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micahscowgirl · 3 years

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Bite Me ~ Chapter 6

Micah Bell x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (finally), cussing, biting kink (w/blood)

Word Count: 2550

Wow. This just happened.

Chapter 6

“What’s taking you so damn long?”

“Quit yappin’,” you sternly bite back at Micah through the curtain. “I’m not even done trying everything on”

Micah has brought you to the tailor shop in Valentine to pick out some new clothes. You have a small pile of garments sitting on the bench and floor next to you. You wouldn’t admit to Micah, but you have already tried everything on, but are debating between a few options.

After trying on a very different combinations of tops and pants, you finally settled on a grey, long-sleeved button up, a leather jacket, and black riding pants. You pull the curtain back and do a quick little model for Micah, fully aware of the flattering fit of the pants.

“So, what do you think?”

“My, my,” He starts, “who’re you trying to impress, doll?”

You shoot him a quick glance before returning to collect the clothes you didn’t want. “A lady’s got to make herself presentable, don’t you agree?”

When you turn your head towards him again, you notice him biting his bottom lip while admiring you. His hat was tilted in front of his eyes, so he didn’t realize you caught him. The sight gave you butterflies and you felt yourself throb slightly. You quickly push any thoughts that might have been making their way into your head away.

“So, uh, what do you normally do whenever the camp moves without you?” you try to make conversation.

“Well, it’s definitely not as simple as asking around. Hey Mister!” He begins to mock towards an imaginary man. “Can I bother you with a question? You see, I’ve lost my crew, most of whom have a huge criminal bounty, you wouldn’t happen to know where they headed off to, do ya now?”

This puts a grin on your face, “Well, well, Mister Bell, I never would’ve pegged you for the comedic type.”

He smiles, “Well, doll, I don’t show that side to many people.” When he makes eye contact with you, he turns away and clears his throat, “Ahem, anyway we should, uh, probably be off now.”

He pays the shopkeeper for your clothes, and walks out of the shop, leaving you to finish folding the clothes. You know you should be upset, but you’re not. You can’t help but feel sorry for him.

I wonder why he conceals himself so much. And what makes me different from everyone else?

~~~~~~

Micah had tracked the wagon trail tp the train tracks before turning towards town that morning, so that’s where you returned to. It was a silent ride, so all you had were your thoughts. No matter how many times you tried not to, you couldn’t stop thinking of the way he looked at you in the shop. What was he thinking about? Was he simply admiring you? Or was he imagining all the things he would do to you, given the chance?

“You ain’t falling asleep back there, are you?” He startles you out of your thoughts. Without realizing it, you had slowly started to lean onto his back, like you had slept the night before.

“Oh, uh, sorry. I was just, uh, lost in thought.” you stutter, trying to not make anything obvious.

“Oh? What were you thinking about, doll?”

Oh my God, does he know? He couldn’t know, right? Or--

“Micah? Is that you?” someone calls from up ahead.

“Yeah, me and Y/N.”

Bill steps from behind a tree, “Camp’s right up ahead.” he says to Micah. As y’all pass him, he nods to you. “Glad you made it back safe.” After some distance is made, Micah scoffs.

“Figures.” He says.

“What?”

“They’re only glad you made it back.”

Without knowing what to say, the trot towards the camp is a silent one.

Once you arrive at camp, you begin to notice the same reaction from everyone.

“Y/N, you made it!” Arthur walks up to the horse. Micah hops off, and knowing you’re still sore from the night before turns to help you, but not before Arthur beats him to it. “Dutch was so worried about you after he sent you off to Strawberry.” You accept his help and Micah turns and walks away stubbornly off into the trees.

“I ran into some trouble up that way, thankfully Micah was there to save me,” you say, giving him the credit. Even so, it was brushed away.

“Let’s get you something to eat.” Mary-Beth chimes in, taking you by the arm and pulling you away. “Charles and Hosea said they’d hitch your tent if you made it back today.” You turn your head and get one more glimpse of Micah before he is erased by the trees. I wouldn’t be back if it wasn’t for him.

~~~~~~

The afternoon is full of celebration led by Dutch. You can’t help but feel that this is his way of hiding that he did choose to move without waiting for you or sending anyone to find you. If it wasn’t for Micah, you’d be dead or even worse. “You’re going to be my little whore.” The voice of the O'Driscol echoes in your head.

Even though your sitting in front of a warm fire and everyone is singing and laughing, you can’t help but feel cold and sad. Micah hasn’t come back since he walked off earlier. He’s the one who saved your life and no one batted an eye for it.

When no one is paying attention, you stand and sneak your way to behind the tents. You make your way over to the horses and Baylock is still there. For the first time all night, you felt a small smile sneak it’s way onto your face. Micah must still be here somewhere.

“Y/N,” you jump and turn to see Arthur walking towards you. “What are you doing over here? You missing all the fun!” Arthur isn’t a heavy drinker, but you can tell he’s a little more than tipsy.

“I just needed a moment from the crowd.” You say, trying to hint at him to leave. With no prevail, you continue. “I was just going to take a small walk by myself.”

“Well, I can keep you comp’ny!” he slurs.

Dammit, Arthur.

You have an idea. “You know, Arthur, I think Mary-Beth has quite the thing for you.” He looks intrigued. “And, coming from a women’s perspective, a nice cool night like this is quite the romantic setting. I think you could make a pretty good move tonight.” You wink.

“You really think so?” he ponders the idea. “If you think I have a chance, maybe I’ll go for it!”

You gentle grab his arm and turn him to face the camp. “Go get’em, cowboy.”

You sigh as he makes his way back to the camp, now to find Micah.

~~~~~~

You had made your way into the trees. Thankfully, the moon was bright tonight and you could see under the shade of the trees. Finding him shouldn’t be a problem. Your confidence grew thin the longer you looked, though. You were about to give up when you saw a small wisp of smoke glow from behind a tree. The pine needles beneath your feet made it hard for him to hear you, so you speak softly as to not startle him.

“Micah, is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

You approach the tree he is leaning on and turn to face him. He is sitting on the ground and his head is tilted so you can’t see his eyes. You want nothing more than to see them and get lost in their deep blue color.

“What’re you doing way out here?” You know the answer, but you needed something to say.

“Same thing I always do, sweetheart. Avoiding those who despise me, which unfortunately seems to be everyone at the moment.”

After a small pause, you say, “I don’t despise you.”

He takes a long draw from his cigarette before he looks up. “And why is that? What do you see in me? ‘Cause there ain’t nothing here worth giving two shits about.”

You can’t think of anything to say that won’t set him off. You can tell he’s right on the edge of snapping.

He sighs, “That’s what I thought, there ain’t--” He stops when he sees you walking towards him.

You move so your standing over him, one foot on either side of his legs. He flicks away his cigarette and slowly runs his hands softly up your legs. Once he reached your thighs, you lower yourself to straddle him. Your heart is pounding, but you don’t want to let him see how nervous you really are.

One of his hands stops on your hip, while the other one continues. He runs his fingers up your arm, following them with his eyes. They brush over your shoulder, onto your neck, and down your jaw. He finally makes eye-contact with you making you shiver.

“Now what do you think you’re up to, doll.”

You don’t respond with words. Instead, you place your hands on his chest, grab the fabric of his shirt, and lean in to kiss him. You pull away, stopping only a few inches back, just so you can look into his eyes.

He moves one hand around your waist and the other gets lost in your hair as he pulls you in to a much deeper kiss. As his tongue enters you mouth, you begin to feel yourself throb. You’ve been hoping for this for so long and it’s finally happening. Your heart beats faster as you begin to grind against him slowly but rough.

He pulls himself away from the kiss. “Are you sure you want this? With me?”

You reach down to start undoing the buttons on your shirt. “I want this. I want you, Micah.”

You pull off your shirt and your battered undershirt, revealing your breasts. He glances at you approval before he grabs them. He leans back in to kiss you. As he moves his hands to hold your waist again, he grazes your nipple, causing you to moan into the kiss. That must’ve been what did it for him because he grabs tightly onto your hips.

“If you want me, your gonna need to loose these,” He runs his fingers down your pants. Before you can respond, his thumb has reached down the the seam right in-between your legs. You didn’t realize how wet you had became until he started to apply pressure. You let out a small moan again. You were so sensitive from anticipation for the moment, you could hardly stand it.

He begins to rub more as he leans in to start sucking on your neck. It’s becoming too much for you; you want him so bad. You reach down, moving your hand past his to grab onto his bulge through his pants. When you do this, he bites down onto the spot he had just made on your neck, causing you to whimper. All at once, he removes his mouth from your neck and his hand from your pants. You let out a sigh, missing the sensation.

He starts to undo his belt. Taking that as a sign, you stand to remove your pants and panties. Wasting no time, you straddle him again.

“This is your last chance, doll, you sure you want this. I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.”

“Yes, Micah, please. I’ve been wanting this for so long.”

He smiles as he moves his hand back down, starting to run small circles or your clit. “Trust me, princess, I’ve been wanting this too.”

You lean in to kiss him again, trying to silence your moans. He slowly begins to move two fingers to enter you. You can’t hold back the whimpers escaping your throat; you crave him so much.

He continues to rub your clit with his thumb as the two fingers curl inside of you.

“P-please, Micah, I can’t take it. I want you.”

As much as he was trying to hold back as long as he could, your begs pushed him over once again. He reaches into his pants and pulls out his dick.

“Look at me,” He says. You do as you’re told. You bite your lip as he rubs his member over your clit and entrance, wetting himself with your slick. All at once, he shoves himself into you, causing you to let out a loud moan. He reaches up and covers your mouth.

“Shhh. You don’t want the whole camp coming over here and interrupting us, do you, doll?” He hisses. You shake your head, his hand holding back muffled whimpers as you get use to his size. Once you’re quiet, he moves his hand away. “Good girl.”

He grabs onto your hips tightly, his thumbs digging into them hard. He lifts you and slams you back onto him. Another moan tries to escape you. “I’m not going to continue until I know you can be quiet, babe.” he teases. You pout your lips at him. He smiles and tilts his head, exposing his neck from underneath his hair. You look at his neck then back at him. He grins.

“Bite me.” he says in a deep tone that you can feel in your chest, causing you to shiver and tighten on his cock that’s deep inside you. “Well?” he smirks.

You put your arms on his shoulders and place your lips on his neck. You can’t imagine actually biting him, that would hurt too much, right?

He starts to slowly lift you and thrust into you. You wants to moan so badly, but you know he’ll only stop again. You keep your lips shut tightly, keeping them pressed up against him.

He begins to thrust harder, grinding your clit against him every time. It’s too much and you open your mouth to moan, but instead bite down onto his neck. You hear him snarl and feel a growl in his throat. He speeds up, lifting you high enough each time to take in his whole shaft. He pounds into you, you feel your clit start to throb more and more and your insides tighten.

You start to taste the metallic flavor of blood right as you tip over the edge. You can’t help it, you pull away from him to arch your back and ride through your climax. The feeling keeps getting better and better. You sense he’s lifting you lower as his arms grow tired. You begin to lift yourself, riding him until he’s finished. You feel his cock grow stiffer and begin to throb as he’s about to come.

He reaches up and grabs your hair, pulling you forward into a sloppy kiss. He reaches down and grabs your hips a final time to slam into you as hard as he can. He let’s out a deep moan through gritted teeth and he finishes, filling you up. This causes you to let out one final moan before you fall onto his chest.

“God-dammit, Y/N.” He pushes you up so he can look at you. “What the hell got into you?”

You smile, too exhausted for words. You lean forward and lick the small drops of blood from his neck.

“You wouldn’t happen to have enough space in that tent of yours for one more, would you?” he says. He leans forward to leave a small trail of kisses up your neck and across you jaw.

“Hmm, I think I can make some room.”

#wow #micah bell #micah bell smut #smut #yummy #rdr2 #Red Dead Redemption #it's about time #yay

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kittyprincessofcats · 3 years

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RWBY Volume 8, Episode 13 (Worthy)

Well, wow. That sure was an episode that happened.

Thoughts under the cut.

Anyone who leaves spoilers for episode 14 on this will get blocked.

- First of all, I want to now talk about the spoiler I saw for this episode last week, to put the anger from my last post into context: After I had just finished watching episodes 8-12 and started writing my post about them, I went into one of the RWBY tags bc I’m dumb and saw a post that said (I don’t remember the exact words, but more or less): “I’m so glad Yang is finally dead, so now her fans can shut up about her and everyone can ship Blacksun instead.”

… Yeah. Imagine seeing that when you haven’t seen the actual episode and have no idea what really happened. I honestly completely panicked for a few minutes, before remembering I don’t actually know anything and this might just be a “Weiss gets impaled in Volume 5, but one episode later it turns out she’ll be fine” situation. So then I had to look up what actually happened to Yang, because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to sleep. So, to the person who made that post: Fuck you. Not only did you freak people out for no reason (because come on, there’s no way falling into the void actually kills you – and even if it does, we at least definitely don’t know that for sure after episode 13), but even if Yang had actually died, it’s super shitty that your first reaction to a beloved queer character’s death would be “yay, now people can ship my m/f ship instead”. Like, I don’t care if you personally dislike Yang/ dislike Bumbleby/ prefer Blacksun – show a little bit of decency.

Phew. Sorry, I had to get that off my chest because it really made me angry. Now let’s get into the actual episode:

- “Worthy” as a title pretty much already made me predict that Cinder would succeed in her plan, since “you have to be worthy” was what Watts told her in his speech. She’s gotten the message and is now back to efficient plans – and while I love to see it, it also very much scares me when it comes to our heroes’ survival chances. The last time Cinder was doing well, we lost Pyrrha, so… help.

- And gosh, this whole episode was so intense! I feel like it mostly set up a bunch of very intense situations that are going to escalate in the last episode that I’m very much not ready for.

- I still think the whole central location between the worlds is really beautiful, if dangerous. (They should have specified to Ambrosius that they want handrails or something.)

- Nora using her hammer like a witch’s broom was amazing.

- I also loved the scene with Jaune and the people at the train station; that was really funny.

- The middle of the desert might not have been the best place for the exit. Didn’t the group consider that there might be a sandstorm or something else unpredictable out there? Couldn’t they have picked a better exit point?

- Cinder causing an explosion in the middle of the evacuation that throws multiple people into the void was bad and all – but it was still one hell of an entrance!

- I love that now that Cinder realized that she has to rely on teamwork, she’s suddenly being so nice to everyone. Apologizing to Neo, complimenting Watts on “tearing the kingdom apart with nothing but his intellect”, that soft “You deserve this, Arthur”, complimenting Team RWBY on their plan, thanking them for teaching her “one last lesson”. Yeah, maybe she’s just talking to Neo and Watts like this because she needs their help, and to Team RWBY because she’s confident she’ll win – but it’s still amazing to see the shift in her attitude and how she’s clearly changed her tactic.

- It’s insane to me that some people correctly predicted that Cinder would ask Jinn the last question based JUST on the fact that there’s a part in the opening where everyone else freezes in time while she walks past them. Holy hell! I love trying to guess stuff based on the intro, but I would have never thought that far.

- Cinder’s question to Jinn seems like a waste considering it was Jinn’s last question, but maybe it just seems that way to us as viewers because Jinn didn’t reveal anything we didn’t already know. Was it the right thing for Cinder to do? I don’t know, to be honest. Yes, it did give her the chance to ruin the heroes’ plans, but I have a feeling Salem won’t be happy about the question being gone. Pretty sure Salem was going to ask Jinn how to get the Beacon relic, and now she can’t do that. (Cinder ruining Salem’s plans for the beacon relic? Let that be foreshadowing, please.) I mean, maybe it’s worth it from Salem’s POV if it gets them the staff and then she’ll have 2 of the 4 relics – but they could have still gotten the staff later, while I don’t know if Salem has any plan B for the beacon relic. And I’m a little worried about Cinder now. I always thought that Salem wouldn’t kill Cinder no matter what, because she still needs the Fall Maiden for the beacon relic – but if she now has to wait another 100 years for the beacon relic anyway, I’m not sure if she’ll have a reason to keep Cinder alive. (And I’m still worried about that “Some lives will end much too soon” line playing over that scene of Cinder clutching her Grimm arm in the opening.) I also wonder if Cinder even knew that this was Jinn’s last question. Did Jinn even tell her that? Also, when will the 100 years even be up? Do the questions just reset every 100 years regardless of when they were used? So maybe we’re already at year 80 or something and will only have to wait 20 years?

- The cut from everyone at the central command place screaming to them being dead was kinda funny in a “very dark humour” way.

- When Harriet first jumped onto that ship with the bomb, I, like an idiot, thought that she was finally being sensible and trying to get the bomb as far away from Atlas and Mantle as possible, not that she was trying to still drop it on Mantle. She and Ironwood might as well be working for Salem’s team at this point, because they’re doing everything to help the villains’ plan. And the villains are even counting on it! Watts freed Ironwood from his cell and is piloting Harriet’s ship. Those two are just straight up helping Salem’s team in their attempts to… what was it? Save Atlas?

- Ironwood killing Jacques was awful and proves once again that Ironwood has zero morals left. And I didn’t like Jacques, but that was the kind of death that absolutely no one deserves. He had no way to escape or fight back, he was defenseless, locked up in a prison cell with nowhere to run – that’s not just a murder, that’s an execution without a trial. And Jacques wasn’t even a threat, he wasn’t in the way of any of Ironwood’s plans. Ironwood killed him literally just because he could. And no one who thinks they’re the good guy (and Ironwood still thinks he’s the good guy) should go around just killing people who aren’t even a threat.

- And then we have Yang falling into the void. Honestly, as heartbreaking as Blake’s sobs and anger are, I kind of love this from a “supreme angst, let’s see my faves suffer” perspective. That said, Yang better actually be fine or else.

- Actually, my prediction is that the rest of team RWBY will jump into the void to save Yang in the last episode. Because they’re all falling in the opening, and because “Sometimes it’s worth it all to risk the fall and fight for every life”. That’s pretty much the only prediction I feel somewhat confident about, for the rest I have no idea.

- I wonder if it would have been better if Penny had just gone through the doorway and gotten the staff to Vacuo. I get why she didn’t, because Yang just fell and her other friends were in danger… but at the same time, she was supposed to protect the population and the staff (and she has the maiden powers that I’m sure Cinder still wants). If she had just gotten out of there, at least the group in Vacuo would have had some help against the sandstorm and the Grimm. But then again, it would have also severely weakened Term RWBY’s chances against Cinder and Neo… it’s a tough call, really.

- “Why didn’t you just learn your lesson?” “Oh, Penny… I did.” Okay, but that’s the thing: She really did! Just not the lesson Penny wanted her to learn. And notice how Cinder called Penny by her first name again? She didn’t use to do that. I still think somewhere down the line Penny has earned her respect.

- I wonder if Penny’s technically weaker now because she’s human (?? is she??). She’s definitely not used to fighting without her robotic parts (as you can see when she tries to reach for her swords and realizes they’re not there anymore). I summoning those swords like she then did her semblance or another maiden power?

- Blake now has to choose between helping Ruby and helping Penny and Weiss – gosh, the suspense…

- I’m glad Vine at least finally tried to stop Harriet now! (Better late than never.) But I really wouldn’t blame Qrow and Robyn for crashing into their ship. It’s not like they had any way of knowing that Vine was trying to talk sense into Harriet. Also, Qrow crashing through Harriet’s windscreen was amazing.

- Winter and Ironwood are going to fight to the death and I’m so scared of it. (I just need Winter to survive, please…)

- When Weiss described the doorway as a “one-way ticket to Vacuo” last episode, I briefly wondered if that meant they wouldn’t be let back through, but then I brushed it aside and didn’t think about it too much anymore. Oh, damn. You really do have to be very specific with Ambrosius.

- I’m not even sure which location is the best to be in right now because they all seem very unsafe: Atlas and Mantle are unsafe because Atlas is falling, because Mantle might still get blown up by Harriet, and because Salem might still come back any time. The place between worlds is unsafe because of the void and because there’s a big fight happening right there. And Vacuo is unsafe because of the Grimm and the sandstorm. So really, they’re all awful for the civilians right now.

- And now I’m thinking the volume might actually end with the protagonists split into three groups as well: Team RWBY in the void (that they’ll spend Volume 9 finding their way back from), one half of the other characters in Vacuo (Oscar, Ren, Emerald, maybe more?), and the other half still in Atlas/Mantle (Qrow, Robyn, Marrow, Winter, maybe more).

- I’m super nervous about the last episode. I haven’t seen any spoilers at all so far, and I plan to keep it that way. I’ll probably completely ignore anything RWBY-related until next week because the anxiety would kill me otherwise. I’m really worried we’ll get a character death or even several. And ironically, my first prediction on who might die this Volume (Penny, Nora, Winter, Cinder) hasn’t changed all that much. I’m worried about Penny because she has the Maiden Powers and the staff, so Cinder will come after her (but I really think it would be an awful writing choice to kill her off after we just went through so much to save her). I’m very worried about Winter because she’s engaged in a duel to the death with a man who has a big canon that he just blew someone up with. I’m worried for Cinder because of the opening and because Salem might be pissed at her for using the last question. I’m worried for everyone who’s still on Atlas and might get blown up by the bomb (Qrow, Robyn, Marrow, Winter again). And I’m very worried for the characters who are in the in-between realm. Not so much Team RWBY, but I’m worried about Nora, Jaune, and Penny. So yeah, I’m pretty much worried about everyone and very much not ready. Now let me ignore RWBY’s existence for a week – or only reblog posts I already have saved as drafts – because it’s the only way I’ll know peace.

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concussed-to-pieces · 3 years

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Whether It Works Out Or Not: Winter’s Cold, Part Two

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: High Honor!Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit T.

AN: Thank you all so much for being here! Enjoy!

[Spoiler warning for the epilogue!]

Tag List: @huliabitch @cookiethewriter @pedrosbigdorkenergy @thirstworldproblemss @anonymouscosmos @culturalrebel @karmezii @teaofpeach @crookedmoonsaultpunk @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @nelba @scribblenotes76 @toxiicpop @mstgsmy @misty-possum @gallowsjoker @midnightbeauty35 @lackofhonor @renegademustelid @missfronkensteen @newplanetshine

Part One: Strangers

Part Two: Friends

Part Three: More

Bonus One: A Brief Diversion

Bonus Two: Back In The Cage

Winter’s Cold, Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains emotional distress and self-loathing. Stay safe!]

The first time Arthur really felt...aware, like he was actually inhabiting his body instead of floating above and slightly to the right of it, he realized that he could hear chirping birds. A breeze stirred his hair; there must be a window open nearby.

It dawned on him after several moments that he could breathe. It still hurt, it pained him, but he wasn't hacking and wheezing every second. Dread flooded his soul then; either he was dead, or the law was in the process of meting out the rope for his noose. Bit of a raw deal for all those hellfire preachers if eternal damnation was only some downright mild discomfort (at least after everything else) and a lazy little breeze.

His whole body still felt like it weighed too much to move. The idea of opening his eyes was a distant, faint notion; barely a fledgling consideration in the back of his mind. Arthur was more than content to lay just wherever it was that he had fallen, sunshine wavering in dappled patches across the insides of his eyelids.

He dimly noticed that fabric was covering his mouth and nose. A bandanna, or some kind of mask? To keep him from spreading the infection, he surmised pragmatically. Through the material wafted a scent from his childhood, the alive smell of freshly-cured hay. Beneath it was the ever-present odor of manure, the crisp tingle of pine. So he must be in the mountains somewhere.

Odd. Last he knew, he was being shipped off to the city to be read his last rites. Had they decided to let him convalesce in the wilderness, drag him back from the clutches of death and then set his backside afore the law?

Very odd indeed. But then again, justice had always been more of a performance than a true enforcement of moral integrity.

I sound like Dutch.

He drifted off again. Just thinking was exhausting, like wading through swamp mud.

More medicine. Balm for his chest. A stew, lip of the bowl pressed to his mouth so he could slowly slurp it up. Rich, meaty broth, soothing his throat. How many days had it been?

He couldn't even bring himself to move when he felt the familiar press of a flat blade against his neck. Hot water soaking into his skin, a warm cloth moving in circles to scrub away whatever grime was around his nose and mouth. The person was meticulous, sure strokes carefully ridding the man of the stubble he harbored on his face. How long had it been since he shaved?

Christ alive, Arthur was tired. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to live or not. This caretaker, whoever they were, clearly wasn't letting him go without a fight. But he was so tired.

He wavered for what felt like a lifetime, hovering at the edge of eternity in the green fragrance of curing hay. It was safe here, at any rate. Nothing would harm him in this peaceful tomb. He could rest until he began to feel like he was in control of his body again, and one fateful day, Arthur Morgan finally realized that he wanted to see how much worse living could manage to be.

His eyes opened slowly, squinting against the near-blinding illumination of sunset that played pink against the unfinished beams over his head. Lord, just doing that much had taken the wind out of his sails. Maybe he was already dead.

His eyes rolled shut wearily, blinking open again what felt like moments later to find the place dark. Night had fallen. Time was slipping past him, it would seem. There was a faint taste in his mouth: venison stew with wild carrots, if he had to guess. He didn't even remember eating.

He squinted in the blackness, trying to force his eyes to adjust so he could at least take in his surroundings before he lost consciousness again.

Hay. Everywhere. He appeared to be in a loft of some kind, bales stacked neatly all around the tick he laid on. Night sounds filtered in through the open window, bats squeaking and the booming call of an owl telling him that the hour must indeed be late.

Arthur lapsed back into senselessness once more. He dreamed of hearing violin music and catching sight of a massive, pale buck through the window. It watched him from a far-off hillside, ears flicking back and forth to catch every sound.

He dreamed of Irene. Her smile, her eyes, the kisses in the tent that they had shared...

Maybe, maybe sat like a block of lead in his gut. 'Maybe' was all he had ever had. A chance, a mirage. Pretty words from men and women who had made him feel useful, needed.

So he had poured from himself until he was empty and it still hadn't been enough.

He was a fool. What was it that Irene had said to Jamie? "I'm not letting anyone else dig my grave and usher me into it."

Arthur, in contrast, had practically handed Dutch the shovel on a silver platter.

I gave you all I had.

…

He was aware that someone was nearby, and he managed to open his eyes again for a brief moment. Long enough for him to hallucinate that it was Irene tending to him, Irene giving him whatever horrendous medicine it was and washing away the bitter taste with hot soup and small sips of tea. He must truly be long gone, mad with delirium or fever or the consumption that had wracked his chest until he felt paper-thin.

How would she even be here? How would that have even happened? There was no way.

Arthur almost loathed himself for choosing to live at that moment, because he was clearly missing a few more screws. He knew that some agues raged so strong they could burn the brain right out of a man and he feared that was the case with him.

Not that he'd had much brain to lose in the first place.

Christ, he did wish she was here. He wished he could take her hand and never let her go again.

Allowing her leave that final time was a regret that had haunted him even more prominently than his bitter failure with Mary, for all that he knew there was nothing he could have done to make her stay with him. Irene had been on her own too long, flown too far and high to ever be tied down to some old, miserable bastard again.

Mary had come to know him under false pretenses, and she had never truly reconciled herself with it. In a way, Arthur hadn't either. He had known she wasn't his from the very beginning, had known that he was playing a part or living a lie whenever he was with her. It never would have worked out, and it never did.

But Irene, despite their deceptive start, came to him with a certain honesty. The haphazard performance of masculinity had done little to hide her true nature, the kindness that she claimed to see in him so freely displayed in her as well. It also didn't hide the burdens she carried, though he hadn't understood the sadness in 'Frank's' eyes when they had spoken.

The trials she had gone through...he at least had the gang, but she was wholly alone. She had endured, like a pine tree rooted on a crumbling and wind-whipped bluff. Storms of life howling all around and yet…

And yet, when he had last seen her, she had held herself proudly in Lemieux's mansion, unshaken. The guts and wherewithal that had seen her thus far would continue, and Arthur had wished her nothing but the finest of luck even as he had sent her on her way.

…

There were folded clothes on the floor beside him when next he stirred, and on top of them was a note. Arthur had no idea how long it took him to sit up, never mind move his arm, manipulate his fingers into picking the note up, unfold the note to read it…

Lord, living certainly seemed to require a lot of steps.

Arthur,

Not sure if you'll really be awake today, but I've noticed you moving around a bit of your own volition. Left the clothes in case you feel up to getting dressed. I am uncertain if you'll recall, so I'll remind you that the waste bucket is in the far corner.

The note was unsigned.

Arthur huffed out a breath, clearing his throat experimentally. He reached for the union suit on the top of the pile, planting his face in the article of clothing with a groan as his head suddenly felt too heavy to support. "C'mon Morgan." He encouraged himself, the words thick in his mouth. Shit, how long had he been out for? It was like he had forgotten how to speak.

Just pulling the suit up and over his legs was a task of Herculean proportions. Arthur doggedly kept fighting the urge to pass out, the desire to lay back down and let time zip by again. He had made the choice to live and by God, he would follow through with it even if it killed him.

The longer he worked at getting dressed, the easier it became to keep his eyes open. Socks on over the suit, shirt, pants. His suspenders hung limp at his sides, but he did tuck in his shirt as best as he could after he relieved himself.

Boots. Boots, one tipped over on the space beside the ladder, the other within reach of the bed.

Next, climbing down the ladder. Mercifully the loft was not particularly high. The whole barn seemed rather small as far as barns went, obviously originally built with one stall. A second one appeared to have been hastily grafted onto the building at a later time.

Arthur had to take a breather at the base of the ladder, clinging to it just to keep his balance. His knees felt like they were made out of jelly. Had his boots always been this damn heavy?!

He floundered onward after a moment, grateful for his hat as he emerged into the blinding sunlight of the outside world.

Arthur rubbed his eyes, nearly losing his footing as he did so. He had already been uncertain of the reality of his current situation, and this idyllic scene in front of him wasn't helping matters!

A small paddock stretched out on the left, and a cozy-looking cabin was nestled into the green, flower-dappled glen alongside the barn he had just emerged from. Arthur staggered to the paddock fence for support, draping himself over it. From the shadow by the barn, a shape stirred. He forced himself to focus on it, his eyes widening when the horse meandered lazily out into the sunlight to graze.

"Chase!" Arthur rasped, his voice rough and cracking from disuse. The mare's head jerked up and she looked around. His heart leaped in his chest when she whinnied excitedly at him, trotting across the paddock and bumping her nose against his chest. Arthur held her tightly, cupping her muzzle and scratching beneath her jaw. "That's my sweet girl, my good girl." He murmured, feeling foolish for getting choked up.

There was an explosive snort to his right and a familiar pink nose snuffled over his shoulder. Arthur squinted, turning his head to the side and realizing that it was Bluster. The horse whickered, mouthing at the sleeve of his shirt.

Arthur Morgan was speechless. He must be dead. How else could he have his horse, and Irene's horse besides? He sat there mutely for God only knew how long, just petting Chase with his eyes closed to luxuriate in the sensation of sun on his skin.

Behind him, the wind carried faint sounds to his ears, and he flinched when he caught a child's high-pitched squeal of laughter. Just where the hell was he, if he was indeed alive? What buffoon would nurse someone like him back to health, yet leave him unbound and unguarded? Something was very odd about this whole scenario.

Arthur turned and leaned back on the fence, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun as he looked up at the ridge of the glen. There was an abrupt flash of motion to the left on the edge of the gully, and he watched a woman that he desperately wanted to recognize chase after a child. The little one was fairly shrieking with mirth, scurrying away from their pursuer until they flopped down dramatically and allowed themselves to be caught.

It felt like his heart had left his body, the damn thing soaring and shattering all at once. A girl, it was a little girl, her hair the color of a pale buck. Irene scooped the child up, laughing breathlessly and tossing her into the air before spinning the two of them in a dizzying circle.

Irene.

Arthur swallowed hard. Fate was indeed a cruel mistress if this was the vision he was greeted with upon making his decision to live! He continued to just slouch against the fence, silently observing the duo as they frolicked at the top of the ridge. Irene had flowers in her hair just like she had at the Mayor's little soiree, and he realized dimly that her dark brown curls were much longer. Just how much time had he lost?

He finally mustered up the strength to wave at them and he liked to think that Irene went still out of happiness. In a moment she caught the child up and fairly bolted down the hillside, her skirt hiked around her knees as she ran.

"Arthur!"

Christ, Christ he wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready for the sight of her with a babe on her hip, the agony of maybe, maybe that ripped at his insides. In another life, it might have been his child that she had been playing with. In another life, this might have been the home that they had built together.

But instead, she had gone on and made a fruitful existence without him. He couldn't, wouldn't blame her for it. He had cut her loose, after all.

Irene came to a halt inches away, her chest rising and falling from the effort of her sprint. "Y-You--you're up!" She panted, her smile burying itself in his ribs like a blade. Christ, his heart was too weak for this.

The child in Irene's arms gawked up at him with crystal blue eyes and he tried to muster up a smile, startled when Irene embraced him tightly. He felt her fingers dig into his back, and then her shoulders quivered while she buried her face in his chest. "Oh no, c'mon now Miss Irene." Arthur said hoarsely. "I ain't worth all that fuss, it's okay."

...

"Mama?" Anna asked tentatively. "Mama okay?"

"Mama's fine, love." Irene managed to say, kissing her child's forehead. "Just very happy is all. You remember my friend Mister Arthur, right?"

"Sick." Anna replied, her attempt at a fake cough making Arthur chuckle. "Better now?"

"I'd reckon so, little miss." The man drawled hoarsely. God, that voice. Irene hadn't realized just how much she had missed him. She had seen him every day, of course, nursing him back to health, but he hadn't been conscious for most of it. "S'pose I have your mama to thank for that."

Irene noticed him glancing over her shoulder, like he was expecting someone else to show up. "Your friend, Mister Trelawny--"

Arthur chuffed out a breath through his nose, making Anna giggle. "Friend? Man's a cockroach in a waistcoat." He groused.

"Yes, he mentioned that the two of you may not be as close as he posited. Nonetheless, it's thanks to him that you're here now, alive."

"Really. Huh. So I am alive, then. I wasn't shoah. This place is…" Arthur gestured vaguely around. "S'beautiful, Miss Irene." His tone was melancholy. "Like a dream."

"I'd like to think I chose well, Mister Arthur. It hasn't been easy, but the two of us have made it work." Irene said proudly, nuzzling her nose against Anna's. "My tough little frontierwoman."

"Just...what, you an' the baby?" Arthur asked, his confusion evident.

"Yes. Who else would there be?" Irene replied with her own question, brow furrowed. Arthur blinked down at her. His eyes darted momentarily to Anna, and Irene bit her lip, wondering whether he would put it together immediately.

"I-I jus'...I figured there might be a third person, is all." Arthur stammered.

Irene couldn't help her sad smile, shaking her head at him and extending an arm. "Come inside, Arthur. It's nearly suppertime anyways."

It was so strange, finally having him in the main room of her little house. She had thought about this scenario more times than she could count. Just the walk across the front yard thoroughly tired him out, and the man seemed more than content to doze in one of the kitchen chairs while she put the finishing touches on the evening meal. Obviously it would take time and care for him to regain even a fraction of his former strength. He had been bedridden, or something close to it, for nearly five months!

Anna played noisily on the floor with a few carved horses that Irene had made for her when she was teething, their forms scored with scrapes and marks from the event. The child didn't seem apprehensive about the large man currently nodding off in the chair by the table, which had Irene feeling hopeful. Maybe, just maybe…

"Dinnertime." She said softly, "put away your toys, love."

Anna pouted, holding up a finger. "One?" She bargained, clutching her 'favorite' horse to her chest. "One for Art'ur."

"Oh it's for Arthur now, is it?" Irene teased, wiping her hands off on her apron. "Go on then, you scallywag."

The little girl fairly beamed, placing the horse with a laughable amount of care alongside Arthur's arm. Then, she impatiently bounced in place as Irene fetched the riser for her chair so she would be level with the table when she sat.

"Ah ah, go wash up! You know the rules." Irene instructed the eager child, sending her on her way to the porch.

"She is just the cutest damn thing." Arthur mumbled, almost like he was talking to himself. His fingers idly played along the curves of the little horse by his fork. "How old is she?"

"A touch over two. She was born during the winter." Irene watched Arthur nod absently, and what she was about to say got caught in her throat as Anna toddled back inside.

Arthur accepted the coffee Irene poured him with all the gratitude in the world, his eyes closing in enjoyment as he took his first sip. "Ah, that's good," he sighed. "Ain't nothin' like a decent cup of coffee. Feel like life is comin' back to me."

"Well, don't forget to save room for dinner." Irene buttered Anna a little piece of bread and scooted it across the table to keep her occupied while she loaded two plates with corn, mashed potatoes and a spoonful of precious pork gravy from tomorrow's slow-cooking dinner. "Corn is Anna's favorite, right love?"

Anna nodded, blue eyes wide as she munched on her bread. "Mine!" She announced sharply, scrunching up her nose when Arthur chuckled at her.

"Sweeting, be polite. There's more than enough for all of us, you know that!" Irene chided her daughter, rumpling the little girl's hair fondly after she placed Arthur's plate in front of him. "Always enough here."

Anna's plate, as usual, required a bit more preparing, so she brought it along with her own to her chair beside the child. Anna immediately started digging into the mashed potatoes as her mother carefully shucked the kernels off the cob in neat rows. "Th'nk y'Mama." Anna said through a mouthful of food.

"You're welcome Anna, but slow down. No one will take it from you." With a touch of amusement Irene noticed Arthur visibly slow his pace in response, the man obviously used to wolfing his food. "Drink your water, Anna."

Arthur ate mainly in silence, aside from a few appreciative grunts. He couldn't contain his laughter when Anna started to imitate his sounds, the man apologizing for his poor table manners. "Forgive me, Miss Irene, I've always been awful at eatin' in the presence of polite company."

"Mama says I'm a little piggy." Anna informed Arthur, seeming confused when he burst out laughing again.

"If you're a li'l piggy, Miss Anna, then I must be the biggest boar alive." He said once he managed to rein himself in.

…

Arthur lingered on the front steps, the lantern in his hand ready to light his way back across the yard. He felt exhausted, stuffed with good food and more than ready to get a full night's rest.

So what was he waiting for?

Many thoughts had gone through his head during dinner. How beautiful Irene still looked, how good of a mother she clearly was. Anna was a precocious little thing, those blue eyes bright with the possibility of mischief.

Her eyes…

Arthur didn't dare to hope that one of he and Irene's little diversions had borne fruit, if only because it would throw into question his oh-so-noble attempts at prevention. Had he truly tried as hard as he could to be safe, or was there always that selfish desire in the back of his mind waiting to be acted upon?

He jumped guiltily when the door opened and Irene stepped out, half-turning to face her with a brittle grin. "Howdy ma'am. Little one safely abed, I take it?"

"After a bit of deliberation, yes." Irene sighed, her posture weary. "She's very opinionated for someone who cannot manage eating a carrot unless it has been sliced into wheels. I do fear for the future, Arthur."

The future.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Irene, is...did we…?"

She put a hand on his shoulder, silencing his stammering with a sad little smile. "Later, Arthur. Right now, rest is what you need."

He wanted to deny that, but it was fairly impossible to do so. He was nearly asleep standing up as it was. "Tomorrow?" He bargained through a yawn.

"Tomorrow. I promise."

Summer’s Warmth, Part One

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x original female character #high honor arthur #arthur morgan imagine #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 epilogue #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 spoilers #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 epilogue #rdr2

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mysticprofessoralienhumanoid · 4 years

Text

Maribat ideas I will probably never write

Now, before we start.

I realize that those may have already been made but I've never seen them and everything here came from my mind. But if you remember the titles, please tell me them or send a link to the stories, I'd love to read them.

This can be whatever ship you want Connorette, Daminette, Cassandra x Marinette, Brucinette... Any ship.

Here I'll refer to them just as the bats or one of the bats, or just choose a random one of them simply because I don't know the exact person that'd fit in the au with Marinette so I'm just leaving it up to you but... yeah.

[And yes, I know I said it could be Connor or Jon or anyone else, and I know they are not part of Batclan but for the lack of better word, just roll with it]

Yes, you can use any of them, but please tag me (i really want to read what you came up with) and include the link to my post so maybe someone else could use any other of these.

And if want to add anything or just brainstorm in the comments I'd love to do it with you, so don't be shy and say what you think (constructive critism only).

Maybe i will update this, but for now feel free to use any of these over 20 (i think at least) ideas I came with in these past 2 weeks cuz i was bored.

And before you start, I'm thinking of making mafia boss! Marinette AU, but i don't know what ship it should be... Suggestions? (Just not the love square please)

Hope you like it.

-------------------------------------------------------

Violinist Marinette. The Waynes got invited to a concert in which Mari played a solo. And they're all just enchanted with her talent.

Marinette a Badass Dancer. None of the bats is a dancer in this AU and I don't really have any direction where this would go, but i just had a scene where she kicks their asses even though she doesn't have much (or any) exprience in martial arts. Just her spinning and kicking one of them mid-spin in the face or... somewhere else...

So the scene is a Wayne Gala, right? Jagged Stone dares Marinette to sing a song on a stage (there’s live music band, i guess?). Everyone’s mesmerised by her voice and Jagged can be heard screaming “That’s my niece!” in the backround. I really want her to sing Creep , a cover by Scott Bradlee's Postmodern Jukebox ft. Haley Reinhart or Crazy in Love , also a cover made by Sofia Karlberg, though any other song is fine too

Bats and Marinette in a band. That's it. That's the whole AU.

One of the bats is sitting under a tree, all peacefully and relaxed, but then they look up to see a random girl with dark blue hair (??) just hanging upside down from a branch like an actual freaking bat. She gives them a heart attack.

Another Au with singing Marinette lol. In this one Marinette likes to sing in a park every other day and Damian comes here one day and hears her and is like “wow.”, and since then he comes there everyday in hopes of hearing her sing and getting her number. And maybe Luka or Adrien play while she sings, that’d be cool

Guys, Marinette and the Waynes being neighbours. No, but imagine. Them seeing some girl watering plants every week for a month or two and then not seeing her for a long period of time, and they're kinda worried, but then she's back and they're confused, because where the hell she'd been, the house looked like not used and just where the hell was she? Marinette seeing some... Weird things happening in the Wayne backyard. Balconies being in front of each other, so they're balcony neighbours too (the romance, the fluff, even the angst, guys). Marinette going to them with baked goods and introducing herself as their neighbour. Them going to hers and welcoming her with a basket of Alfred's cooking.

Jason has to participate in a dating show because he lost a bet and Mari's one of the participants too...

Duke needs a date to a wedding (i don't know whose, your choice) and Marinette's his best friend, so be my fake date to this wedding?

Marinette as Tim's daughter??

The greatest showman AU. (Sibling dickinette. On the trapeze-)

Forget rouges, superheroes and vigilantes. Underground dancers. Because it's what i need, y'all

So in this, WE is a dance company, and Marinette's maybe an intern in a fashion department. One day Dick's going to one of the practice rooms where's been scheduled a meeting with a designer for his costume for the next show. Instead he's met with a girl he sees for the first time, practically flying on the dance floor. Just as he's about to reveal himself the rest comes and it turns out this is the fashion designer and it seems as no one knows she's an amazing dancer too

Teachers AU + Rivals AU = utter chaos. Them teaching the same subject and competing for their class' loves and/or arguing whose close is better. [Bonus points if everyone's thinking they hate each others guts, but they're secretly dating]

Fencers AU - on the same team on different teams, your choice. (And this honestly suits with Kagami too. I'm up for kagami x bat/marinette)

Damian in the park with Mar'i, but he's having trouble, because this kid has so much energy. How?? Just when he thinks he can take a breath, he notices Mar'i has wandered off and is talking to a young woman, so he rushes there and try to apologize, but she says it's no problem at all. Suddenly this gorgeous girl offers him her help. It looks like Mar'i has taken liking to her and he's so tired, so he agrees and for the rest day watches two Mari's play together and falls in love with the older one. Plotwist: this was plan all along. Mar'i is the ultimate wingwoman.

All the Wayne siblings decided to go to one of those haunted houses for a halloween and there's this petite girl who tagged along their group somehow. They didn't expect to see this tiny girl punching the worker dressed as a monster and knocking the daylight out of him. But it was so worth getting kicked out.

Marinette's a ghost and these four men came to her house and apparently they're doing a ghost investigation?? I mean, she was getting a bit lonely and bored, maybe it's time to "gain some friends" (read: scare the living out of them).

Pretty much the above but with bat/s as ghost/s and Marinette as the paranormal investigator with her team (i honestly want one of them to be Kagami, i don't know why). In both you need to decide who's a skeptic and who believes. It's fun, the ghost is trying to scare them off, but they're stubborn.

Sibling dickinette where Marinette calls her older brother everytime she wants to get out of a date and so he pretends to "arrest" her. (And then maybe dick decides to play a matchmaker and sets her up with one of his adoptive siblings)

Marinette as a lawyer. Her going against LexCorps who framed Wayne Enterprises for something. Or maybe Bruce was accused of murder (that he obviously did not commit) and now she has to prove his innocence. I just really want to read about badass lawyer Marinette, guys

Merlin AU. Is there any AUs with Marinette being Merlin and saving Arthur's ass (I honestly think it should be Chloe, no joke)?

Mominette where she adopts Cassandra. I just imagined them going to ballet lessons together and cooking and now I'm soft.

Marinette got dared by her friends to set a trap for the passerby that involved eggs, toy train and glitter and to then to pretend they're her ex and they cheated in her, and Jason had the misfortune to be that passerby. (Yes, this is probably crack lol)

Tim can rap. Marinette can rap. What could go wrong?? (Yes, this is probably crack too)

There's this girl they see every year when to go on trick-or-treating and she always has the most amazing or scariest costumes. But Damian will not go without a fight and so every year they compete over who has the better costume. This year they just so conveniently dressed up as the famous Halloween couple.

Jon is 17 now and it seems as no one is interested in him. He jokingly tells Damian he supects theres a ghost that's in love with him and they keep away any potential lovers from him. He doesn't know how much he's right. Marinette though, is freaking out.

Marinette decided to take a part-time job at a local pool as a life guard. There's a sudden increase in people coming to said pool but also a dramatic increase in people pretending to drown. Conner is one of them.

Marinette plays a therapist to all of the batfam. The amount of the ridiculous problems she had to listen to... She could write a book and she would make millions out of it, she swears.

"Some say "revenge is a dish best served cold.", then i read "revenge is sweet", so i came to conclusion revenge is ice cream." Huh, so that'd explain the sudden disappearance of ice cream in whole Gotham Jason had been hearing about for the past week from Bruce. The question is, what that petite bluenette is planning to do and who is going to be a victim of her ice cream revenge?

Tim had been in coma for a month after the drug bust, and he has just woken up. The first thing he does? He picks up the argument he and Marinette had been having before he's been put into a coma.

The couple at the place Jason had been at, started making out loudly, so he started making loud noises while eating his ice cream. They stopped. And he got this cute barista's phone number when she was walking past him.

Marinette's at the spa when she overhears two guys betting who can eat more slices of cucumber (that were supposed to be put on their eyelids) and she decided to participate. Safe to say they were all banned from all the spas in Gotham

Can i please get Jason/Duke/anyone making up a bedtime story for Marinette after she woke up from a nasty nightmare? I need it

Every morning and night Marinette pretends to be asleep just so she can feel Damian pull her closer, kiss her temple and whisper how much he loves her

Roy listening to Jason complaining about each first encounter of her girlfriend with his siblings and Bruce. Each is more ridiculous than the one before. He listens to it, after he and Marinette had gone through their own weird af first meeting.

Dick was so busy laughing at the bluenette who'd just walked into a post, he ran into the same post minute later. She asked him out... After she finished laughing and telling him karma's a bitch

Dick likes to think he's the reason Jason and Marinette got married. To his last days he will brag about how at his and Kori's wedding Marinette caught the bouquet, tripped and Jay caught her.

Jason asked Marinette on a date to one of the restaurant the WE owned. Then as a test, he told her he couldn't pay for all the expensive dishes they ordered. She took his hand and they ran out of the building. He's convinced he's going to marry her.

#maribat #marinette x batfam #marinette deserves better #ml salt #daminette #timinette #timari #dickinette #jasonette #conner kent x marinette dupain cheng #marijon #brucinette

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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years

Note

Arthur denying his feelings for reader be like: plays Hercules (1997) - I Wont Say Im In Love

Anon, this one turned out so cute and fluffy, I’m literally on the verge of death!

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Arthur’s leaning against a tree at the edge of Clemens Point, feeling like a lovestruck idiot. He’s been watching you for longer than he cares to admit. Despite being the newest member of the gang, you’ve continuously surprised him over the past few weeks. It was the obvious stuff at first, the way you wore your hair, the way you talked to people (especially him), how you treated your horse. Now it’s the small things he’s taken notice of. How you brush the hair from your face, how you like to watch the sunrise while drinking your morning coffee.

He rubs his hand down his face, knowing he shouldn’t get involved with you. He’s a fool for falling for you in the first place. Not that there’s anything wrong with you, he thinks, but no one would want his affections. Besides, he’s had too many bad experiences with romantic relationships that it’s just easier to be alone. He’s still heartbroken about how things ended between him and Mary, and thoughts of Eliza and Isaac still torment him. The last thing he wants is to add you to his list.

He crosses his arms, still leaning against the tree and watching you walk across the camp to go and feed the chickens. He watches them gather around your feet, pecking at the grass for the food you’re tossing down. He’s almost tempted to join your side, to look for any excuse to talk to you. You’ve become close friends after all, talking comes easy. But he’s decided to try and push you away, he can’t risk falling for you. Or at least falling for you more than he already has.

“Hey ol’ man, grumpy Morgan!” Sean chuckles, coming towards him. He’s clearly on guard duty, the repeater in his hands.

“What you want, boy?” Arthur says, clearing his throat and looking towards the lake, trying to look innocent.

“Nothin’. Just wonderin’ when you’s gonna ask that girl out. Y’know, Karen was tellin’ me the other day how Y/N fancies you. It ain’t a secret you fancy her too. Why not just do everyone a favor, take her out?”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Arthur growls. “It ain’t like that between us.”

“Oh I can see it all over your face, Morgan. You. Love. Her.”

“You’re the world’s biggest fool, Sean. If you know what’s best for ya, you’ll shut your mouth.”

“I knew it, I knew it!” Sean laughs. “Yer the most predictable person. Whenever someone says somethin’ about you that’s true, ya get all defensive and angry. Just do yerself a favor, take that girl out on the town. Hey, if ya need an excuse, I overheard her sayin’ she’s been missin’ the ‘forests of West Elizabeth’.” He makes air quotes.

Before Arthur can snap at him again, he walks away, chuckling lightly. Arthur sighs and leans further against the tree. Sean’s definitely given him something to think about. The forests of West Elizabeth, he repeats silently. What exactly does that mean? He knows you come from out west and that you prefer it out there, much like himself. He’s never heard you talk about forests or anything like that.

Against his better judgment, Arthur comes up with a plan and decides to bring it to you. Besides, he’d be lying if he didn’t want a reason to take you out somewhere alone. Not to try anything, of course, but he enjoys your company. There’s something about you that he finds addictive.

He walks slowly up to you, wringing his hands a bit. He’s nervous that you’ll see right through him. When he gets close to you, still feeding the chickens, he notices something’s wrong. It’s your energy, you just seem down. Your shoulders sag, as though a weight presses down on you. He clears his throat, catching your attention.

“You a’right?” he asks quietly.

Your head snaps up and you look at him. Instantly, the sadness from your face flickers and is replaced by your soft smile. He can tell you’re faking it though.

“Oh hi, Mr. Morgan. Yeah, I’m doing just fine. How are you?”

“Just dandy. Hey listen, I was plannin’ on goin’ out huntin’, figured I could use a partner. You wanna come?”

You pause for a moment. Arthur wants to take you hunting? Why? Sure, you’re familiar enough with a bow and a gun to use them, though the results aren’t always perfect. Maybe word’s gotten around camp that you were crying last night. You were just overwhelmed by everything and had to let it out. The mood still lingers. Arthur must be inviting you because he feels obligated to cheer you up. It doesn’t help you to feel better. It makes you feel like an even bigger burden since Arthur’s constantly bigger running jobs. Still, you have a hard time finding a reason to say no to him.

“Sure, I’ll go hunting. I, uh, hope you don’t mind dragging me along.”

Your choice of words catches him off guard. He’d heard nothing about you breaking down the night before but the dimness of your eyes and your words tells him how bad your state is.

“Don’t mind at all. Would you wanna go now?”

You look over at the setting sun. It’s nearly gone by this point.

“Now?” you ask. “Wouldn’t it be better to go in the morning when it’s light?”

He huffs a bit. “Well I suppose, if that’s what you want. Course I don’t mind spendin’ a night under the stars. But sure, we’ll leave in the morning.”

You feel stupid all of a sudden. You’ve spent plenty of nights in the open, away from camp. It’s just harder to hunt at night. “Mr. Morgan, wait. Wait. I… Yes, we can leave now. I don’t know why I was being stupid.”

He turns back around at your words. He smiles a bit. “Okay. I’ll uh meet ya by the horses. Five minutes?”

You nod and finish feeding the chickens. You try clearing your head, especially the nasty thoughts swirling around. You don’t want to seem like a self-pitying fool around Arthur. You’ve been low-key flirting with him the past couple of weeks and he’s noticeably pulled away from you since. You didn’t want to give him another reason to run away.

After gathering your things, you meet him by the horses and mount up. The two of you head out at a brisk trot. Arthur starts leading you north along the borders of Flat Iron Lake. You want to ask him where he’s thinking of hunting, but your current mood forces you to keep quiet. No one would want to hear you talk anyways. You start questioning why he even wanted to bring you out in the first place. The only thing you can come up with is that it’s because he’s a good man and he heard you were in need of a friendly face. It makes you feel like even more of a burden.

On the northern side of Scarlett Meadows, Arthur pulls to a stop. The sun has set properly now and given way to a nearly full moon. He dismounts and the two of you set up camp. As you sit around the fire, waiting for your meat to finish cooking, he can tell by your eyes that you’re far away. He doubts you’re in a good place. It makes him want to put his arms around you and tell you all the things he feels about you, but he made a promise. He can’t tell you.

“You uh want the tent tonight?” he asks. “I can sleep out here tonight.”

“No, Mr. Morgan. It’s your tent, you should sleep in it.”

He huffs and smiles a bit. “Ya can call me Arthur, miss. Ain’t exactly like we’re strangers.”

You smile a bit. “Right, sorry.”

He pulls the meat off the fire and gives you some to eat. When you’re done, he sits next to you. He feels like you just need a friend to help you out, yet he isn’t sure how to do it without admitting he’s got feelings for you. You yawn heavily.

“You should get some sleep. I’ll stay up a bit, not quite tired yet.”

Instead of agreeing and getting up to lie in your bedroll, you lean over and put your head on his shoulder. He stiffens up a bit at your touch but it’s such a welcome feeling, he can’t pull away. He realizes now that you, like everyone else in camp, have just been overworked and underappreciated in camp. This will be the best medicine for you, getting you away and just taking a break. He wonders again about the phrase “forests of West Elizabeth”. As he’s pondering, he’s also fighting with himself. Nothing would give him more pleasure than to wrap his arm around you or pull you in his lap and hold you against him and watch you sleep. He won’t do that though. He can’t do it.

As he’s arguing with himself, he hears the softest snore come from you. He smiles when he realizes you’ve passed out on his shoulder. He gently picks you up and places you into hsi bedroll in the tent. He covers you with his blanket and then he sits back down by the fire. He smiles a little as he thinks about what could be between you if he were dumb enough to take that chance.

***********************************************

In the morning, he notices you seem a little happier, a little more like yourself. Like you’ve finally been able to relax a bit and get a good sleep for the first time in days. You talk a bit more, yet he can tell you’re choosing your words carefully, which is unlike you. One of the things he admires about you is that you say what you think, even if it’s brutal. He knows he can trust what you say.

You expect him to take you somewhere like the outskirts of Emerald Ranch where game is plentiful. Instead, he keeps leading you west, across the wide mouth of the Dakota River and into West Elizabeth. Seeing the tall pines and green grasses lifts your spirits greatly and you feel like you can take your first proper breath in weeks.

Arthur can see the visible change in you, how your eyes begin to light up again. You smile more easily and start talking more. He notices you even make some of your light jokes. He’s always liked your jokes, cheesy as some of them are. You’ve got a natural sense of humor he finds endearing. He thinks to take you to Big Valley, but something tells him it’s not enough. He needs to take a bigger risk with you.

After arriving at Lake Owanjilla, he pauses. He knows where he wants to take you, but it’s incredibly dangerous. Not because the land but because of where it lies. He just hopes that no one will see the pair of you and if they do, they won’t connect the dots.

“Come on, we’re almost there,” he says and he kicks his horse into an easy trot. You follow him across the dam, down the trail and over the river. You wonder what he’s up to as you enter Tall Trees. You know the risks of going anywhere this close to Blackwater. Word is bounty hunters and Pinkertons have gathered here like flies to a rotting corpse. You want to tell him it’d be wiser to go back, but something tells you to not question him. That he knows what he’s doing.

After a while longer, Arthur slows his horse down. You’re in the thick of Tall Trees, the pines growing high above your heads. The world has turned from green to red with speckles of blue and purple. You’ve always loved Tall Trees, the tall red pines and the green ferns growing between them. The smell is indescribable, addictive. Somewhere hidden in the trees, a squirrel begins to bark.

Arthur looks back at you and grins. You don’t see him as you’re busy gazing at the trees. He can tell that this was exactly what you needed, despite the obvious dangers. He keeps leading you down the trail until the trees break and give way to a small lake nestled in the bowl of the mountains. This is where he finally stops and dismounts. You do as well, though you’re still staring around like a complete moron. You finally turn to him and give him a genuine smile, which makes his knees feel weak.

“Arthur, this is beautiful. But… what are we doing here?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Just seemed like this would be a good place to come and… fish.”

“Fish?” you giggle. “You came here to fish?”

“Sure, why not? Hear there’s a real nice bass livin’ in this lake. Figure if anyone’s gonna catch him, might as well be me.”

“Not if I catch him first!” you shoot and run towards the water. He calls to you and chases after you, the two of you laughing madly. You reach a broken pier first and pull out your rod. “Beat you, Arthur!”

“Oh trust me, sweetheart, runnin’ ain’t fishin’. We’ll see in the end who’s the real winner.”

The two of you cast out and slowly pull your lures back. With the sun beating down and the wind carrying the intoxicating smell of the forest, you couldn’t be happier. You can practically feel the black cloud that’s been hovering over you getting drawn out, like venom from a snake.

Arthur’s line gets tugged hard and he yanks back his pole, setting the hook. “Ooh I got somethin’.”

“Well pull it in, quick!”

You watch him fight with the fish and then he pulls out a beautifully colored bass. You laugh and pat his shoulder.

“He’s a beauty! Good catch, Arthur. Guess you won this round.”

He chuckles and wraps the fish up before putting it into his satchel. “Yeah, guess I did.”

For the next hour, the two of you fish a little more, bringing out multiple trout and bass. Then, just when you think the two of you might be able to get away with staying here for a long while, you hear, echoing across the water, voices. It sounds like a small group of men. Your heart drops at the thought of bounty hunters. There’s no doubt in your mind they might be scouring Tall Trees. It’s the perfect place for a gang to hide, after all.

“Think we’ve outstayed our welcome,” Arthur says and collapses his pole. You do the same and then you both swiftly remount your horses and run off from the lake, avoiding the path. Over the next half hour, you dodge between trees and carefully navigate around the steep drops of the mountain until you hit the trail right above Owanjilla. There, you make your way across the river and into safe lands again. Arthur leads you over to the north end of the lake where he finally dismounts.

“Well that was a fine outing, Mr. Morgan,” you say, patting your horse’s neck from the ground.

“Sure. Well, figure we can hunt here the next couple of days. Know there’s plenty of game in Big Valley.”

You nod and smile at him. “Yeah. But tell me: did you really take me there for a fish?”

He blushes a bit and hides his head beneath his hat. “Well… well no. I known the fish was there a long time, but I didn’t go for it. I just thought you could use the fresh air.”

This makes you laugh. “Arthur, I can get fresh air in plenty of places that have fewer risks.”

He blushes more. “I know. But… well, I won’t lie to ya. I figured the place could do you some good. Heard you were tellin’ Karen you missed it and you seemed down the last couple of days. Just thought I might be able to help.”

You smile at him, your eyes glittering. “Thank you, Arthur. You’ve no idea how much it helped.” You lean up and place a soft kiss to his cheek. He grins, his cheek burning. You look away and say you’re going to go and hunt. He lies by saying he’s going to try and fish a bit more.

When you’re out of sight, Arthur sits down on a boulder. “What is the matter with me? Ya think a miserable outlaw like myself would learn. Morgan, you have the world’s best record of bein’ the biggest fool.”

He sits there for some time, arguing with himself. He can’t love you, but he can’t help being in love. A voice in his head asks what’s the worst that could happen by just letting himself feel what he’s already feeling for you. He argues back by using Mary and Eliza as examples.

“But she isn’t Eliza or Mary,” the voice says. “She’s Y/N and in completely different circumstances than they were. She knows how to protect herself, she’s been robbed and shot at before and came out alive in all those situations.”

“No no no,” he says. “She’ll come to realize I’m a fool like Mary did. I’ll mess things up and she’ll hate me for it.”

“She already knows you’re a fool. She’s seen your crazy side, she knows how scary you can get. More than once, in fact, and she’s still around isn’t she? Mary saw that side one time and she ran off running. Y/N’s different. Never once has she asked you to change or to control yourself.”

“It’s a dumb move!” Arthur says. “I ain’t in love with her nor am I ever gonna be in love with her! She deserves someone better.”

The voice is a bit quieter this time. “It seems like it’s too late for her. You saw the way she looked at you in Tall Trees. She’s already got it for you.”

“Well, she’s a bigger fool than I thought for doin’ that.”

“No doubt. But if you leave her like this, she’s not going to wait around forever. She doesn’t deserve that either.”

Arthur sighs. He knows you don’t deserve him playing you the way he’s been lately. “Well fine,” he says to the voice in his head. “I love her. I love Y/N, but I ain’t sayin’ it out loud.”

********************************************

Night has fallen and you and Arthur are sat around the campfire again, nestled in Big Valley. You’re leaning your head against his shoulder once more like you did the night before. Arthur’s arguing with himself again. He knows he loves you but he’s still unsure if he should act on it. To act on it would be to admit it.

“Arthur?” you say, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you again for today. I… can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve been real sad lately. Don’t know why, but my brain keeps telling me I’m a burden on everyone, I’m merely tolerated. But going back to that lake helped me feel centered again. Like going home. I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

He smiles a bit. “No it makes perfect sense. And for the record: you ain’t a burden or tolerated. People in camp like you, darlin’. You should hear Jack tell his mama about your stories. Sounds like you been helpin’ Mary-Beth too. And you were the first person to get Karen to stop drinkin’ the other day. Can’t tell you how long we been tryin’ to help her quit.”

“Really?” you ask, looking up at him. “And… and what about you? I know you only took me out today because you heard I needed a pick-me-up.”

“No, no that ain’t the reason,” he says. “I didn’t know you needed help until we were away from camp. Like I said, you ain’t a burden. You work hard, I see that in camp. Work as hard as anyone else and eight times as much as Uncle.”

You giggle a bit.

“Point is, me and everyone else who counts sees how much you work in camp. We notice. I know we don’t voice our appreciations, especially ol’ Grimshaw, but it doesn’t mean we don’t see it.”

You surprise him by grabbing the hand on his knee and squeezing it lightly. He knows at this moment he can’t hold back any longer. He withdraws his hand and your heart sinks. You’ve crossed a line. You’re about to pull away from his shoulder until you feel him shifting himself and his hand winds over your hip. He pulls you into his lap and you settle your head on his chest.

Arthur’s heart pounds hard in your ears. He’s wanted to do this for so long with you, imagined doing this. He’s held women like this to him before so he knows what it feels like, but this is different. You’re different. You fit against him like a puzzle piece, perfectly molded to him. You’re warm and it feels so good the way you wrap your arms around him. He kisses your hairline and settles his chin to your forehead.

After a few moments, he feels you place a soft kiss to his chest. It makes him smile and he holds you tighter.

“Arthur?” you say, looking up at him.

“Hmm?”

“I think I love you,” you say quietly. He swallows heavily. “Well I hope so. Because… I know I love you.”

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #awkward asks

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pocket-clown · 4 years

Text

A Mutual Confession | Arthur Fleck x reader // pure fluff

// original request: Hi!!! I have request that Arthur and Reader met before when he was younger and they fall in love but don’t say that to each other and she needs to move from Gotham. When she came back, they met again for accident and they say everything to theirself!!! This will be pleasure to read! Thank you!!! 😇🥰

Thank you, @pomozmi-zamknacoczy for the request! and I cannot stress it enough how appreciative I am of your patience. This took me much longer than it should’ve to get done, and I cannot thank everyone enough for being patient with me. I’m sorry for the recent lack of content.

Summary: Regardless of how long you spent thinking it wouldn’t happen, a move back to Gotham was inevitable. An onslaught of new employees at your place of work led to hours being cut and positions lost, and so you needed to take a transfer back to Gotham save your only means of income, and had it not been for the meager hope that Arthur was still somewhere in the city, you would’ve lacked much drive at all to return. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they’ve always said - so when you manage to accidentally run into him on the street one day, within the following days you waste no time in making your feelings known.

Words: 5,458

Eight days had passed since you ran into Arthur, and each day that passed without him felt excruciating.

You were only a week into the third month of your move back to Gotham, and readjusting was hard. What was once the city that you used to consider something akin to home had changed so much that you couldn’t help but bemusedly wonder if you should consider yourself a total newcomer to it, as opposed to someone who was returning after some time away. Sections of the city had been so affected by the economic unrest that they were left almost unrecognizable because of it; with the ongoing garbage strike that resulted in piles of trash littering the streets, how many of the shops and markets you used to frequent had closed down, and the frequency at which you were awoken almost nightly by a cacophony of gunshots, shouting, and sirens, it was almost as if you were in an entirely different environment than the one you had grown up in.

Your move from Gotham all those years ago was majorly due to this impending decline; opportunity had risen elsewhere, and your family had been so desperate to escape Gotham’s downward spiral that they seized it the second it reared its head, and you were given less than a week to prepare for the move. Said week was spent packing your belongings and tying up any loose ends with school and work, but the inconveniences of that paled in comparison to how much it hurt having to say goodbye to Arthur. It was a hasty and melancholic goodbye, and since your last words spoken to him had you sworn to yourself that you’d return to Gotham someday - though the more you heard about how poorly it was doing and then actually experiencing it yourself, the more you almost began to doubt that decision.

Soon, though, did you realize that had it not been for making the very decision you were beginning to regret, then you would’ve missed the opportunity at reconnecting with Arthur.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they’ve always said - and in your time away from the city did you grow to miss him and his presence more and more, and the hollow they once filled now had an ache that grew as time went on and you were left without any sort of contact with him. He’d been your only legitimate friend all those years ago, and dare you say that you had developed a crush on the older man. The slight age gap meant very little to you as he’d never been anything but kind to you in all the time that you’d known him, and the warmth of his presence alone had made you feel safe and at home in a city that was, more often than not, the exact opposite. He made you feel like you had a place - and that feeling was hard to come by in the world, especially in a city such as Gotham.

A portion of your younger years with him had been spent sharing your hopes, dreams, fears, and desires for the future with each other; both of you working on figuring out just where your respective places in the world were, and Arthur had let you in on his belief that he was destined for a life outside of Gotham, far away in sunny California. While whatever it was in California that Arthur longed for you were unsure of, you knew that it had to be better than what even the best of Gotham had to offer, and so you had encouraged him to chase his faraway dreams - but deep down, then and now, you knew it wasn’t really realistic. Money had always, always been tight for him and his mother (and, really, everyone in Gotham), and so you knew that the probability of him still being in the city was much higher than it was for anything else.

- And, as guilty as it made you feel to admit, part of you hoped that he never left. Had it not been for the meager hope that you may run into him one day, you might’ve just rolled up into a ball and died by the second week of being back.

Initially, your return to Gotham was greeted with nothing but the cold apathy that the city was infamous for, and very quickly did what little liveliness you had left in you get beaten into the ground. Not only were you fed up with how rude people were, but as time went on, your mind became far too preoccupied with matters regarding work and other responsibilities to have room for much else, and in that did Arthur go from dominating the majority of your attention to dwindling to only fleeting thoughts that came late at night when trying to fall asleep, or when something reminded you of him in one way or another. It was a reality that you hated to accept given the fact that the thought of his name alone brought so much comfort to you - but you knew that the chances of ever running into him were one in a literal ten million.

In a way, you felt pathetic because of how much you hoped - how much you almost expected - to just coincidentally run into him one day, and by the beginning of the third month that hope began to falter, and soon you began trying to forget about the whole thing.

Or, you tried to forget about it until it actually happened one evening while you were on your way home from an appointment.

You had been so preoccupied with fiddling with the zipper of your jacket that you failed to realize how quickly you were approaching a crosswalk, and had it not been for a stranger literally sticking their arm out in front of you to stop you, you would’ve walked right into the oncoming traffic.

It was an action that initially scared you, and at first you thought that someone was trying to get handsy with you or mug you - but when you heard the blaring of a car horn and your eyes looked up to meet those of the angry driver as they sped off did you realize what had happened, and immediately you felt the heat of shame fill you, embarrassed of how oblivious you had been.

Though it took you a moment to regain yourself, once you turned your attention to the stranger to thank them did you realize that they weren’t actually a stranger; the beige hoodie that hung from him, the way his dark eyebrows were knit with concern, and how he uneasy he seemed under your gaze - it hit you like that taxi would’ve, had it not been for him.

“Wait - Arthur?”

Rather than give any sort of answer or confirm your inquiry, he instead opted to stare at you; his eyes unblinking as you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to decipher what exactly it was that was going on, evidently confused by how someone on the street knew his name.

“It’s me - Y/N. You know, from…?” You gestured vaguely as you spoke, hoping you’d be able to prompt any sort of recollection that may help him remember. You also hoped that you weren’t making a fool out of yourself by talking to a complete stranger and assuming that they knew who you were, based solely on the fact they just so happened to look exactly like an aged version of your friend from long ago.

Though it took a moment for what you said to sink in, like a light bulb switching on did you see his eyes brighten, the smile that slowly spread across his face lighting up his fatigued features. “Yeah - Yes! It’s been -”

“Way too long - like seven years, I think?”

The conversation began to flow so easily from there that It felt as if you had never even left in the first place. As you walked with him, with what time you had before your eventual split up did you catch each other up on any and all happenings in your lives that were worth mentioning; you learned that he still lived with his mother (something he admitted quite sheepishly, though you were quick to assure him that if anything, it was sweet that he made that sacrifice to take care of her), and you told him about how the entire reason you were even back in Gotham was because of a mess at your old job, needing to take a transfer or else you’d risk losing your only means of income - choosing to omit the part about how half of why you came back was based on the hope that you’d find him again.

Each time he spoke your name, each time your arm accidentally brushed against his, each and every little action from him - the more the two of you spoke, the more did those feelings that had been lying dormant for all those years wake up; how happy even just hearing his voice made you, the way his occasional, brief glances at you made it feel as if someone set fireworks off inside of you, how your heart skipped a beat each and every time he said your name, how good it felt to hear him laugh - you’d forgotten how at peace he made you feel.

Not only that, but you’d forgotten how much you loved him.

The realization of your feelings was one that flustered you enough that you almost tripped over a bump in the sidewalk, though luckily you were able to catch yourself and brush off Arthur’s concern with an awkward laugh of “Oh, looks like I almost fell for you, haha!”, a statement you immediately regret due to how unintentionally bold it was. Fortunately though, his concern regarding your stumble seemed to keep him distracted from how flirtatious your statement was, and the incident was forgotten within a matter of seconds, after he asked you once more if you were sure you were okay.

It wasn’t until you were about halfway to your apartment that Arthur pulled out a pack of cigarettes, signaling that your chat would be coming to an end soon as the two of you needed to go your separate ways. You used to always chastise him - playfully, of course - for his habit of smoking, and the fact that even all these years later he remembered your dislike of it and so waited until you wouldn’t be near to smoke made your heart melt. He’d always been one of the most considerate people you’d ever known, always putting the comfort of you or his mother over that of his own and while it was a fact that while broke your heart, it warmed the broken pieces nonetheless.

You had to insist about four times that it wasn’t necessary for him to walk you all the way back to your apartment (an offer that hurt to refuse, given that you wanted nothing more to spend every second possible with him), and as the two of you were about to say your goodbyes did you remember that you had stuffed a scrap of receipt in your pocket days ago. With what was most likely all of the luck that you’d be allowed for the rest of the month did you also find a pen shoved in the opposite pocket, and so by hitching your leg up just enough so you could use your thigh as a solid surface, you scribbled your phone number down onto the receipt - triple checking that you got it right, lest you accidentally manage to give him the wrong number and then never hear from him.

“Hey, Art,” You said, the nickname you’d given him all those years ago catching his full attention. “I work every day this week, but I’m always home by 6 - would you maybe want to give me a call sometime? -”

Arthur practically snatched the note from you, his shout of “YES!” earning some sharp glares from those around you, but his eagerness was endearing enough that neither of you minded, and you found yourself actually laughing at how he so happily accepted your invitation. It was evident, at least now, that the excitement of the reunion was shared, and while the relief it left you with was calming, you couldn’t help but feel a bit uncertain - how were things going to progress between the two of you? Would you be able to be friends just like you had been all those years ago, or now that you were adults with separate lives and responsibilities would you be limited to only brief, occasional meetups? Of course the latter was better than nothing at all, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t disappointing.

“You’re sure you don’t need me to walk you home…?” He asked as he tucked your number away into the pocket of his trousers, his eyes not leaving yours. “I wouldn’t mind - just so you get back safely.”

“I promise, cross my heart, that I’ll be alright, okay? And besides, the morning news said it was going to rain tonight, and you’d have to walk all the way back to your apartment in it.” Though you could tell that your reassurance really didn’t do much, Arthur seemed to accept it with a solemn nod. “I promise I’ll be alright - and please, use my number whenever! I’ll see you around, okay?”

And with a wave you were off, and had it not been for you looking both ways before crossing the intersection would you have seen how intently Arthur watched you as you left, before he turned and went off in his direction, his posture a bit straighter, a smile on his face.

And so, a routine started.

Each day, after work, you would forgo any and all other plans you may have had in favor of making sure you were home by 6 the latest so there was no risk of missing a call from Arthur. Your days were practically planned around the anticipated phone call, and you found yourself unable to keep your mind off of it nor him regardless of how swamped you were at work. It was very much like the expectancy you had prior in regards to meeting him again, and it was exciting.

… But days passed, and a call never came.

It had been over a week since you’d run into him - eight days exactly - and while you told yourself that he was probably just busy with work, with his mother, with errands, with whatever it was that Arthur Fleck had going on in his life - the doubt always managed to creep in, and you were left wondering if maybe he forgot to call - or if he even had the intention of following through at all. You felt guilty for worrying about such a thing, and so you’d try to keep yourself preoccupied; tidying up your small apartment, doing the dishes, watching television, reading, anything at all to keep your mind off of how much time was passing by without your phone ringing.

But the longer it went without doing so, the more did the question of whether you’d ever hear from him grow, and a nagging voice in the back of your mind spoke up, saying that maybe he did forget, or maybe he just didn’t want to talk to you, or he might not want to be friends anymore -

And you flew off the couch the second you heard your phone ring at about 6:43pm one Tuesday evening. You barely managed to keep yourself from tripping over the frayed edge of your carpet as you rushed to the kitchenette, trying to steady your breathing as you picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

…

Silence.

Nothing.

No speaking, not even any breathing could be heard on the other end - nothing but a complete, deafening silence.

Go figure. Telemarketer? Prank call, maybe?

“Hello?” Now you were annoyed, and after a few seconds without a response you were about to slam the phone back down, but then you heard it.

“H-Hey..” A timid, quiet response.

“Arthur? I could barely hear you!” With a sigh of relief did it feel as if a weight lifted off of your shoulders, and you couldn’t help but smile at your own so silly stupidness for getting so worked up over not getting a call from him immediately. You knew that in time, at his own pace, would he call, and that you just needed to be patient. “How’ve you been? I was wondering when you’d call.”

Arthur, apparently, was having a hard time getting over the fact that not only did you two run into each other for the first time in almost a decade, but that you wanted to talk and gave him your number, and as a result of his disbelief he became far too shy to call you immediately. It made sense now, given how you knew what Arthur was like, just like you knew a good deal about what he’s been through; his need for reassurance was just a part of him, and if insisting that yes, you did, in fact, mean to give him your number and that yes, you did, in fact, want to talk to him was needed to calm him down, then you had absolutely no problem with giving it to him as much as he needed, so important was his comfort to you.

It became increasingly difficult for you to contain your nerves and bite your tongue to keep yourself from accidentally outing yourself and your feelings as the conversation went on; each time he laughed, each time he expressed any sort of interest in what you were doing, wanted to know how you were, caught you up on any matters pertaining to his life that he felt comfortable with sharing - even just the cadence of his voice as he spoke and how softly he hummed your name made your heart flutter and your stomach fill with the restless frenzy of butterflies as those feelings that had been lying dormant for so long awoke. You could listen to him speak for hours - he could read a phone book aloud to you, and it would capture your attention for however long it took for him to finish.

He’d asked you about your job as a bank teller as you’d told him a bit about it during your walk, and despite your joking remark about how glamorous it was, he listened to intently as you spoke about the ups and downs of it; asking you to elaborate on odd aspects of it and expressing sympathy when you went into how you almost lost it due to an onslaught of new employees and had to transfer back to Gotham. The topic involving employment piqued your curiosity regarding Arthur, and so you asked him about it - smiling to yourself as he went on about how he was actually a party clown, who one day most definitely would make it as a stand up comedian. Arthur had always, always expressed a desire to make others happy, to spread joy and laughter to a world that so needed it, so just hearing that he was still pursuing at least one of his dreams filled you with such giddiness that the smile that grew on your face made your cheeks ache.

The more he went on though, through his tone and the way he spoke about certain things was enough to clue you in that he was still struggling with finding his footing, finding his place in the world. He’d always felt, always had been, somewhat out of step with the rest of the world, and you knew that he so desperately sought connection with others, but rarely ever found it - at least, nothing positive. You knew that more than anything, Arthur needed someone there for him, and you had a feeling that he really didn’t have many resources at his disposal. Funding was being cut all across the city, and so many people had begun to lose their only means of help, and while he had his mother, she had never actually been there for him, never really physically, nor mentally. You saw it every now and then when you were younger, and just judging by how he still lived with her because she was too unwell to live on her own told you that he probably never had been able to escape and pursue any of what he really wanted to.

More than anything, regardless of what relationship the two of you would end up having, did you want to be there for him in any way that you possibly could, and the longer the conversation went on the more melancholic and regretful for not keeping contact with him for all those years did you become.

It wasn’t until it was nearly 8pm that you realized how tired you had become, and with a lull in the conversation did you find yourself feeling a bit more bold than you had previously, your fatigue causing you to let your walls down ever so slightly.

“Hey, Arthur?”

He must’ve been tired as well, his fatigue given away by the languid “Hm?” he hummed in response, and before you could stop yourself, you blurt out a question - one asking him not if he missed you, but rather how much he had.

It was something you felt silly and almost a bit selfish for asking - part of you even felt stupid for assuming that he had at all - but then again, hadn’t he already said that he did? Surely there was no harm in asking, and you could only assume that he had missed you given how eager he was to accept your invitation for a call, but it was your turn for needing some of that reassurance that you had given him prior.

“How… much did you miss me?” You tried to play your question off nonchalantly as if it were just a teasing, playful musing, but seconds after asking it did you find yourself worrying your bottom lip as you waited for his response. You knew it was a dumb question that was foolish to ask, but the part of you that so longed to feel needed by the same man you spent so long missing completely overrode the part of you that told you to stay hushed about it.

The other line went dead silent in response to your question, and mentally did you berate yourself for asking such a fucking stupid thing. How was he even supposed to answer that? You put him on the spot without any warning, and you knew that he wasn’t good with that sort of thing -

“A lot…” Arthur said after a moment, his voice so hushed that for a second you thought that in your hope for your feelings to be mutual that you imagined it. “A lot - and when I saw you on the street, I honestly didn’t think you were even real,” He laughed dryly at this, though it was void of any humor. “Why did you move back to such an awful city?”

“To find you, Art,” Though you felt that that admission was a bit trite with how cliche it was, it was true. Had it not been for the possibility of meeting up with him, you would’ve lacked much, if any at all, motivation to make the move back, even with the threat of losing your job. “I’ve spent so long - so long missing you, and then I started remembering everything about how I felt about you back then, I got excited and happy to see you, and then I just -”

You paused, taking a deep breath.

“God, Arthur - I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m in love with you.” There was no going back after this, and so not even giving him a chance to respond did you continue your rambling; “I don’t even know, I felt it back then, and then I thought I was over it, but then we met again and it all came back so quickly and now I just - want you to know about it.”

Your voice trailed off, and you felt yourself holding your breath. You knew you had said too much too fast for him - and to be entirely honest, if you were in his spot then you probably would’ve slammed the phone down because of how absolutely overwhelming the sudden barrage of information and feelings that were poured out undoubtedly was, but deep down you hypocritically prayed that he wouldn’t respond that way. Arthur could be a particularly complex person to read, and while that was something you liked about him to a degree, it made situations like this tougher at the same time.

Your feelings were so incredibly conflicted, as a handful of actions from him gave the indication that he might’ve felt the same way; that soft hum his voice had every time he spoke your name, how when you were walking with him the other night he always smiled at you when you even so much as glanced at him, the fact that he had been so eager to accept your number - but at the same time, you knew that Arthur spent most of his time alone or with his mother, having little, if any at all, genuine contact with others. There was a very good chance that he had platonic - and only platonic feelings for you - and that each and every sign that you thought carried the connotation that he liked you more than such was just him being excited to just have a friend again.

Of course, you prayed that your admittance of feelings for him didn’t sully your friendship, as well. Humiliating as it would be, you could deal with the rejection and still feel nothing but fondness for the man and the desire to remain friends - but did he feel the same way, too? Would knowing that you were in love with him, as you had put it, make him uncomfortable with you? Would it be far too awkward to continue speaking? He was a grown man, so surely he’s had his eye on someone after all of this time - but the thought of it being anyone but you made your heart sink into your stomach where it settled into a sour pit of dejection. It hurt, but the more you thought about it did you accept it - as long as he was happy, could you live with whatever the outcome was - and with that acceptance did you patiently await his response.

After a moment, what sounded like a sniffle came from him first, and then the words that could’ve broken your heart;

“I don’t think you really mean that, Y/N - you can’t, there’s no way -”

He sounded heartbroken as he spoke, his voice so unsure that it sounded as if he expected this to be nothing but some sort of cruel, absurd prank being played on him.

“Arthur, what? No - I do mean it, and I mean that. What would I gain from lying? - No, why would I do that to you? You’re the only good thing about this damn city, and I have no reason to lie about this.” Whether or not your statement was any reassurance to him you had no clue, but you couldn’t help but regret how completely inappropriate it was for you to suddenly blurt out such a heavy confession to him at such random notice. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“No! No, don’t apologize, please,” His voice had a sort of hushed, yet frantic undertone to it - Penny was probably near, and the last thing either of you needed was for her to overhear. “I just don’t get it - why me of all people?”

“Because you’re you, Art,” You whispered, hopefully loud enough for him to hear. “I’ve kind of always had a feeling ever since we first met, but I don’t know. I guess I was just scared back then and I knew you didn’t - and probably still don’t - feel the same way, so I just… never thought I should mention it.”

Once again did he go silent, and you debated on just bidding him a quick goodnight so you could hang up and sulk in the utter humiliation of what was undoubtedly a rejection, but you respected both Arthur and yourself too much to do such a thing. You were fully prepared to apologize once again, your mind running a million miles for each second that ticked by without any sort of response, and just as you were about to ask if he was still there did you hear him take a short breath.

“What if…,” He paused for a second, taking another shaky breath. “I said that I did feel the same way…?”

What?

Your breath hitched, and had it not been for feeling its pulse as it pounded away in your chest, you would’ve thought that your heart had stopped from the shock.

“Wait - What. What do you mean?”

“You know, Y/N… That I like you - too, in that way.”

“Arthur - do you actually mean that?”

“Y/N, what would I get from lying?” His voice was teasing, yet gentle as he tried to reassure you the same way you had done for him when he asked you the same thing prior.

You knew that Arthur wouldn’t be bold enough to outright say it if he loved you like you did him at the moment, and part of you didn’t even believe that your feelings were reciprocated, so full of self doubt and insecurities were you. That part of you thought that he just didn’t know how to let you down without hurting you, but at the same time, the other part of you so desperately wanted to believe that it was true - and that was the part you were inclined to go along with.

“Hey, Art - I have this weekend off, and if you do too, maybe just you and I could… go do something…?”

“Yes - yes! What would you -? ”

“There’s a discount theater about halfway between my place and where we split up, so we could go see whatever’s playing there - I think it’s a Chaplin film, and you still like those, right?”

One of Arthur’s long time favorites; he’d always had a soft spot in his heart for Charlie Chaplin, and so it made sense that your first date (if you could be so bold as to call it that) would be seeing one - one that, ironically enough, was City Lights as you saw the marquee above the doors advertising on your way home from work earlier that day.

He didn’t even need to actually answer your invitation for you to know that it was a resounding yes, the smile that was undoubtedly on his face audible through his voice as he confirmed that he did, in fact, still like them. With a plan in place - Saturday, 6:30pm, 9th Ave - did you bid each other goodnight, the giddiness in your voices not going unnoticed by the other.

From the kitchen to the couch did it feel as if you were floating on whatever the earthly equivalent to cloud nine was, and with a lack of grace did you flop down into the spot you had been sitting previously. The television drawled on in the background, and the grin that spread across your face showed no signs of letting up any time soon, but you cared little for how much your face was beginning to ache from it. Instead, as you tipped your head back did tears of pure happiness flood your eyes, threatening to spill over and blur your vision.

How nice it felt to be liked, to be wanted, to maybe even be loved in return by the same person that you had spent so long longing for. You couldn’t help but wonder how long exactly Arthur had gone feeling the same way; had he always felt it, like you had? Or was it a recent realization, one that sprung up when you two spoke again the other day? You’d have to ask him about it whenever the opportunity came up, but until your weekend rendezvous could you subsist on just your ponderings and fantasies about what the two of you could get up to, knowing that regardless of how it went, as long as you had Arthur by your side, would you be okay.

You would be okay - because while Gotham was different, it was home, especially now that you had Arthur again.

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taglist;

@tahliamalfoydepp @tsukiakarinobara @smol-nari @ajokeformur-ray @lavenderheartz @lady-carnivals-stuff @darknessisafriend @emissarydecksetter @fleckcmscott @soulsdontbreaktheybeeend @oldloverhippiemusic @hearthurfleck @sgtsavoytruffle @honking4joker (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x you #joker 2019 #joker #joker x reader #joker x you #joker 2019 x reader #joker 2019 x you #arthur fleck imagine #joker imagine #joker 2019 imagine #mine

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dear-mrs-otome · 5 years

Text

In Defense of Theo...

Nobody asked for this, and probably nobody even wants this, but somewhere out there is at least one person wondering….how can anyone actually like this asshole? He’s a sadistic prick that belittles MC left and right, and I gotta admit - I was right there with you. When I first started playing Ikemen Vampire, I could barely stand Theo. The ‘dog’ thing was grating, the smug smirk didn’t seem as if it could possibly cover any softer sides, and especially with the sweetheart Vincent always nearby - why would anyone even look twice at his little brother?

Then I played one route with a Theo cameo. And then a second. And I started to notice a pattern...that when MC needed someone to lean on, Theo was always there. That somehow, quietly and with every bit of solid advice he dispensed, he forced me to think that maybe, just maybe, I’d misjudged him.

Maybe you’ve already made up your mind. Maybe he’ll never win you over. But for those curious as to why he torpedoed every preconception I had about him, feel free to read on - just be forewarned that after the cut, there will be unavoidable spoilers. I tried to keep things fairly vague, but some specifics are impossible to skirt when you’re talking about Theo and his motivations.

Starting with a simple list of Theo’s traits, so we can get those laid out right off the bat:

Theo’s strengths

Passionate

Idealistic

Ambitious

Reliable/Supportive

Selfless

Charismatic

Observant/Good at reading people

Protective

Theo’s weaknesses

Tunnel-visioned

Self-sacrificing

Doesn’t value self/Bases value on others

Bad Communicator re:Emotions

Wrathful

Stifling

Stubborn

Just like the vast majority of people, Theo’s strengths and weaknesses are often just reflections of each other - a trait when taken to its extreme becomes a flaw. Passion and idealism can become an inability to focus on anything outside of your values, selflessness can be taken to rash lengths, a desire to protect those we love can result in us smothering them and restricting their own efforts to grow.

But at heart, what to keep in mind when trying to understand Theo boils down to two things: 1) he will give anything, and I do mean anything - up to and including his very life - in service of those people and things he cares about and 2) deep down he undervalues himself criminally, no matter how arrogant and full of swagger he seems on the surface. More than once he says he’s just a ‘regular man’ and nothing in comparison to the geniuses and great figures that fill the mansion.

When MC first interacts with Theo in his own route, she’s terrified of him. He’s gruff, intimidating and intense, and strong-arms her into a working partnership she has little to no interest in initially. But over time she begins to see him for what he really is, and how her first impression of him was so far off the mark. She falls in love with his enthusiasm, his enduring love for art, and his dedication to artistic expression and frankly that’s very relatable. Who hasn’t been swayed by witnessing someone else’s passion and activism? His example inspires her to find her own commitment to a cause and the determination to stand up for things she believes worth preserving, no matter the cost.

Later on in his route is when the revelation comes to light that for certain reasons, Theo feels intensely responsible for her presence in the mansion. Everything he does, both in his own route from the very start, and the hints we see in other people’s, points to his sense of obligation to her and his desire to protect her and be a support she can rely on.

Despite all his talk of her being the ‘dog’, it’s Theo who is the real dog - a guard dog, fiercely loyal and committed to those he loves and incredibly protective of them. He grills Arthur’s MC to be sure that she cares about his friend for the right reasons, he jumps to Vincent’s defense at the slightest provocation (the same way he has ever since they were children and he defended him from bullies), and he is ready and willing to sacrifice everything he’s known and valued to preserve MC’s happiness - going so far as to choose to travel to the future with her in one of his endings so that she doesn’t have to give up the things that are important to her for his sake.

One of the things I find fascinating about Theo is that unlike the vast majority of tsunderes, his ‘walls’ and his outwardly off-putting behavior aren’t the result of some traumatic experience. His special brand of asshole-ism isn’t a reaction but more a proactive, conscious choice - it’s a role he’s opted to mold himself into. In Theo’s route, Vincent confesses to MC that their parents favored Theo, and he believes Theo has always pushed himself to act the way that he has so that their parents would hate him and love Vincent more. It’s easy to see how this is a pattern that has extended itself into adulthood, with Theo ready, willing, and able to make himself the ‘devil’ to Vincent’s ‘angel’ if it makes Vincent look better by comparison.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t naturally struggle with being open emotionally, in the other grand tsundere tradition. Theo often is tripped up by the fact that he’s so very adept at reading other people (in his own route, he’s clearly aware of MC’s affection long before she tries to tell him, and says as much to Arthur) that it seems to him as if the way he feels should be obvious, without being stated. He’s a man of actions and to him, they hold far more weight than words ever could. He struggles to comprehend that MC especially needs vocal, concise affirmation of his feelings...but anytime his errors or flaws are pointed out to him he takes quick action to rectify them and reassure her of her importance to him, and that’s a consistent trait across his route and events.

And, important she is. Theo repeatedly expresses the sentiment that MC has saved him, or is his salvation (we’re keeping with the devil theme here clearly) - that he’d be damned without her. His second life is dead-set on a disastrous, tragic course when she comes crashing into it, and through nothing more than recognizing his good qualities and supporting his ideals she eventually proves to him that his life is worth something. That he is worth something. She gives him a new definition by which to value himself, and he is impossibly and eternally grateful to her for that.

As a couple, they come to find support and strength in each other, and truly realize that they can be and do far greater things together than apart. It’s refreshing to see an otome couple that goes through hell and comes out the other side not just lovers but partners in every best sense of the word, because that is what real lasting love is built on - not the chemistry and the passion of moments, but the enduring commitment to face the world and its hardships together and realizing that unified...there’s nothing that can you can’t conquer.

There’s a vast amount more I could unpack about Theo - the relationship between him and Vincent alone is complex and borderline toxic, as much as I adore it, and it deserves an entire essay as well. But in the interest of not completely spoiling his route I’m going to save that rambling for another time and place...although if anyone wants to discuss that or anything else I’d mentioned here, please feel free to hit me up anytime to chat. I’m always happy to blather about my favorite fang-faced asshole.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp theo #ikevamp theodorus #theodorus van gogh #spoiler #spoilers #ikevamp spoilers #ikevamp discourse #this got long and stupidly rambly and incoherent #sorry friends i'm not better at this stuff #but i felt compelled to try and shed some light on this complicated guy #hopefully with at least some degree of success #bottom line is #please give him a chance #when his route comes #character analysis

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lemoynebraider · 5 years

Text

A different choice | Bill Williamson

Warnings: Chapter 6 spoilers, kinda angsty This is not a Bill x reader one shot, it’s not even Bill x anyone one shot, just my sappy feelings about this man and how he deserved better. Anyways, big thanks to @cactilads for putting her ass in the air and beta reading my eternal bullshit. Love you babe xoxo

Everything was falling apart. A family that was once inseparable, became a bunch of strangers. Love turned to hate, friends turned to enemies and all that was left were broken hearts and lots of doubts. All the effort they’ve put into this in the past couple of decades, gone in a matter of few unfortunate months. Some people died and those unlucky enough to survive, mourned and argued.

Bill was angry with everyone for all the doubts, but mainly with himself because he had just as many of them as any other member of the gang, unable to admit it. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he was afraid to do so. He knew he could survive by Dutch’s side, or at least, he was naïve enough to believe it, aware that no one else would bear his presence, if he decided to choose otherwise. So instead, he made his anger known, helping the people stray away even more. Scoffing and snapping at everyone, jumping into conclusions thinking that someone’s gonna stab him in the back at night, quite literally. Looking back at the things he said made him regret it, however, as stubborn as he is, it didn’t make him stop. Bill has always been naturally bad at controlling his anger but this time, he wasn’t trying to control it at all. Instead, he tried to find ways he could blame this on anyone but himself or Dutch, even despite knowing that everyone was to blame, Dutch most of all for letting this go this far. So even despite this, he decided to stick by his side due to Dutch being able to tolerate him.

All of this went on for days, weeks even. People grew angrier and more impatient, some even left in the darkness of a night. Gone without saying goodbye. Arguments were heard throughout Beaver Hollow more constantly, almost as if they were pre-scheduled, repeating on daily basis, while the Pinkertons were getting closer each day. The gang was stuck, bound to one place because there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. There was nowhere they could’ve gone, without putting themselves in danger.

_______________________

Bill tried to do what he knew he could do best and that was fully focus on his job, which eventually wasn’t so true because his focus shifted and he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching him. “Can I talk to you?” It startled him. Not only because he was not aware of someone standing behind him, but after all those days of pointless bickering of everyone around the camp, hearing someone talk to him in calm voice without any signs of anger, truly surprised him. Abigail took the opportunity to catch him on guard duty, the only time he was alone, without the presence of at least one of Micah’s puppets. She knew he was playing them like a fiddle and they all let him do that, including Bill. “There isn’t much we can talk about.” Bill scoffed, not to her surprise since she was used to this kind of behaviour from him even on good days. “I don’t want to listen to any of you traitors.” He immediately continued, raising his voice a bit, not letting her say more. A short moment of silence followed after, before Abigail finally decided to speak up again. “I don’t want to argue about who the traitor is but for the love of God, I know that even you can see that what Dutch is doing is entirely wrong.” Of course he knew she was right, yet he still seemed to be offended that she spoke so badly of Dutch. Bill was ready to give another one of his angry monologues, anger boiling inside of him. “You are better than this, Bill.” She surprised him before he had a chance to say anything. “And it’s not my intention to turn you against Dutch, I just hope that in the end, you’ll be able to choose what’s best for you and not what’s best for him. You’re smart enough to know the difference.” Abigail did not give him the opportunity to respond. She walked away, to avoid any further arguments, not really expecting anything from him.

The tense mood of Beaver Hollow didn’t calm down, but Bill’s contribution to the overall mess was much less noticeable. He sure still was angry, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure anymore if his anger was in the right place. So he spent majority of his time ignoring everyone, seated somewhere near the camp yet still out of sight. There was no coming back, the gang was doomed and sooner or later, he’ll have to choose who he’ll stay loyal to. How selfish of him to think of any other options than sticking with Dutch. But was it truly selfish? Perhaps it was selfish of Dutch to expect from people to stick by his side after everything that happened, caused by his own ignorance and poor attitude towards their problems.

—————————

“Who amongst you is with me, and who is betraying me?”

Another fight, another dead person from those very few that stayed until this point, but this time, it was officially over. Dutch had a gun pointed at each side, the small groups that were formed upon Arthur’s arrival to camp. The Pinkertons were on their way, determined to take whatever they want no matter what it costs. They have been chasing them for months and the gang had always managed to slip away someway, somehow. So to say they must have been truly frustrated, was an understatement. They were furious, hungry for blood just as any other criminal out there. In the end, you can’t make a country civilized in a civilized way.

So this was it. The ending of an important chapter of everyone’s lives and all there was left to do was to choose. It felt as if the time had stopped, despite the actual lack of it. In fact, there wasn’t any time left. Bill still did not realize the danger of this situation, taking painfully slow steps forward, as if they weren’t going to die any minute now. The reason for his slow pace was his uncertainty, the doubt about whether his choice was right and he thought that perhaps, he could still choose differently. However, once he was in his place, facing the opposite side, the people that were once his family, he knew for sure there won’t be any takebacks. But for the first time, Bill realized that his choice was a good one. Whether he lives or dies today, he won’t have regrets. He raised his gun towards the opposite side, standing side by side with his brothers. And even though it hurt, pointing the gun at Dutch, Bill Williamson was sure he made the right choice, he did what was best for him.

#bill williamson #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #spoilers #someone hug him plz #dutch van der linde #abigail roberts #arthur morgan

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capmerthur · 5 years

Text

THE BODY SWAP

Summary:

It’s all in the title :) Somewhere end S1 (after Labyrinth, but pre Morte). In a land of myth, and a time of magic, Arthur awakes inside Merlin’s body (and no, not in that way). Alternating Merthur POV, bonus Gaius, bit of George.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDER THE CUT... )

III. DISABLED (MERLIN POV)

But soon, Merlin is terrified.

And not because of the puzzling body swap.

*HE HAS NO MAGIC!?*

(Not that Merlin knows of any spell to reverse their current situation at once, mind you; so he doesn't actually try anything about it. But Merlin simply knows: there is nothing but blood running through his veins now - no vigorous warmth, no energic flow; there is simply nothing singing under his placid flesh, as he focuses on it.)

He cannot help but wish he's wrong though, and desperately tries to move a quill on Arthur's desk behind Arthur's back - the simplest of things, really; yet he fails, indeed...

His magic is tied to his body. Not to his mind.

No, no, no, no, nooooooooooo.

So. Merlin is, to his core, *terrified* - as he has never been. Not only because he feels more powerless and utterly helpless than he has ever felt - and worse, unable to protect Arthur! But also because the longer Arthur stays in his body, the more chances he has to find out that he has magic!? (And even though Merlin has nearly told Arthur, once? He is still not ready for him to know right now... Will after all didn't lie to protect Merlin's secret on his deathbed for Merlin to take chances with his life so soon after...)

Merlin though decides to push his panic aside for the moment: he simply MUST focus. No matter which sorcerer has this week decided to deal with the Pendragon line once and for all, Arthur's life is undoubtedly in the balance; and that's dearer to Merlin than all the magic in the world - included his own.

Because Merlin's life *has* tilted, on that rocky beach by The Great Seas of Meredor.

It shouldn't have been such a shocking revelation though. Sure, Arthur could be a spoiled, royal prat; an irritating, pompous ass; an arrogant, moronic bully - to list but the top of the iceberg of his massive shortcomings, and without even mentioning the complete dollophead he could sometimes be. But Arthur could also be truly brave, honest, and kind; willing not only to trust but also to actually defend the words of mere servants, ready to defy his father's orders in order to save a child's life, and volunteering to help a village not even belonging to his Kingdom, to note only a few examples. Also: at some point, Merlin had realized how what could at first appear as near manhandling tactility was in fact just Arthur's disguised way to show (or ask?) affection (because one probably just doesn't walk around asking for cuddles while growing up between Uther's judging cold glares and Morgana's sharp witty tongue; and the physical playfulness of the knights training must have seemed like the only way to go...). And last but not least: Ealdor owed Arthur its renewed safety. And Merlin owed Arthur his life - if Arthur hadn't gone looking for a Mortaeus flower... So, in short: of course Merlin had gotten fond of the man. Notwithstanding how so annoyingly beautiful he always was (for the record on that particular subject: Gwen is so adorably beautiful, and Morgana so petrifyingly beautiful).

But, as Arthur - bound to be King one day Arthur - hadn't even hesitate before choosing to sacrifice himself in order to fix his error instead of using the (even offered) life of a simple servant? Well... There is a difference still between having the conviction that Arthur is a good man ready to fight for the greater good, even knowing it could be his death; and knowing as a FACT that Arthur *is* ready to die for the greater good, even knowing it *will* be his death. And you bet having been proven *exactly* how pure of heart Arthur intrinsically is has only cemented that burgeoning love deeper into Merlin's heart - simply; truly; and maybe irrevocably. Merlin would now willingly die a thousands deaths to save his Prince.

(Feel free to shout with me about 1.11 because *MAJOR FEELS*!)

(And then hug me as I shamelessly cry because this is still NOTHING next to what's to come - aka Arthur becoming ACHINGLY beautiful, as Merlin turns ready to KILL a thousands times to save his King, blackening his own heart in the process and thinking himself then unworthy of Arthur's love because Arthur is just so BRIGHT; but wishing for it nonetheless?)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDER THE CUT:

I. AWAKING (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur awakes; lying on his back - unusual - and rolls over automatically.

He surprisingly falls, down, hard; and jerks fully awake now - on the floor, near a so very tiny bed, tangled in an unknown blanket (harsher than his standards, even while on errands, he can't help but notice).

In disbelief, he eyes his surroundings...

Where is he? Has he been abducted?

Think, he admonishes himself - trying to clear his mind; to remember what must have happened, to guess who has dared to commit such an act, and, most important of all right now: Find a way out.

His eyes then suddenly meet Merlin's, and relief surges through him somehow - before his anxiety returns; and double: because poor faithful, loyal Merlin has obviously been taken too; and it's Arthur's fault - he must have failed to save them both from being taken, even though he cannot remember anything...

Except when Arthur reaches out to Merlin, he realizes with fright but indeniable certainty that Merlin is in fact a reflection in a mirror; and worse: *HIS* reflection!?

It his NOT his hand indeed that is stretching out in front of him; NOT his clothes on his person; and definitely NOT his own hair falling upon his eyes, as he notices the black strings in his vision range...

Arthur is dumbstruck. He sees Merlin's mouth shaping a silent O, and he sees the dread in Merlin's eyes... except they ARE - he feels - *his* mouth, and *his* eyes; and everything is just plainly wrong, and plainly impossible - but undeniably REAL.

He is... Merlin? Or better said, *inside* Merlin? How can such a thing have even come to be?

Sorcery, Arthur understands with horror: Camelot is under attack!

But now armed with the knowledge of his predicament, Arthur realises he is actually in Merlin's bedroom. He's been in here before, once; and he recognises it all now.

So. Not abducted. All things considered, that still counts as something, right...

And, as it surely doesn't feel as if Merlin is still somewhere in his own head too while Arthur is inside of it, well... Maybe? Logically? Merlin might then be in return inside his own body?

Arthur suddenly finds himself praying for this to be true. It would be for the best, if Merlin was in his body - if they were the only ones concerned by this unnatural situation; because what if *everyone* was awaking inside someone else's body this morning? That would be... precarious - the general panic leaving Camelot completely vulnerable to whoever must have plotted this? The worst though would be if the one responsible for this was right now in control of his body, and acting as Crown Prince to do, well, evil deeds... So yes, you bet Arthur truly wants to find Merlin to be the one inside his own body when he finally finds it.

Arthur jumps on his feet, ready for action. Luckily (even though Arthur feels a bit guilty, as he notices his armour in pristine state against the opposite wall - apparently Merlin has been polishing it late into the night then) Merlin hasn't bothered to undress before falling asleep.

So. First thing first: he has to go to his chamber.

Picking some weapon on the way for good measure, you bet ...

/ / /

Simply walking the few paces to open the door though turns out to be a challenge. His limbs are too long, and dangly; it feels like he has two left feet, and he has to try thrice before actually getting a grip on the handle - because he isn't used to this body, of course - but maybe it is truly NOT Merlin's fault if he falls over his own feet that often after all...

Gaius is already out - hopefully looking for herbs and not wandering out of his mind... Arthur would have preferred to be able to test right away his theories about how many people were affected by the damn body change; but unfortunately, it would have to wait some more.

The corridors are empty too, except for a stray black cat who walks at his side a full minute, which has Arthur questioning himself about asking to the cat if he *is* Merlin - because Merlin HAS to be somewhere, right, as he obviously isn't where he should be to start with; but then the cat takes another turn... Arthur feels stupid for worrying so much about his silly manservant - but he cannot deny that he definitely will worry less only after having indeed finally found said silly manservant.

Arthur relaxes slighthly though when he enters the kitchen: people are working as usual, apparently not in shock, apparently in their right bodies. He picks up the first tray he finds, along with an extra knife that he hides in his pocket for good measure.

He tries to put on a confident grin as he walks (with the most assurance he can muster in this awkward-feeling body) towards the guards at his bedroom's door - and can only hope it will look the same as usual to them. They let him pass without trouble, and Arthur isn't sure it's a good thing. On the one hand, he *doesn't* doubt Merlin - he simply, intrinsically doesn't; and would never want him to feel like he did if his guards were to search him whenever he was about to enter his chamber. On the other hand... well, it isn't Merlin right now entering his chamber, with knifes at the ready... This time, it's only him; but what if it happens again, and if the one then inside Merlin's body has ill intentions...

Deciding not to dwell on this for the time being, Arthur opens the inside door to his bedroom, hoping to find Merlin doing whatever Merlin always does, but preparing for a fight, if need be...

II. AWAKING (MERLIN POV)

Merlin awakes as if in a cocoon; literally. He is surrounded by softness, flush, warmth; he cannot remember ever feeling so comfortable - and the world can wait for just another few seconds before he opens his eyes, right... Merlin wriggles, shifting on his back, sighing softly as he nestles some more into the cushions...

When Merlin awakes for the second time - culpability sinking in as he realizes he has overslept - his eyes open to a Pendragon red canopy he would recognize even among hundreds. Merlin freezes: what the hell is he doing, sleeping IN ARTHUR'S BED?!

Merlin sits upright at once - blankets falling all around him to reveal that he wears ARTHUR'S NIGHTGOWN too ?!

Whaaaaaaaat?!

This... just DOESN'T make any sense. The last thing he can remind is sitting on his own bed, polishing the last bit of Arthur's armour before letting himself fall down to sleep (*AN). He surely doesn't recall walking to Arthur's chamber, and even less...

Oh my... What is Arthur going to think? And come to think of it - true panic now creeping down on Merlin at that thought: *WHERE* is Arthur to start with?

His attention is drawn out right then by Arthur calling out his name (Merlin feels relief, no matter his current embarrassing situation) - in one of those thousands yet unmistakably always Arthurian ways to say his name: a myriad of moods and meanings in those simple two syllables - the voice sounding odd though this morning (is Arthur sick?), and tensed (well, he just found his manservant in *his* bed, that might explain it!).

Merlin turns to face his sovereign, trying to feel less self conscious because he mustn't look guilty, while wishing for inspiration, and buying time until it hits: "There is actually a perfectly valid explan-"

But it is NOT Arthur he sees: it is... himself? His breath catches as 'utter confusion' gets a new meaning, you bet...

At the same moment, Merlin notices suddenly just how *not his* his voice just sounded, and how he's wearing a very particular ring around one finger of what's NOT his hand, and how *blond* hair is falling upon his eyes... And still nothing makes sense; but at least it *does* explain how he awoke in Arthur's bed in Arthur's clothes: he *is* Arthur?; and... Arthur... is him? MUST be him. He has been calling him right the right way, right?!

"Arthur?" Merlin barely dares to breathe out, both in wonder and in plea (because Arthur CANNOT be gone - the fear and pain and simple *impossibility* of such a concept slicing through Merlin's mind like a knife).

There is a bright smile then appearing on his face - a smile that doesn't entirely look like his own though - "Yes, Merlin. It's me," followed by a relieved sigh: "And it's you". And, despite the shock about them having apparently switched bodies (?!?!), Merlin can't help but feel warm all over - because Arthur (and yes, it is so clearly Arthur, even in HIS body!) has apparently been worried about him.

(*AN) Headcanon time :

Merlin uses magic to clean Arthur's armour in the beginning, indeed. And he still uses magic for most of the chores, as much as he can, of course (washing clothes, mending clothes, emptying chamber pots, sweeping fireplaces, preparing baths, refreshing beds, cleaning floors, cleaning everything, really (except for mucking the stables, because there are always others around, grrrr). But he quickly grows nearly *maniac* about Arthur's food (picking at it as a way to make sure it's not poisoned etc...) and about Arthur's armour: it's one of Arthur's protections - so you bet Merlin definitely cleans and polishes and repairs and oils the leather ligaments that hold it together and EVERYTHING the hell out of it, with extra ardor and fervor, with his own two hands, all the while continuously trying to put on it any protecting spells he ever finds, and repeating those over and over at each occasion...

Also: I know mirrors were not so advanced at the time… But Merlin has an enhanced one, after all he has magic right… And on a side note, I’m never going to be over Arthur’s priority-thinking (I’m in trouble = CAMELOT IS UNDER ATTACK (babyyyy let me hold you - being Camelot Prince/King is NOT your only worth) and Merlin’s priority-thinking (what the hell is happening = WHERE THE HELL IS ARTHUR (babyyyy let me hold you - your devotion to The (brave, kind, admirable (shut up Merlin)) Prat doesn’t have to mean that you always must come second (and a bit self-preservation cannot be harmful)) *SIGH* I just love those two idiots so much !!!

#merlin #bbc merlin #merthur #merthur fic #merlin fic #bbcmerlin #the once and future fic #the body swap #fanfic #fic #text #my own two spells

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imladris-soldier · 5 years

Text

Lashes (pt 14)

Bill Williamson is a racist asshole. Everyone knows it. They just punch him and go on about their day. When a Lakota woman joins the gang, everyone expects things to go on as normal, slurs and all, and for a time, it does. But her curiosity gets the better of her, and she finds that hatred is something learned - which means it can be unlearned, if given time, care, and patience. And she has plenty of those… the first two, anyway.

Bill Williamson x OC

The caravan rattled out of Clemens Point, leaving the land slightly scarred behind it. It seemed that no matter where the Van Der Linde gang settled they left a mark, good or bad.

Star sat with Bill on the wagon he was driving, keeping an eye on all the horses that weren't being ridden. They mostly filed along, now unfortunately accustomed to this shifting camp ordeal. Once she was satisfied that they were alright, she settled next to her companion and allowed her eyes to drift over the country. The farther they went, the wetter everything became. The air stuck to her skin and felt heavy in her lungs. Her clothes hung in a vaguely damp manner off her body. Things squished and reeked in ways she had never known. Where in the world was Dutch taking them?

“You seem quiet,” Bill murmured, glancing over at her.

There was a hint of concern in his voice that she couldn't ignore, and it struck her that maybe there was some lingering tension from the night of the attack on the Braithwaites. He'd been considerate enough not to ask her directly what had happened, and she had appreciated it. However, she would have to tell him sooner or later.

“If you want to ask something, just ask me.”

He blushed slightly at having been called out so easily, but he shrugged it off. “Just been worried is all. What happened with the Braithwaites... seemed to take a lot outta ya.”

He was still dancing around the question, but it felt like he was protecting her from it. He wanted to know, but he didn't want to cause her the pain of telling him. It equal parts frustrated and warmed her, though she couldn't put a finger on her frustration. So, she let it out in a heavy sigh.

“It did. I was forced to remember things that I had carefully hidden away, and those memories did not resurface kindly.”

Bill nodded a bit, eyes on the road in front of them. “Been there.”

“I... imagine you have.” She had probably caused one or two of those events just by appearing in his life. “It's not a nice story. And... I'll tell it to you sometime. Just... not now.”

“Alright,” he conceded easily, no hint of disappointment in his voice. “I got a story or two you ain't heard neither, so...” He shrugged, glancing over at her. “I guess... well... guess we'll both just take our time. We got plenty of it.”

The frustration melted away as she filled with fondness. “I hope so,” she replied softly.

As the caravan rolled through the South, heading ever farther in the opposite direction of that they had hoped for, the mood felt... mixed. Some of the others seemed to have found hope to hold on to, but Star herself felt very apprehensive, so she picked up more on those who mirrored her sentiments. John, who had returned to guide them to Shady Belle, and Abigail were understandably worried, though they seemed to be avoiding each other. Micah was grumpier than usual, though he professed undying faith in Dutch's decisions. Hosea kept up his smile for the gang, but when he thought no one was looking, his gaze drifted to the countryside and became wistful. Things felt... different.

The twists and turns of the road carried the gang into swampland. New animal noises began to crop up that Star had never heard before in her life, and it put her on edge. This entire land was nothing but threat. She had already learned to dislike the South in general, but this part? It was repulsive.

It took the better part of the day to reach Shady Belle, and Star was appalled to find that the house was of a similar make to the Braithwaite mansion, though it had seen significantly better days. It was surrounded on three sides by swamp, and there were multiple battlements left from the previous occupiers.

While the wagons rolled in, Arthur emerged from the house with a wave. “Welcome home, all of ya, to my humble abode! We got fine livin', if you ignore the corpses and the alligators. A real paradise.”

Dutch jumped down from The Count, spinning with a grin. “I love it! Ms. Grimshaw, Mr. Pearson, would you kindly work your magic?”

The wagons fanned out across the yard to make space for each other as they organized the camp into something livable. Star squeezed Bill's shoulder before jumping down from the still moving wagon to see to the horses. As she made her way to the nervous animals, she saw Dutch and Arthur mounting back up.

“Dutch?” Molly called, running to catch up.

“Yes?”

“Could I have a word with ye?”

“Not now,” Dutch replied dismissively.

He and Arthur rode off, leaving a dejected Molly in her place. Star stood with her hand on Old Boy's neck, watching as the Irish woman's shoulders slumped and she turned to go back to the house. While it was true that Star had never been particularly fond of Miss O'Shea, she couldn't help but feel for the woman.

“He's just stressed, Molly,” she called.

Molly's red hair bounced as she turned, surprised at having been spoken to. Star expected her not to respond and move on, but she made her way awkwardly between the horses to stand with Star. “I dunno. He hardly speaks a word to me. Been this way for a while now.”

“Well... he's been stressed for a while now. After everything this gang has been through, can you blame him?”

“I just wish he'd talk to me. I... I really love 'im, and I wanna help 'im, but...” She shrugged helplessly. “How do you do it?”

That caught Star off guard. “Do what?”

“Get Bill to talk to ye. I seen you two 'round camp. Yer always talkin' and doin' stuff together. He's got a lot better since 'e met you. Nicer. Quieter.”

Star ran her fingernails through Old Boy's coat, considering the question. She didn't really think she'd done anything to get Bill to talk to her. Except maybe listen. He had a lot to say, but no one ever listened to him. Once she did, and he was convinced that she wasn't making fun of him, he just... talked.

“I don't know, Molly. We just... he trusts me, is all. Knows I'm not going to use his words against him, like everyone else seems to.”

The woman's freckled face twisted into an expression of despair. “Why doesn't Dutch trust me?! I've been by his side through all'a this. He should trust me!”

With that, Molly stormed off, crying. Star stared after the Irishwoman, baffled. She'd tried to help, but it wasn't her fault that Dutch found nothing to trust in his companion, though why he felt the need to keep her around was beyond understanding. They weren't even sharing a bed much anymore, so what was the point? Although, perhaps there was simply no convincing Molly that it was over. She still seemed to feel strongly about Dutch.

With a shrug, Star returned to her work, though she as soon joined by another.

“What was that about?” Hosea asked quietly, taking a brush to Silver Dollar.

Star glanced at the forming camp, making sure that Molly was nowhere in earshot. “Dutch brushed her off again. She wanted to know how I got Bill to talk to me. I told her that he trusted me. She... did not take it well.”

Hosea let out a sigh as a slight, humorless smile touched his lips. “So we saw.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Honesty is never wrong, girl. Except for when it gets you into trouble.” His smile grew genuine. “I knew when she arrived that the outlaw life would sit poorly with Molly O'Shea. It was just a matter of time.”

“Why does Dutch keep her around?”

“I don't think Dutch has spared a thought for Molly in months. She's here because she chooses to be. I don't wish the girl any ill will, but I do wish she'd move on. Dutch will never be the man she hopes him to be.”

Something about that troubled Star. If Hosea saw cracks in what Dutch was building...

“Don't mind me, Star,” he cut across her thoughts. “It's been a long road. Perhaps I'm a bit crankier than usual.”

Star smiled. “We're all tired. And this place... it's...”

“I know. Revolting. Though the stagnant water adds a pleasant aroma, wouldn't you say?”

They laughed together, finishing up with the horses. By that time, camp was more or less assembled. By nightfall, Dutch and Arthur had returned saying that they had found Angelo Bronte. Plans were laid for them and John to pay a visit the next day. Everything seemed to be on track to retrieve Jack and get the hell out of there.

The gang fell to their usual habits, eating dinner, drinking, playing the occasional game of poker. But underneath it all, there was an unrest, and they all could feel it.

Late into the night, Star and Bill sat on the ground outside of their tent. Star was sat between his legs, leaned back against his chest, and his chin rested on her shoulder. They were content in silence for a while until an alligator hiss made Star jump, knocking Bill's teeth together.

“Shit,” she breathed. “Sorry.”

“Ain't never seen you so jumpy,” he remarked, rubbing his jaw. “What's got you so wound up?”

“Everything,” she admitted, taking his hand to play with in her lap. “But especially this place. I don't like being this close to a city. I don't like the sounds those leviathans make. I don't like that I've been bitten by more bugs than I can count since we arrived. I want to go home.”

“Where's home?”

It was a genuine question, but Star realized that she didn't really know what to tell him. It wasn't the reservation that she spoke of, but that direction wasn't a bad one. North and West to the plains. To the buffalo. To the rocky buttes and clear skies. Home.

“Somewhere the wind actually moves and the air doesn't sit on you like wet fabric. Somewhere that horses can run without fear of breaking a leg in the mire.” She paused, then looked over her shoulder. “Somewhere with you.”

He smiled and gently placed his chin back onto her shoulder, arms wrapping around her torso to hold her close. “Sounds good to me.”

They sat together a while longer – long enough for Karen and Pearson to begin singing a little drunkenly from the poker table, accompanied by Javier on his guitar.

“I'm a poor lonesome cowboy/ Poor lonesome cowboy/ Poor lonesome cowboy/ A long way from home/ I ain't got no mother/ I ain't got no mother/ I ain't got no mother/ To mend the clothes I wear/ I'm a poor lonesome cowboy/ Poor lonesome cowboy/ Poor lonesome cowboy/ A long way from home.”

As they sang, Bill began to hum the tune in Star's ear, gently rocking her side to side. She couldn't for a second maintain her worries when his voice sent pleasant shivers down her spine. A smile blossomed on her face as her arms went atop his. To say that she had ever thought to have something like this was a stretch. To say that she had imagined it would be someone like Bill Williamson is an outright lie.

….

In the morning, the camp was abuzz as Dutch, Arthur, and John rode off to Saint Denis to get Jack back. Abigail was a nervous wreck and spent most of her time pacing the camp. No one got in her way, though Sadie tried to offer some comfort.

Star spent the day with a constant watchful eye sweeping her surroundings. She had faith – or at the very least, had hope – that they would bring the boy back with no trouble, but enough had gone wrong up to that point to leave her restless. She also began to pace the camp, though slightly less fevered than Abigail.

At one point, Micah sidled across her path, lips twisted into a smirk. “What's got your britches in a knot?”

“Right now? You,” she replied, walking around him.

He chuckled, following her. “Ain't no reason to be hostile. Just makin' conversation.”

“Find someone else to talk to.”

“But I want to talk to you. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Yes, I suppose nearly running me over, then proceeding to hurl offensive remarks might make things somewhat tense.”

“I thought you liked bein' called nasty names. Ain't that what Bill did to get your attention?”

Star spun around so fast that Micah nearly smacked into her. He took a staggering step backwards as her nose came very close to his. “Think you're funny, ugly man? Do you? Do you know the difference between you and Bill? He's capable of learning. He cares enough to try. There's a good man inside him that this gang tried so hard to repress because they needed someone to be the butt of their jokes. And he let them. Because he just wanted someone to want him back. You? You're rotten to the core. No amount of care or friendship would ever change you because you like being the way you are. You're a snake, Micah. Be careful someone doesn't turn you into boots.”

For a screaming, silent moment, Micah just stared at her. His face betrayed the tiniest hint of shock, though most of it hid in his biting blue eyes. And then, he laughed. “Oho, I seem to have struck a nerve. Alright, there, princess. Don't get yourself all worked up. I'll go my merry way.” His smile cracked, and his voice dropped. “But threaten me again, and we'll just see who does the skinning around here.”

He stepped back from her, his smirk back on his face, and then he sauntered off as if nothing had happened. Star made sure he was good and gone before letting out the breath she was holding. She knew it was unwise to rile him. He had always felt dangerous, and he had zero respect for her as a human being. Still, she refused to take his shit lying down.

As she turned to continue on, a voice called, “You alright?”

Charles was leaned up against a tree, easily blending into the bark and the foliage around him. Star nodded and crossed to him. “Fine.”

“He's mostly harmless, but... I don't like the idea of you facing him alone.”

Star's gaze went over her shoulder. “I don't believe for a second that he's harmless. Something about him has always set my teeth on edge. I don't know what it is... but, I don't trust him.”

Charles nodded. “Neither do I. Hunter's instinct maybe.”

“Maybe.” Her eyes returned to him. “What are you doing over here?”

He pointed at an alligator on the opposite shore. “Watching that.”

Star's lip curled up in displeasure. “Why?”

“It's fascinating.”

“It's horrific.”

The beast accentuated her point by snarling and hissing at some bird innocently passing by. She just pointed. Charles chuckled. “I didn't say it was kind.”

“Well, I hate it. I hate this place and all its animals.”

“Fair enough. Come on. Have you had lunch?”

The pair made their way back to the camp interior and tracked down some food. Bill was on watch duty, so the pair ate alone, swapping stories from their childhoods. Though the day had started out on shaky ground, it improved the longer they sat together. They only hoped it would last.

As the day dragged on, nerves around camp grew more frayed. The longer Dutch and the others were gone, the more worried everyone got. Had it been anything other than Jack, the stakes would not feel so high. He was just a boy, and everyone was fond of him. Except maybe Micah, who was annoyingly calm.

When darkness had fallen and they still hadn't returned, Abigail was nearly inconsolable. No one else could focus on much either. But, when the sounds of hooves reached them, every head popped up hopefully. Bill's voice called out, “Hey! They're back! I think I see Jack!”

“Abigail!!” Dutch called. “We got you your son!”

“We got him!” John practically whooped. “He's ok!”

Jack's little voice piped up, “Momma! I'm fine, Momma!”

The dam broke. Everyone came running, smiles all around.

“My son!” Abigail cried. “You got him! You got my son back!”

She whipped her little boy into her arms, spinning around with a laugh. Jack looked none the worse for wear and said, “They fed me good! Italian food. Have you ever had that?”

“Good luck living up to that, Pearson,” Star murmured to the cook. He just grinned and waved her off.

Abigail brought Jack to the crowd of people waiting to greet him, though he soon lost interest in it all and asked to play. Abigail let him, but never let her eyes leave him. Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, and John shared a quiet word together, but then Dutch broke away, speaking louder. “Boys, we got work to do. Interesting work. But first, let's have a drink. We got Jack back! It's time to celebrate!”

The gang let out cries of joy and almost immediately managed to become merry. Alcohol was opened and passed around. Songs were sung, the most rousing of which was Javier's “Cielito Lindo”. Star didn't know the words, so she simply stood with the gang, watching, smiling, and laughing.

The echoes of Sean's party came back to her, leaving a weight of sadness atop her joy, but it was not so heavy that she couldn't enjoy this new celebration. She laughed with the girls, drank with the boys, played with Jack. It was wonderful.

At one point, Bill approached her, bottle in hand, though he immediately offered it to her when he reached her. She took it and drank a large swig. He was obviously feeling the effects of the alcohol, but she had certainly seen him far worse off. He took her hand in his, letting it dangle between them. “R-remember the party at Horseshoe?” he asked, swinging her hand slightly.

“Course I do.”

“Well... me too, but... I don't... I don't remember the part I wanna remember. So, let's do it over.”

She smiled, grateful that the fire would hide her blush. “I mean... we've done so before...”

“But not like this,” he answered, waving around at everything. “It's a party! We got Jack back. Everything's gonna be alright. I just... I wanna spend it with you is all. Proper like this time.”

She took another drink, smiling around the bottle. “Alright, fine. I'll slip away, then you follow me in a bit.” Handing the bottle back, Star reclaimed her hand and slowly made her way to their tent, stopping to talk to a few people along the way.

One of those people was Kieran. He lingered on the outside of the festivities, though his demeanor was more relaxed than usual. He even smiled when she approached. “Hi, Star!”

“Hey!” The alcohol had loosened her tongue slightly, making her a bit louder than normal, so she jumped at her own voice. “Oh, geez. Sorry. That was noisy.” Kieran giggled and took another sip from his bottle. “Anyway, I came over here to tell you something. I don't want you to think it was your fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jack getting taken. You said you'd seen some men being suspicious and the like before he was kidnapped. It wasn't your fault. If you'd tried to stop them, they might've killed you, and that wouldn't have been better. We got him back ok. Everything worked out. So... it's not your fault.”

He swirled his drink around and shrugged. “I dunno 'bout all that, but... thanks, Star.”

“You don't need to know, 'cause I know,” she replied, poking him in the chest. “Now enjoy yourself, Kieran Duffy.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied, smiling.

With that, she found her way to her tent, dropping the flap closed behind her. She didn't imagine Bill would take long following her, so she rather quickly disposed of her clothes, then sat on her bedroll to brush through her hair. The humidity had caused it to become a frizzy, sticky mess, and she was fed up with it.

As predicted, Bill appeared only a few minutes later, hurrying himself into the tent and tying it shut. When he turned back around, he almost balked. Star looked up innocently. “What?”

“Didn't expect ya to... well...” He gestured at her naked form vaguely.

“You've seen it before.”

“I know that!” he replied, unbuttoning his shirt. “Just weren't expectin' it is all.”

A sly smile slid up her face, and she leaned back on her elbows, stretching out and exposing her body. “You mean to say that I still have an affect on you? Even just... innocently sitting here. Minding my own business?”

He gave her a disparaging glance that turned into a longing grimace. “Why are you like this?”

She chuckled. “Like what?”

“Like you enjoy tormentin' me!”

“Maybe I do.”

He yanked his usual plaid shirt off, then ripped off his undershirt as well. “I guess we'll just see about that.”

He joined her on the ground, crawling over top of her as she just ginned. “You're sober enough to remember this one, right?”

“Yes!”

“Alright! Just making sure. How did it start last time? Something like this?” She lifted up to claim his lips, running her fingers through his beard and into his hair. He practically melted.

“Somethin' like that,” he agreed softly when she pulled away.

She laid down, pulling him with her. The kisses he placed on her lips, soon moved to her neck, her collarbone, and her breasts. His beard tickled, causing her to squirm and giggle every once in a while which just made him smile against her skin.

To be fair, Star did not believe for a second that their drunken hook-up so many months ago had been anything like this. It had probably been a horrible, awkward, mess of a time and wasn't worth remembering anyway. So it was nice to be able to put a more pleasant memory in its place instead.

Bill's lips eventually reached her hips, and he paused to graze his teeth over her hip bone, eliciting a shiver. “Now who's tormentin' who?” he rumbled against her stomach, dragging his nose along the sensitive skin just below her belly button.

“I don't know that I'm tormented just yet,” she replied.

He looked up to catch her gaze and shake his head. “Incorrigible, you are.”

She shrugged. “Now, are you gonna talk all night, or are you...” His index finger slid between her legs, taking the words right out of her mouth. She cleared her throat and nodded. “Better.”

When his tongue replaced his finger, Star lost the ability to tease him in any way. He'd never done that before, and it was an entirely new sensation that sent radiating heat up her torso. She never wanted him to stop. So, when he pulled away to free himself from his boots and pants, she whined softly. He just smirked.

He was slow pushing into her the first time, causing her to throw her head back happily. More than anything, she enjoyed sex as a bonding activity, and prolonged contact of that sort felt far more personal. Every touch of their skin seemed to have an emotion behind it, despite their physical desire for one another.

After some time on the ground, they shifted around a bit. Bill sat on the bedroll, and Star straddled him, taking control of things. It all started out as fun and games, but the emotions seemed to come back into it ten-fold with them so close to one another. Their eyes seemed locked into one another, and the heat between them was like fire.

Outside, thunder began to rumble, but even that wasn't enough to break the two apart. Star's arms were around his shoulders, and one of her hands was buried in his messy hair. He had one hand on her lower back while the other helped hold him up. He alternated between squeezing her ass and her hip as she moved on him. The hand that wasn't in his hair slipped between her thighs to heighten her pleasure which made her whimper softly. Of course, at this point, she knew well that her noises were one of his favorite things, so it surprised her none when his grip on her tightened and he began to buck up into her some.

She leaned her forehead against his, eyes slipping shut and mouth falling slightly open as she focused on the feeling of him inside her. “I fucking love you,” she breathed. “God help me, but I do.”

He responded by practically throwing her back onto the ground and pounding into her until she was moaning with every thrust. Her back arched wildly when she came. He fucked her through her orgasm, and just as she began to shy away from the stimulation, he pulled free and came as well – spilling his seed on the ground and grunting a small laugh.

Star stared at the tent top for a moment to catch her breath, but soon rolled upwards to her knees to throw her arms around him again. He caught her, giggling. “Good enough for the memory books?” she asked, kissing his nose.

He got slightly bashful and murmured, “Any time you say you love me is good 'nough for that.”

She stared into his eyes for a moment, wanting so much for him to know just how much she meant it. There didn't seem to be a way to fully express the extent of the emotion in her chest, so she settled on a kiss. A long, careful, emotional kiss. “I do love you,” she whispered, leaning her head against his. “And don't you forget it. Not even when you're drunk out of your mind.”

He nuzzled her jaw gently. “Never.”

#my writing #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #bill williamson #bill williamson x oc #lashes #micah bell #charles smith #hosea matthews #molly o'shea #kieran duffy #so this one gets a little smutty #fair warning

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unkindnessofone · 7 years

Text

5SOS. Ice Cream

This story gets a touch smutty in the middle. Just a warning. It was fun to write, please enjoy and let me know what you think! This story takes place right after Primal & Primal 2

"I don't like this." Sounding like a little kid just put on a time out in the corner, Ashton muttered to Simone as he stuffed a small white plastic spoon into his dish of half eaten frozen yogurt.

"Really?" Very concerned, Simone looked up at him. "Do you want to go back?" She stood still on the sidewalk for a moment, patting the phone in the pocket of her sweater as it had been buzzing all day. "We could switch. The hazelnut is quite nice." She offered up her dish to him, reaching it closer to his face.

"Not the frozen yogurt." He frowned and scooped himself up another bite of French vanilla with cookie crumbs. "This." He motioned to the walking couple ahead of them, Molly and Flynn, under the transforming sky.

"Oh, come on, Ash." She huffed at him with a head shake. "I thought dinner was lovely." Somehow throughout their meal, Simone had slipped deeper into her most posh English accent. Ashton figured it was because Flynn practically interviewed her about what it was like to grow up in Maida Vale and some of her favourite old London haunts.

Truthfully, Ashton couldn't really complain about dinner. His salmon was cooked to perfection, his wife didn't answer a single text, and Molly's partner came across as genuinely in awe of her. Most importantly, she was obviously happy. Ashton wasn't sure if he had ever seen his daughter beam before, but across from him at their corner table he saw her face radiate joyfully every time Flynn said her name or "Molls" as he had taken to calling her with great affection. He showed a plethora of interest in Ashton's latest musical adventures, Simone's company, and their son's current opening act gig. It was clear that Flynn had been raised in a house where manners reigned supreme. He shared with them, well Simone mostly, about his mother's Samoan background and learning to fish and play rugby with his Dad over in Perth. Ashton knew he should have been thrilled. His intelligent daughter had once again made an excellent choice for herself, but he wasn't happy at all. He had a cup full of frozen yogurt, but a pout that not even a picture of his beloved dogs could improve.

"They are so fond of each other. It's sweet. It's nice to see Molly branching out and dating." She never mingled much in high school. Her goals went beyond sexual attraction and beach dates like many of her fellow classmates. While Simone was always proud of how tenacious and focused her eldest was, she still wanted her to make connections and find a partnership somewhere.

"I don't care for it." Like a grump, he snarled. Ashton was generally such a pro at finding the silver lining, but this felt like was walking through feet upon feet of fog. He stared with squinted eyes at the young couple ahead of them. He watched as Flynn tossed his cup out in a recycling bin they passed and then draped his oversized arm around Molly's shoulder. At dinner, he showed how gentle he was, but all Ashton's mind could do was strange a list of all the easy ways Flynn O'Malley could hurt his precious daughter.

"Exercise some trust. Molly's very smart." Playfully, Simone jabbed Ashton in his side. "Well, at least when she isn't tying herself up into trees, she is." Simone would be trying to make sense of that decision for a while.

"I can trust her and not like something she is doing at the same time." Ashton liked being the only good guy in Molly's life as selfish and, perhaps, demented as that was. He knew kissing frogs and meeting new people was part of being a very young adult, but that didn't change how badly he wanted to keep her safe from how painful those novelties could be.

"You're right." Slipping her hand into Ashton's once they passed by the recycling bin and she had disposed of her litter, Simone bent. "My dad didn't like you at all in the beginning." However, Simone remembered feeling that at the time he also really didn't trust her because of that.

"What?!" That was enough to pull Ashton away from painting a mental bullseye on Flynn's very chiseled back. "Arthur loves me!" He nearly shouted as he looked at his beautiful wife like she was spewing nonsense.

"He didn't always." Frowning with a shrug, Simone practically swore. "He wanted me to focus on my business and saw a rockstar from Australia as a waste of time and reckless. He called you all kinds of horrible things." They were not impressed by what they collected about Ashton through online gossip. Her parents had always imagined she would take up with someone who was Eton educated and knew the difference between a salad fork and an entree fork.

"Simmie, this is already a horrible day, why are you telling me this?" Very seriously, Ashton asked her. He always looked at her dad as a father figure to himself. He truly respected Simone's parents and had always strived to do right by their daughter. It was news to Ashton that for even a moment, Arthur Telford thought he was scum.

"Because he knew you made me happy and that we were good together!" She continued. "I know your mother thought I was stuffy at first."

"No, she didn't." Shaking his head, he insisted.

"She told me years ago that she did." Simone didn't mind in the slightest. "My point is that we don't get to pick who Molly and Connor take up with. We raised great people and we are going to love them through whatever choices they make even if they choose to tie themselves to trees or pine after Penelope Hemmings."

Like she almost always was, Simone was right and Ashton knew it. It was just an adjustment that he hadn't arrived in Canberra ready for. He was still internally burning that she didn't rush into his arms and thank him for saving her. His hero complex that Molly always indulged was left unfufilled.

"He flew from Gold Coast to be here. He missed a training day to be there for her." Sim leaned into Ashton as he squeezed her hand, smiling at her daughter up ahead as she caught a glimpse of her grinning at something Flynn said the way she used to on the way to the zoo. "Reminds me of an old boyfriend I had." She waited for Ashton to look down at her before grinning back up at him, not at all hiding how happy their memories made her. "Look past the rugby player physique and everything else, just to try to be happy that right now she's happy and is with someone who seems to think she is perfect."

"Haven't we talked about this?" With his cup in only one hand, the contents inside mostly melted, Ashton tossed his arm around his wife's shoulder and let go of holding her hand. He craved her much closer. "You're not allowed to be right more than twice per conversation." Ashton didn't always find it so easy to admit that she was right and he was wrong. They had really come so far together and been through a whirlwind.

He noticed Molly turn around and check on them and instead of scowling, Ashton just shot her a dorky thumbs up. He knew he and Simone had a healthy marriage, albeit strange, and he knew that Molly would not settle for less than what she deserved from people. He just had to get with the program and then everything would be okay.

*****

For a girl who loved to be clean and carried around alcohol wipes and hand sanitizer in her purse, Simone wore her dirty hands proudly. Three was nothing quite like an afternoon tucked into her studio where she slipped into a work rabbit hole and fulfilled orders or new creative ideas rolling around in her mind. It took less than ten minutes each time for her fingers to be coated with black oil and shiny grey grime from widdling together her different jewelry pieces.

She was concentrating so contently on creating one of her most beloved ring stacks, the Palisades, with ethically sourced diamonds over its usual peridots for a custom order that she hadn't noticed the sun had stopped floating through the window. It was almost ten o'clock and it took a terrifying thud against her front door followed by the bell ringing repeatedly to make her look up from her work and realize that she hadn't eaten since tea with her mother earlier in the day.

She wasn't expecting guests, but Simone wiped her hands on the rag closest to her and checked her cell phone for any missed messages. There was only notifications for emails through her website. She didn't have any missed calls or texts, not even from Ashton, her best friend, or older brother or younger sister. She hummed curiously to herself and kept trying to wipe at her filthy hands with the rag as she moved out of the spare bedroom that she had transformed into a studio and went to answer the door that was still being abused.

She checked in her peep hole to see who in the Hell was making so much noise. Simone felt a even, but complicated mixture of relieved and worried when she saw Ashton on the other side. Was he okay? Why was he even here? Her mind raced as she hurried to unlock the chain on her door and then the deadbolt. Her internal monologue also contemplated how dreadful she currently felt. She had been fighting off a tickle of a sniffle for a couple days. She and Ashton had only been together a smattering of times and known one another for a few months, Simone realized this would be the first time he would see her without makeup on. She had on black yoga leggings and an oversized Chelsea FC tshirt on that had been gift from someone who didn't know her terribly well. Why couldn't he have come before when she was still in the business casual outfit she put together for tea?

"I'm about to open the door." Holding the knob, Simone informed him. He was knocking with one fist so frantically that she felt confident he would fly forward and crash into her if she just swung it open. Once the banging ceased, she pulled it open and revealed herself in all her casual glory.

Ashton stood nervous in front of her, anxiety and exhaustion slicked over his face, but he looked like he was melting as his smile brightened and eyes softened at the sight of her. Simone didn't realize, but her cheeks began to hurt from grinning as hard as she could when she saw him. It took her a handful of seconds to realize that his non-knocking hand was holding a bouquet of autumn hues as it was just October as of two days ago. The sunflowers, coral roses, and orange alstroemeria shone brightly in his hand. It was bizarre that she had noticed his toothy nervous smile first.

"I thought you were in Canada or something." Simone relaxed and shared. She was in the middle of stepping out of the way when she heard Ashton take a huge deep breath. She looked up just in time to spot his face right in front of hers, coming forward in one single motion to kiss her madly. He was like a sailor back home after being away for months at a time. The brown paper holding the flowers crinkled against her back as they moved deeper into her flat, their lips never parting as their hands gripped at one another's shirts. Behind Ashton, her front door slammed, but it was practically distant background noise to him.

"I don't want to be away from you anymore." His forehead leaned against hers and Ashton took his first breath away from her mouth to admit that. She was occupying all his thoughts in a way that nothing besides music and boobs had before. He always wanted to check in with her, he didn't like ending his day without hearing how hers was going first, and he had started considering how she would feel before he did just about anything that wasn't playing the drums, signing autographs, or taking his morning piss. She had devoured his thoughts despite rarely getting to spend more than a couple days together at a time. They were casual thanks to the travel aspect of his career, but he wanted so much more from the jewelry designer.

"As soon as the show was done, I hopped on a plane and flew here." He explained, laughing in his uneven breath at how crazy the last seven hours had been. Ashton truly didn't know what time it was anywhere. "I missed you, Sim." He sighed and kissed her again. "Oh shit, I brought you flowers." He had picked them up from Heathrow as soon as he landed, wishing he had brought all the small things he had picked up along his travels for her. Ashton fisted them forward, making them the only thing between their bodies.

"Thank you." For the first time, Simone looked away from his engaging stare and took in the bouquet he picked, breathing in the scent and admiring the colours. It made her long for a Sunday roast with some kind of spiced pie, but she kept that to herself. "You could have just called." Shaking her head at him, Simone tried to inform him of what he already knew. She slinked away from him in order to rest the flowers on the black coffee table. "You didn't have to fly all this way -" With his schedule, she knew they probably only had a handful of hours together.

"Then I couldn't do this." From behind, Ashton wrapped his arm around her waist and turned her to face him. In one swift movement, he indulged the adrenaline that forged ahead of his exhaustion and picked her up so her legs wrapped around him. Her delighted gasp only made him feel more encouraged as he walked them both into her immaculately kept mostly white with some champagne tones bedroom. His mouth was stretched open on her neck the whole eleven steps in before he dropped her off somewhat in the bed's center.

The two of them had slept together before, just a handful of times. Ashton had felt surprised by how sexual Simone was. He had expected a good girl who would be repulsed by some of the positions he liked best or even his darker fantasies, but she really was his match. In some ways, she was his match with better stamina. She encouraged his fingers to dig in deeper, for his hands to push her into the bed harder, and for his mouth to call her a bevy of names that he would never associate with her outside of the bedroom. Ashton had finished himself off more times than he could count at the memory of perfectly polished London girl removing her red skin tight La Perla thong and then stuffing into his mouth before going down on him. While Ashton loved that she was just as turned on by rough sex as he was, he had something else in mind. Simone had long since stopped being a woman he was infatuated with. He had finally given up on the notion that she was too good for him and would soon catch onto that. Ashton knew that he was so deeply in love with her that he was almost drowning. He wanted her to know that now.

Simone inched up the bed, searching without looking for pillow, as Ashton climbed onto the mattress and followed her. He leaned in over her and inhaled deeply right above her hips before running both his palms over her legging covered thighs.

"You smell like home." He told her in a longing moan before he started to peel off her bottoms, bringing her black underwear from Primark with them. She felt so desired that she could have been wearing a hospital gown and felt sexy. Ashton's hands had a way of making her feel like she was the most important person in the room. His thumbs pushed into her thighs and he used his grip to push her legs back, bringing her bare knees to her stomach. He took his hands off of her long enough to fish his arms out of the sleeves of his denim button up and then pulled his white undershirt over his plane hair. Ashton's hands returned to under her thighs, holding her legs back before he pushed himself in and kissed her warm pussy just as he had kissed her upon arrival. Ashton had every intention of going slow, nibbling around her legs and teasing her entrance with long licks and rubbing at her small clit with two fingers the way he knew she couldn't help, but love. Once he saw her revealed to him, he couldn't control himself. He just had to devour her like she was his first real meal in days. Ashton practically sucked at her walls before sliding one finger in, curling it upward and grinning proudly into her as he felt her tighten and ass come closer. She was whispering his name up to the ceiling fan and Ashton knew she liked it. He let her stretch out her legs before running his free hand over her vulva. He thought it was so cute that even though they hadn't been around one another in almost a month, she still kept herself trimmed and tidied for herself. A small strip of hair right above where her clit was hiding. There was nothing he didn't notice about her from her patch of freckles under her belly button, to the way her whispers moved into slurs when he lapped at the bottom of her opening, to how she said she liked one sugar in her tea and didn't seem to notice she always put in two packets. Ashton could pen a book about the jeweller and, right now, he was using his tongue to write it inside of her.

"Baby, let me look after you." She struggled for a second and then hoisted herself up on her elbows, watching him as he dedicated his jaw to her pussy. She had been amused before, but now he had her dripping wet and sparkling off of his stubbly chin. "I want you in my mouth." It wasn't so much about returning the favor. Simone just liked hollowing out her cheeks to fit him. It made her feel powerful to work him with her tongue and lips, to have lose himself just because of the way she flicked at his tip over and over like a hungry orphaned kitten. Besides, he had flown all the way there. A blowjob seemed like the least she could do despite how much she wanted to.

"Soon enough, babe." He moaned between her lips before raising himself up and crawling over top of her. Ashton snaked up her shirt with both hands to help it over her head. He had noticed when she opened her door that she wasn't wearing a bra, but he appreciated it more so now as he had full access of his favourite parts of her to fondle. "I'm going to have you on your stomach," he growled into her ear before sucking on the top of the line, feeling the shivers it always created suddenly grow from her skin. "And on your sides and with your face against the window above your bed," Ashton rattled off all the places he was going to take her tonight, each position. They didn't have a lot of time and he would make the most of what they did have. "I want to be sure you can still feel me when I see you again." It was supposed to be in another week and a half, but he seriously doubted he could make it that long.

"That better be a promise, Ashton Irwin." Her head had been turned on the pillow to better hear every word he was saying and feel every kiss he put on her cheek, jaw, clavicle, and now over her erect nipple. At the sound of words and the way she fidgeted her chest. He bit down on he left breast and didn't let go until after her gasp had disappeared in the room.

As Ashton moved back down, squeezing her sides slowly and kissing her hip bones as he did, Simone forgot all about her dirty fingers and reached down to grip his hair and play in the near-curly locks as he went back to his very private conversation with her pussy.

****************************

Ashton could have slept right away afterwards. The thrill of seeing Simmie fled his body when he finally released his load and now he was struggling to keep his eyes open under her covers. His body was used to five star hotel beds by now, but her mattress was plenty comfortable for him. She had memory foam and he swore it could recall the shape they took together cuddling on their sides the few times he had managed to stay over before. Simone was reinvigorated with energy and inspiration. Ashton had made her cum three times, the final blowout along with him which felt intense and ardent, and now she could invest herself in a home renovation or attend an exercise boot camp. Instead, she walked through her apartment naked and went to make tea for their afterglow as well as find a vase and water for the flowers he brought her. Simone entered the room again with the flowers in front of her face, placing them down on the window sill behind the headboard of her bed. She glanced down at Ashton's most sleepy face, fighting with himself to keep his eyes partially open.

“I'm a fan of this.” In a low tone, he told her as her breasts hung in his face. She wished they could be perkier, but at the end of the day, she was quite happy with her body and all it's dimensions and surprises. Simone had a beyond healthy dose of self confidence and it was, perhaps, the most appealing thing about her. Ashton also loved the way she could talk to anyone, handled her business, and could make any curse word sound like a compliment.

“How much time do we have?” She slid down under the covers that he opened for her and let him move in to rest his head on her bare chest. It felt better than any feather pillow ever could. Instinctively, she combed at his hair with three fingers and stared off at her wall, bare since she had moved her whiteboard, bulletin board of inspiration and thank you cards, and her most recent family portrait into her office. Ashton's eyes were shut as he breathed in the smell of her sweet hair mist her hair fallen around her shoulders.

“I have a flight at about 4 in the morning.” He had wanted her, no, required her so badly before that he hadn't wanted to mention it and cloud their time together with a ticking clock. “We have a show in Calgary.”

“Well, this was a very nice surprise.” She nodded and chose to look on the bright side. He was her with her right now.

“I'm in love with you, Sim.” He yawned, turning to make himself more comfortable and sandwiching his face between her breasts.

“I know. You said so about three times during sex.” She giggled freely and kissed the top of his head. While things were moving fast, she understood that this was novel ground for them both. “I'm quite crazy about you as well.” Simone rested her cheek onto the top of his head.

“That's good enough for me.” Ashton yawned again. “It doesn't change the fact that I'm going to marry you very soon, we're going to have five kids, two dogs, and a place here, in Sydney, and probably one more. You do a lot of work in New York, right?”

Simone had to tell herself not to howl with laughter. Ashton was taking being adorable while being sleepy to a whole different place.

“Well, where's my ring?” Playing along, Simone asked with her face still squished against the top of his head.

“I've looked.” He admitted openly through his drowsiness. It was fast, all his friends thought so, but Ashton knew that it was her for him. He didn't care that it would be the last beautiful girl he ever bedded or that it would change his life entirely. In fact, with her, that was what he wanted. “It's very hard to find a ring when the girl you want to marry designs jewelry.” She was always wearing her own creations and he couldn't exactly blame her. She was talented and her pieces were in demand.

“Well, you could just design something and I could make it.” Sweetly, Simone suggested.

“Maybe.” Ashton yawned and blew his warm breath against her right breasts before sinking deeper into sleep. The battle to stay awake was barely being fought anymore. “I've never designed a ring before.” His mind did have plenty of ideas to create from though. They always had that in common: their endless creativity.

“Just rest, darling.” She sat up a touch straighter and kissed the top of his head. “Wait, Ash?”

“Hm?”

“I love you too.” She decided now was the right time to say it. It was what she was feeling. He was the reason she was being bubblier than usual. He was the one she anticipated talking to every day. He was the joy between a frustrating meeting or phone call.

In response, Ashton wrapped his arms around her stomach like she was a body pillow and kissed her breast, softer than before.

Simone knew the kettle was going to start whistling in her kitchen soon, but she was trapped under Ashton and she didn't want to move.

#ashton irwin fanfic #ashton irwin imagine #simone irwin #molly irwin imagine #molly irwin #ashton irwin au #ashton irwin smut #5sos au #5sos imagine

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otpwriteratheart · 7 years

Text

The Fate of a Song- Chapter 4

Summary: Rhaegar crowns Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty though they both know it's more than it appears.

Read on Ao3

Winterfell

Lyanna clutched her babe closer to her chest as the fire lit the room around them. Burning everything in it’s wake.

“Lyanna!” she heard her brother call. Lyanna’s happy tears died down as she remembered the very real danger but as she looked around she realized the fire should have burned them by now but the fire was almost cradling them. There was a distinct spot a few feet away where the fire never crossed. The fire was all around her, all around them but never daring to even lick the tips of her hair.

Lyanna let out a breath of relief, looking at her babe, he was a son of Fire and Ice. Lyanna wondered if Rhaegar knew this is where their love was headed when they met.

Harrenhal

Rhaegar couldn’t tell where he was, it was a great field of snow. Several snowflakes almost danced around in the air before him.

“Father!” a boy yelled out. Rhaegar looked around and suddenly a little boy no more than 4 ran to him. Rhaegar caught him and held him fast not knowing why but knowing he wanted the boy near. The boy looked at him and then frowned.

“What is wrong little one?” Rhaegar asked wanting to take the frown and all other worries away. The boy’s brown hair bounced as he did, his brown eyes focusing on him. Rhaegar knew those brown eyes.

“Mother wants to go to the Godswood.” The boy pouted. “I don’t wanna go.” He huffed. Rhaegar thought that curious until he saw a figure in the distance. One that he would know anywhere.

“Lyanna.” Rhaegar breathed. The boy jumped out of his arms and ran to her.

“Mother!” the boy said running.

“Jon!” Lyanna smiled running to him though she moved a little slow as she was carrying another baby. Rhaegar felt his heartbeat against his chest, he wanted this, more than he ever wanted anything in his whole life.

“My love what is wrong?” Lyanna said coming in front of him holding their son. Rhaegar just looked at the picture.

“Nothing is wrong my Lady Knight. I just missed you.” He said holding her close to him.

“I was only gone for a couple hours, did you and Jon get into that much trouble?” Lyanna said tickling their son who laughed. Jon, his son’s name was Jon. There was something about him.

“No we were fine.” Rhaegar answered.

“Father let me play with my dragons today.” Jon said clapping his hands. Lyanna gave Rhaegar a hard look but Rhaegar was too confused. Dragons? There were dragons? and they were Jon’s dragons? Suddenly realization swept through him faster than he could process. His son was the Prince that was Promised. Rhaegar felt everything in him turn almost cold because he knew this wasn’t real he must be dreaming. It seemed too perfect.

“Rhaegar what is wrong?” Lyanna said sitting Jon down on the snow whistling and then a little wolf came prancing over to him. Rhaegar felt very protective like he wanted to step in front and take Jon away but there was something in the way they were both reacting which made him realize they were friends.

“Being away from you is hard.” Rhaegar confessed looking at Lyanna pulling her closer, he felt his hands flex on her hips.

“Which is why we never have to be. I am yours and you are mine.” Lyanna said caressing his face and then she leaned up to kiss him.

That’s when Rhaegar woke with a sudden jolt. Rhaegar was covered in sweat. Rhaegar could still feel her hips in his hands. Though the feeling was fleeting and soon he could no longer feel her, or see her. Rhaegar grabbed the first thing he saw which happened to be his lantern and threw it across the room. Rhaegar put his head in his hands.

“My Prince?” Arthur asked sticking his head in. “Is everything alright?”

“No.” he sighed.

“Is there anything I can do?” Arthur asked walking into his chambers fully.

“No.” Rhaegar sighed again.

“You dreamt about her?” Arthur asked always right. Rhaegar nodded and replayed the dream he had in his head as he told Arthur.

“The Prince that was Promised? You’ve been looking for him ever since you found that scroll.” Arthur mentioned.

“He’s my son.” Rhaegar said and he wanted to cry because Lyanna like their son was ripped away from him as he woke up.

“With Lady Lyanna?” Arthur asked clarifying. Rhaegar nodded.

“I know you don’t give much credence to dreams.”

“But I know you do.” Arthur said quickly. “You love her.”

“I do.” Rhaegar said. “But she is to be married as am I, so there’s no point talking about another future.” He said standing up and putting on his shirt.

“My Prince?” Arthur asked.

“Might as well practice for today, I’m not going to get anymore sleep.” Rhaegar sighed and Arthur and he walked to the stables in silence.

Later that day when the jousting contest was underway Lyanna nudged Benjen over because he was jumping too excitedly next to her. Lyanna was excited too but she wasn’t sure about which part. This joust was the second to last between her brother Brandon and Rhaegar. Lyanna thought he was half mad when he told her but she wished him luck anyways.

“My Lady.” Robert said going to sit next to her but Ned sat down instead creating a barrier between the two. Lyanna squeezed his leg in thanks.

“I’ll only do it once, you should get to know your husband.” Ned whispered.

“I’m well aware.” Was all Lyanna said as the audience clapped for Brandon as he rode in with a devilish grin on his face. Brandon rode around stopping at Ashara Dayne and asking for something for her favour. The crowd laughed and clapped as she gave him her handkerchief to tie under his armor. Ned let out a sadden sigh which made Lyanna frown with unease, she didn’t like seeing her brother that way.

Brandon then brought his mare to a halt as the Prince rode out. Lyanna tried not to clap so eagerly. After all he was against her brother. No one amongst the stands seemed to notice. Across the way Lyanna could see Princess Elia holding her handkerchief but the Prince rode by her without taking her token.

Lyanna didn’t notice until he turned facing Brandon that he was using her shield. Lyanna felt her stomach flip, he was wearing a token of her favor.

The joust began and Brandon and Rhaegar rode swiftly into each other. Brandon’s lance missed Rhaegar by a couple of inches but they both seemed fine. On the next gallop Brandon’s lance broke off hit Rhaegar in the chest but the Prince seemed to shake it off. On the third gallop Rhaegar shifted so that Brandon missed but was leaning forward so Rhaegar barely tapped his shoulder with his lance and Brandon tumbled to the ground.

Everyone cheered for their prince. Lyanna clapped slowly watching as Brandon got up, he seemed to be fine. Brandon was a good sport shaking the Prince’s hand before walking off. The next joust was to commence in thirty minutes between Ser Barristen Selmy and Prince Rhaegar. Ned and Benjen went to get something to eat leaving her with Robert. Lyanna tried to avoid his eyes but as she move away from Robert something else caught her eye. Princess Elia was leaning over the railing talking to Rhaegar, putting her hand on his arm, and she couldn’t bare to watch so she turned to her betrothed hoping there would be something about him she could like.

“Do you enjoy jousting Lord Baratheon?” Lyanna asked and Robert scooted closer to her, obviously glad she was talking to him.

“Not as much as the melee which you missed but I did win.” He smiled broadly.

“Congratulations.” She said politely.

“Thank you my dear lady. I must say I’m happy to get this time to spend with you.” Robert said grabbing her hand so it was in his. Lyanna resisted the urge to groan.

“Well it’s good to get to know one another.” Lyanna said sighing but Robert must have took that sigh the wrong way because he moved closer.

“Yes my Lady—”

“It’s Lyanna.” Lyanna spoke annoyed with his use of Lady. Lyanna prefered her given name...Or Lady Knight...but that name was reserved for one person only.

“Lyanna” Robert grinned. “I’m going to make you very happy I swear it. You’ll have gardens to keep, and a huge kitchen to make as you will. I prefer bore but whatever you my dearest wants to cook that’s fine by me. Then we’ll have strong children I assure you. About 4 boys or so like me.” He chuckled and Lyanna saw the life he was describing clearer than she had ever seen anything and she wanted to throw up. Lyanna must have had a faraway look on her face that Robert mistook for happy fore he leaned in to kiss her and Lyanna stood up quickly.

“Excuse me. I must find my brother he wasn’t feeling well earlier.” Lyanna said but she didn’t wait for his reply as she ran from the bleachers.

Lyanna just kept running and running faster and faster away.

“Lya?” Benjen called as she ran past her brothers wanting to keep going far away. How could Ned want this for her how could her father agreed to just marry her off so easily.

Lyanna found herself in the stables, she breathed deeply as she looked for her horse. How she wanted to get on her and never look back. Go somewhere far away where no one would know her and no one who choose who she married, or what she did with her life. Lyanna hit the stalls as many time as she could until her hand was numb from the pain.

Lyanna felt herself become weak and so she slid to the ground in front of her horse’s stall. Lyanna felt like she was going to explode with anger and there would be nothing left of her. She heard footsteps in the stalls so she quickly tried to wipe away her tears. The voice surprised her but also sent a feeling of warmth through her stomach.

“My lady Knight?” Rhaegar came to a stop in front of her and then he crouched down. “My Lady Knight what is wrong? Are you hurt?! ” Rhaegar asked looking at her hands. Lyanna pulled them to her chest.

“Please speak to me.” Rhaegar said softly and then he caressed her face with his hands and Lyanna felt herself tearing up again. “I will make it better just tell me what’s wrong.” he implored her checking over her for any signs of hurt.

“You can’t.” Lyanna whispered.

“I will.” Rhaegar said with fierce conviction.

“I just…I saw my life with him and I don’t want any of it. I don’t want to be like a Lady cooking and sewing and just there to have babies. I want so much more. I want to ride out to faraway places. I want to fight. I want to be free. ” She cried the last words.

“I can understand wanting to be free.” Rhaegar said softly.

“Why don’t you ever run away?” Lyanna asked.

“I’ve never had a reason to before.” Rhaegar replied in turn which made Lyanna smile.

“We both have our duties.” Lyanna said softly.

“Yes.” Rhaegar replied simply. Lyanna unsteadily got to her feet. Rhaegar jumping up to help her.

“I’m fine. A bit emotional but fine.” She said.

“Well then I bet you’re glad you aren’t jousting today.” Rhaegar chuckled. Lyanna raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you mean you’re glad I’m not jousting or you would have been pushed onto your rear.” Lyanna smiled.

“Oh you think so?” Rhaegar said challenging her their feet an inch apart.

“I do.” She sighed and Rhaegar looked at her lips wanting more than ever to feel them on his but it had to be her choice. Lyanna moved forward to where they felt the breath of one another on their own lips.

“My Prince?” Arthur came in and stopped short when he saw the pair. Lyanna moved away from Rhaegar looking at Arthur.

“What is it?” Rhaegar asked rather annoyed.

“Your joust is about to begin.” Arthur said. Rhaegar just started at him and then Arthur nodded and walked back out of the stables. Rhaegar turned around and faced Lyanna who was kicking the dirt with her foot. She looked so innocent in that moment. All Rhaegar wanted to do was rush her away so no one could touch her.

“Good luck.” Lyanna said after a moment. “I see you already wear a good luck charm of mine.” She nodded to his shield which was by his horse. Rhaegar looked down almost guilty.

“I shouldn’t have used it. I just…I’m sorry.” He said shaking his head.

“I’m glad you are wearing my favor.” Lyanna said making his head slowly lift up.

She was indeed glad that he had it, the shield was strong even if it was made quickly but Howland Reed was able to get a stronger shield than most but it was still light so it would protect him as it did her. Suddenly she felt a deep despair at the thought of Rhaegar getting hurt and she rushed to him throwing her arms around him and holding him close.

“Be safe.” She whispered. Rhaegar slowly put his arms around her, his face falling into her hair smelling the pine and openness of a winter forest. He never wanted to be parted from her. When she moved away he felt like he had lost part of himself.

Lyanna looked down embarrassed at her outburst. Rhaegar just lifted her head up and smiled.

“I’ll be safe.” He said simply before turning for his horse. Lyanna watched him go with a heavy heart.

“I am glad you’re not jousting. How would it look if the crown prince lost to a lady? No matter how fierce she is.” Rhaegar called on his way out making her smile.

“I guess we’ll never know.” Lyanna responded.

“Maybe…” Rhaegar trailed off disappearing from sight. Lyanna felt her heart in the bottom of her body. It called out to him, when she hugged him and felt him against her she had felt whole. It was a weird kind of feeling, all the ladies raved about meeting and falling in love and she always said she wouldn’t but her heart couldn’t beat without it constantly calling out his name. The only time she felt it calm down was when he was near.

Lyanna tried to shake it off knowing nothing can ever happen between them. Lyanna raised her skirts and went back to the benches. Her brothers eyed her with concern as she sat down.

“What’s wrong?” Brandon asked.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” She replied.

“Was it that stag? Cause I’ll hurt him. I swear it.” Brandon whispered fiercely.

“I know you would. Thank you.” She said kissing his cheek. Brandon seemed appeased and looked on to the joust as it began. Rhaegar and Ser Barristan got into position and then charged.

Lyanna felt herself tense up with every smack that hit Rhaegar’s armor. It was one after the other after the other but he still stayed right up. Lyanna held her breath as he almost wobbled but then he quickly looked around the stands. Lyanna could see Princess Elia waving at him and he nodded at her and he casually kept his head glancing until his eyes met hers. It was for the briefest moment that no one noticed but he sighed as he met her eyes and Lyanna tried to convey all that she was feeling in one glance. Rhaegar slammed his helm back down and took position. As they charged Lyanna almost didn’t look but then Rhaegar’s lance smashed Ser Barristan right in the chest knocking him off his horse.

The crowd cheered for their prince. Lyanna was overjoyed but she kept sitting as she watched Rhaegar check on Ser Barristan. They shook hand and Ser Barristan patted Rhaegar on the back. Then Rhaegar hopped back on his horse and Lord Whent gave him something but Lyanna couldn’t see it from afar.

The crowd clapped and cheered as Rhaegar trotted along on his horse. Now she could see it was a crown of roses for the Queen of Love and Beauty. Lyanna didn’t want to see Rhaegar had it over to Princess Elia who was already fixing herself to stand.

“Do you think Ser Barristan will still be in the Kingsguard after this?” Benjen whispered. Lyanna rolled her eyes but was glad for the distraction.

“From losing a jousting tournament that’s what you think will get you kicked out?” Lyanna scoffed.

“You’re supposed to be the best of the best.” Benjen said.

“And what that of the Prince is he not supposed to be the best?” Lyanna asked and she laughed as Benjen seemed to take this with serious thought. All a sudden the clapping stop and Lyanna looked over to see Ned, Robert, and Benjen staring at her in astonishment, anger, and shock respectively. Lyanna wondered what she had done but then something blue caught her eye and she saw Rhaegar holding out the crown of roses to her.

Lyanna was shocked and didn’t know what to say so her body responded instead by reaching out and taking the crown from him.

“To the real knight of this tournament.” He mumbled softly so only she could hear him. That made Lyanna smile. “To the Queen of Love and Beauty” he called so everyone could hear but gave her a look that meant so much more. Rhaegar then rode off to the stables. Arthur trailed behind him also grabbing Ser Oswell in case there might be trouble. Arthur knew somehow that something was going to go wrong he just didn’t know what, and he wasn’t sure when. But something was bound to happen as he looked at the various displeased faces. Arthur knew he had to be ready.

Winterfell

Lyanna was no longer afraid of the flames because she knew that they wouldn’t harm her. Lyanna suddenly thought about the prince that was promised but she shook her head after another second she didn’t really belief in such myths. As she looked at her babe she couldn’t see Rhaegar in him, his dark hair, his dark eyes. Yet there was something about him that to her reminded her of her silver dragon.

#Game of Thrones #GOT #Rhaegar x Lyanna #Fanfic #Fanfiction #GOT fanfic #Rhaegar Targaryen #Lyanna Stark #Jon Snow #Jon Targaryen

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awed-frog · 7 years

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I think that there is precedent for this. In season 11, we already saw that Dean was willing to let Sam take on the MoC, and Sam has been the one to kill a lot of the bads in the later part of season 12. I'd say the realization of having to let Sam grow up was a long time in the making, and only appears sudden because of how hard it is to let go. Besides, this has been a pretty drama free season for the brothers (even the working with the BMoL was met with a shrug when Sam admitted to it).

So I guess I just think they actually did a really good job of setting up that Dean trusts Sam this season, and trusts him to act on his own and not constantly under Dean’s supervision. I guess I just disagree that it was this sudden and drastic change.

Hi, thank you for your answer - I’ll just continue this under a cut because I don’t want people to have negative stuff on their dashes if they don’t want to.

So, the thing is - I haven’t rewatched those last two episodes yet, and I don’t really want to, so my memory of them could be inaccurate. I know that even the first time I watched them, I wasn’t in the best of moods - Eileen’s murder, and specifically the offhand, callous way in which everything went down, had snuffed out my enthusiasm for the finale like a candle. And the thing is, nothing about those two episodes was wrong, per se - I was expecting Crowley would die at some point, and Dean coming clean to his mother, that was a long time coming - but it was all so rushed - and, to me, what went down between Sam and Dean fel slapdash as well. Like, what the hell was even that King Arthur scene with Sam? When have we ever seen or heard that Sam wants to be a leader of men or whatever else? I know that I, like other meta writers, was expecting Sam to sort of get there - I don’t know who started talking about the ‘new Bobby’, but it’s true that Sam, with his innate curiosity and endless drive towards helping people, would be perfect in that role. And the thing is, I would be very happy for a series finale where Sam does exactly that - but he’s not there yet, which is why that rousing Aragorn speech of his definitely didn’t work for me. Like - Sam’s got all the qualities of a good leader, but he’s been a (reluctant) follower for years now, mostly because Lucifer sucked his pride and ambition and sense of self-worth right out of him. And sure, we’ve had some ups and downs since, but then - at the end of last season, God basically ignored and disregarded Sam (He focused on Dean, even though Sam had always been the one to pray to Him) and then tried to toss him into the Moon or something. And Dean - I didn’t see Dean agreeing to this out of some ‘Sam is an adult’ feeling. I think he was just desperate by that point. He was back in that situation they had on their hands in S5 - if he couldn’t carry that burden for Sam, if he had to choose between Sam and the entire world, then sure - let the kid die. But there was no real acceptance there, just as there was no real acceptance when Sam remained behind to battle the Amara zombies on his own or when he decided to follow ‘God’’s voice and got himself trapped with Lucifer. Dean knows he should let go, but can’t, and Sam knows he should step up, but is he really in any mental state to do so? Off the top of my mind - Sam basically doomed the entire world to save his brother when he freed Amara, Sam got tricked by Lucifer - again - and started a chain of events which ended up in Lucifer walking the Earth and gutting people, Sam got volunteered by God to be sacrificed and forgotten because lolz, who cares about you, amirite, Sam got tortured and abused and drugged - again - and he never got closure about that, Sam trusted the BMoL over his own brother and worked with them behind Dean’s back without a single good reason - and all of that is consistent with his character arc and would be good writing if they took the time to talk about him, to acknowledge his pain and self-doubt and whatever the hell it is he thinks about all the time - and all of it also means that, in my opinion, Sam is nowhere ready to take control and lead a charge of hunters any-fucking-where. Hell, he’d just proved, once again, that he’d been wrong, that he’d trusted the wrong people - to me, it makes little sense that Dean would have been so happy to send him into battle on his own. There was a missing scene in there somewhere, and I want to believe we’ll get it next season, but yeah.

And something else that bothered me about all that - Sam is Mr Forgiveness. He worked with, and trusted, the BMoL after they’d tied him down in a basement and peeled his damn skin off. He liked Mitch even after he discovered Mitch had killed a teenage girl. He never has a bad word for anyone, he tries so hard not to kill regular people we’ve seen him battling demons bare-handed - and then, all of a sudden, he’s okay with killing hired guns and Men of Letters right, left and centre? He’s so confident in himself he’s ready to lead his friends towards a potentially messy death? And those other hunters - they trust him now? Because that’s the other thing - the hunting community’s seemingly done a complete 180 on both of them - and Yockey writes such lovely episodes you don’t even notice what’s going on, so I’ll give them the funeral episode, but two people showing up to fight for someone they once considered the Antichrist - again, that was weird.

So, I don’t know. To me, very little about that season made sense. It feels like they know where they want their characters to go, but not how to get them there. Those ups and downs with Mary, the disastrously written McLeod family dynamic, the relationship between Crowley and the Winchesters, Cas appearing and disappearing, Lucifer doing whatever, the BMoL being shockingly inefficient about, well, everything - I don’t know what to make about any of it. I’m glad you liked the story, and I’m so in love with these characters I want to keep watching and find out what’s next, but I also expect more from them. They’ve got good writers, good actors and a fantastic crew - now all they need is a convincing narrative instead of this connect the dots thing they’ve got going on.

(Sorry if I sound bitter. Maybe I’m being too harsh, I don’t know. I guess I’ll rewatch some of this season, and definitely the finale, the week before S13 airs, and maybe I will have changed my mind by then. But at the moment, it’s hard to feel positive about any of it.)

#ask #spn season 12 #s12 finale #sam and dean #character development #i keep waiting for my black mood to lift #but yeah

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capmerthur · 5 years

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THE BODY SWAP

It’s all in the title :) Somewhere end S1 (after 1.11 Labyrinth, but pre 1.13 Morte). In a land of myth, and a time of magic, Arthur awakes inside Merlin’s body (and no, not in that way). Alternating Merthur POV. Bonus Gaius. Mentions of Will and George.

Excerpt PART VIII:

"Merlin! My boy! You're soaked! Did you provoke Arthur again and end up under the well for it this time?"

Great. Gaius sounds half amused half concerned. Does actually *everyone* think him to be a brute?

Well; nevermind. Merlin knows better; for sure - and that's what matters. Merlin is never backing away, Merlin is never really complaining nor saying no; Merlin just watches him with mirth in his challenging eyes: I dare you. Of course Arthur HAS TO then... It's like... kind of a private wordless conversation only the two of them understand. But honestly? Arthur wouldn't trespass Merlin's limits - if anything, Arthur would probably even feel guilty, if Merlin ever made one known...

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDERS CHAPTER VII)

VIII. MERLIN'S CHAINMAIL (ARTHUR POV)

"Merlin! My boy! You're soaked! Did you provoke Arthur again and end up under the well for it this time?"

Great. Gaius sounds half amused half concerned. Does actually *everyone* think him to be a brute?

But then, Gaius is patting his shoulder, pushing him towards 'his' room; and Arthur is stunned silent, as he can't help but relish on the (for him unusual) affectionate paternalistic small gesture.

"Get changed. Get warmed up. You'll tell me later. I haven't heard the bell signaling the end of the pleas, it is already so late? I've just finished Sir Kay's potion, and it should be drinken warm, as you know; so I'd better be on my way. We'll prepare Uther's draught and the balm for Little Kathleen's knee when I'm back. Also, I'm afraid I've ruined my coat; if you could work your magic on it next time you're mending Arthur's clothes, I'd be very much obliged?"

And then Gaius is gone, and Arthur is still stunned, but now for another reason - it was but a polite turn of phrase, of course, and Arthur knows Merlin just isn't capable of miracles, as proven by the state of some of his shirts - beyond mending; but Gaius would better not use some idioms that carelessly around the palace - who knows who might hear and takes things the wrong way... Arthur shakes his head as he hurries to change, feeling sorry for letting Gaius down, but not planning to stay around until Gaius comes back - he wouldn't know anyway how to prepare his Father's nor Kathleen's medicine, right...

Arthur opens Merlin's cupboard.

There are only two folded set of clothes (neckerchief included indeed), and Arthur just takes the one on top.

He's about to close the door when his eyes fall on Merlin's chainmail.

The first time Arthur had told Merlin that he had been assigned to lead some patrol, Merlin had right away asked:

"When do we leave?"

Arthur had been surprised, then had tilted his head, apprehending Merlin while explaining that coming along was to be Merlin's choice; and not per se his duty as palace manservant. They usually asked for volunteers; there was extra coin to be earned and such.

Merlin had only repeated:

"Sire; when do we leave?"

Arthur had been surprised again, but definitely pleased:

"Tomorrow at first light."

"I'd better start packing right away then. What do you need?"

After having listed their necessities, Arthur had mentioned that he would have a chainmail sent to Gaius's for Merlin to wear. Merlin had countered that he had no wish for carrying extra weight around as it would only slow him down in his chores; and that he would rather wear his everyday clothes. Arthur had said it was folly to go unprotected - they would patrol the borders, and thiefs and saxons could fall on them - and Merlin had finally relented some and agreed to wear a chainmail he would self adapt as he wished above some clothing but under his tunic. Arthur had been suspicious when Merlin had turned up the next morning without even a cap showing out, and had actually moved his neckerchief aside to make sure Merlin was wearing metal under his tunic...

Without hesitation, Arthur takes the chainmail out too, deciding he should wear it under his clothes. After all, the longer Arthur might succeed in hiding his new abilities, the more chances there are that the one responsible for their troubles might choose to turn to more expeditive measures of his own. Killing a servant might go unnoticed for awhile, and would work just as well in case whoever had planned this got tired of waiting for Arthur to betray himself and get executed. Which means that Merlin's body is just walking around as a mark waiting to get hit... and Arthur should do his best to protect it. Merlin's chainmail is barely worth its name; but it does cover his chest, belly and back, at least.

Arthur makes it back to the Great Hall right on time for the end of the pleas. It was the moment they had planned to stage for Arthur's injury; but Arthur discretly but authoritatively signals 'no' with his head. It would be too risky; what if while falling he instinctively uses magic again - in front of the whole court? Merlin gives him a curious look but follows his cue anyway, thanksfully. There is still enough time to create an excuse before training; and they can still tell he fell even without witnesses anyway. It would have been a nice added touch at make-believe, but Gaius vouching for them should be enough on its own, right?

As they walk in silence back to his chambers, Arthur feels Merlin's eyes upon him, boring and questioning. When they're finally behind closed doors, Arthur leads them to the most private corner, as far from the door as possible. Then he takes a deep breath, and turns towards Merlin to explain... everything.

He hasn't got the time to start though before Merlin hushes out, worry evident in his voice, pointing to Arthur's side where a hint of metal is visible if you pay attention - and Merlin always pays attention, doesn't he:

"Sire? Why are you wearing my chainmail?"

AN: It's canon after all that Arthur doesn't force Merlin to come along - he lets him leave before Camlann, right? But yes, this is just me giving some sense to the 'just let's Merlin accompany us everywhere without any kind of protection' unacceptable general policy. So. Merlin *has* some protection. We just don't see it. Okay? And the few times he's actually in armor on patrol, it's because they need a decoy or something... Also, just so you know: Merlin of course thought that Arthur would probably think that he didn't want to be seen in a chainmail because he didn't want to look like a soldier in order not to seem a danger nor a target, but Merlin just couldn't care: he HAD to be an unconspicuous nobody - it made it easier to protect Arthur with his magic if no one really paid attention to him. And to end with a cute note: whenever they ride out ? Arthur always checks that Merlin wears his chainmail - a fact Merlin can't help but always secretly revel in...

I. AWAKING (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur awakes; lying on his back - unusual - and rolls over automatically.

In disbelief, he eyes his surroundings...

Where is he? Has he been abducted?

Think, he admonishes himself - trying to clear his mind; to remember what must have happened, to guess who has dared to commit such an act, and, most important of all right now: Find a way out.

His eyes then suddenly meet Merlin's, and relief surges through him somehow - Merlin is alive - before his anxiety returns; and double: because poor faithful, loyal Merlin has obviously been taken too; and it's Arthur's fault - he must have failed to save them both from being taken, even though he cannot remember anything...

Except when Arthur reaches out to Merlin for him to come closer (they need to share information and plan, but must be quiet as a mouse), he realizes with fright but indeniable certainty that Merlin is in fact a reflection in a mirror; and worse: *HIS* reflection!?

He is... Merlin? Or better said, *inside* Merlin? How can such a thing have even come to be?

Sorcery, Arthur understands with horror: Camelot is under attack!

But now armed with the knowledge of his predicament, Arthur realizes he is actually in Merlin's bedroom. He's been in here before, once; and he recognizes it all now.

So. Not abducted. All things considered, that still counts as something, right...

And, as it surely doesn't feel as if Merlin is still somewhere in his own head too while Arthur is inside of it, well... Maybe? Logically? Merlin might then be in return inside his own body?

So. First thing first: he has to go to his chamber.

Picking some weapon on the way for good measure, you bet ...

The corridors are empty too, except for a stray black cat who walks at his side long enough for Arthur to start questioning himself about asking to the cat if he *is* Merlin - because Merlin HAS to be somewhere, right, as he obviously isn't where he should be to start with; but then the cat takes another turn... Arthur feels stupid for worrying so much about his silly manservant - but he cannot deny that he definitely will worry less only after having indeed finally found said silly manservant.

He tries to put on a confident grin as he walks (with the most assurance he can muster in this awkward-feeling body) towards the guards at his bedroom's door - and can only hope it will look the same as usual to them. They let him pass without trouble, and Arthur isn't sure whether it's a good thing. On the one hand, he *doesn't* doubt Merlin - he simply, intrinsically doesn't; and would never want him to feel like he did if his guards were to search him whenever he was about to enter his chamber. On the other hand... well, it isn't Merlin right now entering his chamber, with knifes at the ready... This time, it's only him; but what if it happens again, and if the one then inside Merlin's body has ill intentions...

Deciding not to dwell on this for the time being, Arthur enters his bedroom - hoping to find Merlin doing whatever Merlin always does, but preparing for a fight, if need be...

II. AWAKING (MERLIN POV)

Merlin sits upright at once - blankets falling all around him to reveal that he wears ARTHUR'S NIGHTGOWN too ?!

Whaaaaaaaat?!

Merlin's mind is reeling as he shuffles out of bed as swiftly as he can. Oh my... What is Arthur going to think? And come to think of it - true panic now creeping down on Merlin at that thought: *WHERE* is Arthur to start with?

But it is NOT Arthur he sees: it is... himself? His breath catches as 'utter confusion' gets a new meaning, you bet...

At the same moment, Merlin notices suddenly just how *not his* his voice has just sounded, and how he's wearing a very particular ring around one finger of what's NOT his hand, and how *blond* hair is falling upon his eyes... And still nothing makes sense; but at least it *does* explain how he awoke in Arthur's bed in Arthur's clothes: he *is* Arthur?; and... Arthur... is him? MUST be him. He has been calling his name right the right way, right?!

(*AN) Headcanon time :

On a side note, I'm never going to be over Arthur's priority-thinking (I'm in trouble = CAMELOT IS UNDER ATTACK (babyyyy let me hold you - being Camelot Prince/King is NOT your only worth) and Merlin's priority-thinking (what the hell is happening = WHERE THE HELL IS ARTHUR (babyyyy let me hold you - your devotion to The (brave, kind, admirable (shut up Merlin)) Prat doesn't have to mean that you always must come second (and a bit self-preservation cannot be harmful)) *SIGH* I just love those two idiots so much !!!

III. DISABLED (MERLIN POV)

But soon, Merlin is terrified.

And not because of the puzzling body swap.

*HE HAS NO MAGIC!?*

He cannot help but wish he's wrong though, and desperately tries to move a quill on Arthur's desk behind Arthur's back - the simplest of things, really; yet he fails, indeed...

His magic is tied to his body. Not to his mind.

No, no, no, no, nooooooooooo.

Merlin is, to his core, *terrified* - as he has never been. Not only because he feels more powerless and utterly helpless than he has ever felt - and worse, unable to protect Arthur! But also because the longer Arthur stays in his body, the more chances he has to find out that he has magic!? (And even though Merlin has nearly told Arthur, once? He is still not ready for him to know right now... Will after all didn't lie to protect Merlin's secret on his deathbed for Merlin to take chances with his life so soon after...)

Because Merlin's life *has* tilted, on that rocky beach by The Great Seas of Meredor.

Merlin's earnest readiness to lay his life down to save Arthur's had been instinctive, beyond doubt visceral; and the concrete force of the impulse had surprised him. Because it hadn't been related to his first supposed then anyway indeed wished upon destiny. It had merely been a reflex, a spontaneous reaction: what he had wanted to do; more than what he ought to do. And Merlin had realized right then that he had, somehow, but undeniably, actually come to *LOVE* Arthur? He had known, for some time, that he liked him. And he had felt oddly pleased when Arthur had turned up at Ealdor - maybe Arthur liked him too? But if your first thought when someone is threatened is 'I'd rather die than see him die'? Well, there is a kind of selfishness, even in seflessness, that goes beyond 'liking', right...

It shouldn't have been such a shocking revelation though. Sure, Arthur could be a spoiled, royal prat; an irritating, pompous ass; an arrogant, moronic bully - to list but the top of the iceberg of his massive shortcomings, and without even mentioning the complete dollophead he could sometimes be. But Arthur could also be truly brave, honest, and kind; willing not only to trust but also to actually defend the words of mere servants, ready to defy his father's orders in order to save a child's life, and volunteering to help a village not even belonging to his Kingdom, to note only a few examples. Also: at some point, Merlin had realized how what could at first appear as near manhandling tactility was in fact just Arthur's disguised way to show (or ask?) affection (because one probably just doesn't walk around asking for cuddles while growing up between Uther's judging cold glares and Morgana's sharp witty tongue; and the physical occasional playfulness of the knights training must have seemed like the only way to go...). And last but not least: Merlin owed Arthur his life - if Arthur hadn't gone looking for a Mortaeus flower... So, in short: of course Merlin had gotten fond of the man. For his own values; and not because he was meant to be the other side of his coin or something. And notwithstanding how so annoyingly beautiful he always was (for the record on that particular subject: Gwen is so adorably beautiful, and Morgana so petrifyingly beautiful).

But, as Arthur - bound to be King one day Arthur - hadn't even hesitate before choosing to sacrifice himself, in order to fix what he had recognized to be his error, instead of using the (even offered) life of a simple servant? Well... There is a difference still between having the conviction that Arthur is a good man ready to fight for the greater good, even knowing it could be his death; and knowing as a FACT that Arthur *is* a good man ready to *die* for the greater good, even knowing it *will* be his death. And you bet having been proven *exactly* how pure of heart Arthur intrinsically is has only cemented that burgeoning love deeper into Merlin's heart - simply; truly; and maybe irrevocably. Merlin would now willingly die a thousand deaths to save his Prince.

(Feel free to shout with me about 1.11 because *MAJOR FEELS*!)

IV. PLANNING (MERLIN POV)

Arthur, miraculously (even though understandably; because he must be shaken too, right), is unaware of Merlin's internal crisis as he shares what he's uncovered until now: "It seems to be just us. The kitcheners and the guards all seem to be themselves."

"So. Whoever has done this is targetting you - personnally."

"Nice to see your wits are still so very particularly sharp, Merlin. Is there any reason for the one behind all this to be targetting you?"

It is beyond odd to *hear* Arthur's usual tone in his own voice; but Merlin still has the grace to sigh, before pushing his point further: "But why you?"

"Well, obviously *you*'ve forgotten, but I am Camelot's Crown Prince, responsib-."

"Which is exactly what's bothering me!" Merlin can't help but interject. "Why take on the Prince when you can take on the King?"

"Oh... Do you think... Could someone be... training on us, then? Before attacking-"

"I honestly have no idea. Maybe you got targetted indeed because you're head of security. We shouldn't rule anything out."

Arthur brings his fist down on the table, determinedly: "Well, whatever the evil plan might be, we just cannot permit for it to work. We'll have to find a way to stop this nonsense - no offense. In the meantime, we must act as if nothing unusual is going on. It might be for the time being our best chance at keeping Camelot safe - making whoever planned this think the spell didn't work?"

Merlin can't help but let out a helpless (yet realistic) sigh: "That's... a lot; on both accounts."

Arthur echoes with a helpless sigh of his own: "I know."

But if they are to keep up pretenses, Merlin is going to need to be prepared: "So. What's on your agenda for today - besides the monthly open pleas this morning and the daily training this afternoon?"

"Nothing particular. And there are no coming feasts nor abroad visits planned for the coming time, thankfully. (worried sigh) But there's concil, tomorrow."

"Well, let's start at the beginning. I should do fine enough for the pleas. It's mostly your father's duty; your presence is required, of course, but mostly you're to hear and listen..." Fear grips Merlin at once: "But it's public; so it would be a great opportunity to try to murder you!" He MUST protect Arthur's body: "Will you please go fetch your chainmail in my room?"

"No."

The tone is definitive, and Merlin is torn between begging, or growing impatient - because Arthur can be so obtuse sometimes (now really isn't the time for Arthur to be feeling indignation about being ordered around like a simple servant; even though he *is* one at the moment - not that Merlin would ever think he was one, of course - but what if Arthur thinks he does and enjoys the chance at some payback?): "Arthur, please (again?). It's the expected type of errands of the body you momentarily (because it MUST be momentarily, right?) inhabit - I can't - You're the target. I need your chainmail. I have no fighting skills, nor any kind of skills really to protect yo-"

"I cannot be seen wandering the castle in my chainmail without reason, Merlin; it would attract attention", Arthur interrupts in a somehow gentler tone; and Merlin realizes that Arthur hadn't registered at first how Merlin's concern was about him, more than himself - and is obviously humbled by the thought. "Court clothes are required, anyway. We're not supposed to look threatening, nor threatened, when our subjects come to present their wishes," Arthur pursues, killing any possible protest in the bud. "Besides, the guards will be present. So don't worry too much about anything happening to us", Arthur ends in a lower voice; as if the last part had been more a thought to reassure himself than a phrase meant to be uttered - and Merlin just has to savour that precious 'us'...

Merlin though isn't reassured enough about his Prince's safety: "Please (yes, that's thrice; adamant much?) Sire, at least allow me to wear your thickest leather under your tunic" - willing his voice to make it sound like a not-to-be-denied demand more than a true question.

Arthur holds his gaze; and it actually feels like a blessing when he finally relents: "As you wish; but it won't be comfortable against naked skin."

"I'll manage." Merlin can't help but fidget some before pursuing - asking Arthur to do what is and should be *his* work feeling not only weird but even wrong: "But I'll need your help to tie it in the back?"

Arthur dimissively tousles his hair, grumbling: "I *know*, Merlin." 'My clothes' going unsaid.

Merlin can be relieved about one thing, at least: Arthur obviously isn't piqued about doing a servant's work...

Merlin picks out the largest fitting of Arthur's clothes. He puts on the braies and trousers while still wearing the gown, respectfully tying the belt blindly around his waist. He puts on socks, and shoes. Then only does he take the gown off, and turns his back towards Arthur so that he may help with adjusting the leather's straps.

A surprised but definitely pleased whisper ("Impressive, ain't I?") echoes in Merlin's ears, as the Prat Prince seems apparently unable not to comment about his damn broad back, angling Merlin shortly that way and this way as if to assess it even better.

'Believe me, I know', Merlin can't refrain from thinking; feeling a blush coming over his face, and thankful that Arthur is too busy looking at his own back to notice any of it.

"I think I might even have outgrown Sir Leon - in width at least if not in height", Arthur concludes proudly before finally starting to work the ties - leaving Merlin suddenly ashamed of his initial internal reprimand, and oddly upset. Of course Arthur would only wish to see in his physique the strength of a warrior. Of course his first thought, when finally able to actually see his own back, would be to compare it to his given models - the Knights; and most of all among them, to his own chosen model, Leon - both the noblest and strongest of them all, yet young enough to play the part of the older brother Arthur could look up to while growing up... No one has probably ever told him that he is beautiful, Merlin realizes sadly. But the fact that Arthur is so unaware only makes him even more beautiful in Merlin's eyes...

Merlin forces himself to tease Arthur, hiding his turmoil under their usual banter: "Well, I could ask Gabriel to take measurements, if you so badly wish-"

"Shut up, Merlin", accompanied by a rewarding hit in the back of his right shoulder, which Merlin gladly revels in, no matter the unusual fist size. This, no matter their predicament, feels normal.

And in that short moment of normalcy, when everything feels just right as Arthur ends tying the leather, Merlin notices something he hasn't noticed before, when all he could feel was STRESS.

Oh no.

"Arthur?" Merlin can't help but wince at the intimidated tone in his voice as he turns around; and Arthur is eyeing him now with furrowed eyebrows. "I think I need - I mean you need... to... have to go?"

Arthur makes a face - with his face; except it still looks somehow like a typical outraged Arthur face (damn, this is just too confusing...): "Merlin!"

"He! Do not look at me like this is my fault! It's *YOUR* body! Maybe you shouldn't have drun-"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have brought a full pitcher at dinner then!"

They eye each other, both unrelenting over who is at fault.

And Merlin can't help but think that somehow he is, indeed, no matter what. Because there are levels in intimacy; and he IS definitely crossing a line. There is a difference between being around and trying to avoid his gaze when Arthur walks in and out of his bath, or applying Gaius's healing balm to bruises on Arthur's back because it's a place Arthur can't reach on his own, and, well... watching and touching Arthur's *manhood*, even if only for urinating, technically ensuring no mess is done while doing it?

Arthur suddenly sighs though, and his voice sounds kinder as he offers: "This will surely happens a few times before we sort it all out, huh. To the both of us. So. How should we proceed?"

Merlin scratches his head, summoning some courage: "Do you want to... hold-"

"Your hand, Merlin!", Arthur demonstrates, lifting the would-be-culprit in the air and wiggling its fingers for good measure; and that's a 'No way' if Merlin ever heard one...

"Would you rather it to be your hand-"

"It's *your* hand right now!" Indeed. So. Another 'No way'.

But suddenly Merlin has a solution, of sort: "What if I... go sit into the stream? There's a quiet spot not so far from the castle I found while collecting herbs for Gaius... If I hurry I still can make it back before the pleas."

Arthur actually claps his hands, obviously relieved: "Sometimes, I swear, you are a genius." He hurries over, handing Merlin his tunic and grabbing the Pendragon red doublet before marching out: "Let's go!"

"You're coming?" (hastening to put the tunic on and grabbing a towel before following)

"Well, as I just said, it's bound to happen to me - you - so I might just as well tag along, and know where it is."

Once out of potentially spying ears reach, they plan the day further.

"We HAVE to tell Gaius, at the least, about our situation: no one will contest his word if he says you're not to train for a while - because honestly how am I supposed to spare with your Knights? They will notice right away that something isn't right. And, well..."

Merlin hesitates, not wanting to incriminate Gaius in any way. As it turns out, he doesn't have to:

"You're right. Besides, Gaius has heard about a lot of... stuff, in all his years. I was planning to go around Jeffrey and look for the forbidden books, but I have no ideas how many volumes are hidden down here, nor where they even *are* to start with... If anyone we know might have even the slightest clue about how to fix our problem, it's him; even if it's only about finding an adequate book."

Merlin nods, relieved: "So. After the pleas, I stage a fall, and we go to Gaius, who tells you're not to train for the time being. That leaves the rest of the day free, both for looking up about our situation, and briefing me on what I should be aware of for tomorrow's concil. Do you address things in an established order; who's whose specialisms; what you discussed by the latest concils which might be brought up again tomorrow; and so on..."

"I'm supposed to make the battle plans, Merlin? But as far as plans go, I have to admit this isn't a bad one. Except I'm not you; I do not trip on my feet twice a day. So. I'll make you fall. That's more plausible."

"No way! You'll end up in the stocks!" Merlin realizes how - no matter what he might have been thinking just a few months ago - he simply doesn't want Arthur in the stocks. Ever. "Which is NOT where you should be spending your afternoon." Merlin quickly amends; hiding his concern under logic's sake, knowing it to be the best way to persuade Arthur anyway. "So. You fall. I try to help you. But we both fall. I'm clumsy, as ever; you're noble, as always; everyone get to laugh at me, and praise you; and your father might skip punishing me for you getting hurt in the process, as you obviously didn't want me hurt to start with?" (pause, before adding earnestly, yet fiercely, as Merlin isn't able to tone back the surge of threat in his eyes at the mere idea of having anyone disrespecting Arthur in that way) "If he doesn't though, I'll stand guard next to you."

"Would you?" Arthur seems surprised; but touched: "Well, who knows, maybe I'll return the favor the next time."

Merlin can't refrain a whine: "The next time?"

"Even I can't save you from my father's wrath every time; it's bound to happen, either from your two left foots or your snarky mouth."

They can hear the water now, and Arthur accelerates towards it, as Merlin lags behind, unable not to smile:

"I guess I'm supposed to say 'thank you'?"

"I might have forgotten to mention I'll probably throw something in your face myself at the last moment. Prince's privilege and all that..." - Arthur even turns towards him, giving him one of his goofy faces to boot (Merlin didn't know *his* face could do *that*, by the way).

Merlin just keeps on smiling anyway. He probably hasn't felt that brightly, positively, ridiculously happy since "I'm rehiring you - because someone needs to muck out my stables". Arthur has a particular way to express fondness, and Merlin wouldn't change it for the world.

V. THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT MERLIN (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur is the first to reach the stream, and crouches down to test the water with his hand.

"It's cold", he warns, while Merlin walks in a straight line towards a tree with a low hanging branch and starts undressing - he does come here often, clearly.

Merlin shrugs: "Be grateful it's not winter yet. Try bathing around Imbolc - that's cold." Merlin goes on; stating an afterthought while hanging his pants on the branch: "Still worth it though; everything here is just more... alive, you know. You don't get that indoors."

And Arthur has bathed on patrols enough to know that, honestly?: he prefers his warm baths. He can't help but feel a smile on his face though at the words; they are so intrinsically Merlin.

Arthur had been struck, when they had met. No one had ever defied him, in any way. And it had stung; Arthur could admit. So. He had not been displeased at all when he had overmastered the fool and turned him over. The affront had been too public to be allowed to slide, and Arthur had decided he wouldn't dwell a further thought about the goodhearted fool (Arthur knew terrorrizing people wasn't right. He tended though to react badly whenever anyone acted cowardly (which was, well, all the time, around him); especially as he was actually *praised* for it somehow), but fool nonetheless, who should have known to mind his own business...

It had been nothing though in comparison to his surprise when their paths had crossed again. Arthur hadn't been able NOT to taunt him - hoping, somehow... But the last thing Arthur had been actually expecting had been for Merlin to act *exactly the same*. Surely, now that he knew who he was, he would just scrabble around him as anyone else - not defy him again, knowing it would get him in chains again, right? Arthur had been *delighted* by Merlin's untamable fire - the words, and then the look he had thrown at him while taking his jacket off? (Maybe Arthur had just been waiting all his life for someone to finally stand his ground to him, indeed...) Of course Arthur had let him go without punishment that second time - and any time since then (which was honestly difficult, as Merlin - always fighting for what was right more than for himself Merlin - frequently got riled up, be it in private OR IN PUBLIC, by literally anyone and anything).

Since he has been to Ealdor though, Arthur can't help but see things under a new light.

Hunith is everything Arthur believes a loving mother to be. But there had been no father at home, nor any mention of one. (Arthur knows the sting of this kind of wound - missing a parent; and he had been saddened, as he had realized that Merlin bore such a wound too.) Arthur hadn't dared to ask, but he had wondered: did Merlin ever got a father to start with; or had he been abandoned - intentionally or not? (Arthur knows how even an accident still feels akin to a betrayal in a child's heart.) Which would be the worst anyway? But what if Merlin had been bullied through his childhood because of it? - children could be particularly malicious, when they intended to... Was it how Merlin had learned, the hard way, that fighting - both with his words and his fists - was the only way to end the pestering? And had decided it wouldn't be only for his own sake, but for the sake of anyone who might ever need help? Was it what had brought Merlin close to Will - the fact that they both had lost their father? Was it the reason Will had wanted to learn magic to start with? (Arthur knows the near constant anger, too. As does Merlin, obviously.)

Arthur can't help but feel grateful anew, somehow, and no matter what, still, that Merlin has had Will around: surely, no matter how bad the fights Merlin had jumped into, Will must have kept him safe - at least safe enough - *with his magic*. The thought had been unbidden the first time it had occured, and had definitely surprised Arthur; but he hadn't been able to deny that it was what he truly felt indeed.

Because of course Arthur had come to care for Merlin. Isn't it why he had gone to Ealdor to start with after all...

Merlin.

Definitely not an ordinary manservant. And probably not the champion manservant by any book (fast learner, and smart, and hard working, he was; but only about what *he* deemed important - hence for example his total disregard for any kind of storage? - but Arthur generally agreed with what Merlin deemed important or not anyway). But honestly the only manservant Arthur now could imagine ever having - or ever want to have.

Because Arthur likes Merlin as his manservant exactly just the way he is, and would now never wish for another - no matter (and specifically because of) how well-schooled and zealous to satisfy his every need (and whim) that hypothetic other might be... Arthur now sees what others might judge flaws as assets (Merlin's clumsiness and chattiness are more endearing and uplifting than unefficient, especially as his opinions always sound reasonable; his sarcasm and insults are a sure way to keep Arthur's head from ever getting inflated; and his challenging manners push Arthur to do and be better - from training with the knights to saving people's lifes), and what others might judge insubordinate as being treated, for once, finally, as an equal, somehow (even though they both know and acknowledge they aren't) - no matter whenever it comes out at Arthur's expanse too, food getting shoved into his mouth and getting unceremoniously pulled out of bed included in their everyday banter, as Merlin can give just as much as he gets indeed. But that's maybe what Arthur values the most: how Merlin's respect feels earned and honest; neither forced by birthright or fear for repercussions, nor cajoling nor calculated.

Arthur has never had a private servant for longer than a year - his Father's rule; but you bet Arthur is decided about keeping Merlin at his side when the year would end. He will have to strategize; he will need irrefutable arguments. But if he plays his cards well - and Merlin never ceases to hand him over cards to play - Arthur has no doubt that his Father will actually allow it: it's in the best interest of the Kingdom after all.

Merlin.

A whirlwind. Always animated, always busy; never still, even when he's doing nothing. But always so expressive - so easy to read - a fact Arthur has come not only to appreciate after decades around perpetually guarded scheming faces, but even to *trust*.

A chatty nature-loving poet with dangly limbs, gentle heart, and the brightest smile Arthur has ever seen - Arthur has come to know. Yet the sassiest mouth and the most unrelenting fighter Arthur has ever met; his utter lack of skills balanced by sheer defiance - Arthur has learned right from the start. (Merlin just never backs off, no matter the odds; which is very stupid, but also very brave.)

A confusing, clashing mess of contraries. But an admirable man, with a beautiful soul.

And you bet Arthur wouldn't have him be any different.

Arthur shakes his head. Maybe - just like with his two left feet - it isn't Merlin's choice to be such a poet all the time. Arthur hasn't been inside Merlin's body for more than a few hours, and already he is turning into a maudlin bard himself, huh...

Arthur sighs; bringing himself back to the present - only to be struck by Merlin yet again.

Merlin has by now disrobed of everything except for the leather, which he has rolled up to his chest (logic; it would take too much time to tie it up all once more), and the tunic, which he now holds tightly in a bundle against his chest too, even if (and no doubt exactly because) it must get in his vision range as he enters the water. The lengths Merlin now goes again, simply to avoid to *see* - treating his body with the utmost respect, even when it is betraying him?

It should be insignificant, but the whole endeavour screams once more just how *devoted* Merlin always is, to him; and it is honestly dumbfounding.

He has been willing to die for me. And more than once.

The thought slices through Arthur's mind; as usual charged with guilt, and heartbreaking, yet oddly sweet.

Arthur doesn't understand: he has truly done very little to earn such high esteem - and that's an euphemism. Getting the man in the stocks? Letting him drink poison destined for him? Having his only friend die?

But you bet Arthur cherishes it all the same. And he wants - oh, he WANTS - to be worthy of it. Not because it's what he ought to do, repaying kindness with kindness, loyalty with loyalty; and definitely not because he owes Merlin a friend - you can't replace a friend (even if Arthur never actually had a friend, he knows that it's supposed to be a special, powerful, unique bond). Not even because Merlin does indeed makes him want to be a better man - even if that's true, and definitely positive for the future of Camelot. But simply because HE. WANTS. TO. Arthur has realized by now how he is always tempted, whenever they are together: either to act silly in order to cause a smile; or to provoke Merlin until he bites. Both reactions feel peculiarly satisfying; spreading a pleasant warmth through his whole being - and Arthur just always has to smile...

So.

On impulse, Arthur disrobes Merlin's lower half and enters the (indeed very cold) water while holding his tunic bundled up too, keeping his eyes stubbornly fixed on his own body sinking until the water reaches up to above its waist, as Merlin sits on his knees in the middle of the stream. And yes, the fact that Arthur has just chosen to abide by Merlin's stubborn dedication on that matter, instead of letting his perpetual interest about literally everything run free, for once, (because yes, if he hadn't witnessed Merlin's commitment, Arthur might have taken a look at Merlin's body, out of sheer curiosity; he wouldn't though, not from now on...), is both a pledge and a self-serving whim.

Merlin, drawn by the sounds, turns to him with questioning eyebrows, and Arthur sheepishly drops on his knees next to him: "I thought it unfair to let you have all the fun on your own. Now, ready to scare the fish?"

Merlin howls with laughter. Arthur decides it's definitely worth playing silly while freezing his ass off.

(Imbolc = 31 january)

Feel free to come and fangirl with me over 1.01 and then scream with me over 1.10 !

On a side note, I'm sorry but not sorry about that fish line? It was *totally* unplanned but then it just rolled out and I went 'yep, sure, arthur would, totally; it stays!' ?

VI. THE PRINCE'S PART (ALTERNATE ARTHUR/MERLIN POV)

They get out; get dried; put their clothes back on. Merlin ties the towel to the branch, for future use.

Then, on their way back to the castle, Arthur asks Merlin about his agenda for the day.

Merlin gives him a look - like he's unsure whether Arthur means it. Arthur gives him a look back - meaning he isn't joking indeed.

Merlin smiles, eyes full of mirth: "Your chambers are a complete mess, your clothes need washing, your boots need cleaning, your dogs need exercising, your fireplace needs sweeping, your bed needs changing and, oh, *someone* needs to muck out your stables." Merlin sobers up. "But we have more pressing matters at hand; so I think you can consider yourself free for the day."

Arthur is taken aback. He recognizes his own words, of course. It's both baffling and humbling - that Merlin can quote him, months later? and that Merlin has omitted one part and one part only in his old speech, because they both know his armour doesn't need any repairing (the devotion Merlin shows those metal pieces echoing the devotion he shows to Arthur himself)? Arthur had first planned to give a playful thankful bow; but it would feel wrong.

"So. I'll go bother Geoffrey. Try to get him to show me where the secret books are hidden. I'll tell him Gaius has found a strange herb and wants to make sure it isn't dangerous or something..."

Merlin has to give Arthur that: he is indeed insightful.

The mention of Gaius's name though has Merlin slightly panicking again: Gaius doesn't know yet about their current situation. What if he mentions 'something' upon walking on Arthur thinking he is him? No. Merlin has to be there when they'll get to see Gaius.

"Speaking about Gaius? Stay clear from his chambers. I doubt he'll be as magnanimous as I am. He'll do that thing with his eyebrow and have you pick herbs and brewing healing potions and concocting ointments before you even got a chance to tell him about our predicament - he's really dedicated in my education as a physician, you know..."

"And I believe you rather enjoy it."

"I do, indeed. I mean... It's fascinating - do you know that the same stuff can cure you or kill you sometimes, depending on the dosis? Anyway, who wouldn't want to know how to save lives?" Merlin can't help but twitch. "I'm not sure I'm any good at it though..."

There is a flash of guilt in Merlin's disheartened eyes, and Arthur realizes two things:

1) Merlin feels responsible for having been unable to save his friend Will. Which is understandable, because Merlin must have gathered by now some knowledge from Gaius's lessons; but heartbreaking - because Arthur has seen enough arrow's wounds to know that Will's could never have healed - and perplexing - because Will has died to save *him*, not Merlin; so why would Merlin think the guilt was his to start with? and how come Arthur has never felt like Merlin might blame him for it either?

2) Merlin's face is always *transparent* - a fact Arthur truly appreciates on Merlin's face - but a fact that could turn out problematic, now that it's on his own face...

"Let's get back to my chambers. There is still something you should master better before the pleas."

And that's how Merlin finds himself positioned by Arthur in front of a mirror.

"What do you see, Merlin?" Arthur asks.

"Well, you?" Merlin feels he's missing Arthur's point, but he has no clue...

"Do you? Because I see my body, I see my clothes; but I do not see the Prince of Camelot - I'd like to think I play it better than that - and I must be, because my Father would not allow *this* I assure you - at least I hope or the kingdom is doomed." Arthur ends on a sigh, shakes his head, and then turns commanding eyes back towards Merlin via the mirror. "Close your eyes, Merlin. Think of me. I mean, *picture* me; and more especially, picture me at any official activity you've served me through. See how I walk, how I stand, how I sit, how I move, how I look?"

Merlin does as asked, searching through his memories. After a while, he nods.

"Got it?"

"I think?"

"Then open your eyes, Merlin. What do you see?"

Merlin understands now. He can't help but sigh helplessly. "Not the Prince of Camelot. Obviously. I'm sorry Arthur, I guess I'm just not... majestic enough to play you."

"It's not that hard, Merlin. Come on; I'll explain. Ready?" Arthur grins at him via the mirror, exuding confidence - trust in him?; and Merlin would face (has faced) monsters to earn it indeed.

Merlin nods, their eyes still linked via the mirror.

"First thing first? You're slouching."

"Yes. (Merlin tries not to slouch; but is still not satisfied with the result) I think though the biggest problem is- There's something wrong with your face."

"Because you wear your heart on it, Merlin; and you mustn't. Believe me, you do not want to be lectured for hours about this by my Father..."

Arthur moves away, and Merlin can't see him anymore in the mirror. His voice is directing though, and Merlin focuses on the words to school his face.

"You're a prince, so you *must* always look like one. No matter what you do, you must always, *always*, look confident. That's the first strength of a kingdom - the strenghth of its ruler. That's what keeps your people safe. So. Chin up, Merlin. Square your shoulders. Stand tall - stand *proud*."

Merlin realizes the words are not Arthur's; they're Uther's. He wonders how often indeed Arthur has heared those words - most probably often enough to give himself a internal pep talk before any official anything apparently...

"That's better; but still not good enough. No matter how you feel inside must not show, Merlin. When you're tired, hide it. When you're sick, hide it. When you hurt, hide it. When you're stressed, hide it. When you worry, hide it. When you doubt, hide it. When you're bored, and even more when you disagree; hide it - it's disrespectful; and we do not want wounded pride to fester, don't we Merlin? When you're afraid, definitely hide it. When you're sad, hide it. And the trickiest part maybe: when you're happy, hide it too - or risk whatever is making you happy to be taken away: weakening you is weakening the kingdom; and its enemies will never hesitate to bring you down, if you let them see even an inch of an opportunity."

Merlin is shaken. He feels guilty, somehow. This is, certainly, too intimate. Merlin feels like he's intruding. This feels even more trespassing than being in Arthur's body. It's like being forced in Arthur's head, without his consent. It's nauseating.

"Again, Merlin. Your eyes; focus. It's a part; but it's part of your job. So for the love of Camelot, Merlin, please try harder. Your people reckon on you to lead them and protect them; so it's your duty to be a leader, and to be strong. Work hard; harder than anyone else. You *must* be an example, an inspiration. You must be admirable in everything, so that your people will follow you everywhere. But you must lead, Merlin; never follow. A ruler is alone - *must* be alone. Do not trust anyone; at least do not trust anyone more than anyone else, and surely not more than you trust yourself. Your own judgement must *never* be clouded."

Merlin can't help but turn towards Arthur at the words, both in disbelief and in ache... Because Merlin has grown up hiding, but he had never realized that Arthur had, too; and maybe even more than him. Arthur must not only always pretend and perpetually watch over his shoulder; he must pretend and watch over his shoulder *alone*. And Merlin can only imagine how hard that must have been, and be. Back at Ealdor, Merlin had (and still has) his loving mother, and he had Will. Even here, now, Merlin has Gaius. And somehow, yes: he has Arthur too, Merlin suddenly realizes; and then feels ashamed, because he can't help but feel blessed - Arthur trusts him. Because Arthur is definitely less guarded around him, isn't he? When it's just the two of them; Arthur and Merlin? Arthur laughs, Arthur doubts, Arthur *shows*; maybe not everything - but that's probably not possible as he is so trained - but something at least always shines through; even if it's by putting his feet on his face... But Merlin knows now, how rare and precious it truly is. They can never be friends, maybe; but Arthur trusts him. That's undeniable; and that's everything, somehow.

"Do not look at me; look at the mirror, Merlin. Harden your eyes. Smile; always politely, even when you don't want to smile at all; more genuinely, when it's true - but never let it go up to your eyes. First thing about tomorrow too; as we're at it. Hear everyone out. Listen with your full attention to everyone; whether you agree or not. Never decides right away; except if it's necessary, in war time. Your decisions must be thought upon; never a spur of the moment. If something is unclear, do not let it show during concil. If you favor a position, do not let it show during concil. If you disagree, do not let it show during concil. You need further advice, or even only further information? Seek the appropriate person in private; ask man to man. They will see the honor in it if it's positive, and be thankful you kept it private if it's negative. Also. You must be ready to be impartial, Merlin; because you do not need to be kind, but you must always be fair. You may - and you will, unfortunately - make mistakes; but never ackowledge them. Fix them. If you can't; repair as much damage as possible. Learn from your errors, in order to never make the same mistake again. But never apologize. Come on Merlin; I'm sure you can do it. You're nearly there."

More over, Merlin realizes the Arthur he gets to see nowadays - the true Arthur - has always been there already, even under the pretense of the moron. Kilgarrah is wrong. His destiny isn't to change Arthur; because there is nothing to change. Arthur already has everything to be a great king, the greatest king, all on his own.

And so, Merlin is *angry*. He has now yet another reason to despise Uther, it seems - scarring his child on the inside in such a way. Of course Arthur always feels inadequate; of course Arthur feels lacking; of course the only bond Arthur values is the one with his fellow knights - ride to glory or death, together? It's the only bond Uther has authorized him to authorize himself to ever have... But Merlin's anger is a good thing, apparently - because whenever Merlin thinks about Uther, Arthur finds that he's playing the Prince's part better.

"There Merlin, you have it. See? Right there. Lock it; just like that. That's good enough for anyone looking today; because believe me, someone *will* be looking, even if only my Father and not the one who switched us or anyone else with ill intentions - there is *always* *someone* looking, Merlin."

Fine. Think about Uther; until the pleas are done. Merlin can do it; and he'll gladly do it. He'll probably gladly do anything; for Arthur. He can still have a cry or hit a wall afterwards, right...

Arthur needs a hug. I volunteer. Anyone with me? (besides Merlin, obviously...)

VII. DOOMED (ARTHUR POV)

With a last commanding yet encouraging nod, Arthur leaves Merlin by the Great Hall's entrance and starts to make his way towards the Library.

He is stopped by Merlin's name being called out twice - because he has failed to react right away; Arthur chastises himself. It is the headmaster recruiting hands: his Father wants his bath ready when the pleas end.

Arthur doesn't want to bring Merlin in trouble, of course; so he takes on the ordered job - after all, how complicated can it be?

He is paired with a newcomer answering the name of George who looks up to him as if he holds the sun: the Prince's manservant! Which isn't that bad. Until he starts, seemingly embarrassed but curious all the same, to ask questions like "Is the Prince as terrible as they say?" or "Is it true he throws knives?" and such? Arthur tries to explain that the training field is, well, to train? He isn't sure the message gets across though, as George only holds his eyes with a perplexed gaze...

Arthur can't help but hope that Merlin at least understands that he's not only training himself but also trying to get Merlin to know how to defend himself if not to attack whenever he comes at him with a mace or anything... He should maybe make his intentions clearer, apparently...

Anyway. After yet another round of carrying buckets full of cold or warmed-up water up and down and left and right, Arthur realises there is more to it than it looks; and the bath is only half full still...

And when they're nearly done? His three coworkers and the headmasteer seem satisfied, but Arthur can't help but think while bringing up the last two buckets that they achieved nothing more than a luke warm bath with a clean but no particular scent. Merlin's baths are definitely of a superior category on both accounts, and Arthur doesn't know if he should feel guilty and spoiled for regularly enjoying better baths than the king himself, or more amazed or worried about Merlin's bath-preparing skills (is he even thinking about his safety? he wouldn't actually carry boiling water up the stairs, would he?)

Arthur decides he should address the issue. And maybe take baths downstairs from now on just in case - a little backroom near the kitchen would be more practical than his chambers, wouldn't it? When the space isn't needed for banquets preparations and such of course...

Arthur misses the first step towards the second floor (it's actually the eleventh time today that he misses a step - he still isn't used to Merlin's feet). This time though, his balance is too lost for him to compensate and he falls backwards, landing on his butt and ready to get soaked and hit by the water and buckets he has released when instinctively freeing his hands (one to help catch his fall; one to protect himself from the falling projectiles). Except nothing comes: no water, no hit - and no falling sound either. And when Arthur takes a look? The buckets and water are... floating above his head?

Arthur gasps in surprise, his mind going both blank and reeling...

Then only does Arthur finally get drenched and hit on the shoulder.

Arthur blinks. Twice.

What has just happened isn't normal, at all. Only - only magic could make such a thing possible!

Arthur looks around, instinctively - scanning for a threat.

He is alone; the corridors are empty as far as he can see, and he hears no voices, nor steps.

Which is good, because no one is attacking him then.

Which is the worst though - because if there is no one around... then the only person responsible for what he has just witnessed must be - is - HIMSELF?!

Arthur gasps again; this time in panick.

His first instinct is denial. But he knows what he saw. And somehow, it just makes sense, doesn't it?

It's not the body of the Prince that whoever switched him and Merlin is after. It's his mind...

Put him in the body of a servant, give him magic, and sooner or later (and most probably sooner) he is bound to die by his Father's law. What is he supposed to say in his defense? That he IS the Prince, in another body which had been given an ounce of magic on the sole purpose of getting him executed? Who would ever believe him...

In the meantime, the schieming sorcerer must have judged that a servant in his body may be too delighted by the upgrade in status to be a threat to his plans and would gladly unknowingly collaborate, on top of being totally untrained and incompetent at any of his duties.

Then? One only has to kill the King (which shouldn't be unachievable, for someone having so much magic that he can put spells like having bodies switched even from a distance to start with?) and - for sure - Camelot is doomed to get wiped out from the map by the first band of Saxons passing by (and most probably enticed to pass by very soon after its King's death): its only true heir gone, and the supposed one obviously improper to defend it.

Arthur is more afraid than he has ever been - and he has been in combat enough for that fact to mean something. He feels crushed; defeated, even before the battle - and honestly? He has never despised himself that much. No matter that he has never felt both so unprepared and so intrinsically useless - and not even able to trust himself: surrender is simply inexcusable. Camelot depends on it.

Besides, Arthur owes it to Merlin to fight, right. It's after all Merlin's body that's to die along his spirit. Oh! The villainy, the cowardice in this attack! Use an innocent victim as a vessel to be sacrificed. Sorcerers definitely have no sense of honor indeed.

So. Arthur is angry now. A much more suited mindset, he decides - as long as he doesn't allow it to blind him. And he won't. Merlin's body depends on it too.

Arthur takes a deep breath. He has been taught strategy even before he could talk, right? Time to make a plan of action.

First. He is not as alone as Camelot's enemy has calculated him to be. He is, in fact, not alone at all. He has Merlin.

Loyal Merlin; not only willing but even devoted to getting back into his own servant body rather than happily playing the prince. Magic familiar and open-minded Merlin - which means Arthur has not only someone who won't judge him nor fear him to confide in about his new endangering (and in so many ways) abilities, but also someone who might have some basic understanding of it; since he was Will's friend? Heart-in-the-right-place Merlin: too kind, maybe (but he can at least get aware of it enough in order not to be lead only by it); but naturally just and fair Merlin. Brave, fierce, tenacious Merlin; too reckless though (but again: he can at least get aware of it enough in order not to be lead only by it). Ressourceful Merlin, fast-learning Merlin: he would master his body's strength, eventually; and Leon would be here to lead the Knights in the meantime... Arthur takes an oath. Even if they fail to find a solution to their problem, Camelot won't be left unprotected. Come what may; even the worst? Merlin *will* be ready to take his place. Having Merlin's unique edges smoothed out feels wrong; but it just has to be for show, right?

Second. Well, there is no really second yet; at least not more than what they have already planned. They need to find some books - and pray that they will be useful. And Arthur will just have to be particularly attentive about not repeating the kind of blunder he just did with witnesses present.

Yes. Merlin. Books. Start at the beginning; and with luck, it might just work out in the end.

Arthur cleans up as best as he can, using and wringing his soaked tunic in the buckets, then runs to Merlin's room for a set of dried clothes. Turning up to retake his place at 'Arthur''s side while drenched would only draw unwanted attention...

So. Basically? Yep. This is a magic-reveal unreveal fic. But. I mean... It's Arthur? Also: this fic (to me) is canon (fitting) - so it just can't be a reveal fic. Bonus: it explains too why Arthur doesn't get the courage-magic-strength trio hint later on. He thinks Merlin is magic; but only because there is some residual trace to sense from when his body had magic (aka this fic), not that he actually has magic still at the time... Arthur can be at the same time very aware yet very unaware, and he can be so very biased and decided to see things his way, no matter how circumvoluted, right? (Also, of course Arthur thinks in fact then that HE is magic in the trio: he was after all the one inside Merlin when his body had magic; and Merlin IS courage - Arthur has such a low self-esteem to start with...)

On a side note: Arthur would actually trust Merlin with Camelot (even despite his limits). If that doesn't tell you all there is to tell then I don't know how to express it. *SIGH* *GROSS SOBBING* (Gwen though is innately made to be Queen - but Arthur doesn't know that yet. He isn't wrong about Merlin though - for Arthur's memory? Merlin would do his best to be a great King too, you bet...) *GROSS SOBBING AGAIN*

#merlin #merthur #bbc merlin #merthur fic #merlin fic #the body swap #the once and future fic #text #fic #fanfic #my own two spells

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