#also i need everyone to know that i contemplating on making scams shirt say i fucked your dad
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the bride and the ugly ass groom <3 (I love them both so much)
#my art#theyre literally everything to me you guys i dont think you understand#oighhwbcne#jodie and scam my beloveds#they make me ill#anyways#dndads#dndaddies#dungeons and daddies#scamster#scam likely dndads#scam likely#jodie foster dndads#dndads jodie foster#also i need everyone to know that i contemplating on making scams shirt say i fucked your dad#just for funsies
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Friendly Facade - Reddnook
Made this instead of sleeping, and since I just couldn't get the idea out of my head. I've only ever wrote angst once before, so this might not be as good as my fluffier oneshots and stories. I'd also like to point out that this does NOT relate to my 'Hate is Such a Strong Word' AU at all, and that this is a completely different AU I made.
Redd has that cocky aura to him, that con man look. Everyone knows this fact, it’s not like it's a secret. But no one knew who he was when he was alone. Alone with his thoughts and the silence. When all he had was time to contemplate his life decisions and where he was now.
Redd hated himself for ruining his and Tom’s relationship. He had a chance to change and he ignored it. It ate him up inside that he could of been so selfish, so idiotic, so corrupted. When he was younger, he was full of greed. He wanted money and fame, so he found comfort in scamming. He liked his comfort zone and refused to leave it.
It may have been how he grew up. His parents were mentally abusive and all they cared for was for him to grow up to be rich and famous. They compared him numerous times to his sister, who had a perfect record and grade in everything because she lied and blackmailed - not that his parents knew or cared. He’d been forced to believe that the only way to live was to become rich and famous, otherwise he’d die alone. It was his worst moments in life.
In order to seal the deal of a con man he put on that condescending smirk and acted as if everything was alright and going to be fine. And in those moments, it was. He truly believed, when he was putting on his facade, he was alright. He believed that he had a great future ahead of him, but when the customer left, his facade lasted a couple more seconds before slipping back into a frown and leaving him back with his thoughts.
He knew it wasn’t healthy to only have negative thoughts, but what was he supposed to do? No one wanted to talk with him. No one cared for him after they’d gotten their artwork. Redd was left alone every time he tried. A few times he’d offered tea, or instant ramen, but customers quickly declined before speeding off.
He couldn’t bring himself to be mad at them. He understood. He wasn’t everyone's favorite guy, he wasn’t their best friend, or a close relative. They didn’t need to associate themselves with him because he wasn’t of any significance to them. He was only the guy to go to when you wanted some lousy artwork to hang in your house.
He really was boring in the long run. Just another ‘businessman’ - if you could even call him that - trying to trick you into buying something of no use. The cocky smirks and fancy talk just like the rest.
He’d scammed big time company owners to poor townsfolk just looking for a job. No matter who it was, in the end, deep down, he still felt bad. When he was younger, he’d ignore it and avoid the subject like the plague, but now that he was older and more mature, he’d come to terms with it. Redd could recall the times he’d messed with the wrong bunch and gotten seriously injured. In his years, he’d broken his nose seven times, had dozens of black eyes, broke his arms a handful or more of times, gotten large gashes too many times to count, and had numerous scars for proof.
Although he wishes he could forget all these things, he can’t. Believe him, he’s tried multiple times. He’d tried to occupy his mind, clear his thoughts, try and make better memories, but nothing seemed to work. Redd would just have to live with the fact that he was a worthless con man that had ruined everything for himself.
And he was alright with that.
Afterall, everything thought and memory had reminded him of this. Every time he sold something, he was reminded of it. Every morning he woke up,his first thoughts told him he was useless and didn’t belong. It was just how it had to be.
He was already thirty, and he wasn’t getting any younger. Although it didn’t seem old, it felt like it. He wished he was younger sometimes, only to cringe right after. Getting older meant life would only get tougher for him. The more years that passed, the more burdens and mistakes that would haunt him. He thought he dwelled on the past too much - which was quite obvious - but as said before, he couldn’t help it. He had managed to calm his mind at night, just so he could sleep.
Although that didn’t work so well, because here he was, sitting at the end of his bed at two in the morning, contemplating his whole life - again. He didn’t even notice he was crying until he had to choke back a sob. To say he felt pathetic was an underestimate. How could someone out there possibly care about him? He had no worth, and that point just kept coming up. If only he wasn't so- so-
“Redd?…..Why are you still up?”
The redhead went rigid. He’d completely forgot about the other male who had been sleeping soundly on the bed. He could hear the light shuffling of covers moving and so enough, that male was right by his side.
“Redd, are you...crying?”
The male questioned softly, sleep evident in his voice. Redd dread waking him up all because he was being greedy, the man worked too hard and deserved every ounce of sleep he could get.
“Redd, what’s wrong?”
He sounded generally concerned for the redhead, but Redd still didn’t speak. His voice was caught in his throat, and if he spoke, it’d just come out jumbled and choked.
“Redd.”
He sounded serious now, making Redd wince slightly. He didn’t want to be a bother, he wanted the other to be worry free. When a two tan, plump arms wrapped around his middle, he couldn’t help himself. Finally, the dam had broken.
Redd flung himself onto Tom, allowing the other to embrace him as he clung and sobbed into his shirt.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
The redhead’s sobbing was muffled by the brunette’s shirt. The brunette frowned at him, not out of disgust or hatred or any other negative feeling, but out of pity. He’d learned only slightly of his habit of bottling up all his feelings and thoughts, and felt horrible when he learned he was one of his main causes for it. They’d gotten back together a while ago, - five or six months ago to be exact - and their relationship was still a bit bumpy and had things that needed to be sorted out.
He sat there, at the edge of their bed, comforting his boyfriend as he continued to sob ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again.
Redd had come a long way. When he first appeared on the island, Tom was furious, but when he had gone over to the man’s ship to confront him of his forgeries, he’d caught him off guard. Instead of being greeted by a cocky smile and witty remark, he was greeted with a man crumpled into a ball, sobbing softly and mumbling nonsense. In all honesty, it caught Tom off guard as well. When Redd had heard the soft creaking of the ship's old floor boards, he went completely still before hastily getting up, rubbing his eyes, and plastering a smile on his face as he greeted Nook.
And Tom couldn’t bring himself to stay mad. After seeing someone who was always so peppy and arrogant at their weakest point, he felt awful. He’d wondered if that was how he always was, outgoing on the outside and sad on the inside. Tom wanted to ask all the questions racing through his mind, but all he could bring himself to say was that he needed a permit to park his boat on the beach.
After that, Tom tried to ignore the images of Redd, sad and sobbing, on the old floor of a rusty boat. He knew that they were over and had been for a decade or more, but it still broke his heart.
Eventually, Tom gave into his urge to talk to Redd, and walked back to his ship, this time with a softer approach. They made small talk and talked about the permit - that of Redd unsurprisingly didn’t have - before Tom brought up the other day. The redhead visibly cringed, obviously not liking the feeling of talking about his weak point.
Thus opened into the topic of Redd’s mental health. Tom was extremely concerned - when he had originally wanted to be mad at the poor guy - and listened to every detail given to him. In the end, the brunette had decided to give him a second chance, although they would take it slow.
It was hard to make sure Redd didn’t sell one of his forgeries, seeing as he had grown accustomed to it. Sure, he did slip up a bit in the beginning, but at least he gave the money back and promised a real painting for free. After only three months, he was doing pretty good, and Tom was happy for him, although not about the lovesick feeling that haunted his every thought. It’s not that Tom didn’t want to love him, it was just hard to truly accept it after what he had done. But two months later the brunette had come to terms that this was how it was going to be, and had managed to get the former con man alone to talk about it.
To say Redd was ecstatic was an underestimate. Tom could vividly remember him doing a small dance of victory with a bright, genuine, smile plastered over his face. It made the brunette laugh and smile with him.
About a month and a half later they - mostly the island rep and Redd - had the grand idea of building the redhead his own shop instead of having him continue to use that atrocious boat as a shop. Nook agreed, and also gave into the former scammer’s whining to keep the boat off to the side because he’d grown attached to it.
Redd had come a long way indeed.
He snapped out of his daze and looked down at the male in his arms who was now softly snoring, having tired himself out. The business man shook his head softly, letting out a breathy laugh. Smiling weakly and fondly, he stared at his significant other for a few moments before tightening his grip and pulling him a little closer. He mumbled a few words soft enough for only them to hear, and with that, he fell asleep, a smile on his face.
“It’s okay, I forgive you.”
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I want you to know that this hurt me to write. I almost cried at my own work, but I think it’s good for something I’m not used too
#angst#angst with a happy ending#out of character (?)#reference to depression#redd need a hug#reddnook#tom nook x crazy redd#jolly redd#crazy redd#redd#tom nook
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*:..｡o○Ruishiro Takizaku○o｡..:*
Basic : Ruishiro Takizaku a 18 Year Old Hero Apprentice who Works under the Under Hound Agency. He has a height of 6'2 with a lean and muscular build, He Prefers to Be Called Rui instead of His First Name. His Hero Name is ' Morphicus '
Appearance : He Is a Rather intimidating Young Man; if his Height and Build isn't enough to scare people then The Sharp and seemingly permanent glare he'd usually show would do the trick. He has a pair of Transparent eyes which reflects the Purest Color of an Amethyst, Short Ashy Blue Hair that's usually Styled in a Messy and Lazy Manner. He has Ear Piercings on both ears and his Fingers are filled with stainless steel Rings. His usual attire consist of a Black Button Up shirt, Black Jeans and a High Collared Jacket and finally Heavy Combat Boots. His Expressions are Rather complex but the most prominent Expression he wears is the usual Death Glare that never seems to disappear or the infamous ' Stone cold Bitch Face '
Personality : Though He may Seem Cold and Distant at First especially with his Intimidating Expression; You Better hope it stays That way because he is actually an Asshole at Heart. He's Sarcastic, Brutal and Cruel with his Words and He wouldn't even care what that person's Status is may it be a president, the no. Hero, a Family Member or His Lover, It wouldn't matter. This Trait of His Gets Him into a Lot of Unnatural Trouble since it's his Nature to be argumentative and Hostile and he seems to have a hidden world of Remarks to match his Wits. But during One of the Very Rare moments where his Asshole meter has reduced half way he is actually very Sweet but has an odd way of showing it. He lives for the chase and it's one of it. Generally he is like any human being, Complex. But if the situation calls for it he is polite and respectful to those People he hasn't formed a solid opinion for yet. If you want annoying then go To Rui; He Tests People's wits and Irritates them unconsciously just to see where their True Feelings Lies; He has a big brain so his analytical skills is beyond average, he is observant and knows How to Manipulate a situation that's being laid in front of him. So being an actor, lying and charming his way in is not a big deal.
Quirk : Umbra Morphology; The Ability To Morph into Something Inhumane By the use of Darkness or Any objects that Holds the Color 'Black'. When the Ability is used; Black Sticky Viscous Substance will crawl onto the User's Chosen Body Part for Transformation and slowly Consume that Body Part while Forming the desired form of the User. But the color stays on and unchangeable.
How it was acquired/ Small backstory: in the First Place He was deemed Useless by Society and was lesser than Trash Meaning; He was Quirkless. His Family was surprisingly accepting of his current state but He Himself did not Like how low he had stood with the constant Mockery of those people who had quirks. He wanted to acquire his own Quirk. He wanted to acquire Power for Himself and Show everyone that he was worth something and because of this selfish desire of His He began to search desperately; He searched up the Black web and Looked for any possible ways to acquire power without Having a Quirk. Sure there were sites that offered to use his body as a Lab Rat but that may possibly get him killed. So he kept searching and searching until he stumbled onto a site that offered a Mystery Box. It was Cheap; Too cheap that it was suspicious but he was curious. He wanted to know what was inside, could it be a gadget that could grant him Power? Could it be body parts instead? Whatever it is ; something urged him to buy it. And that's where he slowly began to ruin his own Life.
Fast Forward to a Few Days; The package arrived and to his utter Disappointment it was a price of Paper in a Box. He paid for something like this. A paper.... No a contract, a Black eerie paper that had letters written with white ink. He later decided that the Site he bought it from was a scam because when he searched it up again; There was nothing. He didn't bother reading the paper at all. And one night when he was answering his Assignments, his eyes drifted towards the black paper on his desk and when he took a closer look the words were not in the language that he spoke of. It was an ancient language; that's all he could confirm but judging by the output it really was a contract . So thinking that it would be fun he signed the contract and that's where things began to get scary ( I'll skip the other stuff)
He Later found out that The contract he signed was a Contract to be a Vessel of The Demon Of Darkness Umbrachus, A demon that had forced Rui To Accept it in his Body now his Body isn't his own. Sure Rui was happy to know that he had a 'quirk' now but later when he found out what price he needed to pay was the cause of his mass destruction. He had plunged himself on his own demise. The Demon craved the Flesh of and Blood of Humans and it forced Rui to eat Raw Flesh. Umbrachus was a demon associated with Wrath, Pride and Greed so if any of those emotions are triggered by Rui then there's a high chance of Umbrachus Gaining Control of his body. The Demon was Toying with Rui; Umbrachus Started Manipulating Rui's surroundings and giving him Hallucinations. Rui feard sleeping because Umbrachus could gain Control over his body whole he was passed out. And Finally Rui had enough when Umbrachus had nearly Killed His Younger sister due to Hunger; With the incident taking Place Rui Fled. He Fled and Lived in the streets, He fought the demon with all his might and when he was at his wits that's where Hellhound appeared to his rescue. Hell Hound runs a Hero Agency called Under Hound. And this Agency isn't just associate with heroes. They are also Masters of the Occult so Hell Hound who was in a similar situation as Rui took Pity on the Boy and Took him to His Agency where Rui was Given Proper Training to Control the Demon. And soon Rui was given a chance to become a Hero; not a Hero for the public or media but a Hero of The Night. A Hero Who Kills Villains not arrest them.
Trivia Facts
* He Has a Very Bad Sweet tooth And is a Fan of Spicy Food.
* He Was Given a Choice to change his name but he Kept it That way because he Thinks Being called Rui is Cool
* Has a Soft Spot For Dogs
* After Umbrachus Forcefully shared his Body he lost the ability to use Chopsticks and whenever he tries to use them he gets frustrated since it always slips.
* He may Not Look it But he is actually a Big Fan of Sappy Love stories but after Umbrachus entered his Body he started liking Hard Core Gore.
* He used to be Slender and Lanky but Having a Demon inside him had it's Perks.
* He prefers Convenience Store Food Over 5 star Meals.
* He is Bisexual
* He May Have Sadistic Tendencies . He blames it on Umbrachus but Umbrachus spoke otherwise.
* He's an Asshole But He respects Independent women; He was raised by only his Mother being present so he was Disciplined strictly .
* It is mentioned that he is a Fan of Sappy Love stories so surprisingly he is actually very romantic and loving if he ever finds a Lover.
* He is a Master of Lying but He prefers the Truth over lies since he is used to Saying unfiltered insults Opinions.
* A Seafood addict
* He may or May Not be Into Witchcraft
* Can speak Fluent Bullshit
* He can Form Umbra Claws, or even sink himself into the darkness to come deal his presence so he is mostly sent on stealth missions because of this advantage.
* Babies Creep Him out. Don't Ask. It just Does.
* He can't smile for shit and when he tries it comes out as a mocking smirk or a sadistic grin.
* Has Perfect control. Over his Facial expressions but tends to keep it Monotoned and Bitch-Like.
* An actual Dork and Goes to Animal Cafe
* a Fan of Musicals Especially Phant of the Opera.
* Surprisingly has Good Singing Voice
* If he's not pissing anyone off then he's flirting with someone without noticing it.
* Can Cook a whole feast but eats Cup noodles instead.
* Owns 2 large bookshelves filled with Books he never reads. Or even has the patience to read one.
* Has a Dog Named Cat.
* He claims to be allergic to the cold so his clothes are mostly sweaters, jackets, hoodies, anything thats warm. Even if it's in the middle of the summer with everyone sweating bullets you'll see him walking around casually with heavy clothes on.
* He has a mild Disdain for overconfident brats with flashy Quirks.
* Shameless with his Opinions
* Likes Blueberries
* Fast Food is his Only Food.
Note: I don't Exactly Have a Drawn Picture of Him since I'm still Contemplating a Few Details but I did make a Rough Appearance Idea of Him in Picrew. This Picture is Not Mine To own I'm just showing you guys what he'd Mostly Look Like. The art belongs to a Talented Artists with a Bright Future ahead. If you know them. Then give them my regards and Thanks ^^ . I Repeat This is Just an Example ^^ the Picture is NOT mine.
Extra Note : If You Have a Few Questiona for him then Don't Hesitate to Mention Him in your Ask ^^ . You are Free to Interact with him.
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Ghosts
Summary: There is something strange about the woman they find in the winter wilderness. She is cold, unwavering, and strangely menacing. Arthur Morgan finds himself pulled in by that vivacity. Unbeknownst to him, she knows many things that elude this cowboy. Like magnet to metal, no matter how far he throws her away, he always finds himself going back.
GHOSTS MASTERLIST
Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC
Rating: M
Word count: 4022
CHAPTER FIVE: A DIFFERENT KIND OF LONELY
I bow down to pray
I try to make the worst seem better
Lord, show me the way
To cut through all his worn out leather
As soon as they had made it back to Horseshoe Overlook, Arya was rushing across camp. Arthur hot on her heels, following her, couldn’t keep the smile off his face. She went straight to Hosea, who was bent over a few pieces of paper.
“Hosea!” Her voice was filled with joy and something that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Eagerness.
The young woman and Hosea had been quite the pair ever since her arrival within the gang. She was curious and asked a lot of questions. He was happy to teach and loved her eager demeanor. Often, she would spend the night curled into herself, perched beside Hosea, listening to whatever story he had in store for her. Sometimes he’d show her photographs. Other times, he’d show her maps.
“Hosea, I think we’ve got something good!”
When the man lifted his head, he was met with her smile; bright and enthusiastic. The sun was setting behind him – orange and bright – and as he got to his feet, the light behind him seemed to shift along with him.
“What is it?” he asked.
Arya beamed. It had been so long since she felt on the cusp of something this big. She didn’t mind that she was smiling so long and so fully. She didn’t mind that Arthur was staring. She cared even less that Hosea seemed astonished to see the pair of them together like this.
“I think we discovered something good in Valentine,” the girl went on. “The clerk at the Hotel – Miles – is harboring some big fancy boys from Saint Denis, who will be trafficking oil.”
Hosea scratched the bottom of his chin, a gesture that resembled Arthur’s way of contemplating. “You want to do a scam?” Hosea asked, blue eyes down to slits in concentration.
“I know we need to work out the details,” Arya answered. “But this sounds good, right?”
Hosea looked over at Arthur. The former seemed to be gaging just how good the entire ordeal was by Arthur’s facial expression. After a second of silent observation, Arthur just shrugged. “She’s onto something,” he grumbled.
“That man, from Saint Denis,” she eagerly pressed, “he said that his men and their wives will be coming by in three weeks. They’ll stay for a week, and once they have the oil, they’ll ride down to the docks on the Saint Denis coast. That’s where the money will be.”
Hosea’s entire face lit up. Wrinkles split at his eyes and creased around his mouth, but despite his old age, he looked stunning against the orange backdrop of the sky. “A good ol’ fashion money scam,” he beamed. “You guys will need me to work out some details before, and to ask around those I know in Valentine. You should also assemble a team. We need people to be those fake oil receivers in Saint Denis. We also need to know to who they are selling the oil to.”
Arya’s heart was hammering. Her cheeks hurt with smiling so hard, and the insides of her palms itched with anticipation. “So this could work?”
Hosea laughed. “This is definitely goin’ to work.”
She nodded so hard she feared her head would spin off her body. “Thank you,” she breathed. Hosea shook his head and waved her off, sitting back down at his table.
Later that night, she found herself sitting at the edge of the cliff. A small fire crackled at her feet, her legs outstretched towards the warmth, her back pressed against the trunk of a tree. Beside her, on each side respectively, was Sadie and Arthur. Above them, stars sprinkled like salt along the darkness of the sky. In front of them, the vastness of the world, the drop of the cliff, and the sweet breath of the wind.
They had shared some stew. They had shared some quiet and quick jokes. Arya was content with them both at her side. She wasn’t one to express fondness, but she would gladly say that their company made her feel safe.
Arthur grumbled as he got to his feet.
“Old man’s goin’ to bed,” Sadie joked. She was stretched out on her side, leaning on her elbow.
“I ain’t even that old,” Arthur answered, his voice deep in his chest. In the darkness, with the soft glow of the flames, he looked young. Arya stole a glance at his face; shadow of a beard, sharp jawline, high cheekbones. He had the rare wrinkle around his eyes, but his sun-reddened skin didn’t have any evidence of old age.
“Says the man who grumbles as hard as Hosea to get to his feet,” Sadie mocked again, throwing her head back to laugh. Arya smiled, picturing Hosea as he always was, grumbling about painful knees.
“I’m just grumblin’ because I’m tired!” Arthur protested. When he saw that both women were having none of his shit tonight, he shook his head. “Ah, leave me alone.”
Arya laughed. Arthur’s eyes snapped to hers quickly, and she caught the look of curiousness that crossed his features. “Just admit you’re an old man, Mr. Morgan,” she chuckled.
“I’ll admit it when I’m dead,” he fussed. Arya watched him wobble on his feet slightly, readjust his hat, and wave. “You ladies have yourselves a good night now.”
Sadie scoffed. “Sleep well, Arthur.”
“Night,” Arya mumbled.
His retreating footsteps were the sounds of scrunched leaves under boots. Arya kept pace with his breathing until it disappeared in the darkness, in his tent.
“You know he likes you, right?”
Arya’s head snapped to the side, black eyes meeting Sadie. The latter was now curled into herself, staring right into the flames. “What?” Arya asked, clearing her throat awkwardly.
“He’s sweet on you,” Sadie added, meeting the other woman’s eyes with a wicked grin.
“Arthur?” Disbelief made Arya’s voice sound high-pitched.
Sadie rolled her eyes. “Who else?” The fire crackled as silence took over for an instant. “He definitely fancies you.”
Arya shook her head, an elfish grin on her lips. “We’re friends,” she tried to justify.
“I don’t think he knows that,” Sadie answered bluntly.
Arya shrugged. Shook her head. Curled her legs in defensively. Sadie was one of the only people that she trusted among Arthur and Hosea. Everyone else… well, she knew.
Sadie and Arya being friends didn’t mean that Arya liked having someone poke around her life, nonetheless, her romantic life.
“I think he’s just lonely,” she whispered, avoiding Sadie’s glare. “If you weren’t a widow, he’d probably fancy you too.”
“He might be lonely,” Sadie answered after waving the other girl off. “But lonely men think with what hangs between their legs. They only come to you when they don’t want to be alone. And usually, that leads to some sort of physical contact. But Arthur’s loneliness is different. He… he longs.”
Arya could feel heat bloom in her chest. Anger. Fear. It mixed like mud, and her breathing became ragged, and the more she thought about it, about him, the more she saw it. The longing. The yearning.
“He’s a sad man,” she said, her voice sounding like a dead end. A conclusion.
Sadie scoffed. “He ain’t sad when he’s with you.”
Day break was like any other. John, Bill, and Arthur had gone hunting for the midday stew. Grimshaw and some ladies were fussing around for chores. Pearson had some leftover meat he was hanging to dry. Dutch and Molly hadn’t left their tent yet. Abigail was sitting on a log by the edge of the cliff, Jack hanging on her knees as she tried to give his hair a good brush. Lice tended to spread fast in these parts.
Everything was normal. Everything was quiet.
Arya was in her tent when she heard the first yells. They weren’t screams of help or alarm. They were screams of astonishment and fear.
The girl rose from her bed, where she’d been reading, enjoying the morning coolness before the heat came in. She rushed out, dressed in black pants and a matching black union shirt. Her eyes, as dark as night, searched the grounds around her.
Pearson had stopped hanging the meats and was wobbling strangely away from his wagon. At the entrance to camp, where Pearson was headed, three horses stood away from their usual spot. Arya saw Abigail, wailing, with Grimshaw holding Jack back from whatever had happened. Beside them, on every side, was everyone else.
“John, you idiot!” Abigail yelled, and Arya saw her hand fly and land, the sound of skin on skin echoing.
Javier burst out laughing.
“It ain’t his fault, Abigail!” Bill came crashing out of the crowd, front of his checkered shit bloodied. Dried crimson cracked on his neck and hands.
Someone was hurt.
For a brief, a very brief instant, Arya’s eyes searched for Arthur. She couldn’t find him, what with everyone crowding around the horses.
The smell of blood had the horses whinnying and stamping their hooves harshly onto the grassland. Arya’s first instinct was to get everyone out of their way.
“Move away!” she ordered, and the ease with which she slid into this role, of leader, felt almost foreign. She pushed people out of the way, out of the horses’ way, and found Arthur. He was holding John up by the waist, the latter looking sickly and deathly pale. One look, a once over, brought Arya to the conclusion of what the hell was going on.
John’s hand was covered in blood. Crimson oozed out and dribbled onto the grass at his feet. Arthur’s own hands, up to his wrist, were smeared in red. The front of his shirt was speckled, as if he’d been in the very near vicinity of what had happened to John.
“What happened?” Arya asked, stepping forward to examine the wound. John’s hand was mangled, as if bitten, but none of his fingers looked badly hurt.
“The idiot decided to have a hand-to-hand combat with a bear,” Arthur grumbled.
“Yeah, an idiot, that’s what you are, John Marston!” Abigail cried from behind.
Arya turned. Stonefaced and calm, she said, “I’m going to need you all to move back. We have to get him somewhere warm and quiet. All this fussing isn’t going to help him.” Abigail seemed to be personally vexed by the young woman’s statement. She fumed, picked up Jack, and scrambled away.
“The boy don’t need to see just how much of a fool his father is!” she screamed.
John, in his state, didn’t seem to care at all. His head of dark and messy hair hung low, his chin grazing his chest. Form all the blood loss, Arya didn’t know just how long he had.
Quickly, she undid the scarf around her neck. She tied it tightly around John’s affected wrist.
“Let’s get him to lie down,” she ordered to Arthur. “Miss Grimshaw, I need a bucket of clean and warm water. I need clean cloth and keep it coming. No one is bothering me, okay?”
Grimshaw, frowning, said, “Who put you in charge?”
“Does anyone know how to fix John’s mangled hand?” Arya challenged back. “Does anyone here know how to make sure he can use his hand and his fingers again? Didn’t think so. I got this.”
Dutch appeared suddenly, while Grimshaw scurried off to pertain to Arya’s many requests. Dutch seemed out of his wits. He tried cajoling John, but the latter was in and out of consciousness, leaning heavily on Arthur.
“Oh, dear boy,” Dutch mumbled. “What can I do to help?”
Arya wrapped one of her arms around John’s waist to help Arthur carry the injured man to her tent. “Have someone bring me small wooden sticks and a sewing kit.”
Dutch grumbled something, but Arya didn’t hear. John was heavier than he looked and carrying him was harder than she thought.
When they got to her tent, she made Arthur lay her newest patient onto her bed. She unrolled the flaps and closed them, so no one could see in and she could have all the peace she needed.
“Arthur,” she commanded, “bring me a stool.”
He left without a word, and for the first time, she was alone with John. She could asses his wound properly.
The center of his hand was bitten through and through. She had no idea if the bones had been touched, moved, or crushed. She hoped not the latter, because that meant John would never recuperate fully. His fingers were mangled, but it looked mostly like claw marks. Thick gashes, the meat red and burning, the bone opened and exposed. His wrist was bruised and bloodied with a few marks, but she suspected it was more a sprain than a broken wrist.
She had a lot of work.
Arthur came back with the stool. She sat beside John and waited. Grimshaw came and went a few times. She brought first the cloth, then the water, and lastly, she brought a needle and a roll of thread. She left without a word.
Arthur was the only one that Arya allowed to stay.
“How are you going to fix it?” he asked, as he watched the girl examine the wound.
“Do you have whiskey on you?” she asked. After a few moments, Arthur handed her a half-filled bottle. She took it graciously, took a swig, and poured a generous amount of it all over John’s mangled hand.
The injured man woke with a howl of pain so great that it resonated painfully in Arya’s ears. “There he is,” Arthur grumbled, taking the bottle from Arya’s hands and having a taste of it as well.
“What the hell!” John screamed. He was trying to curl his hand in defensively, but Arya held it down.
“I’m going to help you,” she was saying, but John was shaking, tears of pain in the corner of his eyes, his entire face contorted in effort.
Arthur came around and held John down by the shoulders.
“John!” Arya demanded her patient’s attention. “This is going to hurt like a bitch, but I’m going to fix you. You need to stay still.
By then, John’s entire body was trembling. He was white and weak from blood loss, and Arya didn’t doubt that sooner or later, he would lose consciousness again.
“Arthur, put this between his teeth,” she said, handing the man a wad of cloth. Arthur frowned, seemed puzzled, but when he saw Arya begin to toy with John’s hand, he stuffed the wad into John’s mouth.
The girl, bent over in concentration, blood sticky on her fingers, uncurled John’s fingers. He screamed behind his gag, thrashed under Arthur’s hold. She picked up some more cloth, damped it in warm water, and slowly began washing the wound.
Against the sharp screams of John, Arya explained what she was doing to Arthur. “I’m going to wash the wound,” she said. “I used the alcohol to sterilize it and my hands. I’m going to do by best to sew him back up, but I’m not sure if the bones in his hand, here, are crushed or unaffected. I would need… never mind. Then I’m going to use some sticks to make sure the bones, if crushed or broken, heal in their right place. My priority right now is to stop the bleeding. Once he’s all sewn up and I’m all done with the sticks, the key is to keep him fed and hydrated.”
By then, she had washed most of his wound. John was still bleeding badly, but she had gotten the dirt and grass out of his injury. She poured more whiskey onto it, and with that, John was out like a light.
Arthur relaxed and walked back to where he’d been before; behind Arya, watching over her head.
Slowly, painfully, she started to sow John’s hand back. She’d swab at it with a damp cloth sometimes, or alcohol, and then go right back in. She was so concentrated that she didn’t even notice the whispers outside of her tent, or the growing darkness around her, or the heavy hunger in her stomach. Dark, swan eyes were focused solely on the bleeding and horrible gash. Her mind was a haze of medicine. She didn’t even feel anything around or in her.
She carefully placed his fingers and hand upside down to sew his palm up. Then she spread his hand over a small pillow and began working with the sticks. Arya placed them each side of John’s fingers and tied them with rope. She used more cloth as cautionary measure on his sprained wrist, which had turned black and purple – most likely just a big bruise.
She gave the overall wound a good wash before settling back in her seat.
The silence seemed to fill her as she stared at John’s hand. It wasn’t pretty. Dried blood still crusted the sewn-up gashes, and the thread itself was hard from blood, and was a sharp contrast against the pale skin. The hand was slightly swollen and red, but nothing alarming to the young woman.
“I’m done,” she said. Her voice seemed foreign after all this time.
“Is he goin’ to be alright?” Arthur asked. The sound of his voice, for a short moment, was comforting.
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Go get Abigail, will you?”
Not long after, Abigail shuffled in. Her eyes were red with tears, swollen, and her face was splotchy. She wore a thick cotton gown and a thicker shawl over her shoulders. Her usually spotless black hair was tousled into a bun at the base of her neck.
“Is he okay?” she hiccupped.
Arya nodded sternly, grabbed the woman’s hand, and said, “If he starts to tremble, to have chills, nausea, or he starts to get really hot, you come find me. If he starts to hallucinate or vomit or to sweat profusely, you come find me. If his wound becomes black or blood red or if puss starts to come out of it, you come find me, understand?”
The dark-haired woman looked confused. She staggered on her feet, sat on the edge of the bed, and wept. “What’s puss?” she asked.
“White, creamy substance,” Arya answered patiently.
“Why would his hand go black?” Abigail continued, still weeping, her face in her hands.
“That would be gangrene.”
“Gangrene?”
“Listen, Abigail,” Arya said, going to her knees. “If anything appears out of the ordinary, you come find me.” She was holding the older woman by the shoulders soothingly, something Arya rarely did.
“O-okay,” Abigail answered, sniffing and wiping her tears.
“The important thing is that you keep him fed and hydrated,” Arya counseled. “He needs to eat and drink water. Not alcohol. Water.”
Abigail nodded. Lowly, she murmured, “Thank you.”
“I’ll come back to check on him tomorrow morning,” Arya assured, still on her knees, still holding the other woman. “I’ll make sure he’s able to use his hand again.”
Again, Abigail nodded. She shifted away from Arya and closer to her husband.
Arya stood, and when she left the tent to breathe in the cold night air, that’s when the exhaustion hit her. Hunger growled in her stomach and she could feel the dried walls of her throat aching for water.
Arthur stepped out to join her. “You can have my tent for the night,” he offered. “You and Sadie.”
Arya smiled tiredly. “That’s kind of you.”
They got stew together and walked around camp assuring everyone that John was going to be fine. Dutch asked about the mobility of his hand. In truth, Arya was scared that John would never fully recover the use of his hand, but she confidently told Dutch that she’d work towards full mobility. Grimshaw and Karen, stoneface and cold, asked about the well being of John, but beneath their demeanor, Arya could see the worry on their faces.
Arya and Arthur spent most of the night reassuring their friends. Bill felt guilty for not killing the bear, but Arthur took the blame right off his shoulders.
“You didn’t tell me exactly what happened,” Arya asked, sitting – finaly! – on a stump in front of a dying fire. Arthur sat on the ground beside her, finished his stew, and let the bowl clink beside him.
“Went chasin’ after a bear,” he started. “I was on my horse, lookin’ for clues. Bill was wandering around on the rocks for some reason. Then I hear this big roar and sound, like somethin’ crashin’ through the trees. I go runnin’. Then John’s screamin’, and when I get to him, he’s squarin’ up like he wants to fight the thing. Obviously, get’s wrecked. Bill shoots at it, and the thing just runs away.”
Arya smiled and huffed, “There’s only John to square up to a bear.”
Arthur laughed through his nose, but then his face went cold as he stared into the fire. Arya saw the shift and wondered why her own chest ached. “I thought he was goin’ to die,” he admitted lowly.
“But he didn’t,” Arya said.
“Yeah, because of Bill.”
“It’s not your fault, Arthur.”
“I know,” he said awkwardly. “It’s just… I just stood there, you know?”
Arya’s eyes glazed in empathy. “Sometimes shock takes away your ability to make decisions.”
“But that never happened to me before,” Arthur objected. “I’ve always had my finger on the trigger. I never hesitated. Never. And then, when it comes to savin’ John’s life, a moment more important than many I’ve had to fire my weapon for, I can’t.”
Arya nodded in understanding. She shifted on her log awkwardly. Sentimental conversations were not her forte. “You… you love John,” she mumbled. “Moments of quick action, crisis moments, change when it involves someone you’re afraid of losing.”
Arthur was quiet for a moment. The young woman stared at the fire but was very aware of Arthur’s presence beside her. After a pause, he said, “You’re right.”
A sigh left the woman’s lips. “You’re a good man, Arthur,” she mumbled.
He grumbled, groaned something, and then sighed. “How do you know all this doctor stuff anyway?”
“You think I’m a witch?” she joked.
Arthur laughed and the sound was music to Arya’s ears after all this silence. “If I had a right mind, I’d think so,” Arthur mused. “But I ain’t gonna burn you at the stake, young lady.”
Smiling, Arya offered, “I learned from my mother. She was a doctor.”
Frowning, Arthur turned his blue gaze onto Arya’s profile. “A woman doctor?”
“Uh- no, I mean, yes, but uh-,” Arya stammered, pushed her hair behind her ears. “She was – uh – a healer. You know. A herbalist. But she knew about surgery.”
Arthur huffed. He didn’t seem convinced by her answer. “You said a lot of words back there that I don’t know,” he grumbled, returning his eyes to the fire. “Your mother must have been a hell of a doctor then.”
“She was.”
The crackling of the fire took precedence. Arya’s mind was whirling. Images swooping in to disturb the peace she was staggeringly trying to keep. The faces of her mother and father oozed in and out of memory, but just like her brother, they were fading.
“You never told me what happened in Delaware,” Arthur said, breaking the silence. “Why you left. Why it was just you and your brother.”
Arya stiffened and suddenly, she was cold. She wanted to leave. The drying blood on her hands was not John’s but another man’s. Her throat was closing up.
“It’s not something I discuss,” she all but choked out.
Under the watchful and curious stare of Arthur, the brunette got to her feet and scurried away. The night cloaked the rising tears in her eyes and the way she curled into herself protectively. When she burst into Arthur’s tent, she flopped onto the bed. The smell of him – pinewood, fire smoke, and river water – made her mind burn with too many thoughts. Tears welled and poured over her cheeks. She curled into a ball.
The last thing she was conscious of before she fell asleep was the deep smell of Arthur Morgan all around her.
#arthur morgan#arthur morgan imagine#arthur morgan x oc#arthur morgan fanfiction#arthur morgan fanfic#arthur morgan oneshot#imagine arthur morgan#arthur morgan fic#arthur morgan x ofc#arthur morganxoc#arthur morganxofc#rockstar games#Red Dead Redemption#Red Dead#red dead redemption 2
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All curtains drawn- Chapter 1
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Opportunities on the rise
Waking up with a pillow thrown in your face isn’t always the best way to start the day, but it wasn’t new to Marvin. He just stayed in his spot, pulling the pillow closer to his face, groaning. Another second went by and his blanket was being pulled away from his too. “Come on Marvin,” He heard his name called. “Just because you stayed up late doesn’t mean you can skip work today.”
Marvin pulled the pillow away from his face and glared up at the figure standing above him. “What can I say, I’m a nocturnal creature at heart,” He sat up and threw the pillow as he started walking away. Marvin looked around their shared room. It wasn’t the nicest place, but it was cheap, and that was what they needed. He glanced over at the clock. 1:35. He didn’t start work till 6. “Zach I don’t start for a few hours why,”
He stopped talking when an opened envelope landed at his feet. He looked up at Zach who was standing in the doorway. “Got another letter from dad,” Marvin rolled his eyes setting it next to his clock.
“I’ll read it later,” He spit out bitterly. He stood up and stretched, walking to his shared closet and rummaging through it all while Zach just kept watching him.
“It’s the same as usual,” He explained. “Asking when we’re getting real jobs, or if we plan on coming home soon. You know the whole ordeal,” Zach was being calm about it, but it was clear that Marvin was bothered by it. They’d left home and moved to a district right out of Boston a few years ago. Their father wasn’t thrilled that they were waiting so long to go to college, but performing arts schools tended to be expensive. He also wasn’t thrilled about both his sons wanting to pursue performing, which is why they both left. After not being able to find the jobs they wanted, and living off street money for the first few months, miraculously, they both managed to get bar jobs at a country club. It kept the roof over their heads and food in their stomachs. For now though, they weren’t going back to school for a while.
“That’s why I’m not bothering with it,” Marvin explained, throwing his shirt into a pile at at the foot of his bed. “I don’t need him to tell me how disappointed he is in me. I don’t care about his opinion.” Marvin grabbed a towel from his dresser and brushed past his brother to the bathroom. Zach just stared at him, before looking back at the letter.
Marvin started running the water, waiting a second for it to warm up. He looked over himself in a mirror for a second. His hair was getting long, he’d either have to get Zach to cut it again, or start tying it back. He decided the latter might be better, considering how little he trusted his brother with scissors next to his neck.
After a quick shower, Marvin came out to their open kitchen with his pants on and the towel laying across his shoulder. Zach was at the stove frying up something that he assumed was food.
It was getting later and later as the two searched through the papers, looking for some kind of show position. A few theaters were hiring maintenance crew workers, but they were either not qualified enough, or the location was too far away. Every time they thought they’d found a new place to start, something would get in their way. They couldn’t seem to find that one opportunity. They just needed a chance.
Their search ended unsuccessfully again, by the time they had to go to work. Marvin threw on his white button up and black vest, along with the closest thing to dress shoes he owned. As he got dressed, he looked back over at the letter on his desk. Contemplating it for a moment, he decided to just leave and ignore it for later.
Another slow night, it was Tuesday, so he wasn’t surprised, but that just meant the hours would go by way too slowly. Tips were low too, which was always annoying, especially for Zach, who was busing tables. There was one guy though, one man at the bar who was away from everyone, and very obviously drunk. As Zach walked by with a cart of dishes, Marvin gestured in the drunk man’s direction. Zach looked over and nodded, understanding what he meant.
As the night went on, the man kept ordering drinks and going deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole. It was nearly empty, beside a few people at the bar and some at the tables, but none of them were paying any mind to Marvin or Zach. Finally Zach came out of the kitchen empty handed. He quietly walked past the man and as he was, he slipped his wallet out of his back pocket and kept walking. A few minutes later, he came back and walked up behind the drunk man. “Excuse me sir, I think your wallet fell out of your pocket,” He held the leather object in front of the man.
“Oh yeah,” He staggered to say. “Thanks, you want a drink kid?” He offered.
“Oh, no no, I don’t drink sir,” Marvin watched as the interaction went down. Come on, he helped you out, give him something. He thought to himself.
“Well here then,” The man reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty. “For being honest,”
Hook, line and sinker. Drunks were so easy to scam. Zach tried to refuse the reward, but the drunk man insisted. Finally he took it, seeming as humble as he could. Zach thanked the man and helped him outside where he flagged down a cab for him, not even knowing he just rewarded a pickpocket. When Zach came back in, he went back into the kitchen, Marvin smiled at him, subtly giving him a thumbs up. Another scam perfectly executed.
It came around to 3 in the morning and the bar was closing up for the night. Marvin was washing down the rest of the counter as a few more people were making their way out. He watching one man who was also at the bar leaving now. He considered trying to get him as well, but he wasn’t nearly as drunk. Sober victims were a little harder to deal with.
As he was finishing up, he noticed something lying on the seat that same man was at. He walked around the bar to see what it was. He recognized the book he was reading before. Marvin looked around to try and see if he was still there. Of course he wasn’t though. He examined it from each angle, it was in pretty good condition, but also looked extremely old. There was no author, no title, nothing on it. Just a indented design of what looked like a staff with a small orb on the top. Marvin shrugged and decided to investigate it further later. It could be worth something.
Another day in the bag. He counted the register again, making sure he collected his tips and making sure it was evened out. This was how his life would go. He’d wake up and work, doing his scams with his brother, doing what he could to get closer to their dream. It seemed out of reach, but Marvin was stubborn. If he wanted something, he was going to get it.
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