#forevenge

forevenge asked : “ shut up and get your mind on the job at hand. come on.” from arthur to sean

Lost the ask meme / @forevenge​​

            𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. Or the very beginning of one that got cut off by Arthur. He was remarking to Arthur that one of the men they were robbing looked like the infamous Mr. Bell. That was quick to get Sean to mention his hatred for him and make a joke about the whole ordeal. He was telling Arthur how if he didn’t keep a steady eye on him, didn’t get a second glance, it would so happen that he would become loose with his trigger.

            He rolled his eyes at his comment, his hand going up to adjust his hat as it was sitting funny on the crown of his head.

     @forevenge​ asked . . .

                                     ❝  this place feels like a prison.  ❞ Abigail to John

   || god of war starters. || accepting.

     he understands as soon as she speaks, head lifting to meet her eyes from whatever menial task he had given himself to try and keep busy. there were no walls in this camp, but still the air here felt suffocating, even more so than the humid airs of the southern camps they’d so quickly moved from. nothing felt right anymore - not the gang, not these camps, not dutch . . . and certainly not micah.

          ( if that man spoke to his son again, there was no telling what john was gonna do. )

     yet they don’t need attention drawn to them. dutch’s attentions were already trained on him and arthur, and he didn’t want - no, he couldn’t have any suspicion at all on him about his plans to leave. not if they were going to get out quietly, with as little harm to jack as possible.

     so he gives her a casual smile. reaches over and pats her shoulder like a dismissive husband calms an anxious wife.

                               “  it ain’t too much like prison.

miscellaneous angst starters.

He was dismissive before, not wanting to let his pride waver, cave down atop of him before Arthur’s very eyes. But that was what was happening regardless. He was chemically imbalanced, his mind trying to grasp hold of the man he had been but the stress was unfolding the more instinctual side of Dutch, the side he has been pushing down all this while but Arthur has seen through his disguise. He can deny it no longer yet he still tries to convince his prodigy that he is well. 

“ 𝚒  𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝  𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍  𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛  𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢. ”

smoke  plumes  from  crooked  lips.  he  doesn’t  quite  look  at  her,  but  pries  a  glance  beneath  a  low  set  brim.  he’s  not  looking  at  her  eyes.  but  her  lips,  her  chin,  and  neck.  another  inhale  before  he  lets  out  a  little  laugh.  the  kind  of  laugh  that  makes  their  skin  crawl.     ❛  𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞  𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭,  𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐥.   cause  you  make  good  money  all  on  your  own,  huh ?   don’t  need  nothin’   ---  𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥  𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐝𝐨,    and  then  you  𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑   me  about  it.  and  if  i  don’t  give  it  to  you  ---  i’m  the  bad  man.   ❜   he  tosses  his  cigarette  at  their  feet  but  doesn’t  bother  to  stomp  it  out.    ❛  𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚  𝐫𝐨𝐛  𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫  𝐨𝐰𝐧  𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧  𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧,  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧  ?    ❜  

Send me a ‘’<3′’ if you actually like my blog – always accepting

@notanoutlaw​ @forevenge​ @vaagus​ @amyriadofmuses​ / @spells-and-scales​​ @coyotesteeth​​

Thank you guys so much! I had to screenshot it all because I was getting so many. I honestly did not expect to get this many?? Thank you all so much! Always feel free to hmu for plotting, ooc conversations, and whatnot, as well as sending memes ! I really appreciate all of this ! It made my night !

More blog-specific stuff below !

❛ It’s a fine thing you got there, son. Not many folks posses the divine power of the literary world. ❜ Most of camp could not read at all, not like Dutch and Hosea. So it was refreshing that the youngest was able to. ❛ But it ain’t just about reading as you know. These tricks of the trade won’t work in every situation. ❜ As the unfortunate nineteen year old had just had to accept. That had all gone bitter at a far greater rate than either one of them could have anticipated. Damn Bronte. Dutch will see to it that the snake would not be able to double-cross them again.

His head is still throbbing from the trolley-crash. ❛ For starters there are slipperier adders in this world than there are in the world of books. ❜

        despite the feverish day  ,    the boiling glaucoma of the horizon  ,    it’s a steelcold metal that burns the tip of his nose    &&    sears the skin porcelain white .      the scent of gunpowder triggers an itch at that he won’t acknowledge  ,    crow’s feet cracking around his eyes against an otherwise youthful appearance .      his face curiously untouched beneath blots of wear  ,    oddly innocent .     somewhere in striae hidden a supplicant of death .    

@forevenge​ (Lenny) asked: ❝ i’m dying. ❞ From lenny ( ok but what if he lived a little longer after getting shot I’m sorry )

things that are hard to hear -- still accepting

    Lenny was becoming an increasingly heavy weight against Arthur’s shoulders, trying his best to led and carry him across rooftops without getting spotted and further shot at. Arthur PRIDED himself upon being a quick shot, a skill he tried to keep up throughout the years, yet he hadn’t been quick enough to spare Lenny a bullet when those men stepped out behind a corner on that rooftop. 

    Should have been covering him, that was HIS fault. However, Lenny was still alive--in a BAD way, but alive.

    “No, you’re not…” he almost growled, trying to ignore his own exhaustion as he continued to help him follow Dutch toward another rooftop for a place to hide out the chaos for a while. (If Lenny would survive that long was a question that a quiet voice was saying in the back of his head, but Arthur was trying not to listen too heavily to that one just yet.) 

    “Dutch’s gonna find a place to hide, we’ll get out ‘f here and you’ll get patched up. Just need t’ keep goin’.”