#party: heist gang

[aerethposting]

[thatonesongyouretryingtoremember]

Thinking about how everyone around El is always trying to control her and expects her to solve their problems for them and her own instead of just treating her like any other person.

She's been actively chasing independence this whole time and she's going to get that next season.

She's also going to get a real team that backs her up.

[blackcatwriter]

Linger (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

a/n: This is my first actual one shot so I'm super excited to get this out there in our tumblr community! Shout out to my beta reader and editor who prefers to stay anonymous, this post wouldn't exist if it weren't for you.

warnings: angst, slight use of curse words (if you count them), maybe just a tad bit of grammar mistakes, takes place during chap 4 but im taking creative liberties lol, no use of Y/N, use of nicknames

wc: 2.3k (lots of yapping on my end)

summary: After the events of Blackwater, Arthur abandons you. Almost a year passes and you spot him amongst the crowd at the mayor's garden party in St. Denis.

Thanks for reading!

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Almost a year ago, Arthur Morgan had left you behind in the wake of a heist gone wrong in Blackwater. He had promised to meet with you after the robbery, whispering sweet nothings of the life he wished to share with you within hotel room walls.  However, nothing had gone according to plan when Arthur left Blackwater on the run with the Van Der Linde gang to escape law enforcement. Broken hearted, you were left behind along with your hopes of a new life as collateral damage.  

Now, months later you had started a new life in St. Denis. Your father, who was in poor health and had claimed you were in need of a providing husband, had offered your hand in marriage to that of a wealthy businessman who had been visiting Blackwater from St. Denis.  

Too engulfed in your anguish of being abandoned by the seemingly love of your life, you didn’t fight the arranged marriage and left your home in Blackwater for a new life in the progressive bustling city of Saint Denis.  

You had buried Arthur in the back of your mind and instead devoted your time to new hobbies and skills, spending most of your days sitting in the comfort of your fiancé's two-story manor. Most chores were handled by the maids and servants, leaving you plenty of time to do nothing - which is why you so heavily valued the parties your wealthy neighbors held.  

Tonight, you were wandering around the mayor’s annual garden party while your fiancé stayed behind talking business with his fellow co-workers. It was mostly shallow gossiping between the ladies and meaningless conversations with any other guests. Tonight, you were wearing your newly tailored gown, a deep blue silk dress patterned with black lace trims that perfectly hugged your body to extenuate all the right things. Your hair was tucked into a loosely curled bun with stray strands that came undone from your waltzing around. 

You were on your second glass of champagne when, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a familiar face standing on the second-floor balcony accompanied by two other men: Arthur Morgan. 

He stood to the side of someone who you presumed to be a fellow member of the Van Der Linde gang he used to run with. Frozen with shock, your glass slipped from your hand and hit the ground with a resounding shatter. Startling the people around you, they moved away as you sheepishly mumbled a “sorry” to the poor servant that would be stuck cleaning your mess. When you looked back up to the balcony, Arthur was no longer there. The man who had been by his side stared down at you as if you had wronged him in another life.  

You fled the scene, preferring to retreat somewhere quieter in the manor to recover from your embarrassment. With your back to the door, you moved to sit by the windowsill of the room you were in. Quiet footsteps sounded against the door as you sighed. “I’m powdering my nose—" Your words failed you as you took in the sight before you. 

The outlaw who broke your heart stood by the door dressed in a suit you were sure he’d never wear again. Closing the door behind him, his eyes never once left yours. “Darlin’,” he grunted, taking in the breathtaking sight that was you. He had traveled across state lines, ran himself out of every saloon in every town he came upon, but he was sure he had never met another view that was as beautiful as you. 

“I...I’m not your darling.” You gripped onto the windowsill behind you with white knuckles. Arthur brushed the stray strands that had rebelled against the pomade Hosea made him apply earlier and looked to your feet—either too guilty or too nervous to meet your eyes any longer. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what to call ya’.” Arthur’s face reddened. He fidgeted with his hands and took a small step toward you. “I was just wonderin’ if you were alright. ‘Heard there was a little accident downstairs, and I was wonderin’ if it was you,” he continued. 

It felt as if the walls were closing in on you as he continued talking. When you first came to St. Denis, Arthur had come across your mind more often than you were willing to admit. You’d imagined he would come back to you and beg for you to take him back. You thought you had built a wall tall enough around your heart to not be affected by the sight of him again, but here he was stumbling over his own words, and you felt the same pang in your heart all over again. 

“Arthur, what’re you doing here?” You spoke softly after building the courage to ask. You wish you had the anger in you to slap him, tell him off, anything else than to just stand there bewildered by the sight of him.  “I wish I could say it’s for you, but I’m not,” Arthur sighed. He may have done all kinds of wrong in his life, but he wasn’t a liar—at least not to those closest to him.  

“I’m here with Dutch and a few other of the boys from our gang. We’re scoutin’ out an opportunity for a potential robbery.” He spoke with a tone of shame in his voice. The exact reason he left you in the first place was what lead him back to you. 

“Oh, Arthur. When will enough be enough?” You groaned, pinching your eyebrows together. “You're chasing after a dream that won’t happen! Can’t you see that?” Fueled by the frustration you felt simmering in your heart and the tears welling up in your eyes, you continued, “The old world is gone, Arthur. You’re beating a dead horse.”  

Arthur shook his head in defiance. “Now I know that, but—”  

“But what? The world is changing. If you can’t change with it, then you’re a dead man walking.” You interrupted him and rushed out the room, leaving behind a devastated Arthur. 

He tried following after you but stopped when he saw you talking to a man who he presumed to be your fiancé by the way you held onto his arm. The man nodded to you before you kissed his cheek and left to the front door. Arthur discretely tailed you until he watched you enter a carriage.  

He shouldn’t follow you. Dutch would disapprove of it; he’d tell Arthur to forget about you. You’re happier now, certainly happier than you would be on the run with him. He should go back to the party and collect information to help the gang, but in that moment, he decided you were more important. You had always been the most important person in his eyes and he was a damn fool to have not risked his neck to come back for you in Blackwater.  

Arthur ran out the front gates and whistled for his horse, Boadicea. He jumped on his horse and trailed your carriage from afar. He would’ve certainly been stopped by one of the many outstanding officers of St. Denis on account of suspicious behavior, but most of they were occupied by the party he just left. 

He stopped at the end of the street where your carriage came to a stop and observed you as you walked inside your home. You had clearly been upset in your carriage and Arthur carried a heavy guilt knowing he had been the bastard that left you feeling that way. Hitching his horse, he snuck down the sidewalk and into your backyard.  

You had changed out of your dress and into a plain nightgown. Dismissing your maids, you were left completely alone in your bedroom. Any other woman would be grateful for all that your fiancé provided, yet you couldn’t help but feel as if you were confined to a gilded cage. You sat at your vanity and dried your tears.  

Arthur Morgan had been your greatest weakness since the moment you met him in a saloon in Blackwater. He had been a drunken fool who managed to chase off every woman that night, except you. Where others found offense in his words you found humor. You took care of him that night and was shocked by him showing his appreciation to you the following morning.  

THUD 

THUD 

Shaken from your memories of the past, you yelped at the noise of pebbles hitting the windows of your bedroom. 

THUD 

Scanning your room, you looked around for anything you might use to defend yourself from this mysterious intruder and grabbed a vase. Lugging it out to your balcony, you looked over the railing and saw it was Arthur who was trying to get your attention. Sighing, you couldn’t help but prefer it was someone else trying to murder you.  

“You plan on attacking me with that?” Arthur joked to defuse the tension. His hair was no longer neatly slicked back, but messy as if he had gone horseback riding. Groaning, you placed the vase down.  

“Did you follow me to my home, Arthur Morgan?” You whisper-shouted at him. If any of your servants saw a strange man trying to talk to you from your balcony, he’d be taken away. 

“I wasn’t done with what I had to say to ya’.” He stood firm with his chest out as he looked up to you. “Can I come up...please?” Arthur was scared you’d say no because he knew he’d have no choice but to respect your wishes. Any sane woman should tell him “no” but you weren’t just any woman. 

“You got an awful lot of nerve, Arthur,” you angrily spat. He took this as a sign you’d never let him anywhere near you again, until you continued, “If you can climb up the balcony without breaking your neck, we can talk.” You walked back into your room leaving Arthur grinning like a fool on the ground.  

He carefully climbed the side of your home, using the vines that grew on your walls as a rope to pull himself up. Hoisting himself over the railing, he removed his coattail and bowtie. “You always make your guests enter the hard way?” He shook the tiredness off his bones and followed after you. 

“Just the ones that aren’t welcome.” You retorted, sitting in a chair by your tea set. The evening bordered into nightfall as the air in the city grew colder. “There ain’t nothing left to say, Arthur. You’ve chosen how you want to live what’s left of your life and so I have.” Your face turned stoic as you poured yourself a cup of tea. 

“I haven’t forgotten what I promised you...and it ain’t gonna mean much to ya’ cause you’re a city girl now with everything you ever wanted, but...” Arthur trailed off as he tried finding the right words to tell you what was on his mind. 

You decided against butting in, even though you very much had things you wanted to tell him, like how he was so very wrong. St. Denis had nothing that you wanted. It was suffocating to be amongst such a high-class society. You missed the days where Arthur and you would run away for the night, choosing to retreat in nature as you confessed your vulnerabilities to him and he the same. Or when words weren’t enough to show your affections so you’d rent out a room at some hotel to show him how much you needed him in other ways. 

“I think we’re close to getting out of here. I know I said that back in Blackwater, but I really mean it this time. It’s selfish of me to want to take you from your new life here, but I’ve never been known for being a good man.” He kneeled down in front of where you sat and brought your knuckles to his lips. “What d’ya think of Tahiti?” He grinned. 

“I’d be a fool to believe your sweet words, Arthur.” You whispered, looking down at him with sadness. “You can be a good man, Arthur. Deep down inside I do think you have goodness, but you’re always fighting it. You’re always fighting it and you don’t let it win.” You placed a hand on his cheek and caressed his face. 

“Darlin’...” He buried his face in your lap as you raked your fingers through his hair. “You’re not gonna say yes, are you?” He turned his head to the side, avoiding your gaze. 

Your silence answered his question. He stood up and grabbed his discarded coat.  In truth, you wanted so badly to agree. You wanted to leave with him, but you didn’t trust him enough not to leave you all over again. This time you’d have something to lose. Here you have a fiancé with a legal and stable job. He provided for you. With Arthur, you’d likely spend the rest of your life sleeping on dirt and running from whatever authorities were chasing you. 

Arthur walked to the edge of your balcony with a stormy look in his eyes. “If you change your mind, we’re staying at an abandoned home in Lagras. It’s right outside the city, I’ll be waiting at the bridge at noon just in case.” Too scared to watch him disappear all over again, you kept your back to him as he climbed down your balcony and faded into the distance. 

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[sallowsarchives]

Clash and Convergence

Part I | Part II | Part III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary: Tensions are running high as you continue to grapple with your conflicting emotions. However, with another job thrusting you both back into close proximity, could this new development be the key to easing the tension and mending the rift between you once more? Word Count: 8.2k  Warnings/Tags: no use of y/n, angst, gunfights, injury, canon-typical danger, dead bodies (nothing too graphic), not proofread!! A/N: Hey again! Alright so compared to the last chapter, I've taken some creative liberties and sort of deviated from the canon for this one, so I’m hoping this one turns out good. Also, no smut for this part but I promise it’s coming in the next chapter, which I hope to finish as soon as I can. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and feedback is always appreciated!

Read on AO3

A few weeks had passed since that night, yet despite the passage of time, the unspoken tension between you and Arthur remained. 

In the first few days after the party, you withdrew into yourself, steering clear of the usual banter and small talk. You went about your tasks with mechanical precision, your movements efficient but devoid of the usual liveliness.

The memory of the events that occurred lingered in the back of your mind, casting a shadow over your usual routines. Your tried to bury those thoughts, focusing on the small, manageable tasks that kept your hands busy and your mind occupied.

Lately, the days had been filled with nothing but the usual activities—scouting for potential heists, tending to horses, helping with chores, and maintaining the camp.

Arthur was rarely at the camp, often off on some job Dutch had given him. Some days, you'd catch him heading to his horse early in the morning, riding out to God knows where and wouldn’t return for a few days. When he did, he'd usually arrive with freshly caught game or extra cash to contribute.

On the days he was gone, the camp felt a little quieter, a little less tense. His absences were a small blessing, giving you the space needed to collect your thoughts and maintain the fragile peace between you both. During those times, you could almost pretend that things were as they once were.

But on the days he was present, you both made a concerted effort to avoid each other. Conversations were brief and strained, and any interaction was kept to a bare minimum.

He often busied himself with tasks around the camp—chopping wood, organizing supplies, and carrying hay bales to the horses as if they weighed nothing.

When he wasn’t working, he’d sit by the campfire, engaging in small conversations with the others or scribbling in his journal. On some days, he’d spend the entirety of his time hidden away in his room.

You, on the other hand, would retreat to the outskirts of the camp until Miss Grimshaw scolded you, at which point you'd bury yourself in tasks of your own, your demeanor just as distant. 

You found solace in the routine of chores, focusing on the small, manageable tasks that allowed you to avoid any unnecessary interaction with Arthur. 

You missed the days when you'd head into town with the girls or accompany some of the men for small jobs where you’d use your nimble fingers to good use. Blending into the bustling crowds, you’d quietly lift wallets and purses from unsuspecting townsfolk, finding a strange satisfaction in the simplicity and thrill of the task. 

But lately, with the Pinkertons breathing down the gang's necks even more, there hadn’t been much in the way of work. The lack of action only heightened the tension, making the days drag on with a restless energy that seemed to seep into every part of your life.

Before long, the unease between you and Arthur became palpable to those around you. The camp was abuzz with quiet speculation, though the mood remained outwardly unaffected.

Conversations with the others were tinged with curiosity as they noticed the stark shift from the usual lively banter to the strained silence that now characterized your interactions. 

The frequent arguments and sharp exchanges had given way to a stifling quiet, and it didn’t take long for the gang members to sense that something was off between you two. The change in dynamic was unusual and unsettling, prompting whispered conversations and knowing glances among the camp.

One evening, as you were helping Pearson with the supplies, you overheard Javier and Bill talking by the fire. 

“Have you noticed how quiet it’s been without those two at each other’s throats?” Bill said, shaking his head.

Javier nodded, glancing discreetly over at you. “Yeah, it’s strange. Almost miss the excitement.”

Lenny and Karen, who had joined the group, shared their own takes. 

“It’s strange,” Lenny said. “I mean, they’d always bicker and fight, but there was some kind of spark to it. Now, it’s just… cold. A whole lot of nothin’.”

“You’d think they’d have worked it out after gettin’ the chance to spend time together. But it’s like whatever went down just left a permanent chill between ’em,” Karen added.

Pearson, catching the conversation, gave you a look but said nothing. You simply shrugged and continued with your task, trying to ignore the growing weight of the situation.

Though the camp had noticed the shift between the two of you, no one had really confronted you about it—except for one person. 

Hosea, ever the keen observer, had picked up on the change in demeanor from you and Arthur during the ride back after the party. 

That night, as soon as you arrived at camp, you dismounted the coach before anyone even had a chance to offer a greeting and headed straight into the house without a word. 

The usual warmth of the campfire and the lively chatter that greeted the return of its members felt distant and muted to you, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions churning inside. 

Arthur had watched you storm off with a mix of frustration and concern, feeling a pang of guilt but too wrapped up in his own stubborn pride to approach you. His internal conflict was evident, as he struggled with his own emotions while grappling with the distance growing between you both. 

The weight of his own pride and the fear of further complicating things kept him from reaching out. He knew he was part of the issue, yet he couldn’t bring himself to make things right, leaving him brooding by the fire long after you had disappeared into the house.

Hosea didn’t miss the tension in the air as you left abruptly or the way Arthur’s mood had darkened. He watched Arthur’s restless movements, the firelight dancing over his face and revealing a rare glimpse of vulnerability and frustration. The usual calm and quiet confidence Arthur exuded was replaced by visible agitation, a stark contrast to the man Hosea had come to know.

At first, Hosea hadn’t thought much of it, assuming it was just another round of the aftermath from the usual quips and disagreements between you and Arthur. But as weeks went by and the tension persisted, he began to sense that something deeper was at play.

Fast forward to now, as you were engrossed in cleaning a rifle— which Hosea had actually gifted you after witnessing your impressive marksmanship on a hunt you had accompanied him on—you caught sight of him approaching out of the corner of your eye. 

"Mind if I join you?" he asked gently, settling himself on a nearby log. His tone was casual but his eyes held a deep concern. "I've been meaning to check in, see how you're doin' after the party."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without betraying the turmoil inside. Hosea sat down beside you, watching as you continued to clean the rifle, the rhythmic motion of your hands almost mechanical.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice soft and careful. "I, uh, noticed you’ve seemed a bit... off since that night. You've been keepin' to yourself more, and there's not as much of that fiery spirit you usually show. I don't mean to pry, but, well, I reckon somethin' happened, didn't it?"

You looked up, meeting his gaze. There was no judgment in his eyes, only an open, sympathetic understanding. Sighing, you tried to find the right words. 

“Arthur and I just had a… disagreement. Nothing that hasn’t happened before.”

“Disagreements are one thing, but this feels different,” Hosea said, his voice carrying a hint of concern. “I’ve seen you two go at it before, but there’s a coldness now that wasn’t there before. Something’s weighing heavy on both of you. You want to talk about it?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone nonchalant. “It’s really not that big of a deal, Hosea. Just a rough patch, like always.”

Hosea’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t push further. 

“Alright. Just don’t let it fester. If you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

You nodded, giving him a tight smile. “Thanks, Hosea. I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. Just need to keep busy.”

With that, you turned your attention back to the rifle, the rhythmic motion of your cleaning a soothing distraction from the thoughts clouding your mind. Hosea left you to your task, though his concerned gaze lingered a moment longer before he walked away, leaving you with your uneasy thoughts.

You knew his concern was genuine, but you were determined to keep things at a distance and focus on moving forward, despite the emotional undercurrents swirling beneath the surface.

You took a deep breath, letting the familiarity of the rifle and the routine of your task provide a semblance of control amid the chaos of your feelings.

Later that evening, as the campfire crackled and cast flickering shadows around the camp, you sat with Abigail, the two of you enjoying a rare moment of light conversation.

The warmth of the fire was a welcome contrast to the chill in the night air, and Javier’s gentle guitar strumming in the background added a soothing ambiance to the evening, offering a brief respite from the weight of your thoughts.

As you and Abigail chatted, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere, the quiet rustling of footsteps and the gentle clearing of a throat drew your attention. Turning around, you saw Arthur standing there, his expression guarded yet earnest.

Arthur had arrived at camp some time in the afternoon, his presence marked by the familiar rhythm of his horse’s hooves and the clink of his spurs as he carried in another fresh load of game. His arrival had been met with the usual nods and grunts of acknowledgment, but he had kept to himself since then.

Arthur’s presence seemed to amplify the quiet of the evening, his stance betraying an unease that matched the tension between you two. The firelight cast shifting shadows on his face, revealing the weariness and frustration etched into his features. 

“Evenin’,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “Uh, Dutch needs to talk to us both.”

Arthur shifted his weight, his gaze flickering to the side before meeting yours again. “He uh… said he wanted to talk to us about something,” he added, his tone attempting to be casual but betraying a hint of the underlying strain.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself against the rising unease about what Dutch might need to discuss. Abigail, noticing the awkwardness in Arthur’s demeanor, chose not to comment. Instead, she offered a sympathetic smile and stood up, her gesture a small comfort in the tense moment.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” she said softly, giving your shoulder a reassuring pat before heading off to give you and Arthur some space.

As you watched her walk away, you felt a brief flicker of gratitude for her understanding. You turned back to Arthur, who was still standing silently, his gaze shifting uncomfortably, before making your way towards Dutch’s quarters. 

Arthur’s footsteps were heavy behind you, his usual easy stride replaced by a more deliberate, uncertain pace. He cleared his throat, as if to break the silence, but no words came.

The crackling of the campfire and the soft murmur of distant conversations slowly faded, leaving only the sound of the wooden floorboards creaking under your steps as you both made your way inside the house and up the stairs.

You raised your hand and knocked on the door, the sound echoing louder than you expected. After a moment, Dutch’s voice called out from inside, inviting you both in. With a deep breath, you turned the handle and stepped into the room, ready to face whatever Dutch had to say.

Upon entering, you found Dutch and Hosea on the terrace, engaged in a low conversation. The evening light cast a warm glow over them, adding a sense of calm to the otherwise tense atmosphere. Dutch looked up as you approached, a smile etching onto his face.

"Ah, there you are, come on out, we’ve got some things to discuss."

Hosea gave you a nod of acknowledgment, his expression one of quiet understanding. 

Dutch gestured for you and Arthur to join them at a small table set up with a few maps. 

“I wanted to go over a few things with you both,” Dutch said, his tone casual but authoritative. “Hosea and I have been discussin’ a plan, might just be what we need to get away from here and finally throw the Pinkertons off our scent for good.”

Hosea turned to you, adding to Dutch’s explanation. “There’s another job, particularly concerning the stagecoach details you picked up from the party, actually. You know, the one rumored to be packed with jewels and cash. We’ve gotten word that it’ll be rollin’ through just north of Lemoyne, somewhere in New Hanover, tomorrow.”

You felt a jolt of realization as Hosea’s words hit you. The mention of the stagecoach, packed with jewels and cash, immediately brought back the details you’d nearly forgotten in the whirlwind of recent events. 

Your mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information you’d gathered during the party. This was the opportunity that could turn everything around, but it also meant diving right back into the chaos. You could sense the weight of the mission ahead, the stakes higher than ever.

You nodded slowly, absorbing the gravity of the situation. “Alright, so what’s the plan?” you asked, trying to focus on the task at hand despite the whirlwind of emotions.

Hosea glanced at Dutch, who took over the explanation. “We’ve got a basic outline. We reckon the stagecoach will be guarded, so you’ll need to stay sharp. Essentially, your task is to take out the guards and haul that coach right back here for safekeeping,” he said, pointing to a spot on the map.

Arthur leaned in, his expression serious. “Sounds like a plan. Who else is comin’ with us?”

Dutch and Hosea exchanged a glance, then Dutch answered, “It’ll just be the two of you. We’re countin’ on you to get it done.”

You blinked, eyes widening as you begin to feel a surge of frustration. “Wait, what? You can’t be serious,” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Arthur's eyes widened slightly, his unease becoming more evident. “Just the two of us?” he repeated, trying to mask his discomfort with a gruff tone. He looked between Dutch and Hosea, clearly taken aback by the lack of backup.

Dutch looked momentarily taken aback by your reactions, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s the problem?” he asked, clearly oblivious to the underlying tension between you and Arthur. “I figured you two would be the best for this. It’s a straightforward job. I know you can handle it. You seemed to do fine back at the mayor's party.”

Arthur fidgeted with his hat, looking uncomfortable. He glanced at you, his face showing a mix of frustration and reluctance.

Hosea, sensing the growing discomfort and understanding the gravity of the situation, stepped in. “Since you were the one who uncovered the details about the stagecoach,” he said, addressing you directly, “We figured you’d lead this one. You know the specifics and what to expect. Arthur here is our best bet to go with you, handle any trouble, and watch your back while you’re at it.”

“And besides,” Hosea continued, his tone softening, “I know you’ve been itching to get out of camp and put your skills to use. This job could be a good chance for you to get out of the camp for a bit and do something you’ve been craving.”

Oh you had been hoping for a change of scenery, but not the kind that would throw you right back into close quarters with Arthur. 

This is just fantastic… Just what you needed, no? You couldn’t make this up if you tried. Here you were, thinking you’d get a breather from the endless tension, only to find yourself on a direct collision course with it. Really, the universe must have a twisted sense of humor.

Arthur’s dry laugh cut through your thoughts, and you glanced at him, noting the mix of annoyance and amusement on his face. Yeah, he’s probably thinking the same thing. Didn’t expect this to come with a side of enforced teamwork. We’ve barely been able to keep it together when we're in camp. Now we’re supposed to be a seamless duo out there?

Before you or Arthur could voice any further objections, Dutch cuts in with a firm tone. “It’s settled. You two will handle this job together, and that’s final. No more complaints or arguments.”

The finality in his voice left no room for negotiation. 

Arthur let out a deep frustrated sigh. “Well, ain’t this just perfect,” he grumbled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. You shot him a resigned glance, both of you silently acknowledging the irony of the situation.

“Now you two get some rest tonight, and we’ll go over the details tomorrow. I trust you two will make it work.”

With that, Dutch gave a nod, signaling the end of the discussion.

As you were about to leave, Hosea approached you and Arthur with a gentle demeanor, clearly aware of the tension between you two. 

“I know it’s not ideal, especially with how things have been between you two,” he said quietly, his voice filled with understanding. “But you’re both capable. I have faith that you’ll handle this just fine.”

Arthur shot Hosea a skeptical glance but nodded in acknowledgment, his gruff exterior softening slightly. “We’ll do what we can,” he muttered, though his tone suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced.

You managed a tight smile, appreciating Hosea’s attempt to offer reassurance despite the circumstances. “Yeah, I suppose we’ll give it our best shot.”

Hosea nodded approvingly and patted Arthur on the back. “That’s the spirit. Now, try to get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

With that, Hosea gave you both a warm, encouraging smile before stepping back, leaving you and Arthur to face the uncomfortable reality of the task ahead.

The promise of the job loomed large, and the need to navigate both the heist and your fraught relationship now seemed inescapable.

The silence stretched, awkward and thick as the both of you grappled with the weight of the situation in your own way, the unspoken tension hanging between you like a heavy fog. You could almost feel the gears in Arthur’s mind turning, his usual confidence replaced by a reluctant resignation.

Arthur shifted his weight, glancing sideways at you before speaking. His voice was low, tinged with hesitation.

Arthur shifted his weight, glancing sideways at you before speaking. “Look, I know this isn’t exactly ideal. We’ve had our share of run-ins, and I’m not expecting us to suddenly be friends or anything. But, for what it’s worth, I’ll do my part to make sure this job goes smoothly.”

You studied Arthur for a moment, taking in the sincerity behind his words. Despite the tension, there was something begrudgingly reassuring in his willingness to make the best of the situation. You sighed, trying to keep your tone neutral but not entirely devoid of acknowledgment.

“Yeah, well, I’m not expecting us to be the best of friends either,” you replied, forcing a small, wry smile. “But I appreciate the effort. We’ll both just have to keep our heads in the game and get this done. For now, let’s try to focus on the job and not let our… differences get in the way.”

Arthur gave a short nod, the lines of tension on his face momentarily easing. “Fair enough.”

There was an awkward pause, the silence stretching out between you. Arthur finally cleared his throat, his eyes flickering towards you. “Look, about what happened—”

You cut him off, your voice sharp. “We don’t need to rehash it. Let’s just focus on this job so we can continue with our ways.”

The last thing you wanted was to dredge up the emotions and pain that had been bubbling beneath the surface. Revisiting the topic felt like opening an old wound that had yet to heal, and you weren’t ready to face that vulnerability all over again. 

Arthur’s expression shifted, a mix of resignation and understanding passing over his face. “Alright,” he said, his tone flat. “We’ll do that.”

With that, you give him a nod before turning heel and walking away downstairs, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet. 

Arthur watched you go before heading to his room, the weight of the conversation and unresolved issues hanging heavy on his mind.

As you settled into your sleeping roll, the familiar comfort of the bedding did little to ease the turmoil inside you. The day's events, combined with the strained interaction with Arthur, made it difficult to quiet your racing thoughts. 

Despite the brief truce, the underlying tension between you and Arthur was far from resolved.

The next morning dawned crisp and clear, the sunlight filtering through the cracked windows. The sky outside was painted in soft hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over the sprawling estate of Shady Belle. 

You woke with a start, the unease of the previous night still heavy in your mind. The camp was already bustling with activity as the early risers went about their morning routines, preparing for the day ahead.

You and Arthur had gotten up early, each in your own way preparing for the job that lay ahead. The conversation this morning with Dutch and Hosea had been brief, focusing mainly on the specifics of the job and the logistics of the route. The details were clear, and the plan was set.

With that in mind, you were left to prepare for the task ahead. Preparing your saddle bag, you set about stashing away the essentials: ammunition, a spare set of clothes, and other provisions.

You grabbed your rifle, carefully checking it for any issues before securing it onto your horse, running a final check on your gear and making sure everything was in order.

The horse you were saddling stood patiently, its calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm brewing in your mind. As you adjusted the saddle and tightened the straps, you tried to focus on the task at hand, pushing aside thoughts of the upcoming journey and the inevitable interactions with Arthur.

Arthur was nearby, working on his own preparations. Though there was no direct conversation between you, the occasional glance or nod indicated a mutual understanding of the importance of the task at hand.

You watched him for a moment, feeling the unspoken words and unresolved feelings between you. The air was thick with the weight of the unaddressed issues, but you both knew that there was no room for sentiment right now.

You let out a sigh before mounting your horse. The two of you had a job to do, and despite the personal issues that loomed, you had to find a way to make it work. This job had to go smoothly, and you needed to focus on that, no matter how difficult this job was already proving to be.

Arthur gave a brief nod, acknowledging your resolve, and mounted his own horse. With a final deep breath, you spurred your horse into motion. 

Arthur fell into line beside you, and together, you set out on the journey ahead.

The road stretched out before you, winding through the dense forests and swamps. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm light over the landscape. 

The journey had been relatively uneventful so far, a few scattered encounters with travelers and the occasional wildlife breaking the monotony.

You and Arthur rode side by side, the silence between you still thick and uncomfortable. You focused on the landscape around you, the dense trees and winding paths offering a certain level of tranquility.

Arthur, for his part, appeared deep in thought. He occasionally glanced over at you, but the eye contact was fleeting.

His usual confident demeanor was replaced with a quiet determination, and the silence spoke volumes of the discomfort that lingered.

You had both briefly reviewed the details of the job, and the execution was expected to be straightforward. The plan was simple enough: intercept the stagecoach, secure the loot, and make a swift escape with the coach to a hiding place somewhere near camp. 

After a beat, Arthur finally broke the silence. 

“You ready for this?” 

You nodded, keeping your eyes on the road ahead.

“Yeah, just like any other job, right?” you replied, keeping your tone steady, though the edge in your voice was unmistakable.

Arthur sighed, clearly sensing the strain in your words. “Look, I know things ain’t been... easy between us. But we gotta get through this.”

You glanced over at him, your expression hardening. 

“I know that, Arthur. I’m not gonna let whatever’s between us mess up the job. I’ve got a job to do, and so do you. I intend to see it through without letting personal grudges get in the way.”

Arthur nodded slowly, his eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and resignation. “Yeah, I know you will. Just... stay close, alright? We need to be on the same page.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Understood. Let’s just get this done.” 

The tension lingered, but for now, it was buried under the urgency of the job.

The terrain shifted subtly, the once marshy ground giving way to the rich, green embrace of dense forests, rolling hills, and steep mountains. 

The road followed a river that wound alongside you, its surface catching the overcast sky’s light in a subdued, shimmering dance. The rhythmic flow of the water provided a gentle counterpoint to the tension between you and Arthur, a quiet reminder of the natural beauty surrounding your uneasy journey.

Arthur’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his focus unyielding. He kept his gaze sharp, scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble. Despite the coldness between you, you couldn’t help but notice the way he took his job seriously, his focus unwavering. 

His attention to detail was evident as he navigated the terrain, maneuvering his horse with practiced ease. Each time he glanced over at you, his eyes were a mix of concentration and something softer.

Eventually, you reached a vantage point overlooking the road where the stagecoach was expected to pass. You dismount your horse, feeling the weight of the upcoming task settle heavily on your shoulders. Arthur followed suit, his expression serious as he joined you.

"So, how do you wanna do this? You take the front, and I cover the back?" Arthur's tone was practical, but there was a hint of something less guarded in his voice.

A smile unexpectedly crept up on your lips, a rare break from the seriousness that had defined your recent interactions, as you thought of how you approached these jobs with a different flair when you were with the girls.

Arthur glanced over, his expression guarded but curious. You continued, “Or I could play the helpless lady who needs help while you sneak up on ‘em?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and a small, begrudging smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, so you’re thinkin’ of dustin’ off the old act, huh? Think you still got it?”

You raised an eyebrow, the tension easing just a bit as a genuine smile tugged at your lips.  “Oh, I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve. But you better keep up if you’re gonna be my backup.”

Arthur nodded, his smile widening slightly. “You got it.”

You checked your gear, slinging your rifle securely behind you. Arthur did the same, both of you falling into the familiar routine of preparation.

As you moved into position, the earlier unease shifted into focused, purposeful energy. 

The playful banter had served its purpose, bringing a brief moment of levity to the serious task ahead. Now, with the weight of the mission on your shoulders, you prepared for the role you’d play and the action to come.

“You think this’ll work?” you ask, your voice tinged with both curiosity and apprehension.

Arthur glances up at you as you both make your way slightly further down the hill. 

“It’s our best shot. We’ll need to time it right. ‘Sides, we’ve got the element of surprise on our side.”

You nod as you stop just before the road, positioning yourselves behind the trees and thick bushes, your eyes scanning the road for any sign of the stagecoach.

The sun was at an angle indicating that sunset was within an hour or two, casting long shadows that merged with the undergrowth, providing natural cover. The sound of the flowing river in the distance had faded into the background as you both waited in tense silence. 

Then, amidst the quiet, you both heard it—a distant rumble growing louder. The roll of the coach’s wheels crunching over the road, steadily approaching. 

You exchanged a sharp glance with Arthur, the anticipation spiking as you prepared for the imminent arrival of your target.

Peeking over the edge of your hiding spot, you counted around five guards stationed around the stagecoach, each one mounted on horseback with rifles gripped tightly in their hands. They occasionally glanced at each other, their movements synchronized but relaxed, their attention more on the road ahead than on the dense cover flanking either side—rookie mistake.

The impending arrival of your target presented a perfect opportunity. Their lack of vigilance provided a window to implement your plan.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you signal to Arthur with a subtle nod, your heart racing as the time to act approaches.

You step out from behind the tree and move to a position where the road curves, creating the illusion of a stranded traveler in need of assistance. 

As you raise a hand to signal distress, you adjust your expression to one of genuine concern before you stumble forward, making sure to catch sight of the approaching vehicle, your movements exaggerated for effect. 

The guards notice your presence immediately, their posture becoming tense as they exchange wary glances. The coach begins to slow, and one of the guards shouts over.

“Hold up! What’s the matter?” His voice carries a mix of suspicion and urgency as he strains to see what’s going on.

That’s your cue. You force a shaky voice as you call out, “Help! My horse threw a shoe, and I’m stranded here! Please, I need assistance!”

You stagger slightly, clutching your arm as if in pain, and glance anxiously towards the coach. The guards’ expressions shift from suspicion to concern as they assess the situation. 

They exchange a few quick words, and one of them starts to dismount, moving towards you with a wary but reluctant gait.

Concealed by the trees, Arthur remains hidden, his sharp eyes locked on the scene. He watches as the guard approaches, waiting for the precise moment to make his move. Your heart races as you maintain your act, trying to keep your expression a mix of fear and gratitude.

As the guard comes closer, his eyes seem to fixate on something behind your back and his expression shifts to alarm, his hand moving instinctively towards his weapon.

“Hold on a minute,” he calls out, voice now laced with suspicion. The tone of his voice immediately alerts the other guards, who begin to look more closely at the situation. “What’s that on your back?”

Arthur’s eyes narrow as he notices the shift in the guards' demeanor. His movements are fluid and calculated as he positions himself strategically, drawing his rifle with practiced precision. He takes a deep breath and steadies his aim, preparing to act at a moment’s notice.

You freeze, trying to keep your expression composed despite the sudden shift. Your heart skips a beat, and you shoot a quick glance toward Arthur, who’s watching intently from his hidden spot.

The guard takes another cautious step closer, his gaze fixed on your rifle. “Seems a bit odd for someone stranded to be carrying a rifle, don’t ya think?”

As steady as you can manage, you respond, “I— I just needed it for protection. I didn’t expect trouble.” 

You can feel the weight of his scrutiny, and you silently pray that your composed demeanor is enough to keep suspicion at bay.

As the guard’s suspicion grows, he signals to the other guards, who start to move in closer, their hands gripping their weapons with increased wariness. 

The tension thickens, palpable in the tightening of their grips and the narrowing of their eyes. You can almost see the wheels turning in their heads, questioning the authenticity of your situation.

Arthur’s eyes narrow, realizing that the plan might be in jeopardy. His fingers tighten around the handle of his own rifle, ready to act. 

The guards' wary movements signal that they're about to take a closer look at you, their caution evident in their deliberate steps. You catch Arthur's eye, and he gives a barely perceptible nod—a clear signal that the time to act is now, before the guards get any closer or the situation escalates further.

With a deep breath, you prepare yourself, knowing that the success of the job now hinges on a delicate balance between deception and action.

As the guard steps closer, his suspicion hardening into action, the tension snaps like a taut wire. The moment he raises his hand to signal the other guards to move in, the situation escalates rapidly.

The air fills with the sudden sharp crack of gunfire as Arthur’s rifle erupts from the trees. His shots ring true, striking one of the guards and sending him crashing to the ground. The remaining men, caught off guard, scramble for cover as the shootout begins in earnest.

You draw your own rifle, aiming at the nearest one as you move quickly to the side, seeking cover behind a large rock. 

Your shots are quick and precise, the loud reports of your gun blending into the chaotic symphony of the firefight. The guards on horseback begin to return fire, their rifles barking in rapid succession.

Amid the chaos, you catch a glimpse of Arthur, moving with practiced precision. He’s taking them down with controlled bursts of fire, his movements fluid and efficient. He’s clearly in his element, but even so, his eyes occasionally flicker toward you, ensuring you’re holding your own.

The stagecoach driver, realizing the situation has gone terribly wrong, frantically tries to maneuver the vehicle away from the danger. His hands tremble as he struggles to keep the frantic horses under control.

One of the guards, attempting to flank you, takes a well-aimed shot, forcing you to duck behind your cover. You peer out, seeing Arthur’s form in the distance as he intercepts the guard, eliminating the threat with a single, decisive shot.

As the last of the guards fall, the chaos begins to wane. The sound of gunfire now replaced by the restless snorting of the horses. 

You scan the area, assessing the situation, and your heart starts to slow as you see the immediate threat has been dealt with.

Arthur, breathing heavily from the exertion, emerges from his cover, his eyes scanning the scene for any remaining danger. He gives you a quick nod of acknowledgment before turning to secure the stagecoach. 

You emerge from your cover and make a beeline for the stagecoach, reaching the vehicle just as Arthur approaches it, his face a mask of focused intensity. 

The driver has managed to bring the horses to a halt. Without a moment’s hesitation, Arthur nudges the man with a sharp flick of his rifle. Clearly intimidated by Arthur’s commanding presence, he scrambles off the seat and retreats into the road with a frantic pace.

With the situation now under control, you watch as Arthur focuses on calming the restless horses. He approaches them carefully, his voice a soothing murmur that cuts through the chaos. The horses’ breathing begins to slow, their agitation easing under his calm presence.

You take a moment to catch your breath and collect yourself, observing Arthur’s handling of the situation. His actions are steady and confident, and you can see the familiar ease with which he interacts with the animals. It’s a side of him that, despite everything, has managed to impress you.

Catching the subtle shift in your expression, he glances over at you. His gaze lingering for a moment. For a brief instant, his own hardened expression softens, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a small, almost self-satisfied smile. 

You blink, momentarily flustered. You hadn’t realized how much you were letting your guard down, caught off-guard by the warmth in his eyes and the easy way he spoke. 

The sight is fleeting but significant, a silent acknowledgment of the shared success and a momentary easing of the tension that had previously clouded your interactions.

You attempt to steady your voice, but it comes out softer than intended. “Come on, let’s check if this thing has exactly what they said.”

Arthur gives a nod, his focus shifting to the task at hand as you both move to inspect the stagecoach. 

As you open the coach's doors, the sight inside is nothing short of astonishing.

Chests, small pouches, lockboxes, and crates are crammed into the coach, each one overflowing with a dazzling array of jewels and cash. Arthur’s eyes widen as he takes in the sheer volume of riches. 

Seeing the score, the weight of the day's hostility seems to have dissolved, replaced by a palpable sense of accomplishment and satisfaction.

Arthur whistles, clearly impressed. “Damn, we hit the mother lode, this is more than I ever expected.”

You nod, grabbing a small bag to carefully assess the loot. This one was filled with sparkling rings and ornate necklaces. The sight is overwhelming, and the weight of the haul is tangible even before you touch it.

Beside you, Arthur takes to opening a lockbox with his hunting knife. The contents inside reveal neatly stacked bundles of cash. 

“This is a hell of a find,” he says with a hint of admiration in his voice. “Dutch is gonna be thrilled.”

“This is more than enough for the gang,” you comment, carefully handling each piece. “Who in their right mind would only send five guards to accompany this?”

“Seems like they were a bit too confident in their security. Their loss is our gain, though.”

“Let’s get this sorted and packed up. We need to move quick before anyone starts sniffing around.”

You whistle for your horse and begin stashing a few bundles of cash and select pieces of jewelry into the saddlebag. Arthur mirrors your actions, moving with deliberate speed as he fills his satchel with a mix of valuable items from the coach.

You and Arthur quickly secure the remaining loot and prepare the stagecoach for its journey before he climbs up to the driver’s seat, taking the reins with a firm grip.

“Let’s get this thing moving,” he says, his voice low but determined.

You nod, taking your place beside him whistling to your horses once more, signaling them to follow. The stagecoach lurches forward as Arthur cracks the reins, guiding the horses into a steady trot. 

With the weight of the haul securely packed and the adrenaline of the heist gradually fading, a sense of accomplishment settles in. The tense moments of the plan's execution now give way to the satisfaction of a job well done.

Arthur glances over at you, a trace of a smile lingering on his lips. “Good work back there. Reckon we make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

You catch his gaze and, despite yourself, feel a flicker of warmth. “Yeah, just don’t get used to it.”

Arthur chuckles softly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Half an hour in, you continue your journey to the agreed location with the fruits of your labor securely in tow.

The adrenaline from the earlier confrontation has faded, replaced by a sense of accomplishment and relief. The surroundings have returned to their tranquil state, the earlier chaos now a distant memory as you and Arthur ride side by side, the silence between you now more comfortable and less charged than before.

With the sun setting, you keep a vigilant eye on the surroundings, focusing on the road and surrounding area ahead for any signs of trouble. 

Suddenly, the faint sound of galloping hooves slices through the calm, growing abruptly louder. The rhythmic pounding signifies an approaching group, and the urgency in their pace suggests they might be heading straight for you.

You glance over at Arthur, noticing his instant shift in posture, his hands tightening slightly on the reigns. 

Following the sound, you look behind and see a horde of riders emerging from the tree line, their horses kicking up clouds of dust as they charge forward. The group is sizable, and their intent is clear—they’re coming fast and with purpose.

Arthur’s jaw clenches as he takes in the approaching threat. He adjusts his grip on the reins, his frustration evident but his focus unwavering. “Damn it,” he growls. “We can’t outrun ‘em with this load.”

With resolve, you kneel a leg on the seat, bracing yourself against the coach roof for stability. Your expression is determined as you aim your rifle at the approaching riders. 

“You just keep those horses running. I’ll handle the welcoming committee,” you call out to Arthur, your voice steady. Arthur glances over, a flicker of amusement in his eyes despite the urgency, before his gaze sharpens back on the road. 

The coach surges ahead, the horses racing faster as Arthur skillfully maneuvers them away from the oncoming threat. The clash of gunfire and the thunderous pounding of hooves create a frenzied soundtrack to the chaos unfolding.

The vehicle sways with the sudden bursts and you brace yourself, focusing on keeping your aim steady amidst the chaotic barrage.

Bullets ricochet off the ground near the coach, their danger unmistakable. You grit your teeth, cursing under your breath as you see both your and Arthur’s horses veering sharply to another direction to evade the attackers, separating them from you.

From beside you, Arthur's curse breaks through the chaos. You glance over to see the road ahead sharply climbing, winding up the mountain with a steep incline.

The horses strain against the uneven terrain, their hooves scrambling for traction as the coach teeters perilously, the situation now becoming more complicated, with the treacherous path adding another layer of danger to the already tense escape.

You turn to see Arthur’s face set in grim determination, his focus entirely on the road. His efforts to control the coach are apparent as he wrestles for control, fighting against the treacherous surface.

“Dammit!” Arthur growls, his knuckles white as he grips the reins tightly. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for a getaway route!”

The incline grows steeper, and the coach struggles to gain traction.

You return your gaze to the unmistakable sound of more guards closing in, aiming steadily at those who are getting too close for comfort.

Their pursuit is relentless, and the weight of the situation becomes increasingly apparent. Each shot you fire feels like a desperate attempt to stave off the growing threat, as the gap between you and the pursuing riders narrows with every passing moment.

“They’re gaining on us!” you shout over the cacophony of gunfire and the rumbling coach. “There’s too many of them. We have to leave the coach!”

The sound of men shouting and the sharp crack of gunfire splintering the wood of the coach fills the air, heightening the chaos. The horses, already on edge, begin to panic, their frantic movements causing the coach to lurch.

The coach tilts precariously toward the edge of the mountain, and for a moment, you feel yourself tipping dangerously close to the edge of your seat. Rocks tumble down the steep incline as the coach seems on the verge of tipping over completely.

In a split second, Arthur’s arm shoots out, grabbing you firmly by the waist and pulling you back into place while still maintaining control of the reins. The coach rights itself with a jolt, the wheels crunching heavily on the loose gravel as it stabilizes. The sudden movement pulls you both back from the brink, but the threat of the approaching guards remains ever-present.

“You alright?” he calls out, his voice edged with worry amidst the chaos, his hand still wrapped around your waist as you cling to him for stability.

You nod quickly, forcing a shaky nod. “I’m good… Just keep this thing steady.”

Arthur’s hand slips away as he refocuses on guiding the coach.

You lean back, gripping onto the seat with both hands to brace yourself against the relentless jostling. 

You can feel the coach shudder under the strain of the terrain and the impact of the guards’ gunfire. The unstable footing and the increasing danger make it clear that staying in the coach is no longer an option.

Realizing there's no way back, you scan the surroundings desperately for an escape route. Ahead, on a flatter section of the mountain, your eyes land on a bridge spanning a rushing river below. It’s a precarious-looking structure, but it might be your only chance.

“Arthur! That bridge up ahead!”

Arthur’s eyes dart to the bridge, and he curses under his breath. 

"That thing looks like it's barely hangin' on," he mutters, a worried frown on his face. 

The two of you exchange a worried glance, the urgency of the situation clear. With no other options and the guards closing in, the risk of crossing the unstable bridge might be your only chance at escape.

Arthur takes a deep breath, his expression set with determination. 

He grips the reins tighter and steers the coach toward the bridge, maneuvering through the challenging terrain. 

The stagecoach lurches and tilts dangerously as it approaches the bridge, the horses straining against their ropes. Every bump and sway sends a jolt through the coach, and the bridge creaks ominously under the pressure of the approaching load.

The guards’ shouts grow louder, their pursuit relentless, adding to the mounting pressure.

Arthur's knuckles whiten as he clenches the reins, his eyes locked on the rickety structure ahead. “Hang on!” 

The wheels hit the first few planks with a jarring thud, the structure shuddering violently while you brace yourself against the seat, gripping it tightly. The bridge sways and creaks under the strain, the narrow path making it clear that any wrong move could spell disaster.

The wooden planks of the bridge groan in protest, threatening to buckle under the weight. You can see the river below churning violently, a reminder of the precarious situation. 

As you and Arthur drive the stagecoach across the rickety bridge, the relentless pursuit of the guards continues. Gunfire cracks through the air, and the panicked horses struggle to keep their footing on the unstable wooden planks.

“Arthur, watch out!” you shout, gripping the edge of the coach seat tightly.

Arthur's eyes dart to the side, spotting the weak planks giving way under the weight and stress of the coach. The bridge shudders violently, and a loud cracking sound echoes through.

Without warning, the bridge gives way entirely. The horses scream in terror as the entire stagecoach plunges into the rushing river below. 

The world blurs around you as you're thrown from the driver’s seat, hitting the icy river with a jarring impact.

Cold water engulfs you instantly, and the current's force pulls you under, dragging you downstream. As you struggle to stay afloat, you catch fleeting glimpses of the stagecoach being smashed to pieces against the rocks and debris.

The river’s powerful current quickly separates you and Arthur, each of you fighting to keep afloat. Your heart races, and every instinct urges you to fight the current. The roar of the river overwhelms your senses, making it difficult to think clearly. You reach out, trying to find something solid to grab onto, while the chaos of the river makes every movement a battle.

"Hold on!" Arthur's voice, hoarse with effort, barely reaches you over the roar of the river, eyes widening in alarm as he sees you being dragged away by the current.

"Arthur!" you scream back, your voice filled with panic as the water pulls you under again. 

You fight to surface, gasping for air, the relentless force of the river carrying you further away. The rush of water roars in your ears, drowning out any other sound, and your vision blurs with each desperate attempt to find your footing.

In the chaos, the water pulls you under once more. As you struggle against the current, a sharp pain explodes in your head. The impact sends you spinning, and the world around you blurs into a dizzying haze. Each breath is a struggle, the cold water overwhelming your senses as you fight to stay conscious.

The agony in your head intensifies, and the cold, relentless river drags you further from the surface. The muffled, distant sound of Arthur’s voice calling your name is the last thing you hear before darkness engulfs you.

A/N: Alright so not much going on between the two this chapter, hopefully everything is resolved in the next. Stay tuned for the next one which is the final part!

[polakina]

Nonnie from that Javier request here again 👁️

Javier has been rotting my brain for days now but an addition to this is Charles.

We know from that bar fight mission in Valentine that Javier and Charles have different tastes in women but what if they somehow land their eyes on the same lady? Who just happen to be someone the gang newly recruited.

Javier who makes the funniest jokes with flirtatious undertones and keeps the drinks and songs going(definitely the more fun of the two), but also Charles who's more touch than talk and ALWAYS has his hand on her lower back (I'm frothing at the mouth for this).

nonnie i love u, never stop sending these requests

i took this on a slightly different route than what i was expecting to write, but i hope you still like it :)

rating: mature

hard to ignore

It had been a few months since you had joined the gang. Time had flown by, with the heists, the jobs, the hunting. Everything. But you’d gotten to know the people quite well.

Arthur was quiet, but he was sweet. Hosea was one of the loveliest men you’d ever met, which also made him one of the most dangerous when it came to his scams. John and Abigail argued so much that it became white noise to you at night. Micah was an ass. That’s all you had to say about that man. 

Javier was…an interesting personality. He was kind to you. He played guitar well. He always managed to catch your eye across the fire at night in camp. You always smiled, meeting his gaze.

“Morning, querida,” he’d always say in the mornings. “Looking beautiful as ever.” His accent always did something to you. The purr in his tone, the gravel in his voice, especially in the morning. He was a smooth talker, and he knew it. From your perspective, this was how he acted with all women. How you thought he approached every lady who came his way.

But when night fell, he turned into a different person. He was a confident man. In the way he walked, he talked. How he moved through the camp, interacting with everyone on his way to the campfire. How he presented himself, bringing life to the party. Camp always seemed more lively, more fun when he brought himself into the centre of it.

Drinks were flowing just as the sun dipped behind the hill. The guitar was pulled out and its strings were plucked in a melodious tune that got everyone dancing.

It was almost as though he was singing for you. To you. His eyes never left yours when he sang those songs. Those songs that made everyone sway in couples, in a harmonious dance. God, he was good at it. Good at making you feel seen. His entire focus was just on you.

“Enjoying your night, conejita?” He smiled as he made his way over to you, two bottles of liquor in hand, passing one over to you.

“Don’t call me that,” you rolled your eyes, the corners of your lips upturned. He called you bunny. A playful little endearment you’d noticed in your first week of being here. You only realised what it meant when you were strolling through the south end of Saint Denis; an older gentleman called his wife the same thing and you’d asked him what it meant. “Bunny,” he’d said. “My wife, she’s like a cute little bunny. So the name stuck.”

Javier smiled brightly at you. “But it suits you so perfectly, conejita.”

You rolled your eyes again, unable to hide your smile at this point. He was always so upfront with you, never left anything to the unknown. If he didn’t like you, it’d be blatantly obvious. But if he liked you, the entire camp knew. There’d be signs. Not even subtle ones. With you, he found an excuse to come and talk to you, even if you were doing menial tasks like laundry. He’d keep you company, sometimes help out with whatever you were doing. Javier liked to compliment you a lot. Like, a lot. 

Compliment you in ways that made you hide your blush sometimes. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you look in this light, conejita?” “Don’t look at me with those eyes, they’re too pretty to look away from.” The man had a way with words, and you never knew how to respond.

Charles was quiet when you had first joined the camp. Kept to himself mostly, just like Arthur did. But there was something about him that drew you to his nonchalant personality. His large build, strong hands, deadset glare. He was handsome. So goddamn handsome. Never a part of the group, not really even during parties or meals. 

He stayed by himself in the first few weeks of your introduction. He always kept a wary eye out in the camp, and you’d caught his eyes lingering on yours a few times, but often times you thought it was your imagination. He’d not spoken to you for a long while in camp until you were the one to approach him.

But now, months down the line, you knew it wasn’t your imagination. He looked right at you now, not staring in a strange way that made your skin crawl, but observing you. Fascinated by you.

Charles didn’t speak much. He didn’t have to. It was his touches and how he handled himself around you that told you everything you needed to know about the man.

No matter how many times you assured him you could dismount your horse, or scale a wall, he was there. To help you. Always offering a hand, or stabilising you on unsteady rocks. The two of you often paired yourselves together on jobs, since you worked well together as a team. 

Around camp, he’d become a lot closer with you. His hand finding your lower back when he was behind you, so you knew he was there as he reached around to grab another bottle of liquor. His hand outstretched to help you up after you were sitting on the floor by the campfire for too long, your legs aching from the weight of your body resting on your ass.

But his favourite thing was when the wind blew a little too hard, and he had the excuse to brush your hair out from in front of your face. He stood taller than you, a lot taller. His build was wider than yours, more muscles in his arms and chest. The muscles in his back contorting and stretching when he mounted his horse. You looked. Of course, you looked. It was hard not to.

Javier and Charles had different ways of getting your attention. Javier was more talkative, complimenting to you, a lot more confident with his words. Charles, however, took his time with things. He liked to watch from afar, casting small smiles your way whenever you looked over. He communicated with his touch, his hands, his light hold. But Javier communicated with his words. You couldn’t tell which one you preferred more. 

Both of these men knew that they equally vied for your attention. They saw it everyday. They didn’t mind. They didn’t see it as a game to compete for you. They liked how flustered you would get from each others advances.

So maybe…you wouldn’t have to choose between them. Since they seemed perfectly happy working together to get your attention. Maybe, just maybe, you could be selfish and have both.

[howlett-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

4. John Fucking Marston

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: GUYS I GRADUATED MY FROM MY COURSE! i give you this chapter as a token of my celebration... now I just have to make sure I don't have any models fall off the runway in my line up lmao

Summary: The newest arrival makes his way into camp, and inadvertently becomes the reason that chaos begins to spread. Luckily, his new uncle Arthur is there to carry the woes on his broad shoulders.

Warnings: mild swearing, canon typical violence, birth?? mentions of past death and Arthur remembering his deadbeat dad days. drinking, mild alcohol abuse?? also Hosea is a real one we love Hosea

WC: 4.5k

“Need I remind you of the price you’re gonna pay?”  “She’ll be safe with you. The boy, too. I ain’t leavin’ them in incapable hands.” “But you’re leaving them,” Arthur reasoned, trying his best to make any last effort to save what could have been, but he knew his found brother would not be changing his mind. His only thought at this point was to beg him to stay. If only because he was the one who asked. “Don’t do this. They need you, we need you.”

A week after the heist, Arthur’s shoulder was feeling better… but his head was hurting like hell. 

In fact, on this specific night, nearly everyone’s head was throbbing on account of the wails and cries of terrible pain coming from the edge of camp. 

Abigail had gone into labor around five hours ago, and the little baby had still not come into the world yet. As of right now, the men were huddled close to the fire, passing around a fresh bottle of whiskey in attempts to pass out so they could get some sleep. Meanwhile, the women were rushing to and fro about the camp, working their asses off to bring a new life to the gang. 

You figured it would help you bond with the boys more if you sat with them, moaning and groaning about the noise… but you’d much rather be helping, making sure nothing went wrong in the tumultuous process of birth. 

It wasn’t until close to one in the morning that a tiny baby boy was born, strong as ever, with lungs so powerful they could blow a lark out of a tree. His cries replaced Abigails, but after all that time, everyone was pleased to know the delivery was over, and both parties were healthy and sound. 

The men did eventually pass out, all except two. 

Arthur and John were up till the crack of dawn arguing, and it didn’t look good from an outside perspective. 

You were about to take back towards your tent when you came across them, hurriedly getting out of their line of sight so you could listen without suspicion. You knew you had no right to eavesdrop, but with everything you’ve heard from Abigail concerning John, you were bursting with curiosity in a way that turned your stomach. 

“I don’t see why I need to be convinced otherwise,” John ripped into his dearest friend, and even from behind a wall of tented fabric, you could imagine the look on his face. 

“You’re makin’ a mistake right now, and you ain’t gonna see it until it’s too late.”

“How would you know? S’not like you did any better,” the tone of his voice was bitter, almost. John caught himself, taking a step back and breathing more evenly after his fit of anger. “I didn’t mean that, Arthur… but you oughta know where my head’s at.”

Arthur was silent, and you wished more than anything you could see the look on his face to determine how Marston had gotten to him. Was he saddened or angry? Maybe even confused? You didn’t know, but you didn’t have long to dwell on it. 

“You listen here, boy,” Arthur’s voice sounded threatening, intimidating. It was perhaps the scariest you’ve heard him speak. “You ain’t got no idea what’s comin’ to you if you leave. There will be no place in hell you’ll be able to hide from the decision you’re about to make. It’ll follow you the rest of your days, and haunt you when you’re dead, you understand me?”

John didn’t speak, didn’t answer or even mumble an excuse, he just walked away. He walked towards Abigail’s tent, ducking his head under and closing the front panel. You stood there stunned, afraid to move… but then Arthur came up around the backside of the area and scared the shit out of you. 

“You hear all that?” He asked, a slanted look in his eyes and a distaste for you in his tone. It might be the remnants from his past conversation, but you hate the way it sounds. 

“Arthur,” you caught your breath from the fright he gave you just in time to mumble out an apology. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be listenin’, but Abigail’s been telling me things and I just…”

He managed to huff out one silent breath of a laugh, shaking his head. 

“Don’t be fretin’ on my account, I ain’t mad at you.” 

You sighed in relief, stepping closer to him now that you didn’t feel so burdened. 

“I don’t know him very well, but what I’ve seen… he doesn’t know his head from his ass. Is he really gonna leave?”

“I don’t know,” he started, crossing his arms and letting out a small yawn. He’s just as tired as you are. “I think I just bought a few days, maybe more, but who knows.”

“You think he can change his mind?” You relaxed your demeanor in front of him, but kept your head on a swivel just in case

He was so tired, you felt bad for keeping him awake, but you figured these thoughts were weighing heavy on him, and it might be good to get it off his chest. “He’s far too stubborn to do it on his own. We’d all have to raise hell for him to think badly of his own choices.”

You frowned, turning towards the tent of the new, young family… There were already so many problems in their unit. 

“Poor Abigail.” 

She’d be alone, and with a child to take care of. And meanwhile John would be scott free and having the time of his life.

“She’ll be alright, her and the boy. I’ll make sure of it,” he nodded towards where you were staring. “Around the time he started acting up, I told her I’d marry her, be the kid’s father if she wanted me to.”

Your head snapped around to him, and you processed his words. Abigail told you about part of his offer, because you’d given her the same one, sans one detail…

“You’re gonna marry her?” 

“Only if she wants me to, if John leaves.”

Good to know… but not really. It looks to you like John is pretty set in his ways, even if he ends up staying through the week, or even more. 

You nodded to him, but you hated the notion that he could already be promised to another person, even if you had absolutely no plans on pursuing him yourself. It was a small little envious monster that crawled in the pit of your stomach, and for a split second, you felt yourself resenting Abigail, who thus far, had become your closest friend after Arthur. 

“I actually offered the same,” you laughed, shaking your head and kicking your boot into the ground. “Not that it would last, but I just wanted her to know I was willing to help.”

“The whole gang chips in here and there, bein’ a family and whatnot… She’ll never go without help,” he assured, his posture becoming heavier with each minute passing. 

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat and stretched your arms out, faking a massive yawn that looked real enough to pass you off. “It’s probably time we all turn in, huh?” 

For some reason he seemed vaguely sad for the interaction to be over. 

“Just about… I’ll catch you later, then,” he waved you off, heading back to his wagon and you to your tent. Even though they were relatively close, the entry points were on opposite sides.

You fell back into your cot with a heavy exhale. It’s been a long night, and with a crying baby in the camp, it’s looking to be a long next few months. 

-

The next few days were wonderful, despite the ill attitudes of a few grumbly men, Arthur not included. 

Dutch has been going on and on since the birth of the baby that the newest member should be given a worthy name. You assume he suggested his own namesake a few times, but since he’s been nothing but playful about the whole thing, you know he isn’t too bitter when they do finally settle on a name. 

Abigail picked it out, and you understand why. 

John Marston Jr, or as the two have taken to calling him already, Jack. 

You were surprised to see that waking up in the late afternoon the day of the birth, John was being… really different. He was putting in effort to help Abigail, he was making sure the others knew of all the information as it came, and most importantly, he was being positive about the whole situation. You suppose Arthur did knock some sense into him, and it was evident in how he was carrying himself. 

You weren’t sure how long it would last, but you felt relieved. Not only for Abigail, but selfishly, for yourself. If John sticks around and pulls his weight, Arthur doesn’t need to be tied down to a family. Not that he would ever see it that way, but still. 

You didn’t know where you stood with Arthur. He was a dear friend, you knew you could say that by now. You think that maybe the playful banter between you holds more than just friendship, but you can’t be sure, and you’re too damn chicken to test the waters. And obviously, a plain and simple conversation is entirely out of the question, because of ridiculous reasons you don’t care to list off. 

Maybe you’ll never know, and you’ll always be playing the game of ‘will we, won’t we’, unable to come to a sound conclusion. You think you’d be well enough with that, even if you never settle down with anyone. 

It’s a terrible absolute, and you should have never decided on it, but you think that being open ended and in this endless cycle of banter with Arthur is better than being in a committed relationship with anyone else. It makes the one on one interactions with him that much sweeter, though. Like today, when it was both your turns to watch baby Jack. The others were working on something in the town, and Abigail and some of the women were napping, having taken care of him through the night.

“He might be hungry,” you suggested, laughing at Arthur’s attempt to sooth the wailing infant. 

“I get hungry too, y’never see me cryin’ about it,” he was joking, clearly. He shook his head and reached for the glass bottle Miss Grimshaw had prepared this morning. 

Jack fed on the bottle and stopped crying, and in the aftermath, you paused to watch the scene before you. A big, gruff outlaw, with his hair tousled and shirt out of place from tiny hands fisting at it, and relaxed in his arms, a tiny baby being bottle fed. It was such a contradictory picture, but one you couldn’t tear your eyes away from. 

“Cute,” you mumbled, nearly under your breath, but he heard you. 

“He’s somethin’,” he chuckled, a small smile on his face when mentioning the boy he held so close. Arthur was many things, but amongst them was gentle. He was a kind creature by nature, that had only been hardened by experience, and these soft moments let his internal goodness show. 

“I meant you,” you teased, and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He didn’t even know how to respond for a second. 

“I’m quite the opposite, but I’ll thank you for the thought.”

As tough as he was, and as rightfully boastful over his skill with a weapon or with his bare hands, he seemed to negate himself often. His intelligence, his artistic talent, his looks, even his presence during group gatherings. It saddened you, and you didn’t even know the root of his struggle.

“Why you always doin’ that?” 

“Doin’ what?” he asked, his head tilted to the side and a narrow look on his face. 

“Bein’ mean to yourself…” you answered, sitting down on the other end of the log he was relaxing against. 

What a treat it would be for Arthur to see himself through your eyes. He’d never think poorly of himself again. 

“M’not, just the truth.” 

And that was even sadder. Who on earth ever convinced this man that he wasn’t good enough? Whoever it was, you’d like them to be on the other side of your pistol’s barrel. 

You huffed out a sigh, leaning forward so he didn’t have to strain his neck to look back at you. 

“Y’know it’s too damn bad, I happen to think you’re a pretty decent person. I pity anyone who thinks otherwise,” you spoke firmly, laying it on thick so that maybe he can come to terms with believing you. 

“Is that so?” 

“Mhm, very much so…”

He looked back down at Jack, trying to distract himself from your complimentary onslaught. He didn’t much care for compliments, so he wasn’t even sure how to receive them, if he accepted them at all. He has a very strong belief system, and it’s constantly just a mantra of things like ‘I am a bad man, I do bad things, I am dangerous, I am getting old, I am ugly,’ and so on. He didn’t understand how much he had hurt himself by forming those beliefs in the first place. 

You sat with him in silence for a few minutes, just watching Jack finish the bottle and settle into Arthur’s arm for a nap. He slept a lot for someone that cries through the night. Hearing the soft cries in the night isn’t peaceful, but it’s better than the anxiety and feeling of dread his cries brought you the first day, when John was set on leaving. 

You keep replaying a moment from that morning in your head, when the sun was just over the ridge, and you were heading to your tent… 

“Arthur?” 

“Yeah?” He turned his head again.

“The day he was born… that argument between you and John,” you wanted to make sure you phrased this correctly, unsure if it was a sensitive topic. “He’d apologized for sayin’ something… Sayin’ that you didn’t do any better? What was he talkin’ about?” 

Arthur took a deep inhale and shifted around in his seat, the ground beneath him feeling like it could cave in just at your words. John had struck deep with what he’d said, but having to rehash it, and with you… it wasn’t a thing he’d ever do for fun, to put it nicely. 

“I mean, him talkin’ about leaving Abigail, and you givin’ her your offer… You’re already better than he is.”

“I wasn’t always,” he shook his head. “Holdin’ him like this, it makes me remember just how terrible I am.”

You sank down from the log and scooted closer to him. No one in camp was around to see, so you didn’t bother looking. His eyes got foggy without even going into detail, so you didn’t push… but he seemed to open up on his own. 

“I had a boy when I was John’s age. Same situation n’ all,” he shook his head, trying to keep his sights on the ground in front of him. The longer he held Jack, the worse this feeling got, but he knew it wouldn’t ever go away, not really. Not with a new and constant reminder of his past. “His momma and I, we didn’t get on too well, so I kept with the gang. Didn’t ever come around except when we passed through that town. Could count on two hands the times I saw my own son…”

You didn’t know what to make of this. He has a son? Does he keep contact with him? You’re unsure if you want to know all the details, because hearing it as is, sounds messy. 

“Where does he live?” 

You had no idea that you’d just asked the worst question in response… but how else were you supposed to know? This was the first you’d heard of Arthur’s son. 

“He uh… he died, about three years ago,” Arthur shook his head, swallowing back the lump in his throat, though his teary eyes persisted. “They both did... I came back one day, and found two crosses in the yard. I asked around, townsfolk said a group of robbers came through and raided several homes.”

“Arthur…” you grabbed his arm gently, trying to convey your sympathy, and your sadness. 

“I knew it had been my fault. If I had been there, my son would be alive, his mother, too.” 

A cloud had rolled over the sun, and shrouded in a temporary shade of darkened light, the mood felt heavier than even his words could convey. This man and his layers, being peeled away before you… it was both touching, and terrible. You had no idea a man was capable of feeling so deeply, of being so open about his past and regrets. You’d never seen a man cry before. 

“Issac and Eliza were their names,” he finally looked at you, tears escaping his eyes at a rapid pace. He let them fall, somehow knowing you wouldn’t judge him for it. “And they aren’t here because of me.” 

You gently raised a hand and wiped his cheeks with your thumb, leaving your hand there for as long as he would let you. 

“I’m so sorry, Arthur…” 

Nothing you could say or do would help to heal his wounds, but you wanted to try. Wanted to be there for him, whatever that meant. You and him got on well. You were friends, but there was competition between you, all a part of your banter. You supposed you’d feel inclined to let him win in any circumstance from now on, just because you couldn’t bear to make him upset. Seeing him this way broke your heart, but it also empowered you in some way. To be more empathetic, and kind, and to not let your anger get the better of you. You’ve proven to him in the past that you were a hot head, no pun intended. You would have to be mindful of letting yourself fly off the hinge to him in the future. 

“Even if John doesn’t leave… I swear I’m gonna do right by this boy,” he let out, his voice trembling but his words were of certainty. 

You felt a tear roll down your own cheek, and did nothing to stop it. This moment, whatever it was, you wanted to feel it. Wanted to keep it buried within the depths of your soul. 

You’ve been on the run for four years now, and in those four years, you’ve been on your own, making some sort of fantasy world for yourself where death was just the thing at the end of a duel, and you never had to pay the toll of those losses. 

You’d not been living in reality, and coming to this gang, meeting Arthur… it must have been preordained. It must have been fate. He himself, day by day, was restoring your humanity, and your ability to feel something that wasn’t just a farce.

“Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, but being so close, he heard you clearly. 

He let out a huff that you suppose was meant to be a soft laugh. “You don’t just hear me, Red… you listen to me. I guess I’ll keep on tellin’ you things.”

And soon both your attentions were pulled back to Jack as he stirred slightly. 

You took a turn holding him while Arthur went to grab some food, and you found you rather liked this particular baby. He was a sweet little thing, not so bratty like the tiny cousins you grew up around. You can only hope he’ll stay this sweet as he grows older. 

-

A month had passed, and John was getting more angsty. 

Arthur was honestly surprised he had lasted this long. It seemed impossible that he stuck around, especially when he had to be the one to take a turn with the baby during the night. 

Fights had broken out with various members of the camp, mostly over John and his unwillingness to help anymore. Dutch had chewed him up and spit him out, and after that, John had made up his mind, for certain this time. 

“You ain’t leavin’, just sit down,” Arthur pulled him back by the shoulder, trying to stop him from packing up and saddling his horse.

“What makes you think I would stay with a bunch of folk who hate me?”

“We don’t hate you, you’re bein’ ridiculous. Sit down, we’ll talk about it.” Arthur tried to reach out for him again, but John pulled himself back and out of the way, two steps from the hitching post. “Boy, you’re not goin’ anywhere-”

“I’m leaving!” John burst out, taking Arthur by surprise. This wasn’t just another hissy fit or tantrum where he would eventually let it stew over. He was really gonna do it. “The kid ain’t mine, I counted back. She’s just try’na tie me down, Arthur... I feel for her, but I ain’t stayin.”

“Need I remind you of the price you’re gonna pay?” 

“She’ll be safe with you. The boy, too. I ain’t leavin’ them in incapable hands.”

“But you’re leaving them,” Arthur reasoned, trying his best to make any last effort to save what could have been, but he knew his found brother would not be changing his mind. His only thought at this point was to beg him to stay. If only because he asked. “Don’t do this. They need you, we need you.”

“You don’t need me, Arthur. You’re the better one, always were…” 

“C’mon now, you know that ain’t true. S’just another excuse,” he waved his arms around, trying to emphasize just how stupid it sounded. Yes, it’s all Arthur’s fault that John is leaving. 

John doesn’t even answer Arthur, he just turns heel and readies his horse, all while the older of the two stands by and ridicules him for what he’s about to do. All John can do is tune him out, and pretend he doesn’t hear the distant crying at the other edge of camp, where Susan is trying to console a tired and emotionally devastated Abigail. Their son sleeps in Tilly’s arms, oblivious to anything happening around him, but what’s to come will put a damper on his previously bright future. 

By the time John is on his horse, loaded up and ready to head out, Arthur grabs hold of his leg, yanking it back from the stirrup. He looks to his eyes one more time, to see if there’s any guilt, any resolve, anything that might show he knows what he’s doing is wrong… but he only sees annoyance and pride. Two things John Marston usually wore on his face. 

“If you leave this camp, you best never come back again, ya hear?” 

And for the first time that night, Arthur saw just a shred of fear in the younger man’s eyes. 

“I hear,” he nodded, the fear turning into sadness in this last moment. “It just ain’t worth it no more.”

And with that, he turned his horse, and left the camp. 

Arthur went storming through the camp after the interaction, needing to find himself a drink. 

-

You were angry and rightfully so, stomping back into camp like a bear hunting its prey. Walking up to the campfire, there were only a few left awake. Pearson and Hosea sat, hunched over and with half full whiskey bottles in their hands. Probably from the stolen stash, the brand was decent.

“Anyone seen Arthur?” You asked them both, knowing that at least Hosea could tell you. 

“He passed out ages ago,” He nodded towards his covered wagon near the trees and rocks separating your space. “John left camp tonight.”

“I know, I caught him outside the saloon,” you sat down by them, reaching out for either bottle they were willing to hand over. “Gimme some of that, will ya?”

And of course, drinking was the solution at the end of the day. 

After a while, Pearson dragged himself to bed, leaving you and Hosea to sit and stew by the fire, milling about your tumultuous thoughts. You should have known he’d ask for details of your run in with John. 

“I was out scouting today… realized I needed to go to town for a pair of socks, mine got holes too big for sewin’,” you began, gaze trapped on the fire, the alcohol making it harder to focus on anything else at once. “Came outside and found him hitchin’ his horse.”

“You were the one who approached him, then?” 

“I thought about just wavin’, I thought I’d be seein’ him back here… but then I looked at his saddle. He was packed up for the trek of a million miles,” you sighed, taking another big swig of the pricey whiskey in your hand. You would finish the bottle in no time if you kept up like this, trying to quench your raging thirst for something strong and potent.

“What did you say to him?” 

“Nothing really, not at first. Just asked how the day had been, how Abigail was. I haven’t been here since this morning. I guess they started fighting real bad after I left. Dutch tore into him, too,” you spoke heavily, suddenly the swigs you were slamming back were making you a bit less understandable. Hosea though, was easily able to listen, because after years of Arthur’s drunk slurring, and having to make out sentences between, he was practically an expert. “All I said was that he shouldn’t leave, because he’ll regret it.”

“And I suppose that didn’t help.”

“Nah, he just told me where to shove it. I think he’s scared… not of the kid, and not of Abigail. I think he doesn’t wanna end up like his father. Arthur’s told me something about it, but in my opinion, he’s trying to get out before the resentment turns to abuse n’ all that.”

“I reckon you're right. We all told him time and again he’d be a good father, but he’s stubborn as they come, and when his mind’s made up… there’s no stopping that boy.” Hosea shook his head once more, his sadness reflecting in the light of the fire. 

“I guess Arthur’s gonna marry Abigail, now…” you knew you were just trailing into your thoughts, and that while getting more drunk, you shouldn’t be saying them out loud… but you couldn’t help it. Selfishly, on your ride back to camp, this is all you thought about. 

“He offered, it’s up to Abigail to accept,” he said gently, raising his brows in thought as well. He doesn’t see it as a good match, but he thinks it’s honorable that Arthur would do such a thing. 

“I hope she doesn’t,” you murmured quietly, but it seems he still heard you. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing, m’just gettin’ drunk.”

He chuckled under his breath, his side eye remaining on your features just a while longer before he stood up, patting you on the shoulder. 

“Don’t drink too much more. You’ll pass out before making the trip to your tent.”

And then he left you alone. With your thoughts and a bottle of whiskey in hand, who knows what more you could do in a situation like this. It was better to cut your losses and just turn in… so you did. 

Laying down on your cot, you expected sleep to take you. It should have, given how tired you were, but the single notion kept echoing in your head over and over…

Arthur Morgan isn’t mine, and he never was.

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo

[nadjabea]

Crowley and Aziraphale never broke up. The conversation we (believe to) see in the end is not the conversation they had.

Aziraphale and Crowley play their own game of spionage and sabotage - and talk about it while we all are watching.

Edit 10/22/23: This analysis needs to be updated because there is more evidence of the body swap and because of that some of my interpretations what they REALLY say is much more precise. Will do it soon.

My point is: Aziraphale communicated a plan in the confession scene – in the subtext. And it culminated in a full body switch.

How? They have thousands of years of practice of talking and signaling their next steps to each other in a way that would not be noticed by any bystander, even less by their respective headoffices. We have seen this in the Job minisode.

They use body language, signs and references to films, songs, everything their head offices won't understand because they lack the earthly knowledge.

Maybe Aziraphale and Crowley even had a back up plan before the Metatron entered the scene. Why I got this notion? Because after their conversation in the bar about Jane Austen, Aziraphale has adapted Crowley’s notion of Austen as a spy and the mastermind behind a bank robbery. Doesn’t this seem odd for the owner of a book shop? (There is this interesting theory of Crowley planning a heist and the turtle neck being Crowley’s “spy dress” by @justhereforthemeta

So here is my analysis/interpretation of the conversation they had.

Note: I am not a native English speaker, I am German. This might of course influence my interpretation of the conversation.

-> After he spoke to the Metatron, Aziraphale comes back to the bookshop and plays happy.

Just as Crowley starts to talk – Aziraphale knows he has to interrupt him.

Aziraphale's hands sign: Stop! First, he tries it soft, watches out of the window to indicate: "We are under supervision!" As Crowley doesnt pick it up, Aziraphale lifts his hands in front of his chest. So they are more visible. Still: Crowley does'nt get it.

Aziraphale: I have some incredibly good news. Uhm The Metatron. I don’t think he is as bad a fellow. Um. I think I might have misjudged him. (Incredibly good news! My ass! Look at my face. Do I look happy? THE METATRON!!! Be aware! He is much worse than I thought!”

While Aziraphae plays the happy and exited angel, he signs "Time out!". His smile is forced. He points into direction of heaven, looks out of the window and hopes Crowley will pick up: "SOS! We need a time out because we have to talk without heaven listening."

But Crowley is like a steam train: He is on his track to confess and does'nt get Aziraphale's distress.

Aziraphale parafrases the talk with the metatron. His body language indicates he is stressed, again and again he turns into the direction of window, his eyes are forced open. Crowley still does'nt get it.

Crowley: He said what?

Aziraphale: He said, I could appoint YOU (tumps to Crowley) to be an angel (it seems that Aziraphale's thumps point to himself). You could come back to heaven and everything. Like in the old times (the old times when we had to pretend to be apart, but in reality worked together and did each other’s work without heaven or hell noticing).

(I don’t think that Aziraphale refers to the pre-fall times because I don’t think Crowley and Aziraphale spent much time together than. Crowley was probably more a loner “minding his own business” or hang out with the wrong group, Lucifer and the gang. Aziraphale would have been much too afraid to spend time around the trouble maker angels.)

Aziraphale: Only even nicer (You know that I know that you hate nice! Come on, get it!)

As Aziraphale gets on with his “excitement” about the new job, Crowley still don’t seem to get the subtext. After Crowley tells him he said no to hell, Aziraphale escalates: He falls back to their "Kayfebe", their way to play that they are along the "party line". (For more on Kayfebe read this post of @nautilicious).

Aziraphae „But heaven. It’s the side of truth, of light, of good.“ Looks obviously into direction of the window as he plays a sharade for the metatron. (Crowley, you know that we settled for shades of grey! Get it, we are under attack! )

Crowley (still doesn’t get it): When heaven ends life here on earth it will be just as dead as if hell ended it. Tell me you said No.

Aziraphael turns his head into the direction of the window to show Crowley they are being observed.

Crowley: Tell me you said no.

Crowley starts to realise that they are in danger but still does not pick up the immediate threat from the Metatron. So he starts his confession but changes it to propose to run away. > You only need to run away if there is someone hunting you. So at least, he gets that now.

During Crowley's statement Aziraphale shakes his head. (we wil not be able to outrun heaven)

Aziraphale: Come with me. (Pause) To heaven. I’ll run it, you will be my second in command. (Crowley, follow my plan: Ill will run this command, you will be my agent in heaven.)

As a non native speaker I looked up the synonyms for “second in command”. They list “substitute”, “replacement” “sub-agent” and “agent”. Agent! Here we are with our spionage story. Jane Austen, the spy, smuggler and mastermind behind a bank robbery.

Crowley: You cant leave this bookshop. (Okay, I get what you mean. But, no, we cant be separeted! you cant leave me on my own - in (an ambessy of) heaven. - Another interpretation: It cant be you who leaves. You have to stay here. )

Aziraphale: Oh, Crowley, nothing lasts forever.

I think this is a code phrase of them. It might refer to a song which was in the charts in 1966/67:

“Nothing last forever” sung by Margaret Whiting, who was already popular in the 1940s.

These are the lyrics:

Now you're down and broken hearted

you have lost your lucky star

You are sure you have no future

You don't know how wrong you are.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter

Baby just you wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever...wait and see.

Now you've lost your only lover

Now your dreams are torn in two

You are sure you'll live in darkness

But the sun's gonna shine for you.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter

Baby just you wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever...wait and see.

Now you've got an inch to go

If you still be a mile

Now the bidder's calling you

Capture this to a smile

Now what seemed eternity

Was the sun in a while.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter

Baby just you wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever...wait and see.

Wait and see.

Wait and see.

Wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter

Baby just you wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter (fade)

Somehow I can imagine that Crowley liked this song and they listened to it together in the bookshop. So he knows the lyrics - and gets what Aziraphale tries to tell him.

Crowley: No. No. Don’t suppose it does.

He puts on his glasses to hide his tears but also because now he has to pretend. And he has the need to cover his eyes when he lies. You can see this in the 1941 minisode. While he watches Aziraphale perform the coin trick, Crowley led his glasses slide down his nose and you can see his eyes. But the second he starts lying to Aziraphale about him being a professional magician Crowley puts his glasses up und covers his eyes.

So Crowley starts to go along with Aziraphale's plan, plays to be reluctant - which he probably still is. He doesn’t want to go to heaven, considers Aziraphales plan probably to be a - to use the German expression - “Himmelfahrtskommando” which means literally “a squat that goes to heaven = a suicide squat) - Another interpretation: Maybe he doesnt want Aziraphale to go to heaven?

Crowley: Good luck.

Aziraphale: Crowley, come back. Work with me (I have got a plan, trust me and work with me). We can be together. Angels (you can have my body. So you will be an angel.) Doing good (saving earth and us) - I need you. – I don’t think you understand what I am offering you (Are you really that daft?)

Crowley: I understand. And I understand a whole lot better than you do. (Heaven, hell, I have been there. And it is me that has to go to heaven now. And I don’t like it. - And it's you that will go to hell instead of me. And I dont like it either)

Aziraphale: Well, than there is nothing more to say. (If you understand that I am offering you to posses my body, than do it)

Crowley: Do you hear that?

Aziraphale: I don’t hear anything. (Come on!)

Crowley: That’s the point. No nightingales (neither in heaven nor in hell).

“No nightingales” can have several meanings.

a) It's their song. The symbol of their love. There is no love in heaven, nor in hell.

b) The nightingale sings to protect clandestine love. Now they are not any longer under the protection of the night and the nightingale. Their love is laid open and we know what happened to Romeo and Juliet when the nightingale stopped singing.

c) Someone here on tumblr pointed to a novel called “No nightingales”. There is movie from 1947 that is based on this novel. In Wikipedia you can find this synopsis:

“In the 18th Century, Burlap and Kelsoe are officers in the army of Queen Anne who have recently retired and purchased a house on Berkeley Square. At a house-warming party the pair speculate how to win the war however they learn that the Duke of Marlborough has other plans that will lead to the Battle of Malplaquet. Believing the battle will end in slaughter they hatch a plan to capture Marlborough and hold him prisoner until the threat of hostilities passes. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Ghosts_of_Berkeley_Square

Problem is: They are not at all competent and get killed bevor they could prevent the war. So they are cursed to be ghosts until a member of the royal family visits their house.

So could they plan the kidnapping of the Metatron or even God herself? Hold that thought! I definitly will think about that as a plot for season 3.

Crowley: You idiot. We could have been US. (Why did you have to get yourself associated with Gabriel? We could have led our own lifes, in our own bodies)

The kiss - and the body swap /posession

It is not a kiss to show they love each other, it is a kiss to mask the body possession, they exchange their essences

@doctorscienceknowsfandom has laid down already a lot of hints and signs Neil Gaiman planted in the open in the meta "Banana Fish Gorilla Shoelace with a dash of nutmeg" that Crowley and Aziraphale changed bodies.

@lonicera-caprifoliumhas some more hints.

Here are even more points that indicate: they have changed.

When the kiss ends "Aziraphale" cries und when "Crowley" leaves he touches his lips and his hands are shaking.

Several people already pointed out the face, the movement of the jaw and so on: This is Michael Sheen’s Crowley. I think the shaking and the tears are another hint that this is Crowley. Why? Until now we have only seen the hands of one of them shaking on screen: Crowley’s, in the 1941 minisode. Crowley’s hands are shaking if he is under pressure, and overwhelmed. Aziraphale on the other side seems to get nerves of steal when he has to perform (his tricks only work when it counts).

There are even more hints that they have changed their bodies:

“Crowley” is standing upright at the Bentley. He doesn’t move his body, he doesn’t move his face. Something that is so NOT Crowley, who is always in motion.

Also: Remember the first episode when Crowley and Aziraphale fought over Gabriel. Aziraphale told Crowley that he can leave when he doesn’t want to help and Crowley couldn’t contain his rage about that. He was fuming and throwing lightnings – all visible in the middle of the street, surrounded by humans (!). All because of a fight that – in retrospective – was much less threatening to their relationship and their lives.

In a script there is nothing without meaning. And I can’t discover any other meaning for the scene in which Crowley throws lightnings after a fight with Aziraphale than to show that the scene in the end was not a fight.

Hence: There is no way that the real Crowley would be that calm in the last scene. Crowley has much less control over his emotions than Aziraphale.

And even if it was Crowley at the Bentley and managed calmly to watch Aziraphale leave. He would not be able to contain himself after Aziraphale was in the lift. Once in his car (his save space) he would release his anger and pain. Crying, shouting, maybe even hitting the steering wheel, he would drive away as fast as possible screaming at an invisible Aziraphale because this might give him some relive.

But what do we see? A very contained demon.

Next evidence: The colour code of Aziraphale (yellow) and Crowley (red):

When “Aziraphale” is on screen people wear red. When “Crowley” is on screen a lot of people in yellow pass.

And even the plants in the Bentley appear to have changed to yellow. Bonus: A yellow flower blooms behind “Crowley”. Hence: It has to be Aziraphale.

So: Why would Neil Gaiman use the same trick twice?

Because it isn’t the same trick.

In S1 they changed their appearance. Aziraphale presenting as Crowley is still an angel. Therefore immune against holy water. Crowley presenting as Aziraphale is still a demon, immune against hellfire.

But this time, I think, they really posses the body of the other (wow, they really have come a long way from “What a pity you cant have my body” – “Angel, demon, probably would explode” ).

So, what does this mean? Angel and demons are from the same flock. It is impossible to distinguish them, except for the marks on their bodies. Now Aziraphale is indistinguishable able from the other demons, Crowley indistinguishable from the other angels.  

This raises the stakes when it comes to “The Second Coming”.

And this explains Crowleys worried face: He knew about the planes for Armaggedon 2.0,the destruction of earth.

The "Second Coming" is different. It is about judgement.

In the end everyone is going to be judged. The righteous will go to heaven, the other are cast away, extint. So what about an angel in the body of a demon? You see where I am heading ...

There is a lot to explore. The concept of "pretend to be good" and "properly good" and much much more. I will write about it another time.

Now I am curious: Am I delusional? Cant I just cope with the break up? What do think? Tell me you views. Let us discuss.

[quitealotofsodapop]

I don't think Wukong might have been wearing his armor. At least not the famous armor he's known for. Considering he was supposedly asleep when the Thrall took Wukong's egg, he was likely wearing either his standard outfit or something closer to sleep wear (which tbh could just be his standard outfit without the chest plate, shoes, and the waist wrappings) and I think it's implied the outfit got destroyed into he fight with the Thrall, or at least heavily damaged

Prev.

I thought about this after I made the post + this other anon ask;

And now I'm imagining a whole Heist-style episode where the Monkie Kids (MK, Mei Peaches, and Sandy) come together to plan a heist on the Megapolis Police Department in order to get the Monkey King's armor back.

Peaches and MK see it as a perfect opportunity to flex their transformation abilities. Peaches takes the form of Monkey Cop while MK is his loyal Deputy. Mostly cus it would be a lot easier a "tutorial mission" to transform into a slightly-different monkey than a whole new animal.

The heist has issues of course

Mei is diguised as a speedster doing dangerous driving so the bros can get through. Sandy is posted outside in the van as their handler ("I've seen the inside of this place before a bunch of times! They know my face.").

Hijinks ensue as you can imagine. Lots of speech checks need to be passed. Key cards and passwords borrowed to access the files + evidence locker. Turns out the layout has changed since Sandy last got arrested, so they end up in the wrong room at some point - for some reason I'm imagining a retirement/birthday party for an actual police officer.

The gang suddenly has a strike of moral dilemmia, and Peaches/Wukong decides to just walk up to the front desk as himself and ask for the evidence taken when he was picked up those 18 years ago.

And... they give it to him.

Turns out the cop he befriended at the retirement party was the officer on that case. The cop seems to know "Peaches" is something else but decides it none of his business as long as no crime has been broken. (The kids laugh nervously in Heist-mode)

The gang happily run home with the evidence box, excited to show Tang and Dadsy the Monkey King's armor.

Only for....

Macaque, unimpressed: "Wukong. Those are your pyjamas."

Peaches/Wukong, holding whats obviously not armor: "Waa??"

Macaque points out that the "armor" is no more than linen cloth with no ornamentation or protective padding. Likely whatever event led to him losing his memory occured when the Monkey King was snoozing. His real armor is probably back on FFM in his hut.

Macaque: "Also, if you needed to steal something from the police; why didn't just ask me to do it?"

The gang: (*avoid his gaze all embarassed*)

They still keep the pyjamas though - it's the Monkey King's pyjamas after all.

Macaque's nose curls as he recognises a scent on the fabric. A dead, cold scent....

[libraford]

So I have a question about your outlining process for your books? How detailed do you get in your outlines?

I am trying to go back to a book I started 6 years ago but had to stop cause my daughter was born and yikes this outline is almost 40 pages long cause I got super detailed.

You're gonna hate this.

My initial outlines max at like five sentences. Really, sometimes it's not even an outline, it's a title page from Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

Start thinking about the scenario that excites you the most. The situation you wanna put your blorbos in.

"The flower shop gang does a wedding."

Then add conflict

"The flower shop gang does a wedding, but the client is a bridezilla."

Then add details.

"The flower shop gang does a wedding, but the client is a bridezilla and a series of complications with the project creates friction between friends, and they have to resort to shenanigans to make things right."

Add another layer.

"The flower shop gang does a wedding, but the client is a bridezilla and a series of complications with the project creates friction between friends, and they have to resort to shenanigans to make things right. But little do they know that the venue is targeted for a heist."

Start with a broad strokes statement of the plot and then narrow it down. When you go through the outline you have, ask yourself questions like "is this part of the plot or is this character development?" "Plot or world building?" "Plot or magic system?" "Plot or in-world politics."

Then take that broad strokes description and add some Pratchett asterisks.

"The flower shop gang* does a wedding,** but the client*** is a bridezilla and a series of complications¹ with the project creates friction between friends, and they have to resort to shenanigans² to make things right. But little do they know that the venue³ is targeted for a heist."

*a demigod, a thief, and a jack of all trades (see character sheet)

** high-stakes celebrity wedding

*** beauty pageant queen, see character sheet

¹a volcano eruption in Peru cuts the orchid supply

²some magic nonsense, see world building section C

³a huge public garden that includes a hedge maze, but also a historical landmark- see map on page 10.

Like, I totally get having a ton of world building. I have a binder full of random info that fits into my fiction worlds. But for the sake of sorting out the plot and actually getting to the actual writing part- keep the outline vague.

At least that's what works for me. Truthfully, Damn Good Party started because I wanted to see my gang of losers steal copious amounts of cake at a wedding expo and see what happened next.

[annymation]

Reimagining the Characters in Wish

(Part 4- The 7 teens)

Yup, you read that right, I’m rewriting AAAAALL these fellas, or rather, just giving more substance to them because as they were in the movie we barely got CHARACTERS, just a 7 dwarfs reference, heck, I doubt y’all remember their names.

If you’re new here, hi, I’m rewriting all the characters in Wish before I start sharing my rewrite, here’s part 1, part 2 and part 3.

Now you may wonder, why am I even keeping the concept of the 7 teens in my rewrite, when just scrapping them all together would make my life so much easier instead of writing lines of dialogue and character motives to all of them?

Well the answer is that I like to make myself suffer I think they actually have a lot of potential, and I really like their designs.

Sooo lets meet the gang.

Who are the 7 teens?

So in my rewrite, the 7 teens will be a little bit more than just Asha’s best friends. Because each one of them will be the sons and daughters of some members of the royal staff.

I’ll be specifying in this blog the following things about each one of them:

- Their personality.

- Who their parents are.

- How they met Asha.

- What purpose will they serve in the story.

So buckle up because this blog might get a lil bit long hahaha I regret this already.

Dahlia 🍪

- Dahlia is a 17 year old girl, she has mobility issues, so she has to use a crutch to walk.

- She’s very organized and proactive, always doing her best to get things done. She’s often the one who takes the lead when planning things for her friends such as surprise birthday parties or deciding where to hang out (or whatever teenagers did back then aside from dying from the plague).

- She has an habit of making lists with the step by step of everything she has planned, which her friends find pretty amusing. Her ideas always turn out to be a lot of fun, although she really needs to learn how to let go of this need of control and just let things play out naturally.

(She’s kinda like Twilight Sparkle… this will not be the last time I’ll mention a My Little Pony character in this blog)

- Sometimes when things don’t go according to plan or she gets anxious she starts stuttering and replacing words

(much like how Doc from Snow White did constantly, I’m shocked they didn’t reference that once in the movie, it’s such an awkward teenager thing to do)

“Asha! We shook— I mean LOOKED everywhere for you la-last night! Why would you fun- I MEAN RUN away from the hackle like that??”

“… I think you mean castle-“

“YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT”

- But overall she’s a very kind and supportive friend to Asha, something they both have in common is that they enjoy working hard to achieve their goals, even though Dahlia still wants to give her wish for the king.

- I might’ve made her come off as a bit of a control freak but really she’s very easygoing and kind. Even when things don’t go according to plan she knows anything with her friends will be fun and work out in the end.

Even if what doesn’t go according to plan is a heist mission to infiltrate the castle?

She’s the daughter of the royal cooks

- Her mother is the royal baker and her father is the royal lead chef.

- They both work in the castle, and Dahlia sometimes goes with them to lend a hand when they’re short staffed or to learn the family business.

- Dahlia has witnessed first hand how the royal couple can be not so sweet when they’re away from the public eyes:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

King Magnifico: Diner yesterday was absolutely dreadful, what happened? Have I granted your wish to be the greatest chef in the land for nothing?

Dahlia’s father: m-my deepest apologies sire, you see, the queen took all the salt from our storage yesterday to make her potions so-

King Magnifico: Blaming my wife for your incompetence now, I see

Dahlia’s father: n-no! I’d neve-

King Magnifico: If you got no salt, find a work around, I’ll not be accepting any less than the finest meals from you, was I clear? Dismissed.

Dahlia: … Dad, that wasn’t your fault, you can’t let him talk to you like that.

Dahlia’s father: He’s the king, Dahlia, he’s always right. Besides, it’s thanks to him granting my wish that I know how to cook at all, the least I can do is not disappoint him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- Because she got to see this behavior, it’s easier for her to believe when Asha tells her the king and queen’s true colors.

- She’s expected to follow her parent’s foot steps, and become a great cook, but all she really knows how to bake is cookies.

- She sees cooking a lot more as a past time than something she’ll be doing for the rest of her life, but she doesn’t want to let her parents down, she keeps trying to develop some interest in cooking, so she can wish to be a great cook once she turns 18

(Just wishing for it without having truly the interest in cooking wouldn’t work, because a wish has to be something that you really want and comes from the bottom of your heart)

She was the first one that met Asha

- Dahlia was helping her mom sell her baking goods to the neighborhood, so she went all by herself with a little cart carrying a bunch of sweets (like a Girl Scout)

- She knocked on Asha’s house and was greeted by lil 6 year old Asha with her grandpa, they bought some sweets, but as she was walking away Asha noticed she was having some trouble carrying the cart while walking with her crutch.

- Asha looked at her grandfather who gave her a reassuring nod.

- Asha offered to help Dahlia carry the cart.

- They talked while they walked door to door for a while, and after there were no more sweets in the cart they went to play together, and that’s how they became best friends.

She will be the leader

- I mentioned briefly in my blog about reimagining Asha that after her grandfather passed away she started living with Dahlia, so they’re basically sisters, and as such, Dahlia is very protective of Asha and becomes increasingly worried when Asha starts acting weird after her meeting with the king and queen, like she’s hiding something… and why the heck she has a friend that dresses up like a prince now?

- There will be a point in the middle of the story where Asha and Aster run away from the kingdom

(for reasons that I really should explain soon because the whole middle chunk of this rewrite is yet to be shared on Tumblr, I’m so sorry, I’ll get to writing it here soon)

- And Asha is seen now as a traitor, so, the 7 teens are conflicted.

- Should they believe their king, who says that Star guy is dangerous and Asha was plotting to betray them? Or should they trust their best friend?

- Dahlia is the first one who rises up saying they should go after Asha and help her, pack their stuff, tell their parents they’re going to make a sleepover or something, and just go to the middle of the woods.

- Everyone is a little unsure at first (specially Gabo and Simon) but after she gives them a little speech and reminds everyone of all the things Asha did for them, they’re convinced to go.

- Once they do find Asha and Aster, she helps a lot when they have to make a plan on how to defeat the royal couple.

Simon 💤

- Simon is a 21 year old young man, the oldest of the group, and since the day he gave way his wish he hasn’t been the same.

- Simon used to be very energetic and hard working, now, he’s in a constant feel of exhaustion that doesn’t go away, no matter how much he sleeps, he doesn’t feel motivated to do anything.

- His friends are very understanding tho and every time they hang out they always bring a pillow in case he needs a nap (which he always does need).

- They assume Simon has been so exhausted since he turned 18 because after that his father has been more demanding of him and his training, we’ll talk more about that later.

- Even tho he’s overwhelmed with sleepiness, Simon is still very protective and caring with his friends, he always tries his best to stay awake when they’re having fun together, he doesn’t want to miss a moment with them.

- He was even more protective before he turned 18 of course, he was like the older brother of the group, but since now he’s way too sleepy to be the voice of reason, that role is now Asha’s, the second oldest.

He’s the son of the captain of the royal guard

- The training I mentioned before was sword fighting, horse walking, navigation, tactics and a bunch of other exhausting things.

- But for whaaaateveeer reason Simon has lost all interest in learning about them since the day he gave away his wish, gosh I wonder what that wish wa— It’s the same that it was in the movie.

- Simon wished to become the next captain of the royal guard, just like his dad, so he can make him proud and protect his friends.

(Omg Simon is Papyrus Undertale confirmed)

- Magnifico is waiting for Simon’s dad to pass away so he can grant Simon’s wish, can’t have 2 captains of the royal guard at the same time, now can he?

- The tragic irony of it all is that a wish that Simon made to make his family proud just made him become an embarrassment to his father, who now doesn’t even try to teach him anything, knowing his son is just gonna fall asleep during his lessons.

- Simon is very distressed by all this, deep down he knows that he might feel this way because, for whatever reason, the king hasn’t granted his wish yet

- Whenever he tries to explain that to his father tho, he just angrily cuts him off for even daring to question or blame the king for his own failures, saying he must always be loyal and thankful to the king… Always.

(His father is mean like that because he wished to be the king’s most trusted and loyal knight so he literally is incapable of questioning Magnifico, even if that means he hurts his son in the process)

- After getting these speeches from his father so many times Simon just accepted that the problem was him, and it definitely wasn’t the king’s fault

- However, Asha did suspect that Simon’s wish wasn’t granted, just like how her grandfather’s wish wasn’t either, she recognized how Simon shared a lot of behavior patterns with her grandfather.

“You know Simon… Maybe you should ask the king if your wish was granted at all, don’t you think? You haven't been acting like yourself for 3 years now”

“What? Oh no no no I… I shouldn’t bother him with something so silly, I mean, of course he granted my wish… And if he didn’t then he must have his reasons and I just gotta wait haha but it doesn’t matter either way, after all I’m totally fine… I’m fine…”

Simon is the only one in the group who has absolutely no criticism about the king.

He was the second one that met Asha

- Simon was 10 when he started training sword fighting on his backyard, he’d use some scare crows as his opponents, and he made some wood swords by himself.

- Asha and Dahlia were hanging out when they saw Simon training, Asha thought it seemed fun so she asked if she could play too.

- Simon really could use some more lively opponents so yeah, why not?

- They played sword fighting the whole afternoon while Dahlia cheered for Asha and joined in the fun too.

- Since then they were very close friends and Simon taught Asha how to properly sword fight during their preteen years… they haven’t done that in a while now.

He’ll be the traitor

- Yup, oh sweet sleepy lil Simon betrays them in my version too, but don’t worry, it’s not just because he wants to get his wish granted like it was in the movie

(because that was a jerk move that made Simon feel very unlikable, like I get it he’s constantly exhausted and depressed and wants it to go away but bruh couldn’t even look guilty when doing it)

- So, like I mentioned, they all go after Asha and Aster in the forest. Simon at first is very resistant and the others even say it’s okay if wants to stay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dahlia: It’s okay Simon, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.

Gabo: OH SURE! I’m a jerk for calling this a suicide mission, but the strongest and oldest of the group not wanting to go is completely understandable, I see how it is.

Simon: …hmm

Dahlia: Simon’s case is different Gabo, if his dad realizes he’s missing then we might have even more guards on our tail.

Safi: Besides, Simon might be a liability.

Simon:… what’s that supposed to mean?

Safi: Ah… shoot- eh you know like… it’s getting pretty late and you didn’t get a nap this afternoon so—

Gabo: He means we can’t carry you through the woods like a sleeping beauty waiting for a kiss, Simon.

Simon:…

Hal: Wow Gabo, very classy (sarcastic)

Gabo: Hey, just saying what we’re all thinking-

Simon: I’m going.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- Simon decides he has to go because someone has to be there to protect his friends, not just from the woods, but most importantly from that star guy the king warned everyone about

- May seem contradictory that Simon believes both in the king and Asha, but truth is that he’s holding up hope that this is all some big misunderstanding and Asha just misunderstood something the king said, or she’s being brainwashed by that star, or anything else.

- He just can’t accept that the king is truly evil.

- So, when they’re packing up their things to go, Simon grabs a little something from his father’s room.

- A magic mirror, used only by the king’s most trusted knights, that gives direct contact to the king's study.

- He planed to just use it in case that they needed help if they found out the star was really harming Asha.

- However, once they did find Asha and Aster, it became undeniably clear that the star wasn’t harmful at all, which left Simon very confused.

“Maybe the book the king read about wishing stars was wrong, I should just explain to him that he made a mistake!”

(Oh poor naive boy)

- After planning how they’d defeat the king and save the wishes, Simon just lied saying he was gonna take a nap behind a tree, and thus, he entered in contact with the king and queen

- Magnifico at first dismisses Simon like he’s just messing with his father’s stuff until Simon mentions he knows where Asha and the star are, that peaks his interest, but he and Amaya disguise their enthusiasm perfectly by pretending to be worried for his safety.

“Oh my, are you alright? Has it done anything to you? Where are you? We can send help immediately”

- He says they’re fine, and tries to explain that maybe the king was wrong about star, and there has been some misunderstanding that lead to Asha thinking they were bad people, if they just talked things out everything would go back to normal.

- Like I mentioned in part 2, one of Magnifico’s abilities is hypnosis through eye contact, so he’s able to make Simon see things his way.

- He manipulates Simon into thinking that the star is tricking all of them to get to the wishes, and the only way for Simon to save them is doing EXACTLY what Magnifico says.

- He asks Simon to tell him what their plans are, so he can stop them from… doing anything they might regret.

- Simon, even under the influence of Magnifico’s power, is still conflicted and asks if his friends will be in trouble after this is all over.

“Trouble? Oh heaves no, dear boy, I wouldn’t dream on letting any harm come to them, trust me, your friends will be perfectly safe… If you do as I say.”

“… “if”?…”

“Enough chit chat, now, what are they plotting exactly? Don’t leave any details”

- Of course, Magnifico also offers to grant Simon's wish if everything goes according to plan, Simon is fully convinced.

- Simon agrees to lock his friends in a room during their invasion to the castle, the king convinced him that's the best way to keep them “safe” (Asha will be locked in a different room tho, for… reasons)

- But once he does lock them up, he hears his friends screaming and arguing with him through the door, eventually he has a change of heart and lets them go, so they can stop the king and queen together.

- Simon first betrayed his friends, but then he betrayed the king, and as he’ll find out in a very painful way… Magnifico really doesn’t like being betrayed.

(See what I did there? That’s a line Magnifico says in the Wish movie hehe… okay moving on)

Gabo 😡

- Gabo is a 17 year old teen, he’s also a little person.

- He’s a menace to society the brutally honest of the group, always with a sarcastic remark on the tip of his tongue, sometimes they’re funny, sometimes they’re way too harsh, but he often apologizes if he goes too far, he doesn’t mean to hurt people, being blunt is just how he expresses himself.

- You may wonder why his friends even hang out with him if he’s so… grumpy all the time, well, his friends understand that he has a lot of pent-up anger inside because of personal stuff, so they try to help him through it.

- He also has a more soft side to him, he can be very wise for his age when his friends need some advice, and he’s always loyal, even when they disagree, he’d go anywhere they go.

- He’s specially loyal and supportive to Asha and most of the time refrains from throwing shade at her, actually he’s mostly just blunt when talking to the guys, he’s a lot more respectful to the girls.

(Ironic considering Grumpy hated Snow White at first just because she was a girl lmao)

He’s the son of a soldier

- His father is just a random soldier, nothing special really.

- However, once when Gabo was a kid, he was visiting the castle with his father and he wanted to explore, so he sneakily grabbed his father’s keys to the dungeons and went to see how was it like, ya know, boys will be boys.

- He got in, and at first there wasn’t nothing out of the ordinary, just your average scary dark and gloomy dungeon… except that by the end of a hall, full of empty jail cells, there was a door.

- And he could hear someone screaming from behind that door, like they were pleading, and he saw light coming from the key hole… It looked like the king’s magic, except it was green instead of blue.

- He tried to use the keys to open it, but none of them worked.

“Ugh why don’t any of these keys work??”

“Because this area is forbidden, little one”

- He turned around quickly to see who was behind him, and there she was, the queen was smiling down at him, a sweet and tender smile, like she wasn’t hearing the sounds of desperate cries coming from behind the door.

“I- sorry your majesty but umm… it sounds like someone is in trouble in there, shouldn't we help?”

- Then he heard the distinct sound of something made of glass breaking, and suddenly… silence, no more crying, no more screaming, and no more light coming from the door.

“I don’t hear anything my sapling, poor thing, you must be imagining things. Now, why don’t you just hurry along back to your father? He’s looking for you… And remember, this is our little secret~”

- And Gabo never told this to anyone, he knows no one would believe him.

(If you’re wondering what was going on behind that door… let’s just say there’s STILL more evil stuff Magnifico does that I couldn’t fit in my blog about the villains, what’s that you ask? *maniacal laugh* I’ll let you guess)

- Gabo always had the feeling that there was something WRONG with Rosas, but he couldn't quite pin point what, and that experience in the dungeon made him start questioning if the smiles he saw plastered on the king and queen's faces everyday were real or fake.

- This feeling that there was something wrong but there was nothing he could do about it made him, for a lack of a better word, grumpy a lot of the time.

- Needles to say, when Asha explained that the king and queen were actually evil, Gabo believed in a heartbeat.

- Because he’s a little person, Gabo is not expected to follow his father’s foot steps, and that makes him furious, because he wishes he could be seen as strong like he sees himself, but he’s constantly underestimated and treated like a kid.

He was the third one to met Asha

- During a kite festival in the kingdom, Dahlia, Simon and Asha were flying their kite when they noticed a boy sitting down on the grass, next to a broken kite.

- The boy looked very grumpy, so Asha tried offering him a hug, Gabo quickly pushed her away, saying he wanted to be left alone.

- Simon and Dahlia suggested they should just leave him be, but Asha insisted they should just give him some time to calm down.

- They sat a little bit far away from Gabo and started to just talk. Gabo appreciated that even though Asha didn’t even know him she was willing to wait for him to get some alone time and try to reach out for him later, most people just walked away when he had his anger episodes.

- After a few minutes, he got up and asked if he could play with them.

He will be the comedy relief, and the straightforward voice of reason

- Comedy relief is also an important role in a story, to alleviate the the tension and just be that one character that gives more contradictory remarks, otherwise everyone just agrees with each other and really where’s the fun in that?

- Also, after they figure out Simon betrayed them, he’d be the one who snaps Simon out of the idea that the king is a good person, throwing some facts to his face and like, not sugarcoating it, just straight up calling Simon out for being a dirty traitor, an awful friend and an absolute idiot, which may seem harsh but was exactly what Simon needed to hear to realize he was making a mistake.

- Like, Simon just opens the door apologizing in the verge of tears while Gabo keeps kicking his leg to let out his anger while everyone else is staring at Simon very disappointedly, comedy gold.

Bazeema 🥰

- Bazeema is 17 years old, who’s very shy.

-In this rewrite she is pretty much the same except for a little design and background change, you see, I found this piece of concept art

- Do you see it? Bazeema seems to be wearing a hijab, I like that, we don’t get enough Muslim representation, so there, Bazeema is Muslim and she wears a hijab now, her religion won’t affect anything in the narrative tho but I just wish they kept this detail in her design.

- Also I’m keeping that gimmick that sometimes she appears out of no where and scared the hell out of Gabo, because yeah I think it has comedic potential.

- She’s a very sweet and gentle girl, very soft spoken and likes to have some alone time once in a while “us introverts need sanctuary” as she said.

(She’s kinda like Fluttershy, see? I told you I’d mention more my little pony characters)

She’s the daughter of the royal gardeners

- Nothing much to it, Bazeema just saw the queen being rude to her mother once because the flowers were red instead of white. So again, when Asha sas the royal couple is evil she believes her just fine.

- Also she knows about a secret passage inside the palace’s garden, in the center of a hedge maze, that leads to inside the castle.

- Specifically to an underground storage room where her parents keep some gardening tools, but, if they can get in there, they might find a way to get inside the castle through the underground.

- She doesn’t mind following her parents footsteps at all, in fact, she loves the idea of just talking to flowers all day.

She’s the fourth one who Asha meets

- When Asha was 10, she and her friends went to watch a kids play telling the story of Rosas, Bazeema was playing the queen.

- But Bazeema got stage fright, and ran to the back of the stage, embarrassed that she forgot her lines

- Asha followed the sound of her crying and reassured her that it was alright and she could take as long as she needed to feel ready, and complemented that she looked beautiful in her Queen’s dress.

- Bazeema really appreciated that, and she went back on stage, although, she tried keeping her eyes closed to not see the crowd.

She’ll give important info on how to get inside the castle

- Like I mentioned before, Bazeema has info on how to get inside the castle through the garden, so she’ll just assist on that part of their plan.

- Also comedic relief, with her gimmick of disappearing then showing up out of nowhere.

Dario 💎

- Dario is 17 years old, and in this rewrite, he’s mute, not deaf tho, just mute, so he communicates through sign language. That’s to reference how Dopey, the dwarf he pays homage to, was also mute.

- I wouldn’t say Dario is dumb in my rewrite, he’s just really easily distracted, sometimes when his friends are talking he’ll just doze off and look at some flowers he finds along the way or collect rocks, and they don’t really mind.

- Dario is very emotionally intelligent tho, and among all the 7 teens, he’s one of the quickest to believe that Asha is innocent (Right after Dahlia)

He’s the son of the royal announcers

- Ya know those people with the big trumpets that give announcements to the kingdom? Yeah that’s what his parents do.

- Due to his disability Dario can’t really become an announcer, at least not a verbal one, he doesn’t really mind tho.

He’s the fifth one that Asha meets

- Asha was 11 when she and her friends met Dario, he was new in their class because he and his parents just moved to Rosas.

- Since he was mute, he had a really hard time making friends, so, Asha and her friends went to the library and found a book teaching about sign language

(I’m not gonna pretend you can actually learn ALL about sign language with just a book, I should know, I had ASL class in college, with a deaf teacher, and even then I don’t know even half of what there is to know, but this is a fantasy, so let’s pretend these kids learned the whole language, because it’s wholesome)

- So they make this effort to communicate with him and that makes Dario really happy, and he quickly joins the group.

He’ll be the silent comedic relief and also help creating a distraction for the king

- Most scenes when everyone is talking and focusing on more serious things, Dario is easily distracted and can be on the background doing the most random things, it’s not that he doesn’t care tho, he’s listening, and sometimes he comes up with creative ideas of his own.

- Also, as the son of the royal announcers, he goes tell them he has seen the star on the north side of the forest, his parents obviously believe him, and announce to the guards and the king, thus they can get inside while Aster distracts Magnifico.

Safi 🤧

- Safi is the youngest in the group, he’s 16 years old, and he has a tendency to sometimes not thinking before he speaks, so he kinda blurts out things that might come off as indelicate, but he never means to be rude. Also he’s allergic to EVERYTHING under the sun, so, of course, he sneezes a lot.

- I gave him this characteristic of blurting out things that he’s not supposed to say because it kinda reminds me of a sneeze, uncontrollable and sometimes inconvenient, but this way it gives him more character.

- Also if it was only Gabo saying inconvenient stuff and everyone else were saints this would be no realistic group of teenagers, teens are relentless when it comes to saying dumb stuff with each other y’all, they just don’t care.

- Safi is also a germophobic, always avoiding situations that might get him sick, like flowers, animals, dust, humidity, flour, the rain-

- And even though he’s terrified of everything that might give him a sneezing fit, his friends are always there to help him get through it.

He’s the son of two members of the cleaning staff

- So, as you can imagine, Safi really doesn’t want to follow his parents career path, with a job that is all about cleaning dust.

- One day, he was asked to help them clean the castle so he could at least try to learn something.

- While he was helping, the king showed up and started complaining with his parents that his study wasn’t clean enough

- While he was busy talking with them, he left something very important lying around.

- Safi saw the king’s magic staff leaning on the wall.

- Safi wanted to get a closer look, so while the king was distracted he approached the staff, but then, he felt it, a sneeze was coming up.

- He tried to hold it in but it was too late, Safi sneeze was so strong the staff got out of balance, and when it was about to hit the ground Magnifico managed to grab it just in time.

- Safi looked relieved and even chuckled to himself thinking the king would do the same. But the expression the king had was something he never seen from him before… Safi saw pure rage.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU ALMOST DID? YOU WRETCHED BRAT! YOU COULD’VE ENDED ALL THE MAGIC IN ROSAS! I COULD’VE BEEN RUINED”

- Safi was pressed against a wall apologizing frantically and so were his parents.

- The king took a few deep breaths, and as if nothing happened his expression went back to his usual charismatic smile

“Maybe cleaning duty just isn’t your calling, lad. You’re dismissed from assisting for today, or any other day for that matter.”

- So Safi is not allowed inside the castle anymore.

He was the sixth that Asha met

- Safi was terrified during the festivals celebrating the foundation of Rosas, because the kingdom was decorated completely with, well, roses.

- There were roses everywhere, and he couldn’t stop sneezing with all the pollen in the air.

- Asha and her friends noticed him distressed, and decided to help him by taking Safi away from the kingdom.

- Safi was sad he couldn’t join in the party, but Asha and her friends said they could bring the party to him, so they danced and played instruments all day long.

This boy whose only personality trait was SNEEZING is literally the one who provides the info they need to defeat the villains, no, I’m not joking

- Like I mentioned before, Safi had a interaction with the king where he heard the king say “You could’ve ended all magic in Rosas” but he never understood what Magnifico meant by that.

- It’s not like all the king’s magic is stored in that one staff right?… but what if it is.

- When they’re coming up with a plan to defeat the king, Safi brings up this information, and there you have it, now they know what’s his weakness.

Hal 😄

- Hal is 17 year old, and judging by her earrings that resemble the “Jaaro dibbei” earrings from the Fulani tribe, so with that in mind, in this rewrite she came from Africa but moved to Rosas with her family as a kid.

- Hal is a very extroverted and joyful person, it’s rare to not see her smile, unless the situation really gets serious.

- Shes contagiously optimistic.

- Is often practicing her jokes with her friends, or just throwing some quick witted quips to lighten the mood.

(She’s a lot like Pinkie Pie… All the girls are My Little Pony references)

She’s the daughter of the royal entertainers

- Hal used to practice a lot of juggling and try acrobatics when she was little, but she quickly realized that kind of act wasn’t her calling

- She much prefers telling jokes and funny stories to the king and queen wherever her parents bring her with them to perform

- Hal noticed how the laughs and smiles the king and queen made during her acts always felt kinda forced, like they didn’t mean it.

- However the king would often burst with laughter whenever a performance from her parents went wrong, that always rubbed her the wrong way.

She was the last to met Asha

- When Asha was 13, she and her friends saw Hal practicing juggling near the forest, and she was really struggling with it.

- She told them she was really nervous because she had to be ready to perform for the royal couple in a few days.

- Asha suggested she should try a different kind of act, so she and her friends helped Hal come up with stories to narrate to the king.

- Hal discovered a new passion for story telling, and that became her new act.

She's the one who encourages Aster to confess his feelings

- Our Star Boy wasn’t actually that confident with confessing how he really felt about Asha, after all Aster knew that after granting her wish they would never see each other again, so what was the point in confessing?

- Hal encourages him with her optimism and explains that if he doesn’t tell her he’ll just regret it forever.

- That leads to the “At All Cost” scene

- So thank Hal for playing cupid

- Oh and Bazeema will help encourage Aster too

Final Thoughts

Welp this was a doozy one, but I’m pretty satisfied with how they turned out, everyone now feels like they got something to do and some actual backstories.

The way I’m planning to actually introduce in the story how they all met Asha is through a musical flashback that we see Asha going from a little kid to a teenager, think of it like the UP intro or “Do You Want To Build a Snowman”.

Like the movie would have in the beginning Asha’s grandpa reading to her the story of Rosas and we get a sweet scene of them interacting, then it cuts to this musical sequence (probably with no lyrics like in UP) where we see how Asha met each one of her friends, and also show how as time went on her grandfather grew more and more senile and dependent on her.

The sequence would end with Asha’s grandfather’s passing, and her friends being there to support her. Just like that in a flashback sequence with no dialogue we understand who are Asha’s friends, who was her grandfather, how Asha cares about all of them dearly, and with all that established the story begins.

Like can you imagine that? Introducing why we should care about Asha’s friends by showing to us who they are instead of just telling us and throwing them in the story with no explanation? What a concept, I’m sure glad a certain multibillion company didn’t just waste them…

Anyway, I’ll start actually sharing the chapters of my rewrite here pretty soon, I’m already confident enough to do it!

I was gonna first share a blog about how I’d reimagine Valentino buuuuuut I think it’s gonna be a pretty short blog that I can write later, and I can tell some people really want me to just tell the story already, and I want to start doing it too so let’s gooo!

Thank you so much for reading!

[writtenbynamu]

Dickmatized

Myg X black reader

Tags/warnings: HAEGEUM! (Yoongi), mentions of human trafficking, talks of s/a (not by Yoongi, doesn’t actually happen), violence, degradation, rough, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), choking, daddy kink, perjury, reader is weak in the knees

Word count: 3.4k

Minors DNI

Your legs are crossed, right over left; back rigid as you try to maintain your composure. To anyone else in the room, your behaviour would have seemed normal. After all, women crossed their legs all the time out of habit or politeness. It was nothing out of the ordinary….or it wouldn’t have been if your legs had been crossed for any other reason that to quell the throb budding in your underwear.

You were better than this. You were a strong, independent woman. You were one of the two partners of Park & Min. A lawyer, a ridiculously good one at that; with one foot in the underground crime syndicate and the other on the necks of every prosecutor in Seoul. In this city, your name had to hold weight for you to survive…and yours was heavy enough to burden tongues. You made sure of it.

You had spent years getting your shit together, yet somehow, all it took was one look from him for you to fall apart.

You had first met Agust back when you were nothing but a decoy for the Itaewon dragons. The Itaewon dragons were one of the most feared gangs in Seoul, run by one of the most unassuming men you’d ever met. They sold everything from party drugs to cocaine to people. That’s where you had come in.

“Are you sure you want to do this noona?” The man before you asked as soon as the door shut. “You could get stabbed, or shot, or raped…oh my god this could end so fucking badly”

His teeth worried at his lip, the metal of his piercing hit against his teeth but he didn’t notice. He never did when he got anxious.

You tutted at him and walked over to where he stood. You looped a hand around his neck, urging him to look down at you and used your thumb to pull his bottom lip from between his teeth.

“Breathe Bun,” you said gently, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

His shoulders sagged and he dropped his head into your shoulders. He took a deep breath, shuddering a bit when he exhaled.

“ I don’t want to do this noona, I don’t want any of this. I just want to go back to art school” he said with a whine, a petulant pout on his lips. You resisted the urge to coo at him.

“I know bun, but it’s only for a little while hm? Just until your hyung gets back right?”

“Mhm hm” he mumbled, not ready to lift his head from the comfort of your warmth.

“So just let Noona do this so you can get it out the way in time to finish your project hm?”

He sighed against you and wrapped his hands tighter around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Time was going, but he needed the tactile comfort to ground him and so you let him have it for a few more minutes.

“Okay, now put your poker face on and let’s go do a drug heist Kook”

The plan was simple. You, Jungkook and the other dragons were supposed to meet up with some lackeys from D Town who had been interested enough in the “sexy foreigner” they had seen Jungkook parade around with to strike a deal with their mortal enemies. 15 kilos of pure white booger sugar for one night with you is what they offered.

It was insulting to think that they thought you had fallen for such a ruse.They knew that Seokjin wouldn’t have fallen for it, that’s why they waited until Jungkook had taken the reins. Jungkook might have been younger and less experienced, but he was no fool.

You would meet them and the specified location, demand a show of the product and then when they asked for you in return, the dragons would kill them and take the coke. It was foolproof, or at least it had been until the sky decided that it was the perfect time to burst and started to rain.

The dragons had the D town boys surrounded, guns drawn and pointed right at their heads. The sudden downpour had thrown everyone off-kilter and in the blink of an eye, you had found yourself with a knife to your throat and a gun pressed to your hip.

“LET HER GO YOU FUCKING PIECES OF SHIT”

Jungkook yelled over the clap of thunder that rolled overhead.

“ONE MORE STEP AND I KILL THE BITCH AND YOU” the man screamed.

Jungkook froze in his spot a glare on his face to conceal the dread he truly felt about the situation.

The man started backing away with you in tow only to freeze when he bumped into a hard chest. The smell of newports and the tiniest hint of…tangerine? Hit you both at the same time and you felt the man holding you start quivering.

“Having a bit of fun without me Jaehyuck?” came a low, deep voice; words gravely as if he hadn’t spoken all day.

“N-no Ag- n-no sir” he replied, hands trembling so much that he dropped the knife

“Really? Because it looks to me like you stole my product and tried to buy someone with it…” he spat.

The heel of his boots clicked on the paved rooftop as he circled the man holding you.

“What are my two rules Jaehyuck?” He asked, no demanded.

“N-never involve w-women and children s-sir”

“Now unless I’ve completely lost sight in my right eye and my left one has decided to start playing tricks on me… that’s a woman you’re holding…is it not?”

The man let go of you immediately, falling to his knees to plead with the man looking down at him with utter disgust.

You should have grabbed the coke and run over to Jungkook while they were both distracted, but you just couldn’t look away from your dark saviour.

You watched enthralled as he reached into the pocket of his coat, and you braced yourself for him to take out a gun of some sort; only to be confused when he pulled out a pair of red chopsticks instead.

The man seemed to recognize the utensils though, in fact, he seemed terrified of them.

“Beg for forgiveness.” Said the scarred man.

“I’m so s-sorry s-“

“Not from me you imbecile, from her”

To his credit, the man did beg for your forgiveness with so much sincerity and desperation that you almost felt sorry for him. But Scarface didn’t care. He used his chopstick on Jaehyuck in ways you had never seen before, ways you hadn’t known were possible. It should have scared you, but you had never felt more intrigued by a singular person in your entire life .

And when he was done, he held his chopsticks out so the rain could wash them off, bowed to you and offered you the coke as an apology (not that you weren’t going to take it either way) and turned to leave.

“Wait! What’s your name?” You asked, a bit winded from the adrenaline pumping through your veins

“Agust” he said “Agust D”

🥢🥢 🥢

“Agust” (as you came to know later)had been in the process of taking over the D- boys when you had your little run-in with them. He was keen on changing the way things worked in the gang, determined to make sure his rule was never questioned or contested. Killing Jaehyuck for not only undermining his authority but threatening to jeopardise the partnership he had been working to establish with the dragons through Jin was his first step in doing so.

Now, 5 years later, Agust had the largest cities in Korea, Seoul included, trembling under the weight of his thumb. He had long since created an alliance with the dragons and went on to take over when both Jin and Jungkook wanted out.

He owned almost everything and everyone. What were once periodic whispers of his name became incessant screams, loud enough that everyone knew it.

Still, very few people knew what Agust looked like. Sure they knew his name, knew who he was but he rarely showed his face in public, the threat of his existence was potent enough that he didn’t have to.

Still, in Seoul, walls could talk and they loved to gossip. And so everyone knew that “Agust D '' had a scar over his right eye and could kill people with his bare hands and a pair of chopsticks. August’s favourite part of his partial anonymity was the theories about how he got his scar. Some say he got it in an underground fight, others said he had been cut with glass in prison and the truly bold suggested that he had done it himself. They were all wrong, but they were fun to listen to.

When Agust did show his face, it was usually in a setting like you were in right now. A conference room full of lawyers being debriefed on his latest transgressions and how they would be expected to handle it, had he ever gotten caught.

The funny thing about Agust is that no matter who he bought or for how long he bought them, he never recruited a police officer or any member of the judiciary at all for that matter. He loved the rush he got from winning a trial simply because he had a good legal team; that he had you on his team. He liked knowing that he could win fair and square There was something so fascinating…so attractive about the way that you made an airtight case against the prosecution, how you played the jury like a puppet master in your… in his favour.

To this day, you had only lost once, a petty crime charge of aggravated assault for one of the boys. It should have rolled off your back because he, like almost everyone you represented, had been guilty. But there was something about the way Jisoo looked at you in that courtroom as if she knew she had won before the trial even began, as if she was better than you that fueled your thirst to be the best lawyer Seoul had ever seen, even if just out of pure spite.

🥢🥢🥢

There was something about the way Agust could command a room that made you feel hot all over. There was something about the way he spoke, calm, collected, controlled as if words were nothing but a nuisance to him and he had made them his bitch.

His presence filled any room no matter how big or small it was and his demeanour was enough to make even the most insolent of individuals sit with their backs straight. Fuck, he made you feel the need to sit straight.

You tried to pay attention as he spoke, but your mind could only focus on how his plump lips wrapped around his words. How his tongue darted out at intervals to wet his lips, how his fingers twirled the chopsticks he held between them as he paced the room. You couldn't help but stare at his hands, hands that had done unspeakable horrors to scores of people, hands that had dealt unspeakable pleasures to you.

You’ve officially zoned out. You hear no words, no shuffling of paper; your brain blocks out everything that isn’t Agust or your memories of him so much so that you don’t realise that the meeting is over until the heavy double doors bang shut. Almost instantaneously, the smell of cigarettes wafts towards you and you look up to see him standing beside you.

You swallow thickly.

“How was the meeting Y/N?” he asks you, taking a long, slow drag from his cigarette.

“Good.” you lied “It was good.”

“Hm,” he hummed. “ So what do you think Dongshik’s chances are on that murder charge?”

You clear your throat. “ I have full confidence that Jimin can get the charges dropped or at the very least, get him out on bail” you reply carefully, praying you didn’t sound as unsure as you felt.

Agust chuckled before spinning you around in your chair to face him and leaning over you so that your faces were mere inches apart.

“Good try baby, but “Dongshik” is one of your paralegals, not one of the dragons. The only crime he’s committing is wearing that God-awful fake Dior cologne.”

Shit.

“What's got you so distracted, hm pretty girl?” he asked, running his left index finger along your jaw.

Your breath hitched. “N-nothing, I’m just a little tired,” you replied, clenching your thighs together.

Agust narrowed his eyes at you, his mouth forming a straight line. Unamused. He takes one last drag of his cigarette before he puts it on one of the ashtrays on the long table.

He looks you up and down, gazee burning against your skin as his eyes rake over you, arms crossed against his chest.

“You know better than to insult my intelligence like that don’t you Y/N?” he asks, clearly not expecting an answer.

He grabs your chin and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him “ You think I couldn’t see you squirming? That I couldn't see you clench those thighs for all they’re worth?”

His eyes were intense, just like everything else about him was but you fought defiantly to maintain eye contact with him.

“ I did no such thing” you retorted, much to his displeasure. He scoffed.

“You’re such a brat you know that? Such a big fucking brat.” he said shaking his head. “Stand up.”

You don't move, much to his annoyance.

He takes a deep breath and brings his right hand down to your throat, not squeezing hard enough to hurt, but applying enough pressure to get your heart racing and to know how serious he was.

“I’ll say it again once. Stand. Up.”

You obey this time, looking up at him as you rise from your seat, hand still wrapped snugly around your neck.

He releases you once you’re completely upright on your feet and sits in your chair. He taps the space on the table in front of him and you take the hint and sit.

He runs his hands up and down the length of your thighs and your legs part almost on instinct. He gets a view of your underwear, the dark red in the centre from how wet you were and hisses.

“See why you shouldn’t lie to me, baby? Because no matter what you come up with in that pretty little head of yours, your body will always tell me the truth, hm?”

He hikes your pencil skirt up to your waist and pushes your thighs further apart and your body arches towards him on instinct. He brings his head down to kiss at the sensitive skin and you barely hold back a scream when he sinks his teeth into your soft flesh. He runs his tongue over the bite and you whine. He pulls away to look up at you

“What kind of behaviour is this hm? The big bad Y/N making such a mess on this table? Aren’t you a bit embarrassed to be reacting like this hm? Dripping all over me as if I didn’t fuck you senseless just yesterday.” he says bringing a hand to your core and pulling your underwear to the side.

You roll your hips forward and resist the urge to bring your hands to cover your face because he was right. He did fuck you senseless less than 24 hours ago, but Agust was more addictive than any combination of drugs he sold. He was toxic, mean…evil if you were to consider anything he did with your moral compass…but you needed him. He might have been cruel to everyone and everything else, but he was good, so, so good to your pussy.

He pushes a finger into you, the cool metal of his ring grazing against your walls. He adds another and your eyes roll back and your head falls back. He starts pumping his fingers in and out of you, your wetness making obscene noises as you clench around his digits. The pressure builds up in your pussy embarrassingly quickly and your orgasm is so close you can practically taste it. You roll your hips forward to meet every thrust of his fingers urging him to go faster. And of course, in the most Agsust fashion ever, he slows down.

He pulls his fingers out of you, your juices running down to his palm and he meets your eyes as he licks them both. The sight is obscene and incredibly hot and it sends you surging forward to put your lips on his.

The kiss is a desperate tangle of tongues and the occasional clashing of teeth. It's wet and messy and it makes every nerve ending in your body stand on edge. Your hand makes its way around his neck and you pull away from him.

“I need you to fuck me,” you say simply. Chest heaving against the silk of your blouse, three buttons somehow missing from the expensive top.

He glares up at you and rips your hand from his neck.

“I don't take fucking orders from you” he spits as he flips you over on the table, face down and ass towards him. “But I'll give it to you just this once, and only because I want to feel you cum on my dick”.

With that, he pulls your underwear down and pushes into you in one go, ripping a scream from your throat as your walls struggle to accommodate him. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust before he starts thrusting into you. His pace is rough and punishing and you can't help the moans that escape you.

“Youre so fucking tight every. Single. Time.” he groans, punctuating his sentence with his thrusts.

He grabs onto your braids, pulling your head back so he could push his tongue into your mouth. His hips start moving impossibly faster, and you can do nothing but moan brokenly against his lips.

He brings his hand down to your clit and rubs it, and your eyes blow wide open and you scream.

“Yoongi please.” you beg.

His hips stuttered in shock.

“What the fuck did you just call me?”

Your eyes widen as you realise what had slipped out of your mouth. Agust had told you his real name years ago but you had never used it. Sure you had practised the way it felt on your tongue in secret but you had never felt brave enough to say it.

“I’m s-sorry,” you say in between moans

“Don’t apologize- fuck it sounds so good when you say it.” he moans out, picking his pace up once more “ Say it again.” he demands “ tell me who this pussy belongs to baby”

“YOONGI!” you scream, tears streaming freely down your face “ It’s all yours Yoongi please”

“That’s right. Thats fucking right” Yoongi replies. “I can feel you clenching around me, do you want to cum baby?”

“Fuck yes, Yoongi please let me cum” you begged.

Yoongi gives you one last particularly hard thrust and your entire body convulses as your orgasm washes over you.

“That’s it, baby, cum for daddy.” he guides you as he slows his thrusts down to barely their pace as you come apart around him.

His orgasm follows yours almost immediately and he spills into you, sending a combination of your juices running down your legs.

He runs his hand along your back as you go limp against him, recovering from your high and places a gentle kiss on your forehead and he pulls your underwear back up.

🥢🥢🥢

As rough as Yoongi is with you whenever you have sex, his gentleness after the fact always negates it.

As bad as Yoongi was for you, he simply made you feel too good.

Deep down, you knew Yoongi loved you in his own twisted way, and you loved him too. But neither of you was willing to admit that out loud. Instead, what existed between you was an unspoken agreement of ownership. You were Yoongi’s just as much as he was yours.

Of course, you saw something more with Yoongi than just fucking him, and it would b unfair to say that was all your relationship was.

Maybe you would've brought it up if you weren't so enthralled by him. If you weren’t so distracted every time he touched you.

Yoongi was everything you did not tolerate, and yet you tolerated him so well.

Yoongi was nothing but death, sex and bad vibes.

Maybe you were insane.

Or maybe you were just dickmatized.

[darkurgetrash]

───  𓆩♱𓆪  ───

When Gortash first formed the cult of the Absolute, he’d somehow expected it to be more glamorous than watching drunken goblins through a scrying eye.

What he’d expected even less was to see his former lover, long-presumed dead, walking among them…

───  𓆩♱𓆪  ───

Characters: The Dark Urge / Gortash

Game: Baldur’s Gate 3

Words: 1,700

Rating: Teen+

───  𓆩♱𓆪  ───

When Gortash first formed the cult of the Absolute, he’d somehow expected it to be more glamorous than watching drunken goblins through a scrying eye.

Indeed, in his visions he’d fantasised of insidious masquerade balls, dangerous heists, and intellectual assassinations. Alas, he supposed that tasks of observation were important too. For the plan to succeed, everyone had to be playing their part, from the highest ranking ‘True Soul’ to the lowliest gnoll, and someone had to make sure it was all going accordingly.

After all, if not him, then who? That loathsome animal Orin cared more about her pitiful attempts to please Bhaal than their grand plan, and Ketheric was much too busy ruling over Moonrise Towers to worry about the proceedings of some pathetic goblin camp, so who did that leave? He alone. Besides, he was probably the only one sharp and observant enough to notice if anything went amiss.

That was the case, at least, since Mera was taken from him.

He sighed. How annoying that, even now, performing the most mundane task possible, he still thought of her. The way she’d be sitting beside him, delicately fingering her dagger while her slender feet rested on his lap. She just loved to distract him; tease him.

“What does this button do?”

“That would shut down the Steel Watch.”

“How interesting, what would you do if I pressed it right now?”

“It’s a temporary measure. I’d simply commandeer one of the Gondians to fix it.”

“Boring. What does this one do?”

“That controls the Scrying Eye.”

“I see… Hmm, how about we do a little contest to see who can get someone murdered using it first? The chosen of Bane or Bhaal?”

“That would be hard considering we can’t communicate through it, only watch.”

“Ah, but that’s part of the challenge, dearest Enver.”

She’d strategically stroke his thigh with her foot, raising higher towards his groin in hopes that he might offer a soft moan and give in to her playful, mischievous ways. Then, of course, he’d have to put her in her place, right there on the command console. His hands clasped around her pale neck, long black hair splayed behind her as she glared daggers at him through those divine, striking red eyes…

He shook his head. Pathetic. He couldn’t allow himself to lose focus like this, not when so much was at stake. Mera was in the past, probably now dead and wreaking havoc in some corner of Avernus without a single thought for her once partner-in-crime, so why should he spare one for her? Besides, he spent too many long and lonely nights staring at his balcony, wondering if she’d suddenly appear to amuse him, love him, torment him. Even if it was to assassinate him, he’d have been glad for it, just to see her again…

She’d have been delighted to hear such a shameful admission.

Gortash turned his attention back to the screen, where a red-headed goblin now stood, waving her hand in front of the eye.

“ELLO?? Dis fin broken or wot?”

He leaned forward to reach the control panel, bumping the eye into the goblin in a childish act of irritation. She jumped back, startled.

“OI! I fink dis thing ‘as lost its marbles. Whateva, come this way and I’ll introduce you to the drow.”

The goblin turned and hobbled towards Minthara, a drow noble Orin had selected to be a spokesperson for The Absolute many moons ago. She was followed by a small party, presumably a gang of adventurers who had been infected with the tadpole. Strange though - he did not recognise any of them to be True Souls, so why were they being granted such a high ranking audience?

Intrigued, Gortash watched them as they followed the goblin. He could not see the adventurers clearly due to his positioning, but he could tell that there were four - possibly two men and two women judging by stature alone. One of the men looked to be an elf with curled white hair and daggers equipped at the hip while the other was clearly a magic user, adorning a long purple robe with a quarter staff on his back. The two women were harder to analyse - being shorter and obscured from view - but they both appeared to have dark hair. This was, unfortunately, all he could discern for now.

The goblin and the drow talked together as the four of them observed. Gortash edged the eye slightly closer.

“…This mug helped me to escape. I say we stick a few holes in her, show how grateful we are!”

The goblin seemed to be referring to one of the women, who Gortash could now see was a human with loose hair hanging around her shoulders. She seemed to be the centre of the group, maybe even their leader.

“Oh dear. Your prisoner is one of the Absolute's favourites, Sazza. A True Soul…”

Minthara’s brow raised in interest as the goblin squirmed beneath her gaze. Interesting, so they were True Souls after all… Then why did he not recognise them? Was it possible they somehow slipped the system unnoticed?

“Nah. Can't be... they woz in the grove, hangin' around with the tieflins!” The goblin replied, backing away nervously.

“Undercover, no doubt. Carrying out the Absolute's will. Oh, Sazza - you have made a grave error…”

Gortash knew that this wasn’t the case; The Absolute’s will was his own, after all. Could this be the work of Ketheric or Orin behind his back? Some kind of plan to usurp him?

“… please, no! I didn’t know!…”

It was certainly a possibility. If these True Souls had found their way to Moonrise Towers, it would have been easy for Ketheric to recruit them as sole commander. But to position them in a grove filled with tieflings - what would be the point? Could there somehow be ties to Avernus at play?

“She’s telling the truth. She didn’t know.”

A shiver shot up Gortash’ spine as he heard a voice all too familiar. He stood and moved closer to the viewing screen, but the Scrying Eye was positioned too far away to clearly identify the woman that spoke.

It was surely a trick or some coincidence, but still, the woman sounded exactly like her. Like Mera.

The mere fact that this woman spoke on behalf of a lowly goblin and saved her from a deathly fate was proof enough that this wasn’t his once-partner. Mera was as blood-thirsty and cruel as she was cunning and beautiful. Not in the way her replacement Orin was - who acted like a wild dog, murdering left and right for senseless amusement alone - but in a way that was meticulous and logical enough to match his own intellect. There would have been no point in sparing a goblin, no, his lover would have remained silent as Minthara laid out her judgement, simply observing with deliciously cold calculation.

“… silence, wretch. And remember - you owe your miserable life to this one.”

The goblin ran from the scene and towards the eye, knocking into it in her clumsy escape. Gortash exhaled through his nose in frustration as the screen fuzzed and the audio crackled - all sound now unintelligible.

“Tamia!” he called out through gritted teeth. A cultist belonging to Bane rushed into the room at his call.

“My lord?”

“Send in one of the slaves to fix this at once.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Within seconds, a Gondian shuffled into the room with their head lowered, immediately beginning to fix the scrying eye. Gortash tapped his foot impatiently.

“It is fixed m-my l-lord.”

“You are dismissed.”

The gnome left just as the screen flashed back into focus and the audio returned - but now Gortash could see only Minthara, her gaze fixed on something in the distance.

He returned to his seat and slumped in defeat and annoyance. If he should ever meet this ‘Sazza’, she would face a punishment worse than death for the damage she caused - thanks to her, he would now have to contact Minthara personally to discover what transpired between she and the adventurers.

He returned his hand to the control panel and began moving towards the drow when a light indicating ‘physical altercation’ quickly flashed. Had the eye just been… poked?

He rotated the eye towards the source and…

His heart pounded heavily in his chest and long-dried tear ducts threatened to enflame. Was he even still breathing? Was time still moving? He could scarcely tell, as the world around him seemed to turn to nothing but darkness, the scrying screen a single spotlight.

For there, standing in front of the eye with a puzzled expression, was her.

“It can’t be…”

Mera.

She waved, crossed her arms, and peered deeper into the eye as if she were looking directly at him. Could she sense him there?

“… My lord?”

Gortash snapped back to reality as the cultist cautiously approached him. He realised then that he had shot up to his feet once more, lights flickering around the control panel and small alarms sounding as his fists throbbed against the deck.

He took a deep breath and calmly removed his hands from the panel, assessing the slight damage caused by his clawed glove.

“…How I detest flies.” He hissed. “You were dismissed, Tamia. Were you not?”

He heard the cultist’s breath hitch in her chest.

“My deepest apologies, my lord. I thought you had dismissed the Gondian alone, I-“

“Excuses are a waste of breath. Leave at once. Oh, and Tamia? Have a new slave come repair this and punish the previous one that let a filthy insect into my office.”

“Y-yes, my lord.”

The cultist bowed and left. The command panel still flickered and Mera still shone from the screen, her attention now turned to the elf who was glancing at the Eye with suspicion.

Mera…

No. No, it was impossible. Mera was not infected, she was not even still with the living - if she was, she’d have gone to him. Wouldn’t she have? It… it must be a shapeshifter, another trick from Orin meant to throw him off balance. So he was right, the others were plotting to wage war with him.

How foolish they were.

As the thought grazed his mind, the so-called ghost of Mera raised an electrified hand and swiped.

Then all faded to black.

───  𓆩♱𓆪  ───

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: The Tithing House

For decades the gang of highwaymen known as the Gallerwood Outlaws were famed and feared for equal measure, melting out of the forest to rob merchants, nobles, even mages, before vanishing back into the trees. Even after their awful deaths at the hand of a bountyhunter some years ago folk still sing of their deeds, and of the secret hideaway in which they stored their ill gotten gains.

Adventure Hooks:

Folk have been saying that the ghosts of the Gallerwood outlaws have been stalking the roads near where their bodies were hanged, still looking for one last haul. The party are tasked with investigating rumours after a fearful carter was set upon by these spectres, losing something precious in the process. This provides the excellent framing for a first adventure as each member of the party can be invested in retrieving something different out of the carter's cargo giving them a reason to work in the same direction.

As they investigate, the party will discover that these ghosts are infact local toughs who have dressed up and painted themselves phosphorescent cave lichen in order to shake down passers by. After giving them a thrashing and a Scooby-Doo unmasking, the party can retrieve the stolen goods and return to the inn for celebratory drinking. In the dead of night one of the party awakens to a shadowy figure looming at the foot of their bed, spectral face illuminated by the ghoul-light that flickers in the bowl of their pipe. Evidently the story of the party's antics has spread, and it appears one of the real ghosts of the Gallerwood wants a word.

Frauds and phantoms aside,  entirely possible for the party to stumble across the dungeon while exploring the surrounding swampland, only realizing it served as a bandit hideout after stumbling into the remnants of their camp. 

Setup: The ghost introduces himself as the late Cullen Carver, once founding and now final member of the Gallerwood outlaws. Cullen has an offer for the party, and is willing to guide them to the cache kept by his fellow bandits if they will perform for him a last request. As Cullen explains it, neither he nor the other outlaw spirits will be able to rest so long as there is no end to their tale, and there can be no end so long as the mystery of their hidden treasure remains unsolved in the common imagination.

Cullen is in high spirits despite being dead, so the party should expect some gallows humour as the hanged man leads them through the swamp's hazards, eventually arriving at the outlaw's secret base: The Tithing House, a long abandoned temple of Erathis concealed within the depths of the wilderness that's become infested with all sorts of mire creatures since the thieves met their end.

Challenges & Complications:

The Outlaws kept their treasure in the temple's crypts, and to access these the part are going to need to venture through the gauntlet of dark chambers and traps the bandits set up to keep eachother's hands out of the cookie jar. Cullen can help with some of these, but the whole point of the traps was to keep his fellow thieves honest. The only other way into the vault is through a heavily reinforced door, the key to which is currently in the possession of the bountyhunter who hung the Gallerwoods from trees in the firstplace.

While the party has the pick of spoils, Cullen points out a particular chest kept apart from the rest and calls upon them to fulfill their end of the bargain. This chest was Cullen's nestegg, put aside from numerous heists and robberies to be delivered to his wife and children in the event of his death. With no surviving highwaymen to carry out the promise Cullen's REAL unfinished business comes to light. The party can keep their word, or they can snipe the treasure for themselves, earning the spectre's undying enmity and curse to boot.

To get out of the the Tithing House the party will need to face off with a demon of avarice.. but not in the traditional form of bossfight. He'll approach just as they're leaving the dungeon, taking the form of a plump old man with a grandfatherly smile who wears the spotless robes of an Erathian friar despite the flooded cemetery in which they stand. He is all calm words and politeness, congratulating them on making off with such a fine haul and urging them to never mind that silly old ghost and his wishes, banishing Cullen beneath a nearby grave so that they can talk cordially. The Smiling Friar explains that he had a deal with the highwaymen; feeding off the greed of their crimes in exchange for concealing their hideaway and passage through the forest. There's no reason the party couldn't renew the deal, become the new band of legendary thieves, save that they'll have to forsake their ghostly guide and his last act of charity. Should they turn him down the Smiling Friar will call up the dead of the cemetery to slaughter them, clearing the way for the next band of ambitious treasurehunters.

Art 1 Art 2

[callmekenya]

Pairing: Mal x m!Y/n

Warnings: None

_________________________________________

Partners in Crime - Y/n and Mal are known as the power couple on the Isle, causing trouble wherever they go. Whether it’s pulling off heists, pranks, or challenging authority figures, they’re always in sync, plotting and executing their schemes together.

Fierce Loyalty - Mal is fiercely protective of Y/n, and anyone who crosses him will face her wrath. The same goes for Y/n; he’s always ready to stand up for Mal, even against the likes of Uma or other Isle rivals.

Secret Soft Moments - Despite their tough exteriors, Y/n and Mal share soft, vulnerable moments when they’re alone. Whether it’s holding hands while overlooking the Isle or whispering sweet nothings to each other after a long day, these moments are their safe haven.

Arguing with Passion - Both Y/n and Mal have strong personalities, which means their arguments can be intense. However, they always find a way to make up quickly, often through a sarcastic comment or a challenging dare that leads to a new adventure.

Shared Dream of Freedom - Both of them dream of leaving the Isle someday, but they know they can’t do it alone. Their shared goal of escaping and finding a better life strengthens their bond, with each of them promising to protect the other no matter what.

Teasing and Banter - Their relationship is filled with playful teasing and banter. Y/n loves to poke fun at Mal’s attempts to be the “baddest” on the Isle, while Mal teases Y/n about his hidden talents or moments of unexpected kindness.

Strategizing Together - Y/n and Mal are always scheming together, whether it’s to take over a rival gang’s territory or pull off a major heist. Their plans are a perfect blend of Y/n’s creativity and Mal’s cunning, making them unstoppable.

Hidden Affection - On the Isle, showing too much affection can be seen as a weakness. However, Y/n and Mal find subtle ways to express their feelings, like a quick brush of hands, a lingering glance, or a whispered “I’ve got your back.”

Dealing with Jealousy - Both Y/n and Mal can get jealous when others try to flirt or get too close to one of them. While they trust each other completely, they have no problem showing the world that their relationship is not to be messed with.

Bonding Over Past Pain - They both have had difficult upbringings on the Isle, and this shared experience brings them closer. They often talk about their pasts, finding solace in each other’s understanding, and making a silent pact to protect one another from future pain.

Facing Down Enemies Together - Whether it’s a confrontation with Uma, a run-in with guards, or a showdown with another gang, Y/n and Mal face their enemies together, back-to-back. They trust each other completely in battle, knowing that together, they’re unbeatable.

Stealing Moments of Joy - Life on the Isle is tough, but Y/n and Mal find ways to enjoy the little things. Whether it’s sneaking off to the beach for some quiet time, sharing stolen food, or dancing to the faint music from a nearby party, they know how to make each other smile.

Planning a Future - Despite the chaos of the Isle, Y/n and Mal often talk about what they’d do if they ever escaped. They dream of a life where they can be together without fear, where they can build something more than just a legacy of mischief and chaos.

Understanding Each Other’s Darkness - Both Y/n and Mal have a dark side, and they understand each other’s struggles with it. They don’t judge or try to change one another; instead, they accept and support each other, knowing that their darkness is part of what makes them strong.

Leaving Their Mark - As a couple, Y/n and Mal are determined to leave their mark on the Isle. Whether it’s through their schemes, their influence, or just the fear they instill in others, they’re known as a force to be reckoned with, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Crafting Their Own World - Y/n and Mal create a world of their own within the chaos of the Isle. They find abandoned spots to retreat to, decorating them with stolen items or graffiti, turning these places into secret sanctuaries where they can escape the harsh reality of their environment.

Rivalry with the Gang - Y/n often gets caught in the rivalry between Mal’s gang and Uma’s crew. While Mal initially tries to keep him out of it, Y/n insists on being involved, leading to tense standoffs and daring missions that test their relationship but ultimately bring them closer.

Dangerous Adventures - The couple thrives on the thrill of danger, often embarking on risky adventures that other Isle kids wouldn’t dare to try. Whether it’s sneaking into forbidden zones or challenging authority, they share a mutual love for the adrenaline rush that comes with living on the edge.

Learning from Each Other - Mal teaches Y/n how to be more ruthless and cunning, while Y/n shows Mal the value of subtlety and creativity in their schemes. They’re constantly learning and adapting from each other’s strengths, making them a formidable team both in and out of conflict.

A Shared Sense of Humor - Amid the darkness of the Isle, Y/n and Mal find solace in their shared sense of humor. They often joke about their enemies, make light of their dire situations, and playfully mock each other, finding laughter to be their best weapon against the Isle's harshness.

[crushedgraham]

Would u do an Ashe x Widowmaker x fem! Reader (poly relationship) headcanons please? Reader is quite introverted 🤍

Also some smut headcanons too if that’s okay :)

Widowmaker x introverted fem Reader x Ashe

im still trying to figure out how to portray them :,) but i hope you like it!

prepare to be SPOILED.

theyre both loaded and will not hesitate to buy anything for you

oh you want something but youre too shy to ask? amélie can tell as soon as she looks at you, her eyes keenly observing you

typically amélie's the one accompanying you while shopping bc ashe is busy running the deadlock gang but she tries her best to join every now and then

she makes up for it by bringing you little trinkets from her heists that reminds her of you

it can vary from expensive jewelry to little figurines she thought you'd like

she'll clasp a gold necklace around your neck and kiss your cheek, murmuring a small "such a pretty girl"

they're trying to one up each other, every chance they get

who's the better shooter?

who's the better cook (ashe can only grill hotdogs and burgers and amélie can only make charcuterie boards but they try their best)?

who's the better kisser?

who can make you cum the fastest

they just want your praise and affection 🙁

speaking of which...they're N E E D Y.

you literally have to sleep in the middle so they each have easy access to you

when ashe gets jealous of amelie, her confident and "dominating" mask crumbles, leaving her needy and whiny

she'll kiss and nuzzle at your neck with her arms wrapped tightly around your waist "Darlin'...Pay attention to me"

when amélie gets jealous of ashe she gets petty and almost cat-like. she'll huff and pout while glaring at you and the cowgirl until you get the hint that she needs some loving too

i feel like ashe would love to show off her partners at events she holds for the deadlock gang

you dont like socializing too much? thats fine with her, she'll steal you away to a private nook in her expensive party room

ashe will sit you on her lap while she sips some whiskey and eyes you up and down

if you're feeling bold and decide to slip her hat off of her head and onto your own?

she'll go feral.

Cowboy hat rule is all im saying.

amélie will accompany the two of you sometimes to join in on the fun but opts out most of the times bc she thinks the rowdiness of the party's distasteful

you sitting on ashe's lap with your back pressed against her chest, her knees spreading your legs open for amélie who's kneeling with her head under your dress is a position you frequent a lot

ashe tops the most (she's so smug about it) but when amélie takes over? she crumbles.

sounds like a whiny mess as you watch and touch yourself to the scene of her getting her back absolutely blown out by amélie

i feel like one of their favorite positions would be amélie sitting on your face while ashe fucks you with her favorite strap

ANYWAYS

lets get back to some domestic hc's

ashe can definitely play the acoustic guitar and will softly play it while singing old country songs whenever it's a sleepless night or when someone gets a nightmare

she even learned the chords for some french lullabies for amélie to sing to

when you go out to eat and they get your order wrong but you're too shy to say anything, BABE THEY GOTCHU.

"she asked for no pickles 😠"

or if you just don't want to order in general? they'll happily do it!

if your social battery's running out or you're just feeling a little on edge/anxious at events they'll escort you outside for a break

the silence is comfortable and the comforting smell of their shared cigarette grounds you

after a long day yall will just turn on a movie of your choice and you'll lay in between them

ashe will most likely spoon you and amélie will lay on her side, facing you while tracing little patterns on your ribs or holding your hand

[bippiti]

bishops k. brekker

an first kaz fic! lmk what y’all think

pairing kaz brekker x healer/ tailor reader

req yup

wc 1.8k

synopsis after a heist goes terribly wrong, you’re the one who comes to kazs aid

heads up typical soc violence, fighting, broken bones, stab wounds, not proofread

dangling off of a high building wasnt kazs ideal way of spending his friday night. but here he was, covered nails digging into the crumbling roof of some rich merchers mansion.

before going on any further i suppose some back tracking is in order.

a while before one of the dregs monitoring the ports overheard a group of stadwatch talking about some rather valuable cargo. precious gems, fine arts, and antique instruments were all set to come in the following month, and we’re to be delivered to a marcher named Stefan Terpstra.

further investigation from inej led to the discovery of an auction being held at terpstras manor. this of course, meant a heist.

kaz already had the blueprints in his office, saints knew where he got it from. but now all you had to do was figure out what roles to play. since they were all too recognizable you were key to this going well.

while you were first and foremost a healer, you were still a relatively skilled tailor, with the proper materials you could alter someone’s face and have it not revert for almost half a day.

the night before kaz called all of you down ti go over the plan again. after you changed inej and jespers face, they would go to the auction posing as a wealthy couple. while the party before the auction is taking place kaz would sneak into the safe, pick the lock, and then him and matthias would collect everything they could carry. nina would be with them to ensure no hold ups took place, and all the while you and wylan would be on the roof scouting out for potential threats.

it was simple enough, you’d had a million harder jobs than this one. so it was kindve funny how almost everything went wrong

before anything even started there were issues with the clothes. the fabric of the dress inej was supposed to wear was really itchy, and when you peeled it away from her skin you saw the rashes and raised red bumps forming. you fixed it easily, but it still had you pushing for time. once their faces were altered and ready, they were off to the manor.

this is when the second problem came up. after everyone went to sleep following kazs rundown, wylan spent the rest of the night working on a few potassium nitrate bombs. (more commonly known as smoke bombs) he kept a fire on low heat as he mixed sugar and the potassium nitrate together. the combining process took hours, but the yield was impressive. 8 bombs total, 4 for inej, 4 for jesper. and there were 8 left on the table as he came up the stairs after hearing the horses set off.

great. since they both were more than capable of holding their own it wasn’t a total disaster, but it was a night wasted sitting at a desk.

once you all arrived things seemed to be going smoothly, jesper floated from person to person, making conversation and laughing along with other party goers. you could’ve sworn you saw a tinge of jealousy on wylans face before he turned away. while jesper was frolicking inej was say at the bar, nursing a drink that looked to be at least 15 kruge overpriced. while going up the stairs you met with kaz and the others, wylan gave them 4 of the bombs, and w kaz gave them the timeframe. 15 minutes, in and out then they should be done. if they weren’t on the roof in time then they were to rendezvous at the neighboring farm a few roads down.

problem 3: it had been almost 15 minutes and there was still no sign or the others. you checked your watch nervously and you heard wylan kicking at the rocks to your left. on your end things had been fine, no other gangs or stadwatch had shown up.

as of on cue, the door burst open and matthias and kaz ran out

if i’m you hand my been concerned the moment mightve even been funny, kaz had what seemed to be his weight in gold adorned around his neck, and a painting almost as wide as you strapped to his back. matthias wasn’t any better, he had to crown crookedly placed on his head and had bracelets up to his elbows, and what looked to be a violin case strapped to his back.

they were telling at you both to jump into the tree, something about a few bodyguards catching them and nina staying behind to fight a few off.

kaz shrugged off what he had on and gave it over to wylan who put in the bag. matthias followed suit and the propped up the bag and took off. scaling down a building wasn’t kazs forte which is why he was supposed to go back through and out the building, but that obviously wasn’t an option. while you were trying to figure out what to do, some men came through the door and went at you.

growing up you learned how to fight, so you were that bad. as you dodged a punch and countered you saw kaz fighting in your peripheral. instead of having his cane be a part of his weakness, he had managed to turn it into one of his strengths. as he swung it at what seemed to be the last man you straightened your back, letting out a breathy laugh. both of you were bruised and by the inhale you just took you had a rib or two broken. the heavy steps of someone coming up the stares broke you out of your trance. as the woman came up the stairs you wanted to crawl up and die. she was huge her biceps were always as thick as your waist and the look on her face showed she wasn’t here to play.

you were never one to back down though so with a deep breath you began to form your hands. because tailors could alter physical appearance and bone structure you had been trying to take it to the next level. while so far it had only worked on the dead you thought it might work. as you brought your hand up her arms began to pulse, changing shape in an almost grotesque way. she began to stride over to you before a heavy crack made her turn around.

kaz wasn’t really sure what you were doing, but he could tell you were going to have to focus in order to do so. as he began to fight the woman her arms began to.. change. they became smaller, larger, then began to shrink onto themselves. she vegan to maker her way to you again. before he could do anything else he felt his feet tip back and he fell. he opened his eyes to see his hands barely holding onto the brick wall. he prayed to saints he didn’t believe in to help him hold on.

you saw kaz plunge and your mind went on autopilot, you felt your power wash over you and you watched her legs began to shrink, growing smaller and smaller until there were none left at all. in the back of your head you heard someone laugh, it was scary, shrill. it took a moment before you realized it was you.

snapping back into reality you left her there, rushing over to kaz who was by the grace of saints still hanging on. you grabbed him by the arm and yanked him forward, sending you both rather harshly to your backs.

you breathed in once more as you shakily stood, kaz did the same, pain evident on his face. during this whole mess his cane had landed up in the dirt below you both. together you began to long journey back to the barrel.

-

the door to the slat burst open as you carried a passed out kaz. it was well into the night, so the was nobody there save for the crows and some dregs. as you hauled him over to a table inej and matthias swiped it off, maps and cards fell onto the floor around you all.

you peeled off his clothes later by later, stopping once you got the his shirt. as you unbuttoned it you signaled for the others to leave, you assumed kaz wouldn’t like them to see their ‘all powerful’ boss in such a position.

as your hands ghosted over his chest you let your manic deep putt of you. you mended the broken ribs, the fractured wrist, and the cuts he had gotten on his back. they were deep, but not enough to make them life threatening. as his skin stitched itself together you began to focus on your own. by the time you were done rearranging your own bruises and scrapes you were far too tired to rid his face and body of the bruises. instead, you patched him up, wrapping bandages around his stomach and back before shrugging his coat on over him.

as you bridal carried him up the stairs you took a moment to appreciate his face. you didn’t let yourself stare very often, kaz was observant and he could pick up the slightest of glances. you looked at the curve of his nose, the shape of his lips. they looked soft, kissable even

before you let yourself get too carried away you opened the door to his room, taking his coat, hanging it, and then taking his gloves and placing them at his bedside.

before you left you filled a bowl with warm water, dipping a towel in you began to rub small circles into his face, ridding it of the dried blood that was starting to form. once the water turned crimson you dumped it out.

kaz awoke the next day, he wasn’t in any more pain than he was used to, but he was still bruised beyond belief. he didn’t remember much other than clinging onto you as you both made your way back to the slat.

he brought his hand up to his head, he needed to figure out what had happened. after finding jesper and figuring out what had occurred, he didn’t know what to do. how was he supposed to thank you? how could he in words, explain how thankful he was it was you that saved him, you that helped him. you. you. stupid you.

y/n l/n.

the only person that had managed to win over dirty hands heart