#and i know that to some folks that’s just a passive aggressive way of a woman communicating that she wants more out of an experience
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#it’s my wedding anniversary today and I’m in a snit#not for the typical romcom reasons one might assume that a woman might be a snit about like#’he forgot our anniversary!’ or ‘he never brings me flowers!’ or ‘we’re not doing anything special because i didn’t plan it!’#i specifically planned nothing except for my regular routine because I don’t WANT to do anything special#it’s just Wednesday#and i know that to some folks that’s just a passive aggressive way of a woman communicating that she wants more out of an experience#but i seriously don’t. in fact I’m annoyed that he took the day off instead of just the afternoon like he said he was intending to do#THAT I was able to fit into my morning routine. i knew I’d still have coffee and reading and Spanish time to myself#then i realized he was all in my space making a ton of noise and i got a sinking feeling in my stomach and understood#that he took the whole damn day off#which is fine—he’s entitled to do that and I’m not going to argue with it#but where is the communication?#did he think that this is what count as ‘spontaneous’ and ‘romantic’? he doesn’t know the meaning of the words!#and I know this by now! 23 years of marriage is a long time to NOT know that and hope for more#i have made my peace with this arrangement. he works and i manage the house and work on myself during my copious alone time#so to have him in my space when i just want to read my stupid smutty book and learn reflexive verbs rankles me#i asked point blank why he was bothering to take the day off and he said ‘to spend time with me’#dude we spend time together all the time and most of that time you’re face down in a sudoku puzzle or coding#which is fine because you know have your hobbies I’m not stopping you#so unless you have a specific plan in mind that would justify trainwrecking the morning routine of an autistic woman#a woman who has accepted a plain and unadorned life without sex or romance#then take off the afternoon that you said you were going to take off and let that be it ok?#i don’t want flowers. i don’t want a card. i do want the fancy grilled cheese we talked about before i remembered it was our anniversary#tbh Wednesday is just gyros night and I suggested the gourmet grilled cheese place as a change of pace that’s all#i don’t even want to go to the art museum. I’d rather play video games tbh#agh Samantha who are you talking to? the faint outline of a man who chose someone else? yes i guess i am#sighing into the void#anyway. off to go learn how to properly use me te se nos etc. etc.
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Astrology Observations: No.29
*only based on my observations, only take what resonates
(Oml I didn’t realize that I haven’t written out a proper observations post since May?? I’m so sorry y’all life has been crazy b u s y and the world has been on fire due to colonialism, but I’m going to write more again 🙃 I love astrology but existence is wild y’all)
-I had a client say Geminis always get Gemini tattoos.. while getting a Gemini tattoo lol (and they were right!!) (Leo suns are second most likely imo)
-mutable venuses like changes in fashion a lot, they tend to go through fashion phases

-Every Pisces sun I’ve met has said they don’t really like being a Pisces at least once. Which is so interesting because Pisces sun isn’t a placement in determent, Libra is ! And I think 9 times out of 10 Libras will say they love being Libras (or it’s a huge part of their personality fr)
-My favorite thing I’ve heard from a Libra sun I knew was that they hated doing all of the things that made them appear socially functional so I said “why do you do it? why not just stop doing what you hate?” and they just looked blank like they couldn’t even imagine not conforming (even though they were an aqua moon)
-Ok so I’ve been wondering why I’ve had repetitive instances of some people being passive aggressive and w e i r d at my main job when I literally own the business and I’m their boss?? But it’s that Lilith in 10th. No one is neutral about your energy and you can rub folks the wrong way just by minding your business. I don’t like it but especially at work bc I’m a Capricorn and this isn’t productive >:/ lol
-Oh another Lilith touching Asc observation is when people start a conversation with me like 60-75% of the time they try to challenge me or ask lowkey rude questions (sneak diss shit lol) like 3 different people asked me what tattoo I regret the most and I was like ??? Hello? Who are you? Lol these streets oml…
-cancer placements can be really centered on defending their self, their perspective, their family, their community (they don’t have to be but it can be a common trait). I just noticed the pattern after ages of wondering why cancer was associated with nationalism on a wide scale. (Pluto in Cancer generation and the rise in nationalism after ww2 for example)
-I feel like Sagittarius placements (especially the big 3) will always be ready to do something new and life changing at any age (moving abroad, going on vacation and exploring new places, getting their first tattoo, anything that seems like it’ll open the door to a set of new experiences)
-Strong mars and mercury energy can make someone brutal in arguments (air mars, Virgo and Gemini mars, even Kendrick is an example he destroyed Drake- and Kendrick has mars conjunct Mercury and a Gemini sun)
-Sag Venus culture is being clingy because you need a lot of attention/stimulation and suddenly ditching when you don’t get enough attention/stimulation to keep your interest 🥴 (even more with sag mars since they’re action oriented, they’re in the same camp imo lol)
-I blame America’s Aquarius moon for the cultural phobia of being too “irrational” or “emotionally expressive” ….while being known as being too passionate and irrational in many non US cultures (also the US and the emotional detachment for the sake of “progress”, dark side of this placement but thematic nonetheless)
-imo when sun’s transiting your Lilith you can feel like a lot of attention is on you, sometimes good but often pretty scrutinizing. I also feel like you can achieve some impossible things during this transit due to Lilith’s energy (she’s built for rebellion, so when a lot of criticism is pointed her way she finds an unconventional way to come out on top)
-I have so much writing to do but if there are specific placements you want me to do observations on, let me know in the comments and my inbox!
#astro observations#astroblr#astro notes#astro community#astrology#lilith astrology#capricorn#Libra#Gemini#cancer#asks open#aquarius#sagittarius venus#Sagittarius#Pisces
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Leather and Lace - Chapter 25: As The Wicked Snow Begins to Thaw
Summary: The drama continues up in Colter, pushing Arthur to his breaking point.
*Some of the dialogue in this chapter is not mine but from the game. I’ve also added elements to the original storyline to meld with my own. This is the longest chapter I've written yet at 19K+! It's long but alot of good stuff goin' on!
Warnings: 18+ please. Minors - DNI; NSFW
*This fantastic image comes from @sixgunluvr
Special thank you, as always, to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my cheerleader and beta-reader.
Previous Chapter / Next Chapter - still in progress but there are a handful of future chapters that were posted ahead of time
Arthur ambles over to Buck, tucking his scarred chin into the fur lining of his heavy blue coat as he walks alongside Dutch out into the blistering cold wind of the Grizzlies. The outlaw flexes his stiff fingers as he listens to Dutch drone on and on about his plan and what they need to do. And the first thing on the gang leader's list is to go looking for Colm O’Driscoll.
“You sure that’s a good idea?” huffs Arthur, his breath frosting in the air in front of his red nose as they stand by the horses, waiting for the others to join them. “Folks here been through enough lately. I know you hate him, Dutch.”
Dutch slices his hand emphatically through the air. “He’s here for us,” he avows resolutely with a nod.
A quiet snort of derision quips out of Arthur’s throat. “I doubt that,” he murmurs, cupping his gloved hands to his lips to blow warm air into them.
Dutch’s eyebrows turn down in irritation as he casts his equally chilly gaze onto Arthur. “No, you just doubt me.” His tone is calm enough, but the challenge is right there, clear as day as he passive-aggressively adjusts his horse’s saddle.
Arthur’s lips pull inward as he mulls over his answer, painfully aware of the line Dutch believes he has crossed. “I would never doubt you, just that you always say revenge is a luxury we can’t afford, Dutch.”
“This ain’t revenge, Arthur. This is the right call. This is about more than revenge and business of long ago. They were talking about trains and detonators in that cabin.” Of course, Dutch is referring to the O’Driscoll’s that had attacked Mrs. Adler and her husband. “Colm always had good information.”
“And you think now is the right time to hit a train?” Arthur rubs Buck’s neck briefly before he pulls himself up into his saddle as the others have made their way over to the hitching post.
“Now, you might fancy living on deer piss and rabbit shit,” chuckles Dutch, “but I’m getting too old for that life.” And Dutch nudges his horse out of camp, with Arthur, Bill, Micah, Lenny, and Javier in tow.
They proceed to push their way southwest, heading towards the frozen lake that sits at the base of these Siberian-like mountains. The horses' hooves plunge deeper into the powdery snow, causing them to stumble here and there as they move along. But these animals are used to the hardship of their masters. Despite extreme heat and polar cold, the jarring sound of bullets raining down and the lightning speed of the getaway, the gang’s horses are an extension of the gang itself, another collection of members, if you will. They are sure of foot and each man would trust their horse with his life.
Scanning the thick blanket of white as they travel, the gang eventually comes upon horse tracks in the snow and they begin to track them along the river.
“I know you don’t think much of my ideas recently, but this is the right move,” Dutch preaches to Arthur as he reaches down to run his fingers over the Count’s neck in reassurance to urge the horse on through the heavy, wet snow.
“Alright,” Arthur agrees tiredly. “You know I always got your back, Dutch.” And he desperately tries to resist a pouty groan from escaping his lips.
“I learned a long time ago, you hit Colm O'Driscoll, you wait for him, and people you love will die.” Dutch’s voice carries that hint of seething fury that most people cringe from when they hear it, lest they draw his ire.
“This feud between you two needs to be put to an end,” insists Arthur.
“It will be,” assures Dutch, waving his hand decisively. “Some things I can forgive, some things I can forget. What he did to Annabelle…” His speech halts for a moment as a painful lump catches in his throat for a moment at the thought of his beloved. “I can’t do neither.” Dutch’s dark eyes burn like coals as his gaze turns forward into the white expanse ahead of them.
“You killed his brother, Dutch,” Arthur reminds him.
“Yes, I did. And I hope the bastards will be reunited soon enough. And that is how this’ll end.”
But suddenly, Dutch’s keen eyes pick up a smoke trail in the distance. Making the educated guess that this is the elusive O’Driscoll camp, they carefully make their way in that direction. And sure enough, they have found what they were looking for.
The rivalry gang has made its nest in what appears to be another mining town that neighbors their own. And although it sits along the river’s edge, it is situated at the bottom of a ridge line. Idiots. It makes them sitting ducks for anyone to find them.
The Van Der Linde men assess the makeshift camp, determining targets and escape routes before splitting up to encircle the O’Driscoll camp. Dutch and Arthur scan the raggedy group of men at the bottom of the hill through binoculars, the cold metal biting into their faces as they watch with interest. And suddenly, Colm himself comes into view. After observing them for a bit, Arthur and Dutch watch Colm ride off in an obvious disgruntled huff.
“He don’t look too happy. Should we go after him?” suggests Arthur, looking over his shoulder to Dutch, knowing full well how much his friend is itching to get his hands on this wretched bastard.
“No, Colm can wait. Best to get some of them outta there.” He lifts his chin towards the broken-down village. “Our needs right now are supplies and equipment. A way outta here,” says Dutch in a moment of clarity. “Everything else can wait, including Colm.”
The group of men proceed to carefully make their way down towards the O’Driscoll camp. The whole exercise is done and over within twenty minutes. Colm may have the numbers in his gang, but Dutch’s boys can shoot with lethal speed and accuracy, which has earned them the deadly reputation that they have. The Van der Linde gang shoots up the little camp with little effort despite being outnumbered, bodies dropping into the snow in bloody heaps.
Once the echo of gunfire ceases to ricochet off the landscape, the boys scavenge the bodies for what they can find, taking pocket watches and other useful trinkets to sell once they leave this area. They begin to tear the run-down place apart trying to find anything about this train that’s coming. And Arthur finds a large amount of dynamite and detonators collected inside one of the buildings.
Bill comes in behind Arthur to inspect the crates that have caught the outlaw’s attention. His bear-paw reaches past Arthur and into the box to pick up a bundle of the deadly material, flipping it over to examine it.
“What do ya think, Bill? Looks good?” Arthur watches as Bill assesses the material, his brows furrowed as if in deep thought.
“Yeah, looks fine,” the burly man finally confirms as he scans the rest of the box. “Smells good. I think we got ourselves a nice little score here.” A prideful smirk breaks across Bill’s face as he carefully sets the lid back upon the crate.
“Let’s keep looking around,” insists Dutch, shifting his weight in the cold as he stands outside watching his men drift from building to building. “If the dynamite is here, they probably have more around that could be useful.”
And oh how right Dutch is. As they continue their search of the small buildings, Micah makes his way over to Dutch, offering up a rolled up scroll.
“Found this on one of “em, Boss.” Micah hands the paperwork to Dutch, watching expectantly as his leader unrolls it to examine the contents.
A spark of gratification flickers within Dutch’s piercing eyes. “Interesting. This is something about the train they was gonna rob.”
As it turns out, these are the plans for a train belonging to Mr. Leviticus Cornwall, one of the largest business magnates in the country. He is a prominent and very rich man, rivaling the likes of Cornelius Vanderbilt and Andrew Carnegie. Dutch lets out a triumphant laugh as he carefully rolls the paper into his hands. It is like a perfectly laid out gift for the Van Der Linde gang: the plans, the dynamite, the ammo. Everything they need to rob this coming train.
“Let’s mount up and head back to camp,” announces Dutch, a smug smile plastered on his face from ear to ear. “I’m proud of you boys! Not a man down!”
“Not bad for some starvin’ down and outs,” Arthur mutters, pleased to finally be heading back to camp and essentially back to you. The last few weeks have been so hard, a constant strain on your relationship. And despite the bickering between you two lately, there is still no place he’d rather be than out of this god forsaken cold and wrapped up in your arms.
“They can pummel us all they like,” declares Dutch. “But we always get back up. That’s who we are. Outlaws for life, fellers.” The words of encouragement elicit hoots and hollers from the other men, excited to see something finally going their way for once.
But despite the prospect of a large score, something sits uneasily in Arthur’s gut as he leads Buck back towards your camp. Arthur’s mind immediately flashes to you and your safety as the gravity of the situation becomes all too clear to him now. It's one thing to live an outlaw life, but another to deliberately put you in danger because of it.
Arthur hadn’t thought of Annabelle in quite some time, the subject being too sore a subject. But having Dutch bring her name up again jolts Arthur’s memory back to life. The vivid and gruesome images of her death still sit in the farthest reaches of Arthur’s mind, images of Colm’s cruelty flashing clear as day. And after what the O’Driscoll’s did to Annabelle, it makes Arthur’s stomach turn sour that it could very well happen to you, as well. And heaven help the entire world if such a thing were to ever happen to you.
“Colm ain’t gonna like this,” he warns Dutch, as they head back up the pass to head home. “Especially if we rob this train, too. He’ll come after us.”
“Of course he will, just like all the rest,” smirks Dutch. “But we’ll just always stay one step ahead, always know where they are before they know where we are.”
Dutch’s arrogance is always nothing short of astounding. But then again, it is that arrogance, that confidence that he carries, that has kept the notorious outlaw’s neck out of the lawman’s noose all these years.
The boys head back, digging in to make haste to get out of the cold when they see someone running off through the trees up ahead.
“Wasn’t that guy at the camp?” Dutch shouts over the howling wind to Arthur.
“Yeah, I think so,” sighs Arthur as he turns Buck off to the right. “Leave him to me.”
“Ok, make your way back to camp,” directs Dutch. “And bring him alive. He could be useful.”
Arthur takes off like a bat out of hell through the snow. The sunlight is quickly fading and casts him and Buck in an ominous red and orange backlight, Buck’s breath heaving out of his nostrils in clouds, making them look like one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse as Arthur chases down the lone rider who begins to dart back and forth in a sad attempt to lose his stalker.
“Leave me alone!” hollers the man, his voice cracking in terror of the large rider mercilessly barreling down on him.
As soon as he is close enough, Arthur’s arm shoots out from his body with a rope, dropping a lasso around the fleeing man and abruptly yanking him from the skittish horse to drop him face first in the snow with an ungraceful thud.
“You don’t need to do this!” he wails, spitting out clumps of snow from his freezing lips as he turns to see Arthur looming over him.
“You’re coming with me,” says Arthur coldly. And he proceeds to hogtie the O’Driscoll and toss him onto Buck’s rump like a deer carcass.
Arthur climbs back into the saddle, giving a quick glance over his shoulder at the sad sight behind him. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Kieran Duffy.”
“Well, Kieran Duffy, I ain’t gonna lie, this is a real bad day for you.” He nudges his spurs into Buck’s side and the two head out back to camp.
Mr. Duffy tries to turn his head to see the fearsome rider, panic settling deeper and deeper with each step the large horse takes. “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere you ain’t gonna like.”
“Why? What are you gonna do?”
“Something you ain’t gonna like. So I suggest you save your breath for screaming.” And Mr. Duffy is not sure what is worse, what the rider is saying to him or how he is saying it, as Arthur’s voice is cold and unfeeling as if this were nothing more than a Sunday chore.
“No, please! They didn’t tell me nothing!” The poor man sputters his pleas to Arthur with eyes wide and full of fear, but all they do is irritate his captor even more.
Arthur pitches a hard glare over his shoulder again. “You better shut your mouth, you little shit, or I will shut it for you.”
“I don’t know nothin’! Honest! I don’t want to die!”
“Are you testing me? What did I just say? Because I will break every bone in your body.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
“Not one more goddamn word. Am I clear?”
“Okay, okay!”
“That’s two bones right there.”
Luckily, this Kieran Duffy is smart enough to close his mouth for the rest of the ride and the banter ceases, as Arthur’s patience is just about to its end. And they eventually make it to camp by nightfall, the lanterns illuminating their refuge in the distance.
“Alight, here we are. Let’s introduce you to the boys,” announces Arthur as he pulls Buck to a halt at the hitching post.
“Don’t hurt me, please!” sobs Kieran, as his trembling body is hauled over Arthur’s broad shoulder like a sack of flour.
“Oh, don’t worry. They’re real nice,” snarks Arthur, tossing the man down in the snow at Dutch’s feet.
“Uncle, Mr. Williamson, tie this maggot up somewhere,” hollers Dutch. The two men quickly grab Mr. Duffy, hauling him to his feet to stand face to face before the gang leader.
“I got a saying, my friend.” Dutch’s voice is as smooth as the finest Tennessee whiskey. “We shoot fellers as need shooting, save fellers as need saving, and feed ‘em as need feedin’. We’re gonna find out what you need.”
“I ain’t no O'Driscoll!,” screams Kieran in a panic, his feet spasmodically kicking out from under him as he is whisked away by Uncle and Bill, each with a painful grip on his thin arms. “I hate that feller!”
With today’s adventure now coming to an end, Dutch turns to his second in command. “Well done, Arthur.”
Arthur gives a short appreciative nod. “Sorry we didn’t get Colm.”
“It’s alright. Time enough for that. We gotta see about hitting this train.” The devil’s grin dances along Dutch’s dark features before he disappears into the main building in search of a warm fire and Hosea to begin the next phase of his plan.
Finally finding himself alone in the quiet, Arthur moves to one of the benches to sit a spell to rest his sore and exhausted body.
Upon hearing the commotion of the men returning to camp, you come to stand in the doorway of the main cabin and watch Arthur from across the yard, his broad frame looking even more hulking bundled up in his blue winter coat as he gets this hostage that they brought back situated. The wet snow clings to him, just like everyone and everything else in this world. And yet, he shrugs it off as if it were nothing. Because he doesn’t have time for misgivings. People are counting on him.
Everything about Arthur Morgan is bigger than the world. His stature stands out against the white expanse that engulfs him. The way he carries himself with such knowing and capability compared to the others, it’s so natural as if he doesn’t know how else to be. Everything about him is greater to you: his strength, his loyalty, his heart. But with that comes the flip to the same coin. The fists land harder, the bullets ring more often, and the bounties on his head keep stacking up. The pressure, the responsibility, they also are greater for him than for anyone else. It’s a good thing his back is broad and shoulders strong, for the weight of the world sits upon him.
Since you’ve arrived here in this decrepit mining town, you have been working with Mr. Pearson to try to create meals to sustain everyone. But supplies are low due to your hastened departure from Blackwater and what you do have available is not the best quality, either. Rations are becoming more meager as the larder continues to deplete.
You are quick to note how tired Arthur looks, even from across the yard. He’s been out there too long, doing too much, in your opinion. You currently have two bowls of watery soup in your hands and looking down at them, you discreetly pour one bowl into the other, doubling its paltry contents and set the empty bowl aside.
When Arthur finally sits still long enough, you make your way over to him, treading lightly as you can see he’s still carrying his foul mood.
“Hey you,” you call softly.
His tired eyes lift at the sound of your voice and the tension instantly drains away from his face as he floats you an exhausted grin as he leans back into the rough wooden siding of the building. “Hey, there’s my girl. How you doin’, Sweetheart?”
“I’m alright. Especially now that you’re back. Here, I brought you something to eat.” You hand him the soup bowl as you sit down next to him. “It’s not much, but it’ll put something in your belly.”
He gives you a grateful nod as he carefully takes the bowl with his cold fingers. He brings it up to his face for a quick sniff, before taking the spoon and laddeling some of the soup into his mouth. A small smile of relief dusts your features as you watch him eat, a few droplets of broth catching on his frosted beard.
But Arthur’s brow knits when he notices that you do not have a bowl of your own. “Aren’t you eating anything?”
“I already had a bit when I was cooking.” You try to assure him, but he knows you too well and can see right through you.
An exasperated sigh pushes through his cold nose as he tries to shove the bowl back into your hands. “I ain’t doin’ this.”
You shoot straight up as if a string is pulling your spine. “Arthur-”
“I ain’t takin’ food out of your mouth for myself, Y/N,” he argues. “Ain’t happenin’.”
“You need it, Arthur.” You push the bowl back into his chest in annoyance.
“Y/N-”
“Arthur, I swear to god, I’ll dump this in the snow! Now just stop your foolishness and eat the damn soup.”
He doesn’t argue back when your eyes flash at him. He just hangs his head, his lips pulled inward as he wrestles with his internal demons.
“If we are going to survive this mess, Arthur, we need you strong and with your wits about you.” Your hand lands on his forearm as your tone softens now, exposing your concern. “Because I don’t know if anyone else can do it. So, please. Just eat.”
He lifts his guilt-ridden eyes to meet yours as he looks into your beautiful face. “I can’t be saving everyone else if I’m worried about you, though,” he pouts. “We need you too, you know.”
“I’m alright, I promise. Does it look like I’m starving?” you jest sarcastically as you motion to yourself with a mocking chuckle. But all it does is set him off again.
“Don’t do that. I hate when you do that,” he gripes bitterly.
“Do what?”
“Tear yourself down like that. You’re worth the whole lot of us and then some. Don’t you ever forget that.”
You feel your cheeks heat up as a deep sigh escapes you. “I wish you would stop putting me on a damn pedestal all the time,” you mutter as you avoid his stare.
Arthur drops the spoon into the bowl with a loud exasperated huff as the last of his patience has finally been expended. “Listen, don’t give me shit for tryin’ to treat you right. If I had any damn sense at all, I’d get you outta here now, tonight. You’re the only damn good thing I got right now, so will you just let me have this? Please?”
His sapphire eyes burn bright and intense. He is ever intolerant of bullshit. Never has the time for it.
You avert your eyes to your boots, noting how the seams are starting to split, your hands fidgeting and roll over each other.
“I’m hungry but I’m not starving,” you admit quietly, sheepishly looking at him out of the corner of your eye.
“I need you to be honest with me, Y/N.” Arthur takes your chin with his thumb and forefinger, making you look him in the eye. He is starting to speak louder and faster now, as he quickly shifts from exhaustion to agitation. “No hiding shit. If you’re in a bad way, you better tell me. Because if anything ever happens to you-”
“I will, Arthur. I promise.” You swiftly place your hands along his chest to quiet him lest he gets worked up yet again. “I’ll tell you anything you need to know.”
And with silent acceptance, Arthur finishes his soup as you lean into his side, your head gently laying against his shoulder as he eats.
You stare out into the purple sky as the last shadows of the sun expire for the day, pulling the moon and the stars in their wake behind them. The temperature continues to dip, causing a shiver to run the length of your body as you snuggle in closer to Arthur. And yet, neither of you dare to move and break the spell of contentment that you have found for this fleeting moment. The two of you may be disconnected, but you’re not alone. Not yet, anyway.
____________________________________
“It's been a bad few weeks. And Dutch being Dutch, he’s busy making plans and Dutch being Dutch, those plans involve robberies and dreams.”
The cabin where John is resting is cold and dark. You’ve kept the moth-eaten curtains drawn over the filthy windows to ward off the drafts as well as keep the sunlight to a minimum. Because of the damage to John's eye from the wolf attack, you are trying to avoid any strain to the good socket as much as possible.
The days here in Colter keep dragging on, and while John was in bad shape when Arthur and Javier found him, he has managed to recover quite well, considering the pitiful circumstances. But of course, Arthur attributes that to you, muttering how John is “damn lucky you’re here”. But you are not 100% sure you agree. You’ve already lost Davey and Jenny, a fact that still eats at your gut more than the hunger. Which is why you are almost obsessively watching over John, making sure his many wounds are clean and stitched, his bandages dry, and is clear of fever. You try to keep him warm and rested with someone always sitting vigil in case he should take a turn for the worse.
Rev. Swanson leans back from John’s pale and trembling body, tucking the syringe back into its case as you stand over them, carefully observing the administration. You are not happy with giving John morphine, the horrible substance being too unpredictable. But given his condition, it will help to alleviate John’s jittery nerves as well as ease his pain. John softly whimpers as the elixir pushes through his veins, rolling his bandaged head to the side, careful to avoid pushing on his damaged eye.
“Thought you were reading him his last rites.” Arthur’s voice resonates into the room as he saunters in to check on everyone. You glance over your shoulder at the sound of his presence, filling you with both a mixture of relief to see his face, yet apprehension at the growing tension between him and John. “Now I see you’re introducing him to your other passion.” He points at the small black case clutched in Swanson’s hand.
“I’ll mind you to show me some respect, Mr. Morgan,” snaps the Reverend, his eyes narrowing at the hulking man as he stands up and adjusts his coat to keep warm.
“Mind away, Reverend,” Arthur smirks dismissively, waving him off as the man exits the room in a mild distemper. Arthur catches your eye and gives you a nod as he casually walks over to the bed where John lays sprawled out under threadbare blankets. “You’re still here, then?” he snarks, tilting his head with a condescending scowl. “Maybe I should scratch myself and feign a limp?”
Mary-Beth stops wrapping up the last of the bandages she used to help you redress John’s wounds and shoves her hands into her lap in frustration, snapping her head towards Arthur. “Ain’t you got nothing better to do, Arthur? Whatever the beef is between you two, now ain’t the time.”
But John seems to pay no mind to Arthur’s jeering. He’s used to it by now after all these years. “I owe you,” sighs John as he peers up at Arthur with his good eye.
“And you’ll pay me. But, for now, just rest.” Arthur taps your elbow and nods over his shoulder, indicating a private conversation is requested. You turn to follow him and take a few steps back from the bed, leaving Mary-Beth to finish cleaning up.
“How is he?” Arthur asks, his voice low as he leans in close to you, a fleck of genuine concern skipping over his face.
“I think he’ll survive unless he throws a fever or something like that,” you confirm, reassuring yourself as well as Arthur as you rub your arm in an attempt at self-soothing. “He’ll probably lose some of his sight in that eye, though.”
A whimsical half grin cracks Arthur’s bearded face. “You only need one eye to shoot with.” His response results in your humorless laugh in return.
But the conversation is interrupted when Dutch abruptly pushes his way into the cabin. “Ah, Arthur, there you are! I’ve been looking for you! I think it’s time for the train.”
The talk of another job sparks John’s interest, flooding his weak body with an energy he hasn’t had in a few days. He manages to roll himself up on his elbow, eager to join the conversation. “Want me to come, Dutch?”
A look of surprise graces Dutch’s dark features for a moment. “Of course I do, John, but look at you.”
“I was always ugly, Dutch. It’s just a scratch.” John shakes his head as he tries to will his broken body to sit up.
“Lie still, son”. Dutch sits down next to the bed and gently pushes John’s shoulder to ease him back down onto the thin mattress.
Before you can even interject with your own opinion about John even thinking of leaving that bed let alone robbing a train, the cabin door opens yet again as Abigail and Jack walk through. The woman walks with an agitation in her step, her expression closed-up and hard to read as she wrestles with her constant worry for John versus her anger at his behavior.
“The boy wanted to see you, John.” Abigail stands with her chin lifted in annoyance as Jack shifts warily behind his mother, peering his little face around her hip to see his father on the bed. The shock of John’s bloodied face resonates into Jack’s view and he quickly casts his eyes away.
“Well, he’s seen me now. Or what’s left of me,” sighs John. “How ‘bout you?”
“Guess I was hoping to see a corpse,” she bites back harshly.
“Bide your time, you’ll see plenty of ‘em.”
But his response sets her off yet again. She was hoping that in his time of weakness, John would show a little compassion and comfort towards his son, to let him know that he appreciates the boy’s concern. But once again, John’s dismissal of little Jack is like a red-hot poker in Abigail's heart. “You’re a rotten man, John Marston,” she hisses as she wraps her arm around Jack to usher him away.
“He’s an idiot, Abigail, we all know it,” Dutch calls after her as she marches out of the cold cabin.
The sight of disappointment on Jack’s red cheeks is finally your breaking point. “You know, John Marston, I really wish you’d put a little more effort into your relationship with them.” You could stab a deer with the look of daggers you are shooting him right now.
But the young outlaw only huffs angrily at you. “And I really wish people would mind their own goddamn business.”
“Is that so?” Your hands plant firmly onto your hips as you stride over to the bed, bending over him with a cold and bitter glower. “Well, if people were minding their own business, you’d still be out there on that damn ledge, a frozen carcass for the scavengers to pick at. Abigail is the one who insisted they go out to find you, you know. Maybe keep that in mind.” You point your finger inches from his face.
When John gives you nothing but a scowl in reply, you roll your eyes and turn on your heel to go after Abigail, slamming the door behind you.
“You really are a stubborn ass, you know that, Marston?” Arthur drags his hand over his tired face.
“Fuck you, Morgan. Don’t you start. You’re one to talk.”
“Excuse me?” Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at the challenge.
But John locks his good eye with Arthur’s, not afraid to back down. Say what you will about John, but he’s been holding his own with Arthur since he was a kid. “You ain’t got no right to lecture me on being stubborn. I’ve seen how you’ve been pickin’ at Y/N since we left Blackwater. You ain’t no model citizen. Get off your damn high horse.”
The accusation brings Arthur’s shoulders back, squaring up and ready for a fight. “Now, you look here-”
“Alright, that’s enough,” barks Dutch, cutting this off before it escalates out of hand. “Arthur, can’t you see the man is down? Leave him be, for Christ’s sake.”
Outside the dingy cabin, you rush to catch up to Abigail. “Abigail, wait!” Your hand lands on her trembling shoulder, her eyes welling with tears of frustration and concern as you look into her face. “John will be okay, try not to worry.”
“Oh, I am not concerning myself with that fool right now!” Her eyes flash as her body sways back and forth with nervous energy. “It’s Jack I’m worried about.”
“Jack?”
“Yes, Y/N.” Her gaze darts over to land on the little boy who has now wandered aimlessly over towards Mr. Pearson to see what he is cooking for the day. “What if…what if this is all too much for him? What if this running and starving and seeing his daddy ripped to pieces messes him up?” Abigail shakes her head as the tears start to break free from her lashes and slowly streak her cold face.
“He’ll be okay, Abigail.” You rub your hand along her arm and give her a warm smile. “Jack’s a strong boy. He’s got his momma’s smarts and his daddy’s resilience.”
“You think so?” she sniffles.
“Listen, stars shine their brightest when surrounded by the darkness, Abigail. And Jack is the brightest of us, yet. He’ll be okay.”
Abigail takes a long, shuddered breath as she collects herself. “I’m sorry, YN. It’s just…John makes me crazy! What do I do? How can I get him to treat us better?”
Her question breaks your heart. Despite the ever-present resentment she may show John, it is clear she is still deeply in love with the man, whether he accepts that love or not. “You can’t make a man treat you right. But you can sure as hell make him wish he did.”
“How the hell did I ever give my heart to him?” she moans with a watery eye-roll, her lips quivering slightly.
“The heart wants what it wants, Abigail. Can't do nothing about it,” you chuckle softly. “And besides, he’s awfully cute when he’s not being a total jack-ass.”
“Yeah, but Arthur’s not like that.”
“Oh, Arthur can be a total jack-ass, trust me,” you nod. “But I think John acts this way because he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. So he figures by not doing anything, he won’t screw it up. And then the shit is on you if it goes wrong, not him. He didn’t have good parents to teach him properly.”
“But Dutch and Hosea raised him, same as Arthur.”
“True,” you admit, “But, Arthur had his momma for a bit. John did not. And I think that made a big difference. Unfortunately, you had men raising men. So don’t be surprised when you get an idiot as the outcome.”
A quick cackle bursts from Abigail at your comment before she covers her mouth, looking at you with playful disbelief.
“Come on, let’s go inside and see if Ms. Grimshaw has any of that horribly bitter coffee left on the stove.” You loop your arm through Abigail’s to head off to the main cabin together. But when you see Dutch and Arthur pushing out of the small cabin again, you pause to see what’s happening now. “Go on ahead, Abigail. I’ll be right behind you.” You smile as you usher her towards the door.
“Gentleman! Now is the time!” Dutch declares to everyone within earshot with his arms spread wide to his sides like the messiah. “Bill! Ride ahead and set the charge at the water tower, just before the tunnel.”
“Ain’t a problem!” agrees Bill as he sprints to the barn to collect the dynamite and detonators that he and Arthur found at the O’Driscoll camp.
“Why are we doing this?” asks Hosea in exasperation as he approaches Dutch, his labored breath whirling in the cold air. “Weather is breaking, we should leave. I thought we was lying low?”
A measured puff of air pushes out of Dutch’s nose. “What do you want from me, Hosea? We’re lying low but not living. We need money and all of ours is in Blackwater. You fancy you want to head back there?”
“No.” Hosea pauses for a moment, his gaze falling to the snow before skipping back up to Dutch. “I ain’t trying to undermine you, Dutch. I just don’t want anymore people dying, is all. Just want to stick to the plan. Lie low and head back west.” This is a comment that grabs your attention as you stand off to the side witnessing this whole discussion.
“What choice have we got?” Dutch says simply, his hands laid out in expectation.
“Leviticus Cornwall is no joke, Dutch.” Hosea’s tone turns serious and dark, carrying the concern well-earned of a man of his years.
“Well, sounds to me like he’s got more than enough.” Dutch gives his old friend that mischievous look that Hosea knows all too well before turning to address the gang once more. “Gentleman! Let’s all go and make something of ourselves! Get your horses ready, we have a train to rob!” And the men scatter to their respective tasks, an air of excitement amongst them as they move. But Hosea and Arthur share a quick look of doubt between them before Arthur heads over to his horse.
Shock and dismay rocks you to your core as you stand in the snow listening to the three of them. Your stomach turns at the thought of this plan. You came from a railroad town when you met Arthur and you are also well aware of who Leviticus Cornwall is. So you have a pretty good idea how this whole thing could go down.
The moment Dutch walks away, you dart towards the horses. Your hand shoots out to Arthur’s arm, pulling him aside. He gives you a look of confusion at your sudden appearance and your face instantly up in his. “Have you all lost your damn minds?!” Your eyes blaze intensely at him. “We’re up here freezing and barely hanging on because of one over-reaching plan and now you’re fixing to do another?!”
Arthur takes a quick glance around to see if anyone else has seen your little tantrum before he addresses it himself. “That’s how it goes,” he shrugs as if it were nothing more than heading to town for supplies.
“How it goes?!” Your hand flies to your forehead as your heartbeat thunders in your ears.
Arthur’s eyes turn icy despite his face flushing red with irritation as his fists flex slightly. “Let me worry about that,” he warns. “You just mind the people here.”
“I’m worried for you, Arthur.” You step up even closer to him, cupping his cold cheeks in your hands. “Who do you think Dutch is going to march up there, front and center? Surely not his ass!”
Arthur collects your hands into his own, giving them a slight squeeze as he pulls them from his face. Guilt floods his chest as he registers the fear in your eyes. But what can he do? Dutch calls and it is his obligation to obey. “I ain’t got time for this now, Y/N.” His gravelly voice is low and soft for you. “Just stay put and out of the way.” You can see in his eyes the unspoken ask for forgiveness, the idea of keeping you protected paramount in his mind.
Your shoulders slump in defeat, knowing there is nothing you can say or do to prevent this from happening. When he sees you’ve quieted down, Arthur pulls you in to him to place a brief kiss to your temple before slinging himself up into Buck’s awaiting saddle. He gives you a quick nod before leading Buck off to follow the others who have already started to head out of the camp.
You stand alone in the snow as you watch them all head out, the wind picking up to lift the few strands of hair from your face. That all-too familiar feeling of dread swirls in your chest like a maelstrom. And all you can do is pray that Dutch has a solid enough plan and everyone else does their part so that Arthur doesn’t have to take the brunt of it all.
___________________________________
*This is another fantastic image by @sixgunluvr
You have never been this far north before, never been in such a desolate landscape. Growing up back east outside of Boston, there was always somewhere to go, always shelter, food or help if needed. But here, in the Western Grizzlies, there is no one and nothing. It is both freeing, and terrifying. Everyone else in the gang is on edge, for sure, but their countenance is separate from yours. Most of them have lived this way for a good part of their lives. You, on the other hand, are almost paralyzed like a deer, afraid to move in either direction and you’re trying not to bolt in a million different directions out of panic. You would die within days here if it weren't for Arthur.
The landscape is cold and frigid, yet beautifully peaceful. Enticingly quiet yet deceptively deadly. You wonder to yourself if this will be where you meet your end. Looking about, will this be the final thing you see when your eyes close for the last time? At this very moment, you want nothing more than to lay down on the soft, pillowy snow and just let go and let it all be over. No more strain, no more hunger. No more cold and freezing temperatures. No more looking over your shoulders. No more running. What if you just set yourself down and gave in?
It would be easy enough to do, considering how fast you’d freeze to death. Beautiful and deadly diamonds that glitter are everywhere you look, an endless sea of white, calling like the deadly sirens of Greek mythology. It is so desolate and silent here. No sounds to be heard, rarely even a bird. Just the whistling winds that swoop down from the mountaintop. The silence is a relief from the chaos, giving one time to settle their thoughts. But it is also terrifyingly lonesome. The mountains offer you protection, but they also keep you isolated.
The dark and foreboding mountains are like the teeth of the earth, jagged and dangerous, and as you sit in the middle of them, they swallow you as if you were nothing. The earth is a beautiful creature, elegant by design. But like any other creature in nature, she can be alluring and graceful one moment, and then turn on you in defense of herself in deadly fashion, evidence being how the mountains begin to swallow the sun, like a serpent devouring a bright yellow egg. The shadows of the mountain begin to stretch across the snow, like a bobcat’s claws.
Despite being a collective group, you are all isolated from the world here, left only to rely on each other. And you can only hope that each other will be enough.
Thankfully, the robbery of the Cornwall train managed to go off with minimal error. The gang didn’t lose anyone and no one came back with more holes in their body than what they left camp with. While it was not overwhelmingly lucrative, Arthur did manage to find a large stash of bonds that Dutch found valuable. So with a little more in the camp’s funds, you are hoping that will keep Dutch off Arthur’s back for a bit.
You wander to the edge of the small lake on the edge of the camp, nudging the slushy mess with the toe of your boot before lifting your eyes up to the expansive vista once more. These thoughts of yours are dangerous. You question the gang and your purpose within it. You question yourself and your worth. You begin to question Arthur.
And the thoughts terrify you. You feel as if it is an act of betrayal, whether vocalized or not. Your love for Arthur is larger than the endless sky and deeper than the bluest ocean. But what if this is all for nothing? After these last few weeks of tension, what if his love for you is cooling down like the arctic winds that are currently lifting the wisps of hair from your chapped cheeks? He wouldn’t do that, would he?
But you shake your head at such dangerous nonsense. Arthur loves you. You know it. You feel it. Just because you cannot wrap yourselves up together like love-drunk teenagers in a summer meadow doesn’t mean everything that has led to this point has stopped. You have to trust in him. You have to open your heart and trust that he will always be there with open arms to welcome you.
With a cleansing sigh, you begin to hum to yourself. It’s a silly little thing that you do when preoccupied. The melodies always touch Arthur’s heart when he catches you doing it. They calm him like a snake-charmer. You always murmur soft words and hum gentle music to yourself, not even aware that you are doing it.
Your thoughts are disrupted when you catch Lenny out of the corner of your eye heading to the water’s edge with a fishing pole in his gloved hand and an axe swung up upon his shoulder.
“What in the hell are you up to, Mr. Summers?” you inquire with curiosity.
He flashes you a toothy smile. “Gonna try my hand at ice fishing.”
Your eyebrows knit in confusion, not sure you heard him correctly. “Ice fishing?”
“Yeah. Can’t be that hard, right? Hardest part is cutting the hole, I reckon,” he shrugs.
When you don’t answer him with anything but a scowl of skepticism, Lenny sighs.
“Look, I know it’s not a great idea, but we need to eat. That deer that Arthur and Charles brought back won’t last much longer and who knows how long we’ll be up here.”
“Just be careful,” you concede, not entirely convinced this is even a good idea let alone a great one.
You watch the young man adjust the axe over his shoulder and tentatively head out onto the icy lake. He tests the frosted surface with calculated steps, slow and steady, until he gets far enough out to cut through. He begins to make several hacks into the ice, chips flying in the air with each cut. When Lenny gets a hole that he’s happy with, he sets the blade down next to him and grabs the fishing pole to set the bait onto the hook. And within a few minutes, he carefully plunks the end of the line into the icy depths of the water, shaking the pole a bit to entice whatever fish may be lurking below.
But an odd sound begins to permeate the otherwise quiet, cold air. You know what that sound is, but can’t quite place it. It quickly turns into a groaning noise that begins to travel across the ice. Your eyebrows knit in confusion, trying to determine where exactly it’s coming from, as it seems to be coming from all around, when a loud crack snaps your attention. Things thrust into motion in a fraction of a second when one moment Lenny is standing in front of you, and the next he disappears through the ice, plunging into the frigid waters.
“Lenny!!!”
Your scream echoes off of the snow and buildings, alerting everyone in camp. But your body explodes into motion before your mind can even comprehend what you’re doing and you dart off towards him.
“Y/N, get back here!” Arthur shouts from the shore as his whole body goes rigid at the sight of you running out onto the ice, but your eyesight is locked on Lenny. “Damn it!” he shouts again when it’s abundantly clear that you will not be stopping, despite his command.
You only make it a few yards out onto the ice when you hear the arctic groaning beneath your feet. You stop dead in your tracks, arms waving in the air to keep yourself from falling flat on your face, and scan the icy floor to try to determine if it will give way under you as well. But Lenny’s panicked yelling snaps your attention forwards again and you immediately drop to your stomach to begin crawling across the cracking ice.
Panicked and frustrated beyond human comprehension, Arthur is about to run out after you. But Dutch is quick to grab his shoulder pulling him to a dead stop. “Arthur, wait!”
Arthur reflexively shoves Dutch’s arm off him, trying to wrench himself free of the older man’s iron grasp. “Damn it, Arthur, stop!” hollers Dutch, trying to drill some common sense into him as he grabs a fistful of his jacket in an attempt to halt the man once more. “You run out there, you’ll fall in too, and drown the whole lot of you!”
The very idea of it halts Arthur in place as he blinks rapidly into Dutch’s face. But he knows his mentor is right. And all Arthur can do is stand there helplessly as he turns his face back to the lake to watch you inching across the ice.
“Son of a -” curses Arthur, trying to think what, if anything, he can do to help you. Adrenaline shoots painfully throughout his system as he just simply cannot sit idly by and do nothing while you creep along death’s door. Suddenly, Arthur gets an idea and he races over to the nearest shed to grab a bundle of rope.
“Y/N! Help me, please!” Lenny screams, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to keep his head above the frigid mountain water.
“Hold on, Lenny! Hold on, I’m coming to get you!” you holler over the sound of the sloshing water. You can see the panic setting in on the young man’s face, the whites of his eyes rolling back against his dark skin.
“Y/N!” Arthur calls out, desperate to get your attention. Finally, you acknowledge him and turn over your shoulder just in time to see Arthur toss a rope out to you. Amazingly, Arthur is able to place the rope within a foot of your grasp. Your hand quickly shoots out to grab ahold of the bundle. You look up to gauge Lenny’s situation, realizing that you need to act quickly, so you tie the rope around your ankle so that you don't risk dropping it and freeing your already freezing hands.
You gingerly crawl across the ice as it creaks and cracks under you as you move and the closer you get to Lenny, the more anxious he becomes, desperate to be out of the water.
“Y/N!” Lenny reaches an arm out, his long fingers trying to reach for you.
“You need to stay calm, Lenny! Come on, stay with me now!” After what feels like hours, but only mere minutes, you finally reach the young man. He grapples at you, trying to use you to pull himself up. “Careful!” you screech. “You’re gonna pull me in with you!” You try to control his flailing arms, and gingerly wrap your arms under his and clamp them together behind his back. But he is desperately grabbing at you, terrified of falling deeper into the dark, icy water.
“I got him! Pull us out!” you holler back over your shoulder to Arthur.
“Bill! Get over here and grab this rope and help me pull ‘em in!” Arthur yells over to said man.
“I got ya!” Bill rushes over as his giant hands take up the tails of the rope when he stands next to Arthur.
The sun is crawling behind the horizon line and darkness has started to encroach on the mountainside. Arthur is beginning to have a hard time seeing you clearly, barely able to see your water-soaked forms struggling in the water, but the sound of your combined panicked shouts and the thrashing of the water cuts deep into Arthur’s brain, causing a sickening boulder to lodge in his stomach.
They begin to pull the rope, heaving it back towards the shore. The strength of the two burly men is enough to drag Lenny out of the water and the two of you along the surface of the ice. The cold of the ice beneath you creeps into your bones, causing your whole body to shiver as you are drug slowly across its plane. You can hear Lenny whimpering in your ear as you hold him close to you, your arms cramping from the vice grip you have around him.
The frigid lake water seeps into the snow under you, sponging its way into the ice as you slide along the surface. Fine threads begin to crack and embed themselves into the cold surface. As you are being pulled along at an agonizingly slow rate, you hear the ice begin to groan and creak loudly underneath you. The cold fissures begin to snap and pop loudly all around you once more, the familiar sound alerting you to what is about to happen, giving you no time to prepare. And your chest fills with immediate dread at what you are certain is about to come. You have but a mere moment to toss a terrified look over your shoulder to Arthur on the shore, your eyes briefly meeting the fear in his, before it happens.
Time stops and the world along with it the moment the ice gives way again and Lenny plunges into the freezing water once more, dragging you in along with him.
It’s like someone has punched a hole into his chest and grabs his heart with a crippling grip when Arthur sees you disappear from his view beneath the dark watery surface.
“Y/N!!” His voice echoes off snow in a cacophony of sound. He is a man incensed as once again Arthur tries to run out onto the lake as fear of losing you consumes him. And once again he is wrestled back, only this time it takes both Dutch and Bill to contain him.
The ice water is like a thousand knives stabbing your entire body all at once. You immediately gasp at the shock of the dramatic temperature change that assaults your senses. You try to keep yourself afloat while also trying to grab Lenny, who is simply beyond distraught at this point. In sheer panic, Lenny tries to use you to keep himself above the water but Lenny’s dead weight almost drowns you as his heavy limbs push you down underneath him into the water. You flail your arms wildly trying to find something to latch your frozen fingers to, your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen to the tender organs. Panic begins to seep in as the water is so dark that you cannot see to tell which end is up. From some far off distance, you hear your name hollered into the air, the sound of Arthur’s terrified voice muffled by the murky water filling your ears.
It isn't until your hand smacks into the sheet of ice above your head that you can get your bearings. Your fingers break through the icy water surface to grab onto the ice. The sharp edge of the sheet of ice cuts into your hand as you clamp onto it for dear life. Feeling the air once more, you haul yourself upwards, gasping for breath once your face clears the surface.
Arthur exhales sharply when he sees your head above the surface once again, his eyes darting back and forth as he watches you try to breach the watery surface to breathe in the air. Relief descends upon him with incredible force, but it is short-lived, as you still have to make it back to dry soil yet and back to him.
You cough violently as you try to replace the frigid, filthy lakewater in your burning lungs with the equally cold air, vomiting up what feels like a waterfall before the stars in your vision clear and you can see again.
Lenny!
Your mind immediately goes to your friend once again once your wits are about you. By the grace of God, he is still next to you, but his face is just barely breaching the water surface. You frantically grab the collar of his shirt, clutching him to you once more.
With stiff fingers, you manage the presence of mind to slip the rope off your ankle and tie it around Lenny’ chest. The young man can hardly move now, his extremities frozen as hypothermia begins to set in.
He turns his frosted cheeks to look in your eyes. “I…can’t…can’t feel my legs, Y/N” he chatters. His voice carries the fading signs of hope that he will survive this mess, and it breaks your heart.
“Hold on, Lenny. I got you. We’ll do this”, you encourage him, trying to nod with certainty. Your gaze holds his with a commanding presence, fully refusing to give up.
You swim to maneuver yourself behind him, wrapping your body around Lenny’s and draping yourself over his back. “Pull!” you scream to the shore again. “For god’s sake, Arthur, pull the damn rope!” Your voice is a hoarse, desperate cry that unsettles Arthur’s very core.
The two men haul on the rope to drag you and Lenny out of the water once again, your faces scraping across the numbingly-cold surface when you are no longer able to hold your heads up and the snow builds up under your chests like a wedge. It makes you even colder than you thought possible. You whimper as ice shards painfully slice into your face, biting into your flesh like fleas. When they get you close enough to the water’s edge, Bill and Arthur run out onto the ice to grab you both.
Bill, Javier and Rev. Swanson scramble to get Lenny to the cabin house to the fire, while Arthur is quick to scoop you up, holding you tightly to his chest as he carries you in behind them. Dutch marches to the front of the group, leading the way with a lantern and opens the door for everyone.
Once inside, the rest of the group moves like a flock of birds suddenly startled and set to flight. People scatter to find blankets and coats, dry clothing and hot food and beverages. They take Lenny straight to the fire in the great hearth, the flames stoked high to generate as much heat as possible. Arthur, on the other hand, pulls you aside, away from the chaos, and carefully sets you down in front of the pot-belly stove in the middle of the room. He reaches into the coal bucket that sits next to the cast-iron beast and tosses another chunk of the black rock into its belly before turning his full attention back to you.
With everyone in a flurry over Lenny, Tilly notices the two of you and is quick to rush over, eager to assist Arthur, but he shrugs her off.
“Nevermind, I got this,” he grumbles over his shoulder to his adopted sister as he yanks the blanket out of her hands. “Go on, go help with Lenny.” He waves dismissively to her, trying to avoid the look of shock on her cherub face. Tilly simply stands there, not sure what to do. She wants to help you, to be useful and to do something for you, but she is very aware of Arthur’s foul temperament and knows better than to push back against him. Her eyes flick up to yours with a silent apology before she turns away to make her way over to help Ms Grimshaw.
But Arthur doesn’t mean to be so abrupt with the poor girl. She only wants to help and he knows that. But Arthur is just so protective of you right now. His whole body is heated with a churning vortex of emotions that he cannot even begin to name. He doesn’t want anyone or anything coming between you two as you sit helplessly before him, a shivering, water-logged mess.
Arthur immediately begins to yank your layers of clothing off, pulling harshly at the cold and soggy fabric before hypothermia sets in. His fingers work at a frenzied pace, desperate to get you warm before you fall ill. He is indifferent if anyone around you should see your skin, couldn't care any less for “propriety”. Let anyone dare to make a comment about your state of undress and it will be the very last words that person will utter.
Once the clammy, frigid fabric is removed from your poor body, Arthur shucks off his blue coat and bundles you up in it, the fur collar swallowing your red frozen cheeks. Once he has your torso wrapped up for warmth, he pulls his gloves off and tosses them down next to him in a rage to free his fingers so he can start pulling at your boots. A person’s extremities are the first to go in cold weather like this, so he’s worried about the condition of your feet.
You study your beloved’s face carefully as he avoids eye contact, an angry scowl etched into his face as he moves about, his movements stark and jostling. You notice the lines of tension around his eyes, his lips drawn into a thin line. His whole body trembles with something on the verge of being volcanic. Your eyelashes flutter as you try to keep yourself from crying over the guilt you have for putting him through this.
“H…Ho…How’s L…Lenny?” you croak, your voice sounding brittle and broken.
Arthur’s keen eyes briefly dart to yours, barely able to understand you over the loud chatter of your teeth. “He’ll be fine, thanks to you,” he barks, leaning forward as the outlaw’s large hands rub along your arms to entice the blood circulation again, praying it will be enough to heat you up quickly. “But nevermind about that now. Worry about your own damn self.”
You instinctively recoil, pitching him a speechless, incredulous look.
“Don’t look at me like that, Y/N,” Arthur snaps, his jaw clenching tightly as he works. “Now, I mean it. Let’s get you taken care of before you start fussing over Lenny.”
“Arthur-“
“Y/N, don’t fight me on this!” he barks at you again, his eyes burning intensely with unbridled anger as he shakes his head. “Don’t you ever, ever do anything like that again. Hear me? Don’t you ever go charging out onto ice like that.” His emotions, his fear, have a tight grip on him and have finally come to spill over, unable to be contained within his burly frame.
Hearing Arthur’s voice raised above the swirling chaos of voices and activity catches Ms. Grimshaw’s shrewd attention. Her shoulders tense as she takes in a sharp breath when she notices him looming over you in your fragile state. The matron quickly crosses the room to come to your defense, her face drawn into a sharp, disapproving frown.
“Mr. Morgan, I would strongly advise-” Her tone is threatening but Arthur is in no mood for one of her lectures right now.
“Stay outta this!” he hollers back at her, causing the older woman to freeze in her tracks, eyes wide and mouth gaped. But he couldn’t care any less about offending the old crone before returning his attention back to you.
“I don’t know where your damn head was at. Not even thinking, just running,” he fumes as he takes your red, chapped hands into his own. Like a school child, your eyes quickly blink back the shameful tears that threaten to break free from your lashes. You risk another glance at Arthur’s face, fearful of the disapproval in his eyes.
But taking a step back from the situation, you notice not so much the anger in Arthur, but the fear. His fear that you were hurt, his fear that you could be gone forever. You are well acquainted with that fear because you feel it yourself every single damn time he leaves you for another job or mission. But the difference is, you have never had to witness that danger with your own eyes. You have never had to look Death in the face and watch the specter’s hands grapple for your love right in front of you.
Arthur continues to chaotically fuss over you, snatching up his gloves and roughly shoves them onto your hands in scared, panicked frustration. The force with which he shoves them onto your hands causes you to cry out with a sad little whimper, and he stops dead in his tracks, finally stopping for one damn second to really take you in. His eyes bolt to your face, terrified that he’s hurt you more than you are. He watches a hot tear slowly run down your cheek, the only thing of heat in your body right now.
Arthur takes a deep, steadying breath for a moment. Softening only slightly, he collects your face with both of his large hands so that you have to look at him, his thumb wiping away the salty tear.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be…I just…” His mind scrambles trying to find the words to tell you what aches in his rapidly-beating heart. “Jesus, I almost lost you, sweetheart. Do you know that?”
“You almost lost both of us,” you correct with a sniffle. You turn your head just enough to catch sight of Lenny. He is shivering violently, with blankets being piled on him. Javier is helping him into dry clothing. Susan is buzzing about, making hot beverages, either coffee or tea and shoving it into his frozen hands. The whole sight is a sad state of affairs.
You turn back to look at Arthur, sharing a silent conversation of dread between you. He pulls your head into his chest to cradle you, both to keep you warm and to hold on tight, lest he risk losing you again.
“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he mumbles to your unspoken statement.
That night, wrapped up in a blanket like a newborn babe, Arthur carries you to your room in the other cabin that you share with Dutch, Molly, and Hosea. Your feet and legs burn from possible frostbite and Arthur won’t let you walk until you have more stability to you.
Once inside, he carefully sets you upon the bed before moving about to close the doors and securing the building against the night air. Another two logs are delicately laid in the hearth of the fireplace, stoked to keep the ruby coal glowing for another few hours.
Arthur keeps a watchful eye on you, though, those crystalline blue eyes of his ever so vigilant. Your eyes grow increasingly heavier as you watch Arthur peel away his coat and toe-off his snowy boots before crawling into the bed with you. A sign of relief escapes your chest when the bed sags from his weight as he settles in along your side. For the last few days, you have been like passing ships in the night. But tonight, Arthur isn’t taking anything for granted.
Arthur straightens the threadbare blankets, shuffling himself in to lay next to you. His arm securely tucks you against him to sleep, your body cradled to him as he offers you his body heat. He needs to feel you against him, to know you are safe. The safest place for his woman to be is wrapped up into his burly arms, guarding you against the cruel world outside your shabby little room. For him, your relationship is not complicated: you look after him, he looks after you. That has always been your deal. And he will uphold that promise, tooth and nail, until he draws his last breath on this earth.
Exhaustion finally wins the battle over your senses and you tightly curl up against Arthur, still shivering slightly from the icebath. Your cheek lays over his heart, its hypnotic beating lulling you into a comforted state to allow your body to relax. His face twists up slightly with a stuttered exhale escaping his cold nose as he squeezes you to him, holding you against him as if someone would come and take you away. The quiet darkness of the evening wraps around the two of you as the melody of the crackling woodfire sings you its lullaby. Arthur offers you a peace like none other and it is here that you find your bliss, despite the ugliness that tries to tear your mind apart.
The constant shivering has left your body aching and drained. And while the color has returned to your skin, Arthur is still worried over you. He is desperate for that feeling of fire that burns within you, that spark that made him absolutely crazy for you; to feel the heat of you when he wraps himself up into your very soul.
Your group has always lived with the fear that every day could be your last day on this Earth. But the reality that he almost lost you today is too much for Arthur to bear. His broken mind just cannot wrap around that very concept. And now that the Pinkertons are hot on your tails hunting the gang, the harsh reality of life’s fragility is all too real and, unfortunately, the odds are ever increasing against the entire gang.
Your fingertips absentmindedly twist the worn fabric of the collar of his shirt as you lay against him. The only sound in the tiny room is the popping of the fire, Arthur’s heartbeat in your ear and your deep, labored breathing.
“What are we going to do, Arthur?” Your frail voice slices the calm air and drifts up to his ears, barely an angel’s whisper. It pains him to hear you so defeated, so worried, a fraction of the vivacious spirit that you usually carry.
“I don’t know, Sweetheart,’ he sighs. And for the first time ever, you can hear the doubt and vulnerability in Arthur’s tone. “But we can’t fix our problems using the same thinking that created ‘em.”
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*This images comes from @rita-the-outlaw
The next day is filled with new energy. Dutch has decided it’s time to start thinking of moving out of Colter. The gang has lingered long enough to shake the law, but has now caught the attention of the O’Driscoll gang. And with a viper like Colm O’Driscoll lurking nearby, you don’t want to be caught unprepared. You personally haven’t had the pleasure of dealing with Mr. O’Driscoll, but from what you’ve heard, he is not someone that you want to make an enemy of.
Your body is still recovering from your fall into the ice water, so Arthur is insistent that you stay inside and bundled up for the day. And while you feel a bit of guilt for not carrying your fair share of the weight of chores, you agree to stay put. The girls have been sweet to come and check on you and bring you food and drink. Mary-Beth brought you one of her books to keep you occupied and Tilly sat for a few games of dominoes. Even Jack came to sit with you. It warmed your very soul when he curled up in bed with you, resting his little head against your chest while you read a few short stories to him.
And despite being pulled in a million directions, Arthur made it a point to check on you every spare second that he could. It may have been cumbersome, but it did settle his nerves to lay his eyes on you to confirm that you are still alive and breathing and getting better with each visit.
When evening falls once again, you need a change of scenery and find the energy to bring yourself out of your room to sit in the common area of the cabin to wait for Arthur’s return. At the rattling of the rickety door-knob of your room, Hosea looks up from where he’s huddled over by the fireplace. He doesn’t like to admit it, but he’s getting too old for harsh weather like this. His coughing and chest pain have been kicking up lately, the dry, frigid air wrenching havoc on his lungs. But Hosea’s mind is still ever-so sharp, making him a key player to this gang. So he will offer his counsel, do what he can, but often needs to retire to the safety of the fires.
Hosea’s kind and tired eyes twinkle a bit at the sight of you up and about, a bit of fatherly relief settled over his old heart to see you. He leans over to stoke the fire a bit, tossing on another few logs, and makes room for you to settle yourself down in front of the fireplace next to him with a blanket tucked around your shoulders.
You drop down to the chair with a slight groan and let out a comfortable sigh as your muscles relax into their new-found position. You and Hosea sit in a comfortable silence for a bit, both staring into the hypnotic flames of the fireplace. The smell of the fire and its radiating warmth washes over you as you give in to it.
“How you doin’, girl?” Hosea asks softly, bringing his cigarette up to his lips.
“Alight, I suppose,” you hum. “Better than some.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he nods. “Arthur giving you trouble?” He raises an eyebrow at you, his fatherly tone poised as if he’s about to scold someone.
“No,” you smile back at him. “He’s just…’Arthur’. You know?”
A soft chuckle crosses his weathered lips. “Yeah,” he sighs. ”I know.”
A darkness suddenly settles over your brow. With Hosea, you feel comforted and free to confess your troubled thoughts. For who better to understand Arthur, than Hosea?
“I worry about him so much, Hosea,” you breathe out, the pain and worry wrapped around each syllable you utter.
“Don’t fret over him,” Hosea replies simply with a slight, dismissive wave of his hand. “He’ll be fine. He always is.”
But although he is trying to put your mind at ease, his answer just perplexes you even more. “People keep telling me that,” you shake your head. “But what if he isn’t, Hosea?” You turn your watery eyes from the fire to meet his watchful gray ones. “What then? A man can only do so much. I mean, what do we do if Arthur isn’t alright?”
Your statement stuns Hosea as he simply looks at you with no answer to offer you. For you have just brought to light the very concern that is harbored deep within all of you.
But as soon as the words cross your lips, you immediately feel a pang of regret as you see the concern and worry wash over Hosea as well. Hosea Matthews may be a long-harden outlaw, but he is still an aging man, one with ailments and health conditions that no one in the gang wants to directly address. When you lost your own father before joining the gang, you filled that hole in your heart with the man sitting next to you. And you will protect him as much as possible, just as he would do for you.
“Don’t mind me, Hosea”, you offer softly. “I’m just a silly woman. Caught up in the turmoil, I suppose.” You try to chuckle and shrug off the ominous cloud that hangs over the room. You look down at your hands folded haplessly in your lap.
But Hosea doesn’t scold you. If anything, he appreciates your warmth and compassion for everyone in the gang, especially for his son who probably needs it the most.
“Arthur’s a lucky man to have such a woman fuss over him. When he forgets to love himself, I think you love him twice as much to make up for it. I look at you and it makes me miss my Bessie.”
Your bottom lip quivers as you try your damnedest not to cry. That is the greatest compliment Hosea could have given you, knowing how beloved the woman was to everyone who knew her. You reach over and wrap your fingers around his wrinkled hand, squeezing it slightly, and then you both return to your shared, comforted silence in front of the fire.
When the night sky has gone black as ink and Arthur still hasn’t come in, your eyelids begin to droop so you politely say good night to Hosea and head back to your little ramshackle room to turn in for the night.
Moving at a languid pace, you heat up some snow for some warm water to wash up with before bed. Between the cold mountain temperatures and not being near a town with a bath house, cleansing has been hard to come by since your stay here in Colter, but you try to make sure you are clean. The modest fire dances in the fireplace and takes the chill out of the room just enough to disrobe in sections as you wipe your body down with the damp cloth.
Arthur eventually comes into the cabin with a hardened look and a grumble under his breath. He kicks the snow off his boots and ambles over to sit next to Hosea, plopping himself down to warm himself a bit.
Hosea says nothing, simply watching the younger man maneuvering about, giving him a few moments before he starts in on him.
“You need to take better care of your girl,” scolds Hosea, the frown lines on his already wrinkled face cutting deep and menacingly.
Arthur’s eyebrows arch in surprise before releasing a dismissive snort.
“I take care of her just fine. She’s alright”, he grumbles.
Hosea pitches him a disappointed and quiet look. “Jesus, you’re an idiot.”
“Yeah, well, you’re old”, scoffs Arthur with a lofty eye roll.
The comfortable banter gives Hosea a chuckle. Arthur is a grown man, well into his 30’s, even considered ‘old’ himself by some standards. And yet, the look of disappointment from his ”father” never does sit well with him. And Hosea’s right too. He’s been a right miserable bastard these last few weeks and especially to you, his treasure, his love.
Arthur sits quietly in contemplation, his fingers absentmindedly rolling a cigarette between his fingers as he stares into the fire, his thoughts swirling like the flames in front of him.
Arthur lets out a long tired sigh and slowly drags himself up, grabbing a few more pieces of fresh-cut wood, and heads to your bedroom door.
“Hey,” Arthur pauses and calls over to Hosea, who looks up from the fireplace. “Thanks, ‘sea”
The old man waves him off with a smile and goes back to his peace and quiet.
With an arm full of wood for the little fireplace, Arthur nudges his shoulder into the door to enter your room. He grumbled when he found out you took the smaller room in the cabin upon arrival in this shriveled little mining town. But you had done so knowing it would be the easiest to heat. And your gamble proved to be right. The room has a soft, gold glow about it and the heat from the small fireplace takes the chill out of the frigid Colter air nicely.
He pauses to take a look around and notices you’ve been fixing up the place while he’s been otherwise occupied. The floor has been swept of dirt, and the strings of cobwebs that tethered to the ceiling have been brushed away. Your personal things are neatly stacked in the corners, your coats and scarves and such line the one wall to keep dry. The rickety-old bed has been made up with your blankets, the edges turned down like a hotel. You have made this little shack cozy. You even managed to scavenge some curtains from other buildings and made a makeshift privacy curtain behind which you are currently bathing yourself.
“Arthur? Is that you?” Your honey-sweet voice carries softly, mingled with the crackling of the fire, when you hear the door close, snapping him out of his reverie.
“Yeah, it’s me. You doin’ alright in here?”
“Sure. Just cleaning up a bit.”
Making his way across the room, Arthur sets the wood down and stokes the fire, wiping his hands on the sides of his pants before heading over to you. He can hear you humming a delicate tune as he approaches, a melody swirling to meet his ears. With a cigarette dangling expertly from his lips, Arthur pulls back the fabric with two fingers and peeps around the curtain. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of your delicate skin being exposed
A soft smile tugs at his pillowy lips at the serene sight. “Hey, you.”
When you turn your cheek to meet his gaze, your smile in return is like the morning sun. “Hey, you,” you purr back to him. The shining light in your eyes and adoring smile on your face captivates his souls like nothing else in this world.
“Need a hand with that?” He playfully raised an eyebrow at you.
You give him a soft giggle. “Sure. Mind getting my back for me?”
“Can’t think of anything I want to do more right now.”
He flicks his cigarette to the floor, smothering it with his boots as he walks up behind you, clearing his throat as he takes the wash cloth from your hand. Your smile grows even more and your bottom lip gets pulled between your teeth in anticipation as you turn back around to grant him full access to your backside.
Arthur slowly drags the cloth over your back and shoulder blades, observing how the skin pulls against the muscle. His ocean-blue eyes rake over your body, refreshing his mind with the map of your features that are forever etched into his brain.
His gaze skips from the curve of your neck, to the elegant swoop of your shoulder, down between the protruding shoulder blades and further on down the valley of your spine until he settles on the sudden swell of your rear, currently draped in your bloomers, the ruffles of the fabric all hanging limply along the sides. He wishes he could cover you in the finest of clothing, as you so deserve it. Arthur adores your simplicity, but then again, you are absolutely breath-taking in refinement. You have never even asked for, let alone demanded, such extravagance from him. But that makes Arthur want to provide for you all the more.
“How’s your feet? Gonna lose any toes?” he muses, trying to forget the images of you almost drowning that still flash before his eyes.
“No,” you smirk. “I think I’ll be keeping all my toes and extremities.”
A chuckle rumbles from his broad chest. “Good. ‘Cause I kinda like your toes,” he whispers in your ear, his voice dropping to a playful, sultry tone that makes you giggle again with an accompanying blush as you feel his fingertips dancing along your hip.
Arthur continues to wash your back for you when he notices a bruise along your side, his head tilting to the side in confusion. The sight of any bruise on you, no matter how it got there, never sits well with him. “What happened here?” His thick finger gently ghosts over the purple and yellow bruise that blossomed across your skin.
“Huh?” Your chin turns over your shoulder to follow his sightline. “Oh, Susan wanted a chest moved so she and I hauled it around. I backed into the hanging cupboard.”
“Why didn’t you get one of the men to do it?” he frowns.
“Because I couldn’t find one,” you chuckle in return. “And you know me, I wanted it done right now.”
Arthur scowls at that a bit, realizing how much he’s put you through. He carefully drags the wet cloth over the bruise as if to wash its existence away completely.
When he’s done, Arthur wrings the cloth out and lays it across the hook on the wall to dry before coming back to you, placing his hand onto its rightful place on your hip. He leans over and peppers delicate kisses to the top of your shoulder, his beard ticking just so slightly.
“There, now. All clean, pretty as a picture.”
“Thank you, Love” you whisper, turning your face to him so he can place another kiss to your forehead. He gives you privacy as he wanders over to the bed to relax, giving you time to dress yourself in your sleep gown. When you come around from behind the privacy curtain, hands twinning in your hair to braid it, your eyes settle on your outlaw who is sitting quietly, leaning onto his knees with his forearms, staring blankly into the flames of the calming fire. His shoulders hunch up to his ears, his eyes carrying a vacant, depleted look.
Without a word, your feet pad across the floor to carry you to the bed. You stand in front of him with a soft, empathetic smile on your rose-petal lips. Arthur tilts his chin upward to catch your gaze and wordlessly pulls you closer, resting his forehead onto your abdomen, arms encircling your waist. Your hands float up to gently card you fingers through his hair, eliciting a deep sigh from him as your fingertips dance along his scalp. You lean over him slightly, cradling him to you as you savor the delicate moment, placing a delicate kiss to his crown.
After a few moments of his steady breathing you crawl in behind Arthur with the hem of your gown balled up into your soft hands, his head twisting slightly as his eyes follow you, captivated by every move that your muscles make. You sit up on your knees behind him and begin to massage his shoulders to release the tension. You frown when you feel how hard and tight his shoulders are. A deep and appreciative groan emanates from Arthur’s chest as your strong, yet soft hands dig into his muscles a bit harder to break up the tissue there, his head dipping down between his shoulders to give you better access.
When you’re done, your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, fingers curling back and forth across his collarbone and you bury your face into his neck, placing soft, tender kisses there. He catches your hand and brings the back of your knuckles to his lips before tightly engulfing it with his own.
“I’m sorry you have to carry this burden, Arthur.” Your forehead affectionately touches the side of his.
“Don’t be. It's a job I signed up for long ago.”
“I know,” you whisper with a tinge of sadness to your voice. “But still, there’s only so much a man can take.”
“Oh, I can take a lot, sweetheart,” he chuckles half-heartedly. “Don’t concern yourself.” Although he has to admit, it does feel good to have someone worry about him, to take the time to even notice him at all.
“I forgot, you can handle anything because you’ve already handled everything,” you sigh. “But of course I’m concerned about you, Arthur. Seems like I’m one of the only people who are these days.” The fingers of your other hand begin the play with the collar of his union suit.
“And that’s why you’re my favorite,” he smiles. He gently tugs on your arm to pull you around and into his lap. Once he has you settled there, Arthur stares up into your face, a look of absolute serenity gracing his rugged features. His hand lifts up to cup your face, his long fingers sliding under your hair as his thumb gently swipes across your cheekbone. He marvels at how he now understands that it is not about who hurt you or broke you down in this life. It is about who is always there to take care of you and make your heart smile once again.
You and Arthur share a connection that neither of you could ever deny, nor would you ever want to. You accepted each other into your hearts, and that has become your home, your center.
“I could stare at you all day, you know that?” Arthur’s blue eyes twinkle happily with his simple declaration.
With a loving hum, you lean forward to slowly kiss him, your lips brushing against each other like wildflowers on the wind. Your lips gently work against each other’s, working into each other like a puzzle piece. Your body begins to curl itself up into him to bask in his warmth, desperate to be as close as possible to him.
“You’re like a cat,” he smiles into your mouth, “Trying to curl up into my pocket.” After a few more moments of delicious kisses, he reluctantly pulls away as you chase his lips in response.
“I thought you were pulling away from me,” he whispers with a glimmer of pain in his voice, clutching you tighter as his face twists slightly in concern.
“Maybe I was,” you sigh, your finger lifting his overgrown hair out of his beautiful, soulful eyes. “But you’ve been so angry since we left Blackwater. I wanted to give you time to work through what’s happened.”
Arthur casts his eyes down in shame. “Yeah, well…I shouldn’t’ve been like that with you. I was never angry with you.”
“Oh, I think you were. Just a little”, you chuckle. You let out a contented sigh as you wrap your cold fingers around his face.
“I’m sorry I got you into this, Y/N, but I sure am glad I have you here with me. I think I would lose what little wits I got left without you.” His face suddenly scrunches up a bit. “Damn, your hands are freezing.”
You smile sheepishly. “Sorry. But trust me, they are certainly warmer than they were earlier.”
“Maybe we need to find a way to warm you up, then?” That smirk, that devilish smirk that you love so much has returned to his handsome, tired face, lighting that spark in your belly that has been absent for what seems like an eternity.
“What if Hosea hears us?” you giggle as your nose nudges against his.
Arthur just shakes his eyebrows at you in response. “Don’t care. Besides, he ain’t no prude and certainly no saint.”
You shiver as Arthur pulls back from you a bit, his body heat immediately missed. He reaches over for his discarded coat and lays it down on the bed underneath you for added warmth before gently pushing your body to lay back, covering you with his own. You curl up into his chest to try to keep warm and to keep him close to you.
This isn’t just a carnal, lustful need that has to be filled. You need to feel close to him again. To feel that bond, that connection that you so covet. Because without it, you feel as lost as a shriveled leaf blowing in the wind. And he suddenly has the need to feel you completely, to be all at once on you, in you, and wrapped tightly around you until he is utterly consumed by you.
Things start out tonight more mechanical than anything. You both fidget awkwardly to get situated on the bed, clumsy kisses and uncoordinated hands initiate the intimacy. Both your and Arthur’s fingers playfully fight each other to unbutton his shirt and pull it off his shoulders, leaving him down to his union suit and trousers.
It's been awhile, for your standards anyway, and the tension of days past between you two certainly isn’t helping the mood. Because of the cold, you are not able to completely bare yourselves to each other, either, which is another factor. Normally, you prefer to be bare-skinned against each other, desperate to feel every inch of the other.
But eventually, the awkwardness subsides. The hesitation fades away to allow old habits and familiar patterns to return. Your fingers trail over his muscled back, feeling the way his strong, powerful muscles move beneath the fabric of his union suit as he settles himself over you. Arthur quickly touches you as if he owns you and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You need him and he needs you. You need his body pressed against yours. He needs to feel your warmth and inhale your scent. He needs the taste of your kisses as much as you crave his hands wrapped around your curves. You are the unrelenting ache, an endless craving, for it is his unsettled soul that carries the chaos that only you can calm.
The dance of passion quickly begins and Arthur loses himself in you, even if for only for a few moments, but that’s all he needs. Your lips chase him with a whine when Arthur pulls away from your face just so slightly to give himself room to pull at your nightgown. Like the way the sun energizes a flower, you bring his tired, restless soul back to life each time you are together and like the precious sun, you are like nothing else on this earth to him. Arthur has no words to describe what you do for him, but in his kiss, his lips carry a million words of love for you. And he can only hope you will taste each one of them, one by one.
His hands are so warm that they almost burn your frigid skin as they travel everywhere on your body and yet, they are dry and rough from the latest ordeal. How Arthur is able to stay so warm in this arctic weather of Colter is beyond you, but you are so thankful for it. He is like sleeping with a bear and part of you whimpers in disappointment at not being able to run your fingers through his soft body hair as you grasp at him, having to settle instead with sliding your hand under the fabric of his union suit to feel his bare skin.
His lips are dry and chapped from the weather, where you are used to the soft, plump skin, but they nestle perfectly as he attacks the curve of your collarbone, placing fevered and rushed kisses there. Arthur buries his face into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around you to cradle you up into him, holding you tightly with almost cruising force. All 6 feet-plus of his barrel-chested frame lays atop of you, caging you into his warm body as he gently rubs himself against you.
You cringe a bit when Arthur’s mammoth hand reaches to your plump middle, squeezing your too pliable stomach in his strong grasp. But Arthur doesn’t care about the extra weight you carry, never has. And he still can’t get over how you have chosen him, of all people, to allow to lay with you so intimately. His fingers handle you roughly, almost painfully, in his haste to touch every part of you. It is not unusual for slight blossoms of purple and blue to be left on your skin after being with Arthur. He is certainly not abusive, in fact far from it. It's just that he needs you so desperately that he forgets himself sometimes and forgets how rough he is.
You have always loved the build up to the intimacy between the two of you, when gentle touching becomes impatient grabbing and soft lips give way to passionate tongues. And your heartbeat escalates until you feel like it will burst from your ribcage, only to be caught by his.
It’s easy enough to take your clothes off and have sex, people do it all the time. But opening up your soul to someone, letting them see your hopes and fears, your thoughts and dreams, that is being truly naked to someone.
Arthur’s mouth trails along your jaw to continue its lover’s journey along your neck, following the curve of your body. He has always loved the way the bend of your neck fits the shape of his mouth so perfectly and how your glittering eyes always flutter and roll back when his lips find their way there. The pads of his weathered fingers skip down over the velvety skin of your lower abdomen, causing delicate goosebumps and the downy body hairs to rise in their wake. The tips of his fingers draw circles and rake across your belly before he reaches between your thighs to the apex of your heat. The moment he graces your tender folds, a passionate hiss escapes from your mouth, which he is quick to lift his head to greedily swallow. You angle your hips into his hand, desperate for the expert touch that only Arthur can provide you.
“My beautiful girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “My beautiful girl, all mine.”
“All yours,” you breathe out. “Arthur…I need you. I can’t wait much longer,” your whisper desperately with your forehead digging against his, your fingers curling against the skin of his neck. And his chest almost explodes with the love he has for you when he realizes that you have just as deep a need for him as he has for you.
His hand descends between your writhing bodies to pull at the remaining obstacle of buttons of his union suit to pull out his fully-erect cock. His hand trembles slightly from the anticipation as he pumps himself a few times before teasing your heat with it. Arthur rolls up onto his knees for better leverage and begins to slowly push himself into the warm cradle of your cunt. Your hands knead the hard muscle of his shoulders as you brace yourself for his thick and long size, always filling you completely. He watches you, enraptured, as your head tilts back and your eyes roll into your skull as the heavenly over-stimulation engulfs all of your senses and a satisfied moan escapes your kiss-swollen lips as he bottoms-out, pushing his pelvis to meet with yours.
He holds himself still, completely buried there for a blissful moment before he begins to move oh-so slowly, not wanting to get too excited or too loud. Arthur's hips curl sharply, rutting into you at the perfect angle to hit that certain spot. You are not in a position to be wild and passionate, but still, each thrust of his hips sends you to the moon and stars. Your conjoined breathing quickly escalates and becomes staggered and short as you forget the rest of the world even exists beyond your broken little bed.
“It’s been way too long, way too long,” he groans as his tongue darts in and out of his mouth to taste the delicate skin of your shoulder as he pulls at your nightgown.
And you cannot even form words to answer him, but only nod in agreement with a wanton little whimper as your eyelids flutter and lips tremble while he fills you so completely. You have to crush your mouth into his thick shoulder in an effort to muffle yourself.
Suddenly desperate for more, you cage him in tightly with your hips and legs as he rocks his body atop of you, your muscles wrapping around him as much as humanly possible. Your arms fold around his massive shoulders, holding onto him as if for dear life.
“I love you, Arthur,” you whisper breathlessly into his temple, your lips catching on the tender skin there. The tremble of your voice is the whisper of an angel bringing him to heaven.
“I love you, too, Y/N.”
Arthur’s head swims as he takes your hand that cradles his face, bringing it to his lips before he threads his fingers through yours and pins your hand next to your cheek as his other arm snakes around your head, holding you against his face while he continues to thrust into you.
“Look at me,” you plead into his ear as your teeth nibble delicately at his earlobe.
He lifts himself up onto his forearms again to look into your loving eyes, the palm of his hand brushing back the hair that has fallen into your serene face. You stare into Arthur’s eyes as he moves. You want to see his face as he makes love to you, desperate to find and rekindle that connection that you so covet. You want to hold onto this sublime moment, as you know you won’t have it for too long. You are like a pouty, spoiled child, not wanting to share your most precious possession with anyone else.
Arthur studies you as your eyelids quiver and skin shutters with each pulse of his strong hips, your mouth gaped open in soundless words, yet you still remain focused on him without faltering. You’ll be sore between your legs when this is done, for sure. You feel every thick, hard inch of him inside you as the weight of his body presses you deeper into the thin mattress with each stroke. Your legs fall open even more, your muscles unable to hold them up as your entire body goes limp like jelly in his presence.
Rough hands continue to pinch and knead your ever-warming flesh. Your hand lifts up to run through his hair, curling through his unwashed locks that are long overdue for cutting before fisting and pulling gently. The feeling of your fingertips dancing across his skin before digging into the muscle grounds him as a reminder that this thing between you is real and he can forgo the trappings of the miserable situation that the gang currently finds itself in. He needs the taste of you on his lips. He needs the scent of you on his skin and your breath in his lungs. He simply needs you to survive.
And as your bodies continue to move in perfect harmony, your eyes suddenly begin to blur with unshed tears. It isn’t until he hears a faint sniffle from you that Arthur registers that something may be wrong.
“Why you cryin’, baby?” Arthur whispers in earnest, afraid something will cause your precious little world to crumble right here and now.
“I’m sorry, Arthur.” You try to give him your best sad little smile, shaking your head as if to dismiss your concerns.
“For what?” He places a kiss to your nose, still buried deep within you and maintaining that hypnotic rocking motion overtop of you.
“I don’t want to be a burden to you. I don’t want to be yet another thing you have to take care of. I’m sure you wanted nothing more than to come in here and fall asleep for more than an hour, yet you have to take care of me. One more thing you have to do.”
He stops his gentle thrusts for a moment, his face turning to one of pain and disappointment and he finally has to dip his head and break eye contact with you, unable to look you in the face with his shame. It makes your heart ache. But what you do not realize is that those feelings are not towards you but to himself for making you feel that way. He wants to be both needed by, and wanted by, you. He needs to feel like he’s worth something to you, of all people. You are the constant in his life, the beacon of goodness that he can keep his eye on as he navigates the treacherous waters of this dangerous life. Arthur still feels like he’s a worthless, ugly, mean old man, but somehow you still find it in your beautiful heart to love him. So he will do whatever it takes to be worthy of that love.
When he doesn’t say anything, but only responds with a slow, aggravated exhale, you panic, trying to quickly repair the damage. Arthur’s face goes dark and you can almost see the storm of hurtful thoughts swirling about in his mind.
“No, don’t you do that,” you whisper in desperate hushed tones as you collect his face into your hands. “Don’t you dare beat yourself up. As much as I want you all to myself, Arthur, I’m the one trying not to be selfish.”
“Selfish?” His eyebrows knit with confusion. “You’re the least selfish person I know. And besides, I can think of far worse things than being wanted by a woman such as yourself.” His hand caresses your face, his thumb sweeping across your rose petal lips. As he graces you with a feather-like touch, your own hands grab at his back even tighter with a need to pull him to you and hold him even closer.
“You ain’t my burden, Y/N. You’re my refuge,” he continues. “It’s you, and it’s always gonna be.” He touches his forehead to yours, before rolling his lips to pepper the corner of your eyelids and temple. “What I have with you, I don’t want with no one else. Hear me?” A little demure smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Shit, you’re all my heart ever talks about.” He gives you a little wink with a chuckle.
A sob chokes in your throat as your heart soars to know that your connection is now restored. You were so afraid of losing him, that the life and love that you have fostered like a fragile candle flame was going to be extinguished. That he was going to wake up one day after all of this mess with Blackwater, the Pinketons and the swirling chaos of Colter and decide that this relationship was just too much for him to navigate. Arthur is a simple man with a lot of responsibilities. It would be easy to understand that he wouldn't want any distractions or additional demands laid upon him.
You were afraid that you, yourself, were not enough for him. For Arthur is not the only one riddled with insecurities and doubt. He is not the only one who has been broken.
When you close your eyes, it’s like you are at the center of the sun, protected from all the wickedness of the world, wrapped in your lover’s arms. You giggle and return to meet his lips again with a heated passionate kiss before touching your forehead back to his.
“You’re killin’ me, Arthur.” Your resplendent smile sparkles back at him.
“That’s the fun of it, isn’t it?” he snickers as he suddenly resumes the snapping of his hips into your pelvis, picking up speed to rekindle the lustful exhilaration. His hips push heavily against yours, all the way down until the wiry hair of his groin entangles with your own, causing you to gasp, his name falling wantonly from your lips as you angle your hips again to meet his as his cock continues to ram into the bundle of nerves hidden within your core. At this point, you are sure that Hosea can hear you two out in the other room. But like Arthur, you really don’t care. And you're pretty sure that after your talk earlier, neither does Hosea.
The way Arthur holds you is a promise, a confirmation, that for just one moment at least, the two of you don’t have to face the world alone.
Your climax is quick to come after that, as you give in to all your temptation and desire. You fall heart-first into his soul, where he is eagerly awaiting you. You clamp your body around him as the euphoric wave hits you, and as he rides you through yours, his own orgasm hits him like a lightning bolt as he withdraws his swollen cock to rub against your abdomen, his great arms encircling your head like a serpent.
The air in the little cabin room is now hot and sticky with your combined sweat and you take a moment to catch your heaving breaths. Arthur is always sure to take care of you, to take hold of the moment, but once he’s spent, it is you who manages the aftercare. You hold him to you as his body shudders from exertion, his chest heaving as his face seeks refuge once more tucked within the soft skin where your neck and shoulder meet. And this is the symbiotic relationship that elevates the two of you to another place.
Once your conjoined hearts have settled, you bask in your after-glow, snuggled up to each other, afraid to let go. Arthur pulls you to lay upon his great chest, your ear right over his strong heart so that he can weave his fingers into your disheveled hair, a sense of pride knowing he’s the one responsible for the rumpled appearance. You toss your plump leg over his, entwining like a cocoon around him. You wince slightly when your hips pops back into its socket from being spread open so widely.
After a few tenderly quiet moments, you draw yourself up, propping your head into your hand as your elbow bends next to his head so that you can gaze down into Arthur’s face and he meets your loving expression.
“I still remember how I felt the first time I saw you.” Your head tilts as the memory of that fateful afternoon cascades back into your mind. His body shudders slightly as your fingertips absentmindedly ghost over his chest, slowly dancing along below his collarbone and swirling the chestnut colored hair that decorates his skin as you fall deep in thought. “Thought my heart was going to beat right out of my chest, broken as it was. You were so magnificent. Took my very breath away to look at you.” Your words are whispered like the ether, acutely holding his attention as you speak. You smile as you watch a blush dust his face up to his ears and he squirms as he nervously tucks his hand behind his head like a pillow.
But a darkness hovers over your glistening eyes as the worry and concern for him floods your mind. “But someone needs to take care of you, too, Arthur.”
“You take care of me just fine, Y/N. You don’t need to worry about that. More than any man like myself deserves.”
“Nuh-uh, don’t forget our deal, Morgan: you look after me, and I’ll look after you.”
“Right.” His hand draws along your delicate spine, tracing your form, as he reaches for yours that rests on his chest, bringing it to his lips.
“I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you, Arthur. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happens to you-“
“Shhhh.” The back of his thick finger grazes your cheekbone ever-so softly. “Ain’t nuthin’ gonna happen to me, Y/N.”
He stares into your eyes, both of you knowing this is a promise that is impossible for him to keep. But still, you play his game and give into the heavenly little dream. You sniffle back the lump in your throat and give him a shaky little smile.
But your private bubble is broken all too soon when you suddenly hear Hosea softly knocking on the door.
“Arthur? I hate to break up your fun in there, but your presence is needed elsewhere. Dutch would like a word.”
A pained expression takes ahold of Arthur’s bearded face. “Can’t it wait?” he calls out towards the door.
“‘Fraid not, son.” The regret in Hosea’s voice is palpable. It’s hard to be angry with the old man when you can tell by the tone and volume with which he speaks that the last thing he wanted to do was to rap his arthritic knuckles on that door.
“Damn it,” Arthur growls under his breath. “Alright, hang on,” he calls out to his old friend.
He pauses but for just a moment before he rolls himself up to a sitting position next to you. But panic runs through your veins like fire in your blood. Your hands suddenly shoot out to hold his face protectively to yours, his cheek squishing slightly in your palms.
“Please, Arthur. Please don’t go right now.” You don’t know why, but you are suddenly filled with a deep sense of dread, like something will happen to him if he leaves your sight. You want to feel safe, but you feel anything but that in this place. The only place you ever feel safe is with Arthur, and to have him pull away from you right now, after you’ve just touched each other’s souls, is like ripping a piece of your heart right out of your chest. Like a moth to a flame, you gravitate to Arthur, always desperate to be in his presence.
The look on your face almost breaks Arthur’s heart. “I’m sorry, but I gotta go.” He pulls your hands from his face, but kisses the inside of your palm as he does as a heartfelt apology.
You watch him with sad eyes as stands and he dresses once again, making himself presentable.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen here,” he says uneasily as he threads his arms back through his shirt and begins buttoning it up again. “Something’s different, something’s…off. I don’t know.” His eyes begin to dart around the room as he tries to find the words rattling around in his now-scattered brain. “But whatever it is, things are about to get rough around here.”
You just nod silently in understanding, knowing full-well what that means for your beloved outlaw and his ever-dwindling safety.
“I need to get ahead of this now, before it gets outta hand, Y/N. Understand?” His pleading eyes land on you, practically begging for your approval right now.
“Yes. I understand, Arthur.“ You give him a weak, but loving smile. “Please, be careful.”
“I will.” He gives you a grateful nod and turns to head towards the door. But before his hand can even land on the doorknob, your voice calls to him again.
“Arthur?”
He turns back to meet your longing gaze from where you still sit on the bed, wrapped in the blankets that you just made love in. Your eyelids flutter, overwhelmed with emotions.
“You’re mine,” you state so matter-of-factly. “No matter where you go, no matter what you do. You’re mine. Never forget that.” You are no longer shy to say it nor afraid to admit it. Your deep-rooted need to love him and be loved by him has taken such a tight hold of you that it makes your chest tight and desperate to never let him go. You have no need for romantic fantasies anymore and you are done with the nightmares of failed relationships.
Arthur pauses for only a moment upon hearing your proclamation and quickly strides back across the room to you. He places his large hand on the back of your head and he pulls your forehead to his lips.
“I love you,Y/N,” he says again, his voice serious, making sure that you understand him.
“I love you, too, Arthur” you repeat back, holding his face once again, your thumb rubbing along his cheek as if committing this moment to memory. And with a sigh, you reluctantly concede to let him leave. “Now, go. Before they come in here looking for you.”
You hold onto Arthur’s hand until he is out of your reach, your fingers extended before your arms fall dejectedly into your lap with disappointment as he pushes himself out the door. Your eyes linger on the wooden panel, now sitting still and quiet in its rusty hinges and splintered wooden frame. Your chest still tingles from where he lay atop of you, his heart beating in unison to your own, your breath mingled together.
Normally you are left happy and content, reveling in your blissful and lustful stupor. And yet, a sense of darkness settles over you that you cannot shake. Arthur has always been pulled in a million directions at once, but that is the nature of his role with the gang and his importance to Dutch. But now, a whole new level of concern washes over you and you fear that the notorious outlaw may be getting in too deep.
With a deep sigh, you look to where Arthur’s journal sits carefully nestled in his worn leather satchel. You smile softly, despite yourself. It is a symbol of his mind and his heart nestled in its fragile paper and tattered leather binding.
Your future is uncertain and the road ahead will be laid with hardship. But you will wait for Arthur for as long as it takes. You will keep your shared bed warm for him and always have a hot cup of coffee waiting. For Arthur is worth the wait. He is where you will always find comfort and a sense of belonging. You no longer have a heart of your own for he is your heart. He is your life.You have finally met the person who has made you forget about yesterday and begin to dream of tomorrow. Arthur has the weight of the world on his shoulders right now and you will do whatever you have to in order to ease that burden for him, no matter if the gesture is great or small.
Your eyes drift their way to that same grimy window again, the one that you always seem drawn to. The moon sets high at its zenith like a giant eye to the heavens. The cold-hearted orb gleams against the black canvas of night, bobbing in and out of the clouds that try to grip it with an ethereal fist, and gifts its silvery shadows across the snow below. The banshee wind howls outside, the fingers of the tree outside scraping along the panes of glass.
Where others may see the fear in the darkness of the night, you strangely take comfort in it. With the night, the moon brings calm and tranquility, whereas the sun ushers in activity and chaos during the waking hours of daylight. Things are not always as they seem, often having double meanings and duality to their existence. ‘Good and evil, you cannot have one without the other’ you had told Arthur the day you met. And you firmly believe that. Where you have knowledge, you will also find oblivion. Where you see power, you can also find regret. And love, love takes on so many forms, both in darkness and in the light.
And the moon has taught you that there is still beauty to be found in the darkness.
—-------------------------------------
The next morning, you all pack up, piling into the wagons, to leave the bitter cold and head back down the mountain to meet whatever may come for the Van der Linde gang.
Tag List: @rivetingrosie4 @bimbo-dollz @pine4pple-b0i @redwritr @kuri-chans-blog @queer-sadie-adler @joelmillerswifey @gimmethosedaddymilkers @pcotarelo @delilah-grimes @maemortem @wistfulwisteriawitch @lilacxxdreams @mentallyillfrogs @absolutegeek @spurz @sophiaj650 @uniqueclodzinevoid @lookingformaurice @pawoui @randomidk-123 @yyiikes @eddiemetalheadmunson @twola @kmartkiddieisle @red-dead-simp @regwishesshehadmagic @rhehr241 @earwen-x @akariver75 @djennty @nervousmumbling @xliliths @unbotheredbeeeee @onnetonprinsessa @kittiowolf210 @ezrynn @suhiss @arthurmargon @codnerd1999 @queer-sadie-adler @alice-vanderlinde @sweetandstoned21 @j4llyf7sh @spooky631 @m0r4rx @ilovrxats @i-69-urmom @ddbluesie @ivuravix @nervousmumbling @sickvictorianangel @tirededuxhours @ezzythereal1 @chloepluto1306 @ivys-valentine @spiritcatcherxo @lea-khena @brccklynbaby1 @foundynnel @readingcoco @carmelamontezlikr @ultraporcelainpig @sofiaa-xcx @namesaretomainstream @miphy @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @loveheartabby @daisybvck @julialoopeezz @a-court-of-valkyries @oziozzioslo @stargazer-88 @lunawolfclaw @rita-the-outlaw @sixgunluvr
*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people.
#arthur morgan#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan rdr2#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan x female reader#rdr2 fanfic
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so i know i'm basically asking for a backlash by saying this but as a person that loves him...what's happening to lando ?? i mean, yes he's young and everything but his behavior lately is SO concerning, other than disappointing. none denies mclaren fucked up for both him and oscar way TOO MANY races now (like ferrari who?? we almost look competent) and that they both deserve better, but that's no way of behaving. this has been a little off since austria but yesterday was just embarrassing, to say the least. i've seen you jumping at carlos' throat for a mild complaining (average for chili, come on) during the miami gp but literally WHAT IS THIS? mclaren fucked up, but they shouldn't need to ask lando to do something for more than ten laps and then try to PLEAD for whatever moral sense he had left in that moment? i read EMOTIONAL BLACKMAIL and i'm like...is this your first rodeo? the shitty thing would've have been calling him in the pit in order to stop him, anything other than this (or other than alpine punishing ocon after monaco) is just a team desperately trying to ask something from their driver. we can agree on shitty strategies of poor communication skills, but the rest is on lando. even nico compared his actions to lewis' from when they were teammates...this should set the bar, folks. like finally giving the position 2 to 3 laps from the checkered flag and having the audacity to ask if you can go back for it a second later, oscar feeling like he has to apologize after his first victory (and after he himself was sacrificed multiple times for lando and this was just so sad to watch), lando throwing the hat and being passive aggressive towards lewis in the cooldown room. yeah idc, if you go after carlos and max for complaining and/or get upset over small things in public i honestly expect no double standards thank you. also lando basically doing a monologue just to say he was asked something and he did it (after more than 10 laps, if i may remind you) and then suddenly going like... yeah, anyway, well done osc. i mean SERIOUSLY MAN??? don't even get me started on some of the scenes on the podium. honestly mclaren needs to get their shit together but so does lando. i like him, i always appreciated his sensitivity, his sense of humor, even his fragility and i was under the impression we were witnessing a nice growth. now idk, i'm honestly confused and disappointed, to say the least.
#f1#f1 2024#hungarian gp 2024#hungarian gp#budapest gp 2024#scuderia mclaren#mclaren#lando norris#ln4#oscar piastri#op81#oscar aka the only papaya with rights#formula one#f1 fandom
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STOP INFANTILIZING JAKE ENGLISH. STOP TREATING HIM LIKE HE IS FREE OF CONSEQUENCES.
Jake English is such an interesting character because the way he is written infuriates me (in a good way). I saw a particular text post saying basically that Jake English did nothing wrong and that Jane is an asshole for being upset at him. This is just… Wrong. I think a lot of people in general like to try and make Jake seem like he cannot do any wrong because he has neurodivergent traits and is heavily implied to be neurodivergent. This is not to say Jake was entirely in the wrong in some situations, but neither were his friends when they became upset at him. Because, guess what Tumblr, they are teenagers and teenagers are flawed as fuck.
The main thing I would like to talk about is the pages where Jane yells at Jake (starts at page 5521).
While obviously Jane’s passive aggressiveness did not help the situation whatsoever, she was very clearly upset at the fact that one of her only friends forgot about her birthday. After he realizes he forgot, he starts making up excuses. Obviously his forgetfulness is not his fault but I feel like Jane’s slight is definitely not unjustified.
Not to mention he doesn’t even say “happy birthday” to her once during the conversation and instead makes stupid quips and proceeds to dump his relationship problems onto her. Before then though, he goes on a huge ramble to try and avoid his problems (aka what he was initially going to talk about with Jane).
During his conversation with Jane where he should be moving on as he’s decided to, it’s obviously complete filler of a conversation where he repeated over and over how Jane is 16. He’s only talked to her about his issues for so long it’s obvious that he doesn’t know how to initiate in a normal conversation with her anymore. When she finally gives him the go ahead to say it (likely because she was tired of a nonsense filler conversation) he all too eagerly tells it as if he was just biding his time for when she’d let him speak. It’s an asshole move really.
Obviously communicating with your friends and being there for them when they are struggling is good, but whenever Jake seems to talk to Jane, it is only really about his problems. Not to mention, he never talks to the person he’s having issues with (majority of the time Dirk) and instead ghosts them for weeks on end.
Not to mention he’s the one to push her into the conversation.
If you actually read the conversation you will also notice that her messages become more sparse and short while Jake’s get longer while he rambles.
When Jake says “laying low” he means ignoring and avoiding Dirk’s attempts to actually try and talk. Not to mention he also insults Dirk by saying he is “needy” and that essentially saying he is tired of Dirk’s company.
And here we fucking are folks, the bread and fucking butter of this whole convo, the shit and jam. Saying that Dirk is annoying and that his “paranoid prophecy” (you know, the one about all of his friends hating him?) is going to come true, aka saying that he does hate Dirk and no longer even wants to interact with him. And guess what? Jake is not even trying to communicate with Dirk on the matter and is instead dumping all this shit ON THEIR FRIEND.
Anyways, let’s skip to when Jane starts getting upset.
In this scene, Jake is practically ignoring her until she basically begins screaming at him. Not to mention the two last messages from Jake are extremely dismissive and so incredibly un-self aware.
Again with his strange quips and being weirdly self deprecating and pity-ing towards himself.
You can very clearly tell she’s upset, reclaiming something she let be their thing but changing it to just hers. Instead of doing the rational thing which would be to apologize, continue this at a later date or ask what you can do to make it up, he focuses on the semantics of the phrase, trying to come up with a new one. This is very obvious that he’s avoiding the topic because he’s uncomfortable with the thought of facing these issues.
After that, on page 5528, she TELLS him the issue and proceeds to keep doing the thing that’s making her UPSET.
She then freaks out again and then Jake finally tries to do something smart by insisting that they talk about it tomorrow (something JANE insisted on EARLIER) and then when she gets more upset and Jake proceeds to basically Jane not to be upset (“Aw come on jane. be a sport.”)
TLDR; stop woobifying Jake English and acknowledge the fact that he also fucks up, just like his friends.
#homestuck#jake english#jane crocker#if you don’t like jane crocker i do not like you#but seriously stop treating him like he is free of consequences because he is neurodivergent#dirk strider#homestuck meta
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Can I ask for some jury headcannons please???
indeed you may
Alastor
-wears heeled shoes to make himself taller
-helps manage the jury's funds despite that absolutely not being in his job description
-i kinda have two separate sexuality/backstory headcanons for him that i frequently switch between lmao
-the first one is that he is a closet gay from a fairly wealthy family. he also has a wife and a child who he does not speak to or even think about a lot. deadbeat dad with INTENSE internalised homophobia.
-alternatively, he is transmasc + bi and also an actual immortal vampire who founded the jury hundreds of years ago as like. a scam that got out of hand. no ones realised its him yet because he keeps faking his death and then popping back up within the organisation.
-secret enjoyer of trashy vampire romance novels (writes fanfiction) (would kill anyone who found out immediately)
Lorelei
-has back problems that prevented her from actually being a dancer
-was in a lot of competitions/pageants growing up, kinda has a fucked up sense of self worth
-relies on her curse a lot in her manipulation and stuff, cos without it shes kinda. not a great liar??? like she just has a lot of trouble sounding genuine
-VERY dry and sarcastic sense of humour, can also be quite mean-spirited even if unintentionally
-has cut contact with her entire family, literally the only people she actually speaks to on the regular casually are alastor and diana
-she and alastor have private bitching sessions together where they talk shit about everyone else in the jury. they are besties your honor
Diana
-lesbian lesbian lesbian LESBIAN LESBIAN
-has a specific (all-female) group of jury captains she surrounds herself with. its basically just a massive polycule
-while on duty shes terrifying, very cold and detached, off duty shes actually pretty chill
-her reason for joining the jury isnt that she wants to destroy witches and more that she wants to protect non-magic folk and sees the jury as the best way to do this
-i could see her getting a redemption arc of sorts somewhere down the line where she starts seeing the many faults in the jury and changes her opinion
-she can play the guitar and will sometimes do little performances alongside lorelei by like. campfires and stuff for fun
Lance
-you can pry aussie lance from my cold dead hands
-he and alastor fucking hate each other. literally the only time lance can be remotely subtle about his emotions is when hes making passive aggressive jabs at al.
-surprisingly really good hygeine for a nasty little rat man, still ends up smelling like blood sweat leather and piss half the time anyway
-has to be tied up after large battles so he doesn't immediately loot every corpse in sight (he has severe kleptomania)
-calls people gay as an insult while tenderly kissing bandy on the mouth
-has a habit of developing intense one-sided rivalries with literally everyone he interacts with, eira is the only person to have actually reciprocated this which is why they are. like that.
Bandy
-has never been to clown school, doesn't even have a license to clown
-keeps dyeing his hair to a slightly different shade of ginger despite already being a natural ginger and wearing a hat most of the time, this is purely to fuck with people
-keeps trying to sneak into alastor and lorelei's bitching sessions
-the high juror keeps trying to have him fired, but he just keeps coming back
-actively embezzling funds. where are they going? who knows.
-hes meant to be morally grey, and i think thats how he'll stay. like the idea of a bandy redemption is nice its just. it would be more interesting for him to switch sides at a moments notice, and to instead put the work into redeeming a less morally grey character
Dock
-basically lives in a laboratory in the basement of the jury headquarters. said laboratory is filled with all sorts of medical equipment, preserved gore, and even a couple saw traps
-he also has a pit full of giant man eating leeches with a chair placed precariously over it. why? because he fucking can
-despite his status as a quack, hes actually pretty good at fixing any problems or ills his patients have. the issue is that he never says what he's curing. he could be removing your stomach pains, or he could be removing the part of your brain that controls your sense of self! its a gamble with him
-there are no records of where he's from. no one knows where he comes from, how old he is, or even his real name. any answers he gives are either entirely nonsensical or very contradictory
-under his mask he's either very hairy or very bald
-always insists that he's a pacifist and will obey the hippocratic oath. this is false.
there you go! feel free to fight me on any of these lmao but remember these are just my personal headcanons.
#heartless#heartless abd#abd heartless#abd illustrates#abd illustrates heartless#heartless abd illustrates#alastor creed#heartless lorelei#diana shikari#lance lothaire#bandy bellamis#heartless dock#ask#headcanon
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If you hate stuff like Enneagram just skip this post please BUT if you, like me, love this, I have to share my list of hand crafted “hard shit each Enneagram type needs to hear and internalize.” It’s like the heart of each types’ biggest social BS where they need to hear “let go and back off” of something or a challenging thing each type needs to learn to embrace.
I’m sharing it here instead of with people I know irl as they’ll each think it’s about them personally, since I know their types and am always talking about this stuff 😂 but it’s not at all about any 1 human. It’s my personal data tracking at play. After 10 years of being a geek about Enneagram, using it at work and in social spaces, and knowing countless types of my friends and coworkers, my brain can’t help but notice and index some trends. My super power of pattern recognition shows up like this sometimes.
anyway, here’s the hard truths I’ve got to share today!
Type 1: your way isn’t the “right way.” In fact, your way may be dead wrong for others. Your experience isn’t universal and trying to impose it will drive others away. Let go and embrace imperfection and total ambiguity.
Type 2: offers to help are not always welcome or experienced as a gift. Sometimes it’s actually hurtful when you bring a “fixing” mentality. Plus, feeling resentment when your offers are declined is counterproductive to your goals. Let go and embrace a lack of control or “doing.”
Type 3: sometimes you WILL fail and look bad. We all are human. When you let your self perception dip due to the perspectives of others at your humanity, you seem so much smaller and less than you really are. Get comfy being a mess sometimes and stop looking so desperate to save face. Let go and embrace failure.
Type 4: you simply aren’t the center of other folks’ worlds, but that’s actually good news. Most of the time, what others say or do has nothing to do with you and thinking it does, results in more emotional suffering. Let go and embrace the gifts of insignificance and it being not about you.
Type 5: you simply can never know it all and you must accept this. Information brings comfort, but you have to accept that some things have absolutely no “answer” and they can’t be reasoned with or explained by logic. Let go and embrace the potential and beauty within ambiguity.
Type 6: you have everything you need within you to be safe and secure. Continuously turning towards others to find, build, and seek security is risky, like outsourcing your moral compass. You’ve got all you need. Let go and embrace self-assuredness.
Type 7: just feel the goddamn shitty feelings with us for a while. Fun is great but it’s not always possible. Sometimes life genuinely sucks and we need you to sit in that fact and stop trying to see a bright side. Your optimism is needed but not 100% of the time. Let go and embrace reading the room when others need you.
Type 8: take a deep breath, roll your shoulders back, and just chill for a second. Your independence is a super power but you don’t have to fight so hard all of the time and you CAN rest and lean on others. Let go and embrace softness.
Type 9: suck it up, steel your spine, gird your loins, and say the hard thing. Peacekeeping is noble but only when everyone’s needs are actually known. Extreme passivity is as toxic to relationships as aggression when it results in resentments. Let go and embrace self advocacy.
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hullo i’ve been hyperfixating on longlegs for weeks and im obsessed with your dale content!! my little gronkler i love him unabashedly
how do you think dale would be like with a gnc s/o? i know he used to be a glam rocker or smth so i think he’d kinda get it yk.
Gronkler is the perfect word for him. As not Nonbinary person, I'll do my best. Hopefully, this is what was wanted <3
Dale most definitely does not believe in gender roles, but I don't think he'd make a big deal out of it either. He's more like "oh cool" and he probably feels more at home expressing himself around someone who is androgynous. Might even start copying your looks or trying to get you to wear some of his. I know there are some Nonbinary folks that are masc and fem leaning, so he'd copy looks from both. Fem leaning, and he'd expect you to do his makeup too.
Give him pronouns you like to go by, and he'll be happy to oblige you. (Although when you tell him there's a 99% chance he'll already know because he's obsessed with you and needs to know everything about you). I can't see Dale ever misgendering anyone, once you tell him the pronouns he is locked tf in. Dale is the type to get angry on your behalf if someone misgenders you. He'll go out of his way to be a total passive aggressive bitch to them. Good or bad, it's just what he does.
His pet names for you wouldn't really change. He'd still mostly use "Angel" unless you were uncomfortable with it, whereas he still wouldn't fucking care. Otherwise depending on how comfortable with other gendered nicknames, he'd probably steer clear of them.
Be prepared for a lot of questions because I think he would be very interested in how you figured out you were Nonbinary. I think he would be interested in trying the waters himself or is just genuinely curious and enjoys listening to you. He probably would like to talk through the process to see if it matches up to his experiences and how he feels about wanting to be androgynous and his perspective of gender.
He's probably very proud of you for realizing and having the courage to come out (either to him or in general) proud and perhaps a little bit jealous that you're so secure in your identity. Even if you have moments where you feel vulnerable, you bounce back with a graceful ease that he is very jealous of. Even if he's helping you through some of it.
#im so unsure if this is good enough#holler at me if its trash pls. i like feedback#if its enjoyed pls forget i said anything lol#longlegs#longlegs x reader#ask#dale kobble#dale kobble x reader
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I've seen some discourse going on today with one of my other posts, so, very quickly:
The gif above is of David on the Chris Evans Breakfast Show yesterday, where Michael's name was brought up (of course) in reference to Staged. The screenshot beneath that is of a tweet from Anna the day after Michael appeared on Radcliffe and Maconie on BBC 6.
I've already talked about my thoughts on AL's tweet on this post, so I will try not to repeat what's been previously said. But to be clear, what is being compared between these things is not David's "Martin Sheen" comment vs. the one from the radio hosts. The comparison is between how David's and AL's comments on the same topic come across, especially from an optics perspective.
In both cases, the presenters are getting Michael's name wrong (Chris Evans deliberately; Radcliffe and Maconie seemingly by accident). David follows along with the joke that CE is making and adds to it, without it being at Michael's expense. You can see the sweet smile on his face and even hear how soft his voice gets and tell exactly where this comment is coming from/what he means by it.
With Anna's, we are looking at text instead of video, so right off the bat, I fully concede that this puts her at a disadvantage. In the case of Radcliffe/Maconie, the presenter clearly accidentally misspoke, so AL's tweet seems somewhat disproportionate in response. Michael also spent a good portion of his time on that radio show gushing to the hosts about what a huge fan of theirs he is, and how he plans to keep listening to their show. So it doesn't seem to make sense that he would be okay with Anna attacking people he admires on social media literally the day after he was on the show.
Michael is/will also soon again be employed by the BBC. Looking at it from that optics perspective, it comes across as very unprofessional for Anna to be passive-aggressively mouthing off at Michael's employer, because there are actual potential consequences that can come with that (although we would hope this wouldn't be the case). Am I saying that AL could actually harm Michael's reputation or job prospects? I'm genuinely not sure, but either way, why would she be okay with saying things online that would even have any chance of negatively affecting her own partner?
I would further add that it is not misogynistic to suggest someone should be accountable for the things they write online, or the potential consequences that come with it--whether that means costing Michael jobs, or straining his relationships with industry contacts, or just making him look bad. The only thing that is misogynistic is to say that being a woman means Anna can't be responsible for what she posts online. Because if she is going to be in this business and going for an acting career, then she has to be held to the same standards of professionalism as everyone else.
There are so many other things I could say, but I'm just going to urge folks to read the post I linked to above if you'd like to know more of my thoughts. Hopefully this clears things up...
#michael sheen#welsh seduction machine#david tennant#soft scottish hipster gigolo#also for the 500th time: Michael is not married and has never been married#so when you say 'his wife' i can't take anything else you are saying seriously#it just confuses me that people can be so intense about defending Michael's relationship#but not even know what that relationship is#holding someone accountable =/= misogyny#again if this was a one time thing i wouldn't even say anything#but what's the old saying: when someone shows you who they are believe them the first time#but i will leave it to my followers to make up their own minds#anna lundberg#relationships#discourse
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Marahuyo Project Eps 1 & 2 Stray Thoughts
I am so excited about this show! Anima Studios was behind Gaya sa Pelikula (Like in the Movies), and JP Habac is back directing. They even got Adrian Lindayag from The Boy Foretold by the Stars and Love Beneath the Stars, and they got Tommy Alejandrino from The Day I Loved You. I am so ready.
Episode 1 – Amihan
I do like opening with a quick queer history lesson reminding that much of our modern homophobic experience is a byproduct of imperialism.
Look at them!! I missed you, boys!
Hold on, I’m already ascending over these two giving each other the signal to kiss in front of the dean.
Homophobe down!
I wonder if we’ll see the macho dad later. I’m looking forward to the mom drama.
Not the fish going flying during a Crash Into You moment.
Points to grandma for knowing more terms, but you can’t just ask this boy that kinda stuff!
I think the actress playing the mom is Sue Prado, who also played Cairo’s mom in Gameboys.
Okay, I love his internal monologue and that he chides himself with feminine pronouns. Good shout out on that @lurkingshan
OOF. It’s missing my grandmothers hours.
Oh hey we’re gonna keep going with the spectrum. Very relieved to be outside of the bubble again.
Oh, I like the name Venice.
That reaction to the extended LGBTQIA+ was really elegant. Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in some of the internal politics, but folks away from major population centers are so isolated that the specific terminology is just not their priority, and they don’t get the updates.
Lovi Poe mentioned!! Everyone go watch Sleep With Me on GagaOOlala!!
I want you all to know that @yankeebastard and I call each other “sis” all the time. I’m having a great time.
Oh no they’re gonna throw my boy into the pool.
There it is.
You win this round, President Fish Boy.
Episode 2 – Dios Buhawi
Oh, that was too aggressive, King, but I feel you.
Yes! Call your friends! I was worried they’d be out of the picture after the expulsion.
Damn, it really be your own people dragging you. Juvy called out King’s crush so fast.
It’s really refreshing to watch a show wearing its politics on its sleeves.
I’m really intrigued by the way this show breaks the fourth wall. I’m going to have to think about what role we fill in King’s existence.
Okay, the gibberish bit was funny.
Lorena Gomez, are you family?
About to cry about this dress scene.
Lorena and Lili, are you two best friends in love with each other in an unexpressed way??
Yes, drag his ass. Shut the fuck up, Marco.
Venice suffering in the heat should not be this funny.
I am curious what “friendly recruiter” King looks like.
Yes, what is the tea on Archie?
I do love King. Reminds me of a boy who protected me when I was a refugee. I watched him fight four boys on a stairwell and win.
Crash Into You again??? And in front of everyone!
Now, Marco, what the fuck was that look?
Ino, you ain’t fooling me trying to suss out how much King likes you, or if he has a boyfriend back in Manila.
Ino, you ain’t gotta stand that close to King.
Interesting. I think Archie was warning Venice to hide after the dean showed up.
Thankfully the front of his mullet blends in with the background.
BESTIES, WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK! This is so good right out of the gate. I love that King is such a warrior. He’s not passive at all, and everyone clocks him so quickly. I’m so ready to see what Ino is going to do since he can’t help but flirt with King. I have big hopes for Lorena and Lili. It feels so good to be back in a well-produced show from the Philippines with a huge heart and a lot to say. I feel restored.
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They shippers stepped up their game. Now anyone who tries to discuss concerns about the incest with the big names, even no matter how calm and reasonable and Nonconfrontationally, is immediately accused of harassment, blocked, and targetted for smear campaigns and anon harassment. Also they’re still claiming the gore anons harsssing non-incest-shippers are anti-SolarNexus trying to ruin their reputation.
I see..
You know what, dear anon?
I don't fucking believe them. Those big names. I know how awful they can be and then they try to play the victim.
And honestly. I won't shut up if VAs will hire that stupid you-know-who as a writer..
I swear this shit is annoying as fuck.
They're spewing some bullshitting nonsense about Sun.
Because he abandoned Eclipse when in fact nothing like that happened. And it doesn't give an excuse for Eclipse to act like a bitch.
But I know why are they're writing it like that so they would seem good.. cause you know that they project themselves on Eclipse?
BUT NO ONE FUCKING CARES!!
They had pain looking at my takes on Sun and I was the problem.
But when these folks spew some bullshit no one cares..
I'm not sure if I should be trying to push this topic so maybe someday someone would see that.. and by that I mean Davis.. cause he has an account here..
But I have serious mental issues and I'm sure that if I tried to oppose them just like I previously did.. they're actions will definitely trigger my paranoia and delusions.. and I may spiral once again..
But at the same time.. seeing such a bullshit that shouldn't have any place keeps happening.. it makes my blood boil.. this hypocrisy.. these cliques.. all of this disgusts me..
SHIP WHOEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT BUT DON'T SAY THAT INCEST ISN'T INCEST. DON'T ACT LIKE YOU'RE A'OKAY PERSON WHO ISN'T IN THE WRONG "CAUSE I DON'T SHIP INCEST" WHEN YOU FUCKING DO. YOU SHIP INCEST SO STOP PRETENDING YOU DON'T. IF YOU JUST STOP ACTING LIKE HOLIER THAN THOU MAYBE PEOPLE WILL LEAVE YOU ALONE.
Ofc I don't condone harassment.. but no one would brought up the topic of solarmoon being incest if they just stopped lying..
You know what? Maybe it's selfish of me to say that but I don't want Davis to hire that person also because no one batted an eye when TS, DCTCB and one of the mods (K) were awful towards me. This is also the reason why I dislike another mod (M who makes thumbnails) because they're friends with TS and DCTCB and they never told them anything because apparently I was the problem. And also this stupid thumbnail artist (D).. why the fuck he had to be so passive aggressive towards me as if he tried to tell me something but he had to beat around the bush.. which made my paranoia and delusions worse (he was also wrong about Sun but that's beside the point)..
Ughhhh but ofc Davis had to say that maybe something good will happen to that person.. which may or may not imply that they agree to that damn offer. I am mad.
For me they don't understand characters as much as those mfs say. Though well.. Davis said he likes those analysises.. so it's probably jover 🙄
Yes someone could say that if VAs like them then it's okay and all that.
But it's not okay actually. Because they try to shift the blame on Sun who was also a victim of Eclipse not the other way around, mind you. Because poor Eclipse poo poo who people can talk about constantly and can project themselves on him constantly on Discord and no one gives a damn..
But when I'm comparing my mental struggles with Sun's then it's projection and I should shut up and why I constantly talk about Sun..
This is so fucking annoying..
You know what.. I wish that Davis would say himself that I'm the problem because then I would know that he's just like those TS, DCTCB and their friends.. or that he just believed in this utter bullshitic lies those spread about me..
And now I'm just fucking stuck in assumptions and trying to don't think negatively.. that maybe Davis isn't biased because someone is a friend of someone who he's friends with.. and I'm trying to think positively that VAs just don't know whole truth because they don't have the time to read some stupid crap on Tumblr.. but it's tiring.. especially if you're paranoid and delusional..
I want to enjoy these shows.. but if they're hire A.. then idk.. I'm afraid that it would make the writing for shows worse.. not because they can't write.. but because they don't understand characters.. and what's important for me the most they don't understand Sun..
But hey.. maybe VAs will use their help only for some small stuff.. and A won't write anything actually..
I hope so. That if VAs will hire A they won't be a part of writing team.. but maybe they'll help with minor stuff.
Maybe I'm just too stupid and too optimistic and I have too much hope in VAs.. but idk.. maybe I'm just fucking dumb.. or maybe I'm actually the problem..
I won't use main tags for show cause I'm too afraid that I'll receive harassment.
Some of the things I said here are just me being paranoid.. so please forgive me and don't take it as me thinking that VAs are horrible.. I'm just afraid that they're actually laughing at me behind my back and such..
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omg I want to know, how were the Napoleon Queer Wars of 2014 like?? 😬
oh lord lol
It's been almost ten years and I still get weird YIKES reaction in my skin when I think about it, or when people in the current Napoleonic corner act a bit like the people from back then. Which is a me issue, and not anyone else's problem. But it is why I don't really engage with anyone from the Napoleonic side of tumblr anymore - too many bad memories and bad taste in my mouth.
Essentially, someone posted the (in)famous Cronin quote re: Napoleon telling Coulaincourt about the Feelings He Gets When Looking At Someone Handsome Friend Shaped. They speculated about queer* implications of this.
--
*necessary disclaimer about modern concepts of sexuality not being applicable to the past yadda yadda yadda. I'm using short hand here, folks. No one needs to jump down my throat.
--
A bunch of the Very Serious History Blogs(tm) came down hard on them being like "you're a fool, absolutely not, Napoleon was Straight(tm)". Someone else replied being like "Well what about That Letter from N to Josie concerning a Certain Tsar of Russia?"
I forget how That Letter was explained away, but it was.
Some name calling nonsense and really aggresive replies where bandied back and forth. People were passive aggresive and mean. People ignored each other then wrote vagueing posts about it. The usual damned foolishness you would expect.
Then someone else referenced that one book whose whole thesis is basically Napoleon was Probably Bi. The book, I will say, isn't great. I'd never recommend it. But it was floating around in the 2014/15 world of Napoleonic Tumblr.
And oh man was the person who suggested it torn to shreds. Eviscerated. It was like watching a train wreck and the by standers decided to lock the doors of the train and not let the passengers off while everything burned.
There were weird spin-off dramas from this nonsense where people got into whether or not being interested in Napoleon made you a war crime sympathizer. (Some things never change on this webbed site.) Messy, messy. Also, utterly dumb.
Anyway - it ended up weirdly boiling down to two sides: Are You A Serious Historian/Take History Seriously(tm) Therefore Anti-Napoleon Possibly Being Something Like Queer Even If Never Acted On versus People Having Fun(tm) on the Internet Who Now Have Their Backs Up and Are Responding Perhaps Unwisely.
There was a third party, which I was part of at that time** (no longer, since I left academia), which was the "We Do Real History As A Day Job, Because We Are In Academia, but Lol Like Hell Would I Think to do Serious History on the Blue Hell Site. I'm Present for Shits and Giggles and Idle Speculation and Chats. Nothing Here is Serious. Everyone Needs To Calm Down and Take Themselves Way Less Seriously." We were a small contingent, to say the least.
--
**this is not to say I didn't walk away with egg on my face. Because I did. My comportment wasn't great and it's something I've been trying to be better about ever since.
It's not a time I think anyone save like four Napoleonic-interested blogs can look back on without blame.
--
But yeah - it was a real bad time on here. People were called names and cruel, cruel messages were sent to various and sundry by various and sundry. People deactivated over it. Friendships were literally torched because of it. There was a lot of issues with: "What Is Tone When Jumping On Someone's Post?? We don't know how to gauge it! Are you being mean? Are you being helpful? Who knows!! But you sounded aggresive in your add on and so I had better respond aggressively as well."
All because some people took themselves too seriously and because other people were stupidly mean about something dumb.
If I sometimes come in really strong with five million disclaimers in my napoleon asks/responses, even just the silly, purely speculative ones that no one sensible expects Real Serious History to result from - questions that clearly fall into the camp of shit a friend would ask you at the bar after four pints - things like: "was he queer? do you think he had add/adhd? what do you speculate were mental health issues he may have had?" etc. it's because of this year/year-and-a-half shit show. (And my disclaimers don't always serve their purpose because this is, after all, the Piss on the Poor website and people lack attention to detail when reading. [That said, I'm just as guilty of it as well, so can't point too many fingers.])
anyway, the long and short is that MAN people were very anti-any idea that there might have been an iota of what we would term queerness in Napoleon. And MAN no one can be normal on this site about anything so of course there was unnecessary drama and hurt feelings and bitterness.
May we never repeat this stupid time.
#it's why blocking liberally is your friend!!#No one did that back then and it would have saved a lot of heart ache#napoleon#napoleon bonaparte#napoleonic#ask#reply#anon#the Great Napoleon Queer War of 2014
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Hello!
I'm looking for a section of the lunchroom tape (from the Get Back sessions) where John says something to Paul along the lines of "I mean, you've only recently realised what you were doing to me". Does that ring any bells?
You seem to know your way around amoralto's archives, and I'm not having any luck searching there :)
Thanks!
Hi, @i-am-the-oyster (love the name, by the way)!
I think you might be referring to this section of the Lunchroom Tape:
JOHN: And it’s just that, you know. It’s only this year that you’ve suddenly realised, like who I am, or who he is, or anything like that.
I find this bit of the conversation particularly impenetrable; and all the more fascinating because of it. It's here that we have this famed exchange (whose full meaning still eludes me):
JOHN: Because you – ’cause you’ve suddenly got it all, you see. PAUL: Mm. JOHN: I know that, because of the way I am, like when we were in Mendips, like I said, “Do you like me?” or whatever it is. I’ve always – uh, played that one. PAUL: [laughs nervously] Yes. JOHN: So. PAUL: Uh, I’d been watching, I’d been watching. I’d been watching the picture. YOKO: Go back to George. What are we going to do about George?
I encourage folks to go listen to the full audio and transcript and try their hand at decoding it!
I don't know if it's accessible on the mobile app, but @amoralto has a separate page with links to all the Get Back excerpts, listed in chronological order. It's a pretty neat resource if you want to just binge through interesting little snippets from these sessions (some that made it onto the documentary, and many that didn't).
To those curious about the Lunchroom Tape in particular, here's a (play)list of all the transcribed excerpts, with @amoralto's descriptions for context:
We Have Egos
Over lunch, the remaining Beatles touch on George’s resignation from the band on the 10th, as well as a group meeting held the previous day which ended in less than desirable circumstances (with George leaving the room, frustrated by John’s persistently Yoko-filtered standard of communication). While Yoko contends that it would be easy for John (and Paul) to regain George’s favour, John points out that this is a more deeply-rooted issue than it may seem, compounded over the years by John and Paul’s treatment of George and his defaulted status within the group. Upon this problem of overriding egos, however, Paul suggests (passive-aggressively) that it isn’t just the Lennon-and-McCartney tandem that is causing George upset and consternation.
Jealousy For You
As the problem of George’s current resignation from the band is discussed, John makes it about him and Paul wonders what it’s all worth.
The Way We All Feel Guilty About Our Relationship To Each Other
John contends with how the force of his partnership with Paul and his relationship with Yoko has negatively affected George and perhaps directly contributed to George’s walkout on the group three days prior.
Cabbage
During a discussion on how the rest of the group should move forward after George’s departure on the 10th, John wonders if they should get George back at all, suggesting his role as a Beatle is replaceable (unlike his own or Paul’s), and likens this unkindly to how Ringo first replaced Pete Best. Paul notes that John has been the top buck in getting himself heard (and getting his way) since the inception of the group (which John protests) and quickly reassures Ringo when he wryly declares himself to be little more than rabbit food for the group. Paul admits that both he and John have done one over on George, albeit unconsciously as an effect of the competition and unaware of how it may have hurt George in the process, but John argues that he’s known since early childhood how manipulative he himself can be, and has tried to curb it to little avail.
What You Are
In the middle of a personal discussion with John and Ringo about the band, its tenuous future, and their relationships with one another, Paul (in response to John’s admission of insecurity in the face of external pressures from the public and media to perform) is emphatic about his faith in them and their abilities and contends that whatever interpersonal problems they have can be resolved, for what their music is worth.
Working At A Relationship
While Yoko and Paul conduct their own conversation with each other, Linda talks to John about the inevitable difficulties any relationship faces - even in the context of a musical partnership - and why it doesn’t prove the relationship itself is an expired one. John (inexplicably or not) laments that the White Album doesn’t sound like the genuine, inspired band collaboration they achieved in the past.
You've Got To Blame Yourself
As Paul encourages an unconfident Ringo to go ahead with his plans to record a solo LP, John hedgingly brings up his own apprehensions about following his instincts (especially when he’s not even sure what he really wants to do). In their inimitable and emotionally non-committal fashion, John and Paul engage in metaphors about intentions, conveying these intentions in actions, and how these actions may be conveyed by those who see it. (Basically: what John and Paul talk about when they talk about love.)
How Much More Have I Done Towards Helping You Write?
John and Paul have an obfuscating conversation about their songwriting partnership and creative process, which has been incapacitated by a lack of direction, misplaced (misread) intentions, and the unmet (unrealised) expectations they’ve inflicted upon each other. (In other words: issues. And some projecting of issues onto George, for good measure.)
What We're All About
In the midst of a personal discussion about working together within the band, John tries to explain the disconnect in their process, and why he can’t envision their songs the way Paul can. As both John and Paul circle around the issues of honest communication and (living up to) each other’s expectations, they eventually project onto George bring George into the quandary of the Lennon-McCartney partnership.
#(thanks for the ask; it has made me go back and listen to the whole lunchroom tape!)#asks me why#Get Back sessions#The Beatles#John Lennon#Paul McCartney#George Harrison#Ringo Starr#Yoko#Linda#Mal Evans#the person I actually picked as my partner#my stuff
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:( you guys are so passive aggressive sometimes :( some of us are new here and i was excited about the parent trap vibes but then you shot down that other user and i was scared to ask about any other references. i've checked your archive and scrolled a fair way to get the jist but theres lotssss of content on your blog so i couldnt check all of it to see what has or hasnt been mentioned and not all is addressed in the faq cos its such a huge world youve built for the this fic. maybe the fic length is overwhelming and audience response prickly sometimes, but if you do an ongoing fic like this you surely have to expect newcomers who don't know everything about what's happened in the past? if folk ask questions that appear rude you dont have to be rude back. i mean, ofc you can, but why would you want to be those people :(
honestly and truly we just match the vibes of the ask for the most part. i am autistic so i already struggle with tone and interpreting tone over text is hard enough without that. we are also both pretty sensitive people so if we perceive that someone is poking fun or being mean we will get defensive. we are human! it happens! i’d say for the most part we try to answer asks kindly, and we consistently get and answer asks where the answer is easily found in our faq or our pinned post without much complaint. but please understand that it is just as big of an undertaking writing this fic and running this blog as it is to go through all the content we’ve posted, and we get dozens of asks that you do not see — asks that are rude and entitled and disrespectful. i value kindness, but if i think that someone i Do Not Know is being mean or disrespectful, i am not going to respond with kindness, and like i said, it is extremely difficult to pick apart tone in text format. i appreciate you bringing it to our attention, and our intention is to never be mean or scare you away from asking a question, but i hope this offered some clarity on our end as well!
#asks#perhaps tone indicators would be useful#and maybe an updated faq idk#eta we have also been doing this for a year now so i do think we are a little jaded lol
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How strong is his Mars?- Erwin Rommel
This is a episode 3 of my series on the Wehrmacht- “How strong is his Mars?” to test a theory in Astrology community- you’ve got to have a strong Mars to be competent in the military.
Let’s see how Rommel fares.
It is a very artistic-minded chart, and because of that, he's a beautiful mess. Let’s get Rommel’s Mars out of the way first, because the whirlwind of sparks and troubles appears with his Mercury.
Mars is in detriment under Libra. Libras are known to be peacemakers, hence this sign clashes HARD with Mars’ nature; the net result is that its natives are very passive-aggressive—our Fox wants to fight his colleagues, but not really. This Mars likes to prove itself right among peers, spends too much energy on what path is the right path, where consequences should matter most.
It is either a score 3 lousy Mars or 10/10 best thing ever; this Mars is very difficult to rate. It receives beneficial influences from the Neptune-Pluto aspect, but the influence is softer compared to Walter Model’s. A Libra Mars seeks inner balance from fundamentally imbalance strong forward thrusts. Libra Mars are not peace-loving folks.
Rommel’s Mars placement is in his 8th house, this HOUSE OF DEATH AND SEX doesn’t mitigate anything at all. He may act almost suicidal on the field, but in truth, his Mars seeks unattainable balances like living through death while not really dying, and love in enemies while this love is not possible.
Manstein’s Sun opposite Neptune may blow his self-evaluations out of proportions, but when Mercury opposite Neptune, our little fox is quite good at finding rhetorics to lie to himself, in short, a master rationalizer.
True, Neptune endows magical touches for these generals, but I would choose Model’s Neptune sextile Mars over Rommel’s Neptune opposite Mercury.
Because this Mercury is a Russian roulette with a huge lottery prize attached to it— Rommel’s mind could rationalize situations in such awesome way that dumbfounds his colleagues. When his rationalization works, his enemy just fucks off and never recovers from his attacks. But maybe 1/3 of a time it is his rationalization for the sake of it and thus he’s bullshitting himself. Thankfully a well-aspected Saturn somewhat tone down the bullshit part of it.
It is very hard to tell how his Venus influences his Mercury in terms of military prowess, but Venus-Mercury conjunct natives are IG models, very eager to appear pretty. Rommel has a tendency to regard his operations as his artistic handiwork and likes to take souvenirs from them.
Yeah, that one in the middle is Rommel (circa 1912)
and yeah, that is pretty. I don't know what to tell you.
Astrologers hold the opinion that Venus-Mercury native are generally refined and well-mannered, on the ground that these natives love art; but historians comment that Rommel took advice very roughly, and would rather go straight to Hitler for what he wanted. Rommel’s Venus is not that hard to understand, like—NO ARTIST ON TUMBLR LIKES TO TAKE UNWARRANTED ART ADVICE FROM RANDOS.
Diametrically different from Model, who is a war-realist, Rommel is a war-artist. Shove him under Gerd Von Rundstedt, he would under-perform; but give him a Bernard Montgomery, he does that immensely lovely and mesmerizing dance upon the ocean of sand. Much like an artist, Rommel’s performance depends on what enemy he gets. Around 1944, Von Rundstedt justifiably complained that Rommel is perpetually stuck in the mindset of a small commander and never really “grows up” to be a general.
Rommel is either too overrated or wildly underrated; modern historians support the idea that the British had their own post-war agenda to prop up a German Virgin Mary of some sort, so Rommel’s good image was an exaggeration.
Well, Manstein could bluff here and there with his Lost Victory, and Liddell Hart bluffs with him, but Erich’s accomplishments (and blunders) are still visible. The problem with Rommel is that you simply can’t rate an artwork.
Rommel heavily relies on this Mercury for artistic expression; a Sagittarius Mercury is fanciful and likes to touch every little gadget under the sun, gets distracted by mechanical toys easily. Rommel would probably get a broken cattle equipment from a nomad goat herder at the desert, then tries to figure out if this piece of garbage could stop tanks.
But an oppositional Pluto would make this Mercury too suspicious, secretive and sensitive. His commanders would hear him clinking-clunking away with garbage in his tent, but Rommel wouldn’t tell them what the hell this is- he certainly doesn’t like to be told “but marshal, we don’t have time for garbage.”
In conclusion, instead of worshiping the God of War for masculine killing power, our little hot-headed desert fox prayed to the fairy godmother—and it turned out well. His power lies in beauty, and he is truly, immensely powerful.
#wwii germany#3rd reich#wwii#erwin rommel#desert fox#heer#astrology community#astrology#horoscope#astro observations#astro notes#astrology chart#feldmarschall#mercury#mars#how strong is his mars#Wehrmacht#wehrmachtblr
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About the white asshole line: it's not as left field as people think tbh There's a similar line in the first AW game from Alice (in the DLC, Wake's version of her since it's all in his head). She uses the term 'while male melodrama'. This is literally Wake's own mind so he knows a lot of stuff he put her through was from a perspective of a person who has a lot of advantages. Back to Saga, that line aligns with the racism we are hinted she dealt with in her field and STILL deals with in present day. Mulligan and Thornton are racist af (haven't seen anyone discuss this yet) to her even if they seem pleasant at the start of the game. Not entirely either, when Saga and Casey meet Mulligan he automatically assumed Casey is the lead agent. He apologizes about it but there's an air that neither him or Thorton take Saga seriously. They barely speak directly to her and instead more to Casey unless she directly speaks to either. It's that seemingly benign, passive racism that is more toxic sometimes, especially in a work environment. In her face they show some surface level, thinly veiled respect but behind her back they called her a 'stuck up FBI bitch'. Part of the horror story adds she let her daughter drown so they doubt her work entirely. And concerning the Bookers, there's this passive aggressive comment where Thorton says the case of the murder of Nightingale would've been solved if the FBI wasn't involved. Thorton says something like "they stick with their own". Now, this could be seen as city folk stick with their own but the Bookers are black, this was purposeful imo. I honestly liked how Remedy incorporated this in such a realistic way. Some could dispute this and say "that's circumstantial/reaching" but lets not forget both Mulligan and Thorton are literally the bastard law enforcement type that kills are the drop of a pin. They killed that woman while enthralled with this feeling of power (referencing the page about it) and threw her body in the well to hide it, blaming the death on each other at first before they decide it's neither of their faults and hide the evidence. They become taken being so twisted in their dark ways. They are bad guys, I'd argue misogynistic too. And lets add a layer of actual parallels to rl racism to the mix here now. If she dealt with that in Bright Falls on her first day I can only imagine the assholes she had to deal with climbing her way up in the FBI, in life in general. This is why her mother is a strong foundation, they are not only close because they loved each other but she made sure she'd be strong. Parents who have mixed kids (black kids especially) know what they will deal with. Maybe even a meta thing like Spiderverse, adding the backlash into the story. Which she did and still does get from gamerz (tm). People STILL bring up that "race swap" from the Quantum Break trailer which is honestly just early concept stuff. Saga is written so well and carefully that even her problems outside the pace of the story seems to have been considered. So while it does seem random and may make people uncomfortable it's purposeful. Remedy really captured this aspect with Saga without making it her personality or the core part of her (like she just there for black trauma, so glad they did not do that and made her a character with experiences). Let's not forget Saga's field of work. We know it's predominantly white. Her saying 'another white asshole' says more about her experiences than anything else. And being at her lowest where her insecurities, doubts, fears thrive it says something about her agency and how sometimes it can feel taken from her based on her skin tone, gender, so forth. Sorry for the long ask! It's just, this line definitely does not feel like it's random to me. I was just shocked I heard it but the game lays down the ground work for it to be said. It's as subtle as the worst kind of racism though imo
I'm VERY interested by imagined!Alice's line because while we don't know if she actually feels that way, we see Alan can acknowledge that he KNOWS how lucky he is by virtue of being a white man, it might not be something he thinks about daily, but he's admitting he's aware of it.
You're right in regards to what Saga deals with in her work environment and most likely her daily life. It sucked for me that Mulligan and Thorton ended up being racist, misogynistic assholes because they truly just seemed like the goofy, slightly dimwitted small-town cops. I think maybe because I haven't actually played the game yet (shame on me, I know! I just managed to get it last month and haven't had the time to dedicate to it like I want) that I kind of brushed Mulligan and Thorton's behavior towards Saga off until we learned their true nature.
But we see how they're more comfortable deferring to Casey over Saga, and we can even see that Casey is NOT the least bit pleased with it. Saga clearly picks up on it, and it's one of the reasons she chooses to leave them with Casey. She can handle the Bookers easier, because yes, they ARE black, she KNOWS they're going to open up to her far easier than if it had been Casey. Do we get reflections of their shared experiences? Not really, but the Bookers weren't going to trust the FBI regardless, Saga being a black woman lowered their defenses a little.
You can argue that she was better suited for talking to the witnesses because it's just her personality, Casey was dry and sarcastic from jump while Saga was the opposite. But did the Bookers know that? Absolutely not. They were less cautious with Saga, Ed especially. They weren't hiding anything to be malicious, they just wanted their own things to be successful.
Hearing Mulligan and Thorton's true thoughts about Saga really tore me up. Not even so much at the fact they felt that way, but because they didn't have the guts to say it to her face. You don't hear that venom directed towards Casey at all, even though he's the EXACT same stuck-up government agent who's worse to them than Saga.
But it's what black people tend to see when dealing with the police force. Condescending, impatient, better-than, bitter, power-hungry and drunk on their self-importance and position of authority. There's a REASON they were made Taken when the Koskela brothers couldn't, but that's really neither here nor there.
Seeing what she had to deal with in Bright Falls from two guys that were SUPPOSED to be on her side and help her is very telling and it made me even more interested in her backstory. How many people actually believed in her when she joined the FBI? Who dismissed her out of pocket simply because of the color of her skin and her gender? You can even get a hint of her past simply by her questioning Casey on why he wants her to be the lead on the case instead of jumping in straight away.
And that's to her PARTNER, a man she’s known and trusted for years, who clearly never had a problem with her being a black woman, or there's no way in hell they'd have the kind of relationship that they do.
Freya being such a strong influence for Saga was evident in her card to her daughter. She knew the struggles Saga was going to face by going after what she wanted to do and never discouraged her. I'll always be bummed over Freya lying to Saga about her being a Seer though. I know it was to try and protect her from even more shit she didn't deserve to go through over something she had no control over. But it almost felt like a vote of no-confidence. And there's no feeling in the world like thinking your mother might not believe in you.
I'm still VERY annoyed at ANYBODY bringing up the "Return" concept from Quantum Break JUST to say Saga was race-swaped when almost NOTHING from that teaser made it to the main game proper. Sam and the team took all of that and flipped it on its head. That was clear the second FBI Alex Casey stepped into the background instead of being in the lead.
I love the fact we don't get the "another white asshole telling me what to do" until the end of the game, and it's when Saga is at her lowest point, when the Dark Presence is trying to do its best to break her down. But like I tend to bring up, Alan says it can't create something out of nothing. Meaning those doubts and resentment were there for a LONG time, and it VERY easily could have been her entire personality.
The fact that it wasn't showed how much thought Remedy put into creating Saga and I appreciate it so much. She wasn't her trauma, she wasn't her anger, she was the exact OPPOSITE of that. She faced her problems with determination and PUNS! Even when shitty things were going on, her mind wandered to humor "More like "Underwatery" I'll have to tell Casey that one later." Speaks volumes about her character.
I think that's one of the reasons she fought SO hard against the horror story. OBVIOUSLY her main motivation was saving Logan, and then Casey. But she wasn't about to let her agency be taken from her like she's been fighting against it for years. She was the one that was going to be in control, she was going to tell this story, and Alan himself (some of that as him being the face of the Dark Presence for her) "no, fuck you. Another white asshole is NOT going to tell me how to live MY life. You're not using my doubts and fears against me to take my family from me"
And she did it, she did what the white man couldn't do on his own in 13 years. How am I NOT supposed to root for her? How could I NOT want to know more about her history? There's no way I can look at Saga Anderson and go, well her story is done, there's nothing else to be written for her. As I said, I do love FBI Casey, but he's practically a blank slate compared to Saga, I could live without him because, for me, outside of his personality (I'm also grumpy and sarcastic), I cannot relate to him.
Despite not being a wife and mother in the FBI, I CAN relate to Saga. I can understand her struggles and pain. I feel her love for her family, I can relate to her love and disappointment towards her mother. The struggle of being a black woman in a world that still caters to white men and the pushback she gets just from existing. I understand her in a way I never could with Alan Wake. I understood and related to his issues as a writer struggling with inspiration. But the thing with that is Alan didn't HAVE to struggle like that, he could have chosen, at any time, to stop being a writer and do something else.
Saga couldn't choose to change the color of her skin. Her challenges would be with her simply because of how she's perceived at first glance. She'll never have the advantages of Alan and Casey in that regard.
I'm sorry for the long answer! But I LOVED your ask, and that's why it took me a hot minute to answer it. I had to get my thoughts in order and give this the response I felt like it deserved. So thank you for letting me see your thoughts towards Saga! ❤️
#alan wake 2#saga anderson#alex casey#alan wake#ask#meta#my thoughts#racism#hard pills to swallow#strong black woman#a somewhat bland white man#Saga was the hero we deserved and got#Sam and Remedy truly showed they cared about Saga and I love that#Saga was not the product of her past#she rose above it all and faced it with cheer and grace#not everybody can do that and actually pull it off#she didn't try to “fake it til you make it”#Alan was the one doing that when you think about it#Saga was his foil in almost every single way and it WORKED#and she still managed to be her own amazing fully-fledged character in her own right#I haven't connected to a character like that in actual decades#Saga Anderson deserves everything good#i would go to war for her#I love her so much#alan wake 2 spoilers
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