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bunny-jpeg · 14 hours ago

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a side of fries

toto wolff

tags: smut/fluff, food (mcdonalds), age gap (26/52), pregnancy, pregnant!reader, gentle sex, sweet & spicy fic, cowgirl position, domestic

it was ten at night on a friday. and most women your age were probably at a bar or some club, they were dancing the night away in uncomfortable heels and short dresses. the loud thump of the bass and the endless drinks.

you could even hear them walking and chatting past your apartment in monaco. but you weren't a club go-er, not since your met toto. and not since you got pregnant.

you were half of toto's age almost to a t, twenty six while he was fifty-two. you both made quite the pair, but you loved him so deeply. you loved in a way that you never felt for anyone else. he was unlike any other man you had ever met.

you actually were the girlfriend of a young engineer and at a race in your home country, you ran into and met toto. while it was an honour to meet someone like him. it wouldn't come till after you and your boyfriend broke up that toto would come back into your life.

"you don't have to." you played with the bracelet around your wrist as you stood outside the expensive restaurant in monaco. he flew you out for the weekend, he told you that he wanted you to go on a real date.

he simply held your lower back and smiled down at you, "i want to, you are not making me do anything i don't want to do, meine prinzessin." then leaned in a little, "may i kiss you?" and that was when you knew that you were in love with toto.

and in turn he loved you more than the stars that dotted the sky.

it was ten at night, toto had been busy in the home office with work for the next leg of the season. he only had a month with you before he was back in different parts of the world. thankfully, you were able to join him for the dutch and italian grand prix.

he was comfortable being on the couch next to you, you tucked into his side. you wore one of his quarter zip sweaters that was loose enough on you to be comfortable. toto had an arm around you while you watched a movie on the television. it wasn't anything too difficult, toto had mentioned earlier that day that he had never seen those "animated spiderman movies" when he caught you looking at baby onesies online. you had your eye on a little spiderman one.

now you were snuggled up as you watched spider-man: into the spider-verse. and while you loved the movie, there was something else on your mind. you leaned up and kissed your lover on the jaw.

"toto." you said softly.

"yes, liebste." he asked as he pulled you a little closer to kiss the top of your head. he then looked at your face and asked, "what are you thinking about?"

"i'm hungry." you rested your chin up against him. you looked at him, "i want mcdonalds."

toto made a slight face before he ran his fingers through your hair, "darling." he said, "you know that isn't healthy for you or the baby." you only pouted further.

"but me and the peanut want it."

toto chuckled, affected by your puppy-dog eyes. he was glad that he married his weak spot. he moved his hand to your middle and rubbed it, the rounded belly you had. he said, "my sweetheart, please. we have food at home."

you pouted, "please... please!"

before toto knew it, he had a pair of proper pants on and a cleaner t-shirt. you were in maternity shorts and one of his t-shirts. he had sneakers on while you were wearing flip flops. toto thought you were beautiful. you were his weakness, he hoped that you didn't make a habit of weaponizing your puppy-dog eyes to get junk food.

you both went down to the car and soon were headed towards the fast-food place. it was odd, in a city with so much food and culture. you wanted greasy fast food. his hand was on your thigh as he rubbed the partially exposed skin.

toto entered the restaurant with you, his hand on your lower back. you went to the self ordering station and he stayed close to you. you looked at him and asked, "do you want anything?"

he raised his eyebrows at you and you tilted your head towards the screen.

he chuckled, "i don't think it'll agree with my stomach at this age... and if you're getting a soft drink, please get something with no sugar. i don't need the doctor giving you or me a hard time because of your sweet tooth."

you ordered a cheeseburger, a large (diet) coke, and a side of fries. you could already taste the grease on your tongue. toto thought it was adorable, how excited you were. how excited you were.

he remained close to you, a protective hand at your waist as you both waited for your food. he looked down at you and asked, "are you alright, liebste?"

you nodded and replied in what little german you knew, "mir geht es großartig." you stumbled over the last part a little and toto beamed at you. obviously the child you were having together was going to be multi-lingual but you didn't want to miss out on their conversations in german. so you've been trying to learn.

he rubbed your back a little bit and you had a hand at your swollen middle. your number was soon called and you got closer to the counter with toto close behind like a shadow.

the employee looked at you and then toto. she looked a bit confused and you just sheepishly smiled as you took the meal. you thanked her before you shuffled out of the restaurant.

when you got in the car and put the straw in your diet coke, before you took a sip you said, "she thought we were father and daughter."

toto made a face as he got into the driver's suit. he reached over and rubbed your middle, "and here i thought that getting you pregnant would solve that problem." he leaned over and kissed you, the sharp taste of coke on his lips before he buckled himself and drove off.

back at the apartment, you happily ate your greasy food while toto played with your hair. he was impressed with you in everything you did, you were the perfect wife for him.

"happy?"

you nodded, with half of a fry sticking out of your mouth. toto leaned in and ate the other half before he kissed you. by the time you finished your meal and got rid of the garbage. he was hungry for something else. as you were partially bent over to throw out the wrappers. he draped an arm over your belly and pressed his chest up against your back.

eventually he rubbed your middle and sighed happily, "you look divine." he pressed you closer to him and kissed the side of your neck, "you carry my child so well. you're going to be an amazing mother."

just as toto couldn't deny you, you couldn't deny him. you giggled a little and turned in his grasp. you kissed him on the lips, the taste of grease still stained them. you shuddered with warmth.

when he pulled away he simply suggested, "why don't we go to bed, you must be tired." he cupped your face with his large hand and smiled.

you ended up on the bed with toto slowly pulling the shirt over your body, exposing your pregnant body to him. he placed a hand on your rounded middle and leaned down to kiss you on the forehead, you could hear him say he loved you against your skin. sex was slowly becoming a little more difficult thanks to the bump. but you'd always find ways to make do. your husband stripped you free of your clothes like a present. his hungry gaze on your swollen breasts. even giving the tender flash a kiss when he got you out of the sports bra.

your body had changed so much these last few months. all because of him, it was quite the boost to his ego. that as his age he could still father a child with such a beautiful, lovely woman. he pulled back while you sat on the bed and admired you. he licked his lips at the sight of you and felt warmth pool through his body.

you sat there naked, it was only fair that he did the same. you admired him, licked your lips hungrily as he joined in you in bed. naked as well. he was still fit for a man his age, he took care of himself. he still had enough stamina left in him to make sure his wife was taken care of. he wrapped his arms around you as he laid in bed. with you still seated upwards, it was the perfect angle for him to kiss you bare bump.

"you're such a good wife, good mother." he said lowly as his hand dipped further down until he was between your legs. his long fingers toyed with your pussy as he kissed at your swell, "from the moment i laid eyes on you, i knew you had to be mine. no one that beautiful should go without. and in return you gave me the most precious gift ever."

he pressed you closer for a moment, his nose squished against your belly. he exhaled deeply. that was why he spoiled you, as a thank you. you were giving him a child. when he pulled away, he had a hand on your hip and watched you move on top of him.

due to the pregnancy, you had to switch up the positions. and while toto loved classic missionary, having you in his lap wasn't too bad either. his hands on your belly as he eyed at you, his dark eyes pulled you in. he licked his lips as you shifted yourself on his lap. then sank down on his cock.

you whimpered a little and it was music to his ears. he loved how you sounded and it only spurred him on further to touch you. to love you. to give his wife all the affection she yearned for. you were all his, and he'd give you the world.

"how are you feeling? sick at all from the food?" he asked. during your pregnancy he wanted to make sure that you were eating well and taking care of yourself. he worried about you, work made it hard for him to be around often. but regardless, he was still weak to your puppy dog eyes.

he held your hips as you moved against him. he wanted to steady you as you pleasured the both of you. so pregnant yet working so hard. toto was a lucky man. he admired you as the pleasure coursed through his body. he asked you once more, "is the movements hurting you?" concern in his voice where the edges were tinged with lust.

"no, no, it's perfect. it's fine. nothing hurts, not even my hips." you said with pleasure seeped deep into your voice as you moved against him even more. you felt the crawl of want through your core and your cunt clenched around his achy cock. you exhaled deeply, "toto, this feels amazing." you chuckled lightly, "even better than the mcdonalds."

toto took a firmer grasp of your ass and said, "that's good to know. that my cock is better than fast food. i'd say that it doesn't add pounds on you, but.." he eyed your swollen belly, "i fear that's not the case." he relaxed a little bit as you continued to move up and down his cock.

you moaned as you held onto his short dark hair and gazed into his dark eyes. he can see the lust heavy in your gaze as you moved up and down his cock. you arched your back a little more and he placed both hands on your swollen middle.

"my wife." he groaned, "i got you all nice and pregnant. spoiled you, made you all mine. a yet you've only become more beautiful. stunning in a ways that keep me hooked to you. i need you, my darling. every inch i can have you." he panted against your warm chest, "i got you pregnant, i made you mine."

his words made your stomach flip as you continued to pleasure him. the feeling was immense, his words were like hot coals against your already heated skin. and it made your head swim with euphoric want. only toto wolff could make you feel revered and adored, but also like a slut. a whore for him to play with. even though he spoiled you in every aspect he could.

it was a duality that made you shudder as you felt the pleasure continue to mount in your core. he kissed at your chest and it made you clutch onto his hair tightly. the thumping in your chest felt faster with each buck of your hips. you were beyond excited, pleasure dripped from your core as you took his entire length.

you felt a haze in your system as you rode him. he happily let his sweet wife keep the pace. let you get to climax first. he cupped your swollen belly, the feeling of the skin under his hands made his cock twitch. even at his age he could knock up someone as beautiful as you. it didn't take much either, just a weekend in the swiss alps... or maybe it was the hotel in monza.... or the back of a cab at an after party a week later. regardless, he got your pregnant.

you tensed up around him, your cunt tightened around his cock as you held on tighter. you came around his length and continued your hot, quick movements.

you near sang his praises as you came, tensed up around him and he pulled you down for a searing kiss. he picked up the pace of his movements and fucked you feverishly till he reached his own climax. the feeling flooded his head and left little room for coherent thought. almost like a primal need to fuck you until a base part of his was satified. so he continued to move his hips once he finished inside of you.

when the clarity hit, he stopped and held your face to pepper your heated skin with kisses. he rested against you and panted heavily, "alright, alright, my treasure. my love." he held your back more tenderly before he guided you fully onto the bed and laid a protective hand at your waist.

"i love you."

"i love you too. now don't think you can always get your way by giving me sex." he playfully scolded you. he shifted himself close to your pregnant form. how warm you felt even from a small gap between you two.

you just smiled at your beloved toto and said, "oh don't worry. i'll use my powers for good." as if you hadn't been using your child to be a very spoiled mrs. wolff. <3

#bunny writes #reader insert #formula 1 #formula one imagine #f1 smut #formula one fanfiction #formula one smut #f1 x reader #formula one #torger toto wolff #toto wolff smut #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff fanfiction #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff #mercedes racing #torger christian wolff #torger wolff

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yourlocalsmutwriter · 25 days ago

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This year, I want to be a wetter, I mean better person - Mark Webber x reader

cws: age gaps (reader is in her 20s, Mark is in his 40s), perv! Mark, semi-public, squirting, dirty talk, author loves dilfs and hopes that one day dilfs will love her too

Whichever spirit possessed your parents to decide to move to the middle of nowhere, England was a hidden blessing. It may not have seemed that way when you had to endure their company for the 4 hour drive from the airport or when you knew that there was no one fuckable for miles. Not that you could get down and dirty under a family roof, whether it was somebody else's or your own. Nothing more haunting than staring down at the lone poster of Fernando Alonso from his Renaut era on your hideously painted walls while cumming. Or, more accurately faking an orgasm. So you spent a nice, festive Christmas Eve and Christmas in your new family home. Catalogued everything that went wrong in your life to land you in this position from the 26th onwards. Actually explored the town and found that at least 1 bar (as if it would have more than that not on the main street) was open on New Years.

Your parents were not party people. By 8, they had tucked in on the couch and were yawning through a holiday concert of some Dutch guy. You shimmied into the one presentable dress they had seemed to pack from your childhood home. "Conveniently," your cute clothes were in storage, and the owner was somewhere in Dubai at the moment. So you have to make do with this black piece. It's not your first choice. But at least the fact that you had grown some tits since being 18 a few years ago was comforting. You pass your parents by with a promise to not be long now. Being met with a sleepy "Don't worry, sweetheart." you know that they're going to sleep through the fireworks anyway.

To nobody's surprise, the bar isn't crowded. The raging bull is in a pathetic state. Some top 40 hits radio station is playing. The floor is sticky. The bartender looks like he's your parents' age, and it doesn't seem like he knows just what goes into your favorite Long Island iced tea. You sit down and ask him to keep pouring you rum and cokes until either he runs out or your wallet is empty. You sip his very boozy concoction slowly, as you're texting your friends. Complimenting their party fits. Asking details about potential hookups. Looking at pictures of their pets in ugly sweaters. As midnight draws near, someone else actually gets inside the bar. You look up and see a pair of green eyes and holy shit, it's a holiday miracle. It's Mark Webber. 9 time GP winner. Manager of your current favorite driver on the grid. Ultimate celebrity crush, Mark Webber. With the grace of a newborn giraffe, you slide out of your chair. You don't want him to see you, but at the same time, you need it to survive. There goes your cover of not knowing who he is. Now, the bar name makes sense. It all aligns like a jigsaw puzzle. The car themed coasters. The signed cocktail napkin framed on the wall. The only “fancy” drink on the menu being named the Aussie grit.

After you not so subtly go to the bathroom to reapply your lipstick and try to work wonders with a mascara wand, you go back to your place at the bar. Only Mark is next to you, bendy black straw into his namesake cocktail.

"Look, I don't know how much they paid you to tail me here, but I can double it." he says, and you're confused.

"You're some kind of journalist or something.” You shake your head, still too stunned that he's here, talking to you.

“Don't tell me you're just some big city girl whose boyfriend brought her to meet the parents, and now you're single because you found him groping his cousin. Because, believe me, that romcom's more of a staple than you think." He continues.

"Wow, how bad is this town that a young woman in a bar on NYE is news. My parents moved here in April. I'm visiting them for the first time. And so far, I haven't encountered any guys, much less the ones that think the best part of waking up is Folgers in their cup." You explain.

"Are your folks the couple who hate each other but are always bragging about their daughter's graduation in March?" Mark guesses, and you are once again stunned by just much this small town gets to people. Not only does a man that's starred into many of your wet dreams know your parents. No, that's not enough, he also knows they're not the perfect relationship role models. You can't help but wonder if it's hereditary and also the reason you haven't brought home a partner. Pushing that to the side, you reply to him with

"Just the ones.”

"You know your dad thinks we're best friends, and your mom keeps asking if I can hire you at Porsche or McLaren." He says and suddenly all the facetimes with your parents come back to you. The man with a very nice house who they invite over for tea sometimes. The one that's been a little under the weather lately. The one who drives a sports car to the center.

"You're motorsport Mark? Of course you are. Be grateful that you don't have any kids my age because I'd practically be your daughter in law too." You speak before you think, momentarily forgetting about the man's wife and kid. Then you wonder why he's out here with you and not back at home. You're inching to ask, but there is no way to say “are you divorced, and if yes, can I ride you into next year, please?"”. Especially after he hits you with a reminder of why that's a bad idea.

"You should be happy that your parents are proud of you, sweetheart. And that they want you to stick around with them here." He says.

"If I was, wouldn't I be about to watch the fireworks with them?" You ask.

"Still some time until that, isn't it? Wanna make it count?" He replies to your question with a question.

You agree, and there's two more Aussie Grits on the bar. The bar tender also places two laminated sheets of paper and two markers in front of you. The comic sans text on top says "New Years Resolutions" and the neat little lines give you 5 rows to write in.

"Sick of hearing us talk, aren't you?" Mark asks the other man, and the latter just grunts.

"Bet I can write mine before you finish your drink." The former driver says, clearly still a speed fiend. You shake on it, and you start chugging the strong drink. Meanwhile, he's adding chicken scratch sentences to the A4.

He beats you, and to his credit, all his resolutions are thought out and personal. You're happy to see that he's put "do more for Oscar" in there and giggle at the "post more on Instagram?". While you're still reading, he's busy gloating, making fun of you for not learning the most important thing in college - how to hold your liquor.

"What, like you could do any better. Mark, I'm surprised you're standing after the drinks you already had. I bet that I'll have to see you get locked in here till the morning for your own sake." You say, both posing a challenge and remembering the "beauty" of some more traditional British pubs. You hope that the one booth you see is at least comfortable. He doesn't back down, and you're on the clock, writing down what you want to accomplish in 2025. But your brain is buzzing from the drinks, from the way liquid is dripping down Mark's chin and onto his pants, by the fact that you're a horny drunk and the unavailable dilf next to you is too delicious to pass on. You lose, unsurprisingly. Handing over the list, you absent mindedly say

"You know I wouldn't mind your help with the last one, I'm sure you can make it happen, wink wink, nudge nudge.". You're referring to the item "attend my first grand prix," a dream of yours since getting into the sport. But apparently, in the rush, you had added a more nsfw goal under it. Because the item on your list that ended it prematurely was, in fact, "squirt for the first time.".

"You wanna double-check your work before saying things, sweetheart. " he asks, and you're mortified when you do. You start apologizing and gathering your things to leave. Mark places a strong hand on your bare thigh to stop you.

"I never said I wasn't going to do it. I'd be glad to. I'm just making sure that here and now is the place you want to bring this up." He says. Your jaw drops, and you're like a fish out of water.

"Aren't you married?" You ask. It's not the first that you thought would come out of your mouth. Yet, you have to hear him say it.

"Divorced. Technically, in the process of, but no ring. Empty house, and a cold bed. Only my left hand for relief." He says and you're picturing Mark pumping his cock in his fist. You cross your legs and clench your thighs slightly, which doesn't go unnoticed by the older man. He moves his hand and spreads them.

"And you, sweetheart? Do you have some secret boy toy to make your switch into adulthood more fun? Or a nice pretty girl like yourself that you've been shaking up with since your dorm days?" He asks.

"No. Same as you, but I use my right hand. My clit's too sensitive if I switch up my technique." You say, hellbent on making that man go crazy for you.

Mark looks around and tips a crisp 50-pound note from his wallet. You can't help but notice the little blue wrapper peeking out of the Italian leather. He calls over the bartender and asks for "2 coffees when we come back." You think the Aussie's going to take you to his car. Have you ruin his custom leather seats and make you lick up your mess as punishment? You guess he might even take you to his house, not that you have any idea where it is exactly. Ask you to hold on tight as the headboard to his once marital bed slams against the wall. Makes sure your sensitive little clit humps against the pillow as he's fucking you from behind.

But Mark drags you to the men's room instead. Spreads your legs and makes you grab the sink.

"You know I'm a man of few words. And as much as I'd love to start you off with a hands-on approach, I think you haven't earned it yet. So let's show you some videos first, huh?". He pulls out his phone and opens his Google drive. He's got a folder titled xxx and in it is maliciously organized subfolders by years.

"I can click any of them? And I'll see you making a woman squirt?" You say, impressed.

"Never met a girl whose pussy I couldn't make gush. Although I'd stick to the pre-retirement years." He says and you settle on a 2012 video. You know the later ones probably feature his ex. But this one stars a faceless blonde, all curves and moans. You squirm when Mark smacks her ass, watching it jiggle. You keep your eyes on how his tongue slides between her folds. You try to ignore how he's rolled up your dress and is just staring at your underwear. Watching it get wetter and wetter. You're too preoccupied with younger him to ask for his touch now.

The next video is a brunette, with pierced nipples and a possible disdain for Mark. That's gone when he slides into her, fingers pinching her clit. He makes her come too, and the next one and the one after that. You've seen enough. You turn and find him eye level with your cunt, long legs bent into a squat. He may be more than a decade older than in the video, but an old dog doesn't stop learning new tricks.

"Mark, I need you, please." You beg, beyond ready to be treated like one of his "little starlets" from the spank bank. You wonder if he'd film you too. Have your pussy soaking his cock in your juices as a memento of your time together.

"How do you want me, sweetheart?" He asks.

"Need you to fuck me, want to feel your cock inside of me, please." You moan out. And he's a perfect gentleman, because he promises he'll give it to you.

But first he slides his fingers to the front of your underwear and two of them are on your clit, rubbing. Maybe it's because of his height, that the length has spread even to his limbs. Maybe it's the dexterity, the sheer speed of his movements. Usually you'd prefer it starting slow, and building up. But with Mark, it was all climbing, starting at a 100 and moving towards 200 and above. Your hips are bucking against him, searching more. He slows just for a second in order to thrust two fingers inside of you.

"Look at you, already a mess. Did I get you so rilled up, sweetheart. Does this old man do it so much for you?" He asks and smiles as you can only groan and beg for more. He's not someone who draws out things, so he tells you to keep it up for him as he opens the condom package. He watches you whine that your fingers don't feel as good, that they aren't enough.

"Oh sweetheart, just you wait. You're going to be ruined." Mark says as he feeds you just the tip. He makes you take your hands off, replacing them with his. He thrusts up, matching his movements on your clit.

"It's too big, please." You say. Were you asking him for more or to stop? Your body seemed to favour the latter , because you were practically dripping on the bathroom floor. Mark uses his other hand to bring you closer to himself, his shallow thrusts pumping deeper and deeper. He's hitting that spot in your body, the one which you didn't even know existed.

"Be good and cum for me, will you, sweetheart? I don't have all night. So unless you want me to drag you out like this and fuck you on the town square under the fireworks, you better let go." Mark says. He does miss how tight you get around him when he talks like this. He continues, telling you how good you make him feel and how he can't wait to see your pretty orgasm face.That's what tips you over the edge. They're tears coming out of your eyes, you're pretty sure you're drooling and Mark's cock is indeed soaked with your juices. You can hear the obnoxious squelching of his last few thrusts, before he also comes.

He's still inside you when your alarm rings, the sound coming from your purse, long forgotten on the floor. You scramble to turn it off.

"One minute to midnight. Well, it's more like 20 seconds now." You announce. Mark takes your face in his hands (still slick with you) and kisses you gently. He doesn't have the heart to tell you that this is the first kiss he's had all year. You don't have the heart to tell him the same. All you know is that your return flight might be rebooked to a later date. You finally found something interesting to do in your parent's new town.

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x you #f1 imagine #mark webber x you #mark webber x reader #mark webber smut

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dalekofchaos · 4 months ago

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There was never a rat in the Van Der Linde Gang

I'm gonna be honest. Micah is a conniving snake. But there was never a rat.

Why did Blackwater fail? Dutch killed a mother in cold blood and then a massacre happened. The money was a set up and Dutch took the bait. Pinkertons swarmed the area and even Landon Rickets was there.

How did they find them at Horseshoe? By chance the Pinkertons found Arthur and Jack fishing, but was it really by chance? What happens in chapter 2?

A bar fight where fucking everyone in town is there, which afterwords Dutch is there

You sprang Sean free and there are bounty hunters who flee, you seriously don't think they talked??

Oh yeah, ARTHUR AND MICAH SHOOT UP A FUCKING TOWN

John killing Micah led to Ross and Fordham finding him. Any of the missions I mentioned practically led Milton and Ross to finding Arthur near Horseshoe.

How did the Gray/Braithewaite scheme fail?

The Grays knew what they were doing and so did the Braithewaites. They played both families instead of just one and instead of LYING LOW. Dutch's vanity, ego and sense of wanting petty revenge against Confederate white trash caused Sean to be killed and Jack to be abducted.

How did Saint Denis fail?

Dutch played Bronte in his own city, refused a favor(you do NOT refuse the Mob asking a favor) which caused the set up, then Bronte's murder and finally the Bank Robbery which they knew they were there.

The common theory is someone from the gang snitched and talked to the Pinkertons. Who exactly ? Micah ? Well, Agent Milton said they picked up Micah AFTER they came back from Guarma, so it could not have been him. Molly ? Again, Milton said they did pick her up (not mentioned when), but she did not say anything. I have also read theories that it might have been Agibail who snitched to which my response is - pure BS.

The truth is, nobody snitched, nobody talked. Yes. Yet the reaction of the Pinkertons was insanely fast, as if they knew the robbery was going to go down. How you wonder ? Well, it's simple. It's a long one, but have a read.

From the very beginning of the game, Dutch has been claiming that they are a few steps ahead of everyone else, but his arrogance proved to be the downfall. You see, the Pinkertons are not as dull and foolish as Dutch claim them to be, they are extremely efficient as a detective agency proven by the fact that they tracked down Arthur in Valentine. Now, when the gang moved to Clemens Point near Rhodes, the Pinkertons lost their trail for a while. However the gang contradicted their own plan of staying low by creating a huge chaos in Rhodes after killing both the Gray's and the Braithwaite's (best mission in the game btw). As soon as the word spread of the massacre of both the families in Rhodes all over the place, the Pinkertons connected the dots and knew that it could be the Van Der Lind gang who created the fuss and if so, they must be camping somewhere near Rhodes. Nonetheless, they found the gang hideout after sniffing around, a day or two after the Braithwaite massacre. At this point Agent Milton knew these bunch of people would not be too hard to find as all you need to do is to sniff around an area where there has been murder and madness.

Now to Saint Denis, Dutch dismissed Hosea's idea and went after Angelo Bronte just after the failed trolley station robbery. If he listened to Hosea, hit the bank at once, then vanished, the Pinkertons would have never caught on and they would be harvesting mango's in Tahiti. But a failed trolley station robbery followed by a huge shootout in the city killing dozens of cops then followed by a kidnapping and murder of the most powerful man in the city was enough chaos for the Pinkertons to realize it's the Van Der Lind gang. So they knew the gang is around this city and increased security in Saint Denis hoping that the next time they attempt a robbery, it would be the endgame. That is why as soon as the bank robbery started, the Pinkertons were all over the place.

It is also easy to explain why Hosea was captured and Abigail escaped. While causing the distraction, both of them did not realise how fast the response is going to be. The Pinkertons caught Hosea as his face along with other male members of the gang was known to them, specially Hosea, Dutch and Arthur as they have been the oldest members of the gang. But Abigail at this point was unknown to them so it was easy for her to walk right past them without them realizing.

Why did the gang fell?

Micah got into Dutch's ear, Hosea died and Arthur got sick.

Micah promised him riches and the glorious scores that appealed to Dutch's ego and vanity. But he wasn't the rat.

If he did rat, he was playing Dutch and the Pinkertons to get the Blackwater money and the money for turning in Dutch.

However.

It was all Dutch.

Dutch. killed Cornwall in broad fucking daylight. Arthur sprung John out of prison, they blew up a fucking bridge, Dutch led the Natives to their doom, Colm's execution turned into a bloodbath, an attack on the Oil Refinery which led to the deaths of Colonel Favors and Eagle Flies and to top it all with robbing the military. It's no fucking wonder the Pinkertons found them.

There was no rat. The Pinkerton’s were actually just good at their jobs. Micah being a rat makes no sense if you actually think about it. There’s NO WAY the pinkertons would have been ok with the death of Leviticus Cornwall as he was paying their wages. Micah and Dutch planned to kill him together. There’s also the fact that Micah straight up killed Pinkertons in the firefight that ensued cornwall’s death. Micah was an asshole but not a rat. Watch that scene with Milton and Arthur again…Milton would have most likely let Arthur go with that false information but Arthur decided to attack him. There was never a rat, they got played.

It's a combination of things on why they all failed.

Reason 1. Dutch's vanity and ego. Dutch desperately needed to be seen as this great American hero. He cares more of the thrill of “one last score” it’s all about his ego and how he has to be seen as this Evelyn Millerian figure. This great American Literature hero when he’s really as bad as the greed that he says poisons America. He never cared about the people in the gang. It was the prestige of the name "The VAN DER LINDE Gang" HIM. He wanted to be seen as this infamous outlaw and righteous leader. He didn't care about the people in the gang. Arthur? He was dying and he didn't care. John? He wanted him to hang. Abigail? He left her behind the first chance he got. Micah killed Susan RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM and Dutch didn't care. He considerd Mary-Beth, Pearson and Uncle leaving as a betrayal. Dutch never cared for the people within the VDL Gang. He cared what they could do for him and the glory they could bring him. It was never of settling down to become farmers, it was always about the thrill of being an outlaw the that great big score.

There are a lot of people who think if Hosea never died, then Dutch never would've lost it. He was always bad. He just had good ways of masking it. Hosea failed at every venture to talk out of getting Dutch to see sense and avoid bloodshed. If Hosea lived, there is a very good chance that Dutch would've lost it and had Hosea killed. Either it would've been an accidental death like he tried by leaving Arthur behind, he would've went into full paranoid mode "You're trying to undermine me and take the group from me" and order Hosea to draw his gun and then shoot him. Like Hosea said "You'll damn us all" and he did.

Reason 2. Loyalty to a fault.

Loyalty held the gang together. Loyalty was what Dutch valued - blind, obedient loyalty. “He had a plan,” after all.

Doubt broke the gang apart. Dutch became suspicious, uncertain of the faith of even his most dedicated friends. This undermined the entire operation and caused its eventual downfall.

“You’ll betray me, Arthur,” Dutch says, “You’re the type.” Dutch couldn’t be more wrong on that account.

Micah is named by the Pinkertons as a rat, but according to them, he wasn’t approached until after they’d returned from Guarma. So, by that timeline, the Pinkerton’s hadn’t needed a rat to foil their plans in Blackwater, or to find Arthur fishing by the side of a stream, or for the bank robbery in Saint Denis.

The Pinkertons always knew where Dutch was and what he was up to. They didn’t need a rat, especially not after their return from Guarma. So, why drop Micah’s name?

Well, the Pinkertons knew the gang was scrambling, that they were on the run, and that it was damn near impossible to arrest one of them at a time without a successful rescue of said gang member, ie Micah, John, Abigail and Sean. They are not the local sheriff’s office, after all. They are the federals and they want Dutch Vander Linde done in for good.

Staring down the barrel of a gun, why would a Pinkerton agent spill their collateral to the enemy? Arthur wasn’t even asking for any information at the time. Why would this agent, in his dying moments, tell Arthur that Micah was the rat?

Unless the agent knew the gang was on thin ice, and that loyalty was all that was keeping it together. He introduced what he hoped would be a final blow to the gang, accomplishing post-huminously what had been his career goal in life.

Also, why would Micah become an informant after Guarma? What were the promising him? After all, he stuck with Dutch and formed a new gang after Arthur died. He never took a big cut from the government and ran. He was a brown-noser and an asshole, but stood nothing to gain from becoming a rat.

Arthur hated Micah, so he took the bait. He wanted a reason to hate him, to have him kicked out of the gang. Micah was pragmatic and greedy and he hardened Dutch’s humanitarian side - the side that Arthur valued. But, Micah being a rat wasn’t the truth.

After all, we know who became a rat - John Marston.

Arthur’s readiness to believe a Pinkerton’s dying words proved the point of the narrative - the gang fell apart because they lost faith in Dutch, and because Dutch grew jealous and fearful as their doubts became apparent.

Loyalty kept the gang together, and its absence tore the gang apart.

Reason 3. "We didn't need a rat. We got sloppier than the town drunk."

The gang was careless. It got sloppy and their overconfidence and ego was their downfall.

Micah wasn’t the cause of their downfall he simply hastened it. The game tells you from the opening titles how it’s going to end and why. It mentions that the remaining gangs are being hunted down and destroyed with the word underlined for emphasis. It was always going to end in their demise, it just happened quicker than it would have because they got sloppy, careless, conceited, and arrogant.

#Red Dead Redemption #Red Dead Redemption 2 #The Van Der Linde Gang #Van Der Linde Gang #Arthur Morgan #Dutch Van Der Linde #Micah Bell #Hosea Matthews #John Marston #Abigail Marston #Edgar Ross #Andrew Milton #Sean McGuire #Sadie Adler

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sugdenlovesdingle · 1 month ago

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I finally had some time to sit down and just *chill* for a bit and decided to do some good this holiday season and join the @alliwantforchristmasislou party.

I got a little €€ from my aunt yesterday (the only good thing to come from that visit) so I figured I'd just donate to both of the charities I'd been thinking about instead of picking just one.

And because I'm a massive geek I donated 21,70 (aka 217 for Tommy's station) to both

COC is (probably the oldest) Dutch LGBTQI+ rights organisation - and I've personally worked with the local branch for pride in my city.

And the other is the Dutch SPCA. Because of Lou's love of tiny dogs animals and because Tommy is a beast 😉

(screenshots from the donation pages because the confirmations didn't have the amounts on them)

I don't really have a big emotional story of what bucktommy means to me, I just love their love, and most of all I love all of you guys in this fandom!

I've had a blast these past few months! We really went Through It™️ during the summer hiatus and then again after 8x06, but I love that we (after the initial shock and depression wore off) decided that fuck you show, these characters are ours now - and gave them the happiness they deserve (after SOME OF US 👀 hurt them even more first). We went through the alternative 7 stages of grief... That somehow includes mpreg, rpf, and a twin brother from another show!

Here's to more bucktommy (sorry Lou - Tevan) love in 2025!

#bucktommy #alliwantforchristmasislou

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allthemeniveloved · 2 months ago

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It Will Come Back - Part 8

Summary: Arthur and the others return from Guarma worn and weary, prompting you to call on Arthur for help with rescuing John.

wc: 4.9k

ao3 link

Tags: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader, fluff, angst, hurt comfort, reminding myself that this is a love triangle story, did you miss Arthur?

a/n: EEEEK! This might not be everyone's favorite chapter but this is for sure one of mine. Btw, this'll be the last chapter that clings heavily to the canon storyline for any of you hoping to avoid real spoilers.

And the day that we'll watch the death of the sun That the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on Then you'll gaze unafraid as they sob from the city roofs

Wasteland, baby I'm in love I'm in love with you

The swamp was alive with a suffocating tension as the remnants of the gang scrambled to leave Shady Belle. The failed Saint Denis bank robbery had sent shockwaves through everyone, and with the Pinkertons closing in and the law hot on their trail, there was no time to mourn, rest, or even think. Sadie, sharp-eyed and determined, had stepped in to take charge amidst the chaos, her voice calm yet firm as she directed the others. “We can’t stay here,” she said, helping Abigail bundle Jack onto a horse, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Lakay’s far enough out to give us time to breathe, but we’ve gotta move now.” The gang, rattled but desperate, followed her lead, pulling together what little they could carry from the crumbling mansion as the clock seemed to tick down.

You worked alongside the others, your hands trembling as you stuffed supplies into saddlebags, your mind reeling with the thought of those still missing. Arthur, Dutch, Micah, Javier, and Bill had disappeared after the bank job, and no one had heard from them since. Abigail’s distraught cries were a constant reminder of the others you had already lost: Hosea and Lenny, gone forever. The weight of it all sat heavy on your chest, but there was no time to grieve. The law could arrive at any moment, and Sadie’s steady leadership was the only thing keeping the group moving forward.

The journey to Lakay was grueling, the horses trudging through thick mud and water as the humid air clung to your skin. The swamp seemed to close in around you, the dense trees and hanging moss creating an oppressive atmosphere that matched the mood of the gang. Dahlia’s steps were careful but unsteady as you followed the caravan of riders, your eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of pursuit. Sadie and Miss Grimshaw led the way, all eyes fixed ahead, while Pearson’s wagon groaned under the weight of the camp’s salvaged supplies.

When Lakay finally came into view, it was a dismal sight—ramshackle huts barely standing on the edge of stagnant, murky water. The air smelled of decay and mildew, and the buzzing of mosquitoes filled the humid night. It was far from a home, but Sadie called it safe, and that was all that mattered. “Get settled,” she barked as the gang began to dismount. “We’ll rebuild here. It’s not forever, but it’ll do for now.”

The camp quickly descended into controlled chaos as everyone worked to unpack. Miss Grimshaw and Pearson began setting up stations, muttering under their breath about the lack of space. Sadie helped the rest of the women while you lingered near the outskirts, your eyes darting back toward the swamp trail. The longer you waited, the harder it was to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. Where were they?

Twenty-six long days had passed since the gang had relocated to Lakay, and the tension in the swampy camp had only grown heavier with each sunrise. The shacks were barely holding together, the air thick with mosquitoes and the stink of stagnant water, and the days stretched endlessly as everyone tried to scrape by. You’d nearly given up hope of ever seeing the missing men again. Every night, as you lay awake on your makeshift cot, you couldn’t stop wondering if they were alive, or if they’d met the same grim fate as Hosea and Lenny.

After Saint Denis, the weight of everything made the idea of leaving feel impossible. You told yourself it was practical to stay, that you needed their resources and protection, but deep down, you feared you didn’t have the strength to survive alone out in the unforgiving wilderness. As much as you hated the chaos, abandoning the gang felt like stepping into an even darker unknown, and you weren’t sure you had it in you to face that kind of uncertainty alone.

The thought of John in prison was a weight that never left your chest, pressing down harder with each passing day. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to dark places, imagining him locked away in some cold, damp cell, surrounded by unforgiving walls and cruel guards. Was he being fed? Was he hurt? The unanswered questions gnawed at you constantly, leaving you restless and sleepless most nights.

Worst of all was the fear that you might never know the truth. The uncertainty tore at you like a jagged edge—what if the law had decided he wasn’t worth keeping alive? What if they’d already executed him, leaving you here, clinging to the hope of a man who was gone? You tried to push the thoughts away, tried to focus on the slim possibility of rescue or escape, but the gnawing doubt refused to be silenced. The idea of him out there, suffering or worse, while you were helpless to do anything, felt like it was breaking you piece by piece.

Then, one humid evening as the sun dipped below the swamp, the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats shattered the quiet. You bolted upright, your heart leaping into your throat as you ran to the edge of camp. The sight of five riders emerging from the mist left you breathless—Arthur, Dutch, Micah, Javier, and Bill, their figures gaunt and weary, their clothes tattered and caked in dirt. They looked like they’d been through hell, their faces hollowed with exhaustion and their eyes haunted.

Arthur dismounted first, his movements slow and deliberate as he scanned the camp, his gaze finally landing on you. You didn’t hesitate; your feet moved before you even realized, and you ran straight to him, your chest tight with emotion. “Arthur!” you cried, your voice trembling as you threw your arms around him, holding him tightly like he might vanish if you let go.

He stiffened at first, clearly caught off guard, but then his hands came up to rest on your back, his touch grounding and steady despite the weight he carried. “Easy now,” he murmured, his voice rough and hoarse, but there was a flicker of warmth in it that made tears spring to your eyes. “I’m here. I made it back.”

You pulled back just enough to search his face, your hands gripping his arms as your gaze swept over his tired features. “I - we thought you were gone,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Twenty-six days, Arthur. Twenty-six days, and we heard nothing!”

His brow furrowed, guilt and weariness mingling in his eyes as he glanced toward Dutch, who was dismounting nearby with a grim expression. “It wasn’t easy,” Arthur said quietly, his voice laced with exhaustion. “We got stuck… in more ways than one. But we’re here now.” Only then did you notice that Arthur’s face was uncharacteristically red, the skin across his nose and cheeks raw and peeling as if he’d spent days under an unrelenting sun. You frowned as you looked at him, curiosity stirring in your chest.

He didn’t offer details, and you didn’t press him. The relief of seeing him alive and back at camp was enough, for now. As the others dismounted and the camp stirred with murmurs and questions, you clung to Arthur a moment longer, your heart still racing. Whatever hell they’d been through, you could tell it wasn’t over—and neither was the fight to keep the gang together.

You grabbed a bowl of stew from the pot Pearson had set up, the steam rising in swirls as you carried it over to Arthur, who looked like he could barely stand. “Here,” you said softly, nudging him toward a crate to sit on. He hesitated for a moment, his brows furrowing as he watched you, but he finally sank down with a heavy sigh. Sitting across from him, you studied his sunburnt face, the peeling skin and exhaustion in his eyes, and an unexpected wave of relief washed over you. You didn’t think you’d ever see him again, and the fact that he was here—alive, even if worse for wear—tugged at something deep in your chest. “You okay?” you asked quietly, your voice softer than you intended.

Arthur glanced at you, his brow furrowed, and muttered, “Didn’t figure you’d lose sleep over what happens to the likes of me.” Though his tone lacked its usual edge, as if he wasn’t sure he believed his own words. You hesitated, the mix of guilt and gratitude swirling in your chest, leaving you unsure how to respond. “Of course I do,” you finally said, your voice barely audible as you looked away, unable to face the question lingering in his tired gaze.

Your fingers began to fiddle with the edge of your sleeve. “I was worried. I didn’t know if you’d come back, and… I didn’t want to lose you too.”

Arthur’s expression softened, though he still looked uncertain, his fingers idly turning the spoon in the bowl of stew.

“Guess I didn’t think you still gave a damn about me,” he admitted, his voice low and gruff, like he wasn’t quite sure how to say the words. He leaned back slightly, his tired eyes meeting yours with a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. “But I appreciate it. More’n you know.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the sounds of the camp distant as the weight of the past weeks hung between you. Despite everything, Arthur’s presence grounded you, his steady strength a reminder that you weren’t as alone as you feared. “Well,” you said quietly, offering a small, tentative smile, “you’ll have to get used to it, Arthur. Like it or not, some of us do give a damn.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, and he nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I reckon I’ll try to remember that,” he said, his voice lighter now, though his weariness lingered. He picked up the bowl of stew and began to eat, his movements slow but steady, and you stayed beside him and studied the worn features on his face.

Arthur’s beard had grown wild and uneven, the sun catching on the lighter strands that peppered the thicker growth along his jaw. It framed his face in a way you weren’t used to, making him seem even more rugged, almost untamed after the time he’d been gone. Your eyes lingered, tracing the curve of his jawline beneath the sunburnt skin, down to the faint hollow of his throat just visible beneath his open collar, the worn fabric clinging to his sweat-dampened skin. You’d thought you might never see him again, and the realization hit you all over again, making your chest tighten. He shifted slightly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he finished his food, and you couldn’t help but study him further—the sharp lines of his features softened by exhaustion, the way his collarbone rose and fell with each steady breath, grounding you in the moment. Despite the grime and wear, there was something reassuringly familiar about him, something that made you feel, if only for a moment, like everything might still be okay.

The silence between you was heavy, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough. “I owe you an apology,” he began, not meeting your gaze. “For what I said when I found out about you and John. I was angry, and… I shouldn’t’ve said half the things I did.”

You swallowed hard, the memory of that confrontation still fresh in your mind, the sting of his words lingering even now. “Arthur,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly.

He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. “I know,” he said quietly, his tone laced with guilt. Tears stung your eyes as you leaned forward, your hands clasping together in your lap. “I never stopped caring about you, Arthur,” you sighed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I still care about you. And when you said those things, it… it felt like I lost a part of you that I’d always counted on.”

His shoulders sagged, and he let out a long sigh, finally looking at you fully. “You didn’t lose me,” he said, his voice softer now, filled with a quiet sincerity. “I was hurt, sure, but that ain’t an excuse for the way I acted.”

You nodded, a small, tentative smile tugging at your lips despite the tears threatening to spill. “I just want us to be okay again.” you said softly.

Arthur’s expression softened, and he gave a small, weary smile. “We’ll be alright,” he said, his voice steady.

Arthur glanced up from his stew, his tired eyes narrowing slightly as he caught your lingering gaze, and a faint, wry smirk tugged at the edge of his lips despite the exhaustion weighing on him. “Careful, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, “John might not take too kindly to you lookin’ at me like that.” His words jolted you, and your face flushed as you quickly looked away.

You shifted uncomfortably under Arthur’s gaze, your cheeks still warm from his teasing, but the weight of everything left unsaid between you pressed down too heavily to ignore. Clearing your throat, you quickly changed the subject. “Arthur,” you began quietly, your voice trembling slightly, “John was arrested after the bank job in Saint Denis.”

Arthur froze, the spoon in his hand hovering mid-air as his tired eyes widened slightly. “Arrested?” he repeated, his voice rough and low, his brows furrowing. “What’re you talkin’ about? I thought he and Abigail had both gotten away.”

You blinked, taken aback. “She did,” you explained quickly, guilt tightening in your chest. “But when she got back to Shady Belle, she told us she saw him being taken away. Pinkertons caught him right after everything started.”

You blinked, your heart sinking as the realization hit. “I thought you knew,” you said softly, your voice almost breaking. “We’ve all been waiting—hoping for news. But it’s been weeks, Arthur. Abigail hasn’t heard a word since she saw them take him.”

Arthur exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he set the bowl aside, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Damn it,” he muttered, his voice laced with frustration and worry.

Arthur’s gaze hardened, the exhaustion in his eyes giving way to a sharp focus as he leaned toward you. “Where’s he bein’ held?” he asked, his voice low but urgent.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head slightly as you admitted, “We don’t know… Abigail saw them take him, but she couldn’t follow—no one’s been able to find out.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened as he stared at the ground, the weight of everything hanging heavy in the air. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed deeply and said, “I’ll talk to Dutch in the morning… see if we can come up with somethin’.” The words barely left his mouth before you collapsed to your knees in front of him, the desperation you’d been holding back spilling over as you wrapped your arms around his torso, clutching him tightly.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your cheek pressed against the worn fabric of his shirt. For a moment, Arthur froze, his arms hovering awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Then, with a quiet sigh, he rested a hand gently on the back of your head, his other arm wrapping around your shoulders as he held you close. “It’s gonna be alright,” he murmured, though his voice was rough, and the words seemed meant as much for himself as for you. As he sat there, comforting you despite the lingering ache in his chest, he realized that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop himself from caring for you—no matter the cost.

Arthur let out a quiet sigh, his strong arms wrapping around you as he pulled you closer, letting your weight rest against him as the dam finally broke. You sobbed into his chest, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt tightly, releasing everything you’d bottled up for the past month—the fear, the guilt, the sleepless nights wondering if John was still alive, and the unbearable tension of holding it all in. Arthur didn’t say anything at first, his hands moving in slow, comforting strokes along your back as he held you like he had all the time in the world. His warmth and steady presence grounded you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself collapse fully into your grief, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek in a rhythm that soothed your racing heart.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered between sobs, your voice cracking as you tried to pull yourself together. “I shouldn’t… you’ve been through so much, and here I am falling apart on you.” You made to pull back, but Arthur’s arms only tightened around you, keeping you close. “Don’t do that,” he said gruffly, his voice softer than usual but carrying an undeniable firmness. “You’ve been holdin’ all this in, and it ain’t good for you. Hell, I’d feel worse if you didn’t let it out.” His words broke through your reluctance, and you buried your face against him again, tears streaming freely as he rested his chin lightly on the top of your head. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, the roughness of it oddly soothing. “You ain’t gotta carry all this by yourself anymore, alright?” For a brief moment, the weight of your burdens felt just a little lighter, shared in the quiet strength of his embrace.

Arthur shifted slightly, his arms still wrapped securely around you, and murmured, “C’mon, darlin’, let’s get you off this cold ground.” Before you could protest, he lifted you effortlessly, his strong arms cradling you as he stood, holding you close against his chest. You blinked up at him through tear-soaked lashes, feeling a mix of gratitude and embarrassment. “Arthur, you don’t have to—”

“Hush,” he interrupted, his voice soft but firm, his eyes meeting yours with a steady warmth. “You’re worn out, and you’ve been carryin’ too much for too long. Just let me do this, alright?”

He carried you into one of the small, rickety shacks at Lakay, the floorboards creaking faintly under his boots as he stepped inside. He laid you down gently on the small cot in the corner, adjusting the blanket to cover you before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. You reached out instinctively, your hand brushing against his, not wanting him to go. “Arthur… don’t leave,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the dim light.

He hesitated for a moment, the faint flicker of something unspoken crossing his face, before he nodded. “Alright,” he murmured, pulling off his hat and setting it on the floor beside him. He eased down beside you, his large frame careful not to take up too much space as he leaned back against the wall.

As you settled into the thin mattress, the tension in your chest began to ease, replaced by the quiet comfort of having him near. His hand rested lightly on yours, a grounding presence that kept the dark thoughts at bay. “Get some sleep,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, the exhaustion in it betraying his own need for rest. You nodded, your eyes drifting closed as his steady breathing filled the room, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a fragile sense of safety begin to take hold.

The soft light of morning filtered through the gaps in the shack’s weathered boards, painting faint golden lines across the floor. As you stirred, the faint ache of exhaustion still lingered in your body, but the overwhelming heaviness of the previous night had begun to lift. Turning your head, you spotted Arthur slouched in a wooden chair near the bed, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. His head was tilted slightly to the side, and despite the awkward position, he seemed to be fast asleep, his face relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in weeks.

A warmth bloomed in your chest as you watched him, the sight of him staying by your side all night melting away the residual anxiety that had haunted you. He hadn’t left, even though he had every reason to. The slight rise and fall of his chest, the soft sound of his breathing—it all grounded you in a quiet, fragile peace you hadn’t felt in what felt like forever. You sat up slowly, not wanting to disturb him, but the creak of the cot under your weight made his eyes flutter open. Blinking groggily, he shifted slightly and looked at you, his voice rough with sleep as he murmured, “Mornin’, darlin’.”

You nodded, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you met his tired gaze. “You didn’t have to stay,” you said softly, your voice still hushed from the morning quiet, though there was a warmth in your tone you couldn’t quite hide.

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, his brow furrowing as he sat up straighter in the chair. “Figured you might need someone around,” he muttered, his voice gravelly but carrying a hint of that familiar gruff affection. “Didn’t seem right, leavin’ you after all that.”

Your smile grew a little, and you tilted your head, watching him as he stretched, his muscles stiff from the awkward position he’d slept in. “Still, you’ve been through hell. You didn’t owe me that,” you replied gently.

Arthur shrugged, his eyes meeting yours again, softer now. “Didn’t feel like I owed it,” he said simply, a faint, tired smirk tugging at his lips. “Just felt like the right thing to do.”

You looked away briefly, heat rising to your cheeks as his words lingered in the space between you. “Well,” you murmured, glancing back at him, “thank you… for everything.”

He gave a small nod, his gaze steady but warm. “Anytime,” he said quietly, leaning forward as he rested his forearms on his knees, the moment settling between you like a fragile truce.

Arthur let out a long sigh as he ran a hand through his too-long hair, his tired eyes fixed on the floor. “Let me go talk to Dutch, see if I can get him to focus on somethin’ that actually matters for once. John’s done too much for this damn gang to be left rottin’ in a cell.” He glanced up at you then, his expression softening despite the weight in his voice. “It ain’t gonna be easy, though. You know how Dutch is—he’ll want it to fit into some grand plan of his own.” His tone carried the quiet determination of a man who had seen too much but still refused to let go of what little hope remained.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but Arthur seemed different now. The man who once spoke about the gang’s loyalty and Dutch’s vision as if they were gospel now carried an air of quiet skepticism. His shoulders, though broad and strong as ever, seemed weighed down by something heavier than exhaustion—a kind of disillusionment you hadn’t seen in him before. There was a tiredness in his eyes, not just from lack of sleep but from seeing too much, knowing too much. And yet, that same sense of strength and resolve remained, a spark of who he was, but tempered now by an understanding that things had to change.

You grabbed his hand tightly, your grip firm as if to anchor yourself in the moment, and your voice trembled with gratitude. “Thank you, Arthur—thank you for not giving up on him,” you said, the words spilling out in a rush.

Arthur gave a small nod, his gaze steady but distant, before rising from his seat and heading for the door. As the shack’s wooden door creaked shut behind him, a faint glimmer of hope stirred in your chest, fragile but undeniable, as you clung to the thought that maybe, just maybe, things could turn around.

The chaos at Lakay had been nothing short of a nightmare. The Pinkertons had descended on the swamp like a storm, gunfire echoing through the murky night as the gang fought to hold them off. By the time it was over, the once-crumbling camp had been completely abandoned, supplies scattered and spirits broken. The gang moved north in a frantic retreat, the chill of the approaching mountains biting at their heels as they set up a rough, makeshift camp at Beaver Hollow. The air at the new hideout was thick with tension, the gang fractured and on edge, their collective grief and frustration palpable in every hushed conversation and distant glare. You had barely settled before slipping away, the weight of everything driving you into the woods to hunt, the repetitive task the only thing keeping your racing thoughts at bay. The cold morning air bit at your cheeks, and each breath escaped your lips in soft, misty plumes that hung briefly before disappearing into the gray dawn.

It was there, among the trees and damp leaves, that Arthur found you, his broad figure cutting a familiar silhouette against the faint sunlight filtering through the canopy. His approach was slow, his boots crunching softly on the forest floor, and you didn’t look up until he was standing a few paces away. “Dutch doesn’t want anyone goin’ after John,” he said flatly, his voice carrying a weight that made your stomach twist. He paused, his hands resting on his belt as his gaze lingered on you. “Says it’s too risky, that we’ve got bigger problems right now.” There was frustration in his tone, but also a thread of resignation, as if he’d already fought this battle and lost.

You turned to face him fully, your bow slipping from your grasp as his words hit you like a blow. “Arthur, no,” you said softly, shaking your head, your voice trembling as desperation clawed its way to the surface. “We can’t just leave him there—Dutch can’t just decide that.” You took a step closer, your hands clenched into fists at your sides as tears threatened to spill. “Please, Arthur, you’ve got to help me. You and Sadie—you know where he is. We can get him out.”

His jaw tightened as he averted his gaze, clearly torn, but the conflict in his expression only made you press harder. “I can’t do this without you,” you added, your voice softer now, pleading. “John doesn’t deserve to be left to rot while Dutch spins his schemes. Please.”

Arthur sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping slightly as he shifted his weight. His hand lifted to rub the back of his neck, his tired eyes finally meeting yours. “It ain’t that simple,” he said quietly, though his voice lacked conviction, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as you. “Dutch… he’s diggin’ in his heels, and things are already fallin’ apart. If I go against him—if we go against him—it’ll only make things worse.” His words were heavy, but you could see the cracks in his resolve, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides as if grasping for a solution he couldn’t quite reach.

You stepped closer, your voice firm and trembling with frustration. “If you won’t go, I will,” you said, the words rushing out before you could stop them. Arthur’s head snapped up, his jaw tightening as his tired eyes bore into yours. “Don’t,” he said sharply, his voice low but carrying a weight that made your breath hitch. He took a step toward you, his broad figure looming as he softened his tone, though it remained firm. “You know I can’t have you goin’. You’ll get yourself killed before you even get close to that damn place.” His voice broke slightly, the faintest edge of worry cutting through his words. “And I… I wouldn’t be able to live with that.”

The intensity in his gaze left you momentarily speechless, your hands curling into fists at your sides as his words hung between you. “Then what, Arthur?” you finally asked, your voice trembling. “What do we do? Because I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

Arthur let out another sigh, his shoulders sagging as he looked away, clearly conflicted. “I’ll help you,” he said finally, his voice quieter but laced with determination. “But we’re gonna do this smart, not reckless. I ain’t about to lose you over this, y’hear?” His words carried a weight that settled deep in your chest, but there was a flicker of relief, of hope, as he added, “We’ll figure somethin’ out.”

You let out a shaky breath, your voice breaking as you whispered, “Thank you, Arthur. Please… bring him back to me.”

Arthur looked at you for a long moment, his tired eyes softening, though the hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you, girl,” he muttered, his voice low but laced with that familiar gruff affection.

The words hit you like a quiet storm, leaving your chest tight as you stepped closer. Without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, the rough stubble brushing against your lips. “Thank you,” you murmured again, your voice filled with gratitude, as his smirk faded into something more tender.

A faint blush crept up Arthur’s face, his usual composure faltering as he glanced away, the stubble on his cheek still warm where your lips had touched. You watched as Arthur disappeared into the woods, his broad shoulders framed by the stark trees, each step carrying him further into the misty morning. A tangle of emotions swirled in your chest—gratitude for his willingness to help, guilt for asking so much of him, and a quiet, confusing ache that lingered from the soft blush on his face when you kissed his cheek.

꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰

tag list: @photo1030

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blackcatwriter · 4 months ago

Text

Linger Part 2 (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

a/n: Part 2 is finally here! I stayed up a little late for a few days to push this one out because I wanted to get it done before my classes started. Thank you to the lovely @scumscumpooties47 for helping to edit all that I write. Literally none of these would be posted if I didn't have your encouragement. Happy reading!

warnings: typical canon violence, no use of Y/N, angst if you squint, happy ending, fluff, possibly some grammatical mistakes, slight spoilers to Ch. 4 but once again creative liberties are taken

wc: 3.1k

tags: @warmsideofthepillow03

summary: You make up your mind, Arthur struggles to keep his promise once more.

divider by @plum98

The ride out of St. Denis grew quiet as the cobblestoned streets faded to dirt roads leading back to the Largras swamps. In place of the bustling streets were the croaks and cries of the animals that resided there. Arthur’s mind was in a haze, reeling from the amount of emotions he felt from seeing you again.

Nervousness. Relief. Desperation. Longing. Love.

The moment he saw you at that damned party he instantly forgot what his purpose of being there was for. Arthur disappeared from Dutch’s side to find you. He didn’t even know what he’d say to you much less if you’d be willing to hear him out.

But god–being away from you for months without a clue of your wellbeing just to see you all dressed up at a party shot a bullet straight through his heart. He knew he wouldn’t be able to leave that party without talking to you, but he hadn’t expected everything that proceeded after.

Following a lady home after clearly upsetting her? Asking her to run away with you again? Here you had him acting like a damn teenage boy with a crush.

“What the hell am I doing, girl?” Arthur muttered to his steed. As if understanding his frustration, Bodicea huffed in response, earning a sigh from him. “I’m a fool for thinking she’d want to show up after everything.” As he reached the gang’s hideout, Arthur left his horse to graze while he readied himself for what Dutch would have to say.

Dutch wouldn’t take too kindly to Arthur disappearing from helping the gang look for leads, especially if it was for the lost love Dutch told him to leave in the past. “Distractions cost the gang. Let her go,” Dutch would remind Arthur while his heartbreak was still fresh from leaving you.

“Arthur! Get in here!” Dutch yelled from the front porch of the creaky manor, crushing his cigar into the ground with his boat before striding inside. Complying to his orders, Arthur followed behind him quickly.

“I have a plan. We’re going to rob the trolley station tomorrow. Micah claims he heard Pinkertons not too far behind us so we’ll need to act–”

“Tomorrow?” Arthur’s face paled. “We ain’t never robbed something in a city before. The law is gonna be all over the place! We need more time than just a day’s notice.” Arthur looked down at the map Dutch had on the table. “We’ll be backed into a corner by the law before the Pinkertons catch news and come for the rest of us–if we ain’t dead by then!”

“Are you doubting me, son? There’s already been enough of that amongst the gang. I don’t need to hear anymore of that, especially from my best gun.” Dutch scowled. “What I need to hear is that you have my back. Do you have my back, Arthur?”

Pushing you to the back of his mind, he answered, “Always, Dutch.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Dutch walked upstairs to his makeshift room. Sighing, Arthur sat down with his head in his hands. He felt torn in half. On one hand, he had his loyalties to the gang. He had been with them, with Dutch, for practically his whole life. He owed Dutch his life, but lately he couldn’t help but feel as if Dutch wasn’t thinking his plans through.

On the other hand, there was you. You, who had held him when he could no longer bear the weight of the guilt he kept inside. You, who would listen to him talk about the few precious memories he had with his mother. You, who Arthur loved dearly. Too distracted by the conflicting feelings in his head, Arthur didn’t notice Hosea sitting down by him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so thoughtful, Arthur.” The old man chuckled to himself. “What’s on your mind, son?” Sighing, Arthur raised his face. Some things might slip by Dutch, but Hosea seemed to always know when something was wrong.

“You ever regret it? Coming back to this shit hole?” From what Arthur picked up when Hosea mentioned his life with Bessie, he had it pretty damn good. The pair lived in a cabin up in the Grizzlies until Hosea was roped back into their life of crime. Bessie had come along with him until she tragically died.

“I regret bringing Bessie with me.” He paused, his voice growing solemn. “Maybe she’d still be alive if I left her behind.” The grief ridden man’s words hit Arthur deeply. Bessie unfortunately already met her end, but you hadn’t. You still had a chance to live your life unafraid of the people that might come after you.

“It’s that woman again, isn’t it?” A small smile grew on Hosea’s face. “She’s why you disappeared from us.”

“It ain’t like that.” Vulnerable at the mention of you, Arthur stood from his seat practically storming away from Hosea until he put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Son, even as bad as it is for us now…you still have a chance to do right by your woman. Take what you’ve got and don’t look back.” Loosening his grip on Arthur’s arm, Hosea disappeared up the stairs.

Hearing Hosea telling him he had his blessing to walk out on the gang left Arthur feeling more unsure than ever. While he loved the people in the gang he had come to know as family, you had become his home away from home (as much as the gang’s ever changing campgrounds can be called “home”.)

Needless to say Arthur didn’t get much sleep that night.

The following morning you were awake as soon as the sun had risen, pacing in your room. You were sure the servants would be annoyed by the constant creak your floorboards made with each step, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

The suitcase you had packed in a frenzy last night poked out from under the bed. You had no idea what came over you when you packed it. It was a blur of grabbing random items you thought might be worth selling and as many snacks you could steal from the kitchen without raising suspicion.

Picking at your sleeves you pondered all the possibilities that could occur.

1)One of the servants finds out and stops you before you can leave. 2) Arthur gets caught by a bounty hunter for whatever bounty he has over his head because he’s Arthur and always seems to be in some kind of trouble. 3) Arthur is killed by anyone else he might’ve wronged from being with Dutch (You hated that man. You always had a bad feeling about him.) 4) Arthur and you manage to leave the city and live in a hidden cabin somewhere in the mountains 5) Arthur doesn’t show up.

Somehow even the possibilities of Arthur’s death seemed better than him abandoning you all over again. Death would mean he left you against his will. Your better judgment told you not to take him for his word. The two of you had already tried this once–look where it got you– but even now the love you still felt for him won you over.

So now here you were, endlessly treading back and forth your room. This was it. You were going to trust that he would be standing at the bridge he said he would and run away with him.

Suddenly a quiet knock was heard from your door followed by a light voice, “Ma’am? Is everything alright?” Recognizing the voice as your maid, Nora, you quickly opened the door and plastered a smile on your face. “Of course it is. Why are you asking?” You huffed, blowing your hair out of your face.

Oh god, she sees right through you. She can probably tell what’s going through your mind just by the frantic look in your eyes. She’ll alert the other servants and soon enough your husband will cut his business trip short to deal with you. Maybe she’ll keep it a secret if you bribe her.

“Not to be nosy, but the other maids and I heard ye’ pacing since the sun came up. Would ye’ like me to make some tea?” Your stiffness eased at her efforts to offer you some comfort in the form of tea. Since you first arrived at your fiance’s residence Nora had been the only person who made you feel welcomed. She might be the only person you’d miss once you’d left.

Thanking her, you walked downstairs to the drawing room and waited for the tea. You definitely had to calm down. Your nerves were causing you to look like a mess in front of everyone, but the urge to just race out the front door to Arthur’s arms was too strong. The love of your life was so close to you yet so far.

Soon what felt like eons passed and noon was just half an hour away. It would be easy to make up an excuse to get out of the house, but how does one explain carrying a suitcase? Nonsense, you’re their employer (engaged to their employer but nonetheless), and they had no authority to question what you do in a day.

“Nora, I’ll be taking my afternoon walk earlier today. Don’t worry if I take longer than usual. I plan on running some errands while I’m out.” You called out while you dashed to the front door as fast as you could without tripping over yourself.

“But ma’am what about Mr. Finch?” Nora chimed, noticing the suitcase you held in your hand. Stopping in your tracks you turned around to face her. “What about my fiance?” Confusion evident in your voice. Did you forget something?

“He’s coming home early, remember?” Nora reminded you. Ah, there it is. You had forgotten he was going to come home early, but you’ll be long gone by the time he turns up. “I’m sure I’ll be home before he arrives.” You gave a tight lipped smile.

“Oh ma’am, you needn’t hold your own suitcase. That’s why ye’ have the help.” She gestured for one of the nearby servants to take the suitcase from you.

“Nonsense, I can carry my own belongings. You all do enough as it is.” You flinched and held the suitcase closer to yourself.

If she was suspicious of you, she didn’t show it. With a hesitant nod she let the matter go and returned to her duties. Having nothing else that needed tending to, you left. You walked out the door with your heart beating out of your chest.

The walk to the bridge was only a few short minutes. No one had bothered you once you were out the door, which you were glad about. You didn’t want anything to do with your pretentious neighbors anymore or their weekly tea gatherings to discuss the latest gossip of high-society.

No, you wanted to be with Arthur and spend the rest of your life exploring the country by his side. Who knew where you’d go first? Obviously you’d have to lay low until his face was no longer on wanted posters–perhaps the Grizzlies?

You were abruptly pulled from your thoughts when a lawman bumped into you as he ran by causing you to fall. “Excuse you–” You had started to reprimand him as you reached for your suitcase when you looked up and realized all the policemen were running from their posted stations.

“What the hell?” You mumbled under your breath, furrowing your eyebrows at the commotion going on around you. Lifting yourself off the ground you ran to the nearest policeman. “What’s going on? Why are people running?” In the back of your mind you had an idea of who might be behind the uproar, but you desperately wished it wasn’t him.

“Dutch! The damn brakes are broken!” Arthur yelled, racing to get to the back of the trolley. Maybe if he was lucky he’d die on impact. Going far too fast for the tracks to handle, the trolley was thrown to its side on the street. The outlaw was hurled forward before falling to his side. “Jesus…” He groaned, crawling out of the streetcar.

Dutch remained where he had been tossed, holding his head in his hands. “Dutch?” Arthur yelled as he reloaded his gun, firing back at the police as they swarmed them from all sides.

Dutch moaned something intelligible to the gunners. “We need to get him out of here. You still alive, Lenny?” Switching to his rifle, Arthur began aiming for the lawmen on the balconies and roofs of the buildings.

“I’m here! I’m okay, but we got to move fast. Pinkertons are definitely gonna catch wind of this,” Lenny shouted from behind some crates. Spitting out a string of curse words, Arthur angrily pushed forward while Lenny helped Dutch.

He should’ve never gone with Dutch on this job. Dutch had trusted Angelo Bronte was telling the truth when in reality he had been stringing them along. They were idiots to think the Italian man would let them take money from the city he owned. Most of all, he was angry with himself.

It must’ve been noon by then. If you had completely lost your sanity, you would’ve been waiting for him where he told you he’d be. If you hadn’t already been mad as hell with him before, you had to be now. He should’ve listened to Hosea when he had the chance.

“There’s a wagon up over there. If you cover us I think I can get Dutch in the back,” Lenny suggested, to which Arthur quickly agreed. Arthur proceeded to fire back at the police, allowing Lenny the chance to move a groggy Dutch into the wagon. Briskly following behind, Arthur jumped onto the wagon. The horses were quickly startled into pulling them forward while the police scurried to catch up to them.

They maneuvered the wagon as efficiently as they could with all the obstacles in their way, leading Arthur to wonder if word had gotten to you by now. He would rather you unleash your anger on him than be disappointed in him. God, your disappointment killed him. Arthur hated to be anything less than the man you deserved, but time and time again he seemed to always fall short.

“Arthur! They shot off our wheel!” Lenny held a tight grip on the reins, struggling to keep control before ultimately crashing into an alley. Dutch thankfully hadn’t been too affected by the crash, but was definitely unfit to fight off anyone.

“Take him and get out of here. I’m gonna lead em’ away.” Arthur placed a hand on Lenny’s shoulder. “Keep him safe.”

Giving a quick nod, Lenny dragged Dutch away until they were out of sight. Arthur ran the opposite way, taking the attention of the few lawmen that remained on their tail. He eventually killed them off one by one until he was left aching on the floor clutching his side.

“Ah, shit,” He hissed, hunching over as he got up. A bullet had grazed his side at some point in his long fight with the law and the adrenaline coursing through his veins hadn’t allowed him to notice until that point.

Huffing, Arthur leaned against the wall staring down at the men he had killed. Was it realistic to believe they could actually make it out alive to Tahiti? As much as Arthur wanted to believe him, he saw no reality where Dutch would be happy as a mango farmer. The outlaws’ quick tempers would inevitably lead to someone dead in the street.

“Take what you’ve got and don’t look back.”

He hadn’t gotten much money from the heist, but he did have a few trinkets in his satchel that were worth good money. It might be enough to help the pair of you get away while the police were still searching. God, with you he could try to be a better man. He could find a real job, one that wouldn’t leave a target on your backs. Or you could go off into the woods and let your only company be the deers–he’d go anywhere, do anything, if it meant he would be by your side.

Breaking his heart from knowing who he’d be leaving behind, Arthur made the decision to be loyal to what truly mattered to him.

Stumbling away, Arthur forced himself to fight the ache in his bones to get to you. It was no guarantee you’d still be there–if you were ever there at all. No, he didn’t have time to let himself doubt. Weaving through the backstreets full of passing immigrants until he was forcibly grabbed and pulled to the side. Before he could whip out his pistol, your voice stopped him.

“Arthur! Oh, thank god you’re alright! You stupid man, I had no idea where you were and I was looking all over–”

Before you could ramble any further he pulled you against him and embraced you tightly, ignoring the pain. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, letting your suitcase fall to your feet as you took him in. He was alive. Your Arthur was alive–seemingly hurt–but alive nonetheless.

“You stupid man.” You murmured into his chest, earning a low chuckle from your lover. “S’fine. We’re gonna be okay.” Arthur pressed a shaky kiss to your temple. He could finally breathe again.

“We need to get out of here. You’re hurt–you need help.” You pulled back to examine him, a worried look spreading across your face. “Arthur–” He stopped you with a kiss, taking you by shock.

“M’sorry. I’ve been waiting for so long I didn’t know when I’d get to do that again.” If he’d ever get to do that again. Resting your forehead against his, you let a moment of silence pass. You were together again.

Despite his struggle, Arthur picked up your suitcase and led you to the outskirts of the city, dodging the policemen as best as he could. He had to do his best to avoid trouble now because he held his entire world in his hand. Arthur was responsible for taking care of you now and he’d damn well shoot himself in the foot before he let anything happen to you.

“Is this really happening? I can’t even believe it…I love you Arthur. I’m still mad you were dumb enough to try shooting your way out of the city, but I’ll be mad at you later.” You squeezed his hand with a giddy smile on your face.

“I’ll do better. I…I want to do better for you. I love you.” He gave you a small smile. You spent the rest of the walk to his horse out of the city telling him all the things you wanted to do now that you were starting your lives together.

He could spend the rest of his life listening to you talk. Hanging his hat on the wall, leaving his criminal lifestyle would be hard to leave behind, but for you he’d do it a million times over. He’d do anything to make you happy and now he finally could.

#arthur morgan x f!reader #rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #Arthur Morgan fluff #Arthur Morgan appreciation #arthur morgan x female reader #we love cowboys here #Arthur Morgan I love you

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quill-pen · 6 days ago

Note

I have to wonder how Bess would act in regard to actually meeting Orin for the first time, and how that would go.

She’s only heard of his through second hand stories from Connie or TeTe. She also sees articles and news stories about him - this handsome, Dutch-American man with obsidian hair (now graying slightly at the temples), aquiline nose, and uncannily blue eyes. He’s very tall and sleekly dressed with perfect posture with graceful poise. Even his voice is deep and resonate in interviews, and he’s very well-spoken and charismatic. He has every interviewer beaming ear-to-ear after their interview with his wit and humor.

When he arrives in London, man is in full-acting mode with his charms with her.

“Elizabeth Sullivan. My, I’m charmed to finally make your acquaintance. I have heard much about you from my wife. It’s such a joy to find some pleasant company in this abyss of a city, and I believe we can do good by each other.”

AKA, ‘I’ve got a blank check with your name on it for details. Where is she?’

Ooh, the potential was amazing here! So, we did the thing again! I hope it's what you were expecting from all the previews I sent.😉

Spilled Soup

Warnings: mentions of past abuse, mention of addiction, abuse of women, violence, language, blood, looming dread, Orin Spiegler (he's a trigger all on his own), Bess' puns, sickeningly sweet, cute, and sappy couples, one of whom just needs to KISS ALREADY YOU BLOODY DAMN FOOLS

Rated T

~⚔️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️⚔️~

"Well, that's the last of Eddie's potholders sold. Can't believe how they flew out of the stall! Like hotcakes!"

Bess snorted as she reorganized the produce again. "More like hotpads," she remarked, shooting a cheeky smirk her bestie's way.

Connie looked up from their money box with a slightly puzzled expression. For a few moments, her eyebrows were lightly knitted together as she worked through Bess' statement, but then her face lit up with realization. "Oh!" With a beaming grin, she threw back her head in a snorting laugh. "I get it!"

"Sounds like we missed out on something quite amusing," a familiar voice that was smooth and buttery declared.

Both American women looked up from their work to be greeted with the lovely sight of two handsome gentlemen headed towards their market stall. Standing at least a head taller than every other person in the farmer's market, billionaire twins, Ebenezer and Ebenezar Scrooge already made a sight in the little square. Their tailored suits and manicured good looks only added to the entrancing sight.

Bess had heard Connie mention the choice brand for the Twins was "Brioni". That didn't really mean all that much to Bess besides the fact the men wore the suits well and looked breathtakingly sharp. Particularly her dear Wolf, Ebenezar. As it was, with the way the afternoon sun was shining on her favorite twin's silvery locks, making them glint like warm steel slowly melting from his crown towards his shoulders, Bess had to lean against the veggie stand to keep from feeling as though her knees would buckle at the sight.

Great job, Bess, the snarky little voice inside her head cut through her thrall. You just had to pick today to look like a bum. Couldn't even put on a little makeup or pick a shirt that actually fits. At least she'd knotted up her oversized t-shirt around her middle; so it was apparent she had a waist. And the way the overly large neck hole fell down over her shoulder did have a flirty little vibe to it. She hoped. It helped that it had slipped down over her less scarred shoulder. She hoped her Wolf would notice, but it was impossible to tell behind the stylish sunglasses he wore. He was smiling though; that was always a good thing. He was probably smiling at both her and Connie, but Bess liked to think his smile was specifically for her.

Connie beamed towards the men and moved out of the stall's working station. "You did!" she chirped as she sauntered towards Ebenezer. Happily, she slipped a delicate hand into the large, extended one of her beau and let him pull her in for a sweet kiss of greeting. She splayed her free hand over his heart as she leaned into it, slightly popping a heeled foot skyward as she did so.

Bess couldn't help but smile at the couple. The pair had been officially involved for several months now, and it was beyond apparent that they were simply falling ever deeper and deeper into love every day. Bess' heart swelled with joy for Connie. The woman was loving kindness incarnate who deserved a wonderful man who loved her just as much as she loved him. And Ebenezer Samuel Scrooge (or "Adonis" as Bess enjoyed calling him) continued to prove himself as such a man.

Bess flitted her eyes from the lovers back to her handsome Wolf and couldn't help but snort in amusement. Even with his glasses, it was obvious that he was also looking at the pair, as he was grimacing in a cartoonishly disgusted way. As a sibling herself, Bess felt it; she would react the same way if she witnessed any of her siblings snogging (and it would be even more traumatizing for her, as she was the eldest by quite a margin and had helped raise her brothers and sisters from babies).

Her stifled giggle apparently caught the attention of the tall, broad-shouldered billionaire as his head turned just a bit more in her direction and he smiled, perhaps a little sheepishly. Bess' stomach did ecstatic somersaults over that soft little curl of his mouth. She hoped the flush she felt in her face could be played off as working in the summer balminess. And now you look like a damn strawberry--great.

Adonis and Connie parted lips, and the ginger slipped under the lanky man's arm into his side. His arm wrapped easily around her, his hand coming to rest naturally in the curve of her waist, just above her hip. They fit so wonderfully together. "Bess made a rather clever little pun," Connie explained her laughter moments before.

A dramatic groan left Wolf and Bess turned her gaze back upon him, mischief sparkling in her midnight-colored eyes. "And just what are you groaning for, Mister?" she drawled, perching her fists sassily upon her hips. "You didn't even hear it."

Wolf smirked right back at her, matching her playful energy. "I don't need to have heard a pun to know it was rubbish," he remarked. "They're all rubbish by default."

"Hmph. Your attitude is rubbish."

"Well, as a Yank, you would know, wouldn't you?"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, a certain tea party from long ago comes to mind."

"Oh, puh-lease!"

"And ever since then, you lot have been quite determined to be characterized as snappish and uncouth."

Bess let out a squawk of mock-offense before curling up her fists and moving into a ready position. "Okay, you smarmy Redcoat," she snarled playfully. "Come on--get your dukes up. I'll knock the couth right outta you."

Wolf folded his hands behind his back and stood tall as he took a long step toward the fiesty woman. He chortled teasingly, "And here I thought you were going to say something about rubbishing my face in my words."

Bess shot straight up with a maniacal grin and pointed sharply at the man. "Ah-ha! A pun! I'll convert you yet, Ebenezar Charles Scrooge!"

The Englishman chuckled as he braced an arm against the support pole Bess stood beside and leaned into it. He bowed over Bess' smaller size a bit as he smirked roguishly down into her pretty, freckled face. "I very much doubt it," he chuckled. He removed his shades to expose the playful twinkle in his slate-blue eyes. "But I'll enjoy watching your attempts." The man had the audacity to wink.

It was all Bess could do to not melt into a puddle. The wink, his proximity, his crooked smile, the way a rebellious lock of hair curled down his brow from his slicked-back, lengthening mane, the adorable little creases that formed at the corner of his eyes and around his mouth and nose; it was all almost too overpowering for her pathetically smitten heart. If only she could reach up and take his gorgeous face between her palms and kiss him stupid. But that was completely out of the question, so the young woman silently hoped he would smile at her like that forever instead.

"Far stranger things have happened," Adonis responded to his brother's prior statement. There was a bit of significance in the tone of his voice.

"Well, are you lovely ladies finished for the day?" Adonis quickly moved on, turning his attention to the woman held in the crook of his arm. He smiled dotingly at her, his icy blue eyes sparkling and warm. "I was thinking it might be nice to sweep you off for lunch," he murmured to her.

Connie beamed back just as besottedly. "Oh, that sounds lovely," she agreed. "But I'm afraid we're not quite finished. The market still has another couple hours."

"But it's pretty much over," Bess added. "Business is usually a snail's pace the last hour or so. We might get a little surge near the end, but mostly anybody who was gonna come to the market has been here already. Why don't you go on to lunch, Con? I'll close down the stall."

"Oh, Bess, that's so sweet of you, but I don't want to leave you to finish up alone. That's not fair. And do you remember the last market day? We had a tidal wave of customers in the last 30 minutes that cleared us out. Even with all of us here, we almost couldn't keep up."

"Don't be ridiculous! That was one bizarre market day out of all the ones we've sold at. If it happens again, I'll handle it."

"What about change?" Bess notoriously struggled with counting back change. And with most numbers in general, honestly.

"... I'll just tell people we're taking tips."

"Which is no more than you lovely ladies deserve," Wolf chimed in earnestly, "providing such exemplary produce and unique, quality merchandise at such affordable prices."

Bess smiled at him. Maybe it was silly but hearing such compliments about her produce come from the handsome businessman filled her with a wonderfully ticklish pride. "Precisely. Thank you."

Connie snorted and rolled her cornflower blue eyes in amusement. "Be that as it may," she agreed half-jokingly (Bess really did deserve some extra gratitude for all the diligent time, work, and love she poured into her garden, as far as the redhead was concerned), "I think it's better two people close the stall. Just in case things do get crazy again."

"I'll stay and help her."

The declaration was something of a surprise, and all eyes that turned to Ebenezar displayed it. However, the man didn't even seem to register anyone else's gaze except that of the curly-haired woman. He smiled down at her as she stared up at him in amazement.

"I... Y-You will?" Bess practically croaked. Her throat suddenly felt dry and her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth like it was glued there. Heat flushed throughout her body at the thought of being left alone with her handsome and charismatic muse of a crush. Excitement and existential dread curled around and danced in her stomach.

What if something finally actually happened between them, while they were closing the stall? Maybe they'd reach for something at the same moment and touch hands and there would be that electric spark that was always mentioned in love stories. Then they would meet eyes and realize feelings that had been there all along and the rest would be history. Maybe they'd be working in the back of the stall and keep bumping into each other and surrender to hidden passions with a kiss. Maybe Wolf would declare that he'd had feelings for her all along, that the look she sometimes thought she caught in his eyes was real, and he would ask if she'd be interested in a relationship.

Or maybe, Wolf would see just exactly how stupid she was on the cashbox and when it came to math, and he would just write her off as a complete moron and Bess would never hear from him again: "It's been a pleasure knowing you, Ms. Sullivan, but I'm afraid being around someone so imbecilic could only hamper my own intelligence. In my line of work I can't afford to risk such a thing. Good luck to you and, please, don't seek me out again."

As all scenarios swarmed her mind, Bess wasn't sure whether she felt more like walking on air or crawling into a hole; her stomach decided for her and settled on mildly ill.

"You don't mind staying?" Connie asked, something that was a hint of a smirk curling her painted lips as her gaze flickered between the two.

"Not at all," Ebenezar assured them. "With Bess working the customers and merchandise and me on the moneybox, we'll have everything in order." Almost without thinking, the Englishman reached out and wrapped an arm around Bess' shoulders, tucking her into his side. "Shipshape and Bristol fashion, yes?" He grinned between the two Yanks, eyes lingering on the woman at his side as she continued to stare up at him in awe, the freckles on her face popping through her adorable blush. The grin at play on his lips softened rather significantly as he gazed at Bess. A slight pinkish hue spread across his own cheeks, the cheerful spark in his eyes mellowing into an affectionate warmth. "I'm sure we'll make... quite the team," he murmured so softly he could only have been speaking her.

Somehow, his touch and those words soothed Bess turbulent emotions and quieted her mind. A gentle smile curled her mouth as her eyes softened. Instinctively, she leaned into the man's side, bringing an arm up around his back to anchor herself to him. "I'm sure we will," she agreed quietly. Once again, she felt the overwhelming urge to surge in and kiss him. And, perhaps it was wishful thinking, but she thought she caught a glint of longing flash through the man's eyes as well, perhaps a slight flicker of his gaze from her eyes to her mouth and back again.

A loud throat-clear broke the daze the pair was caught up in and drew their attentions to the couple, both of whom were smirking and sharing knowing looks. But before Wolf and Bess had a chance to inquire about it, Adonis and Connie were taking their leave.

"We'll leave you two to it, then," Ebenezer stated as he led Connie away, his arm still wrapped comfortably around her waist. "We're off."

Connie followed, practically floating on air within his embrace. "Good luck!" she chirped with a small wave. Then she added with a rather suggestive wink, "And have fun!"

Bess and Ebenezar watched after them in some bafflement.

"What was that about?" the Englishman muttered.

The American shook her head as she raised a confused eyebrow. "Search me."

~⚔️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️⚔️~

"Well, it certainly seems as though you did well today, Pet," Michael Pippersnipe commented, his Irish brogue chipper and optimistic as always. The wiry little Irishman formally served as the girls' landlord, but he was truly much more of a friend and surrogate grandfather in many ways, a fact which was currently showcased in how he was helping Bess and Ebenezar pack up the market stall.

"It was a good day," Bess agreed as she carefully packed away the few jars of homemade, canned soups and stews left. Her gaze flitted towards Ebenezar. True to his word, the man had spent the last couple hours by her side, bantering and joking with her as he helped with last-minute sales and yet another final frenzy of late customers right before the market closed down for the day. Now, whistling as he worked, the banker picked up the box of upcycled and thrifted treasures he'd just finished packing and carried it away to pack into the bed of the classic, pine-green farm truck of Pippersnipe's. Catching Bess' gaze as he walked off, her smirked and winked at her.

The woman's speckled cheeks heated with a blush, her plump lips arching into a smitten little smile. Her Wolf was even more of a sight now than his had been at his arrival, blazer and waistcoat discarded, tie loosened, shirt partially unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled back, and suspenders hanging loose from his waist. Bess bit her bottom lip. She could still clearly see each moment he'd disrobed (for lack of a better word) fresh and vivid in her mind; how his shoulders moved, the flex of his muscles, the nimbleness of his fingers as he'd expertly rolled those sleeves back. Couple that all with the grin that hadn't left his face all afternoon, the clear, hearty laugh of his that she'd heard so often for the last two hours, and the way he had interacted with the customers in such a kind and genuine manner, somehow, Bess was now even more infatuated with Ebenezar Scrooge than she'd ever been. And that was a feat.

Yes, Bess thought to herself as she turned her focus back to packing boxes. Butterflies tickled through her insides. It's been a very good day.

"You got that, Pip?" Bess asked, her attention suddenly snapping to Pippersnipe with worry as the little man hefted up a box of leftover produce. While he was quite healthy and spritely for his age, Bess and her friends were always careful to make sure their darling of a landlord didn't try to strain himself. After all, he was a good man that had worked hard to be able to attain his current status and privileges in life, and he deserved to take it easy in his late years. However, much to their (often) terror, the man simply seemed to refuse to slow down.

Pippersnipe just beamed a grin as he walked off. "Needn't worry you lovely head about me, Pet," he assured her without a hint of strain in his voice. "I've got it."

Bess nodded, her nerves for her friend tempering some. Then she focused on her work again; she was going to need some more packing material to fill in all the empty space so the jars didn't clatter around. Luckily, they always brought plenty of extra old newspapers and cloth bits to the market days, just in case of such a need. The young woman slipped into the little tent at the back of the stall that served as their storage area (and, occasionally, a safe place for parents to attend to the needs of their little ones).

Bess was gathering up all the material she thought she might need into another crate when a voice reached her:

"Hello? Anyone here?" It was a man's voice, but that was all Bess really registered in her currently distracted mind.

"I'll be right with you!" Bess called back automatically. "Just a minute!"

By the time Bess had her crate full of newspapers and cloth scraps, a shadow had come over the entrance of the tent and there was a sharp tinkle of shattering glass. Ruined lobster bisque splattered over the cobblestone and Bess' blue, floral-patterned rain boots. Bess gasped and jumped with a start.

"Oh!" the voice from earlier exclaimed, coming from right behind Bess in the tent. "I do so apologize for that. I'm afraid it wasn't wiped down properly; it slipped from my hand." Something in his voice sounded insincere, almost mocking in tone. And now that it was much closer and Bess wasn't distracted by something else, it sounded much more familiar.

A chill settled over Bess as a vehement bitterness ensnared her insides, hardening every last nook and crevice of her being to stone. No. It couldn't be! The woman slowly turned to face the figure behind her and, most unfortunately, found that it could be. And, in fact, was.

A towering, broad-shouldered man filled Bess’ view, his eyes fog-bright even against his otherwise ghostly pallor. A crown of offensively jet-black hair, streaked with a few grays, shimmered like an oiled cap in the London sun. In some ways, very slight ways, there was a resemblance of the Scrooge Twins within him. Unfortunately, aesthetics were only as deep as the similarities went.

Bess went rigid as a statue. How?

“Do you have a moment to chat?” the man asked. Then, he laughed softly at his own jest. “Well, silly me--of course you do.”

Bess barely held back a grimace. Compared to the easy grace that someone like Ebenezar spoke with, every syllable of this man’s cadence was just slightly unsettling. It reminded Bess of trying to play an out-of-tune piano. The whisper of normality was there, but each sound was... off. There was a forced levity to his greeting, like an inexperienced adult trying to make small talk with a frightened child. Or someone they saw as a child, more accurately. The man even stooped over slightly to speak with her, his gaze licking up and down her frame.

Bess fought back a disgusted shiver.

After examining the cuff of his Kiton suit sleeve to make sure that it was unsullied from the accident before, the man flashed her an uncannily white smile. “Are you all by yourself here?” he asked, as if he couldn’t already see she was. He glanced around the booth, humming idly while doing so. “What quaint little offerings and… trinkets. Hm.” He nudged a wicker basket with his toe like it was roadkill in the way of his car. With a shake of the head, he refocused on the woman before him, giving her another look of appraisal.

“…You have an American accent,” he stated. “I heard before--when you told me to wait. Haha. It’s so nice to hear a familiar voice here.”

Bess said nothing, simply continued to stare him down, refusing to tear her eyes from him.

He partially circled her, slinking like a panther as he moved. “What’s your name?” For such a simple question, it sounded so sinister.

Perhaps that was what broke Bess' stupor. "I think you probably know exactly who I am," she finally answered, her voice even and controlled. "Orin Spiegler."

The man paused in his stride, and for a moment Bess thought she caught a glimpse of annoyance cast a pall over his conventionally handsome face. Perhaps it was just in her imagination because barely a blink later, Orin was smiling at her. It was probably supposed to be an amiable smile, but all it did was give Bess the creeps. "You know who I am," he stated.

Bess hoped the tinge of worry she heard in his voice wasn't just wishful thinking. She wanted him nervous of her; afraid he couldn't pull the wool over her eyes and charm his way around her. She wanted him scared. Scared in the same ways he'd made Connie feel for nearly twenty years and then some. "I'm very well aware," she assured him, giving him and up and down with her eyes to be sure he understood the emphasis.

There was a near imperceptible twist of the businessman's mouth. "Ah. I see there's little need for pretense then." His smile straightened out again and he tilted his head just so as he met Bess' gaze directly as if in challenge. "Elizabeth Sullivan."

It sickened the woman to the pit of her stomach to hear her name fall from the lips of this snake of a man. But she stood her ground.

If Orin was waiting for her to have some sort of physical reaction to her name and was disappointed that she hadn't given him any, he hid it well and moved on quickly. "My, I’m charmed to finally make your acquaintance, Elizabeth. I have heard much about you from my wife. It’s such a joy to find some pleasant company in this abyss of a city, and I believe we can do good by each other." He extended a hand, evidently expecting Bess to take it.

"I sincerely doubt that," Bess countered, not even flickering a glance toward the appendage.

"You seem quite certain about that."

"Because I am."

Orin stood silently for a beat, blinking at her as if trying to understand. Or, perhaps, to decipher something. Finally, his thin lips curled into a wiseass smirk and his eyes glinted. "Ah-ha," he chuckled wryly. "Ah, I see. Smart girl, you. Money up front it is." He pulled his hand back, reached into a pocket of his blazer, and whipped out a richly bound checkbook. Pulling out a pen, he clicked it and flipped the checkbook open before scribbling with a bit of a flourish on the muted green paper of the check before ripping it from the binding. "Ah. There we are."

Holding the check between a middle and forefinger, he extended it towards the young woman. "One thousand dollars," he announced. "I'm not sure what the exchange rate of that is here, but it's all yours if you might just help me locate my wife."

Immediate indignation burned through Bess' veins, making her blood hiss a bit in her ears. She was unable to stop her lip twisting into a disgusted sneer and physically recoiled from the offered check. A wry laugh escaped her. "Connie was right: The nerve on you really is something else."

Orin raised a much too perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Pardon me?"

Bess narrowed her eyes at him. "You honestly believe you can pay me off to get to Connie?" she challenged. "After everything I've heard about you and what you did to her? Surely you must know that if you know enough about me to come to my market stall looking for Connie, I know even more about you, considering I've been living with her."

In the back of her mind, Bess knew she was potentially backing herself into a hazardous corner. Orin Spiegler wasn't some typical creep who tried to make time with her at the lounge bar; he was a perilous man with a volatile temperament who didn't hesitate to lock women outside in freezing cold weather in just their night things or throw them down flights of stairs to break their legs. But he was also a pathetic, spineless, slimy son of a bitch--lower than scum. And Bess had been raring to rip into his worthless hide since the moment Connie had recounted how he'd slapped her hard enough to give her a nosebleed on their wedding night.

As far as Bess was concerned, Orin didn't deserve to be feared; he deserved to be beaten into the ground and dragged through the mud. He deserved to have every bit of his rotten existence ripped asunder and utterly ruined. She was more than willing to do the dirtiest work.

That was probably why the way anger flashed in Orin's eyes and his face distorted into a fearsome glower didn't cause her to so much as flinch. However, her hands tightened into fists, and her muscles were already preparing to swing it if she had to. If he wanted to get physical, she would gladly oblige him.

"All right," Orin replied after a moment, taking a deep breath to calm himself though his expression didn't appear any more even-keel. "Fine." He drew the check back and ripped it in about a dozen different ways before dropping the pieces and dusting them from his hands.

Bess' gaze flickered to the soft green pieces, watching them float gently to the cobbles like confetti. That was her mistake.

Quick as lightning, Orin seized a nearby crate by the handle and swung it as hard as he could, catching the distracted young woman in the shoulder and side.

"ACK!" Bess stumbled sideways to trip over several boxes and fall to a heap on the ground. Dazed and trying to get her wind back, she didn't even have enough time to think to react before he was on her, grabbing her by the ponytail and wrenching her up again. All Bess could do was scream in pain and alarm.

"Shut up!" Orin growled viciously. He dragged her around and partially-threw, partially-shoved the young woman out of the tent into the front of the market stall, where she crashed heavily into the table holding the box of soup jars. Both she and it went toppling over, the box spilling its contents to the ground to shatter upon the cobblestones. He stalked after her. "You smart-mouthed little bitch!" he seethed. "You're going to tell me what I want to know, even if I have to beat it out of you!" His hands and fingers flexed as he tried to decide whether to continue the assault open-handed or closed fist. He cast a furtive glance around the courtyard to find that they appeared to be quite alone, so it probably wouldn't matter what he did.

He never got the chance to decide.

Orin's slow, ominous advance and indecision gave Bess enough time to gather herself and get some bearings back. When she did, she was mad--a snorting bull, seeing-red sort of mad. Oh, this jackass was going to learn a thing or two!

Lurching to her feet, the American woman charged headlong into the oncoming man with an enraged yell. She drove all of her considerable weight and size into him, knocking the breath from him, trapping him between strong arms and broad shoulders as she football-tackled him like a linebacker. She caught him at a perfect angle to lift him off his feet and drive him back. Her stepfather would have been fit to burst with pride over how beautifully she carried it out.

"Hhhhaaahhhhh-RAUGH!" Bess drove Orin down into the ground against the hard stones. And then she was on top of him, straddling and pinning him beneath her as she began to draw back her fists and start laying into his face and chest with all her might. Her bare knuckles throbbed from the onslaught and the cobbles painfully dug into and scuffed her knees, but Bess didn't let up for a second. She was much too angry; intent on giving this brute a well-earned taste of his own medicine.

"C'mon!" she screeched, her American accent slipping into a posh, English one as it was prone to do when she was impassioned with rage. "Fight back! Hit me! Hit me, Orin! I dare you! C'mon, I know you like to hit girls! I know you like to beat your wife! C'mon, Spiegler! Hit back! Or can't you handle a woman who actually fights back?! You gutless, ball-less wonder!"

That seemed to stir fury into Orin's soul (or whatever he had in place of one). With a savage roar, the man desperately shot a hand upward, blindly reaching, grabbing for anything he could snag hold of. By some miracle he found purchase on Bess' throat; without a second thought, he squeezed tight as he could, long fingers coiling around to the back of her neck. Then he shoved her to the side with all his might, throwing his weight up and over as they went to end up atop his opponent.

"You... crazy slut!" he puffed, chest and shoulders heaving. "Goddamn you're a hellcat! Gah! Stay still!" The man continued to grapple with the woman as she thrashed and fought beneath him. He tightened his grip on her throat, trying to choke her out, but it wasn't the easiest thing to do one-handed, and his other hand was currently having a fight of its own trying to pin both her hands to the ground. He could not risk those getting free again.

Bess only struggled harder. She glared daggers up at him, her airway too constricted to allow speech but not enough to black her out yet. So long as she was conscious, she would make this a war for the loathsome rat.

Her defiance unsettled Orin. Even pinned beneath him, one of his hands strangling her, she refused to back down, refused to surrender, refused to submit. She's not afraid of me, he realized, and the thought made his blood freeze. Dread settled deep in his gut like an anvil. This wasn't how it was supposed to go!

Desperate to put an end to this... unnatural feminine rebellion, Orin squeezed her neck all the tighter and bashed her head and shoulders into the stones beneath them. "You worthless cow--do as I say!"

Bess winced and let out a croaking groan as she was slammed into the ground. But if her resolute defiance wavered, it was only because of pain; that mutinous flame in her dark eyes blazed obstinately bright. "Fuck... you," she managed to crackle out.

That was when Orin was broadsided, sharply slammed into at the side with such force he could have sworn his ribcage dented in. "Ugh-oof!" The blow was more than enough to knock him away from Bess and send him rolling across the cobblestones.

"Get the hell away from her, you bloody bastard!" a snarling, rather feral voice boomed with fury.

Bess' lungs finally expanded to capacity with a full, unfettered breath; she coughed from the sudden, forceful change. "Wolf!" she rasped in great relief, eyes turned upward to the tall, imposing figure standing over her.

Like a gallant knight of yore, forming a protective wall between her and the savage beast that was her attacker, Ebenezar Scrooge had come to her rescue yet again. His slate-blue gaze, bright and blazing with lividness, bore down on the dark-haired man still trying to collect himself. But even as he kept his eyes on Orin, he turned his attention to his friend. "Are you all right, Bess?" he asked obvious concern for her beneath his otherwise caustic tone. He unfurled a fist and reached a hand down and back toward her.

Bess didn't think twice about sitting up and reaching to take and grip onto the offered appendage. She held his hand close with both of her own, pressing her cheek to the back of it. He probably meant for her to pull herself up with it, but all she wanted at the moment was to hold onto him and feel the security of his presence. "I'm okay," she croaked, absently nuzzling against his knuckles. It was mostly true; she wasn't unscathed but definitely sounded far worse than she actually felt. though she knew there would be some gnarly-looking bruising around her neck later. And perhaps a decent-sized knot on the back of her head too.

Her Wolf squeezed one of her hands into the comforting warmth of his own and Bess watched a bit of the tension seep out of his stance. Still, he kept his eyes on her assailant, ever alert. "What happened, Brightness?"

"It's Orin," Bess informed him breathlessly.

At first the name and significance of it didn't quite register for the billionaire: He'd met a few Orins in his time. But those Orins wouldn't mean anything to Bess. And he certainly wouldn't have found any of them pinning her to the ground next to her farmer's market stall and trying to strangle her.

Then it finally clicked. Ebenezar clutched Bess hand even tighter and stepped closer to and even more in front of her. His glower at the dark-haired man deepened. "Spiegler," he snarled. It wasn't a question.

Having gotten some of her breath back, Bess started to clamber to her feet. Her legs still shook and she clung to her handsome knight for support, leaning heavily into the back of his shoulder as she hugged his arm and continued holding his hand. "H-He's looking for Connie," she wheezed.

Her Wolf just growled, his ribcage rumbling under her touch.

The pair watched as Orin writhed around on the cobbles. When the suited man finally started to rise, Ebenezar pushed Bess to further safety behind him. He was not about to let this bastard lay another hand on the woman he loved!

"You have a nerve, Mr. Spiegler," Scrooge remarked. His usually mellifluous voice rumbled savagely with ominous thunder.

If Orin was surprised that billionaire banker and philanthropist Ebenezar Charles Scrooge was also aware of who he was, he didn't display it. Instead, he tried flashing a rather bloody ingratiating smile at the elder businessman. As if that would get him places. "Ah, you must be one of the Mr. Scrooges," he chuckled before coughing and groaning painfully at the effort. He took a moment to spit some blood from his lips. "Ugh... pardon me. D-Do I have the pleasure of meeting Mr. Ebenezar Scrooge or Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge?"

"The former, and also the Scrooge that's about to put your arse under the plane you arrived on."

Bess snorted as she scowled at Orin over Ebenezar's shoulder. "Why not put him under the dirt? Give me a shovel--he sorry carcass might still be worth decent compost."

There was no mistaking the anger that flashed in Orin's eyes at Bess' comment; the man truly did not handle derision from a woman well at all. However, he tried to hide his true emotions by making another wry chuckle. "I-I can see I've upset you, Mr. Scrooge. Or might I call you "Ebenezar"?"

"You call me anything or say another word at all, and you'll never speak again, you smarmy kissarse," Ebenezar replied. It was both a statement and a threat.

At that comment, a brief shadow of anxiousness came over Orin's swelling, bloodied face. Apparently, his usually potent and influential silver-tongue failing him was something he was used to even less than a woman standing her ground. "I'm afraid we've got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Scrooge," the man implored, a hint of pathetic desperation in his voice. "I can't say as I blame you for your anger, considering how you found the lovely lady and I, but let me assure you, Ms. Sullivan and I--we simply had a misunderstanding. Or rather, she misunderstood me--you know how women are. Hahaha-AHHCK!"

Orin fell to the ground again, partially crumpling in pain and partially being sent there with a resounding thwack! of a hard, wooden cane upon his skull. The dark-haired man clutched at the side of his head, cursing and sucking air sharply through his teeth.

Pippersnipe, wee little man though he was, was standing as tall and square as he could draw himself up to be. The effect was actually rather noteworthy, especially since he also held his cane like a master swordsman, one hand primly folded behind his back. His usually warm and inviting face was set like granite, with hard, ominous lines etched deep in his visage as he glowered at the younger man rolling upon the ground.

"I'm not sure I do know women, as it happens," the Irishman replied, a very dangerous lilt in his smooth brogue. "At least, not as you do. But what I do know, is we don't take very kindly to the disrespect of our ladies around here." With that statement, Pippersnipe drew his cane back and made an expert twist of the handle which unlocked and smoothly released a glinting rapier blade from the shaft. "If I was you, I'd watch my tongue, boy." He threateningly directed the blade in Orin's direction. "Or risk losing it."

Orin stared at Pippersnipe in silence for a moment. Whether he was still reeling from the whap the little man had delivered him, or he was struck dumb with terror at the sight of a real sword blade in his face, no one could tell. But, finally, after a minute or two, the American man seemed to pull himself together a bit. He managed a sneer and a chortle, though both looked and sounded quite nervous. "S-So," he attempted to chuckle condescendingly, "England still settles disagreements with swordplay, hey? How utterly barbaric."

"You're one to speak of barbarism from what I hear," Pippersnipe countered, voice even and soft but somehow bitingly cold and intimidating at the same moment.

"Then you've heard wrong," Orin hissed.

"Have I seen wrong, too?" Bess challenged, unable to keep the rising fury from her voice. For this man to have the nerve to act like he hadn't done all the things he'd done when almost every day she saw the scars left on Connie's body. When she had to help monitor Connie's medication intake to make sure she didn't slip back into the habits of addiction. When she'd had to hold her best friend through the painful tears and panic attacks brought on by chronic pain, withdrawal episodes, unexpected triggers, night terrors!

Orin turned an icy glare on her. "Whatever you think you've seen, you're mistaken," he bit back. "But you women always are."

"That's it!" Seeing red again, Bess flew around Ebenezar and threw herself on top of the dark-haired man again. She managed to get a couple more solid hits into him before she was pulled off and away by strong but gentle arms and hands.

"Bess, enough!" Ebenezar grunted as he hauled her a safe distance away.

Bess struggled in his grip to get back to Orin. "You bastard! You come anywhere near Connie, I'll rip your throat out! You try to touch her, I'll cave in your skull!"

Orin jeered at her. "You think I'm afraid of you, girl?" he chuckled with a bloody sneer.

Bess simply responded with an enraged vocalization that was half-roar, half-growl and violently lunged against Ebenezar's grip. He managed to hold her, but that didn't stop Bess from experiencing the ecstasy of watching Orin's infuriating smirk quickly be replaced with barely hidden terror as he flinched away. Excellent! Now he knew how Connie felt for all those years!

"Control your bitch, Scrooge!" Orin spat, scuttling backwards on the cobbles from her. He probably tried to sound authoritative and angry, but all he managed to sound like was a dog that was all bark and no bite.

"Call her that again, and I'll tear your throat out myself!" Ebenezar warned him, slate-blue eyes driving daggers at the American man.

"You don't seem to be making a very impressive stand, young man," Pippersnipe remarked, voice still calm and collected despite the brawling chaos around him. His rapier blade was lowered to his side now but still poised to be swiftly brought into play at any moment.

Orin let out an affronted, biting laugh as he struggled to finally rise to his feet. "You Brits!" he huffed. "Letting your females walk all over you! Having leprechauns brandish swords in the square! Threatening bodily harm on a poor man visiting your pathetic dump of an island to just try and find his beloved wife!"

Bess screamed in indignation. "Don't you dare call her "beloved"! Not after everything you put her through! Not after you almost killed her! You don't get to call her that!" She lunged again and managed to break away from Ebenezar's grip for a split second before he snatched her back up again.

Orin flinched away, terror he could no longer conceal leaping onto his face. It seemed he did have enough sense to fear the wrath of a fury.

"I don't know how much longer the poor man can hold her," Pippersnipe remarked in almost a mocking tone. "And I have no intentions of trying to hold her off you myself. I'd leave while I had the chance if I were you, son."

Orin's gaze flew to Pippersnipe, and from Pippersnipe to the enraged pair. His eyes flitted between them, taking in each furious visage as they both heaved with hardly restrained wrath. It was clear to see how much it irked him that his plans had gone so wildly different than he'd probably thought. But it was even more clear just how desperately he just wanted to get out of this unexpected scenario alive now.

The man's dark eyes lingered on Bess alone for a long moment. They held gazes, as if trying to peer into each other's souls to find their other's weakness. There was something processing in Orin's eyes behind the overwhelming terror, but it was impossible to decipher before he finally managed to replace his mask of reticent collectedness.

"Very well," he said, voice once again that overly rehearsed, oily, dignified tone he'd introduced himself with. "I can see that we've reached something of an impasse today. I can tell when I'm not wanted, and I'm not one for sticking around where I'm not. I'll go. But don't think this will be the last you all hear from me, because it won't be."

"If you have any self-preservation at all, it had better be," Ebenezar rumbled.

Orin met his scowl with a rather haughty look. "I'm afraid I'm not a man who will be threatened or dictated to, Mr. Scrooge," he stated. "Try to stick me back on a plane and get me out of the country all you want, it won't work. I'm not going anywhere until I have my wife firmly beside me again."

"Over my dead body!" Bess snapped venomously.

Orin's gaze flew back to her, and Bess swore she saw a bit of vengeful fire roar through it. "You know, she's not worth it," he said.

"Says the jackass who probably hired p.i.s to spy on her life here and flew hundreds of miles to try and track her down at a farmer's market to get her back instead of just cutting his losses," Bess retorted.

"You're just an unwanted little girl. You don't understand these things."

"Go jump, you worthless sad-sack!"

"I would take that as my leave," Pippersnipe cut in. The icy gleam in his eyes was now deadly. He drew up his blade and fingered the point as if testing the sharpness.

"Wouldn't want to overstay your welcome any more than you have," Ebenezar agreed.

Orin looked around at each of them again, gazing at them all with some level of disbelief. Again, his eyes lingered longest on Bess and the young woman could have sworn she saw something like a silent vow lock into place inside his slimy skull. Admittedly it unsettled her, made her gut feel uneasy, but she refused to hold an ounce of fear concerning this scumbag.

"Well," the dark-haired man finally said. "I'll be taking my leave then." He couldn't seem to help the slight smirk that caught up a corner of his mouth as he met Bess' gaze again. "Give Constance my regards."

Bess glowered savagely at him, letting out a snort like an angry fighting bull.

Orin chuckled, daring to shoot an infuriating wink at her. Then he finally turned and limped away.

When he'd finally disappeared from sight behind a line of hedges, the tension in the area eased off; the group let go a collective breath of relief. Relief for the time being anyway. Things had just gotten more than a bit complicated with the arrival of the infamous American businessman.

Without warning, Bess found herself manually spun around and facing a rather concerned-looking Ebenezar.

"Bess, are you all right?" the tall man hastily inquired. "How badly did he hurt you? Is anything painful?" As he interrogated her, his slate-blue eyes were racing over her, examining her, taking note of every bump, bruise, and scratch. When his gaze lowered to her neck, it stayed there locked onto the finger-shaped bruising that was already beginning to form around the soft column of her throat. Anger and agony both shone in his eyes, and he lifted a hand to run his own fingers ever-so tenderly along the discolored marks.

Bess felt both touched and guilty; touched that he was so worried for her wellbeing, guilty that she was, in fact, worrying him. Unable to help herself, she reached up and cupped one of his sculpted cheeks in her palm. "I'm all right," she assured him. She didn't sound like it; her voice sounded rather crackly and soft, probably from both the attempted strangulation and the barking she'd done at Orin.

Obviously, her Wolf wasn't all that convinced. "Don't lie to me, Elizabeth." Oh, her given name--he was worried. "Please. If you need to go to a hospital-"

She silenced him with another hand gently covering his lips. "Wolf. I don't. Trust me, I'm okay. I sound a lot more rough than I feel, honest. I am a little sore, probably gonna have to ice and wrap my knuckles, and I'm gonna have a bump on the back of my head, but I'm okay." Without realizing, she let her hand fall from his lips to rest flat over his heart as if trying to physically soothe his worries with her touch.

One of his massive hands automatically drifted to cover hers upon his chest, pressing it closer. "You're certain? It's just... when I saw you on the ground... the way he was holding you down..." he trailed off with a pained sigh, guilt taking hold of his handsome face and lodging itself in every crease.

"I'm so sorry, Brightness," he murmured, bringing his hand from her throat up to smooth some curly fringe back from her face before holding her jaw. "I should have been beside you. I should have hurried back from the truck sooner. If I had-"

Bess quickly cut him off, taking his face between both of her scuffed and bloody hands, her expression firm but not unkind: "Ebenezar, no. You're not doing that: You're not putting any blame on yourself--I won't allow it. The only person at fault for all this just skulked off with his tail between his legs. Orin and Orin only gets all the blame here, okay?"

Wolf didn't look quite convinced. "I still should have come back sooner," he insisted. "He never would have tried to harm you if I'd been here when he arrived."

The woman gave him a small smile. Her hands slipping from his face, she pulled him into a hug, easily shifting closer until she was flush against him when his arms instinctively embraced her in turn. "Hey," she cooed, voice as soft as though she was trying to soothe a hurt, frightened animal. "I'm okay, Wolfy. All right? I promise. I'll let you take me to a clinic to get checked over if it makes you feel better, but I swear I'm okay. I've had way worse than this, remember."

Ebenezar's eyes drifted from hers to her left shoulder now poking out through her shirt's askew neck hole. Without thinking, he let a hand drift up and gently ghost over the textured, slightly shiny, mottled scar of her long-since healed scald burn. Yes. Bess had been through much worse before. But that was why it bothered him so to see her hurt, however minimally, now; she should never have had to endure abuse from another ever again. Especially not when he was here for her now.

Still, her indomitable spirit about it all and her refusal to be sucked under by it was inspiring.

Sighing heavily, the man affectionately smoothed his hand over the young woman's head, trying to tame the untidy curls that had broken free from her loosened ponytail. "Built like a warrior goddess," he remarked with a tiny, wry smile, "and strong as one too."

Bess blushed, her gaze falling sheepishly from his. "I don't know about that," she muttered, gently biting her lip as she smiled, peeking back up at him from beneath her lashes.

A twinge of tenderness struck her as his hand passed over the goose egg forming on the back of her skull; Bess slightly winced, hissing through her teeth. A whisper of "ow" slipped by her lips before she could stop it.

Concern shadowed Ebenezar's face again and he gently prodded at the tender spot, examining the swelling. "Oh, my dear," he sighed sympathetically. Cupping her nape, he gently drew her head forward a bit, bowing his own into her hair to press a soft kiss close to the injury. "My brave Yankee girl."

Bess pressed her face into his chest, smiling against the softness of his shirt. Sore and aware of the looming threat to her soul-sister as she was, it was impossible to not feel safe and secure in her lovely Wolf's hold.

The sound of tinkling glass caused the pair to look towards the overturned table to see Pippersnipe gently nudging at bits of broken jars in puddles of wasted soups and stews with the end of his reunified cane. There was little emotion in the elderly Irishman's face, but his jaw was clenched, the muscles of it steadily working. It was a tick Bess and her friends had come to learn meant the little fellow was contemplating serious business. Fitting, considering who had just dropped into town.

"Pip?" Bess' voice was quiet, tinged with trepidation.

Her landlord and friend looked her way, held her gaze a moment, then looked to the gentleman embracing her. "I'd take her to be seen to, Mr. Scrooge," he stated, voice even and calm. "I'll finish the clean up here then take things back to the cottage."

Ebenezar nodded. "Of course."

"Oh, you don't have to clean up," Bess protested. "I'm fine. I don't need to see-"

"Elizabeth," the banker cut her off, voice firm but not unkind. He gave the Yank a stern look when she turned to him again. "You said you'd let me take you to be examined, so you're going to be examined. I'll hear no more about it. Understand?" He lifted a single, bushy brow, as if challenging her to say anything against him.

Usually Bess would have been annoyed at being told what to do, but with an order like that coming from her Wolf, all she discovered was that she felt warm inside and all over. Warm, protected, and cared for. She couldn't find it in herself to argue with the only other man in existence apart from her step-father to make her feel in such a way so wholly, so, with the tiniest smile, she nodded. Her heart cartwheeled in her chest when Ebenezar's severe, no-nonsense expression softened. Seriously, how could a man be so damn pretty without trying?

"Good girl," Pippersnipe said. Then he shooed them with his cane. "Off with you now. Don't worry here--I have it handled. I'll see you at the cottage later."

Snagging up his suit jacket from the hook on one of the stall's support posts, Wolf wrapped a protective arm around the young woman and gently led her off. "Come on, Brightness. Let's go have you seen to."

Bess much too easily notched herself into his side, slipping an arm around his waist. "You're the boss, Mr. Scrooge," she teased with wink.

The tall man rumbled a chuckle. "Well, it seems your cheek is still intact."

"Well, that's one less thing they'll have to cheek out."

"Ugh."

"Oh, come on, even you have to admit that was a clever one."

"I don't have to admit anything."

"Maybe while we're at the clinic we should see if there's anything they can do to loosen up that humor of yours a bit too."

"I beg your pardon? My sense of humor is excellent."

"And so are my puns."

"Debatable."

Pippersnipe watched after the playfully bickering pair before turning back to again assess the damage around the market stall. His gaze lingered on a dark puddle of Gal's acclaimed Melas Zomos, the ruined black broth slowly oozing over the stones, releasing its thick, unctuous, bloody scent into the air. The pit that has settled in his stomach upon first catching sight of Orin Spiegler only grew. Things weren't just about to become more complicated in London: They were also about to become much more dangerous.

~⚔️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️⚔️~

🎶Dun-dun-DUUUUHHHHHNNNNNNN!!!🎶

#rom-e-o #ask me anything #scrooge a christmas carol #netflix scrooge #scrooge 2022 #modern au #timeless scroogeverse #bess scrooge (sullivan here)#constance dogoode #the scrooge twins #ebenezer samuel scrooge #ebenezar charles scrooge #michael 'mikey' pippersnipe #orin spiegler

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cognitivejustice · 8 months ago

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Paris plants its first "urban forest" on a busy roundabout as part of a plan to turn the French capital into a garden city

The city will plant 478 trees on the Place de Catalogne near the Gare Montparnasse train station as a flagship project in Socialist Mayor Anne Hidalgo's drive to cut noise, pollution and tackle global warming.

The Place de Catalogne roundabout - designed by the late Spanish architect Ricardo Bofill in the 1980s - had for decades been a busy thoroughfare for cars. In recent years it has been transformed into a Dutch-style, bicycle-friendly junction that is also the start of a "voie verte" or greenway bike lane to the southern suburbs.

Paris City Hall aims to have planted 170,000 more trees between 2020 and 2026, and more than 63,000 trees have already been planted, opens new tab since November 2020.

Hidalgo's leftist-green coalition has also reduced the space for cars in the city, increased parking fees and is phasing out diesel cars from the city centre.

The city's latest plan is to drive large sports utility vehicles (SUVs) from its centre

#solarpunk #solar punk #solarpunk aesthetic #community #urban forest #paris #anne hidalgo

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kundst · 2 years ago

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Willem de Haan (Dutch)

Metro station Eekteweg

The work is made out of 1:1 scale replicas of metrostations from the countries biggest cities Amsterdam and Rotterdam. The project was presented in various places that all were hard to reach from those cities that form the country’s populous center. These photo’s are from a 2018 presentation in Haarle, Overijssel.

#willem de haan #metro station #dutch art #2018

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ilovetomatoesbro · 4 months ago

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I finally decided to create my own OC

In short, I couldn't come up with a name for my character, but let's call her "THE PHOTOGRAPHER". She can mostly meet in crowded places (for example, parks, courtyards, embankments, shopping malls, and so on; sometimes she can meet at gas stations (where she took money from Nyon a couple of times; she managed to earn about $ 10 from him that day. She saw him in the car with Luther, Randall and the others a couple of times when they went camping, so she realized what was what, and began to say that his family would REALLY like the photo she took.♡)) to take pictures of people and get money from it, because photos "keep memories" and this is "a great reminder of yourself." Most of her photos cost no more than $1, but at large events, for example, like City Day or something like that, she took large sums from people for photos. More often she approached drunk people or families during those events. She is an investigator by profession, but a photographer on weekends and holidays. A "professional" photographer. As a kid, she would have been the head of the school media club, lol.

So, why would she need so much money? She spends them on cigarettes and books, perhaps…

As for her traits of character, she’s rather calm, yet will never let herself be offended by someone; she is determined and mature, but sometimes silly.

(I know she’s boring as hell, but this is my first time creating OC; sorry)

_____________________________________

THE PHOTOGRAPHER

Type: Human

Age: ???

Known skills: photographing, painting, investigating; has a higher chance of surviving in danger (cameramen/photographers never die first), knows a lot of languages (English, Russian (her native language), Dutch, German)

Likes: brainrot jokes, riddles, music, marmalade eyes, space, photos, books (classics, detective novels, prose, dystopia, etc), money, affection.

Dislikes: playing “Hot Potato” (childhood trauma; in this game people line up in a circle and toss an object from neighbor to neighbor as fast as they can. At some point in the game, the action stops, and the person, who still has an object (a potato) in his hands, drops out of the circle, but one day she used to be a potato…), being bullied, paying rent.

Danger level: low

______________________________________

As for animation I created, I tried to voice her herself💔💔💔

English is not my native language, I’m sorry if I have some mistakes

#ranfren #ranfren oc #uhmmmm #digital art #animation

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verdemoun · 3 months ago

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rdr3 set in 1883 but it's just horses, hunting, crafting and fishing. you play as an unnamed adult orphan protagonist, travelling with fellow street urchin Kieran Duffy as you do the most lawfully good things you have to to survive: catching fish, selling treasures you find by chance, collecting pelts. whenever you point your gun at a human or horse the character goes 'what am i thinking?' and forces you to lower it.

you can bump into the vdls and do stranger missions for them eg finding a young arthur morgan drunk in a bar and him offering you a whole $10 if you can catch him 3 smallmouth bass. you can save the recent runaway john marston from drowning in a stream and take him to a hospital, only for him to jump out the window and take off down an alley never to be seen again. bill williamson occasionally spawns as an npc at poker tables and flirts with you. if you pay for a deluxe bath the radiant susan grimshaw appears. you do some basic animal tending for the deeply suspicious mrs summers, who frankly needs the help keeping up with her clever little 3 year old lenny summers who follows you around asking 'why' at every goddamned thing you do. a random npc encounter has a gorgeous young woman come running up to asking for directions, and if you follow her you will find out it is annabelle, trying to yet again tell dutch van der linde he is going the wrong way while he refuses to listen (dutch van der linde, dis-respecter of women).

if you go to a specific train station at night it cuts to a young hosea matthews pacing around before asking if you have any gunoil, which he uses to fretfully polish his pocketwatch and despair the train is running late: he was meant to be collecting his wife so they could catch a show at the theatre, and they'll be late but he's entirely terrified something has happened to cause the delay. he proceeds to talk about his wife for so long and so lovingly the player almost looks uncomfortable, going on about her being the most incredible woman to ever grace the earth, only for the train to arrive and hosea to immediately dart off to bessie, who was standing on the small rickety platform between carriages already waving to him as the train stopped. hosea pleads with her not to be so reckless, her health is already so frail, and she turns her nose up and lovingly shoves him before they walk off into the city.

and then, after a long peaceful game of non-consequential missions, a random gang of bandits walk into your camp and shoot you dead after you tell kieran to run. the end C:

#moss yaps

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jokeroutsubs · 1 year ago

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[ENG translation] Joker Out at Eurosonic 2024: an interview with Kris for Val 202 radio station

Today, 22.01.2024, Slovenian radio station Val 202 broadcasted an episode of their 'Glasbena zgodba' ('Musical Story') podcast about the Eurosonic 2024 festival that happened last week. Eurosonic is an annual showcase festival and music conference in Groningen, The Netherlands, where emerging European acts perform for industry professionals and festival scouts. Joker Out performed there this year, so today's podcast featured a short interview with Kris Guštin. You can find the original post here or listen to the original audio in Slovenian in the embed above. Here is the translation of the interview, translated by a member of Joker Out Subs and proof read by @flowerlotus8.

Host: The first group we mentioned, Joker Out, performed twice during the festival. First on Wednesday on the MAAS main stage, and the next day, on Thursday, in the Platosonic record shop, where The Strokes also performed in the past. I invited Kris Guštin, who talked to the fans there in Dutch, in front of the microphone.

Kris: Well, my great-grandma and my grandpa's entire side of the family, who are from Indonesia, live in a place called Assen, which is 30 minutes out of Groningen. It's actually the closest big city for them.

Host: Joker Out haven't performed at many showcase festivals, Kris counts Eurovision and the PIN festival in Skopje among them.

Kris: Showcase festivals are maybe not that important or necessary for us anymore, but we still liked doing one or two, to experience it. It is, however… For performers who are really still looking for an international audience, and especially those who would like to present themselves to industry people from abroad, it's a pretty great chance. It's the same with MENT¹, for Slovenia, of course.

Host: Were you thinking about, or were you under any pressure, considering that there were many music professionals in the audience?

Kris: Not really. It's… We were aware that it would be harder to make a good show, because people wouldn't be that oriented towards us and our music, which is totally understandable. I have to say, however, that I was honestly surprised and happy that we had the first three rows or so of our fans, who really made the atmosphere more lively, otherwise it would've been pretty hard. I did, however, also see... The best kind of validation is to see these people who, at the beginning, are standing in the back and not participating in the concert, who are then bobbing their heads by the end. That's always a good sign of a good concert.

Host: The members of Joker Out, who will release a new single in February and go on another European tour soon after that, are currently living in London, where they are getting used to life there and, as Kris says, creating new music outside of their comfort zone.

Kris: But just as a fun fact, well, I will say that now that we are in London, we've made a song that is the most Balkan song we've ever made, so it's… it might have a completely opposite effect. We don't really have any idea yet where it will take us.

Host: In Slovenia, you made a living with music. Now that you've gone abroad and have all these concerts, is it as profitable as laypeople imagine?

Kris: I'll say it like this: if we stayed only in Slovenia, we would be making more money right now than we actually do. But we have, I don't know, some kind of a chronic flaw where we never know how to stop investing in ourselves, well, how to say it. Which is actually a great thing, but such... touring abroad is definitely not a profitable thing for a band at our level, but I will say that it is less of a financial burden than I thought it would be. We are lucky to have so many listeners that in the previous season, the previous tour, we sold out almost everything, which means that it did bring us some money, but with all the... plane tickets, accommodation, transport, it amounts to so much that in the end, we just managed to nicely finance all of it, plus maybe get some money for the album this year. Otherwise, it's not like we're making big money. If we had stayed in Slovenia, we would've just pocketed all that.

¹MENT Ljubljana is one of the leading showcase festivals and music conferences in Central and Eastern Europe and the largest event of its kind in the region.

#joker out #kris gustin #kris guštin

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antaxzantax · 30 days ago

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Umbrella Pharmaceuticals - Chapter 62

Summary:

Albert Wesker becomes captain of the STARS. Alexia Ashford and William Birkin begin development of a new virus for Oswell E. Spencer.

Brian Irons cleared his throat as he entered the meeting room. Those present crowded in a circle around the chief of police.

“Gentlemen, meet Albert Wesker,” said Irons with a blond man at his back.

The blond man stood to his full height.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said succinctly.

“Wesker has been elected captain of the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team. Wesker has a military background and has worked as security chief in the private sector. Behave and obey his orders as if he were your father.”

The assistants looked at him curiously. Albert looked at them with cautious indifference.

“Wesker, meet the members of Alpha team: Jill Valentine, Barry Burton, Chris Redfield, Joseph Frost and Brad Vickers. And the members of Bravo Team: Captain Enrico Marini, Richard Aiken, Kenneth J. Sullivan, Forest Speyer, Edward Deway, Kevin Dooley and Rebecca Chambers.”

Albert nodded to them all and shook their hands.

“With this, both teams are complete. We expect routine operations to begin next week. Until then, stay tuned.”

He was doing this as a personal favour to Spencer.

Spencer asked him frankly: the chaos unleashed by Alexia Ashford and William Birkin in Raccoon City had prompted heightened security in the county, and the arrival of a flood of curious onlookers roaming the city to uncover the perpetrators of the most horrific attack on American soil to date.

One of these reinforcements emerged by federal order at the Raccoon City police station: the STARS, a special operations SWAT team. The problem was not the RPD, but that this kind of special teams became fashionable and served as a precedent for the organisation of new ones. And the larger the police force in Raccoon City, the greater the likelihood that one of them, for whatever reason, would discover something they shouldn't have.

Umbrella concentrated its most successful projects in that city, and Spencer had invested a great deal of capital in making it that way; so, he was not happy about being undermined.

Albert agreed because Spencer, his target, had asked him in person. He saw him again: a sickly, badly aged old man, who had lost none of the fire in his mischievous gaze.

Spencer had a plan, but he wouldn't tell him. He probably hadn't told anyone.

In any case, he didn't care because he had accomplished his main objective.

Now he had to find out what that plan was.

“Alfred.” His fiancée called out to him in Dutch from the balcony. “Why aren't you coming? What are you doing?”

Alfred got up from the armchair where he had been talking on the phone. He went out onto the balcony, where he hugged his fiancée's hip.

“I'm sorry, darling. I was on the phone.” Alfred kissed Liv's neck.

The breeze off the Mediterranean Sea ruffled her hair so that Alfred ended up with a lock of it in his mouth. He slapped it away, a gesture that amused Liv, and for which she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Who was that?” Liv asked, leaning against Alfred's shoulder.

“My father.”

“And what did he want?”

“We have to push back our wedding date.”

Liv raised her eyebrows and looked at Alfred in simultaneous surprise and sympathy.

“Why? What's wrong?”

Alfred hugged Liv and kissed her on the head.

“He wants me to be by his side in Edonia to accomplish our mission,” Alfred whispered contentedly.

Liv increased the strength of her embrace.

“It's all right. Just come home, okay? I love you.”

Alfred stroked her back.

“Promise me you'll always be by my side,” Liv murmured.

“I never break a promise,” Alfred replied.

Simmons passed him a clipboard with the latest NATO report.

“We're in position, sir.”

Alexander handed the clipboard back. He had dressed in half a military uniform for the occasion.

His father's dream.

Alexander readjusted his flak jacket and walked over to the board with information on NATO troop positions and rebel army areas.

A Western-funded coup had provoked a civil war in the country to depose the government elected after the dissolution of the Soviet Union. In exchange for its participation and Umbrella's involvement, it had been promised the privilege of enjoying a monopoly when its reconstruction began. However, that was a secondary benefit.

He had come in person to witness the realisation of his father's dream, and he wanted his son to accompany him to share in the realisation of that dream.

The biological weapons were ready to be deployed and to fulfil Alexander's defined objective: total annihilation.

The country would burn to the ground, and so the Ashfords, the Stuarts, would manifest their might: with death and fear, just as their ancestors had done.

And, of course, without the danger of mutually assured destruction.

He curled up on the mattress thrown on the floor that served as his bed. Packages of ready-made food clumped around him, and the television had long since ceased to broadcast anything that was static.

He had disappeared.

He had cancelled himself out after that.

The Incident, as he called it, had wiped him out inside, and he decided it was best to disappear for good.

He was a monster.

That was what he had never wanted to admit: that he was a monster. For this reason, he would never be reunited with his family.

He would never see Sherry again.

It became clear to him when he was with the twins in Scotland, after the Incident. The shrinks were honest with him: he was a sociopath. He was a dangerous individual, full of hatred and contempt for human life.

He believed he was a good, functioning citizen, but that was a lie.

You took the job, Alexia's voice sounded in the distance. No one forced you to do what you did.

She was right.

No one forced him, and that's why he was a despicable being.

A monster.

He didn't want to go back to Umbrella.

He didn't want to exist anymore.

He was a parody, a shadow of his former self.

His parents would have forgotten him, if he really had parents.

Wood creaked.

Footsteps.

William didn't bother to raise his head or move. He didn't feel like doing anything.

Whoever it was, he hoped it would put him out of his misery.

“William.”

William shivered. That voice.

Alexia.

Alexia sat in a lone cheap chair she'd picked up from a corner. Alexia's neat, regal appearance contrasted with William's grimy decadence.

“William. I need you.”

William sank his head into the pillow, pretending not to hear her words.

“William. I promised Spencer that you and I would develop a virus just for him.”

“You can do it on your own...”

“No. I need you. It'll be the best virus ever developed with the Progenitor. We'll use Spencer as a test subject.”

William sank his head further into the pillow. He didn't answer.

“Our latest project at Umbrella,” Alexia continued.

William pushed himself off the pillow to breathe normally.

“I'm not going back,” William said.

“You want to,” Alexia said. “I know you do.”

“I don't...”

“Spencer is planning his departure from Umbrella. The virus in exchange for a mutually beneficial exit. My father would take over management of the corporation. Spencer would step down to stay on as owner. Both would step down as chairman and CEO. My father and Spencer have offered me to be the new CEO, but I have no desire to remain at Umbrella.”

William curled up on the mattress.

“I'm going to start my own company, and I want you to join me,” Alexia said.

William's hair stood up.

“No limits. No superiors. Just you and me in front of the world.”

William remembered the penthouse of the skyscraper. Alexia pressed the button without the slightest sign of disturbance or regret. He missed the shot on purpose.

“What do you want from me?”

“To possess you.”

William was unable to discern whether Alexia had actually said that or dreamt it. William sat up on the mattress.

“What does Spencer want...”

“To be a god.”

“God...”

“A biological weapon. A superman.”

“How do the X-Men...”

Alexia handed him a folded piece of paper.

“Monday at five o'clock at that address.”

Alexia got up from her chair and left. William unfolded the paper: Raccoon City Underground Laboratory.

“What will your company be called?” Alfred asked.

“I don't know.”

“Can I be the one to name it?”

Alexia shrugged.

“I'll see what I can come up with.” Alfred stroked his sister's thigh affectionately. “I'm so happy for you. After all you've been through, you're finally happy.”

Alexia stroked Alfred's hand.

“I'm not sure if it's happiness, but I don't feel so... so lost.”

“It is. I'm sure it is.”

“I've gone to get William. I'll see him at the lab next week.”

Alfred looked serious.

“Are you really going to do that favour for Oswell?”

“Yes. It'll be a first step.”

“And then what?”

“I don't know. I can't predict what will happen, Alfred.”

“I don't believe you.”

Alexia sighed.

“I don't know,” she repeated.

“Don't leave me.”

Alfred and Alexia looked at each other.

“I won't,” Alexia replied.

She felt like Gregory Samsa on the worst day of his life. In a handful of days, in a very few years, she had gone from being the heiress of a wealthy American rancher to the legitimate daughter of the world's first billionaire.

Alexandra Spencer.

Her British passport, obtained by Spencer as a personal favour to Anthony Campbell, made her giddy. She was unprepared, she told herself, but her actions said otherwise.

She had become her biological father's right-hand woman, and she felt unpleasantly overwhelmed and unstoppable. That was power, real power. Yet she couldn't help feeling strange, as if she herself was her own stranger.

She compensated for this inconsistency by fixating on her father, who had begun to be strangely friendly with his bastard daughter.

Oswell told her of his plan.

And she felt the power again, the real power.

But first, she had to plan her father's resignation and his agreement with Alexia. Alexander accepted Spencer's word without buts: the two men had tacitly agreed that this was the end of their long and individually fruitful partnership. What Spencer did with the virus developed by Alexia was none of his business; once the partnership was broken, it would be as if the two families had never worked together.

Oswell trusted his daughter, and it was that trust that she used as a guide.

But how long, and how long would she trust Oswell? And what about the virus? Would it be possible to use the Progenitor virus to become a god?

Would metamorphosis be possible?

Oswell signed the final memorandum detailing his plan for the last five years of the last decade of the 20th century.

The goal was clear: maximise Umbrella's profits to retire in style. His strategy: war, cost-cutting and exponentially increasing productivity.

He would retire as the greatest man on Earth before embarking on his new journey.

Alexander would not stand in the way. He owed it to him.

Spencer held up a photo: Edward Ashford, James Marcus and himself posing at the Ndipaya shrine.

“I'll see you in the Beyond.”

He tossed the photograph into the flames of the fireplace.

#resident evil #albert wesker #alexia ashford #alfred ashford #alexander ashford #william birkin #oswell e spencer #alex wesker

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