#so what if arthur's the one saving his ass here

[sentanixiv]

Thieves Landing... MacFarlane said they was holed up here. This ain't the way to sort being robbed, John. No one steals from my family, Arthur. Not no more.

I'll handle these fools. All's I need's you to watch my back. You ain't never had to ask, Marston.

John! Keep yer goddamned head down! Sonofabitch!

You hit? I'm fine, but this asshole's about to dance with the devil!

Y'all' ain't gonna mess with us again, y'hear? Or I'll come back and shoot the rest of you!

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello again everyone! It's time for another Merlin au! This time featuring Uther's propaganda and a healthy dose of misunderstandings and pain! :D

This au was inspired by an idea that I pitched in a reblog of one of @tamaha's amazing posts! (Also, shoutout to my awesome mutual @achillesuwu, since you asked to be tagged when I wrote this! :) ) You can find that original reblog here!

EDIT: You can find part two of this au here!

In canon, we know that Uther had children drowned for using magic, and that most of those children were likely warlocks who were born with their magic. However, we also know that most people in Camelot believe that magic is a choice and that it's impossible for someone to be born with it, so how did Uther justify to his people both the existence of child warlocks and the killing of children for something that they had no control over?

Well, Uther utilized his propaganda to justify killing young warlocks. He found some ancient text that hypothesized that warlocks got their powers from being reborn demons, and he used those very shoddy sources to justify his actions.

He spun stories about how warlocks looked human, but weren't human at all. He told the people that while those warlock children might have looked like regular humans, they would grow into powerful demons that would hunt down regular humans and eat their souls to gain more power.

Uther's propaganda campaign was successful, and soon, warlocks were some of the most feared magical creatures in Camelot. The people were terrified at the thought of a beast that could consume souls and blend in among them, unable to detected until it was too late.

Warlocks were a regular element of the nightmares of all of the children in Camelot, who would jump at every shadow and wonder if it was a warlock, there to devour them. Arthur was among those children, lying awake late at night, trembling with fear at the thought of any person he passed on the street being a warlock who would eat his very soul, denying him any afterlife and instead turning his soul into more magical power for the warlock.

And fast forward to some point after Arthur's become king, Merlin has a pretty painless magic reveal. Arthur and the knights were out hunting, they all get ambushed by bandits, Arthur takes a bad hit that would probably be fatal, but Merlin rushes to his side and, without hesitation, uses magic to heal Arthur's wound.

Arthur was, of course, very upset to learn that his manservant and best friend has magic, and they have a big argument over it, but no one physically attacks anyone (despite Gwaine's threats to kill Arthur and the rest of the knights and run away with Merlin).

So, everyone endures a rather tense and awkward ride back to Camelot, where Merlin is the recipient of many irate glares from Arthur and reassuring looks from the knights. When they reach Camelot, Arthur bans Merlin from his presence until he calls for Merlin again. He says that he can't stand the sight of Merlin at the moment, but Merlin will owe him a full explanation later. Merlin tearfully agrees and holes himself up in Gaius's chambers for a few days, while Arthur makes an ass of himself with his foul mood, snapping at everyone in the castle.

The knights try to point out to Arthur that while, yes, Merlin had magic and had lied to Arthur, he had only revealed it to save Arthur's life. Most of the knights used that point as a tool to comfort Arthur and ease his temper, but Gwaine used that fact to rub it in Arthur's face how terrible of a person Arthur was being towards the man who had just saved his life.

Finally, after the whole castle had to suffer through five days of Arthur's prattish and unpleasant behavior, Arthur summoned Merlin to his chambers, feeling calm enough again to actually hear whatever nonsensical reasons Merlin would give for turning to magic.

You see, what Arthur, the knights, and pretty much everyone in the castle had assumed was that Merlin had probably just picked up on some small useful enchantments and healing spells for Gaius's old study of that material. Arthur was angry at Merlin for turning to magic, but he could understand where Merlin was coming from.

Everyone knew that Merlin cared about his friends to the point of idiocy, so it made logical sense that Merlin, since he had the resources available to him, would resort to learning healing magic in case of an emergency. Arthur understood that aspect of Merlin more than anyone else.

Knowing that Merlin's magic was probably just the result of him being a loving and caring idiot did help ease the blow for Arthur, and truthfully Arthur didn't plan on punishing Merlin at all. To Arthur, hopefully confining Merlin to his chambers for a few days would discourage any future stupidity along these lines, and they could put this entire situation behind them.

So, when Arthur summoned a distressingly pale Merlin to his chambers and demanded an explanation, he expected to receive some stuttered response about learning a few spells from some of Gaius's spare books and to extract a promise out of Merlin that he'd never turn to magic again, and then everything would be fine.

However, when a wrought looking Merlin opened his mouth to explain, Arthur's heart plummeted to the floor. At the very first words of Merlin's explanation, "I was born with it," Arthur's chest went cold, and he took a few staggering steps backwards until his back hit the cold wall behind him, his eyes seeking out his blade.

Merlin was born with magic. That made Merlin a... a...

"Warlock," Arthur whispered, his eyes teary and terrified all at once.

Merlin stopped his explanation and tilted his head at Arthur, a small grin pulling on his lips. Arthur flinched back slightly at the sight of it, unable to form a coherent thought beyond the all-encompassing terror, dread, and sorrow that swirled around his mind.

"Ah, so you do know the correct word for it then! Yes, I am technically a warlock, but the distinction doesn't really matter that much anyways."

Merlin made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if his words hadn't just completely shattered Arthur's heart. Arthur couldn't even listen to the rest of Merlin's explanation through the rush of his heartbeat and breathing in his ears.

The terror gripping his heart shouted at him to fight or flee, don't just stand there waiting for him to decide that he's feeling peckish for souls!

Arthur suddenly registered the pallor of Merlin's skin and the hollowness of his cheeks and came to the awful conclusion that he doesn't have much time, Merlin's already hungry and Merlin was stepping closer there was no time to escape nonono!

Arthur closed his eyes, unable to look at what must have been Merlin unfurling whatever demonic jaws he kept hidden and preparing to eat Arthur's soul...

But the sensation of his soul being devoured, whatever that was supposed to feel like, never came. Instead, he just felt a hand on his forehead, and after a few seconds another one cupped the side of his face.

Arthur hesitantly opened his eyes, almost not wanting to look upon Merlin's happy, friendly face that had always brought nothing but comfort. He didn't want those caring eyes to be that last thing he saw before he died at Merlin's hand!

Slowly, Arthur steeled himself and blinked the tears from his eyes, willing to at least face his death like a true warrior, looking at it head-on.

But, as his vision cleared from the tears, Merlin didn't look like his death, or like any sort of soul-eating monster. He just looked like Merlin, and by god wasn't that the worst part of it?

Merlin slowly smiled at him as his tears dried, coaxing him away from the wall and towards his armchair by the fireplace. Merlin gently guided him over to chair and helped him into his seat, holding Arthur's hand the entire time.

Arthur, once he was sitting, looked over at Merlin, still holding onto his hand and whispering comforting words to him, and Arthur felt like a small, scared child again, freshly awoken from a nightmare and jumping at every shadow.

It took what must have been hours for Arthur to catch his breath, stop his tears, and cease his body's terrified trembling, and Merlin sat next to him the entire time, drying Arthur's tears and comforting him.

Eventually, Arthur looked Merlin in the eyes again, and he could find nothing in them but love and care.

Whatever Merlin was, however hungry he must have been after going five days without being able to hunt for souls to devour, he apparently didn't see Arthur as a target.

Arthur took a deep breath, maintaining eye contact with Merlin. Alright, Merlin might be a soul-eating demon straight out of Camelot's worst nightmares, but he saw Arthur as a friend, not a meal. Arthur... Arthur could work with that.

He just... he needed more information before doing anything else. Merlin was still looking at him with love and concern, and with each passing moment, Arthur became more and more convinced that Merlin was still Merlin, warlock or not. And damn it all, that still counted for something. It had to count for something.

Now that his fear was marginally under control, questions swirled around Arthur's head. How did Merlin even eat souls before this? How often did he need to eat? Did he need to also eat food, or did he sustain himself and his powers on souls alone?

Before he could ask Merlin any of the pressing questions that were on his mind, Merlin had already helped Arthur out of his chair and towards his bed, readying a limp Arthur for bed whilst the king was drowning in his own thoughts.

Before Arthur even knew it, Merlin was pulling blankets over him and snuffing out the candles in his room. Merlin promised to visit Arthur again in the morning to tell him more, and Arthur barely registered his words over the storm of his own thoughts.

When morning came, Arthur couldn't even tell if he had gotten any sleep throughout the night or not, but he woke up exhausted either way. Only a few minutes after the sun had risen, Merlin burst into the room, still looking paler than usual and helping himself to one of the sausages that was supposed to be a part of Arthur's breakfast.

Just the sight of Merlin eating anything made Arthur feel slightly queasy, imaging some terrified soul being devoured at Merlin's hands. Arthur took a deep, steadying breath before getting out of bed, allowing Merlin to dress him as he normally did.

Merlin, much to Arthur's relief, was still acting like nothing had changed, like he was still the same harmless Merlin that Arthur knew him as before yesterday.

If that was how Merlin wanted to act, then Arthur was fine with it. Truthfully, even with all of the questions that Arthur had surrounding Merlin's nature, he found that he didn't really want answers to any of them. Answers would make this new reality, one where Merlin was never harmless at all and where there was a demon hiding under his best friend's skin, real for Arthur. If Arthur didn't have any answers, then he could just... pretend that everything was still fine, like nothing was wrong.

To keep Merlin by his side, he would gladly accept ignorance and pretend like nothing had changed.

However, there was still one issue that Arthur needed an answer to, to confirm that Merlin was still the man who Arthur always thought him to be.

As Merlin was cleaning up Arthur's breakfast plate, Arthur cleared his throat, getting Merlin's attention. Merlin quickly turned around to meet Arthur's gaze, but Arthur didn't feel scared meeting his eyes this time.

"Merlin, I'm willing to let everything that was revealed yesterday be forgiven, and everything can go back to normal."

Merlin gave Arthur a beaming smile at his words, and Arthur continued with a solemn heart.

"However, there is one thing I need to know. You've never..."

Somehow, the words eaten the soul of an innocent person were so vile that they refused to pass Arthur's lips, so he chooses an alternative.

"... hurt anyone who didn't deserve it, right? And you never will in the future? If we are to have any sort of trust between us, you must answer me honestly"

Arthur figured that, if Merlin was indeed forced to eat souls to survive, Merlin was probably feeding on bandits or enemy soldiers that Arthur and the knights would've killed anyways. It was the only explanation, as innocent people didn't mysteriously turn up dead regularly enough in Camelot to indicate that Merlin was feeding on them, and Arthur knew, deep down, that no matter what he was, Merlin would never do such a thing.

Merlin froze at Arthur's words, his smile falling. He lowered his gaze briefly, before meeting Arthur's eyes once more, determination shining brightly in his eyes.

"Arthur, I swear to you, anyone whom I've hurt with my powers were enemies of Camelot. Whatever I've done, I did it to protect you and your subjects."

Arthur nodded, satisfied and relieved by Merlin's answer. Nothing had to change then, Merlin was still his friend and manservant, albeit with powerful magic and an appetite for the souls of his enemies. Arthur could... tolerate that.

As the weeks went on, Arthur found himself thinking about this new side to Merlin less and less. Merlin was still acting exactly as himself, so there was no reason for Arthur to worry, let alone dwell on any thoughts of warlocks.

(And if he had a familiar nightmare from his childhood featuring a warlock, then that was Arthur's business and Arthur's business alone.)

Everything was fine, and months passed without any incidents. That was, however, until Arthur noticed Merlin becoming paler, his cheeks hollowing out again, and his eyes sporting heavy bags. As he took in the changes in Merlin over the past few days, he came to the sickening conclusion: Merlin was getting hungry again, and would need a soul to eat soon.

But Camelot was at peace, there were noticeably less bandits roaming the streets in the past year, and no assassins had come to the castle in the past months. Arthur could see that Merlin's usual... hunting grounds... had been drying up, and he needed to find a solution immediately. Arthur shivered at the thought of what devastation Merlin would unintentionally bring down upon all of them if his hunger ever got out of control.

After several hours of brainstorming on Arthur's part, he finally had an idea. It sickened him to have to consider, but he would do what he had to for the sake of Camelot.

Arthur called for Merlin to follow him as he made his way into the dungeons, where only one prisoner was currently being held. The prisoner was a minor noble who had killed several of his own servants and then used his status as a member of the nobility to cover up his involvement in the murders.

However, the nobleman was sloppy, and there was evidence left behind that proved his guilt without a doubt. He was set to be hanged for his crimes in two days time, as per Arthur's own judgement at the noble's trial, but... if he was going to be executed anyways... perhaps his death may be of use.

(What Arthur didn't know was that the real reason why Merlin looked so exhausted was because Merlin had spent every night for the past week searching for and compiling evidence that the nobleman was behind the murders, as the bastard would've gotten away with it otherwise.)

To Arthur, the criminal's death could be used to ensure that Camelot's only source of magical protection (and Arthur's best and dearest friend) didn't starve to death or go into a hunger-induced rampage, whichever came first.

Slowly, Arthur made his way to the nobleman's cell with Merlin trailing after him, where the criminal was bound to a chair on Arthur's orders. Arthur solemnly opened the door to the cell, gesturing for Merlin to follow him inside.

As soon as Arthur set foot in the cell, the nobleman started begging him for mercy, pleading with him to lower his sentence, not knowing what punishment Arthur truly had in mind for him. Ignoring the soon-to-be dead man, Arthur turned towards Merlin, who was startled by Arthur's intense stare.

"Arthur? What's going on?"

"Merlin," Arthur choked out, his voice rough with guilt, sorrow, and fear alike. Merlin rushed to Arthur's side at the sound, trying to urge him out of the cell, away from whatever issue was causing Arthur such pain.

Standing firm, Arthur cleared his throat.

"Merlin, I need you to... to do something for me."

Concern marred Merlin features as he reached out to Arthur.

"Of course, I would do anything for you Arthur."

Arthur swallowed roughly, trying to force his next words out of his throat. He'd ordered executions before, hell, he'd even ordered this man's execution before, but this was much, much harder than any of the other orders he'd given.

"Merlin, I need you to... take care of this man, as you normally do for enemies of Camelot."

Merlin reeled back with shock, looking somewhere between confused and hurt.

"Arthur, you can't possibly mean for me to..."

"I'm sorry, but yes Merlin, it needs to be done."

Merlin stared at Arthur for a few more moments, before slowly nodding his head and turning towards the bound criminal.

As Merlin stepped closer to the doomed noble, Arthur closed his eyes and turned his head away. Perhaps it was cowardice, but if there were ever a time for Arthur to show such cowardly behavior, it was here. He didn't want to see this part of Merlin.

He did, however, hear everything. There was a scream from the criminal, which was sickeningly cut off by a loud wet crunch that echoes off of the cell's walls, and then there was no sound in the cell except a very loud silence.

Arthur slowly opened his eyes to the sight of Merlin standing in front of a corpse and tried to believe that everything was still normal.

And that's a wrap on this au! Man, that got darker than I expected it to be.

Be sure to let me know if you'd like a continuation of this au!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[httpiastri]

hiii! i would like a ❣️ but with voicemails from the drivers hinting that they like you? we have mostly the same favorite drivers so just write for whoever you think would be good 😌

❣️ – send me a prompt and one/a few drivers and i'll tell you how i think they would react!!

(featuring: lando, charles, alex, oscar, ollie, paul, arthur, pepe and clem)

lando norris

"i think you should come visit me in monaco more. you know that the bed in my guest room is always made for you. and i put on those sheets i know you like, and i have those fragrance sticks with the rose scent, you said you liked them last time you visited me. well, i mean, my room and my bed is always ready for you, too. and i'll be in it, so… *chuckle* my mind just keeps wandering off to when you were here a few nights ago, and… i think… honestly? i think you should move in with me. okay, that sounds crazy and impulsive and like i haven't thought this through, but i really have given it a lot of thought. i want you to move in here. don't worry about the expenses, i can take care of it all. and a moving truck to get your stuff, i'll pay for it. just… think about it, will you? don't just laugh it off. i'm serious about this."

charles leclerc

"i just got back to the apartment, and it's... so quiet without you here. i keep thinking about the last time we made dinner together and how you laughed so hard at my terrible cooking that the neighbors came over to complain. i'm still scared of meeting them in the stairwell. maybe next time, you should be the one to take charge and show me how it's done? save me from another disaster? or we could go out, whichever you prefer. i just really want to see you again. and not die from food poisoning."

alex albon

"the other day, you mentioned not having a necklace that fit the new top you bought. and for some reason, i just happened to find myself right outside a jewelry store today. so i went in and bought you something. the lady in the cash register told me that a longer chain with a pendant would fit a v-neck top best, so that's what i got. it's gold, of course, i wouldn't dare buy you anything silver after you lectured me about having a warm skin tone for half an hour... i don't know, i just wanted to tell you this so you don't run around stressing about having to buy a new necklace. i can drop by yours with it if you want me to. or if you want to wear the top tonight, i'll give it to you when i pick you up."

oscar piastri

"hey, i just wanted to check in with you, make sure you're okay. are you? *pause*. what he said tonight, that was... it wasn't right. you don't deserve that. he was wrong, he has no idea what he's talking about. please, call me when you get this."

ollie bearman

"can i come straight to yours from the airport? you don't have to hug me before i shower, i might be full of flight germs, but... i just want to see you. and i'm pretty sure i forgot my favorite sweater at your place last time i went to visit you. you know, the blue one?... i think you know. not that i want it back, you can keep it if you like it. i know you look cute in it... that's beside the point. i'll tell the taxi driver your address, let me know if you don't want me coming over. see you soon."

paul aron

"some kids are building a snow fort down the street. you know, in the park where we had that picnic last summer? one of them has slipped and fallen right onto his butt about ten times now, it's hilarious. i wish you were here to see it, you would've laughed your ass off. *pause*. wish you were here for other reasons, too. but... just one more week, right?"

arthur leclerc

"i may have had a bit too much wine but i needed to call you and tell you what i just realized. you have the prettiest eyes in the world. they are gorgeous. i want to trade eyes, if i have your eyes then i would be able to get any girl – but i still only have eyes for you. haha, get it? because they're your eyes? *pause*. why are you not answering? did you hang up on me? oh, is this voicemail? did you not think i was important enough to pick up the call? even at three in the morning, you should only think about me."

pepe marti

"i know i said i was going to call you tomorrow, but i just realized. i forgot to tell you something. sebastian is throwing a party this weekend- i think it's more of a housewarming-gathering-thing, and i wasn't really feeling like going, but... i would love to introduce you to some of my friends. they're all really nice, i promise you, and if you ever feel even slightly bad, we can leave instantly. i just want to show you off, i guess? everyone would be so jealous- i didn't mean it like that, i made it sound like- i'm sorry. just please, come with me. it would mean the world to me."

clement novalak

"i went by that bookshop i know you like. the cute little one near the subway station, right by the park? and i... i had some time to spare, so i went in. just to look around at first, but then i wanted to ask the woman who works there if they have that book you were talking about. but i just couldn't remember the name of it, so i tried to explain it to her based on what you told me weeks ago, but i was just rambling... but i think she managed to find the right one. hopefully. and when we went to pay, she asked if she should wrap it and i said 'sure', but when she asked who it was to, i froze... so the wrapping has little hearts on it, i hope that's okay. i'll see you tonight, right? can't wait."

[miller-n-morgan-2]

Take Me Home

4. John Fucking Marston

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

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

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

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

WC: 4.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

The men did eventually pass out, all except two. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Poor Abigail.” 

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

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

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

“You’re gonna marry her?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

Abigail picked it out, and you understand why. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why you always doin’ that?” 

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

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

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

“M’not, just the truth.” 

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

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

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

“Is that so?” 

“Mhm, very much so…”

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

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

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

“Arthur?” 

“Yeah?” He turned his head again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where does he live?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry, Arthur…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you say to him?” 

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

“And I suppose that didn’t help.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that?” 

“Nothing, m’just gettin’ drunk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ananxiousgenz]

MORE MALEVOLENT COWBOY AU GUYS!!!

welcome back to yet another chapter in this glorious little au of ours!! @percymawce-arts and I have been suuuuuper busy behind the scenes writing and like. we have some absolutely killer ideas that we cannot wait to share with you!! so enjoy this sad little scene for now <3

TRIGGER WARNINGS: alcohol consumption/drunkenness, fighting, references to murder, references to child death

and for tagging, @izel-reblogs @ellamenop and @platypus-with-interests I hope yall enjoy this just as much as you have with the rest <3

The moment he entered the cabin’s sitting room, John knew that something wasn’t quite right.

The shadows were all wrong. At this time of day, the sun usually cast soft shadows into the sitting room that left the table and couch awash in warmth and golden light. But the shadows were harsh, stark, cutting through the couch and leaving the table shrouded in darkness. As if the world itself knew that something was wrong. And something was wrong.

For one, Arthur was slumped over the table in the far corner, shoulders racked with either laughter or sobs, John couldn’t tell. For another, there was a bottle of whiskey clutched in his right hand, more than half empty. There was no glass in sight.

John hooked a finger over the bandanna covering his face and pulled it off, hanging it quietly beside his hat on a rack near the door. As he did so, he stared long and hard at Arthur, studying him, debating whether he should approach him. In a relatively short time, John had already seen a great many things from Arthur: bravery, conviction, intelligence, compassion. Drunkenness, however, was a new one, and he had no idea what to expect from Arthur with half a bottle in his system. It didn’t look pleasant.

After a long moment of chewing on his thumbnail, John decided he was more concerned about Arthur than afraid of him (but only by a thin margin, he realized) and took a step in his direction. He tried to step lightly, but the damn floorboards decided right then would be the perfect moment to creak beneath his feet. Arthur’s head snapped up the moment he heard the noise, clearly not drunk enough to lose touch with his instincts. John froze, like a gazelle suddenly caught in the gaze of a lion.

“John? Izzat you?” Arthur slurred, eyes darting sightlessly across the room.

“Yes, Arthur, it’s me,” John replied, forced to exhale in order to speak. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t breathing before that moment, and now that he was he tried to keep it level as he inched closer to the table, little by little.

“Oh,” Arthur sighed, and he sounded almost disappointed. “‘S funny,” he mumbled through tears (there were streaks of them running down his red cheeks and his eyes were puffy, he’d been crying for a while) as he took another swig of whiskey. “Thought you were someone else.” He clutched the bottle to his chest the way one might hold a precious child.

Despite himself (or, perhaps because of the nerves) John chuckled, “Might I ask who?”

“‘S’name was Parker.” Arthur sniffled and then stared solemnly at the tabletop, picking at a loose splinter of wood with shaking hands. “M’old partner.”

“Oh,” said John, halting in his motion towards Arthur. His fists clenched, his hackles rose and he was beginning to suspect he wanted no part in this conversation. He was about to turn tail and leave when Arthur started talking again.

“He was a good man, y’know. Reallll…. tough. Strong. Kind, too. Lot like you.” He nodded emphatically to himself, as though confirming information someone had questioned the truth of. As though he was proving something to himself.

John swallowed. “I’m sure he was.”

“Saved my life, way back when. I was…” Arthur waved away a painful memory with an unsteady hand and made a faint sputtering noise. “Back in Boston. I was jus’ drunk all the time. Made the stupid-ass decision to head out here. Thought it would be easier to die in a cattle stampede or from th’ heat or s’mthing.”

John still wasn’t sure where this was going, but it was the most Arthur had ever willingly shared with him about his past, so maybe he wouldn’t leave just yet. He, slowly, quietly, pulled out a chair on the other side of the table and sat down.

“‘Was drunk and in debt at well near every bar in town,” Arthur continued, a small smile spreading across his face as he had another swig from the bottle clutched in his hand. “Was fixin’ to get myself killed by debt collectors sooner than by the drink, I reckon. Parker found me one night. I was… inna bad way. Real bad. He said I looked like… like I’d hit bedrock, and–,” Arthur chuckled mirthlessly. “‘Course he was right. He was always right.”

Arthur went quiet for a moment as a few more tears escaped his eyes. He wiped them away roughly on his forearm and sniffled again.

“And?” John prompted gently after a long moment.

A cruel laugh tore its way out of Arthur’s throat, making John flinch. “And you killed him.”

Arthur’s gaze rose from the table to look John dead in the eye. There was a vicious fire burning in that dark and stormy expression, like a bonfire, barely contained. It left John frozen in place again, his breath caught in his throat and any words in his defense stuck along with it.

“You shot him, f’r nothin’.” More laughter bubbled out of Arthur, along with tears. “F’r a mission that didn’t even exist! Just bam–,” Arthur mimicked shooting himself in the head–, “gone. Dropped like a… like a fucking ragdoll!” Arthur doubled over suddenly, dropping his head into his free hand as giggles made it impossible for him to speak properly. “You, you killed the man who saved my life! Made it worth living again!”

John got up out of his chair and slowly began backing away. “Arthur, I-”

“You killed him!” Arthur yelled, lifting his head from his hand. The laughter was gone, now, and had been replaced by fire in Arthur’s voice that matched his expression, fueled by the whiskey and grief he had already thrown onto it. John opened his mouth to say something else, but abandoned that plan to duck instead as a half-full bottle of whiskey was hurled at his head. He managed to dodge it in the nick of time, watching as it sailed over his head and shattered against the cabin wall behind him with a crash. Glass fell in pieces to the floor and whiskey stained the wall dark, dripping and slowly soaking into the wood like blood into fabric.

Arthur’s eyes were wide and wild as he stumbled out from behind the table towards John, who was beginning to wish he had never even returned to the cabin in the first place as he continued backing away, nearly tripping over what little furniture they had as he went.

“You… you fucking… He’s dead, he– she’s dead. Gone, just like him. They’re dead, and it’s all because of you! It’s all… your fault…” And for a moment, John could have sworn Arthur wasn’t talking to him, the way he whispered it, his voice laced with a pain that John had never heard from him before. “All your fault…” he said again. But then the anger was back, the expression burning like fire in his eyes as he scowled at John. “All your fucking fault! Fuck you, John!” Arthur shouted, spitting the words out like snake venom as John felt a wall begin to close in behind him.

Behind the panicked, animal fear of the moment, John’s mind caught on something in Arthur’s drunken rambling. She. Gone just like him. They’re dead. He was no longer just talking about Parker. A woman, perhaps? An old love, a young flame put out too soon? Or… or a girl. A child re-emerging from the fog of Arthur’s mysterious past. Someone who had died… because of John? Or someone else? It didn’t make sense. John didn’t hurt women or children as a personal rule, a piece of his early life that the cruelty and anger of boarding school and Larson had never been able to fully scrub away. So then who was Arthur blaming for her loss if not him?

“Arthur, who the fuck is she?!” John finally snapped, words finally coming unstuck in his throat as his back was pressed against the wall. Arthur stumbled forward and furiously grabbed a fistful of his shirt, the sour smell of whiskey on his breath completely overwhelming this close.

“She deserved better than this, you selfish–,”

“Arthur, please. I don’t even know who you’re talking about, would you just tell me-”

“You killed her too!” More tears were sliding down Arthur’s face now. At such a close distance, John could see them glinting in the dim light as he was yanked forward by his shirt.

“Who, Arthur? Who did I kill?!”

“FAROE!”

“ARTHUR, WHO THE HELL IS FAROE?!”

It was like a gun had gone off in a crowded saloon. Arthur’s mouth closed so quickly that John almost swore he heard a tooth crack with the motion. Both of them were breathing heavily, and Arthur stared at John with an expression that melted from one emotion to the next like wax off a candle. From confusion to recognition to a look of such agonizing horror and grief that John’s heart broke at the sight of it. Arthur released John's shirt like it was a hot iron burning his hand and took an unsteady step backward, mumbling an apology about alcohol and short tempers, and John could see the beginnings of a fresh wave of tears bubbling up in Arthur’s eyes.

That name. Faroe. It clearly touched a nerve with Arthur, some old hurt he had never quite healed from, some loss that had never scarred over. It almost seemed to… scare him. John had never seen Arthur Lester so clearly terrified as he’d been in that moment, when the fog had cleared and he’d realized what he’d said. It made the hair at the back of John’s neck stand on end, made his jaw clench and his breath catch in his lungs. Anything that could scare Arthur like this… John couldn’t even begin to imagine what it might be.

Arthur swayed back and forth for a moment, a dead, brittle branch rocking in a great wind, until he finally snapped, falling gracelessly to the floor with a broken sob. John reached out, whether to catch him or comfort him he didn’t know, but stopped short. He had never been soft or gentle, never good at providing comfort to people who needed it. Never been comfortable with people crying or being vulnerable, but…

For Arthur, he would do it. He didn’t quite understand why, but it was the fact that it was Arthur Lester, a crumpled, sobbing mess on the floor before him, that convinced him to slowly lower himself to the floor beside him, listening to the choked sounds of his agony with a bleeding heart of his own.

Even then, John still hesitated to reach out. Connections only caused pain, he’d learned that the hard way. But he just couldn’t help himself. As much as he liked to be aloof and mysterious and pretend he was above human connection, he cared far too much for the people around him. For Yellow, Noel, Oscar, even Larson, in some fucked up way. For drunken, angry, grieving Arthur. It was the thing that always ended up getting him in trouble. But for Arthur…

John reached a careful hand around Arthur’s shoulders. “I… I’m so sorry, Arthur.” Even if he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, it was true. He was sorry Arthur had gone through something so painful, sorry that he was hurting now. Sorry he couldn’t fix it. Sorry he’d killed Parker.

To John’s surprise, Arthur leaned his head into his shoulder almost immediately, shivering with the force of his sobs, following the offer of comfort like he’d been starving for it. He smelled like cheap whiskey and salty tears and clung to John like he was an anchor in the white-water rapids of his grief.

It didn’t come naturally, at first, comforting Arthur. John’s spine was ramrod straight and his arms were stiff, his expression schooled carefully into something mildly pained but mostly indifferent. But Arthur took what he could get, clinging and sobbing and squeezing despite John’s stoicism. But the closer Arthur got, the more apparent it became that their bodies would fit together better if John just moved his leg here, held his arm here, shifted Arthur’s leg this way. The longer Arthur stayed, the more courage John’s hands had in moving, gently massaging the back of Arthur’s neck or running his fingers through his hair, stroking a light line up and down his spine. The same soothing motions he used for Akke, the ones he’d probably learned from a mother, somewhere, once upon a time. Some instinct buried deep in his subconscious, an instinct to care. Finally resurfaced by seeing Arthur Lester in need of it.

Eventually, Arthur had ended up halfway in John’s lap, legs thrown across John’s in a tangled sort of side saddle. His eyes were pressed into John’s neck, the last of his shuddering cries fanning across the skin there. John had graduated from soothing touches to soothing sounds, shhs and I knows and you’re alrights whispered into Arthur’s auburn hair. They’d been rocking back and forth, back and forth, slowly for the past long while. Finally, Arthur’s cries became hiccups, became shuddering breaths, until their little cabin was quiet again. There was a bluebird singing outside, somewhere.

“Arthur..?” John whispered, tentatively. Arthur inhaled sharply, his frown deepening. John held him tighter.

“Please don’t ask,” Arthur managed, near silent. “Please don’t–,” he hiccuped, on the verge of tears again, and John resumed his gentle ministrations in his hair, shushing him.

“I won’t, Arthur,” he soothed. He let his lips fall to the crown of Arthur’s head. Not a kiss, but something intentional nonetheless, punctuated by a puff of warm breath against his scalp. “I won’t ask.”

[bigassmoonchild]

Tears

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: You'd never seen Simon cry. He was the scary Ghost, and Ghosts didn't cry. Maybe he had just grown too comfortable with you, because it didn't take long to be pushed back an arms length.

Content Tags: Fluff, Simon Simping, Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Simping, Crying, Senseless Worry, Fear, Fear of Death, Thoughts of Death (NOT suicidal ideation), Hurt/No Comfort, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost, No Use of Y/N

A/N: I am so sorry about being awol this week, my heart condition and migraines have whooped my ass. I wasn't expecting how this would turn out, but I enjoy it a lot. Mostly internal thoughts, some interactions here and there. Anyways, here's part 15!

Part 1 | Previous, Next | Headcannons, Masterlist

The few days you spent back home, it was slowly getting better. Your father had accepted Simon, your mother was spending a lot of her time doting on you and Simon, but Clint was still gone. Nowhere to be seen, no one had heard from him.

Arthur still stayed quiet, but you remembered him as the gentle boy he once was. He'd always been that way, especially after everything your father had done when he presented. No one talked about it anymore, but your brother still stepped on eggshells around everyone.

Simon had grown to enjoy spending time with the pack pups, reminiscing on his time with Price's own. Even then, he'd never considered that he would have any of his own. It was terrifying. Clair had pulled him away, baring her teeth and threatening a few different deaths if he'd so much as hurt you.

How dead he'd be if she knew.

And that's all he could think about, watching as Clair doted on her own Omega. Watching as she loved and cared for her pups. Seeing her act like an amazing Alpha, one he'd never thought he would be. Him? Someone's Alpha? It scared him, even so long after it had occurred.

His mind was constantly warring with itself, the old him trying to get him to run, dump his savings onto you and disappear into the wilderness. The other part of him, though, saw you as you existed. In the mornings, hair a mess and eyes still tired. After sex, your eyes slightly glazed over and skin heated.

He could see you, puffy eyed as you admitted your fears to him that first night back. He heard the sobs you gave him, oh so many time.

Simon saw the fire in your eyes as you snapped on him.

And he loved you all the more for it. You were his Omega, his precious mate. What he could consider the love of his life. And yet he looked at you, admiring your older sister with a look in your eye that seemed almost... regretful.

It was then that he really thought. Deeply, on all the past conversations. He had seen a similar regret in your face while driving back to the hotel, eyes still puffy from the crying.

Price, speaking with him one night. "How many people would wish to be mated like that?" Price had once asked him. "She is living, breathing and eating with a man she does not know. You can't make this any more difficult than it is," but this had been the first few weeks of your mating.

Were the two of you still strangers? Or acquaintances now? He didn't even know your favorite color, let alone simple facts about you. And now, as he lay next to you, he feared that perhaps everything had gone too quickly.

Even as he felt your fingers grasping at his sleep shirt, feeling the press of your swollen belly against his side. Everything had happened so quickly, and he hadn't been there for the first, what? Six months? He knew, almost inherently, that it was a poor representation of him.

His Alpha groaned, baring it's teeth at the thought that he was a bad Alpha. Even as he stared at the ceiling, eyes cast over, thoughts prickling over everything. The distaste at the back of Simons throat was strange. His eyes burned, and he blinked his eyes clear.

What the hell? Tears?

Simon was able to get your hands untangled from his shirt, shifting out of bed carefully and finding his way to the bathroom. Shutting the door carefully, he flicked on the light and found his reflection staring at him.

The vision blurred, staring through himself rather than at. He couldn't see himself. Not Simon, barely Ghost, but rather the monster he often thought of in the midst of missions. A killer, someone who took lives, not create. He was a monster, claiming you without permission, and he could feel the heat of his tears pouring down his cheek.s

The door opened, and he couldn't think. Barely heard your voice, calling out, wondering why the hell Alpha smelled sour and was crying. Your arms wrapped around him, pressing a gentle kiss against his back.

You could feel the hiccupped breaths he was taking, you could see the distant look in his eyes through the mirror and his scent was horrid. It smelled purely of distress, pain, even hints of anger. Not the scent of Simon.

Grasping his hand, he followed mindlessly as you dragged him back into the main room, gently pushing him onto the bed. Standing between his legs, you ran your fingers through his hair.

"Simon," you whispered, carefully. "Love, what's wrong? Your scent is so strong, but it isn't you. What's wrong? Please, Simon," and you whispers continued. His eyes remained blank, gone. Even as thoroughly exhausted as you were, you could feel fear twinging in your gut.

You'd never seen Simon like this, but you'd seen soldiers coming back from intense battles who looked like this. Not your Simon, not him. No, maybe there'd be days that he would grow quiet and slightly distant, but he never looked like this.

Even as your hands found his cheeks, your lips pressing against his head, you heard nothing from him. You moved, reaching for the phone you'd tucked somewhere before collapsing into bed, and felt his hands grasp for yours.

His fingers entwined with yours, tugging you closer to him once more. Simons arms wrapped around you, his head resting against your chest. You could hear his sobs, muffled by your body, but you could feel his shoulders shaking.

Pressing your lips to the top of his head, you slowly rocked the two of you side to side. You stayed there, listened, held him. His sobs hurt you, nearly scared you. Such a strong man, an amazing Alpha, broken down into tears. And from what?

You thought, and thought, and thought. There was nothing, you realized, that you could think would cause this. You couldn't remember a thing that happened today that would make him break down. Maybe it had been Clint? Your family initially not accepting him, hurting him?

No. He wouldn't even think about that kind of thing. Sure, he'd had a reddened cheek for some time afterwards, but nothing that would cause him to cry this hard.

Your lips pressed against his head once more, squeezing your arms around him tighter. He sniffled, sobs breaking down into just some hiccups. You could feel your shirt wet, from his tears. You could see your silhouette from the light in the bathroom. The darkness wasn't all encompassing, not in the little hotel room you had.

It was like a gentle blanket, hiding the two of you from the rest of the world. You could feel Simon pull his head up, resting his chin against you while looking up. His eyes blinked long and slow, they were reddened and puffy. His skin was slightly blotchy, but pale from the near hyperventilation.

Neither of you spoke, your fingers brushing the stray tears away before cupping his cheeks. Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, you gave him a little smile.

"What's wrong, Si?" You broke the silence and he shook his head. His eyes had closed, some more tears breaking free. He tried tugging you closer, your belly stopping you from getting as close as the two of you wanted.

It seemed funny to you. The pup, now seemingly forever separating the two of you just a little. More than you'd been prior to it's conception, it had now separated you. The closest you'd ever get to him would be looking in the same direction, just a step ahead of him. The pup would separate the two of you forever, maybe never gaining that distance back.

But you'd do it all for the loving smiles and little touches you got from him. You'd do it all again if it meant you'd stand right where you were, and you would never change your path. You'd take the same steps every single time if it meant you'd be standing where you were.

And you hoped he could feel it in the way you pressed your lips to his head, squeezed him a little tighter. You hoped he could feel it in the way your fingers ran through his hair, the way you'd always be right by his side.

Maybe he would never know. Even as he tugged you into bed, pulling your back to his chest and burying his face into the nape of your neck. Even while his fingers intertwined with yours, cupping the little pup resting just inches from your hands.

You could only hope, as the two of you woke, he understood how much you truly loved him as you helped clean his face up. Dried tears were a bitch, you knew. You could see the pain in the way his eyes shut a little tighter when the sun rose just a little more. You truly could only hope he would understand how much you loved him as you shut the curtains and curled back up into bed with him.

Maybe, just maybe he would realize how much you loved him while watching his interactions with the family pack pups. Seeing him allowing the little girls and boys paint his nails or play fight with him. Seeing how he treated your mother with such respect, allowing your siblings to do as they pleased to him.

And on the plane home, you could feel him squeeze your hand gently. "I truly love you, Simon," you whispered. "I wouldn't give up a single decision I've made," and he rested his head on yours. "If I had to do it all over, I don't think I'd do anything different," and you could feel his cheek shifting against your head.

"I love you, sweet Omega," he whispered in turn. "With all my heart, I truly mean it when I say I would do anything to make you happy," and his lips pressed against your head. You sighed deeply, allowing sleep to take over you.

Simons fingers brushed along your back, gently shaking you awake. You didn't want to go back, you realized. You wanted Simon all to yourself, maybe have a nice little home in the country. Maybe watch your pups just exist out where they wouldn't have to fear anything.

Keeping Simon to yourself, he would never almost die again. You would never lose each other to the trivial ideations of war. You'd never be given subsidies for his death, and you would never have to plan a funeral for the man you loved.

You wouldn't have to worry about anything if you were able to get him to retire. Maybe the two of you could open a shop, or a little clinic. Help people who needed it the most, ensure everyone was taken care of.

And in the car, you finally spoke up. "Will you stay in the military once the pup is born?" You asked, voice growing quiet. His eyes flashed over to you, his brows furrowed under the balaclava.

"What d'you mean?" He asked. "Obviously I'll get leave to be with the two of you, but I can't just leave my job," he spoke, carefully. You hummed, staring through the windshield.

You didn't look at him. "What if you die? The pup will never know you, it'd be safer to-"

"To what? Go work an office job?" He sounded surprised. "Lovie, working in the military gives me the money we'd need to take care of the pup. This is my life, I can't just drop it all of a sudden. Price is able to balance it all, I can't see why I won't," you looked at your hands, playing with your fingers.

"I'm just worried, s'all," you whispered and you could see him shake his head from your peripheral.

"You needn't worry, I've survived this long. I'm not leaving my job, not for..." he trailed off, not finishing his sentence. You could feel your chest tightening, the dream of the nice little home in the country vanishing just as quick as it had come.

He wouldn't give up his job. Not for you, not for a pup. You were dumb for even thinking it. The car was silent the rest of the drive, you had grabbed your bag as soon as he'd parked and walked yourself back onto the compound.

You would have a lot of work to catch up on, and Simon left you to be. You had entered your office, just staring at the sad little desk and papers stacked on it. You truly were stuck in this life, and you slowly grew to realize you didn't want to be just a doctor.

You'd signed up to be a combat medic, not sit safe and sound in the compound. Had you truly given up your dream? Just for an Alpha, and now his pup? Was this what it meant to be an Omega?

There was no one you would tell that you sat at your desk, door locked and quietly sobbing. You were just so tired, and you wanted to be heard. You knew, unconsciously, it was a big ask of him but you'd hoped, genuinely, that he might hear you out and understand.

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[yanderepuck]

AAAAAND WELCOME BACK TO MY MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT PLAGUED WITH VISIONS SMUT. Please do not question why there are THREE guys here I promise you it is not guy on guy (tho I need to get back into that) just some shameless writers trio smut.

Who wouldn't want some writers absolutely GAWKING over you anyway? Huh? The two of them might have been serial cheaters and the one forced to marry as a minor BUT THATS BESIDES THE POINT. Happy reading, sluts.

Writers note: this is modern day

This is over 2000 words help

He moans as you sit between his legs. Your hands rest on his thighs as your head bobs up and down, sucking on his cock.

Arthur has his arm on the back of the couch while his other combs through your hair. "Just like that, love," his groans just get you to work harder. Something about a man moaning is the highest praise possible.

Both of your clothes are scattered around the parlor room, the only thing you have on is your bra and underwear. Arthur had pulled you in and started kissing you, telling you how he needed you now.

You swirl your tongue around his tip, and he takes in a sharp breath. You would smirk if you could. You get closer to his base, taking all of him in, feeling his tip at the back of your throat.

"Look up, love~"

You look up at him, lips stretched around his cock. He's holding his phone up and you assume he's taking a video. He has done this before; you have no issue with it and think nothing of it.

With your eyes locked on the camera you take his cock out of your mouth, a long string of saliva and precum still connecting your lips to his tip. Starting at the base, you lick up his shaft, to the tip before beginning to suck his length again.

"Such a good girl," his hand goes through your hair again before pushing your head down. You gag for a moment, not expecting it.

Arthur had ended the video on his phone, sending it to a small group chat. He let your head go and set his phone back down after replying to a few messages.

You lift your head up to catch your breath. He puts a finger under your chin to make you look at him. "Why don't you sit on my lap now."

He smirks at you as you stand up, taking your underwear off. His hands hold onto your waist as you get yourself into the couch, hovering over him.

His tip is hard against you. Dripping wet from anticipation. You sit down on him with a moan.

"Ungh- you're so hard," you pant softly, trying to let yourself adjust before rocking your hips. You keep your hands on his shoulder to keep steady.

Pushing your hair to one side, Arthur starts kissing your neck, nibbling it, trying to leave little marks without biting.

His phone goes off a few times, but you think nothing of it and start bouncing up and down on him, moaning louder.

You don't know how much time passed but you suddenly feel your bra unhook in the back. You shriek and come down hard on Arthur. Both of his hands are still on your waist.

"I cannot believe thee wouldst try taking her all for yourself, Arthur," the voice was very close to your ear. You know that voice anywhere.

Will's hands go under your bra, pushing it out of the way as he gropes you. You melt into his touch, pushing your chest into his hands.

"What can I say, she's irresistible," his hands slide down to your hips and then behind you to grab your ass. You moan again and sit up enough for him to hold you.

"Thee ought to share," he squeezes your breast once more before moving one hand to move your hair again to kiss your neck.

You could feel his fangs against your skin and tilt your head to one side. You gasp and hiss as he pinches your nipple.

"Maybe I wanted her to myself for once."

"If 't be true, then thee wouldst be in thy own room," Will looks Arthur in the eyes as he licks your neck. "Nor wouldst thee hath sent the pictures and video."

His voice tickles your ear, but the real shiver down your spine is from him rubbing your nipple harder. You should have guessed Arthur wasn't saving those for just himself.

"Will, that- Ahh!" Arthur thrust up into you the moment you said Will's name.

His hand then grabbed your jaw so you would look at him. "Don't say another man's name while I'm inside you."

You whined and started to rock your hips again.

Arthur grabbed his phone again but once he had it unlocked Will snatched it.

"Hey!"

"Oh hold on," Will opened the camera, having it on face front and started to record. Having it on your chest first.

He squeezed tightly and pinched your nipple again. Then his hand went up your chest and the camera followed, up until his hand wrapped around your throat, causing you to stretch out your neck.

You whined and rocked your hips more. You felt the wetness of his tongue drag across your skin. You didn't even realize the camera was on you.

Will then sinks his fangs into you. Your body jerks for a moment but then you start to moan. Your grip tightens on Arthur, and you pant.

Arthur glares at Will. As he drinks blood from you, he sends the video to the same chat the first one was sent to.

"If thy cock get to be inside her, then so doth mine own fangs," he licks your wound and tosses Arthur's phone back on the couch.

You bite your lip and look at Arthur. You haven't done much but you're already close to your limit.

"Once thee finish him off I shall be next," Will whispers in your ear.

Will let you go, and you start bouncing on Arthur again. You finally slip your bra off and drop it to the floor.

You come down in him as hard as you can, moaning each time his cock reenters you.

Will walks to the back of the couch so he can see you face on. You look up and see him with his phone out enjoying the show. Both of their phones go off at the same time. You hear Will chuckle and see him show his screen to Arthur.

Your legs start to shake and you're having a harder time keeping up the pace.

"Just a little more, love," he leans in and kisses you roughly, bucking his hips up. This gets him to hit a new spot inside you, getting you to moan louder. Im just moments you clench around him, covering his cock in your cum. Arthur holds your hips down into his, thrusting a few times before releasing a load into you.

You pant as the movements stop.

"Tis my turn," Will hums, coming back over to the front side of the couch as he's unbuttoning his shirt. Arthur doesn't look so happy as Will helps you off his lap. Your legs are weak, and you lean against him for support, but don't feel much other than his hard on.

"No worries, I will not make thee work for it," he kisses your cheek. He makes you bend over the arm of the couch. You could hear his pants dropping to the floor. You waited in anticipation.

His cock slid into with ease, your hole already filled with cum. You moan and lean over more, hoping the arm will support most of your body.

His hands stay on your hips, keeping you in place as he thrust into you.

Looking forward you see Arthur watching your eyes roll to the back of your head as you get fucked.

"She looks like she's already numb from too much cock. Are you able to speak for us~" Arthur smirks at you. All you do is moan each time Will's cock gets deep inside you.

"She is simply a dram play thing now."

Arthur has his phone pointed at you again, almost dropping it when he hears the window open suddenly.

"I told you two to wait for me!" Dazai is rushing to get in through the window.

"We wouldn't know. We've been having fun."

Despite the whole group chat being here, Arthur kept his phone on you, wanting to remember this look on your face.

"I don't know if she will be conscious after Will is done with her."

Will stops moving, making sure he far inside you, and leans forward to wrap his fingers around your neck to make you look up at the room. "The'e is still anoth'r hole that is not being used," Will smirks up at Dazai.

You do nothing but moan, your mouth partially open, panting lightly. "The lady seems to be begging for it to be filled," he purrs into your ear, kissing your neck on the spot he bit.

It stings, sending a shiver down your spine. After feeling his cock twitch inside you, you try to rock your hips for more friction.

"My my, she is eager," Dazai starts walking over, stripping his clothes off on the way. "Move over, Arthur," Dazai gets on the couch. Arthur gets up and grabs his clothes, just putting his pants back on.

Will lets you go, making you fall forward on the couch again. His hand glides down your back until it gets to your hip again.

"Show Dazai what that mouth can do, love," Arthur smirks. You look in front of you to see Dazai's cock in your face. You move your arms to rest them on Dazai's thighs, propping yourself up to the right height. The moment his tip passes your lips Will starts to move again. The thrust into you jerks you forward enough to take in more of him.

Dazai moans and combs his fingers through your hair. He is thicker than Arthur, but you manage to stretch your lips just enough.

Will's fingers dig into your skin as he thrusts deeper into you. Dazai is trying not to push your head all the way down.

"She's so beautiful with her mouth filled," Arthur sits back down behind Dazai, looking over his shoulder at you.

"Even if we cannot hear our lady moan," Will starts to squeeze your ass.

"We wouldn't want everyone to hear Toshiko-san," Dazai smirks as you take more of him on your own. You wrap your hand around the part of his cock that isn't in your mouth. This gets a loud moan out of him.

You suck him harder.

You don't even notice one of Will's hands leaving your body until you feel his fingers rubbing your clit. Your body jerks, squirming, and causing you to lose rhythm.

"Don't stop now," Dazai moans, pushing your head back down. You whine and you wiggle your lower half as Will continues to play with you.

In moments you let out a loud moan and cum again, tightening around Will. He groans and feels himself getting close. His thrusts get rougher, slowing down a bit since. He is pulling almost all of the way out before slamming back into you.

"Fuck..." he gasps. In a few moments he finally fills you with his cum, is getting mixed with Arthurs. He slows down his movements as he empties himself all into you.

Now that he is out of you, you are able to concentrate on sucking off Dazai. But you do start to squirm, not wanting to be empty just yet.

"It looks like she wasn't ready to be empty just yet."

"Then it's my turn," Dazai pulls your hair, taking his cock out of your mouth. You let out a long whine. You aren't sure if it's from being sore or the need to be filled.

As Will makes his way to sit on the chair, Dazai helps you onto the couch, laying you down and propping one of your legs up onto his shoulder, wasting no time in entering you.

"You're so filthy, having so much cum in you."

Dazai pins your hands to either side of your head and starts fucking all the cum further into you. You want to close your legs. You're so sore and overstimulated, but your moans and whimpers beg for more. Dazai leans down, kissing one side of your neck, opposite of where Will bit you.

Two kisses in and he sinks his fangs into you. Your hips buck up and Dazai takes the opportunity to thrust deeper. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. You aren't sure how much longer you can stay awake.

"So sweet tasting," he purrs into your ear, licking up the excess blood. You think you blacked out for a moment, because the next thing you felt was being filled with more cum. You force your eyes open to see Dazai sitting up and pushing his hair out of his face.

"Perhaps this is what our meetings shouldst be about from anon," Will smirked looking at Arthur.

Arthur helps you sit up after Dazai pulled out of you. He brings you into his lap and lets you lean against him. "You definitely would make meetings more fun," he kisses your cheek. "But I don't think I always want to share her with the two of you."

~~

Tag list~

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[pub-lius]

Hyper niche question for my autism warrior: What was the perception of aide-de-camps during the AmRev like? I assume it would be viewed as a softer position - though of course, the extent would vary depending who your CO was - but many did see action and a few were reassigned so they could fight

Hey y’all… how y’all doing… i know its been yet another period of many moons since ive posted or answered (i hope this information is still relevant btw), but ive had a lot going on with getting a job, finding colleges, my mommy issues, travel, etc. anyway, im back, and im here to tell you about my main men

It actually was not viewed as a softer position at all! The station of aide-de-camp was highly desirable for several reasons, which i will describe approximately right now

1) people had to compliment you a LOT to get in

Most of the results I got from my research on this ask were letters of recommendation for potential aides-de-camp. Letters of recommendation were high honors for any station, especially for that of a military capacity. According to my favorite source on the American Revolution (which you should know by now), George Washington’s Indispensable Men by Arthur S. Lefkowitz, it was practically impossible to get a job as an aide-de-camp if you did not have a widely positive reputation or a letter of recommendation from someone reputable (or both if you wanted to clerk for the Commander-in-Chief).

I found one letter of recommendation from j*hn ad*ms that i think serves as a very good example of the sort of statements that could land you a seat at a Continental officer’s writing desk:

“There is another Gentleman of liberal Education and real Genius, as well as great Activity, who I find is a Major in the Army; his Name is Jonathan Williams Austin. I mention him, sir, not for the Sake of recommending him to any particular Favour, as to give the General an opportunity of observing a youth of great abilities, and of reclaiming him from certain Follies, which have hitherto, in other Departments of Life obscurd him.”

-John Adams to George Washington, June 19-20, 1775, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (Founders Online, Washington Papers)

Those are my italics btw. These compliments are carefully chosen to suit the honor culture that was so pervasive throughout the 18th century and first half of the 19th century. A liberal education at the time was very hard to come by, and would be of great importance in a clerical position. Great activity also helps, because you dont want some lazy ass writing to Congress under your name, or god forbid George Washington himself, you might get hung (not really). The mention of youth is also intentional, since young men have always been preyed upon by the military. I think it’s especially noteworthy the final phrase of “reclaiming him from certain Follies”, which indicates that he might have previously had a negative reputation- whether it was warranted or not, im not sure.

2) the pay was fucking fire

For this we’re going to be utilizing my super amazing math scores that im renown for throughout the math community (yall dont know about my math tumblr), and we’re going to be using Alexander Hamilton as our lab rat, as per usual.

Alexander Hamilton joined Washington’s staff in early 1777 where a regular aide-de-camp (not a military secretary) made $33 dollars a month, which averages to about $1.10 a day. Meanwhile, according to the University of Missouri, the highest paid laborer in Massachusetts in the same year made $0.50 a day, which is about $15 a month, others making as little as about $0.22 a day, so around $7 a month. If you’re looking for ratios, by the end of the war, a pound of raisins was around $0.30. So, the highest paid Massachusetts laborer could save up every paycheck from 1777 to 1782 and buy 324 pounds of raisins, and Alexander fucking Hamilton could waltz up next to him and buy 712.8 pounds of raisins and rub it in his sad, poor face. And he wouldn’t even share because he was a congressman by that time and congressmen HATE THE POOR.

Disclaimer: Hamilton’s numbers dont include the time he quit the office bc I didn’t feel like googling how long he was away for and also i dont care. And yeah he probably would share his raisins with the guy, Hamilton was pretty nice, but i dont think he’d buy 712.8 pounds of raisins in Massachusetts anyway. Or maybe he would, I dont fucking know, stop asking me questions

3) it gave you a lot of street cred

There are many instances of aides-de-camps rising to higher status after their service, but i dont give a fuck about those nerds going into politics and law and stuff.

Most people now only know about Washington’s aides (or if you’re really autistic you know Lafayette’s too), but at the time, being an ADC to any general would get you fairly well known in society. General Sullivan’s aides seem to have been pretty well known and admired, as they are frequently mentioned in John Adams’ correspondence with other congressmen, as well as that of Benjamin Franklin with French diplomats all the way across the Atlantic.

But I imagine you’re also wondering (or at least i am) about what the everyday enlisted man thought of the ADCs, and that answer doesn’t really change. Of course, the men sitting out in the rain and mud without food for the past week are going to be envious of the guys who get to sleep in a house, but their quarters weren’t the most comfortable either. Aides-de-camp were probably the most connected out of the disconnected officers, if that makes sense. They weren’t fraternizing with the enlisted, but they were seen by them more frequently than the generals, and they were the ones advocating for the needs of the enlisted men. Even if they didn’t have any battle experience whatsoever (which really was never the case, i cant think of an aide who WOULDNT have seen battle), they would still be respected by the men as hardworkers and the only people who might actually get them food and clothes.

Thank you for the ask! I really enjoyed researching it and my family had a great time joking about me hunched over my ipad reading through the national archives while we all watched jeopardy, misspelling like every other word because its hard to type on an ipad. Im going to try to be more active, so please feel free to send further questions! I forgot how cathartic research is for me so id be very happy to do more. I have one more ask in my inbox i’ll try to get done sometime in the next few days. Love yall!

[dk-ghostmachines]

i gotta talk about FourDogs

I really do. 'Cause I posted a lil' passive-aggressive hot take a few days ago, but this is Tumblr not TikTok. Here we can have our 60-second hot takes and eat our long essays too. Kipperlilly Copperkettle was introduced as a rival in episode 3, after which there were a number of posts criticizing The Bad Kids' response to her, labeling it disproportionately mean at best and bullying at worst. I think that's an unfair reading of that interaction and I'm gonna talk about why.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that it's parasocial as fuck over here and The Bad Kids are my personal best friends actually, so where necessary I'll do my best to separate the ((loyalist ride-or-die-bad-boys-for-lyfe emotional reactions)) from the actual points I'm trying to make.

((That being said, the fuck was FourDogs talking about? Y'know? Like what was she on about, for real?))

Here's what's true: over the course of their time at Aguefort, three adults directly related to The Bad Kids - Jawbone, Gorthalax, and Gilear - have been instated as faculty or staff. And if I'm a third-party, especially another student, then for sure. It's giving nepotism, it's giving cronyism, and I'm drinking my Haterade about it every morning. But favoritism is about treatment. It's about actions, rewards, benefits - and ma'am, if you're gonna levy a charge like that, I'm afraid you're gonna need receipts!

What actual benefits have The Bad Kids received from the school that is not available to other students? In freshman and sophomore year, The Bad Kids get detention like anybody else, they don't make it on the Bloodrush team, Gorgug in particular was always not doing great in Barbarian class, they take their midterms, they have to complete the big 60%-of-the-grade spring break project, etc. And now this year, Fig is getting punished for not going to class, Kristen is getting consequences specific to being a kid with ADHD who doesn't live at home anymore, Gorgug's still getting the literal opposite of favoritism from Porter, and Riz, Adaine, and Fabian are all getting the treatment from professors that is proportional for historically successful students in good academic standing.

((And someone else brought this up but, re:that 60%-of-the-grade project, miss ma'am, what were you doing in the Far Haven Woods?? In addition to saving the world again, The Bad Kids endured borderline psychological torture for their final grade, while the Buttcrushers got to step on bugs in the neutral zone??? But they're the privileged ones, no, for sure))

Whether or not saving the world is as big a deal in-universe as it would be in our real world is up for debate. Brennan said it was an outstanding feat in the scope of student adventuring at Aguefort to consistently complete Class B and C quests, but then, when TBK comes back from Hot Yorb Summer everyone acts like they went on a class trip to Six Flags. Either way, unearned success is the wiiiiiildest claim to lay at the feet of consistent world-savers.

Freshmen year it was the Helioic Fundamentalist Apocalypse and the Emperor of the Red Wastes. Sophomore year it was the Nightmare King and the Night Yorb. They've saved the whole school, they've saved specific students at the school. They My Little Pony-ed Ragh, one of the biggest actual bullies Aguefort had, and then Fabian killed toxic masculinity! Even if the favoritism was in the room with us, would it not be the natural result of all this hero shit??? Aguefort hasn't done The Bad Kids any favors he wouldn't do for the rest of the student body, but even if he had I'd get it because KRISTEN APPLEBEES SNUCK HIM INTO HEAVEN AND THEN BROUGHT HIS ASS BACK TO LIFE.

Again, maybe not remarkable in a world where Revivify is just a thing you can learn, but y'know! Shit!! Diamonds aren't free!!

Also FourDogs' whole tone of disdain for the "eccentricity" of Arthur Aguefort's administrative decisions truly boggles the mind, because we found out in freshmen year that he has some kind of mass Power Word over the government of Solace that allows the students of his school to do crimes, AND in sophomore year he has that auto-call-ex-machina that students can evoke when they're in danger overseas. His "eccentricity" is the reason the school can function at all, put some respect on man's name.

Now, let's get word-perfect.

That's the American Psychological Association.

And that's StopBullying.gov, which is managed by the Department of Health and Human Services.

Here's what's true. At moment 00:00 of their relationship, Kristen said something pretty freakin' mean to Kipperlilly for an audience of her friends with like, no provocation.

Kipperlily then revealed that she has based her entire campaign around addressing the perceived privilege that "some students" have under Arthur Aguefort's rules. And THEN, Jawbone revealed that Kipperlilly had been snooping around asking questions about Kristen's relationships with her god and trying to get general dirt on The Bad Kids. BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE, in the preview for episode 6, we get Murph's line of "Kipperlilly's team is trying to get us kicked out of school".

Does that excuse the thing Kristen said ((yes it was hilarious)), no. Not at all. She didn't know that stuff, Kipperlilly just failed a vibe check. In the moment though, that's all it was. The Bad Kids met someone they didn't like and perceived as a threat, and Kipperlilly had something mean said to her by people she already didn't like and already wants to see brought down. While she was not threatening them in that moment, Kipperlilly is a threat. She's not a victim, she is an equal with opposing goals. And now that Ruben has the song of the summer, The Buttcrushers are probably just as popular as The Bad Kids. There is no greater imbalance, they're just adversaries.

Ultimately, Kipperlilly's got them fucked up. But she's a kid. Kids are allowed to get shit fucked up and misdirect their anger at systemic unfairness. TBK are also kids and well within their rights to feel what they felt when Four Dogs walked up with self-righteous vibes and started yappin about academic privilege in what is already the most academically stressful year of their lives.

As the audience, we not only know all the shit TBK has gone through that Kipperlilly does not, we also are aware of how Brennan is introducing her in the story. As soon as he brings her into the scene, you know what's up. The voice he gives her, the tone, the actual things he's saying - if you watch everyone's face after the line about favoritism gets dropped it's the culmination of the whole interaction. Oh, she's our enemy, like our specific enemy and her team is coming for us, specifically.

So what do we gain from ignoring all that? From ignoring the JUICE of this rivalry and flattening it into "the bad kids were mean :/". I actually love Kipperlilly, the rivalry is giving and I love feeling big emotions and getting to use angry, feral, fandom language. FourDogs, can't wait to see you next week, and I can't wait to read the 40k word, FourDogsxKristen, enemies-to-lovers fics. And y'know, shout out to all the people who kin her because she found the rogue teacher, it's pretty goated, I won't lie.

But also. Bad Kids Supremacy. Buttcrushers, stay mad.

[muiitoloko]

Hii! I just saw that your asks are open, and that you write for Kingsman. Yesterday I discovered the two Kingsman movies and I watched them both, and now I'm obsessed with both Harry and Merlin.

I wanted to ask you for a Merlin or Harry fic (whichever you want) of angst and the grovelling trope. Like, maybe he has a terrible day and the reader tries to confort him, but he ends up snapping at her and telling her some real hurtful things and so he has to grovel *a lot* to earn her forgiveness or something like that :)

If you don't want to write it or you're too busy I completely understand :)

Also, if you do write it, please tag me, I don't want to miss it for the world <3

Title: The Price of Pride

Summary: Harry's pride and stubbornness drive a wedge between him and Gawain, leading to a heated sparring match that becomes a battleground for their unresolved feelings.

Pairing: Harry Hart × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Jealousy.

Author's Notes: Hii! @leylovestaytay and @shamelesstrekkie13 😊 First of all, welcome to the Kingsman obsession club—Harry and Merlin are just too irresistible, aren’t they? Your request has me grinning because, oh boy, who doesn’t love a good groveling trope? I can totally imagine Harry or Merlin having to do some serious damage control after snapping at the reader. I’m definitely up for writing this. Thanks for the awesome idea, and stay tuned! 💖

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Harry’s hands trembled with barely contained rage as he stormed into the dimly lit safehouse, his usually impeccable composure shattered by the events of the day. The mission had been a disaster from start to finish, and the humiliation of failing a mission—a task that had always come so naturally to him—was like a knife to the heart. But the worst part, the part that made his blood boil, was Chester, the current Arthur, who had the audacity to make fun of him, to belittle him in front of the others.

And to add insult to injury, the one person who had saved his ass on that mission, who had pulled him back from the brink of failure, was the same person now standing in front of him, trying to offer him comfort—Agent Gawain. You.

You watched Harry from across the room, your heart aching as you saw the torment etched across his usually stoic face. You knew how much pride he took in his work, how much it meant to him to be the best, to maintain the perfect image of a Kingsman. And today, that image had been shattered. You wanted to help him, to console him, but you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes, the way his jaw clenched and his fists curled at his sides.

"Harry," you said softly, taking a tentative step toward him, your voice filled with concern. "It wasn’t your fault. The mission… it was unpredictable. You did everything you could—"

"Don’t," Harry snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His brown eyes were dark, filled with a fury you had never seen before, and it made you stop in your tracks, your heart skipping a beat. "Don’t try to console me, Gawain. You have no idea what it’s like to fail like this. To be humiliated in front of the entire organization, to be mocked by Chester of all people."

You flinched at the venom in his words, the way he spat out Chester’s name like it was poison. "Harry, I’m just trying to help—"

"Help?" Harry let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and grating. He took a step toward you, his presence overwhelming as he loomed over you, his height and intensity making you feel small, insignificant. "You want to help me, do you? Is that why you saved my sorry ass on the mission? To play the hero, to swoop in and save Galahad like some knight in shining armor?"

You shook your head, your chest tightening with the weight of his anger, his words cutting deeper than you could have ever anticipated. "No, Harry, that’s not it at all. I just… I didn’t want you to get hurt."

"Didn’t want me to get hurt?" Harry repeated, his voice dripping with mockery. "Is that really what this is about, Gawain? Or is it because of that little crush you’ve been nursing for me? Did you think saving me would make me finally notice you, that it would make me see you as something more than just another agent?"

You felt your heart drop at his words, the sting of his mockery hitting you like a physical blow. You had never been able to hide your feelings for Harry, your admiration for him that had grown into something much deeper, much more complicated. But hearing him throw it back in your face, using it as a weapon against you, was something you hadn’t been prepared for.

"Harry, please," you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to keep your composure, even as your vision blurred with unshed tears. "That’s not what this is about. I care about you, yes, but I would have done the same for any of my fellow agents. You know that."

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer as he took another step closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "Care about me? Is that what you call it? Do you know what I think, Gawain? I think you’re just a pathetic little schoolgirl, clinging to some fantasy of what we could be, when the reality is that you’re nothing more than a distraction."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. You had always known that your feelings for Harry were one-sided, that he would never see you in the same way, but hearing him say it out loud, in such a cruel, dismissive way, was almost too much to bear.

"You think that by saving me, by trying to console me now, you can somehow make yourself more than what you are?" Harry continued, his voice cold and cutting as he advanced on you, his presence overwhelming. "You’re delusional, Gawain. I don’t need your pity, your concern, or your so-called care. What I need is for you to stay the hell out of my way."

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. "I’m not trying to get in your way, Harry," you whispered, your voice trembling with the effort it took to keep it steady. "I just want to help you. I want to be there for you."

"Be there for me?" Harry’s laugh was harsh, almost cruel, as he looked down at you, his brown eyes filled with disdain. "You’re not there for me, Gawain. You’re nothing more than a distraction, a hindrance. Your feelings for me, your pathetic little crush, are nothing but a burden that I’ve had to carry. And you know what? I’m tired of it. I’m tired of you."

The finality of his words hit you like a slap to the face, the coldness in his voice making it clear that he meant every word. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces, the weight of his rejection, his anger, almost too much to bear.

Harry’s gaze bore into you, his eyes dark and unforgiving as he took one last step toward you, his voice dropping to a low, menacing whisper. "You think I don’t know what you want, Gawain? You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me, the way your eyes linger on me, the way you practically beg for my attention? You’re nothing but a desperate little girl, clinging to a fantasy that will never, ever come true."

You could feel the tears streaming down your face now, hot and unchecked, as you looked up at him, your heart breaking with every word he spoke. You had never felt so small, so insignificant, so utterly worthless.

"And you know what the worst part is?" Harry continued, his voice low and filled with contempt as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You actually thought you had a chance. You thought that saving me, that being there for me, would make me see you differently. But let me make one thing perfectly clear, Gawain—I will never, ever feel the same way about you. You’re just another agent, nothing more."

You felt your knees buckle under the weight of his words, your body trembling as you tried to hold yourself together, to keep from falling apart completely. But it was no use. The pain was too much, the anguish too overwhelming.

Harry stepped back, his expression cold and impassive as he looked down at you, his voice devoid of any warmth, any compassion. "Now get out of my sight, Gawain. And don’t ever try to console me again."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, shattered and broken, the pieces of your heart scattered at your feet. You watched him go, your vision blurred with tears, your body trembling with the effort it took to keep from collapsing.

You had always known that Harry was a man of control, a man who prided himself on his stoicism, his ability to remain calm and composed in any situation. But today, that control had slipped, and you had seen a side of him that you had never seen before—a side that was cruel, cutting, and utterly devastating.

And as you stood there, alone and broken, you couldn’t help but wonder if you would ever be able to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, or if you would be forever haunted by the memory of Harry’s words, the coldness in his eyes, the finality of his rejection.

The days following Harry’s cruel words were some of the hardest you had ever endured. You did as he asked, staying out of his way, not even greeting him when the two of you passed side by side in the corridors. You didn’t look at him during the weekly meetings, where all the agents gathered to deal with Arthur. You interacted with everyone except Harry, and when you had to address him, you treated him as Galahad, with a cold, distant professionalism that cut deeper than any insult.

Harry noticed the change immediately. It was as if a light had been extinguished. Your jokes, your infectious laughter, your kind words—you still shared them with everyone else, but never with him. To you, he was no longer Harry, your mentor, your friend, the man you had admired and cared for. He was just Galahad, a title and nothing more.

At first, Harry tried to tell himself that this was what he wanted. That it was better this way, that you were just a distraction he could do without. But as the days passed, he found himself missing the sound of your voice, the way you used to tease him, the way you would light up any room you entered. The absence of your warmth, your light, left a void that he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he tried.

It didn’t help that Merlin had begun to notice the tension between you and Harry. Merlin was nothing if not observant, and it didn’t take long for him to piece together that something was wrong. He saw the way you avoided Harry’s gaze, the way you stiffened whenever he entered a room, the way you now treated him with a cold formality that was so unlike you.

One afternoon, after a particularly tense meeting where you had barely acknowledged Harry’s presence, Merlin decided it was time to confront him. He found Harry in the training room, where he was taking out his frustrations on a punching bag, his movements sharp and aggressive, each punch landing with a force that betrayed the turmoil inside him.

“Harry,” Merlin called out, his voice steady but laced with concern as he approached. Harry didn’t stop, didn’t even look up, his focus entirely on the bag in front of him. But Merlin wasn’t one to be ignored.

“Harry!” Merlin’s voice was firmer this time, and finally, Harry stopped, his chest heaving with exertion as he turned to face his old friend.

“What is it, Merlin?” Harry’s tone was clipped, his expression hard as he grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze unwavering as he studied Harry. “Something’s going on between you and Gawain. What the hell happened?”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing at the mention of your name. “Nothing that concerns you, Merlin.”

“Bollocks,” Merlin shot back, not missing a beat. “It concerns all of us when two of our best agents can’t even look at each other, let alone work together. I’ve known you for too long, Harry. You don’t just snap at people like that for no reason. What did you do?"

Harry turned away, his shoulders tense as he tried to brush off the conversation. “It’s nothing. Just leave it alone.”

But Merlin wasn’t having it. He stepped closer, his voice lowering as he pressed on. “Did you hurt her, Harry? Did you push her away?”

Harry’s frustration flared as Merlin’s words struck a nerve. The accusation, the implication that he had done something wrong, only added to the boiling anger that had been simmering within him since that disastrous mission. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he stared at Merlin, his mind racing with the injustice of it all.

“Why do you assume it’s my fault?” Harry snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. “Why not Gawain? Why am I the one to blame here?”

Merlin raised an eyebrow, his expression unyielding as he met Harry’s gaze. “Because we both know that Gawain would never willingly hurt you, Harry. The girl worships the ground you walk on. She hangs on your every word, looks at you like you hung the stars. Hell, some of the other agents have even gotten a bit jealous of the way she treats you, the attention you receive. And you—”

“I didn’t ask for any of that,” Harry interrupted, his tone defensive as he turned away, trying to escape the weight of Merlin’s words. But the truth of them clung to him, gnawing at the edges of his conscience. He knew how you looked at him, the admiration in your eyes, the way you would brighten whenever he entered a room. It had been both flattering and overwhelming, but he had always tried to maintain a professional distance, to keep things strictly business between the two of you.

But now, as Merlin’s words sank in, he realized just how much he had come to rely on that admiration, on the warmth and light you brought into his life. And now that it was gone, the absence of it left him feeling hollow, like something vital had been stripped away.

Merlin stepped closer, his voice dropping to a gentler tone as he pressed on. “Harry, what did you say to her? Whatever it was, it broke her. She’s not the same. She barely looks at you, barely acknowledges you. You’ve hurt her deeply, and I can see it’s eating away at you too. So, what did you do?”

Harry’s jaw clenched, the memories of that night in the safehouse flooding back—the anger, the frustration, the venom he had unleashed on you in a moment of weakness. He had said things he didn’t mean, used your feelings against you in the cruelest way possible, all because he couldn’t handle his own emotions, his own failure.

But now, you were paying the price for his mistakes, and it tore him apart.

“I… I was angry,” Harry admitted, his voice thick with regret as he finally turned to face Merlin again, the anguish evident in his eyes. “I said things I shouldn’t have, things I didn’t mean. I pushed her away, Merlin. I broke her.”

Merlin’s expression softened, a flicker of sympathy crossing his features as he placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Then you need to fix it, Harry. You need to make this right.”

“How?” Harry’s voice cracked with the weight of his guilt, his brown eyes filled with a desperation that Merlin hadn’t seen in him before. “She won’t even look at me now, won’t acknowledge that I exist. She’s gone cold, Merlin. And I deserve it. But I don’t know how to reach her, how to make her see that I—”

“That you what?” Merlin prompted gently, his gaze steady as he watched his old friend struggle with the words.

Harry swallowed hard, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. “That I care about her. That I miss her. Damn it, Merlin, I miss her so much it hurts.”

Merlin nodded slowly, his eyes filled with understanding. “Then you need to tell her that, Harry. You need to show her that you’re willing to crawl back, to earn her forgiveness. Because right now, she doesn’t think you care. And if you don’t do something soon, she might not give you the chance to prove otherwise.”

Harry’s heart sank at the truth of Merlin’s words. He had pushed you away, shattered the trust and admiration you had held for him, and now he was faced with the impossible task of mending what he had broken. The thought of you, the way you used to joke and laugh, your infectious smile that had always brightened his day, now replaced with cold indifference—it was unbearable.

And yet, you had every right to treat him that way. After all, he had been the one to throw your feelings back in your face, to reduce you to nothing more than a distraction. The weight of his actions pressed down on him, suffocating him with guilt and regret.

For days, he tried to find the courage to approach you, to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness. But every time he saw you—sitting quietly in the briefing room, your eyes avoiding his, your smile reserved for everyone but him—the words would die in his throat. He had hurt you too deeply, and now, it seemed, you had built a wall between you, one that he didn’t know how to break through.

And so, he began to retreat, letting the shame and guilt consume him, until one day, when he found himself standing outside your door, his heart pounding in his chest. He had rehearsed what he wanted to say a thousand times, but as he stood there, the words seemed inadequate, insufficient to convey the depth of his regret, his longing to make things right.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly, his heart in his throat as he waited for you to answer. When the door finally opened, and you stood there, looking up at him with that same cold, distant expression that had haunted him for weeks, his resolve nearly crumbled.

But he couldn’t back down now. He had to try.

“Gawain,” Harry began, his voice rough with emotion as he looked into your eyes, hoping—praying—that he could find a way to reach you. “I need to talk to you. Please… can we talk?”

You looked at Harry for a moment, your expression unreadable as you stood in the doorway, your hand resting on the handle of your suitcase. The sight of him standing there, his posture slightly slumped, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and desperation, stirred something deep within you, but you quickly squashed it down, refusing to let him see how much his presence affected you.

"Make it quick, Galahad," you said, your voice cool, almost detached, as you turned back into the room, leaving the door open behind you. You didn’t wait for him to follow you, moving to the small desk in the corner of the office and beginning to gather the last of your things. The room was a fraction of the size of Harry’s own office in the Kingsman mansion, but it had been yours—a space where you could work, think, and be alone when you needed to.

Harry entered the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He stood awkwardly near the doorway, his eyes scanning the space as if seeing it for the first time. It wasn’t the first time he had been in your office, but it was the first time he had really paid attention to the place—the small, tidy desk, the bookshelf lined with mission files and personal mementos, the single chair tucked neatly into the corner. It was all so much like you—efficient, organized, but with a touch of warmth that had always drawn him in, even if he hadn’t realized it before.

You continued to sort through the papers on your desk, your movements precise and deliberate, as if you were trying to keep yourself busy, to avoid looking at him. "What do you want, Galahad?" you asked, your tone flat, as if you were asking about the weather.

Harry hesitated, the words he had rehearsed in his mind suddenly feeling inadequate, but he knew he couldn’t back down now. He had to make this right, even if you wouldn’t let him.

"I wanted to apologize," Harry said finally, his voice soft, almost tentative, as he took a step closer. He tried to keep his tone measured, his words carefully chosen, but the anguish in his heart made it hard to maintain the stoic façade he usually wore so effortlessly. "For what I said… that day. I was angry—furious, really—and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t deserve it, Gawain. None of it."

You didn’t look up, your hands continuing to move through the papers, straightening them, placing them in neat piles, as if you hadn’t heard him at all. Your silence, your indifference, was like a knife twisting in his chest, but he pressed on, desperate to make you understand.

"I know I hurt you," Harry continued, his voice trembling slightly as he forced himself to keep going. "And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Gawain. I never should have said those things, and I—"

"It’s fine, Galahad," you interrupted, your tone clipped, as you set down the papers and finally turned to face him. There was no warmth in your eyes, no trace of the affection that had once been there, and it made Harry’s heart ache. "It’s in the past. Let’s just… leave it there."

Harry felt his chest tighten at your words, at the cold, distant way you dismissed him, as if everything he had just said meant nothing. He had expected anger, or maybe even tears, but not this—this cold indifference that made him feel like he was talking to a stranger.

"But it’s not fine," Harry said, his voice growing more urgent, more desperate, as he took another step toward you. "It’s not in the past, Gawain. I see the way you look at me now—the way you don’t look at me. You’ve shut me out, and I can’t… I can’t bear it. I miss you. I miss your jokes, your smile, the way you light up every room you enter. I miss the way you used to look at me, with that admiration in your eyes. I miss you, Gawain. And I’m sorry—"

"Enough," you cut him off again, your voice firm as you held up a hand to stop him. You didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to let him back in, didn’t want to let yourself feel the pain that his words were stirring up inside you. You had spent weeks building up these walls, weeks trying to protect yourself from the hurt he had caused, and you weren’t going to let him tear them down now.

"It’s done, Harry," you said, your voice steady but devoid of emotion as you looked him in the eye. "You said what you needed to say, and I’ve heard it. But I’m not going to pretend that things can just go back to the way they were. You made it very clear that I’m nothing more than a distraction to you, and I’ve accepted that. So let’s just move on."

Harry looked at the ground, his mind swirling with emotions he couldn't quite name. He had come here to make amends, to try and salvage what he could of your relationship, but now, faced with your cold indifference, he found himself at a loss. The warmth, the light that had once radiated from you, was gone, replaced by a wall of icy detachment that he didn't know how to penetrate. It was as if the person who had always been by his side, supporting him with your jokes and infectious laughter, had disappeared, leaving only a hollow shell in their place.

For a moment, Harry considered pressing further, considered trying one last time to break through the barrier you had put up between you. But the words caught in his throat, the weight of your rejection pressing down on him like a physical force. He couldn't bear the thought of humiliating himself further, of begging for forgiveness that you seemed unwilling to give.

So, he did what he always did when faced with emotions too complex to handle—he suppressed them. With a deep breath, Harry forced his features into a mask of indifference, schooling his expression into the stoic, unflappable demeanor that had become his trademark. He had tried to make things right, and if you couldn't accept his apology, then that was your problem, not his.

"Very well," Harry said, his voice cool, detached, as he looked up at you with an expression that betrayed none of the turmoil he felt inside. "I hope this... unfortunate conflict won't affect our ability to work together in the future."

You snorted at his words, a sound that was equal parts derision and disbelief. The sound grated on Harry's nerves, but he kept his composure, refusing to let you see how much it affected him. If this was how you wanted to play it, then so be it.

Without another word, Harry turned on his heel and walked toward the door, his steps measured and controlled. But as he reached the doorway, something inside him snapped, a flicker of the anger and frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface. He pushed the door closed behind him with more force than he intended, the sharp click of the latch echoing through the room.

Fine, he thought bitterly as he stalked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the silence. If you wanted to shut him out, then he would let you. He wouldn't humiliate himself further by groveling at your feet, by begging for something that clearly wasn't there anymore. He had his pride, after all, and he wasn't about to let it be trampled on by someone who had decided he was nothing more than a distraction.

He had tried to apologize, had swallowed his pride and admitted his faults. If you couldn't see past your own hurt to forgive him, then perhaps you weren't as mature as he had once thought. Perhaps you were still nothing more than a child, clinging to a fantasy that would never come true.

Harry's thoughts grew darker as he made his way through the corridors of the mansion, his mind racing with a mix of frustration and regret. He couldn't shake the image of your cold, distant eyes, the way you had dismissed him as if he meant nothing. It stung, more than he cared to admit, but he refused to let it show. He was Harry Hart, after all—Agent Galahad. He had faced down enemies far more dangerous than this, had endured pain far worse than the sting of a broken heart. He would survive this, just as he had survived everything else.

The next morning, Harry arrived at the training facility, his usual impeccable composure firmly in place. The early hours were always reserved for physical training, and today was no different. The large, open space was already buzzing with activity as agents honed their skills under Merlin’s watchful eye.

Harry forced himself to focus on the task at hand, determined to push the previous day’s events out of his mind. He needed to regain control, to reassert his dominance as one of the top agents in Kingsman. But as soon as he walked into the training area, his eyes found you, and all his resolve crumbled.

You were sparring with James, the current Lancelot, and to Harry’s irritation, the two of you seemed to be enjoying yourselves far too much. James was a notorious flirt, a man who had always tried his luck with the female agents, but until now, you had never reciprocated. Yet here you were, laughing at something he said, your eyes bright with amusement as you effortlessly blocked one of his punches.

Harry’s jaw tightened as he watched the scene unfold, his chest tightening with an emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge. He had no right to feel this way—not after what he had said to you, not after pushing you away so cruelly. But the sight of James flirting with you, and worse, the way you seemed to be responding to it, sent a wave of jealousy crashing through him.

He tried to focus on his own training, to throw himself into the exercises with the same intensity he usually did, but his eyes kept drifting back to you and James. Every time he saw you smile at him, every time he heard you laugh at one of his stupid jokes, Harry felt his blood pressure rise.

James was relentless, his flirting becoming more blatant with each passing minute. At one point, he leaned in close, his hand brushing against your arm as he whispered something in your ear that made you laugh. The sound, once so sweet to Harry’s ears, now grated on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

Harry’s fists clenched as he watched James step back, a cocky grin on his face as he squared off against you again. The two of you moved in a graceful, almost choreographed dance, your bodies in perfect sync as you sparred. But it wasn’t the skillful movements or the precision of your strikes that caught Harry’s attention—it was the way you were looking at James, the way your eyes sparkled with something more than just amusement.

The irritation that had been simmering beneath the surface all morning finally bubbled over. Harry’s punches became more aggressive, his movements sharp and jerky as he tried to burn off the anger coursing through him. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to acknowledge the jealousy that was eating away at him, but he couldn’t deny the truth.

He was angry. Angry at James for flirting with you, angry at you for reciprocating, but most of all, angry at himself for pushing you away in the first place. This was his fault—he had driven you to this, driven you into the arms of another man. And now, he was paying the price.

Harry knew he had no right to feel this way, knew that he had forfeited any claim to you the moment he had spoken those cruel words. But that didn’t stop the jealousy from gnawing at him, from making his blood boil every time he saw you smile at James.

"Nice form, Galahad," Merlin’s voice cut through Harry’s thoughts, jolting him back to reality. The older man was standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest as he observed the training session. His sharp eyes took in every detail, missing nothing.

Harry nodded curtly, forcing himself to focus. "Thank you, Merlin," he replied, his voice clipped as he delivered another precise punch to the training dummy. But his mind wasn’t on his training—it was on you, and the way you were still laughing with James.

Merlin’s gaze followed Harry’s line of sight, and he raised an eyebrow as he noticed the interaction between you and Lancelot. A knowing look passed over his face, and he let out a quiet sigh. "You’ve got work to do, Harry," he said quietly, his voice laced with sympathy. "She’s not going to forgive you easily. You’ll have to crawl a lot to earn her trust back."

Harry attacked the training dummy with renewed aggression, his fists slamming into the padded target with a force that was almost reckless. He barely heard Merlin’s sigh of exasperation as he muttered to himself, his words laced with bitterness. “I’m done, Merlin. I apologized last night. I did what I could. If she wants to ignore me, so be it. I’m not chasing after her anymore.”

Merlin shook his head, clearly irritated by Harry’s stubbornness. “You’re acting like a damn teenager, Harry,” he muttered, crossing his arms as he watched his old friend take out his frustration on the inanimate target. “You care about her, and she cares about you. But you’ve got to stop being so bloody proud and actually talk to her, not just throw apologies at her feet and expect her to come running.”

Harry didn’t respond, his focus on the training dummy, his knuckles turning white as he continued to land blow after blow. The truth in Merlin’s words stung, but he was too angry, too frustrated to admit it. He had tried—he had swallowed his pride, bared his soul, and all he got in return was cold indifference. What more was he supposed to do?

Suddenly, a sound drew their attention, and both men turned to see you and James in the midst of what appeared to be a playful tussle. James was lying flat on the mat, a wide grin on his face, while you straddled him, your hands pinning his wrists to the ground. The sight made Harry’s stomach twist with an emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge—jealousy, burning and raw.

James, never one to miss an opportunity, chuckled up at you, his voice low and teasing. “I’ve always loved a woman who knows how to take control,” he said, a playful gleam in his eye. His words earned a laugh from you, the sound light and genuine, and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you released his wrists and helped him to his feet.

“Is that so, Lancelot?” you quipped, a teasing smile on your lips. “You might want to be careful with that kind of talk. You never know when someone might take you seriously.”

James flashed you a grin, clearly enjoying the banter. “With you, Gawain, I’d gladly take my chances.”

Harry scoffed under his breath, turning his back on the scene, his eyes narrowing as he resumed his assault on the training dummy. “Isn’t James a little too old for you?” he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He landed a particularly vicious punch, the force of it making the dummy sway. “For the love of God…”

Merlin, still standing nearby, couldn’t hide the frustration in his voice as he observed Harry’s childish behavior. “You’re really going to stand there and sulk while she’s right there, laughing and having a good time? Maybe if you stopped being so bloody stubborn, you’d realize that she’s still the same woman you’ve always admired—she’s just hurting.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond, focusing instead on the rhythmic pounding of his fists against the dummy. He couldn’t let go of the anger, the bitterness that clung to him like a second skin. He had tried to make amends, and you had brushed him off. What was he supposed to do—grovel?

Across the room, James glanced over at Harry, his expression thoughtful as he caught the tension in his old friend’s posture. He knew Harry well enough to recognize when he was struggling with something, and he also knew that this tension between Harry and you wasn’t doing anyone any favors.

James leaned in closer to you, his voice low and conspiratorial. “You know, if you really want to get under Harry’s skin, you should keep doing exactly what you’re doing.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what exactly am I doing, Lancelot?”

James smirked, glancing over at Harry’s back, which was still turned to the both of you. “You’re driving him absolutely mad. I think he’s seconds away from ripping that dummy to shreds.”

You chuckled, though there was a hint of sadness in your eyes. “I’m not trying to drive him mad, James. I’m just… I’m tired of feeling like I’m chasing after something that’s never going to happen.”

James softened at your words, his teasing demeanor shifting to something more serious. “Gawain, Harry’s a stubborn bastard, we both know that. But he cares about you. He just doesn’t know how to show it, especially when he’s hurt you the way he has.”

You sighed, glancing over at Harry’s back, your expression conflicted. “I don’t know, James. It’s just… it’s been hard, you know? I thought we had something, and then he just—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head as you tried to push the painful memories aside.

James placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Give him time. He’s not the best at dealing with his emotions, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. He cares, Gawain. He just needs to pull his head out of his arse long enough to admit it.”

You gave him a small, grateful smile, but the sadness in your eyes remained. “Thanks, James. But I’m not holding my breath.”

As you turned back to your training, Merlin approached Harry, who was still pounding away at the dummy with unrelenting force. “You know,” Merlin said, his tone mild but pointed, “if you keep pretending you don’t care, you’re going to lose her. And judging by the way you’re acting, I’d say that’s the last thing you want.”

Harry paused, his fists hovering in mid-air as Merlin’s words sank in. He glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of you and James, still chatting and laughing together, and a wave of frustration and helplessness washed over him. Merlin was right, of course. He was acting like a fool, letting his pride and anger cloud his judgment. But admitting that—admitting that he had been wrong, that he needed you—wasn’t something Harry was used to. He had built his life on control, on maintaining a calm, collected façade, and now that it was slipping, he didn’t know how to handle it.

“Maybe she’s better off without me,” Harry muttered, more to himself than to Merlin. “I’ve already caused her enough pain.”

Merlin let out a long, exasperated sigh. “You’ve both caused each other pain, Harry. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. You just need to stop being so damn stubborn and talk to her. Really talk to her.”

Harry didn’t respond, his gaze drifting back to the training dummy, but his mind was elsewhere—on you, on the way you had smiled at James, on the way his words had made you laugh. The thought of you moving on, of finding happiness with someone else, sent a fresh stab of jealousy through him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you deserved better. Better than a man who had pushed you away, better than someone who had let his pride get in the way of something real.

But as he watched you from across the room, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late—if he had already lost you to the easy charm of someone like James, someone who could make you laugh without the baggage that Harry carried.

And as he turned back to the training dummy, his fists clenched at his sides, Harry couldn’t help but curse himself for being so blind.

After James finished his workout, he gave you a warm smile, wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel. "Good work today, Gawain," he said, his tone light but sincere. "If you ever get tired of Galahad’s grumpiness, you know where to find me." He winked, his flirtatious nature coming through even in his goodbyes.

You chuckled, giving him a playful nudge. "I’ll keep that in mind, Lancelot. See you around." With that, James headed toward the showers, leaving you alone in the training room, your mind still spinning from the morning’s events.

You turned back to your equipment, trying to focus on packing up, but you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t need to look to know who it was; the air seemed to shift when Harry was near, and the tension between you was almost palpable. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever was coming.

Harry wasted no time in approaching you, trying to appear casual and nonchalant, but the set of his shoulders and the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. He was nervous, though he would never admit it. "Gawain," he began, his voice smooth but with an undercurrent of something deeper. "Mind if we train together for a bit? I could use the workout, and it’s been a while since we’ve sparred."

You hesitated, your first instinct was to refuse. After everything that had happened, you weren’t sure you were ready to spend time alone with him, not when the wounds were still so fresh. But another part of you, the part that knew you couldn’t ignore Harry forever, reminded you that this was bound to happen eventually. The two of you were partners, after all, and sooner or later, you’d have to learn how to work together again.

With a slight nod, you agreed. "Sure, Galahad. Let’s do it." Your voice was calm, but you couldn’t hide the slight tremor in it, nor the way your heart raced at the prospect of being so close to him again.

Harry’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—relief, perhaps, or maybe just a hint of the old warmth that used to be there before everything had gone so wrong. "Great," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "Let’s start with some hand-to-hand."

You both moved to the center of the mat, assuming your stances. There was a moment of hesitation, a brief pause where neither of you moved, as if you were both waiting for the other to make the first move, not just in the sparring match but in the fragile reconciliation that lay just beneath the surface.

Then, as if by mutual agreement, you both lunged at the same time. The first few exchanges were cautious, testing the waters, feeling out each other’s rhythm. But as the sparring session continued, the tension began to melt away, replaced by the familiar push and pull of two well-matched partners.

It was almost easy to fall back into the rhythm, to let muscle memory take over, and for a while, it felt like old times. Harry’s movements were precise, controlled, but there was a fire in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in weeks. He was pushing you, challenging you, and you met him move for move, refusing to back down.

But there was something different, too—a simmering undercurrent of tension that hadn’t been there before. Every brush of his hand against yours, every time he managed to pin you, every time you escaped his grasp, it all felt charged, electric, like there was something more beneath the surface that neither of you was quite ready to acknowledge.

At one point, Harry managed to get you into a hold, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close against his chest. You could feel the heat of his breath on your neck, the hard lines of his body pressing into yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. His grip on you was firm, but not painful, and the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, made your breath catch in your throat.

"Not bad," Harry murmured in your ear, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. "But you’ll have to do better than that if you want to take me down."

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips, the sound breathless and a little shaky. "I’m just getting started," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, but the way your heart was pounding made it difficult.

With a sudden burst of energy, you twisted in his grip, using his own momentum against him to break free. Harry grunted in surprise, but he recovered quickly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he adjusted his stance. "Impressive," he said, his tone both teasing and admiring. "You’ve definitely gotten stronger."

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but the compliment sent a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. "I’ve had a good teacher," you replied, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The moment they left your mouth, you felt a pang of regret, worried that you had said too much, revealed too much.

Harry’s eyes darkened, the playful glint replaced by something more serious, more intense. "I’m glad to hear that," he said quietly, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that small space, connected by something neither of you fully understood.

The sparring match continued, but the mood had shifted. The movements were more fluid now, more synchronized, as if the two of you had fallen into a rhythm that was all your own. There was still the push and pull, the challenge of trying to outmaneuver each other, but there was also something else—a closeness, an intimacy that neither of you had been willing to acknowledge before.

At one point, you managed to get the upper hand, pinning Harry to the mat, your knees on either side of his hips as you held him down. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, and for a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the tension that hung heavy in the air.

"You’ve got me," Harry murmured, his voice low and rough, the words sending a shiver down your spine. "But the question is, what are you going to do with me?"

The double meaning in his words wasn’t lost on you, and you felt a flush rise to your cheeks, your heart racing as you tried to figure out how to respond. But before you could say anything, Harry shifted beneath you, using his strength to flip you onto your back, reversing the position so that he was the one pinning you.

His body was pressed against yours, his hands on either side of your head, his face inches from yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the way his chest heaved with each breath, and the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, was almost overwhelming.

"I’ve got you now," Harry said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, his brown eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "What are you going to do about it, Gawain?"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him, your mind racing with a thousand different thoughts, none of which made any sense. There was a part of you that wanted to push him away, to put distance between you, to protect yourself from the confusion, the hurt that still lingered from everything that had happened.

But there was another part of you, a part that you had been trying to ignore for weeks, that wanted nothing more than to close the gap between you, to give in to the tension that had been building between you for so long. You could see it in his eyes, the way he was looking at you, like he was waiting for something, like he wanted to see what you would do next.

Your breathing quickened, your pulse racing as you considered your options. You could push him away, keep things professional, pretend that nothing had changed. Or you could do something reckless, something that could change everything between you.

As you lay there, pinned beneath Harry, the heat of his body pressing into yours, the weight of his gaze holding you in place, a surge of emotions flooded through you—desire, confusion, and something else, something darker. The closeness between you was almost suffocating, the intensity of the moment making it hard to think clearly. For a brief second, you considered giving in, letting yourself get lost in the moment, in the way Harry was looking at you, like you were the only person in the world.

But then, as if a switch had been flipped, the memory of his cruel words, the way he had mocked your feelings, throwing them back in your face like they meant nothing, came rushing back. The pain, the humiliation, the anger—it all hit you like a tidal wave, dousing the spark of desire that had ignited within you.

Suddenly, the weight of Harry’s body wasn’t comforting—it was suffocating. The intensity of his gaze wasn’t exciting—it was oppressive. The closeness between you wasn’t something to savor—it was something to escape.

With a sharp push, you shoved Harry back, forcing him off of you. The movement was so sudden, so unexpected, that Harry nearly lost his balance, his eyes widening in surprise as he scrambled to regain his footing. The look in his eyes was one of shock, confusion, and maybe even a touch of hurt, but you didn’t care. The anger, the resentment that had been simmering beneath the surface since that day in the safehouse had finally boiled over, and you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

"You win, Galahad," you said, your voice cold, distant, as you pushed yourself up off the mat. The words were sharp, cutting, meant to put distance between you, to remind him that this was just a training exercise, that whatever had happened between you before meant nothing now. "Thank you for the training."

The formal tone in your voice, the way you addressed him by his title rather than his name, made it clear that you were done—done with whatever this was, done with him. You weren’t going to let him hurt you again, weren’t going to let him use your feelings against you.

Harry watched you in silence, his expression unreadable, but you could see the tension in his posture, the way his fists clenched at his sides, as if he was holding back something—words, emotions, you weren’t sure. But you didn’t care. You couldn’t let yourself care.

Without another word, you turned and walked over to where your bottle of water sat on a nearby bench. You grabbed it, taking a long drink, letting the cool liquid soothe the fire in your chest, the anger that still burned hotly within you. You didn’t look back at Harry, didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the hurt, the frustration that still lingered in your eyes.

When you finally turned around, bottle in hand, Harry was still standing there, his brown eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. But you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, detached, as if he were just another agent, just another colleague.

"Goodbye, Galahad," you said, your voice cool and professional as you nodded at him, the formal tone making it clear that this was the end of the conversation. Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked out of the training room, your steps measured and controlled, your heart pounding in your chest.

Harry stood there, watching you go, the tension in his body palpable, the regret and frustration clear in his eyes. He knew he had messed up—knew that he had hurt you, driven you away, and now, he was paying the price. He had tried to make things right, tried to bridge the gap between you, but it was clear that he had a long way to go before you would even consider forgiving him.

As the door closed behind you, Harry let out a low, frustrated growl, his fists clenching at his sides. He had underestimated just how deeply he had hurt you, how much damage his words had done. And now, he was left standing there, alone, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a physical burden.

He knew he had a long road ahead of him if he ever wanted to earn your forgiveness, if he ever wanted to see that light, that warmth, in your eyes again. And as he stood there, his heart heavy with regret, he realized that he would have to work harder than he ever had before.

Because losing you—truly losing you—was something he couldn’t bear.

[the-algid]

Got some Malevolent coded songs

I love doing song annotation, and recently have been doing more. here's my Malevolent song annots so far

Like Real People do by Hozier This one is for Parkthur, the companionship, and silent support. Not caring what the other has done. Also Parker's ass is dead

Touched by Vast Oscar annotation. Oscar is down bad for Arthur, and his eldritch and atheist swag

Howl by Florence + The Machine Private Eyes song. They are toxic yaoi, that like to fight each other.

IN MY MOUTH by Black Dresses Arthur, my homeboy is a cannibal, and a bit of a freak.

Work Song by Hozier Parkthur, again Parker's ass is dead. Parker also saved Arthur. This one is good for resurrection Parker AUs

Music make me feral, and Malevolent makes me feral. ALSO IF YOU LEAVE COMMENTS I LOVE YOU

[margowritesthings]

Hey, Margo! 🩷

I’m sending the request according to your new post 🥺

I would like a friends to lovers trope. But here’s the thing: Could the female character (lil me) and Arthur actually had a relationship in the past (current relationship status is they broke up) and now they are falling for each other again (second chance)?

Of course I would love a Red Dead Redemption (Arthur Morgan) fanfic 🩷

The gender is female, and if you could make her ginger with brown eyes (like me) I would love it 🥺 And if Arthur calls her angel, even better 🩷🩷🩷

Feel free to add smut, fluff and anything you would like!

Thank you for tagging me! You know how much I love your writing 🩷

sweet angel hello! thank you for participating, i got so many ideas for your love story with our pretty cow boah

come celebrate 1k followers with me!

arthur morgan // second chance + friends to lovers

you two have been sweet on each other since the moment you met, the day you joined the gang. arthur was brave enough to ask you on a date after only a short three months of pining after you

he took you to the saloon, you beat him at poker, and in that moment he knew you were his soulmate. a forever love.

you were together for a few months, and it was that kind of love you only thought existed in the stories you read. it was celestial, ethereal. a wild burning flame extinguished far too quickly.

when he found out about isaac and eliza's deaths, arthur really struggled. he drank a lot and lost himself for a while.

you knew the best thing to do was to just be there for him, so you both decided he needed friendship right now.

"you're my best friend, arthur. that ain't ever gonna change."

but the feelings didn't just go away as easily as your plan relied on, that flame too furious to be extinguished by simple "logic"

you wanted to respect the space arthur asked for, and he never thought he was good enough to have you after letting you go the first time

unworthy of your love

if he couldn't protect isaac and eliza, how could he ever deserve you?

and thus ensued years of pining

the very best of friends, unable to stay away from each other while this silent love roared

you'd work jobs together, go hunting together, have midnight chats by the fire, save each other's asses from time to time

years went on like this, where everybody in the gang and their mamma would share glances and roll their eyes at the two fools who couldn't just admit they were made for each other

you were the first person arthur wanted to see whenever he got back from a job, the one he rode home to even if he never said it aloud

and as much as your heart ached a little every time you looked at him, you would have stayed like that forever if it meant getting to keep arthur in your life

until the day he left it

when he didn't come back from the 'chat' with the o'driscolls, you were out of your mind with worry

the thought of never seeing arthur again flipped a switch in your mind and you finally realised that this life stuck in limbo wasn't enough

you were sneaking out in the dead of night against dutch's orders when you saw him, beaten and bloody, riding home to you

it broke you, the relief washing over you like a wave that breaks the walls you've built as though they're nothing but paper

he practically falls off his horse, but you catch his weight and support him

you take him to your tent and patch him up, holding him and crying with him when you see what they did to arthur. your arthur.

he winces when he reaches up to push that stray rebellious hair out of your face, but the way the candlelight glows in his eyes has your own breath hitching in your throat

"i was so worried, arthur... i-i thought-"

"i know, angel, i know... i'm sorry...

but i'm here now

and i ain't ever leaving you again."

that nickname... from all those years ago when you first found eachother

whispered for the first time in a moan, you and him tangled together in sheets for the very first time

"goddamn... you're an angel, how'd a dirty sinner like me ever get so lucky?"

when you broke up, you never thought you'd hear it again

and yet here you are

the sweet name echoing in your ears as he kisses you, reuniting your lips after far too long apart

it's a desperate kiss, the kind that holds two lifetimes of context

like you're scared if either one lets go the moment will disappear

so you don't

you tangle your fingers in his hair, he cups your cheek, your bodies moulding together

being any closer would be impossible

"this is it, angel, you hear? no more messing around, this is it. this is us, cause i ain't letting you go."

"you better not, mister."

you’re both crying, breathing each other in, never wanting to let one another go

and you never do again

[hanzajesthanza]

my attempts to avoid thoughts of geralt's hanza continue to fail, as sapkowski talks about them in front of my face.

(from manuscript, on the subject of the hero and the quest):

On this expedition, the Hero (Simple or King) is accompanied by others who are stereotypical-canonical fantasy characters, in other words - clichés:

Wizard-Mentor (the aforementioned MERLIN, Obi-wan Kenobi, Gandalf, Allanon, Belgarath, Sephrenia or Moiraine, who supports the hero with advice and help); Faithful Servant (in the case of the King, literally, in the case of the Simple, rather a childhood friend, Sam Gamgee. He serves the plot to recite wise folk maxims and prove that the simple people are the most morally healthy; or to save the ass of his master/friend where magic and a sharp sword will not help, and common sense and a strong, faithful arm will suffice). Good Knight (charismatic LANCELOT, always loyal and ready to fight, sometimes with some dark secret in his life); Worse Knight (always with some dark secret in his life, ambitious like Boromir, in the clutches of Evil, secretly collaborates with Evil, regrets betrayal, undergoes catharsis, perishes); Trickster - Conniver (see LOKI in "Materia Magiczna"**), cheerful, but can cause trouble, which attracts like a magnet; Damsel in Distress, who is saved from danger on the way and included in the team. Usually a princess in disguise. For several volumes of the cycle she does not like the Hero, in the last she becomes his wife.

* Type A = Percival, a hero who does not have power and is searching it, and Type B = King Arthur, a hero who has lost his power and wants to regain it. in other words, Type A = Reynevan and Type B = Geralt :)

** another chapter of the book, "Materia magica, or the Little Magical Alphabetical Lexicon," it's a glossary of various myth and legend. in loki's entry, he recounts some myths of loki and equivalates him with other figures across various traditions: Odysseus, Pryderi, Bricriu, Mordred, Alyosha Popovich, Coyote, Anansi, Maui). then he lists a few fantasy/spec fic characters he categorizes as trickers: Cugel (Dying Earth), Kickaha (World of Tiers), Coyote (Coyote Blue), Peter Lake (Winter's Tale), Moonglum (Elric of Melniboné), Nifft and Haldar (Nifft the Lean), Random (Chronicles of Amber), Saruman (Lord of the Rings), Shimrod (Lyonesse), Silk (The Belgariad and The Malloreon), Gray Mouser (Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser), Talen (The Elenium).

my thoughts:

pretty obvious assignments here, for the most part.

regis is the Wizard-Mentor, but, as he soon loses his mystique, his intellectual, philosophizing manner becomes mundane and irritating than providing magical provenance. he advises incessantly, answering questions before they're asked, giving guidance when no one asked. he only appears to be omniscient, and the others may think he's so smart because he's hundreds of years older than them, but is really just a guy, a middle aged man with a troubled youth which he learned from. his advice is not magically guided and for this reason is fallable, mortal, human. maybe the cliché is also played with in that he's a vampire, not a wizard, sorcerer, or priest, "‘I see.’ The poet sighed. ‘Is Regis a sorcerer?’ ‘No. No, not a sorcerer.’" ... as vampires are typically evil and regis is decidedly a force of good. (on this topic, @wampirzielarz once compared-contrasted gandalf and regis and it was super interesting :))

dandelion is a combination of the Faithful Servant and the Trickster. he's geralt's best friend, and doesn't fight alongside him with sword but his presence is necessary to our hero for moral support, that all makes the first part an obvious assignment... and... sapkowski lists a wide variety of tricksters of various moral alignments, but amongst them are some heroes and some best friends of heroes (and anti-heroes). and asides from being geralt's closest friend, dandelion is, after all, a rascal, who uses words and good looks to get what he wants from people. "a cynic, a lecher, a womanizer and a liar." (also, because i think szarlej also fits this double-definition as well, i won't hesitate to give them to dandelion, as they serve pretty similar functions alongside their respective heroes).

milva is the Good Knight, "always loyal and ready to fight" describes her perfectly, and her 'dark secret' was her pregnancy and plans for abortion. (though, the attribution of lancelot... well, maybe this is why some keen eyes saw a potential in yenva). anyhow, the playfulness with the cliché comes from the fact that she's a woman, which is supposed to be surprising that the hero's strongest ally is a woman. i think the "charismatic" attribute is also supposed to be played with here, as milva is simple and not too well-spoken, only so in her cursing. in other words, she's a peasant woman, and not a born-and-bred nobleman. also, for her gender, she is a play on another trope sapkowski mentions a couple of pages later, but i can't go into it now because it's too funny.

cahir is the Worse Knight, though perhaps in reverse, for all of his associations with Evil was in the past and shed like sports colors when he changed teams. he has no betrayal, "I will never betray you, witcher," all of his ‘betrayal’ was before he was even allied with the hero. but of course, for these sins, he "undergoes catharsis, perishes".

the Damsel in Distress is evidentially angouleme, being "saved from danger on the way and included in the team." the rebuking of the cliché, of course, is that geralt is "genuinely angry, genuinely confused, genuinely embarrassed" when she offers her "gratitude" to him. also, that she is no princess in disguise, just an ordinary girl, though she is confused for the princess they're after (who also happens to be another play on the damsel in distress cliché). and again, like milva, i think angouleme is related to another specifically female character cliché sapkowski calls out; but i'll save it for another post.

[imaginesforeveryone]

Openning Night

John Shelby x Y/N

Summary: It was re-opening night for the biggest Pub in small heath and you planned to make it a night to remember after getting out of a long shitty relationship

Warnings: drinking, swearing, smut, flirting

“Come on Y/N we’re going to be late!” You heard Elisa, your best friend, yelling from across the house to you. But you weren’t even close to being ready. Still laid in your bed. 

“Y/N Come on. Stop mopping. He isn’t worth it. He’s a bloody asshole that doesn’t deserve your tears. Aye?” She said moving the strand of hair that stuck to your check from you crying so much. 

“But what if he’s there? I don’t want to see him Elisa!” You said pouting, turning over and putting a pillow over your face.

“Then I’ll kick his ass and send him back to wherever his stupid ass came from. Now come on, get up and let’s get you sexy! Never know maybe one of them Peaky boys will see you.” She said smacking you in the butt and pulling you up. You giggled slightly trying not to show any other emotion than sadness, but it was hard to with her. Going to your closet you got out this beautiful black dress you had been saving for your 4 year anniversary with your ex, but obviously that did not pan out as you planned. Slipping the dress over your body and helping it settle into all your curves and smoothing it out. You went over to the mirror that sat up against your wall and looked yourself up and down. Noticing the darkness your eyes held from so much crying. You sat down at your desk with your make up, perfume, and your journal laid on. Putting on some make up to cover your eyes. 

“Holy fuck!” You heard from behind you. 

“You look. HOT!” Elisa said looking at you. You rolled you eyes and gave a small smirk. 

“Now come on.” She said grabbing your hand and yanking you up and out of your room. Grabbing your purse before leaving out the front door. 

Making your way down the streets of small heath as everyone walked aside you and Elisa going probably to the same big event in the small town you lived in. Finally making your way to the doors of the new and improved Garrison. Walking in and being blinded by all the gold in the place. So much different than what it used to be. Beautiful but different. Small heath was not a beautiful place. But hopefully this can bring some beauty to it. 

“Come on. Let’s get a drink in you!” Elisa said pulling you towards the bar. 

“Two gins please.” She said with confidence and began looking around the room. 

“We really need to travel. Its always then same men in here and im quite tired of it. I need me someone hot. But London hot, not small heath hot. You know what I mean?” Elisa went on and on about the men in this town. Taking down the gin that was set in front of you and asking for another. 

“May I have everyone attention please!” You heard a voice across the room. 

“LISTEN THE FUCK UP!!!” You heard an even louder voice yell. 

“Now that I have your attention. Thank you all for coming out to the grand re-opening of the Garrison.” You looked over to see who was speaking and it was the one and only Thomas Shelby. The leader of the Peaky Blinders. You were dumb if you lived in Small Heath and didn’t know who the Peaky Blinders were. There was Arthur Shelby, the eldest and formally the head of the family. Then there was Thomas Shelby the middle child who had held the power now of the family. Then there was John Shelby. The most beautiful of them all, at least in your eyes. Those cheek bones, those beautiful eyes, that jaw line. Gosh did it have you feeling some type of way just thinking about it. And there he sat, just inches from Thomas who spoke standing on top of one of the tables. You honestly did not hear a word that was spoken. Just keened in on John as he sat there listening to his brother, with a tooth pick in his mouth that he moved side to side with his tongue between different parts of his mouth. Oh, what you could only imagine he could do with his mouth. Noticing he looked away from Thomas to speak to Arthur who sat next to him. Seeing his eyes wonder around the room looking in every direction like he was making sure no harm came their way, but eventually meeting with yours. With a small smirk and a wink coming from him you broke eye contact with him quickly in embarrassment. 

“See now, if there could be more Shelby’s to go around that’s the man id want to wake up next to in the morning.” Elisa said. She noticed you looking a little red. 

“Oh what did I miss. Why are you blushing?” She asked turning towards you and taking a sip from her drink. 

“Uhm, I may or may have not just been staring at one of the Peaky Boys and got caught staring at him by him, and he may or may not of just eye fucked me a little.” You said quickly and downed your drink and quickly getting another. 

“OOOOO!! Which one? Arthur? He older but, he isn’t bad looking. That mustache is a bit much sometimes but, I bet he has figured out ways to do crazy things with that or was it Thomas, because damn girl get it while you can. You can be the queen of small heath, maybe even London one day. OR , OR Was it John. Aw. John He’s adorable. a fucking badass, but super adorable.” She asked with her crazy personality as usual. 

“Hello there ladies.” You heard a voice from behind you. You turned around and were you that drunk already that you were hallucinating? Is John Shelby ACTUALLY talking to right now. 

“Im John.” He said with a smirk on his face and looking right at you. Even looking you up and down. 

“Elisa.” Elisa said breaking the silence.

“Nice to meet you Elisa.” John said shaking her had. 

“And you are?” John said looking at you with is hand out. 

“Y/N.” You said with a slight voice crack out of being nervous.

“Hello, Y/N.” He said with his signature smile that made all the women melt in their shoes. Taking your hand and kissing the top of it. 

“HELLO LADIES!!” Arthur said stumbling over to you guys, and slicking his hair back with his hands. 

“And who is this beautiful young lady?” He said looking at Elisa and taking her hand in his. 

“Elisa, and you are Arthur Shelby, and you’d like to dance.” She said taking his hand and leading him to the middle of the room. 

“A women after me own heart.” Arthur said following her. You giggled slightly before looking back at John who seemed to still be looking at you. 

“Gin?” He asked looking down at your empty cup and you just smiled and shook your head. 

“Bottle of gin, bottle of whiskey at the window.” He said to the bartender. He took your hand in his and lead the way to the infamous Shelby booth. 

“Out. ” He said to the men and women sitting in there. they scrambled before he could get the whole word out. Nervous, you sat down as he grabbed the two bottles and shut the small door. 

“Don’t be nervous love. Just here for a good time, and maybe some small talk.” John said sitting down in the chair across from you. 

“Tell me something about yourself Y/N.” He said lighting a cigarette and watching you closely.

You and John talked for what felt like a few hours. He was funny, charming, sexy. You didn’t realize the time till it became somewhat silent in the place. Only noticing because John and you weren’t talking as loudly. 

“Wow, I didn’t realize how late it was. Sorry for keeping you so long.” You said to John before standing up and smoothing out your dress a bit but falling over your feet a bit. John catching you slightly to stand you up right.

“Sorry about that. Apparently I drank a little more than I thought.” You said with a slight giggle at the end. 

“Love, you finished the whole bottle.” He said sitting you down.

“Well, I guess that’s what happens when you have good conversations with a good man aye?” You said grabbing the collar of his shirt.

“Oh what a wonderful night. Thank you Mr. Shelby for having me. But, I think I should probably find Elisa, and go home.” You said sitting up, then standing up, kind of wobbly at first, but catching your balance quickly. 

“Darling let me walk you home. I don’t want you walking home alone. Lots a of bad people out there.” He said grabbing your hand.

“But aren’t you supposed to be bad people to?” You asked turning to look at him. Knowing well that was not right of you to say, but it kind of just came out, like word vomit. 

“Oh I’m bad people love, but only to other bad people.” He said caressing your cheek. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you home. Elisa went with Arthur, so don’t worry about her. She’s safe.” He said taking your hand, and grabbing your purse off the table. You followed him out of the room and into the main floor where you saw a few men laying on the floor passed out and some in the booths. You walked out the front doors of the Garrison and felt the cool breeze on your skin causing you to shudder a little. John took notice of this and took his jacket off. 

“Oh no, Im okay John.” You said pushing his hand away. 

“Wow, stop being stubborn.” He said wrapping the jacket over your shoulders. You grabbed the sides of it to pull it tight around your body for extra warmth, and breathing in the musk of the jacket that was Johns. You smiled at the thought of a Peaky boy taking care of you and thinking back to what Elisa said earlier. 

“John.” You said as you walked through an alley. 

“Yes?” He said looking over at you and making eye contact. Before you could say anything else, an overwhelming spark of confidence came over you leading you to push him up against the wall and attack his lips. Smelling his whiskey drenched breathe as his breathing got heavy from not being able to breath through the kisses. Taking your face in his large hands and roughly pushing the kiss deeper. Tongues intertwined with yours, bitting and sucking on his lip bottom lip. You just couldn’t control it. Was it because he was a Shelby. You never had such a strong man embrace you in the way he did. Lifting you off your feet and putting you up against the other building in the alley.

“John.” You said between the heated make out session. 

“What?” He said still going at your lips. 

“I don’t, remember where I live.” You said as he caressed and squeezed you ass that he held you up by. 

“That’s okay come on.” He said with one last kiss, setting you down and dragging you down the alley, causally stopping to kiss you again. Stopping at a beautiful building, that you honestly have never seen before. You didn’t really ever come over to this side of town because you were too nervous to go into peaky territory by yourself. John unlocking the door as quick as he could and grabbing you to come in. Throwing you up onto a table that apparently had a lot of glass on it hearing it crash down. 

“Shit.” You said, before John grabbed your face and started attacking your lips again. 

“Its fine. Who gives a fuck.” He said taking off his vest and throwing it across the room. Smiling through the kisses you kicked your heels off under neath John, and started to fumble with your dress trying to get it off. Getting flustered John took over just ripped the front of your dress straight down the middle making you gasp and look up at him with an upset expression. 

“I will buy you a new one. A better one.” He said with a giggle. Getting off the table with your now torn dress hanging off of you, you pushed John backwards towards the chair that sat behind him. He fell back into it slouched down into it, staring up at you through his eye lashes, very seductivly. You slipped your dress off letting it pool at your feet, leaving you in just your panties stood in front of John. Leaning down and grabbing the collar of his shirt and tearing down the from making all the buttons pop off. 

“I’ll buy you a new one. A better one.” You whispered to him with a giggle as you mocked him. An evil smile spreading across his face. Swiftly standing up and picking you up all in the same movement. 

Man was he fast, no wonder he was one of the most feared men by his enemies. 

He made his way up the stairs, and kicked open the door on the right it was pretty dark in the room except for the moon shining brightly thought the huge, tall windows. Throwing you on the bed and hovering over you like a lion about to attack a gazelle. Unbuckling his belt and kicking off his shoes. He pulled down his pants along with his boxers, releasing the very long, but thick beast he had hiding away. Your eyes becoming wide and thinking how you’re going to fit that inside of you. 

“Don’t worry love, I’ll be gentle.” He said with a wink and a beautiful smile. Grabbing him to fall down on top of you, but him catching himself gracefully with his hand on either side of you head. 

“Maybe I don’t want gentle. Maybe I want that Peaky boy everyone is so afraid of.” You said in hushed ton. He raised an eyebrow, and your saw the fire start in his eyes. Almost making you a little afraid, but excited. Sitting up and stretching out his very firm and wide shoulders. He quickly moved to you panties and pulled them off. Pushing you further up the bed all in one swift move, he was between your legs with his hands spreading them apart, making sure you couldn’t close them. 

“You sure you want this love?” He asked looking up at you from between you legs. You smiled and shook you head. With that he attacked you clit making you gasp loudly and taking the blanket you laid on top in your fists.

“Fuck.” You let out with the little breath you had in your lungs. As he dragged his perfect tongue up and down your very wet slit and coming back up to suck on you sensitive nub, with that making you feel your stomach into a knot. 

“John. Fuck. Fuck. Im going to cum.” You gasped out. As he sucked on your clit he came off of it making you cry out. 

“OH no no love. You want me to fuck you like the Peaky I am. Then you have to listen like the Peaky I am.” He said looking up at you. 

“No cumming till I say.” He said right before he attacked you clit again. Feeling his tongue slip inside of you, making it 10 times harder to hold on to your orgasm. 

“John. Please let me cum. Please” You cried out to him as you took his hair in your hand. He didn’t say a word just kept going. Moaning out so loud that half of small heath probably heard you. 

“Go ahead baby. Cum all ver my mouth.” He said as he grabbed ahold of your thighs so you couldn’t wiggle away. Attack at your clit again sending you over the edge almost immediatly. Feeling your legs shake but being held in place. 

“Fuck, John.” You said coming down off you orgasm. Feeling hands on your sides and then feeling lips attacking yours, tasting yourself on them. 

“I think I don’t want to be a Peaky boy to you. I just want to be John to you tonight.” He whispered to you. You smiled, grabbing his face between your hands and pulling him into a deeper kiss. Flipping him over onto his back and straddling him the tip of his cock brushing at your opening. He stared up at you for a second before reaching between you and rubbing his tip against you. 

“You ready love?” He asked looking into your eyes for confirmation. 

“Please.” You whined out wanting it more than anything in this moment. Slowly he slipped inside of you causing you to gasp out and lift up almost making him slip out, but not before he grabbed your hips. 

“Nu Uh, love. You can’t get away from me.” He said causing you to get drenched even more than you already were. Slowly sinking yourself down on him and adjusting to his girth. You were ready for him. Starting to bounce up and down on him, you could see him melting just a little bit. 

“Fuck Y/N you’re so tight. So wet.” He gasped out. He lifted you up and slamming you down on him, over and over again.

“John. Can I.. i.” 

“Cum baby. All over my cock.” He said out knowing what you wanted. With that you released and felt your insides pulsate around him, making your orgasm even more intense. You felt him start to get a little shakey, know what that meant. You leaned down and attacked his neck. Getting right in his sweet spot. 

“Cum Johnny. Cum inside of me Mr. Shelby.” You whispered to him. As you said it he grabbed ahold of your shoulder and pushed down on your lower back making himself go deeper inside of you, making you gasp out at how much of him was inside of you. Feeling his hot cum fill you up as he twitched inside of you slightly. He let out a labored breathe letting go of you to relax his arms and his body. 

“God damn love. Haven’t had sex like that in I don’t know how long.” He said laying his arms out on the bed. Rolling off of him and laying on the bed with your head on his arm. 

“Believe me, I didn’t even know what it was like to cum like that. Ever.” You laughed out. You sat up grabbing the sheet and wrapping it around yourself. 

“I should probably go.” You said looking down at John and his glistening body.

“Wait what?” He said sitting up. 

“I figured this was just a hit it and go type thing. I don’t want to stay where I’m not welcomed.” You said with a sad smirk and turning around, but feeling a hand catch yours and spin you around into an embrace. 

“If I didn’t want you to stay, I wouldn’t have brought you into my home.” He said looking around. You dropped the sheet that you had wrapped around you and stood on your tip toes to peck a kiss on his lips. He smiled as you pulled away and pulled you back into the bed wrapping his arms around you like you were the most precious diamond he’d ever had and slowly drifting to sleep in his arms.

[multifandombullshitbabes]

Random Merlin Rewatch: Where a random number generator gives me a season and an episode from BBC Merlin; and then I comment on it as I go.

Today's episode: Season 1 Episode 5 - Lancelot

Before I start, I have to comment that it's quite the fucking coincidence that, even though I'm randomizing the seasons and episodes separately, I've landed an episode right before out last edition of these Random Merlin Rewatch posts. Maybe these generators just really like the early seasons BBC Merlin. Can't blame 'em.

Can't wait to see my boy Lancelot again.

Those mushrooms Merlin is picking look fucking delicious, damn.

Can you imagine you're just chilling, picking mushrooms, and then you look up and there's a huge ass 4 legged bird looking creature just straight up coming straight at you? Jesus fuck. Merlin, my son, you CANNOT catch a break, it's almost impressive.

LANCELOT SCREAMING LMAO

Colin sometimes made the funniest of faces. Merlin looked about to literally shit himself and it made me crack up.

It truly is actually so sweet and brave for Lancelot to just. Do that. Like he just wanted to save Merlin, no questions, no nothing, he's just a good man.

MUSICCCCCCC LET'S GOOOOO

What a horrifying thought that a creature that can fly and takes human might just. Come by where you live. And you just gotta be prepared. Fucking Christ that's scary.

Merlin looks so gorgeous with the light just shining on him like that. Long pretty eyelashes, bright blue eyes, red lips. Motherfucker looks fuckable I can tell you that much.

"The great Arthur" what an interesting thing for Merlin to say, to refer to Arthur like that. Is that what he hears about Arthur? Especially when it comes to his fighting?? That's so funny. Wonder how Arthur feels about that; pride or need to meet up to expectations. Knowing him, probably both.

Gotta say, I love the fashion sense of this random lady here. Simply gorgeous.

Jesus he's so dramatic.

What the fuck is this man doing, just flinging both of his swords around, what the fuck.

Merlin just immediately resorting to lying. Why does he think that resolves everything when it literally never does??

Merlin shaking his head and Lancelot's just. immediate disappointment is so funny to me for some reason. He's just "Yeah, I figured, fuck me, oh well, might as well kill myself-"

LANCELOT IS SO DORKY I LOVE HIM!!!!

Did Uther just straight up create Camelot? I think he did. The first code came because of Uther wanting knights that he could trust, those who had allegiance with him, the nobility. And that's where the first code came from. Uther straight up created Camelot? From scratch? I always assumed he'd inherit from his father, but honestly, the fact that he made Camelot as great as she is by himself makes sense: that's why he never wants it to change unless it's by his own accord, not only because he's King, but because this kingdom is purely his.

Love Lancelot's little leather bracelets: a big thick one on his right arm, and a bunch of thin ones on his left. It's really cute how humans just like to make themselves look prettier or cooler or whatever with anything they've got.

"My father, my mother" implying Lancelot's an only child, since he doesn't mention any siblings dying at the raid.

Love how attached Merlin becomes of Lancelot. I think it's because Merlin can just see, plainly, that Lancelot is a good man. No hidden bullshit about, he's a good person. He knows Lancelot would make an amazing knight, probably better than the assholes he suffers while following Arthur around. That's why he fights so hard to give him what he deserves.

"Homework." yeah, 'cause your famously enrolled in a school, aren't you Merlin?

Merlin literally cannot be fucking subtle to save his life. Everybody just knows he's up in some shenanigan or other.

It's the way that Merlin is doing this almost with the intent of them finding Lancelot out, but much later on, when he's already proven worthy of his role, etc etc. However, Lancelot is right, you can't lie like that and then be a knight, so he knows that if he's found out, they'll kick him out. You have Merlin who knows the rules have to change, not just for his friend but just in general 'cause it's unfair, and then you have Lancelot that knows that it's not a good idea, and they'll be found out, but damn it it's literally what he's been working towards his whole life and, really, Merlin isn't wrong, is he? So even though he knows it won't end well, he'd rather take this little bit than nothing at all.

OUGH GWEN'S HANDS JUST SOOOO CLOSE TO LANCELOT'S BITS MY BOY IS FLUSTERED AS FUCK

I'm not gonna lie, I would've died if I saw Gwen smiling at me on her knees. Jesus Christ, I feel flustered.

AHHHHHH THEY'RE FLIRTINGGGGGG

They're crushing HARD BRO.

"Best seamstress in Camelot." I don't even care if that's just Merlin exaggerating, this is now part of Gwen's character to me.

Lancelot is so awkward and dorky and then he has his smooth moments but it's just because he says what he means, he doesn't even know he's being smooth, please I love him.

AHAHAHAHAHAH ARTHUR SMACKING LANCELOT I FORGOT ABOUT THIS

The little sound Lancelot makes when he comes back from the stables. I'm fucking dead. That's me.

"And the truth before I lose my temper?" underrated Gaius line.

Arthur looks so slutty with that red shirt and red pendant combo.

We don't talk enough about how good the fight choreography can be in BBC Merlin. It looks so REAL, I don't know how else to describe it.

Jesus, Lancelot aimed to kill. Without a helmet, half of Arthur's head would've been cut off. Damn.

Arthur is so dramaticcccccccc

"You set him on a path of your choosing." This is so interesting. Mainly because, the point of saying that, Gaius means that Merlin played God and that he can't change destiny, he can't change everything. Well..... doesn't Kilgarrah literally tell Merlin the exact opposite? In the sense that he always tells Merlin that he's the one who needs to choose the outcome of others, like whether they live or die, which is literally playing God. Doesn't he expect Merlin to shape his own destiny but also the destiny of Arthur and of others, something that never works out and cannot be changed? Yet he always made it seem like he could change the outcome? I'm saying this just with a pit in my stomach that, unknowingly or not, Kilgarrah set Merlin up for a failed task, in the sense that, in him trying to play God and force everybody's destinies, he doomed them all. And I just don't know if Kilgarrah didn't think about that or just didn't care and just placed his bets. He put it all on Merlin, and it ruined everything. Kilgarrah really is the one who killed Arthur, not Mordred, not Morgana, not Merlin. I hope I worded this well.

Interesting that Morgana is wearing the same dress as the first episode, but also a high ponytail, which I can't remember any other time she did.

Oh jesus, it's so weird that Morgana and Arthur are looking at each other like that. I do get it, the king's ward I think would have the expectation of marrying the prince, but it's just sick that Uther just let that grow, knowing what he knows. People would talk about them two. He's hear them. And he'd just what, say "Perhaps they will marry."? Ew, bro.

Not Gwen just heavily hinting that her type is Merlin. But also, are you about that? Considering: Arthur? 'Cause girl, you love that man. (and also Morgana, but it's not canon or whateverrr). Anyways, Gwen's type is: heart of gold. Now, is that heart obscured by anything? Like some defensive and prickly walls? Maybe. But it's still there.

Merlin and Gwen having girl talkkkkkkkkkk

Merlin and Lancelot at the VERY VERY least cuddled on that tiny little bed, didn't they? (they snogged too, but shhhh)

Well, that was short lived.

Lancelot is stronger than me, I would've started sobbing. Not even to get away for the crime, I'd just be so embarrassed and distraught, bro.

Oh, the fact that Arthur called Uther "Sire", ohhhh he wants to get on his good graces so bad to maybe save Lancelot.

"How can you trust a man who's lied to you?" by understanding any layers of his decision. By understanding why he did it. And only then can you make a true and complete judgement of his lie.

Lancelot is just. A good person. To a fault, I imagine, I personally think he's not truly always present, like in the moment, always either thinking of the past or future or just living day by day, unaware of really anything. It makes him a bit idealistic, but also quick to be realistic/pessimistic once he's brought back down to earth. He hasn't had a home since childhood so he never feels like he belongs anywhere. It's why it's so easy for him to leave. And while he never expects anything from anyone, he craves it so much; but once he receives it, he'll take any indication he doesn't deserve it and accept without question and just move on to the next. He doesn't think he's worth fighting for, so he doesn't advocate for himself. But he'll always advocate for others, if he has them. It's what he would want other's to do for him.

The fact that things only recorded in myth or legend are just. Walking about. Chilling.

I wonder how Bradley trained for the "ON ME!" screams he does. They're immaculate, but I bet training for it must be so fucking goofy.

It's a stunning creature, though, ngl.

It's the way that Arthur is, canonically, only 20 years old right now. He turns 21 in ep 9. He's literally my age. Jesus fucking Christ.

Well finally the guards are good for something.

One thing I'll always appreciate about Bradley's acting? He WILL look like he's exerting himself. His cheeks will be puffed out, he is inhaling and exhaling, he is pursing his lips in concentration, he is doing the WORK.

Uther is so fucking stubborn. How terrifying it must be for Arthur to know that in an hour or two, him and his knights are marching to what is, most likely, their deaths? He KNOWS they're weapons are useless. And yet he can't defy his king, his father. How fucking scary it must be to be the prince and to just have to maybe die for your father, the king? What the fuck??

Oh the things Gaius says about Merlin :((( they care about each other so much.

Oh yes, Arthur, we know YOU need Lancelot, you've looked down at his exposed hair chest twice now.

What a homoerotic charged scene. They need to bang at least once. Don't know if it would resolve anything, but at least it'd get them off.

Gaius trying to be so supportive, ough.

Gwen's father is still alive, do they not live together? Lancelot just barged in and there's no Tom in sight. Does he sleep at the forge? Actually. He just might.

Oh the music is GORGEOUS, hello???

Love how Gwen went straight to Merlin, she knows he'll do something about it. She doesn't know what to do, but she knows Merlin will at least try something. I feel like it's moments like these where it shows thar Gwen just always knew that somehow Merlin would solve things, and where she starts to suspect Merlin is truly very special. Maybe not "he has magic", not right away, but that there's just something about him.

Lancelot literally looks like the coolest knight ever bro. Most knight knight to ever knight.

Props to Lancelot for not freaking the fuck out when his lance just starts fucking glowing out of nowhere. I guess he's busy looking eye to eye with the griffin.

OUGHHH THE BOYS ARE SO CUTE, THEY'RE SO HAPPY IT ALL WORKED OUT!!! LOOK AT MERLIN GEEKING OUT I LOVE IT!! AND LANCELOT JUST LOOKS SO STARSTRUCK

AHHHHH ARTHUR JUST SO EXCITED FOR LANCELOT!!! The way he said his name so softly, ough...... He's not gonna stop thinking about Lancelot for a LONG time, huh.

Oh, I love when the episode has so many happy moments like these :))) tugs at my heartstrings in the best way.

"I see you feel strongly about this Arthur." I just know Uther knows about Arthur's bisexuality bro, ain't no way.

It's the way that Merlin and Arthur just. share so many views in common. Makes me bonkers. I wonder how many amazing discussion they could've had if they ever felt truly comfortable in talking about such sensitive topics, and with Merlin hiding so much of who he is.

Uther watching Lancelot leave knowing he's literally all a knight is supposed to be. But then, it's not as easy to command them when they have such set morals. He knows Lancelot stands for what is right and THAT is a problem: he needs knights that stand for Uther, not for what is right. But he can recognize that Lancelot is a worthy man of it.

Also Arthur's heartbroken face. Yeah, Lancelot is gonna live rent free in his mind for a while. He'll never admit it though. Duh.

Oh Morgana speaks to Gwen so softly. The way she says her name??? Jesus fuck.

It's the way that they let him have a Pendragon red cloak at also armor? Hello???? That's a full knight riding out of Camelot bro. Now I'm thinking of the hilarious concept that Gwen was looking at the wrong guy-

Not Morgana doing an Arthur when she gets jealous: make Gwen take her mind off of things with work. She says it much kinder because that's just what Gwen deserves, but it's the same technique. Don't think about that other person, go do something for me instead.

And done!!! Fuck yeah brother

[tinyfishtits]

Reader, being a new member but oh so tough gunslinger as well, doing excellent at the latest heist with the gang. Micah seeing this, can't comprehend what his inner turmoil is about (pssst - it is catching feelings)

have a good day!

Another day, another Ask answered! Thanks for this prompt anon! Got carried away with the heist of it all but hope ya like it 🤠 TW: Some violence and brief mention of blood

“Need an extra gun?” I cut in, the group of men before me fell quiet. Bill and Micah practically sneered at me. Arthur, however, considered. He’d been the one to introduce me to the gang a week ago after I saved his ass in a robbery job gone sideways back in Valentine. He knew at the very least that I could handle myself with a gun. 

With an exasperated sigh he said, “If it means I’m not stuck with these lugs… sure.” 

Bill gawked at him, instantly going sour at the prospect. “Wha-” He stuttered, “You can't be serious!” Arthur ignored him, walking over to mount his horse. “Can’t believe this…” Bill grumbled to Micah, who was eying me up like a cow at auction, “First Arthur butts in now this?? There ain’t gonna be no money left to split!” 

Micah narrowed his eyes at Bill, it seemed the man got on everyone's nerves, “There better be.” Micah warned, “You said there was a few hundred in that coach, you lyin’?” Bill just huffed in reply, stomping off to the horses. 

With one last lingering glance at me, Micah strode over to his mount, the three men now waiting for me. “Uh-” I hesitated, “I don’t have a horse.” 

Arthur pointed to a grazing horse a few feet away, “Have Kieran saddle that one up for ya.” Bill let out an exaggerated groan at the wait.

“Just get over here, doll.” Micah said, stretching a hand out to me. When I hesitated he added, “Baylocks a big boy, he can handle ya.” Taking my hand he effortlessly swung me up behind him, my ass on the horses bare back. Without a second to situate myself he kicked the horse forward and I jolted, white knuckling Micah’s leather jacket to keep myself from slipping off, much to his amusement. 

Trying not to let the nervousness I felt at the prospect of tumbling to the ground show, I asked, “How far we goin’?” 

“Dewberry Creek.” He said simply, though I could almost hear the smirk in his voice as he added, “Better hold on tighter than that, darlin’.” And spurred Baylock into a gallop. I gasped, my arms wrapping around his middle as I held onto him for dear life, my eyes clamped shut. 

I could count the times I’d ridden a horse on one hand, never having had the luxury to learn. Nor was it a necessity in the small town I’d been brought up in. Shooting, however, was where I made up for my general lack of skill in most other areas. It came easy to me. 

Micah steered us off the main road, following the creek up north as Bill told us the plan, if you could even call it that. “The coach should be coming down from New Hanover, We’ll get ‘em when they cross the creek.” 

“Get them how?” Arthur asked, his tone laced with annoyance. 

“Uh- Y’know… Shoot ‘em” Bill spluttered. “Bill…” Arthur groaned. We were already coming up on the fork in the road the coach would be passing through. 

“Hell, I don’t know Arthur! You’re the expert!” 

“You- This was your damn idea!” The two began bickering. 

“Would ya shut up!” Micah yelled at them as the coach came into view on the hill above, along with four mounted gunmen flanking it on all sides and two more trailing behind. 

“Shit.” Arthur muttered, “You said it wouldn’t be guarded!”  “Well… I, uh, miscalculated.” Bill grumbled. 

Then, instead of turning down the road to where we waited in the dried up creek bed, the coach kept going straight up toward Emerald Ranch. 

“Dammit Bill…” Micah said, rearing Baylock to chase after them when Bill just… started shooting. 

The coach swerved as the horses pulling it attempted to flee from the gunfire that sputtered erratically at the path in front of them. Veering off the road, the coach lost balance and tumbled to the creek below with a thundering CRASH. 

Disoriented by the sudden chaos erupting around them, the mounted gunmen hesitated to retaliate. Still partially concealed by the steep hill of the creek's bank, they couldn’t make out where we were. Wasting no time, I slipped down from the horse, revolver in hand and began shooting. 

No longer needing to worry about stopping the coach I focused my fire on the gunmen, picking them off one by one. After the first one went down with a clean shot to the head, the others rushed me. Two of them jumped from their horses, running toward me while the other three continued down the path and were quickly pursued by Arthur and Bill. 

They came at me from either side, their aim so piss poor I didn’t even flinch at the gunfire which landed a good several feet from me. Pivoting on my heels I took them both out in a single spin. Though my aim wasn’t as perfect as I would have liked, having only got one in the head while the other writhed around, a hand clutching his throat as it erupted in a fountain of blood. I walked over and put him swiftly out of his misery. 

Looking up from their corpses I saw Micah watching me, having only just dismounted his horse. A figure flashed in my peripheral, the coach driver. He fled up the hill, almost over the crest of it when, giving it no more than a sidelong glance, I shot him square in the chest. 

I turned back to Micah who cocked his head, his attention fixed on me as he seemed to really notice me for the first time. I twirled my revolver around my finger before holstering it, shooting Micah a smirk. He prided himself on being a good gunslinger, he’d made that abundantly clear even in the short time I’d been at the camp. But by the look on his face, I liked to think I was giving him a run for his money and he knew it. 

“Everything alright?” Arthur yelled to us as he and Bill rounded the hill. I walked up to the coach, whose rear safe had been busted open in the crash and let out a whistle. Bill was right, there was a good few hundred in cash alone, not even counting the two gold bars. “I’d say so…” I replied. 

I could feel Micah’s eyes on me as he joined me by the coach, hands on his hips as he continued to look me over. I whipped my head around to face him when I caught a gleam of movement from the side of the coach. Another man crawled out from under the debris, bloodied and battered from the fall with a pistol in hand which he shakily raised, pointing it at Micah’s back. 

Micah’s eyes flicked to my hand as I whipped my gun from my holster. Turning with my movement he shot at the man in the same second I pulled my trigger. Both of our bullets landing in his forehead and with a dull ‘thunk’ the man slumped over face first into the mud.

“Well, I think that’s all of ‘em.” I said. They all looked at me in silence, Arthur and Bill only just now reaching for their sidearms. The surprise on their faces wasn't as… vindicating as I had anticipated. I felt more annoyed than anything that they thought so little of me. Did I really come off that helpless?

Their attention quickly returned to the money. “Ha!” Bill barked a laugh, greedily grabbing up the gold bars, “I told ya!” He exclaimed, elbowing Arthur in the side, “Look at all this-” 

“Remember to give the camp its share.” Arthur chided, snatching the gold and cash from his hands before dispersing it evenly between us all. Bill huffed and grumbled to himself before heading back to his horse. Only Arthur seemed to notice the bodies strewn about and tipped his hat to me with a quick, “Nice work.” Before mounting his horse as well.

“Now make yourself scarce!” He yelled back to us as he rode away. 

Micah was rubbing thoughtfully at his facial hair when I turned back to him, eyes narrowed as he surveyed me. 

“What?” I asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance in my voice at his wandering eyes. I felt a little stupid for expecting him to comment on my shooting, even more so when I was disappointed he didn’t. He straightened, clearing his throat his only response before he started off toward Baylock. 

He mounted the horse expertly, reaching a hand out to me once more. My face crinkled at the thought of bouncing around on the horse's bare ass for the ride back. 

“I want the saddle.” I said simply. Micah’s brows rose at the request, a smirk on his lips as he pushed himself over the back of the saddle and patted it. My attempt to mount the beast wasn’t nearly as graceful as his had been, though I was able to haul myself up on my first try, much to my own surprise. 

Feeling a little over confident in my ability to get us back to camp, adrenaline still coursing through my veins, I nudged Baylock forward and he instantly started into a gallop. A shocked yelp escaped my lips as I grasped at the saddle horn, fumbling to keep hold of the reins at the same time. 

Micah chuckled behind me, his hands reaching out to hold me steady. “You wanna keep yourself up with your thighs darlin’.” His gravelly voice whispered against my ear. If I hadn't been so close to sliding off the saddle I would have batted his hands away. “Move your hips with the horse… It ain’t called ridin’ for nothin’.”

My face blushed at his words, though they really did help. Baylock seemed to relax as I did, our movements becoming one in the same as we calmed to a trot back to camp. I’d half expected Micah to try feeling me up, but the moment I felt in control of the horse his hands disappeared from my hips. It was an unexpectedly respectful gesture coming from the sleazy, rude, flirt of a man I’d quickly come to know him as. 

Our ride back to camp was quiet, no sign of the law. Which was a small blessing given any excitement would have surely resulted in me falling off the horse. I was getting the hang of riding, but that was it. My skill didn’t reach any further than simply staying upright. 

We returned right as Pearson announced dinner, my mouth watered at the word alone. Dismounting, I gave Micah a nod and eagerly started off toward the steaming pot of stew when he called my name. I stopped, turning only slightly to acknowledge him. 

“Would ya- Um…” He rubbed at his neck, the gesture almost… shy. “I could teach you how to ride, sometime. If you’d want.”

I cocked my head at him, considering. I’d never heard him offer to help anyone with, well, anything. “Why?”

“Forget it.” He huffed, turning back to tend to Baylock.

“No.” I said firmly. “Speak your mind, Bell.” He narrowed his eyes at me but sighed, giving in.

“You’re a good gun.” He continued, “A damn good one… But you should know how to ride. If you want to tag along on more jobs, that is.” He rose a brow to me in question, a smile spread on his lips, “As much as I like you all cuddled up to me darlin’, It ain't practical.”

I shrugged, and replied with a simple “Okay.” Though the satisfaction I got from his praise burned through me like fire. I turned back toward camp for dinner, the feeling of Micah’s lingering gaze boring into me the entire way.

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