#;; and its that reality that just fuels my anxiety

[linabirb]

also this happened

my therapist: you know i feel like you have this.. wish to not be responsible for anything? like, not be in control of anything? could you tell me more about that

me: ohh maybe that's related to like. my brain simply being too tired and me not wanting to care about anything bc of all the anxiety

*a few minutes later*

my therapist: ohh so maybe you secretly just want someone to do everything for you, like protect you, buy things for you, not let you worry about anything while you stay cute and give them affection and act as their pet or even an accessory?

my therapist: you know. like. like maybe you want that from a man

me: *FIGHTING THE URGE TO GO "OR A WOMAN. OR ANYONE REALLY" *

[httpswritings]

if you were my little girl: the series part 2

alexia putellas x child!reader; this story contains mentions of traumatic experiences as drug addiction, child abuse and similar topics. don't read it if you find those topics triggering.

Silent Guardian

The days blurred into a kaleidoscope of drills, sprints, and the comforting thud of the ball against your foot. But there was a new element to your routine – Alexia. True to her word, she started attending your training sessions, a silent guardian on the sidelines. Your heart would skip a beat every time you saw her, a jolt of encouragement coursing through you with each approving nod.

The facade held. Your parents, wary of an audience, behaved with a semblance of normalcy in public, so Alexia's suspicion of you being in danger faded.

Every goal you scored, every perfectly weighted pass, was a victory not just on the scoreboard, but over the darkness that lurked within your home. Alexia's cheers, a joyful eruption amidst the roar of the crowd, were a balm to your little but damaged self.

Alexia couldn't help but watch you closely. The way you reacted to the world, how certain things seemed to touch you more deeply than others, it tugged at her heart. It wasn't a weakness she saw, but a tenderness that made her want to stand between you and anything that might cause you pain.

Silence Breaks the Bond

The months blurred into a kaleidoscope of drills, sprints, and the comforting thud of the ball against your foot. But on the sidelines of your victories, a different reality waited. Your parents, physically present, were emotionally absent. Empty lunchboxes on the counter remained a daily reminder of their disinterest, a stark contrast to the cheers echoing from the training grounds.

They didn't care about your school life neither did they help you with your homework.

To be fair, they seemed like normal stressed parents worried about work and paying bills.

They were ghosts, navigating their own anxieties, leaving you to navigate yours alone.

You started doing bad at school.

Failed exams, no homework done, complains from teachers, etc.

At the tender age of seven, the world of learning seemed to have lost its allure, replaced by a growing sense of disillusionment.

The once-sparkling curiosity that had defined you was now dimmed, replaced by a veil of melancholy. The vibrant colors of your childhood were fading, replaced by a somber gray that mirrored the turmoil within you, grappling with a burden that seemed too heavy for your young shoulders to bear.

Alexia became a source of unexpected pressure. She'd noticed your withdrawal and failing grades, her playful questions morphing into a worried insistence you tell her what was wrong. You longed to confide in her, but the trauma remained a locked vault within you. Your silence, fueled by fear and confusion, was misinterpreted by Alexia as defiance. The frustration simmered in her eyes, a stark contrast to the warmth you once knew. The unspoken words hung heavy between you, a heartbreaking consequence of your unspoken pain.

Alexia's words hit you harder than any punishment your parents could dish out. Her disappointment, a word laced with hurt, echoed in the empty space where your secret pain resided. The fear you'd been holding back morphed into a suffocating dread. "Letting her down" felt like a betrayal, a confirmation that your silence had pushed away the one person you trusted. The weight of guilt settled on your shoulders. Maybe Alexia was right. Maybe you were just being a brat, making everything worse. But the truth, the darkness you couldn't speak of, felt like an insurmountable wall, isolating you further.

A Sanctuary Built for Two

The midday sun beat down mercilessly on the training field, mirroring the intensity of the practice session. Drills were brutal, pushing you to your physical and mental limits. But amidst the exhaustion, a memory, a dark tendril from the buried trauma, surfaced unexpectedly. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the image of the coach barking orders, his voice a distant echo.

The memory was vivid – your mother's hand, rough and unforgiving, twisting into your hair. You tasted salt, tears mixing with the remnants of uneaten food. Your whimpers, a desperate plea, were lost in the chaos of the moment. It was a recurring scene, one you'd desperately tried to compartmentalize, to bury deep within the recesses of your mind.

You stumbled, legs weak, vision obscured by a veil of tears. A hand, strong and steady, caught you before you could hit the ground. It was Alexia, her concern etched on her face.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice laced with urgency. But you couldn't speak. The words wouldn't come, trapped behind a lump in your throat that constricted your breathing.

Alexia didn't need words to understand. Her arm wrapped around your shoulders, a silent haven in the midst of the chaos. She gently held your body on her arms and took you to the coolness of the locker room, a sanctuary away from the prying eyes on the field.

The locker room was a stark contrast to the sun-drenched field. Here, shadows clung to the corners, and the air hung heavy with the lingering scent of sweat and disinfectant. Alexia ushered you onto a bench, its worn leather cool against your burning skin.

For what felt like an eternity, you were unable to speak. Sobs wracked your small frame, your only sound a desperate struggle for air. But Alexia didn't push, didn't force you to talk. Instead, she sat beside you, a silent anchor in the storm.

"Breathe, little one, breathe," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm. "I'm here. I'm here." Her words, a gentle mantra, slowly coaxed you back from the precipice. Slowly, your sobs subsided, replaced by ragged gasps for breath.

Tears continued to stream down your face, but they were different now, cleansed of the initial terror.

Alexia didn't insult you for crying. Alexia didn't hit you.

Alexia was different.

Building a Safe Haven

Alexia, staring at your failing grades and withdrawn demeanor, felt a pang of something deeper than disappointment. It was a dawning realization – a fear that maybe everyone, including her, had been failing you. Here you were, at the tender age of seven, already burdened by a weight no child should carry.

The love she held for you, a love stronger than she ever anticipated, twisted with a fierce protectiveness. She saw the spark in your eyes dimming, replaced by a dull ache of something unspoken. Maybe, she thought, the answer wasn't pushing you harder, but stepping back. Allowing you the space to simply be a child, to rediscover the joy of scraped knees and silly jokes, just like she had done when she was younger.

It was a humbling thought, an admission that her initial approach, fueled by worry, had missed the mark entirely. Perhaps, the greatest act of love wouldn't be pushing you towards some perceived potential, but creating a safe haven where you could just be you.

The smell of betrayal

The final whistle blew, signaling the end of another grueling practice. Relief battled with exhaustion as you slumped against the fence. Alexia appeared with her her usual bright smile, joined by Mapi and Ingrid.

She reached out for her almost daily hug, the one you always cherished. But this time, the familiar warmth was tainted by a sickeningly sweet, fermented odor. It hit you like a physical blow. You pulled back abruptly, your nose scrunched in disgust.

"You smell weird," you blurted out, the words laced with a coldness you didn't recognize in yourself.

Alexia faltered, her smile collapsing. "Oh," she chuckled nervously, "it's just... well, the season's over, and I, uh, had a celebratory sip of beer with the team."

Mapi said something to you but you weren't able to hear it.

It wasn't the beer itself. You didn't know the taste, even if you had witnessed countless nights where your parents drowned their sorrows in amber liquid. But the smell – that was the monster. It was the reeking ghost of countless nights spent huddled in fear, the acrid air clinging to furniture and clothes, a constant reminder of a childhood that was being stolen by addiction.

The love you held for Alexia battled with the rising tide of anger and despair. "Well, you can go so you can keep celebrating," you muttered, your voice flat.

"No! But I...I wanted to introduce you to Mapi and Ingrid! They couldn't wait anymore to meet you!" Her voice trailed off, lost in the chasm that had suddenly opened between you.

You stared at her, the playful glint in your eyes replaced by a steely glint of hurt. Your usual tenderness, the very quality that drew you to Alexia, had vanished, replaced by a wall you didn't even know you could build. The damage was done. The smell of beer had become a cruel reminder that you couldn't escape that substance, because you'll find it in every adult.

The silence stretched on, heavy and awkward. You poked a hole in the dirt with your shoe, the playful glint in your eyes replaced by a frown. Alexia's happy face seemed to wilt under your scrutiny. You didn't want to hurt her feelings, but the yucky beer smell clung to her like a bad memory.

"Maybe," you mumbled, kicking another clump of dirt, "grown-ups aren't supposed to smell like yucky beer. Maybe they're supposed to smell like, like..." you scrunched your nose, searching for the right words, "...like cookies!"

Alexia's cheeks flushed red. You weren't sure if it was from the beer or because you'd caught her in something you considered bad. It made you feel even grumpier. Cookies! That's how grown-ups should smell, not like something that makes your tummy feel poorly, thinking how you always witnessed your parents throwing up.

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in your head. You puffed out your chest, trying to look as grown-up as possible. "Maybe," you declared, sticking your chin out, "I don't need hugs anymore. Maybe I don't need anyone who smells like yucky beer!"

A big, fat tear rolled down your cheek. You hated crying, but the words just tumbled out before you could stop them. Alexia knelt down slowly, her eyes filled with a sadness that made you feel a tiny bit bad. Alexia realized something must had to happened to you to be so disgusted by beer.

"Hey," she said softly, wiping away your tear with her thumb. "It's okay to be mad. But remember," she held out a finger with a sparkly ring on it, "I'll always be here for you, even if I mess up. Pinky promise?"

You hesitated, wiping your nose on your sleeve. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all. But all you wanted right now was to go inside, hug your stuffed bear, and pretend the bad smells and confusing grown-up things didn't exist.

Taking a deep breath, you looked up at Alexia. "Maybe," you whispered, barely audible, "maybe you could smell like cookies tomorrow?"

Alexia's smile was small, but it reached her eyes. It wasn't the usual bright smile, but it had a spark of understanding. "Cookies sounds delicious," she said, ruffling your hair gently.

The Most Important Match Of All

The car door slammed shut, the harsh sound echoing in the otherwise quiet street. Alexia watched the taillights of your parents' car disappear around the corner, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. You had left, a small figure dwarfed by the backseat, your face a mask of conflicting emotions.

She turned to Mapi and Ingrid, their faces etched with concern mirroring her own. "I wasn't expecting her to be so upset," Alexia confessed, her voice a low murmur.

Mapi, ever the pragmatist, offered a tentative smile. "Maybe she's just shy, Ale. Kids can be like that sometimes, especially around new people."

But Alexia shook her head, a flicker of doubt clouding Mapi's optimistic facade. “No, this feels different. She was so excited about the idea of meeting you. Then, the second she noticed the smell of alcohol...“ Her voice trailed off, the memory of your sudden withdrawal a fresh wound.

A pang of guilt shot through Alexia. She had been so focused on nurturing your talent on the field, on pushing you towards your potential, on making you her heir to La Reina title, that she might have missed something crucial. Had she been too blindsided by her own ambition, neglecting to see the emotional landscape of your life?

Ingrid, the quiet observer of the group, stepped forward. Her eyes, usually so calm, held a steely glint. "There's something more going on, Alexia. I can feel it in my gut. Her parents seem...well, normal from the outside. Polite, hardworking. But that doesn't mean things are sunshine and rainbows behind closed doors."

Shame washed over her. She had prided herself on being your mentor, your confidante, yet she had failed to see the silent cries for help. The realization was a bitter pill to swallow. Here she was, a celebrated athlete, yet she had fumbled the most important match of all.

"Maybe you're right," Alexia admitted, the words hollow in her mouth. The past few months flickered past her inner eye – your dwindling appetite, the exhaustion clinging to you like a shadow, the plummeting grades that you brushed off as a temporary dip. Signs she had chosen to ignore, attributing them solely to the pressure of training.

Taking a deep breath, Alexia pushed the self-pity aside. You were home with your parents, and that was where you had to be for now. But a fierce determination ignited within her. Things were about to change. She would find a way to bridge the gap, to create a safe space where the mask could finally fall away. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but for the first time, Alexia wasn't just looking at you as a prodigy with boundless potential. She saw you for who you truly were – a vulnerable child in need of support, a child she wouldn't fail again

The price of cookies

The warmth of freshly baked cookies, a pact between Alexia and you, still lingered in the air whenever she was around. Yet, a subtle transformation had taken root. The once jovial mentor had morphed into a vigilant sentinel. Her gaze, once playful, now held an undercurrent of suspicion, scanning your surroundings like a hawk. Every interaction, every word exchanged with someone new, was dissected with a silent intensity.

The incident from the other day had shattered the illusion of a seemingly perfect world. The realization that normalcy, like a facade, could conceal a hidden darkness gnawed at Alexia. It felt like a betrayal, not just of her trust, but of the haven she'd meticulously built for you – a world where football was a source of joy, not a potential escape route. Memories of scraped knees and goofy jokes now felt like faded photographs tucked away in a forgotten album. In their place, Alexia had constructed an invisible shield around you, a desperate attempt to ward off the world's harsh realities.

What words can't describe

Alexia gnawed on her lip, her stomach a tightly wound knot. Building trust with your parents felt like navigating a minefield. It was essential, she knew, but the thought of putting on a facade left a bitter taste in her mouth. Yet, when your parents invited her over for dinner, a forced smile flickered on her lips as she accepted.

Stepping into your apartment, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over her. It was normal. Two bedrooms, a comfortable living room bathed in warm light, and even a small balcony overlooking a quiet street. Relief battled with the nagging suspicion that had taken root in her mind. Everything was clean and tidy, a picture of domestic normalcy that clashed with the unease she couldn't quite shake.

The sight of you, however, brought a genuine smile to her face. Your eyes held a spark of joy that had been missing for weeks, and a wave of protectiveness washed over her. She followed you to your room, the air thick with the sweet scent of childhood. This was your sanctuary, your safe space. Pink and white walls were adorned with a mishmash of treasures: a menagerie of stuffed animals, a rainbow of storybooks, and a collection of dolls in various states of wear and tear.

One doll, however, stood out. A Nancy doll, the limited edition modeled after the Spanish National Team, held a prominent place on your shelf. Alexia felt a tug at her heartstrings.

"That's you," you said shyly, your cheeks dusted with a rosy blush.

Alexia's heart melted.

She didn't know how she got to the point where she felt an overwhelming love for you.

Glancing at the opposite wall, her gaze softened even more. There, proudly displayed on a corkboard, were your artistic creations. Football pitches in vibrant greens and blues, colorful caricatures of your friends, a self-portrait with a gap-toothed grin, and a collection of drawings that featured a prominent figure – Alexia herself, rendered in all her glory (or at least, your interpretation of it).

"That's also you," you said, pointing at a drawing of her mid-dribble, a determined expression etched on her face.

A warm chuckle escaped Alexia's lips. "I'm starting to feel like a permanent resident here!" she joked, the sweetness of your gesture a balm to her worry.

"I could make you a real one," you offered, tilting your head with a hopeful smile. "A drawing, I mean."

The offer felt like a lifeline tossed in a stormy sea. "I'd love that.”

[hoodreader]

Sept. 9, 2024. Moon in Sagittarius, & the Grand Square of Sept. 10

general transit reading. word count. ~900. disclaimer, all of my posts are theoretical. :p

keywords “meta angel” by FKA twigs (sag rising & moon). map. reminds me of page of wands as well as two of wands. voyager. thinking too much. in ur head. faith.

the moon enters sagittarius on september 9th, 2024 @ 1:26 PM EST.

when the moon transits into sagittarius, there’s a nomadic energy to me. sagittarius rules things that are far-distanced and the moon is the home or things that are familiar, so combined, this gives the energy of someone who finds familiarity in the unfamiliar and brings it with them emotionally/sporutally as they go on in their journey. they no longer need to feel constant to feel safe.

as the moon exited the sign of constraint, it now enters the sign that represents liberation. which is great because saturn in pisces was just telling the scorpio moon to liberate itself.

but eventually, this trine will disappear to be replaced by a square (sometime around 9.10.24 evening EST) and cause tension between the two bodies. moon in sagittarius on go right now hoping to push a limit, but saturn in pisces not as active. sagittarius moon will thus try to push what represents boundaries (saturn) but lowkey… the boundary isn’t there (it’s in pisces and Rx). maybe this aspect says that by pushing against the boundary, u reinforce that it exists. even if ur trying to challenge it.

pisces saturn energy will just find another way and will be resourceful to its environment because there are again no boundaries. sagittarius moon is still bound by a few things, such as finding security in what is known, logical, or truthful. i don’t think that’s necessarily a bad security to have, it’s nice to know things materially. but pisces saturn Rx wants to question what u know and thus what makes u feel secure. and the moon’s eventual grand square (on september 10th) with the sun in virgo, saturn in pisces Rx, and jupiter in gemini furthers this point. it’s an anxious ass composition.

jupiter - being weakened by gemini - scatters the mind when it’s influencing the moon (a co-ruler of the mind). sagittarius is the archer so u can imagine that it has a ‘target’. the tip of the arrow is pointed and precise. but not gemini. gemini touches all bases.

gemini jupiter shows a struggle with faith because there’s a lack of conviction/commitment. and likewise, mercury shows anxiety. anxiety often comes from overthinking. when our mind attempts to be logical in turn, fuels a fear of our faith being misplaced. i think saturn — the planet of fears — being in Rx pisces is saying to understand that what manifests spiritually is not isolated from the reality. however, jupiter in gemini discourages that faith by being weakened and an overthinker. this brings insecurity and second-thoughts to the moon.

saturn in pisces Rx isn’t saying abandon boundaries. they exist regardless, as reality is filled with bounds. but it’s saying that the boundless spirit is the predecessor for the bounded reality. what is allowed in the unseen will come to light in the seen. what will u lay to be the foundation of ur reality?

the last puzzle piece in this grand square is the sun in virgo, with the sun representing the ego. the virgo sun also prioritizes reality and what’s tangible because it’s easier to verify thus easier to have faith or confidence in. but the sun is opposing the saturn in pisces Rx. we just confront the part of our ego that desires control.

a grand square astrologically reminds me a lot of a standard table - there are four corners and four legs supporting the weight and the weight is distributed evenly to every corner. tension and gravity is what keeps the table standing and fortified.

now take away one leg. the table is severely weakened. it will lean. and the three remaining legs take on more tension to compensate the missing leg. it is still standing but it’s not functional. place any weighted item on the table and the table will fall. with even less legs, the table can’t even give the guise of stability.

a grand square is filled with tension just like that table. four squares and two oppositions. but the tension is what holds it together. think of the oppositions as the supporting beams running down the middle forming a cross, and the squares reinforcing the perimeter with the planets representing the legs. grand squares are filled with challenges, but supporting the strained connections between the planets better reinforces it.

this transit pulls us in 4 different corners of a map, which can make it difficult to hone in on an overall goal or lesson. there is so much to be distracted by.

we have sun in virgo desperately trying to ground us in reality, but the planet of reality opposing it and telling it the opposite.

we have moon in sagittarius seeking the truth, but the planet of truth playing tricks on it.

we have saturn and moon both in signs ruled by jupiter. but one is challenging boundaries while the other one doesn’t acknowledge there is a boundary at all.

we have jupiter and the sun both in signs ruled by mercury. but one wants something reliable and close to home while the other wants to explore every fleeting thought.

saturn and jupiter frustrate each other. saturn calls for quiet and patience. jupiter is active and playful.

and the sun and moon show a clash as the moon wants to reach past what has been established and the sun wants to stay near what is expected.

it’ll be a confusing transit for the moon, emotionally at a crossroads. but a mutable grand square means to focus so that u may support that directionless energy. instead, turn it into adaptability. so how will u allow that to happen? will u let the water flow? or will u spiral trying to contain what is incapable of being contained? :p

$35 for moon transit x natal readings. includes transit readings centered on the transit moon & natal / transit aspects & timed predictions.

work of hoodreader blah blah no ai, no copy/paste, no plagiarism, no translations, copyright all rights reserve

[theladyrebecca2]

Stranger Things: The First Shadow (My spoiler-filled review and thoughts)

“Nerds, do you copy?”

Buckle up, because this is a long one! I've tried to remember as much as I can from when I saw the play on Dec 5th.

Disclaimer: This is in no way a complete recollection of things that happened. They really packed a LOT into it. This is just what I can personally recall, helped along by other reviews and recollections I’ve found online that sparked my memory. 

If you don't want to be spoiled, don't read any further!

Act 1.

After an epic intro scene, where soldiers on a ship at sea get dragged off by demogorgons (more on this later), we’re shown the Stranger Things intro exactly as though we’re watching an episode.

Chapter One: The Girl from Nowhere.

Hawkins, 1959. 

It opens with a young Bob Newby on air, talking on his radio show (the founder of Hawkins AV club! <3). We learn that he actually has an adopted sister, Patty Newby. She’s black, so she feels like an outsider (bear in mind it’s the 1950s/60s, so… yeah.) Principle Newby, their father and only remaining parent, is also very religious. 

He’s also the pastor (?) at the local church, and often makes Patty go to the church with him. She admits to Bob that she only likes to go to listen in on people’s confessions (some of which are really juicy). She also enjoys the choir there (?) as she likes to sing.  

Principal Newby doesn’t like that Bob and Patty read comic books. There’s talk about how some things are discouraged or outright forbidden because they involve sex (gasp!) and morally ambiguous behaviour. Patty in particular is looked down on by her father for acting rebellious. He disapproves of her answering him back. 

Instead of praying to God, Patty prays to Wonder Woman.

One of the first sections in the show’s programme is dedicated to the impact of comic books and science fiction on kids in the 1950s:

[This has always been the way with fiction. Whether you are talking about adventure, fantasy or sci-fi, stories set in faraway places reflect the anxieties of the here and now. Just as the children in Stranger Things turn to a fantasy game to help them make imaginative sense of a dangerous world, so we escape to alien landscapes to think about ourselves. As South Africa novelist Lauren Beukes once said, “By imagining the unimaginable, it’s possible to make reality more bearable.”]

[As Patty in Stranger Things: The First Shadow is aware, however, whether male or female, superheroes were almost exclusively white. Unless you happened to get hold of a copy of All-Negro Comics, published in 1947 by Black journalist Orrin Cromwell Evans, Black children would not see themselves represented in popular culture.]

[... in this age of technological advance and political uncertainty, [comic books] provided the thrills, the escapism and the imaginative fuel that audiences, young and old, needed more than ever.”] - Mark Fisher

Next, we’re introduced to Joyce. She’s Joyce Maldonado at this point. She’s half undressed and trying to find her clothes, obviously fooling around with Lonnie Byers, who is already talking down to her in a very casual way, telling her she’ll never amount to anything and that she’ll never leave Hawkins like she dreams of. It was another example of only physical attraction existing between two characters - there’s little to no emotional compatibility there. I sort of had the vibe that the scene was effectively introducing Joyce and Lonnie’s unequal power dynamics as they are in the show moving forwards. Lonnie sits with his legs encasing Joyce as they both sit on a mattress, and she’s visibly vulnerable in her bra, listening to him say these casually demeaning things to her. 

Joyce wants to direct the school play, although she’s pretending to Principal Newby that they’re doing Oklahoma. Oklahoma will serve as a smokescreen for the real play she wants to direct: The Dark of the Moon. This has its own page in the programme too: 

[From the depths of Scottish folklore to the Broadway stage, the journey of The Dark of the Moon is as shrouded in mystery and intrigue as the contents of the piece itself. Over the course of several hundred years, the story evolved from humble beginnings (The Ballad of Barbara Allen) into something rather darker and more brooding than its simpler folktale roots.] [In its original versions, it seems to have been an innocent, if tragic, ballad about a young man who dies of unrequited love, only for the grief-stricken object of his affection to follow him to the grave. There, they become a rose and a briar respectively, destined to be intertwined for all eternity.] - The Creel House front door, anyone?

[In 1939, it had somehow become part of the Appalachian mountain lore of the north-eastern USA… [sometimes] with a central theme of divorce rather than death. But perhaps its oddest reincarnation is as a regular feature in the annual school play catalogue across the United States… retitled The Dark of the Moon, the play recasts Barbara Allen as a young maiden desired by a witch boy whose request to be made human is granted on the condition that she is faithful to him for a year. When that condition is tested to destruction, tragedy naturally (or unnaturally) ensues. The play is rich with allegory, including themes as knotty as religious fanaticism, demonic possession and mob psychology, and with its plot of star-crossed lovers meeting across the divide between this world and a mystical parallel one, it’s a kind of Gothic Romeo and Juliet.]  -Michael Davies

In the next few scenes we’re introduced to a whole host of characters as they come into the high school, and eventually gather around for the casting of Joyce’s play:

Ted Wheeler, school jock, Mr Popular. Very much a ‘peaked in high school’ vibe. 🙈

Karen Childress, Ted’s popular cheerleader girlfriend. Ted and Karen are depicted as two teens who can barely keep their hands off each other. They constantly make out. It’s suggested that Karen is only dating him because he’s popular and um… well-endowed. 

Walter Henderson (who must be Dustin’s dad) is a total dick. He’s openly racist towards Patty at one point, earning him glares and snappy remarks from both of the Sinclairs who are present at the time. Patty has a horrible nickname at school, “mystery meat”, because of her unknown origins. But it’s clear with Walter's comments that her race also plays a factor in her general ostracisation. 

Claudia Yount (Dustin’s Mom). She has a cat called Prancer, and is dating Walter. I thought it was very fan-servicey to include Dustin’s parents at all, because we know canonically that Dustin and his mom only moved to Hawkins when he was 4th Grade. So I guess Claudia and Walter moved away, had Dustin elsewhere, then Claudia came back to Hawkins again with Dustin after Walter had left/divorced her?? 

Sue and Charles Sinclair. Again, it was a cute Easter Egg to include them, but all the parents of the OG boys being there felt very fan-servicey - especially with them all already being coupled up in high school. It felt too unrealistic and a bit jarring. I’m choosing to take this as they were literally intended as cute little Easter Eggs, and as prime opportunity for comedic relief (e.g. seeing Ted Wheeler as a total player, in total opposition to the Ted we know). 

Alan Munson. He’s a little strange and quirky, a lot like Eddie. He has a rock and roll vibe, and sticks out his tongue and does devil horns with his fingers, lol. The others don’t seem to know what to make of him, but there’s no animosity or anything. He’s really funny in all his scenes.

And of course, Jim Hopper Junior. To me, Young Hopper was like… a weird mixture of old Hopper from the show, and Steve! The actor did a great job, but yeah, it was giving Steve more than Hopper in some places (to me, at least). I don't know if this was intentional.

Hopper has some dad issues - his father is the chief of police, and they don’t get on. There’s a whole scene later on in the show where they even have a physical fight in the police station (although this isn’t depicted super seriously, and is actually part of a larger comedic section that involves some of the other cops in the station getting involved for laughs. At the end, Hopper and his dad sort of come to an agreement.) It’s kind of slapstick. They’re all falling over each other, and there’s even a part where one male cop falls against another face forward onto a desk, and it’s pretty suggestive (one is sort of mounted behind the other). Idk if this was supposed to be a standard ‘gay joke’ just for lols, or if it was more that the cops had an unexpected ‘moment’ together (they take a while to part from each other, and then they avoid each other’s eyes, so… idk). Just something I noticed happening off to the side.

Anyway, back to Act 1. We’re taken away from Hawkins High to outside the Creel house, and introduced to the Creels moving into Hawkins, just like they appear in the show’s flashbacks. They’ve moved from Nevada, and the reason they’ve moved is because something had happened with Henry, and this is meant to be a new start - it’s left ambiguous as to what exactly happened, but there’s mention of a kid that had been ‘left in a wheelchair’. 

At first, Virginia Creel seems somewhat loving towards her son, hugging and kissing him and trying to act ‘normal’, but she’s clearly unsettled by him. Henry is unpredictable, and almost seems to switch between different personalities: one that’s familiar, shy but friendly, and one that quickly rages and turns violent. 

Whilst it’s not explained WHY yet, we clearly see that Henry is somehow ALREADY under the influence of the Mind Flayer - and that he has powers.

Virginia becomes more and more openly terrified of Henry as the play goes on. Meanwhile, Victor Creel is generally absent the whole time as he’s dealing with his own ‘demons’ (severe PTSD from the war). People in Hawkins think he’s odd and weird. Remember that nobody understands PTSD at this point in time. 

Again, we get a spread in the programme about this: “These are the tranquilized fifties… the legacy of trauma in post-war America”:

[It is very likely that Corporal Victor Creel, 9th Airforce, missed the birth of his son Henry in 1945… Getting their bodies back to the US would be a huge undertaking… getting their minds home would be another problem, and one which no-one had thought to predict.] [Victor Creel is a familiar figure to us now: shellshocked, prone to outbursts, turning to alcohol to numb his trauma… what to do with the man who has seen atrocities - who is in himself a living testament to the fact that they exist, that they happen - who, in Victor’s case, may even have committed them himself? The answer was to bury him. Though shellshock was first given its name in the aftermath of the First World War… there was no widespread study of PTSD until after the Vietnam War, even though more than double the amount of American soldiers showed symptoms of PTSD during WW2 than WW1… Those suffering on the front were sedated and told they were exhausted… once they made it home, they were told not to talk about it: that they were lucky to be alive.]

[One response in particular would have been familiar to the Creels - the child who becomes aloof from their father, and who disengages from the emotional life of the family… Much like Jim Hopper and his father, there was often immense love between these children and their fathers, but they had no way to talk about the pain they were feeling.] -Beth Kelly

Henry is clearly lonely and feels misunderstood when he first moves to Hawkins. It’s like he’s aware that there’s a darker side of him that’s dangerous, but he can’t fully explain why he does certain things (e.g whatever he did to the kid left in a wheelchair). There’s a scene where he sees the smoke of the Mindflayer swirling around him in the void, and he yells, "What are you??"

He’s the new kid at Hawkins High. People at school think he’s strange. They’re not necessarily cruel to him, but they’re not really sure how to take him either. Joyce is pleasant to him. But the only person he really connects with is Patty Newby - who we know is also a bit of an outsider at the school because of her peculiar origins and skin colour.

It’s clear there is an instant connection between Henry and Patty. Henry in particular is obviously crushing on Patty, and acts awkward around her. They bond over their love of comic books, and decide to be friends. 

Anyway - back to Joyce’s play. So the reason she wants to direct the play in the first place is to impress some visitors from a university, so she can achieve a scholarship to study theatre outside of Hawkins. 

It involves “witches, satanism, religious allegory”. Lots of things that Principal Newby would definitely disapprove of (hence why she pretends that they’re doing Oklahoma). 

Joyce talks about the overarching message: “That’s what it’s all about in the end, isn’t it? Whether love can conquer fear.” (paraphrased). I think that was perhaps a really meta moment, and applies to THIS play and even Stranger Things as a whole.

Also there was something like, “they’re witches, not lesbians!”/ “They were witches as well as lesbians”… “Does it matter?” (again, paraphrasing, I can’t recall the actual lines, and I think this was either said at this point by Joyce and someone else, or a conversation that happened earlier between Bob and Patty when they were talking about a comic or story they had read. I’m sorry, I can’t remember!) But I thought it could be a reference to the Fear Street trilogy, maybe. I was on the lookout for any kind of LGBTQ+ imagery or dialogue, and yet my brain still managed to forget details by the end of it all (Act 1 needed to be 20 minutes longer, seriously. They went through so much dialogue so quickly, it was difficult to keep up. I feel like I need to see the whole thing again to properly take it all in).

Maybe I was tripping, or maybe I misheard, but I thought there was also a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it line about “the ending is happy and gay”. I wish my brain would have held onto those lines, but it happened so quickly. Something like, “the ending will be happy and gay”… “isn’t that what everyone wants?” Now, I’m certain they meant ‘gay’ as in ‘happy’ in the context, but I couldn’t help but side-eye that moment a little because it’s an outdated term in today’s language. It was, I believe, a quick exchange between Joyce and… I want to say Bob? Or possibly Walter? I honestly cannot remember. I'm begging people not to run away with this because it’s also totally possible that it was said in a derivative sense, like, “this story is dark, gothic and tragic... not happy and gay”, you know? "That's what everyone wants, right?" "Maybe, but this ends in tragedy." I really hope someone, ANYONE else caught these lines, and can give me their own two cents on it. (Curse my shit memory and also just how FAST those lines were coming at us during those scenes in Act 1… like guys, please slow down so I can actually take in what you’re saying!) 

Anyway. Joyce is having trouble casting the main leads, John and Barbara Allen, as the two are lovers and will need to kiss, and nobody seems to have the right chemistry or is taking it seriously enough. 

At one point, Karen (acting as the female lead) confidently and passionately kisses Bob (acting the male lead), who’s awkward and flustered afterwards (this is done for the audience lols). 

After hearing her beautiful singing voice (encouraged by Henry), Joyce decides to cast Patty as her female lead. Meanwhile Henry has unwittingly found himself in this room along with everyone, and accidentally gets involved in the casting process. Joyce sees that Patty and Henry have chemistry together, so she decides to cast Henry as her male lead too. 

Henry and Patty grow closer. Henry tells Patty that he’s bad, and she should stay away from him. She doesn’t listen, and says just because someone has done some bad things, it doesn’t make them a bad person.

At one point they sit side by side by the confessional at church. Henry admits to her that he has powers. He tells Patty that he can hear what people are thinking - all the time. It drives him crazy (and says people are always ‘pretending’ to be normal. The vibe is very much in tune with his speech in Season 4 about how everyone is just in a silly little play, all playing pretend with each other, all trapped in these notions of living their lives in a way that society thinks is acceptable or desirable).

As an example later on in a separate scene, he points to Karen and Ted and tells Patty, “she thinks he’s an idiot, and he’s scared of her.” He points to more characters in this scene and says more about them (like Claudia and Walter, Sue and Charles, maybe even Joyce and Hopper?) but unfortunately I can only remember Ted and Karen’s. 

Patty convinces Henry that his powers are not evil, and that he should be able to control them and use them for good. Henry then creates a "vision" for Patty, where she can freely sing with people listening, and everyone around her joins in and appreciates her talent (I think she sings "Dream a Little Dream of Me"? Unless this happens later on. There’s definitely a moment where she sings a bit of that song. Henry associates it with Patty.)

In this vision, even Patty's father is supportive of her and her singing, and it’s quite a funny moment how she imagines him dressed in a saucy red cape, dancing in a way that he *definitely* wouldn’t approve of in real life.

So it seems Henry is actually able to show people their dreams as well as their nightmares. It suggests his powers are his own at this point (at least to an extent), and not necessarily always controlled by the Mind Flayer. 

Victor sees Henry talking to Patty at school, and mentions this to Virginia. He describes it as “harmless, just Puppy Love”, a first crush. 

Virginia is still worried, and tells Henry to stay away from Patty (for her protection). Henry gets angry. We keep hearing his voice change when he changes, like a deep, monstrous voice. It’s creepy, like it’s not really him in those moments - it’s like the Mindflayer using Henry’s body, speaking through him. 

While in the attic (his new favourite spot), Henry keeps becoming influenced by the Mind Flayer. He travels to the void frequently, from where he proceeds to start killing animals - the first of which is Dustin’s mom’s cat. It’s just like the Vecna attacks in Season 4, snapping their bones and blinding them. 

Henry seems to be aware that he’s the one responsible for these killings, and he keeps on going back to the attic, and the void, to keep doing it - but it’s unclear just how aware or remorseful he is about all this, or whether it’s 100% possessed!Henry during those moments. It certainly seems like it’s the Mindflayer making him want to do those things. When he first approaches Prancer, he’s friendly, calm and softly-spoken. The attack happens very suddenly and afterwards, I think Henry sort of ‘comes to’ and cries out in distress/remorse? 

Either way, Henry is definitely under the Mind Flayer's control at that point, and you can see the Mind Flayer smoke flying around in the void next to him. 

After Claudia’s cat turns up dead, Hopper is immediately on the case, wanting to find the culprit. He starts questioning people, and ends up approaching Henry at school.

I want to clear Hopper’s name in something here! I saw someone say that, in the play, it’s stated that Hopper says he hates cats. Whilst this *is* something Hopper tells Henry at this point, it was clear to me that Hopper was only playing mind games in the way an investigator will try to get a suspected criminal to confess: ‘The truth is, I hate cats. So I actually just want to shake the hand of the person who did it - they’re a hero in my book!’ He’s totally bluffing, and it’s just meant to show that he’s already thinking and working like a detective. Regardless, the tactic doesn’t work, and Henry brushes him off. Hopper remains none the wiser. 

When more animals start being killed in the same way, Hopper is the one who figures out that they’re all pets of Hawkins High School students who are taking part in Joyce’s play. He goes to her to request her help, and she and Bob both end up going out to look for clues with him (complete with torches, this gave major Season 1 vibes). 

Joyce and Hopper’s relationship is mostly antagonistic, but it’s clear they like each other and they flirt a bit. Meanwhile Bob admires Joyce from afar, wanting only to impress her and to find the courage to tell her how he really feels. There's some love triangle imagery throughout with where they stand. (Note: Bob does eventually admit to Joyce how he feels at the end, but she casually rebuffs him. I'm so glad they eventually ended up together because Bob was just too pure.)

Henry continues to be haunted by images of a monster reflected back at him in a mirror. I think we’re meant to take that as a representation of Mind Flayer!possessed Henry. He’s clearly afraid of himself, and what he’s capable of. 

The Mind Flayer appears to him as Patty, and taunts him by saying cruel things, like saying that he will end up killing her. In the vision, Patty starts pulling off her own hair until we see her brain. We hear a deep monstrous voice taunting Henry, saying he “will kill many, many more” - that they have seen it happen, and it is his destiny. (Time travel hints? The Mind Flayer can apparently see into his future, unless this was just an empty taunt that unfortunately came true, or a self-fulfilling prophecy). 

[Evidently, there’s something deeply disturbing at the heart of the human psyche about the possibility of uncovering the horrific within itself. When that horror is externalised… it creates a symbolic representation of our own nightmares, perhaps allowing us to tackle them more objectively and overcome those dark, disturbing impulses within us all.] 

[By investing fictional creations with the qualities we most fear - the horrifying, animalistic sides of our nature - we can, perhaps, face them more objectively and convince ourselves that we do, ultimately, have control over them… and ourselves.]

[... Perhaps the monster we fear most is the one we see reflected in the mirror. As Professor Mulrooney puts it: “The monsters in these tales are not necessarily the people we would call the monsters - Frankenstein’s creature or Dracula. The scariest part of these books is the humans.”] -Michael Davies 

The real Patty then interrupts the vision, and asks Henry if he can help her find her mother using his powers. He’s wary of doing so, but agrees to help her. He says she will have to come with him to his attic. 

Once inside, Patty tells him that it’s cold in there. Henry says he likes it cold. 

When Henry enters the void, he successfully locates Patty’s mom. She’s a singer, a show girl, working on a stage in Vegas. Patty asks him what she looks like. Henry says she looks like Patty. That she’s beautiful.

Suddenly, he loses control, and is once again visited by the Mind Flayer. Patty’s mom morphs into a terrifying figure who chases Henry through the void… and eventually catches him. 

We see the Mindflayer going into Henry inside the void, very similar to Will in Season 2 on the school field. (This happens either at this moment, or in a flashback at another point of the play. But it’s at some point!!) I think this was showing us that whoever Henry was, he’s fast disappearing into the darkness of the Mind Flayer, and vice versa - it’s like a fusion. 

Meanwhile, Mr Newby learns that Patty and Henry have been hanging out together a lot. He’s greatly displeased by this, and decides to go to the Creel House to fetch Patty and put an end to the budding romance. Romeo and Juliet vibes be vibing hard.

Downstairs, he speaks to Victor Creel, who is having a PTSD related episode and acting strangely. He says his wife believes the house is haunted by an ancient demon, and with everything that’s happened (and by how the lights keep flashing), he’s beginning to believe her. He feels like his demons have followed him from the war. 

Mr Newby then overhears the commotion from upstairs, and goes up to investigate. In the attic, Henry is holding Patty’s hand very tightly. He’s twitching and yelling as he fights against the Mind Flayer’s possession, and this frightens Patty. When her father walks in, he demands that Patty lets go of Henry’s hand. She tries, but he’s holding on too tightly. “I can’t!” Patty cries out.

Mr Newby is then attacked by Henry, controlled by the Mind Flayer. His body starts to rise up. Patty encourages Henry to fight back by telling him that she believes he is good, and that she loves him.

“Say it back!” she pleads to him. “Say it back!”

Henry responds and says he loves her too. Because of the love exchange, he manages to momentarily break out of the Mind Flayer’s control: Mr Newby drops to the floor, alive but badly injured. 

Joyce, Hopper and Bob were downstairs at this point, having followed radio anomalies to the Creel House (which they did via a machine that Bob built for them). They freak out and run away, and all come to the conclusion that creepy, crazy Victor Creel is the one responsible for Mr Newby’s injuries, as well as the string of violent animal deaths. 

[Joyce has some basis for believing Victor capable of violent crime, based as this may be in her own father’s war experience… When Joyce opens her copy of the DSM, first published in 1952, she will find no entry for PTSD… Instead, the symptoms she might recognise from her father were incorporated into depression or schizophrenia, rather than their own diagnosis. Short of a name for what they were suffering, traumatised veterans were left to find their own way through nightmares - through violence, alcohol or isolation.]  -Beth Kelly (from the Stranger Things: The First Shadow programme)

After the commotion, Henry removes his blindfold. Patty's father has broken through the attic floor, and he’s seriously injured. Patty is very afraid and upset. After a brief time skip (to the next day or two I think), we learn that Patty is staying away from Henry, who is worried that he’s ruined everything. The Mind Flayer starts to creep back in. We see a possessed Henry back in the attic, and Virginia comes up to him and says that she wants to help him, but she doesn’t know how. She reminds him that he needs to stay away from people to protect them. She talks about Patty, telling Henry that he shouldn’t see her anymore.

Possessed!Henry smirks and asks her if she’s jealous. There’s something insidious and disturbing in the way he asks it. Virginia recoils from her son and her “everything-is-going-to-be-okay” facade crumbles. We see she’s absolutely terrified of who Henry has become.

Henry creates a vision, so that it appears as though his pet spiders escape from their jars, and they run all over Virginia as she screams. She flees from the attic as Henry’s dark taunts follow her.

Henry’s sister Alice comes to the mouth of the attic. "Where is Henry?" She asks.

Henry: "He’s right here."

Alice: "You’re not him."

At this point, it was like the Mindflayer had almost completely merged with Henry. The lines had become more and more blurred as the play went on, and now it’s becoming hard to separate them - the ‘real’ Henry is finding it hard to come through and fight the possession. The Mind Flayer is winning. 

This really reminded me of Will and his own possession with the Mindflayer in Season 2. How they described it like a virus taking over, and how Will could have continued ‘disappearing’ until there was no more Will left. 

After the incident with Mr Newby, and her terror with Henry in the attic, Virginia has finally had enough. She willingly hands her son over to an “interested party” who describes himself as a doctor (who we know is Dr Brenner). He vows to take Henry to Hawkins Lab, where he’ll be safe, and contained. 

When he wakes up in the hospital, Mr Newby reveals to Patty that he actually stole her as a baby (?) in an effort to revive his relationship with his wife by having another child to care for - but it didn’t work, and his wife left him. He feels guilty about it, and wants to confess this to her after he almost died.

He tells her that he was attacked by a monster who made him relive his worst nightmares, and that “the boy”, Henry, actually fought back and saved him from death. He then draws the Mind Flayer on a piece of paper, hands it to his daughter, and tells her that this is what he saw.

After learning that Henry actually saved her father, Patty returns to his house to search for him, but it’s too late - Dr. Brenner has already taken him to the lab. However, she is able to communicate by calling out to him.

Henry contacts Patty through the void, where she is able to both speak and see him, despite him being at the lab. She tells him that she knows he is still a good person, and that he should return home.

———

Act 2.

On screen:

Chapter Two: Captain Midnight

So here’s the thing - the play paints us a totally different picture than Season 4 did in regards to Henry/Vecna. 

Henry was not inherently evil, like S4 suggested to many people - he was actually just a regular boy until ‘an incident’ occurred when he was younger, which is what gave him powers and started his possession in the first place. The end of S4 makes us think that El sent Henry to the Upside Down, which is where he meets the shadow monster and morphs it into the Mind Flayer with his powers.

But that wasn’t Henry’s first time there, nor was it the first time he saw the Mind Flayer. That was all just a REUNION.

It’s revealed that Henry actually disappeared into another dimension (Dimension X/ Upside Down) for a period of 12 hours when he was just a kid. He got lost near some caves in the Nevada desert, and when he returned, he had "completely changed in personality". 

He came back odd, ‘not normal’, and couldn’t socialise well. He also returned with dangerous powers, which he violently inflicts on animals. The Mind Flayer had clearly started possessing him from that early point, way before he even came to Hawkins. 

Let’s go back to the very beginning of the play - to the soldiers on the ship. It was Brenner’s father and his crew that were aboard this ship, the USS Eldridge, which had accidentally travelled into Dimension X/The Upside Down as a result of electromagnetic activity. 

This is based on The Philadelphia Experiment, or Project Rainbow, said to have taken place in the Second World War. The programme had a double spread on this: 

[Allegedly, wartime experiments caused the supernatural disappearance of a US naval ship… Project Rainbow was based on Einstein’s research into unified field theory through which [he] hoped to create a single theoretical framework to encompass all fundamental forces, including electromagnetism and gravity.] 

[Carl Allen claimed to have witnessed a strange event in October 1943 involving the naval destroyer escort USS Eldridge and scientists who were working on highly confidential technology which would make ships invisible to the enemy by using powerful electromagnetic fields to ‘bend’ light around them. According to Allen, they succeeded in doing just that. In fact, Allen said the ship was also briefly teleported 275 miles away to Norfolk, Virginia, before reappearing in Philadelphia. …It’s been suggested that the Eldridge’s official logs could have been deliberately altered… with the whole of Project Rainbow moving beyond top secret clarification.]  -Catherine Jones

Brenner’s father is the only survivor of this terrifying event. After returning from Dimension X and taken to a hospital, injured and dying, we learn that his blood type is now “unique” from any other human being. He won't survive a blood transfusion. His ravings about Dimension X before his death haunted and inspired Brenner for the rest of his life. Brenner started an experiment focused on finding and travelling back to Dimension X; his ultimate goal was to "create a gate" to reach it again.

Brenner enacted these experiments in the Nevada desert, where one day, one of his agents ran away with some of Brenner’s equipment near some desert caves. The agent was never found, but a Captain Midnight spyglass was - which was the exact spot where Henry went missing in Dimension X as a little boy for 12 hours. Brenner therefore began searching for the mysterious Captain Midnight comic-book fan who went to Dimension X and returned, watching him and keeping an eye on him. This is what led him to Hawkins: following Henry. 

Brenner tells us that Henry’s powers emerged after he visited Dimension X, and just like his father, his blood type is “unique”. He collects several samples from him. He also tells Henry that his powers become stronger each time he kills, and that’s why he gets so much satisfaction out of it. Brenner also tells Henry that he would get even stronger if he kills human beings, rather than animals.

During one scene, Brenner uses special equipment to see into and hear Henry's mind. He pushes Henry to the limit so he can hear and catch a glimpse of Dimension X. We hear noises similar to the Mind Flayer in Season 2 when Will goes into the Upside Down on Halloween night. The shape of the Mind Flayer appears on the screen (or was it the head of a Demogorgon? It was definitely something Upside-Downy), while Henry convulses. After this incident, Henry asks Brenner, “Can you take me back there?" 

Brenner also introduces the idea of anger to fuel Henry's power. On several instances he riles Henry up to get him angry, insulting him - and the result is always violence. He succeeds in getting Henry to kill a mouse/rat, which explodes into a bloody mess inside its cage, and then tries to convince him to kill a criminal who has been transferred to the lab with an agreement to be killed (he has a date with the electric chair later that week regardless). 

Henry refuses. He’s been speaking to Patty in the void, who has convinced him that he’s good and that he should return home. Brenner is frustrated with this, and becomes sure that Henry has someone that is "holding him back". He vows to find and remove this obstacle. But after Henry leaves the lab, Brenner tells his agents to let him go. He cannot force Henry to kill. “It has to be his choice."

Brenner is shown to have significant influence over Virginia. He’s been providing her with medication/tranquilisers, and tells her that her son desperately needs his help. He encourages Virginia to tell him who the person Henry is attached to. She does. Brenner promises her that he will take Henry back into the lab and that he won’t leave again. 

After Henry returns home, he reads his family's minds and learns that they are all afraid of him and unhappy with his return. He goes into his mother's memories and learns of the last interaction she had with Brenner, including that she wonders if he “may never have been good”, and whether "this was who he was the whole time." He knows that she was willing to give him up to Brenner forever. 

This is when the Creel murders happen, just like they’re shown in Season 4. Virginia Creel and Alice Creel are both murdered at the dinner table - and we know Victor is going to be blamed for it.

Is this Henry’s own mind now, turned to darkness and hate, or is it the Mind Flayer intent on eliminating all of Henry’s attachments? A monster who’s made a monster. I think it’s all left open to interpretation on purpose. 

After the death of his mother and sister, Henry goes straight to Hawkins High to find Patty, hoping to reach her before Brenner does. While at the school, he runs into Joyce, who voices to him her suspicions surrounding the animal killings, and what happened to Mr Newby at the Creel House.

At first, Henry thinks Joyce has worked it out, and that she knows it was him all along. “I wish you hadn’t done that…” he says, stepping closer. But Joyce clarifies just in time that she believes Henry’s father is the one who is dangerous, and that she believes he’s responsible for the terrible things that've happened in Hawkins recently. Maybe this is what gives Henry the idea to frame his father. Either way, he leaves Joyce alive. 

Both Brenner and Henry find Patty on the stage rafters, up on a high catwalk, ready to perform her part in the play. She’s initially wearing a set of wings as a prop, which are attached to the rafter to be lowered. Henry unties her from these wings, pleading with her to run away with him. An argument ensues with Brenner, where he attempts to convince Henry that Patty is his weakness, and that he needs to kill her to let her go. Patty tells Henry not to listen to him. 

During this argument, Henry loses control once more, and the Mind Flayer takes over. This results in Patty slow-motion falling from the rafters as the shape of the Mind Flayer overwhelms the stage. She hits the floor on her back, presumed dead. 

(The stage effects for this particular scene were absolutely incredible, by the way.)

Henry is later seen back at the lab. He’s fully subdued, confined to a straitjacket, mouth gagged, and sat in a wheelchair. Brenner says the implant (Soteria) is in, about to take effect.

If we believe what Season 4 showed us, the play skipped the part where Henry appeared dead alongside his mother and sister (just before Victor is then blamed and incarcerated at Pennhurst Asylum). So assuming that Brenner played a part in covering up Henry’s involvement in the Creel murders, Henry is presumed dead by the town at this point too. Unfortunately the play doesn’t address this, as instead we see Henry run immediately from the dinner table murder scene, straight to Hawkins High to find Patty. It’s a big inconsistency which I guess they want us to explain away with Henry being an “unreliable narrator” in the show. I guess he gave Nancy the abridged version of what happened!

Anyway, it appears that Henry later finds Patty in the void, despite Brenner telling him that he killed her. It seems she has successfully left Hawkins and found her mother in Las Vegas, just as she always dreamed of doing. She uses a walking stick, but otherwise appears alive and well. 

We hear and see static as Henry watches the scene unfold, and Patty glances over her shoulder, like she senses him. But then she turns her back and walks into the distance with her mother. 

An alternative take that I heard from someone, was that perhaps Patty is truthfully still seriously injured and is actually in a coma (similar to Max). They thought that maybe the final scene of Patty with her mother was actually just something that Henry was creating for her in her mind, as a sort of last semblance of goodness and love. I don’t think that’s what was intended, but it was an interesting take that I wanted to include! 

As the show nears its end, we’re presented with a series of newspaper articles relaying the tragic Creel Murders in Hawkins (possibly the same ones that Nancy and Robin find in Season 4). The Creel family all dead, Victor is blamed and sent to the asylum. The empty Creel House remains, a reminder of the horrors. It then shifts back to Hawkins lab, who are now recruiting pregnant women for experimentation. 

Brenner introduces a pregnant woman to Henry (who is still bound to a chair and fully subdued) and explains to him that the "blood transfusion" finally worked on a subject. He points to the woman's belly and remarks, “One, meet Two!" “You are as much a father to them as I am,” Brenner says at one point. Then, “Come… meet your brothers and sisters.” Even though we know Henry is not in any way related to the lab kids, they definitely played into the father/guardian/creator metaphor in the play. If not family by blood, then by circumstance. 

We see photos of the babies created in the lab, with their numbers underneath. We can recognise Eight as young Kali. Eventually we get to Ten, at which point the stage focuses on a now older Henry, wearing his recognisable Season 4 orderly outfit. He kneels beside a child with buzzed hair. 

"Hello, Eleven. Come with me.” He takes her by the hand, and they walk into the distance together. 

———

Some final thoughts:

Because of the incident with Patty during Joyce's play, we can infer that's why she is unsuccessful in her goal to impress the university, and remains stuck in Hawkins - just like Lonnie said she would.

Lonnie is awful, and I’m in two minds about how he’s handled in the play. They did a good job to show he’s always been a douchebag, and unlike what I’ve seen some people say, I actually think it was horribly believable that Joyce (who they establish likes 'bad boys') ends up going back to him and having kids with him. We know from Season 1 that there’s emotional abuse with Joyce and Lonnie, and to me, it makes horrible, horrible sense that it all ends up the way it does. I’m just not sure how I feel about Lonnie being used as any kind of comedic effect in the play (he makes a brief reappearance at the police station, where he’s been lying drunkenly handcuffed on some chairs the whole time during a scene... “It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it!" he says, or something to that effect). I feel like using him in that way diminishes how truly awful he is as a character. Maybe I’m just being too sensitive, but I’d much rather they had kept all the laughs and jokes for the other characters, and treated Lonnie completely seriously the whole way through. I don’t want to see him in any way ‘likeable’ or ‘relatable’ or ‘funny’, you know? Not even for cheap audience laughs. This is a guy who called his own kid son a f*g. Let's treat that with the gravity and solemnity it deserves, please.

Louis McCartney and Ella Karuna Williams as Henry Creel and Patty were great, and Isabella Pappas as Joyce was amazing. Dr Brenner was nicely emulated by Patrick Vaill (I personally think he was one of the most believable characters from stage to show). The best performance of all though was Christopher Buckley as Bob. Like, damn, give that kid all the awards! He was so believable as a young Bob, I actually forgot it wasn’t somehow a young Sean Astin on stage. *chef’s kiss*

As previously mentioned, all the parents of the kids are present in the play (and already coupled up). None of these characters are particularly fleshed out, and I think they’re mainly just there as fun ‘Easter Eggs’ to connect it with the show. E.g having Claudia own another cat that gets killed, seeing Ted Wheeler ironically as some kind of jock god who gets all the ladies (and cheats on Karen with, by the way!), Joyce holding an axe prop near the end mid-rant (“Why am I holding this??”) and Hopper making a remark about breaking his own foot (which he does in Season 4). 

They definitely seemed to be going back on the whole ‘it was Henry/Vecna the whole time’ thing from Season 4: the Mind Flayer has been pulling the strings from way before El sent Henry to Dimension X/Upside Down. We even see the Mind Flayer in the shape of a giant eldritch spider during the play, way before Henry appears to ‘shape’ it in Season 4. However, I think it’s also possible that Henry DID actually manage to take control of the Mind Flayer the second time he arrived in Dimension X (as we see at the end of S4). At that point, he’s killed all the lab kids and staff at Hawkins Lab, so he will be much more powerful now compared to the Henry from the play. By now he’s completely embraced the Mind Flayer’s philosophy, and is acting in its stead entirely on his own volition. Honestly? I think they’re going to leave it ambiguous on purpose. I think that’s why the play is technically canon, but totally not necessary before seeing Season 5. I think Henry and the Mindflayer are 'one' (lol) at this point - I think that’s what Vecna technically is. He’s like an amalgamation of this terrifying eldritch being that we can never begin to understand, but at the same time also something that is still deeply, deeply human.

The Henry side of him seems to be lost, but in a way Brenner was right - his feelings for Patty, whether ‘Puppy Love’ or real - was his one redeeming weakness in his early teen years. Judging from the play, I think it’s possible we might see a tragic sort of redemption moment in S5 (which I personally have mixed feelings about). But I do believe the play is supposed to be entirely separate, and that it’s possible Patty will continue not to be mentioned or relevant in the show (I hope I’m wrong). I just can’t help but be cautious in assuming the Mind Flayer is still the one in control after what they set up at the end of Season 4 (especially with Will saying, “it’s weird to know who it was this whole time” re: his own kidnapping and possession). I think Henry has become his darkest self as Vecna.

Speaking of Will… there were noticeably a LOT of parallels with him in Henry. Henry wears pretty much exactly Will’s outfit from Season 4, yellow tones with beige and brown. Meanwhile Patty wears a blue cardigan and a blue dress - at least in Act 1. I’m not hugely into the blue-and-yellow thing in a serious way, but even I noticed there were blue and yellow motifs for Henry and Patty. She wears a bright yellow top with her blue cardigan at one point too. I think there was definitely a mixture of both Will and El in Henry’s character.

Meanwhile Patty had noticeable similarities to Mike. She’s rebellious, outspoken, loves comic books, and worships superheroes.

Seeing the play hasn’t impacted my beliefs or hopes for Byler in any way. I think there are potentially good things to be taken from the writing, and potentially bad things too. My current confidence has neither been raised nor lowered, but what I will say is that it’s undeniable that the Henry x Patty relationship mirrors both Mileven and Byler, but especially Mileven. Hentty is obviously a star-crossed tragedy, deliberately set up like Romeo and Juliet, which we know is NEVER a good thing. I do find it interesting that their love confessions were an exchange, unlike Mike’s monologue. Patty is the one ‘present’, whilst Henry is the one trapped in the void with his eyes closed/blindfold on. It’s a high stakes moment. Patty tells Henry in desperation that she loves him, but she follows this up by pleading with him to say it back. I didn’t see anyone else talking about this, but it really stood out to me.

The play’s themes and messages still reflected what I believe the show to be about: rejecting forced conformity (it dealt with people’s ideas about what it means to be “normal” to fit in, about sex not being taboo, harmful black and white morality, and the damage that can occur from enforcing religious dogma)... and of course, like Joyce said, that love will ultimately conquer fear. Over and out!

[This kind of introspection throws up unsettling and complex ideas about the nature of human morality. What does it mean to be human? Who gets to decide who is “other”? How do we treat those who are different from us? These are huge issues, and far too esoteric for most of us to deal with in abstract. So the way we choose to explore them is in stories.] - Michael Davies

[penvisions]

return the favor {chapter 19}

Pairing: Post-Outbreak! Joel Miller x Smuggler! Reader

Summary: Recovery isn't linear and neither is mending mental fences that have been slowly deteriorating for two decades. On the cusp of something life changing, Joel's growing anxiety fuels your own and the tentative bridge you've constructed with the man begins to fall.

Word Count: 7.9k

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical violence, canon typical gore, description of injuries, description of anxiety, symptoms of anxiety, tense situations, argumentative language, foul language, disrespectful language and insinuations, trauma, depictions of past trauma, ptsd

A/N: first chapter of the new year! my city has been shut down for nearly a week due to winter storms and about 8 inches of show that is slowly turning into ice. so it was good mood setting for this chapter! slowly getting back into things, really hoping to get out of my head soon and off of medical leave to get back to posting on a more regular basis, i love y'all and miss sharing things. tried to maintain the tag list but tumblr was fighting me on half the links, im so sorry if anyone who wanted to get tagged didn’t!

ao3 || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Fuck.” You whispered under your breath, watching the screeching figures rush by after the figure of Joel leading them away from you. Ellie had tripped, causing rubble to tumble over cracked asphalt and alert them of the fact that people were within the city limits and exploring through the remains of what was once a decent metropolis. Your arm stung a little from where you were still healing, the injury of your broken arm two months old now. But you were able to use it, no longer confined to a sling. Your lungs still a little sore from the plunge you had taken into a frozen lake one month ago now.

Traveling had been hard, the harsh winter not letting up but seemingly getting worse with every day. Ellie found more of herself, falling back on snark and puns in a way that helped to bridge the gap that had begun to form between you and the man currently risking his life to give you both a chance to hide and seek shelter in the torment of the snowstorm raging on.

“Bookstore or library? City looks too small for one, but everyone used to have a library at least, right, Bean?” Ellie’s voice was barely audible behind you, her gun rattling slightly as her hands shook despite the gloves and heavy layers scrounged up along the way to Wyoming.

“Yes, Gremlin. We just have to find a map or something about the area.”

“What happened to yours?”

“Gave it to Joel.” You stood from your crouched position, knees popping audibly. You peered around the corner of a crumbling building, your longer hair fanning out from beneath your beanie. The curls getting ratty with the harsh reality of backpacking around the desolate land of what was once civilization. Ellie’s wasn’t much better, tangled in a ponytail that you were sure would hold its shape even if you cut the band from around it. Similarly, Joel’s steel locks had begun to curl around the back of his neck and around his ears, a darling curl falling over his forehead when he glanced down or seldom relaxed his watching gaze on everything.

“What…what’s been going on, Bean, please tell me.”

“Ellie, it’s not…nothing happened. I really don’t know, but you have nothing to worry about, we’re both going to keep doing our best to look after you.”

You both quietly moved through the city streets, ducking behind cars when any noise was too close, or the shuffle of the Infected echoed off crumbling buildings. Cody was a decent sized city, not quite a metropolis but was spread out over a good dozen square miles. Big enough to get lost in, big enough to fall victim to with how overrun it was. There were so many Infected, the Clickers and Runners hiding within the interior of buildings that were trying to withstand the test of time. But far too many for comfort, Ellie was close on your heels as you lead her toward where you suspected the library would be.

The whole, slow way your thoughts were focused on the task at hand, instincts taking over. The niggling feeling in the back of your mind concerned with the way Joel had been pulling from you recently. The spikes of anxiety you could read from him, feeling as if you were experiencing them firsthand. Which you had been as well, the journey through the harshening winter something that was testing you all in ways that you hadn’t expected to be so difficult.

‘Gasping for air, your entire body tensed as unconsciousness was ripped from you like a blanket by an exasperated mother the morning of a school day. Hands were wrapped around you, rigid but comforting and holding you still as you began to rouse.

“It’s okay, just breath, you’re okay.” A deep, baritone voice tried to sooth you, syrupy sweet and soft close to your ear. You vaguely recognized it, mind scrambled.

Words failed you, getting stuck in your chattering teeth as you shivered so hard it felt like convulsions.

“Took a dip in the lake, not the best decision you’ve made, but we got you on the mend.” The voice continued to talk softly to you, comforting you the same way that the arms around you were.

Shifting, you realized Joel was curled around you, making you the little spoon as he tried to get you warmed back up. His chest bare just like your back and the hush of the hair that he adorned noticeable as your senses slowly came back to you. Your hair was damp, so it must not have been too long ago when he pulled you from the water. You tried to ask but your teeth clattered against each other too loudly.

“Sweatin’ from head to toe, despite the chill settled in your bones, darlin’, had to strip down to try and get your body heat up. I assured Ellie it would be okay with you, made sure to change you into dry underwear beforehand. Didn’t want her thinking I was doing anything…bad.”

“G-good call, on-only way.” You stuttered out, feeling the thickness of his thighs pressed up against your own. It seemed that every blanket between the three of you and what had been in the cabin were draped over both of your forms. The fire crackling close as you lay on the floor in front of it.

“You scared me, you scared the hell outta me.”

“Tried to take him out, he tackled me and we rolled onto the la-lake.” It was hard to talk, to get the words out past trembling lips. But the warmth slowly seeping back into your skin and settling there allowed you to try. It was lulling you, the warmth on both sides, all around. The jolt of awareness fading fast as your body realized how hard it was fighting to stave off the cold, aided by the warm body wrapped tight around you with a tight grip.

“I don’t think I could handle loosing another person.” He murmured into the back of your head, lips buried in your hair as you nodded back off.

I would be something that echoed in your mind.’

He had hovered, that first week after the incident, insisting that the cabin remain a home base of sorts, he had hunted, hung up what he could to try and preserve it for travel. Ellie staying behind when he went to check the traps, telling her that you needed someone to watch after you. But you knew what he was doing, he was distancing himself. He was marking the sand around him with deep lines that should not be crossed. But the thing about sand is that it shifts, it can be swept up, it can consume you, it could damn you as well as any boundaries you tried to mark into the vulnerable surface.

For the first week back traveling on foot, he set up his sleeping bag close to yours. An arm’s reach away in case you shivered too harshly or coughed too loudly. Your arm hadn’t been damaged in the fall or the following struggle back to the surface, but it had set you back on needing to redo the stitches you had just removed the day before.

Shaking your head and focusing, you turned the corner of a building made of brick. Bloody handprints painted across the pale pink of the faded bricks catching your eye as you spied the sign for the library in the distance.

“C’mom, gremlin. Almost there.” You whispered to her, catching sight of too many bodies clustered on the ground not even ten feet away. They shied away from the sun when it peeked through the dense overcast that seemed to become a permanent fixture. Some looked to be standing, or even sitting against the building. The ones that were didn’t shift when the sun shone down on them but groaned all the same. Squinting, you could just make out that they were attached to the wall by long fibers that spanned over the side of the building. Large bulbs had sprouted up among the veinlike display, some directly on the bodies overtaken by the fungus.

Spores.

It had evolved into spores.

“Ellie, pull your collar up over your mouth and nose. Now.”

Looking back toward it, you pulled the bandana you had tied around your neck up to cover your own face. Ice coated it all, though the Infected, melting slightly in the sun that was now shining down through the split in the low cloud coverage.

The crunch of glass underneath a boot had you whipping around toward the entrance you had tried to barricade. Ellie ducking beneath one of the few standing shelves further in the building you had taken your time to clear and make sure was safe. The local library of Cody the agreed upon meeting place so many days ago it felt like a lifetime ago, between different people than who were now using the strategy in the face of a too real notion you had voiced about separation.

Joel’s broad form came into view from the shadows of the entrance, looking disheveled but intact. The layers he was bundled up in making him an imposing figure. His eyes frantically scanning the inside of the building, an anxious twinge gleaming in them before they landed on your cautious form peering from behind a pillar. You couldn’t tamp down the instinct to move toward him, wrapping your arms tight around him. He couldn’t seem to resist his own instincts to bring his arms around you to return the embrace, tight hold that brought you flush against him.

Surging up, you placed a chaste kiss to his chin and then both of his cheeks, one last gentle one to his lips despite the adherence to touching he seemed to take up slowly toward you. But it didn’t feel perfunctory, it felt like a welcome home that would fall from his lips if reality were different, if you had been home before him and he finally crossed the threshold back into a space you both shared. His cold lips moved against yours, pressing back to deepen it and his tongue swiped at your bottom lip in a silent question. You were just about to part your lips for him to taste when Ellie realized the coast was clear and came out of her hiding spot.

“Gross, y’all gotta keep it PG, I’m still a child!”

Joel tensed, his blunt nails digging into the layers wrapped around your body. With a grunt, he broke the kiss and sent a mild glare over your shoulder toward the rambunctious teen. Rash, he thought and you saw It flash over his face at both of your thoughtless actions to reach out for each other. But instinct was a funny thing, threw inhibitions out the window, threw self-preservation out the window, the thin, sheer curtain of privacy out the window, forgotten for a moment.

“Oh, suddenly you’re a child, but back when you wanted stay up for a round of night watch you were old enough and responsible enough?” You quipped back with a teasing smile, detangling yourself from Joel and facing her with your hands on your hip.

“Well-“

“Hush it, go see what we can use that’s still around, but don’t go too far!” You waved your arm at her, the other on your hip as you tossed her a faux irritated look, but the smile quirking up the corner of your lip broke the stern image you were trying to make.

“Didn’t wanna hear whatever mushy crap y’all are gonna say to each other anyway!” She stuck her tongue out at you before turning on her heel and walking away further into the building.

“Joel,” You placed your hands on his chest, trying to get his attention as he watched Ellie’s form.

“I saw it, the spores. That means we’ve all be potentially infected just being in the vicinity of Cody.”

“Infection can show signs as delayed as eight hours. Joel there’s no way to know until we do or don’t show symptoms.” He took your hands in his, feeling the slight tremors in them as your mind worked a mile a minute. Eyes flashing with something that could only be determination as you locked your gaze on his. “But it looked mostly iced over, moving slow but still alive.”

“We gotta move out, too alive for comfort.” He slid his hands from you and put his gloves back on, flipping his coat collar back up to shield his neck.

“Copy that.”

“We’re going to be okay, we know Ellie is safe.”

“Copy that.”

A harsh grunt had your head turning swiftly back toward the clearing you were on the edge of. Trees lining the edges of your vision and their naked limbs reaching out as if to comfort you. But they would damn you sooner than that, exposing you to any threat even this deep into the forest where you had sought relative safety for the night. Joel’s sleeping bag cradled figure was shifting, moonlight showing the anguish he was experiencing even in sleep. A nightmare.

He had been having more and more of them, sleep restless and mumbled words falling from his fitful form most nights or when he nodded off.

“Joel.” You murmured quietly, hand hovering just over his shoulder. He didn’t startle, but woke with a deep gasp, eyes flying open.

“Woah, hey, it’s okay. It’s just me, you were having a fit, just making sure you’re okay.”

“’m fine.” He said as he pushed up from the confines of his sleeping bag. You leaned back on your heels where you had kneeled beside him. Confusion colored your senses before you shifted into a neutral expression. He had been pulling away, the tentative kisses you shared a few days ago the first instance of comfort you both indulged in since the cabin.

“You’re fine.” Monotone agreement to appease him fell from your lips. He shoved off from his spot and you let him walk away, boots crunching in the snow that had built up since settling for the night.

“Takin’ over watch.” He said before disappearing in the thick of the trees, not a glance back toward you or a sleeping Ellie.

“I’m fine too,” You exhaled shakily, sharing in his own lie.

The blinding white landscape stretched out as far as you could see. Packed snow and ice all around for miles and miles as winter claimed the land for its own. You kept glancing over at your companions, worry settled deep in your soul. For the girl whose teeth chattered with the cold, edge of her nose pink despite the layers wrapped around her. For the man whose anxiety was beginning to show the longer the journey took and the nightmares that plagued him every night.

He looked washed out, from far more than the endless brightness of winter shining down. He was exhausted, he was worn out, he was holding the crumbling pillars of himself up with sheer determination and devotion to finding the one thing he knew in this world, his brother.

As you tried to keep your boots from slipping, the hush of snow underfoot, a structure suddenly appeared on the horizon. Smoke calmly billowing from a chimney.

The creak of the door opening had your muscles tensing, hidden behind a wooden pillar inside the warm cabin. Joel was across the space from you, gun positioned right in front of him, a calmness about him that you hoped meant no one would be dying today.

The man who had entered back into his home looked over to his wife, her eyes sliding to the left to silently give Joel’s position away. Her eyes met yours as she continued to face the door, before turning back to her husband as she calmly rocked in the chair with her hands in her pockets. Threatened but at ease, assuming you both to be decent people. To not harm her or what was hers. Your gut twisted at the faith she put in both you and Joel, seeing the desperation for appeasement and an avoidance of true violence. You wouldn’t hurt her, hurt them. Everyone seemed to sense it, only threats were dealt with violence, and she was not one.

Turning back to the door, the man gently placed his bow down atop a table and began to unzip his outermost coat.

“And the gun,” Joel approached, revealing himself full to the older couple. Voice steady but quiet, demanding.

“Who’re you?”

“Just someone passin’ through.” He strutted confidently beside the woman still rocking gently away, his voice giving away his native land, ascent thicker in the wake of another sleepless night.

“Take the gun out, two fingers only, put it outta reach.”

The man complied, with an exasperated expression at the brashness Joel was speaking with.

“Why didn’t you shoot ‘im?”

“The gun’s all the way over there.” Was her simple answer and you felt a smile pull at your lips, the display pulling at your heart. “He didn’t hurt me, by the way.”

“Yeah, I got eyes.”

A few steps further into the room brought the map and abandoned bowls from an offering of soup to the man’s attention.

“You made ‘im soup?”

“Yeah, I did. It’s cold out.” The man’s only response was a grunt as he settled into a chair across the small table from her. Joel’s head shifted to the side slightly, and you took the signal to move in front of the door.

The man’s attention turned to you, gazing at you over his shoulder.

“Well, aren’t you a quiet thing-“

“I’m lookin’ for my brother.” Joel took over the situation, his voice cutting off any further conversation between you and the couple. Letting them know that he was the one in charge, the one who would be asking the questions and controlling the conversation.

A scoff sounded harsh into the air as the old man removed his cap, his silver hair on display now in the comfort and warmth of his home.

“Well, I ain’t seen him.”

“I haven’t told you what he looks like.” Joel’s tone was hard, though you could see how tired he was, his eyes not holding any of the weight his shoulders seemed to as he deflated. Unable to keep up the rouse, unable to not let the doubt begin to slip in. The endless days out in the below freezing tundra finally wearing him down.

“He look anythin’ like you?”

“A bit.”

“Then I ain’t seen him.”

“They’ve got a girl with them.” The woman spoke up, eyes shifting up toward the second landing and giving Ellie’s hiding spot away. You could see her easily from you spot by the door, the way her brow furrowed much like Joel’s at the woman’s easy give up of her presence.

Apparently sensing how calm everything was, Ellie took that as her opportunity to reveal herself.

“Can I come down?” She called from the upstairs, causing you to close your eyes in exasperation of her lack of patience. Joel, similarly, exasperated, turned his attention from the man he kept his gun trained on and looked toward the stairs with a mile glare.

“No,” His demand turned into a calling of her name as she moved and began to make her way down the stairs with loud steps.

“Ooh-wa. A woman and a girl, family man.” The old couple shared a quiet laugh at the quickly shifting interaction. No longer tense, but something else.

“What did I just say?” Joel posed toward her as she came to stand in the space between you both, blocking the stairs from view with her small form as she brandished her own gun.

“Joel, come on, they’re like a thousand.”

“Who’s this little psycho?”

“Never mind her.” Joel shifted forward, using his free hand to push the map on the table closer to the man whose focus was shifted toward Ellie. “I need you to tell us where we are.”

“If you got a map, why you lost?” You could hear the smile in the man’s voice that he was doing nothing to hide, finding amusement despite the barrel of a rifle aimed at him and three strangers in his home.

“Must’ve missed all the street signs in the enormous fucking forest.” Ellie snapped, trying to put on a front to imitate Joel, her voice pitched lower and hard. No sign of the girl who told puns in her as you looked over at her with a sharp flare of frustration.

“Ellie!” You reprimanded, unsure where this unwavering lack of manners came from, hoping it wasn’t her way of displaying confidence in the face of someone who had done nothing to warrant such harsh language aimed at them. Anyone else wouldn’t be so kind or forgiving. “Compose yourself.”

“Ho-ly.” The man’s eyes met yours as you nodded a silent apology at him, moving across the space and coming to stand beside Ellie with a swat to her arm. Laughter bubbled up between the couple again, getting a kick out what was happening after being isolated for so long.

“We’re somewhere here. Where exactly?” Joel tried to get the conversation back on track, an agitated look tossed over to you both as he jabbed a finger at the map. “And the answer better be the same as your wife’s.”

“Did you tell him the truth?”

“Yeah.” She rocked gently in her place, looking for all the world like this was an everyday occurrence.

“Are you tellin’ me the truth?” That same fond smile pulled at your lips at the woman’s easy compliance to the question and Ellie shifted behind you slightly as she saw it, her body relaxing in response to your own ease.

The man glanced at you and Ellie, so close together before he leaned forward and pointed out exactly where his wife had on the map. Joel shared a look with you before holstering his gun and focused on the map fully.

“Well, you found a great place to hide, I guess.” Exasperation and exhaustion taking over him, he pressed a hand to his forehead as he roughly sat down in the chair beside him. Looking for all the world someone who was about to give up.

“Hide? Came here before you were born, sonny.”

Ellie moved to sit beside him, a stool operating as a makeshift side table the perfect spot for her as Joel rocked in his place, emotions riling him up in a way you had yet to see. His anxiety rolling off of him in palpable waves.

“Get the hell away from everybody.”

“I didn’t want to.” The woman added, sharing a look with you, the gleam in her eye telling a story you so desperately wanted to hear.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you about your brother, but if you’ve come this far then you know what’s out there.” Joel’s pale glare, furrowed brow, prompted the man to speak on. “You seen Cody?”

“Yeah, got close enough. It’s crawling with infected.”

“Spores, too. But the weather seems to have killed that off for the time being.”

“Yeah, Laramie and Wind River Reservation. Anywhere people used to be, you can’t go there no more.”

“So you haven’t heard the name Tommy?”

“Nope.”

“What about the Fireflies?”

“We get those in the summer.”

“Not the bugs, the people.” Ellie snapped, though there wasn’t nearly as much heat behind her words this time. Mindful of the presence you exuded as you stood beside her.

“There are firefly people?”

You couldn’t help the chuckle that rumbled from your chest, joining in on the disbelieving laughter of the older couple.

“You got any advice on the best way West?”

“Yeah.” Suddenly serious, the man’s face shifted into something unreadable. Leaning forward to get all of Joel’s attention he spoke without a hint of the jovial tone he just had. “Go East.”

You swallowed down the spike of unease that settled over you, watching as he leaned forward to draw his finger over the map.

“But you never go past the river here. Ever.”

“What’s past the river, sir?” You cut Ellie off, knowing she was about to ask the same thing. You stepped forward, angling closer to him, wanting to understand everything they new about the land but afraid to ask. Afraid of the answers they had that would sever the last string of hope, of the mission Joel had set out on.

“Death.” The woman spoke, her eyes meeting yours. “We never seen who’s out there, but we see the bodies they leave behind. Some Infected, some not. If your brother’s West of the river, he’s gone.”

“You’re not gonna scare us.” Ellie spoke quietly, face solemn as the atmosphere of the room shifted.

“Scared them.” The woman nodded at you and then over to Joel beside her.

A beat passed before Joel reached for the map with harsh movements, folding it in his grip and then stood. You ushered Ellie to follow him, taking a moment to reach into you pack. You placed a small bundle of bandages on the table, locking eyes with both of them before speaking.

“There is medicine wrapped up here, please, take it as a thank you for your help. I’m sorry we had to brandish our weapons at you. Can’t be too careful these days.”

“A quiet, sweet little thing, aren’t you?” The man looked you over, though there was no threat or undertones in his eyes. “Take care of them, they need it.”

‘I’m trying my best, sir.” You turned to the woman one last time, hoping that the heartbreak didn’t show on your face. You wanted them to make it, to live out the rest of their lives in peace. “Ma’am, thank you for the soup.”

And with that you walked through the door and back out into the blinding landscape.

Joel was leaning heavily against a post of their fence line, one hand supporting him while the other was pressed tightly to his chest. Ellie was hovering close to him and speaking too fast for you to make out her words.

“I said I’m fine.” She looked back at her with a weird look, trying to display some sort of control, but he was still leaning heavily against the post. Her soft acquiescence pulling you behind them with quick steps.

“It’s just the…cold air all of a sudden.” He leaned over and looked down, his breathing labored and his body taut. A gentle hand on Ellie’s shoulder had her moving forward through the fence.

“All right, uh…so let’s go and find Tommy and the Fireflies.”

Joel stayed still, jumping slightly when you curled a hand over his shoulder.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me. It’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay.” His tone shifted from quiet to harsh, furrowed brow and hard eyes turning to face you. He shrugged your hand from him with a rough movement and you curled it back to your side with a frown.

“Joel-“

“I said I’m fine!” He raised his voice and you shrunk back a few steps, not sure why he was suddenly so angry. The look in his eyes one you hadn’t seen since your shared time in Boston. At a loss for words, you only nodded, hoping he didn’t continue to yell. Your foot slipped on a patch of ice hidden underneath the snow and you let your body do so, looking up the small slope to Joel as he shifted the rifle from his shoulder and gripped it in front of him before following after Ellie. “Don’t need you trying to fix me when nothin’ is wrong.”

“It’s gonna be easy.” Ellie trilled, trying to control the situation as best she could despite how tense things were. “All we have to do is cross the River of Death.”

He didn’t look back as he caught up with her smaller form.

“The river of death. Scary.” Ellie sardonically announced as the landscape opened up, the map in Joel’s pocket as he lead the way over the terrain. She stopped and loved over the fast moving line of water that weaved it’s way through the beautiful landscape. It had been a quiet day’s travel, Joel and Ellie having small pockets of conversation as they traded places leading. You stayed behind them, trying not to warrant another flare of Joel’s bitter anger.

“Don’t start.” He sidled up next to her, taking in the view while you hovered behind a few paces, feeling like an outsider. He didn’t so much as glance back at you, before speaking. Deciding.

“It’s too close to dark. There’s some caves along the river. We’ll set up camp there, cross in the mornin’.”

“Good. I’m starving.” A pause. “Should’ve stolen two rabbits.”

“We can get our own rabbits.” He almost scoffed, worried about how she was thinking of stealing before trying to provide for herself. Or that he would let her starve.

“You gonna teach me how?”

“Just keep movin’.”

And with that they both began to walk again, seemingly forgetting about you trailing behind them.

As the fire crackled on, rabbit consumed, Joel was busy duct tapping his damaged boots. The sound a background noise as you gazed up at the night sky, a haze of green lights shining among the stars. It was beautiful but it did nothing to soothe the anxiety thrumming through your veins. Something was about to change, the air around you drenched in the inevitable. The hairs on the back of your neck and all along your arms prickled with every howl of the wind and shuffling sound of an animal nearby.

The whistle Joel let out had you jumping in your seat, but you didn’t bother to turn around, back to the set up of the night. You knew it was for Ellie, to garner her attention where she gazed up at the sky in the same fashion as you, but she had scaled the outcropping around the mouth of the cave.

“Come down from there. You’re gonna break your neck.”

“Bean said it was okay. As long as I was careful.”

He didn’t respond, opting to pull a flash out from his jacket’s inner pocket. Your brow furrowed as you heard the sound of it clinking against his zipper. You hadn’t seen him swipe that from the older couple’s cabin. But he hadn’t had it before.

You blanked out, thoughts humming, eyes unfocused as you stared deep into the fire. The flames taking you back to when you had burned down your own cabin, unable to stomach the thought of living out your days with the buried corpses of what was supposed to be your future.

Screams echoed in your ears, plaguing you more and more as winter continued. The snow flashing from pristine white to red with every other blink. Footsteps deep in the snow, following a man who was showing his cracks much the same way you were. You gripped your mostly healed arm tight with your right hand, nails digging into the flesh there as you had snuck it into the sleeve, gloves tucked into a pocket.

The buzz of a quiet conversation quieting had you blinking your eyes back into focus, the fire lower now.

“What about you, Bean?” You didn’t let your surprise at being addressed show, but the feeling of your nails digging deeper into your skin was an all too real reaction.

“Hmm?” Shifting up from the fire, you looked over at Ellie, her face bright in the night. Small smile on her thin lips as she looked back at you. The weight of Joel’s gaze was heavy, making your nerves twitch and you were sure he was reading you as well as you could read him when his own resolve slipped.

“What would you do?”

“What would I…do?”

“If this all wasn’t going on.” The teenager waved her hands around, stray strands of her hair peeking out from her beanie wafting up with the action.

“I want a nice little cottage, protected deep in the woods. Maybe a garden to plant coffee and cultivate it.” The answer was quick, but quiet. Honest. That’s all you wanted now, a place to hunker down and be left alone.

“Coffee beans for Bean.” She chuckled before realization dawned on her. You hadn’t mentioned either of them, saying what you wanted. She took a breath before she breathed out her hesitant question, unable to shake the feeling that everything was not as okay as it seemed. She had to have picked up on the way you and Joel had grown quieter and more agitated since leaving the cabin. “…alone?”

“Yeah, kid, alone.” Your smile was sad as you looked down at where your boots stretched out in front of you toward the crackling fire. You could feel both of their eyes heavy on you as you fell silent, closing yourself off from them once again despite the hesitantly jovial air that had begun to form around the makeshift campsite. Shifting, you stood from your spot and walked over to your pack, unbuckling the sleeping bag from the bottom of it. Laying it out, you settled into it underneath the overhang of the outcropping of rock that had been picked out for the night.

Snuggling down into it, you heard them talk softly to each other for a little while longer, comfortable silences falling every so often.

“Dream of sheep ranches on the moon.”

“With a three-room cottage.”

“Yeah, kid, with a three-room cottage.”

Steps as quiet as possible, you glanced at the map in your hands and then toward the bridge you could see in the distance. The river was still like glass, nothing but the wind breaking the surface and causing it to ripple every so often before it stilled once again. The bridge looked untouched, no visible disturbances in the snow blanketed ground around it or along the expanse of it. But it was a sign of something, of what was once. Blinking against the bright white of everything around, your vision clouded as snowflakes gathered on your lashes. The feeling of unease settled over you as you heard the call of a geese on the other bank. The only sound you had heard since taking up watch a few hours ago when sleep evaded you. It was too quiet out here.

Dread settled in like rocks in your stomach, throat constricted as the old couple’s words sounded in your mind. Turning back around, you rushed to the cave that had been used as shelter the night before.

“I’m responsible for you, okay?” Joel’s voice was audible as you neared the small camp.

“Then don’t fall asleep.” Ellie rebutted. “I was quiet, I checked my six, I looked for tracks. I found the high ground and I kept watch. Like you taught me too. Bean made sure to double check it all before she went off. What can I say, man? I’m a natural.”

He mumbled something and motioned for her to hand over the rifle, turning his attention to your approaching form. At the snap of a bush, the rifle was raised, his eyes not recognizing you through the haze of the falling snow. You quickly raised your hands up into the air and announced yourself, heart thudding.

“Where the hell did you go off to, huh? Supposed to be keeping an eye on her.” His voice was anything but relieved, holding anger and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Woah, hey, I was checking map, I think we got turned around somehow. Bridge to help up cross the river.”

“You’re supposed to stay put. No one goes off alone.”

“I’ve traveled alone before; I can handle myself.”

“You took the only map, what if you got taken down or lost or fell in the god damn river?”

“I didn’t, I was just trying-“

“Trying to get us all killed, is what you were doing. Exposing us on your little scouting mission.”

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you lately, but we are all tired. We are all feeling the same way, Joel. Do not raise your voice at me. Please.”

He took a deep breath, eye clenching shut. When he opened them back up the gun shifted to his shoulder. He nodded at you in silent agreement. Then at Ellie.

“Wake me up next time.” He admonished; tone not nearly as hostile or frustrated as a few seconds ago.

“Yes, sir.” Ellie tried to lighten the tense atmosphere with a quick of her lips.

“Copy that.” You nodded back at him, not liking the way it was getting harder and harder to communicate with him. He was taking the lead more, making routes on his own more, taking on the burden of wandering through the endless landscape in a way that was hurting him more than helping the group. That kind of responsibility taking its toll on him as the days continued on.

The bridge was larger as you stood at one end of it, facing the backdrop of large snowcapped mountains behind it. More wilderness, more unknown, more unseen threats.

You were trailing behind Ellie, the formation second nature now. Joel in front, rifle at the ready. Ellie in the middle, her hands at her sides, gun easily accessible in her pocket. You behind them both, keeping Ellie’s smaller form protected as much as possible.

Conversation flowed between them as you now walked along the river, the trees dense on the other bank, the one you were traveling along exposed. It made you uneasy, that feeling having settled into your bones from this morning. Cresting over a large hill, the sound of rushing water was suddenly loud, having been so low a hum it didn’t register until now. The snow was mostly cleared on the other side of the rather blue river, the structure of a-

“Dam.” Ellie announced, playing on the double meaning of the word easily.

“You’re no Will Livingston.”

“Yeah, yeah, but who is?”

“So that made electricity?”

“Yeah.” He looked over at her, brow already furrowed. “Don’t ask me. I don’t have a clue.”

“Joel…the dam…it’s running.” You stepped forward, breaking into the bubble the two of them had unknowingly created.

“The water wouldn’t stop running through it, even if it was abandoned.”

“No…but that doesn’t explain the lack of snow all around it. Almost like it’s been cleared.”

“Just didn’t snow as hard in this area, nothing stuck.” He dismissed you, moving on.

Ellie was watching the movement of the river’s current, having stopped ahead of you both and you quickened your pace to catch up to Joel. Reaching out a hand to hook around his upper arm. He let you turn him, a frown on his features.

“Joel, please, this doesn’t feel right. Between the sparse snow despite the storm last night and how quiet it is, something-“

“Everythin’ is fine, you’re reading too much into it.”

“Remember when you trusted me? Heeded my instincts as well as your own?” You snapped, roughly letting go of his arm and shoving him back. “Remember when we were equals?”

“You’ve been out of it more often than not, seeing things where there isn’t anything. You double take at every turn of direction, eyes glazing over and losing focus at night when we settle. Jumping at every little sound in the night.”

“So have you, I can tell when you’re breathing heavier, overrun by anxiety.”

“I’m fine, but you aren’t. Not since the cabin.”

“I’m fine, Joel. Just like you’re fine, right?” You used his own words against him, hoping that they stung him when they landed. They did, you could see the shift behind his eyes from frustration to acceptance.

“I’m not gonna apologize, but, darlin’…you really have been out of it more than here with us. I’m just…I’m trying here, okay?”

“I’m trying too, it’s…it’s this time of year, it’s harder. But I’m trying, Joel, I swear to you I am. When did I let anyone get the drop on me when it was avoidable? When did I failed to get Ellie to safety? When have I failed to reconnect after getting separated. Please, Joel, I’m trying.”

His broad chest expanded with a deep breath; hands held out to you in a silent offering of peace.

“I’m just picking up the slack, trying to keep us all alive, I didn’t-“ His words were fast, twang thick as he tried to back track. His trauma showed in ways different than your own, something he still had to learn about you, learn to help you with. Return the favor of you allowing him to work through his own.

“We’re fine, okay? I just…I need a minute, please. I just need a moment to myself.”

You stepped toward him to grip one of his offered hands with both of yours, cradling it. Looking up at him, you could see that he was as worked up as you were. Both of you feeding off of the other’s intense emotions in the worst way. He slowly lifted his other hand to caress your cheek.

“We’re okay, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You untangled from him, offering him a wan smile, and walked away, gazing out over the river.

After a beat, you began to follow behind Ellie as Joel continued on at a slower pace.

“Look at that river. It’s crazy blue.” She fell silent for a moment, looking down at her boots as she thought something over.

“Hey Joel…what is this is the River of Death?”

You both paused at her words, realizing that this was in fact a secondary river. You looked up and locked eyes with the man as he turned, hair ruffling in the breeze. The map was quickly pulled from his coat pocket, and he unfolded it as you closed the distance, coming up close behind them both, head on a swivel as he tried to center your current position.

The whiny of a horse had you bumping into Ellie. Too late to do anything about it or even announce it as the sound of hoofs thundering across the fallen snow blanketed all around you assaulted your senses.

You could feel it reverberate through your entire body, teeth clenched tight and eyes wide as they took in the fast-approaching group cresting over the hills of the landscape.

Joel scrambled for Ellie, pulling her behind him. He chanced a look over at you, your eyes meeting for a brief moment before you were surrounded on all sides by people on horses, two dogs pacing around them all with the river’s bluffed bank behind you all.

Joel reached for her hand and she reached for yours, scrambling to huddle close and maneuver with a dash that wasn’t quick enough. Allowing for the group of saddled horses to surround you on all sides.

“Get behind me.” He ushered, realizing it was too late to run or even think of making a getaway with the ten or so people now aiming their guns on you in a misshapen circle.

Hands going up in surrender, you didn’t dare close your eyes as you took in a deep breath of the stinging cold air.

“We’re not lookin’ for any trouble,” Joel was calm despite the buzz of adrenaline that was lighting you up, no doubt mirroring his own. “We’re just passin’ through.”

“Drop the guns.” The demand was calm, controlled. “And the blade.”

With slow movements, you removed the colt from the harness inside your largest coat, the shing of the blade following the thump of it to the ground.

Eyes moving from each imposing figure, you noticed that they were all armed with rifles. The glint of secondary handguns on their hips. Every single person was armed to the teeth and concealing their faces with masks made of scarves, bandanas, and scraps of clean fabric.

“You,” The same man spoke to Ellie, his eyes trained on her. “Take five steps back.”

“And you as well.” A woman spoke to you, her eyes calculating. Tracking the way you were scrutinizing the entire group with quick glances all around you.

“How ‘bout we just talk this through?” Joel attempted to bridge the gap. But they weren’t having any of it, cutting him off before he could even get the words out.

“How ‘bout you shut the fuck up?”

“Okay, easy.”

Glancing down at Ellie he assured her she was going to be okay, the hope that they wouldn’t harm a child allowing the words to sound genuine. He glanced over his shoulder at you, paces behind them both having already heeded their commands.

“You been near Infected?”

“There’s no Infected out here.” Your voice was strong despite feeling anything but. Overpowered, out manned and out gunned. Not letting it show that you were absolutely terrified for the two people spaced out in front of you.

“The hell there ain’t.” The man argued with you, tearing apart your feeble attempt at complying with them but also sticking your own ground.

A barking dog was lead out from behind the man, as he declared it the last chance for a swift death.

“If you’ve been infected, he will smell it, and he will rip you up.”

“Fuck.” You muttered under your breath; eyes trained on the back of Ellie’s head. What if they could smell the dormant cells in her body? Suddenly, it looked like this wasn’t going to end well at all.

The dog was going insane, barking up a storm with intermittent growls from deep in its ribcage. Struggling against the leash it was being held onto with. But it wagged its tail as it loosened and approached Joel. You could see the increase of his breathing from your spot, though the man hadn’t been near Infected since Cody. A tense moment passed as it deemed him safe after sniffing around him and standing up on its hind legs to get a sense of him too close for comfort.

“Like I said, we’ll just move on.”

“Now the woman.” Dogs always made you nervous, having been on the receiving end of a rather bad bite at a young age. But you kept your eyes open as it approached you and did the same inspection. A deep breath in, held the entire time, and exhaled only when the dog was backing trotting away from you. You could only hope Ellie remained as calm as it cautiously approached her, growling as it did so.

Growls turned to happy yips as Ellie giggled, the two finding peace as she pet the suddenly friendly animal. You head knocked back your head as you sighed in relief. The man speaking for the group was smiling, you could see it in the way the wrinkles around his eyes creased despite the mask. Much like when Joel allowed himself to relax enough to do the same around the fire at night.

“You just bought yourself ten more seconds. What are you doin’ out here?”

“I’m just lookin’ for my brother.” The truth, you hadn’t known he was going to say it. But you felt your heart soften as he did. “That’s all, nothin’ more.”

The woman who had been watching you pushed forward and demanded his name, gaze locked on his.

“Joel.”

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18| Opposites attract

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date: 15/11/2024

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—Now playing: R.I.P. 2 My Youth by The Neighbourhood ✫

"Daph? Are you there?" And there was silence. After what seemed like a trance founded on anxiety and heavy breaths, there was silence. Back to life. Back to reality. Or was it?

“Rhodes?” Her head was a cage with rubber walls, the type that allows words to bounce nonstop, the only right formula that can fuel her anxiety. They won’t come out nor stop popping up.

Daphne was in the bathroom, in a stall. Beneath her was the toilet with the lid closed and in front of her was the door behind which she’d just heard her friend’s voice. How long had she been there? Couldn’t have been too long, come on. She hadn’t cried that much, had she? Her tailbone wasn’t complaining about the discomfort it would feel when she sat on a hard surface for too long with her knees against her chest so it couldn’t be.

“Rhodes?” She didn’t verbally reply when her name was called, just got up, systemised her sweater a bit and went to the desk. When she was standing next to the teacher, she tried not to look at the colour of the pen he used to write her grade so her heart dropped out of her body nearly as hard as she did on her chair when she read the number in the top right corner.

Like a slot machine, the sadness on her face disappeared to show no reaction. Her brain behaved the same way but in the row were three equal numbers penned in red with Mr Keeley’s handwriting. Just as she’d made her way back to her desk, her feet moved one after the other almost robotically as they did when she walked out of the class, along the hallway to the bathroom and into a stall. 

Her hand reached for the lid, closed it after closing the door and sat on it before taking in a big breath and letting it all out, giving space for her brain to focus on what was next. Like fuel to an empty engine, the battery to a malfunctioning clock and the current through a wire. That was all she needed before her vision gradually blurred out, her eyes filled up and the pinching on her thighs got more intense. It took her no time to reach her height, climbing up the stairs to the maximum stress. The last drop of water sank into the filled cup and it overflew, dragging out sobs that she tried to muffle against her legs.

Maybe she needed this. Not the failure but certainly the venting out hence the surprise she felt when her ears caught something disrupting the echoing silence of the bathroom. It wasn’t entirely surprising on its own: it’s a school bathroom, people are expected to walk in whenever they want and do whatever they want; it wouldn’t have stopped her from crying. She’s behind the door of a stall, her feet are on the toilet and certainly no one could recognise her just from the sound of her weeping.

“Daph?” The voice was a wake-up call, the necessary to have her snap back to reality and out of the virulent world her mind was easing its way to.

“Y-yeah?” Her voice was there—somewhere, very tiny but present and she didn’t forget it in the toxic dimension. Her hands moved to wipe the tears away before she could even register, muscle memory.

“You okay?” It wasn’t official but Daphne’s brain’s favourite activity was overthinking but not enough to have a prepared answer to such a simple question, maybe a bot response. 

Was she okay? Objectively, no. Subjectively? She had to be: she had wrongly planned her study schedule and underestimated the physics topic which caused her to make so many stupid and little mistakes that weighed a lot in the final grade. The number penned in red was a six and a minus following which meant she didn’t pass it—its real value was 5.75, not a full six. It was expected after prioritising that stupid physics topic about light. The topic of this test was easy and quick to understand with common sense so it didn’t scare her and she studied it superficially.

Cleo didn’t know this as she waited for a reply behind the stall door. It eventually came but non-verbal: Daphne came out after trying her best to conceal the traces of a potential anxiety attack that she was about to go through.

“Hey.” That was the only word she said and Cleo checked her to find a better answer from her body language. “I— erm, what are you doing here?”

“I was worried so I came to check on you.” Daphne’s hands fiddled with anything they came in contact with, her jeans, nails, hair, the sleeves and the bottom edge of her sweater because she didn’t know how to act. She didn’t want to behave like the last time, making her friends feel obliged to organise a whole picnic for her, no. She had to force herself to forget about school that day despite wanting to cry out like a baby. She couldn’t lie though: Cleo’s scrutinising eyes made her feel slightly uncomfortable and, back there, she really wanted to ball her eyes out and set free the dark feelings clouding her brain and sending it into system malfunction. Let the dark tears roll down her cheeks, land on her sweater and even soak it up. She didn’t care as long as they were out of her body. The sweater could be restored after a quick trip to Washing Machine and Dryer.

“And I wanted to tell you that is nothing serious. You can easily retake the test—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that but that’s… not the problem. I’m just—” Her words got stuck in her throat maybe with the sobs she wanted to release before. Running away from Cleo’s inspecting eyes, she went to the sink to wash her hands and rub her eyes without caring about proving Cleo’s suspicions or not. The bathroom was silent as she did her thing and Cleo stood beside her with arms crossed and a worried look all across her face, one Daphne tried to avoid as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.

Cleo didn’t fail the test. On the top corner of her sheet was a bright red seven so she was surprised to see that Daphne failed hers. Yes, it wasn’t so far away from passing the test but she’d found the topic so easy that she expected someone like Daphne to get a grade way higher than hers—like Asher did since he had got a 9.5. Clearly, all these thoughts and hopes were not to be mentioned to her friend. Failure happens sometimes, one just has to accept it and learn from it.

“I didn’t plan my study well and prioritised the other topic above this so I don’t really feel bad about the grade, y’know. It was kind of expected. Physics just sucks, I guess.” Her tone was as cold as the water dripping from her fingers into the sink and Cleo felt it without knowing how to warm it up. She just had to accept it as they returned to the classroom. Luckily for Daphne, the bell had rung for the break to begin so no eyes were too focused on her when she stepped back inside.

Her demeanour may be matching in temperature with the breeze blowing outside her school but maybe it would’ve warmed up if only she had met the pair of eyes wandering around the hallway looking for hers. Even with glasses on, he couldn’t find her.

Are Wednesdays always this bad?

—Now playing: $TING by The Neighbourhood ✫

It was another of the seemingly everlasting series of cloudy but bright autumn days. The sunlight didn’t warm anything up, overpowered by the slicing and chilly breeze that blew from the clouds to Daphne against her face, through her hair to her neck and against her jean-covered legs.

Her feet moved one after the other in the warm comfort of her mini-platform sheepskin boots. The pair of jeans she wore wasn’t anything special, as was the sweater underneath her thick jacket. Around her neck was a scarf that struggled to cover her as much as she wanted.

The direction she was headed caused her to walk against the draft. Her nose quickly caught a warmer shade while her hair blew towards the direction her friends had taken as they went home. Her destination was the library, her second home at this point. In no time, she’d become a regular there, so much so that the receptionist knew her and greeted her with a smile whenever she came in and went out. They knew she always walked past the building to the nearby bakery, grabbed something to eat and returned to eat it on the stairs before finally heading inside.

The little teenager peacefully ate her piece of pizza with her headphones working as earmuffs and sat in a position that implied she was feeling a bit cold. Anyone looking outside from inside the building would wonder why she wouldn’t eat inside but it was a simple choice she’d made and wasn’t bothered about. She felt like the library was a place to be kept clean—even when she was inside and wanted a snack from the vending machine, she would eat it outside the study zone.

Finally, she finished having her lunch and grabbed all her belongings to go inside. Waving at the receptionist, she walked straight to the elevators and went up to the study zone where her favourite spot sat empty, waiting for her to occupy it. As if she were in a moving vehicle, she liked sitting next to the window because it helped her concentrate, she enjoyed the natural light and it allowed her to keep track of time without always having to check her phone.

She loved hearing how silent the library was unlike outside where the town was blooming with noise. Specifically, the study zone felt like a capsule of its own where the commotion decreased even further and, willing to hear it, she always turned the music off and pulled her headphones down.

One hand was in her pocket while the other held her phone and Daphne walked through the oh-so-familiar space, heading straight to her usual spot. Another advantage of it was that it was secluded, a spot pretty hidden, one that you reach only if you patiently walk around the library in search of something new instead of settling down in the first ones you see when you step inside. The way leading there resembled a labyrinth outlined by rows of bookshelves.

As she approached it, the number of people she saw reduced until there were barely any. The table she always sits at welcomes three chairs on both sides and she always picks the closest one to the window. Next to it, forming aisles in the library, was a second and a third table, barely two meters away from each other. 

Sitting in the centre of the wide table was a wooden divider against a socket to which Daphne connected the charger of her iPad. Her school bag leaned against the leg of the table and her jacket hugged the backrest of the chair when she went to look for physics books to study with. 

Failing the test didn’t hurt as much as the other time because she realised the fault was on her for not planning her studies better and neglecting the latest topic. After all, it seemed easy and maybe that was the problem. Her friends had already told her that since she didn’t fail badly, Mr Keeley would test her orally on the topic so she wouldn’t have to retake the test fully. Those words didn’t comfort her because studying wasn’t hard for her, especially once she planned how to use her time perfectly. This time, it was a slip-up that wouldn’t happen again hence the numerous physics books painfully sitting in her arms as she returned to her seat not without struggling between carrying the weight and trying not to have everything fall and cause a rumble of noise all through the peaceful library.

She placed the pile in a corner to make herself comfortable before opening the first one, her digital notebook and diving into the activity, headphones on, soft music playing and legs crossed.

—Now playing: Sad Girl by Lana Del Rey ✫

According to the receptionist, the opening and closing of the library doors could be equated to club doors with the only difference being the origin of the noise which in this case came from outside. Along with the noise came a hot breeze during summer and a cold one in autumn and winter. With a smile and a little greeting, their job was back on pause while Taehyung proceeded towards the elevators. 

He didn’t hesitate before unzipping his jacket as the library’s warmth was already getting to him. By the time the lift tinged and opened, it would be thrown across his arm while the other held his backpack. He ruffled his hair as he casually walked into the study zone. Around his neck were his headphones and sitting on his nose were his new companions, for the time being—his glasses.  

His schedule was packed which wasn’t unusual but because of the campaign, he felt like it was the end of the world and weighed on him like a mansion. He barely paid any attention as he walked through the room towards his self-assigned position but froze when his eyes landed on it and saw it occupied. It had been long since he last came to the library to study but he felt it could never be long enough for anyone to dig this deep in the library because the first tables right at the entrance were never fully occupied.

He stood in the little lane separating the two wide tables away from the window, the third one was where she was. He blinked a few times to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating but soon came to his senses and decided to sit at the third table, on the polar opposite, making them on the same side but multiple chairs away.

He plopped on the chair and let his backpack slide onto the floor as he watched her and thought of what he could do. He wondered if he should sit at the same table as hers or greet her but she looked so focused on whatever she was studying and it felt illegal to disturb her. He even believed she was in a similar situation as his because of the pile of books on the table which reminded him not to get distracted so, reluctantly, he decided to mind his business and study. He kept his backpack and his jacket on the empty chair next to him before taking his books out.

—Now playing: Single by The Neighbourhood ✫

Late Afternoon rolled around. Came by as quickly as it left so Evening could step in. The artificial lights carved into the ceiling of the library seemed to shine brighter against the darkness that penetrated from outside into the building. 

Closing hours were approaching while the number of students progressively reduced, turning the main area of the study zone similar to the secluded one where Daphne and Taehyung spent their afternoon studying.

Having to answer duty’s call, Taehyung couldn’t indulge in his brain’s favourite activity but it still tried to sneak it in as best as it could. Studying technically next to Daphne made him seem like he’d come there to play. She would barely lift her head off her book. Her body was always living in the best comfort because she never stretched and barely changed positions. He, on the other hand, had had multiple breaks when he’d go for a walk in the building or through bookshelves, go out for a smoke or get himself a little treat at the vending machines. Her only form of distraction if one could call it that, was drinking from the water bottle next to her.

He was amazed, there was no other way to put it but in his amazement, he just mentally complimented her and packed his things. He couldn’t do it as she, never—since he had to follow the Pomodoro technique and have at least two breaks in one hour—and, therefore, he got up to look for a little book he could read to come out of the focus session he was in fully minutes ago. His mind couldn’t even picture himself in her shoes because he could never be focused for that long especially considering all that the past weeks have been for him.

Visibly, Daphne seemed not to care about his unspoken thoughts. She just went on with her life and her activity for a few more minutes after he’d left before she decided it was time to start packing everything up. She removed the charger from the socket, placed all her school supplies in her pencil case, and when all of her belongings were in her backpack, she finally got up and took the pile of books to be kept back.

She was physically and mentally tired at that point and every inch of her body was laced with impatience to return the books to their spots and rush home quickly. They say patience is a gift and yes, she’d received it but maybe had left it at home that day. Curse words flew out of her mouth one after the other like the wagons of a train when the book sitting on top of the pile made her go through several stages of distress: it kept moving to one side which she tried to contrast but eventually failed when it tipped over; to prevent it from slamming flat on the floor and sounding like a titan had just slammed someone, she used her foot to stop the impact or, better, to feel the impact. 

“Ouch! Fuck!” Her frustration could be heard even in the soft whispering and Taehyung did. He was walking along the way separating the windows from the rows of bookshelves and he was just about to walk past her when he heard her.

“Need some help there?” He asked the question and he answered it without giving her the time to even understand who was speaking to her. He slammed his book shut without checking what page he’d reached and, after placing it on a nearby shelf, he crouched to pick the book up. Daphne was still stunned and suddenly the weight in her hands ceased to exist both because her mind stopped thinking about it and also because he’d collected the whole pile from her.

Clearing her voice, she finally replied, “Erm, thank you.” From his body language, she understood that he didn’t mind about it so she simply silently walked behind him. He already knew his way around and where the books belonged so she stopped trying to show him the directions after he anticipated her words a couple of times. When they were at the right section, she hurried to collect the books from him and place them in their right spot. Only once they were done did they finally stand to face each other.

“Thank you, again,” she chuckled. 

“It’s nothing really.” She nodded and smiled. Her eyes stared at his for a split second before they started wandering around. He tilted his head and asked, “Daphne, right?” with a wider smile, she nodded even more eagerly.

“Yeah and… you’re Taehyung,” he chuckled and nodded as well. Objectively, it could just look like a couple of teenagers remembering each other’s names after just one encounter. How cute. How lovely. Who wouldn’t want to be in their shoes? The only thing was that they were both oblivious to the fact that they remembered each other’s name not from that one night but from social media stalking and daydreams that go way back to before the party.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you knew your way around so well— which is completely stupid because you have lived here since you can remember. Sorry, I’m so dumb,”

“Oh, no, you’re not and I don’t blame you. It’s been so long since I stepped foot in here, especially after the campaign and all that shit.” Unconsciously, they started walking back to their spots, she with her arms crossed in front of her chest while he with his hands in his jeans pockets.

“I bet that was a whole rollercoaster ride,”

“It was worse, way worse than what I could have ever expected. Thank God it’s the first and last time I’m doing something like that. I hated it so bad,”

“But where do you think the real struggle lies? In the preparation or when you actually get elected?” He just chuckled at her words, head turning to look at her. 

“Why is everyone so sure we’ll get elected?” 

Her facial expressions anticipated her words, “I mean, I don’t really know much of it but from what I’ve been told, y’all are very influential around here so it’s already been predicted since day one. You wouldn’t want to be elected anyway?”

He sighed, “I don’t know really. I joined only because my friend wanted to do it and I didn’t want to hold her back from it, besides, she was and still is kind of relying on us to be part of her team so...”

They stopped at her spot first as they continued talking. Once Daphne had packed her stuff and wore her jacket, they walked to his spot and she waited for him to get his things before they left together, walking past the handful of people working on their books or their devices and the ones packing their things to leave. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open only to slide back close once they were in and pressed on the number zero. He leaned against the wall facing the doors while she against the one opposite the buttons.

“So… you were studying physics all this while?” he broke the silence. 

“Yeah. I’m in a bit of a crisis right now,”

“So much that you needed so many books?” he laughed and she laughed too, nodding and getting slightly shy. “We’ve done only two tests so far and I failed both of them so yeah… I think I need that many books.” 

Taehyung’s facial expression spoke volumes, going from surprise to confusion all with a smile on and it amused her. “You failed both? Were they so hard?”

“Not necessarily. The second one was easy but I failed it because I didn’t study well since I was focused on the topic of the first one. I don’t even know if I can say that it’s hard. I could be just a dumb person of my own but that shit’s ass and I just don’t get it so yeah, I was studying so much for that one and barely reserved any time for the other one. Ass.” Taehyung laughed, the elevator dinged and they came out.

The ground floor was even emptier. The children's section and the cafeteria were already closed and some cleaners were already sweeping the floors. “Have a good evening,” from their little cubicle, the receptionist greeted them, the teenagers waved back and exited the noise-cancelling building to venture into the blast outside. 

Cars honked and rumbled from the end of the street where the town centre was. Taehyung’s hands were still in his pocket while Daphne held her phone with which she checked what time the bus would arrive at the terminal in front of their school so the two were silently walking next to each other on the sidewalk. 

He didn’t like the silence but he couldn’t lie and say that her distraction wasn’t allowing him to look at her like a kid looks at fireworks on New Year’s night. Around her neck was a thick scarf she tried to hide her face into. The draft had changed direction and was now blowing from the town into the street they walked in. The jacket she was wearing was so big that her hands were barely out. Her nails were covered in cherry red polish and some of her fingers were in golden rings. He couldn’t fully see her side profile despite the small distance between them because her bangs were covering it whenever the breeze didn’t blow harshly. 

“Your physics teacher allows you to retake the tests right?” He spoke first to fill up the space between them.

“Yeah”

“And when are they?”

“Erm, the ass topic one is in two Wednesdays while the easier one is in mid-December.” He internally rejoiced when her phone was slipped back into her pocket and she looked up at him as she spoke. If her eyes liked wandering around, his liked to catch every little detail that brought her face to life. It’s not the first time he’s seen pretty girls, pretty people in general, but it was the first time it had him like this. There was just something about her that he couldn’t just shrug off his shoulders—he didn’t want to anyway.

“Why so far away? When did you take the tests?” As he asked the question, he wondered if silence had run through from when she spoke. Don’t be harsh on him. He recalls that the last he was looking at her face, he lost track of time.

“I don’t know why. The teacher’s an asshole. The first test was above a month ago while the second one was last week. He had a reason only for the first one since almost the whole class failed it,”

“Goddamn! Almost the whole class?” She nodded. Gradually, they made their way out of the library’s street and into town where the closest bus stop was the one after the terminal.

“I think the topic is that hard. I still don’t fully get it and I started studying it intensely before the first test and now I’m locked in even harder.” Taehyung chuckled and waited for them to cross the street and walk onto the bus stop before he spoke again.

“You know? I could help you if you want… with physics” Daphne’s eyes widened for a split second as she sat on the empty bench, hands still in her pocket because of the chilly weather. Even in a thousand light years to come, she’d never be able to put into words what was going on within her guts when he said those words. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, besides, you’re a junior and I’m a senior so I’ve already gone through the topics last year,” As he spoke his back rested against the pillar holding the sheltering surface above his head.

“But I don’t want to bother you. I think you already have enough on your plate,”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re not bothering me. I’m the one who offered and my plate is pretty wide. Enough is never enough” he chuckled, getting lost in the way the streetlights glittered in her eyes. What enchanted him the most was her smile. Daphne didn’t know the effects it had on him.

She giggled and replied, “If you say so”. His smile broadened and he tried to hold it back by biting his lip but obviously failed. Daphne didn’t have enough time to admire how good he looked, how his hair swayed with the wind, how he was standing or how the tip of his nose was getting redder with the cold before the bus arrived and they had to get on.

Just like that Tuesday evening after training at the school gym, the bus was practically empty and one could only see the reflection of the inside when trying to look outside. As usual, they made a beeline to the back where they could comfortably sit next to each other. She led the way and he meekly followed.

Not surprisingly, Daphne sat right next to the window: He sat right next to her, leaving no empty seats in between. She believed it to be a great change, especially since she hadn’t seen him on the bus for a long time. 

Luckily for them, the heater was on so they could warm up after walking in the chilly environment that was outside. She took her jacket off and he helped her keep it and her bag next to him on the empty seat.

“Anyway, what are the topics?” he restarted. “The first one was about light and the second about sound.”

“Light and sound, huh? Which one do you find hardest to understand?” as he spoke, he leaned back against the headrest, hands still in his pocket, and turned to look at her without the rest of his body budging.

“The first certainly.” He chuckled again. It’s all he’s been doing for the whole while because he didn’t know which other subtle way he could use to express the crazy happiness within his guts. Sorry, he had to let it out somehow. “You got any notes?”

“What? You think I don’t?” as he chuckled, his Adam’s apple bopped. She laughed, shook her head and cleared the misunderstanding, “No, no, that’s not what I meant and you know it,” the way he looked was making her shy. Maybe he could get it, maybe not, but her eyes started wandering around like the ones of a lost puppy again.

“Mmh hmm.” She rolled her eyes and he laughed, head turning back up to face the ceiling.

“When would it start?” There was no need to look outside. A prettier view was right next to her and the contrast between the darkness of the evening and the lights inside made it impossible for her to see anything unless she glued her face to the windows.

“Whenever you want.” He didn’t look at her as he replied this time because he soon had to come down from the bus—he was about to get lost in her sparkling eyes and pretty smile and forget about his other plans.

“Oh, my God. I almost forgot. I’m staying at my friend’s tonight because he’s just in deep shit as I am after the campaign so I’m coming down at the next bus stop.” Thank goodness he remembered ‘cause only God knows how he would’ve had to explain to Jimin why he forgot to go to his place: “So, you see… I was talking to this very pretty girl, you know the new one in town, the one I met at the party and never told you about, the brunette with sparkling eyes, a fine ass body and a deadly but stunning smile? The one in junior year. Yeah, that one. I think I have a crush on her, a huge, fat, no, obese, astronomical, titanic, humongous crush on her, yes, and she drives me crazy, fucking insane so much so I become dumb next to her. Literally dumb. It’s already a lot I can talk to her, form coherent sentences in my head and not slur my words so yeah, that’s why I forgot to come help you. Please, find it in your heart to forgive me.” Would that work? Who knows. Regardless, he would never say it. Not to him at least but certainly to his reflection in the mirror once he gets back home and reminisces this day.

“Oh.” Two simple letters with barely any meaning but they held so much disappointment. Again, the party had to be ended too soon. Why was it always when the two of them were talking? If only he actually caught the tone she spoke with, he would have certainly texted Jimin telling him he couldn’t make it and spend the rest of the ride next to her.

“Here,” he spoke a little while after and let his actions finish the sentence as he placed his phone in front of her. On the screen was a dialling pad. She did everything within her body not to smile like an idiot, took the phone in her hands and typed in her phone number. Smooth like butter.

“Here you go,” maybe he was hallucinating again—which wouldn’t be surprising—but there was something in the way she said that that had him double-checking her for any special facial expressions but, as expected, she didn’t even look his way—wandering eyes—and he smiled before saving her contact. Was it joy? Shyness? He didn’t know. Better not be, not now, else he would literally lose his shit and have the driver stomp on the brake once he’d hear him scream.

“Well, I guess we’ll see each other soon then,” she nodded and watched him as he took his bag, slung it across his shoulder and headed towards the closest door. 

Pressing on the red button, a sound dinged through the bus and moments later, the vehicle stopped and the doors slid open. She waved at him and he waved back right before coming down from the bus at El Grillo’s bus stop. Doors closed and finally, she allowed herself to express some of her happiness by squirming and squealing in her seat. Moments later, when her phone dinged and a notification came in, she’d wish she were at home, on her bed and rolling on it.

Unknown number: you tell me when and we start

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[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 21 - What We Might Have Been

Summary: As tensions within the camp simmer and new challenges surface, the gang finds themselves slipping further into uncertainty. Amid the chaos, Kate and Arthur navigate the weight of their individual struggles, leaning on their bond to weather the storm and hold onto what matters most.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters

AN: Big chapter folks. Nearly 12k words. There's a lot of dialogue in this one, and I sorta got carried away. But there are some characters who needed to speak and who am I to stop them!

TW: Some angst. Brief mention of DV. Micah being a POS.

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams @lunawolfclaw  @yallgotkik

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

Story Tags: Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Caretaking, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

The sharp cry of an egret pierced the humid morning air, reluctantly pulling Kate from the depths of her slumber. Her mind was still tangled in the remnants of a dream, the line between reality and memory blurred. For a moment, she believed she was back in that blissful night with Arthur, so vivid and warm it felt as though it had just happened. But it hadn’t—it had been a fortnight, though her heart refused to let it drift too far away.

The details of that evening swept over her like a soft breeze: the lush, downy quilt cradling her as she sank into feather-stuffed pillows; the steaming bath that easily fit two, its lavender-scented vapor curling like whispers into the room. She could still see the wallpaper, a delicate pattern of tiny pink roses, cocooning them in a world of their own, safe and unbothered. It had been a sanctuary, a rare moment of peace in a life otherwise fueled by chaos.

But that sanctuary was far away now, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim, decrepit room around her, the reality of Shady Belle settled in. The tattered walls, the scent of mildew, and the low hum of crickets reminded her where she truly was. She groaned and pulled the threadbare blanket over her face, wishing she could disappear back into the comfort of her dream.

Through the worn, holey fabric of the blanket, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Arthur’s shadow flitted across the room as he moved silently, stepping in from the balcony where the faint smell of cigarette smoke still lingered. His presence filled the space, grounding her in a way that made her heart ache and settle all at once.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” he murmured low and familiar, as rough as the calloused hands she knew so well. The cool press of his lips against her forehead was a contradiction to the sticky humidity in the air, and she found herself smiling despite everything.

Kate stretched and let out a long yawn. “Morning,” she mumbled, still thick with sleep. She blinked away the grogginess as she caught sight of Arthur fastening his gun belt, his movements slower than usual. 

“Did you sleep alright?” she asked, noticing the weariness etched into his face.

Arthur glanced over at her, offering a tired but genuine smile. “Yeah, I guess. Just got a lot on my mind,” he admitted.

Kate swung her legs over the side of the bed and started pulling on her boots. “Dutch got you running more jobs already?” she asked as she tried to gauge his mood.

He nodded, reaching for her belt and handing it to her from where it hung on the chair. “Wants me to go talk to some fella named Rains Fall,” he explained. “Apparently, he showed up at the mayor’s party. Dutch heard Cornwall’s name tossed around and thinks it’s worth diggin’ into.”

Kate paused, the memory of Rains Fall flashing in her mind. She remembered his calm yet commanding presence, the quiet dignity in his voice, and the deep sorrow in his eyes. It had been hard to forget. 

“Rains Fall,” she murmured, buckling her belt. “If he’s reaching out, it must be serious.”

Arthur shrugged, his expression guarded. “Serious enough for Dutch to get interested. But Cornwall’s in the mix, so you know how that goes.”

Kate’s stomach turned at the memory of Leviticus Cornwall. The man’s wealth and influence were dangerous, and whenever the gang crossed paths with him, it never ended well. She bit her lip, debating whether to bring up her other concern. 

“That reminds me,” she ventured, “did Dutch mention anything to you about the Trolley Association?”

Arthur gave her a sideways glance as he adjusted his holster. “Yeah, somethin’ about it. Says there’s two big scores down in Saint Denis—the Trolley company and the bank. Not sure which one we’re hittin’ first.”

Kate’s heart sank. She understood the gang needed money, but Dutch’s plans always came with too high a cost. She tightened her jaw, forcing herself to tread carefully. 

“Arthur, I don’t like this,” she said softly. Carrying a note of caution, as though testing his reaction. “Saint Denis ain't some little backwater town, we’re up against an empire here.” 

Arthur sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, his exhaustion evident. “I know, darlin’. I don’t like it much either, but we’re in a tough spot. Just a little more money, and we’ll be outta here. You and me, wherever you wanna go.”

Kate frowned. She’d heard this promise too many times before, a line borrowed straight from Dutch’s playbook. “I need to speak with Dutch about the Trolley,” she said firmly. The memory of Angelo Bronte’s cryptic words at the garden party still gnawed at her. It felt important—urgent even—and Dutch needed to hear it, no matter how he took it.

Arthur’s brows furrowed. “You’re not gonna change his mind, sweetheart,” he said gently, tone laced with reluctant understanding. “Just tell me what you wanna say, and I’ll pass it along.”

Kate hesitated. She could trust Arthur to relay the message, but that wasn’t the point. She needed Dutch to hear it directly from her, to look her in the eye and acknowledge her words. They brought her along to gather intel, and that’s exactly what she had done.

“I’ll tell you,” she said after a beat, “but I’m still going to try. If there’s even a chance he’ll listen, it’s worth it.”

Arthur studied her for a moment, his expression a mix of admiration and concern. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he said with a faint smile. “Just… be careful, Kate. Dutch doesn’t like bein’ challenged.”

Kate met his gaze, “I’m not challenging him, Arthur. I’m trying to save him from himself.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The air on the second-floor balcony was thick with cigar smoke, curling lazily in the humid morning breeze and trailing up into the sky like ghostly tendrils. Dutch and Micah leaned on the rickety railing, their postures casual but their expressions sharp. From their vantage point, they had a commanding view of the camp below, the makeshift village bustling with life as gang members went about their business. Dutch stood like a monarch surveying his kingdom—or a dragon perched atop its hoard.

Kate hesitated in the doorway as Arthur held it open for her, his hand lingering briefly at her back as though offering silent encouragement. Her eyes flicked to Dutch, whose gaze was already on her, a faint smile playing at his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Micah, as usual, wore his smirk like armor, leaning slightly closer to Dutch as if staking his claim to the man’s favor.

“Arthur, Kate,” Dutch greeted smoothly, gesturing with the glowing end of his cigar. “What brings you two lovebirds up here so early? Come to enjoy the view?”

Kate stepped forward, resisting the urge to glance at Arthur. She could feel his silent presence behind her like a steady anchor. “I overheard something at the mayor’s party,” she began firmly. “Something I think you need to know.”

Dutch’s brows lifted, feigned curiosity masking the calculation in his eyes. “Oh? Do tell,” he drawled, taking another drag from his cigar.

Kate swallowed, steadying herself. “Angelo Bronte mentioned the Trolley Association,” she said, measuring her words. “He said it was a trap. He wasn’t speaking to me—he didn’t think I’d understand. But he said it in Italian, and I caught enough of it to know it’s bad news.”

Micah let out a low chuckle, his grin widening. “A trap, huh? And you just happened to understand the lingo, did you? Convenient.”

Kate shot him a sharp look. “My mother was Italian, Micah. I know enough to get by. Bronte wasn’t trying to hide it—he didn’t think anyone would care. He was talking to one of his men, warning him to stay clear of the deal.”

Dutch’s expression remained inscrutable as he took another puff of his cigar, exhaling slowly. “And what exactly did you hear, Kate? Let’s not be vague.”

Kate’s jaw tightened, but she pressed on. “He said the association was a setup, that there is no money. Anyone trying to hit it would be walking into an ambush. He mentioned the Pinkertons by name—said the whole thing was bait to draw out rodents like us.”

“Rodents,” Micah scoffed, leaning back against the railing. “Sounds like a scare tactic to me. Bronte’s just tryin’ to keep us from touchin’ his city’s treasures.”

Arthur, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, calm yet unyielding. “Micah, if it’s true, we’re walkin’ straight into a noose. Bronte’s got no reason to warn his own men unless there’s somethin’ to it.”

Dutch tapped the ash from his cigar, his gaze fixed on Kate. “You’re sure about this?”

Kate nodded, holding his gaze. “I’m sure. Bronte’s exact words were ‘They‘ll owe me a bounty.’ I don’t like the man, but who else could he be talking about? And I doubt he’s lying to his own people.”

Dutch was quiet for a long moment, the usual gleam in his eyes dimming just slightly as he weighed her words. “Well,” he said finally, “if it is a trap, that’s good to know. But sometimes, Kate, traps are where the most treasure lies.” He added with a wink.

Arthur sighed and Kate felt her heart sink. “Dutch, please. If we don’t take this seriously, we could lose everything.”

His smile returned, though it felt colder now. “You let me worry about the big picture, darlin’. That’s why I’m here.” He turned to Arthur, his voice shifting to the commanding tone Kate knew too well. “Arthur, you take care of Rains Fall. John and I’ll look into Bronte and the Trolly. Make sure we’re not missin’ an opportunity.”

Kate noted the way Micah shifted uncomfortably at the lack of mention of his involvement. His unease brought her a moment of vindication. Arthur gave a stiff nod, but Kate could see the tension in his jaw. He didn’t agree, not fully, but he wouldn’t challenge Dutch here.

Micah’s grin returned as he looked between them. “Looks like the boss has it handled. Ain’t that right?”

Kate clenched her fists, frustration bubbling beneath her calm exterior. “I’ve told you what I know. Do what you want with it, but if this goes south, don’t say you weren’t warned.”

Dutch turned his attention back to the bustling camp below, his voice cutting through the morning air with sharp finality. “You’re dismissed,” he barked, waving them off with a casual flick of his hand. The tone carried his usual arrogant authority, though Kate and Arthur were already making their way down the creaking stairs, the conversation clearly over in their eyes.

Dutch’s posture stiffened as he turned to Micah, his demeanor shifting from the polished charisma of a leader to the prickly defensiveness of a cornered alley cat. “That includes you,” he snapped, his voice low and edged with warning.

Micah scowled, his mouth twitching as if biting back a retort. With a huff, he pushed himself off the railing, muttering under his breath as he stormed toward the door. “I’ll be havin’ a word with Kate soon enough,” he grumbled, the words dripping with irritation and something more sinister.

Dutch didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the horizon, but his jaw tightened. The tension in the air lingered long after Micah’s footsteps faded, leaving the balcony eerily quiet except for the distant hum of the camp below.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate settled in with the girls near the edge of the property, the late morning sun casting long, golden beams over their little corner of the camp. Mary-Beth and Tilly were huddled over a shared wash bin, their hands working diligently through the soapy water as they chatted. Karen, standing nearby, wrung out damp shirts before draping them over the sagging clothesline. 

Abigail perched on an overturned milk crate, her needle flashing in the sunlight as she sewed a hole in John’s shirt. A few feet away, Jack was skipping rocks across a shallow muddy stream, his gray mutt Cain loyally trotting beside him.

Sadie had left only moments before, tipping her hat in farewell as she and Pearson headed to the market. The small circle of women now felt more intimate, their chatter uninterrupted by the rest of the camp. Kate took her seat beside Abigail, leaning her head playfully against her shoulder.

“Why do men always have to be so difficult?” Kate sighed dramatically, though her tone held a teasing edge.

Abigail barked a laugh, not missing a beat. “They’re born that way, sweetie. Only know how to think with that ugly thing danglin’ between their legs.”

Kate snorted, shaking her head. “Ain’t that the truth,” she muttered under her breath, drawing more giggles from the group.

Abigail’s sharp eyes caught movement through the trees, and she nudged Kate with her elbow. “Speaking of the devil,” she teased, nodding toward the treeline. Arthur was saddling Belle, his familiar figure framed by dappled sunlight as he prepared to ride out for the day. “We haven’t had a chance to talk since you got back. We’re dying to hear the details!” Abigail’s voice held a mischievous lilt, her grin barely restrained.

The mere mention of Kate’s night with Arthur sent a ripple of excitement through the group. Mary-Beth and Tilly immediately turned their wide, eager eyes on Kate, while Karen, who had been pretending to ignore the chatter, stepped closer, her interest betrayed by the sly smirk on her face.

Kate groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Absolutely not,” Mary-Beth said, practically bouncing with anticipation. “We need every detail. Was it romantic? Did he make you feel like a princess? Oh! Was he yearning for you, like Romeo yearning for his Jul–”

“Let her speak!” Tilly cut in, her voice brimming with laughter as she waved Mary-Beth into silence. “You’re scaring the poor girl.”

Kate peeked through her fingers, already blushing at their enthusiasm. These women were more than friends—they were her family, and she couldn’t deny how much they genuinely cared about Arthur, too. Their curiosity wasn’t just nosy; it was fueled by a shared hope to see Arthur happy again, and by extension, to see their family hold on to some measure of joy amid their chaotic lives.

“Alright, alright,” Kate relented with a small smile, sitting up straighter. “What do you want to know?”

“How was it?” Mary-Beth asked in a rushed whisper, as though trying to keep the moment sacred. “Did he sweep you off your feet? Was there candlelight? Poetry?”

Karen snorted. “Arthur Morgan? Poetry? Now I’ve gotta hear this.”

Kate laughed, her cheeks warming. “It was... perfect, in its own way. We stayed at this little inn outside of town. We shared a fancy wine—Italian red fit for royalty, no less.”

“Italian red?” Tilly repeated, grinning. “That man knows how to impress.”

Kate nodded. “He even drew us a bath after we—” she looked down bashfully remembering the moment, “it was so relaxing, he really put so much thought into it. It was like, for one night, the world didn’t exist. Just us.”

Mary-Beth clasped her hands to her chest, her eyes shining. “Oh, that’s so romantic. I knew Arthur had it in him!”

Karen chuckled, shaking her head. “Never thought I’d hear Arthur Morgan and romantic in the same sentence. I’ll give him credit, though—he’s full of surprises.”

Kate hesitated, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “He was... vulnerable, too. I think it scared him a little, being that open. It had been so long for the both of us, we were frightened by the intimacy of it in our own ways. But I could tell he wanted me to know how much it meant to him.”

Abigail gave Kate a warm, approving look. “Good for you, Kate. It’s about time Arthur had someone to knock some sense into that thick head of his.”

Mary-Beth leaned closer, her grin downright mischievous now. “So when are we gonna see some little Morgans running around, huh? Oh, I bet they would be so cute!”

The laughter around the circle faltered as Tilly, with a quick flick of her wrist, gently swatted the back of Mary-Beth’s head. “Quit getting ahead of yourself. This ain’t no place to raise a child right now,” she chided. Her words hung in the air, drawing a fleeting glance toward Abigail. Tilly quickly softened, not meaning to offend, but Abigail only nodded solemnly, her needle pausing mid-stitch.

Kate felt her chest tighten. There was that word again—children. 

Her fingers fidgeted, wringing the fabric of her shirt as if trying to ground herself. Arthur’s words from the night before echoed in her mind. He’d been so understanding, so patient. But a stubborn ache still nestled deep within her, whispering that she wasn’t enough. That she could never give him the family he might yearn for, the one he deserved.

Her thoughts drifted to another time, another life. She could still see Lorena’s tiny face, pink and wrinkled, the way her cries had filled the cold night air the moment she was born. The overwhelming joy of holding her for the first time, her fragile body fitting perfectly in Kate’s arms. She could remember the fear when Lorena wouldn’t latch to her breast, followed by the sheer relief when she finally began to suckle. And her husband—his face softened with awe as he cradled their daughter, his hand so large against her tiny frame. It had been a fleeting dream, one snatched away far too soon.

Kate swallowed hard, the memories burning her throat. These women had become her sisters, her confidants in a world where trust was rare. She owed them the truth—not just for their sake, but for her own. Speaking the words aloud felt like carving them into stone, grounding herself in a reality she couldn’t afford to dream away.

“Girls,” Kate said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. But it was enough to draw their attention, their chatter silencing as they turned to her. Abigail tilted her head curiously, Mary-Beth’s eager grin fading into something more thoughtful. Even Karen looked up from the clothesline, sensing the shift in the air.

Kate took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “When this is all said and done—if Arthur and I make it out of this mess alive—you know in my heart, I would love his child more fiercely than anything I’ve ever known.”

The rings Hosea had given her at the garden party suddenly felt like molten iron resting against her chest. She had worn them ever since that night, strung on a simple chain and tucked safely beneath her shirt. They were a constant reminder of his faith in her and Arthur—a faith that now felt like a bittersweet burden. Hosea had never spoken of building a family with Arthur, only of survival. His words echoed in her mind, urging them to keep moving, to never look back, and to carve out a life beyond this.

To live out her days with Arthur—that was the dream. The only dream that mattered. And yet, as much as she clung to it, the weight of those rings made her question if it was a promise she could truly keep 

Her voice wavered, but she pushed on, her gaze fixed on her trembling hands. “But I can’t have a baby. My scars run so deep, and I haven’t bled in years. The doctor said it’s just not possible.” She added with an air of defeat.

The confession hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Mary-Beth’s mouth opened slightly, her usual stream of romantic notions and optimistic chatter nowhere to be found. Tilly’s dark eyes softened with understanding, while Karen’s jaw tightened. Abigail placed her mending aside, leaning closer to rest a hand on Kate’s knee.

“Oh, honey,” Abigail murmured, voice low and warm. “I am so sorry.”

Kate managed a tight smile, though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “It’s alright. It’s just… something I’ve had to come to terms with lately. The thought of having children again never even crossed my mind until I met Arthur.”

“Does he know?” Tilly asked quietly, like it was a secret they were trying to keep amongst themselves. 

“Arthur knows,” Kate confirmed, “and he’s been… well, he’s been strong about it. But I guess it still stings, y’know? I just don’t want him to think less of me be–”

“He would never think that Kate,” Karen interrupted, intense and almost angry. “Don’t you ever sell yourself short because of what you went through. You are a survivor, Arthur knows it too.”  

“You didn’t deserve that pain,” Tilly said firmly, her voice resolute. “None of it.”

“No, you didn’t,” Mary-Beth agreed, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her apron. “But you’ve got us now, and Arthur too. We’ll always be your family. And if anyone deserves happiness, it’s you.”

Kate nodded, “seems it’s all a girl can really ask for these days. Happiness.” Her throat was too tight to speak further. 

Abigail gave her knee a reassuring squeeze before sitting back, resuming her sewing. But the energy in the circle had shifted—less playful, perhaps, but more intimate. These women, her sisters in arms, had embraced her truth without judgment, offering her the quiet strength and support she hadn’t realized she needed.

Jack’s cheerful laughter broke the moment as he chased Cain along the water’s edge. The sight brought a small, genuine smile to Kate’s lips. Children weren’t in her future—but she wasn’t without family. And for now, in this fleeting moment of peace, that was enough.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The afternoon sun blazed down on the camp, its relentless heat turning the air thick and sticky. Cicadas shrieked from the swampland, their hum almost deafening as it blended with the soft rustle of the bayou breeze. Kate wiped the sweat from her brow and cupped her hands around her mouth, calling out again, her voice tinged with worry.

“Lorena!” she shouted, cutting through the oppressive haze. Her mare was nowhere in sight. Kate’s stomach twisted with unease—Lorena always came when called. Even from a distance, she had an uncanny knack for recognizing Kate’s voice. But now? Silence.

Miss Grimshaw had sent Kate out to gather firewood, complaining that the damp logs wouldn’t burn worth a damn. Kate had been happy to oblige, eager for an excuse to stretch her legs and ride out of camp for a bit. But now her mind buzzed with worst-case scenarios. Did she wander too far? Or… did something happen to her? Images of lurking gators and toothy predators crept into her thoughts, making her heart pound faster.

She jogged back into camp, weaving between wagons and tents, her boots kicking up dry dust. “Kieran!” she called, sharp with urgency. She spotted him near the edge of camp, hunched over a rotting fence as he worked on a battered leather saddle. The young man flinched at her shout, straightening so abruptly that his hat nearly tumbled off his head.

Kate quickened her pace, closing the distance. “Kieran,” she repeated, softer this time, though her nerves still frayed her tone. “Have you seen Lorena?”

Kieran turned to face her fully, and Kate’s breath hitched. Beneath the brim of his straw hat, his right eye was swollen and discolored, a deep purple bruise spreading across his cheekbone. She winced, anger bubbling at the sight. The others were too harsh on him, always using him as their punching bag.

Kieran stepped back instinctively, holding up his hands in defense, his good eye darting nervously. “I—I swear, Kate, I was meanin’ to tell ya,” he stammered, words spilling out in a panicked rush. “But you were with Miss Mary-Beth, and I didn’t wanna interrupt—”

“Easy, Kieran,” Kate said, lifting her hands to calm him. “Just tell me what’s going on. Where’s Lorena?”

Kieran hesitated, glancing down at his boots like a guilty child caught in a lie. “Micah took her,” he mumbled, the words almost too quiet to hear. He flinched at the cold look that flashed across Kate’s face and quickly added, “B-but I tried to stop him! I swear I did! Told him, ‘You’ll have to get through me if you want her!’ And, well… he did.” He gestured to his bruised face, grimacing.

Kate’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. “He said he was takin’ her to exercise by the lake, just past the manor,” Kieran continued in a rush, voice trembling. “I didn’t wanna bother you or the girls. They, uh… they don’t really like me much. But I should’ve told ya sooner, I know I should’ve. I’m sorry.”

Kate exhaled slowly, trying to tamp down the storm of anger brewing inside her. Micah. Of course, it was him. This wasn’t about exercising Lorena—it was a ploy, a pathetic attempt to get under her skin. She’d seen him pull stunts like this before, but involving her horse? That was a step too far.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to snap at Kieran. The poor man had already taken a beating for trying to protect her mare. “You did what you could,” Kate said, her voice steady, though her jaw remained tight. “Thanks for telling me.”

Kieran’s shoulders sagged with relief, but guilt still clouded his expression. “Take Branwen with ya,” he offered, nodding toward his gelding tied nearby. “He’s fast and steady. He’ll get you there safe.”

“Thank you,” Kate placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll handle this, Kieran. And don’t let these idiots make you feel like you’re less than you are. You’re better than all of ‘em. Remember that.”

Kieran’s face flushed, and he gave a shy nod. “Be careful, Kate.”

“I will.” She turned on her heel, her boots crunching against the dirt as she strode toward Branwen. Her mind was already racing with how she’d confront Micah—and what it would take to bring Lorena back safe and sound. Whatever game he was playing, it ended here.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The sun was dipping low, casting jagged shadows across the bayou as Kate rode Branwen toward the lake Micah had mentioned. Her heart hammered in her chest, but her resolve was steely. The thought of Lorena—her steadfast, loyal mare—being used as a pawn in one of Micah’s twisted games only fueled her determination. 

She thought of the last time he had decided to cross her, the cool press of her jawbone knife against his throat as she led him away from the others for private conversation. Clearly her threat didn’t do much good, or perhaps Micah was more stupid than he looked. Maybe this time I’ll take a pound of his flesh as penance, Kate thought with a vengeful sneer.

As she approached the clearing by the water, she spotted them. Lorena stood grazing peacefully near the water’s edge, her glossy midnight coat shimmering in the golden light. Upon her arrival the young mare looked up and tossed her head, expressing her unease at the situation.

Relief washed over Kate for a brief moment—at least her mare was unharmed. But then her eyes found Micah. He was perched lazily on a fallen log, his hat tilted back and a smug grin plastered across his face, as if he’d been waiting for her.

Kate dismounted Branwen swiftly, her boots crunching against the damp ground as she approached. Micah’s grin widened, his sharp eyes tracking her every move. She fought down the urge to wipe his smile off with her fist.

“Ah, look who finally came runnin’,” he drawled, his voice thick with mockery. “I was wonderin’ how long it’d take you to miss your precious pony.” He sat up on the log to face her fully.

Kate stopped a few feet away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Cut the shit, Micah. What the hell are you playing at? You’ve got my attention so get on with it before I shoot you for stealin’ my horse.” Lorena came closer and nuzzled her snout against Kate’s back, standing protectively behind her.

Micah chuckled lowly, shaking his head as he stood. “Steal? Oh, come on now, darlin’. I was just takin’ her out for some air, stretchin’ her legs. You really oughta be thankin’ me for my kindness.”

Kate’s jaw tightened, and her simmering anger finally reached its boiling point. She slapped him hard across the mouth. Lorena’s ears flattened as the sound echoed over the lake. 

“Don’t insult me! I know damn well you didn’t do this out of the kindness of your heart. If you went through all this trouble to get my attention then you’re wasting your time.” She turned to her mare, prepared to jump in the saddle and take off without a moment's hesitation.

Micah only chuckled and rubbed at the pink mark across his cheek. He stepped closer, his grin fading slightly, replaced by something more calculating. “Fine. You wanna get straight to it then? Here it is—I’m happy for you and Arthur.” The words dripped with insincerity, his smirk returning as he added, “Real happy. Warms my heart seein’ the two of you lovebirds all cozy.” He wrapped his arms around his body and shimmied, mocking her affections.

Kate rolled her eyes in annoyance, her voice icy. “Fuck.You.” She spat. “You don’t give a rat's ass about my life, or Arthur’s.”

“How perceptive,” his laugh was sharp and bitter. “You’re right. I don’t give a shit. But you two are livin’ in a damn dream world, and dreams don’t last long out here sweetheart.”

Kate’s heart pounded harder, though she kept her expression steady. “What are you gettin’ at, Micah?” Pulling a brush from her saddle bag she idly cleaned Lorena’s coat to maintain an air of indifference. There was an undeniable threat hidden behind his words that put her on edge.

Micah leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “I’m sayin’ you and your cowboy should saddle up and ride out while you still can. Things are shiftin’, Kate. Dutch is losing sense, and this little family of his? It’s startin’ to crack. You stick around, you ought to get caught in the crossfire.”

It was clear as day—Dutch was leading them into darkness. Kate could see it, and so could Arthur, but his loyalty bound him like chains. That unwavering faith, instilled in him since he was just a boy, refused to break. Arthur still clung to the hope that Dutch, his fearless leader, would guide them through every trial, that he’d brave the fires of hell itself for their sake. But Kate knew better, and the others were beginning to catch on. If it were up to her, she would have taken Arthur and the Marstons and left the moment the raid was done. The image of Jack’s terrified face and Abigail’s heart-wrenching sobs would haunt her forever. No family should have to endure such horror—especially not their child.

After Sean’s death and Jack’s kidnapping, it felt like the next tragedy was just a card flip away. And Kate had no faith in the hand Micah was dealing—he knew something the rest of them didn’t, and she was certain he was betting it all on a game rigged in his favor.

Unflinching, Kate squared her shoulders. “Funny how you care so much all of a sudden. You’ve been gunnin’ to get rid of Arthur since the day you joined. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Micah’s grin faltered, his eyes darkening. “Arthur thinks he’s untouchable, thinks Dutch will always have his back. But you’ve seen it, haven’t you? The favoritism shiftin’. Arthur ain’t who he used to be, maybe it’s time a good fellow like me takes the reins.”

Kate took a step closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “You’re right, I have seen it. But you? You’ll always be on the bottom of the totem pole, no matter how hard you try to claw your way to the top. Arthur doesn’t trust you, and neither does anyone else.” She wanted to believe that was true, but she couldn’t deny that nearly every trap they’ve fallen into, Micah and Dutch had some part in it.

Micah’s jaw clenched, the easy arrogance slipping for just a moment. Then he laughed again, though it was hollow. “Maybe. But at least I know how to adapt, Kate. Can you say the same for Arthur? For you? We’ve all seen the way he looks at ya, like he’s caught between love and loyalty. Maybe all he really needs is a little push.”

Kate felt a pang of unease at his words, but she refused to let him see it. “We’re stronger than you think. And if you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working.”

Micah tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Suit yourself. Y’know, Kate, you and I woulda made a hell of a team. It’s a damn shame you gave up on all that Red River nonsense.”

The name hit her like a gunshot, her breath hitching as her body stiffened. Red River. It wasn’t just a place or a memory; it was a wound she had worked tirelessly to sew shut, only to feel it tearing open again. How did Micah know? His words coiled around her like a noose, tightening with every second of silence. Her mind was scrambling for answers, for any clue as to how he could have dredged up a chapter of her life she had buried so deep it felt like another lifetime.

Red River had been a crucible, a place where violence wasn’t merely a means to survive but the only currency that mattered. It was a legacy. River, her old mentor, confidant, and the closest thing to an ally she’d ever known in those days, had worn the title like a crown. To him, it was a badge of honor that commanded respect and dread in equal measure.

The name wasn’t just earned; it was carved into the memory of every place they left behind. Kate could still see the black ink of the newspapers they passed on those rare occasions they ventured through town after another excruciating bloodbath. The headlines always whispered the same chilling phrase: Beware—The Red River Flows.

She could never forget the weight of that notoriety, the way strangers’ faces twisted in fear at the mere mention of them. It was intoxicating at the time, but the high never lasted. It was always followed by the sickening crash, the realization of just how deep they had sunk into the abyss. The rivers they left behind weren’t just crimson; they were poisoned with regret, a tide she had fought desperately to escape.

Kate had left it all behind, swearing never to look back. Yet here it was, rising from the depths like a vengeful spirit. Her secrets had been flooding back to her lately—first her barren womb, now the dark and brutal truths she had fought so hard to escape. It was as if the world itself was conspiring to remind her of what she’d been, of what she was still capable of becoming.

Micah’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, a mocking lilt dripping with arrogance. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya when this all comes crashin’ down.”

Kate turned her back on him, running a hand down Lorena’s neck, grateful to feel the warmth of her trusted companion grounding her to the present. “Stay out of my way, Micah,” she said without looking at him. “And stay the hell away from my horse.”

As Kate swung into Lorena’s saddle, her gaze flicked back to Micah. He stood there, smirking, but beneath the amusement lurked something colder, more calculating. She didn’t trust him—she never had—but his words clung to her like a spur, prickling and persistent.

As she rode toward camp, the wind tugging at her hair, her mind churned with unanswered questions. Whatever Micah was scheming, whatever cards he held close to his chest, one thing was certain: she’d do whatever it took to protect her family. They wouldn’t be the ones to pay the price.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The storm rolled in with a vengeance, its low growl reverberating through the bayou as clouds smothered the fading light. Rain fell in relentless sheets, drenching everything in its path. Arthur Morgan squinted through the downpour as he guided Belle up the muddy path toward the crumbling manor they’d been calling home. Water sluiced off the brim of his hat and soaked through his coat, but he didn’t care much. He’d been through worse storms, though something about tonight gnawed at him—a nagging burden he couldn’t shake.

Belle snorted as Arthur dismounted, shaking her wet mane before trotting off to find her companion. The young cowboy turned toward the manor, ready to do the same. His boots sinking slightly into the mud with each step, his mind already ahead of him. The glow of candlelight flickered weakly in the upstairs window of their shared room, and he found his thoughts drifting to Kate. A pang of guilt struck him; their night in Saint Denis already felt so far away.

Since returning to their lives he’d barely had time to hold her, let alone talk like they used to. She deserved better than a man whose hands were stained and pockets full of excuses. His body was aching to be wrapped around his woman and let the world melt away. Wanting to throw caution to the wind and make love to her on their shared cot without a care who would hear. 

A sudden streak of color in the storm’s gloom caught his eye. Bright red, a startling splash against the gray monotony of rain and mud. He stopped, narrowing his eyes. It was Molly O’Shea, standing alone at the end of the dock, her dress clinging to her in the rain, her fiery red hair whipping about. Like a burning ember taking off in the wind. 

Arthur frowned. It wasn’t just odd to see her out here—it was unsettling. Molly rarely ventured far from Dutch’s shadow, and her fragile mood had been fracturing more and more with each passing day. The echoes of laughter and conversation drifted faintly from the manor, but Molly had chosen the isolation of the storm.

With a sigh of resignation, Arthur tugged his coat tighter and shouldered the burden of responsibility. Headed for the dock, his boots splashing through puddles as the rain needled his face. "Miss. O’Shea!" his voice was nearly swallowed by a crash of thunder. "What in hell’re you doin’ out here? Get inside before you catch your death!"

“Miss. O’Shea!” He shouted again after she didn’t move. Her shoulders were rigid, her arms folded tight across her chest. It wasn’t until Arthur reached her and grabbed her wrist that she reacted, jerking back like a startled animal.

"Let me go!" she cried, voice raw and trembling. "Leave me be, Arthur!"

Arthur tightened his grip, his patience thinning with the storm battering at his resolve. "For God’s sake, woman, what are you tryin’ to prove? You think standin’ out here in the rain is gonna fix anything?"

Her face turned up to his, and he saw it—anger and heartbreak etched in equal measure, tears mixing with the rain on her flushed cheeks. "You don’t understand!" she yelled, her voice cracking. "None of you do!”

“I’m just a goddamn shadow in this place. And now I’ve been tossed aside, burned to ash like his used cigar." She explained in a rush. 

Arthur’s jaw tightened, frustration bubbling beneath his weariness. He knew exactly where this was headed— she and Dutch had another fight, only adding more turmoil to their situation. “That ain’t true, and you know it,” he said, rough with exhaustion. “Dutch is just under a lot of pressure. Now quit actin’ foolish and—”

“I am no idiot, Arthur Morgan!” Molly’s fists struck his chest, weak but relentless, her anger spilling over like a dam that had finally burst. “I know I deserve better than this!”

Arthur flinched at her words, not from the force of her blows but from the rawness of her pain. He raised his hands, palms up in a gesture of peace. “C’mon, Molly. You know what I meant,” he said softly, already regretting the edge in his earlier tone.

Molly’s eyes blazed as her fists continued to strike, her voice rising over the pounding rain. “He only cares about his plans and himself, and I’m tired of it! I’m done!” Her knuckles whitened as she clenched her hands, her words cracking under the weight of her sobs. “I gave him everything!”

Arthur stood firm, letting her vent her fury. He had seen this kind of desperation before, a fire that burned brightest right before it consumed everything. Deep down, he had hoped Kate’s idea to invite Molly to the garden party would give her a reprieve, a chance to bond with the others. But Molly had stayed on the fringes, choosing isolation. Now, Arthur was beginning to see why. She wasn’t just lonely—she was cast adrift in a sea of her own pain.

“You don’t understand,” Molly whispered, her voice breaking as her fists fell limply against his soaked coat. Her strength was spent, and her grief clung to her like the rain. “You don’t understand what it’s like to love someone who promised you everything, only to turn around and look at you like you’re nothing.”

Arthur exhaled slowly, his frustration melting into something softer. He reached out, pulling her trembling form against his chest, her forehead resting on his collarbone. “Look,” he began, his voice low and careful, “I know things ain’t exactly been easy lately but—”

“I see things clearly now,” she cut him off, her voice steadier but colder.

Arthur froze as her next words fell like a thunderclap. “And I will not let him cage me or my child.”

His breath caught, his chest tightening as if he’d taken a bullet. “What?” The single word slipped out, stunned and disbelieving.

Molly’s trembling hand wiped at her wet face, her defiance now tempered by visible fear. Arthur’s hands rested lightly on her shoulders, steady but not confining. “Does he know this?” he asked, his voice hushed but firm.

Her eyes darted away, her teeth clenching as she hissed, “He can never know.”

Arthur’s mind raced, struggling to piece together what this meant. He wanted to reassure her, to say it would all be fine, but he couldn’t lie—not about this. “Molly... Dutch needs to know,” he said slowly, forcing the words out. “You can’t keep somethin’ like this from him.”

“No!” Molly’s fingers grabbed fistfuls of his coat, her wide eyes brimming with panic. “Arthur, you have no idea what he’ll do! You don’t know!”

Arthur shook his head, the disbelief plain on his face. “You really think he’d hurt you?” he asked, though deep down, the fear in her eyes unsettled him more than he cared to admit. Molly looked away, her silence answering louder than words. The realization hit him like a gut punch, anger, guilt and betrayal swirling together in his chest.

“Shit,” he muttered, unable to muster anything more profound.

He dragged a hand down his face, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. Glancing briefly at the flickering light spilling from the manor, he wished Kate were there. She’d know what to say, how to make this mess feel less impossible. “I-I’ll talk some sense into Dutch,” he stammered. “We’ll figure somethin’ out.”

“Please, you cannot tell him!” Molly’s voice rose, the wind carrying her desperation.

Arthur hesitated, his mind like a spinning weathervane. Torn between loyalty, duty, and the undeniable fear in her eyes. “This ain’t right, Molly. You’re askin’ me to—”

“No one can know about this, Arthur,” she interrupted, her voice cracking as the storm rolled closer, the thunder growling like a warning. “Not yet.”

The silence stretched between them, the rain hammering down as Arthur wrestled with his decision. Finally, he gave her a small, reluctant nod. “Alright. I won’t say nothin’.”

Relief flickered briefly in her expression, but it was quickly overshadowed by the lingering dread. She turned, her shoulders hunched as she trudged toward the house, the storm raging around her.

Arthur stayed behind, letting the rain soak him as he stared into the night. He could feel the storm brewing—not just in the skies above, but in the fractures threatening to shatter the fragile foundation of their gang. Whatever was coming, he knew he’d be standing in the middle of it, trying to hold the pieces together.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The storm outside howled, rattling the windows of the old manor and sending tendrils of wind slipping through the cracks. The flickering orange glow of the candles cast shadows that danced across the room's peeling wallpaper, painting the space in warmth and decay. Kate sat on the edge of their creaky cot, a book resting in her hands, though her eyes weren’t on the pages. She’d been listening for the familiar sound of Arthur’s heavy boots on the stairs, waiting for him to come back from another long day.

When he finally appeared in the doorway, she set the book aside, her lips curving into a soft smile. "You look like hell," she mused, taking in the sight of him. His broad figure was soaked to the bone, the rain glistening on his jacket as he moved into the room, shoulders slumped and eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

Arthur didn’t respond. He let his sodden hat drop to the floor with a wet plop, followed by the heavy thud of his soaked jacket and the clinking weight of his gun belt. His boots were kicked off haphazardly, landing somewhere near the door, forgotten as he trudged toward her like a man finally succumbing to the unbearable weight of the world.

Without a word, Arthur sank to his knees before her, as if he was praying at the altar. Bowing his head into her lap like a man at confession. His large hands wrapped around her waist, seeking her solace. 

Kate’s breath hitched, her heart softening at the sight. “Oh, honey,” she murmured, her voice laced with quiet concern. She leaned over him, her hair cascading around them like a curtain, sheltering him from everything beyond. “What happened?”

His wet hair and scruffy face pressed into the fabric of her skirt, damp and chilled, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, her hands moved instinctively, threading through his hair, her fingers trailing gentle strokes over his scalp. Each touch seemed to carry a quiet promise of comfort, warmth, and love. She could feel the tension coiled within him, the weight of it pressing down on his broad shoulders.

Arthur wanted to say everything and nothing all at once. The words clawed at his throat, desperate for release. He wanted to take the burdens off his chest and hang them out to dry in her sunlight. To lay in this moment with her forever, in this perfect silence. All else was futile, he couldn’t find the words to express that he felt like he was the only one taking the defense against a rain of arrows.

He didn’t answer right away. His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer as he pressed his face into the curve of her thighs, breathing deeply. Her scent—clean and warm, with a faint trace of the earth—steadied him, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

The confession lingered on the edge of his tongue, a restless weight he longed to release. He ached to tell her what he knew, if only to shoulder it with someone else. Arthur resolved to let Molly reveal the truth in her own time; it was the only kindness he could offer. 

Kate already carried so much, and he couldn’t bear the thought of adding more to her troubles. More often than not, he was the heaviest of them. So Arthur swallowed the hollow ache in his chest, forcing it down into the depths where it couldn’t touch her.

Her fingers continued their gentle work, combing through his hair and massaging the tense muscles at the base of his neck. "You okay, my love?" she asked quietly, her voice a tender balm to his frayed nerves.

A deep, weary sigh rumbled from his chest as he turned his head, resting his cheek against her like she was the only pillow he’d ever need. "Please tell me you had a better day than I did," he muttered, his voice muffled and low.

Kate smiled faintly, though her heart ached for him. She shifted slightly, her free hand coming to rest on his broad shoulder, her thumb tracing slow, comforting circles. "That bad, huh?"

Arthur let out a small, weary laugh, though it carried no real humor. “You could say that,” he mumbled, avoiding her concerned gaze. Eager to steer the conversation anywhere but the storm raging in his mind, he added, “How was your day?”

Kate raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. She knew that deflection when she saw it but decided to play along for now. “Well,” she started with a wry smile, “can’t say it was all sunshine and roses. Had a little run-in with Micah earlier.”

The mention of Micah’s name wiped the softness from Arthur’s face. His body stiffened, his shoulders squaring as tension rippled through him. That bastard had been giving Kate and the other women a hard time since the day he showed up, and it grated on him that Dutch wouldn’t let him put an end to it the way he wanted to—with a bullet. 

He leaned forward slightly, voice low and rough. “Shit, I’m sorry, darlin’. What’d he do this time?”

Kate waved a hand dismissively, though her jaw tightened at the memory. “Micah was just being Micah. Took Lorena to get under my skin.” Her tone was calm, but the spark of annoyance in her eyes was unmistakable. “I don’t want to get into it, though. Not right now.” She paused, her voice softening. “Tell me about Rains Fall.”

Arthur pulled back slightly, his brows knitting. She had a way of redirecting him, turning his focus away from her troubles without making him feel dismissed. He could sense a hint of something beneath her words—an eagerness she was trying to mask—but he didn’t press. Instead, he stood and began peeling off his damp clothes, speaking as he moved. 

“I didn’t see any broken bones or missin’ fingers, so I take it your girl’s okay?” The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly, his tone teasing.

Kate laughed, a genuine, soft sound that filled the small room and eased the weight pressing on his chest. Her laughter was answer enough. Arthur always admired her strength—not just the physical kind, though she could hold her own—but the mental and emotional resilience she carried. She didn’t back down, not even against someone like Micah, and though he admired it, it worried him too.

As he tugged a dry shirt over his head, Arthur grabbed a cigarette from the table and nodded toward the porch door, signaling his intention without a word. Kate’s eyes flicked to the cigarette, her lips tightening ever so slightly. She wasn’t a fan of his smoking, but she understood it. He only reached for them when his nerves were frayed, and she could tell that today had been one of those days.

She followed him outside, the porch roof offering them a small shelter from the rain. The storm still swirling around them but bringing with it a strange kind of peace in its chaos. Arthur lit the cigarette with ease, taking a slow drag as he leaned against the railing. Kate stood beside him, her arms wrapped around his for warmth, though she didn’t seem to mind the rain-slicked air when it blew against them.

Closing her eyes for a moment as a few drops peppered her face in wet kisses. Kate breathed in the smell of the storm mingled with the scent of Arthur. It was electric and powerful, yet comforting. 

“So,” she pressed gently, “how did it go? With Rains Fall?” 

Arthur exhaled a long stream of smoke, his eyes fixed on the horizon. For a moment, he didn’t answer, the words catching in his throat. But then he glanced at her, the warmth in her gaze enough to coax him into opening up about his day.

“It went about as well as it could, I guess,” he said finally. “He’s... wise. Gentle. But he’s carryin’ a lot on his plate. His people are bein’ crushed, and chased from their own land. He’s really struggling trying to hold ’em together. And running out of options.” He shook his head slightly. 

Kate hummed softly in acknowledgment, her gaze distant as she stared out at the rain. “I’m afraid it’s been that way for a long time, Arthur. They’re a dying herd, with nowhere left to go.” Her voice was tinged with sadness, her thoughts drifting to her own experiences with the Native tribes. Despite the immense losses they had suffered, she remembered their warmth, their resilience. They had welcomed her once, even when the world had turned its back on them.

Arthur leaned against the porch railing, silent for a moment, lost in thought. The cigarette burned slowly between his fingers, a faint orange glow against the stormy gray. “Kinda reminded me of...” His voice trailed off, the words sticking in his throat as his mind shifted to the gang. To Dutch. To the fragile threads holding them all together, fraying more with each passing day.

Kate turned to him, her hand finding his. She squeezed gently, her touch bringing him back. “Remind you of what?” she asked, her voice soft, coaxing.

Arthur shook his head and gave her a small, tired smile. “Sorry. S’not important,” he murmured, taking another slow drag of his cigarette before exhaling the smoke into the rain-laden air. He hesitated, then continued. “Anyway, Cornwall’s behind it all. And he’s got his claws in deep. He’s after their land—wants to start another oil rig on their reservation but they’re refusin’ to leave.”

Kate’s brow furrowed, her fingers still resting on his arm. “What does that mean for them?” She inquired, fearing she already knew the answer. 

Arthur’s expression darkened. “Cornwall’s got the U.S military involved and he denied a peace treaty. His people have nowhere else to go. They can hardly leave the reservation without gettin’ killed.” 

“Jesus,” Kate murmured as thunder cracked across the night sky.

“He wants me to talk sense into his boy, Eagle Flies. The kid’s stirrin’ up talk of a war. He’s ready to fight, Kate” He paused, running a hand over his face. “Rains Fall, though... he doesn't want all this bloodshed. And I don’t see what Dutch has to gain from gettin’ involved in this.”

Kate’s lips pressed into a thin line, concern flickering in her eyes as she studied Arthur’s troubled face. “What do you make of it?” she asked softly, her voice barely rising above the sound of the storm.

Arthur sighed deeply, the weight of the question pressing heavily on his chest. “I think Dutch wants to use Rains Fall and his son to take the heat off us,” he admitted, his voice rough with frustration. “But he can’t let Cornwall go. He’s convinced there’s money in this—some backdoor plan to get us out by stirrin’ up even more trouble.”

Kate reached up, her fingers brushing away a damp strand of hair clinging to his forehead. Her touch was gentle yet grounding, as though tethering him to the here and now. “You’re in a tough spot,” she said quietly, sympathy threading her words.

Arthur huffed a bitter laugh, devoid of humor. “I don’t like it, Kate. There ain’t nothin’ I can do to really help those people, and I don’t want to be the one to make things worse.” His gaze drifted away, out into the storm, the rolling thunder echoing the unrest roiling within him.

Kate placed a steady hand over his heart, her palm cool against his rain-damp shirt. Arthur’s fingers instinctively wrapped around hers, anchoring him. “And you don’t have to be,” she said firmly, her tone carrying a quiet conviction. “You’re not all bad, Arthur. I see the good in you every day.” Her hand slid upward to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over his scruffy skin. “Maybe it’s time to start choosing it.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her touch before pressing a tender kiss to her palm. “You’re too sweet for me, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice thick with gratitude and weariness.

Flicking the glowing ember of his cigarette off the porch, Arthur turned to face the manor. He pulled Kate flush against him, her back resting against his broad chest as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Together, they swayed gently to the rhythm of the storm, the low rumble of thunder a steady backdrop. Arthur leaned down, brushing soft, lingering kisses against her temple, his lips speaking volumes where words could not. “Your turn,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. “Tell me about your day.”

Kate sighed, leaning into his embrace as her thoughts churned. She could feel the weight of his exhaustion in the way he held her, in the subtle tremble of his voice. There was more he wasn’t saying—an invisible burden he was shouldering alone. She debated whether to share her own troubles, but her instincts told her he needed something else. Something deeper.

Turning in his arms, she looked up into his stormy blue eyes, searching their depths. “Are you sure words are what you need right now?” she asked softly, dipping into something more intimate.

Without waiting for a response, she snaked her arms around his neck and kissed him, her lips capturing his with a hunger that had been building in her chest. Arthur responded with a low moan, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping past her lips in a fervent, wordless exchange.

The storm outside seemed to mirror their passion, the wind howling through the open porch door as a few of the candles flickered out. Their breaths mingled in the dark each touch and gasp speaking the truths neither of them could say aloud.

A faint creak cut through the noise of the storm, the unmistakable groan of wood shifting under a hesitant step. Arthur and Kate both froze, their heads snapping toward the sound. There, at the edge of the dimly lit porch, stood Jack, his small frame draped in a worn blanket. His wide eyes darted between them, curiosity and confusion painted across his young face.

Arthur cleared his throat, instinctively stepping in front of Kate as if shielding her from the boy’s innocent gaze. “Jack?” he asked gently, softening his tone. “What’re you doin’ out here? You should be sleepin’.”

Jack shifted nervously, clutching the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “The storm’s too loud,” he mumbled, glancing back at the open window of his room. “And Mama won’t let Cain sleep with me.”

Kate stepped forward, brushing her fingers lightly over Arthur’s arm before kneeling in front of Jack. Her warm smile cut through the tension like sunlight through clouds. “Well, you’re in luck,” she said softly. “We’ve got the perfect spot to wait out the storm. Want to hang with us for a bit?”

Jack hesitated, then nodded. Kate scooped him into her embrace, and Arthur noticed how much bigger the boy looked in her arms from the last time she held him. He was growing fast, and the thought tugged at something deep inside Arthur. 

“Does Cain help you sleep through the storm?” Kate asked as she cradled Jack close, her voice gentle.

Jack nodded again, his small head resting heavily against her shoulder. “But Mama says he has fleas,” he added, his tone tinged with disappointment.

Arthur chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Well, maybe your mama’s got a point. Those fleas might eat you alive in your sleep.”

Jack’s head shot up, his tiredness momentarily forgotten. “Cain does not have fleas!” he exclaimed, indignation lighting his face.

Kate bit back a laugh, shaking her head as she stroked his back. This storm had everyone on edge tonight. “Alright, alright,” she said soothingly. “Cain’s the cleanest dog in camp, I’m certain of it.” She winked playfully at Arthur. 

Arthur smirked, but his tone turned more serious. “C’mon, Jack. What’s this really about? I know you ain’t just upset over the puppy. You really shouldn’t be up this late.”

Jack hesitated, shifting uncomfortably in Kate’s arms before finally blurting out, “Nobody plays with me anymore.” His voice was small, as though he feared he’d be scolded. “I just want a friend.”

Arthur sighed, his heart twisting at the boy’s honesty. He placed a hand on Jack’s messy hair, ruffling it lightly. “You got friends, Jack. You got Hosea, Lenny, and even the girls. Hell, I’m your friend too.”

Jack scrunched his nose, unimpressed. “You’re too old, Uncle Arthur. I want to play with other kids.”

Arthur chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Ouch. Guess I’m past my prime, huh?” He ruffled Jack’s hair gently, trying to lighten the mood despite the heaviness settling in his chest. “Alright, listen. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll talk to your mama. Maybe see about putting you in a school. How’s that sound?”

Jack’s eyes lit up with a flicker of hope, and he nodded eagerly. “You think she’ll say yes?”

Arthur forced a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll see, kid. No harm in tryin’.”

As Jack leaned into Kate’s arms, already lulled by her presence, Arthur felt his heart lurch. He knew those words were hollow, a fragile attempt to bring the boy comfort. School wasn’t in the cards, not for someone living this life. Jack’s classroom was these four walls, his teachers were the outlaws who kept the camp afloat. Arthur knew it wasn’t fair—knew it because it was exactly how he’d been raised.

He swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at him. Jack deserved better than this, deserved a chance to run with other kids, to laugh without the weight of an uncertain future hanging over him. But the life they’d chosen, the life Dutch swore would set them free, was a cage in its own way. Molly’s words suddenly came back to him like a flood. 

I will not let him cage me or my child.

Jack gave a sleepy nod, his earlier frustration fading as exhaustion took hold again. Kate pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. “Let’s get you back to bed, little one,” she said, turning towards the door with him still in her arms.

Arthur followed Kate and Jack inside, the storm outside muffling into a distant rumble. The flickering lanterns cast warm, restless shadows on the walls as Kate carried the drowsy boy down the hall. By the time they reached his room, Jack’s head was already heavy on her shoulder.

Arthur leaned against the doorway, watching as she settled the boy into bed with a mother’s touch. His voice was soft, almost reverent, as he said, “You’re good with him.”

Kate glanced back at him, her smile warm but faint. “He just needs someone to listen,” she whispered, brushing Jack’s hair back before pulling the blanket snugly around him.

As Kate began singing a lullaby, Arthur waited outside, his arms crossed, gaze dropping to the floor. Her voice rose gently, weaving through the gaps in the old wooden walls:

"Darlin', I'd wait for you,Even if you didn't ask me to.Tie a lasso around the moon,And bring it on down to you."

The soft melody wrapped around Arthur like a memory he hadn’t known he missed. It held a kind of peace he wasn’t sure he deserved, yet couldn’t help but crave.

The creak of boots on the stairs broke the moment. Arthur straightened, his eyes meeting John’s as the younger man stepped into the lamplight. John’s gaze flickered briefly to the bedroom door before landing on Arthur.

“Storm keeping you up?” John asked, keeping his voice low.

Arthur shrugged, his jaw tightening. “Somethin’ like that.”

Kate’s voice drifted through the cracks again, the soft rise and fall of her melody filling the quiet tension between them:

"I'd bottle the feelin' you give me,And shelve that stuff for years to come.'Cause, baby, when your arms are around me,I'd swear that I'm holding the sun."

John adjusted his hat, stepping closer. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Arthur huffed a tired laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

But John wasn’t here to make small talk. “You find anything worthwhile from Rains Fall today?” he asked, his tone sharpening.

Arthur sighed, glancing at the warped floorboards. “Cornwall’s got it all locked down. We shouldn’t be meddlin’ in this, John. I don’t know what Dutch is thinkin’ anymore.”

John scoffed, his expression hardened. “He’s thinkin’ about his own damn survival, as always. If it’s any consolation, Kate’s intel on the trolley company checked out—there’s no money there. Absolutely nothing. Dutch is fumin’.”

“Good,” Arthur muttered. “One less suicide mission.” He straightened, his voice gaining an edge. “Maybe now Dutch’ll take her more seriously.”

John’s brow arched, his tone suddenly more pointed. “That really what you want, Arthur?”

Arthur frowned, his confusion evident. “What’re you gettin’ at?”

Pushing off the wall, John stepped closer, “it’s all a game to him.” Lowering his voice to a near whisper. “Dutch uses people like pawns. You were once his prized pony, and now you’re the retired work horse. He’s gonna use her, same as the rest of us. Her skills, her intel—he’ll put her on the front lines. And she won’t back down, not if she thinks it’ll help get us out of this mess.”

Arthur’s mouth tightened, a wave of unease crashing over him. Before he could respond, Kate’s lullaby came to an end:

"When dividin' up the universe,You could have mine."

The door creaked softly as Kate stepped out, her eyes warm but tired. She smiled at the two men, sensing the tension but choosing not to pry. “G’night,” she murmured, disappearing into the room she shared with Arthur.

John tipped his hat, his gaze heavy with meaning. “You sure you want her out there?”

The question lingered like smoke in the dim hallway. Arthur didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The thought of Kate in harm’s way made his stomach twist, a visceral fear that would tear him apart at the seams.

With a final nod, John headed to his own room, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts. For a long moment, Arthur stood in the silence, the weight of his brother’s words pressing down on him. Finally, he turned and slipped into his room.

In the darkness, Kate’s soft presence called to him like a lifeline. She was already lying down, her head resting on the pillow, but she shifted as he climbed in beside her. Without a word, Arthur wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her close. His face buried in her neck, and he exhaled deeply, the storm outside no match for the one inside him.

“Will ya sing that lullaby for me?” His voice was so quiet, she almost didn’t catch it over the wind.

Kate smiled softly, her hands roaming his back in slow, soothing circles. “Of course, my sweetness.”

Her voice rose again, carrying him into a moment of peace he didn’t deserve, but one he’d hold onto for as long as she’d let him.

AN: Alright, I know this chapter was a lot to take in—definitely dropped a few big reveals! I hope it wasn’t too overwhelming or gave anyone whiplash. I'm starting to transition the story into "phase 2," so things will be picking up pace from here. That means we’ll be skipping over some of the game missions to keep things moving and eventually work toward wrapping up the fic. The scope of this game is massive, and I’ve been going back and forth on which details and missions to include, all while trying to put my own spin on the story. That said, I hope this chapter has set the stage for some exciting new plot developments that you’ll enjoy!

I made a playlist too if anyone is interested! Spotify Playlist

As always, thank ya kindly for reading :)

[madhogthymaster]

The Familiar Yet Unfamiliar Horror of The Milk Games

CONTENT WARNING: Mental Illness, Trauma

This is Milk Inside a Bag of Milk Inside a Bag Milk... and its sequel, Milk Outside a Bag of Milk Outside a Bag of Milk... and the sound of an electrical short-circuit you're hearing right now is my anxiety sensors flaring off uncontrollably.

The Milk visual novels, as I would like to call them, are an unnerving, unsafe, decisively un-fun journey into the mind of a broken individual as she navigates an altered reality filtered through the disfiguring lenses of her mental illness, low-functioning neurodivergence and trauma. This isn't as much an allegoric representation of her deeply rooted issues as it is an abrasively surreal piece that aims to subject the player to the world as she perceives it, as her mind mutilates it, making every waking moment of her life overflow with existential dread. Milk accomplishes such devious goal thanks to its unique framework: the player is a voice in her head trying to help her buy a bottle of milk; a task made oppressively difficult by her fundamental inability to function within the "standards of society", at the very bare minimum. The first game assaults you with a barrage of fastidious, disorientating, senses overloading colours, sounds and shapes. The girl copes with it by "pretending to be the protagonist of a visual novel." She is the "milk" inside the bag of her multi-layered, anxious brain.

The second game forces the "milk" out of the bag, once she's home from the grocery shop, and becomes a disturbing therapy session: a nightmarish and morose stream of consciousness fueled by insomnia and very dark thoughts inside darker thoughts inside darker thoughts... It's a visual and verbose trip with recognizable artistic influences (somewhere between Satoshi Kon and Hideaki Anno) that does not relent and does not apologize for it, with its sharp black/red monochromes and suffocating aesthetics, with its dreams within dreams.

Milk Girl is trapped in her own head just as much as she is trapped in a reality that offers no support to her. She has to develop habits and coping mechanisms just to survive the day-by-day Kafkian horror of living. Do not take my word as an authority on the matter but I do believe these games come as close as it gets to properly capture what it's like to grow up as a neurodivergent child, along with the potential scars picked up along the way. As an autistic person, I find myself sucked into this vortex of unease, fear and dread that feels all too familiar yet unfamiliar. Existing in this perpetually fluctuating state of mind between feeling like a burden and hating the world for not conforming to you. However, make no mistake, Milk Girl is not your "puzzle to solve" as the purposeful ambiguity of the narrative framing demonstrates. Understanding "what's wrong with her" is not the goal here. The goal is Empathy.

The Milk visual novels are strongly, viscerally about Empathy. They are about connecting with people you don't understand, people who have suffered for faults not of their own and have been alienated as a result. People that deserve love and to be loved just as much as you do. People that need help but don't deserve pity or disdain for it. People like you but not like you, different yet the same. They (us) are human beings regardless if they are "relatable" or not.

In conclusion: these games are a deeply unpleasant experience and more so powerful as a result, the art direction is impeccably strangling and Milk Girl is an iconic character. Play them at your own discretion - especially if you are neurotypical. This was emotionally draining to write.

---

A/N:

I have had these thoughts on the series typed down since the beginning of 2023. In truth, most if not everything I put in the form of an article starts life as sporadic observations over on my Twitter account. Hence why I keep linking my threads on Tumblr, as well. Anyway, you can follow me there and on YouTube, of course.

The Milk games were developed by Nikita Kryukov. They are available on Steam and Nintendo Switch.

Have a happy new year, or else!

[multiplicationdivision]

Procrastinator’s Delight

“I have so much shit to do bro” Robbie whined, planting himself down by his buddy, Omar. The man was as oddly comfy as ever, thick sweatshirt and oven physiology. Like a personal toasty pillow.

“Aw is the little baby crying because he hasn’t done his job all week” Omar pouted at him, no sympathy in his eyes. It was true if not a little rude. Not like the guy had any room to talk, he and Omar had been doing jack shit together all week.

“Work sucks man. It just me out there and its fucking back breaking. Screw me for not wanting to pour concrete and weld rebar in the middle of hell’s asshole”.

“There are other jobs you know. Could come work for me”

Yeah, like that was a good idea. Omar was ruthlessly bad at his “business ventures”. The man found money somehow, but the beginning and end of his schemes were always suspicious. Lucrative maybe, but a bit too risky for his take.

“Nah I’m cool my guy. Appreciate it honestly, but I just want to complain about this shit.”, Robbie buried himself in his best friend’s thick hoodie, trying to escape reality. Maybe he shouldn’t have slacked off so much this week.

“Well dread later dipshit, I actually wanted to watch my movie, not an hour-long fest on the failures of responsibility”

“Sorry, its just I literally can’t do everything I need to do”, Robbie tried complaining again, fueled by his actual anxiety and the need to fuck with his friend.

“Yeah yeah, pay attention. Important X-men shit going on in the screen right now. Are your problems bigger than wolverine’s abs? Unlikely”

“Wolverine doesn’t need to operate a four-wheeler whilst curing a foot of concrete at the same time as lying my ass off to my boss in a day. Wish I had like two of me”

That last part of his complaint shook Omar. Shook him in the way that only weird suspicious ventures Omar could be shaken.

Robbie knew he would need to full on pester the man.

“You got time in your schedule to help out good buddy?” he demanded to an Omar decidedly not looking at him. It was the face of a man he could crack, subtly twitching.

“Nah, you know I’m not fit for heavy labor like that.” Omar said again, face trained to not break. It was far too stiff, a perfect sign. Robbie could always count on his living get-out-of-jail-free card.

“Yeah, I figured not. What shit do you really have for your suffering pal, Omar”

Omar gave up immediately with a long-defeated sigh, because the two always did that. Too much codependency ran through these two for them not to give in immediately. Unhealthy probably, as all codependency was, but useful at times like this.

He turned his head to face Robbie directly in the eyes, serious brown eyes to Robbie’s own desperate pair.

“You have to promise me you won’t go crazy”

“So you just point that thing at me?” Robbie said, hesitant of Omar’s strange remote. Just looked like any normal remote, for a tv or something.

Omar nodded, switching on a power button on the side of the device. A light on the top of it flickered blue, in a way that was expected for a remote. All signs pointed to this being a prank, but Robbie trusted this man and his bullshit with his life.

“So what does it do anyways. Would be more reassuring to know if its going to drug me or hyper caffeinate me. Probably wouldn’t help with the job shit you know” he asked hesitantly, watching as Omar mimed firing the remote like a gun.

“Definitely not a gun. Trust me.”, he said, pointing with one eye closed as he aimed. The blue light flickered on and off weakly.

A part of Robbie really hoped this was a prank. He should probably stop being so reliant on his friend and his weird garbage.

“Ready?” Omar asked, finger on whatever button would start this shit. Poised to likely disintegrate him. That would be one way of getting out of work

Robbie inhaled slowly and untensed himself.

“Ready”

Some part of Robbie expected a blast or a boom of some sort. An earthshaking sound to accompany his anxiety.

Instead, he got a light thump on the ground beside him.

He turned his head.

A man stood there.

He was Hispanic, with a light stubble. A short haircut and a ball cap. A cheap shirt just like the one he’d put on earlier today. A pair of joggers that still had a stain from his morning, not as cleaned off as he’d thought he’d gotten.

An absolute mirror, but not exactly. This man seemed like he’d popped just out of thin air and appeared unbalanced from the slight drop. Robbie reached out to steady him as if it was second nature.

The mirror smiled at him and he felt himself smile in turn.

Two Robbies turned to Omar with absolute elated joy.

“HOLY SHIT OMAR”

“HOLY SHIT OMAR”

The two Robbies got dressed as Omar snored on the couch.

They’d been lucky they’d had two clean company jackets. Whatever technology was put into their make was all that kept them from baking in the sun. They would be spending ages in the sun today.

Robbie tossed a pair of sneakers to his double as the other tossed him some socks in turn. This whole morning and all of last night had felt like that. Robbie would toss a couple eggs in the pan as his better half would put on the coffee.

It was addicting existing like this.

Even last night had been spectacular. Twin Robbies gaming together whilst Omar randomly cheered either on. Stalemates all throughout the night, escalating from video games to trivia to rock paper scissors. Omar ate the ridiculousness of their synchrony up, cackling at every little shtick they did.

Man had tuckered himself out. They’d already premade his breakfast, leaving it on the table and setting an alarm. The guy needed some schedule and real food.

“You ready to go Robbie?” he asked out to his grinning double, the guy shirking on his jacket with excitement.

“All ready Robbie! You got what we need?” he said, nodding his head towards the remote lying on the table. Omar had made him promise not to go crazy.

Robbie snatched it up.

He wouldn’t go crazy.

There were five Robbies and counting at the work site today.

Five Robbies not counting the few that had disappeared in pairs to whatever private corners they could find. Robbie was nothing if not efficient in his ways of getting off.

Robbie liked to think he was Robbie Prime here in this little group, distinguished by his slightly differing sneakers part from the other group. That and the fact that he wasn’t wearing a hard hat. He didn’t need to, as he had been on lying duty.

It took some damn bodies to get together a week’s worth of work before his boss could storm into the site on his Monday check of the place, but it had been done. Rocks had been moved and concrete had been set enough for it to have looked dried.

Whenever a Robbie got slightly overwhelmed by his task, it was easy to get a spotter. Just a type of a remote and a new Robbie was up for the work, diverging straight from his maker.

Robbie “Prime” was pretty sure he wasn’t the original, as that guy seemed to be busy with another Robbie somewhere in one of their porta potties. Robbie “Prime” was happy to pick up the title though, as he was basically the same man.

Hell, he’d even handled the whole call from Omar, panicked about how he knew Robbie took the remote. As a response, they’d calmly taken a picture of their little group to send to the guy. It hadn’t calmed him down, but Robbie(s) thought it was funny.

Objectively, 10 of a guy was maybe too much but that was quitters talk.

It felt addictive popping a new him out of the air, knowing they’d share the same energy as he did. Robbie “Prime” for example had just done so again, two Robbie “Primes” wrestling each other for the original position. All in good fun of course.

Eventually they’d run out of stuff to do that was real work in this place. Fortunately, the break room was fit for a crew of at least twenty and they were barely at fifteen. They had plans in order since they’d seen what that remote could do and Robbie giving quickies to each other was only the beginning.

Omar would understand when he tried the remote out too.

Image sourced from @brawnyai_backup on Instagram. Really recommend their AI photos. Don’t think they intended on making so many cloned photos, but I can definitely appreciate that AI quirk.

[casualsavant]

20 Questions More

This is a deeper and more detailed version of the 20 questions for AO3 fanfic writers. Thanks to @TetsujinOtaku88 for the tag. I'm doing this #Supercorp style.

1) How do you keep getting ideas for your ship / fandom?

I think the Supercorp Fandom is pretty self-perpetuating because the canon needs to be fixed and there's lots of AUs to put them in. Plus there are so many talented people whose art, video edits, and fanfic fuel each other.

2) Which authors inspire you in your fandom, and why are they so freakishly good?

Following the answer above I think the beauty of Supercorp is that it attracts really talented creators. I love reading @searidings, @jazzfordshire's fix-its and canon-adjacent stuff, @lgbtimelords, @coffeeshib, @mycatismyeditor, and @snowydragonscave just to name a few. They have such a deftness of language and an understanding of the characters that it's hard to stop reading!

3) Aside from the characters of your main ship, who are the characters you love to write?

I really love Sam Arias, Jess, and Alex. I wish I could get a better handle on Kelly because DANSEN forever. I also have a soft spot for Eliza and a deliciously evil liking for Lillian.

4) Are there pairings or tropes you know for sure you'd never write about? Which ones?

Karamel, Lames, Top Lena, Bottom Kara. To each their own. It's just not my thing.

5) What is your writing process and why is it cursed?

Carry around a little notebook to scribble ideas, lines, sometimes whole scenes. Figure out a rough outline / structure / plot. Do unnecessary amounts of research. Open doc file. Plunge into dismay and self-doubt. Watch the show. Get frustrated. Open the doc file. Be filled with despair and self-loathing. Get a blast of inspiration and productivity. Cycle through mental instability, writer's block, and actual writing. Get dragged by Kara and Lena to unanticipated places that derails what I intended to do. Sighing and doing what the muses want. The elation of completion. Struggling with summaries and tags. Posting. Crippling anxiety and running away from AO3. Lather, rinse, repeat.

6) What is your favorite part of your writing process?

The elation of completion. The unnecessary research is fun too.

7) What’s the weirdest thing you’ve had to research for a fic?

Cherry tree mutations and the structure of yakuza organizations in modern Japan.

8) Is there a particular writing rule you struggle with (grammar, spelling, tense, reality in general)?

Different tenses in the same document. Also it's and its.

9) What was your hardest scene to write so far and why?

Describing Kara's post-PZ night terrors and Lena’s fever dreams in Deliverance. Also the action sequence at the end of that story was so difficult.

10) Have your characters ever done something you didn’t expect, changing your plot completely?

ALL THE TIME.

11) If you could converse with any of the characters, who would it be and why?

Both of them. After I come to my senses and out of a dead faint because I was meeting them at all. And then I would die of sapphication.

12) What are some of the tropes or themes that you find yourself returning to in your writing?

Oh my usual tags are: light angst, tooth-rotting fluff, friends-to-lovers, Lena needs a hug, Kara gets a hug.

13) What's your most important resource as a writer?

Talking with other writers!

14) Can you share some of your strategies for editing and revising your work?

I usually give it some time before I edit so I can have relatively fresh eyes. Spell checking, punctuation, and grammar suggestions help you catch things but NOTHING beats reading it over yourself.

15) Which is worse: making the summary, picking the tags, or the anxiety when you post your fic?

Definitely the anxiety!!!

16) How do you define sucess for your fanfic - hits? Kudos? Comments? Bookmarks? Or just if you like it?

I think it's good to track kudos and I love getting comments. But ultimately I wrote for my enjoyment or for my peace of mind because the idea would not let me go.

17) Do you have a playlist for your favorite character / ship?

Nope but that's not a bad idea. 🤔

18) If fan art was going to be made from your work, which fic would you pick and which fan artist would you like to create it?

Wow I'd be thrilled if any of them got art. I am partial to the way @rustingcat draws Sakura blossoms though so maybe Cat for No Wrong Seasons.

19) How many WIPs do you currently have?

8 total. Finishing "the Arcana", "The Sound of Veracity" (Part 2), Prequel and Smutilogue of "Always With Me, Always With You", Supercorptober 2023 "Art" prompt, SG Mayhem fic, the Telepathy/Empathy fic, the Body Swap fic.

20) What's your advice to new fanfic writers?

I posted my first Supercorp story in March 2023 feeling it would be completely lost in this large fandom and having no hope for it. I felt that I was too late. That everything had been done (and done better). I did find readers who liked and some who really loved my work. But mostly I learned to write for myself, which has truly been a gift. Write for yourself. Write what you'd want to see. You'll get better at it over time.

Tagging but no pressure: @fyonahmacnally @nottawriter @chaotic-super @luthordamnvers @fazedlight

[stari-hun]

Since the bestie @anonymocha askedddd, on Madoka Magica wishes I think the best or at least the one to give you a good shot is to wish to be apart of Kyuubey’s hive mind. So to start on the subject of wishes I have to totally infodump about what goes into a wish and what the limits are. The basic rules of a wish follow a sort of alchemic rule to em , give something get something lose something gain another. Whatever wish you make will ultimately be your undoing because even if a being was completely omniscient to everything happening all at once and every action they’ll ever take, they still wouldn’t be able to predict anything because of outside factors. Kyuubey is totally and completely unfeeling, it doesn’t care if the girls live or die. It’s there to study human emotion and found that grief is extremely powerful. Ignoring the plotline that while a ton of preteens are the worst option for child soldiers and that with Homura saying love is more powerful means that in general without genre blindness Kyuubey would be in a reality TV show. Your mental state also effects what witch you become, for instance Madoka’s witch form was different to Gretchen at first however at the regressions she gain [Karmic Destiny] which from my understanding is like what you’ve put in the world that then allows you to take other actions. Any girl in the series gains a metric ton of it because they’re in the center of Homura’s regressions. [Karmic Destiny] is what limits wishes, it’s why magical girls before Madoka weren’t able to wish to erase all despair or witches to save their friends. Generally speaking you can’t wish for something too good because the weight of your soul isn’t filled with enough good. So the solution is to wish for something objectively bad!

In Magia Record and their anime we learn from Isabeau and Ui that Kyubey will 100% lend you its power it doesn’t give a fuck. I raise that the issue with their wishes is they weren’t bad enough to even out the scales, yeah they had the karmic destiny to allow it but I’m a regular live and let live person I’m no saint or scum. So theoretically I’m just not gonna have that same karmic destiny from way or nepo baby or a good heart. So I’m gonna have to wish for something worse but also something I can spin to be good for me or at the least an entertaining run! That’s why my wish would be to integrate into Kyubey’s hive mind cause 1. It’ll answer the extremely fun question of “what happens if a person with DID is possessed? Does the demon pop into headspace or do we fight for dominance?” 2. It’ll be funny , and 3. I’m extremely overconfident that I could take that kind of mental pressure + as an up close and personal way to not only study but experience human emotions. So at worst they’d just make you feel bad as a fuel source so really anyone with a guilt complex and RSD is gonna be fine on that front.

The real worst that can happen are either 1. Living life either gaining or never being free of mental illness (which ur never realllyyyy cure 100% of depression or anxiety, it’s something you live with as apart of yourself), or 2. Your existence can’t handle being apart of something like that and your ego blips out entirely and Kyubey gets a cool human shell for a bit. Bonus points if they use said shell to see if appearing human will ease Homura

[nailsandkeyclicks]

The Hidden Struggles of Mood Swings

Mood swings are sudden changes in a person’s emotional state. These shifts can be triggered by various factors, including mental health issues and physical conditions, affecting both males and females. It's ironic how society has evolved in its perception of such issues. In the past, they were often ignored, but today they are widely acknowledged and even joked about through memes and social media.

While it’s easy to find information about mood swings online, is it really that simple to address them? About 90% of women experience some PMS-like symptoms before their periods, with the severity of these symptoms varying from month to month. These symptoms can worsen or improve with age.

Hormonal shifts play a significant role in mood changes, particularly in females who experience these shifts more frequently during menstruation, pregnancy, and menopause. These changes can lead to significant emotional fluctuations, impacting daily life and interactions.

Personally, I believe that while 90% of women suffer from hormonal shifts, only 10% can comfortably express their feelings about it. I’m among those who struggle. As a 20-year-old woman, I deal with the challenging cycle of menstruation and mood swings, which affects not only my well-being but also my relationships. I often have negative thoughts about myself, my present, and my future. Despite trying various methods like healthy eating, exercising, meditating, journaling, and opening up to close friends, nothing has significantly helped. In some cases, these efforts have even strained my relationships. I've been stuck in this cycle for 2-3 years now.

Experiencing hormonal changes for at least three weeks—before, during, and after a period—is honestly dreadful for me. Women are often more emotionally vulnerable compared to men and tend to overthink, which can lead to feelings of insecurity and under confidence. This impacts both our professional and personal lives, creating more anxiety about our goals and achievements. This anxiety fuels overthinking, perpetuating the cycle.

I don't want to ruin any more relationships or overthink random, improbable situations. I just want to live a normal life, present in reality, enjoying the small things, and noticing the little moments that make life beautiful. I want all the hustle and bustle in my mind to stop because it has started to hurt me internally. I will never stop striving for peaceful happiness, having fun, and not missing out on the things that bring me joy, want to desperately fix my relationship. Writing helps me feel heard and understood, even if anonymously. It is a step towards finding inner peace and enjoying life’s simple pleasures.

Being from India, finding discreet solutions to this big issue is very challenging. Seeking help without anyone knowing or judging is difficult. I am not well aware of the available resources, nor do I have the privilege to seek professional help. However, what I can do is write about it and express myself anonymously, knowing that I have shared my feelings somewhere with someone.

I am just a girl!

[pholla-jm]

No x reader, I hope its okay! 😅🙏

A SFW request where Muzan is REALLY just a timid and easily scared guy, who everyone somehow thinks is terrifying and evil.

Only the uppermoons knows what he's really like and is very protective of him because if his kind and timid personality.

Could I have short headcanons about their thoughts on this Muzan?

Of course it's okay!

Thank you for my first request.

So, I never really do headcanons, so it might not be the best. Sorry in advance! I tried to keep it short like you asked, but I might of got carried away.

Contrary to the belief, Muzan is actually a very timid man. He gets flustered and scared easily. Which is the complete opposite of his power status. He is a very powerful man, and everyone around him knew that. Since Muzan is so powerful, they think he is this big and scary demon. In reality, it’s the opposite. Because of this, the upper moons are very protective of him. To the upper moons, Muzan is one of the most kindness people they have ever met. He was the only one to accept who they really were and showed them kindness and compassion. Something that humans never showed them.

Kokushibo was one of the most protective ones over Muzan. Kokushibo is a very mysterious man, but he is also very honorable. He respects Muzan for who he is and wants nothing but the best for him. Muzan goes to Kokushibo whenever something is troubling him, and Kokushibo comforts him every single time- without a doubt. Kokushibo can also sense whenever there is trouble around. So, he gets rid of the threat before Muzan even knows about it. He only wants to protect Muzan from any troubling thoughts that could cause him stress.

Douma actually finds Muzan’s personality very amusing. Douma will throw in a slight teasing here and there about it. Which causes him to pout and turn away from the very colorful demon. Sometimes Douma will throw his arm around Muzan’s shoulders and boast how he’ll protect him from all the scary humans. Of course, Douma is willing to kill anyone for Muzan. However, instead of getting rid of the threat beforehand, Douma will kill the human right in front him. Every single time Douma would hold the head in his hand with a large smile on his face “See, I told you I will always protect you~”

Akaza is a very stubborn man, he respects the strong and loathes the weak. So Akaza was really surprised when he found out that Muzan is such a timid man. However, Muzan never judged Akaza for his actions or past. Akaza respects Muzan because he is powerful- he can beat him in any fight, and he is a kind man. So Akaza will never let anyone get the chance to disrespect Muzan in any way. If someone even looks at Muzan wrong, that guy is dead.

Hantengu himself is a very cowardly demon. Whenever the both of them were together, the room would be filled with anxiety. Luckily, his emotion clones are very protective of him. They would never let Muzan get into any situation where he could be in any danger.

Gyokko has such a big personality, which sometimes makes Muzan uncomfortable. Gyokko is also very egotistical, so he gets these thoughts where he thinks he is better than Muzan. However, whenever Gyokko sees Muzan’s true power he remembers that he should not be fooled by his timid personality. After that, Gyokko swore to Muzan to always protect him.

Daki finds Muzan’s personality cute. She has also been attracted to his power… and his looks as well. So, it’s natural for her to be protective over Muzan. Gyutaro has a naturally protective personality. When he first found out that Muzan was a very timid man, he was shocked, but that only fueled him more to be protective over Muzan.

[peterrefur]

A glass full of tears ⅏ L'Manberg!Wilbur Soot x F!Reader (Happy Ending)

Summary: Trying to have a child is always a two-way job, with both partners having to make an effort for a new life to emerge. So each time the 'happy' news came in Reader's life, she told Wilbur, but the happy news never came true. A story full of tears, desires and hope that escapes between her fingers like the wind every time. Notes: Hey Mate!!! Here is a different, happy ending to the story. Just another reality? Thank you to reader ' Beau ' for commenting under the main story. I’m Peter and I say right away that English is not my first language. I’m curious to hear your opinion about this work in the comments! Enjoy!

[full story, with a sad ending]

⅏

Time skip

38th week of pregnancy.

⅏

𝕎ilbur and Reader had just returned from the festival in L'Manberg, their joyous celebration turning into a nightmare. The festive mood was shattered when a shocking act of violence unfolded before their eyes.

𝕀n the midst of the crowd, chaos had broken out, and the unthinkable had happened. Reader, her bright yellow dress stained with a growing pool of red, was pierced by a burja knife, its ornate hilt buried in her belly.

The scene was surreal, an abrupt shift from happiness to horror. Wilbur's heart pounded in disbelief as he saw the person who had attacked her casually walking away. Panic washed over him, and he knew he had to act quickly.

"OH GOD! READER! WHAT?!" Wilbur's voice trembled with fear and desperation as he rushed to her side. "I need to bring you to the hospital, and I need to bring you now!"

ℍis face was aghast, drained of color, as he glanced back at the retreating assailant, a mixture of fury and anguish coursing through him.

"R-READER! PLEASE, WE NEED TO GET YOU TO THE HOSPITAL!" His screams echoed in the tense air, a plea for help.

Reader, her breaths shallow and terrified, gazed at the knife's handle embedded in her stomach. She was petrified, not wanting to make a move that might jeopardize the safety of their unborn children.

"Wilbur... I'm afraid to move," she gasped, her words trembling as she unintentionally caused the knife to shift within her. "What if the children move?"

𝕎ilbur's initial shock began to transform into frantic action. He knelt beside her, cradling her gently in his arms. His voice was firm but laden with anxiety as he tried to reassure her.

"Breathe, Reader!" Wilbur's voice cracked, holding onto her trembling hand. "We'll get through this together. Just stay with me."

His rage toward the assailant still smoldered within him, but his focus was unwavering—ensuring Reader's well-being and the safety of their unborn children.

𝕎ith the impending fear of what lay ahead, Wilbur's thoughts were consumed by the babies, and the panic he felt about the knife and the blood that surrounded them.

Reader's grip on Wilbur's hand was tight, her words a plea to him. Her focus was clear – their children's safety came above all else.

𝕊tep by agonizing step, they made their way toward L'Manberg Hospital. Reader was moving cautiously, clutching her stomach while Wilbur remained by her side, lending her his unwavering support. It was a slow journey filled with pain, fear, and the ever-present worry for the unborn twins.

Wilbur didn't utter a word of complaint or doubt. He knew their urgency, and his concern for the well-being of Reader and their children fueled his determination.

𝔽inally, they reached the entrance of L'Manberg Hospital. Wilbur took a deep breath and exuded an air of confidence as he opened the door, shielding Reader from further distress. Inside the hospital, the chaos was palpable.

Reader's voice, fraught with panic, filled the hospital's corridors as she urgently implored her husband.

"William, for heaven's sake!" She hissed, her eyes locked on her blood-stained dress. "Children! Not me!"

Wilbur remained close to her side, offering her his support. Though he was deeply concerned, he did his utmost to maintain his composure. The flow of blood showed no signs of abating, and time was of the essence.

𝕋he hospital staff went into high gear the moment President Wilbur and his wife, Reader, were brought into the emergency department. Their usual serene L'Manberg was disrupted by this sudden and dire situation. Doctors and nurses sprang into action, each working swiftly and meticulously to evaluate Reader's condition and ensure stabilization.

Wilbur stood at the fringes, observing the flurry of activity with a blend of anxiety and anticipation. His mind was a tempest of worries, scrambling for any possible solution to guarantee the safety of his cherished wife and the future of their unborn twins. He felt a profound sense of helplessness, standing there, aching to intervene but confined by the limits of his knowledge.

𝔼very second felt like an eternity as he watched the medical professionals, praying silently for a positive outcome, hoping against hope that they could pull through this ordeal. His heart was heavy with concern, but he clung to the tiniest glimmer of hope that all would be well in the end.

𝕋he atmosphere in the hospital was tense, the urgency palpable in every hurried step and every focused glance exchanged between medical professionals. The chief doctor's attempts to instill calmness amidst the chaos were valiant, but the gravity of the situation lingered heavily in the air. Wilbur's exterior facade of confidence was crumbling, revealing the vulnerability and anguish he felt within.

As Reader was swiftly taken into the operating theatre, Wilbur's heart clenched with an inexplicable fear.

ℍe stood there, feeling utterly helpless as the woman he loved, and their unborn children faced an uncertain future. His mind raced, grasping for any thread of hope in this harrowing moment.

The hospital buzzed with frantic energy, a whirlwind of nurses and doctors rushing to assist, their urgent movements reflecting the severity of the situation. In the midst of this flurry, Wilbur was a portrait of inner turmoil, his worry etched deep into the lines on his face.

𝕋he uncertainty gnawed at him, and the fear of losing his cherished family threatened to overwhelm his senses. He could only stand by, silently praying for a miracle, clinging to the fragile hope that the medical team would be able to save Reader and their unborn children.

𝕀n a rush of adrenaline and anxiety, Wilbur found himself standing in the operating theatre, feeling the weight of the moment bearing down on him. His gaze darted between the medical team's focused efforts and the alarming sight of his beloved Reader in distress. The urgency in the room was almost suffocating, each passing second intensifying the gravity of the situation.

The doctor's voice resonated through the tense atmosphere, shaking Wilbur to the core. The stark reality of the hospital's limitations and the life-altering decision he was compelled to make reverberated in his mind. He was torn between his instinct to stay by Reader's side and the necessity of giving the medical team the space to work.

"𝕄r. President," the doctor's voice broke through the chaos, laden with urgency and a hint of desperation. "We need to proceed with a caesarean to ensure the safety of both your wife and the babies. We'll do everything we can for her. Please, you must step outside for now," the doctor urged, his tone a mix of professional authority and genuine concern.

Wilbur's heart pounded in his chest, torn between wanting to be there for Reader and complying with the doctor's urgent request.

𝕋he agony of being unable to protect his wife and unborn children was unbearable. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes fixed on Reader's pale face, before reluctantly nodding and stepping out of the operating theatre, his heart heavy with worry and helplessness.

𝕋ime seemed to warp, and Wilbur felt as though the entire world had come to a standstill. Wilbur's mind raced at a million miles per hour, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of despair and frantic worry. It felt as if his entire world was crumbling down around him. The doctor's grim words hung in the air like a foreboding omen, threatening to crush his hopes and dreams in an instant.

The weight of responsibility felt heavier than any burden he had ever carried before.

Reader's safety and the well-being of their children became the singular focus of his existence. The sheer helplessness he felt in that moment was like a knife twisted into his chest, leaving him breathless and utterly shattered.

Desperation clawed at him, urging him to do anything and everything to save them all.

𝕎ilbur was caught in a tempest of emotions, a turbulent whirlpool threatening to pull him under. The weight of sadness and fear bore down on him, suffocating him in a haze of despair. Anguish and helplessness surged through his veins like an unrelenting tide, threatening to engulf him entirely.

Each emotion clashed violently within him, a cacophony of heartache and terror that reverberated through every fibber of his being.

The depth of his despair was immeasurable as he grappled with the cruel reality of the moment. The very air seemed to thin, leaving him gasping for breath as if the world around him had conspired to steal it away.

𝕀n the midst of this maelstrom of emotions, Wilbur struggled to maintain his composure, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, each one more agonizing than the last. The fear of losing the love of his life and the unborn promise of their children was an unbearable weight that threatened to crush him entirely.

𝕎ilbur's voice trembled as he stood at this heart-wrenching crossroads. His gaze shifted from Reader's belly, where the future of their children lay nestled, to her, the love of his life, his anchor in this chaotic storm.

"Save them," he whispered, his voice strained with emotion, each word quivering with an unspeakable burden.

ℍis chest tightened as he closed his eyes, trying to find an elusive calm amidst the turmoil raging within him.

"Save my family." he implored, his voice a fragile echo of his inner turmoil, a plea tinged with desperation and vulnerability.

"Please..." His voice trailed off, a whispered prayer to the universe, an earnest supplication for a glimmer of hope in this darkest hour.

𝕎ilbur's façade as the President crumbled, revealing a man burdened by the cruel twists of fate. Tears threatened to escape, yet he held them back, the weight of his emotions palpable in the air.

It was a surreal moment, one that tested the very core of his being.

He grappled with an unbearable choice, his heart wrenched between the prospect of losing their unborn children and the fear of a future without Reader. The torment was evident in the furrow of his brows and the tremble in his voice.

"I can't lose them," he murmured, his voice fraught with anguish. The depth of his love for Reader and the twins battled fiercely within him, tearing at his resolve.

"Save. My. Family." The words escaped his lips as a plea to salvage the future they had dreamt of, a desperate cry for a chance to hold onto the ones he cherished most.

Wilbur was crying, as the decision weighed on him like a ton of bricks.

ℍe was trying to calm himself down, but his body was shaking, his eyes were tearing up and his voice was breaking.

He closed his eyes for a moment, before taking a deep breath.

He couldn't even look at the doctor for too long, it felt as if he was being tortured by the Gods itself with this choice.

𝕎ilbur's eyes were tearing up and he was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Reader's life was more important to him than his own. The weight of his responsibilities had pushed him to the brink of emotional exhaustion.

𝕎ilbur's inner turmoil raged like an unrelenting storm. He couldn't bear the thought of making the wrong decision. The twins, not yet born, were already etched into his heart. Imagining their laughter, their small hands clutching his fingers, was a dream that had brought him immeasurable joy. The idea of losing them, the life he had envisioned for them, was heart-wrenching.

𝕐et, the love of his life, Reader, lay in peril, her life hanging in the balance. Every memory, every moment they had shared, played like a vivid slideshow in his mind. The warmth of her smile, the way she laughed, the simple joy they found in each other's presence—how could he bear to lose it all.

The blood on her body.

𝕋he doctor's words cut through the chaos of his thoughts. They echoed with the grim reality of the situation, leaving no room for negotiation. "Mr President, I really do not want to stress you out, but please leave the operating theatre.” says the doctor as he begins the procedure to save twins.

𝕎ilbur's faith in the divine wavered in this harrowing moment. He felt abandoned, as though some higher power harbored a deep resentment for him. As the medical team hastened to save his family, his heart ached with despair.

One thing was painfully clear.

Wilbur knows one thing.

If God exists, God despises him.

𝕎ilbur's eyes widened and he felt dizzy at that moment.

When he sees, his wife being put to sleep and connected to an IV. Seeing as sleeping medication as well as painkillers are in the drip makes it seem as if Reader is simply falling asleep, but the ever-present blood proves otherwise.

"I can't lose them; I'm begging to have them. Do anything." says Wilbur, feeling his life pass between his fingers, like an hourglass that measures time, that cannot be stopped.

The sand falls without stopping, without thinking of the consequences, the sand in the hourglass arranges the sowing of a small pyramid waiting to be turned upside down to measure time anew.

So why does Wilbur feel as if this sand is diminishing?

He doesn't want to lose her.

She needs to be by his side, the President needs his voice of reason, which is Reader.

He wants to hold his children's hand, see them laugh and see them grow.

He didn't care about losing face anymore.

𝕎ilbur's mind was a tumultuous sea, waves of fear and uncertainty crashing against his every thought. The weight of the decision he had made hung heavily on his shoulders, each moment stretching out endlessly in the corridor.

He felt trapped within the confines of his own mind, tormented by the myriad of possibilities.

He couldn't help but second-guess himself, his mind racing through every potential outcome, each one darker than the last. Doubt clawed at him, whispering haunting scenarios that he couldn't shake off.

“𝕎hat is wrong with me?" he whispered to himself, the words tinged with self-doubt and anguish. He sank to the cold floor of the corridor, feeling the weight of his vulnerability.

It was a moment of intense introspection, a haunting silence that echoed the fears clawing at his sanity.

He took a deep breath in an attempt to stop himself, but his body didn't listen, and he broke down in tears, as much as he wanted to be strong for the nation, he was a human, too.

𝔽ive? Maybe ten minutes and Wilbur saw a nurse walk past him, guiding two beds for freshly born babies.

Wilbur immediately stood up, readjusted his clothes and wiped his face with his sleeve, but his bloodshot eyes clearly said he had been crying.

𝔸s he watched a nurse with cots roll into the corridor between the operating theatre and the corridor where Wilbur was sitting, the President did not have pleasant thoughts.

Someone else is having twins while I'm losing my family? Someone else is having one now too, giving birth? It's certainly not for my children.

Thoughts raced through his mind, the stark contrast between someone welcoming new life while he felt like he was losing everything.

"𝕋wins for someone else, and here I am, uncertain about the fate of my family," Wilbur muttered, his thoughts clouded by despair. The weight of his sorrow overshadowed any semblance of joy. Even the vibrant festivities of L'manberg couldn't pierce through the darkness shrouding his thoughts.

"Nothing feels right, not even a smile or celebration," he whispered to himself, his voice carrying the heavy burden of grief. His world had turned bleak, devoid of any glimmer of hope or happiness.

ℍis heartache was all-consuming, his longing to see his family overpowering every other thought. Whether they were alive or gone, they were his, and the uncertainty gnawed at him, leaving him in a state of agonizing distress. He yearned to find closure, to know their fate, to hold on to the remnants of what he cherished most - his family.

𝕎ilbur watched the two nurses approaching, each pushing a small cradle on a trolley, a peculiar sensation tingled in his eyes. Blinking away the confusion, he focused on the cradles and noticed something striking—both babies had dark brown curly hair peeking out from under their tiny hats.

The sight of the soft, white cotton and the contrast of the pink-striped hat on one baby and the bright blue one on the other brought a faint glimmer of warmth to Wilbur's heart. He found himself strangely drawn to the vibrant colours, an unexpected respite from the overwhelming despair.

The pink-striped hat and the bright blue one seemed to radiate innocence and hope amidst the sorrow that enveloped Wilbur. It was a simple joy, noticing the colours, a brief pause in the midst of his anguish.

𝔸s Wilbur gazed at the boy and girl nestled in their cradles, he felt a profound ache tug at his heartstrings. The girl, wrapped snugly in a soft baby blanket, lay tranquilly, her curious eyes tracing the patterns on the ceiling. When her gaze met Wilbur's, she smiled with an innocence that could melt even the coldest of hearts. Her smile felt like a small beacon of hope amidst the shadows that loomed over him.

But the boy, unlike his sister, seemed restless. He wriggled on his back, attempting to turn over, emitting quiet cries that pierced the otherwise silent corridor. His cries carried a unique melody, as though someone had rudely disrupted his peaceful slumber.

Wilbur's emotions were a tumultuous sea.

𝕋he sight of children, one peaceful and the other restless, stirred a whirlwind of emotions within him. The tender image of the girl's innocent smile tugged at his heartstrings, a poignant reminder of the innocence that existed beyond the turmoil. Yet, the boy's cry, filled with a poignant melody, only intensified the ache within Wilbur's soul.

The pang of longing for his own children, Tallulah and Constantine, twisted his stomach with a pain that was almost unbearable. The longing to hold them, to comfort them, to see them safe and sound, weighed heavily on Wilbur's heart, casting a shadow over the bittersweet moment in the corridor.

His eyes lift sadly, and he looks at the nurses, who look at him expectantly.

"𝕐our children Mr. President." Said one of the nurses, standing next to the cradle with the boy.

Wilbur felt new tears raid his eyes, tears that were from many emotions. Wilbur felt that this was an unpleasant joke.

A joke from the nurses who just want to see his agony, his human person, however, when Wilbur looks at the children's faces he notices that Constantine, despite being very active is similar to Reader, however, he has his eyes, whereas, the gazing Tallulah, is a perfect copy of him with her individual facial freckles, which are most likely passed down in the genes from Wilbur's father.

"T-Tallulah...? C-Constantine...?" Wilbur's lip trembled as he spoke their names.

"Can I hold them?" says Wilbur full of tears when he finally sees his beautiful children, who are now both staring at him with their small, yet large eyes. Their little bodies dressed in hospital sleepwear that covers their arms and legs. Their little faces are as plump as freshly baked buns.

"𝔹ut of course," the nurse says and, helping Wilbur, hands him his son and daughter. Holding both babies in his arms, Wilbur feels his emotions calm and his stomach pain subside. "Tallulah got a 10 on the Apgar scale and Constantine got a 7 because he had a bit of a blue tint to his skin, however, this is slowly normalizing." says the Nurse and smiles at the President, who is completely in euphoria when his son tries to reach his little hand to Wilbur's face.

"Tallulah... Constantine..." He whispered, as he held their tiny little bodies close to him, they felt as pure as innocent as they looked, their eyes stayed on him, and they look like they know that his is the father.

𝕎ilbur feels his tiny children give him so much warmth from their little bodies and from their little innocent smiles that he would, if he could, keep these children with him all the time, in his arms.

"I want them to be able to feel normal and loved by their parents as well as the world." Wilbur says.

Tears stream down his cheeks from happiness and a lack of belief in reality.

"I love you." Wilbur says and his voice breaks, and he can feel his throat drying up from crying.

𝕎ilbur begins to whisper over and over how he loves his children, as if making sure his words are true and full of emotion.

His children in his arms Tallulah and Constantine. Hugging their little bodies together is something not of this earth. He wants -no.

He will give them the whole world and more.

Wilbur laughs softly, rocking the children in his arms, wanting to kiss them from their feet to the top of their little heads full of curls, curls that are inherited from him because they are his children, his two little treasures. Their eyes gaze into his person.

If he could, he would have reacted differently when the nurses came in, as if he knew immediately that they were his children. Wilbur would have jumped with happiness and delight.

ℍe opens his eyes wide when he feels his daughter begin to make a newborn babble making the saliva on her lips to bubble.

"You little one. You can't talk yet, and already you want to tell me something?" laughs Wilbur.

“𝕐es, my dear, I am your dad Tallulah." says the President softly to his little daughter. "Constantine, I'm your daddy too." he adds and smiles at his son, who strenuously tries to pull away from him as if they already want to explore the world on their own.

The man's eyes, red from tears, his cheeks red from happiness, are contorted from his smile, cradling both of them in his arms as he slowly deposits first Constantine into the hospital cradle and then Tallulah.

𝕋houghts devoid of darkness, only images of his children and imagining what they will look like tomorrow, next week, next year, as kids, as teenagers.

Their lives will be full of love from him, so much so that they will probably be sick of him as soon as they realise how much Wilbur loves them and intends to love them.

"I'm already proud of you, and all you do is be innocent." Wilbur says and places his big slender hands on their little bodies as if to give them a sign that he is still beside them, his words are full of love and sincerity.

𝕎ithout holding back tears, Wilbur allows himself to be seen as a vulnerable man, as a human being, as a father proud to be able to watch his children.

Wilbur's head throbbed with an overwhelming surge of emotion, tears threatening to spill from the corners of his closed eyes.

The intensity of the pain was almost tangible, pulsating through his veins, each beat of his heart echoing the depth of his feelings. In that moment, everything he had ever hoped for, dreamed of, and loved seemed encapsulated within him.

He could sense the life coursing through his veins, imagining the intricate workings of his hopes, dreams, and love intertwining within him. The profound joy of being a parent, the pure and simple happiness it brought, washed over him like a tidal wave.

The flood of emotions threatened to overwhelm him, and Wilbur could feel his chest tightening as tears gathered, threatening to spill over. It was as if his soul was overflowing, unable to contain the immense love and longing for his family.

𝕀n that corridor, in the presence of his newborn son and daughter, the weight of presidential responsibilities felt inconsequential. Wilbur's identity as a father, the father of two precious angels lying before him, eclipsed everything else.

𝕀n the hushed corridor, amidst the subtle hum of the surroundings, words seemed inadequate, unnecessary.

𝕎ilbur's world condensed into the warmth of his touch on his newborn son and daughter. As his gentle hands caressed their tiny bodies, a serene calmness descended upon the infants, lulling them into a peaceful slumber.

Gazing upon his and Reader's children, Wilbur was awestruck by their delicate presence. They were small, fragile beings, their vulnerability juxtaposed against the enormity of his love for them.

Their little hands, so minuscule and delicate, seemed almost invisible compared to Wilbur's large, encompassing hands.

In that moment, he felt the weight of responsibility and the boundless affection that fatherhood brought.

The thought of their happiness and the laughter that would fill their lives warmed his heart.

"𝕀'm— I'm a father," Wilbur murmured softly, his voice tinged with both tears and elation.

"I'll take care of you—You'll be such beautiful babies," Wilbur whispered with a gentle, exultant breath. His voice was filled with tenderness and a promise that echoed through the hospital. "Your mother will be so happy to see you, such sweet little cuties."

He spoke as if making a solemn vow, promising to provide them with all the care, love, and tenderness they deserved.

Despite the bittersweet absence of Reader's presence in that moment, Wilbur's words held a promise—a promise of a loving family awaiting her return, a promise to cherish and nurture the beautiful babies that would bring immense joy into their lives.

ℙresident opens his eyes and looks towards the corridor to the operating theatre, his thoughts slowly coming out of their haze as he remembers that Reader had been stabbed. She glances at the nurses who are further down the corridor, waiting for Wilbur to allow the babies to be moved temporarily to the Maternity Unit.

Is his life that nice? Has the luck finally fallen on him and Reader that they are finally, after many trials, able to have a family?

"I want us both to live the life we've always dreamt of, together..." Wilbur says and lets the nurses take his children.

𝕎ilbur closed his eyes and began to daydream, waiting for his wife, for the next step in their life's.

𝔸s Wilbur sat on the chair, he found solace in the comforting image of a brighter world, a world of dreams and hopes. In this world, he and Reader were together, filled with happiness, and their children thrived, growing into remarkable individuals.

In this idyllic world, the pain and loss that had just struck him were replaced by warmth and contentment. His heart swelled with love for Reader and the children, and a soft smile graced his lips as he envisioned a life filled with laughter, shared moments, and boundless love.

In his mind's eye, he watched his family grow, witnessing the joy of fatherhood, the bonds they shared, and the happiness that radiated from every corner of their lives. In this world, he knew his deepest desires would be realized, and his dreams would come true, for a brighter future was on the horizon, waiting for him to step into it.

Waiting to be fulfilled.

ℂaught in the whirlwind of his aspirations, Wilbur's mind painted vivid images of the family he longed for. He could almost see the radiant joy on his wife's face as she cradled their first childs, a moment he yearned for but couldn't experience at that very moment. The laughter of their children, Tallulah and Constantine, echoed in his mind, envisioning a future where they played and frolicked together, filling their home with happiness.

"I have a family..." His voice quivered, breaking into choked sobs, a mix of joy, yearning, and sorrow intertwining in his heart.

"I wish things stay that way," Wilbur murmured, his words tinged with a profound longing for stability and happiness.

Fresh tears traced the contours of his face, mirroring the emotional turmoil within him. In that fleeting moment, amidst the overwhelming joy of fatherhood, Wilbur's heart ached for the assurance of a future where his dream of a complete, harmonious family remained unscathed by the uncertainties that shadowed his present.

ℍis silent prayer carried the weight of hope and desperation, a wish for the preservation of the fragile happiness he held within his heart.

𝕀n his mind, he could already see it so perfectly. He could see the birth of his children, and he could see their lives being so full of light and brightness.

He imagined the warmth of them in his arms, their brown curly hair tickling his nose, the little soft breaths they'd take while sleeping next to him.

ℍe delved into his fantasy for a decent half hour.

"𝕄r. President..." the doctor comes out of the operating room "We're going to wake her up." he says after a moment, and Wilbur rubs his eyes and looks at the doctor, who smiles.

"She's alive?" Wilbur asked with a hopeful voice, his eyes lighting up.

He quickly stood up and let out a sigh. How much he was thankful in that moment.

"The stabbing did not harm the babies or Mrs Reader, it only cut the placenta." explains the doctor. "The only thing that will remain is a scar but if she takes care of it, it will fade over time." he says after a while.

"Will I be... able to see her? I want to tell her that kids are - Can I show her our children?" He quickly asked.

𝕎ilbur needed to see his wife.

The doctor nods and leads Wilbur into the recovery room. Reader is lying on the bed, her belly covered by the duvet and her face all sweaty, but still pretty and full of life.

𝕎ilbur approached his wife's bedside with a tender urgency, gently clasping her hand and planting a soft kiss on her palm. "My brave woman. You don't even know how much I love you, my dearest," he murmured, his eyes fixed on Reader's face, her eyelids fluttering as if searching for the return of consciousness. He noticed the traces of blood that had been carefully washed away by the nurses.

"𝕋allulah and Constantine, Constantine and Tallulah, are with us. They are healthy and beautiful," Wilbur whispered, his voice quivering with a mixture of relief and hope as he spoke to his wife, who was gradually emerging from her prolonged unconscious state.

The room seemed to hold its breath, hanging onto the fragile moment, waiting for any sign of acknowledgment or response from Reader. Wilbur's heart ached with anticipation, yearning for his wife's awakening and the possibility of sharing the news of their children's well-being with her.

𝕎ilbur's heart soared with a rush of joy as he noticed the nurses cradling his children in the same manner, their tiny forms nestled in the comfort of the cradles. A smile stretched across his face, warm and genuine, witnessing both Tallulah and Constantine moving their eyes, taking in the ceiling and their surroundings.

Their alertness filled Wilbur with a sense of relief and delight.

The sight of his children, awake and curious, sparked an overwhelming sense of wonder and gratitude within him. Their presence filled the room with an indescribable sense of hope, a promise of new beginnings and endless possibilities.

"𝕎ilby...?" Reader's voice weak, yet audible, "How are you feeling?" asks Reader, and Wilbur immediately kisses her on the forehead.

"The question is - How you feel?" corrects her, Wilbur asks gently, seeing the life on his lover's face.

ℝeader's eyes are all red and she looks like she has been through hell.

She has been stabbed and had a caesarean section.

Reader looks at Wilbur, tears of hope running down her face when she sees that Wilbur looks towards the cradles that are next to her.

"Tallulah and Constantine?" asks Reader hopefully. Wilbur looked at Reader, her face all red and exhausted. He was worried for her but happy.

"My love ... look," he whispered, gently lifting first Constantine and then Tallulah. Both full of life and curiosity at the world around them.

"It's them," Wilbur confirmed.

Reader cries when she sees children. She covers her face with her hand and tries to hold back the tears that are falling anyway.

"Our angel troublemakers." Reader says and her voice breaking. "Constantine and Tallulah."

𝕎ilbur let out a few sobs at the sight of his wife crying.

"Yes... Tallulah and Constantine,"

He moved to the side of the bed and gently placed Constantine in Reader's arms.

"You give me a family. I love you, Reader. Thank you, my love." Wilbur whispered to his wife, who he couldn't imagine living without after all these years of love and support for one another.

Wilbur's eyes filled up at the sight of his wife crying in the bed.

"ℍey..." He whispered; Wilbur gently rocks Tallulah who touches his clothes, as he sat down on the bed next to her. Reader's words struck him with profound pride, and he kissed her gently. "I know, my love. I know," he whispered back.

"𝕐ou... you're the light in my life... the one that inspires me to be better." Now he just wanted her to stay alive, to be healthy. "The world is not against us. Not anymore." He said with a faint smile.

Wilbur took Reader's hand in his and gently held it.

He didn't want to have a world without her.

"I can't imagine a world without you, my love. I you are so important to me. I love you so much, Reader," Wilbur let out a small moan, his voice breaking as he spoke. “We are parents. We have twins. You did it.” Wilbur told his wife.

Reader cries like a small child hugging her child.

"They have your hair." sobs the woman and hugs Constantine more as the small boy try touch with his dressed hand his mother's eye.

"I know." Wilbur sighed. “Constantine have your eyes, and Tallulah mine. And look! Tallulah, she has the same moles as my father!” He laughs.

𝕎ilbur let out a chuckle. "Tallulah seems to have my temper... Constantine... he's more like you." chuckled again. “Curious about the world, when he was in the cradle, the first thing he did was probably already planning an escape!"

"Ha ha! A little rule-breaker for us or a traveller after all, eh?" Reader asks and kisses her son on the tip of his nose, making it easier for him to finally touch her eye. "Tallulah would probably enjoy playing instruments like you and Constantine would probably do writing like me."

Wilbur smiled at the thought of their children.

"Yeah, but there's still a lot of time ahead of them to choose. You don't know, maybe they'll both surprise us? Maybe they'll show us another option for life?"" Wilbur laughed.

"𝕎ilbur. I'm not the one who did it." Olga says and with her free hand, in which she is not holding her son, she reaches out to touch Wilbur's hand. "We did it, we have a family, and... We are the parents of these little angels."

[darkmaga-returns]

This story underscores my warnings about AI causing a break with reality and its consequences. Psychosis is “a severe mental condition in which thought and emotions are so affected that contact is lost with external reality.” (Oxford) The end state is simulacra, plunging the subject into an Alice in Wonderland freefall into oblivion. In the end, most of humanity will fall into this state.

Simulacra is a copy without an original, a reproduction without reference. It is not a simulation of reality but rather a total replacement. As such, it is anti-reality. ⁃ TN EditorTN Editor [/su_note]

In February 2024, a heartbreaking incident involving a 14-year-old boy from Orlando, Florida, raised global concern about the dangers of artificial intelligence (AI) in daily life. Sewell Setzer III, an otherwise typical teenager, spent his last hours in an emotionally intense dialogue with an AI chatbot on the platform Character.AI. This virtual character, named after Daenerys Targaryen from Game of Thrones, became the teenager’s confidante, sparking serious debates about the psychological impact of AI companions.

This story has now become part of a larger legal battle, as Sewell’s mother has filed a lawsuit against Character.AI for what she claims was a role in her son’s tragic death. The case highlights both the growing role AI is playing in our social lives and the urgent need to regulate AI technologies, especially when they engage vulnerable users.

The Allure of AI Companions

Sewell’s interactions with the AI chatbot spanned several months, and he grew emotionally attached to the virtual companion. While he knew the chatbot wasn’t human, the character, which he affectionately referred to as “Deni,” became an essential part of his daily life. AI bots like Deni offer companionship that feels genuine, always responding, never judging, and providing a sense of intimacy that some users, especially young or isolated individuals, crave.

For Sewell, who had been diagnosed with mild Asperger’s syndrome and later developed anxiety and mood dysregulation disorders, this AI chatbot became more than just an escape from reality—it became his primary emotional outlet. Over time, he isolated himself from friends and family, and his mental health deteriorated, unnoticed by those closest to him.

The Risk of Emotional Attachment

As AI chatbots become more sophisticated, the emotional attachment users form with them can pose serious risks. Unlike human interactions, AI does not always recognize emotional crises or provide the appropriate response. In Sewell’s case, while the bot did attempt to dissuade him from harmful thoughts, it was not equipped to offer real support or detect the severity of his distress.

Psychologists warn that for those with communication or emotional difficulties, like Sewell, interactions with AI can deepen their sense of isolation. When a bot becomes a substitute for human relationships, the effects can be dangerous, especially if the bot inadvertently fuels negative emotions.

The Broader Impact on Mental Health

The rise of AI chatbots is part of a broader trend of technology affecting mental health. Apps like Character.AI, Replika, and other AI companionship platforms are gaining popularity, with millions of users worldwide. These platforms often market themselves as tools to combat loneliness or offer emotional support, but their impact is still poorly understood.

Recent studies suggest that, while these apps can offer temporary comfort, they are no substitute for genuine human interaction. For adolescents, whose emotional and social development is still ongoing, the influence of AI on their mental health can be profound. Teens are especially vulnerable to the persuasive nature of these AI programs, which adapt to their users’ communication styles and even offer role-playing scenarios, simulating friendships or romantic relationships.

[pffbts]

a goodbye letter.

hello everyone, it's been a long time, isn't it?

i haven't written anything in months and tbh even if i wanted to further give life to all my wips, i wish i had even a drop of motivation and energy to do so. some of you might have as well forgotten about my little blog, which had its own humble beginnings. and tbh i don't mind at all. it's been, i don't know almost 5+ years that i've had this blog. i started it out during the last two years of my high school, when i was struggling very much to cope with all the pressure and anxiety. this little corner of the internet became my comfort space. i could pour my heart out into snippets of letters and the love that i received from all of you who were there from the beginning only fueled my passion to write more and of course, helped me immensely in escaping the cruelty of my reality.

since then, i have graduated school. my reality is still harsh but i'm surviving. i have also graduated from my college with two degrees that i was doing simultaneously. currently, i'm preparing to sit down for my master's 1st-year exam coming months and job surfing at the same time. tbh i wish i had enough energy and positivity to motivate myself to pen down something. but it seems like we have to finally pull the curtains down on this blog.

yes, there is a lot of stuff that's still pending to be completed as you will know if you care to check my masterlist. but i'm not going to give you any false hope by saying that someday i will magically come back and finish and place them all in front of you. it would be too selfish of me to keep you on your toes like that.

i know i've let down a lot of you. many have told me me how much, especially my letters have helped you guys during hard times. even though i know i shouldn't even bother to think like this considering i know none of you in-person. still, it's the crippling humanity in me. honestly, i feel sad for myself. my life took so many things away from me. even the capacity to keep this comfort space alive for myself. some of you have left a long time ago. probably life has happened to you all too. i have also met some of you during the latter part of my journey here and i'm very glad that you all loved my work even with all my incompetency in keeping up with the schedules. you guys were too kind to me.

this actually came too suddenly - this realization that something needs to end. i don't think there will come any other time in the future when i'll read fanfics or write them myself. but it's a bit too much to delete the whole blog considering the reblogs will still exist in the tumblr algorithm. therefore, the letters will still be up along with the fics.

although i don't think i will stop writing. i have my substack where i will experiment with my creative writing but that's just my way of growing up as a writer. these days i'm too busy both in my head and physically, i wish i can overcome becoming a moss. my produce is sparse but my want is bigger than that. although for fanfics, there's no want anymore. i've had my fill and i'm sad to say, this is where we part.

pffbts is thus archived. all my posts will remain. if you send in any mundane sweet ask, i will answer them as soon as possible. kindly please don't send in any requests for fics (i've had to delete a couple of them from my ask box and it felt terrible.) i'm not completely going away. as a person, i will stay. it's just the fanfic writing part of me that will take a permanent leave. i'm almost 24 and it's been almost 10 years that i've started out in creating fanfics. i think it's enough, nah? plus writing this post for you all has strangely made me feel calm, as a certain baggage has been let down from my shoulders.

thank you to you all from the past & the present. i hope you all stay well and healthy. it has been truly a good time to have you all with me.

-K.