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Carl Phillips, from “Late in the Long Apprenticeship,” in Silverchest
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arthur morgan tiddies and tummy thats all im gonna say
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I’m not a perfectionist, but finding a typo or a grammatical error in my own already-published fic is like stepping on a Lego honestly
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𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝 | 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐗 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
Word Count: 1k
A/N: Not my best work but not my worst either. This is the first piece I manage to finish to write in a while so I decided to post it, it's pretty short though. I was going to add more to it but I got a terrible headache in the middle of it, plus it's more of a vent piece so this is all I could cook up. By the way, English isn't my first language so apologies if it's a little wonky to read, still hope you enjoy it though 🫶
“Could you please just listen for once?”
“I am listening.”
“You’re not, you say you are but you’re not.”
It was exhausting, giving every piece of your heart to someone you loved, but not receiving the same effort back.
It wasn’t that Simon didn’t love you, he does, God knows he does. The problem was that he loved silently and from afar, being content with keeping his words of affection to himself while you drowned in a sea of loneliness and resentment.
Because you didn’t love like him. Simon knew you didn’t and, yet, he didn’t care.
The sound of keys and a lock being undone echoed down the hallway of your apartment, followed by an old door screaming in pain as it was forced open to allow entry to the owners of the cheap room, before being closed and locked once more.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t bring it up anymore.” Simon grumbled as he flickered the lights on. You haven’t even broached the conversation for more than two minutes and he was already annoyed with you.
A heavy sigh left Simon’s lips as he grasped the end of his skull balaclava, slipping the fabric off his face to reveal those scarred features and the black paint over his eyes. It’s been a long day, too long for comfort, and Simon was exhausted. He certainly didn’t want to fight over the glaring issue of lack of intimacy, care and attention that had cursed your relationship since day one. His blue eyes shifted from the fabric his fingers were clutching, to the barely contained frustration on your face, illuminated by the dim lights that barely illuminated the room, the bulb old and wasted, the same one he’d promise to replace time and time again.
You were patient, too patient.
“Love, listen, I’m sorry, okay? I’ll try harder.” Simon sighed while throwing his mask on the nearby leather couch before approaching your form on the other side of the living room. His footsteps were slow and cautious, to give you time to move out of his inevitable embrace if you so wished to. When you didn’t, he wrapped his strong arms around your waist and pulled you into a tight hug, his face buried into the crook of your neck. “It’s just…hard for me, okay? I don’t want you to feel like I don’t desire you because I do, God only knows the thoughts that run through my mind when you’re not around.”
“Do you really?” Your skeptical tone filled the little space left between your bodies. You didn’t return the hug, not this time, refusing to be swept by the same words he repeated like a well-trained parrot when the time came to hold this same conversation every three months. You just wished it didn’t take half a decade for you to grow a backbone instead of falling to your knees whenever he started with another one of his half-baked excuses.
“I do.”
A scoff left your lips as you rolled your eyes. Bullshit, you replied in your mind.
“Then why don’t you show it? Simon, why is it up to me to always start everything?”
“Come on, love, you know that’s not true.” Simon replied, his hold on you faltering for a second as annoyance began to take hold. He wouldn’t lose his cool, not now— he wasn’t that kind of man anymore. “Honey, all I need is a little bit more-”
“Patience?” You cut him off while pulling away from his embrace. Simon could only nod while giving a heavy sigh.
“Yes, patience.” He replied like it was obvious.
“Why? Haven’t I been patient enough?”
“Because I’m not used to this relationship shit, you know that, you knew what you were getting into when we first started dating!” Simon exclaimed a little too loud than intended, clenching his hands so hard his nails left behind crescent shapes in the rough skin of his palms. He was as frustrated as you were, exhausted from the same argument, but not enough to change.
You grit your teeth and hold back the words that burnt your tongue, but you didn’t bother replying this time, deciding that the growing headache that blossomed between your eyes deserved more attention than this loop of a conversation. Your legs carried you past Simon and into the kitchen where you swung open a tattered cabinet. Pushing past old mail and expired bottles of countless different pills, your fingers finally brushed against a large, white bottle with a red cap. You popped open the bottle and pulled out three of the small, red and blue pills before placing it on your tongue and swallowing them with the help of the excess saliva that built up in your mouth.
When did things become so…wrong? When did loving Simon start to seem like a chore instead of coming as natural as breathing or blinking? You should have left during the first year of your relationship, when your first big fight happened after finding those compromising messages in his phone; but him and his sweet words, and that stupid charming smile with the empty I love yous helped to put on that veil over your eyes and disconnect the wires in your brain so you wouldn’t see that you deserved better.
If only he didn’t know about the pain and frustration you felt, and the countless nights you were up crying so hard until you couldn’t breath. If he didn’t know, you would gladly keep your mouth shut and make up excuses after excuses for the times he’s spent at work instead of by your side, or the times he’s made you feel unwanted and gross in your own skin; but he knew. Of course he knew, you might have grown blind to his red flags but not mute.
You let out a deep breath, two, maybe three, until the anger that boiled inside you turned into a slow simmer. It was enough to bring yourself to look at Simon from over your shoulder, who stood by the archway, and held a glint of regret and guilt in those stormy blue eyes of his.
“I’m sorry, okay?” He tried to say, just for his words to be waved out the kitchen window. “Come on, don’t be like that, I really am sorry.”
No matter how much you cried, how much you screamed and yelled, your words never seemed to reach him, going inside one ear and going out the other in a vicious cycle you were too tired to break out of and escape. Because, at the end of the day, you’d only set up a three month timer, tie that veil over your eyes and pray to whatever God was out there to finally change things or give you the strength necessary to get up and leave.
“Just forget I said anything, okay?” You mumbled in defeat, your shoulders slumping in defeat like they always did when talking to him.
Simon paused for a brief second before parting his lips to utter those words you’ve grown to hate so much. “I love you, [Name], so much.”
“...I know, Simon, I know.”
#cod mw2#ghost cod#cod x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#light angst#oneshot#vent piece#call of duty#ghost x reader#gender neutral reader#short reads
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I hate when people (usually men on reddit) are like “if you met arthur back then he would murder you for breathing in his existence!” Oh would he? When? Before or after he’s finished doodling bunnies and flowers?
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bro. we need to fuck, bro. for the narrative, dude. for the progression of the hero’s journey, homeslice. we need to bone nasty. no homo or anything it’s just for the character development. yeah we need to cuddle afterwards. for the narrative, man.
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𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 — An Arthur Morgan X Reader fic
Wip, it's still a draft. The full thing will be posted in a month or two.
The gentle but bright arms of Mother Sun snuck through the cracks of that old tent and shook the outlaw awake. With an annoyed groan, he peered his eyes open, only to stare at the ceiling of that tent.
“God damn it…” He cursed to himself, considering if going back to sleep was a good idea, after all, if he did, it would mean seeing you again.
You, that young thing with the most captivating eyes he’s ever seen; you, who always had your hands covered in dirt from slaving away in your father’s farm; you, who he hasn’t seen in well over ten years.
It was strange, Arthur hadn’t even thought of your name in a long while but the moment the gang moved camps again, to an area surrounded by a forest, you appeared in his mind like a ghost.
At first, it started with little mnemonics showing up in his dreams, followed by your scent carried in the wind, to finally culminate in a repetitive dream he couldn’t escape from. A dream, that’s more of a memory of the day he lost you, that’s been hunting him for over two months now.
Arthur wasn’t sure what to feel about said dream, he didn’t even know what to feel about you— he never did. He knew he felt something but whatever that was was explained away as he was using you as a mere distraction from Mary. However, that didn’t explain the storm of butterflies that was once present in his stomach, or how he could get lost in those gentle but exhausted eyes of yours.
“Get yourself together, Morgan…” With one last rub to his eyes, Arthur forced himself on his feet and got ready for the day. He followed the same routine as always: get dressed, wash his teeth, trim his beard, eat and try to escape Dutch’s usual morning yapping, in which he failed at the latter.
Like usual, the new found memory of you didn’t leave his brain throughout the morning. Maybe that’s why he stuck around to whatever nonsense Dutch spewed that morning instead of finding whatever excuse he could find to walk away— even now, being nowhere to be seen, you had that ability to make life a bit more bearable.
Time blurred as Arthur made his daily chores, even going out of his way this time around to help out with the horses— really, he found himself doing anything and everything to escape those beautiful memories of those feelings, whatever they were, but to no avail.
He wrote about his feeling, or tried, but even your image— or whatever he could remember — plagued those yellow-ish pages. He couldn’t escape you no matter what he tried.
Was this his punishment for leading the life he did? For being so cruel as to use your being as another distraction from the woman he was so deeply in love with? Because that’s all you were, a physical wall to keep his aching heart from thinking about Mary— or, at least, you were at first.
Time went by quickly and before Arthur knew it, he found himself staring up at his tent once more with his mind racing with memories he thought were locked and buried deep inside his conscious.
“This is the best day of my life.” Your voice, as sweet and gentle as the first day he met you, echoed in the chambers of his mind, forcing him to stay awake. “Promise you’ll never leave me, Arthur…”
Those words from a time long ago rang through his mind like church bells during early sunday morning. The irony of it all was sickening— wicked even.
And Arthur could do nothing but resent and love you all the same.
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◜. . . 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐬 . 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢 . . .◞
— 𝐓𝐔 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐈 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐎 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐎.
◜𝙅𝙐𝙀𝙔! | 𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔢𝔫 | 𝔢𝔫𝔤 + 𝔰𝔭𝔞 | 𝔥𝔢/𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶/𝔦𝔱 +𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔠 | 𝔪𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔯.
◜𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙎𝙊𝘾𝙄𝘼𝙇𝙎 . . .
↬ 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 : “ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 " 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘹 𝘨𝘯! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
↬ 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 : “ 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 " 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘹 𝘨𝘯! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘤
↬ 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦?: “ 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 ” 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘰'𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘹 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘤! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
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𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 — An Arthur Morgan X Reader fic
Wip, it's still a draft. The full thing will be posted in a month or two.
The gentle but bright arms of Mother Sun snuck through the cracks of that old tent and shook the outlaw awake. With an annoyed groan, he peered his eyes open, only to stare at the ceiling of that tent.
“God damn it…” He cursed to himself, considering if going back to sleep was a good idea, after all, if he did, it would mean seeing you again.
You, that young thing with the most captivating eyes he’s ever seen; you, who always had your hands covered in dirt from slaving away in your father’s farm; you, who he hasn’t seen in well over ten years.
It was strange, Arthur hadn’t even thought of your name in a long while but the moment the gang moved camps again, to an area surrounded by a forest, you appeared in his mind like a ghost.
At first, it started with little mnemonics showing up in his dreams, followed by your scent carried in the wind, to finally culminate in a repetitive dream he couldn’t escape from. A dream, that’s more of a memory of the day he lost you, that’s been hunting him for over two months now.
Arthur wasn’t sure what to feel about said dream, he didn’t even know what to feel about you— he never did. He knew he felt something but whatever that was was explained away as he was using you as a mere distraction from Mary. However, that didn’t explain the storm of butterflies that was once present in his stomach, or how he could get lost in those gentle but exhausted eyes of yours.
“Get yourself together, Morgan…” With one last rub to his eyes, Arthur forced himself on his feet and got ready for the day. He followed the same routine as always: get dressed, wash his teeth, trim his beard, eat and try to escape Dutch’s usual morning yapping, in which he failed at the latter.
Like usual, the new found memory of you didn’t leave his brain throughout the morning. Maybe that’s why he stuck around to whatever nonsense Dutch spewed that morning instead of finding whatever excuse he could find to walk away— even now, being nowhere to be seen, you had that ability to make life a bit more bearable.
Time blurred as Arthur made his daily chores, even going out of his way this time around to help out with the horses— really, he found himself doing anything and everything to escape those beautiful memories of those feelings, whatever they were, but to no avail.
He wrote about his feeling, or tried, but even your image— or whatever he could remember — plagued those yellow-ish pages. He couldn’t escape you no matter what he tried.
Was this his punishment for leading the life he did? For being so cruel as to use your being as another distraction from the woman he was so deeply in love with? Because that’s all you were, a physical wall to keep his aching heart from thinking about Mary— or, at least, you were at first.
Time went by quickly and before Arthur knew it, he found himself staring up at his tent once more with his mind racing with memories he thought were locked and buried deep inside his conscious.
“This is the best day of my life.” Your voice, as sweet and gentle as the first day he met you, echoed in the chambers of his mind, forcing him to stay awake. “Promise you’ll never leave me, Arthur…”
Those words from a time long ago rang through his mind like church bells during early sunday morning. The irony of it all was sickening— wicked even.
And Arthur could do nothing but resent and love you all the same.
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