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softrozene · 1 year

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Comforting Female Reader Who Has Experienced an Assault

Anon asked: Hey honey, I was too shy to ask off of anon... But do you think you could do some HC’s for the boys helping a f!reader who was previously sexually assaulted? I am having a really tough time right now. ( I am handling it all and I have people helping me too) it’s just really weird for me to deal with I guess Thank you sweet Ro!

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I’m sorry to hear that stuff like that is happening to you but if you ever need someone to talk to just to vent or for advice you are always welcome to talk to me since I have experienced past sexual assaults and harassments. It’s always a no-judgment zone when talking to me fyi. Just remember everyone processes it differently but you are not alone and hopefully the people helping you are a strong support system.

I love you anon and I hope these make you feel better.

I chose almost all the males I usually write for because they would all kill/die for the ones they love.

Originally published on February 11, 2020

*Speaking to everyone who reads this: These can be taken as platonic relationships or romantic. Just know I am not romanticizing the issue. There will be solid advice. There will be dumb advice. These are after all my headcanons for how I think they would treat the issue with a fem!reader (I think with a male!reader they would act just a little bit differently. This is a sensitive topic so please read the warnings and just remember you are all loved.

Warnings: Angst, PTSD, fluff, mentions of past sexual assault

Hosea Matthews-

He would hear this from you directly

Would be shocked before he drops everything in order to listen to you

If you don’t wanna talk about it he won’t push you but he will hint that it may make you feel better

If it happened all in the past he would piece together some of your tendencies that relate to the assault, what you tend to avoid and whatnot, and basically, he’ll help you so nothing at the camp will trigger you

If it happened more recently he will try and urge you to tell him who it is so he can sick the boys on them, without your knowledge of course

He’ll just say “It’s been taken care of Sweetheart. No need to worry about it.”

Hosea is the most caring one out of them all and will constantly check up on you, see how you are doing/feeling, will get you whatever you want whenever you want, and more importantly will always put others in their place if he feels they are getting on your nerves or are crossing boundaries

If you do daily talks he’ll always ask if it’s okay to hug you or hold your hand because he wants you to know desperately how much you mean to him and the gang

If he sees you heading down the wrong path, he will pick you up without a doubt. Orders you to take care of yourself and if you don’t listen to him, he will send Arthur and John the most awkward boys in the universe to go and talk you into doing the stuff he told you to do

He’ll do about anything you want in order for you to feel better and get past this traumatic experience

“We can’t change what happened to us. That’s all in the past. However, we can change how it affects us now. How we’ll go on in the future. Turn this into something to make you stronger.”

Dutch Van Der Linde-

Will deadass go on a rampage after learning you’ve been assaulted

All you have to say is that you got hurt by someone- He doesn’t need any details unless you want to fill up the rage he already has

He will hunt down whoever they are no matter where they are with most of the gang by his side, it doesn’t matter how long ago it was, he wants to see that bastard/bitch who did this to you in the ground

“And they will surely be dealt with” literally will be his words- Anyway after they are dealt with will he only focus on you

He’ll be careful with you and probably the most annoying thing he can and will do is, treat you like glass

It doesn’t matter anymore if this was in the past or more recently, he will make sure someone he trusts is by your side and preferably a woman so probably Miss Grimshaw

Eventually, he will realize that he is overdoing it but he will give you one of his speeches saying it’s only because he worries about you

You just gotta be upfront with him, tell him what you need and what you do not need, and he will fix himself after apologizing

Expect a lot more gifts from yours truly

By a lot, I mean a lot

He will make it rain jewelry for you if it means you know how much he cares

Can’t say that about the money though

If it still lingers over you he will without a doubt, try and help you through the process of at least accepting what happened well happened

“Try and focus on the now and make yourself better for the future” Or something along those lines would be his advice

Arthur Morgan-

Is a saint no matter what he says

You would have to tell him face-to-face and rather bluntly that you were assaulted. If you hint at it, he may take a moment before he realizes what you mean

He won’t act fast but he will sit down with you and have a talk with you

Of course, he wants to act, his blood would be boiling at the thought of someone even touching you without your consent but for your sake, he will take a breather and wait until you are done venting to him

He would treat you the same

He wouldn’t necessarily tread lightly on certain topics unless he sees that it makes you uncomfortable and omg if one of the boys dares to mess with you he will be on their ass in a hot second

Basically, he may hover but he won’t realize it since he’s treating you the same way as always

It’s up to you as well to decide the fate of who hurt you

If you want them dead, he’ll go do it in a heartbeat

If you want them beaten, he’ll go do it in a heartbeat

If you want them threatened, he’ll go do it in a heartbeat

If you don’t want anything done, he’ll just keep an eye on you and make sure you are faring well

When he’s not at camp he’ll have Hosea, John, or one of the ladies keep an eye on you

He makes sure that you know you can bother him for anything, he may be grumpy about it but he’ll do it just for you

If you’re having nightmares or just can’t sleep you can sleep on his cot and he’ll stay with you until you do fall asleep

If nothing works to make you feel better you bet your ass he’ll take you with him, on rides to town just to get you out and about

His last resort is letting you see his journal- That’s how you know this boy genuinely cares about you because no one touches the journal

“People are not so kind. But you are. What I’m tryin’ to say is don’t let that bastard/bitch put out your light. I care ‘bout ya.”

Charles Smith-

He would be the most understanding like Hosea

Would make sure that you are in a safe space mentally before he allows you to vent

Will reassure you that you are safe no matter what but he will want to get back at this person

It usually goes against his code for killing but he cares about you and no one deserves to get hurt like that so he will take time out of his day (probably go gather Arthur) and go and kill this person

Whether you wanted that or not he would have convinced you this person would probably have another person to prey on soon enough

Speaking of, he will remind you that you are not a victim but a survivor

He’ll be there for you all the way

If you need some company he’s there for you even if you don’t want to talk

Charles can and will be your rock if you need it

He’ll help pick you up and depending on if it’s okay with you, tell a selective few what happened so they can also help you

It may be cheesy but I can see Charles in this scenario making you say positive things about yourself in order to ward away the negative thoughts

“Repeat after me. I am a strong woman. I am resilient. I am a tiger.”

May or may not be making fun of Mr. Pearson at the last one in order to get you to laugh

Either way, he’ll make sure you to feed you positive lines almost every day

If you need to get out he’ll take you on nature rides and remind you out beautiful the world is despite how cruel the people are

He won’t exactly hover but he will be constantly glancing your way at camp to make sure you are all good

Tells you venting is actually good without needing to hear the advice

I forgot to mention it in the others but, all these males will make sure you know self-defense. They give you tips and tricks with each weapon of their choice that way no one will mess with you again

You can always rely on Charles to give you good advice though. Understands that sometimes you just need someone to rely on so you know you’re not alone

“I know you. You are strong and beautiful. Don’t give anyone the power to doubt yourself. Only you have that power.”

John Marston-

Is fucking awkward when it comes to this kind of thing

He will 100% see red as soon as you tell him and no matter what no one but Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea can stop him from going after the person who hurt you (and those three will join him tbh)

He is not the best to talk to about this so he’s okay if you just need the company

May take you to a saloon and get you a drink or two just to ease you, will not give you more

Honestly, I see John as completely awkward and not knowing what to do for this situation. He’s at a loss and if the problem (the person) has been dealt with wouldn’t know how to help you

He would go ask the girls how to cheer you up or make you feel better, go to Hosea would be a better option and would finally just ask you what you need and how so you don’t get stuck in your PTSD

Though he may understand but not in the way that is relatable. He’ll understand the nightmares and such but he won’t understand if you fear that person because his situations have always been near death

He will desperately try to understand you though

Will send Jack your way if that kid can cheer you up

“Well fuck, y’know I always have your back. Just- I um don’t let ‘em get to you.”

Javier Escuella-

This man would have no idea what to say at first

It’ll take him a minute to register before he asks if he can hug you- mostly to reassure himself that you are physically safe

Once that is done and over he will get straight to business and ask what you need

Murdering the person would cross his mind tbh but he’s too focused on you that he won’t ask till much later

If you need to clear your mind he’ll take you fishing, show you how to fish and have Hosea come along so it’s all positive vibes

He’ll write some songs and lullabies for you and serenade you to show you how much he cares

I honestly think Javi bottles everything up when it comes to himself so he’ll be more than happy to talk to you about your PTSD or share stories and even his own past if he deems it right by you

He would gut whoever you want like a fish for you btw

“Hermosa, you’re strength inspires me”

And it truly does

It takes a lot of guts to admit and accept what’s happened and even more to want to reach out for help

Javier would admire that and remind you whenever you need to hear it

Sean Macguire-

Ahaha if you thought John or Dutch had a short fuse for this- The minute he finds out he’s already spouting nonsense of them meeting their demise

And if you allow it or they are not dead he will surely make them have a terrible death

He would risk getting caught by bounty hunters again if that were the case

As for comforting you, this boy doesn’t exactly know how to do that

He laughs off his own traumatic experience so he’d probably be trying to get you to crack a smile or drink with him

Homeboy would try and get you to kill some bloody people for the fun of it ngl

Hopefully, his energy will rub off on you

I don’t really see him as the sitting down type but if he cares about you he is more than willing to listen to you and also more than willing to give you unwanted advice and a shite ton of his opinions

“Yer fuckin’ priceless. No mutherfucker hassa right to touch ye.”

He will end the speech with something gory I bet

*I was going to add Keiran and Lenny but I ran out of ideas but I hope the lovely lads I did write and their reactions/comfort help anyone who needs it

#softrozene writes #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #hosea matthews x reader #dutch van der linde x reader #arthur morgan x reader #charles smith x reader #john marston x reader #javier escuella x reader #sean macguire x reader #angst/comfort

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k1ngpin42 · 1 month

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𝙰𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚛 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗 & 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 (𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ;)

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (giving & receiving) s3x, fingering, handj0b, soft & rough Arthur, gentlemen Arthur, V!rgin reader

Notes: I know you guys voted Sub Abby, ✌𝓢𝓤𝓑 𝓐𝓑𝓑𝓨 ✌ WILL BE POSTED NEXT I had been working on this Red Dead project a while ago so I hope you don’t take it too negatively. Thanks for all the support I’ve had so far, it means a lot that people can enjoy my work (even if it’s mostly smut.)

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Notorious outlaw Arthur Morgan, who has been forced into a tight, high end tux in a crammed, high end place hates everything about this party Dutch made him attend. That is until he meets a fancy woman, (you) who isn’t as dull as he originally suspected.

PLEASE NOTE: there’s no fluid 1850s language used so don’t be upset if there’s some modern slang or anything I’m just writing cause I’m bored.

Some Y/N is mentioned, I try to avoid Y/N at all costs but there was no way around it this time, I’m sorry guys but it’s only a few times so dw.

The mission was practically a laughing matter- being that the guest of honour was a drug lord and that Arthur and the others were all outlaws who wouldn’t know which utensil to use at dinner to save their life, which glass to drink from or their name, how to feel normal in a suit, how to not steal every beautiful piece of decor they encountered and how to even speak with all these…well-read, well off folk.

The mission itself seemed simple enough. Talk to the governor, make a good impression and snoop around. Having to give the doormen their weapons was just another reminder of how far out of his comfort zone he was.

When the champagne was offered Arthur immediately took a glass, looking over the porch and subtly acknowledging Dutch beside him. Bronte greets them warmly and starts pointing out and mocking some of the party guests, including Mayor Henri Lemiux, Alberto Fussar, Hobart Crawley and his wife Brenda. Once the group seperate, Arthur makes his way to the main floor.

“Okay…” Arthur mumbled to himself, grimly. “Mingle…” He looks around the crowd. There are people dancing, talking, making out of course, He doesn’t know where to go first. That is until he hears you talking to some man.

“You…flatter me.” You tell him, clearly lying. “However I am…reserving my dance for another…” You say, quickly. Arthur turns to face you and see’s the most beautiful gown he’s ever seen. It’s a white corset that extends down into an ocean of subtle ruffles. The material looks stiff and the bottom has specks of gold.

The man in question is overweight and if he was being honest, smelt rank. He felt sorry for you, whoever you were, he had suspected you were dragged to this thing too, fancy dress and all.

“I don’t see him.” The man said, putting his arms around your hips. You carefully remove them and he grabs your arm tightly.

“Where you goin’ princess?” He says, and something in Arthur almost snaps, he wants to snap. He knows he can’t make a scene so he walks behind you, whispering in your ear. His warm breath and the unexpectedness of it all initially makes you flinch, but ANYONE would be better than this slag. You had seen him get handsy with almost every female employee here and on the streets you had heard him getting creepy with fucking children. Thankfully it hadn’t escalated, at least so far.

“You alright miss?” Arthur questions in your ear. You turn over to look at him. He’s tall and awful handsome, not like any men you had seen at the party so far. He had gorgeous eyes of Atlantic blue and his hair was…almost perfect. It looked like whatever product he used was far from his regular style as the parting was all over the place, but his jawline and minimal facial hair tied the look together.

“Uh…here he is.” You said, stunned at your own words. He looks at you icily. “Uh….That’s not-“

“Who is that? I ain’t seen him before.” The man yells at you, completely ignoring Arthurs existence. Arthur sighs.

“I’m her…partner….tonight anyway.” You nod.

“Exactly, and I owe him a dance so if you don’t mind.”

“Fuck you, how would your daddy react to you dancing with some nameless stranger?” The man groans at you. You roll your eyes.

“Go hang.” You say, quietly, but Arthur still hears it and his eyes widen, impressed.

“He gon’ hear about it from me just you wait”

“Looking forward to it.” You tell him, and the man goes off somewhere. You let out a groan, covering your eyes in embarrassment.

“I am so sorry Mr…?”

“Uh...that’s not important. And you’re welcome. Who was that?” He asks. You sigh.

“Not important.” You grab his hands and start swirling around and his face flushes red.

“Miss I…ain’t much of a dancer.”

“Well it would be a damn waste not to dance after that little facade.” He looks at you, a little confused, but nods.

“What brings you here anyway?” You ask, his large hand on your waist, the other in your gloved palm. Arthur can’t help but smile, still taking in your figure.

“My friends and I were invited by Bronte, he’s a guest here.”

“I see. So you’re here to make impressions?

“Or some such thing.” He replies, still blushing like an idiot. You talk for a little while, swaying to the music, talking about everything and nothing as if he’s the most trustworthy person out there.

“I hate going to these things.” You tell him, a little worried you had ruined the weirdly peaceful atmosphere the two of you had been experiencing. He nods, watching you intently while still trying to maintain rhythm.

“You look like a million bucks. I would have assumed you were made for these things.” He stumbles.

His lack of fluidness when talking was weirdly attractive, it brought a sense of comfort which you rarely felt, especially with his accent.

“In a way I was made for it…these parties are my life whether I like it or not.”

“I couldn’t imagine it.” Arthur blurts out, and you look up at him with curiosity.

“I knew you weren’t a noble.” You say with a grin. He rolls his eyes playfully.

“Why? Do I smell like poor folk?” You laugh at his comment.

“No, no the camp smell is…luxurious.” “I’ll have you know I bathed before I came here.” He replied defensively, causing you to laugh more. This banter went on until he spotted Lemieux.

“Excuse me.” He says, not even waiting for the dance to end before approaching your father. The mayor's butler, Pierre appears and tells Lemieux that he received a phone call from Leviticus Cornwall. Another man with greasy black hair overhears this and has Arthur follow Pierre to find out about it.

Being as cautious as you can, you slip through and follow Arthur to see what he’s doing. You watch him follow Pierre into an office and enter it once Pierre leaves. Arthur starts trying to unlock the door when you come in.

“So you’re not just not a noble, you’re a thief.” You remark, causing him to spin his head around to face you.

“Miss…” He tries. You roll your eyes.

“Save it. What are you even looking for?”

“Look, this is all just a misunderstanding, I’m sure if you just let me go, we can both forget this ever happened, I’ll be on my way and you can go back to your life of parties.” He tries, lowering the document in his hand.

You walk over to him, leaning over his shoulder to see the document.

“Wow.” You say, unimpressed. He looks at you guiltily.

“Look, I’m sorry miss, you seem real nice and I meant no disrespect by coming here and…acting all decent, I’m just doing what I’m told.” He tries, his voice sounding like a plead at this point.

“Mmm, what Dutch Van Der Linde told you to do, right? He was that man with the excessive hair pomade and the…vests. I’ve heard about him.”

“What?? You know of me??” Arthur demanded. You put a soft, gloved hand to his mouth.

“Shhh, do you know how much trouble we would be in if we were discovered in here? I had suspected you were an outlaw but the only one I recognised was Dutch and Bronte.” Arthur isn’t paying attention to your words so much as he is the warm hand on his mouth.

“Who are you?” He asks. You shake your head.

“What are you going to do with the papers?”

“Look, it isn’t really business for a lady to-“ You glare at him and he fumbles his words again.

“Not to say a lady can’t…my meaning is-“

“So a robbery?” You interrupt, unimpressed by his long winded explanation. He sighs.

“St Denis is a big city…it don’t need quite so many vaults in that bank they have secured up real nice.” He says. You roll your eyes,

“You can not be that foolish. Doing any sort of crime in St Denis is suicide unless you have a bullet proof escape plan and I’m sorry but I smelt your bullshit from a mile away.”

“You have quite the tongue for a lady.”

“And you are just…something else for a gentlemen.” You retort.

All of a sudden you hear the jittering of keys at the door and you and Arthur exchange a look of panic.

“Oh Jesus.” Arthur mutters and you roll your eyes.

“Swearing isn’t helping, outlaw. Try that window.”

“I have a name-“

“Then say it.”

“It-“ He groans, wondering how the fuck he got into this situation and why he was involving himself with a random woman. A beautiful and intelligent one at that, one who definitely challenged him in a way he enjoyed, but also one who was getting in the fucking way.

“It’s Arthur…” He pauses, turning to look at you when he reaches the window. “Morgan.” He adds.

The window won’t open and so you shove the document back into the draw and lean Arthur against the window, pressing your mouth against his aggressively. He was clearly shocked, and who wouldn’t be? But still, almost like an instinct, his lips parted and his tongue moved skillfully through your mouth. Henry Lemieux walks in an audibly gasps.

“Y/N Lemieux what the hell are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry father I…let me explain.” Arthurs ears burn at this. Father??

“You listen here little girl, I have told you NEVER to go in here. What’s gotten into you? And on such a significant night with some stranger??”

“My rooms always guarded and I just wanted some privacy. Arthur and I have been seeing each other for some time but I knew I couldn’t take him here. I’m sorry I let you down this is just the only place I knew there wouldn’t be workers.”

He sighs. “I understand there are a lot of rules in this household that may make you…may make it feel like there’s not as much freedom as ideal but it’s to protect you! You need to be more careful with strangers.” He yells, walking over to Arthur.

“Mmm, Bronte invited you I take? I don’t know you otherwise and I know anyone who’s anyone, meaning there’s no way you’re good enough for my daughter. Did you try and take her honour? Is that it?”

“We were just talking, that was our first kiss father honest it was.” Arthur puts his hands up innocently, nodding at your comment. Henry lets out an annoyed gush of air..

“I want you both out of here, we will discuss your punishment later, my daughter.” You nod and drag him to your room, waving at the guards there to fuck off. They stare at you blankly.

“Men are not allowed I-“

“My father just allowed it, but if you don’t trust me, you can go bother him in his study, I’m sure he’d be thrilled.” You tell one of them, annoyed. He nods and the guards head downstairs. You close the door and Arthur is just looking at you, wide eyed. He turns to the door and you sigh.

“I’m…not allowed locks.” You explain. He doesn’t say anything.

“So…” You say. He angrily paces around the room.

“What the fuck…what the fuck??”

“Calm down Mr Morgan.” You say, unphased. He glares a you.

“Calm down?? I did more than just fuck up. I exposed my whole fucking plan to the governors daughter just because she was a pretty face I- fuck, this was a bad plan.” Arthur mumbled to himself. You smile slightly.

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I got to go…” He says, reaching towards the door. You walk in front of it.

“Why?” You ask, plainly.

“What?”

“Why do you have to go?” You question, He walks closer to you, his eyes darting around the room nervously.

“Well you’re just gonna tell your dad won’t ya?”

“Oh yeah cause I just lied for fun Mr Morgan that’s a real bright comment.”

“Well why else would you do it? You don’t know me.”

“You’re an outlaw. Slightly naive, perhaps, but you, hair pomade and whoever else is in your group, you do anything you can for family. Even utterly foolish things such as breaking into the governments office and robbing the most secure bank in this country. I’m not going to inform my father. I can respect what you were…trying but if you try that whole St Denis thing, you can rest assured you will be walking into your own damn funeral.”

“Well what else would you suggest then, miss?? In case you haven’t noticed, men like me don’t get good paying jobs, unless it’s for folk like you who would never hire us.”

“Trains, small stores, homesteads…” You pause. “boats.”

He raises an eyebrow.

‘You’re encouraging I steal, my lady?” You practically snort at his comment.

“In essence. People ‘like me’ don’t REALLY need those gold emerald earrings or platinum laced watches. It’s less stealing than it is…balance.” You say, matter-of-factly. He can’t deny how impressed and surprised he is by you. A government daughter, gorgeous, smart, fancy as hell but most importantly you didn’t hate him, and that meant more to him than words could measure.

“The grand Korrigan holds high end poker games. It’s easier than you’d think to sneak on, I’ve done it myself, it’s in Lemoyne.”

“W- I’m sorry, you snuck on to the grand Kerrigan….in lemoyne?”

“I heard my father talk about it. I was bored.”

“Why would you help me? I mean isn’t it against your father in some way?”

“How I see it, you were going to do this anyway, I’m not helping at all, simply telling you where it is so that you don’t go kill yourself at the bank. If I were to…accompany you, then perhaps I wouldn’t feel inclined to tell my father you were in there to steal copies of the deed my father was going to sign.”

“Okay woah, slow down my lady-“

“You really don’t have to call me that…”

“I really do. Now listen, there is no way we’re getting involved with the governers daughter, I’m sorry that you get bored dressing up like a doll 3 times a day and having guards around you but that’s no excuse to go commit crimes…”

“I won’t be committing them, you will.”

“Still, I don’t want to be liable for you.”

“Wow…romantic.” You say, sarcastically. He sighs.

“That’s not what I mean it’s just….the answer is no.”

“I’ve snuck on before, I know heaps of ways to sneak in and out of this city as well several others. When you can’t leave town there’s nothing else to do but learn about everyone else’s business. I guarantee I could get you into anywhere. Plus I cn protect myself, I’ve been trained in combat since I was 14.”

“But why?” He asks. But he doesn’t need to. He knows the answer. He felt it when you guys first touched and again when you first kissed. He felt it now knowing you’ve seen through him and didn’t want to look away. You weren’t frightened or repulsed and neither one of you wanted to part each other. It was unexplainable. You barely knew each other.

“I can’t keep letting my life slip away in this meaningless existence. I want adventure, love I don’t know…I know I’m stupid for think-“

“Don’t talk about yourself like that sweetheart” Arthur says, putting a hand on your face.

“We shouldn’t do this.” He says, dragging his thumb over your lip and making it part slightly. You nod.

“It would be reckless…we would be naive to think we won’t get caught.” You breathe out. He nods.

“We would probably…” Arthur paused, his accent thick in your ears. “get as far as the gate before everything goes sideways, not to mention the gang would never accept you.” You nod back.

“exactly.”

“Exactly.” He says, putting his other hand on your face and kissing you deeply.

———————————Smut——————————————

You can taste residue of the sweet, bubbly champagne he had drank only moments earlier mixed with the metallic taste of his being. Having someones tongue in your mouth and particularly a man who was anything but inexperienced was unusual to say the least, but a feeling you welcomed as he eagerly explored and savoured your taste now too.

You walk back with your arms still wrapped around his neck, kissing him roughly. You flinch slightly when you bump into the end of your bed. You hesitate for a moment, looking into his pretty eyes again before internally making a decision and climbing onto your bed. He tilts his head, admiring you fondly.

“Now Miss, I don’t think we should rush this, you’re a woman. To be…I don’t know…cared for or somethin’. Me? I’m a bad man.” Arthur hesitates. “A rough man.” He corrects.

“It’s okay Morgan, I’m not a little girl, I can handle it.” He walks away from the bed and paces for a while. You decide to reassure him with more than just words this time and remove your shoes, then you start working on the lace at the back of your dress. Arthur sighs, knowing he won’t be able to avoid all the things he’ll do to you. He’s a good man, somewhere in there. When it comes to women he was more decent than most at least.

“Let me help you with that.” He says, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you so your back is right against the front of his body. He removes it and starts working at your undergarments.

“Do you want to stop?” He asks. You shake your head.

“No?” You say, more surprised at how gentle he’s being with you than anything else. He chuckles softly.

“Just making sure.” He coos before effortlessly removing your undergarments as well.

He flips you around and pushes you so you’re lying spread across the bed. He climbs over you, positioning himself so his knee is between your legs. You feel nervous with your body exposed to him like this. He starts tracing your body with his finger tips.

“You’re god damn gorgeous.” He remarks, cupping one of your warm breasts which you were embarrassed at how quickly the nipple on it hardened under his touch. He lays soft kisses all over your chest, sucking near your bellybutton which got an excited gasp from you in response. He continues drawing lines across your body with the two middle fingers of his right hand but stops when he reaches your lower area.

“You ever done anything like this before?” He asks, kissing your waistline. You consider lying. “Of course…” You could say, but he’d see right through it. You just didn’t want him to back up and leave because he didn’t want to harm your image. Too fucking gentlemanly to taint a womans reputation, but murder and crime? Now that’s alright.

“Well?” He questions again. You blush, shaking your head.

“No, I guess not.” You admit. You can see this troubles him, but he knows you don’t want to stop, he can tell you’re yearning for it, yearning for him more specifically.

“You know how it all works?” He asks, lowering himself to your thighs and kissing inside. You nod.

“Yeah, yeah I think so.” You reply, your eyes fluttering at the varying sensations your body was experiencing. He nods.

“Sit on my lap, I’m gonna put my fingers in okay?” You do as he says, sitting on his fancy black pants and adjusting yourself so that he’s comfortable. He lets out a light groan.

“God, sorry did I hurt you Mr Morgan?” He chuckles slightly.

“Quite the opposite, stay still I need to be able to control myself.” He instructs, and you feel yourself pooling at his words.

“Do you have water in this room?” He asks, and you look at him confused.

“Uh, yeah, by my nightstand theres a jug, I get thirsty sometimes at night.”

“Be right back.” He says, placing you back on the bed and taking the jug, pouring some water onto his fingers.

“If you’re uh…sort of….tight inside, it feels better with wet fingers.” He explains. You can’t help but laugh.

“You’re not the smoothest man out there Mr Morgan.” You tease. He laughs back.

“Pretty girls have that effect on me.” He delicately guides his two middle fingers between your folds and your pussy literally glistens. You’ve never felt wet for another person before and especially not to this extent.

“Breathe in.” He says as he guides two fingers inside you and you let out a sharp breath. He immediately removes his fingers.

“Too much, my lady?” You shake your head.

“No, no I can take it.” You affirm and he rolls his eyes playfully.

“Sweetheart, I can tell the difference between a painful gasp and a moan. You’re still tight so I’m going to use my tongue to help you relax.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just think of it like a kiss.” He says before putting his tongue inside you. You let out the loudest moan you’ve ever heard yourself make and you put your fist in your mouth, embarrassed.

“Oh my god…” You whisper as he quickens his movements. Then, his nose is bumping up against your clit, his tongue still working other areas.

“Fuck~” You moan. You can guess all your manners and lessons in how to be dignified had gone down the drain.

A man you had met only today, an outlaw no less who was only at the party to steal from your father was giving you pleasure you could never give yourself. It was….interesting.

“Fuck…Fuck Arthur don’t go so fast I’ll…it’s too much…” But Arthurs so fucking into it, tasting you, savouring every orgasmic noise you make for the first time, only for his ears to enjoy. He doesn’t slow down and it’s not long before your pussy pulses in his mouth, your thighs shaking like a damn leaf.

“He gets back up and puts you on his lap again, putting his fingers in your slick.

“Wow, that’s quite a lot sweetheart.”

“I’ve never….well not like that before.” You explain. He nods, putting his fingers inside your significantly looser hole, doing small beckoning motions inside of you. You start breathing heavy again as he pumps his fingers in and out. You cling onto his jacket, already feeling your stomach swell in waves of pleasure. When you release again, he just flashes you a satisfied look.

“I’m gonna take my pants off. You can rub yourself on my thigh first, gotta get you ready for my cock.” You’re flushing red and just let out a small sound of understanding. When you see his half-hard cock in his underwear, though, you are so consumed with lust you can’t think of anything else but touching it.

“Go on get on my thigh.” Arthur tells you with a comforting smile. He notices your hesitant expression.

“What is it?”

“I want to touch you.” You blurt out. He smirks.

“Really?” He asks. You nod.

“Please.” Arthur gets off better through pleasuring others, but you’re so beautifully eager that he doesn’t think twice.

“Here.” He says, taking off the glove on your right hand and guiding it into his (boxers? Whatever tf they had back then) It was warm and felt very strange in a way you weren’t sure you liked, however feeling it grow in the palm of your hand was satisfying. You pulled the pants further down, taking out his cock. It was pretty well groomed and a lot cleaner than you had anticipated. It was also big. You knew it would be, he was practically a cowboy and you definitely knew what they said about cowboys.

He grabbed your hand and gripped it sternly over his shaft.

“Move your thumb over the tip…” He moves your fingers, rubbing himself with them.

“Like this. Then with your hand, apply press- mm” He lets out a low groan.

“And move up and down like this.” You nod, smiling a little awkwardly as you go up and down as fast as you can. Arthur rolls his head back.

“Damn….thats the way sweetheart fuck~” Arthur babbled. You smile, liking the effect you had on him.You continued at that pace and pressure for a while until his moans had progressed into hot fucking whimpers. He smirks at you knowingly.

“This turn you on gorgeous?” You don’t reply with words, just a simple nod. He hums in response.

“Show me how much.”

You remove your hand from his cock and reach down to your cunt, getting a thick layer of your slick from your fingers and showing him, clearly still embarrassed.He acknowledges this with a fond look of satisfaction.

“Coat my cock with it.” He instructs, and your eyes widen at his bluntness.

“I-“ You stop yourself, deciding your words were of little value in a situation like this. You do as he says, applying a thing layer of your spent and moving even faster. He moans at the sensation and warm precum floods your hands. You look up at him nervously.

“Wait…did you?”

“No sweetheart, you gotta do more than that.”

“Then why? What is…” you say, your fingers fidgeting with the liquid on your hands. He chuckles, fuck his laugh is attractive, too.

“It happens a little before. When it feels good, it means I’m close just keep going sweetheart. Keep your eyes on me.” You nod and go faster, feeling his precum dripping over your fingers.

He lets out a low groan combined with a slightly high pitched, breathy whimper. If your ears could cum, they would have just then. You watch with admiration as his head leans back, his glowing face looking all that much sexier when he wasn’t consumed in a mission.

“Mmmph…so good sweeth- oh fuck…” He lets out. You keep your eyes on him even as his cock pulses inside your hand, warmth completely coated your significantly smaller hand. You finally look back down at it.

“What does…what would it taste like?” You question, not even sure why the question crossed your mind. He laughs.

“Now how would I know that my lady?” He asks, still breathing heavily. You roll your eyes at yourself.

“Right.” You exclaim, feeling stupid. He puts a hand on your cheek.

“You did real good…” He says, but you’re still preoccupied in your own thoughts.

You should have asked first, probably, and in truth you’re not sure why you didn’t, but you put him in your mouth, tasting the salty, metallic flavour of him and evaluating the texture. He lets out a shocked gasp.

“H…holy….don’t- wh…” Is all he can manage, his dick practically swelling in your mouth. You stop and look up at him, swallowing what was in your mouth.

“Sorry…did you not like it?”

“Well I….of course I did- do- of course I do but…you need to give it time, it’s sensitive after releasing all that.” He explains. Your smile widens.

“It sounded like you like it.”

“I do b-“ You put him in your mouth again and this time he grabs your head and instinctively pushes it down, furthering himself in your mouth.

You’re stunned by his actions and also weirdly turned on, it’s not too much for you to handle and the new roughness he could give and is obviously keeping from you was starting to show. You continue and feel him rock hard again, not even able to speak and replacing his words with small whimpers and sighs.

“Hey um…stop st-“ He lets out. You do as he says, scared you did something wrong.

“Are you a virgin?” He speaks softly once he finally got his words back. You look a little upset now.

“That bad, huh?”

“What? It was incredible I’ve never felt that good in my life it’s just. If you’re willing we could…uh”

“Oh.” You say, your cheeks lighting up.

“I know you said you haven’t done anything like this.” He adds. “You probably want to save yourself for your husband.”

‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. George Pettie said that.”

“Who?”

“He’s an author, he- nevermind.” You say, taking off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt.

“I’m not a good person, you don’t want your first to be with some random outlaw you met at a party do you?” He questions as the last of his clothes are removes and you see his glistening body, gentle lines of hair across the center. You shrug.

“It’s better this way, better to have experience, you know?” He rolls his eyes playfully.

“So you went for me. Wow, a man thinks he’s special…” He teases, grabbing you by your hips and pulling you onto his lap. You gasp at the feeling of your bare bodies touching like this, his warm thighs under your wet pussy, it was something you never knew you were craving.

“I’m gonna get you used to the rocking motion…uh.” He starts, taking you by the hips again and moves you slowly up his thigh. He moves you back down and you gasp at the sensation, your clit already fucking throbbing for him. Arthur smirks happily and moves you back again, this time with your help as you thrust your hips onto him. You let out a loud moan. He smiles widely.

“Mmm…good girl.” He murmurs as you start pleasuring yourself on his thigh. You look away nervously but keep moving up and down.

“I feel bad.” You say, simply. “You can’t feel anything when I do this.” He kisses you deeply and fuck do you love the feeling of his tongue dancing with yours.

“I love it like this.” Arthur admits, and you can tell by the look on his face that he’s genuine. Your pleasure is everything to him, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t give it to you.

You keep going for a while, letting a chorus of gasps and moans escape your lips in a song of desperation. You’re close again, your eyes shutting involuntarily as you grip onto his hair.

“So good…” You exclaim, thrusting harshly. He kisses you even longer this time.

“Real good, girl.” He coos.

You look down and Arthur looks almost painfully hard at all this commotion. You look at him nervously. He smiles comfortingly at you.

“Lie down.” He tells you, and you do as he says, carefully getting off his lap and lying down on the bed beside him.

“Good, now take deep breaths, it might hurt a little at first okay?” Your wetness pools between your thighs. He’s so fucking caring, at least in this situation, and fuck…he talks you through it. You know he’s experienced and yet he’s treating every sensation like its a first for both of you

“Sweetheart?” He asks, softly, bringing you out of your head long enough to enjoy the experience. You blush.

“Yea- Yes.” You say, and he towers over you, sucking at the soft skin of your neck and urging a breathy moan in response.

“Don’t…mess around Arthur- just do it already.” He raises an eyebrow at this.

“Eager, aren’t you miss? Do you want me bad?” You roll your eyes, only somewhat playfully.

“Just do it.” You repeat. He didn’t really need to be told twice, because he was already lining himself up with your small, dripping cunt. You gasp and he lets out a deep groan when he first enters you. It stings slightly, after all he’s fucking large, but the pain of it all mixed with the pleasure you know he can give you only enhances the situation.

Arthur watches you from above, noting every noise you make as a result of the things he does to you. He particularly notices the way he forces himself inside you, the way you take every inch of him so fucking well, especially when there’s so much of him to take. It feels fucking phenomenal for him too, the heat of it, the stickiness from all his prior manipulation, it takes everything inside him to not thrust in and out as hard and fast as he wants to, using you as a fucking toy. You would be so perfect for that if that’s what you were into, or if you were any of Arthurs usual sexual partners- troubled women usually, who just want their brains to be fucked out by an outlaw. You were different though. Eager, maybe, but a dignified and intelligent woman who was sleeping with him because she knew it was what she wanted and not because she was troubled or unsatisfied by other men.

You could see that lustful look in his eye as he cautiously went in and out and you reach up to put a hand on his face.

“I can handle it Morgan. Go as fast as you want.” It’s like you could hear his thoughts. Arthur always had been transparent. He shakes his head.

“I’m not going to use…” He lets out a groan. “You.” He adds. You give him the most seductive look you know how to make.

“Use me.” You say, and his eyes darken at your comment. You grabs your legs and pins them above your head, forcing his entire cock inside you with some force, making you moan so loud you practically scream.

“Am I hurting y-“

“Enough with that, Morgan. “If you’re as bad of a man as you claim, you’ll treat me however you want to treat me.”

“I want to treat you well…” Arthur tries, unconvincingly. You give him a comforting look.

“Go on, Morgan.” You affirm again, and he nods, changing his attitude.

“You gonna take it like a fucking good girl?” He questions and holy fuck, this is turning you on significantly more, which is also more or less a concern, you can cross that bridge if and when it comes to it though.

“Fuck…yes Morg-“

“Don’t fucking call me that. What’s my name?”

“A…Arthur.” You cry out as he moves so fucking fast, so fucking effortlessly. He smiles.

“Good girl.” He continues on until your words aren’t even audible to him.

“Look at you.” Arthur rambles, putting a hand on your throat, still holding your other leg.

“So fucking full with my cock, I didn’t think you’d like it like this, guess I was- oh fuck~ mistaken.” You don’t say anything, you couldn’t even if you wanted to, but you felt yourself nearing yet another orgasm.

“I’m gonna have to pull….ah~ out soon.” Arthur warns, not slowing down or easing back even slightly. Your eyes are still shut tight, so fucking close yourself. And then you experience it, your stomach swirling in ethereal waves as your own slick pours down his cock and your pussy. He pulls out, spinning his body away and letting the warm white liquid spill onto himself.

When you finally open your eyes, you notice him wiping himself down with a nearby washcloth. He wipes your thighs down too and pulls you in so you’re lying down besides each other.

“Well I think we got what we needed from this party.” He says, letting out a soft laugh. You nod.

“Thank god the guards didn’t hear all that.”

“Ah yes, what would daddy’s guards think?” You hit him playfully.

“Let’s go.” You say and he nods, getting up and grabbing his clothes from the ground.

“So now you’re authoritative.” He mutters to himself.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #smut #arthur morgan x fem reader

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when-pigsfly · 2 months

Text

WITCHING HOUR, CH 2/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: the prodigal son returns tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but now a little more than kinda), original side character(s), does arthur count as a tag, he needs his own warning, its more exposition please don't leave

word count: 4.9k

a/n: HERE! DAMN! (i'm so sorry this took so long)

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The subsequent mornings are painted with varying shades of gloom. It was smeared over the sky in thick coats, and if it was just a little thicker, it might be able to keep out the spears of light.

Sometimes, they tickle. Sometimes, they recoil from the rigid mounds of snow and blind you and anything else unfortunate enough to get caught in the line of fire. Pain in the ass, really. A particularly nasty pain in the ass flickers in the cloudy metal of your spoon one morning while you’re shoveling grits into your mouth.

“You planning on eating the table too, kid?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, as does your spine once you lower your spoon back into the chipped bowl.

“My apologies,” you gulp. “You’ll uh, have to forgive me, Mrs. Campbell. Seems the winter air’s gotten to my head.”

Mrs. Campbell was a wiry, dark-haired woman of 63, and had spent more time rearing cattle than children. She was rough, tough, and at present, leveling you with a stare so doubtful that you wonder if the look you often catch on the livestock is embarrassment.

After holding your gaze for a few moments more, she resumes the rocking of her chair from the corner and returns to her darning. A large red sock, the same one she’d whacked Mr. Campbell over the head with after she’d found it on the floor of the living room only thirty minutes ago.

“No, no, you’re alright.” Mrs. Campbell pauses, though her hands continue to work. Under, over. In, out. Not a single finger pricked. “Think that’s the most I’ve seen you take down in one sitting, is all. You bite like a bird.” She makes a funny chewing motion with her mouth—or, at least you think it’s supposed to be funny. It seems to amuse her well enough; most strange things did.

She then asks how much horse feed is left, and you tell her enough to last for the next two weeks. You ask how her daughter’s baby boy is doing, she tells you he’s been picking his nose, and the two of you return to your respective distractions: the pulling of thread and a spoon fishing around a now empty dish while you consult silently with the peeling floral wallpaper.

Arthur Morgan’s appearance had set you on edge, loathe as you were to admit it. The fact that there’d been no sign of him since you’d first spoken only hastened the growing dread, more so than the lack of response after your father’s men had been so kindly disposed of.

Contingencies had been thoroughly accounted for, leaving you mildly inconvenienced at best and dead at worst. There were other conclusions you’d drawn up, of course, but dealing in extremes had its benefits.

You press your thumb absentmindedly into the corner of the dining room table. Could the Campbells have heard your exchange? No, they couldn’t have, too old. And that was excluding the fact that the main house was rather far from the cabin. Given the time frame, it would have been well beyond what was reasonable for your…situation to have been brought up.

Besides, this was important. Better to sort this out now than when—if—he showed up at your doorstep again.

“I have a question.”

Mrs. Campbell snorts. “I presume you’re lookin’ for an answer.”

You set your spoon down, and stand to clear the table. “Do the two of you get…stray cats often?”

This time her hands waver. “During the warmer months, sure. But in this weather? I mean, if it had the guts to get through all that ‘winter air,’ I don’t see why not.” Her eyes flick up. “Would have to be real hungry, though. Or stupid, which I doubt, ‘cause cats ain’t stupid—sonuvabitch!”

You jerk as her needle clatters to the floor. She lets a curse slip as she hunches over to retrieve it; another follows as she tugs the string loose, just a little, and her fingers trip over themselves before falling back into a steady rhythm.

Her brows pinch in concentration. “Never met a stupid cat,” she repeats.

“I…I see.” Moving around to the other side of the table to collect what's left, you frown when you catch your warped reflection in a bent spoon. You pick it up, and your fingers brush over the bump unconsciously. “I saw one,” you say slowly. Mind fumbling over any disastrous outcomes. “A cat, I mean. He’s been hanging around my cabin for a while now. I was only asking ‘cause he’s been spooking the chickens.”

When Mrs. Campbell doesn’t answer, your mouth gets the better of you. “Only, he turned up again a couple nights ago. Acting real docile, you see.” Not docile. The farthest thing from it. “Nearly shot him then and there, but—oh, he just looked so pitiful! He’s real mean looking, all scratched up and such, but I was tired, so when shooing him off didn’t work I let him in. Didn’t hiss, didn’t bite, nothing. But, I think I may have scared him. Skittered right out the door, quick as lightning. He’s been pissin’ me off—pardon my language—but, I just don’t see why he’d go through all that trouble to show up if he was just looking to leave the moment I raised so much as a finger.”

You only cease your rambling once you realize that you’ve bent the spoon too far in the wrong direction. “I…should turn him away, shouldn’t I? If he shows up again?”

Mrs. Campbell lets out an exasperated exhale, smooths out her apron, and sets her mangled sock down in her lap. “He kill any chickens?”

“No, but—”

“You feed him?”

“No?”

“Well, I think you should. It’d be real funny.”

Funny. Funny, she’d said.

You look to the silverware for consolation, but they can only produce a weak gleam.

“Quit making faces at my utensils, I hate when you do that. If you got something to say, say it now so I can finish this damned sock.”

Instead of making faces at the spoons, you reserve them for the tablecloth. “I just—don’t think it’d be wise.” A wanted man, with a lofty bounty at that, and you were comparing him to a mangy feline. Attempting to see him as anything other than what he so obviously was would be disingenuous.

And maybe Mrs. Campbell wasn’t the right person to be speaking to about this, because her nose crinkles with such distaste that you have to remind yourself that you’d remembered to bathe. “You’re grown,” she says, “and you work here. I’m inclined to believe that you have enough know-how to keep yourself from doing anything too dumb. If not, oh well.”

“…Right.”

Sometimes you wonder if her daughter had moved out not for marriage, but to escape Mrs. Campbell’s dreadfully indifferent way of speaking. Still, you take her words with relative care and pray that the “feeding” portion of her advice can be altered into something much more metaphorical.

When you attempt to bring the dishes to the water bucket, Mrs. Campbell’s head snaps to you and she clicks her teeth. “Drop it.”

“I was just—”

The sock finds its way into a basket of other half-finished projects at her feet, and she pushes herself up to stand just as tall (if not taller) than any tree before snatching the dishes from your hands. “I don’t pay you to do my dishes, girl.”

You smile. “I don’t believe you pay me at all, Mrs. Campbell.”

“Precisely. Your Pa pays me. And enough with that ‘Mrs. Campbell’ mess; makes me sound like an old crone. Told you to call me Fran, didn’t I?”

Shrugging past the bitterness in her tone at the mention of your father, you turn to the doorway and pull your coat off of the hook you’d tossed it on the night before. It’s only slightly warm from where the sun has touched it.

The beams have softened their assault on the curtains; it’s still fairly cloudy, but there’s no sign of incoming snow. Chores would be alright, if only for today.

“I’ll work on it, Mrs. Campbell. But, I do have one more question, if you don’t mind.” You wait for a nod while you pull on your boots with a wince. “How come you don’t take on any other help?”

Like most of her responses, Mrs. Campbell doesn’t give much away. Nothing remarkable that you can discern, at least. She merely winks and carries on with her washing. But just as you set a foot out the front door, she calls out to you.

“Hey, kid?”

You turn.

“If the worst you can call him is a spooked cat, he can’t be all that bad, can he?”

You freeze. “Pardon?”

She looks up at the ceiling, as though her next words will appear if she gets her eyes to narrow enough. Glasses had been the first of many neglected suggestions you’d offered upon your arrival. You’d even offered to buy them yourself, with what little you’d been able to bring with you. But Mrs. Campbell, being Mrs. Campbell, had simply laughed.

Squinting, she returns her focus to the bucket and reaches for a cake of lye soap. “Ah, and tell that idiot if he slams my doors, I’ll send my foot so far up his ass that them science folks won’t have any animals left to call him.”

Illusory warmth finds you a few weeks later.

It isn’t quite spring yet; winter is a stubborn mule, and though the snow has receded into the dirt it still stamps its hooves into the wind. In the water, too—freezing rain taps its fingers onto the windows. Soft and melodic, it nearly puts you to sleep from your place on the floor before you remember the annoyances it’s dragged along with it.

There’d been no sign of trouble tonight, and the chicken wire had been reinforced a few hours prior. That’d mostly been the work of Mr. Campbell, though. He’d chirped about some promise he’d made to his “lovely wife,” and went on his merry way after leaving you with some choice words from the wife in question about the importance of rest.

The rain had started not long after. Which was great, for someone out there. But, bad for you. Pretty bad. Ugly, messy bad—because it was cold, dark, and the dirt hadn’t the moral backbone to keep itself together for any longer than two blinks before your boots were practically swimming in it.

The trudge back to the cabin was only slightly humiliating, considering the fact that the sole witnesses were the owls you knew were hiding out in the safety of the trees.

Scampering from the uneven path to the front porch, however, was another story. Although the pliant (no good, backstabbing) earth was quick and eager to drag you to its depths, you were aggravated enough to be slightly quicker, and your palms shot out to catch you just before your chin could meet the full wrath of the wood.

But the word “just” was a pebble cast into a pond, and the first ripple was the metallic tang that flooded your mouth. Diatribes were spat onto the ground alongside the blood, tongue throbbing with a vengeance before you drove the heels of your palms down to push yourself up. The second ripple was a little less red, but just as irritating. The rain had pulled the wet fabric of your work shirt and trousers tight over your limbs, and it had begun to border on painful when water droplets struck like one might strike the skin of a drum.

“I’m grateful, I’m grateful, I’m oh so fucking grateful…” It was a mantra you often found yourself repeating whenever nature’s pranks sought to drive you mad. Rain was good. Rain was fine, actually, so you’d ignored the creaking of your knees and hobbled your way inside.

And here you sit: back propped up against the wall, shivering like a fool with your knees tucked into your chest. The mud crusting between your fingers barely registers while you work on releasing yourself from your wet clothing.

Which, of course, is when the light tapping on the window takes its cue to crescendo. It’s a rather flimsy cloak for the uneven thunks outside that make no attempt to conceal themselves. But your bones know better.

Awful timing, that man.

You feel the weight of his fist against the door before he makes contact.

(One.)

You shoot up.

(Two.)

You lunge for the table.

You decide against greeting him with the rifle, which is a significant improvement. It’s a revolver. But you did have the good sense not to kick the door again; the rusty hinges were fragile enough without your meddling. Instead, you let it creak open with one hand on the doorknob.

You’re met with a bruise, planted right atop a cheekbone. A swollen bottom lip, blood threatening to split it wide. He’s got a button missing from his rumpled jacket, and the caving of the porch underneath his feet clues you in on the fact that he’s favoring his right leg. He’s been fighting. Fighting, and he looks about ready to keel over and die. Or pick another fight. Probably both.

Part of you unwinds at the sight of him, battered as he was. Present as he was. But the more logical part of you senses that he’s here for something, and the even more logical part of you remembers exactly what it was that stood at your doorstep.

It’s then that the stench of alcohol hits you, and the familiar smell of mud sweeps in not long after. Arthur is completely covered in it, save for his face. And—

There. There it is again.

That look.

Your pulse trips in your throat, and you pray that he’s inebriated enough to ignore it. “You’re on my porch. Why?”

Bright blue comes back into focus, and his hands fall to his hips. “I can go where I damn well please.”

“That’s all well and good, but why are you on my porch?”

He sniffs. Peers just over your shoulder. “...House call.”

You step to block him. “Now that’s two chances. I have it on good authority that one is just fine these days, but I’m feeling generous.” And confused. Extremely confused.

His face contorts into a heatless grimace, and the doorknob squeals. You’re suddenly reminded of the odd tales of shapeshifters you’d stumbled upon as a child: one moment a man, the next a bloodthirsty predator. Not a particularly helpful development—especially since your talk with Mrs. Campbell—but it was a development nonetheless.

Arthur rattles off the courtesies typically extended toward esteemed guests while you look him over again, and your eyes lock onto his hair. Another familiar connection—doe brown strands, streaked with mud and nearly plastered to his head from the light downpour. Much less ferocious than the rest of him. But, tonight, if you have to pick, he’s a wet dog. A wet, potentially drunk dog, who was missing his hat.

And suddenly, the natural chatter of the trees comes to a halt.

“What’d you just call me?”

…You idiot.

“I didn’t call you jack shit,” you lie. Arthur gives a loose smirk, and your next protests become nothing but bluster. “What, the little girl that hit you knock your ears shut?”

“Figured I’d let her get a hit in, out of the kindness of my big ol’ heart.” Arthur sways on his feet a bit, peering down at you through the water that he hasn’t bothered to wipe from his lashes. Gravity finds eventual triumph, and he leans into the post before eying the revolver still in your hands. “Don’t suppose you’re plannin’ on pullin’ that trigger any time soon.”

“What’s it to you?”

Arthur’s face begins to harden, and he crosses his arms tight over his chest. “You know, last time I was here I said you were lucky. Well, I’d like to make an addendum: lucky and stupid, lady.”

You cast a disbelieving look at the leg he’s been keeping his weight off of. “And you’re drunk. The fact that you got here without your horse cracking your head open is a miracle.”

His brows draw low, and he rubs the heel of his boot against the muddy spot where you’d fallen earlier. Blinks at the ground. Then, with the vigor of a child caught sleeping in church, wipes angrily at a speck of mud on his thigh. “M’not drunk,” he finally mutters, flicking the offending dirt out into the yard and crossing his arms again. “And I’ve got enough trust in my horse to fill at least half of that barn y’all got.”

“Just half? Not the whole thing?”

“Whole thing would be two horses.”

You almost laugh. Almost. When you don’t reply, his eyes drop back down to the gun, gaze contemplative. “You got any idea how easily I could’ve knocked that flimsy thing outta your hands?”

“Why of course I do, Mr. Morgan.” The dampness you’d been struck with pulls at you, bones heavy and patience now worn thin. You give the revolver an exaggerated twirl, the metal snatching what can be seen of the moon through the rain and reflecting it at him. “I’m real lucky you’re here to tell me so, ain’t I? Matter of fact, why don’t you go and fetch me my chair before I topple right on over? ”

“That ain’t what I meant, and you know it.” You think he sounds somewhat regretful. But somewhat isn’t enough.

“Do I now,” you say dryly. “You seem to ‘not mean’ an awful lot.”

Arthur pushes himself off of the post with his shoulder and shoves his muddy hands into his muddy pockets. “I just don’t see why you people are so eager to act like you got your life for dog-cheap.”

“You people?”

“Yeah, you heard me. You people.” He’s looking at everything but you now, eyes wild but body frighteningly still. “You’ll look trouble right in the eye, and lie right through your damn teeth till it gets you laid out cold in a ditch somewhere.” Arthur gestures to the embarrassing height your shooting arm has dropped to in the time that he’s spoken. “I can tell each time you open that door that you won’t shoot. Can’t, I’d argue, ‘cause if you didn’t have my big head within one inch of that barrel, you’d be some deep shit.” His words are a forlorn echo amidst the rain, now nothing more than a light haze.

You could shut the door and go back inside, you think. Tell him he’s wrong, because he most certainly was. Peel out of your damp clothes, because standing outside in the chill spelled nothing but trouble. Arthur wouldn’t push. He was just as prone to bluffing as you were.

And yet.

“I could say the same about you. Don’t think your kin would take too kindly to the fact that you’re hangin’ around someone that knows your face. Who you are.” You steady your aim. “That’s a loose end, Arthur. You don’t seem like the type of man to keep many of those around.” It’s the first time you’ve said his name all night; you’re only sure because the moment it leaves you, his entire body tenses before he sags back against the wooden post.

The way he looks at you then might be considered cruel and unusual punishment. You think of butterflies, embroidered into blankets from childhood. Tacked to the wall of your father’s study. The only difference between them and you is that you’re free to leave.

If only you possessed something to sweeten the deal—whatever deal you could come up with in the next five seconds. To mask the returning waver of your voice, now laden with inconceivable realities. “Am I a loose end, Arthur Morgan?”

He opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Untucks a hand from the arms he’s wrapped around himself to scrub at his beard and finally wipe at the water you’ve been eyeballing from his lids. He opens his mouth again, now on the precipice of what might be an explanation.

“S’dangerous,” is all he says.

You see red.

The arm holding the revolver is dropped so you can poke a finger into his chest. “You’re not making any sense!” Each word is enunciated with a jab, and you cringe at the feeling of rain rewetting the mud underneath your fingernails. “You cut and run, turn up drunk and beaten half to death, practically beg me to let you inside, and then you get upset when I say I won’t pop a bullet into your head?”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, voice beginning to escalate. “Now if you would just listen for more than two seconds—”

You cut him down with a harsh whisper. “Listen? Listen?” Your eyes momentarily check for any sign of a light being turned on in the main house. Nothing. Your finger falls away then, and a violent chill wracks your body from head to toe. “No, you listen. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You said your piece the last time we spoke, and you left, so why are you on my porch!”

“I don’t know!”

Something cracks, and your vision blurs when you whip your head to recheck the lights. Still nothing. The crack fizzles out into nothingness, and you return to find Arthur close. Awfully close. And your hand is warm and—oh.

It seems his pluck is rather contagious. The noise you’d heard wasn’t thunder, but the sound of your treacherous hand clapping right over Arthur’s mouth.

Time stills. Or speeds up, more like. The only thing you can be certain of is that ring of greenish gold around his pupils. The brush of his lips against your palm. Humid air being released in slow, steady clouds. You briefly wonder what else this warmth has dominion over, save for your cupped hand. Who else.

The speed of the exhales increases, and envy wriggles in the dirt of your heart like unearthed worms. Did his mind wander, as yours often did? Surely not as emphatically. It no doubt ambled from one thought to the next, attention snagged only when he had the energy to do so. Had you been interesting enough to snag his?

The spell is broken by a lamp flickering on in the distance.

“Shit!”

Sheer panic sinks its claws into you before rationality can, and you’re curling a hand around Arthur’s wrist and yanking him inside before he can protest.

You’re both panting ragged breaths once the door shuts behind you, in spite of the mere two steps it’d taken to cross the entryway. Tangible confusion permeates the air, and Arthur looks at you expectantly. It’s only fair that the (secondary) perpetrator speak first.

But words are tricky, tricky things. And as much as you partook in your fair share of falsehoods, finding the right ones when you didn’t feel that your life was on the line was an unfamiliar practice.

Voice quiet, you blink at the muddy footprints on the floor. “You left my door open.”

“I remember,” he replies. Simple.

The silence returns, eerily reminiscent of your first encounter. You consider telling him about the warning Mrs. Campbell had wanted you to relay to him. But then you think about all of the other things he’s missed since he’s disappeared, and your mind becomes saturated with just about everything, and somehow nothing at all. But Arthur’s voice, once again, cracks the fragile quiet.

“God damn it!” He begins to pace, rubbing at the shadows under his eyes. You’re thankful that he’s finally lowered his voice to a whisper, though the close quarters don’t seem to help with the intensity. “I ain’t supposed to be here. Not like this.”

“Not like what? Arthur what do you—”

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he says, voice edging on the side of desperation.

“How what was supposed to go?” You look at his hands, fumbling with his belt loops. He sucks in a brittle gulp of air when he catches you looking, like he’s surprised you’re looking at him at all.

And then, miraculously, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

“I’m to kill you. Ideally this evening.”

Until it all promptly falls apart.

You turn away. Begin to work open the half done buttons of your shirt. Arthur turns to face the door. You decide to humor him. “Who.”

“Some man, your Pa, I presume,” he says. For the first time in what feels like eternity, his voice is devoid of any feeling. It sounds small. Not defeated, not yet, but oh so small. “Willing to pay big bucks to get rid of a ‘financial thorn’ in his side. Knew ‘bout my business in Blackwater, which I assume you’re also aware of. Said he’d had some bonds on that boat.” Blunt fingernails scratch lightly at the curtains. “He said I could sniff things out, see if I wanted to to his dirty work.”

Shirt falling to the floor, you allow yourself some time to stew numbly in your naivety while you get the fire going; you could be disappointed all you wanted once you were warm. You can hear Arthur scrubbing at his beard again when you begin to drag a chair in front of the fireplace. You sit, or collapse rather, and shuck off your boots with little care for where they land. Where the mud splatters.

“How’s Marlene?” You ask.

Rustling. He’s turned around. More frantic rustling. He’s turned back to the wall. “I’m sorry?”

“Marlene. Chicken. ”

“Ah. She’s uh, good. Eating good. Still pecks like hell, though.”

And, once again, more silence.

You bark out a dry laugh. It hurts—hurts like hell, but it tumbles out of you with a sharp snap. It snowballs into pure, unadulterated laughter. Bouncing off the walls, the drinking glasses, the mud, right into the fire and back out again. It continues until you’re left with nothing but a pathetic wheeze rattling your lungs.

Settling into the back of the chair, your head lolls back till you can see an upside down version of the bewildered Arthur you’d turned away from. The angle is awkward, and the blood rushing to your head makes him look all warm and fuzzy, but it’s precisely why you’ve chosen it.

“Didn’t think finding all this out would be so funny.” He speaks as if poking a tiger.

Another half-hearted chuckle slips out of you. “Good god, I thought you were trying to proposition me.”

“Proposition you?” He scowls. “What on earth would I—”

Arthur stops. Blinks one of his blinks. Gives his eyes another rub. Blinks again. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. This “blinking” thing.

“Oh.” He frowns.

Frowning right back, you push yourself to stand and toss some old papers from your table into the fire. “No need to seem so put off by it, gosh. Should’ve told me you were out for my head from the start. Would’ve made this a hell of a lot less embarrassing.” Disappointment had beat out the warmth.

You wait for an apology, or a joke. Or something. Anything. But you’re met with nothing. The paper eventually crumbles into nothing, too, smoke tickling your nostrils alongside the smell of rain.

His voice sounds from the back of the room.

“I didn’t say that.”

You whip around.

“Say what.”

He speaks as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t say I wasn’t. Interested, I mean.” When you point to yourself, he rolls his eyes. “No, the couch.”

There was no couch.

The two of you watch each other for a bit. Then Arthur finds another annoying spot on his thigh to rub at, and you’re watching him.

“You’re drunk,” you conclude, voice flat. You pull on a blanket, suddenly conscious of the bareness of your shoulders. “You’re drunk, or tired, or both. You weren’t here. I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me. Am I clear?”

You stand on wobbly feet and motion for him to leave.

“You don’t think I’m joking, do you? I meant what I said.” He brushes past your outstretched hand to clunk into the chair, mirroring that same awkward position you’d found yourself in earlier. Strong neck arched, fire light catching the water that’s begun to bead on his cheeks. “I don’t do charity. Don’t think I have the money for it, actually.”

“How kind of you.”

“I mean it. Truly.”

“Then come back tomorrow,” you blurt.

Fuck.

What the hell were you doing? “You come back tomorrow night, sober, and we’ll see.” No, we would not.

But it’s too late—Arthur is rebounding off of the chair, straightening out his jacket (he’s noticed the missing button, finally), and striding to the door before you can retract your mistake. Even so, you follow after him like a besotted moron, only stopping when he turns to face you once the door is back open.

“Tomorrow, then,” he says. Eyes dark. Searching.

And then he’s stooping down. Reaching for your hand. Pulling it to his dry lips, and pressing a chaste kiss right to the top of it. He chuckles when you shiver, still clutching the blanket tight around your shoulders.

You’re released soon after. And Arthur gives you one long look, tells you to lock your door, and leaves.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #witching hour

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nexionswild · 11 months

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IN WHICH MANEATER!reader admits their feelings for the van der linde boys. [p.2] [p.1]

includes: charles ∿ lenny ∿ sean ∿ bill

content warning: fluff, a little angsty in bill’s part, no pronouns [GN]

a/n: i think half of them are so ooc nd im so sorry omdgshjq i’m still trying to figure out how to write for lenny and sean but i promise i’ll get better with time 🦾

✦ ﹒ charles smith

you caught him off guard, that's for sure..

charles is used to being perceived as intimidating and scary, considering his origins and his size, but that's what you like about him.

he never noticed how you'd stare lovingly whenever he'd explain his cultural way of hunting down animals or practice some other things.

and you never noticed how much he had to turn his head away when he saw you flirting men according to dutch's plan. but charles have dignity, and would admit to have found himself jealous every time you'd coo love words out of those pretty lips of yours.

probably needs time to acknowledge that you're dead serious about this relationship, and really looking forward to it. he's not against it tho, he's just.. surprised.

be ready because those massive hands of his are never leaving your waist the moment he gracefully accepts your confession. like never ever. and he doesn't have any shame either, and maybe he'll refrain from being too much of a sweetie in camp for your sake, given you can be easily embarassed if he surprise you with his loving demeanour, but he won't hold back as soon as the gang members are away.

"my mother taught me all the ways to treat a lover.. i hope it'll meet your expectations."

unfiltered romantic. it makes you blush how much he says the most romantic thing out of pocket and pretend like that never happened.

your name is the only thing that comes out of his mouth every now and then, you know because arthur keeps mentioning how much charles talks about you as if you were the only beautiful thing that's plaguing his mind.

✦ ﹒ lenny summers

lenny is so flustered, i'm sorry, god, he's baby

he probably stammered like a fool after you confessed, why wouldn't he? you're perfect, so perfect and he's just some kid, trying to be a big bad outlaw. perhaps that's what you like about him. he's nervous like a little kitty, and lord knows how much nervous men makes your day.

"i- i.. ahem.. yes, yes, of course!"

you made him so embarassed, i hope you're proud of yourself.

he'll struggle telling you how jealous he felt, it didn't really struck his mind first before you even confessed, i mean, sure he did think you were charming, but he never really bat an eye at your work.

he only got feelings because you were fun to listen to, you didn’t notice how he’d watch you every time you went on your drunken rants. it’s only recently that you found out according to karen.

for most of the part, lenny would rely on you. i mean you can’t blame him, you’re popular. in a way, you are, you’re like dutch. you have a lot of contacts, and charisma, he’s been a bystander. he’s pretty awkward, he doesn’t know what to do, but you find it cute, somehow.

of course, he’ll start to man up eventually when he feels more confident by the time you’ve shown him what you’re most comfortable with in terms of love languages, and he easily adapts himself to it. i mean, he absolutely loves spending time with you, and the amount of patience you put in for him really melts his heart in a way, but he’ll never admit it. ever.

depending on what you’re most comfortable with, lenny would gladly ride all the way to saint-denis for the simple wish of getting you something expensive, or even bring you along with him so you get to choose what you want. something he didn’t expect to see is you using your flirtatious ways of getting an item for free.

“you really know how to fool a man.. please don’t make a fool out of me.”

✦ ﹒ sean macguire

“ha! i knew ya’d fall for me!”

absolutely did not know you’d fall for him.

sean likes to be confident, at least he likes to appear confident. but often mix things up with arrogance, and if you were to call him out on that, he would tone it down a little. he doesn’t mean to be rude to you, he’s genuinely happy, he just doesn’t know how to properly express it.

sean have a loud mouth, and he didn’t hide the fact that he was getting irritated when men were attracted to you, often times he’d be barked at by arthur or john for fucking up your plan for being jealous. he never understood it, he thought he was being a gentleman chasing those creeps away.

he’s a comedian, on accident. you don’t know how to describe it but there’s something really sweet in seeing him ramble to the point where he’s humorous like that. you guess that’s how you fell for him. sean is so honest. and so dumb, too.

what you most love, is when he gets drunk. that’s where he starts to be overwhelmingly affectionate. and the gang teases you about it, but you couldn’t care less. he’s adorable that way! why would you make fun of something as precious as his honesty? especially when he’s slurring on his words, too?

he’s not a charmer with words, and he knows it. that’s why the best he could do to prove his love is by teasing or joking around with you, he’s trying his best.

“these english men keeps bullyin’ ya… just tell me! i’ll shoot ‘em right between thei’ eyes, yeah?”

he wants to look strong and fearless for you, he wants to impress you in every way he can. sometimes, you’d see him getting angry about the fact that he lost something, wether i’d be a fist fight or a game, but the moment he sees you, he gets embarrassed.

you’re the only one who can reassure him that what he failed to achieve doesn’t matter much, the effort is more important.

✦ ﹒ bill williamson

doesn’t believe you. at all.

bill was always made fun of, or teased by others to get a rise out of him. and he doesn’t believe you, because he thinks it’s just another way to make him mad. but he can’t help and think how evil this is, using you, someone he truly admire, to pick on him?

when you insist that you’re not joking, bill starts to get angry. not at you, but it’s just the way he is, he’s trying his best but he’s still in doubt.

given your reputation with men, and how many times he have to ignore you on duty, he just think it’s purely for the entertainment of seeing him falling like a fool. williamson is someone who’s not joking around, and that you know.

“if you love me, why would you?” he snaps. then immediately regrets. he doesn’t wanna lash it out on you, and he’d drink himself to death if he’s actually convinced that you love him that way.

he wants to apologize, but no words are leaving his mouth. and there’s an unbearable amount of pressure on his shoulders by this point, but when you take your time and explain to him the reason behind your fondness, he softens up a tad.

you had the patience to deal with him, surely you were serious?

“fine. i believe you. but i’m warning you, if this is some sick joke, i’ll—… i’ll…”

he won’t do anything.

for the past few weeks, you’ve been awfully affectionate towards him to prove your point. and he complains about it, tho he secretly enjoy having your full undivided attention. every time dutch planned to take him for a mission, you’ve been prepping his saddle and equipments, and when he came back, you’ve welcome him back with your arms open.

and while you were acting like some kind of stay-at-home spouse, bill would be silently protective over you. when you have to talk to men and women and fake another of your identity to wrap them around your finger, bill would silently sit at a table nearby and watch carefully, making sure no one lays a finger on you.

and when you thank him for his care through kisses, all you hear are grumbling noises and a little “you’re welcome”.

he’s just an angry worked up man, but you love him for it. (surprisingly!)

#🎀 : nexion 's hcs #rdr2 x reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #x reader #xreader #charles smith x reader #sean macguire x reader #lenny summers x reader #bill williamson x reader #rdr2 #rdr #sean macguire #charles smith #lenny summers #bill williamson

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theboyanachr0nism · 2 months

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malevolent part 40 thoughts right after listening [SPOILERS]

john being forced to tell noel that he's the KiY hurt SO BADD THAT'S HIS FRIEND

the sheer irony of jarthur's original goal being to separate themselves and then the moment the perfect opportunity presents itself they must refuse. gorgeous

THE BUTCHER TEAMING UP WITH THE BOYS!! i screamed, never knew i needed this trio in my life

JOHN MANIFESTING WITH A PHYSICAL FORM AND BEATING YELLOW????? I FELT SO PROUD OF HIM

noel recovered surprisingly quickly from uh. everything that happened??

noel yapping to yellow made me LAUGH i love him

speaking of noel.

how dare harlan edge us with him almost being killed the entire episode and then just have kayne snap him away after being shot in the neck. i'm so sorry king you deserve better 😭😭😭

arthur's SCREAM after he got shot made me feel like i got punched in the gut jesus christ. harlan's voice acting never fails to amaze me

arthur repeating faroe's name while trying to kill larson. owie :(

kayne.

what even is there to say at this point

first of all his nicknames ("marigold" "our little crumpet" for arthur 💀💀)

arthur being his favourite AGAIN is so funny. he really is multiple eldritch gods' special little boy and they each attempt to drive him to insanity as a little enrichment

EXPLODING THE BUTCHER'S HEAD??? rip king what a way to go

larson rest in piss bitch no one will miss you 🙏 i am sorry arthur didn't get to beat you to death though

jarthur are gonna have the most epic divorce after this courtesy of kayne i am Scared

anyways i am fucking reeling and will not sleep tonight. peace

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #i should have a talkingtag #arthur lester #john doe #john malevolent #kayne malevolent #detective noel #wallace larson #WELL THAT SURE WAS A FINALE WASNT IT FOLKS #the butcher #malevolent spoilers #malevolent season 4 #i'm going to go throw up now

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artist-issues · 16 days

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My curiosity keeps knocking, so I've gotta pull the thread. Why would you erase Joker from existence if you could?

I'll break it down:

1. The Joker has no point.

There is not one consistent message in The Joker. It's not trying to "say" anything at all, because it commits to nothing. Instead, it almost says several things. It almost comments on the haves versus the have-nots. It almost comments on mental illness. It almost comments on society's treatment of those with mental illnesses. It almost comments on the government's spending. It almost comments on violence and comedy. But everything it tries to comment on feels like a sentence that gets cut off at the halfway point; after telling you the bad news and promising good news, it fails to deliver.

I'll tell you how it does this. Arthur Fleck is introduced as mentally ill. (As in, there was a developmental problem with his brain chemistry that causes him to miss social cues and laugh nervously.) This means that when he is mistreated by background characters for "being different," the audience should start to feel sorry for him and consider how a mentally ill person should be treated. But wait. He's not actually mentally ill because of a diagnosable problem with his brain chemistry—he claims he feels clearer and better when he's off his meds. Add that to the revelation that he wasn't born with a brain-chemistry issue. He was abused by his mom's ex. So, maybe he's not actually "crazy." Maybe, he's seeing the world as it really is? After all, it's been dark and terrible for him since he was a child. Or no, because what about that laughing tick, that's not normal, right? And he's hallucinating a life with a girl he's attracted to, and believes it enough to walk into her apartment like that's normal. So is he crazy, or just the only one responding correctly to a world as dark as he is?

The movie won't tell you. It starts a sentence, then cuts off before any thought or truth statement can be completed.

The movie also sets itself up as if those who have should be taking responsibility for society's "have-nots." Or it starts to. Mr. Wayne is introduced as directly responsible for the hardship Mrs. Fleck has fallen into. He is Arthur's father, and should be caring for him. But instead, he beats up and ignores the guy most entitled to, and in need of, his help. Just like the way he ignores the poor people in his city, right? But wait. No. Maybe none of that is true. Maybe Mr. Wayne is entirely innocent of abandoning Arthur and his mother—this was all the delusion of a selfish drug-addicted woman, and the rumors she's spreading ultimately lead to the assassination, not only of Mr. Wayne's good character, but of his actual life. And his wife's. So is the character who has power and influence and badmouths the poor a portrayed in a negative light, or a positive light? Is this character a selfish rich person who cares nothing for those less fortunate than himself, or is he just one more guy who could've been good if others' cruelty (Mrs. Fleck's lies) hadn't pushed him "past the breaking point?" Does that justify his cruelty, if it's true?

Both. Neither. Nothing at all. The movie won't tell you.

So you can pick whatever ending you want. But. No you can't. You can't even do that. Because guess what? It's all in Arthur Fleck, inmate of Arkham Asylum's, crazy head. Maybe none of it was real.

2. The Joker is therefore only successful as a piece of entertainment.

Everyone could've guessed that as soon as they saw it was a movie about the Joker. Nobody needed this movie in any sense. We already know more than one origin story for the Joker, as a character. We've already done-to-death every interpretation of his craziness. Everybody knows who he is and what he's like. So obviously, this was just going to be entertaining.

That's bad enough. Stories are supposed to remind you of goodness, beauty, and truth. Why? I'm not going to dissect it because everyone can read the pinned post on my blog. But because: the world's dark enough already, and it's easy to lose your sense of goodness, beauty, and truth. A story, even if it's a tragedy, even if it has no "happy ending," can still take you out of your present state of mind, sit you down in a fresh state of mind, and remind you of truth. Being "entertaining" is just one of the tools that the story uses to take you there. Or it's supposed to be.

When you take the point, the truth, the message, the "theme," out of a story, then it's just the Romans distracting the populace with coliseum spectacle so they forget that they're losing money and wasting their lives. Woohoo. "Fun. Entertainment."

You can disagree with me about that if you want. You can believe, like many I know, "it's fine to just turn off your brain and be entertained! Not everything has to mean something! I bet you're fun at parties!" Okay, cool, so you like being entertained, and The Joker entertained you.

The problem is, what were you being entertained by?

Because:

3. The Joker increases an appetite for evil in the audience.

I don't care. I said it. It's painfully obvious.

First of all, you came here to what? Watch the bad guy lose and the good guy win? No. This movie's got no Batman. You came to glut yourself on two hours of the bad guy with no pesky good guy to share his spotlight.

Is that too harsh? Maybe you just came in expecting the Joker to be about how a good man goes bad. Okay. Uplifting. But sure, maybe a cautionary tale could be useful.

But that's not what you get with the Joker. We already established: there's no lesson, no point, to this movie besides entertainment.

And I don't just mean "aw booo, there was way too much icky blood and scary suspenseful music. Oh no, a movie about a villain had villainy in it!!"

Nope.

I mean, tell me why Arthur Fleck only has moments of peace and transcendence after he murders someone? Why's the sunlight warming him up, like a benevolent gift from the heavens, in the shot after he smothers his mother with a pillow? Why are those somber strings playing out a ditty he can "be himself" and dance to after he shoots three young men? Why is he only experiencing clarity after he kills?

Why are the most "interesting" parts of Joaquin Phoenix's portrayal the parts where the character is killing, stealing, or thinking about killing?

Why is so much effort put into telling the story as if Arthur Fleck is sympathetic, no matter which way you look at it? He only kills mean people. Except his mother. Oh but she was kind of mean, too. Never mind that whatever caused her to ignore, lie, and abuse her son was also played off, in the movie, like a mental illness. The very thing we're meant to feel sorry for Arthur about.

The movie won't tell you who's right or wrong. But it makes you see everything through Arthur's eyes, with nobody to stop him or correct him or offer a differing point of view—and that alone is dangerous. Your mirror neurons are going to make you sympathize with that main character, regardless of how heinous his actions are, when the storytellers are so careful to offer you all these reasons why his actions were "justified."

The Joker was invented to have a Batman. Introduce a villain—even a sympathetic villain—but you have to also introduce the opposite of that villain. It can be one line of dialogue; it doesn't have to be a hero. But you have to say something about the evil when it is represented. Instead of inviting everyone to feel for the villain...then leaving them feeling vaguely satisfied when he commits atrocities. They can't help it. It's the first time he's looked at peace, or in control of anything. That's how the movie is made.

So you're entertained by looking for a statement that isn't there—or by watching one man brutally slay five people, one of whom is his mother, because you were just so excited to see some blood, to see a man snap. Panem et circuses. At its finest. And you paid for it. Smart. Cultured, of you.

I'd wipe that movie out of existence and force the writers and directors to stare at a wall while sad violin music plays in the background for exactly how many days it took them to make that movie, if I could.

#Asked #answered #the joker #Joaquin phoenix #joaquin pheonix joker #arthur fleck #joker 2019 #discourse #Movie #movies #storytelling #The joker fans #joker love #dc joker #not you avoicefromthecorner #Just anyone who thinks this was a good movie in any sense at all.

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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 3 months

Text

Galileo Galilei Main Story

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

TW: Violence

Man with purple eyes: "........."

A man was putting bright red petals into his mouth, where crimson flowers covered the pure white garden.

The sight was strangely beautiful and ephemeral, and I stood there frozen, unable to look away.

Man with purple eyes: "........."

Eventually, the red flowers fell from his lips to his hands, and he blinked his eyes slowly and gazed at me.

Man with purple eyes: "What are you doing here?"

(What?)

For a moment, I was stunned into silence.

It was as if a character from the painting I was observing had suddenly spoken to me, and my mind struggled to catch up.

Mitsuki: "U-Um, I..."

I stumbled over my words, and the man approached, taking hold of my wrist.

Mitsuki: "Ah..."

Man with purple eyes: "Answer the question."

Man with purple eyes: "Why are you here?"

His touch sent shivers down my spine, and his gaze pierced like needles.

The fleeting atmosphere had dissipated, and quiet anger emanated from him.

(He seems totally different from before. Is he really the same person?)

But it was definitely him who was eating the flowers.

Confusion washed over me as I glimpsed the two contrasting faces within such a short span.

Mitsuki: "I'm sorry for intruding! Excuse me!"

I shook off his hand and hastily ran away from the spot.

Man with purple eyes: ".........."

The man watched Mitsuki's retreating figure intently.

Then he heard a light voice.

???: "That surprised me. Isn't she the girl who lives in the mansion?"

The man who arrived in the garden had a half-up hairstyle.

Man with purple eyes: "Seems like it."

???: "Did you bring her here by any chance? You're surprisingly quick, Galileo."

Galileo: "Is that supposed to be a joke, Drake?"

The man named Galileo glared at the other man.

Drake: "Yeah, yeah, I'll stop joking."

Drake: "But if you really met her by chance, then maybe that means something."

Drake: "She might really be that fated woman after all."

Galileo: "........."

Drake plucked a single pure white flower at his feet and toyed with it with his fingers while leaning against the wall.

Drake: "It seems like those resurrected vampires have really stirred up some chaotic yet amusing fate."

Galileo: "Then that girl showed up."

Galileo gazed again in the direction Mitsuki had left.

Drake: "She may have a harmless, innocent face like a fawn, but her involvement might change fate once again."

Drake: "If she becomes a hindrance in the long run, wouldn't it be better to just kill her now?"

Galileo: "No."

Galileo objected to Drake's dangerous proposal.

Galileo: "We haven't yet determined who that girl really is."

Galileo: "We shouldn't bury her in darkness before touching the truth."

Galileo: "Everything depends on unraveling the truth."

As if to emphasize that point, Galileo uttered the word "truth" more profoundly.

Drake glanced at his profile for a moment and let out a small sigh.

Drake: "I get it. I respect your opinion."

Drake: "But it’d be troublesome if they started suspecting us."

Drake: "For instance, the true identity of this flower. Did she notice something about it?"

Galileo: "Who knows? It's unclear unless we directly question her."

With those words, Galileo turned his back to the garden, and Drake watched him disappear into the depths of the building.

Drake: "Perhaps another fate has started moving again."

Drake muttered to himself and dropped the flower he had been holding onto the ground.

I hurriedly ran away from the mysterious garden and finally arrived at the mansion.

(That man, was he a resident of the building?)

(Well, I did trespass, so it's only natural for him to be mad at me.)

Taking a moment to calm down, I realized it was understandable for him to confront me like that.

Sighing, I stepped into the entrance and reflected on my actions.

Arthur: "You're finally back. Welcome home, Mitsuki."

Mozart: "Geez, you're always making us worry."

Mitsuki: "I'm back. Did something happen?"

Mozart: "Well, we were just talking about picking you up since Sebastian mentioned that you were coming back later than expected."

Arthur: "It's dangerous for a girl to be walking around at night."

Napoleon: "You didn’t seem quite yourself before you left. Are you okay?"

Mitsuki: "Ah..."

Napoleon gently patted my head.

(Right. I was feeling lost after hearing from Comte that I still wouldn't be able to return to my world.)

(They really cared about me.)

The warmth coming from his hands and seeing all the faces waiting for me warmed my heart.

(Just having everyone here makes me feel so relieved.)

(My life here is truly irreplaceable.)

I sometimes thought about my former world, but everyone in the mansion was like family to me.

Seeing the people in front of me, I was reminded again to cherish this precious time with them and make more memories.

Napoleon: "Mitsuki, is something wrong?"

Mitsuki: "No, I just felt relieved seeing everyone's faces."

Mitsuki: "I'm sorry for worrying you. And thank you."

Mitsuki: "I'm really glad to have met all of you."

I spoke sincerely, expressing the emotions welling up inside me.

As I expressed my emotions openly, everyone seemed slightly surprised before smiling.

Arthur: "Hey, Mitsuki, if you say things like that out of the blue, you'll embarrass me."

Mitsuki: "Hehe. I just wanted to convey my feelings properly."

Mozart: "It's not bad when you express your feelings so straightforwardly like that."

Arthur: "Wow, Mozart is giving compliments!"

Mozart: "I just said what I honestly thought."

I chuckled, seeing them playfully teasing each other.

Napoleon: "Sebastian already prepared dinner. Let's go."

Mitsuki: "Okay!"

We headed to the dining room and had our usual lively dinner.

Eventually, the night grew late, and the crescent moon shone brightly in the sky.

Mitsuki: "Phew, what a day."

I changed into my nightwear and settled into the soft bed.

Suddenly, the scent of the soap coming from the sheets grazed my nose, triggering memories of the mysterious garden.

(The scent of those flowers was more vibrant and intense.)

(I still don't know what kind of flowers they were.)

And then another memory surfaced.

(His purple eyes.)

(It felt like I had wandered into a different world at that moment.)

The image of that man with his fleeting yet chillingly cold touch was vividly etched in my mind.

(I'll probably never see him again.)

(I worried everyone today. Maybe I should make some apology snacks for tomorrow.)

As I thought about fudge, chocolate, crepes, and everyone's favorite snacks, my eyelids grew heavier, and my consciousness drifted away.

Deeper and farther into the dream, where time and place were unknown一

Girl: “*pant* *pant*”

Father: “This way, hurry! We need to run!”

In a dense and lush forest, “I” desperately ran hand in hand with my father as something terrifying chased us.

Father: “Hurry, or the hunters will catch up to us!”

After what felt like forever, we found an old, dilapidated shack where we hid while holding our breath.

Girl: "Papa, I'm tired and thirsty."

Father: "I'm sorry. I never meant to put you through this."

(Why? Why are we being chased?)

(Neither I nor Dad did anything wrong, so why?)

At that moment, the silence was broken by a loud noise as several men dressed in cloaks came into the hut.

Vampire Hunter: "Found you, you monsters."

Father: "Please, spare us. Neither I nor my daughter have harmed anyone. We just want to live quietly, that's all!"

My father held me tightly, shielding me from the hunters, but...

Father: "Gaah!!"

Girl: "Papa! Aaah!"

The hunter, who had thrown my father aside, seized me by the hair, thrusting the terrifyingly sharp tip of his sword against my throat.

Father: "Please, at least spare my daughter! She's done nothing wrong! She was simply born as a dhampir!"

Vampire hunter: "This girl also carries the blood of vampires. You both are abominable creatures that should not exist in this world."

(Abominable creatures?)

Vampire hunter: "In the name of God, I will make you and your father disappear!"

The man's raised sword gleamed under the moonlight streaming through the window.

Father: "Stop, don't kill my daughter. Please, stop!!"

Then the cruel gleam tore through my vision, and everything turned red before me.

Mitsuki: "!!!"

At that moment, I jolted awake in bed.

Frantically looking around, I realized I was not in a forest or a cabin but in my familiar room.

Mitsuki: "*pant, pant* A dream?"

Even though I understood it was a dream, my hands were shaking and my forehead was drenched in sweat.

(What was that dream just now?)

In my dream, I was a little girl, and both me and my father were chased, caught, and killed.

Mitsuki: "That was terrifying."

My pounding heart reassured me that I was indeed alive.

But the suffocation, the fear of being chased, the feel of the sword against me, and the smell of blood—all of them were so vivid that they made me tremble again.

(Why did I have such a dream?)

I tried calming myself down by embracing myself, but I couldn’t go back to sleep anymore.

Previous Part ╎ Masterlist ╎ Next Part

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp drake #ikevamp galileo #ikevamp #ikevamp jp #ikevamp translations #galileo galilei #ikevamp spoilers

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miloformula123fan · 2 months

Note

I really want to see the arthur leclerc x verstappen! male! reader since we dont have much of him

okay, if you want something driver based instead of this mafia fic, I will be writing it at some point :)

also sorry this took me so long to get out I tossed a few options here and there before deciding on this one :)

Okay I came up with this so it’s a little different to the original moodboard, but if you want something accurate to the moodboard, see here

if you want to participate in my 100 followers event, look here :)

(hint hint: this closes on Thursday 1st March 0:00 GMT, so if you want to make a request do so soon because this is in a little more than a week when publishing this :))

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

Also…i know there’s all the shit going around about christian horner, i just want to say that i don’t condone his actions at all, and while I have left him in this fic, I am separating the character from the person.

also warnings: death, general mafia shittiness, homophobia, bad dad jos

arthur leclerc x male!verstappen!reader

“Ermitage will be safe for you, Y/N. It has kept Max safe for years and I trust their teachers. Professor Marko, who will teach english, Professor Horner who will teach history and public speaking, and Professor Dominicelli who is the head teacher all sing their praises of Max, and have helped your admission into the school. The school does not regularly take students mid year, however based on your prior behaviour and safety. I needed to send you here.”

Y/N scoffed at his fathers words. His ‘prior behaviour’ wasn’t all that bad. Max had been sent to this school for an arson attack that had almost resulted in the deaths of 5 people, including 3 of his dad’s own men. He was being sent to this school for running away from his bodyguards, drinking and making out with a boy. But Max was his father’s golden boy, and Y/N was the spare in case a rival gang took out Max. And he was sure that Max despised the 2 of the professors, based on his letters to Y/N. He seemed to adore Professor Horner, so maybe that would be Y/N’s respite.

As the car pulled up in front of the school and crunched on the gravel driveway, Y/N took a minute to admire it.

He smiled as he saw the young children running around near the junior school. He got out of the car, smiling as he felt the warm French sum combined with a small breeze. The car had pulled up on the other side of the driveway, in between 2 other buildings. One looked very traditional, however there had clearly been an extension or five as parts looked very modern with a lot of glass. The other building was gorgeous. The other building was very traditional, looking like one of Jos’ summer houses in Denmark, all white and clearly spacious, however it had a metal spiral staircase on the outside that led to the roof. Jos would’ve killed a builder if that had been left there at their house. It made the building look less professional, and even Y/N wasn’t sure that he liked it.

Y/N watched as 3 men came out from the doors of the building. The 2 in front, both had greying hair and stern expressions, whispering amongst each other, while making disgusted looks towards Y/N. The third looked a little younger and shorter, with grey hair, attempting to look serious and stern as he walked towards the 2 with Y/N’s big brother in tow. Y/N smiled as his brother walked out with the teachers. He looked happy and better and less like he’d just torched a building than the last time he had seen him. Max whispered something in the younger man’s ears and the mask of sterness dropped to smile at the boy.

The group reached the pair of Verstappens, and Max let his guard down a little after shaking hands with their dad to give his baby brother a big bear hug, and provide some intel.

“Who’d he catch you with, huh?”

“Liam. At least it wasn’t bloody Frederik or he’d be here to inform you that I got caught up in the crossfire of a shooting and my funeral is tomorrow.”

“It was simply a matter of time. Anyway, you will like it here. Try and steer clear of Marko, he is incredibly strict and if it was still legal he would hang you from your arms from the roof until your shoulders dislocated. You will barely see Dominicelli, he just rocks up to greet you now, and you will never see him again. Horner is also our housemaster. He’s amazing. He’ll like you. He kinda adopted me after I told him how much of an asshole dear father is.”

“Okay.” Y/N smiled tensely as he pulled himself out of his brother’s hug and turned to greet the 3 strangers.

The first one looked old, as in old enough to retire, and had a stern face, as in someone who would scold you for laughing too hard. Someone after his fathers’ own heart he presumed. He held his hand out, and the man took it, shook it once, and then dropped his hand, as if disgusted to be touching ‘someone like Y/N’. So an old homophobe then. He then turned around and started talking to Jos, and Y/n tried to eavesdrop as he met the other men.

“Lawson has been dealt with, I’m just concerned about…”

The 2nd man, held out his hand and shook Y/n’s twice which was an improvement, at least until he dropped it.

“...he sort of always showed signs but I never thought…”

Then he tried to discreetly wipe his hand on his pants.

“...The Mercedes guys were there, if they had realised who he was…”

Y/N picked it up, and looked down at the ground, slightly awkward, unsure of what to do as the final teacher approached him.

“...Hamilton is pissed, one of his men was caught in the crossfire of trying to get Y/N out…”

Professor Horner immediately engulfed him in a tight hug.

“...see the problem is I can’t explain to anyone why they were shot in a random club on a random thursday to get my son out…”

It was the first time for a long time that Y/N was getting a hug from someone older like her dad’s age. He was so shocked that he missed the next part of Jos and Helmut’s conversation and strained to hear the next part.

“...i can’t tell them my son was in there…so now it looks like i shot up a nightclub for no reason…”

Christian started reassuring him in his ears about how he was safe here and whatnot, but all Y/N was thinking was about how he was preventing him from properly eavesdropping the conversation

“...No, no one important, a lackyman, Aron or something…”

Y/N could feel his heart drop. Paul was dead? He’d known Liam was dead, Jos had used him as an example, but he hasn’t even known that Paul was at the nightclub.

“...it’s done, there’s 2 dead bodies to dispose of, which im gonna do when i get back, but just keep an eye on him please…”

Christian seemed to realise the internal struggle that Y/N was having and started hugging him tighter to make him feel better.

“...He’s gonna get everyone killed and he will only realise when he loses his brother the consequences his actions have…”

‘I KNOW WHAT CONSEQUENCES MY ACTIONS HAVE DAD, YOU KILLED MY KIND OF BOYFRIEND IN FRONT OF ME!’ Y/N wanted to scream at his dad, but that would make him realise that he was eavesdropping and why he was actually here.

Christian felt him tense and tried to sooth him into the hug.

“Alright, that’s enough, Christian, how about we head inside?”

—

Arthur could recognise the boy walking in, but he couldn’t see the father which would help if he could work out why his body was in fight and flight mode as the boy had seen him, waved and smiled at him.

A memory flashed, of a meeting him and all his brothers together in a meeting room, as their father ran them through their highest enemies. He could remember the smile of a kid his age. He remembered Lorenzo asking how a 5 year old could be a threat…he doesn’t remember the rest or why this kid is a threat, but he remembers the goofy smile, the smile that was being flashed his way now, and the eyes that held so much happiness that seemed to hold a lot more pain now.

He couldn’t remember why this kid was in the powerpoint, so he supposed it was okay and irrelevant and smiled back, before being hurried on by Lorenzo.

---

taglist: @leosxrealm, @ghostking4m

#f1 x reader #miloformula123fan #f1 fanfic #f1 x male reader #f1 fic #f2 x reader #f2 fanfic #f2 fic #f2 x male reader #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc moodboards #arthur leclerc x male reader #arthur leclerc x you #arthur leclerc x y/n

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cowboydisaster · 1 year

Text

Sleepless Nights

repost, originally posted on 13 march 2023

pairing: Dutch van der Linde x fem!reader (+jealous arthur? check notes)

word count: 3k

summary: Dutch helps to keep you toasty on a freezing Colter night. This was written to an anon request "I can think of a few ways to keep warm"

a/n: idk how but this turned into a dutch smut + a snippet of jealous Arthur at the end? Not sure, but I like the finished product!

warning: nsfw, 18+, minors dni

taglist: @margofiore@mrsarthurmorgan7@woman-with-no-name@luvliewriting@tillith@pine4pple-b0i@photo1030@dudsparrow (sorry for tagging you twice, I'm done, I promise lol.)

Your teeth chatter and click together in the overwhelmingly cold cabin. You hate Colter, you hate this storm and you hate the Pinkertons. The only thing keeping you sane right now is Dutch at your back. It’s dark in your section of the little cabin, and it's freezing cold. Dutch lines your back on the small bed, spooning you as close as he can possibly get without crushing you. His warmth doesn’t help much in the storm, but it's better than nothing. Arthur and Hosea are in the other rooms in the little cabin, and by the sounds of their snores through the thin wall, they’re not suffering nearly as much as you are.

“My dear, this is killing me. What can I do?” Dutch says, beside himself from the way you’re shaking down to your bones. Your skin is like ice, and even as he rubs up and down your arms, you don't warm up.

“Nothing, it's okay but I-Im, god, I'm so c-cold.” Is the only reply you can muster. Dutch pulls your back closer to his chest, thinking.

You coil around yourself, smiling as Dutch begins to pepper open mouthed kisses along your neck and jaw. He nips the skin of your pulsepoint, gently toying it with his teeth before running his tongue over the red spot.

“You know…” Dutch begins, and the hand that was snaked around your waist moves downward to reach up the bottom of your chemise. You shudder, but not from the cold, as Dutch’s featherlight touch trails up your thigh, past your abdomen and to your breasts.

“I can think of a few ways to keep warm…” Dutch whispers, breath hot against your neck. He kisses the underside of your jaw, running his thumb overtop your hardened nipple before circling it a few times.

Your breath hitches in your throat, and the little gasp that leaves your lips causes Dutch’s jeans to grow tighter around his groin. His thumb flicks over your nipple a few times, and his lips kiss and suck at your ear lobe.

“Dutch, wait- Hosea and Arthur are sleeping and the walls are thin-” You protest lightly, not wanting to get caught in the act. But the warmth that starts to cover your body from Dutch’s touch and the wetness that begins to pool between your thighs begs him to continue.

“Guess we’ll have to be quiet then, hmm?” Dutch pinches your nipple lightly, trying to restrain from grinding his hips against your ass as he whispers against your ear, “Can you do that for me, princess?”

You whimper, pushing yourself back against Dutch. It elicits a deep groan from the man, and you can feel the outline of his hard cock against your lower back.

“Mhm.” You nod, needing Dutch to keep touching you.

He obliges of course, squeezing your breast and groaning before sliding his hand down towards your lower stomach. Once he reaches your thighs, he urges them apart.

“Can you spread these pretty thighs for me? Hmm, my dear?” Dutch asks, and his voice alone does you in. You lift your leg up a bit, still in a spooning position to grant his hands access. He brings his hand in between your thighs from the back, and runs his fingers over your slick folds.

“You’re so… God- You’re so wet for me.” Dutch whispers, and his cock is pressing so hard against the inside of his jeans that it hurts. But he’ll take care of you first, he always does.

His fingers trace a familiar pattern over your clit, the same one that you use to get yourself off. He knows you like the back of his hand, knows everything you want, everything you need. Being with Dutch is as easy as breathing, and you need him like the oxygen that flows to and from your lungs. His large hands ground you, touching you in a manner that doesn’t allow the chill of the room to grasp onto you. Your body burns with his touch, racing ever faster towards a cliff's edge.

It doesn't take long. His voice combined with the way he’s touching you are the perfect concoction that has you whimpering and gasping. You turn your head into the pillow, and every exhale hits you with a wave of building pleasure. It's the kind of orgasm that peaks slowly, his fingers know exactly what you need, responding to your moans to bring you to a toe curling, whimpering mess. Even with your face lodged into the pillow, your gasping breaths and moans can be heard, albeit muffled. You rock against Dutch’s fingers, elongating your orgasm while clamping your thighs down over his arm and hand.

“Yeah, just like that… let me work you through it, easy.” Dutch coos, rubbing against your clit until it's too much and you have to pull away from oversensitivity.

“Fuck, Dutch–” You whimper, and the sweat on your forehead speaks for your better temperature.

He presses a kiss to the back of your head, shushing you and reminding you that Hosea and Arthur are just on the other side of the wall. Really you don’t care, you can’t even form a coherent thought as you push your ass against Dutch's groin, grinding against his unfreed cock until he groans. He pulls his zipper down far too slow for what you need.

“Please, Dutch, I need-” You whine, cunt throbbing with need.

“Just a second, my dear. Patience.” Dutch chuckles, finally releasing his thick shaft from the confines of his jeans. He lifts your thigh up again, running the rosy head of his cock along your entrance to use your slick.

“You ready, my love?” Dutch whispers, kissing your shoulder, his facial hair causing goosebumps to shiver down your body. You nod, begging him to just take you already.

As soon as he has your consent, he slides in, pushing into you slowly. Your walls are tight around him, even with all the slick and the foreplay. You moan, tossing your head back against Dutch’s chest as he slowly fucks you from behind, still spooning. The position gives him a perfect angle to bump right into your G-spot, and you’re moaning and whimpering after only a few moments of his slow thrusts. His hand steadies himself on your hip, and you reach to your side to grasp onto it, nails digging into his hand.

“God- you’re so tight.” Dutch groans as he thrusts into you. The head of his cock bumps right into that sweet spot, and you feel the first tingling of an approaching orgasm, even without the external stimulation.

"Oh Dutch faster please-" You moan, needing to feel more of him, quicker and harder.

"As you wish, my love." Dutch groans before picking up his pace and ramming into you so hard that the bed rocks side to side with his rhythm. The creaking bed is loud, but not nearly as loud or vulgar as his hips slapping against your ass, or the moans that fall from your lips as you pinch your nipple.

"Fuck! Oh- Dutch I'm so close!" You practically scream, gripping onto the side of the bed that rocks like a ship mid-storm. You can feel every ridge, every vein and every twitch of Dutch inside you as he mercilessly takes you.

"Cum for me, my dear, let me feel it-" Dutch groans in your ear, holding himself back until you've been properly satisfied. It's difficult, considering those pretty noises you're making, and the way his name falls so effortlessly from your lips.

As soon as he says the words, you allow yourself release. Your walls clamp down around Dutch as you rock back against him, waves of tight, hot pleasure falling over you. Dutch tries to continue his pace to ensure your maximum pleasure, but you're squeezing him so tightly, and god- the sounds you make. You moan, crying out and gasping for air as "Oh!" and "Dutch!" are repeated over and over.

You can feel him begin to twitch, he groans louder, fucks you erratically. You've said the words before you've even considered them, before you've even thought of the consequences.

"No, dont pull out please- I wanna feel you, I wanna take it!" You yell out, surely you've woken up Arthur and Hosea by now. Surely they can hear everything happening through the thin walls, but you don't care, not right now anyway.

As soon as he has permission, he thrusts into you one last, slow and hard time, filling you up completely. He sputters and groans as he does.

"So good for me- so good." Dutch mumbles, an aborted thrust of his hips paints your walls with the last bit of his spend.

You bring your thigh back down, wincing from overstimulation. Dutch doesn't pull out of you, still in to the hilt as he wraps his arms around you again. You're breathing heavily, recuperating from the best orgasm you've ever had in your life.

"Thank you…" You whisper, craning your head to catch his lips in a kiss. It starts out slow, your lips meet his own in a small, sweet show of love. But as it grows longer, and his pecks become little bites to your bottom lip, you feel heat pooling in your belly again.

"You know, I have to be up early Mr. van der Linde." You chastise, looking into his eyes before trailing back down to his lips.

"Hmmm, I do. But there's less productive, albeit more interesting ways we could spend our time rather than sleeping… I do have an obligation to keep you warm. Isn't that right miss?" He whispers, trailing kisses from the underside of your jawline down to your neck, and licking a trail up to your earlobe before nipping it with his teeth.

"We really shouldn't, Dutch. We have to rob the train tomorrow." You counter, but the way you giggle, and your breath picking up tells Dutch that you don't want him to stop.

"I have an idea." Dutch says, kissing your temple before pulling out of you, slowly.

"Y'know, I have a special talent.." Dutch jokes, sitting up in the bed beside you and urging you to lay on your back.

"Oh, you do?" You play, knowing exactly where this is going and loving every second of it.

You spread your legs for Dutch, pulling your chemise up enough to expose yourself to him.

"Oh, I do. And luckily for you, it is a talent that you're quite familiar with." Dutch jokes before ducking under the blankets. You laugh out loud, because he is ridiculous.

He settles himself in between your legs, under the blankets before you feel his mustache against your inner thighs, bucking your hips to chase after the feeling of his mouth on your most sensitive bits.

—

Arthur wakes up in a cold sweat from a dream. A dream about you. It's a dream that plagues him on lonely nights. One of your body under his own, slotting together with him. One where you call out his name, gripping onto him like he's everything while he touches every inch of your body, memorizing you.

He wakes up, and sees the tent that has formed under the blanket from his dirty mind.

"Goddamnit-" Arthur sighs, angry with himself for being such a creep. Because he will never have you. You are with Dutch- you don't want him. And as he lies awake thinking about you, or sleeps and dreams of you at night, he is only a fleeting thought in your mind. When he sees you in camp, smiling bright with flowers in your hair, your clothes wrapped tightly around your body it drives him mad. He could show you what love can be, he could love you better than Dutch. But he will never have that chance.

So he does what he does everytime you linger on his mind for too long…

Arthur reaches down, under the blankets to free his erect cock from his long johns. As soon as his hard shaft springs free from the material, his eyes slip closed, and he recalls his dream.

You're underneath his body, gasping for breath and moaning as he thrusts into you hard and slow. He starts to stroke himself lightly, toying with himself. He thinks of you in his tent, stepping out of your clothes, of you sitting in his lap, taking what you need and rocking yourself against him. With every stroke of his hand on his cock, he imagines that it's you. He pumps himself into his closed fist, running his thumb over his head just wishing that it was your mouth, your lips on him, your tight walls, taking him like his girl. He whispers your name under his breath, bucking his hips up into his hand.

… And then he hears it. A whimper, coming from the otherside of the wall directly to his left. The wall that separates his room from yours and Dutch's.

Arthur's hand stops abruptly when he hears it. His eyes shoot open, and he glances to the wall, separating you from him by just a few feet.

"Fuck, Dutch-" You moan, gasping and whimpering from the other side of the wall. At first, it takes the breath away from Arthur. That bastard is touching you right here, for everyone to hear. Like he's showing you off, letting Arthur know what he will never have. Arthur wants to quit, wants to shove his hard length back into his pants and be swallowed up by the floor.

But then your moans continue, and as Arthur's eyes slip closed again, you whimper, and his cock twitches with need. Arthur sighs, feeling like a total pervert as he starts to slowly pump his fist up and down his shaft again. Arthur pretends that it's him making you moan like that. It's him on top of you, fucking into that sweet little cunt and kissing those perfect rosy lips. He imagines his lips, kissing and licking at those perfect breasts, taking you and giving you everything you need.

"Please Dutch, I need-" You whine, begging

Dutch to fuck you, and Arthur decides in this moment that he hates Dutch. Arthur hates that Dutch is having you like this, while he pathetically fucks his fist. Because Arthur loves you. He loves you, and you're with Dutch.

Then Arthur hears the unmistakable sounds of sex. He hears Dutch thrusting into you, the slap of you taking him to the hilt, and how you moan with every goddamn rock. Arthur bucks his hips up, fucking his hand hard and fast, wishing it were you. He times his hand with your moans, just wishing that it were him making you moan like that.

"God, you're so tight…" Dutch growls, and Arthur wants nothing more than to go in there and kill the sonofabitch. It should be him in there, not Dutch.

Arthur tightens his fist around his shaft, only being able to imagine how it must feel to have you around him.

The younger outlaw holds his groans in, not wanting to be caught. You on the other hand are crying out, whimpering and moaning Dutch's name. Arthur hates it, and green envy colors him with want. It only makes his movements harder, faster.

"Fuck! Oh- Dutch I'm so close!" You yell through the slightly muffled wall.

Arthur has always wondered what you sound like, how you moan when you cum. And tonight is no different. He is waiting for your release, begging you in his mind to just fucking cum already so that he can put this goddamn fantasy that's never going to happen to rest and get some sleep.

After a few moments he hears the release. Your breaths get heavy, loud and quick. They turn to gasps, that turn to moans until the whole cabin reverberates with your sweet, beautiful cries of pleasure. You're calling out Dutch's name, but Arthur ignores it. He pumps his fist in time with your moans, climaxing with you. With a low, quiet groan, Arthur cums, sending warm strings of his spend up over his own stomach. For a moment, Arthur just lays there, listening to your whimpers continue. Your orgasm is drawn out, as you moan and gasp for a while until they quiet down.

He feels enraged as you beg Dutch to finish inside you. Of course you do. Arthur hates Dutch and he hates whatever cruel higher power is forcing him to endure this purgatory. He hears your whimpers and moans, knowing that it's something he will never elicit from you. Dutch groans, and Arthur is actually relieved, knowing it's finally fucking over.

Arthur wipes himself off, feeling like an asshole. His heart shatters when he hears the little kisses that you two share, the aftercare that Arthur wants nothing more than to give you. After a few moments of quiet, and some giggles, it starts all over again. You start to moan, start to whimper and groan.

"Christ alive…" Arthur whispers, shoving a pillow over his ear. He does actually want to get some sleep, and he feels like a complete perv, listening in like that.

Much to Arthur's growing insanity, you don't stop. No, not for the rest of the night. The two of you go at it like rabbits, and Dutch brings you over the edge again and again, until Arthur stomps out of the cabin and spends the rest of the night in the barn.

No one gets much sleep.

#dutch x reader #dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x y/n #dutch van der linde x female reader

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liel28 · 1 month

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Okay just.. hearmeowt.

I have this insane idea for a Merlin fanfiction and I need y'all to tell me if you'd read it!

So basically it's a Modern merthur au + modern royalty. Imagine this.

~~~~

Gwaine and Merlin are detectives of the FBI. One day they get a tip from their friends in the royal palace, Sir Elyan and Sir Leon, that the huge drug lord, that has been on the streets for weeks which Merlin and Gwaine have been busting their asses to find the identity of, is Uther Pendragon. Camalot's own king.

Now that they have a suspect they only need to find a way to prove it. They decided to go undercover. It won't be too hard for them to make up a backstory since Gwaine is technically nobility, but they do need some kind of entrance.

That's why they have Guinevere Blacksmith. Gwen worked with them in the force a couple of years beforehand, but she had to quit because someone was threatening her father so she had to go off the grid for a while, Gwen settled in Camalot with her younger brother Elyan, her dad and her best and oldest friend Leon. She became a servant and has been trying to keep a low profile ever since until she could make sure her family was safe.

Gwen introduced them to Sir Lancelot, Gwen's fiance who spent some time with the druids growing up and knows about;

1. Gwen's time in the FBI, 2. Merlin's magic. she said Merlin could go undercover as Lancelot's partner and get into the banquet Uther is throwing as his plus one.

The only problem? He has to be a woman for that.

They can't take anyone else, they decided, since Merlin and Gwaine know this case better than anyone else, and they don't want to risk Gwen in any way.

So Merlin turns himself into Mary - Sir Lancelot's 'girlfriend', the daughter of Sir Lot and Lady Morgan of Caerleon and Gwaine's 'sister'.

But what happens when Lancalot gets injured three nights before the banquet? They can't send Merlin alone without an explanation! It's too dangerous. And Gwaine is refusing to be around some 'stuck up noblemen'.

So Gwen offers her other best friend instead, since she can't offer Leon who has to stay behind and take care of Lancelot, another knight of camalot. Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot. Of course.

~~~~~~

So.. let me know what you think! Btw it's my original idea and I hadn't seen anything like this before so PLEASE do not steal! If this sort of thing has been made before I am so sorry and please inform me!

Love y'all~ L

#merthur #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin bbc #merlin x arthur #merlin emrys #sir lancelot #gwaine #merlin #merlin fanfiction #merlin fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #sir leon #sir elyan #gwen x lancelot #original idea

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wizardfrog69 · 1 year

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୨⎯ "Crocheting/knitting hobby (bsd)" ⎯୧

Basically if you had a crocheting/knitting hobby. also mostly platonic

Also requests are wide open if you want me to write about anything! :)

Feat. Fukuzawa, Yosano, Atsushi, Kunikida, Jun'ichirō, Kenji, Kyōka, Dazai, Ranpo, Katai Tayama, Ace, Chuuya,Chuuya's hat, Kōyō, Arthur, Akutagawa, Higuchi, Hirotsu, Kajii, Oda, Ango, Fitzgerald, Karl, Fyodor, Ivan Goncharov, Nikolai, Sigma

Yukichi Fukuzawa:

Omg he loves the fact that you could make him a scarf

Mike him a scarf btw

He loves it

Also make tiny hats and scarfs for the cats

Love's them also <3

Akiko Yosano:

If you make her anything then she would wear it everywhere

Shows off what you made

Is proud

Atsushi Nakajima:

Please make him like a sweater or something

Yk he'll wear it 24/7

Doesn't he have like one pair of clothes?

Idk just make him something

Doppo Kunikida:

Is proud that you have such useful skills

I don't think he needs anything

But if you make him something then he'll wear it when necessary

Would probably prefer it over his other things of the same use

Jun'ichirō Tanizaki:

Love's, absolutely adores your skill

Make him a shit tone of sweaters and he'll wear every last one of them 24/7

Love's everything you make

Idk why but I feel like he would know how to knit

Will knit you shit aswell

Kenji Miyazawa:

I'm gonna assume that people in his village used to crochet/knit cuz its such a common thing and you would need those skills to make cloths

Whenever you knit/crochet he will sit there are just stare

It's mesmerising to watch someone do such a thing

Pls make him a little cow teddy

Kyōka Izumi:

And you make her a bunny teddy

Also loves to watch

Will thank you politely after you make her something

She will be very grateful

Osamu Dazai:

I'm sorry but watching people crochet or knit is so mesmerising

Watches your every move while you do your thing

Will ask you to make him stuff

Asked you to make him a rope 🥰

Ranpo Edogawa:

Doesn't care ????

I feel like he wouldn't care much

Still appreciates the things you make him but wouldn't really care

Katai tayama:

Bro make him like a blanket or something

Idk why but he's silly rn

My brain thinks he's silly rn

Make him a blanket tho

I just realised it sounds like I'm forcing you to make all of these things

Ace:

Mans will gamble all that shit away

Sorry babes your talent is wasted with him

Chuuya Nakahara:

Crochet a flower for his hat

Idc for him just his hat

Chuuya's hat:

It enjoys the flowers you make it

And other little things

Decorate the hat

Hat enjoys your company

You and the hat are getting married now

Chuuya is invited to the wedding

Runs off with his hat and asks the hat to never leave his side

Now you are in a relationship with chuuya's hat and chuuya

You can make chuuya like new gloves or something idc

Kōyō Ozaki:

Idk what you could make this beautiful lady

Maybe a scarf or something

Arthur Rimbaud:

Use that extra thick wool for his things

Make him a scarf. Gloves. Hat, socks and everything

This man is freezing to death 24/7

Ryūnosuke Akutagawa:

Whatever you do use black yarn

He doesn't really need anything

Maybe a scarf (such an original idea ik)

Ichiyō Higuchi:

Loves everything thing you make

Respectfully shows off what you made

Ryūrō Hirotsu:

I forgot who this is 💀

Nvm it's the old guy

Like idk just like idk

Motojiro Kajii:

Make him lemon scented lemons

To me this guys personality is just lemons

Sakunosuke Oda:

You better be using those skills to make the kids winter clothes

He adores you and he loves what you can do

Ango Sakaguchi:

Man wouldn't even realise

He's too busy working

Francis Scott Fitzgerald:

He fond your skills useful when he was in his poor era 😍

Karl:

Make this racoon some tiny socks or something

Or a cute little hat

Fyodor Dostoevsky:

Make little cloths for his rats or something idk

Make him this:

Ivan Goncharov:

He needs a nice hat

Nikolai Gogol:

And he needs a silly hat

Sigma:

Bones ruined him

Like wtf is his character design? The hair is too light the shoes are not shoeing

Like no one can walk in those shoes

Poor Sigma:(

Sorry I got too lazy to continue

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queer-ragnelle · 26 days

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Hi! I hope I do not bother you, but I'd like to ask a thing (if you already answered this in another ask I'm sorry) because you seem to be the most qualified person to answer. In a retelling, when how much is too much changing? I am writing two whole Arthurian fics and while I mostly mix and match from different versions there are some things I fully changed (one of the most egregious, for example, being Palamedes dying early in Post-Vulgate fashion and Safir as the one who slays the Questing Beast and the killing being an expression of vengeance instead of newly-found peace despite this definetely not being the case in the original text). I think what I changed works better for plot reasons but I am a bit uncomfortable with it, especially when it comes to characterization. But on the other hand there are so many different versions that I find it hard to say if I am ruining it or not because even in the canon plots and characters' personalities change a lot but I don't want to do something that ends up being "in name only". When is too much too much?

Hello! I don't know about being the most qualified person to answer, but I can certainly give you my answer! I've explained this a little bit before here and here, but can elaborate again for you, especially because I think those characters and that text in particular should be handled with care.

Before you determine what amount of reinterpretation constitutes the right balance, pause everything, and pinpoint your audience. Are you writing fanfiction for your own self-fulfillment and enjoyment? Maybe also for a handful of friends who share your ideas? In that case, there are no rules, do whatever you want. That's your space, your story, and you bear no responsibility to uphold some unquantifiable standard of characterization "accuracy." Fandom is your sandbox and you can build whatever castle you want! Be free!

The next thing to determine is what characters you're changing and why. Not all changes are created equal! For example, if you wanted to absolve Arthur of the May Day Massacre to write a more honorable King, it's not all that drastic a change. There are many texts, old and new, in which that narrative beat never occurs. If noble Arthur serves your story better than morally gray or evil Arthur, and it can be done without compromising the Arthurian fabric from which you sample, go for it. Alternatively, if you decided to incorporate additional violence into the story, especially if attributed to a character who had not previously done those things (such as rapist Gawain, ie, inverting his Maiden's Knight role he's known for), you're going to have a harder time selling the reader on it. Generally speaking, a positive or neutral change will always be easier to sell than a negative one.

This is especially important if you intend to publish something you write for a broader audience. That's a different matter, in my opinion. In that regard, the thing you create is contributing to an Arthurian body of work that's meant to stand on its own. Fanfiction exists in a writing niche which assumes a base knowledge from the reader, you may not necessarily explain what Camelot is, or what chivalry means, or who Palomides is. That's fine and dandy. It's for fun!

But with a published book standing alone on the shelf, the author is expected to establish the framework of the world their story takes place in. That may or may not align with "canon" and therefore maintain or depart from the expected. This is where your decisions as an author matter. While Arthuriana is anachronistic by design as a literary tradition that's evolved alongside its authors, the moment you decide on an era to write in (if you put a year to it or imply one based on what historical aspects emerge), you now bear responsibility to depict that as accurately as you can. Even if it's a mishmash of "Medieval" spanning a few centuries, it should still bare resemblance to the era. Particularly in our current political climate with constant misinformation and even disinformation spreading, it's important to do the research necessary to create something genuine so as to avoid misrepresenting the past and the people in it. For example I think it would do a disservice to an Arthurian story to ignore religion, particularly one about Palomides or his brother Safir. To write them as areligious is to ignore the role in the Arthurian narrative they were created for. They're Saracen, (even if Palomides converts in some versions), and to ignore the way religion and race interconnect in Medieval society would be disingenuous.

[Idols in the East: The Saracen Body by Suzanne Conklin Akbari]

And, more to your point, that aspect informs character. The stories define Palomides by his religion, by his race, and how that impacts him in the face of a rivalry with Tristan, a white Christian, for the love of Isolde, another white Christian. This isn't to say that you're obligated to depict racism, or to put the characters into situations that oppress and hurt them, but to write something "race blind" is to erase the character's identity, and that would be too great a change, for me personally, to get by.

That being said, if you're writing in 6th century Britain, your research might lead you to think, "Hey wait a minute, Islam doesn't exist yet! But Palomides and Safir are written as Muslims, so how can I stay true to both the era I'm writing in and the characters if that anachronism is built right in?" Well, that's where you have wiggle room to be creative! Perhaps they're Zoroastrians or follow one of the many Berber religions that existed at the time. Even Tristan could reasonably be written Pagan in this era, as he has in many retellings before you sent this ask. Maybe Tristan's Mithraic or Druid or Jewish and that in and of itself helps mitigate some of the tension between the characters as neither are Christian. All of this should be handled with great care, of course, but the point is that there aren't really straight answers about what changes are worth making.

Your discomfort in this isn't unjustified. I've been there. But it doesn't mean you're doing anything "wrong." It's not a crime to conceptualize changes. I had a lot of anxiety writing Ragnelle and her brother Gromer as Zoroastrians. But I went on to find an editor who studied the religion, and asked my Zoroastrian mutual for help, who put me in touch with a practitioner that agreed to beta read my books and inform me on my handling of it. There's no perfect story, but all you can do is give it your best effort.

I don't think it'll benefit you to worry about "ruining" the story with changes such as Safir pursuing the Questing Beast. That sounds awesome! And your plan about vengeance is baked right into the source material, as the Post Vulgate indicates that QB had killed all of Palomides's brothers before he finally defeated her, so your story has some textual basis in a medieval source. (Not that you need it to be "allowed" to write that, but it may help your anxiety to know!)

[Post Vulgate Quest for the Holy Grail: 87. Galahad and Bors Chase the Questing Beast and Meet Palamedes and His Father, Esclabor the Unknown.]

One other thing I'll point out is choosing the language you use matters a lot. You can have some characters behave a certain way toward Palomides or Safir or this "futile" quest that resembles historical prejudice while utilizing word-choice throughout that signals to the reader you, the author, know what you're doing and understand the nuances at play. Reading broadly will help you with this so much. Not just non-fiction for your research, but other Arthurian retellings as well. I personally didn't love Persia Woolley's handling of Palomides in her Guinevere Trilogy. He was referred to as "the Arab" throughout which seemed like a "lesser evil" placeholder for "the Saracen." It's usage acted as a generalized umbrella term to other Palomides and didn't indicate his area of origin beyond constantly reminding the reader that he wasn't white. (Whereas Gawain was "the Orcadian" and Lancelot "the Breton," which differentiated their white cultures from one another while homogenizing Palomides with every other Eastern person in the story as a monoculture.) Furthermore, many characters were afraid of him (I mean literally making the sign of the cross and hiding when he walked in the room), which isn't consistent with a Post-Roman Britain, in which the population would have been mixed. I prefer the handling of Numidian Sagramore in Bernard Cornwell's Warlord Chronicles. Sagramore, as a Black man, is a part of Arthur and co's community, even if the Saxons themselves are unnerved by him. He's respected by the narrative. It's usually better to be specific (Numidian Sagramore versus Arab Palomides) particularly if that character is a minority and the word is leaving the mouth of a white character. This article discusses this aspect at length and really eased my own concerns depicting these characters and doing them justice.

[Saracens and Black Knights by Maghan Keita]

Here's another example of generalized versus specific language.

[Sword of Lancelot 1963: Merlin refers to "the Orient."]

[The Adventures of Sir Lancelot 1956: Merlin refers to "the Iberian Peninsula."]

So in my opinion, as long as you don't white wash Palomides or Safir and avoid writing them as "exotic" or "mysterious" or in some way barbaric in the pursuit of the Questing Beast, you're fine. Even in La Tavola Ritonda, Percival pursues QB for a time before Palomides picks up the quest, which is the opposite order in which that occurs in Post Vulgate where Percival and the other grail knights assist Palomides to defeat her at the very end. Many versions don't maintain the incest-monster aspect of QB from Post Vulgate either, like in Perlesvaus or Moriaen, she's just a monstrous creature and that's sufficient to tell the story the author has in mind. Even from a characterization standpoint, Malory wrote Palomides as volatile and melodramatic, having fits in the woods over his grief from which only Tristan could coax him out of, where in La Tavola Ritonda, Palomides is mostly chill and sweet, to the point Dinadan teases him for being a push-over haha! In regards to Safir, there's far less textual source material to base him off of than Palomides, so you have even more creative freedom! Literally the spectrum is so vast you can pretty much characterize however you desire if you keep in mind what the core of the character is and why that's important to their identity and the historical significance of that identity. (Even if it's something you have to bulk up, such as you will for Safir.) If you're ever unsure, it's never a bad idea to ask! Plenty of historians, or medievalists, Arthurian enthusiasts, or people of different cultures would love to discuss this subject. You might have to dig a little, but I can't imagine it'll be harder than my search for a queer Zoroastrian beta reader willing to read a trilogy-length Wedding retelling haha! It'll benefit your writing to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known so others can give you feedback. Share some passages with a trusted few and gauge their reactions. Read what other people have done and take notes about the way they chose to characterize Palomides or Safir—did [aspect] resonate with you? Or did [aspect] ring false? Exploitative? Hollow? Why? Then step back, take another look, and go from there. It's about vibes and can't be defined, but you'll know when you know.

Hope this helps. Good luck and have a nice day!

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archerygun · 2 months

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Nobody talk to me I’m thinking of the historical and cultural landscape leading up to the Scottish Knights of the Round Table tales where a heroic Mordred leads a rebellion against a tyrannical King Arthur.

The fact that the Scottish identified themselves with a character usually portrayed as an irredeemable villain.

The fact that King Arthur was originally a Welsh folk hero of sorts and it had become so Anglicised by that time it was pissing off the Scots.

The myth of Arthur which had been popular and romantic for centuries being soured for people who were in the middle of a war with a future colonial power.

I mean obviously this is just “My fanfic is better than your fanfic.” on a national scale like all adaptations of the Knights but it gives me the feels.

This is what’s fun about the knights!!! Historical and cultural feels and context n stuff. Like how a whole lot of writers fucking hated Sir Gawain for being pagan. Who different nations and groups and eras identify with as their heroes.

Sorry I just

#knights of the round table #arthurian legend #arthurian mythology #arthurian literature #uk #uk history #british history #england #scotland #mordred #king arthur #gawain my favourite godless knight

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ignoremeimnothere · 9 months

Text

Meet Cute

Disclaimer I HATE the ending but I worked through a good few rewrites of this and I'm quite proud with how much it improved from the initial write. It's definitely still shit though. Have I sold it? Usually I can only dedicate one writing session to my stuff, wanting it gone as soon as possible but ya gal is on a mission and dedicated some days. Also sorry y'all but this is on the dark side TW: Death, Suicide and Attempted Suicide

3016 Word Count

You were finally done. It had been a decade of fighting to survive an apocalypse. You wouldn’t have made it two minutes if it hadn’t been for your older brother Arthur who had protected you through it all. It was him who had gotten you both out of the initial chaos, who gave you tough love when you wanted to succumb, had taught you the basics of how to win a fight and to keep yourself fed.

Surviving an apocalypse took unimaginable acts. Arthur taught you this lesson. He was more familiar with violence, having done a stint in the Gulf War. You were the opposite, more on the sensitive side and originally a little hippie-ish. You knew he would always protect you but he also forced you to get your hands bloody early on, you didn't have a choice. Very quickly though you learned that survival requires violence. It was almost comical how simple an apocalypse made life seem sometimes. Hunt the animal or starve. Keep running or get caught. Kill or be killed.

After hiding in Arthur’s shadows for your entire childhood, your adolescence ragged you out. Now in womanhood you stood beside him. Armed, angry and ready.

Modern requirements of survival meant going on raids. Rations had now completely run out and what followed would be a scavenge in the next town you found. Your stomach ached, it had been days of running on empty. The daze from going for weeks without a good night's sleep helped to ease the pain.

The relief of entering a new town relaxed the muscles in your limbs. Rows of houses that looked frozen in time. The only thing out of place were the smashed windows and rotting wood. You’d be lucky if there was anything left but you felt good about the place. The further you got into the neighbourhood the more you noticed how much it mimicked the quiet neighbourhood you had both grown up in.

The first few homes were bare. After a decade of raids you could do this dance in your sleep. Silent, guns aimed, thinking ahead and watching your backs. It was lawl to clear each room of any danger before allowing someone to start rummaging. By the sixth home the brick walls began to look like safety. You hadn’t seen a soul for miles and nothing seemed out of place since you had arrived.

‘I need a slash’ Arthur’s announcement broke down the last of your act.

You rolled your eyes moving into the new house alone. Your new found nonchalance took you through the kitchen noisily. The desperation to find something in the cupboards required your full agility, convincing you to shed your pack onto the kitchen table. Nothing in the overhead cupboards, not so much as a crumb in the bottom ones. Slamming the cupboards was meant to make you feel better but did it fuck.

Patience was a virtue you didn't have a lot of. With Arthur still missing the temptation to stomp up each stair was too strong to resist. Though black and blue, you still had some feeling in your feet. A pair of socks that weren’t missing huge holes of fabric was something you could kill for. Wiggling your feet it became apparent how badly you wanted a thick pair. Hopefully you’d be in luck, socks were not the highest demand of raiders. You had to leave this place with something at least.

The first bedroom had been a bust, despite it clearly having belonged to a young child you hadn’t the heart to not at least check. You were only onto the third drawer when you thought you heard something. It couldn’t be. A knot began to tighten in your gut nonetheless. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up and you began to feel your heart beating. Silence returned.

History taught you to always trust your instinct. A silent prayer crossed your mind, the carpeted room allowing you to return to the threshold silently. A scan of the hallway detected nothing new. If you could punch yourself you would, Arthur was still outside. Your pack was discarded on the dining table and- FUCK. Your hand ghosted your belt missing the cool metal of your gun. Your breath hitched at the realisation causing a stir from one of the adjacent rooms. You watched with bated breath unsure whether to bolt down stairs or stay as still as you could. Try as you might, the tremble in your arms prevailed. Another commotion came from the room, you made to run but the sound of clicking stopped you in your tracks.

Fuck.

It had been a while since you had seen one. Staying in the country for a few months meant that humans were the only monsters you had to worry about. You had thought. You heard it make its way to the door. It's screeching growing more urgent. You didn't dare step back, not even when it jerked from behind the door and into view. Confronted with the monster you could see that it was relatively fresh, the human form still noticeable. The face of a middle aged woman peeked out amongst the fungus. Racking your brain you rationalised that it wouldn’t be as strong as one that had fully turned, and you had killed those before, alone even. You just needed your gun. The painful reminder that you had left it downstairs made your face flush.

The clickers body contorted, another step and you would have been able to get a clean shot. Your head began to spin with rage. You felt like a fucking idiot, no clue how to manage the situation you had put yourself into. Holding still seemed to buy you time, now would be the best moment to conjure a plan. This thing had been a middle aged woman once, you were a strong fighter, you could take it down if needs be. Bash its skull in. Yeah you had a chance.

The sound of the front door creaking open downstairs turned your blood cold. You’d hoped the thick tension would have seeped out of the house as a warning to him. Erupting into chaos the clicker moved frantically bolting for the staircase.

‘RUN’ You scream as a warning.

You lunged after it. Your brother's panicked eyes met yours for a split second before the clicker threw itself down the staircase, screaming as it fell directly onto him.

‘GUN. GUN.’ Arthur roared as he struggled to wrestle with death.

You lunged down after it, leaping past to find your weapon discarded on the table like a fucking pair of house keys. Adrenaline shook your whole body and a scream clawed out your throat in frustration as you struggled to cock the gun. You knew you had to get close to make sure you didn’t shoot Arthur, he had to stay alive. You returned in a matter of seconds, but that's all it took. Trusting he taught you well Arthur growled as he struggled to shove the fucker off him, battling for distance in order to give you a clear shot. You began to shoot, firing repeatedly until it released its grip. Once you saw Arthur was free you hauled it away from him instantly before smashing its head in with the handle of the gun. Again and again and again until the head became mush.

The sound of your blood pumping was deafening. It took you some time before you could hear Arthur’s voice but it was only when he shouted your name did you realise he had been calling you. Your sight remained on the lifeless creature sprawled across the floorboards. How fucking stupid could you be, how dead could you be if it hadn’t been for him, was another one close by? You jumped off of it, looking for your pack that was left in the kitchen.

‘We’ve got to go," you spoke.

You heard your name called in a tone that stopped your frenzy but it had to be repeated before you had the courage to look his way. Arthur was sat up, hand holding his neck.

‘Move your hand’ You commanded to see what he was poorly holding.

He moved slowly revealing a bite mark. The earth stood still in the time it took to hit you. You doubled over as if you had been kicked in the gut. A retch burst out of your mouth

‘Listen to me.’ Arthur spoke to you in the same tone he had the night the world erupted into chaos.

‘No, no no no no’. You went dizzy, the horrors of the past decade flashing through your mind.

He called your name again. ‘It’s ok, you're ok. I need you to listen to me.’

A sob broke out of your chest as you met his eye. This side of Arthur was not one you saw often. He had his tough side where your feelings were irrelevant to him, practicality was the priority. His compassionate side, where he let you cry, and entertained your sorrows. He only allowed them to overlap in moments like this. Moments where your life was about to change and you needed to be guided.

‘You know how to hunt,’

‘Arthur I can’t’ You sounded like a child.

‘You know how to hunt. You know how to fight. You know how to camp.’ He spoke matter of factly. You shook your head squinting your eyes shut. ‘I’m sorry’ His voice quivered, the first time you’d ever heard him do it. He swallowed quickly in an attempt to regain composure. ‘You need to stay alive. You need to head north. That town, Jackson, it must be real. You’ve got to find it. You can survive without me.

‘Arthur I can’t -’ Your voice breaks again ‘- not without you’.

Arthur pulls you into him, squeezing you as tight as he possibly can without breaking your bones, your grip on him just as tight.

‘You can, I need you to. I Love you stink.’ He hesitates for a moment. ‘You need to keep moving.’

You pull back, feeling him reach for something. He moves his attention to the gun, your gun, now in his hands. He takes a deep breath before checking the barrel. You sit and watch him unable to detach yourself from the moment. One bullet left, you could almost laugh.

‘You know I have to’ He speaks to you again, as though you were the same twenty year old who had to grow up fast when the world changed. You knew it too. You wanted to talk to him, trap him in a conversation forever, a constant evasion of what was staring you in the face.

‘I love you," Was all you could choke out, you grabbed him, yanking him in as close as you could.

He repeated the phrase, returning your embrace. He began to rock you as you shook. There was no way of telling how much time had passed but forever wouldn't have lasted as long as you needed it to. He took your face in his and kissed the crown of your head. You could feel the heat burning through his hands as sweat started glistening on his forehead. A weight swallowed your shoulders as his leather jacket was wrapped around you. Taking your trembling hands in his he put his gloves over yours, giving what he could to ensure your safety.

Your body began to rack with sobs as denial and grief engulfed you. Swallowing another lump Arthur promptly got up off the floor and grabbed the ankles of the monster that had destroyed your life twice. You heard him dragging it out of the house, heard him hesitate before the snow crunched underneath his boots, until they were out of earshot. You went quiet, holding your breath waiting for your brother to reappear in front of you. Hope ruined when you heard the distant gunshot.

~~~~~~~

That had been three days ago. You hadn’t found the strength to move from that house, all you had really done was cry and sleep. The hunger pains in your stomach had abandoned you, and in a weird way they made you feel more alone. You had debated your next step since your brother told you to continue. Grief had sucked you into its black hole instead and it took until now to have a revelation.

You simply didn’t want to go on. Your only real purpose in life had become keeping your brother safe, whether or not you ever really had to was another question. That purpose had vanished in the space of a second, and it was your fault. The world was still black and white though. If you let your guard down, you’ll suffer. If you don’t protect your brother, he’ll die. If you don’t want to carry on, dont.

The obvious solution had taken this long to reach you. Logistically it was tricky, you had run out of ammunition, and there was no way you were going to collect your weapon anyway. It would take a bit more effort and courage. The house had a garage which you had searched, not expecting to find much but to your surprise there was a lot of random shit in there. It didn’t take you long to search for something you could use, rope.

You set straight to work. You thought of your next steps instantly, seeing clearly for the first time in months. There were wooden beams across the ceiling in the kitchen, you laughed. Some middle class house wifes dream home had given you the perfect escape route. You sat down to focus on tying the rope, you forgot the name of it but the memory of your brother showing you a range of knots flashed through your mind. A stabbing pain in your heart returned, it had been tormenting you since becoming alone. The tears begin again as you throw the rope over the beam, securing it. A few tugs left the trap intact. You were not wanting to waste any time, dragging the kitchen chair in place. It had rotted like most of the furniture, you just prayed it wouldn’t give way before you had gotten in position.

You felt a harsh chill rush through the room. Hopefully this would be quick, painless, and would take you away from here. Your adrenaline had returned and with it the deafening ruckus in your ears. You could almost taste the relief. You reached up to grab the rope, the tremble in your arms now completely gone.

‘HEY’ A shrill voice calls from behind.

The voice of unexpected company causes your head to whip around. It took a moment for your swollen eyes to focus, A small girl with rosy cheeks and eyes brimming with tears returns your gaze. She struggles to spit out what she’s trying to say. The complication of how to word her question etched on her crinkled expression. Her body jolted with distress.

‘What?’ It came out softly. A step above lifeless.

She took your curiosity as an offering of help, prompting her to take a breath.

‘Help. Help to get him in here.’ With that she disappeared from view.

You followed her tentatively. Her desperation pulls you back into reality, with the same urgency of a child dragging their parents to a park. In the hallway, lying in the same spot you had lost your brother was an older looking man. He wore a flannel under his cargo jacket and jeans Sweat glistened across his forehead despite the icy conditions. When his eyes met yours frustration washed over his face.

‘Ellie’ Calling her name winds him and his whole body tenses.

The girl he named busies herself with ripping up a rag she had grabbed from the kitchen. She lifts his shirt haphazardly and shoves it into his wound. He instinctively grabs her arm with force before peeling himself off her. Eyes returning to yours.

‘Joel I dont know what the fuck to do’ She shouts pushing deeper into his stomach.

You don't know what to do either, but watching the girl freak out shocks you into taking over. Your grief threatens to suffocate you, as you wish you could trade places with these strangers. Wish it could be you begging for help with Arthur who had a wound that didn’t mean certain death. Instead you took another gulp of air and wordlessly bent down to Joel. You put your hands over Ellie’s, causing the man to tense again. You avoid his glaring eyes as you inspect the wound. He’d been stabbed by the looks of it. Too big and shallow to be a knife. You return the compression that is helping to stop the bleeding.

‘My Pack, there’s a thread and needle in the zipper’ Ellie returns to the room you gestured to.

Joel grabs your arm, demanding you to meet his eye. You do and he studies your face for a moment. You were still struggling to focus with how puffed and sore they were. A blank expression remained painted on you. His lips purse as he tries to speak. He doesn't manage to form a word, and you watch as exhaustion washes over him. The lines in his forehead ease as he watches between you and Ellie through the doorway behind. As you feel Ellie return to your side, Joel is out like a light.

She holds the requested items right in front of your face silently begging you to save the man she was trying to save. You'd have thought it was her dad if she hadn’t addressed him by name. Her expression relaxed slightly, relieved to share the burden of responsibility. She shoves the items at you again, silently asking for you to do something now. You take them from her, the bulletproof plan you were conducting mere minutes ago now the furthest thing in your mind. Your way out could wait. Right now, you were here and you were gonna try your damned hardest to help this girl keep her partner.

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