#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

[redflannelsheets]

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[winxanity-ii]

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓: 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Sorry, not an update, but I'll try to keep this short...

I just wanted to take a second to speak directly and honestly with y'all after posting that last chapter (CHAPTER 42.5: WRATH WEARS MANY FACES). I've been seeing a few responses that, while valid in feeling, have also reminded me why I normally don't look at comments after publishing something heavy.

Let me be clear: I know this chapter was a lot. It was violent. It was cruel. It was painful. That was intentional.

This isn't fluff. This isn't comfort every chapter. This is a mythos-based story, rooted in ancient violence, power imbalance, and divine wrath.

I'm not here writing gore for fun or romanticizing harm—but I am writing a story where gods and mortals alike are capable of monstrous things, especially when they feel justified.

Chapter 42.5 was especially meant to remind you who Apollo, Hermes, and Telemachus really are—how close they sit to the divine cruelty of Olympus. I love them, yes. They're soft to MC, yes. But they are not soft to the world and those they deem unimportant/useless. That contrast is what makes their tenderness meaningful.

And I've hidden Hermes' darker side behind jokes long enough. Some of y'all forgot he's a god, and a trickster, and someone with centuries of blood under his belt. There's nothing squeaky clean about him.

If the chapter bothered you—I understand. It's not meant to sit easy. And for those of you who felt empathy for Melanion, or said this felt too much... I respect your reactions. Seriously. You're allowed to feel conflicted. That's what good storytelling should do.

But what isn't okay is the passive-aggressive commentary about my choices as a writer. I've been transparent from the beginning: this fic isn't some wholesome, "MC gets babied 24/7" kind of tale. It's a dark, myth-heavy journey with stakes and consequences. You don't get a kiss in Chapter 2 here. You had to wait because the world I'm building doesn't hand out softness that easily.

And I can't help but find it a bit hypocritical how some folks cheer for Andreia to die, but pity the man who murdered MC in cold blood. Y'all got mad at her for emotional cruelty, but want grace for someone who left them bleeding in an alley? We must not have grown up reading the same myths lol.

I'm not saying you can't critique or feel strongly. You're welcome to disagree. To feel things deeply. That's human. But don't twist the space/story I've created into something it was never meant to be. This isn't an Epic Musical fluff AU (hence the note of not needing to actually know about it). This is Olympus. This is blood-soaked marble. This is war, consequence, and love wrapped in power dynamics. I've made that plenty clear with me writing out the suitors carnage in chapter 6 instead of summarizing it.

And I say this with love but also honesty: if my content, tone, or direction rubs you the wrong way, it's okay to step away. Truly. I'll never beg anyone to read something outside their comfort zone.

Also—and this might be petty but I'm adding it here anyway—I'm even more annoyed because I had to spoil a big MC-related moment to my own sister. 😭

We promised to treat each other as authors, only editing each other's chapters once we’d both read them fully. That was the deal. But she noticed I was acting off and pushed me about it—kept asking what was wrong and finally told me to just rant before it ate me alive. So I did.

And man, I'm a damn blabbermouth because once I started venting, it all spilled out. Do you know how hard it was keeping a main plot twist from her? Only to have to reveal it because sister issues come first?? 😭💀

But yeah, back to being serious, this is my second serious fic, one where I'm trying to do something I can look back on and be like 'Xani, you ate that up fr.' And if that means I have to block people who threaten the joy or safety of my creative space?

Then so be it—rejection sensitivity or not.

That being said, I'm taking a real break from updating. I know I said I was taking a break after the last chapter, but the truth is, I was just trying to pace myself and stay ahead without losing momentum...but now I mean it—for real. I think I need an actual one to cool off and not spiral.

And yeah... maybe this rant feels a little intense or childish to some of y'all, but I needed to say it or I was just gonna end up doing something impulsive that I'd end up regretting later.

To those of you who do get it, who read carefully and trust the process—thank you. Deeply.

I'll see y'all soon 🖤

—Xani

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

[punksocks]

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!

[photo1030]

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.

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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.” 

————————---------------------------------------

*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. 

[pukaparade]

My Experience Working as an Artist at Santae

Just want to start off by saying that this is simply my personal experience and that anything following the cut is simply my own opinion based off of that personal experience. Readers are encouraged to please employ their own critical thinking and taking many grains of salt when reading another person's experience, mine included. Anyway, my feelings and experiences following the cut.

To start off when I applied to Santae I was really excited to be a part of the project. It's a project that has a lot of promise and it seemed to set itself apart from other petsites I've played in the past. I was really eager to try and be a part of it and participate in the growth of the site and community.

When I joined the server I received the typical greeting - CJ pings everyone to welcome new staff not unlike a welcoming party. It was a bit overwhelming but seemed well-meaning.

There were a lot of little red flags that sprouted up after my joining that I ignored or tamped down writing them off as caused by stress or seeing them as things that could be grown from. (Badmouthing past management, poor communication, etc..)

I can't and won't go into massive detail about everything that put me off and drove me to finally split ways because it would be splitting hairs after a certain point and I also just don't have the time, energy, or care to go through things with such a meticulousness. This post is mostly to warn others who may be thinking of applying what to expect and to cast a little transparency on the work environment. There are a lot of allegations going around and understandably a lot of people are afraid to speak up. I've already quit so that can no longer be held over my head (but we'll come back to this) and the worst that will happen is I'll become a social pariah on the site, or my account will be banned. (Kind of expecting this, so if Kasper #2468 gets iced just know it wasn't by my own hand lmfao. If my KS backing and SC earned by commission get nuked in retaliation ig it's a consequence I'm willing to accept.)

To the friends I've made on the team and the folks that reached out after I quit and removed from the server - I'm glad we met. And thank you to the former coworker who offered to post my goodbye for me after reaching out to me in DM (I declined because I didn't want anyone being ~ tainted~ by association lol) I was in the middle of typing a goodbye when I was unceremoniously removed from the server. When I joined staff got to say goodbye and some even hung around for weeks after parting ways, but since Sky was removed without being able to say goodbye it seems like being instantly deleted might just be the new standard. Not to mention the other artist who was just removed overnight without even a comment. To everyone else, I kind of assumed our camaraderie was as fickle and transient as my time on the team and wasn't surprised to be proven right. I'm sure it doesn't help that (in my experience) CJ has a habit of hopping into VC to badmouth anyone who doesn't align with his vision.

Anyway this is super disjointed already. Let's get onto some specifics.

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"You didn't even need reply ^_^"

I mentioned that the pings were stressful because we had already received multiple about this 'game' and it was getting stressful. When I mentioned that, I got a passive aggressive dm and followup about it afterwards. I will also note that a coworker added an agreeing 'react' to my post about the pings which cj then. removed. lol. I did not reply to the message bc by now I was tired of the manipulation games.

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Commission Discomfort

I held off confronting about this for a long time because I feel that CJ does not take confrontation well and didn't want to make things worse for myself of others but by the end I was nearing my limit and needed to enforce a firm boundary.

I did some graphics work under the expectation that I'd be getting a divine figurine for it and had to follow up multiple times as usual, at which point CJ tried to pin it on a fellow artist coworker 'making him uncomfortable'. This is a common trend with poor communication on the team.

"management" would prefer that staff not commission site artists. This just always rubbed me wrong, especially after the, in my opinion, territorial behavior over me doing commissions. I also dmed some coworkers about it since he said he'd 'tell all the other artists' but no one else had gotten any similar messages from him.

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Streaming in Server

When I started it was pretty casual for art staff to stream site work or personal work in the vc. I stopped streaming personal things after the first uncomfortable dm I got when working on an offsite comm and stuck to santae only work from then on. I don't have a screenshot of my own that I can use for this unfortunately but cj sent a message saying

"Hey @ artist @ lead artist @ lead clothing artist I would like to stop streaming art in the staff voice chat channel as technically the behind the scenes is for BMaC so it's just a gray area, however I would love if you all still wanted to stream but would like you all to stream via our Twitch platform or TikTok

Login credentials will be provided as well.

This is a perfect time to stream with the referral contest live it would be very beneficial I believe.

If you would like to stream please reach out to me, There will be SC pay for streaming, 5sc per hour with a max of 4 hours per day and max of 10 hours per week per artist :dravalove: your normal pay rates also apply this is just additional :heart:"

When the most recent artist to stream asked about back-pay for the stream done for the site the response was a gif of an empty wallet and a crying shimmerint emoji. These messages were later deleted.

further commentary as follows -

The only reason anyone noticed he deleted his messages was because in voicechat when other staff were asking why we don't steam anymore he said 'oh I deleted that' and then said that we can stream again in vc. This was followed the day after that vc by the following

CJ not only shared images to the BMaC in my time, but also would take the images directly from the art approvals channel and drop them into the staff vc anyway to show them off to whoever was around. Frankly this felt like shit every single time and felt like he just wanted the dopamine hit of people complimenting the art. Rarely were we credited during the fawning, too.

A fellow staff reached out to ask why I wasn't around as much, this staff member was in the same vc where he said it was ok again. CJ in my opinion likes to say things one way publicly but then if there's an issue he'll take it to dms or involve as few people as possible. To me his public and private faces are very different.

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Final Straw

The screenshots from above reposted below

As you can see, they're clearly the same, lol. I will also mention that these plush items take twice as long to do and require more revisions than other items. On top of that I have concept art that I can't share due to NDA of the heartstruck concept - full roughs of the pets that I was not compensated for in any way. None of this was discussed prior to me starting the work which is my own fault and not a mistake I'll make again. I spent days, long consecutive hours working on the concepts before I could even start on the plush themselves. This time and the work I put in will remain unpaid.

Something I noticed while I was putting this together is that CJ has deleted at least one message from our dms, which is funny because the message I noticed got deleted is one that I had originally read as being sent with the intention to manipulate -

I have also been reached out to by a former coworker with a 'message from cj' which I declined. Respectfully, I've got you blocked for a reason man. If I had to guess he probably feels like there's something he needs to smooth over to cover his ass but I'm just not interested.

Overall my experience on art staff was quite stressful and the environment definitely felt like there was an in- and out- crowd that was decided by how present you are in vc and how willing you are to participate in the toxic positivity and bobble-head nodding. Also, getting frequently misgendered to your face and behind your back is a special kind of torture.

Anyway, I could probably ramble on more about the time he burst into voice call while I was in there with a coworker and ranted about another coworker for like 20 minutes totally ignoring me before just leaving, or how he's always talking shit about people behind their backs (hi new admins) but not to their faces but I don't have receipts for any of that. Nor energy. And besides there are other places where folks air their grievances and allegations if that's what you're looking for. So I guess I'll leave it here, take care y'all.

[clonedchaos]

JWCT S3 Rambles

JURASSIC NATION IM TWEAKING

Okay folks, you know the drill from last time I did this. Rambles and notes I made while watching each episode. Spoilers below the cut!

Episode 1

I don’t have much to say here, I just enjoyed it (and forgot to write stuff down as I watched)

Episode 2

I wonder if Gia’s mother went to Kenji first bc she saw how disheveled he is (given his self destructive behavior last season)

Sammy’s passive aggression toward Yaz is umm… worrying me.

PYRORAPTOR FEATHER HECK YEAH

Smoothie my beloved OMGGGG I LOVE HIM SO MUCH!!!

Episode 3

Someone with chess experience plz psychoanalyze that chess scene to see if it foreshadows anything (I may be going insane)

Yutyrannus mention. PLZ! It’s in Jurassic world alive, I love them!!!! PLEASE PUT THEM IN THE FRANCHISE OFFICIALLY 

“Isn’t he magnificent?” “… Yeah??” DARIUS STOP PLAYING—

Soyona doing her dirty work in heels. What a diva.

I like how the explanation of the Amber Clave Market from dominion is explained via the catacombs. Like shipping them all directly to it would’ve been huge red flags. Makes me wonder what kinda dinosaurs are lurking around down there…

The parallel of Red being separated from her family and Brooklynn from hers… oof

KENJI WHY DID YOU NOT JUST TAKE THE POT WITH YOU?!

Episode 4

SAMMY CALLING YAZ “BABE” HOLY——-

Soyona has anger issues too… This woman both scares me and makes my crush on her grow even more. 

THE REFERENCES TO DOMINION. Well duh it’s obvious and expected, but I kick my legs and scream every time.

Baby sleeping in the apples…

“I’m over one way relationships.” SAMMY NO NO NOOOOO DO NOT DO THIS TO ME RN 

Pyro sounding like an elk is so freaking cool!!!! AHHHH *kicking my legs and screaming* I was so giddy when she came out of the darkness. 

DAMN BROOKLYNN SMOKED THAT ARM WRESTLE OKAY QUEEN!!!!

Poor Pyro getting 3 V 1, not my Shaylaaaa. And the way they curled back into the vehicle STAHP 😭😭😭😭

Nonna being the parental figure Kenji needed at the end of the episode is everything to me!

Episode 5

Gia and Nonna scolding them in Italian 😭

Brooklynn jumpscare 

Okay but seriously I hate the path Brooklynn is going down… I fear the Lythrosaurus thing is just the tip of the iceberg.

SAMMY AND YAZ’S FIGHT 😭😭 I legitimately am tearing up. These two mean the world to me, I’m not exaggerating. I don’t think this is the end of Yasammy, especially given how much both the crew and fandom love them. Some space apart can be good; relationships are never perfect. I hope they get through this and come back even stronger. We’re all rooting for them!

The Atrociraptors snuggling with the Handler… I can’t. Soyona PLEASE let them be happy!!! She cares so much for them and I relate a lot to that. “Terrifying creatures that could eat me but I still care for them.”

Episode 6:

Okay Brooklynn training the atrociraptors was kinda funny. The way they all peek their heads up the moment she’s filming 🤣

Yep. Knew it was the tip of the iceberg with Brooklynn. Like omg she was really about to kill Davi huh…?

Brooklynn why are you TRYING to piss Ghost off, she just wanted affection 😭. Hope that doesn’t come back to bite her… literally.

Is it bad I’m rooting for the handler to get her family (the atrociraptors) back?? PLZ REVEAL HER STORY SOON!!!!

Darius’s anger toward the way they’re treating the dinosaurs is so so so valid imo. 

Episode 7

THE CAT EAR HAT FOR SMOOTHIE

KENJI RAP HELP—-

The Handler being like a fnaf jumpscare how the heck is she everywhere at once

Yes Kenji, the locusts are absolutely disgusting and I hate them too ☺️

Episode 8

Pyro diving under the snow is so cool tho!!! Clever girl…

HELL YEAH BROOKLYNN AND HANDLER TEAM UP

SOYONA IN HER DOMINION FIT, SHES SO FINEEEEE 😳. The amount of happy hand flaps I did during the parallel scene. 

The car that drove by… Kayla and Claire ref??? 

Episode 9 + 10

So THATS how Soyona escaped?? 

MORE CERATOSAURUS YESSSS!!!! I grew very attached to them given the fact they were one of the starter Dino’s back in Jurassic World Evolution. So happy we see more of them and not just “gets killed by Scorpius Rex in the same season”

Blind Allo coming in clutch once more! We love to see it!!!!!

THE PUNCH TO THE STOMACH, GET HER HANDLER!!! (The toxic yuri is fighting again)

POCKET SAND

OKAY OKAY CAN I JUST TALK ABOUT THAT FACE OFF FOR A MINUTE!!!!!!! I could’ve sworn the handler was gonna get killed after Red attacked her. But the way she handled her and shut down the aggression with a few hits and diversion of the bites— She raised these animals, she grew used to calculating their movements and how to dissuade them. And her siblings coming in to back her up. Poor Red getting scolded by the Handler and her pack with little words. The Handler just leaning over to close Red’s jaws shut when she hissed at her. Ah, absolute chef’s kiss. My FAVORITE scene in this season, no doubt. 

OKAY the Carnotaurus makes sense given how “duh Biosyn would have other trained dinosaurs.”

GHOST! THE HANDLER! NOOOO! Okay I’m not kidding, I legitimately started crying… a second time. I literally cannot  deal with animal-human friendships. The way the Handler looked when Ghost was dying hit far too close to home for me. I’m gonna miss them both…

Okay, overall, phenomenal season. May ramble about it more in depth in a different post, but for now… I need to cope and do homework 🥺

[sometimesoliloquy]

The Handmaid's Tale 6x04 - "Promotion" (or IDK, how about just “STFU Luke?”)👀

Look, this was a hard episode to write about. I was so triggered by the immature acting out throughout the most part that the first draft of this was pretty much just "ahHfUUUuuuckyouuUUUuLuuuke”. So yeah, I really just want to get the thoughts out of my brain so I can finally stop thinking about this episode (before my blood pressure gets too high) and focus on the new one dropping today.

(Just me or does it look like June has a weird crooked halo?)

We open with June back in the Mayday camp at the grand old resort-thing place, watching a mad scientist dude welding shit together to (ostensibly) make bombs, as we soon find out will become a major plot point--and point of contention. It would be cool except June looks like she wished she'd skipped class pretty bored, and what we are actually hearing is Luke pedantically droning on in the background from the other room and this is where my teeth set to gnashing because we're less than a minute in and already I just know he is going to be completely insufferable for the rest of the episode. June pops up to go talk to him and yep, he's completely condescending, holding up a finger for her to wait sorry the middle of things, k sweet thing? come back later, You understand. You know what I ALMOST feel bad for him here because he's so cocky and expecting June to be SO impressed but she just looks at him skeptically like ok, that's cute. Oh dear.

When Tuello delivers the incredible news that Luke's case has been dismissed (because of the intel he and Moira brought back, thanks Nick!) and can go ahead and hop on a flight to Alaska, Luke is clearly not happy. It seems he's been super busy becoming the big man on campus developing plans for bombing commanders and now has much better things to do than go be a family with June and Holly like he's been cajoling her to do since the day she arrived on Canadian soil. After getting pulled away again for more planning, he tracks her down to give the most half-hearted apology I've ever seen (about not telling her he was going on the Mayday mission): "You know, I was thinking I should have told you what I was doing" YA THINK? June brushes it off, but a bit passive aggressively so yeh, this tension is going no where (yeah, something's about to blow up, Luke, you got that right anyway!). It's also of note that June's somewhat frantic "we..we have to go back and we have to build a life together!" is very much giving are you trying to convince me or are you trying to convince yourself vibes and we will see more on this later...

The Mayday folks hold assembly a meeting to debrief on Luke and Moira's (ultimately) successful (again, thanks Nick!) mission, and the next step which is apparently going to be killing the commanders at Jezebels. June immediately points out the danger to the woman trapped there (you know, as traumatized sex slaves), becoming a bit of a thorn in the leader, Ellen’s, side. It seems they are largely ok with some collateral damage as long as they get to hit their targets (paralleling Luke's new trajectory, apparently) but June at least gets them to agree to send someone in to warn the Jezebels and get them out before they get caught in the crossfire. Of course it's Moira who volunteers--she looks terrified but says it's her who has to go, as she astutely points out she knows that place (and its residents) far better than anyone else here.

I have to say, although June IS being a bit of a smug know-it-all here, she's mostly not wrong and I did feel a tiny bit bad for her that in this environment she seems to have been demoted in status from "June Fucking Osborne" who did Angels' Flight and poisoned a country club full of commanders, to apparently "just June", who is just kind of hanging out and getting in the way, interrupting your v important bomb talk, etc. Apparently she's a bit old news—yeah but what have you done lately? I mean except fly in and link up w/your secret spy commander boyfriend to pull the last mission out of the gutter. Ok she does get a quick shout out for that, not Nick though, we're not talking about that here, either because Gilead commanders are a volatile subject or because we don't want to hurt Luke's fee fees.

It seems an interesting contrast to when June and Moira visited Lily's Mayday camp in s5 and June was praised as a hero. Overall this season, there seems to be a bit of tonal shift as it comes to Mayday. Last season when we learned that yes, Mayday was an actual thing that's been there all along, helping, it was such a beautifully hopeful moment--that there has been after all this network of just regular people doing what they can to help, to fight, to do the right thing. Now as we're actually seeing them more in action and the fight is becoming a more tangible thing enfolding in front of June's--and the viewers'--eyes, the fact that these are just ordinary people, civilians mostly with no military training, no insurgence experience or for the large part having even been to Gilead, shifts the overall feeling a bit from inspiring to slightly worrisome, as we have to wonder if they really can pull this off without creating more of a mess. Of course it's still fantastic to see people fighting back, but there's an underlying sense of unease that it's just not enough, especially going up against the Goliath of Gilead, and with it having somehow become Tuello's first line of defense.

June goes to find Moira as she is prepping for the Jezebels mission (apparently to try and talk her out of it). They start to argue when a print out of Janine comes through their fax machine, they're both stunned and June says "oh no, no not her". She'd thought Janine was at least as safe as a handmaid could be (not saying much, I know) at the red center with Aunt Lydia who she knows has a giant soft spot for her. The amount of guilt that hits her here must be tremendous (although now that I'm thinking of it, it is a bit annoying we really don't see her think of Janine til now, wtf!) which gives her the perfect excuse to try and grabby hands this mission away from Moira, so off to the leader she runs, eventually getting the OK once she reminds Ellen of her secret weapon, her secret commander boyfriend on the inside.

This of course all comes to a head with the ultimate three way blow up fight outside. Look, it’s just incredibly ironic, right? Luke and Moira have both essentially been treating June like a pariah, a damaged crazy person for nearly two whole seasons now. Like there was something inherently wrong and broken in her that she couldn’t just “let things go” and just be happy to be free and have Nichole and be a family again. Now there is a sudden (somewhat seemingly unearned) turning of the tables, and it's understandably leaving June feeling somewhat unmoored and off balance.

And here’s the thing: they’re not wrong in this new motivation, not at all. It’s good that they finally want to fight, and have found an avenue to do so. Moira always had such a fighting spirit when he saw her in the red center and on the before flashbacks, and it’s so good to see that spark reignited, to see her finally set out of the shell she seemed to find herself in in Canada, trying to make herself continually smaller and quieter to appease anti-refugee rhetoric and even society at large. And while I don’t think she is really being fair here—June never asked her to “live June’s life”—I am glad she’s finally got that off her chest and is ready to live her life how she wants to.

Don't even get me started on Luke. Ok, I guess I'm already started. Look, I absolutely cannot blame him for enjoying finally feeling useful but honestly alI can see in this scene is a big man-baby toddler throwing a tantrum, stomping his foot and yelling about "MY BOMBS, MY TURN, it's not FAIR". Come on, man, if you don't want to be infantilized, if you want to be treated like an adult who can make his own choices... maybe just rethink this behavior, that's all I'm saying. Aside from the totally immature attitude and the hypocrisy, I'm confused and bothered by the implication that he was somehow "prevented" from fighting Gilead until now. Look, the fact is Luke is a smart guy; he seems to have a really intelligent analytical brain and city planning/engineering/construction experience that can come in very useful (I mean, ok, his whole “building codes” thing in s5 actually did end up helping). That is his strength and what’s frustrating is that it DOES seem like he could have been actual help to the resistance--sticking to his behind the scenes analytical strengths and not letting ego take the wheel thinking he knows all about stealth ops or going in guns blazing. But it really seems like his own fault that he hasn’t. Is his inability to think outside the box, that has kept him sitting on his hands for years, feeling useless, really anyone else's fault? Is he trying to blame it on June by saying he was "too busy" waiting and worrying for her, and then looking after Holly/Nichole, to find another way to fight? Ok, maybe he's got a point about the kid, but come on, that's not really the reason. He was just unable to conceive of a different way to fight until he was shown this. And that's ok, but he just needs to admit it and move on.

Ok, let's face it (as she finally admits out loud at the end), June was never really going to be satisfied to skip off to Alaska with Luke and just leave Hannah to whatever fate, no matter how much she loves both Holly's, or how much she may crave some peace and normalcy. But hey, it seems like she had been willing to try and FFS I think it would have been nice if Luke (and Moira) could have some goddamn self-awareness and acknowledgment of this. But whatever, I guess we can't have nice things!

And so finally, we have somewhat of a resolution: Luke finds June looking out towards the mountains and joins her for (finally) the most honest (without insults anyway) conversation we've seen them have since she got free to Canada... or you know what, maybe ever?? Luke finally admits "I get it" (ok THANKYOU maybe we can have some kind of OK things eventually). Now that he's had a tiny taste, he finally gets her need to fight, and he wants to as well. We get the much-contested "If you want to fight, let's fight together" line, and ok, it's better than him being a condescending a-hole so I guess I'll take it. June cautions him about how intensely hard it is to fight and feel like you're getting so close to Hannah, only to keep coming up empty-handed, but they agree they still have to try. Finally, June admits "I had this idea that we could be a family again", at last realizing (and saying out loud), that this was merely an illusion, a distraction. But they just can't be that family again, they're broken. They recommit to fighting for Hannah and say mutual "you know I love you('s), right?" but it feels like there’s a "BUT" implicit here: we'll always have love for each other, but we're not in love with each other. We'll always be family but we're not A Family anymore.

In New Bethlehem, Rita is arrives to town on the official NB bus, looking quite nervous (I can't blame her) and is greeted by Serena the ambassador of NB Queen of Gilead herself (she's definitely got the queen wave down, I wonder if she was a pageant-queen-for-Jesus when she was younger). Serena soon gets ditched though and watches on a bit sadly as Rita spies her long-lost sister in the crowd: this is why she came, to reunite with the only family she has left, and it's a truly emotional reunion. We see people embracing all around them as well, more tragically separated loved-ones now brought back together in this supposed paradise... but will it end up as a nightmare?? I have a bad feeling. Not according to Nick, it seems like he really believes this new haven is about as safe as you can get (this close to Gilead anyway) and he is definitely an expert on safety having helped keep June alive for this long with all her crazy hijinks(!!). It was nice seeing Rita and Nick reunite and chat; there is a well-acquainted sort of warmth and familiarity there, and Nick says he will try and help her and her family get out, though it "could take a while, a year or two". But we clearly see how much family means to Rita: "For my family? Anything". Nick just nods knowingly, he can relate.

Of course we can't forget about Lawrence’s Big Day: his promotion to Grand Poobah High Commander, which gives Naomi a chance to awkwardly hit on her husband, only to be summarily rejected (this “poor” woman just keeps striking out, at least has her Parisian jewelry to keep her warm). And of course it gives the menfolk an opportunity for bizarre dress-up rituals followed by some good old fashioned fun at Jezebels. Unfortunately for Lawrence, his appeal to his old buddy s4/5 wingman is overruled by new daddy in law’s edict: “Rose is waiting for us”, and Nick’s relief is palpable. Lawrence looks sad that he's lost his puppy commander pet like he wishes he could get out of it also, but it seems perhaps Naomi’s words about what these commanders value are running through his head (omg someone listened to her for once?) and so off they and their gold watches go for some shitbag commander highjinks.

And who is there to “entertain” them but poor Janine, who is seems the slimy new Commander Bell Jr. has decided is his new “pet” (gag). By which I mean he is the kind of small-dicked douchbag who gets off on shitty power plays and humiliating women. Not one to pass up the chance to make as many decent people as possible miserable, he clocks Lawrence’s discomfort and says “oh that’s right, she was yours”, egging him on to “have a round” with Janine.

We of course know he’s not going to do anything, and are flashed painfully back to Lawrence trying to reassure Eleanor “we’re all just going to sit here” before June drops the terrible truth bomb that they are going to have to follow through with the “ceremony”. Of course, thankfully, there is no creepy “checking” afterwards here, so they can in fact just talk (and Janine can call him “scary��� lol). And then, a small gift, an offering: Lawrence reveals the drawing little Charlotte/Angela (sorry, I have to honor her given name!) gave him earlier in the episode. Though he can’t resist just a bit of snark, he ultimately makes the genuine promise to look out for her. It reminds me in a way, heartbreakingly, of June desperately trying to find her unborn baby a godmother before Serena banishes her from the house “I want my baby to know kindness”.

And that he delivers on, as we next see him at home with little Angela (Charlotte) on his knee, the very picture of fatherly/grandfatherly kindness. He is reading to her from "A Little Princess", which he tells her she will hopefully read herself someday (I'm tearing up). "My Eleanor's favorite book as a little girl" he says (and I'm now crying that he knows and remembers this sweet, intimate little fact about his late wife, their love story really is so tragic). I'm sure there's a ton of symbolism in this choice... from what I can recall (spoiler alert for "A Little Princess!" lol), it's revealed at the end that Sara's father is not actually dead and she is reunited with him. Could this possibly be foreshadowing that Janine may be end up reuniting with her beloved Charlotte? If this could be the case, I also have to wonder if Lawrence's redemption ultimately will be not some grand re-imagining of society as he's planned, but perhaps instead a key role in a much smaller but more personal and incredibly meaningful act of good (I have to think Eleanor would be pleased). The site of Lawrence and Angela, heads bent over the book, also brings to mind a bittersweet sort of alternate-life image of the child/grandchild Joseph and Eleanor never had, and we have to wonder if Lawrence is thinking of this as well as he pauses and starts choking up a little. just between the words "a little girl" and "sat in a cab with her father". The scene fades out as the sound of him reading plays over That's all I have to say about this scene for now, except that I now NEED Bradley Whitford to record a series of audio books narrating children's classics (preferably over a background of soothing nature sounds). This would absolutely cure insomnia worldwide, CONSIDER IT A SERVICE TO HUMANITY, BRAD.

Meanwhile that night, Serena and Wharton are cosplaying early 1940's part of The Notebook (wait, seriously though, where did that music even come from??) as he walks her home after their store-bought pie date, when Aunt Lydia suddenly pops up out of freaking nowhere (she really has a special talent for ruining the moment, don't you think?). Blessed EVEning! (I wonder whatever could she want!)

***

Ok, yada yada, Promotion (did I mention I'm over this episode?). Obviously we have Lawrence's big promotion to High Commander, which brings both greater power and greater scrutiny. Hopefully he can dodge the latter while putting the former to good use (even if it may end up being a different use than he thinks now). In a way I suppose Angela/Charlotte fully gets "promoted" to cared after step-daughter status. Moira's (re)promoted to her previous fierce fighter status. And I guess Luke has also been promoted to Mr. Know-it-all Big Man on Campus Mansplainer "an effective leader".

As annoyed as I was for most of the episode, I was so very glad June and Luke had that little chat at the end. And visually it was a really gorgeous scene: the picturesque setting, the music, and the way it fades out to the sounds of Lawrence reading mixed with soft rain and distant thunder (again, I'm gonna need that audio book, Bradley). I can't help feeling like there's still something missing to the conversation. Maybe it's the elephant (let's face it, a stegosaurus at this point) in their relationship that is NICK. It’s insane to me that they still haven't had that conversation when it's so clear how much that particular insecurity (how emasculated he feels from having to be rescued by June and her boyfriend, and how much he wants to be a "man of action" like Nick) is driving Luke and his attitude earlier in the episode. Maybe it's also the (spoiler alert if you haven't watched the trailer! And if you haven't I want to have a talk with you about willpower and how I can get some of it!) kiss we know is coming (which at this point I have to think/hope is like a final "we're going into a dangerous mission so goodbye in case I never see you again" kiss(??). Hm.

But yeah. At least they finally said some important things to each other, both with words and subtext, and from their final facial expressions in the scene it seems pretty plain that they know, in one way at least, they're coming to the end of the road. And it's a great final image: the two of them against this grand backdrop, together here but clearly on the precipice of an inevitable divergence, where they will be united in the cause of fighting for their daughter, but not as as a couple. They're nearly there. They're so close, they just need that final push to finally free themselves both of the shared shackles of painful history and obligation, and each set off on the path they need to walk, to be true to the people they've become and will continue to evolve into.

*screencaps & captions sourced by me*

[nthspecialll]

Why do people genuinely get mad at people who think that Arthur might be straight?

I’m mostly on Twitter tbh but whenever I’ve seen someone say that they believe that Arthur is straight and that Charles and Arthur are particularly just friends, even no matter how respectful the op has been — they’ve been called homophobic or/and hated on by a certain type of fan.

Both me and my partner have noticed how it’s usually some users in particular that always seems to be in drama, and it’s like they can’t handle other opinions? I’m literally in a gay relationships with another man so obviously I hate homophones as much as the next person, and I don’t mind people clocking homophobes or just homophobic ways of thinking in the fandom space, but I’ve genuinely stopped enjoying the fandom on Twitter due to how it’s some users in particular that always seems to find a problem with someone expressing their opinions on popular ships, even if it hasn’t been directed towards anyone and kept almost overly respectful.

My partner is more on tumblr than I am but even he has gotten tired of seeing more than a couple of snarky comments from people not so subtly “calling people out” for expressing their opinions on something, especially regarding shipping. I’m obviously not talking about said people expressing their opinions as well in return because that’s ofc fine, I’m more so talking about people starting drama and being very passive aggressive both in people’s comments or in clearly targeted posts.

This has nothing to do with any recent particular drama, it’s just something I’ve noticed. Arguing over ships are frankly quite pointless and ridiculous, especially when it is over someone regardless of stance, expresses very respectfully their thoughts only to be met with snark and the whole “holier than thou” act.

And the fact that I’ve seen this mostly with a certain type of marthur and charthur shippers, it’s kind of strange. More so when people do deep dives on Mary for example and acknowledge how misogyny affects how people view her character and acknowledge the time period etc — people still seem to ignore everything one has said about it and immediately acts like you cannot speak of the character without it being born out of misogyny, even when I’ve personally seen someone with Mary as their number one character and hyper fixation get literally chased off Twitter for saying that Mary’s character was valid in her choices but that it’s okay for others to also criticize them. :/

I sure hope that you haven't gotten that feeling from me, that I have been hating on anyone, if so I would love to know where and how so I can change it, because that was not my intention.

I can't put myself into the heads of haters, like full honesty, but I think, just speculation, that people act out to "straight Arthur" because they are worried. Fanspaces have always been gay and fan spaces have been a safe space for queer folk to be for as long as it has existed, but especially recently there has come a lot of 'normies', for a lack of better word, into our spaces, that combined with all of the unrest in the world, it can kind of feel like a threat I suppose?

We have already seen the fall of crackships, rarepairs, words like kinning and OTP, all of these 'weird' things have been pushed out, and some places shipping anything that isn't canon, ESPECIALLY gay ships will earn you a slur or two. Fandom spaces no longer just belong to fanatics like it used to, but is more so becoming normalised, which has meant that socialital standards are also being pushed in, and sadly being gay is still not overall socially accepted.

People are worried something simple and harmless like 'oh I see Arthur as straight' can snowball into something bigger, and this can especially also be true with the red dead fandom because we already see a shit ton of homophobic sexist dudes due to the nature of the game. It might feel like you give them an itch they take a mile.

Again, I am not saying that is how I feel, not at all, I don't care what sexuality you want to see any character as, any headcanon is as valid as the next person's, but I do think that might be it. I could also be completely wrong, but you gave me a question and that is the best answer I can give.

As for the Mary part, yeah, folk think if you speak possitivly about any character with any flaw that comes from the time period you agree with them. I speak a lot about Bill and how his army training affected him and I have had folk up my ass for that.

[monkeycharles]

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.

[pinkyjulien]

Learning that people are taking the piss at me for pointing out how crazy this community is earlir today, nothing surprising or new, but like... First of all, I don't even know you 😐 the majority of folks that trashtalk me, I only know vaguely by names - but I usually know who they hang out with and it says everything I need to know

At this point, I'm beging people to start thinking for themselves and realize the behavior they're all supporting

No matter if you hate me, for whatever reasons, don't let that hate make you support some awful shitty people just because they don't like me either 💀 People are way too quick to befriend others over shared hatred, and it makes you look really dumb!

Case in point 👆 Recent Example -

This person used to go by "Bambi" on twitter, and on other socials

We interacted once or twice when the holo/zwei drama was happening but nothing outside of that

(There was one time where I posted a picture of my ship in the Cyberpunk discord server and bambi posted a pic featuring wash's OC right after, which seemed sussy to a lot of people💀 especially since she wasn't posting anything/being active at all - but now it makes sense! anyway not the subject here)

BUT SEE The funny thing is, she was all against zwei's when the holopoint thing was happening on twitter - even replying to zwei directly with the following:

(sadly can't link the post cause her old account got suspended?? oop)

But now, this same person is taking the side of people who left passive-aggressive comments on a new modder because the mod "looks too much like someone's else" ??? isn't that why we all hate zwei, for attacking others over hair color, over "similar clothes"?

Do you see what I mean here??? This isn't even about this bambi person, this is this whole fandom's problem

People are idiots, they don't stand for anything, they just follow the trend and what fits their current "friendships"

It's fucking pathetic 😭

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, March 16, 2025

My posts

Silent Hill 2 update: The good news is that the tornadoes that swept through the Midwest and Deep South missed my house. The bad news is that my wifi was so unstable for a couple of days as a result that I couldn't upload the second commentary that is completely finished oh my god just let me upload it. Like I don't want to OBTAIN A DAMN ETHERNET CABLE AND GO PLUG INTO THE BASEMENT ROUTER BUT SO HELP ME IT IS COMING TO THAT.

In the meantime, have a preview clip of James flawlessly fighting his way to Wood Side Apartments, I don't know what else to tell you.

I'm having my third pain block procedure on Wednesday, so I'm either going to be getting a lot of things done before then, or you're not going to hear a word from me for several days. It's hard to say. 

Unrelated: Are these anxiety dreams familiar to you?

Reblogs of interest

Manul Monday: Meet Borys Beebopovich

Happy birthday to el chupacabra!

Happy anniversary "old as balls" gifset!

Enemies to glovers

"when you’re autistic and you learn how to smalltalk it literally feels like you started hacking real life" (it does tho)

"reminder that 30 isn’t old, it’s very normal to not accomplish everything in your 20s, and that it is never too late to learn that thing you’ve always wanted to learn. you’re always growing. that’s a good thing."

“If you’re challenging yourself in the way you should, there’s always a doubt about if you’re going to be able to pull it off."

Medieval Nubian Fashion Brought to Life

Four Horses, details from a 17th century Persian manuscript

Sculpture of a seated man with two dogs, Veracruz, Mexico, 400-800 A.D

Charles Darwin: The man, the myth, the mood

Werner Herzog is also a mood, just a much weirder one

Alaska's Passive-Aggressive Map of the United States

There is no law on the moon

"here’s your regular reminder that if you consistently, regularly get headaches, you are almost certainly having migraines, not regular headaches"

"The Lincoln Assassination is really just wild if you think about it for a moment"

"Devastating to have more evidence that done IS better than perfect"

A lovely answer to "What is everyone's fuss with Vincent Van Gogh?"

"Interesting…my mom claims cake is not for breakfast..."

I love picker wheel polls, but I don't know how to feel about switching lives with Loki

Art: "Saint Guinefort, 13th century folk saint and guardian of children. The ultimate Good Boy."

Art of birds being observed and their reactions

I've always loved this Marie Antoinette-inspired Dior

I love stories about interactive theater, but Shakespeare in particular yields great ones

I don't know what Chicken of the Woods is and I've only vaguely heard of Jerma, so I don't understand a word of this but I'm so happy for everyone involved

Thanks to this gifset, I remembered to recommend The Women when "What are some good movies from the 1930s" came up in conversation

"Student explaining to me (after getting 55) that when reading a novel ('Ulysses' in this case) he likes to skip 'passages and pages' so as 'to get his own idea, you know, about the book and not be influenced by the author'." And then you see which professor wrote this down

"every time i see something on the internet that makes me mad i just think to myself 'people in real life: hey man how’s it going'"

Beneficent Chain Posts: The Potato of Luck

This is either Three Cat Moon or a very unorthodox Animorph

Nom de plume

Video

Wet Beast Wednesday: A sopping wet muskrat

Types of cat engines

Mushroom playing keyboard (my dog did not like this at ALL)

Personal tag of the week

Ides of March. I wasn't able to reblog anything new, but fortunately I had my favorites queued up (well, the boops are new):

Southern Mark Antony talks at Caesar's funeral

Happy birthday, Chocolate Guy!

If Mark Antony was Gen Z

He'll only et two

“Oh, not you as well, Brutus!”

And here's a new one that slipped in under the wire: "i really wonder what Julius Caesar would think of a bunch of neurodivergent rats huddled in a circle chanting ides of march ides of march ides of march and then cheering loudly on the 2067th anniversary of his assassination?"

[harmjoyer]

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.

[loreleilangenue]

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.

[spearminthe]

hiiii Min! how about 🥰,🪐 and 💘? :3c

HI PHINE!!! 🤸 I've missed seeing you on the dash, I hope you've been recovering from what'd been ailing you 🥺 Hyakunosuke better be at least know to Pretend to be a good nurse or I'm gonna kick his ass <3

How would someone who loved you portray you?

Hadn't really given this one much thought before! I would Like to think that Minthe fans would be decently normal about them rather than like, erasing their flaws to make them more palatable, or woobifying them to the point of making them some docile sleepy baby type. Conversely, I'd worry about them leaning too far into the opposite end to where people would be Really into the idea of them being a homewrecker. And god forbid they attract the type of folks who'd diminish them merely to being a thick hot goth enby or some trite shit like that, thinking about it now just gives me hives .........

All in all, I hope people who enjoy Minthe would just like them for being clever and nuanced! They could most Certainly be lusted after too but at least have some tact about it. I'm less concerned with dignity. You can be plenty undignified while still being tasteful

What would be your most popular AU and why?

Hmmh! Another thunker. I've personally been chewing on a Southern Gothic AU for us that's obviously gonna tick off a lot of my own proclivities lmao, but I think something like that would be in line with the tastes of Minthe enjoyers! Venues that give them opportunities to be Weird and Freaky and Death-tinged, anything that'd be dark and sexy with hints of supernatural horror. Another favorite would probably be something more classically horror themed in the veins of Frankenstein, Dracula/Nosferatu, Phantom of the Opera etc.

POTO AU would be really fun actually .......... I thought about that one like once forever ago but forgot to flesh it out more ..........

Modern AU offshoots would likely be really popular too, but whereas my personal modern AU is pretty chill and low stakes, I can imagine people throwing orphinthe into some Terribly indulgent mess like that one cheesy ass metalcore dark romance lmfaooo. They'd completely miss the mark and characterize the both of them as horrendously ooc, him way too aggressively/them way too passively and the sex wouldn't even be written particularly well,, but at least people would be having fun ig 😭💔💔💔

Why would people love your ship? Why would people dislike your ship? How might it start debates?

I think people would enjoy orphinthe on the basis of them just being. Really compatible. Of Getting each other in a way that feels incredibly natural, artist to artist — even if their mediums are different. I feel like ships between mutual creatives tend to vibe really well within fandom spaces that obviously thrive on creativity, and there's a nice added contrast in that their ship isn't between two musicians/two visual artists since it allows for a little more variety in the exploration of their respective crafts. Aside from that, I think people would just find them an attractive couple to look at and think about! Both visually and personality-wise, there's a certain level of harmonious overlap, but plenty of differences to keep things from feeling too samey and boring between them

Now where people would Dislike orphinthe ....... spurned orphydice shippers would be all too eager to complain, and they'd be well within their merits to do so! You'd have to have a lot of gall and gumption to keep motherfucking Orpheus and Eurydice broken up, of all couples. Don't you know what they've Been through?? What their love means??? You take ONE good look at Eurydice and tell me that she isn't the better partner of the two. And for as much as I'd want there to be harmony between the orphinthe and orphydice nations, I can see the debates being the stuff of Myth .........

Orph would undoubtedly be catching a lot of flack either way, bless his heart: He already gets hit with strays a lot as it is for his failure to even rescue Eury, there are Still general myth discussions being had about him looking back and whether he did it out of ineptitude or devotion. Being at the center of a ship war involving Two baddies that he both somehow manages to fumble would just make him that much more of a target hghfkdhd, my man is about to get torn limb from limb all over again. Orphydice girlies would wonder how he could have ever succumbed to weakness like that all over again and still expect Eurydice to take him back, and orphinthe girlies would balk at him wanting to walk away from something so good, somebody who clearly cares for him so much, only to return to a partner who didn't even want him back until Zagreus' pesky interventions changed her mind

Minthe certainly wouldn't be getting off scott-free from orphydice nation as somebody who could very easily be accused of being a seducer, a manipulator, a homewrecker, or frankly just deemed as not as good a match for Orph compared to Eury. The nastiness wouldn't be front and center, but it'd certainly be brewing beneath the surface for only the most unhinged of participants .........

[whatbigotspost]

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.

[mostlyghostlyy]

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.