DESERVING

DESERVING

Title: Deserving

Summary: A one-shot love story featuring Arthur Morgan and John Marston in which John struggles to understand Arthur's new behavior around camp.

Word count: 1.6k+

Notes: mild cursing | feedback is appreciated!!!

Tags: @southernlynxx @rdr-secret-cupid

I’m your secret cupid, @southernlynxx !!! I'm so sorry this took forever dear; the past few weeks have been totally insane and out of my hands to control. I chose your first wish and decided to mix it up with some good reassurance (happy) angst which i found fitting for the theme; 

John trying to understand & accept Arthur’s affection around camp! I hope you enjoy it, happy late Saint Valentine’s day!!!

P.D → I was inspired by this photo I took in my game! Totally worth it.

John never thought it would be like this.

At first, it was awkward—maybe bizarre. But that was just the beginning.

As the sun rose from the West, John walked out of his tent like a dead man; dark bags under his eyes and scratching his side, yawning without shame. Thirty minutes of sleep—or less—felt great. Just what he needed, right? Taking guarding rounds at night for the past few weeks to avoid him. Yes, that man. The one who had become his greatest relief and headache at the same time, Arthur Fucking Morgan.

While John agonized, Arthur was at his best. Refreshed, clean, and glowing like a damn pearl who had found its way to the surface, gleaming under the Sun—too shiny for John’s liking. Thankfully, his tormenting and seductive eyes were nowhere to be found yet. But, why was John avoiding him as if he was a pest? It’s complicated, you’ll understand later on.

John walked to the empty soup cauldron and grabbed the coffee pot next to it and a metallic cup nearby. He sighed as he sipped from the coffee he had just poured himself; feeling the smoke coming off his mouth like locomotor steam. He needed it to be functional, it had become his coal and main source of energy.

He stood next to the fire in the common area, waiting for Dutch to give a speech he had asked everyone the night before to hear. Why the hell would he give a speech so early in the morning when even the rooster hadn’t yet given his call to the sky? He wondered, staring his distorted reflection in the coffee in his hand.

It was a quiet morning, everyone who woke up, quickly waved at John and left to grab a coffee, or so it remained until the feared one appeared. He walked graciously without effort, his shirt had some buttons undone that showed his chest and collarbone, looking like a damn angel. He rinsed his face and John saw with detail from afar how every drop of water dripped down his face and neck. It made him thirsty. That man was no other than Arthur Morgan.

Arthur ran his hand through his hair and over his nape. To John, that man could’ve been the Devil himself walking on Earth, an angel who had fallen from Heaven for his ego. He was too full of himself, afly in making everyone blush in a moment’s notice. Before John could realize, Arthur was staring at the red in his cheeks and grinned, satisfied from his reaction.

“Damn you!” John whispered, looking anywhere but at him as he burned his tongue and narrowed his eyes.

Arthur, with his smug grin, quickly grabbed his coffee and sat next to the fire a few feet away from John, who didn’t know Arthur was just mesmerized with his foolishness, head over heels for a stubborn and reckless but loveable little piece of shit—a nickname truthful to his nature. A true rascal! Against his better judgement and all prognostics, an all-standing jinx befell upon him like rain in a desert.

He admired John from the ground, his strong jawline, the scars on his cheek that ran to his nose and the corner of his lips. However, his foul mouth didn’t catch up with his beauty—quick witted and far too fast for his train of thought that always got him in trouble. Arthur drank from his coffee and looked at John in the eye who, this time, didn’t turn their gaze away but held it dearly.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” John asked with his raspy voice, trying to sound uninterested but contradicted by the widened pupils in his curious eyes.

A walking contradiction, Arthur thought with a grin. “Wanna’ know?” He took a long swig of his cup and let it sit in his lap.

John hesitated for a moment.  "No." Nevermind.

The blue-greened eye man cleaned the corner of his mouth with his thumb and licked it and slightly blushed. "What a shame."

John couldn't stop staring Arthur, something had lit in the corner of his mind.

"Anyway, what does Dutch want this early in the morning?"

"Don't know, don't care."  Arthur rolled his eyes and looked at his feet.

John gulped, bothered by Arthur's sudden behavior to which he decided to blind the eye on.

"He's been acting... strange," John mutters, making a long pause.

He was right. Dutch had changed; it was the gleam in the eye he had always told them to not have—those of an ambition far too great, burned by being too close to the Sun. Everybody had noticed but kept quiet, making a silent agreement in not talking about the matter. John had a hunch of what it meant, but also kept quiet.

"No more than you; what's going on with ya'? Did the wolves eat the brain whole? You've been avoiding me!"

Did he notice? He knew he wasn't hiding the fact so well, but admitting it hurt his pride.

"The hell you sayin'?! No, I haven't!"

Arthur smiled in response, as if it was the answer he was expecting.

"Why?"

John narrowed his eyes.

"Why what?"

"You know."

He stood up, spilt the coffee left in his cup into the fire and slowly walked to John. His body swung with temptation, a fierce cat-walk with a daring look in his eyes.  John felt like his feet were stuck to the ground, unable to take just one step aside to avoid the storm walking straight to him. His metallic eyes were bewitched by  Arthur's; he sure knew how to charm him every damn time.

He didn't stop until he towered over John, trapping him with his voluptuous figure.

"Why are you so shy?" He whispered to John in the ear with a burning breath that heated and tinted his cheeks in deep red.

John forgot how to breath. He was so close that he felt their bodies touch and their minds collide.

"I, uh..."

"you what, dear?"

How shameless could the bastard be? Didn't he have any limit?

"I don't wanna talk here; let's go somewhere else." John imposed in a soft mutter.

"Alright."

They went to John's tent taking hands. They were cramped in such a small place, where their breathing burned eachother's skin and only a dim light shined through the entrance. A long pause arrived when the world had seemed to stop rotating and time had gone somewhere else, making everything but them oblivious and unimportant.

"I don't understand why are you doing this," John said with long sigh, finally giving in.

John rested his head in Arthur's shoulder, feeling his body finally relax after the tense moment.

"I thought we were a secret, ya' know?" he muttered, "a thing only you and I knew. Our thing."

Arthur combed his fingers through John's black hair, softly caressing the back of his head and humming in agreement.

"I don't seem to understand why you smile at me every time you see me or why you, like, want to touch me every time you can—or when you look at me like that."

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No! I, ugh... I don't know."

Arthur chuckled. “I get it.”

John sighed in relief. Did it mean he would stop acting weird? I mean, Arthur would always be a bastard no matter how you look at it, but he called it an improvement.

“I'm sorry” he continued ”, but there's no stopping me in loving you.”

What. In. The. World. That's not what he meant!

“Arthur, you're not listening—”

“Every damn word, of course I do...”

“Then why are you doing this?!” John buried his head deeper, frustrated. “I'm an asshole, okay, I get it. But that's not a reason for you to do this to me.” Enchanting me, making me drunk with every word you whisper. Damn you.

“John, I—”

“I don't deserve it.”

A long silence between them came to be except for the more recurrent footsteps outdoors, stumping into the grass and dirt. John held tighter to Arthur, who stepped back only to take a closer look to his face, eye to eye.

“Listen closely, you little piece of shit.”

John flinched to the sudden grab by his collar, wanting to look away but Arthur only held his gaze closer.

"There's no denying that you are an idiot— but my idiot. I'm a fool myself, an old dirty bastard that's only getting older with every day that goes by, thinking that I'm the happiest man alive every damn time I look at you and even though I know I don't deserve it either. I ain't a good man, John. And you fucking know it." He grabbed his collar stronger as if it was a threat, with that dead look in his eyes that had seen the deeds their owner had done.

After Arthur realized what he did, he let John go.

“If it was about deserving, John, you would've never been mine."

He gently took John's hand laid it in his face, placing a gentle kiss in the back of his hand.

John couldn't speak a word. His mind had gone blank except for the beautiful image of Arthur lovingly playing with his fingers, laying kisses in the tip of his fingers, and the words that uttered in the corners of his mind, echoing Arthur's whispers.

"I'm sorry, John. But I beg you, let this damn fool love you and show it to you."

John placed his hand in Arthur's earlobe. As if both had read their minds, they looked into each other's eyes before leaning into a soft, gentle kiss.

Their kisses never tasted sweet. It was rough, with sweat and blood that was so common in there lives. Neither of them deserved the sweet taste of paradise, but they were making one of their own.

“You make me feel like a fool, Arthur.”

“You too.”

John wished this moment lasted forever. He wanted to enjoy the moment when their souls had gotten closer, but a voice outside called.

“Arthur, John, Where are you?!” Dutch called, irritated of waiting.

They separated and held each other's gaze for a moment.

“We should go,” John whispered tenderly as he rolled he eyes.

“Let's go,” Arthur chuckled.

Arthur gently held John's hand before heading out of the tent, ready for the world.

As a reader, I am sincerely so grateful for fanfiction. There are so many fantastic and talented writers out there, pouring their hearts and souls into their work, giving fans the content they crave, sharing their love of these worlds and characters. But let’s be honest, the pressure to create is hard enough without a pandemic weighing on you. So it doesn’t matter if you are creating right now or not - you are amazing. Every single one you!

As an author, I can’t tell you how much it means, how it fills my heart, to have people thank me for my writing, and tell me that it has brought them joy in these troubling times. You both motivate and sustain me. Every last kudos and comment has brought me more happiness than I can express. 

So whether you are a content creator, author, a fan, blogger, or reader…

Thank you all. 

You are valid, and you are appreciated.

A quick sketch I did  of Bluebird and MacCready slowdancing scene that happens in chapter 7 The Song He Had Never Heard Before (Me & You) 

(Click for better quality)

Below I’ll leave the summary of Love Gun, a F!SSxMacCready story, if you’re interested in reading.

Reblogs, kudos and feedback are always welcomed and please, do not repost!

Summary: MacCready gets hired by one, if not the most mysterious woman of the Commonwealth.

No name, no talking. MacCready didn’t even know her name or voice but there were two things he could be certain about that peculiar job: he would be handsomely paid and that his boss carried a heavy past on her shoulders and hid it away in the depths of her heart.

MacCready had a policy of not making questions, but it wouldn’t be long until he would drown in a sea of questions.

Rating: M

And a friendly reminder, if you want to ask about Bluebird or MacCready in Love Gun, you can hit me with questions! My AMA will remain open for anything you want to ask.

(and friendly tagging: @theartofblossoming​ @savybaby666​ @missingskully​)

Hi, so I know that you are writing 'Love Gun' in a language that is not your first. Do you publish in both or just English? What drew you to focus on MacCready as a companion and how did you come up with the concept for Bluebird, your 'f!sole'?

Howdy!

I'm writing and publishing it only in English. This is because I want to familiarize with this language in a way that is not only translation— you see, a language has its quirks and things that, when it's seen from other languages' perspective it couldn't make sense. Slang and metaphors are unique according to the language and this remarks the reason why I'm writing in English.

For your second question, at first I was interested in Deacon and in fact, Love Gun was originally planned to have him as the protagonist! It fitted many of the ideas I had and some of those remain in the actual version, but I struggled to make it work. After days and days of uncertainty, I found an old picture I had on my phone about an old playthrough where MacCready was my companion. My mind exploded. Then, after I played FO4 once more and watched a lot of YT videos about companions reactions, I realized he was the one and only. Someone resilent, professional and yet kind, funny and with a lame taste in fashion was a perfect target.

And lastly, Bluebird. Oh my, she was so fun to imagine. As I said previously, this story was first planned as a Deacon x fem!ss and she was completely different to how she now is. I was inspired by this fic (which name I can't remember and God, I'm still looking for the name) where fem!SS was a foreigner, Swedish I think, and had moved to America with her husband to America. She struggled to talk with Deacon and others and the times she forgot how to say a word and her thick accent had driven me insane— in a good way ofc. I had fallen in love with that concept and wanted to play with it. MacCready was more similar to Sole Survivor than I had thought and that was essential to develop his arc in Love Gun.

Bluebird was originally planned to be a scientist! But after some research in AO3, I discarded it because it was overused! I wanted to come up with something different on its own way and after some research, the Bluebird we know came to be. However, the last thing I came up was her pseudonym. I wanted something memorable and tbh, I wanted it to be related with the word "bird" in honor to an ol' WIP of mine called "Songbird". After giving it a lot of thought with WORD opened in my laptop, the name Bluebird came up between some of the suggestions I had and fell in love with it as soon as it was written.

Thank you so much for asking, blossom! Have a nice day, take care (人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+

Hi! I’m Keith. I’m sharing the 2nd chapter of Love Gun to celebrate the 500 hits we reached yesterday night. I’m so happy guys and thankful to all of you that have been with me for the past few months. 

Special thanks and shoutout to @theartofblossoming for your feedback in AO3 and to @theyoftenwhisper for your advise for chapter 7! 

Chapter 8 is still being worked on, i’m so sorry for the time i’m taking to update! Merry Christmas guys!!!!!

LOVE GUN

Chapters: 7/20 Fandom: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: Robert Joseph MacCready/Female Sole Survivor, Robert Joseph MacCready/Sole Survivor

Characters: Female Sole Survivor, Sole Survivor (Fallout), Robert Joseph MacCready, Duncan MacCready, Magnolia (Fallout), John Hancock (Fallout), Conrad Kellogg, Companion(s) (Fallout 4), Nick Valentine, Skinny Malone, Ellie Perkins, Darla (Fallout)

Additional Tags: Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Action & Romance, Past Relationship(s), Foreign Language, Eventual Smut, Romance, mysterious female sole, Awkward Flirting, Non American Sole Survivor, Green Commonwealth, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gunshot Wounds, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, One-Sided Attraction, Possible Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smoking, Smoker - Freeform, Implied Sexual Content (MORE TO BE ADDED)

Summary:

MacCready gets hired by one, if not the most mysterious woman of the Commonwealth.

No name, no talking. MacCready didn't even know her name or voice but there were two things he could be certain about that peculiar job: he would be handsomely paid and that his boss carried a heavy past on her shoulders and hid it away in the depths of her heart.

MacCready had a policy of not making questions, but it wouldn't be long until he would drown in a sea of questions.

SNEAK PEAK TO CHAPTER 2

MacCready placed the barrel of his rifle on one of the edges of their hiding spot, looking through the scope as he aligned the sights on the head of the enemy. He positioned his hand on the trigger and took a deep breath so he wouldn’t miss the shot. “You ready there, Nick?” he questioned without losing sight of his target.

“Yes I am.”

He felt Bluebird’s tapping on his shoulder like she would always do when she meant to tell him she was ready to begin. He smiled and pulled the trigger.

When his target collapsed to the bloodstained floor, shots started to fly across the sides of the room. Nick was good as MacCready expected, but Bluebird was something he had never seen before. Her aiming, her accuracy and the grasp she had on her guns was something that did not feel human but instead mechanical, automatic.

The time they had been together revealed little to nothing about who she was or how she used to be before they met. Mysterious and quiet with magical eyes that mesmerized him every time he saw them. Following his policy costed him knots in his throat and an itchy curiosity in his heart that burnt like a fire that could not be taken out.

He should not be thinking about her. That’s not what he was being paid for. He was paid to be a gun, an extra hand and a “tough guy”; not to think.

Heavy steps were heard behind the door before them, the one they were supposed to go through, and opened loud and wide. More than 10 triggermen came through and opened fire without thinking twice.

“Fuc…” MacCready was about to curse when he remembered a promise, one he made some a long time ago to his son; “crap,” he corrected himself.

Brandon Sanderson on Writing

Questioner: You are very famous for being a fast writer.

We talked about that in the other conversation, and I'm not going to ask you the secret of your superpower, if you got bit by a spider or something, but I don't want to ask about the discipline of sitting and writing [for x hours] straight, or the deadlines of the publishers, because if there's something that is strange about writing, it's that, in your worst moments, when you [are under] pressure, [you deal with] family conflict, you write better, you are more capable of understanding how others feel, how is the world that's around you.

And when you're happy, when everything is okay, you have time to find inspiration or the strength to write, because, "The world is amazing, I have these great friends, this great girlfriend, this amazing family to be with. Why do I have to stay five hours closed in my room thinking about people having terrible problems to be happy?"

So, how do you make this to keep writing, and having what a fantastic life, with fantastic friends and fantastic fans?

Brandon Sanderson: What a fascinating question! I've never been asked that before!

I've been asked thousands, of questions, so that is very interesting.

I would say, I am not a writer who writes from a place of pain. Every writer is different, and they find different inspiration. I am best at writing when I am in a place of comfort. And so, I think that most writers are very observant, and this is how we express things in fiction.

We pay attention. We listen. For instance, I don't have depression, but Kaladin does. If I waited until I had depression to write Kaladin that would probably be bad, because people with depression, number one, don't want to do anything, and number two, it's just not going to work, right? You just can't sit around and wait to experience everything you want to write.

So, for me, it's about research, and listening, and paying attention. I happen to have several people I love dearly who do have depression, and so I talk to them. I take notes. I listen to the things they have to say, and that becomes the foundation for a piece of a character's personality.

I don't know, though, maybe I'm just a sadist, and I like to do evil things.