#desert gang i love you

[cynomain69]

alhaithams little visual aid of science bitches

[anonymouspuzzler]

you know what? fuck you (heartbreak gulch's my own guys)

(@heartbreakgulch courtesy of the inimitable @strangegutz & collaborators, also miscellaneous Thoughts under the cut bc it's my blog no one can stop me the doors have closed behind you)

HEARTBREAKER BULKHEAD:

Probably does not have superpowers anymore but still came from a family of considerable influence and was under pressure to inherit, pressure which he very much Broke Under.

Turned to a life of crime, definitely got in over his head with it, and essentially got rescued by Eddie, who he is Utterly Obsessed With And Heartsick For.

Has spent literal years as one of Eddie's attack dogs and generally jumping through hoops for him for Whatever Scraps Of Affection He Can Get, though he's still kind of squeamish around Literal Murder and thus tends to be assigned to supply runs and such most of the time.

Amateur mechanic and car enthusiast. Probably did a lot of McGyver-ass fixes around the Gulch-slash-generally assisted Ami til Davey was recruited.

Speaking of, was still the guy who recruited-slash-rescued Davey. They fell for each other hard and are in a committed relationship now, which has helped Buck take a little bit of a healthier step back with whatever the hell he and Eddie have going on (and helped him be a little less jealous and curmudgeonly about the Hot Young Things In Town, ie Zeki and Felix).

Absolutely not prepared to be a guardian to Minnie which has led his and Eddie's whole Relationship to enter a fun new stage of "hey man can I ask you for parenting advice nothing weird"

HEARTBREAKER DYNAMO:

Pretty similar backstory to the Villain-Coded version. Civilian turned criminal, lost his arm when he got in over his head on a job and Buck rescued him.

Has a bunch of different prosthetics he swaps out for different purposes, ie. one for combat, one to use for mechanic work, a kinda general use/everyday one, etc. That said, he goes without a lot to make sure he's prepared for a situation where he doesn't have access/one breaks or fails on a job/etc.

An alarmingly good recruit; I feel like originally Eddie kind of let him stick around as a kind of "gift" to Buck, but now that he's actually got him on jobs he's become a real rising star. Real good in a scrap and is a little more flexible with his moral lines in the sand compared to Buck. Outside of that he works with Ami a lot doing mechanics and repairs - probably interested in learning CompanDroid maintenance/repair but figures it'd be skeevy for him to push that point too much.

He and Eddie have a complicated relationship I think. They'd be kinda suspicious/distrusting of each other but also have a LOT of similarities and work really well together. To say nothing of their respective relationships with Buck.

I don't think he's Trying to Uncle the younger recruits in the Gulch but he definitely Does. He likes White a lot. He and Ami would also definitely get along really well. He is being The Bigger Man and Mature Adult and not giving Felix a wedgie no matter how badly he wants to

HEARTBREAKER(?) MINNIE:

From the same family of prominence as Buck and is currently very much on the run after a failed attempt to kill her own dad.

Extremely a city kid and is Not necessarily adapting well to Middle Of Nowhere Self Sustained Living.

Knew Of Buck but never met him before this so his whole Life and Little Criminal Commune featuring Multiple Guys He's Got SOMETHING Going On With is. it's a lot

Would like to do some crime actually but is A) still a little traumatized and adjusting to the whole Situation and B) 13 Whole Real Human Years Old.

Fascinated by Zeki's whole deal and his work but I think they would absolutely bring out the worst in each other they would fight so much. Autism to autism hostility

Having a very complicated response to White and Ami wherein she thinks they're SO cool but interacting with them at any length would make her realize Things About Herself that she's not consciously ready to confront so just like. Imagine being White and looking over your shoulder and that 13 year old is just Intensely Staring At You Unblinking from around a corner and as soon as she realizes you've seen her she turns around and runs off as fast as she can directly into a wall

Zarita absolutely hitting that Cool Just Slightly Older Kid niche for her.

[rayisatadbitcrazy]

i bruise you

notes: so this is meant to like be a TOXIC and borderline ABUSIVE side to this pairing, their dynamic has a major power imbalance that isn't exactly referenced but slightly implied, it might not be that obvious but that was the intended undertone. It also includes: violence (canon typical, not the abuse mentioned above), death, and suicide

Memories of the past eight weeks force themselves to the forefront of Grian's mind. It's the only thing he can think about, the only thing he can think of to avoid paying attention to anything actually happening. His fists hit Scar over and over, and it doesn't escape Grian that Scar is missing his blows on purpose, that even Scar isn't that stupid, but despite him looking at their past together through rose-colored glasses, he's so upset. Over everything. He's crying, he didn't think he would be. He's sobbing as Scar falls to the ground and he just has to keep punching him. This is for everything. For ruining his days. For dying. For being stupid. For killing Grian. For this stupid dynamic where Grian is just scared. For not fighting fair in this stupid fistfight. For purposely missing his punches. And when Grian kills Scar, he keeps punching. Keeps punching. Keeps punching. Scar's face is puffy, bruised and sunburnt and bleeding from his forehead. Grian keeps punching, he… He stops. He—Grian thinks back on his time with Scar, the ups and downs, and highs and lows, and everything in between. And Grian realizes that Scars has been there. And how is he meant to live without Scar?  He can't. That's the answer. He can't. And the wind is so loud in his ears, so he uses his hands to cover them as he hunches over Scar's body, the gray skin of the man is slowly chipping away into dust that blows away with the sand, and sobs. How is he meant to live? He can't. He knows that if he doesn't die something will be sent to kill him (How does he know? Great question. He just feels it. He's killed his only friend and nothing in the world is right.) “Scar,” he says to the dead man under him, “Scar, do you think we'd love each other in every universe?” Is that what they have? Love? Sometimes it didn't feel like it, most of the time it didn't feel like it. But…what better word does he have? Do they even love each other in this life? Grian thinks about them, him and Scar, as he stands up, his hands shaking and knees wobbly, as he walks past the cactus, past Pizza’s grave, onto the edge of Pride Rock. Was that love? He doesn't think so, and he's seen love. He's seen Martyn devote his life to Ren, seen the soft touches and domestic life Scott and Jimmy tried to have. He doesn't think what he and Scar had was love, but then again, he steps off the cliff and dies the moment he hits the ground, he doesn't really have to think anymore.

[aflockofravens]

Holy fuck I just finished Attack on Titan and Jesus Christ did Mikasa get the short end of the stick

[colecassiidy]

Thinking abt cole's way of watchfulness,,, its progression and origins,,, the way it is embedded so deep into his behavior that it's subconscious,

[hydrachea]

Andjwjsb hey what r ur thoughts on the new 4.6 trailer if you’ve seen it ? 👀 👀 👀👀

I watched the stream, and I'm cautiously very optimistic about Arlecchino now! She didn't get to do much in the Fontaine main quest and it was very disappointing, but what the trailer showed of her story quest looks super interesting. God knows I've been waiting for canon to finally spell out "By the way, the House of the Hearth isn't exactly a happy normal orphanage and Father uses the children much more than she loves them out of the goodness of her heart" for forever now. Finally, I'm about to see why Tartaglia and Scara's lines about her are like that! It's been long overdue!

Cyno's second story quest I'm not as hyped about, but I'm still very interested in. He's got a lot of lore he's sitting on and it finally looks like we're peeking into it. Plus the return of the Sumeru gang! Maybe Kaveh will even have a rerun, a whole year after his release... No, let's not be too optimistic.

[culxiaa-fn]

Ahhhh 🫠🫠🫠 someone help meee I miss the Coup/desert gang so much 😭😭 kinda sad after the archon quest they didn't interact much anymore but I miss them so much.

Sure we got Al-Haitham and Cyno interacted a few times after that. And Dehya and Candace are always together 😔 but I need them four together... I hope we have events starring them in the future.

[saberpastel]

It's supposed to rain heheheh :)

Guess who's sleeping like a baby tonight

[yeyinde]

Outlaw!Price, the enigmatic leader of the notorious and deadly 141 gang, who stumbles upon you one evening near the stables (attempting to steal the mare he had his eyes on, no less) as you try to sneak out of the city (and away from the awful, awful man you're supposed to be married to in the morning), and decides to help you get away.

But if you think it's altruism that's making him lend a helping hand to a stranger, you're wrong. In this life, he knows it's kill or be killed.

And most importantly:

finders keepers.

“How's this,” he begins, and everything inside of you screams to run. “I'll accompany you across the desert. Get you somewhere safe.” 

“Out of the goodness of your heart, I'm sure,” you sneer, edging backwards. “As if I'm dumb enough to believe that.”

“Can't leave a maiden—” your scathing hiss makes his lips twitch beneath the thick moustache; “—all on her own like that. I know these parts like the back of my hand. No harm will come to you. That, you have my word for.”

“And what's that worth?” 

He dips his chin. “Far more than you could imagine, love.” 

You swallow. “I don't know. I don't trust you—”

“Smart,” he nods, drops the cigar on the ground before snuffing the end out with the heel of his boot. “But I ain't very patient. Better make up your mind quickly.”

“Well, in that case—”

“But," he cuts your scoff off with a low hum. "I'll put it this way for you: do you want me to be the one to accompany you across the desert or the one they'll pay, handsomely, tomorrow morning to drag you back home, mm?”

“You scoundrel—! You dirty, rotten—”

“It's business, love.”

“I don't have any money to even pay you to—”

His eyes are searing when they catch on the threads of your lace collar, razing over exposed skin like he's owed the privilege. You've never seen such hunger on a man's face before.

Your skin prickles. Heart sinking low with each rasping sweep of his eyes across your body. It's as if you're meat. Something to be bartered with. Bargained.

The rasp in his voice makes you shiver. “You're a smart girl. I'm sure you can figure something out.”

“I—”

“I'll leave it to you, then, mm?” He starts forward, then, chin ducking low into his collar to stare down at you through the wide brim of his hat. Each thud of his boots echo against the floor in haunting harmony with the metal clink of his spurs. 

More of his bulk is revealed as he steps out from the shadows and into the pale moonlight, and somewhere in your chest, the air becomes trapped. 

He's huge. Bigger, now, where most of him blended in, almost seamlessly, into the shadows. A massive mountain of a man. 

His shoulders seem to stretch the fabric of his vest and waistcoat taut, pulling sharply on the straining threads. The heavy brown of his jacket sweeps down to midthigh, the seam tucked behind the leather holster of his gun tied tight at his waist. The brass buttons of his dress shirt crease against the pull of his broad chest and barrelled stomach. The softness around his midsection speaks almost highly of a luxurious lifestyle—pure hedonism. The sort ladies back home whisper about. Violence, women, and booze—ruffians, the lot of them! But it seems to belie the power in his gait. In the flex of his thick, corded thighs bunching in the tightness of his denim trousers and the leather caps covering them.

He has the walk of a bear. Lumbering, sloven. A touch clumsy. 

And yet—

The softness about him hides the raw strength under the thick pelt. Deadly. The slow, meandering trawl of a man who knows, unequivocally, that he needn’t run or rush anywhere. 

It lodges somewhere inside of you. This knowledge, this fact. He'll outpace you in spades. Catch up no matter where you flee to. 

Your stomach folds, looping over itself. It's nausea, maybe. And something else—

He's so big. Burly. Thickened like the strong trucks of ponderosa pine. A man cut from the wilderness; made in the likeness of the savagery of the wild. The brutality of the desert, of mother nature herself. Kin to the affinity this land seems to have in taking every ounce of a man and leaving him bereft in the face of the looming unknowns in the vast desert.

None of the men you've ever met before look like him. Grizzled. Hardened.

His scarred, tanned skin speaks of a life living outdoors. On a horse, on the run—hard work made with his bare hands. You think the softness, the callous-free palm that gripped your fingers tight in a vice, and can't help but to lean, just a little, into him. Drawn there, like a moth to a flame.

There's something about this man that makes you tremble. Something that curls inside of your guts. Something deeper, darker than fear. Primal. Animalistic. There must be something wrong with you, then. Most know to run from the predators—not move closer.

He comes to a halt less than an arm's length away from you, close enough that you can scent the heavy musk of him so thickly in your nose. Something purely masculine—loam, humus—and yet unfathomably different from the men you've known your whole life. Horse, and sweat. Sun. The headiness of riding nonstop through the sprawling deserts of New Mexico. Leather, and gunpowder. 

The novelty of it all is enough to make you dizzy. And, as if to reinforce it, he leans down, the brim of his hat narrowly missing your forehead, and he rasps, guttural and dark, 

“and I do expect to be paid back in full, love,” his voice is felled timber. Low, and firm. “Or you'll find you don't like the consequences very much. Am I clear?”

The unmistakable iron in it snags on the tendrils of your resolve, pulling messily at the threads. No escape. It winds tighter, tighter— 

Still. 

Your only other option is to stay here, and in the morning, marry a man who made it abundantly clear that the sole use he has for you is to rebrand a dwindling legacy (women ought to be seen, not heard, darlin’, and I think it's high time someone teach you that); or— 

Make off on your own. Through the unmapped, untamed wilderness of New Mexico with nothing for protection except whatever you could reasonably steal away with uninterrupted, which. Isn't much. Not only that—this man, this outlaw, had made it abundantly clear that there would be a bounty on you come sunrise. One he'd be most eager to fulfil. 

Rock, hard place. No escape. 

You steel yourself, grappling with trembling fingers against the dwindling options in front of you, and offer a slow, jerking nod. 

He heaves a breath in response. “Good choice, love.”

It doesn't feel very much like one. It doesn't feel very good at all, even. 

In this little stable just outside of town, you sell your soul to the devil in New Mexico while the cicadas in the background scream through the ink black night. The sounds they make seem to ask, 

what have you done?

[tripleyeeet-archive]

IN MY VEINS

SUMMARY: After disobeying Astarion's request, you find yourself in an interesting position.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,501

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, dom/sub dynamics, shameless knife kink, blood drinking, finger sucking, fingering, orgasm denial, begging, basically just the most depraved thing my mind could think of apparently. Also big ascended Astarion vibes??? But not actually because I cannot ascend him, sorry.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I guess I'll see y'all in hell for this one. Also in case you've missed it, this is definitely NOT apart of the Lover's Folly universe.

MASTERLIST

-

All at once you feel a cold blade and a hot hand, both of them targeting your throat with quickened calculation. Slightly lower than the blade, the hand shifts tightly against your skin, prompting a low groan of surprise to push through your lips, causing the voice behind you to speak.

“What do you think you're doing here?”

Lightly it flutters against your ear. Sounding like a mixture of whiskey and honey, it piques an interest within your mind that almost immediately forces you to do a double take, attempting to look at Astarion’s face, wondering if that usual scowl of his is on full display.

“Just came to say hi.”

He quietly snorts before moving his torso against your back, pulling you closer. “Hi.”

Swallowing hard, you force your teeth to hit your bottom lip, suppressing the urge to groan again when he pushes the blade closer. 

“What no hi back?” 

In response, you let out a plume of air and try to angle your neck away from the knife, only to be met with rough hands that pull you back in, pricking your skin ever so slightly. As it happens, you close your eyes, releasing your lips from your teeth to let out a soft hi Astarion. One that has him chuckling in your ear without warning. 

“Hello, darling.” Gently, he places a quick kiss to your temple then loosens his hold ever so slightly, allowing you to breathe and remember the small slice now present across your neck. 

“I’m sure the gang will love to see your handiwork in the morning,” you joke, but Astarion doesn’t laugh. Instead, he just continues to kiss your temple, gently dragging his teeth across your skin as he lowers his mouth, moving to the edge of your jaw. 

It leaves you breathless where you stand —frozen from the feeling of different temperatures exploring your outsides. On one end, his hands feel surprisingly warm; big and soft but rough in their ministrations as he clutches the front of your throat. However, on the other, there’s the threatening reminder of the knife. How one wrong move could result in the laceration of your poor esophagus. 

You have to force yourself not to protest at the position you find yourself in. Stuck beneath his hold; your back pressed firmly against his front with little room for movement, all you can do is stare forward and hope he’s quick. That his hunger for flesh can be sated before the lust kicks in. 

Having been on the road together for so long, you’ve experienced both sides of such a spectrum. Happily feeding his fill, you’ve offered over blood and sex in various ways and combinations. And if you’re honest you’re favourite is when he eats and then fucks you. 

“I thought I told you to stay put while I’m hunting.” 

His teeth move to nibble at your ear, an action that has you rearing slightly back, remembering his command. The way he cupped your chin as you sat inside his tent, frowning at the prospect of having to wait. Back then, you had every intention of listening. Of patiently waiting with bated breath as he hunted for dinner before returning to you to claim desert. But then you grew bored. Restless at the hands of time itself and decided quickly that defiance was the proper answer. 

“You were taking too long.”

It comes out like a whine, making you slightly cringe, hearing the desperation in your voice. Realizing just how sickly hopeless he makes you feel over the simplest things. 

“And now I’m going to take even longer, aren’t I?”

You can practically feel the grin that graces his lips. The way it pulls up on either end, revealing two pointed canines ready to strike. You can’t see them but you know they’re itching for flesh, his tongue moving along their points as he stares down at your pulsing neck, wondering if he should drink you now or later or perhaps at all.

Deep down, you know he doesn’t have much restraint for the latter. On more than one occasion he’s expressed that the taste of you is infectious. A delight so utterly consuming he often thinks about keeping you even after this is all over.

You’ve never admitted it but there’s a part of you that wants that too. To allow him the comfort of always feeling fed. As the days go on, you tend to dwell on the idea more often than not, imagining a life where you'd be bound by his hand, forever forced to serve his hunger and lust. 

It’s a tempting future. One that has you standing with anticipation, feeling Astarion lightly kick the base of your calves, motioning for you to move. 

Slowly, you step through the clearing, straining your eyes to look at the ground below for signs of obstruction. Considering one misstep could mean your end, you try your best not to move while simultaneously showing no signs of struggling —wanting to look brave. 

“You’re lucky I wasn’t in the middle of something.”

His voice is distracting. The way it hits your face in heavy, angered puffs makes you blink and step a little far, resulting in the buckling of your leg, prompting him to humorously hum and steady your frame. 

“Be careful, my dear. Wouldn’t want you slipping on my blade, now would we?” 

Immediately, you let out a nervous laugh and continue as if nothing happened, moving until you’re in the middle of a grouping of trees that seclude you from the rest of the world. 

Once there, Astarion’s grasp slips away, your throat feeling instantly soothed by the amount of air you’re suddenly able to pull in, even if with the knife still present. 

“Sorry for bothering you —just missed you is all,” you tell him, hearing him chuckle under his breath, telling you he knows. 

“You always miss me,” he teases then, circling around to finally face you at the same time his blade trails up your skin, nicking your chin with a quick flick of his wrist, resulting in the tiniest cut.

For a moment it stings but then it’s soothed by the pressing of his thumb, reaching forward to swipe away the bit of blood that collects before forcing it towards your closed mouth. “Open.”

Your stomach twists with reluctance but regardless you do as he says, feeling the pad move to the back of your throat and slowly slide down, pulling your bottom lip down in the process. 

“Ah, so you are still capable of obedience, my mistake.” Raising his brow, his thumb continues its descent, your lip bouncing back into place as his other fingers move to grip your chin, pulling you in —feeling his blade slip between your torsos without warning, the tip pressing against your ribcage. “Or perhaps your mistake?” 

A short gasp falls between you as you struggle not to move further. Against your skin, the blade sits snugly at your centre, threatening to sink if you so much as shiver. 

Across his face, Astarion adorns a wicked grin that has you secretly cursing his name for denying you his touch, especially when you know he wants it just as much. 

“Now, are you going to be good or are we going to continue to have this little—“ he stops to clench his jaw, poking through the leathers of your vest so that you can taste a bit of pain that may or may not come, “—problem.” 

Without hesitation you give him a nod, signalling your immediate obedience just as he pulls back the knife, and yanks you forward by your belt loops. 

“Good. Cause I rather like you, despite the attitude.” 

You’re tempted to laugh but refuse to so much as breathe as you move your hands cautiously to his chest, testing out the waters. 

Thankfully they’re not as choppy as before. Instead, they’re slow and steady, allowing you to grip the collar of his shirt and grin, carefully pulling him down to press your outstretched neck against his teeth.

“I’m sorry for leaving.” 

His tongue laps at your flesh almost instantly. Then, following behind, his lips suction themselves into the crook, making you inhale deeply, tightening the hold you have on his head. Feeling that bloom of contentment resurface once you hear the dropping of his knife and feel the softness of his touch start to roam. 

It lasts only for a couple of seconds before you’re led towards the ground, back shoved forcibly against the dirt. It knocks the wind right out of you, prompting a choked-out gasp to sound just before he drags his teeth along the outside of your artery, but you hardly care. Every sensation after that comes and goes in quick succession, sending you into that familiar space of servitude that has you clutching the roots of his hair, trying to coast. 

At first, the pain of his teeth descending into your veins takes over. Two pinpricks that remind you of the knives he often uses to keep you in line. Every inch of their movement makes you choke on your own spit, the sudden force of it pushing through each layer making you cry. Then you feel his tongue again. The way it ebbs and flows across the freshly made wound, sucking down every drop that’s presented. 

At that point, the pain begins to subside a little. Replacing it, a newfound euphoria floats around your head with an almost cold emptiness, resulting in a slackness that has you barely holding onto Astarion’s hair as you softly moan.

Which makes him laugh against your throat. The reverb of his verbal torment only making things worse when you feel that final lick, watching as he comes back up for air. Your eyes are barely open then as you sleepily reach up and brush away a bit of blood from his cheek, feeling it collect at the tips before he’s fully popping your finger into his mouth. Then all you can focus on is the movement of his tongue again, how it swirls along your skin, teasing your mind with thoughts of it moving elsewhere. 

After that, it’s all you can think about. Even after he’s relinquished your hand to rest against his cheek. Your thoughts fill with visions of him pressed between your thighs, sinking his tongue into your cunt. Drinking you up like the starving man you know him to be. Allowing his greed to take over in the form of a pleasure you know you don’t deserve. 

That doesn’t stop you from trying to earn it though.

“Astarion.” Your hand drags him gently down again, focusing on the blood that still coats his lips. Smelling the iron tang of your life’s liquid tainted across his skin. “Can you—“

He already knows what you’re asking before you can finish. In the time you’ve been together, he’s tended to your every need just as you’ve done to him, so he’s already well aware of your desires. Of the desperation that coats your features when he begins to slip down carefully, already making work of his hands.

Before you know it you’re naked from the hips down, the cool air wafting along your skin before he settles in, laying on the forest floor with your thighs atop his shoulders. Then the warmth of his breath coasts along your cunt, causing you to twitch.

“So pretty,” he coos, a small laugh following suit once he feels the tightness of your thighs, wrapping around the sides of his head. Gently, he then readjusts his hand to the press against your entrance, ever so gently swiping up and down with two of his fingers. “And wet.” 

You snort, quietly, feeling a bit embarrassed despite how many times you’ve done this. “Only for you, love.”

“Of course. No other man could render you so useless.” His fingers curl so that it’s his knuckles that are grazing you, pushing you slightly apart as he moves them up and down. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already—“

His fingers twist, his thumb pressing against your clit, sending your back upwards. 

Your reaction makes him chuckle and return to his previous ministrations, this time even slower than before, forcing you to groan, knowing it’s your own fault. If you had just listened you wouldn’t have to deal with the teasing. The endless game you know is just beginning, feeling the way he languidly moves, grinning all the while.

“Is something the matter, darling?”

His breath is ghosting the spot you want him to fuck. His fingers are moving but not at all at the pace you need them to be, and frankly, you’re desperate. A mess of regret and lust all mixed together, rising throughout your chest. 

“Astarion, please.” 

You’re not above begging. You’ve done it loads of times before but considering your current lack patience, it’s hard not to think about the barely there veil of composure he knows he’s able to exploit in the most delicious of ways.

“I’m sorry, I can’t quite hear you, love. It’s a bit noisy down here with all the… wetness.” 

You resist the urge to groan at his terrible joke, feeling a finger dip between your folds for just a moment before it’s gone again. “Please.”

“Please? Oh, my darling, whatever could you be pleasing me about?” He raises his head to grin, causing you to notice that your blood is still very much coated on his lips, drying as the seconds pass. 

“I swear to g—“

Before you can defy further, he tuts menacingly, staring you down, forcing your mouth to close. “Don’t make me grab the knife.” 

Immediately, you swallow your words and just nod your head, allowing yourself a moment to recuperate just as he chuckles and, without warning, presses his mouth to your clit, sending you closer to the edge.

It only lasts a second but it’s enough to have you fully committing, your voice loud and proud, verbally repeating your wants and needs without breath. Telling him how much you want him to touch you. To draw his tongue up and down your folds as he buries his face deep inside. 

By the end of your spiel, you’re almost breathless and staring, your chest heaving up and down at the prospect of him finally giving in. Quickly, your eyes wander, exploring his features as his tongue pokes out to lick his bottom lip, forcing you to bite your own, wondering if he’ll do it. If he’ll finally grant you the release you so desperately need.

Looking between you and the one place you want him to focus his attention on, you see him smirk and sink three fingers in, pushing with little regard for the force that works against him. 

“Do you truly think you’ve earned such a gift?” he asks, allowing his lips to split to reveal his bloodied teeth before they plunge themselves into the plush of your inner thigh, forcing you to cry as he denies you of your pleasure time and time again.

-

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[uglysquid-28]

Zuko saying fuck you to Ozai and just becomes a pirate out of spite are my favourite fics especially if his crew is the 41st division that he saved. Here are some of my headcanons for this:

- zuko actively starts working to stop his fathers tyranny, but he takes a long time to come to terms with it.

- I dont mind if it’s a crew he picked himself, love the oc’s

- he meets hakkoda and they become allies after a little disagreement because they are pirates.

- everyone knows he’s fire nation but be a of the reputation he built of going actively against the fire nation they don’t care

- he has a heavy bounty because the fire nation considers him a deserter

- he does not want anything to do with the avatar but still helps where he can

- the gang knows of him as the blue spirit or their little helper

- add slow burn Zukka

- spy Azula, like when they meet outside they are at eachothers throats but secretly helping each other

- Zuko doesn’t become a pirate right away. What happened first was that Zhao captured him and told every one that Zuko got killed ( it could be that he said it was a freak accident or something, or that Zuko was a traitor and his father ordered the kill) but Zuko escaped and then he became a pirate. Thing is that Zhao is the only one that knows Zuko is the infamous pirate, but he can’t tell anyone cause that means he lied/ wasn’t able to fulfill his mission.

You can use these ideas if you like

[immajustvibehere]

Amidst a Crashing World (3/5)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Summary: Arthur returns to your cabin after you presumed him dead. The time between your last meetings have lead Arthur to a realisation.

tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no-tb-Arthur, literally your love redemption, maybe smut (but probably not), slow burn (but I mean how slow can a story really burn in five chapters?)

masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

6000 words

Sooner than expected, you heard of Arthur. Unfortunately, not because he sent you a note or stopped by again. As you rode into Annesburg three days after wishing him luck for the big score he had planned, the paper boys yelled through the town: "Saint Denis robbers still on the run! What happened to the gang of Dutch van der Linde? Find out in today's edition!"

Normally, you weren't too big on reading the newspaper, but this time…you hadn't never snatched it so quickly out of the boy's hand, leaving him to boast with the change you gave him. Hosea, dead. Lenny, dead. No account of any other names. You weren't sure who "a further gang member was arrested and awaits trial" meant. It only took a couple of days until everybody seemed to talk about it. Your main source of income being doing women's hair, you got a fair bit of gossip about the news.

Everything you heard from the ladies, took with a grain of salt. Either way, nobody ever mentioned Arthur by name. Your anxiety reached its peak when a rather well-off woman, not typically your demographic, had visited family in Saint Denis and brought an unsettling theory with her. Apparently, the most important members of the gang, including the leader, could have fled on a boat and drowned in the storm that was raging over the ocean the same night.

The "they have fled the country"-rumours were the most popular. Drowned in the ocean or not, the version varied based on who told you their theory. With every day you didn't hear the contrary and had no word from Arthur, you believed that you'd never see him again.

That was until one morning. You were working in your garden, busy with fixing the fence that had long stood neglected, when you saw a rider approach. Whether it was the hat or the horse you recognized first, you weren’t sure. But unmistakenly, the man on the horse that lazily trotted towards your cabin was Arthur.

You put your tools down and approached him, forcing yourself to walk calmly. The closer you got, the more unfamiliar he appeared. His beard had grown out, looking unkempt and way too long for what you were used to see him wear. Long strands of hair spilled out from under his hat. Arthur’s skin was darker than usual, even the unforgiving desert in the west hadn't left his skin as sunburned as it now appeared. Most of the red had settled into a golden-brown tan, particularly strong around the area where he cuffed his sleeves. For not seeing him for almost a month, this was quite a change.

A faint smile appeared on his lips when you reached him and walked next to his horse, leading it to your cabin.

"I thought I'd never see you again", you blurted out straight up.

Maybe a “Hello” or “Thanks for stopping by” would have been more appropriate, but the thought that had driven you insane the last three to four weeks just slipped out.

"I know. I'm sorry", Arthur jumped off his horse when you had reached your newly fixed gate. He looked at you, trying to take it all in. He had missed you; he had thought of you so much the last days and weeks, having you in front of him was a little overwhelming. But you looked like he remembered you. You weren’t wearing your fine clothes that you had worn when you caught him in your pond, but the worn jeans and shirt that had seen many fences painted and potted many plants looked good on you. It looked homely.

Arthur cleared his throat before he asked, "D'ya still cut hair?"

It was awkward...the ways he pronounced his question, the uncomfortable manner in which he scratched his way too long beard, seemingly unhappy with its new length.

Before you could answer, he added sarcastically: "Tried finding a barber on the Caribbean island but didn't came across someone I wanted to trust with scissors."

"Caribbean island?", you repeated questioningly, leading him into the cabin.

The tension between you felt peculiar. If tension were a tangible thing, you could have thrown a lasso and seemingly strangled it out of the air. But it wasn’t, so you and Arthur only struggled with finding your rhythm again.

"I came as soon as I could after returning...", Arthur explained apologizing, as if he had to rectify not visiting you sooner.

"Arthur. I thought you were dead", in front of your table, you stopped and looked directly at the man.

"'m afraid I have to disappoint", he chuckled, "Instead I'm here, asking ya for a cheap haircut because we lost...ten thousands in the sea."

"Ugh", you groaned, readying a chair for Arthur to sit on right at the table, "You sound so desperate, I might just give ya that haircut for free."

Arthur placed his jacket on a hinge next to the door and his hat on a free spot on the table. Again, it felt like he knew exactly where to place them, just as if he was coming home after a workday.

"Where d'ya want me, miss?", Arthur asked politely as if he had just entered a barber shop and there wasn't only one chair that looked prepared enough to serve as seat for his cut. You pointed at the chair a little absentmindedly, gathering your equipment and laying it out in the table in front of you.

"How short were you thinking?", you asked, walking around the seated man, ruffling his hair a little.

"Whatever you prefer", Arthur answered.

"What's that supposed to mean?", you asked, letting your finger scrape through his hair. His hair was wet at the roots, so you added surprisedly, "Did you just take a bath?"

"Might 've...", Arthur shrugged as if it was no big deal.

"You didn’t have to”, you reassured him, secretly amused by how endearing you found it.

"You wouldn't say that if you’d seen me before the bath. After three days in the Caribbean, killing half of the Pinkerton's agency and moving camp, you would have shot me on sight", Arthur joked, a bitter smile playing on his lips. Your answer was a soft chuckle.

After combing his hair, you repeated you question: "You're sure you don't want me to tell you how you want your hair done?"

"I trust ya", Arthur said.

"Mh, big mistake", you grinned. You caught Arthur's eye for a moment, and you could have sworn it was admiration in his expression. And trust, which honestly, was seldom for this man.

"I'll just cut it a little shorter than you had it when you first came to collect me", you said, waiting for his confirmation.

"...collect you and failed miserably at that", Arthur added.

"I thank the lord every day for that", you said jokingly. It was no laughing matter, though. You knew that as well as Arthur. The list of people the gang had lost in the last two months was long and you not rejoining was probably the only thing that had kept your name off that list.

You started doing Arthur's hair and one minute in, you decided to carefully pose the question of "What the hell happened the last couple weeks?". Arthur couldn't stop talking. He explained the plan of the bank robbery, explained when it went south. When Hosea was mentioned, he digressed a little. You too ended up sharing some anecdotes of the old man. You had loved him and felt a pang of guilt that you hadn't sent word to him that you were indeed fine. Hosea had been so kind to you when you expressed your wish to be on your own for a while, he had wished you the best and you had never even thought about sending a letter.

Then Arthur mentioned escape from Saint Denis. Your mouth went dry when Arthur recounted the storm, how he went overboard, nearly drowning and not knowing how lucky he was that he washed ashore on a beach. It was uncanny how some of the rumours you had heard mirrored the actual story.

Then came Guarma and everything that happened there. The return, the Pinkertons apparently following someone to Lagras and finally the move to Beaver's Hollow. They had been up there for a couple a couple of days now, and so much had already happened.

You listened, occasionally asked a question, but most of the time you were concentrating on not messing up the haircut. You had never heard Arthur talk that much before. Sober, that is. He can be quite a chatty drunk, but it seemed like he just wanted to get everything off his chest.

"How does that look?", you asked when you were done with his hair, holding a little mirror for Arthur to see.

His only response was a nob and a slight smile.

"Okay then", you spoke gently, "your beard's next."

The whole retelling of the last couple of weeks was what Arthur needed, but it killed his mood the same time. At least, that's what you though he was silent for. You cleared a spot on the table for you to sit on. It was way more comfortable sitting in front of Arthur while trimming his beard, but if you sat on a chair, you wouldn't have the height you needed.

You took a seat on the table in front of Arthur and noticed how his eyes immediately fixed on the ground.

"D'ya mind spreading your legs a little?", you asked. Despite the request confusing him a little, Arthur did as he was told and you put your on foot on his chair, so you wouldn't topple forward. Arthur tried his best to stifle the cough that worked its way up as he choked on his own saliva at this move.

"We're not going for a clean shave, are we?", you asked casually, trying to catch Arthur's eyes. He shrugged: "Whatever's easier for you."

You shook your head and began to trim his beard back to what you remembered he had the last time he visited you. Soon after you started, you noticed Arthur's cheeks getting warm and red. You were well aware that your cleavage was on his eye-level, probably the reason why he decided he was better off inspecting the floor. Meanwhile, you enjoyed gently tilting his head the way you needed it, finding no resistance from the man himself.

You talked only little, answering insignificant questions Arthur posed when the blade wasn't near his face, and he could actually move his mouth. You were almost done, only lining up his beard to give it an overall cleaner look, when Arthur said something out of the blue.

"Y'know, I been thinkin' about you. A lot," Arthur croaked, his throat dry all of a sudden.

"Mhm", you answered, not sure which direction that was supposed to go. You stopped shaving off the stubble on his neck when his Adam’s apple bobbed.

"Uh, I mean...", Arthur clears his throat, forcing you to stop the shave and look at him. Finally, his eyes found yours, "We're...uhm...friends, I hope." He forced a little chuckle that didn't sound genuine, especially under your curious gaze. You gave a quiet hum as sign of agreement.

"'s just that I...look, I understand if ya've found someone else. Hell, I took my sweet time and it wasn't fair how I treated you when you...", Arthur cleared his throat again, the words coming difficult to him, "when ya told me about yer feelings."

This was the point when your heartrate picked up and you felt your hands become sweatier. You had to put the blade down for a moment to wipe your hand on your shirt. Your mind was still caught on the line 'I understand if ya've found someone else'...like that had even been an option for you. For months you had tried to get over this man, then he came back waltzing into your life and you put your own ugly bounty poster on the wall as a reminder. And the you fixed the bedframe that he had fixed rather unsatisfyingly. You hadn't told him it broke the very same night he had “repaired” it. Nothing had changes the last year, you were pining as much for this man as ever...and yet, you didn't quite know how to react.

"I really like ya", he finally said, " I know well I don’t deserve it, but if ya wanted to give me another chance…"

"Morgan", you exhaled, "I got my boot between your balls and a blade at your throat...if you want to pull my leg I suggest you-"

"I mean it", and Arthur's gaze was so intense, this time it was you who struggled to watch him in the eye. You knew he wasn't lying. Hell, you hadn't really expected that he was just pulling your leg, you just said it to say something…to lighten up the mood that appeared so heavy again.

"Okay", you mumbled, barely able to disguise the tremor in your voice. Then you took the blade again, carefully turning Arthur's head upwards so you could better reach the hair you still needed to shave. There was this long and uncomfortable silence that neither of you wanted to break. You heard the birds outside, the blade scratching the skin and a heartbeat...if it was yours or Arthur's, you weren't quite sure.

Arthur thought that Guarma had been hell, but he found that your silence and okay was even more tortuous.

Finally, you were done. With a hairdressing brush you got rid of all the loose hair that decorated Arthur’s face. He gave you a slightly annoyed look as you tickled him behind his ears. Then you took the little towel that had prevented hair from falling into his shirt out in the garden to shake it out.  

The moment you stepped into the cabin again, Arthur's eyes caught yours and they were demanding an answer.

"I've never stopped loving you", the words burned as they left your mouth. The towel was thrown over an empty chair. Saying the words out loud…it changed something. Because as long as you had only thought them, there was this slim chance that they weren’t true. But there was no backing-out now, no denying.  

You continued: "But I can't...I won't rejoin the gang. I want to live here."

You said that because you knew that Arthur wouldn’t leave the gang for you, but you wouldn’t rejoin in either.

"Y/n...this thing is pretty much over", Arthur sighed. He was referring to the gang. He had alluded to it when he had recounted the happenings of the past weeks, especially breaking John out of jail and earning Dutch's disapproval. This was the first time he directly admitted it, "I want the Marstons safe...and the women...then it's done."

"Oh, so 'one more big score and then you can leave everything behind", you mimicked Dutch's voice. A tinge of animosity accompanied your words and this certainly wasn’t lost on Arthur. You couldn’t help but feel a bit unfairly placed in this situation.

"C'mere for a second", Arthur beckoned you, his eyes following every one of your movements until you stood in front of him, your hips brushing against the table. Arthur remained seated in his chair. Glancing at the man quickly, you congratulated yourself on having done a good job; his haircut looked sharp.

Then, suddenly, Arthur took your hand. It was such an unusual gesture, it alarmed you immediately. His hands were warm and rough, but not in an unpleasant way. Arthur held your hand lightly, as if he was afraid of hurting you.

"I promise this is the last time. In a week, we're going to hit a train with army pay. Wednesday evening. After that, I'm done", Arthur spoke earnestly.

"I can't-" believe you, you wanted to say, because you knew it had been the same story with Mary. You knew that once an outlaw means always and outlaw. Not even Arthur's word was enough to ensure that those bonds wouldn't bind him to his old life and to the gang.

"Don’t say nothing yet", Arthur interrupted calmly. He stood up and let your hand slide off his, as he walked to his satchel. He pulled out his journal and carefully put it next to you. With no hesitation, he opened and skimmed through it. You couldn't see most of the pages because he flipped through them so quickly.

"It ain't even half-way done", Arthur assessed, showing you the empty pages, "I'll leave that here 'n collect it in a week."

"What?", you questioned, frowning, "What if I decide to read it as a bedtime story?"

"'s nothing in there that yer not allowed to know", Arthur mumbled, "Contrary. Sometimes I think I'm much better expressing my feelings on paper. I've never been a good talker."

Silently, Arthur opened a page in his journal that had a little dog-ear. The left side was empty and only had smudges of pencil on it, on the right side there was this impressively detailed bounty poster. It had the layout of the bounty posters they have hanging all over town, obviously it wasn't printed, but hand drawn. You recognized your name, your 15-dollars-worth and then yourself, staring back at you. You hadn't imagined Arthur to be one to draw people, let alone portrait style. In the brush of his pencil you recognized that he might be more professed in sketching trees and animals, but it was a perfectly decent drawing of you. Hell, it was even flattering, compared to the atrocity they had on your real poster.

Arthur put the journal away, leaving it on top of a pile of books on your nightstand.

"I jus' need t'know if this is a place I'm allowed to return to", Arthur finally asked.

"Always", you replied without hesitation, your gaze still fixed on his journal. Is he trying in tempting you to read it? Because if that's the case, it was definitely working.

"So I won't be greeted with a gun in my face?", Arthur chuckled.

You sighed, taking a brush that stood abandoned in the corner of the room and started to swipe Arthur's hair out of the house. "If you're going to bring that up one more time, I swear I'll give you a reason to fear me", you quipped.

"Oh, I already fear you a great deal", Arthur said sarcastically.

You shot him an intense gaze.

"You staying for dinner?", you asked in between the sound of bristles scratching on wood.

Arthur shrugged, mumbling: "They won't miss me for another day..."

"Good. Then go hunt something", you asserted, gently shoving him outside by brushing against his boots until he took the hint.

"Yes ma'am...", Arthur mumbled, a hint of amusement in his voice. When you had successfully shoved him outside, you closed the door behind him, not without a bit of force. It left him slightly perplexed and wondering.

You had tried your best to hold your feelings together, but it had become a little much. Since Arthur's confession, your hands hadn't stopped shaking and you hastily put the brush aside, sitting down with your back against the door. There were so many feelings inside you that all needed to be addressed, but you struggled to even detangle them.

First and foremost: You had spent months pining for Arthur, only to be rejected in a cruel way and then again wasting months in trying to get over him. Just when you thought you were getting somewhere, he comes back into your life with a request that suggests anything but care for you. So, he leaves, and appears again. Then leaves again, presumed dead or out of country and now he's here again, asking for another chance as if you even had the power to reject him. You didn't know if Arthur would be able to make you happy. In a way, you feared it might be the opposite because there was still one score...one more score. He might die, or he might stay for another score, and another, and so on.

You stifled a sob. Scenarios played out in your mind, and they all converged into two possible outcomes, ending with Arthur dead or disappeared, disappointing you yet and yet again because one can't just stop being an outlaw. The 5000 on his head won't just disappear, presumed or actually dead - it didn't matter much.

"Son of a bitch", you hissed, mad at the situation.

You just wanted to be happy and find some closure for this surge of emotions that had held you hostage for months, if not years.  

"Y/n?", Arthur's voice was so soft when he called out your name, you almost jumped in shock because you thought he had long gone hunting. But his voice came from right in front of the door.

"You okay?", he asked quietly.

"Yeah", you croaked, and it sounded anything but convincing.

"Ya sure?", he wanted you to confirm.

"I just need some time to think...", you whispered, trying hard not to sob.

"I'll stay close", you heard him state, then there were his steps leading away from the house.

For a while, you just sat on the floor. How to proceed?

By the time Arthur returned, the door to your cabin was wide open again, the sun shining inside. You had made your decision.

"I got us a rabbit", Arthur announced, "already skinned it. Figured it ain’t your kinda work."

You responded with an appreciative nod.

"It’s a real beauty”, Arthur grinned, a wisp of humour in his eyes, “or was, anyhow.  I shot it with a small arrow so I reckon the meat-“ before Arthur could put the rabbit down on the table, you had sneaked in for a hug.

"Oh", Arthur stuttered, carefully placing the rabbit down. He lifted his bloody and dirty hands in the air to make sure not to get any dirt on you. Even though you wore clothes that had seen better days and apparently had been demoted to housework, he still didn’t want to get you dirty. Despite his desire to reciprocate the hug.

"Y/n…", he chuckled apologetically, "I need to get washed up."

At that moment, you suddenly looked up to him, your faces mere inches apart. He noticed your gaze drifting between his eyes and lips, then you leaned in, placing a gentle peck on his cheek.

The blush was immediate. Your hands instinctively found their way to his face and tenderly cupped his cheeks. They were just as warm as they had been when you cut his beard.

"I'm really glad you're here", you said, a smile playing on your lips.

"Yeah, I'm-" Arthur began, but you interrupted him with a proper kiss. It was a brief one, testing the waters if Arthur would be fine with that. As you pulled back slightly to assess his reaction, he didn’t hesitate a second, closing the distance between you once more. "I really …don't wanna get ya…dirty", Arthur mumbled between kisses. He could feel the corner of your lips curving into a smile each time you interrupted him. The man struggled to keep his dirty hands in the air.

The kisses quickly became more passionate, and when your hands left his cheeks, one to rest in the hollow between his shoulder and neck, while the other one boldly explored his chest region. It occasionally shifted to grab his arm and squeezing lightly.

Arthur mumbled your name warningly, twice. Then he couldn't help but put his hand in the small of your back, pushing you closer. His bloody hands would surely leave a mark on your clothes, but neither of you cared about that, as his hands became just as active as yours, sometimes cupping your cheek, at other times allowing himself to explore your body a little.

Arthur had just enough control to not place you on the rabbit, when he lifted you up on the table. When both of you became short of breath, Arthur rested his forehead against yours. Your legs had snaked around his, caging him in.

"Haven't done that in a long time", Arthur's voice was raspy as he tried to apologize for the somewhat sloppy make-out session.

"Me neither", you giggled and placed a final kiss on his cheek, "brushed your hair for nothing", you noted, looking up to Arthur's tousled hair. Your fault.

Arthur backed away a little, as much as your legs allowed him: "Christ." He had left signific signs of blood and dirt all over you.

"Mhh…", you hummed amusedly, "Ain't my fault you can't keep your hands to yourself."

"T'way I see it, darling…", Arthur smiled and tried to brush some dirt off your cheek with his thumb, "it's precisely your fault."

Arthur had headed to a keg outside to get cleaned. You decided to get cleaned up only after butchering the rabbit, as this would get your hands dirty again anyways. As the meat sizzled in the in the pan, you decided it was time to wash up as well. While you put the finishing touches on the dish, Arthur sat at the table, leisurely smoking a cigarette and observing you. He had asked if he could help you with anything, but you had declined, insisting that he had already done his part by hunting the rabbit. It was your turn prepare it.

When you plated the meal, it was really nothing too complicated, and yet, Arthur thought, for a free meal, it was perfect. You initiated a conversation; it was more light-hearted than the one you had when you cut his hair. The weightier themes seemed to have lifted from Arthur’s heart, and both of you sought distractions.

You told Arthur more about how you passed your days, gardening, drawing, riding into town. Really most of the money you earned the honest way, cutting hair and doing the odd delivery job for the grocery store.

It was frightening how easy it was to talk to Arthur. Two or three years ago, you would have never imagined, talking so freely to him. Though he'd always been kind, there was an air of unapproachability that had since crumbled completely after the heartfelt conversation you both shared.

The conversation where Arthur poured out his frustrations and regrets concerning Hosea's and Lenny's death, had brought a sense of liberation. It dawned on him how long it had been since he spoke so openly with anyone. Arthur leaned back into his chair. In front of him was his empty plate, opposite of the table, you sat within arm’s reach, chatting about an interesting traveller that came past your cabin a few months back. Arthur listened attentively, his eyes following the movements of your fingers skilfully rolling a cigarette.

Neither of you ran out of stories to tell the other. Arthur talked about people he had met on his travels, a clumsy photographer, a man obsessed with fast horses and racing.

You only realised how long you had been talking when the light in the cabin became sparse, the sun sinking closer to the horizon.

As the visibility waned, limited to the faint glow emitted by the burning tip of the cigarette, you finally rose to your feet to illuminate the cabin with the warm light of lanterns.

"I'll get my bedroll", Arthur announced, standing up with a grunt. He hadn't allowed himself to be this idle in a long time. All he had done today was sitting still for a haircut, killing one rabbit and then indulging in a lavish meal while engaging in easy conversation. His body had finally caught up with the stress of the last few weeks and he didn't know how to feel about how much his body ached. Despite the sun barely disappearing, Arthur would have been ready for bed. Funny, he thought, admitting one’s feeling for a girl could drain his strength that much.

At his announcement, Arthur noticed that you halted and were about to open your mouth as if to suggest something. But you didn't and let him venture outside.

When he took longer than anticipated, you followed him outside, only to find him leaning against the fence, his eyes in the sky. The sky was in this beautiful transition phase, going from hues of purple to a serene shade of blue with the first stars emerging in the east. You observed Arthur’s profile for a while, he didn't protest or showed any signs of being disturbed by your presence.

He was handsome. Something about his stature made you want to lean into him. But you didn't. Instead, you stood there, finding it hard to peel your eyes off him. Your lips quivered under the urge to say what you had thought earlier. After a big breath, you tried to say as casually as you managed: "I know my bed is too small for two people...but I was thinking if I put the mattress on the floor we could-"

"Y/N", Arthur interrupted you gently. He turned to look at you. Caringly, his hand found your shoulder, "It ain't right just yet."

Lying next to each other, cuddling, hugging, maybe stealing another kiss, you craved it badly. You finally had what you had desired for so long, you wanted it all at once. But Arthur knew that it would be unwise. He thought a lot about you, hell he did. And in his mind, he'd be too embarrassed to admit it of course, you had done way more than just kissed. But he knew it'd be wrong. He didn't want to fully commit just yet, and he didn't want to get your hopes up. It was genuine, when he said that the train robbery was the last score he wanted to do with the gang, but one train robbery is enough to get killed and he wouldn't dream about giving you this kind of pain. If he held it vague, if there was no sleeping close to each other, there was also no missing this proximity...if. Always if.

"Fine", you sucked in a little air, "but you take the bed then."

The two of you headed inside, Arthur with his bedroll clamped under his arm.

He shook his head: "It's your house, I can't jus'-"

"Exactly. It's my house, I can sleep in the bed every damn day. Besides, I don't figure you had a proper bed on Guarma, did you?", you teased.

"No, but-"

"Neither do you have one in camp so please- accept it", you looked up at Arthur rather desperately.

"Fine. You don't come complainin' to me if yer back hurts tomorrow", Arthur quipped.

"Oh, I'll definitely complain", you grinned. Arthur gave you his bedroll to spread in the corner where he had slept the last time. Arthur had sat down on the bed and watched you quietly as you readied your sleeping corner. When you glanced back at him, it was evident how weary he was, his eyes barely open, sitting up only out of politeness.

"You don't have to stay awake for me", you smiled, leaning against the table and studying the exhausted man. You noticed how tired he had become during your conversation. He had at least supressed three yawns.

"I jus'...haven't seen ya for so long, I don't want to waste that time with sleeping", Arthur explained. You found it cute he thought that way.

"You're not wasting anything", 'because we'll see each other again in a week, right?' you added in your mind. "I have this book I want to finish anyways, you just rest", you assured him.

You waited until he had settled in, exchanging a couple laughs about how unstable your bedframe was, and then you did the dishes. It didn't take you long, but Arthur was asleep when you had finished. He was turned towards the wall. On the nightstand was his journal. He had put it on top of the book you were currently reading. You took the book and settled on the bedroll.

You woke up to the sound of the bed creaking and blinked at Arthur, the first rays of the sun casting a warm glow on his frame. At some point during the night, he must have woken up and shed his clothes, as he now rested in the room clad only in his unionsuit.

"'m sorry, darlin'. I didn't want to wake ya", he apologized his raspy morning voice.

"It's okay", you yawned, forcing yourself to throw off your blanket to stand up, "I'll make some coffee."

In a couple big steps, Arthur was at your side: "You sleep some more, it's my turn for breakfast." Arthur squatted next to you and tugged you in before you could protest. You forced your tired eyes to stay on his face and not venture further down, pondering what the thin material might reveal.

When Arthur shot you a content smile, seeing you were up for no protest, a wave of panic washed over you.

"You won't just leave, right?", all of a sudden, you were wide awake.

"I won't", Arthur assured you.

"'cause if you do-", you started, a yawn interrupting your threat. Arthur chuckled at how cute and innocent you looked, happy that your yawn cut off before you could destroy that innocence with another gory threat.

"I'm way too scared of what you'd do", and then, to your surprise, he kissed your forehead. You only relaxed when Arthur had stood up again and indeed started to set up coffee. You were soon off to sleep again, only woken when the sizzling of fat in the pan woke you.

Arthur had made eggs. You ate in silence. A couple of times, Arthur tried to start a conversation, but you weren’t in the mood. He’d be gone in a couple of hours and you’d be left wondering if he’d ever return. Arthur knew that this was what was plaguing you, but he didn’t find the right angle to approach you.

You both did the dishes together, you helped Arthur by saddling his horse and then he had mounted it, looking down at you.

“Ya ain’t so happy about the prospect of me returning in a week, ‘s that it?”, Arthur joked.

“No”, you answered dryly, “I ain’t so happy about you leaving for a week.”

Arthur sighed and steered his horse closer to the fence: “Climb up here, I gotta tell ya something.”

Rather unwillingly, you climbed on one of the horizontal planks that kept your fence together. Arthur offered his hand for support and as an excuse to pull you a little closer. He kissed you, gently, on your lips.

“I promised I’ll be back, didn’t I?”, Arthur mumbled. He wasn’t convinced, and neither were you when you whispered a dire “Yeah..”

You didn’t like the good-bye kiss. In fact, you wished he hadn’t done that. It hurt even more, seeing him disappear between the trees in the distance. For a while, you stood there helplessly, wondering what to do next. Minutes passed before you ventured into your cabin, distracting yourself with some cleaning before your eyes fell on Arthur’s journal. You noticed a piece of paper sticking out. Without thinking, you opened the journal and the loose paper floated to the ground. You didn’t even bother picking it up, your eyes caught the first word written on top of the page. It was your name, written in Arthur’s familiar handwriting.

“Hell no”, you kicked the paper under the bed before you could read any further. You weren’t up for some heartfelt “Good-bye, in case I die I want you to know this”-letter. Frustration and anger bubbled within you as you scrambled into your good jeans and crammed your revolver into its back pocket. With a swift motion, you picked up your hunting rifle, mounted your horse and started to follow Arthur’s track.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x--x-x-x-x-x-x-x

next chapter: here

Shoutout to @little-honeypie who basically wrote the confession scene. I wouldn't have ever finished this if it weren't for them <3

taglist: @photo1030

taglist for this series: @pinkiemme @loveheartarthur @twola @shiokitsune @missredemption @kakashiislut @thewalkingdead1463 @yyiikes @renwai @walk-in-sunshine @rdrlady @ivybeeloved @trinswhimsys @reddedmiller @chiefqueefsosa @sauvignon-velvet @mrsarthurmorgan @readingcoco @pookiesnatcher @gloomdoomraccoon

[madlori]

Ship dysphoria

Ok so a bit of time has gone by, and the 9-1-1 fandom is settling into a bit of an...existential crisis?

Because 90% of this fandom is built on Buddie. Buddie has always been the strongest driving force. We love our other blorbos, but it's Buddie that usually drives us feral.

Except...Buck/Tommy. OMG. It is WORKING for a lot of fans. (and JFC we cannot settle on a ship name. Tevan? Kinley? I'm gonna stick with Buck/Tommy)

A LOT of fans are having a "I'm a devoted Buddie shipper, why do I like this so much??" moment and it can almost feel like a betrayal, or that you're deserting the ship (the ship that, remember, Oliver told us to stay aboard).

And I think I can probably speak for everybody when I say that the last thing we want or need is a ship war in this fandom, something we haven't ever really had but which has torn other fandoms apart.

So I'm gonna put on my veteran-of-many-fandoms hat for a second and tell you a thing:

It's okay to ship Buck and Tommy. It's ok to do that and still ship Buddie. It's also okay to leave Buddie behind if it's not working for you anymore. It's okay to just tolerate Buck and Tommy and not really care about it, and stay focused on Buddie. You are allowed to ship however it works for you, and you are not limited to one and only one ship. If you decide you don't think Buddie will happen and you're going to cut your losses, that's okay, too. It is not a reflection on your character or something. You don't swear an oath of fealty to a ship.

We don't know how long Tommy will stick around, but Buck will still be bisexual. He may date another man. He may date a woman again. You can ship those things too.

But why is this ship hitting me so hard? I never thought I'd like Buck with another man! I'm so confused!

I get that. There are some reasons why that might be.

There is something very appealing about a ship that's canon. Some of you might never have had a canon queer ship, but the pull is strong. There's no guessing, no interpreting, no subtext-examining. It's there, it's real, you don't have to wonder if you're just overinterpreting things. Yes. Buck and Tommy kissed and are going on a date. Even if that's all it ever is, you'll never be accused of "seeing things that aren't there." Don't discount that.

Tommy, even in just 1.5 episodes, is a LOT more integrated into the firefam than any of Buck's previous girlfriends. Tim talked about not wanting him to be "siloed off" away from the main cast and that was exactly the problem with his prior girlfriends. Tommy is friends with Eddie. He knows Christopher and has hung out with him. He spent most of that loft conversation reassuring Buck that his place in Eddie's life was secure. He feels more like part of the gang than any other ones. That makes it easier to see him in Buck's life.

The mere fact of Buck's queer awakening is so monumental for so many of us that the character who helped him get there is going to naturally earn our affection immediately, and it's going to make you want that relationship to succeed, even if it's ulitmately not endgame for Buck. You want to see Buck have a good experience the first time out with a man. Of course you do.

And we just want to see Buck make out with a hot beefy firefighter. That is so valid of us.

Anyway. There is no need for a crisis. You can love Buddie with your whole heart and still be excited about this pairing, and want to see how it goes, and read fic about it. I may be writing a lil something myself.

You're good, fam.

[hammercarexplosion]

Me in the desert wasteland that was once my home in 2042: "I really don't like how the death-brigers gang has consolidated all control of water collection."

Some liberal: "Oh, so you love Trump?"

[littlebigmouse]

List of Small Things™ I enjoy about Fullmetal Alchemist in no particular order

Everyone in FMAB/manga is just Some Guy™ and very human and I love that so here goes:

Falman getting stuck with a serial-killing suit of armor in his appartment for days and his reaction to it. It may have been weeks. He's been on sick leave the entire time. He's a guy in his early thirties with a flock of early-greying hair because being in a dead-end-role in the military is stressfull, ok. He gets stuck at home with a funny little serial killer (and eventually some foreign body guards, and a foreign prince?? lighting signal fires in his backyard?? like man what a week)

The whole military ambush against the Devil's Nest was yes, kind of kickstarted by the gang kidnapping Al for Greed, but it was mostly kickstarted because Ed was down south to do his yearly official report and Bradley and Armstrong just happened to be present when he was informed Al had gone missing. Greed's entire operation was done in by a teen doing his paperwork

on that note, Greed really decided to spend his immortality wisely by pursuing absolutely none of his supposed ambitions and just decided to settle down with a bunch of buddies. An offshot of the buddies he was initially made to guard, too. I don't think Greed is aware of this either

everyone on that radio building. The radio host 100% down to get some coup-shenanigans into his station to drive engagement. The guys sympathising with Mrs Bradley and taking care of her. Breda taking control of the narrative with a perpetual frown by the skin of his teeth.

I know the story of how the Bradleys met is technically not canon(?) but Mrs Bradley slapping her future husband upon their first meeting because he got his flirting tips from his siblings will never not be funny. Idiots. All of them.

EVERYTHING about Darius and Heinkel. They lost their jobs and became wanted criminals upon helping out some scrawny 15 year old. They have families they miss dearly. They haven't looked back since. "You guys don't HAVE to help me save the world" - "It's not like we have anything better to do"

i was going to say the Ice Cream Truck, because it's iconic, but actually, when told to disguise a vehicle, 15-year-old pinacle of edgelord fashion Edward Elric turned it into a colourful nightmare of spikes that barely resembled a car but might be closely related to the worlds deadliest parade float. None of this was necessary. Ed is just like that.

Hawkeye growing her hair out after meeting Winry, and Winry getting piercings after seeing Hawkeye's

Denny Brosh bursting into tears when he sees Maria Ross is still alive. Dude managed to not quit his job despite working in the same city (department?) where his best friend's killer was his supervisor. They were also very real for showing us that this is a guy who oversleeps and is older brother to at least three younger siblings. There was no need to give us more on Denny Brosh but every little detail hit so hard when they reunited.

okay so remember that time Ed and Ling ate Ed's shoe. Remember that Ed spend some time on a "deserted island" as a kid. Gluttony's stomach had nothing on him. Izumi raised some anime-ass boy-scouts. 100% Farm boy behaviour. These kids are so 15 it makes me want to bite things

immortal, soul-spliced dwarf in a flask got rid of his Sloth and still managed to procrastinate on his world domination plan until the last minute. Most Human disaster.

the entire half-episode they spend on Dr. Knox and his regrets and family. FMA is so good about humanising everyone.

everyone bullied Yoki because he was a small town fraud exploiting workers for his own benefit. Simply a jerk. He also hit Pride with a car in an epic rescue, and cried and screamed the whole way through

that one shot of a kid curiously poking a soldier they found bound on the ground with a stick

(I know it's technically not canon, but-) "I'm trying to save your life, asshole!"

Edward Elric

[yuri-is-online]

Ranted about this elsewhere already buuuuut . . . Hot take: OB Jamil keeping the reader as a pet/slave is pre-relationship.

Jamil's whole shtick is wanting to free himself from servanthood and getting the equality, freedom, and respect he deserves. Why would he not want that for his lover? Hell one of his biggest insecurities is trapping them with him under the Asims and being unable to give them the life they deserve.

A Jamil who's in a relationship where he 10000% smitten, comfortable, and genuinely open with s/o would rip his own heart out before even thinking of trapping them or seeing them as lesser. This goes double for his overblot (we've seen with the Shround's that it is possible for overblots to do things out of love).

So what doth thou thinketh of this scenario: OB!Jamil who's just finished sending the gang to the middle of the desert having the immediate thought "FUCK YEAH! Now I can finally spoil my beloved!"

OB!Jamil just throwing embarrassment out the window and spoiling the absolute shit out of his lover. I'm talking shameless PDA, no filter whatsoever about how much he loves them, giving them just about anything they could want. Feeling hungry? Here's a feast of your favorite dishes and Jamil is the one feeding you. Little chilly? You're now dressed in enchanted fine silk fit for a queen and cuddled up next him. Worried about your friends out in the desert? Now you get an adorable pouty overblot asking for your attention and making it really hard to say no. Ironically any manipulation he pulls will be the light hearted kind he usual do to get their attention. Also worth mentioning that Jamil is calling them every pet name under the sun while being kissed constantly by the snakes.

Just Overblot Jamil willingly and happily going full malewife mode for his Sultana.

God it will be hard to convince him that overblotting it bad, won't it?

You know I usually have a hard time wrapping my head around Yuu being in a relationship with any of the ob boys pre blot, but the events make it pretty clear that the actual order the blots happen in is pretty flexible σ(￣、￣=) so after squaring that in my head:

Pre-Relationship OB Jamil would want to keep Yuu in a cage because he subconsciously knows they aren't his but he still feels the desire to keep them close. The walls of the cage area physical manifestation of Jamil's emotional repression surrounding his feelings towards Yuu but that's not we're brainrotting about today~

Overblot! Jamil (and just Jamil in general really) is pretty hard to convince that overblotting was a bad idea. Granted he doesn't want to die so yes he'll agree that's bad once he comes to his senses but for now he's really pleased with himself. Finally, he gets to have your attention all to himself and there is no one to judge or interrupt him. He made sure to throw the biggest annoyances across the desert, you can stay right here with him in his embrace exactly where you belong. Being kissed by the snakes is such a cute concept TᴖT He has so many things he's wanted to say, so many many kisses he wanted to give, times he's wanted to touch and hold you that he was never able to do because of his place in the world. I like the idea of Overblot Jamil dancing with Yuu while he sings the sappiest love songs imaginable. Anything to make up for lost time, now that he's free there's so much he can finally give you.

That's what you've wanted this whole time too... right?