#bowler hat gang

[bedofthistles]

Daddy beach au

Don’t look at me

lol

Robin, David

Richard, Henry

References (the last one isn’t a reference more the vibes I was going for with Henry lol)

[cuddlefl00fs]

BHG = Bowler Hat Guy

BHG = Bloodhound Gang

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 1: Stuck

Birmingham, England, 1919

Much like America, it is an empire of industry. Giant factories tower over the slums and shacks, with drunks, thieves, and whores alike all sulking in the shadows. Smoke and ash cloud the sky and block out what little sun there is, as well as fill everyone’s lungs with foul air. With sparks flying everywhere it’s a miracle nothing catches fire. The gloomy and dreadful atmosphere is enough to make anyone faint, vomit, or lose hope altogether.

But I’ve got something these folks do not. 

I am an American.

While that may not be astonishing to some, to me it means that I’m independent, as well as rambunctious and a bit of a rebel even for my culture. My family always says I’m too rash and stubborn, and that it will diminish any chance of me finding a husband and settling down for a proper life. But I’m in no mood to marry, so sue me for actually enjoying my life.

However, at the moment I seem to be in a bit of a pickle. You see, I don’t travel much. Yes there’s the occasional trip out of state, but never in a million years did I think I’d ever go to England. Of all places, my family chose to vacation in Manchester, England. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful country with gorgeous countryside views and polite accents… that is until you reach the deep city. Then it gets bustling and dangerous, which is how I came to be where I am now. We decided to travel by train, stopping in Birmingham on the way to London before we headed home. Lord knows why I decided to stray away and get a better look at the intriguing shops, but after an hour of desperately searching for my family it finally sunk in that I was, quite frankly, alone. Talk about a dumb-headed move on my part. I passed back and forth through the train station for hours as night fell, growing more and more worried about what kinds of danger Small Heath, Birmingham has hiding in the darkness. 

Right now, people are giving me mixed looks of pity, confusion, and judgment. I know I’m not much to look at, with my messy blonde hair stuffed under a simple hat and my slim figure dressed in a gray dress with black heels. I probably look much richer than I really am, which makes my fear of criminals spike even more.

“Might I help you, young lady?” A sinister voice calls out.

He's a drunk, I’m sure of it. A man in a ragged overcoat staggers over, and he’s reeking of alcohol.

“No, I’m waiting for someone. Please leave me alone.” 

“Oh, no. You’re all alone? Perfect…” He licks his lips and starts reaching his hand out-!

“Back off! She’s with me.”

I look over and see an older man wearing a trenchcoat and bowler hat. He’s got a simple mustache, is smoking a pipe, and carrying a briefcase. Is he a cop?

“Says who, old man?” The drunk slurs.

But instead of answering, the man slugs the drunk in the nose and ushers him off. When he turns back to me the bowler hat man extends a hand to shake.

“Excuse me, miss. I’m Inspector Chester Campbell. Who might you be?”

“I- I’m Verena, Verena Steenstra.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Verena. I’m here for private matters, sent by Churchill on account of a BSA munitions robbery. I am here to weed out prime suspects and possibly recover some stolen items that belong to the Crown. You wouldn’t happen to know an Arthur or Thomas Shelby, would you?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, can’t say I have. I’m new to these parts, just having arrived from America yesterday.”

He nods. “Well it’s best if you don’t, miss. They’re ruthless, the lot of them. Gangsters, bookmakers, racketeers. The gang they’re part of call themselves the Peaky Blinders. You best be getting indoors instead of wandering these dreadful streets at this hour.”

When Campbell sees my uneasy expression he frowns. “You do have a place to stay, right?”

“Actually sir, I was… left here by mistake. My family left hours ago and I’ve been here ever since.”

Campbell’s eyes soften a little. “I’m sorry to hear that, miss. If I knew the area I’d find you an inn or hotel, so the most I can do is guide you to the desk clerk in the train station.” He gestures for me to follow him and leads me over to the back desk, where a middle-aged lady is typing. “Hello, would you happen to know where this young lady might find any lodgings?”

The lady gives me a once-over and tilts her head. “Maybe ask Harry at the Garrison. That’s a local pub nearby. You can’t miss it. Just ask for Harry.”

We thank her and head back outside, where it’s starting to get dark.

“I’m sorry to leave you here, but I’ve got my own appointments to attend.” Campbell grips his briefcase and waves to signal a passing cab. “You’ll be alright?”

I try to give a convincing nod. “Yeah, as good as I can I guess. Good luck with your investigation.”

“Best of luck to you too, miss. You’ll need it if you want to survive this wicked city.”

And with that, the inspector climbs into the cab and is driven off. Leaving me, once again, alone. But at least this time I have an idea of where to go and what to do. I tightly grip my small suitcase and begin walking down the bustling streets, trying my best to ignore the… less than Christian crowd that hovers around. 

“God does not care if you live in a slum or in a mansion!”

A man’s voice draws my attention, and I look to find the source coming from down the street. He sounds Jamaican, and seems to be a minister of sorts. 

“God does not care if you are rich or you are poor!”

I approach slowly, not wanting to interrupt. “Excuse me, sir? Where would I go to find the Garrison?”

The man frowns at me, confused. “What’s a lass like you doing in this part of town? Don’t you know it’s dangerous?”

“I understand that. I’m looking to find a place to stay, so I’ll ask again. Where can I find the Garrison?”

The man looks at me as if I’ve signed my own death note, then points to the building down the street. “There. But God be with you if you want to persevere with what kind of men go in there.”

I thank him and walk towards the building. It’s definitely a pub, because there’s drunk men staggering out and vomiting everywhere. 

“Look out!” Someone shouts.

Without warning, a small person plows into me and sends us tumbling into the dust.

“Dear God, what on Earth…?” I gather myself up and get a look at the person, or should I say kid. He’s a young boy with a conservative haircut, wearing dark pants, a white shirt, and gray vest. One might say he dresses just as professional as any stockbroker. 

“I’m sorry!” He says in a worried manner and looks as if I’m about to slap him. “I didn’t mean to, I swear!”

I gotta say, seeing this boy speak in an English accent is downright cute!

I kneel down to seem less intimidating and hold out a hand. “Hey hey, it’s alright, kid. It was an accident. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He nods and shakes my hand, now looking at me differently. “You sound different.”

“I’m American, from New York. Now what was it you were running from?”

“Oh, right!” He points to the alley he just ran from. “I’m playing hide-and-seek with my aunt.”

I frown. “And you’re out here, in the dark, at this time of night? It may not be my place to say, but you should probably go back inside. Where’s your aunt now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well that’s not going to get us anywhere. You got a name?”

He smiles and nods eagerly. “I’m Finn, Finn Shelby. I’m 10 going on 11!”

“Wow, that’s old! So Finn, how about you head inside with me and we can find a way of contacting your aunt? That sound alright?”

“Finn! We were looking for you!” A man comes walking up, wearing dark clothes and a cap. When he sees me next to Finn, the man’s eyes darken. “Who are you?”

I ignore his question and look at Finn. “Do you know him?”

“Yeah, he’s my brother John.”

Now I know that I can trust this man. “I’m nobody. Just a lost tourist who’s looking out for Finn.”

The man looks confused. “Why? You don’t know him.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’d look out for him as if he was my own child because no kid should be wandering around at this time of night.”

He scoffs. “What are you, some nun or midwife? Doesn’t matter. Come on, Finn.” John takes the boy’s hand and starts walking away. 

“Nice to meet you!” Finn calls before they’re out of sight.

“Goodbye!”

Now to get back to the task at hand. While being as inconspicuous as possible, I sneak past the gruff men and enter the strangely quiet bar. I gotta say, it’s surprisingly clean. Compared to the filthy world outside you’d think the king himself would eat here. But I know better. I can tell this place has seen its fair share of violence, but I give credit to the barman for keeping it spiffy. Gruff and sketchy-looking Brits sit scattered all over the room. Murmured conversations ghost around the room, confirming that this is yet another place I shouldn’t be at. A few turn their heads, but seem uninterested… for now. I hold my suitcase close and discreetly make my way to where the barman is standing.

“You don’t know me, but the desk clerk at the train station said to ask for someone named Harry.”

The barman, just like everyone else, seems to think I’m a fish out of water. “I’m Harry. What do you want?”

“She said you could tell me where to find a place to stay. I’ll pay what I can, I swear. I just need somewhere to sleep until I can find a way to get back to America.”

His face changes. “America? You mean you’re stuck here?”

“For the time, yes.”

First Harry goes to say something but then seems to look over at someone behind me. This changes his demeanor and he gestures for me to sit.

“Can I get you anything?”

I shake my head. “I don’t drink.”

“I do,” a woman’s voice says behind me.

A dark-haired woman wearing a gray suit sits up next to me, her face being shielded by a hat.

Harry nods respectfully at the woman and pours a shot of whiskey. “On the house, Polly.”

She gladly takes the glass and downs it, looking at me with calculating eyes.

“Name’s Polly, love. Polly Gray.”

“You seem to be a woman who knows what she’s doing, and how to conduct authority,” I reply.

“And you seem to be a woman who has nowhere to go. Am I right, love?”

I look away and become more interested in staring at the table. “Yes, ma’am. I’m currently homeless, jobless, penniless, and on the verge of hopeless.” I look back up. “But I’ve got a song in my heart and a gleam in my eye, so that’s all I can do for now.”

Polly laughs and twirls the shot glass in her hand. “Well a song and dance isn’t going to take you far, love. It’s best if you come with me.” She stands back up and starts pulling her coat back on.

My thoughts freeze. Did I hear that right? This person, this complete stranger who has no inkling of who I am, wants me to go with them? Where? And what for? Inspector Campbell said to be careful.

“Wait- what? What do you mean?”

Polly walks to the door, unfazed by my questions. “I saw you interacting with Finn. You treat him as both a child and an adult, which is something I respect. You’re not too sour but still know when to show a firm grip. I’d like to hire you as his tutor. He needs help studying, as well as someone to make sure he doesn’t shoot his eye out.”

My jaw drops. “Shoot his… But how-?”

“Don’t ask. I have to deal with the most ridiculous idiots this side of England, you have no idea!” She scoffs as I follow her back into the inky night. “The fact is that I need a tutor, and you need a roof over your head. So, do you want the job or not?”

I try to form words but all that comes out is a babbling mess. My thoughts are fried! What reason do I have to even trust this Polly character?

“You’re conflicted,” Polly states plainly. “I can understand why.”

“Yes! Because- because I’m alone! I- I have no one to help, but everyone says I can’t trust anyone here, and then you happen to be passing by… I don’t know what to make of it!”

Polly puts a hand on my shoulder. “Love, one of the things I always go by is my faith. If fate had it so you would be here to help Finn and get my attention, then God has spoken. My trust is not so easily won over, so I suggest you consider this chance very seriously.”

She’s right. Everything’s led to this. Besides, she’s right. I need a job.

“Yes, I accept your kind offer.” I hold out a hand and we shake. “Thank you, Mrs. Gray.”

“I may be your employer but there’s no need for that formality. Polly’s fine, love. And yours?”

“Verena Nora Steenstra,” my name flies right off the tongue. 

“That’s Dutch, I’d imagine?”

I nod. “Yes, after my great grandmother. My father’s Dutch, my mother’s Irish.”

“Ah yes, you Americans and your mixed heritages.”

She doesn’t seem upset by it, and I’m glad she doesn’t inquire further. My family isn’t cruel, but we’re not exactly the most wanted people in New York. My uncle on my mother’s side is part of the Irish mob in Brooklyn, so our reputation is a bit strict.

Polly leads me through the dark streets and people seem to be aware not to test her. Crowds scatter away to let us pass, not even daring to meet her eye.

“You have authority here?”

“Of sorts. People know better not to start a quarrel. Here we are.”

The house itself is simple-looking on the outside, something I admire. Polly opens the door and shows me inside, which displays a traditional cross hung in the hallway. I follow her past a kitchen and into a small room near the back, one containing a simple bed and vanity as well as a single window.

“Bathtub’s down the hall. I’ll leave you here to settle in, I trust the lads will guide you through the house. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must attend a family meeting. Finn’s around here somewhere if you wish to chat.”

I set my suitcase on the bed and look at Polly with sincere gratitude. “Thank you so much. You really saved me from a tight pickle, and I promise I will do everything I can to repay you.”

Polly smiles and, to my uttermost surprise, comes over to give me a hug. “No problem, love. You seem like a decent girl, even if you are American.” She snickers and goes to walk out, then turns to say: “One more thing: when you meet Thomas, just know he’s a bit rough around the edges.”

I squint in bafflement. “Thomas? Who’s-?”

But she exits before I can finish. So just to be clear: Now I need to teach a boy from a family I just met and am expecting to meet someone who’s ‘rough around the edges.’ Yay?

[doomed-jester]

Something has bothered me for YEARS about Arkhamverse Two-Face. His suit is burned. Why is his suit burned?? It's the two color split suit, did he already have that on when he got scarred?? Does he go to his tailor and say "run a blow torch down the sleeve on this side, I'm going for a look." He definitely HAS a tailor, right? Like he's not buying a black suit and a white suit and sewing them together himself. Does he own MULTIPLE burnt black and white suits or does he just wear the same clothes every day.

Do you think all the rogues share a tailor? Is there, like, a crime tailor? Like Joker must have a Guy, right. Like, he's got these fitted, obviously custom made purple pinstripe suits. His suit gets shredded when he turns into Titan!Joker, so the one he's wearing in Arkham City is definitely a different suit. And Riddler!! The green question mark suits and bowler hat, I don't believe that he just bought that, that's a custom job. Does every gang in Gotham have a designated tailor? Are there tailors LIVING in the walls of Arkham City?? Or are they just finding regular tailors and holding them at gunpoint while they make these ridiculous outfits.

[sleeplessgreaser]

Animal Room (1995)

Directed by Craig Singer, starring Matthew Lillard and Neil Patrick Harris, this movie is WILD. If you like Matthew Lillard, or you just enjoy strange and obscure movies, it's possible you've heard of this one! Well, I decided to write an essay on it, because I have autism I love this movie for some odd reason. Also, it is impossible to google information about this movie so consider this my version of Wikipedia for the movie, Animal Room.

WARNING: This movie, and the following post, contains a lot of dark themes. Please be aware that this movie includes murder, suicide, peer abuse, substance abuse, domestic abuse, animal abuse, rape, religious themes, satanic themes, gun violence, and very graphic depictions of pretty much all of the above.

Still interested? Alright, let's get into it then. (Also, this is really long, sorry.)

This movie is strange, confusing, terrifying, shocking, and downright disturbing. It supposedly takes place in the near future, though the exact year isn’t defined, and this can be seen through odd clothing styles and the occasionally weird setting choices. I would say a lot of it is inspired by the suburban gothic dystopian genre? (Niche, I know, but stay with me here.) Topped off with a hint of The Matrix… are you still here? Okay, cool, because it’s only going to get weirder.

First off, we need to know all of the characters, and there are a lot. Many characters have their names mentioned in passing, and as a result we don’t really know who is who, so I will do my best to explain them all.

The first person we see is known as Pink, played by Ryan Payne Bell. He’s a pale redhead with frizzy hair, typically seen wearing a bowler hat and trench coat. Pink is a part of Doug Van Housen’s gang, who we soon find hanging out on the pier of a seemingly abandoned carnival. Doug, often referred to as simply ‘Van Housen’, is played by Matthew Lillard. He has jet-black hair, styled in a messy bowl cut, and he wears multiple different outfits throughout the movie, always consisting of whites and blacks. His style could only be described as “modern vampiric”. (Which actually makes a lot of sense, once you get to know him.) His girlfriend, Shelly, played by Lori Heuring, has long blond hair and can usually be found hanging off of Doug’s arm. The other members of the gang include Eddie, Porky, and Hinge. Eddie LeMaster, played by Brian Vincent, has short brown hair and is usually wearing a leather jacket or a sleeveless shirt. Porky, played by Eddie Malavarca, can easily be recognized by his bright red (sometimes black) bandana and curly black hair. And finally, Hinge, played by Dechen Thurman, has straight brown hair that comes down to his shoulders and is always carrying, if not actively reading, a book.

As far as I can tell, the hierarchy of the gang is as follows: Doug is the leader, Shelly is his “consort” of sorts (she isn’t really treated as part of the gang, but more like an ally who gets special treatment), Hinge is Doug’s confidant while Eddie is the main instigator, and Porky and Pink are the goons who hang around just to be a part of the fun and do what they’re told. Hinge and Eddie seem to be important to Doug – Eddie is loud and excitable, likes to start shit and cause chaos, while Hinge is quiet and reserved and silently encourages Doug’s bad behavior. We see throughout the movie that Doug is often annoyed by Eddie’s behavior (along with Pink’s and Porky’s), whereas with Hinge he seems to enjoy his company. We see him often leaning on Hinge’s shoulder, listening to him explain complex topics or just zoning out while Hinge is reading a book. Their relationship is subtle, as Doug treats Hinge as if they were friends, meanwhile with the other three he’s a bit more leader-ly.

Eventually we meet our protagonist, Arnold Mosk, played by Neil Patrick Harris. Arnie is a young boy, with short blond hair and thin glasses, who is actively dealing with a drug problem. In his free time, Arnie sneaks into the school auditorium and takes hallucinogens while sitting out in front of the stage. He has no friends (minus Gary), no social life, and he talks like an absolute nerd with a cynical, nihilistic, and severely depressive outlook on life. Here’s an actual quote from him when someone asked him “What happened?”: “Oh, nothing untypical. Barbarians rarely capitulate.” … I mean, come on. Is it any wonder he gets bullied?

Anyways, we learn that the school has designed a special “class” of sorts for troublesome students, and Arnie (being a drug addict) has to be a part of that class. As a result, he’s become a target for Van Housen and his gang – well at least, he’s become a bigger target than before. There are two adults in the school who are important to the story, the principal and a teacher who acts as Arnie’s therapist. Principal Jones, played by Stephen Pearlman, is the secondary antagonist of the story, as his choice to continue the use of the "Class for Troublesome Kids" is the main issue for our protagonist, and Doug Van Housen’s abuse is simply a result of it. Meanwhile, Doctor Rankin, played by Joesph Siflavo, is Arnie’s only advocate on the schoolboard as he actively argues against the use of the "Class for Troublesome Kids" or, at the very least, that Arnie doesn’t belong in there. Throughout the movie, Arnie visits Rankin’s office to confide in him about his troubles, and in turn Rankin tries to convince him to stop using drugs.

This special class, known by the students as the ‘Animal Room’, seems to be either an all-day class or at least a homeroom for the students that are assigned to it. Principal Jones claims that the class is for the sake of the 95% of students who are not troublesome, and that the 5% who are should simply be kept away from the rest so that the majority can succeed. However, this means that the 5% of students who are not a part of the “good” population are rounded up together and left to fight amongst themselves. This classroom is found in a basement area, at the end of a long hallway filled with short flights of stairs and graffiti, and security guards sit (or, most often, sleep) outside the door. In this classroom, we find Doug Van Housen and the rest of his gang (minus Shelly) and some other students who have been deemed troublesome, such as ‘Baldy’ (more on him later) and Arnie. This room is filled with shoddy desks and chairs, cement walls lined with pipes and ductwork, and a single television which is always playing the same thing: a recording of a man dressed in all black, similar to the security guards, with slicked back hair and wearing matrix-style sunglasses. This man is usually inaudible, but is always speaking in a very authoritative tone and staring directly at the camera. Watching this TV seems to be the only thing in the classroom the students are “permitted” to do, although there is rarely a teacher, or even a security guard, inside the room to stop them from doing otherwise. If things start to get loud, however, the guards outside will come in to stop it.

Next, we meet Gary Trancer, played by Gabriel Olds. He’s Arnie’s only friend, and apparently has been his friend since they were kids, but in the past few years they’ve grown apart. Gary’s girlfriend, Debbie, played by Amanda Peet, apparently either temporarily dated or had a one-night stand with Eddie LeMaster, and as a result Eddie holds a grudge against Gary for “stealing his girl”. This, combined with Gary’s brave attempts to protect Arnie from the school bullies, makes him into a target as well.

Now that we know all the characters and their roles, let’s get into the actual story. First off, we truly learn just how bad things are at this school when Van Housen’s gang ambushes Arnie in the bathroom, and I’m begging you to skip the rest of this paragraph if you’d rather not be horrified by something that is so terrifyingly real it truly sickens me. Ready? Doug begins to beat Arnie, while Pink and Eddie are taunting him and Hinge is flicking the light switch on and off like it’s some kind of nightmare. We see Porky walk out of a bathroom stall, buckling his pants, and the boys grab Arnie and drag him into the stall, while he’s struggling and crying. Doug, who’s standing over the toilet facing Arnie, grabs him by the back of the head and shoves him face-first into the bowl filled with Porky’s shit. Arnie is gagging, suffocating, and essentially being drowned, until finally he stops struggling and allows himself to go still. The gang leaves him there, gasping, coughing, and puking on the floor of the bathroom. This scene may not be as bad in writing, but actually watching it play out legitimately made me feel sick.

Soon after, we see Arnie and Doug sitting in the principal’s office – Arnie, looking half-dead, and Doug playfully giving himself paperclip nails. The principal sits down and begins to scold both of them, as if Arnie had been equally in the wrong, and then proceeds to deal out zero punishment.

We then see Doug making his way home. He walks through a cemetery, passes by a lone guitar player sitting on a small dock playing Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata (No. 14 in C-sharp Minor). His home is a giant mansion, and when he walks in he immediately strips naked in front of his butler, then walks up the stairs, leaving the butler to pick up his clothes. Meanwhile, Arnold is having a hallucination about being at a bar with creepy old men, presumably the one where he got his drugs, and is being strip-teased by a woman in white lingerie while a baby cries in the distance.

I warned you that this movie was wild, and it's only going to get wilder from here!

The next thing that happens is that Van Housen’s gang, along with Shelly, bursts into the home of Shelly’s family (Shelly being Doug’s girlfriend, in case you forgot). Her mother is upstairs taking a bath, while her father and brother are sitting at the table eating dinner. Once again, if you'd rather not be traumatized by the horrifying actions of Doug Van Housen then I suggest you skip the rest of this paragraph. They start taunting and torturing her father, who is confined to a wheelchair and begins to have trouble breathing. Eddie grabs a trash bag and pulls it over her father’s head, suffocating him for a moment before dragging him out of his chair, meanwhile Doug has climbed the stairs to interrogate Shelly’s mother, who is now wearing a bathrobe. Doug asks for the gun owned by Shelly’s father, threatening to rape the mother among other things. She slaps him, then gets the gun and asks him to leave. As the gang heads out the door, Eddie hangs back and pulls Doug aside, whispering something. The camera cuts to Shelly’s mother, sitting on the stairs, and Eddie walks up, grabs her by the hair and drags her to the bedroom as she screams.

I warned you, this movie is disturbing.

Later, in Dr. Rankin’s office, Arnie tells him a story about how a group of thugs once beat up Van Housen, and how slowly, over the next year, each of those thugs disappeared and were eventually found dead.

Later that day, Gary visits Arnie’s home to discuss how they’ve grown apart. He wants to reconnect, and they talk about going on a trip to the Caribbean, something they had always dreamed of doing back when they were children. They decide to finally take that trip in the summer, as soon as their final year of high school is over and before Gary has to leave for college. It’s important to note that Gary is the only person in the school, besides Dr. Rankin, who treats Arnie like a regular human being. Everyone else, even casual peers, see him as a freak or weirdo. Also, once Gary leaves, Arnie scolds his mother for being a drunk, and for acting weird when Gary came to visit. (To be fair, she was acting very weird, but it was obviously out of innocence, and I don’t think she deserved to be scolded like that by her own son.)

When we get to see Doug Van Housen’s room, we learn a bit more about who he is as a person, and Why He's Like That. Religious paraphernalia, paintings and statues line the walls alongside gothic hanging lamps and candles. His bed has a gigantic headboard, and we see him lying in bed wearing reading glasses, looking through a book that mentions King Henry VI.

We now get to meet Baldy, played by Huckleberry Fox, in the Animal Room. He’s drawing at his desk, while Van Housen’s gang is discussing hypotheticals, and Doug walks over and begins messing with him. Doug starts nosing the side of Baldy’s face, whispering in his ear tauntingly, then spits on the back of his head, where we see he has a tattoo of a ghoul. Baldy jumps up, turning around to yell “Why are you such a filthy scumbag?!” The gang all jump to defend him before a guard walks in to break it up.

Arnie has a hallucination about the carnival, where he finds the rotting corpse of Doug Van Housen wrapped up in plastic like a game prize. Doug asks him, “Do you see what your friend did to me?”

We cut to Baldy, who is helping to run a recording session for the band, Misfits (yes, the real band), and Van Housen’s gang is sneaking into the studio. When he isn’t looking, they sneak into the room and grab him. The band, on the other side of the glass (which is apparently one sided, as they can’t seem to see the events on the other side) begins playing again while the gang begins to interrogate Baldy for calling Doug a “filthy scumbag”. After a few minutes of torment, they shove Baldy to the ground and Doug begins slamming his head into the floor. The others look afraid, Eddie yells at him to stop, Baldy is bleeding and has gone limp. Doug wipes a hand over Baldy’s face, kisses his forehead and says “Goodnight.”

We then cut to Baldy’s father, sitting at home and staring at a picture of him, then we cut back to the gang who has now moved to their usual hangout on the carnival pier.

Shelly arrives (she must have gone home for a bit, since she had been there when Doug killed Baldy), and she’s holding a small rabbit. Porky and Pink are cooing over it, and Shelly brings the rabbit over to Doug for him to hold. She watches as he twists the bunny’s neck, killing it, and she begins crying and screaming hysterically. Porky and Pink decide to escort her home, Hinge and Eddie leave soon after, and Doug is left alone.

Pink, who is now seen walking around town, is cornered by Baldy’s father who pulls out a gun and shoots him. He falls dead on the street.

At school, in the Animal Room, Eddie pulls the fire alarm. Everyone is evacuated out of the building, but Doug corners Arnie and keeps him from leaving. Doug begins telling him the story of Job from the bible. Oh, and also he tells Arnie, “I want your blood in my mouth.”

Later, in Dr. Rankin’s office when Arnie is recounting the event to him, Rankin admits to Arnie that he’s going to be leaving the school due to a job offer. Arnie leaves, and when we next see him he has a gun. He pretends he’s pointing it at Doug, then considers pointing it at himself. We see him sitting in the school hallway, leaning against the lockers and fiddling with the gun. He puts the gun in his mouth, and a teacher and janitor catch him before he pulls the trigger. He points the gun at the janitor, who pulls out his own gun and shoots him.

Arnie ends up in the hospital, in a coma. His mother and Gary are there with him.

Van Housen’s gang, which has now dwindled to only four members, is once again hanging out on the carnival pier. Gary approaches them, holding a gun and pointing it directly at Doug. Doug makes Hinge, Eddie and Porky leave, then stands with his arms out, daring Gary to shoot. Gary screams, shooting off five rounds, each one missing Van Housen. Doug walks to Gary, carefully taking the gun from his hands. He shoots the last round into the air, then leaves with his friends.

Debbie (Gary’s girlfriend) is throwing a party. Gary is there, but sitting alone in another room, away from the other guests. Through the doors come bursting Eddie and Porky, behind them is Hinge who has Doug hanging off of him. As Doug steps out from behind Hinge we see he’s sporting a brand new look. His hair is slicked back, and a dark red circular mark is branded onto his forehead. His face is pale, and he’s wearing all black. The gang leaves, and it’s just Gary and Doug, alone.

Doug says he’s going to hurt Arnie as soon as he’s out of the hospital, and Gary tackles him. They immediately begin throwing punches, until Doug gets his hands around Gary’s throat and begins choking him. Doug tosses him to the ground, then pulls out the gun he took from him. Doug sits down on the floor, setting the gun in front of him and Gary grabs it, putting it directly to Doug’s forehead who then pulls his hand down to point the gun into his mouth. Gary backs away, dropping the gun fearfully.

Doug says, “Gary. I will be there when your children wake up. I will be there when you get married. I will be there at your next birthday. I will be there when little Arnie gets out of the hospital. You hear what I’m saying to you, Gary? I will always be there.”

“I will always be there.”

On the wall is a decorative sword. Gary takes it down as Van Housen holds his arms out, once again inviting him to make a move. Gary slashes the sword across his chest, mimicking Doug’s corpse in Arnie’s hallucination. Doug falls limply to the ground.

The police are called.

Officers walk into the room.

Doug is still holding the sword.

They shoot him.

My Thoughts:

Okay, so first of all, Gary was too good for this world. He was the only likeable character in the entire movie, and I was devastated when he died, especially because it was so sudden and they really make you think he’s in the clear. Second, Doug Van Housen, and his group, are absolutely fascinating to me. Their dynamics are just so intriguing, especially the one between Doug and Hinge. Of course, there are so many oddities about this movie that it all feels like a fever dream. The clothing choices, the symbolism, the dialogue, it’s all so wild.

Honestly, I don’t know if I would recommend this movie. On one hand I think it is fascinating, and could be very interesting to some people, but on the other hand it is hard to understand and will likely just leave you questioning things. You’re telling me Doug Van Housen has killed at least five people and faced no charges for any of those murders, when clearly everyone knows he did it? And then when Pink is killed, no one mourns him, and his death is barely even recognized by the characters. Baldy’s father had two seconds of screentime: mourning his child, and shooting Pink. That event is never acknowledged after that. Then, Shelly was so in love with Doug that she forgot who he was, she forgot that he’s a psychopath. She thought she was special, but she wasn’t. He kills her rabbit and then she’s gone, and we don’t see her again. And what about her family? They tortured Shelly’s mother and father, and they just chose not to press charges?? And last but not least, Arnold, who ended up in a coma, is going to wake up one day and find out that his only friend is dead. He was already suicidal, his mother might as well pull the plug and let him go because as soon as he finds out about Gary he’ll probably try to off himself anyways.

Really, the only way to truly understand the movie is to watch it for yourself. As far as I know there is basically no way to buy it anywhere online, and no streaming services have it. Thankfully, someone on youtube has uploaded the whole thing for free. You can find it easily just by looking it up! If you want to know when certain things happen (so that you can skip them or skip to them) or if you have any questions regarding the movie, feel free to shoot me a message or leave a comment!

[dnpanimationstudioclone]

Meet Baxter🐟🧪

Meet my take on Baxter, an old Vivziepop character shown in the past, at the moment a background character in the show, many believe he could join due to concept art and suppose scrapped episode concepts online. In my take, I’m making him part of the group! Ngl his designs been one of my favs because of the fish motif and color scheme.

Here’s a link for his Wiki page Info. Baxter

Character:

I can see my Baxter act as the Hotel’s medical expert. Perhaps the closest so far they have to a medical professional. He dabbles a lot in Biomedical/Chemsitry science in contrast to Pentious who’s more of an inventor. Fun fact, Baxter also died in the 1900’s and his names of English origins so he and Pen could’ve known eachother! Supposedly Bax died via boating incident, drowning.

I can imagine Charlie got him to join, speaking to his scientific interests, making him invested in the hotel as one of his newest and greatest experiments yet. Can a Sinner be redeemed and go to Heaven?

I def want him and Sir P to become science buddies and do all kinds of crazy experiments. I can see him be a mix of Kreiger from Archer , Abed from Community along with some bits of what he’s supposedly like from the wiki. I can see him have a voice like Richard Steven Horvitz(Invader Zim, also does Moxxie in Helluva Boss), Paul Rugg(Freakazoid) or perhaps David Tennants Voice(Dr. Who!) “ Baxter's personality is considered still in development, but Vivziepop likens him to the character Myron Reducto from the show Harvey Birdman in his mannerisms. He is a screechy, neurotic, fidgety, anti-social "gremlin" and an all-round mess. He is introverted and wants nothing to do with anyone, preferring to do science alone in peace”.

Abed clips.

Design:

His design has always been one of my favourites, especially because of the color scheme, the fish theme and blues are amazing!

Made his eyes dark for a flowy effect and to make them more fish like.

Removed the red ❤️

Added wet marks on his coat aswell as some tatter.

Added webbing for her gloves and feet protection.

Made his hat more like a bowler/derby hat. Was popular 1900’s style.

Added more bioluminescence. Added a gradient affect with the fins.

For my Gang I’m going for a rainbow motif, he represents Blue as he’s a sea creature and the color blue can often symbolize intelligence but also things such as stubbornness and timidity.💙🌈

Gave him more an underbite. I can imagine in his full demon form it becomes bigger with more teeth sticking out and more eery glow!

Added lil nostrils.

Made his hair more fin like!!!!

Fun fact, Only female Anglerfish have the lights. TRANS BAXTER 🏳️‍⚧️ ⚧️ . I can also see him be Intersex and mainly goes by He/him pronouns. here’s Baxter concept art. He’s the guy in blue.

I’ve also done some of the rest of the gang such as Alastor(links for the others in his page) and even other characters such as Mimzy who was also once suppose to be a main character.

What do u think? Do u think he’d be a great part of the cast? I’d love to know💖

[agoldengalaxy]

Meant to Be

read on Ao3

words: 2768

Charles Smith lived on his own, in the woods, for almost fifteen years, but when a confrontation with the Pinkerton Detective Agency ends badly, he is helped by two kind, mysterious strangers who offer him safety with their gang.

--

Steadying his breath, Charles narrowed his eyes toward the other man, his mind racing. The man, after chasing him down on horseback, stood upon the hill alone, wearing a bowler hat, a gold pin, and a stupid grin.

“Ah, finally. The man in the woods. I’ve been wanting to meet you for quite some time.” The stranger’s voice was calm and condescending as his hand drifted toward his belt, resting lightly on the hilt of his gun.

“Why?” Charles asked, already wondering which weapon he should have at the ready. “What could you possibly want with me?”

The man seemed delighted by something. “So you do speak! Why, I figured you were more animal than human…”

Charles drew in sharp breath, deciding he should probably reach for the revolver he’d stolen some time ago if things went even more south. “That didn’t answer my question.”

His mouth twitched, and the man held up his hands in a surrender motion. “No harm, no foul.” He reached up to tip his hat. “My name is Edward Williams. I work for the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Some reports came in about a man who lived in the woods; a man who was very good at hunting.”

“So you came to take me down because I need to survive?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Don’t get so defensive with me, sir.” Williams still had that grin on his face as he spoke. “No, in fact, I’m here to offer you a job with the agency. We need more detectives who are…ah…better in the field. Better at hunting. Besides, civilization is becoming quite popular these days. It isn’t necessary for you to live out here.”

Charles paused, thinking this must be some kind of sick prank. He hadn’t seen any humans around these parts for a while - how had a detective gotten out here? And stranger still, why would they offer him a job, the man who had been living in the woods since he was thirteen?

It had to be a trap. And even if it wasn’t, Charles didn’t want to work for the government system that took his parents away from him. His mother, the army. His father, the bottle.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m not interested. I’m sure you can find someone else that fits your description, Detective Williams.” Charles bowed his head as a sign of respect, however wavering it may have been, and watched as the detective’s mouth twisted a little.

“What a shame,” Williams sighed. “In that case, I hope I do not have to use force to ask you to come with me again.”

Charles eyed the man for a moment. “You said you weren’t here to take me down.” 

“I wasn’t. I was offering you the job, but since you’ve refused, we’ll have to take you in as a suspect instead.” The agent tilted his head. “Lot of complaints ‘round these parts about an Indian roaming around all suspiciously. We have to protect the women and children.” His gaze hardened. “Don’t resist, it will only make things harder for you.” A leaf crunched atop the hill, but it wasn’t Williams. Charles froze, watching five men join Williams atop the hill, all holding guns. They had been there the whole time, just out of sight, and Charles was beginning to wish he had just made a run for it the second the man opened his mouth. Williams smiled, fake pity on his face. “No need for the long face. My friends won’t hurt you, long as you come up here nice and quiet.”

His gaze swept across the six detectives. Surely he’d be able to take them, and he could just get back to his life away from other human beings. Pulling out his revolver as quickly as he could, he dove behind a nearby boulder while Williams yelled at his men to open fire. Bullets rained down and Charles muttered a curse under his breath.

He knew it was a trap.

Taking a deep breath, he listened to the sound of the bullets to tell him when he could peek up and aim. He aimed and shot. One in the chest, one in the head, one clean through the stomach. Three detectives remained, but they knew better than to stay where they were, beginning to close in on the boulder where Charles hid. He had to do this fast. He aimed upward, pulling the trigger while rolling behind the nearest tree. A yell of anguish filled the air and he knew they were just down to two men left. As he fumbled to reload his revolver, he felt cold metal press against his back.

“Drop the gun,” Williams hissed into his ear, and Charles reluctantly did so. “Much better. Now we can get along, hm?”

The other detective smirked, still aiming his own gun directly at Charles. He opened his mouth to say something when suddenly, a shot rang through the air. Blood splattered everywhere from the other detective’s face, and is body dropped to the ground. In his shock, Williams let go of Charles, who turned around to wrestle the man to the ground, kicking his gun away from him. Williams snarled, spitting on Charles’ face.

“You’re nothing.”

Charles, his breath heaving, stood up to aim his gun down. He didn’t hesitate.

Once Williams was nothing more than a corpse, Charles breathed in, looking around wildly for the source of the other bullet. It couldn’t have been the Pinkertons.

In the distance, near the clearing, stood two silhouettes, blotted out by the golden light of the setting sun. He remembered his father once talking about angels, but he never quite believed it. Now, he wondered if it were true.

“Hey, there,” one of the silhouettes called. Both shadows held up their hands to show they no longer wielded guns as they took cautious steps forward. “Are you alright?”

Charles still held his revolver, just in case. These men had saved him, but he’d learned a long time ago that many men would save people specifically for ulterior motives. “Yes, I’m fine,” he answered anyway. It was the truth. He was uninjured, and things had been a whole lot worse a few minutes ago.

Perhaps feeling a little more confident, the two men continued walking until they were just a few feet away, and now Charles could get a better look at them. They looked like normal men, but being able to shoot someone from that distance so accurately told him they weren’t normal. 

The older man, with kind eyes and gray hairs hidden beneath a dark hat, gave Charles a once-over. “I’m glad to hear that, son. Why were the Pinkertons after you?”

“I…don’t know,” he admitted, finding himself less and less intimidated by the second. “He said something about people reporting me to them. But I don’t talk to anyone.” Deep down, he knew the reason why. He knew, because of the looks people would give him just because of the way he looked, because of who his parents were, because of who he was.

“You know how some people are,” the other man, with the sandy hair and well-trimmed beard, mumbled, as if reading his thoughts. “An’ the Pinkertons are bullies.”

Charles nodded, glancing down at the body of Williams. “Seems that way.” He looked back up, clearing his throat. “Thank you…for the help. I should get going. They’re probably gonna be sending more this way, after all that gunfire.”

“Yes, probably,” the older man agreed, but tilted his head slightly. “It’s not safe for you here anymore. Would you…like to come with us?”

“Come with you?” he repeated incredulously, glancing between both men. The younger one had the ghost of a smile on his face, like this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. “I don’t even know you.”

“My name is Hosea Matthews. This here is Arthur Morgan. We got a camp, few miles north from here, full of lovely folks. You’re welcome to come with us, check things out, and you can leave if you want.”

Charles narrowed his eyes slightly. “Who are you, really?”

“We’re a gang,” Arthur answered plainly, as if it weren’t a big deal. “We ain’t good people, but we’re better than those bastards.” He nodded toward the bodies, and Charles followed his gaze.

His mind told him to run away, to not trust these men. He figured nothing good could come of it. He’d survived this long on his own before, surely he could take more of those agents if they came. Though he knew that was the rational way of thinking, his heart told him to trust them. His heart told him that if not for them, he could be dead by now. 

Maybe it was Hosea’s kind eyes. Maybe it was Arthur’s smirk. He couldn’t tell.

“…Alright. I’ll come with you.”

Charles went toward one of the nearby trees to grab his small satchel. He could hear the two quietly talking amongst themselves.

“You’re never excited when we invite a new feller,” Hosea was saying goodnaturedly, probably not meaning for Charles to hear. Arthur scoffed.

“You seen how he handled them, Hosea. He’s pretty good.”

“So was Micah, and you hate him.”

“Micah’s an idiot. This feller ain’t.”

When Charles returned to them, Hosea straightened up. “Do you have a horse, son?” When he shook his head, Hosea glanced at his companion. “Well, then, you can ride with Arthur. We got plenty of horses at camp you can borrow.” They each lifted a hand to their mouths, whistling, and the sound of galloping hooves grew louder and louder until two horses appeared beside them.

Hosea mounted his, and Arthur gestured. “After you.”

Charles eyed Arthur for a moment. He couldn’t quite get a read on him. He wondered if it was possible that he really was just excited to meet him, to have him come join the gang. Without a word, he climbed on top of the saddle, and Arthur mounted in front of him. They took off.

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Charles watched the passing trees and mountains with the waning sunlight, the sky morphing into different colors with each new moment. Suddenly, Arthur spoke, his gruff voice carried on the wind.

“What’s your name?”

“Charles. Charles Smith.”

“Nice to meet you, Charles Smith.”

Charles couldn’t see his face, but he could hear a slight smile in his voice. He couldn’t help but do the same. “You too.”

***

To say it was all overwhelming would be an understatement.

There were a lot of people in this camp, and all the looks he got when they first arrived were not lost on him. Most of them seemed uneasy when he dismounted, and he found himself pressing a little closer to Arthur as they walked toward a nearby tent. Standing there, watching them approach, was a man with dark hair, smoking a cigarette. He looked straight at Hosea, his eyebrows raised, as if asking a silent question.

“Dutch, this is Charles Smith. He was being pursued by the Pinkertons, but he held his own very well. I told him he could lie low with us for a while,” Hosea explained, probably loud enough for most of the camp to hear. 

The man, clearly the leader of this gang, turned his gaze instead to Charles. His eyes almost seemed hungry as he took him in, but he gave him a kind smile on top of it. “Of course you’re welcome to stay, Mr. Smith. We shoot fellers as need shootin’, save fellers as need savin’, feed fellers who need feedin’, and I assume you need those last two.” Exhaling a puff of smoke, Dutch lifted his gaze toward the other prying eyes. “Everyone! Please make our new friend feel welcome. This here is Charles Smith. He’ll be staying with us for a while.”

There were some quiet murmurs, but eventually everyone went back to what they were doing before. Charles awkwardly bowed his head toward Dutch. “Thank you. For the welcome.”

“Of course. Let us know if you need anything.”

Perhaps able to tell he was overwhelmed, Hosea placed a grounding hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Are you hungry, Charles?”

He blinked, the question suddenly making him aware of how hungry he actually was. “A little.��� He hadn’t had time to find food yet. He didn’t think he’d eaten anything since last night.

He let Hosea guide him, saying goodbye to Arthur for the time being, and took in the night while they walked. It was loud, but it still felt calm. Charles hadn’t been around this many people in a long time. At least he knew, for now, he could trust Hosea and Arthur.

They approached a man standing by a large pot, drinking from a small flask. “Mr. Pearson, good evening! Do you have anything left from dinner?” Hosea greeted.

Pearson finished his swig, then glanced between the two, seemingly doing a double take. “Ah, the new guy! Nice to see another new face ‘round here. Sure, made some broth earlier. Hope you like rabbit.” Carefully, the man poured some of the thick liquid into a bowl with a spoon, then handed it over. He beamed at Hosea. “Glad to see you’re talkin’ up my cooking for once, Hosea!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say ‘talking up,”’ he replied, the ghost of a grin on his face, “but when you’re hungry, everything’s good. Come on, Charles.” Charles thanked Pearson for the food and followed Hosea toward one of the picnic tables. “Here you are, son. Would you like to be left alone?”

Charles blinked in surprise. Of all the questions he could have gotten, that was not one he was expecting. Even more surprisingly, the answer was no.  “Um…Would you tell me about everyone here?”

For a moment, Hosea looked taken aback. And then a smile, a real genuine smile appeared on his face as he sat across from him. “Of course.”

***

Dutch was the leader.

Hosea was his partner in crime.

Arthur was their son. Not really, but the three of them began the gang.

John was next, and then the rest of them trickled in.

It would take a long time to remember all of these names, but he was strangely feeling at home here. He’d never been shown such hospitality before. Everyone had at least tried to be nice, except for the guy with blond hair and mustache who’d talked to him condescendingly like Williams. He couldn’t remember his name, but he was the type of guy he would expect to be in a gang. Surprisingly, he was the minority. All of these people were kind.

Charles sat quietly on a spare sleeping bag, looking up at the stars while the nearby campfire crackled. A lot of the camp was asleep now, but he didn’t feel tired yet, despite the day he’d had.

“Thought you would have run away by now.”

Lowering his gaze, Charles took Arthur in, his face illuminated by the fire. He held back a smile, shaking his head. “Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.” He didn’t see that happening.

Arthur smirked, walking toward his tent, which happened to be right next to Charles’ bag. “Just wait ‘til you hear Sean’s terrible singin’. Karen always swears she’ll never come back.”

Charles glanced back up at the stars, letting a few moments pass. Then, “The real reason you wanted me to come with you was because you wanted me to join the gang, right? You want me to help you get money ‘cause you saw how good I shoot?”

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a little satisfying that Arthur seemed taken aback. “Uh…we that obvious?”

“Yes. But…it’s okay.” Charles looked back at him. “You’re the one that shot the detective, aren’t you?” When Arthur nodded, he continued.  “You saved my life. So maybe my life is meant to be more than just my own survival. I’ll help you.”

Arthur stared at him. “Wow. You’re pretty amazin’.”

Strangely, his heart skipped a beat. He supposed it was because he wasn’t used to talking to anyone at all, let alone being complimented. “...Thank you.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, and eventually, Arthur lay down in his sleeping bag. Charles continued to watch the fire burn until it was just embers, and then he lay down as well. The sky was full of twinkling stars that seemed to tell him this was where he was meant to be.

It didn’t take him long to fall asleep.

[mediasaurs]

T. rex Madness Round 3: Meet the Robinsons (Tiny) vs. The Land Before Time (Chomper)

Meet the Robinsons (Tiny) – “I have a big head and little arms!” So says Tiny, in probably the most memorable line from Meet the Robinsons. Tiny is dragged into Bowler Hat Guy’s convoluted scheme, to the objections of his sentient hat, Doris, but is quickly set free by the Robinson family. Fortunately, Tiny is pretty friendly on his own and sticks around as a new family pet.

The Land Before Time (Chomper) – Chomper is generally considered to be the sixth member of the main group in the Land Before Time series. In the second film, the gang mistakenly rescue his egg from Ozzy and Strut, a pair of egg-stealing Struthiomimus. When he hatches, Littlefoot and the others treat him as one of their own and introduce him to a diet of insects, rather than other dinosaurs. After saving his friends from Ozzy and Strut, Chomper leaves with his parents, but this would not be the final goodbye. Chomper proved popular with audiences and returned for two later movies, as well as the Land Before Time TV series.

[theargopriestess]

@immergladsss

[bedofthistles]

Bowler Hat Gang!

[makriiii]

Caught VIII (Arthur Morgan × f!reader)

Word count: 3.5k

Authors notes: Double spaces...

Warnings: 18+, angst, cursing, gun violence, blood & gore.

Ao3 or wattpad!

@thatlittlered

♡

Caught VIII

A final wipe across the veneer on Charles' shotgun rendered it perfectly clean. The least you could do after borrowing it

After getting all that money just days ago you decided that perhaps it was a good time to get your own shotgun again after losing your last one somewhere up in the Grizzlies.

An extra pair of clothes too. Hard to do much with these worn and dirty clothes.

Washing them and having to get naked was out of the question after the creek. Your socks however had gotten a wash, entirely unwarranted, but they did. Courtesy of Arthur.

You shuddered at the thought of Arthur's body so close to you. Absolutely nothing covering him.

God. You shook the thought out of your head, jumping out of your seat to keep your mind on something other than Arthurs bare body.

Charles was sitting up against a tree, his eyes shut out the world. And you didn't want to startle him, or really bother him, so you simply laid his clean gun beside him and continued to your mount.

You hadnt spent any of the money you got two days ago, which would be more than enough to hook yourself up with a shirt that lacked a hole, and pants void of soot.

It'd been a day since you had seen Arthur. Not sure what activities he was off doing, you were just glad you weren't a part of it.

Your horse stood still for only as long as the time you took to bounce on, pulling away from the tie racks towards town once you got your seat.

Come to think of it, you really hadn't had much time to yourself throughout this entire ordeal.

Often, you'd be off on your own, avoiding most of the company that was brought through by Colms indifferent attitude toward any men who wanted to join.

You'd stick to a select few who you resonated with and had more of a long standing membership with, but those days had passed.

Looking down to the hole that grew in size each day on your dirty shirt, revealing your bandage more and more. You wondered just what clothes you'd find in Valentine. Those surface level thoughts growing deeper and deeper.

Was this really it? Just being handed off into a new gang, essentially, and continuing on your merry way? Certainly wasn't accounted for when you first got caught.

More so was constantly considering that man that somehow found himself in your mind every so often. Still baffled that you had let him sleep in a bed with you.

The money was worth it, you had to reason. Logical reasoning, as it was, was the only thing keeping you from thinking too much further on other things that you were certain to never name.

The longer you sat in your thoughts, the more you barely realized just how close you were to town, completely zoned out and not even consciously taking in your surroundings.

It wasn't until you heard a loud argument that you were finally yanked away from the thoughts in your head.

You looked to the cause of the voices that grew into shouting that you recognized someone from the bar.

The man with the bowler hat. Now you had a mighty fun time with him from what you could recall, and felt you should aid him in some way.

Dismounting and hitching, you strode over, hand laid over your revolver like a snake ready to coil itself around its prey.

You couldn't really tell what it was all about, but the man arguing with your pal took to shoving.

You laid your hand on your friend's shoulder, to get both his attention and the one he was bickering with.

"I hope I'm not too much a bother, but we drank together at the bar, and I figured I'd come over and say hello." You patted him with a warm smile, catching the other man off guard.

"Oh, yes." He didn't sound so sure at first, but when he examined your face further, he lit up. "Yes! I remember you. You'll never be too much a bother, I'm sure."

The other man was now silent and confused, staring daggers straight into you.

"You wouldn't mind if you showed me around town?" You could feel the angry man's eyes stare you down so hard you'd think he was trying to kill you with it.

Your friend looked more than delighted, likely mostly that you had stopped the fight.

"I can, I would not mind at all." He nods his head with an awkward laugh and turns around cautiously to the middle of town, making sure you're not far behind.

"Stop." The smile that had been on both your faces hardened into a more nervous glance. The man wasn't so quick to let you both off.

"I don't think you know me. But I know you." His words hit you like rocks, your stomach dropping like one too.

You turned around slowly to look him in the eye. Your hand ready to strangle your gun.

It wasn't an ideal place to have a shoot out, but when was any situation like this ideal?

The most sinister look waved over the man's face, his dark hat and trench coat adding to the shadow that already covered him.

"I think Colm'd love to see you, Miss. I don't forget faces so easy."

Your breath hitched, feeling your face go cold. You couldn't recall seeing this man from anywhere, and it hurt your head to think on it so hard.

Running through all the possibilities, you thought back to the time Arthur let all your ex-members run off.

You could feel your friend's confusion and uncomfortable demeanor as he shifted his weight nervously.

"I'm sorry, I don't know nobody named Colm. I think you got me mistaken." You turned away, but before you could fully walk off with your pal, your wrist was grabbed by somethin fierce.

You twisted back around, staring him straight down.

"Now you let her go." Your buddy demands, between the two of you, trying to push off the man's hold on you, though he wasn't much taller than you, in fact a bit shorter, and didn't seem to have much in terms of muscling the other, much younger man away.

He stumbles back with an angry scoff when he got another hearty shove.

"This isn't your business old man. Fuck off." He snarls, grabbing you tighter in response.

You hadn't come here to get manhandled again, Arthur was your tipping point. You had already had enough of Arthur.

With all the might you could muster into one leg, you landed it straight on his sensitive areas, kneeing his chest as he keeled over with a massive groan.

As soon as he was on the ground, you stood over him with your gun pointed lowly, almost shy with how you tried to hide it from other prying eyes.

"I want no trouble, you hear?" You crouched down next to the seeming O'Driscoll. A name you couldn't associate with yourself anymore.

He was quiet, staring up at you with eyes that burned like a swarm of angry hornets.

You pushed your gun into the underneath of his chin, a disgusted scowl forming on your face.

"There's law right around that corner there." It was less a threat and more a means to keep them off your tail instead.

He squirmed underneath the barrel of your gun. "I'd prefer to spare myself the dirty hands I'd get by killin you here."

This wasn't something youd normally do, but finally having control over your situation eased the anger you still held for Arthur and the way he had disrespected you for weeks.

The O'Driscoll nodded with much angst, his brows still held tightly together, and his hands around his neck to half shield himself.

You dug your gun in deep before you realesed the pressure and shooed him off with your foot.

"Jesus christ." Your friend drawls, rubbing the back of his head, his hat slightly riding up as he does. "I should thank you, I suppose, really."

Your smile returned once your ex gang member scurried off into town somewhere. You knew it was a mistake to let him go.

"Well, I couldn't go and watch the man who paid for my drinks get pushed around." You hook your arm around his, walking him into the main street with you. "What'd he want with you anyway?"

He shrugged, dismissing it as if it happened often. "He was tryna stick me up, but he already did earlier this week."

A sudden cough fires out of you, meant to be a laugh, but you didn't want to do that in front of this poor man.

"Really he did? Out in the middle of town?"

"Yeah. I think they visit town quite often. Doing something, not sure what."

This piqued your interest. Certainly. More O'Driscolls in town, and none the less the ones who saw your face at Six point cabin.

If his words were true - that meant there's many more of them somewhere here. And suddenly, you felt the weight of the world on you. You didn't want to be here anymore.

"Well, what's your name?" He questioned, looking over to you, pulling you out of your thoughts once again, you hadn't even realized you didn't reply to him.

"Y/n L/n." You met his eye expectantly in return.

"It's nice to finally get your name Miss L/n." His hand pats yours kindly. "You can just call me David."

You returned formalities and continued walking slowly with him. He commented on the ever growing hole in your shirt sleeve, which prompted you to tell him the vibrant story of what predicament you found yourself in, and your quest for clothes.

He nodded his head along with your story, glancing around every so often on the lookout for more malicious men.

Once you finished the rundown, he offered to help you, as there wasn't really a place to get clothes here in town.

"I still have clothes at my cabin not far from here, my late wifes' clothing." You could hear the small strain in his voice when he mentioned her, which made you assume she had passed.

"Oh no, you don't have to do anything for me, David. Honest." You did your best to comfort him without bringing any of it up.

He shakes his head, releasing his arm from yours to gather his horse.

"I insist, you saved me. Plus, I have no need for clothes like that, seeing as I don't wear them." The initial glum in his voice disappeared as fast as it came, playing it off with a joke.

You felt bad, but felt bad if you didnt accept.

You mounted your horse not far from him and followed him to his cabin.

The ride lead down a forested path, the breeze whistled through the trees, and chatter from birds calmed your nerves from the O'Driscoll encounter.

All along the way with David, you conversed with him, though this time, actual talking, rather than some drunken slew you both spat out.

-

You were half way out of town now, having ran by the gunsmith for a new shotgun that now laid on your back with clean clothes.

David had told you about his wife, and how you reminded him of her. It was an hour or so you had spent engaging in conversation with him.

The worry of O'Driscolls and Arthurs nagging hadn't crossed your mind the entire time, which left you feeling more even.

He left you with a few different sets of clothes, all that fit you well.

While he gathered them for you, he told you the story of just why he could give you these clothes. You could tell how much he loved her and it broke your heart to hear how she lost her life while out hunting a bounty.

You had left a stark 50$ on his table before you left, knowing he wouldn't have accepted it otherwise. It was a large sum, but he was more than deserving.

As your horse made it further back to camp, the shadows around you grew as the sun's light dimmed behind the horizon.

Which made it more difficult to see who was walking on the side of the road up ahead. You squinted your eyes when you swore you recognized the man.

He turned his head toward the horse and rider approaching him from behind.

That face. Just as clear as the day you first saw him in the mountains. But why on earth was he here and without a horse?

"Arthur?" You kicked your horse into a small trot before you slowed her when you caught up to him. "Why are you walking?"

You could already tell he wasn't in a good mood, his huffing made that clear.

"Horse ran off." He replied shortly, entirely flat.

"Horse ran off." You repeated without hesitation in a mocking snicker, slapping your knee to add to his disdain.

"Shut your mouth, y/n. You always pick the worst times to play your bullshit."

"Oh boy. You're laughable, Arthur." Tears pricked your eyes at the thought of him falling off his horse. The man, as big and tough he liked to be, still fell.

He grumbled something under his breath. His stomping became more apparent with your teasing.

"Get outta here." He tries shooing your horse away with his hands and the clicking of his tongue, but to no avail. She hardly acknowledged it. "Have you got nothing better to do?"

"I just got done with everything I needed to do. The next is making your life more difficult." You snide, relaxing back on your horse to make it apparent that you weren't going to buzz off just yet.

"Right, then you can take me to my horse." Without warning, he jumps on the back of yours, his grimy hands at the sides of your waist.

You slap them away from you and give him a harsh stare from him right behind you.

"I didn't say shit for yes?" You growl, about ready to shove him off. "Now off with you. I don't ferry people around."

His face remained indifferent, not budging an inch from behind you.

"Before dark would be preferable." He returns, completely ignoring your demand.

"Okay, well I suppose I shall just guess what direction your damn horse went?" You snap at him, your playful attitude dissipating in place of irritation.

He points across, slightly in the way you already came, over, and across a hill.

You ask for a trot back in that direction, your mare not too all happy at Arthurs joining on her back. You couldn't agree more with her attitude.

"How'd you fall off?" You question before you hit a steep incline and his hands clamped back down on your sides to keep him from sliding off.

Your brows knit together, but you had done the same with him and didn't feel like fighting him more.

"Raiders popped out the bushes." He remained vague, a small red over his cheeks if you could see right with the every few glances you sent his way.

"That it?" You chuckle in disbelief. He was the only one you could pry like this without feeling annoying. Well, you felt annoying but that was entirely the point for him.

He stays silent for a moment. His discontent so strong you swore the town could feel it from here.

"How'd you get these clothes?" He questions, ignoring you again. Clearly there had to be more that he kept from you.

You hummed as you capped the hill Arthur directed you over, a deep and rich red sun half blinds you, before you adjust and see the colours of the sunset growing into different shades of orange and pink.

"From a friend." You finally respond, having been mesmerized by the day being pushed away by the moon and the stars behind you.

The trail was calm, and as you looked down, you saw a set of fresh hoofprints. Though if from Arthur's horse, you couldn't be sure, but it was worth a ways to walk.

From where the sun set, you had to turn your head all the way over, so you took out your feet from the stirrups and sat sideways on the saddle.

Arthur slid his hands off you as did this, eyeing you with confusion.

You cocked your head to meet his eye. His face graced by the soft colours of the sunset, his eyes reflecting them back. He had a bit of dirt smudged on it, no doubt from his fall, but that didn't change how it looked in the light.

His face just seconds ago had been tense with irritation, now his lips gave way to a soft, albeit, lofty smile.

"What'd I do to earn that look from you?" He quips, his grin splitting his cheeks when you coil back, an eyebrow extending upwards.

Perhaps you hadn't noticed just how long your eyes searched his face. Your lips pursed together, fixing your gaze back on the sunset.

"Letting your imagination run off with you is tricky business, Arthur." You shook your head, wishing to simply just move on from it.

"Oh I know." A feigned look of agreement on his face. "Although, I saw that with my own two eyes, not with my imagination."

"Saw what?" You groan, wondering if he even had a definition for it.

"The way you looked at me."

You hiss air out of your teeth, rolling your eyes at him. "I would trust only a doctor to diagnose me with Stockholm syndrome."

Now you earned a hearty chuckle from him, which made you wanna push him off and just leave him even further from camp.

"Don't think it'd be that if I already let you go."

He simply wouldn't let it go. You were naive to think he would in the first place.

"I can assure you, your face isn't something most want to look at. You just have dirt all over it." You grip at your saddles horn with bitterness, trying to ward off the warmth you felt on your cheeks.

"Keep your eyes lookin for your animal. Before I have you fallin off this horse too." You added a threat to your insult before he could refute any of it.

"Alright, alright." He conceded, finally stopping with the snickering, but his smile that always had you vexed remained.

"You know, I heard there's some O'Driscolls in town. Maybe holed up somewhere." You tried changing the subject, and it worked. His eyes meeting yours with a more serious look.

"They want you that bad huh?" His voice was full of insinuation, which had you sighing with more aggravation.

"It's not because I'm whatever it is you call it - special girl- that bullshit." You wave your hand in front of his face to get him to stop before he started.

BAM!

Your retelling was cut short when a gunshot rang the air around you both, your horse jerking underneath you out of shock.

Arthur was quick to duck down and cover you, his face estranged from the previous joy he had on it.

You kicked your leg back over your saddle and made for a quick lope, Arthur all the while grasping for his shotgun at his back.

"Think those are the O'Driscolls you mentioned." He clamors and with the click of his shotgun, sent off a blast at the three that tailed you.

You hissed out a curse under your breath, dropping the reins around your saddles horn whilst you grabbed for your gun as well.

Shouts and yelling came from the men, and another that you had already regrettably let live.

A shot whizzed right by your face, your blood running cold just from the spot it had grazed you.

"Preferably alive, fools!" He screeches at the one who was already in for Arthurs bullet.

You shoot again, but an unexpected turn from your horse made you miss the men.

You glanced back ahead, a horse who was alarmed at the sudden commotion was up ahead, standing innocently.

By the time you looked back, there were another few men who had gained on you. Replenishing the ones Arthur took out already.

"Goddamnit." He reloads once more. "Hard to aim from back here."

"Well, fret not." You assure with a shout over the yelling from behind you. "I hope you can get on a horse fast."

You were still a ways away, not made any better when the thing started running off in front of you.

Now the ones being pursued, were also pursuing. God, you weren't sure this was going to go well for you.

Another blast rings out, a warmth covering your arm, yet you couldn't tell if it was just Arthurs arm making contact with yours or not.

You looked over for confirmation, but instead met by splattered blood. You nearly felt you had gotten shot again, but Arthurs grunts of pain met your ear instead of your own.

[food-for-hungry-mtr-fans]

MTR Doris Takeover AU P2

Oh, your gunna be real sad here, mate. Fran is the only person POSSIBLE to write HCs about.

Neil is termination two. In this timeline Dor-15 had taken over before Wilbur was born and killed Cornelius after forcing him to watch his family become enslaved. Therefor he is dead, and Wilbur was never born.

I will gladly do Franny, and to make up for the lack of characters you specified, here’s how Carl, Billy, Joe and the twins and holding up.

FRANNY.

The curator of our happy little gang.

She manages all the ‘zombified’ family, commanding them house tasks while Gaston manages the sentient ones.

She doesn’t show a lot of emotion. She isn’t controlled, but does have a Dor-15 with her, Bowler Hat guy style.

She bonded with the Dor-15, which is named ‘Fr-11’ [pronounced frie] and is more docile than normal Dor-15.

The hat does a lot of her action thinking.

If she has any empathy for her family, she hides it.

Her apathy is one of the reasons Art gave up. If Franny crumbled under the force of the helping hats, then all hope was lost.

Gaston despises her demeanor. He wants to shake her into showing any feelings.

CARL.

Poor guy is rusting.

Carl has two distinct modes that are triggered on an off by a massive switch on his ‘back’.

Back is in quotations because it’s really an attachment to his back - a modified Dor-15 connected to his main power.

When is his controlled mode, Carl acts like a drone of sorts. He attacks anyone who isn’t a Robinson with no remorse or need for permission.

When he’s on his normal mode he tends to be the only positive light in the family, trying his hardest to socialize with those barely sentient.

Hes the only person Gaston is okay dropping his guard around.

His write arm got destroyed from rust damage, and is down to the wire. Hes in a bad state, lots of exposed frames.

He refuses to get repaired because he would rather be shut down than let Dor-15 get more inside his wires.

BILLY.

Both in semi-sentience, but are considered the least sentient of the family who aren’t zombies.

Billy manages most of the practical house stuff. Getting food, keeping lights on. She also manages multiple work districts in Tommorowland.

Billy isn’t super aggressive, but she will destroy anyone who picks a fight. She cannot attack without permission, but if hit in any way she will mercilessly destroy her enemy.

Monologues a lot.

Works on making efficient transport systems for coal and materials across work districts.

Even in her controlled stupor, she is still sometimes seen giggling happily as she works on her trains, filling them with coal.

Her trains are everywhere in the city. If it’s a vehicle more than 20 feet long, she made and manages it.

JOE.

Joe is the least sentient by technical standards.

He spends most of his day watching the cameras, and never seems tired of it.

In fact, his devotion and unwavering blankness makes him seem like a zombie, but he isn’t. He is sentient.

He was already non-verbal pre-takeover, only saying a handful of words by will but writing often

A Dor-15 sometimes speaks for him, but he doesn’t usually need it.

He wears a visor that allows him to remotely see as many camera screens as needed at once if he moves away.

The visor also controls a pack of Dor-15, which all bend to his will.

Think the villain from Big Hero 6’s nanobots.

SPIKE AND DIMITRI.

Alive, and mostly unharmed.

They were forced to evacuate their pots as Dor-15 destroyed almost all plant life.

They like to poke their heads from pipes, Mario style.

Dimitri acts mostly the same, but it’s unclear if that’s because he cares little for the family, or he’s coping.

Its more likely the latter.

Spike on the other hand it taking the situation more seriously.

He resides often in the vents and watches the family, doing small works of sabotage to keep Franny and Gaston busy.

Only Laszlo knows they’re there, but everyone thinks he’s crazy, so they ignore him.

They bring Laszlo paint and scrap metal in exchange for food.

Dimitri never leaves the pipe, but Spike occasionally leaves to scuttle off and steal stuff for their survival.

Dimitri has eaten a vent rat. He didn’t need to; they had food. He just wanted to. Said it was ‘authentic apocalypse experience.’

[havatnah]

note: this is a very personal story involving our beloved top hat wearing gang leader. It is based on true events but are mixed with how I wished things would have turned out. I hope that I still managed to capture Jacob's personality well enough and didn't need to bend him too much.

word count: ~8k

warning: trigger! please don't continue if easily triggered, description of violence, blood, self harm and rape

Personal mission

With quick but not hasty strides did the young gang boss climb the flight of stairs up into the 3rd floor of a small apartment building. Three of his Rooks were already waiting in front of a door. It was a sunny day outside, so atypical for the London weather, and hence so much more precious to enjoy it. The top hat wearing man was enjoying a day off from his hunt, as the entire city seemed to have agreed on a truce, when a messenger boy came running to him, asking for him to come as quick as possible to one of his rook’s flat. The boy didn’t use the emergency word but when he stated the address the young man was already on his way.

“Boss! Good you’re here. She wouldn’t open the bloody door” Jimmy, a middle aged Rook with a bowler hat on stated with a slight worry in his voice. 

“What happened?” was the sharp question, even before Jacob reached the last step. 

“We don’t know. We were to meet, as she had agreed to help us with the buses but she wouldn’t open the door. We only hear” and there it was. The sound that Michael, who was wearing a combination of the Rook’s green uniform and that of a bus driver, was about to refer to. A deep agony filled crying, punctured by breathless sobs. Michael didn’t need to end his sentence but exchanged a short glance with his boss. A boss he never thought he would have. So much younger than himself but good at what he did.

Jacob nodded, pushed himself past the three Rooks and waited a moment, hoping there would be a short pause in between the sobs, that were clearly filled with so much pain, so he could knock and the female Rook, who occupied the flat, would hear him. With a gentle but firm voice, Jacob Frye called out “It’s me, Jacob. Open the door”. There was no answer; only silence. Not even more crying. The seconds passed and felt like minutes, like eternity. The Rooks behind him noticeably grew more uncomfortable with worry. Jacob knocked again, called out a bit firmer this time “I know you’re in there. Open the door. Now.” 

The reply he got now, wasn’t one he ever would have expected. 

He knew you as a gentle soul, who always tended to the needs of the other gang members. Sure, you could be deathly when on a mission or in a gang war. So deadly that you, after you’ve joined the gang, quickly climbed up the ranks, and became one of the few, he would trust with delicate missions. No matter whether it was to take down a blighters’ strong hold or tracking down a higher ranked Templar, or even infiltrate a party for intel. Your abilities as a chameleon have proven to be a valuable resource for all kinds of missions. Your loyalty to the cause of the Rooks earned not only the other members’ trust but also his own, which he didn’t grant too easily. But there was one trait of yours that has proven to be a nuisance. Your curiosity. 

Your curiosity has driven you to stick your nose into businesses that were complicated and dangerous. There were many times, this natural drive of yours, helped to gather information on the enemy, on the Templars. Like a spy you would be delicate in retrieving the needed intel for the Rooks to form a plan before the Blighters would only do as much as to think about executing their own. But that one night, you have stumbled into something else, caught Jacob and his sister Evie with documents, not related to the gang, but to something else. Piece of Eden, Templars, a long lasting war between two parties that led back not only centuries but millennials. Your boss was a member of a syndicate that was called the Assassins. The third tenant would have urged the twins to get rid of you. The brotherhood was not to be compromised but just when Evie was about to act, Jacob intervened. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t let you be killed. You were so loyal to the Rooks so far and, what he didn’t know at the time, something else in his stomach made him protect you. A gut feeling. The young assassin claimed that his gut feeling was rarely wrong. Of course Evie held another opinion but at the end agreed to make you an initiate to the assassins. She would soon leave with Henry Green for India but until that time would come, she insisted that it was her who would teach you as much as she could about the creed. Since you were a too valuable member to the gang, the option of sending you to Crawley for the training was off the table, but Evie didn’t want her brother to set you on a, to her, wrong path for an assassin. After Starricks defeat Evie and Henry left for India, trusting that the few blighters and Templars remaining in London after their grand master was gone, would pose no problem. Not even when it was her dear baby brother and an initiate, who did well for the short time of training, that you had so far. That was about two years ago. 

You were deadly to the enemies but he didn’t know a more compassionate and caring soul, when it came to the gang; or now also the brotherhood. It would be a heavy loss and cause him pain if you would…leave.They say, curiosity killed the cat. Was this the case now?

“GO! AWAY!” 

Was that you? He never heard you scream like that. Your voice was filled with aggression towards him, or was it towards everything? For a moment the witty reprobate was speechless. When he regained his composure after a second he was glad that his employees weren’t able to see his shocked expression. But they must have looked the same, or even worse. Then miff took over and Jacob turned on his heels, descending the stairs.

“Boss!” the third Rook, an older man with whiskers, called out. “You can’t leave”

Why were people telling him what to do now all of the sudden? “You heard her. We shall go away.” He hissed over his shoulder, clearly offended and already on his way down again. He didn’t like to be shouted at nor what he was supposed to do. That was one line you crossed too much. Or did you not? 

“But boss…” Jacob stopped in his tracks. Again. He had taken several steps down already. Shortly tilting his head back into his neck he groaned, rolled his eyes and turned back around. He fought his anger. You were still his subordinate and were in no place to scream at him, yet alone to order him around. 

After taking a deep breath and having reached your door once again, he stated “I won’t go away. Open the door” His voice was even and surprisingly conveyed care but the only reply he received was another scream “GO! AWAY”, which was even more bone shaking than the previous one and he sensed that the three men behind him took a step back. The hatred and agony in your voice made his blood boil in his veins and it took all his strength to keep his composure. His gut twisted and he needed a deep breath before he would try one last time: “Open the bloody door. Now! Or I’ll break in. This is an order! Understood?” 

No reply. What was going on? An uncertainty that was hanging in the air was slowly tightening its grip around each of the men’s throats. Slowly strangling them with every moment that passed without a reply. The young gang boss took a step back, lifted his right leg and was about to kick his way in; he didn’t take orders after all, from nobody. But did the door always look so damaged? It looked like one of the urchins could break in. When he heard a shuffle behind the door, his posture relaxed.  Only a few seconds, which felt at least like a minute, later the lock was turned and the door handle pressed. The door opened just enough to be unlocked but not further. The shuffling sound, now louder, slowly became quieter again as you withdrew from the door without answering it. What made you do this, you had no idea. You wanted them gone. You wanted everyone gone. You wanted yourself to be gone. You felt like a machine. And as empty as one, but in the next second the pain was back. The roller coaster of emotions inside you made you go through a back and forth change between feeling absolute emptiness and despair and agony. 

With a flat hand, Jacob slowly pushed the door open, the Rooks followed him with a short distance. When the door was open enough to enter a sight, of blood on the floor greeted him. Drops, marked a trail from one room to the door and now back into the sitting room. Jacob was no stranger to blood, it didn’t bother him, but when he saw this trail of red life essence, he knew it was yours, and that was a fact he didn’t like. At all. His bearing turned 180° and the miff from before was replaced by worry. Careful steps carried him inside, wary of what would be revealed. Suddenly he felt like the victim of a horror show. He prided himself on not being afraid of anything. There wasn’t a mission too dangerous for him. His ability to work on the fly was his greatest asset and that was something that made him fearless. But in that moment, he felt what must have been fear. His heart was pounding and he could hear it drumming in his ears as it rushed his own blood through his veins. Following the bloody path he reached the sitting room and found you. And for a moment he felt like in a nightmare. It must have been a nightmare right? 

You were sitting, no, you were crouching, on the sofa, with your knees pulled up to your chest, arms crossed on top of them, eyes staring ahead and away from him. In one hand you held a knife, its blade smeared red. The other arm showed the source of the blood on the floor. Warm red liquid was dripping from deep cuts on your forearm. 

You have cut yourself.

“Go away” the same mantra, only much quieter now filled the room. “Go away…please”. The aggressive screech had turned into a desperate plea and was followed by another wave of sobs. From where Jacob was standing, he wasn’t able to fully see your face but it was enough to see that it was red, your eyes bloodshot and tears were now streaming down your cheeks. Certainly not the first that you spilled today.

“I’m not going anywhere” Jacob whispered loud enough so he was sure that you could hear him and as he took one step across the doorstep to enter your living room his ear rang.

“GO! AWAY!”

You have turned your head just enough to scream at him, but didn’t look at him. Your hand clenched around a knife, knuckles white from the vigour, and shaking.

“GO AWAY!” 

The Rooks behind their boss shuffled, confused, helpless what to do. They couldn’t see much and none of them dared to push their boss but they heard enough. That wasn’t you. It couldn’t be. No. Not ever.

How dare you shout at him like that? Anger boiled up again for a moment and then blended into sympathy. He knew, by instinct, if he was to make one wrong move now, he would kill you. Even though it would be you, wielding the blade, the blood would be on his hands now that he entered your lodgings. While he never minded blood, for hell’s sake he was an assassin, killing was part of not only his job description but who he essentially was, however at all cost he wanted to prevent that it was your blood being spilled; more. He also was a Rook. He was their leader. And a Rook protected. As a leader he had to protect his Rooks when they couldn’t. 

He needed a plan, because his ability to think on the fly was not working properly. His brain didn’t supply him with any idea what to do in such a situation as he has never faced something like that. He knew how to take down his enemies, but what was it if the enemy that threatened his Rook was the very same Rook itself? How would you defeat an enemy that was in the skin of an ally? He didn’t know. So to hell with his sister’s preaching of forming a plan. Despite him not knowing what to do in such a situation he did what he always did, when in a tight situation. Trust his instincts. 

“GO” AWAY!” every one of your screams became louder and louder.

“Out. Now!” He hissed over his shoulder. The look he gave his subordinates was a glare that didn’t leave any room for discussion and so the three men, cladded in green, retreated immediately. 

“Go away, please” You have heard the mean leave but sensed that your boss was still only a few metres away from you. “Please” you whimpered and pulled your knees even further up.

“I won’t. Talk to me…please” Jacob lowered his voice to a soft tone and for the first time since forever he said ‘please’. He wasn’t the personality that would ask for things. He took them. He did as he pleased. And knew how to run things to have them turn out the way he wanted them. So he never said “please”, not to anyone.

“Go away” the mantra again.

“Talk to me” he would then start a mantra of his own.

“Go away” you didn’t raise your voice, which was a good sign.

“Talk to me, please” and again, he asked, almost begging you. 

The feeling in his stomach that made him intervene on that day when you discovered his secret, he didn’t know back then, as it was only a mild feeling, but over time it became more frequent and stronger. It took him a while but he realised that this tingling feeling would only arise when you were around. When he would see you laugh he couldn’t help but smile. When your hands would touch one another for a fraction of a second when, for example, you handed him a pint or cards, he felt like an electric shock. But it was pleasant. And soon, without himself realising it at first, he would seek these small touches. The feeling that they gave him was addictive and he wondered if you have felt the same way. So it occurred that whenever there was an opportunity to make an accidental touch, he would grab it. He was Jacob Frye after all, not missing any chances. When he slid in on the table in the bar your knees or shoulders would shortly bump into each other. When dealing out cards, he would accidentally grab them early and brush against your fingers, when handing out drinks, he would either hand them or take the stein in a way that a short touch was ensured. He didn’t know why but he grew to enjoy your presence more and more, even though you could be pesky and annoying at times. His sister’s teaching was clearly seeping through. You would nag him at times, tell him your opinion. But surprisingly he didn’t mind because you managed to do it in a way that was different from his father’s, George’s or his sister’s. You made it appear like a casual side comment and never directly opposed him. You would never tell him that his ideas were bad, or that he needed a plan. No. You did it in a subtle way that never questioned his qualities but reminded him that there were other options too. That way he was able to save his face in front of his gang and also never felt offended. You did your job well. Sometimes he would heed your advice. Sometimes not. And when he did not, you still were there alongside with him. Always ready to save Rooks or him from a tight situation. Mostly you kept yourself in the background but would always be the backup when it was needed. And that has saved them a few times already. And while he never openly admitted it, he was thankful for it. You became the person he would trust his back with. When you were on with the mission, he didn’t need to worry about shit hitting the fan. He never did in the first place, but he worried less about others getting hurt and hence was able to focus on other things. The fun things. Like blowing up smuggler ships, or, when not flooding the streets of London with beer, racing through them. You managed to save the situation somehow. Clean up after him. And when there was no need for that, he sometimes would hear you whine in the pub that you had nothing to do and missed all the fun. You would banter over that and drink and laugh and have fun after all. 

You saved him and the Rooks numerous times, now it was time that he saved you and he still didn’t know how; only that he needed to get this knife out of your hand. 

You didn’t reply to his begging but starred ahead with a ghost-like empty expression.

“Talk to me, please. I won’t do anything. But please talk to me”

Again only stillness. The clicking of the clock on the wall was the only sound in the room. 

“May I enter?” He tried a different approach. He wanted to coax you into speaking, get you out of this agonising mantra.

“People don’t care what I want. So why do you bother asking?”

He managed to get you out of it, finally. But there was only a tiny joy for this accomplishment. What did you mean? You sounded so defeated. The thought of suggesting to drown your sadness with a bottle of Jager crossed his mind, but he discarded it quickly. It was a balancing act. And he didn’t like that. Being sensitive to someone, that was your job, not his. But now the roles were reversed because his instincts told him that if he wasn’t delicate right now, things might not turn out ugly.

“I won’t do anything that you don’t want” the young gang boss bit the inside of his cheek after this came out of his mouth, realising that he would need to leave if you asked him one more time. But you didn’t. You only shrugged. Good, his instincts were still good to rely on.

When he saw eye movements and a tiny twitch of your head he was thankful for his father’s training to be able to detect the smallest of movements without trouble. He would scoff at himself about having such thoughts but now wasn’t the time. He took these tiny motions as a clue that you tried to build up a connection, that you wanted to open up. He had to be careful now. Too much haste is too little speed, his sister’s words reminded him, which brought bile up into his mouth. Slowly he would take a step inside. Out the corner of his eyes he saw that the front door was indeed shut again. Good.

“What happened?” - no reaction.

“I want to help you” - still no reaction, Have you shut down again?

“Please” - and again he whispered "please”, which started to have a foul taste on his tongue but it caused you to slightly tilt your head and flicker your eyes. Only to turn back again a moment later.. A little advancement. How much he hated that, to work at such snail-like speed. But what outweighed his displeasure was his worry for you now.

With slow and careful strides he entered the room further but didn’t reduce the distance to you just yet. 

“I can be patient” - again a twitch, slightly more this time but you turn back once again. It wasn't an outright lie. He was able to be patient; he just didn’t like it. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips and Jacob hoped that this was a sign for your willingness to speak. So he remained silent. For ten seconds. For a minute. For two minutes. He stopped realising how long he waited. In the meantime more blood dripped from the wounds on your arm, the knife remained firmly in your hand. 

You wetted your lips again, parted them but closed them again into a thin line when no word came out. He waited. Again. And again after a while the same. Wetting your lips, parting them but this time a sound left your throat, which, Jacob only realised now, had marks that definitely didn’t belong there. This discovery made his blood first freeze and then boil. He had to swallow as a nasty hunch crept into his mind. If he had believed in god he would have prayed for this not to be true. But other than his sister, he wasn’t superstitious. He now wished he was.

You turned your head towards your boss but your eyes were still fixed on the flow only occasionally flickering up, but never quite reaching his face.

Usually he didn’t like when people weren’t able to look the other person in the eyes but considering the current situation he booked this as an advance, which he didn’t want to destroy, but his worries grew with every drop of blood that left your body.

Your lips trembled, opened and closed times and again in an attempt to speak. You wanted to. You wanted to trust that man standing there in your sitting room to stay true to his words. He wanted to help, and you wanted to tell him what had happened to you. But the words just wouldn’t come out of your mouth, no matter how hard you tried. You felt helpless, cold, broken, dirty, worthless. All of that while you felt empty all the same. Regret and guilt were the spices that made your emotions so much more unbearable. They were tearing at your inside. Literally. Your chest felt like someone was stomping on it. Your heart clenched vigorously and your throat hurt so much that even breathing was hard. And yet you wanted to reach out to this man, even though it was a man who did all this to you. But this gang boss was made of another wood, right? You didn’t know if you could trust him or even trust yourself anymore. You are partially responsible for this whole mess after all. You were uncareful hence responsible. Yes. If you hadn’t been so careless nothing of this would have happened. You could have reported this man to the police or even better taken care of him yourself, preventing what he has done. But you didn’t. Your inaction was the reason you were in this situation right now.  

Just when his own patient was running out and Jacob parted his lips to speak, you did him better: “He surprised me” the nasty thought of what might have happened was fed by your shaken words.

“Don’t” Was the thought that ran through Jacob’s mind.

“He” another sob interrupted your attempt to speak, your mind was back in that time, at that place. It was faster than your words. But you had to speak. Willing yourself to continue, you forced yourself to take several deep breaths, with each of them your body shook less until you finally continued “broke in and strangled me and…” a new wave of cries and tears overcame you as your mind replayed this torture for you in a loop, over and over an over again. So Jacob had seen correctly, the door had been victim to a break in.

The hair in his neck stood up as grief was replaced by the thirst for revenge. He knew what he would do and he almost would have turned on his heels to find this son of a sun but you were more important right now. 

The sobs shook your body again, your face pressed into your knees. Taking that opportunity Jacob approached you with the stealthiest steps he could muster and slowly reached for your hand with the knife. When he closed his hand around yours, your body went rigid and for a long time, both of you were still. Only when your hands relaxed ever so slightly, Jacob slowly peeled the knife away from your fingers and out of your hand. 

After he had let the knife drop to the floor, he kicked it away into a corner of the room, causing the floor to get painted red and you started crying again.

“He raped me, Jacob”

There. It was out. Albeit having had a hunch before, truth hit the young man like a freight train. He wanted so many things at the same time then: Track that bastard down, and rip him apart, limp by limp. He wanted to turn back time and prevent this from happening. He wanted to cradle you into his arms and tell you how he felt and that you’re safe now. But he did none of that.

For several more minutes you cried. Let more of your emotions out. Telling your assassin brother about it was like removing the cork from a bottle of champagne, only that it wasn’t champagne that was free to flow now but tears of bitterness. You sounded so defeated that Jacob never could have dreamed up. The cheerful Rookie who always had an open ear to every issue, no matter how small or big, who would annoy him sometimes with her obnoxious remarks, that you were, was now a defeated warrior. 

It was going against his nature but he needed to be calm and responsible now. For your sake. Because what kind of person would he have been when he couldn’t save you one bloody time while you have saved him and others so many times?

“I will take care of that” Jacob wanted to call this son of a sun thousand words but railed himself in, “bastard. But now we need to take care of you”

A shaky nod was all he needed as an allowance. The gang leader, who usually made Templars shiver from fear and kneel to him, kneeled down and removed his cravat from his neck to use it to wrap it around your arm just about the cuts, to stop the flow of blood. Luckily the cuts were on the upper side of your arm, where blood would still flow but no vital artery was severed. The rest of the red cloth was wrapped around your cuts. He could feel that some were deep. So it was to no surprise that they were still leaking. You definitely needed medical treatment.

“I don’t want anyone to see me like this” just in time when Jacob finished tending to your arm as much as he could, you told him about your wish, because you knew exactly what he was about to suggest. He wanted Mrs. Nightingale to treat your arm with proper medicine. Without missing a second Jacob got out of his coat and wrapped it around you and pulled up the hood. That way, nobody would see anything. The coat completely wrapped around you and the hood obscured everybody’s sight on your face.

The familiar smell of leather and gunpowder were mixed with your boss’ own individual scent. You inhaled deeply and a feeling of safety wrapped around you, like his leather coat. But also guilt as you were ruining his best coat. You remember how smug and proud he looked when he first strolled with it into the Rook’s owned bar where you and the others had been celebrating a more than successful heist. “Baron Jordane's Finery is it called.”, the grin on the gang leader’s face was contagious.”A coat has a name.” the assassin had spread his arms out in a manner to present himself or rather his new possession and you could see that Evie would have liked to bonk him for his boasting “Can you believe that?”. From that point on, it was clear that this coat had become Jacob’s favourite piece and he would wear it for special occasions, like celebrations or on calmer days. And now you were ruining it, yet you couldn’t speak up. You would repay him somehow. Later.

After he helped you up, careful where he would touch you, he guided you out of your own flat. The last strides before you reached the door however, he stepped ahead. Opening the door he ordered in a sharp tone: “closed coach. Pronto”. Hasting down the stairs, the three rooks followed the order without so much as grumbling a word. A green four wheeler was ready by the time you made it down the stairs. It took only a glare for the Rooks to back away. He would drive himself. Without his coat the wind, even though the sun was still shining brightly, was chilly. 

Mrs. Nightingale, didn’t ask you many questions out of respect, or was she shut up by the top hat wearing assassin? You didn’t know. And in all honesty, you didn't care about the reason, but were thankful for the silence. “Scars will remain, my dear” she stated in an informative but soft manner. Since you didn’t look at her it was unclear to you, if she meant you or Jacob.

With a bit of arguing and Jacob repeatedly assuring that he will regularly check on you, Mrs. Nightingale agreed to discharging you. You were suspended from your duties for the Rooks for the time being. The only order that you had to follow now, so said your boss, was to focus on recovery. And indeed he dropped by every evening. Sometimes he brought a beer from a new pub he found and deemed it drinkable, sometimes he would bring his deck of cards, from which you were sure he always had with him. So you spend the evening drinking, playing cards or just talking about what was going on in London, while the latter remained a rarity. Sometimes Jacob would get into a fret about something the assassin council remarked about his style of handling things. But you weren’t sure if this was just an act on his part to entertain you or not. Usually he would just shrug them off. So at least have you experienced the council meetings and ‘scoldings’ so far. Rooks made sure to drop deliveries of food and other necessary items for you, so you wouldn’t be required to leave the flat when you didn’t feel like it.

As you fumbled with your fingers one evening, Jacob picked up on it and prompted “spill it, Rookie” while he was dealing out the cards for another round. “You know I can’t deny anything from you”, these words left his lips faster than he could think of them and now he couldn’t take them back. So he plastered on a cocky smile, making it appear like a flirty comment.

“Would you accompany me for shopping?” You didn’t look at him, feeling embarrassed for this question so you railed in “never mind. Forget it” and hastily took your cards. You played several more rounds of cards, all losing to Jacob. He must have cheated somehow. You were sure of that but didn’t question him. You’ve caused him too many inconveniences already, now you even dared to ask him for more support. Luckily he has dropped the topic. Or so you thought.

As he was exiting you flat with a mocking tip of his hat and priggish smile he casually stated “so tomorrow around the same time I’ll pick you up”. Leaving you no chance to reply he sashayed down the stairs and into the cold evening air.

The knock on the door pulled you out of your grim thoughts that have been haunting you all day. Glad for some distraction you went to get the door. Jacob was waiting behind it with two packages in his hands. One was a basket filled with a few groceries, the other a brown paperback which content stayed unknown to you. “Get dressed for some fun” was the greeting you got and the reprobate, who looked eager to get going, pushed the grocery basket inside your apartment.

You were confused, “I thought we go shopping?”

 “I have an even better idea” your boss smirked at you “so get ready” and already began to turn waving his hand to cue you to follow him.

With haste you got into your boots and felt a little excitement coming up. Jacob usually had good ideas but sometimes they involved too much space for interpretation. So you didn’t know what exactly he meant with ‘fun’.

Despite you trying to peek inside the paper bag and asking him where he would lead you, Jacob’s lips stayed sealed, only curving up into a teasing smile that showed that he enjoyed leading you with a carrot stick. He knew your curiosity well, it was the reason you joined the brotherhood after all, and hence he knew how to play it and tease you. And he did so up to the very moment until you reached your destination. A new fighting ring.

Topping had told Jacob about him planning to open it a few days earlier and Jacob confirmed he would pay a visit, knowing that Topping told him for his own benefit, namely money. Good fights meant more revenue for the bookie and Jacob was a guarantor for good fights. So it was no surprise that the man with the ridiculously looking top hat was very excited to see Jacob strolling into his new money earning paradise. 

“Ah, it's good to see you!” The bookie approached the younger man “here for some good fights, I presume”

“Of course” still with a smirk on his lips, Jacob confirmed what the other male already knew, or at least believed to know. The ticket for participating in the ring was issued without any question but enthusiasm, however when Jacob handed that ticket directly to you, he earned confused looks from both you and Topping. “You need to fight this off” his voice dropped into a serious tone as his smirk vanished. Damn, he had played you. When Topping wanted to object, Jacob did only as much as raising a hand to silence the other man while he was still looking at you. “I told you to get ready for some fun. Now, fight this off and”, he raised the paper bag and waved with it “you get a special price. If you win, that is.” He was back to teasing you, eyes glittering with mischief.

It took you a moment but then you crossed your arms and raised your chin and replied “only if I know what I’m fighting for”, for you couldn’t fight a small smirk tucking at the corner of your lips. Oh how much have you missed these banters with your brother assassin. You have enjoyed the nights Jacob dropped by to provide company but this, this was a bit of normality coming back.

The index finger of his free hand wiggled at you “Ah Ah! Where is the fun in that?” and he held up the bag when you tried grabbing it. It was out of your reach, as it was one of the easiest tasks for him to hold you off “Now, love, get ready. You know what you’re fighting for” he stated after he had pushed you off him, still smirking impishly but there was a hint of seriousness in his tone that made you nod.

The second round was just over and you were breathing hard, leaning on a post of the ring waiting for the next round to start. Jacob approached you from behind. “Good so far. This one has a preference for dealing out kicks to the knees.” he tucked his chin towards a man with suspenders “so look out for that. Also for your footwork, stance is good so far. Stay light on your feet and play your advantages well”. While Jacob was giving you the tips you studied the three men who got ready for the next round. Beside the man with suspenders there were two tall and broad shouldered men who looked like their punches would hurt a lot. The bell rang and the round started. 

Jacob had been right. The suspender guy did indeed try to immobilise you by breaking your knees with kicks and he would have gotten you if not for your footwork. The two others threw powerful punches and swings but were slow over all. You managed to surprise them with a few rolls and quick turns and knock them out with a kick to their heads, which was, considering their and your size, something they definitely never expected. After a few more minutes you managed to take down the suspender man as well and stumbled back to your pole where Jacob was waiting with a beaming grin. He caught himself a few times, wanting to join in the fun but the bag in his hand reminded him that this was about you and you recovering. And that indeed it did. Sweaty from the fighting you felt like a welcomed ordinariness has returned. Glee has returned and you have reveled in the action. There would be one last round and Topping looked at you surprised that you were still standing. 

While you leaned on the pole trying to get your bearings together before the last round would start you heard the man behind you whisper “you manage this one and I have somethings special for you”

Turning your head so you could look the assassin, who almost had leaned over you, in the eye, you smirked and shot “what is so special you keep your lips sealed so long? A kiss?”. The blush on the man’s face was just too amusing but before either of you could say more the bell rang, initiating the last round for you this evening. 

Mumbling something about audacity Jacob continued watching you and towards the end even whistled to cheer you on. The fight was hard and at some point it even looked like you would lose. Something seemed to drive you though, to get up on your feet again. At the end you emerged victorious, bruised but victorious and the adrenaline rushing through your body made you forget the pain. 

Jacob sautered towards you after you had received the prize money from the bookmaker “So now for your price”.

“Oh, you really meant it? I get a kiss now?” you played innocent and surprised, opened your arm as you would wrap your arms around the gang leader to receive the kiss you claimed he promised. 

“I thought this”, he held up the bag and wiggled it “would be more appealing than a kiss, but if you insist”, he was slowly closing the distance and while he dropped his voice into a velvet murmur “I can give you a kiss and take the Jäger for myself” his face was mere inches from yours and you craned your chin up pointing out “You can’t stand Jäger” in an equally seductive tone and the tension between you both was rising, but you couldn’t decide whether this would lead to something positive or negative. Granting your boss the victory, you backed out of the flirty stare off and reached for the paperback, which this time wasn’t pulled away. Indeed there was a large bottle of Jäger inside. “This must have cost a fortune” you gasped at the size of the bottle. “Don’t mention it” the top hat wearing man grinned, eager now to get a pint or two “So shall we go and celebrate your victory now, Rookie?”.

“You would drink Jäger for me?”

 “You know I can’t deny anything from you” as he offered you his arm in mockering politeness, you took it, pretentiously acting like an aristocratic  lady. But it took you both only a few steps towards the door until you bursted out into a joined laughter, which felt so liberating.

You were strolling along the streets heading to a bar you knew would serve good beer, you continued to banter and joke with Jacob. Your directness has made Jacob blush again which in turn made you giggle. In a pub the rest of the evening was boozy and the top hatted reprobate stayed true to his word, drinking two shots of the almost black liquor. How you could call it sweet flavoured was beyond his understanding as the burn in the back of his throat was prominent when he upended the shot.

Next day buried the young gang leader in work, a lot of trouble with blighters and he had a feeling that he might have had a shot or two too many the previous night, but it was fun and he didn't regret it. But now that issues were settled he was on his way to you, which he looked forward to. A few beers and rounds of cards would be a fabulous closure for such a hectic day. When he was taking the direct route across London’s roofs he came across Scotland yard and by instinct he dived into his ability to heighten his senses. He already had a slight headache from using his eagle vision so much during the day but the uneasiness  was gone the moment he saw something surprising and made him stop in his tracks.

While the word turned grey there were a few things highlighted by specific colours. Red always meant enemies, green were his allies while gold was his target and blue, well, these were the nuisances of bobbies patrolling the streets. But there was a man sitting in the Scotland yard cell who didn’t fit any of this. He was purple. His savviness told him what it meant and what he had to do, he didn’t need books for this like his sister. He had seen Freddie exiting your house a few days ago and he felt more anger rising in his gut. That he hasn’t thought about this possibility. But to his own defence: he endeavoured to help you recover.

The creed of the assassins had three tenets

Stay you blad away from the innocent

Hide in plain sight

Never compromise the brotherhood

His father had added a forth “Don’t allow personal feeling to compromise the mission”. He himself had reminded Evie of that when they had been hunting for Lucy Thorn and Starrick. 

But what if the mission itself was personal? 

A shadow dropped down onto the streets and approached the Scotland Yard building. Hiding in the dark the shadow took out the policemen one by one, working its way up the floors to where the criminals were held in a cell. It was soundless and with steps light as a feather it didn’t cause any stir, so contradicting to what it usually loved to do. 

The night was usually calmer than the day but Sergeant Abberline was beginning to wonder if it hadn’t been too quiet to be true. The middle aged man with sideburns was about to get up from his desk to check on his subordinates on the lower floors when he saw a shadow climbing up the stairs. When he reached for his revolver a familiar sounding “Don’t” stopped him.

The assassin allied Policeman looked up and saw how the shadow was approaching him but to his question “Jacob? What are you doing?” he didn’t receive a reply. The figure, wearing a hood, concealing most of his face approximated further. And albeit Frederick Abberline wasn’t able to see the other man’s eyes he felt the intense stare from under the hood. He also prided himself with something, the strong Abberline constitution, but the closing in gang leader managed to shake it once and now the second time had arrived. Doing his best to cover up what he assumed the assassin’s prey must feel when they see their enemy coming closer, namely trembling inducing fear, he asked once more “What is wrong?”

The brisk order “Give me the keys” that made others move with haste was declined by the only officer left awake in the building, as realisation what the assassin was here for set in. “You know I cannot do that”. The man’s eyes flickered sideways to the cell mere metres away. A mistake. A great mistake, because this moment was enough for the assassin to bring himself behind the policeman, who gave up asking how a person can move with such inhuman swiftness. 

“I’m sorry, Freddie. But this is personal” with an arm locked around the other man’s neck Jacon made the constable lose consciousness and took the keys for the cell after he dropped his assassin gauntlet on the wooden desk. He had been a bit gentler than with the other bobbies, Freddie was sort of a friend to him after all but this mission didn’t allow any sympathies. 

The golden eyes gleaming in the dark that spread as the sun was setting, caused the inmates to think a demon was entering their cell. “Try anything fishy and you’re dead” hiss to the two others, forcing them to press into a corner only with his word.

Pale as a bleached piece of paper the third inmate demanded “What do you want?”But he only received a grunt and Jacob’s bare knuckles colliding with his jaw as an answer which sent him stumbling against the wall. This bastard wasn’t worth the tiny effort that it took to speak because he must know what the demon’s reason was. What he did.

Not granting him any time to recover Jacob swung another fist to the other side of his face and before he could even collapse on the ground a punch to his solar plexus, with the fist remaining there, held him up. “That was for asking a dumb question. Now for what you did” The younger man started strangeling the rapist and despite being a bit shorter than his prey the gang leader lifted him off the ground. Just before he was to lose consciousness, the grip was removed and the man collapsed onto the floor, coughing and ringing for air. 

“What the he…” the man interrupted in his angered coughing then he received a kick to his jaw and a foot was placed upon his chest, slowly pressing down, once again cutting off the air supply. The man tried to wiggle himself free but to now avail.

Jacob looked down on him with contempt. “Now, to give you an idea, how she must have felt” the assassin replaced his foot with his knee as he knelt down so he was able to reach for the man’s groin. Without mercy he squeezed slowly crushing the jewels and if the man had been able he would have screamed in agony but the knee on his chest was pressing down so hard that he didn't have air to make any vocal sounds. 

When Sergeant Abberlin regained consciousness he saw how a shadow exited the cell, which was now inhabited by two silent and trembling lawbreakers and a distorted body that missed its genitals. Its arms were twisted in unnatural directions as were his legs and the constable was sure that the human leg didn’t have a joint between the knee and hip. The white material sticking out of a wound confirmed that. There was blood spread everywhere in the cell and some even made it through between the metal bars, almost reaching his desk. 

While the young assassin grabbed his arm contraption from the desk he mumbled “I apologise for the mess.” and vanished through the window without bothering to put on his weapon. He would later send someone to clean up but for now he had a more important destination in mind. 

That day the time flew by as you have been occupying yourself with all sorts of different activities but when the usual time that Jacob would show up on your door, has passed, not just by a few minutes but two hours, you started worrying. Have you done something wrong? Until now you have thought that things were going great, you have enjoyed yourself and believed Jacob felt the same. You even have decided that it was time for you to head back out and to work the next day. When you were readying yourself to go to bed, you heard a knock on your door. But who could visit you at this time of the evening? It filled you with panic. With a pounding heart you called out “Who’s there?”

The familiar voice replying “Me” prompted you to open the door. You knew it was your boss but never would you have expected the sight that the door revealed to you.

Jacob was standing in front of your door with an unreadable expression. His face as well as clothing was sprinkled with blood. His hair, neither covered by a hood nor a top hat, even more dishevelled than usual. When your eyes travelled further down, you saw that he was holding his gauntlet in his hand. It wasn't secured around his left forearm, and it looked clean. Au contraire to his bare hands. His knuckles were painted red with someone else’s life essence. His boots were covered in a mix of dirt and blood. After you have taken in his appearance, you met his eyes with confusion.

By stepping aside you allowed the assassin into your refuge and closed the door behind him. “Is this…”

“Yes”

You turned around to face the person who got rid of the reason you felt unsafe outside of your four walls. Moving on instinct you took two quick steps up to your boss and threw your arms around him for a hug. You were certain that you crossed a line there, between boss and subordinate but you didn’t care. “Thank you” - your whisper was muffled by his coat, Baron Jordane's finery. What an irony. Now you definitely had to get him a new one. You smiled to yourself.

You felt his arms wrap around you as he returned the hug, the gauntlet discarded lying on the floor. He didn’t use it when he ended that monster’s life. Nor did he use any other weapons. This had been personal. 

“You’re free now”

[arthuristhetargetdog]

Hi! I really loved your fics with arthur and john and was wondering if you could do something angsty for sean? Lately I’ve been really into traditional Irish songs and found myself imagining him humming some sad Irish ballad that reminds him of home (having drunk of course, 'couse i feel like only then he lets his guard down enough to allow himself to be sad) and Y\N, having accidentally heard it, tries to comfort him? Thank you soooo much if you actually decide to write this! Sending lots of love!

Pairing: Sean MacGuire x gn!reader | SFW

CW: Intoxication

Word Count: ~ 478

Summary: Y/n, new to the group, has never seen anyone really show any emotion, besides maybe anger and happiness. But when they find Sean during a dark time, they realize that the group is more than just their stealing and killing.

First off, I apologize for this being written so late, a lot of stuff has happened, and I just forgot to finish this, for that, I am sorry. I am very appreciative of your request annon, I hope you enjoy it!... Also, I have to be honest, I am not one to write angst very well, I tried but I'm pretty sure this came out more fluffy than angsty.

The night was full of celebration. Drinking, chanting, dancing, and singing the night away was rare for the Van Der Linde gang, but always mandatory after a big win.

You step away from the fire and walk into the woodland area. You are always the life of the party, but being so can wear you out. As you lean against the tree, you hear the quiet, somber hums of a song you weren't familiar with coming from someone.

Knowing that the noise wasn't coming from the commotion of the camp, you go deeper into the small forest, following the hums. Only when you saw the familiar hair under a certain hat did you know who it was.

"Sean? Is that you? What are you doing out here?"

The hums stopped immediately. Sean turns and faces you, the brim of his bowler hat covering his eyes. He's sporting a bottle of beer in hand, of course.

"Oh hey, Y/N." He drags on. His words are a bit slurry, but you don't recall seeing him drink till drunk.

"What are you doing out here all by yourself? I pegged you for the standing on tables and dancing kinda guy."

Sean shrugged and turned away from you, his head hung low to his bottle. You wanted to know what was going on inside of his fuzzy head. You reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, coming in closer.

"Hey...you wanna tell me what you were humming earlier?"

Sean huffed a short chuckle and shook his head,

"'Twas nothin' really. Jus' somethin' my da' used to sing sometimes... kinda reminded me 'a home, ya know? Before all 'a this..."

A hiccup comes from his mouth. You've never seen anyone in the group like this, let alone Sean of all people. You know what it's like losing your home, you feel Sean's pain and you want to take it away.

You move your hand from his shoulder and snake your arm around his back, you hand pressed on his waist. Sean looks over to your hand before truing back to you. He's tearing up.

You bring your other arm up, cupping his cheek in the palm of your soft hands, using your thumb to rub away the tears rolling down his drunk flushed cheeks.

"I know how you feel...Losing people you love, it's never pretty...You don't have to hide what was from me, I'll listen to whatever song comes to your mind."

Sean leans his head in and rests it in the crook of your neck, you rest your head on top of his. Low hums start to emerge and you close your eyes as you focus on them.

You don't know if you'll ever see Sean so vulnerable again, but this moment is enough to see that this gang, Sean, is more than just stealing, killing, and drinking crooks.

[brokentoys]

NOT to talk about this piece again. but i actually like the designs of ed's "henchmen" here. i like the glow/technological appearance on them - because many ppl may forget, but ed is more than just a trivia king, but he's also a computer king, too. and this really acknowledges that. i also like how they're wearing cloaks rather than just suits or typical mob designs. it makes eddie look different than a crimeboss, but make it look as though he's started a bit of a cult instead. (which, in my own canon, i view ed more as a leader of a movement rather than a crime gang)

plus usually artists design ed's men as literally just wearing the same clothes as he does, including the bowler hat.

which i honestly HATE these designs. because 1) there's no way to differentiate the leader from the followers at first glance. 2) eddie may be flattered from ppl wanting to copy him - but he stil wants to be unique. he still wants to stand out - i don't think he'd have his people just wearing the exact same thing as him. 3) it just feels... lazy. it's like the artist can't think of good designs for the henchpeople, and so they just draw them in the same thing as ed.