When you and Arthur officially become a couple, there's one thing he keeps from you. It's nothing suspicious or bad, just a secret he tends to whenever he's alone or away from the camp on one of his rides. In his journal, from the day you stole his heart, were various sketches and entries of you, mixed with his usual ones of the world around him.
Now, it's no secret that Arthur is an observant man. With a life on the run, he's been to places and seen things the average man could only dream of. To him, the world is a fascinating and terrifying place, and learning about it makes him feel less like the ageing ruffian he sees himself as. His sketches and writings about you further leave him wondering whether he has the capability of being someone good enough.
He'd sketch your expressions a lot. The way your eyes focused and relaxed, the way your lips quirked when you smiled, the way your nose wrinkled at things you disliked or just the way you carried yourself with a quiet strength in a world so harsh. Everything about you piqued his curiosity and made him want to be involved in something other than theft and violence. He'd sit at a distance under a tree or at his own tent, and observe you as you moved through the camp. He'd make sure not to stare too much as he feared scaring you off. If anyone tried to talk to him, he'd brush them off because until he finished drawing you, he wasn't leaving his spot.
At times, he sketched you without observing you because you constantly occupied his thoughts. Sometimes all the man had to do was close his eyes and there you'd be, clear as day. With his imagination, he'd sketch you in places he'd like to take you one day. At times he'd scold himself for being so lovesick like a youngin, but the heart can't help itself. Art is how he keeps the few good and peaceful moments in his life tangible. And if, a terrible if, something happened to either of you, something irreversible, the love he had for you would be set in the pages of an old outlaw's journal.
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A/N: Oh, this one's real short. Welp, I've posted it, so I hope ya'll enjoy. I love the way he makes time for hobbies despite living such a stressful life. Oh, my artsy man🥰
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Warning: Some suggestive descriptions towards the end. Nothing very graphic.
Arthur Morgan would never admit it to anyone, but he loves being kissed by you. It makes him feel all warm and fluttery inside, and it melts his tough outlaw heart into a puddle every time he feels your lips on him.
In the mornings, when you two are tangled up in bed, a few tender pecks to his cheek and his forehead are the perfect way to begin his mornings. He'll kiss you right back, mumbling a "mornin'" before pulling you to his chest for just a few more minutes of cuddling. You see him helping around with the camp chores, even assisting with some tasks Miss Grimshaw had asked you to do. That warrants a kiss to his cheek in thanks, freezing him in place with the dusting of a blush across his cheeks.
Before he sets off for a heist with the gang, you express your worry for his safety and longing for his safe return by taking his face in your hands and kissing him long and slow. A wish that time would stop moving to keep yourselves from parting ways. He cares little about the rest of the gang watching their tender moments, comments at the ready once they start their journey. In fact, it both excites and touches him to see you care so much about him (even if he believes a man like him doesn't deserve it). He seals a promise to come back to you, come hell or high water, by kissing your forehead before he gets on his horse and rides away.
His second favourite type of kiss from you is when he returns to camp after days or weeks apart. He sees you perk up in joy and relief at the sight of him and abandon whatever you were doing to run up to him. He welcomes you as you fling your arms around him, kissing him as he practically lifts you off the ground. A kiss to his lips isn't enough to celebrate his return to you. You shower his face in sweet kisses, earning an embarrassed yet endeared chuckle from the cowboy. Though instinct may urge Arthur not to show affection this publicly, he lets you love him because god damn did he miss you. (And plus, here's another chance to show off to the rest of the men at camp that he was the luckiest bastard alive.)
When you kiss him during private intimate moments, where no one can trouble ya'll, Arthur gets a little emotional. At your and his most vulnerable, he savours every press of your lips to his, each time a vow to cherish and protect what you share. This is the one moment where you both can be greedy with your kisses. As passion and heat overtake you both, your bodies joined under the sheets; Arthur lets himself float on the waters that are you.
And after it all, you two share one more kiss. It's fleeting and marked by a whisper of, "I love you." It gets him every time, and while a part of him protests that the last thing he deserves is your love, it all fizzles out with just one more kiss from you.
And he lets it happen every time.
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A/N: The sudden, aggressive motivation to write has led me to write more fluff for my manz. Watch it vanish again within a day or two. Kissing the hell out of him would cure me; I'm sure of it. I do plan to write for other characters in RDR2 eventually. Especially the best boy, Charles Smith <3
Warning: Descriptions of depression? (nothing too detailed but best be safe)
To be held by Arthur Morgan is solace defined.
On days when your thoughts feel too loud and heavy, all you want to do is just hide away from the world. If you could, you'd simply cover your ears and curl up into nothingness to just make it all stop. You try to detach yourself from everyone and everything around, and it doesn't go unnoticed by Arthur. He whisks you away to a spot on the outskirts of camp where you two can be alone. "Tell me what's botherin you, hm?" He gently tilts your head up to set your gaze upon his worried yet tender one. His blue-green eyes look upon you with worry mixed with a tenderness that he only reserves for you. You wonder, why do those beautiful eyes of his gaze upon you like a believer before an altar?
A part of your mind cries out to you to tell him everything, but another scolds you that your lover has enough to deal with every day and you'd simply burden him with your problems. He asks you again to just talk to him, his voice hushed as if he were trying to calm down a spooked horse. "Words ain't been my strong suit..." he trails off.
"So let me do something to help you." He sounded like he was begging. He leaned in closer, waiting to hear that he was needed by you. That you wanted him by your side in the darkness that shrouded you. You wanted to answer his plea, peel every layer and bare yourself to him to show him what was hurting. But even the thought of opening your mouth threatened the cracks inside to split open and leave you shattered on the ground.
So you held out your hands to him as your throat constricted and dilated, leaving short breaths to escape your nose. He wanted something to do? Well, you needed those arms around you right this instant.
Arthur didn't hesitate and brought you into his arms, encircling you in a cocoon of warmth. For a ruthless and tough outlaw, the man's hugs were heaven-sent. Muscled arms, built from years of roughing it in the Wild West; a chest broad and strong but not hard as a brick; and a voice deep and rough yet rich in adoration brought the pounding thoughts to a hush for just a moment. One hand wrapped around your waist, and the other rested on the top of your head, gently patting and stroking.
You closed your eyes, just breathing him in, the scent of gunpowder, tobacco and something herb-like. It lulled you to a state of calmness you craved after days of spiralling. When he kissed the top of your head, you finally allowed yourself to break, sobbing into his chest as he held you up, keeping you pieces together.
You knew he'd worry that you were weeping all of a sudden. But once you calmed down, you'd talk to him. You'd feel clearer in the head because of him
"But I didn't say a thing," he'd say.
Just being in his arms healed more than a thousand words could.
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This is very self-indulgent for a first post, which isn't a reblog or a like, excuse me. I was finally convinced by my friend @ceaseless-edge to start an Arthur rambling blog because I kept screaming about him to her. Let's see how this goes and who else will be screamt about on this blog.
Major spoilers below!!! If you haven't finished the game don't read!!!
Summary: It's not just Charles who finds what's left of Arthur.
Words: 1.3k
Tags: Angst, Hurt/no comfort, major character death, mentions of illness, sad ending, grief, we all gonna be sad together
"Bury me west when I'm gone."
"Quit talking like that."
"My darlin, I'm serious. You know the life we live."
"I do, but now's not the time to be so morbid. And besides, with Dutch's plan and whatever money he's got waiting for us, we can tie up our loose ends and just be gone from this place. Settle down and grow old and wrinkled."
"I believe you, honey, I do. And no one better to disappear with but you."
A load of bullshit that wish was looking back now ever since the day of Arthur's passing. An inevitable fate you knew would be your cross to bear as someone who loved him fiercely. Every waking day from the moment he told you of his diagnosis was a constant straining of your ears to listen for the moment when the dynamite detonated. Each wheeze and cough spiked your heart rate, sending you in his direction. Every day you'd think, "No, not now!"
That 'now' soon came, and it was worse than you could have ever imagined for Arthur's end. The man of such vitality and strength, reduced to a walking carcass, was forced to fight against the men who were supposed to be his allies.
You remembered begging to help him and John and then pleading with him to run. But Arthur, brave and foolish Arthur, took your hands in his and kissed them for a long moment. He looked into your eyes, his bloodshot yet achingly in love, like he was looking at you for the first time.
"If you love me, you'll run and be free," he had said.
"Arthur no-" you cried.
"For me, y/n! For me," he begged, squeezing your hands.
For love, his love, you ran. You joined Abigail and Jack and waited until John stumbled to you three, injured, wearing Arthur's hat. That's when the world grew dark.
You gripped the reins of your horse tighter, the rope digging indents into your skin. The faces of the cowardly bastards who let the man you loved die flash in your mind. You're nearly ravenous for revenge.
Bill.
Javier.
Micah.
Dutch.
The day you finally get your hands on those men, you doubt God himself could pry you away from the hell you'd bring to them. Dutch especially. You hated him the most for betraying Arthur, the man he considered to be like a son. He'd given all his life just for Dutch to stomp on it, and for what? A traitorous rat. Micah ruined the gang and dragged innocents into his stupid schemes, and Dutch just let it happen.
You would curse those two vermin till the day you die.
"Y/N. You're straying."
You snapped out of your thoughts upon hearing Charles's voice. He was waiting a few paces away on Taima, his horse, his expression neutral as usual. But you could detect a deep exhaustion in his gaze. He dreaded this trip as much as you. After all, Arthur was dear to him too.
"Sorry. I was… somewhere else." You answer with a sigh. Charles nods and keeps riding forward, you tagging along after him. The whole journey had been quiet. Neither you nor he had the mind to say anything, considering the purpose of your journey. But ever so often, you'd notice Charles glancing over at you, almost as if he was checking to see how you were faring or when you'd break into pieces. Guilt gnawed at you for worrying your friend and making him watch your eventual breakdown when you both find Arthur.
Or what's left of him.
Almost as if sensing your internal conflict, Charles speaks up in a quiet tone. "Are you sure…" he asked.
"About what?"
Charles looked pained for a moment. "Do you want your final memories of Arthur to be the state we find him in?" That question was an arrow right to your gut. You knew what he was implying. The man you loved, once so strong and full of life, reduced to a husk of a corpse lying strewn on some rock, would mark your final meeting. Was that the right way to see him one last time? Even more importantly, would you be able to handle it without breaking into pieces, never to be whole again?
Maybe this was your way of punishing yourself for running away even though he told you to. A way of fate telling you, "Look at him. Look at what you left behind and repent." Cruel, but you'd accept it. Another way of spinning it around was that seeing Arthur would push you to anger and your eventual revenge. But then you'd think of Arthur, and sink underwater again.
"He asked me to bury him. It's all I can give, Charles." Your voice, though small, is set on seeing this through. "You don't have to bother about a grieving soul like me. You already have enough to bear."
That makes Charles look up. Before he can speak, the shriek of an eagle turns both yours and his attentions to birds circling above a cliff looming over the Cumberland Forests. Your stomach drops, and Charles swallows tightly. That was around there where Arthur told John to run away.
You both climb off your horses and ascend the steep path upwards. Your throat squeezes as if choking the air out of you to stop you from going any further. Charles walks ahead, scanning the path for any signs of Arthur. He doesn't wait for you to catch up. The higher you two get, the louder your ears ring, your body begging you to turn around and never see what would haunt you for the rest of your life.
Then Charles stops dead in his tracks. And then he grabs onto the rocky wall as if trying to hold himself up and together. You step around him…
And instantly let out a cry.
You'd found him, what was left of him, facing where the sun set. A fitting place for his story to end.
Even after all the death you'd witnessed in this world, Arthur's still body was nothing if not anguish-inducing. You ignored the scent of death and threw yourself over his body and wailed. You let out all the tears, pleas, and apologies you'd held back since the day you left him. You mourned him as you expected, but lord above, did you wish it was you dead instead of him. You looked up, hearing soft, trembling breaths and saw Charles kneeling before Arthur by your side. One hand rested on Arthur's dirt-ridden blonde hair while the other was clenched tightly on his thigh to the point his fist shook with suppressed sorrow.
He was shattering too.
You reached out, whimpering from the grief clawing at your chest, and put your hand over his fist. He froze, not looking at you. You squeezed his hand silently, telling him to please mourn with you and that he had a right to fall apart at the sight of a loved one lost.
We'll shatter together, Charles. And then we'll slowly piece it all back bit by bit.
Charles lowered his head and cursed softly as his shoulders shook with tears. The sight of a man usually so stoic and quiet breaking down broke your heart, but you knew he needed to mourn. And you did too.
The two of you cried together over Arthur as the sun sank under treeline, shrouding the west in a quiet darkness. Once the grief settled for now, you'd take him further west with Charles. The two of you would find a spot beautiful enough to bury him in so that his true resting place was not a cold and desolate cliffside. The spot would be just his and no one would ever disturb it. Maybe you'd return to Ambarino again and have a shrine built with flowers to garland it. Arthur had a particular flower he appreciated, and you'd remember it and bring it to the shrine, or even to his burial spot, once you could think again.
There was so much you'd do after. But for now, you'd hold onto the man you loved one last time.
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A/N: Sorry >< I made myself sad writing this, and now I'm going to go cry in my bed. I'm not sure I tagged everything right, so if I didn't, please let me know.
Summary: At a saloon in Saint Dennis, Lenny finds solace in a dear friend
Words: 1.5k
Tags: Platonic pairing, Fluff, A bit of comfort, Micah getting roasted a little, Bill too, Basically a Lenny appreciation post
A/N: Finally, did the Lenny request! This was fun to write! But I hope I did the dear man justice. To the anon who requested it, I'm sorry I accidentally deleted the other ask you sent in, but I hope you enjoy it if you see it.
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"You are a fool. But you're still alive, so don't worry too much about it."
Lenny couldn't stop thinking about Arthur's words to him before they split to hide from the law enforcement officers. He had been so confident about robbing that stagecoach to the point he was sure he'd go alone and come back with a large stack of cash. But Arthur's insistence to join made him (begrudgingly) bring him along. Maybe there was a chance to impress the veteran thief Lenny had considered. But it all went wrong. The stagecoach wasn't unguarded, and the two of them had to engage the trailing officers in a shootout. They won, but the money left in there was barely the amount he had been promised. His contact had played him for a fool, and Arthur had been there to see it all.
As he rode onwards, embarrassment churning in his gut, he reached the bustling city of Saint Dennis. A melting pot of culture in the wasteland that was the wild west, they said. But that evening, the young outlaw couldn't care a damn about the sights and sounds of the city. He was frustrated with himself, and he needed to cool off.
Up ahead, he spotted a saloon and stopped his horse. A drink would do him some good, and he'd finally get to clear his head before going back to camp. The thought of returning to Shady Bell sank his stomach further. He'd need the stiffest drink tonight.
When he pushed open the doors to the saloon, a few eyes turned to him, observing. That was when a familiar voice called out to him.
"Oh, hey, Lenny!"
He looked over and saw a face he didn't expect to see that night. It was you, his fellow gang member, who was sitting at the bar, waving him over.
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he approached you and took a seat. "Evenin'. I didn't expect to be bumping into any familiar faces here," he said. "What brings you all the way to Saint Dennis?"
"Well, I took up a bounty put up at the police station. A gentleman named Timothy Bates, lovingly known as Two-Timing Tim." You mused, taking a swig of your beer. Lenny snorted at the nickname. "What'd he get in trouble for?"
"Well, as his name suggests, he ran a honey-trap scam. He lures women into a whirlwind romance, promises them the world and then leaves them dry while his pockets are stuffed with loot. He ensnared seven women over four years. Poor things." You clicked your tongue with the shake of your head.
Lenny blinked in wonder. "How'd a fella like him pull it off?" You shrugged in answer. "Charm, I suppose. But all that led him right into a nice little cell with all seven women he swindled, cracking their knuckles and me with a nice fat stack." That earned a chuckle from the man. "Well, at least you got paid good." He said, deflated, as he signalled the bartender for a strong whiskey, which he gulped down.
"Whoa there, partner." You looked a little concerned. "What happened?"
Lenny traced the rim of his glass, debating whether to say something or brush it off. But you were a perceptive one, and he knew you'd want to help. But then again, you were one of the nicer members of the Van Der Linde gang with whom he got along quite well. And that night he certainly needed a friend.
"It's nothin. Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing a good enough job, y'know? Even after all this time, everyone thinks I'm a kid who knows nothin." His shoulders sagged with each word.
You were silent, nodding in understanding. "Go on," you said gently.
"Well, I made an ass of myself with a stagecoach robbery because I got too cocky and Arthur saw it all. I was a fool about the whole thing. And then there's the rest of the gang constantly after me, which is a whole other point of trouble." He ranted, gripping his glass.
You raised your hand and signalled to the bartender for another round.
"Who in particular's been giving you a hard time?" You asked, hating to see your friend so troubled.
"The usual suspects." He grumbled. "Bill and that…ugh Micah."
You wrinkled your nose at the mention of a certain blonde bum. "Oh, of course. The day that man has a kind word to say to anyone, the society'll collapse." That earned a scoff from Lenny. "What does Dutch see in him? He's so….so…"
"Horrid? Boorish? Corny? Slimy? Stupid? Take your pick." You said.
"Annoying." Lenny chuckled. "But corny sounds accurate too."
You let out a snort. "You don't gotta listen to him. He only talks out of his ass to seem tough. Just last week he tried to bother Charles. The man flung Micah like a sack of wheat onto the ground." That earned a low whistle from Lenny. "Oh, I wish I'd seen that. That'd kept me laughing until the next day."
"I had to run to the other side of camp before I could let it out." You admitted.
"Yeah, but that won't stop him from running his mouth like a freight train. And he's a guy who seems to be full of pure spite." Lenny pointed out. You nodded in agreement.
"Now look. Unfortunately, we have a skunk named Micah in our midst, and we can't do anything about it because it's Dutch who vouches for him, even though he stinks up the place. But don't let him get to you, Lenny."
"I try. But sometimes I just wanna..." He let out a frustrated breath.
"Punch his face in?" You finished his thought.
"More than anything. Him and Bill both. Especially after that day when I offered my insights on the bank heist, Micah told me to shut up because I was amongst 'veteran' thieves. And Bill had the audacity to snicker like some kid." That made you grip your glass in anger at the two men.
"It's like I constantly have to prove myself. Either that or I have to be hand-held. Already Arthur did it to me today when he made me bring him along." He said.
"Hah, knowing Arthur, he probably was bored out of his mind and saw an opportunity to hang out with you. And he definitely wanted a bit of the cut too, the greedy bastard." You said. "He's really fond of you after all." Lenny scoffed at that. "He probably thinks I'm some naive kid who can't rob a damn stagecoach without supervision."
"You? Naive? Mr Summers, you don't know the half of what we all think of you." You swivled the barstool to face him. "You're probably the most reliable and capable fella in the gang. You're smart both because of the books you read and the ideas you bring to the table. You've done more for the gang than anything Bill or Micah could pull out of their asses. In a way, that's why Arthur wanted to come with you. He knows you've got talent and skill. Now sure, he ain't great at any sort of sentimentality, but take my word for it- hell, take Hosea's word for it because he proudly considers you a valuable member. He told me so."
That made Lenny's eyes light up in surprise and appreciation. "Someone would beg to differ," he joked.
"Well, that oil slick can go choke on a cactus for all I care." You huffed. "I'm about this close to decking him in the face with a pan."
"That might fix that mug of his into something less sordid. And while you're at that, maybe Bill could use one too," Lenny said, picturing the scene with a cheeky grin. "Oh sure. I'd make sweet music with each whack to their faces."
"And I'll dance to that tune," Lenny added and laughed with you.
"Lenny." You put your hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "I'm glad you're here. And I've always got your back, alright?" He nodded, a big boyish grin on his face. "Thanks. I needed that." He said.
"Now come on, couple more drinks, and we head back. Don't want a repeat of whatever the hell happened with you and Arthur in Valentine" You reminded him as the bartender poured you another round.
"Oh no. Never again." He whined, shaking his head.
"I ain't going around town screamin' as he did. How was it again? Oh!" You opened your mouth to mimic Arthur when Lenny waved his hands frantically, shushing you. "None of that!" He gasped, frowning in embarrassment. "I still hear him screaming in my dreams." He shuddered as you chuckled.
"Alright, I'll quit teasin you about that." You raised your glass with him, and the two of you toasted to a peaceful evening between outlaw friends.
And as Lenny rode by your side that night, he sat straighter on his saddle and grinned the whole ride home.
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