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gr1mstar · 3 months

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Timeless lover

notes: i don’t know why but tumblr is just annoying. when i try to edit things they disappear and just… the algorithm is shit. i thought i’m shadowbanned but i don’t think so anymore. whatever, i hope things get better.

content: sukuna ryoman x f!reader, reincarnation, past lovers, curse words (not a lot of them), sfw, human sukuna (from that time when he was actually human), flashbacks, lovers to strangers, mentions of death, sick reader (in the past), sorcerer reader (present time), sukuna has sentiments?, sukuna is soft for reader, past sukuna looks kinda like itadori yuji, not the same tho, but very similar, mention of pills, slightly an au because sukuna will never be this nice, reader is older than yuji but sukuna is older? that makes sense? mentions of blood.

word count: 1.9k

i also have an official masterlist, so check it out here

also now we have a part 2 - here

all your life you felt a very strong sensation of deja vu that you could not explain. you tried meditation, yoga, different activities you thought you were never able to do - but the feeling was still there. so you had to live with it, even though it bugged you every day.

“remember me, because i will never stop searching for you.”

after you discovered you were a jujutsu sorcerer a few years back, you thought that all the things finally were in their place, but you were wrong. after you discovered the world of curses, you started having dreams.

"nightmares" you would tell other people when they asked, but for you, they were never nightmares. a nightmare was supposed to describe an ugly monster, someone evil with blood thirst, so why were you dreaming about a charming man with a beautiful smile and enchanting red eyes?

at first, these dreams were strange, short, and out of context, but then they started to take shape, lasting longer, and having a coherent narrative thread. but you still haven't managed to figure out who that man was. it was strange really, dreaming about someone you hadn’t even met before. you felt a connection with him, your heart telling you that you have to be close to him, but your mind was telling you to run.

you thought you were going crazy at some point. you remembered every single detail from every single dream, but deep down you enjoyed your little “nightmares”, because unconsciously you were waiting for your man with red eyes. you were waiting for him to come back to you, even though you never met him.

they were different every time, the dreams. but one thing was the same in all of them.

him.

the eyes that looked at you lovingly, his soft voice when he was speaking with you, a hand over your waist just to keep you close. you never knew his real name, always calling him nicknames and him calling you ‘princess’.

“kuna, come here!” you shouted, making a hand gesture at the man. he smiled when looking at you, making his way over.

he took a seat beside you, under the cherry blossom tree. the spring season just started and the scenery looked breathtaking. blue clear sky, pink petals, and red, beautiful eyes.

“why are you here so early, princess? you were supposed to rest,” he stated, his hand making his way to your hand, playing with your delicate fingers. you could see he was concerned.

but why? you did not remember. that was the moment you woke up and that was all you recalled. but now, every time you saw a cherry blossom tree you thought about the sweet dream you had.

“kuna, you think we will be together forever?” you recalled telling him one day when the two of you were cuddling under the well-known tree. he was reading a book with one hand, the other playing with your hair.

“i’m sure, princess, that we will. i’ll make sure of that” was his reply, smiling sweetly at you.

“they don’t give me that much time, though.”

you were slowly dying, or better said, your dream version was. the few dreams you had about this were very sad and painful, a strong feeling of recognition being present in your gut.

“when i’m no more, please take good care of yourself.”

the dreams started being more unsettling, more dark, and very apathetic. you started taking pills just to be able to sleep a few hours a day, but after some time you stopped taking them, not working anymore.

and so when gojo satoru asked for your help regarding a cursed object, you agreed.

‘maybe working hard on this boring thing will make me sleepy enough.’ you thought on your way to tokyo, ready to help the handsome sorcerer who proposed the mission. it was not your cup of tea, but knowing him, he would never shut up about that and in the end, you would still help him.

“you remember the first time we met?” he asked, taking a small piece of your hair in his hands, and proceeding to kiss it a moment after.

“you mean the time when you almost killed me?”

“fuck, you know i regret that princess.” he hissed, leaning forward to brush a flower petal that was stuck in your hair clip. “just pretend that was not the first time we met.” he continued, looking away.

you giggled softly, taking his big hands into your cold ones. it was summer now, but you were getting colder as the days went by. you lover was concerned, but he had enough hope that a miracle would happen and make you healthy again.

you never believed in hope.

“how can i do that, my love? that was the time i fell in love with you.” was your response, now your turn to kiss his knuckles.

“i still find myself asking how such a wonderful person as you fell in love with a crazy and broken person like me.” the red-eyed stranger muttered, letting his head rest on yours.

“maybe because i’m too, crazy and broken.”

as you walked your way to jujutsu high, a school that took you under their wing to teach you how to control your power, memories started flowing inside of your head. unfortunately, you had to move right after graduating and never had the time to stay in touch with your childhood friends: shoko, satoru, and… suguru.

you felt bad for what happened because you weren’t there for them and chose to leave them behind when they needed someone to cry to. you would never forgive yourself for that.

“yo, [name]. long time no see.” a white hair shouted in your direction.

“indeed, gojo. i would say i missed your crackhead ass, but i would be lying,” you responded to your long friend, making your way to him to hug him. letting his infinity down, he took you into his arms, spinning you a few times,

“relentless as usual, it's good to know that you haven't changed at all” he added, putting your weight down back on the drown. “still having problems with sleep?”

“yeah. stopped taking the pills too, made the dreams worse.”

“tell shoko that, she started having the same problem.” was his response, but he continued, never letting you adventuring further into the conversation. “let’s go to yaga, i’m sure he is waiting for us. also, you need to meet megumi, he heard a lot about you.”

“i hope good things-” you asked, but seeing gojo’s face making a grin you let out an annoyed sigh, “satoru!”

“good things, very good things. the only thing i told him was that you were in love with sakura flowers.” he laughed.

“you look so funny, ‘kuna” you giggled, eyeing the handsome man in front of you.

“you and your damn flowers, my love. when did you have time for this?” ‘kuna asked, taking his flower crown from his head and putting it on his lap.

“last night. i thought about your pretty pinkish hair and how the sakura flowers would look through it.” was your answer, making your way to steal a kiss from him.

”i wish i could look at this every day and night.” you continued, looking at his frame with admiration and affection.

“be my wife”

“what?”

“be my wife. fuck it, no. be my queen,” he repeated himself, placing the flower crown that stood on his lap onto your hair. he made you speechless. his what?

the high school was packed with kids, remembering you about your childhood before becoming a full-time sorcerer. you and megumi had the task to identify where the cursed object was and bring it back to the principal. simple as that, right?

“fucking hell, where the fuck is this thing?”

it was not simple. not at all. you spent almost all day looking for what? a finger? you regretted coming back to tokyo now.

“cheer up. we will find it.” megumi comforted you, giving you a soft look. he was right, you just needed to look a bit more.

“i don’t want to die” you confessed, looking down at your bloody hands.

deadly. you had a deadly sickness.

the cough you've had all your life suddenly got worse one day, and now, standing in your childhood bed full of blood you coughed up a few minutes ago, you could tell that it was not a pleasant sight at all.

you wanted your last moments to be at the cherry blossom tree, with your lover, watching over the moon at peace, not in your blood-covered bed surrounded by doctors and crying women.

‘please, god. give me strength to remain alive just enough to see my lover again. the beautiful man i fell in love with.” you prayed, closing your eyes and letting a tear glide down on your cold cheek.

the situation was very fucked up, the curses were everywhere and you and megumi had no idea where the cursed object was anymore.

earlier, you two met yuji itadori, a high school kid able to see curses, but now you did not know where he was either. you and megumi were separated and even though you searched for him you could find him anywhere.

‘maybe the roof?”

and so you got there, and oh man, you did not like the view. a gigantic, ugly-looking curse and yuji, in between his fingers. that was a moment your heart stopped for a minute, looking for megumi a few seconds later.

“megumi. where is the finger?”

“yuji. he has it” and at that moment, you saw something that you were never imagining to witness.

yuji ate the fucking cursed finger.

“sukuna” your voice was low, almost like a whisper.

“princess. what in the world happened? how? i-”

“no. ‘kuna, let me say goodbye-” you wanted to tell him, but the red-eye man in front of you interrupted you harshly, taking your cold hand in his warm one, giving it a lovely squeeze.

“no. i’m not going to accept that. what goodbye, my princess? you would not die.” he started lying to himself, almost too afraid to accept the situation.

“it’s not something new, sukuna. i knew this would happen eventually… so i’m not surprised. but i wish, for one thing, my love. please, let me wish for just one thing.”

there was a silence. now, in the peace of the night with your lover, you were obligated to give your last breath, and so you wanted no regrets.

“i love you. i will always love you and i will be born again. i know it’s selfish for me to ask this, god please forgive me, but i wish to be selfish one time in my life.”

the moon was shining bright on the black sky, and the stars were screening for another sister, ready to give her a peaceful death.

“sukuna… let me be your queen in my next life.”

looking now at the man in front of you, you could see a familiarity that yuji didn’t have before. yuji was yuji, but the yuji in front of you, even though he looked like himself, was not the high school boy you met earlier in the day.

red eyes.

the red eyes looked at yours with a familiar feeling, as if he already knew your eyes and had already looked into them a million times by now. the same eyes ‘he’ looked at you on your deathbed.

“sukuna”

the pictures were taken from pinterest

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midnightcinderella · 6 months

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People who would suffer at NRC

Each dorm has at least one of these students and god help them. This is very self-indulgent and each trait applies to me. If you relate, then rip to the both of us.

No proof-reading, we rawdog this shit. Word count: ~1300 Notes: no gendered pronouns for reader. mentions of ADHD, depression, and anxiety. mentions of illness. no romantic relationships

Heartslabyul

People with ADHD. Rip to us fr.

You'd forget at least a handful of rules a day, but it's really not your fault. Riddle better get off your case istg.

The ones who are more devoted to remaining productive make big colorful signs all over the damn place.

In their own rooms would be stuff like a box that says "keys and wallet go here" or a sign by the door with a checklist of what they need before they go, like homework or textbooks.

There are signs in common areas, too. They'll say stuff like curfew times or reminders of jobs that need to be done around the dorm.

There's always backlash if Riddle tries to take them down for being an eyesore because not only do they help ADHD students remember what needs to be done but students without ADHD, too. No sane person is gonna be thinking about feeding flamingos 24/7.

Savanaclaw

People with asthma. Place is dusty as shit. And hot. And humid at times.

I'm surprised the beastman students haven't taken any measure to seal off the inside of the dorm to prevent and from getting in. Guess everyone doesn't mind inhaling dust straight into their lungs.

Not to mention regular exercise is a dorm-wide tradition. Shoutout to my fellow mile walkers <3

If you have asthma and a dander/dust allergy, I'd just drop out tbh.

People who easily overheat/sweat. Double rip to us.

Get ready to go back and forth with your dormmates about smelling bad after sweating. It's a common occurrence. Someone sasses you, you sass back, and you're friends again 3 minutes later.

Everyone will think you're dying when you're dripping sweat after some stretches outside. No, you're not tired, you're just hot.

Octavinelle

People who are bad at math/bad with money. Listen.

The dorm isn't full of people who are as business minded as Azul, but there are students that offer accounting help for a fee. Negotiate that fee for the love of god.

Thankfully, you won't be scammed out of house and home because:

(1) it's generally frowned upon to scam people within Octavinelle; you don't hurt one of your own. It's about loyalty.

(2) someone is likely to take pity on you and will throw you a bone, telling you about a huge sale or where to find good job opportunities.

People who are gullible. Once again, double rip.

And once again, thank the lucky stars that loyalty is such a big thing here so you might be tricked into doing someone's job for them like mopping the Lounge, but nothing that would hurt you too badly.

If a study partner tries to feed you false information for shiggles, that'll get shut down real quick by another student. If your grades go down, then the whole dorm goes with you.

Good thing that doesn't happen often, and Azul offers his study guides for a highly discounted price to his own.

Scarabia

People who don't do well with sudden changes in temperature. Man, listen.

Hellishly hot during the day and even more hellishly cold at night. Dante would be thrilled.

God forbid you have any athletic activities close to sunset because you'll have to shower off that sweat quick before you freeze to death.

If anyone has a problem with the sound of the hairdryer after sundown, they're just gonna have to deal with it or risk catching your inevitable cold.

Speaking of, if sudden changes in temperature make you sick, double rip. I know your pain.

Kalim may not be able to come see you in person, but if he finds out you're sick, he'll send meds and some warm food. If that food was made by Jamil, then you owe him one.

You don't wanna owe him one.

If you need to leave your room after sundown, you're going to do it wrapped up with a blanket over your head. If someone mistakes you for a ghoul, that's their own problem.

Pomefiore

People with depression. Listen. Someone without depression could find it hard to keep such a strict regimen day in and day out; do not expect too much out of us.

If you think that means you're getting out of it, though, you'd be wrong.

Group accountability is a thing here. If you need help sticking to your routine, you're getting it. You can't refuse.

You're all going to be beautiful together, goddammit.

If that chronic fatigue be hittin ya, you might get a pass for a few steps of your routine. But if a particularly caring dormmate decides you have to do the full routine and straight up does it for you, lol.

Depending on how you view that sort of help, it might be really nice. Or maybe a little humiliating.

The dorm kitchen is only going to have healthy ready-made snacks. So if it's a day where you can't cook or go all the way to the cafeteria, that is what you're working with. Either that or you crawl your way over the the Shop for a candy bar.

Ignihyde

People who struggle with technology. Yes there are young people who aren't great with technology. We exist. Mind your business.

No matter how many classes you take teaching you how to use MagExcel, it never sticks for long. Even if you pass the exams, all your knowledge leaves to go buy milk by the time the week is over.

You're gonna need to interrupt people's gaming sessions to ask for help. It may annoy them, but you're doing it anyway because you refuse the reinvent the wheel 12 times.

People who prefer paper over screens. Call me old fashioned but staring at screens all day Hurts My Eyes.

You'd get physical copies of your textbooks if you could, but those free pdfs your classmates pass around are too tempting to pass up. They're free, for god's sake.

You also might be limited to board games on game nights. They're not bad, but there's not a whole lot you can do with them. You're a wiz at Cards Against Reality tho.

Every so often Ignihyde has a dorm-wide game night where everyone sits around in the common room with their headphones in, playing their own games. Together.

Though the board game players are in the next room. Oddly enough, they're the rowdiest of the bunch, and it sounds like they have the most fun by the way they're yelling and cheering.

You have seen some nerd fights start over a game of Ichi.

Diasomnia

People who have anxiety. One, Lilia is a menace. Two, your housewarden is the Malleus Draconia. Meep.

Whether it's Lilia or Malleus you run into, it feels like your heart will explode at any time.

Not to mention it's so dark in and outside of the building for no good reason. What's a fella gotta do to get some fucking sunlight in here? You're sick of worrying about what could be behind every corner.

You once wondered if Malleus needed a UV/heat lamp, but knew better than to ask. That doesn't mean you're not curious, though.

People who dislike loud sounds. I don't think I have to explain this one.

At first you thought that staying near Silver meant that you'd be staying away from Sebek, but that wasn't the case and you were at a loss as to what to do.

Then you tried going in the other direction whenever you saw Malleus, but all that did was send Sebek after you personally, asking very loudly why you did not want to be around Lord Malleus.

At one point, you got sick of his shit and muzzled him via magic. Then Malleus showed up and you were all oh shit. But then all he did was chuckle about how you were getting along so well. You took that to mean he wouldn't ever stop you from muzzling Sebek.

You were right.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #missy writes #gender neutral reader

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akira-aah · 6 months

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The betrayal of red and green alliance is something that is really interesting to me

Like, Green managed to make an alliance with Red (the crazy cult-family team that dies more than anyone and barks at their enemies or even just because they felt like it) because neither of them want Blue (or more specifically Bad) to win because of their bloodthirstiness from the first days.

And it's kinda sad from Red's perspective.

Blue spawn camped them several times on days 1 and 4 so they will kill any member of Blue if given the chance but Green has been kind to them in comparison.

Red lowered their walls around Green members, around ElQuackity who is always trying to win no matter what but is not a genuine threat if you're decent at pvp and is easy to befriend, around Etoiles who will do what he has to do to win but fights with honor and accepts defeat with a "good fight", around Roier who could easily kill them but prefers to banter and have a good time.

Sure, the first few days were a blood bath, but when Jaiden kept getting killed upon respawning on day 4, Roier and Etoiles both went to check in on her. Upon getting there they probably expected her to be frustrated by dying so much but instead found her vibing and actively trying to litter her spawn with her corpses because she thought it would make it more intimidating.

Then Charlie showed up and Roier couldn't talk because he was sick but they started play fighting and Etoiles and Roier gave Jaiden and Charlie pvp training and then Cellbit got there and there was also an admin cat and Red died a lot that day but they had fun and they formed a tentative alliance with Green by trying their hardest to help Green get the win, they lost by a landslide and Blue ended up winning but they had fun.

Then on day 5 Green got their first win of the week and Red wasn't even that salty, Green deserved a win after all, but they would actually try to win on day 6, it's a competition after all and they can't make it too easy for Blue to catch up to them.

Red would rather Green win than Blue, but if Blue was last on the scoreboard or had few members active that day, Red would give it their all to win.

Red hadn't been there since the server opened unlike Blue, most of Red starts late, but they grind like crazy to make sure everyone has enough items to complete their tasks, Red shares everything after all, it's what makes them end up in first and second place when they're actually trying. They are constantly coordinating, constantly talking to each other, they are a family and no one is left behind if they can help it. Honesty and trust are very important to them.

The Red team is made up almost entirely out of roleplayers, but no one can deny that they're all hard workers, so they spend the day grinding the materials they need for the personal quests and the egg tasks and spend a good amount of their day trying and failing to do the hardest task of the day, kill Pac twice. They try and fail and try and fail and they give up to concentrate on fortifying their egg base, they're on first place after all, and Green somehow hasn't caught up to them despite having more team members active that day.

The sky turns red, almost like a sign that they already won, it's the last hour after all, they might not have gotten to kill Pac but Green didn't get their kill either so it doesn't matter.

Bad calls them and makes an offer that they don't take, he is their worst enemy after all, a spawn camper with no honor who bows down people who want an honest stick fight from afar. Bad tells them he has made the same offer to Green and that they didn't take it either, Etoiles is an honorable warrior and as much as he wants to win there's no honor in this, Red knows he won't take the deal even if Bad offers again, Green has as much beef with Bad as they do, so they're not worried even as Foolish gets a message that was most likely meant for Forever that implies they're meeting for something.

The same message shows up three times in quick succession, Forever has killed Bad and Green is now on first place. Green has made a deal with the devil.

Really, they should have seen this coming, you can't really trust anyone here. Their friends have betrayed them.

Except they haven't, not really. Two of their team members have gone behind the others backs to make this deal, Etoiles and Roier weren't told of it and they both like to play fair, they are winning and they don't like it, it's not fair to their Red friends who spent the entire day working just as hard as them to win. This is a cheap win, an underhanded tactic that they do not approve of, and they tell Foolish as time is running out. They can only hope their alliance with Red as a team has not been entirely ruined by this and that Foolish can explain to the rest of Red.

Foolish goes back to the Red call and tries to say something, but gets immediately sidetracked and forgets and starts helping with last minute preparations for the war tomorrow.

Red is salty, of course. Their hard work has gone to waste as they haven't won and haven't earned the immunity totem for their egg. They can't trust anyone outside of their team-cult-family.

They shouldn't have lowered their walls in the first place.

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #team bolas #bolas rojas #this was all written by someone who almost exclusively watches red pov and gets information on the other teams from live blogging

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strrwbrrryjam · 2 months

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the take that hosea is a good father is an understandable one, considering it mostly derives from comparison to dutch, who groomed two orphan boys to be outlaws, pitted them against one another through his favouritism, treated one son more as a workhorse than a son to the point where he literally drives himself to sickness and injury and has most of his self worth come from what he can do for others, dismissed his gang members when they had concerns - often berating them and accusing them of not being loyal (which he does repeatedly, sometimes unprompted, to men and women who have been loyal to him for years), prioritised a man so vile that most - if not all except dutch - did not like him - a man who went against everything he claimed to stand for - a man who was actively a threat to the people of colour and the women who dutch had promised safety too, did not plan to rescue his son who was being tortured and very close to death after being captured from a very obvious trap, did not plan to rescue his other son from prison, taunting his dying son over being too tired to go on any jobs, claiming that he never had a son in an effort to manipulate eagle flies, pointing a gun at his son and leaving them to die, (and that's outside of his other crimes, being abusive to his girlfriend as well as hitting on other women in front of her and making it so the gang members treat her like shit. exploiting a fucking genocide for his own personal gain, and more)

so it's easy to look between the two and think "wow, hosea is so much better than him, he must be a good father/man," but that just isn't true, he's.. more okay than anything. not only was he complicit in signing his children's death warrant, raising them to be outlaws, and putting them in so much danger, he was also complicit and enabled dutchs treatment of the gang members, not just arthur and john either, but all of them.

he is the second in charge, the other half of the curious couple, he holds so much power in the gang, and we see that with how they listen and confide in him, and yet he doesn't do much, he doesn't stop dutch from mistreating the gang members, doesn't stop dutch from doing much of anything (even things he clearly disagrees with), doesn't throw micah out (which, I repeat, he does have the power to do so, especially since dutch still respects hosea, yes, we see dutch not listen to hosea that much, but he still respects him and his decisions, still clearly cares for hosea, i'm sure if hosea were to dig his feet in on something instead of rolling over, dutch would at least consider, of course this is just my interpretation), doesn't work to settle tensions between the gang, he still brings the gang on dangerous jobs that are doomed to fail (one of which results in his own death) - believing in his own hubris and intelligence which results in him underestimating his enemies, and he doesn't take charge even when he knows something is wrong.

it isn't just this either, he has his moments where he too treats the gang members (not just arthur) unfairly, berating, and using physical aggression on sean and bill, comes to mind (although, this was a different time where such actions were acceptable back then and sean and bill were generally being rather lazy, which could very much put them in danger,) but he was also at fault in the raising of his two sons into the roles that they had and is partly responsible for arthurs incredibly low self esteem, often calling him stupid and ugly looking, which may be jokes to him but something arthur very much takes to heart, believing it to be true.

sure, we see him asking arthur to rest and trying and succeeding to get the gang members to open up, and actually listening to them, we see him comfort them and respect them, unlike dutch, and he's very good at that, I applaud him for it, but I can't help but feel this mostly coming from his old age and the fact that he feels (and is correct) about the gang coming to an end and realising what he has done, trying to rectify the situation, soothe his regret if you will. that doesn't mean he didn't take this role much sooner (likely back to when bessie had passed), but I believe he fully delved into this role because of his old age and his regret, wanting to make sure he feels the world with as little of it as possible. he has been a complicit and active participant in everything.

this isn't anti-hosea, i love hosea to bits, i wish he could very much replace my pa but I wish people would understand that just because dutch is awful, does not mean that hosea is an angel, he's decent, at best.

#would you believe i wrote this all while being in the bath. i was washing my hair and inspiration just hit me. lol #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 hosea matthews #hosea matthews #rdr2 dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde #rdr2 arthur morgan #arthur morgan #rdr2 john marston #john marston #rdr2 van der linde gang #van der linde gang #strawberry speaks

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spacelazarwolf · 4 months

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I've seen people say that because you don't talk enough about the genocide in palestine and instead talk about the antisemitism in leftist pro-palestine spaces (even though you have talked about palestine before and don't support israel) that somehow makes you a zionist. It's like ??? That's not how that works. Honestly I'm sick of this performative activism where you must disavow anyone Jewish who dares to talk about antisemitism during this time. Then these people turn around and say that they don't hate Jews they just hate Israel

yeah it’s exhausting. i’ve got complicated feelings abt calling it a genocide — mostly bc of the way non palestinian gentiles are just parroting words without actually understanding why people are calling it a genocide, and also using it as an excuse for gratuitous holocaust inversion — but at the end of the day i think arguing a semantic issue isn’t going to help gazans who are dying right now. i don’t think it matters if we say it’s genocide or if we say it’s a precursor to genocide or if we say it’s a catastrophic loss of human life, it’s all just words. what matters right now is not if one single random disabled jew thousands of miles away uses the right word. what matters right now is that people are dying and that needs to stop. and apparently saying that means i’m an evil genocide denier who’s basically a nazi.

and like. it doesn’t matter how many times i explain my position in excruciating detail. it doesn’t matter how much nuance i give and how many personal feelings and insecurities i share, bc it has never been abt if i’m actually a zionist. they don’t care. in fact, it’s better for them if i don’t openly identify as a zionist, because that strengthens their use of zionist as a dogwhistle. if they only targeted jews who openly identified as zionists, the dogwhistle wouldn’t work.

and for the antisemitism stuff, i’m very unsurprised that’s why they’re targeting me. ppl have made it clear that they not only don’t care abt antisemitism but that antisemitism is necessary for their “activism” so they see me telling them not to be antisemitic as me telling them not to advocate for palestinians, and at this point i can’t help it if they’re idiots.

zionism and antisemitism aren’t a chicken and the egg situation. zionism is a direct response to antisemitism in the diaspora, and by actively participating in making it worse and mocking jews for being afraid of the antisemitism we’re facing, you’re doing political zionists’ work for them. i want to talk about this, about the rhetoric i’ve seen used in some jewish spaces and how antisemitism in antizionist movements just bolsters it, and what they can do to instead connect with these jewish institutions and leaders to address the very real concerns jews have and show them that israel is not the solution. but people don’t want to hear what they can do better. they want to hear that “zionists” and “zionist institutions” are all evil groups plotting world domination and weaponizing the holocaust. i might have more success doing this work in irl spaces but i’ve very much given up on doing it here.

#ask avishai #ip

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nothomegal · 7 months

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“The little owl family” (Part 5)

(RZ!Michael Myers x GNReader)

Summary: your and your little sister’s life had an 180° turn when your parents got into a severe car crash, dying on the spot. You, being already past 18 had to figure out how to keep things afloat and give yourself, specially your sister, a good future. And you did! It was hard but you did it and became the absolute hero in the little girl’s eyes. People would often involuntary smile at the dynamic of your two, so wholesome and supportive, the perfect family bond. Bond that a certain Boogeyman noticed as well…

Warnings: mentions of non-con touches towards (Y/N), (Y/N) being very hateful and angry with Mikey.

Word Count: 3.9k

Additional info: Gender Neutral reader. (S/N) = sister’s name.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 6)

The next two days were rough, it felt like walking on eggshells. No matter where the siblings went or what they did, Michael always was nearby, just watching them, observing each of their activities and interactions.

Monday was fun (not at all), (Y/N) had to call and invent some excuse about their sister being sick for a week since Michael made it clear that they're not going anywhere for now, how you may ask? Easy, taking away the car keys right under their nose and seeing if they got the balls to get them back. (Y/N) was beyond pissed, but had to keep their frustration to themselves since there is little they can do about it, not without losing or breaking another limb in the process.

(S/N) wasn't even excited about not going at school, it's obvious that the little girl was uncomfortable with the precense of some big scary man, a big scary man who often holds a knife.

Oh, the knife. That stupid knife that (Y/N) often felt poking their sides or slide along their back and other parts that should not be touched by strangers. These unwelcomed 'knife touches' would usually happen when the man holding the weapon wanted more food, or simply because... Because he could, because he knows they won't do anything to stop him, because he wants to explore their body, see how it reacts to the cool blade gently sliding along their warm skin... At least Myers kept his part of the agreement and would do this only when (S/N) is not present, detail that lead the older sibling to believe that he has some very shady intentions towards them...

That disgusting son of a bitch.

Sleeping also became a problem, for the last night Michael would show up after midnight and just… Watch. It made (Y/N) super uncomfortable, they attempted to come to some agreement but all they got as an answer is a head tilt. The last straw was when (S/N) broke down in tears at the morning, confessing how much she hated when he is there and how scary it was. So (Y/N), like the older protective sibling they are, came up with a solution…

. . .

Staring, it became their unofficial language. (Y/N) was currently sitting on the ground with a kitchen knife tightly clutched in their hand. They're sitting right next to their sister’s room door, who by this time was sleeping soundly in her bed, completely unaware that her sibling is at the other side of the door, guarding it like a police dog and making sure that the monster doesn't disturb her innocent mind any further. Michael, of course, was there as well, staring back at (Y/N) from the darkest part of the corridor.

(Y/N) was no longer afraid, no longer fearful for their life, now they were just annoyed, angry, furious at the masked man. The audacity, the audacity of this bastard to just appear out of nowhere and ruin their simple and peaceful life with his presence, being this giant shadow that has no respect for (Y/N)'s boundaries and patience, testing them constantly, seeing how long they can handle before snapping and inevitably dying by his hand. They hated him, hated with a burning passion, they wanted to hurt him, stab him with everything in the house, lock him up back in the asylum, make him crawl back into the place in hell he came from…

The more their mind filled with such violent thoughts, the more their face changed into a sulk; brows deeply furrowed, jaw clutched tightly, eyes glued to his large form, pupils shrunken… Every single hint of disgust and unlikeness were reflected in their expression, in their gaze… But it didn’t affect Michael, not at all.

Or at least… They didn’t know it did.

The man stared back at (Y/N) nearly as intensely as they did, but unlike them, he wasn't feeling hate or anger, but a desire, desire for something. He still has to figure out what's that feeling is, which is constantly burning him from the inside, luring him closer and closer to them, demanding him to touch them, feel their body against his calloused hands and not the knife's blade, feel the way their chest raises and falls with each breath, feel their pulse move with each heartbeat... Look into their eyes... He wanted to stare into those eyes for an eternity, feel the heat of their anger burn his skin, scratch it with cold glances and then softly caress it with their warmth...

Warmth...

Even though Michael adored the thrill that (Y/N)'s furious gaze causes in him, sometimes... He wished he could experience their soft and loving gaze, the one they always gift their sister with. The way their face lights as they look at the little one, a soft warm smile appearing on their lips as a light gentle blush spreads on their cheeks. When (Y/N) has these eyes... They look so peaceful, so... He can't even describe it, but it somehow puts his mind on ease as well, making him feel like everything in the world is alright, like everything will be alright.

Sigh... But these are only wishes, something he had plenty of over the years. He wished for his mother to be home more often, a normal happy family, a good childhood, see his little sister and attempt to make their reunion right... He wished for so many things, yet none of them became true, so this one won't neither...

He will never experience these warm and loving eyes...

Never... Neither from (Y/N)... Or (S/N), who's still avoiding him and shying away in his presence, as if running away from a monster...

. . .

—"{Fuck...}"— you cuss under your breath as you look at the nearly empty fridge.

—"It's okay (Y/N), we can just go to the store and buy more!"— (S/N) says with an excited and innocent tone.

But in a second, her expression changed into a fearful one as she steps back. That's when (Y/N) feels a large hand grasp them by their arm, a bit roughly, which meant that Michael wanted their attention inmediatly.

They swallow thickly but mantain their composure. With their hand (Y/N) motions to their sister to go into her room, order that the little girl listens without a fuss and nearly trips as she runs away from the kitchen. Ones left alone, (Y/N) turns towards the large man while sighing shakily.

—"Okay, so-"—

They have no time to finish when their car keys were handed (thrown) to them. (Y/N) blinks a couple of times as they process what happened, huh... Well it was easy.

—"Oh..."— you slowly lift your gaze at his emotionless mask, your gaze distrustful, expecting some sort of trick. —"So... Am I really allowed to go?"—

No answer or movement, only an intensive stare. They sigh shakily again as they hide the keys in their pocket.

—"Can I take (S/N) as well?... She hasn't left the house for a whil- "—

Their form is suddenly pushed back against the fridge, their back pressed against the cold surface while a single large hand is holding them by the throat in place, firmly but not chocking.

He then slowly brings his knife up and simply points at them with the blade, it wasn't a threatning gesture, in Michael's terms, just a simple act to get a message across...

That they are going alone.

(Y/N)'s mouth gapes as their expression morph into a shocked and disgusted one, is he really planning to stay all alone with their little sister?!

—"You sick fuck, the hell you want to do to my si-"—

He suddenly shakes his head, not a little subtle jerk but an actual shake, probably realizing how bad and shady his intentions have looked from (Y/N)'s perspective.

(Y/N) let's out another sigh, trying to calm their temper and anxiety down, they really don't want to leave (S/N) all by herself with this maniac, but at the same time they really need food and other supplies. Reslizing that there is really no other way, at least not without ending up hurt, they groan both annoyed and frustrated at how helpless and useless they are.

—"Fine! I'll go alone... But... But let me warn my sister first, please."— you look into his mask's eye sockets as you plead, your own gaze less harsh, almost vulnerable.

They can feel his fingers twitch against their neck when they lock eyes, action that caught their breath and made body stiff. They can hear Michael's breathing get heavier again as they keep gazing at each other, yet their calm and pleading expression still not changing, hoping that this could somehow calm whatever is going on inside of his mind, hope he shows mercy... However, they do end up flinching when the man began to lean closer to their face, so close that they could nearly see his eyes, his real eyes, through the empty eye holes of the mask.

At the sight of his icy blue eyes stare back at them, (Y/N) freezes as an odd spine chill jolts through them, an electrifying feeling that made them both hot and cold at the same time. Oddly enough, they weren't afraid of his gaze... His emotionless yet intense gaze, like that of a wild hungry animal...

They remain like this for a while, their faces only inches away from each other. But when Michael attempted to move even closer and press his body agains (Y/N)'s, they finally snap of this strange trance and stop him by putting their hands against his solid chest.

—"S-Stop, this... This is too close."— you say, your tone a tag defensive.

Michael remains still, they could swear his eyes darkened by the regection, yet he doesn't push further and eventually let's go of their neck and steps back. It takes a second for them to regain their previous composure and focus, but thankfully they manage to.

—"I... I'll go tell (S/N)."— you grumble as you hurriedly make your way out of there.

. . .

—"Y-You're leaving me alone?... With the monster?"— (S/N) says shakily as she clings to your clothes and being on a verge of tears.

—"I'm sorry, songbird. I'm really sorry. But I promise I'll be back soon, you'll be okay, I know you will."— you hug her back tightly, also being quite emotional due to your own fear and worry.

—"But... B-But what if he-"—

—"He won't. He won't hurt you, he promi-"—

—"But he hurts you, (Y/N)!"— she exclaims, both angry and pained.

—"What?... No, no he doesn't, look, I'm fine."—

—"No you're not! I know he does something to you when you're alone and I can see that, you always look so hurt and angry and... Sad... You always so sad whenever he's around."— she looks at you as she grips your clothes tighter. —"I... I don't want him to make me sad too... I- I don't want to see you like this anymore, I want the old us back, when we were happy!"—

These words broke (Y/N)'s heart completely. Despite their efforts to keep everything cool and away from (S/N), the little girl proved that they didn't do a great job and how truly affected she is. However, they don't give up against their emotions and with a huff they hug their sister tightly again.

—"We will return to normal. As I said, I'll figure this out."— you look at her and your gaze softens a bit. —"When mom and dad were gone, I had to figure out many things at ones too, and as you can see, I did it. So why whouldn't I be able now?"—

The girl falls silent, thinking and unsure of what to say.

—"I know it's hard, I know you hate to see me cry, but I'll get us through this and soon I'll be the good old smily (Y/N) you know. Just be patient and remain strong, okay? Do that for me."— you smile at her as you take her hand into yours.

Both siblings lock eyes and another wave of silence came, but this time it was (S/N) who broke it by suddenly wrapping their arms around her sibling.

—"You're right! I must remain as strong as you!"— she confidentaly huffs. —"And- And I'll help you figure out things! Like our escape plan!"—

(Y/N) merely chuckled, already knowing that the 'plan' will be some sort of impossible and childish idea, but they'll give (S/N) an A for the attempt and effort. Ones made sure their sister was okay, they prepare to leave, but not before reminding the little girl to not come out her room until they return, order that she promised to follow.

When they exit into the hall, and to no one's surprise, Michael was standing right there, staring at their form. (Y/N) returns the stare for a moment, but instead of glaring daggers at the man, they simply scoff as they brush past him with a pitty gleam on their eyes.

Tsk, they are sad? Just look at him! Always trying to insert himself and be part of their every single interaction... That is sad...

Actually sad...

(Y/N) glances back before going through the front door, well aware that Michael followed them, he always does... The two lock eyes, though (Y/N)'s expression was hard to decipher.

—"I'll be back in a little while, you... Well, you already know your part of the deal."— you give a little shrug and finally exit the house.

When their car left, Michael remained in place next to the window, just staring and watching. Though (Y/N) said more than ones that he's allowed to do whatever, he doesn't really feel like doing anything. Sure, he can take a book, watch TV, eat one of (S/N)'s sweets... But... It doesn't feel as special as when (Y/N) is around, and their sister definetely won't appreciate the last one.

The sound of little and hurried footsteps got his attention, yet he made no movements, already knowing who it is. He could hear some little grunts and huffs come from the kitchen, as if the girl is struggling with something. He allows it to continue for a little while but eventually makes his way to the kitchen, both curious to see what (S/N) is up to and to make sure she doesn't do anything silly, after all, kids aren't the most brilliant most of the time.

When Michael entered the kitchen, he was met with (S/N) attempring to get something from the upper shelf. She was holding her dino-grabber toy, using it to get whatever item she so desperately wanted, which would slip away and further into the shelf with each grab.

—"Come ooon, you 'dingus' thing."— she groans under her breath, probably not even knowing what 'disgus' means.

Michael silently observes the girl, she was so concentrated in her little mission that she didn't even notice him get progressively closer until standing right behind her.

When the item slipped so far that she couldn't even grab it with the toy, she lets out a frustrated groan and was about to climb the counter, but instead lets out a squeak when suddenly a large arm appeared above her. (S/N) instinctively backs away and presses herself into the kitchen counter as she shields herself with the toy.

—"S-Sorry! I'm so sorry for disturbing you! I- I got hungry and- a-and wanted to grab a poptart!"— she hurriedly says as she squeezes her eyes shut, as if expecting some severe punishment.

However, all she hears is faint rattle of something inside of a container and then a low grunt. She opens one eye and is met with Michael holding the whole box of poptarts in his hand and extending it towards her. A sense of dejavu invaded (S/N), flashbacks of their first meeting flashed before her eyes and the same sense of dread and danger formed inside of her, but this time she won't run away. She promised (Y/N) to stay strong, she will simply grab the stupid dessert and angrily look at him, just like (Y/N) always does!

But when she reached out and looked up at his masked face, her bravery dissolved like sugar in water. Michael just looks so big and intimidating all of the sudden-... His figure resembling so much the monster a child would imagine hidding in their closet. But still, the girl manages to tame her fears and take the box with her shaky hands.

—"I..."— she shrinks a bit. —"Thank you!"— she hurriedly exclaims before making a run out of the kitchen.

Michael merely looks at her direction, though he felt a small disappointment that the little girl was still so afraid of him, he can't really blame her or do anything about it, anything but to be grateful for this little interaction.

However...

—"Psst..."—

He only tilts his head at the little noise and (S/N)'s figure peeking out from the doorway.

—"Humm..."— she hesitates to speak at first. —"Do... Do you promise not to tell (Y/N) I left my room? They'll give me the scold of my life if they find out!"—

The man remains still for a little while, but eventually breaks his stillness with a little nod.

—"So is that a promise?"—

Another nod, which caused (S/N) to smile.

—"Thank you. Hey, we're almost like partners in crime! Doing forbiden stuff and then covering each other's back!"— she giggles at the thought and runs away into her room right after.

And ones again, Michael was left alone, but his time he was left with a warm feeling that made his chest feel both light and on ease. He's not sure what this emotion is, but he remembers feeling it in his childhood sometimes, mainly when he managed to make Angel smile with his own childish shenanigans, he always felt like a hero back then.

Now... It's hard to call him a hero, a monster or devil are more suitable names, but right now, for ones and after a long long time...

He didn't feel like one...

. . .

The rest of the day went like many previous ones (Y/N) returned, they nearly cried of relief that (S/N) was okay and wasn't hurt. And just like promised, no one told them about the little interaction the girl and the man had.

After the 'story-time session' ended and the little girl was asleep, (Y/N) returned to their usual spot next to their sister's room, though to their surprise, Michael wasn't in the hall waiting for them like he usually does... Nevertheless, that didn't stop them from taking their spot and wait, they knew he would come, he always does...

At this point they have no clue what his motives are, this doesn't seem like a simple paranoia of them contacting the authorities anymore, or a simple desire to be a jerk. Whatever enmity is going between them is something deeper, something more personal and sick, it's like this man is obsessed with them, but what kind of obsession? They don't know... And maybe don't want to know...

Eventually, the masked man does return to his spot but was met with a completely different scene. Yes, (Y/N) was there, but so was (S/N), who's gently putting a warm fluffly dinosaur blanket ot her sibling's sleeping form, doing her best to make it as cozy as possible. The little girl had a concerned expression, she knew that (Y/N) had barely slept due to the fear and worry of Michael doing something to her, the dark circles and the pale tone on their face only proving the unhealthy and tired state of her sibling.

It's a miracle that the girl didn't scream at the sight of Michael's giant figure and white mask staring at her from the dark, most likely the head tilt gave his identity away.

—"{S-Sorry.}"— she whispers, shifting from foot to foot with a guilty expression. —"{I know it's past my bed time, but I swear I can't fall asleep no matter how hard I try! I wanted to ask (Y/N) if we could watch something on their computer but...}"— she glances at your sleeping form.

Michael makes no movements, he's not quite sure why the girl is explaining herself to him, it's not like he will scold her, quite the opposite, it's really loable of her to take care of her sibling no matter what.

(S/N) then glances at the man, again hesitating to speak.

—"{Huummm... Do you just stay and stand there every night?}"—

Michael doesn't move at first, but then gives a little nod.

—"{All night?}"—

Another nod.

—"{Do you even sleep?}"— she furrows her brows a bit.

This time there is no answer.

The girl frowns a bit, sure Michael looks and acts freaky, but at the same time she feels sorry for him, something about his behavior is so sad and... Miserable. Is this why he's always tailing behind (Y/N)? Because they manage to make him feel happy and safe like they do with her? Or maybe because he wants to remember and feel how it's like to have an awesome and loving sibling? Or... Maybe he is just a big evil jerk that want's to do something bad to them... There's only one way to find out which one is the case...

—"{Michael?}"—

He tilts his head.

—"{Do... Do you... Do you want to hurt (Y/N)?}"—

A heavy silence falls upon them, even Michael's breathing was inaudible. (S/N) couldn't tell what's going on inside of his mind. Is he thinking? Is he annoyed? Waiting for her to drop the question or ask something else? Due to the lack of reaction, the girl starts to hesitate about her question and if she even wants to know the answer, what if he says 'yes' and kills both of them? (Y/N) said how cruel Michael can be, so sure he won't hesitate to hurt them.

Eventually, she recieves her answer; a shake of his head.

Relief flushes through (S/N), though that answer sparked another question...

—"{Then... Then why do you always follow them?... Do you feel... Lonely?}"—

Another wave of silence, but this one is less heavy since Michael wasn't staring directly at her form, but at the floor instead. The subtle tilt of his head was enough to hint the deep thinking going in his mind. And is right, Michael is thinking quite a lot. He stopped bothering to understand his obsession with (Y/N) and wouldn't think too much about following them, he just did it. But now... Now that he's forced to think about it for the first time, he realized it no longer feels like part of his unholy fixation on them, it feels more... He's not sure, but when he's with them he feels...

He nods slowly, his shoulders slump a bit after that.

(S/N) frowns sadly, her childish innocent mind quickly forgetting the things this man commited, maybe he isn't that bad, after all, (Y/N) told her how hard and unfair life was towards Michael, so... Maybe, if (Y/N) and her are kinder to him, maybe, just maybe, he'll be kinder to them too?...

—"{Michael...}"— she quietly says as she begin to walk towards him.

The girl stops right in front of his tall frame, the man tilts his head when she motions him to crouch down, but eventually he does. That's when, and without any warning, (S/N) wraps her arms around his neck, giving him a tight hug. The sudden contact made the man freeze completely, but he makes no effort to push the girl away. After a couple of solid minutes, his body starts to relax as he gives in into the little yet affectionate embrace.

The girl then leans closer to his ear, well, his mask's ear, but he sure heard her whisper...

—"{It's okay... I can be your friend.}"—

#nothomegal fic #michael myers #rz michael myers #rz michael myers x reader #michael myers x reader #slasher x reader #gn reader #halloween

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 3 months

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[dark! vampire x reader]

A/N: It's been some time since I last wrote a monster short fic, but let's write an imagine! For this one, I may write something a bit longer. but enjoy otherwise!

Warnings of: brief mentions of the death of a sibling, manipulation, psychological manipulation, gaslighting, blood drinking, Stockholm syndrome

The death of your brother comes as a surprise to those in the family and close relatives. He was relatively healthy for his age, active and not a drinker or smoker, so when he had fallen ill rather quickly with what the physician said was consumption, your heart was shattered, never to be the same it was before.

His funeral came and went, relatives you were familiar with and some you hadn't seen in years came and went, though one had caught your eye who you had not recognised as either friend or kin.

He almost blended himself at the back of people when the coffin was being lowered, and you had overserved him silently, thankful the dark veil that covered your face didn't show you were watching him.

His garbs were black as the rest of those around you, though some of the trim on his jacket had a crimson embellish, a pair of black glasses perched so you could not tell who he was looking at.

With long sandy blond locks tied back, pale skin and a lean tall build, he seemed ethereal, an angel who was there to take your brother's hand up to Heaven.

By the end, it had been him who came over to you, telling you how deeply sorry he was for the death of your brother, and how he was a good friend. He gave you his name, Sir Claude Spencer, a mentor and teacher to your brother during his studies.

It came to you as a surprise, seeing how young the man looked in front of you, and you could not guess him to be someone with years or even decades of academic knowledge stored in his mind.

Nothing otherwise told you this man was odd for being there, for if he was your brother's friend, he could be trusted. You felt rather sorry for how you poured your emotions and sorrows onto him, a man you had just met that otherwise consoled you for the rest of the day.

Claude was everything a gentleman should've been: thoughtful with his words, calm and collected. His voice was a soft timbre as he spoke to you as if treating a dying or sick animal. He was there for you when no one else was, and you could not believe how easy it was that you could put your trust in him so quickly.

Maybe it was the grief, and it had pushed you over the edge, but Claude had promised that if you needed refuge or a place to stay to clear your mind, his was always open. He lived in the Spencer estate, given to him after the death of his late father – he told you – so he did not have any next of kin he could pass it down to.

Though you were grateful for the offer, you could not imagine living with a confirmed bachelor, yourself young and ready to be wedded yet no man had thought you the one to catch their eye.

It didn't come as a surprise when you took him on his offer, writing to him a week later that you would come, and he was even more excited to have you there.

"I shall await day and night for when you come. Yours faithfully, Claude."

The Spencer manor was a drab sight, however, with few staff who worked only during the days and none staying at night. You greeted them all warmly when you climbed out of the stagecoach, with none but Spencer's butler, Arthur there to greet you coolly.

"The Master is resting at the moment, but he shall see you at dinner tonight."

It was odd, but he seemed to be a busy man, so you didn't think much of it. Instead, you were treated like glass, given a tour around the entirety of the manor, before being shown where you were staying.

It was shocking when you came to be told that the Master bedroom was only down the hall from you... Claude's room.

When dinner came, you dressed as best as you could despite still wearing black. When greeted with the sight of Claude, it seemed as if all your troubles and worries had melted away. He too, looked relieved and delighted to have you here.

Dinner came and went and your exhaustion had come with a heavy toll, but Claude was not disappointed that you needed to go to bed. For a man as young as he looked, he did not seem to tire as easily as you did, but it did concern you that he rested during the day.

Claude kissed your hand gently with a goodnight, leaving you giddy and looking forward to getting to know him more throughout your stay.

It didn't take long before you started seeing the signs that something was off not just about the manor, but of the staff and Claude. Arthur said that he was sensitive to the light, that he had sleep terrors and was always tired during the day, or that he was reading all night and could never get any sleep. His changed between staff that you did get a chance to ask, some with worrying, wary looks as they rushed off before you could ask anything else.

You also realised, Claude rarely ate. When you too did eat, his plate was always untouched, and it made you cautious that had he poisoned you? No, he wouldn't do such a thing. The only thing that he had was a cup that you assumed was wine, constantly refilled as if he needed it like a lifeline.

You heard the noises at night, some down the hallway just outside your room, lurking in the darkness like a beast that prowled, other times, you heard scratching at your window, keeping you up nearly all night. When you told him or Arthur, they told you it was the old pipes or a dog was loose in the yard, or the wind was bad that night, but... why was it the case for every night?

When your worries began to build, and you debated whether you should stay any longer, it was Claude who dispelled them quickly, giving reminders that you were still in mourning, that you were in no right state to travel or go back to your family. He told you to take each day slowly, and that he appreciated it if you took the chance to get used to the estate.

But something told you he was right, that you needed a break from the world and he would be there to help you through it.

You complied nonetheless, though, you believed you were doing it more for himself than you. Claude displayed affection that you thought only a husband would show to his wife: longing stares and touches that lingered for longer than expected.

He had any reason to touch you, brush something out your face that wasn't there, hold your hand, and guide you through the gardens once the sun had set.

His touches soon grew bolder, experimenting with your reactions, especially when one night, instead of kissing your knuckles, he kissed your cheek instead.

It left you in a daze, confused about your relationship: was he a friend or did you see him more than that? It couldn't have been like that, he was being kind, wasn't he?

It came to one night when the howling, the screaming, and the scratching haunted your waking dreams that you had to step out, regretting it immediately.

The sight of Claude seemed normal at first, apart from the gurgled noises that came from him and the figure he was clutching. At first, it seemed he was in the tight embrace of a lover, your heart tightening almost jealously before you noticed that his mouth was attached to the woman's neck, ravaging at her flesh like a starved beast.

You didn't know if you dared make a noise at the scene in front of you, watching in horror and dread at the way Claude did not resemble the man you called dearest friend. He resembled a creature of the night, a living nightmare in front of you.

You slammed the door shut to your bedroom before you could watch any further or be caught, and you knew the noise echoed down the hallway to alert Claude he had been caught, yet, there was no movement outside your door to tell you he was standing there.

You didn't open the door until morning, having stayed up all night, packing your bags and telling yourself you would leave the moment the first sign of sunlight peeked through your curtains.

It surprised you awfully when you opened the door, being greeted by the sight of Claude at your door.

It seemed that everything seemed normal, apart from his dishevelled hair, his eyes tired and his skin pallid. He didn't seem like the calm man he was when you first met him, instead, his mask had lifted, and he seemed almost fearful, frantic, desperate.

He asked if he could come in, spotting your bags beside you, blocking your path to leave past him. Your heart was racing, terrified of what he could do if you went against him, fought your way through him. Would he do what he did to that woman?

That was when he denied it all: that you were hallucinating, that you were still grieving and you needed—no, he needed you to stay with him. It was for your safety, that you had to stay with him or else he would truly lose it all.

You were convinced you saw him bleeding a woman dry from her neck, but Claude was adamant you were wrong, saying it was lack of sleep. That the noises had made you paranoid.

Had you truly imagined it all?

Claude smoothed your worries, whispering sweet nothings that he couldn't live without you, that he promised you the world, his love, your hand in marriage, anything to keep you with him.

It was so much, and his sweet words calmed your worries enough that when he pressed his lips to you, your mind was clouded with the love he showed you.

Maybe he was right, maybe he did need you: you both were grieving for your brother and friend. It only made sense that two souls were bound to be together, to help one another with their torment.

Perhaps, staying for a little longer to cradle his love didn't seem so bad after all.

#exophilia #monster exophilia #monster writing #monster lover #my writing #vampire boyfriend #vampire imagine #dark! vampire #yandere vampire #yandere monster #vampire x reader

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luvtonique · 6 months

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I'm just gonna up and say it.

I'm gonna be real. It's something too many of you need to hear.

And it's time someone told you.

If you are made aware of a violent and bloody war, where people are being slaughtered, killed, raped, tortured, having their children killed, having their homes and families destroyed, having their lives taken...

And you see it as an opportunity to "choose a side you support" and put their nation's flag on your profile in support of them, and condemn people who don't support the same side as you?

If you are actively looking for reasons to support your 'side,' making excuses on behalf of bloodshed, arguing about what's 'justified' or 'a result of provocation' to further advocate for bloodshed?

If you ask people which side they support and know deep down that you will be viciously angry if they say "Neither" "I want this violence to stop" or the opposite side of the one you support?

I'm sorry.

But you are a fucking monster.

I have to say this. I literally can't keep reading posts from people fighting over whether they support Israel or Palestine, or even Ukraine or Russia.

This isn't fucking Esports you actual psychopaths! This is war and people are fucking dying! If you are celebrating when you hear "Ukrainians kill 1000 Russian soldiers" or "Palestinians kill Israeli children" you are literally a fucking monster. You are celebrating death, you are celebrating bloodshed, how the fuck do you look at yourself in the mirror and see anything other than a psychopathic death-obsessed twisted individual staring back at you?

You are sick. End of story.

Holy fucking lord I can't believe you fucking monsters so regularly celebrate slaughter of people. These are people, these are lives, these are human beings being fucking killed and you're waving around a flag like you're cheering for a sports team what the

ACTUAL FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU

From the bottom of my heart I hope that you all stand up right now, walk to the mirror, stare into it, and ask yourself, truly, deeply, if this is the person you really want to be. Someone who argues with people about why one side or the other is the 'good' side in war. Someone who actively looks for reasons to forgive the horrible violence happening in our world that's ending thousands and thousands of lives.

This isn't even just for war. Violence in general.

Stop it. Stop thinking there's a good side. Stop thinking violence is justified. I don't care what you fucking think about "the other side" and how it's "okay to punch them," you're a fucking freak of nature looking for any reason you can to justify violence as long as the violence lines up with your personal political views. You are just a fucking sick person.

Someone had to say it. You had to hear it. And I know damn well it's gonna fall on quite a lot of deaf fucking ears because social media is just full of you violence-obsessed genocidal fuckwits.

I already know the replies I'm gonna see.

"But what about if the person being killed is a <label> or voted for <name>? It should be okay to advocate violence against them"

"Oh so it's okay if x kills y but not if y kills x?"

"Wow I can tell what side you chose <clown emoji>"

I know it. I can feel it. I can feel you Tumblrites seething from reading this, from being told the truth about how much of a psycho you are, and you're conjuring every bit of your smug energy, looking into the void of your mind to find the perfect end to a sentence starting with "Wow it's almost as if" so you can "Own me" instead of taking your hands off your keyboard, standing up, thinking for one second about who you are and what your morals are, and deciding to stop advocating violence in any form.

And to the select few who read this and go "Yeah I already don't advocate violence and I'm already a person who just wishes it would stop instead of taking an opportunity to attack people and feel justified in my attack" then you're fine. You're a good person. Go get yourself a nice piece of butter toast or like make some soup you've earned it.

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tanadrin · 2 months

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This is the Palestinian resistance. It’s not beautiful. It’s not inspiring. It’s desperate and futile and sad. Generation after generation of children, throwing themselves into the path of one of the most brutal military machines in human history, smashing their skulls against its steel hull, mangling their limbs in its treads, thousands of them, for seventy-five years, destroying themselves as they try to face down an engine that simply rolls on over the dying and the dead. These kids were brave, much braver than I’ll ever be. They rose to defend their honour. It’s noble. But stupid beyond belief. Later, Hedges talks to Lieutenant Ayman Ghanm, a Palestinian police officer who says he’s given up on trying to save these boys’ lives. ‘When we tell the boys not to go to the dunes,’ he says, ‘they taunt us as collaborators.’ I began by saying that this is a war without opposing sides. Israel is not actually trying to defeat the resistance; it has no political objectives, just violence. But the same goes for the resistance: they are not, in fact, doing anything to meaningfully resist. Think about what actually happens in Hedges’ story. The Israeli soldiers call through their loudspeakers for the Palestinians to come, come and be killed—and the Palestinians obediently show up. Their resistance is indistinguishable from following orders. The Israeli state wants a certain level of violence from the Palestinians, it actively courts it, and the resistance factions keep doing exactly as they’re told. They teach Palestinian children that the best thing they could do with their lives is lose them. This is not a very healthy attitude, but when you start up your bullshit about the glorious resistance you are part of that sickness. What would actual resistance look like? Maybe it would start with not handing over your life to the enemy. Not climbing up the dunes. In saying all this, I’m obviously breaking one of the biggest taboos on the left, which is that you must not presume to tell Palestinians how to go about their resistance. I might have spent time in Palestine, but I’m not Palestinian. I’m not subjected to the daily nightmare of occupation. Who am I to start preaching? My only reply is this: if the armed resistance factions were resisting sanely and effectively, this kind of taboo wouldn’t need to exist. If there were a better argument for their actions than don’t criticise the victims, you’d be making that one instead. But there isn’t, so you can’t. It’s not a coincidence that the exact same rhetoric is deployed by Israel and its apologists: yes, we’re committing hideous atrocities, but how dare you notice? Who are you to say anything to us? Whoever’s saying it, the fact remains that there is no military path to a free Palestine. This fact is inconvenient and unfair and doesn’t leave much room for the optimism of the will, but that doesn’t make it any less true, and if you think there’s an exemption from unfair truths that’s awarded to especially just causes then you are wrong. Israel has nuclear weapons: it will not be overthrown with small arms and explosives. I don’t think I have the right to condemn violent resistance altogether—but I can reject violent resistance that’s doomed to fail, that achieves nothing and produces nothing except violence for its own sake. Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad claim to be fighting for an Islamic republic, in which Jews will be free to live peacefully as long as they don’t dispute the sovereignty of Islam. The PFLP claims to be fighting a revolutionary people’s war for a liberated workers’ state. Their critics say that both are actually fighting for an unlimited genocide, the death of every single Jew in Israel. But what difference does it make? This is all make-believe! None of it matters, because none of it is ever actually going to happen! They’re not fighting for anything at all. They’re just fighting.

This is a good essay in general, but this point draws out something I think is important: the need to believe that, if there is a group of Bad Guys in a conflict, doing Bad Things, there must be an opposing group of Good Guys doing Good Things. But there's no law of the universe that says it must be so; mostly there's just the churn of senseless, sickening violence, to no useful or redemptive end.

#israel #palestine #gaza #the world is not a morality play #and you cannot slaughter your way to utopia

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strangersteddierthings · 4 months

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No Regrets - Part Five

Part One🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six

This beautiful fic cover you see below was made by the fantastic, wonderful and lovely @skepsiss <3 Thanks so much!!! I'm still crying about it.

He jolts backwards, the burning in his chest hurts, it fucking hurts but- but it doesn't? He pulls in a deep, shaking breath and feels no pain.

"Steve?" Nancy asks from off to his right, so he turns to look at her. She looks concerned, and scared in a way he hasn't seen her in years. (Except it's not years, is it? Not anymore, or not right now?) "Are you okay?"

He shakes his head before digging his palms into his eyes. He's dying, dying, dying- he's dead, he has to be. The Storms are so toxic and he-

"Steve," Robin's voice is accompanied by her hands around his wrists. She pulls his hands from his eyes and he lets her. He blinks at her worried face. "Steve, what just happened?"

"I-I was. I think... give me a moment" Steve says. Robin nods once, a confirmation, but she doesn't move away or release his wrists.

He pulls in another deep breath and closes his eyes to think. He's trying to remember. He thinks he promised to explain everything after... after Pennhurst? Yes, he remembers. Promised that after Robin and Nancy got back from their trip to Pennhurst, he'd tell them everything he knows. It's... it is after, now.

It was yesterday that Robin and Nancy went to Pennhurst and spoke to Creel. They learned about Creel, and the music. They still got found out as fakes; Steve didn't remember what caused them to be discovered last time to be able to warn them against it this time.

He still ended up being bullied into driving Max around. This time, though, he already had an hour-long loop of Running Up That Hill in his car. They'd let Max go to speak to Billy alone, like last time. The boys paced around the car and this time, when they realize that Max isn't responding, Steve's already loading the tape into the cassette player. He shoves it into Lukas's hands and tells him to put it on Max, press play, and to not stop begging her to come back until she is.

Steve saw he had questions, but Max was more important. She floated, and fell, and Lucas had caught her. Then...?

Oh, right. Then, he did explain, yesterday evening, after everyone had crowded into the Wheeler's basement. Went over Vecna winning, Hawkins becoming ground zero for the apocalypse. Talks about a future with a lot of loss, but won't say who, as well as the slow decay of the air and earth. That you could breathe the air for small moments of time, but long exposure would make you sick. That even though they'd finally killed Vecna in 1989, too much damage had been done, too many gates opened, kept opening with every new death by demo-creature. El alone would never be able to close off all the gates. They were working on trying to create a reverse of the machine below Starcourt, meant to close gates instead of open, but the world would probably be a complete wasteland before they could complete it.

No one had reacted well to the news, but the yelling was a minimum, which had been a pleasant surprise.

In the end, Steve had told them they needed more people, more help. That he was going to tell Wayne about the Upside Down.

He opens his eyes, now, and looks around. The place is small, familiar almost. Wood paneling and- The Munson's home. They're in Eddie's home. Because last night Steve had come over. He'd come over and told Wayne everything because he couldn't do this again. Not alone, not as the only responsible adult.

The Wayne in the future had been so willing to help, when Hawkins ripped open at its seams, and Wayne in the present was the same. He didn't- he didn't even call Steve crazy. He'd said he believed Steve, that some government lady told him they were going to pay for him to be in a hotel since his home was an active crime scene, but Wayne'd refused. Eddie wouldn't know where to call when he got out, and what if he just showed up and Wayne was gone- well, Wayne found that unacceptable.

Now, Wayne should be his way back from Indy in Eddie's recovered van with the Byers and Mike, and they're here waiting on a call from Eddie.

Steve's not dying, or, he's not anymore? Or maybe he is, and this is just. What the end is like? Getting to put an end to your regrets or something.

Whatever. It doesn't really matter what or why or even how. He knows what is in store for the future if they don't stop Vecna today.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm back," Steve says, opening his eyes to look at Robin.

She scrunches her brow. "Back?"

"Back from the future," Steve gives her a lopsided grin and in return she squints at him, leaning in real close to his face like the closer she is the more of his mind she'll be able to read.

"You're a different Steve. Again."

"What?" Nancy asks.

"Again?" Steve asks.

Robin scrutinizes his face some more before backing off, just a few inches. "Yeah. It was- Saturday, when you just walked out of our shift after Dustin and Max showed up, you were different then. Not. It was- you know how we were just talking about how if only we could combine, our love life problems would be fixed?"

Steve does, but only after having to think about it for a moment. It was so long ago, but it wasn't. Not for the Steve he's replaced, not for Robin in front of him. "Yeah. I remember."

"It's like I didn't realize how much we'd already combined until we weren't anymore. It was like... like you were a completely different person. I thought it was just, maybe, a reaction to learning the Upside Down was back. But you got different. More haunted."

"You noticed a difference?"

Robin scoffs, "of course I did. You're you but it was. This whole week it's been like... each day brings a new you. With different quirks. Except yesterday was still all the same old-new you so I thought- I thought maybe we'd succeeded. Fixed whatever it was that needed changed because you hadn't changed. But we haven't yet. 'Cause you're back."

Steve shakes his head. "No. No, we haven't. But this time- we'll have the manpower."

"No, I mean, I just-" Robin huffs, falling back onto her butt rather than staying in an uncomfortable crouch. "I just noticed, is all."

"Are we making it better," Nancy asks, "or worse?"

Steve looks from Robin to Nancy. "I-I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know. I don't- I don't know what we've changed. Or if it's been for the better. Because I don't remember."

"Oh," Nancy says with a nod, the look on her face morphing to one Steve knows means she's working out the puzzle of it all. He'll leave her to it.

His attention turns back to Robin, who has her head tipped back, looking at the unopened gate on the roof of the trailer. It definitely cannot be mistaken for water damage anymore. "What are you thinking about?"

Robin tips her head back down to look at Steve. "Exactly that."

"What?"

"Sorry," she says with a frown, "I was just thinking about how we can't- we don't really read each other's minds anymore. I know we should be worrying more about the end of the world but I'm just, just being selfish. Worrying about our friendship."

"You are the only constant in my life, Robin Buckley," Steve confesses, a fierceness to his tone he doesn't even recognize. "You have been, and always will be, the person I need in my life to bother even living it. I swear to God, Robbie, that if anything ever happens to you, I will walk into traffic."

Robin lets out a laugh. "That's a bit extreme."

Steve shoots Nancy a look; he can see she's in her own world. He stands then, offering a hand to Robin to pull her up. "Come on. I have something to tell you. A soulmate secret."

Robin's eyes light up with delight and he pulls her from the ground before leading her to the only place they can get privacy. Eddie's room.

It's two steps into the room that Steve realizes he's never seen Eddie's room before. Or, if he had, the memory of it is lost with the time line it happened in. In Steve's memory, the front half of Eddie's home gets obliterated, and when Eddie and Wayne went back to gather the things that survived the gate opening, Dustin, Mike, and Lucas had gone with the help pack it up. Steve had been helping fortify the high school.

It seems ridiculous, to be hit with the thought of never having seen Eddie's room, with the threat of the apocalypse still looming.

"Alright, secret time," Robin sounds delighted, and her voice pulls him from his thoughts. She shuts the door and turns, eyeing the bed skeptically. "Hmm, standing room only I think."

Steve huffs out a laugh as he takes in the mess of a room, a room that looks lived in and shows Eddie's personality and the things he cares about. Nothing at all like his own room at the Harrington house; perfectly clean and matching and devoid of anything distinctly Steve. "Like you ever make your bed."

The noise Robin makes is clearly offended, and she smacks his arm lightly with the back of her hand, "uncalled for! Unprovoked, even!"

"Yeah, well, you're judging a guy who's been in jail this past 48-ish hours. Not like he had time to tidy up," Steve says.

"I think the state of his bed -whole room, really- is not because he didn't come home to clean up. In fact, I think he just lives like this."

"At least his room looks lived in. I mean, look at all of this on the walls. You think he drew these?" Steve says, hand reach out to brush against a drawing tacked to the wall nearest him.

"Your room could look lived in, too, if you weren't afraid of a few tack holes," Robin replies, crossing the room. Steve watches her go, approaching the mirror and the guitar mounted in front of it. She examines the guitar before picking up the red yoyo atop the amp.

"And here you were worried about not being able to read my mind anymore."

She turns to him and gives him a quick, genuine smile before turning her attention back to the yoyo. "So, what's the soulmate secret? You really good with a yoyo?"

"What? No. I didn't even know that was in here," Steve says.

"I thought you knew the future," Robin teases as she gets the yoyo to successfully fling from her palm and back into her grasp. She makes a little pleased noise before she creeps around the room, gawking at all of Eddie's things.

"I know one, specific future that we are trying to change, if you'll remember. I didn't know you could yoyo."

"Neither did I- oh my God, there's an Alf costume in his closet!"

"A what- no, nevermind. You can snoop and-"

"I'm not a snoop."

"-and listen as the same time, so I just. I'm gonna say something and please know that I have had five years to figure this all out, and also know that the apocalypse has a way of putting things into perspective."

"Mhmm," Robin hums an acknowledgement as she moves back to where she picked up the yoyo. "Why does he have a pepper shaker in his room?"

Steve ignores her, choosing to believe that was just her thinking out loud and not actually asking him. "Actually, the apocalypse was full of surprises. And I mean, beyond the surprises one might expect. Like, so many of our old teachers are survival experts. Did you ever have Mr. Clark, that guy- wait, no. I had something I wanted to tell you."

The phone starts ringing in the living room. Nancy's out there, though, so neither of them move to the door.

"Anyway, this feels so... why am I so nervous about this? I mean, I've already told you once, but, uh, I. I'm a little worried, scared?"

"Hey, whoa," Robin has dropped her investigation and turned fully back to Steve. "What is it?"

"I like Eddie," Steve blurts, needing to get the words out. "I like Eddie, and I died so now I think this is my only shot, like last last shot but I don't even know if he'll still like me back and I'm, like, ridiculously nervous to see him because, and this is the soulmate secret part because-"

"Whoa, what, what!!? Did you just say died?"

"- you cannot tell anyone, but I'm the reason he's been in jail. I called Hawkins PD and told them where they could find Eddie, 'cause if he was in jail then he couldn't be blamed for Fred's murder, but I've never had to fess up to that because, like, Hawkins exploding and life becoming an actual nightmare for years made it not important. Like, what's a criminal record in the face of no surviving government?"

Robin is staring at him, eyes wide and face slightly pale and it's now that Steve thinks that, maybe, he's not doing as well with everything as he thought he might be.

"Am I... okay?" Steve asks himself out loud, and that has Robin throwing herself across the room to clutch at Steve, drag him into a crushing hug. He hugs back, trembling and finding it hard to breath.

"No, no I don't think you are," Robin whispers, squeezing tight.

"Hey, that was- oh!" Nancy says as she flings the bedroom door open. "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt-"

"It's just a hug," Robin says.

"Right. Umm, the phone was Officer Callahan. We can go pick up Eddie."

"Right," Steve says, pulling away from the hug and pulling himself together. He can have his mental break down tomorrow. "Let's go get Eddie."

Provided if that, this time when he closes his eyes to rest, he'll wake up here and not. Well, either in the future or not at all.

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @a-little-unsteddie @sevenmerrymagpies @steviesummer @queenie-ofthe-void @mycatsstolemybiscuit @lololol-1234 @synonym-for-strange @tchackdaw

#steddie #my fic #time travel au #apocalypse au #butterfly effect au #i adore the scene of robin steve and nancy up in nancys room as they discuss going to pennhurst #because robins just in the background going through all of nancys things like thats a completely socially acceptable thing to do #so of course shes gonna do that to eddies room.#also *I* know Alf wasn't out yet but they put the costume in there anyway so in this universe Alf came out in '85 instead of '86 #*grumbling to self* thisll be short i said. only like 4 parts i said. well im a goddamn liar arent i???

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pessimisticpigeonsworld · 3 months

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Watching this video essay about Yellowjackets and somehow HOTD came up and I saw the tweet and I roll my eyes so hard

Uh. Yeah. Bc she uses the faith (basically Catholicism or Christianity) to act as this pious queen when she is paying maids to keep their mouths shut about her own son raping them.

And she didn't just hang up some four pointed stars, if I remember, she REPLACED, the targs sygils with the faith of the seven stuff.

Alicent stans just love to forget her fanaticism until they can use it to make her look more pathetic. I have to say, accusing Rhaenyra of religious fanaticism is a new to me lmao. I've only ever seen people call her a godless whore, but I'm not on X, so maybe I've been spared.

Targaryen antis don't seem to grasp just how much of the Valyrian culture the Targaryens have given up for the sake of Westeros. Calling the Valyrian wedding ceremony an "arcane marriage ritual" is not only insulting to the Valyrian culture but also completely hypocritical.

Valyrian culture was steeped in magic, they themselves have magic in their blood. Is it any surprise their marriage customs would be the same? That's like expecting the Starks' ceremonies to happen separate from the Old Gods. The Targaryens have given up their gods, most of their magic, their language, and their marriage traditions. They never forced other people to follow their traditions, they never forbade following the Faith and the Old Gods, they fucking conformed as much as possible aside from the incest, which was the only way they know to preserve the last bit of Valyria's magic.

Alicent wouldn't be seen as a religious extremist if she didn't actively repress and hate other religions. She badmouths the Valyrian traditions, not just the incest, but also their love of dragons and their art. She removes all the Valyrian and Targaryen heraldry and artifacts and replaces them with the the symbols of a religion known for being intolerant and repressive.

As I said earlier, the Valyrian culture is dying out and the Targaryens have given up so much of their mother land. Removing the last pieces of someone's culture just because you follow a different religion is fucked up. Alicent isn't even the actual ruler or a Targaryen, it's not her place to choose to abandon their Valyrian heritage while her husband is too sick to interfere.

But the real issue of Alicent's actions are her motivation. She doesn't actually care about morality and her own religion, she cares about supporting Aegon and undermining Rhaenyra. That's why she criticizes Valyrian incest then turns around and forces Helaena to marry Aegon. That's why she calls Jace and Luke savages when her own son bullies his siblings constantly and later rapes women. That's why she harps on about honor and decency while actively protecting and covering up the actions of a rapist, a murderer, and a kinslayer. That's why she removes the Valyrian heraldry while Rhaenyra is gone and replaces them with the symbols of the Faith.

She's literally the definition of the hypocritical woman for Trump. She harps on and on about morals then turns around and does reprehensible things for her own gain. She complains constantly about a culture different from hers and actively tries to remove its influence. She hates people who don't conform to her ideas.

Alicent isn't a good person, period. She's a hypocrite, constantly upholds the patriarchy, sacrifices others for the sake of her interests, and is xenophobic. The efforts to take her flaws and project them on other characters, usually Rhaenyra, by her stans is ridiculous and really shows how little they actually like her character. They like her aesthetic and the idea of a perfect suffering victim.

#anti alicent hightower #anti alicent stans #anti team green #team black #house of the dragon #anti team green stans #anti rhaenyra antis #rhaenyra targaryen

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immajustvibehere · 8 months

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Spark (8/8)

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader - Enemies to Lovers

Chapter 8 summary: Found and taken in by the Natives, Arthur is walking a fine line of living and dying. In the grip of illness and fever, he often imagines seeing you by his side.

This is a long chapter, so I gave it sub-headings. Easier to manage if you can't read it in one go :)

link to my masterlist

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven

7500 words, +30 minutes reading time

I. The Downfall of the Gang

A prevailing notion circulated in the gang that you and Molly shared culpability for the Pinkertons’ decent upon Lagras. They nearly razed the settlement to the ground, and the frustration about the new location of camp being found out so soon certainly didn’t help to improve the general mood. With you gone, there was no way you could justify yourself and nobody was keen on defending you either, though some people were convinced of your innocence either way. Notably, Abigail, though somewhat resenting you for having left, given Jack’s affinity for you and John’s confinement, was sure you wouldn't send the agency to shoot at them. Artur knew that you wouldn't do such a thing, as you had absolutely no reason to. Many people in the gang knew that it was way likelier that the Pinkertons picked up the trail from some of the boys coming back from Guarma, considering the gang was worth almost nothing without its leader anyway.

Dutch readily agreed that it must have been you, his main intention probably being to silence Micah, whose ceaseless prattle on the matter had grown unbearable. Micah spit phrases like: "She probably thought that she could get rid of us so we wouldn't go after her for the betrayal."

This went too far, even for Dutch’s taste, who was aware that they had other battles to fight. It was useless to hunt either you or Molly down and just a waste of resources and guns that were scare to begin with.

Arthur was distraught that you were gone. When he rode out with Charles, to search for a new camping spot up North, Charles handed Arthur the gun that he had borrowed you. The gesture resonated with a finality surpassing all preceding farewells…though there hadn’t even been proper good-byes.

"She uhm...she said anything? 'bout where she's headed?", Arthur asked as he let the gun slip into his saddle bag.

"I'm sorry", Charles shook his head, "She was a great help when we moved camp, but she disappeared soon after. She gave me the gun and told me to hand it back to you if I get the chance. You know, we weren't even sure if you had survived."

And the topic was left at that. The gang moved to Beaver's Hollow and Arthur felt a sickness nagging on his body. He started boiling with rage, every time your name was mentioned in a negative sense. Mostly by Dutch and Micah. Soon after, Bill started to complain about you too. Arthur would be lying if he told someone that he wasn't looking for you. It wasn't an active search, but whenever he was in town, he'd ask a few men at the bar if they had seen a woman of your description. Though the answers were barely trustworthy most of the time.

At the saloon in Annesburg, he spoke to a drunk man, who, as answer to your description mumbled a "fierce little creature" before he fell asleep on the table. This was the best lead Arthur had, and it wasn't nearly enough. He was roaming the country, avoiding collecting the debts, suffering under how sluggish his body was willing to comply to what he wanted it to do.

The first time Arthur was happy you had left, is when the doctor had told him, that he had tuberculosis. Until then, Arthur had mixed feelings. He appreciated that you left the gang to save yourself, because it took no genius to understand that whatever had bound the gang together was a thin thread that threatened to snap any moment. When he saw how Molly ended, however miserable he felt for her, he had been glad it wasn't you that had come back to die in the dirt. And still he had harboured feelings of resentment for you. Leaving without a word, without showing yourself ever again, when on that ride back from Guarma to Shady Bell he had hoped for you to be there, for some hug or any sort of gentle sign that would have soothed his aching soul and body. He realized soon that he was foolish to hope for that. And that Micah was right to accuse him of having become soft, if your gentle hands was all he could think of, despite your hands being mostly anything but gentle.

But as he sat outside camp, wheezing and wiping the blood off his lips that he had coughed up, he was glad you weren't here. Whatever urges he had to be comforted, to see something else but a bitter and angry face, the feelings of having failed and paying for his sins was the stronger force. He deserved it, after all. And he shouldn’t wish for comfort.

He, as many others, tried to avoid camp as often as possible. In those two weeks, when the hostility between him and Dutch was especially high, because he and Sadie had rescued John from prison, he spent most of the days roaming the country and helping strangers. It wasn't that those trips took his mind off you, quite the contrary.

It was when he was out fishing with Hamish, a veteran with an impulsive horse, that he mentioned you for the first time to anyone that wasn't Charles or Mary-Beth (not counting Jack, who regularly asked where you where and why you had gone).

"Ya know. There's this girl...we went fishing a while ago and she couldn't deal with the waiting."

Hamish felt that it was dangerous territory, so he considered Arthur's pondering face for a while before he finally said: "You should take her here sometime. While we wait for the fish to bite, I can tell her stories so interesting, she' gonna hope that nothing bites."

Arthur chuckled sadly and shook his head: "She left, 'm afraid. She was right to do so. Ain't especially lucky to be around me."

As if the universe heard those words, Hamish was pulled into the water only moments after by the gigantic Pike they were after. It gave him and Arthur something to laugh in the aftermath.

"I'll draw them away from you! Go!", Arthur yelled, desperate pulling the reigns of his horse as John dismounted his.

"Come with me", John implored, "We can make it out of here!"

But Arthur understood he couldn't. The train heist only hours before and Abigail’s rescue had drained his strength. His body was tired, no, it was surrendering. He knew he couldn’t keep up the pace. His horse was his only support now, if he abandoned it, his legs would betray him. It wasn't just the tiredness of his limbs, he felt nauseous, sick, the sweat was on his forehead, causing his hat to cling uncomfortably.

"No. I pushed all I can”, Arthur’s voice was strained, “I'll buy ya some time, keep them off your back a while longer, you run and join Abigail and Jack."

"You're my brother!"

"I know", and with those words said, the brothers turned their backs to each other, John fleeing up the mountain, Arthur desperate circling the small area with his horse, firing round after round until he had shot himself a path of escape. The horse’s pained bucking under the impact of a bullet seared through Arthur’s heart, yet he urged it on. The loyal animal complied, carrying its master through thicket and woods as bullets whizzed past. Finally, it collapsed, half of its heavy body falling on Arthur who had ungraciously been thrown off.

The head of the horse was weirdly twisted, but Arthur still heard its heavy breaths. That aside, it was silent in the forest. Killing it would be the noble thing to do. But his vision was already blurred when his hands crept to his gun that was long out of bullets. And before he realized that it was silent in the forest and he had managed to shake the Pinkerton’s, Arthur closed his eyes, not being able to fight the exhaustion any longer.

He was dead. Or dying, at least, because every time he gained consciousness, his whole body felt like it was on fire. With immense effort, he pried his eyes open, only to be greeted by a hazy image, his pounding headache blurring his surroundings. Arthur struggled against his own lethargy, he wanted to gain control of his body again. Neither of his limbs moved, no matter the effort he was putting into it. His eyes wouldn’t focus, his chest no rise enough for a proper breath. Every time however, without failure, weariness washed over him and unconsciousness reclaimed him before he could even form a thought about the state he was in. It was a cruel cycle.

When Arthur woke up for the third, maybe fourth time – there was no way of keeping count of those seconds of consciousness – he thought only one thing: Namely, that if that was dying, he hoped it would go a little quicker.

At some point, Arthur stirred awake. He felt stronger than before and finally had enough wits to take in some of his surroundings. It was nighttime, he perceived the nocturnal chorus of crickets. His attempt to open his eyes was met with a revelation, his vision, though fatigued, offered him a somewhat clear image. It was exhausting to look; he barely blinked a few times. He was in a tent, or something of that sort, he noticed. And it rocked around, like a boat or a waggon…or maybe he was just feeling dizzy. And when he managed to move his head just a little, to glared to the side, there were you. For a second, Arthur thought nothing. Then he concluded that he must be dreaming or was indeed dead and this was some funny way to pay for his sins. He closed his eyes. His arms felt too heavy, he wouldn't be able to rub his eyes or pinch his nose in concentration. But he simply opened them again. And the image of you was gone. So was Arthur's consciousness, a few moments later.

II. The Recovery

Over the next couple of days, Arthur would wake up from time to time. Sometimes seeing you, sometimes faces of women he didn't recognize. Dark skin and dark hair, Indians, he thought. Then he'd have nightmares that sometimes took his breath away and he'd wake up, feeling like a heavy weight was crushing his chest. And there would be someone - you, another woman, some strange man - pressing wet rags to his face and he wasn't strong enough to complain about it. To tell them to stop because it kept waking him up from dying, from sleeping, from unconsciousness. Whatever that black void was he'd fall in, but he much preferred it because then his body didn't hurt so much.

"You're going to be alright, mister."

Arthur opened his eye to look into the face of a dark-skinned woman. Braids falling from her head that was dangling right onto his face. There was the wet rag again, but it didn't feel so crushing this time.

Finally, his vision was…almost clear.

It was she who explained that he had collapsed and now was with Rains Fall’s people, as they were heading North to escape. The women that took care of him, Arthur caught glimpses of three different faces and though his headache was mostly gone, a persistent cloudiness lingered over his senses. Maybe it was because he sometimes seemed so confused or because he still lacked some control over when he fell asleep out of exhaustion, but when they talked to him, it was always very vague.

"Your friend will return soon. He's securing the perimeter, but he'll be back in a day or two", one of the women explained to him. They must mean Charles, he was certain. But when he wanted to ask, he found that it was hard forming words. His throat was parched and the attempt to speak yielded only a hoarse croak. A sympathetic smile from the woman conveyed understanding, at least.

….

You had sat at his side for four hours. It was late at night, but you couldn't bring yourself to leave his side. You had been running errands the last couple of days and had missed him waking up. Well, waking up without fever and therefore capable of forming thoughts. Tonight, he was restless, dreaming maybe.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes and grabbed your wrist. His hand was clammy, still remnants of his sickness and probably his latest nightmare, but this time – for the first time ever – he was fully awake.

"It's okay, I'm right here", you reassured him.

Arthur simply stared at you like you were a ghost. Then his eyes narrowed to one of his signature contemptuous stares. It was a terrifying expression that you had seen a couple of times before. His nose would scrunch in disdain and his facial muscles were coiled with tension – a sign of irritation. In a firefight, it marked the precipice of drawing his gun; in a brawl, it forewarned of the impending launch of his first punch.

"Yer real" Arthur stated, his assertion hung in the air. His voice was low and quiet. It sounded like he needed something to drink, something to oil up his throat that has dried up from weeks of not using it.

"Unfortunately so, yeah", you said. Your heart sped up. He was awake. Finally. After all those days of not knowing if he'd make it, he was okay. Far from fit or fully recovered, but he wasn't dying no more. The thought made your eyes wet and forget about Arthur's sceptical glance.

Arthur blinked slowly. Those weren't dreams. They never had been. You had been there all this time.

Arthur closed his eyes again without saying something. His hand slipped from your wrist and onto his chest. He didn't want to talk, no, he didn't even want to see you right now. A swell of emotions came over him and he wasn't sure how to feel about your presence. For his inner turmoil, he kept silent on the outside, giving you the impression that he had dozed off again.

Eventually, he really fell asleep. Though when he awoke and pled for water before even opening his eyes, it was you who led a bowl to his lips. Whenever he woke up, you would be there, ready to jump at his commands. You didn't speak about why you were here or where you had been. Nothing of that matter. Nothing about Dutch or Micah or little Jack. It was always just handing him water or soup or helping him change his clothes.

Two days later, Charles showed up with a warm: "Welcome back, brother." It was he who explained what had happened. That two Indians had found him unconscious, buried under his horse. That his leg had been bruised from the impact, and he was weak, feverish and on the brink of death. It was an intricate matter, caring for him while heading North with the tribe and he admitted that only after one day with him under their care, Charles had seriously considered staying behind and caring for him. It had slowed down the group that much. Then they ran into you, simply sitting on your horse and watching the caravan of people go, before catching Charles' eye.

Arthur remained conflicted when Charles broached the topic of you. This inner struggle was not lost on Charles, keen observer that he has always been.

"She took good care of you. Without her, your recovery might have been in doubt."

And as this didn't seem to do the trick, he added…

"She sat with you every night. Washed you, made sure you had everything you needed. Even though Rains Fall disagreed, she stole a waggon so you had a comfortable place to get better.”

“She had left, Charles…”, Arthur croaked. You leaving the gang behind had left him with mixed feelings. He had worked through them before and had arrived at the conclusion that it was better for you, and still…seeing you here, healthy and restless, he regretted not having you there at the end. You could have been of great assistance. Could have prevented Abigail from being taken or made John’s prison break easier. Hell, he might have had more fun killing the last of the O’Driscoll’s if you had been by his side. The prospect of your sudden absence when he might have required your presence left a bitter aftertaste in his mind.

“Don’t blame her for that. She had no obligation to stay, she was only with us for little more than a month at this time and she could tell that it was coming to an end”, Charles said.

Arthur thought what might have happened if you had been there at the stand-off. The notion of having another ally by his side, countering the overpowering presence of Bill, Javier, Micah and his two traitorous cronies, weighed heavily on his mind Yet, this reverie crumbled upon realization – there was the cruel possibility that instead of Miss Grimshaw, you would have found your demise. Or considering your proclivity for action over passivity, you might have opened fire earlier and would have caused an even worse outcome. Yes, maybe your absence had been the better.

“She rode hours through rain to fetch you a doctor”, Charles went on as he saw Arthur’s thoughts wander, “She found a nice man with a waggon. The doctor said he knew you and that you helped him one time in Rhodes.”

That put a little smile on Arthur’s lips, because he remembered the Doctor well. He was talking all funny and had had his waggon stolen. “Yeah”, Arthur answered as a sign of recognition.

Even Charles didn’t know what more to say, so he put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, before he left him alone.

The group had settled down near a creek. You had been on the move for a while now, and food supplies were running low, so they had decided to camp here for a couple of days, until hunting and gathering had provided enough resources to continue the travel. It was then that Arthur left his little nest that had been made for him. A simple waggon really, with some linen span across it to shield him from the weather. Sitting up was exhausting, but he managed to more or less crawl to the opening, sitting there and letting his legs dangle from the waggon. Everyone was working. The horses were grazing, a couple of kids were running around. It wasn’t difficult to spot you, chopping some wood and carrying it to the fire. That’s when you caught Arthur’s eye and approached him.

Seeing him out of “bed” put a big smile on your face.

“Why even bother?”, Arthur asked when you had reached him, jumping up the waggon to sit next to him. “Should’ve shot me when they found me. Tuberculosis can’t be healed, as far as I’ve heard.”

“Tuberculosis? What are you talking about?”, you looked at Arthur curiously. He stared back in silence, furrowing his eyebrows.

"It's what I've got", Arthur explained, a little sceptical as if your gaze alone had made him unsure of the diagnosis.

"You don't have tuberculosis. At least, the doctor we consulted said so", a smile played on your lips. A knowledgeable smile, as if you knew more than him. It was a cheeky smile.

Arthur didn't believe you.

"Y/n, I was on the brink of death when you found me. I cough up more blood than I ever lost through bullets…taking a deep breath was almost impossible.”

"How's it now though? The breathing...", you asked.

Arthur halted and for the first time since he had regained consciousness, he drew in a deep breath. Then another, and another. It was slightly uncomfortable, as though something was constricting his lungs and made it harder for him to let air in, but it didn't hurt. It was only after the fourth big breath that a slight cough stirred from within. But it didn't ripple his airpipe, bringing red fluid onto his lips. It almost tickled. It reminded him of the sensation of pressing upon a spot where a bruise had once been, recently faded. It wouldn’t hurt, but it would tickle, and the skin would be terribly sensitive.

"It's...okay I guess", Arthur concluded.

You smiled, satisfied: "You don't have TB. I mean...maybe you do, but Doctor said if you had, it wouldn't have shown so soon and with such vigour. But he did say you had the worst case of pneumonia he had ever seen. We weren't sure you'd make it. But now that you have pulled through the worse", you shrugged, "I'm afraid you'll have to see my ugly face still."

Arthur didn't know what to say. Was he relieved? Happy, even? He didn't know. He was just speechless.

"Doctor said that in case you recover, you'll have to rest a lot. He knew you, by the way. Black fella with a nice-looking waggon. Weird grinder thing on top. Had to help him fix a wheel when I brought him up here. He said you had helped him some time ago, fighting the people who had stolen his waggon. And then he said you wouldn't be fighting anyone for a while, even when you are back on your feet. You need to rest for months, fresh air,...and especially, seeing that you have lost about half your weight, lots of good food. No smoking, of course."

Arthur’s chuckle rippled through the air as he started to grasp the situation. “That’s quite the relief”, he murmured, chuckled lightly as he finally started to grasp the whole situation: “That’s good news.”

“What? That you look like skin and bones?”, you teased, bumping your shoulder into his.

“No. That I’ll get to see your ugly face for some time longer”, he bumped back, stronger than you had and almost knocking you into the edge of the waggon. You hadn’t been so relieved for a long time. You felt something thick in your throat and tears gathered at the corners of your eyes.

“Missed ya, ya know”, you said quickly before a sob could work its way up.

“I missed ya too”, Arthur looked at you. He noticed the wet eyes and scrunched his nose immediately: “You gone soft while I was out? You crying ‘cause of me?”

The teasing tone alone was so friendly and welcome, it cheered you up even more.

“You ain’t worth crying over, Mr. Morgan”, you lied.

“Damn right I’m not”, he said. He let his eyes roam around the camp again. It felt familiar. The image or Horseshoe Overlook came to him, but this was different, of course. Or was it?

“You hungry?”, you asked.

“Starving. If ya can offer something else but soup”, Arthur quickly added. He only had eaten soup the last days. It was the only meal which didn’t require chewing and wouldn’t immediately choke him in his half-conscious state. This time, you brought him a small portion of stew. Not comparable to the stew Mr. Pearson had cooked. The small pieces of meat that you had granted him in his portion were as soft as they possibly could be, almost melting in his mouth.

“Slow down, god damn it”, you warned him.

“Yes, ma’am”, Arthur quietly mumbled. It was hard to slow down, but he knew he had to, since this was the first time he ate properly in – he later was being told – 13 days.

In the evening, you approached him again. Arthur was lying in his bed, half-recumbent with his journal on his lap. It was closed, Arthur was merely thinking. He had flipped through some entries before, but now he enjoyed being idle and watching everyone getting ready for the night.

“Arthur”, you knocked at the wood before appearing in his field of vision, “got something for you. I almost forgot, I had it stored away.”

You climbed on the waggon and put down a gunnysack. You carefully spilled its contents onto the floor. Arthur recognizes the round glass with the flower first. Then the picture of his mother. The picture of him and Mary. The shot of his father, though big chunks of the little picture were charcoaled and burnt, he only recognized it because he had looked at it so often. Two shirts, one pair of pants and an old belt that he hadn’t used in a while.

“That’s all that was really left, I’m afraid”, you said. He didn’t need to ask, he understood. You had gone back to where they had last camped and had rummaged through what was left after the fire to store it for him.

“Why did you…?”, Arthur started, picking up the picture of his mother.

“I…don’t know. I never had many belongings to my name, but those I had, meant much to me. Figured you feel the same”, you shrugged. Then a cheeky smile appeared on your lips: “Thought it would be nice to bury you with them if you didn’t make it.”

Arthur clicked his tongue. “It was stupid to go there. Might have been dangerous.”

“Felt worth it for me, I guess”, you said.

After a pause, Arthur thanked you. You wished him a good night at let him be. As soon as your frame vanished from the little field of view that the open canvas space granted him, he opened his journal again. He pulled out Mary’s last letter to him. Not reading the neatly written words again, he simply turned the envelope upside down, until the ring fell into his hand.

…

It took two more days before Arthur was strong enough to walk around and be on his feet for more than ten minutes at a time. But he felt fine enough to take a bath in the creek and shave. It was shocking to see his cheeks that have sunken quite a bit due to the weight loss, but Arthur’s appetite was as good as ever, so you didn’t worry about it too much.

Most of the day he spent by sitting in the shade and observing the people. Mostly you, if he was being honest. You played with the kids, helped wherever another hand was needed.

He was trying to get up from his little patch under a tree when Rains Fall approached him. Arthur hadn’t encountered him yet, he had been busy with arranging and managing the move. The last time Arthur had seen him, he had delivered him his dying son.

“How are you, Mr. Morgan?”, Rains Fall’s voice was as gentle as ever.

“Feeling much better now. I can’t thank you enough for taking me in”, Arthur said.

“After all you have done for us, it is I who must thank you”, Rain Falls smiled slightly. Silence ensued between the two men before Rains Fall spoke again, “I recall our conversation when you were my company on the ride up the mountain. You said that some people in your gang still had a chance for a good live and that you wanted to give them that.”

“Yeah”, Arthur said, his eyes fixed on you. You were brushing some horse in the distance.

“What’s with her?”, Rains Fall asked, following Arthur’s gaze, “I heard she took excellent care of you. Charles told me she’s a fierce spirit when cornered, but she seems tame and gentle. I can see that you care for her deeply too.”

“Suppose I do”, Arthur answered, “I’m not sure if that’s what she wants.”

“There are always some uncertainties in life, don’t waste too much thought on those that can be resolved with one simple question”, the chief answered. Arthur nodded, as if he understood, though he wasn’t so sure how much of the situation he had actually grasped. The ring that Arthur had picked out of the letter was in his pocket, and he felt it, when Rains Fall spoke those words. When nothing more was said on that matter, Rains Falls sighed: “Tomorrow, we’ll be on the move again. We haven’t covered much ground yet, but I’m certain we’ll make it.”

It was a statement that needed no comment and Arthur watched as the old man walked away.

The group barely covered ten miles a day. It was a good pace, nevertheless, for Arthur was on his feet again and tried to make himself useful. He tended to the horses, seeing they are well cared for and rested for the journey. All this time, you were pretty much at his side non-stop.

“You used to say ya don’t need me to do babysitting…but now yer the one watching me like I’m gonna do something stupid the second you lay your eyes off me”, Arthur teased.

“I don’t trust you to do no heavy lifting”, you said with a smile. It was a good opportunity to be close to him and help.

All of a sudden, you had started sleeping in the same waggon as he. Because the one you had used was “needed otherwise”. You sat next to him at night, watching him draw in his journal and often fell asleep way before him. Arthur was unsure if this was a sign that everything was like before, that you still liked him, but he was glad about the closeness again. The second night, he held you. The third night, you fell asleep with your head resting on his chest.

“I’m going to leave”, you said. You sat next to Arthur and watched his pencil strokes. They had been shading the horse he had just sketched. The pencil halted and Arthur looked at you.

“What?”

“Day after tomorrow, I’m leaving. I want to head south again. Then west, maybe”, you looked Arthur in the eye. His blue eyes which were warmly illuminated by the oil lamp in the waggon darted around your face. You weren’t teasing or joking, he could tell as much.

“You know I’m not someone who sticks with a group. If this thing goes bad, I’ll feel like I’m responsible”, you offered further explanation.

“Yer gonna head out there alone?”, Arthur asked, his voice strained.

“Was hoping you’d join me, actually”, you swallowed. You had dragged the question out for a while now. You knew that Arthur needed to be somewhat recovered if he was to travel with you, so you had had a good excuse for not asking for a long while. But the last couple of days the anxiety had been eating you from the inside.

Arthur didn’t answer. He watched you; you watched your own hands. As he remained silent, you unwillingly lifted your head to look at him. This was all that Arthur needed. His hand found your chin and lifted it even more, turning it towards him. In the blink of an eye, your lips met. Arthur tasted the tobacco on your lips and figured he missed smoking. Or at least, he missed sharing a cigarette with you.

“I thought you might not like me no more”, Arthur said as the kiss had ended. Both of your faces remained so close, your foreheads touched, and Arthur only needed to whisper the words to make you understand.

“Well, there’s always been lot of nonsense in your brain”, you grinned. You were relieved, because frankly, you had feared the same.

You kissed him again before asking: “Can I take that as a yes?”

“You better”, Arthur breathed, now snaking his hands around you and pulling you into yet another kiss.

III. The Life After

The parting with the Rains Fall and his people unfolded smoothly. Farewells were exchanged without any pressure of time and in good spirits. Charles and Arthur, in particular, enjoyed a more extended exchange of goodbyes compared to their previous parting. Both could go smiling, knowing that the other one would be fine.

Arthur got a spare horse, a young, not entirely tamed one, though Arthur was more than capable of handling it. Your travels back South progressed fast. It took a toll on Arthur, traveling on horseback after he had only been on his feet for a week, but you took care of that with long breaks and early nights. Sometimes, you’d rest for an entire day, also giving the horses some time to recover. You’d take care of food in a nearby town or go hunting, while Arthur watched the little possessions you travelled with. By the time you reached Ambarino, the leaves on the trees had assumed hues of red and brown and the nights were getting colder.

“Shouldn’t we head West?”, Arthur halted his horse. You had just crossed the Grizzlies and had travelled along the Dakota River for a while, before you stirred your horse East. The air was fresh, and Arthur was wrapped in a coat you had bought in a town before crossing the Grizzlies. The sun was still strong enough that the buttons could remain open, but sometimes a strong gush of wind would send a shiver through your spine and remind you that winter would be here soon.

“We can’t continue traveling”, you said. Arthur was exhausted, and so were you.

“So, what do you suggest?”, Arthur rode next to you, stirring his horse into a slow trod next to yours.

“I know a place where we can lay low for the winter”, you said, not explaining further, even though you felt Arthur’s curious gaze. Only when you arrived at O’Creagh’s Run later that day and headed so decidedly for Hamish Sinclair’s cabin, Arthur understood.

“That’s where you wanna live?”, he asked amusedly.

“Nice man lives there. I’m sure he’ll let us stay with him for a while”, you explained. Arthur smiled, but didn’t want to spoil that he knew the old veteran. Hamish was already outside doing repairs on his little boat when he saw you approach.

“Ain’t that a nice surprise!”, Hamish raised his arms, “A visit by two friends at once!”

Now it was your turn to be surprised: “You know each other?!”

“Of course. Arthur Morgan!”, Hamish shook the hand of Arthur as soon as he had dismounted, “You’ve lost some weight my friend, but you look as fine as ever.”

Over hot coffee, Hamish was filled in on the happenings of the last month. When you asked to stay at his place for a while, Hamish was delighted. Almost immediately, you started to build another bed, because it was agreed upon that Arthur would need something more comfortable to sleep on. You would be fine with the floor in front of the fireplace for now and Hamish would continue to sleep in his bed.

It worked remarkably well. The three of you were rather quiet and when something needed to be done, it was done sooner rather than later. Arthur fished most of the time, you were out hunting with Hamish. Hamish would teach you to cook some meals, because, as he put it “A man that has lived alone for such a long time, knows his cooking spoon”, and you’d run errands in town, if something needed to be fetched. The fall of the Van der Linde Gang was still comparably recent, so the posters were still all about and to risk Arthur being seen, wasn’t a risk anyone was willing to take.

As idyllic as most of the days passed, one would think that there weren’t any struggles or that you spent your days hunting and selling pelts. But you would have never been able to sell enough pelts to support three adults, so sometimes, you’d go out and rob a stage or some rich looking traveller. You told Arthur but kept quiet in front of Hamish.

The days became shorter and the chill of winter settled in, Arthur’s recovery progressed steadily. He started to put on some more weight and longer walks or chopping wood didn’t leave him struggling for air any longer. Hamish would sometimes go out for a whole day, granting the two of you precious moments of solitude and intimacy.

In December, Hamish announced he’d be gone for a few days, visiting a cousin in Valentine. He’d be back for Christmas Day, he promised. Arthur and you considered the possibility that Hamish’ cousin was a fabrication, a ruse to give the two of you some more time alone. Nevertheless, you appreciated the gesture wholeheartedly.

Snow had fallen and the fireplace had been ceaselessly crackling in the past few days. So, the hut remained comfortably warm. In Hamish’ absence, you shared Arthur’s bed. Nestled against his chest, you traced circles through the dark patch of hair just below his navel. The only sounds to be heard were the steady crackling of the fire and the hoot of an owl nestled in a nearby tree.

“Ya mean a lot to me, y/n”, Arthur’s words slipped out so unexpectedly that you sat up and looked at him with surprise and suspicion. You were well aware of his feelings. After all, he had demonstrated as much just half an hour ago, in that very bed.

“Yer talking strange”, you remarked and raised an eyebrow.

“I love you”, Arthur said, his tone carrying an unusual weight.

“And…I love you too”, you replied slowly. This wasn’t the first time you had said that to each other, but the manner in which Arthur said it felt different. Arthur gave you a look that was so full of uncertainty and self-depreciation for himself, you lightly slapped him on his bare shoulder.

“What is going on? Did I do something wrong?”, you asked. You even raised the blanket to check if this was a new sort of foreplay that he was trying because he was ready for the second round. It was also an attempt to lift the mood, because the tension of the situation started to prickle your skin.

“Ain’t nothing wrong. I just gotta ask ya something and it ain’t easy”, Arthur complained. sitting up straight.

“Yes. I’m sorry Arthur, but the Gingerbread you baked yesterday is inedible”, you joked. You and Arthur had tried to make some gingerbread yesterday and because you hadn’t felt like baking, he had taken control of the matter. The result was…lacking, to say the least. You had lied that it looked and tasted alright, but you had been sure that by the disgusted face you had made it was clear that it had to disappear before Hamish came back and threw them out for dishonouring his kitchen.

“That’s not it and…”, Arthur looked at you funny, “It wasn’t that bad.” You smiled at him sympathetically.

“I just…god damn it, woman”, Arthur rearranged his sitting position. The he got up and slipped into his pants and shirt. He was somewhat angry, irritated maybe. Or nervous? You watched him confused.

Arthur was still fastening his pants when his voice, low and hesitant, reached your ears: “I just wanted you to know that I love ya…”

You nodded as if it was silly to suggest otherwise. With Arthur’s warmth now absent from your side, your body was cooling down and you pulled the blanked further up. And then Arthur caught you completely off guard because he knelt down besides the bed. His fingers swiftly plunged into his pockets and retrieved a ring.

“I was wondering if ya might wanna marry me”, Arthur voice was firm. He didn’t want to give the impression that he was in any doubt that he wants to spend the rest of the time with you. He was fully aware that he wasn’t the youngest anymore and that the sickness had marked him significantly. Since recovering, he had gained back most of the weight, yet ther were times when his muscles reminded him of their limitations, failing him when he attempted tasks that were once effortless.

You stared at him in disbelief, a thousand thoughts running through your head. When Arthur opened his mouth again, you were afraid that you had taken too long to answer.

“I thought it was too late for me to marry someone. I’m old. And unlovable, mostly”, Arthur chuckled warmly, “If two people ain’t too big of a group for you…” Arthur added mumbling ‘maybe three or four at some point’ before continuing, “I’d want ya to know that I plan to stick with you. Yer still young, so I understand if yer don’t want to-“

“Yes.”

Arthur shut up at looked at you. Was that a yes to “not wanting to marry”? Arthur looked like a kicked puppy for a moment, before you cleared his confusion: “Yes, I want to marry you, you dumbass.”

The ring slipped on seamlessly. The Arthur picked you up, naked as you were and hugged you lovingly. You squealed because of the cold air.

“Are we telling Hamish?”

Arthur mumbled the response into the crook of your neck which he was peppering with kisses: “If ya want. That enough of a Christmas present for him?”

You hit Arthur’s back: “Hell no! The man lets us live in his home. I was thinking about getting him a new rifle.”

Arthur set you down and you gathered your clothes, putting them on slowly, as Arthur was taking his time admiring you.

“Put some money back”, you grinned mischievously, “It was also meant for buying you a present. But I suppose that being my husband is good enough.”

“Oh you!”, Arthur growled and scooped you up, throwing you over his shoulder. For all the strength he had lost, he was still strong enough to do that. Barefooted, Arthur stamped out of the cabin. “Give me one reason to not throw you into the lake!”, he teased and approached the jetty. It wasn’t frozen yet entirely, but the water was icy cold and black.

“I’m your wife!”

“Not yet you ain’t!”, Arthur made a motion that made you shriek, but he only feinted to throw you in, “besides, that is no valid reason.”

“I’ll kill you, if you do!”, now you tried to break free, but Arthur’s grip was firm.

“Ohh. That’s more like it. Though I think you love me too much for that.”

“Many wives kill their husbands!”, you screamed.

“I could drown ya first, ya know”, Arthur teased and swirled around, so you faced the black water.

“You’ll never find out where I stashed the money and won’t afford a present for Hamish!”, you finally said.

“That’s true”, with that, Arthur let you down. As soon as your bare feet touched the snow, you darted inside, shivering violently in front of the fireplace.

Arthur soon followed, having more of a quieter complexion. He closed the door behind him, and the warm and loving atmosphere of the cabin was restored. In many ways, Arthur saw you as an equal. You were just as good as a shot as he was, just as fast when it came to running or riding. There was no need to escape his old live, because you were an outlaw just like him. You didn’t mind if life meant running away from the law. He didn’t need to tread lightly with you. You could take criticism; a discussion or whatever life threw at you. And yet, he found your movements graceful, gentle. Most of the time, at least. Arthur smiled at the thought. When your opponent was a bigger man and it would come to close ranged fighting, you became sloppy and angry, but with a gun you were the definition of accuracy and grace.

“Hello?”, you looked at Arthur wit tilted head, drawing his attention back from his reverie, “Where have you wandered off to?” His daydreams had lasted so long, he had barely noticed that you had dressed yourself.

“Jus’ dreamin’ about my future wife, ‘s all”, Arthur grinned sheepishly. He extended his arms invitingly, and you moved closer, nestling into his embrace.

“Don’t start expecting things I’m not capable”, you said.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know?! Maybe I want my husband to be capable of baking proper gingerbread for Christmas and then you come along and-“, Arthur interrupted you by poking you into the side and making you squeal.

“You do it better then!”, he challenged.

“I suppose I will!”, you grinned back, heading for the little stove, “I bet mine are at least two times more…edible than your sorry experiment.”

“What are we betting? A kiss, Mrs. Morgan?”, Arthur said slimily, his arms crossed and watching you. The name made you feel warm and happy. For all the times you’d been mistaken as a Bell, you like that name way more. But for old time’s sake, you turned around and looked at the man you love.

“Your life, Morgan!”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

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