Ginger_M
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Summary
Sadie and John’s insistence on checking on him is confusing, to say the least. After all, they should be as affected by the whole thing as he is—Sadie was Arthur’s closest friend, and John—well, as far as anyone in the gang was concerned, he and Arthur were family. He isn’t sure what either of them said to Arthur’s grave. He could guess if he wanted to. But right now, Charles wants nothing more than a clear mind.
A clear mind for a fresh start. Isn’t this what this trip is all about?
Haunted by memories, Charles tries to travel east. But he can never quite make it there. (Sequel to A Kind of Paradise, but can be read as a standalone.)
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 15,639
- Chapters:
- 1/1
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- 1
- Comments:
- 32
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- 132
- Bookmarks:
- 25
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Bookmarked by Ginger_M
13 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
I cried like a bitch
Also it's the fourth time this month this song haunts me
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Summary
Part of him knows Dutch and Hosea are getting frustrated about the lack of progress on finding the Braithwaite’s gold or the Gray’s treasure or whatever the hell it is. Part of him knows everyone is getting nervous about being in one place for so long. Part of him knows that Dutch is stressed and tired, that he’s probably just taking out his frustrations, that he probably doesn’t really mean what he’s saying…
But another, much bigger part of Arthur is stunned and indignant and hurt. And, like a wounded animal, the hurt quickly turns to rage.
“Well how ‘bout you go make us some money, Dutch?”
“…Excuse me?”
(Or: Arthur leaves.)
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Summary
Charles Smith considered himself many things. Quiet. Intelligent. Dependable to a fault. Occasionally, unintentionally rude. One thing he had never considered himself — physically or otherwise — was weak. Life had trained him too well for that. It had taught him the practiced motions of endurance, the reflexive bracing of the spine before impact, the careful distance one learned to keep from people, places, and hope itself. Complacency was a luxury. Attachment was a liability. When you lived a life as dangerous and unsettled as his, grief was not a question of if, but when — and it was easier not to invite it in at all.
All in all, Charles knew he was strong.
What he did not know — what sat heavy and unanswered in his chest — was whether that strength would be enough to carry the body of a man he cared for deeply down from a mountain.
(Post-Canon fix-it of what could have been if Arthur actually didn’t die on the mountain)
Series
- Part 1 of What We Carry
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- Words:
- 35,819
- Works:
- 6
- Bookmarks:
- 40
Bookmarked by Ginger_M
13 May 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Pretty funny light-hearted series where nothing goes wrong and I love that
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Summary
I feel this is something that means more to me than you.
Maybe he was right. Maybe he was wrong. But the words couldn't come up- he couldn't get them out of his throat. Standing there in the evening sweat of the muggy swamps surrounding Shady Belle, Charles looked both too at-ease and too uncomfortable. There was something pressing in those dark eyes, sunlight a filter off the warmth of black honey. Soulful eyes, visage usually drawn a scowling furrow over them. But their entirety made Arthur's fingers itch at the tips, grasping and twitching at empty air in desire for a piece of paper and a pencil to sketch it. To capture the likeness of the huntsman before him, in all that he was.