Send me “&” for my muses reaction to yours tracing a scar (x)
They just kept doing this. Odd little moments like these. Isolated and quiet, something they wouldn’t speak of again, something they hardly even acknowledged as it was happening. John always seemed to be the initiator, Arthur a reluctant passenger, or so it might appear.
“Marston,” he warned. Last chance to turn back if this truly were a game, his hand gripping John’s where he’d reached for his chin, ready to tear it away or perhaps keep it close, in the end just keeping him at bay.
They were on watch. They should be on watch. All the more reason to turn away out of John’s cupped hand and leave and yet he found himself staying.
“If we’re comparin’ scars, I think you win,” he muttered, as dumb as it was, if only to lessen the intensity of the moment when it became too much.
It was somethinghe tried to pretend to forget, but he knew that otherpeople could see it too. If strangers could comment on how bad helooked, he was sure those closer to him could see it too. Though, hewasn't sure if it wasn't said more often because he didn'tmention it. John, however—well, maybe he should have expectedthe bluntness. He wouldn't have known him for anything less.Arthur may have chuckled if his lungs weren't BURNING.
His coughs werehard to hide anymore, along with the feeling like someone was gripping at his lungsand he couldn't get them to expand long enough to ease the tightnessand lightheaded feeling. Still, despite the struggle, he managed tobrush off the look John shot him with with his usual “I'm fine”.He wasn't. He really wasn't, and Arthur knew that, but there was apart of him that felt like admitting it out loud meant that he wasgiving in to it. He couldn't. Not yet.
Yet, John'scomment put an almost pained expression on his face as he shrugged,bowing his head with a small wave.
“Well, it ain'tgettin' better...” he replied, his voice rough, “Doesn't matter.I can still fight. People need t' get out, and my lungs are stillworkin'.”
[ holds the other's hand when they think they won’t notice. ] // :')
𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 (x)
John’s hand was hot on top of his own, hidden between them on the log seating around the fire. They weren’t alone, Javier was nearby, his music drifting throughout the camp and others pottering around or hovering nearby to listen. Arthur hardly moved as he glanced over. A scowl twitched, though not so much in anger. John must have noticed, bastard, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention. Arthur didn’t shy away. Instead, he watched Javier as if he attention hadn’t been stolen the second John acted.
kicks down the door. i think your arthur is lovely and really well written! i always enjoy reading your responses, whether that be to me or to someone else. you capture his voice super well and it's an added plus that your writing in itself is so pleasant to read. all around a fantastic portrayal in my opinion. ♥
oh. gosh, oh oh gosh ; v ; ahhhh thank you so much friendo, i worry because i still struggle with how-to-english at times, considering it’s not my first language, but boi i try to get the yeehaws right and seem to be doing okay, so thank you so much for these kind words !!! ♥♥
Through changes in their general behaviour and subtle actions. Indirect and far from obvious, but just as meaningful. Although Fortune absolutely adores clear gestures such as hugs and kisses, and frequently employs them, these often feel a bit forced. The sentiment and care is true, but it feels much more like an obligation to conform to common displays of affection. Their natural show of care lies in how they express themselves around people and what they can do for them.
Far in the past, Fortune learned to take on whatever role they needed to get by another day. To appease and protect. And though they’ve since reconciled with their true self, there remains the natural habit of their demeanor changing according to what is necessary to live another day / achieve a goal.
Their loved ones are treated with a certain openness and of course protectiveness. All the good and bad, hiding much less of their bad habits than what a stranger might see, but never lacking in communication. There are things they do not notice / have to ask again, and to many it might seem they pay much less attention to friends than enemies. Which, in some way, is true.
If Fortune perceives someone as a potential threat or they otherwise need to stay in good graces, the vigilante will come to know a variety of favourites, such as food and drink. They notice quirks and keep track of habits, accommodating where possible. They’ll be incredibly attentive and attuned to that person’s behaviour.
With these people, Fortune becomes very controlling. They need to be in control of the situation, to deescalate it as soon as possible. This kid has learned early on that anything else is not acceptable ; not if they are to protect anyone.
They’ve had this argument before. About the impression that they care more for enemies than friends. But that could never be further from the truth. Keeping score of all these things, to play a charade for people they potentially hate, is exhausting. It is a strain on their health and extremely stressful.
They do not extend this to loved ones because with them, they are relaxed. They feel comfortable and at rest, finally able to leave all these mental lists behind. And Fortune trusts their friends to understand that sometimes they might forget a favourite drink or something mundane they were told a week ago.
Bottom line, the less attention to detail they pay / the more often they ask for confirmation of given information, the more Fortune cares. Which is quite a contradiction in itself, but asking a friend again what their mother’s name was is much easier than asking the same of a stranger. Because a friend will understand.
This kid relies a lot on trust, and will give it in return. Favors and responsibilities are something they will never forget. Fortune becomes more reliable the more they care, to the point where they see the signs of a recurring favor and act on their own.
❝ i don't feel much like readin' no more. ❞ a frustrated huff, and the book is slammed shut. it read otis miller and the arabian prince in bold, black letters — or so he was told, for the boy's skill to decipher the written word might as well be absent entirely. ❝ i'd much rather be practicing my gun. can't you show me that instead? ❞
HERES JOHN NOT WANTING TO READ I GUESS. | ALWAYS ACCEPTING RANDOM BABY JOHN
a light-hearted chuckle at the young boys eagerness , it was admirable to say the least - ‘ now john. ‘ he pauses, sneaking glances across the camp, noticing his partner, who was currently occupied with other business. ‘ as much as i would love to let you, son… you know i can’t, your education is just as important as shooting a gun, john, don’t you forget that - ‘ halting once more when he noticed the pout on the young boys face ‘ i’ll tell you what. ‘ adjusting in his seat, tapping the book lightly, ‘ you read one more chapter, and i’ll take you shootin’ ‘ he smiles at the young boy ‘ promise. but !! you gotta read one more chapter.
“ You haven’t laughed in a long time, and I guess I was staring ‘cause I forgot how that looked like. ” // let me live i need some soft
𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 (x)
The laugh he barked was loud and unrestrained, squinting his eyes and damn near freshly cracking his split lip. Perhaps it had just a little, metal fresh on his tongue, but it did nothing to sour his smile until John spoke.
Good humour faded, old eyes still creased but with a softer kind of smile, more self deprecating as Arthur thought back, a memory of a recent similarly carefree time notably evasive.
“Suppose it has been a while,” he admitted, without the effects of alcohol even longer still. There he was, miserable Arthur striking again, lowering the mood in one fell swoop. The thing was he hardly noticed how dour he came across, but it seemed everyone else did.
He thumbed absently at his jacket sleeve, piping up again finally, a smile returning to his lips. “Ain’t my fault you lot can’t tell a joke from an obituary.”
