#starlight starwrite

[clareguilty]

70 and 71 for the writer ask post? ☺️👀

Hiiii 💝💖💕❤️ thank you so so much for asking these questions were super fun!

70. When asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

Enthusiastic! Im in an MA program for Creative Writing right now and I think I literally told all of my classmates in like Week 2 that i write porn commissions and a fuck ton of fanfiction. I've been doing this for six years, and I'm good at it so I don't really have any shame about it anymore. Also I love talking about my works and my process to anyone who will listen.

71. When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

When I plot original works, I try to keep a lot of different documents of timelines and lore and character details and things. Unfortunately I do not do the same thing for fic. I usually just throw down an outline and notate specific scenes that i really want to include. Otherwise I keep ALL of the lore and details in my head where they take up way too much space and rattle around for ages

#ask #answered #starlight-starwrites #have i ever told u that I love ur URL? #it echoes in my head like the nursery rhyme when i see it #ask game

[ruerecs]

𝑎𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑎𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑐 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑠 𝑖𝑖.

princess by @anyas-stuff

what's mine is mine by @margowritesthings

the rescue

just' a little longer

by @immajustvibehere

a warm place for numb fingers by @reaveries

save yourself by @outlaw-apologist

fairest of them all by @azures-bazar

a real bed by @starlight-starwrites

shooting your shot by @sapphic-pikachu

save a horse, ride a cowboy by @borzoia

a fine night for debauchery by @wizard-on-whales

some sweet ending by @morning-star-joy

fakin' it by @hihomeghere

the fawn by @johnpriceslamb

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fic recs #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 fic recs #red dead redemption #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption fic recs #x reader #fic recs #ruerecs

[21stcenturygworl]

A Blank Dance Card

Arthur Morgan x (female) Reader, Regency AU 💕

For the Valentine Gift Exchange by @rdrevents! Written for @starlight-starwrites. Thank you for the great prompts, Star! I hope I did them justice.

This is so extremely campy, but I had great fun writing it. I hope y'all have great fun reading it too!

.✧.

One of the joys of being a debutante on the marriage market is finally, finally being able to indulge in the gossip firsthand. Previous seasons, you had to wring every last drop of information out of your friends, who one by one were swooped off their feet by gentlemen looking to win their hearts. Now, you can huddle together with the other girls, whispering and giggling amongst yourselves as you steal glances at the eligible bachelors at Lady Coulston's ball.

You’re quite some years older than most debutantes of this season. It was your mother’s decision, mostly (your father had just told her, “Yes, dear. As you wish, dear. Anything you want, dear.”). She didn’t want you to be married off too young, instead wanting you to become a well-rounded young lady first through travel and further education. You had protested initially, terrified of ending up a spinster, but your mother had promised that she wouldn’t make you wait that long.

You still feel like a spinster between all the younger girls, though.

The ball hosted by Lady Coulston is a grand affair, with the walls adorned with intricate tapestries and richly painted scenes. The floors are marble (Italian marble, she had pointed out to your mother), polished to a glossy sheen, and the ceiling is painted with beautiful frescoes. Walking across the marble floor already has your heels click with a satisfying sound, and you can only imagine what it would be like to walk through this ballroom by yourself.

Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, adding a touch of opulence to the room. Music fills the air, with the strains of a string quartet and a harpsichord playing romantic melodies. Many guests have taken to the dance floor. They twirl across the marble to the melody of the music, the dancers becoming a blur of colours, beautiful fabrics catching the light of the chandeliers above.

Unlike them, however, you have nobody to dance with.

Not a single eligible bachelor has approached you all night. Occasionally one would approach your little group of debutantes, but always to ask one of the other girls to dance, or to make a turn around the room together.

The paper of your dance card is a plain, stark white. Blank.

It’s mortifying, almost. But at least Lady Coulston’s pastry chefs make your attendance worth it. You take solace in the delectable cannolis that nobody else seems to have noticed. Lady Coulston must really like Italy.

.✧.

Arthur doesn’t want to be here.

He hadn’t even wanted to travel across the pond in the first place, and neither did John. But Dutch had insisted that for the adoption process to be finalised, they had to come with him to London. “We’ll head back immediately after,” his now-father promised them.

Apparently in England, “immediately after” means a month or two later.

So here he is, standing in Lady Coulston's ballroom, trying to blend in with the crowd. Arthur had heard stories about the balls, and he’s received countless instructions for how to behave, but he still feels terribly out of place. The grandeur of the room is intimidating and almost suffocating to a young man like Arthur, who spent years sleeping under the stars on windswept prairies.

It’s almost inconceivable to watch Dutch, the same man who had once told Arthur that he was done with the upper class, working his charm on the guests at the ball. It's almost unfathomable that this is the same man who had spent so much of his time in America swindling the wealthy, and yet here he is, a Baron of all things. Arthur is silently hoping that Dutch will turn and give him a sly wink and tell him “It was all just a scheme!”, but it never happens.

Dutch had deemed John too young to attend a ball, meaning Arthur is now stuck by Dutch’s side as he speaks to a Lord and Lady Gardner, who are both hanging onto every word he says as he tells them about his exploits in the American West.

“I will say, I was tempted to stay there,” Dutch says, gesturing vaguely as he speaks. “It’s a very different land from here. A land full of opportunities. The people here in England do not have the spine to take risks the way those in America do.” He pauses, as if reminiscing. “And all the unspoiled nature… By God, Lord and Lady Gardner, it was unlike anything I have ever seen before. Beyond beautiful.”

“My, I can hardly imagine it!” Lady Gardner says, wearing a giddy smile. “It all seems so far away. Perhaps we should visit too someday, dear? It would be so nice to travel a little again, just like we used to when we were younger…”

“Perhaps,” Lord Gardner says, smiling a little uncomfortably. “But perhaps we should first make sure our daughter is married before we do.”

Lady Gardner puts a reassuring hand on her husband’s arm. “Of course, dear.” Turning to Dutch and Arthur, she asks, “Have you met our daughter yet? It’s her first season on the marriage market this year. Very exciting.”

Dutch smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling. “Very exciting indeed. I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure of making her acquaintance yet.”

“Let me see, where is she…” Lady Gardner peers across the ballroom, then lets out a little “Oh!” before she begins calling to her daughter.

.✧.

You whip around from where you stand next to one of the many refreshments tables, halfway stuffing a cannoli in your mouth.

“Dearest!” your mother calls out to you, waving you over with an excited smile. Oh, this is mortifying. You try to swallow the cannoli quickly before other people notice, but it’s already too late. At least you didn’t get any crumbs or cream on your dress this time.

Quickly you compose yourself before striding over to the little gathering, weaving through the crowd. When you reach them, you realise that the men your parents are speaking to are the Baron of Whitchurch, and one of his recently-adopted sons.

Now here is where the gossip comes into play. You had heard many a scandalous story of how Lord Van der Linde (whose family weren’t even English aristocrats to begin with!) had run off to America for nearly a decade. When he finally returned, he brought back two orphans with him who he had adopted and made the heirs to his titles and estates. The legality of it was dubious at best, and immediately a new scandal was born. The future Baron of Whitchurch would be a man with not a single drop of aristocratic blood.

Nobody had told you that the future Baron of Whitchurch was also incredibly handsome.

Your mother is your saving grace, because only when she speaks to introduce you, do you realise that you’ve been staring. You quickly avert your gaze and curtsy with your head inclined. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.” Straightening out, you remember your manners and ask, “Are you enjoying tonight’s festivities?”

“We certainly are, thank you kindly for asking,” Lord Van der Linde says. “This is my son, Arthur.”

Arthur. You like that name. It suits him perfectly, highlighting the impressive stature of his broad shoulders and tall frame. Yet, despite the impressive physicality, there is something gentle about him, something that you can't quite put your finger on. After a moment's thought, you realise it’s his eyes; the way they seem to reflect an inner kindness, a beautiful shade of blue.

“This is the first time Arthur is attending a ball,” your mother tells you with a low voice, as if it’s a secret. (It’s really not.) “Why don’t you take him for a turn around the room? I’m sure there’s lots you two can talk about.”

You and Arthur unintentionally share a look, and you seem to reach the same conclusion as him: We have nothing to talk about.

You muster up an almost-convincing smile as you take a step forward. "Shall we take a turn around the room, Mr Van der Linde?" you ask, feeling a bit strange at the formal words coming out of your mouth. Arthur nods, then seems to remember himself and offers you his arm.

.✧.

The two of you walk in silence for a few moments, strolling along the perimeter of the impossibly large ballroom, until Arthur finally speaks. "Erm… Apologies for my lack of conversation skills, Miss Gardner," he says, his voice a bit awkward. He’s suddenly terribly aware of how different his accent is from yours, and the realisation only serves to make him speak quieter. "I… I ain’t used to being at a ball like this, and I'm not sure what to say."

You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him through your lashes. Arthur feels his chest tighten. “It’s alright,” you say, your gloved hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “I can only imagine how strange all of this must be for you, Mr Van der Linde.”

A nervous chuckle escapes him. “Strange is an understatement.” He pauses, considering his words, and then carefully says, “I… I prefer Mr Morgan, actually. Dutch— I mean, Lord Van der Linde only really became a father figure to me when I was already a young man.”

You nod, seeming to understand his reluctance. Or at least pretend to. "I'm sure that's true for many adopted children," you say, voice gentle and sympathetic. You smile at him in an attempt to offer some levity. "How are you enjoying your time in England so far? It must be very different from what you’re used to. Especially the weather, I would guess.”

Arthur returns the smile as his nerves slip away. You’re trying your best to be warm and welcoming to him. Though it is at the behest of your mother, it’s still more than he can say about the other people at the ball — who have mostly stared at him while whispering amongst themselves. "It is," he says, "The weather too, I s’pose. But mostly the people, and the, uh… way of life.” He looks around the room, taking in the elegant décor and the finely-dressed people. "It's all certainly an experience. I ain’t ever seen anythin’ like this before. I wasn’t… raised in high society."

“Well,” you begin as you mull over his words for a moment. You then flash him a wide smile. “You’re going to have lots to learn and catch up on before you become the Baron of Whitchurch.”

Arthur feels his heart skip a beat, and he swallows thickly. “I’m afraid so,” he says.

“I’m sure you’re up for the task, Mr Morgan. I believe in you.”

Despite the rather disappointing start of the evening, Arthur now suddenly doesn't want it to end anymore. He finds himself liking the way you hold onto his arm, speaking with him and making him feel like he's the most important person in the world right now. You're so, so beautiful, too. Half of your hair is pinned up, the loose sections cascading down your back like a waterfall of silk. The bodice of your dress fits snugly around your chest, the skirts flowing gracefully with every step you take. You feel like someone so far out of reach for him, yet you’re right here next to him.

He blinks when he realises he’s been staring at you. He’s grateful when he sees that you’ve been looking elsewhere — but your expression is wistful. You’re watching the people on the dance floor twirl about and laugh giddily amongst themselves.

“I hope I’m not takin’ up too much of your time, Miss Gardner,” Arthur says, and you look back at him. “I’m sure there’s another gentleman waitin’ for your attention.”

You shake your head, a sad smile gracing your features. “I’m afraid not, Mr Morgan. Nobody’s asked me to dance, tonight.” You show your dance card with your free hand, and Arthur sees that it’s empty. “I fear I may not be as tempting as the younger ladies,” you say with a hollow chuckle. “But it’s alright. I’m enjoying myself here with you.”

Arthur's heart twinges at your words and he finds himself wanting to say something comforting, but he's not sure what. All these fools wouldn’t want to ask a beauty like you to dance with them? Anger bubbles in his chest, but he quickly pushes it down. It’s a completely stupid and hopeless task, but he knows what he has to do. Mustering up every ounce of courage in his body, he clears his throat and then asks, “Miss Gardner, would you do me the honour of dancin’ with me?”

You look up at him, almost as if you can't believe your ears. Your eyes light up and you smile, a brilliant and genuine smile that makes Arthur's heart flutter. "It would be my pleasure, Mr Morgan," you say, before curtsying gracefully.

He takes your hand in his and leads you to the dance floor as the music changes, and the musicians begin to play a waltz. Arthur holds you — as he learned during his lessons — and though his steps are a little awkward and stiff, you’re most certainly dancing together. As you start twirling around the room, Arthur finds himself mesmerised by you. He had thought you beautiful before, but now, as he watches you spin around and laugh with him, he's certain that you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

How tempted he is to lean forward and kiss you.

It’s not the right way to do things, though. Not here, not now. Not with a woman of your standing. So he spends the rest of the night with you. Dancing, talking, and even laughing together. And when the evening draws to a close, and your parents have called you to tell you that it’s time to take the carriage home, Arthur takes your hand and presses a kiss to your gloved fingers.

“Miss Gardner, before you go,” he begins. He straightens out, still holding your hand. “May I… may I call on you tomorrow afternoon?” he asks, stumbling over his words a little.

You look at him adoringly, cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink as you smile and nod. “Yes. Yes, you may.” You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giddy smile. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Mr Morgan. Good night.”

#RDRValentineExchange #writing #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #regency au #this was sooooooooo fun and i kind of want to write more for this

[keeper0fthestars]

Rules: List 5 things you never get tired of writing - it can be tropes, themes, characters, phrases, whatever brings you joy. Tag 5 people!

I loved doing this! Thanks for the tag @flightlessangelwings 💛💛

1. Established relationships: give me all the soft tender intimacy. I love a Slow Burn as much as the next person, but I thrive on the comfort and safety of already being grounded in a relationship. To have someone pay attention and not only listen to you but HEAR you... knowing what you like. knowing what you need. sharing inside jokes with one look across a crowded dinner table.

2. Make it spicy and sweet: If the smut doesn’t have mutual feelings I don’t want it. See no. 1

3. Ok so there might be a few things that make my brain go brrrrrrr. One is Competence.

4. Another is Protectiveness. big competent gruff grumpy character being soft only for their s/o. Please 😫😫 I froth.

5. Alternate Universe: Canon? Don’t know her.

Tagging: @something-tofightfor @softanon @mourningbirds1 @fromthedeskoftheraven @lareinadehades @ayybtch @starlight-starwrites @alwaysbethewest and anyone else who wants to join in 💛

#tag you’re it #no pressure - only if you wanna do it #i tagged 8 people ooops 😂

[draftingtides]

Aroace John, dirkjohn qpr

“I think there’s something wrong with me,” he mumbled around the lump forming in the back of his throat. “I think going godtier messed up my brain somehow. ‘Cause like, Breath’s all about… not having attachments. So. Maybe I just can’t feel romance and stuff like I’m supposed to.”

#hello its the dirkjohn fic i promised #aroace john egbert #homestuck #hs #aspec jegbert #dirkjohn #homestuck fic #hs fic #starlight starwrite #wow been awhile since i used that tag #my post

[rhania]

A Show of Thanks (in Secret)

Howdy hey! Here’s my gift for @starlight-starwrites through the @rdrevents holiday exchange! Hope you enjoy! 🤠

Warnings: light sexual content, 18+ rec Pairing: Arthur Morgan/GN reader Prompt: secret dating A/N: Set vaguely pre-RDR2, and further west. Formatting is a struggle. Synopsis: You, a semi-recent recruit of the gang, and Arthur finally get some time to unwind and trade gifts in a desert town during the holidays, though you can’t be too public about it.

    You’d been buzzing with excitement for the last few weeks, and it’d been hard to keep it under wraps. Life had been pretty good lately: the gang had found a honeypot of a town, money had been flowing in the coffers, and not a decent lawman in sight. While no one had let themselves get too comfortable, the change of pace had been nice. Nice enough, in fact, that you’d tucked away a little extra as a gift for someone special. Six months ago, you’d joined the gang in a rough state (as all do, you supposed) but you’d taken to the outlaw life better than you’d anticipated. It helped that this special someone, Arthur Morgan, had helped you get your legs back under you, taught you the nuance of surviving, and given you the compassion you’d craved despite his rather gruff and burly appearance. You’d wanted to give him a token of appreciation, and it was finally finished.

    Three weeks ago, you’d been into the local gunsmith’s shop and eyed a newly made six shooter, a pretty little thing with a pearl handle, and just knew Arthur needed it. You paid for it outright and bought some additions for it, such as better rifling and, most importantly, a detailed carving of a buck’s head on the handle. Hell, you’d even gone so far as to buy him a matching holster and gun belt, featuring finely tooled leather depicting the nature he so loved: a pattern of leaves snaked across its surface with small details of flowers and acorns. The leather had been from animals you’d hunted yourself, which you’d brought to a local leatherworker and huntsman. All things considered, you didn’t want to trouble Pearson with the work in case Arthur saw, and you had the money to burn right now anyhow. Everything was ready to be picked up, and you were working out just how to get it back to camp without anyone noticing. So embroiled in planning were you that Tilly’s voice had to raise a few decibels before you’d noticed she was talking to you directly.

    “You gonna answer me, or am I just gonna keep wasting my breath?” she asked, a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Karen said your head was up in the clouds lately and I’m inclined to agree.” Her arms were folded and her weight was shifted to one side in a sort of mock frustration. You were too caught off guard to initially speak, suddenly realizing that you probably jumped a little when she spoke to you. “H-hey, Tilly! What’d you ask?” you said just a little too quickly, tacking on a rather weak, “Sorry.” Shaking her head and moving her hands to her hips, she couldn’t help but laugh. “I asked what your plans were for today. I was thinkin’ of going into town, but Arthur said he had plans tonight and didn’t wanna chance anything. What about you?”

    You swallowed hard at the mention of Arthur, feeling the gears turning in your head as you started to think of something to say in response. In your excitement, you’d nearly forgotten a part of your arrangement with Arthur: it was a secret. That is to say, the closeness of your relationship was a secret, anyway. A couple months ago, the two of you realized you felt something pull you together, something deep in your hearts that you’d never thought this life would afford you. Considering his position in the gang and his painful history, he’d been hesitant to get you involved with him and he wasn’t ready to be open about a romantic relationship. You’d been happy to test the waters, see if it truly was love from behind closed doors (or rather, tent flaps). Tilly simply stared at you as your silence lasted too long, the mirth in her expression building.

    “Ooh, were the two of you planning on doing someth-”

    “NO! I mean no, uh, but I was planning on going into town to pick up some things. Well, I will be busy later, but I think I’ll be staying in town tonight? I…” You trailed off, painfully aware that yelling had gotten a bit more attention than you’d meant for. Disappearing would be preferable. “I’m busy,” you muttered, feeling a fool.

Tilly covered her mouth with one hand and stifled a laugh, doing her best to help you maintain your dignity. “Alright, alright. Thank you anyway,” she said, walking toward the other women. “Hope you and Arthur have fun,” she said quietly over her shoulder, careful that only the two of you could hear it. In your shock, you couldn’t manage much more than an awkward wave.

After a moment, you collected yourself enough mentally to get back on task: going to town and picking up Arthur’s gifts. He’d told you to meet him at the saloon around four that afternoon, which gave you enough time to get his presents and get yourself cleaned up for something that he said would be, “Nice and different.” As usual, he wasn’t one to elaborate, and considering you had your own surprise for him, you didn’t pry too much. Here’s to hoping Tilly doesn’t say anything to anyone else, you thought to yourself as you headed out of camp.

The ride into town was pleasant. The desert heat had dissipated in the winter, giving way to a cool albeit still dry climate. The sky was cloudy with the promise of rain, but thankfully it didn’t while you were on the road. Your excitement was compounded when you noticed the decorations throughout town. Wreaths, ribbons, and bells were adorning windows and doors along the main strip of the road, with a small cadre of carolers singing in a nearby gazebo. The very pulse of the town was upbeat with the winter holidays in full swing, and you couldn’t help but feel a bounce in your step along with it. Considering the cold, you boarded your horse for the night, and headed off to your other errands.

With Arthur’s gifts in tow, you set about getting yourself ready for your evening. Last week you’d come into town and bought a new outfit, somehow managing to keep it tucked away from Arthur and anyone else in the gang. Today would be the first time you’d worn it out, and you were nervous and excited all at the same. After bathing at the local inn and primping as best you could, you looked over yourself in the mirror. Six months ago you’d been plucked off the dirt road of a podunk town miles away from here, sick and barely holding it together. Today, you’d managed to get gifts (and not just any gifts but nice ones for once) for someone you cared for, someone who helped you do more than just survive. Someone that had helped you find something of yourself out in the frontier. Taking a deep breath, you did one last once-over of your clothes and hair, and then headed for the saloon with Arthur’s gifts stuffed carefully into your satchel.

Though you were a little early, the sky had already started to darken. The clouds and winter definitely had a hand in that, but it still surprised you at how early the night crept in. For all the darkness outside, the inside of the saloon was bustling and bright. Shrill laughter and loud cheers could be heard several yards away, and a steady line of people flowed through its doors. When you made it through yourself, it was like walking into a wall of sensory assailment: the smell of alcohol and tobacco, the piano player in the corner playing ragtime like his life depended upon it, the dancing girls on the nearby stage, and the patrons themselves talking, laughing, and yelling. Though the scene wasn’t unfamiliar to you, it was always a bit jarring when you spent so much time in the wilderness by comparison.

It took some time for you to get your bearings, but before long you spotted a familiar looking black hat atop an equally familiar man’s head and made your way to him. His back was to you, but you could see him lift a small glass of amber liquid (likely whiskey or bourbon if you had to guess) to his mouth. It dawned on you why you didn’t initially pick him out of the crowd: he was wearing a new brown leather coat you didn’t recognize. Beyond that, the closer you got the more you realized he’d clearly cleaned himself up and visited the local barber within the last few hours. Your heart briefly fluttered at the mere thought that he’d spent the same effort as you to get gussied up for the night. Once he was within arm’s length, you tapped him gently but firmly on the arm.

You’d managed to catch him mid-sip, and he nearly choked on it as his eyes met yours. Despite this, Arthur set his glass down in a languid movement and turned to face you with a lopsided grin. The way his blue eyes sparkled in the gaslight almost made it easy to forget he was a hardened outlaw. “Lookitchew,” he said, looking over your face and new clothes. “Guess we had the same idea, huh?” Arthur wasn’t one to lose his cool easily, but you could swear you saw his thumb dance nervously over the design on the whiskey glass. That and the tension in his shoulders had yet to lift. You didn’t remember doing it, but you were smiling at him bright as could be, and opted to chuckle softly under your breath as you nodded. It wasn’t often that you’d seen him look like a respectable man in neat clothes, and the vision was a bit of a surprise. The deep blue of his new shirt and the dark vest he wore looked nice. Something in the back of your mind begged you to not assume it was for you, but at the same time this was the first time the two of you had gotten time together like this. Silencing your momentary doubt, you took the barstool next to him.

Leaning in close to his ear, you still had to raise your voice over the din of the bar to say, “I got you something. Well, somethings, I should say.” Arthur raised his brows. “I told you that you didn’t have to-”     “And I told you I wanted to,” you interrupted, though not unkindly. Simply firm.

Arthur turned back toward the bar, lifting his glass back to his mouth. He glanced at you for a second before taking another sip. “I just want you to be careful, is all. Pryin’ eyes, hell just curious ones, are enough to be a problem for us. You don’t gotta waste what money you got on me, either,” he muttered just loud enough for you to hear as he set the glass back down. It was unclear if he meant “us” as in the relationship or as outlaws, but you plowed on regardless. “Mr. Morgan, we didn’t come out tonight for you to start lecturin’ me about money or what I choose to do with it. Besides, it’s the holidays! You’re allowed to enjoy yourself once in a while, y’know,” you said jovially, nudging his arm slightly.

Reflexively, he initially bristled at the contact but quickly relaxed with a pithy laugh. “Alright, alright. You have an annoyin’ habit of fightin’ against my better nature, you know.”

Honestly, you couldn’t help but laugh. “‘Better nature?’ What, you mean bein’ a work horse? Arthur, please. If it makes you feel any better, it’s somethin’ I know you’ll use.”

He looked skeptical. “Fine, what is it?” As if to punctuate his interest, he turned back to face you. With a little huff you set about moving your satchel’s strap over your head, opening the flap, and handing it over to him. “What’s it look like to you?” you asked playfully. Taking the bag, he moved a strategically placed handkerchief out of the way only to be greeted with a gleaming pearl handle. His fingers brushed over the smooth surface before finding the leather of the holster and gunbelt. A soft whistle escaped his lips. “Darlin’, you shouldn’t have… This’s beautiful,” his voice was barely audible over the sound of the saloon. Arthur had been taken aback and you knew it’d been a while since he had last gotten a gift. The ever-present cloud of self-hatred melted from him for the time being as he took in the details of the belt, the deer on the gun… It was as if he had some some sort of epiphany that perhaps things weren’t all that bad. “Thank you. I mean it,” his voice came low and gentle as a spring rain as he looked at you yet again, the expression softer than you’d ever seen it. “Been a while since someone thoughtta me like this. Maybe ever. I…I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Arthur stopped to shake his head, ever mindful of his words. “Here, hold this,” he said, handing your satchel back. He made quick work of his gun belt, coiling the old belt and storing it in his own satchel. After some finagling of the guns and holsters (with as due care as a saloon backdrop could allow as to making sure neither were loaded), he had all of his old things packed away. At Arthur’s suggestion, the pair of you ordered food from the saloon. He insisted on paying, claiming that his gift in no way compared to that beautiful gun and new belt, which you caught him looking at more than once.

You fell into pleasant conversation over dinner, catching up since you’d spent the better part of two days away from each other. Not much in camp had happened, aside from the odd fight between John and Abigail, though that was hardly surprising. Jobs in town were shoring up a bit due to the winter, but the train and stage robbing was still good enough. Thankfully nothing urgent was on the horizon for the next day. Once the meal had finished and you prepared to leave, he finally told you the rest of his gift. “So, you remember that theatre down the road? I seem to recall you gettin’ pretty excited about goin’ sometime.”

For what little town there was here, there was a decent sized theatre. The town had benefited from being down the railroad from a silver rush some time ago and while the miners had dried up, it had cemented this area as a stop on the way to Los Angeles. People would come into the local theatre as a break from long train rides further west, and quite frankly, it was the nicest one you’d ever seen. The place had been billed as a “desert jewel,” one meant to be experienced should you pass through. You’d never known what a true theatre experience was like, just the kind that passed through towns, like circuses and puppet shows. The first time you’d ridden into the main strip, your eyes were drawn to it immediately and you had hoped to get some time to see a show. Now, you and Arthur’s faces were illuminated under the glowing lamplight of the sign, and you waited patiently as he bought a couple tickets.

The nearby poster showed a sign for a Vaudeville show, one themed around the winter at that. It promised to wow and dazzle the audience with dancing girls and singing and comedy, and you were gonna hold it to that. The business with ticket buying now concluded and Arthur’s pockets a bit lighter, he ushered you inside the building with his hand at the small of your back. The gesture was small but intimate enough that it struck you a bit dumb. Somehow this little gesture felt like a forbidden act, and you were excited at the contact. No one else from the gang was supposed to be here, and no one who lived here cared who the two of you were, ergo realistically it was simply a touch. But hey, you two were supposed to be keeping it secret, right?

“You alright?” Arthur’s gravelly voice cut through your thoughts like a hot knife through butter. “Seem tense, is all,” he added gingerly, noticing you jump a little beside him. “I’m fine. Just excited to do all this, y’know. It ain’t like we’ve been like this,” you stopped to gesture at the two of you, indicating your physical closeness, “before. I like it. It’s…nice.” You cursed yourself for sounding so sheepish in your response, but it couldn’t be helped. He looked thoughtful for a moment before responding, “Yeah. Me, too. Been some time since I could be with someone like this without it becomin’ some sort of opportunity for me to…I dunno, make a mistake, I reckon.” Though you weren’t sure exactly what he meant, he changed the subject to finding your seats before you could ask.

It was a popular night, and the audience was practically thrumming in their seats. The pair of you had arrived just in time as the lights began to dim, heralding the start of the show. Arthur arranged himself in his seat in such a way that he was leaned towards you, and he whispered in your ear, “You look good tonight. Don’t think I said it, but you oughtta know it.” A flush crept up your face, deep and searing. Luckily for you, the rapidly dimming light (likely) hid it. Angling yourself toward him, you placed one hand lovingly on his arm and whispered, “You look handsome yourself, you know.” As if on cue, the orchestra swelled with music and sound. Rather than deal with the potential embarrassment of shouting anything more over the performance, the two of you watched as dancers came pouring out onto the stage in lieu of continuing the conversation. That said, you did tighten your grip on his arm and he slid a large hand over yours.

The show managed to be all that it promised and more, with glittering costumes and beautiful music. The master of ceremonies, a small man in a frock coat and bowler hat, had been equal parts funny and charming, and every joke had landed with thunderous applause. More than once, you noted Arthur cheered on the dancing girls and couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t often you’d seen him enjoy himself like this, much less without alcohol or violence involved. While you and the rest of the audience filed your way outside, you enjoyed seeing Arthur’s smiling face, reddened with laughter.

Night had fully settled in, and winter nights in the desert were always colder than you thought. You pulled your jacket tightly around yourself, intent on keeping all the warmth you could muster. Arthur snickered beside you. “What? It’s cold,” you snapped, not even looking at him. You could’ve sworn this coat would be enough, but alas, you had been too comfortable in it while in the warm and crowded theatre. Perhaps that should’ve been a sign, you thought with hindsight and chagrin. Arthur breathed a laugh and took his jacket off, placing it on your shoulders. “Here,” he said as the brown leather slid over your torso. Clutching it closely, you muttered a soft but grateful, “Thank you.”

Tipping his hat to you by way of welcome, he began leading you down the street. The hustle and bustle of daytime had fully calmed, and the only busy areas were the saloon, and everyone heading home after the show. The sky was heavy with clouds, much more than earlier, and it threatened to rain at any moment. Even so, it was nice to walk down the street. Walking beside Arthur, you fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying each others’ company. It felt normal, nothing to run from, nothing to hide. You let yourself pretend you weren’t an outlaw in a secret relationship, if only briefly.

Distracted as you were, there was little warning as Arthur pulled you into the narrow alley, pressing you tightly against the wooden slats of the general store. About the only warning you had was Arthur cursing under his breath. You were so caught off guard that you didn’t initially notice the squelch of your shoes in the surrounding mud, but you were painfully aware of just how close Arthur was to you. His arms were at either side of your head, closing you in against the wall. His broad shoulders and build would mask you completely from curious eyes along the main strip of road, and you didn’t mind it one bit. The position was firm but not pressing; you could move but the stillness and quiet he displayed made you think it was a good idea to follow suit. With all the self control you could muster, you tried to slow your breathing and heartbeat, hoping he couldn’t feel it threaten to beat out of your chest.

Your eyes glanced over Arthur’s worried face, which had relaxed some, and he whispered, “Thought I heard John.” Sure enough, it wasn’t long before you heard a loud, raspy voice down the road. He was still too far to be understandable, but it was unmistakable nonetheless. There was heated conversation happening, and if Arthur’s expression told you anything, he was weighing his options. It didn’t take long for him to make a decision, however. “C’mon, let’s head around the back and make our way up the road,” he whispered, pulling away from you whilst offering a hand. “Got a room earlier so we don’t gotta worry about seein’ ‘im on the road back.” Taking his hand, he pulled you off of the wall and quickly ushered you around the back of the building as casually brisk as he could. “Don’t walk too fast,” he cautioned. “Folks’ll wonder what yer up to.”

Though you did your best to follow his advice and match pace with his lumbering walk, your excitement was getting the better of you. The adrenaline rush of nearly being caught had gotten to you, and you wanted to run up the road rather than walk at a slow pace. You had to consciously slow down, but the mud was also seeing to that. In the back of your mind, you were not looking forward to getting the mud off your new clothes and shoes, but at least they’d gotten a good reaction out of Arthur earlier. That counted for something.

While you could swear the walk up to the inn had only taken a few minutes, it had seemed to crawl on for hours. Arthur had been taking stock of your surroundings the entire time, and when you’d reached your destination, stopped to look out of the alley for any other familiar faces. When the coast was clear, Arthur motioned for you to follow him, and he helped you get back onto the wooden walkway from the alley mud. Once you made it over to the door, Arthur opened it for you, and led you up the stairs and to the end of the hall, presumably where his room was.

Arthur had again opened the door for you. You immediately stepped in, and lit a bedside lamp. “Think he saw us?” you asked, once Arthur had closed the door. He crossed the room and began lighting the fireplace as he responded, “Doubt it. Whoever he was talkin’ to was gettin’ an earful.” There was a gruff laugh. “Prob’ly got drunk at the saloon and was itchin’ fer a fight.”

“Should…we go do somethin’ about that?”

“Nah, he’ll be fine. Besides, gettin’ hung over and a bump on ‘is head might set him right.”

You bit your lip, fighting back a laugh. “Oh yeah? That ever work out for you?”

Arthur glanced back at you and rolled his eyes. “Point taken. But like I said, he’ll be fine.”

The room had gradually begun to warm up, enough that both of you felt comfortable enough to remove your coats and shoes. With a grimace, you eyed the wet earth caking your shoes and pants. Outside, you could hear the soft patter of drizzling rain on the windows, and were thankful to be inside before the mud situation worsened. “Tonight was really nice, you know. I’ve liked bein’ here with you…like this,” the last two words had come out like a whisper. You didn’t want to push against the boundaries he’d set already, but you had enjoyed not having to hide as much. His eyes examined your face intensely, his expression unreadable. As you began to question yourself, he responded, “Me, too, darlin.’” His voice was soft, far sweeter than you were used to hearing it. The sound melted you to the core.

“I know this ain’t easy, but I just… I’m not ready. I’m not ready for all them to know and to-”

“It’s alright, Arthur. I know.”

“It ain’t fair to you-”

“It doesn’t have to be tonight.” Standing, you moved over to him and snaked your arms around his waist. With your head slightly pressed into the thick material of his vest, you continued, “All that matters is that we got each other, don’t matter how.” Tension eased in his body as he wrapped his arms around you, his shoulders dropped and he pressed his lips to your head. After a few minutes, he pulled away enough to tip your head back for a proper kiss. Rough yet pillowy lips met yours in a gentle motion, one far more tender than anyone would expect from a man of his demeanor.

Intimacy like this was rare between the two of you, and it was something the both of you savored. His rough-hewn hands slid down from your shoulders, over your clothed arms, stopping only when he reached your hips. The warmth from his large hands radiated there, and it spurred you on to deepen the kiss you shared. Your own hands slid up the trunk of his body and back down over his chest, moving to undo each button of his thick vest. Once those buttons were undone you broke the kiss, intent on taking it off of him. Instead, he grabbed your hand and said in a low, pleasant voice, “You sure you want this?” You nodded in response, a soft smile on your swollen lips. “Yes, Arthur.” Satisfied with your answer, he pulled his vest off and began removing his beautiful new gun belt. You couldn’t help but watch his fingers dance over the clean metal of the new buckle.

The sound of the gun belt hitting the floor set your blood afire. It didn’t take long for you to make quick work of his buttons on his shirt or pants, and likewise him with yours. As you peeled off more layers, you began to see scars on Arthur’s body. Some old, some new, each bearing its own story. The paler flesh of his chest was in contrast to the sun-kissed skin of his face and forearms, but all were scarred just the same. When you were this close, you could more easily see the light dusting of freckles on his face and shoulders. His broad chest was covered in thick hair that felt pleasant against the chill of the room. As always, however, his eyes grabbed your attention. Most times they were a bright, clear blue, but in the dark of the room with swelling desire, they seemed almost black.

With your clothes now a messy and mixed pile on the floor, Arthur pulled you in for another kiss, this one more aggressive than the other. Unfortunately, despite the warmth of him and the fire, the combination  wasn’t quite enough to fight the chill in the room. He led you to the bed, and you happily made your way under the thick blanket that awaited you. Every movement he made was careful, delicate, and controlled, as if he was afraid to touch you. Like so many times before, it took time for him to warm up, to relax, to let go of hating himself just long enough to feel something good and kind. Something worth all the misery he put himself through. It wasn’t long before he had you under him, and the rest of the night was lost to lovemaking, the kind that was tender and measured.

The following morning, birds chirped outside as sunlight filtered in through the windows. As you woke, you realized your chest was pinned down by a heavy arm. A smile crept across your face as the memory of last night came back to you, and you pressed your back into Arthur’s chest as you stretched. He was a light sleeper by nature, and groaned awake. It didn’t take him long to feel you against him, and that heavy arm across you pulled you in firmly. “Mornin’,” he croaked, kissing your shoulder. You sighed, gathering the covers in taught against you. “Mornin’,” you echoed back. Arthur continued trailing kisses up to your neck, placing the last one on the shell of your ear. “I had a good time last night. It’s always nice, gettin’ time witchew,” his voice was low and thick with sleep. You hummed in agreement, too cozy to say much more.

After letting some comfortable silence pass between you, you thought to ask, “How soon you think we oughtta head back to camp?” 

Arthur groaned again. “I dunno, not awake enough to think about it. We get there when we get there.” After a beat, something occurred to you. 

“We should get Tilly something before we head back. Something nice. For the holidays, and all.”

The heavy arm moved off your body, moving instead to cover Arthur’s face with his hand. “Shit. She figured it out, didn’t she-”

“Oh, yeah.”

#fanfic #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan/you #starlight-starwrites

[mikeisthricedeceased]

frankie and fork

I wasn’t prepared for a prompt like this and I was kinda drawing a blank (what I get for going on such a long hiatus tbh) but then @tintinwrites had a really good suggestion so here we go

“Dinner’s ready!” Frankie calls from upstairs.

You finish coiling the length of rope you’re currently working on and place it back on its hook as you call back in acknowledgement. With only one hank left, you go ahead and coil it up as well before checking over the entire collection. Satisfied, you make your way upstairs, turning the light off behind you.

After a quick stop in the bathroom to wash up, you walk into the kitchen and stop right inside the doorway.

Frankie has already put the food on the table and is now leaning over the table near the bread basket, a roll speared on both yours and his forks as he hums to himself. It quickly becomes clear that he’s doing a half-hearted imitation of Charlie Chaplin’s “Dance of the Rolls,” not realizing that you aren’t in the basement anymore.

You lean a hip against the counter, hiding your smile behind a hand as you watch him. After a few more seconds, you decide to have mercy on him and gently say, “Honey?”

He startles, almost dropping a fork as he straightens up.

Pressing your lips together to keep from laughing, you gesture to the table. “Food looks great.”

Oh, and he’s blushing so hard, trying to pull the rolls off and put the forks where they go, stammering an apology.

But you won’t have any of that. “No need to apologize.” Walking over to him, you take his hands and make him look at you. “It was cute. I like it when you’re a little silly, Frankie. Having a good time is the whole point,” you say softly, smiling in reassurance until he’s smiling back. “I’m still your girlfriend, and we’re still a pair of dorks that love each other. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, face still pink but a little more confident.

Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his cheek, thumbs brushing over his knuckles. Stepping back, still holding his hands, you nod to the table. “Let’s eat. I’ve been able to smell it from all the way downstairs for the last ten minutes and I’m very hungry.”

“Good. I think you’ll like it,” he says, smiling wide enough for that single dimple to appear and melt your heart.

#starlight-starwrites #frankie morales #triple frontier #one word prompts

[pikemoreno]

Hi bri!! I saw your fun take on fmk and wanted to jump in! I'm very loyal and care a lot about my friends but also really shy and would never make the first move. I'm funny and a little adventurous but still a homebody (think bilbo baggins). I'm also a huge procrastinator and my dream would be to travel the world (and to be able to afford it 😂)

you would have a slow burn with: marcus moreno. oh sweet bbys. no move would just... ever be made. someone would have to sit you both down and go “hey dummies. you like each other. go to dinner or something.”

you would be enemies to lovers with: max phillips. you’re so sweet and shy. that man’s big, boisterous personality would overwhelm you and your existence completely. he’d be the co-worker/boss that just talks right over you. but then he really needs your help and you acquiesce and you both find the mutual feeling of “hey you’re not so bad and kinda helpful” hmm.

but your soul mate would be: javi gutierrez. a couple of sweeties!! very loyal, but a lil awkward in a cute way. content to be movie watching home bodies wrapped up in a nest of blankets or to go on a whirlwind trip around the world- he’s got the $$$ after all.

#choices game #starlight-starwrites #thanks for giving me social interaction

[max--phillips]

GEEENNNNNISIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

KGKDBDJCKSJS

I’ve been watching The Universe (y’know that space documentary show from the history channel?) WAY too much lately and my brain is going a million miles an hour abt it and I have some Interesting Thoughts fjdbdjdbjs

#tori answers questions #starlight-starwrites

[themangolorian]

IM SO MAD apparently i missed our mutualversary but anyways happy one year haha!!! im still in love with your blog's vibes

i literally love you 🥺 thanks so much for sending this preciosa, i adore you and your blog is immaculate 😍 happy mutualversarry bb! 🎉🍾💕🎊🥂💖💜

#starlight starwrites #the most lovely divine star #beautiful beautiful moots #mutualversarry✨ #ask #❤️💕💜💖💞

[reluctant-mandalore]

i saw you tagged me in the blog appreciation post and i !!!!! appreciate it so much thank you! you're always so sweet and i hope you have a good day honey!!

afbsdbjfj I really do love your blog and your writing!! You’re so nice and amazingly talented. ❤️️ And Thank you so much for the sweet ask!! It was so nice and kind of you to send.  🥰 I hope your day is good as well!! ❤️️ ❤️️ ❤️️

#lovely asks #starlight-starwrites #sdhfbsdbhfsd #you're so sweet #and talented #and I hope your day is good #and filled with joy!! #<3

[spookyold-saintjm]

⭐👀

oh oH i don’t even know where to START. How about this: in The Pilot, the child’s bonds with Din & pilot are clearly strong but in different ways.

He perceives Din as his primary caretaker of course, a parental figure at this point. I imagine the child to have been so quiet at first because of the neglect he’s suffered for such a long period; his previous situation was one where vocalizing his wants and needs either bore negative results or none at all, so he eventually stopped. 

With Din, he learns that crying when hungry = food, when tired = bundled up and tucked into his pod, or held until he falls asleep. He knows uppy arms means he will get picked up, grabbing for the knob on the console means he gets to play with something shiny. Din isn’t a perfect parent by any means and might not get the cues right at first, but he really tries and makes the effort to learn and grow. And to the child, having someone simply acknowledge him in such a way is transformative. It’s why we see him go from silent, wide-eyed little creature to enthusiastic, babbling baby with a big appetite and mischievous nature as the story progresses.

His relationship with pilot is very much the “single parent slowly introduces their child to their significant other” scenario. Din’s almost embarrassed for the child to see them standing too close or speaking too softly to each other, even before they establish their feelings, but he doesn’t necessarily realize how much the child really sees and feels between them.

Our pilot, on the other hand, has a pretty good idea, being as their understandings of each other are connected on the force-sensitive level. Whereas Din has to use prior experience, situational context and the child’s physical actions to grasp an understanding of what the little one’s trying to communicate (just like any of us would), pilot’s interactions with him are set on that higher plane. They have a lot of conversations, though still in a simplistic child-to-adult level, where they don’t actually speak aloud. 

This is from Beneath The Surface when Din actually asks pilot about how she always seems to know what the child is “saying:”

“It’s not so much words as…feelings,” you tried to explain, understanding what he meant. You absently stroked the child’s cheek as you spoke. “He understands us well enough, although I’m not sure what exactly he really knows of the language. But for him, it's…he can share what he’s feeling, but the actual meaning of what he’s trying to say is woven in-between.”

Their bond is unique, and not really one that any of them completely understand yet. The child’s relationship with Din is number one, of course, and pilot is always sure to respect their time together and ensure that their relationship comes first. From the start, they’ve had the unspoken understanding that he comes before anything else. (but we’ll talk about this soon *wink*)

Meanwhile the child’s thoughts on the whole thing are something along the lines of: “i really like papa’s nice lady friend. i hope she is going to stay with us forever.”

#the child's relationship with them is actually a focal point of the next chapter sooo ;) #this was actually helpful lol. so thank you! #you're the BEST #starlight-starwrites #the pilot #spooky answers

[hopelikethemoon]

hey i just want to throw in my support! i can only imagine how you feel with WEEKS of anon hate and drama but you've still been producing amazing content and handling this best you can. i joined this fandom honestly a bit by accident but i had been enjoying it so much with content creators like you and so many others. you continue to impress me!! i love seeing your updates (i am so behind i know, sorry) but im looking forward to catching up and send love

Thank you so much for the support, I really appreciate it immensely! This entire situation has just been exhausting and I hate it. But alas. 

I’m so glad you joined this fandom. Even at it’s worst it’s pretty awesome. There’s so many talented people to read and so many amazing gifs. We’re really fortunate! Gotta take the bad with the good. 

And I appreciate the praise, I really do. <3 

#starlight-starwrites

[draftingtides]

Jon listens to the tape. Of course he does—he listens to all the tapes. But this one, more than any of the ones full of sickening stories of nightmare fuel, makes his stomach clench.

He rewinds the tape and presses play again.

“...according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.”

“Like, at all?”

“Yeah.”

Pause. “Yeah, that does explain some stuff.”

Jon hits pause and pinches the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up his face.

He doesn’t have the energy for this. Not this one thing, this one shitty little thing on top of everything else. Doesn’t matter, really, in the grand scheme of things. He doesn’t have the energy for this. But there’s already a sour feeling crawling into his chest like bile up his throat.

Somehow, miraculously, he’s never been outed before. People talk, people suspect, but no one’s ever said anything flat out. No one ever knew aside from Georgie and his small circle of friends from uni. Even without the actual outing, though, he’s familiar with the feeling that comes with hearing others pass judgement. 

He’s not completely oblivious to uni gossip or office politics. He knows how people talk about him. Prudish Jon, who doesn’t drink and who wears frumpy sweater vests and who gets awkward at any mention of sex. Yeah, that does explain some stuff.

He takes out his phone and stares at Georgie’s contact info. If he were a braver person, he’d confront her about it, ask her what she thought gave her the right to share that information with someone who doesn’t even like him.

But he’s not a braver person.

He ejects the tape and drops it into the bin beside his desk.

#LISTEN i just have a lot of feelings abt georgie and melanie outing jon #i dont think basira meant anything malicious in her response #but with the way western society views ace people or even just people who arent enthusiastic about sex all the time #i can definitely see jon sensing an undercurrent of disapproval #whether it actually exists or not #ESPECIALLY in the case of rsd adhd jon #anyway this is only a couple hundred words long so i didnt feel like putting it on ao3 #might change my mind later we'll see #jon sims #tma fic #jonathan sims #aphobia #ace jon #starlight starwrite #my post

[longitud-de-onda]

Thank you for existing, you are loved! Send this to ten people, who in your opinion deserves such a sweet message in their inbox. Nothing bad will happen if you don’t, but imagine the smiles.

aw thank you love!

#starlight-starwrites #ask camila

[pikemoreno]

feeling a little nefarious today :) do 1 with marcus p, marcus m, and din (pls dont hate me)

stab, shoot or drown

.....

STAR. I JUST WANT TO TALK.

I choose to...

Stab myself

Shoot myself

Drown mySELF

I do not want to think about any of these things MA’AM. I refuse.

#starlight-starwrites #thanks for giving me social interaction