Do Yall Want More Sketches Of Daring Because These Are Some Roughs I Have For A Different Thronecoming

The man failure himself

Spoke to a gen z person the other night and apparently the young folks don't know about the very legal sites from which you can access public domain media (including Dracula, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and other Victorian gothic horror stories)?

Like this young person didn't even know about goddamn Gutenberg which is a SHAME. I linked to it and they went "aw yiss time to do a theft" and I was like "I mean yo ho ho and all that, sure, but. you know gutenberg is entirely legal, right?"

Anyway I'm gonna put this in a few Choice Tags (sorry dracula fans I DID mention it though so it's fair game) and then put some Cool Links in a reblog so this post will still show UP in said tags lmao.

I’m thinking about Wicked tonight, specifically why Elphaba ends up with Fiyero instead of Glinda in the musical despite Elphaba and Glinda having the more well-rounded relationship.

You could chalk it up to the writers wanting a heteronormative ending (and I’m certain that’s part of it) or the fact that Elphaba and Fiyero had a love affair in the book. But I think there’s a bit more nuance to it.

The whole point of Glinda’s character is that she upholds the status quo of Oz. No matter how much she loves Elphaba or sympathizes with the plight of the Animals, she will always align herself with the current system and those in power. And as long as that remains the case, a relationship between her and Elphaba is futile because Elphaba will not give up her cause.

Elphaba and Glinda represent to different ends of a spectrum. Elphaba resists the oppressive forces in Oz, while Glinda upholds them. But Fiyero is somewhere in the middle. He starts out privileged and carefree like Glinda, but quickly turns to Elphaba’s side. He does become Captain of the Guard, but only to find Elphaba and help her evade arrest.

And therein lies the difference between Glinda and Fiyero as love interests to Elphaba. Glinda would never sacrifice her title as “the Good Witch” and all her power granted from the Wizard, even if it meant helping Elphaba. Fiyero, on the other hand, does give up his privilege, his title, and even his human form for Elphaba. Glinda clings to what the status quo gives her, while Fiyero ultimately rejects it.

Yes, the writing around Elphaba and Fiyero’s romance is a bit rushed and doesn’t have the same gradual development that Elphaba and Glinda have. And yes, I have no doubt heteronormativity played a role in giving Elphaba a male love interest in the end. But I see a lot of people write off Fiyero and his relationship with Elphaba and I just don’t agree.

Why does Elphaba end up with Fiyero instead of Glinda? Because Fiyero makes the sacrifices that Glinda wasn’t willing to.

people that say Arthur and John hated each other were not playing the same Red Dead i did. i don't think they even disliked each other.

like there’s concern on Arthur’s face when he hands John off to Javier once they find him. sure he's being a smart ass the whole time, but the second John's back is to him, he's got these damn puppy eyes.

at the start of Who the Hell is Leviticus Cornwall? Arthur's checking on John. the only people in the cabin are Swanson, John, and Arthur. they have a few lines of dialog before Dutch comes barging in, A: "You're still here, then?" J: "I owe you." A: "And you'll pay me...but for the moment, just rest." there was literally no venom in Arthur's greeting to John. like at all. was it sarcastic? sure. but that's all it was. and the way Arthur says just rest is so damn soft. i would have loved more than three lines of dialog between them, but alas. Dutch. just found it of note that Arthur will check up on John, but only when there's no one else around. can't let the others know he still cares about that dumbass.

some of their exchanges can be read as "mean-spirited", but i think Arthur is just...kind of mean. every time Arthur takes a jab, John ignores it and continues their conversation like it's normal. i think that's just how John and Arthur interact. which honestly makes sense for two guys that have known each other for ~15 years.

Arthur is a grouchy bastard for the whole duration of Paying a Social Call, and John even comments to Kieran that if Arthur treats his friends like this, imagine how he treats his enemies. i think Arthur was acting like a banty and puffing out his chest to intimidate Kieran more than anything.

BUT (ok this may be a reach here) Arthur didn't deny him and John being friends, which is something Arthur has absolutely no issue correcting if he feels differently. and here would have been an opportune moment to get one last jab in on John, but he didn't. it was almost like John and Arthur were playing off of each other in the moment: Arthur throws the initial punch, John brushes it off, instead of changing the subject/tone to more joking—Arthur keeps going, John does get a little heated but then makes the remark about friends and enemies. it felt like a show, ooh look how big and bad our enforcer is.

i think the best display of their relationship is the mission The Sheep and the Goats.

John could have gotten Javier, Bill, hell maybe even Hosea to rustle some sheep, but he chose Arthur.

there's a bit of a power play between them the whole time, John is being cagey and evasive about what exactly the plan is, and at the first opportunity Arthur is taking control over the job.

they argue, but it's short lived and neither seem to put much heart into it. Arthur even voices something that could be seen as doubt in Dutch's abilities to John. J: "Dutch says that we—" A: "Dutch says a lot. Now, that's his gift...saying things." J: "Oh yeah? What do you mean by that?" A: "I was the prize pony once, now I'm the workhorse. Listen. Dutch is...but...but, well...you was at that thing in Blackwater."

overall the job goes smoothly. they work well together. even when dealing with the man at the stockyards they work well together. Arthur tries to throw his weight around, and John shuts him down before Arthur can push a little too hard.

i've said it before, but the scene where Cornwall's men have Strauss and John, the way John looks to Arthur—gets me every time. there's irritation on John's face, but not panic. he trusts that Arthur won't let him die.

idk i think a lot of it is that Arthur is the ultimate grudge holder. and i think that John turning tail and running made Arthur face the fact that he isn't any better than John. Arthur was a garbage father, that did pretty much the same thing. only Eliza and Isaac didn't have an entire gang to fall back on, it was probably just her providing and the few bucks Arthur would give her every couple of months.

with how comfortable Abigail is with asking Arthur for things with Jack, i would assume Arthur took on a role that could loosely be labeled "father" in John's absence (and i doubt any of the other men [except Hosea] would be willing to do that).

ok i got off track.

i never felt like their relationship or interactions were anything other than sarcastic banter between old friends. old friends that aren't as close as they used to be, but still they trust each other with their lives.

there might be a little rivalry between them, but i think it's mostly because they're both stubborn, arrogant bastards. and i'm sure Dutch helped fan the flame with their rivalry when it suited him, shifting his favor from Arthur to John.

there's a rift there, and Arthur doesn't let John forget it. John can hardly get a thank you out when Arthur helps him get Jack back, so something like an apology/heart to heart with Arthur is out of the realm of possibility. so they're stuck in this awkward in-between.

friends, but not really. close, but not too close. rivals, but only on the surface.

“Come on, Arthur…”

Sean stumbled after him, boots skidding in the dirt, barely able to stay upright. The campfire crackled behind them, warm light spilling over the trees. Arthur kept walking, arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

“I just got back, y’know?” Sean whined, almost tripping over a root. “After them bastards took me— you missed me, admit it.”

Arthur sighed hard through his nose. “Jesus, kid. You’re like a damn tick. Ain’t even been back a whole day and you’re already clingin’ like a drunk pup.”

Sean didn’t even flinch at the words. If anything, he grinned bigger, that lopsided, cocky smile that somehow made Arthur’s guts twist into knots. His cheeks were flushed — partly from the whiskey, partly from something worse.

“You did miss me,” Sean said, sing-song, bumping his shoulder against Arthur’s. “C’mon, Arthur. Jus’ admit it. Say it. Say it.”

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, growling low in his throat. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Go bother someone else, damnit. You’re drunk as hell.”

Sean grabbed his sleeve and tugged — a desperate little pull. “Arthur, please.”

Arthur swore under his breath. He should shove him off. He should tell him to go sleep it off and stop makin’ a damn fool of himself.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let Sean tug him off the trail, back behind the wagons where the firelight barely reached. It was quieter here, just the crickets and the far-off murmur of the others drinking and laughing. Sean pushed him up against a tree — not hard, but enough that Arthur could feel the heat of him, the way he was vibrating with nerves and booze and feeling.

“I missed you,” Sean said, lower now, more serious. His hands fisted in Arthur’s coat like he was afraid Arthur might slip away if he let go.

Arthur sighed again, but it came out softer this time. Almost a groan.

“You’re a damn fool,” he muttered.

Sean just smiled — a little more genuine now, a little less cocky. “Yeah, but I’m your fool, aren’t I?”

Arthur didn’t answer. He grabbed Sean’s face, rough and firm, and kissed him — messy, hard enough that their teeth clicked. Sean made a sound, surprised and pleased, hands scrambling to clutch at Arthur’s shirt.

“You’re so goddamn needy,” Arthur rasped against his mouth, voice rough and fond and miserable all at once.

“And you love it,” Sean breathed, grinning against his lips.

Arthur kissed him again, slower this time, one hand still cupped around Sean’s jaw, thumb brushing against the stubble there like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Sean leaned into him with a needy little sigh, chasing after the touch like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between them.

“You’re lucky I’m drunk too,” Arthur muttered against his mouth, voice low and rough. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be puttin’ up with this.”

Sean chuckled, breathless, his fingers twisting tighter in Arthur’s coat. “Bullshit,” he said, grinning against Arthur’s lips. “You’d’a come after me yourself if I didn’t drag you out here.”

Arthur grunted, neither confirming nor denying it, and grabbed Sean’s hips to steady him when he wobbled a little too much. Sean was practically melting against him, warm and heavy and just so damn much.

“You don’t even know what you’re askin’ for, kid,” Arthur said, barely above a whisper.

Sean nuzzled against his cheek, shameless and sweet. “I know what I want,” he said, hot breath brushing Arthur’s ear. “Want you. Missed you so much it hurt.”

Arthur froze for half a second — because it was too much, too raw — but Sean just looked up at him with those bright, earnest eyes and that stupid, crooked smile, and Arthur was helpless.

“Goddamn it,” he growled, and kissed Sean again, rougher this time, pushing him back against the tree. Sean made a desperate little noise, kissing him back with everything he had, like he was trying to make up for every hour he’d spent locked up and alone.

Arthur’s hands slid down to Sean’s hips, gripping them hard enough to bruise, and Sean laughed breathlessly into his mouth, like he couldn’t believe his luck. His fingers slid up Arthur’s chest, clumsy and eager, tugging at the buttons of his shirt like he wanted to get closer, closer still.

“Easy,” Arthur rasped, catching his wrists. “Ain’t doin’ nothin’ out here with the whole damn camp five feet away.”

Sean pouted — actual, honest-to-God pouted — and Arthur almost laughed. Almost.

“Later,” Arthur promised, voice low and rough as gravel. “You sober up a little. Then we’ll talk.”

Sean leaned his forehead against Arthur’s, eyes fluttering closed, still smiling. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Okay. Long as you stay.”

Arthur huffed a soft laugh and tightened his grip, holding Sean steady.

“I’m here,” he said gruffly. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

The camp had long since gone quiet. A few snores drifted from the tents, and the last embers of the fire glowed low and red.

Sean was still buzzing around Arthur like a damn moth to a flame, though — even after sobering up a bit. If anything, he was worse now. Touching him, grinning at him, bouncing on his heels like he had a secret he couldn’t keep.

Arthur grumbled under his breath when Sean tugged at his sleeve again, but he followed anyway, boots crunching soft on the dirt as they slipped away from camp.

“You are tiring, you know that?” Arthur muttered as they pushed deeper into the trees.

Sean just laughed, not the least bit discouraged. “You love it. Admit it, big man. You missed me dancin’ circles around ya.”

Arthur shoved him lightly — a hand to the back of the head, rough but almost fond. “Shut up,” he growled.

Sean stumbled a little, laughing harder, but when he turned around, his smile was sharper — hungrier. His eyes raked over Arthur, top to bottom, and it sent a bolt of heat straight through Arthur’s gut.

“You gonna kiss me again, Arthur?” Sean asked, voice low and teasing. “Or you just gonna scowl at me all night?”

Arthur’s jaw ticked. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He stepped forward, crowding Sean back against a tree, looming over him.

“You don’t ask for it,” Arthur said, voice dark, “you earn it.”

Sean grinned, sharp and wicked, like he’d won something. “Then teach me how, tough guy.”

Arthur didn’t give him the chance to be a little shit about it. He grabbed Sean by the front of his shirt, hauling him in and kissing him — hard, messy, nothing sweet about it. Sean gasped into his mouth, hands scrambling up Arthur’s chest, clawing at him like he wanted to climb inside his damn skin.

Arthur manhandled him without much ceremony, crowding him against the rough bark, sliding a knee between Sean’s legs to pin him there. Sean rolled his hips down with a shameless little groan, chasing friction, grinning even as he kissed Arthur back like his life depended on it.

“Goddamn,” Arthur muttered, breaking the kiss long enough to catch his breath. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love it,” Sean panted, rocking against him. “C’mon, Arthur. Want you—been waitin’ for you—”

Arthur gritted his teeth, pressed a rough kiss to Sean’s throat, biting down just enough to make him squirm and whine. His hands wandered without thinking — rough palms skating over Sean’s hips, his sides, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. Sean lived for it, gasping and laughing and mouthing at Arthur’s jaw in return.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, kid,” Arthur growled, sliding one hand down to cup him through his pants, squeezing slow and mean.

Sean jerked, hips bucking, a raw sound torn from his throat. “Then what a way to go, eh?” he managed between pants.

Arthur snorted, half a laugh, half a warning, before kissing him again — this time deeper, hungrier, grinding their bodies together until they were both breathing hard, losing what little patience they had left.

He didn’t let Sean have anything easy — made him work for it, kept control of the kiss, the pace, everything. Every time Sean got too eager, Arthur would grab his wrists, pin him harder, bite at his throat until he was panting and pliant again.

“You wanna act like a damn brat,” Arthur muttered against his ear, “you’re gonna get treated like one.”

Sean just moaned and grinned, the cocky little bastard.

Sean rutted against him, wild and desperate, his hands pawing at Arthur’s coat like he couldn’t get close enough. His breath came hot and fast against Arthur’s neck, whimpering little noises he didn’t even seem to know he was making.

Arthur growled low in his throat and shoved Sean harder against the tree, the bark scraping at his back through his shirt.

“Hold still,” Arthur barked, voice low and dangerous.

Sean only laughed, breathless and wrecked. “Make me,” he taunted, rolling his hips again.

Arthur’s patience snapped.

He grabbed Sean’s wrists and pinned them above his head with one hand, holding him tight against the rough bark. Sean hissed at the sting but his hips bucked helplessly, chasing friction, chasing Arthur. His pupils were blown wide, lips kiss-bruised, hair a damn mess from where Arthur had been grabbing at it.

“You’re a damn nightmare,” Arthur muttered against his throat, biting down just enough to leave a mark.

“And you fuckin’ love it,” Sean gasped.

Arthur didn’t bother arguing. He freed Sean just long enough to yank open his belt, rough and impatient, fingers fumbling a little in his own urgency. Sean helped, clumsy with eagerness, laughing quietly every time their fingers brushed.

“Greedy little bastard,” Arthur rasped, palming Sean through his underwear, feeling the thick heat of him.

Sean groaned, hips jerking. “Arthur, c’mon—need you, need you—”

Arthur grunted and shoved Sean’s trousers down enough to get at him, wrapping a calloused hand around his cock and stroking him slow and hard. Sean gasped, throwing his head back against the tree, baring his throat in a way that made Arthur’s chest ache for reasons he didn’t want to examine.

“Fuck—” Sean bit his lip, trying to stay quiet even as his body jerked under Arthur’s hand. “God—you’re killin’ me—”

Arthur kept stroking him, slow and steady, hand rough, unforgiving. Every little noise Sean made went straight to Arthur’s cock, thick and aching inside his own pants, but he didn’t rush it. He wanted to watch Sean come apart first, wanted to see how badly Sean needed him.

Sean was shaking, eyes fluttering shut, hips fucking into Arthur’s fist helplessly. “Please,” he gasped, “Arthur, please—”

Arthur leaned in close, lips brushing Sean’s ear. “You finish for me, kid,” he said, voice a rough, low growl. “And maybe I’ll let you have me next.”

That was it — Sean shuddered hard, hips bucking once, twice, before he spilled hot and messy over Arthur’s hand with a broken moan, muffled against Arthur’s shoulder. His whole body sagged against the tree, boneless, wrecked.

Arthur didn’t let him go. He held him there a second longer, feeling him shake and gasp and cling.

When Sean finally blinked up at him, dazed and grinning like a fool, Arthur just shook his head and muttered, “Dumbass.” But there was no heat in it.

Sean laughed weakly, pressing a sloppy, grateful kiss to Arthur’s jaw. “Worth it,” he mumbled.

Arthur huffed a breath — half a laugh, half a surrender — and finally let him slide down to sit against the tree.

“You’re gonna owe me for this,” Arthur said, undoing his own belt with rough hands, voice low and dangerous.

Sean just grinned up at him, eyes bright and wicked even through the haze. “Anything you want, big man.”

Arthur smirked, dark and fond.

“Good.”

Sean sat slumped against the tree, still catching his breath, his shirt rumpled and half-untucked, trousers pushed down to his thighs. His cheeks were flushed deep pink, and his stupid grin hadn’t faded an inch.

Arthur finished buckling his belt, gruff and efficient, trying to pretend he wasn’t still aching for it. He wiped his hand off with a handkerchief, grumbling low under his breath.

Sean’s head lolled against the bark, but his bright eyes were still fixed on Arthur, sharp and hungry.

“My turn,” Sean said, voice rough and giddy.

Arthur shot him a look. “Your turn?” he rumbled.

Sean pushed himself upright, wobbly but determined. “Yeah, c’mere. S’always you takin’ care of me. Let me—” he licked his lips, grinning wider, “—return the favor.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You’re half-drunk and all the way stupid.”

Sean just cackled and grabbed for him anyway, hooking fingers in Arthur’s belt loops and dragging him closer with surprising strength.

“C’mon, Arthur,” he purred, voice dropping into a low, teasing drawl. “Lemme be good for ya.”

Arthur grunted, but he didn’t move away. Didn’t stop Sean when he slid down onto his knees in the dirt, looking up at him with that wild, mischievous gleam.

“You’re a damn menace,” Arthur muttered.

Sean just grinned wider, hands fumbling at Arthur’s belt, undoing it with clumsy fingers. Arthur should’ve stopped him — the whole damn camp was just a few hundred yards away — but when Sean looked up at him like that, pupils blown wide, freckles flushed dark across his cheeks, Arthur’s willpower cracked clean down the middle.

Sean freed him from his trousers and gave an appreciative little whistle.

“Big fella,” he said, practically beaming. “No wonder you’re so grumpy all the time. Must be a burden, haulin’ this thing around.”

Arthur barked a low laugh before biting down on it, rolling his hips forward just enough to brush against Sean’s eager mouth.

“You gonna keep talkin’, kid,” Arthur growled, “or you gonna do somethin’ useful?”

Sean’s grin turned filthy.

Without another word, he licked a slow, teasing stripe up the underside of Arthur’s cock, pausing at the tip to swirl his tongue around it like he had all the damn time in the world. Arthur hissed through his teeth, one hand coming down heavy on Sean’s messy red hair, holding him steady.

Sean took him in slow at first — too slow — eyes bright and playful even as he hollowed his cheeks around him. Arthur groaned low, hips jerking forward involuntarily. Sean made a pleased little sound, like he liked getting manhandled, and started working him in earnest — fast, greedy, messy.

Arthur’s hand tightened in his hair, grounding himself.

“Christ,” Arthur muttered, voice rough and tight. “Ain’t no damn patience in you, is there?”

Sean pulled off with a wet pop, panting, grinning up at him, chin slick. “Patience is for cowards,” he said proudly, before diving back down again, taking him deeper this time, until Arthur felt his knees damn near buckle.

Arthur bit down on a groan, his free hand bracing against the tree behind Sean’s head, trying not to fuck into that hot, eager mouth too hard. But Sean made it damn difficult, moaning around him, hands clutching at Arthur’s thighs, desperate and unashamed.

It didn’t take long — it couldn’t, not with Sean looking up at him like that, drunk on it, drunk on him — and Arthur finally lost it, hips jerking once, twice, before he spilled down Sean’s throat with a low, wrecked growl.

Sean swallowed every drop, messy and eager, licking his lips like he couldn’t stand to waste a drop. Arthur leaned heavily against the tree, trying to catch his damn breath.

When Sean finally pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

“Good, wasn’t it?” he said smugly.

Arthur let out a broken, breathless laugh, still trying to recover. “You’re insufferable,” he rasped.

Sean beamed, crawling up into Arthur’s lap like a damn stray cat, hands sliding under Arthur’s coat to feel his chest.

“Yeah,” Sean said, pressing his nose against Arthur’s throat, “but you like me anyway.”

Arthur sighed, a long-suffering sound, but he didn’t push him off. He just wrapped an arm around Sean’s waist, holding him there against the tree, while the night spun slow and lazy around them.

Maybe he did like him anyway.

The little bastard.

Arthur shoved Sean lightly ahead of him, trying to get him to shut up and walk straight as they stumbled back toward camp. Sean was still riding high, practically vibrating with smugness, flashing that big idiot grin like he’d won a goddamn prize.

“Shut up,” Arthur muttered under his breath, elbowing him.

Sean just laughed, way too loud for the hour, and stage-whispered, “You’re just mad ’cause I got you to make all them pretty noises, big man.”

Arthur grit his teeth, cheeks burning under his beard. “I will knock you flat on your ass if you don’t shut it,” he growled.

But it was too late — they were already in the edge of the firelight. A few of the gang were still up: Bill, Javier, Uncle — playing a lazy hand of cards and drinking the last of the evening whiskey. They all looked up as Arthur and Sean came bumbling back in.

Sean swaggered, all puffed up like a damn rooster. Arthur tried to slouch behind him, shoulders hunched, scowling deep enough to scare off a bear.

Didn’t help.

Bill took one look at them and barked a laugh. “Well, well, well,” he said loud enough for the whole damn county to hear. “*Look who got himself rode hard and put up wet.”

Sean whooped, spinning around to walk backwards so he could wink at Arthur.

“Tired ya out, didn’t I, big fella?” he crowed.

Arthur glared daggers at him. “I swear to God, Sean—”

Then a shadow loomed out of the darkness.

Dutch.

Leaning casual against one of the wagons, arms crossed, cigar glowing at the corner of his mouth. He had that look in his eye — the one that made Arthur’s stomach sink and his chest ache all at once.

Dutch smirked wide enough to show teeth.

“Ah,” he said, voice warm and slow. “I see Mr. MacGuire has been… keepin’ you busy, my boy.”

Arthur groaned under his breath. “Christ Almighty.”

Dutch just opened his arms, that familiar, slow, knowing smile on his face.

Without even thinking about it, Arthur shuffled right into him, head ducked low, letting Dutch fold him up in a big, crushing hug. Dutch clapped him hard on the back, a low chuckle rumbling out of his chest.

“There he is,” Dutch murmured. “My good, hard-workin’ boy.”

Arthur grumbled something under his breath that might’ve been a curse, might’ve been a laugh — even he wasn’t sure — but he didn’t pull away. Just stood there a second, breathing in the warm smoke-and-leather smell of Dutch’s coat, the solid weight of him.

Behind them, Sean was catching hell.

Bill was cackling. “Took ya long enough, Maguire. Thought you’d die a virgin!”

Uncle wheezed, “Poor Arthur, he didn’t know what he was signin’ up for!”

Even Javier was laughing, shaking his head and muttering something in Spanish that made the others laugh harder.

Sean just beamed, throwing both arms wide like he was king of the damn camp. “Worth it!” he shouted. “Best damn ride of my life!”

Arthur made a low, pained noise against Dutch’s shoulder.

“You hearin’ this?” he muttered.

“I hear it,” Dutch said, chuckling deep. “Sounds like you’ve been properly appreciated, son.”

Dutch’s hands slid slow up his back, cradling him firm, one hand settling at the nape of Arthur’s neck.

“C’mon, my boy,” Dutch murmured, voice low and coaxing. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet.”

Arthur just nodded into him.

Dutch led him without fuss into his tent — private, dark, warm — and sat back heavy onto his cot, tugging Arthur right down onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Arthur straddled him without thinking, knees bracketing Dutch’s hips, heavy arms winding around Dutch’s neck as he pressed his face into his shoulder, just breathing him in. Letting everything else fall away.

Dutch smiled against Arthur’s temple, stroking big, slow hands up and down his back.

“Aw,” he said, teasing but fond. “Poor thing. Mr. MacGuire wore you clean out, didn’t he?”

Arthur grunted against him, muffled.

“Always yours,” Arthur muttered, voice rough and quiet. “Just say the word. I’ll do it. I mean… I probably won’t get it up, but I can still have you. If you want.”

Dutch huffed a soft laugh, low in his chest.

“No, no,” Dutch said, running his fingers slow through Arthur’s hair, so gently that Arthur practically melted against him. “That’s no fun if you’re half dead on your feet, son.”

Arthur breathed out a shaky little sound, almost a laugh, letting his weight sag even heavier into Dutch. Just letting himself be held.

Dutch tilted his head, thumb stroking slow over Arthur’s cheekbone, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth — soft, coaxing.

Arthur shifted, letting Dutch guide him, and kissed him back slow, open-mouthed and sweet, no urgency to it. Just lazy warmth, the two of them sinking into each other like they had all the time in the world.

Dutch kept petting his hair, slow and steady, like he couldn’t get enough of the feel of it under his palm. Arthur leaned into the touch, pliant and trusting, making little low noises against Dutch’s lips.

“Good boy,” Dutch murmured against his mouth. “You’re always mine.”

Arthur hummed, the sound low in his throat, fingers curling tighter in the lapels of Dutch’s coat.

Still thinking about a fic idea where Dutch decides to break up the gang because Micah is whispering in his ear about the efficiencies of a smaller crew.

Not that Dutch would completely separate the gang. More like he has Hosea set up camp somewhere else while he and his "perfect crew" go on a robbing spree somewhere else. And slowly they visit the other camp less and less.

It would be the train robbery crew: Micah, Bill, Javier, Arthur, Lenny, and Charles. Dutch would be oblivious to the tension.

Darling, struggling to keep upright in 1 inch heels: Uh, yeah, no, I don't think heels are for me.

Daring, drinking a Frappuchino and strutting flawlessly in sparkly 8 inch heels: WEAK

daring: we can’t lose because we have this! *points to chest*

dexter: we have heart?

daring: heart? no. me. i’m pointing at myself. i’m going to win this for us.

Vampires are sleek demons for good times

(some say the van der linde gang is run by the devil himself, hard to find and harder to kill, with an appetite bigger than us all combined)