#and as always if you read this far in the tags

[classypauli]

Hiii! So... I would like to request a :

Jenna Ortega x Female Reader, story.

R is a talented musician whose world shatters when her partner Jenna Ortega abruptly leaves without explanation, just as R was on the brink of stardom. R's heartache fuels her music, but the pain of abandonment consumes her. Years later, they cross paths by chance, reopening old wounds. R must confront her unresolved feelings and decide whether to forgive or seek closure, knowing that the melody of their love may never be whole again.

It's totally okay if you don't want to write about this!💙

-🐻

𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑼𝑳 𝑴𝑬𝑳𝑶𝑫𝒀

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem! Reader

Tags: little angst, italic are flashbacks, death, Reader is popular singer

Word count: 4k

A/N: Thanks 🐻 for request! Sorry if you didn´t imagine it like this but really hope you will enjoy :) Happy reading <3 sorry for mistakes

Glory, money, success. Being on top of the world at such a young age. What else could you dream of? Doing whatever you want, having possibilities that are almost endless. Endless.

What is endless? Something that never end. So forever? Why would someone want to live for so long if they have nobody to share it with.

Flashing lights from cameras and lound screams of people pushing themselves closer trying to get best look. White perfect smiles of celebrities that already accepter their fate. Things like this brought Y/N flashbacks, begining of endless life.

Christmas was Y/N´s favourite holiday. Since she was a child she loved doing snowmans and building igloos, hot chocolate that warmed her small hands. She loved making Christmas tree and putting colorful decorations around house.

„Oh look! Who´s this big present may be?“ Her mom pointed out at the big gift lying under the Christmas tree. Y/N stood up and ran with big expectation on her face. Small hands were trying to make their way to the thing that was hiding under the paper. The small girl gasped.

On that Christmas her mom got her first guitar. Y/N smiled a little at that memory. She used to annoy everyone about it. Singing loudest on a car rides and karaokes with her family and friends. She grabbed her neckle softly that was hanging around her neck as she looked up at the dark sky.

Growing up Y/N used to put videos on YouTube of her playing some instrument, most of the time guitar or piano. When she was comfortable enough she sang a little but not much. She was doing this for couple of years, once in a while post some video. Y/N wasn´t really popular, she had small fanbase of her family and friends, some people that found her work and supported her. Nothing big.

„Y/N?!“ Her mom could be heard from downstairs. „You got something in box!“

The girl´s face turned confused and she slowly stood up from the bed. She made her way down the stairs and saw white envelope with her name on it.

„That´s for me?“ She was much confused right now. The only post she has got by far was from school and even that was sometimes on her mother´s name. And this definitely didn´t look like from school. „Strange...“

Her fingers slowly cut the envelope open and unfold the paper that was there.

„Oh my God...“

Her life took radical change after that. Y/N always says that small things could change your life big. It was all about small details that made your life.

It turned out that someone from a big music company found her and was interested in her talent. She couldn´t believe it, it was like a dream. The imagine of her doing something she loved for the rest of the life sounded perfect in her mind.

She was cut off by opening the car doors and her body moved to autopilot. Her steps brought her to the edge of red carpet and that moment everything got louder.

„Y/N!“

„Y/N look here!“

She was looking around her, posing for the cameras as the people around her were yelling for her attention. She started walking to the front of the big entarance to the building.

Y/N as a musician with big influence was invited to the award show. It was such a shock to all the people that the singer showed up here. She wasn’t much of a person to go to the public shows like this. To her it wasn´t needed. It was rare to see her somewhere in public besides on her concerts. Y/N liked to put everything together in her private life. She liked to keep herself low, reminding that being a known person is a double-edged sword. Just like was her love for the girl.

Y/N remember how she met her for the first time. They were still teens and saw each other on some premiere of a movie which they were invited on. Even blind person could feel the instant spark between them. After that there wasn´t day they wouldn´t contact each other.

They grew closer and closer as the days went by, after texting couple of weeks non-stop they agreed to go out to grab some food. They slowly became best friends that soon turned into more.

She used to support you in every way, always saying how talented you are, how she´s proud of you. You were supporting her too, being her biggest fan behind closer doors. Your relationship wasn´t known to public. People saw you a couple of times out together but nobody had proves that you were actually together.

It was sunday evening, Y/N´s fingers played soft melody as they brushed through the strings of her guitar. She were sitting on a couch in a living room. The burning fireplace was adding to the cozy mood. Her girlfriend was laying beside her, watching her carefully with her big brown eyes, enjoying the beautuful melody.

When the song ended Y/N looked up at her, as if she was waiting for her approval. „What do you think?“

Jenna smiled at her, pushing herself a little closer. „It was beautiful.“

„You wanna try?“

The girl wanted to refuse but the singer´s big eyes stared right at her, as if they were praying for the word yes. She sighed with a small smile and agreed. The rest of the night was filled with laughter from both of them as she was trying to teach Jenna that song.

Jenna was her person. Even since they met each other they were always together. They knew everything about themselves and always had each other's back. Jenna´s family loved Y/N and Y/N´s family loved Jenna. Y/N´s mom would always say that they were made for each other and that Y/N needed to keep her.

Y/N was sitting by the big table in the dining room in her family house. Her mom invited her and Jenna to a sunday lunch with her whole family. It was good to see her family together like that. The girl loved spending time with her close ones.

Laughing was heard around the room as Y/N´s face was turning red from embarrassment. „Mom!“

„What?“ she laughed warmly at her child. „It was funny.“

„Well, not to me!“. She told some embarrassing story of Y/N when she was a small kid. The singer has a lots of them and she hates every single one.

„I can´t believe!“ Jenna laughed. „Do you have a photo?“ She asked as she was still trying to hold her laugh inside.

„Of course I do! I´ll show it to you right after!“

„Absolutely not!“  

Despite their busy life, they were able to make it work. Jenna traveled and filmed a lot and Y/N was most of the time making new music for her or was helping someone else. But even like that, they could still make it work.

It was a couple of weeks since she started to film Wednesday. Jenna was away from country, big amount of her time filming and if she had some free time it was used for her recover. The girl was tired and Y/N knew it, she was worried about her well-being, if she got enough sleep, if she eats everyday and drinks a lot of water.

At first everything was fine, Jenna didn´t have much time because of filming but Y/N was understanding. She knew how busy the girl must be, remembering how it was while her girlfriend was filming Scream or X so right now her being main character, the actress was very much needed everywhere.

But as weeks went by it looked like the girl´s free time was much shorter. They no longer face-timed each other, from texting every morning and every night become sometimes. Y/N was still messaging Jenna, sending her texts, voice messages, photos and videos of her or things she saw, her new music or funny memes.

But she got nothing in exchange.

Was she being that much delusional that she still thought that the young actress just didn´t have much time? Yes, Y/N kept always protecting her girlfriend, saying that she was busy, tired and had more important things to do. But after not geting any text from Jenna she become a little worried, so she texted her sister.

Aliyah told her that everything was fine, she was surprised by the news Y/N told her. Jenna was texting her almost every day and sometimes even send her a photo from behind the scenes or her with her co-stars. To not no worry her sister´s girlfriend more, she didn´t tell her about that.

„Y/N you look amazing tonight! How are you?“ The interviewed asked the singer as she was approaching the main room of the building.

„Hi! Thank you so much!“ She smiled at the woman with mic in her hand. „I´m good, how about you?“

„Amazing! So Y/N, I wanted so ask if you got something prepared for tonight show!“ she smiled at the woman, laughing gently at her words.

„Well, that´s a secret! Maybe I do, maybe I don´t.“ she continued laughing. „We will see.“ Y/N was actually one of the performers tonight but she wanted to keep it to herself and people who knew already about it.

They continued to chat a little before the girl said her goodbye and continued her walk. There were a lot of celebrities which was expecting. Actors, singers, directors, DJs, Y/N thought she even saw some TikTok influencers.

As she was passing by to the table she was seated, the girl could feel the starings of others. Sure she knew she was quite known among a lot of people, the singer has a pretty big fan base. But what more shocked them was that she even show up, at least that´s what Y/N thought. Finally she found her seat and and sat there waiting for the start.

Y/N knew from a young age that not everything can be bought with. She was rised humble, to always appreciate everything. She thanked God everyday for being healthy and having everything her family needed. She had nothing more to ask for. She already had everything she wanted in life.

That morning Y/N woke up, she and Jenna agreed to have a chill day and just spend some time together. The singer was in a kitchen cooking something for a lunch while her girlfriend was taking a shower. She was drinking a water when suddnely her phone rang, thinking it was one of her sibling she didn´t even look at the contact.

„Miss Y/L/N?“

The girl frowned, confused at who it was. „Uhm... Yes?“

„I´m really sorry but we found your mom today morning. We couldn´t help her anymore.“

Y/N´s vision narrowed, her heart fell to her stomach. Those were words she didn´t want to hear, never. The loud sound of break glass was heard around the kitchen as she dropped the cup of water she was holding.

Declining the call she sobbed softly into her hands. Her back slowly leaned against the kitchen cabinet as she was now sitting by the broken glass.

„Y/N? You okay?“ Jenna was asking from the bathroom after she heard the noise. The actress became worried because she didn´t hear her girlfriend’s answer. Quickly leaving the bathroom running to the kitchen.

„Baby watch out for the glass- Y/N!“ She hurried towards her carefully as she saw the girl in a ball, holding her knees, hiding head between them as sobs were leaving her mouth, tightly holding the neckle around the neck. That neckle was given to Y/N by her mom on the girl’s birthday. „Did you hurt yourself?“.

By now she was even more concerned. Jenna leaned into her, trying to find some cut or blood but nothing.

„She´s gone Jenna.“ More sobs were coming from Y/N as she wad trying to say it to her. „My mom is gone.“

Jenna´s eyes watered. She took the girl’s head into own hands as she brought her face into her chest. Both of them were sitting there around broken glass, just like their hearts.

Y/N´s mom was everything to her, she made her daughter beautiful childhood, made her who she is today. She appreciate her not only as a mother but also as a person. The girl would do anything for her mom. The day they told Y/N´s family about her bad health condition was the worst day of her life. She tried everything, going to different hospitals, doctors, giving all her money to her mom´s treatment, despite her always saying she didn´t want to take her kid´s money, she would always pay for it. But you can´t buy everything with money.

After that day Y/N´s look on the world changed. She lost someone from her closest people, someone who was with her whole life, someone who teached her everything she knows. Someone she wouldn´t be here without.

Jenna was with Y/N everyday, always saying to her that she is now better and she won´t suffer anymore. That she is happy up there looking after her now. The girl wouldn´t know what to do if the actress wasn´t with her. She kept Y/N´s company, making sure that she won´t ever leave. That was before she went to Romania.

„Please welcome Y/N Y/L/N.“ The voice could be heard around the big theatre as everyone was greeting the singer with applause. On the screen was written her name and in the middle of the stage was a mic waiting for her. Y/N slowly approaches the mic with the guitar hanging loosely around her body. Tonight she´s going to perform with things that were most dear to her but lost them both. The guitar was the one her mom got her on Christmas, her first ever guitar. Everything got quiet and just like that Y/N started.

Soft sound of closing door was heard around your apartment. Y/N was sitting on a couch in a living room watching some show. She thought that her mind was playing tricks on her because of how much she didn´t sleep these past weeks.

But when she heard she sound of keys she knew that must be her girlfriend. Y/N jumped up from the couch and ran to the hallway. There stood Jenna with her bags around her. The singer was so happy that finally she was home. She missed her so much. At that time it was much more.

They greeted each other and hugged tightly, Y/N thought that everything will be like it used to but their life had different plans.

Jenna said that she came for a week, that they gave them free time to get some new energy. Y/N could feel that something was different about her girlfriend. She wasn´t as she was before she left. She acted more distant, more cold, she was trying to make excuse for everything like kiss or cuddles. When they talked she refused to look into her eyes.

Y/N knew they need to discuss this before she leave because then they won´t ever talk about it.

Jenna one time left her phone on the couch when she went to bathroom, Y/N wasn´t kind of person to go into her girlfriend´s phone, she trusted her with her life. But as her phone kept ringing every second with new notification she looked. It was one of her co-stars, saying how he miss her and can´t wait to hang with her again. The singer´s heart dropped to her stomach once again.

,,And the winner is… Y/N Y/L/N” the moment of silence was followed by the loud sound of yelling and clapping hands after they announced the singer’s name.

Her eyes widen at that new information, everyone was now standing smiling at her as she was now filmed on camera that was showed on big screen. Everyone laughed at her confused face as she couldn’t believe she won.

People gratulate her as she went to the stage to grab an award. The girl’s hands were shaking a little as she now stood infront of big audience of celebrities and cameras.

,,Woah uhm… it didn’t even cross my mind that I could win something like this.” She brough up the award a little holding it with both hands. ,,This means a lot to me. I’ll use it as a reminder that I’ve came this far in my life, as a reminder that I wouldn’t be here without my family, my friends and fans, you. I wanna thank my family and everyone that stayed with me and supported me.” The girl leaned a little more into the mic as her voice started shaking a little.

,,Espessally someone dear to me that I’ve lost.” She took a big breath. ,,Mom, there’s not a day that I don’t miss you. You gave me everything you had and I don’t know what I did to deserve you. I will love you forever mom.”

Even after so long she still craved for her mom. She will always be her child even when she´s no longer with her.

„Thank you.“ Y/N bowed a little and walked away accomopanied by applause.

„Jenna, please.“ Y/N was coming after her girlfriend.

„Jenna I don´t understand.“ The singer was looking at her girlfriend as she was quickly packing her clothes into the bags.

„Y/N I don´t want to talk about it.“ She said. Her body was moving fast as if she was trying to get away from you as quicky as possible. Jenna was going to Romania again, for God knows how long now. She didn´t tell you.

The taller girl breathed out as she was trying to understand her girlfriend actions. „B-But why? I thought we tell each other everything!“

Y/N confronted Jenna about her worries and how she felt like she was pushing her away. The actress of course refused to accept that, saying that everything was normal. It wasn´t, even she knew it. As the singer was trying to talk things out, Jenna went to pack her things saying she´s going to leave soon, avoiding the talk.

Jenna was now in a hallway, putting there her bags and shoes on. Y/N´s heart beat faster and faster by her actions.

„I saw your texts.“

The short girl stopped and looked up to Y/N. This felt like the first time she was looking at her since she came home. Her big brown eyes were wide and her face changed, as if she realized something.

The hurt look the singer was giving her. She can’t blame her. The way she acted this week was awful. It was her fault.

„Y/N-“ she was trying to get closer to her but the girl took a step back. „I-I promise you that doesn´t mean anything.“ Jenna´s voice was now soft, still looking at her girlfriend as she was only looking down.

„We will talk about it when I get back. I swear.“ Jenna took her bags as she was now unlocking the apartment door.

„I love you Jenna.“ Y/N said to her with broken voice „But I don´t think I can take it anymore.“.

Y/N was leaning against the balcony in the big building. After the awards show everyone were invited to the after party that was in some club. The singer didn´t feel like going to party, she just wanted to lay in her bed and watch some show but it would be rude it she just left right after.

„Hi.“

That was the voice she could hardly forget. Y/N didn´t even have to turn around to know who it was.

„Congratulation. It was clear that you would win.“. She leaned a little by her ex-girlfriend´s side, carefully not too close.

Ex-girlfriend. Jenna hated that. She hated how open she left their relationship despite Y/N´s desperate callings. She knew how Y/N miss her. Even much more after her mom passed away. The singer told her lots of times how she felt like she didn´t have anyone besides Jenna.

„I want to say I´m sorry-“

„There´s no need.“ The taller girl cut her off, she still didn´t look at her way. Jenna missed Y/N´s eyes at her.

„No! I was stupid! I left you when you were just perfect to me!“

The first month of filming in Romania was the worst. Being that far away from home and all the people she loved the most. Jenna felt alone. She knew she needed to adjust as soon as possible and it wasn´t supposed to be a problem for her, she had done this a lot of times, but now it was for such a long time and there wasn´t a way to go back from it. She kept texting Y/N everytime she had some time for herself or if she didn´t have much work at that moment.

As time went by, the months started to go by without her noticing, she enjoyed it so much more and it started to be not just about her job anymore. The girl started to go out with her now new friends and slowly started to forget about what she left behind.

She felt a little guilty everytime she saw a new message from Y/N. Jenna didn´t even know why she was doing that, the whole ignoring thing. She just knew she felt less attached because of that but her excuse was that she wanted to focus only on the job. When she finally texted her, she made sure not to read what Y/N had to say. For her own selfishness.  

When she came for a week she didn´t know how to act, feeling embarrassed for her actions but instead of explaining herself and apologizing to her girlfriend, she kept going. Jenna knew she was wrong, she felt it but being already so deep in the problem she didn´t want to make it worse or better, it would take her a lot of energy.

It was eating her up for the whole week, the look Y/N was giving her, it was visible she missed her, her body showed it pretty clearly. Jenna´s heart was crawling for her but her mind told her not to, that it´s better that way, not being attached.

Finally, when she was going to film again, expecting to just leave and run again, leaving the problems behind, Y/N said those words. Just then she understood that it was hurting her much more than she thought. Y/N didn´t have anyone besides her.

At that moment Jenna just wanted to throw herself at her and never let her go. But then it would be so much harder to leave. When she came to Romania she missed her again and the words haunted her mind.

That night Jenna was just lying in her bed, reading Y/N´s messages. Every greeting, every photo, text, voice message, every I love you. The more she was scrolling the more her heart broke.

Jenna was lying in her bed every night asking for forgiveness with wet cheeks and hope in her heart that Y/N would still be there.

Finally when Jenna was coming home, her whole ride she was praying for things to work out between them. Thinking about what to tell her to make it right.

But after her hands were trying to unlock the door as quicky as possible her ears were met with silence of apartment. Jenna´s stomach dropped a little when she realized her girlfriend isn´t home. Her legs took her to their bed room and was only met with her empty closet.

She left.

Jenna remembered Y/N´s last words, how the girl cried and how she was desperate for her touch all week. Now the tables turned. There wasn´t day the actress wouldn´t regret what she did, she wanted to make it right again. But she couldn´t find her anymore.

„Y/N I regret it so much. If I could I would take it back-“

„But you can´t.“ Y/N turned finally to her. Jenna´s eyes was on her, she missed her. After all this time she still feels the same. „I was depressed and didn´t understand why you acted that way. I thought I did something wrong, that maybe that was the reason.“

Jenna shook her head at your words. Her heart aching at that imagination. „After you left I had no one. You were the only one I got and you knew that and... And you still left me.“

„Y/N please.“ Jenna said with shaking voice, her eyes glossy from tears that refused to fall. She wanted to come a little closer but she was sure the singer would take a step back. She felt just like Y/N was feeling on that day.

„And after so long? You just want to apologize? You think that it would be so easy?“ Her voice got a little higher as she was staring at Jenna with anger and betrayal in her eyes. She breathed out, closing slowly her eyes trying to calm herself down.

„You knew how hard it was for me. You knew what state I was in! And you still choose to make me feel so alone without any explanation.“

Y/N was looking at her like she was memorizing her face. „I don´t want your explaination. Not anymore.“ She took a deep breath and with a heavy heart said her last words.

„I´m sorry Jenna but... I don´t think I can.“

And like that Y/N turned around to walk from her. Jenna was big part in her life. She still appreciate her but after how things between them ended she wasn´t sure if she could forgive her that easely. Even though she still loves her.

#jenna ortega #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega fanfic #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x female reader #cairo sweet #cairo sweet x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x fem!reader #tara x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #vada cavell x reader #lorraine day x reader #lorraine day #jenna x fem reader #jenna x reader

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Regret & Rememberance || Grieving!Ghost

Rating: M + DDNE Words: 2.9K~ Pairing: Gravekeeper!Reader x Grieving!Ghost CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT., death, child death, mourning/grief, canon 09 ghost backstory, dissociation, cemetery/graveyard, graves/headstones. Tags: you/your pronouns, gn!reader, angst, flower language/symbolism, hurt/comfort, platonic relationship. Summary: A hobby of yours causes you to cross paths with an undead man. a/n: for those who care about flower meanings, like me... ;)

You started volunteering at one of the local cemeteries after putting in a request with the town hall.

It was a simple thing, really. You were just providing extra help to the ground's keepers who did little else but mow the grass, trim the trees and bushes, and blast away leaves and dirt from the headstones and pathways with a hose.

You bought your own supplies with the help of a small voucher the town hall provided you, and then you went and cleaned the headstones at the cemetery.

You quite liked doing it. You always liked cleaning and polishing things until they were squeaky clean. And so, you'd carefully remove moss and overgrowth, and wash the engraved lettering in the old graves, and, sometimes, out of your own dime, you'd use a small paint brush and a little jar of enamel paint to fill in the lettering and make it readable again.

It was a passion project for you; you enjoyed seeing the graves come back to their original (or as close as you could get it) state, and even read up on funeral/cemetery/work/life records at the town hall to find out who was who.

It was peaceful, almost therapeutic. You tended to pick the times when you knew the cemetery would be mostly empty and you'd go row-by-row, eyeing the older graves and seeking out the ones that need caring.

It was during one of those times that you saw him for the first time.

As you meandered about, carrying a small caddie of cleaning supplies in one hand, and pulling the hood of your waterproof parka over your head with the other, you notice him.

It was a very lazy Saturday afternoon. Wintertime, Christmas had been just three days before. The sun was hidden behind dark clouds, giving the cemetery and even darker and gloomier atmosphere, the rain showering down over the entire city of Manchester.

He was tall, so, so tall, and with shoulders so wide and arms so thick, even below the hoodie he's wearing... And yet he looked so small, as he looked on at the graves at his feet...

You knew those graves, you'd memorized the majority. It was the Riley family. A really big tragedy, a recent one, just the year before, on Christmas Eve. The news had said the house burned down because of a faulty heater, and killed everyone, including a little boy.

You settled at a grave not far from him and regarded the man with knitted brows, trying to sneak a glance under his hoodie, maybe catch his eye, and offer him a smile and some courage... But underneath, he might was well have been a void.

The dark clouds and atmosphere only made it that his face was nearly completely shrouded in darkness, and the dark scarf wrapped around his neck and hiked up to cover his nose and mouth certainly didn't help.

You knelt by the grave you were going to clean and began removing the cleaning supplies from your caddie, grabbing a small bench scraper so you could remove the moss growing on the front face of the grave.

But before you began, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at the man again. He must have felt watched, however, because he turned his head toward you and from underneath his hood, all you saw were a few short blonde hairs peeking out.

You tried to do exactly what you intended, offering him a small smile and a nod... And then turned away to properly working, trying to give him space, or respect... You tried. Really. But... something about him... In less than a minute, you looked over again.

And he was gone without a trace. Looking around, you saw no tall, dark figures speed-walking away.

For some reason, a chill went down your spine when you noticed you were alone again... Almost like he had been a ghost, a figure of your imagination...

-

You saw him a lot more times after that. Or, at least, you were pretty sure it was a Him. Or, at least, you were pretty sure it was a Him.

You'd arrive and he'd already be there, almost like he timed it perfectly every time.

Never a word exchanged, though you looked at him from a distance and, sometimes, he looked at you too.

He'd always leave a small flower arrangement between the center two graves. Purple hyacinths, white chrysanthemums, and black dahlias.

And then he'd leave not long after you arrived.

Sometimes you wondered if you being there made him leave... If he wanted to avoid being there when you were, to avoid being stared at. But you couldn't help yourself from staring.

Truth be told, you'd go long weeks without seeing him, but he'd always come back...

And when he did come back, he'd come pay the graves a visit multiple times a week for a few weeks...

Whenever he wasn't there, you dared to venture toward the grave and gaze upon, especially right after he had left... And you'd pay you respects to the family buried there...

-

Sitting in the public library attached to the town hall, you carefully combed through the cemetery records of the last year, with a hot tea beside you.

Riley. There it is.

Obituary notices for five members of the same family, on the same date.

Joanna Riley, née Pearson, aged 57. Thomas Riley, aged 33. Beth Riley, aged 32. Joseph Riley, aged 4. and Simon Riley, aged 37.

Two mothers, and their three sons. An innocent child in the middle of it all. All killed by an accidental fire, with a starting point on a faulty heater, right before an important holiday.

Their obituaries said that Joanna had worked in a textile factory for most of her life, Thomas was a cook at a restaurant, Beth was an esthetician and Simon was a... soldier.

You looked at the pictures attached to the obituary, of each of them... So alive, so... free. Pictures taken from Facebook profiles or school records, in Joseph's case... All of them with big happy smiles...

Joanna had big eye bags, but she had wrinkles in the corners of her blue eyes, and deep smile lines, like she'd spent a lifetime laughing... Her hair was dark and matched her sons'.

Thomas was thin, and prominent cheekbones and a dip in the cheeks themselves, as well as deep eyebags with bulging eyes, but a surprisingly pleasant smile on his face.

Beth's picture showed that her nose tended to scrunch whenever she smiled, her blonde hair tied back into a bun and a fringe falling over her blue eyes.

Little Joseph had a toothy grin and was wearing a school uniform, his brown hair swept to the side by a comb and his blue eyes sparkling... You found your lip trembling at the thought that, perhaps, that was his first day of kindergarten picture...

And, lord, Simon Riley... He was halfway through winking when the picture was taken. He had the warmest brown eyes and the smuggest little smirk on his lips as he held Joseph in his arms, whose face had been partially cropped out of the frame, but clearly was mirroring his uncle, while holding a little teddy bear with a blue bow around its neck.

It made you sad, to see those pictures. Sadder than when you researched all the other graves' you've cleaned. Many of them included children too... But something... something about those kind faces...

-

You couldn't help but wonder who he was.

Maybe a family friend?

A distant cousin?

Maybe someone from Beth's side of the family, since she's a blonde and the stranger is too?

You hadn't dared approach him, striking a conversation but you were so full of questions.

Was it wrong to be so curious about a stranger who's only at the funeral to mourn and pay respects? (Definitely.)

You wanted to ask him everything.

Who is he?

Why does he come visit at the worst times and days, when it's rainy and dark, and empty?

Why does he disappear so often for weeks at a time?

Why does he keep coming back?

Someone had to pay for the funeral arrangements, after all... Maybe it was him. Maybe he's family.

Why else would he casually drop £200 worth of arrangements on the graves every time he comes?

...

Truth be told, you hadn't seen him in nearly two months. It was the longest it'd gone since coming to visit.

Around Christmas of the following year, and he hadn't come to see the graves... and you knew that for certain. Not only did you not cross paths with him, but there were no flowers at the graves.

Could it perhaps be that he's trying to move on?

Or maybe something happened to him?

You hated to think of the possibility that the stranger could've given up, moved away, or died himself.

Worse, it made your heart ache...

So you made a choice. One of those times before you went in to clean another grave, you stopped by the florist around the corner.

Dropping nearly as much money as he usually did in a gigantic arrangement, a couple of candles, you wobbled into the cemetery again.

-

Simon Ghost sat on his bed in the shitty flat he was renting from a nice old lady who didn't ask too many questions.

It was barely a flat, more so a cramped tin of sardines that the council allowed to be called a 'studio' because it had enough space to fit a bed, a counter, fridge and stove, and had an attached bathroom.

He had just gotten clearance from the military hospital to be able to walk around without his crutches and just his cast boot, and good thing too.

Christmas had been days ago and he hadn't gone to visit the graves just yet... he could feel the need to see them scratching in the back of his head, trying to get out, digging into his bowns..

After succeeding in tying the laces on his regular boot, he pushed himself up to his feet, a bit shaky and unsure as he attempted to shift his weight around.

But, after succeeding, he wobbled over to his small wardrobe, grabbing his usual hoodie and scarf combo, pulling them on.

He pondered about opening a window to air out the flat, the scent of hair bleach and chemicals still lingering in the air... But he decided against it.

He left the flat and locked the door, then carefully limped his way to the bus stop beside his block of flats.

...

It was already getting dark when he made it to the cemetery and past the gate, carefully limping his way to the graves.

He looked around the graveyard with narrowed eyes, seeking you out. He wondered if you were around, if you were also looking for him, or if you didn't even notice he had been gone.

Had he still been Simon, he would've already gone up to you, struck up a conversation... and he would now too, joke about how he'd been 'slacking off', mutter some nonsense of 'working hard/hardly working'...

And yet he wasn't Simon.

'Simon' was buried in the grave he was going to now visit and, unlike the rest of the Riley family, he was getting no pity.

Not like mum, Beth, Tommy and Joseph... And yet no one but Ghost was ever there to pity them, to mourn them. And once he was gone, no one would even remember them.

They deserved better than what they got. They didn't what happened to them. They didn't deserve a death that gruesome...

And t was thanks to Simon that they were dead in the first place. He didn't deserve any pity.

Ghost would not mourn Simon. Ever.

...

And yet, as he approached the graves, the large arrangement he always brought with him, tucked under his arm, Ghost stopped in his tracks.

A beautiful light arrangement sat in the same exact spot he usually placed his own... right between Tommy's and mum's headstones. It was light and feminine and... cute. A stark difference to his own, dark and moody.

He crouched in front of the graves, setting aside his own arrangement and, very carefully so, running a trembling hand over the petals of the flowers. Fresh, not just from the recent rain, but from being a recent addition. Maybe only a day or two old.

A mix of pink and white carnations, an overwhelming amount of baby's breath, and some kind of herb stems wrapped around them.

Carefully, Ghost plucked one of the stems of the herb and brought it up to his nose to smell it. The scent of chemicals from his hair bleach didn't make identifying the scent any easier, but, after a moment, he realized it was rosemary.

Rising to his feet and looking around once more, Ghost sought you out again, trying to find the sight of you hunched over, scrubbing away at one headstone or another. No sign of you.

Looking down at the graves again, his eyes got drawn to something out of the corner of his eye. A small statue that had not been bought by him, leaning against Beth and Joseph's shared grave.

A brown ceramic teddy bear... with a baby blue ribbon around his neck.

Just like the one he'd bought in a Poundland when coming back from deployment, in a hurry, after Tommy had called him to let him know Beth had gone into labour... not wanting to show up empty-handed at the hospital.

It had become Joseph's favourite toy, he'd sleep holding it, would drag it along behind him as he learned to walk, and would take it to kindergarten every day.

"Fuck..." Ghost hissed as he fell to his knees in front of the graves, his fingers digging into the wet grass and his eyes closing as his whole form was racked by sobs.

-

You didn't know how long he'd been there. But he was soaking wet, dripping all over, on his hands and knees, hiccuping and crying at the foot of the graves.

You noted the way his leg was in a cast inside a black boot, which helped ease your worries that he hadn't given up on coming, he'd just been unable to for a while.

Swallowing your fear, you bounded up to him, holding your umbrella protectively over the two of you as you stopped by his side.

He looked the smallest you'd ever seen him...

Taking a deep breath, you slowly crouched beside him and placed a hand on his broad shoulder, feeling him shudder, his breath hitching, audible even through the wind and the aggressive pitter-patter of the rain on your umbrella.

"Breathe... It's okay..." You murmured as you looked at him. "Breathe."

The man took a deep, ragged breath, shuddering with each one, his arms, impossibly strong, trembling and struggling to hold him above the grass which was now essentially more mud than grass.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped." You murmured and tilted your head so you could peek below his hoodie, to check on him.

Bad choice on your part, because only then did you notice that his scarf had been loosened by him, to allow him to breathe, revealing his face.

He was deformed, badly so. His cheeks were hollow and cut through by a jagged Glasgow smile, and his skin so red and blemished, you'd think he had been burned alive at one point in his life.

Those were no ordinary scars... from a small injury, or an accident... They were too precise, not random... Those were... inflicted on him.

He didn't reply, nor did he try to cover his face or turn away, he just shuddered more, hiccuping and sniffling amidst his tears.

"I hadn't seen you in a while..." You told him gently. "I was... worried that you'd never come back." You admitted. "So... I figured I should look after them for you."

He gulped, audibly so, deep in his throat. For a while he didn't speak though his lips pushed and pulled like he was chewing on his cheek, looking for how to answer.

"Thank you." He murmured, his voice gruff and raspy, the words sounding like they had been eating away at him, gnawing at his bones.

"Do you... want me to toss it all out?" You asked slowly, watching as he thrashed his head side to side and sniffled again, hissing through clenched teeth.

"N-No..." He replied and took a hulking breath, like it was the most difficult thing he'd ever done.

"Okay..." You added and nodded solemnly. "Want me to help you up... because of your foot?" You offered.

"No... I've got it." He added with a nod and swallowed the lump in his throat as he closed his hands into fists to keep himself from lying on the dirt.

You paused and looked between him and the graves. "I'll leave you be, then..." You replied and turned to collect your cleaning supply caddie from the path beside you...

Only for one of his hands to suddenly catch your bicep and stop you, which caused you to freeze. "Stay..." He pleaded as you slowly turned to face him again.

His face was turned toward you as well. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, his nose had a deviated septum, and his whole face was riddled with scars and blemishes...

And yet those brown eyebrows of his... and those brown eyes... the way they stared at you... Sorrowful, afraid, hurt but... warm... You remembered seeing them, in that fucking obituary notice months ago...

You were looking a dead man right in the eyes.

#ikea writes 💚 #cod mw2 #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #cod fanfic #masterlist #simon “ghost” riley #simon motherfucking riley #simon riley #09 ghost backstory #canon 09 ghost backstory #09 ghost #cod mw #can be either ghost really #because i believe 2019 ghost also has the same backstory #cemetery fic #mourning fic #tw death of a child #tw child death #tw death #tw scar #tw torture #angst #cod angst #cod hurt/comfort #hurt comfort

[comradekatara]

In the tags of an ask you answered about Legend of Korra, you referred to it as only a few degrees less egregious than Merlin. I don’t know if you’ve already posted about it and I’ve just missed it but could you share some of your Merlin thoughts/critiques?

@queenbidoof said: “I’m interested in your thoughts on BBC Merlin and horseshoe theory”

okay so I haven’t actually talked about merlin on here (because this is an atla blog) but i have talked about it quite a bit on my main, so if you wanna read my thoughts on it just go there. in short: it is the worst show i’ve ever seen literally ever, and makes the politics of literally every other piece of media seem incredible. like it makes lok look like the dispossessed. if you want a fairly short, hilarious, incisive summary of what bbc merlin is about and why it’s awful, i highly recommend this youtube video, which i have watched and made my friends watch with me multiple times because that is how much i love it.

by horseshoe theory, i mean that lok presents both the far-left and far-right (in theory, but both amon and unalaq have completely incoherent politics, so) as equally threatening and scawwy and harmful in its goal of disrupting the status quo, because lok is fundamentally concerned with maintaining preexisting systems of power (thru violence that is only good when cops & capitalists do it) even as they are acknowledged to harmful in themselves. which, like i said it my tags, does still make it better than merlin, because merlin doesn’t even think that the far right is bad per se. merlin loves genocide as long as it is being perpetrated by the rightful king of camelot, because as everyone knows, preserving the monarchy is always more important than fighting for the liberation of your people. duh

#christiandomme #queenbidoof #asks #lok crit #synthesis #if bbc merlin has one hundred haters i am one of them if bbc merlin has one hater it is me if bbc merlin has zero haters then i am dead #that said. if katie mcgraths morgana has one hundred fans i am on of them etc etc

[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: You and Eren can’t stay away from each other, completely oblivious to a jealous someone plotting to drive a wedge between you.

— Content warnings: slightly nsfw, dry humping, make out, stalking, misunderstandings.

— Notes: Welcome to chapter 8 <3 If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, lmk. Happy reading!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

love is a verb, love is a feeling

The days have grown colder as the city is blanketed by the late November air. Crisp golden leaves are scattered over the streets, casting a warm touch to the otherwise cold patterns of gray. Common colds are nearing their rise with the shift in temperature but you've been lucky so far this year to not fall victim to any sniffles. 

Normally, you'd count on a warm cup of tea and a thick blanket to keep you warm as the weather grows harsher. But neither compare to the comforting embrace of Eren's arms. The bed is much warmer when there's a second body lying next to you and the sweet beat of his heart is the perfect sound to fall asleep to as you get drunk off the scent of his citrus body wash and eucalyptus-scented fabric softener.

The sound of your alarm rings in the air first. You moan from under the sheets, unwilling to let go of the firm torso you're pressed against. Thankfully, Eren's hold only tightens as he angles his arm back to dismiss the sound.

It's turning into a bad habit, to linger in bed just a few more minutes each time you stay over at his place. But is it really so bad when it brings you so much peace? Besides, Eren seems fine with it, too. Every little detail of your life is delicately infused with traces of him now. The same eucalyptus fabric softener is now also part of your biweekly shopping list, and this is the third time you've sneakily used his body wash even though you've been good at refilling the travel-sized bottle you keep in your bag before leaving your apartment. But the truth is, you love having that scent follow you wherever you go. It makes your day better and frankly, it's nice to carry a little piece of him all the time.

The people at the office have noticed a shift in your energy, though they haven't dared to talk about it. The reserved girl they've grown used to being wary of — the one they'd rather keep their distance from because she's so cold and standoffish that it's borderline rude in their eyes — is now livelier, smiles more easily, and is surrounded by light as opposed to the gloomy shadows from before. It's not as though you've transformed into a natural extrovert — you still only talk to Armin, and you still keep to yourself for the most part — but the small changes in your behavior certainly stand out.

“Good morning, baby,” Eren's husky morning voice cuts through the rustling of the sheets as he adjusts himself to plant a kiss on your cheek.

You snuggle closer to him, his warmth all too precious to part with. Your hands grip his shirt tightly, signaling him that you're not ready to slip away.

As usual, he softly laughs as he squeezes your frame. It's always a struggle for you to let go to start your day. Eren would easily yield if you just ask him. Ditching work to spend an entire day with your body clinging to his is nothing short of tempting. Perhaps if he didn't have an in-person meeting to attend in a few hours, he would ask you to play hooky.

“Five more minutes,” you mumble into his chest.

“Make it ten and you've got a deal,” he murmurs.

A lazy grin takes over his features when you laugh into his chest.

He strokes your hair gently, knowing you're wide awake and the extra minutes are because you like staying in bed with him.

“You're making me lazy,” he teases, peering down at the crown of your head.

“You asked me over on a weeknight,” you retaliate. “You know I like sleeping in when I come over. You should've waited until tonight.”

“Right, I forgot you have no willpower. My apologies,” he jokes, quick to stop your playful punch he already knew was coming.

With a hand stroking your back, he dips down to kiss the crown of your head.

“By the way, you owe me a bottle of body wash,” he says, aggressively poking at your sides. “I know you've been stealing it.”

“You have no proof,” you mumble, squirming at every sudden contact from his fingertips.

“You smell like citrus!”

“How do you know I don't use citrus-scented soap?”

“Because you used to always smell like vanilla,” he murmurs, a nostalgic smile shaping his lips.

You finally lift your face from his chest to look up at him.

His smile grows when he meets your gaze.

“I like that smell.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and a second wave of warmth creeps up your neck at his attention to detail.

“Do you want me to go back to vanilla, then?” 

He shrugs. 

“I don't mind if you smell like me,” he smiles. “But I miss the vanilla sometimes, to be honest. Maybe we should just trade soaps.”

Your eyes crinkle in amusement and you snuggle back into his chest. The vibrations of his voice tingle against your cheek when he speaks again, in a quieter, more timid voice.

“With all this back and forth, why don't we just move in together?”

He chews on his bottom lip while he waits for your answer. Your face is still pressed against his chest, so he can't get an idea of what you're thinking. 

It's barely been a month, but if the overnight stays so far are a taste of what living together would be like, he doesn't mind making such a bold step so soon.

“Which apartment would we keep?” 

His features shift in surprise that you don't seem thrown by his proposal.

“I- I don't know,” he stutters. “I haven't thought that far.”

“Your place is bigger,” you murmur, scooting back just a bit from him but keeping your head low so he can't see the shy expression you're wearing. “My closet is too small, my clothes barely fit.”

“Or we could look for something new together,” he says.

The idea brings a smile to your face and a nervous flutter to your stomach.

“Isn't it a bad idea to live together so soon?” you tease, though it's a genuine question. You don't mind going at a faster pace for this, but every major decision could make or break your relationship and you'd much prefer the former.

You notice him shrugging from your peripheral vision. 

“I think it's better to know early on.” He holds your chin between two fingers so he can pull your attention to him. “Why? Does it scare you?”

Slowly, you nod.

“A little.”

He hums as he contemplates your answer. 

“Then, if it makes you feel better,” he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “We can talk about it again in a few months. How does that sound?”

A bit more relaxed now, you nod again.

“Come here,” he says leaning closer so he can kiss you, but you shoot up and climb out of bed, rushing to the bathroom while hearing him laugh behind you.

“You can't run away from me each time!” he yells amusedly.

Shaking his head, he gets out of bed and starts stripping the sheets. It's of his recent knowledge that you're not fond of the idea of kissing him before you've had a chance to brush your teeth. He always tells you he doesn't care but you're quick to refuse him each time.

When you get back, he's fluffing the pillows and fixing each one on the freshly made bed.

He walks over to you in mock annoyance over your morning antics.

Cheekily, you drape your arms around his neck and pull him closer, granting him at last with one minty fresh kiss on his lips.

“You realize I haven't brushed my teeth?” he asks, squeezing your sides teasingly.

You shrug.

“I don't mind.”

You turn on your heel, grabbing your clothes for the day from his closet, leaving him dumbfounded but chuckling over your absurd logic.

“I'll make us breakfast,” he says, slipping out of the room to give you some privacy, but not before pulling you in for one more kiss.

“I'll see you tonight.”

Eren's usual goodbye from the past three weeks never gets old, always stirring the butterflies in your stomach with the exciting promise of your weekend sleepovers. 

You lean over the center console to kiss him goodbye.

“Get your tissues ready, Jaeger. I picked a good one this week.”

“Hold on, I thought it was my turn,” he whines. “Last week we stayed at your apartment and we watched that movie where the mom dies and comes back to life during the rainy season.”

You shake your head.

“That was two weeks ago. Last week was when we saw Ghost, remember?”

His eyebrows rise in realization at your reminder, his mouth forming an ah shape. 

“Man, I could've sworn it was my turn,” he says, falling back into his seat.

“Don't be a sore loser, babe,” you tease, pulling him back to kiss him again. The contact effectively wipes the pout from his lips.

His hands cradle your face to deepen the kiss, desperate to make the most of your last seconds together before you part ways for the day.

“Ow,” you moan when his teeth pull at your bottom lip a bit too hard. “Easy. I'm delicate.”

He laughs airily. 

“Sorry, I got carried away.”

He meets your lips again, this time using his tongue to suck on the injured spot, soothing the pulsing sensation left by his bite, the caress sending shivers down your spine and warming your face.

“I hate when you do that,” you mutter with unconvincing annoyance.

“No, you don't,” he retaliates, the cocky grin on his face growing wider at your flustered state. In the end, you prove him right when you start to giggle, covering your face with your hands.

“I'll see you tonight,” you murmur shyly as you push your door open. “Bye, Eren.”

“You sure you're not forgetting something?” he asks just as you're about to shut the door behind you.

You tilt your head in confusion.

“We already kissed,” you innocently say.

Shaking his head, he digs something out of his pocket, carefully tossing it in your direction. Your hands clasp around the object — your taser.

“You left it on the counter,” he sternly explains, then exchanges it for a softer tone. “Be careful, okay?”

Embarrassed but grateful to have him keeping you in check, you nod, quickly climbing back inside for a second last kiss of the morning.

“Bye,” you grin.

With another shake of his head, he laughs as he watches you leave.

“Have a good day!”

November 29, 2024

My angel, my angel, my angel.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

I can't wait to see you.

My meeting just started a few minutes ago. I won't make it out in time. Armin's taking you home.

You blink down at the text message, a small pout already forming at the thought of the bump in your recent routine. 

Though disappointed by not having Eren pick you up from work, you text him back wishing him good luck.

Are you still coming over later?

A smile takes over your worried features when he responds with ‘absolutely’ and a promise to see you tonight.

You slip your phone back into the pocket of your pants, glancing at the time as you do. There are roughly thirty minutes to go before you can head home and maybe even longer before Eren arrives at your apartment for your movie night. Hopefully, he won't be too tired. 

As you wait for the minutes to tick by, you rack your brain for an image of your pantry. In your eagerness to accept Eren's invitation to stay at his place right after work, only stopping by your apartment so you could fetch a change of clothes, you forgot to check how you were doing on snacks. The last time you checked, there weren't many options. 

You purse your lips as you make a mental note to stop by the store on the way home. 

The remainder of your working hours fly by faster than you expect. Soon enough, Armin's already at your desk, leaning back with his hands in his pockets while you gather your things, making sure to keep your taser in the jacket pocket of your dominant hand. 

“Sorry about this,” you meekly tell him as the elevator brings you down to the lobby.

He dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

“I'm glad Eren called me. I would've been worried if you left by yourself.”

You smile in appreciation for his concern. 

That's also something you're getting better at — accepting people's care.

The elevator dings and you both head out onto the street, leaving the revolving doors of the main entrance behind you.

“Do you mind if we stop by the store on the way? I have to pick up some things for tonight.”

“Oh?” Armin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at you, to which you lightly smack his shoulder.

“I was talking about snacks,” you mutter. “Eren's coming over later.”

“Oh, right,” Armin clicks his tongue. “The famous sleepovers I'm never invited to.”

You laugh.

“You're welcome to stay if you don't mind watching us makeout.”

Armin's nose scrunches in disapproval, though a laugh slips past his lips.

“You are so different from the girl I met earlier this year.”

Your face warms at his comment. His tone isn't severe, so it's easy to tell he means it in a good way. You're further reassured when he turns to look at you with a smile as you take a seat on the bus bench.

“You seem happier these days,” he points out.

You curl your lips inwards — a habit you've stolen from Eren — in a futile attempt to keep from goofily grinning.

“I am.”

He nods, his smile growing wider at your bashful admission.

“I guess now would be a good time to confess I was playing Cupid the entire time.”

Shaking your head, you giggle.

“I kind of knew.” 

“Wha– no way!”

“I mean, I wasn't sure until now but I thought it was a little weird when you kept talking about how I had to meet your best friend Eren,” you grin, poking his side teasingly. “And then when he showed up out of the blue at the coffee shop, and he told me you told him to go there.” 

He groans, kicking at a pebble by his feet. 

“And all the times you tried to get us alone… And when you wanted me to ride in the front seat when we went apple-picking. Then at the ba–”

“Okay! I get it, jeez,” he laughs. “But you have to give me some credit now that you're together.” 

“If I must,” you heavily sigh, earning yourself a flick on the forehead.

The bus pulls up on the dot of its scheduled time.

The two of you settle in next to each other for the ride. A couple of stops before your usual one, you pull on the cord and you both step back onto the street.

“So how are things going?” Armin asks, aiding you in picking a basket from the stack by the store's entrance as you crane your neck in search of the snack aisle. Armin follows your lead a few aisles down.

“It's been great,” you gush, instantly falling into an enamored smile. “It never gets boring, you know? He's just so sweet and funny.” 

You place a large tin of salted peanuts in the basket.

“Thank you, Armin.”

“I was kidding about the credit,” he chuckles. “It was ultimately your decision.” 

“Yeah, but… you greased the wheels,” you reply with a shrug. 

You skim through the choices for popcorn, ultimately picking up a box of butter and sea salt each.

“And it's not just that,” you continue as you walk to the next aisle for something sweet. “You were the first friend I ever made… and up until a few months ago, you were my only friend,” you laugh softly, trying to play it off as a joke, but a crack slips through your voice. “I don't mean to be cheesy, but you've changed my life for the better. I wouldn't have any of this if it wasn't for you. So, thank you, really.”

You regard Armin with glassy eyes that are overflowing with appreciation for the blond. 

“Come on,” he softly says. “You owe yourself some credit, too. You've come a long way, anyone can see it.” 

Your face warms at the compliment, but you dismiss him with a shrug as you turn your focus to the store's selection of fruit snacks.

A couple of packets are tossed into the basket.

“I thought we were just getting snacks,” Armin reminds you as he follows you to the back of the store where the hygiene aisle is.

“I just need to pick up some body wash,” you say.

Your eyes zero in on the brand Eren uses, and your hands quickly pick up the bottle labeled with a citrus scent. From a higher level, you grab a second bottle of your usual vanilla pick.

A short line at the register later, you both walk the rest of the way to your apartment building.

It's only a few blocks, so it doesn't take long, but by the time you near the brick building, dark clouds have started to form in the late evening sky.

“I've got it from here,” you tell Armin when you notice his intention to accompany you inside the building. “You should go, it looks like it's gonna rain.” 

You point at the somber clouds looming over your heads. 

Armin nods appreciatively at your concern and bids you goodbye before making a sprint for the nearest bus stop on the opposite side of the street.

You ride the elevator to your floor on your own, leaning back against the mirrored wall as you already feel yourself relaxing into the weekend mood. 

Your shoes are peeled off and abandoned beside the door the moment you walk in, and the grocery bag is left on the kitchen counter. 

You pull your phone from your pocket, immediately tapping on the first notification, a small smile etched on your face as your text conversation with Eren pops up on the screen.

Just gotta send some emails and I'll be on my way. 

You tap a quick reply before dialing the number to Eren's favorite local pizza place. After confirming your order for a half-and-half special, you scurry to the bathroom for a quick shower. 

The weekends are easily most people's favorite time. It's a pleasant break from the dull routine of working in an office, or doing manual labor, or serving strangers. For you, the weekends were an okay time. Not having to spend eight hours a day in the office was fine, and you were perfectly content spending your off days focusing on your hobbies, getting chores done, or laying around. 

After Armin — and especially after Eren — that old routine seems rather unsatisfying now. You still appreciate the beauty of sitting down to read a new book, but doing the same while Eren is on the opposite end of the sofa playing a game or hearing him move around in the kitchen to fix the two of you a snack has the power to make you feel full. 

Armin has teased you a couple of times since your start with Eren, implying you've stolen his best friend, but neither of you could be happier that his meddling resulted in such a good thing. 

As you rinse off the stress of the day, you find yourself smiling at the memory of your first kiss with Eren. It feels like it's been ages since it happened, and every kiss, every touch, and every look since then has blessed you with years worth of good fortune.

You step out of the shower, choosing to change into a pair of sweats and a loose tee. A quick glance to your bedroom window lets you notice the faint pitter-patter of rain droplets falling. You check the time on your phone, dismissing the low battery percentage alert but relieved to find a text from Armin that reassures you he got home safe and dry. With a few minutes to spare before the pizza or Eren arrives, you venture into the kitchen to fix yourself a cup of tea.

Your routine is the same as ever — set the water on the stove, wait for the whistle, fetch a mug from the cupboards, the honey wand from its drawer, and a tea bag and honey from the pantry. When you get to the last step, you're disappointed to find that you've barely enough honey left to sweeten the cup you just made. 

Eren and you have kept a steady tradition since you started sleeping over at each other's apartment to share a cup of tea before bed. With your low resources, that won't be possible tonight. 

Without giving it much thought, you slip on a jacket and sneakers, and rush out the door, grabbing your umbrella on the way. 

As the elevator travels down to the lobby, you click your tongue in spite of yourself. Had you been more attentive you would've picked up a new jar from the store earlier. You'll be lucky if you find your usual choice in the store at the corner of your street. 

Once out the main door and down the front steps of the building, you open your black umbrella and start walking. 

The rain always has an effect on traffic. It's as though everyone's common sense and driver's education grows as hazy as the weather. But Eren's lucky to escape before any real chaos kicks off. 

He pulls into the parking lot of your building with ease. The initial pitter-patter of rain has crescendoed in a matter of seconds. With no umbrella or raincoat to guard himself from the rain, he resorts to using his jacket, holding it above his head while he rounds the building toward the main entrance even if plenty of raindrops still manage to land on him.

In his rush, he avoids a person walking down the street with a black umbrella, only to crash into a second figure a couple of steps later.

The man is wearing a black raincoat, hood over his head and his hands in his pockets until he bumps into Eren's body.

“I'm so sorry,” Eren half-yells over the rain, holding a hand before him in defense. 

The young man lifts his face just enough to show an understanding smile in response, though his light brown eyes seem devoid of any emotion — but Eren crosses it off as a distortion from the night's weather.

“Don't worry about it,” the stranger grins. “Be careful.”

Eren continues up the steps of the brick building, relief washing over him once he's inside the lobby, where he pats down his clothes to rid himself of any excess water before heading to the elevator.

A cheerful tune whistles from his lips as he makes the journey to the third floor, a grin stretching across his features when the elevator finally dings. 

His eager hands fish the spare key you gifted him last week from his jacket pocket and jiggle it around the lock until it clicks open.

He calls your name as he breathes in the familiar vanilla scent that wafts throughout the apartment from the freshly abandoned shower.

He peers behind the door when you don't respond right away.

“Babe, I'm here,” he tries again, searching in your room this time.

Still no answer.

He wanders around the apartment, confused but on high alert as he whips out his phone to call you.

“Hello?” your voice reaches his ear after the first ring.

The breath he was holding is promptly released as he leans against the armrest of the sofa.

“Where are you?”

He hears a series of rustles and clinks on your end. 

“I'm at the store on the corner of the street. I came to get honey. Are you close?” 

“I'm at your apartment. I almost freaked out when you weren't here.”

“Aww,” you coo. From your tone, he can easily tell you’re smiling. “You're so needy.”

He blushes.

“When it comes to you, yeah, obviously,” he murmurs shyly.

You giggle. 

“I'll be there soon,” you say. “I'm in line to pay.”

On the other side of the line, your phone is pressed between your ear and shoulder while you fidget for some cash in your jacket pockets. A crumpled bill falls to the floor in the process, but you miss the chance to retrieve it before the man behind you bends down to pick it up first. He holds the bill between two fingers, offering it to you with a smile.

“Thank you,” you smile back at him as you take the bill. 

The man's smile grows at your expression, his light brown eyes lighting up at the sight of your pearly teeth.

“Who was that?” Eren asks. 

You explain the incident to him as you head out the store. A faint ring of the store's bell rings on Eren's side.

“Why? Are you jealous?” you tease, giggling when he scoffs through the phone. 

A tap on your shoulder puts a halt in your step and you turn around to find the same man from the store behind you.

On the other end, Eren can hear the muffled male voice, as he assumes you've lowered the hand holding your phone.

His brow furrows as he tries to make out what is being said on your end, but just as your voice starts talking again, the call is cut off.

“Hello?” Eren calls into the phone, but there's no sound. He calls your name, only to receive no reply. When he looks down at the screen, the words ‘Call ended’ flash in red. 

He blinks at the screen several times.

He's confused at first, but a compelling need to call you back overtakes him in a flash, and his thumbs frantically tap the call button next to your name. When the call is instantly forwarded and the automatic tone tells him the number he dialed is unavailable, there's a dreadful drop in his stomach.

He tries calling again — just to make sure, just in case — hopeful that it's a misunderstanding and the rain has you distracted and you managed to reject his call on accident. 

“Come on. Pick up, pick up,” he softly chants as if his words have the power to make things true.

But the call still doesn't come through. 

Without a second more to waste, he rushes to the door, swinging it open with determination, only to find you looking up at him in surprise, with your key in your hand, just seconds away from unlocking the door yourself.

His bottom lips quivers and his eyes stare back at you, wide and overflowing with relief.

You're pulled inside the apartment and wrapped in his arms in a second, his hold tight as he nuzzles his face into your neck, breathing in your vanilla scent in a desperate attempt to confirm you're real. 

“Eren,” you murmur, taken aback by his behavior. “Baby, what's wrong?” 

Your fingers weave through his hair as you try to comfort him from whatever unknown force has him so panicked.

He sniffles against your neck, and you sense droplets trailing down your collarbone.

You try to earn some room so you can analyze what's going on but his grip only tightens.

The jar of honey is pressed uncomfortably against your stomach, but you ignore the feeling until he decides to step back.

When he does, his expression is stern.

“Why didn't you pick up my calls?” 

His voice is powerful — severe. It's not something you're used to. He's suddenly ten feet tall and you've shrunk to half your size. 

Pulling your phone out of your jacket, you explain.

“My phone died, I would've called you back if I could,” you say, hoping the hypothetical is enough to soothe him.

He doesn't answer, only swallows thickly as he continues to pin you down with his gaze.

“It's okay,” you reassure him. “I'm okay, see?”

“It’s not.”

His brow is furrowed, jaw tense and his hands accentuate his words with sharp gestures.

“Do you realize how serious this is? You could've been in danger and I would've had no way of reaching you.”

“Eren, calm down, please. I just went to the store. I made it back, it's fine.”

You use the softest of your voices, focused on getting him to settle on the fact that you're safe now.

“Did you at least have your taser on you?” 

You shrink in your spot. The guilt is evident on your face, and it only makes Eren drag his hands over his face in frustration. 

He shakes his head, clearly bothered by your carelessness. 

An uncomfortable sensation tingles at your nose as you feel an oncoming wave of tears.

After all he's done to keep you safe, and your forgetfulness could easily throw his efforts out the window. Your cheeks burn and your shoulders cave with the weight of disappointing him. And now he won't even look at you, his apparent anger too intense to focus on something other than the floor.

The least you could do is apologize.

“Eren,” you weakly call him, voice cracking and barely above a whisper.

It takes long enough for him to look at you that you doubt he even heard you. But when he finally meets your gaze, his hardened expression crumbles at the sight of your teary eyes and your defeated demeanor.

“I'm not mad,” he's quick to say, stepping forward to envelop your frame once more — still tight but with a more comforting intent behind it. 

His warmth is all you need to fall down a well of stuttered sobs and regretful tears.

“I'm sorry,” you cry into his jacket.

The words rip him apart from the inside. He didn't mean to be harsh even if you deserved to be scolded, but now even he's overwhelmed by guilt for making you cry in apology. 

It's a crappy situation for both of you.

“I forgot it again. I'm so sorry, Eren,” you sob. He cradles your face in his hands, nodding along as he carefully listens to your tearful explanation. “I wasn't gonna be too long. I just needed honey for your tea later, and you were on your way already, so I didn't think it would be a big deal if I just went to the corner store to get some. I'm so sorry, Eren. I really am.”

You release a shuddered breath as he wipes your face of your tears with his thumb. He proceeds to take the jar of honey from your trembling hands and set it aside.

“I'm not mad,” he repeats, hugging you to his chest as you ease up from your crying, soothed by his gentle tone and the caresses to your hair. “I'm sorry, too.”

I didn't mean to make you cry.

He holds your face in his hands. 

“But you have to understand how scary it is for me to have our call cut off while you're out alone.”

You nod, blinking away the last of your tears that blur your vision.

“I know. I'm sorry.”

Eren's heart shrinks at every apology.

“Stop apologizing,” he murmurs, voice laced with pain. “Just don't scare me like that again, please.” 

You nod again, suddenly feeling too weak to use your voice.

A wave of relief washes over you when he leans closer to place a kiss on the corner of your mouth as a final step in reconciliation.

A knock on your door calls for your attention. Eren looks back at you in question.

“I ordered pizza from that place you like,” you innocently explain before you dig around your pockets for money.

Your considerate nature toward him squeezes further at his heart.

“I got it,” he says, tapping your arm lightly before answering the door and paying.

“I'm gonna wash my face,” you tell him, awkwardly slipping away to the bathroom to do so.

When you get back to the living room, the TV is set to play the last movie saved to your list, and he's sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa with a slice of pizza in his hands. When he catches your presence he nods down at the spot beside him, gesturing for you to join him.

The moment you sit down he welcomes you back with a kiss on your cheek and a second soft apology in your ear.

The movie ended up making you both spill another series of tears.

“I don't know why you keep picking these movies,” Eren sniffles as he dabs a tissue to his eyes before helping you clean your face, too.

“I like it when you cry,” you admit. “I like a sensitive man.”

He playfully pinches your cheek in retaliation, only to immediately kiss it after.

You curl up against him, resting your legs on his lap as your arms drape around his shoulders.

“I really am sorry about tonight. I wasn't trying to make you worry. And once I realized my phone died, I hurried over immediately.”

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you up so that you're sitting properly on his lap. He lifts your chin with his index finger, gently coaxing you to look at him.

“It's fine,” he murmurs. “Just promise me you'll be more careful. Next time just wait for me and we'll go together. Or call me up if you need me to get something on my way. I'd rather do it myself than have you walk out at night all alone.”

“You'd be alone, too,” you point out.

“I'm not as worried about myself,” he answers quietly, gently brushing his nose against yours before leaning in for a kiss.

He pecks you once, twice, before remembering something.

“Who was the guy?”

Your eyebrows upturn in confusion.

“I heard a guy talking to you after you left the store,” he explains.

You mouth an ‘oh’ in realization. 

“I dropped my receipt and he was just giving it back.”

You fish the slip of paper from your sweats, holding it up between two fingers for his observation.

“See?”

He nods, taking the slip of paper from your hold and setting it aside on the floor.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the sensitive skin gently as his hands softly caress your hips, just above the waistline of your sweats.

“I worry about you, you know,” he murmurs against your sweet spot. “I can't be still if I'm not sure you're safe.”

You want to tell him that he doesn't have to worry so much, that this was an isolated experience and that there haven't been any new murders, but you know it'll just slip in one ear and fall out the other. 

So you just hold him, stroking his hair in that lazy pace he likes so much.

He lifts his face from your neck, looking up at you in adoration. The glassy look in his jewel-toned eyes would be enough to make you fall to your knees — it's a good thing you're on his lap.

His mouth caresses yours tenderly, transferring his earlier relief when he found you standing right outside the door.

Your hand finds its place above his heart, capturing the increasingly erratic beats as you melt into each other.

Your tongue brushes against his, swallowing every moan, every relieved sigh, every whimper. 

His fingers sneak under your shirt, timidly testing the waters with a searing touch before his hand fully glides against the bare skin of your waist, confident and itching for more.

Your breath hitches in your throat when his fingertips brush the underside of your breasts. For the sake of comfort, you've skipped out on wearing a bra, as you always do when you're close to your bedtime. So his accidental closeness doesn't come as a surprise.

Eren, on the other hand, is taken aback by the lack of undergarments, his fingers timidly backing down from the area, but still dangerously close as he continues to explore every corner of your mouth with his tongue.

His erection is pressed against your ass with every small motion, reminding you of how easily excitable he is each time you find yourselves in compromising positions. 

A sinful whine escapes your lips when you feel him twitch underneath you.

He pulls back from the kiss the tiniest bit, flustered but with a cool enough head to check in on you. 

You breathe into each other's mouths, hot and heavy.

“Do you wanna stop?” he murmurs, cheeks red and lips swollen as he exhales short breaths.

You bite down on your bottom lip, unsure if it's what you truly want.

With every heated encounter, it's getting harder to resist him. You know he's not purposely doing anything to tilt the scales in favor of finally having sex. In fact, he's been a perfect gentleman about your boundaries, always sure to keep himself in check and asking you to talk to him when things start escalating.

You admire him for it, but sometimes it bothers you to think he's holding back and you should loosen up for his sake.

“Do you?” you ask.

He takes a beat to respond. When he finally does, it leaves you speechless.

“No.” 

The confidence in his answer is clear, leaving no room for doubt over how he feels.

You curl your lips inwards, slowly nodding as his answer courses through your brain.

A velvet kiss is placed on the corner of your mouth.

“But I promised,” he whispers reassuringly.

You swallow thickly as the air around you is dissipated of any tension and the pressure in your chest softens.

“I feel like I'm putting you through hell,” you sheepishly admit.

He shakes his head.

“I won't lie. I want to touch you like you can't even imagine,” he murmurs. “But I really don't mind waiting. Nothing will happen unless you say yes.”

The same confidence from his previous statement laces through this one. It blankets you with peace.

So with one final kiss to his cheek, you climb off his lap and help him up.

As usual, the tent in his pants yells for attention, but he's not blushing as profusely as the first time it happened. 

“I should hop in the shower,” he says.

You nod.

“I'll clean up.”

A while later, you're both snuggled together underneath your covers, a mix of vanilla, citrus and eucalyptus wafting in the air. 

Eren's hand is underneath your shirt for a change, tracing soothing stripes on the small of your back with his thumb, as you trace the curve of his bottom lip with yours.

“Has anyone told you you're pretty?” you ask him sincerely in a hushed voice.

An amused air blows through his nose, making you smile in the process.

“I don't think so,” he says. “Am I?”

You nod.

“You've got really pretty eyes, and long lashes, and perfect lips,” you whisper, tracing around every feature with your gaze. “I'm jealous.”

His eyes flutter closed when your fingertips graze near the area.

“More, please.” 

You giggle, letting the pads of your fingers trail down to the bridge of his nose. 

“I really like your freckles, too,” you say. “But they're kind of faded now.”

“Just wait til the summer, they'll be back,” he says, eyes open again.

You hum in response.

“Is there more?” he teases.

You laugh.

“Yeah.”

You push him back gently so that he lays flat on his back as you prop yourself on one elbow to hover over his face.

“Thank you for caring about me,” you murmur, eyes twinkling in the cool moonlight that filters through your bedroom curtains.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, a smile forming on his lips when you lean into his touch.

A sigh leaves his lips when you bend down to kiss him, tenderly moving your lips between his in sweet motions you hope accurately convey your fondness.

“I love you, Eren.”

The words knock the air out of his lungs. The world comes to a halt as your honest feelings float above his head. 

Three little words. Three simple words that carry the weight of the whole universe. 

Eren's stuck in place, unable to formulate a proper string of words, the sudden tingle in his chest keeping him from making sense of his surroundings as it echoes throughout his entire body. 

Say something, he begs himself internally.

He doesn't. He can't. He doesn't possess the functions that allow him to.

It's frustrating.

But you're calm. You smile and kiss him again, before turning on your side to sleep. 

When he finally regains control of himself, Eren wraps his arms tightly around your sleeping body, pulling you flush against his chest as three little words remain lodged in his throat.

Previous chapter | Next chapter (tba May 10th) 

Chapter guide  |  Masterlist  |  Navigation

taglist: @erenjaegerwifee @youatemylollipop @okaystopwhore @bakuhoethotski @f4irygard3n

#aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #eren yeager x reader #aot x reader #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger fanfiction #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger fluff #eren jaeger x y/n #eren yeager smut #eren yeager fanfiction #eren yeager x you #eren yeager x y/n #snk x reader #snk smut #aot smut #eren smut #eren jaeger x you #eren yeager fluff

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God in a world that is ugly with violence and hate.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters  Previous Chapter /

PLEASE READ BELOW:

Content Advisory 18+: This chapter contains graphic depictions of bodily torture, unsettling imagery, themes of death and child loss, grief, mourning, blood, gore, bodily fluids, and implied sexual assault. If you are sensitive to these adult themes, please approach with caution.

This is your warning: The content within this chapter is intense and may not be suitable for all readers.

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

AN: Part 2 of this chapter will probably come out next week. I was originally going to do it in one part but this chapter alone is 13.5k words. I apologize in advance for what's about to unfold. Pls don't hate me.

StoryTags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

Ch 12 - Though Mine Beat Faster Far Than Thine (Part 1)

Under the blazing Lemoyne sun, finding relief from the heat was like chasing a mirage. But in the heart of Clemens Point, life thrived despite the drought. The grass was a vivid green, speckled with bursts of colorful flowers that seemed to defy the arid conditions. Birds filled the air with their lively chatter, while bees and butterflies danced among the blossoms, competing for the sweet treasures hidden within.

Meanwhile, Arthur, Dutch's trusted right-hand man, was as busy as ever. Always on the lookout for opportunities to line the gang's pockets, his latest adventure had involved a risky venture to rob the Valentine bank. Alongside Bill and Karen, they'd pulled off the heist with typical outlaw flair, though not without facing down some trigger-happy lawmen on their way out. Despite the thrilling danger of the heist, Arthur couldn’t help but shake his head, wondering when this will finally be enough. 

Arthur had grown accustomed to Dutch's evasive responses whenever he attempted to discuss the gang's plans. Each time, Dutch would offer vague reassurances that everything was under control, leaving Arthur feeling more frustrated and in the dark than ever. The mention of Tahiti had become little more than a running joke among the gang, a distant dream that seemed increasingly out of reach with each passing day.

And then there was Micah, always worming his way into Dutch's good graces with flattery and false admiration. Arthur watched with a mixture of disdain and apprehension as Micah spun his tales of Dutch's unparalleled brilliance and leadership. Despite Dutch's apparent blindness to Micah's ulterior motives, Arthur saw through the facade, recognizing the dangerous influence the sycophantic outlaw wielded over their leader.

Arthur leaned against the post at the back of the gang leader's tent, as Dutch and Micah strategized inside, his gaze drifted to the shoreline. There, he watched Kate teaching Jack to skip stones, her laughter carrying faintly on the breeze. Each moment with her seemed to deepen his feelings, from the gentle touch of her hands to the genuine concern he felt for her safety. He found himself constantly drawn to her, seeking her out in quiet moments when he wasn't consumed by work. Yet, despite the intensity of his emotions, he couldn't find the words to express them.

As the afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the scene, Arthur wrestled with his growing affection for Kate. Her presence had become a beacon of warmth and solace in his turbulent life. He longed to confide in her, to bare his soul and share the depths of his feelings. But fear held him back, fear of rejection, fear of vulnerability. And so, he remained silent, his emotions simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to emerge. Her words a constant echo in his mind; don’t keep hidden what matters, even from yourself. 

“Are you even listening to us, Morgan?” Micah’s voice sliced through Arthur's reverie. With an exasperated roll of his eyes, he pushed himself off the post, turning to face the tent. Inside, Dutch lounged on his cot, a cigar dangling from his fingers, while a map sprawled across his nightstand. Micah, on the other hand, stood opposite him, arms crossed with a casual arrogance that made Arthur's skin crawl.

As he glanced around, he noticed Molly sitting just outside the tent, her presence a silent witness to their conversation. The ongoing disputes between her and Dutch had become a constant source of tension within the gang, their arguments echoing through the camp at night. Despite the turmoil, Molly still remained by Dutch's side, despite how miserable she appeared. Always resisting the efforts of the other women to draw her into their daily routines and conversations. Arthur felt sympathy for the young woman.

With a weary sigh and a shake of his head, Arthur responded, “Yeah, I heard you. And it sounds like a load of horse shit.” The weight of frustration hung heavy in his words as he braced himself for the inevitable clash of wills.

Earlier that day, Pearson had approached Micah with intriguing news. According to him, he had encountered some of Colm O'Driscoll's men in town. They professed a desire for peace, claiming that Colm wished to negotiate a parley with the rival gang. Arthur immediately smelled a trap. He couldn't fathom a man like Colm harboring anything but pure hatred in his heart. The feud between Colm and Dutch ran deep, stretching back to a time long before Arthur had joined the gang as a child.

Micah, however, seemed unfazed by the potential danger, dismissing Arthur's concerns with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "Well, since you've been running around digging us into even deeper shit, I reckon this might just lighten the load a little," Micah retorted, his tone dripping with arrogance.

Arthur's jaw clenched as he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Placing his hands on his gun belt, he took a step closer to Micah, his voice laced with irritation. "You mean your shit, Micah. Pearson ain’t got half the brains to con this mess. This has your dumbass written all over it," he shot back, the jingle of his spurs punctuating each step on the wooden floor of the makeshift room.

Micah's words hung in the air, thick with false hope and calculated manipulation. “You’re always tellin’ us Dutch, do what has to be done…but don’t fight wars that ain’t worth fightin’. Maybe Colm finally wants peace.” He explained.

Arthur's gaze hardened as he watched the scene unfold, his brows furrowing in frustration. The way Micah twisted Dutch's principles to suit his own agenda made Arthur's stomach churn with anger.

Hosea's timely interruption added a layer of gravity to the situation. His voice, filled with wisdom born of experience, cut through the tension like a knife. "Colm wants a parley?" he questioned, his tone laced with skepticism. "It's a trap," he asserted, his words carrying the weight of undeniable truth.

Micah's sigh of resignation seemed almost rehearsed, his arms extending in a theatrical display of defeat. "Well, of course, it's probably a trap," he conceded, his tone dripping with sarcasm. But then, with a pleading look directed at Dutch, he continued, "but what have we got to lose finding out?"

Arthur gritted his teeth at the sight, his frustration boiling beneath the surface. The way Micah spoke to Dutch, manipulating him with false hope and veiled threats, made Arthur sick to his stomach. He couldn't understand how Dutch could tolerate it, let alone seem to enjoy it. 

"We could get shot," Arthur interjected bluntly, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. 

Dutch's silent nod of agreement spoke volumes. "Colm ain't one to do things so… gentleman-like," he mused, his expression clouded with uncertainty.

Micah's dismissive shake of the head implied that the concerns were unfounded, mere misunderstandings in his eyes. "We ain't gettin' shot, because you'll be protecting us," he stated confidently, his hand resting heavily on Arthur's left shoulder. It was clear from his tone that he had already made up his mind; he would appoint himself as the right-hand man during the parley, regardless of Arthur's objections.

Arthur shot a disapproving glance at Dutch, silently pleading for his support. But Dutch's expression betrayed no hint of intervention; he seemed to be already envisioning how the situation would unfold.

"If it's a trap, you shoot the lot of them. If it's not…" Micah's voice trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

With a frustrated huff, Dutch walked past them, his irritation palpable. "I'm not really seeing the point in any of this," he muttered, making his way over to the table where Hosea sat, reading the paper.

Micah followed behind like a persistent nuisance, his voice bordering on whining. "It's a chance we gotta take!" he insisted.

Dutch sighed heavily, leaning his arms on the table as he shared a somber revelation. "I killed Colm's brother... a long time ago. Then he killed a woman I loved dearly." The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, casting a solemn pall over the group.

A moment of silence passed amongst them, punctuated only by Micah's sympathetic hum. But he quickly interjected once again, his tone brimming with impatience. "As you say. It was a long time ago, Dutch."

Dutch gazed out at the water, his mind undoubtedly consumed by the weight of their shared history. With a final puff of his cigar, he threw it into the dirt, his decision made. "Alright. Let's go then. You and me, with Arthur protecting us," he declared, his voice firm with resolve.

Arthur's frustration was evident as he shook his head, a deep furrow forming between his brows. With a muttered curse under his breath, he threw a hand up in the air in exasperation, a gesture of his growing annoyance. Resigned to the unfolding events, he fell into step behind Dutch, his footsteps heavy with irritation as he made his way to his trusty mare, waiting patiently nearby.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but the weight of Arthur's frustration and concern in his voice drew her curiosity like a moth to flame. Along the grassy shoreline, she quickened her pace until she caught up to Arthur just as he was about to mount Belle.

Drawing his attention by placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, she couldn't help but inquire, "What's this I hear about a parley?"

Turning to greet her Arthur let out a heavy sigh, his irritation palpable. "Micah seems to think Colm O'Driscol wants peace, apparently," he muttered, his tone laden with disbelief.

"Peace? From the same man who's been chasing you lot since Blackwater?" Kate's incredulity rang clear in her voice.

"Yep, that's the one," Arthur replied, his spirits low.

Kate exhaled sharply, frustration evident in her features. "That's clearly a trap," she remarked, stating the obvious.

"I know," Arthur admitted, his voice tinged with resignation.

"Then why are you going along with it?" Kate pressed with unmistakable concern.

Leaning against the side of his saddle, Arthur gave her a sympathetic look. "Someone's gotta make sure Dutch doesn't get his head blown off."

"If he's foolish enough, I say let him. Maybe they'll shoot Micah as well," Kate quipped with a roll of her eyes.

A brief chuckle escaped Arthur's lips, her irreverence momentarily lifting his sour mood. "Wouldn't that be somethin’,” he mused. “But I can’t let it happen. I'll be up in the hills with a rifle, trained right on Colm. Just in case he tries anything."

Kate let out a deep sigh through her nose, her brows pinching with unease. "I still don’t think it’s a good idea. If you’re protecting them, who's protecting you?" Her tone carried a weight of seriousness, the gravity of the situation settling heavily upon her shoulders.

With a soft chuckle, Arthur reached out and gently squeezed her hand. "I don’t need protecting darlin’. I'll be just fine," he reassured her, though the lines of concern etched into his features betrayed his words.

"What if I come with you?" Kate suggested, brushing aside his reassurance with determined persistence.

Arthur shook his head slightly, his expression turning somber. "I don’t want you gettin’ roped into all that. Colm’s a nasty man, and I don’t need him comin’ for you too." His eyes bore into hers with genuine concern. He wished he didn't have to involve himself in Dutch's risky schemes, but loyalty demanded otherwise. If there was one thing he could protect Kate from, it was getting entangled in Dutch’s dangerous endeavors.

With a defeated sigh, Kate lowered her gaze. "Just promise me you’ll be cautious? And you’ll shoot him if he tries anything," she implored, her words more of a command than a request.

"I promise, Kate," Arthur vowed solemnly, his tone tinged with determination. With a final nod, he mounted Belle and tipped his hat in farewell before riding off into the camp to catch up with the others, leaving Kate behind with a heart heavy with worry.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting shadows across the camp, Kate found herself amidst the nightly routine of caring for her beloved mare, Lorena. Yet, unlike other evenings, Lorena seemed unusually restless, her ears flicking nervously, her hooves stomping the ground, and her pacing creating a small cloud of dust around her. Kate furrowed her brow in concern, attempting to soothe her companion's nerves with a gentle song, though she couldn't discern the cause of her distress.

Observing Lorena's behavior, Kate couldn't help but notice the absence of her mare's newfound companion, Belle. The two horses had formed a deep bond, she often watched them grooming each other, playing together, and even sleeping side by side. It was a testament to the camaraderie that extended beyond the human members of the camp. Kate suspected that Lorena's unease stemmed from Belle's absence, as any disruption to their nightly routine tended to unsettle her.

With Belle on her mind, Kate couldn't shake the thoughts of Arthur and the conversation they had shared before he departed. Though Dutch and Micah had returned to camp hours ago, Arthur was conspicuously absent. Kate brushed aside her worries for the time being, reminding herself that Arthur often sought solace away from camp. However, he never failed to return by dinner, and Kate found herself eagerly anticipating his return, awaiting to hear about the outcome of the supposed parley.

As the night wore on and Arthur's absence stretched into the hours after dinner, the seeds of doubt began to sprout in the back of Kate's mind. She couldn't shake the feeling of unease, her worry growing with each passing minute. Arthur was never one to linger without reason, especially not when the job was risky.

With a worried brow, Kate contemplated seeking out Dutch for answers. Perhaps Arthur had mentioned something about his whereabouts before he left. It wouldn't be the first time he had set out on one task only to find himself entangled in another. Determination spurred her forward as she made her way over to Dutch's tent, the crackling of the fire and the gentle lapping of water providing a somber soundtrack to her troubled thoughts.

To her surprise, Dutch was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by Molly, sitting quietly under the warm glow of an oil lamp, her pen scratching across paper. Kate hesitated, unsure of how to interrupt her at such a late hour. Molly's dark orange curls framed her face as she looked up, a hint of surprise in her eyes at Kate's unexpected presence.

"Hi Molly," Kate greeted awkwardly, fidgeting with her hands. "I um, I was just wondering if Dutch mentioned anything about Arthur?” Molly looked puzzled at her question. “You know, from the parley with Colm earlier. I haven't seen him return yet."

Her expression softened with sympathy as she processed Kate's inquiry. "No, I'm sorry," she replied gently. "Dutch didn't say anything to me."

With a heavy sigh, Kate nodded, her heart sinking with disappointment. "Oh, I see. Sorry for bothering you."

But before she could turn to leave, Molly offered a small reassurance, sensing Kate's distress. "Arthur's always disappearing," she said softly. "I'm sure he's alright."

Kate forced a small smile, though her worry remained palpable. "So I've learned," she murmured, her thoughts clouded with concern as she retreated into the night.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur awoke to a relentless pounding pain that felt as though his skull might split in two. Each throb sent waves of agony crashing through his head, leaving him disoriented and gasping for breath. Slowly, he forced his heavy eyelids open, only to be greeted by a swirling mass of black stars dancing before him. The night air was frigid and thick, seeping into his bones as he lay sprawled on the unforgiving ground. Wrists and ankles bound. 

As his vision began to clear, he realized he was not nestled safely by the campfire at Clemens Point. No, the harsh reality of his surroundings sent a shiver down his spine. He was alone in the darkness, surrounded by eerie shadows that danced menacingly in the flickering light of a distant campfire. Panic surged within him as he struggled to piece together the events that had led him to this desolate place. The last thing he remembered was a hazy blur of faces and voices, fading into the abyss of his memory.

Fear gnawed at his insides as he fought to push through the fog of confusion that clouded his mind. Had he been ambushed? Kidnapped?

The memory of the parlay with Colm played like a haunting melody in Arthur's mind. He could feel the weight of his rifle against his chest as he lay hidden in the tall grass, his breath shallow with anticipation. The tension in the air was palpable as Dutch and Colm exchanged terse words, the promise of peace slipping through their fingers like sand. Arthur's jaw clenched as he watched the failed negotiation unfold before him, his finger poised on the trigger, ready to act if things took a turn for the worse.

But nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. As Colm turned to leave, his gaze seemed to linger on Arthur with a chilling intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. Before he could react, the world spun violently as a blinding pain erupted in his head, the sickening crunch of bone meeting metal echoing in his ears. Darkness swallowed him whole as he succumbed to the ground, the last thing he saw were the menacing silhouettes of his assailants looming over him like specters of death.

Arthur's mind swam in a turbulent sea of pain and confusion, each wave crashing against the shores of his consciousness with merciless force. The memories of being hoisted onto the back of a horse, his body dangling limply over the beast's flank, stirred a sickening cocktail of nausea and disorientation within him. The rhythmic bounce of the horse's gait only served to intensify his queasiness, threatening to unleash the contents of his roiling stomach onto the unforgiving ground below.

In the midst of his torment, a grim irony dawned on him like a blink in the night. The sensation of being transported as prey, his captors seemingly relishing in his helplessness, echoed the plight of those he had pursued relentlessly in his own chase as a bounty hunter. It was a bitter realization, one that clawed at the fringes of his consciousness as he struggled to maintain his tenuous grip on reality. That must be it, Arthur thought to himself. He chalked it up to be a group of bounty hunters, looking to turn in his head for the $5000.

As consciousness ebbed and flowed like the tide, Arthur's senses gradually sharpened, revealing the harsh reality of his captivity. With painstaking effort, he managed to pry his leaden eyelids open, his vision obscured by a haze of pain and exhaustion. Through the murky veil that shrouded his perception, he discerned the silhouettes of his captors seated by a crackling fire, their voices a distant murmur in the vast expanse of his disoriented mind. With a grunt of exertion, he attempted to shift his weight, the world tilting dangerously on its axis with each agonizing movement.

Arthur's heart hammered in his chest as he dragged his body across the unforgiving earth, the coarse ground tearing at his skin with each agonizing inch. His bound hands clawed desperately at the soil, fingers digging into the earth as if grasping for a lifeline in the depths of despair. Every movement sent waves of searing pain coursing through his battered frame, a relentless reminder of the brutality he had endured. If he could just reach the horses, he could escape. 

In the dim glow of the campfire, the shadows danced like demons, casting sinister shapes upon the ground as Arthur's tormentors remained oblivious to his silent struggle. With every labored breath, he willed himself forward, his mind consumed by a singular purpose: escape. The rhythmic cadence of his groans mingled with the hushed whispers of the night, a haunting symphony of suffering that echoed through the darkness.

But as Arthur's faltering movements drew the attention of his captors, the weight of their scrutiny bore down upon him like a suffocating shroud. The sudden cessation of their conversation sent a chill down his spine, the air thick with anticipation as their gazes fixed upon his trembling form.

In the eerie silence that followed, the voice of a young Irishman pierced the night like a dagger, his words laced with contempt and malice. “Well ye just gonna sit there and let the bastard git away?” 

"Calm down, Nolan, he ain’t goin’ nowhere," came a voice, tinged with a cold indifference that sent shivers down Arthur's spine. He heard the heavy thud of boots against the earth as one of his captors rose to his feet and approached.

"Well evening, sugar," the man sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he loomed over Arthur's broken form. "You ain’t dead yet, is you?" With a cruel shove of his boot, Arthur was forced onto his back, the impact sending shockwaves of pain radiating through his broken body.

The man chuckled darkly, relishing in the sight of Arthur's mangled visage. The bruises on his face had blossomed into grotesque shades of purple, his features marred by cuts and dried blood. "F-fuck you," Arthur managed to spit out, his voice hoarse amidst the agony that consumed him.

The man merely tsked in response, his amusement palpable as he delivered another vicious blow, his boot connecting with Arthur's ribs with brutal force. As Arthur curled in on himself like a child, gasping for air through the haze of pain, he realized with a sinking heart that his torment was far from over.

In the darkness, Arthur's fingers scrabbled desperately in the earth, seeking refuge in the jagged contours of the rocky terrain. If he could just grab something, anything. Even a small rock could be deadly in his hands. But his efforts were swiftly thwarted by the cruel descent of a heavy foot, grinding mercilessly into his hand. The bone-chilling crunch of his fingers being crushed beneath the merciless weight elicited a primal cry of agony from deep within his chest, muffled by the suffocating grip of pain.

Nolan's voice returned, dripping with sadistic anticipation, cut through the night like a blade. "Once Colm gets his hands on him, we're gonna be free as birds," he gloated, as if reveling in Arthur's torment was the key to their liberation.

The mention of Colm sent a wave of fear down Arthur's back, his thoughts a murky whirlpool of anguish and bewilderment. Through gritted teeth, he fought to rise again, a glimmer of defiance flickering in his eyes as he attempted to leverage himself against the unforgiving ground. 

Above him, the voices of his captors continued their sinister discourse, the weight of their words heavy with ominous implications. "Are we really turning them into the law? If it were up to me I’d say he ain’t worth the risk," the one closest to him questioned, his skepticism palpable in the darkness. 

But Nolan's response offered little solace. "Quit bein' stupid, Connor. That's his plan, remember?"

"Do you really think he gives two shits about this washed-up cowboy?" Connor's voice dripped with disdain, his words laced with a venomous edge.

The irritation in his tone was palpable as he continued, "Colm says he knows how to play Van der Linde. Once he realizes we have him, his whole posse will fall right into his trap."

Arthur knelt in the dirt, his body trembling with a mixture of pain and fear. With a herculean effort, he pushed himself to his feet, each movement an agonizing battle against the relentless grip of gravity. Stumbling forward, he fought to maintain his balance, his vision swimming with dizziness. Desperation fueled his every step as he clumsily veered away, a fleeting moment of hope igniting within him as he drew nearer to the horses. If he could just reach one...

But his hope was shattered in an instant as a bullet tore through his ankle, sending searing waves of pain coursing through his shattered limb. With a gut-wrenching cry, he crumpled to the ground, his world engulfed in a haze of excruciating agony. Blood pooled beneath him as his legs quivered with adrenaline, a futile attempt to numb the relentless torment that consumed him. Gasping for air, he rolled onto his side, his breaths ragged with panic as he struggled to suppress the rising tide of agony threatening to overwhelm him. Tears threatened to spill down his blood stain cheeks. 

As he lifted his gaze, he was met with the sight of the two men looming over him, their faces twisted with sadistic amusement. The one who had fired the shot let out a cruel laugh, his eyes alight with malice. "Did I kill ya yet?" he taunted, the callousness of his words echoing through the darkness like a death knell.

Arthur's attempts to speak were drowned out by a guttural moan, a haunting sound that echoed through the desolate night air, mirroring the agony that gripped his shattered body. Fear and desperation clawed at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to engulf him in its heavy embrace.

“Let’s see if you survive this,” Connor’s voice taunted, each word full of tormented amusement, a cruel promise of further suffering.

A chill swept over Arthur as he felt the icy touch of metal against his left shoulder, the unmistakable sensation of the barrel of a rifle pressed against his flesh. With a sharp intake of breath, he braced himself for the inevitable onslaught, his heart hammering in his chest like a thunderous drumbeat.

Searing pain ripped through him as a bullet tore through his shoulder, sending shockwaves of anguish coursing through his already beaten form. The world around him blurred into a hazy fog of suffering, his consciousness slipping away into the abyss as darkness swallowed him whole.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The passage of time seemed as fleeting as the shifting clouds above, their transient dance across the sky mirroring Kate's restless thoughts. With each passing moment, her imagination wove a tapestry of dread, painting vivid scenes of tragedy. For every dire scenario she conjured, she grasped desperately for the slender threads of reason, clinging to the hope that Arthur's absence was merely a benign twist of fate. Dutch would have surely said something had the parley gone awry. 

But like a persistent tick embedded deep within her psyche, the gnawing sense of unease persisted, burrowing beneath her skin and refusing to be ignored. Despite her best efforts to quell the rising tide of fear, it lingered in the recesses of her mind, a haunting whisper of uncertainty.

Engulfed in a flurry of chores, Kate sought refuge in the mundane tasks of camp life, each action a feeble attempt to distract herself from the relentless thunder of worry. Yet, amidst the hustle and bustle, the absence of Arthur's reassuring presence weighed heavily upon her, a silent void that echoed with unanswered questions.

Yearning for solace, Kate longed to confide in someone who understood. With Sadie and Charles occupied elsewhere, she found herself adrift in a sea of unease, her anxious pacing along the shoreline of the camp a silent testament to her inner turmoil.

Beside her, Lorena mirrored her distress, her restless movements a silent plea for communication. Kate had to hitch her to a tree just shy of her tent, or else she feared Lorena would take off. Chasing, or running from something; Kate did not know. 

As the night stretched on, their shared distress only deepened, casting a shadow over their sleepless vigil. In the quiet darkness, they stood as silent sentinels, bound together by the unspoken fear that lurked just beyond the edge of sight.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

In the embrace of unconsciousness, Arthur drifted through the realm of dreams. The reality of his situation melted away like morning mist beneath the sun's gentle caress. In his coma, he found himself in a fantasy of domestic bliss, woven from the threads of his deepest longings and desires.

He stood within the sturdy confines of a wooden cabin, its walls shielding him from the world outside. With each breath, the scent of crackling firewood mingled with the sweet melody of Kate's voice, a symphony that filled the air with her warmth and comfort.

Looking around he saw tables and chairs worn by the effects of time, a home filled with comfort.

Summoned by the will of his imagination, Kate stood before him with her back turned. A vision of radiant beauty bathed in the golden hour of the sun. Her silhouette cast against the rustic walls, each line and curve a testament to her grace, her beauty. It framed her like a shining halo. In that moment, she was not just a woman, but an angel sent to soothe his weary soul. 

His own corner of personal heaven. Perhaps whatever God watched over him truly was a forgiving one.

With each step forward, Arthur felt the weight of the world fall away, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment that he had waited his whole life for. With arms outstretched, he enveloped her in a tender embrace, the warmth of her body a balm against the chill of his uncertainty.

With whispered words of love and adoration, he pressed his lips to her cheek, each kiss a vow of eternal affection. Her giggle felt like warm honey against his skin. In that fleeting moment, everything else ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them, bound together in his dreams.

Amidst his tender kisses, a symphony of innocence pierced the air—a soft patter of footsteps. Arthur turned, his heart aching, to find a shadow of a child standing in the doorway, a small horse plush nestled in his tiny grasp. Wordlessly, the child reached out, beckoning to be cradled in the safety of Arthur's embrace.

As he lifted the boy into his arms, a sudden chill seeped into his soul. His gaze drifted over the features of the boy's face, and realized it was son Isaac.

No, no this can't be –  He recoiled slightly at the icy feeling that lingered on his skin like a ghostly touch. 

Sorrow and confusion washed over him. He looked back to Kate for some explanation, and he froze. In her place stood another woman, a face from a past life. A life he fought to keep buried. Her apparition draped in the hues of bygone days. 

The sunlight waned, its golden tendrils fading into shadows that enveloped the cabin in an embrace as cold as death itself. And there, amidst the encroaching darkness, Arthur's worst fears took shape—a vision of Eliza.

Arthur felt like a fool to think he could ever be given a chance at redemption. Heaven would always be beyond his reach. 

Eliza's porcelain skin bore the scars of untold suffering, her once-vibrant eyes now veiled in a haunting white mist. A silent scream echoed in the depths of Arthur's soul as he beheld the gaping wound that marred her chest—a stark reminder of the violence that had torn her from this earth. In her last act as a mother to shield her child from the blow; his child.

With a heavy heart and trembling hands, Arthur attempted to retreat from the weight of his sin before him. The grief bearing down upon him like a heavy wet blanket. Cold, damp, and suffocating. 

As he cradled the lifeless form of the child in his arms, he could only utter a prayer—a whispered plea for forgiveness in the face of a tragedy too cruel to bear.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Eliza. I should have been there. I'm sorry. 

Eliza stood before him, undead. Her lips parted in a voiceless plea, a mournful wisp of breath that stirred the stagnant air. With hesitant steps, she approached Arthur, her gaze a haunting orchestra of longing, despair and pain. 

Arthur recoiled from her embrace, his heart aflutter with a tempest of emotions. Panic gnawed at his senses, the oppressive burden of the cabin's walls bearing down upon him like the burden of his guilt. 

Each of her steps echoed through the old cabin; her cabin. Once a warm bustling home, that he only visited in fleeting moments. Avoiding his duty as a father at almost any cost. 

Beneath his trembling feet, the floor lay slick with the crimson tide of regret, a macabre testament to the lives lost in the wake of his relentless pursuit of hatred and vengeance. Amongst the faceless of the fallen, he glimpsed the lifeless forms of Eliza and Isaac, their silent reproach a damning indictment of his failures. And yet, amidst the sea of carnage, Eliza stood undaunted, a haunting reminder of the family he had forsaken and the wounds that could never truly heal.

I was a fool Eliza, a goddamn fool. I know I shoulda been there for you and the boy. And I suffer for it everyday. 

With Eliza drawing near, Arthur found himself cornered, his back pressed against the hard wall. Yet, even in the throes of despair, he clung to Isaac's lifeless form, as if his embrace could breathe warmth back into the cold hands of death.

As Eliza's lips parted, a chilling sound pierced the silence—a twisted echo of Arthur's own voice, a haunting refrain of his darkest truths laid bare. Each word echoed through the chamber of his soul, a relentless cascade of self-condemnation that tore at the fabric of his being.

"I was born sick, unloved, and unwanted. But I am the master of my own torment," his voice whispered, a lamentation of a soul consumed by the flames of its own creation. "A prisoner of my own choosing, condemned to walk the path of the damned. I am just a vessel of violence, a predator in the shadows, thirsting for the blood of innocence."

In that moment, Arthur faced the reflection of his own sins, mirrored in the eyes of the woman he had failed, and the child he had forsaken. And as the weight of his remorse threatened to engulf him, he knew that redemption lay beyond the grasp of a soul consumed by the darkness within.

Arthur shut his eyes tight. Grief flooded him in waves that threatened to escape his eyes in hot tears. This must be a nightmare. He prayed it was only a nightmare. Unsure how he would deal with himself if this was his eternal damnation. Facing his past was a worse fate than death. 

Eliza continued, as he steeled himself, her sound began to grow louder in his ears. 

“I am not worthy of a woman such as Kate. I am a shadow in her light. I am like a cancer that thrives on her warmth. With every touch, I know I will take a piece of her body, mind, and soul with me as I am dragged into the darkest pits of hell. As heaven is not fit to house a man like me, and my love will never be enough.

But I fear I will do it all again anyways.” 

—

Arthur awakens with a groan, the sound distant and detached, ripped from a place within him he cannot recognize. At first, there is no pain, just a dreamlike fog enveloping his senses. Slowly, he peels open his heavy eyelids, feeling the weight of them threatening to fall from his skull. As the darkness begins to clear, he discerns the faint glimmer of light and the outlines of two figures. Blinking against the sliver of sun filtering through the cellar door above the stairs, he realizes where he is.

The voices of men reach his ears, and suddenly, pain floods through him like a relentless tide. A weeping moan escapes his lips as consciousness slowly returns. His vision is blurred, everything tinted red with blood. Each beat of his heart sends a throbbing ache through his head. His toes barely graze the ground beneath him as his wrists are bound above his head, a tight knot cutting off circulation to his arms. Suspended from the ceiling, his left arm remains numb, unable to twitch even his fingertips. Waves of burning sensation radiate from the rifle wound in his shoulder, coursing through his body like white flames.

Arthur strains to look down at himself, his neck protesting against the movement. Panic shrieks through his mind as he takes in the sight. Clad only in his red union suit, the buttons ripped down to his underwear, his stomach laid bare like a gruesome canvas. Yellow and purple bruises mar his skin, mingled with shallow cuts and the cruel imprints of cigarette burns.

Turning his head to the left, he gazes at what remains of his shoulder. His undershirt peeled back, sticky with blood and soot, the fabric singed at the edges. His eyes fall upon a black crater, a mutilating wound that sends waves of pain unlike anything he’s ever known coursing through his body. His side is soaked in his own blood, thick and cold, a chilling testament to the violence inflicted upon him.

Time becomes a blur as he hangs there, suspended in agony. He doesn’t know if it has been hours or days since he was captured. Fear gnaws at him, the weight of his own body threatening to tear his arm from its socket. Agony drowns out any coherent thoughts, burning hot and filling every pore of his body. Arthur mewls pathetically as he tries to move, his feeble attempts to escape futile against the overwhelming pain.

“Fuck, I think the ugly bastards finally awake.” Arthur was yanked from his haze by the voice of the young Irish O’Driscoll. He fixed his eyes on where they sat at a dusty and broken wooden table.

"Shit, and I was just gettin’ to the good part!" Connor's voice dripped with sarcasm as he tossed a leather book onto the table.

Sickened, Arthur felt the urge to curl into a hole and rot. He recognized that old binding anywhere—they were reading his journal. His most personal inner thoughts laid bare for these boys who hunted him, mercilessly beat him, to know the depths of his very soul. Every guilt, shame, love, and loss spilled across those pages. His darkest, most tormented thoughts exposed to the cruel light of day.

Arthur's spirit felt raped in a way it never had before.

Connor rose to his feet, sauntering over. Arthur could only stare at his legs, unable to lift his head to meet his eyes. Suddenly, the man pulled out a knife, and Arthur braced for the sting. But instead, he felt the rope above his wrists being cut. In the next instant, his head collided with the ground as his heavy body collapsed hard. Arthur coughed as the air was knocked from his lungs, his whines sounding wet and pained.

Nolan's voice cut through the air, dripping with snark, "Ya think that Kate girl will show up with the rest of 'em?"

"I'm counting on it. Colm might even let us keep her," came the dark chuckle of his companion. "As a reward."

A guttural noise clawed its way from Arthur's throat, a desperate denial. “Nghh-no.”

A flirtatious whistle pierced the tension as Nolan flipped through pages upon pages of drawings of Kate. "Christ, this fella's obsessed with her. You think he's some kind of pervert?" He tore one of the sketches from the journal, holding it up to the light. "She's a pretty thing. I bet she screams real nice too," he added wickedly before pocketing the paper.

Arthur's heart hammered in his chest. Would Kate arrive with Dutch and the gang? Was she walking into danger? He writhed on the ground, grappling with the dirt beneath him, consumed by the need to warn or stop them.

The conversation between his captors resurfaced in his mind. "When the law shows up, they'll fall right into his trap," they had said. Colm had orchestrated it all.

Images of Kate flashed through his mind, her face contorted in pain. He envisioned the horrors they might inflict upon her, and the realization struck him like a hammer blow. It would be all his fault, his negligence costing yet another innocent woman her life.

With a desperate cry, he attempted to rise from the ground, his belly scraping against the dirt. But before he could make any progress, a thick-heeled boot pinned him down, forcing the air from his lungs in a desperate squeal.

"You have something to say, piggy?" Connor spat, pressing down on Arthur's back.

"I-I'll kill,” he huffed, “y-ou," Arthur managed, his breaths coming in wheezes.

Connor chuckled, dismissing Arthur's threat with a wave of his hand as if he were a child. "What do you wanna do with 'em, Nolan?" he asked, ignoring Arthur's gasping for air.

Nolan rose from his seat, looming over Arthur's broken body. "Colm won't be here till tomorrow. I say we have some fun with 'em. Long as he don't die."

The pressure on Arthur's chest eased, allowing him to suck in a dusty breath that sent him into a fit of coughs. Before he could fully recover, he was yanked up by fistfuls of his hair, eliciting a wince of pain. He tried to grab the man's arm in vain.

From behind, the other man reached around, grabbing Arthur's bound wrists. A scream tore through him as his shattered shoulder was wrenched backwards. His ripped union suit slid off his shoulders, exposing his vulnerable chest. Kneeling before his captors, he felt utterly helpless.

"Mmf-st..stop.." he pleaded, his voice raw and dry.

"Aww, I think piggy's a little thirsty," Nolan taunted, his voice dripping with malice.

His lips were suddenly greeted by the cold, unyielding touch of a bottle. The overpowering scent of whiskey flooded his senses, drowning out any rational thought. Before he could even think to hold his breath, the fiery liquid surged down his throat, choking him.

Gagging and coughing, Arthur attempted to move his head, to resist the forceful flow of alcohol, but it was futile. One hand gripped his hair, holding his head in place, while the other shoved the bottle deeper into his mouth.

With no other choice, Arthur was forced to swallow. He sputtered and struggled to keep up with the relentless stream, the liquor dribbling down the sides of his mouth and soaking his chest. His feeble attempts to resist earned him a punishing blow to the gut.

"Quit wastin' it, I'm bein' generous!" the man boasted callously, releasing his hold on Arthur's head, leaving him to collapse under the weight of the pain. Arthur coughed violently, his nose burning with each harsh exhale, the sound of his hacking mingling with the haunting laughter that filled the room.

"Guess the fella can't handle his booze," the Irishman taunted, bending down to Arthur's level.

Arthur groaned, his body wracked with agony as he struggled to alleviate the pressure on his throbbing shoulder. The pain, coupled with the fiery sensation in his belly, left his chest heaving with each labored breath. Nausea churned in his gut like a relentless storm, threatening to overwhelm him. With a desperate effort, he managed to rise slightly from the ground, the weight on his knees straining his body. As he lurched forward, a warm sensation crept up his throat, signaling the imminent release of his body's revolt.

"Hurl on me and I’ll kill you right now, big fella," the man warned before delivering a punishing blow to Arthur's stomach with his boot.

A strangled groan tore from Arthur's throat, raw and primal, like the cry of a wounded beast. He couldn't control it—his stomach convulsed, expelling its contents onto the filthy floor and down his chest. Acid scorched his throat and nose as he desperately turned his head to avoid drowning in his own vomit.

Violent tremors wracked his body as he fought to stay upright, struggling to draw in breaths amidst the agony. Hot tears and saliva mingled on his chin, his chest heaving with the effort to gulp down air. He wanted to plead for mercy, but he felt utterly powerless already.

The O'Driscolls reacted with disgust, their chorus of revulsion echoing in the dimly lit cellar. One of them approached Arthur, leaning in close to his ear with contempt dripping from his voice. "Filthy pig," he spat, his saliva landing on Arthur's face. "You're going back to sleep."

A heavy hand seized Arthur's neck, forcefully pressing his head into the solid ground, into his own sickening mess. His vision blurred, the world spinning as darkness enveloped him once more.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As the sun dipped on the horizon of the third day, Kate's resolve solidified. She could no longer abide by the passive whispers of concern that lingered unspoken in the shadows. Arthur's absence loomed like a gaping wound, and she refused to tiptoe around it any longer.

Seated alone by the fire, she felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down upon her. The flames flickered, casting dancing light upon her face as her mind whirled with plans. No longer content to wait for answers that may never come, she made a silent vow to look for Arthur herself.

With each passing moment, her determination grew stronger. Nobody in camp seemed to question Arthur’s absence, and it drove Kate mad. Had no one else thought the parley was suspicious? No one questioned Dutch on what happened? There were missing pieces to all of this, and Arthur left the biggest hole in her puzzle. 

With a resolute nod, Kate rose to her feet. She knew she couldn't rely on anyone else for this task. Charles and Sadie were miles away on their own assignments, leaving her to face this alone. Setting her sights on Rhodes, she vowed to start her search at the sheriff station

As Kate turned, she collided with Molly O’Shea, the unexpected impact nearly causing her to stumble backward. "Oh! Sorry, Molly, I didn’t hear you walk over," she apologized quickly, her movements indicating her intention to go around her.

Molly's eyes held an air of unease that mirrored Kate's own for a fleeting moment. Sensing the gravity of the situation, Kate paused, her concern evident in her voice as she spoke. "Is everything okay?"

“I heard Dutch say last night that Arthur was supposed to meet them after the parley,” Molly blurted hastily, her thick Irish accent hushed with urgency. “But he didn’t.”

Kate felt the heat drain from her body as her mind raced to process Molly’s words. She realized with a sinking feeling that it wasn't Dutch who was in danger—it was Arthur.

Struggling to find the right words to convey her gratitude, Kate's mouth went dry as she attempted to speak. Before she could utter a single word, Molly gently grasped Kate's wrist, her touch imbued with a sense of urgency. “I snuck a look at Dutch’s map. The meeting was held between the twin stacks path. Arthur was supposed to be on the slope facing Emerald Ranch,” Molly whispered, her words echoing in Kate's mind as she repeated the location to herself.

"I-I don’t know how to thank you, Molly–" Kate stuttered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Good luck, Kate,” Molly whispered in response, before walking away as if their encounter had been nothing out of the ordinary.

Without another word, Kate hastened toward her horse, Lorena, whose restless movements reflected her own unease. As she mounted her steed, Lorena reared up, pulling at the reins with a sense of urgency. Before Kate could fully settle into the saddle, her mare was already in motion, galloping like a bolt of lightning out of Clemens Point and down the winding path that led to the fateful meeting spot where she and Arthur had first crossed paths.

Molly returned to her seat in the solitude of the empty tent she shared with Dutch. Cooling herself with a paper fan. She had been a silent witness to Kate’s nightly ritual of pacing the shoreline, her silhouette framed by the moonlight reflected off the water. Each night Arthur had not returned Molly felt a pang of empathy. She knew all too well the ache of devotion, mixed with fear. When the one you love vanishes without a trace.

It resonated within her own heart, the longing echoed in her soul. Her thoughts drifted to Dutch, the man she loved dear. Though he had not disappeared from her physically. Each day she felt him slipping away, morphing into a man she did not recognize. A ghost of the person she once knew. She prayed her information had spared Kate from that kind of torment. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Nothing I do is ever good. Nothing I do is ever good enough. 

Time becomes a blur for Arthur, lost in the dark confines of the cellar-turned-prison. Pain surges through him in relentless waves, crashing against the shores of his consciousness like a violent storm.

When he awakens, it's with a sharp intake of breath, his vision swimming in a haze of stars and swirling shades of red and brown. He realizes he's been moved, his captors stringing him up by his ankles while he was lost in silent, dark unconsciousness. His head hangs just a few feet from the ground, blood trickling down his legs once more, the shackles around his ankles digging deep into his flesh under the impossible weight of his own body.

Gazing up at his toes, now swollen and blackened, Arthur feels a sickening dread grip his heart. The blood pounding in his head threatens to burst his eyes from their sockets, forcing him to tightly shut them against the unbearable pressure.

Every inch of his body screams with agony, a symphony of torment orchestrated by his captors' relentless brutality. He feels broken, bruised, numb; yet aflame with searing pain.

Amidst the haze of suffering, distant voices drift in and out of his awareness. Arthur longs to retreat into the comforting embrace of unconsciousness, or perhaps even embrace the release of death, anything to escape the unending torment.

But he is not granted reprieve. Unseen hands assault him, tearing at his clothing and underwear until he is completely exposed to the biting chill of the cellar air. Violated, helpless, he endures their cruel touch, their probing fingers exacerbating his wounds, their blows landing like thunder against his battered form.

Silenced by the agony of his soul, Arthur can only shudder and gasp, his protests drowned out by the symphony of his own suffering.

The cruel banter of his captors cuts through the stale air of the cellar, their words dripping with venomous amusement. "Look at the size of this fella," the Irishman sneers, his tone thick with bitterness. "No wonder that Kate lass is stickin' around. Probably only usin' 'em for his cock."

Their laughter echoes like the cawing of carrion birds, feasting on the remains of a fallen prey. "Well, he's got three holes now," another voice chimes in, laced with malicious glee. "I reckon that mouth of his is soft and warm like her cunt."

Arthur's stomach churns with revulsion and fear as he listens to their degrading remarks, feeling utterly defenseless in the face of their cruelty. The sound of shuffling fabric signals Nolan's approach, his presence looming over Arthur like a shadow in the darkness. His hips suddenly inches from Arthur’s face.

In a moment of desperate reprieve, Arthur's consciousness fades into blackness, a merciful respite from the fear, shame, and agony that threaten to consume him. When he awakens, it's with a choking cough, his own sickness coating his face.

With a trembling hand, he wipes away the vile residue, his body racked with pain and exhaustion. The cellar's frigid air hangs heavy with the stench of vomit and decay, suffocating him further as he struggles to draw breath.

Each inhale is a laborious effort, his lungs rattling with the strain as they gasp for oxygen. With every passing moment, the weight of his battered body grows heavier, his limbs hanging limp and lifeless in the oppressive darkness.

As the cellar door groans open, Arthur stirs from his fitful slumber, the sound of three distinct sets of footsteps descending the stairs sends a chill down his spine.

"Arthur Morgan," a familiar cloying voice, slices through the darkness like a dagger. Arthur winces as the figure steps into the flickering candlelight, casting ominous shadows against the damp stone walls. Unmistakably Colm O'Driscoll.

A wave of dread washes over Arthur, and he recoils instinctively as Colm draws near. "How's that wound treating you?" His words drip with false concern, a mockery of compassion.

Coughing weakly, blood staining his parched lips, Arthur manages to murmur, "c-can’t…fe-feel it any…more," his voice trembling with pain and despair.

Colm leans in, his expression twisted with disdain as he inspects Arthur's festering wound. The skin was turning black and yellow. The putrid odor assaults his senses, and Colm's lip curls in disgust. "You ain't allowed to die yet," he sneers. "I wanna see the look in your eyes when Van der Linde and that so-called family of his gets a bullet to the skull."

Arthur croaks, “D-dutch…is-is he…” His mind whirls with thoughts of Dutch, Hosea, and Kate, their faces blurred by anguish and uncertainty. He struggles to recall why he's here, and if his friends are even still alive. Perhaps they've already fallen into his trap, and he's the lone survivor, kept alive for Colm's sadistic pleasure.

Colm grips Arthur's hair tightly, yanking him closer with a cruel smirk etched upon his ugly scarred face. "Could've saved yourself a lot of pain if you'd worked for me," he taunts. "We could've been partners in crime, making real money together."

Rage surged through Arthur like a wildfire, fueled by a defiance that refused to be extinguished. It was never about the money to him. "I-I'll fu-fucking…k-ill y-you," he spat, the words punctuated by a wad of blood and mucus aimed at Colm's face.

Colm's features contorted with fury as he jerked Arthur's head back, sending him swinging on his shackles. Dazed and nauseous, Arthur felt the impact of a heavy fist against his stomach. A sickening warmth spread down his body, mingling with the stench of blood and vomit. He realized with horror, the fullness of his bladder now emptying uncontrollably, adding another layer of humiliation to his degradation.

Drenched in his own bodily fluids, Arthur trembled with fear. "P-please," he choked out, his voice a desperate plea for mercy. "Just…l-le…let me go—" His words dissolved into sobs, his pride shattered by the harsh reality of his helplessness. He knew he sounded pitiful, weak, but in this moment, all he could do was beg for the slightest glimmer of hope, completely at the mercy of Colm's tenacious grip.

"The way I see it," Colm continued, his voice flowing with disdain, "the law gets Van der Linde, and they forget all about little ole me." He taunted, his filthy fingernails tracing over Arthur's bruised abdomen, descending to the tangled hair below his navel.

Arthur only whimpered in response, his body squirming and contorting under Colm's touch, indifferent to the pain shooting through his ankles. He kicked his feet desperately, not caring if he ripped the flesh. A futile attempt to escape, accompanied by the distant snickers of the other O'Driscolls.

"We grab all of ya, let the law have their fun…then we disappear. Leaving you here to rot in your own shit," Colm continued, his grin sinister as he yanked a fistful of hair, as if trying to tear it from the follicle. Arthur's breath hitched sharply, coughing up more blood onto his lips.

"Ngh..s-stop…please," he pleaded, his voice strained with anguish.

As the fog in his mind began to clear, Arthur realized the gravity of Colm's words. He had been kidnapped not for ransom, but as bait for Dutch and the gang. They would come charging to his rescue, only to fall into a trap orchestrated by Colm, sealing their own fates.

"You're his right hand man, Arthur, oh he would be so mad if he knew what I'm gonna do to you." Colm's laughter echoed through the cellar, cruel and triumphant, as he used his grip on Arthur's hair to spin him wildly. He thrashed in agony, his cries drowned out by the darkness.

Abruptly, Colm halted the motion, leaving Arthur's head spinning with dizziness. In the haze of his vision, he caught sight of Colm retrieving a small knife from his pocket.

“Get m’f-fuck…away fr’m-me!” He mustered, his voice broken like a beaten dog. 

Before he could even brace himself for the inevitable blow, Colm thrust the knife into his belly.

The scream that tore from Arthur's lips was primal, guttural, a symphony of agony that reverberated through the cellar. Like the sound of an animal being burned alive. Breathing heavily through his teeth, the pain engulfed him. Splintering inwards. A relentless torrent that seared his insides with a fiery intensity. Blood and bile rose in his throat, threatening to choke him with their suffocating heat.

Colm stepped back, wiping his hands on his jeans with casual indifference, as if he had just completed the mundane task of skinning an animal. "We'll come wake ya when the party arrives," he spat, his voice laced with contempt. "Make sure ya get a front row seat for the show."

With heavy footsteps, Colm and his companions departed, leaving behind an oppressive silence that enveloped Arthur like a shroud. Alone in the darkness, his sobs mingled with the echo of his labored breathing, his fragile existence sustained only by the stubborn beat of his heart.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

In the waning light, between the towering monoliths of the twin stacks, Kate stood alone, her gaze fixed westward toward Emerald Ranch. The memories of their first meeting still vivid in her mind. Every step forward felt heavy with dread, each breath drawn laden with uncertainty. She braced herself for the task ahead, steeling her resolve to confront the unknown. 

Amidst the barren expanse, an object caught her eye—a solitary figure in the dust. Arthur's hat, a weathered relic of countless battles, lay abandoned upon the ground. Its frayed edges whispered tales of long sunny days on the prairie, and cold rainy evenings as it shielded his face from the oncoming storm. A silent testament to his indomitable spirit.

As she reached out to retrieve the hat, a surge of anguish washed over her. Arthur's absence echoed through the empty landscape, like a gaping void in her heart. Yet the hat remained, a tangible reminder of his presence.

Kate brought the hat to her face, inhaling deeply the familiar scent of pine and musk mingled with campfire smoke. Arthur’s smell. A familiar scent she had begun to associate with home. Tears threatened to blur her vision as she clung to the cherished memento, her heart heavy with worry and longing. It was one piece of himself Arthur would never leave behind, not if he could help it. His gamblers hat was an extension of himself. 

Amidst the intruding darkness, she traced the crimson stains upon the rocky earth, following their trail with a sinking heart. Three sets of tracks emerged from the shadows, leading northward past the stacks—a grim indication of Arthur's fate.

Kate knew at that moment the law didn’t have him. The closest sheriff station was back east. Had he been arrested, news of his capture would be in the paper by now. The gang would have already planned to break him out. Before he would be hanged for his transgressions, his death a spectacle for the crowd. Like his life was nothing more than a circus act. 

Kate was no stranger to the harsh realities of the world, she had once wielded the blade herself, inflicting torment upon any who dared challenge her. If Colm's men had taken Arthur, she knew they would subject him to unspeakable horrors. Time was slipping away, and with each passing moment, his fate was slipping through her fingers.

Climbing back in the saddle she took off, following the tracks as the sun set to the west of her, casting a deep shadow onto the land. Like a bird in graceful flight, its silhouette gliding over the sun, the darkness mirrored its ghostly journey on the earth below.

"I'm coming, Arthur," she whispered, her voice carried away with the evening breeze. "Please, don't give up on me."

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Hours later, Arthur stirred from the depths of sleep, his body an orchestra of aches and throbs. Yet amidst the pain, the surge of adrenaline lent clarity to his thoughts. For the first time in an eternity, his mind emerged from the murky depths of fear and uncertainty, guided by an unseen force, a flicker of determination that refused to be extinguished. An arm of support that gently held his heart, and willed it to keep beating.

In the recesses of his consciousness, Kate's presence loomed large, her tender care a distant memory amidst his current turmoil. He recalled the night she had tended to his wounds, her gentle touch and warm words a soothing balm to his battered soul. Oh, how he yearned to hold her, to envelop her in an embrace and bask in the warmth of her presence.

Her words that night, soft as a whispered prayer, stirred a tempest within him. Regret washed over Arthur like a relentless tide, for not seizing the moment to bare his soul, to taste the sweetness of her lips in that fleeting moment. A vulnerability, veiled by fear, held him captive, yet now he feared the chance might never come again.

"I'm always here if you need a hand," her offer, a mere echo in the vast expanse of their shared moments, resonated deep within his being. Beyond the surface, he understood its true meaning, Kate had shown him time and time again that she was patient and resilient. She had already pledged unwavering loyalty, a vow to stand steadfast by his side. 

With certainty, he envisioned Kate riding alongside Dutch, her fate entwined with theirs, destined for a violent end. He could not bear the thought. It was like barbed wire around his throat. Arthur couldn’t allow that. He was the protector, he was the strong arm. He would shield her from every blow if it ever came to it. 

He would crawl home on his hands and knees if he had to, back to the gang, back to the closest thing he had to family. Back to her. 

In the dim candlelit room, Arthur's senses swam in a haze of crimson. His eyes, heavy as lead, strained against the oppressive darkness. Alone in the cellar, he listened to the distant crackle of a fire and the muffled voices beyond the stone walls. He quickly realized he was alone.

With a groan, he lifted his gaze to his body, bathed in the flickering light. His torn union suit exposed to the chill of the dank air, while the glint of steel protruded from his belly. The knife, a silent tormentor, surrounded by angry, swollen flesh, oozing rivulets of blood like winding red streams.

It was his only chance, a gamble with his own mortality. With a determined resolve, Arthur braced himself and grasped the hilt of the silver dagger. A muffled cry escaped his lips as he wrenched it from his abdomen. A rush of warmth flooded his side, pooling around him in a macabre embrace. As the wine red tide gushed, the world spun around him, threatening to engulf him in an abyss of darkness from which he might never return.

Summoning every ounce of strength, Arthur clenched his teeth and pulled up. With the knife gripped tightly in his good hand, he strained against the weight of his own body, reaching desperately for the lock that bound the shackles to his ankles. Each labored breath expelled blood onto his chest, a stark reminder of his life threatening state.

Years of Dutch’s patient tutelage in lock picking flashed through his mind, a skill honed in moments of leisure now turned to desperate necessity. With a primal cry, Arthur thrust the blade into the lock, his hands trembling with fatigue and adrenaline. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as he wrestled with the unforgiving metal, his fingers numb and unresponsive.

Then, with a sudden, almost miraculous click, the lock yielded to his persistence. The shackles fell away, and Arthur collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving floor, his body trembling with exhaustion. Every fiber of his being screamed for rest, for the sweet embrace of surrender. Yet, even as despair threatened to engulf him, a flicker of determination ignited within his soul. He refused to yield, refused to succumb to the weight of his own despair.

Despite the agony coursing through his body, Arthur mustered the strength to turn himself over, his groan echoing in the dimly lit cellar. The slick floor beneath him bore witness to the blood trail he left in his wake as he reached for his journal and satchel, discarded amidst his own filth.

With determination etched into every line of his beaten weary face, he stretched out his good arm, using the wall for support as he dragged his battered form inch by painstaking inch toward the door. Each movement sent waves of pain rippling through him, threatening to engulf him in darkness. Fueled by an unyielding resolve, he pressed on, driven by an instinctual tug toward freedom. Dragging his knees up each step of the cellar.

He refused to succumb to the pain, pushing himself forward with sheer force of will. Each labored breath threatened to be his last, but he refused to entertain the notion of surrender. This would not be his final chapter, and he would not allow Kate to suffer the same cruel fate. He held out hope that he would see her again, even if it was his final moments he would spare no time in warning her of the threat that loomed just out of reach. Waiting like a snake in the tall grass, ready to strike its unsuspecting victim. 

The fools had left the door unlocked, a small oversight that granted Arthur an opportunity. With a grunt, he pushed against the door, surprised by its lightness. In an instant, he was bathed in the cool embrace of the night air, a welcome respite from the stale confines of the cellar. The night air is fresh and crisp, but like a soothing balm against his weakened lungs. 

The darkness enveloped him in his embrace as he emerged, the stars above his only witness. In the distance, a flickering campfire cast dancing shadows, accompanied by the murmur of many voices. More of Colm's men lingered nearby, their presence a reminder of the danger that lurked. 

Arthur wasted no time, he needed to be quick before they realized he had escaped, frightened by the idea of what they would do to him if they caught him. With caution born of desperation, he lowered himself onto the dew-kissed grass, the sensation offering a fleeting comfort to his battered frame. Every movement was accompanied by a sting of pain as twigs and rocks scraped against his skin, but he persevered, inching his way toward the side of the house.

A sudden scuffle in the dark sent Arthur's heart into a frantic rhythm. He braced himself for danger, muscles tensed for a confrontation that never came. Instead, a soft whinny broke the silence, a familiar sound that stirred a glimmer of hope within him.

Arthur looked up, his vision swirled, but he would recognize that pearl white coat anywhere. Belle. His mare was hitched to a tree just shy of where he had been kept prisoner. With renewed determination, he quickened his pace toward her, each step a struggle against his battered body.

Reaching out to grasp her reins, Arthur was met with unexpected resistance as Belle recoiled, fear evident in her wild eyes. He coaxed her gently, murmuring soothing words as he leaned heavily against the sturdy trunk of the tree. In the dim moonlight, he noticed the dark crimson stains marring her once perfect white fur, a grim reminder of the violence that had unfolded in his absence.

"Oh, my sweet girl… What did they do to you?" Arthur's voice was a tender murmur as he reached out to her, his fingers brushing against her shaken form.  Belle trembled before him, her hind legs quivering like fragile branches in a fierce storm. "Shhh, shh. You're alright now…"

Belle's ears twitched nervously in response, but Arthur knew he couldn't linger. The pain pulsating in his side intensified with each passing moment, and the trail of blood he left behind painted a grim picture of his dwindling durability. Summoning the last shreds of his strength, he untied her reins and hoisted himself into the saddle, his movements slow and labored.

Every motion was agony, every breath a struggle against the darkness threatening to consume him. With great effort, he swung his leg over Belle's back, his body hunched over her pristine mane. Arthur held on tightly, the warmth of her presence offering a faint glimmer of comfort amidst the chaos.

As Belle began to move, Arthur rocked gently in the saddle, his body protesting with each jarring step. But there was no time to dwell on pain or weakness. With a surge of determination fueled by fear and longing for freedom, Belle broke into a gallop, carrying Arthur away from the shadows that had haunted them both.

The rush of wind against his face felt like a bittersweet embrace, a fleeting taste of liberty amidst the suffocating grip of captivity. And as the darkness closed in once more, Arthur surrendered to its embrace, his consciousness slipping away like a fading whisper in the night.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate felt like she was staring down death between its eyes. 

She had spent hours following the trail, a winding path that seemed to vanish and reappear at will. With the setting sun, darkness enveloped the landscape, making it increasingly difficult to discern the tracks from the myriad of others imprinted upon the earth. The prints of three riders merged seamlessly with those of the countless travelers who had passed this way before, creating a labyrinth of confusion.

Despite the growing sense of desperation gnawing at her heart, Kate refused to succumb to despair. With each passing moment, her pulse quickened with the weight of impending dread, the relentless march of time driving her forward. Each minute stretched into an eternity, a torturous reminder of the urgency of her quest.

Undeterred by the encroaching darkness, Kate retraced her steps, her eyes scanning the ground for any trace that might lead her to Arthur's captors. Determination burned within her, a fierce flame that illuminated the path ahead even as shadows threatened to consume her. She knew that she would search until the first light of dawn if necessary, unwilling to abandon her friend to the mercy of his tormentors.

As if guided by a twisted hand of fate, she stumbled upon a vantage point overlooking a serene waterfall. Bathed in the ethereal glow of the moonlight, a sudden glimmer of white caught her eye amidst the darkness, resembling a fleeting star in the night sky. Squinting against the veil of shadows, she discerned a figure sprawled on the ground below.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as she approached on horseback, the air thick with anticipation. Realization dawned, and with a desperate urgency, Kate flung herself from the saddle and rushed to Arthur's side. His body lay crumpled in the dirt, a haunting sight that sent shivers down her spine.

A surge of panic gripped her, rendering her mind blank as she absorbed the gravity of the situation. It was as if she was staring into the abyss of death itself, uncertainty clouding her thoughts like a turbulent storm. With trembling lungs, she dared to wonder: am I too late?

In a sudden moment of awakening, Arthur emitted a low groan, stirring Kate from her daze. With tender hands, she reached down and cradled his battered face, the chill of his skin a stark contrast to her warmth. Once handsome features now bore the brutal marks of violence—black and blue bruises adorned his visage, while deep cuts marred his brows and lips.

“Oh, Arthur,” she murmured softly, her voice a delicate whisper as if afraid to disturb a baby from its fragile slumber. A tremor coursed through her lip, tears welling in her eyes and blurring her sight.

“Arthur,” Repeating his name like a sacred invocation, she sank to her knees in the dirt, wrapping one arm around his torso. Her breath hitched at the sight of the gaping wound carved into his left shoulder, a dark abyss that seemed to swallow the very essence of hope. Gently easing him onto his back, her throat constricted with a wave of anguish as she beheld the extent of his injuries.

His torn undersuit left him exposed to the unforgiving elements, his stomach and chest stained with a mixture of blood and dirt. Bruises, a tapestry of purples and yellows, painted almost every inch of his battered skin. But it was the festering wound in his stomach that seized her attention, a steady bubbling stream of blood served as a grim reminder that she was still running out of time. 

She couldn't fathom how he managed to escape, but in that moment, it didn't matter. Arthur was back in her embrace, and time was their only remaining lifeline.

As Kate attempted to lift him, he winced in agony, his eyes fluttering open. Once a beautiful deep blue, they were now swollen and obscured by blood.

Arthur had shed copious amounts of blood since extracting the small steel knife from his side, his mind teetering on the edge of delirium. Hovering between the realms of existence and oblivion, he questioned the reality before him. When the familiar warmth of Kate's hands caressed his cold, weary face, he entertained the notion that perhaps she had been his guide all along, a psychopomp leading his fractured soul into the unknown.

She spoke to him, but her words were drowned out by a deafening ringing in his ears. In that moment, he felt it might be his final breath, but he found solace in the thought of resting beside her, his last act of devotion to warn her of the impending danger.

"Kate," he managed to rasp, his voice strained, "it’s…it’s a t-trap." With trembling fingers, he reached out to grasp her arm.

Her voice, a soothing melody in the chaos, reached him, "I know, honey, I know," she reassured him, her thumb tracing gentle circles on his cheek.

Arthur's urgency escalated, "Th-they'll k-ill… you," he struggled to rise, his efforts met with a wince of pain, "Dutch, I… I-I have to… warn him." He fought against the agony, his body writhing on the ground in an attempt to compose himself.

"Shh, easy, honey, I'm right here," Kate comforted, her words a balm to his panicked soul, "I'm going to take you home." She knew Dutch wouldn't come for him. She was his only hope.

Tears, warm as summer rain, streamed down her cheeks as Kate beheld him in agonizing pain. She longed to erase the brutal images of his torture etched in her mind, willing to claw her own eyes out to rid herself of the haunting sight. Regret gnawed at her, wishing she had searched for him sooner, trusting her instincts and her faithful mare who sensed the danger from the start. If only she could shield him from suffering, but all she could do was cradle him in her arms and summon the strength to lead him home.

His breaths quickened, lips trembling, cheeks shimmering in the moonlight as tears mingled with blood and grime. Kate pressed her forehead against his, placing a tender kiss on the bridge of his nose. "I'm so sorry, Arthur," she murmured amid her own silent tears. "I promise to bring you home. You're safe now. You're safe," she repeated, a whispered mantra of hope and solace.

The moonlit night felt strangely empty, punctuated only by the distant murmur of the nearby waterfall. With a sharp whistle, Kate commanded Lorena to kneel, bringing her closer to the ground.

Bracing herself, Kate wrapped her arm around Arthur's waist, feeling the weight of his pain with each whimper that escaped his lips. "I've got you, Arthur," she murmured, determination lacing her words. "I won't let go. Just hold on tight to me, alright?"

His labored breaths filled the night air as she maneuvered him into the saddle, settling herself in front of him. The task seemed insurmountable; she needed one hand for Belle's reins, the faithful mare bearing the burden of her own torment. With her free hand, Kate clung to Arthur, his cold, wet form pressing against her skin. He seemed to embody death itself, his scent a sickening mixture of the metallic tang of blood and bodily fluids.

Kate's heart pulsed with the weight of his condition, each beat echoing like a stone sinking into a tranquil pond. His body, cold and broken, found solace in the warmth of Kate's embrace. She was his guiding light, a beacon amidst the darkness that enveloped them. In her arms, he felt a sense of security, akin to a child cradled in the arms of a loving mother.

With his trembling hand clutching her tightly, he whispered her name, “Kate…” his voice a desperate plea for solace, for reassurance, for escape from the torment that surrounded them. Kate could offer nothing but her unwavering presence, her words a gentle murmur of comfort as they embarked on the long journey home.

As Lorena maintained her steady stride, the passage of time stretched before them like an endless expanse. With her hands occupied, Kate placed her trust in her faithful mare, each hoofbeat a testament to their shared urgency.

Alone with her thoughts, engulfed by the fear that Arthur might slip away from her grasp, Kate turned to the only refuge she knew: prayer.

She prayed to her mother for strength, her father for wisdom. With a heavy heart, she sought solace from her siblings, urging them to extend their gentle hands of comfort to both her and Arthur. In the depths of her anguish, Kate's prayers reached out to her husband and daughter, silently imploring for their support and guidance. She longed for their presence to envelop them both, for she needed their reassurance now more than ever.

The ache of losing yet another loved one gnawed at her soul, a pain all too familiar. Kate feared she would not withstand the agony if Arthur were to slip away. The thought of starting anew, of becoming someone else after this loss, felt unbearable. It was as if God had marked her hands since childhood, decreeing that every soul she held dear would be untimely ripped from her embrace.

A poignant memory of River flooded Kate's mind, the day he mourned the loss of his wife and child. Amidst his anguish, he had railed against his God, offering his own soul in exchange for theirs. He had once confided in her that their God watched over them, listening to their pleas. Sometimes it intervened and sometimes it did not. 

In a moment of desperation, Kate cried out into the chilly night air, invoking the ancient tongue River had taught her—a language born of the elements: water, fire, air, and earth. “I will make a deal with you,” she cried. To whom she addressed her plea, she could not say. "If this is our fate," she implored, her voice trembling, "so be it. But spare him and take me instead. I offer myself for his salvation," her words echoed through the silent darkness. "I was given a chance at redemption long ago, but please, give him a chance to seek his own. His heart is pure, I know it."

But of course, nothing replied to her in the night. Save for the whisper of an owl and the rustle of leaves in the wind. "Take my soul for his," she whispered, her voice barely a murmur against the darkness.

Arthur stirred in his slumber beside her, his lips yearning for the kiss he once denied. In his dreams, they met, releasing the longing he dared not express.

The world seemed to unfold anew, reborn in her presence. Her voice, like the gentle morning, whispered into his soul, slowly emerging like the dawn. His heart swelled in her presence, lifting him to new heights, unwilling to look down.

--

AN: This chapter was so hard to write. I had to take frequent breaks just for my own mental health it was breaking my heart. Since Arthur doesn't have TB in this fic, this event will kind of be the turning point for him. His injuries are going to render him disabled and he'll be forced to confront the idea that his days as a gunslinging outlaw are finally at an end. You'll start to see more of that in the upcoming chapters. I wish I could say that the next chapter will be happier, but alas, it's now Kates turn to suffer. But she will do everything she can to save Arthur from his torment. As always thank you so much for reading/commenting/reblogging, this story has become so important to me and I appreciate every single one of you that's supporting me on this journey!

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #ao3 fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x original female character #red dead fandom #arthur morgan x reader #ao3 #red dead redemption community #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 author #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst #lots of angst #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #john marston #arthur morgan rdr2 #eventual smut #eventual romance #eventual happy ending #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x female reader #x original character #x reader

[swiftcast-selene]

✨ pre-dawntrail wol questions! ✨

over on our little server i've been asking a WoL development question a day until dawntrail and it's been well-recieved so far, so after a month of doing it i figured i may as well put them on here~

use them to draft your own posts! send each other asks about them! answer them in the tags! do whatever you want with them, as long as you're having fun!

how is your wol about personal hygiene? are they on top of it? always perfumed and spotless, a little messy sometimes, or do they have to be reminded to groom?

is there a texture your wol absolutely can't stand, either food or feeling-wise? or is it not something they tend to worry about? do they go to great lengths to avoid it or do they just power through it?

what is your wol's evening routine? do they prepare for the next day? do they just wing it? do any weapon or gear upkeep? just pass out because that's tomorrow them's problem?

how does your wol's echo manifest itself? do they see visions as they happen? all at once? delayed? do they get any physical symptoms from it?

does your wol have any siblings? how do they get along with them? is it a good relationship or is it tense?

how does your wol feel about romance? are they a hopeless romantic, waiting for The One, or are they more casual? do they believe in soulmates?

how does your wol feel about their hair? is it important to them? just kind of in the way? who cuts it? do they take good care of it or are they not particularly fussed about it?

how good is your wol at taking care of their armor/clothes? do they mend them themself? pay to gave it fixed? just change it when it gets old?

what's in your wol's travel bag? any trinkets? any vital items they cant go without? do they travel light and figure stuff out on the fly, or do they bring way too much with them? (bonus points if you have images!)

how does your wol sleep? very light? very heavy? do they need a specific item to fall asleep? is it easy for them to fall asleep, or does it take them forever? where do they prefer sleeping?

where was your wol during the last calamity? how did it make them feel? did it change their life, and if yes, for better or for worse?

shadowbringers spoilers: how did they feel being so... up and personal with another calamity? did they feel responsible? scared? did they feel like they owed the first to stop it, or were they more detached from the situation?

for the canon casters: what does casting magic feel like to your wol? how does being "out of mana" feel?

for the physical fighters: how does it feel when they do those impossible moves? the twirls, the jumps? do they supplement with aether? dynamis? is it purely physical or is something else involved?

what would your wol be if they weren't the wol? what would they do as a job or career? would they be happier?

is your wol good at cooking? what's their specialty? what can they never get right no matter how hard they try? what flavour profile are they good at cooking? what do they eat on the road?

out of all the scions, which one is the one your wol gets along with the best? what about the one they get along with the least? why?

how good is your wol with money? do they save up? scrounge around? spend it with wild abandon?

what would you say is your wol's greatest flaw? what part of their personality causes them the most problems?

what is your wol's best quality? what's the thing that they do that really gets stuff done of makes people like them? hard mode: their own perception vs. a friend or partner's perception.

what does your wol do to unwind? any hobbies? reading? sewing? croquet? sitting in a dark room in complete silence?

how good are your wol's table manners, based on their own culture? how does it compare to ishgardian table manners? eorzean? doman? steppe?

what is your wol's inner monologue like? do they refer to themself as "i"? "we"? "you"? is it organized or all over the place? are they kind to themself, or do they chide themself constantly?

what's your wol's relationship with food? do they skip meals or do they eat at specific times religiously? is food important to them, or is it just a means to an end to keep their body going? does food mean something cultural or personal to them?

what is your wol's relationship with their family? are they estranged? still very close? tense?

what does your wol think about lying? is it unacceptable to ever lie, are white lies okay, are they a pathological liar? how do they feel about people who lie to them?

how does your wol feel about allag in general? the tech, the experimenting, the crystal tower? any thoughts on allagan ruins? are they impressed, scared, resentful, neutral?

what sense does your wol most rely on? hearing, touch, sight, smell, taste? maybe even aethersense or dynamis?

how does your wol feel about mind-altering substances? do they partake? do they dislike them? are they neutral? do they take them socially, or anytime, or not at all?

how does your wol feel about children? do they want them? like them from a distance? hate them? no strong feelings?

how does your wol work out? lifting? sports? walking? how often do they do it? is it for fun or to keep up their physique? do they enjoy it?

#wol questions #ffxiv wol #character development #it's mostly self-development questions but a few are lore or relationship related~

[wolfiemcwolferson]

Helllllooooo, I was tagged by @duquesademiel and also @vicsy and I feel a bit deranged but here we go.

1. How many works do you have on ao3

I have 73 fics up on my f1 ao3 account.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 

Please do not judge me for this, god, oh my god - 1,331,441

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I currently write for F1.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

well we can settle down (Maxiel)

I remember when I met you just before September (Carlando)

so take it from me (Carlando)

I will wait for you at the end love (Maxiel)

I feel your body call on me (Piarles)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do not respond to comments and it makes me feel really horribly guilty. To be honest, I did not do it when I first joined the fandom because I was overwhelmed and then I wanted to and it was too long and I think one of the things I want to do is start...responding to comments...I just never know what to say.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I think it's this Carlando. But you just have to read it. Trust me.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I don't think I can answer that because I am a certified happy ending writer. I have a few fics that I desperately want to write that I won't because they're not happy endings, but if I have to pick...it's got to be the Blue Neighbourhood series. That's a complete circle ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

no one has ever left me explicit hate on my fics. some of y'all get wild in my inbox which is why I don't have anon on

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes. Uh. I don't know how to answer that.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not a big fan of crossovers <- Vicsy is right

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No and I made a Wattpad account after Briony had one of her Maxiel fics posted to there for the second time and now I religiously check because I am deranged

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge - wait, once Sol said for exam practice she was translating bits of my fic and I had a little cry about it but it's not posted anywhere.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

HAVE I EVER. I genuinely have too many to individually tag, but I have written with @river-ocean in the past and I am currently posting the Alphabet Dating Season fic with @chaesonghwas and @duquesademiel - and we all know that Sol and I are always always always writing fic together. I have something in the works with someone else and I think it's a secret, so I won't say anything about that. And then @miamierre and I are literally putting the finishing touches on the promised insane fic we cooked up together and I cannot wait for you all to see it. This is the year of collabs for me and I'm loving it tbh

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Despite the stats on my fics

Piarles

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have a fic for an old fandom that is languishing away and I feel guilty about it because it was good

16. What are your writing strengths?

I write fast.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I suffer from "can't shut up" and sometimes my fics don't need to be a long fic.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I am so so so nervous about it. everything that I write I double and triple check and I still get it wrong a lot of the time. I think it's fine and people should do whatever the fuck they want.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter because of course

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

This answer literally changes every single day. Today it's the sugarbaby fic that I wrote for Phoebe because I am very very proud of that fic and I think if you hold it against the stuff I was writing two years ago, you really see how far I've come as a writer.

Everyone tagged in this that hasn't already done it should do it, but I'm also going to tag @gaynfl

#tag thingy

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Bingqiu ponies (Happy Birthday @Piosplayhouse!)

#poorly drawn svsss #svsss #luo binghe #shen qingqiu #equineswap au #They live in the same universe: I'm making it canon right now #I do think there are probably better horse breeds to assign these two #but as far as my little PD-SVSSS guys go - I think these fit alright. #Arabian for the gracefulness and elegance. Beautiful horse (all horses are beautiful so its a close race) #(and the missing rib. Cause....you know....) #Didn't quite get the head shape right but there is always next time. #Shetland binghe for the handsome little guy energy. I personally think a non silly little guy LBH would be a shire horse. #This is 100% an open invitation to debate and discuss in the comments and tags btw. I am no expert on SV or horses. #Also HI PIO! If you're reading this I just want to say thank you a million times over for everything. #You've been so kind and supportive and I think you are a brilliant and hilarious person. The tides of the yaoi wars turned when you enliste #I hope this next year for you brings wonderful things. You're a brilliant force in this world and we all are drawn to your light. #Happiest of birthdays to you B*)

[viperwhispered]

Too Hard

Woop part 2 of the trip inside Jamil's head. Part 1 here.

The next time Jamil caught sight of you on campus, his first instinct was to turn around on his heel.

What a stupid thought to have because of you.

Besides, that would only make him more conspicuous, not less.

So, when your eyes met his, Jamil gave you a short nod in greeting. He would’ve left it at that and kept on his way, had you not walked up to him.

“Hi Jamil! How’s it going?” you said with that impossibly disarming smile of yours.

Why was it so difficult to look at you like he normally would? You had no right to make him feel so stiff, so unnatural.

On autopilot, Jamil exchanged a few pleasantries with you - those lessons from his parents had been instilled too deep in him for him to falter too badly in a simple exchange such as this. Still, Jamil quickly excused himself by telling you he still had to find Kalim before his next class.

Jamil didn’t miss the way your smile faltered. Had you hoped to get something out of him?

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you two later, then.”

Something about that irked him, though Jamil did not allow himself to dwell on it further.

His heart really had no business still racing as it did when he walked away, unaware of the frown on his face.

Just act normal. That’s all he needed to do.

After all, he had no time for dwelling in silly fancies.

If Jamil had been acutely aware of you before, it only seemed to worsen now that he was making a conscious effort to not act any differently with you. In fact, the harder he tried to keep you out, the more you invaded his thoughts, unsettling him.

The most innocuous words from you looped in his mind, and even the simplest actions caught his eye. For goodness's sake, he’d found himself staring at you while you were queueing up in the cafeteria the other day, not even doing anything other than standing around and looking bored!

For once, Jamil found himself grateful for all his duties. At least they provided him with something else to occupy himself with.

After all, if he was busy enough, it was difficult to think about those bright eyes of yours, your sweet laugh, or the way you bit your lip while thinking.

Still, sometimes it felt like no matter which way he turned, you were there, ready to throw him off-kilter. Not like it was his fault that often the most convenient route to class intersected with your daily routines. Or that your face seemed to jump out from any crowd, catching his attention.

Which certainly did not help his basketball performance. Jamil certainly did not recall you having such an interest in sports before, yet suddenly you were always there, distracting him. What had changed?

Could you possibly-

Jamil scoffed to himself, forcing his thoughts back on track for the nth time that day.

He picked up the tray of food and started taking it to Kalim. After dinner, he’d need to help Kalim with his homework, there were some housewarden tasks that would need dealing with, not to mention the preparations for the next-

Jamil froze in his tracks.

The voice he heard was quiet, but it was unmistakably you.

Really, it should not have come as such a surprise to him. You had become a rather frequent visitor to Scarabia, and Kalim often invited you to stay for meals. In fact, Jamil had started planning the dorm’s meal prep with your tastes and dietary restrictions in mind, just in case.

Jamil rounded the corner with strange exhilaration, his heart fluttering needlessly.

Yet, his mood evaporated when he saw you.

Why did you stop talking and look so guilty as soon as you caught sight of Jamil?

Jamil knew that look you gave to Kalim, had used it himself a thousand times. The one telling Kalim to keep quiet about something.

What could there possibly be that you would be comfortable sharing with Kalim, but not with him? That would give Kalim reason to sit so close to you, a comforting hand on your shoulder?

Jamil's mind raced with possibilities, yet could not settle for any single explanation.

He’d have to ask Kalim about it later.

Jamil gave you a short, polite greeting, his eyes lingering on you in an attempt to read what you were hiding.

“If I’d known you were coming over, I would’ve prepared something for you to eat as well,” Jamil said, already thinking about which parts of the dorm’s dinner to spruce up for you.

“Oh, no need, just figured I’d pop by. I’ll get out of your hair soon enough,” you said, something sheepish about your expression.

As expected, Kalim asked you to stay and dine with them, and with just a bit more persuasion you agreed - though not before telling Jamil that he should join you too and have himself a breather.

And since Kalim agreed with you, Jamil soon found himself sharing a meal with you and Kalim. Yet, even as he sat down with the food, his mind raced.

Had you been getting particularly close to Kalim lately? But surely Jamil would’ve noticed such a thing. Maybe someone from the dorm had been giving you trouble? But if that was the case, then surely you could let Jamil know about it, too. Unless for some reason you did not want to? But if it was something that concerned Kalim, then sooner or later it was bound to concern Jamil, too.

All the while, Kalim was talking to you about this and that, the latest topic being the animals kept on the Asim estate.

“I’ve got some pictures, let me show you!” Kalim said with an excited grin.

Only, a thorough patting of his pockets and a look around confirmed that Kalim’s phone was nowhere to be seen.

Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose. Where had Kalim left it this time?

Before Jamil even had the chance to say that he would handle it, Kalim sprinted off. Jamil hesitated for a moment, automatically halfway up from his seat, before he decided that leaving a guest unattended would be a worse offense than not helping out his master.

Jamil slumped back down with a sigh, mentally tracing the path Kalim took today, trying to recall the last time he saw Kalim handle his phone.

“Breathe. He’ll manage,” you said. There was the faintest of smiles on your lips, and Jamil could not decide if it was knowing or amused. Perhaps both.

Somehow, despite his frustration, Jamil’s own lips wanted to curl up too.

“Hmm. Maybe he will.”

Sure, Jamil could’ve called Kalim’s phone, to make it easier to find, but it was not that urgent, was it?

Jamil took another bite of his food, keeping an eye on you from the corner of his eye.

How was his mind so empty and so buzzing at the same time?

“You know-”

“So-”

You looked at each other, both just as surprised that the other had spoken up at the same time.

Even your surprised look was so-

“You first,” Jamil said. The way you bit your lip... Jamil had to raise a cup to his lips, slowly sipping his drink.

“Just… Feels like it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you be still, you know. Or exchanged more than two words with you,” you said. You were attempting a light, joking tone, yet it was quite clear there was more to it.

“You say that like it would be unusual for me to be busy.”

He was not prepared for the way your soft sigh tugged at his heartstrings.

“No. It is not.”

You were both quiet after, poking at your meals. Normally, Jamil would’ve cherished such a moment of peace, yet this particular silence between you two was decidedly awkward.

Where was your usual chatter? Why weren’t you looking at him like you usually did?

“If you’re worried about me, don’t. I’m fine,” Jamil said, some softness creeping into his tone despite his best intentions.

“That's what Kalim said too,” you said. Yet the way you looked at Jamil made it clear you were still skeptical.

Wait.

Had you clammed up earlier because it had been Jamil you had been talking about with Kalim? That Kalim had comforted you about?

The thought twisted his stomach into knots.

Eta: you can find part 3 here. Hasdhfsdf the way I fought with that last scene I swear. I don't even want to know how many versions I went through, trying to figure out how to say what I wanted without rubbing it into your face or making it too veiled. The joys of trying to convey things through a limited pov. Hopefully it came out reasonably balanced in the end. Rip to all those sentences that were lovely on their own but didn’t work for the whole. Hopefully I can rehome y’all one day. I do have thoughts for part 3 and part x (might be some chapters between those two as well, who knows at this point), so maybe we'll see those at some point, too. Tag list: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist @twstgo If you'd like to be tagged for future works, let me know! (Just be aware that sometimes I do also write nsfw, though you can certainly ask to be tagged only for particular kinds of works.)

#twisted wonderland #jamil viper #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #ner writes #jamil definitely knows how to deal with his feels #also writing this is making me wonder how aware jamil is of his inner versus outer life #like he’s very aware of how he comes across because that’s what he’s been told to watch out for #but how well has he truly learned to understand himself and his own feelings wants etc? #(I mean as you can tell I’m assuming not very well) #originally this went to more of a “jamil hears just the wrong part of the conversation” route but #a) I kinda hate that trope especially when it’s dragged on beyond belief and #b) Kalim maybe doesn’t want to spill anyone’s secrets but he really is such an open book especially with Jamil so #also it’s not like jamil needs the extra help to catastrophize he already does that well enough on his own 🙃 #tho then I went a little too far in the other direction and had to pull back #but let's just hope I didn't edit this to death by now #also also: since I seem to have a bit of a naming theme going on for this series #if I were to be the sort to go for the angst route what part would definitely be titled Too Late or something along those lines #also x3 but loved folks commenting on that part about reader being inoffensive in the first part #I certainly had fun writing that line #(and in general extra love to everyone who leaves comments on tags replies wherever always great to read those) #(and in general chat with y'all)

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Trigun Thoughts Vol. 1 Pt. 2

So now that I've finished with volume 1, I just wanted to write down a couple thoughts I've had and neat things to point out so far

When I was watching Stampede, I took note of a few kind of textbook avoidant behaviours Vash engages in, and lo and behold, here he is in the manga displaying even more of them. I'll list out a few here.

In order, we have:

Casually asking for a time limit on the interaction (ie. "How long do I have to keep this up before I can leave?")

Attempting to lose people in a crowd

Leaving without saying anything (and as a bonus, dreading being recognized in public)

Over-indulging or over-involving oneself in social events to create a viable excuse to leave suddenly (in this case, he uses alcohol as a reason to "pass out")

Sleeping to avoid unwanted conversation

Escaping to the bathroom to get away for a bit (and also to grumble about it haha)

Playing off sincere reactions by deliberately allowing them to be misinterpreted to avoid personal questions

It's really obvious, even this early in the manga, that Vash is intentionally avoiding prolonged interaction with people, and only involving himself in situations by necessity. He doesn't like attention on himself - the only reason he intentionally draws it is to divert it away from others.

The reason for this is a bit muddy though. It does seem that Vash doesn't particularly enjoy being caught up in drama, and it is also very likely he wishes to get in and out of places as quickly as possible to avoid them getting caught up in his drama too. It may even be that he finds prolonged socializing kind of tiring; that he needs a certain amount of time to himself.

But then there's also this bit, shortly after the celebration, where he pretends to pass out.

This brings in a bit of a guilt aspect to it. It likely has to do with July, or maybe it's due to something else (at this point, we can't say), but I think it's notable that Vash cuts things off shortly before they become intimate. He can play along to make others happy and to share in their joy for a bit, but the second things get too personal or focused on him, he will quietly slip away. Now this is specifically an instance of physical intimacy, but I think it'd probably hold for emotional intimacy as well, given the continuous avoidance and misdirection he does to prevent too many questions.

I made some commentary on Stampede Vash's self-punishing behaviours - specifically, the way he denies himself food. I don't want to get too into it because I don't know if everyone reading this has seen Stampede, but food is framed as something to be shared in the show - so, denying himself food is denying himself the right to share with others, which is denying himself belonging, which is denying himself any semblance of intimacy. (It means other things too, as food-sharing is associated with Rem, but I don't want to get too into it here.)

Vash in the manga doesn't seem to have the same issues with eating, but this is a similar premise - he's denying himself intimacy out of a sense of not being deserving of it.

So, then, there are probably many interwoven reasons for Vash's avoidance - he's sick of the chaos that follows him around, he doesn't want others getting hurt, he gets tired from having to "play it up" all the time, and he seems to also feel that he doesn't deserve that closeness. I'm intrigued to see how Vash's avoidance will be tackled going forward (I'm assuming it will?), and I suspect, more than there being one right reason for it, that all these reasons are actually true to an extent.

On a completely different note, this panel here is the biggest mood. I feel it in my bones.

#me looking at vash's avoidant strategies: ha ha ha. i do that. #me: ...wait. no. that's bad. #meryl says 'vash stop getting into situations' and vash says 'i am trying to get OUT of the situations! i don't want to be here either!!!' #i do think there's a lot of... exhaustion to his character we don't see as much with stampede vash. manga vash looks TIRED man. #it makes sense. we know vash isn't... happy. to say the least. #playing it up all the time when you are not happy - i can tell you any social interaction becomes flat out exhausting #you're always acting. you feel like you have to be so careful with what you say. it's far less draining to just leave the room. #trigun #trigunbookclub #vash the stampede #trigun meta #storyrambles #if i'm just saying what is incredibly obvious or repeating what others have already said i'm sorry. #once i'm caught up i'll follow the book club tag and read what others have written!

[aurosoulart]

one of the things I wasn't prepared for as a trans person in a big industry was the absolutely OVERWHELMING emotions around being accepted for who I am. ;__; some highlights from the past couple months:

a prominent speaker at a UK media company showing my work to his son, casually saying: "Do you like this picture? Ewan drew it." I've never spoken to this man, but he respects me enough to not only show my work to his child - but to future students as well. these kids are going to grow up knowing the work of a publicly trans artist, and with any luck it will be normal to them.

Tilt Five publicly replying to my TDOV post with THIS, from their official corporate account.

Tilt Five also featuring me in a blog post on their website, and using they/them pronouns!!!!

and even more Tilt Five positivity: being INVITED TO DEMO IN-PERSON AT GDC FOR HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE. I'm in this picture but you can barely see me because of the crowd. again, I'm visibly trans here - long hair, stubble, voice deepened by testosterone... and it was a non-issue.

and lastly: not only being able to publicly fundraise for LGBTQ+ causes like the Club Q healing fund without fear, but actually receiving support & donations from my employer while I do so. technically, I get PAID to fundraise as long as I use Figmin XR, like with Cover The World With Flowers!

and that's just a handful of examples!!! there was also the whole getting accepted into AR House thing (where I'm one of MULTIPLE trans people in the community), and then PERFORMING LIVE at the Marriott HQ, and then my art making it onto Adam Savage's youtube channel???!?!

I keep saying this, but I legitimately don't have words for the level of gratitude I feel. I've had other trans folks reach out and say that my visibility gives them courage, which makes me want to fight even harder to show that trans joy is REAL and POSSIBLE and that there is still so much love, despite everything.

I don't want to take for granted that it is still very much radical to just exist publicly as a trans person - and even more radical to exist publicly as a HAPPY trans person. I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared being in this position, but at least I know I'm not alone. there are still so many good people fighting for us.

#auropost #lgbtq #lgbt #trans #trans pride #trans joy #trans positivity #idk what else to tag this as i'm just feelin Feels yknow #thank you if you've read this far it means a lot to me #i've been wanting to make this post for awhile but kept getting overwhelmed thinking about it #but the news about what's happening in florida and also like. other red states and anti-trans legislation #just totally took me out last week #so i wanted to try and put some good out there to fight how hopeless it made me feel #things hurt but there's still love. there's always love!!!!!!!

[arainmorn-art]

Deciphering, pages 70-73 [Previous page]  [Masterpost]  [Next page] Oh wow, bright colors are back! And look what we have here... Uh-uh. I think someone blurted a little yet important thing. It might even boost someone's confidence.

Come one, Phoenix, get yourself together. Looks like this silver-haired dork is so awkward and shy in reality nothing will happen without you taking action. I wanted to post this episode in one pack as it might not be funny being posted page by page :) But I think I can do and post a page a week now. At least I'll try ^^'

Insta - https://www.instagram.com/arainmorn/

DeviantArt - https://www.deviantart.com/arainmorn/gallery

Twitter - https://twitter.com/ArainMorn_art

VK - https://vk.com/arainmorn

#guys you are so gay #you shy stupid heads #I mean it #in a loving way #come on Phoenix #bring your disaster bi energy here! #gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay #should i even call it yaoi? #this stuff is so far from anime #I doubt AA fandom will even recognise these dudes without reading the tags #I've always been horrible in anime style #gay #ace attorney #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #deciphering ace attorney #narumitsu #wrightworth #ace attorney comic #webcomic #ace attorney miles edgeworth #ace attorney phoenix wright #naruhodo ryuichi #mitsurugi reiji #gyakuten saiban

[twistedappletree]

Thinking about Lan Sizhui teaching Jin Ling how to play guqin.

Thinking about Jin Ling absolutely bored to tears by the fundamentals until he hears how beautifully Lan Sizhui plays and suddenly takes an interest (in the guqin, definitely the guqin, he’s interested in the guqin only, okay??)

Thinking about Jin Ling practicing outside of classes because he wants to impress Lan Sizhui by how much he’s improved and wants to make him proud and wants to see his face light up with a smile—I mean, what? No no no, he just wants to show initiative to learn, that’s all there is to it, nothing more. Nothing at all.

Thinking about Lan Sizhui finding Jin Ling asleep on his guqin after a night of wearing himself out with extra practice and gently waking him up to safely escort him back to his room so he doesn’t get caught by their seniors. Meanwhile, Jin Ling sleepily leans against him on the walk back to his room because it’s normal, he’s just tired, it’s obviously normal because Lan Sizhui slips his hand into his and smiles and Jin Ling’s heart feels like it’s on fire. Oh no.

Thinking about Jin Ling opening up to Lan Sizhui about his nightmares from all the trauma he’s endured and Lan Sizhui staying to play guqin for him until he falls asleep, each note chasing away every bad dream that tries to disturb him.

Thinking about them practicing guqin alone together the next day. And the day after. And the day after that—and they really are practicing but it’s a little hard to focus when Lan Sizhui keeps putting his hands over Jin Ling’s to move them to the correct strings, and Jin Ling’s face is a breath away from Lan Sizhui’s every time he leans over to help him.

It’s just guqin practice, that’s all there is to it, perfectly normal. 🩵💛

#zhuiling #blorbo thoughts on the morning bc their tags are being filled with boring discourse again and i need something cute and fun 😭 #ONLY tagging as zhuiling too since main tags always attract fanon-obsessed antis for some reason LOL #anyway #this is a v aspec activity too bc JL definitely would want to learn and become the best he can possibly be at anything really #and LSZ definitely would want to teach and be an effective teacher #also #JC asking JL what he’s learned so far and JL is like ‘um…. uh….. um if you pluck the string by the thingy it…. does a thing???’ #he’s learned stuff for sure it’s just hard to think after being alone with your crush aishajhd go easy on him JC lmaooo #apple babble 🍎 #also guys reminder to read my faq and blacklist zhuiling tag if it bothers you #I don’t waste time fighting people about fictional characters on the internet 🤷‍♀️ #this is my space and I’ll post whatever I want thanksssss 🩵💛🩵💛 #I actually already wrote a lot of this into a fic ahahaHAHA #it’s the companion fic to the manor fic tho so it’ll be a hot minute before it’s posted

[doodleodds]

royalty & fairy tale au’s are meant to be mixed and u can’t change my mind

Late shuake week 2022 day 3 - Royalty AU

#shuakeweek2022 #akechi goro #kurusu akira #I JUST REALLY LOVE SLEEPING BEAUTY OK #or well. i love the idea of 'sleeping curses.' idk why! they've always fascinated me #i used to be obsessed with aurora and snow white for that reason #and so here i am! as always! projecting this interest of mine onto my favorite characters :) #also for reference because i just realized how weird it reads: goro's gonna be in the tallest tower when he's cursed #that's why akira's got a reason to climb it. so. yeah #also in case you were wondering why i said 'see you tomorrow with more art' and then proceeded not to post for.....four days: #1) work decided that i'm going to be doing more hours so i now have very little free time; #2) i decided to actually try my hand at coloring again like an IDIOT and now here we are. sigh. coloring is hard #i was trying to hard not to just overdose on comic dots again lol & it resulted in this nonsense. me and my one very textured stone wall #ANYWAY lmao even though i missed like. every single day of akeshu week so far i'm still gonna be doing the prompts #just at my own pace! so. hopefully expect more art. soon. ish. hopefully not with another uhhh 2 month gap like last year lol #also quick fun fact since you made it this far in my tags! that second page originally wasn't supposed to be there! #i drew sleeping goro just cause i could and i was just gonna stick him under a read more but then i got attached lmao #and now he's in the main post! :D yayyyyyy goro #ANYWAY that was super long. thanks for reading & i hope u have a lovely day!!!!

[yuckydraws]

(Click for better quality)

Healing & Growth

(gif made by my friend @robanilla-arts is below - slight warning for flashing! Thanks again, Rob!)

#if you feel like reading it - I'm gonna ramble in the tags. #Don't really feel like having it attached to the post for forever... cause what if i just wanna reblog some fairysona art?? #anyways #this year sucked a lot. in a lot of ways. but im grateful for it. #healing is stupidly hard and annoyingly enough? not linear in the slightest. Yet infuriatingly - it is worth it. #I am far from done with healing. I've barely scratched the surface. #but im learning and connecting with myself along the way. #The biggest step I've taken this year is working on my people pleasing ways. it's a bad habit birthed from a lot of different traumas. #but it no longer rules my life. #I am not passive anymore - and surprise! that doesn't make me a horrible or evil person. #my kindness is no longer a weakness. its still a part of me and always will be. i won't let go of it. #but it is no longer to a fault #there are people undeserving of my kindness... i realize that now. I know what i will and will not put up with in every kind of relationshi #im still learning and exploring - and i've said a lot of goodbyes this year. I'm sure i will say more. #but that's okay. #some relationships are forever - some serve you for a while and teach you a lesson when they end. #and some relationships stick around and don't *have* to have a deeper connection #and that's also okay. #I didn't think I'd make it through this year in all honesty. I was very close to ending it all on multiple occasions. #But. for what it's worth - as of now im glad im here. #i will continue to struggle and have my hard times. im not naive enough to think depression just goes away. #but im okay for now and im moving forward. #there will be pauses and abrupt stops and likely some good ol' rotting involved. but when i can - ill be moving forward. #i will not speak a word of 2024 because no matter what it will have it's ups and downs. #but i will continue to keep working on myself. and that's all anyone can do in this weird life. #if you made it through all of that... uhhhh wow you got a crush on me or smth? /j/j/j/j #but fr - if you read this far... thank you. i hope you're faring well and that you have a happy celebration tonight. #sleep well and dream well when it comes to you #yucky draws #my art

[napping-sapphic]

girl help they’re jump scaring me with shirtless men pictures on my posts about women

#basically just got attacked #always kinda weird when i see all my lesbian posts get associated with peoples fictional men #like hmmm not quite!! #but it happens and it’s not like most people are seeing some of my posts with the original tags so🤷‍♀️ #plus they’re just having fun so i can’t be THAT bothered by it #though i do wish they would at least put their fictional men in shirts first lol #people who put their sapphic ships under my posts i owe you my life #im kissing you directly on the mouth #understood the assignment frfr #if anyone read this far: i am curious though! #since i always feel a little bad about being bothered by it #but does it irk yall at all when or if people add their men to your sapphic posts??? #or is that just me being picky??