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dot-cant-write · 1 year

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A Different Chord - Sammy Lawrence x Reader (Part 6)

You horse around with one Wally Franks on your lunch break.

A/N: i have not played batdr in it’s entirety yet so please no spoilers but i pray that mr lawrence is in the game

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You and Wally were on lunch break. And by break, you meant that Wally was leaning against your desk in the art department while you tried to finish a sketch for the next Bendy cartoon. Oh, and Wally was definitely eating the sandwich you’d packed. Damn. There goes your peanut butter and jelly.

Wally peered at your drawing, spilling crumbs on the paper. “Whatcha drawin’?” He asked with his mouth full.

You brushed the crumbs away. “Boris the Wolf. And if you get one more crumb on this paper I’m gonna make you regret taking my sandwich, Wally.”

He laughed. You would never hurt a fly, and you both knew it.

“So anyways… What’s up with you and Sammy Lawrence?” Wally grinned mischievously.

“You have peanut butter in your teeth, Wally,” You ignored his question. If you could just get Boris’ stupid nose right…

“Oh come on! Half the studio knows something’s up by now. You’re from the Art Department, he’s from the Music Department- heck, you’re practically Romeo and Juliet!” The janitor teased.

“Nothing is going on, dumbass. Don’t spread rumors. You wouldn’t want me saying stuff about you and Allison, would you?”

“Now see, me n’ Allison are just friends, but Allison and that Tom Connor—“

“My point exactly. Quit spreading rumors,” you interrupted. You put down your pen. Drawing could wait for later.

But the truth was, after your strange encounter with Sammy Lawrence, you weren’t entirely sure how to behave around him. You still weren’t entirely sure if what Norman said was true, either. Wally picking on you certainly didn’t help.

Wally piped up again, making you lose your train of thought. “Listen, all I’m sayin’ is that I’ve never seen Sammy Lawrence look as happy as he is with you.”

Isn’t that what Norman said, too?

“And I think there’s somethin’ up with that kooky composer. He keeps askin’ me about the art department’s ink supply. He’s a strange one, (Y/N). But I support it if you’re into him.”

“Wally! For the last time, I’m not into Sammy! Besides, aren’t him and that Susie girl a thing or something?” You reddened from Wally’s teasing.

“Nah, Susie Campbell? She sure likes him, but I don’t think he sees a darn thing in her. Nothin’ but the voice of Alice Angel. And uh, you’re blushing,” Wally added with a shit-eating grin.

“That’s it you little rascal-“ You suddenly jumped from your desk and chased Wally down the hall.

“Oh shi-“ Wally turned on his heel, sprinting.

Meanwhile, Henry, who overheard the whole conversation, chuckled. “Kids.”

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Wally had no idea you could run so fast. He must’ve really pushed some buttons, huh? But he had no time to laugh at you while you were hot on his trail. The janitor weaved his way through employees, nearly bumping smack into Shawn Flynn, a toymaker.

“C’mon Wally, this one’s got a crooked smile now!” Shawn complained as you ran by.

Wally chanced turning around, only to yelp in surprise. You were like, right behind him! He tried to speed up, running downstairs.

“Oh no you don’t!” You raced after him.

Joey Drew Studios was a maze. You don’t even know how you ended up down by the Music Department.

Joey Drew Studios was a maze. You don’t even know how you ended up down by the music department.

You barely heard the sound of the band playing over the sound of your thumping heartbeat. You were so close to catching that son of a gun-

Bursting through the doors to the recording room, you tackled Wally- wait, why was Wally laughing at you from behind a violinist? Oh no-

You had tackled one Sammy Lawrence instead. Pushing up and off of him, you apologized profusely.

“Oh gosh, Sammy, I’m sorry-“

You glanced at Wally, who blew as raspberry in your direction. Idiot, you mouthed at him. Then you turned back to Sammy, you had stood up off the ground and was brushing off his trousers. He looked at you and shook his head.

It felt like the whole room was holding its breath. Was (Y/N) going to get chewed out? they wondered. Sammy Lawrence shocked them all.

He started laughing.

Goosebumps rose on your skin. Why does what would usually be a wonderful sound, sound so strained?

“I cannot believe your horsing around interrupted us. We have a cartoon due tonight, y’know. Not everyone has time to screw off and run through the halls.” He wheezed, seeming more than a little crazed. “Due tonight! And two more songs I need to write. How the hell does Joey expect this to fucking work?” It seemed more like the composer was talking to himself now. It scared you.

You hesitated for a moment. Should you respond? You supposed it would be best so you and Wally could get out of there. “Yes, of course, it won’t happen again, right Wally?”

“Course not! No horsin’ around from me, no sir!” Wally agreed eagerly.

And with the, the two of you hurried out the way you came.

————————————————————————

“That was scary as anything I’ve ever seen!” Wally sighed, exasperated. You nodded nervously.

“I’ve never seen him like that… I wonder if he’s just really stressed?” You wondered aloud.

“Listen, I think you should keep an eye on that Sammy Lawrence. There’s something going on, I just know it. Bet it’s gotta do with all that ink he takes. Think he injects it or somethin’? Wouldn’t that be crazy!” Wally theorized.

“Oh Wally, you always think there’s something going on. He just takes extra ink for writing sheet music, I’m sure. And he’s gotta be stressed from Mr. Drew’s deadlines.”

Wally just shook his head. Little did you know, Wally Franks knew a lot more than he let on. It probably saved his life. He wasn’t sure if he could save yours, though.

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #sammy lawrence #sammy lawrence x reader #batdr #bendy and the dark revival

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 3 years

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"Explorers raided tombs and paraded the remains of ancient monarchs and dynasties to their homes. Mummies were unwrapped at social affairs and examined—and it was such a popular pastime that tourism companies in Egypt sent such delights to European countries to satisfy their morbid curiosities and struggled to fuel the growing trend."

“So you see,” Sebastian continued, “There is a historical precedent for this sort of thing. I’m hardly the first businessman to notice the wasted resources just rotting away underground. Or stuffed into an urn, depending on customs and family sentiment.”

“There’s historical precedent for a lot of fucked up shit, Shaw. That doesn’t make it okay!” Pyro stared, aghast, at the website. “Does the Council know you’re doing this? They can’t possibly approve!”

“Are you going to run and tattle on me?” Sebastian sneered. “That doesn’t seem like you, Allerdyce, but you have become more of a conformist rule-follower in Krakoa, it seems. At any rate, some of the Council are aware of my side business. They have elected not to bring it to a vote in meetings, so presumably I am breaking no law of the island.”

“But….it’s wrong. It’s bloody grotesque is what it is!” Pyro exclaimed.

“Is it better or worse than burning people to death during a bank robbery, or as part of some half-baked political protest?”

“Oh, give me a fucking break, Shaw!” Pyro snapped. “I know I’ve done some bad things – “

“Some bad things. What an adorable generalization, ducking out of all serious responsibility – “

“I know I’ve killed people, okay?” Not quite as many as some X-Men wanted to pretend, though. He mostly went for guards, police officers and soldiers, who, as far as Pyro was concerned, had it fucking coming. He hadn’t wanted to kill people to rob a bank, and there was never a need to if the civilians were smart enough to stay well back.

“But killing people doesn’t mean I can’t draw any moral lines, ever,” Pyro continued. “And I’m drawin’ a line right here. This is not okay.”

“Why not? Who does it hurt, really?”

“Well, surely the people whose bodies are getting rented out to sickos! No one would want that.” Pyro wasn’t sure he could articulate the sick churning in the pit of his stomach. It was something that went beyond logic, just a deep sense of disgust that seemed to well up from the center of his being. He was an open-minded fellow, he was willing to play fast and loose with a few morals, but surely some things were just….wrong. Right?

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” Sebastian said, waving a hand dismissively. “And apparently X-Factor is running some very interesting experiments with discarded mutant corpses over in their appropriately named “Boneyard.” And I’m quite confident that Sinister is probably churning out clones in his little lab, no matter how he might deny it. So whats the harm in my business?”

“Just because other people are doing it doesn’t make it okay! It’s like a….desecration, isn’t it?” Perhaps there was some of his Gran’s staunch Catholicism lurking under the surface, despite Pyro’s current status as…well, not an atheist, exactly, more like an agnostic who didn’t want to think about things too hard. He had to admit, a childhood of Mass and Confession and Hail Marys really got under your skin, no matter how long ago you walked away from the church.

“All this fuss over discarded meat,” Sebastian shrugged. “That’s all it really is when you remove religion and sentiment from the equation. Really, Allerdyce, I’m surprised at your squeamishness.”

“Are you really okay with it, then?” Pyro asked. “Letting some human fuck a mutant corpse? That’s what they’re doing it, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily. I believe that’s the most common activity, but a few people want to cook and eat choice pieces.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly all right, then.” Pyro’s words were so heavy with sarcasm, they practically thudded onto the floor.

“Understand, Allerdyce, I find all this personally distasteful. I am disgusted by the idea of necrophilia, and even cannabalsim. But I see no reason to deny others, if there is money to be made. The ‘sickos’ will pay top dollar for discrete fulfillment of their taboo desires.”

“But do you really want to be putting mutant corpses in human hands? Haven’t they got scientists trying to study us or clone us or whatever? Put our DNA in Sentinels to make super-weapons?”

Sebastian laughed heartily. “Really, I didn’t think you were so naïve. Mutants have been in the public eye for several decades. The various governments of the world have been capturing mutant test subjects for a very long time. There are hundreds of mutants buried in graveyards and millions in the heavy layer of ash that still covers Genosha. If some enterprising human scientist wants mutant DNA, it would be very, very easy to lay hands on it. In fact, your own corpse is probably preserved in a government lab somewhere. In other words, there’s no point in closing the barn door at this point. The horses are long gone.”

Pyro couldn’t resist a full-body shudder at the thought. He knew, deep down, that his body was probably stuck in a metal drawer somewhere, or cut into chunks sitting in labelled glass jars. The US government had probably been interested in him as a Legacy Virus victim, back before the cure. It shouldn’t matter, but somehow, it did.

“And the bodies are only available for a limited amount of time, at any rate,” Sebastian continued. “Aside from the obvious natural impermanence of a corpse, I’ve had Sinister inject the bodies with a kind of “kill switch.” After five days, the corpse will dissolve, leaving no trace behind. The humans are only paying to rent, after all.”

“But wait…..” Pyro ventured. “What gives you the right to sell other people’s bodies? Shouldn’t they be the ones to profit off that?”

“What gives people the right to collect discarded trash?” Sebastian said, spreading his arms wide. “Would you begrudge the little old lady collecting aluminum cans for a few pennies from a recycling center? Or the struggling student who takes a sofa from the side of the road? That’s all these corpses are. Trash. Their previous owners have shiny new bodies – bodies gifted to them by Krakoa and the Five, by the way – and left no instructions as to disposal. I don’t use bodies from people who requested to be cremated, or some kind of ritual burial. Just bodies have have been carelessly tossed aside, by people who clearly don’t care.”

“Oh, well I’m sure you’ll be happy to explain that to everyone else, then,” Pyro said. “I’m sure they’ll all be totally understanding.” He realized a moment later, with a nervous twinge, that threatening to tell on the unscrupulous businessman while you were sitting alone in his massive castle and no one else knew where you were was a very stupid thing to do. Fuck. He should have at least claimed to have evidence left with a trusted friend or something, but he’d only just stumbled across this, while exploring the so-called “dark web.” Maybe he could bluff his way out of this.

“I told you, some Council members are already well aware,” Sebastian said, sitting back and regarding Pyro across steepled fingers. “I don’t think you’d find those in authority quite as willing to turn on me as you imagine, Allerdyce. In fact, it’s entirely possible that any attempt to inform the public will lead to a hasty mind-wipe for you.”

“I’ve got proof. I left it all on a flash drive with……” Freddy? Dominic? Mystique? “….a friend,” he finished, not wanting to actually put anyone else in the crosshairs. Hell, Mystique might even know about this. He’d like to think better of her, but she always had schemes within schemes going. He wondered which telepath on the Council might be in on this. Was Sinister a telepath? That arrogant piece of shit Exodus? He seemed too high-minded to approve, but that mission in the Savage Land had shown Pyro that Exodus did not give a single fuck about mutants that he considered weak or “unworthy.” Frost? Even Xavier? Pyro had never trusted that creepy bastard. Something about him had always seemed too good to be true.

Sebastian laughed again. “Oh, you think I’m going to kill you? That’s cute. Allerdyce, you are not in some ridiculous detective story. I am a practical man, and despite your bleating about morals, I know you are, too. I am willing to make you an offer. It’s an easy job. All you have to do is ‘keep mum,’ as they say.” Sebastian wrote a number down on a piece of paper, and slid it across the table.

It was, in fact, a very nice number. Enough to make some of Pyro’s disgust quickly fall away.

“After all, why shouldn’t you enjoy the same kind of luxury experienced by Krakoa’s elite? You serve aboard the Marauder, and you’re obviously on the lowest rung of the crew. None of the power and privilege weilded by the X-Men, none of the wealth bestowed by birth on Christian Frost, my own son, and the Von Struckers. And you do significantly more work than for the Hellfire Trading Company than those spoiled idiots. Why not take a little something for yourself?”

Pyro’s mind whirled. Of course, taking the money now would mean he was “in it,” so to speak. And if the secret got out, he’d probably be implicated along with Shaw, at least in the eys of his fellow mutants. Which would hurt a bit, after all his heroics with the Marauders. He was starting to feel, at least a little bit, like a good guy.

But on the other hand, if Sebastian was telling the truth, and some of the Council already knew, trying to tattle would just get him in the shit. It was all well and good to have movies about heroic whistle-blowers, but in the real world, they got slandered, ruined, and sometimes murdered. No one would stand up for a relative nobody like Pyro, especially if Frost and Mystique already knew. At best he’d just get mind-wiped.

It would be safer to just walk away and keep his mouth shut. And if he was going to walk away anyhow, why not pick up a paycheck for it?

They were just corpses, right? What a resurrected mutant didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

And it didn’t seem to actually be breaking any Krakoan laws.

And it was a lot of money.

And Pyro really did like money.

It wasn’t like he was a proper journo anymore, was he? No need for integrity.

Pyro pushed the paper back across the table.

“You’ll need to add a zero to that number before I’ll even consider it,” he said. “And this is just for silence, understand? I’m not gonna be your employee, don’t start expecting me to fetch and carry.”

Sebastian grinned, making a mark on the paper, and held it his hand to shake.

“I knew you’d see sense. It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Allerdyce.”

OOC: I was going to make that sillier, but the more I thought about it…..Sebastian probably would bribe Pyro to shut up, and Pyro would probably just take the money. He’s trying to be “good,” but not that good. Also, no offense intended to Exodus. After the story in the Quicksilver min-series, when Pyro is working with Acolytes on a mission for a supposed Legacy Virus cure (which doesn’t exist), Pyro probably holds a serious grudge against him.

#sebastian shaw #pyro #st john allerdyce

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yeet-or-be-hawed · 5 years

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“Attempts For Attention” Arthur Morgan x Reader

A request from @notursdutch!

Arthur is trying to throw hints your way that he has feelings for you, but he’s a little shy and you’re a lot oblivious.

“Whatcha drawin’?” You were pulled from your concentration and looked up to find Arthur standing over you. You handed him the journal as sat down in the grass beside you.

You were sat under a shady oak tree overlooking camp; it had the perfect view, you could see everything from up there, plus the shade was welcome on the hot summer day.

Arthur smiled as he looked down at the drawing. The sketch took up two pages. It was Clemen’s Point, complete with undetailed little drawings of the inhabitants and the horses at the edge of camp. “This looks great, Y/N.” Arthur’s finger pointed down at the small figure with the horses. “Kieran?”

You nodded and smiled as you pointed out all the people. Lenny was just below Kieran, brushing his own horse. Tilly, Karen, and Mary-Beth were by the laundry bucket, and you had captured Charles mid swing of his axe. Arthur smiled down at his own figure, leaned against the back end of his caravan, his own journal in hand. Arthur loved your art style, your lines were softer and your shading was a little more defined. “I don’t know how you do it.” He said, eyes still focused on your drawing.

You laughed, “Sure you do, you could put me to shame with your drawing skills any day!”

He shook his head, “Nah, I’m too heavy handed, I can’t quite get my shading just right.”

You smiled. “What were you workin’ on down there?” You asked as you pointed to the small Arthur you had drawn.

“Just doin’ some writin’. Its been a few days since I had enough time to actually open my journal.” He flipped the page and frowned. “Looks like those were your last pages.”

You sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been checkin’ every town we’ve hit since we left Blackwater tryin’ to find somethin’ new but I guess the folks this far east ain’t as refined as we thought.”

Arthur laughed. “I’ll see what I can do next time I’m out.”

You beamed up at him, “You would do that for me?”

He smiled down at you. “Course I will.”

You wrapped your arms around him tightly. “Oh thank you Arthur, you’re the best friend a girl a can have!”

This took his by surprise, but he slowly wrapped his arms around you, returning your hug. You felt so warm and soft in his arms he felt his heart lurch when you pulled away. Your face was towards the ground, but Arthur caught the slight shade of pink in your cheeks. “I should probably go before Grimshaw finds me.” You stood and looked down at Arthur, “If you ever want to practice with me, I can show you some techniques to keep your wrist loose, that should help you with your shading.”

Arthur’s eyes followed you as you went down the hill and joined the other girls at the laundry station. Your smile was contagious as you reached the other girls they greeted you happily. You seemed to have that effect on everyone, but Arthur seemed to fall prey to your charm worse than anyone else around camp, the trouble was you had no idea.

He had been crazy for you since you first arrived, it took him damn near a month and a half to even say hello to you, every time your eyes shifted his way and you gave him a smile he would turn redder than a tomato. Hosea eventually had to be the one to introduce the two of you, and he still gives Arthur hell to this day for turning to a nervous blundering mess when you first stuck out your hand and said, “Nice to meet you Arthur, my name is Y/N.”

Arthur was lucky you were just as outgoing as you were oblivious because he never had the nerve to talk to you, but you had no problem with joining him beside the fire or barging into his tent for conversation, but you never noticed how flustered you made him. At first it was a relief, but now Arthur wasn’t quite sure. He wanted to tell you how he felt, he wanted to grab you by the waist and sweep you off your feet, but that required a level of confidence he just didn’t have. He looked down and noticed you had left your journal beside him. He grabbed it and headed down towards you.

“So,” Tilly began mischievously. “What were you and Arthur talkin’ about up on that hill?”

You rolled your eyes. “Nothin’, Tilly. He just wanted to see what I was drawin’ that’s all.”

“And you showed him?” Karen asked with a raised brow. “Why is it Arthur is the only one allowed to see inside that journal of yours?”

You tried to hide the blush forming in your cheeks. “He’s an artist, so I like his opinion, okay?” You tried to sound assertive, but your voice came out meeker than a barn mouse.

“Mhmm, I’m sure that’s what it is.” Mary-Beth said sarcastically.

“It is!” You shot back, a little more defensively than you meant.

“Oh please,” Snorted Karen. “You’ve had eyes for him since you got here, you can’t deny that.”

You looked down into the suddy water. “Yeah so?”

“Yeah so, he’s definitely had eyes for you too!” Karen rolled her eyes. “I mean it’s so obvious!”

“He gets all fidgety when he talks to you,” Said Tilly.

“And he turns bright red.” Added Mary-Beth.

“That’s not true.” You pouted into your laundry bucket. “He just-”

You looked up to see Arthur coming down the hill towards you. “Shut up the lot of you.” You hissed quickly.

“Wha-”

You cut off Karen. “Hey Arthur!”

The women looked in the direction you were facing and each one shot you a look, and you tried to ignore it.

“Hey Y/N, you forgot this.” He handed you your journal. “Thought I’d bring it back to ya.” He rubbed his neck and wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“Thank you, Arthur. You’re too kind.” You tried not to look at the women around you.

He tipped his hat to you and turned towards his tent. “No problem.”

You turned back towards your water bucket, “Not a goddamn word.” You said as Karen opened her mouth.

The four of you finished the laundry in silence.

Arthur’s eyes scanned the camp and they landed on just the man he was looking for. Hosea was sitting at the small table in the middle of camp. Arthur took the seat across from him. “Hosea.”

He looked up at Arthur, “Ah, hello my boy. How are ya today?”

“I’m fine, I got a question for ya. You know this area pretty well right?” Arthur fiddled nervously with his thumbs.

Hosea raised an eyebrow towards him. “Guess you could say that, I spent a good bit a time down here with Bessie years ago.”

Arthur nodded. “You know anywhere I could get a new journal?”

Hosea tilted his head, confused. “You already filled that journal you got in Blackwater?”

Hosea was sharp as a tack, “No, I...its for someone else.”

A sly smile curled on Hosea’s lips. “I see. It wouldn’t happen to be for a certain young lady would it?”

Arthur’s eyes shot up to meet Hosea’s and his face went hot. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.”

“Don’t play coy with me Arthur.” Hosea said flatly as he crossed his arms. He lowered his voice. “You think I don’t see how you look at her?”

Arthur huffed, he knew there was no point in lying to Hosea. “Okay yeah it’s for her. I ain’t tryin’ to pull a move on her or anything, she just used up the last page in hers and I offered to pick her up a new one if I found one.”

Hosea leaned back in his chair. “I see. But why aren’t ya makin’ a move then?”

This caught Arthur off guard. He sputtered and tripped over his words. “I-I can’t...I don’t know.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t think she’d have me. She’s too good for me anyways.”

Hosea stood. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. When ya think like that you’ll be alone forever.” He turned to leave but threw a final glance at Arthur over his shoulder. “Saint Denis. It’s a big city not far from here. If I remember correctly they have an art supply store down there. It’s been years since I’ve been, but it’s worth takin’ a look into.”

Arthur nodded. “Thanks Hosea.”

Hosea threw up his hand in a wave and wandered off. Arthur took one final glance at you, your face was straight and focused as you did your work quietly. Even with Hosea’s words replaying in his mind, he still couldn’t seem to find himself worthy of you. You were breathtaking, and the kindest soul he had ever met. No one made him want to be good, not even Eliza or Isaac. Not even Mary made him want to be better, but when your kind eyes meet his, he wanted to feel like he deserved the genuine kindness behind your eyes. He nodded to himself and headed towards his horse.

You wiped the sweat from your brow as you stood. You waved to the other women as you left, finished with your work for the day. As your eyes searched the camp, you felt a little disappointment as you noticed both Arthur and his horse were gone. You sighed and joined Abigail beside the fire. “You see where Arthur went?” You asked, trying to seen as nonchalant as possible.

“I didn’t,” She responded, she took a sip of her coffee. “He rode out not too long ago after talking to Hosea. Probably got a tip off or somethin’.”

You nodded, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Why ya ask?” You could tell by the look in her eye she knew exactly why you were asking.

“No reason,” You said quickly.

“Mhmm.” Abigail had a sarcastic tone.

before you could respond, Micah and Dutch approached you. “Good afternoon, ladies.” Dutch said smoothly. “Either of you in the mood for some good ol’ fashioned stage coach robbin’?”

“Sure!” You responded quickly and stood. “Who all’s goin’?”

“Micah and Lenny.”

You nodded and followed behind the two men. “I’ve been itchin’ to get outta here.”

“I thought you would be up for the job.” Dutch smiled down at you. “Go grab your pistol and meet the boys at the hitching post.”

“Yes sir.”

It was early evening when Arthur got back to camp. He hitched his horse quickly and pulled his satchel from his horse. His eyes searched the camp for you, he didn’t even see Dutch until he walked right into him.

“Oof! Watch where you’re goin’, son.”

“Sorry Dutch, have you seen Y/N? She asked me to pick somethin’ up for her in town.” His eyes were still searching as he spoke.

Dutch had to stop himself from picking on Arthur, just like everyone else in camp, he knew Arthur had it bad for you. “I sent her with Micah and Lenny on a stagecoach job.” He said easily.

Arthur’s eye shot up to Dutch. “Micah? Why the hell did you send her with Micah?”

Dutch raised an eyebrow. “She’s the one who wanted to go, I didn’t make her go. Besides, it’s not like they’re alone. Lenny will keep him in line.”

Arthur huffed in frustration. “Ya know, I coulda gone instead of Micah.”

Dutch barked a short laugh. “I know.” He turned and walked back to his tent.

Arthur tried to push away the jealousy creeping into his stomach. He saw the way Micah looked at you and it made his stomach churn. He wouldn’t trust Micah with a wet sock, let alone you. But Dutch was right, Lenny would keep him in line from touching you and in turn your company would keep Micah from harassing Lenny over the color of his skin. It was a good trade off, but it still made Arthur uneasy. He pulled the journal he bought for you from his satchel and headed towards your tent. It was simple just like your old one, but it was a little bigger and the paper was a better quality. He spent a pretty penny on it, but it was worth it. You were worth more than all the money in the world to him, and he wanted to let you know. He gently laid the journal down on your neatly made bed. He also pulled out the candies he grabbed on his way out of Saint Denis. He remembered you telling him they were your favorite one day when he shared a bag with you.

When he exited your tent, Abigail was standing there waiting for him with her arms crossed, looking suspicious. “Whatcha doin’ there Arthur?”

“N-nothin’. Nothin’ at all to concern yourself with.” He stuttered.

“So, I shouldn’t be concerned that yer just sneakin’ around in some girl’s tent, huh?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

He groaned. “Come on Abigail, you know it ain’t like that.” “Do I?” She challenged. She peeked behind his shoulder before he could move to block her vision. A knowing smile crossed her lips. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Arthur responded, moving his body with hers as she tried to peek behind him again.

“What’s that layin’ on Y/N’s bed?”

“It’s nothin’!” Arthur groaned.

Abigail turned away. “Fine then, keep your secrets.”

Arthur sighed in relief and just as he took a step away from your tent, Abigail turned back around quickly and made a beeline for the tent. Arthur couldn’t react fast enough to stop her.

“Oh Arthur, this is beautiful!” She said as she picked up the journal.

“Yeah, I know.” He said sheepishly as he rubbed his neck. “Don’t go tellin’ her about it when she gets back, I want it to be a surprise.”

Abigail gave him a look when she walked out of the tent. “When are you gonna make a move Arthur?” His whole face turned beet red. “I don’t know what yer talkin’ about.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say.” She responded sarcastically as she walked away.

Arthur yawned as he made his way back to his own tent. He laid down on his cot and began doodling in his journal. His eyes grew heavy and he didn’t even feel himself fall asleep.

You pulled into camp riding between Lenny and Micah, the lot of you were still excited from the rush of adrenaline of a successful job. As you unmounted your horse, you turned to the two men you were with. “You boys did great today, let me know next time you wanna do this again and I’ll gladly ride with you.”

Micah turned and headed off towards Dutch’s tent, but not before you caught the rose color blooming on his cheeks. Lenny gave you his classic smile. “Anytime, Y/N. You did good today too.”

You smiled, “I appreciate the compliment, but stoppin’ a wagon and playin’ the damsel in distress don’t take much effort.”

Lenny looked at the ground, “Yeah, well it sure does help when you gotta a pretty lady playin’ the damsel.”

You laughed and patted Lenny on the back as you passed him, “Thanks Lenny.”

You spied Arthur asleep on his cot, journal still in his loose hands. It made you giggle, he looked so cute. You decided not to wake him as you headed towards your tent. When you looked down at your cot, you noticed the brown leather journal and the bag of candies laying there. Your heart skipped a beat as you picked up the journal and opened it. On the first page there was a message in Arthur’s hand writing.

To: Y/N

I hope you like it, I thought of you when I saw it and had to grab it.

Yours, Arthur

Your fingers lightly brushed the scrolling words on the page and you could feel your cheeks getting warm. Your fingers traced the words, ‘Yours, Arthur.’ It made you feel warm inside and your stomach fluttered. You grabbed the journal and the candy and headed out of the tent quickly.

When Arthur woke, the day had fully transitioned into night. He stretched as he stood and noticed a folded piece of paper and a small pile of candies on his night stand. He smiled as he unfolded it. The paper was from the journal he had bought you and on it was a beautiful sketch of him, sleeping peacefully on his cot with his journal slack in his hands. He pinned the drawing up with the pictures above his bed. He grabbed the hand full of candies and headed towards your tent. When he looked inside, you were already curled up asleep, the new journal on the nightstand beside your bed. He found himself with a pang of disappointment, he was hoping he would get to see your reaction when you saw the journal, but he could ask you about it tomorrow, and he turned back to his tent.

You woke early the next morning and made your way to the coffee kettle. You looked around confused when Arthur wasn’t there preparing the morning coffee. You looked over to his tent and he was still fast asleep. You rolled your eyes and headed his direction. As you entered his tent, you noticed the sketch you made him yesterday pinned up with his photos. You couldn’t help but smile. You gently put your hand down on his and shook him gently. “Arthur, it’s time to get up.” You cooed to him softly. “Come on Arthur, I’m ready for some coffee.”

His breathing hitched as he slowly opened his eyes. “Alright, alright I’m up.” He said groggily.

You squeezed his hand and turned to leave. “Good, now come get the coffee goin’.”

He yawned as he pulled on his boots. “Don’t you know how to make coffee?”

You stood just outside his tent with your arms crossed, “Yeah, but I like the way you make it better.”

As he stepped out of the tent, he put a hand on your lower back. “Yer right, you never make it strong enough.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned into his hand. “I know.” You looked up at him, “Thank you, for the journal by the way. It’s so pretty! How much was it? I’ll pay you back.”

Arthur scoffed. “It was a gift, I don’t want yer money.”

You pouted, Arthur found it devastatingly cute. “Are you sure? I feel bad, you spendin’ yer hard earned money on me.”

He smiled down at you sweetly. “I tell ya what, you can just pay me back with those drawin’s like the one ya left me last night.”

You beamed at him, “It’s a deal.”

Arthur began buying you more gifts over time, it started small as candies and pencils and other little things he found on his journeys. In return, he would find a folded piece of paper on his night stand, always a lovely drawing usually of him or his horse. His caravan was slowly becoming covered in your sketches and he admired them often. His favorite was payment for the explosive ammo he crafted for your pistol. It was one of the most detailed one you had done. It was a picture of him, brushing his horse. You had caught the expression of his face perfectly, and the detail stunned him. It was one of your best works, he wondered how long you had been working on it.

With time, Arthur gained the courage to give you the softest of touches. A hand on the small of your back here, an arm around your shoulders there, he even began complimenting you more, determined to show you how he felt, but to his disappointment, it seemed as if you were oblivious to his advances.

He huffed in frustration as he watched you walk away from him. He had handed you a bag of your favorite candies and a new brush for your horse. His heart jumped in excitement when you hugged him tightly, but the excitement was short lived when you said, “How sweet! How did I get so lucky to have such a great friend?” And with that you turned and walked away. Friend? He was tired of being just friends. He thought he was being obvious about that and you weren’t picking it up. He sat down at the table in front of Hosea. “What’s eatin’ ya boy?”

Arthur rested his chin in his hands as he watched you walk up to your drawing spot under the oak tree. “I’ve tried everything, Hosea. What am I doin’ wrong?”

Hosea looked in the direction Arthur was gazing and he turned back. “Ah, I see. So have you told her how you feel?”

“God no,” Arthur grunted.

“Well then how have you tried everything?” Hosea raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve given her gifts, I compliment her just about every time I see her, I don’t know what else to do.” He said in a gloomy tone.

Hosea scoffed, “Listen, you ain’t gonna get anywhere beatin’ around the bush, just tell her how you feel.”

Arthur sighed. “Yeah what if I do? What if I tell her and she laughs in my face. I don’t think I could live with the rejection. Plus I don’t want to ruin what we have now.”’

Hosea stood. “Well you’re never gonna know until you try. And between you and me, I think you got a pretty good chance with that one.” He winked and walked away, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts. He looked up at you again, your nose was buried in your journal and your head tilted up, you squinted, and then it went back down.With a gulp, Arthur steeled his nerves and stood.

You were so focused on your picture that you didn’t hear Arthur approach. You about jumped out of your skin when he cleared his throat. “Jesus!” Your hand came up to your chest. “Damn it Arthur, you know better than to sneak up on me like that.”

He laughed as he took a seat beside you. “What are you workin’ on today?”

You pointed down to Dutch, sitting on a crate puffing a cigar. He couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy. He looked down at the drawing, “Wow, this may be your best one yet.”

You had captured Dutch’s likeness perfectly. The way he slumped on the crate looked so natural, but the puff of smoke coming from his mouth was what really impressed him. “This looks so realistic, how did you get this talented?”

You smiled, “My ma really enjoyed painting. I guess I got my base talent from her, but I guess it’s just practice.” You looked up at him. “Give yourself some credit though, you’re just as good as me, if not better.”

He pulled out his journal and flipped through his various sketches. “I don’t know about that.”

“Wait, what was that?” Your finger caught the page before he could flip passed it. He turned blood red as you opened the journal to the page your finger had caught. “Oh Arthur,” You whispered as your looked down at the drawing in awe. It was a drawing of you, slumped against the tree asleep.”This is beautiful.”

He gulped, “Well, it helps when the subject matter is beautiful.”

You looked up at him and he quickly averted his gaze. He cleared his throat, “Can you show me how you do your shading?”

“Sure.” You whispered as you handed his journal back to him. You scooted close to him, your shoulders were touching. You explained your process as you sketched Cain, moving your pencil slowly so he could see every move you made. When you finished you looked up at him, “Think you can do that?”

He smiled as he flipped to an empty page. “Think so. Didn’t look too hard.”

As he begun, you leaned your head against his shoulder. This sent chills down his spine. He didn’t look at you, but he did lean his head down against yours. He held his wrist like you taught him, and as his own sketch of Cain came to life, his markings were lighter, allowing his shading to look more realistic. He held it out to you when he finished. “Whatya think?”

You lifted your head and smiled. “Wonderful!” Your eyes met his and it seemed like time stood still. Your face was inches from his, and he felt your thumb gently graze his hand. This was it, this was his chance. You, looking up at him in awe, the golden rays of sunlight poking through the trees made you look angelic. He found himself beginning to lean into you, but then a voice came from the back of his head, she doesn’t want you like that. The voice whispered. Go on, kiss her. After you do she’ll go running and she’ll never come back. A girl like her could never love a degenerate like you.

Arthur sighed and stood. He put his hand out towards you, “Pearson should be done with supper soon. Let’s head back.”

Your eyes had a strange glint to them, something Arthur had never seen in them before. You looked back down into your journal. “You go ahead, I’ll meet you down there.”

Arthur kicked himself as he went down the hill. He chickened out, and found himself hating himself. Hating himself for not having the guts to tell you how he feels, hating himself because he knew you deserved better than him, hating himself for letting himself fall so hard for you.

You watched Arthur as he left, was it just your imagination, or was he about to kiss you? You shook the thought, Arthur was your friend, as much as you wish he did, you knew he didn’t have feelings for you. You were a plain girl, not a single special thing about you, and he was...well he was Arthur. The most handsome man you had ever seen, and by far the most interesting man you had ever met. He had such a tough exterior, a badass gunslinging hunk of a man, but he also had a more sensitive side. The side that loves to draw and write, the side that sings silly songs when he’s drunk and always makes time for you. He made your heart throb and most days it seemed like he was all you could think about. You sighed as you immersed yourself back into your journal.

You had become so focused on your journal, you didn’t realize night had began to fall until you were squinting down at your journal. You looked up, and the next thing you noticed was the rowdy amount of noise coming from the camp. As you walked down the hill, Ms. Grimshaw greeted you and handed you a bottle of moonshine. “Courtesy of the Braithwaites, drink up, my dear!”

You nodded and smiled as she walked away, you brought the bottle to your lips as you walked to the campfire. Most of the men were already quite drunk. even Arthur to your amusement. You could hear him loudly singing as you approached the campfire. When he looked up to you, he gave you the biggest grin you had ever seen. “Y/N!” He called drunkenly. He stumbled from his spot over to you and you laughed as he tripped over his own feet. You caught him before he could fall. “My hero!” He slurred.

You laughed as you wrapped an arm around him. His arm looped around your waist and it felt so natural to hold him like this as he led you to the fire. “Found ma lady!” He announced as you joined the group at the fire. He sat back down and before you could move to sit on the ground beside you, he pulled you down on his lap. Your face was bright red and you hoped the fire wasn’t bright enough for anyone to see. “This okay?” He whispered.

All you could do was nod your head yes and he wrapped his big arms around you tightly. Your head was swimming at his touch and as more liquor entered both of your systems, the nervousness melted from your bodies. By the end of the night, the pair of you were drunk as skunks. Arthur got a bit more handsier, his big palms slowly moved down your waist and by the end of the night his hand was cupping your ass. You were so drunk you didn’t care. You had one arm looped around his neck, playing with his hair. After awhile, it was just the two of you, Javier, and Charles at the fire. Javier strummed his guitar as Charles played the harmonica. Arthur took your hand and stood. Neither of you noticed Javier and Charles exchange glances as you walked away together holding hands.

You swung the arm that had his hand, as you laughed and stumbled through camp. You found yourself on the hill under the shady oak tree.

Arthur’s vision was blurry, but he could still see the look of desire in your eye as you looked up at him. “I gotta tell ya somethin’ but you can’t get mad.” He blurted.

You laughed, giddy with alcohol. “No promises.”

Arthur let out a shaky breath and took your other hand in his. Before you could process what was happening, Arthur’s lips came down on yours. His lips were soft and he tasted like alcohol. As he pulled back, you loooped your arms around his neck and brought his lips back down to yours. You could feel his smile against your lips as you kissed him hard. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against him tightly. When you broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours and let out a breathy laugh.

“What?” You asked self consciously. “Am I a bad kisser or somethin’?”

He put a hand on your cheek, “Not at all, just laughin’ at myself for how long it took me to do that.”

You smiled up at him, “Do it again.”

“Okay” He whispered, and his lips came back down on yours.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #reader insert #Van Der Linde Gang #rdr fanfiction

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whirlybirbs · 5 years

Note

Ok ok hear me out, so we know Arthur reads Miss Turner’s journal but what if Miss Turner gets her hands on Arthur’s?

a/n: oh god i gave myself a cavity writing this. it’s long, it aches. arthur takes miss turner fishing. she catches him drawing her. they make a deal, he reads her journal. this is pure romance, folks. a slow burn. it hurts. here’s the masterlist!

He’s gone for two whole days.

Two. Only two.

But, with the way Miss Grimshaw’s been harping on you and the other girls, you can’t help but feel like it’s been a damn week. You swear your fingers are worked to the bone from the amount of stitching, washing and cooking you’ve been doing.

It’s early evening when Arthur returns to camp from the hunting trip (alongside Lenny and Bill and Charles with a boar on each horse). He gives you a good excuse to get out for a while -- Miss Grimshaw and Dutch and Hosea don’t ask questions when it comes to the blonde outlaw. It’s just... one of those things. They trust Arthur.

Bill nudges Lenny. They’d joked on the trip how Miss Turner was makin’ Arthur soft. This is a show of it.

“Please tell me you’re not sick ‘n’ tired of the great outdoors just yet, Mr. Morgan.”

The sound of your voice meets his ears and Arthur can’t help but grin; he moves slowly, then, lifting the bounty of the hunt from Sugarcube’s saddle and sparing you an amused look.

“An’ if I am?”

“I’ll drown myself in the lake.”

Oh, you are quick.

He laughs -- loud and true -- and strides over to drop the carcass by Pearson’s butcher’s block. The tenderloin will make good stew. Lenny and Bill smirk at the way you watch him, enjoying the fact they’re right -- no amount of denying can hide the way Arthur brightens with you by his side.

He leans, propping himself against the table and folding his arms. “Why?”

“Fishing.”

You roll your eyes at him, slapping his bicep in good-humor. “Jack was sayin’ how good of a teacher you are --”

“Oh,” Arthur croons, “Was he now?”

“-- And I would love to learn how.”

Arthur grins, looking mischievous. He kicks off from the table, pulling a sigh and trying to make it seem like this isn’t the nicest thing in the world -- a pretty girl like you, seeking him out for some alone time and treating him like he’s some sought after company. He tries to hide his cards, hide the pep in his step.

Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen can see it from a mile away.

“They didn’t teach you fishing in those high-society classes a’ yours?”

“Oh,” you chirp, “Yes, fishing and hunting were right alongside piano an’ singing.”

“Singin’?”

His brows quirk. He turns, walking backwards towards Sugarcube with an piqued interest. Blue eyes scale your face. You’ve gone sheepish. It’s rather adorable.

You clamp your mouth shut, averting your gaze. “I didn’t --”

“An’ piano -- my, my, you really are a lady --”

You shove him backwards with a blooming smile on your face, earning a deep laugh from the outlaw as he nears his horse. The Palamino Thoroughbred whinnies, bowing her head up and down in greeting. You pat her muzzle gently, cooing a bit as Arthur moves to his satchel.

“I’ve got an extra pole you can use,” he says, “C’mon, then, daylights wastin’.”

He offers a hand, hoisting you up as you swing to sit side-saddle. He’s up in-front of you in a flash, spurs tinkering as he urges Sugarcube into a light trot. Your arms snake around his waist, palms resting against the curve of his sides. His gun holsters rattle at the pace.

You prop your chin up on his shoulder.

“Miss Grimshaw keepin’ y’ busy?”

His voice resounds through him, deep and warm, and you can feel it in your chest. It’s satisfying.

“I would be lyin’ if I said she wasn’t the reason I wanted to get away --”

“And here I was, thinkin’ y’ wanted t’ spend some time with little ol’ me.”

You cop a grin. “You aren’t my type, remember, Arthur?”

You can feel the way his laugh rattles his ribs. His smile is contagious. The sun is still hanging in the sky, when you come to rest at a spot away from camp on the lake. The water is dancing with a yellowish-blue from the clouds above and you’re content to just... be.

“C’mon, then. Time t’ put you t’ work.”

You grin, happily accepting his hand and hopping off of Sugarcube.

“Now, fair warning --”

“You aren’t much of a fisherman?” you chirp, quirking a brow, “Dutch told me.”

Arthur suddenly goes sheepish, cheeks striking a rosy color as he grumbles and itches the back of his neck -- that damn story of him, twenty-one and lying about catching three, huge large-mouthed bass for dinner (when really he’d just gone and bought them) has continued to haunt him for the last fifteen years. You, though, seem to get a kick out of it and fall into a spur of giggles.

He wonders what the hell else Dutch has told you.

“Yea, yea,” he rumbles, “I was young --”

“Mhm,” you say, taking the offered pole from him, “Go ahead, make some more excuses --”

Arthur shakes his head, laughing. “You keep that up, I’m gunna have t’ ask you t’ sing.”

“Just because I had lessons,” you say as you venture closer to the water, “Doesn’t mean I was any good.”

“Fair enough... I’m still gunna make y’ sing.”

“If I’ve had a drink,” you raise a finger, “Then, maybe.”

“My, the fair lady drinks?” he chirps, “Jus’ when I’d thought I’d seen it all.”

You shove his shoulder, rolling your eyes as he moves to settle the tackle box between you both. He bends, groaning a bit, before clicking open the latch and beginning to dig through the baits. After a moment, he finally finds the container he was looking for.

Scrawled across the top reads ‘live worms’.

You pull a face.

Arthur cracks open the container and snags his pole, straddling it between his legs and snagging the line between his fingers.

“Hold this...” he blinks up at you, “What?”

“They’re... oh, god, they’re wriggling.”

Arthur swears you’re the cutest damn thing alive -- he’d kiss you if he had the courage. Instead, he grins and shakes his head. He reaches in, moving to tie the worm around his hook before taking the container from your hands and snapping it shut.

“I’ll show you,” he says, “Then, you can have at it, alrigh’?”

And so he does. He casts the reel with a long throw and you watch, listening to the fweeeeeeeeeep, plunk! of the bait flying out and hitting the water. It’s nice -- quiet and peaceful and calm. Then, his rod pulls.

He reels in the fish and holds it up.

“If it’s small, you can just...” he tosses the fish, “Let ‘em go.”

You fumble at first; the worm slips from the hook a few times while you try and skewer it -- and the first cast you have is atrocious. You nearly take Arthur out with your whipping of the pole. But, with a well-guided hand, Arthur pulls your arm back and shows you the right way to cast.

You try to ignore how close you are, back pressed right to his chest.

He wanders off after that, leaving you to wiggle the pole every now and again and reel in and cast out. You lose yourself in thought for a bit, focused on the feeling of the rod in your hands and the breeze coming through.

The sun has started to set in the west, painting the sky and lake all kind of shades of citrine and rose. The world has a rose-tinted glow at this hour. The rustling of the leaves on the trees is like a lullaby and on the far end of the lakeside, you can see a family of white-tailed deer grazing happily.

The buck raises it’s head and you smile.

It’s moments like these that make you thankful for leaving home behind. Some days, it hurts. But, out here -- free and true, you remember how nice it is to just breathe and be and live. No money, no rules, no manners. Just... the wild.

You turn your head, catching Arthur Morgan mid-study.

He ducks his eyes immediately, caught in the act of sketching you -- from his perch on the rock to your right, he quickly moves to snap close the new leather-bound journal you’d given him earlier in the week.

“Mr. Morgan --”

“No, no,” he says, dropping his pencil into his shirt pocket, “Don’t you start --”

You reel in, propping up the rod on a nearby rock and abandoning it for his sheepish look -- he tosses his head back, sighing loudly; you grin, eyes on fire with something dizzying. You climb onto the rock beside him, leaning to try and snag the journal quickly -- but Arthur is fast and he knows this game. After all, he’d pulled the same trick on you all those weeks ago to read your journal.

“Aah, aah, ah.”

“Let me see.”

“No,” he rumbles, “It’s my journal. I’ll draw whatever the hell I please.”

“... You were drawin’ me.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, leaning back as you reach again, “An’ you ain’t gonna see it.”

Courage surges in your chest. Rumor had it Arthur was a bit of an artist around camp. You’d spotted him here and there scribbling in that journal. You’d always assumed it was chicken-scratch. But... with the way he’d just been looking at you... that was a practiced look.

You hold your breath.

And then it all rushes out.

“How about -- if you let me see it, I’ll let you read any page from mine,” you say slowly, “Anything is fair game -- Though my poems aren’t very good.”

“... Poems?”

Consider his curiosity piqued.

You stick your hand out.

Arthur blinks.

“Deal?”

“Christ, sure, alrigh’.”

It’s childish, he knows, but it fills his chest with an exciting buzz that he hasn’t felt in a long time. This little game -- a tit for tat -- has his hands sweating a bit as he shakes your hand under the setting sun and -- reluctantly -- pulls open his journal and flips to the most recent spread.

He hands you the journal and your jaw drops.

To say he’s good... well, that wouldn’t do his skill justice. He’s wonderful -- and the full page sketch of you fishing has your heart hammering all the way back to camp. He’s captured you in an idyllic way, hair braided and hat hanging low; the caption beside it reads your initials with a faint heart beside them. The page opposite has a few smaller sketches -- of Sugarcube, of a boar, of a few flowers, all accompanied by the flourished script of his handwriting.

It’s beautiful.

It’s art.

“... It’s not th’ best I’ve ever done --”

You gawk, a breathless laugh whisked from your chest as you blink up at him beside you. You cradle the journal with a newfound sense of treasure.

When you meet his gaze, you’re speechless.

You just... flounder, a bit like a fish, for a moment.

“No one’s ever... drawn me before.”

It’s all you can say. The gesture of him going so far as to make you a home in his personal journal... is awfully romantic.

Arthur swallows, taking the journal from you and fishing the pencil from his pocket in a way that screams urgency -- his cheeks has gone rosy from the attention and he can’t help but drop his gaze from yours.

It’s like staring into the sun.

“I... I could finish it if you’d like,” he says slowly, “You can have it.”

“... Really?”

“I have others -- I mean, in... uh, I have other drawings.... in my other journal --”

“Of me...?”

You damn fool, Arthur Morgan!

He gawks. “Uh... Well...”

You can’t help the hopelessly sweet look that blooms on your face. Gently, you urge him on, hand meeting his wrist as he tries to figure out the right words to say.

“...You do, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he says, quickly changing the subject and breaking the moment to spare his heart, “But, I believe you have yer end of th’ deal to keep, Miss Turner.”

As he turns back to his sketching, you laugh and stand -- Sugarcube has your satchel in one of her saddle bags and you make quirk work on digging out your own journal from the depths. It’s nearly full, pages tattered and weathered from it’s use. It’s smaller than Arthur’s, not as thick, but the pages are teeming with content in delicate script.

Arthur’s shading is cut short by your return to the rock.

You offer him the notebook, eyes set ahead of you.

“One page,” you say, raising a finger, “You get to read one page.”

Arthur’s signature boyish grin is back, blooming as he tucks his pencil between the pages of his journal and sets it on the rock behind him. He takes your journal gingerly, thumb gracing your name engraved on the front of it. Immediately, a pressed flower falls out the front.

It’s lilac.

He hands it your way and your fingers brush like the kiss of a match.

Blue eyes dart to yours, measuring the sheepishness on your face.

You’re not surprised when his fingers flip to the most recent entry, written four days ago -- the night after you and him had righted your wrongs on the ride into Rhodes. It’s almost like he knows the writing there will bloom the same amount of anxiousness your admiring of his sketches did.

He clears his throat and you cry, throwing your hands over your face.

“Oh god, no, Arthur, don’t read it out loud --”

“ -- It was worth it, the anxiety of tucking a whole journal under by sleeve in that market stall in Saint Denis. I’ve never stolen a damn thing in my life. But, Mr. Morgan deserves something good. He smiled, big and wholesome and warm, when I gave it to him and I think that’s how I like him best; he tries so hard to be bitter, not realizing how easily me and the rest of the camp would kill to see him smile like that again --”

You lunge, hands pulling the journal from him as you shriek: “One page!”

Arthur’s face is split into one of those earth-shattering grins, one that you try your best to remember, when you snatch the journal from him -- your face is flooded with embarrassment, wishing maybe he’d picked a more poetic paragraph to read. You try and brace for the jeers, but instead, he drops his head and nods.

A beat of silence.

Your words settle neatly against his ribs.

“You mean that?”

“... Well, yes,” you breathe, clutching the notebook close to your heart, “Every word.”

“...You’ve never stolen?” he says after a beat, face screwed up, “... Ever?”

“... God, Arthur,” you cry, laughing loudly and shoving his arm, “That’s what you --- That is the one thing you focus on?!”

He grins again, chuckling at your reaction -- his ability to not make you feel like a fool is astounding. For a few moments, you both just sit there, basking in the glow of one another under the sunset. The clouds have turned inky purple in the wake of the sharing, breeze turning cooler off the lake as the camp’s fires begin to glow in the early evening light.

He’s a coward, though, and as much as Arthur Morgan wants to kiss you under the blinking stars, he doesn’t.

Instead, he hops down from the rock and offers you a hand; ever the gentleman.

“Best we head back t’ camp,” he drawls, “It’s nearly supper time.”

You nod, noting the permanent smile on his face. “Miss Grimshaw’s probably wondering where her favorite laundry girl went.”

Arthur gathers the fishing equipment and you tuck both of your journals back into Sugarcube’s satchels. Upon packing up, Arthur offers a hand again and you find yourself sitting side-saddle as he hauls himself upwards.

Your hold on him is bit more confident, now.

Your nose brushes his shoulder. Arthur’s hand pats yours on his hip.

“Arthur?”

“Yea?”

“... Thanks for drawin’ me.”

You can’t see his face. He’s thankful. His smile is lovesick.

#simpler said aloud #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x reader #rdr imagine #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 reader insert #arthur morgan fanfic #Anonymous

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steamysthings · 7 years

Note

Um hey I wanted to ask you something how do you draw cats so good? I know you got to use a reference and all but like I'm using refs but I can't find out the proportions for example a sphynx cat and like I'm divided between using refs and tracing & people are saying don't do tracing it will get you addicted to it or put you in a trap but then others say it's good but people who say it's good just do it only ONE time so im really stuck :( and I need help I was wondering if you could help?

hi! I don't know how much help I'll be, but i can give you a summary of how I tend to draw things. This might be long, apologies!!Bottom line stuff: 1. Reference is your best friend! And an amazing tool for organizing your reference pictures is pureref (you can google it and download for free!). that's just my little shoutout there. 2. I'm coming an art college and a self-taught background. so this might be funky. 3. Cats are WILD to draw. they're very complicated and expressive.

I'll use a sphynx cat and focus on reference, since that's what you're trying to work on!

First off, I think tracing gets a rough name in art because people tend to assume that copying anything from reference in an art piece counts as tracing, and using it at all is an automatic no-no that will forever stunt your artistic growth. Not so true! For one, references are always good, and I tend to use more than one picture as a ref, because it helps you understand the underlying structure of what you're drawing, as opposed to just recognizing lines and drawing from there.

Here's my array of references! I tried to choose pictures that showed off lots of aspects of the cat; some pics show the body shape really well, while others show off the face more clearly. There are tons of ways to use reference images, and honestly, all of them have been useful for me at some point.

- loose tracing over an image directly- 'frankenstein'-ing photos to create a close image to what you want to draw- refs and winging it

I'll try to give some simple examples to show what I mean. Normally when i decide, oh, I'm gonna draw a cat, I'll either loosely sketch up a pose I like and seek out anatomy references for similar poses, or I'll find a picture i like and recreate that pose. In this case i did the second. First, i found a pic, and loosely sketched over the pic in PS to get a feel for the main shapes in kitty-cat’s body.

then, separately and right beside that image, I did a sketch based off of those shapes, and cleaned it up.

When I do sketches like this, i like to use additional references to tighten up details, like the face - the initial pic wasn’t quite detailed enough on the face, so I used another photo to tidy up the shapes.

(This is a form of ‘frankenstein’-ing pictures together to get the feel you want, but sometimes I will physically copy and paste pieces of a photo together (within reason) to get where I need to be. )

Tracing in this way - without physically tracing every single line - both gives your sketches more flow, and allows you to learn while you draw. It's the same idea with drawing from still life. The more you focus on the shapes that make up a cat or a vase or a horse or whatever you're drawing, the better you'll be at recognizing how to make them look the way you want without religiously following every line in an image.

Usually I’ll just use a reference to look at and draw from it, like here:

Other times I'll do lots of practice sketches based off of images (or my own cat) and that works especially well for cats, because they're so flowy and full of life! Cats make the best animal shapes and there's so much variety in them.You can also just as easily make a little cheat sheet for your basic proportions, and draw from your imagination there.

This is a very messy, loose tutorial, but i hope this helped! i would DEFINITELY try to do some like drawings, too, if possible. They should really help you get an eye for shapes, postures, and attitude (cattitude?). happy drawing!

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leanstooneside · 4 years

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FRENCH BRED

HER ABOUT A TWELVEMONETH SINCE LIKE A MAN SOMETHING ANCIENT IN BLACKISH CLOATHES BUT HE HAD UGLY FEET UNCOVERED.'[56] THE EVIDENCE OF THE SUFFOLK WITCHES 16456 IS TO THE SAME EFFECT

FACT IS NOT OF SPECIAL INTEREST

SCOTLAND.ÂTHE EARLIEST DESCRIPTION IS IN THE TRIAL OF BESSIE

DAYS AFTER THE SAME PERSON IN APPEARANCE COMES TO HER AND OWNS THAT HE WAS THE DEVIL.'[89] THE LATEST INSTANCE IS AT THURSO

GREATER PART OF THE EVIDENCE REGARDING THE WOMANDEVIL IS FROM SCOTLAND

PERSONS AMONG WHOM OCCUR THE NAMES OF 'OULD BIRTLES THE GREAT DEVIL ROGER BIRTLES AND HIS WIFE AND ANNE BIRTLES DARNALLY THE SORCERER THE OULDE WITCHE OF RAMSBURY MAUD TWOGOOD ENCHANTRESS MOTHER GILLIAN WITCH' AND SEVERAL OTHER 'OULDE WITCHES'.[133] THE ACCOUNT BY JOHN STEARNE THE PRICKER IN 1645 INDICATES THAT ONE OF THE MAGISTRATES OF FENNY DRAYTON WAS THE LOCAL DEVIL: 'SOME WILL SAY IT IS STRANGE THEY

IT IS OFTEN IMPOSSIBLE TO DISTINGUISH BETWEEN HER

SALEM ALSO THE ACCOUNT GIVEN BY THE WITCHES OF THE REV. GEORGE BURROUGHS POINTS TO HIS FILLING THE OFFICE OF 'DEVIL' FOR HE WAS 'HEAD ACTOR AT SOME OF THEIR HELLISH RANDEZVOUSES AND ONE WHO HAD THE PROMISE OF BEING A KING IN SATAN'S KINGDOM.ÂHE WAS THE PERSON WHO HAD SEDUC'D AND COMPELL'D THEM INTO THE SNARES OF WITCHCRAFT'.[143] THAT BURROUGHS WAS A RELIGIOUS PERSON IS NO ARGUMENT

HE HAD BOOTS AND SOMETIMES SHOES ON HIS FOOT; BUT STILL [ALWAYS] HIS FOOT ARE FORKED AND CLOVEN.'[82] AT CROOK OF DEVON IN KINROSSSHIRE IN THE SAME YEAR NINE OF THE WITCHES DESCRIBE THE MEN THEY SAW FOR EVIDENTLY THERE WERE TWO 'DEVILS' IN THIS DISTRICT; ISOBEL RUTHERFORD SAID THAT 'SATHAN WAS IN THE LIKNESS OF A MAN WITH GRAY CLOATHES AND ANE BLUE BANNET HAVING ANE BEARD'; BESSIE HENDERSON 'THE DEVIL APPEARED TO YOU IN THE LIKENESS OF ANE BONNIE YOUNG LAD WITH ANE BLUE BONNET'; ROBERT WILSON 'THE DEVIL WAS RIDING ON ANE HORSE WITH FULYAIRT CLOTHES AND ANE SPANISH CAPE'; BESSIE NEIL 'SATHAN APPEARED TO YOU WITH DUNCOLOURED CLOTHES'; MARGARET LITSTER 'SATHAN HAVING GREY CLOTHES'; AGNES BRUGH 'THE DEVIL APPEARED IN THE TWILIGHT LIKE UNTO A HALF LONG FELLOW WITH AN DUSTI COLOURED COAT'; MARGARET HUGGON 'HE WAS AN UNCOUTH MAN WITH BLACK CLOATHES WITH ANE HOOD ON HIS HEAD'; JANET PATON 'SATHAN HAD BLACK COLOURED CLOTHES AND ANE BLUE BONNET BEING AN UNKIE LIKE MAN'; CHRISTIAN GRIEVE 'SATHAN DID FIRST APPEAR TO YOW LIKE ANE LITTLE MAN WITH ANE BLUE BONNET ON HIS HEAD WITH ROUGH GRAY CLOATHS ON HIM'.[83] MARIE LAMONT OF INNERKIP ALSO IN 1662 SAID THAT 'THE DEVIL WAS IN THE LIKENESS OF A MEIKLE BLACK MAN AND SUNG TO THEM AND THEY DANCIT'; HE APPEARED AGAIN 'IN THE LIKENESS OF A BLACK MAN WITH CLOVEN FEATT'.[84] AT PAISLEY IN 1678 THE GIRLWITCH ANNABIL STUART SAID THAT 'THE DEVIL IN THE SHAPE OF A BLACK MAN CAME TO HER MOTHER'S HOUSE'; HER BROTHER JOHN WAS MORE DETAILED IN HIS DESCRIPTION HE OBSERVED 'ONE OF THE BLACK MAN'S FEET TO BE CLOVEN: AND THAT THE BLACK MAN'S APPAREL WAS BLACK; AND THAT HE HAD A BLUISH BAND AND HANDCUFFS; AND THAT HE HAD HOGERS[85] ON HIS LEGS WITHOUT SHOES'; MARGARET JACKSON OF THE SAME COVEN CONFIRMED THE DESCRIPTION 'THE BLACK MAN'S CLOTHES WERE BLACK AND HE HAD WHITE HANDCUFFS'.[86] THE CLEAREST EVIDENCE IS FROM AN UNPUBLISHED

FRANCE ALSO THERE IS A CONSIDERABLE AMOUNT

EXAMPLE OF THE CHANGE OF THE WORD 'GOD' WHEN USED BY THE WITCH INTO THE WORD 'DEVIL' WHEN RECORDED BY THE CHRISTIAN WRITER IS FOUND AT BUTE

FACT THAT A CERTAIN FORM OF RELIGIOUS FEELING CAN EXIST AT THE SAME TIME AS THE PROPENSITY TO AND PRACTICE OF SEXUAL INDULGENCE THERE IS PROOF

BEING THE CHIEF OF THE WINDSOR WITCHES: 'SHE CONFESSETH HER SELF OFTEN TYMES TO HAUE GON TO FATHER ROSIMOND HOUSE WHERE SHE FOUNDE HYM SITTYNG IN A WOOD NOT FARRE FROM THENCE VNDER THE BODIE OF A TREE SOMETYMES IN THE SHAPE OF AN APE AND OTHERWHILES LIKE AN HORSE.'[132] IN THE REIGN OF ELIZABETH 1584 THERE IS A LIST

MAGISTRATES WAS THE CHIEF OF THE WITCHES; ROBERT GRIEVE ACCUSED A CERTAIN WOMAN AT A SECRET SESSION OF THE COURT 'BUT THE DEVIL CAME THAT SAME NIGHT UNTO HER AND TOLD HER THAT HOB GRIEVE HAD FYLED HER FOR A WITCH'.[139] ISOBEL RAMSAY IN 1661 WAS ACCUSED THAT 'YOU HAD ANE UTHER MEITING WT THE DEVILL IN YOR AWNE HOUS IN THE LIKNES OF YOR AWNE HUSBAND AS YOU WES LYING IN YOR BED AT QCH TYME YOU ENGADGED TO BE HIS SERVANT AND RECEAVED A DOLLAR FROM HIM'.[140] WHEN A MAN HAD SPECIAL KNOWLEDGE AS TO WHICH WOMEN WERE WITCHES IT IS SUGGESTIVE THAT HE

1576 BESSIE DUNLOP MET THOM REID WHO WAS CLEARLY THE DEVIL; HE WAS 'ANE HONEST WELE ELDERLIE MAN GRAY BAIRDIT AND HAD ANE GRAY COITT WITH LUMBART SLEVIS OF THE AULD FASSOUN; ANE PAIR OF GRAY BREKIS AND QUHYTE SCHANKIS GARTANIT ABOUE THE KNE; ANE BLAK BONET ON HIS HEID CLOISE BEHIND AND PLANE BEFOIR WITH SILKIN LAISSIS DRAWIN THROW THE LIPPIS THAIROF.'[105] AT NORTH BERWICK IN 1590 'THE DEUELL CLED IN A BLAK GOWN WITH A BLAK HAT VPON HIS HEAD PREACHIT VNTO A GRET NOMBER OF THEM.'[106] ANOTHER DESCRIPTION OF THE SAME EVENT SHOWS THAT 'THE DEVIL START UP IN THE PULPIT LIKE A MICKLE BLACK MAN CLAD IN A BLACK TATIE GOWN; AND AN EVILFAVOURED SCULLBONNET ON HIS HEAD'.[107] AT ABERDEEN IN 1597 ELLEN GRAY DESCRIBED THE DEVIL AS 'ANE AGIT MAN BEIRDIT WITH A QUHYT GOWN AND A THRUMMIT HAT'.[108] IN 1609 IN THE BASSESPYRÃ©NÃ©ES WHEN THE DEVIL APPEARED AS A GOAT 'ON LUY VOIT AUSSI QUELQUE ESPECE DE BONET OU CHAPEAU AU DESSUS DE SES CORNES.'[109] THE ALLOA COVEN IN 1658 SPOKE OF 'A MAN IN BROUN CLATHIS AND ANE BLAK HAT'; AND ON TWO OCCASIONS OF 'A YOUNG MAN WITH GRAY CLOATHIS AND ANE BLEW CAP'.[110] IN 1661 JANET WATSON OF DALKEITH 'WAS AT A MEITTING IN NEWTOUNDEIN WITH THE DEAVILL WHO HAD GREIN CLOATHES VPONE HIM AND ANE BLAK HATT VPONE HIS HEAD'.[111] FIVE MEMBERS OF THE COVEN AT CROOK OF DEVON IN 1662 SPOKE OF THE DEVIL'S HEADGEAR

CHARACTER OF THE ACCUSED IN THIS CASE IS OF GREAT IMPORTANCE

I ANSWER LET IT BE KEPT NEVER SO PRIVATE IT HATH BEEN COMMON AND AS COMMON AS ANY OTHER THING AS THEY THEMSELVES HAVE CONFESSED: FOR SO DID THEY OF FENNYDRAYTON IN CAMBRIDGESHIRE WHO MADE VERY LARGE CONFESSIONS AS THAT THE DEVIL TOLD THEM OF OUR COMING TO TOWN.'[134] ONE OF THE CLEAREST CASES HOWEVER IS THAT OF MARSH

IT IS CERTAIN THAT THE SOCALLED 'DEVIL

SHE DESCRIBED HIM AS 'ANE HONEST WELE ELDERLIE MAN GRAY BAIRDIT AND HAD ANE GRAY COITT WITH LUMBART SLEVIS OF THE AULD FASSOUN; ANE PAIR OF GRAY BREKIS AND QUHYTE SCHANKIS GARTANIT ABOUE THE KNE; ANE BLAK BONET ON HIS HEID CLOISE BEHIND AND PLANE BEFOIR WITH SILKIN LAISSIS DRAWIN THROW THE LIPPIS THAIROF; AND ANE QUHYTE WAND IN HIS HAND'.[64] ALISON PEIRSON 1588 MUST HAVE RECOGNIZED THE MAN WHO APPEARED TO HER FOR SHE 'WES CONUICT OF THE VSING OF SORCERIE AND WICHCRAFT WITH THE INUOCATIOUN OF THE SPREITIS OF THE DEWILL; SPECIALLIE IN THE VISIOUNE AND FORME OF ANE MR. WILLIAM SYMPSOUNE HIR COUSING AND MODERBROTHERISSONE QUHA SCHE AFFERMIT WES ANE GRIT SCOLLER AND DOCTOR OF MEDICIN'.[65] THOUGH THE DEVIL OF NORTH BERWICK 1590 APPEARED IN DISGUISE IT IS NOT ONLY CERTAIN THAT HE

DAVENPORT'S RECORD IS SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT: 'BLACKMAN

HIM ALTHOUGH THEY SEE ANOTHER MAN BUT WHO OR WHAT HE IS THEY

CASES THESE ARE USUALLY MEN AND THE NAMES ARE OFTEN GIVEN BUT IT IS ONLY IN THE CASE

BEAST SICK THAT IS NOT TANE AWAY BE THE HAND

DEVIL OF NORTH BERWICK THAT THE MAN IN QUESTION IS OF ANY HISTORIC IMPORTANCE

THERE IS NO INDICATION

QUEEN OF ELPHIN OR ELFHAME IS SOMETIMES CALLED THE DEVIL

CASE HISTORICALLY HOWEVER IS THAT OF THE DEVIL

FORFAR IN 1661 HELEN GUTHRIE SAID THAT AT SEVERAL MEETINGS THE DEVIL WAS PRESENT 'IN THE SHAPE OF A BLACK IRONHUED MAN'; KATHERINE PORTER 'SAW THE DIVILL AND HE HAD ANE BLACKE PLAID ABOUT HIM'; WHEN ISSOBELL SMYTH WAS ALONE GATHERING HEATHER 'HEE APPEARED TO HIR ALONE LIK ANE BRAW GENTLEMAN'; AND ON ANOTHER OCCASION 'LIKE A LIGHT GENTLEMAN'.[79] JONET WATSON OF DALKEITH ALSO IN 1661 SAID 'THAT THE DEIVILL APEIRED VNTO HER IN THE LIKNES OF ANE PRETTIE BOY IN GREIN CLOTHES.... SHOE WAS AT A MEITTING IN NEWTOUNDEIN WITH THE DEAVILL WHO HAD GREIN CLOTHES VPONE HIM AND ANE BLAK HATT VPONE HIS HEAD'.[80] IN THE SAME YEAR AN EDINBURGH COVEN WAS TRIED: JONET KER WAS ACCUSED THAT 'AS YOU WER COMEING FROM EDR TO THE PARK YOU METT WITH THE DEVILL AT THE BOUGH IN THE LIKNES OF A GREAVOUS BLACK MAN'; HELENE CASSO 'MET WITH THE DEVILL IN LIKNES OF A MAN WITH GREINE CLOATHS IN THE LINKS OF DUDINGSTONE QR HE WES GATHERING STICKS AMONGST THE WHINES'; ISOBEL RAMSAY 'METT WITH THE DEVILL IN THE LIKNES OF A PLEASANT YOUNG MAN WHO SAID QR LIVE YOU GOODWYF AND HOW DOES THE MINISTER AND AS YOU WES GOEING AWAY HE GAVE YOU A SEXPENCE SAYING GOD BUD HIM GIVE YOU THAT QCH YOU WARED AND BOUGHT MEALL THERWITH AS ALSO YOU HAD ANE UTHER MEITING WT THE DEVILL IN YOR AWNE HOUSE IN THE LIKNES OF YOR AWNE HUSBAND AS YOU WES LYING IN YOR BED AT QCH TYME YOU ENGADGED TO BE HIS SERVANT'; JONET MILLAR 'DID MEIT WT THE DEVILL IN LIKNES OF ANE YOUNG MAN IN THE HOUS BESYD THE STANDING STANE'.[81] THE TRIALS OF THE AULDEARNE WITCHES IN 1662 ARE FULLY REPORTED AS REGARDS MATTERS WHICH INTERESTED THE RECORDER; UNFORTUNATELY THE APPEARANCE OF THE DEVIL WAS NOT ONE OF THESE THEREFORE ISOBEL GOWDIE'S DESCRIPTION IS ABBREVIATED TO THE FOLLOWING

THRIESCOIR YERIS SENSYNE OR THAIRBY THE DEVILL THY MAISTER COME TO THY MOTHERIS HOUS IN THE LIKNES AND SCHEAP OF A WOMAN QUHOM THOW CALLIS THE QUENE OF ELPHEN AND WAS DELYVERIT OF A BARNE AS APPERIT TO THE THEIR THOW CONFESSIS THAT BE THE SPACE OF THRETTIE TWO YERIS SENSYN OR THAIRBY THOW BEGUD TO HAVE CARNALL DEALL WITH THAT DEVILISCHE SPREIT THE QUENE OF ELPHEN ON QUHOM THOW BEGAT DYVERIS BAIRNIS QUHOM THOW HES SENE SENSYN.... THOW CONFESSIS THAT THE DEVILL THY MAISTER QUHOM THOW TERMES CHRISTSONDAY AND SUPPONIS TO BE ANE ENGELL AND GODDIS GODSONE ALBEIT HE HES A THRAW BY GOD AND SWYIS [SWAYS] TO THE QUENE OF ELPHEN IS RASIT

ABERDEEN WITCH MARION GRANT WAS ACCUSED IN THE SAME YEAR AND CONFESSED 'THAT THE DEVILL THY MAISTER QUHOME THOW TERMES CHRISTSONDAY CAUSIT THE DANS SINDRIE TYMES WITH HIM AND WITH OUR LADYE QUHA AS THOW SAYES WAS A FINE WOMAN CLED IN A QUHYT WALICOT'.[122] IN AYRSHIRE IN 1605 PATRICK LOWRIE AND JONET HUNTER WERE ACCUSED THAT THEY 'ATT HALLOWEVIN ASSEMBLIT THAME SELFFIS VPON LOWDONHILL QUHAIR THAIR APPEIRIT TO THAME ARE DEVILLISCHE SPREIT IN LIKNES OF ANE WOMAN AND CALLIT HIR SELFF HELEN MCBRUNE'.[123] IN THE BASSESPYRÃ©NÃ©ES IN 1609 ONE COULD 'EN CHASQUE VILLAGE TROUUER VNE ROYNE DU SABBAT QUE SATHAN TENOIT EN DELICES CO[~M]E VNE ESPOUSE PRIUILEGIÃ©E'.[124] AT THE WITCHMASS THE WORSHIPPERS 'LUY BAISENT LA MAIN GAUCHE TREMBLANS AUEC MILLE ANGOISSES & LUY OFFRENT DU PAIN DES ÅUFS & DE L'ARGENT: & LA ROYNE DU SABBAT LES REÃ§OIT LAQUELLE EST ASSISE Ã SON COSTÃ© GAUCHE & EN SA MAIN GAUCHE ELLE TIENT VNE PAIX OU PLATINE DANS LAQUELLE EST GRAUÃ©E L'EFFIGIE DE LUCIFER LAQUELLE ON NE BAISE QU'APRÃ¨S L'AUOIR PREMIÃ¨REMENT BAISÃ©E Ã ELLE'.[125] IN 1613 THE LANCASHIRE WITCH ANNE CHATTOX MADE A CONFUSED STATEMENT AS TO THE SEX OF THE SOCALLED SPIRITS; IT IS HOWEVER QUITE POSSIBLE THAT THE CONFUSION

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