#but that's not the POINT the POINT is the HEIST

[apomaro-mellow]

Corroded Coffin ransoms Steve 3

Part 2

They left Steve alone again, this time making sure he was tied up to the chair tight before leaving him in the basement. They conferenced in the living room again. By now, the sky was beginning to get dark. Winter in Hawkins could be such a bummer.

"So his parents won't be back in town a while. They'd still call to check on him, though, right?", Doug asked.

"He's right", Jeff said. "We can sneak back into his house, change the voicemail to our demands. The moment they call, they'll get it and we get our money."

Eddie rubbed his face. "Somethin' tells me it won't be that easy, gents."

"One of your famous 'feelings'?", Gareth rolled his eyes.

"Who leaves their golden child during the holidays? And when was the last time you actually saw either of his parents?", Eddie asked.

Living in a small town, you saw everybody at least once a week. Either at the grocery store, the gas station, at Benny's. It was hard to avoid people in this town unless they were a literal shut in.

"My mom had some things to say about her from that lady's luncheon the church threw", Jeff said.

"Dude, that was back in April", Gareth said, suddenly shooting to his feet. "Shit! What if he's really worthless?! We just kidnapped Harrington for nothing!"

"We let him go?", Doug suggested.

"So he can go and tell his jock friends what we did? They'll literally murder us!", Gareth shouted.

Eddie stood up and began pacing about as the others argued, all making valid points. They couldn't just let Steve go. Not only were they still penniless, Steve would probably go straight to the cops, or worse the basketball team. Getting arrested was a hundred times better than murdered by mob. It felt like they had nowhere to go.

"Shut up! Just shut the hell up!", Eddie shouted, bringing them all to silence. He took a deep breath. "Harrington said he can get us the money. I say we let him try."

"The moment we let him go, he's gonna make a run for it!", Gareth threw his hands up.

"Then we put a leash on him!", Eddie's hands also went into the air.

"If we don't do this right, we're all going to jail. Or worse", Jeff said.

Eddie opened his mouth only to freeze when he had an epiphany. Yes....yeah a way to kill two birds with one stone. He started mumbling to himself, pacing about the living room again before clapping his hands together.

"I got it!"

-----------------------

Steve could hear them shouting above, but couldn't make out every word. Not like he needed to anyway, he could figure out what they were talking about. It had to be him. Maybe it finally sunk in that they couldn't get a ransom from his parents and they were brainstorming a new plan. He hoped in involved letting him go.

His stomach growled.

Or letting him eat. God, it must've been hours since they grabbed him.

He heard it get quiet upstairs and that made the gurgling in his stomach even louder. Then there were footsteps coming down the stairs. This time it was just Munson. He pulled up a chair and turned it backwards before sitting across from Steve, crossing his arms over the back of it.

"You said you can get us five Gs."

"Yeah? Yeah, I can do that", Steve said.

"Elaborate, Harrington."

"My folks keep a lot of expensive stuff. And believe it or not, they let me have a key to the house", Steve grinned cheekily.

"And you'd let us just, what? Ransack your house?"

Steve shrugged. "It's not my stuff. Why should I care?"

Eddie snorted. "And you wouldn't even think of calling the police and telling them exactly who took all that valuable stuff."

"You don't trust me?"

"I don't KNOW you. But I got a way you can win some points with us."

"...What?"

"You've got all the leverage right now, Harrington. But if you commit a crime, then we'd have something on you. And, we'd know you could pull off this little heist."

Steve opened his mouth only to be interrupted by his stomach again. Eddie raised a brow. "Coach got you on a diet or something?"

"You guys kidnapped me hours again, asshole. You don't expect me to rob a bank on an empty stomach, right?"

"Not a bank, Stevie", Eddie smirked.

------------------------

"Were the dumbbells really necessary?", Steve asked.

"We could always get you a collar and leash", Eddie said.

Before untying him completely, they had used rope to tie two fifty pound weights to his ankles. Getting up the basement stairs had been a trial. He'd been tossed a box of cereal as Eddie explained the plan, the others glaring at him the whole time.

Steve knew why they disliked him. It didn't make it any better though. After he agreed to the plan, Steve was corralled into the van, still tied to the weights. The five of them drove through town until they got to the convenience store. It was just past five pm, but with the cold and darkness, most people were holed up in their houses by now.

"You ready for this, Harrington?", Jeff asked.

"As soon as you get these weights off, yeah."

"Are we really sure about this?", Gareth asked. He hadn't stopped giving Steve the stink eye this whole time.

"Don't got much of a choice", Eddie sighed from behind the wheel. He got out and released Steve from the weights. "If my boys get any inkling about you running, Jeff'll hit you with the van again."

Steve didn't need a reminder for how that felt, but played it off, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, let's just do this already."

Part 4

Taglist

@tinyplanet95 @dammitjim02 @chaotic-waffle @missarte-beltane @im-sam-fucking-winchester @persnicketysquares @estrellami-1 @spookycollectorcandies @chocolateraccoonlights @exasperatedsighohmy

[dollyzdaydreamz]

Arthur Morgan x Bounty Hunter! Reader

Ghosts of the West

Description: Ghosts don’t hunt outlaws. At least that’s what Arthur Morgan tells himself. But after a home robbery turns up a strange cigarette card, and an old man weaves the tale of a faceless bounty hunter with a vendetta, he starts to feel eyes on him. Not Pinkertons. Not rival gangs. Something, or someone else. Warnings: mentions of death, guns, vengeance, reader stalks Arthur for a bit `(*>﹏<*)′ (Fluff, Action, Mystery)

The scent of gunpowder, tobacco, and rotting wood clung to the dingy sheriff’s office as you stepped inside from the downpour, dragging your latest bounty behind you. Just a thief, nothing special, someone you caught only for some extra cash. You’d been saving up, hoping to buy a nice plot of land someday, maybe even start your own ranch. But that dream was still a long way off, and with the age of outlaws coming to an end, you had to make do with catching petty criminals for now.

The man groaned, barely conscious, his lip split and one eye swollen shut from your scuffle. You shoved him forward, letting him collapse against the desk with a dull thud.

“Got your man.”

Blackwater’s Sheriff Malloy barely looked up from his paperwork. He’d grown used to the sight of you hauling in criminals. Instead, it was his deputy who let out a low whistle, eyeing the battered outlaw.

“Fast work as always,” he drawled, heaving the man up and dragging him toward an empty cell.

You tossed the bounty notice onto the desk. “Found him holed up in a cave not too far from here. Put up quite a fight.”

“I can tell,” Malloy chuckled, giving the bounty’s face a pointed look. As he counted out your reward, your eyes wandered to the posters on the walls. A new one had been pinned up since your last visit, and the price stamped in bold ink made you pause. Five thousand dollars? That’s the highest sum you’d seen in a while.

You stepped closer, reading the name.

Arthur Morgan.

The description detailed a hardened outlaw, dangerous, ruthless, armed. Do not approach.

A chuckle rang out from the back of the room. “You ain’t thinkin’ of goin’ after that one, are ya?”

A small group of bounty hunters lounged near the holding cells, their grizzled faces twisted in amusement. Carl, a skilled redhead you recognized, leaned forward, his chair creaking under his weight.

“Lemme tell you somethin’,” he drawled, tipping his hat up. “That Morgan ain't just some drunk you can knock out in a fistfight. Have you ever heard of the Van der Linde boys?”

You’d heard plenty. More than that, you’d been there when their infamous boat heist fell apart in Blackwater.

But you shrugged. “No, can’t say that I have.”

Coyle hummed. “Well, he’s one of ‘em.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “They’re a goddamn storm. And you don’t take down a storm. You just pray it don’t tear through your town like it did here.”

A storm indeed. You’d boarded that boat, posing as an aristocrat, expecting thieves, maybe pickpockets, some tricksters at worst. But what unfolded had been uglier than anything you imagined. You’d seen Dutch Van der Linde and Hosea Matthews, men whose faces adorned every wanted poster in the state. Yet, you didn’t recall seeing an Arthur Morgan that night.

“I see,” you murmured, glancing at the sheriff. How long does it take to count a stack of bills?

Another bounty hunter snorted. “You remember what happened to Big Joe when he tried takin’ Morgan in? Found more bullet holes in him than a target at a shootin’ range.”

You felt your fingers twitch at your side, but kept your face neutral. The way they talked about him, as if he were some unstoppable force, only made you more excited. You loved a challenge.

Coyle leaned in slightly. “It’s gon’ take more than one woman to bring him in.”

That made something twist in your gut, spite, maybe. Or something deeper. You needed something, anything, to take your mind off your lifelong quest for vengeance. A quest you’d prolonged so much, you secretly wondered how empty you’d feel if you did finally catch the bastards who killed your parents all those years ago.

Every whisper about the Van der Linde gang wove Arthur Morgan deeper into legend, just as every cigarette card and hushed tale among outlaws wove you into myth. You knew how to hunt men. But something told you Arthur Morgan wasn’t just another man.

Still, you tore the poster from the wall, much to the bounty hunters’ bewilderment. __

Weeks passed, filled with dead-end leads and half-truths from townsfolk too scared or too indifferent to talk. But eventually, your search led you to a muddy little town in New Hanover.

Valentine.

The streets were loud and filthy, a blur of cattle, wagons, and drunk cowboys. You sat on a bench outside the saloon, cigarette in hand, trying to blend in as you scanned the crowd.

And then, you saw him.

Arthur Morgan.

He stood by the general store, speaking with a few men. One, in particular, you recognized, a younger man with long dark hair and small, deep-set eyes and a freshly scarred face. 

That was the man you shot at Blackwater. You’d aimed for his arm, hoping to bring someone in that night, but the slippery bastard had gotten away.

At least I didn’t kill him, you thought to yourself with a shrug. 

You turned your gaze back to Arthur. He was built like a mountain, broad-shouldered and towering over the men in the street. His hat sat low over his sharp blue eyes, stubble lining his jaw, his coat heavy with dust and experience.

That’s going to be a problem.

You’d dealt with big men before, but this one seemed to be the size of a tractor. If you were going to do this, you’d have to be smarter than him, go for an even more unconventional route than you were used to. 

As you tried to think of a plan, Arthur’s group made their way toward the saloon. You forced yourself to stay calm, taking a long drag from your cigarette.

As he reached the doors, he paused. Then, to your surprise, he tipped his hat and motioned for you to enter first.

“Ma’am,” he said with a polite grin, an almost boyish glint in his eyes.

Damn, why does he have to be so charming?

You nodded, ignoring the sudden warmth in your cheeks, and pushed the doors open.

Inside, you kept your distance, watching from a round table as he played poker and drank whiskey, laughing with the ease of a man without a bounty on his head. He didn’t seem like a ruthless killer. He didn’t even seem concerned about his wanted status.

And you couldn’t look away.

This was the first time you’d ever put your hunt for your parents’ killers on hold. The first time you’d truly fixated on something else.

Was it because the others said you couldn’t do it? Because you wanted to prove them wrong?

Or because Arthur Morgan was more than ink on a poster?

Outside, you watched as he steadied an older man who nearly fell off the saloon steps. Later, you saw him give a few coins to a disabled veteran, crouching down to speak to him rather than just tossing money his way.

A few days later, you caught him outside the church, sketching in a leather-bound journal, his pencil moving with thoughtful precision.

What kind of outlaw is this guy?

You had spent your life painting bounty targets as nothing more than devils in human skin. But Arthur Morgan? He was complicating that picture.

Maybe that picture you painted was a way for you to desensitize yourself, put a barrier between you and your parents' killers, a barrier between you and the other bounty’s you’d left to the ‘mercy of the law.’ 

You hated to prove yourself wrong.

The thought made you frown as you kicked the dirt under your feet dejectedly. You didn’t remember much of your parents, but you sure as hell inherited someone’s stubbornness. 

As you made your way toward your horse, you realized that kindness could be a weapon, too. Maybe that was his tactic, make people like him, make them trust him, then strike.

Maybe that was something you could use against him. But you had to be careful. If you made one wrong move, he’d be on you before you could blink. So you waited, waited for him to be vulnerable, to slip up. 

But the longer you watched him, the more you wondered if you were the one slipping. __

The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood beneath Arthur’s boots. He moved carefully, sifting through drawers and cabinets, looking for anything of value. Hosea was in the other room, no doubt pocketing whatever trinkets he deemed worth taking. The fence’s cousin by marriage had more than enough to spare, and Arthur wasn’t one to pass up easy money.

His fingers brushed against a small wooden box. He opened the latch with his knife, expecting to find jewelry or perhaps a stash of cash, but instead, he found a box of ammunition and something that made him pause.

A cigarette card.

Arthur turned it over in his hands, eyes narrowing. The illustration was unlike any other card he’d seen before. It wasn’t some baseball player or famous gunslinger. Wasn’t comical or colorful. No, this was different. The picture illustrated a woman, at least he thought it was a woman. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed most of her face, and a bandana covered the lower half. In one hand, she held a shotgun, and in the other, a bloodied handful of crumpled wanted posters.

Something about it sent a strange chill down his spine. He’d dealt with plenty of bounty hunters in his time, most were mediocre, but there was something almost...ominous about this one. The way she stood, like she wasn’t just hunting men, she was ending them.

“Find anything?” Hosea’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Arthur glanced up, tucking the card into his satchel. “Nah, nothin’ special. Let’s get goin’.”

Later that evening, Arthur chose to camp out in the fields near Emerald Ranch. He wasn’t ready to head back to camp just yet, and he figured some time alone wouldn’t hurt. The fire crackled softly, casting long shadows across the grass as he leaned back against a tree, his hat pulled low over his eyes.

The quiet didn’t last long.

Footsteps crunched against the dirt, slow and deliberate. Arthur’s hand drifted toward his gun, but he didn’t move just yet.

“Evenin’,” came a voice, gravelly, worn with age.

Arthur lifted his head slightly. An older man stood a few feet away, rifle slung over his back. He didn’t look like much of a threat, but Arthur had learned never to take chances.

“Got any spare bullets?” the man asked. “Plannin’ on hunting at dawn, but some crook made off with my supplies.”

Arthur studied him for a moment before sighing, reaching into his satchel. “Yeah, I got a few.” 

He pulled out some cartridges, passing them over. As he did, the cigarette card he’d found earlier slipped slightly from his bag, catching the dim light of the fire.

The old man’s expression shifted.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the card.

Arthur frowned. “Somethin’ wrong?”

The man shook his head, but there was something almost distant in his gaze. “Ain’t seen one of those in a while.” He exhaled sharply, then looked at Arthur, his expression solemn. “You ever hear the story of the girl in that picture?”

Arthur glanced at the card, then back at the man, “Can’t say I have.”

The old man sat down across from him, warming his hands by the fire. “They say she’s a ghost,” he began. “A shadow that moves through the West, huntin’ down outlaws like a damn reaper. Young woman lost her folks to bandits when she was just a child. Made it her mission to bring every last savage outlaw to justice.”

Arthur remained silent, listening.

“No one really knows who she is. Never shows her face, not even to the lawmen she works with. Some say she ain’t real at all, just a myth made up by the government to scare off troublemakers.” 

Arthur huffed, not fully buying the story just yet, “And what do you think?” 

The man leaned in slightly, a grave look shadowing his face, “I tell you, boy, I seen things. Heard stories from young men who swore they felt her eyes on ‘em before they ever saw her. Like a wolf trackin’ its prey.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened slightly. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling lately, like he was being watched. But not by the Pinkertons. 

The old man chuckled, shaking his head. “But I don’t reckon it matters much to a man like you. Just thought it was funny, seein’ that card.”

Arthur tutted, leaning back. “You believe in ghosts, old man?”

The man shrugged, “Don’t have to. Outlaws should, but it’s a good thing we ain't them.”

With that, he stood, tipping his hat before walking off into the night, leaving Arthur alone with the crackling fire and the cigarette card still clutched in his fingers.

He turned it over once more, staring at the faceless woman holding the wanted posters.

For the first time in a long while, something like unease settled in his gut.

And no matter how he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, that damn ghost was already watching him. __

After deducting that the outlaw has a blatantly obvious soft spot for those in need, you come up with a plan to follow him one day when he’s out of town, take an alternate path to get ahead of him, and pretend you got bitten by a snake. 

The act worked like a charm.

Arthur came stomping through the underbrush with a mix of wariness and concern etched on his face, his hand resting near his holster as he approached. You lay curled on the ground, clutching your leg, face twisted in pain.

“Ma’am?” His voice was gruff but cautious. “You alright?”

You gave a sharp, shuddering breath, “Damn snake…bit me”

He sighed, already moving to crouch beside you.

 “Damn it. Hold still, let me-” he faltered once he came into proximity of your face, 

“Hey, I know you-”

Before he could finish, you struck.

Your hand shot out, jamming a needle into his neck. His eyes widened in surprise, mouth opening, probably to curse you to hell, but the tranquilizer worked fast. He slumped, and you caught him just before he hit the dirt.

“That was almost too easy,” you murmured, shaking your head as you adjusted his weight. 

You had gotten the vial of tranquilizer from a native you had helped out not too long ago, hunted down some pathetic excuse of a man who’d stolen his tribe's supplies. He said it was supposed to be used on bears, but hell, Arthur was close enough to one.  __

When Arthur woke up, he was draped over the back of your horse like a sack of potatoes. His head throbbed, his limbs were heavy, and, most notably, he was in iron. Thick chains bound his wrists, making movement difficult.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, lifting his head groggily.

“Oh, good, you’re up.” Your voice was annoyingly cheerful. You couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at your new accomplishment. 

Arthur blinked, trying to focus on you as you guided the horse down a winding trail. “What the hell happened?”

“You got caught.”

“By you?” He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, that don’t seem right.”

You threw a glance over your shoulder, “I gotta say, I’m a little disappointed. I expected a fight. But no, you just helped me like some big dumb do-gooder. Real shame.”

Arthur grunted, rolling onto his side as best he could. “I don’t make a habit of leavin’ folk for dead. Thought you might be decent.”

“That was your first mistake” You snorted, as you dismounted your horse to pause for a stretch, it was going to be a long ride back to Blackwater.

__

Hours passed, the sun dipping lower in the sky. Eventually, you pulled into a tiny, dusty town with nothing but a rundown store and a few scattered homes. You struggled but managed to get him off the horse and onto a small field of grass near the store. Arthur figured this was his chance, you’d have to leave him tied up outside while you got yourself a meal. Maybe he could get free. Maybe some idiot drunk would take pity and cut him loose.

But no.

When you came back out, you were holding a couple cans of food.

Arthur raised a brow.

“Figured I’d need you alive to collect my money,” you teased, grabbing a few metal plates from your satchel and setting them down in the grass before untying him just enough to help him sit upright.

Arthur shifted, watching as you created a fire and roasted a few sticks of meat beside him with an easy air. 

You nudged the food toward him, but he made no move toward it.

You laughed, “Right, wouldn’t do for a terrifying outlaw such as yourself to be fed by a woman.”

Silence stretched between you, save for the distant hum of insects and the crackle of the campfire. Eventually, Arthur studied you properly now that he wasn’t under the influence of a sedative. 

Your face was out, bandana sitting around your neck, and his brows furrowed as he observed the youth in your face. His gaze wandered to the rifle strapped to your saddle, the knives at your belt, the confidence in your posture,

“I’ve seen you on them cigarette cards…heard horror stories,” he chuckled, before craning his head, “But you sure as hell don’t look the part, could mistake you for a school-girl.” 

You huffed, “If that’s your way of trying to butter me up, it ain't working”

“Clearly,” Arthur scoffed, looking at his bound wrists before leaning back to watch the fire flicker. 

You give him a sideways glance, “I could say the same about you.” 

Arthur scoffed, “What, I look like a schoolgirl too?” 

“No, you brute,” you chuckled, “I mean, you look like a killer, but you sure as hell don’t act like one.”

He tutted, “You don’t know me then.” “You sure about that?” you chuckled, “I’ve been following you around for weeks now Mr. Morgan. Forgive me if I’m making a quick judgement but, whenever I see you, you're always...helping people.” 

Arthur shifted, brushing you off as a light flush dusted his cheeks, “Well, I was just actin’...didn’t want folk to start getting all suspicious.” 

“Sure,” you rolled your eyes, taking another bite of food.

“My gang, we ain’t just shootin’ folks for fun. We steal from the rich, give to the poor. Ain’t that worth something?”

You arched a brow, “Maybe.” 

“So why capture me, then?”

You suppressed a smile, “Sport, I guess.”

Arthur’s gaze flicked to you sharply, “Sport?”

You nodded, picking at your food, feeling curiosity get the better of you, “So why do you…re-distribute money, as you like to call it?” 

Arthur tilted his head before narrowing his eyes, “Sport, I guess.” You huffed, “Well, I do all this give myself some…purpose I suppose,” you tapped your spoon against your plate absentmindedly, “sometimes, I guess it’s to distract myself from all that’s happened.” 

“I get that,” He mumbled quietly. 

You paused, “You do?” 

“Sure,” he sighed, staring into the campfire with an almost solemn look, “...My mama died when I was young, and my daddy-well I watched him die, was hung by a few lawmen.”

You were speechless, not expecting him to open up.

“Dutch and Hosea, they found me afterwards. Taught me how to read and write, taught me a few other things too,” he huffed with a shake of his head. “I bet,” you chuckled, “you must be grateful.” 

“Yeah, but recently I’ve been…” he cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably, “seein' things a bit differently. Wondering if what we’re doing is…right.” “Why didn’t you leave?” you asked.

“Loyalty, I suppose.” He sighed, before chuckling bitterly, “That or sheer stupidity.” 

You said nothing, suddenly feeling sympathetic. One thing you’ve learned within the past couple of weeks is that the world isn’t divided into just good and evil. The lawmen were just as crooked as some of the outlaws that roamed this country. And well, the outlaws might've had their reasons.

You certainly weren’t an angel, and sometimes, you questioned if what you did was right. 

In a way, the two of you weren’t as different as you had thought. 

“It’s funny how that works,” you muttered.

“What is?” he asked. 

“Your father died at the hands of the law, so you became an outlaw,” you mused, tossing your plate aside as you shifted to sit more comfortably, “my parents were killed by outlaws, so I became a bounty hunter. Yet, here we are.” 

Arthur chuckled softly, shaking his head as he looked up at the sky, “A damn comedy.” 

The sun was long gone by the time you stood, brushing dust off your black dress. Arthur watched as you moved toward him, expecting you to tighten his restraints again. Instead, he heard the unmistakable click of iron coming undone. 

He blinked, “What the hell?”

You straightened with a tired sigh, slipping the cuffs off him entirely. “You’re free to go.”

Arthur stared at you, frowning in suspicion, “This a trick?”

You snorted, “No more tricks.” 

After spending enough time with the outlaw, you decided there are others more deserving of that jail cell. From observing his behavior back in Valentine and listening to him here, you guessed he’d eventually leave that lunatic Van der Linde at some point.  

“You sure about this? Five thousand dollars would tempt me, I'd turn myself in if I could.” he smirked, rubbing at his wrists.

“I’m sure you would,” You waved him off, “but taking down the big bad Arthur Morgan? That’s enough for me.” 

Arthur let out a huff, “You are one odd woman.”

“Yeah, yeah." You mounted your horse, lifting your bandana over the bottom half of your face, before looking down at him, "You stay out of trouble, Mr. Morgan.” You warned with a pointer finger.

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, a sarcastic grin tugging at his lips.

Arthur watched as you rode off into the night without so much as a glance back. 

He exhaled, shaking his head,

Damn odd girl.

And yet, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever see you again. As you approached Blackwater, you thought back to what he said, his story, his thoughts, his doubts. He was just as much a confused soul as you were. You huffed, finding the whole ordeal ridiculous but amusing nonetheless, I guess outlaws and bounty hunters aren’t so different. After all, you were both ghosts of the west.

thank yew for reading *: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:* if this gets enough likes, i might make a part two :) feel free to send in requests :3

P.S: part 3 of 'Hell of a Life' is on hold because I'm stuck on ideas and i dont like writing purely for the sake of getting it done.

[prettygirl444sblog]

Storytime of when i shifted to the wrong reality

Hi!! Hope you’re all doing super well!

Disclaimer: this shift happened about a year and a half ago, so my memory is a little fuzzy—but let me tell you, it was WILD.

Basically, I went to sleep affirming that I would shift, and at some point, I became lucid in my dream.

From there, I must have started thinking about another place instead of my DR… which just happened to be Money Heist / La Casa de Papel (because of course, I had just binge-watched it). And guess what? I shifted there. In the middle of the freaking heist.

Since I didn’t script anything and so i didnt even know what i wanted, I ended up as one of the hostages. But don’t worry, I didn’t see or hear anything traumatic—just a whole lot of chaos. I was there for about 30 minutes, absolutely shook at what was happening around me.

The “funny” part is that I didn’t even realize I had shifted until one of the “criminals” came up to talk to me. Thats how natural AND real it felt. That’s when I used my safeword (the same one I had chosen for my actual DR) and shifted back.

Moral of the story: if you shift, you WILL feel like you’re actually part of that reality (because you already exist there), whether you meant to be there or not.

Thats all guys!!! Hope you enjoyed this short storytime and somehow it motivated you!

[jerich0two]

Heard he was part of the mob in his prime...

Bonus monochrome newspapery version!

Maybe -- just maybe! -- this is my version of Overlord Angel.

[skyrigel]

Me when I consume media with a stabbing knowledge that I'll never experience anything as mortifying, beautiful and agonizing as this, with my hands tainted my brain rotted my heart overwhelmed and for my soul to be forever grotesquely haunted ( affectionately )

[polarisbear]

more dweebs (Very detailed image description below.)

a drawing of grian, ethoslab, tangotek, and smallishbeans. grian is in his season 10 fishing skin and the rest are in different outfits referencing their base themes.

grian is in his fishing skin looking very tired with his fishing rod swung over his shoulder and an ear pierced with a brassy fish hook. he’s a cod hybrid with fin-ears and a stubby tail. behind him blue snail is munching on some leaves.

etho is posing with a neck sheepishly behind his neck and the other resting on his bag. he’s in the postal uniform polo with a green, canadian maple-themed yukata loosely worn and slipping off his shoulder. he has fingerless gloves on under. he is wearing dark red pleated pants and light green heeled crocs. he has a black and red messenger bag with a trellis motif. etho is an arctic fox hybrid with brown legs and streaks through his hair. doodles below show what his paws look like under the crocs and one shows him posing with a note saying “ties up sleeves.” above him another note reads “streaks bc his winter coat is shedding.”

tango is posing confidently with a wrench. he is in the postal uniform polo, with chunky brown and orange gloves and boots, topped off with red, pinstriped overalls. one strap is not around his shoulder, and on the belt around the overalls they carry a small bag, a screwdriver, and a vial of redstone. he has on brown goggles with blue lenses. tango has fire for hair and pointed ears. above him there’s a doodle of the messenger bag that’s secured on his back. it shows how the orange straps tuck over the whole outfit and lead to a dark red and pinstripe blue bag with cog detailing.

joel is giving an indignant pose like he’s complaining. he is wearing a black undershirt that fades out into his light green claws, a pink kimono with only one sleeve of cherry blossom patterns, and a dark grey vest and cherry blossom-patterned obi tie it off. the vest has a cherry blossom crest on the back. joel also has on dark pink pants with a cherry blossom motif on the bottom and on his left arm there’s a bracer with a screen built in. crawling all over the undershirt there are cybernetic patterns connecting joel’s skin through to the undershirt. joel is a tanuki, hence why he has a leaf on his head. around joel are doodles showing the crest on the back of his vest and the pattern on the sleeve.

[shaykai]

Okay but hear me out, both Durge and Gortash looking at their first heist together as a test.

They have things to steal and messages to send, sure, but more than that, they’re testing each other.

Can the brute think - can the politician fight?

And at some point, they notice that the other is watching them and likely has been the entire time - and that in itself is a point earned

[yeonbam]

girl joke would've slayed in the acting/modelling industry if his father wasn't suffering from STEM superiority complex (which is why he thinks anything that's not becoming a doctor is a failure 💀)

remember when joke just freehanded at the modeling gig and gagged jack so hard

he invented joker to act out spontaneous and silly little roles every week as a treat and never got caught until he let himself be seen like... imagine if this psycho was given the training and environment for honing his skills in that sphere... he would end everyone.

[pinkyjulien]

Cyberpunk 2077 - V Story short presentation by Luke Poller

[snacobie]

Jem doodles from our sesh last night

[stromuprisahat]

Six of Crows- Chapter 27

Kaz is confronted about his straying from the plan.

Kaz obeys.

He doesn't have to explain himself further as a leader, yet a single sentence of insistence from Inej makes him reveal more.

I've been recently reminded of the term morality pet. While I enjoy his soft spot for Inej, I don't think this particular moment is suitable for supporting the rest of the group. They're literally on a roof of Fjerdan most guarded building, barefoot, poorly clothed, and the clock is ticking.

Yeah. their history should be longer than just a year or two.

And Jesper doesn't seem happy about being left out. :(

Can't wait for the enraged crowds yelling Kaz is an awful person for LYING to his people INCLUDING the woman he'll claim to have feelings for just because he's not ready to share his tragic backstory.

Or not. I keep forgetting this is a cool teen criminal, not a survivor of hundreds of years of extermination attempts with revolutionary tendencies. [End of bitter Darkling stan rant]

He's not afraid to admit a mistake, but he won't offer the truth.

[epicfirestormer]

[theirishconstellations]

Every time, I feel like my life is starting to work out and I start to feel the smallest feeling of general overarching happiness for my life I get the urge to re-read Art Heist, Baby! or Crimson Rivers, TCOPTP, or All The Young Dudes because I don't quite feel right if I'm not suffering and agonising over something.

what can I say, I need my heart ripped out and stomped on to feel okay :)

maybe that's just me 🤷‍♂️

[eyesore-boi]

CAPTAIN MAGNA

CAPTAIN MAGNA

CAPTAIN MAGNA

I've actually been on a pretty good art streak lately, all of which connecting to Markiplier in some way, huh...

....anyways DID SOMEONE SAY GIANT MUSCULAR WOMAN??? >:DD

But yeah, like everyone else I was gobsmacked when Mark oh so casually reveled that Captain Magnum had a great great granddaughter that was supposed to be in ISWM, but when I heard that I immediately knew i wanted to try and design her! Cause I have nothing else going on *shoves aside midterms* Nothing elseeeee :]]

Also originally I was just gonna leave it as a sketch and some doodles, but the more I drew her...the more I r e a l l y liked her design, so I knew I had to at least color it XD (possibly for future use who knowsss 👀👀)

I really like how this came together tho! Think I did well keeping Magnum's main traits but still wanted Magna to feel like her own person and not just girl Magnum, was fun figuring out her clothes, scars, keeping the log legs (that was always my favorite part of Magnum's design), and muscles ohohoho, all the while adding just a bit of futuristic touch!

Overall, I absolutely love her...and I love a woman who could crush my head between her thighs wHO SAID THAT-

Also bonus doodles below why not rmrmsbs

[six-of-cringe]

Something that is sad but also that I hugely appreciate about CK is that by the end, most of the systems that harmed the crows are still in place, but their relationships with themselves have grown and changed. I find this particularly interesting in the cases of Jesper and Wylan (shocking I know). Their identities still put them in danger of being exploited or harmed - Grisha indentures are still the norm in Kerch, and the auction scene made it very clear that if the Council knew Wylan's illiteracy was true, they would treat him much the same as his father did due to the culture surrounding productivity and ability. This might seem disheartening, but the hope lies in the shift in how these characters see themselves and their role in the world. By the end of the book, Jesper and Wylan are beginning to put away their internalized shame surrounding their identities. They may still have to hide who they are from the world to survive, but they're no longer hiding it from themselves - their true selves are no longer this crushing burden they have to turn away from to function. A general theme of the series is how, in accepting who they are and what has happened to them on a personal level, the crows place themselves in positions to make change on a systemic level - Inej and her ship, Nina and her mission, Kaz and his Barrel empire, Wylan and Jesper with their political, high-society empire. None of them are all the way there yet by the end - they're still healing, and both the loss of Matthias and the weight of those oppressive systems are going to weigh on them for a long time - but we get to see the very beginnings of that process. I'm going to bite someone.

[cinni-k]

I don't yet have the stamina to draw literally everyone so here's Poe and Daisy for some HEIST 2 FANART BABY!!!!!!!!!! HEIST 2!!!!!!!!