⤜ 24, she/her virgo, infj
⤜ spotify, goodreads, ao3
⤜ buy me a coffee
⤜ archive blog @margofiore (all my works together in one place)
⤜ red dead redemption masterlist
⤜ bridgerton masterlist
⤜ starfield masterlist
⤜ marvel masterlist (coming soon)
⤜ moodboard masterlist
⤜ rules for requesting
⤜ fandoms i write for
⥽ LATEST ⥼
⤜ Bite Me (vampire!Arthur Morgan x human!reader)
⤜ Te Beroya (Star Wars x RDR2 crossover)
⤜ A Job Well Done (Arthur Morgan x reader)
⤜ Fate: A Word Meaning Destiny (Arthur Morgan x reader)
⤜ The Meaning of the Scar (Arthur Morgan)
⤜ Romeo and Juliet II (Arthur Morgan x reader)
a new cut for a new scam... and he quite likes this shade of tie
or: rockstar i am outside with a tablet and a stylus if you don't give him his self-esteem back i swear rockstar wait don't hang up (study of "fit to be tied" by david tanner)
Just wanted to let you know that I made an author instagram! With my second short story coming out, I figured it would be great to have a place to keep up with me! You guys were one of the very first chapters of my writing career, and it would be so cool if any of you came along with me on this crazy ride❤️
*i wrote this with this song in mind, so please feel free to listen for extra vibes!*
pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader
word count: 2791
warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE END OF RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2, angst, death, smoking, suggested post-sex scene
a/n: y'all i am GONE. it killed me. the end of red dead killed me and all i've done since is cry and write this damn angst. i'm sorry, but i'm also not. hope you enjoy!! also, thank you for all the love on my latest piece! im so glad youre as into this silly cowboy man as much as i am rn.
It was so quiet. You were used to the quiet lately, going it alone, but not here. Not Shady Belle, which was always full of laughter and fire and swearing and gunshots. The leaves rustled and your broken heart beat every so often but other than that, there was nothing. No laughter, no fire, nothing. You’d hitched your horse about a mile away, careful to keep her hidden well, so you were well and truly alone here.
You looked up at the house, still somehow standing tall amongst the ghosts and smoke and tried your best to take a deep breath. It was about 30 paces away from you, past the campfire, your old tent and the fountain. A twig snapped under your boot as you took the first step, fingernails digging little moons into the palm of your hand. You could do this. Just past the campfire and you’d be halfway there.
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“What’re you always lookin’ at when I do this, huh?” Arthur asked, meeting your eye and wearing that amused smirk that suited him so well, sending your heart fluttering each and every time.
That awful feeling people only get when they realise the other knows you’ve been watching them churned your stomach for a second. Honestly, you hadn’t even realised you were staring.
“Nothin’. I just… my daddy used to smoke those things. He always tried to teach me to roll them for him and I never could. You seem so good at it.”
Sat around the fire with some of the camp, Arthur had been rolling some tobacco into a cigarette. You always found yourself watching him, finding the way his fingers expertly knew what they were doing somewhat hypnotising. And then there was that moment his tongue darted out from his teeth to lick the paper, which was… a sight to behold, to say the least.
“I’ve got years of experience… I can teach ya sometime, if you’d like.”
The opportunity to spend more time with Arthur dangled in front of you, shining like a medal. You reached out and grabbed it, nodding at him eagerly, “I’ll warn ya, my daddy tried real hard. I’m a difficult student.”
Arthur’s head tilted, a cocky grin dominating his features beautifully before he pulled the masterfully rolled cigarette to his lips and licked down the length of the paper. You tried to remain composed while the air was stolen by an outlaw straight from your lungs.
“I guess I’ll just have t’work you real hard then, won’t I?”
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The camp always smelled like smoke, so the fresh air felt wrong as you stepped past the plot that was formerly the fire you’d spent so many nights beside. The logs and stumps repurposed into chairs still sat around the burnt blackened circle, waiting for people who would never again be together.
You kept walking, jaw clenched so hard your teeth ached. Your old tent caught your eye, at least what was left of it, singed and ripped canvas still hanging pathetically, tangled in a branch. In and amongst the ruins of your former home, your eye is caught by a piece of metal catching the dappled sunlight above. Kneeling down briefly, you pushed damp soil and leaves out of the way to reveal a metal cup trodden into the ground. For a silly little cup, it hurt far too much.
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“God damn it!” You swore, watching the tobacco scatter across your legs. Arthur chuckled, low and throaty, leaning against the tree your tent was hung around and taking a long, leisurely sip of coffee out of his cup. Gathering the tiny leaves back together on your skirts, you scowled at Arthur before starting to load the paper back up again.
“You gotta loosen up. Your fingers are too stiff.” He advised, watching his student intently. Easier said than done, really, hunched over a lantern in a tent, but you didn’t want to sound like you were making excuses.
“Right, yeah... Got it.” You mumbled, your tongue poking out between your teeth, a sure sign of absolute concentration. It was all in vain, though, as the paper crumpled at a funny angle and sent tobacco flying once more onto your person.
“Shit!” You hissed, flexing out your hands in a futile attempt to
“Alright, easy now…” he cooed, earning another glare when you realised you recognised the phrase and tone of voice from when a snake spooked Arthur’s horse.
“I give up. This is hopeless.” You tried to reach up to hand him the paper to roll his own damn cigarette and he stepped forwards towards you. Expecting him to take it, you were surprised when he instead handed you his mug and sat down right up next to you. You hadn’t been this close since he first rode you into camp and you felt so small flushed against his broad shoulders like this.
“Hold that, warm your hands up and I’ll show you again.” You obeyed your orders, doing just as Arthur said as he rubbed his own hands together, occasionally blowing into them. Without another word, he covered your hands, sandwiching them in between calloused palms and heated metal. The unexpected contact knocks you pretty hard, but you somehow manage to find the composure to mutter a thank you and hope you weren’t blushing too hard.
You looked up to Arthur, only to find he was already looking at you. When your eyes met properly, it felt as though someone had just lit a fire right beside you. The air felt… heavier? No, lighter. Both? You didn’t know and couldn’t quite seem to figure it out, feeling the fuzziness of 4 whiskies that you hadn’t actually drank.
All from the touch of a hand?
The moment was weighted now, and you both knew it. The quiet between you twisted and grew and almost became palpable, but you physically couldn’t talk, not knowing if any actual words would leave or lips or some incoherent murmurings.
“Here. Let me show you.” Arthur took his hands away and the lack of contact had you almost… pouting? You didn’t have time to examine why you were so disappointed, though, as Arthur sat behind you, his chest right up against your back. His legs pressed against the outside of you and you were worried that he was close enough to hear your heart, beating right out of your chest. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Y’have t’make sure you get it nice and tight, so the bottom doesn’t fall out…” His arms wrapped around yours and his hands cupped yours again. The contrast was stark, his tanned, hardened skin making your hands look even tinier. You couldn’t breathe, wedged between the smell of dried tobacco and coffee on one side and smoked tobacco and Arthur on the other. Your fingers so naturally followed what he was doing, and before you could even register it, you had a perfectly rolled cigarette in your hands.
“Oh shit! I did it!” You twisted slightly, only to see the excited grin on Arthur’s face as he watched you squeal proudly. He took the roll from you, placing it right between your teeth and pulling out a match. A questioning brow raised as he lit a match, suspending it in front of the cigarette until you nodded your permission and he lit it. You coughed. He laughed, chest still pressed firmly against your back.
“I’m real proud of you. Now y’gotta learn to smoke the damn things.”
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You left your first tent for the last time, vowing to never look back. Wet leaves clung to your boots, dragging across the floor past the crumbling fountain and some other tents being reclaimed by nature, muddy and covered in ivy. The final path up to the house was so familiar after so many hours watching it, waiting for your beloved to return from a job, wringing your hands with worry. The porch creaked as you stepped on it, the site of so many tear-filled reunions. The door was no longer on its hinges and fell with a bang at your touch, echoing out into the forest and sending the wildlife running.
You were home. For the last time.
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“I’ve got a surprise for you-uuu.” you sang out, hands held behind your back as Arthur stepped the threshold into the abandoned manor. He looked tired, but still managed a sleepy smile as you reached up to kiss him on the cheek. He caught the kiss, snaking a hand around your waist and pulling you closer for a more tender moment. You hadn’t seen each other in 3 days, Arthur off near Strawberry following a lead, so being back encased in his arms felt like home had come back to you.
Arthur raised an eyebrow, gentle smile tugging on his lip, “A surprise? For me? Y’shouldn’t have, darlin’.” The humbleness that appeared whenever you tried to do something nice for Arthur reared its adorable head and you shook your head, one hand still pinned to your back, clutching your gift.
“Close your eyes!”
“Alright, alright…” Arthur chuckled, holding his hands up in a mock surrender as he closed his eyes. You waved at him a few times, just to be sure, before pulling a single, wonky cigarette out from behind you and tapping Arhur on the chest.
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. Nonetheless, his face lit up with pride as he realised what exactly it was that he was looking at.
“You did it?”“I did it!”
“Yes!” He was so excited for you, more so than you’d ever seen him and your heart swelled. This big, scary cowboy, pulling you into a hug and spinning you around because you finally managed to roll something smokeable.
“I’m so proud of you.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and never told you that it fell apart before he had the chance to light the damn thing.
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The stairs groaned under your weight miserably, each step feeling more and more likely to collapse. It always was the loudest staircase you’d ever heard, impossibly difficult to sneak around on when trying not to let a whole camp know that you and Arthur were both going upstairs. Tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, but you knew if you started now you’d never make it upstairs. You couldn’t break, because there was nobody left to put you back together.
Every step required a more laboured breath, splinters half-heartedly brushing your fingertips as you traced them over the rotting bannister. You were alone, but the ghosts ran up and down around you, laughing and teasing and smiling and kissing and loving and taunting just how alone you really were.
A few more strides and you were there. His door was closed and for some reason that made it all that harder to breach the barrier and enter Arthur’s room. A shaky hand reached for the handle, twisting agonisingly slowly and pushing through.
Arthur always, always stole the breath from you, but it was always in the best way. Not like this, not how winded you felt seeing the empty, abandoned room. It was never exactly a palace, Arthur being the first to admit to that, but whenever you used to be there it had this… energy woven into the air. You realized, standing there in that moment, that it wasn’t the place at all. The place was… just that. A place, dying where it stood, rotting and filled with ghosts. The air was clean, but it couldn’t fill your lungs. You needed the fire, built by your soulmate, keeping you warm every night. You needed the cigarette smoke he breathed, tickling your lungs and coating his lip. But it was gone, stamped out and extinguished by God’s great plan. It hurt so much that you laughed, just once, harsh and loud, before your back fell into the wall of Arthur’s bedroom and you slid downwards, your legs finally giving in. Your lungs burned for the cry that just wouldn’t come as you pulled your languid legs towards your chest.
You hugged your legs close for a second, before the exhaustion reached your arms and they dropped to your sides. One hand hit the damp wooden floorboard, where the other hit something much colder, the ring on your finger clanging against it loudly. The sudden break of agonising silence shocked you for a second, instinct and past trauma screaming at you that you were in a shootout, but you managed to calm down quickly as soon as you figured out the cause of such a volume.
The floor fell out from under you. Not physically, though you wouldn’t have been surprised, but everything around you seemed to fall when you laid your eyes on the little metal box beside you, rust embellishing the corners and hinges.
Arthur’s tin.
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You felt the rise and fall of Arthur’s bare chest, your head resting on it as you tried to gain control of your own breath. The blood was still rushing in your ears as you came back down from the intense high what you’d just experienced with Arthur gave you. Limbs jelly, vision fuzzy, you pressed a lazy kiss to his skin. The fingers mindlessly running through your hair stopped, Arthur in a momentary contemplation that resulted in him reaching over and grabbing a cigarette from the table beside his bed.
“Pass the matches over will ya’, sweetheart? They’re in with my tobacco.”
You nodded, rolling over to your other side to reach over to your side of the bed, where Arthur’s stash tin sat. While Arthur waited, cigarette hanging limply from the side of his lip, you opened the tin and froze. There was the usual hit of the strong scent of tobacco, the little box of matches, and papers, but those were to be expected. What you didn’t expect to see was a charcoal sketch stuffed in there, staring back at you. It was a remarkable likeness, though you were sure you’d never looked as beautiful as how Arthur had drawn you, laughing in a way that lit up your whole face. The emotion was all too much, sitting in your throat and filling your eyes with wet tears.
“Y’alright? Are they in there?” A concerned voice asked, forcing you to swallow the overwhelming happiness for a moment or two, nodding, handing Arthur the matches and closing the tin. You nuzzled back into his chest, swirling a finger around the little hairs that trailed down his abs.
“I love you, you know that?”“I know. I love you too.”
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The tin was so cold in your hands, that cold that you could feel it through your shirt as you held it close to your chest, so hard it was though you were willing more into existence than was there anymore, as if Arthur himself was in there. One last deep breath to find the courage and the tin popped open. The smell of tobacco hit your nostrils and infiltrated your lungs and it hurt. The scent was so undeniably Arthur that it felt so wrong that he wasn’t there with it. He was gone, you knew that, but there was some hope in you that you’d find him hiding in the smoke, just like he always was.
Clumps of leaves were a little damp in your fingers, attacked by the elements, but you managed to gather enough dry bits and pull out one of the papers. It was cold, but your hands didn’t seem to notice. You had to do this, there was nothing else left. No leads, no job, no Arthur. Just you, alone in an empty room in a lonely house.
Your nimble fingers worked slowly, savouring the ritual of sprinkling in the grind, rolling it up and sealing it, just as he taught you.
That’s it. You got it, sweetheart.
Take your time.
You pictured him, arms closing you in as he guided the paper over with you.
Just one step at a time.
Soon enough, there was a cigarette wedged between your fingers.
See? Look at you.
The first few matches were duds, ruined by the water, but eventually you got one lit. You remembered Arthur, cupping his hands over the match as he lit to protect the flame from the weather. You did the same, not trusting the hole where a window once stood proud.
The tip lit and you breathed in. You coughed. You cried.
The last cigarette of Arthur Morgan.
You got this, darlin’.
You inhaled smoke. You exhaled ghosts, swirling and wisping around you, caressing your cheek just like he did.
Gosh, it's been a while! I moved house, set a business up and life has kinda taken over, but I miss you guys! I have a super exciting update for you...
I'm officially published!!
I adapted one of my Arthur Morgan fics, Ghosts and Smoke, into a short story and it was selected for an anthology!! It feels surreal to have finally taken the next step towards my dream career and I couldn't not share it with you guys, my very first supporters!
You can actually buy Fractured & Found: An Anthology On Sanctuary on Amazon (UK version). My story is called A Family Heirloom!
I can't thank you all enough for your support over the years, if you hadn't read Ghosts and Smoke I wouldn't be here right now. Love you all the world, gang <3
#real #not to be salty but this is what ive been saying#like everyone out here really still acting like fanfic isnt really writing#like its subpar and like it cant be good and have amazing lines#even fanfic writers treat it like its LESS and like theyre PLAY writing and not actually writing#like friend buddy ican ASSURE YOU that fanfic is every bit as real and good as writing from books#the only difference between fic and actual books is that books go through several stages of processing and editing and filtering#and are worked on by professionals who studied the craft of editing#while fanfiction cuts that filtering and everyone gets a chance to be heard and to be read#and instead of editors we have peer editing and reviewing#dont be fucking tricked by the mass notion that anything that young girls and queer people are interested in is immediately bad and subpar#bc it is fucking not #i will FIGHT for it #fanfiction (tags by @crossroadswrite bacause they add so much to this post)
I saw this video on the ⏰ app about using this website to generate fic covers that look like the penguin classic covers. (Please check it out! It is very easy to use and very fun to make covers with - I would absolutely recommend it!)
But I also love customization, so I put together free templates in Canva, giving you the ability to change font colors, styles, etc. Wanted to share it in case anyone wanted to try it - it was fun to imagine my fics having fancy book covers!
Templates & info below:
template one
template two
When opening the templates, there’s options to change the author, fic title (& subtitle on #1), design colors, and the photo. If you choose a photo first, then when you’re changing the details, it will offer you color options picked from the photo (which is so helpful!) And if you have any questions, please let me know! 💕
References:
Original Video || Original Template Link
((Reiterating that this is not my design idea. All trademarks, trade names, or logos mentioned or used are the property of their respective owners. This is just for fun and aesthetics - please do not use for any sort of profit!))
