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rdr2gifs · 3 months

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Each time Arthur has helped someone without expecting payment (that I can remember) because I’ve seen some weird takes circling around about how Arthur only cares about money/doesn’t help people (yet again)

He helped a city photographer take pictures and acted as his protector because he liked him

He helped a doctor retrieve a stolen wagon full of medicine, he wasn’t even asked to do so, he did it out of his own good will

He wanted to make an old cranky man happy and proposed finding his lost trinkets for him

He helped Deborah MacGuiness find dinosaur bones out of curiosity. He didn’t receive any financial reward for it. Just a few trinkets and he was satisfied

He risked his life for Marko Dragic’s experiments (his main motivation in this mission was again, curiosity)

He rescued a boy being held hostage by the gunsmith in Rhodes

He rescued people from being trafficked and gave them a large sum of money (he could’ve kept it for himself) for a better life

He helped Mr. White and Mr. Black gain freedom and even helped them again after they got themselves into trouble

He rescued Charles Chatenay on at least 3 different occasions

He instantly hurried to retrieve Sister Calderon’s cross even though he has never met her before

In his first encounter with Marjorie and Bertram, he helps to calm Bertram down and is understanding even though Bertram gave him trouble. He even puts the bartender in his place after he speaks about Bertram in a degrading manner

He agreed to help a man get rid of nigh folk occupying his property and after he payed him with only a rat pelt, Arthur didn’t get angry and still asked him if he’d be really fine on his own after knowing he wouldn’t be able to pay

He let a homeless man hug him and listened to what he has to say

He helped to save Jamie from becoming a cult member and stopped him from taking his life

He helped a boy look for his lost dog

He saved an injured man’s life after driving him to a doctor

He helped a woman get rid of a body after she claimed she had to kill the man in self-defence

He donated to the poor and even to build a shelter for war-veterans

He taught Charlotte how to survive on her own

He tried to save a crazed village out of his own good will

He helped a war veteran retrieve his prosthetic leg and helped him hunt

He helped a man look for his lost friend in the snowy mountains

He helped Rain’s Fall retrieve sacred items important to his people

He helped to retrieve stolen medical supplies for the Wapiti tripe

He saved Captain Monroe’s life after hearing he was in danger

He helped Beau and Penelope escape from their terrible families

He has saved many hunters from getting mauled, given many ladies a ride home, saved people from dying of poisoning, helped gather herbs, helped a lost New Yorker find his way to the town, helped save many people’s lives (lady being held hostage in her own house in Lemoyne, folk getting tortured by The Murfees or Lemoyne Raiders etc.)

Let’s not forget the fact that Arthur is a provider for over 20 people. He cannot be running around and risking his life for free for everyone he meets. He needs money. Even so, he has helped all the people above for no reward and out of his own free will. When I see someone say that Arthur is only motivated by money and never helps people otherwise, I just instantly assume they stormed through the story and didn’t pay any attention. The encounters listed above make up the majority of chance encounters/side quests and in almost all of them he is helping people. 80% of these are also pre-diagnosis.

He has a hard time accepting any compliments or gratitude for his good deeds and always downplays himself. Even in the main story he is never thinking about himself and he always puts others first.

“You did not ask for anything, you only gave”

The encounters where he does require payment pale in comparison to those in which he doesn’t, and even so they are very justified as they are often dangerous, time consuming or straight up ridiculous. It’s weird to assume Arthur only helps people for money when he doesn’t want to deliver love letters, interview dangerous people and sneak into heavily guarded properties for free.

#writing this so I don’t get brainwashed in the future by people #claiming Arthur’s indifferent to everyone and everything unless they give him money #obviously this is based on high-honor #obviously Arthur has done terrible things in his life but I feel like majority of players just straight up ignore this??#I know I mentioned this many times already but I am forever annoyed by people saying Arthur only started helping people after getting sick #arthur morgan #text post #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2

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twola · 1 year

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I always hate like “requesting” something because it feels like a forceful “write this for me now!” kind of thing, but a I’ve always had this smutty idea in my head where Arthur is getting a little weaker from the TB, but is also pinning after some cute girl in camp. Some wooing occurs and things start getting steamy~ but it’s her first time or she’s not super experienced. I feel like HH!Arthur would try to be the gentleman to show her a sweet, gentle time, but wouldn’t have the stamina for missionary, so his partner would pick up where he leaves off by riding him like the work horse he is. I just thin the scenario would be perfect for like sexy words of encouragement (def NOT thinking of his mare voice lines *wink wink wink*) plus Arthur getting taken care of too instead of just doing the caring. I have like 0 writing skills tho lol so if you ever found yourself in need of smutty I soo I would feel HONORED for you to bring my nasty Arthur thoughts to life

Ooh, TB whumpy smut… I’m sensing a pattern here. My poor boah, how I love to torture him…

This was a good one! Still working on a few more. I love and thrive on feedback so drop me a line if you liked it.

Regret Me Not

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Regrets seem to take up much of his headspace these days... But for one regret of his, Arthur takes action with a little bit of urging on your part.

Arthur wheezes, covering his mouth with the back of his palm, the wet, hacking noise that scrapes out of his throat as he sits on the boulder south of Beaver Hollow, out of earshot of the camp.

Not that he needed people’s stares. He looks terrible enough that he gets looks of pity from the women, avoided by the men - and Dutch? Well, he is living in another reality.

Another cough rips through him, as he feels as if he were drowning within his own body. A small hand lands on his back. He looks up, rubbing his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

You stand over his shoulder, rubbing gently, concern alight in your eyes. You look down and dig into the pockets of your skirts.

“Here.” You say with a small smile, handing him a bottle of tonic.

He coughs again, butchering his thanks, as he takes the bottle from your hands, uncorking it quickly and downing the foul-tasting liquid quickly.

“How are you feeling?” You ask quietly, hand still resting on his shoulder, slowly, gently rubbing circles into his upper back.

Arthur wants to lean wholly into your touch. He wants to wrap himself into you and let you card your fingers through his hair. He wants to rest. He wants to sleep.

He wants, he wants - but alas. None of that was possible.

“Like hell.” He grits out hoarsely, tossing the empty bottle to the dirt at his feet.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” You say softly. Your other hand moves to his back as well, rubbing at his other shoulder.

“ ‘S alright.” He murmurs, not wanting to let on how good your hands feel on him.

A silence settles in, and you rub at his shoulders for a few moments more before drawing your hands away from him.

“Well… I just wanted to check on you. See how you’re doin’. I’ll see you later, Arthur.” You say, and he can hear the crunch of gravel under your boot as you turn on your heel. You begin to walk up the path back toward camp, as he turns and follows you with his gaze over his shoulder.

Arthur wants. In the embracing of his mortality, the facade of propriety and the painstakingly built walls around his heart crumble in the face of his own death.

He has watched you for months. Yearned for months, wanted and needed your attention, always too self-conscious to reach out and touch.

Sister Calderon’s words echo in his ears with each step you take away from him.

“Take a chance that love exists.”

“D-do you wanna get outta here?”

His voice is hoarse, almost weak sounding. Nothing of the man that he used to be.

You stop, turning around, a small smile creeping across your face. “God, get outta this hell hole? Absolutely. Anywhere is better than these hills.”

His heart hopes.

“I gotta go grab some mail from Van Horn. Ain't much better though…”

“It ain’t here, Mister Morgan. Let’s go.”

—

Van Horn is just as decrepit as the last time he was here. Falling apart and full of the dregs of society, left behind by the churning wheel of progress. He mirthfully counts himself as one of them, he supposes.

He tucks the letters he retrieved into his satchel, moseying slowly toward the back of the dock, where you stand with your elbows on the railing, gazing at the river’s lazy waters. Northward, toward the mountains and the river’s origins.

“Y’ready there, ma’am?”

You look back at him but don’t move. “Already? Ugh. Camp’s just so…”

Arthur sidles up next to you, placing his own elbows on the railing, grunting in agreement. You didn’t need to go any further, he knew where you were going with your comment.

The camp was… well, a gloom has settled upon it. Dutch acting irrational, angry. The loss of Hosea and Lenny. Running from Pinkertons.

And his own impending demise, of course.

“What’re you gonna do after?” Arthur asks quietly and notices the stuttering breath you take as your shoulders drop a little.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t have much else than this.”

Arthur hangs his head, taking in a deep breath. A breath that seems to barely fill his ailing lungs, and he coughs slightly under the rim of his hat.

“Y’got a good head on you. You’ll do fine.” He grits out, voice hoarse.

You remain silent, your eyes set on the water of the slow-flowing river. A boat chugs southbound, heading toward Saint Denis.

“I don’t know how I’ll fare being alone.” You softly murmur.

He sighs. “I’m sure you can stay with Abigail or Missus Adler. Or Charles. You got people to watch out for you.”

“But not you.”

A pang, a sharp pain shoots through his chest, above and beyond the near-constant constriction of his lungs.

“No. Not me.”

You look up at him, a sheen of wetness over your eyes. It pains him as he looks back.

A tear rolls down your face and it’s everything he is not to lean over and cup your face in his hands and wipe your tears away.

“Sweetheart, you deserve-”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me what I deserve, Arthur Morgan.” You spit out, tears openly running down your cheeks.

Arthur sighs, looking back down at the water. It is murky, muddy, dirty right under the dock. Just like this damn town.

You push yourself into his surprised embrace, clutching at his shirt, and it takes him a moment to realize that this wasn’t a dream, and he winds his arms around you, pulling you against him.

“I wish you would stop hiding from me.” You whisper as he holds you to his chest, your cheek pressed against his breastbone, probably hearing the crackling failure of his lungs with each breath he takes.

He doesn’t know how to answer that. For years now, it’s been easier for him to keep that urn with the remains of his heart buried from all.

“I’m here… I’m here now.” He murmurs, resting his chin atop your head.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you, Arthur. Waitin’ and wishing for you to ask me to be yours.” You bury yourself in his embrace.

Fuck.

Arthur’s resolve cracks like a piece of porcelain.

“I’m just a fool. A fool for making you wait.”

You shudder against him, digging your fingers into his shirt, and your breath stutters as you try to stifle a sob. Pulling away, you look up at him, his bloodshot, sunken eyes, still the blue-green pools you would drown in.

You lean up on your toes, arms winding around his neck, but he turns his face away as you draw closer.

“No. I ain’t gettin’ you sick too.”

You frown, glassy-eyed, about to draw your arms from him before he leans down and presses his lips to your cheek, again and again, moving up toward your ear.

“But…. I’ll give you whatever else it is you want.” He rumbles, arms wound tight around you, his body arcing over yours.

You shiver in his embrace, pulling your head back ever so slightly to look him in the eye.

“I want whatever you’re willing to give me.” You whisper, hands moving up and clutching at his collar.

He leans his forehead against yours. “If you want a dying, washed-up gunsling-”

You interrupt, pressing up on your toes and kissing his cheek, “I want you, Arthur Morgan. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

So long.

Goddamnit. He’s been looking at you, yearning for you, for months. Before Blackwater and ferries and being chased by Pinkertons. Before Dutch became erratic, before all of these complications. When he was chasing tumbleweeds across the wild and open west.

He gives a shuddering sigh, and draws you closer, pulling you to him and placing his lips on the long line of your neck. You whimper as he pulls a bit of your pale skin between his teeth, suckling on it, hoping to leave a mark.

You throw your arms completely around his shoulders and begin to pant in his ear. Whimpers turn to whines as one of his large hands moves down from your waist to clench roughly at your rear, drawing you against his pelvis and his rapidly hardening cock.

“A-Arthur - please -” You moan, rubbing yourself against him, and he regretfully draws his mouth away from your skin, pink-tinged and wet from his attentions.

As much as he’d love to turn you around, throw up your skirts, and press himself into you for the sake of time, he knows you deserve more than that.

“Lemme get a room.” He pants, letting go of you, moving to adjust himself in his trousers. “Go on upstairs.”

You pull at the collar of your blouse to hide the evidence of your indiscretion and quietly nod, moving past him and slowly climbing the rickety stairs to the second story of the decrepit building.

He quickly pays for a room, and grabs the key from the clerk with a dismissive grunt, hurrying his way up the stairs to find you leaning against the second-story railing, waiting for him.

Arthur jams the key into the door’s lock, pushing it open, and lumbering into the room, where he immediately sheds the repeater strapped to his back and places it on the worn table next to the door. His gunbelt follows as you step inside, closing and locking the door behind you.

He places his hat atop the pile of guns on the table, looking back at you.

“Still want to do-”

You cut him off by closing the distance between you and throwing your arms around his waist.

He pulls you toward the bed, and places his hands on your waist, holding you still, as he sits on the bed, the worn frame creaking under his weight. He doesn’t spare it a second thought, eyes trained on you, and he gently pulls you to sit in his lap.

You cup his cheek gently, thumb tracing along his beard that he’s kept longer to hide the gauntness of his cheeks. His large hand lands on your thigh, squeezing it as he presses his face into the hollow of your neck.

You gasp as you feel his tongue on your skin, clutching at his shirt as you tilt your head back.

You shiver again as his hand creeps up under your skirt, finger gently rubbing against the seam of your bloomers, which dampens quickly under his ministrations.

“It's been a while,” He grunts out, unable to stop his hips from bucking up against your legs with you seated in his lap, the long line of him chasing your warmth.

“M-me too. Ain’t since-” you mewl into his ear as his fingers push your bloomers to the side and brush against the damp skin of your core, “some stable boy when I was sixteen- ahh - we - we didn’t know what we was doin’.” You gasp out as his pointer finger, thick and strong, dips inside your entrance, sheathing to the knuckle within your cunt.

He slides another finger inside you, groaning against your hair when he realizes how tight you are, clutching desperately at his digits, imagining how good you would feel surrounding his cock.

“I’ll be good to you,” He grits out, crooking his fingers within you.

“Oh-” You gasp, “I know, I know you will, Arthur.”

Arthur pulls you from his lap and lays you on the bed next to him, and immediately starts to shed his clothing, tossing it into piles on the floor as you join him, skirts and shirts thrown from the bed, a union suit and chemise - your bloomers land on the floor and he quickly climbs atop you, spreading your legs and fitting his hips in the cradle of yours.

In this old, dirty bed in this old, dirty room, he swears he has never seen something so beautiful as you sprawled out beneath him, the rise and fall of your breathing, the blush crawling down your cheeks to your neck, spreading out across your chest, to your pink nipples, pebbling as they are exposed to the cool air.

He leans down, balancing himself on his forearms, finding that spot on your neck again and nibbling at it, while one of his hands works its way to the space between you, grasping his hard cock and stroking it as he presses the swollen head against your core.

You mewl as he presses in, the head of his cock entering you, his hand moving from its base to frame your head again.

“God, you’re perfect.” He groans as he starts to press himself inside, inch by inch disappearing into your wet warmth, your panting high and fast in his ear as he suckles on your neck once again.

He thrusts, gently, and his hips press against yours as he’s buried himself to the hilt in your cunt. You mewl out a high whine, nails digging into his shoulder.

Arthur presses himself up slightly, looking down upon you. His fingers begin playing with the curling hairs at your temple, waiting for you to open your eyes, a sign that you’re used to his length and girth within you.

And when you do, he’s stricken. Your eyes flutter open and you inhale a breath with a sweet sigh. God, for once in his damn life, he’s doing something right.

Your arms wind around his neck as you press your lips to his cheek, he knows that you want to taste him, to mold your lips together and moan into each other’s mouths - he wants that too, but it’s a step too far. He’s already half afraid of spreading his sickness to you.

Arthur thrusts, gently still, but faster and harder than he had been, you squeal in delight, which spurs him into finding a rhythm, his body moving over yours.

He grunts, panting as he moves his hips, fucking into you and pressing you down into this old, uncomfortable mattress. He swears he’ll bring you to some nice hotel in Saint Denis and make love to you on a plush expensive mattress-

A constriction in his chest stops him mid-thrust.

He pants, wheezing, his hips slowing as he struggles to catch his breath. Christ, what a sorry excuse for a man he is - can’t even please a woman in the state he’s in.

You gently push on his shoulder, and he has the stamina, at least, to raise himself up and look upon you, cheeks blazing in shame.

“Here, maybe I should get on top?” You ask, your hand cupping his cheek while the other gently lays upon his chest.

He groans at the thought, his traitorous cock twitching as he’s buried in your cunt, causing you to gasp out.

“Alrigh’,” Arthur grunts, and steadies his knees while he pulls his hands to you: one beneath your lower back, one below your shoulder blades. In a jumble of limbs and skin, he rolls over, somehow keeping himself sheathed in you until you’re splayed atop him, your small hips spread out over his.

He has to admit, this was a good idea you had, even before you think to move, what a sight he’s given. His cock fully enveloped in your hips, the dark thatch of hair between your thighs mixing with the curls at his base. Up, up the curves of your waist, he trails his hands, gently skimming your sweat-slicked skin. Your breasts, small yet perky, he’s enraptured by the way your nipples pebble as he rubs his thumbs over them, the sweet sigh that leaves your lips as your head falls back.

God almighty, you’re the sweetest thing alive.

Your hands find purchase on his chest, fingers pulsing, as you roll your hips once over him. His breath stutters, eyes widening as inches of him leave you, only to gently return moments later.

“G-good?” You ask, a self-conscious fear in your eyes.

His hands clamp on your waist and help to guide your movement.

“So good, you’re so good.” He rasps, the end of his lips curling up into a smile.

You smile back, rolling your hips again, taking him and out, following the pathway to your own pleasure and dragging him along for the ride.

Your murmuring devolves into gasping moans as you continue to gyrate above him, squeezing your eyes shut, your fingers spread wide over his pectorals.

“That’s it. You’re alright, girl.” He urges, one hand moving from your hip to where you’re joined, his thumb parting your folds just above where he’s speared into you.

You moan aloud, giving no qualm to volume as he circles and presses against that little nub of pleasure.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re almost there.” He whispers as his hips jut upward into yours, he can see the far-off look in your eyes, the way your lips hang open, the shortness of your breath, and the slightly painful way your fingers are clenching into his chest. He can tell, your pulsing, squeezing, sweet little cunt is so close.

You ride him fast, like a horse at a gallop, and that blooming lava in his gut churns in a way that he knows he’s not far behind.

“A-Ar…” You stutter as your eyes close tightly.

“That’s it, that’s it, Darlin’.” He urges, his other hand tight on your hips, aiding your movement.

“Agh, oh god - Arthur.” You moan out, bottoming out completely as you throw your head back. He groans aloud as he feels your muscles constrict around his shaft, the sweet clutch of your cunt.

He thrusts his hips upward again and is rewarded with the sweetest mewl from your mouth, he cannot help but to whimper as he feels warm, wet slick start to seep from where you’re joined, his swollen and heavy balls covered in them.

You recover, gasping as your hands move to his chest, your hips grinding down on him slowly.

“I wanna-” you pant, catching your breath, “I wanna make you come.”

Arthur groans in response, hips bucking upward as his hands fly to your hips again, clenching them hard.

“Ain’t gonna- augh- ain’t gonna be hard to give you that.” He stutters out, knowing that the pull in his gut is getting stronger with each sweet movement you make.

“You’re so good -” You mewl, rolling your hips over him as he grunts, hands sure on your waist, fingers pulsing as his eyes flutter closed, his mouth hanging open as he approaches that precipice.

“You feel just like I’ve always dreamed.” You sigh, and all he can respond with is a thrust upward of his hips, to give you more, to give you himself, all that’s left of him.

He’s there, he’s there. His eyes shoot wide and he grunts, hands hard over your hips. “Get- you gotta, move.”

But you lean forward, not stopping the gentle roll of your body over his, and kiss his forehead.

“Come inside me.” You breathe, hands steady over his beating heart, “Give me all of you.”

Of all the stupid, childish things… but the resolve of a dying man, it is far less strong than before - weakening much like his ailing lungs.

“Please.”

He does, he does.

He grunts needily as he pumps his release into you. Staying sheathed in your warmth, not jerking himself into cold air.

Arthur sits up immediately, burying his head into the side of your neck, and suckles gently at the skin there as your fingers start to play with the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck.

He regrets, it’s all he has left, that again, he wasted his time, glancing shyly at you across the fire for all those months. All he can do is offer you a few fleeting moments of pleasure. He regrets, it’s all he has left, that he cannot taste your lips and the sweetness he knows lies beyond them.

“Darlin’-” he trails off into your skin, trying to compose himself.

I’m sorry- I’m sorry this is all that’s left of me - sorry I can’t give you nothin’ but -

You place your lips on his forehead gently before pulling back. You cup his cheeks in your hands and nod your head.

“Let’s not waste any more time.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #red dead fandom #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #twolafic #red dead smut #rdr2 smut #tumblr prompt #voluptatem

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strrwbrrryjam · 8 months

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do you think that arthur knows he inspires loyalty in the gang, or do you think he's blind to it. how much the gang members rely on him, how much they care for him, how when dutch (or hosea) aren't around, they look to him, they follow his word, and they do what he says. I'm always thinking about the mission where you attack the cabin with kieran, bill and john, and he is the one deciding what should happen to kieran, john and bill look to him, and sure, they push back a little, telling him that kieran did save his life, but it is arthurs decision.

its not just in the gang to, but the strangers he meets. these strangers likes him, he forms bonds with people, hamish, sister calderon, charlotte, albert, charles c, and so much more. he helps people and thinks nothing of it and just. goes on about his day like its normal. like he isn't changing peoples lives.

i think if arthur is blind to it, it just speaks to how little he thinks about himself, and that he is nothing compared to dutch, when he is twice the leader and twice the man that dutch van der linde will ever be.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 arthur morgan #arthur morgan #rdr2 van der linde gang #van der linde gang #strawberry speaks

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threadbaresweater · 24 days

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I always get choked up at the end of red dead 2, but the part that gets me the most is when Arthur is talking to Sister Calderon after he drops off Captain Monroe at the train station. She and Arthur talk about his past and present, and she says things to him that make me bawl like a baby every time.

Arthur says he doesn't believe in anything, and she says, "Often, neither do I. But then I meet someone like you, and everything makes sense."

Earlier in the game, she tells him this (when he says he isn't a religious person):

"Religion is just a word. Hearts are rarely pure, but equally are they rarely impure either. [...] To me, God is people, and people are God, so we must all do what we can."

It's "just a game" but if you really pay attention and listen to the story, it's so profound in so many ways. I love how the writers approach topics with sensitivity while staying true to the time period so as not to pull away from the authenticity.

Anyway, I just finished Arthur's death scene for the third time and I don't know what to do with myself besides mourn him again.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #oh god help me

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thelightsandtheroses · 11 months

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Secret Smile: Chapter Five - Unsteady

Summary: Before returning to Colombia to get things right this time, Javi’s childhood best friend asks him to keep an eye out for his sister while they’re both stationed in the embassy. Only you don’t need Javier to keep an eye you her. Your role as a new legal advisor is all about keeping an eye on him after all. Sparks fly, lines will be drawn and broken and there’s everything to lose.

Word Count: 3.5k Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog, language, reader has a nickname (Blue) but no physical descriptors used Author Notes: As always, thank you for all your feedback, likes and reblogs so far – it means a lot and I’m having so much fun writing this fic. I’d love to know what you think of this next chapter so please feel free to comment, reblog or even send an ask!

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It’s clear to you now that you spend more time in Javi’s office than your own. Once again, you’re sitting on his chesterfield couch at an unsociable hour, wondering what on Earth the job you’ve taken actually is.

As a lawyer, you’ve almost always been involved with a case after the arrest is over. When you worked as a prosecutor, you helped get warrants, but were never involved in the planning of an arrest. Your job is crafting the arguments, responding to surprises, making sure the case is solid and you can help people achieve justice. You duck and weave and argue and make the case real to a jury. That’s your job.

This is new to you.

While planning the operation remains the responsibility of the DEA, you’ve been observing, supporting where you can by working with Martinez’s office to confirm the legal arrangements, but mostly just taking it all in and trying to fight your exhaustion.

Ever since you went to his apartment, something changed for the two of you. It feels like some element of your friendship from before has started to return.

You notice him sometimes as you walk down the corridor and you can’t help but smile at him.

He’s not the same Javi you remember, but he’s getting closer.

“And you’re sure you can trust him?” you ask, folding your arms as you speak.

“Blue, Martinez is one of the only people I could trust with this.”

“Calderon worries me.”

There’s a lot more than Calderon bothering you. What Javi’s planned will be a significant blow to the cartel, one that will start to fulfil the people’s need for justice, for consequences.

However, you’re not naive.

This could destroy the negotiation. This could cause significant pressure for you and Javi at the embassy too. The ambassador and Stechner have made it clear that they endorse this negotiation, the bloodless transfer of power.

And of course, you don’t want there to be blood. Justice though, you want there to be justice.

“So, Martinez is arriving in Cali separately - and you need to go soon to make your flight, Javi. I’ve been talking with Martinez’s office; mostly him and his secretary and trying to get this warrant sorted discreetly. The chances of success are higher if less people know.”

“We won’t get a chance like this again; this needs to work.”

“I know. Javi, there will be consequences to this, even if it goes off perfectly.”

“For you?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

“No, it’s by the book. I mean, I don’t know if Stechner will be my biggest fan by the end of the week, but I can live with that.”

“I like to think that it’s a good thing if you’re on his bad side,” Javi jokes, “but honestly, just tell me you won’t -“

“I’m a big girl, Javi, I’ve got this. And if you and your team can pull this off? All bets are off.” You exhale slowly.

“We’ve got this, we’ve planned for this,” Javi looks over at you and smiles broadly, “We’re arresting Gilberto Rodriguez.”

It’s not your mission but you feel like it might as well be. Despite the mountain of paperwork, warrants and legal documents you need to complete today, you spent your morning thinking about what might be happening in Cali the whole time.

You couldn’t help thinking about Javi too.

Now, you regret that indulgence though and wish you’d got some work done.

Your phone won’t stop ringing, the paperwork is piling up. The arrest of Gilberto Rodriguez hasn’t so much caused waves as complete and utter destruction. If you thought the Duffy and Lopez situation was stressful, this is a whole other league.

In a way, you’ve missed this. You’ve missed the adrenaline rush of a case; the artful interplay between you and the other side as you bat arguments back and forth and hope to win. Small things have often stressed you out, but when you’ve had to go through bigger things; the adrenaline raising things that should be terrifying? You handle those with ease.

One of your old university tutors had said you were designed for this career path. You wonder what they’d say if they saw you now.

You take a gulp of water when you finally hang up the phone after a particularly tense conversation with the Colombian justice department.

The negotiation might be ruined. Gilberto was the one pushing for it, they say, you and the DEA might have just started another war.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

Linda looks over at you with a sympathetic expression. “Rough day?”

“Definitely not dull.”

“They’re airing the press conference from earlier now,” she says, indicating to the tv in your office.

You shrug and indicate the pile of paperwork and your phone on your desk. You simply don’t have the time. You take a gulp of cold coffee and move on to the next call.

After you finally finish the urgent calls and things start to feel slightly calmer, you make your way to Javi’s office. You haven’t seen him since before he left for Cali and that feels like a lifetime ago.

The walk to his office feels familiar now, you feel like you could make all of the right turns, know exactly where the stairs are, with your eyes shut. You pass Martinez leaving Javi’s office as you go to knock on the door.

“I think they’re going to be toasting you at the bar,” you say gently as you walk into his office. Judging by the empty glasses on the desk and Javi’s expression, he’s already got started though. For a second, you’re annoyed that you’ve been fighting fires and had to find solutions, while he’s been toasting success, but then you realise his face tells another story.

You expected Javi to look happy at the clear victory his department has just achieved, but something’s clearly wrong. You doubt he’s spent his evening being yelled at in multiple languages, but you’re not sure how the arrest went, whether everything had been accounted for, or what Martinez has just told him.

“I hear you’re man of the hour, got yourself on TV and everything. It’s a good result, Javi,” you persist.

“Great.”

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“Martinez - they’ve set him up, he’s had to resign.”

“Because of the raid?”

“I think it was in motion before, but probably didn’t help.”

“Shit.”

“He’s a good man and -”

“Javi, should you be drinking that on an empty stomach?” you ask, looking at the glasses at his desk. There’s a difference between a drink with people toasting you and drinking alone in an office.

“I could have eaten today,” he argues half-heartedly.

You cross your arms and point at the dirty ashtray. “I may not be a doctor like Rafael, but even I know cigarettes aren’t food.”

“Fine, do you want to get something to eat then?” Javi asks, looking up at you with wide eyes.

You reply without thinking, “Okay, yeah. That would be nice.” You eye the glasses. “I’ll drive.”

You weren’t sure what to expect when Javi asked if you wanted to get some food. Would you end up at the usual bar people went to after work, or some street food stall perhaps?

Whatever you had been thinking, you hadn’t expected Javi to direct you here - you’d insisted on driving after eyeing the empty glass in his office. It’s a small restaurant a short walk from your apartment, there’s only one other group eating but it’s getting late and you think it may have been a lot busier earlier. This is the sort of place it would be easy to walk past but clearly that’s a mistake.

Your ex always used to say you could tell a lot about people by the food choices they made; the restaurants they were drawn to, or wherever they chose for an outing. You used to just think that was because Sam was a chef, but now you’re not sure.

The food here is delicious; that perfect combination between home cooking and something more elevated. The spice level is just right, the flavours and colours rich and welcoming. It’s easily one of your favourite meals since you arrived in Colombia.

How did you not know about this place? How did Javi?

You take a bite of food and sigh cheerfully. “This is so good.”

“Told you,” Javi says lightly, taking a sip of his drink. “I’ve lived here a while; I know the best spots by now. Haven’t been back here since I got back though, so thought it would be a good choice.”

“Well, considering I haven’t seen you subsist on anything but alcohol or cigarette in recent weeks, I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

“Subsist? Wow, okay, you’re just showing off that fancy law school education now.”

“It has to come in useful sometimes,” you say, “Scrabble. It can be useful for scrabble.”

“You played a lot of scrabble in the evenings back in DC then?”

“There’s nothing wrong with scrabble. But I wasn’t - I wasn’t boring, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Javi says before flashing one of his winning smiles at you. It’s disarming, Javi’s disarming. You can see how he’s good at his job, how he’s good with people.

You briefly wonder what this scene looks like to people who don’t know you. Do you look like colleagues, or friends? Perhaps people would even think you were together, as laughable as the idea may seem to you in the moment. There’s a small pang of anxiety about this that rises in your stomach but you swallow it down. Not here, not now.

You’ve spent the evening getting to know Javi all over again and vice versa. Neither of you are the people who left Laredo years before, and perhaps neither of you had realised the ways you had changed.

This Javi is looser and lighter, he seemed to subtly shift the further away from the office you got and for the first time in a while, you feel like you’re with the person underneath all Javi’s masks.

You’ve talked about music, hobbies, things that aren’t work. You’ve somehow even promised to lend Javi a copy of the book you’ve just finished reading after enthusiastically describing how much you’d enjoyed it, how it had made you think and feel and do everything a good book should.

“Did you prefer Austin or DC?” he asks suddenly.

“I don’t know. I went to law school in Austin and it was my first real job as a lawyer after graduating and passing the bar. It was fun, I mean, I liked my life there - lots of music and it was so much bigger than Laredo. In DC, it was a whole other world entirely though. I was not prepared for the winters.”

“Oh no?”

“Javi, we’re Texans, do I look like I can handle snow?”

Javi laughs, full and deep. You want to tell him about the first snowfall you remember in DC, about how you stepped outside, taking in the beauty of the fresh blanket of snow and how it concealed so much and made you feel like a child again for just a moment. Wonder, that was what it was. Everything felt so full of possibilities and opportunity. DC had quickly quashed that naïveté though.

“Not really a problem here - you’d have to head up to the Andes for that.”

“I think I’ll survive without that. I’ll leave it to you, Javi, what with your adventures all around the country.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Have you been based in other places than here?” you ask in a low voice, curious about what had inspired his original question. The other group have left now and the people who own the restaurant are back in the kitchen; this is as close to a private setting as you could get, but you’re never sure how much you can trust your surroundings.

“Mexico, briefly - wasn’t long after I graduated, but then I came back to the US and they sent me out to Colombia after that. Most of my time has been here though.”

It’s hardly surprising Javi cares as much as he does about getting things right here, about bringing down the Cali cartel. He’s spent most of his career out here; it’s as much as a part of him now as Laredo is.

You think you understand him a little more now.

“Wait, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Javi says in a low voice as you unlock the main apartment building door and walk towards your front door.

Somehow after dinner, you had insisted that you should give Javi the book you’d mentioned straight away and that he could order a cab from your apartment.

“I’ll just get the book and you can call a cab,” you say breezily, becoming surprised as Javi follows you, shaking his head the whole time.

“What number do you live in?”

You reply without thinking and notice Javi’s eyes bulge. Without concentrating on it, you move to unlock your front door.

“I’ll get that book,” you say quietly, “it’s late.”

“This - this was my apartment,” Javi says softly, stopping by the phone but not lifting it.

“What? What are you talking about, Javi?” you ask, dropping your handbag by the couch as you head for the bookcase to find the book you mentioned. Javi closes the door behind him and looks around your living area with wide eyes.

“Before. This was my place the last time I was here. I’m in a different building now. Well, you know that, you turned up there.”

“Oh, right.” You scan a shelf and then add, “Really? Here? This apartment?”

You’re concentrating on finding the book, focused on your mission and his words aren’t quite connecting. What does he mean - that this was his apartment?

“Where are the dog pictures?” he asks, wandering around the open plan living area. “Did they get rid of them?”

The dog pictures? It suddenly clicks.

“You were responsible for the dog pictures?” you ask incredulously. “The dog pictures were yours, Javi?”

“No, no. They uh, came with the apartment. And even if they didn’t, what was wrong with them?”

Oh, they definitely didn’t come with the apartment when Javi moved in.

You laugh as finally find the book you were looking for and take it off the shelf.

“I don’t remember you being such a dog person back in Laredo, Javi,” you tease, turning back around to face him. “Wait, so you lived here? As in here, in this exact apartment?”

“Yes. I’ve said that already. I lived here, Steve was upstairs … fuck, this takes me back. It’s barely changed. How did you end up here?“

“It’s just the apartment the embassy assigned me when I got here, luck of the draw, I suppose.”

Javi lived here? You look around, suddenly horrified. It suddenly sinks in - Javi once lived in your apartment. You’re rapidly filled with horror at the rumours you’ve heard from Linda and Judith about Javi’s reputation with women over the years and oh - please will Javi at least tell you that the furniture is different? You cannot think that he might have slept in the same bed as you in the past.

“Please tell me they deep cleaned and changed the furniture because … no, I don’t - why are you smiling? Oh god, what did you do in this apartment, Javi? Stop laughing! What did you do? I’m going to have to burn everything, aren’t I?” Javi’s leaning on the end table, doubled over as he laughs.

You haven’t seen Javi laugh like this in years. It immediately transports you back to when you were younger, back to your childhood home in Laredo and the few times you would hang around with Rafa and Javi. He’s younger, lighter, and as disturbed as you may be by the revelation, it’s almost worth it to see him like this.

“The comforter’s new,” he says sweetly. “It looks like they changed a few things around.”

“I bought the comforter,” you exclaim, arms folded.

”Oh.“ Javi holds his hands up in mock defeat.

“I can’t believe this.”

“You’re telling me!”

“How long were you here?”

“A while. The whole time I was here before.”

“Wow, that’s - wow, I don’t know what to say. I uh - ” you trail off. “One hell of a coincidence, huh?”

“Yeah. Of all the apartments in -”

“It’s fate, right? Like my friends says.” There are too many coincidences now, too many signs from the universe that you and Javi were meant to collide at this moment in time. You’re not sure what that exactly means, only that it surely means something.

“Maybe it is.” Javi replies thoughtfully. “Can’t believe this, Blue.”

“You know, I thought you’d want to spend tonight differently,” you say suddenly, changing the subject from whatever Javi has done or not done in this apartment before.

You’re leaning against your dining table as he moves closer to you. His eyes are bright from the moment before and you can smell the slightly spicy aroma of his cologne.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, at a bar with your friends, or … I don’t know, with different company perhaps. Celebrating the win.”

“Is it a win?” Javi asks, suddenly serious. He meets your gaze with his deep, questioning brown eyes.

You lower your voice instinctively, even though it’s only the two of you in the apartment. ”You did something everyone else didn’t think could be done. This needed to happen, people need to see consequences. We talked about it.”

“I fucked over the negotiation. You weren’t here before, Blue. We can’t go back to those days.”

Suddenly he doesn’t look comfortable here, as though being in this apartment has resurrected ghosts he had long since forgotten and the laugh has entirely faded from his face.

“You arrested a criminal, a leader of a cartel. Javi, it was a win.”

“Martinez has been set up. He’s not dirty, there’s no way. And that’s on me - it was my choice to bring him in.”

“It was his choice to accept,” you say, “He strikes me as the sort of person who wants to do the right thing. Reminds me of a couple of other people I know.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean my brother’s a doctor and everything.”

“I hate you,” Javi says, shaking his head and fighting a smile.

“No, you don’t.”

“Not at all.”

“You’re a good person, Javi,” you say, because suddenly it feels like that’s what he needs to hear, to know. And he is a good person, of course he is.

“I’m not the kid you remember from Laredo anymore.”

“Neither am I.”

“No, neither are you.” His voice is lower, heavy like molasses and it sends heat pooling in your stomach. “You - you’re something else, Blue.”

Somehow, he’s right in front of you now and your back is against the table, a hand stabilising you and he’s here. You can hear him breathing, feel the warmth radiating from him next to you. He’s so close, and he smells so good and you could easily kiss the freckles on his neck, you could easily meet his lips and -

You haven’t been with anyone in months; you’ve barely allowed yourself a moment to even think about intimacy, to think about missing this. You hadn’t realised how much you missed being next to a person, so close to you, and knowing what’s about to happen, the anticipation, the impending fires and soaring heat.

Maybe this is the reason why you’re both here. Maybe this is what’s been written on the cards for the two of you.

You close your eyes and part your lips slightly and it’s going to happen -

Immediately everything in you runs cold. What are you thinking? What’s wrong with you? You can’t do this.

You cannot possibly do this.

After everything that went down in DC, pursuing this would be one of the most stupid things imaginable. After everything that went down in DC, it’s reprehensibly foolhardy. After everything that went down in DC, you cannot believe you are still this stupid.

You move away rapidly, fast enough that Javi looks at you with worry.

“Are you-”

“We can’t do this. What - that - that would never happen, Javi.”

“Why not? Because I know your brother?” Javi asks, a bewildered expression on his face.

“No, because we work together. I can’t - I don’t - I won’t cross that line. I will not be that woman.”

“What woman?”

“The woman that fucks around at work. Please go, Javi, please. Let’s just forget this - our emotions are heightened, it’s been a long day, we’ve both been drinking.”

There’s a rising panic in your body, you can feel how your palms are sweaty and how your mind is getting muddled between then and now, between DC and Colombia.

It’s just the food, just the alcohol you tell yourself. It’s familiarity and all sorts of things confusing the receptors in your mind. It’s not real. That moment between you and Javi was just a blip.

“I’ll call that cab,” Javi says sombrely as he walks over the landline.

There’s a tension in the air and you feel guilty, confused and upset all at once. He’s not standing so close to you now, he seems to be keeping as much physical distance as he can from you.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine, Javi, just tired and - please let’s just forget this. Please?” The two of you had made so much progress and in just one moment, one stupid moment, you feel like everything’s ruined.

“Of course, Blue,” he says.

It is only after Javi has left, book in hand and confusion in his eyes, that you finally allow yourself to break down.

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vacantgodling · 8 months

Text

on love and jealousy

wip: prim & provocative

character(s): narcissus spokes (she/her), myrtus spokes (he/him); mentions of tagetes gunn, iberis gunn, matricaria gunn, and lavendula calderon

finally decided to write something for narci because i wanted to figure her out more soooo have her and myrtie talking about their separation

tw(s): mentions of cheating and transphobia (not by either character but myrtus’s family has very rigid ideals of what a woman is that neither of them agree with)

“That’s not fair Myrtie!” Narcissus clutched the phone against her ear, sniffing grandly. She glanced up from where she was curled into herself at the side of her bed, at the large purple mirror hung on the wall. When she’d moved in, she asked her brother in law if he would put a bigger one in, to make the room feel more like her own; but staring back at her pitiful state like this was a torture all of its own. “That’s not fair of you to say that you never loved me. Every time you kissed my head, or bought me nice things because they made me happy, or called me pretty right to my very face was a lie then?”

“I never said I didn’t love you.” Despite wanting to stay angry, the even timbre of her separated husband’s voice over the line did wonders to calm her nerves. Maybe that’s why she was clinging to the phone so desperately; so desperate to hold onto any bit of him and the calm confidence he swept away with him when he left. It hurt her heart, yet it healed it. She was all befuddled.

“I did say that I don’t love you the way a husband ought to.”

“In what way do you love me then!” She cried. She kicked her feet, not that he could see it, and dislodged one slipper from her foot. It flew out and hid under the bed.

“As a sister.” Myrtus said gently. “As a friend.”

“Then what does Ris have that I don’t?” She cried. “Since clearly you love him more than just a ‘brother’ or a friend!”

You’re acting like a baby. The cruel voice in her head whispered. He has every right to leave someone as inconsolable and childish as you.

“I—“ Myrtus hesitated over the line, perhaps not wanting to insinuate her worst fears. But that was the problem with Narcissus, wasn’t it? She latched onto that hesitation like a falcon digs its claws into an unsuspecting rodent. “He does have something! I knew it! You can just say you never loved me—you’ve already gone and left me.” She spat. “I’m not sure why you’re trying to spare my feelings anymore, if I never mattered to you anyway.”

“Narci, that’s not it at all.” And despite how much she pushed him, Myrtus’s voice never wavered, never sounded cross or rose, and maybe that’s why she was staring back at herself in her silly wall length mirror so distraught. He was the one person who never seemed to become cross with her and yet somehow she even drove him away! It didn’t matter that he cheated; she could deal with that hurt to her pride as long as he stayed. It had been like a dream come true when Tagetes first told her that they’d arranged a marriage for her with the handsome Myrtus Spokes. A family friend for years and a man she remembered seeing around the family manor growing up. He and Iberis had gone to school together, and Narci never thought much of him, until that fateful day. And he’d smiled at her kindly and took her hand and said she’d be a beautiful wife and she wanted to sob all over again. She’d already wailed all the way here a few weeks ago, throwing herself into Tagetes’s side. And here she was, ready to wail again.

“Then what is it!” She demanded. “What is it about me that isn’t to your liking? Is it—is it my hair?”

“Your hair is lovely, Narci.”

“It’s not! Don’t lie to me!” She snapped. “It’s stringy and thin and, and, oh never mind that! Is it the way I dress? How I talk to people— oh I know I’m so chatty—“

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Narci.” His voice stayed even but even over the phone she could tell it was sharp. “And I’m sorry that this mess ever made you think that. You’re perfect.”

“But not for you!” Narcissus cried, and that was the crux of it. The line went silent for a long moment, the only sound being her helpless sniffs and heaves of cries that shook her body like a polaroid.

“No,” He finally said softly. “Not for me, not in that way.”

“But why!” She cried and she’d never cried so hard in her life. “Why?”

Myrtus let out a long sigh. “I didn’t want to tell you this, because I didn’t want to hurt you more.” If he were there, Narcissus knew he would run a hand rapidly through his hair, as he always did when he was particularly peevish about something. He still didn’t sound cross, just… uncomfortable perhaps. “But your brother and I have been in love for longer than you think.”

Narcissus could’ve guessed that. But she still bit. “Since when?” She asked miserably.

“Since we were boys, really.” Myrtus’s voice got quieter. “We began seeing each other when we went away to university.”

That she didn’t guess. She couldn’t have. She thought hard about the times that Iberis came home for breaks, and he never seemed particularly affected. Not around her, Tagetes (though, Getes probably knew, of course they did, they knew everything) or even their father, when he was still alive. They still seemed just as close but friendly as they always had. Nothing seemed amiss. Were there times they snuck away? Times where the soft lips Myrtus only deigned to grace her hand with pressed hard into Iberis’s neck or chest? Times where they went to town together and held hands like giddy young lovers that she never saw?

“Then… why…” Narcissus asked faintly.

Myrtus sighed over the phone line again.

“You know my parents.” Narcissus knew them but she never paid attention to them because Myrtus didn’t like them so why should she? His mother was a stuck up old cow, no different than her stepmother, and his father always regarded her with the same contempt you would show a mule. She could play friendly with them, never as well as Lavendula or Matricaria, but she could be tolerable. Yet, Myrtus never brought her around them much anyway. “They truly believe that traditionalist nonsense and wouldn’t accept me taking over the business if I didn’t marry a woman with the “correct parts.”

“Those being?”

“A cat*, of course.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Narcissus said immediately and in disgust. “You’ve been managing their assets since we were practically children! And they’re worried about the bits and bobs of who you want to be with?”

“I know.” Myrtus said and he sounded so bitter. He sounded bitter and angry and it began to dawn on her: in finally pursuing who he loved, he’d lost. He lost it all. Decades of work; of blood, sweat and tears to keep his family’s empire afloat. All washed down the drain like summer rain. If his parents were like that, then marrying her was the easy choice, the correct choice to them. Is that why Tagetes helped arrange it? Not because they wanted what was best for her… but out of pity for him?

Where did her feelings fall in all of this?

“I…” Narcissus suddenly felt so small. Felt so minuscule in the grand scheme of things. Just an afterthought, as she always had been, and Myrtus hummed soothingly over the line.

“I’m sorry Narci.” He said and he at least sounded horribly sad. “I should not have been cruel to you and hurt you like this. There’s nothing wrong with you, and there never was. I dragged you into my problems and you’re the only one suffering for them. There is no apology deep enough that I can give.” He sighed again. “Even still, it would’ve only fallen apart with time.” He said it, almost mumbled to himself, but Narcissus heard it.

“Fall apart?”

“My parents wanted grandchildren, and heirs. And, even if you and I had that kind of relationship Narci, I have no intention of having children.”

She didn’t say it but Narcissus felt much the same. She couldn’t bear to have another thing that she should be measured against Lavendula’s standard with.

The silence lingered until the phone line felt like nothing but a static buzz in her ear. Myrtus made no attempt to push the conversation further, just gave her time to digest everything she just heard. She was sat in her nightgown squarely in the middle of her bed. Her reflection gazed back at her. Same red rimmed eyes and brittle bottom lashes, saturated with tears. Her long, blonde hair hung straight down to her lap and pooled on the space there, spilling out like an unruly tidal wave onto the sheets. She looked so…

“Do you really love me?” She couldn’t help but ask. It’s not that it mattered anymore, truly, but—

“Yes, Narci.” Myrtus said, hushed. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the man you deserved.”

No. She wanted to say back.

I wish I could’ve been.

—

*cat is slang for vagina or pussy, in case that wasn’t obvious.

#s: prim #ren writing #also if i see people demonizing myrtus i’ll fight you in the parking lot #this is a complicated situation and it will be treated as such

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