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After Party ❥Arthur Morgan

ARTHUR MORGAN X FEMALE READER

CW➻❥ Semi public sex ⋆ orgasm⋆ drinking ⋆

WC➻❥1700➻❥ this isn't well proof read so any mistakes or odd things are purely accidental

Summary➻❥ After your father dragged to the mayor of Saint Denis’ party, you drunkenly but mostly soberly hook up with a Mr. Arthur Kilgore right outside in a carriage

A/N ➻❥ I didn’t think I would actually finish this but I’ve been on a writing groove lately so more fics to come hopefully

Do Not Steal Or Translate My Work!

You were at Mayor Lemieux’s garden party, your father had begged you to go, simply to find you a husband. You walked around, observing all the older men, did your father really think one of these men could sweep you off your feet?

“More wine?” A server came up to you, “oui, s'il vous plait” you set your glass on his tray, his other hand replaced your empty one with another glass, “merci.”

You examined the balcony, “important” men were staring back, one of them was Angelo Bronte. Your fathers most evil associate, you knew Mr.Bronte was nothing but a manipulative and greedy immigrant. You would beg your father to cut ties from Bronte but you were waved away every time.

“Ah there she is!” Your father wrapped his arm around your back, “oh Mayor Lemieux, what a party,” you smiled.

“Merci, are you enjoying the vin?” His voice seemed awkward, “why of course, you surely pick well.”

A small group had formed, your father refused to let you leave, in hopes you’d be attracted by these married “suitors.” A man that had been on the balcony joined the group, “Mayor, what a pleasure.” He clasped his hand with Lemieux’s glove, “are you enjoying yourself sir?” He cleared his throat against his accent, “it’s, different.” Perhaps your father was right to make you stay, “I haven’t seen you before.” Your father remarked, the man awkwardly laughed, “I’m an oil man out west, I’m visiting for business.”

“Well mister oil man would you mind grabbing a drink with me?” You unlocked your arm from your fathers. “I can’t deny a drink,” he smiled and began walking with you.

“Are you married mister?” You dragged, “Kilgore.” He answered, “I am a single man darlin’.”

You blushed and made it to the bar, “bonjour madame, monsieur,” the bartender grinned.

“Bonne soirée,” you greeted back, “I’ll have a glass of champagne, and for you Mister Kilgore?” He cleared his throat, “do you have whiskey?” Mr.Kilgore seemed nervous, “oh why of course monsieur!” The bartender gleamed, he set down the glass of champagne and began pouring the glass of whiskey.

“Merci beaucoup,” you cheered your class and stepped away from the bar. Mr.Kilgore set his hand on the bottom of your back as you navigated through the crowd.

With drinks in your system, you had been flirting with Mr.Kilgore the entire night, he wasn’t rejecting them either.

“What if we go somewhere, more private?” You giggle, “if we leave this party, you’re gonna love me tonight.” He remarked, “will you leave with me?” You advanced, he smirked and looked away from you, “are you sure about that darlin’?” His voice rasped, “I wouldn’t be asking now would I?”

You had both snuck just outside the mayor's home, an empty carriage sat just down the road. “What if we,” you hint as you slow at the carriage, “sweetheart that’s a bit risky now ain’t it?” He was hesitant, “well mister Kilgore, this whole ordeal is quite risky itself, I think it could be fun.” You smirk, your free hand opening the door,

Mr.Kilgore gently closed the door to the one bench carriage. It was small but how much room did you even need? Your ballgown surely didn’t fit within the confines of the carriage, but it didn’t matter, Mr.Kilgore would be tearing you out of it in a moment.

He scrunched his lips as he studied your dress, “oh don’t worry sir, it’s a simple one, just get the strings.” You had slipped in a rather simple ball gown, everything was already attached to the dress, the only thing you had to do was slip into it.

You turned yourself away from Mr.Kilgore, your back was touched by cold calloused hands as he worked through the tight strings.

“What’s your name Mister Kilgore?” You finally asked, you figured you should know the man’s name before he saw your bare body. “Arthur,” he pulled the final silk lace loose.

You took a deep breath as the constricting pressure released. You pushed the straps that laid on your shoulders, your breathing was heavy as Arthur’s hand hesitantly pulled on the fabric that covered you. “Are you sure about this?” He looked up from your cleavage, his eyes desperately searching your face for an answer, “absolutely.” You pulled on his bow tie, bringing him into a delicate and precise kiss. Your head was slightly cocked, your lips slowly connected, distracting you as Arthur’s hands meticulously removed your dress.

Your torso was exposed, the rest of your outfit was a large mass of blue that flooded the carriage.

You could feel your lipstick rubbing off against Arthur’s face, marking where your scandalous lips had touched.

“Darlin’ I need a bit of your assistance,” he pulled back, looking down at your body and the pestering ball gown. You did your best to stand in the cramped space, Arthur’s hands pushed the dress down your legs, revealing how carelessly you were dressed beneath your dress.

There was a moment, Arthur was quiet as he admired your body. You blushed at how vulnerable you had made yourself for a man you had only known for two hours.

You pulled on the buttons of Arthur’s dress shirt, “Mister Kilgore if you mind, I would like a chance to study your body.” You giggled.

You both tackled the suit that Arthur wore: removing his jacket, bow tie, and his white button up. His hand travelled around to it neck, touching the back of it before intertwining itself with your styled hair. He pulled you in for another kiss, his warm body touching against yours as your bodies shifted.

He was on top of you, his fingers squeezing and wondering over your breast. The kiss was hot and heavy; moments away from escalating to what you wanted.

He pulled back from the kiss, looking down as he directed his hand to his pants. You looked back up, fixated on his face.

He looked back to you, both of you making the same expression of shock as his cock pushed through, entering into your eager and wet pussy.

“Fuck,” you blurted as he continued to let himself fully fit. Arthur gritted his teeth and let out a groan as he adjusted himself.

His pace started slow, he analyzed you searching for the speed that pleased you best.

You gripped the back of the seat, your nails digging into the leather. Arthur was quiet with his groans, you could feel the hot air leave his nostrils as his chest rumbled.

“You like that sweetheart?” He asked, unsure of his next move. “Faster,” you mustered before wrapping a hand in his hair and pulling him into a kiss. Arthur obeyed the command and increased his pace, your skin smacking together a little harder.

You pulled at his short hair, moaning against his lips every time his tip hit exactly where it needed.

You pulled back from the ravenous kiss, “we should really get back to the party.” Anxiety had washed over you, what could your father be thinking right now, what if he needed you.

“Darlin’ I’ll do whatever you want,” he finished with a deep and aggressive thrust.

You practically belted out a moan at the sudden feeling, your hands gripping and digging into whatever they held onto.

The thrusts were delicate, Arthur slowly taking you through a growing climax. Arthur was nuzzled in your neck, kissing your fragile skin.

“I really think,” you sentence is cut by a moan. Every time you felt that you should really stop, your body would always react, begging to stay.

Your hands were travelling around his sculpted torso, taking in how his chest hair covered his body in a light layer. “Take a breath darlin’.” He smiled against your lips, you inhaled, deeply.

A hard thrust caused that air to come rushing back out, your nails to dig into his back, something you had only just started navigating.

A hot flash ran over you, your orgasm flowing throughout you. Your legs shook as the pleasurable feeling finally drained out of you.

You were panting hard, your body recovering from the surge of overstimulation.

Arthur pulled back from you, his body soaked in a layer of sweat, a combination of his and yours.

You opened your mouth to speak, but words were unable to process and come out.

“Best we should back, right sweetheart?” Arthur’s words pulled you out of the haze that he had put you in, as well as the alcohol in your system, if it hadn’t been sweated out.

“I suppose you’re right Mister Kilgore.” You sat up, your chest rising and lowering, synchronized with Arthur’s.

You searched through the sea of your ballgown, finding the corseted top.

You turned your back to Arthur, who was finishing the buttons of his dress shirt. “Do you mind?” You asked, “it ain’t gon’ to look pretty.” He admitted and grabbed the loose corset lace.

He pulled the final string tight and brushed your shoulders. “Would you like me to do your bow tie?” You turned, “nah, I think my outfit will do fine without it.” He tucked it inside his jacket coat.

As you stepped out of the carriage, cold and freeze air greeted your nostrils.

You looked back at the carriage, the mirrors were significantly fogged. You looked down the street, a man and woman watching from beneath the light of a streetlamp.

You embarrassing smiled, your face becoming flush in color.

You pulled your hair out of the now messed up-do.

You fluffed your hair with your fingers roughly, hoping the curls from the previous hairstyle could save your up kept look. “Darlin’ you look just fine,” Arthur looked at you, “are you sure?” You begged, Arthur stopped walking, holding your shoulders. “Sweetheart you look just as beautiful as when I first looked at ya.” A smile gently cracked from your worried frown.

“Now darlin’ would you like get back to that party?” He let go of your shoulders, his arm slowly jutting out. You interlocked your arm with his and continued your strut down the street back to the mayors house.

Some references for one of the next comics!

rkgk

I LOVE GIRLS WHO ARE LEFT IN THE STORY AS WHISPERS I LOVE GIRLS WHO HAVE LEFT AN IMPRINT ON THE STORY OF WHERE THERE SHOULD BE A PERSON I LOVE GIRLS WHO LEAVE AN IMPACT ON OTHERS I LIKE GIRLS WITH THE "SHE COULD LIGHT UP A ROOM" SYNDROME I LOVE GIRLS WHO WERE IDOLIZED AND TREATED AS SAINTS AFTER THEIR DEATHS EVEN THOUGHT THEY WERE JUST AS HUMAN GIRLS WHO FUCKED UP JUST AS MUCH AS EVERYONE ELSE YET ARE FORGIVEN GIRLS WHO HAVE LIVED ON THROUGH MEMORY AND THEREFORE WERE CHANGED BY MEMORY I LOVE GIRLS WHO HAUNT THE NARRATIVE

Writing Dreams

There is nothing more frustrating than reading a tense, drama-packed scene where the plot takes a completely unexpected turn, a character in the midst of an arc makes a pivotal realization, or heck, someone dies, only to read the next sentence and discover that none of it was real -- it was, in fact, all a dream.

Yet writers keep using this trope. It's most common for flashbacks, recaps, foreshadowing, and showing internal conflict for characters undergoing character arcs. Sometimes it works. Most of the time, it elicits groans from frustrated readers asking, why did I have to read this if it is not real?

I think the dream trope falls flat for four main reasons.

The Let Down: Dreams, especially nightmares, have a tendency to be fast-paced high-action scenes where IMPORTANT character and plot moments happen. The reader gets invested. Especially if the dream involves a major plot twist, loss, failure, betrayal, or character death, the reader has now adjusted their expectations for the story. They are wondering, how the heck are the characters going to move forward after this setback?? and they've just been delivered an emotional gut-punch. But oh! None of that was actually real. The characters are all safe and the plot is still going as planned. The writer has built up all this tension, the stakes are higher than ever... then, suddenly, all it just disappears. What a let down!

It Came to Them in a Dream: A character is going through (or about to start) an arc, such as a redemption arc, or they are being forced to make a difficult decision. Suddenly, they have a dream that reveals to them a moral conflict they didn't realize they were having, gives them a realization they never would have come to on their own, or just tells them the right answer to their difficult choice. Instead of letting these characters come to these realizations through their own conscious actions, and letting them make decisions (both good and bad) that eventually teach them lessons, it all came to them in a dream! Yes, dreams are a fast way to spur character growth and an easy way to share information. But this method leaves the characters as passive witnesses to their own story. It robs them of agency. And this is rather boring to read.

Why now? Dreams used to show backstory or recap events can also fall into the trap of robbing characters of agency. Unless the memory has been triggered by a recent event, why is the character suddenly dreaming of this now? Why not a month ago? Why not a month from now? Why not never? It makes it feel like there is some mysterious force controlling the events of the story, making sure that things happen in a certain order. It begs the question, if the character didn't randomly have this dream, would the story have happened the way it did?

It Makes Too Much Sense: The dream doesn't feel like a dream. Things that happen in the dream are too logical, or worse yet, the dream is a completely accurate memory, undistorted by time or the biases of the character remembering. This is the least important of the four points, but it can still mess with a reader's suspension of disbelief, and misses a good opportunity to explore the biases of a character and how they view the world around them.

But this doesn't mean the trope can't ever be used. You just have to makes sure your dreams don't create the above problems for your story.

Oh shit, this was in my dream! Dreams can be a great way to build up tension for a climactic moment, so long as the dream is directly related to an event that happens later. You can have death and betrayal and failure in your dreams, so long as the dreams are used to build up to the moment when one of these things might actually happen. Use dreams to convey to worst-case scenario so that your readers understand the stakes and are genuinely worried when the moment the character has dreamed about starts to come true.

Keep the pace: To avoid letting down your readers with a fast-paced dream that has no impact on the plot, make sure the dream does not interrupt your pacing. If the scenes directly around your dream are slow-paced, don't throw in a fast-paced dream. It will feel like a cheap attempt to keep the reader interested. If you have a faster-paced dream, have it happen as tension is building towards a major moment. If your dream is one of the most climatic parts of the story, it needs to happen right before -- perhaps segueing directly into -- one of the story's climaxes. You can also stick fast-paced dreams directly after dramatic scenes if you want to show how the scene impacted a character. If something just terrified your character, they are probably having a nightmare about it.

Don't introduce anything new: If you must use a dream as part of a character arc or arc leading to a major decision, have the dream be the effect, not the cause. A character already questioning their morality, slowly coming to a realization, or grappling with a choice will likely reflect on it in their dreams. But, dreams should not introduce information, ideas, or opinions that the character does not know/has not already entertained while conscious. Likewise, dreams can be an effective tool to show characters mulling over dilemmas as possible outcomes, but any new decisions should be made while the character is conscious.

Huh, that reminds me of... If you want to show backstory or a recap through a dream, have something inspire the dream such as a recent event, a reunion with a character that will later appear in the dream, or even a familiar smell or food that has something to do with the dream. The thing that links this moment in the past to the present can be an excellent place for symbolism.

The Divine Forces Spoke to ME! Make the dream the inciting incident. If you must have a character arc inspired by a random dream, put it right at the beginning of the story. Make the dream the thing that motivates the character to be part of the plot in the first place. Don't take an existing character with established motivations and suddenly change them because of a dream.

One time I dreamt... Make the dream illogical. You can use this to make it scarier (ex. the villain turns into a werewolf the size of a skyscraper with human flesh stuck in his fangs for no reason), or you can use it for comedic effect. You can also use it to convey information about the character having the dream. (If the character's little brother randomly shows up on the battlefield eating all their candy, you can tell what kind of relationship the siblings have.)

If you are writing sci-fi or fantasy, there are other clever ways to get around some of the pitfalls of the dream trope. But there are also new pitfalls to fall into. You can get around the "why now?" and "it came to them in a dream" problems by having another character plant the dream in their head Darth Sidious-style. But you can also run the risk of having " unexplained mysterious forces" doling out random, useful information for no apparent reason. If you want an "unexplained mysterious force" like fate or "the gods" to be an active role in a story, you have to write it like a character -- with internally consistent motivations and reasons for why it chooses to interfere sometimes but not others. Even if you never explain it, it must be consistent, and that consistency must be deducible from the force's actions in the story.

Makima lingerie

the accolade ( the...the cat-olade...)

Marvel women, written by men: 🧍‍♀️I can’t have babies 👶🏻😫😢 I’m a monster 😢😢 yes this is the deepest my backstory can get btw 😉😨 isn’t it harrowing 😱

Marvel women, written by women: I will subject an entire town to my will if it means the chance to see you again. I will drink my grief, knowing I am damned and that I cannot protect you, and will still sing out my heart to crowds of thousands in the hopes they will keep you safe when I’m gone. I crave power so intensely that it has overpowered any sense of loyalty to anyone, and I will betray again and again and again, but I will still be wounded when you betray me because it was you. It was you.

f*ck it, here are some silly pet paintings