when john turned the gun on him he was pretty much at peace with it (For each man kills the thing he loves)

going from being in a cell in el presidio to laying on the ground in the middle of a bustling market would have been more frightening than realising john was about to shoot him but before he can even look around arthur's there offering him a hand

the impact on javier bless. looking around and seeing the gang waiting for him but they've aged arthur's starting to go gray and sean and lenny are in their 30s javier would've immediately started bawling and hugging them all

unlike most of the rdr1 gang javier is extremely willing to just block out everything that happened after 1899 because it was a really dark time for him he just wants his gang back. he's genuinely sorry for not siding with arthur in beaver hollow because of course turned out arthur was right dutch went so far off the deep end even though javier still valued loyalty dutch didn't anymore

he would be pretty self conscious about his appearance for a bit because everyone else seems to have got a modern day glow up meanwhile he's been cutting his hair with blunt scissors for years and neglecting himself a lot

his love affair with youtube starts hair care and skin care routines he will buy every product beautiful men promote on their channels. he grows his hair back out and is much more interested in fashion than the rest of the boys give him a month and he's roasting arthur for walking around in ratty oversized shirts covered in motor oil

kieran and javier sprawled on the couch doomscrolling through youtube with exfoliating face masks on. dark media iceberg specialists but also tiktok compilations.

when he gets his first phone javier opens an account on every social media and his content is just a mess sometimes it's memey bottle flip and rube goldberg ping pong ball videos sometimes it's self care stuff sometimes it's just a clip of him ranting in spanish about 'authentic' mexican food or really awkward 'look at this fish i caught' photos and he jumps between socials so sporadically he doesn't really have a following but molly would like all his stuff

javier getting a guitar again would be such a big deal but also so understated like one of the gang would've just got him one because it's javier of course he needs a guitar and javier just holds it for a second because it's the first time he'd held a guitar since beaver hollow. he lost his guitar in the raid and never had a reason to play so he didn't get another one. but it would feel so right to be sitting in the living room with a guitar in his hands while sean excitedly asks him to play something he'd just laugh and start back with old campfire songs and everyone gets to sing along like the proper good old days. processing trauma through symbolism speedrun

javier and kieran would be the two that never move out of the matthews' house or get jobs. kieran just wasn't built for living alone but for javier it's like he just got the gang back he still desperately needs that connection. he's also a notorious couch surfer he will rock up at someone's place and stay for a few days because just he missed them and he's always welcome. he also somehow gets the title of go-to babysitter kids love him like yay tio javier is here we're gonna paint his nails

#rdr2 timewarp au #javier escuella

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trashboatprince · 11 months ago

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"I need you, you idiot" with the ineffable duo if ur up for it

I'm trying to figure out what's a good excuse to use this that isn't post-s2 because... yeah, haha.

So, here's something from very early in their Arrangement. :)

On with the fic!

Guard duty had to be the absolute most boring task for the Knights of the Table Round. Well, that and the meetings, sometimes Aziraphale was tempted to experiment with napping like Crowley did during those.

Speaking of, the demon had been laying low for quite some time, it had been a few months since any word of the 'Black Knight' in the land. Arthur was thrilled, but Aziraphale was a bit curious. And a little annoyed.

Crowley had spent weeks pestering Aziraphale about the Arrangement, and when he finally agreed to it, the snake had run off! To God knows where!

He sighed loudly, shaking his head. Why even set up this thing if you had no need to use it? He thought Crowley needed him for something urgently when he had agreed but-

There was a rustling from somewhere below Aziraphale and he stopped in his patrol around the guard wall of Arthur's castle. He listened closely, hearing more of the rustling, before a few hissed curses.

Frowning, Aziraphale peered over the ledge, staring down into the darkness below. The torches around the ledge didn't give him much light, but he could make out someone below. A very familiar someone. "Crowley!" He hissed, glaring at the demon.

Crowley was not in his armor, instead in normal clothing, and also appeared to be covered in leaves, as he was pulling some off himself. He looked up. "Angel! There you are, thought I'd have to break in!"

"Why are you here?"

"To talk to you?"

"About what?" Aziraphale asked, irritated. Mainly for Crowley only just now showing up, with no warning. And for the fact that he had made Aziraphale worry over his safety, not that Aziraphale would admit to it.

"About... uhhh... look, can I come up there? Gotta talk to you in secret."

Aziraphale frowned deeply, glancing this way and that. The other knights were off in their sections, paying no mind to Aziraphale. Still, just to be safe...

He snapped his fingers, the others would pay no attention at all to him or this side of the castle until Crowley left.

Suddenly Crowley was at his side, wings out, when had he flown up here!?

"Alright, what is it? And where have you been!? You left without a word!" Aziraphale shouted, throwing his hands up.

Crowley blinked. "I didn't tell you?"

"Of course not! Uhg, that is so like you, you always do that. Get me talking and making plans, only to vanish off the face of the Earth without even a note! You'll probably do that after this conversation, to the surprise of no one."

The demon snarled. "Oh please, like you haven't done the same to me! 'Sides, 's not my fault I left! Hell had me on a job and wouldn't even let me pack up first! Practically dragged me there myself!"

"Is that going to happen again this time?" Aziraphale sniffed. "Why am I even talking to you right now? I'm on guard duty, can't have you messing up that job again for me. Away with you."

Suddenly, Aziraphale was pinned against the ledge of the tower, staring into golden snake eyes. Gosh, they looked lovely in the light of the torches.

"I need you, you idiot." Crowley said, voice low but powerful. It sent a weird shiver up Aziraphale's spine. "It's important, extremely important, and part of the Arrangement now if you wanna protect your prissy friends."

"W-what?" Aziraphale blinked.

"Hell wants... me to cause problems for your knights. Apparently, they're getting a little too good at what they do around here, and Hell wants me to screw all that up. I honestly don't give two shits, but this is a big job."

"And... what do you want me to do about it?" Aziraphale asked, mouth a bit dry, he kept looking at Crowley's mouth.

"Think you can... thwart my wiles? I mean. Look, I know the Arrangement was basically set up for use to, ya know, do each other's work, but I don't really want to do this, seems like a lot of trouble. And they don't know there's an angel on the team, Hell has no clue that you can, technically stop me."

Aziraphale frowned, finally registering his words. "But won't your bosses be upset if you fail?"

"That's... where the Arrangement really comes in. Think you can stir the pot for any trouble going on with Arthur's crew? Just a little? Nothing huge or involving all of 'em, you can 'stop' me from making a big disaster, but 'allow' me to cause a little trouble? To please my bosses?"

"And what do I get out of this?"

"There's this lovely monastery that isn't exactly the most blessed place across the sea. They are well known for their wines and wine-infused cheeses. Been thinkin' about treatin' you there."

Aziraphale considered this, it was tempting, and oh he had such a love for a good cheese. "That, and I'll need you to do a blessing in London for me, it's for an inn that opens in four days."

"Deal!" Crowley grinned, letting him go, much to Aziraphale's disappointment. For some reason. "I gotta get goin', the Black Knight's been too quiet lately, I'm gonna go steal some goats for shits and giggles."

The wings were back out again as Crowley jumped up onto the ledge. He turned to look at Aziraphale, grinning. "See you around, angel!" And he was off.

Aziraphale swallowed, feeling a bit too warm for his armor. Well, best to get planning for this 'stirring the pot' plan. What could he look into? Maybe that whole thing with Lancelot? His stares at Arthur's wife? That might cause enough trouble to entertain Hell, for a while at least...

This... is longer than I had expected, haha. But I like writing their early Arrangement days.

Also, I love the idea that Aziraphale accidentally ruined Arthur's love life.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #john's drabbles

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 2 years ago

Text

I Prefer My Heart To Be Broken, Chapter Thirteen: Lies

Secrets kept. Tempers blown. Lies confessed.

AO3 | Playlist | Masterpost

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN: LIES

They’d hoped to find an exit, but it’s beginning to look like there isn’t one.

It’s like the King wanted this palace so insular that he made the portals the only legitimate way out.

John is grumpy about it, and keeps slipping up. Why would he do this? I wouldn’t do it this way. This is stupid.

“Why the hell would he do it the way you’d do it?” says Arthur.

Since he… because… we were the same being once, damn it, Arthur!

“Sure.”

Arthur is grumpy, too. He’s been going for hours on a plate of apple and carrots and cheese, and while it was pretty darn good, he doesn’t exactly have energy reserves to spare.

He’s hungry, and faint, and tired. More importantly, he knows something is wrong with John.

He doesn’t know what, but something is off. Something has changed.

And also, he really doesn’t like feeling trapped. “Next time we pass that damned ocean view, maybe we should try to climb out and swim around the palace.”

We’d just die, Arthur. Those are Deep Ones in the water. They’d fuck you, then kill you, or kill you, then fuck you, but either way, it wouldn’t go well for us.

Arthur’s face is burning, and John wouldn’t have known that without his newest trick. “Then why the hell are there so many openings staring out at them?”

Why not? It’s a pretty view, and it’s not like they can kill or fuck the King. Would you brick up a window just because there are squirrels outside?

“These things seem a lot more dangerous than squirrels.”

Not if you’re a nut. There’s a pause. Arthur, that means you’re—

“Yes, yes, that makes me a nut, I get it.”

Heh, heh, heh. You’re a nut, Arthur.

Arthur does not reveal just how much he liked that joke.

He likes John so much, sometimes, which is different from love.

He always loves John. Sometimes, he doesn’t like him at all.

Right now, he doesn’t want to risk a fight by teasing him. He doesn’t have the energy.

Arthur sighs. “This place is just not right, John.”

John kind of likes this place, mostly. It’s different.

“Are we any closer to a kitchen?”

Well, I thought we’d find one back there, but instead, it was the pots.

“Right. Why were there so many pots?” Shelves of pots, piles of pots, pots piling so high that they disappeared into the dark.

Though they were jars, really, and all had lids. John almost knows what those jars are, but that memory is still out of reach. Arthur, if I understood the reason for that, I’d be a lot wiser than I am.

Arthur snorts at him.

He’s really hungry, and it is so strange to be out of pain. He likes it, of course, but he’s so suspicious of it that he isn’t capable of just enjoying it.

That’s interesting, but it’s not the part that fascinates John: simply put, seeing Arthur so much more clearly has done nothing but hook John on him like some couture drug.

Arthur is just fascinating. Mostly because he’s such a mess.

Contradictory in the extreme. Rife with guilt and shame and sorrow and fears for things that weren’t even his fault. A breadth of feeling that surpasses anything John can think of, as if everything Arthur does and experiences is artificially heightened—except it’s not.

It’s just Arthur. He’s just like that.

If John, as King, had stumbled across him and seen him this clearly, out in the wild and with no context, he’d absolutely have snatched him up at once.

It sort of amazes John now, honestly, that more gods and monsters aren’t vying for Arthur’s attention.

Or fighting to own his pain.

If John were the type of creature who fed off fear, or pain, or misery, or anger, Arthur would be the perfect feast.

Remarkable.

So fortunate for Arthur that John just wants him. Mine, he thinks, and focuses again on the hallway. There’s another room on the left. Six steps ahead of you.

“Right.” Arthur really hopes it’s a kitchen, because damn it all, carrots are not cutting it anymore.

John sighs. Good news and bad news, Arthur.

“Hit me,” Arthur says, resigned.

It is a kitchen. It’s also empty.

Arthur groans.

It really seems like he doesn’t have anyone living here but himself. I don’t understand it.

“He really is different,” says Arthur, and balances right on the edge of believing this King is as different as John says.

Then he remembers the pain when the King broke his leg and fucking took John away, and there is no forgiving that, there is no letting that go, and Arthur would sooner see the sainted version of the King burn in hell than ever forgive him.

So that’s a lot to process, and John tries.

The challenge is, Arthur’s memories aren’t always… accurate.

They look accurate. Clear, three-dimensional, rich in full color—but the ones John was there for simply don’t match the ones Arthur has, which, unfortunately, throws everything into doubt.

It’s not that Arthur is mentally unstable, or something. He’s got a lot of guilt, and humans are weird about processing that stuff.

Gods don’t do it that way. John’s not at all sure how to fix it.

“Hello?” says Arthur.

John’s been quiet too long again. There’s nothing here. I’m sorry. We need to go back to the hall and start walking.

“We’re going to need to just take a fucking portal soon no matter where it goes, or I’ll starve,” says Arthur with a light and cheerful tone.

He is afraid of starving.

He’s very afraid of starving.

We’ll find something, John says.

Arthur walks, and sniffs. “I smell something nice. Floral.”

There’s an opening up ahead. Maybe it’s an exit.

Arthur hopes it’s an exit. He’s not eager to be lost in the Dreamlands again, but they have got to get out of this palace. Every second here feels like tempting fate.

So he walks forward, and doesn’t hesitate, and only grows angry when he discovers John didn’t warn him the courtyard plants were blue.

Arthur is not okay that they’re in a glowing blue garden.

The last time they were someplace like this, things had gone very, very wrong.

They had fought each other—worse than they ever had, saying things neither of them could take back. They’d been captured, and dumped into the prison pits for months, and Arthur had defended himself against a cannibalistic murderer by committing murder and then cannibalism. None of it was okay, none of it was dealt with, none of it was a thing he’d ever want to think about again, but here they are, and John won’t stop talking.

It’s comforting. The blue light from the fungus might have some unseen properties; it’s calming, I’d say intentionally. There are benches here and there along the black gravel path, human-height, clearly designed to be inviting.

“Mm,” says Arthur.

John knows how Arthur feels. He’s trying to mitigate, to calm, to handle it without violating any more of Arthur’s self. Perhaps the fungus is better tended here, or maybe it’s merely part of the same genus, but I think it is a different plant. There are leaves, Arthur; leaves, and flowers unlike any I’ve known—shaped a little like lavender, but cascading down like weeping willows. The light is soft and gentle. I get the impression the walls, covered as they are in living things, might be soft to the touch. Arthur, are you listening?

“Mm,” says Arthur.

It isn’t working.

John is angry that it isn’t working. There is a pond of sorts in the center; not big enough to be called anything else, yet its clarity and stillness give an impression of great depth. It is somehow silver in spite of the blue light; it doesn’t reflect as much as I’d expect, but remains so clear, so perfect, like the moment between breaths. The position of benches makes me think one is supposed to sit and contemplate it, perhaps think deep inside it, perhaps learn to be as still.

“Mm,” says Arthur.

John is done. What the fuck is wrong with you?

“Are you finished?” Arthur wants out. He’s deeply afraid. Keeping that barely under control with anger.

There is a pause. This isn’t like before, Arthur. We aren’t in immediate danger.

“Right. Right. Of course. Are you finished?”

Another pause. Arthur. We need to talk.

“You know, John, you keep saying that, and it keeps being as absurd as it was the first time you said it. No we don’t, and we need to find Martin and his Jon, or find some food, or get the fuck out. Three options, all good. Which direction do I go?”

Yet another pause.

Arthur doesn’t understand what’s going on with those. They’ve been happening since he woke up in that weird, luxurious bed.

Maybe John is consulting the documentation. Arthur gets the imaginary visual of a manual, labeled, RUINED HUMAN (MODEL: ARTHUR LESTER) INSTRUCTION BOOK.

John makes a sort of choked sound, as if he almost laughed.

“Oh, what is it now?” Arthur snaps.

I refuse to go any further until we work some of this out, John snaps back, his basso profundo bolstered by his contrabass growl.

“Are you bloody serious?”

Yes! Do you know how bad it would have been if he’d been who we feared today? Do you have any idea? And we wouldn’t have been prepared because we hadn’t talked about it!

“We most certainly have talked about it,” says Arthur in a light, pleasant voice he can barely believe he’s producing. “We already know what we would do: fight to the death. That’s all.”

NO.

Arthur stiffens. “No? No?”

John puffs away in his head, sounding like an angry bull.

“You want to talk about it? Fine! We’ll sit here until the King changes his mind, or decides to distill us into some kind of stew, or opts to send some fucking animal after us to hunt us down for sport! Is that what you want? Fine! Then we’ll do that!” Wild with stubbornness, Arthur storms in his best guessed direction for a bench, and he rams right into one.

His shin does not thank him.

“Ow! Fucking damn it! That’s your fault.”

Arthur!

Arthur sits, well aware he’s flouncing onto the stone bench the way Faroe would during a tantrum, but utterly unable to stop. “What?”

I can’t lose you again!

Arthur goes completely still, and John is amazed at all he can feel.

The flutter of Arthur’s heart; the twist in his stomach; the way his hand clenches and unclenches; the way his back straightens, stiffens, aches.

The way his eyes blink rapidly, because they are wet, and he doesn’t want John to know.

The taste in his mouth has changed—metallic, now, somehow an anxious flavor, and Arthur is also producing more saliva. Even his balls have tightened, as if to withdraw into his body.

Arthur exhales slowly. “You won’t lose me.”

You don’t know that! He… the King…

“What, John?” And anger rises, narrowing Arthur’s eyes, tightening his jaw. “He did do something to you, didn’t he?”

And here was the perfect segue.

John was going to tell him about the thought-reading thing eventually, but this wasn’t a segue for that. This was an attempt to correct an error before it came back to bite them on the ass.

John had lied about the King in Yellow’s identity. That one wouldn’t stand, not with any scrutiny, not with Kayne poking around.

I need to tell you something. About the King in Yellow. About who he really is. And yes, he did do something to me. He showed me your death. Your counterpart’s death. Arthur, I…

Arthur has grabbed John’s hand and is holding it. “He did?”

Yes.

Arthur exhales. To him, this explains everything. He knows he’d be completely fucked up if he were forced to watch John die. “That’s horrible. John, I’m sorry. Why would he do that to you?”

He wasn’t trying to be cruel. He was trying to warn me. Trying to make sure we don’t make the same mistakes he did.

Arthur isn’t getting it. “What? How could you make the mistakes he did? How did he even know what happened? He was probably just being an asshole.”

John briefly wishes he knew how to calm Arthur the way his counterpart had, then pushes the thought aside. That’s too far. That’s too much. He won’t do that. I… I lied to you, Arthur. I panicked. I didn’t want you to judge me, to… to hate me. And I lied.

Funny, how Arthur’s eyes still widen in response even though he can’t see anything out of them.

Funny, too, how the panic has ebbed, transformed into concern for John—and now, it’s getting a little prickly around the edges. “All right. When did you lie?”

About who the King in Yellow is. He is the King in Yellow, but I…

“He’s something like Kayne, right?” Arthur guesses. “That would explain… but what happened to the original? Where is he?”

Dead. Killed by this one’s hand. But no, he isn’t something like Kayne.

“This one killed the King?” Arthur is staggered; then, disturbingly, he’s jealous.

He thinks about the part of John that is bad being killed, and clear as a bell, wishes he could kill the part of himself that must be responsible for everyone dying, everyone leaving, everything going so wrong.

Oh, that’s… not good.

John knew that was why Arthur wanted to kill Larson, why he’d gone apeshit on Uncle. Sure, he knew.

But this is a lot more self-loathing than he’d realized was there.

It runs deep. Right to Arthur’s core, and that palimpsest conversation comes back to John’s mind. This guilt is dangerous. Poisonous. Damaging.

It cannot be allowed—but John isn’t sure how to make it stop.

“John?”

He’s waited too long again. John tells himself to focus, and tries a different tack. Arthur, what am I?

Arthur is confused. “What? You… you’re John. You’re my friend.”

I am your friend. But Arthur, that’s not what I asked you. What am I?

Arthur is confused and annoyed. “Irritating?”

Arthur!

Arthur sighs and rubs his face. “I don’t know what you want from me, John.”

Yes, you do. He gentles his tone. I didn’t ask you who I was. I asked you what I was.

So here’s a funny thing: Arthur genuinely does not understand that John is, always was, the King.

It’s a disconnect in his mind. He doesn’t see it, really believes John is discrete, and so, he’s just not getting it. “Bored, maybe? John, is this really what you wanted to talk about? You said you lied.”

John sighs.

Fuck the gentle approach. He couldn’t stay here, doing this for hours. There was too much at stake. I am the King in Yellow, Arthur—and the King in Yellow is me.

Arthur’s mind goes as blank as if he’d unplugged it from the wall.

Arthur.

“What?”

Arthur can’t process the sentence. It’s like a key fitted to the wrong lock.

And John has a wicked idea.

It’s so simple. Entirely true—and deeply manipulative. Arthur would respond to it, pull closer, maybe even push away from some of his stupid desire to die.

So, is it wicked, really? It’s just a fact. But saying it now, when Arthur is in shock—

It will plant itself in him.

And John wants it to. The King in Yellow in this place is me without you.

“Wh… what?” Arthur’s brain tries to start up again like a faulty engine, coughing and stalling.

I lied because I was so afraid you’d judge me by what he’d done. That you’d hate me for it. Arthur, I… I’m sorry.

John tells himself to stop there. Overselling it wouldn’t help.

And Arthur is tearing up properly now, his heart aching, his mouth tasting like it does whenever he cries. “John….”

It is so damned hard to wait.

To let the seed take root.

To sit in silence and feel Arthur churning with anger, betrayal, shock, love, hope, the choice of forgiveness, fear, loneliness, and uncertainty, all pitted against what he thinks he knows.

There’s so much in there. So many emotions, so many conflicting beliefs, so much chaos and shame and anger.

Arthur absolutely believes there is no divine judgment or set of cosmic scales, but he also absolutely believes he is personally, hopelessly ruinous, and his suffering is his due.

John is beginning to regret not taking the King up on the offer to just sit in Arthur’s head for a while when it was still clear.

“John. I forgive you.”

And John had not expected that choice. Oh, Arthur…

“I think I understand why you lied. That you told me before I found out, somehow, not because you had to tell me, but because you chose to—that’s important. Thank you.”

Oh, this human is special, and oh, John loves him so much. He pounds in the final nail. Arthur, seeing what became of me without you has… I’m not okay.

He is, though.

“John.” Arthur squeezes his hand again. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not thrilled you lied, but I understand why. I suppose you’ve seen the worst of yourself today, and it must have been frightening.”

Arthur is thinking it must be like when he saw Larson.

Oh; no, it’s not like that.

John has zero problems with how his alternate self turned out. He can see the reasons behind every decision this other-him made.

But he’s still going to make different ones. Why? He won’t lose his Arthur. You forgive me.

“I do.”

Arthur…

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

Arthur is his. And while Arthur might not think of it in those words, exactly, he’s leaning into that reality. Y… yes.

“No wonder you’ve been buggy ever since we got here.” Arthur hasn’t risen yet. “I understand. I don’t envy you, my friend.”

You don’t hate me for it?

“Of course not.”

Then I don’t care about him anymore.

Arthur squeezes John’s hand reassuringly. “Thank you for your honesty. We might not want to tell Martin and Jon, though. This other you has hurt that Jon badly. I don’t know how they’d respond, and I don’t want to have to try to protect you against Martin’s strength and Jon’s… whatever it is he does.”

John doesn’t want to think of those two, but Arthur has a point. Agreed. We can keep exploring now.

“I’m ready.” Arthur stands. Now that he feels like he’s carrying John metaphorically, not just physically, he is determined.

John can see inside that, too.

Arthur believes he’s let down every single person he's ever known except for John. (John, too, but John is still here.) It's like he's trying to make up for a lifetime of failure with this one, good thing.

Mine, thinks John, who hasn’t missed that when doing things for him, Arthur is far more stable than when doing things for himself. That feels right, too. Turn left. Now straight. Arthur, I’ll be honest… I don’t think we’ll get home unless Kayne decides to send us back.

“Well,” says Arthur with a sigh. “He owes us a body, anyway. I suppose we can discuss it when he bothers to show up.”

The chill of fear that washes down Arthur’s spine with those words is so much worse than John expected, and he peers closer.

Left me, Arthur is thinking, literally thinking, left me, leaving me again, and he doesn’t stop thinking it, and doesn’t stop remembering when John left (That’s not what happened! John thinks, uselessly), when John proved that Arthur had suffered so much for nothing, when John proved that Arthur really would always be alone, and Arthur may have forced John back via Kayne and capriciousness, but it was only for now because John would leave because everybody leaves, everybody always leaves, and—

“Straight?” says Arthur, not even the tiniest hint of any of that showing up in his voice.

My Arthur is bleeding, John thinks, because he’s going to fix this, find a way to stitch this, though he doesn't know how.

He mentally shouts a thank-you to his alternate self, because he wouldn’t have known about this if not pushed to look inside.

He’s definitely not telling Arthur about this new ability. Not for a while. He has to gather more information first. It’s logical.

Mine, he thinks again. Straight ahead.

It was not too late to turn this around.

(part fourteen)

NOTE

I made the Deep Ones into pests because really. WTF, Lovecraft?

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thespectrespecss · 1 year ago

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MAYBE WE GOT LOST IN TRANSLATION

Yet another Taylor Swift-titled blog. Dear self, if you're reading this sometime in the future, today, you discovered and accepted that everything isn't always what it seems, and anything is possible in prayer. But you realize more that everything isn't what it seems. Clarity is kindness. So, even with your own actions, it pays to be careful. *sigh*

Anyway, hi. After my well-intended sapilitang rest, I couldn't find the time to blog to accomplish backlogs for ministry. But I have recently been having good devotion times, especially following John Bevere's Wilderness Lesson Series. I really am getting a good revelation on the wilderness season with this series. It gives me more reason to be grateful for the things I have, where I am, and the people I'm with now. It's not a feel-good series, though. I feel so convicted, seen, exposed, and called out... God has a way of speaking the right words to you at the right time and season. It's up to you how you'll receive it. In my case, I'm at a "stubborn-kid-covering-her-ears" phase. Hehe. Not something I'm proud of. There's just this irrational fear of having to go through what I have to go through. Suntukan with Holy Spirit. But I know I'm kept steady by my loving Heavenly Father. Makulit lang si anteh. Just really praying for more strength to overcome. So much of what's in front of me is in a blur to almost zero visibility. It's like stepping into a void where you don't know where you're going or what's going to happen; am I going to get lost in an endless void? Am I going to be entering a parallel universe where we all get to live perfectly holy? Am I going to suddenly enter hell? Will I be seeing aliens? Endless questions, but God reveals in parts... and so I have no idea but I have impressions here and there. What are we doing now, God? How are we going to do this? Are we coming in slowly, carefully, gently? Or are we plunging in with a big splash? My mind is a mess right now. Still, I put my trust in the one who has already gone before me. Someone who has already seen what is ahead will guide me and be with me, lighting my path.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. - Psalm 23:4

I am thankful to be in this kind of intimacy with the one who knows me best. Grabe, God! Mahal mo 'ko?

*Sigh* So how about I recap some stuff that happened the past few days to put them here for memoriezzzz.

After my rest, I joined the painting day to prepare for our upcoming kids conference. I am proud to say I drew the things on these boards, plus 3 more boards with faces with different emotions. Almost forgot how happy coloring things make me. Also, I never knew I could do big art! This was a first, and it filled me up so much! Happy I got to do something I love for the ministry I love.

Discovered a new cafe. It's so perfect for co-working. Also got cool music played at just the right time. They usually blast Taylor Swift, perfect for my emo afternoons while working. Sometimes, they'll play my guilty pleasure opm (adie, arthur nery, etc). They also have very friendly crew. Coffee is an 8/10 for me-- nothing special but it doesn't taste bad. I also like their iced teas-- perfect for when I can't drink coffee after 3PM (hack to sleeping early). Hoping fewer people go here haha. Really enjoy just having my peace, quiet, and coffee here.

Started Saturday by people-watching as I waited for my friend to walk into the Prophetic Masterclass we're having in the church near this area. A little stoked with how the day will turn out but also a little nervous with what God is about to reveal. Agck. See next pic for a glimpse of the revelation...

Yep. Got this tattooed on my wrist in March and got prayed for Fear to be out of my body and out of my system during the sessions. I really felt as if good physically pulled something out of me. It was momentous and I always get in awe of God's peace and comfort when he just makes me tangibly feel all these.

Got a little distracted in the class because of this lady's cute earrings. I mean, LOOK AT IT!!! ORANGES!!!!! I love it so much. It's obviously handcrafted so it makes me love it more.

I really had a good week this week. I'm about to do some egress/ingress for some stuff to be transported from one mall to another for tomorrow's service... But I am so grateful for rest. Even when they had to threaten me to do it. I feel bad not being able to help but knew I needed the rest.

Thank God for always sustaining me even when I can't stand out of exhaustion. He's the best and I wouldn't ask for anything else. I just love being in his presence.

Loved this week, really. Thanking God for Rest. <3 --- Here's a selfie to cap this

#bleeps #bloops

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fruitcoops · 3 years ago

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okay so we all love dad dumo and he's an incredible parent but even dumo isn't perfect. Could we maybe have dumo snapping at logan (or sirius, if it strikes your fancy, but i love dumo+logan dynamics) and then apologizing for it like a parent actually f*cking should

Oof, yes. Combined with asks for Sirius and Logan bonding, as well as some pre-Cap and James. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for parental figure disappointment

The car rumbled. Dumo’s hands squeaked on the wheel as he flexed his fingers. Logan felt like he was going to throw up.

Can we turn around real quick? No, too vague. Can we go home so I can use the bathroom? No, he’ll say I can wait another ten minutes. I forgot my phone at home? No, he saw me put it in my pocket. Logan ran through every possible way of asking to go back to the Dumais house without giving away his dilemma; with each scenario, they grew further from where he needed to be.

“Hey, Dumo?” he began quietly, swallowing around his dry mouth. What was it his father always said? Honesty is the best policy. “We need to go back to your house for a moment.”

“We’re already running late,” Dumo said, not even sparing him a glance in the rearview mirror. The traffic around them was a mess. “If we go back, we’ll miss the first part of warmups.”

“I know, but it’s kind of important.”

“So is the game. If it’s your wallet, you don’t need it right—”

“I left my skates by the front door.”

Dead silence filled the car as Dumo slowed to a stop at the fourth red light. Logan’s heart sank and his stomach crawled into his throat. “What?”

“I left my skates by the front door,” he repeated, staring at his hands. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”

“Tabernak, Logan!” Dumo snapped. He felt something inside him wither and die. “First the nap, then forgetting to wash your jersey, and now you left your fucking skates behind? What’s going on in your head? You are an adult now with responsibilities, and it’s your job to keep track of your shit.”

“I know,” Logan said quietly.

Dumo huffed. “Clearly you don’t! Do you just not care? Is that it?”

“I care.”

“This isn’t a college team, Logan.” Dumo’s accent grew harsh around his name. It had been a bad day for him—Adele came down with a nasty cold just after Celeste left to visit her parents for the weekend, and there was always an added pressure with home games. Logan knew that, and he knew he should have been paying better attention.

“I know.”

Dumo muttered a curse under his breath and pulled onto a side road, then swore again when his duffle bag slid in the passenger seat. Logan closed his eyes; there was no way they would make it all the way to the house and back to the rink in time for pre-game rituals. Damn it, Tremblay. What were you thinking?

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Dumo parked the car with a quiet “go”, and Logan hurried inside with a slight nod to the babysitter as he grabbed his skates before slinking back to the car with his head hung low.

“I’m really disappointed in you,” Dumo said when they reached the freeway again.

“I’m sorry.”

He received no response.

They won the game despite skipping all their superstitions, no thanks to Logan. He played like shit; Arthur barely gave him four shifts the whole night. Finn shot him a concerned look as he rinsed off and slipped back into his street clothes, but Logan didn’t have the energy to confront both his best friend and the upsetting feelings connected to the aforementioned best-friend-slash-secret-crush. If he tried, he’d certainly end up doing something stupid.

He packed his things, slung his bag over his shoulder, and followed Dumo out to the car like a stray dog with his tail between his legs. “I really am—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Dumo interrupted as they pulled out of the parking lot. Logan pressed his lips together. “Are you hungry?”

Starving. “Kinda.”

“I’ll heat up some leftover lasagna when we get back to the house. Will you pay the babysitter and make sure the kids are in bed?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

Logan ground his teeth around the steady ache building in his chest—he hated disappointing people in general, but it was a whole different story with Dumo. He was his second father, the person Logan admired most on the team. He gave him a home and a substitute family to ease the homesickness, and was always there to cheer him on. And Logan let him down.

They went through their nightly routine silently, which was a sharp contrast to their usual banter. Marc and Louis refused to go to bed at first, nearly bringing Logan to tears in his frustration, but he eventually got them settled down and tucked in. By some miracle, both the girls were already asleep.

“I’m going to call Celeste,” Dumo finally said as Logan unloaded the dishwasher. He nodded without a word, not trusting his voice.

As soon as the dishwasher was full and running, Logan took his phone out and dialed the only person he wanted to hear from. It rang twice before connecting. “Hello?”

“Hey.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Hey, Cap, what’s up?”

“Not much.” Sirius sounded confused, and more than a little tired. “Ça va?”

Logan’s eyes burned. “Not bad. Do you have a minute?”

There was a rustling noise from the other end, followed by the clink of keys. “You’re at Dumo’s, right?”

“Oui.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thanks,” he managed around his tight throat. “See you soon.”

Hushed voices came from the living room and Logan padded down the hall, knocking gently on the doorframe. Dumo looked up and furrowed his brow. “Un moment, mon amour. Are you alright?”

“Sirius is coming by in ten. We’re going to hang out for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Tell him I say hello.” Without another word, Dumo uncovered the base of his phone and returned to his conversation. Logan nodded and headed back out into the hall, swallowing down the tears forming behind his eyes.

Ten minutes turned out to be seven minutes—Logan was simultaneously flattered and concerned—and a soft knock startled him out of his thoughts. Sirius already looked worried when the front door swung open. “What happened? Is everyone okay? Did something happen to Celeste?”

“She’s fine. Dumo says hi.” And he’s horribly disappointed in me. Logan took several deep breaths through his nose to control the tremor in his voice and Sirius gave him a worried once-over. “Can we drive around for a bit?”

“Of course.”

For all of his bluster and general brooding vibe, Sirius continued to be the king of empathy and (in Logan’s opinion) a secret mind-reader. The second his arm draped across Logan’s shoulders and held him close as they walked down the sidewalk, he felt some of the pressure in his chest release. “Sorry about the late call,” he sniffled. It was a cold night—the snot threatening to drip from his nose was frigid already. “I just—I needed to get out for a minute.”

“À tout moment.” Any time. Logan didn’t feel deserving of that kindness after the mess he had been on the ice. The heaters kicked on as soon as Sirius started the car and Logan closed his eyes, leaning back into the warm seat. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“It’s so stupid.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

Logan took a moment to breathe before shaking his head. “I forgot my skates. We were already running late, and I forgot my fucking skates at the house.”

Sirius hummed, but said nothing.

“It’s—Dumo has been having such a horrible day.” Tears clogged his throat again. “And I took a nap earlier because I stayed up late last night like an idiot, and Adele’s sick so he had all the kids and no help while he was trying to get ready, and then I overslept so it was already going to be rushed and forgot to clean my jersey and then—and then I forgot my skates. God, I’m so stupid.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.” Logan wanted to kick him for being so infuriatingly patient. Sirius glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “That’s not why you’re upset, though.”

“He’s—” Logan broke off and swiped the first tear away with his sweatshirt cuff. “He said he was disappointed in me.”

“Ah.”

“It’s such a stupid thing to be upset about.”

Sirius sighed through his nose and pulled into the parking lot of a 24-hour Taco Bell, then turned off the car and faced Logan with one eyebrow raised. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Belittling yourself.”

“Okay, Heather,” Logan snorted. Sirius reached over and flicked him on the forehead. “Hey!”

“You forgot your skates. Big deal. We’ve all been there.”

Logan shot him a glare. “You’ve never forgotten your skates.”

“Yes, I have. My very first game with the Lions, actually. Except I didn’t realize it until we were already at the rink.”

“Did Dumo drive you back?”

“The whole damn way. He was mad as hell, but he did it.” Sirius’ face softened, and he poked Logan gently on the thigh. “Stop kicking yourself for this one. It sounds like it was a bad day for you both.”

“I still feel like shit.”

Sirius shrugged. “I bet. Disappointing Dumo is the worst feeling ever.”

“He wouldn’t even let me apologize.”

“He will.”

They sat in silence for a full minute as Logan tried to find the right words. “How did you deal with it? Letting people down. It feels like I’m drowning, sometimes.”

“Really, really poorly,” Sirius half-laughed, crossing his ankle over his knee. “It wasn’t until I was named captain that I started accepting that people weren’t lying when they forgave me for fucking up.”

“Why?”

“Believe it or not, the people I was around as a kid didn’t make a habit of apologizing to me when they did something wrong.”

Logan looked up from the faded letters on his sweatshirt sleeve and sniffled. “Thanks for bringing me out here.”

“Pas de problem. I figured you could use some company outside the house.”

“You’re the best.”

“I try.”

“You succeed.” You’re like a brother to me, actually. “Is this what James did for you?”

“No,” Sirius laughed. Affection took over his face, bright even in the dim light from the streetlamps. “No, he snuck me onto the roof of the rink with massive amounts of junk food and stayed with me until the imposter syndrome faded. It was fantastic, but we nearly got hypothermia several times in the winter. This is much more comfortable.”

“Thanks for helping me keep all my fingers and toes,” Logan said wryly. He lapsed back into silence and folded his forearms on the dashboard, sighing at the pleasant stretch of his back. “I know I have to go back eventually, but I’m scared.”

“Honestly, Logan, I bet he’s already forgiven you. He knows it was an accident.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” The words came out as little more than a whisper. Sirius’ hand rested hesitantly between his shoulder blades until Logan leaned back into it, then began rubbing gentle circles.

“He does,” Sirius said softly. “And he loves you so much.”

Logan sniffed back more tears. “Really?”

“Ouais. You’ve been living with him for nine months now, and he’s so proud of how far you’ve come.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he told me. Last week, after your hat trick. People fuck up, Logan, but that doesn’t mean they’re unforgivable. You don’t need to flay yourself for one bad day.”

Logan shut his eyes with a slow exhale and buried his face in his forearms. “I think I’m ready to go back now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“D’accord. Buckle your seatbelt.”

He straightened up and stretched, wincing at the crack of his back. Sirius drove out of the parking lot and hummed under his breath to the radio, but Logan didn’t miss the careful glances out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he finally said. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” Sirius said casually, though he looked like he was holding something back. Logan didn’t press; Sirius would talk in his own time if he wanted to. He opened his mouth, paused, then sighed. “But I do worry about you.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Thank you, Captain Black, for the most media answer of all time. “You really don’t have to.”

Sirius parked the car and leaned his head back against the seat. “You’re my friend, and I care about you, so I worry.”

Logan blinked at him. “You care about me?”

“Obviously,” Sirius muttered. Even in the darkness of the street, his cheeks were pink. “Now go on, you've got someone waiting for you.”

“I care about you, too.”

“Out of my car, Tremblay.” Despite his words, a smile quirked at the corner of Sirius’ mouth. Logan socked him lightly on the arm and opened the door, shivering in the night air as it bit through his hoodie.

“Drive safe, Cap.”

“I will.”

The walk to the front door felt less like a trip to the gallows and more like coming home; Logan felt his muscles relax, and saw the curtains shift as someone moved away from the window. Dumo opened the door before he could even knock.

“I’m sorry,” they said in unison. Logan raised his eyebrows and Dumo opened the door the rest of the way, ushering him inside.

The moment the door closed behind him, Dumo wrapped him in a hug. “I’m so sorry for what I said earlier, Logan. You made a mistake, and I shouldn’t have come down hard on you.”

“I’m sorry I made us late,” Logan said into his soft shirt. “And for not helping earlier. It won’t happen again.”

“All is forgiven.” Dumo patted him on the back of the shoulder and held him at arm’s length with a sad smile. “I should have kept a better handle on my temper. You don’t deserve to be spoken to like that.”

Logan bit back the urge to say it’s okay or I deserved it and instead pulled him in for another hug. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I didn’t realize how much you’ve helped me until today.”

Dumo made a quiet sound and held him tighter. “It’s a gift to have you here.”

Logan squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of emotion rolled in his heart. “There is nowhere I would rather be,” he whispered. They stayed like that for a long moment, swaying slightly, before Dumo stepped back.

“Get some rest. We have early practice tomorrow.” He mussed Logan’s hair and gave him a nudge toward the stairs. “Bonne nuit, mon fils.”

Mon fils. Logan’s breath caught for a second and he smiled. “Bonne nuit.”

#logan tremblay #sirius black #pascal dumais #finn o'hara #james potter #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #hurt/ comfort #cap and logan bonding #dad dumo

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jamespotterthefirst · 4 years ago

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Prologue (OHTY)

Open Heart: Third Year Rewrite

Book: Open Heart, Book 3 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Words: 1K Premise: A new year, a new relationship, and a new Edenbrook. Will everything go as smoothly as they had planned?

Author’s Note: That summary sucks but this is my OHTY rewrite. I plan to make it dramatic. And angsty af. Here we go! Hope you like it.

Prologue: His Beloved

Caroline's eyes roamed the cavernous space, taking in the upgrades with something akin to wonder. Even from afar, he could see that sparkle in her eyes, the curiosity that was ever present whenever she beheld his newest innovation. It was enough to inspire anyone to conquer the world itself.

Now more than ever, something burned in his stomach: The urge to hold her. The despair and rage at being unable to.

As the seconds ticked by, his wife remained silent, nodding and humming here and there. Her soft, expressive brown eyes fell on the new kiosk at the reception desk and she quietly chuckled. A delicate, gloved hand hovered over the gleaming surface, almost as if she was afraid to touch it.

“These are the same ones I suggested for the Princeton tech lab.”

With the words, came a memory, unfurling before Leland's mind like a heavy mist. Their last trip to Paris, gazing at the Eiffel Tower from the patio of a small but elegant café. Caroline's hand in his from across the table as they talked about the Princeton project, her smile far more beautiful than the whole city in Springtime.

“You thought of everything, my love.” Her eyes met his with such sadness, he was certain she remembered too.

“We will be the prime research facility on the East Coast by the time we're done with the renovations,” he told her, willing her to understand he was doing everything to remedy their situation.

At this, her smile turned genuine, shining with pride. “You're going to help so many people.”

Leland almost scoffed. He didn't give a damn about other people.

Before he could blurt out the bitter words, however, Arthur, his driver, approached with a single nod at Caroline. She sighed, returning her gaze to Leland.

“I must go if I am to board the train on time.”

“If you miss it, you can always just take the jet. It's much faster and comfortable anyway.”

Her soft laugh was the best thing he'd heard all day.

“You know me, my love. I will enjoy the view of the countryside any opportunity I get.” And this time, when she paused, there was undeniable misery in the way her eyes shone. “Plus, you know I'm a nostalgic old woman. Train travel will always have a special place in my heart.”

They had met on a train for the first time many years ago.

The words hurt more than the prospect of not seeing his wife for months. They had mutually decided that time in the serene seaside town of York would be beneficial for her. Rather, Caroline, unable to bear their forced distance much longer without breaking down into tears, decided this was the best temporary solution.

“Shall I wait outside?” Arthur asked politely.

With a start, Caroline seemed to wake from a reverie. “I'll be right out, Arthur.”

After the driver disappeared through the glass doors, Caroline turned to Leland, her body almost quivering with the restraint of keeping its distance. Instead of the customary kiss and hug goodbye, they simply gazed at one another, Caroline with palpable despair, Leland with renewed determination.

“Goodbye, my love,” she murmured, the sound almost lost in the hubbub of the atrium.

Leland heard it, though, as loud and final as the clashing of iron bells.

“Goodbye, Caroline.”

Before long, she turned on her heel and walked out the doors with as much dignity as a broken heart allowed.

Leland, meanwhile, remained fixed to the spot, watching her go. The pain of his own suffering was muted by the fierce rush of conviction. The determination to find a cure was the last tether holding him to sanity.

Before he could move or even think about anything else, a note of delighted laughter echoed nearby. His eyes fell on a couple, traversing through the atrium hand in hand. The lively brunette gazed up at the tall and seemingly brooding man, her eyes sparkling with adoration. When the man finally submitted to her teasing , it was clear that he, too, was completely besotted by her.

“... not a hospital. More like an Apple store,” she was saying.

“What the hell is an Apple store?”

“Oh, that's right. You're a sworn Android user, I forgot.”

Ethan Ramsey rolled his eyes.

“They're phones, Lilac. The rivalry between the two is absurd when people use them equally to waste their lives away.”

This time, it was Lilac Allende who rolled her eyes, but not without a loving smile. “You're such a senior citizen sometimes.”

Ethan halted his steps at that proclamation, tugging at their joined hands and pulling her close to him. Lilac's small cry of surprise melted into one of knowing amusement under the intensity of his roguish smile. Without much preamble, he leaned in and whispered something that made her both blush and nod, impressed.

“You're an incorrigible flirt, Ethan Ramsey,” she tried to admonish, but the effect was tarnished by how pleased she sounded.

Ethan, undeterred, murmured something else into her ear. With a very serious expression, he pulled back to look into her face. There was no humor left in their expressions as they gazed at one another, only pure longing and affection. Then, he held the tip of her chin in gentle fingers, like the most delicate of songbirds, leaned in and kissed her.

Leland glanced away, unwilling to accept there could be love and affection in the world. Teeth clenched, his eyes returned to the couple before he could avoid it. It was almost as if they were flaunting their romance for everyone, including Leland, to see.

They couldn't do anything for Caroline and now they taunted him.

The bitter burn of jealousy and rage pumped through his veins like a poison with every beat of his heart.

That the two doctors could touch and love so unabashedly was…unacceptable.

“Have a good day,” Lilac whispered to her beloved before moving away.

Their hands were still clasped and Ethan seemed unable to let her go. He tugged her again and Lilac looked at him curiously. The man looked on the verge of saying something, his throat working in the small pause. Then, appearing to change his mind, he kissed her forehead instead.

Ethan Ramsey didn't have to say a goddamn thing for Leland to know. Leland had looked at his Caroline the same way before uttering the three words.

Love.

Ethan was in love with her.

The solution struck Leland with such intensity that he remained immobile. It was so simple, he felt like a fool for not having thought of it before. At last, he knew of a surefire way to secure Caroline's cure.

“Sir?” His assistant, Parker, enquired when Leland silently beckoned.

“Have Ethan Ramsey meet me in my office this afternoon,” he commanded simply. “Make it clear the meeting is not optional.”

***

Author’s Note: The following chapters will be longer! I won’t have a posting schedule. I think I’ll just post these bad boys as they’re ready. Approximately weekly? Thank you so much for reading this far!

As a side note, this will be Ethan x MC centric. I will try to include other characters but I can’t promise you much. Also, I’ve kept some things from the original mess that is book 3, but the overall plot will differ. (Hey crazy idea but if any of my mutuals wants to write for other characters, hit me up?)

Chapter 1 coming soon!

*Tagging in a reblog*

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #My writing

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helliontherapscallion · 4 years ago

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Phantasmagoria (Adrenaline Junkie Part 16)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of injuries, death, depersonalization, grief

REMINDER: you are real. the topics discussed in this is fiction and not reality. you are loved and valid, hydrate and eat 3 meals a day <3

Word count: 2,645

You were in and out of it for the next few days. Whenever your eyes would crack open and you would even slightly move your arm, you would be in immense pain before you would pass out again. You could sometimes hear the voices of your family talking to you, but never Arthur. Good, he definitely shouldn’t see you like this.

Whenever you heard Philza, he would be talking to you about all the journeys he’s been on in his hundreds of years of living. Oh yeah, you found out that he was an immortal being that can’t die. Your brain was too tired and clouded to contemplate it.

Whenever you heard Technoblade, his monotone and deep voice always eased your worries. It gave you something to focus on; if anything, his voice was the one that cut through the fog the most. He would always recite Greek myths to you, often telling you that you reminded him of a few characters.

Whenever you heard Wilbur, all you heard was him asking you questions such as ‘how was your day’ or ‘what do you think of someone-so’. He would talk to you as if you were conscious, often having one sided conversations with you. Sometimes he would bring his guitar and compose new songs, asking you if he should keep a lyric or if he should throw it away.

Whenever you heard Tommy, it broke your weak heart. It was like your little brother was a completely different person; his usually loud and upbeat tone was reduced to a quiet and broken one. He was the one that wouldn’t talk much, instead he would sit with you and eventually after a day or two (you think) of silence he would play his jukebox. But whenever he did talk (which was rare) he would tell you how scared he was seeing you like that on the table.

As time passed, you could feel yourself slipping deeper and deeper into your subconscious. It was like you were fading away, but you couldn’t fight against it. You wouldn’t fight against it; you could feel your pain fading and it was a great relief. You only wished you could hear your family’s voices before you completely left them, they were fading as well. Eventually, everything slipped into nothingness and you felt… euphoric.

When you opened your eyes, everything was black. You were sure that you had your eyes open, so why was everything so dark? Was this the afterlife? You expected it to be more… heavenly. However, you weren’t complaining; your entire body felt light and you felt waves of peace waft over you. This was nice. You didn’t have much time to relax while you were living.

After a while of staring into nothingness and just peacefully floating in one place, you became restless. Sure this was nice, but your hands itched to tinker with something. You’ve never done well with sitting in one place for too long, that’s always been your weakness. You tried to push your body off from anything so you could at least float around, but that proved useless when there was nothing to push off from. When you tried flapping your wings- well, wing- you only succeeded in spinning in circles. At least you thought you were spinning in circles, the inky abyss was unchanging and it was starting to mess with your perception. Your senses felt like they were deprived, but the worst thing about it was the overwhelming silence.

So, you talked to yourself to fill the ringing silence. You were merely voicing your thoughts, repeating your lessons you’ve taught Arthur over the last few weeks. After a while, you were running out of things to talk to yourself about. So, you sighed and crossed your arms. They were very pale, you were actually dead this time, huh? You could only wait to see your brothers and Arthur when it was their time, hoping that they wouldn’t come to you too soon. It pained you to remember that you would probably never see Philza again, but who knows; the universe has a strange way of working.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, (y/n).” You screamed at the soft voice that cut through the overwhelming silence and whipped your head around. There stood a woman that looked to be in her early thirties with long black hair and tanned skin. You could not see the upper half of her face as it was covered by a crow mask, however her eyes glowed a bright white. She was smiling at you with melancholy and bittersweet happiness. The two giant white feathered wings sprouted from her back were glowing slightly. The powerful and intense aura that loomed around her was the complete antithesis of the gentle smile she was giving you.

“Calm down,” she flew over to you and wove her hand in the air. You immediately felt a wave of calm ease over you. “That’s better. You’ve been through so much, my little fledgling.” Her little fledgling? That was something you’ve recently started to call Arthur.

“Who are you?”

“Oh where are my manners? I’m Kristin, the Goddess of Death. I wish I didn’t have to do this, but I’m here for your life.” You hummed, “that makes sense.” She tilted her head slightly and somehow the eyeholes of the mask morphed into an eyebrow raise. Was that her actual face? “You’re not scared of death?”

“No, I’ve already died twice- no, three times already. But this is- it’s different. Is that because I’ve lost my last life?”

“You’ll find out in due time. Ender, you’re everything Phil described you as and then some.”

You perked up slightly, “you know my Dad?” Her airy chuckle brought you even more at ease, “of course I do, he’s my husband.”

You gaped at her, “so does that- does that make you my mom?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it, I wouldn’t want to push you into something you didn’t want.”

“I’ve always wanted a mom. D-don’t get me wrong, Dad’s done more than enough for me he’s an amazing parent-”

“I understand and I’d love to be the mother of someone so smart. You’re destined to do great things one day, my little fledgling.” You tilted your head slightly, “greater than being an inventor?”

She nodded, her black locks swaying with the movement, “greater than being an inventor. Our time together is coming to a close.” She flew over gracefully and pulled you into a hug. You reciprocated it. Her hug felt warm and welcoming. It was hard to believe that she was the Goddess of Death, you always thought Kristin would be ruthless and cruel.

“You will face many trials and tribulations and you must persevere through them. This is indeed your reality, but you share it. Do not be afraid to ask for help. The world can be a lonely place, but remember that you are never truly alone.”

She pulled away from you and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, the beak of her mask poking you. Suddenly, the weightlessness feeling disappeared and you felt a tugging sensation from deep within your chest. Your body was sent flying through the abyss, the gripping sensation you felt in your inner chest felt very intimate somehow. After a bit of screaming, you were still flying through the void. You had no idea how long you were flying for, but eventually you just crossed your arms and went limp in the mysterious embrace. Aaaanny time now.

Eventually you saw a pinprick of light far off into the distance and it was rapidly approaching you. You sighed out a drawn out “finally.” And watched as it came at you at mach speed. After you crashed into it, everything went white.

You jolted up with wide eyes and looked around panting. You saw the walls of your childhood room? So you didn’t die? Then what the hell were you doing in the void? You were so sure that you died permanently. That you lost your last life. When you glanced out the window, everything was dark. When you sat up, you felt the familiar tugging sensation of the scar tissue around the base of your wing, except it was less intense and you had less mobility in your right shoulder. You glanced at the hearts on your wrist expecting to see three empty outlines. Instead, two ruby red hearts stared at you.

Impossible. Impossible. You were in your last life so even if you didn’t die, you should still only be in your last life. Your second life was taken from you in an explosion. It should not show up on your wrist. Furrowing your eyebrows, you ignored the sound of the door opening and footsteps rushing towards you. You ignored hands appearing in your vision and hovering unsure above your hand.

You only looked up when the hand grabbed your wrist and blocked the two perplexing ruby red hearts. You saw Philza with a look of immense relief on his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“I don’t know.” You looked back at your covered wrist and took it out of Philza’s grasp, staring at the two red hearts again in confusion. “I-I should only have one life. Where’s Arthur? Ender, he’s probably so scared. Did you leave my prosthetic in the cave?” Your rapid fire questioning was stopped by a hand on your shoulder.

“Slow down, you only just respawned.” You threw your hands up in frustration (well, you tried with your right arm, it only moved to about two thirds of your full range of movement before you felt a slight pain and a stretching sensation), “how the hell do I respawn when I was on my last life?”

“You aren’t-”

“Yes I am! Fuck man, how do you forget that?! First time: Warden. Second time: explosion! I know I just died for the last time, so how am I still here?!” You glared up at him. It astonished you that he just forgot about the first two times you died. Who forgets their own kids’ deaths? It takes a real monster to forget things like that.

“(Y/n), you’ve only died once and that was because the infection you got was too severe,” he put a gentle hand on your shoulder and pulled you into a hug. You pushed him away and seethed, “How do you not remember! Ender, did the last two and a half years just escape you? You’re fucking immortal, almost three years is nothing to you!”

“Two and a half- (y/n). Two and a half years ago you were fourteen and you were barely just learning how to do tricks midair.”

“No, I’m twenty years old! How the fuck do you forget your own kid’s age?”

“You turned seventeen six months ago, (y/n).”

You ran a frustrated hand through your hair and laughed sardonically, “I’m not dealing with your bullshit right now. Where’s Arthur?” You stood up with shaky legs and swatted his hands away. “I don’t know an Arthur. Please lay back down, you’re-”

“First you forget my deaths, next my age, and now Arthur?! What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Where is he?” You gritted the last sentence out through clenched teeth.

“Who-”

“Curly red hair, freckles, always smiling, about yay high,” you flailed your hand from side to side rapidly at your mid torso, “your grandson. That ring a bell?”

“No because I don’t have a grandson. Sit down, I think I know what’s happening.”

“No. Not until I see Arthur.” You brushed his shoulder as you walked by him and out of the room. You could hear him following behind you, but you ignored him. After you ripped Arthur’s door open, you paused in the doorway.

The entire room was decorated with Wilbur’s belongings. Instead of random bags of redstone dust and small contraptions that Arthur was too proud of to throw away, piles of sheet music and the occasional book was strewn about. Instead of the poster of you Arthur had hung up on the wall (you had laughed at it at first, he still geeked out over you even though you were his parent), a picture of the family was there. Despite it being a sweet picture (it was one of the very few ones of the family where everybody was smiling at the artist and not moving around), it shook you to your core. “A-Arthur?” You whispered in a broken voice. What was going on, where was he?

You faintly felt someone put a hand on your shoulder. You however stood frozen clutching the door handle in your hand until you walked over to the nightstand. It was completely barren except for the glasses case sitting near the lamp. This isn’t right, this isn’t right at all. Arthur’s things should be there, not Wilbur’s.

“No, no, no, no this isn’t right.” You broke off into mumbling while staring at Arthur’s (or Wilbur’s?) nightstand desperately trying to find the feather hidden somewhere. Once again, you felt a hand on your upper arm. “Everything’s right, (y/n).” You said nothing as you stared at the glasses case on the nightstand. “C’mon, let’s go sit down.” You barely registered him leading you gently back to your room and handing you a glass of water. “(Y/n)?”

“Why is his stuff just- just gone? Everything was there before I left.”

Philza was silent for a moment, his feathers ruffling and brushing against your arm. “...Sometimes when a person’s been through something traumatic and they’re about to die, they sort of… make up their own reality without knowing that they’re doing it. It’s the brain’s way of coping.

“This reality could last anywhere from a few days to years for them with the events seeming real, but in actuality only a few minutes have passed and nothing that the person thinks happened actually happened. It’s just the person’s subconscious mind playing out scenarios that they think would happen or wished had happened.”

You felt like you were previously walking on a stable sheet of ice before you were plunged into the icy abyss of unknowing. You felt several emotions coursing through your veins ranging from anxiety and frustration to grief and disbelief. The cup of water in your hands became incredibly blurry before you were pulled into his chest. He wrapped his arms and wings around you tightly and held your face securely against his shoulder. He started rocking you back and forth as you felt the tears silently leave your eyes and your breathing shudder. You felt yourself start to sob when a barrage of thoughts came and the reality of the situation hit you.

None of your inventions actually existed.

L’manberg doesn’t exist.

Your name was unknown.

The last two and a half years were pointless.

Arthur doesn’t exist.

Your precious Artie, the little boy that idolized you, begged for you to teach him everything you knew, followed you around like a little duckling, held your feather against his chest as he slept, enthusiastically asked you if you could take him flying, your little fledgling, your pride and joy, your son, didn’t fucking exist. You were never going to see his smile again. You were never going to laugh with him as you took him into the clouds. You were never going to cook breakfast with him again. He was never going to give you magnets again. He was never going to ask you to teach him something or ask you to help him with his own inventions. He was gone and there was nothing you could do to get him back.

“I- I prom-mised him that I’d never leave him.” You sobbed into his shoulder, clutching onto his shirt. “I fucking promised him and I’m never gonna see him again.”

(A/N): ok so a little explanation, chapters 4-mid 15 didn’t actually happen. It was in the reader’s mind as after they passed out in chapter 3. There was foreshadowing (esp in chapter 4, I consider chapter 4 to be the chapter where the brain is getting used to the illusion it set up (hence the title “what is real”)). It explains why the reader couldn’t remember their own death. The line “You were probably still in the cave bleeding out as your delirious mind turned stone into the comforting walls of your home. You were probably imagining hearing your dad’s voice in a last chance to comfort yourself as you neared your impending doom” was pretty self explanatory. In the last chapter, the souls saying “wake up, we need to get you out of here” and “don’t leave me” were Philza’s voice cutting through (”The voices ranged from... familiar to unfamiliar”)

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sehnsuchts-trunken · 3 years ago

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Well, now I’m obviously obliged to return here to ask for your headcanons for merlin the series 😂

absolutely I will gladly share these, I've been sitting on some of them for months :)

- Gwaine never stops picking bar fights. Never. The only difference is that now he can go to much greater lengths because no matter what, there's six others who will absolutely help him, at least the second it actually looks like he could get hurt. And god, does Arthur scold him. And god, does he not care. Like he will just. Smile and move on to the next brawl.

- Gwen is a seamstress, I think? And despite not sitting on the throne just yet for me, once she does become queen, she may abandon her old servant-y duties, but she certainly keeps sewing. Sewing for Arthur. And I am not in any way a good judge of clothing but. Those shirts and coats are the best looking in all of Camelot. Arthur may not brag about a lot but hell does he brag about Gwen's skills, and he has every right to. Even the Knights look quite jealous.

- By the way, Arthur really doesn't brag a lot. He grew up like a prince, like a royal, at court, in a huge ass castle, with servants and everything, so of course sometimes he'll be pretentious and arrogant and he won't notice at all, but he never mindfully does so, he never mindfully wants to make anyone feel bad about what they have or has to feel good about what he has himself. But. This doesn't count for one thing and one thing only and that is Gwen. Like this man will talk about her for two weeks straight if you let him, he would never talk about anything or anyone else ever if he could. And he will so definitely brag about her. He also totally tells their story wrong, if anyone asks. And then she just grins and goes like "actually sweetie if I remember right I was the one who kissed you first"

- Morgana is kind of a fashion nerd and has always been. She just loves to combine different things and wear dresses and pantsuits in unconventional ways and colours and I absolutely despise the way they completely mess up this wonderful character trait by making her wear only dresses. Like, you cannot convince me that she didn’t wear leather trousers at some point, or Arthur’s loose white shirts paired with a beautifully intricate corset.

- Leon has canonically died like seven times in this series and I don't understand, so I will literally just say that wow does he have good luck and he uses it when playing games/doing bets with the other knights. Also he braids his hair into these little Viking braids sometimes. He has a great, wholesome sense of humour too. I love him, he's precious.

- In the episode I'm currently watching, the guys find out that there's a traitor in their ranks (actually Leon's the one who finds out, he's great, did I say that already), and Arthur begins to like, go through all the Knights and people and tries to find out which of them betrayed him. And like, despite Leon I think he goes through all of them? Maybe not Gwaine, but like, maybe, idk. Anyway the others learn about this at some point and they all make sure to get back at Arthur by pretending like they're betraying him and then literally just leading him to the basement where they all met up and created a "Fuck Arthur Pendragon" club (some of them took it a bit too literally.)

- The running gag with Merlin being at a tavern is now known and being used by everyone except for Arthur, because he's always been the one it's being used on and doesn't understand why everyone laughs (well, maybe, that it's funny that Merlin's a drunkard. but in a way he's more worried) But everyone else just knows this inside joke and the second someone dares to tell it, everyone is laughing their asses off and will not calm down for an hour.

- Who's missing? I'm missing someone. Who am I missing???

- Elyan! Yeah I got nothing on him lol.

so seems like this is it-

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years ago

Text

Play For Me (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: This could be read as a part 2 to Goodbye Kisses but it can definitley be read as a stand alone. This takes place after the events of Blessed Are The Peacemakers mission. Here is my RDR2 masterlist and here is the link to go to if you’d like to be on any of my taglists.

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: slight spoilers for chapter 3, pure fluff

Summary: Rarely does Arthur get a chance to play his guitar. So when he’s stuck at camp healing from a bullet to the shoulder, he takes the opportunity to play.

***

Your eyes flickered around the small group gathered at the fire nearest to Pearson’s wagon. You chewed on your bottom lip when you didn’t spot him among the faces there.

“Come have a seat with us, Y/N!” Sean patted the empty chair next to him. His words drew everyone’s attention to you.

“No thank you, Mr. MacGuire.” You looked over to one of the tables where poker was sometimes played or where Tilly or Mrs. Grimshaw played dominos. The table was empty.

“You look lost.” John commented.

“Just lookin’ for Arthur.” You sighed. “He’s been gettin’ more and more restless with havin’ to stay at camp, especially since he’s been gettin’ better.”

“How is his shoulder doin’?”

“Still hurts him, but he can move it. I’m sure he’ll have trouble with it the rest of his life.”

“Yeah. Well, I haven’t seen him.”

“He probably slipped out while you were busy lookin’ the other way.” Bill snorted. “That’s what I woulda done with all you’re nagging.”

“And that is precisely why you haven’t found yourself a nice girl like Y/N.” Karen gestured to you.

“Thank you, Karen.” You smiled at her.

You excused yourself, turning to make sure none of the horses were missing. Arthur’s horse was still hitched right next to yours, but you knew very well that he wouldn’t take his horse. If he truly had left camp, his horse would be the first thing you’d look for.

As you were approaching one of the two areas the horses were kept, you spotted Hosea brushing down Silver Dollar.

“Good evening, Hosea.”

“Ah, Y/N!” He glanced up only momentarily before returning to brushing the horse. “Good evening to you.”

“Have you seen Arthur? I’ve been lookin’ all over for that man and I swear….” You trailed off, shaking your head.

“Oh, don’t you worry about him leaving camp.” Hosea chuckled, shaking his head. “He wouldn’t dare leave camp before getting the okay from you and Mrs. Grimshaw. I spotted him earlier taking that guitar of his down towards the water.”

You turned your head to look in the direction of the lake.

“I didn’t even think to look down there.” You thought out loud.

“How’s he been with having to be on bedrest?” Hosea tucked the brush into a pocket on a saddlebag and buckled it up before moving around to the front of Silver Dollar and rubbing his nose.

“He did fine at first…. For maybe the first four days. But then he wanted to get up and at least do somethin’ around camp.” You absentmindedly picked at your nails. “He hates not doin’ nothin’. He’d rather be out there gettin’ shot at and startin’ fights at saloons than be here and have me gettin’ after him for not listenin’ to me.”

“Oh, I know. Always made such a fuss when he was younger and he had to act with manners.” Hosea smiled fondly. “But he cares about you. That’s why he listens to you.”

Your eyes met him for a few moments, something inside your chest swelling at his words. Had Arthur told Hosea this? Or was it that easy for Hosea to see?

You looked away from him, tucking a few stray pieces of hair behind your ear.

“I better go see if he’s down by the lake.” You took a few steps away from him. “Thank you, Hosea.”

“Anytime, my dear.”

***

You found Arthur sitting at the base of the tree that grew near the edge of the water. He sat with his knees bent slightly and his guitar resting in his lap. He wore a pair of jeans over top of his gray union suit. The sleeves of the union suit were pushed up to his elbows.

As you drew closer to him, you could hear the quiet music coming from the instrument.

Sensing someone was watching him, Arthur turned his head to look back in the direction of camp. He caught sight of you and the look of panic and concern that someone had caught him disappeared. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You’ve been hidin’ from me.” You pulled up your skirts just a little so you could sit on your knees. You sat next to him, facing him so you could see him.

“Just wanted some peace and quiet. Uncle was gettin’ rambunctious. Talkin’ ‘bout how we were like one in the same and best friends now and all that nonsense.” Arthur muttered, shaking his head.

“Oh, he’s just teasin’ you. He knows how easy it is to get you worked up, especially right now when you’re stuck at camp.” You reached up to brush your fingers through his dark blond hair. “Should’ve told me you were playin’. I would’ve come down here with you to listen. You know I love it when you play.”

He looked down to watch his fingers as he strummed the strings. The movements were slow and steady.

“How does your shoulder feel?” You asked softly.

“Hurts, but I don’t think that’ll go away. Just gotta get used to it.”

“What kind of hurt?”

Arthur thought about the answer for a moment while his fingers worked over the strings of the guitar.

“Like someone’s takin’ their thumb and pressin’ as hard as they can right on to the nerves in that one area. It doesn’t hurt that bad. I can ignore it. Annoyin’ more than anything.”

“Can I take a look?”

He nodded and quit strumming the guitar. You reached out to start working the buttons on his gray union suit, but before you could even get to the very first one, Arthur was taking one of your hands and bringing it to his lips. He kissed the back of your hand softly, tenderly, his thumb tracing a circle over the space he didn’t kiss.

No words were exchanged as he released your hand and let you go about unbuttoning his union suit. You only had to undo the first three buttons. You pushed the shoulder of the suit down enough so you could see the healing wound on his shoulder. There was a bandage over it, but you pulled it aside.

“How does it look?” Arthur asked, cornflower blue eyes glued to your face.

“Looks a lot better than it did four weeks ago.” You replaced the bandage and pulled the material of his union suit back into place.

“Good. Maybe now you can sleep through the night without wakin’ me up to check on me.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” You began to put the buttons through each eyelet in the suit.

“You worry too much.”

“I’ll always worry too much. You have a nasty habit of drawin’ bad things to yourself, Arthur Morgan. Especially since Dutch has started lettin’ Micah take the lead on things.”

He said nothing.

Your eyes drifted up from his union suit to his face.

“How are you likin’ this beard?” You asked, your gaze flickering over the dark beard he was sporting. He hadn’t shaved since before he was hurt, so it had grown out to be much longer than either of you were used to.

Arthur grunted and brought his hand up to rub his jaw.

“Need to shave it off. It’s too long.”

“I kinda like it.” You smiled. “Think it makes you fit in with everyone else here. Bill and Uncle and John.”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

You giggled.

“Will you play for me for a little bit?” You asked him, moving to sit against the tree beside him. “At least until the sun goes down?”

Arthur shifted his hold on the guitar, turning his head to watch you get comfortable next to him. Though you had asked him if he’d play, you had already made up your mind that you were going to sit there and he was going to play whether his answer was yes or no.

“Only for you.” He leaned over to kiss your forehead.

He kept his eyes down, focusing on how he was moving his fingers across the strings. But he could feel your gaze on him, feel your eyes studying the side of his face.

It was so strange how if it had been anyone else staring at him, his stomach would twist up and he’d get too nervous and mess up. He’d want to immediately retreat to the comfort and safety of his caravan. He didn’t like people watching him too much, and especially not too close.

But you weren’t staring at him. You were observing him. Your eyes were soft and kind, taking in every little microexpression he made. You were mapping out his face- as if you hadn’t done it a thousand times before. You were admiring him like he was some breathtaking beauty. And it confused the ever living hell out of him. He couldn’t understand how you were so captivated by him. There was nothing special about him.

You leaned over and kissed the corner of his eye, then when he turned his head to look at you with furrowed brows, you stole a kiss from his lips.

“You’re bein’ soft on me.” He commented, his voice low and quiet. It matched the beautiful sound coming from the guitar.

“I’m always soft on you, Mr. Morgan.” You smiled. Your eyes flickered down to the guitar, unable to hold his intense gaze any longer. “I’m…. Arthur, I know you’ve heard it from me a dozen times in the past few weeks…. But I really am glad you’re okay.”

He pulled one hand away from the guitar, making the music stop, and reached over to cup your cheek. He tilted your head up so you had no choice but to look at him once more.

“Wouldn’t’ve been able to do it without ya.” His breath was warm as it fanned over your face. His lips ghosted over yours and then he kissed the space in front of your ear. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you.”

You pulled away enough to be able to look into his eyes. Your lips parted as if you wanted to say something, but they got caught in a lump in your throat.

With his brows gently crinkled, he leaned forward to kiss your head.

“Thank you for bein’ strong for me. I know it wasn’t easy for you to see me like that. All…. All busted up and beat to hell. But thank you for takin’ care of me. Thank you for-for stayin’.”

“I love you, Arthur.” You leaned forward against his lips, shivering under his touch. “Even when I’m scared as hell, I-I won’t leave your side. I couldn’t do it.”

He held his breath for a moment, his hand coming up to the back of your head. Then he chuckled. He moved his head so he could kiss your cheek.

“Anybody ever tell you that you might be crazy? I mean, fallin’ in love with an outlaw?”

You giggled softly as his breath tickled your ear, turning your head instinctively. This put your nose into the crook of his neck. You took the opportunity to kiss him on the side of his neck, knowing very well he was ticklish there, and smiled when he brought his shoulder up to his ear.

“Hey now! That ain’t fair!”

“It was too good a chance to pass up.”

Arthur’s eyes found you, but they didn’t stay on you for long. There was something moving behind you that caught his attention. It was Karen and Sean walking along the shore of the lake. They hadn’t noticed you yet but they were heading in your direction.

You could sense Arthur tense up and see the look on his face shift from the carefree, tender one only you got to see, to the more hardened Arthur that the rest of camp knew.

You looked over your shoulder, frowning as you saw the couple idly walking along the shore.

“Come on.” You patted Arthur’s knee. “Let’s go back to camp and change those bandages.”

“Didn’t you just change them?”

“Yeah, this mornin’. It’s past noon. You need to change them again. We don’t need you gettin’ an infection.”

He sighed and muttered something incoherent under his breath as he got to his feet.

“You drive me crazy, woman.”

“That is what I’m here for, sweetheart.”

Taglist: @winterwolf @doggone-cowgirl @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader fluff #arthur morgan fluff #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 fic #rdr2 fic #arthur morgan fic #oneshot #queenxxxsupreme

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carnelianns · 5 years ago

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(Ikesen and Ikevamp) Sorry if this has been asked before. But how about an MC who went back to her own time only to find out she was pregnant. How would the boys reaxt if she comes back somehow a few years later but with a young child she says is theirs.

im sorry for keeping u waiting this long anon huhu,, i only did the vamps but, if my askbox allows, i’ll come back to do the sen boys too ! i didn’t have a specific gender for their children so jus imagine the lil rascal any way u want

Napoleon Bonaparte

When you come back through that door with a fascinated child holding your hand, it’s him you meet first again, and the tears are already glossing his eyes over before you can say anything.

He literally has no words when you smile gently, saying it’s his. Napoleon swallows the bump in his throat before making his way to the both of you, holding the two of you in his arms for only god knows how long.

“I.. can’t wait to live my life with you both, nununche,” he mumbles into your hair, ears slightly tinged, only causing you to laugh at his adorable antics.

As a father, he isn’t very strict, and he isn’t all that good in child-rearing, either. But he tries — you have to keep reminding yourself of this when you catch them in a compromising position, usually when you see your child holding a foil with a goofy smile.

“Nunuche.. I can explain,” Napoleon says calmly when you first find the two of them — well, three; it seems Jean was in on this little practice, though he quickly bolted when he saw you — parading around the training room with the foils.

“Mamma, papa said he was the King! He teached me how to be King!” Your child exclaims, flailing the weapon around excitedly as your gaze only darkens.

“Well, you see, I meant emperor, but—” his words die down when he sees your unimpressed face practically dripping with the murderous intent he’s so used to fighting against on the battle field

Slowly kneeling down to meet your child’s eyes, you see him whispering something incoherent before the little one nods seriously, slowly putting down the foil.

Then, as if counting down ‘3, 2, 1′, Napoleon immediately hoists your child up in his arms, running out of the room as both his laughter and your child’s squeals echo throughout the halls.

“Napoleone di Buonaparte, get your ass back here right now!” You scream, running after them.

“3, 2, 1 — Vive L’Empereur!” The two of them scream back, before bursting into laughter. They’re always in sync. It’s exasperating.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

“That child is.. mine?” He asks, slightly jaw-slacked, pointing at the child that undeniably looks like him, if the identical beauty mark or violet eyes are anything to go by.

“Do you.. not want—”

“I never said that,” he instantly cuts you off, going over to kneel at the confused child. With a slight smile, in an attempt to hold his tears back, he manages, “So.. how was spending time with that clumsy mother of yours?”

Mozart doesn’t really know how to spend time with his child, though he’s clearly not opposed to carrying the little rascal around on his shoulders, or dragging the child clinging onto his leg around when stubbornness bites.

You often don’t know what he’s thinking whenever he spends time with your child, or the whole situation, but rest assured, he wouldn’t change it for the world, despite how he may look.

A clear example of this is when you once walked into the piano room only to see your little darling on top of the grand white piano itself, snoozing on top of a small comforter whilst your lover plays the soft tunes you’ve grown to love.

Shock holds you captive as you stare at the lovely sight, before finally trailing off, “Mozart..”

Without so much as glancing at you, he replies, voice hushed in a soft tone you don’t hear so often. The blissful smile on his face speaks thousands of words.

“I thought you were the only one foolish enough to let your guard down in front of me… It seems I was wrong.”

Leonardo da Vinci

He had an inkling the moment he saw the child sporting caramel eyes so similar to his own, tawny gaze regarding the large mansion with wonder.

And when you did reveal that the child is actually his, he only pulled you close to his chest, hoisting the little one up with his other arm.

“Papa has a lot of time to make up to you, doesn’t he?”

Leonardo is good with children, if it isn’t obvious. Not in your conventional dad way wherein he brings the child to school — in fact, he probably fell asleep in the hallway just when the two were about to leave — but he's awfully good at keeping his child entertained.

Running around the mansions, creating new inventions, learning a new language — sometimes, you have to remind yourself that this child’s father is literally Leonardo da Vinci.

A position you often see them in, however, is snoozing on the floor, probably near the library, your child a small ball curled into Leonardo’s arms and head in the crook of his neck.

“Again? Really?” You can only huff, though that doesn’t stop the small smile from spreading on your face as you brush the locks of hair out of your lover’s face.

“Cara mia,” he rasps out, cracking a bleary eye open and gripping your wrist softly. Then, he smiles, all sorts of soft and lovely and.. unguarded.

“You two.. are the best things that have happened to me.”

Arthur Conan Doyle

Arthur tries swallowing back the lump in his throat when he sees you standing in front of that damned door, though to no avail as a tear slips.

He starts full-on crying when you say that you’re back for good and that the child is his, and he’ll have to be comforted by yours and your child’s tiny arms before he even plans to stop.

“Ah, crying like that on our first meeting… Don’t you think your fath — I’m a bit embarrassing?” He asks, sniffling as he musters a smile.

Your child giggles, blue eyes crinkling. “No! Mommy told me a whooooole lot about you, daddy!”

He has to stop himself from sobbing again.

Arthur wastes no time in making up for what he’s missed, and every single day is one you’d find the two of them either in town or messing about at home.

If not, then they’re probably just chilling in the comforts of his room, doing god knows what. The day you peek in to see what exactly they were up to was a blessed day.

Maneuvering yourself in a way that lets you see through the tiny crack of the open door, your jaw drops at the adorable sight of your child in a tiny deerstalker and trench coat far too big for his form, Arthur nodding with a serious look on his face.

“So, Watson, do you think crepes make mummy happier?” Your child asks, holding his magnifying glass up — one you’re sure is from Leonardo — like a mic in front of Arthur’s face.

He strokes his chin for a moment, before answering, “Seeing her reaction when we gave her the ones we bought yesterday, I deduce they do, Sherlock.”

“Good dedoo – deduck – deduction, Watson! I thought so too.”

Your heart literally melts. The two are far too cute for you, you having to calm yourself before walking in with the widest smile on your face. Dorks.

Vincent van Gogh

When you meet those familiar, cerulean eyes from your place in front of the door, they’re already glossy in seconds, a flurry of emotions clear on Vincent’s face, though his smile says it all.

“Is it too much to say I’ve been waiting for you this whole time?”

Vincent would be practically wallowing in regret that he wasn’t able to be a part of his child’s life for the first few years, leading him to do any and everything that will cause his child to smile. In simpler terms, he’s basically wrapped around the little one’s finger.

He’s so adorable and happy that he’s blessed with your lovely child, and there’s an immediate smile on his face when he so much as thinks about the little blondie.

He literally makes the other residents question whether or not they want a child too.

Their bonding time is painting and, more often than not, it ends up with all three of you cramped in the shower, scrubbing furiously at the sticky paint on their skin.

“I’m sorry for having you do this all the time,” Vincent’s soft voice only makes you sigh in relaxation as he massages your shoulders from behind you, causing your fingers to halt in their journey of rubbing some blue paint off your child.

“It’ll take more than that if you wanna make it up to me,” you hum, leaning back into his chest and looking up into his bright eyes.

Your lips were just about to meet, when —

“Mam, I’m not clean yet!”

You groan, Vincent only laughing as you meet the crossed arms of your child pouting child.

“Don’t give your mammie too much of a hard time, okay?” He never forgets to take care of you above all, of course.

Theodorus van Gogh

When he first sees you after years with a child, his child, grasping your hand, Theo has to literally disappear to cool his head off because he’s angry.

Not at you, no, never, but at himself. That he wasn’t there for his child, for you, and god, even if he were, would he have been a good father?

“Hon — Schatje,” he starts, running his fingers through his already messy hair and staring at you with eyes that practically bleed insecurity, his voice breaking. “How am I supposed to take care of a child when I couldn’t even take care of you?”

After many reassuring words and gentle touches, Theo’s finally okay, holding up and scrutinising your child much like how he does a painting. He’s, well, awkward.

Theo is surprisingly very gentle with your child because he honestly doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.

He’s also very grounded and doesn’t fall for cute little tricks that much either, so out of the residents, he’d be one of the better fathers.

“Nee.” “Papje, pleaaase?” “No. Non. Nee.”

Your lover’s fixed refusal causes you to peek your head into a lovely picture. Theo was holding a chocolate bar high above his head, steely gaze fixed on your young child with his puppy dog eyes in full view.

“Je mama said no chocolate, right?” Your heart warms when you realise he remembered your scoldings, though you can’t help but to feel bad for your whining baby.

“Theo,” you say, both their heads turning towards you. “How about you give the little baby some chocolate and we all enjoy some pancakes, yeah?”

The way both their eyes shine almost identically is adorable.

Dazai Osamu

When you showed up again with the child in hand, one he knows is his, his first thought, first wish, is that for that tiny thing to not be his. Because no one knows how harsh this world is more than the man who wished to end it all, so much more than once.

But Dazai makes up his mind when he sees you and your — his child staring up at him with those eyes that look so much like your own. He makes up his mind, despite his own continuous suffering, that he’ll never let this child go through what he had to.

“Was I staring too much?” He smiles, slightly sad and, well, empty. “I suppose it’s because the little one looks far too much like you.” Bright. Too bright for me.

As a father, he’s surprisingly really good with children? He quite enjoys seeing your child smile more than anything, and one way he knows how to do so is by perching the little one on his shoulders, running around the mansion as his hands intertwine with small, tiny fingers.

You don’t know whether to yell at him and his close-eyed grin, or simply laugh at the resonating giggles of your child. Probably both as you chase the two down the halls.

Dazai often zones out whenever he’s playing with your child, a look you can only describe as pure bliss on those handsome features of his. As you stare up at him, confusion clear on your features, you ask, “Hey, Dazai, why do you.. Zone out so much? Whenever you’re with, you know,” you motion to the snoozing one in between the both of you.

“Why do I zone out, you ask?” He gives you a smile, a real one this time, and gently pokes at the little ones cheeks. “I think.. I’ve found a wonderful reason to live, is all.”

Isaac Newton

“That’s… mine??” “That?” “... It?” “It?” “The.. child?”

Isaac is very flustered, for lack of better terms. He can barely manage the children he and Napoleon go see intermittently, but his own child? Lord, help him.

He gets awfully flushed whenever he’s carrying his child around the mansion because even then, he isn’t spared by Arthur and Dazai’s teasing remarks — in fact, it only seems to have gotten worse.

Isaac is surprisingly good at getting your rascal child to sleep with his bedtime stories, which are usually all his unsaid rambles.

“And did daddy get that bruise on his forehead because he slipped while chasing Uncle Dazai and Uncle Arthur?”

Your child nods, bright eyes sparkling and toothy grin showing. “Daddy also said, ‘Get back here, you devilish imbeciles!’”

Your accusatory gaze turns towards Isaac, who averts his eyes, holding an ice pack to his bruising forehead.

“I-In my defense, they were—”

“One more time, Isaac, and I’m changing this baby’s legal godfathers to the two imbeciles you love so much.”

Gaping, his eyes widen to the size of saucers, “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

He is now a grumbling mess when the two are around his child, but the lack of chasing them around with a stick in hand can be counted as an upgrade.

Jean d’Arc

When you walk through that door once more, nervously telling your lover that this child is his, you’re afraid of his reaction — after all, Jean is, despite his vampiric aging, barely an adult himself.

His jaw drops and he can’t stop staring at you nor the child with his inky locks, and you have to help him sit and calm down.

“Papa?” Your child asks, staring up at the still slightly panicked Jean as you hold your breath.

He stares for a moment, mouth wide, before finally, finally smiling, albeit a little awkward and rough around the edges. “Yes, little one?”

He’s extremely unaccustomed to this whole parent thing and can barely do anything without asking you first, so he feels bad quite often for having to lean on you so much.

Although he barely knows how to handle a sobbing child, nor can he entertain the child very well, you find that the both of them are quite content in each other’s presence as is.

Jean, well, looks ethereal as the sun shines through the windows in his room, a gentle smile gracing his face as he stares at his sleeping child.

He utters your name, causing you to look up, only to find him tracing circles around your child’s soft skin.

“Is this.. how it’s like to be happy?”

William Shakespeare

When Shakespeare wakes up to the news that you are, in fact, back at the mansion with a little surprise, he’s already there in no time.

He didn’t expect the little surprise to be a little child that’s practically an identical copy of him. But he’s always been more of a shoot first, ask questions later type of guy, so he immediately whisks you off to his manor, much to the exasperation of the residents who were surprisingly enjoying their time with the little Shakespeare lookalike.

Except he doesn’t really need to ask questions, because he’s already figured everything out through your soft, slightly nervous gaze, and your lovely little mannerisms.

“Alas, it seems the Heavens were kind enough to grant my wish,” he says as he stares at your child, only smiling to meet your confused gaze. “For I only wished you weren’t too lonely without my presence.”

William is always with his child, whatever the circumstances. Though he quite enjoys showing off his child, he’s also keen on spending his every waking second with the little tyke because he knows how it feels like to grow up lonely, and he wouldn't bestow that upon his own little one.

“Darling, it appears I has’t gotten myself into a slight predicament.”

If you could, you would have snapped a picture of your smiling lover practically itching to get up, yet unable to do so due to the sleeping child in his lap.

“And how did you get yourself into this predicament, my love?” You tease, your own smile on your face. He has a habit of reading his writings aloud, and it seems the little one fell asleep to William’s gentle voice.

“My works seem to be but a mere bedtime story to this little one,” he motions to the child, his smile softening. “I wonder why it does not dishearten me.”

Comte de Saint-Germain

“I was hoping you’d be back, ma chérie.” His perfunctory smile betrays the inner flurry of emotions inside him as he glances towards the child. “With a lovely little thing in hand.”

“Your lovely little thing,” you say gently, and the surprise outlining his normally composed face is something you’d forever save in your mind.

Comte is wrapped around the little one’s finger, his rotten spoiling being the effect of not being in your child’s life for a good while, and, of course, his indispensable regret for having you come back to him.

Many times have you asked Sebastian the whereabouts of your lover and your child, only for him to give you the look, responding that they were out yet again, and are probably not coming back without a few shopping bags in hand.

Then, to finally put a stop to it all, you decided to conduct a harmless experiment.

Placing a few coins on one side of his desk, a toy in the middle, and a beloved fruit on the side. After explaining to him that it’s to see what your child’s fate would be — picking between fortune, fun, and, well, snacks, you think — he simply leans back, interest shining in those eyes of his.

Unsurprisingly for you, your child pushes all these away in a second, opting to hug the wide-eyed man on the soft armchair behind the desk.

“And what.. does this mean, ma chérie?” He asks, honest-to-god confused as his hands slowly wrap around your child’s form.

You smile softly, “Isn’t it obvious, silly? The little rascal loves you more than anything.”

His eyes are suspiciously glossy before he laughs it off, preparing for yet another shopping spree — you regret everything.

Sebastian

He only gives you a knowing smile when you pass through the door with a young child gripping your hand.

“So.. this is the little one, is it?” He asks, tone soft as he walks towards you, wrapping a sturdy arm around your waist and meeting eyes with his child. “I’m a strict father, mind you.”

“Sebastian!” “I was joking. Slightly.”

Despite being a father, Sebastian is as strict and precise as ever around the mansion, rarely having to leave either his work or his family unattended due to his impeccable time management skills.

And if he struggles with both, well, he just has to merge them into one task, doesn’t he? Many are the times wherein the residents catch Sebastian working, his little runt on his tail or on his hip.

“They’re at it again, you know,” Mozart says in passing, only causing you to groan.

“Sebastian! How many times have I told you not in the kitchen?” You exclaim, walking into the kitchen to find your lover and your child tackling yet another chore together.

It seemed to be baking this time, if the flour on both of their faces says anything.

“Mama!” Your child exclaims with powdered hands as Sebastian says blankly, “We’re doing chores.”

You merely roll your eyes, sighing as you walk out the room. Your apology comes later when a sloppy cupcake makes its way into your view.

Your eyes move up to your proud looking child, hair obviously patted down in an attempt to look presentable while your lover sports a tiny grin on his own face.

“We made this for you, mom! Papa said he wanted to make you reaaaally happy.”

Sebastian’s head instantly snaps down, eyes narrowing, “Hey.”

You can only laugh at your two babies, taking a bite of the surprisingly good and sweeter than an average cupcake.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #napoleon bonaparte #wolfgang amadeus mozart #mozart #leonardo da vinci #arthur conan doyle #vincent van gogh #theodorus van gogh #theo #dazai osamu #isaac newton #jean d'arc #william shakespeare #shakespeare #comte de saint germain #comte #sebastian #headcanons

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verdemoun · 6 months ago

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Okay, but what I want to know is how does Arthur and Kieran’s friendship change in the “very chill about his murder and befriending said murderer” Isaac timeline??? While I am very much hoping that not much does, you can't tell me Arthur (and Eliza) wouldn't hold a bit of a grudge for WHILE after finding out, to the point they go out of their way to keeping Issac away from Kieran/lessening his visits (which of course, eventually leads to Bessie and Hosea running interference and forcing the three to address their issues. Not just for Arthur/Kieran/Eliza’s sake, but also for their own. No way in hell will they allow their precious grandchild, who’s still way too relaxed about this entire situation for it to be healthy, to be kept from them).

How do the rest of the gang who weren't present for the initial reveal react when they do find out— if at all? Is this entire thing something only a few are privy to and kept under wraps, or does it become common knowledge?

very, very slowly.

arthur couldn't bring himself to talk to kieran for a long time or look at him without glowering, which only left kieran a mess despite feeling/knowing he deserved far, far worse. finds it really unnerving that isaac had known all these years and still considers kieran one of his favorite people and for all the times he is a little shit he has always been really kind and decent to kieran

also arthur has known kieran for 5 years at this point. he still lived with bessie and hosea after sean+lenny and their gang moved out. kieran was part of his daily life. he cares and worries about the little wimp and finds kieran delightful to be around how can that be the same person who destroyed his life

eliza absolutely forbids isaac from visiting or arthur taking isaac to hosea's on his days, which arthur agrees to. but isaac is a certified shit he's sneaking out and going to bessie and hosea's on their own and they just cannot resist grandbaby time despite knowing eliza will be furious when she finds out and isaac is still trying to check in on kieran because he knows his autistic uncle/murderer will not be handling it

arthur has to do a lot of self-reflection and unpacking because isaac in one of his tantrum about not being able to stay at bessie's weekends anymore makes the point aren't all the gang murderers you don't get to pick and choose which murders are considered bad just because it actually impacted you. arthur carries a vague sense of guilt over all the lives he ruined with his many, many, many murders over the years. acab but that was still someone's son/husband/father. he saw what happened to the downes', and how that lead to his own death (also one of the cops who is buddy buddy 'oh you' whenever isaac is in trouble is the grandson of archie downes isaac loves accidentally becoming besties with people who haunt arthur's past)

also... no one can hate kieran as much as he hates himself. nightmares about colm might leave him in a cold sweat and trembling but nights where his brain reminds him what he did? all he can do is cry because that guilt never lessened or went away. arthur sees and knows that. really, there is nothing he can do to make kieran feel worse about it than kieran already does

so they end up becoming friends again. it's sort of a thing where sometimes the anger is a fresher than usual and he'll avoid kieran for a while but he can't just turn his back on kieran because he does care about the weird little guy

eliza agrees to isaac staying nights again on the condition if anything happens to isaac she will personally be taking it out on kieran, who she understandably still hates. but even if she hates him, being around him passively it's so hard to actually see kieran as the young man who murdered her? he's so awkward and terrified of everything and pathetic. even if she hates him she would still stop to help if he was having a panic attack in public because she's just a good person.

arthur will sometimes awkwardly explain it to people who knew about isaac in canon era eg john, abigail, grimshaw (charles, obviously) but for the most part people are too awestruck by wait holy fuck arthur has a kid to immediately follow it up with who killed him and arthur doesn't make a point of telling people it was him

#rdr2 timewarp au

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writerdream22 · 4 years ago

Text

requested by no one, but I really hope you like this since it took a very long time to write ✨

pairings: Thomas Shelby x twin sister!reader, Shelby family x Shelby!sister!reader

warnings: some cursing. There might be some grammatical errors since English is not my first language. Set around s1. Even though I have not finished the series, I like a certain character that I mostly read about in fics, so he's mentioned too!

A/N: I had to rewrite these headcanons twice because damned Tumblr decided to glitch when I had to save the document. I'm slowly losing the will to write

Being part of the Shelby family had never been easy, at all

Especially when you're Thomas' twin sister and he's always got an eye on you

The two of you loved animals, especially horses, so you spent a lot more time together because of that

The two of you have always been very close, and Thomas has never let you down or seemed to stop caring for you

He always makes sure you're ok, but sometimes he can become very annoying and behaves more like a mother than a brother

“Do you need anything?”

“Tom, it's fuckin' four in the morning and I need to get up in a couple of hours! What could I possibly need at this hour? What do you want?”

“I just heard some noises and I- I just wanted to make sure that you were alive”

“We're not at the front anymore, brother. We're all right now, we're safe”

Before there were even rumors about an incoming war, you decided to become a nurse

Therefore, you were sent to the front in 1914

A little later than you, Thomas departed too and you knew that he wouldn't have come back the same

After the war ended, you and Thomas were indeed whole other people. Your brother had seen the horrors of the war, men dying in front of him and almost dying himself. You, a nurse, had failed to save many lives and you never forgave yourself for that.

As time went by, you thought of moving away from Small Heath. You always wanted to live in a nice apartment in London with your fiancée, who had died in the somme, so you never got to achieve your dreams.

You didn't want to stay in Birmingham anymore, even though you knew that it was not safe to move around the country when the Peaky Blinders business was growing at a rapid pace. So you talked to Thomas about it

“I want to go away”

“Where?”

“London. I've been there once, with James. A nice city, it is. We both know that Small Heath holds too many hurtful memories for me to contain”

“Please, y/n. Stay. We-I need you. Someday, when everything is settled down and the waters are calmer, you will move to London and I'll buy you the best cottage ever”

You could have never sais no to your favorite sibling, especially when he was saying the right thing, so you decided to stay in Birmingham

As time went by, you became Thomas' right-hand woman, and officially became part of the Peaky Blinders

You liked the Garrison, you could always find people who needed someone to talk to. You loved to be their confiant.

You sometimes went out with Ada, and even lied to your family about where she went when she was really visiting Freddie Thorne.

Sometimes, you even spent time with John, Arthur and little Finn. But the relationship you had with Thomas was much more meaningful.

There were days in which you felt down, in which you remembered the war. Although Thomas hadn't even slightly recovered yet, he was always ready to talk

“D'you need to talk?”

“I heard the screams again. The screams of those poor men whose live I did not save”

“You could not save them, it's not your fault. There's a big difference between do and can. Sometimes you're not able to do something, while things you can do are always an option”

“Wow, Tommy. Your words are so deep I-you almost sound like aunt Pol”

“Oh, shut it. I was trying to be comforting!”

You and your twin brother had this kind of relationship: you always made funny or sassy remarks to the other, but it helped you to ease the stress that the too much work gave you

When Thomas wasn't around, you talked to Polly about what troubles you. She was a wise woman, so you trusted her judgment.

When the whole family found out about the stolen arms cargo, you freaked out. It was not wise of your brother to hide something of that much importance from the government.

“What the hell were you thinking? I'm absent, and you make one hell of a mess?”

“Look, y/n, it was a-”

“A mistake, yeah! Go tell your fuckin' lies to someone else, I know how your mind works, Tom! You can't hide your plans from me”

To top your anger, Thomas started frequenting the new bartender working at the Garrison pub. Grace. You hated her, and she didn't like you either (she knew you could have discovered her plans)

“So, you're Thomas' sister, y/n, right?”

“I am”

“And you work with him, don't you?”

“Listen, I know what you want to know. I know what you want from my brother. You won't have it”

“You wanna bet?”

“I've never lost a bet, it's what I've done for a good part of my life, so brace yourself”

Thomas was so blinded by Grace's sight, that he never listened to your warnings

“Tom, she's bad news” or “She's hiding something, don't trust her. Ever”

So he started pushing you away, little by little

You knew that this was all Grace's fault, so you only waited for your twin to understand what he'd done and come back to you

But it never happened

Like when your fiancée died, Small Heath had stopped feeling like home, you didn't feel safe anymore. What happened there had profoundly carved marks in both your mind and heart.

And what did you do? You found comfort in another person's arms, who lived far away from Birmingham's obnoxiously toxic atmosphere

Who was said man? Alfie Solomons, and he surprisingly was the only one who never left you even when things were bad

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tamsin-moon · 4 years ago

Text

Home With You

Notes: Charles Smith x GN Reader. Warnings of capture, injuries, cursing, but overall is happy. Reader and Charles got together about two months after he joined the gang. Reader joined the gang at about the same time as Javier so is quite close with everyone. Reader got captured in Blackwater by Ike Skelding, but taken separately from Sean.

How long had you been tied up? That was the question most prominent in your mind most days. At first you had been able to keep track, but after a couple of weeks now at least, you had no idea. The memory of what had happened was as fresh in your mind as it was blurry with how much of a mess Blackwater had turned into. You know the job had started well and things were going to plan, but then as if a switch had been flipped everything was hell. You remember being with Sean when more then just the Pinkertons had shown up. You then remembered a searing pain in your side as a bullet hit you, followed by a couple men grabbing you and tying you up.

From there between the pain, adrenaline and blood loss everything had gone dark. Eventually you had woken up in a shack, still tied and gagged with your wound patched up and things gone. Angry and scared you had tried to get free, but it hadn’t worked. Eventually you learned who had you, Ike Skelding and his gang, but you did not know much more then that they were big and nasty. As days passed you would be barely fed, but kept alive and your wound cleaned up till it eventually healed. The gang debating what to do with you as the Pinketons bounty was good, but the O’Driscolls were paying for information as well. At least that is what you gathered when the men slipped up and talked around you.

Overall you had gotten thinner and weak, just wishing they would make up their minds already on what to do with you. As much as you still hoped for a rescue by your family it was looking less and less likely by the day and as much as it hurt to think about they probably thought you were dead. Your mind drifting to Charles in the end, as it always did, you would cry if you had any tears left as you once again realized you may never see him again.

Unknown to you, though, your hope for a rescue should actually be much higher as the day after Sean’s welcome home party the Irishman was going to find Arthur. Though he was quite hungover and his head was pounding it had sparked a memory in him. Just tidbits of stuff he had heard during his own capture, but if it was correct then someone needed to look into it fast. He would make sure, though, that Charles was not around as it was about you and he did not want to get his hopes up if he were to end up being wrong. Luckily it seemed the man was out of camp so when Sean found Arthur he was speaking plainly, “Hey Arthur, need to talk to ya’ about something”

At first Arthur would let out a sigh as he was settled at one of the tables and nursing his own hangover, but looking up and seeing Sean’s face he knew when the man was actually serious. Motioning for him to sit he would nod, “What is it? Can’t wait till my head stops pounding?” he asks a bit gruffly, but was rubbing a hand over his face when Sean shook his head and started speaking. “Was my own pounding head that had me remembering, when Skeldings boys had me tied up now and again I heard ‘em talking about someone else. Was busy trying to keep my own hide alive so it never really sunk in, but I heard ‘em mention grabbing the person from Blackwater. It might be Y/n.”

This would have Arthurs attention real quick and he was glad they were talking low, looking around to see most of the camp still asleep or just coming around as he did not want them overhearing such a sensitive topic. “Any idea where they are? Even if it isn’t them it needs to be looked into” he say after a moment and Sean would be scratching the side of his face, “Hoping I heard right but someplace called Widow Rock. Sounds like a spot they like to keep supplies more than folk so might be easy to search, but that’s all I really know”

It was a bit vague, but Arthur had been by the spot once, but not close enough to really see what was there. Eventually nodding he would get up, “Let’s go talk to Dutch about this.” Not even letting the man respond before he was heading for the tent in the middle of camp to do just that. Once everything was explained Dutch would be looking between the two of them, eventually nodding. “Arthur, take Lenny and go check it out. Try to keep it quiet cause we do not need to fight these boys again if it’s nothing” he instruct and it was easily agreed upon, Lenny looked the least threatening so if they were spotted it would be easier to play it off.

Sean did want to protest it had been his tip, but just being rescued himself he was not in right enough shape to really be useful. He would go and see the two off once they were ready and Lenny was in the loop, giving them both a nod before they were off, “Hope I am actually right about this” being all he said, the pair just nodding in return before turning and heading off at a trot. It would be a bit of a trip to get there and it was fairly quiet one once Lenny had asked all the questions he could think of, evening falling by the time they got into the vicinity.

Hitching their horses to a couple trees they would go the rest of the way on foot, guards up of course and soon reaching a vantage point. Looking over at what seemed to be a cabin, a few tents around and a couple wagons it actually seemed very quiet, definitely more of a supply hub. “So what’s the plan,” Lenny ask quietly once they put down their binoculars and Arthur would think, “Seems everyone is asleep or gone, you keep watch from here while I check out the cabin. If Y/n is here that’s where I’d keep a hostage. Whistle if someone starts coming to it.” It was a simple plan, really, but sometimes those worked the best and putting up his mask he would move.

Slow and steady he would keep low and to any bushes, hand ready to go to his gun, but for once things seemed to be on their side as he got to the door. Pushing inside quietly he would almost gasp as he came to the sight of you tied up on the bed, though asleep at the moment. Steadying himself he would creep close and gave your shoulder a shake, finger over his masked lips as you jolted awake, but the gag kept you from making any sound as it was. Your eyes widening as your senses came back to you, you would recognize him easily as he pulled his mask down a moment, “Just keep quiet, getting you out of here” he assure and once you nodded he was removing the gag.

From there he would cut your bonds and was returning your hug when you wrapped your arms around him tightly before you were hearing a whistle, “I got ya’, but we gotta move” he speak quietly before helping you up. Your legs wanting to give out on you as you did he pull your arm over his shoulder to keep you up. Getting back out the cabin he would have you both in the bushes as a man round the corner, but luckily he would not go inside giving you time to get back to Lenny. Hugging the younger man just as tightly as you had Arthur it would not be until you were back to the horses that you finally found your voice again, “Thank you, both of you”

It was hoarse, your throat dry from the damn rag near constantly in your mouth and never getting much to drink, but it was steady. “Just sorry we didn’t know where you were sooner” Arthur say as he help you up behind Lenny once he had mounted, “You’re safe now, let’s get back” the younger would add. Both spurring their horses into a trot once you were ready as a shout got your attention. Seemed they noticed you were gone, but you had a good enough lead they wouldn’t find you and the ride settled easily enough.

The trip back they would get you caught up on everything that had happened, who had survived, the train robbery and rescuing Sean. Letting you know it was said Irishman who got them to you as well and you would hum, “Will have to make sure to thank him” you agree before asking the question most on your mind, “How is Charles?” They had assured he was alive, but had he given up on you? Did he still want you? You were worried and Arthur would just give you a look, “He misses you, a lot, been even quieter than usual and does anything to keep himself busy” he tell you in a firm tone, all of them having been starting to worry about the man and if he was heading towards a breaking point.

As morning began to dawn again would be when the three of you were finally getting back and you could feel your heart pounding. You were eager to see everyone again of course, yet oddly nervous, so much had happened, but as you heard Javier calling out to you the happiness was winning out. Nearly falling as you slip from the saddle you were nearly tackling the surprised man in a hug, just needing the contact to know all of this wasn’t some dream. Feeling him hug you back tightly you would hear him say something in Spanish before repeating himself so you understood, “Y/n, you feel like a stick, but it is so good to see you”

Giving you a squeeze he push you along gently, though your legs were wobbly still with how weak you were, but you were determined to walk back to camp on your own, “Have Grimshaw look you over and Charles should be back tonight, think he went hunting boars on Pearsons request” he explain to you and you thank him, at least you would be able to clean up a bit then. Taking a deep breath as you head up the path with the others you could feel tears forming as you saw the wagons and everything turning into a blur as Tilly spot you first.

Your name shouted you would be pulled into different hugs and embraces before Grimshaw was getting hold of you. Being ushered into a tent she would be checking you over, fussing over every bruise and bump. Your wrists would be wrapped where the rope had rubbed them raw and any other cut would be patched up before she was letting you go, reminding you to eat slowly till your body could handle food fully again before she was hugging you tight herself. From there you would make your way to you and Charles tent, Tilly showing you where it was, and you felt your heart nearly in your throat as you enter.

Your trunk and bedroll were in a corner of it, though clearly there and taken care of, and when you open the trunk you would feel fresh tears. Inside would be a new gunbelt, looking to be trapper made, a clean knife and revolver settled inside, but it would make it clear your love had faith you would return. Moving the items carefully you would find fresh pants and a shirt to change into and for the first time in weeks you felt as clean as you could without a bath. Coming back out you would take the dirty clothes to be used for rags, they were torn up anyways and you weren’t sure if you could wear them again.

Heading to talk to Dutch and Hosea next you would tell them everything you could, though it really was not much, about what had happened to you. Both of them encouraging you to get your strength back up you thank them, eventually just settling by the main campfire and talking with any who came by. Mary-Beth bringing you water now and again along with a can of fruit to start getting you healthy. You would be sitting in front of the log, leaning against it and drifting into a nap now and again, the noise and bustle soothing over all.

Eventually evening would begin to fall again and you would have a little bit of stew. Looking up as Javier came to you once more he would be smiling, nodding towards Pearsons area, “Just saw Charles bringing stuff over there” he tell you and it had your heart clenching a moment as you look over. Getting to your feet you would not care what happened to the bowl as you made your way over, but once you were close you could not even find your voice.

Charles, meanwhile, was a bit confused. Was the camp really still in such a good mood from Sean coming back? He supposed it could be true, but yet at the same time everyone had just been giving him almost knowing looks and like they had something to say. It had him a bit frustrated as he brought over the pork, boar tusks and hides he had gathered. Honestly he had not cared why the man wanted the stuff in particular, he would take any distraction to keep his mind off of you. He did not want to forget you, no not that at all, just it hurt to think about as by now if you had not been found you were most likely dead.

He just couldn’t accept that, though, and could feel his thoughts wandering again before he realized Pearson was talking to him, “Mr. Smith I said you may want to turn around.” The cook would have that same knowing look and it had Charles arching a brow, just what was going on, but he would do as told. When he did it would be as if the world stopped, eyes widening as they fell on you, and he realized he was frozen as when a deep first sees a cougar. Had he died suddenly? He couldn’t even breathe and could feel his vision starting to go dark.

You would see him freeze and at first would stop moving yourself, but as you saw him starting to almost shake you were closing the distance. Hands cupping his cheeks quickly, “Charles? Sweetheart you need to breathe” you tell him firmly, worry beginning to build until you saw him take a breath. For him the world would seem to move again at your touch and your voice, his body reacting before his mind even could. Arms wrapping around you tightly he would be pulling you into his chest as his face buried into your shoulder, “Y/n?” It would come out almost as a whisper, but you heard it clearly.

Wrapping him tight in your arms in return you would be pressing kisses to his head, one hand coming up to run your fingers through his hair gently, “I’m here, I’m alive” you assure as you could feel him shaking and hot tears soaking into the shoulder of your shirt. Around you the others would be giving you space, but you would gently coax him over to a log in the tree line for a little privacy. You were almost surprised as he pulled you onto his lap, but would relish the closeness. His embrace what you had missed most of all and as your eyes met you could see all the emotion in them.

It matched your own in the fear and loneliness you had been feeling while captured, changing to the immense relief and happiness you felt now in his arms. Cupping his cheeks again to brush his tears away you did not miss as he leaned into your touch, asking slowly what had happened. Of course you would tell him what you remembered and then being rescued by Arthur and Lenny. The silence following a serene one as his forehead came to rest against your own, though he soon spoke, “I was just about to give up, when we found Sean and not you it was another blow and it seemed hopeless” he admit and it just had you softening.

You could understand, though, you had heard about them losing a bounty when it had happened. They had been so mad and it was where some of your recent bruises were from, but you would just lean in and kiss him slowly. Assuring you both you were together again, “I’m here, I am home.” Being all you said before his lips were on yours again in a deeper kiss, his hands finding your waist to pull you closer. You would feel him pause, though, breaking the kiss as he looked at you closely. He could see the thinness of your face and it had his worry spiking.

“I will get you healthy again” he say, his tone serious and it would have a chuckle coming from your lips, the first in so long. You would kiss his nose lightly, “I am sure you will and I am not going anywhere” you promise in return before he was wrapping you in his arms again. You could hear Javier begin to play his guitar, the others getting louder as they were celebrating another good thing, but right now you just stayed where you were, relishing the embrace of your love. You were home.

#rdr2 #rdr2 reader insert #charles smith x gn reader #charles smith x reader #gn reader #charles smith

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hasmerlindoneanythingwrong · 4 years ago

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Because @hasbedidoneanythingbad inspired me to do so, I am going to have a go at my take for the Lady of the Lake as a Fanservant. While most servants are pretty accurate representations of their mythological or historical self (or whatever their source might be, who am I to discriminate?), I tend to take it more easy and consider the source a kind of inspiration, at best. That said.... eat up the mess I made!!!

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Fanservant #1:

Caster - Vivian

Vivian, the Lady of the Lake of Arthurian legends, was an important benefactor to King Arthur of Britain, granting him the legendary sword Excalibur after the Sword of Selection Caliburn was damaged in combat. She is also known under the names of Nimuë and Ninianne. Once the unfortunate lover and pupil of the great Merlin, she became the one to seal him away for all eternity, after they parted their ways in an event that is still shrouded in mystery. For her to become an independent entity that is inscribed as a spirit in the Throne of Heroes, the circumstances about her disappearance short after imprisoning Merlin on Avalon must be solved first.

Appearance:

Though obviously not a human herself, she appears as a humanoid entity, but seems to be at least partially made out of clear and self-illuminating water. Sometimes she‘s completely made out of water, sometimes she does have a normal body, this woman can‘t make up her mind. At least not when it‘s about appearances. No matter what her body consists of, Vivian is a rather shy and petite appearing woman with sky-blue hair that covers her whole back and even the ground behind her, as well as almost emotionless grey eyes. Her mature and pure body is concealed by a shroud of pale light and a waterlike veil, that she wears like a dress. Even though she appears kinda on the revealing side, she has in now way on Earth a revealing personality.

Personality:

As a fairy born on the Reverse Side of the World from the soul of the World itself, possessing divinity as a Divided Spirit, Vivian embodies pure and undisrupted kindness and appears as the mother figure of many heroes throughout history. Those include King Arthur, whom she was the selfproclaimed protector of after deeming him worthy to receive Excalibur, the divine sword she was tasked to protect. She did also raise Lancelot as her son after the death of his father and prepared him to be a knight on the Kings side. But even though she has a kind and forgiving nature, a troublesome past with a certain Flower Mage has left her cautious of her surroundings. She tends to keep to herself, even after being summoned, and doesn‘t engage in conversation much, but answers to those who seem troubled by consoling them thorougly and providing advise and wisdom. While doing her best to avert the lustful eyes directed at her body, sometimes her past self takes over her kind soul, punishing indecent behavior with motherly force. This turns into extreme overprotective and somewhat aggressive motherly love, especially for the Child Servants and everyone she claims as her family. Which wouldn‘t be too many. In short, she has a very calming presence, that radiates peace and serenity, as long as it is certain she does not need to punish anyone for their horny thoughts.

FGO Skillset:

Active Skills:

Skill 1 – Kindhearted Charisma A+

Just another Charisma skill, buffing all allies attack by 20% for three turns and applying an one-time evade status on everyone. This one does not expire until it‘s used up.

Skill 2 – Llyn Ogwen Sealing Technique A

A special and unique sealing method incapable to hold anyone hostage but the strongest of mages. Vivian developed this spell out of spite and fear to imprison Merlin on Avalon for all eternity, until one day she may forgive him and release him from the hell of eternal life. If only she hadn't disappeared before his salvation.

Used in combat this skill heals the party for up to 3000 HP and seals the enemies NP for one turn.

Skill 3 – Lake of Chalk and Legends EX

Once born in the warm embrace of the World itself, Vivian found herself burdened. Fate ruled her as the one carrying Excalibur to the godless side of the World in order to choose who would be worthy enough to change history, only for her to hide behind the illusion of a lake as white as chalk, waiting for the worthy hero to appear.

This skill grants the party a 50% damage resist status for three turns, as well as applying a three turn 20% defense buff on Servants that are hit by enemy attacks. These defense buffs can stack up indefinitely, theoretically.

Passive Skills:

Territory Creation B+

Item Construction EX

Divinity C

Fae Eyes EX

Noble Phantasm:

Protected from Gods and Demons alike by the True Pillar of Light - Brocéliande Rhongomyniad

„Stranded between the border of worlds, chosen by fate to be envied by heaven and hell alike. Light and dark reunited, for a moment in eternity. Listen to my voice, as it is the voice of the World, and thou shall bear witness to the birth of a new hero. Tonight, the moon will shine upon us from the sky above and the ocean hidden on the far end of the world.“

Born from within the Soul of the World and tasked to witness both Humanity and the mysterious Reverse Side of the World, Vivian draws her power directly from the authority over Rhongomyniad, the pillar of light that seperates both sides to keep the world stable. While being able to harness this authority to not only grant the destructive power of the nearly indestructible anchor of the planet in form of the Holy Lance, by using her Noble Phantasm she decides to use the immense powerhouse of an overpowered Deus Ex Machina weapon directly from the tower between worlds itself. By concentrating her magical circuits to open a gateway between worlds, she summons a fraction of Rhongomyniad's power as a blinding image of the pillar itself to cast a protective veil as some kind of blessing over herself and her allies. Makes you wonder if a Divine Construct is needed to break through a veil created by a Divine Construct...

Using the Noble Phantasm grants her allies debuff immunity and buff removal immunity for three turns, as well as immunity to all incoming damage from three enemy attacks except for enemies with the Threat to Humanity trait. It also removes all debuffs and status ailments, and with each removed debuff/ailment the corresponding ally receives 50% NP generation, 100% star generation, 1000 max HP and 1000 additional flat damage for three turns, as well as 20% NP gauge.

Sword of Promised Victory - Excalibur

„Awaken again and rain down light from far beyond eternity. My heart beats together with the world.“

Just like Arturia, Vivian is able to harness the power of the Sword of Promised Victory by channeling a fraction of the power imbued in the Pillar of Light into the sword and the beam it produces from its tip, cutting through everything in its way in the process. If she were to use this Noble Phantasm, it would be much stronger and more destructive as when it is used by Arturia. Luckily she is not in possession of the sword right now, so no firing her laser anytime soon.

But if she would, it would have the exact same effect and strength as Arturias Noble Phantasm in FGO, just to balance things out. In another context than FGO it would be even more devastating than we‘re used to.

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Tags:

@justchibistuff @hasbedidoneanythingbad @has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong @hasquetzdoneanythingwrong @hasishtardoneanythingwrong

#fgo #fate series #fate grand order #fanservant #arthurian fantasy #arthurian literature #matter of britain #fate #lady of the lake #nimue #oc #my ocs #fan servant #servant #ocs on tumblr #original character #my writing #vivian

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darlingandmreames · 4 years ago

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Here I am once again enabling your writing and being as selfish about it as every other time because is it really enabling if it’s done out or self indulgence??? ANYWAYS— dream husbands + (not so) fake marriage:

I have almost definitely said it before but by god I will say it again: the funniest possible way to do the whole “fake marriage” trope would be like two people getting married so they can invoke the spousal privilege that lets them refuse to testify against one another in court. a couple of mobsters sweating bullets in a vegas wedding chapel so they aren’t compelled to rat on each other when the next heist inevitably goes sour

I am absolutely in love with this concept and it’s 100% A Thing now asjdsfks You’re the best enabler a local trash goblin could ever dream of ^-^ so this 100% deserves a long fic full of mutual pining and the two of them being idiots and it’s definitely going to get one because I have zero self control, but here’s a short snippet about how it all started.......

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Arthur leaned his head back against the cinder block wall with a frustrated sigh. This was bad. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d ended up in police custody, but it was the first time he’d ended up in custody with actual decent evidence against him. Maybe even a prosecutable case. If he could get out he could maybe disappear- he’d gotten very good at that over the years- but he couldn’t make bail without accessing…less than legal funds, which would be more than enough for them to remand him. But if he couldn’t make bail, he’d be stuck in custody until court, and that would complicate things. And if this went to court, he wasn’t getting out of it. Not easily at least. He just hoped Eames had managed to get away without being caught; he knew Cobb had but he wasn’t so sure about Eames. Things would get even more complicated if they were both in custody. The sort of complicated that could get them both put away for a couple of decades if they weren’t careful.

He and Cobb hadn’t even supposed to end up in the states to begin with. Cobb was still very much a wanted man here, so it simply wasn’t an option. Canada was certainly a risk- the physical proximity and ease of extradition made Arthur nervous- but it had been a good sounding job. Easy sounding, with a good payout. It’d gone south though, both figuratively and literally, and when they’d found themselves in Chicago Arthur had scrambled for a way to get Cobb back out of the country undetected. Eames had thankfully been finishing up a job in the area and offered to help with documentation, but not before the authorities had caught wind of the situation. Cobb had thankfully managed to get out before the raid, but Arthur hadn’t quite been so lucky. The charges he’d been arrested on certainly hadn’t been the worst they could’ve been- mainly aiding and abetting, accessory, and fraud- but they weren’t great either. And unless he managed to somehow get out of this cell, he’d likely be facing time for them.

He was, quite simply, fucked.

“Come on.” The sound of the cell door being unlocked pulled Arthur from his thoughts. “You’ve made bail.”

He looked over, surprised. “I…did?”

“Yep. Your husband put it up.” The officer stared at him with a bored expression. “Now come on. Unless you’d rather stay.”

Husband? Arthur couldn’t fathom who the officer could’ve possibly been referring to, but he kept his expression neutral as he stood up and walked out of the cell into the hallway. He was certainly confused but he wasn’t an idiot; this wasn’t the time to look a gift horse in the mouth by asking questions. If it got him out of jail for the moment, he could work with it. He’d figure out the details later.

He stopped dead in his tracks as he walked into the jail lobby. Of all the people he thought he might’ve seen waiting for him, he certainly hadn’t expected it to be fucking Eames. There he was though, leaning against the lockers as casually as could be. He flashed a warm smile as he caught sight of Arthur and Arthur nodded slowly in return, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Bailing Arthur out put Eames at significant risk; Arthur knew full well he had several active warrants in the states. Unless he’d already been caught as well. But if that was the case, the most sensible thing for him to do was disappear, not get Arthur out of jail by pretending to be his fucking husband, which brought up a whole other set of questions on its own.

The officer behind the window slid him a bag filled with the belongings he’d had on him when he was arrested: wallet, keys, belt, notebook, three pens. No passport though. He frowned slightly at that; it wasn’t surprising, but it was annoying. He was going to have to use a different one to get out of the country anyways, but it would’ve been far easier if he’d had the original one as well. He sighed and collected his belongings, only half listening as the officer ran through the expectations for him while he was out on bail before walking over to where Eames was waiting by the door.

Eames leaned in and pulled Arthur into a quick hug, startling him. “Good to see you, darling. Glad I was able to get you out.”

“Right. Yes.” Arthur tried not to let his rapidly growing confusion show as Eames slipped his arm around his waist. “Good to…good to see you too.” He followed Eames out of the building, blinking in the sudden sunlight. They walked like that for several blocks, keeping up the appearance of whatever the fuck sort of cover Eames had gone with. It wasn’t until Arthur was confident that they were far enough away from the jail that they were likely only being watched from afar that he stopped, pulling away and finally letting his internal bewilderment creep into his expression. “Eames, what the fuck was that?”

“That was me getting you out of jail, darling, try to be at least a little appreciative. Though I’m sure I could return you if that’s what you’d prefer.”

Arthur stared at him. “What are you even still doing here?”

Eames grimaced, running a hand through his hair. “I got picked up too. They didn’t have quite enough to keep me in custody, but they managed to freeze most of my accounts and I’m pretty sure they have me under pretty close surveillance, so getting out of town is a tad difficult at the moment. Besides,” he shrugged, “I figured someone had to get you out of jail. And with Cobb jumping ship, that left me.”

“So you claimed to be my fucking husband?”

“Listen, I was just thinking ahead. We’re both stuck in this, at least for now, so I figured I’d get us some protection in case this got to court before we could get out of it.” He quirked an eyebrow. “They can’t make us testify against each other if we’re married. Spousal privilege and all. One of the few things you Americans do right.”

“Yes, thank you Eames, wonderful idea.” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to wrap his mind around what Eames was telling him. He could already feel a migraine starting from the stress. This had already been an absolute fucking mess and Eames’ little ploy had just made it ten times worse. “Except for the fact that are aren’t actually married, which I’m sure will make us look great once the investigators find-”

“Yes we are.”

Arthur’s thoughts screeched to a halt and he looked up in confusion. “We’re what?”

“We’re married.”

He stared at Eames, dumbfounded. Was this what having a stroke felt like? Because that was clearly what he was having right now. “Eames, we’re not married.”

“Well, not technically, no. But I have all the necessary paperwork to argue to the contrary.” Eames shrugged. “I mean, it’s all forged of course, but as far as the US government is aware, you and I were legally married three years ago in England.” He gave Arthur an unimpressed look. “I know you don’t think highly of me, love, but you should at least give me enough credit to know I wouldn’t try pulling something like this off without the necessary paperwork backing it up.”

“Eames, we’re not married.”

“You and I know that but according to the authorities we are, so let’s try to keep it that way, yes? It’ll be better for both of us if we do.” Arthur continued to stare at Eames, trying desperately to think of something, anything, to say but drawing a blank instead. After a moment, Eames’ expression shifted to amusement. “Close your mouth, darling, or you’ll catch flies.”

Arthur snapped his mouth shut, pinching the bridge of his nose again. The beginnings of his headache came rushing back full force and he groaned. “I really hate you sometimes, you know that?”

Eames frowned. “Well that’s not a very nice way to talk to your very loving husband who just bailed you out of jail.”

“Eames, I swear to god…”

“Alright, alright, calm down, don’t have an aneurysm. Hopefully we’ll be able to get out of all of this before we really have to play that up. In the meantime, though,” Eames gave Arthur a somewhat sheepish smile, “I’m hoping you have a place here in Chicago, because I don’t and it might look a bit odd if we’re staying in separate hotels.”

Arthur sighed. “Yeah, I know a place.” It was technically one of Cobb’s apartments, but it would work well enough for them. It certainly wasn’t like Cobb was currently using it. He set off down the sidewalk. “I can’t believe you got us into this.”

“Technically it was Cobb who got us both into this lovely situation, darling, not me. I’m just trying to keep us both out of prison.”

Arthur groaned again. Christ, this was going to be a fucking mess.

#arthur x eames #arthur/eames #dream husbands #dreamhusbands #inception #arthur #eames #fake marriage au #it already has its own tag because I already know it's going to be A Thing asdjgfsjdk #asks #dbakeiro #prompts #local trash goblin writes stuff

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