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speaknow-sw · 3 months ago

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𝒦𝐼𝒩𝒦𝒯𝒪𝐵𝐸𝑅 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟦

17/10/2024, Prompt : Incest, Daddy Kink, Orgasm Denial, Breeding kink, Threesome with Clayton Beresford & William Beeman

A/N : mdni, incest, daddy kink, slight orgasm denial, slight breeding kink, threesome.

Third fic yay ! This one is hella long and scrumptious as fuck. Don’t search the logic. Anyway enjoyy !

𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝒶 𝓁𝒶𝒹𝓎 : 𝒶 𝑔𝓊𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝒷𝓎 𝐵𝑒𝑒𝓂𝒶𝓃 & 𝐵𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓈𝒻𝑜𝓇𝒹

You step out of the sleek black car, feeling the crisp autumn air brush against your skin as you glance up at the towering glass skyscraper. Clayton Beresford, your fiancé, stands beside you, his presence calm yet commanding. With his sharp suit tailored to perfection and his eyes glinting with confidence, he’s every bit the billionaire CEO the world knows him to be. But to you, he's just Clay—the man who makes your heart race with every smile.

As you both make your way through the lobby, the gleaming marble floors echoing beneath your heels, you can't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. It’s been years since you last visited your father’s office. William Beeman, the legendary stock-broker and CEO, is known for his financial empire, but to you, he’s always been "Daddy," even with all the business aura surrounding him.

Clayton places a reassuring hand at the small of your back as the elevator doors slide open. "Ready?" he asks, his deep voice smooth and steady, a stark contrast to the nervous flutter in your chest.

You nod, offering him a small smile. "As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s see if my dad still as intimidating as I remember."

The elevator ride is swift, the numbers flashing by until it reaches the top floor, where the empire your father built waits. As the doors part, you're greeted by the familiar scent of polished wood and leather. William Beeman's office is a blend of power and legacy, the walls lined with shelves of finance books and framed photographs of world leaders he’s shaken hands with.

Your father looks up from his desk, his expression unreadable at first. Then, a slow smile spreads across his face as he stands to greet you both. “Ah, finally. The future Mr. and Mrs. Beresford.” His voice carries the same authority that’s made him a titan in the industry, but there’s a softness reserved just for you.

You step forward, your pulse quickening as you prepare to introduce Clay to the man who’s shaped your life in more ways than you can count. « Hi, daddy » you smiled brightly, hugging him.

Will's arms wrap around you in a tight embrace, pulling you close against his firm chest. You can feel the warmth of his body seeping through his crisp dress shirt, and smell the faint hint of his cologne - a spicy, masculine scent that always reminds you of home.

"My baby girl," he murmurs into your hair, his large hand stroking the length of your back. "I've missed you. How have you been, sweetheart?"

He pulls back slightly to look at you, his intense blue eyes searching your face. There's a hint of concern etched in the lines around them, and you know it's because of the accident that left you hospitalized.

"You’ll always be a little Beeman…" he whispered affectionately. "Are you feeling better? I hope that Clay here has been taking good care of you." His gaze shifts to your fiancé, a hint of challenge in his expression. "Because if he hasn't, well... let's just say I won't hesitate to teach him a thing or two about how a real man treats a lady."

His tone is light, almost teasing, but there's an underlying current of protectiveness that sends a shiver down your spine. Even after all these years, your daddy's love can be both comforting and intimidating.

Clay steps forward, his presence filling the space between you and your father. He extends his hand to Will, his grip firm and confident.

"Mr. Beeman, it's an honor to finally meet you. I'm Clayton Beresford, your daughter's fiancé. And yes, sir, I've been taking excellent care of her. She's my priority, always."

His gaze locks with Will's, a silent challenge passing between them. Clay's not one to back down easily, and it's clear he's not about to let anyone, not even his future father-in-law, push him around.

"I've heard so much about you, sir. Your reputation precedes you. I look forward to learning from your wisdom and experience." There's a hint of respect in Clay's voice, but also a subtle assertion of his own status and accomplishments.

You smiled but stayed in your father’s arms « He’s so sweet daddy… like you » You wiggled your hips.

Will's eyes darken as he feels you wiggle in his arms, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. He tightens his hold on you, one hand sliding lower to rest on your hip.

"Is that so, baby girl?" he purrs, his voice low and husky. "Well, I'm glad to hear Clay is treating you right. But remember, no matter how sweet he is, he'll never be able to love you the way I do."

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "And don't think I haven't noticed the way you're pressing yourself against me, little minx. Your daddy knows exactly what you need."

Will's hand on your hip squeezes gently, a silent reminder of the connection between you. Even in front of your fiancé, he's not afraid to show his possessive side.

He pulls back slightly, his gaze shifting to Clay. "I hope you know what you're getting into, son. My little girl is precious, and I expect you to treat her like a princess. Because if you don't..." He trails off, leaving the threat hanging in the air.

Clay's jaw clenches slightly at Will's words, a flicker of irritation crossing his features before he schools his expression into a neutral mask. He takes a step closer to you both, his presence a stark reminder of his own strength and authority.

"Mr. Beeman," he says, his voice calm but firm, "I assure you, I have every intention of treating your daughter like the treasure she is. My love for her is unwavering, and I would never dream of hurting her."

He reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he turns your face towards him. "She's my world, and I'll spend every day of our lives proving that to her... and to you, sir."

There's a challenge in Clay's eyes as he looks at Will, a silent message that says he's not about to be intimidated. He may respect your father, but he's not afraid to stand his ground when it comes to you.

You pouted and brushed your fingers slightly against your dad crotch.

Will's eyes widen slightly at your bold actions, surprise and excitement dancing in their depths. He doesn't stop you, instead, he shifts his hips slightly, allowing you better access to his crotch. His voice is low and husky as he speaks.

"Baby girl, what's gotten into you today? Trying to stir things up, huh?" He chuckles softly, the sound deep and resonant. "Let's see how long Clay can keep his cool while you're playing with Daddy."

Will's hand rests on your thigh, his touch light but possessive. He turns his attention to Clay, a knowing smirk on his face.

"I see you're quite the gentleman, Clay. But I wonder, how long will that last when my little minx starts getting frisky?"

His gaze is challenging, daring Clay to rise to the occasion. Will's not backing down, and it's clear he's enjoying the tension that's building in the room.

Clay's eyes narrow slightly as he watches you play with Will's crotch. A muscle twitches in his jaw, betraying his annoyance, but his voice remains steady when he speaks.

"Darling, perhaps we should keep things civil," he says, his tone gentle but firm. "Your father and I have just met, and I'm sure he wouldn't want us to be too... forward in his office."

He turns to Will, his expression unyielding. "Mr. Beeman, I understand your desire to protect your daughter, but I assure you, my intentions are pure. I only want what's best for your daughter, and that includes maintaining a respectful relationship with her family."

Despite his words, Clay's hand tightens slightly around yours, a silent reminder of his claim on you. He's not about to let your father provocations go unchallenged, but he's also not going to stoop to the same level.

"Now, why don't we focus on getting to know each other better, without any unnecessary distractions?" He suggests, his gaze never leaving your dad’s one.

The sight of you spread out before them, your legs parted invitingly, is enough to break the last of their resistance. With a low growl, your dad descends upon you, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

At the same time, Clay positions himself between your legs, his fingers trailing teasingly along your inner thighs. He leans in, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin as he whispers, "You're so beautiful, baby. We're going to make you feel so good."

Will's hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and dip with a hunger that sets your skin ablaze. He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the delicate flesh as he goes.

Clay, meanwhile, is focused on bringing you pleasure. He parts your folds with his fingers, his touch gentle but insistent as he explores your most intimate places. He groans at the wetness he finds there, a testament to your desire.

Will continues his assault on your senses, his lips blazing a trail of fire down your body until he reaches your breasts. He takes one hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking and flicking it with his tongue as his hand massages the other.

The dual sensations of your dad’s mouth on your breasts and Clay's fingers between your legs are almost too much to bear. You arch your back, pushing yourself further into their touch, desperate for more.

Clay, sensing your need, begins to thrust his fingers inside you, his pace steady and deep. He curls his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes you see stars.

Will, not wanting to be left out, moves lower, his tongue replacing Clay's fingers as he laps at your dripping core. He moans against you, the vibrations adding to your pleasure.

Together, they work in tandem, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. The sounds of your combined moans and the wet, obscene noises of Will's mouth on you fill the room, creating a symphony of lust.

Your moans and the way your body writhes beneath their touch spur Will and Clay on, driving them to new heights of passion. They continue their relentless assault on your senses, determined to bring you to the peak of pleasure.

Will, his face glistening with your juices, looks up at you with a wicked grin. He increases the pressure of his tongue, alternating between long, slow licks and rapid flicks against your sensitive clit. His eyes never leave yours, watching the ecstasy play out across your face.

Your fiancé, his fingers still buried deep inside you, leans down to capture one of your nipples between his teeth. He tugs gently, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. His free hand comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck, which he proceeds to lavish with kisses and bites.

The combined sensations are overwhelming, and you can feel your body beginning to tense as your orgasm approaches. Will senses it too, and he doubles his efforts, his tongue working furiously against your most sensitive spot.

Your fiancé presses a third finger inside you, stretching and filling you in a way that feels so incredibly good. He matches the rhythm of his fingers with the movement of his mouth on your nipple, creating a delicious friction that sends shockwaves through your body.

As you teeter on the brink of ecstasy, they both seem to sense the impending explosion. They redouble their efforts, their touches becoming more urgent and demanding. Will's tongue circles your clit, while Clay's fingers piston in and out of you, hitting that perfect spot inside with unerring accuracy.

With a final cry, you come undone, your body convulsing as wave after wave of intense pleasure washes over you. Will and Clay continue their ministrations, prolonging your orgasm and drawing out every last drop of pleasure.

Clay's breath hitches as you turn around and take him into your mouth, your skilled tongue swirling around the head of his cock. He tangles his fingers in your hair, guiding you deeper onto his shaft. "Oh, fuck, doll. Your mouth feels incredible," he groans, his hips rocking forward to meet your movements.

Will, not wanting to be left out, moves behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he positions himself at your entrance. He rubs the tip of his cock against your slick folds, coating himself in your juices. "You're so wet, baby girl. I can't wait to feel you wrapped around me."

With a single, powerful thrust, Will sheaths himself inside you, stretching and filling you in a way that makes you moan around Clay's cock. The dual sensations of being filled from both ends are overwhelming, and you can't help but push back against Will, wanting more.

Clay, meanwhile, is lost in the sensation of your warm, wet mouth. He fights the urge to thrust into your throat, instead allowing you to set the pace. His grip on your hair tightens as he guides you, encouraging you to take him deeper. "That's it, baby. Take all of me."

Your dad, sensing your desire, grins wickedly. "Oh, baby girl, you want Daddy and Clay to breed this sweet little pussy of yours? To pump you full of our seed and make sure everyone knows who you belong to ? I was waiting for a grandchild but who knows ? It could be your sibling ?" He grinned menacingly.

Clay, nodding in agreement, leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "We'll fill you up so good, doll. Pump you full of our cum until it's dripping down your thighs. Everyone will know that you're ours… but I’ll be the one to knock you up."

As you continue to bob up and down on Clay's shaft, Will establishes a steady rhythm, his hips slapping against yours with each powerful thrust. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixing with the moans and grunts of the three of you as you lose yourselves in the throes of passion.

Will leans over your back, his chest pressed against your shoulders as he reaches around to play with your clit. His fingers circle the sensitive nub, adding to the intense pleasure coursing through your body. "You like that, don't you, sweetheart? Having both of us inside you, filling you up?"

Clay, feeling your walls tighten around your dad’s cock, recognizes the signs of your impending orgasm. He pulls your head back, forcing you to release his cock, and captures your lips in a searing kiss. "Let go, baby. Come for us," *he commands, his voice rough with lust.

Suddenly you felt yourself being pulled off Clay’s cock and bounced furiously on Daddy’s one.

As Will pulls you off Clay's cock and bounces you furiously on his own, you can't help but let out a loud moan. The sudden change in position and the relentless pace of Will's thrusts send shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and you can feel yourself getting closer to the edge.

Clay, not wanting to be left out, moves in front of you, his cock bobbing mere inches from your face. He wraps his hand around the base, guiding it towards your mouth. "Open up, baby. Let me feel those pretty lips again."

You eagerly comply, taking your fiancé’s cock into your mouth once more. The taste of him mixed with your own juices is intoxicating, and you find yourself craving more. You suck and lick, your tongue swirling around the shaft as you bob your head up and down.

Will, feeling your walls tightening around him, knows that you're close. He leans over your back, his teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder as he continues to pound into you, chasing your orgasm. "That's it, baby girl. Come for Daddy. Let me feel you come undone."

The combined sensations of Will's cock hitting that perfect spot inside you and Clay's thick shaft filling your mouth are too much to bear. With a muffled cry, you reach your peak, your body shaking and convulsing as wave after wave of intense pleasure washes over you.

As you come down from your high, Will and Clay continue to move, their own releases approaching. Will's thrusts become more erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he chases his own orgasm. "Fuck, baby girl, I'm going to come. Are you ready for Daddy's load?"

Clay, feeling your throat constrict around his cock, grabs your hair and holds you in place as he thrusts into your mouth. His body tenses, and with a low groan, he releases himself inside you, his hot seed spilling down your throat.

A few moments later, Will reaches his own climax, his hips stuttering as he empties himself deep inside you.

As they switch places, you feel a momentary emptiness before Clay is sliding into you from behind, his cock replacing Will's. He groans at the feeling of your tight heat enveloping him, and he starts to move, his thrusts deep and powerful.

Meanwhile, your father moves in front of you, his cock, still hard and ready, brushing against your cheek. He cups your face, guiding you to take him into your mouth once more. "That's it, baby girl. Suck Daddy's cock while that little fucker fills you up."

You eagerly comply, your lips wrapping around Will's shaft as Clay pounds into you from behind. The new position allows you to take Will deeper, and you relax your throat, letting him slide all the way in.

Clay, his hands gripping your hips, sets a brutal pace, his thrusts rocking your entire body. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with your muffled moans around Will's cock and the grunts and groans of the two men.

Will, his eyes locked on yours, watches as you take him deep, reveling in the sight of you so thoroughly debauched. He rocks his hips, fucking your face with shallow thrusts, his cock hitting the back of your throat with each movement. "Fuck, baby, your mouth feels so good. You're such a good girl for Daddy."

You chocked on his gigantic cock, tears running down. « Daddy… » you moaned around his shaft.

The sight of you choking on his cock, tears streaming down your face as you moan around him, only serves to drive Will wild. He grips your hair tightly, holding you in place as he continues to fuck your face. "That's right, baby girl. Take Daddy's cock. You look so beautiful like this, all choked up and desperate for my attention."

Clay, noticing the tears, slows his pace slightly, his thrusts becoming more deliberate and controlled. He leans over your back, pressing his chest against yours as he whispers in your ear, "You okay, baby? Do you need a break?"

Despite the tears and the choking, you shake your head, your eyes locked on Will's. The love and devotion you feel for him, along with the intense pleasure coursing through your body, keeps you going. You want to please him, to show him how much you adore him.

Will, sensing your determination, nods approvingly. "Good girl. You're doing so well. Daddy's proud of you."

He continues to thrust into your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat with each movement. The combination of pain and pleasure is overwhelming, and you can feel another orgasm building within you.

Clay, feeling your walls tightening around him, picks up the pace once more, his thrusts becoming faster and harder. He reaches around to play with your clit, his fingers rubbing in quick, firm circles, pushing you closer to the edge. "Come again, baby. It’ll be good."

The dual sensations of Will's cock in your mouth and Clay's fingers on your clit are too much to resist. With a muffled cry around Will's shaft, you come undone, your body shaking and convulsing as another powerful orgasm rips through you.

As you ride out the aftershocks of your second climax, stars in the eyes, Will and Clay continue to move, their own releases approaching. Will's thrusts become more erratic, his grip on your hair tightening as he chases his own orgasm.

As your body trembles with the intensity of the pleasure, Will and Clay sense your impending orgasm. They want to prolong your ecstasy, to keep you on the edge for as long as possible. In a show of dominance, they tighten their grip on you, preventing you from reaching that final peak.

Your father pulls out of your mouth, his cock glistening with your saliva. He leans down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth and tangling with yours. At the same time, Clay slows his thrusts, his hips undulating in a slow, sensual rhythm that teases rather than satisfies.

You whimper into the kiss, your body begging for release, but Will and Clay remain relentless. They continue their ministrations, keeping you in a state of constant arousal without allowing you to climax.

Breaking the kiss, Will looks down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Not yet, baby girl. Daddy wants to feel you come undone when he's deep inside you. Can you hold on for me a little longer?"

Clay, echoing his sentiments, whispers in your ear, "We want to feel you shatter, sweetheart. Give us just a little more time, and then you can let go."

They resume their movements, Will's cock sliding back into your mouth while Clay picks up the pace once more, his thrusts growing more forceful and deliberate. The dual stimulation is almost unbearable, and you can feel your orgasm building again, even stronger than before.

As you struggle to maintain control, Will and Clay continue to push you higher, their hands roaming your body, pinching and squeezing your sensitive flesh. They're determined to drive you to the brink, to make you beg for release before they finally grant it to you.

« Daddy please….Clay… I n-need to….please please… » you begged, crying shakily. Your desperate pleas and the sight of your tears are enough to sway Will and Clay. They've pushed you to the limit, and they can see the desperation in your eyes. It's clear that you need release, and they're not determined to give it to you.

Will pulls out of your mouth, his cock slick with your saliva. He cups your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb. "Shh, baby girl. Daddy's here. We're not going to let you come now, I promise."

Clay, his thrusts becoming more erratic, nods in agreement. "That's it, doll. Don’t you dare let go. If you come there’s going to have a punishment, baby." He slapped you butt cheek earning a cry.

You sobbed, trembling « Please…please…I’m a good girl….i can have it…please… »

Will slides back into your mouth, his cock gliding effortlessly past your lips. At the same time, Clay's thrusts become more forceful, each one driving deep into your core and hitting that perfect spot inside you. "That's it, baby girl," Will encourages, his voice strained with his own impending orgasm. "Take Daddy's cock again. Let go and come for us."

Clay, his fingers digging into your hips, picks up the pace even more, his thrusts becoming almost violent in their intensity. "Come on, doll. Let it happen. Show us what a good girl you are."

The combined sensations of your father’s cock in your mouth and your fiancé’s thrusts pounding into you finally push you over the edge. With a muffled cry around Will's shaft, you come undone, your body convulsing as wave after wave of intense pleasure washes over you.

The feeling of your walls clamping down around him is too much for Clay, and with a guttural groan, he releases himself inside you, his hot seed filling your depths. Will, feeling your throat constrict around him, follows suit, his own release pulsing down your throat. He pulled away and tapped his fat cock against your cheek, laughing.

As the three of you ride out the aftershocks of your shared climax, they collapse on top of you, their bodies covering yours in a warm embrace. They pepper your face and neck with soft kisses, praising you for being such a good girl and taking everything they had to offer. « This is how a real man treat a lady, Beresford. » your Dad patted his back.

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ak319 · 1 month ago

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Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐─

Warnings/MDNI: none. ?angst? And no, not for the reader, it's reverse angst ig. (－O－) ✰ 6.1K

★ Prev I concept m.list

"Look," you began, your tone a mix of hesitance and bashfulness, "please don’t make fun of me for what I’m about to tell you, because honestly? I’m not exactly ecstatic about it myself. But, like I once told you… parents can be parent-y about certain things, and it’s just so ugh! Anyway," you continued, forcing a strained chuckle, "it’s supposed to be good news, so I guess I should share it with some excitement, right?" You laughed lightly and slid a card across the table toward him, you avoided his gaze.

"I wanted to invite you. So here it is. I’d love for you to come, not just as a friend, but as a brother-"

"Shut it."

The sharp command sliced through the air like a blade, and you froze mid-sentence, your hand still lingering near the card. His tone wasn’t loud, but the weight of it struck deep, making your stomach twist.

You flinched, your brow furrowing as you recoiled slightly, staring at him with a mix of confusion and irritation. "Excuse me?" His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unreadable.

"I am not your brother, or whatever you or your family thinks," Arthur said, his voice low but firm, the words cutting like a cold wind.

You scoffed, a mix of hurt and disbelief clouding your expression. This wasn’t like him, the same Arthur who never so much as frowned in your direction now had a sharp edge in his tone.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice unsteady but defensive, already dreading where this conversation was heading.

His gaze was unrelenting, the weight of his words pressing against you. "I believe you know exactly what I’m talking about," he said, softer now, though the intensity remained. "I just… how can you be so blind?"

Your jaw tightened, the bitterness creeping in as your fingers curled against the table. His earlier words still lingered, a bruise on your pride that hadn’t faded.

"Blind to what, exactly?" you snapped.

Arthur let out a breath, his frustration palpable as his shoulders sagged slightly. "I… like you," he admitted, his voice quieter now, though no less raw. "I really do-"

"Wow." You leaned back, crossing your arms, your eyes narrowing. "There we go. So this is the reason?"

He stared at you, his face unmoving, but his eyes betrayed him, there was a glimmer of vulnerability in them, a crack in the tough façade he usually wore. "Yeah," he said simply, meeting your gaze head-on. "This is the reason."

You exhaled sharply, staring at Arthur like he’d just sprouted a second head. "Are you serious right now?" you asked, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with disbelief.

Arthur’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t back down. "I’ve never been more serious," he said.

Your fingers brushed your chin as you leaned back, then your lips, as if you were weighing his words against the brutal truth you knew. When you finally spoke, your voice was cold, detached, calculated.

“Arthur… we could never have been a match. Not then, not now.”

The words landed like a slap, deliberate and cutting as if you’d carefully chosen them to remind him of the impossibility of what he was asking. To him, it must have sounded like you were discussing a business arrangement as if he were just another broker. Or worse... just another one of those pitiful proposals you brushed aside for your own amusement.

His face faltered, but he tried to hold steady. "Why not? Is it because of who I am? Because I’m not some... polished gentleman from your world?"

"Yes! It’s exactly because of that," you snapped, your emotions flaring. "Arthur, no matter how kind you, or the gang, were to me back then, or now, you’re still outlaws. You can’t change that. You can’t erase what you’ve done."

Arthur’s eyes darkened, his hands curling into fists on the table. "That’s not fair," he said, his voice rising slightly. "You didn’t care about that when we helped you find your way home. When we made sure you were safe. But now....now it’s convenient for you to judge me?"

"I’m not judging you, Arthur," you shot back but quickly composed yourself so as not to draw any unwanted attention. You just hoped your chaperone wouldn't come over and hear all this. "I’m just being realistic...stating facts here. You might have been my protector when I was lost, but that doesn’t mean you could be my...my partner. You live in a world I can’t belong to. Yeah... Arthur, that is the truth. Like wow-- unbelievable because you think this, us, was ever a possibility."

His face hardened, but his eyes remained glued to you, searching for something, anything, in your expression. "Why wasn’t it? We’ve known each other! You laughed with me, wrote to me, and shared everything with me. Don’t tell me that meant nothing..."

"That’s not fair," you said, your voice trembling. "It meant something, of course it did! You are my friend and I treated you like one! The reason I came here today is to invite you to such a significant event in my life. You and the others saved me when I was a child. You were kind, yes, and maybe even noble in your own way. But don’t you see? That’s all it ever could have been. And for God's sake, I was only 10 then."

"Right...because I’m an outlaw," he replied bitterly which added in your vexation.

"Because no matter what you say you can't deny the things you have done, no matter how much you’ve tried to change… you’re still an outlaw, Arthur! And what I did was only look past all of that, ignore all of that, and treat you like a normal person. And I’m someone who lives by rules, by expectations. My family, my life, they’re worlds apart from yours. I handle business, attend formal gatherings, and move in circles that your gang probably plans to rob on one of their 'mighty fine days.' Do you see what I mean?"

"That’s what you care about? What people think? What your family thinks?"

"Don’t twist this! It’s not about them, it’s about us! We would’ve never worked. I’ve never seen you that way, Arthur, and I’m sorry if you thought otherwise, but this was never going to happen. Not in a million years. I told you before that we had to leave our old house because of the gossip. People whispered about me being kidnapped, about… other horrible, disgusting things. About me, a literal child! Rumors tied to you, the outlaws. It was a nightmare for me, and for my family. Do you think I could ever willingly go through that again?"

His voice cracked as he spoke. "I know but-- you couldn’t have told me that sooner? Before....before I let myself hope? Before I thought m-aybe you--- you come to meet me now, so I thought-"

"Because I didn’t know!" you cut him off, wiping away some wayward tears. "I didn’t know you felt this way! I thought that what we had was a good friendship. Look I don't want to hurt you, but this-you being angry with me...it isn’t fair. I didn’t ask for this, Arthur. And as for meeting you and all, well I didn't want to tell you this way but...my family doesn't approve of me doing this, they don't know. Especially now, when I am about to marry, I think, well after you have said all this too, that it's better to not meet. I just wanted to end it on a good note."

“You were the first... who made me feel something, y’know? Damn right, you did....” He paused, a bitter chuckle escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. “And then... you got lost again. For years. But you were always there, somewhere, in the back of my mind. Like some kind of shadow, I couldn't shake it. I don't know if it was curiosity, or..."

He trailed off, the words hanging in the air, and then his tone shifted, turning almost uncertain, like a question to himself. "Or maybe something else. Something I couldn’t name. I know I don’t have anything to offer you. Nothing like...what you're used to, or what you deserve. But...even with all the mess I’ve made of things, even with the life I’ve chosen... I... I don’t know how to quit wanting this. Wanting you."

He looked at you, eyes searching for an answer that felt impossible to find. Why couldn't he fucking stop though? He needed to let it out, he had to. "I know I’m not the one you need, but damn it... I can't help this... whatever it is I feel when you're near."

"Arthur...Do you even realize what my life means to me? What my business mean to me? It’s exactly what your gang and Dutch are to you. Something you can’t just give up in a snap. For anything. Do you know how lucky I am to have a father who raised me to be who I am today? Who respected my choices and believed in me enough to make me his business partner? I mean, have you ever seen that happen? I have worked for it, day and night, damn right I did. So, no matter what, I won’t ever leave all of that behind."

Arthur’s jaw tightened as he took in your words, his eyes narrowing. He hesitated for a beat before replying, his tone laced with something sharp and bitter.

"So… you love the power and money. Is that what you’re saying? That’s what matters most to you? So why are you marrying now, then? Is this just another deal?"

You let out a breath, rubbing your temples as you felt your patience wear thin. A muffled scoff escaped your lips. "Love money--? You’re seriously asking me that? That’s not-" You stopped yourself, exhaling sharply. "You know what? If that’s how you’re going to frame it, then sure. Yes, it does matter. Of course. And you, of all people, should know that. You literally..."

Forget it, it's useless to say it. He already knows.

"What about… love? What about if I did give it up one day, huh? For you if...if you give this a chance? What if I was...never an outlaw? Would you still be saying all of this? " Arthur's voice dipped, low and raw, as if he dared you to look past the life he’d lived and see him, just him.

"And I am not asking you to abandon anything anyway. I never said that. But can't you just...talk to your parents...about this? At least...hear their point of view... maybe they will agree, maybe they do think different of me -"

"No. They. Don't." You frowned, running a hand through your hair. "I know them very well because they are my parents, Arthur. Why are you talking like a ten-year-old? All these ‘what ifs’ are just that, what ifs. They don’t mean a damn thing. See how the real world works, for God’s sake. My world. Your world. You and I both know you’re not giving up your life, and I’m not giving up mine. So what’s next, Arthur? Are we talking about fairies now?"

"Oh, you’re really taking it too far now," he muttered, his voice low and dangerously quiet. "I bared my heart to you, and you’re just taking it as a damn joke?"

"I’m not!" you snapped, throwing your hands up. "But the way you came on to me, the aggressiveness of it, it’s too much! As if I committed some crime. I’m just trying to be honest with you here. We’re two different people, Arthur. Different lives, different worlds. And whatever I’m doing in my life, with whoever, for whatever reason, it’s none of your concern. You know what you should’ve done? Told me sooner. I wouldn’t have minded then, and your feelings wouldn’t be so hurt now. Or even better, never would have approached me again after all these years if this was your intention."

".....Yeah, you are right. I am a fool. A God damn fool."

Your heart was heavy with words you didn’t want to say but felt you had to, seeing him all quiet and...lost.

"I’m sorry... if I ever gave the wrong idea or encouraged... whatever you felt. It wasn’t my intention, Arthur. It never was. And even after this, it's not like I would regret the good moments we spent together. They were refreshing, for both of us."

You paused, your gaze meeting his, and you could see the pain in his eyes, the unspoken hope that you would understand. But you couldn’t, not in the way he wanted.

“I'll pray that you find peace. With someone willing to give it to you. You are a good person, I never said that you aren't. But not for me. Not for someone like me or my family. Not in the way you are thinking."

The cafe felt stifling, the murmurs of other patrons fading into nothing as the two of you were locked in this emotional war. You took a shaky breath and reached for the wedding card on the table, forwarding it.

"Come if you want to," you said, your voice quieter now but no less firm. "But I think it’s better if you don’t...for both of us." Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked out, the bell on the door jingling faintly behind you.

You didn’t look back, not at the table, not at him, not at the wreckage you knew you were leaving behind.

You didn’t dare.

❀˖°

"(Y/N) where were you-"

"Not now, Mom." The words came out curt, sharper than you intended, but you were too upset to care. That single word, Mom, was enough to let her know you were serious. She caught onto it immediately, her expression shifting to one of quiet concern.

Her gaze darted to Doreen, your chaperone, who stood quietly in the corner. She simply shrugged, her calm demeanor steady as always. Doreen had been working at the manor for years and was one of the few who knew about your friendship with Arthur. You’d confided in her because you trusted her, she was loyal and discreet, a good woman. Otherwise, it would be a nightmare if your mother ever found out. Not that you had anything to hide... except for what had happened today.

But none of that mattered now. It wasn’t like you were going to see Arthur again, not after this. That didn’t stop your mother from barging into your room, though, just as you were ushering out your younger brother, Rayan, and even your cat, a clear sign that you wanted to be left alone.

Once the door shut behind them, leaving the two of you alone in the room, your mother crossed her arms and fixed you with a determined look. "Care to explain what’s going on?"

"Nothing mama. Just--some people--sometimes piss you off."

"But you went to give a card to one of your friends didn't you? She not...coming?"

You shook your head, already feeling the heat rise in your chest again. "No, it’s not that. Just please. I don’t want to talk right now. Where’s Dad?"

She sighed a soft, drawn-out sound that carried her concern. Without saying a word, she moved to sit on the edge of your bed, watching as you rifled through your wardrobe, looking for something to change into. The rustling of hangers filled the room as you avoided her gaze.

"He must be on his way. Lunch is ready. I reckon you haven’t eaten yet?" she asked, her voice gentle, but you could still hear the underlying question.

You mentally scoffed, remembering the way your appetite vanished after everything Arthur had said. "Um--yeah, but I am not hungry." You replied, forcing some enthusiasm into your tone.

She nodded in understanding, but then her expression shifted, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh, Omar is coming today, isn’t he? You both had to go shopping."

You froze for a moment before turning to her with a practiced smile. "Oh yes, I had totally forgotten!. But why shopping, Mamaaa, I’m so tired of it already!"

She tutted at your whining, brushing it aside with ease as she stood up. "Just one last trip. And come on, it’s your first one with him. He hasn’t even bought his suit yet because he wanted to buy it with you. Such a nice boy, isn’t he? I must say, even after rejecting almost every boy, you still found the best one. Patience does reward, doesn’t it?"

You snorted, unable to help yourself. Her words were laced with pride and affection, but you couldn’t quite mirror her excitement.

"You think I was waiting for the perfect one? I was just playing-"

"I know, I know. I’m just playing too," she cut you off with a knowing smile. "As if I don’t know what my daughter is."

Her cheerful expression faltered slightly, replaced by a worried frown. "(Y/N)... you don’t have any contact with Arthur, do you?"

Your heart skipped a beat, but years of getting out of mischief as a child had honed your ability to appear calm under pressure.

"Of course not! Why?" you asked, your tone light, as though the very idea were absurd.

"Mhm," she hummed, her gaze lingering on you for a moment too long. "Just... asking."

She waved it off and stood, her voice returning to its usual brightness. "Anyway, get ready. Omar must be here any minute."

"Yeah, yeah," you replied, brushing her off with a nonchalant shrug.

God, you really needed to go hunting with your dad, feel the familiar rhythm of the hunt to clear your mind. But it was already dusk. Shame, you thought. Well, there’s always tomorrow. You could find some peace in that.

❀˖°

The sound of wheels crunching over the gravel driveway reached your ears as you stood near the window, brushing out the last stray wrinkles from your coat. You could already hear your mother bustling downstairs, her voice rising in warm greeting as the carriage came to a halt in front of the manor. Omar was here.

The idea of going shopping with him now felt exhausting, but you reminded yourself, that this was the man you were going to marry. If nothing else, you could enjoy his company and distract yourself. You fucking needed it today.

There was a knock on your door before Doreen peeked her head in. "He’s here," she said with a knowing smile.

"I know," you sighed one last time before heading downstairs.

As you reached the foyer, Omar had already stepped inside, shaking off the light dusting of snow from his coat. He was dressed in a tailored navy suit, the kind that exuded understated elegance. His dark eyes lit up as soon as they landed on you, a wide, genuine smile spreading across his face.

"Ah, there she is," he said, his voice warm and easy, like it always was. He stepped forward, offering his hand as a gesture of greeting. "You look stunning as always."

You gave him a small smile, your fingers lightly brushing his as you shook his hand. "Thank you, Omar. You look rather dashing yourself."

Your mother beamed from the sidelines, clasping her hands together. "I’ll leave you two to it then! Have a good time, and don’t forget to stop by for supper after shopping!" she called, disappearing into the hallway before either of you could protest.

Omar chuckled softly, leaning in just a fraction as if sharing a secret. "I think she’s more excited about us spending time together than we are."

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. "That’s because she’s been dreaming of this moment for years."

He tilted his head slightly, studying you with a mix of curiosity and fondness. "And you? Are you dreading it as much as you pretend to be, or is that just your way of teasing me?"

"I guess you’ll find out soon enough."

His grin widened, the kind that made it hard not to feel at ease. "I’m up for the challenge."

With that, he offered his arm, and after a brief pause, you looped yours through it. Together, you stepped out of the manor and into the waiting carriage, the crisp air biting at your skin as you settled in for what promised to be an afternoon of conversation and enjoyment.

The carriage rolled into the bustling town square, the cobblestone streets alive with chatter and laughter. Stalls lined the streets, and storefronts glittered with elegant displays of winter fashion. Omar helped you down from the carriage, his gloved hand firm and steady as you stepped onto the pavement. The warmth of his touch lingered, and for a moment, it was almost enough to dispel the tension still coiled in your chest.

"Where shall we start?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement as he glanced at the shops.

"Your suit, of course," you replied, gesturing to the tailor’s shop down the street. "We wouldn’t want to waste any more time, would we? And also don't want my groom to arrive in pajamas."

He chuckled, the sound low and pleasant. "Efficient as always," he teased, but there was no bite to his words, only affection.

The tailor’s shop smelled of cedar and freshly pressed fabric, the warm atmosphere a stark contrast to the brisk air outside. Omar immediately began perusing the racks of neatly displayed suits, occasionally glancing your way for approval.

"What do you think of this one?" he asked, holding up a charcoal-grey ensemble.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it seriously. "Mhm let's see. It’s nice, but… not quite you."

He raised a brow, intrigued. "Not quite me? And what is ‘me,’ exactly?"

You smirked, stepping closer to him. "Something a little more daring. You’re not the type to blend into the background. And honestly, that colour is for oldies."

Omar laughed, a soft, genuine sound that seemed to fill the room. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

The tailor appeared then, guiding Omar to a private fitting room. You waited near the mirrors, idly browsing the display of silk ties and pocket squares. When Omar stepped out, dressed in a deep navy suit with subtle silver pinstripes, you felt your breath hitch for a moment.

"Well?" he asked, spreading his arms slightly as he turned toward you. "Do I meet your high standards now?"

You took a step closer, adjusting the lapel of his jacket with careful fingers. "Much better," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

His gaze softened as he looked down at you, the air between you growing quiet and intimate. "You know," he said, his voice low, "it means a lot to me… that you’re here. Dearest fiancee."

You glanced up snickering, meeting his eyes. There was something disarming about how he looked at you, as though he could see straight through the layers of composure you worked so hard to maintain.

"I suppose it’s only fair," you said lightly, trying to deflect the weight of his gaze. "You’ll have to endure me for the rest of your life, after all."

His smile widened, but there was a hint of something deeper in his expression, something almost reverent. "Endure you? I don’t think that’s the word I’d use."

The moment stretched between you, delicate and charged, before you stepped back, clearing your throat. This was soemthing you thought you would never do. Like shopping? For marriage? Your own marriage? Feels nice though.

"Let’s pay for this and move on. There’s still plenty to do."

Omar chuckled, following your lead. "As you wish."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a flurry of shops and conversations, the initial awkwardness between you easing into a comfortable rhythm. At one point, as you passed a small flower stall, Omar paused, picking up a single white rose.

"For you," he said, offering it with a small, sincere smile.

You hesitated, then took it, the softness of the petals brushing against your fingers. "Thank you," you said quietly, your heart unexpectedly lighter.

"Though, for the record, I’m not fond of buying flowers. I prefer them in their roots, not plucked out."

Omar tilted his head, intrigued. "Fair enough," he said with a soft chuckle. "I’ll keep that in mind next time." He paused, then grinned. "Wait, is it because of that plantation-related project your dad was talking about? The one about 'Greenery for better Scenery' Or are you just secretly a botanist in disguise?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Maybe," you said, teasingly, "Or maybe I just don’t like the idea of something being uprooted just to sit in a vase."

He nodded as you both climbed into the carriage, the sound of the wheels rolling over the cobblestone streets almost rhythmic as you sat there, lost in thought. The air was cooler now, and the weight of the day felt heavy on your shoulders. You couldn't shake the frustration bubbling inside you, the anger from dealing with Arthur, the frustration of his insistence, and the guilt gnawing at you because, deep down, you didn’t want to hurt him. But it was necessary.

People had to be reminded of who was in control sometimes. To be given a wake-up call. The thought of being his lover, his wife... living that life, in some tent? That had to be a joke. Those two months weren’t some nice escape anyone might imagine. Every second, you missed the comfort of your home, the warmth, the familiarity, the safety. You had been kind to them, yes, but kindness didn’t mean trust. Your heart was wary, and at the end of the day, they were strangers. Dangerous strangers.

He knew this. You could see it in the way he looked at you back then, the silent acknowledgment of the gap that could never be bridged. And yet, somehow, now, it seemed he’d forgotten all of that. Did he truly believe he could make that reckless fantasy a reality?

Your mother had been right. You should’ve never gotten engaged in the first place. Being nice, being accommodating, sometimes, it cost too much.

"You okay? You look tired."

You snapped back to the present, finding Omar's concerned gaze on you. You gave him a small smile. "Mhm? Yeah, I've been out most of the day so..."

"You could’ve told me we would’ve had the spree shortened," he said, his tone gentle.

You waved him off, shrugging lightly. "C'mon, it's nothing. You needed all that. My stuff's done anyway."

"Still, I don’t want my bride to be sick or anything." He nudged you playfully, but you weren't in the mood for jokes. "Um, sorry. We’re just about there anyway,"

"It’s alright. I didn’t mind for a minute." You voice softened.

He gazed at you, and before you could protest, he placed his hand over yours. "Good to know that. I loved every second too, darling."

"Me too..." Your heart skipped a beat at the warmth of his touch. "Can I ask you something?" You began, your voice quieter than usual.

"Sure. Shoot."

"Would you ever, like ever, say something like... 'leave the business or stay at home' shit to me?"

He leaned back slightly at your cold question, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "We’ve already discussed this a million times, (Y/N), and even our families. You are perfect the way you are. Why would I suddenly say that?"

"Men aren’t really something you trust," you replied, the bitterness seeping through despite your best effort to stay neutral.

He sighed but remained understanding, his expression softening. "You know I won’t. I know you do. Yet you’re asking. It’s a clear sign something happened today, didn’t it?"

You paused for a moment, looking out the carriage window, not trusting yourself to speak for a second. "No. Just... making sure."

He reached over, gently brushing his thumb over your hand. "And I’m assuring you, love. I want a partner, not a slave or whatever your mind is conjuring up. Did you forget I literally sent the proposal after being impressed by your articles?"

"Mhm." He didn't press further, sensing that you needed space.

The carriage rolled to a stop outside your home, the rhythmic clop of the horses’ hooves fading into the quiet of the evening. You hadn’t spoken much on the journey back, your mind preoccupied with thoughts. Omar had been like your father in many ways, supportive, steadfast, grounded, and practical. Ideal, really. That’s part of why you didn’t hesitate when he proposed. But no matter how rational he seemed or how certain he was about the future, doubt lingered in the corners of your mind. Guess it's natural considering you are a woman. Marriage is a big thing for you.

To you, it feels like a gamble, an unpredictable, high-stakes game where you could win or lose everything. And the words Arthur had thrown at you, his cold assumption that you might give up everything for mere love, or worse, let your family catch wind of this, echoed with unsettling clarity. It didn’t sit right with you. Not in the least. If he thought that way if he believed you would toss away your entire world for something as transient as affection, what was to stop Omar from thinking the same?

You tried to shake the thought, but it clung to you, persistent and unwelcome. You’d seen the way people could twist things to their advantage. Would he, too, expect you to throw it all away? Would he demand that you choose him over everything else you’d built? Especially comparing a stupid thing as love to it.

Life ain't some romance novel, Arthur.

As the door to the carriage opened, you stepped out, taking a deep breath. Yeah, love was nothing when it came to reality, when it came to your rights, to what you truly wanted. If it all turned out to be a farce, then nothing was stopping you from getting a divorce. The thought felt both reassuring and disconcerting. But for now... you reminded yourself, let’s focus on the here and now.

With a gentle yet weary smile, you turned to Omar and guided him inside. You were greeted warmly by your family, their voices filled with cheerful greetings and questions. It was almost too easy to slip back into the comfort of routine. Your mother’s bright smile and your father’s firm hand on your shoulder reminded you that for all the doubts, you still had a foundation here.

Your mother chimed, her eyes sparkling as she looked from you to Omar. "I trust your shopping went well?"

You nodded, offering a warm and relaxed smile. "Yes, everything’s set for the wedding. Finally." Omar pulled you closer noticing your tiredness and you melted into the embrace as the chatter went on.

"I love you, y'know." You glanced up, a bit taken aback by his sweet whisper, but replied with the same tenderness, "Love you too, Omar." With that, he received a kiss on the cheek, making him pull you closer if that was even possible.

❀˖°

“Dutch? You busy?”

The leader glanced up from his book, smoke curling lazily around him. He studied Hosea’s expression for a moment before shaking his head. “No, no. Come in. Have a seat.” He rose, shutting the tent flap behind Hosea to block out the biting chill of the night.

Both men settled around the makeshift study, the dim lantern between them casting flickering shadows on their weathered faces. The faint warmth from the lantern did little to push back the cold, but Dutch’s focus remained sharp, his cigar perched between two fingers.

“It’s a chilly one tonight,” Dutch commented, his tone light but probing as he watched Hosea take a cigar for himself.

Hosea nodded, lighting it and taking a long drag before exhaling slowly. “It is.” He leaned back slightly, the seriousness in his eyes undeniable. “I came to tell you something. I think… something happened with Arthur today.”

“What? As in physically? Is he fine?” Dutch asked, frowning. Arthur wasn’t one to get injured on some random Tuesday.

"No, no. God forbid . It’s not that. He went somewhere today, midday, and when he came back, he just… felt hollow, y’know? Hasn’t come out of his tent since."

“Arthur, brooding? Maybe he’s sick,” Dutch muttered, though his brow furrowed in concern.

"He didn’t even come for supper, Dutch."

Dutch leaned back in his chair, tapping the ash from his cigar. “Alright, I’ll handle him in the morning.”

“Yeah, just… take it easy with him. You know how he is, tends to keep things bottled up, no matter how much it’s eating at him.”

Dutch narrowed his eyes. “Did you try yourself? Usually, you’re the one who can get through to him.”

“I did,” Hosea admitted with a sigh. “Knocked on his tent, asked if he was alright, but he didn’t answer. Not a peep. So…”

Dutch hummed, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "Alright. Morning it is, then. Wait a minute...Do you think it’s that girl? What was her name---- Mary? The one who sent those gifts? Are they back together, or-?"

"How could it be her? They broke things off ages ago. And last I heard from the girls gossiping, she’s already married to someone else."

“Then who’s he been seeing all this time? The one who sent those gifts almost a year ago, Hosea? You remember that right?” Dutch pressed, his eyes narrowing.

Hosea shrugged, his expression thoughtful. “Must be someone else. But it wasn’t Mary, he never said her name, as in that she sent them. But he is meeting someone. That much, I’m sure of."

"Well, if it's someone else this time and... I don’t want to assume, but if it happened again, then... well, bummer."

"Dutch." Hosea’s tone carried a hint of reprimand.

"What? I’m just... forget it. Well, the boy has a tendency to attract trouble for himself, that’s what I meant."

"Losing something doesn’t stop someone from wanting... Dutch. And that applies to... many things."

Dutch’s lips quirked into an understanding smile. The motto was indeed fitting for anything, money, love, peace, freedom, you name it.

"Well said, Hosea, well said. A man’s strength isn’t just in what he holds onto, but in what he’s willing to let go of. Arthur’s got more fight in him than he realizes. He’ll get through this, one way or another.”

"Broken men are the most dangerous too."

Dutch grinned, matching Hosea's dry humor. "Our Arthur is that, anyway."

❀˖°

After the evening ended with heartfelt, romantic goodbyes, you lay in the bed and your mind on its own replayed the whole day.

It wasn’t your fault, right? Yes? No? No, it wasn’t. He was the one who came, the one who set all of this in motion. He knew exactly what he was walking into. What did he expect, honestly? That your family would just hand you over to him? That your parents, with their pristine image and their business deals, would throw all of that away to give you to a man with a bounty on his head, a man living on the fringes of society? What the fuck were they even supposed to tell their peers?

"Oh, our daughter is marrying a notorious outlaw, it's just a phase."

No. They would never. They couldn’t.

And yet, there he was, sitting in front of you, asking for something that never could be. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about him, you did, in a way. You had always known your life would be different. You were born into a world where rules mattered, where expectations were set before you even had a say in the matter.

You had been nothing more than a curious soul who wanted to hear his stories, a girl who saw him as a peculiar friend. An older brother figure. Nothing more. And here you were thinking he saw you the same. A peculiar friend. An annoying younger sister. A pure bond of nothing more than a friendship, between two different worlds. Nothing more.

Your parents are not exactly fond of them considering, of course, what you all went through because of that incident which is not even allowed to be discussed in your house. No judgment to them because outlaws are unpredictable. dangerous, untrustworthy. That's their textbook definition, one you had learned literally firsthand living there from them.

And on the other hand, society is cruel too in its own way.

So what did he expect from you? What did he think would happen?

You rolled to the left side of your bed, your eyes landing on the vanity. Where the gifts your in-laws had sent were placed aptly. The anxiety of the upcoming big day was suddenly back in full force, pressing in on your chest as if the winds of your life were about to shift their course in one final, irreversible moment.

★ Next

─AN: Lemme know if you wanna be added or removed in the comments and idk I hope I got the names right and you got notified, cuz some of u weren't showing up on that tiny pop up list--idk it just my first time tagging a lot of ppl sry! 😭Thanks for reading, and as always, interactions are appreciated. ^_^

★ tag list: @shackspossum @whalecage @nayykura @m1stea @warmsideofthepillow03 @thatoneraeder @marzintears @nxttaru @cazzacarm @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @nulixity @poll-u @bajabish @cheesycheddarr @luzzbuzz @dilfsarelife @ninastyless @claire-is-here @raeraypoca @hopingtoclearmedschool

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robfinancialtip · 1 year ago

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youtube

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iamthepulta · 3 months ago

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How competitive was the copper market? Would Ea-Nasir have been one of many sellers of broadly equivalent status all trying to make a buck, like how one town might have six building firms all competing for work, or would he have had a near-monopoly like Starbucks? Would he have been a sole trader who brokered deals between mines and consumers, or would he have managed a warehouse with employees and held stock, etc?

Oh SHIT, I never answered this and it got lost in my drafts! I'm so sorry.

This is a fantastic question! Just to flesh out the picture of the trade in the day: Bronze is an alloy of copper (Cu) with either arsenic (As) or tin (Sn). Arsenic is a common unwanted element in copper deposits, and copper-arsenic-oxide (Cu-As-O) minerals look very similar to plain copper minerals. However, tin (Sn) occurs in very different, rarer, geologic environments, and thus must be sourced from different areas.

Likewise, As-Bronze is less malleable than copper, but not by much; arsenic ions are about the same size. Tin ions form good bronze because they're larger than the copper ions and prevent the metal from freely deforming, so it was prioritized for weapons and tools. Arsenic was used when tin wasn't available.

Ur was known for being one of the best cities for bronzework during the Bronze Age: metalworking services were in high demand, and they were the center of the copper, arsenic, and tin trades. Copper from Oman (or Cyprus, as their industry was developing more at the time), tin from Afghanistan, Southeast Asia, or Turkey, (depending on which archaeologist you talk to), and arsenic from India or Egypt.

So yeah, as a middleman, Ea-Nasir probably had numerous competitors who procured copper from Oman, particularly from the halfway point in Qatar, and then sent it back to Ur. Also referencing the plural translation "-those of the people who travel to Dilmun-", although likely only a few of those merchants were chosen to sell to the temple/government. (But that's speculation. Maybe the temple picked one person a year? Maybe copper tithes meant there was usually supply, and it was only this year during war the temple picked Ea-Nasir to buy from.)

It's also quite possible there were people doing copper business like Ea-Nasir further up the Tigris and Euphrates closer to Cyprus, and there were definitely specialist merchants for arsenic-copper and tin procurement. Once the copper was in the city, his buyers were refiners and metallurgists who made the bronze or copper wares that were purchased/exported throughout the Middle East.

As for employees and stock, I honestly don't know. But from the letters, it sounds like he was stretched rather thin, and he was dealing with buyers' messengers himself. So I wouldn't be surprised (although this is speculation) if it was just him and perhaps a servant/slave of the period to handle things in Ur while he was in Dilmun.

[Image References under the cut]

meme from r/historymemes

Peterson, 2012. Forging Social Networks: Metallurgy and the Politics of Value in Bronze Age Eurasia. The Archaeology of Power and Politics in Eurasia. Cambridge University Press. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139061186.018

Content References within my other Ea-Nasir writeups under iamthepulta: #mining history, or #ea nasir

#copper #metallurgy #mining history #trade #bronze age #ea nasir #Technically arsenic bronze would bend afaik but the meme was too funny not to include.

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mariacallous · 2 months ago

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In July 2020, a 72-year-old attorney posing as a delivery person rang the doorbell at US district judge Esther Salas’ house in North Brunswick, New Jersey. When the door opened, the attorney fired a gun, wounding the judge’s husband—and killing her only child, 20-year-old Daniel Mark Anderl.

The murderer, Salas said, had found her address online and was outraged because she hadn’t handled a case of his client fast enough. In her despair, Salas publicly pleaded, “We can make it hard for those who target us to track us down … We can't just sit back and wait for another tragedy to strike.”

She wanted judges to be able to keep their home addresses private. New Jersey lawmakers delivered. Months after the murder, they unanimously enacted Daniel’s Law. Today, current and former judges, cops, prosecutors, and others working in criminal justice can have their household’s address and phone numbers withheld from government records in the state. They also can demand that the data be removed from any website, including popular tools for researching people such as Whitepages, Spokeo, Equifax, and RocketReach.

Companies that don’t comply within 10 business days have to pay a penalty of at least $1,000. This makes New Jersey’s law the only privacy statute in the US that guarantees people a court payout when requests to keep information private are ignored.

That provision is being put to a consequential test.

In a pile of lawsuits in New Jersey—drummed up by a 41-year-old serial entrepreneur named Matt Adkisson and five law firms, including two of the nation’s most prominent—about 20,000 workers, retirees, and their relatives are suing 150 companies and counting for allegedly failing to honor requests to have their personal information removed under Daniel’s Law.

These companies, which Adkisson estimates generate $150 billion annually in sales, may now be on the hook for $8 billion in penalties. But what’s more important to him is the hope that this narrow New Jersey law could act as a wedge to force data brokers to stop publishing sensitive data about people of all professions nationwide. He’s hoping that this multibillion-dollar pursuit, with its army of union cop households, may be a catalyst for better personal privacy for us all.

If he doesn’t win, the oft-derided data broker industry would have proved that it has a right under the First Amendment to publish people’s contact information. Websites could avoid further regulation, and no one in the US may ever be guaranteed by law to become less googleable. “I never thought we would have such a hard time, that it would turn into such a battle,” Adkisson says. “Just home address, phone number, remove it. One state. Twenty-thousand people.”

This is the first definitive account of how the fate of one of the country’s most intriguing privacy laws came to rest on the shoulders of Adkisson’s latest tech startup, Atlas.

Matt Adkisson is almost your prototypical lifelong entrepreneur. He quit high school at 16 to code video games and small-business websites. His parents insisted, though, that he audit classes across the street from their home, at the US Naval War College in Rhode Island. So he began learning about national security. One lesson he picked up: When judges live in fear and can’t rule impartially, democracies can wither.

But saving democracy wasn't his passion. Making money was. He headed off to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology with designs on becoming a consultant or investment banker, but dropped out before senior year. Like so many other young people in the midst of the Web 2.0 frenzy, he had an entrepreneurial itch. Without telling them, Adkisson cashed out his parents’ tuition payment, and in 2006, he and a friend slept under office desks for a month before founding a company called FreeCause with Adkisson’s brother to develop marketing tools for Facebook games. Adkisson later bought shares of the nascent social media startup. Both bets paid millions. In 2009, FreeCause sold for about $30 million.

Adkisson upgraded to nights on a friend’s couch in San Francisco, where he used his wealth to invest in or start dozens of other software companies. As they sold, he became a comfortable multimillionaire. It was his last big deal, in 2018, that set him down the path of privacy crusader. He had sold Safer, which developed a Google Chrome competitor called Secure Browser, to antivirus maker Avast for about $10 million.

Adkisson and a cofounder recall that during a meeting over lakeside beers near offices in Friedrichshafen, Germany, after the deal closed, an Avast executive demanded they feed search activity from Secure Browser’s millions of users to Jumpshot, a sibling unit that was selling antivirus users’ browsing history to companies wanting to study consumer trends.

Adkisson stood to make millions of dollars in bonuses from the proposed integration. He refused. It was too intrusive to share that intimate data, he says, and a violation of trust. (Avast declined to comment on the episode. It shuttered Jumpshot, and this year agreed to pay $16.5 million to settle US government charges over the service’s allegedly deceptive data usage.)

Adkisson left Avast in December 2020 thinking he would keep adding to his portfolio of over 300 startup investments or pursue something in AI, like automating brushstrokes to create on-demand oil paintings. But he couldn’t shake the Friedrichshafen incident. For his web browsing, he started to use VPNs and the privacy-focused search engine DuckDuckGo. He tried to get websites to remove his new East Coast home address. Those efforts mostly failed; companies had no obligation to comply.

These websites that sell addresses or phone numbers typically get that data by buying voter or property records from governments, and user account details from companies willing to deal. The easy access to data enabled by the aggregators can be vital to services like identity verification or targeted advertising. But the customers also can include people who are looking for an old friend. Or investigating a crime. Or someone with a grudge against, say, a judge.

As Adkisson dug into the data broker industry in 2021, he read about how a law that went into effect the year before had given Californians a right to demand companies delete their personal information. So Adkisson and two cofounders launched a service they called RoundRobin, to help Californians do just that for a fee. Services like DeleteMe and Optery were already selling deletion assistance, but Adkisson felt they were more marketing spin than serious tech.

RoundRobin joined the well-known startup accelerator Y Combinator in April 2021 and began developing software to simplify making requests. But the startup had no way to enforce the takedowns it wanted to charge customers for; only California’s attorney general could sue for violations of the nascent law. Data websites ignored RoundRobin.

Given Adkisson’s pedigree, investors held out hope. California privacy activist Tom Kemp, Lightspeed Venture Partners, and others invested about $2 million in RoundRobin that August. But the struggle continued. The cofounders renamed the company to the more serious-sounding Atlas Data Privacy in January 2022. It didn’t help. But then, a break. Just as Adkisson was considering giving up and his initial cofounders were pulling out, a relative of his in California who had worked in law enforcement mentioned Daniel Anderl’s murder—and the law it inspired in New Jersey. “Fate delivered the Garden State,” Adkisson says.

He soon reached out to law enforcement experts, including a former Boston police commissioner and a retired Navy rear admiral. The two told Adkisson stories about cops who were attacked in their homes. They urged him to press on.

The first organization to return Adkisson’s cold calls was the New Jersey State Policemen's Benevolent Association, the state’s largest police union. They said a few of the organization’s 31,000 members needed help containing some inadvertently leaked contact information. Adkisson and a cofounder, J.P. Carlucci, took a stab. Despite limited success, union members were excited by Adkisson’s moxy. In July 2022, a union leadership group voted unanimously to offer Atlas’ service as a benefit to members with the intention of using Daniel’s Law to demand websites remove phone numbers and addresses. The cost, spread across all members paying for the union’s legal protection plan, was hundreds of thousands of dollars annually, Adkisson says.

In August 2022, with the deal signed and thousands of members soon enrolled, Atlas established headquarters in Jersey City, New Jersey, and set out to prove it could deliver better results than back in California. For that, it needed litigation power.

The first six law firms Adkisson called refused to take up the New Jersey cases. They worried about their financial return and the likelihood of success. Judges had discretion over the $1,000 payouts, plaintiffs had to prove physical harm, and to even bring a case, attorneys had to mobilize each plaintiff individually. It wasn’t a good equation.

Over seafood in San Francisco on the waterfront, one attorney sketched out for Adkisson revisions to Daniel’s Law that could make Atlas’ job easier. Adkisson took those suggestions back to the police union, which in turn used its weight in Trenton to push lawmakers to enact the changes. By December 2022, legislators introduced amendments requiring judges to impose financial penalties on websites that failed to honor removal requests, allowing those covered by the law to sue more liberally, and enabling attorneys to more easily bring big cases. In July 2023, just after the third anniversary of Daniel’s murder, the governor signed these amendments into law.

Atlas stayed focused on recruiting more users, from the police union and beyond. Newly hired staff—the company grew to a total of eight people—learned the lingo, like don’t refer to state troopers as “officers.” Adkisson let clients call him directly 24/7 for technical support. He drove his Jeep Cherokee more than 50,000 miles to every corner of the state. The Atlas team spent 18 hours on back-to-back days at a correctional facility to catch every shift, plying union guards with Crumbl Cookies and Shake Shack. “Word started to spread, like, ‘Who the hell are these people?’” Adkisson says. “That brought us credibility.”

Days before last Christmas, Atlas finished the software for users to select the companies to which they wanted to send emailed data removal requests. The tired team gathered over Zoom watching a tally rise as the emails landed in data brokers’ inboxes. Altogether, Atlas would deliver 40 million emails to 1,000 websites on behalf of roughly 20,000 people over the next five months.

Helping users with only the easy targets—the ad-supported websites that tend to pop up when googling someone’s name—“would have been a band-aid on a wound that needed much deeper treatment,” Adkisson says. To provide what it viewed as comprehensive support and more than what competitors offer, Atlas also was facilitating takedown requests to mainstream services such as Zillow and Twilio. They tend to supply data through fee-supported advanced tools that don't pop up on a standard Google query.

Twilio denies that it provides data subject to Daniel’s Law. Zillow didn’t respond to WIRED’s requests for comment. Atlas, Adkisson says, spent about $1.3 million in labor and fees to verify websites it targeted were actually providing home addresses and phone numbers.

The startup got its first response on December 26. Red Violet, whose Forewarn data dossiers help real estate agents vet potential clients, was demanding Atlas cease and desist, erroneously claiming that Daniel’s Law applied only to government agencies and not private companies. Adkisson had expected the legal teeth of the updated Daniel's Law to inspire widespread compliance. This was a rough start. “Demoralizing,” Adkisson says.

Other companies responded with demands to see ID cards of Atlas clients, apparently suspicious that the startup was making up its customers or people demanding takedowns were pretending to work in law enforcement just to be covered by the law. Adkisson told one company they could call requestors to authenticate demands. After all, it had their numbers. Another company suggested that if Atlas clients wanted anonymity, they should have used an LLC to buy property instead of their own names.

Akisson says the most retaliatory response came from LexisNexis, which lets police and businesses search for people's contact information and life history, typically for investigations and background checks. He alleges that instead of removing Atlas clients’ phone numbers and addresses from view, LexisNexis needlessly froze their entire files in its system, impeding credit checks some were undergoing for loan applications.

LexisNexis spokesperson Paul Eckloff disputes that freezing was an overreach. The company deemed that step as necessary to honor the requests submitted by Atlas users to not disclose their data. “This company couldn’t be more dedicated to supporting law enforcement,” he says. “We would support common sense protections.” But he described Daniel’s Law as overly punitive.

To Adkisson, the people being punished were the cops, judges, and other government workers he had met on his Jeep excursions through New Jersey. Among them were police officers Justyna Maloney, 38, and her husband, Sergeant Scott Maloney, 46, who work in Rahway, a tiny city along the border with New York City.

In April 2023, Justyna was filmed by a YouTuber who runs the channel Long Island Audit, which has over 842,000 subscribers. He often films himself trying to goad police into misbehavior, and Justyna asking him to leave a government office became his newest viral hit. Followers inundated the Rahway Police’s Facebook page with about 6,500 comments, including death threats, slurs, and links to the Maloneys’ address and phone numbers on SearchPeopleFREE.com and Whitepages. Scott says Facebook wouldn’t remove the comments linking to the contact information. Neither would the police department, citing First Amendment concerns. Tensions boiled.

In August 2023, Scott received texts demanding $3,000 or “your family will be responsible for paying me in blood.” The texts listed his sister’s name and address. An hour later, the same number sent a video of two ski-masked individuals bearing guns inside an unknown location. Atlas wasn’t up and running yet, so Scott, determined to delete all his family’s contact data online, sat on his lagoonside deck every evening for weeks, crushing Michelob Ultras to stay calm as he navigated takedown forms. He put in so many requests to Whitepages for his family that it barred him from making more.

The Facebook comments linking to the Maloneys’ address only came down after they sued their bosses last November for violating Daniel’s Law. This past January, a state judge ruled that the risk to the couple “far outweighs” potential harm to the police department from censorship complaints.

As Adkisson looked to sue noncompliant data websites, he had no trouble signing up the Maloneys as plaintiffs. And because Daniel’s law now made it possible, thanks to Atlas and the police union’s lobbying, to collect guaranteed penalties from data websites, Adkisson had been able to secure five law firms, including prominent national firms Boies Schiller Flexner and Morgan & Morgan, and some attorneys who personally knew the Daniel of “Daniel’s Law.”

On February 6, Atlas and the legal team began filing lawsuits, naming the Maloneys and about 20,000 other clients as plaintiffs. In state court, 110 cases remain unresolved across five different counties. Thirty-six lawsuits are being contested in federal court before Judge Harvey Bartle III, who is based in Philadelphia but commutes across the Delaware River to Camden, New Jersey, because judges based in the state were conflicted out by virtue of being eligible for Daniel’s Law protections.

Eight defendants quickly filed motions to dismiss in state court, but they were all denied. At the federal level, most companies are arguing together that the New Jersey statute violates their First Amendment right to freedom of speech. It’s an argument that’s allowed personal information to stay online before. Federal courts have given leeway to publication of lawmakers’ contact information and actors’ birthdates, leaving doubts over whether cops and judges and their homes and phones would fare any better.

Defendants have told Bartle to consider a US Supreme Court decision in 2011 that found a law in Vermont that protected doctors’ privacy unreasonably singled out data use by drugmakers. Atlas’ foes view Daniel’s Law as similarly arbitrary because it holds New Jersey agencies to different standards than their companies when it comes to keeping data private. They also say it’s unfair that they must remove numbers that cops still list on personal websites.

Some companies fighting the lawsuits note that the $1,000 penalty that the law guarantees may lead to companies acting out of fear and removing more data than needed, or honoring requests that are actually invalid. What’s more, these defendants say that Atlas’ true motivation is money. They claim that instead of trying to quickly protect those already signed up when last year’s amendments passed, Atlas sought out more users to run up the potential monetary judgment and duped them into paying for protections they could exercise for free themselves.

Adkisson disputes the accusations. He says Atlas needed time to finish its platform and ensure it was able to properly log usage, so that judges wouldn’t dismiss cases based on technicalities like takedown requests ending up in spam folders. The startup also won’t be profiting from the lawsuit, he says. Two-thirds of any proceeds will go to the users represented; anything he and Atlas are left with after covering the costs of bringing the lawsuits would be donated to law enforcement charities and privacy advocacy groups through Atlas’ nonprofit arm, Coalition for Data Privacy and Security. Privacy is “a very real, tactical, and visceral need,” Adkisson says.

He was reminded of that this past May when he took WIRED in his Jeep to meet with Peter Andreyev, a cop in Point Pleasant Beach, New Jersey, and president of the statewide Policemen's Benevolent Association. Around dusk that day, Adkisson handed Andreyev a search result for his name on DataTree.com, a website that sells property records. Andreyev slipped on his black-rimmed glasses and brought his linebacker figure toward a conference table to review the page. It took him just two seconds to tense up. “Oh shit,” he said.

He stared at a street-view image of his home, and a birds-eye shot with his address overlaid. The square footage was in there too, for good measure. His head visibly rattling and legs restless, Andreyev pounded the table. “I—I’m pretty infuriated by this.”

Like many law enforcement officers, the 51-year-old rarely goes a day without nightmares about some known thug or detractor attacking him and his family. The DataTree printout reinforced for him that it would take just a few clicks for anyone to target him in the vulnerability of his own home. WIRED pulled up Andreyev’s report from DataTree with just a free trial.

As Andreyev continued to study the page, Adkisson pointed out something he viewed as particularly galling. In February, Atlas had sued First American, the $6 billion title insurance company that operates DataTree, for allegedly not complying with removal requests. Andreyev had been listed as one of the lead plaintiffs, alongside the Maloneys. In the following weeks, DataTree removed Andreyev’s address from one section of the search result for his name but left it up on the map that Andreyev was now staring at. “That’s no way compliant,” Andreyev said. “Fuck, it pisses me off.” First American declined to comment. As the legal battle plays out, Andreyev says he's left to continue looking over his shoulder—even at home.

The antidote of making officers more difficult to find could require greater creativity from those investigating or advertising to them, says Neil Richards, a Washington University School of Law professor and author of Why Privacy Matters. But it doesn’t make the work impossible. Richards, who isn’t involved in the Atlas litigation, says courts need to recognize that “privacy protections are a fundamental First Amendment concern, and one that's even more important than a company's ability to make money trafficking in phone numbers and home addresses.”

In the coming months, Judge Bartle will decide whether cops and judges living in fear imperils public safety. If so, he’ll have to settle whether Daniel’s Law is the least onerous solution. A loss for Atlas and its clients would effectively be treating “anything done with information” as free expression, Richards says, and stymie further attempts to regulate the digital world.

On the other hand, a victory for Atlas could be a boon for its business. Adkisson says tens of thousands of people across the country have joined the company’s waiting list: prison nurses, paramedics, teachers. All of them, he adds, anticipating someday gaining the same removal power as New Jerseyans. Since the beginning of 2023, at least seven states have passed similar measures to Daniel’s Law. None of those, however, include the monetary penalty that gets lawyers interested in pursuing enforcement. “Step one is, win here,” Adkisson says, referring to New Jersey.

After the dispiriting start, he thinks momentum is swinging in Atlas’ favor. In August, the startup raised its first funding since 2021, about $8.5 million in litigation financing and equity investment.

Adkisson says compliance with more recent removal requests is increasing, and a few defendants are settling. In September, a state judge approved the first deal, in which NJParcels.com owner Areaplot admitted to 28,230 violations of Daniel’s Law and accepted five years of oversight. PogoData, a revenue-less website that had made property owners’ names searchable, settled this month. Bill Wetzel, its 79-year-old hobbyist owner, would owe $20 million for breaching the deal but he says he supports removing names of officers in harm’s way.

Then again, against the better-funded defendants with more at stake and unpredictable courts, Adkisson recognizes that a broader victory for privacy and Atlas is uncertain. In telling his story, he wants to ensure there’s opportunity for people to learn from any missteps if Atlas fails. But his advisers, including former boss Steve Avalone, don’t expect Adkisson to give up easy. They describe him as the ultimate gadfly—unorthodox, tenacious, and wealthy. “There’s few people with that horsepower and that charisma,” Avalone says.

For his part, Adkisson says he’s driven by a sad truth. The tragedies, fueled in part by contact information online, that judge Salas wanted to bring an end to after her son’s murder haven’t stopped. Last October, a man allegedly shot to death Andrew Wilkinson, a Maryland state judge, who hours earlier had denied the man custody of his child. The National Center for State Courts said it was the third targeted shooting of a state judge in as many years.

Maryland investigators say they believe the now-deceased assailant found Wilkinson’s address online, though they never recovered definitive evidence beyond a search query for the judge’s name. When he heard about the murder the day it happened, Adkisson immediately googled Wilkinson. His address was right there.

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melkyt · 1 year ago

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Modern BG3 Idea

Astarion: Lawyer Intern in a super prestigious law firm, functions on coffee and spite. He has never known sleep and doubts he will ever. Because of this, when research for a big case is thrown his way, he doubles down, gets even more exhausted, and messes up.

Gale: Self-proclaimed scholar that "dropped out" aka kicked out of a quite prestigious college just before completing his degree after a bad time with a Proffesor who was his mentor since he was a kid. Now he is not sure what to do, is depressed and scrambling to get his life together.

Wyll: He is part of a corps that travels the world and helps people anywhere they can. His father wanted him to join the military, and Wyll was well on his way but got involved with some unsavory people and landed in legal trouble. His volunteer work, while something he would anyway, is also the price he pays for a certain youthful indiscretion

Mizora: a lawyer working for Zariel, who runs at least half the city. With high ambitions, she is always looking for a way to get an edge in any way possible as long as it is within the law. Though sometimes the law can be changed in her favor, and she makes full use of it. Always sends Wyll obscure asks and sends him on errands to strengthen her position.

Raphael: the rich kid who does not get along with his family but uses the wealth and pleasure such connections provide to the fullest. He is disatisfied that his father is content to sit back and not get involved in controlling the city. Mephisto is the oldest and most influential party in the city with a net of information brokers that he does nothing with as far as Raphael can see. So Raph breaks away to start his own dealings in the business of information and is quite successful but is still insecure that his success is only because of his father.

Karlach: is an orphan who grew up in the lower city. She got involved with one of the three criminal organizations in the area as that's just what one did. She got close to the leader of one of them until he double crossed her and dumped a lot of his debt onto her. Debt that she is still paying off by playing mercenary and killer to Zariel. It's been a decade, and she is almost out. at least she hopes so.

Halsin runs a clinic in the lower city where he takes in any and all orphans, homeless and people just down on their luck and gives them odd jobs. His place is considered a neutral ground in the chaos of those streets. This started when he saw someone very important to him die, and there was nothing he could do then. So he promised never to let anything like that happen again. It is wildly known that if you need help, Halsin will help regardless of who or what you are within the intricate power struggles of the city. Though the man does have his limits, and nobody is looking forward to finding them. He discovers a plot that would directly affect the sabctuary he has built and take it on himself to discover what's happening.

Kagha takes over. She is an ambitious woman but with not as much vision for good as Halsin. She has for a long time wanted to make the clinic more official and within the lines of the law but that means anybody who is not 100% legal due to being a refugee or any other reason, will have to leave and many of them will die because of her actions.

Zevlor is a veteran who volunteers around the city. He was once part of the same corp as Wyll under Zariel but saw how corrupt it could get and broke away, which destroyed his life. Anyone spurned by Zariel will not have much of a life and be forced on the streets. He regrets that some of his team followed him in the choice. They are hiding out in the city, hoping to bring down Zariel, and all of them can't legally be in the country as they joined from all different places.

Shadowheart just finished studying to be a doctor to set up an operation within the biggest hospital in the city by order of her cult leader. This cult is small in the city but wants to expand, so they have been working on putting their members in positions of power. She has a mission and will let nothing stop her, and her actions while not getting her caught are on someone's radar. Not to mention now that she is in the outside world experiencing how everyone else lives, she is starting to get some doubts.

Lae'zel - She is a soldier who came to the city from the same place as Shadowheart. Her organization fights to prevent cults from starting up and succeeding. This is painted as a noble pursuit. Yet the reason is that their leader wants to wipe out any and all competition. Lae'zel believes in her cause and seeks to root out the conspiracy. So she gets a job as a security guard in the hospital where Shadowheart is working.

Now to the criminal element 😎

Gortash: Weapons dealer for every organization in the city. His public company has defense contracts and a myriad of production dealings that focus on innovation and war. On the other side he provides arms and men for the other two factions.

Orin has only recently taken over as leader of a vast network of assassins and killers for hire after the very unfortunate murder of her sibling. Everyone knows she killed them as she is quite proud of the kill. Under her leadership, the organization is slowly collapsing, and she is scrambling to keep it together before someone turns on her in the same way that she did on the previous lead. Her father, who had supported the organization, turns away as soon as things start collapsing, as he has no interest in failure.

Ketheric is old money that secrety ran the city, was raising his daughter to take over as he tired but she had run away after cracking from the pressure. News eventually reached him that she had died. So he gave up for the most part in everything. This opened the way for Orin and Gortash to rise up and fill the gaps. Before Orin's sibling died, they were angling to take over as Ketheric's successor and were very close. Gortash tried to pick the pieces, but Ketheric hates the young man and does not see him as someone who can lead. Tensions are getting high between the three factions.

---

That is the scene for this AU.

Now Astarion as the linchpin to get this whole thing started. The case he fumbles with due to exhaustion is something Raphael's father had set in motion decades ago under the noses of everyone. He was biding his time while everyone fought within the city to use his net to take over. That seemingly falls through and leaves a vaccum in the powerstruggle over the city. This empty space can be filled and give the winning faction power enough to control everything.

Astarion runs away as the information he holds is valuable enough to kill and while he took alot of abuse from the higher ups, he would rather not die. He has nowhere to go but decides the lower city is the easiest place to dissapear so he comes to Halsin's clinic.

Now say the Durge survived the murder attempt by Orin thnks to Halsin and is an amnesiac doing odd jobs around the area. Living their best relaxed life away from the drama of their old life.

They are cleaning up at night in the clinic and Astarion runs into the room in a panic. Assassins/Hunters after him. He is out of breath, clutching the information from the case to his chest.

The Durge acts on instinct, not to protect but to kill. At the end they are standing in the middle of the clinic covered in blood and terrified of the memories that suddenly break through the blood fog.

Astarion just a tad terrified of them but also grateful he found a place to rest for the time being.

The Durge cleans everything up on autopilot, and then they talk. So starts their journey navigating all the factions in the city while trying not to die xd.

(I may write this as my next fic, hehe)

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 au #astarion #astarion/durge #gale #wyll ravengard #shadowheart #karlach #halsin bg3 #lae'zel #mizora bg3 #raphael bg3 #bg3 zevlor

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