#All this death and for what? | Charles Smith

[marstonsboy]

had another evil thought that spiralled out of control. indulge me for a moment:

over the years, people start arriving on a near empty plot of land west of blackwater. it’s uncertain who got there first: bessie matthews, beatrice and lyle morgan, eliza, isaac morgan, etc.— but more and more people show up until it’s something of a community. jenny kirk, mac and davey callander. then soon after, jake adler, sean macguire, kieran duffy, hosea matthews, lenny summers, molly o’shea, eagle flies, susan grimshaw. more and more in such a short amount of time. arthur morgan is the last, and suddenly the deaths stop.

after a sudden stretch of years with little newcomers, a house starts taking shape. soon enough the house is a home, and peculiar things can be found all over: a dog barking where no one can find it. echoes of campfire songs going late into the night. photos of john and abigail’s wedding, attended by what remained of their family. a taxidermy squirrel that appears back on the mantle no matter how many times you throw it out, wearing a very familiar hat. in just a few years a heartbreakingly young girl comes home, bearing a strong resemblance to one abigail marston.

then, gunshots. john marston and uncle are the next to arrive.

in the next few years, the house is eerily quiet. the residents see it falling into disrepair, but they can’t do anything about it. the dog stops barking, the campfire has gone cold and won’t relight. abigail marston is next, and though they’re happy to see her, the arrival brings up a question. what happens to jack now?

the livestock are gone, and the house is dusty, all but stripped of the knickknacks and personality that built up over the years, like someone found it all too painful to look at. john’s hat and guns, once tucked away inside a box beneath the bed, vanish the night after abigail arrives. newspapers come to the door, announcing the death of former government agent edgar ross.

soon after, a wanted poster, bearing the name “john marston jr.” and a sketch resembling the boy’s namesake so much that it has john himself stumbling back. jack was only a boy when he left, and now he’s wanted dead or alive, with a price over his head that could rival some of his uncles and aunts back in the day.

every year that passes without any sign of jack is a relief. the house doesn’t change much, still abandoned, but letters come in. mary-beth gaskill, tilly jackson, simon pearson, sadie adler, charles smith— old friends and family, checking in on him. none of them reach the recipient, as he is not home, but they’re filled to the brim with love, letting him know that he isn’t alone. that he always has a home with them, if he wants it.

one day, john spots a book he doesn’t recognize on the shelf by the piano, and he stops. “Red Dead” by a J. Marston. it doesn’t take much to figure out who that could be. he opens it, flips through, and reads it to abigail. the kinder parts get read to their daughter, ecstatic to learn about how her older brother is doing. their son did become a writer after all, even if everything he’s written speaks volumes of his grief, his anger. the loneliness he’s endured since losing his family, and killing edgar ross.

arthur morgan opens his old journal to find several entries and sketches from john, but also many new ones from jack. his handwriting is just as clumsy as his father’s, but his drawings are more refined. little portraits of the gang members that lived and scribbly sketches of what the world is becoming in their absence decorate the pages. war, cars outnumbering horses, and a very detailed drawing of a revolver none of them have ever seen before.

he’s all grown up, and good lord is he angry. he’s mourning, and hurt, and he’s lost so much, but he’s still undoubtedly jack marston. he draws dogs and writes about missing rufus, slipping strays some food from his bag whenever he sees them. sometimes he’ll write a dry, sarcastic joke that speaks of his father’s influence, or mention missing his momma’s cooking, “even though it was hardly edible,” which makes abigail roll her eyes. he hates fishing and prefers to lose hours of the day with his nose in a book. the best maintained part of beecher’s hope is the graves on that hill, which gain new flowers every week. sometimes, if they listen close, they can hear him talking, telling his ma and pa what he’s been up to, though he saves the grisly details for his book.

and when jack marston finally does walk through that door, much older than when anyone he knew last saw him but far too young to die, he is welcomed home with open arms. because no matter what he’s done, and no matter how much he may hate himself, he will always have a home here with people who love him, and who can’t wait to get to know him all over again.

[wildwestwandering]

wildwestwandering is an open. selective cowboy themed oc and canon rp blog written by Forrest (He/It, 21). here is the link to my character list. this blogs fandoms are red dead redemption and billy the kid. a study in Weathered leather, cracked but well-loved, The weight of a revolver resting at the hip—always ready, but never the first to draw, Eyes that have seen death but still hope for a better tomorrow.

[heavenlymorals]

I feel like a lot of people forget that the Van Dir Linde gang was actually famous in their universe- Dutch Van Dir Linde was as famous as the real life Butch Cassidy. The gang had as much infamy as the Wild Bunch or the Dalton gang. Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Bill Williamson, Javier Esculla, Lenny Summers, Charles Smith, Sean McGuire and more were probably as famous as the real life Doc Holliday, Jesse James, Black Bart, Rufus Buck, Ike Clanton, the Sundance Kid, Wild Bill Hickock, and more.

Sadie Adler would've been just as famous. She was a gunslinger like the real life Calamity Jane and Anne Oakley and she was an outlaw at one point like Laura Bullion, Pearl Hart, Belle Star, The Cassidy Sisters, and more.

The other women of the camp would've probably been less popular but still very intriguing figures to people in the future.

In the newspapers, we see that there are songs about Dutch's boys and books too. Trelawny mentions them being on dime novels. In the future, the pieced together story of the Van Dir Linde gang might've gotten adapted into a movie, similar to "Butch Cassidy and the Sun Dance Kid" or "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford". They could've gotten biopics, documentaries, and more.

Historians and fans of the wild West era would dig up records, find pictures, and maybe even track down people who were apart of the gang, accomplices to the gang, or victims of the gang. They would try to piece together stories to figure out the mystery of what actually happened to the gang.

People would argue over things that happened in the gang and have their evidence to back it up. Letters written by gang members would become so valuable. If they ever someone come across Arthur's journal, it would probably be considered one of the most valuable pieces of documentation to ever exist for that time period.

The guns of the gang would probably be kept in museums if found. Albert Mason's portrait of Arthur Morgan would be found in history books, same as other pictures.

Dutch would probably be a very controversial figure in history- some would hail him as a failed hero and others would condemn his violence no matter the reason- they wouldn't know what the people in the gang knew- especially in the end. Same with the rest of the gang members.

They'd probably all get romanticized. Hosea and Dutch's friendship, the raising of the boys, Dutch and Annabelle and his fued with Colm, Mary and Arthur, John and his family, Javier being a revolutionary- no one would know the full story.

And then there is Jack- he may live to see the 1960s and 70s and 80s. He may have grandchildren who'd pull him into a theater to watch a retelling of the gang that he was a part of at one point. He'd be amused. He'd think that the actor playing his father was too clean looking, too pretty. He'd think that the movie Arthur was too skinny. He'd think that the man playing Dutch had a funny voice as he tried to mimic the accent. He'd laugh and make notes in his head of the historical accuracy. He'd feel sorrowful at the deaths of the characters- he knew them at some point. And no one at the theater would know that the old man with the rowdy bright eyed boys who brought him there was Jack Marston, the last of the Van Dir Linde gang.

Jack might talk about it to the public. He might do interviews. He might even write a book about his father, the infamous John Marston. Those would be priceless. Even Beecher's Hope might be kept around and visited as a historical site for history goers.

And honestly? It is such a bittersweet thing.

[ravengards-rogue]

WHAT SET YOU FREE, BROUGHT YOU TO ME BABY.

rdr2 men + short blurbs about their favorite sex positions.

ft. arthur morgan, john marston, javier escuella, and charles smith.

✧ tags : SPOILER HEAVY, fem + afab!reader, unprotected sex, light angst (in the horny post is crazy im sorry fdkjjkds), very gendered language, javier says one thing in spanish (thank u @nanamimizz), a little sprinkle of plot with each (and some canon divergency), john co-parents w abigail, otherwise just horny. 18+

✧ wc : about 1.4-8k each (6.3k total)

✧ a/n : sorry for making a multi character post for the cowboy game its cooking me to death. my john bias is showing rip. title is from rebel yell by billy idol but i listen to the bvb cover

sorry about charles and javiers but if i edit this anymore im going to level an entire city using hollow purple technique. please rb if you enjoyed i worked kind of hard on whatever this is.

sorry for . the THIRD repost of this i promise i wont after this. its just really bugging me. PLEASE

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ ARTHUR MORGAN + PRONE BONE ; 

It’s an odd feelin’ for Arthur. 

Wanting something, he means. Wanting anything as much as he wants you. He’s lived a less than quiet life up until now. And he ain’t the brightest, certainly, but living this kind of life teaches you many lessons. One of them being, it’s better not to covet anything. Coveting something you’re not entitled to, well—it’ll lead you places you wouldn’t want to go with a gun. 

Arthur has made the mistake of coveting love before, dreamed of a future so completely out of his reach he almost convinced himself it was possible. Dreamed of it so foolishly he’d even go visit a woman he very well ought to forget. It’s his problem, his burden to bear - always desiring outcomes unsuited to him. 

He’s just that sort of man he reckons. But he learned his lesson. He tries (tried?) to stay away from it after that. Tried not to pine too much for normalcy when such hopes had failed him twice. The loss of his child completely on his account and the loss of his love at the same fate. 

So, wanting you - well, he feels like the world's dullest fool. Really. How is it that Arthur had fallen in love with someone again? It had all just happened so quickly. You were another woman he’d saved from the O’Driscolls, though it wasn’t like you were no damsel. A lot of those men were dead by the time they arrived. That sort of perseverance would stick with you while you traveled together. Much like Sadie, you didn’t take well to housework - you liked to earn your keep. Though you’re not nearly so trigger happy. 

You’re quiet, thoughtful, well-read. Plus you’re good at making money. That’s why Dutch don't complain about you joining them, he figures. 

(Arthur tries not to pry into it too much at first, but he eventually learns that you’re gambling. Which is how you’re able to make such a fast turn around. A prim little lady like you makes for a fine poker player, and you love to play men out of their money. He thinks it’s one of the funniest and most interesting things about you. He can’t help but love you a little more for it. )

When the feelings in him start to stir, Arthur tries to overlook it. Arthur convinces himself, time and time again - that there’s no way he’ll grow more tender about you. Eventually, it’ll die down. You’re a decent woman is all, a kind one - who’s easy for him to love and even easier for him to confide in. In your time together, you often come to Arthur and you always seem to have some profound wisdom he is so sorely lacking. Someone easy to love, who does not expect much from Arthur at all. It’s only natural a lonely, covetous man like him would start to dream about you. He tells himself, it will pass eventually. Should he simply let it run by him, it will pass. But Arthurs a fool, you’ll remember. 

 Of course, by the time he understood all that - he already loved you enough that he couldn’t bear it. It was already too late and it wasn’t going to change any time soon. Especially not while everything changed around him. 

So, Arthur is undoubtedly a fool, but he’s lucky. He felt divinely blessed when you’d returned his feelings for him so politely. A coy little smile on your face, a laugh like you thought he was silly for being doubtful. Arthur tried to explain himself but you wouldn’t hear a word of it. Maybe that’s another thing he loves so much about you. There’s nothing he ever needs to explain. 

In any case, all Arthur seems to do lately is want you. Wants you when it’s inconvenient. Wants you before he wants liquor or a cigarette or some other vice. Any time anything goes wrong, you’re the first thing his mind can conjure up for relief. That pretty smile and that self-assured way of living. It’s hard to get time alone in camp. And Arthur is a man in love, so any touch could be enough to set him on fire. Last week you hugged his waist a little before giving him a kiss goodbye and he had to listen to you laugh yourself into a fit as he waited for…little Arthur to settle down. 

He don’t get many chances to be with you. Lay with you in that way that grown folk in love do. Though, if the two of you book it somewhere for a few days - the camp knows better not to ask where you’ve been. But it’s not often you get to really be together, where it’s peaceful to do that. Someone’s always hounding one of you to do something. 

Arthur is a lucky man though, like he said. Today he had time. Today he’s alone with you in a beat up little saloon and today he gets to do as he likes. He gets to be greedy. And it’s an odd feeling for him, really, to want something so bad he disregards everything else in the world for a little while. 

Feeling you, though - absolves the guilt for wanting. He’d be stupid to want you any less desperately. 

Arthur’s favorite way to have you is on your stomach. Laid flat, just barely pushed up against him as he fucks you deep. You’ll fuck like rabbits for a little while and Arthur will wear you out just like this, maneuvering you until you’re pinned all underneath his weight. You lose any fight you might have, too exhausted to worry yourself with pleasing him - and when you’re like that, you let Arthur take care of you. 

(He really ain’t talented at much, but he’s good with his hands. Being dexterous is part of being a talented shot. When Arthur has the time to spread you sweet in his lap and make you cum all over his fingers, he does so for as long as he can. At least until you beg him so sweetly otherwise. The same hands, soiled with gunsmoke, look so good so deep in you. At least in his eyes.)

Wet and pliable and helpless. Arthur loves you like that. He knows, he knows you’re anything but - but he’d be damned to pretend this don’t feel best. Tight, wet cunt so welcoming from all the pleasure he’s ripped out of you. Your bodies pressed together, your heartbeat pulsing through your skin. All sticky, honeyed need and animal desire as Arthur lets all of him sink on top of you. His heavy, lumbering form crushing you in - trapping you somewhere you can’t run from him. The curve of your spine pushed against his chest, ticklish. 

Every inch of his body that so wholly wants for you, Arthur aches to make you feel. Burn it in you lest anything happens that risks your forgetting. 

He can feel his hips meet your ass, backside squished against him - desperate for deeper friction. Whining. You’re whining to him so pretty, a pillow pushed underneath you to give friction to needy clit. 

Arthur can feel how much you want more. Maybe Arthur is greedy, but he likes that look much better on you. Your pussy is sucking him in so tight, silken walls pulsing with every shallow little measured thrust. Arthur lets his arm wrap around your neck, your face pressing into his bicep. You moan again and he laughs. 

“Arthur,” Your words come out in a messy slur. He lets his scruffy face press against your neck, a kiss behind your ear. He wants to kiss you all over. There’s not enough hours in the day. “Oh, god, Arthur,” 

“Still feels good, then, I’m guessin’,” 

“Shut up,” You huff and press your cheek into his arm. He doesn’t bother stifling his laugh. “Still feels…big. Stretchin’ me out—hicc—so much,” 

You really don’t try to rile him up - but you do a damn good job of it anyway. He groans, grunts as he pulls back and pistons himself in you. A gesture half-way between a kiss and the warning shot of a gun. The sound of skin hitting skin echoes, noisy and vulgar. Arthur don’t pay it much mind. He laughs against your shoulder.

“One of these days, that moutha’ yours is gonna get me in real trouble.” 

You giggle back at him 

“What kinda trouble is that now?” 

Even from your side glance, you’ve got that lovely little smile on you. Fuckdrunk and ingratiating, like you know he’s wrapped so tight around your fingers. And he is, like nothing else in the world could have him. A wave of possession curls up over Arthur, makes him press more of himself into you. Onto you. Another deep push of his cock, sliding against the tenderest parts of you. Staking some silent desire in you. He wants and wants and wants, and hopes that whatevers above him can forgive him for making the same mistake thrice. 

“Dunno,” Arthur comments, teeth grazing your shoulder and kissing the indentations “Got our whole lives together to find out, I reckon.” 

“I’ll hold you to it, Mister.” 

Arthur laughs. “Hope you do, Miss.” 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ JOHN MARSTON + COWGIRL ;

John doesn’t say that he loves you lightly. 

Hardly a thing he says can be said that way. Could never afford too. In an alternate universe where nothing goes wrong in his life, maybe - but he has a hard time picturing what the hell that’d look like. A version of himself so untainted, without all of the violence and blood and gunsmoke? Foreign. John can’t picture it worth a damn. 

Who John is without a deadbeat father and a dead Ma is somewhere far beyond his reach. Ain’t nothing about his life, at any point, lighthearted. 

On top of all that mess, he’s got a boy at age four with a woman he ain’t married too. And that relationship is always on rocky waters, even though John’s decided to do right by his own flesh and blood sometime ago. Most things in the world he should feel good about he doesn’t, and most things he should understand render him clueless. He’s a mess on multiple accounts, and he still doesn’t know how exactly he’s meant to approach this life of his. He knows what he should do, but nothing about how to do it. 

John doesn’t come to love you easily ‘cause he wouldn’t know easy love if it hit him in his face. Quickly and painfully, but not easily. 

Your return to the gang was an odd one. You were an old presence and your disappearance was an even older story. John thought he’d never gonna see you again for sure. You’d been a part of the gang back long before all of the nonsense that took place in Blackwater and you left about the time Arthur’s boy died. John don’t remember why you left exactly. He thinks it was a fight with Hosea, of all things.

 Dutch weren't too happy about it neither, but Dutch back then didn’t make a show. 

So you left, and John buried every feeling he ever harbored. You found all them again up in Colter, where you’d been living out your days lately. According to you, in the middle of riding, you thought you’d heard Arthur. So, somewhat recklessly, you went chasing him. Didn’t matter if he was just something your mind conjured. According to you, if it was him, it was at least worth checking to make sure. You’d reunited with Arthur and after some tears, he rode with you back to camp. 

Upon your return, the gang welcomed you with open arms. 

You’d done a lot in your time alone.You spent most of that time just like that, a ghost wanderin’ the planes. You weren’t gonna stay with ‘em, but Arthur insisted and Hosea did too. That wasn’t enough to compel, so John was last to chip in. You should stay, at least until Valentine. 

(Silently he thought, you should stay so John can trace memories of you. It was so long ago, he should’ve forgotten all of it. You were a year older than John and always on his ass but easy for him to talk to. Didn’t fuss over his failures. You just barely grew into your womanhood when you set your sights on running away. You wanted more than this life, and John never really forgave you for it. His first heartbreak, maybe - but it’s all too blurry for that. 

You understood him though better than anyone, and one day you were gone. Nothing’s really the same.) 

You changed tremendously and not at all. He missed you. God, did he ever. Missed you a long time. Didn’t realize how much until you came back and everything in him felt right again. Your return stirred up old feelings and everyone noticed. He wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, but he really wasn’t trying to fall back into anything with you. Not how he did. 

Just like you did back then, you read John like an open book. And just like he did back then, he loved you all too helplessly for it.  It was just all too easy again, to be with you. 

You stayed out of the way at first, for the sake of his family. 

But, John ain’t a half-decent man even when he’s trying to be. So he set himself on being with you. It wasn’t easy - most things with him aren’t as you’ll see.  Having you around again straightened what was left of his common sense, at least. He told Abigail before telling you. He figured you wouldn’t even reply unless that was all out of the way. That turned out as well as you’d expect.

 It was settled between the two of you thereafter. He’s lucky she didn’t toss him into the street. 

Everything works out in a way. As best they can between broken people. You make peace with each other. His boy loves you like a third parent (you’re better with him than John is). Abigail commends you for straightening out such a worthless man though she’s a little melancholy.  John just tries to stay out of the way. You’ll be together in the end. There’s a plan with the five of you. 

But until it all falls apart, he doesn’t get all that much time with you. 

There’s moments like tonight, though. Rare ones. Together out robbin’, cooped out some place in the woods where no one is around. A place so shaded by nightfall that John can absolve himself of every sin he’s ever committed in his life and pray at the altar between your hips. John is convinced he might find worship like he’s always hearing about there whenever he touches you, the marred skin of his hands and knuckles reading the scripture of your body with careful precision. 

You might turn him into a literate man yet. 

John glances up at you. Only the light of the fire and the moonlight there to accompany as he watches you over him. You’re beautiful. John couldn’t picture a single thing more perfect in his life. 

Your hands against his bare chest, nails digging into the flesh as you lean forward. Your palm dug into the dirt, John finds his own hands rested at your hips. John looks at you awe-struck, cock twitching at the mere sight. His heart settles in his throat, but he’s calm all at the same time. With you, he forgets. All of it. The worst of himself. 

Bare naked and so close, he watches your face as you strain. You feel soft. Every inch of you in comparison to him is. A bead of sweat slides down the valley of your breasts. John cranes his neck up to catch it with his tongue, licking a stripe up to your neck - letting his teeth sink into the space between your jaw and neck. You want to make it last and John doesn’t blame you. It’s so rare you get to have each other so unrestrained. John can feel all the ways you want him, can see it in your face - all pinched with need. You’re holding yourself back, trying to get it to last as long as the night will allow. It’s cute in a way.

It’s different than how he’s used to seein’ you, all cocky or otherwise. You’re needy like this. Just needy. His stomach turns with lust, jolting through him like a strike of lightning. His cock twitches against your folds, sliding against them. Pure admiration watching the sticky mess of his pre-cum and your own arousal mix together and smear on your mound. You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, faint and tender as you fall forward just a little. John laughs against your neck. 

“Darlin’,” He says with a huff. Not malice. Something akin to bliss, where he can rarely afford it “Have I done something to piss you off today?” 

You pick yourself up and look down at him and frown. John kisses the corner of your mouth, resisting some crude desire to fuck up into you. 

“Just,” You grunt as the tip of his cock passes over your throbbing clit, your whole body wracking to a shiver. John looks awed. “Pent up. Goddamn it,” 

John figures it out quickly after that. It’s this part of it he likes. The proximity. The closeness. Feeling the tremble in your hands as they struggle to keep up right, muscles strained in your forearms. Being able to hold you, to keep the pace or let you take the lead. The clear view of your face as pleasure travels up through your spine and melts into you. He grabs your hips, the fat dimpling underneath his fingers as he moves you along. He can’t wait. You don’t bother to protest seeing John can’t seem to bear it anymore. You collapse into his chest, your tits pushed flat against his pecs.

His cock throbs near painfully, sliding against your soft cunt before finding himself lined with you. He thinks to himself that it’s this he was looking for, as he tucks your face against his neck and lets his tip stretch you out slowly. Such a vice like grip, stretching - resisting him like your whole body can’t anticipate the sensation of fullness. You gasp against his throat. 

“John,”  

What a sweet sound from your mouth, even sweeter as he bucks himself up. Keeps you steady and lets his cock stretch you full, feel you deep. “That’s right, my angel. Didn’t think you’d remember my name when you’re all worked up like this.” 

“You’re,” You gasp and John thrusts, thrusts hard until he’s buried to the hilt. You shudder, walls pulsing around him as he bottoms out and John laughs like the terrible man he is. He fucks you again, over and over - a wicked little smile watching “Awful. Just awful, John Marston,” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” He hums against your mouth as his hand snakes between your bodies, thumb rubbing against your clit. “Wonder what kinda woman that makes you,” 

“A foolish one,” 

John laughs. 

“I sure do love you for it,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆JAVIER ESCUELLA + SIDEWAYS ;

Javier hasn’t thought about much other than surviving. 

It’s been like that. Been like that for a while, probably much longer than he cares to admit. He’s sure any sane man would suffer the same plight if they lead the same life. Anything but survival is little more than a pipe-dream, so Javier tries not to go for anything too strongly. In that aspect he’s like many of the members of the gang he’s in, perhaps that’s why he sticks to them. There’s that phrase Hosea’s always saying - that misery loves company. Javier will take any decent company he can get.  He’s desperate for it just like he’s desperate for most things - inwardly, silently. 

Some of that desperation may be symptomatic of who he is. After he killed a man in a crime of passion for a woman he loved and ran from a government who would sooner exile him than change, Javier decided to not dream anymore. Every revolutionary who dreams too hopefully pays the price in blood.

(Javier thinks there’s probably nothing in the world as true as this. A form of gospel. He remembers the first dream he ever had after his uncle passed. Not a nightmare but a dream. He remembers the exact feeling of waking up, cold and confused. What is a dream, except a memento of survivor's guilt that loyal people cling onto fruitlessly. When hope starts to feel like a debt he’s going to waste his life paying back, Javier loses sight of everything. The beginning of the end in some way.) 

His mind doesn’t occupy itself with anything bigger than that. Since Dutch found him starving, there was never a desire to try and live off aspirations. He pays his penance with loyalty and honor. Practices some form of humility and tries, not too desperately, to carve a place for him to fit. All without drawing too much attention or caring too much. If you ignore the bleeding in his fingers, his penchant for knives over guns, and his refusal to talk too long about the place he comes from - it’s nearly believable that none of it matters. 

Except loyalty. All Javier honors is that. It’s the only thing he has some part in choosing, so he choses it every time. Living like that didn’t make any difference to him. He was surrounded by mostly decent people. He didn’t hate the life he was living. 

It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. His directionless-ness, his floating. Hadn’t since he joined the gang. At least not to anyone but him. He didn’t know what he’s meant to do or if he was meant to proceed with this forever. He was (is)  loyal to Dutch. To the gang. 

He hadn’t thought much about what comes after. 

And it didn’t matter until he met you

He’d sworn off love after seeing where it got him, at least until he could love more dispassionately. When the women bring you back from their outing from Valentine and beg Dutch to let you stay, Javier doesn’t think much of it all. He thinks you’re pretty, if it counts for anything. But he doesn’t let himself linger on you too long. 

But that’s the sequence with you two, really. The whole time.  He doesn’t linger until he does. It doesn't matter until it does. He doesn’t think about you until it’s all he can think about. 

You go for him first. And it’s in little, unimportant ways that might not mean shit to you but mean a whole lot to him. You have some kind of tenderness about you that you wear deep, runs through your blood like love ran through his once long ago. Some softness he can’t really measure with his own. It’s not that that gets him. It’s that sometimes you look at Javier like he's … someone you want to see. He forgot what that was like all together. It felt foreign to him the first time it happened. Seeing how you light up when Javier is around. 

You wanted to see him. You noticed that he’s gone. If he sang by the campfire - you’d sit by him and listen.  If he was out in the trees keeping guard, he’d hear the soft call of your voice to Grimshaw ask Where’s Javier? And sometimes the girls will make fun of you - but you wouldn’t deny anything they said. It’s so small and ordinary. He would’ve never considered himself simple before meeting you. Nothing is simple. Nothing. 

(But then, Javier thinks of the kinds of songs he sings and the way he takes care of himself and the clothes he wears and maybe Javier has some kind of affinity for preciousness that explains all of it.) 

When Javier confesses his feelings for you - he finds the affair to be like most things between you. Ordinary love, not really between outlaws but people. It’s up against a tree while you share a drink and he’s looking at the curve of your mouth and the plum color Karen’s so kindly put on you. And his head fills with kissing you so he does. A breathless confession between alcohol stains and the feeling of your hands curled in the lapels of his suit. 

From there, Javier is your lover. He’s not interested in the business of secrets, but he tries not to let it show too much. Not that he doesn’t want to. He wants to show you off more than anything - at least some part of him does. But the other part wants to keep you away from prying eyes, keep his love for you only where the both of you can see. If he could keep that pretty lovestruck face you make all to himself forever he would. 

When he gets a chance to whisk you away from everything, Javier jumps at the chance. Not often, but Javier makes time for you. Makes time to indulge in love he thought he’d  never find again. 

That’s why he’s here with you in the middle of nowhere, a ghost town where no one knows you.. A reserved room with a bed and lowlights all to yourselves. 

Javier can’t keep his hands to himself and he doubts you expect him too. 

For Javier, this sense of proximity is what intoxicates him most. The warmth of your bare skin in the slivers of yourself exposed. Javier is fond of finding you like this after a long day of horse riding. Of sneaking touches to your waist as you push back against him to sleep, only to find his desire for you - laid clearly. He likes hearing you whimper feeling his length poke against your back, the embarrassment when it dawns on you that he wants you after all. Always surprised, even though Javier tells you it so often. Whispers it along your neck and shoulders whenever you’re at camp together.

You like the feeling of his hands so Javier always starts with them. He squeezes your hips. Planes his palms over your chest before squeezing your chest, pushing the fat between his fingers. You like the way  they look when they grope you, his chin resting against your shoulder as you spoon. In the lowlights of a cheap hotel - Javier gets the perfect view of your silhouette. Your body is sensitive over the fabric of your gown, heat prickling through you. 

Javier who is always so gentle with you, rouses so deep listening to your whining as he explores your body. The suffocating closeness of a single bed intoxicates him. 

“Javier,” Your voice is sweet and thin. Plays in Javier’s head like music and makes his mouth curl up into a catlike grin as you push back on him.  You look slightly over your shoulder, lips pushed into a pout. “Please,” 

He tugs at the fabric of your nightgown. The top half pulls haphazard underneath your tits, nipples perky and sensitive to touch while the skirt pools at your waist. What gets Javier like this is the desperation. Wanting so much but not being able to look too long. A way for you to mirror him, it’s a matter of possession. In some stupid way. Bunching your clothes up, pushing the fabric of your panties to one side, letting his arm wrap around your waist to touch and tease.  All of these are imprints of his longing, tucked faithful into your side as he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.

His cock twitches as it pushes past your folds with finality, your hands curling up at your sides.  You whimper softly, let your cheek rest against the sheets as Javier takes you on your side. Terribly close, you fuss as you feel him slide every inch into you slow, your hands reaching back for purchase. It’s the fit of you against him so perfect, the silent strokes of intimacy, the hush-hush giggles between the sheets that Javier loves most about fucking you like this. Too enamored with you to look too closely, he lets his eyes flutter closed. He could get drunk just being in your space. 

He carves out space for himself inside of you, feels your cunt accommodate for him like it loves him. A feverishness breaks out as his forehead rests on the space between your shoulders, an uncharacteristic whiny quality in his words. 

“Ser mío,” Javier says - as a reflection of what he really wants, to belong only to you. “Belong to me.” 

Darling as you always are, you nod softly. 

“All yours, Javier,” You whimper, finding his hand. “Forever,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ CHARLES SMITH + MATING PRESS ; 

Wandering. 

He’s been doing it his whole life. Not something he’s proud of. Or ashamed of either, really. Just how things have gone for him until now. Charles doesn’t think his life has been any better or any worse than anyone else's. At least not when he weighs it with the same kind of pragmatism he does most things. It’s been a hard life, and a miserable one in so many ways. Still, it’s not something Charles is too keen to dwell on. 

There’s just something thematic about loss in Charles' life in a way he finds completely unpleasant. It’s more constant than anything. Loss of his home, loss of his mother, loss of his father in an attempt to find what’s best for him. It’s some overarching message that hangs over his head like a shadow. Everywhere he goes, trying to rectify his own solitude seems to come back to him. It doesn’t help that it’s an unfair world to start with, and would’ve been if he had just been black or just been native. But Charles is both, and has lived a life that reflects that specific injustice thoroughly. 

There’s not really anything Charles can do about it, at its baseline. When he left his father, the name of the game had simply been survival. He was well-equipped enough for that at least. But after survival comes trying to live and trying to live isn’t something so simple. Jumping in and out of gangs who thought they could get away with slighting him or generally being surrounded by unpleasant people. Trying to find something in pages of book and scripture, or in the way water ripples when it rains. 

He’s never felt any one way towards the gang. Even when he joined them all the way back in the Grizzlies. Lost in the cold, they’d crossed paths as Charles was out hunting. A lot of it feels like a blur. Of all the folks he’s met in his travels though, Dutch treats him fair and the rest of them (or most of them) are decent, honest folk. Charles stays in the Van Der Linde gang for such simple reasons as trying to stay alive and be somewhere that isn’t actively hostile towards him. He’s a good gunman, and a better fighter. The inner workings of gang politics and forging connection isn’t at the forefront of his mind, with the exception of the kindest few. 

The Van Der Linde gang is just a place where he can figure out what his purpose is meant to be, even if he doesn’t find it there. He’s never expecting anything to come out from his loyalties to it. 

Of all the things Charles expects of his life in the Van Der Linde gang, love is at the very bottom of the list. 

Maybe it’s about time he stops being surprised by these things happening to him one or way another.

 You were a member of the gang far before him, and someone Charles took to quickly. You’d joined the gang not too long after John from what Arthur tells him. Though the brunette speaks about you more fondly than he does his brother. A problem child at the start, according to Arthur - always getting into all sorts of trouble. Something you seemingly feel embarrassed about now and refuse to bring up. Charles has a hard time picturing it having only known you as you are. 

The woman you’ve grown into is someone else completely, and Charles sees that in you all the time. Compassionate like Hosea but charismatic like Dutch, and clever. And you’re beautiful, too, though Charles feels a little shallow admitting that’s part of what drew you into him. 

It wasn’t Charles that approached you first. You were the one who spoke to him, as often as you thought necessary but never in a way he found invasive. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about you that charms him near instantly. You’re enigmatic to a fault. It’s like you always know exactly what to say and exactly when to say it. Even more than that, you’re a terribly pleasant person to be around. Subtly warm and free of assumptions. When Charles talks to you about anything, you listen without making him feel like it’s any sort of burden to you. You don’t pry, don’t make missteps. Treat him fair, and then some. 

It’s unbearably simple, just how quickly and how easily he comes to adore you.  And, in some ways, Charles knows better than to believe that his purpose is loving someone. There’s more to it than that, surely - after everything. 

But then, he’ll watch you do something. Watch you do some kind of menial work that he could do for you instead. Thinks of skinning animals for new clothes and chopping wood and rubbing the soap off of you and all of a sudden it makes him feel anchored. Everything he could do for you. You anchor Charles easily, with a wispy smile. Make him want to find purpose in life with you. He never wants to be somewhere you’re not. 

He confesses it to you just like that, and like you do with most things - you accept and reciprocate without making too much of a fuss. 

For Charles, making love is an extension of wanting to ground himself in you. A distant siren song - the intersection of lust and bone deep adoration. Like most things, you’re the one to approach first every time. A soft hand on his forearm, a whisper that you want him. It’s with ease that he draws you away. Drags from you camp during nightfall with his horse and blankets and picks a spot with the perfect view of the stars. 

Charles watches you under the glow of moonlight, his vision adjusting to you easily. Naked underneath him, laid on your back with your legs folded at your knees - heaving deep breaths. He can see the sweat beading down your skin, your chest rising and falling - and the perfect view of your pussy. His hands and mouth are wet as you breathe out. He finds himself smiling at you, his own erection pressed against your thigh, pre-cum leaking out in a mesmerized haze. 

You lift your hands up and he leans down, surprised as you wrap them around his neck and pull him closer to you. Your mouths meet like that, and Charles laughs against your lips as you kiss him so eagerly. You blink at him, pretty. You’re always prettier than he remembers you being the last time he looks. 

“Charles,” You frown at him. “It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting,” 

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Sorry, my love. I don’t want to hurt you,” 

“Well, I’m fine with it,” You repeat, almost petulant. Charles frowns. “‘Sides, it ain’t my first time taking you, you know?” 

“Well, I’m not fine with it.” 

You pout, looking at him all endeared. Charles couldn’t help but love you even if he tried. “You ain’t gonna hurt me. C’mon. Please?” 

“Please, what?” 

You look at him aghast before breaking out into a faux-scandalized giggle. “Now you—please fuck me. Pretty, please.” 

Charles feels something tickling against his spine hearing you say it. He couldn’t imagine getting sick of you in his whole life.  “Yeah, that’s good to hear.” 

You make an indignant noise but it’s silenced quickly as Charles positions himself against your entrance. He has plenty of discipline when it comes to matters like these, but right now - he feels like he’s going to lose his mind. Not nearly enough patience to wait. He lets his hands go up underneath your knees just to have something to hold onto. 

You make a little gasp as the tip of his cock pushes into you. Your walls are so soft, likely after all the orgasms he’d given you prior. You stop him in a shocked gasp, and Charles immediately readies himself to pull out. As if sensing his hesitance, you shake your head. 

“Charles,” You gasp, the words caught in your throat and hoarse “Deep. Want it deep,” 

His abdomen tightens, cocking twitching hard at your words. He agrees silently to your desires. 

When it comes to sex, there’s very little Charles dislikes.

But this is his favorite. He’s simple but no other position lets him see you so close. He likes the way your eyes widen as he pushes up underneath your knees and folds you underneath his weight. How you look pinned down under him, the perfect view of your eyes rolling back into your head and the proximity from your face to his. He lets his cock stretch you out slowly, throbbing each time your nails dig desperately into arms trying to keep your composure. Fuck you feel so tight like that. Soft pussy, dripping and sticky. You suck him in relentlessly, and Charles groans as he bottoms out. You take every inch of him so well. So perfect like the rest of you. 

Your eyes flutter open as he stays there, buried in you in complete bliss. You’re dazed. 

“Kiss?” 

Surprise followed by adoration, he abides by your request easily. Overwhelmed with it as he presses a chaste peck to your mouth, he laughs. “As many as you want.”

Anything you want, Charles thinks, he would give to you. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[vivelegalite]

dear dead boy detective (especially paynland) enjoyers: have you yet heard of the biggest gift bestowed upon the fandom so far, aka jayden's charles playlist? the one he mentioned in interviews? well, he dropped it on twitter at 19th of may. and man, do i have stuff to say about it.

there's a lot of 80's bangers, for sure, great to get into the mood and character, but some of the choices...

i'm gonna focus on a few of my favourites, songs that made me go insane when i saw them. honorable mentions: - category 1 (so devoted the lines blur): ain't no mountain high enough by marvin gaye and tammi terrell, there is a light that never goes out by the smiths, inkpot gods by the amazing devil - category 2 (family life): family line and summer child by conan gray, seventeen going under by sam fender, matilda by harry styles, father by the front bottoms - category 3 (being queer in the 80s): smalltown boy by bronski beat, boys don't cry by the cure - category 4 (there's no heterosexual explanation for this one): good luck, babe! by chappel roan, yellow by coldplay, fight or flight by conan gray (is this about monty? the cat king? i need answers!), the prophecy by taylor swift, arms tonite by mother mother, sweet by cigarettes after sex, head over heels by tears for fears

this list is by no means complete or comprehensive!

and now, the songs that made me go the craziest: (they're predominantly in charles' pov as it's his playlist)

found heaven by conan gray

the only reason this song made it into the list and not the honorable mentions instead of smalltown boy is that it makes almost the same point, just so much more explicitly. i don't think i have to say much about it, it's a story of a young person griping with their queerness, being forced to leave home, a common theme of the playlist. "you're in love, you found heaven" when he chose edwin over his own afterlife, heavily implied to be heaven, and built his heaven with him on the mortal plane? ouch! (and we see this same notion repeated in another bop from the playlist, heaven is a place on earth by belinda carlisle).

2. like real people do by hozier

"i miss kissing" charles rowland, 202X romantic meaning aside, the verses show a sort of a common understanding the boys have around the manner of their deaths and their lives before it. we already know from the show they don't really talk about it, with edwin not knowing about the severity of the abuse charles suffered. it feels like one of them saying "let the past be past, we're together now, yeah?". but also, jayden: can there ever be a platonic explanation for this? ghosts can't touch, can't feel, so they wish they could just kiss like "real" (alive?) people do?

3. flaws by bastille

not the most romantic song, but i absolutely love how well it fits their dynamic. despite his edwardian brand of repression, edwin truly is the one that's more open about his feelings (recognising of course that in this case, the bar is so low it's in hell. haha, get it). edwin has worn his flaws upon his sleeve, and charles has held them buried - eg. bottling up all of his anger and resentment towards his family and his own death. the song presents a very sweet outlook, in which their flaws are brought up to the surface (for example, charles' outburst against the night nurse in episode 4), but they learn to accept them as they are, an extension of themselves.

4. a pearl by mitski

you know it's gonna get intense if there's a mitski song in the mix.

the song is about a person who finds love in their partner, someone who treats them way better than they've ever been treated - and yet they cannot bring themselves to reciprocate the affection ("it's not that i don't want you, sorry i can't take your touch") despite reciprocating the feelings themselves because of the trauma. charles is known to bottle things up ("you're growing tired of me and all the things i don't talk about"). the person in the song recognises the love the other person holds for them ("you love me so hard and i still can't sleep"), which reminds me of charles' response to edwin's confession. not a "no", but a "maybe, as time passes".

5. fair by the amazing devil

this one made me genuinely gasp when i first delved into the lyrics. it's simply so sweet, such a genuine and domestic portrayal of love. at first i thought it was way too open about being a love song (normal text instead of the subtext i'd be used to) for jayden to choose it with edwin in mind, but... there's no one else it can really be about. it's far too domestic, too "established" to refer to crystal. refers to a relationship that's laster for a longer while.

the narrator in the first verse is a person deeply in love with the other person, someone who loves to make his lover laugh and simply drinks in their presence. the "he" in the song i believe is charles, while the "she" refers to edwin. edwin promises to fight off anyone - or any feelings pulling charles down (we can see this in the first episode: "you ever think... what if death did catch us? she'd force us to go to the afterlife and split up" "i will make sure this never happens."). charles feels left behind by the world (seeing as he clings to crystal at first, refering to her as "someone their age who's still alive") and believes edwin to be so much stronger than he's ever been. i'm not going to break down the song verse by verse, but if you read it yourself while subbing out "he" for charles and "she" for edwin you'll see just how sweet (and... strangely very in character?) the song is.

6. work song by hozier

if the previous song made me gasp when i saw the lyrics, this one made me go "NO WAY" out loud when i saw the title. the first one verse is just pure toothrotting sweetness, but the chorus is what i want to draw attention to:

when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold, dark earth no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her

HELLO? charles, who keeps escaping death and afterlife to be able to stay with edwin? charles, as he literally takes his last breath with edwin right there, choosing to be by his side rather than move on? charles, who keeps choosing him despite night nurse's promises and threats? charles, who literally crawled through hell for him?

verse 2, to me, can be interpreted as referring to when charles died. edwin found him at his worst, and he "woke" up with his presence comforting him. he was shivering due to hypothermia and his injuries. edwin didn't ask him about what happened or pushed him, he simply listened. the lines "i didn't care much how long i lived, but I swear, i thought i dreamed her" are pretty self explanatory.

in verse 3 we still see the same attitude of "damn the afterlife, at least we have each other" as charles portrays througout the series. they're free, and heaven and hell are simply words to him.

7. orpheus by vincent lima

i literally have no words for this one. it fits too well. if you want commentary for this one, just... i don't know, rewatch the staircase scene.

8. francesca by hozier

(cracks knuckles) this is the big one. the album francesca is from, unreal unearth, is based on dante alighieri's divine comedy, a fourteenth century poem about a man venturing into hell, purgatory and eventually heaven. the eponymous francesca is one francesca di rimini, a woman who was politically married off to a man older than her, called giovanni malatesta. francesca didn't love him, and eventually fell deep in love with giovanni's younger brother, paolo. the two carried on with the affair for years, before being murdered by giovanni upon his finding out. francesca and paolo are mentioned in canto v of the first book, inferno, as two souls damned in the second circle of hell, lust. their punishment is to be permanently locked in a hurricane, swept away by the winds the moment they manage to get close enough to touch one another.

as opposed to their portrayal in the poem, the song is from the perspective of paolo, explaining that no matter the punishment, he wouldn't change anything about his life because he got to know, and love, francesca.

the first verse brings to mind the scenes in hell, especially on the staircase ("do you think I'd give up? that this might've shook the love from me? or that I was on the brink? how could you think, darlin', i'd scare so easily?" as an echo of charles' "sorry. no version of this where i didn't come get you"). "my life was a storm since i was born, how could i fear any hurricane?" could relate to charles' tumultuous family life, an assurance that nothing he has to deal with while by edwin's side will faze him given the things he's lived through. no, despite everything he's suffered through, charles wouldn't do anything differently - because his (admittedly shitty) life led him to edwin ("i'd tell them, put me back in"). we already know charles would choose him over heaven, willingly sacrificing his own afterlife to stay with a boy he's known for hours, someone kind enough to keep him company as he drew his final breath. all of it - his father's abuse, his schoolmates' bigotry, the pain of his own death, as well as everything he's gone through since - he'd do it all again, for edwin.

"for all that was said of where we'd end up at the end of it" could be taken as an allusion to the fate the boys would meet at "at the end of it", when they're finally caught by death and separated, or as more of a general "if you sin, you will go to hell when you die" (up to you to decide what the sin itself would be - an interpretation that would work with other songs on the playlist is that one such sin would be same sex attraction). then their hearts ceased, they never knew "peace", nor did they want to find it in death. their deaths were too soon, them being ripped away from life, but even though it would break his heart: charles would ask to do it all again.

the outro, i think, beautifully pulls it all together: heaven is not fit to house a love like theirs.

to wrap it all up:

jayden, what were you cooking in there? what do you know??

[rockscanfly]

Noshir Dalal’s response to my prompt “Please record Charles roasting Dutch post-refinery/Eagle Flies’ death”

Please please go throw money at @noshirdalal over at his newly established cameo. He’s such a talented and dedicated artist who really brought Charles to life and I love everything about this insane five minute monologue he made in response to my joke prompt. The pathos. The catharsis.

This is the only thing I’m going to be able to think about the rest of the week. I have so many questions. Starting with, of course: What did Charles do to his father, and what were the circumstances where Charles told Dutch about it, when that’s not something even Arthur seems to know?

(image ID and audio transcript below the cut)

[Video ID: Noshir Dalal, in the voice of Charles Smith. He is performing with head and shoulders in frame, periodically looking at the camera as if to address Dutch Van der Lin. There is a stone fireplace in the background

End ID]

[begin transcript]

He’s dead.

Eagle Flies, the boy that you rallied to glorious war who died taking a bullet for the man that you called son and then abandoned, is dead.

Relax, Dutch, I’m not here to hurt you. And if I was, you really think your pistols would save you from me?

I’m—I’m here to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry I—I didn’t see it sooner. I was so caught up in Arthur and how sick he is…that I didn’t see the sickness in you.

And you are sick, Dutch. And from that sickness, there is no medicine. How else do I explain it? Your willingness to turn your back on the most loyal man you have ever known. The welcoming of a snake hissing in your ear, how desperately eager you are to hear the worst lies about the people that love you?

That man will be your ruin, Dutch. He is no Hosea. He has you desperately scrambling after a paper crown but you’re paying for it with your kingdom. You will die with nothing and no one.

I leave in the morning. Rains Falls needs my help, and I will try, try, to undo some of the damage that you have done.

But before I go I hope that you will hear me. Arthur, the man that you left to die, is angry. Angry at himself because he doesn’t understand what he’s done to make you turn away from him. And through it all he stands with you, Dutch. He can’t bring himself to do it, because he loves you like a father.

But you know what I did to my father. So just imagine what I could do to you.

[end transcript]

[petalsprompts]

Dame Margaret Natalie Smith, CH, DBE 28th of December, 1934 — 27th of September, 2024

She received  numerous  accolades,  including  two  Academy  Awards,  five  BAFTA  Awards,  four  Emmy  Awards,  three  Golden  Globe  Awards  and  a  Tony  Award,  as  well  as  nominations  for  six  Laurence  Olivier  Awards.  She  was  one  of  the  few  performers  to  earn  the  Triple  Crown  of  Acting.

“ Do  not  be  stilled  by  anger  or  grief.  Burn  them  both  and  use  that  fuel  to  keep  moving.  Look  up  at  the  clouds  and  tip  your  head  way  back  so  the  roofs  of  the  houses  disappear.  Keep  moving. ” — Dame Maggie Smith in her memoir; You Could Make This Place Beautiful (2023)

"My  wife  and  I  were  deeply  saddened  to  learn  of  the  death  of  Dame  Maggie  Smith.  As  the  curtain  comes  down  on  a  national  treasure,  we  join  all  those  around  the  world  in  remembering  with  the  fondest  admiration  and  affection  her  many  great  performances  and  her  warmth  and  wit  that  shone  through  both  on  and  off  the  stage." — King Charles III

"The  end  of  an  era  of  the  sheer  definition  of  what  it  means  to  be  an  actor.  You  created  characters  that  clung  to  us,  moved  us,  entertained  us  ......  made  us  look  within.  You  defied  the  expectations  of  age....  crossed  generations.  You  were  greatness  personified  Dame  Maggie  Smith.  'A  lady  always  knows  when  it's  time  to  leave'  [...]  Godspeed  ♥️"  —  Viola  Davis

"She  was  a  fierce  intellect, a  gloriously  sharp  tongue,  could  intimidate  and  charm  in  the  same  instant  and  was,  as  everyone  will  tell  you,  extremely  funny...  The  word  legend  is  overused  but  if  it  applies  to  anyone  in  our  industry  then  it  applies  to  her."  —  co-star  in  Harry  Potter,  Daniel  Radcliffe

"Maggie  Smith  was  a  truly  great  actress,  and  we  were  more  than  fortunate  to  be  part  of  the  last  act  in  her  stellar  career.  She  was  a  joy  to  write  for,  subtle,  many-layered,  intelligent,  funny  and  heart-breaking.  Working  with  her  has  been  the  greatest  privilege  of  my  career,  and  I  will  never  forget  her."  —  Downton  Abbey  creator,  Julian  Fellowes

"Maggie  Smith  was  a  great  woman  and  a  brilliant  actress.  I  still  can’t  believe  I  was  lucky  enough  to  work  with  the  “one-of-a-kind”.  My  heartfelt  condolences  go  out  to  the  family  …  RIP."  —  co-star  in  Sister  Act & Sister Act 2: Back In The Habit,  Whoopi  Goldberg

"When  I  was  younger  I  had  no  idea  of  Maggie’s  legend  –  the woman  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  share  space  with.  It  is  only  as  I’ve  become  an  adult  that  I’ve  come  to  appreciate  that  I  shared  the  screen  with  a  true  definition  of  greatness."  —  co-star  in the  Harry  Potter film series,  Emma  Watson

"Heartbroken  to  hear  about  Maggie.  She  was  so  special,  always  hilarious  and  always  kind.  I  feel  incredibly  lucky  to  have  shared  a  set  with  her  and  particularly  lucky  to  have  shared  a  dance."  —  co-star  in the  Harry  Potter film series,  Rupert  Grint

"Anyone  who  ever  shared  a  scene  with  Maggie  will  attest  to  her  sharp  eye,  sharp  wit  and  formidable  talent,"  on-screen  son  in  Downton  Abbey,  Hugh  Bonneville

"I  had  the  unforgettable  experience  of  working  with  her;  sharing  a  two-shot  was  like  being  paired  with  a  lion.  She  could  eat  anyone  alive,  and  often  did.  But  funny,  and  great  company.  And  suffered  no  fools.  We  will  never  see  another.  God  speed,  Ms.  Smith!"  —  co-star  in  Suddenly,  Last  Summer,  Rob  Lowe

[hihomeghere]

Here is my collection of Red Dead Redemption fics! I hope you enjoy! All of my fics are f!reader if not specifically mentioned

Smut 💋, Fluff 🪽, Angst 🗯️

Rdr2 Boyfriend vibes

John Marston

Burning Love Set in the epilogue of RDR2. You stumble upon John in Blackwater after being alone for years. When he invites you to visit Beecher's Hope, will you be able to fight feelings that have been building ever since you were kids? 🪽💋

Gloves John goes crazy over you dressed up for a job, more specifically your white gloves 🪽💋

Based off an ask 💋

Right Person, Wrong Time You and John have constantly been at each other's throats until you left the gang after he chose Abigail over you. When you return you find him gone, leaving Abigail and Jack. You create a relationship with Abigail and Jack, but what will happen when John returns? 🗯️💋

Part Two of Right Person, Wrong Time

Arthur Morgan

Fakin' It After a botched robbery, Arthur and you take refuge in a hotel, hiding from the O'Driscolls outside your door. When they do decide to search for you two, how will you throw them off your track? 💋

Fishing in the Dark You and Arthur have a private evening away from camp on the Dakota river. 🪽💋

Dreams Arthur starts having dreams of starting a family with you 🪽

My Eyes Only Arthur thinks you look like a work of art 🪽

Salt and Pepper Arthur notices his hair is starting to gray 🪽

Deserving. 6. I won't let anything happen to you, I swear. 34. I think you're showing. 36. You're glowing. 41. The baby loves hearing you sing/speak. 83. Was that a kick? 🪽

Blue Ain't Your Color Loosely based on the song, Blue Ain't Your Color 🪽

Little Things Arthur returns from a successful job and wants nothing more than to bury himself in you 💋

Prompts : #30 I just want to be yours. #50 We need to talk about last night 💋

First time : You want Arthur to be the one to take your virginity, you just dont want to tell him💋

Baptized by Fire, Arthur Morgan x Reader x Charles Smith

After running from your past you find yourself facing certain death out in a blizzard. Thankfully you’re rescued, but what happens when you have to ride out the rest of the winter with the two men who rescued you? An RDR2 AU where Arthur followed Charles to Canada. No Y/N. Eventual Smut. Check the tags on each chapter for warnings. 22K word count

Chapter one , Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five

Charles Smith

Knight in Shining Armor 1. "Kiss me" "What-", 81. "Your heart is racing." 🪽💋

Prompts : 12 "You look so much softer, so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep."13"Sleeping with you was the best sleep I've gotten in years." 54“Here, take my blanket.”55 “You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.” 61 “I said I’d take care of you.” 🪽

Desperado Set four months after Charles leaves with the Wapiti. You and Charles try to figure out what to do after the gang falls apart. Comfort fic 🪽

Javier Escuella

Prompt : #19 You're leaving now? 🗯️

Kieran Duffy

Prompt : #66 Were you touching yourself? 💋

[deus-sema]

The seeds of Celebrimbor's tragedy and its implications

The hardest part of the episode was,undoubtedly, Annatar's manipulation of Celebrimbor and how he managed to not only isolate Tyelpe from all his people and well wishers but them from him as well. Valandil's death is a close second.

In the beginning, Celebrimbor is shown to be celebrating what is, until now, his greatest achievement and almost everyone he cares for is by his side.

But he senses his new friend Annatar's obvious unhappiness and leaves them all behind to follow him.

I liked how we were shown that Celebrimbor, while easy to trust others, isn't a fool for he can understand very well that Annatar can plant his ideas into the minds of others.

But Annatar is two steps ahead for a reason which is why when he fails to persuade Celebrimbor, he decides to take the reigns of the forge, of which the latter is supposed to be the master and he has been merely welcomed to, into his own hands. As for Celebrimbor, one supposedly harmless lie only leads to another.

Celebrimbor is trapped from all sides by Annatar. Doubting the authenticity of the rings is inconceivable for it would bring to question both his work and his capabilities as a smith. The achievement of his lifetime cannot be faulty so the fault could either be with his chosen partner or with himself. This fear is what Annatar preys on and creates doubt in Celebrimbor's mind about himself. By placing the blame of the faulty Dwarven rings on his shoulders, Sauron exploits Celebrimbor's guilt and makes him succumb to the pressure of creating the Nine.

He only begins to suspect that there is more to Annatar than meets the eye when he interacted with Durin - an outsider who isn't part of the bubble Celebrimbor has been confined to by Annatar and isn't in thrall of him. This is probably why Annatar wanted to meet Durin himself instead of letting Celebrimbor do so for not only does he seek to isolate Eregion geographically by breaking the bridge but also mentally and emotionally by preventing contact with anyone who might burst the bubble. Be it Durin or Narvi, he doesn't want anyone else to have Celebrimbor's ear.

This annoyance is also an indication of the hatred he will eventually go on to harbour for the Dwarves for while the Rings can amplify their greed for gold, their will is untameable and cannot be subdued, much less dominated by Sauron.

Meanwhile, when he realises that Celebrimbor might suspect him, he begins to poison the minds of the people who belong to Celebrimbor's household,have worked by his side and honed their skills for years, against him. He creates an illusion of danger to position himself as a safer option for them. Thus, the person whom Celebrimbor allowed into his home and on whom he showered his hospitality, generosity, trust and friendship, completely invaded his life and has set the wheels in motion for its destruction.

For no fault of his save for his kindness and good intentions, Celebrimbor has been left stranded and is all alone to deal with Annatar's sinister machinations. What's more cruel is that he couldn't even realise when the latter was mocking him on his face for being manipulated.

If this is just the beginning, then as feared, we will be left wrecked by the finale. The sparkle in Celebrimbor's eyes and his passion for his craft has begun to diminish. Throughout the episode, I just wanted to jump into the screen and take poor Tyelpe away from there, away from the impending doom.

Hats off to Charles Edwards for he is going to tear our hearts to shreds with his acting. And this is,indeed, a psychological thriller as the showrunners promised with major stakes.

[nthspecialll]

I don’t think we talk enough about the fact that Charles buried all his friends. He might not have known them for a long time but he still had some affection towards them, even if he hadn’t, imagine how traumatising that is.

Imagine seeing young Sean with a whole life ahead of him, his head shot open, blood running out, visibly being able to see the inside of his skull. Loud mouthed Sean who could be annoying but who was a joy at parties and lit them up, dead.

Kieran, his body mutilated and holding the signs of torture he experienced before death. Kieran who had escaped the O'Driscolls and whom Charles was slowly starting to warm up to, the man who really just wanted to be with his horse.

Hosea shot through the chest whom he knew was a father figure to many. Hosea who was a stablizer in camp, the one teaching Jack to read, the one helping Dutch plan, but still had enough silliness in his old bones to create Felton.

Lenny, young Lenny, who was just trying to survive, Lenny who finally felt like he had found a home but was shot on the top of the roofs and whom they had to leave.

Molly O'Shea who really only wanted love, who wanted affection from a man who had none left to give, shot mercilessly through the chest. Charles would be smart enough to know that there was truly no reason he was torching her body and not laying it in the ground.

Miss Grimsaw, who although a bit aggressive, truly only wanted what was best for the group and who always made sure that they took care of themselves.

Eagle Flies who fought so hard for what he believed in, for a world where his people could live, but who ended up victim to Dutch's manipulation just like Charles had.

And Arthur, Arthur Morgan who was the only person that had helped Charles actually try to save the natives. Arthur Morgan who had gone out of his way, who had disobeyed Dutch Van Der Linde, a criminal so filthy he is in songs and novels, to help Charles Smith, a man who was looked down upon for the mere color of his skin, help his people.

I want you to bury you friendgroup, your support system, one by one and act like it doesn’t affect you.

[thealbatrovss]

wind song // logan(2017) x fem mutant reader

(mini series)

synopsis : you dream of a life without your powers. logan needs them to help locate some dead guys cash. a roadtrip to the Nevada desert with your ex was always bound to be a mistake. but, maybe it wasn’t.

Chapter 2 - heavy metal

chapter summary: you and logan start your journey. a man you meet starts a chain reaction for the events to come.

warnings: 18+ ONLY // MDNI - suggestive content, mature themes/subject matters, death, swearing, eventual violence and smut.

word count: 2k+

tag list: @freythecrazyfae @ayamenimthiriel

wind song masterlist // my main masterlist //previous chapter

“Just one suitcase?” Logan said, closing the side door.

You noded, wiping your eyes of the dust in the air and lack of sleep. You didn’t think you were going to end up on some roadtrip with your ex. So of course you didn’t bring much. It was just supposed to be a funeral and then a one time conversation. But now you were sitting in his passenger seat, watching a fly dart in and out of the car.

Logan never acknowledged the dress you were wearing from the day before, and you never acknowledged his suit he wore from the day before. There was that familiar understanding between the two of you. Still there, despite the way things had ended over a year ago. Those cold eyes stayed with Logan.

You could see them in the rear view mirror while he finished a repair on one of the truck's tires. Maybe he saw the same eyes looking back at him. It was hard to remember what they looked like before a heatless fire stole yours both away.

The motel sat to the right. The pale colors that painted brick walls seemed to crack underneath a silent weight. You thought you would still hear the static from your neighbors TV.

The truck rocked as he sat in the driver's seat. All that metal in his body was heavy. It was slowly killing him. Logan never talked about it. You only found out one night when Caliban told you over the phone, pleading for you to come back.

What must it feel like, for the thing that once made you invincible, be the thing that would one day kill you?

You had to force yourself to not dwell on being the one to find his dead body once the inevitable happened. Even with your work connections, you found there was no known cure for him. Didn’t stop you from looking still.

“Didn’t think I’d enjoy the limousine?” You said.

He huffed, turning the engine on. “That's for work purposes only.”

“And this isn’t work?”

“Nope. This is personal.” He pressed the gas pedal, taking you and the truck out of the rocky parking lot.

The air was hot. Salt rippled through the sky. You could taste it on your tongue. Competing motels marked both sides of the road. Signs pointed you in either direction. An employee stood by one of them, holding one advertising free car washes when you checked in. That made you chuckle imagining a freshly washed car driving back onto the street, dirt clinging to the water faster than it was cleaned.

The weather demanded filth in this small area. No one can make good money off something clean here.

It was quiet riding with him. It was always quiet with him. Logan kept his gaze forward, one hand on the steering wheel and the other in his lap. You caught the flask hiding between his thighs. This one looked older though, unlike the one from the diner yesterday. Scotts initials peeked out from the back of the metal. The same flask you remember stepping over when you found his body on the floor.

The dress was suffocating you all of a sudden. Instead of the static of the TV, you heard an old friend trying to get to Charles before he got to him.

You needed a distraction, like Logan needed the bottle. The notebook you fiddled with your hand flipped open as a breeze flew by. “Christopher Smith. 49. Assistant of Ceo David Fisherman who founded the nationwide bank Silver Well. 5’5. Fair skin. Brown Hair. Blue Eyes. Current residence, New York, New York…” You shut the notebook. “What the hell were you doing driving a millionaire banker from New York around anyways?”

He looked at you and back at the road again. The sun was sending rays of light through the windshield, occasionally obstructing his view. “You’re the private detective here. What do you think?”

“Well, we still haven’t completely ruled out you two sleeping together.”

Logan rolled his eyes, holding back a smirk. “Then rule it out now.”

You grinned. “I think you were driving around a man already dead who knew that and had nothing left to lose.”

His eyebrows lifted, fingers tapping on the wheel. “Impressive.”

“Now, can you give me a clearer picture without the guessing games?”

Logan stopped at an empty stoplight. It was still green as he turned to face you. “Look. I didn’t want to work for the fucker, but he wouldn’t stop calling me and demanding the agency to hire me. Didn’t know why, until a black van started following us around.”

The light flashed yellow and then red. “Chris was a gambler. I'd take him every weekend to some new den or high profile client. Most of the time he’d come back with nothing. But one night, he came running into the car screaming at me to floor it. He had a suitcase of cash he said he won. Bullshit. Clearly stole it.” He gripped his flask.

“A black van chased us down all night. They blew one of my headlights and tires out with their guns. When we lost them and got back to his place, he promised that next time he’d give me a tip. Haven’t heard from him since.” The light was green once again, but no one was around.

“He couldn’t give you any of the money he took from that night?”

Logan shook his head. “He told me he needed it. I don’t know what for.”

“Maybe he was in debt with someone far scarier than whoever was in that black van that night?”

“That’s what I was thinking.” A honk from behind forced him to continue driving. “Did you pick anything else up from his pen other than a direction?”

You rolled down the window even further, preparing yourself. “Not yet. I could sense his body somewhere in Nevada. I could taste blood. Whoever he was scared of, got to him. Maybe his money too.”

“My money.” Logan said. “And I sure as hell will be getting it back, like he promised.”

The words felt hollow coming from him. Like an empty pool during the summer. Since when did money become his sole motivation? You thought about Charles' medicine and the place that they lived.

“Our money.” You corrected, turning your face to the open window. “You might want to close your ears. I’m going to see if I can get a clearer picture of where he is and where we are going.”

You licked your lips, forming them in an oval shape. The air rushed out of them, a sharp whistle piercing the wind. It took you many years to master your mutant abilities. The glass surrounding the vehicle didn’t crack around you. You knew you had your powers under control.

Little clouds began to form in the wind. Like someone had reached up into the sky and pulled them down to visit those who lived below. Only you could see them, unless you decided to show another. If the ear piercing noise wasn’t enough to have Logan scrunched up in pain looking away, then maybe he was staring at the clouds starting to form a person.

The outline of Chris was limping away, carrying something in his hands. It looked like the briefcase Logan mentioned.

The fake Chris kept getting farther and farther away before the cloud disappeared, and your whistling had ended.

“Anything?” Logan said.

You turned to see blood dripping from his ears. It was like a punch in the gut. You knew he’d heal quickly, but it still hurt to see. “Looks like whoever shot at him, didn’t kill him right away.”

Logan contemplated that, seemingly ignore the fresh crimson running down the side of his head.

Without thinking, like it was second nature, you put your hand against his rough cheek. Thumb wiping the blood away as it slid into his gray speckled beard.

He didn’t move, eyes still on the road, hands gripping the steering reel harder than before, white popping from his knuckles. It looked like he stopped breathing. It felt like you did too.

The moment ended as quickly as it came. He grabbed your wrist, holding onto it for a second too long before pushing it back.

He didn’t say anything as you two drove onward, finally entering the main highway. He sped up. You turned to look up at the clouds surfing an endless, blue sky.

~~~~~~~~

It was around 11pm when you stopped for gas.

The drive the rest of the day was spent in silence, except for the occasional directions you gave. He mumbled quick thank yous and you wondered if he even missed you all that much. Given how things had ended. But, this was just business to him. At least that's what he told you. But a more hopeful spirit bubbled within you. You quieted it with a swig of water.

Logan pulled out his worn out wallet. He cursed under his breath. “My goddamn card isn’t here. I swore I had it with me before I left this morning.” He ran his hand down his face leaving a fading red streak. “Charles sometimes likes to steal it if he gets the chance.”

You recalled the Professor getting sicker. Before he killed your teammates, your friends, it was noticeable. In the way he talked or acted. How he treated everyone, how he felt, then came back to himself. It only seemed to be getting worse.

You pulled out your own money. “Don’t worry, I got it. We shouldn’t be gone more than a week anyways.”

He took the offer, noting he still had some cash on him.

The gas station welcomed you with a punchet smell of old meats and sticky sugar.

The employee at the front counter swept behind the counter. No one else was there except for a large black car you noticed pulling into one of the parking spots at the very side of the building.

Logan was in the restroom while you checked out your items. A case of water, some alcohol you knew Logan was going to fill Scotts flask with, some snacks, an over cooked rotisserie chicken that was clearly the last on the heated shelf, and the gas pump.

As you put in your digits, the bell to the front door rang from behind you. You took a quick look back, not thinking anything of it. He tipped his cowboy hat toward you, winking. You noticed one eye was green and the other red. The man strolled to the alcohol section, shifting through cases of beer.

“A mutant?” You thought, grabbing your bag, waiting for Logan to come take the case of water to the truck. “He looks like hes in his late 20s.” It was a sad reality. Mutants dying. 25 years since the last one was born.

But for some reason, your gut told you this man was not to be trusted. His eyes lingered on you the entire time he shopped. Something was off about the man in the cowboy hat and boots.

Logan finally appeared, the dried blood on his ears gone down the sink. You still felt terrible about the whole thing. Even though you knew he would heal, it still hurt to harm him. Even with years of harnessing your abilities, The Whistle was something you could never fully control. As soon as it left you, it was in the wind's hands.

“Your bathrooms smell like shit.” He told the cashier, taking the bottles of water in his rough hands.

The employee nodded, not wanting to meet Logan's stare. He had that way about him. As much as you wanted to get close to him, you wanted to be as far away from him as possible. He was both an unmovable object and a force you couldn't stop. It reminded you of all the things you loved about him. And all the things you didn’t.

You pulled Logan by his arm, eyes on the man making his way to the front counter after you. “Lets go.”

“You okay?” He said once you got back to the truck. He still needed to fill it with gas.

“That man back there,” You pointed behind you. “Another one like us. But theres something off about him.”

Logan placed the water in the back seat next to your things. “Wait here.”

He stood with his hand on his hip, filling the gas with the other as he kept an eye on the man in the cowboy hat and boots. As the man carried his beers out to his car, he sent a wave and smirked at the two of you.

Logan's eyebrows knitted together. His body stilled for just a second. He didn’t even let the gas fill up half way before putting the pump back quickly, and hoping back into the car.

“Get the fuck down!” He shouted, turning the keys in the ignition.

“What-” Before you could ask the question, a bullet came soring through the back window, grazing the tip of your ear before it shot through the front windshield.

“Fuck!” Logan pushed your head down and hit the gas. Your hand shot to your ear. The warm, crimson liquid dripped down your fingers and onto your dress. All you could think of in that moment of adrenaline was Jean gifting the dress to you for your birthday.

Logan took off into the night. Headlights shining almost blinding and weaving between cars that were going a normal speed limit. He kept looking in back of him. Back to the main road. Back to you. Curses left his mouth. You could barely hear anything past the ringing in your ears.

The crack in the windshield was small. The bullet ran clean through. But, sooner or later it would spread through the entire piece of glass. Like a spider building its web from one center point.

You could finally make out what he was saying as the fog in your head slowly faded. But that meant the adrenaline was wearing off, and you started to feel the sharp pain running along the left side of your head.

“Did it hit you anywhere else!?” Logan demanded. He was having a hard time focusing. He wished all his attention could be on you. But there was a car gaining speed from behind, and it didn’t take mercy on people who cared. “Please answer me!”

“It grazed my ear.” You struggled to get the words out. Guards stood at the front of your tongue. Every time you opened your mouth, they stabbed their spears into whatever flesh they could reach. You sucked in a breath that felt like razors. “It fucking hurts. But I’ll be okay.”

Logan was able to breath for a moment. He pulled himself together, maneuvering through the cars ahead of him. “Just hold on. I’ll lose the bastards.”

You didn’t dare look up. You kept your head low, hoping the pain would subside soon. The throbbing in your skull grew. It beat with a hellish beat. Something was wrong with this bullet. Whatever had hit you, it was doing something to your body.

Flashes of memories, of the dead you found, the families you consoled, the friends you once had, raced through your mind. It was like an endless book of millions of words and pages turning before you. Faster and faster they went. The world spun. The blood was pumping through your ears, trying to break out of your skull.

He was calling your name by the time you snapped out of the feverish dream.

You looked up to find those warm and inviting eyes that you first saw when he showed you around the mansion for the first time.

Logan motioned to your ear. Your hand shook as you took it off the wound, noticing Logan was off to the side of the road now. No cars were around, not even the one that had chased you down. Logan must have felt that it was safe enough to stop. The clock read 1:19am.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, holding back tears. You didn’t know why that was the thing you said. You didn’t know what you were thinking or saying at all.

He stared at you, lips trying to form words. But he decided not to say anything.

Logan took out a cloth from the first aid kit in his hands, and gently brought it to your ear. You could feel the sting of the antibiotics. But the pain had died down thankfully. The worst of it was over. You could see in the mirror where the bullet had taken a small piece of your ear off.

Panic shot through you. Your eyes widened. “Wheres the pen?!”

“It’s alright.” He pointed to the pen sitting in one of the cup holders. There was blood on it. “Just focus on this. Focus on me.”

You looked down and frowned at the red stains on the black fabric. “Jean bought me this dress.”

Logan's fingers found your chin, bringing your head back up to face him. You noticed your blood was on him too. Dotting his white shirt and gray and now red beard. He wiped at the dried blood on your cheek with this thumb, making small circles in the cold skin. Every move he made was gentle, caring, the epitome of warmth.

The tips of his fingers danced across your skin, and the painful throbbing slowly died down. You didn’t know how long it took him to bandage and clean the wound, you never bothered to check the time.

The sun was rising when you woke up to Logan getting back onto the main highway. The Welcome to New Mexico sign greeted the two of you not even 30 minutes later.

[bluecanvasshoe]

I Still Miss Someone

Chapter 4 of Everything Eats and is Eaten (Time is Fed)

platonic Red Dead Redemption x teen!reader

Summary: Acquaintances and feelings from times passed pop up again.

Warnings/content: angst, descriptions of grief, alcohol poisoning mentions, descriptions of alcoholism and underage drinking (don't drink underage!! i do not condone this!!!!!), big reader backstory drop, talk of death and self-deprecating thoughts

Word count: 2.1k

Title from the song 'I Still Miss Someone' by Johnny Cash

Previous chapter | Next Chapter

a/n: backstory drop!!! wow!!! i had a lot of trouble writings this one, so apologies if it's not great; i’m sick and stressed out from school. i promise we'll have more interactions with people in the next chapter! also........ farewell Guy :¨(

ps… late merry christmas and happy holidays! ❤️

want to be added to the taglist? drop a comment!!

--

“John?”

You asked with a tone of incredulity, grinning nonetheless.

“Goddamn. Look at you! You’ve gotten taller!” He laughed in that raspy voice of his, pulling you into a hug, and patting your back. 

“Why’re you here?” You asked, leaning away a bit with a smile. You were much more on his level, able to face him without craning your neck. 

“Well, Abigail, Jack and I have been uh, movin’ around. We ended up here.”

“Abigail and Jack? They’re here? Where are-”

“Well, not- not right now.”

“...What?”

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head a bit. 

“Yeah, uh, Abigail and Jack aren’t here right now. I kept causing trouble with the law, so she took Jack and left. She won’t come back until I’ve sorted myself out.”

“Abigail… left you.”

“No, at least, not for long. I’m looking at a place down near Blackwater-”

“Blackwater!?”

Your chatter had drawn some attention, his coworkers turning their heads and looking up from their tasks. Your vision almost seemed clearer after seeing John; if that made any sense at all.

“Our bounties have been lifted, probably, and the property is far enough away. It’ll be fine, kid. …Anyways, what are you doin’ here?”

You grinned, “I think I found Charles.”

“Charles Smith?” John repeated, his eyes wide.

You nodded, crossing your arms. “In Saint Denis.”

He let out a breath, his hands on his hips. “I always wondered where he went. How’d you know?”

Your confidence faltered, and you grimaced lightly.

“Well, I’m gonna be honest, uh, I found a passage in the newspaper. It just… it included a bit about someone who sounded like Charles.” You replied sheepishly, the faults in your plan suddenly seeming very clear.

John cocked his head, eyes narrowed. “So, you aren’t sure?”

“Not- not really. But I’m still gonna head on out there, just to… make sure I ain't passin’ up a good opportunity.”

He nodded slowly, the smile returning to his face as he patted your shoulder. “Good luck then, kid. I really wish I could go with you, but… I’m working towards getting Abigail and Jack back here at the moment. After the gang and Arthur, things have been… difficult. I’m trying to keep out of trouble, get myself back on my feet. Look, I’ll join you in your search as soon as I can. The place I’m looking at in Blackwater, it’s called Beacher’s Hope.”

You nodded along, the reminder of the gang and Arthur’s subsequent passing sending a pang of hurt to your heart. You understood why John wasn’t coming; the lead you had wasn’t solid and you were taking a huge risk. Yet despite that, it hurt nonetheless. However, you were smart; you understood why going alone would probably be a bit safer.

See, you could take said risk. You’re younger, childless, and with much less to lose compared to John. Making dangerous, riskier decisions is easier when you don’t have much fiscal or sentimental value to yourself or your name; losing money or getting yourself into stupid situations is easier to get out of when you have more potential and life than someone older.

“I understand, I-” “I got you a new bedroll!”

Guy shouted, walking back to you with a crooked grin. His teeth were yellowed, lips cracked. 

He walked up with a rolled-up piece of fabric. John raised an eyebrow, smiling in amusement as he looked from you to the eccentric old man. “...thank you kindly.” you nodded, taking it from him. 

You turned back to John, giving him a lackluster smile. Your mood was quite dampened; both from the fact that John could not join you and the reminder of Arthur.

“I suppose I’ll see you around, Jim,” You slurred the new name, catching yourself before you said ‘John’. “I’ll write to you about updates.” 

“‘Course, kid. I’ll cya. It was great seein’ you again.” The older man pulled you into a brotherly sort of hug, patting your back once or twice before letting you go. 

With a lonesome kind of reluctance, you pivoted on your heel and walked back to your horse waiting patiently for you.

“Would you need a ride home, Guy?” you offered the man, voice faltering when you turned to see he was walking back to the house. With narrowed eyes followed by a sigh, you shrugged your shoulders and returned to your trek towards the hitching posts. 

A few workers looked up briefly before continuing their work, sheep bleating and crows cawing in the distance.

You strapped the new bedroll to your horse’s saddle, giving him a pat on the rump before hosting yourself onto him. 

—

The trees that surrounded you seemed, yet again, endless. It was suffocating in the dark, and repetitive in the light.

The gang, for some reason, plagued your mind. As much as you tried to ignore the nagging, it kept returning. You wanted nothing more than to go back to the gang, even if it was hard back then as a young teenager. 

You wished you screamed a little harder, kicked with more force, hadn’t discarded your gun in fear. Maybe the lawmen wouldn’t have caught you.

Or, maybe, if you didn’t even get found by the gang, things would be better. No, scratch that, things would definitely be better. Maybe you could’ve been taken in by a nice family instead of a group of outlaws. 

But things would never really be different, would they?

See, your mother died during childbirth, and your father passed soon after; the details of which had never been disclosed to you. 

Thus, you were taken in by your grandparents. You hardly remembered the time leading up to their deaths, but the memories you did have were clearer than most. Your grandmother hardly remembered you in the days leading up to her passing; to her, you weren’t her granddaughter. Your grandfather was taken by consumption, or Tuberculosis, as the doctors called it.

When they were gone, your uncle and his wife were the only two left in the family. You were stricken by grief, a child of nine who had spaced out far too much and carried a deep distrust in many due to a conclusion she’d drawn long ago. Said conclusion being that she was a bad omen, something made obvious by the fact that she’d taken a life even before her first breath.

It took a year to finally become comfortable with your aunt and uncle, but it didn’t take long for their relationship to become rocky soon after. Florence never envisioned herself as a mother, the responsibilities of being one to a child who demanded so much aid dragging on her mind. It wasn’t her fault and it wasn’t yours, but it couldn’t be helped.

Your uncle, Ernest, could hardly stand her nagging, as he called it. He changed, becoming irritable and annoyed by her upset. 

They argued a lot. Over you, over finances, over small things that turned into screaming matches.

They divorced, and you never heard from Florence again. Ernest turned to alcohol, hiding his feelings at the bottom of a bottle.

One snowy morning, you woke up in an empty, quiet house. After an hour of mucking around, the town’s sheriff knocked on your door. He delivered the news of your uncle Ernest’s demise: alcohol poisoning in the wee hours of the morning.

You were alone, and you didn’t want to be sent to the orphan trains or, god forbid: an orphanage. So, you took to a life of crime. That brought you to the gang.

And now, you’re here.

Alone again.

When Arthur died, the only news you’d heard of it was in the papers.

In the front of your mind, you’d say you understood Arthur’s death, that he wasn’t around anymore. However, these messages of understanding were laced with a parasitic sense of denial.

Then, you became irate; just like Ernest. 

You’d sneak whiskey from your foster parent’s alcohol cupboards, trying to stomach bourbon and forget your woes. However, they soon noticed the stench of alcohol in your small room and the dwindling supply on the shelves, landing you a harsh punishment and new rules. On top of that, you were reminded of the death of your uncle by Anne and David, your panic and fear being enough to dump the budding habit surprisingly early. 

Without booze, you’d beat yourself down in your room, sobbing night after night until you didn’t have the energy to cry anymore. Tears refused to fall from your eyes, and the most you’d get out were pathetic sobs into your thin pillow.

The process took almost a year, but things began to look up.

One day, you were sitting against a tree with a sketchbook in hand. Nothing came to mind and you lacked inspiration, so you turned your head towards the sprawling fields and oak trees.

Amidst your staring, a deer wandered into your line of sight. 

He stood, staring at you.

He was young from what you could remember from Charles and Arthur’s hunting lessons, but surprisingly not skittish.

You felt a sense of odd comfort wash over you, one of familiarity and yearning. It took a few seconds, but he soon wandered off.

This inner peace didn’t come from a deer looking at you a second too long, though. If anything, it was hard to explain; but the deer was relevant.

Arthur would take you out hunting, teaching about deer and other common game. They were scared, easy to frighten, and would run at the snap of a twig because you were looking for food, meat, a meal. You were a threat because you were their killer. Even since birth, death followed you. 

For some people, grief was something they never had to experience, but an experience they looked upon with pity and sympathy. In your case, it dragged on your mind nearly every day since childhood, coming and going in various forms.

But in recent years, things have been different.

Your stupid foster brothers laughed with you and watched you do things with awe. Anne and David encouraged growth and learning within you, and you began to be impressed by things you learned, no matter how small.

You were given a chance to become more.

They proved you weren’t a bad omen, because good things really did happen. You were able to be seen as a big sister, a role model. In your foster parents, you were seen as a soul saved from the clutches of despair. 

In yourself, you saw that things truly did get better. That you were capable of healing, of moving on. That you weren’t just a bad omen; that you weren’t one at all. Because if you were, why did the old farmer smile at you at the market? Why did the woman from town thank you profusely after you offered her a free product, and since then greet you happily every day? Why did your brothers hear your voice and come bounding down the stairs to talk? Why didn’t the deer run off immediately after seeing you?

Since then, the thought that maybe you weren’t unlucky or the cause of death helped you overcome the majority of your grief.

However, memories still haunted you and a feeling of yearning still gripped your heart.

You’d wake up in the morning, alone in a room. You wouldn’t sit around a campfire and joke with Sean. Lenny wasn’t around to read to you; you had to read to yourself nowadays. Ms. Grimshaw doesn’t tell you what to do anymore, and Karen wasn’t around to complain with you. Now, you go to town, alone nearly all the time. You’d see other people your age hanging out and wonder ‘What’s wrong with me’ because you miss outlaws more than you yearn for a normal life. 

You stopped asking yourself that question.

Because instead of that, you wondered what went wrong.

You still do.

–

You miss the gang.

The trees around you closed in on your mind, evergreen appearing black in the evening light. They isolate you from the outside, from the noise of the world. It was just you.

And maybe you aren’t an omen of death, but if you’re being honest, you once again feel stupid. A dumb plan to find someone who is probably dead, leaving your foster family, abandoning a better chance at life, and now finding yourself alone. And this time, no one’s here to listen.

You forgot how desolate the wilderness is. It’s calming by a lake, but right now, you can't help but get lost in your thoughts. Trees cast daunting shadows overhead and at the moment, a person to talk with would be nice. You miss hunting lessons and bad stew and stories told by people thrice your age.

You miss your bed and the fields. 

You’re cold and hungry; you miss fire stoves. 

You miss your family.

You still miss Arthur.

Taglist:

@gallantys, @justsomereaderwholikesanime, @shackspossum

[shiftingmegs]

☆☆ FAME DR ☆☆

So i wanted to do kinda of a introduction to some of the characters i have scripted so far to Evie Valentine. Some of them are more thought out than others as you will notice.

They are organized by chronological order

The Coven (1999-2005)

(Original TV show i imagined)

After the Vital family moves to a small town,Elisa Vital the family’s 16-year-old daughter, develops a new ability, makes new friends and enters a teenagers witch coven.

Kassidy Welser is a smart and knowledgeable girl. In the coven she is a Illusion witch, which allows her to create large scale illusions to convince a lot of people at the same time and individual illusion who trick one person at a time. Depending on her skill level the illusions become more realistic who eventually becomes tactile.

I'm on every season as a Ensemble Character

X-Men movies (2000,2003 and 2006)

I still haven't decided on how much of the mivies plot change with Polaris there but i'm thinking of something around changing teams from Magneto's to the X-Men in the last movie.

Not A Love Story (2001)

( Original Movie i imagined)

Allison Scott and Charles Smith have been best friends since childhood. After they graduate High School, their parents try to make them fall in love before they move out of state for different colleges.

I play the main character Allison Scott

One Tree Hill (2003-2012)

After her parents death Penelope “Poppy” O’Malley and her sister Melody are welcomed in Tree Hill by her father’s old friend Dan Scott.

Poppy is a stubborn and spontaneous girl with a rebellious streak. Soon after settling herself in the Scott’s house she begins a friendship with Lucas Scott and his friend group. She has a brief casual relationship with Lucas for the first two seasons and later a unrequited crush on Skills.

I'm on every season as a Recurring Character

Supernatural (2005-2020)

Christina “Chrissy” Allen is a hunter friend of Dean Winchester, they met while Sam was at Stanford. She is cunning and extremely talented with blades and has a variety of knowledge with the occult. She has a turbulent romantic relationship with Sam Winchester.

Recurring Character (Season 1-6) -> 2005-2010

Ensemble Character (Season 10-15) -> 2015-2020

Criminal Minds (2005-2025)

Genevieve “Jenny” Hill is part of the Cyber crimes division of the B.A.U. She is a pacifist with a love of classic literature. She has a romance with Dr. Spencer Reid

I'm a Recurring Character for seasons 6 and 7 and a special guest star in the other seasons for when os relevant to mention Reid's girlfriend (and yes i did script a Spin-off. What can i say i love creating Spin- offs so i can be the main character)

(All images found on Pinterest)

[doctorcurdlejr]

Rank the secret siblings. Metric of your choosing.

Julian Blossom. Network television's first transgender doll

Hermosa Lodge. "Because that's the kind of thing secret girlfriends do, they kill each others boyfriends so they can be together."

Charles Smith. Created a situation in which Betty had to sit by his deathbed and go "wow, Charles 😐 I'm happy you're enjoying your 😐🤢- sorry. Your 🤢. One second, ☝️😦😤 no, I'm fine 😬. Okay 😮‍💨. Your 🤢 [GAG]- HOLY SHIT 🤮 GAY MARRIAGE. THAT."

Chic. Secret sibling stolen valor, but I'll let him rank bc in the other timeline he literally killed Tom and Uncle Flop, which is beautiful.

Claudius Blossom. Clap if you remember uncle claudius. [Studio silence] Mm... yeah... yeah. That's what I thought! [Cut to audience, laughing and nodding at each other] So not only was he not gay—a statistical anomaly for Riverdale—but he was ugly and untalented as well. [Crowd murmurs in disapproval] This has made him forgettable, which, as we all know, [Studio falls silent] carries the burden of a death sentence in Riverdale! [Crowd begins cheering and clapping] Yeah! Yeah, that's right! Let's celebrate that!

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Charles smith is usually a very quiet, reserved man. But when he hears Micah insult fem!reader (Whom charles is sweet on) for rejecting his advances, the reader pushes him away, which he responded with slapping her hard enough for her to fall down.

Charles couldn't help himself, and he tackled Micah and would have beat him to death if Arthur and John didn't pull him on.

Afterwards, after his adrenaline seems to wear off, he starts to feel pain in his knuckles. The reader pulls him aside to set his broken knuckle back into place and to wrap his hand up. She thanks him with a kiss :) fluffy, angsty, the works <3

Million Dollar Man

(Charles Smith x Fem!Reader)

This was so cute. I love my followers' reqs. Also I have a near identical request after this which is kinda freaky but they are literally asking for the exact same thing and idk how to do a different spin on this so this will be for both of y'all anons whoever you are.

Warnings: Man on woman violence, then man on man

There was something about the vulgarity of a man that made you all the more appalled with them. Often when Micah would be near you, you’d have to swallow hard in fear that you might abruptly throw up on your shoes. There was nothing appealing about the man. Whenever he spoke to you, you would’ve liked to wring his neck for disturbing your peace. And his tepid attempts at flirting were described as otherwise laughable. His initial advances were turned down politely, not something you wanted to make a big deal out of. But he was consistent, so much so that your patience began to wear down with him. 

You once giggled and waved your hand dismissively, repeating reluctant no’s over and over until Micah finally got tired and left you alone. It seemed to be a ticking time bomb though, because the next time he approached you his advances would increase tenfold. Walking around freely in camp felt like walking on eggshells, and you’d often have to duck behind someone anytime you heard the familiar raspy, drawl of Micah. Your polite refusals slowly transformed into you demanding he leave you alone, hoping and praying that one of the men in camp would come over and help you get rid of him. Occasionally it’d get as bad as Micah calling you a whore, before throwing a flurry of other insults at you and storming off angrily. It was times like these you wished you were a man, so you could possess the same mass as one to hopefully beat the hell out of Micah. But your limber body provided no such abilities. 

“C’mon sweetheart, just let me take you on one date.” He invited himself over to your tent, leaning on the wagon situated behind it with crossed arms, eyeing you uncomfortably. You were sitting there with Mary-Beth, who was just as uncomfortable, and frankly scared, as you were. She offered you a sympathetic look, mouthing a “sorry” to you before averting her gaze back to her sewing. 

“Micah, for the last time, leave me alone already. I said no.” You were firm in your inflection, your body rigid and shaking out of irritation and fear. As much as you hated the man, he also intimidated you. You knew how violent he could get, and the fact remained in the back of your mind always. 

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on.” He insisted, chuckling afterwards in a way that made you swallow a gag of disgust. His attempts at having a sugar sweet laugh that could seduce you were fruitless, sounding instead like the metallic screech of a train braking. 

“I could show you a real good time…” He added.

You stood at once, gathering your things to move elsewhere in camp and bidding Mary-Beth a silent farewell. You bunched your fabrics and sewing materials against your lap, moving to walk away until you felt Micah clamp his hand down on your upper arm. You tried to push him off but he was using all his strength. 

“You ain’t going nowhere.”

“Micah, you're hurting me.” You warned him, your voice inflected with actual fear. It wasn’t so much the pain but the act of him holding onto you that felt so awful, the knowledge that he was the one in control of the situation. You weren’t sure, despite his violent streak, if he’d actually hit you right now. But he definitely wasn’t opposed to using applied force.

“This is the last time you say no to me, you hear?!” He yanked you towards him by the arm, looking to Mary-Beth, who had already gone up and left to retrieve someone for help. When your chest met his, you dropped your materials and instinctively put up your arm between the two of you, your elbow acting as a protective barrier. You shoved as hard as you could, just barely managing to push him off of you. 

“Let me go you fucking creep!”

Before you could even register him stepping forward, he delivered a heavy slap to your face. Your body jerked to one side from the force of the slap causing you to fall on your hip. You raised your elbow once again to protect yourself from the fall, promptly moving to cup your stinging cheek. You were seething at this point. 

“What the fuck?!” Your voice trembled in your rage, squeezing your eyes hard with each blink so as to not allow tears to escape. You dare not look up at him again in fear, only staring at the ground beneath you. You hoped to god people from around camp had noticed by now. 

God himself seemed to have answered your prayers, because not a second later you turned to see Micah tackled by Charles. With a guttural yell, he pinned Micah down to the floor, swinging his fists at him with his full force. You weren’t sure of the force intended by Charles, but the impact of his fists alone caused Micah’s flesh to lacerate, forming raw gashes that began to bleed in seconds. Charles’ anger was near animalistic, seeing red and blinded by rage as he continued to strike Micah’s face, who was helplessly clawing at him in an attempt to get him off. You’re sure he would’ve killed him, if not for the fact that Arthur and John had to pry him off. You hadn’t even registered the horrified screams of people around camp, some even clicking their tongues and slyly commenting that Micah was asking for it.

You felt two gentle hands lift you up, presumably Miss Grimshaw, who was frantically asking you if you were alright. You whispered out a yes, the stinging of your cheek reduced to a throbbing warmth. No one offered Micah any help in getting up; everyone was far too focused on getting Charles’ to calm down so he wouldn’t charge him again. 

Once the dust settled, you insisted you were fine and walked past Miss Grimshaw, approaching Charles who still seemed to be grappling with his anger and keeping it in check. In unison, the two of you looked at eachother and asked, “Are you okay?”

The two of you stared at each other, and you felt a small laugh bubble up in you at the coincidence, Though your amusement was replaced by horror when you looked down at Charles’ left fist, which was swollen and bruised. 

“Oh my god!” You cried, moving to cradle his hand but promptly retracting your own when you heard him hiss. “Your hand! It’s broken!” You looked back up at him in concern, feeling the heavy weight of guilt settle within you like a boulder thrown into a lake before sinking to the waterbed. He shook his head, wincing as the pain became more prominent as his adrenaline wore off. 

“Don’t worry about me. Are you okay? Micah hit you pretty hard… I…” Charles pursed his lips at the very mention of his name, having to suck in a deep breath before he looked back at you. You shook your head, grabbing Charles’ arm and leading him to your tent. 

“I’m fine! But we need to tend to your hand asap.” You sat him on a crate just outside your tent, briefly venturing inside before remerging with some bandages you had sourced from your satchel. You sat before him on your knees, taking his massive hand into your own. You felt your heart swell in tenderness for him, wanting to throw yourself on him as an embrace to thank him for the valiant act. 

“You didn’t have to do that…” You began carefully coiling the bandages around his knuckles, looking back up at his face occasionally to spot any signs of pain you might be causing. 

“He had it coming anyways. It was bound to happen. But I’m sorry it had to happen this way.” He motioned to your cheek once again, which was still a flush red. You were sure it would bruise, but you tried not to think about it. As you tightened the bandages around his fist, he hissed, his body jerking slightly. 

“I’m sorry…” You stilled your ministrations, looking up at him with a pout. 

“No it’s okay… Thank you. This means a lot. And it was worth it to defend you from the scum bag Micah.” He smiled warmly at you in a way that made you giddy.

“Well.. thank you for that. It was actually quite satisfying to see.” You admitted with a sly smile, breaking into laughter. 

“Anytime, I mean it. Anytime.” 

You finished wrapping his knuckle up, planting a gentle kiss on it to finish your care off; a bold act that left you internally panicking. But he found it rather cute, and continued to hold your hand as he moved to stand.

The final act of your boldness would be you leaning forward and landing a kiss on Charles’ lips, leaving him standing there in bewilderment and pleasant surprise. 

“Thank you, again.” You cooed, your face burning up and blending in with the shade of your already red cheek. In the morning, your cheek would ache with the memory of the pain inflicted on you, but your heart would swell in remembrance of your salvation.

.

.

.

.

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.

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Million Dollar Man - Lana Del Rey

[marygillisapologist]

Longing for closure | Charles x F!Reader

Pairing: Charles Smith x F!Reader

WC: 1142, aprox. 5 minute read

Teaser: “For the best, I know, but. I just-” He looked remain before stepping closer, looking into your eyes. His presence was overwhelming, and your need for his company was immense. “Charles, I-” You protested, avoiding his gaze. “Please.” He pleaded, stroking his hand against your cheek, keeping it there.

Warnings: Fluff, very little mention of sexual interactions | Secret Relationship | Pining

A/N: This is my first time writing anything so I'm open to critique and will appreciate any form of interaction. ALSO- If you find any grammar mistakes please feel free to tell me, since English isn't my first language. Anyways, hope you enjoy <3

Even though these last few months had been miserable and full of loss, a blooming love had grown in the dying fields. Two strong individuals in need of comfort, finding it in each other at an all time low. While the remaining members of the gang were scrambling to find safety in Lakay, a heated exchange had taken place between you and Charles Smith. After months of pining and longing for each other, you’d finally confronted your feelings. His burly arms had held you close, as his lips were pressed against yours in need of love, in need of you.

Ever since then, you both had realized that you were each other's pillar, the ones who held each other up when the other was falling apart. You agreed that whatever happened, you’d stick together no matter what. However, for the both of yours safety, you agreed to keep it under wraps, not wanting your love to be used against you as it had with John and Abigail. The only few people who actually knew, were the ones paying close attention. Someone like Ms. Grimshaw, most of the women and even Arthur caught on pretty quickly, while the rest never really did. You were happy in his presence, happy to have a safe haven to return when all hell broke loose.

As the days went by and more tragedy occurred. All this death and misery had been piling for months, and for what? For no reason, at least in the eyes of Charles. He was losing hope, and also a close friend of his. Arthur was dying, and with him so was the gang. He was the right hand man, the one with the most common sense out of all of these people- besides you of course. This made Dutch question his ability to advise him, instead seeking the advice of Micah. The Van Der Linde gang had turned a new leaf, one that had fallen and withered.

Charles was on thin ice. 

Charles hated every moment of suppressing his feelings for you regardless of it being for the best. Even though the both of you had agreed to it, he still couldn’t help but feel guilt for not giving you the love and solace you craved. As he and Arthur rode back to camp from a visit at the Wapiti Tribe, noise of quarreling and accusing got louder and louder. He couldn’t help the pit in his stomach form, as he saw you walk back from the river with fresh laundry, your face carrying a slight frown and furrowed brows. 

“You alright there Charles?” Arthur asked with a cough as the horses went from trotting to walking. 

“Yeah, I’m good. How about you?” Charles asked concerned, while his gaze stayed on you. 

“I reckon I don’t matter too much no more.” Arthur chuckled.

“But you sure you’re doin’ alright? You seem a bit distraught.” He questioned as they arrived at the hitching posts.

“Yeah, I’m sure… I’ll see you around” Before Arthur knew it, Charles had already hitched his horse and headed your direction before Arthur had even left the saddle.

You stood to the side hanging the laundry you’d just washed down by the river, trying to mute the sound of Dutch’ preaching. Tension had been at an all time high, causing you to overwork yourself with chores to distract yourself from your misery. This had ultimately also caused multiple people to leave, making you wonder what was making you stay. Was it loyalty, company or fear of a civil life, when this was the one you’d grown used to for the last couple of years? 

For the first time since joining the gang, you were exhausted, an overwhelming nausea at the thought of things coming to an end. Dutch wasn’t the same heroic individual who’d saved you from a group of greedy men. No he was much different. So different, that if it had happened on this day, then it more than likely would’ve been your last.

Lost in your train of thoughts, you heard your name. Quickly you laid down whatever article of clothing you had and turned around towards the noise.

“Charles. You're back.” You said as your eyes brightened and your smile widening, about to go in for a greeting kiss. He smiled back softly before looking down into the ground about to give in before the sound of arguing in the back reminded you of where you were. 

“Right, my bad.” You smiled softly, eyes filled with disappointment as you stepped back. “You um… Is everything alright, are you alright?” You asked, wanting to make sure he was doing as good as one could in the current state of things. 

He stood there looking into your eyes for a little before answering.

“Yeah I’m-” He stopped himself, fiddling with fingers as he thought of what he was gonna say next.

He took a deep breath before continuing, saying your name lowly.

“I’m not sure I can handle this much longer.”

You looked at him, your brows furrowing as you bit the inside of your cheek. You know exactly what he meant, as you felt the same.

“I know, but it’s-” You responded, trying to stay logical for the both of you.

“For the best, I know, but. I just-” He looked remain before stepping closer, looking into your eyes.

His presence was overwhelming, and your need for his company was immense.

“Charles, I-” You protested, avoiding his gaze.

“Please.” He pleaded, stroking his hand against your cheek, keeping it there.

A few moments went by, no words said out loud, yet his and your needs were heard and finally acted upon. You place your hand on his cheek, stroking it before leaning in to kiss him. You directed his hand to your other cheek before letting go, pulling him closer by his collar. Your face in his hand and your arms wrapping around his neck, you hadn’t gotten this close in a while, too busy working.

His lips stayed on yours for what seemed like forever, before he broke it, placing his forehead on yours as the both of you were quietly panting. He smiled at you, and you smiled at him. His eyes were filled with admiration, as was yours, it was a beautiful moment.

“I love you.” He smiled, pecking the corner of your lips. You looked up at him, your eyes watering at the sound of his confession. One that none of them had made before, but had always known to be true.

“I love you too, Charles.” You grinned in response before leaning into another deep kiss.

Maybe hiding from each other wasn't for the best, and maybe closure had been this whole time. Regardless, your hope for the future had been restored. You both knew it would be with each other.

BONUS - Arthurs Journal Entry

Charles and I went to talk to Rains Falls about Dutch and his unhinged decision making. It ain’t looking too good, but we promised to keep a good eye on him.

Anyway, Charles seemed distracted when we went out. I didn’t know exactly why, but I had an idea. He seemed in a hurry when we got back and finally kissed her. He’s been head over heels for that girl ever since he joined us back up in the Grizzlies last year, pretty sure it went both ways. 

They remind me of Mary and I, how we kept it secret too before she left me. I was too stubborn to change my ways, I guess. I wonder if things would’ve changed if I’d ran away with her back in Saint Denis or Valentine. It’s too late now, she mailed me the ring I gave her all those years ago. What a couple of fools in love we were. 

I’m just happy that they aren’t fools like us, and that Charles won’t cower away because of some code that turns out to be irrelevant by the likes of Dutch. I’m also happy that I finally stopped hiding. They seemed real happy when they stopped worrying so much about the rest. I saw Susan and a couple others smile too, they probably noticed the lingering before too. Not everyone had though, Dutch looked quite surprised, almost threatened. I wonder what he and Micah are up to now.

Hope you liked it! BTW pls feel free to give requests, I love writing from given prompts <33