#so much so he's been named The Undead Outlaw

[bugslap]

Soul King Brook — part-time master of faking his own death to avoid the law and part-time professional fiddler (and harmonica player, and guitarist, and...)

#cowboy au #more lore in tags #one piece #brook #my art #fanart #alt on imgs #unmasking brook physically pained me #brook CONSTANTLY fakes his death to get away from the sheriffs of the west #he does it so much its on his file but its so believable ppl keep falling for it #so much so he's been named The Undead Outlaw #Soul King #The Skeleton #and other names #hes half outlaw half legend #all of his clothes are RIDDLED with bullet holes #he wears them anyway because 1) they were expensive 2) they help the whole aesthetix #aesthetic* WHATEVER anyway #he has a limp and amnesia from when law enforcement killed his entire bandit group #hes desperately looking for their bison- Laboon #but he cant remember where he is #so hes wandering the desert and grasslands aimlessly #like a ghost...

[goodbyetothenight]

Supernatural Meets Cowboys

Inspired by @raving-raven-writing

In the heart of the old American West, where dust storms danced on the horizon and the sun scorched the land, two unlikely heroes emerged. They went by the names Quaritch and Spider, cowboys like no other.

Quaritch was a tall and weathered man with a face etched by years of harsh living. He had a reputation for being as quick with a gun as he was with a sarcastic quip. His sharp wit was matched only by his sharpshooting skills, making him a force to be reckoned with in the wild, lawless frontier.

Spider, on the other hand, was a wiry, agile boy with a mysterious past. His nickname came from his uncanny ability to navigate the treacherous terrain, much like a spider navigating its web. He was a tracker without equal, able to pick up the faintest trail left by both man and beast. Some said he had a sixth sense, an intuition that guided him through life in the unforgiving West.

Together, they were vampire hunters, a profession not for the faint of heart. In the Old West, where superstitions mixed with reality, the undead were as real as rattlesnakes and outlaws.

It all began when a series of unexplained deaths rocked a small mining town named Red Hollow. People would wake up with strange bite marks on their necks and an unnerving pallor to their skin. Rumors of vampires spread like wildfire, but the townsfolk were too terrified to confront the menace.

The first encounter with the vampires was brutal. In the moonlight, they faced off against bloodthirsty creatures with fangs and claws, creatures that should have been myths. Quaritch's Colt revolvers spat fire, and Spider's silver-tipped arrows found their mark. It was a harrowing battle, but in the end, the vampires fell to their relentless resolve.

Word of their victory spread across the frontier, and other towns plagued by the undead called upon Quaritch and Spider for help. They became legends, whispered about in campfires and saloons alike. They rode from town to town, righting the wrongs of the night.

And so, in the vast, unforgiving expanse of the Old American West, where danger lurked in the shadows and legends were born under the scorching sun, Quaritch and Spider rode on. They were cowboys with a purpose, defenders of the innocent, and hunters of the night. In a land where the line between reality and myth blurred, they stood as beacons of light, ready to face whatever darkness the West could throw at them.

#avatar #avatar 2009 #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #james cameron avatar #avatar way of water #miles quaritch #atwow #avatar recoms #spider socorro #recom quaritch #atwow quaritch #quaritch atwow #avatar quaritch #atwow loak #avatar loak #loak sully #loak #lyle wainfleet #recom zdinarsk #recom zdog #recom zhang #mother's scripture

[howdy-cowpoke]

Describe an NPC who is important to your character's story. Is this person still a part of your character's life? What are your character's feelings towards them? Have those feelings shifted, or have they always been constant?

META

We all already know the answer, but I'll take this opportunity to wax poetic about Monty's unrequited outlaw love during the 19th/20th centuries.

Monty knew Hector Guerrero from 1887-1904, and during those 17 years, experienced his first romantic attraction, though he didn't know that's what it was at the time. More below the cut.

Hector was the bravest man Monty had ever known, not afraid to die for what he believed in and prepared to defend those he considered family to his very last breath. He instilled this bravery in the young recruit, uplifting him from his comfortable but meek existence, giving him new purpose and renewed vigor. He was only a few years older than Monty, but his life had always been challenging and it had made a strong leader out of him. He was handsome, charming, and deadly with his pistols—when he could talk his way out of a situation he would, but if push came to shove, it was always Hector that still stood once the dust and gun smoke had cleared.

Their gang, their family, was at least 30 strong. There were women and children among their ranks, folks who needed protecting, and Monty was inspired to do just that. He never hesitated when Hector asked something of him, no matter how much it might have made him question his morals once upon a time. None of that mattered now, because if Hector said it was necessary, then it was. He could never do any wrong, in Monty's eyes.

Part of that, of course, was because the younger outlaw had fallen in love with him. He'd never been in love before, nor had he ever even attempted courting someone, so he just thought it was admiration. But there was something there that he didn't experience with the others; a need to be close, a need to impress and drag smiles and laughter out of the other. A need to be told he'd done a good job, that Hector was proud of him, that he loved him. The words passed his lips a few times, usually after Monty managed a particularly impressive robbery, but it was usually delivered with a laugh and a clap to his shoulder. Monty always wanted more, but didn't know what that more was, so he lived with the feeling of incompleteness for nearly two decades. Tiny morsels were better than starving, right?

Hector obviously isn't still a part of Monty's life in a physical way, save perhaps for the hand-poke prickly pear tattoo on his forearm, chosen because that was Hector's chosen nickname for him. Well, that and the name of the farm. Monty won't let himself move on from the memories because he feels so much regret surrounding them, especially now that he knows that it was love. And even though he knows that Hector would not have felt the same way, part of him wishes he could tell the man regardless.

Instead, he never accepted who he was and pined after someone who would not have him. And, just to add the final nail to the proverbial coffin that keeps him trapped to this day, Hector was the person he died to protect. Then, a few hours later, when he awoke as an undead and slaughtered several members of their family in a blind hunger, Hector was the one that shot him to try and put him down for good. It didn't work, of course, and the man that he loved screamed at him to leave with fear in his eyes. Fear Monty had never seen from him before, and he was the cause. It broke him, and the zombie fled.

Monty has never forgiven himself for being the cause of that fear. He has never forgiven himself for not trying to find Hector again. Most of all, he has never forgiven himself for the monster he has become, and the cowardice that came flooding back the moment he ran from Hector, permeating every aspect of his life to this day.

He often wonders what his life might have been like if he had been more honest with himself, but he supposes that he'll never really know.

#. asks ; #. anon ; #. meta ;

[ohmysparkle]

🔮 A New Arrival 🔮

✨ Spellbound: Prologue

Series Masterlist

✨ Pairing: Hyunjin x reader

✨ Length: 2.9k

✨ Warnings: none in this chapter

✨ Tag List: @xviternity @straykisz @97lovestay @aliceu @meow-minho @velvetand-roses

✧･ﾟ🌑: *✧🌙 . *⭐️:*✧✨* : ･ﾟ✧ *.🌑 ✧･ﾟ

A dainty young secretary in a stylish little skirted suit dashes down a hallway towards an office, holding a telephone receiver in her hand, careful that the wire doesn’t snag behind her lest her boss get upset. Afterall, he’s been waiting for this for quite some time.

Knock, knock, knock!

“Yes?” A sharp voice calls out on the other side of the heavy wooden doors. She opens one wide.

“Mr. Mayor! They’re on the line for you!” She urges.

“Damn time, Alyssa! Come in, hurry up and bring your notebook!” He shouts. The secretary dashes back to her desk and grabs her notepad, looking back to the Mayor’s office to see if he’s connected to the line before she hangs the receiver. She dashes back, little heels clicking on the glossy floor.

“Speaker.” She insists to the mayor, urging so that he presses the button in time for her to hear the person on the other line answer. His neat mustache wiggles before he gives a stern “Hello.” for whoever is on the line.

“Hello, this is the Old Zealand Office of Coordination for the Association of Guilds, Clans and other Specialists on Magical, Supernatural and Paranormal Affairs, also known as SMSPA Central. This is Ezra, Lead Coordinator, speaking. What may I help you with today?” Both the Mayor and his assistant quirk eyebrows at the upbeatness of the man's way of speaking, and the mayor clears his throat before his focus escapes him.

“Ezra, good man! This is Mayor Armand Brandywine speaking from Nocturne Town, from the League of Lake Towns… Uh, calling because, hmm… I believe Ezra, it’s been two months-“

“Nocturne, Nocturne, Nocturne… hmm?” Ezra ponders, measuring the familiarity of the name - “Oh yes! The Ponies! I saw your Towns in a travel magazine just last week! My wife has insisted we go over to the League for our anniversary, she says apparently the great lakes over there are crystal clear, and that there are hills full of flowers and quaint little towns pocketed beneath, and that you use the most darling trains and ferries to move about. And the semi-annual pony contest!”

“I - yes, well - we do. Listen Ezra, as I was saying… it’s been four months since we filed an official request to have a specialist come here to help with a witch problem…”

“A witch?!” Ezra exclaims in disbelief, “A witch way out there? No way, you’re not even close to any of our mildly risky areas… there’s hardly any magical activity on your continent. Are you sure it’s a ‘bad’ witch?”

“Yes, positive.”

“Like a ‘sold her soul’ to the devil kind of witch? Or ‘weird lady who lives in the woods and smokes a pipe that makes people sort of uncomfortable but is actually really harmless’ kind of witch?” He questions.

“The former.” Armand replies flatly, giving Alyssa a look.

“Bad?” Ezra confirms.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“And to whom did you submit your request with this claim?” Ezra continues asking.

“To a mister…” Armand looks at Alyssa.

“Zachary Z.” Alyssa whispers, clearly mouthing out the name.

“It was addressed to a Mr. Zachary, I believe he was the liaison for this region.” Armand states.

“Oh no…” Ezra does not say anything after this exclamation, and again, Alyssa and Armand share a look throughout that moment of silence.

“Oh… no?” Armand asks after uncomfortably expecting Ezra’s reply..

“Yes, ‘oh no’... you see, Zack was on a field assignment a few months ago and… well, he died. He was assessing if a local pyromancer had become a danger worthy of sending a specialist.”

“Oh.” Armand mouths to Alyssa, with her silently making the same gesture.

“We wouldn’t have any record of his assignments - he had his suitcase with him when he burned.” Ezra continued.

“Oh!” Alyssa silently exclaimes, again, crossing wide eyes with her boss, both of their faces contorting into grimaces.

“Oh poor Zack… He burned, suitcase and all…” Ezra reminisces. Armand is at a loss of words in the awkwardness of it all until the man on the other end bounces back. “So anyways, tell me about this witch of yours to see if I can help. When were the first and last reported sightings? ” Ezra returns to his upbeat, almost musical tone of speaking, having not missed a beat despite the sorrowful interlude.

“Well, you see… no one’s actually seen here. But - “

“Invisibility, you say?! Now that’s something you don’t see often!” Ezra prematurely interrupts, not missing the opportunity for his pun.

“No, no! I mean we haven’t sighted her… yet!” He corrects.

“So you are… placing a request for a specialist… for a witch that is unconfirmed?” Ezra says rather skeptically.

“But, there have been signs! Items, I mean trinkets, of witchcraft appearing in people's homes, dead animals stuffed with tokens…” the Mayor explains.

“Don’t forget the symbols!” Alyssa urgently whispers.

“And symbols! Runes! Painted on people's doors and under their beds!” Just as if he were visiting a skeptical doctor, Mayor Brandywine made the symptoms seem as serious as he could in fear that he would not be taken seriously.

“Hmm… could just be a prankster… any other proof? Any bewitchings? Hexes? Evident signs of curses or dark magic?”

“Well… people have dreamt of the same faceless woman, but I’m afraid we can't prove anything.”

“Well, in that case, it might be difficult to process a request on the basis of a witch. Besides, if there really is a witch, and she’s not actively harming the population, it might be better to just… let her be.” Ezra muses.

“Let her be?!” Alysaa mouths to Armand, which he repeats verbatim to Ezra on the line with emphasis on his outrage.

“Well, yeah, I mean… ‘evil’ and ‘bad’ are both pretty wide scopes. Maybe, if you think about it, witches are almost still human. Just think of her as a bad neighbor. Sometimes it’s more bothersome to deal with them and confront them than to simply let them be” Ezra suggests.

“Wait! Hold on, hold on! Can’t you at least send us someone to evaluate the situation? Maybe one of those fancy Black Knights?”

“Ha! Black Knights, ha! Get a load of this guy Zelda, he wants a Black Knight for one witch!” Armand and Alyssa can hear several people laughing on the other end of the line, most likely seated in desks beside Ezra’s. “No way… have you not seen how things are over in Arcadia? Necromancers, lots of real witches that people actually see, all kinds of undead… ha! Good luck trying to find a Black Knight at this rate, they’re all boarded up in their own country. Simply no way. They won’t leave their little civil-war-issue-thingy over there unless it's something serious. Like bad bad bad black magic serious, not ‘maybe a witch’.”

“Fine!” Armand says with an eye roll, “What about an Other Brother, or a Ghost Buster?!”

“Listen to this guy! Are you honestly willing to go beg one of those associations for an unconfirmed witch?”

“Alright, alright… What about one of those Arctic Druids?”

“No! No! Simply no! We do not work with those people anymore, they are way too fond of human sacrifice. No!” He firmly refutes.

“Then who the hell can deal with a witch?” Armand asks in exasperation, still communicating with Alyssa in silent glances.

“Oh we’ve got a handful of people available… but not for your case, seeing how it is. Hmm… let me think… Are you maybe dealing with anything else?” Brandywine takes advantage of this question to put in complaints that have been more complicated to deal with.

“Yes! Werewolves - plenty of them, and I’m pretty sure someone has been sneaking some bloodusckers into town.” The mayor emphasizes this with a slammed palm on the table.

“Well, Mr. Brandywine, I’m seeing here that some of the towns in the League allow werewolves… hmm.” The sound of flipping papers and heavy slams of stack of folders is clear over the speaker. “But I see here in my records that Nocturne itself is not a ratifying member of the ‘Treatise on the Rights of Magically Affected’ of ‘78, yet I also see that werewolves residents are allowed so long as they adhere to specific medical protocol - which as I see, is being tended to by a Dr. Nemo…”

“Yes but they are a danger to the population! They - they…” the Mayor looks at Alyssa for guidance.

“Say they spend the full moon naked in the woods!” She whispers with fervent urgency and he nods. Bingo!

“They transform without any kind of restraint, running free through town. The woods are like a hunting ground for them, God forbid any innocent happen to roam near there at night. Near feral, I say!” Armand dramatically states.

“Hmm… Well, they should be following medical protocol under the supervision of a trained magical practitioner. I see you have someone assigned,,, a Dr. Nemo? And, these vampires, they are outlawed within your jurisdiction, is that correct? I don’t see any record of any vampiric trespassing, no reported cases or documentation here at all.” Armand worries at Ezra’s skeptical tone, concerned he’ll lose his request.

“It’s that damn Doctor, I tell you!” He finally exclaimes, “I’m sure she’s been bringing in all those vampys under the table. You know what we do to them, they must submit to the authorities to be defanged and treated - that is the law here. Some of those free loving magi hippies on the other Islands may think differently, but everything to the west of me is a Vampire Free Zone.”

“The sirens!” Alyssa quietly interjects.

“And do not get me started on the damn sirens! Zombies too!” Armand concludes.

“Hmm…” Ezra thinks, he has quite a dilemma. According to all records, Mayor Armand Brandywine and several other governors in the League of Lake Towns are quite ‘anti-magic’, not so much the practice of it, but the act of being magical. He isn’t a stranger to getting calls like these, trying to put much needed specialists in situations that are otherwise political, and quite frankly, he was quite clear on not having one of his guys go in to terrorize people.

Ezra considers some of Zachary’s old notes… scribbled on some files in a shared folder. “Mayor Brandywine - staunch anti magi-humanist” meaning, he did not consider magically affected peoples, such as vampires and werewolves, zombies and sirens, to be human at all but instead monsters. Ezra could not allocate a particularly special specialist such as a Black Knight for such a frivolous case. After all, there were greater urgencies elsewhere on his hemisphere. Besides, his organization did not treat such individuals as monsters, he could not give Brandywine what he seemed to suggest he wanted. Monsters, by the standards of the SMSPA, were non-human entities. Enchanted animals and whatnot, ghouls, definitely the incurable undead - so long as they were precisely incurable. He thinks of a possible solution until something catches his eye…

A sheet tucked neatly into the regional folder where Mayor Brandywine’s town’s information was, titled simply “Dr. Nemo - Practitioner of Magical Medicine and Professor of Magical Biology”. Most of the fields were blacked out with ink, a brief description stating that her office was in Nocturne Town, despite the stance of Brandywine, and that she taught a focus course in a magical academy on the other side of the League. Hmm, no picture either, and suspiciously young.

Ezra continued to study the sheet, finding something of particular interest. A stamped red seal that every coordinator in Central knew, but that he had only come across twice before in all of his years of service:

Do not intervene - Tier S approval. The licences assigned to this person were quite… advanced, and quite… obscure. And below… request submitted by the Armed Forces of the League of Lake Towns.

Ah yes, a centralized police and military force for all of the smaller cities and townships in the League. Must be messy, especially considering the polarized stances on magic from the different members on the lake. But why would a magical practitioner require such high level authorization? He’d only seen it used for instances involving Black Knights and the like… never for something as lowly as medical men.

This is definitely one of those hush hush situations, lots of the specialists in his region required anonymity, hid from persecution because of their skills, or ran from some of their previous targets… especially if those individuals worked in the same field as this so-called Dr. Nemo. But this person… he didn’t place them in Nocturne, or else he would have remembered. This must have come from higher up - one of those top secret cases that Zachary would occasionally manage.

It certainly was curious. He held the blacked out form in his hands, retracing the dented letters that pressed this curious name on the paper… Dr. Nemo. Sounded like something out of a book.

“I have… a possible solution.” Ezra finally states, after the Mayor and his assistant had been expectantly leaning into the speaker for some time. “Maybe, perhaps, I can send you someone… Zandor!” Ezra calls to someone who seems to be at a distance from him. “Have we got any newbies?”

“What field?” A voice calls back in the distance.

“Monster hunters.” Ezra specifies.

“We got a class of newbies from that place they sent us that last guy from - the one you sent after that undead bear.” Zandor answers back.

“Gimme!” Ezra orders with a couple of finger snaps, and soon enough Alyssa and Armand hear a heavy folder plop on his desk. “Let’s see here… hmm, quite a few available clansmen… eenie meenie miney mo! Aha! No, not this one… aha!”

Ezra studies the page. The picture is of a young man who looks a bit too young to be in the field. The boy is trained to deal with most issues passively, good references, a bit inexperienced. No reports of excessive force. Mayor Brandywine won't be able to do much harm with the kid’s stats, he thinks, and he’s got good training and just the right licences. Silence again, until Ezra resumes after having studied the file.

“Aha! I’ve got your man. Hmm, and he’s quite a looker! Hyunjin, Hwang Hyunjin. Recently licensed as a tier one monster hunter… deals with all kinds of threatening non-occult entities... authorized to identify threats that are of the occult or ‘other’ nature. Can dispel moderately complex dark magic… transfiguration, discretion, stealth. Sounds good. The boy won’t cost you as much as a Black Knight, that for sure. If you have a werewolf or vampire problem, he can deal, and if you do have a witch, he can send us the claim and we’ll scale it up. How does that sound?”

“Not ideal.” Armand replies with a sigh. “How much does he cost?”

“Hmm…” Ezra presses keys into some kind of machine, “two and ninety seven hundredths of Zealand Zeals per Rupee… fifteen point two Limnian Ponies per… He’s gonna cost you twenty thousand Ponies a month.”

“How much do we have?” Armand quickly whispers to Alyssa.

“We can go up to thirty grand.” She replies. He nods, knowing what part to play.

“Twenty thousand?! We don't have that kind of money!” the Mayor exclaims, putting on the best of his acts. “We can do fifteen!”

Ezra takes a good, long sigh before replying. “Fifteen… and you offer top quality room and board, full, two days a week off, and one day a week for him to take private jobs in the area. He works four days for scheduled items, but will be available 24/7 for emergencies pending his acknowledgment of it actually being an emergency.”

“Deal.” Brandywine quickly affirms, quietly snickering at his accomplishment.

“That being said… I see you only have one other magical specialist in the region, that being this Dr. Nemo. You will make sure Clansman Hwang has access to medical care in the case of any event, and you will make sure he is given a thorough briefing on the area he will service, in this case I am writing his permit to do his work in Nocturne Town, and authorizing him to take up private commissions and attend to emergencies throughout the entire League.”

“Done.”

“Very well Mister Brandywine - “

“Mayor.” He corrects.

“... Mayor Brandywine. You can expect your specialist to arrive in ten days, please be mindful of the documentation and permits he hands you, you will need to keep them safe. Payment instructions will be attached, we collect monthly. For any additional inquiries, feel free to call, and I’d greatly appreciate if you could stay on the line to answer a quick survey if you considered my services satisfactory this day. Thank you for calling Old Zealand Office of Coordination for the Association of Guilds, Clans and other Specialists on Magical, Supernatural and Paranormal Affairs, goodbye.” Ezra’s tone had become flatter, but in view of his dirty victory, Mayor Armand Brandywine did not notice.

The line soon goes dead.

“So… looks like we’ve got a fix to our little problems. Make sure to register the expenses as twenty thousand ponies. Understand?” He says to Alyssa.

“And if it’s not billed in the invoice? They said only fifteen.” She questions.

“Administrative expenses.”

#strange devotion skz collab #straykidsland #hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin #stray kids smut #hyunjin au #stray kids fantasy au #stray kids au #hyunjin smut

[roselightfairy]

If you're still doing fic recs, do you have any favorite AUs?

Oh, do I!! This is an EXCELLENT prompt, and I’ve had a lot of fun compiling this list tonight. I’ve ended up grouping it into two different sections: modern AU (because there are a lot of those!) and “other,” which are…non-modern AU, haha. For the most part I’ve left out UA (universe alteration, in which the universe is the same but something about the story changes), because I can’t think of any of those right now – but I know there are some really good ones of that as well!

So:

Modern:

like, comment, subscribe by DeHeerKonijn

Summary: A collection of fics that take place in my modern ‘verse, wherein Minas Tirith is a bustling city, Gimli is a professor at the university, and Legolas is a model-slash-influencer-slash-layabout.

…

Come on, you all knew this was going to be first on the list. The amount of worldbuilding @deheerkonijn has put into this series is absolutely breathtaking, and what you see on Tumblr is probably only the half of it. (Go stalk her Twitter, even if you don’t have a profile – I do it all the time!) This series is all she’s written for it so far, plus the fic that we cowrote about the OC roommates. But aside from that, the series has a whole assortment of always sexy, always funny, always sweet stories about Legolas and Gimli; go read them all!

No Place Like HoME by Flamebyrd

Summary: In which our heroes play a MMORPG called Heroes of Middle-Earth.

…

THIS IS SO GOOD. I love this premise so much, haha – Legolas and Gimli are just regular humans (with regular names, even!) and a rivalry they don’t even know about – but it turns out they’ve been playing each other in a game for quite awhile! It’s cute, fun, and creative, and I wish there were more.

life’s just a game (and it’s just your turn) by plinys

Summary: Legolas and Gimli try to have phone sex (or well, headset sex) with some unforeseen consequences.

…

I ADORE that these two as gamers is a fic idea that exists more than once, and this one is so fluffy with just a hint of spice (and a hefty dose of embarrassment, haha, but they deserved it!). Read it and grin!

Hold My Number by katajainen

Summary: It's a Saturday night at the A&E, and Gimli only wants to get to the triage nurse and be done with this whole stupid business.

That is, until he meets a tall, dark stranger (a ridiculously pretty one).

…

I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH. The crowning glory of meet-cutes (though it’s more of a meet-ugly, really), in which Legolas and Gimli meet at the emergency room for very embarrassing reasons . . . and hit it off right away, in a way that is adorable, delightful, and funny to watch. Read for their embarrassing stories, their adorable dorkiness (they’re gamers again!), and their undeniable chemistry.

Perfect Fit by mssileas

Summary: "Both of them were painfully aware that their physical differences were shockingly obvious – much more so than their also very different personalities. And that they usually led people to assumptions they weren't shy of declaring."

Or, Legolas single-handedly disproves all prejudice, and Gimli loves it.

…

This is a lovely (and smutty, so be warned) modern AU oneshot that challenges the stereotypes of these two based on how they look – and how they would probably be treated, if they were a couple in our world. If you’re interested in the modern AU premise but not the smut, there’s another oneshot set in this ‘verse, Christmas Body, that is mostly just fluff!

Other (non-modern):

The Earth Moves Under Our Feet (It’s A Loco Motion) by notanightlight

Summary: The West is still Wild. Gimli is working on the railway, Legolas is a gunslinger, and someone needs to turn this train around.

…

WILD WEST AU WILD WEST AU!! This story is one of my favorite things ever because it’s a WILD WEST AU and Gimli is an Irish immigrant and Legolas is an outlaw and they meet in a near-death situation and bond! It has wonderful worldbuilding, excellent banter, and little moments of flirting that almost hide below the surface of the aforementioned near-death situation, but not quite. ;) Please go read it, or listen to the amazing accompanying podfic by Morvidra, which is an astounding performance.

Nothing Doth Fade (But Suffers a Sea-Change) by notanightlight

Summary: Gimli has always heard stories about the seals that lived near the cliffs of Castle Durin. “They aren’t what they seem,” they’d tell him. Gimli never knew what to think of those stories, until the night he met a stranger on the shore, with the sea in his eyes and moonlight on his skin.

…

@notanightlight has too many amazing AUs to list them all here, but I have to give a shout-out to this one because SELKIES but also ANGST and SORROW and BETRAYAL but FORGIVENESS and HOPE and – I don’t know. It plays with a common and really sad trope, but gives our characters a way through that is hard and painful, but worth it, in the end – a story in which everything is not all okay, but in which that doesn’t have to be the end, if everyone is willing to work. Plus, Thranduil makes an appearance and he is magnificent.

Wild Hunt by consumptive_sphinx

Summary: There’s a knock on the door.

It isn’t quite dusk; it isn’t too dangerous yet. But still, it’s late to be out on Midwinter’s Night. What if he was held up somewhere?

Legolas takes a nail with him when he opens the door. “Gimli. It’s late.”

…

Fae AU!! consumptive_sphinx has many wonderful AUs and you should check out their whole profile, but I had to give this one a shout-out. It’s mysterious and tender and packs a whole lot of story between the lines of its 917 words and made me yearn for more!

The Monstrous Fellowship by IchijouKenichiro

Summary: Astrin's cousins Fíli and Kíli left to fight the forces of Mordor over two years ago, but there's been no word from them for the last six months. Being a woman of action and the one who always is there to get them out of trouble, Astrin disguises herself as the male warrior Gimli and joins the army to fight for them. But the regiment she joins is anything but typical. With troublesome hobbits, a religious fanatic, the undead, a golem, and even an elf, are the greatest dangers to come from her fellow man? And what secrets are they all holding onto?

A parody of Terry Prachett's "A Monstrous Regiment"

…

THIS IS NOT A DRILL. This is ACTUALLY a Monstrous Regiment rewrite of LOTR, with the Fellowship in the place of the Regiment, and the characters are – actually matched up really, really well. Full disclosure: I read this before I read Monstrous Regiment and went in fully prepared to ship Polly and Maladict… but it turns out they were extremely shippable anyway, so that turned out all right. ;) Seriously – this is an excellent fic, such a fun story, and such a good homage!

Aulë’s Gift by daisynorbury

Summary: "Our friendship endures these strange periods of inequality. You can't remember, and I can't forget."

A new chapter in Adina's classic Back to the Beginning cycle, wherein Aulë granted Gimli perpetual reincarnation. Two thousand years into the Fourth Age, Legolas meets the ninth version of his dearest friend. Told mostly from Gimli's amnesiac POV.

…

I don’t know if this story fully counts as an AU, but I’ve been longing to rec it for several lists and just – couldn’t ever quite find a category it fit into. AU is close enough, since even though the world is meant to be Middle-earth far in the future, it’s different enough to feel like another world. This is a reincarnation story of Legolas and Gimli set in the series referenced above (and recommended in a different list), and it deals with the extreme complication of the situation with so much sensitivity and grace that it rivets me. Even if I didn’t know @daisyfornost, it would be so obvious to me that an absolutely unbelievable amount of thought and care went into the worldbuilding, the writing, the creation of this story. It is such a labor of love, and that love is evident throughout the whole thing. Please go read it, but I warn you that you will have lots of feelings.

…

Thank you again for this amazing prompt, anon! Reminder to all that this is in no way a comprehensive list – I’m sure I’ve left out so many other wonderful stories. Please feel free to add your own, if you reblog this! And my usual reminder to please leave the author a comment if you read any of these and enjoy it. <3

#fic rec #my fic recs #legolas x gimli #nerdfriending #ask

[konohagakureship]

Hidan and Kakuzu d&d au! Two more members of the Akatsuki Fellowship!! They are travelling around Khorvaire, in the world of Eberron!

au! Akatsuki D&D

Headcanons:

All the info related to places and clans is from the canonic lore of Eberron, or from interpretations that I’ve found here and there, and also a bit of my own homebrew lore. I’m gathering all the info and sources in my WorldAnvil page so you can check it out if you want :)

And this is the map with notes so you can pin all the locations.

This time I chose to put only the info relevant to the characters to make the post shorter. But still, this will be a LONG post so be prepared xD

Founding of the Akatsuki Fellowship

All the members of the party met in Sharn, the biggest city of the continent of Khorvaire. They were there for different reasons but ended up travelling together across the world.

Hidan the bloody warlock

Hidan was born in the warrior nation of Karrnath in the city of Atur, where the living and dead coexist in a daily basis.

His parents were members of the Blood of Vol cult, and actively participated in the life of the Crimson Monastery, the largest worship site dedicated to Vol in the entire continent. 

From a young age, his parents instructed him in the faith of the Divinity Within and encouraged him to follow their path and become a Seeker of the Blood of Vol.

The Blood of Vol is a religion centered on the belief of Divinity Within, which means that they do not revere any deity but the blood that courses through their own veins. The followers of the Blood of Vol are called Seekers, and many of them are necromancers employed by the government of Karrnath to control their undead soldiers. 

Seekers believe that death is a curse prevent mortals from achieving divinity, so by breaking the curse of mortality, humanity will be able to live a plenty existence. Necromancy is an attempt to fight the curse of mortality and prevent the loss of the knowledge and skills obtained by past generations. 

Contrary to the popular belief, Seekers cherish life and do not want to become undead. Those who become undead are considered to be martyrs who have given up their own chance at divinity to help others, since they will become tools for the living.

The Blood of Vol cult is ruled from Atur by The Crimson Covenant.

At the age of twelve, Hidan showed signs of possessing magical abilities, which catched the interest of the Cult and welcomed him into the Crimson Monastery to train his powers in favor of their religion and ulterior plans.

Hidan had always been an avid follower of his faith, but soon after joining the Monastery he started to interpret it in his own terms.

His warlock status made him believe that his blood carried the divine will, and that his mission was to actively fight for the Divinity Within by converting all the misguided mortals to The Blood of Vol, or sending them to their deceiving gods to see for themselves how misguided they were. 

The years passed and Hidan only grew more powerful and reckless, learning and crafting unique invocations to unleash his magic at its fullest potential.

His ever growing power mixed with his free interpretation of the beliefs of The Blood of Vol, marked him as an individual too independent and powerful to escalate in the ranks of the Cult.

In an attempt to channel his energy and give him a purpose, The Covenant prompted him to join the Order of the Emerald Claw, the paramilitary arm of the Blood of Vol, and sent him to Rekkenmark.

The Order of the Emerald Claw is an outlawed organization of Karrn patriots and Blood of Vol worshippers spread throughout Khorvaire. They continue to operate in a semi-terrorist fashion to this day, proclaiming their desire to see Karrnath once again rise to power.

Their connection to the Cult is only known by highest ranking members of the Order.

Hidan was sent to Rekkenmark, in the border with Thrane. His cell had the undercover mission to hunt down any paladin of the Church of the Silver Flame that entered Karrnath with the intention of killing Vol’s vampires and undeads.

The Blood of Vol is a forbidden religion in some regions of the continent due to the evil connotations associated with their practices, and many groups such as the Church of the Silver Flame actively works to destroy them.

His days as an Emerald Claw Knight were short, though.

At the beginning, Hidan thought that the Order was his rightful place, that surrounded by powerful patriots he will be able to bring the divine will to all the mortals and spread his faith to the edge of the world.

However, he soon started to feel disenchanted with how the Order handled their business and how little they cared about his divine will. He realised that like in the Monastery, the Order also lacked of determination, and so he began to make their creed his and reform it by his own standards.

The time passed and Hidan grew more reckless and discarded his superior’s orders more frequently, which caused friction within his cell. 

By recommendation of The Covenant, when the situation became unsustainable, The Emerald Claw “prompted” him to take his own path and fight for the Order by himself in his own terms, far away from Rekkenmark.

Instead of going back to Atur, Hidan decided to travel the world, free from any restraints, finding misguided mortals to convert to the Blood of Vol and killing all those who didn’t want to achieve immortality.

Unsurprisingly for everyone but himself, his homicidal activities granted him the status of “kill in sight” in many cities, and soon the bounty for his head was high enough to buy a villa in the upper levels of Sharn.

So Hidan, a powerful warlock and Seeker, spent the following years running away from the law and inquisitors of every city he stepped on. He never bothered to hide his presence anyway...

After a near death experience with a Flame paladin in Sigilstar, he traveled to Sharn, where he knew he could hide from prying eyes and find refuge in one of the Order’s liars. 

However, The Emerald Claw rejected to host him as he attracted too much attention, forcing him to hide in the lowest levels of the city, where he was told that there was a unofficially Vol-friendly tavern run by elves.

Little did he know, that in the Callestan district lived one of the most renowned bounty hunters of Sharn, who was currently drinking a pint in the same tavern he choose to spend the night in.

Kakuzu the bounty hunter

Kakuzu was born in the port city of Zarash’ak, in The Shaodw Marshes.

His father was a human from House Vadalis (beast tamers), while his mother was a human with a quarter of orc blood from House Tharashk with the Mark of Finding (bounty hunters).

He was raised within the Tharashk House and learned how to bounty hunt from a young age. Even though his training was focused on the ways of his mother’s House, he enjoyed spending time with his father and help him train and sell his imported beasts from the Eldeen Reaches.

Kakuzu spent his childhood proudly working for House Tharashk, dreaming of becoming a renowned bounty hunter and awakening a powerful Mark of Finding. However, his dreams would sunk when at the age of seventeen he finally manifested his dragonmark. 

It was an aberrant dragonmark.

The dragonmarks are passed through bloodlines and when two members of different dragonmarked families reproduce it often results in aberrant dragonmarks. Originally aberrant marked were seen as outcasts and outsiders, often shunned by the houses and eked out a pitiful existence. Now they unite under their own House, House Tarkanan.

Kakuzu tried to hide his new mark, constantly covering his body as much as he could and not getting intimately close to anyone for fear of being discovered and casted aside. His mood soured in a couple of months, and he ostracised himself from his closest friends and family.

But after a couple of years it had grown up so much that it almost took his entire back, and inevitably the House found out about his condition and expelled him from the clan.

Abandoned by his people, he traveled to Sharn in an attempt to join the Aberrant Dragonmarked House Tarkanan.

House Tarkanan is a house only formed by aberrant markeds, from any race and clan. They are usually bounty hunters, mercenaries and accountants.

When House Tarkanan first established itself in Sharn, the halfling Boromar Clan attempted to assimilate them, but the offer was turned down. This resulted in the Boromars attempting to destroy the House. When this proved too difficult a deal was struck. Since the Boromar clan doesn't traffic in assassinations, it was agreed that so long as House Tarkanan doesn't take contracts against the Boromars, they would be permitted to stay in Sharn without paying a fee.

Despite being shunned away by his family and now working as a bounty hunter for a bunch of criminals, Kakuzu found his place in Sharn. He also worked as an accountant for the clan from time to time, a nice changes of winds from his usual, dirtier, business.

He made himself a name in Sharn, and over the years was granted the title of Baron, as a senior assassin of the Clan. Kakuzu was well known in the city, especially in the districts of Lower Dura. 

He established his residence in the lawless district of Callestan mainly because the rent was cheaper, but also because his best informants also maraud those streets, inns and ateliers.

Kakuzu is a baron of House Tarkanan, and his main income comes from the clan’s dealings. However, he takes freelance work if the pay is good enough, and he usually doubles his fees if the contract is from his former House.

House Tharashk, despite expelling Kakuzu many years ago, is often interested in hiring his services in the big city, since bounty hunters that are not from House Tarkanan or the Boromar Clan are not allowed to make business freely even after paying a bountiful fee.

House Tharashk has deals and a close relationship with House Thuranni. The elven house team with them whenever they need to find artifacts or people, in exchange for influences and intel. They are currently working together with the Emerald Claw in Stormreach (Xen’dirk), seeking ancient artifacts for Lady Vol. 

House Thuranni is involved in many dubious affairs and unofficially allied with many organisations, such as the Blood of Vol and the Emerald Claw. The Thuranni fought alongside Karrnath during the War, and they have an important presence in Atur with their True Shapers academy.

These unofficial affairs turn every Thuranni establishment into a safehouse for those allies who need refuge or a meeting point.

So Kakuzu visits The Shadowkeeper tavern whenever the Tharashk need something from him, to catch up with his informants, or just to drink a large pint.

...though cashing in a good bounty for a dumb Seeker, is also interesting.

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

We have 6 out of 8 members of the party!! yeyyy!!! now i need to finish the other two ;)

#naruto #akatsuki #hidan #kakuzu #au! akatsuki d&d #d&d #Dungeons and Dragons #eberron #my art #there's only 2 more left to go!!!!! #now i need to update the info in the WA page and also the map #anyway! check the other two posts too bc their lore is connected in some characters and you may understand them better #i know this is A LOT of lore to read hahaha but i hope you find it interesting #i tried to stick with the canon as much as i could and build their backstories and characters based on the canon material #some things are homebrew but most of it is canon so that's pretty cool for an au :DDDD #hidan is always like: why nobody wants to join the BoV? why is everyone prosecuting me? i have never been wrong in my life #kakuzu is done with life in general #also! kakuzu doesn't like itachi bc he's a thuranni and thuranni are allies with the tharashk #itachi doesn't like him bc he's an aberrant marked and he has prejudices against him which is not nice #itachi helps in the tavern when he's not assassinating people for his House. but he really doesn't work there #sasori and kakuzu exchange intel very often. both visit the tavern almost daily and gossip about everything #first sasori only went bc of the intel. now he has extended rants with deidara about art and their academies and how much they actually suck #deidara lives in the garret so now he's neighbours with hidan who rented a tiny cheap room #kisame's there too. he has an orc sized room for him and his tiny orclet. so he's their neighbour too #now there's only konan and nagato left!! and if you haven't noticed. there's a bit of foreshadowing in hidan's story ;) #i hope you like their designs and lore!! and tysm for reading all this text xD i know it's long but i really enjoy sharing it with you! #and as always if you have any question just send me an ask!

[fluorescentpipedream]

Updated a few of my characters’ pictures last night when I was having an ADHD moment while playing WoW. 

So...

Daryl “Mason” Knox - This version of Daryl is part of our Zombie storyline (the premise of which I barely remember) and currently in the mountains above Colorado. He is a survivalist already, tanner, taxidermist and wicked good shot and when the virus began circulating, he packed up his pickup truck and headed as far into the mountains as he could. He had been in Tennessee for a little while but left there when the area started to fall as well, moving around a lot for a while before settling high in the mountains where it’s coldest, realizing the undead have a hard time moving through the snow and it seems to make their bodies more brittle. He stumbles upon Ryki and Kristy’s group (shortly after they get Mikael back from the roaming motorcycle gang (see Widower/Simon). Daryl was under the assumption that most of his family had died when the virus first took hold and started using his middle name, Mason, instead of his last name. 

Daryl Knox - Daryl is the survivalist of the Knox men, the youngest but the one who has his fingers the most in the various family businesses and also the one who discovers that a good portion of the Knox family land that backs the Blue Ridge Mountain range actually belonged to the Cherokee tribe and gives it back to them, only asking if they can continue to use the land as the hunting area he currently has it set up as. Daryl and his brothers also took a portion of the money made from the Knox Lodge (a small series of cabins built closest to the Chattahoochee National Park people can rent and go fishing and hunting for deer, quail and even armadillos) and give it back to the slave families that their great great grandfather had working for them. Daryl is quieter than the rest of his brothers, sticking to living away from nearly everyone and only coming down from the mountains when he is dropping off supplies at the Knox Family General Store in Jasper, Georgia where the family is primarily from. The general store is very rustic looking, with the old fashioned candy jars behind the counter and a small restaurant in the back where the family sells their homemade pies. (They also sell locally made and sourced jellies and jams, as well as jerky and unique gifts. Think trading post for the interior) A skilled taxidermist, Daryl has a special he runs through the Lodge that if you shoot it, he’ll stuff it (for a fee of course). 

Schyler Lewis - A former Scorpion and currently a Slayer in Los Angeles, Schyler is quiet but loving and loyal. He’s also one hell of a shot with pretty much anything, though he prefers knives over everything. He has a deep respect for RJ Jamison, as well as the former leader, BP and keeps a protective/big brother kind of watch on Queenie. He and Simon are pretty good friends, he often tries to keep an eye on the older man to keep him from going crazy.

Trevor Phillips (nothing changed, just both versions of him are going to use the same picture)

Simon Knox - Simon is the middle Knox brother, only a few years older than Daryl though he’s not particularly close to most of his family anymore. He and Jericho had once been vying for the same girl’s attention, but when he was sent to prison for a bar fight/blackout he missed the chance to be with her, even though he does very much still love her. When Simon was released from prison, Jericho gave him the chance to come home and get back on his feet again (the courts and mental health professionals released him on account of him having absolutely no memory of the bar fight other than some kid pushing him too hard and spitting on him. His anger flared up and he didn’t remember anything that had happened after that point. It wasn’t until an officer hit him on the back of the head did he come around again) and while he’s there, he and Maggie ended up in bed together after he told her what had happened. He had a ring and had been going out with a few friends the night before coming to see her. He is actually Ryder’s father, and Jericho does know. Following Ryder’s first outburst and slamming his head into the wall, tearing a stuffed animal and general unprovoked rage, Jericho had come to bed with a few scratches on his arms and gently kissed Maggie’s forehead, not coming right out and saying anything about the possibility but just telling her that whatever thing that’s weighing on her heart right now, it’s okay and he forgives her.  (Ryder has similar violent outbursts like his father, though recognizing it as was what going on with Simon, Jericho instead got his son therapy to deal with the outbursts as well as getting him involved in boxing.)

Following Ryder’s birth (and Simon getting to hold his son), Simon leaves and joins the Outlaw motorcycle gang though moves around a lot after that, winding up “settling” with Haven for a while before finally establishing a place with the Scorpions. He made quick friends with Schyler, despite a several year age gap, and when the Scorpions were assimilated into the Slayers in LA, he stayed on with them. He is prone to blackouts and violent outbursts and unfortunately does not possess much in the way of empathy toward nearly anyone. He does very much like children, and wouldn’t mind finally getting to have a family of his own. He is pansexual and it doesn’t seem to matter to him who he’s with, as long as they’re over a certain age. He’s not overly thrilled with the relationship RJ has with Jamie but she’s safe and not in any danger so he doesn’t say much about it either way. He and Floki of the Vikings have rolled around a few times, but generally speaking he is still very much in love with Maggie. Part of the reason he stays away from his family is because of how Jericho has been treating his “dying” wife. (Jericho is having an affair with a younger nurse/friend of his daughter Lorelei, while his wife is presumed to be dying from stage 4 cancer. She does make a rather miraculous recovery though, leaving him and going out to the man who has always loved her) 

Simon has some seriously reckless traits and has actually had to be sedated by members of his own gang because his anger will flare up and he goes berserk. He has NO control over his actions whenever he blacks out either. Following BP and his wife’s untimely death, Simon is taken by the Slayers along with several others and thrown into the Pit, basically an abandoned warehouse near the docks that has been hollowed out and made into a fight arena. Because of his anger issues there’s a few that believe he could have been pushed to a breaking point and lashed out, though BP never pushed his buttons and he has no desire to take the gang over. When Rollo and a handful of the Vikings reveal themselves as the masterminds (and hired by Marcone to do the deed), Simon is the one who takes an axe off of Floki’s hip, throwing it into the back of Rollo’s head before kneeling down in front of Queenie and telling her he’s always been loyal to BP and subsequently, to her.

Widower (Simon Knox) - This version of Simon is for our zombie alt world and currently in Tennessee with the Savior gang run by a Negan type. In this world, Simon was able to remarry Maggie and the two of them were living quiet happily, considering starting their family when her cancer makes a return and is incredible aggressive. As the virus starts to spread through Atlanta and they begin seeing how it eats away at the host’s body only to reanimate them, Maggie begs Simon to shoot her so she doesn’t have to suffer through her cancer and the possibility of getting the virus. At first he refuses to do it but after the hospitals shut down due to too many people contracting the virus, he takes her up to one his brother’s hunting cabins and shoots her, burying her in the backyard. He had attempted to shoot himself as well but the gun jammed and he ended up throwing it into the river instead. After Atlanta falls and the zombie virus appears to be spreading through the small towns, taking the Knox family out as far as he can tell. He and Daryl were traveling together for a little while but were separated and Simon lost track of his little brother. Assuming that his family is dead (since there’s no trace of any of them and the communications network was the first thing to go down) he gets on the back of his motorcycle and leaves. He first meets Morgan (Negan) and his group, Haven, when they stumble upon one another trying to refuel and get supplies. Simon is unhinged and no longer even trying to hide his homicidal side, since no one is there to hold him back any longer he’s completely off his rocker. He initially told Morgan and the rest to call him Widower, as he didn’t even want to link himself to the man he used to be. If the virus is ever contained, he isn’t sure there’s going to be much of a world left for him. 

Widower, Morgan and I think there’s an NPC version of Schyler with them as well find 5 yr old Mikael after the little boy panicked and ran from his aunt and uncle’s convoy during one of the zombie attacks. Morgan grabbed the boy as he was crying by the back of his jacket and puts him onto his motorcycle leading Kristy and Ryki and their group to give chase to get him back. Morgan had a son once and may have done this in order to protect him, not initially seeing the small group of survivors on the road. Widower takes over kind of protecting the little boy when their group stops at an old warehouse they use as a base. 

Morgan Caldwell - I haven’t actually decided if I’m going to make Morgan but he is Sam Caldwell’s older brother and Martin & Lynn’s uncle. He is the leader of the Haven motorcycle gang which moves around a lot and Simon was part of for a while. He is incredibly disappointed in how his little brother acts and very much wants to meet his estranged niece and nephew. 

Morgan “Negan” Caldwell - The zombie-verse version of Morgan, I know little about the man other than Widower is his right hand man and fiercely loyal to him. He genuinely seems to be concerned for Mikael and after meeting Kristy and finding out she’s pregnant while going through the virus, he may offer their services to them, as protection (or he may try to keep Kristy with him and his group masking using the air of wanting to protect her until she gives birth) There’s a lot of ways this guy can go. He isn’t particularly trustworthy, and has said one thing only to do the direct opposite of that less than a few minutes later. 

Kevin Reynolds - the oldest Reynolds brother and also the only one that’s biological to the Reynolds family. Kevin was 10 when Matt was adopted and 12 when Vartan came to live with them as well. The family typically fosters children, and seeks to give them a better life than the one they had. Kevin is currently in his later 40s, and lives in Chicago where he owns an old-fashioned record store (with actual records on the upstairs level) called Empire Records, or just The Empire by his teen/20-something staff. Kevin is gay and actually just lost his husband Jimmy to AIDS. Jimmy was the drummer for his brothers’ band Silex, and actually younger than Kevin was as well. He is currently having issues with depression following the loss of the only love in his life (up til now, obviously), though he actually has clinical depression as well. He and Matt absolutely cannot stand one another, mostly due to Matt’s homophobia, though Kevin has always been out so he’s not sure exactly where that stems from. He and Vartan are close, despite the 12 year age gap. Empire Records is a somewhat failing business, though is eventually brought under the wing of Revolver Records for its vintage, throwback to the late 80s/90s music scene and often becomes the site of the Revolver bands’ signings, which boosts their sales quite a bit too. 

Ryder Knox is getting a new picture, I just need to figure out who he actually looks like, taking his dad into a bit more consideration right now. The Knox men also all have a very distinct smile, so gotta find someone that fits. I’m stuck between these two: 

Ryder is 22 years old and lives in an apartment on his own which he pays for by an OnlyFans account. With close to 1000 subscribers, he makes money selling pictures of anything from his feet to being shirtless (sometimes in his underwear) on parts of the Knox farmland. Very gay but not very out about it. 

@musesnotebook​

#Jeffery Dean Morgan #Zombie storyline #picture updates #norman reedus #steven ogg

[undead-toon]

General Skullgirls setting headcanons Part 1?!

Hey, some of you know me as undead toon mun and I've been working a very.....very long list of general headcanons about the Skullgirls setting and headcaons for this blog in particular. For this one, this is one out of a unknown amount talking about personal hcs featuring the default setting of Skullgirls. Some of these do apply to my AU, but this is a kinda sorta a general headcanons kinda deal. So, readmore time.

About the ASG Labs:

Given what canon lore we know about the Labs, I personally muse that Avian was hired due to his surgical skills and possible studies in Parasites and their host, making him ideal to head Lab 08. He's arguably the world's expert on Parasites but he's not one to brag. Dude just wants to help people.

Going by hints in the mobile game, its very likely both Labs sometimes "scope" Hospitals or war victims for future experiments. In cases like Peacock and Big Band and most of Lab 08, the modifications are fully willing.

More so a Peacock headcanon for all Peacocks, including my AU, but I see Peacock as some form of Irish/Russian or their SG counterparts. Dad was Irish, hence the last name. But her Hometown was named Rommelgrad and the Grad suffix shows up in Eastern European countries. About the city of New Meridian:

The City of New Meridian is strongly implied to be of some form of Italian or its SG counterpart. Therefore, New Meridian celebrates holidays like Carnival (or Mardi Gras here in the states).

This is musing on canon bits on my end, but while its confirmed New Meridian used to be part of a "Meridian Empire", its also confirmed that during Franz's rule, he tried to outlaw "Meridian traditions" So its very likely New Meridian was taken by force. In addition, these Meridian traditions still crop up in New Meridian and nearby cities, both to spite Franz but in particular are encouraged by the Medici. Its strongly implied that the Medici's good reputation comes from some form of preserving these traditions, in a way, reflecting how rl Mafia's used bootlegging during Prohibition to gain a sense of "respectability" by providing booze in local society.

New Meridian is also basically a does NOT have a exact real life counterpart, but if I had to guess, its likely based off a mixture of Menton, France, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and San Francesco. Its canonly described with "NorCal meets Mediterranean weather" and comparing it to real life California cities is the closest estimate to inspiration given the dev team is located in Los Angles but it wouldn't surprise me if there's elements of nearby Pasadena too, especially for Maplecrest.

New Meridian is on the more "tolerant" end of things, being comparatively liberal in regards to treatment of Parasite hosts, ferals and other canonly discriminated groups. There's apparently no apparent segregation, for starters.

Related, New Meridian is one of the places where there are envoys to other countries located, not like New York city, due to its cultural significance. About the Medici:

Lorenzo Medici is old as fuck. Man's seen the fall of the Meridian empire and the rise of New Meridian. He probably had a feud with Franz's great great great great great great great great parents. This asshole is OLD.

However, because he's used the life gem to extend his life so much, that without it, he's not just having his age catch up to him. Dude's rotting to death and its freaking him out.

While this is absolutely not set in stone, it would not surprise me if Lorenzo seeking the Skullheart to find a means of making his "youth" permanent. Rotting to death is just making this desperation to not die even worse.

Yes, he's aware of the risks doing so.

Among the Medici's many, many crimes, the short list is: Murder, Mass Murder, human trafficking, drug smuggling, weapons smuggling, slavery, assassinations, assassination attempts, illegal gambling, fraud, fixing games, running scams, bribery, possibly defacing property.... just assume almost everything that's a crime.

The Medici Mafia, Lorenzo in particular, often share the title "local person ruins everything" with Eliza and Double in the scale of how much bad shit happens because of them. About the Trinity

While Venus and Aeon are predominately goddesses of space and time respectively, I do hc that they also are goddesses of lesser known domains. Venus' are Space, the body, Love, Lust, violence and matters of Health. Aeon's are Time, but also the mind, memories, joy and horror, obsessions and matters of one's mental state. This is part due to Double's influence in Trinitism but also a natural side effect of the absorption of other culture's gods roles and belief.

Trinitism, while taking cues from Real life Catholicism and Christianity, also has a lot of elements of traditional Egyptian mythology religious rites and the like. Its a religion with a strong emphasis on Order and personal piety.

This is a purely speculative on my end, but personally, one of my theories on why the Trinity is trying basically kill everyone is twofold: In ancient Egyptian belief, it was believed Pharaohs, which Venus and Aeon at least, technically count as, were expected to rule over a Necropolis, a city of the dead full of other dead subjects. However, the Abyss takes more cues from Greek afterlife or certain interpretations of Sheol, so Venus and Aeon have possibly convinced Mother to basically kill everyone to drag them to the Abyss to get their Necropolis. It also has the bonus of intentionally screwing over Eliza.

Despite Double knowing the true nature of the Abyss, she helped with the idea of Heaven and Hell, one to drum up wishes for the Skullheart, and two, guilt and desperation makes people more easy to manipulation.

#OutofCoffin #Headcanons #Skullgirls hcs #sweet jesus this took forever

[outlawandlychgate]

Chapter 3-Funeral Procession of the Dead; Scene 2

Outlaw & Lychgate, pages 48-58

The land that had once been Retasan Fortress.

Seth and Lich spotted the crew of undead walking along in a procession nearby.

“…There they are. The Outlaws,” Lich murmured as he got down from the carriage alongside Seth.

Dead soldiers were largely beings without capacity for reason, yet the Outlaws appeared to be heading somewhere in a single-file line with distinctly organized movements.

“It’s like they’re a funeral procession.” After voicing his thoughts, Seth turned to look at Lich’s face. “I suppose I ought to ask what our resident expert thinks of this scene. Hey, Lich.”

“…Someone is controlling the Outlaws. At this point the only person who could make the dead soldiers move like that is Lady Banica, I would think—”

“But it isn’t her.”

“—Then there are two other possibilities I can think of. An ‘inheritor’ who has the power of ‘Gluttony’, or else…the ‘boy’ that you’ve spoken of.”

“An ‘inheritor’…It’s been a while since I’ve heard that term.”

By all rights, the only people who could wield a demon’s power were those who had contracted with that demon.

But in this world there was the rare person who would have demonic powers from birth.

In the days when the magic users of Levianta called these people “inheritors” they were worshipped, and still at times also feared and discriminated against.

For example, Irina Clockworker.

While being a clone of Seth, she was also an “inheritor” of the powers of “Greed”, and so was able to cast blue flames.

And then there was the people of the Loop Octopus clan.

The whole family line, such as the head of the Leviantan senate and his descendants, would periodically have prophetic dreams called “purple dreams”. This was because they were “inheritors” of “Envy”.

Other “inheritors” had shown up in history several times before, such as Mikhail Asayev, the instigator of the “New Four Horsemen Incident”.

But as for an “inheritor” with the power of “Gluttony”…

Seth had never so much as heard a rumor of one, in all the long years he’d wandered this world.

It was the same for Lich.

“Still…There may be someone who had the power of an ‘inheritor’ but went their whole lives without using it.”

There was something Seth found hard to grasp in Lich’s theory. “If that were the case…Why would they start using their power this late in the game?”

“Who knows…What do you think of the other candidate?”

“The ‘boy’?...” As far as Seth knew, he didn’t have that kind of power. “I don’t think so.”

“But do you think that he’s involved in this matter?”

“Yes. So it’s likely that the ‘boy’ and this person controlling the group—”

“Have joined forces?”

“It would appear so.”

There was no point in endlessly debating over it here.

Whatever the case, for now the two of them decided to tag along with the procession.

“Could you wait for us here?” Lich asked the coachman.

“Sure, I don’t mind.”

“I don’t think it’ll take very long, but…if we haven’t come back by sundown please head back to the palace by yourself and let the King know.”

“Understood—Well then, stay safe.”

.

It wasn’t clear if the Outlaws could see Lich and Seth or not, but at any rate they didn’t appear to pay them any particular mind, steadily moving on ahead.

Judging by their direction, their goal seemed to be the ruins of Retasan fortress.

“They’re quite slow…How about we try going ahead of the procession?”

Lich nodded at Seth’s suggestion. “There’s no need for us to tag along at the back of the line. And perhaps the person controlling the group is at the very front.”

The two of them slipped by the line, aiming for the head.

Midway there, Seth stopped and pointed at the procession.

“Hey, Lich, look there.”

Inside the line it seemed there were Outlaws carrying a long black box.

“It’s just big enough for someone to be inside—It looks like a coffin. I guess it really is a funeral procession.”

“I wonder whose corpse is…Actually, I suppose there’s not even necessarily a person in there.”

“Shall we take a peek? We may be souls but I’m sure we can at least move the lid a little.”

“…No way. We’re going to head to the front first without needlessly provoking them.”

“Alright, alright.”

Lich began to walk towards the front again, paying no mind to Seth’s apparent reluctance to leave.

.

They reached the head of the line, but the Outlaw walking at the front appeared no different from the rest.

“Doesn’t look much like the leader.” Lich appeared a bit disappointed, but when he turned to look at where the procession was going, the color of his expression changed. “That’s…”

He could see a mansion with red walls.

It looked like that was where they were headed.

“You recognize that building?” Seth asked.

“I’ve never been there myself. But it…looks very much like the mansion Lady Banica conjured with her imagination…based on the one she’d had in life.”

“My my—Then maybe Banica’s the ringleader of all this after all?”

“It can’t be…I never heard anything about it from her.”

“In that case maybe it’s just that she doesn’t have a lot of confidence in y—”

“Let’s check it out,” Lich interrupted, dashing off towards the mansion.

“Hey, I wouldn’t think you’re that sort of character…Well, this is fine too. This is Lich’s true self that only I know…Ha ha.”

Seth chased after Lich, a half smile on his face.

.

On first glance there was no one inside the mansion.

But given that the building existed like this—there must have been someone to have conjured it up.

Seth and Lich split up to search every room.

.

--In no time at all.

When Seth opened the door labeled “Head Chamberlain’s Quarters”, he spotted a single man quietly sitting inside.

He looked like a dead soldier, but had a slightly different atmosphere than the others.

“…What is it? I’m in the middle of my break right now,” he said, his eyes clearly carrying a spark of reason in them.

“Ho, so you can see me.”

“…I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at.”

“Well, whatever—Hey, Lich!” Seth loudly called for Lich. “This way, he’s in here!”

.

Lich appeared after a few moments.

“This is—”

“Most likely the leader of the Outlaws.”

Lich stood before the dead soldier and asked, “What is your name?”

“Ron Grapple. I am a chamberlain who serves the Conchita family.”

“…Ah. But from what I can see, there’s no one in this mansion but you.”

“Indeed, it would appear so. Everyone else has already passed on, after all.”

“So then what exactly are you doing here?”

“I…must show my mourning. For the final owner of this mansion—Lady Banica.”

“--!?”

Lich’s eyes opened wide for a moment.

“By doing so, her spirit will be released…And the curse upon me will also be lifted.”

“Curse?”

“I was once cursed by two dreadful twins. A curse that means I can never die—Even if I become a dead soldier, and my body rots away…As time passes I am resurrected, again and again.”

“…”

“At first I lost my sanity, just like the others. But eventually, little by little, I regained the conscious mind I had in life…and became able to control the other dead soldiers.”

“Hmm, that’s quite interesting…But why were you cursed in the first place?”

“Curse…curse…” Ron suddenly covered his face with his hands, bending over. “The twins’ curse…No, much earlier than that…The curse of the Baemu—No! It all started…On that day. My father…Aybee, using his ‘inheritor’ powers, turned me into—I have always been his puppet! Without being conscious of it I hired those twins…And then the Baemu…I was forced to slip it in with the other gifts…Ohh…Ouuugh…”

Finally he started to sob, bursting into tears.

Seth stood before Lich and murmured, “He appears very distraught…Perhaps we ought to change the subject.”

“…Right.”

Lich crouched down and locked eyes with Ron. “—Are you alright?”

“Y…yes…I apologize. I lost my composure there.”

“Let’s not talk about the past, but rather what’s going on right now, shall we? Before we came here we saw a group of dead soldiers carrying a coffin…Are they yours?”

“—Yes. They are bringing it here under my instruction. To hold a funeral service for Lady Banica.”

“So then inside the coffin is—”

“Lady Banica’s corpse is laid out inside. It was recovered from the ground under the directions of another.”

--There was a massive flaw in his explanation.

As far as Seth knew (and Lich likely knew as well), before her death Banica’s last act had been to eat herself.

Her dead body couldn’t possibly still exist somewhere.

Someone had lied to this Ron.

And the true identity of the fiend deceiving him would be--

--The ‘boy’.

Seth cut in between Lich and Ron, “Where is the person who gave you those directions now?”

“He’s—”

In that moment.

The room was suddenly filled with a dazzling light.

“—You don’t need to say it, Ron.” A child’s voice came from within the light. “If you’re talking about me…I’m already here.”

Seth cried out to the light—to the ‘boy’, “So it’s you—Amostia!”

“…Well well, if it isn’t my dear father.”

“Indeed. But…You seem to have changed quite a bit, haven’t you.”

“I have, you are correct. I am no longer—the ‘boy’ that you once knew.”

.

--So it was true.

It was as he’d thought.

The theory that Seth had in his mind was becoming a conviction.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[thebluelemontree]

Thoughts on the Mountain being the literal embodiment of Sandor's trauma and disillusionment with knighthood and justice? It seems fans of Cleganebowl tend to miss this even though it's hardly subtle - even fans on reddit who were ambivalent towards Cleganebowl. Sandor has his own mountain to conquer and it's not Ser Robert Strong. I think Sandor might give him the gift of mercy but that would be a totally different motivation than "revenge" like the show had with his character.

The fact that this even has a pay-per-view spectacle name like “Cleganebowl” just shows how ridiculously overhyped this is in the fandom. I’m not saying any kind of confrontation in the future between Sandor and Robert Strong is impossible or even improbable. I doubt whatever that looks like will live up to their expectations.  If they’re sorely disappointed it doesn’t turn out to be a revenge-fulfillment fantasy, well, that’s on them.  You’d really have to ask the fans why they love the idea so much.  It could be that they’re on their first reading and breezed through it for the plot.  I certainly missed things that were “hardly subtle” the first time. Or maybe it just ain’t that deep for some people? This is why I don’t get involved in the general fandom anymore. It’s not an interpretation I consider informed or one that I am on board with. It’s just a headcanon some people like. Since you asked for my thoughts, I have lots of thoughts about why “Cleganebowl” isn’t going to be a thing and why that’s a better story.            

I don’t blame Sandor for ruminating on revenge for most of his life.  Wanting to strike back at your tormenter is normal and understandable.  Especially when the people and institutions that were supposed to be on the victim’s side ended up protecting and rewarding the perpetrator.  Revenge may seem like Sandor’s only means of experiencing a sense of justice and perhaps finally finding some relief from his PTSD.  It’s a coping mechanism, which is why he reacts with such indignation at the idea of anyone else stealing Gregor’s death from him.  The fantasy only stays alive as long as Gregor is alive.  In Sandor’s mind, if Gregor dies by any other means, then so does any chance for catharsis.  Fantasies are a safe place where one always finds the satisfaction they hoped for; however, that doesn’t mean Sandor wants to be a kinslayer like Gregor. There’s also evidence that Sandor is actually terrified of facing Gregor in reality.  

During the night of the feast at the Hand’s Tourney, Sandor is drunk but definitely not in a celebratory mood. Initially, we might write off Sandor’s coarse behavior toward Sansa as nothing more than a defective personality.  There’s more going on though, and easier to connect the dots with a re-reading.  It’s Sandor that mentions killing his brother in his first lines to Sansa (unprompted) and then steers the conversation immediately back to Gregor (unprompted).  That speaks to the thoughts that have preoccupied his mind and a subconscious urge to let them out.

“Come, you’re not the only one needs sleep. I’ve drunk too much, and I may need to kill my brother tomorrow.” He laughed again.     

…

“You rode gallantly today, Ser Sandor,” she made herself say.

Sandor Clegane snarled at her. “Spare me your empty little compliments, girl … and your ser’s. I am no knight. I spit on them and their vows. My brother is a knight. Did you see him ride today?”

And what did Sandor see Gregor do when he rode that day?  Straight-up murder an ill-prepared, inexperienced knight for no reason except that he could.  In front of the king, in front of the Hand, in front of everyone.  Once again, Gregor totally got away with it.  Ser Hugh’s body was whisked away, quickly forgotten, and the blood on the ground was covered up. Sandor has probably not seen Gregor for many years. We know Sandor never revisited his family’s home and Gregor rarely left his keep except for tourneys.  Sandor also never consciously intended the conversation to go as far as revealing the secret of Gregor’s attempt to murder him and the following injustice that compounded his trauma. He just sort of spilled into it.  He’s less inhibited by the wine, but Sandor also seems to be disassociating while he’s re-experiencing his trauma.  Sansa describes his sudden silence, his hunched over body language (making himself small), and his ragged breathing, which seems indicative of a panic attack.  So Sandor’s initial laughter at the prospect of facing his Gregor the next day was really a paper-thin façade.  His irritability and snappishness alongside pounding the alcohol all night don’t speak to someone who is relishing the idea of finally having the opportunity for revenge.  Quite the opposite.  It’s dread.  Taken all together, Sandor seems to have been triggered by Ser Hugh’s murder, which mirrors the “accidental” death of their father. Sandor immediately left for Casterly Rock because he knew he was next. For the duration of the tourney, Sandor is reasonably on high-alert for another attempt on his life, which is why he says he “may need to kill his brother.”  The keyword here is “need,” not “want.”    

Fate did end up giving Sandor the perfect opportunity to kill Gregor the following day.  When an enraged Gregor attempts to kill Loras Tyrell, Sandor intervenes and saves his life.  If Sandor had killed Gregor at that moment, it would hardly be regarded as kinslaying.  It would be a clear case of necessary lethal force to stop an attempted murder of a defenseless person.  He might have even been rewarded for it by an overly-generous King Robert, inheriting all the Clegane lands and incomes, taking everything from Gregor in one stroke.  As Ned notes, Sandor never takes a mortal strike at Gregor’s unprotected head even though he could have.  When the king commands them to stop, it’s Sandor that immediately kneels in obedience. As Sansa told him in her own way, true knighthood is defined by how one chooses to act.  So did Sandor really need or want to kill Gregor as he believed? Or was it Sandor himself that needed to change? In that way, “Cleganebowl” has already happened.  Sandor won by choosing to be a better person, forgo revenge, and selflessly act for others.  It might sound hokey, but it’s true.  The moment he decided to live up to those ideals is the moment he overcame his fear of Gregor. The novels do make the point that those ideals should be a person’s guiding light, even if one’s efforts go unrecognized or unrewarded. Brienne sums this up in “no chance, no choice” when she decides to try to protect the orphans from the outlaws in Feast.  In this case, Sandor is recognized and rewarded while Ser Gregor was seen for the shitbag that he is.            

Likewise, vengeance against Gregor has already been taken by Oberyn Martell, who has just as much reason to hate Gregor as Sandor.  The Martells have endured murdered loved ones at Gregor’s hands.  Those crimes have gone unanswered for years while the perpetrators are protected by the powerful.  Oberyn succeeds in making Gregor suffer horribly before dying (albeit without the confession that Tywin gave the order), but at an extreme cost.  Oberyn himself is destroyed in his determination to expose Tywin’s culpability.  His longtime partner, Ellaria Sand, is left grieving along with the rest of his family.  His loss is permanent and irreplaceable to them. The cycle will begin again through some of his children seeking to avenge his death, this time with innocents caught up in the violence.  See Ellaria’s impassioned anti-revenge speech.  

But GRRM has aligned the stars in such a way that Gregor will experience a karmic justice that has poignant parallels to Sandor’s trauma.

“He is dying of the venom, but slowly, and in exquisite agony. My efforts to ease his pain have proved as fruitless as Pycelle’s. Ser Gregor is overly accustomed to the poppy, I fear. His squire tells me that he is plagued by blinding headaches and oft quaffs the milk of the poppy as lesser men quaff ale. Be that as it may, his veins have turned black from head to heel, his water is clouded with pus, and the venom has eaten a hole in his side as large as my fist. It is a wonder that the man is still alive, if truth be told.” – Qyburn, Cersei II, AFFC.  

While Gregor wasn’t burned, the thickened manticore poison is slowly causing his all his organs to mortify as it spreads.  Essentially, Gregor’s body is “melting” and decaying from the inside out, while he’s still alive.  The same inhuman strength and size that exacerbated his sadism are now turned against him.  Where average-sized men would have mercifully died long before, the poison takes a much longer time to coarse through him and to reach a level of fatal organ failure.  That lifetime of opiate abuse prevented Gregor from receiving any effective pain management.  He must feel every second of that “exquisite agony.”  While young Sandor received treatment from a maester, Gregor’s attending maester is Qyburn.  He intervenes when Cersei wants to call for Ilyn Payne to put Gregor out of his misery.  Instead, Qyburn requests that Gregor be moved to the black cells so that he can conduct vivisection experiments on him and his screams will go unheard.  When Gregor finally does die, he is beheaded, and his face is obliterated by flesh-eating beetles.  The skull is sent to Dorne as recompense for Elia and her children, while the truth Tywin’s involvement remains suppressed.  In the end, he was expendable, used up, and his suffering was buried in secrecy deep in the black cells.  Sound familiar?  Oh, but wait, there’s more.  Gregor doesn’t even have death to look forward to.  He’s taken Sandor’s place as Cersei’s shield, but this time as a headless undead slave.  He has no voice, no identity except the one his master gave him.  All he can do is serve and obey like a toy knight on strings…

Given all of this, what on earth could Sandor possibly do that could top what GRRM has already done to Gregor?  I think karma has ticked all the boxes here.  We’ve seen Gregor do horrible things to a countless number of people.  Each of his crimes can’t be answered an eye for an eye. That’s impossible; however, George made Gregor’s end even more of a nightmarish version of what he did to Sandor specifically.  Likewise, the Hound also dies with parallels to Gregor, but with opposite outcomes.  Both brothers suffer festering mortal wounds (in Sandor’s case, from the Mountain’s men) that are killing them slowly.  While Gregor confesses what he did to Elia and her children, he is incapable of remorse.  Sandor’s confession before dying of his moral failures is full of remorse and empathy for those who suffered because of him.  You can read more in detail about his confession here.  The difference between Sandor’s mortal wounds and Gregor’s is that Sandor’s represents a purging of all the rot and sickness (his worst traits) inside him.  He can be saved, and he will be saved by a holy man, an elder brother that will protect him and heal his wounds instead of inflicting them.  Gregor was always rotten inside, so he’s damned.  Sandor experiences a symbolic “beheading” when the Hound’s helm is placed on the grave.  He is granted a rebirth and a second chance to remake his life as a better person.  His identity can be reclaimed.  Gregor is sentenced to undeath and Robert Strong is just an empty helmet.  The message is clear that the only person Sandor needed to kill to set things right was the Hound, not Gregor.

That makes it more likely that in the future that Sandor will be in a position to put down Robert Strong in defense of others, just as he defended Loras at the tourney.  He’s been made into a weapon too dangerous to exist.  Mercy implies feeling empathy for his brother, and I think that might be asking Sandor to be a saint.  I’m not against that idea, but I don’t believe Sandor’s redemption or character arc requires it.  Sandor has experienced some dramatic changes on the Quiet Isle, but his feelings towards his brother’s fate might be more complicated and conflicted.  If we liken Gregor’s undead servitude to being wighted by the Others, no matter how bad a person is, no one deserves to be enslaved to another.  I think we need to see where things are going in the next book to understand exactly what George wants to say about that.           

#valyrianscrolls #sandor clegane meta #sandor clegane #gregor clegane #clegane bowl #valyrian scrolls #anti cleganebowl #revenge #anti revenge #revenge narratives #oberyn martell #ellaria sand #character parallels #house clegane #anonymous #my meta #self reblog

[mermaidmafia-official]

A COLLAR OF SPIKES

“this world is full of dumbass rules, like ‘no drugs for breakfast’ or ‘put on some clothes’…” - Lucifer 4x06

   Name: Nessa ‘Pixie’ Lynch    Apparent Age: 27    Actual Age: 209    Birthplace: Galway, Ireland    Creator/Creatrix: O’Malley    FC or Features: Krysten Ritter

   Likes: combat boots, the Dropkick Murphys, being loud, whisky mixed with blood, drinking songs, motorbikes, following her instincts, playing pool, bar fights, lipstick, St Paddy’s, mosh pits, tongue piercings, wild nights, cats, impulse decisions, Gangs of New York (the film), silver jewelry, boxing matches, card games, teddy boys, gangster films, wireless headphones, not knowing what the future brings, Boston, sticky floors, racing, videos of people falling down

   Dislikes: sunrises, being told what to do, delicate things that break, boring people, knowing what weekday it is, paying attention to things, politics, stupid wolves trying to ruin her fun

   Goal(s): to enjoy herself as much as she can & never live by anyone else’s rules again - Nessa spent her ‘first’ life as a devout but bored Catholic girl, and when, on a stormy sea in a stinking third-class ship cabin, it all turned out to be a lie, she resolved to make the most of her second chance. While she can get territorial (a side effect from running Boston’s premier street gangs, moonshiners, rum runners, greasers, mobsters, and street racers, depending on the decade), she doesn’t like to be drawn into ‘the whole werewolf thing’, which she regards as other people’s politics. Soon, however, she might have no other choice.

   Fear(s): to waste her second chance at life - Nessa is not afraid of much, ever. In her two centuries on earth, she has chased every thrill and courted every danger she could find and she fully expects to bite the dust at some point - it’s what gives life flavour. Instead, she is more afraid of inertia, caution, and not feeling ‘alive’.

   Rumour(s): that ‘Pixie’ (he biker nickname) has her bikes run on magic, that her shenanigans were the cause of the Irish mob war of the 1960s, that she co-wrote Gangs of New York, that she was the mystery donor who saved Murphy’s bar downtown, that she drinks her blood mixed with whisky, that she turned a few soilders at USO dances in the 1940′s into vampires (out of pity or for a lark, no one knows, but none of those vampires have ever been heard from...

-Typicals-

   Wardrobe: leather jackets and biker boots, lots of silver jewelry, and usually some comfy black jeans and a band shirt. For more formal occasions, she has collected an eclectic mix inspired by her favourite eras - it comes off as boho but is mainly Victorian jewelry, flapper vibes, teddy boys, mob chic, and grunge thrown together.

   Places most likely to be found: in a bar downtown, at a concert, fixing her bike, racing her bike, waking up next to a stranger, sleeping off a hangover in cat form

   People most likely to be with: usually, Nessa spends a lot of time outside partying with strangers or chasing adventure with old friends (she is oddly fond of humans, for a vampire- they are so very alive). Meanwhile the coven members are patiently waiting for their disaster child to get it all out of her system & power herself out. 

   Strongest character trait: impulsiveness 

   Mannerisms: direct and hands-on, Nessa likes to grab the bull by the horns. She’s not one for elegance or drama and believes her afterlife is best spent having fun, racing her motorcycle, dancing, drinking, and leaving a bit of chaos in her wake. She likes flipping her hair and singing along, has a loud laugh and can be blunt, lazy when hungover, and impatient and grumpy when bored. She transforms into a cat, especially when sleepy, and then it can be hard to find her.

- Bio-

-the sleekest motorbikes in the garage belong to her- the fastest cars, too. and the latex-iest skirts. but for all of her edge, she thinks of herself as a simple undead woman, seeking her purpose in the universe as a semi-god. in a life now gone, she was a devoted churchgoing housewife (without children but with a brood of cats to look after). now, in this second run, she’s determined to “live” fully, to wreak havoc, and have a laugh while she’s about it. -

~ Nessa was created on a thunderous night in the hold of a ship bound from famine-ridden Ireland to New York by the raggedy vagabond O’Malley, himself a youngster made in Elizabethan London and widely looked down on by the more classy vampires. She still remembers him fondly, wherever he gallivants now

~ She found a new and excitingly bloody life in the outlaw underworld of Boston- from the street gangs of the 1800s to the 1920s moonshiners and the 1960s mob wars, she lived fast, partied hard, and didn’t want for blood

~ She was never in it for the politics, though - she likes to rebel, defy rules, and sow a little chaos.

~ She still digs the whole Boston Irish aesthetic, and feels very at home in it. She thinks it’s hilarious in an ironic way.

-Relationships-

   with THE BLOODMOTHER [likes and respects her as the matriarch of the coven, the only one she accepts ‘orders’ from]    with BLOOD GETS IN YOUR EYE [she definitely appreciates her bads.s energy but also maybe thinks she’s a bit of a drama queen?]    with FUNERAL FEAST [I think she likes her vibe]    with SLEEPING EVIL [tbh Nessa has probably forgotten about her? (for now?)]    With FACE LIKE A ROSE [finds her feral blood lust amusing & like not being the youngest/ the disaster child anymore]

-Extras-

   Playlist

Wicked Ones ~ Dorothy Smash Shit Up ~ Dropkick Murphys Drunken Lullabies ~ Flogging Molly Where the Devil Won’t Go ~ Elle King I’m Shippin’ Up to Boston ~ Dropkick Murphys The Gipsy Dancer ~ The Rumpled Trouble Finds You - Juliet Simms Hot Blood ~ KALEO Rose Tattoo ~ Dropkick Murphys This Is Our Day ~ The Roughneck Riots …

#btr: a collar of spikes #btr: bio #vampy's writing #c o m p l e t e

[critical-analysis]

UnDeadwood: Deadwood’s Real and Fictional Dead Bodies That Could Show up in the Game

UnDeadwood is kind of a funny thin, as it's operating on multiple layers of pre-exissting material. The world and many of the NPCs are taken from the show Deadwood, which aired on HBO in the early-mid 2000s. It took place in the South Dakota city of Deadwood, which at the time was not yet incorporated, so it was a relatively lawless place, where people came to seek their fortune in the gold-rich land. The show itself is based on true characters and true events. While its major storylines are, for the most part, mostly fiction, certain real events are dramatized and many of the character are based on real people. With UnDeadwood utilizing both the setting and many of the characters, what do both the events of the show and the real people these characters are based on mean to the story?

Obviously, I'll be discussing spoilers for all three seasons of Deadwood and the recent movie, so if you haven't seen it all and you don't want to be spoiled, maybe stop reading here and come back once you're all caught up.

Also, I do have many sources I want to cite, but I simply didn’t have time to add them in since I wanted to get this posted before it was too late. So I will be adding in sources sometimes later this week. If you’re very interested in seeing the sources, then keep checking back. I’ll make an update post when I’ve added them. 

In today's part (the second part will be posted on Thursday or Friday), I'll be doing a quick overview of the Deadwood, both the show and the settlement, but I'll mostly be focusing on things that might be important in light of the most recent episode - episode two - particularly the bodies that might be in the cemetery, how they got there, and other things involved the dead of Deadwood.

The series starts in 1876, only about half a year after the camp of Deadwood was founded. Many people were flocking to the west in general, some hoping to get rich by striking gold, and others hoping to move to these camps and upstart towns to take advantage of these frontier settlements by starting shops, saloons, or offering their services in fields like medicine. Wealthy and poor alike went West, with poor people hoping to change their circumstances and wealthy people looking for both more wealth and a little adventure. Deadwood, as well as some other settlements, also drew its share of outlaws, as it hadn't even been annexed into the Dakota Territory, so the laws of the territory, and of the US, largely didn't apply. The Lakota people had originally been guaranteed the land of the Black Hills, putting it outside of US laws and territory, but once gold was discovered in the hills, white people moved in and settled, leading to a great deal of conflict with the native people which, sadly, ended in the US taking the land and annexing it into the Dakota Territory.

The series ended after three seasons, without a satisfying conclusion considering writer David Milch had not been expecting it to not be renewed when he was writing the season finale (though the book The Revolution was Televised describes a much more complicated misunderstanding that led to the lack of a fourth season). I'm not sure of the exact year in-story that the third season took place in, but I imagine it was probably 1879 or earlier, and the show had not yet depicted the great fire that occurred in the fall of 1879 that destroyed much of the town and led to many of the people who lived there to leave town. The movie, which was released earlier this year, picks up the story in 1889.

Deadwood was notorious for the amount of crime and, in particular, murder that happened there. The graveyard was quite full for this reason, among others. That's the first thing I want to talk about, since Undeadwood is dealing with the undead, and in this past week's episode they discovered two graves (who knows if there are more) without bodies in them.

Murders were relatively common in Deadwood, especially if we're going by the more popular mythical idea of the town than the reality. While experts and historians say that the crime in Deadwood in recent years, even as the population is significantly lower than its height in the 1800s, is higher than its ever been, even in the days of the Old West, it's commonly said that at its height there was one murder a day in Deadwood. Which means that there would be lots and lots of people buried in that graveyard from violence alone.

However, the violence in the town might not generate as many graves as you might think, as in the series the bodies of murdered people were often fed to Wu's pigs. While there have been cases of bodies being fed to pigs throughout history, there's no evidence that shows it ever actually happened in Deadwood. So the cemeteries in the actual Deadwood might have been a bit fuller than the cemeteries in the fictional Deadwood.

But violence wasn't the only thing that put bodies in graves in the early days of the camp. In 1876 a small pox epidemic swept through the settlement, killing many. This was dramatized on the show, starting with the illness of the character Andy Cramed and continuing on with many unnamed characters taking ill and dying. In the show, Jane helped Doc Cochran nurse the ill, as Calamity Jane did in real life. It also wasn't uncommon for people to die of injuries sustained while working the claims. So that graveyard is going to be filled with bodies of various kinds, various ages, genders, and types. Some with bullet holes, some disease ridden, some mangled from injury. If the bodies in the cemetery are being reanimated, there's sure to be some horrifying sights ahead.

One of the people whose graves we now know is empty is Wild Bill Hickok. By the time Hickok arrived in Deadwood in in 1976, he was already an incredibly well known figure throughout the country, having fought in the Civil War and becoming famous as a marksman, performer, and gambler. He'd become known for not just his famous shootouts, some of which had seen him tried for (and acquitted of) murder, but the wild west shows he put on and took part in. Sadly, by 1976, even though he wasn't even 40 years old, and despite the fact that he was still a well known figure, Hickok had fallen on difficult times. Glaucoma had impacted his marksmanship so much that it was in steep decline, and he'd been arrested for vagrancy one more than one occasion. He married a woman named Agnes Lake and left to travel to Deadwood, joining a wagon train with Calamity Jane and Charlie Utter. He planned to find his fortune in gold and to continue trying to earn income through gambling.

Hickok hadn't even been in Deadwood a month when Jack McCall entered the saloon Hickok was gambling in and shot him in the head, killing him. McCall had been playing cards with Hickok the day beforehand and had been insulted when Hickok suggest he stop playing before he lose all his money, and offered him money for breakfast. While on trial, McCall claimed his motive was revenge, that Hickok had killed his brother. He was acquitted, then tried again after he was caught bragging about the murder. He was hanged in March of 1877. He was buried in Yankton, and when the body was exhumed when the cemetery was moved a few years later, the noose was still around his neck.

Which, honestly, as morbid as it is, would be great imagery for UnDeadwood, if Brian were to take some dramatic liberties with McCall's place of burial. While the show depicts him fleeing Deadwood in light of the town's growing anger after his acquittal, Charlie Utter and Seth Bullock are late shown to have tracked him down so he can stand trial for a second time, with the result of the trial and the execution not happening on screen. For what it's worth, Hickok's body was also moved from the original cemetery in Deadwood in 1879 and moved to a new cemetery called Mount Moriah, which was built on a hill near the town.

Deadwood was accurate in regards to Hickok's time in Deadwood in some ways and not so much in other ways. He was in Deadwood for such a short amount of time,  and most of the accounts of his time there focus on his gambling and his death. There's no evidence that he was even close to successful in securing a claim, and much of the storylines the character took part in during the series were entirely fictional. It doesn't appear that he did any kind of law enforcement work, and considering the fact that his failing eyesight was having such a strong effect on his marksmanship, it's unlikely he would have been able to take part in a shoot out the like of that which occurred with Seth Bullock in the pilot episode. In fact, he probably never even met Seth Bullock, as Bullock and Starr arrived in the camp just one day before Hickok's murder.

But the depiction of the actual events of his death were accurate in a lot of ways. The show depicts the card games that occurred between Hickok and McCall and the growing resentment from McCall. Hickok usually sat with his back to the wall, so that he could always see the entrance. On the day of his death, such a seat was not available, so purely by chance, he sat in a seat with his back to the door, which allowed McCall to come up behind him without Hickok noticing. This is how events unfolded in reality, and they're accurately depicted on the show, as was McCall's first trial and his revenge defense.

Another body that could show up and be important is that of the original reverend, Reverend Smith. While the fictional Reverend Smith was based on a real person, not much of the real Henry Weston Smith made it to the screen. While the real Smith was similar to his fictional counterpart in that he chose to make the move to Deadwood himself without being assigned to the camp, and he was a man of god who truly believed in a preaching the gospel and had no need for material things, pretty much the entirety of Reverend Smith's story is fictionalized.

Which is both a shame and not a shame. The Reverend's story in Deadwood is a beautiful and unbelievably sad one as it leads up to his death. But his death in real life might be even more interesting, as he was the victim of a mysterious murder that remains unsolved today. In August of 1976, he had left his home to preach in a nearby settlement, leaving as note on his door. While many were concerned about the danger of traveling outside of camp without protection, due to both robbers who roamed the roads and the tensions that existed with the native people who had rights to the land, Reverend Smith said that the only protection he needed was the Bible. His body was found to the side of the road outside of town, shot to death. Because he wasn't robbed, the murder was blamed on the native people, but it was never truly solved, and many people within Deadwood having reason to not want a man of god preaching in their camp. Smith was buried in a hillside cemetery, and then he was also moved to the cemetery on Mount Moriah.

In the series, though, Reverend Smith suffered from a brain tumor which causes him to slowly deteriorate as he suffers from hallucinations, headaches, and physical impairment. In UnDeadwood, Al refers to him as being "like a brother". The two weren't close before Smith's illness, but as Al moved from villain into more "anti hero" status, the Reverend reminds Al of his adopted brother, who had seizures and fits like the ones Smith has. He cares for Smith at the Gem as the reverend becomes sicker and sicker, finally smothering him in an act of euthanasia, sending Smith away from his suffering to go with God.

There are also the bodies of the Metz family, who were slaughtered in the first episode by men working for Al Swearengen (though not on Swearengen's orders), as they were on their way out of Deadwood, having not been able to make their fortune and finding the camp too rough. The only survivor was a little girl, Sophia, who would go on to be raised by Alma Garret Ellsworth. So the family's bodies, including those of other children who didn't survive, could possibly also be among those in the graveyard, or among those that are no longer in the graveyard.

The Metz family massacre was an event that occurred outside of Deadwood in 1976, with the family being slaughtered outside of Deadwood in 1876. The crime was initially claimed on the native people, as is shown in the series, but it appeared they were robbed and word spread around town that it was the work of Persimmon Bill Chambers - though not on any orders by Swearengen or anyone else.  Chambers' involvement remained rumors, though, as Chambers was never arrest or tried, and he disappeared, with papers claiming he was killed later the same year. Sources disagree on whether or not there were any survivors of the massacre, and those that do say there was a survivor say that it was an adult man, not a little girl.

Of particular interest, given the events of the end of this past week's episode, is Doc Cochran. In the series, Doc Cochran is a complex character who is ultimately one of the most truly good people in the camp. As the only doctor in town he treats the entire camp, from the girls at the Gem to the smallpox-stricken residents, to a traumatized Sophia after the death of her family, and pretty much everyone else at some point.

Historical records show no evidence of Doc Cochran having a real life counterpart. It's likely that his general existence and relationship to the settlement is a combination of multiple doctors who lived and worked in Deadwood in the first few decades of its existence (and interestingly, at least one of those doctors, Flora Hayward Stanford, who came to the camp to work in 1888, was a woman).

At the end of last week's episode, a hat was found in Wild Bill's grave that displayed the initials D.C., and as the group remembered that Doc Cochran had been unable to find his hat when they knocked on his door, the assumption was made that Cochran must has had some part in the strange happenings of the empty graves and the walking dead.

But there's more to support the idea that he's at least SOMEHOW involved in what's going on than the presence of a hat with his initials on it. In UnDeadwood, while talking to the group about whether or not he had ever seen anything like what had occurred in the shootout, Cochran describes seeing similar things during the war. According to his backstory in the series, Cochran served as a doctor in the war, having to treat the wounded and dying soldiers. He was traumatized by his experience. But the real kicked is a little bit of info that dropped when the leaders of the community were trying to put together a government and assigning jobs. It's revealed that Doc Cochran has been arrested for grave robbing. Seven times.

People hear "grave robbing" and think that it signifies the Doc is not a good person, but grave robbing wasn't entirely uncommon when it came to the medical profession in those days. It was actually a pretty common practice in the 19th century, when those working in the medical field were showing an unprecedented curiosity and making more frequent advancement than ever before, demand for bodies to study and experiment on was high, but the amount of actual, legal product was low. While grave robbing is undeniably a crime and a horrible thing to do, it was a pretty common thing at the time, and not necessarily indicative of whether or not someone was a good or bad person. Doc Cochran shows throughout the series and during the movie that he's a good, decent person, compassionate and ethical in his practices.

The main thing that separates Doc Cochran from the real grave robbers of the era is that, in most cases, grave robbers were never caught. Cochran must not have been very good at it, considering he was nabbed seven times.

So Cochran being connected to an empty grave is not unprecedented. What could this all mean, though? Having a past that includes grave robbing could very well connect him to something mysterious and otherworldly going on that involves graves being found empty. He didn't play dumb when the group asked him about whether he'd seen anything like it before. Instead he was open and honest about what he had seen during the war.

Perhaps what's going on in the game is a result of Doc Cochran's experiments having gone wrong. Perhaps he took bodies from the graves to experiment on, and maybe he took the unburied bodies of the bandits to examine/experiment on before they were scheduled for burial. Maybe wasn't attempting anything nefarious and it's just innocent experimentation gone wrong.

Or maybe it's a red herring. It's possible that while he did take the bodies, and maybe even possible that the bodies he took were or will be reanimated, that he has nothing to do with the actual raising of the dead. That he simply took the bodies for experimentation/examination, and something else happened that he had no part of that reanimated them. It's even possible that someone knows of Cochran's past with grave robbing (as is stated in the series, he was pretty open about sharing it, so it's probably at least somewhat common knowledge), and has stolen his hat, placing it in the grave in an attempt to frame him.

I personally hope that it's one of these options and that he's not up to anything nefarious. Doc Cochran is my favorite character from the show, precisely because while he's a tough and complicated person, he's genuinely good and compassionate. I think it would very much go against his characterization for him to be doing anything intentionally bad or wrong.

But I think that the fact that he does have a history of grave robbing is going to play into things in a major way.

Deadwood was an incredibly violent show, and while the actual Deadwood settlement might not have been quite as violent as legend says, there was a lot of death and suffering that took place there, even in its first year. There are plenty of bodies produced by the series that UnDeadwood can capitalize on for its undead hordes, so I suppose we just have to wait and see what bodies pop up and what from the show is going to effect the narrative moving forward.

Stay tuned for the Thursday/Friday essay, where I'll continue the UnDeadwood discussion, talking about the other characters from the show that we've seen so far, their historical counterparts, and how their stories might come into play in the game. Thanks for reading!

#critical role #undeadwood #deadwood #one shots and other shows

[rcris123]

“How’re you feelin’?” Arthur asks Kieran that evening after things settled down a lil’.

“Dizzy.” The boy was still nursing his injured arm, looking rather pitiful. Grimshaw bandaged it “But I guess it’ll heal.”

“Unless you catch the fever.” Sean mocked.

It felt isolated the way all of ‘em that went away were the ones around this fire. That and Charles. Isaac fell asleep in Arthur’s arms; must have exhausted him being in an actual gunfight.

“Shut up!” Kieran mused up the courage.

Sean laughs: “Keep tryin’.”

And the kid scowls, and changes the subject: “Sadie, I ain’t got the time to thank you. I-I know you ain’t- I mean-”

“I don’t hate you.” She says drily. “But don’t you think we’re friends either.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t even think of it.” A pause. “I’m still sorry for what happened to Jack.”

“That’s done now.” Arthur says, brushes a few strands of hair from Isaac’s forehead. “We keep goin’.”

“An’ what ‘bout Dutch?” Sean interrupts.

Arthur just lets out a long sigh.

“Ain’t seen him that... what you call it?” Sean continued.

“Unhinged?” Charles chimes in.

“... Well... Without morals I mean. You went back for me, you did. And that pile of cowdungs that’s Micah.”

Arthur coughs a laugh at that; hearing Sean insult Micah in increasingly creative ways ain’t ever gonna get old.

“Guess I’m still an O’Driscoll to them- to Dutch at least. I mean it ain’t makin’ sense goin’ to rescue me-”

“The fewer O’Driscolls the better.” Sadie’s stone cold. “Just want them all gone. Every. Single. Last one o’em bastard.”

“I’m so sorry, Sadie...” Kieran truly sounds heartbroken and it seems he ain’t ever heard the story of what happened to her. “Truly I am-”

“I don’t want your pity, kid.” She spits.

Sebastian puts a hand on Kieran’s back before the boy gets to speak again.

“I think we all need to rest now-” Arthur tried.

Sean won’t have it: “Can’t rest now thinkin’ Dutch might just lemme rot if I were to get lost even just a lil’ bit, or worse put a bullet in me head ‘cause I said somethin’ he ain’t liked. It gave me the chills hearin’ him talk like that- how long’s it been for you Arthur? In the gang I mean?”

“20 years.”

“20 years and ye think that’ll gain a man some respect...”

“Ye’r thinkin’ too much lately, Sean.” Arthur chuckles.

“Ain’t you always said to use me noggin?!”

“Well it’s better that you don’t right now.”

“That ain’t fair, Arthur.”

A hand comes to rest on Arthur’s shoulders and everyone looks up: Hosea.

“Managed to calm the ol’ man down.” He says, taking a seat by Arthur and Isaac. And Hosea brushes the boy’s head with the same care as his actual father. “You really upset him this time ‘round, Arthur.”

A sigh: “I know...”

“It’s better if you apologize-”

“Yeah.” Arthur didn’t let him finish. “I ain’t meant it to end the way it did... I just-”

“No, I understand.” Hosea continues. “Things are... let’s say complicated.” It’s Sebastian that looks at the old man, knowingly. “And it’s the same for our good ol’ Dutch there. He cares for you, Arthur.”

“I know...” voice drops penitently.

“He fears he’s gonna lose a dear old friend-”

“But I can’t just sit an’ do nothin’!” Arthur sighs.

“Raising the boy made you real caring, ain’t it?”

“I guess...” A scratch of the beard, a purse of lips: “But you know how it was.”

“No, I ain’t blaming you.” Hosea lifted his hands defensively. “I’ve just been thinking that things feel like slipping. Ever since Blackwater.” Charles and Sean nodded. “And with you being gone more often I feel somehow older.” Old man gave a bitter laugh, followed by a dry cough. “I feel-” a drawn-out exhale. “I feel like I don’t have the strength to hold all together anymore.”

Arthur’s silent and if he wouldn’t be holding Isaac he’d try to comfort Hosea with a touch.

“It’s too much to ask this of you, Arthur... But here I am.”

“Hosea-”

“English’s tryin’.” Sean butts in, sounding somewhat more quiet than usual, and still that was some courage from him for all the trouble Hosea gave him for laziness. “I mean I ain’t knowin’ why the hell’ll save this soggy ol’ bread.” He gestured to Kieran and the kid scowled.

“It was certainly lucky.” Hosea replies. “It’s true that if the O’Driscolls found Kieran in the camp they knew where we were and could of come with even more men. But the undead- I mean there were legends among Creoles about something called zonbi. I guess the people around here should know something if there's a plague and if we're in any danger of getting it.”

Arthur nods: "I'm comin' with you."

"Well if you got the disposition.. I think bringing this to Dutch soon will appease him somewhat and make it all seem like less of an act of defiance."

"O'course."

Arthur goes to stand up, almost forgets Isaac in his arms. And he's also reminded of that letter…

"And I guess I'll go see Mary."

"Her?" Sean's surprised. "Ain't you got done with that long ago?... I mean no offense but I heard the stories..."

John couldn't keep his mouth shut, that and Uncle.

"I was, but she popped up again." A sigh. "But I ain't deserving her and she ain't deserving me. So I gotta end things. Proper this time…"

"You want me to come with you?..." Sebastian spoke quietly until voice died down completely and he pursed his lips as if he said something wrong.

"I…" Arthur tried to find words. "I would-"

"Rather do that alone. Yes…" He cuts him. "I get that…"

The world ain't kind to lovers like them.

"I'm sorry, Sebastian…"

But Sebastian gave a smile:

“You and Hosea take care out there.” Arthur nods. “I’ll get Isaac upstairs.” And now, trying his best to not wake the boy up he lifts him up, but Isaac’s eyes flutter awake.

Sebastian holds him up and Isaac mutters a half asleep: “Pa?”

“Go get some rest kid, you earned it” Father smiles to his son and one could see the pride that flushes on the boy’s cheeks as he’s lulled away with care.

And Christ, he'd love to kiss Sebastian right now, to give him the courage to see Mary, 'cause he's feeling like he'll go soft and weak again. A touch of the necklace; he’s still there. A deep breath in.

“Well… guess we should get goin’...” Arthur gets up from the log he was standing on: “Rest up, Kieran. Take blankets from upstairs if you need to.”

“T-thank you, Arthur.”

 The road to Saint Denis he could do in his sleep by now, and with the sun setting like it was he almost did. Hosea didn’t talk, only coughed from time to time. Then:

“Arthur… I… Maybe there’s no good place to ask or say this, but- Do you remember how me and Dutch met? Back in ‘72?”

“ ‘Course I do.” Heart started to shrink in his chest; he knew what came after this.

“And is there anything that you want to tell me about you and...”

“There ain’t much to it...” a sigh; it ain’t even been that long ago. “Man saved my sorry ass just ‘cause Isaac happened to be with me and he happened to have been a childless father-” Another sigh, or maybe it was a defeated groan: “What you want from me, Hosea? ‘cause I ain’t knowin’ how I got here, just know that I goddamn did...”

Hosea remained quiet for a while; there was Saint Denis with all its electrical glory, there to illuminate fossils and human scum, then: “He strikes me as a good man. Sebastian I mean...”

“Ain’t I keepin’ a record of courting people much better than myself...” a bitter laugh. He’s going to see that Mary again; what a sad, deluded fool he was... “Guess we should be splittin’ up about here.”

“I’ll meet you back around here.”

Where were they even? Well that looked like the Police Station, by the way lawmen buzzed around the entrance. She’s at the Grand Hotel just a street further. Sun’s almost done setting by the time he reaches the structure, head’s bowed low and he ain’t even truly looking for her. There’s a pit in his stomach, gnawing at him. And then she hears her from above him:

“Arthur! Arthur you came!”

He dismounts, looks up for a brief moment: “Yeah, I came...”

“Wait there! I’m coming straight down” She had a bright smile on her face as she rushes downstairs.

Arthur takes a deep breath in: there were people staring and he throws them a glance. It ain’t none of their business, and he fears it’s hardly his own. Oh what a fool he’ll make of himself once more; seems to be a trend when it came to Arthur Morgan and love...

Dumb love... Is he going to let this one slip away as well. A scratch of the beard then hand goes down to rub the necklace. Christ!

She’s downstairs already: “Arthur...” She sounds as in love as she ever was, and to think back to how her face drained of color upon seeing Isaac...

“Hello, Mary.” He can’t match her enthusiasm.

“You came...” Arthur just nods. “How’s the boy? Isaac was his name?”

At last he gains the courage to look her in the eyes, it almost sounded like she cared and it’s tearing at him. If only she could of been a mother. If only he could have been anything but an outlaw. But things ain’t changed; she told him they never would. But maybe he just hasn’t been looking in the right places all this time. Sebastian ain’t no woman, but there ain’t no question that man loved Arthur, with all his biggest flaws and the son to boot – or maybe the son was the only reason Arthur was deserving of love in the first place. And with that tightness in his chest thinking of him now when Mary was right before him, Arthur surely seemed to love just as much in return...

He hasn’t replied in a while: “Arthur?... What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.” He purses his lips, shifts weight from one leg to the other. “The boy’s fine. Been a long day...” But she needed his help with something: “But what you called me for?”

She tucks her hands into each other: “Well... Daddy-”

“Your father!?” He’s offended but not surprised: “Should of known...” He takes steps away.

“Arthur! I’m sure you’d understand, being a father yourself and all...” she follows him, voice pitched.

Arthur spins on his heels: “Well at least I’m aware I’m a no good father, unlike your own.”

She purses her lips: “I know Daddy wasn’t kind to you... but... but can you hate a man for the sin of loving his daughter?...”

“What ‘bout his son? Jaime?” Arthur takes a stride forward. “Look where all that love got him! Running with a bunch of lunatics! And you! Is that where this pure life has gotten you!? Begging me for help?! ‘cause he no doubt went drinking and whoring and gambling?!”

Mary turns away almost putting her hands in her head: “Be kind to me!... Arthur...”

But Arthur spins away once more, his voice low once again:

“Were you kind to me, Mary? Were you kind calling my son a degenerate, tellin’ me I haven’t even tried, when I did. I did, Mary. It’s why I came, but I see now I’ve come all this way for nothin’...”

“Arthur!... Oh Arthur, I’m- I’m sorry...” He lets her draw close. “I... I missed you.”

And he looks at her, how she stretches her hands out for him to hold them. He does, only to fold them in on themselves, back towards the woman’s chest:  

“I missed you for a long time, Mary. But it’s done now. I may be the best man you know at frightening decent people, but for my son, I cannot.”

He withdraws his hands:

“Okay... Arthur...” She’s heartbroken and when she wants to tear her gaze away it falls down on his neckline, the medallion. A moment’s ponder; Arthur already drew away: “Can I at least know if... Is there someone else?”

“Yes.” And he hoped that was enough.

“... Can I know who?”

He climbs back in the saddle with a deep inhale: “You read the name on the medallion...” Her eyebrows knit together before a hand hides her mouth from hanging loose “Be well, Mary...”

She says not a word more and Arthur finds himself sitting on the sidewalk back at the police station, head in hands, rubbing his face until it’s no doubt red. To love a man, what a goddamn fool he is. A moron even. Dug himself into a hole there ain’t no escaping from; all he once had felt torn away bit by bit and all his attempts at stitching it back together with reasons that worked before no longer did. He betrayed Dutch horribly with one simple act. Ain’t it of been better if he was purely ruthless and not wanting to do something that ain’t his domain: kindness? He ain’t a do-gooder, he murders people, animals; he maims whatever he can get his hands on, even hope for the goddamn future. And somehow this broken mess that he was became a father and had to raise the kid ‘cause his Momma was killed – and he thought that’s been in no small part thanks to himself, the way the boy was fathered.

He’s afraid he’s gonna lose the boy too somewhere, sometime... And the thought hurts more than he can bear. He sits up to try to shake the feeling, gets inside, maybe he can make something of use.

And there was a man there putting up a poster.

“That a bounty poster, mister?” Arthur asks with a sniff and a faked cough; he’s keeping the tears away.

“Indeed.” The man had an almost pristine white coat, and what looked like some burn scar on his face. “Are you a bounty hunter, mister?”

“Happen to be, yes.”

“And are you efficient?”

“Took down the Captain of the Lemoyne Raiders so I guess I ain’t too bad neither.”

“Good.” Man stops pinning the poster and hands it over to Arthur, and soon after a card too: “Here’s my address. Bring the bounty to my house please.”

“Not the police station?” That was odd.

“Oh, no. I have a permit for taking care of psychically unstable people. You see, I’m a psychiatrist.”

“And what you needin’ a bounty for?”

“Ah, well, I also happen to be a scientist. And my newest invention is in need of a subject.”

“Yeah, but why a bounty-”

“It’s a device made to administer an effective, painless death, mister.”

Arthur grunts: “ ‘kay. But I’m afraid I ain’t caught your name.”

“Victoriano.”

Another Italian?... Although he sounded British. But that ain’t no business of his; Arthur’ll just return to sitting outside, waiting for Hosea.

He must have fallen asleep ‘cause the man shook him awake:

“Let’s go Arthur. I’ll tell you on the way.”

He snorts and grunts getting back up on Ghost, how late was it even?

“So, what you found out, Hosea?”

“Well, not much, but you definitely ain’t been wrong-”

“I know what I saw, Hosea. People call’em Night Folk.”

“Yes, yes. People are afraid to go out in the Bayou ‘cause of them, especially at night. Some said they were spirits of slaves that died, others claim they’re people turned mad by something in the water.”

That caught his attention. “So the water in the swamp ain’t safe?”

“I fear so too, yes.”

“So what we gonna do about that? Boil all water? ‘cause we’re still in the Bayou.”

“It’s worth the try.”

“That also means that Lakay spot me and the boys found ain’t safe.”

“Yes...” Hosea was terribly distraught.

“What about what Bill and Micah found?”

“Well they said it was full of degenerates, a gang called Murfree’s Brood, I think. Said they acted like animals, that they had a mutilated corpse propped up at the entrance like some kind of trophy.”

“Christ!” No more places to hide for them... “We’re running out of time, Hosea...”

“It’s the last push, this one. We’ll be gone soon. Dutch found a boat, wants us to leave the country.”

A bitter laugh: “And you believe that?”

“Well I can’t have been running a fool’s errand all these years. And if I was I guess I just convinced myself it ain’t true just so I have one last thing to cling to.” Hosea sighs after that. “But I’m old, Arthur. For me it doesn’t matter that much where it ends, how it ends. I lived my life, but Isaac, Jack-”

“I ain’t letting no harm come to that boy, I swear.”

“I know. I raised you two both. Isaac’s the closest thing to a grandson I’ll ever have. Bessie loved him...”

“I remember. She’d smother him all up.” A chuckle. “And the kid loved it to bits, having no mother and all...”

“Don’t blame yourself for that, you did all that you could have done.”

“And still I ain’t been a good father. I ain’t been meant to be a father-”

“Think of it as it could have been a lot worse, Arthur.” Hosea doesn’t stand his self-doubt. Never did.

And still, to think Hosea believed him and the boy should somehow get out of this life came as a surprise but comfort too, and courage.

People were asleep back at Shady Belle. It was crickets, the crackling of fire and the occasional snore that broke the silence. They hitched the horses beyond the bridge before passing over and that’s when he saw Sebastian slumped next to the campfire he left from. Heart sinks to the bottom of his guts.

“Goodnight, Arthur.” Hosea salutes before splitting their ways.

“ ’night.”

Sebastian wasn’t asleep when he reached him; just looked up at him, a bottle of whiskey in hand and a smoking cigarette in the other:

“Everything a’right?” he asked trying on some sobriety.

“Her father’s a no-good bastard an’ she calls me for help with that after degrading the way I raised my son.” A deep inhale and Arthur sits down beside him.

“Oouch.” Sebastian slurred, leaned closer then stopped. “Wanna go stroll a lil’? ‘Round the back of Shady Belle.”

“Sure-” Arthur helps the man up not a moment later.

It’s pitch black for a moment, as the light of the campfires still flickered behind them, but once ‘round the corner, a dim blue light illuminated the side of the manor, the trees and their faces. But Sebastian slips behind his back, wrapping his arms around his chest, face nestled in the crook of his neck, breathing slow. A pleasant shiver runs down his spine and Arthur dares keep that inhale in as he closes his eyes. There’s things he wanna say, things he wanna hear Sebastian speak about, but he just keeps quiet, ‘cause words cram in his mouth and nothing’s right. And there’s that feelin’ croppin’ up again, and those thoughts that he mulled over at the police station come racing back. Arthur’s clinging to him now. Mary ain’t ever touched him like this. But they were different people.

There’s still a whiskey bottle in the man’s hands. Arthur takes it and draws a bit away:

“Bet you I can drink this whole bottle in one sip?”

“Arthur-”

Too late, the bottle’s neck is to his lips and the liquor drains into his mouth and with big gulps down his throat. Higher and higher. It burns, his chest caught flames. Then it’s done and he throws the bottle away. He gives a laugh:

“Told you I can-” then his knees buckle underneath him and he falls to the ground.

Sebastian’s quick enough to catch him, but not quick enough so that they don’t end up on the muddy ground.

What a pitiful man he was; eyes become watery:

“It’s caught up to me... This mess...”

Sebastian rests his head on his shoulder: “You and me both...”

Arthur cups the man’s face as soon as his says that.

“You’re gonna get out-” It’s his only promise, when sober and when drunk alike: “You have to, you and the kid-”

“Shut up-” It’s lips on lips, rough, Sebastian’s hands pinning him down.

And he don’t understand what that’s supposed to mean, just huffs into the kiss.

“Shut up, you fool, you-” It’s sloppy, words panted when mouths ain’t on each other. “I can’t go on alone.” Sebastian stops, bows his head and buries it back in the crook of Arthur’s neck.

“You love me?...” A question, voice is breaking apart.

A kiss on his neck to make Arthur gasp out: “ ‘course I do-”

“For me? I ain’t worth it- Agh!” Sebastian bit into his neck at that remark.

“Who the fuck else...”

“Isaac...”

“You both.” His nose rubs against the itching spot that was left behind. Then man shifts up, cups Arthur’s face, coaxing the head back, exposing the neck. “Arthur...” Another kiss trailing up from his collarbone. “Arthur-” The way that name slips out of his lips makes his pants wanna set up a tent. “I’m starting to make sense of things. With you.” A kiss on his jaw. “With you...”

Arthur strings him up by the thighs, stretching them apart until he’s straddled under Sebastian. And the man pants with the touch:

“You buckstuborn idiot- I thought of you.” Arthur muses, lifting his chin just slightly up, brushing his lips against the other’s where they ghosted above him. “She was right there, in front of me, and I thought of you... I loved her. I missed her...”

And now I miss you.

That he ain’t dare say it’s too much even for a drunken sap like he was.

Sebastian lunges in to devour his mouth once more, body grinds against Arthur’s; there’s whiskey on his breath, on his tongue. Cheap cigarettes, cheap liquor and cheap life choices ‘cause they’re both poor and got nowhere else to go. He’s gotten drunk so he ain’t gotta be afraid, of thoughts, of actions, of whatever the hell. He’s gotten drunk so he can be numb to the meaning of all these feelings. But not to touch.

And no one touched him like Sebastian did. Why is all he could ask. Why’s he deserving, why now, why Sebastian – why this moron that he was- And all this fighting raging on in his mind makes him grind the man against himself. It’s tights now and there’s a bulge bucking against his abdomen. Pants escape him. Wasn’t religion that talked about how the body desires without the mind consenting to it, ‘cause that’s what he wanted now.

“Sebastian-”

“Mhm-” the man purrs into the next kiss, coaxing him up. The grinding don’t stop.

“I-”there’s too much to say, mostly alcohol induced. “Shit-” There’s mud in his hair, on his clothes. It’s dirty work. They’re in camp-

He stops suddenly.

“You okay?” Sebastian runs a hand through sticky hair.

A single huff as he leans against the man’s chest, arms wrapping around his back.

“Isaac’s upstairs- Dutch, Everyone-” A sigh. “Not here...”

 Sebastian presses a kiss on the top of his head, then a chuckle when he’s done laying his face on top of his own:

“We could always keep quiet.”

“Not with this mud.”

“And you don’t fancy bathing in the bayou?”

“At the risk of alligator death? No.” Somehow man’s got him chuckling again. He’s feeling warm now and not in the aroused way; he’s still hard thou.

“Guess I just have to fuck you when no one’s watchin’-”

“Good luck with that.”

Arthur laughs, but before he has time to finish, Sebastian’s hand groped his half hard cock. Lips purse and he bucks his hips up; success came in the form of a barely abstained moan from the other. It’s then followed by a soft kiss on the neck from Arthur’s part. And now Sebastian’s laughing, a throaty, drunken laugher and he leans back in his arms. Arthur sways with him.

“Por favor, dame un beso.” Sebastian coos with a faint smile on his face.

“What?” He doesn’t understand; that ain’t English, was it.

“Un beso-” A kiss on Arthur’s lips. “Just a lil’ one-”

“What you tryina’ pull here?” Arthur’s still quite amused.

“Trying to teach you some Spanish.”

“Why?”

“So you’d know when I tell you besame.”

“What’s that mean-”

“Kiss me-”

And Arthur does, sucking the breath out of Sebastian, that an’ a moan. Why all the doubting from before when he’s pretty goddamn certain that he’s in love... It’s been so long- And he ain’t a good man, no matter how he felt-

“Christ...” he exhales when the kiss is broken. “Sebastian-”

“Arthur...”

He rubs the man’s cheeks with his thumbs, smiling like the fool he really was.

“Te amo.” Sebastian whispers with such grace.

 He wakes up with a headache; it takes a groan to set himself in motion- A blanket?

A hurried look to the side only to find Isaac curled next to them under a thin mat. A drawn out sigh as a hand goes to rest on the boy’s shoulder, offering gentle rubs now. Sebastian’s hardly awake himself, looking through half lidded eyes at the kid with one arm draped over Arthur’s chest. They slept in like that leaned on one of the porch’s posts, drunk again and with some wood to show what they’ve been thinkin’ last night, or it was probably the drink...

He’s been sighing a lot lately, so with the latest one he leans his head onto Sebastian’s.

“The boy really loves you.” Man says, voice gruff, glazed over by sleep and whiskey. “You’ve been a father many’d wish they had.”

A snort: “That ain’t true-”

“You love your son. More than anything.” Sebastian draws a finger across his chest. “I ain’t known any man to fight for their son like you do.”

“I’m coddling him...” Arthur scolds himself.

“Life ain’t of been kind to him if you weren’t.”

There goes one more deep exhale; finally admitting defeat: “Guess that much’s true. Wanted that for him. So he ain’t turning out like me.”

“He ain’t.” And he dips up for a kiss on the jaw before standing up and stretching his bones with a groan. Then a look at Arthur who ain’t yet got the courage to sit up: “And you need a bath.”

That and Sebastian’s gaze checks out the lil’ tent his pants put up with a smirk and for a moment he feared the man’ll put his boot on it. But Sebastian’s got at least that much decency. Instead he helps Arthur up.

By the time Isaac got up, Arthur got him some new clothes and to Miss Grimshaw’s surprise Arthur washed on his own volition, with a change of garments to boot. Sebastian went and fetches them some breakfast:

“Seems Pearson found alligator eggs.”

“Get outta here-” Arthur chaffs then he’s presented with a plate of hard boiled alligator eggs and a yellow sauce that smells like mustard.

“Alligator eggs?” Isaac almost trips over his pants while pulling them up trying to peek at the exotic dish. “Ever had ‘em Pa?”

“No.” And that’s signal that he should dig in already.

“What’s it taste like?” Isaac wastes no time asking.

“Chewy.” He hasn’t swallowed yet. “Fishy. Kinda salty but I think that’s on Pearson’s part.” Isaac giggles. “Sauce is decent thou.”

And once he’s all dressed boy wastes no time chowing down on his own portion. While Arthur should go talk with Dutch. ‘course Isaac notices.

“Where you going?” kid takes a bite. “Talk with Dutch?”

He can’t lie... “Yes.”

“Can I sit by you? ...Promise I won’t talk.”

“Yes...”

Isaac perked up: “Really?”

“Don’t ask twice I might just change my mind. Now c’mon.”

Sebastian didn’t follow; there were flames on the pyre and Sebastian was smart enough not to walk into them. Thankfully Dutch looked to be in a pleasant mood - not the same could be said for Molly O’Shea. She looked miserable, slumped on a crate.

“Mornin’.”

“Good morning to you too, Arthur.”

Here it comes; he sits down and Isaac beside him: “I’m sorry for yesterday.”

“It was very reckless of you.” Dutch’s tone was a note away from scolding.. “But I can’t not forgive you, Arthur.”

Arthur looked at him, trying to find the right words:

“You’re like a son to me.” Dutch continues. “All of us are family.”

He bobs his head: “It’s why I did it, Dutch.”

“I know...” Man sounded like he was just as sorry. “I just got scared.”

“I told you- What could I have done, Dutch?” he’s getting mildly frustrated.

“Distrust me. My judgement.”

“You ain’t lookin like ye’r trusting me very well right now.” Arthur’s real hoping his son either don’t catch what Dutch was saying or don’t stand up. A glance at him and sure enough he had his eyebrows knit

“Can I count on that trust?”

“Always, Dutch.”

Then silence.

“You know Hosea talked with the locals about them undead.” Arthur broke it at last.

“Yeah. He told me.”

“There’s something in the water that’s making it that way.”

Dutch turns to him:

“Would you and Hosea see about that? What’s causing it?”

“Sure.”

“Want to know who’s behind it.” Man rubs his hands with seeming anxiety. “There’s people out to extermin us. As if we’re vermin for not conforming to their uptight rules. Us and everyone who’s poor and unfortunate- Did you talk with the Indians?”

“Yes, saw them a couple of days ago. The father asked me to see his son near Citadel Rock.”

“Good. It might have something to do with that.”

“At this point who knows.”

“You’re right.”

Arthur gets up, urges Isaac to do the same, with permission and all he could go-

“I-...” Dutch utters, coaxing Arthur to turn his head back to him. “I’m sorry, for earlier.”

“Don’t mention it-”

“Are you taking the boy with you?”

“Yes...” Arthur scratches his beard.

“Take care there, Isaac, okay?” Dutch sounded much younger then, almost like someone he used to know a long time ago.

“Sure.” kid replies.

But first he makes sure he checks up on that Kieran kid. And he find him with Mary-Beth carefully tending to his wound.

Arthur leans on the pole keeping up the tent with a smirk. Isaac peeks behind his shoulder and snorts and with that both youngsters grow apart and a deep shade of red almost instantly:

“Ain’t meant to interrupt!” Arthur lifts his arms up. “Just came here to see how dear ol’ Kieran here’s doin’.” A chuckle.

“ I’m fine actually, thank you!” Yet he’s still rubbing his arm.

“Does it hurt?” Isaac asks making one more step forward.

“Not all that bad now.” Kieran darts is head to the side; Mary-Beth was looking down hiding her face behind curled locks. “Thanks to Mary-Beth.” Kieran lights up like fireworks. “B-but I won’t be here without you or your Pappy.”

Isaac’s beaming and Arthur can’t help smiling himself. Then he remembers:

“Weren’t you the one who said you wanted to go fishin’ sometime? For.. uh… that big Bluegill, ain’t it?”

“Oh! Yes!”

“Remind me when I get back and that arm o’ yours is stronger.”

“Sure- but where’re you going? After more O’Driscolls?”

“No. Not yet. Why?”

“ ‘cause there’s some things I wanna say.”

“Can’t you say them now?” Isaac intervenes.

But it’s Mary-Beth that talks next: “I said it’s best if things settle down a little. Dutch ain’t- well Dutch is...”

“I know.” Arthur says.

“I’ll tell you on that fishin’ trip. Promise.”

“Don’t forget.”

“No sir-” Kieran says that out of habit without paying mind that it wasn’t Arthur who said it, but his son. The father laughs.

“Get your strengths back soon, ‘kay?”

“Uh-huh.”

They should probably get goin’ already. He tells Isaac to fetch Sebastian and maybe some warmer clothes, while Arthur’s off to saddle the horses. But there’s something off. There by Pearson’s wagon, Micah’s talking. He listens in:

“Quite the woman.” He catches. “Quite the woman...” Arthur stops brushing Ghost. “You could make a feller real happy... bet you know how.” That’s it Arthur’s off, bagging the brush and that poor mare stretches her neck looking for pats.

“I got work to do now.” Abigail was pissed and after what happened with Jack this was a poor move of the bastard’s part.

But Arthur ain’t thought too far; Micah backs off hands in the air

“Oh, you’re a sneaky one, Morgan...” That inhale through teeth Micah did, tipping his chin up. “But I didn’t know I was your type.”

“Just back off, would you-” Arthur’s still larger than him.

“Woah there-” Somehow that cackle is uglier than he was: “Don’t wanna see you biting the pillows, cowpoke.”

Micah steps away like he’s facing off a wild beast and rest assured that comment sure made him bare his teeth:

“You watch that goddamn mouth-” Micah’s arms rose higher and there was fear at last in those cold eyes. “Lest you want a fist in it.”

“Easy, tough guy.” Man still laughs like he’s got the upper hand and the moment Arthur tears his gaze from him he notices Dutch looking over.

His lips purse as Micah backs even further away before spinning on his heels.

He didn’t even notice John coming by:

“You okay there, Arthur?”

“Don’t you pay him no mind.” Abigail reassures. “He’s all talk and no bite.”

He came there to help not to be helped.

“Sure, but you tell me if he ever gives u trouble again, Abigail.”

“What about you, thou?” John intervenes.

“I got fists and bullets.” Arthur grunts.

“He ain’t worth the trouble, Arthur.” Abigail encourages, the passes on to John: “And where’ve you been?”

Arthur’s already drawing away, back to his horses and saddles ‘cause Isaac’s down with the warmer clothes when John replies: “Been with Jack, playing something.”

“John Marston...” the surprise in Abigail’s tone is bringing him joy too. So the bastard can change.

“Did anything happen?” Isaac, bless his heart, noticed.

“No.” He ain’t gonna expose the boy to that idiot’s cruelty.

“Okay...” A hand rubs the kid’s back with rigour.

“So... Isaac said I can borrow one of your coats.” Sebastian said, packing that coat he called ‘the Grizzly’ ‘cause he made it out of one.

He entirely forgot about Micah; there’s a smile on his face: “I’d love to see you in it.”

Sebastian chuckles; Arthur knew exactly what was on the man’s lips but he ain’t dare say it.

They should be reaching Citadel Rock by Nightfall if all went smoothly. And then the next morning, if all, again, went according to plan, they should be reaching the Grizzlies border near the Heartlands’ Overflow where their bounty was last seen.

Road sure is long enough, and most of it comes quiet. At one point a wild turkey cut their path and Isaac pulled out his bow and with one swift motion downed the bird from a gallop. He almost heard Sebastian gasp then. They hung the bird on Big Sir and went on. A storm caught up to them sometime in the afternoon near Dewberry Creek, good thing they packed the thicker coats ‘cause they sure as shit needed ‘em now. Isaac rode with his arms crossed and hunched over and Arthur got the rear to make sure Big Sir ain’t getting lazy all of a sudden.

The sunset barely shines through the breaking clouds and for the first time in weeks it smells of cold. Citadel Rock’s up ahead and they pass just by Cornwall Kerosene and Tar – rather unbelievable he’ll be robbing Cornwall of all people yet again. Here’s hopin’ this time it’s quiet.

And there’s Eagle Flies on the cliff with that gorgeous splash horse.

“You came.” Lad almost sounded surprised when the lot of ‘em pulled up.

“ ‘Course I came. Said I would.” Arthur dismounts already, Sebastian soon following suit.

And Eagle Flies wastes no time telling them what they gotta do: “There’s a foreman. His name is Danbury. He has the files in the office above the refinery room.” He hands Arthur the binoculars he was using: “It’s that window with the blind drawn up.”

“I see it.” He replies.

“If the files are as incriminating as we believe” Eagle Flies continues taking the binoculars back. “Cornwall’s men will destroy them if they know you’re coming.”

“There’s only one of us goin’ in so I don’t intend on lettin’ ‘em know I’m comin’, son.” Arthur spoke, then turned to Sebastian. “Can you get me outta trouble if it comes knockin’.”

“ ‘course...” man said.

“Isaac, you find a hidden spot and set up camp, far enough away but not too far.”

“Got it, Pa.”

Arthur returns to Eagle Flies who was looking at the boy galloping off already:

“What would the files say?”

“There’ll be a report from Leland Oil Development Company.”

A sigh: “Now any ideas about how I sneak into the place’ll be greatly appreciated.”

“You could crawl under the fence. Or hide in a wagon; they keep rolling in.”

“Wish me luck, Buck.” Arthur’s off without thinking too much about what he just said; there was a wagon ahead and he fully intended to sneak in that way.

He’s lucky enough that a train passes by and the wagon stops just in time for Arthur to crawl inside. It’s empty. And now here’s hopin’ they mistake him for cargo if one as much as looks in the back of it; he’s barely hiding. But he’s soon inside and with the night falling people get to yawning rather than watching out for shadows scurrying in the dark. He makes it pretty easily inside the building. And there people mill about absent-mindedly; it’s easy to sneak by, then upstairs. Maybe he’s got too much confidence opening the office door.

There was a man inside. A chair to the door, some intimidation tactics: raising fists and applying one for good measure to know he’s meaning business, and in the end he’s got the papers. But o’course someone heard it, came around asking what happened.

So Arthur snuck out the window. Where was that Sebastian he can’t tell but he saw him on that roof ‘cause the moment he’s out there’s a loud whistle and the bang of a pistol. Guards gather round and sure enough they give chase to what seemed to be one, no two outlaws drunk or stupid enough, or both, to rob oil coaches alone.

And ‘cause of that madman Arthur get to sneak out with no problems, but soon enough pulled round and shot off some of the pursuers that head out from the refinery.

No more of them and they seem safe enough away:

“Thought you wasn’t getting involved?!” Arthur’s probably sounding too much like a father and much less like a business partner.

“I decided to help.” Eagle Flies comments, eyebrows furrowed. “Because he refused the money.”

So Eagle Flies tried to pay their services to Sebastian. Goddamn reckless fools, both o’em, but at least he’s expecting the ol’ Buck to be that way.

“Thank you.” Arthur says. “You saved my life.” He takes out the papers and gives it to the lad; he looks them over as if it’s a loaf of bread when he hasn’t eaten in days: too little, but still better than nothing.

“I hope...” Eagle Flies spoke. “Well, I don’t know what I hope... but who knows, maybe these will be of some use.” Then he turns fully to face the two of ‘em. “Thank you, Sebastian, Arthur...” He got in the saddle. “I hope we can see each other again on friendlier terms...”

Off he went.

“What you charmed the kid with?” Arthur chaffs.

“Nothing. I’m not the talkative type.”

“Su~re.” Arthur draws the word out and Sebastian paints a smile, closing his eyes. “You’re about the second most talkative bastard I know.”

“Second to who?”

“Dutch o’course.” Arthur laughs, and Sebastian soon follows suit.

“Now I ain’t knowing if I should take that as a compliment or not.”

“Well, I like you, Sebastian.” He draws closer; there’s still commotion downhill at the refinery. “I like you terribly much.”

They should be heading away, finding Isaac, but Arthur dares brush a hand over Sebastian’s chest, just ‘cause he loved him and for a moment he had the man all to himself. And Sebastian blinked at the touch almost in surprise before an arm reached to bring him back again. There’s people wailing in the valley; horse hooves somewhere, and he ain’t caring in the least. Breath’s caught in chest and that urge that came over him when Sebastian’s looking at him like that sweeps him again; and in turn Arthur swoops the man in his arms for a kiss. And Sebastian eats his mouth out, hungry, fingers soon gripped in his hair, making it a mess.

Kiss breaks: “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

Sebastian drags him behind himself not a moment later, deciding to throw Arthur in the nearest bushes. Branches scratch his cheeks but he ain’t caring, not when mouth’s on mouth again and that whole man above him. His hands are already working at Arthur’s vest, then shirt, then his head dips down and it had Arthur gasping. Sebastian’s lips trail kisses down from his collarbone to his nipple. Clothes are tugged to the side and one arm arches Arthur’s back, pushing him against Sebastian. His fists clench in the man’s clothes as his lips and tongue make a mess on his chest, lapping, sucking, with the occasional gentle bite. He’s going hard and hot and restless. Arthur’s hands work on undoing his suspenders and pants.

“Christ-”

It’s quick work from there: pants thrown off, Sebastian’s as well, erections spring free, then fingers in his mouth to be pushed wet inside Arthur. Lips purse and eyes squeeze shut. It’s unpleasant at first, but Sebastian’s all gentle. A wet kiss on his mouth, tongue slipping by inside, makes him forget to clench his ass. Fingers’re slick, in and out, scissoring from time to time, turning stings to itching and pressure’s building up inside his navel. Hands don’t sit still; Arthur runs them underneath the man’s shirt, popping buttons as they went, now rubbing thumbs on stiffening nipples. If their mouths ain’t been locked to each other the pants and gasps’ll just roll out. He ain’t letting them, keeps them for himself, frustrated and rushed as they were. They ain’t saints, and they’re gonna indulge this sin much further when Sebastian takes those fingers out, props his ass up on his knees and slowly slips inside him-

“Arthur~” That names slips from those lips again, so goddamn deliberate and so goddamn erotic; hips buck and he regrets it, but Sebastian moans biting his lip and maybe it’s all worth it.

One hand sneaks up Arthur’s navel, ruffling short body hair the other direction, and now once touching his erection. Arthur can’t but exhale through barely parted lips as all this builds heat inside him that he ain’t meant to withstand. Sebastian’s slow, pleasantly, agonizingly slow.

He wants to talk-

“U-agh--” In and out the thrusts pick up: “I hope you know the mess you makin’ o’me. Ahh-”

Sebastian drives that hand to his jaw, and then the other one too to cup his face; rhythm doesn’t slow down and Arthur ends up rolling his head inside the other’s palm.

“If only you knew what you o’me, Arthur-” Forehead’s pressed to forehead as they’re there bucking off. “Arthur--”

It builds and builds this strain between his legs, it twitches and throbs:

“Keep callin’ me that-” Arthur pants out.

“Arthur!”

“Augh-Jesus-” Hands grab at Sebastian’s ass, his hair, pull him close and up, inside. “Keep at it, Seba-astian- Christ!- Keep at it!” ‘cause that’s the spot that’s sweet, right there, right goddamn there.

Legs are wide and ass is high, pounded with some form of cruel mercy. Waves run up him hot, then cool. The night air prickles. And he’s kissing him; kissing Sebastian where he can reach: the neck, the ear, the jaw, the lips, sloppy and wet, leaving trails behind. And Sebastian’s moaning in his mouth, his ear. It’s him; it’s him, for him, with him. How’s he so goddamn enamored. Thrust by thrust he gets a lil louder a lil’ more shameless. There’s hooves nearby; they draw closer than away- Sebastian stops for barely a moment, covering Arthur’s mouth and his own. And that man’s cock inside him pulsating, struck right against the spot that’s sweet and he’s begging that be moved-

He’ll regret that in the morning. He finds his footing and with dexterity he ain’t thought he had, nestles Sebastian to him as he gets up, then laying the man down with a thud. It hurt moving like that, his teeth are clenched and there’s a groan, but that goddamn cock’s still too good and there Arthur moves: up and forward then back again. Slow at first then fast ‘cause he can’t take it. Both his hands rest on Sebastian’s chest now, snuck under the shirt’s fabric where fingers brush against the nipples, as thrusts pick up in speed. And it’s relentless.

Sebastian has to turn his head to the side to let those sweet moans out and what a sight that was; and always will be: to have him at his mercy and be at his instead, ‘cause it ain’t like he’s not there as lustful.

“Arthur—Agh-a-” Faster, harsher, so he says his name out loud like no one ever did. “AGh-Arh-”

That was one fine goddamn dandy. So fine. Arthur’s propped in just one hand, huffing, biting his own lip, so with the other he can run his fingers through that man’s sideburns. And he should be saying something, but he can’t speak now; he just keeps working himself until the knot’s unbearable.

Sebastian catches his thumb into his mouth, and the way the lips and tongue moved to draw him in’s suggestive enough to have him buckle forward under the pressure of the orgasm. He stands still, Sebastian doesn’t: catches his hips and keeps on going-

“AUGH- Ugh- Seba-a-Christ!”

It’s just a few more rough thrusts before he’s done. Sebastian vibrates under him, moans long, drawn out, in hiccups. There’s cum in his ass and he sits right up to get it out. The shirt’s goddamn ruined. He wipes the stains off with one hand.

“What a goddamn mess-” Arthur pants; there’s a smile there and Sebastian looks at him from where he was flat on the ground with leaves in his messy hair and returns the gesture:

“Uh-huh...”

Arthur stretches up: “Shit!” It hurt. Sebastian cackles beneath him: “What?”

“Think of me.” That goddamn grin on the man’s face.

He scoffs: “Always, buck.” Nonchalantly, like it’s always been there.

The faintest gasp; Sebastian props himself on his elbows, lost in thought.

Arthur’s at last tying up his suspenders: “We should get going-”

The man pulls at his legs, shoves Arthur on his knees and on top of him. It ain’t gentle:

“The hell-” Sebastian found his neck to kiss it, warm hand wrapping around his back to hold him there.

“Just a lil’ while longer, Arthur.” Obliged; Arthur lays his head down, finding a way to rest it on his chest, as Sebastian draws lines over his shoulders. “Significas mucho para mí... Arthur. Buck...” the last one sounds like he’s tasting the word.

“You gonna tell me what that means in English?”

“You mean so much to me.” Sebastian combs Arthur’s hair with such grace. “It’s been...”

“So long?... Yeah... Me too.” A kiss to his forehead. “But we gotta get back to Isaac. We left him alone-”

Up they go; Sebastian lifting both of them up before he can finish his sentence.

Dust and fluids get smudged off, clothes buttoned back together before they get back up and set out. Arthur’s whistling and when the whistle returns they know it’s Isaac.

It’s a small fire the boy’s built.

“I burned the turkey a bit.” Isaac says before looking up at them both, then his eyes squint: “You fucked?...” No answer, kid turns his head away, shifts on the spot, then looks back at a loss of words, lips puckered and eyes wide.

The silence is awkward as they sit down; Arthur takes a bit of cooked meat and chews it on. Isaac shortly clears his throats and reaches for the coffee mug:

“I found some berries. We didn’t have any more mushrooms or other herbs.”

“And this’s got mint on it.” Arthur notes.

“Yeah... You like it?” Isaac picks up a more joyous face.

“Quite delicious actually!” Boy smiles wide. “Here. Can you hand me some berries?”

Sebastian’s still frozen in the knowledge that the boy asked him if they bucked it off behind some bushes; Arthur bumps him with his shoulder:

“Eat up, please.”

As if snapped out of some trance, the man does.

 But there ain’t no nice dinner and sweet rest that could’ave prepared them for finding that bounty in a camp that starts shooting right at ‘em. Sure they went after Wofford but this time there ain’t no place to hide.

Isaac’s a decent shot, even in the open like this, but he’s still fearing for the boy’s life. And bullets fly past their target ‘cause he keeps darting back to a panicked Big Sir, galloping with his son in the saddle trying to aim. Sebastian says nothing; he’s effective. Finally, somehow, shots start landing where they need to; it much resembles how he used to be shooting: a few scattered bullets to the chest area until the body don’t flinch no more.

But in that frenzy he almost forgot the bounty’s meant to be alive-

“Pa! He’s escaping!”

Ghost’s a fast horse; he spurs her round and to a gallop, picking up his lasso as he goes. She’s huffing under him but the bounty’s lil’ horse can’t keep up.

Feller falls from his mount with a shout. Arthur pulls the reins while lassoing the man in.

“A’right! You got me!” Arthur dismounts and hogties him good. “I’ll come with you, you son of’a bitch.”

Something snaps inside thinking that this person before him’s gonna end up some scientist’s Guinea pig, but the bastard’s not done talking:

“You’re your own jail keeper, mister. In a prison of your own making.”

“Shut up!” A hard punch to the man’s face and the body slumps. He ain’t dead, just knocked out, but Arthur ain’t in the mood for a philosophy lesson from some goddamn outlaw he’s taking in to be judged.

He damn well knows he ain’t righteous, no need for anyone else to tell him that.

He picks the man up and whistles for the others. Ghost, the sweet darlin’, comes as well and he stows the bounty on her back this time. Isaac comes in view just as he got back in the saddle:

“You okay, kid?”

“Yeah.” He’s huffing from effort. “Sir Lancelot’s a lot to handle when spooked.”

Arthur purses his lips and sighs: “I’m sorry.”

Boy scratches his neck, twists his lips: “Wha-? But you ain’t done nothin’.”

That was the point... He worried too much and got ineffective and-

“Ah, don’t mind me, I’m just an ol’ geezer.”

“You did well, Arthur.” Sebastian chimes in.

A bob of the head: “Then let’s get the bastard back before he wakes up an’ starts talkin’.”

 The road ahead seems interminable. And indeed the bounty woke up, but they gagged him so he’d shut his mouth. The groaning and choking got annoying after a while. About midday they take a break, for the horses and themselves to eat something. A storm was to roll in again. It got cold, frighteningly cold real fast, the smell of rain almost overbearing. It’s electric.

But the downpour don’t come until they pass the Kamasa River and enter marshland. Arthur checks the address on the little card Victoriano gave him; asks Sebastian if he knows where it is. Sure enough, man leads them straight there.

They’re all wet to the bone and the poor feller up on Ghost’s hide stopped struggling, but fear was written all over his face. He writhes as he’s taken down, but only for a moment.

Sebastian knocks on the door and sure enough mister Victoriano opens, who looks at the man before him, then Arthur with the bounty:

“Ah, excellent! You brought him. And in such a short time. Very good.” The professor exists the house, trying up his white coat to shield from the rain and comes to point him where to ‘deposit’ the bounty: “Bring him here, please.”

“He was a pain to deal with-”Arthur heaves flinging the body on a chair in the shed he was shown by the side of the house.

Mister Victoriano then darts back inside the house: “Wait here. For payment.”

Arthur joins Sebastian by the doorframe not a moment later.

He sees the woman: ghostly pale skin, icy blue eyes and hair of such a shade of blond that it almost looked white as well. She stares at them and then gets closer; and Sebastian’s staring back:

“Myra...” man gasps out.

That was his former wife wasn’t she...

#rdr2 #red dead redemtion 2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #isaac morgan #van der linde gang #sebastian castellanos #sebthur #ruben victoriano #tew ruvik #nsft

[sapphireswimming]

til we come face to face (and UnDeadwood fic)

Summary: “Brings up an interestin’ point,” Sharpe had said, punctuating the words with a gloved finger in Aloysius' direction. “Survival. That I can understand.”

Warnings: major spoilers for episode 4, canonical character death, gunshot wounds, and painful painful irony

2k words, rated T, angst

Also on ao3 and ffn

______________________

“Brings up an interestin’ point,” Sharpe had said, punctuating the words with a gloved finger in his direction. “Survival. That I can understand.”

And Aloysius could too.

Survival was a way of life out here in the west – the only way of life, really. Not much else mattered this far into the Dakota hills, where they were days’ ride from any city of note, weeks from anything that might properly be considered civilization.

The grasp of the law was tenuous at best.

Anything was fair game, so long as you could get away with it. It’s the reason Cy Tolliver had been able to establish such a lucrative business here in Deadwood, dealing in any number of firearms under a barroom table. How E.B. Farnham could proclaim himself mayor and somehow procure dozens of plots of nearby land without anyone in town becoming the wiser. Why Al Swearengen was so worried by the prospect of unidentified parties digging where there wasn’t any gold that he’d hired the strangest assortment of folks Aloysius had ever had the pleasure of seeing doing business together.

It’s the reason why anyone on the run from the law, anyone with a personal history they’d rather leave behind, came west.

Without any real law to speak of – only as much as the local sheriffs were capable of taking on, just enough to keep the semblance of peace – fistfights would break out in saloons and spill out onto the main thoroughfare as gunfights nearly every afternoon.

It didn’t so much matter if you were in the right, so long as you could fight your way out of a tough spot. Some greenhorn with the devil’s own luck might live to see the next sunrise while the toughest sonnuvabitch in the county could get taken out in the crossfire of another man’s drunken dispute and never even see it coming.

Men would die in the street every day without anyone so much as batting an eye.

So you did what you had to in order to survive and, for men like them, for men like Aloysius and Sharpe, that meant always keeping your coat open, your trigger finger near your gun. It meant growing eyes on the back of your head so you could keep tabs on every other patron in a saloon, believing beyond the shadow of a doubt there were eyes on you when the hair started standing up on the back of your neck. It meant instinctively understanding when the mood of the room had shifted, had turned from a friendly game of Blackjack to something more dangerous, something that meant a man was liable to end up with a knife pinning his hand to the table. And not hesitating to act when your gut told you it was high time to move on to the next place. Or, at the very least, to get out of town.

Seemed like as soon as you’d slipped out of one close shave, there was another one waiting just around the corner, ready to shave you even closer. And that meant that any advantage you could lay hold of might just be the difference between living and dying – you had to grasp it with both hands and hang on for dear life.

Didn’t matter much whose extended arm you reached for, trying to claw your way out of a pit filled with the charred corpses of men and demon snakes, or who watched your back in a gunfight against the undead so long as someone did.

And if it meant betting a piece of their own souls to be able to emerge from the shadows, fists blazing with unholy power, well, it was all worth it in the end if they lived to get there, now, wasn’t it?

Aloysius had survived so much already – his childhood as a slave on the plantation with the merciless sun beating down on their backs as they bent over endless rows of crops, picking over the stalks until their fingers bled. His time in the war before he’d found his chance to slip away unnoticed into the fog. That bloody, awful war that turned blue and grey woolen uniforms alike into masses of dull, matted red as shots rang out from every direction and the screams of the dying grew louder, then softer, then stilled. The years since, after he’d remade himself into Aloysius Fogg, a bounty hunter who could track down anyone, no matter how many false personas they’d shed as they fled further and further west.

Given how much keeping yourself to yourself could extend your life expectancy in this half of the country, it was no wonder that men could reinvent themselves so easily, hiding for months and years at a time without ever being caught.

And that’s what had brought Aloysius to Deadwood.

These fugitives had done their best to run from the law, each and every one of them committing any number of heinous crimes in order to stay free, to stay alive. Just like Sharpe had done, since he’d disappeared nearly fifteen years and who knew how many lives before. Amos Kinsley had begun with one murder to his name, but had ratcheted up his body count to untold quantities ever since, killing everyone who’d dared come close enough to sniff him out. No one had been able to so much as touch him, despite the ever increasing bounty on his head.

Survival.

It was something they both understood well, a language they spoke fluently.

But now they’ve reached something of an impasse, because now that he knows exactly who Clayton “The Coffin” Sharpe is, there’s no way he can just let him walk out of here. The things they’ve been through together don’t do a single thing to change the fact that he’s the murderer he’s been sent here to find.

The others don’t understand when he cocks his revolver and holds it against Sharpe’s head, but the outlaw does, and, once it becomes clear that there’s no talking his way out of this one, simply asks for one more whiskey before they settle things once and for all.

Aloysius agrees, but doesn’t lower his gun.

The last drink of a condemned man is Sharpe’s by right, and a part of him can even allow that he’s earned it, after everything. This is the only concession he can make, but there’s nothing he can do to stop the rest of it, no matter what Arabella tries to argue, or the Reverend has to say, or how passionately Miss Miriam pleads for them to stop this.

This is justice. And it’s been a long time coming.

Years of laying low, remaking himself in one town after another, even if he’s used his skills as a gun-for-hire to protect the interests of others, doesn’t erase any of the things Sharpe has done in the past. Innocent lives have been taken and that’s something he’ll have to answer for.

It brings Aloysius no pleasure to be the one to do it, but he has a job to do.

Sharpe finishes his drink, clinking the glass against the polished wooden counter before slowly pushing up from the barstool and moving toward the door. Aloysius follows, limping slightly, and with the snakebite still throbbing with every pulsing heartbeat, but the gun in his had does not waver as they walk out of the saloon.

He keeps it trained on Sharpe as they all file through the door.

They leave the others behind them on the porch of the Gem, silently pacing off their steps and then turning to face each other once they’ve taken up their positions.

The air is cool and the otherwise deserted street is silent, bereft of the usual nighttime noises. There are no hooting owls or howling coyotes, and even the wind seems to have stilled. It’s as if the town itself understands, as they do, as the others didn’t, why only one of them will walk away after this fight.

The next few minutes will decide which of them it will be - the man who’s never stopped running or the man who can track down anyone.

Aloysius watches warily, eyes fixed on Sharpe’s but alert to every whisper of movement: the slightest twitch of his gloved fingers, the soft flutter of his coat, the determined set of his boot as he shifts his weight.

He pays no mind to anything else, not the way Arabella and Miriam cling to each other, horrified, or the way the Reverend’s clutching his cross to his chest.

Survival.

He knows that Sharpe understands just as clearly as he does that they won’t both survive this – can’t. Knows that in the blink of an eye, only one of them will still be standing.

Aloysius watches, hardly daring to blink as the bright light of the nearly full moon bathes the street in a softer glow than lamps hanging from the nearby establishments.

A shadow passes overhead.

He breathes in deeply.

And between the inhale and the exhale, something changes, shifts. In an instant, Aloysius is reaching for his gun, pulling it free from his holster, and shooting.

The shot goes wide, but he can be forgiven for that. Neither of them are at their best tonight.

He absorbs the recoil and turns back in time for Sharpe to hit him in the chest. Not in the heart – a couple inches to the left, buried in the soft muscle near his arm. He recoils from the impact but the bullet wound barely even stings. It’s not a fatal shot.

Not fatal, from mere yards away.

Not fatal, from the best sharpshooter in the Badlands.

Not fatal, from the man who said that he could understand survival when everything else in their lives had been turned higgledy-piggledy with the introduction of snake-like creatures and The Dealer offering magic that coursed through their veins with a supernatural light.

Aloysius stares at him, eyes glittering hard in the lamplight, and moves to fire again.

Sharpe reacts with almost unnatural speed, managing to get his shot off first, but it goes so wide that the bullet buries itself in the building behind him, splintering one of the wooden steps with a sharp crack.

And then Aloysius slams back the hammer and squeezes of a shot of his own.

It hits Sharpe right in the gut.

He staggers back for a step, and then another, but somehow manages to stay upright. He stares at him for a long moment, ragged breathing harshly breaking through the silence around them.

They’re both hurting – badly – but they know that this won’t truly be over until one of them goes down.

Sharpe tremulously raises his gun. He aims so obviously for his gun hand that it’s the work of a moment to pull it away to avoid the shot.

Aloysius breathes evenly as he steps back into place, cocks his revolver, and raises it again. He returns fire and his shot rings true, flying straight into the heart of the outlaw.

Sharpe falls backwards, crumpling into the dust of the street. He stares up at him for a moment as the blood begins to blossom on his chest, soaking through the layers of his dark clothing as it joins the growing stain just below it.

And then he smiles.

It’s ironic, unsurprised. His teeth are coated in blood.

Aloysius ignores the desperate cries of the others as he watches the blood trickle out of the corner of his mouth, watches it pool beneath his chest.

Sharpe doesn’t even try to say anything before the spark of life begins to fade from his eyes.

Slowly, Aloysius limps forward.

Survival, huh?

This coming from a man who’d only drawn his gun because Aloysius had held one to his head first. Who hadn’t shot at him with the intention to kill, aiming for his hand instead of his heart not once but twice, even though he knew full well what that would mean, what the only other outcome could be.

He crouches down beside the body and reaches out a gloved hand to close his blankly staring eyes.

It was an interestin’ point indeed.

#undeadwood #undeadwood fanfiction #aloysius fogg #clayton sharpe #undeadwood spoilers #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #mine #fanfiction #ss

[avenger09]

Ideas for a new Bravestarr Series

Deep in Space, on a new frontier lies a planet beset by outlaws on all sides. Folks just trying to forge a new life for themselves live in fear and hope is a luxury. The desperate people of this planet call for help thinking they'll need a hundred lawman to restore peace. They got one... he was enough. His name: BraveStarr. Blessed with incredible Galactic powers and strength of character, BraveStarr alongside his posse of fellow Champions of Justice, fight off not just the corruption of Tex Hex, but the worst quality's the frontier can bring out in the ordinary people of New Texas.

Note: (This is just a few concepts I as a fan have come with with. Ironing out is for professionals.)

Marshal Bravestarr

-Noah Watts- 

One of the best Marshals to come out of the Academy, he was sent to the desperate planet of New Texas whose people where terrorized by undead outlaw, Tex Hex and his gang and return justice to this frontier planet.

Gifted incredible powers as a boy by a burst of energy, when the tainted spirit Stampede attacked his home. He spent his youth learning to be worthy of the abilities given to him: Strength of the Bear. Speed of the Puma. Eyes of the Hawk.

A charismatic and unflinchingly virtuous man, Bravestarr first made a name for himself by bringing in his own instructor, Jermaine "Jingles" Morgan, for a murder Jingles committed after loosing to the victim in a competition. In-spite of seeing his Hero fail to uphold the values he taught, Bravestarr promised himself to be a true servant of the law regardless.

When New Texas was told they would be getting him as a Marshal, the people doubted anything but a hundred law men would do any good. Soon they learned, he was enough.

Thirty/Thirty

-Gregg Burger-

Tough loyal and ready to have your back.

Thirty is a member of the endangered cyborg Equestroids who met his soon to be best friend, when he was framed by criminal kingpin who did not like the young Bravstarr's sense of justice. Thirty helped clear his name an act he got deputies for. If only to "keep his new buddy out of trouble".

Unlike his partner in law, Thirty/Thirty is far more quick-tempered, pugnacious, tough, hot-headed, independent, reckless, negative, defiant, rebellious. But also thoughtful, tenacious, heroic, insightful, truthful and sensitive. Occasionally the two have vocal disagreements between them about the use of force in the line of duty. Still they both have nothing but respect for the other. He has only one love in his life, his custom laser blunderbuss Sara Jane.

Judge J.B. McBride

-Kari Wahlgren-

Before the new Marshals arrival McBride was the last official representatives of justice on New Texas. Originally a simple town lawyer she was Inspired to become a Judge after her reporter father was beaten to near death by one of Hex's thugs for a story he'd written about their crimes. She's acted as the voice of reason among a decent but increasingly desperate people, calming tensions between the off-world settlers and the local Prairie-People, with both her words or her power-hammer. Which comes mighty handy during Hex's raid's. 

While skeptical of BraveStarr's chances at first she's come around to see him as a valued partner in justice and only her sense of professionalism and BraveStarr's own, has kept the two from expanded their relationship further, but everyone in the Fort can see the spark between them.

Deputy Fuzz

-Antony Del Rio-

The only deputized member of the indigenous New Texas folk, called the Prairie People. Young (for his race) and a savant with technology, he assists with the problems of the town In hopes of learning to combine the best of his People with the best of the Galactic's, which he sees in the Marshall and the Judge.

Since the rush began the Prarie's have mostly tried to keep to themselves in their underground kingdom, but greedy prospectors and other less scrupulous settlers have unjustly made them feel unwelcome on their own planet, forcing them from the tunnels closest to the surface to get at the rich resources that may lay under their feet. While others view them as vermin for their small size and seemingly simple nature.  

Fuzz is the only one of his tribe trying to understand the tech brought to their planet and improve on it, not just gather for scrap to trade like many other tribes choose to do. Because of that, Fuzz can't help but feel like a self made outcast as he seems to be the only one who understands the changing situation there in, even if he isn't treated like one like his cousin Scuzz is. Who shared his innovative spirit, unfortunately, he preferred the worst traits of the Galactic's when he fell in with Tex-Hex.

Handlebar 

-Jon St John-

The humble barkeep with a name no one can pronounce, so he lets everybody call him Handlebar, for the impressive Human style facial hair he has proudly cultivated. 

The Shaman

-Fred Tatasciore-

Descended from tribes uplifted from Earth by a dying Alien race who saw their spiritualism mirrored their own, and thus could be trusted with same magics as them. When their cousins eventually joined their thriving counterparts in space centuries Bravestarr’s family where among them. 

Soon becoming a mentor to the boy, the Shaman saw the same pure heart their precursors saw in them, he taught Bravestarr many things about the wonders of the universe as well as the many dangers that inhabit it. The worse among them Stampede. His lessons where fortuitous as the evil soon rampaged across their land scattering those may one day pose a threat to him. Many died including Bravestarr’s parents and the Shamans own family. 

To ensure their survival he sent Bravestarr away in an escape pod, confident they would meet again, which they would. Years later on New Texas.

Reunited Shaman helped the noble marshal unlock the full potential of the powers within him. The Strength of the Bear. Eyes of the Hawk. Speed of the Puma, and been a trusted confidant to his young friend. 

Wherever he goes expect the unexpected and learn to heed his wisdom.

Tex-Hex

-Charlie Adler- 

The undead, undisputed, unforgivable reigning outlaw on New Texas.

Years ago he and his business partner Angus first discovered the planets rare new resource. Despite promising to share the rights for it, a strange, intense greed took a hold of Tex, leading him to double cross his partner and fill his ships hold with more then it could bare, causing crash that killed most of the crew and Tex himself.

Angus survived and left to tell the Galaxy triggering a rush for this new mineral, but Tex his story wasn't over. The greed had twisted him down to the soul, and he rose again in service to the one who had infected him with it. A being in the form of a skeletal metal bull who revealed himself to Tex as the embodiment of malevolence Stampede.

In this revanant state came a sort of immortality, that Tex has used to torment the good, bad and ugly of New Texas ever since. Collecting the worst of the worst to fight in his posse. For these 20 years, no lawman or bounty hunter has managed to bring him in for very long, which is the only option they have to stop him. As hanging, shooting, drowning, burning and once even defenestration has failed to put him down.  

Stampede

-David Kaye-

"He is the manifestation of a aspect of Nature. Survival of the Fittest. As the beings of the Galaxy evolved so did it and by extension, Stampede, and not for the better. If he is cruel, it is because we are cruel, if he is ruthless, it is because we are ruthless, and if he is Evil it is because  we are. That is why he despises goodness valor and courage. They are the only things that can guide us from these selfish acts that empower him. Justice diminishes him, so he has made it his enemy."  

Original Characters 

Henry Walsh

-Kelsey Grammer- "Your a good man Marshall, this planet needs that. So please, don't get in my way." "If I don't, who will?" A wealthy man who arrives on New Texas with seemingly benevolent intentions. With his support the town receives new technology and better defenses to keep out the rotten influence of degenerates like Tex Hex. He even greatly admires Bravestarr for his dutifulness. And especially Fuzz, who he admits to that he sees some of himself in him. An entrepreneur who works to benefit others doesn't let others tell him what to do. Soon he starts to bring in his own men and making the odd "suggestion" or too to the Judge on how things should be done on New Texas. Bravestarr notes this and becomes conflicted over the benefits Walsh gives to the citizens and the risk of him eventually turning it into his own personal Kingdom. Though Walsh wants to work with the Marshal, when push comes to shove, Bravestarr can't condone Walsh’s threats and underhanded deals. What makes it more complicated is Fuzz siding with him over Bravestarr at a crucial moment essentially forcing him out of Fort Callahan. Fuzz is convinced of the good they'll do until Walsh makes he plans on forcing the Prairie people off their land so he can build another town. When he protests Walsh tries to convince him it's for the best as it'll finally force them to adapt like him. Not wanting things done this way, he ally's with Bravestarr again (who never lost faith he would) and they with the townsfolk and even Tex's help, bring him in. While being shipped off to Prison, Walsh condemns them for being so foolish. How he would have made New Texas a paradise and that it was a wasted effort arresting as he will be free anyway with the friends he has. Only for Bravestarr to say because this is on the edge of space he falls under frontier law and that means he's getting a swifter sentencing, and those "friends of his”, said they are more then happy to allow it. Seems they've been waiting for a chance to be rid of him for awhile with what he has on them. The victorious mood is soon brought down as now they have no benefactor anymore so the fort's back where it's started. Plus Bravestarr shares this observation with Fuzz. "Luck helped Justice today. But I can't help but think of all the folks out among the stars, who are just like him. People seen as too connected and too rich to get there dues no matter what they've done." (Much of his character is based on the Land Baron types who considered themselves above the law in the Old West. I added a bit more to the guy by including his genuine admiration for Fuzz. There's good in him but progress needs to be made his way and he won't have anyone tell him otherwise and he's willing to use seedy means to get it done, which brings him into conflict with our heroes.)

Note

(In case it wasn’t clear I tried keeping the optimistic adventure tone, but adding in a few heavy subjects here and there. Unlike other shows. -Animated or otherwise- I don’t think you need to by gritty to be poignant, or that you should ignore your own mythology, or talk down to your audience. Stargate SG1, The DCAU, Avatar TLAB, and Beast Wars all proved that.)  

#Bravestarr #Sci Fi #Animated #Reboot #Western #Space Western

[plumeriafairy14]

Oni!Hanzo/Undead!McCree

Just something fun I thought about while on the way to work today. I really love the new Undead Skin so I thought, hey, might as well make a romance story about it! 

- Set in the early 1900s in a small town in the middle of nowhere.

- The town was ruled by a corrupt mayor who pockets the taxes and shit like that.

- The sheriff was a righteous man named Jesse McCree.

- Jesse McCree, while patrolling one night, meets an odd creature. He introduces himself as Hanzo, a demon from the far east who has traveled in search of redemption for murdering his whole clan after they made him murder his own brother.

- The two develop a friendship over drinks and moon watching. Hanzo tells McCree of his travels and McCree tells him about his dreams of seeing this backwater town flourish.

- The fall in love.

- They bond over comfort. Hanzo opens up about his sin and why he was cursed while McCree opens up about how he used to be an outlaw in his youth and how it still haunts him even after he decided to turn over a new leaf.

- One night, Hanzo tells him that he must leave to travel north for a personal quest. They part ways in the night with a tender kiss holding the promise of Hanzo returning to McCree once his business in the north was done.

- The mayor of the town does sleazy business with some outlaws and bandits. But McCree finds out about it and the mayor frames him for a crime he did not commit and sentences him to be hanged.

- McCree pleads his innocence but it falls into deaf ears. The people he knew he could trust, the very law that he considers his creed, all turned their backs at him. He was filled with anger and bitter disappointment.

- His last words before he was hung were: “Y’all ‘gon regret this.” 

- The platform underneath his feet swings open and the rope snaps, breaking his neck and suffocating him. 

- Hanzo returns a few days later and finds McCree’s rotting corpse strewn up on a tree. There was a sign nailed on the trunk which said; “Outlaw.”

- The shock render Hanzo motionless as he stared up at his executed lover. McCree’s body was left out to rot because the town did not even given him a proper burial. Instead, he was left out to hang like a morbid decoration; a warning. His left hand was even cut off and nailed on the tree to display the Deadlock tattoo McCree took care to hide.

- Hanzo stood there motionless for a whole day until some of the townspeople noticed. An angry mob formed to kill the demon guarding the sheriff’s corpse, believing that McCree’s death has cursed the town. 

- Surrounded, Hanzo moves and he slowly turns to them, his eyes flaring in anger. Hanzo eliminates the whole town in his furious rage, wiping it off the map.

- After he had calmed down, he took the moment to mourn McCree. He cuts his body down from the tree, cleans the corpse and makes a salve to preserve McCree’s body as best as he could. 

- Now alone in his grief, he cries for the first time in centuries. He swore that he will bring him back no matter what the cost.

- Wrapping the body, Hanzo carries the load and dutifully travels back to the north of the country where the days were short and the nights were long and the snows were bitter in the winter to speak with The Witch that lived there.

- The Witch agrees to revive McCree but in return, Hanzo must render a full century of servitude to her. He is free to do what he wished but once the Witch summons him, he must obey or she will take back the life she infused in McCree.

- Hanzo swallows his pride which had been patted down after centuries of solitude.. He had suffered long enough, what is another century? Besides, having McCree by his side will make it bearable.

- The Witch revives McCree as a creature that is the living dead. But he isn’t himself. He was monstrous, craving for flesh. He lunges at Hanzo and bites him but stumbles back with an anguish scream after Hanzo’s demonic blood burns him like acid. Turns out he can’t eat Hanzo, lol. (oh thank god)

- The Witch tells him to speak with the Undertaker, a man named Gabriel Reyes, to ask for a freshly buried body that no one will miss. Gabriel gives him the body and Hanzo feeds it to McCree who devours it. After days of recuperating, McCree returns to himself. He remembers his past and what happened to him except for some lapses in his memory as a side effect of the Witch’s spell.

- THE UNDEAD/DEMON HUSBANDS ARE REUNITED AND THEY’RE BOTH THE WITCH’S HENCHMEN (Since McCree volunteered for a century too)

- Hanzo loves McCree even if he smells a little...weird. They love to kiss and cuddle. It’s a good contrast since Hanzo’s body temperature is fucking hot and McCree’s is freezing so they balance each other out. 

- McCree: “If my heart was still beatin’, you know it’d beat for ‘ya, darlin’.” Hanzo: “Do not sway me with flowery words, Jesse.” (is secretly tsundere)

- Thankfully, Angela’s rez magic is so good that McCree doesn’t rot and fall apart. 

- They live as happy as vigilantes with dark pasts could be. Hanzo is still seeking redemption and McCree has some major issues with injustice so they kill bad people and McCree gets free food. The Witch supplies him with glamor potions to help pass him up as human and hide the funky smell (lol). Hanzo doesn’t need it since he can glam himself to look human with his demon powers.

That’s pretty much it. What do you thin? I have zero time and motivation to write a whole fic about it but please feel free to play around a bit with it, just please give credit! 

#Overwatch. #overwatch halloween #Mchanzo #Hanzo Shimada #Jesse McCree #Oni Hanzo #Undead McCree #Witch Mercy #angela mercy ziegler #fairy write