#but then john ends up taking the role more since. you know. the gang falls apart and javier loses his damn mind and leaves

[lieu-rey]

love your drawing an art by the way.

I think you should create John and Javier's kid

Just imagine bro.

THANK YOUU!! but bro imma be so real I saw this ask and the idea of them being parents was so preposterous to me I laughed for like three days straight. john and abigail were a mess, but abigail is a good mother and wanted the absolute best for jack and was essentially raising him on her own for the first four years of his life. if it weren't for her pushing john to get it together and be a good father, he wouldn't be the man that we see in rdr1.

so let's sit and discuss john and javier being parents. the question of who gave birth is an entirely different discussion but listen. imagine TWO parents who are already in a weird, toxic situationship HAVING A CHILD. i know javier was always kind to jack in canon, i dont think he'd actually take out his frustrations on his and johns child, but javiers priorities will likely be to the gang first and foremost, the way it was for john. if john and javier arent fighting half the time, neither of them are even giving the child attention they need. unlike with abigail and john, it only gets worse as they get closer to the demise of the gang, and then it's a question of who the child ends up going with: john as he goes to reunite with abigail and jack,,, or javier who ends up going back to mexico and becoming a tool for the government. there's actually alot of potential here for a fic but I'm no writer lmao

now, all that being said.... I did it. BCMEBDNDN

I used some random face merge app to merge john and javiers faces a couple times and then drew this man. what do you think his name would be?

[novaiya]

Of Cigars and Delicate Flowers - Dutch x Reader

Summary: Based on this request for @fandomhoesworld ; heyyyyy, I love your works, they're amazing 🥰 could you do a Dutch X badass reader where he gets captured and she comes to save him? It's okay if you don't want to, thanks 🤍

Words: 2,888

Tags: GN!Reader, Canon Typical Violence

A/N: This was a good practice for me for writing literally anyone else but Arthur. I need to keep expanding my horizons 😩 AO3 Link.

There was a reason Dutch almost never went out alone, staying mostly in camp and commanding the gang from the porch of his tent; His likeness - the slick-back, black hair, the carefully cut mustache, the black hat - was plastered all over the country, posters hanging in post offices, general stores, train stations and sheriff’s offices. It would be no time before someone recognized him if he decided to take a stroll into town or visit the local saloon, so more often than not, he stayed in camp, and everything that he needed was brought to him, like his cigars.

When it came to cigars, Dutch had a very specific taste; the size had to be just right, not too slender so it burned too hot too fast, and not too thick either so it was heavy and harsh. The notes played an important role too; he preferred the spicy flavor of coffee mixed with toasted nuts, though he didn’t mind the notes of cedar and vanilla from time to time. Due to the specifics, finding the right pack of cigars could be a hassle and a headache, so whenever he did find the right one, he made sure to stack up on them.

This time, unfortunately, Dutch had found himself in a new place with no reliable cigar shop and his own supply dwindling down. He’d been puffing on the same cigar for a few days now, hoping to prolong it for as long as possible, though he could already see the end of it. He was hoping to send one of the boys into town to check for him, but everybody was busy; Arthur was on one of his monthly hunting trips, Hosea and John were working on a job, and the rest of the men were out, scouting for any leads. That left just one option; going himself. He knew it could be dangerous and risky, but his need for nicotine was stronger than his rational thought.

“What are you thinking about, Dutch?” you asked when you walked past his tent, noticing his absent minded gaze.

“Hello there,” he said, his gaze shifting towards you, a smile on his lips. “Just thinking about going out.”

Your brows shot up upon hearing his words. The gang had just fled from the previous town on the account of robbing it blind, so all of you were trying to lay low, hoping to make as little noise as possible for the time being. Having Dutch go out was the last thing you needed.

“Out?” you repeated his word, trying to hide the worry in your voice. “What for?”

Dutch brought the cigar to his lips, the usually long stick now reduced to less than a third of its previous length. You watched him as he brought the cigar to his mouth, his lips enveloping and puffing on it before exhaling the smoke. “Unfortunately, I’m down to my last cigar. Need to pick up some more in town,” he said, making you shift your eyes back to his, “Wouldn’t hurt to stretch my legs either. I’m feeling like a prisoner stuck here.”

“Are you sure, Dutch?” you said, not hiding the worry in your voice any longer. “Perhaps I could go for you. It’s not safe for you to go right now since we just-“

“Nonsense!” Dutch interrupted you. “I wouldn’t dream of putting a delicate flower such as yourself in harm's way for me.”

‘Delicate flower?!’ you thought. ‘Since when do delicate flowers rob, kill and steal?’

You opened your mouth, hoping to change Dutch’s mind but you barely parted your lips before he raised his hand, saying, “I won’t hear it” squashing any argument you could have had.

You deflated before nodding your head, leaving Dutch to himself and continuing on to where you were going originally. Worry filled you as you continued on with your day. You’d hate for anything to happen to him; not only was he your leader who you believed in and looked up to, he was also someone you liked. It was hard not to fall for him; well-read, mannered, strong and sinfully attractive, you’ve fallen for him and his promises of a better life right away. You didn’t act on your feelings though, considering he was the leader and you were just one of the members, and a new one at that. So you retorted to watching from afar, and now you were watching him as he left the camp, ready to make the trek for some puny cigars.

Dutch could be unbelievably stubborn and uncooperative sometimes; It was dangerous for him to go out, especially on his own and especially when you could still be followed from the town you just escaped. And for what? Cigars? You shook your head as you continued with what you were doing, trying to keep yourself calm. It was Dutch you were talking about after all, your fearless leader, he knew what he was doing, right?

Dutch didn’t know what he was doing. He decided to go out after supper, when the sun had already set, but the ground was still warm from the day’s heat. He made his way into town at a trotting, leisurely pace, having no reason to hurry. The weather was cooler now and he took big gulps of it, a welcomed change to inhaling the campfire smoke and the scent of Pearson’s stew. He arrived into the town with no hiccups and found the store almost right away. The selection was vast, with cigars from Cuba, Dominican Republic and Mexico among others. Dutch looked like a kid in a candy shop as he studied every cigar, wanting to take them all but in the end, settled on a pack from Jamaica, its promise of a mild and sweet taste piquing his interest.

With his purchase in his saddle bag, Dutch made his way back to the camp in the same way he did into town, slow and steady, taking in the scenery and the weather. It’s not everyday that he ventured out, so he made sure that he enjoyed it. It was not long after he passed the border of the town that he heard a faint sound of hoofbeats behind him, getting closer and closer and multiplying in numbers.

“Nice night, ain’t it?” said a man who came up to Dutch, riding next to him on his right side. Not a second later, another man came up, riding on Dutch’s left.

Dutch kept one of his hands on the reins, his other (which was previously hanging on his side), icing closer to his holster.

“Yes, it sure is,” he said.

“Say what, mister,” the man on his right began, “Are you Dutch Van Der Linde?”

Without missing a beat, Dutch laughed, saying, “You must be mistaken, sir. My name is Robert Carnegie.”

Neither of the men riding next to him laughed. They looked at each other, before looking behind them, presumingly to communicate with the other. Dutch’s hand was now on his revolver, the cool metal sticking to his sweaty skin. He gripped the handle, and as soon as he did, a hit landed on the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

Your worries kept you through the night, not letting you go to bed and making you sit by the campfire instead, waiting for Dutch’s return. Each time you heard a snap of twigs or what sounded like horse’s hoofbeats, your head would snap towards the entrance of the camp, hoping that it was Dutch coming in, but alas, it wasn’t.

It was long after everyone fell asleep when you finally saw Count trot into the camp, his platinum coat standing out against the dark trees.

You smiled, jumping up from the log you’ve been sitting at, ready to welcome Dutch back, but that smile quickly fell when you noticed that Dutch wasn’t with him.

“Where’s Dutch?” you said when you came up to stand next to Count, talking to the horse as if he could understand you, and perhaps, he did. He snickered, shaking his head and kicking around with his legs.

You placed your hand on him, running it up and down his neck to calm him down. Something went wrong, terribly wrong. Despite not wanting to think of the worst, you understood that there was no other explanation of what could’ve happened; Dutch got captured.

Time was of the essence, so without talking to anyone else or even taking time to make a plan, you mounted your own horse and made your way to Count. Dutch might’ve called you a “delicate flower”, but you were anything but that. You survived on your own for years before falling with the gang, and you were going to show him just what this “delicate flower” was capable of on their own.

“C’mon, show me where Dutch is.”

Upon hearing his owner’s name, Count sprung to action and bolted out of the camp, giving you almost no time to follow after him.

It didn’t take you long to arrive at where Dutch was held. The burning campfire and the sound of chatter could be seen and heard yards away. You hitched the horses to one of the trees before continuing the rest of the way on foot.

“Robert Carnegie, he said his name was,” you heard a man say. “What kind of idiots does he think we are?” A flood of laughter followed, drowning out any other sound in the bushy forest. You took out your binoculars, trying to see where Dutch were. There he was, tied to one of the trees not far from the campfire. His hair was a mess, and you could see traces of blood on his lip and nose. You could feel your blood boil at the sight, and quickly put away your binoculars before continuing your way forward.

“I’d say we turn him in first thing in the morning,” another man said. “No reason to drag this out.”

“Sounds good to me. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

The men continued on with their conversations when you finally approached them as close as you could without alerting them of your presence. You could feel your heart beat wildly against your ribcage as you gathered your thoughts, thinking of what to do next. It would’ve been nice to have someone else with you right now, you thought, to act as a distraction. Perhaps you should’ve thought this one over more before springing into action. Too late now.

You peeked your head from where you were hidden behind a tree, trying to get a look at Dutch. He was conscious, thought quite, tied to a tree, his head hanging low. It was weird seeing Dutch like this, helpless and vulnerable.

You picked up a small pebble before throwing it into his general direction. Nothing. He didn’t even raise his head. You picked up another one, debating whether to throw it right at his face, before deciding to throw it next to his shoes. That got his attention. Tentatively, as to not alert the men around him, he raised his head, his eyes searching the woods before finally landing on your face. Your eyes met, and you could see a hint of smile appear on his lips as soon as they did. A smile of your own made it to your lips for a moment, before turning serious again, your mind going back to the job at hand. There would be time for smiles and hugs and laughter later. Using your hands, you motioned around, pointing first to him and then to the bounty hunters, before pointing to yourself and to your gun. Dutch made a small, almost unnoticeable motion with his head, indicating that he understood your plan.

“Gentlemen,” Dutch said, stopping the men in their conversation and making all of them turn to him. “Are you sure you want to do this? If I was you, I’d walk away now.”

One of the men snickered, looking at his friends before turning his attention back to Dutch.

“That’s big talk, considering you’re the one tied to a tree.”

“I’m giving you a chance, my friend,” Dutch said, sincerity painting his words.

The man’s face grew dark and somber as did the atmosphere around. He didn’t appreciate Dutch’s words, so with a hand itching closer to his revolver, he said, “Listen here, friend. The poster said to bring you dead or alive, so don’t think for a minute-“

Dutch’s face was painted red as you shot the man in-front of him, blowing his brains out and making his blood spurt everywhere, Dutch included.

The other men sprung to action immediately, their hands going for their firearms and shooting blindly into the dark woods. For a while, all that was heard was the sound of gunshots and occasional cries and screams. You alternated between hiding behind the trees and rocks, occasionally peeking out to shoot one of the men. At last, the fire seized and the forest was once again quiet, the only sound heard being the crackling of the fire.

You peeked your head out, making sure that you’ve got all of the men before finally leaving your hiding spot and making your way to Dutch in long, powerful strides. With shaking hands, you cut down the rope that was tying him to the tree. As soon as he was freed, he massaged his wrists and the imprints that the ropes left on them. He was about to open his mouth to talk, but you began first, your voice loud enough to startle him.

“What were you thinking?!” you screamed, getting up in his face. “Getting captured because of some god forsaken cigars?!”

Dutch tried to speak again, almost got the first word of his sentence in but you continued, not letting him speak.

“What if I didn’t get here? What if I couldn’t find you? For God’s sake Dutch Van Der Linde, why did you have to put yourself in such danger, all for some cigars?!”

To say that he was shocked was to say nothing. He did not expect such a reaction from you, for as long as he’d known you you’ve been cool, calm and collected, always using logic instead of feelings, never speaking in bursts of fury. The fact that you were so riled up, because of him, shocked him and left him practically speechless.

“I…” he began,” I didn’t know you cared so much.”

At this point, you have calmed down somewhat, so you heaved a sigh at his words, shaking your head a little before saying, “Of course I care, Dutch.”

“Why?”

His question was sharp and quick, and you were caught off guard by it, not having a moment to think of an answer or a lie.

“Well, I…” you said, awkwardly glancing around. “I care about you, Dutch.”

“You do, huh?” he said with a smirk.

“Of course I do, all of us in the gang do!” you try to backtrack on your statement, but it was too late, Dutch caught on. You tried not to pay attention to his smug smirk as you whistled for the horses. “Let’s get out of here before anyone else shows up.”

You were up on your horse almost as soon as she arrived, and waited for Dutch to get on his before moving. He mounted Count with a grunt, the injuries he sustained while being held captive making themselves known.

For a moment, you let yourself forget that it was Dutch Van Der Linde you were talking to, and said, “Who’s the delicate flower now?” As soon as the words escaped your mouth, you placed your hand over it, shocked at your own boldness. A silence followed, and you braved yourself for whatever would follow next. A laugh from Dutch startled you as much as his wrath would, and you didn’t dare to say anything until he spoke up, saying, “Perhaps I underestimated you.”

You couldn’t help but relax and smile upon hearing his words, his praise nourishing your soul and making you sit up straighter in your saddle.

“Thank you, Dutch.”

As the two of you made your way out of the forest, Dutch slowed down the pace of Count so he could be riding next to you.

He cleared his throat to get your attention, and when you turned towards him he said, “I should probably apologize for misjudging your potential.” He was silent for a few moments after saying that, before adding, “Perhaps a night on the town and a dinner are in order to make up for my mistakes?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his offer, considering the situation he got himself in was directly caused by going into town.

“After everything that has happened,” you said, squinting your eyes at him, “you still want to go into town?”

“Well, of course! I got you by my side,” he said. “With a capable and clever person as you, I feel comfortable going anywhere.”

His statement made a blush appear on your cheeks, which you hoped he didn’t see in the dark night. Even beaten and bruised, Dutch never lost his famous charm.

“You are something else Mr. Van Der Linde,” you said with a smile, shaking your head.

[a-libra-writes]

The Gang Reacts to You Dressing Fancy for a Job

“Is it okay to ask for the RDR2 gang (or just Javier if it’s too much!) seeing their crush all prettied and dressed up for a job (like the riverboat or Bronte’s garden party)? Would they work up the courage to ask them out? your writing sustains me”

YAAALLLLL THIS LONG AS FUCK BC THIS! IS! MY! RASPBERRY! JAM!

In this imagine, you’ll be impressing: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Sadie Adler, Micah Bell, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Javier Escuella, Sean MacGuire, Lenny Summers, Kieran Duffy, Tilly Jackson, Mary-Beth Gaskill, Karen Jones, Flaco Hernandez

ARTHUR MORGAN

Oh no. When you were volunteered for the job, he had a feeling you’d look charming in one of those big hooped gowns, but … this is like his heart getting hit by a train. The feelings are a little overwhelming, so while the girls add their finishing touches, Arthur tries to stand to the side and not stare. He wants to compliment you, because you look absolutely stunning, but words are completely failing him. Arthur manages to get a compliment out, but you’re totally occupied with how much you love or hate this get-up. Arthur doesn’t even care about what he was forced to wear; he could be in a paper sack and he wouldn’t notice. During the party, he’s distracted by how you seem to float around the room, easily joking with the guests as though you were one of them. Hosea has to knock sense into Arthur more than once, but how can he pay attention when there’s a literal angel in front of him?

When the gunfight breaks out, Arthur is at your side right away, pulling you into his protective embrace and trying to steer you out of the house. It doesn’t matter if you’re a good shot or not, that dress and corset are cumbersome as hell and he’s gonna stubbornly send you home. Arthur wants to be the one taking you back, but he has to stay and fight. He hands you off to Sean, warning him to be careful and get you back to camp in one piece. His tone is actually pretty scary when he says this. Arthur is beyond relieved when he finally gets back. You’re out of the dress, but you’re clearly safe and comfortable, not a scratch on you. He doesn’t care about his own injuries, but he’s pleased when you fuss over them.

JOHN  MARSTON

No way John is gonna dress up like some goddamn banker, but he was totally ready to tease you about having to squeeze into a corset and frilly dress. The problem is, you’re gorgeous in it. He doesn’t know shit about women’s clothes or fashion, but something about the color and style just suits you so perfectly, like it was made only for you. He wants to give a sassy comment, but he just … can’t. John goes for a genuine compliment, but his cheeks and ears are tomato red as he mutters “ya look real nice”. If you hate the clothes, it’s a little easier for him to joke around with you, but if you love them and you’re twirling around, as happy as a kid and looking like an actual lady from one of those fancy paintings? He can only take so much sweetness before he has to duck his head and distract himself with something.

When the gunfight breaks out at the party, John is right by your side before you can blink. You don’t know how he moved so fast, but soon his arm is around your waist and getting you back to his horse. John isn’t the most graceful about this, and the dress is meant for dancing, not riding… so it ends up ripping as you two make your escape. Once you’re in a safe place and you can get out of the damn thing, John’s attention goes straight to the tears in the dress, specifically the one that’s showing the stockings and garterbelt you had to wear. The lingerie looks fantastic - it definitely awakens something in him.

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

First off, he is not sneaky. Not at all. You know exactly why you were asked to play a role in this little con, and it was so Dutch could see you all dressed up. Now, either you’re totally annoyed by this because screw frills and lace, or you’re delighted because you can dress up like some fancy lady and rob rich folks. Also, it’s pretty funny how he pretends not to be interested in the sort of dress and jewelry you and the girls are deciding on. You know he’s trying very hard not to make a suggestion, and just to be a little mean, you made sure he was within earshot when you mentioned the matter of corsets and fancy undergarments to the girls.

Once at the party, Dutch plays at being some rich banker and you’re his young foreign wife. It’s absurdly easy to pull off, even with your terrible accent, and after each conversation you both are trying not to laugh. He’s definitely liking being able to have an arm around your waist and being able to lean in and whisper to you, but he won’t push his boundaries, especially if you’re already uncomfortable being all dressed up and powdered. While you two are dancing, he’ll whisper in that deep voice, praising you for how perfect you’ve been, or reassuring you that it’ll be over soon. When the shooting started, Dutch pulled you to a safe place you could lie low in, but if you bothered him enough he’d hand you a gun and let you join the shootout. 

Back at camp, Dutch’s flirting hasn’t dulled in the slightest. He’ll sit close to you as everyone else celebrates, mentioning how wonderful you were and if you need help slipping out of anything. If you let him, he’ll help unlace those fancy boots, even massage your poor ankles and calves since you aren’t used to wearing tall shoes. Isn’t that thoughtful?

HOSEA MATTHEWS

Nearly all of this con was his idea, and you’re glad to help run it. Hosea is playing the part of some eccentric philanthropist and you’re a grand-niece or some relative. The two of you talk so smooth and fast, easily working off each other, that the hosts of the party don’t stand a chance. Hosea wants to avoid any sort of violence, but knowing the gang, who knows what will happen, so he wants you to stay close to him. During lulls in conversation, when you and Hosea are just observing the crowd and deciding who to speak with next, he’ll lean in and whisper something to you. It makes goosebumps break out on your skin, you can feel how warm he is and sometimes he’ll run a hand up your back as he compliments you on what a natural you are, or reassures you that it’ll be over soon. He’ll truly feel bad if you hate having to dress up and pretend like this; so he’s grateful you agreed to come along and help. If you’re thriving off the party and the trickery, he’ll give you knowing grins and winks that make him seem fifteen years younger. There’s a surprising amount of mischief in him. 

When the inevitable fight breaks out (he totally called it), Hosea swiftly gets you to a safe part of the house he noticed earlier. From there you two snatch several stashes of jewels and cash and stealthily make your way out. Hosea had to be convinced to steal as much as you both did; he was terribly worried about you, since the dress would be difficult to run in. When you’re back at camp, Hosea isn’t shy about telling you what a great job you did, and how proud he is. He’ll give a kiss to your cheek and he’s very smooth about offering to remove anything that’s giving you trouble. 

SADIE ADLER

Thank god she’s not the one in the fucking gown, that’s all she has to say. Well, that, and the jokes and snark she throws your way while you’re getting ready. If you hate the dress just as much, too bad, you were roped into the plan and Sadie is having lots of playful teasing at your expense. If you adore it and start modeling it for her, she won’t admit how cute you’re being… but she will consider wearing a tuxedo and being some “hoity toity” man just to make sure you’re safe. She doesn’t trust the “gentleman” at this party at all, and the closer you both get to the manor, the more antsy she becomes. All her previous humor is gone as she urges you to find her right away if trouble happens. Sadie is absolutely going to bring your favorite gun along and was trying to figure out a way to strap a revolver to your leg until Hosea pulled you away. You promise you’ll be alright, but she doesn’t look reassured. 

The expected fight breaks out, and like you promised, you beeline for Sadie. She’s already on you - how the hell did she get into the manor so fast? - and she’s tossed your gun in your hands. Soon enough you both are blasting your way out of the manor. She gets impatient when you fall for the second time and rips the dress herself so you can run easier. It was your horse she brought around to escape, and Sadie hoisted you up, sat herself in the back and kept shooting while you rode to safety. It was… a hectic and messy escape, but neither of you had a scratch. Once you’re at the camp, she doesn’t feel bad for ripping the dress, even if you liked it. It was necessary, and besides, you can’t keep the frilly thing! Okay, she’ll apologize if you pout. If you hated it she’s more than happy to help you burn it. 

MICAH BELL

How the hell is he supposed to respond to this? It would be one thing if you caked on make-up like a tart and strapped yourself into some circus tent-looking contraption, he could work with that. His brain just stops functioning for a few seconds when the girls finally unveil the work they did on you. If you hated the dress and it wasn’t something you’d wear unless a gun was pointed to your head, then Micah certainly had choice words to say, teasing and mocking the difference between this and your regular attire… except they were much weaker insults than he usually had. You were too distracted and uncomfortable to even care. If you adored all of it, practically buzzing with excitement as you turned and twirled for everyone, he might even try an attempt at a compliment, although it’d come out all jumbled and flustered. He decides to stay away and just watch you from a distance, both enjoying the view and trying to figure out this stupid knot in his stomach.

At least you two are apart during the party, so he doesn’t have to look at you enjoying yourself and swaying around in that dress. When the fight starts, he can finally have something else to put his mind to … until he sees you get caught in the crossfire. Micah would throw you a gun he pulled off someone, barking at you to follow him. Dutch told him to get you to safety, which he initially bristled at, but then he dutifully put you up on Baylock. He told you to keep shooting while he rode off - and he still got plenty of shots in himself. Once you were back at camp, he wouldn't apologize for dirtying the dress. It had to be done, and now the job is done, so you can get out of it…. and he would absolutely offer to cut it off with his knife. The whole thing, corset and all. He's gonna fantasize about it well after the fact, too.

CHARLES SMITH

If you love getting a chance to dress up and wear jewels, Charles can tell, and he finds your joy just adorable. If you dislike the idea of having to dress up for a stupid party, even if it’s a robbery, he’s very encouraging and reassures you as many times as you need. This kind of con isn’t really his scene, but he knows you’ll do well and he promises to look after you during the whole thing. He’ll even have you ride along with him on Taima if that'll settle your nerves. Once you arrive, Charles helps you down like a gentleman. If you’re still uneasy, he asks you to wait a moment and then comes back with a rose he picked from the garden. He places it neatly in your tied back hair. “Perfect. Don’t worry, you’ll do great, and when things go south, I’ll be there. Promise.”

Once the fight breaks out, Charles is true to his word and helps you escape in the chaos. You have no idea where he came from, but you didn’t refuse the help, or the gun he offered you - at some point he’d packed your favorite one - and you’re pulled up on Taima as gunshots go off all around you. Charles put you on the front of his horse to protect you better, even if it’s harder to shoot from there. It sort of makes you feel like a princess being swept away. When you two return to the camp, he tidies the rose in your hair and offers to help remove the restrictive dress or massage your legs if they hurt … casually, of course. Probably.

BILL WILLIAMSON

When the girls finally unveiled their handiwork, he thought his heart was stopping. You were so pretty - well, you normally were, but now more than ever. You looked like one of those porcelain dolls they put in music boxes. Bill didn’t even want to touch you or stand too close, worried he’d dirty you somehow. He couldn’t believe you wanted him to play the role of the bodyguard that would follow you around the party.... Though he played the part well, his silence combined with his big build made him seem intimidating. If you were clearly miserable in the dress and with the company, he wasn’t sure what to say to make you feel better, so he stayed quiet. If you were loving the dress and just thriving in the party, fooling everyone into thinking you were some high-class belle … Well, he was too distracted watching you, still not able to say much.

Eventually he had to split off from you to join the men, which he didn’t appreciate, but he made a point to bring your gun along with his. When the expected gunfight broke out, Bill beelined for you, practically tossing a man that was too close and handed over your gun. He didn’t expect you to be so grateful, it made him blush in spite of the gunshots going off all around you two.

The fight was more dangerous than expected, so Bill hoisted you up on Brown Jack without warning and raced off. Your dress ended up getting ripped from his haste, and if you really liked it, he feels bad for screwing it up. It’s easy to turn around his mood by complimenting what a good “bodyguard” he was. Just don’t flirt too much, he’s already had a mess of feelings today.

JAVIER ESCUELLA

He was trying to hide his excitement when he found out you were going to be dressing up and joining the others on this con. You’re already an angel, now he’s going to see you dressed in a beautiful gown and decorated with jewels? It fit so perfectly, too, like it was made for you. Javier wouldn’t hide his approval of the outfit, even giving you some suggestions on more comfortable shoes or a better hat. Mary-Beth thought it was adorable and left him to help you out - that made it much harder for him to hide how pleased he was with your outfit. If you truly hated it, he’d understand and would try to reassure you that not only did it look wonderful, you were going to pull the job off perfectly. His warm hands would sit on your shoulders as he said this, hoping you trusted in him. If you’re the sort who loves dressing up and conning, he shares your happiness and will even dance with you a little before you have to leave, relishing in your giggles. 

While the party went off well, with you playing your part perfectly, chaos inevitably broke out. You have no idea where Javier came from, but you were damn grateful that he’d seen you and pulled you into a safe corner. Together you both snuck into the manor, stole as much jewelry as you could carry and easily slipped out the back, gunshots still echoing through the place. Javier grinned as he draped all the stolen necklaces and bracelets on you, asking you to keep them safe for now. You clasped your arms tightly around his torso when you rode away with him, resting your head against his back whenever you got tired.

SEAN MACGUIRE

He all but jumps out of his seat with delight when he spots you. Mary-Beth is still fussing with your hair, but the corset under your dress has already done all sorts of magic, and the dress itself hugged you like you were meant to wear it. Of course he can’t resist from fawning all over you. He wants to pick you up and twirl you like a princess, but Miss Gaskill scolds him for dirtying the dress and he gets dragged away by the men. For once Sean was wishing he was away from the action and complained enough that they let him accompany you on the carriage - that is, as the driver. Sean didn’t even notice if you were extremely uncomfortable, he was too busy gabbing about the party and saying what a natural you’d be. When you finally have to leave, he takes your hand and gives you a warm smile. “You’ll do great. I know it.” He didn’t realize how comforting it was.

Once trouble began, you were impressed how quickly Sean scrambled to your side, and with your gun no less. Before you could question how he did it, he was gleefully shooting and directing you away from the fight. As much as Sean wanted to stay and end it, he was far more concerned with your safety, you noticed. He swung you up on his horse with little grace, and even if your dress was ruined with blood and mud and your hat went flying off, you laughed as you wrapped your arms around his torso and listened to the wild man whoop and shoot through the escape. Sean would absolutely be the type to help you off the horse and insist on carrying you around camp, bragging about his “rescue” the whole time.

LENNY SUMMERS

God damn it, he already thought you were cute! Now you’re gorgeous and he’s way too bashful to say anything about it for a while. He’s thankful for the girls fussing over you and the boys dragging him off to discuss the plan, because being around you is too distracting and makes his thoughts short-circuit a bit. He’s normally fine with talking to you! And it’s just a dress, so what’s different? If you really loved the outfit, you’d be a natural in it, and Lenny would find your enthusiasm and confidence very attractive. If you clearly hated it, he’d want to comfort you somehow, but would worry about coming off wrong. It’s a shame you didn’t like the outfit, because you looked fantastic in it. Before he had to leave with the boys, he’d pay you a compliment. “You’re gonna do real well, miss. Um, you … you really fit the role.”

He has a good sense of when things will go south, and when Lenny felt the tension in the air, he made a point to find you in the crowd. Ones the bullets started flying, he found you before you even made sense of the situation. Lenny would rather get you to safety right away, but if you want a gun, he ain’t denying you. All his previous nervousness would be gone as you both would shoot up the place, then find a horse to escape on. Lenny wouldn’t feel that shyness again until you both got back to camp, when he had to help you off the horse. He’ll immediately start joking about your dirty dress and praising your gun skills to keep his beating heart in line. Lenny feels much better when you’re back in your old clothes.

KIERAN DUFFY

He was embarrassed enough watching the girls parade you around, pleased with their work, and they had every right to be - you looked even more beautiful than the women in the magazines. It’s like you walked right out of them. He felt bad if you were forced into the role, knowing you probably hated the whole get-up, but if you absolutely enjoyed it, he was enchanted by how you seemed to beam with happiness. He’d only seen you like that a few other times, and he was pleased to commit it to memory. When you’re getting ready to leave, he can’t help but give you words of encouragement. He can’t imagine you’ll do anything but shine at the party. 

Kieran was tasked with staying behind at the camp, as he expected, but at least he was trusted to hold a gun and stay on watch duty. His thoughts often drifted to you, wondering if you were doing well and if you were sick of the party or having the time of your life. When he heard powerful hoofbeats, he snapped at attention, readying the gun and calling out... only to recognize your horse and your silhouette. Your dress was a torn mess, but it was still restrictive, so Kieran wasted little time in helping you down. “Miss, are you alright? You aren’t - is that your blood or someone else’s? Alright, good. C’mon, sit down here.” 

You told him about what happened at the party, how things got out of control and you had to flee in a hurry. The boys were likely splitting up to shake the law off them. Kieran was so relieved you were alright, his heart was hammering but outwardly he was calm as he helped tie your sprained ankle and get you some water. He wasn’t his nervous self at all, tending to you and asking questions with confidence ... until you pointed out you needed help getting out of the corset and dress.

TILLY JACKSON

Tilly was initially in charge of “acquiring” the jewelry and accessories you’d wear, but she ended up shooing the other girls away when they kept suggesting ridiculous hair and make-up ideas. She didn’t care what lady’s magazine Karen read, Tilly wasn’t about to turn you into a side-show act. She was always helping you with this or that, you both relied on each other. She always knew how to reassure you, taking your face in her hands as she spoke softly. “Listen, it’s nothin’ you ain’t done before, just wearin’ somethin’ fancy now. And those boys will do their job right and keep you safe, I’ll make damn sure of that.”

If you hate this sort of thing - dressing up and conning others - Tilly would’ve tried to help you get a different role, but ultimately, you had to do it. She’d give you a softer version of her usual tough love. If you loved it, Tilly would be the one teasing you to get your head out of the clouds. Either way, when you were distracted, she’d threaten the hell out of the boys to keep you safe. Even Arthur would get an earful; if you so much as came back with a scratch, she’d have their hides. If you came back a muddy, bloody mess because you couldn’t resist joining in the gunfights, Tilly would have your hide, too. If you came back mostly clean because you avoided the fight, she’d just laugh and tease you for being so “fussy” - but she was relieved you came straight to camp. The dress and jewels are all sold afterward, but Tilly keeps some bits of fabric to sew you both something. 

MARY-BETH GASKILL

You have a feeling she’s enjoying this ... a lot. While the both of you were cool as you acquired the dress and jewels to go with it, as soon as you were back at camp, Mary-Beth was giggling and going on about how to do your hair. Soon enough you were dragged off to a tent for privacy and she dressed you up, cooing over your figure in the dress and how nice you looked. She didn’t even notice how flustered you were getting - of course if you enjoyed dressing up, you could share in her enthusiasm and get her advice on how to style it. If you hated it ... Mary-Beth reassured you it looked wonderful, “just like a princess!” Well, that didn’t help, but her obvious swooning was pretty cute. Mary-Beth ended up coming along with the job, dressed up herself and playing the part of your “companion”, since all high-society ladies were about that. You’re pretty sure companions weren’t supposed to be as red-faced or affectionate as she was around their ladies, but you weren’t complaining.

At the party you two were naturals, and what little screw-ups were quickly covered up. If Mary-Beth didn’t know something, you did, and vice-versa. You two were actually quite a team, and you noticed Hosea winking at you in approval from across the room. When trouble was starting, you pulled Mary-Beth aside and you both hastily dug through the manor’s drawers and silver cabinets while the gunshots went off outside. If you needed to defend her, you would, but luckily it didn’t come to that. You were able to steal a horse from their stable and go riding off, Mary-Beth holding tightly and urging you to go faster. You both couldn’t resist keeping two matching bracelets from the robbery.

KAREN JONES

Karen may not be interested in passing as one of those hoity toity girls, but she’s absolutely gonna help dress you up as one. She’s laughing the whole time, throwing out suggestions and distracting the hell out of Tilly and Mary-Beth as they work. Karen was the one who found the dress, and you’re surprised at how well it flatters you and how the color suits you so well. “Didn’t I say I know how to pick ‘em? Now tighten up those laces! Society ladies don’t have fun!” Karen is quite pushy regardless if you want to do the job or not - if you don’t, she’ll all but drag you to the carriage the boys brought and force you in. It’s a hell of a chance to get a lot of money, and she doesn’t want you missing it. If you love it, that’s all the better! She teases you plenty either way while you’re trying to dress, and gives you a big kiss before you have to set out, not caring who sees. You were long gone by the time she turned on the boys and all but threatened them to bring you back safely.

The party was lonely without Karen, you wished she had been part of the plan so you both could talk together instead of mingling with these insufferable people. Sure, she may have been a little too loud and unladylike... but it would’ve been far more fun. You escaped on cue, making a point to steal a gorgeous stallion as you left the manor behind, listening to gunshots ring out through the night. The boys (and Sadie) were doing their part, so it was time to go home. You had not expected Karen to come riding on your horse with a gun. “Damn it, you were takin’ too long! I got worried...”

She tried to hide how worried she actually was on the way back. She helped you out of the infernal buttons, lacing and corset, and gladly snuggled your aching body. By the time the boys returned to camp, you both had fallen asleep in your tent.

FLACO HERNANDEZ

You’d mentioned the plan in passing to Flaco, and he was so worried for your safety he came all the way down from that forsaken mountain to make sure it went off well. He didn’t hide that he disliked you working with “that little gang” when you could just stay with him, but that was for another time. While everyone ran around preparing for the con, he watched with great amusement as you were primped and stuffed into a corset and ballgown, whistling at you and making plenty of jokes. You weren’t going to live this down, ever. Once your outfit and hair was mostly finished, Flaco patted his lap and you sat obediently until it was time to go. Even if you hated the dress, Flaco thinks you look beautiful and will tell you so, kissing your cheek and muttering all sorts of sweet things to distract your nerves. He really doesn’t care about showing you off, if anything, he’s amused by your friends trying to look away. 

It was hard not to think of him as the party progressed. You played the role well enough, but soon you were itching to get back to camp. Who knew how long he would stay around before going back to that cold place? The expected gunfight broke you out of your thoughts, and as you made your escape ... you suddenly felt a pair of familiar, fuzzy arms wrapping around you. “I’ve got you now, princesa. Why don’t you come back with Flaco?”

He was able to get you back, but not to your gang’s camp. Flaco had set up his own spot, making a point to bring your horse and your things... the only way the gang knew you were alright is he left word with Miss Grimshaw (after she gave him a thorough ‘questioning’ about his relationship with you).  You better believe he’d help you out of that fancy ensemble, but if you really loved it he’d urge you to dance and spin around for him. It’s a rare day when he sees you wearing something other than four layers, after all. 

[novoki]

Ranting about my favourite strangers

I have three very distinct favourite strangers (and thus stranger missions): Sister Calderon, Charlotte Balfour, and Hamish Sinclair. All of these characters are wonderful on their own – powerful, independent, kind – but more than that they are extremely important to Arthur. Something they all have in common is being there in Arthur’s time of need, giving him the support he’s lacking from seemingly everywhere else around him, and here are my rambles about why that is:

First I want to talk about Sister Calderon, both because she comes first chronologically and for reasons I’ll mention later. Honestly, the ‘Help a Brother Out’ mission chain is one of my favourites in the game hands down, and Sister Calderon is a big part of that. Brother Dorkins is sweet and kind on his own, but Sister Calderon is simply delightful.

She’s happy and cheerful, she’s joyous and hopeful – but, more than that, she gets Arthur. Arthur may be rough around the edges and hides his true self behind a gun and a gambler hat, but Sister Calderon sees past this and into the good man that’s in his heart. When Arthur tells her he’s an outlaw, he says it like he expects her to turn around and flee from him. And this woman, this wonderful woman, fucking laughs and continues to support him.

She relates to him, says “a long time ago, I was like you” and tells him the importance of love; she reassures him that “the actions will lead” when he’s worried about his status as a good man; she teases him and jokes with him and says one of my most favourite lines in the game: “Take a gamble that love exists, and do a loving act!”

In the train scene, Arthur is so close to dying, so close to coming to an end. He knows the gang is falling apart – he’s already planning to get John out, has accepted the others leaving because he understands why. He’s hopeless and he’s helpless and he’s scared. And he tells Sister Calderon that!! Like, do you get how important that is?! Arthur Morgan: the enforcer of the Van der Linde Gang, the man who doesn’t shed a tear in the game once, who loses people and mourns them once and then moves on because he doesn’t have time for anything more, goes and tells Sister Calderon that he’s scared and he needs her help. He wants her help. And she reassures him, puts the faith back into his step. She is exactly what he needs in this scene, and you can just tell he knows that, too - “you’re too smart for me!”

Next up is Charlotte Balfour, my queen! Charlotte (and Hamish) are a rare spark of light in the hellscape that is Chapter 6. I think she’s actually one of the reasons Chapter 6 is my favourite chapter in the game – or maybe not her exactly, but rather what she represents.

First off, she’s just a bombass woman. Could totally move back to Chicago or some other city, actually should since it’s the sensible choice, but is so committed to her late husband’s dream that she decides to stay. And, over time, it becomes her dream too – we watch her grow from someone who is scared and insecure into a woman who is confident and sure of her skill. Meeting her in the epilogue as John made me ridiculously proud of her: look at those pants, that hat, that gun! She’s grown so much, she’s so strong, she’s so independent!

And, like I said, she’s also important to Arthur. Arthur, in Chapter 6, knows he’s dying of TB. It would be a totally appropriate response for him to just shut down, run away to some hole to hide in, and die peacefully. Of course he doesn’t do that, he’s got a gang to take care of, that’s just who he is – but his decision to help Charlotte is also indicative of his character. His new character. Arthur in Chapter 1 would not have saved Charlotte’s life, taught her how to shoot, or shot a fucking rat for her. Arthur actively takes time out of his journeys and days to not only save Charlotte, but to simply be with her. He sits down for dinner, for Christ’s sake, their friendship is adorable! 

Charlotte is there to show Arthur how much he has changed, that despite all his self-hatred a woman is alive because of his efforts and his kindness. She’s there for his time of need too – helps Arthur when he’s sick, lets him feel at home in her cabin. She leaves a clearly armed and experienced man in her home with valuables, and offers them to him. She so very clearly trusts him! It must feel so fucking good for Arthur when his own home is so hostile in every direction he turns.

And, of course, the Ultimate Dad: Hamish Sinclair. Lovable gruff bastard, just like his horse is (are we all collectively guilt-ridden for riding Buell into Red Dead Redemption and causing his death? Yeah? Not just me? Alright cool), the man who had seen war and now only wanted some peace. And for Buell to stop dicking around. From the first interaction, I feel in love with Hamish: his competence and confidence as a homesteader and hunter, his clear love for Buell despite all his bluff, the way he opens his home to Arthur. He actively invites Arthur to his home, multiple times in fact, and sits him down to share details of his life but also details of Arthur’s. And, of course, the ultimate sign of trust: giving Buell to Arthur after his death. The amount of gratitude and dedication that one act alone shows – which is why you NEVER take Buell into the final mission, you hear me?!

I think Hamish is also important due to the role he plays in Arthur’s life. He’s older, more confident – he lives the life Arthur might have wished for himself if he weren’t an outlaw: living amidst nature, helping passing travellers, bonding with animals, hunting peacefully and expertly. Arthur can’t have that, not now, but Hamish still shares this life with him whenever he visits. Hamish is a pretty clear father figure for Arthur, which is important – Arthur no longer has any fathers. Hosea is long in the ground and Dutch has revealed his true colours. Arthur is lost and confused, unsure who to be loyal to, who to protect and defend. And all amongst this is a man in a cabin on a mountain who is there to hear him out and spend time with him. Hamish is so deeply important to Arthur, especially during this part of the story. And, like Charlotte, he represents the change in Arthur: Arthur would not have looked at this man twice in Chapter 2, likely would have assumed him and weak and strange and moved on. Hamish extends a kindness to Arthur I’m sure Arthur wishes he himself could have been capable of earlier.

 As I mentioned earlier, I grouped Charlotte and Hamish together for a particular reason, and that reason is because they serve as a reprieve for Arthur from the chaos Chapter 6. I think it’s important to distinguish Hamish and Charlotte from other beloved strangers, including Sister Calderon, in that all of Arthur’s meetings with them are intentional. He does not bump into them like he does with Sister Calderon or even Albert Mason – no, our sullen cowboy actively goes out and looks for these people. He rides up to Willard’s Rest to check on Charlotte, stops by Hamish’s house with his fishing rod and hunting gun. Arthur is making a choice to spend time with them, and it’s clear why: they both present Arthur with a peace away from his painful camp life.

While Dutch is wreaking havoc and causing everyone to either quietly run away in the dead of night or turn on those who they used to call friends in camp, Charlotte is making dinner for Arthur and Hamish is inviting him on hunting trips. They are an escape from Arthur’s hectic home, a place where he can rest and relax and be happy. Simply be existing they are doing so much for Arthur, being there to support him and listen to him, learning from him or teaching him. Arthur desperately needs this stability in Chapter 6 which is why I love these two characters so much – and Sister Calderon, for her kind words at the train station.

Basically, Arthur loves these characters almost as much as I do (though not quite!) and I felt a need to express why.

[kpopfanfictrash]

The Suspenders

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Word Count: 2,048

Rating: PG-13

Summary: A Brooklyn 99 inspired drabble, featuring Jungkook as Peralta, Namjoon as Holt, and I’ll let you guess the rest. ALTERNATIVELY TITLED: Shanna writes fanfic within fanfic as an excuse to have Jungkook doing dumb shit in an uniform. Go nuts!

“JEON.” Crossing both arms over his chest, Kim Namjoon regards Jungkook with a mixture of exasperation and antipathy. “Do you care to explain why, for the past several days, you have worn those ungodly apparatuses into my workspace?”

“Captain, I’m so glad that you asked.” Jungkook reclines in his seat. “These are what we on the street call suspenders.”

“I know that.” Namjoon stares. “I am familiar with the vast array of garments which can adorn the human body. What I am not familiar with is why you are now choosing to dress like a Prohibition era mobster to work.”

“Well, Hoseok is at home taking care of his sick girls.” Jungkook speaks as though this should be an explanation. “I thought the office would be going through withdrawal.”

“I, for one, think he looks great in them.” Jimin beams from the desk beside Jungkook, giving him a thumbs-up.

“Thank you, Jimin.” Jungkook turns around in his chair. “I’m wearing these suspenders to increase precinct morale.”

Unable to stay silent any longer, you look up from your desk. For the past several minutes, you have been – unsuccessfully – pretending Jungkook is mute. 

“The Captain makes an excellent point,” you butt in. “Those suspenders are more distracting than they are motivating.”

Jungkook’s grin widens. “What’s so distracting about them? Is it the way they highlight my spectacularly toned physique?”

Forehead wrinkling, you give him a look which clearly states you do not trust his level of sanity. “Please. More like you would get caught on a doorframe running into a raid and kill us both.”

“He’s right,” Yoongi says, not looking up from his computer. “You would get yourself killed by suspenders, Jeon.”

“Really?” Jungkook cocks his head. “I always thought I would go out in a dashing way. You know, like John McClane or something.”

Staring at him, you attempt to ascertain whether he is being serious. “You know just because the movie is entitled Die Hard doesn’t mean they actually died hard, right?”

“Obviously.” Releasing his suspenders, they thud against his chest with a dull snap. Jungkook winces. “It was a metaphor. Duh.”

After another long moment, you turn to face Namjoon. “I second your question, Captain. Jungkook and I are supposed to be on a stake-out tonight and if he doesn’t change his outfit, I have major concerns.”

“Me too,” Jungkook says. “My concerns are different from hers, though. I’m largely concerned with the stick up Y/N’s ass.”

“There is no stick up my ass,” you snap, scowling darkly at him. “That would be highly improbable, not to mention painful.”

“Highly-improbable-not-to-mention-painful – title of Y/N’s sex tape!” Jungkook blurts out, high-fiving Jimin. “Captain, I can assure you these suspenders will not get in the way of my job performance.”

“Oh, come on –”

“Prove it.” Namjoon unfolds his arms.

Both you and Jungkook cease talking at once.

“I – what?” Jungkook stares in disbelief at the Captain.

“Prove it,” Namjoon repeats, arching a brow. “Demonstrate you can carry out your professional responsibilities in a satisfactory manner before leaving for your stake-out, or I will formally require you remove your suspenders.”

“But…” Jungkook sputters, trailing off. “Hoseok wears them all the time!”

“Hoseok is a more competent detective than you,” says Namjoon, utterly serious. “Any other objections?”

Grinning widely, you lean back in your seat – the proverbial cat who ate the canary. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, Captain.”

“And seeing as Y/N is the one concerned by this safety hazard,” Namjoon adds, turning to you, “I suggest she perform said demonstration herself.”

Your smile disappears. “What?”

Namjoon waves a hand. “Since the main concern is Detective Jeon incapacitating himself whilst in the line of duty, it only seems logical we simulate said responsibilities and see how he responds. Yes?”

“I – I guess.” Beneath your desk, your foot has ceased tapping.

“And as his partner, you are best suited to performing said simulation. Yes?”

“What about Jimin?” you meekly suggest. “He lives for this kind of thing.”

“Jimin is too loyal to Jungkook. The entire test would be a farce.”

“He’s right,” Jimin agrees. “It would be.”

“Good.” Namjoon nods solemnly. “Now that we are all in agreement, might I suggest the following? Y/N and Jungkook are on their stake-out when their location is compromised by a local gang member – Y/N, you will play the role of said adversary.”

“I – wonderful, sir,” you say, somewhat dazed.

“Hang on.” Jungkook holds up a finger. “If Y/N is said gang member, then who will play Y/N on the stake-out?”

“Excellent point, Jeon.” Namjoon pivots. “Jimin, you can play Y/N.”

“Of course, sir!” Jimin jumps up and salutes. “Always happy to help out in any role-playing scenario. Just let me get into character.” Scrunching his face, Jimin flicks pretend hair over one shoulder. “Mah,” he says, opening and closing his mouth. “Mah! MAH!”

“Captain Kim,” you protest, staring at Jimin incredulously. “Is this necessary?”

“Good question. Detective Park – is this necessary to get into character?”

Shaking his hands at the wrists, Jimin bounces up and down. “Yes, this is imperative to my creative process, but I’m finished. Where should I stand?”

“Over there.” Namjoon gestures at the open space before the water cooler. “Detectives Jeon and Park, please adopt your positions as the two on the stake-out. Y/N, you will enter from stage right and attempt to disarm Detective Jeon.”

“Captain...” Your brow furrows. “I must say, I don’t think this proves –”

“Are you questioning the Captain’s methods?” Jungkook stands from his desk. “I happen to think this is a great idea.”

“Stop talking, Jeon,” Namjoon says mildly. “Or I may change my mind.”

“Noted, sir.”

Jungkook strides across the precinct floor, adjusting his suspenders. Your eyes fall briefly to the curve of his ass, held snug by his pants and equally fast, you force your gaze upwards.

“Fine.” Standing, you smooth down the front of your shirt. “I’ll play along. Prepare for an epic beat-down, Jeon.”  

“Been preparing my whole life for that.”

Having no response to this, you slowly close your mouth.

The rest of the precinct is now paying attention, having set down their belongings as the situation unfolded. Jimin remains firmly in character as you, responding to Jungkook in a girlish falsetto.

“Oh, Jungkook,” he says, laughing shrilly. “You’re such a talented detective. Sometimes, I’m super jealous of how close you are to Jimin.”

Wrinkling your nose, you move closer. “Okay, first off – that impression of me is borderline sexist. Second, I would never say that. You two are weirdly close.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jungkook crouches beside Jimin. “Seems like someone is a little jealous of having a best friend.”

“I do have a best friend,” you retort, pausing behind the corner. “Yoongi is my best friend.”

“No, I’m not.” Yoongi seems bored by the proceedings, arms pointedly crossed before his black leather jacket. “I have no need to see any of you people outside of this office.”

“Cold.” Lowering your voice, you cock your head. “Also, a lie. What’s the plan, Captain?” Looking at Namjoon, you await further instructions. “Do I just… sneak up on them?”

“By all means – use your instincts, Y/N.”

Fighting an eye roll, you slowly step forward. “This is ridiculous,” you mutter to no one under your breath.

Jungkook lazily stretches an arm across his chest. “What a great night for a stake-out, Y/N!” he says loudly, glancing at Jimin. “Good thing I’m dressed appropriately for the occasion. Suspenders are such an under-utilized asset.”

Refusing to let him go any further, you barrel around the corner and make straight for his back. Feet pounding linoleum, you narrow your gaze at his shoulders. Jungkook stiffens, whirling to face you at the last second. He dodges your first blow, throwing one of his own.

“This is stupid,” you grunt, twisting out of his reach. “If I were actually an intruder, I’d have the element of surprise.”

“Not true!” Jungkook manages to loop an arm around your waist, yanking you closer. Huffing, you try and ignore how good his cologne smells. “If this were our stake-out, I’d have the door closed. You gave yourself away by banging it open.”

“Hngh!”

You do not say this last word, so much as grunt it, face smushed into the buttons of his button-down shirt. Although it gives you no end of annoyance to admit, the suspenders do make him look dashing.

Fortunately, they also provide a handhold.

Gripping them with one hand, you yank firmly down from behind. Jungkook swears, stumbling back and you rush into the opening. Shoving him with your shoulder, you knock him off balance and go for his leg, hooking one arm to tackle him to the floor. From this vantage point, you throw your weight forward and plant a knee on his chest.

“Winner!” you declare, triumphant.

Jungkook’s head falls to the ground. “Fine,” he groans, staring up at the ceiling. “I’ll get rid of the suspenders.”

“Great,” you say, brushing dust from your hands as you stand.

“I’d just like to say,” Jimin interjects. “If this were a real fight, it would’ve ended entirely differently because in a real fight, I would never have sat here while Jungkookie was being attacked.”

“I appreciate that about you,” mumbles Jungkook, still lying prostrate on the floor.

“Anytime, buddy.”

Rolling your eyes, you look at Namjoon. “Are we done here?”

“Most definitely.” Turning on his heel, Namjoon walks towards his office. “Detective Jeon – remove the suspenders before you get yourself killed. Seokjin,” he adds, coming to a stop. “Please arrange to have my dry-cleaning picked up before the Captain’s dinner tomorrow.”

“Can do.” Seokjin does not look up from his phone. His feet are propped up on his desk, leaning far enough back to be labeled precarious. “Except tomorrow isn’t good for me, since mercury is in retrograde and my psychic said I should avoid high-stress scenarios at all cost.”

Namjoon stares. “Picking up dry-cleaning is a high-stress scenario?”

“Absolutely not.” Seokjin shakes his head. “I slept with the owner of the place though, and that is high-stress.”

Namjoon stares for a long moment before apparently deciding this is an acceptable answer and striding into his office. The door closes behind him.

On the other side of the room, the precinct has returned to normal. Yoongi swivels to face his computer, Jimin skips towards the espresso machine and you begin the slow walk to your desk. There is a mountain of paperwork calling your name.

Jungkook catches you easily by the arm.

Startled, you glance upwards. “What?” you demand, trying not to give in. Trying not to revel in how good his fingers feel on your skin – rough and tender all at the same time.

Jungkook’s gaze shifts into something unnamed. “I hope you know,” he says slowly. “I wouldn’t let my suspenders get in the way of your safety.”

Ignoring the way your heart thuds at his words, you yank your hand back. “Good to know,” you say, continuing towards your desk. “Guess it’s a good thing I don’t need your protection, then.”

It would be a totally badass moment.

It would be a Charlie’s Angels-esque, walking away from the fire, hair blowing in the wind kind of moment – except Jimin left his fruit dehydrator out in the aisle and you unfortunately trip. Arms flailing, you barely refrain from falling flat on your face.

Chuckling under his breath, Jungkook comes up from behind you. “Oh, I know you don’t,” he says, walking past. “That’s one of the things I like about you.”

Turning around, he hovers a moment before sitting down at his desk. The entire time, his gaze does not leave yours and, despite the circumstances, you cannot help but feel his wording is genuine. He really does like that about you.

Heart fluttering in your chest, you sit down as well.

Those suspenders really were kind of hot.

  © kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Follow-up drabble: The Criminal

[joezworld]

Story time!

Here’s what I love about this fight scene - it’s that this Asian guy is immediately ready to kick ass the moment that Tom Cruise and Superman start going after him. Like this guy is literally a nobody. He has no other role in this story except that he’s there. This guy was out on a night at the club and when he gets jumped by Superman and Ethan Hunt he doesn’t scream, or shout, or ask what is going on, he just immediately throws hands and totally wipes the floor with them. Like, he must know that there’s somebody after him, and he is ready to fight to the death at the drop of a hat. Maybe he’s Yakuza?

Maybe like, he’s some Yakuza guy who’s taking the night off from being Japanese organized crime in *checks notes* France for some reason and just wants to go to the club with his homies, and he goes to the bathroom while his buddy is out partying and just doesn’t come back. 

And after a while, like 20 minutes, his friend starts to wonder “Where did Yang go? Did he fall into the toilet or something?” Because Yang expects that someone might want him dead, but this is Japanese organized crime - some sort of formal notice is supposed to be given if they’re gonna put out a hit on you. So his buddy thinks nothing is wrong until he goes into the bathroom and finds it just destroyed - and Yang is GONE - because Superman called in the CIA cleanup squad once they left, so they’ve presumably already come in and dumped the body in the Seine or something just so nobody panics at the disco because they found a dead guy in the bathroom. 

So Yang’s buddy goes off to his boss and tells them that Yang is dead - he has to be - there was blood and the bathroom is destroyed and everything, and Yang isn’t answering his phone. And obviously nobody knows what the fuck actually happened, so these French Yakuza guys are sitting around, racking their fucking brains trying to figure out who the fuck would have that much dishonor to kill Yang and not even leave a note or a reason, and eventually they figure out - “ah! It must be Rival Gang Number 1!” 

So naturally there’s this outlandish and John Wickian series of gang fights as Yang’s gang just absolutely destroys this unsuspecting other gang that they think killed their buddy, led of course by Yang’s friend, who is totally going through some ‘John Wick tracking down the guy who killed his dog’ moments. This ends when Yang’s buddy is standing over the leader of the Rival Gang after some unimaginably bloody battle in some stylized location that is strangely like a Japanese palace but in Metropolitan France (because fuck you). They both know that at best, only one of them is getting out of this alive, and Yang’s buddy knows he should just ice the bastard and do the ritual yell that gets his friend into French Yakuza sto-vo-kor or whatever. 

But he has to know

“Why did you do it?” 

And the other guy spits out a mouthful of blood and maybe a tooth and goes “I should be asking you the same question - why did you attack us? We were at peace.”

And Yang’s buddy goes “We were, until you killed Yang”

“What? No we didn’t. Why would we do that?” and this old Yakuza boss is a man of honor, even to his enemies. If he says he didn’t do something he means it. He does. Not. lie. Ever.

And so the two of them just sit there for a minute and absorb the information that this whole gang war was in error. Of course, being the sly and conniving French Yakuza leaders they are, it never occurs to them that Yang got killed because Tom Cruise couldn’t figure out what his target looked like and grabbed the wrong guy, so they wrack their brains and eventually realize - ‘it’s a false flag operation. If we kill ourselves, Rival Gang #3 can take both of our places without jeopardizing their own operation. 

So naturally another bloody gang war goes on, this time with Yang’s Gang and Rival Gang Number 1 both fighting against Rival Gang #3. Again, a series of increasingly elaborate samurai gang battles take place across most of France (because this is in France - why? Fuck you) as these gangs try to avenge Yang. And again, they slaughter their way through the entire gang organization before finally realizing that no, Rival Gang #3 had nothing to do with this either. So they put their heads together and think about what might have happened and come to the conclusion that maybe it's a different gang - one made of actual French people and not a statistically improbable number of Japanese expats. 

And so they go to the French gang - who basically stops them at the door and says ‘we know why you’re doing this, and we went through our entire rolodex of People We Know and nobody did anything to Yang or knows who did - the only person we don’t know about is this one guy who we fired six months ago for being too crazy and if He Did This it wasn’t on Us. 

So the three gangs go okay, and take the little rolodex card and go looking for this crazy person that the French gang fired, and they find him, and they ask him what happened, and he says that he has no idea either, but he goes to that club too and knows that they have secret recording tech there so that they can blackmail their evil customers if they ever need to. 

So all of the upper management of these three gangs finish slapping themselves upside the head for forgetting something as simple as ‘pull the security tapes’ and they go and they intimidate the club owners to let them see the footage from the night this happened. They’re looking but it’s slow going, until one of the club’s security guards, who is standing right there - because they’re looking at everything inside the security room, says that he knows who Yang is - and it turns out that he moonlights as club security but his day job is at the local morgue, and he says that the Gendarmerie fished Yang’s body out of the Seine the day he died - whoever did it was sloppy and dumped him at low tide so he didn’t hit the water, otherwise they’d have never found him. 

So now these gangs are wondering what the fuck actually happened to Yang, because if someone dumped him in the river they clearly were hiding the body, not trying to make a statement, which is what Franco-Japanese Yakuza groups are all about - because they totally live for Drama. So it clearly wasn’t anyone they knew or anyone that knew them. 

To make things even more confusing they finally get the footage of Yang, and there’s not a clear idea of what happened, because Yang went in, then other people went in, then more people went in, then most of the people left. Then two guys walk in, followed by a bunch of drunks - who leave before the two guys do. Yang hasn’t left yet, but then a woman runs into the men’s bathroom, before leaving with the two guys who came in before - and they look beat up. Then a bunch of janitors go in and then leave - these are presumably the body clean-up crew, but who is everyone else? 

“What the fuck does this mean?” The gangsters say to themselves. Clearly the beat up guys are the ones that did it, but who the fuck are they? Nobody has any idea who they are, so they decide to trace these guys through the club to see where they came from and where they went. 

And now things go from unusual to downright weird, because the guys who killed Yang and the girl they left the bathroom with then go into the private area of the club, one of them picks up a girl at the bar, and then all four of them proceed to murderize like 7 guys who are trying to attack them before walking out of the club and into the night. Following the tapes of the two men back before they killed Yang reveals that they entered the club through the roof. VIA PARACHUTE. 

Who are these people? And what did Yang have to do with it? 

Finally the penny drops - oh shit, Yang was killed by the CIA. Because only the Americans are that crazy.

Now they’re panicking, running around trying to figure out if they’ve got a leak or a snitch or if this was a lucky hit and they’ve got nothing. No ideas, no clue. Why did this happen? 

Eventually someone calms down enough to burn a few favors at the US embassy and runs facial recognition. One of the guys comes back as CIA and since then he’s died so no luck. The women aren’t American, and then the other guy comes back as some random DMV worker in the United States. “Ethan Hunt”. 

Clearly this is some kind of cover - he has to be CIA too. 

So now these gangs have to try and figure out how the hell they’re going to kill a CIA agent without getting caught - because revenge/honor/sunk cost fallacy. They put their heads together and brainstorm a few ideas. Eventually they come to the master plan of: ‘grab him off the street and beat him to death’.

Smash cut to like 4 months later and they actually manage to grab Ethan Hunt off the streets of Durban or Nairobi or some other place where he’s doing some sort of op, and they get him back to a safehouse and just beat the crap out of him. Curiously he has no idea who they are or why they’re asking about Yang. This infuriates them until someone bashes him upside the head with a club and his skin peels off, revealing that it’s actually some British guy wearing a scarily good mask and a voice changer. 

Now everyone is panicking - Clearly Hunt is onto them - he had a double and everything - he knows. What does he know? How does he know? Who is he going after? All questions. No answers.

 So they go back and make another brilliant  plan to kill him again - this time they’re gonna do it right and just fucking bumrush the guy - kinda like the raid area 51 thing - he can’t stop all of us.

Meanwhile, Ethan Hunt and Vhing Rhames are losing their goddamn minds after Benji gets taken and brutally murdered by parties unknown. Seriously. They ran the plate on the car that grabbed him and it was rented to a Japanese tourist. This doesn’t mean anything. Who wanted Ethan Dead? Why? Who knows? Ethan is losing it because he thinks that he just got another member of his team killed again - because Ethan Hunt must suffer - and they obviously thought that Benji was him. 

Cut to Benji's funeral in England and it’s the standard dramatic part of the movie where Ethan is saying that he can’t work with another partner and he needs some time, yada yada yada. (Oh btw, this is like in the middle of Mission Impossible 12 or 19 or something. These Yakuza guys have been doing this all offscreen and we only see them yank Benji and then later find his body. From the movie’s perspective nobody has any idea what in the blessed fuck is going on.) 

So then we cut to Ethan sitting in his rental car, and it’s the standard dramatic scene of him silently screaming and pounding on the steering wheel of the car as he has a breakdown. But then, without the shot changing - the windows of the car suddenly fill up with angry Asian faces - it’s like a zombie movie, but with Yakuza - Ethan gets ripped from the car by dozens of angry gang members and we just see them beat him to a bloody paste while the camera is still inside the car. Arms and legs occasionally appear, but we don’t see the true horrors that the angry gangsters inflict upon him.

Credits roll - this is the end of the movie

Post credits scene cut to Vhing Rhames walking up to Ethan’s car later, as like the crime scene techs are there - Ethan’s dead, and it was bloody - he’s stabbed through the heart with a katana that then pinned him to the car door for fuck’s sake. And written in blood on the car is a message in Japanese - ‘He killed Yang, so we killed him.’ 

Nobody has any idea what this means. 

End of Mission Impossible series. 

[iam-kenough]

Will you ever notice me? (Arthur Morgan x Orgininal Female Character)

Summary:  During they wandering in deep snowstorm, man from van  der Linde gang found odd looking girl and Dutch decides to take her  to  camp to see if she can be any use, leading life of outlaw with them.  Quickly, new girl develops feelings towards Arthur, but he sees her just  as a kid…and she won’t take that! It’s an original character story  that starts in the place where Arthur, Dutch and Micah were supposed to  first meet with Sadie. Instead she’s already with them.  

Authors notes: It’s another chapter and you can find the rest of them following masterlist on my blog if you want to read more of my  fanfiction. Hope you gonna enjoy it! Word count: 2576 Chapter 10 Fire was finding away and Iris looked at it passively. She just lost everything she thought she had and even more, counting in baby that no one knew about. It was somehow strange, like Iris was watching a movie with her and Arthur in starring roles. People wanted love made for movie screens or books, but... All she wanted was just someone's warmth. Arthur seemed to have it but Iris had to face the fact that it wasn't meant for her. He had Mary. Girl bit on her lip, thinking about the woman. She was gorgeous, she was grace and the way Arthur looked at her - Iris couldn't help but to shrink. It was understandable he chosed a woman he knew instead of sticking to a girl who was all new to these things. What did she had to offer? She couldn't even kiss properly or fight for him, her flirt reminded more awkward calling for help rather than something hot. - Ah, I can't enjoy my evening seeing thing like you there - Micah sat down by the fire and spitted. Iris shivered with disgust. - I'm leaving, you are right. I know I look like shit. - What happened - he asked suddenly. Maybe it was the booze but he wasn't feeling like fighting. He had soft spot for woman in need, surprisingly. - Nothing you would care about, I think. We're not friends. - I am wasted so we can be, I'm gonna forget by the morning anyway so use it wisely, spill the beans. Iris wasn't sure, she was afraid but she didn't have someone at this moment. Mary-Beth was angry with her for chasing Arthur over and over and forgetting about her when it was good. And she had every right to be mad, Iris knew she's terrible friend. - Let's say...I have a lot on my plate, okay? - Go on, probably it's nothing I haven't heard about, dumbass. - I got shot and lost the baby. - Holy shit - he rised his head - Morgan would be a father? - Yes - Iris curled up, her knees under her chin. She was small but now one could tell she was suddenly shrinking - He won't know anyway. He's after Mary now. - Weren't you stupid flattering yourself enough to believe he would look at you - Micah snorted and then came the rest of the sentence - he's too old to stick to babygirl in attractive package, can't blame him for that. - That's what I was thinking. Maybe with a little bit of hope it's my low self-esteem talking but there you are. - I ain't friend of yours and that's good. Won't sugarcoat. Morgan is weird, as I noticed. He doesn't seem to care for anything if it was love related beside that Mary girl, he was talking about her a lot and then stopped, leaving gooey self behind and turning into cold motherfucker again.  But on the other hand - Micah took a sip from his bottle - Even you can do better, you are step ahead of him being younger and less sentimental. - I hoped...I thought he's different at first. But I think you're right, eh? At least I'm young, gotta recover quicker - she shook her head - thanks for listening me anyway. - Wasn't listening, as I said I'm gonna forget everything by tomorrow. Don't flatter yerself, missy - he waved her off and looked away, his face empty and numb. -Another letter from that Mary girl - Mrs Grimshaw handed Arthur piece of paper. Iris was sitting near enough to hear, sipping on a cup of coffee - Thought you over that, she's funny business that woman. Arthur just quickly analysed the letter and put it inside his pocket. Iris was looking at him in descreet manner, concealing behind her hair. Man looked worried even though he just got letter from his lover. What is going on inside his head? - Mind if I join you? - Mary-Beth approached, half smiling. It's been a long time since their last girl talk. Iris was almost sure Mary-Beth just ditched her forever. Who would've listen her whines. - No, of course I don't mind - Iris immediately made space for her - What's up? - No, I am here to ask you what's up. Let's forget that you ditched on me to mingle with Mr Morgan and now you are happy to see me when he left you. I wanna know what's up despite that. - Listen, I can't - she looked around. Arthur was listening and even peeking at her thinking she didn't notice - Let's find ourselves a place. Mind if I poured myself somethin' stronger, eh? -No - Mary-Beth said with deadpan voice, squeezing her glass so hard her knuckles went white - it's simply not true, it can't be. - Don't pity me, please. I'm slowly adjusting myself to it. - How can you be like that when he simply left you for another with a child? - I was "another", Mary-Beth, thinking I can compare. I'm nothing he would need in his life, I know he's dreaming about children. He looks like the type of family man, especially when you notice how loyal he is towards everyone in the camp or how he's taking care of Jack. And I'm just a kid who's terrible in locating their feelings. - You can't just let him go, not now?! You basically lost part of you in sake of this wild romance! Now there's no turning back. - I gave up, Mary-Beth. We wouldn't work out anyway. Let's drink for me not falling like a fool again. It was first time in a while when they took a task together. Iris dressed herself in manly clothes, with coat, hat hiding her hair and gunbelt around her waist. There was a bounty, easy one for girl searched by law for robbery. What a wild times it is, forcing woman to things like that or to find themselves a man just to mean something. Alone they were considered as useless. Arthur decided that it's gonna be the best for them if he's gonna be formal. Harsh maybe. Girl was clearly over him but now he wouldn't wish to trigger any awkward situations. He was looking ahead, ignoring her presence. Iris grabbed her hip-flask from horse cargo. They were heading mountains and the cold was slowly getting to her. But there was remedy, whiskey. She gulped on golden liquid and blush caused by alcohol appeared almost straight away on her face. The closest to hug it could get for her. Whiskey was a good lover too, Iris discovered that it can lulle her to sleep just like lover would. Now she get why her daddy liked it alot. - Need ya sharp minded today, kid, so slow down a little - Arthur's voice was harsh and cold. It was just like the day they met, Iris reminded herself. First time they were a team, searching for John Marston. Back then he also was looking ahead, with this ugly smirk on his face, visible scar on chin with beard trimmed harshly, probably by dull razor. He was tall and beefy, large and surely intimidating. Now, when it was over Iris could look at him as a stranger, again, with clear head. She wasn't happy to discover he caused butterflies in her stomach, even bigger now, since she knew what was hiding under navy-blue coat. Iris looked away with shame. - Don't worry, just warming myself up, I'm freezing - she put on leather gloves and fixed her hat, hoping it will hug her ears a little bit more, since tips of earlobes were going numb. Arthur ignored it, but only on the outside. Inside him there was a war. He just stepped away from girls life, numbed himself a little so he won't notice her anymore. It wasn't that Mary was better now, after years. It was just smart choice, him being an old outlaw, he would hurt Iris even more staying with her and making her life miserable with his presence. That's why he tried not to give a shit, he was good at it. At the end of the day he was cold headed feller who would shot someone's head of if it was needed. Iris jumped off her horse, grabbing her pump-action shot gun and loading it with amo. When she was younger she didn't knew much about guns, but had to find out about them soon if she didn't want to starve. Her aim was shitty thought. She got better with time,   observing Arthur, just like almost with everything, from skinning an animals to being as much intimidating as him when needed. At least girl tried her luck with it whenever she could, 'cause she was a woman, a girl after all. That's why she was bounty hunting with Arthur Morgan, no one dared to treat her like child in his presence. - After you - he said, putting out a cigarette with a shoe, bad habit of his. Iris pretended she haven't noticed, it wasn't her place to make comments. Not anymore at least, but now when she was thinking about it, it never were. They just had sex few times, to have fun, right? Iris expected that the cabin, where thiefgirl were supposed to be hiding could be a bait. She could notice them too, first and preparing a trap now. So without hesitation she kicked the door in, holding her weapon tightly. Even if the opponent was also a girl she wouldn't underestimate her. Iris remembered how Sadie was. But there was one one inside. She stepped forward and that was careless. Woman they were hunting jumped at her straight away, as she was hiding behind the door before they came. It was trap that even child would be aware off. But  now Iris wouldn't take shit from anyone. Few moves and opponent was under her, trying to escape. Girl catched a rope from Arthur's hands and hogtied thief. - Get off me, bitch! - I ain't likin' the way you speak to me, babydoll - Iris growled and decided she doesn't have to be nice today. She grabbed woman's hair and knocked her out by smashing her face against he floor. Arthur whistled. - Where did ya learn to be cruel like this? - I have someone to learn from, ya know. Clean this up - she said, pointing at woman under her. Of course she was talking about him, he was the scariest man she knew when he wanted to be one. Iris and Arthur took woman to closest sheriff's office and collected their prize. It was nice amount of money. Iris started saving lately again. When she saw that being a couple with Arthur was just her wet, girlish dream she decided to save some money. Vision of moving away somewhere nice was really nice. - Thank ya, Mr Morgan. See ya around - she said and turned to walk away. Saloon was her new favourite direction, a glass of something stronger and all worries were easier to put aside. - I am heading the same direction, ya know. Don't bother yourself anyway. - Sure - she shrugged and entered the saloon, taking place at the bar. Arthur's taken sit right next to her and placed coins on bar surface. - Two rounds for me and the lady. Iris threw him suprised look. - You don't have to, I have money. Have it back - she said and give him few coins  as a recompensate. His brows furrowed and he took them. - I don't get it, you always liked being treated - he said suddenly. -...yes. I still like it when someone important in my life does that - she said without hesitation. That was harsh but Iris didn't care. World is harsh too and so is Arthur Morgan's love. She was sitting next to him as he was getting visibly drunk. Time was passing as he wasn't looking like he's leaving, but it was already dark outsite. If she knew he's gonna pull that on her she would just go do another saloon in another town. - I'm getting back - she said, putting on her hat and gloves - Ya stayin or goin' with me, Mr Morgan? - Don't be silly, you drank nothin'. One more, on me. - Nope, I had enough and you had more than that. I am no one to scold you about it though, that's why I asked simple question. Are you going, or nah? He frowned, his eyes hazy, lips forming in thin line. - Okay, in this case I'm coming with ya. You gonna wonder around and get yourself hurt without me. Iris wasn't planning oto change Arthur's  mind, it was easier to lure him outside in this case. She knew him long enough to know he wanted be helpful and he wanted be needed. But that was the end of brilliant plan, as soon as he got up she noticed that he's gonna fall from the horse right away. He ignored her arm and was going straight ahead bumping against everything and everybody. He forgot all his belonging so she collected them. For fucks sake, it was always like that in her life. - Where are ya going, cowboy? - her gaze went up from his head to his shoes. - To the camp, I have more booze there - he hiccuped and catched balance by holding against the wall. - Like hell, look at yourself. I'm gonna pack you inside the hotel room and you gonna catch up tomorrow. Dutch won't be mad if it's gonna be me telling him that. - Yer not going anywhere - he gestured widely, showing he's totally not okay with this plan - Yer gonna get yourself killed in the middle of the night! - I have guns and I'm perfectly fine on my own since you left me, Mister. His eyes opened slowly like he was stroked with what she said and looked up at her face. - Iris? - Arthur was totally surprised that she was standing in front of him, like he wasn't along her all evening. - What the fuck, did someone put some drugs to your drink? F'course it's me, I've been sitting her with you last few hours. - I love you, girl... - his gaze become hazy and his eyes were dreamy. Oh, he was drunk as hell, she could tell that. He barely stood by himself and all those hiccups assured girl that Arthur is gonna puke. - Oh, bite me. Come, you need to lie down as soon as possible - she grabbed his arm and with visible difficulty lead him towards hotel, hoping the owner won't flip out and let them in, seeing Arthur in this condition. Then he hiccuped once more and puked on her, starting with her coat and finishing on shoes. - Christ almighty, I could've predicted that. Sit there - she placed him on a bench and started wiping herself with visible disgust, breathing deeply. Now she was close to puking too. - I'm sorry - he burped. She passed him water canteen. - Grab yourself a water and get yourself together, Mister. - I want more booze...- he burped again - I need to drink... - Hell no! Look what've just done to me, you need water and some greasy breakfast in the morning. I will treat ya if you gonna come with me, hmmm? He did.

[myhauntedsalem]

Ghostly warning: Dead gangster Ma Barker doesn’t want her house moved

He called the newsroom with a warning: They can’t move that house.

“I’m worried something terrible is going to happen,” the man said in a thick New York accent. “I have to warn somebody.”

Then he told me a ghost story.

His name is Donald J. Weiss. He’s a 62-year-old retired police patrolman from upstate New York. He had moved to Ocala several years ago and visited the house where gangster Ma Barker had been killed. He had wanted to see the site of the longest shootout in FBI history: four hours, more than 2,000 bullets.

But when he wandered beneath the live oaks, a voice growled, “Get outta here, lawman!”

And when he took a photo of the front porch, a shadowy figure appeared.

“That woman is still in that house,” he told me. “And she’s pissed.”

He gave the photo to the Marion County Sheriff’s Office because he wanted to enter it into evidence. And because bad things started happening as soon as he had blown up the print. “I had a heart attack,” he said. “You think that’s a coincidence?”

The property has been sold, he told me. County officials want to move the house.

“They have no idea who or what is in there,” Weiss said. “That woman has the power to do a lot of things. We are dealing with the afterworld here.”

I thanked the caller for his concern.

“When are they moving it?” I asked.

He paused, as if to make a point, then said gravely, “By Halloween.”

Reporters get a lot of crazy calls. Many might have dismissed this one. But I knew this house, and so did my photographer friend John Pendygraft.

“Hey John,” I called across the cubicle wall. “Do you remember that story we did on the Ma Barker house?”

John’s eyes got big. “Do you remember what happened?”

Our story four years ago had been about real estate: historic home for sale on nine waterfront acres, eight miles north of the Villages, two hours from Tampa. And about the gangsters who hid out there until the end.

We had toured the four-bedroom house with a Realtor, whose assistant shivered and said, “I get the weirdest feeling when I’m in here.” We had reported rumors about flickering lights and an unsuccessful exorcism.

But we hadn’t written about what had happened to John. Or what he saw when he enlarged one of his pictures.

John has worked in war zones in Afghanistan and the Gaza Strip. He has photographed the dead from an Asian tsunami, a Mexican assassination and Hurricane Katrina. If he ever is scared, he won’t show it.

That fall day in 2012, in the Ma Barker house, he had gone alone into the front bedroom to take pictures through the window, looking out toward the lake where the FBI agents had crouched behind trees.

All of a sudden, John rushed out, cameras, lights, tripod flapping over his shoulders, nearly sliding down the 13 stairs. “I don’t know what happened, or what that was,” he panted. He heard the mattress fall, then saw it, dangling through the bed frame. “I didn’t touch it,” he insisted.

We left that afternoon, as dusk began to descend. From beneath the Spanish moss, John shot a few final frames. The next day, when he zoomed in on his laptop, he saw a strange figure on the screened porch: The silhouette of a stout woman with a bun, who looked like she was holding a machine gun.

Her story starts in Missouri, in 1873. Her parents named her Arizona Donnie Clark. She and a farmhand, George Barker, had four sons. As soon as the boys were grown, her husband left.

Legends vary about Ma Barker’s role in her boys’ gang. Some say she just cooked and cleaned. Others say she was the mastermind.

They began by robbing banks, then murdered a policeman. From 1910 through 1930, they are said to have stolen $2 million. And killed at least 10 people.

The FBI’s first director, J. Edgar Hoover, called them “the worst criminals in the entire country.” Ma Barker became the only woman to top the most wanted list.

In 1934, the gang split and went into hiding. One son fled to Chicago. Ma and her favorite son, baby Freddie, moved to Miami where, posing as a wealthy widow, she asked if anyone knew a secluded spot where she could spend the winter.

Someone introduced her to Carson Bradford, whose family had a lovely home in the center of Florida, on Lake Weir.

The house sounded perfect: fully furnished, set back from the road, with a boat tethered to a dock out back. Ma paid the full season’s rent in cash. Just before Thanksgiving, she moved in with Freddie and a couple of his friends.

In a letter to her son Arthur in Chicago, she drew a map of the lake and circled the closest town, Ocala. She mailed it from Ocklawaha’s little post office.

FBI agents found Arthur the following January, and with him, the letter, which led them to Ma’s hideout.

In the predawn darkness on Jan. 16, 1935, a dozen officers pointed their guns at the upstairs windows. “This is the FBI,” an officer shouted, according to an agency report. “You are surrounded.”

Some say the gun battle lasted as long as six hours.

When it was over, they found Freddie, 32, shot in the back of his head. Ma, 63, was curled on the floor, cradling her Tommy gun. That day, Hoover said, marked “the end of an era of violence.”

For nine months, the corpses lay unclaimed. Finally, a relative moved them closer to home.

But some say Ma still inhabits that two-story, cream-colored house with forest green shutters. The cop on the phone, my friend the photographer, the former and current owner all saw, heard or felt … something.

But how do you report a ghost story?

I started with the Marion County Sheriff’s Office and that “evidence” photo the retired cop mentioned on the phone.

Lt. Dave Redmond remembered some man bringing in the photo, but the deputy hadn’t seen anything in it.

Records only go back to 1990, said department spokeswoman Lauren Lettelier. “But since then, there have been no reports of hauntings at that house.”

I talked to Carson Good, 47, the great-grandson of the man who built the house. He has memories of swimming and sailing in the lake. And of countless sleepless nights, cringing in the dark. “I’m not a big believer of ghosts, but I heard a lot of sounds in that house,” he said. “Voices. Furniture moving. People walking up and down the wooden stairs.”

His grandmother didn’t like to talk about it, but she often heard spirits stirring. Years ago, he said, a psychic from Cassadaga held a seance at the house and convinced the ghost of Freddie Barker to move on. But the medium said Ma refused to move.

Good and his family sold the property for $750,000 and donated the house to the county, which hired a contractor to lift the home off its foundation and float it across Lake Weir to a park called Carney Island. County commissioners allocated $270,000 for the move. Private donations and fundraising will finance the museum.

County tax collector George Albright, who grew up next to the storied house, envisions an homage to the early days of the FBI, as agents set out to capture notorious gangsters like “Baby Face” Nelson, “Pretty Boy” Floyd, Bonnie and Clyde and, of course, the infamous Barker gang.

“We’ve already had calls from people asking about ghost tours. If they want something like that, or to hold seances, we’ll look into that,” said the tax collector, “as a revenue source.”

Some say the gang buried Mason jars filled with cash along the lake. Local children used to spend summers digging for the treasure, but came up with shovels full of sand.

As soon as the home is removed, before the new owner closes on the land, the tax collector plans to bring in a team with ground-penetrating radar to scan the soil.

“Let’s hope she’s a friendly ghost,” he said.

On a gray Wednesday in October, more than 81 years after the shootout, John and I returned to the scene. The house already had been lifted on jacks. The screened porch was gone; workers were carrying out lamps. A true-crime novelist was parked in an SUV, taking pictures.

Like John, he swore he had seen a face in a window.

“I think whatever’s in there doesn’t want us to come in,” said Tony Stewart, who had driven from Indiana to see the house in its original setting. “And it won’t come out.”

We had told the retired cop that we would meet him later. The tax collector didn’t want anyone else at the construction site. But Weiss pulled up in his white Cadillac, quaking in his tassled loafers.

“This is where their bodies were. They dragged ‘em right down this driveway,” said Weiss, clasping his arms across his chest. “She’s not at rest. She will never leave this property.”

He has felt this before, he said. “I sense spirits.”

The first time was in 1992, just before Christmas. He was on patrol in White Plains, N.Y., resting in his car between calls, when he had a vision of a sad teenage boy: long hair, pale, with a pug nose. Two days later, he was sent to a home where a teenage boy had hanged himself. “The same boy I’d seen.”

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Wedded Woes [9 / Final] PAIRING: Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: Trelawny talked up a big game at a scenic boardinghouse and, playing some newly weds, you and Arthur are paying the price for it. WARNINGS: Some violence and shooting in this one, but nothing overly gore-y. NOTE: Aaand there we have it, the final chapter in this little series. I struggled with this, I had it planned and knew where I wanted it to go but I always have issues ending things so hopefully it’s good for all of those who have been following this fic! Thank you call for the positive reactions this has gotten, it’s meant a lot to me. c:

The ride back to the town outside of camp was almost an echo of the one you took out of it with the silence and tension. 

You had a poor sleep the night before, the thoughts of kissing Arthur in the hallway playing over in your head as you tried to pick it apart bit by bit. There was hatred that it happened the way it did, and after not exactly the best or bonding experience. Yet, there had been reminances of the feelings you felt. Someone solidly there, the touches to the back of your shoulders and arms around your waist. You birated yourself over the fact that it was all part of a role, you both were playing a role. You gave Arthur similar touches and leans and you doubted that he was as torn up about it as you were. At least, that’s what the bitter voice in your head had been saying. He had kissed you that first time, but he had admitted to it being out of confusion and anxiety about having more suspicion on the two of you. He had kissed you back somewhat with the second, but you knew better than to take that uncertainty you felt in it as anything but a sign that you shouldn’t have done it. 

It had complicated, too, with the thought that you had been starting to get used to sharing a bed with someone. 

Needless to say, the sleep you got wasn’t great but you got up easily enough in the morning. You figured you would have time to address it eventually, but at Arthur’s silence and his avoidance of your gaze, you started to just really want to get back to camp. However, you were anxious about that in a way, too. If you had known you would feel so complicated about the whole thing once it was done, you would have put up more of a fight with Dutch. Still, you couldn’t take back what was done and the take was a good one. They’d be happy with that. Thankfully, you were closer to a stateline, the carriage ride being a little shorter than the one you took up there, but it would still be a ride. 

One where you couldn’t even look at the man beside you without feeling some sense of frustration and embarrassment. You wanted to apologize, and you knew a time would come where Trelawny didn’t have to witness every moment of it, but as it remained it almost made it worse going back than it was leaving. 

At least back then you had some idea on what Arthur was thinking, now you just had questions. Had you overstepped? Was he angry? Was he as conflicted as you were? Would he even want to pursue anything if you admitted to feeling something? They were hard questions to bring up, and certainly not something you wanted to share around anybody but him. 

So, you kept silent for the most part, almost scared you’d say something to make the whole thing worse. 

“So, where’re you goin’ next? Gonna up and disappear on us again since this whole thing’s done?” Arthur asked Trelawny, causing you to glance at him out of the corner of your eye but you found your gaze moving back to the passing scenery again. 

“Oh, I always come back, Arthur,” Trelawny replied around a chuckle, “One can’t expect to find the leads I do while just sitting around camp.” 

“Ain’t nobody knows where you come up with them leads, so I’ll believe that…” Arthur returned with a short huff. 

“Well, I’m sure Dutch will have you back to your usual brand of fun soon enough.” 

You could only hope. 

“Yeah, then you’ll slither off to wherever it is you go until you come waltzin’ back in here with another job in a couple months.” 

“Hm. Well, I’ll be sure to suggest leaving you two out of anything that involves anything more than a simple pickpocket.” 

“Were we really that terrible?” you asked, despite yourself, as you turned your head slightly to glance toward Trelawny. He tilted his head slightly, rubbing at his mustache for a moment. 

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t say you two were the perfect fit for the job, but we have what we came for so I suppose it’s unfair to say you were completely terrible.” 

“I’ll be sure to let Dutch know you think that,” Arthur replied, his tone still light but you could sense something there. You weren’t going to look too deeply into it. 

You let the silence fall after that, turning your focus back toward the road again. Eventually, the previous night started to catch up with you, letting yourself fall asleep off and on throughout the journey if only to keep yourself from overthinking yourself into a problem. There was some lightness that came with the short conversation, much as it wasn’t as relaxed and celebratory you had thought it would have been a couple days ago. Which you knew was through your own actions, but...well, it happened. It was a kiss, or two you supposed, it could have been worse if you had pushed beyond that. If Arthur would have even let you. 

With another sigh through your nose, you shoved the thoughts aside as you tried to wake up a little more as the scenery started to become a little more familiar after a few hours of travel. 

It was early evening by the time you reached camp, gone only for a couple days but the exhaustion you felt made it seem more than that. 

You almost wanted to keep going, honestly, if only partly to avoid what waited within. Perhaps without the extra company of Arthur and Trelawny on their own horses, but you had almost missed riding in the open. You made a mental note to just go out for a bit the following day by yourself, but continued to keep pace behind the two men up ahead. Finally, you turned into some trees and down a path into a clearing with the familiar tents and wagons up ahead, Arthur calling out a greeting to the guard on duty. Sounded like John. 

Steering your horse off toward a free hitching post, you allowed yourself a minute to pat your horse on the neck as you noticed a familiar figure stepping out of the central tent. 

“Our own little wedding party! You are back…” Dutch called, jovial as he raised his arms up toward Trelawny and Arthur at the far hitching post. “All the more richer in spirit and money, I should hope.” 

“Indeed! Quite the reward, I believe,” Trelawny returned, pulling the extra saddle bag off his horse that he had tucked the money into once you had all arrived at the nearest town to camp. He passed that on to the gang leader, Dutch weighing it in his hands a moment before he took at glance at them and then towards you. 

“Well done!” he stated, “All of you! I think some celebrations are in order for your return and what you’ve brought us.” 

Great. 

You heard some cheers of agreement from camp, your hands coming up to rub at your eyes a moment but you couldn’t help the small grin that touched your face. Any excuse for a party these days, it seemed. You had only been to a few since you had joined, usually over successful scores or the camp in general just felt like it. It usually involved a lot of singing and a lot of drinking, two things you weren’t too sure you were up for in the moment but you figured you would get pulled into it one way or another. 

Though, seeing Karen making her way toward you as you got out of the saddle told you that would be sooner rather than later. 

“That was quick,” she commented once she was close enough, “I was thinkin’ y’all would be gone for a couple’a days at least.” 

“Things lined up, I supposed,” you said, offering her a small but tired smile. 

“Well come on, then!” she exclaimed, “Throwin’ a party in your honor and you’re lookin’ ‘bout as thrilled as you did when you left!” 

“It’s been a long couple days, but I could use a drink and a good song so…” 

The party had picked up shortly after you had relented to having a little fun before going to sleep and hopefully leaving this whole thing behind. Of course, a familiar unpleasant feeling grew at the thought, but you didn’t even want to address it anymore at the moment. Last thing you needed was alcohol and that at the forefront of your mind. Music and singing had closely followed behind as you sat yourself around a fire, Javier with his guitar as Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur seemed to be talking about something at a table. 

However, you didn’t dwell on that. Not really. The night went on fairly easily outside of a couple scenes pushed forth by alcohol, some amusing, some not so much. You had grown used to them in a way, you supposed, not that they didn’t catch a couple looks but living with a group of outlaws wasn’t exactly smooth sailing most days. Dutch kept them together but personalities clashing was inevitable. Karen had started to get her fill, pulled off by Sean somewhere that left you being pulled off by Mary-Beth toward one of the wagons where it was more quiet. 

It was surprisingly something you found yourself needing, and perhaps she had picked up on that but you couldn’t tell. 

“So what was the most interestin’ thing about it?” she asked after a few minutes, bright eyed and interested, making you glance toward her with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, a big fancy house, rich people, the romantic intention despite it being fake on your ends…there had to be somethin’.”

“You know, I had been thinking you would have been better suited for it,” you replied with a small chuckle, “I found the whole experience to be strange and uncomfortable.” 

Conflicting and confusing as hell, too. 

“Nothin’ happened?”

“...Between what?” you asked, a sinking feeling in your gut about her rather pointed question. It was vague enough but you knew she probably didn’t want the details to the robbery in a situation like that. 

“Well, we weren’t expectin’, but...with Dutch putting you together on that, I thought maybe it was a bit of fate that…”

“I...I can’t lie and say that those old feelings didn’t make the whole thing worse for me, but...I don’t know, it’s...it’s something I’ll talk about later when it’s not so fresh.” 

“I understand,” Mary-Beth said with a small nod, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t tryin’ to get you to gossip about it. I just thought...well, you seem a little odd tonight.” 

“It’s fine, it’s just…” 

Speak of the devil. Mary-Beth had glanced up as you glanced down, trying to collect your thoughts a bit as you debated on telling her anything. However, she knocked her hand subtly against your arm, causing you to glance up to see Arthur making his way over. He didn’t seem all that hesitant, but he wasn’t exactly overflowing with confidence. Still, you let the words die on your tongue as he indeed decided to walk toward you both. 

“Mary-Beth,” he greeted with a nod before glancing toward you, “I don’t wanna pull you away from what you was doin’ but I wanted to talk with you a minute.” 

“Sure…” you started, glancing up as Mary-Beth stood from where she was sitting on the box next to yours. 

“I should see how Karen and Tilly are holdin’ up,” she explained, giving you a quick grin before she turned and walked off. You had a feeling this would only add to her questions later. 

You glanced back toward Arthur as he came to sit down on the box Mary-Beth had left, hands resting on his knees as he tilted his head down in thought. Nervousness came back tenfold from last night, keeping back any questions you may have asked to start this conversation but Arthur had approached. You figured he should start and you could get an idea on what type of conversation this would be. 

“I ain’t all that good with words, least ones I can’t write down,” he admitted, glancing up and stared off into the fire lit darkness that had surrounded camp. “I just...want to know what the hell happened last night.” 

“I...this whole thing got me confused, and not exactly for the reasons I told you about before,” you said, rubbing a hand across your chin. Come out with it. There’s no other time than now. “I thought it wouldn’t get in the way, but…I’m fond of you, Arthur.” 

“Me?” he asked, almost sounding disbelieving, “This because we pretended to be married?”

“No, well…” you started before letting out a sigh, covering the lower half of your face with your hands. 

“I know you know the reasons for why...why I kissed you that first time, but...last night, did that mean anythin’?” 

“...Yes,” you stated after taking in a breath, heart pounding, “I just...your reaction. I have no idea if I stepped over a line or you just…” 

“...I mean, look at me,” he stated, “I thought you was just confused by everythin’, just some...old ugly--”

“I’ve liked you since I first saw you,” you blurted out, taking a small breath in, “You’re not old, you’re not ugly. Not to me. That’s been there since before this whole mess of a job. I’d just...I buried it down because...I’d just met you and there was that distance, then some of the other women picked up on it and I was lead to believe it wouldn’t happen from what they’d said. Nothing bad, just that...well, there was that distance.” 

“Christ…” he muttered, making you glance over at him as he seemed to be weighing his words. 

“I just...I need to know,” you continued, trying to keep your gaze on his as he turned to look at you, “Is there...is there even a chance that we could...well, be something?” 

There was a heavy pause after, Arthur dropping his gaze as he stared into the grass at his feet for a few moments. You could feel your stomach twisting, making it hard to sit still and not just stand up and pace around. Nervousness bloomed into anxiety that had you wanting to take all the words back the more silence situated. Yet, this was it. This was the moment to really know if it was really time to bury those thoughts and feelings.

“I was gonna ask you the same damn thing,” he stated after a few moments, shaking his head with a bitter huff, “Kissin’ you, you kissin’ me, hell I...I don’t know. I been beatin’ myself up all day ‘bout not bein’ able to say anythin’.” 

“Me, too,” you admitted with a sigh, his words filling you with a lightness you couldn’t describe while pulling you back down harshly, “If we’re asking the same question, I’m sure you already know how I’d answer, but…” 

“I ain’t an easy man to be with,” Arthur replied, “I’m a stubborn bastard, no good…” 

“You…” there was a hitch to your voice, causing you to shake your head slightly before continuing, “You really come over here to talk me out of this?” 

“...No. No, but I mean…”

“I’m not asking you to actually marry me, you know that right?” you asked, your chuckle a touch tense but it caused Arthur’s expression to soften somewhat, “If you want to try, I’d...I’d be more than willing.” 

“You wanna try?” he repeated, looking over your face. 

“Yeah, I’d like to,” you replied with a nod, “If you’re willing.” 

Arthur glanced away for a moment, almost searching before he nodded lightly, glancing back toward you. 

“Alright...I’d like that, too.” 

The relief that settled into you at that was something else, the small grin that touched your face threatening to spread into a wider one. Still, you just found yourself nodding again, bowing your head a moment before giving him an actual smile. 

“Okay, then we’ll do that.” 

Arthur rose after that, causing you to follow with him. You were preparing for him to leave to return back into the camp’s little party, and for a moment it seemed like he was about to do just that. Really, you couldn’t say you felt like you could expect much other than what he had told you and agreed to, you weren’t too sure what speed he actually wanted to take with everything. However, instead of walking off, he paused to glance back toward you with some visible debate in his expression before it seemed to fade into something softer. 

You stepped toward him when you noticed him closing the space between you both, bringing his hands up to cup your face before pressing a kiss to your lips. There was something much different about it, less sudden and uncertain, and it had you melting a bit into the feeling as you brought your hands up to grip onto the front of his jacket. You pressed back into it with the same intensity, something short and sweet but it had that hint of promise that you had been missing from the others. It had you lingering close once the kiss was eventually broke, smoothing your hands against the fabric of his jacket that you had been gripping, exhaling softly through your nose. 

“I can almost hear the mocking now once they’ve figured this out…” you commented around a chuckle, Arthur returning it himself lightly. 

“Yeah, well, ain’t their business and we ain’t gotta say anythin’ yet,” he stated, dropping his hands away from your face as you smiled softly at him. 

“That’s true…” 

The both of you had finally parted after that, you deciding to linger back for a few moments before returning to the party as you let everything settle in your mind. Really, you were surprised at how composed you had remained throughout that whole thing, though you figured you had already acted boldly enough the previous night anyway. Really, the whole thing had you pressing your hand to your mouth a moment to hide the wide grin that broke out, knowing this wasn’t the end of it and there was some uncertainty on how it would all play out in the end, but it wasn’t the end. That was enough. 

However, you didn’t get to dwell on that thought for too long as you heard some rustling of grass behind you, along with a chuckle. 

“Here I was thinkin’ I was gonna have to awkwardly step in, if only for my own sake.” 

The voice was familiar, but it put a jump to your heart as you turned around to see Hosea stepping out from around a wagon. You gaped at him a moment as he regarded you with an amused grin, tilting his head. 

“I noticed you missin’, considerin’ it’s your party, thought I’d find you out here but…” he started, “You two really fall for each other pretendin’ to love each other?” 

“That’s a...strong question, Hosea,” you said with a soft chuckle. He gave you a knowing look, but didn’t comment any further, giving you a pat on the shoulder before he started to walk ahead toward the camp again. 

“Well, come on. Dutch’ll least wanna thank you for your work before you disappear for the night. Now I’m thinkin’ he’s not the only one who’ll miss you ‘round there tonight.”

[squidproquoclarice]

You said Charles in the Epilogue bugs you. I don't see a post about it so can you explain?

I’ve written on this before but given it’s been a while and I usually have some new facet to consider, plus Tumblr Search is such ass, let’s do this thing!My beef with Charles in the Epilogue is how it takes a character who’s earned his independence and happy ending, and strips that away from him.  Charles in the Epilogue honestly does not make sense.  He’s Charles Ex Machina, a plot device who also knows things he logically shouldn’t.  And denying a MOC his own story to make him a tool in service to the stories of two white men (Arthur and John) is…kinda not cool.I think at the end of Chapter 6 we got a good ending for Charles.  He’s rejected the gang and all its bullshit.  He’s found his place with people who need him, who accept him.  He’ll become a protector of the Wapiti, presumably raise a family, and in my HC, also becomes an adopted son to Rains Fall, who desperately needs that himself as part of his own healing given the raw wound from the death of Eagle Flies.  He’s moving towards a brighter future, and choosing that for himself, rather than being obligated to stick around as an actor in someone else’s story.  He more or less says to Arthur, You’re my friend and I know you have to see this through, but I’m leaving.  These people need me.  I’m done with all of this.  It’s a meaningful exit, and a respectful goodbye between two friends who see they’re on very different, divergent paths in who they’re choosing to stay with and protect.  There’s a grace and dignity and agency to letting Charles make that reasonable choice, and not stay until the very end.  Charles is also one of the chars we actually get an actual exit from, unlike Mary-Beth and others who slip away sight unseen.  It’s a good farewell, and it’s respectful of Charles and Arthur both.Then in 1907, it’s all walked back.  We find him prizefighting in St. Denis, having left Canada and the tribe for reasons never specified.  His dignified choosing of a home with the Wapiti is stripped from him.  We’re told that he heard all the way up in Canada (how, precisely, when he’s had no contact with any of the gang?) that Susan and Arthur died, and then came to come bury them, when he left before the end and couldn’t even know exactly where their bodies were, particularly Arthur’s.I dunno about you, but I think it’s kinda absurd that they decided Charles needed to be all about Arthur to the point that they completely abandon plot and character logic. They don’t see how strange it is they decide he abandoned the very vulnerable living people he chose to protect, probably in winter to boot, to come on what likely had to be a weeks-long journey just to search for, find, and bury two long dead corpses.  That doesn’t sound much like the Charles Smith I know.  He loves, but he cares deeply about protecting the living first and foremost.  He wouldn’t abandon his chosen family like that.  Nor would Arthur have wanted him to–they both made that choice to protect and save the living at the Wapiti reservation.  I get that on the surface “Charles buried Arthur” works as a nice emotional beat, but when you dig into it, I think it feels cheap and unearned.  It’s tell, not show of something we were already shown: Charles and Arthur were good friends.  We don’t need Charles to drop everything important of his own to go on some epic burial quest just to prove he was a good friend.  He’s proven it already.After that, as I pointed out, in 1907 Charles’ peaceful life in Canada has been sacrificed (and never explained either).  I’m back on the gang’s bullshit I had firmly rejected, because I guess they need a strong back and Arthur’s dead.  He’s there only so he can do one thing: he’s there to help build and defend Beecher’s Hope.  He’s become an actor in John’s story, without aims or desires of his own like he had in Chapter 6. And I argue yes, it’s one thing he does in the Epilogue, two if you count our being told about burying Arthur.  He’s not even allowed to meaningfully participate in hunting down Micah, given he’s ridiculously nerfed from the fight like two seconds in by a sniper wound.  He’s not even given the dignity of being involved, because fulfilling that quest to kill Micah for the sake of the man he supposedly dropped everything for before can apparently only belong to John–and notice who’s racing up the mountain alone at the end?  Even Sadie, who actually led the whole damn thing, has to be reduced to a damsel in distress in the end.So Charles, a biracial man of color, exists in the Epilogue for two reasons: to have abandoned his chosen Native American family to worry about burying a dead white man, and to build a white man’s house and help him win his girlfriend back, all while apparently having no aims or agency of his own.  I dunno, but that’s kind of yikes?After all that, he rides off to go back to Canada again, and take up the peaceful life he should have been living all along and go have a family, still without any explanation of what happened to make him not have those things except apparently plot demanded it so he would be available.  I guess maybe he had amnesia for the past 8 years, since they don’t seem to have existed for him.So yeah, in conclusion, I will forever argue that Charles Smith was done super dirty by the Epilogue, given his role makes no sense, and there’s no char growth, there’s actually char regression given the things forced on him actually walk back a lot of his agency and growth that he had in Chapter 6.  

[woolishlygrim]

Winter Weebwatch #6

Infinite Dendrogram is the lone late-in-the-week show that always makes me late posting these. If it wasn’t around, I could get these done on Tuesdays.

Anyway, kind of a mixed week this week, from the highs of ID: Invaded (now firmly cemented as the best show of the season, nobody’s coming even close to beating it by now) to the lows of Darwin’s Game (still incredibly forgettable).

ID: Invaded.

★★★★★

Another five star episode this week, as the gang decides to enter Narihisago/Sakaido’s Well, sending newly minted serial killer detective Hondomachi in, where she takes the identity of Miyo Hijiriido. Their goal is to discover whether John Walker, the mysterious red-coated man who has appeared in multiple killers’ Wells, and who might have supplied both the Challenger and the Gravedigger with video equipment, also influenced Narihisago to become a serial killer.

While what they find is fairly in line with what Wells have been like so far (in this case, Narihisago’s Well is a numbered board where lightning strikes seemingly at random, somehow never striking the same place twice), things start to go distinctly strange once Hondomachi investigates further: She eventually comes across a perfect recreation of the device for entering Wells, registered as active and diving into the Well of a woman who was the last intended victim of the Challenger, who escaped after Narihisago killed him.

This, we quickly learn from Momoki, is impossible: The woman in question wasn’t a serial killer, so how could she have a Well; the same woman wasn’t important to Narihisago, but rather to Momoki himself; and most importantly, the technology didn’t exist at the time Narihisago’s Well would have formed, so there’s no possible way he could have imagined a version of it.

Things get much stranger when Momoki is immediately arrested, with officers informing him that not only have they traced access attempts from the video equipment to his computer, but they also found John Walker’s distinct red frockcoat and cane in his home, and the body of the Well technology’s missing creator buried in his garden. 

So, this is officially the point where things have gone extremely weird, and the fan theory that’s been going around that the whole show is actually taking place in someone’s Well is growing … ever more plausible, as the show floats the idea of entering Wells within Wells and separate layers of unreality. The evidence that Momoki is John Walker is all a bit too neat for episode seven out of thirteen, so it’s doubtless not actually him, but beyond that, it’s impossible to predict where this show will go from here.

Any episode that is both technically perfect and which totally upends your understanding of the series is deserving of five stars.

In/Spectre.

★★☆☆☆

Here’s that tone problem again.

The episode opens on a fight scene of sorts between Steel Girder Nanase and Kuro, before segueing into a flashback to Kuro’s backstory (which I didn’t think we’d get this early, but sure) and then into an explanation of what Nanase actually is.

It’s … not as jarring as the tone problems in other episodes, but the flashback to Kuro’s origin is far, far darker than anything else in the episode, to the point where it feels staggeringly out of place. The story of Kuro’s powers, in which he is fed the flesh of intelligent beings without him knowing about it by his grandmother, only to then watch his siblings all die before, as the seeming lone survivor, his grandmother decides to begin experimenting on him, is the kind of sequence that wouldn’t be out of place in a much grimmer and more disturbing anime. It clashes hard with In/Spectre’s generally more comedic tone.

The explanation of the identity of Steel Girder Nanase is also a little disappointing. After setting us up for some kind of reveal that the real Nanase is still alive, this episode tells us that no, no, Nanase really is dead, Steel Girder Nanase isn’t her but rather a spooky meme of her that has come to life. I’m not generally fond of ‘mass human belief changes the nature of the world’ stories anyway, and this comes over as a rather weak plot twist.

It’s an enjoyable enough episode (although, man, are we really doing the Steel Girder Nanase thing for the rest of the show? After three episodes, it feels like that arc is almost done), but it’s riddled with all the problems we’ve seen before from this show.

Pet.

★★★☆☆

This episode should’ve been a four start one, but it gets a little bogged down in its own terminology and worldbuilding to really make it. There’s a lot of talk of peaks, valleys, locks, and images, and since the show has never really adequately explained what all of those are, it’s difficult to shake the feeling that these are things we’re meant to full understand, but can’t because the show hasn’t deigned to give us all of the details.

It doesn’t ruin the story or anything. We know enough of these things to get a basic idea of how they work: The peak is the best memory they have, the valley is the worst, the image is the form they take when traversing memories, and the lock is the guard they have on their own memories. It’s just not clear how those all interact. Why and how is the peak hidden by the valleys? Why does having a weak lock make an image stronger? Why is it necessary to find someone’s peak in order to change their memories?

Since the bulk of this episode relies on understanding those things, though, as Hayashi races to find his way to Tsukasa’s peak, only for Tsukasa to reveal a trick with his image that allows him to link their peaks and crush Hayashi’s mind by flooding it with his own valley, it means you do spend a lot of the episode just kind of … along for the ride, not quite lost, but also only really having a surface understanding of what’s going on.

The end of the episode, which sees Hiroki save Tsukasa from his self-inflicted mindcrush by performing the same trick in reverse, sharing his peak to ‘clean out’ Tsukasa’s, also relies on knowing those things, and so also falls a little flat.

There are some solid emotional beats here, though, and some really vividly disturbing imagery, and that’s nice. We also get formally introduced to the guy who I assume is going to be our next villain, a higher-up at the Company who wants to tap one of the three main characters to keep making ‘babies,’ psychics who are mindless automatons. 

Darwin’s Game.

★★☆☆☆

Honestly, it’s still tough to remember anything that happens in these episodes, even with notes, and this episode, which is decisively a ‘setting things up’ episode instead of a ‘things that happen’ episode, is not helping with matters.

This episode is mostly here for introducing the next two members of our main team, neither of which are given names yet (or are they? I wouldn’t remember if they had been): A man with a lie detector ability and a lot of guns, and a kid with a split personality who has water manipulation ability.

Given that this arc is leaning towards our main team coming together as a clan at the end of this treasure hunt game, it seems to go almost without saying that the Florist isn’t going to survive. He’s the only one on Team Hotel who isn’t also in the opening, and with it having been several episodes since anyone last snuffed it, someone has to die if the show wants to keep its death game cred. So the Florist is, to put it nicely, doomed.

This episode also floats the idea that collecting the rings isn’t the point of the treasure hunt game, but it gives us no reason to care about that. Our protagonist is motivated by just surviving, so all he or any other character needs to do is get three rings and not get killed, with the actual goal of the hunt being … I don’t know, an afterthought, I suppose.

Not exactly compelling material.

Infinite Dendrogram.

★★★☆☆

So, I watched this episode when I hadn’t slept for �� I think it was thirty-two hours, at that point? It was a few hours before I actually got some sleep. So I think it’s fair to say I wasn’t exactly watching it attentively.

That said, this episode was okay. Most of it is taken up by another big battle with a monster, with Ray and Nemesis trying to figure out the best way to maximise the advantages their abilities offer them, versus a seemingly impossible foe. Where it falls down somewhat is that, just like the previous huge battle, this one ends exactly the same way -- with Ray gaining a new ability and using that to win the day.

But we do get a nice little flashback with his brother Shu, who we see outside the game is a martial artist who enjoys winning impossible fights. This … might actually be the first time we’ve seen Shu in a very traditionally Anime Big Brother role, instead of as a dorky guy in a bear suit making bear puns. 

The episode even has something of a twist, as it’s revealed that Penguin-Suited Doctor Guy, the one who tricked Ray into getting temporary dog ears, is actually Hugo’s older brother a part of the plan for Dryfe to take over Altar, and the dog ears were a way of him listening in on Ray. I said last week that nothing was really done with that plotline, and the whole thing about Ray randomly being given dog ears by a mad scientist was pointless, so colour me wrong, I suppose.

All this together, along with Penguin’s suggestion that they can defeat Altar without any casualties, makes it seem like the show is gearing up for a Penguin vs Bear Battle of the Big Brothers, which is an interesting prospect, at least.

[yeet-or-be-hawed]

Arthur Morgan x Reader Fan Fic Master Post

So I’ve written a good bit of fics at this point and one of my friends pointed out I hadn’t made a master list so here it is! I’m going to try to continue to keep it updated as I post more fics. 

Original works:

Golden Sands: Angst. This fic takes place years after Arthur’s death. You’ve lived it rough without him, and find yourself reminiscing on those days when things were simpler. 

Jealousy Looks Cute on You: Fluff. Arthur gets jealous when the other men around camp take notice of you, but doesn’t want to ruin your friendship. 

Hunting Trip Part 1 Part 2 Part 3: A multipart fic that follows what happens when you accompany Arthur hunting. Fluff in part 1 and 2 with smut in part 3. 

My Last Confession: More Pining than fluff really.  A robbery goes awry and you find yourself fighting for your life. 

A Tease: Smut. You both know Arthur wants you and you want him, but you aren’t an easy catch. You dangle yourself just within grasp until he can’t take it anymore. 

Bloody Knuckles: Fluff. A trip into Saint Denis turns into a date and you find yourself falling for Arthur quicker than you expect. 

No One Mourns the Wicked: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3  Complete finally! Very loosely based from a few of my favorite songs from the broadway musical Wicked, it follows how your relationship with Arthur grows from frienemies to lovers. First part more pining and secret feelings with some smut in part 2. Part 3 has fluff and angst. 

Happy Ending: Fluff. When the gang splits and Dutch shows his true colors, you and Arthur grab the gang’s money from deep within Murfee Brood Cave and escape to live a happy life together. 

Hunters of Flesh and Money: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6  Part 7 This is a more personal fic with no foreseen ending quite yet. It’s based largely on my Red Dead Online character and the stranger missions from online. This is my first fic where I use an actual name instead of y/n. I try to refrain from using it too much so it still feels like a reader insert. Fletcher is a (low honor) outlaw who leads a mostly solitary life. Her closest friends were the Adlers until she found their ranch burnt to the ground. Upon seeing the burnt ranch and Jake Adler’s dead body, she mourns the death of her closest friends. It’s not until months later that she discovers Sadie is still alive and staying with a gang just outside of Rhodes. This story follows her journey in finding friendship and maybe even something more as her adventures begin crossing paths more often with the Van Der Lindes. 

Moonshine and Kerosene: Part 1  Part 2 A fic based on the Moonshiner role in Red Dead Online. This fic is currently in the works, but should be finished soon! I’m thinking it will be a three parter but I will update the bio and mark it complete when the last part is posted. In this fic, Arthur meets a beautiful woman while on a job for the Braithwaites. She handles her shine and has a secret or two which Arthur tries to coax out with a little bit of charm and a lot of shine. The night ends with a bang to say the least, or at least as much of Arthur remembers was DEFINITELY a bang. 

Caught: Part 1 Part 2A Part 2B: Smut. After a long night from moving camps and watching guard, Arthur notices how tired you are he offers his bed to you after your guard duty is over. You oblige, and after a hot and heavy dream about him, you swallow your pride to take care of your urges yourself-until Arthur walks right in on you. Part 1 is set up and part 2A and B are smut, part A being Low honor Arthur and B being High Honor. 

Requests:

Just Friends: Fluff. You’ve been good friends with Arthur for some time, and when he visits Mary, your jealousy gets the better of you.

Where Loyalties Lie: Fluff. You and Arthur have been best friends since childhood. When Arthur is kidnapped by Colm, you’re overcome with emotions you didn’t know you had. 

Familiar Faces In Familiar Places: Fluff. After having his marriage proposal rejected by Mary, Arthur has been in a very depressive state. Abigail wants to help and her childhood friend just so happens to be in town. With her new found lover, John in tow she’s determined to pull Arthur out of his funk.

Attempts For Attention: Fluff. Arthur has been trying to get your attention, but you are unfortunately quite oblivious to his affections. 

Red and Black: Angst with a dash of fluff. Arthur is prepared for whatever torture is thrown his way when he’s caught by the O’Driscoll’s. What he isn’t prepared for is when your attempt to rescue him goes wrong and Colm finds a new form of torture in you. 

Lost and Found: Fluff. After getting separated from the gang, you thought you would never see Arthur or any of the other Van Der Linde’s again. That is, until you run into a familiar outlaw in the streets of Rhodes.

A First Time For Everything:  Smut. Even after being together for a few months, Arthur has proven harder to bed than you expected, but tonight is the night where things get s p i c e y ~

Miscellaneous: 

Conversations Between Travelers:  An ongoing Miniseries following the adventures between our fave gang and a strange traveler that was found along the way. 

Tell Me Something Embarrassing: This is something a little new that I like to call a Friendfic. No pairing, no romance, just some wholesome cowboy content. This particular friendfic revolves around Arthur and Abigail. Shortly after John and Abigail get together, Arthur attempts to get to know his brother’s new gal. Inspired by a popular Tumblr post, this fic was honestly a joy to write!

Arthur’s Adventures: Contemplation: Arthur’s Adventures is a non-linear group of stories with no romantic interest. It’s simply what its called- miscellaneous adventures starring our favorite cowboy! Between epiphanies in the bathtub to precautionary tales about knowing your mushrooms, these stories will be sure to fill your heart even without a romantic plot.  

[movienotesbyzawmer]

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

May 4: Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

(previous notes: Star Wars: The Last Jedi)

Source: UK 3D Blu-ray

I saw this at pretty much the very first available showing, and haven't watched it since. But since I had the other Disney-era ones in 3D, and I still have the capability to watch 3D movies at home, I decided to complete my Blu-ray collection by ordering the British 3D Blu-ray, like I'd done with The Last Jedi. So now I'm going to see it at home for the first time, in 3D for the first time, and take notes like I've been doing.

My reaction when I saw this on opening night was that it was a lot of fun. I didn't think it was as good as The Last Jedi. Overall it feels like a trilogy where the first priority was to avoid the mistakes of the prequels, and the second priority was to have them be fun movies. Mission accomplished, but the actual story of this trilogy is only marginally satisfying. But I left that opening night screening excited about all the neat things I'd witnessed. And now I shall press play and do some re-witnessing…

Emperor Palpatine, the opening crawl tells us. He wasn't someone we were expecting to be part of the plot of this movie, was it?

First scene after the opening shot is a slow-mo land battle, visually different from Star Wars movies in general. Dude kills 100% of everyone then plucks a mysterious relic from a mysterious relic. He's on a Tomb-raider-y treasure hunt.

It takes him to a Tomb Raider-y lair… and there are creatures in green liquid ahhh!

"…some consider to be… UNNATURAL", that line from Episode III. Very love it. Good reference.

The image of all those Star Destroyers is super super super cool.

And now after a calculated bit of lightness in the Millennium Falcon, the good guys arrive at a super neat looking planet thing. Not even ten minutes in and we've seen three inventive new planet environments.

And now a chase, "lightspeed skipping", and each skip is a cool space place, all different, one of them has a big monster! They are tuned into what's good about Star Wars movies, these Rise of Skywalker makers.

Also, Finn and Poe seem to have settled into their roles as funny supporting-character buddies. The first movie really seemed to be beginning a more dramatic arc for Finn, but it doesn't feel like that's happening any more.

0:15:36 - Rose Tico sighting! Her arc blunted as well. Be nice if she joined them on this mission they're about to leave on.

Really kind of surprising how much footage there is of Carrie Fisher, who died years before this came out.

Okay now we're back with Kylo Ren on this planet that's the equivalent of that orc-factory in Lord of the Rings. What's he doing? Collaborating with some ukky beings. Fixing his helmet. Hm.

Bit of humor in the conference room scene, again calculated.

Back to our heroes and they're on another neat new planet with color clouds & celebratory visuals, pleasant.

0:23:40 - Very cinematic Rey-Kylo cross-galaxy conversation, cool.

Lando saves them from stormtroopers, and is therefore given the honor of the "I've got a bad feeling about this" line.

0:28:00 Speeder chase in the desert, and the stormtrooper speeders launch them up and they fly! Cool!

Hah, there's a gag where Rey fires up her light saber and Poe tries to do that too but his is just a flashlight, cute.

Okay, here's this scene I like where there's a serpent monster in their Tomb Raider cave, and Ray figures out that the monster just needs to be force healed so she does it and it helps them. Sounds corny but I like it.

0:36:00 - we see the Ren gang on a plateau and here a new music theme. I'm not much noticing the new music themes in the Star Wars movies of the 2010s, but there's one.

This scene. The Kylo/Rey meeting in the desert. It was heavily teased in the trailer and it would have been more effective if we hadn't seen so much of it in the trailer. Also there's a who-can-magic-harder duel that ends up killing Chewy, except that we don't have to believe that very very long.

"Let's do that!" about wiping C-3POs memory, John Boyega's exceptional comic timing on display again.

0:45:40 - We're on this new planet now, which is so Poe can find the person that can do a memory wipe of 3-3PO, right? It's fast-paced, this movie.

"We sent out a call for help at the battle of Krait, nobody came" says Poe. Am I forgetting that drama from The Last Jedi? I know he's talking about that final battle from that movie, but I didn't remember a despairing "no one is coming", at least not like it was a huge, shocking letdown.

I like the little Babu creature but we don't get much of it, do we

Poe is all "did she do that to us" when he sees her Force-hypnotize the stormtroopers, haha

0:58:10 - Pretty unique shot, dollying backwards facing Poe & Finn shooting stormtroopers we can't see until they fall in front of the camera

"Your parents were no one… they CHOSE to be" here's where it starts to seem like this movie doesn't like where the last movie was going & made it be different. If this were an improv class the teacher would be like, "remember the principle of 'yes AND…'"

Okay, this bit coming up where General Hux saves them & says he's the spy. It's… funny? And dumb? Maybe? Sort of a tawdry end to this character in the trilogy maybe?

"You.. Are a Palpatine." Dun dun dunnnnnnn. Okay sure I guess. This isn't what I'm into Star Wars movies for; I wouldn't have had it be about this.

They get to the new planet and Rey figures out how to use the knife tool to find where to go, it's so like a Tomb Raider game that I feel like I'm reading a cheat guide on GameSpot

Now Finn is bonding with the girl on the planet who is also a stormtrooper deserter, makes that whole Finn subplot make more sense.

Rey swiped a cool watercraft to go to the wreck of the Death Star and I just want to point out once again that I like the vehicle design in Star Wars movies.

1:13:10 - overhead shot of said vehicle is the first notable example of something that looks good in 3D in this movie. I'm inclined to say you really shouldn't feel like you're missing out if you're seeing this in 2D.

She's in a vision cave on the wrecked Death Star. She fights HER OWN SELF for a second, and bad-Rey rawrs at her in a way that reminds me of when Bilbo does that in the first Lord of the Rings movie. I liked it there and I like it here.

1:18:05 - First bit of my beloved "Han Solo and the Princess" theme, so lovely

Now Rey and Kylo are saber dueling all over this wreck with waves everywhere and it reminds me of the big climactic duel in Episode III where it seems like the duelers are going out of their way to duel in a cool looking place.

Everything gets all dramatic in a way that doesn't really get explained - Leia very deliberately says "Ben", then dies, but it affects Kylo allowing Rey to kill him, but then she un-kills him with Force magic because "I did want to take your hand" and then bounces. And it's not over with this kind of thing, because Kylo has a not-really-real conversation with his played-by-OMG-Harrison-Ford father, and he symbolically hurls his awesome saber away. So where are we now? We're in some drama, that's where. I miss cool vehicles and inventive creature design!

1:27:45 - Modded-up Star Destroyer emerges from lightspeed and it's another cool 3D effect.

And then it blows up the planet where Poe's ex-girlfriend was and it looks cool, but we could have used her to be around more. Wait, does she not-be-dead later or something? Probably.

Okay, very corny sequence happening now, it's the pep talk between Rey and ghost-Luke, it ends with a smirking Luke raising up an X-wing like he couldn't do in Empire Strikes Back, so I guess that plot point is tidied up.

Okay, we got past that drama and now there's a very simple Saint-Crispin's-Day speech riling up the troops so they can go to that mystery planet for the final battle, and interest level has picked up.

1:41:28 - Hey a shot of Rey going through a wall gap is a reference to the earlier cool-in-3D shot of the watercraft & the Death Star wreck.

And here's something that internet assholes picked on - they ride horse-things on the Star Destroyers. Lighten up comrades, maybe this just isn't your kind of space adventure movie.

Rey gets in the mystery-edifice and holy hell it's creepy! There's an audience of thousands of cultists in black stone bleacher seats, chanting in perfect unison! It's downright Kubrick-y!

They really had fun with the lighting in the Palpatine room. Also, there are red stormtroopers on the Star Destroyers and aren't they pretty.

Palpatine is trying to convince Rey that she should embrace hatred and hill him and rule the galaxy in ritual hatred with a chanting congregation of hooded dipshits. Will it work? He does have a very compelling speaking voice. But here comes Kylo! He has had a change of heart or something!

"The life force in your bond," he narrates, and then bad-magics them super hard!  We never could have anticipated that evil force spells could thwart their plans.

1:54:20 - very satisfying shot of a giant fleet of good guys coming to save the day. They hit us with the idea of no one coming to save them, and just like when Han Solo swooped in in the first movie, it feels good that this time someone else did show up. And yes it includes Poe's girlfriend and that charismatic little varmint!

Super cool to see Star Destroyers get blown up.

Also cool when Palpatine super-zaps lots of good guy spaceships. Sound is neat on that also. This intense visual/aural experience is what I was thinking about for a while after first seeing this movie.

Rey beats Palpatine by having that surprise second light saber. Whatever, this is a super cool looking scene with all the bad guys in that chamber getting wasted.

Other cool battle climax imagery happens up in the sky, even though it's kind of hard to see what exactly physically happened to save Finn and those guys on the crashing Star Destroyer.

Kylo… what??? Didn't die when he just disappeared into a crevasse??? Quel surprise! He's super-reformed now and heals Rey up with his tender love for her. They kiss, their carnal desires overtaking them, they are high on the most ethical lust the galaxy has ever known! And he dies and disappears, but is visibly satisfied. I feel okay mocking this because I suspect no one likes it. And then it moves on to really cool aftermath visuals that are crazy fun to watch. They are experiencing the great victory in other planets from the other movies, and to the tune of John Williams themes from movies past.

Maz presents Chewy with a special medal, am I supposed to know what that's about? They're giving it major gravity.

So the movie, the trilogy, and the Skywalker Saga ends with a scene of Rey returning to Tatooine to bury the two important light sabers, but also whip out another one she had, and then tell a townie that she's named Rey SKYWALKER, and the final moment is of her gazing at the two suns with the Binary Sunset theme playing us out. What I like about that is that it sends the message that that moment from the original Star Wars, elevated to greatness largely by John Williams stirring theme, is the pinnacle of cinematic experiences that were brought to us by this series.

I like this movie less than any of the Disney-era movies for sure, and I think after watching it a second time, it lacks some specialness that could have allowed it to hold up better against the best Star Wars movies. But I wouldn't say it's bad, and I certainly wouldn't advise against seeing it.

[marginalgloss]

the name of the door

‘Every move I send out begins with the same word: You. When I first wrote most of them, so long ago now that it’s incredible to think of it, I had in my mind only a single player, and of course he looked almost exactly like me: not me as I am now, but as I was before the accident. Young and fresh and frightened, and in need of refuge from the world. I was building myself a home on an imaginary planet. I hadn’t considered, then, how big the world was; how many people lived there, how different their lives were from mine. The infinite number of planets spinning in space. I have since traveled great distances, and my sense of the vast oceans of people down here on the Earth, how they drift, is keener. But you, back then, was a singular noun for me, or, at best, a theoretical plural awaiting proof.’

Wolf in White Van is a difficult novel to summarise. I knew next to nothing about its author, John Darnielle, before I began reading. I was aware that he’s a fairly popular musician, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard one of his songs. Being a famous songwriter can cover all kinds of sins in novelistic terms. But by the time I finished the book I felt as though I had been through one of the most solipsistic and forbidding novels I’d read in some time. I don’t mean ‘forbidding’ in the sense of difficulty: the language is mostly quite plain, and the plot is not complicated. I mean that there is something about this novel which looms large over the imagination. It is haunting in its implications.

The book is written from the perspective of Sean, a middle-aged man who suffers from a severe facial deformity that has him living a reclusive life. It will be some time before we learn the cause of his injury. Sean makes his living by running a play-by-mail game of his own invention called Trace Italian. (The name comes from ‘trace italienne’, a certain kind of renaissance fort intended to resist cannon fire. There is much else that seems fortress-like about Sean.) This game takes place in a post-apocalyptic version of America; players write to Sean describing their moves, much like in any other role-playing game, and he writes back with the results. Somehow the player subscriptions pay well enough to keep him going. 

Trace Italian isn’t improvised: every ‘move’ in the game has been charted in advance, meticulously documented in a series of filing cabinets. It is effectively a labyrinthine concept novel, through which players move over the course of days, months, years. Nobody can ever see it all except Sean, and in this respect it is unlike any other book, any other game. For as long as he lives it is inviolable; a perfect private universe where every threat can be contained, every secret can be secured. There are places in it only Sean knows about:

‘…Charts and notebooks lie open around the corpse in a constellation; if you marked its points and drew a line connecting them, you’d have a shape that would later help open a door deep within the Trace, but nobody will ever notice this, or learn the name of the door, which you have to say when you open it or you end up in a blind corridor that traps you for at least four turns, which would probably outrage any players who made it that far. But who knows. What it would be like to make it that far is sheer conjecture…’

The most appealing part of the novel is its detailed portrait of fandom in the pre-internet era. We see how the young Sean was captivated by the genre science fiction and fantasy of the times. Mainstream references like Star Trek and Star Wars take a back seat here — it is all about Friz Leiber, the Gor novels, and weird VHS-era movies like Krull. It’s about finding inspiration in the album art for obscure prog-metal bands, and writing to adverts in magazines to order a cassette tape of music inspired by the Conan books by Robert E. Howard. 

Some of this is the same tone that Stranger Things leant on — kids playing Dungeons and Dragons in the era of the Satanic Panic — but there is something altogether more obscure and threatening going on here. Stranger Things is exciting because of the sense of togetherness engendered by D&D, whereas Sean’s hobbies only serve to lead him further into himself. He never falls in with a gang of like-minded kids, so he becomes a Dungeon Master unto himself. Eventually, under his influence, a young couple go on an adventure through the Trace Italian. They think they are on the trail of something important, much like those kids in the Netflix series. But it doesn’t end well for them. 

There aren’t many characters in this novel outside of Sean. The inside of his head is a bleak, violent place, surreal and unpredictable and paranoid compared to the controlled world of the Trace:

‘There was a small, strange moment during which I had this feeling that someone was filming me, which was ridiculous, but it was that specific—“there’s a camera on me”—and then some hard ancient pushed-down thing, a thing I’d felt or thought or feared a long time ago, something I’d since managed to sheathe in an imaginary scabbard inside myself, erupted through its casing like a bursting cyst. I had to really struggle to recover. Something was dislodging itself, as from a cavern inside my body or brain, and this situation seemed so divorced from waking reality that my own dimensions lost their power to persuade. I craned my great head and saw all that yellow-brown plastic catch the light, little pills glinting like ammunition, and then my brain went to work, juggling and generating several internal voices at once: someone’s filming this; this isn’t real; whoever Sean is, it’s not who I think he is; all the details I think I know about things are lies; somebody is trying to see what I’ll do when I run across these bottles; this is a test but there won’t be any grade later; the tape is rolling but I’m never going to see the tape. It is a terrible thing to feel trapped within a movie whose plot twists are senseless.’ 

Like the players of his game, the reader only exists in the world Sean has created for us. The effect is compelling, and claustrophobic. Sean’s narrative is intense and evocative. He is specific and articulate in his writing, but almost silent in his social life. His thoughts are frantic, anxious, self-perpetuating machinations; we are given very little idea of how he is perceived by society at large. There are moments of contempt and of friendship, but they’re only brief islands of contact in a sea of loneliness.   

It is some time before it becomes evident what Wolf in White Van is really about. The story pivots around two big questions: what happened to Sean’s face? And what happened to that couple on their adventure? But even when the reader is told the facts of those matters, they may not understand the implications. Certainly Sean has no answers for us. There is something forlorn about his world. He writes beautifully, and the reader will likely think him a good person because they can see into his heart and his mind; but there’s a sense that he is somehow beyond help — not because of his disfigurement, but because of his isolation. He is a prisoner inside a game of his own making. And as the pages go on it seems increasingly clear that he will never get out. 

We are accustomed, in novels and films like this, to another party breaking through to the narrator. Something will happen to shake them through their desperation so that their evident state of insecurity doesn’t become all-consuming. They might fall in love. Perhaps there will be a reconciliation, or an epiphany. But that never happens here. The only connections made in Sean’s world are brief and incidental, but the pain from discord resonates below all that. By the end it feels as though the world around the narrator has grown smaller and smaller, draped in a perpetual shroud, while his inner life has expanded out of all knowable proportions; the effect is mesmeric, and terrifying.  

‘…I remember my anger at hearing my real dreams spoken out loud by someone else’s uncomprehending voice. “Number five, sonic hearing,” she said. “Number four, marauder. Number three, power of flight. Number two, money lender. Number one, true vision.” Some of the other kids shot laughing looks at one another. It was horrible. People talk sometimes about standing up for what they believe in, but when I hear people talk like that, it seems like they might as well be talking about time travel, or shape-changing at will. I felt righteousness clotting in my throat, hot acid: the other kids were suppressing laughter and exchanging glances; the whole thing was so funny to them they had to punch their thighs to keep from cackling out loud. None of them had actually made a true list like mine, I thought, though this was conjecture…I remember this scene because it was embarrassing to live through it, and because remembering it is a way of knowing that I am half-true to my beliefs when the time comes. I sit silently defending them and I don’t sell them out, but I put on a face that lets people think I’m on the winning team, that I’m laughing along with them instead of just standing among them. I save the best parts for myself and savor them in silence. Number three, power of flight. Number four, marauder. Enough vision to really see something. A stack of gold coins and a ledger. People want all kinds of things out of life, I knew early on. People with certain sorts of ambitions are safe in the Trace.’

[hysterialevi]

When the Devil Cries pt. 33

Fanfic summary: (NO SPOILERS IN THIS STORY) After arriving in Saint Denis, Arthur ends up falling in love with a seemingly innocent pianist, only to find himself in a battle with one of the most notorious outlaws to ever emerge from America. Now, between working for Dutch and robbing money for the gang, Arthur has to also protect the man he loves as the two of them try to find their freedom.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Male OC

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

From Arthur’s POV

O’CREAGH’S RUN

ONE WEEK LATER -- MORNING

Ridin’ up to the snow-covered cabin, Hamish and I stopped just outside the front door as we tugged on our horses’ reins, coming to a complete stop.

The two of us had just returned from quite a lengthy hunt in the wilderness surrounding O’Creagh’s Run, and despite the icy weather, we actually found some pretty decent game out in the woods.

There weren’t many animals roamin’ around at the moment, but Hamish and I managed to catch a big buck we found frolicking through the white mountains. It had enough meat on it to feed us for a few days, and if we was lucky, we’d probably be able to sell the pelt, too. I only wished Eddie had been able to join us.

It was...actually quite fun huntin’ with Hamish. The man spoke to me like I was an old friend, and he always cheered with excitement whenever I agreed to go wandering with him.

It was a nice change of pace, compared to what I was just dealin’ with the week before. It felt like I...finally had someone to fill in Dutch’s shoes after he turned on me. Felt like I wasn’t bearing all this weight on my own.

I just wondered how long it would last. ‘Cause as much as I enjoyed Hamish’s company, the skeptic in me couldn’t help but dread the day it’d all finally come to an end like a rude awakening. Nothin’ perfect lasted forever in this world, after all.

And I doubted Hamish was any exception.

“Well,” Hamish said, dismounting Buell, “that was certainly a good hunt. Who taught you how to track so well?”

I hopped off my horse and walked her to the hitching post, hoisting the plump deer off her back as we both headed inside.

“Learned from my daddy mostly,” I answered, my voice straining with effort. “It’s...one of the few good things he taught me.”

Hamish picked up on my tone. “Your father wasn’t a good role model, I take it?”

A chuckle escaped me. “You could say that. Though, to be honest...I can’t really judge. The sins he got hanged for, I’m still runnin’ away from. Seems like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Well,” Hamish followed me from behind, “you carry that buck inside for me, and I’m willin’ to forgive all of ‘em, hah!”

Trudging back into the cabin, the two of us pushed our way through the thawing snow as the sun climbed higher in the sky, spreadin’ a much-needed heat across this frozen land.

A good chunk of the ice in this area had already melted over the past week or so, and if things continued on like this, I imagined we’d be able to go fishing soon.

It had been a long time since I last ate anything that wasn’t venison or canned vegetables, and the idea of relaxin’ on a boat in the middle of the lake put my mind at ease.

Though, as much as I was basking in this nice weather, I couldn’t deny that I was also worried about how easy it’d be for our enemies to track us down now that the snow was startin’ to disappear.

I mean, even though I sure as hell didn’t miss that god-awful blizzard from last week, it was the only thing that was really covering our tracks.

No one in their right mind woulda followed us through a storm like that, and the fact that it was finally gone, well...let’s just say I found myself keepin’ an eye on the tree line more often than usual nowadays.

I had had enough surprises for one lifetime, and the last thing I wanted was for Atticus or Dutch to come crawlin’ outta nowhere before putting a bullet in our heads.

Right now, my only concerns were helping Hamish, finding food, and keeping Eddie alive...and I intended for it to stay that way.

Lugging the deer into the house as Hamish shut the door behind us, we quickly escaped the chilly breeze as I plopped the carcass down in the kitchen and rolled my shoulders, happy to get that weight off my back.

“Thank you, Mister Morgan.” The veteran said with a smile, proudly admiring our work. “I don’t much like relying on others for help, but...I’m afraid I ain’t as young as I used to be. It’s nice havin’ some muscle around the house for once. Makes things go smoother.”

I returned the smile. “My pleasure. It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for us.”

Hamish patted my back. “Well...you did the hunting, so I’ll get this thing ready to eat. Why don’t you go check on Eddie in the meantime? See how he’s doing. I told him not to move around too much before we left, but that boy sure don’t like staying still. Even with an injured leg.” The old man paused. “Say, has he been usin’ that cane I gave him?”

I sighed in frustration. “Not as much as he should be. Eddie only uses the cane when he absolutely needs to. Otherwise, he just tries...walkin’ around on his own.”

Hamish laughed softly at that. “Eddie’s stubborn, just like me when I first lost my leg. Don’t worry, though. He’ll adapt eventually. He’s got no other choice. Just keep an eye on him, all right? I don’t want him puttin’ more pressure on that leg than it can handle.”

“Trust me,” I said with a nod, “I will.”

Walkin’ away from Hamish as he started preparing the deer, I strolled towards the living room and began slipping off my winter coat, only to stop mid-way when I noticed Eddie wasn’t resting on the couch.

“Uh...Hamish?” I called out, raising an eyebrow. “You have any idea where Eddie could be? It don’t look like he’s in the livin’ room.”

The old man picked up a knife, gesturing to the back door. “If he’s not there, he’s probably sittin’ on the back porch.”

I peered through the frosty window. “...In this weather?”

Hamish chuckled. “Like I said, Eddie isn’t one to stay still.”

I let out a tired breath. “...Got that right.”

Reluctantly pullin’ my coat back on, I tightly wrapped my clothes around me and prepared to return to the “lovely” weather outside, gently pushing the back door open.

Luckily, the snow wasn’t nearly as relentless as it had been a couple days ago, and things appeared to have calmed down since that blizzard. But even then, my face was still red and cold from bein’ in the woods all morning.

The only thing I wanted to do right now was throw myself in front of a hot fireplace and enjoy a nice bottle of beer, but...there actually was something important I had to talk to Eddie about. It weren’t nothin’ serious or alarming, but it was probably best if that conversation happened away from Hamish.

Pushin’ the door closed with a soft creak, I searched around the back porch for a moment before spotting Eddie in a wooden chair, his nose buried in what looked like a collection of some music notes.

At the moment, he was scribbling something down in his handful of papers, and the cane Hamish gave to him was peacefully leanin’ against the side of the armrest.

I didn’t know quite how to describe it, but something about Eddie seemed to have...changed over this past week. In a good way. His eyes carried that passionate spark in them once again, and the man appeared to be less stressed, despite us technically bein’ stranded in the middle of nowhere.

To my surprise, it actually seemed like Eddie was pleased to be away from the gang. I mean, yeah, things ended in flames with Dutch -- and Rodrick practically unleashed hell itself onto our camp -- but I still expected the pianist to miss some of the people there.

They were like family to me, after all. John, Hosea, Miss Grimshaw -- they were the siblings and parents I never truly had.

For over twenty years, Dutch’s society had been my entire world, and as a young man...I couldn’t even imagine a life without them.

Eddie, on the other hand...he barely knew any of them. He only had, what, a couple of months to bond with them?

That camp may have been home to me, but to Eddie, it was probably nothin’ more than a place full of unfamiliar faces. And not only that, but a bunch of outlaws, too.

I guessed I really shouldn’t have been surprised that Eddie was more relaxed away from them. He seemed to get along well enough with some of the members, but it was clear to me now that the man was only truly comfortable around me.

I just felt a bit guilty that it took me this long to realize it.

Roamin’ towards the preoccupied man, I stood next to his chair and casually peeked over his shoulder, hoping to get his attention.

“Eddie?” I said innocently, wearing what was probably a horrendous-looking smile.

No answer.

Well, whatever he was workin’ on must’ve been important.

“Eddie?” I repeated, but a bit louder this time.

Pausing mid-action, the pianist held his pen still for a second before jolting his head in my direction, chuckling out of embarrassment once he realized he weren’t alone.

“Oh, Arthur!” he greeted, his expression lightin’ up. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come out here.”

I rested an arm on the back of his chair, pointing to the music notes.

“Whatcha got there? You workin’ on a new song?”

Eddie sighed in a regrettable manner. “Restoring it, more like. The song’s actually been complete for some time now, but the rest of the notes were burned in that fire Rodrick caused. It was supposed to be a gift for you.”

My smile grew even wider at that. “A gift?”

The man nodded. “Yeah. I started writing it when we were still in Shady Belle, but I never got the chance to perform it for you, what with the lack of pianos lazing about in the wilderness.”

I shrugged. “Maybe you can sing it.”

Eddie scoffed in an amused tone. “Me? Sing it? The goal here is for you to like it, Arthur.”

I laughed, pattin’ the man’s shoulder. “Your voice can’t be worse than mine. But...if you really wanna save it for a piano, I won’t protest.”

Changin’ the subject, I stopped leaning on the chair and took a few steps back, eyeballing Eddie’s cane with a curious gaze.

“So, how’s your leg doing? Hamish says you’ve been wanderin’ around quite a bit.”

The man grabbed his cane and laid it on his lap, examining the simple object.

Eddie took a breath. “I won’t lie. It’s...frustrating. I used to be so agile, you know. Even as a child. I was always running around all over the place. Climbing, too. Anything that was above the ground, I’d try to get on top of it. Now, though...”

He pressed his cane against the floor and pushed himself up from the chair, grunting with effort.

“...I can hardly walk on my own two feet. And I’m not even thirty years of age yet.”

I glanced at Eddie’s wounded leg, still feelin’ somewhat guilty that I wasn’t able save it.

“You’re still healing,” I reassured. “Just give your leg a break, and soon, you’ll have nothin’ more than an annoying limp to worry about. At least, that’s what Hamish says.”

“I certainly hope so,” Eddie replied, walking closer to me. “But...enough about me. How’ve you been feeling, Arthur? I imagine you must be hurting after what happened between you and Dutch. I...I know how much you loved him.”

My gaze fell to the floor at that and I bit the inside of my lip, lettin’ my guard down for just a moment.

“Yeah,” I admitted, my voice quieter than usual. “It might sound strange...but I still love Dutch, to be honest. Even though he nearly goddamn killed me. I suppose I just ain’t ready to let go of the twenty years we spent together.”

Eddie frowned in a sympathetic way, caressing my cheek. “You don’t have to let go of them. The ending doesn’t make the journey, Arthur. Even though you and Dutch may no longer be on the same side, that doesn’t mean you have to forget all the memories you shared. Just don’t forget how you got here.”

I placed my own hand over Eddie’s, grippin’ it tight. “Oh, I won’t. Believe me.”

Losin’ myself in the other man’s eyes for a minute, I snapped back to reality when I suddenly remembered why I came out here in the first place, causin’ me to reach into my satchel.

“Um -- anyway,” I said, clearing my throat, “that ain’t why I came to see you. There’s actually somethin’ I wanted to give you.”

Eddie smirked. “Oh? You have a gift for me as well?”

I took out a crumpled envelope, fumbling through its contents.

“Yeah. I didn’t tell you this back at Beaver Hollow -- considering everything that was goin’ on -- but I got a letter from Mary Linton. You remember her?”

Eddie thought for a moment. “...The woman you were engaged to?”

I nodded. “That’s the one. She wrote me again recently.”

The pianist peered at the envelope. “Well, what’s it say?”

I breezed through Mary’s message, wantin’ to get straight to the point.

“All she said was, she didn’t wanna be involved with me no more. We met up a few months ago, you see. When the gang was still in New Hanover. I helped her out with a few family problems, and saved her brother, but...now she’s sayin’ she wants to move on. That she can’t stay in contact with me any longer. But -- that ain’t the part that matters.”

Putting the envelope away, I shoved the thing back into my satchel once I found what I was lookin’ for and pulled out a beautiful wedding ring, presenting it to Eddie.

It was surprisingly still in good condition even after all these years, and the small jewel adorning the simple band twinkled softly in the winter sun, catching Eddie’s attention.

“It’s...it’s the same ring I used to propose to Mary all them years ago,” I explained, my voice low with regret. “I never expected to see it again after...well, after Mary left. But she returned it with that letter, and told me to give it to people who were in love. People who could use it.” I sighed out of despondency, unable to take my eyes off the piece of jewelry.

“I used to hate lookin’ at this thing, y’know. It...always reminded me of everything I’ve lost. Everything I’ve messed up in life. Hell, I nearly threw it off the cliff when Mary gave it back to me.” I brought my gaze to Eddie, my heart liftin’ upon seeing his face. “But now...it only reminds me of what I’ve gained. It makes me realize that, as confusing and difficult as love can be sometimes, it ain’t impossible. ...And that’s why I want you to have it.”

Smiling in awe at what I was saying, Eddie found himself to be at a loss for words as he gently brought the ring into his grasp, staring affectionately at the gift.

It looked like the man was on the verge of tears, and I could tell he was doin’ everything in his power to remain composure, but even then, it was clear that the pianist was touched.

He let out a shaky but happy breath, strugglin’ to find the right words to say.

“...Thank you, Arthur,” Eddie said sincerely, returning his glossy eyes to me. “It’s truly wonderful.”

I grinned warmly at the reaction, blushing slightly under the shadow of my hat.

“I’m glad you like it. I-I know we can’t actually get married, or have a proper wedding or anything, but I still want you to keep it. It belongs with you.”

Eddie closed his hand around the ring, holding it securely. “I won’t let anything happen to it. I promise.”

Placing his hands on the sides of my face, the pianist pulled me into a loving kiss and practically let himself fall into my arms, the two of us holdin’ each other in the middle of the snow.

I couldn’t believe what was happening right now.

After so many years of losing every person I’d grown attached to, and failin’ the majority of my relationships, I never imagined I’d find someone who loved me as much as I loved them.

It was one hell of a ride Eddie and I had been on these past couple o’ months, but no matter how wildly this mess ended or how hard we’d have to fight, I was gonna do whatever it took to keep him alive.

We were so close to finding our freedom now. I could feel it.

We just had to carry on a little longer, and someday, I knew Eddie and I were gonna live the lives we had sacrificed so much to achieve.

The only thing that stood between us and our goal right now...was Atticus Rose.

And there was no way in hell I was gonna let him stop us.

[myhauntedsalem]

Dead gangster Ma Barker doesn’t want her house moved

He called the newsroom with a warning: They can’t move that house.

“I’m worried something terrible is going to happen,” the man said in a thick New York accent. “I have to warn somebody.”

Then he told me a ghost story.

His name is Donald J. Weiss. He’s a 62-year-old retired police patrolman from upstate New York. He had moved to Ocala several years ago and visited the house where gangster Ma Barker had been killed. He had wanted to see the site of the longest shootout in FBI history: four hours, more than 2,000 bullets.

But when he wandered beneath the live oaks, a voice growled, “Get outta here, lawman!”

And when he took a photo of the front porch, a shadowy figure appeared.

“That woman is still in that house,” he told me. “And she’s pissed.”

He gave the photo to the Marion County Sheriff’s Office because he wanted to enter it into evidence. And because bad things started happening as soon as he had blown up the print. “I had a heart attack,” he said. “You think that’s a coincidence?”

The property has been sold, he told me. County officials want to move the house.

“They have no idea who or what is in there,” Weiss said. “That woman has the power to do a lot of things. We are dealing with the afterworld here.”

I thanked the caller for his concern.

“When are they moving it?” I asked.

He paused, as if to make a point, then said gravely, “By Halloween.”

Reporters get a lot of crazy calls. Many might have dismissed this one. But I knew this house, and so did my photographer friend John Pendygraft.

“Hey John,” I called across the cubicle wall. “Do you remember that story we did on the Ma Barker house?”

John’s eyes got big. “Do you remember what happened?”

Our story four years ago had been about real estate: historic home for sale on nine waterfront acres, eight miles north of the Villages, two hours from Tampa. And about the gangsters who hid out there until the end.

We had toured the four-bedroom house with a Realtor, whose assistant shivered and said, “I get the weirdest feeling when I’m in here.” We had reported rumors about flickering lights and an unsuccessful exorcism.

But we hadn’t written about what had happened to John. Or what he saw when he enlarged one of his pictures.

John has worked in war zones in Afghanistan and the Gaza Strip. He has photographed the dead from an Asian tsunami, a Mexican assassination and Hurricane Katrina. If he ever is scared, he won’t show it.

That fall day in 2012, in the Ma Barker house, he had gone alone into the front bedroom to take pictures through the window, looking out toward the lake where the FBI agents had crouched behind trees.

All of a sudden, John rushed out, cameras, lights, tripod flapping over his shoulders, nearly sliding down the 13 stairs. “I don’t know what happened, or what that was,” he panted. He heard the mattress fall, then saw it, dangling through the bed frame. “I didn’t touch it,” he insisted.

We left that afternoon, as dusk began to descend. From beneath the Spanish moss, John shot a few final frames. The next day, when he zoomed in on his laptop, he saw a strange figure on the screened porch: The silhouette of a stout woman with a bun, who looked like she was holding a machine gun.

Her story starts in Missouri, in 1873. Her parents named her Arizona Donnie Clark. She and a farmhand, George Barker, had four sons. As soon as the boys were grown, her husband left.

Legends vary about Ma Barker’s role in her boys’ gang. Some say she just cooked and cleaned. Others say she was the mastermind.

They began by robbing banks, then murdered a policeman. From 1910 through 1930, they are said to have stolen $2 million. And killed at least 10 people.

The FBI’s first director, J. Edgar Hoover, called them “the worst criminals in the entire country.” Ma Barker became the only woman to top the most wanted list.

In 1934, the gang split and went into hiding. One son fled to Chicago. Ma and her favorite son, baby Freddie, moved to Miami where, posing as a wealthy widow, she asked if anyone knew a secluded spot where she could spend the winter.

Someone introduced her to Carson Bradford, whose family had a lovely home in the center of Florida, on Lake Weir.

The house sounded perfect: fully furnished, set back from the road, with a boat tethered to a dock out back. Ma paid the full season’s rent in cash. Just before Thanksgiving, she moved in with Freddie and a couple of his friends.

In a letter to her son Arthur in Chicago, she drew a map of the lake and circled the closest town, Ocala. She mailed it from Ocklawaha’s little post office.

FBI agents found Arthur the following January, and with him, the letter, which led them to Ma’s hideout.

In the predawn darkness on Jan. 16, 1935, a dozen officers pointed their guns at the upstairs windows. “This is the FBI,” an officer shouted, according to an agency report. “You are surrounded.”

Some say the gun battle lasted as long as six hours.

When it was over, they found Freddie, 32, shot in the back of his head. Ma, 63, was curled on the floor, cradling her Tommy gun. That day, Hoover said, marked “the end of an era of violence.”

For nine months, the corpses lay unclaimed. Finally, a relative moved them closer to home.

But some say Ma still inhabits that two-story, cream-colored house with forest green shutters. The cop on the phone, my friend the photographer, the former and current owner all saw, heard or felt … something.

But how do you report a ghost story?

I started with the Marion County Sheriff’s Office and that “evidence” photo the retired cop mentioned on the phone.

Lt. Dave Redmond remembered some man bringing in the photo, but the deputy hadn’t seen anything in it.

Records only go back to 1990, said department spokeswoman Lauren Lettelier. “But since then, there have been no reports of hauntings at that house.”

I talked to Carson Good, 47, the great-grandson of the man who built the house. He has memories of swimming and sailing in the lake. And of countless sleepless nights, cringing in the dark. “I’m not a big believer of ghosts, but I heard a lot of sounds in that house,” he said. “Voices. Furniture moving. People walking up and down the wooden stairs.”

His grandmother didn’t like to talk about it, but she often heard spirits stirring. Years ago, he said, a psychic from Cassadaga held a seance at the house and convinced the ghost of Freddie Barker to move on. But the medium said Ma refused to move.

Good and his family sold the property for $750,000 and donated the house to the county, which hired a contractor to lift the home off its foundation and float it across Lake Weir to a park called Carney Island. County commissioners allocated $270,000 for the move. Private donations and fundraising will finance the museum.

County tax collector George Albright, who grew up next to the storied house, envisions an homage to the early days of the FBI, as agents set out to capture notorious gangsters like “Baby Face” Nelson, “Pretty Boy” Floyd, Bonnie and Clyde and, of course, the infamous Barker gang.

“We’ve already had calls from people asking about ghost tours. If they want something like that, or to hold seances, we’ll look into that,” said the tax collector, “as a revenue source.”

Some say the gang buried Mason jars filled with cash along the lake. Local children used to spend summers digging for the treasure, but came up with shovels full of sand.

As soon as the home is removed, before the new owner closes on the land, the tax collector plans to bring in a team with ground-penetrating radar to scan the soil.

“Let’s hope she’s a friendly ghost,” he said.

On a gray Wednesday in October, more than 81 years after the shootout, John and I returned to the scene. The house already had been lifted on jacks. The screened porch was gone; workers were carrying out lamps. A true-crime novelist was parked in an SUV, taking pictures.

Like John, he swore he had seen a face in a window.

“I think whatever’s in there doesn’t want us to come in,” said Tony Stewart, who had driven from Indiana to see the house in its original setting. “And it won’t come out.”

We had told the retired cop that we would meet him later. The tax collector didn’t want anyone else at the construction site. But Weiss pulled up in his white Cadillac, quaking in his tassled loafers.

“This is where their bodies were. They dragged ‘em right down this driveway,” said Weiss, clasping his arms across his chest. “She’s not at rest. She will never leave this property.”

He has felt this before, he said. “I sense spirits.”

The first time was in 1992, just before Christmas. He was on patrol in White Plains, N.Y., resting in his car between calls, when he had a vision of a sad teenage boy: long hair, pale, with a pug nose. Two days later, he was sent to a home where a teenage boy had hanged himself. “The same boy I’d seen.”