#while Arthur could be good with women

[notsofriendlyfriendlyreminder]

John: So son, any ladies in your life? teenage Jack: Yea like 16 John: 16?!!?! Jack: Well 17 if you count the girl I meet last week in Strawberry, she was nice but a bit quiet. John: ... maybe they were right... you aren't my son

[welcometogrouchland]

Absolutely crushing revelation that she seems to get it from her gayass stupidass father

she's been eep-ing since day one. the eeper.

Secret Origins 80 Page Giant (1998) / Last Laugh #3

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

Hey so like many of you, I saw that article about how people are going into college having read no classic books. And believe it or not, I've been pissed about this for years. Like the article revealed, a good chunk of American Schools don't require students to actually read books, rather they just give them an excerpt and tell them how to feel about it. Which is bullshit.

So like. As a positivity post, let's use this time to recommend actually good classic books that you've actually enjoyed reading! I know that Dracula Daily and Epic the Musical have wonderfully tricked y'all into reading Dracula and The Odyssey, and I've seen a resurgence of Picture of Dorian Gray readership out of spite for N-tflix, so let's keep the ball rolling!

My absolute favorite books of all time are The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson. Classic psychological horror books about unhinged women.

I adore The Bad Seed by William March. It's widely considered to be the first "creepy child" book in American literature, so reading it now you're like "wow that's kinda cliche- oh my god this is what started it. This was ground zero."

I remember the feelings of validation I got when people realized Dracula wasn't actually a love story. For further feelings of validation, please read Frankenstein by Mary Shelley and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson. There's a lot the more popular adaptations missed out on.

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier is an absolute gem of a book. It's a slow-build psychological study so it may not be for everyone, but damn do the plot twists hit. It's a really good book to go into blind, but I will say that its handling of abuse victims is actually insanely good for the time period it was written in.

Moving on from horror, you know people who say "I loved this book so much I couldn't put it down"? That was me as a kid reading A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Picked it up while bored at the library and was glued to it until I finished it.

Peter Pan and Wendy by JM Barrie was also a childhood favorite of mine. Next time someone bitches about Woke Casting, tell them that the original 1911 Peter Pan novel had canon nonbinary fairies.

Watership Down by Richard Adams is my sister Cori's favorite book period. If you were a Warrior Cats, Guardians of Ga'Hoole or Wings of Fire kid, you owe a metric fuckton to Watership Down and its "little animals on a big adventure" setup.

A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry was a play and not a book first, but damn if it isn't a good fucking read. It was also named after a Langston Hughes poem, who's also an absolutely incredible author.

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury is a book I absolutely adore and will defend until the day I die. It's so friggin good, y'all, I love it more than anything. You like people breaking out of fascist brainwashing? You like reading and value knowledge? You wanna see a guy basically predict the future of television back in 1953? Read Fahrenheit.

Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain and To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee are considered required reading for a reason: they're both really good books about young white children unlearning the racial biases of their time. Huck Finn specifically has the main character being told that he will go to hell if he frees a slave, and deciding eternal damnation would be worth it.

As a sidenote, another Mark Twain book I was obsessed with as a kid was A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. Exactly what it says on the tin, incredibly insane read.

If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin is a heartbreaking but powerful book and a look at the racism of the time while still centering the love the two black protagonists feel for each other. Giovanni's Room by the same author is one that focuses on a MLM man struggling with his sexuality, and it's really important to see from the perspective of a queer man living in the 50s– as well as Baldwin's autobiographical novel, Go Tell it on the Mountain.

Agatha Christie mysteries are all still absolutely iconic, but Murder on the Orient Express is such a good read whether or not you know the end twist.

Maybe-controversial-maybe-not take: Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov is a good book if you have reading comprehension. No, you're not supposed to like the main character. He pretty much spells that out for you at the end ffs.

Animal Farm by George Orwell was another favorite of mine; it was written as an obvious metaphor for the rise of fascism in Russia at the time and boy does it hit even now.

And finally, please read Shakespeare plays. As soon as you get used to their way of talking, they're not as hard to understand as people will lead you to believe. My absolute favorite is Twelfth Night- crossdressing, bisexual love triangles, yellow stockings... it's all a joy.

and those are just the ones i thought of off the top of my head! What're your guys' favorite classic books? Let's make everyone a reading list!

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 11

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 11 of 12!

Chapter 11

His sister's screams were bloodcurdling.

Charles had known that birth was a painful, messy affair, that it was never easy, but actually hearing his sister’s very real, very painful screams from the room beyond was a truly eye-opening experience. He didn’t know how women could survive this, frankly.

Arthur looked green around the gills, not helped by the white bandage on his forehead…which apparently had been the result of him fainting and being taken down by the corner of a hospital bed. 

"I am never having kids," Arthur said, swallowing heavily.

"I am rethinking my family planning as well," Lorenzo said weakly. "I don't think I can stand seeing Charlotte go through that pain."

Arthur grimaced as another scream came ringing out from the room. “I think I am scheduling a vasectomy tomorrow,” he said faintly. “This absolutely confirms it as a good life decision for me.”

"I think that's the concussion talking," Charles tried to assure his brother, as another scream rang out.

On second thought…maybe Arthur was onto something.

And just at that moment, Colette's scream suddenly broke off. They froze—all of them.

Absolute silence rang through the room. Charles was afraid to even breathe. He had no idea what was happening on the other side of the door, and that terrified him. Everything had been going well so far, hadn't it?

And then a cry rang out.

A baby’s cry: shrill, a little indignant.

All three men let out their collective breaths in a sigh of pure relief.

The whole room was silent for a moment, as they processed the fact that their sister and her baby were alright.

“Oh, thank god,” Lorenzo said feebly. “I thought something awful had happened.”

“No kidding,” Arthur agreed. He sagged back against the wall behind him, his skin regaining a proper colour again, instead of the sickly green it had been moments before.

Charles leaned his head back against the wall, shutting his eyes for a brief second. It was over. Everything had gone alright. 

Colette and her baby were both going to be okay.

"We are uncles now," Arthur said suddenly.

A beat of surprise. And then:

“Oh god, we are, aren’t we?” Lorenzo said.

“We’re uncles,” Arthur repeated a slightly shell-shocked look on his face.

Charles couldn’t help it. A smile broke out over his face, a very real, utterly ridiculous one that he didn’t have the energy to hold back. “We are, aren’t we?” he repeated Enzo’s words.

“This is absolutely insane!” Arthur said, a grin creeping over his face. “We’re going to be the coolest uncles ever.”

“I thought kids are overrated?” Lorenzo pointed out wryly.

“The most overrated,” Arthur insisted. “But I’m going to spoil our niece or nephew absolutely rotten.”

It took a little while longer, but finally, the door opened, revealing Max. He looked…exhausted. Absolutely beat. There were dark circles under his eyes…but a look of relief was on his face like Charles had never seen on his friend before. And yet, Max was grinning.

Looking happier than ever.

“Max,” Charles said, a little hoarsely. He wanted to ask how they were, he wanted to ask about the baby, he wanted to ask if Coco was alright. But all he could get out was Max’s name, his voice too thick.

"Come meet your niece," Max said simply.

He said the word ‘niece’ like it was the best thing in the world, and it made Charles smile. He straightened up, following Max into the room, Arthur and Lorenzo trailing behind him.

Coco was curled up in her bed, her hair messy, her face pale, but she was smiling, a weak little smile tinged with exhaustion but so very, very happy. And cradled against her chest was the baby, wrapped snugly in a little pink blanket.

Charles just sort of stopped dead in the midst of the room. Seeing his sister with her baby in her arms… it was like his brain had stopped functioning in the space of a moment.

All three brothers were silent for a long moment, just taking in the sight of them.

Charles felt a lump rise in his throat,and swallowed heavily.

Lorenzo was biting his lip, trying to keep the tears from welling up in his eyes. And Arthur was absolutely silent, all of the usual sass gone from his expression.

It was a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, as they all just stood awkwardly at the edge of the bed, just looking.

Finally, Coco looked up at them, and her smile widened faintly. “Well?” she asked. "Cha, don’t you want to hold your niece?"

His heart skipped, and he managed to pull himself forward so he could sit down on the bed next to her. “I get to hold her?” he asked, just to be certain.

"Of course, you do," Coco told him softly. "Here you go."

Charles could hardly believe it as Colette gently eased the baby into his arms, carefully supporting her head. And suddenly he was holding her, his niece, this brand new little life, in all of her tiny, delicate, vulnerable little glory, bundled up in a soft pink blanket.

"She's perfect," he said softly, swallowing. 

She was so…fragile, in his hands. He hadn’t expected her to be that small, somehow. Charles smiled faintly, running his fingers gently over her hair. Her eyes were closed, and one tiny fist was poking out of the blanket.  

"Does she have a name yet?" he asked his sister. 

"I get to pick," Colette told him with a grin. "Given that Max named the cats after Monaco's nightlife."

Charles had to admit that was a fair point.

“What, you aren’t going to let Max name your daughter La Rascasse?” he teased Coco who just rolled her eyes.  "What have you come up with?" he asked curiously, tearing his eyes away from his niece to look at his sister.

"If she was a boy, I would have named him Emilian Hervé after Papa," Colette said softly. "Sadly that doesn't work for a girl."

Charles smiled faintly at the mention of their father. Their father would have doted on this baby, he was certain. He would have spoiled her absolutely rotten.

"So I figured… somebody else needed to give their name for her," Coco continued. "I hope you don't mind."

"Of course, I don't mind," Charles assured her at once. Why should he? "Whose name did you use?" he wondered. 

"Yours, you idiot, Cha," Coco told him, her voice soft. "Charlene Victoria Verstappen. We'll call her Charlie for short."

"Oh my god," Max's sister breathed somewhere behind him. "You.."

But Charles could only stare at his sister…could only feel the lump rise in his throat again. He swallowed hard. “You named her after me?” he asked with a waver in his voice, feeling like his heart might just explode in his chest.

"Of course, I did," Colette said softly. "You're my twin brother, why wouldn't I name my baby girl after you?"

Charles couldn't find any words to answer that with. He couldn't find any words at all. His eyes stung, and he couldn't look at her for fear he might cry. He looked down at the baby. His…god, his niece that was named after him.  

He gently ran his fingers over her hair again, marvelling at her tiny, perfect little body. "Hello, Charlie," he said softly, his voice a little choked.

The baby didn't even stir, and Charles smiled, shifting slightly to support her more securely. He couldn't believe that his sister had done this, that she had named her baby girl after him. It made his heart feel like it was fit to burst straight out of his chest, made him try to blink back tears and fail horribly. 

"Congratulations, you've made Charles cry," Lorenzo said from somewhere behind him, sounding a little choked himself.

Charles let out a noise that was half-laughing, half-crying as his brothers joined him at his side. "Shut up," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

"Not a chance," Arthur said as he squeezed in next to him to get a better look at the baby. Lorenzo joined him, peering down at the baby in Charles' arms with a strangely soft expression on his face.

"You gave her my name too," Victoria said weakly. Charles looked up at Max’s sister, not knowing what to say. It had sounded so obvious, so natural to hear Colette say it, that Charles had completely forgotten that Victoria shared the same name.

But she did. 

"A sibling for each of us," Colette said simply. "Sorry, Enzo, Arthur. Maybe next time.”

“Nah, Arthurelle is a horrible name,” Arthur responded. “Totally see why you went for Charlene.” 

Colette laughed, but it was a very weak, exhausted laugh. Charles couldn’t blame her. She must be absolutely wrung out.

And still as he looked at her...as her eyes met his, he could feel how happy his sister. How utterly in love she was with her daughter. How this was everything Colette had ever wanted, and it was right there. 

"I am never driving you to the hospital again though, just so you know," Arthur said. “That cost me at least 30 years of my life.”

"But you did so well," Colette teased their younger brother. "Thank you for that, ma petite puce."

Arthur grimaced faintly, but he looked too tired and happy to actually bite back. Charles smiled faintly at all of them in turn.

Charles‘ eyes snagged on their mother.

"Well, Grand-Mère," he teased her. "How does it feel?"

For a long moment, their mother simply looked at the baby in Charles’ arms with an unreadable expression on her face. And then her expression slowly shifted into a smile. A true smile. A happy, proud Grandma smile.

“Your father would be so proud of you all.” 

[cllightning81]

Best Friends [OP81]

Summary : You and Oscar are childhood best friends and maybe a little more but that's something the grid has missed

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Wife!Reader, Logan Sargeant x reader, F1 Grid x Reader

Warning/s: None

Word Count: 1.6 k

Masterlist

Oscar Piastri Masterlist

You and Oscar had started out as childhood best friends. You even moved to England with him because you just couldn’t be separated. As Oscar went through the different ranks of motorsport you decided to do a Sports Science degree and when Oscar got signed for Prema he made sure you were his personal trainer and you’d just follow him into his F1 career.

You and Oscar were now walking through the paddock with his arm around your shoulders. It started as a habit when he started his rookie season to calm his nerves with your warm body, and it gave you comfort at the same time. When he started his rookie season, you were still only best friends. Neither of you had confessed how you felt, but now you had yet, everyone still believed you were still only best friends. 

It hadn’t been on the top of either of your lists to correct people when they called you best friends because even though you were more than dating now, he was still your best friend. Walking into the Mclaren garage, Oscar spoke to a few mechanics. 

“Osc we’ve got to get you warmed up” You smiled, and you both walked through to his drivers room. As Oscar got changed into his fireproofs and race suit, you grabbed the equipment to get him warmed up. When you turned around, his race suit was resting on his waist before you talked him through some stretches. After Oscar warmed up, you moved out to the main garage with him. Mclaren had some guests in the garage that Zac wanted Oscar and Lando to talk to and maybe do some training in front of them.

“Let’s use the bands to stretch your arms” You smiled, handing him one of the bands, and he nodded. You grabbed your headphones, resting them around your neck. Your hands are coming up to his back a little bit for comfort and a little to correct his posture. 

“You okay?” Oscar asked, and you smiled 

“Yeah, just correcting your posture while doing this” you hummed, walking back around so you stood in front of him

“You’re gonna do great today. You’re starting in a great position, and the car is brilliant” You smiled, resting your hand on his chest. You and Oscar had always been touchy for as long as people knew you both. The only person knowing the truth about your relationship was Logan and maybe Arthur. He seemed to be good at finding out relationships between random people. Oscar took your hand, holding it in his own larger hand. 

“I’m gonna do even better because you’re wearing this thing” He whispered, running his hand over your engagement and wedding ring. 

“Well I’m fed up with watching random women flirt with my husband” you hummed, rubbing his shoulders as you walked behind him. He was stressed about today. His home race meant he wanted to do really well, and you could feel the stress in his shoulders

“Relax baby” you whispered, massaging the knots out of his shoulders and necks. Soon, Oscar was getting ready to get in the car. You smiled, standing next to him. 

Mclaren social media team had a camera recording Oscar so they could post some behind the scenes of the garage. Oscar handed you his hoodie, and you folded it up, placing it upon the pile of his clothes. Oscar pulled his race suit up and onto his shoulders, turning to you so that you could zip it up something that you’ve been doing since you first became friends all those years ago.

Handing Oscar his balaclava, he pulled it on his head and tucked his hair into it, sending you one last smile as he stepped out of frame to press a kiss to your lips. He took his helmet, placing the HANS device around his neck before pulling his helmet over his head. You secured his helmet strap and corrected the HANS device before tapping his helmet and walking over to the car with him.

“Be safe out there” You smiled, holding his hands, and he nodded 

“I’m gonna get a podium so we can continue that celebration from last time” You smiled, looking up at him. The celebration was you, Oscar, and Logan finishing the movie while you helped their aches and pains from the race, although Logan was talking about going out with a couple of other drivers depending on the outcome. 

Oscar did get on the podium, and you couldn’t have been more proud of him. Making your way out of the garage with the rest of the Mclaren team. Lando got P2, and Oscar got P3. It was the best result anyone could have asked for. You stood at the front of the barricades, and after Oscar got weighed, he walked over to the team. 

The difference between Oscar and Lando when celebrating was quite funny to watch. Lando jumped into the team's arms as he celebrated with pats on the back, shoulder, and helmet as Oscar just thanked everyone before stopping next to you and wrapping you into a hug. Your arms rested around his neck as he rested around your waist. 

He had left his helmet on the stand for it, looking into his eyes with a smile as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. You smiled into the kiss as the cameras flashes up 

“I love you so much wife” He whispered against your lips 

“I love you too” You smiled as Lando cheered from next to you. You laughed

“Go get your trophy. I’ll be watching” You pushed Oscar away as Logan walked over 

“Movie night or drinking?” He asked, wrapping you in a side hug 

“Movie night. Well done on the points” You smiled, turning to watch the podium with him. You were so proud of him. A podium at his home race is something he’d been wanting for a long time, and he’s finally achieved it. After the podium, you walked back to the garage, collecting all of Oscar’s belongings and taking them to his drivers room. 

As Oscar did his post race interviews and debrief, you decided to stretch yourself, having sat tense watching the whole race, and there was nothing else to do while sitting waiting. Logan was sending you random tweets and tiktok videos as you sat a lot of them about the fact you and Oscar were finally together, causing you to laugh. A set of arms tackled you onto the beanbag in Oscars' drivers room as your neck was covered with kisses, causing you to giggle, knowing it was Oscar. 

“I did it! I got a podium” He cheered, and you laughed, turning your head to kiss him 

“I’m so proud of you, baby. I knew you could do it. You’ll always be a winner in my heart” You smiled, and he kissed you again. 

“Come on, I want to go celebrate” He pulled you up 

“Baby you need to get changed” you giggled, pushing his helmet hair out his face 

“Okay right yeah, I’ll do that” He nodded 

“Logan keeps sending me tweets and TikToks about us revealing our relationship. They’re quite funny, to be honest” You giggled 

“Our son” He chuckled, and you nodded 

“He really acts like it sometimes. His mum messages me every so often to make sure he’s actually doing how he says he is” Oscar nodded, taking your hand 

“How does he say he is?” He asked 

“He’s struggling with the fans for obvious reasons. I’ve been told that he greatly enjoys our movie nights and they allow him to relax with people he fully trusts” Oscar nodded, kissing your head 

“Then we never stop those. Maybe we should start inviting him for dinner when we’re not racing?” He suggested 

“I think that sounds like a good idea but as your trainer I’ve got to remind you to stick to your diet plan” You giggled while jogging through the garage as he chased after you for that comment. Picking you up and spinning you around. You smiled, pressing your lips to his as he placed you back on the ground. Walking out of the paddock, Oscar had his hand rested around your waist, but you were soon stopped by a grid of drivers standing at the paddock exit with their arms crossed. 

“Hey everyone” You smiled, looking between the eighteen other drivers standing in front of you

“Hey everyone” Lando mocked, and you frowned now, very confused about what you had done wrong 

“What’s going on?” Oscar asked, also confused. Charles pointed between the two of you, and you looked up at Oscar 

“What?” You whispered, and he shrugged 

“Can someone use their words and explain what you mean?” You asked as Logan wrapped his arms around you both 

“They’ve only just realised that you’re together after your kiss” He explained, and you frowned, turning back to the crowd of people 

“Want to explain then?” Max asked 

“We’ve been married for four months. Dating for nine before that” you explained, still really confused 

“What?!” They chorused, and you looked between them all. Oscar is now holding your hand up 

“She’s been wearing these for the last three months around you lot" He exclaimed as you both laughed, turning to Logan 

“You going back to your hotel room before movie night?” You asked, and he nodded 

“If you two don’t mind waiting a little to start?” He asked, and you shook your head 

“Gives me time to cook some dinner” You smiled, walking past the rest of the grid, leaving them all standing shocked at your announcement.

Tag List

@bearryyy

@molten-m122

@thewannabewriter

@lozzamen3

@barcelonaloverf1life

@hiireadstuff

@mxdi0

@f1kenzzz

[frillydolle]

ok idk if u have done this before but what abt low honor arthur x shy/easily flustered reader…been thinking abt this for awhile

lowhonor arthur x shy female reader

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ arthur is a little pervy , suggestive themes? , mdni

he was terrifying, mean, and even sadistic man. those rumoured whispers explained a lot about him in that way. there was no remorse from a man like him, no mercy, either. to be one of the worst men that's involved with the infamous gang. the most wanted man within the states, there wasn't a day that he didn't come back with someone's blood on his hands.

he was disgusting and vile. probably the most perverted man u have ever come across, too. his unannounced touching would often catch u off guard. the women in the camp always gave him a sort of a dirty or death state, knowing that kind of man arthur is now ever since the relationship ended between him and mary. that took a toll on him more than people thought.

not with u, though. he knew that gaze made u feel uneasy, made u squirm, almost like a coyote watching its prey. it's like he enjoyed it, too. u weren't the social butterfly. u kept to urself or the small group of girls u would do chores with or u would be often see talking the only man, arthur. to be honest, u were even sure how he felt about u, it's not like many spoke to u.

he made the man stay away from u, but that's a different conversation...

u didn't even need to turn around, knowing who it was coming towards u by their hard footsteps. “hey, babydoll. missed my favourite girl while i was away.” he says with that cocky smirk on his face, leaning against the pole behind u, totally not looking at ur rear while u hand washed some clothes.

“hi morgan, I've been okay.. keepin' busy like-” “good girl. as y'should be. wouldnt want ms. grinshaw gettin' mad atcha.”

she was a terrifying woman, ms. grinshaw.. but not as terrifying as arthur, of course. he was the worst. but arthur liked her a lot. he wasn't sure how to tell, and so he often showed her through his actions... like his weird, perverted touching and words.

he told u to come here, and once u were finished cleaning, of course, u made ur way over to him before he took u round the wagon, no one was there. this was strange but u did sort of like him.. u didn't know why. he was always odd with u, but u did find a small sense of comfort in him every time he brings a small gift to u as he comes back to camp.

“have i ever told ya how pretty y'look? 'course i have.." he says, his tone laced with roughness. his big hand soon glides down to ur waist, gripping the flesh so hard that it light leave a mark later, curse him.

“thank you, arthur-” u reply, feeling ur face rise with heat, squirming slightly under his intense gaze, all embarrassed. “y'know what else would make ya prettier? some little hickeys on yer neck, my girl.”

was he being honest?... well, of course he was. he was a very serious man, not the type to be funny unless it was one of sick jokes. anyway, he could do not that, the two of u were in camp! someone might see u both, ms. grinshaw might catch u or even dutch! and that woukd be a lot more embarrassing than how red ur face is right now.

“arth- we cant, i- we'll get caught- arthur!” ur gentle protests mean nothing as he took a hold of ur wrists, making u back up against the wagon. he inhaled ur scent of lavender and pine, made the man almost crazy.

“lemme mark ya up, so everyone can see how I feel 'bout ye. c'mon sugar, i might be gentle but dont count on it.”

god it was like u couldn't move or couldn't talk, u didn't know what to say, how to react. ur face was all flushed with his words, it wasn't a surprise that he'd be flirting with u now.

and soon, he began toying with the collar of ur blouse. soon that felt to unbutton the top few buttons before he inched closer to mark u up.

[not-neverland06]

𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙶𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚕

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: While the two of you might think whatever could have been is irreparable, one very meddling old man has other plans. Hosea sends Arthur and you on a hunting trip that ends with blood on your hands once more. Despite the mangled mess of it all, you still find yourself drawn to the hope of something more between you and Arthur.

Arthur stayed up most of the night, waiting for you and Charles to come stumbling back into camp. He expected drunken revelry, he thought he might have to corral you into bed. The same tedious tasks he went through with anyone who stayed out as late as you both did. He didn’t expect both of you to be stone-cold sober and in different clothes. He hadn’t paid too much attention to what Charles had been wearing, but he was certain that you had changed before you came back to camp. 

He can’t imagine what would have called for that or why you were both out so long. He’s not sure he likes the few explanations he can come up with. He’s got a nasty look on his face as he watches Charles lead you over to the ladies' tent. His hand hovers over your waist, nearly touching but not quite. His mouth is pressed to your ear, whispering a secret between the both of you. 

Arthur wasn’t jealous. That wouldn’t make any sense. The two of you barely knew each other. And he was still recovering from what was the entire mess with Mary. He didn’t think there was a part of him that was still capable of feeling like that. But he’s not comfortable with secrets in the camp, especially with newcomers. It just seems like bad luck. If you can’t trust the gang, who can you trust?

Charles nods his head in a farewell and heads back to his own tent. Arthur watches as you rub your tired eyes. Your shoulders go up to your ears, back hunching over itself, and you have the countenance of a woman worn down. He frowns, eyes narrowed in suspicion as you collapse onto the bedroll beside Mary-Beth. John clears his throat as he walks past Arthur, giving him an odd look when he sees how intensely he’s glaring at your sleeping form. Arthur frowns at Marston, shooing him off and closing the flaps of his tent. He hadn’t realized just how focused on you he had been. 

The others don’t share his suspicions. They only saw him making you cry earlier. In their minds, he’s probably no better than Micah. He hates that thought but he’s sure it’s not too far from the truth. Neither of them are good men, but Arthur would never hurt you. He would never willingly hurt any of the women. He’s only worried about you. 

He takes his hat off, tossing it beside the picture of Mary on his table. It knocks into the edge of the frame, sending it tumbling into the dirt. “Dammit,” Arthur mutters. He bends, scooping it off the grass and checking for any cracks in the glass. He lets out a heavy sigh and brushes the dirt off the grooves of the frame. 

Arthur pulls the picture back and stares down at it. Mary wasn’t smiling in this one. He’s sure he has another one of the two of them around somewhere. He knows they’re smiling in that one. But after a while, he stopped liking to see himself in pictures and she stopped looking so happy. Arthur slumps down onto his cot and rubs a weary hand over his face. Mary’s stern eyes glare at him from the worn photo. 

He can’t do this again. He can’t watch another bright woman lose their flame because they chose to love him. Loving him is always a mistake. First, it was his son and his mother, then it was Mary. He can’t ruin you too. He won’t be able to live with himself if it’s your life in his hands. 

Arthur places the picture back on the table. He flips the frame face-down so he doesn’t have to sleep feeling eyes on his back. He rolls over and stares up at the canvas roof of his home. He wishes he could see the stars through the fabric. His fingers itch to draw the night sky, just from memory. But he forces himself still, makes himself sleep. 

Arthur’s up before most of the camp, as he normally is. Dutch sits by his tent, reading, and just barely lifts his head in greeting before going back to his book. Pearson never seems to stop making that damn stew and Arthur doesn’t think it’s ever improved in taste. Mrs. Grimshaw isn’t even awake as he goes around camp. He can’t imagine why he’s surprised that you’re still sound asleep. 

He resents the little ache that festers in his stomach. It feels too much like disappointment. He can’t imagine what he would say to you were you awake. There’s no apologizing for yesterday. You’d made it clear how you feel about him and he should honor that. 

Besides, he knows he needs to keep away from you. He’d done both of you a favor by making it clear how much of a bastard he was so early on. He lets out a rough sigh and forces himself away from your tent. He’s sure he’s got something he can find to occupy his time with. 

Arthur’s cleaning his rifle when he hears her start huffing and puffing. Mrs. Grimshaw lingers by the edge of his tent, arms crossed and foot tapping faster than he can keep up with. “Thinks she’s so much better than the rest of us,” she grumbles under her breath. “Just because she married into money-”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Arthur demands, trying to suppress the amused smile on his face. He’s sure he doesn’t need her to see it, she’s already in a mood, might as well not have it turn on him. 

Mrs. Grimshaw throws her hands up in the air, whipping around and glaring at him like she’s been waiting for him to ask the entire time. “That,” she sucks in a sharp breath, clearly struggling to bite her tongue, “woman,” she finally spits out. “Mrs. Rowe,” Arthur straightens up at the mention of your name, eyeing her suspiciously. 

Mrs. Grimshaw ignores him and turns back towards you. He gets up as she starts walking towards the barrel of water by Charles's tent. “She thinks just because she’s a lady, she can laze around and let the rest of us work for her?” She grabs a bucket and drops it in the barrel. Arthur’s sure the only reason she manages to heft it back out is because the woman runs off pure spite. 

“We’ll see about that,” she snaps, marching towards you, arms poised to give you a cold awakening. Arthur chuckles a little, he follows behind her, prepared to stop her. But Charles steps out of his tent and catches on quickly to her plan. Before Arthur can intervene Charles is taking hold of Mrs. Grimshaw’s wrist and tugging her back. 

“Leave her alone,” he commands. 

“Excuse me? This is my camp-”

“I won’t repeat myself,” he tells her, taking the bucket out of her hand. “Let her rest.” Mrs. Grimshaw wants to say more, they can both see it written plainly on her face. But she also won’t argue with one of the men in camp. She just throws her arms in the air in defeat and storms off, still grumbling under her breath as she goes. 

Charles looks back at you and Arthur narrows his eyes at him. Something is tickling in the back of his mind, a thought that’s taking too long to form. The answer for this odd kinship between the two of you is somewhere inside his head but he’s too stupid to work it out. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Charles turns back towards Arthur with a questioning look and he nods towards you. “You got a thing for her or somethin’?” Arthur laughs but he knows Charles sees right through it. That insufferable look of his gives it away. 

“Do you?” Charles asks, crossing his arms and smirking at Arthur. Arthur glares at him and rolls his eyes. 

“‘Course not.” Charles doesn’t say anything. Something lurks between the two men, a tension only shared by Arthur. After a moment of silence, neither of them willing to give in, Charles surrenders. 

“You’re an idiot, Morgan,” he walks past him, patting his shoulder and laughing under his breath. Arthur wasn’t even sure the man was capable of smiling. But here he is, managing a laugh at Arthur’s expense. 

It feels like the day is passing by incredibly slow. He feels like he’s been in camp for hours and it’s not even noon yet. Everyone seems to be avoiding him, either for how he acted last night or because of the way he’s pacing like he’s a caged lion. 

He’s not sure what he’s been waiting for all day until he hears it, “Sorry, I hadn’t meant to sleep so long.” Arthur damn nearly takes out Pearson and that god-awful stew with how fast he whips around. 

You’re sitting up, rubbing at your face and trying to shield your eyes from the sun as Sadie stands over you. “Just don’t go botherin’ Mrs. Grimshaw, she’s after you.” Your face screws up and you let out a heavy sigh. 

“Dammit, why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

Sadie rolls her eyes with a huff and Arthur takes a step closer. “You’ve got a goddamn guard dog.” Arthur tenses up, thinking she’s talking about him for a moment. He’s gotten used to that comparison, especially when it comes to you. You had been pretty reliant on him for a while. Instead, she points to Charles. 

He’s trying not to hate the man but it’s getting hard. 

Charles sits on a nearby boulder, fastening together some arrows and watching everyone out of the sides of his eyes. Arthur looks back at you and sees you smiling at your guard dog. “Sorry, Sadie. I’ll do laundry tomorrow, how’s that?”

“Damn right,” she sniffs, nose pointed to the air and walks away. Shaking your head and closing the tent flaps, you come out a minute later in one of the outfits you must have bought last night. Arthur tries not to stare but it is odd to see one of the women in camp wearing pants. 

Arthur runs through everything he’s wanted to say to you as you move closer to him. He goes through every shitty apology and winces when he realizes what a fool he's going to sound like. It’s a stupid idea, to even try, but he just feels awful that you’d had to be on your own all day yesterday. You at the very least deserve a real explanation. 

He half expects you to pivot at the last minute, to head towards Charles and ignore him the rest of the time you’re with the gang. But you keep coming towards him, something clutched in your hand that he can’t quite see. 

You stop a few feet away from him, arms tucked behind your back and lips pressed into a thin line.  Arthur has an odd urge to close the distance. “Arthur,” you say his name tersely and he tries not to let his disappointment show. 

He might not want to be involved with you, but he likes you. You’re smart, smarter than him, and you’re funny. He wouldn’t hate being friendly with you. But he can tell, just from how you’re standing, that you’re not interested. “Yes, Mrs. Rowe?”

“Here,” you hold something out to him but he’s more focused on the fact that you didn’t even correct him on your name. He’s got no chance with you now, that’s for sure. You shake your hand impatiently and he finally bothers to look at what it is. 

It’s a bunch of crumpled bills, the same ones he gave you yesterday. Though, after your day of interrupted purchases it’s quite a bit lighter than it had been. “Dont-”

“Please,” you stop him before he tries to convince you to keep the money. You take a step forward and he matches you. You don’t look too concerned by the proximity so he risks another step. You lean forward, take his hand and gently coax his fingers open. Your hands are warmer, softer than his own. A life of having servants and maids has kept you away from the harshness of work like his. 

He doesn’t know if he appreciates the softness you provide or resents you for it. “I feel guilty. I shouldn’t have spent it so freely. Buying the horse was a foolish, impulsive purchase.” Your hand lingers on his a moment longer before you slowly pull away. 

Arthur shakes his head but he puts the money back in his satchel. He knows, from the way you’re looking at him, he’s got no chance of getting you to keep this. “Wasn’t impulsive,” he argues. “Those damn O’Driscolls,” the mention of their name causes you to wince and he sighs. “Those men,” he corrects, “took everything from you. And you needed the horse.”

“I suppose I did,” you concede but you don’t sound sure of yourself. Still, Arthur will consider it a win. You look like you’re ready for the conversation to end but Arthur isn’t sure he is. 

“You give her a name yet?”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head. “What do you mean?”

He laughs a little and nods towards the mare standing beside Diablo. She’s pretty big, not nearly as tall as his horse, but larger than some of the others in camp. “She’s gotta have a name. Can’t just go round callin’ her horse.”

You roll your eyes in indignation and Arthur shakes his head. He truly does not know why you hate horses so much. But considering it’s the only form of travel for a couple of hundred miles, he thinks it’s pretty ridiculous. “Can’t I?” You sound so much like a petulant child, he has to bite his tongue not to laugh. 

“Really don’t like ‘em huh?”

The hardened look on your face softens slightly and you smile. “That obvious?”

“Little bit,” you chuckle and Arthur grins. “Doesn’t have to be anything fancy,” he concedes. 

“Oh,” you toss your hands in the air, glancing around like someone might be holding up a sign with a name. “Fine,” you sigh, “how about Lady?”

“Lady?”

“Lady,” you growl the name out, glaring at him. “I’m not gonna come up with anything better than that.”

Arthur looks over at your mare and huffs out a laugh. She did look a little uppity. Nose in the air, looking away from the other horses hitched by her. She didn’t even seem to want to eat the same grass as the others. “Yeah, Lady works,” he chuckles, looking back over at you and trying to spot the similarities. 

It’s no secret you were used to a life of luxury. Sadie wasn’t a friend, she was a former employee. You’re used to wearing fine jewelry and finer clothes. This life, sleeping on the ground, shooting off bullets at anyone that pisses you off, isn’t made for you. You don’t seem like you should fit into this mold. 

But he’s never seen you complain about your chores around camp. And you might not be happy about it, but you’ve never tried to get anyone in the gang to turn away from their violent tendencies. You don’t stick out like a Lady forced into rags, you could well have been born into this life if it weren’t for that smooth skin of yours. He wonders why you seem to fit so well when so many others in your place have failed. 

“Right,” the easy banter fades into a tense silence. You cross your arms behind your back, taking a step away from him and refusing to meet his eye. “I’ve, um,” you trail off and Arthur takes a step towards you as you stumble away. “Thank you, again.” You turn, refusing to let him speak as you rush towards Mrs. Grimshaw. 

Arthur grimaces as she begins to lay into you, her voice carrying throughout the camp about not letting your former status get so far into your head. You’d rather take a whooping from her than have to talk to him any longer. 

Arthur takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair and glaring down at the mud under his boots. He’s never going to be able to bridge this distance. And he shouldn’t be trying to. You both know that nothing good can ever happen between you. There’s no point in torturing himself with something impossible. 

He shoves his hat back on and storms towards the horses. A few people glance his way, but for the most part, they know to ignore him when he gets like this. He takes Diablo’s reins and leads him toward the forest. He doesn’t have a destination in mind but he needs to see the stars tonight. He can’t be stuck in the canvas tent anymore, he’s been cooped up for too long. 

It’s been a week since you’ve killed your husband. A week since you fed his body to the hogs. And a week since you’ve talked to Arthur. You can’t meet his eye, too ashamed of what you’ve done. 

You’re sure the man has killed more men than you can count on both your hands. Yet, you’re still worried he’ll think less of you for what happened. Maybe it’s because you know how the others see you. Everyone else in camp thinks you’re soft. At least Sadie was a working woman before all this happened, she helped her husband keep up some rich employer's estate. And you were the rich employer. 

They think that you’re soft, and better off than they are. They also seem to think that you’re constantly looking down your nose at them. Every time Dutch says, “I know you’re not used to having to live like this, Mrs. Rowe,” you feel like the entire camp turns and glares. Or anytime Mrs. Grimshaw yells at you not to let your former status get to your head, she has to remind you you’re just as bad as the rest of them now. 

You don’t judge them for how they live. You know they do it out of necessity, some for pleasure. You don’t care. Outlaws have always been a part of this country and you’re not looking to fix that, but they don’t seem to understand you. All they see when they look at you is the same type of person who’s kept them down all their life.

You know that the second the rest of them find out what you’ve done, you’ll never hear the end of it. It’ll be held over your head for the rest of your time with the gang. And Arthur, you know he’ll stop looking at you like you’re something to be protected. 

You don’t know if you’d love it or hate it. You’d no longer be soft to him, wouldn’t be this pretty new thing to play with. You’d be like every other woman he’s surrounded by. And what does it matter? He’s already got a proper lady. 

You don’t know how you missed it before. You’ve seen the pictures he keeps at his bedside. But part of you had always hoped it was a sister, or as wicked as it sounds, a dead lover. You feel like a proper fool. There was never any way this infatuation of yours was going to go that would be healthy for either of you. 

You place your book to the side, something Mary-Beth had lent you that only makes your heart ache something fierce. You wished she had something other than romance. You hate reading about how happy they are at the end. It feels like a slap in the face to what your marriage had been and the thought of what you and Arthur might have been. 

You need something to keep your mind busy. You’re not confident enough to go on horseback alone. And no one in camp, except, of course, Arthur, is willing to take a woman out for a ride. They seem to think you’re all better off being cooped up here in camp. You don’t have any chores left. Much to Mrs. Grimshaw’s chagrin, she has nothing to hound you about today. 

Your eyes dart back to the book but the thought of suffering through another sappy scene makes you leap to your feet. You pace around camp for a few minutes, trying to find anyone who looks like they could entertain you. 

Tilly and Lenny are both playing Dominoes, but you’ve never been a fan of the game. It wouldn’t do anything but drive your mind further towards the outlaw you’re avoiding. You skirt around Dutch’s tent, not even wanting to attempt to speak with him. He’s been growing bored of Molly, and you’ve felt a little of his gaze drift towards you. You’d rather not tempt him further. 

You’re considering just attempting a ride on your own when you spot Charles moving away from Pearson’s table. He has new arrows in his hand and his bow is on his back. He’s moving towards his horse like a man on a mission and you finally see your opening. 

“Charles!” You shout, trying to catch him before he leaves. You draw a few eyes towards you but manage to ignore them for the most part. One pair feels particularly intense but you do your best not to meet it. 

He’s got one hand on Taima, slightly turned towards you as he waits for you to catch up. You slide to a stop in front of him, the sun glaring into your eyes over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Going hunting,” he answers bluntly, shifting slightly so you’re less blinded by the bright light of the early morning. Well, that had been obvious. But you’d been hoping for something more inviting. 

“Mind if I come?” You ask, rocking on the heels of your feet impatiently. 

Charles doesn’t usually mind you hanging around him. You’re not sure if he likes it, but he certainly doesn’t object. He seems less sure now, though. His face pinches and he tilts his head, already preparing to say no. You feel whatever hope you’d had sink to your feet. It’s going to be another day of staring at a tree and hoping something interesting happens. 

“Charles!” Hosea calls his name before he can tell you no. You both turn towards the old man, furrowed brows on your faces. “Need your help with something today.” Charles sighs and shoots you a bothered look. You wince, mouthing an apology as he brushes past you. You’re sure if he hadn’t been held up by you he would already have been on his way. 

“I was going hunting. Pearson needs more meat for camp.” Charles argues as he comes up to the fire. Hosea shakes his head, taking a long sip of his coffee. Something curls at the edge of his lips that feels remarkably familiar to you. 

“Don’t bother. Arthur will go.” Arthur looks up from his journal, flipping it closed and frowning as Hosea volunteers him. “And he’ll take the lady with him.”

“No-”

“Why-”

You and Arthur both shoot each other sheepish looks, cutting each other’s objections off. You know why you’re saying no, but it doesn’t make his rejection sting any less. He wasn’t exactly slow to protest against time alone with you. 

Hosea holds his hands up, shooting both of you sharp glares. “I need Charles's help with some herbs,” Charles lets out a little huff but Hosea continues on. “Arthur’s our next best hunter and I do believe Mrs. Rowe needs to learn how to hunt. Are you saying that you don’t think she should know how to take care of herself, Arthur?”

Arthur’s jaw hinges and closes like a fish as he sets Hosea with a narrowed-eyed look. “Now, you know I ain’t sayin’ that. I’m just thinkin’ someone else can take her.”

You try not to let that hurt but it does. He has every reason to avoid you, you haven't exactly been welcoming. But it hurts to see how much you’ve messed this all up. “I don’t see any volunteers, Arthur.” Hosea pretends to search around camp but he just shakes his head and shrugs. “Going to have to be you. I think you both can handle some time alone. You’re adults aren’t you?”

You and Arthur share a look over Hosea’s head. One of shared suspicion that the old man has more than just simple hunting up his sleeve. You both grit out a reluctant, “Fine.”

Hosea smiles and takes Arthur’s map. “Wonderful, here, I’ve marked a spot on here for where you should go hunting.”

Arthur snatches it back and lets out a loud sigh. “Hosea, this is gonna take us two damn days.”

“Well then, I guess you best get riding.”

You know Arthur wants to laugh at you. You don’t blame him, you’re sure you look like a clown on top of Lady. She’s not working with you and you’re slipping and sliding along the saddle. You can’t get comfortable, constantly fidgeting and lifting yourself up and down. It’s making her twitchy.

You can see her flicking her tail in irritation every time you fidget. “Comfortable?” Arthur calls out. 

You look over at him and glare. He’s so wonderfully content on top of his perfect Diablo. “Just fine,” you grit out, trying not to be jealous of how much more his horse likes him than yours likes you. 

Lady seems to have been appropriately named. She’s got all the stuck-up makings of one. You shift again and she flicks her head, whinnying and nearly scaring you off her damn back. “You need to calm down,” Arthur instructs, riding a little closer. 

“I’m trying to get her to,” you argue, tone broaching the line between sharp and petulant. 

“Not the horse,” he chuckles and reaches over, covering your hands with one of his own. He forces you to look up at him and you’re caught wholly off guard by how close he is. You’re practically sharing breaths as he keeps up stride with you. 

“You need to calm down,” his voice is low in your ear, you can feel the rumble of it down your spine. “She can tell you don’t trust her,” he slowly releases your hands in favor of placing them on your back. “Just take a deep breath,” you have to fight the urge to close your eyes and lean into the warmth of his voice. “There you go, good girl,” your eyes shoot open but he’s talking to the horse now. 

You’re ashamed to say you’re jealous of the damn horse. 

He pulls Diablo back and nods towards Lady, “She won’t trust you if you don’t trust her.”

“How am I meant to?” You grouse, but she’s already calmed down a bit just from Arthur pacifying you. 

“Sometimes you just gotta open yourself up to something, even if it might hurt.”

You want to point out the irony of him telling you that but it doesn’t feel appropriate. “Thank you,” you mutter. You risk leaning forward slightly, running your hand through Lady’s soft mane. You think she makes something of an appreciative noise but you can’t be sure. 

He nods his head, humming an affirmative and keeping his eyes strictly on the scenery around you. You try to think of something else to say to him, but every train of thought leads to confessing your guilt about your husband. Forced to keep your mouth shut, you train your eyes forward and keep your attention on calming Lady. 

Above you, the sun peeks through the canopy of leaves, its golden light reflecting off the early morning dew. When you suck in a deep breath, you can still smell the rain in the air, remnants of the night before. Through columns and rows of light, the warmth of the sun manages to reach you. 

Ignoring the tension between you and Arthur, this is possibly one of the most peaceful mornings you’ve had since your home was turned over to the O’Driscolls. You can’t help but appreciate the beauty and the freedom of the world around you.

You're on your own horse, wearing pants, without a chaperone as you ride beside a man. You don’t have to sit here and fret over whether or not he’ll still want you if you speak out of turn. There’s no society to be shunned from here. It’s just you and nature. If you listen close enough you can hear mourning doves and the rustle of creatures in the underbrush beyond you. 

Lady keeps her steady trot, letting you leisurely take in all you can. You’re not sure how long you’ll stay with the gang. You don’t know how long before Dutch will decide you’re dead weight. But you know that life will never get any simpler than this. Anything you manage to find outside the gang will just be the same suffocating, dull monotony of your past life. 

You have to appreciate the beauty of moments like these while you still have them. 

“How are you likin’ it?” Arthur’s rough voice breaks the tranquility of the moment. You open your eyes from where you’d been absorbing the warmth of the sun and turn towards him. Your brows furrow in question and he smiles slightly, though it seems strained. “The life of an outlaw,” he clarifies, arms out as he gestures to the world around you. 

You laugh a little and shrug. “I don’t know. It’s a little more boring than I had expected,” except of course for you murdering your husband. 

He barks out a laugh and it makes a smile spread over your cheeks. He’s got a contagious laugh, you’ve discovered. It fills your stomach with a warmth that makes your legs tingle. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, for the most part, all you’re doing is sitting around camp. You just wait for something to happen.” You stretch your truth, teasing him a little to try and get another loud laugh out of him. 

Sadly, he only shakes his head with a little amused huff of breath. “Suppose it’s easy to think like that when we’re like this.”

“Hunting?”

He shakes his head and gazes off at something you can’t see in the distance. “On the run, laying low. We’re not exactly goin’ to run around robbin’ branks when we’re tryin’ to keep the law off our back.” His voice grows quieter, more sentimental, “Not when we’ve already lost too much.”

You feel something like shame clogging your throat and wish you’d never said anything at all. It was easy to forget just how much loss they’d all experienced. They didn’t wear it on their sleeves like others might. Just carried it with them in their heavy hearts. 

You’d noticed that Arthur, especially Arthur, tended to turn it all inwards. He blamed himself for any loss or death that occurred within the gang. He never actually blames the person who truly deserves it. You wish you could help him, but you can’t keep trying to fix broken things; you only end up cutting yourself in the process. 

“We’re gettin’ close,” he speaks before the silence can reach any further. His voice is a little rougher now, slightly closed off from you. He turns towards a thicker grove of trees and you try and nudge Lady to follow him. 

She keeps going straight and you tug a little harder on the reins. “Come on,” you mutter, trying to tilt her towards Arthur. You look over your shoulder and see he’s already hitched Diablo and is retrieving his bow from the saddle. “Oh, this is just embarrassing, you wicked beast.”

She knickers in discontent and you roll your eyes. Of course, out of all the horses you picked, it had to be the most stubborn one. You nudge your heel into her ribs and she comes to a complete stop. Her tail flicks with irritation and you throw your hands up in defeat. “I absolutely despise you-”

A sharp whistle rings through the air and cuts you off. Both you and Lady whip towards the noise. Arthur is leaning against a tree, fingers still hovering over his mouth. He pauses, making eye contact with Lady, and whistles again. 

You startle as she takes off in a trot. You grapple for the reins and glare down at her in confusion. “How in the world did you do that?” You call out as Lady approaches Arthur. He chuckles and reaches for the reins in your hand. You give them over willingly, not wanting to try and reason with the stubborn bastard any longer. 

“Got years of wranglin’ these things under my belt. You’ll get there one day.” He comes back around to your side of the saddle and holds his hands out for you. 

“I’m not sure I want to,” you grouse as you slip your hands in his. He eases you off of Lady’s saddle and helps you gently onto the soft grass below. 

Arthur pulls out his map and turns towards the clearing a little way before you. You hear the rushing of water in the distance and figure this is where the deer come for a reprieve from the day. You don’t have to imagine how exhausting it is to always be running from predators. You know what it’s like living your life by taking soft steps and trying to make sure you’re never seen. You’d never go back to that if you had the choice. 

“The place Hosea wanted me to look at isn’t too far out. Couple minutes walk, probably.”

Arthur starts off without looking back and you frown at him. “Hey,” you call out, “shouldn’t I have a bow, too?”

Arthur’s brow quirks up and he’s silent for a moment before he barks out a loud laugh. You roll your eyes and let out a heavy sigh. He’s got a big grin on his face that’s making it hard to actually be mad, but you’re trying. 

“You ever shot a bow before?”

You tuck your tongue in your cheek and frown. You’ve used rifles and pistols plenty of times. Of course, then you had really just been shooting at bottles. But you can’t say you’ve ever experienced a bow. You’re slow to answer, “No.”

“How ‘bout we see how you do today? I’d rather not have you shoot my damn eye out.”

He starts walking back towards you and you practically stomp your foot. “Oh, Arthur, that’s ridiculous-”

He cups your elbow in his hand and forces you forward. “Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve seen it happen. It ain’t pretty.” You can’t find it in yourself to argue anymore. You’re too caught off guard by how tender he’d sounded when he’d called you that. 

Sweetheart. You wonder if he ever calls Mary that.

The thought leaves a sour taste on your tongue. You jerk your arm out of his hold and do your best to ignore the surprised look he sends you. He should be more careful how he acts around you, especially if he’s got a woman of his own. 

You and Arthur drift into another tense silence, one of your own creation, yet again. You follow along whatever path Hosea’s created on his map and let your mind drift away. You try not to linger on any passing thoughts. Instead, you want to focus on the world around you. 

You take in the sounds of bird song and try to memorize the melody. You never want to lose this feeling of being so wholly encapsulated by the world around you. Walking along quietly behind Arthur feels like you’ve become just another slinking animal in the forest. 

A sound breaks through your thoughts of nothing. Something like the wet squelch of blood. It reminds you of how your husband’s brain had sounded under your boot. You come to a stop that goes unnoticed by Arthur. He continues ahead but you’re stuck in a memory. 

There’s a low growl like the click of your gun’s hammer as you’d pulled it back. A fierce bark rings through the treetops like a gunshot. You whip around to face the sound and find nothing but the bright green of the forest. 

As though pulled forward by a rope, you find yourself walking without thought. You step carefully over roots and push through brambles. You follow a red trail dotting along the leaves on the ground until you manage to push your way into a small clearing.

The trees are thinner here. They carry less leaves and occupy less space. They give you just enough room to see what has drawn you forward like a siren’s call. 

A wolf dangles from another wolf’s bloody maw. She’s panting, eyes practically red with bloodlust as she crunches down on the neck of the wolf beneath her. There’s a pathetic whimper, quickly followed by the low gurgle of death. The second wolf hangs limply from her jaws and you’re reminded even more of your marriage. 

But you’re not the bleeding, weak, shadow of a creature on the ground. You’ve turned into the hunter, the defiler. You won’t ever let yourself be cowed by someone weaker than you are. You’ve forced yourself into the role of an animal, blood on your maw and righteous fury in your eye. 

The wolf hasn’t noticed you yet, but you feel as though you’ve seen this animal before. A shadow pacing before your home’s door. The howl outside the camp in the dead of night. She’s haunted you for so long and has only allowed you this one glimpse now. Why?

Something clamps down on your shoulder, heavy, hard, and calloused. It takes everything in you to tamp the scream in your throat down. “What the hell were you thinkin’? Could you stop runnin’ off all the damn time?”

Arthur glares down at you. He hasn’t seen the wolf yet, he’s only just found you. Your eyes widen and you turn slightly towards her. His brows furrow in confusion but he follows your gaze and you watch as his face pales. His hand immediately drifts to the revolver on your hip but you lunge forward, stopping him before he can fully grab it. 

“What’re you doin’?”

“Stop,” you plead, voice heavy with emotions he’ll never truly understand. “Don’t.”

His eyes dart between you and the wolf. You can see the battle waging within him. He doesn’t want to upset you but he can’t risk turning his back and having the wolf on him. You squeeze his hand, eyes big and pleading as you stare up at him. Finally, he relents with a sigh, grip going lax on the handle of the revolver. 

You let out a breath of relief and he takes your hand in his, tugging you back a little. The wolf doesn’t feast on her kind, she just stands over him, lips curled back and ears pinned. You keep your eyes firmly on her as Arthur guides you both out of the clearing.

Once you’re safely out of earshot, Arthur starts grumbling under his breath. “Shouldn’t have done that,” he says vaguely. You frown and catch up with him, shrugging your shoulders in confusion. “There’s plenty of prey in the area,” he clarifies. “It shouldn’t be killin’ its own.”

You look over your shoulder, as though you might see the wolf again, but she doesn’t come back. “Maybe she had to,” you muse. “Maybe he had it coming.”

You don’t miss the odd look Arthur gives you and you don’t blame him. You don’t quite understand yourself sometimes. But you do know you were meant to see that. Whether as a reminder of your sin or a confirmation you did the right thing, you don’t know.

You’re crouched behind a fallen tree as Arthur shows you how to properly nock an arrow. A herd of deer graze along the grass only a few feet ahead. Arthur’s got his sights set on the biggest one and you can already feel your stomach squirming at the thought of watching the beast hit the ground. 

You’d just seen a wolf ripping another wolf to shreds, but the thought of a buck dying makes you nauseous. You need to get your priorities straight. 

Arthur lifts the bow and pulls the string back. He’s facing away from the herd for now, still trying to get you to understand the basics. “Alright, you want your arm level, one finger above the arrow,” he wiggled one of his fingers on the string and you smiled slightly, “two below.” He brought the bow back down and shrugged. “Ain’t too hard, you’ll have to get used to the effort of keeping the string back. Beyond that, point and shoot.”

You roll your eyes with a scoff, “Really? It’s that easy?”

“Well,” he smiles slightly and shakes his head. “Nah, it’ ain’t that easy. You gotta consider the wind, how far the arrow needs to travel, and you gotta be steady.” He pauses and runs his tongue over his lips, struggling for words. You tilt your head in question, letting him find them. “You haven’t been steady in a while, sweetheart.”

There’s that name again. You’d be pleased if it weren’t for what he just said. “Steady?”

“Calm,” he clarifies. “You can’t even ride your horse.”

“I don’t like horses,” you try and defend yourself but it sounds weak, even to you. 

“You and I both know it’s not just that.” He moves a little closer. He leans over you, blue eyes imploring you to just tell the truth. You want to, every part of you is screaming just to give in, but you can’t. 

“Arthur, not now, please,” you’re practically begging. You can’t meet his eye any longer, looking at the ground instead and praying he just drops it. 

He lingers behind you for a moment longer before letting out a low breath. “Alright, fine. We’ll just hunt. I mean it, though, eventually you’ll just have to let go of whatever it is that’s buggin’ you.”

That won’t be happening anytime soon, but there’s no point in telling him that. Instead, you turn back to the herd of deer. It’s thinned slightly, a few of them having run towards the fields beyond. But the big one remains, antlers decorated with moss as he cranes his lithe neck for a drink in the river. 

Arthur passes you the bow and you shoot him a concerned look. “Just give it a try, like I showed you.” When you don’t move, he wraps his palms around yours and forces the bow and arrow into your hands. He lifts them, leveling your arm with your chin and pulling it back until the string is just by your ear. “Come on, you’ve got it,” the whispered instructions should have you melting into him but you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to loose the arrow. 

Your arms drop to your sides and you shake your head. “I can’t,” you utter, sounding completely defeated. “I can’t shoot.”

Arthur mistakes your reluctance for insecurity and smiles slightly. He slips behind you, his chest pressed against your back, and lifts your hands again. “‘Course you can,” he encourages. “I’ll help you.”

Once more, he guides you into the right position. Except, this time, he doesn’t let go. He keeps his palms firmly wrapped around your fists and guides you until your aim is just right. He waits for the breeze to stop blowing, forcing you to keep your tight grip even as your bicep begins to tremble with strain. 

“Hold on,” he mutters, eyes narrowed as he focuses on the buck. Your heart kicks up a beat the longer you watch it move. As much as you’d like to relax into Arthur’s warmth, you can’t. You’re watching this animal move and live its life. And you’re about to kill it like it’s nothing. What right do you have to claim it’s blood?

“There,” Arthur lets you go before you can stop him. Your hands naturally follow his guidance and the arrow whistles through the air. The deer notices it too late. You can hear the thud as it embeds into his neck. It lets out a loud, dying, bleat that alerts the rest of the herd of danger. They jump around for a moment before racing off. 

Your arms sink to your sides and Arthur squeezes your shoulders. “There ya go! Told you, you could do it!” He grins down at you, waiting for you to celebrate along with him. You can’t, all you hear is that awful noise the animal had let out as you killed it. 

Arthur pauses, finally seeing the downtrodden expression on your face. “Hey,” he cuts himself off as the first tear falls. You can’t help it. It’s like a dam has burst with that deer’s death. You crumple into yourself, hands rubbing your eyes raw as you try and stem the tears. “Dammit,” he hisses, “how do I keep doin’ this?”

You laugh wetly at that, sniffling as you wipe your nose against your sleeve. “It’s not you,” you promise him. 

“Then what’s wrong?” His voice has lost any tenderness it once held. It’s rough, and commanding, as he tries to force some answers out of you. You don’t blame him for being upset. He’s right, you really aren’t steady right now. 

“I can’t-”

He cuts you off with a rough shake of his head. His hands find their way on your shoulders and he forces you to turn towards him. You try and slip out of his grip but he grabs your chin and ticks your face up. “Look, I know you and Charles are hidin’ somethin’. I may be a fool but I’m not blind. I’ve also never seen someone cry so hard over a damn deer. You gotta give me somethin’ here.”

You can’t tell him the truth, you know that much. Besides, you’d be implicating Charles in your crime as well. You don’t need to drag him down along with you. But Arthur seems so desperate. You know, deep down, that all he wants is to help, to finally get you to stop crying. And you suppose you owe him something after breaking down on him so many times. 

“I did something,” you whisper, staring down at your hands and for a moment seeing blood on them. “Something awful, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be forgiven for it.”

Arthur’s brows furrow and he rubs the back of his neck. “Forgiven by who?”

You shouldn’t be surprised that he didn’t ask what you did. You know he’s used to all sorts of awful things in his life. You suppose he probably thinks your definition of awful is simply killing a deer- not the man you’d promised the rest of your life to. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug and attempt to collect yourself. “God. Myself. I feel like I’m tainted,” you clench your hands shut and take in a shuddering breath. “Like I’ll never be able to cleanse myself of this.”

Arthur’s silent for a while and you worry that you’ve lost him. There’s a shuffle of feet and you force yourself to finally look up. 

Arthur's eyes soften with concern, but his face is still tainted with a slight suspicion. “Look, I don’t know what happened and I won’t pry. But you’re a good person. I haven’t known you very long,” he amends, a little sheepishly. “But I know you well enough to see just how kind you are. There’s a lot of good inside of you. A lot more than what’s left in me or any of the rest of the gang.”

You sniffle, wiping away a stray tear, and offer him a shaky smile. “You sell yourself too short, Arthur Morgan. You’re a good man, one of the finer ones I’ve met, that’s for sure.”

You swear you almost see a blush on his cheeks as he looks away. “Ah, I wouldn’t go that far. Can’t seem to stop makin’ you cry, anyway.” You laugh a little at that and he finally looks at you again. He gets to his feet and holds his hand out, “Come on, it’ll be dark soon, we gotta get a move on.”

You nod, slipping your hand in his and letting him help you to your feet. He doesn’t let go of you right away, instead, he lets you lean on him as he leads you forward. You appreciate his strength and, as selfish as it is, you relish in the feeling of his body against yours as you walk together. 

You try not to think of his lady or your husband or even the dead buck ahead of you. Instead, you hold onto Arthur’s words. If he believes there’s good left, then maybe there is. 

Arthur told you the ride back would be too long and that you probably wouldn’t do well with Lady at night. You’re sure he’s right but part of you thinks he’s just not ready to be back at camp yet. You can’t blame him, you’re not either. 

It’s nice to get away from the noises of others. Surrounded by the tranquility of nature is the sort of calming environment you need right now. You hadn’t realized just how frayed your nerves had been until you broke down on Arthur for the second time. 

Arthur finally gets the tent set up and comes to sit beside you on the ground. You throw another branch onto the fire and watch as the sparks float up towards the stars. You don’t know why the thought of his woman flits into your mind again. It could be because of how close you both are or simply because she’s lingered in your thoughts since you discovered her. 

You find yourself prying into a man you’re sure would be happier left alone. “How do you think your lady would feel about you sitting so close to me?” You try to give him a teasing smile but you know it only seems strained. 

Arthur’s face drops before it pinches quickly in confusion. He lets out a very ungraceful, “Huh?” And you can’t help but snort slightly in laughter. “The hell are you talkin’ ‘bout woman?” He demands, turning towards the fire and tossing some more sticks on it. 

“The woman in Valentine,” you clarify, still laughing a little. “Oh, I’m sure you remember abandoning me in town for her,” you remind him airily. He lets out a heavy sigh but you keep on. “Doubt she’d appreciate us being so close.”

“No,” he rubs the back of his neck and gives you a sardonic smile. “She wouldn’t, but it don’t matter much now. We haven’t been together for a while.”

“Oh,” you keep your face schooled but there’s a little bit of giddiness bubbling in your gut. But that doesn’t make any sense. “Why would you leave me in town alone to go be with her all day  if you’re not together?”

“I-” he starts and stops himself a few times before giving you a defeated shrug. “Suppose I owe her. I dragged her down into this life, tainted her with my love, I guess I owe her a few favors.”

“Tainted her?” You scoff and wave him off. “I doubt a day goes by where she doesn’t count herself lucky to have been loved by you.”

His face takes on that familiar flush you saw earlier. It could easily be dismissed as heat from the fire but you know better. He’s not used to such blatant honesty, especially not when it compliments him. “Really?” He scoffs and shakes his head. You roll your eyes, already knowing what he’s going to say. 

“I doubt it,” he drawls, rubbing the back of his neck with a stubborn refusal to meet your gaze. You know it’s only because he wouldn’t be able to handle the truth staring back at him. “What about you then, what about your husband?” He easily deflects, throwing you for a curve as you rip your eyes off him. 

You focus on the flames of the fire until it makes your eyes burn. You know he doesn’t know anything about the truth, but you still have to be careful about what you accidentally let slip. “Oh,” you let out a short dismissive chuckle. “Neither of us were lucky. Certainly not me.”

“Why not?” Arthur sounds genuinely curious, not the sort of patronizing inquisitiveness you’ve heard from others in camp. You realize that you’ve not talked about your marriage much. You’ve done your damn best to keep it off the minds of everyone in camp. Starting a new life means not constantly dredging up the old one. But you suppose you owe Arthur just a little bit of honesty. 

“He never loved me the way a man is supposed to love his wife. I count myself lucky to have gotten away from him.”

“He wasn’t kind to you?” Arthur asks, but you both know the answer. 

You finally let your gaze drift off the fire and shake your head. “Not in any aspect of the word. The only part of our marriage that was real was the papers. And now he’s lost and so are they.” You suck in a deep breath and force a smile, turning to face him once more. “I’m finally a free woman.”

Arthur meets your eyes with a startling intensity. There’s something pinched on his face, a thought that’s just taking too long to form. You see the internal battle with himself as he debates whether or not to open his mouth. Your fingers dig into the softened material of your pants, fidgeting as you wait restlessly for his question. 

“Would you ever want that again?” He asks slowly. “Not marriage, but to be with someone like that.”

You look off to the edge of the clearing you’re camping in. The trees provide you both with a thick cover, the tips of them nearly reaching the stars. You’re used to a clear view like this from your home in the mountains. But you never realized just how much you were missing being locked up in that house. There are so many things you thought you’d never have the chance for, so many new opportunities to make. 

“I used to think to myself that if I ever got away from him, I would never be involved with a man ever again.” You wonder if you make up the way his shoulders stiffen slightly. “I had thought they were all just as cruel, just as useless as he was.” His gaze rips away from you and he stares pointedly towards the wildflowers in front of you. You let out a breathy laugh and lean back on your hands, shrugging. “I’m starting to think I might have been wrong.”

Arthur turns towards you and you wonder if you’re imagining the hope in his gaze. Is it just a projection of your own wishes, or is it the truth? “What about you?” You deflect, not willing to hold the weight of the conversation anymore. 

“With the right person. With someone who understood that this is just who I am.” Someone who won’t try to change him, you finish his unspoken thought and nod your head. He hesitates for a moment on his next question. “You think you’ll ever find the right man?” You feel your cheeks pull up unwittingly. Your fingers drift across the grass, just barely brushing against his. He doesn’t pull away from you or frown at the touch. Instead, you feel the warmth of his palm covering your hand. “I think I might be starting too.”

Next Part

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea

[glitterquadricorn]

Another Leclerc - social media

+ summary: When rumors go around about another Leclerc joining the f1 grid, people automatically assume its Arthur, completely forgetting about y/n leclerc. She'll do anything for a formula one seat. Even if it meant going behind a certain driver's back. +pairing: none. + warning(s): sexism, google translate (I don't speak Italian nor French but if I have something wrong, let me know), like one curse word.

face claim: Lindsay brewer

+ author's note: for a while now I've been wanting to get back into writing, but writing fics stress me out, so I figured making social media/instgram posts will be a lot easier to put together. I've also decided to change how I do social media posts and I'm trying to figure things out, so in the meantime, bear with me.

itsy/nleclerc

liked by charlesleclerc, scuderiaferrari, and 20,102 others

itsy/nleclerc: *insert Sebastian Vettel quote here*

view all comments

charles_leclerc: isn't that my jacket? ⤷itsynleclerc: If I said no would you believe me? ⤷charles_leclerc: give me back my jacket or I'll tell mom ⤷itsy/nleclerc: go ahead and tell mom, you snitch

user1: Charles and y/n is exactly how my sister, and I are whenever she burrows my clothes.

patriciooward: when are you going to let me drive your Ferrari?⤷itsy/nleclerc: never. ⤷josefnewgarden: she won't even let me drive it and I'm her teammate! ⤷12willpower: she's let me drive it ⤷patriciooward: Y/N! I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!! ⤷itsy/nleclerc: other than my beloved Ferrari, I only love my bed and my mom I'm sorry!

user2: this made me feel ✨poor✨

scuderiaferrari: you have great taste, miss leclerc ⤷itsy/nleclerc: thank you! :)

user3: you look real good in red liked by itsy/nleclerc

user4: I so badly want her to race for Ferrari with Charles! liked by itsy/nleclerc

arthur_leclerc: is there something you want to share with the class?⤷itsy/nleclerc: nope 🤐

user5: y/n clearly knows something we don't ⤷user6: you don't think she's the leclerc deuxmoi is talking about, right? ⤷user5: I hope not because Arthur honestly deserves that f1 seat more than her.

ScuderiaFerrari:

liked by itsy/nleclerc, charles_leclerc, f1 and 3,689,758 others.

scuderiaferrari: two-time indy 500 winner & one-time indycar champion and the first woman to be in formula one since Lella Lombardi, y/n leclerc joins Ferrari in 2026!

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itsy/nleclerc: this has always been a childhood dream of mine to race for Ferrari! grazie per questa sorprendente opportunità! (thank you for this amazing opportunity) liked by scuderiaferarri

carlossainz55: you can't be serious

charles_leclerc: papa and jules would be proud ⤷itsy/n_leclerc: I know 😭😭

pierregasly: Congrats little leclerc! ⤷itsy/nleclerc: thank you, mon frère (my brother)

josefnewgarden: I'll miss having you around ⤷itsy/nleclerc: you and misses are always welcome to come to Monaco ⤷josefnewgarden: we might just take you up on that offer

lewishamilton: hopefully this is a step in the right direction in making the paddock more inclusive and welcoming for everyone! liked by itsy/nleclerc

user1: y/n doesn't belong in formula one. ⤷user2: and the fact that she's replacing someone that didn't need to be replaced is astounding! ⤷user3: the pressure will be too much for her and she'll fail like past women who've tried to make it in f1 ⤷user4: I predict she won't make it to summer break before she quits ⤷user5: why is it so hard for you to comprehend a woman being in formula one? I mean, if you hate women, just say so.

user6: my daughter has expressed interest in karting because of y/n

12willpower: I wish you nothing but the best, kid. ⤷itsy/nleclerc: thanks, old man! 😘

user7: y/n signing to Ferrari is great and all, but I'm over here asking myself what tf is in the water in monaco because it should be illegal to be this good looking! ⤷user8: you're out here asking the real questions ⤷user9: all I'm saying is God bless mama Leclerc

Chili man🌶️ How could do this to me? I thought we were friends.

Mini Leclerc What do you mean?

Chili man🌶️ Don't play dumb, y/n. You know exactly what you did.

Mini Leclerc Yes, I did sign with Ferrari. Yes, I did take your seat. You didn't sign an extension and they reached out to me. I saw an opportunity and I took it.

Chili man🌶️ I was getting ready to talk to Fred about an extension.

Mini Leclerc Early bird gets the worm?

Chili Man🌶️ You're a real bitch, you know that?

Mini Leclerc You think that's the first time a man, much less anyone has called me that? You know as much as I do that Formula one is a competitive sport and in order to get a seat, you may have to do some unspeakable things. Let me ask you a question, though. If the roles were reversed and you were me, would you have done the same thing?

*read*

Mini Leclerc you leaving me on read lets me know you would've. But I'll never apologize for my actions, Carlos. If you have any interest in IndyCar, I can give you some resources to help you out. Good luck in any of your future endeavors, Carlos.

---

thank you to @lorarri and @majaverse for helping me out. they didn't have to do that, but they did, so this is dedicated to them! :)

tagging list:

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @patzammit @yagirlmexic @tinycyberhacker @keenmarvellover @mrspeacem1nusone @lendeluxe @alexxavicry

if your name is crossed out, I couldn't tag you.

I'm going clean out my tagging list again, so if you want to stay on it, let me know.

[clairecrive]

Hello!! Could you write a Alfie Solomons x reader where he goes to a meeting with Tommy only to find him and reader arguing/negotiating about something, meanwhile Arthur's bleeding out and her refusing to help Arthur until Tommy lets her win? I feel like Alfie would have instant heart eyes!

A/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while. It's more of a blurb, but it was fun to get back to it. I feel like Alfie's really into badass women. especially ones that make Shelby's life hell. let me know if you wanna be tagged in my next pieces. enjoy <3

MASTERLIST

"Love at first blood"| Alfie Solomons x reader

"Now, Mister Shelby, I'm sure you'll agree with me but alliances should be equal otherwise you'll risk for your partner to look for a more advantageous deal elsewhere."

"Is that a threat?"

"Merely stating a fact, I'm sure you know more than me on the matter. Do you not?"

"Aye."

"So, you'll agree to my terms then?"

Tommy's mouth opened as if to speak but Arthur's groan hijacked his attention. While his eyes never moved from y/n's, Alfie could see his jaw clenching. And he knew it for it was, a telltale sign of a decision made.

"Provided you aid my brother here."

"But of course. A deal is a deal." Magnanimously, she ripped out a piece of fabric from her long skirt and went to wrap it tightly on the oldest Shelby's leg.

"Here," she said making one last knot in the bandage. Arthur groaned in response. Not many people could put the fear of God in such a reckless man like him. You, however, were on top of that list. If he could, he'd crawl far away from you.

Words were good and all and y/n knew that after her little demonstration, the deal was closed; still, she spat on her hand and offered it to Tommy to do the same.

Once the pact was officially sealed, y/n nodded in Tommy's direction and turned around to leave.

That's when she noticed a man standing at the threshold. He wasn't very tall nevertheless, he managed to portray an imposing aura that, y/n was sure, worked perfectly in his line of work.

The cane and the wide-brim hat were enough to confirm his identity. Y/n had never met Alfie Solomons. They didn't run in the same circle, to put it simply.

Running into the Shelbys had resulted from an unfortunate series of events caused by incompetent men in her life. She wasn't so keen to repeat that experience.

However, if she had to be honest, she had to admit that Solomon's piercing eyes intrigued her. Especially the way he was looking at her, with a mix of admiration, fear, and interest.

"Fucking hell," the man of the hour spoke, and oh my god. His voice.

His fucking voice.

She tried her best to conceal her body's primal reaction to the sound. However, she couldn't help but stay put and wait for what he had to say.

"I've never seen such a small fucking thing put the fear of God in a man," Alfie pointed his cane in their general direction before tipping his hat to her.

"You should never underestimate a woman, Mr. Solomons," y/n quipped with a sly smile.

"Ah pet, am not a fucking fool, am I?" he chuckled with mirt.

The tension in the room was palpable and it wasn't the kind that had been previously present. Oh, no. This one was fire.

It was only Tommy clearing his voice that broke the eye contact between you and Alfie.

"Well gentlemen, my business here is done. I'll leave you to it," she nodded at Alfie as she walked past him. "Thomas, the pleasure was all yours as always."

The last thing y/n heard before leaving was the wonder in Alfie's voice as he demanded to know who was that fucking vengeful angel he had just met.

[natailiatulls07]

could i request some leclerc!reader and so comfort with charles please

It's okay

Arthur Leclerc Charles Leclerc Lorenzo Leclerc Pascale Leclerc & Leclerc!reader

Summary - In order to find her way in life, Y/n Leclerc runs away in the dead of night only leaving a note

Warning - neglection, running away

-

Growing up with three older brothers and two of such competing in karting competions, life was hard for Y/n Leclerc. Pascale and Hervé invested lots of their money and energy into Arthur and Charles.

When she was seven, Y/n's interest in ballet started. The young girl had her heart set on being a professional ballerina. So thats what she did. Y/n convince Pascale to enrol her in ballet class.

From then on, she became more and more talented. Quickly becoming the top of class. Yet when recitals came round and she was the lead, the only person who came to watch was Lorenzo.

The rest of the family were out at karting competitions cheering on Charles and Arthur. Yes they would apolgise to Y/n for their absence but to her it never really felt quite right.

-

Y/n was 14 years old, life got harder. Karting turned to formula 2 and E. Lorenzo now building his own life, he moved out of the house.

And the worst of all, Hervé Leclerc passed away. This meant attention was limited, Pascale was busy. She had her salon to run, she was running around supporting the two boys racing and she was mourning the lose of her partner.

As much as he wanted to support Y/n during her recitals, Lorenzos life became busier and he could no longer come along each recital. She felt as though no one her family could see her or her talent.

So what did she do? Y/n collected enough money to enrol herself into a ballet academy. In the dead of night she packed just enough and left without a sound. Of course she couldn't leave without leaving a note, she loved her family.

Dear Maman, Charlie and Arthur, I love you all dearly, please don't worry about me. I will be gone for a while, Lo Lo knows where I will be but please do not pester him. Thank you for everything and more Love from your dearest daughter, Y/n xx

-

Y/n Leclerc was a sensation, one of the best of her age. She was a household name, even if you weren't that well educated on ballet you knew who this elegant women was.

However, it was rare for the ballerina to speak publicily, Espercially as many would ask of her surname and family relations. And it wasn't hard to understand why.

"So Y/n please tell me, any relation to formula one driver Charles Leclerc?"

"No comment, thank you"

Charles, Arthur, Pascale and Lorenzo watched on, following her social media through burner accounts not wanting to make this harder for Y/n.

They could see how she spent most of her time dancing, spending time to herself or getting cocktails with friends she made along the way.

~

yourusername

Week in my life...

Spending time alone, you must prioritize self care

Fruit cocktails with friends, the key to my heart

Looking after the minis, they're the cutest little things

Lounging on my sofa after a long day of rehearsals, it is tiring!

Liked by cl_2648749 and 146,283 others

comments are limited

username Gorg gorg girlie

cl_2648749 <3

username I so wanna be her friend omfggg

~

But she wasn't stupid, Y/n knew who those burner accounts were. Every single post, the burner accounts were there front and center. She felt their eyes on her, it was silly really but she constantly felt like they were watching her.

However, Y/n felt warm with that in mind. Like they were finally noticing her for the first time. No longer was she fighting for the attension with her two older brothers. But was it just online? If she were to go back, would it go back to how it was before.

Plus she had built up a life on ballet. Y/n made a family with her friends. Everyone knew her, fuck she is a household name hiding her Leclerc identity from the world, even herself.

-

"I think it's a good idea! It's been long overdue in my opinion"

"No. We need to work to her choices, not make her uncomfortable."

"Okay when?!" Charles throws his arms in the air with frustration. He was pacing in front of the television; Arthur, Pascale and Lorenzo all sat on the sofa watching him.

The topic of Y/n came up in passing by Arthur and it became much more. Charles was fighting, he was desperate to get his dear little sister back home. However Lorenzo, knowing how Y/n felt about everything, was fighting back and trying to prioritize her feelings.

The constant pacing stopped abruptly, and Charles turned to look at Lorenzo with a harsh glare. "Why do you want to so desperately work to her choices? Are you in contact with her?" You could hear a penny drop.

Eyes snapped over to the oldest boy, all confused and harsh. Lorenzo sunk into himself. "I um..." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Yeah um so I kept contact with her yes"

"Is she okay?" The first question Pascale asked. Years of guilt plagued her mind, she neglected her own daughter and she was now paying the price for that.

Lorenzo nodded. "Yes, she's okay...Y/n she um built up a family through her friends and as you know she is doing well for herself..." A small proud smile morphed onto his face, he was proud of her for doing this for herself.

"Does she hate us for what we did?"

He breathed in and out. "No, she doesn't hate any of us...she understands completely..." That did ease some guilt for the other three, it would of killed them to know that she hated them, her own family.

There was silence for a couple of minutes whilst they all fell into their own thoughts. And then Pascale spoke up again. "Can you at least text her or call her whatever...talk to her, please tell her that we love her and that we want to see her again...we're so so proud and sorry"

Arthur and Charles both nodded in agreement. "I'll see what I can do..." Lorenzo promised.

-

It seemed that the next time they would see Y/n would come round much soon than expected. It wasn't planned, totally sporadic.

Charles was in the kitchen, in Lorenzos apartment. He was scrolling through his phone when there was a ring coming from Lorenzos phone. "Lorenzo! Your phone, it's ring!" Looking over the driver read the name.

Y/n

He knew it was wrong to answer the call, but it felt right like this would do something so he did. Charles picked up the phone and answer.

Before he could speak the voice he missed so dear filled his ear, yet it was panicked and he could hear uneven breathing.

"Lo I'm sorry please, I came back to Monte C but uh um the paps they um oh my god I can't breathe they keep following me! Please please I don't- I don't know where to go!" He missed her voice, granted it for much more mature and wiser now, he still missed it.

Though he was entranced by the situation, now very concerned. "It's okay, it's okay" His mind was on speed mode, much like it was in the car. "Send me the location, I'll come and collect you"

Y/n's voice came out calmer and confused now. "Cha...is that you?"

Charles nodded his head before realising she couldn't see him. "Yeah um it is Cha, I'm on my way" He rushed down to his ferrari.

-

Pulling up to her location, his heart clenched. Y/n had grown so much since he had last seen her, she had grown into herself and looked alot like Pascale now.

Charles climbed out of his car, walking over to her and collided her into a bone crushing hug. "Oh chérie, je suis vraiment désolé..." Oh darling, I'm so sorry

Tears soaked his shoulder, the whole chaos of the day and reuniting with her older brother weighing down on Y/n had finally toppled off completely.

She couldn't speak, just hung onto him. That long time spent away from her family catching up to her. "It's okay...it's okay..." Charles whispered in her ear.

-

[sallowsarchives]

War of Hearts

Part I | Part II | Part III

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

Read on AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what brought you here tonight?”

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

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

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

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

“Actually, that would be him right there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a scowl. “Hey! What the-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Great. I think we’re done here.”

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

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

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

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

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

His dismissal hits you like a cold wave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks again for reading!

Read Part Two Here

[queer-ragnelle]

could you please elaborate on how anachronisms are a feature not a bug? It's probably an issue of "kill the cop in your head" but despite knowing others have done it I find it difficult to accept *I* can mix elements from 1200s france and 600s england (for example).

The Arthurian literary tradition has never been Historical Fiction. Ever. And for many, it's not a detriment, but part of the appeal!

Sure, there are some Arthurian books that set out to be Historical Fiction, that is, pinpoint the era during which their story takes place and sticking to it. They may include historical figures to help immerse the story in that era. That's all well and good. But those stories contain anachronisms. Arthurian Legend has always "mixed elements" of the author's current era with their limited understanding of the past, it has always contained magic, it has always contained characters firmly cemented in mythos that were never considered to have really existed. It's a literary tradition built upon the stories which came before, not a transcription of factual events because we frankly don't even know squat about who Arthur "really was," if he existed at all.

I understand your perspective, I really do. I briefly had an editor who suggested female knights weren't Historically accurate so I should write them out. Gromer and Merlin both perform magic in the prologue, the events pertaining to the Green Knight are mentioned, but gender-neutral language when referring to knights (who this editor insisted should all be cis men) was a step too far. Around the same time, I had a sensitivity reader suggest that Gawain wasn't racist enough to Ragnelle (a Persian woman) and he should call her, his future wife, in my queer romance book, "a savage." Hand to my heart Anon that's a quote I had to read on my manuscript with my own two eyes. And I say to these people, "Are you lost?" Because even though I disclosed the nature of my books before letting these people read it, clearly it wasn't a good match. Literally kill the cop in your head and protect yourself from anyone who makes it more difficult by insinuating the Historical accuracies should be upheld, especially as it pertains to misogyny or racism. Excuse my French, fuck them and fuck that.

This hesitation to write "mixed elements" can come from the false idea a "true" or "objective" way to write within a Historical Era exists. There simply isn't. Unless you have a time machine, you will inevitably rely on anachronisms to bridge gaps both narratively and because the information simply doesn't exist.

Let's use your example to talk about narrative anachronisms first. Say you're writing in 600s Britain (since England didn't exist yet) but you want your character to stand in the stirrups. Ah nuts, they didn't have stirrups yet! That's okay. We're gonna borrow the stirrups from 1200s French version of the stories so your character can do what they need to do. Persia Woolley did this exact thing in her first book Child of the Northern Spring; she wrote Palomides into the story as a means for the Round Table to receive stirrups from the East and this upgrade is something which gave Arthur's knights an edge over others. Another instance could be women riding sidesaddle. Generally speaking, it was meant to keep women's knees together for the sake of modesty, but it also made sense from a practical standpoint as riding astride with ankle-length skirts was cumbersome and simply never done... or was it?

My good friend Alisoun from The Wife of Bath rides astride! Geoffrey Chaucer you madlad!! So while the general Historical fact, that women rode sidesaddle, still stands, they did so except when they didn't! Is this used to mark Alisoun, a fictional woman, as unconventional? Yeah, duh. So it would still be Historically accurate to have the majority of women riding sidesaddle. Alisoun can do things real women of this era weren't allowed to. But the point is this illumination casts doubt on the idea such a thing was unheard of. A woman riding astride wasn't automatically descended upon by a mob that stoned her to death. You can write her riding astride and no misogyny happens. The same could be said for female or transmasc knights, as I explained here. So you can write in a reason why this specific anachronism is present in your story, (Palomides brought the stirrups, Alisoun is a bad bitch who does what she wants, Marine and Silence are proof of GNC knights, etc). It might put you at ease about including it.

But you simply cannot do it for everything. You would spend more time reassuring the reader you're aware of the inaccuracies than you would be telling your story. Every Historical Fiction author in the world can corroborate this.

Even the most serious and intensely research heavy Historical Fiction will contain anachronisms. It's literally impossible to be 100% accurate. Let's say you scour contemporary sources like letters or writings, you're still forced to interpret those either through the inevitably biased author and/or whoever translated it (their word choice, what passages they omitted, etc). (I had to navigate this myself while researching Iranian Zoroastrians through Arabic-written sources, ie, the conquerors' interpretation of the people they sought to eradicate. On top of that, the text is then translated into English for me to read it. The document I end up researching from becomes many steps removed from authenticity, and yet it's all there is; the Avestan or Persian language texts with first hand accounts are scant to none, and also translated into English.)

Best case scenario: you have an artifact, in hand. You can still only glean so much from something that's degraded over many years, something that may be an outlier in and of itself, the authenticity of which could only be corroborated through the help of an expert, someone who is, just like you, living in the present and must make educated guesses with the resources available (carbon dating, context clues, chemical testing of materials, etc).

So sure, you could read in the documentation that this Historical figure had a mustache. A comb alleged to be used for facial grooming was found, which may lend weight to the supposed accuracy of the writings. But unless the documentation also says what color the mustache was, and the length, and the style, and during what point in this person's life they wore the mustache, and whether they also had side burns and beard, your interpretation is based on an inference and likely anachronistic. Even if you have a really detailed text, that's one source. That Medieval author could be a big liar! Maybe they got carried away embellishing their favorite king! Or they cut out the parts which made their favorite king look bad! Or they slanderously depicted their enemy king as depraved to make their favorite look even better by comparison! Every writer has their own agendas. We have no way of knowing the extent of it!

Now I want to circle back to anachronisms that aren't tied to a story element but perhaps something as simple as bridging cultural gaps or practical means in the story itself. By that I mean you cannot know every detail of their lives. What exactly did their Church services look like? How exactly did the nobles' spirituality differ from the lower class? We cannot know for certain and will inevitably fill in the blanks with what we understand of Christianity today. You will more than likely include foods they didn't eat out of necessity because the resources are so scarce or limited or for your own sanity. In book 2, I wrote Agravaine describing something to Ragnelle as "the color of a carrot." Well. They didn't have carrots back in 6th century Britain. They were imported through trade with the East which was a long time coming yet when Agravaine said this. Early Medieval people had other root vegetables, but what were they called? What color were they? Certainly not neon orange carrots thick as the hilt of a sword like we have today. But I left this in anyway because it's a single line. It's so brief as to be insignificant, it's meant to quickly call to mind a color the reader can identify easily. It works on a subtextual level as well since Ragnelle, a Persian woman, would know what a carrot is in the 6th century. So it's only half anachronistic. To me.

On the other hand, in book 1, Gawain and co are in Persia. There Owain and Gaheris eat peaches for the first time. They call them "stone fruit," as they've encountered other fruits with pits, but not these. Gromer, a native, explains they're called "peaches" and they come from China (a place he has personally visited, so he knows). None of these words would've been in Medieval dialogue, but the History of that fruit, which we now call a "peach," is sound. Because it's a moment of cultural connection, and Owain is shown carving peach pits for the rest of the book, and still doing so in book 2, grounding this in as close to Historically sound facts as I could was important.

Now if Owain wanted to bring that peach pit back to Britain and grow a peach tree for his wife Laudine, could that happen? Well, Britain's weather conditions are not at all appropriate for it and the soil probably isn't right and he's not exactly known to have a green thumb. But anachronisms are a feature, not a bug. It's not an "inaccuracy" to write this successful endeavor because I did it on purpose! It is "accurate" to my story! Not an oversight, but a creative choice made with intention. Now I've extended the use of the "prop" and maintained that cultural connection I went out of my way to include. Perhaps later, once Ragnelle has settled at Camelot, she would enjoy a piece of fruit from her homeland as a gift from Laudine. Now the whole thing has come full circle and become enmeshed with the story in such a way the readers won't say "Hey! How does Laudine have a functioning green house in 6th century Britain? That's absurd!" Yeah, well, not any more absurd than Owain's pet lion or his battle with a dragon.

I think this is perfectly okay to do even if you don't have the magical elements. Nothing in the exchange about carrots relies on fantasy. The peaches don't either, not until there's suddenly a functioning greenhouse made of perfect panes of glass. People did travel great distances even in that era. You're not obligated to point to a specific instance of this thing happening Historically for it to be valid in your story. Arthurian authors have literally never been concerned with that. More importantly, neither have the readers! But there are exceptions to many of the "rules" or preconceived notions Historically which can help support your narrative choices if you desire to seek them some of the time. You have a few Modern Arthurian authors writing Historical Fiction, but Bernard Cornwell also included magic and a ton of characters from the Mabinogion, Edward Frankland did the same with Gwalchmai and Olwen, and Henry Treece wrote Cuneglas so strong he could T-pose with two grown men standing on each arm as a display of his strength. Push those boundaries, everyone is! It's fun!

Reading more will help. You'll be able to see what your boundary of anachronisms are. What irks you while reading? What did you notice as inaccurate and not care about? What anachronisms did you enjoy best? Researching a lot will also help. Get a very thorough understanding of the era and location you intend to write in. Then you'll better understand where the gaps in knowledge lies and what you'll have to add anachronistically to fill them. I assure you no one is going to be angry if you write Gringolet as a big beautiful stallion instead of a more Historically accurate little fluffy pony. You'll drive yourself crazy if you get hung up on every detail.

That's all I got. Arthurian Legend frees you from this "Historically accurate" headache. If you're still having trouble, perhaps ask yourself if you what you actually want to be writing is Historical Fiction instead. That's totally cool too! But nobody who enjoys Arthurian Legend is concerned whatsoever with Historical accuracy and you shouldn't be either. So write whatever pleases you! Take care, I hope that helps clear things up a little. :^)

[inkk-tv]

[ ꜰᴏᴏᴛʙᴀʟʟ ᴘᴜʙ ɢᴏʟꜰ : ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ ]

Chris plants his forehead on the table, taking a deep breath as he watches the astro turf. He’s well gone, but Lucy and Arthur, who is now just drawing shapes on the inside of her forearm, aren’t much better off. “You two are going to bankrupt me.”

“We’ll put the fund towards a muzzle.” Lucy says off handedly, swiping the marker, and Arthur’s hand to draw a three-by-three grid on his skin. 

in which: Chris attempts to not have another life crisis during a pub golf video and is failing miserably.

3.7k words [ part one ] [ masterlist ] [ part three, coming soon... ]

[oc x arthurtv x chrismd]

[warnings: Excessive drinking, sexual innuendos and light sexual content]

Chris is torn. 

Logically, he knows football pub golf is a content gold mine. It could easily be one of the best videos of the year, especially with the team line ups. On the other hand, the last time Chris filmed a pub golf for Chip's channel some eight months ago, it ended with him so fucked he'd uprooted his entire life twenty four hours later.

Mid to late twenties was not a good time to have a sexuality crisis - and Chris speaks from experience. Why it took 11 drinks and joking that he'd shag his best mate for space hopper-ing over a bollard to realise he genuinely wanted to snog him silly, Chris isn't sure.

In retrospect, he'd probably fancied Arthur way back in sixth form, sitting with him in every class, dragging the poor bloke to join his football team. The biting should have been a hint. 'Cuteness aggression', as a session of hungover googling informed him, is horribly common. Chris was so torn up about it all that he talks it over with Shannon the night after, when he's not sure if the urge to vomit is from nerves, guilt or the hangover.

He tries to tell her that it doesn't have to change things, that he still loves her. But she still calls it off.

He can't really be mad at her for that, so it's amicable. The two of them weren't built to last much longer anyway; if marriage was in the cards, Shannon wouldn't get snippy anytime her mother brought it up and Chris wouldn't feel nauseous every time he saw an advert for rings. If they were destined for 'forever', talk of marriage wouldn't sound like an expiration date.

Chris spends a couple of months sorting out all his shit and takes a long hard look at his own feelings.

Everyone is sort of weird about the break-up. For a while they all sort of act like it's temporary. Once he puts out a statement though, his friends take that as confirmation that it's actually over. Arthur -Hill not TV- and George take him out drinking a few times as self declared experts in heartbreak and the single life. Their ventures have the three of them planning to move in together when their leases expire in October. Harry corrals him onto a few dating apps and Chris humours him because how is he supposed to tell the guy that women are the last thing on his mind and that he's head over heels (and possibly in love with) one of their mates, who is noticeably a bloke.

At least this time the pub golf is for his channel, so if there's another earth-shattering life crisis, he can edit it out at the least. Save himself the embarrassment of seeing the clip every few weeks on TikTok. Luckily, Chris is not the kind of man who loses all impulse control when faced with a couple of pints.

He is admittedly two shots up already and they've only just settled at hole four. If anything's going to set their team back, it's this. Chris knows the moment he sees Jamie, his production assistant, walk out with a tray of wine-glasses all of which were bordering on over-filled with rosé. 

"Oh god," Lucy groans, her head pitching forwards to thud onto the table. Jamie just smiles as he places the three glasses around the halo of blonde hair. Her next complaint comes out muffled. "Why wine? I can't do wine."

"Come on, Luce." Chris grabs her shoulders to drag her back up straight, shaking them a few times for good measure. "Where's all that team spirit gone?"

"Come on En-ga-land, Score some fucking goals." She quotes, putting on the thick northern accent for it.

Seeing as Chris is a little too far gone to keep explaining the rules at each pub without hurling insults at his friends, Jamie's the one who does it this round, citing that each drink must be fed by a teammate.

"I got a great trick for this one," There's a bit of a slur to Arthur's words, but that could just be him and not the alcohol. Then again, he did do a shot when they got to the pub ‘for fun’ which will most definitely bite them in the arse. "We hold hands and squeeze depending on ho-"

Arthur hiccups halfway through his sentence and it's enough to get a snort out of Chris and devolve Lucy into giggles as he continues. " -how, how much you want."

Chris goes first, and Arthur’s hand is warm in his own as he pours the wine into his mouth. 

Although, when it’s Arthur’s turn and Lucy grabs the wine glass off the table, she frowns. “You’re too tall for this.”

There's not that much of a gap between them with her heels factored in but it's enough that to get her arm up and angle the glass right, it would certainly be uncomfortable for Lucy.

“Come on, tip toes surely.” Arthur says, but she’s already got a hand on his shoulder.

“On your knees, Television.” She says it so calmly, pressing lightly on his shoulder- not enough to push Arthur down, Chris knows he’s stronger than he looks, but he goes anyway.

Something that’s horribly aroused stirs in Chris’s stomach, watching Arthur drop to his knees in front of Lucy, mouth open as she leans down just slightly to press the glass against his lips. He grips her wrist instead of her hand and swallows every mouthful of pretty pink rosé so eagerly that there’s evidence of it left on her skin, little crescent indented where his nails had dug in.

It’s awfully sobering to realise that Chris might actually have to fight a semi while filming.

There’s been jokes about it, in the past few years as his content has matured along with his audience and those sorts of comments were left in the final cut. But Christ, watching Arthur lick his lips clean of wine, not even moving to stand until Lucy pulls him to his feet by the hand, that’s enough to make anyone sexually attracted to men a little off kilter. 

He’s never really had the ‘awkward boners’ at least not since his teenage years. Chris is pretty sure it’s something to do with the messy ball of crossed wires that is his sexuality, the fact he never really gets a hard on for someone he’s not head over heels for but he’s not really put much time into untangling that.

Although, he might need to do that soon. 

Something about the way Arthur looks at her, as if from the moment she put her hand on him, she was everything- the centre of his universe. 

Not that Chris can really blame him. Lucy’s always been captivating like that. He’s not a moron, Lucy’s attractive, objectively. She’s cute, green eyes, light tan to her skin that’s more from sunshine than genetics, and blonde hair that's half pulled back with a white ribbon, a couple strands falling in front of her face. Round cheeks that push up towards her eyes when she smiles, a little tip up to the end of her nose. She’s got the kind of features that would make Chris pause on those stupid dating apps he only swipes though when Harry’s looking over his shoulder. 

Arthur yields so easily for her, blinking at her with those brown eyes and chewing his bottom lip a little, hands still messily entwined together as Harry makes a poor sex joke. 

It’s an orbit that Chris has watched many men tumble into before, the gravitational pull of Lucy Bell. There’s something about the way she carries herself, a confidence that makes eyes drawn to her. On night outs, there’s mixed reactions. George and Arthur Hill love it, girls are more than happy to chat and linger at their table, eased in the risk of approaching a bunch of men in a club by the presence of a woman like Lucy. 

He thinks about all the dickheads he’s seen try and fail to make a pass on her, as Chris picks up the final glass of rosé.

Lucy has, and will continue to, drink Chris under the table, but she is under or just about five foot six. And There's only so many miracles a liver that size can facilitate. Maybe she’s a little further finished than he thought, because when he holds the wine glass up to her, and clasps their palms together, she just isn’t taking it like she was earlier.

“Come on Luce, down in one.” He murmurs, “You got it.”

A little dribble of it runs down her chin and into the curve of her throat, but no one calls her on it and Lucy is left gagging on the taste of rosé that she’d downed. She’s squeezing his hands tight as she recoils and pulls a face. Chris rubs her back and gives it a couple of pats as she leans into his side. “I hate rosé.”

Arthur reappears with three glasses of water, precariously balanced in his hands and he deposits one in front of each of them. It’s the best drink Chris has been given all day and he can’t help the words that slip out. “Oh my god I love you.”

No one blinks at it though, not Arthur, not Chris. He’s said it before, there’s no reason for anyone to think it means anything more than it used to. 

Lucy doesn’t bat an eye, just gives Arthur this awfully soft look before guzzling down half the glass in one go. Until Stephen drops a balled up napkin on the floor and kicks it between her feet, nutmegging her.

Honestly, Chris had sort of forgotten about writing that rule into the video and he sort of feels bad now. Lucy’s probably going to be the only victim of it for the afternoon, because everyone else is far enough gone that they’re a little fuzzy on the rules too.

She and Stephen do shots of baby guinness together (because apparently he just wanted to?) and Chris has to stare into his water glass, tracing patterns on the condensation with his thumb so he doesn’t stare at Arthur and imagine him at the foot of his bed, on his knees for Chris. Complacent and content. 

Chris kind of wants to curl in on himself. 

Beside him, Arthur’s hand slips down from Chris’ shoulder and along his back, stepping around both him and Lucy, hand slipping to her waist and along the curve of it as he ducks back inside the pub. 

There’s jeers from the German team and Cal follows Arthur inside to make sure he’s not chundering in the bathroom. 

“Chris, I’m not gonna lie,” Lucy leans into whisper, “I don’t think I’ll be standing by the end of this video.”

She looks utterly gone. Her eyes are wide, and there’s a little sheen to the column of her neck, maybe from the wine she’d dribbled or the haste to skull the water she was handed. This close, he can see the lines of her makeup, where the eyeliner is a little shaky right at her lash line and the few eyelashes that are clumpy with mascara.

It’s the drunkest he’s seen her in a while, and she’s probably only one drink off of ‘cartwheel Lucy’- the stage of intoxication where she feels the urge to display her impressive coordination that she, annoyingly, never loses no matter how much alcohol she’s ingested.

Chris tips his head forwards and bites her deltoid. Teeth sinking softly into the fabric of her jersey until he can just feel the solidness of her shoulder underneath. Lucy startels, a little, whines then swats at Chris until he retreats half a step.

She looks at the bite mark on her pristine England Jersey, wiping at Chris’ spit as she scoffs and scrunches her nose up a little. "I’m going to catch diseases off you at this rate.”

There’s about half a second where he considers making an STD joke, but there’s a camera sitting on them and it feels a little disrespectful to suggest something like that. 

Lucy frowns down at the black line on the inside of her wrist. “Where’s Arthur, I need a tally mark.”

And the man of the hour is dragged from the Pub’s entrance, clinging to Cal, looking significantly more gone than he had five minutes ago. The wine must have been hitting hard. 

Supposedly, there was no puke, but for the antics Arthur received a red card, putting the English team even further down the hole they’re stuck in. It doesn’t help that the other team all get their drinks down in one.

Not that Chris was really paying attention, he was too busy watching Arthur poke at Cal, enjoying pressing his buttons. 

“How many holes do we have left?” He asks once he’s settled back into his stool.

Chris snorts. “Me after five drinks on a saturday night, am I right?”

Arthur holds his hand up for a high five, but Chris has his arms crossed and his brain is working a little slow to catch it before the palm is descending into a playful smack on his face. He grabs Arthur's hand with both of his and licks a fat stripe up his palm, tongue feeling the roughness of calluses from the gym and the faint taste of beer. 

The reaction is immediate. “Noooo!”

Arthur recoils and wipes his hand of spit on Chris’ jersey. 

Lord, Chris must be so much further gone than he thought, because he just devolves into giggles, even after fully licking his best mate’s hand. It’s only when Jess, his production manager, starts herding them down the footpath to the next pub that Chris finally gets a handle on his giggles. 

Somehow, when they make it to Pub number five, everyone- including his own employees- goads Chris into climbing the tree opposite it. Which earns them two points deducted, so they’ve almost worked off the red card from Arthur’s endeavours with a toilet bowl at the second pub.

The Vodka Oranges are, mercifully, only one standard drink. Although, Lucy’s still looking a little queasy at the prospect of downing it. “I hope this doesn’t have pulp.”

Arthur frowns and holds his drink up in the light to get a better look. “I don’t think so.”

“If there’s pulp I might actually throw up. I can’t do the texture.”

“Can’t say I’m a big fan either.” The downwards tilt of Arthur’s lips is painfully cute and Chris kind of wants to lean over and bite at him, but he’s not supposed to be doing that today. Instead he huddles them closer together, like was in the plan for pub five and they have their half-time strategy meeting. 

“If either of you puke, I swear to god I will never forgive you.” Chris says, focusing very hard on not slurring his words. “We can’t lose to Stephen Tries. He already carries this channel enough.”

“Come on- I’ve done plenty.” Arthur complains. “I got Harry three shots deeper.” 

Admittedly, an impressive feat, but it’s still about thirty less shots than Harry WroeToShaw needs to start feeling the effects of Alcohol and far from enough to recover from all the penalty points he’s been earning. Chris tuts “Only one of us has climbed a tree so I really think that you guys need to step up to the plate at this point.”

The pair just stare at him, and for a moment, Chris sort of loses the plot in Arthur’s eyes. “You’ve got very nice eyes.”

They are. A nice dark brown that sort of looks like pots of honey, mesmerising while Chris blinks into them, with a sort of depth that makes it impossibly easy to sink into them. He’s better at it now, remembering to look away, but the alcohol’s got him a little slower to catch it.

“Christ, they are nice eyes.” Lucy agrees leaning in to get a better look at Arthur, who’s blushing a little from the attention, then towards Chris. “You’ve got good eyes too.”

Arthur nods eagerly. “He does have lovely eyes.”

“Lucy, your eyes are great.” Chris pivots, hoping to save his brain from malfunctioning, onto Lucy, planting a hand on her shoulder to lean in close and study her eyes. 

They’re more green than blue, wide as she processes how close he’s gotten to her. He’s heard people say the grass is greener on the other side, but looking at Lucy’s eyes, it might just be true. It’s almost like staring at the overgrown grass of his childhood football pitch, some streaks a little darker than others, and the underlying feeling that there’s something to be found there, if one cared to look a little deeper than surface level. 

“Oh, they are.” Arthur agrees, squinting a little as he peers at her. 

All three of them have completely lost the whole ‘strategy meeting’ plot that was supposed to be their halftime regroup and by the time Chris untangles himself from their eyes, it’s time to down the vodka oranges that have been sweating condensation down their wrists.

Cal corrals both teams into a cheers and miraculously, everyone manages to get it down in one. 

Thankfully, they’d figured people would be a bit gone by pub five, so a nice lengthy walk proceeds pub six.

Chris just about hangs off Arthur the whole time, who at first is a little distracted by texting George Clarkey in an attempt to convey how ‘sober’ he is, but eventually slings his arm over Chris’ shoulder and lets him stay there. He tries to not stir things, lest he be shoved away, instead basking in the bloody amazing smell of Arthur cologne as it mixes with his deodorant. Chris couldn’t name what either of them smell like, but it’s a scent that’s so uniquely Arthur he wouldn’t be able to associate it with anything else.

“George says he’s gonna come pick me up from the last pub.” He declares, shoving his phone into Chris’ face. It’s a little too close to read, but he squints and tries anyway. Arthur only gives him a few seconds before pulling the screen back and pocketing it. 

At one point in their walk, Chris bites at his wrist where it hangs next to his face but it’s not enough to chase him off. 

“Next pub golf, it’s twenty quid per bite.” Arthur grimaces, whipping the back of his hand of spit down the front of Chris’ jersey. “Lucy had the right idea.”

“I think you owe her a tally mark. Maybe.” Chris frowns, trying to recall if they’d added the last nip. 

“Luce!” He calls. “Did we add the last tally? From Pub four with the rosé?”

She’s about ten meters ahead, tangled up with Stephen as he tries to wrangle her into some kind of hug or headlock, it’s a little unclear which. For a moment the pair of them freeze, and Lucy does that little frown and nose scrunch she does whenever she thinks particularly hard on something. “No!”

Then she kicks Stephen’s sneaker and he bowles over, caught off guard. 

“Yellow card! Yellow card!” Arthur shouts, pointing so obnoxiously that Chris almost wants to tell him it’s rude. “Ref, that’s diving!”

Cal dishes out a Yellow card and Stephen goes back to trying to deck Lucy, via bowling her knees out from under her. But by the time they make it to pub six, he’s managed to weasel a piggy back out of her and the two of them pause by the gate to point out where ‘live music: ChrisMD Diss-Track cover band’ is written in neat print of the blackboard. 

The two of them are gone, and it’s probably lucky that Lucy isn’t the kind of drunk that gets clumsy, otherwise the two of them would never have managed to make it through the beer garden benches without knocking into one. Arthur isn’t as lucky, knocking his shin against one on his way over to the tables his production team has claimed. 

“Ow.” He whines as Chris gets his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, shaking him until they’re at the seats and he’s shoving him off in fake annoyance. “Get off you leach.”

He digs the pen out of his shorts pocket, and bites the cap off, keeping it wedged between his teeth as he calls out to Lucy. Her name comes out muffled around the cap but she deposits Stephen and collapses next to Arthur, who grabs her wrist. There’s an awful lot of concentration on his face for something as simple as drawing a line. 

Chris plants his forehead on the table, taking a deep breath as he watches the astro turf. He’s well gone, but Lucy and Arthur, who is now just drawing shapes on the inside of her forearm, aren’t much better off. “You two are going to bankrupt me.”

“We’ll put the fund towards a muzzle.” Lucy says off handedly, swiping the marker, and Arthur’s hand to draw a three-by-three grid on his skin. 

They fall into their own little bubble as they start up a series of naughts and crosses games. Chris has to kick them under the table to gain their attention when Cal starts explaining the pub-quiz rules. The aim was to guess the cocktail themed pun based on the footballer’s name. 

Chris wasn’t expecting greatness to begin with. He knows his footballers, but Arthur and Lucy don’t really know them by name and face- unless they play for the teams they support. There’s a much higher chance of a Man United player showing up than a Brighton player, so Lucy might be completely out of her depth. 

They manage to break even only because the German team are shouting out the footballer’s names and failing to relate it back to a cocktail, so the three of them can steal the point out from under them By the end of it, they’re left with a martini, a strawberry daiquiri and a rum punch. 

Chris gets the easy way out and is handed the martini, Lucy recoils once she finishes her rum punch, a shiver racking her spine and Arthur struggles to drink his daiquiri that is filled with ice, though a piss-weak paper straw. 

But it’s down in one for all of them, even the other team.

As he hauls himself to his feet, the gin hits him like a truck. Enough that he stumbles half a step back. Chris knows, as he catches the worried look his production team are giving him, that his hope of ending the afternoon without puking, was a lost cause. 

[ part one ] [ masterlist ] [ part three, coming soon... ]

ink note: part two! poor christopher's got it bad. this is our last chris chapter for a while, so pray for the poor lad.

[ if you would like to be added to the fic's tag list, let me know in an ask and you'll be tagged when each chapter goes up :) ]

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Please Don't Leave Me Like That Again

Arthur Leclerc x First Responder!Fem!Reader

A/N: this is based off a dream I had last night 🥲. ALSO I HIT 300+ FOLLOWERS!!!! THANK YOU!

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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F1 Masterlist

The ring of the bell above the diner door could be heard as Charles, Alex, Arthur and I walked in while we waited to be seated.

"Sit anywhere guys, I'll be right with you in a moment!" the nice teenager said as she was running food to a table.

Arthur grabbed my hand as he guided me to a booth before gesturing me in first

"Actually I'm going to run to the bathroom first, if she comes by to get drinks can you order me a (Favorite/drink) if they have it? If not, whatever you think I would like." I said as I placed a quick peck on his lips before heading to the women's restroom.

-

I'd only been gone five minutes but when I returned the table had 4 drinks and two baskets of mozzarella sticks. Sliding in the booth next to Arthur, I immediately picked up my drink taking a few sips before setting it back down on the table before looking over at my boyfriend only to find him staring at me with a smile plastered on his face.

"What? Do I have something on my face??" Panic overtook my body as I pulled out my phone and pulled up the camera to examine my face for any blemishes. Finding nothing, I looked back at him with an eyebrow raised in confusion.

"Nothing, I just love you so much." He said as he swung an arm over my shoulder pulling me closer to him as he started littering my face in kisses.

"Aw, you guys are so cute." Alex said as she looked at us before turning her attention to Charles "Why don't you love me like that in public?"

"Mon Coeur, I try but when I do you get shy." He replied as he attempted to do the same, which caused her to giggle before pulling away and covering her face out of embarrassment. "See!" Charles exclaimed before chuckling to himself and picking up his drink to take a sip of it.

When the waitress came back over we gave her our orders, which she said would be out in just a few minutes before we all got back our respected conversations.

The food came out faster than we all thought and while all of us were conversing before something outside the window caught my eye, stopping me mid-sentence.

"What's wrong?" Arthur said as he looked at me with a puzzled look on his face

"That building, is it smoking?" I said as I pointed out of the window t

As we all took a closer look, we realized that there was black smoke coming out of the restaurant that was just a few buildings away from where we were.

"Oh my God, it is! We have to call 911!" Charles said as he grabbed his phone out of his pocket.

My first responder instincts kicked in which is what caused me to run out of the diner and towards the restaurant that was currently on fire without a second thought. My legs were taking me faster than my mind could comprehend and within a few seconds, I was outside the restaurant that normally would've been a 10 minute walk.

When I reached the restaurant I was out of breath but that was the least of my concerns as I was seeing people rushing out covering their faces as they all were coughing from the smoke inhalation. From a distance, I could wear the sirens of the firetrucks and ambulances but they were too far for me to just stop helping whoever I could before they got here to take over.

I saw a lady holding her kid as she made her way to the front door but collapsed from inhaling all the smoke while protecting her baby. Just as I was about to run in and grab her, a figure flew past me and in through the double doors of the restaurant and grabbed her. The fire eerily calmed down which I knew wasn't a good sign, I yelled at whoever ran in to get as low as possible because the fire was about to flash and I didn't want them getting burned after being heroic.

The sirens grew louder but that's not what caught my attention, what caught my attention was hearing the horrific scream of Charles calling out for his brother.

"ARTHUR!!!" That scream made my heart drop.

All of a sudden, I didn't care about my own well-being as the love of my life ran into an actual fire to save someones life and protect me from getting burned, or worse.

"CHARLES, DON'T TELL ME THAT WAS ARTHUR THAT RAN IN THERE!! PLEASE TELL ME THAT WASN'T ARTHUR!" I scream as I choked out a sob

Before Charles could respond, I saw about 10 People rushing out of the building.

"GUYS GET DOWN" I shouted as the fire flashed.

Another sob left my mouth as I didn't know if Arthur was among the 10 that managed to get out before the flash or if he was still in there. The fire engines and ambulances finally came around and they started getting the hoses set up as the paramedics started checking vitals and hooking people on oxygen.

Through my tear filled eyes, I could see a woman and her kid rushing out but there was no man with her. The paramedics took her to the side and I looked back in the restaurant where I watched her exit from. The sight I saw made another gut wrenching scream and sob escape my lips as I saw a body that resembled a males body on the ground.

"ARTHUR?? OH MY GOD PLEASE DON'T BE ARTHUR!" I screamed as I ran to the doors of the building that was still on fire.

I didn't make it far because a firefighter grabbed me "Ma'am, you cannot go in there! If you go off to the side and let us do our job, we will find who you're looking for" She seemed nice but I heard nothing she said.

All I could hear was the shattering of my as I tried not to imagine that body being Arthur's.

Before I could say anything, I felt somebody yank my body around and I was met with my boyfriend, his face covered in dark ash and smelled like smoke but I couldn't care less.

"ARTHUR!! OH MY GOD, I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!" I screamed as I smashed my lips to his before I hugged him with so much force, I knocked the wind out of both of us.

"I'm sorry, I love you so much and I didn't want you to go in that fire" Arthur said as he kissed the top of my head, neither one of us breaking up the hug.

Looking up at him I couldn't help but frown a little bit "Baby, I do this all the time, I had this down unto the on duty first responders got here! You scared me!" I said as I pulled him to my lips again.

Part of me was scared that this was a figment of my imagination and that any given moment, he would disappear and I would be left with nothing.

"Please don't leave me like that again." I mumbled against his chest as we swayed side to side, relishing in the feeing of being in each other's arms.

"Yeah, don't scare me like that again" Charles said as he patted Arthurs shoulder "Next time, I will kill you myself." we all let out little chuckles before a paramedic came over to us

"Sorry to interrupt your moment but, sir I need to check your vitals." she said as she directed that last part to Arthur

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that part." As much as I didn't want to, we had to release the grip we had on each other.

I watched as Arthur followed the paramedic to the ambulance before turning back to Alex and Charles.

"You really do love my brother, don't you?" He asked with a sincere look in his eyes.

"So much, it hurts" I said as I was visibly still shaking.

"I'll pay for your wedding dress and venue" Was all Charles said as he pulled me into a tight hug.

-

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[gothamite-rambler]

Everyone likes Aquaman

Superman talked to the members of the Justice League Batman is "closest" to for assistance with talking to his best buddy who is not in the best mood.

Superman: He won't say what he's mad at, but he's irate. Be nice to him.

Hal (Green Lantern): I'm so sick of this, we always are!

Green Arrow (condescending tone): Not with that tone.

Hal (frustrated): My point stands, he's always brooding and emo, this time I won't be nice to him like I always am. Just civil in the sense of I'm not talking to him.

Hal walked off aggravated, Arrow shrugged in agreement with Hal and left as well.

Superman: That leaves us, Diana.

Wonder Woman: Great, let me guess, we pester him until he gives us an idea of what's bothering him and then he leaves not wanting to talk.

Wonder Woman crossed her arms waiting for Superman's response.

Superman (bashful): It could work this time.

Wonder Woman (walking off and agreeing with Hal's choice): Mm-hm.

---In the break room of JL headquarters---

Aquaman happily entered the room when he spotted Batman resting his head on a table.

Aquaman: Hey, Bats, what's the matter?

Batman (pointing to the exit while resting his head): Leave.

Aquaman: Not in the talking mood, I gotcha. No worries, I'm just getting my lunch.

Aquaman grabbed a metallic lunch box from the fridge and sat at the same table with Batman, but in a seat far away. Batman groaned angry.

Batman: What does 'leave' mean to you?

Aquaman opened his lunch box and took out a sandwich wrapped in paper towels.

Aquaman (kind tone): Want to have half of my tuna fish sandwich?

Batman muttered numerous unintelligible complaints, but Aquaman ignored him.

Aquaman: It's for grabs if you want it.

Batman: Why do you eat tuna if you're king of the sea?

Aquaman (chuckling): The underwater kingdom can be ruthless at times, fish eat fish and fish people eat tuna fish. It's good if you want the other half.

Batman (one word): No.

Aquaman: Not hungry, fine with me. I'll be quiet, but I like eating my lunch here. I get you own this building and stuff, but I have been having a stressful week too and haven't visited JLH in a while. You can threaten me with a contingency plan or whatever, but you're not ruining my lunch.

With that Aquaman took a bite from his sandwich as Batman remained silent. The king of the sea nodded with a smile that they 'compromised'.

---Five minutes later---

Aquaman let out a somber sigh, he figured Batman wasn't listening and simply wanted someone to be there to talk to even if they weren't listening.

Aquaman: Batman, what are you sad about?

Batman (bluntly): Life. End of conversation.

Aquaman (nodding, candidly speaking): I swear it is tough keeping up appearances at times. Forcing a smile, talking in a way that you don't say something that's misconstrued or taken out of context. Like you'd think living in the ocean I wouldn't have that issue, but sometimes I'm tired and speaking Atlantean over English is confusing and you called someone the name for women's private parts.

Batman (reluctantly speaking): I... oddly went through that once.

Aquaman: And it's awkward, right? Like to the public I'm Aquaman, defender of the sea, handsome, happily married, great father, king of Atlantis, but like... Sometimes I want to be Arthur Curry. You ever hate masking so much?

Aquaman paused the chuckles softly.

Aquaman (embarrassed): My bad, I promised not to talk and then that slipped out. Sorry, Bats.

Batman (relenting while keeping his head down): Yes.

Aquaman: Oh you want the sandwich?

Batman: No- Maybe, but I mean I do hate masking or putting on a facade at times.

Batman lifted his head and even with his cowl on, he couldn't hide how exhausted he looked.

Batman (serious): Never tell anyone this, but I have not just two, but three lives to live. Batman, Businessman, and Father. When I became the caped crusader of Gotham, it was me. No sidekick, yet. No going to PTA meetings, linked to Talia, but I wasn't... happy. Yet dealing with an irate Carrie at PTA meetings...

Having to attend PTA meetings or the principal meetings and my youngest son nearly being expelled at every turn, and I can't tell an irate Carrie that I can launch a contingency plan on her because that's what Batman would do, I can't insult her as Bruce Wayne, because that's bad for appearances.

It's difficult, God it's difficult. Then there's the field trips that I have to send my older sons to chaperone on because I can't be around a bunch of other... Parents. Then there's my sons themselves, different generations, one brought back to life, and one I missed out on 8 years of his life. He's in my life, yet I worry I can't fully connect to him, because I suck at communication.

Batman sighed, covering his face while Aquaman had silently listened to the man's word while eating his sandwich. He pouted, but since he knew Batman he didn't pay him on the back or touch him.

Aquaman (sympathetically): You okay?

Batman: Mm-hm, just need a minute to breathe.

Aquaman (smiling): I get it especially since I can tell you've buried those thoughts for a while. Like a dam that broke, huh?

Batman (lowering his hands and regretting what he told Aquaman): Yep and I unloaded all of that with you. We might have to stop talking forever.

Aquaman (shook his head while chuckling): Bats, you don't have to worry. The break room is a safe space and your secret is safe with me. I get it, I really do, being a parent is tough especially when you're Bruce Wayne and Batman or me being Arthur Curry and Aquaman. Oh and the word isn't Carrie, it's Karen. My sidekick taught me that.

Batman (lamented): God, I can't even get this stupid slang memorized.

Aquaman: You learn and it gets easier. The slang might get dumber, but you adjust. You've done well with your three sons too including Jason. Damian and you are still... getting to know each other. That's the best thing about having kids, you teach them new things and show them parts of yourself. Bats, communication issues or not, you're a good dad.

Batman cleared his throat, averting eye contact with Aquaman, but nodded as a way to thank the man for the kind words. He would never admit that though.

Aquaman: Here, eat the other half, it's good.

Aquaman slid over the other half of the sandwich. Batman reluctantly took it and bit into it.

Batman (sincere): This is actually really good.

Aquaman: Thanks, Mera and I have been practicing recipes. Enjoy and I'm guessing, but you'd rather sit in silence after venting to me?

Batman nodded, chewing on the sandwich.

Aquaman (chuckling): Okay, but Batman you're doing good in life. Don't ever think you aren't.

Batman wiped his mouth, hiding his smile then went back to eating the sandwich and continuing to avert eye contact. With that the two enjoyed their silent lunch together with Aquaman offering him chips as well.

[novashelby]

It Feels Like Home When You're Here~Tommy Shelby x Reader One-shot

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Mention of war, mention of sex, but overall sfw.

Word Count: 1,246

Summary: Tommy Shelby feels disconnected with everyone after the war. Everyone except you. This was a request using the prompt: "Why do I feel like I’m home whenever you’re near me?" Just know the prompt is not mine, but I can no longer find the list. I will credit it once I find it.

Please enjoy! Please consider commenting and a reblog!

War did something to boys. Took good boys…good natured, impressionable boys and turned them into hardened, difficult to do men. Tommy wasn’t any different. No matter how he wanted to think or what he knew of himself, he was no different than the others who went to France and died. Everyone died in France in one way or another. Everyone died and everyone killed. And after scurrying through the dark, rat infested tunnels with no light other than a hand held torch, nowhere felt normal. Nowhere felt like home. People he once could connect with weared thin and fizzled off, and before he knew it, the only thing that soothed him was the brown liquor filled bottle. But they weared thin, too, and he’d have to go buy a new friend. 

After a busy Wednesday, Tommy headed to the pub. It was an unusual case. In fact, it’d be unusual if he didn’t go to the pub for a drink or two. Pushing through the creaky wooden door, he skimmed over the sea of people. Every time he’d walk anywhere, there’d be a chorus of greetings. A popular man he was. But lonely, God, fucking lonely, but he’d feel pathetic to admit it. In the farthest right corner of the Garrison, John and Arthur were sharing a rum.

“Thought I’d find ya’ two here,” Tommy said, taking a crack at a poor excuse of a sarcastic joke. He sat down and whistled for a glass. Of course, it came promptly. No one dared to make a Shelby wait for anything. 

John, already two sheets to the wind, looked over at his older brother. In a slew of slurred jumbles, he asked, “and what has ya’?” Meaning, in some sort of way; how are you? Tommy couldn’t answer before the direction of conversation changed to what it always was; women, money, horse racing. John was going on about some whore he came across the previous night. “The back end on her.” He elbowed Arthur in the side who joked that he had kids to go home to.

Sometimes Tommy would join in on the banter, enjoying the occasional lightheartedness, but usually he’d half-listen and half-observe the space around while his head just slowly drifted. That particular night, he watched the barman slide down pints and poured glasses of brown liquor. 

The door swung open, the tiny bell on the frame ringing. Tommy glanced over for a second and went back to his drink when it hit him. Only men and the occasional whore walked through those doors. But her long hair and petite features stuck out like a sore thumb. Unlike the men who dressed in browns, blues, and beiges, she fashioned something lighter. A pretty lilac under a white winter coat made of mink, or so she said. He looked back over again, eyes following her. He knew why she was there and it didn’t take long for their eyes to connect.

John stopped talking and Arthur, under his breath, mumbled, “my fookin’ God.” But she was neither of theirs, Tommy thought as she approached the table. The pub followed her as she walked. John and Arthur looked up at her, but Tommy silently slid from the table and extended his hand.

“I was looking for you,” she said, but he didn’t respond. He simply took her arm with one hand, and with the other, he downed his whiskey and took out a smoke from his pocket. Together, they walked out of the pub in silence, down the dusty Birmingham street. It was a little bit before either of them spoke. Just when they hit her small dingy flat, she said, “I was going to cook you dinner, but last time you hardly touched a thing-”

“I don’t see you for dinner,” he said, taking over the key that she fumbled with in her hands. She sighed, putting her palms in the air, moving off to the side. He just wanted to feel her bedsheets against his skin. He fiddled with the door and it came undone easily. “You need a better lock-”

“When will you admit you see me for more than sex?”

“I don’t admit things very often,” he said, and they paused together in the entryway of the flat, bodies pressed. He smiled, touching her rosy rouge tinted cheek, thumb making circles. He nodded for her to continue onward, and she untangled herself from his overbearing stance. 

Her apartment was always cold, but it was the only place where life didn’t suck. That and the pub. But even the pub became lonely and dark. He took his usual spot on the sofa and when she walked by, he reached up and snaked his arms around her waist to pull her down with him. “I don’t need another drink,” he said, nose tangled in her hair, sniffing the lavender scented shampoo in her thick curls. 

“Perhaps I wanted one,” she said, twisting herself to look at him. Hearing him whisper c’mere was like music to her ears. Instantly, she rotated, putting one leg on each side of him. She straddled him as his hands rested on her hips, keeping her steady. Intimately, she placed her hands on his cheeks, thumbs rubbing circles. She chuckled, “you need a shave.”

Tommy smiled, leaning in to peck at her lips. “I’ve only shaved this past Saturday.”

“It’s Wednesday-”

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Then I’ll just get up now and-”

She pressed harder against him, snaking her arms around his neck to pull him in close. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Her lips ghosted over his ear moving to his temple, leaving a lingering kiss while his hands tickled up her back under her blouse. When his fingers worked at her bra, she let out a soft sigh. “When will it ever be about something other than sex, Thomas?” she asked, pushing away. His hands dropped, finding a new home on her thighs. They stared at one another for a few moments before continuing, “hmm? Will you ever let me in deeper?”

Tommy looked off to the side, swallowing. “It’s just hard for me right now-”

“You always say that,” she accused, grabbing his face, cupping his cheeks in her hands. “You always say that. Thomas! When is it ever not hard? It’s always going to be hard, but don’t you understand…you’re here. Other men weren’t as lucky!”

Before he could process his thoughts, he replied, “no, they were luckier.”

She straightened her back, dropping her hands to her side. Scoffing, she said, “so my brother-”

“No, no, no,” he said, stopping her before she could speak anymore. He held her close again, working around her stiffness. He rubbed his face into the crook of her neck before resting his forehead on his shoulder. “We don’t have to have sex…it’s just the way I know how to express my emotions.” 

She eased a bit, running her fingers through his hair. “It’s hard, is all. learning how to navigate you-”

“Out of everywhere, this is the only place that feels right,” he said, looking up at her. “Why do I feel like I’m home whenever you’re near me?” There was no answer for that. She didn’t know what to say because she herself couldn’t explain it. They agreed it’d never happen. That they’d stay neutral and it’d just be as it was and nothing more. But somewhere along the way, they bonded to one another. 

And neither minded.