Hii! I'm El and I fear RDR2 has taken over my every waking thought, so I figured I'd try my hand in writing again. It is listed in the masterlist below.
I'm 25 and I kindly ask minors to not interact.
Asks and DMs are open - I love yapping (abt. Red Dead mostly)
Masterlist
Arthur Morgan
Series
Roses Are Fallin' - Blood Is Drippin': Arthur Morgan x OC Ethel Wright
Summary: Arthur and Ethel have found something in each other just before things went downhill in Blackwater. While Arthur is spiraling in violence he seeks comfort in her while she thinks to have found equal company in a world where she rarely gets to be that. But whatever is beginning to bloom there may well soon be overshadowed and become a race against time and mortality
Part I: A Dangerous Line
Part II: Toeing The Line
Part III: Crossing The Line
Modern Farmer!Arthur Morgan AU
Farm Life: Short slices of life of Modern Farmer!Arthur, his partner and anything else that is part of farm life.
I. Surprise
II. Chicken-Hearted
Country Love Song (Series): Modern AU Farmer!Arthur x fem!Reader
Summary: Starting a new chapter of life is always exiting but usually not without challenges. For you, this includes drama over the future of the family farm and an old crush resurfacing as you try to settle into your new life. Meanwhile there is Arthur, stuck in the same old routine taking care of his farm - a lonely profession, he'd always say, one that not many had patience for. He's nursing years old heartbreak when you come into his life, full of hopes and dreams and idealisms. A fresh wind in his stuck in the mud day to day.
summary: your chronic pain is back and Charles waits for you to stop denying it so he can be here and support you.
pairing: charles smith x f!reader.
rating: general.
word count: 1.5 k or so.
warnings: it’s fluff. A little angsty maybe. Modern au. Reader has some sort of chronic muscle/joint disease. Don’t ask me what it is exactly cause guess what? I don’t know. They’re married. Reader has hair long enough to braid. Kissing. Mentions of nudity. That’s about it. Title by Paramore, of course.
a/n: English isn’t my first language. Dividers by @/aquazero I wrote this at 4 am because I can’t sleep because of the pain lol. So no proofread. It’s a very personal piece, but hey self indulgent mini fic is what fanfic writing is about after all. I hope you like it if you read it. If it doesn’t sound relatable it’s okay too. At least it felt good writing it. And now I am going back to sleep. See ya ✨💓
"You aren’t tying your hair up ?"
An innocent but loaded question. Charles observes you from accross the room, like a man who already knows the answers but wait for your dance of lies to start veiling up the truth.
How can he not know ?
He had noticed the slight changes all week long. The headaches, the fatigue. You became incapable of staying seated on the couch and watch the tv past 9 pm. You take 5 breaks an afternoon to lie down in your bed.
But what struck him is the way your hands started to stop functioning. You can’t open a bottle of water, you can’t do the dishes anymore. You dropped a plate earlier tonight and you never do. Charles said nothing seated at the table, pausing with his fork still in the air and watching you silently curse yourself. No veggie, no meat. Because you can’t even cut it. You wince each time you stand up or walk down a step. It’s easy to miss for those who don’t pay attention. But Charles is your husband. He pays attention. He notices. He knows.
You became slower. Twice the amount of time to get ready in the morning. You lost your balance and bruised your hipbone against the counter trying to put on your socks without having to sit down.
He saw you crying as you washed your hair on Wednesday like you usually do. You said the shampoo bottle fell on your feet when he asked about it. Another white lie. He keeps tabs on them a lot lately.
You put on your bra the reversed way this morning. Charles frowned and asked about it too, toothbrush in his mouth, knowing fair well that he had never seen you coming out of the bathroom with your breasts uncovered before. And he have been living here with you since you got married 8 months ago. You do things a certain way, not one prone to changes.
But everything changed this week and he noticed.
The tears staining your cheeks after an abrupt move. The frustrated sighs escaping your mouth as soon as you reach your new limits, the useless pills you swallow day and night. The emergency ones in your bedside table you still haven’t tried…
"You haven’t tied your hair up?" Charles asks again, eyes never leaving your frame as you feign to put your hair behind your shoulder.
But you twist your wrist the wrong way and the pain shooting through your elbow forces you to wince. It’s sharp. It takes more than a minute to stop.
Charles waits patiently, walking closer to your side of the bed.
He had never seen you sleep with your hair untied before. Especially when the temperatures are so high outside. It would prevent you from sleeping. The strand of hair tickling your cheeks as you lay on your pillow. He knows you hate that because you told him when you asked him that exact same question yourself the first time you shared your bed with him.
"What?" You ask back, eyes rising on him in confusion.
He stares at you now, intimidating, standing up before you, arms crossed on his chest. A silent dare, heart breaking a little at the fact that you aren’t sharing your struggles with him… how can his own wife not trust him enough to let him in on this hard truth?
"Lost my hair tie" you say after a while, offering him the least convincing smile he ever saw on your face.
"I got one right here" he is quick to roll the elastic band down his wrist and hold it out. He doesn’t want to rub you up the wrong way… but he sees the irritation in your eyes as you reach for the tie.
He can’t believe you are going to try to sit through the pain right under his scrutiny instead of asking for his help.
You don’t roll the hair tie all the way down to your wrist like you usually would. You managed to raise one elbow behind your head but your fingers struggle to wrap around the hair you gathered in a lose bun. Too lose to be really helpful anyway.
Charles sighs as he waits for you to admit your defeat.
You drop your arm slowly back on your knees. It’s not natural either the way you are holding your limbs up. Your shoulder are tensed and hunched forward, you rest your hands palms up towards the ceiling, but your elbows are arched weirdly. You can’t bend them. You can’t completely extend them either.
Charles grabs the hair tie from your motionless hands and sits right behind you. He gathers your hair delicately in his hands, let the pad of his fingers brush the sides of your neck, like he usually does when he plays with your hair before you fall asleep.
"I can’t" you finally say. There it is.
The silence stretches between you two. Charles is quick to finish his handiwork. Your braided hair is gathered in a bun. His hand rests on your shoulders. He holds you there, the warm feeling of his skin against yours, of his chest against your back.
"I know. I’ve noticed. How bad is it right now ?" Charles finally says, standing back up to face you. He just wants to make sure you aren’t lying again.
"Bad enough that the pills aren’t working. I don’t know what I am going to do Charles. I am just so tired" You confess, the last restraint slowly breaking down. Silent tears slide down your face.
Charles kneels down before you, and cups your cheeks in his hands.
"You gotta let me help you. You can’t hide this from me"
You nod, a sob escaping your lips.
"I just.. I don’t want this to start again. It’s going to take months to calm down… I am too exhausted for this pain to start again"
"I know. But I am here. I can try to make it less exhausting, I can handle things for you, I can help. Let me carry you through this for once" His eyes are pleading for yours to see that you don’t have to go through this alone. Not anymore.
He wishes he could find the reason why, why it’s happening again, why nothing is working to make it stop, something real this time. Not the "you are too fat, too anxious, you don’t exercise enough" reasons doctors always give you. "It’s not serious enough or why are you staying in such pain? We don’t know but it could be this or that. It can disappear forever or turn into something worse" He wishes he could pull you out of this medical limbo, once and for all.
In the meantime he will stay by your side, and hold you when you can’t stand by yourself. With his strength, with his patience, with his love.
"Okay" you simply mutter, your hand raising weakly to cup his face. You can’t really mold your fingers against his cheek like you usually do. But the faint touch of your skin on the scar carved on his face makes his heart skip a beat.
"No more hiding and no more lies" Charles states, leaning closer until his forehead touches yours.
"I promise" You whisper against his lips.
Charles kisses you slowly, careful not to put too much of his weight on you.
"I am sorry I am not a physician" He says with the most serious expression as he parts from you.
"I wouldn’t have married you if you were one, they are incompetent"You laugh, slowly laying on your side.
"I would have been the only exception" He replies, switching off the light before joining you in bed.
"Physician or not I am very lucky to have you by my side" You look at him with a soft smile and Charles leans down for a kiss.
He sits up in the dark and lets his hand caress your hair, your forehead, your naked shoulder. He probably won’t fall asleep so early but he can stay here with you.
"You okay?" He asks when he hears you humming, afraid that he might have inflicted you pain.
"Yeah… I am just going to pass out soon if you keep doing this"
"Good. You need to rest."
You close your eyes as his fingers resume their dance on your skin, and enjoy the feeling of the pain dying down for a fleeting moment.
summary: with the storm came Charles ’unfiltrered rage, and the aftermaths leave you both more distant than ever.
pairing: Charles Smith x f!reader
rating: mature.
word count: 4.8k
warnings: violence and blood. Allusion to attempted sexual assault and rape (not attempted by Charles !!!). Injuries. Mentions of shame and guilt. Nothing else to warn you about. English isn’t my first language so apologies for any mistakes. Title from the song Pistol by Cigarette After Sex (so not the same vibe but it makes sense to me lol). Charles’ pic from the very talented @colterblues who always takes insane photographs. Thank you so much for letting me use it 🤩💕. Dividers by @/dividers-are-us.
a/n: Yes it's me again, clearing my wip list a little. It's always when I am the busiest that I can't stop writing. I just wanted to try something a different for our Charles, something where we can see more of his violent side, and I wanted it angsty because it made more sense. I love a good fairy tale kinda love story, but it was very interesting to write this kind of ending for once. I hope you will enjoy the angst. Thank you to my baby @thedilfdiaries for reading my draft and for helping me decide on the moodboard, I love you so much 💙❤️✨. Thank you to @mezzaninebeetle55 for your support and for reassuring me about my Charles’ characterization, I hope it will break you lol, love you honey🫶🏼🫂
The evening sun rays pierce through the broken window, projecting Charles’ threatening shadow onto the wooden floor, within reach of your limp body lying on the kitchen’s floor. The sounds of his ragged breaths slowly stir you out of your lethargy, a sharp whimper escaping your mouth as you try to sit up.
Charles doesn’t turn around immediately, hesitating to face you, realizing only now that the copper smell of blood permeates the air of the small house and that the dark red river flowing at his feet would probably have you running away.
The images that courses through your mind should be coming straight from a nightmare. But as you grow more aware of your surroundings, you realize that it wasn’t a mirage: pistol firing, a man crawling away, brain scattered all around the place… It was real.
The little cabin sounded like the perfect idea, a couple hours ago. You and Charles had been riding for more than 2 hours, noticing the clouds growing bigger and darker in the afternoon sky. The dry path trodden by your horses’ hooves started being tainted by dark polka dots, and Charles made the call to take a path cutting through the woods. He knew a place, he explained, somewhere uninhabited in ages, where he usually stops to rest when he goes into town. You followed, holding onto your hat for dear life as the wind started to blow harder. Charles was quiet, unshakeable, leading Taima to the hitching post at the back of the house, and silently urging you to hop off your horse.
“Stay here” He muttered, picking his gun from his belt, and sliding a couple of bullets inside. He disappeared behind the house and you stood there, alone, nervously biting your lips as you noticed the first lighting striking right above the hills. The afternoon sky was split in half, and you were standing right in the middle. You prayed for this house to be the promising shelter it looked like from the outside, with the moss covering the stones and the rodents looking at you from the ajar door. At least there was no tree lying on the roof, and it seemed watertight. Another lightning struck the sky, making both of the horses neighing. You step closer to them, trying to calm them down. Taima’s agitation stopped as soon as she spotted Charles in the door frame.
“It’s clear. You can get in.” He said, stepping down. Charles had been thorough with his inspection, careful, like he always does. He checked the whole house silently, every window, every door, from the upper floor area to the hidden cellar. Any places someone could be hidden in, he checked. He wasn’t going to risk your safety.
You smiled as you passed next to him, immediately welcomed by the foul smell of humidity when you crossed the threshold. You coughed looking back at Charles who stood right behind you.
“Ain’t exactly pleasing, but I am sure after we light a fire it will be better” He said, watching as you traced the edge of the mantle with your finger. You blew on the grey dust and frowned.
“There’s nothing sweeter than the scent of rotten wood anyway” You joked, slowly acclimatizing to the room you’ll probably spend the evening in.
Charles chuckled low at the irony. You pulled out a broken chair from a corner, and sat.
“I better go get some wood before it gets worse out there. I won’t be long” He said, waiting for you to look away from the dirty dishes staining what probably used to be a sink many years ago.
“I’ll be okay. Go.” You agreed, a comforting warmth spreading inside of you as you noticed the concerned way he looked at you. Charles nodded and waited for a beat, before the heavy wooden door started closing carefully behind him.
Charles let out a heavy sigh once outside. He isn’t really fond of extending his trips unexpectedly, but this time it seemed necessary. The cold wind surprised him as he walked to Taima to grab his machete. He gave her a quick pat on the head, very grateful you rode back earlier to stop there. He doesn’t like brutal weather changes, especially for Taima, he knows it gets her very agitated sometimes, especially after a long trip. The rest was good for everyone.
The rain started falling hard not even 10 minutes after Charles got deeper into the forest. He had the time to get as many logs as he could, making sure they wouldn’t get soaked in the process. He thought about tracking a rabbit or two, but the escalation of the electric activity got him suddenly worried. Charles retraced his steps, hair and vest dripping from the rain.
He hadn’t even reached the house when he saw it. Your horse was gone. Taima was unhitched and slowly running towards him.
His eyes could never deceive him. His tracking and observation skills have always been unmatched. He had never failed. Never. Not since he was a young child, still learning how to survive in a hostile environment. He had never put anyone in danger either. But today he did. A sense of dread took possession of his body when he realized you were probably in danger. Charles took Taima’s reins and hitched her back to her spot. The loud thunder covered her weak neighs. He didn’t have the time to calm her down. This would have to wait.
He dropped the logs near the doorstep, and decided he needed to thread very carefully. He had no idea how many men were inside, if they were carrying heavy weapons with them… He pulled the machete from behind his back, and approached the side of the house. The sound of plates falling to the ground, followed by a man yelling startled him.
Charles stood there for a minute, trying to peek inside without being seen, and realized he couldn’t see you. He couldn’t hear you either. He crouched to move onto the next window, and saw two men were standing there, each carrying a pistol at their gun belt, but you were still nowhere to be seen. His heart started beating faster when he imagined you being unable to defend yourself, overpowered by the two brutes, your face frozen in fear while they beat you up, or worse. Bile started rising in his throat. He couldn’t let emotions get a hold on him. He needed clarity to try to save you.
Charles had a couple of seconds to figure out how to deal with this. Using his gun now would be too dangerous, especially since he couldn’t see you. One of the men could still be hurting you, what if his sudden appearance was what led him to shoot the final blow? If you were still alive, he couldn’t let that happen. So Charles decided on using the machete. With a neat throw, he could easily hit his first target. That should be enough to put the man down while he would be neutralizing the other one. Charles had to use the surprise at his advantage.
He got closer to the door, and kicked it open violently. The first man turned around abruptly, a curse forming in his throat. But Charles threw the machete his way. The weapon flew through the room, and hit him in the guts. The force of the blow and the shock made him step back, his hands covering the bloody cut smearing his shirt. The grave clinking sound of the metal falling on the floor accompanied Charles footsteps as he walked further in the room. The second man, the one hoovering above you, turned around and clumsily looked for his gun.
Charles was already aiming at him.
“Don’t even think about it” He warned, slowly bringing the trigger to the wall, ready to shoot him. The man raised both his hands above his head as he faced him, mumbling something about finding an arrangement.
“You won’t come out of this alive, and you better get away from her” Charles urged, nodding to the side, silently instructing him to move next to the window.
A whine coming from behind forced Charles to look away for a moment. The injured robber was crouched in the corner near the mantle, blood fusing from his stomach.
“You ain’t got the guts you bastard” He shouted at Charles, furiously.
“Oh yeah?” Charles questioned back, smirking. He waited for a single beat, and blindly shot the other man standing near the window, right in the face, rejoicing in the terror flashing in his last opponent’s eyes. The dull thud of the corpse tumbling forward echoed through the room.
“Sir… please.. I got a family” The injured man started pleading as he watched Charles glancing at the dead man coldly.
“Yeah? And why would I care about that?” Charles stated as he put his gun back in his holster.
The man took the opportunity of Charles being distracted to pat his own pockets in search for his hidden knife, and threw it his way. Charles didn’t even budge when the blade hit his thigh. He moved fast, crouching in front of the robber’s body and kicking his gun out of reach. The man looked pale, the wound still bleeding heavily. Charles peered down at him, his face emotionless. The other man kept begging for mercy, whimpering and struggling to breathe.
But mercy comes from the grace of God and good people, mercy is something estranged to men like Charles, men that had been granted by evilness since they learnt how to walk. He only knew how to hurt and punish, how to take lives and watch people expel their last breaths.
Charles pulled the knife out of his thigh, and threw it on the floor. The other man looked at the ridiculous injury, shaking his head in disbelief as he realized the fate awaiting for him.
Mercy had never been in the cards for Charles. He’ll make sure it won’t be in the cards for men like him either.
The silhouette of your limp body laid in front of the sink, finally caught Charles ‘eyes. He had been too afraid to even take a look at you. And his fear was understandable. Your pale blue dress was stained with blood, the upper part completely torn. Your face looked bruised, and Charles ‘breath caught in his chest. He clenched his fist, and stood up, slowly walking to you, cursing himself as he realized that he came in too late. You weren’t moving, he couldn’t notice the rise and fall of your ribcage through the fabric of your clothes. He should have never left.
The sudden sound of something moving on the wooden floor forced him to whip his head around. He knew the other man couldn’t be standing behind him, he wasn’t a threat anymore. And he was right. The weakened body of the coward who dared to assault you was looking for an escape. He was crawling away, smearing his blood everywhere as he drew himself a path towards the door.
Charles grabbed his leg carelessly, pulling him back to him. The other guy started to cry as he was forced to face the outlaw again.
“What did you do to her?” Charles uttered with a growl.
“Please… Please… You can take all my money.. Just …” The robber said in between sobs.
Charles punched him square in the jaw, not even wincing as his fist collided with the other man’s face, the flesh deforming instantly with the force of the blow.
“Nothing… nothing” He answered, blood running out of his nose.
“Lie to me again and I’ll make sure you’ll die slowly” Charles’ hand gripped the man’s collar and he shook him.
“I don’t wanna die” He replied, eyes wide.
“Then talk.” Charles said, unclenching his grip.
“We didn’t have the time to do anything… It’s… it’s him” He pointed out to the corpse a few feet away from him. “He just knocked her out, said it would be easier to get what he wanted from her this way… I swear I didn’t do anything to her”
Charles dropped him violently. His ears were ringing. He glanced at you one last time. Your rigid face. The smile he used to see adorning your lips is probably gone, forever.
The sound of the bullet falling in the chamber was the last thing the wounded man heard before his head exploded. Charles wiped the blood splashes off his face with his sleeve and stood up, panting.
“Charles” You whispered, weak and supplicating. Each breath you took hurt your soul. You quickly gave up on the idea of standing up when you felt the whole room turning upside down just from raising your head from the floor. Charles' eyes found yours and you saw his lips moving, as he whispered your name, before the lights turned dark and his silhouette disappeared right in front of you.
The night fell quietly a couple hours ago, but you can’t bring yourself to go to sleep. You barely closed an eye the last few days. You’re sitting by the fire, playing with the fringes of your shawl, listening to the whispers of the flames. The shadow hides most of your wounds and bruises, but you can still feel the pain. Your heart took a blow too, and the man currently standing at the edge of camp seems even further away now.
You glance down at your hands, and brush the dirt off your bandage.
You remember the feeling of Charles' strong hands washing up the dried blood from your face, your arms, your neck.
The stinging sensation followed as he faintly pressed a cloth soaked in rhum against your busted lip, the multiple cuts on your arms, the gash on your forehead.
He avenged you, and brought you back to life.
The storm was raging outside. You fell in and out of consciousness a couple of times, noticing Charles’ shadow seated right by your side. You winced as you sat up, and searched for his eyes in the darkness of the small house. But he never looked at you. You grabbed the tin mug with fresh water he set next to you earlier without a word and gulped it down.
Charles stood up as soon as you were awake and walked away. He took off his jacket and held it in front of the fire he started while you were unconscious. You frowned, surprised by his reaction. You wondered why he wasn’t looking at you, and why this sudden need to wear dry clothes. Charles wasn’t the type to be bothered by this. You’ve seen him ride through the rivers, pants completely soaked, or stand guard for hours underneath the rain, his shirt almost becoming see through. You laid back against the cupboards and the sudden coldness hitting your skin made you freeze instantly. You looked down at your chest, sobs rising in your throat as you finally noticed the state you were in. Your shirt was completely torn, and the top of your dress offered little more coverage. You wondered how the skirt was still hanging on, but somehow it did. You noticed a tiny pin holding most of the fabric together, but the skin of your breasts was showing. This makeshift shirt wouldn’t survive a ride back to camp.
“We can’t stay here” Charles finally stated. You could see his head turning your way slightly. But his eyes stayed focusing on the floor. You shifted, trying to stand up, and he hesitated to run to help you.
“Are you..” Charles started, incapable of pretending not to be concerned. He started walking away from the fireplace.
“I am okay” You coughed, holding your hand in front of you defensively. Charles stopped. You didn’t want him close. Not now that you saw the state you were in. The pin didn’t even resist you standing up. You took leverage on the wooden cabinets as best as you could. Everything hurt, and your balance wasn’t exactly your strongest suit at the moment. You threw up in the old sink, the pain shooting in your ribs and the foul smell of dead bodies too intense for you to handle.
Charles was behind you in one quick motion, his hand resting clumsily above your naked shoulder. He didn’t know if he should touch you. He decided it was best not to. He poured you another mug of water and handed it to you. You thanked him, hiding yourself as best as you could with your arms crossed on your chest.
“Here… It ain’t as dry as I was hoping but…” Charles held out his jacket to you, and turned his head towards the fire while you tried to put it on your back. You whined as you slid your arms into each sleeve, the pain almost unbearable. You closed the buttons up to your neck, grateful for the great coverage the jacket offered. It was large enough to avoid adding pressure to your bruised flesh, and long enough to cover all the blood staining your dress.
Charles put out the fire and held your arm to support you as you walked outside. The rain must have stopped at some point. Stars were shining above you and the wind was blowing gently, like a peaceful summer breeze. It smelled like wet pine needles and burnt wood. If it wasn’t for the corpses silently starting to rot inside the house, the blood drying through the cracks of floor, and the sharp pain torturing your bruising flesh, you could have been thinking it was all just a bad dream.
Charles helped you up on Taima, and you felt no shame when you whined in agony as you settled on the horse. Charles wiped his hand across his face, the guilt starting to consume him slowly.
It’s the only thing he thought about the whole ride, as you wrapped your arms around his middle and held onto him. He tried to ride slower than usual, the hissing and moans of pain you let out each time Taima’s speed was too much for you were unbearable the first couple of times. He didn’t have the heart to endure this for 3 hours. He replayed the whole scene in his head again, and again, and realized the shock you must have been in when you woke up the first time and saw him standing there with the dizzying thrill of vengeance and the thirst for blood written all over his face. The fear in your voice when you called out his name the first time… How can you stand being so close to him right now? Charles wished he could ride faster so you wouldn’t have to be in his presence anymore.
It was dawn when the two of you finally returned to camp. The girls were already awake, worried that something happened to you. They rushed by your side as soon as Charles put you down and took you back to your tent. There were questions on the tip of every tongue that morning. But neither you or Charles talked about what happened. And Charles didn’t even bat an eye when Micah commented on your “disheveled appearance” later that day at dinner, implying that of course Charles had to rough you up a little to get what he wanted from you, there was no way you would give yourself to an ugly beast like him. You would have punched him yourself if you could. The girls chimed in and asked him to shut up. Susan walked to Charles to offer him a plate, but he declined, glancing at you for a moment. Your eyes met his, but he quickly looked away. You watched him stand up and grab a rifle. His silhouette stayed planted firmly at the edge of camp for most of the night.
Just like tonight. It’s been a couple of weeks now. Charles has barely been around. As soon as he comes back from a score or a hunting trip, he walks as far away from you as possible. And not a single word had been exchanged between you two.
You had been looking for the right words day and night, in vain. You were ashamed, eaten away by the guilt of having been incapable of fending for yourself, of forcing Charles to get into such a display of rage and violence. And you knew Charles was probably afraid of approaching you for this exact reason. This distance growing between you broke your heart. Even though Charles wasn’t the kind of man to chat around a cup of tea, he warmed up to you the past few months. Supply run after supply run, you were looking forward to riding with him to town each week… but now, now you fear that Charles won’t ever ride next to you again. He’s been going with Arthur instead. You know you aren’t exactly in the right shape to help anyone right now but still… It hurts.
You need to talk to him.
Standing up on trembling legs, you walk by your tent and stop for a moment. It takes more than a couple of steps for you to get rid of the numb feeling in your muscles. You open the wooden box next to your cot, and take the little handkerchief hidden in there.
The leaves crumble underneath your boots as you take the path to the edge of camp. There is no point in rehearsing what you want to tell him. You’ll just go with the flow, but the nervousness is gnawing at you. You fidget with the fabric, eyes intensely focusing on Charles' back. He is leaning against a tree, and as you approach, his shoulders start to tense in awareness of your presence. He turns around before you can call his name.
“Good evening” You say, offering him a soft smile.
“Hey” Charles’ face scrunched up in pain unintendedly as his eyes finally set on you, the moon illuminating the fading bruises and scars across your skin.
“Quiet night?” You say, trying to keep your tone light despite the awkwardness.
“Nothing to complain about so far” He replies, letting the butt of his rifle hit the ground in front of him.
The silence sits heavy between the two of you for a long minute, before you find the courage to talk again.
“Can we… Can we talk?” Your expression is tense, and the way you are gripping the side of your dress with your free hand makes Charles nervous, but he nods, letting you cross the tree line and head for the little makeshift camp he seeks refuge in lately. You sit on the chair, and wait for Charles to take place in front of you. You know he won’t ask questions to make your job easier, so you just have to dive in.
“I made this for you” You say, unfolding the handkerchief on your knees, and smoothing the folds neatly, before handing it to him.
Charles’ hand reaches out and he holds the fabric for a moment, caressing it with the pad of his fingers.
“It’s silk” He notices, unfolding it to discover the flowery pattern you embroidered there. There is a dove flying right above the petals too. Charles nods as he traces the outline with his fingers.
“I am not very good at this… But I thought I could try to make it prettier, so it’s not just some random handkerchief. Don’t look at the bird too closely though” You say laughing softly. Charles looks at your face, reddened by the orange hue of the flames. His heart clenches when he notices the way you can’t let your lips stretch along with the lines of your smile.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you” Charles says sternly, folding the fabric again and hiding it in his pocket.
You feel the moment evaporating quicker than you expected… This gesture is… a pretext, a way to talk to him… But it’s not easy at all to break down the walls that have been building between you.
“I should go back.” Charles says as he stands up.
“Please. Don’t. Let me just… I am trying to find my words Charles but it’s not… I am just trying to understand. Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?” You finally let out, voice strained with sadness. Tears are already forming in your eyes as you wait for his answer.
Charles is towering over you, staring at the blurry field of canvas standing far behind you. He sits back down, sighing heavily.
“That’s not…Everything is fine, you did nothing wrong” He replies, but he is avoiding your stare and you know he is just saying this to put an end to this conversation.
“Charles… Stop lying to me. You haven’t talked to me in two weeks, you don’t even look at me when we cross paths, if we cross paths, cause you haven’t spent more than 2 consecutives nights in camp… I am just trying to understand, if it’s something I said, or did, let me at least apologize…”
Charles says your name. He tries to keep his voice soft, but it comes out as a warning.
“I don’t like this…” You lose your self control as soon as you hear him. You start crying, but your tears aren’t doing anything to help your case. “Charles, please…We can try to fix this, right? Can you at least look at me?” You insist, the only thing preventing you from dropping to your knees and begging him is the weakness of your body. You might not be bowing down to him, physically, but the vulnerability you are showing right now hits just the same. Charles turns his head towards you and frowns as he notices the sadness on your face. He looks in pain, just from watching the scene you are making right now.
“Look… I mean it. This has nothing to do with you. And there is nothing to fix. It’s better this way”.
The shame is now unbearable for you. You wipe your eyes with the sleeves of your dress and stand up quickly. You almost tumble over. Charles’ arm flexes by his side and for a second you think he is gonna prevent you from falling. You thought wrong.
“Right. Everything is fine. I am sorry for bothering you… I guess… I just wanted to say thank you for rescuing me. For making sure I came back home alive. And I am sorry. About what you had to do to defend me. Now I’ll leave you alone”. You reply, voice hoarse with cries.
Charles watches as you leave, hoping for a moment that maybe you will look back, maybe you’ll run his way and yell at him, and that he’ll find a way to explain this time. But you don’t. Your silhouette fades away behind the tents. He doesn’t go back to his spot immediately, and sits by the fire instead, pondering if he did the right thing or not. He doesn’t even know how to make sense of his own feelings. He remembers the look on your face that day, your eyes slowly opening as he stood there towering over the man he just brutally murdered, the sad expression on your face, the guilt too, for forcing him to do this, to protect you. But that’s his true nature. And Charles is glad you witnessed it. You live in the same violent reality as he does but somehow got spared to be at the first row of such brutality. Because you are a woman. But that’s what he is. That’s what men like him do. He can’t ignore his true nature. And he can’t stomach to see you being afraid of him ever again. Keeping his distance is the only way to protect you both from heartbreak and disappointment.
The purple hues of dawn are starting to color the sky when Charles hears Javier walking behind him. Without a word, they swap places, and Charles walks silently back to camp. Everyone is still asleep. He needs coffee and a couple hours of sleep, then he will be on his way to the Heartlands. He hasn’t been around the area for a while, it will be nice to clear his mind. As he stops by the coffee pot, he notices you resting on your cot under the willow tree. You’re sleeping, peacefully. Charles can finally enjoy the sight of your face without seeing the fear and sorrow in your eyes. He knows that it probably will hurt for a while, but eventually he’ll breathe better knowing that he spared you the pain of living a life with someone like him by your side.
a/n: thank you so much for reading. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated 🥰
Young John btw thats why no scars. If you couldnt tell by the age of Jack. Btw Abigail raised that boy. I just like to think John looked at him once or twice.
Summary: It's Charles' birthday and as a knitter you have a sweater curse scare.
A/N: soo ... this isn't very good, but not everything has to be and i’ve been thinking about this for way too long. i started the first attempt of writing this around christmas, then valentine's day and half a year later lo and behold, i’ve actually finished something. and hopefully this eases me back into writing. also if I had a nickle for everytime i post a silly little fic about charles and knitting ... i just really wanna knit this man a sweater and socks okay.
Word Count: 1k
Warnings: Literally none, it's silly
✦•┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈•✦
Sweater curse you huff to yourself as you adjust the bow on top of the dark green gift box that contained the labour of your love and dedication to your lovely boyfriend – well, love and a lotta sweat, curse words, and a tendonitis scare.
Your phone buzzes again, another message from your friend insisting that they were joking and that surely there would be no break up over a knitted sweater.
But the damage had been done. You aren’t superstitious per se, but the sweater curse is running rampant in the knitting community, and every app you open it seems there are more and more stories. Then again, the knit garment now laying neatly in the box probably had enough of your hair knit into it that, as that one post said, he will be bound to you forever.
That has got to cancel each other out right?
You shake your head as if to get these thoughts out. It’s silly, Charles isn’t going to end this relationship, a loving, dedicated one you may add, just because you decided to invest a couple months into making him a sweater for his birthday, dark blue with a rainbow trout in the middle front.
And well sure, over the course of your relationship you made him several things, a pair of gloves, a scarf, and maybe, just maybe, there was a little voice of doubt in the back of your head that had made you wait three years to knit a sweater- ugh no, stop it.
Then finally you‘re pulled out of your thoughts when the bathroom door opens and Charles’ tall figure pads across the hall, only a towel slung low on his hips, to the bedroom to get dressed for work.
You push yourself off the floor then, knees stiff and achey from spending too much time on the floor. You definitely didn’t spend half the night weaving in ends and finishing the embroiderey of the fish after you had gotten home late because you guys’ friend insisted on celebrating the birthday boy early. At least that gave the sweater the time to mostly dry from when you blocked it earlier that day.
You get on your tip toes to get that satisfying feeling of popping your ankles as you rub your bleary, tired eyes.
“I hate when you do that,” calls Charles from the other room.
“Literally how did you even hear that?”
The retort is left unanswered as you carry the box over to your tiny kitchen and place it on your even tinier kitchen table. It took up almost the entire surface next to the flowers either you or him brought home almost weekly. This week you got an extra big bouquet of spring flowers given the occasion.
You eye the arrangement for a moment, trying to measure out space for the plate of birthday cupcakes but they would have to stay on the counter.
While you get those out of the fridge you call out to Charles, wondering what’s taking him so long.
“Are you almost ready?” Your hand reaches for the singular candle that you found in your stash of birthday decorations, not glorious but it will have to do, as you listen for an answer.
“Charles?” you call again and then finally you hear the steps in the hallway, turning around plate balanced on your palm while you try to steady the candle in the chocolate butter cream with two fingers.
“Mornin’, happy birth-” the rest of the sentence fades into another, worried, almost alarmed. “oh you okay there?”
He is standing in front of you, fresh shirt on that was just the right bit too small, hair tied back into a bun, all things you would normally enjoy seeing early in the morning if it wasn’t for his sour face, maybe mixed with guilt and his hand clutching his phone.
“We need to talk-”
No, oh no no this isn’t happening.
You don’t let him finish as your brain immediately jumps to conclusions caused by all the talk of the god damn sweater curse.
“Are you breaking up with me?!” Your voice goes up an octave and you have to set the plate down lest you drop its contents.
And now the poor man looks entirely confused, the unvoiced ending of his sentence still hanging in the air. He blinks once, twice.
“… about tonight,” he finally says. “We need to talk about to- why would you think I was gonna-”
Oh thank god. You could feel the relief instantly. Good thing you didn’t overreact.
“Sweater curse,” you say simply, lamely almost, as if that explains everything.
“It’s too early for riddles,” he groans. Charles looks even more confused, a note of playful exasperation in his voice. “I just wanted to say that we have to push back our reservation an hour I need to cover for someone at work… now about this sweater curse…” he tilts his head, clearly waiting for an explanation.
“Oh…”
Wordlessly you grab his gift from the table and hold it out to him. You don’t even know how to explain this to him without sounding entirely crazy.
His eyes drop to the box and he carefully undoes the bow with the fingers you know to be incredibly gentle. He lifts the lid, one eyebrow raised as he looks up at you for a moment before he reaches for the sweater.
He holds it up, examining the even stitches—sure with the occasional twist or other little mistake—the color work, greens and pinks and grays making up the trout. And you can’t see it, view blocked by the garment, but his lips widen into a smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners. And when his hands lower you don’t have the time to react.
His thumb and forefinger grasp your chin and you’re pulled closer until finally his warm lips meet yours. You can still taste the toothpaste on them when he murmurs into the kiss: “You made this?”
Your head bobs in a nod, lips never disconnecting as you finally finish the words you set out to say earlier: “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you, it’s incredible.” He pulls back and looks at you for a moment, his thumb gently sweeping over your skin. “That sweater curse … is it one of them TikTok myths?”
He was definitely teasing you now and you can’t help but groan but you nod.
“Yeah, knitting superstition.”
“You spend entirely too much time online, silly goose.” He grins before he pulls you into another kiss that makes you forget all about the other unlucky people whose (ex-)boyfriends couldn’t appreciate handmade knitwear.
✦•┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈•✦
i hope you enjoyed this! <33
also in my mind charles is a late october/november baby but that didn’t work for this.
Modern Arthur is something that can be so personal. @stupidgaynerd thank you for asking me about this! It made me rub my last two brain cells together.
The first thing I mentioned was that John and Arthur had been in foster care together. In my mind palace, Arthur and John met when John was a new placement, and Arthur was ageing out of the system
I think Arthur would have been troubled and always getting into scrapes and shoplifting, but he buckles down and finishes high school.
Maybe Dutch and Hosea own a business together, a bar and Arthur becomes one of those employees has nowhere to go for Christmas and Thanksgiving and just ends up at Dutch and Hosea's with their collection of strays. Arthur gets Eliza knocked up and she moves out of state. Then she and Isaac die, a car crash.
John absolutely idolised him as a kid and Arthur comes to view him as a little brother. He keeps a little photo of them when he moves out. They reconnect after John ages out of foster care. He's a little resentful of John, but still takes him under his wing. He helps him get a job, he shows him all the things he had to learn by himself. John meets Abigail and Arthur is consistently frustrated by the way he treats her.
I also think Dutch and Hosea's bar sort of becomes a home for peculiar children and Arthur mother hens the lot of them. Flat tire? Tilly calls Arthur. Creepy guy won't stop bothering Karen at the bar? Sic Arthur on him. Too drunk to drive home? Sean calls Arthur. Eventually the bar doesn't really cut it for him so he picks up the occasional shift and starts contracting with John and Charles.
Stupidly helpful. He gets himself involved in all sorts of things unintentionally. He coaches girls' football, he fixes up all the ancient appliances in the nursing home at a reduced rate, and the old ladies are obsessed with him. Arthur shows up with a car seat when the very unprepared John has a baby. He picks up strays and drives them to the shelter.
Relationships are also difficult for him and he is quite reserved initially.
Affectionate in his own, distant way. He makes an effort once you start getting closer and planning a future. Initially, he's sort of one of beaten up tom cats. You say you like apples, he brings you a giant crate of them, you say you want him to down on you, he's doing it till his jaw locks. But God forbid you ask him to use nicotine patches instead of smoking, or ask him to Please Eat A Grilled Cheese before he gets drunk so he won't have a hangover. Eventually he does try the nicotine patches and goes so ham with them that he complains about being dizzy all day, you pull back his collar and he has about ten patches stuck to him.
Likes photograpy! He still sketches and doodles and writes but he uses his phone camera to take photos of things he finds interesting. You become the subject of these after a while. Photos of you eating cereal, or reading or smoking. You gift him a proper camera and he immediately jams the storage by taking 5000 photos of you.
He also likes to collect oddities. A cool rock is coming home with him, he calls Charles about an injured bird. He finds an abandoned action figure and washes it in the sink to take home with him. His bag is filled with all sorts of strange shit. He displays these all on a shelf at home.
He listens to dad music but is also a big Amy Winehouse fan. He hums Valerie in the shower when he thinks you can't hear him. For films and and tv, he loves shit like Pawn Stars and gets invested in the occasional Say Yes to the Dress episode. He also likes Bear Grylls and watches TLC cooking shows religiously.
One of my friends hooked up with a guy who was the owner of a Jeanket. What is a Jeanket you might ask? It's a duvet made of…jean. It's NOT on his bed but he has one for the bed of his truck. It's been defiled many times.
Arthur's not a huge reader in the game but I imagine he likes being read to. He picks a book or even an article and puts his head in your lap. He promises he's following along but he conks out pretty fast. If he does read, he likes Westerns, the occasional short classic.
Also hates going to sleep mad. Despises it. Will give you a resentful kiss on the head and roll over. (Once he's committed, of course.)
Also I'm a Arthur is sexually reserved truther so some of that translates to the modern au? I think he struggles to open up to people but once in a while when he's drunk enough he will have a one night stand.
For touch tank relationship I had originally conceptualised it as Arthur is reader's kind but closed off fuck buddy (might still write this, stay tuned) but as I wrote it, it felt a lot more intimate than that? So it's sort of understood that he's hers and she is his.
I've got a few more but will shut up now. Also these are just like my mind palace headcanons its all just fun and games. Thank you for your lovely comments and also for asking me this! I had fun.
