#and to anyone who is not happy about that and hates one or both of them.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Darry does not parent anyone in the gang except Ponyboy. No, not even Soda, and definitely not Johnny or Dally.

I’m going to be honest and say I genuinely don’t understand where the idea of Darry being the ‘dad’ of the group, or some kind of father figure to Dallas or johnny of all people comes from, because it’s so explicit in the novel and even the movie that he isn’t (I haven’t seen the musical but from what I understand there's some sort of rivalry between Dallas and Darry there, so there probably isn’t any paternal dynamic there either). To claim Darry is a father figure to ANYBODY- even Ponyboy- is completely antithetical to his character. Darry is twenty years old. He’s a big guy, who has respect from most greasers, and he is the LEADER of the gang, looks out for all of them the way a brother would, but he does not PARENT any of them.

Even after the Curtis parents’ deaths, when he gets guardianship of both Ponyboy and Soda, the only one he actually attempts to parent is Ponyboy- and he clearly struggles with it. It’s not just the main source of tension between him and Ponyboy,  it’s the ONLY source of it. Canonically, Pony and Darry got along fine before the Curtis parents' deaths, were close even, because Darry is good at being an older brother. He always has been, because he is used to it and it doesn’t carry nearly the same level of responsibility as guardianship does. Darry never had to be a parent before, let alone to his brother, and he’s flying blind trying to figure it out. He doesn’t know what limits to impose that seem fair but not stifling, can provide materially but doesn’t know how to provide emotionally, because he’s a new parent who is struggling to raise a teenager instead of a newborn, and has no experience for what he’s doing. Darrel Curtis is DROWNING trying to figure out what being a parent means when he has only ever looked at Pony as a little brother instead of a dependent. He’s not happy. He’d never give his brothers up, but this new role is killing him, and it’s plain for anyone to see. 

This brings me to my next point: Darry is so overwhelmed trying to parent Ponyboy, it never even crosses his mind to try parenting Soda too. This isn’t even my interpretation- it’s textual. Soda doesn’t get hollered at, Darry doesn’t really care where he goes or what he does, and he never punishes him the way he punishes Ponyboy. It doesn’t help that Soda and Darry are closer in age than he and Ponyboy are. Soda is almost seventeen, he has a job and is street smart in a way Pony isn’t. Darry doesn’t have to worry about him as much so he doesn’t, because Soda could survive on his own if he had to, whereas Pony couldn’t. It would also be harder for Darry to discipline Soda if he wanted to, given Soda’s age and his agency, but again, Darry doesn’t want to. Soda doesn’t need raising, because he’s already been pretty raised, and Darry couldn’t handle raising him. Darry can already barely handle raising Ponyboy, and Soda has a tenuous role in the house as he plays confidante to both of them. Soda and Darry’s dynamic is pretty solid because their dynamic is still that of brothers, there’s been no upheaval in their relationship, and so there’s no major friction either. Besides that, there’s the fact that Soda is helping raise Ponyboy, not being raised himself. It’s a joke I’ve seen a few times that Darry plays ‘dad’ and Soda plays ‘mom’ to Ponyboy after the Curtis parents’ deaths, but there's an element of truth to it. Soda handles Pony’s emotional needs, gives him advice, reminds him he’s loved, where Darry provides discipline and material needs. Now, we see clearly in the novel this creates an unhealthy dynamic in the house and in Pony’s relationship with both his brothers, making him ‘hate’ Darry and idolize Soda, but it remains true nonetheless. Darry doesn’t know how to parent, so he follows the traditional social ‘script’ of what fatherhood meant in the sixties, and the rest of the household molded to fit the new Darry into the mold he cast himself in. But despite Darry’s best efforts and Soda’s help, Darry proves over and over he’s not good at parenting, and definitely isn’t filling the role of Pony’s parent let alone his father- and it all culminates with The Slap. 

Now, knowing this, having read the book and seen, even through Pony’s biased narration, that Darry’s attempts at parenting Pony are a bit of a dumpster fire, it’s plain to say Darry isn’t playing dad to anyone else in the gang. If he was he’d be harsher to them, strict with rules he’d expect them to follow (Darry does not like to be disobeyed and he definitely doesn’t like his authority challenged), and cognizant of their whereabouts at all times. He doesn’t do this with any of them though, because he ISN’T trying to parent any of them, and even if he was no one in the gang would let him. Steve is too self-sufficient, Johnny is too independent, and Dally is too Dally for it to ever happen- even if the small age gaps between the characters wouldn’t make the attempt almost comical. Darry is, only ever has been, and only ever will be, a brother to them. It means he can offer up the couch and share food and look out for them while they look out for him in return, without ever being responsible for them. Yes, Darry is superman, he’s the oldest of the gang, seen as dependable and protective. He’s the guy everyone goes to when they get in trouble, a symbol of safety, but not because he can fix things the way a parent would. Dally didn’t call Darry from the phonebooth as a scared kid looking for a parent’s comfort, he called him as a reckless kid looking for a brother’s help to hide his misdeeds. Johnny doesn’t crash on the Curtis’ couch as anything but a kid staying at his friends turned family’s house. He looks at Darry as someone protective, but not as a father figure. In fact, he probably sees better than anyone (except maybe Soda) that Darry isn’t a great guardian, having heard Ponyboy’s rants and seen firsthand how the dynamic in the house has shifted. 

Darry Curtis is everyone’s brother, but no one’s father. He never will be. The only person he ever attempts to parent is Ponyboy, and he’s not good at it. That’s the whole point. Darrel Curtis is a dependable guy, a smart, cool, tough-as-nails gang leader, but he is also still a twenty year old kid, in over his head, who leans heavily on his friends despite his pride, and who is greatly unequipped for the level of responsibility that has fallen onto his shoulders. To portray him as a person who is able to parent a gang of delinquent teenage boys almost his own age is disingenuous and out of character.

Darry Curtis is no one’s dad. That’s the whole point. 

[gyaruhana]

Can u please write wlw smut for my glorious queen se-mi player 380

Se-mi/Player 380 - hatefucking

Synopsis: You and Se-mi can't stand each other so what better way to deal with that issue then fight for dominance?

A/N: i did combine this with another request for hatesex bc they both were wuh luh wuh so.. hope you don't mind!!

Warnings: smut content, choking, degradation, slight fight for dominance, fingering, it's hatesex..

If there was one thing you avoided, it was arguments. You preferred to avoid making enemies because; what was the point? It was far better to make friends than enemies who’d plot your death on the daily. Friends would be there to make you happy and comfort you when you're sad. Enemies would just laugh at you and pull you further down into the depths of sadness. That's why you always opted for only making friends and allies.

The only exception to this little rule was her. Se-mi.

Se-mi had been getting on your nerves from the moment you had both spared a glance at each other. There was something about her that reeked of over-confidence and judgement. The way she would look at you with that smirk on her face as if she thought she was better than you. It pisses you the fuck off and all you wanted to do was punch her face in so she could never smirk or scoff at you again.

Whether it was for good or bad, Se-mi felt the same way. You were always so nice to everyone, even to those who didn't deserve kindness whatsoever. It pissed her off that you'd try to be friends with everyone. Were you naive or just plain stupid? Whatever it was, she didn't like it. You were so happy-go-lucky as if you weren't trapped in this hell hole where people are being killed left and right. She didn't trust you at all because you seemed like the type who'd willingly stab someone in the back sooner or later.

In short, the feeling of hate was mutual between you two and, everytime you were near each other, there was a silent tension of unspoken dislike. Neither of you had actually communicated your dislike through speech, it was all just glares from across the room and the purposeful avoidance of each other.

Today, you unfortunately didn't have the opportunity to avoid each other like you two usually opted to do.

It was the third game and it was called ‘Mingle’. It wasn't a difficult game as long as you weren't one to crack under the pressure of a short time limit. All you had to do was form a group of whatever number was called out and then run into a room with them. The first four rounds went well for you since you were friends with practically everyone here and could always find a group to join.

When the fifth round came, the number two was called and chaos broke out quite quickly as people realized not everyone will be fortunate enough to get a room. As chaos broke out and lights flashed, you found it rather difficult to see who was on their lonesome and needed a pair. Luckily for you, you managed to spot the tall silhouette of someone who was on their own so you ran towards them and grabbed a hold of their wrist, dragging them into one of the last free rooms. You quickly shut it behind you as you let out a relieved sigh - glad you managed to find someone before it was too late.  

When you turned around, you were met with the unimpressed face of Se-mi. You almost let out a groan of annoyance at the sight of her. Maybe you should go back out there and just get shot. At least then she'd die as well and you could rest peacefully knowing she'd never plague anyone with her ugly personality again. 

“I'm not happy to see you either,” she says as she folds her arms across her chest and leans against the wall behind her. You let out a scoff of annoyance as the doors finally locked indicating the timer was up. Considering you'd probably be trapped in this room for a while until they clear out the bodies, maybe now would be a good time to confront her about her behavior.

“What's your problem? You're always such an asshole to me,” you say as you step closer to her. Your words may have been slightly aggressive but you couldn't help it when she was around. She just naturally got on every nerve in your body. In response to your words, she pushes off the wall and uncrosses her arms to step closer to you.

“My problem? You're the one with the problem,” Se-mi spoke as she looked at you with annoyance. The audacity you had to call her a bitch as if you were any better. Seeing you like this made her believe all your kindness really was an act for your own personal gain. That only fueled her hatred for you.

“You're the one who's been glaring at me since day one. You're a total fucking dickhead with your arrogant attitude,” you speak as you point an accusatory finger in her face. You were sick of how she'd act and the way she'd judge everyone silently. She needed a wake up call or something so she'd stop standing on her high horse. After all, she glared at you first. What were you supposed to do? Let her treat you like that? Hell no. You might be all for making friends but that doesn't mean you'll back down when someone chooses to be your enemy.

Then suddenly, out of the blue - her hand wrapped around your throat and she pushed you onto the wall. “I'd watch your mouth when you speak to me,” she says with anger bubbling inside her. Calling her arrogant? Who did you think you were? Someone needed to put you in your place.

You were taken aback by the sudden violence before grabbing her wrist tightly and glaring at her. “Or what? What are you going to do about it? Kill me?” you spoke sarcastically. You didn't fear her at all or the hand around your throat. It's not like she'd kill you. She couldn't have the guts to murder someone. You knew her type. Assholes on the outside, total pussies on the inside. They all just made enemies with people they assumed were weak so they could act tough.

She was quiet for a moment as she thought about your words. She couldn't kill you, no. You wouldn't learn anything that way (and she might get in trouble for that). She'd have to take a different approach if she wanted to make you learn a lesson about your bitchy behavior and, thankfully, she knew just how to make someone learn a lesson. She smirked for a moment before nodding her head.

“I won't kill you, no. I'll teach you a lesson,” she spoke before suddenly pressing her lips to yours. Her hand stayed wrapped around your throat, lightly squeezing to serve as a warning. You didn't expect her to kiss you of all things. It left you frozen in shock. Her kiss wasn't gentle either. It was rough as if its purpose was to silence you. There was nothing loving about it and, strangely enough, you found yourself actually being turned on by it. You didn't have feelings for her, no. You hated her but you were stuck in a place like this with no guarantee of a tomorrow so maybe a little hatefuck wouldn't be a terrible idea.

“Fuck, you're a shitty kisser,” you speak when she pulls away. She lets out a bitter chuckle at your words and shakes her head. “Thought I told you to watch your mouth?” She said as her free hand trailed down to the waistband of your pants. Oh, Se-mi was going to make sure you submit and watch your attitude towards her from now on.  “You think I'll listen to you?” You respond snarkily. 

“Oh, you will,” she says, her hand making it to your underwear as she gently traces the fabric of it. She moves her hand beneath the fabric and gently feels your entrance. “You're wet. You're just a whore, huh?” she spoke with a mocking smirk. She found it amusing that you were turned on by something like this. 

You were about to make a quick comment in response when she quickly slid her index finger into you making you let out a moan. God, you didn't expect her to do that so suddenly. She was full of surprises today. You quickly recovered from the initial shock as you noticed the smug look on her face. It drove you insane. If she thought she was teaching you a lesson like this, you'd have to teach her one too.

“Don't think you're in control,” you speak before grabbing the back of her head and pressing your lips to hers. Se-mi would be lying if she said she wasn't a little taken aback by the sudden kiss. She had assumed you'd fold immediately but apparently you were much more of a challenge. She smirked into the kiss before pulling her finger out slowly and then teasingly thrusting it back in. You let out a muffled moan at the feeling as you bring your free hand to the hem of her shirt. You lift it up slightly before putting your hand underneath and slowly trailing it upwards. 

“Might want to try harder to please me. You do a poor job at fingering a girl,” you speak after breaking from the kiss. She shakes her head with the smirk not leaving her face as she starts to thrust her fingers in and out of you quicker. “Oh really? Your body says otherwise,” she says, her hand tightening around your throat once more to serve as a silent warning. 

“I'm not even close to getting to cum. Can't you do any better?” You say as your hand that had earlier slipped under her shirt pinched her nipple. She tensed for a moment as her breath hitched, making you laugh. “What? That sensitive?” You tease and she sends a glare at you. She could try to dominate you as much as she wants but you weren't one to submit so easily.

She suddenly presses her thumb to your clit and starts to rub it roughly. The sensation makes you lean your head back against the wall as you moan. “Seems like you're the sensitive one,” she says as she watches your reactions carefully. As much as you wouldn't ever admit it, she was actually quite good with her fingers. She knew exactly how to move them and get someone to cum quite quickly. 

“if we weren't stuck here, I'd show you how good I could really fuck you,” you speak with a smirk as you look back at her again. “sure you could,” she responds sarcastically as she continues to thrust her fingers at a quick pace. She could tell you were close now as she felt you clench around her fingers.

“You're close, huh?” she says, clearly mocking you. You laugh breathlessly as you shake your head and look to the side. God, she was still such a cocky bitch. You looked at her before pulling on her hair and glaring at her. “When I cum, I'll make you lick your fingers clean, yeah?” you speak and the smirk on her face seems to grow bigger. Fuck, she really didn't think you'd still be acting so dominant. It was actually turning her on more - getting to fight for dominance like this.

With a few more thrusts of her fingers you came undone with a quiet moan. She slowly pulls her fingers out of you and you don't waste a second to grab her hand and pull it out of your pants. “C’mon, suck,” you say as you bring her hand to her mouth, her fingers wet with your cum. She looks at you for a moment before slowly putting her fingers into her mouth and sucking them clean of your cum. She pulls them out of her mouth after a few seconds and, as if on cue, the door unlocked meaning the guards had finished cleaning.

You both looked at the door before looking at each other again. “If you make it out alive of this place, I'll have to fuck you on my dildo next time,” she speaks as she steps back from you. “Looking forward to it- seeing you embarrass yourself, i mean,” you respond before walking out without another word and leaving her alone in the room. She watched you walk out before scoffing.

“She better make it out alive,”

[not-neverland06]

𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙶𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚕

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: While the two of you might think whatever could have been is irreparable, one very meddling old man has other plans. Hosea sends Arthur and you on a hunting trip that ends with blood on your hands once more. Despite the mangled mess of it all, you still find yourself drawn to the hope of something more between you and Arthur.

Arthur stayed up most of the night, waiting for you and Charles to come stumbling back into camp. He expected drunken revelry, he thought he might have to corral you into bed. The same tedious tasks he went through with anyone who stayed out as late as you both did. He didn’t expect both of you to be stone-cold sober and in different clothes. He hadn’t paid too much attention to what Charles had been wearing, but he was certain that you had changed before you came back to camp. 

He can’t imagine what would have called for that or why you were both out so long. He’s not sure he likes the few explanations he can come up with. He’s got a nasty look on his face as he watches Charles lead you over to the ladies' tent. His hand hovers over your waist, nearly touching but not quite. His mouth is pressed to your ear, whispering a secret between the both of you. 

Arthur wasn’t jealous. That wouldn’t make any sense. The two of you barely knew each other. And he was still recovering from what was the entire mess with Mary. He didn’t think there was a part of him that was still capable of feeling like that. But he’s not comfortable with secrets in the camp, especially with newcomers. It just seems like bad luck. If you can’t trust the gang, who can you trust?

Charles nods his head in a farewell and heads back to his own tent. Arthur watches as you rub your tired eyes. Your shoulders go up to your ears, back hunching over itself, and you have the countenance of a woman worn down. He frowns, eyes narrowed in suspicion as you collapse onto the bedroll beside Mary-Beth. John clears his throat as he walks past Arthur, giving him an odd look when he sees how intensely he’s glaring at your sleeping form. Arthur frowns at Marston, shooing him off and closing the flaps of his tent. He hadn’t realized just how focused on you he had been. 

The others don’t share his suspicions. They only saw him making you cry earlier. In their minds, he’s probably no better than Micah. He hates that thought but he’s sure it’s not too far from the truth. Neither of them are good men, but Arthur would never hurt you. He would never willingly hurt any of the women. He’s only worried about you. 

He takes his hat off, tossing it beside the picture of Mary on his table. It knocks into the edge of the frame, sending it tumbling into the dirt. “Dammit,” Arthur mutters. He bends, scooping it off the grass and checking for any cracks in the glass. He lets out a heavy sigh and brushes the dirt off the grooves of the frame. 

Arthur pulls the picture back and stares down at it. Mary wasn’t smiling in this one. He’s sure he has another one of the two of them around somewhere. He knows they’re smiling in that one. But after a while, he stopped liking to see himself in pictures and she stopped looking so happy. Arthur slumps down onto his cot and rubs a weary hand over his face. Mary’s stern eyes glare at him from the worn photo. 

He can’t do this again. He can’t watch another bright woman lose their flame because they chose to love him. Loving him is always a mistake. First, it was his son and his mother, then it was Mary. He can’t ruin you too. He won’t be able to live with himself if it’s your life in his hands. 

Arthur places the picture back on the table. He flips the frame face-down so he doesn’t have to sleep feeling eyes on his back. He rolls over and stares up at the canvas roof of his home. He wishes he could see the stars through the fabric. His fingers itch to draw the night sky, just from memory. But he forces himself still, makes himself sleep. 

Arthur’s up before most of the camp, as he normally is. Dutch sits by his tent, reading, and just barely lifts his head in greeting before going back to his book. Pearson never seems to stop making that damn stew and Arthur doesn’t think it’s ever improved in taste. Mrs. Grimshaw isn’t even awake as he goes around camp. He can’t imagine why he’s surprised that you’re still sound asleep. 

He resents the little ache that festers in his stomach. It feels too much like disappointment. He can’t imagine what he would say to you were you awake. There’s no apologizing for yesterday. You’d made it clear how you feel about him and he should honor that. 

Besides, he knows he needs to keep away from you. He’d done both of you a favor by making it clear how much of a bastard he was so early on. He lets out a rough sigh and forces himself away from your tent. He’s sure he’s got something he can find to occupy his time with. 

Arthur’s cleaning his rifle when he hears her start huffing and puffing. Mrs. Grimshaw lingers by the edge of his tent, arms crossed and foot tapping faster than he can keep up with. “Thinks she’s so much better than the rest of us,” she grumbles under her breath. “Just because she married into money-”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Arthur demands, trying to suppress the amused smile on his face. He’s sure he doesn’t need her to see it, she’s already in a mood, might as well not have it turn on him. 

Mrs. Grimshaw throws her hands up in the air, whipping around and glaring at him like she’s been waiting for him to ask the entire time. “That,” she sucks in a sharp breath, clearly struggling to bite her tongue, “woman,” she finally spits out. “Mrs. Rowe,” Arthur straightens up at the mention of your name, eyeing her suspiciously. 

Mrs. Grimshaw ignores him and turns back towards you. He gets up as she starts walking towards the barrel of water by Charles's tent. “She thinks just because she’s a lady, she can laze around and let the rest of us work for her?” She grabs a bucket and drops it in the barrel. Arthur’s sure the only reason she manages to heft it back out is because the woman runs off pure spite. 

“We’ll see about that,” she snaps, marching towards you, arms poised to give you a cold awakening. Arthur chuckles a little, he follows behind her, prepared to stop her. But Charles steps out of his tent and catches on quickly to her plan. Before Arthur can intervene Charles is taking hold of Mrs. Grimshaw’s wrist and tugging her back. 

“Leave her alone,” he commands. 

“Excuse me? This is my camp-”

“I won’t repeat myself,” he tells her, taking the bucket out of her hand. “Let her rest.” Mrs. Grimshaw wants to say more, they can both see it written plainly on her face. But she also won’t argue with one of the men in camp. She just throws her arms in the air in defeat and storms off, still grumbling under her breath as she goes. 

Charles looks back at you and Arthur narrows his eyes at him. Something is tickling in the back of his mind, a thought that’s taking too long to form. The answer for this odd kinship between the two of you is somewhere inside his head but he’s too stupid to work it out. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Charles turns back towards Arthur with a questioning look and he nods towards you. “You got a thing for her or somethin’?” Arthur laughs but he knows Charles sees right through it. That insufferable look of his gives it away. 

“Do you?” Charles asks, crossing his arms and smirking at Arthur. Arthur glares at him and rolls his eyes. 

“‘Course not.” Charles doesn’t say anything. Something lurks between the two men, a tension only shared by Arthur. After a moment of silence, neither of them willing to give in, Charles surrenders. 

“You’re an idiot, Morgan,” he walks past him, patting his shoulder and laughing under his breath. Arthur wasn’t even sure the man was capable of smiling. But here he is, managing a laugh at Arthur’s expense. 

It feels like the day is passing by incredibly slow. He feels like he’s been in camp for hours and it’s not even noon yet. Everyone seems to be avoiding him, either for how he acted last night or because of the way he’s pacing like he’s a caged lion. 

He’s not sure what he’s been waiting for all day until he hears it, “Sorry, I hadn’t meant to sleep so long.” Arthur damn nearly takes out Pearson and that god-awful stew with how fast he whips around. 

You’re sitting up, rubbing at your face and trying to shield your eyes from the sun as Sadie stands over you. “Just don’t go botherin’ Mrs. Grimshaw, she’s after you.” Your face screws up and you let out a heavy sigh. 

“Dammit, why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

Sadie rolls her eyes with a huff and Arthur takes a step closer. “You’ve got a goddamn guard dog.” Arthur tenses up, thinking she’s talking about him for a moment. He’s gotten used to that comparison, especially when it comes to you. You had been pretty reliant on him for a while. Instead, she points to Charles. 

He’s trying not to hate the man but it’s getting hard. 

Charles sits on a nearby boulder, fastening together some arrows and watching everyone out of the sides of his eyes. Arthur looks back at you and sees you smiling at your guard dog. “Sorry, Sadie. I’ll do laundry tomorrow, how’s that?”

“Damn right,” she sniffs, nose pointed to the air and walks away. Shaking your head and closing the tent flaps, you come out a minute later in one of the outfits you must have bought last night. Arthur tries not to stare but it is odd to see one of the women in camp wearing pants. 

Arthur runs through everything he’s wanted to say to you as you move closer to him. He goes through every shitty apology and winces when he realizes what a fool he's going to sound like. It’s a stupid idea, to even try, but he just feels awful that you’d had to be on your own all day yesterday. You at the very least deserve a real explanation. 

He half expects you to pivot at the last minute, to head towards Charles and ignore him the rest of the time you’re with the gang. But you keep coming towards him, something clutched in your hand that he can’t quite see. 

You stop a few feet away from him, arms tucked behind your back and lips pressed into a thin line.  Arthur has an odd urge to close the distance. “Arthur,” you say his name tersely and he tries not to let his disappointment show. 

He might not want to be involved with you, but he likes you. You’re smart, smarter than him, and you’re funny. He wouldn’t hate being friendly with you. But he can tell, just from how you’re standing, that you’re not interested. “Yes, Mrs. Rowe?”

“Here,” you hold something out to him but he’s more focused on the fact that you didn’t even correct him on your name. He’s got no chance with you now, that’s for sure. You shake your hand impatiently and he finally bothers to look at what it is. 

It’s a bunch of crumpled bills, the same ones he gave you yesterday. Though, after your day of interrupted purchases it’s quite a bit lighter than it had been. “Dont-”

“Please,” you stop him before he tries to convince you to keep the money. You take a step forward and he matches you. You don’t look too concerned by the proximity so he risks another step. You lean forward, take his hand and gently coax his fingers open. Your hands are warmer, softer than his own. A life of having servants and maids has kept you away from the harshness of work like his. 

He doesn’t know if he appreciates the softness you provide or resents you for it. “I feel guilty. I shouldn’t have spent it so freely. Buying the horse was a foolish, impulsive purchase.” Your hand lingers on his a moment longer before you slowly pull away. 

Arthur shakes his head but he puts the money back in his satchel. He knows, from the way you’re looking at him, he’s got no chance of getting you to keep this. “Wasn’t impulsive,” he argues. “Those damn O’Driscolls,” the mention of their name causes you to wince and he sighs. “Those men,” he corrects, “took everything from you. And you needed the horse.”

“I suppose I did,” you concede but you don’t sound sure of yourself. Still, Arthur will consider it a win. You look like you’re ready for the conversation to end but Arthur isn’t sure he is. 

“You give her a name yet?”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head. “What do you mean?”

He laughs a little and nods towards the mare standing beside Diablo. She’s pretty big, not nearly as tall as his horse, but larger than some of the others in camp. “She’s gotta have a name. Can’t just go round callin’ her horse.”

You roll your eyes in indignation and Arthur shakes his head. He truly does not know why you hate horses so much. But considering it’s the only form of travel for a couple of hundred miles, he thinks it’s pretty ridiculous. “Can’t I?” You sound so much like a petulant child, he has to bite his tongue not to laugh. 

“Really don’t like ‘em huh?”

The hardened look on your face softens slightly and you smile. “That obvious?”

“Little bit,” you chuckle and Arthur grins. “Doesn’t have to be anything fancy,” he concedes. 

“Oh,” you toss your hands in the air, glancing around like someone might be holding up a sign with a name. “Fine,” you sigh, “how about Lady?”

“Lady?”

“Lady,” you growl the name out, glaring at him. “I’m not gonna come up with anything better than that.”

Arthur looks over at your mare and huffs out a laugh. She did look a little uppity. Nose in the air, looking away from the other horses hitched by her. She didn’t even seem to want to eat the same grass as the others. “Yeah, Lady works,” he chuckles, looking back over at you and trying to spot the similarities. 

It’s no secret you were used to a life of luxury. Sadie wasn’t a friend, she was a former employee. You’re used to wearing fine jewelry and finer clothes. This life, sleeping on the ground, shooting off bullets at anyone that pisses you off, isn’t made for you. You don’t seem like you should fit into this mold. 

But he’s never seen you complain about your chores around camp. And you might not be happy about it, but you’ve never tried to get anyone in the gang to turn away from their violent tendencies. You don’t stick out like a Lady forced into rags, you could well have been born into this life if it weren’t for that smooth skin of yours. He wonders why you seem to fit so well when so many others in your place have failed. 

“Right,” the easy banter fades into a tense silence. You cross your arms behind your back, taking a step away from him and refusing to meet his eye. “I’ve, um,�� you trail off and Arthur takes a step towards you as you stumble away. “Thank you, again.” You turn, refusing to let him speak as you rush towards Mrs. Grimshaw. 

Arthur grimaces as she begins to lay into you, her voice carrying throughout the camp about not letting your former status get so far into your head. You’d rather take a whooping from her than have to talk to him any longer. 

Arthur takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair and glaring down at the mud under his boots. He’s never going to be able to bridge this distance. And he shouldn’t be trying to. You both know that nothing good can ever happen between you. There’s no point in torturing himself with something impossible. 

He shoves his hat back on and storms towards the horses. A few people glance his way, but for the most part, they know to ignore him when he gets like this. He takes Diablo’s reins and leads him toward the forest. He doesn’t have a destination in mind but he needs to see the stars tonight. He can’t be stuck in the canvas tent anymore, he’s been cooped up for too long. 

It’s been a week since you’ve killed your husband. A week since you fed his body to the hogs. And a week since you’ve talked to Arthur. You can’t meet his eye, too ashamed of what you’ve done. 

You’re sure the man has killed more men than you can count on both your hands. Yet, you’re still worried he’ll think less of you for what happened. Maybe it’s because you know how the others see you. Everyone else in camp thinks you’re soft. At least Sadie was a working woman before all this happened, she helped her husband keep up some rich employer's estate. And you were the rich employer. 

They think that you’re soft, and better off than they are. They also seem to think that you’re constantly looking down your nose at them. Every time Dutch says, “I know you’re not used to having to live like this, Mrs. Rowe,” you feel like the entire camp turns and glares. Or anytime Mrs. Grimshaw yells at you not to let your former status get to your head, she has to remind you you’re just as bad as the rest of them now. 

You don’t judge them for how they live. You know they do it out of necessity, some for pleasure. You don’t care. Outlaws have always been a part of this country and you’re not looking to fix that, but they don’t seem to understand you. All they see when they look at you is the same type of person who’s kept them down all their life.

You know that the second the rest of them find out what you’ve done, you’ll never hear the end of it. It’ll be held over your head for the rest of your time with the gang. And Arthur, you know he’ll stop looking at you like you’re something to be protected. 

You don’t know if you’d love it or hate it. You’d no longer be soft to him, wouldn’t be this pretty new thing to play with. You’d be like every other woman he’s surrounded by. And what does it matter? He’s already got a proper lady. 

You don’t know how you missed it before. You’ve seen the pictures he keeps at his bedside. But part of you had always hoped it was a sister, or as wicked as it sounds, a dead lover. You feel like a proper fool. There was never any way this infatuation of yours was going to go that would be healthy for either of you. 

You place your book to the side, something Mary-Beth had lent you that only makes your heart ache something fierce. You wished she had something other than romance. You hate reading about how happy they are at the end. It feels like a slap in the face to what your marriage had been and the thought of what you and Arthur might have been. 

You need something to keep your mind busy. You’re not confident enough to go on horseback alone. And no one in camp, except, of course, Arthur, is willing to take a woman out for a ride. They seem to think you’re all better off being cooped up here in camp. You don’t have any chores left. Much to Mrs. Grimshaw’s chagrin, she has nothing to hound you about today. 

Your eyes dart back to the book but the thought of suffering through another sappy scene makes you leap to your feet. You pace around camp for a few minutes, trying to find anyone who looks like they could entertain you. 

Tilly and Lenny are both playing Dominoes, but you’ve never been a fan of the game. It wouldn’t do anything but drive your mind further towards the outlaw you’re avoiding. You skirt around Dutch’s tent, not even wanting to attempt to speak with him. He’s been growing bored of Molly, and you’ve felt a little of his gaze drift towards you. You’d rather not tempt him further. 

You’re considering just attempting a ride on your own when you spot Charles moving away from Pearson’s table. He has new arrows in his hand and his bow is on his back. He’s moving towards his horse like a man on a mission and you finally see your opening. 

“Charles!” You shout, trying to catch him before he leaves. You draw a few eyes towards you but manage to ignore them for the most part. One pair feels particularly intense but you do your best not to meet it. 

He’s got one hand on Taima, slightly turned towards you as he waits for you to catch up. You slide to a stop in front of him, the sun glaring into your eyes over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Going hunting,” he answers bluntly, shifting slightly so you’re less blinded by the bright light of the early morning. Well, that had been obvious. But you’d been hoping for something more inviting. 

“Mind if I come?” You ask, rocking on the heels of your feet impatiently. 

Charles doesn’t usually mind you hanging around him. You’re not sure if he likes it, but he certainly doesn’t object. He seems less sure now, though. His face pinches and he tilts his head, already preparing to say no. You feel whatever hope you’d had sink to your feet. It’s going to be another day of staring at a tree and hoping something interesting happens. 

“Charles!” Hosea calls his name before he can tell you no. You both turn towards the old man, furrowed brows on your faces. “Need your help with something today.” Charles sighs and shoots you a bothered look. You wince, mouthing an apology as he brushes past you. You’re sure if he hadn’t been held up by you he would already have been on his way. 

“I was going hunting. Pearson needs more meat for camp.” Charles argues as he comes up to the fire. Hosea shakes his head, taking a long sip of his coffee. Something curls at the edge of his lips that feels remarkably familiar to you. 

“Don’t bother. Arthur will go.” Arthur looks up from his journal, flipping it closed and frowning as Hosea volunteers him. “And he’ll take the lady with him.”

“No-”

“Why-”

You and Arthur both shoot each other sheepish looks, cutting each other’s objections off. You know why you’re saying no, but it doesn’t make his rejection sting any less. He wasn’t exactly slow to protest against time alone with you. 

Hosea holds his hands up, shooting both of you sharp glares. “I need Charles's help with some herbs,” Charles lets out a little huff but Hosea continues on. “Arthur’s our next best hunter and I do believe Mrs. Rowe needs to learn how to hunt. Are you saying that you don’t think she should know how to take care of herself, Arthur?”

Arthur’s jaw hinges and closes like a fish as he sets Hosea with a narrowed-eyed look. “Now, you know I ain’t sayin’ that. I’m just thinkin’ someone else can take her.”

You try not to let that hurt but it does. He has every reason to avoid you, you haven't exactly been welcoming. But it hurts to see how much you’ve messed this all up. “I don’t see any volunteers, Arthur.” Hosea pretends to search around camp but he just shakes his head and shrugs. “Going to have to be you. I think you both can handle some time alone. You’re adults aren’t you?”

You and Arthur share a look over Hosea’s head. One of shared suspicion that the old man has more than just simple hunting up his sleeve. You both grit out a reluctant, “Fine.”

Hosea smiles and takes Arthur’s map. “Wonderful, here, I’ve marked a spot on here for where you should go hunting.”

Arthur snatches it back and lets out a loud sigh. “Hosea, this is gonna take us two damn days.”

“Well then, I guess you best get riding.”

You know Arthur wants to laugh at you. You don’t blame him, you’re sure you look like a clown on top of Lady. She’s not working with you and you’re slipping and sliding along the saddle. You can’t get comfortable, constantly fidgeting and lifting yourself up and down. It’s making her twitchy.

You can see her flicking her tail in irritation every time you fidget. “Comfortable?” Arthur calls out. 

You look over at him and glare. He’s so wonderfully content on top of his perfect Diablo. “Just fine,” you grit out, trying not to be jealous of how much more his horse likes him than yours likes you. 

Lady seems to have been appropriately named. She’s got all the stuck-up makings of one. You shift again and she flicks her head, whinnying and nearly scaring you off her damn back. “You need to calm down,” Arthur instructs, riding a little closer. 

“I’m trying to get her to,” you argue, tone broaching the line between sharp and petulant. 

“Not the horse,” he chuckles and reaches over, covering your hands with one of his own. He forces you to look up at him and you’re caught wholly off guard by how close he is. You’re practically sharing breaths as he keeps up stride with you. 

“You need to calm down,” his voice is low in your ear, you can feel the rumble of it down your spine. “She can tell you don’t trust her,” he slowly releases your hands in favor of placing them on your back. “Just take a deep breath,” you have to fight the urge to close your eyes and lean into the warmth of his voice. “There you go, good girl,” your eyes shoot open but he’s talking to the horse now. 

You’re ashamed to say you’re jealous of the damn horse. 

He pulls Diablo back and nods towards Lady, “She won’t trust you if you don’t trust her.”

“How am I meant to?” You grouse, but she’s already calmed down a bit just from Arthur pacifying you. 

“Sometimes you just gotta open yourself up to something, even if it might hurt.”

You want to point out the irony of him telling you that but it doesn’t feel appropriate. “Thank you,” you mutter. You risk leaning forward slightly, running your hand through Lady’s soft mane. You think she makes something of an appreciative noise but you can’t be sure. 

He nods his head, humming an affirmative and keeping his eyes strictly on the scenery around you. You try to think of something else to say to him, but every train of thought leads to confessing your guilt about your husband. Forced to keep your mouth shut, you train your eyes forward and keep your attention on calming Lady. 

Above you, the sun peeks through the canopy of leaves, its golden light reflecting off the early morning dew. When you suck in a deep breath, you can still smell the rain in the air, remnants of the night before. Through columns and rows of light, the warmth of the sun manages to reach you. 

Ignoring the tension between you and Arthur, this is possibly one of the most peaceful mornings you’ve had since your home was turned over to the O’Driscolls. You can’t help but appreciate the beauty and the freedom of the world around you.

You're on your own horse, wearing pants, without a chaperone as you ride beside a man. You don’t have to sit here and fret over whether or not he’ll still want you if you speak out of turn. There’s no society to be shunned from here. It’s just you and nature. If you listen close enough you can hear mourning doves and the rustle of creatures in the underbrush beyond you. 

Lady keeps her steady trot, letting you leisurely take in all you can. You’re not sure how long you’ll stay with the gang. You don’t know how long before Dutch will decide you’re dead weight. But you know that life will never get any simpler than this. Anything you manage to find outside the gang will just be the same suffocating, dull monotony of your past life. 

You have to appreciate the beauty of moments like these while you still have them. 

“How are you likin’ it?” Arthur’s rough voice breaks the tranquility of the moment. You open your eyes from where you’d been absorbing the warmth of the sun and turn towards him. Your brows furrow in question and he smiles slightly, though it seems strained. “The life of an outlaw,” he clarifies, arms out as he gestures to the world around you. 

You laugh a little and shrug. “I don’t know. It’s a little more boring than I had expected,” except of course for you murdering your husband. 

He barks out a laugh and it makes a smile spread over your cheeks. He’s got a contagious laugh, you’ve discovered. It fills your stomach with a warmth that makes your legs tingle. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, for the most part, all you’re doing is sitting around camp. You just wait for something to happen.” You stretch your truth, teasing him a little to try and get another loud laugh out of him. 

Sadly, he only shakes his head with a little amused huff of breath. “Suppose it’s easy to think like that when we’re like this.”

“Hunting?”

He shakes his head and gazes off at something you can’t see in the distance. “On the run, laying low. We’re not exactly goin’ to run around robbin’ branks when we’re tryin’ to keep the law off our back.” His voice grows quieter, more sentimental, “Not when we’ve already lost too much.”

You feel something like shame clogging your throat and wish you’d never said anything at all. It was easy to forget just how much loss they’d all experienced. They didn’t wear it on their sleeves like others might. Just carried it with them in their heavy hearts. 

You’d noticed that Arthur, especially Arthur, tended to turn it all inwards. He blamed himself for any loss or death that occurred within the gang. He never actually blames the person who truly deserves it. You wish you could help him, but you can’t keep trying to fix broken things; you only end up cutting yourself in the process. 

“We’re gettin’ close,” he speaks before the silence can reach any further. His voice is a little rougher now, slightly closed off from you. He turns towards a thicker grove of trees and you try and nudge Lady to follow him. 

She keeps going straight and you tug a little harder on the reins. “Come on,” you mutter, trying to tilt her towards Arthur. You look over your shoulder and see he’s already hitched Diablo and is retrieving his bow from the saddle. “Oh, this is just embarrassing, you wicked beast.”

She knickers in discontent and you roll your eyes. Of course, out of all the horses you picked, it had to be the most stubborn one. You nudge your heel into her ribs and she comes to a complete stop. Her tail flicks with irritation and you throw your hands up in defeat. “I absolutely despise you-”

A sharp whistle rings through the air and cuts you off. Both you and Lady whip towards the noise. Arthur is leaning against a tree, fingers still hovering over his mouth. He pauses, making eye contact with Lady, and whistles again. 

You startle as she takes off in a trot. You grapple for the reins and glare down at her in confusion. “How in the world did you do that?” You call out as Lady approaches Arthur. He chuckles and reaches for the reins in your hand. You give them over willingly, not wanting to try and reason with the stubborn bastard any longer. 

“Got years of wranglin’ these things under my belt. You’ll get there one day.” He comes back around to your side of the saddle and holds his hands out for you. 

“I’m not sure I want to,” you grouse as you slip your hands in his. He eases you off of Lady’s saddle and helps you gently onto the soft grass below. 

Arthur pulls out his map and turns towards the clearing a little way before you. You hear the rushing of water in the distance and figure this is where the deer come for a reprieve from the day. You don’t have to imagine how exhausting it is to always be running from predators. You know what it’s like living your life by taking soft steps and trying to make sure you’re never seen. You’d never go back to that if you had the choice. 

“The place Hosea wanted me to look at isn’t too far out. Couple minutes walk, probably.”

Arthur starts off without looking back and you frown at him. “Hey,” you call out, “shouldn’t I have a bow, too?”

Arthur’s brow quirks up and he’s silent for a moment before he barks out a loud laugh. You roll your eyes and let out a heavy sigh. He’s got a big grin on his face that’s making it hard to actually be mad, but you’re trying. 

“You ever shot a bow before?”

You tuck your tongue in your cheek and frown. You’ve used rifles and pistols plenty of times. Of course, then you had really just been shooting at bottles. But you can’t say you’ve ever experienced a bow. You’re slow to answer, “No.”

“How ‘bout we see how you do today? I’d rather not have you shoot my damn eye out.”

He starts walking back towards you and you practically stomp your foot. “Oh, Arthur, that’s ridiculous-”

He cups your elbow in his hand and forces you forward. “Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve seen it happen. It ain’t pretty.” You can’t find it in yourself to argue anymore. You’re too caught off guard by how tender he’d sounded when he’d called you that. 

Sweetheart. You wonder if he ever calls Mary that.

The thought leaves a sour taste on your tongue. You jerk your arm out of his hold and do your best to ignore the surprised look he sends you. He should be more careful how he acts around you, especially if he’s got a woman of his own. 

You and Arthur drift into another tense silence, one of your own creation, yet again. You follow along whatever path Hosea’s created on his map and let your mind drift away. You try not to linger on any passing thoughts. Instead, you want to focus on the world around you. 

You take in the sounds of bird song and try to memorize the melody. You never want to lose this feeling of being so wholly encapsulated by the world around you. Walking along quietly behind Arthur feels like you’ve become just another slinking animal in the forest. 

A sound breaks through your thoughts of nothing. Something like the wet squelch of blood. It reminds you of how your husband’s brain had sounded under your boot. You come to a stop that goes unnoticed by Arthur. He continues ahead but you’re stuck in a memory. 

There’s a low growl like the click of your gun’s hammer as you’d pulled it back. A fierce bark rings through the treetops like a gunshot. You whip around to face the sound and find nothing but the bright green of the forest. 

As though pulled forward by a rope, you find yourself walking without thought. You step carefully over roots and push through brambles. You follow a red trail dotting along the leaves on the ground until you manage to push your way into a small clearing.

The trees are thinner here. They carry less leaves and occupy less space. They give you just enough room to see what has drawn you forward like a siren’s call. 

A wolf dangles from another wolf’s bloody maw. She’s panting, eyes practically red with bloodlust as she crunches down on the neck of the wolf beneath her. There’s a pathetic whimper, quickly followed by the low gurgle of death. The second wolf hangs limply from her jaws and you’re reminded even more of your marriage. 

But you’re not the bleeding, weak, shadow of a creature on the ground. You’ve turned into the hunter, the defiler. You won’t ever let yourself be cowed by someone weaker than you are. You’ve forced yourself into the role of an animal, blood on your maw and righteous fury in your eye. 

The wolf hasn’t noticed you yet, but you feel as though you’ve seen this animal before. A shadow pacing before your home’s door. The howl outside the camp in the dead of night. She’s haunted you for so long and has only allowed you this one glimpse now. Why?

Something clamps down on your shoulder, heavy, hard, and calloused. It takes everything in you to tamp the scream in your throat down. “What the hell were you thinkin’? Could you stop runnin’ off all the damn time?”

Arthur glares down at you. He hasn’t seen the wolf yet, he’s only just found you. Your eyes widen and you turn slightly towards her. His brows furrow in confusion but he follows your gaze and you watch as his face pales. His hand immediately drifts to the revolver on your hip but you lunge forward, stopping him before he can fully grab it. 

“What’re you doin’?”

“Stop,” you plead, voice heavy with emotions he’ll never truly understand. “Don’t.”

His eyes dart between you and the wolf. You can see the battle waging within him. He doesn’t want to upset you but he can’t risk turning his back and having the wolf on him. You squeeze his hand, eyes big and pleading as you stare up at him. Finally, he relents with a sigh, grip going lax on the handle of the revolver. 

You let out a breath of relief and he takes your hand in his, tugging you back a little. The wolf doesn’t feast on her kind, she just stands over him, lips curled back and ears pinned. You keep your eyes firmly on her as Arthur guides you both out of the clearing.

Once you’re safely out of earshot, Arthur starts grumbling under his breath. “Shouldn’t have done that,” he says vaguely. You frown and catch up with him, shrugging your shoulders in confusion. “There’s plenty of prey in the area,” he clarifies. “It shouldn’t be killin’ its own.”

You look over your shoulder, as though you might see the wolf again, but she doesn’t come back. “Maybe she had to,” you muse. “Maybe he had it coming.”

You don’t miss the odd look Arthur gives you and you don’t blame him. You don’t quite understand yourself sometimes. But you do know you were meant to see that. Whether as a reminder of your sin or a confirmation you did the right thing, you don’t know.

You’re crouched behind a fallen tree as Arthur shows you how to properly nock an arrow. A herd of deer graze along the grass only a few feet ahead. Arthur’s got his sights set on the biggest one and you can already feel your stomach squirming at the thought of watching the beast hit the ground. 

You’d just seen a wolf ripping another wolf to shreds, but the thought of a buck dying makes you nauseous. You need to get your priorities straight. 

Arthur lifts the bow and pulls the string back. He’s facing away from the herd for now, still trying to get you to understand the basics. “Alright, you want your arm level, one finger above the arrow,” he wiggled one of his fingers on the string and you smiled slightly, “two below.” He brought the bow back down and shrugged. “Ain’t too hard, you’ll have to get used to the effort of keeping the string back. Beyond that, point and shoot.”

You roll your eyes with a scoff, “Really? It’s that easy?”

“Well,” he smiles slightly and shakes his head. “Nah, it’ ain’t that easy. You gotta consider the wind, how far the arrow needs to travel, and you gotta be steady.” He pauses and runs his tongue over his lips, struggling for words. You tilt your head in question, letting him find them. “You haven’t been steady in a while, sweetheart.”

There’s that name again. You’d be pleased if it weren’t for what he just said. “Steady?”

“Calm,” he clarifies. “You can’t even ride your horse.”

“I don’t like horses,” you try and defend yourself but it sounds weak, even to you. 

“You and I both know it’s not just that.” He moves a little closer. He leans over you, blue eyes imploring you to just tell the truth. You want to, every part of you is screaming just to give in, but you can’t. 

“Arthur, not now, please,” you’re practically begging. You can’t meet his eye any longer, looking at the ground instead and praying he just drops it. 

He lingers behind you for a moment longer before letting out a low breath. “Alright, fine. We’ll just hunt. I mean it, though, eventually you’ll just have to let go of whatever it is that’s buggin’ you.”

That won’t be happening anytime soon, but there’s no point in telling him that. Instead, you turn back to the herd of deer. It’s thinned slightly, a few of them having run towards the fields beyond. But the big one remains, antlers decorated with moss as he cranes his lithe neck for a drink in the river. 

Arthur passes you the bow and you shoot him a concerned look. “Just give it a try, like I showed you.” When you don’t move, he wraps his palms around yours and forces the bow and arrow into your hands. He lifts them, leveling your arm with your chin and pulling it back until the string is just by your ear. “Come on, you’ve got it,” the whispered instructions should have you melting into him but you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to loose the arrow. 

Your arms drop to your sides and you shake your head. “I can’t,” you utter, sounding completely defeated. “I can’t shoot.”

Arthur mistakes your reluctance for insecurity and smiles slightly. He slips behind you, his chest pressed against your back, and lifts your hands again. “‘Course you can,” he encourages. “I’ll help you.”

Once more, he guides you into the right position. Except, this time, he doesn’t let go. He keeps his palms firmly wrapped around your fists and guides you until your aim is just right. He waits for the breeze to stop blowing, forcing you to keep your tight grip even as your bicep begins to tremble with strain. 

“Hold on,” he mutters, eyes narrowed as he focuses on the buck. Your heart kicks up a beat the longer you watch it move. As much as you’d like to relax into Arthur’s warmth, you can’t. You’re watching this animal move and live its life. And you’re about to kill it like it’s nothing. What right do you have to claim it’s blood?

“There,” Arthur lets you go before you can stop him. Your hands naturally follow his guidance and the arrow whistles through the air. The deer notices it too late. You can hear the thud as it embeds into his neck. It lets out a loud, dying, bleat that alerts the rest of the herd of danger. They jump around for a moment before racing off. 

Your arms sink to your sides and Arthur squeezes your shoulders. “There ya go! Told you, you could do it!” He grins down at you, waiting for you to celebrate along with him. You can’t, all you hear is that awful noise the animal had let out as you killed it. 

Arthur pauses, finally seeing the downtrodden expression on your face. “Hey,” he cuts himself off as the first tear falls. You can’t help it. It’s like a dam has burst with that deer’s death. You crumple into yourself, hands rubbing your eyes raw as you try and stem the tears. “Dammit,” he hisses, “how do I keep doin’ this?”

You laugh wetly at that, sniffling as you wipe your nose against your sleeve. “It’s not you,” you promise him. 

“Then what’s wrong?” His voice has lost any tenderness it once held. It’s rough, and commanding, as he tries to force some answers out of you. You don’t blame him for being upset. He’s right, you really aren’t steady right now. 

“I can’t-”

He cuts you off with a rough shake of his head. His hands find their way on your shoulders and he forces you to turn towards him. You try and slip out of his grip but he grabs your chin and ticks your face up. “Look, I know you and Charles are hidin’ somethin’. I may be a fool but I’m not blind. I’ve also never seen someone cry so hard over a damn deer. You gotta give me somethin’ here.”

You can’t tell him the truth, you know that much. Besides, you’d be implicating Charles in your crime as well. You don’t need to drag him down along with you. But Arthur seems so desperate. You know, deep down, that all he wants is to help, to finally get you to stop crying. And you suppose you owe him something after breaking down on him so many times. 

“I did something,” you whisper, staring down at your hands and for a moment seeing blood on them. “Something awful, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be forgiven for it.”

Arthur’s brows furrow and he rubs the back of his neck. “Forgiven by who?”

You shouldn’t be surprised that he didn’t ask what you did. You know he’s used to all sorts of awful things in his life. You suppose he probably thinks your definition of awful is simply killing a deer- not the man you’d promised the rest of your life to. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug and attempt to collect yourself. “God. Myself. I feel like I’m tainted,” you clench your hands shut and take in a shuddering breath. “Like I’ll never be able to cleanse myself of this.”

Arthur’s silent for a while and you worry that you’ve lost him. There’s a shuffle of feet and you force yourself to finally look up. 

Arthur's eyes soften with concern, but his face is still tainted with a slight suspicion. “Look, I don’t know what happened and I won’t pry. But you’re a good person. I haven’t known you very long,” he amends, a little sheepishly. “But I know you well enough to see just how kind you are. There’s a lot of good inside of you. A lot more than what’s left in me or any of the rest of the gang.”

You sniffle, wiping away a stray tear, and offer him a shaky smile. “You sell yourself too short, Arthur Morgan. You’re a good man, one of the finer ones I’ve met, that’s for sure.”

You swear you almost see a blush on his cheeks as he looks away. “Ah, I wouldn’t go that far. Can’t seem to stop makin’ you cry, anyway.” You laugh a little at that and he finally looks at you again. He gets to his feet and holds his hand out, “Come on, it’ll be dark soon, we gotta get a move on.”

You nod, slipping your hand in his and letting him help you to your feet. He doesn’t let go of you right away, instead, he lets you lean on him as he leads you forward. You appreciate his strength and, as selfish as it is, you relish in the feeling of his body against yours as you walk together. 

You try not to think of his lady or your husband or even the dead buck ahead of you. Instead, you hold onto Arthur’s words. If he believes there’s good left, then maybe there is. 

Arthur told you the ride back would be too long and that you probably wouldn’t do well with Lady at night. You’re sure he’s right but part of you thinks he’s just not ready to be back at camp yet. You can’t blame him, you’re not either. 

It’s nice to get away from the noises of others. Surrounded by the tranquility of nature is the sort of calming environment you need right now. You hadn’t realized just how frayed your nerves had been until you broke down on Arthur for the second time. 

Arthur finally gets the tent set up and comes to sit beside you on the ground. You throw another branch onto the fire and watch as the sparks float up towards the stars. You don’t know why the thought of his woman flits into your mind again. It could be because of how close you both are or simply because she’s lingered in your thoughts since you discovered her. 

You find yourself prying into a man you’re sure would be happier left alone. “How do you think your lady would feel about you sitting so close to me?” You try to give him a teasing smile but you know it only seems strained. 

Arthur’s face drops before it pinches quickly in confusion. He lets out a very ungraceful, “Huh?” And you can’t help but snort slightly in laughter. “The hell are you talkin’ ‘bout woman?” He demands, turning towards the fire and tossing some more sticks on it. 

“The woman in Valentine,” you clarify, still laughing a little. “Oh, I’m sure you remember abandoning me in town for her,” you remind him airily. He lets out a heavy sigh but you keep on. “Doubt she’d appreciate us being so close.”

“No,” he rubs the back of his neck and gives you a sardonic smile. “She wouldn’t, but it don’t matter much now. We haven’t been together for a while.”

“Oh,” you keep your face schooled but there’s a little bit of giddiness bubbling in your gut. But that doesn’t make any sense. “Why would you leave me in town alone to go be with her all day  if you’re not together?”

“I-” he starts and stops himself a few times before giving you a defeated shrug. “Suppose I owe her. I dragged her down into this life, tainted her with my love, I guess I owe her a few favors.”

“Tainted her?” You scoff and wave him off. “I doubt a day goes by where she doesn’t count herself lucky to have been loved by you.”

His face takes on that familiar flush you saw earlier. It could easily be dismissed as heat from the fire but you know better. He’s not used to such blatant honesty, especially not when it compliments him. “Really?” He scoffs and shakes his head. You roll your eyes, already knowing what he’s going to say. 

“I doubt it,” he drawls, rubbing the back of his neck with a stubborn refusal to meet your gaze. You know it’s only because he wouldn’t be able to handle the truth staring back at him. “What about you then, what about your husband?” He easily deflects, throwing you for a curve as you rip your eyes off him. 

You focus on the flames of the fire until it makes your eyes burn. You know he doesn’t know anything about the truth, but you still have to be careful about what you accidentally let slip. “Oh,” you let out a short dismissive chuckle. “Neither of us were lucky. Certainly not me.”

“Why not?” Arthur sounds genuinely curious, not the sort of patronizing inquisitiveness you’ve heard from others in camp. You realize that you’ve not talked about your marriage much. You’ve done your damn best to keep it off the minds of everyone in camp. Starting a new life means not constantly dredging up the old one. But you suppose you owe Arthur just a little bit of honesty. 

“He never loved me the way a man is supposed to love his wife. I count myself lucky to have gotten away from him.”

“He wasn’t kind to you?” Arthur asks, but you both know the answer. 

You finally let your gaze drift off the fire and shake your head. “Not in any aspect of the word. The only part of our marriage that was real was the papers. And now he’s lost and so are they.” You suck in a deep breath and force a smile, turning to face him once more. “I’m finally a free woman.”

Arthur meets your eyes with a startling intensity. There’s something pinched on his face, a thought that’s just taking too long to form. You see the internal battle with himself as he debates whether or not to open his mouth. Your fingers dig into the softened material of your pants, fidgeting as you wait restlessly for his question. 

“Would you ever want that again?” He asks slowly. “Not marriage, but to be with someone like that.”

You look off to the edge of the clearing you’re camping in. The trees provide you both with a thick cover, the tips of them nearly reaching the stars. You’re used to a clear view like this from your home in the mountains. But you never realized just how much you were missing being locked up in that house. There are so many things you thought you’d never have the chance for, so many new opportunities to make. 

“I used to think to myself that if I ever got away from him, I would never be involved with a man ever again.” You wonder if you make up the way his shoulders stiffen slightly. “I had thought they were all just as cruel, just as useless as he was.” His gaze rips away from you and he stares pointedly towards the wildflowers in front of you. You let out a breathy laugh and lean back on your hands, shrugging. “I’m starting to think I might have been wrong.”

Arthur turns towards you and you wonder if you’re imagining the hope in his gaze. Is it just a projection of your own wishes, or is it the truth? “What about you?” You deflect, not willing to hold the weight of the conversation anymore. 

“With the right person. With someone who understood that this is just who I am.” Someone who won’t try to change him, you finish his unspoken thought and nod your head. He hesitates for a moment on his next question. “You think you’ll ever find the right man?” You feel your cheeks pull up unwittingly. Your fingers drift across the grass, just barely brushing against his. He doesn’t pull away from you or frown at the touch. Instead, you feel the warmth of his palm covering your hand. “I think I might be starting too.”

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea

[chaotic-scraps]

New Year's Day

"I don't matter," the hero said, hollow.

"Of course you do. You've saved so many people," the civilian argued. "You've done so much."

"You've known me for 15 years," the hero whispered. "What day is it today?"

"New Year's?" The civilian asked, a note of confusion. The hero huffed a breath. Nodded.

"Well, I should get going," civilian said. "Chin up, okay? You look better when you smile."

The hero watched them leave. Stared at the falling snow with detached interest.

A click. The barrel of a gun brushed the back of their head.

"Well, well, well," the villain said. "You should be out celebrating, darling. Not brooding on some snow-covered bench."

"Can you get to the threats?"

"Touchy today," the villain said. "Down on the ground." "There's snow on the ground," the hero said. "Can we skip that and go straight to the kidnapping?"

"Well, fine," the villain sighed. "Since it's your birthday."

"What's that?"

"It's your birthday. Get in the van."

The hero paused and turned.

"You think these bullets are blank?" The villain pressed the barrel to their temple. "Get in."

The hero laughed. High-pitched, a little bitter.

The villain was getting angry now. "What's so funny?" They snap.

"You're the only one who knows it's my birthday," the hero said.

"It's New Years Day. How could anyone forget that?!" the villain sneered, a little flabbergasted.

The hero shook their head and got in the van. After the interrogation, after the threats and the monologue and the random tangent about Christmas commercialism, the villain brought them a cake.

An enormous cake. It was collapsing under the weight of its own hubris.

All the henchmen came out wearing party hats. They sang Happy Birthday loud and off-key.

The hero tried not to smile. Tried not to cry. Failed at both.

They sang karaoke. Danced. Played party games.

The villain patted their shoulder heavily.

"My birthday is next month, by the way. Don't forget or I'll end you."

The hero laughed.

"I'm serious," villain said. "No peppermint. I hate it."

[jewreallythinkthat]

I was incredibly privileged to meet Ibrahim, one of the presenters of Unapologetic: The Third Narrative, the other week. Not only is he a fantastic speaker and an important ally and activist to work beside when pushing for a two state solution, he's also just a fantastic guy. He's so positive about the future while still being pragmatic about the difficulties of achieving peace.

Do I agree with everything he and Amira say on the podcast? No. But actually, disagreement isn't unhealthy and it's important to listen and understand people you don't agree with. I'm British and have never lived anywhere other than the UK so while I grew up with family in Israel and heavily invested in politics in the middle east, I simply do not have the same experience as he, a Palestinian-Israeli from Nazareth who lived in Tel Aviv before October 7th and then went back home to his family, feeling unsafe with the wave of racism he faced after October 7th happened.

Actually having the opportunity to go to talks by him, and sit down with the guy and have a face to face chat was absolutely fascinating. The co-option of the pro-palestine movement in the west by people who just want to spread hate and antisemitism has been watched with horror by Ibrahim and his co-activists. He is very open about the fact he believes two states is the only way out of the current, unbearable, status quo (and I agree with him) and I wish people would listen to more actual activists who are native to the Middle East instead of spoilt brats on tiktok who've never met a Jew, an Israeli or a Palestinian in their life.

I also had the chance to hear the testimony from a Gazan at the same time (not sharing their name for their own safety) and it's crushing to hear how horrific the situation is for them, someone who left Gaza six years ago, and their family who are still there. One thing I thought was particularly important was a question at the end about how their friends and families feel about them doing work with Jews and Israelis and basically, the view from friends and family was that they just want peace. They don't give a shit where the boarder goes, they just want peace and rights (as you may expect) and that they were very happy working to and knowing Israelis who are also pushing for peace and a lasting end to the violence.

I will never stop advocating for a two state solution (personally I don't think anyone should get Jerusalem as it's a bit of a hot topic that bad faith actors on both sides use to beat eachother) but frankly, a two state solution and a lasting peace has been needed for a vary, very long time and I hope we get there soon.

As they say at the end of every episode: Everyone, Jews, Arabs, Israelis, Palestinians and Muslims, we all deserve better

[low-budget-korra]

Lesbians vs Bissexual

Yep I'm really gonna hit this. First, I'm a Lesbian with both lesbians and bissexual friends, so I hear both sides. Here we go.

1. Lesbians who want to have "lesbians only" spaces. Such as bar, club, book shop.... wherever, or even such way more futile stuff like a page on social media only for lesbians to interact with lesbians about their experience as lesbians, ITS NOT BIPHOBIA.

There's the more radical version of this where there's lesbians who only want to date other lesbians bc they want a partner who understands what it is like to be a lesbian. And I get there's a really thin line but it's understandable honestly. Its like when people only choose to date ppl from the same race or social status as them, bc they understand each other's experiences. Sure, in some cases this is rooted in racism, xenophobia, classissim, but sometimes it ain't. Sometimes its just someone wanting an easier relationship with someone who understands their struggles bc they also have them.

2. I know I'm gonna be an asshole rn but dear bissexual women, the biphobia u guys suffer online IS NOT the same as the sometimes physical violence gays, lesbians and trans ppl suffer on the street. I'm saying this bc I've a lot of bissexual girls, both in Twitter and TikTok, acting like they can get beat up or suffer real bad shit just bc they are bi.

Sure, sadly it happens but it's nowhere near as much as it happens with gays, lesbians and trans. The most y'all had to deal with is mean comments.

3. Dead lesbian, just because a bissexual girl leaves you for a guy, that doesn't mean every bissexual woman will do the same with every lesbian.

Dear bissexual, stop blindly defending s8 girls who only say they are bi to get likes and "be a part of the club". They make y'all look bad. And please, stop bringing your s8 boyfriend into lgbt safe places when y'all are searching for a girl to have a threesome.

4. This one is specific bc I've seen a lot with CaitVi.

Hate comments abt the ship and put the "I'm a bissexual" as a shield to not get backlash. But girly, you can be bissexual and still don't understand how CaitVi is important to us lesbians. You can be bissexual and be lesbophobic just as much lesbians can be biphobic.

You're bissexual, you don't know what it's like to have 90% of your shows and ships getting cancelled, dying or no happy ending. Because you still have thousands of s8 shows and ships that represent you in a way bc you still like men.

And don't be like the s8 and their fuckin double standards. If the oppressor x oppressed thing really is something that bothers u, u wouldn't ship Timebomb bc guess what, Jinx worked for Silco and Silco was oppressive towards Zaunites and anyone who stood against him. While Ekko was someone who stood against him. Y'all were so focused on the enforcers uniform and the Kirammans family that y'all forgot this *detail*

[moonlightspencie]

And I Will Follow You Home

Chapter 6 of ‘treacherous’

Pairing: Remus Lupin x fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k

A/N: the final chapter! i may do some blurbs within this universe if anyone wants them as well, but this series is officially complete.

“Hey,” a voice came softly.

Remus turned towards the wall, unwilling to move from the bed.

“Remus.”

“What?” 

Sirius sat with his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, there’s a meeting downstairs in ten minutes. Most of the others have already arrived.”

Remus fell silent again, clenching his jaw. Sirius huffed a sigh, shaking his head to himself.

“You can’t keep skipping the meetings, mate. They’re important. You’re acting like a big baby.”

“You don’t understand–”

“What I understand is that she’s still showing up, and you’re not. Considering you’re so hung up on your age, you’d think you’d be more inclined to act like an adult.”

“I can’t look at her,” Remus admitted quietly, pulling the covers over his shoulders.

He had hardly been able to look at himself in the mirror after that night, let alone come face to face with you. You’d admitted you loved him, and all he could do was wreck it. It’s all he ever seemed to do, he thought, was to wreck things. He knew he was acting like a child and a coward, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit he’d wanted you just as much. Now he was coming to terms with the fact that he may never have the chance again.

“She still looks for you every time she comes into the house, you know?” Sirius said, crossing his arms.

“Probably so she can steer clear.”

“You’re the one who practically told her no.”

“No, I didn’t,” he snapped suddenly. “I didn’t. I just–”

“You just told her you didn’t want her right now. That’s just as bad, mate.”

He was quiet, the guilt creeping in again, washing over him. Sirius let out a breath, standing from the bed.

“We start in ten minutes. Be there, Mooney, or else I’m bringing everyone else up here,” he stated, then left the room.

You were sitting in a chair in the kitchen, trying hard not to think about the fact that Remus was a staircase and a couple of doors away from you. It had been weeks since you’d seen him, and unfortunately, absence really did make the heart grow fonder. You fiddled with the spoon you’d used for your tea nearly an hour ago, waiting for Sirius to return. So, it felt extra foolish when your heart began racing as you heard someone enter the kitchen, only to find Sirius giving you a small smile.

“Oh. Hey.”

He quirked a brow. “Wow. What a warm welcome that was.”

You let out a short laugh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I get it. Tall, dark, and moody’s more your thing,” he teased, sitting next to you. “He’ll be at the meeting today.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

You shrugged. “I mean… what else am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “I just hate seeing you upset like this. Thought it might cheer you up to see him.”

“What, you think I’ll be all fluttery and excited for him to ignore me all evening?”

“Snippy.”

You sighed. “He doesn’t… He avoids me at all costs, now, Siri. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.”

“No. You were in the right. He’s just a big baby who can’t handle his emotions.”

“Mm.”

“Hey,” he said softly, waiting for you to look at him. “He does love you.”

“Not enough.”

“But one day–”

“It shouldn’t be an if-and-when, Sirius. The world is literally falling apart and he still refuses to be with me. What else would possibly compel him?”

He swallowed, looking a little more somber as his eyes darted down to the counter. “I don’t know, Sunshine. But you both deserve to be happy.”

“Tell that to him.”

“I’ve tried. He’s a stubborn fucker.”

You laughed a bit at that. “He is.”

“You love it about him, though, don’t you? Head over heels for some raggedy, old mule.”

“Hot, raggedy, old mule, to be fair.”

“Gross,” he laughed.

“But… no. I really don’t love that bit about him. I wish it would catch on fire and disintegrate.”

“Come on, but then he wouldn’t be Mooney.”

“But he’d love me.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but came up short, merely pulling you into his side in a hug. You let him hold you, leaning into him. As if on cue, though, Dumpling came strolling in, his chubby little body bumping against your feet, heading straight for his favorite uncle.

“He’s obsessed with you,” you said, watching as Sirius picked him up.

“Who wouldn’t be?” He winked, that cheeky smirk of his shining through as he kissed Dumpling’s soft forehead. “Horrible little beast. Quite the attention hog.”

“Two peas in a pod.”

He chuckled, cradling the cat as Dumpling purred away. You reached over, petting the little traitor as he snuggled up happily to Sirius. You hadn’t even registered that anyone had come into the kitchen until you heard a voice that had you jumping out of your skin from one small word.

“Oh,” Remus muttered softly, freezing up as he looked between you and Sirius. Though he never quite met your eye. “Sorry. Just came for some tea before the meeting.”

“There’s a kettle on the stove. Probably just needs to be heated again,” Sirius responded.

“Right,” Remus nodded, walking quickly to the stove.

Your eyes followed him the whole way, that familiar warm feeling still blooming in your chest as it always did when he was around. 

“I brought a new flavor. Vanilla Caramel,” you blurted out. “If you want some. It’s sweet.”

Remus nodded, not turning around. “Okay.”

You chewed your lip, watching him carefully. You wanted to go over there and kiss him silly again. You also wanted to slap him. But mostly, you just wanted him to look at you.

“I made Sirius go for some cream, too.”

“Right.”

“Your favorite mug is in the cupboard.”

He only nodded that time.

You huffed out a breath, looking to Sirius for help, though he was too preoccupied petting your cat. You looked at Remus again, still standing like stone in front of the stove. You suddenly stood, going to the cupboard to get his mug. You brought it to the counter you were sitting at, setting it right in the center. You then went to get the cream and sugar, leaving them next to the mug. Finally, you reached for the tea, putting a bag in his mug before you sat down again. If he wouldn’t look at you, you could at least get him to face you.

“Why’d you do that?” Sirius asked, a little bewildered at your behavior.

“Thought it would be easier for Remus to prepare his tea if it was all set out.”

Sirius raised a brow at you, then glanced at Remus who was just turning off the whistling kettle.

“Well… Dumpling and I will be… somewhere,” Sirius nodded once, a tiny smirk in your direction as he stood, walking out of the room with the cat.

Remus finally turned, pouring the steaming water into the mug. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

He was quiet, filling the mug and then letting it sit for a moment as the tea leaves steeped.

You watched him for a second. “You’ve been missing meetings.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“With who?”

He huffed a sigh in frustration. “Nobody. You know that.”

“You’re acting like you have something to hide. How am I supposed to know?”

“You should know because I…” he shook his head, cutting himself off. “I’m not seeing anybody. I’m not even talking to anyone except for Sirius.”

“Hm,” you nodded slowly, then looked back at him, studying his face as he looked into the cup. “I’ve missed you.”

“Please don’t start.”

“You’re being a dick. We were friends first, you know? I’m allowed to miss you.”

He finally looked at you, feeling his chest compress when he met your eyes. He wanted to snark back. He wanted to push you away. Despite the guilt he felt, he didn’t want to hurt you even more. But his pull to you felt just as magnetic as ever.

“How do you not hate me?”

“Probably because I love you.”

He shook his head. “Don’t say that.”

“Quit trying to tell me what to do,” you shot back. “Trust me, if I could stop, I would.”

He frowned, looking back at his cup of tea, wishing he could drown in it. His jaw clenched, his head shaking softly again.

“Darling…”

“You said you didn’t want me,” you uttered quietly.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You may as well have.”

“I don’t want to lose you. There’s a difference.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous, and you know it.”

He sighed. “How? You’re… you’re everything. You’re brilliant and beautiful and kind and… and I don’t deserve someone like you.”

“Why do you have to insist on–” you stop, groaning in annoyance. “I can’t keep arguing about this. Why can’t you just trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s myself.”

“You’re so dramatic,” I roll my eyes. 

“No, I’m not. I’m being–”

“Sirius told me about you breaking his lamp. That’s drama.”

His cheeks went pink. “I only did that because you stormed out on me!”

“Yeah, because you all but told me you would never be with me!”

“I told you I loved you!”

“No, you didn’t. I said you didn’t and you said ‘I do’. That’s not the same thing as saying the words.”

“Well, I… I…”

You stared at him, waiting for him to continue. He blinked, staring at you with wide eyes.

“I love you.”

You all but gasped with the breath you sucked in, your stomach fluttering as his eyes were still glued to yours.

“Remus…”

“The meeting is starting soon,” he said, abandoning his tea on the counter as he started to move towards the door of the kitchen.

“Please don't do this again,” you begged, grabbing his arm. “Please. Stop running.”

“Baby, I can’t look at you without wanting you in every way possible. Please don’t make this harder for me.”

“You just said you love me. Just let me believe that’s true.”

He shook his head, turning to you fully. “It is true.”

“Why are you trying to leave again, then? Stop doing that to me.”

“I– I already told you. I can’t lose you.”

“The only way you’ll lose me is by pushing me away like this,” you said, voice raised in frustration. “We already did this once, Remus, and then you avoided me for a month. Don’t do that again.”

“You don’t understand what this is for me–”

“Then make me understand.”

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes drawing all over your face for a few moments as you waited with baited breath for him to say anything. He went over every possible response in his head, but only one won out.

You shuddered a breath against him as his lips suddenly met yours in a kiss that was far more hungry than the one you’d shared last time you were together. His arms went around your waist, pulling you tightly into his chest, his grip possessive and needy. His tongue pushed into your mouth, leaving you whining softly, your hands in his hair.

“Don’t ever tell me I don’t love you,” he muttered against your lips as he broke away for a moment. “Or that I don’t want you. I want you more than anything.”

“Then have me,” you whispered back.

He stared at you, his eyes hooded and focused in on your lips. Though, you were both taken out of it as you heard Dumbledore’s muffled voice calling the Order meeting to start.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, head dropping against his shoulder.

He took a few deep breaths, stroking your hair softly. “We should go.”

“I know.”

“We can… We can talk about this later…”

You looked up at him. “You have to promise you won’t run again. Actually listen to me this time. I don’t want to argue.”

“Baby.” He frowned a little.

“Please, Remus. You can’t kiss me like that and expect me to be content with friendship.”

“I–”

“Just promise you’ll listen this time.”

“O-okay. Okay, fine,” he nodded. “Promise.”

You stared for another few seconds before nodding as well. You then broke away, intending on going to the meeting, though not before he grabbed your arm, pulling you into one more kiss. His lips moved against yours softly, but certainly not lacking passion. It only lasted for fifteen seconds before he pulled away again.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, we can go now.”

You nodded, hoping you’d be able to pull yourself together enough to not be a flustered mess through the meeting. Though, you were certain by Sirius’s shit-eating grin when you’d both walked in that he knew within milliseconds. The bastard.

The meeting felt excruciatingly long, your gaze frequently being drawn to Remus who looked as calm and cool as ever. Also a bastard.

It wasn’t until you were back at Remus’s home, however, that you really started feeling the nerves kick in. You were in the living room, in the spot you’d always sit in, waiting for him to bring the tea. You stared hard at the coasters on the coffee table that hadn’t moved since the first time you’d ever been in the room. Now, though, you felt compelled as you leaned forward, pushing them a little closer together.

He came out a few minutes later, glancing down at the coasters, noticing their new position. He smiled a little to himself, though didn’t say anything as he sat down the mugs of tea. But this time, instead of sitting with you, he went to get a book from his shelf. You watched curiously as he browsed, searching seemingly for a specific book.

“What are you looking for?”

“Hold on.”

You chuckled softly. “Pardon me for the impatience.”

He shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He finally pulled out a book. “Ah.”

“Which one is that?” you asked as he came to sit next to you, closer than usual. 

He flipped through the pages, looking for one in particular.

“Here it is,” he said at last, showing the page to you. “Do you remember this?”

You nodded. “Of course I do. It's the first thing I ever read to you here.”

“It is.” He nodded, reading over it. “I… This line, here. The underlined one…”

“‘If equal affection cannot be, let the more loving one be me’,” you read from the book. 

“If you can believe it… I was convinced I loved you then. I was sure you’d never feel the same. And then… Then I found out you did. It terrifies me.”

“It terrifies you that I love you?”

He nodded, looking directly at you. “You’re too good for me. You have to know that.”

“Stop saying that.”

“It’s true.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is,” he replied softly, bringing a hand up to your cheek. “It is true. And you can believe it isn’t all you want, but–”

“Stop. Please.”

“You need to understand.”

“I understand that you think you’re some kind of monster. I understand that you’re scared. What you need to understand is that I don’t care about any of that,” you say softly. “Remus… You’re right that it would be hard to be together sometimes, with everything going on. I could go be with someone who’d be easier to be with, but I don’t want anybody else. Hell, I worked day and night just to develop a potion because I knew it would help you.”

“Why are you so insistent on being with me?”

“Because you’re everything to me.”

He let out a soft breath. “You’re foolish.”

“And you’re a little bitch sometimes, but I love you anyways,” you tease, reaching up to hold his wrist as his hand stayed on your cheek. 

He scoffed a laugh. “You’ve been spending too much time with Sirius.”

“You were ignoring me for weeks. I had to hang out with someone.”

His smile faded. “I thought you hated me.”

“I could never.”

He took in a breath. “If… If you want this… like, really want this with me… you have to know that I can’t give you a peaceful life.”

“But will you love me?”

“Of course.”

“That’s enough.”

He swallowed down a lump in this throat. “It’s not always enough to just have love.”

“It will be, though. You’re kind, loyal, smart. Not to mention handsome,” you smile a little, as does he, his cheeks a little pink. “Whatever comes with being with you… I want it. All of it.”

“You don’t–”

“You all but told me you wouldn’t be with me, and you were still all I could think of after the fact. You have me already, Remus. You know that. I’m not going to shy away now.”

“You have me, too. In an iron grip, apparently.”

You laugh a little. “I don’t care what goes wrong. There’s far too much that’s right, and no matter how foolish you think that is, I think you’re ten times more dumb for trying to ignore that.”

He shook his head. “I… absolutely adore you.”

“Is that you saying you want this?”

“It’s me saying that you’ve somehow changed my mind. I think you’ve hexed me.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He smiled. “Can’t help it. Most beautiful woman in the world is in front of me, you can’t expect me to be thinking clearly.”

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He kissed back, just as gently, resting both of his hands on your cheeks.

“You moved the coasters closer,” he whispered.

“I did.”

“The tea is still hot.”

“It is,” you replied, raising a brow.

He sucked in a breath, eyes falling down and over your form. “So… we have some time before it cools off.”

The faintest smirk crept onto your face. “We do.”

Sunlight streamed in the room at sunrise, falling on two full, cold cups of tea, matching coasters, and a still-open book.

[godlynott]

HOLD ME, CONSOLE ME. – THEODORE NOTT

NOTES: This is inspired on my fic! 'Every breath you take'. y'all can go read it💟 also my first language is NOT english so sorry if i have any errors. HAPPY NEW YEAR !! (this is also my first time writing something short like this sorry if its bad😭)

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Rory sat curled up in the far corner of the Slytherin common room, her knees drawn to her chest. The green glow from the lake outside cast ghostly patterns across her face, and she stared blankly at the floor, replaying the argument with Cedric over and over in her mind. She could still hear his voice, laced with disappointment, and feel the sting of his words. She hated that she cared so much.

Theo entered the room quietly, his hands shoved in his pockets. He wasn’t one to go looking for trouble—or for Rory, for that matter—but he’d noticed her absence during dinner and figured something was off. Their dynamic was always complicated, teetering somewhere between grudging tolerance and outright rivalry. Still, something about her silence tonight nagged at him.

“Rory,” he said, leaning against the armrest of the couch near her. His voice was casual, almost indifferent, but his eyes held a flicker of concern. “What’s with the storm cloud over your head? Did Cedric finally trip over his own perfection and blame you for it?”

Rory didn’t laugh. She didn’t even snap back at him, which immediately set off alarm bells. Instead, she gave a hollow shrug. “Not in the mood, Theo.”

“Not in the mood?” he echoed, dropping into the chair beside her. “That’s new. Usually, you’d bite my head off by now.”

She glared at him weakly, but the fire in her eyes was dim. “Why are you here?”

“Because you look like you’re about to punch the wall or cry—possibly both—and I’d rather not have to explain why the common room’s a mess."

Her lips twitched, almost smiling, but it faded just as quickly. She sighed. “Cedric it’s over, Theo. We both saw him cheating on me. Also sent me a text saying im "Too slytherin'.” The word came out bitter, heavy with frustration and hurt.

Theo scoffed. “Too Slytherin? What does that even mean? Ambitious? Clever? Better at chess than him?”

“He thinks I manipulate people,” she muttered. “That I don’t care about anyone but myself.”

Theo frowned, his usually sharp features softening slightly. “That’s crap, Rory. Anyone who actually knows you would never say that. Cedric’s just—what’s the word? Ah, right. An idiot.”

Before Rory could respond, the door to the common room swung open, and Daphne Greengrass strutted in, her icy demeanor filling the room. Her gaze immediately locked on the two of them, and her lips curled into a smug smile.

“Well, well,” Daphne drawled, sauntering closer. “Isn’t this a cozy little scene? Rory, drowning your sorrows with Theo? How romantic. Or are you plotting your next scheme?”

Rory’s jaw tightened, and she stood, anger flashing across her face. “Not now, Daphne.”

“Oh, but now’s perfect,” Daphne retorted, stepping closer. “I just think it’s funny, really. Cedric finally saw through your act, and here you are, looking for your next target. How very predictable.”

Rory’s hands clenched into fists, but Theo stood before she could get a word out, placing himself between the two girls. “Back off, Daphne,” he said, his tone low and dangerous. “You’re not helping.”

Daphne arched an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “Oh, how noble of you, Theo. Defending Rory, of all people. Since when do you care what happens to her?”

Theo glanced back at Rory, whose face was a mix of anger and hurt, before turning back to Daphne. “I don’t. But I care about not listening to your nonsense. Go pick a fight with someone who actually deserves it.”

Daphne’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“No,” Theo said sharply, stepping closer, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “But if you want to stay here, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Or do I need to remind you that I can outthink you in every way that matters?”

For a moment, Daphne looked ready to lash out, but the steely determination in Theo’s gaze seemed to cow her. With a huff, she turned and swept out of the room, her robes billowing dramatically behind her.

As the door slammed shut, Rory sank back onto the couch, rubbing her temples. “Great. Now she’ll probably tell the whole house I’m crying over Cedric.”

Theo sat beside her again, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Let her. Half the house hates her anyway. Besides, it’s not like we’re friends or anything. I just couldn’t stand listening to her whine.”

Rory let out a bitter laugh. “Enemies or not, that was surprisingly decent of you.”

Theo shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “Don’t get used to it.”

But there was something in his tone—something softer, hidden beneath the sarcasm—that made Rory glance at him a little longer than usual. For the first time all day, she felt like the weight of Cedric’s words didn’t matter quite as much.

[unknown-cold]

Happy New Year to you Guys🎉💛✨️✨️💛🎉

And to my two favorite characters in this year Caitlyn&Vi

After all the horrors they went through, I'm glad they ended up being together.

[marimbles]

i miss carpisuns sometimes </3

[tea-cat-arts]

Went down a bit of a rabbit hole (the jc antis were so insistent that "canon jc" was the only tag for them so I wanted to see of "jc critical" was a tag that was actively used) and what do you mean people are calling Jiang Cheng an incel???

Like, when in the books has he ever been hostile towards a woman because they've refused to have sex with him??? When in the books has he even tried to have sex with a woman? Like, if you want to argue that he has internalized misogyny because of his beauty standards thing, sure- I'll hear you out- but incel is a very specific brand of misogyny and it is pure headcanon if you want to call him that

And I kept seeing people bring up the getting black listed by matchmakers thing as proof he's an incel and like??? You know there's more possibilities for why he'd be undatable than just "being an incel," right? Like, maybe he's just loud and angry. Maybe he just jumps to conclusions during arguments. Maybe he just doesn't know how to drop grievances. Maybe he's just an equal opportunity asshole. Or maybe he's just an emotional constipated stick-in-the-mud. The possibilities are endless and acting like "he's an incel" is the canon answer is just clown behavior

[tackrusso]

show tempe gang crossover with the morris islanders would actually have been the best episode of bones ever. btw

[infinitelystrangemachinex]

Come on, you know you want to, give us the character bingo for Viktor.

don't mind if i doooo

[helianskies]

ugly maths.

i hate maths, right. i don't usually like numbers, and if i do like numbers it's gotta be an 8 or a 48 and nothing else.

thing is, i've recently caught myself doing maths again. ugly maths. the kind of maths that, really, i've been trying to avoid as much as possible because, well, it's ugly!

you... wanna see?

okay, fine... but don't say i didn't warn you!

ugly, see? look at all those numbers! not a 48 in sight!

huh? what's that? you don't see what i'm on about? oh... oh! hang on, lemme just—

better? yes? no? no? okay, what if i—

mmh, yes. ugly numbers. see it now? can you see why they're ugly?

here, i can make it worse.

these numbers are ugly. the maths they make me do is ugly.

now i'll level with you: the worst ones by far are the yellow numbers. the maths they make me do it the ugliest.

why ugly?

because it makes me ugly.

those numbers turn me into not only a suddenly number-obsessed fool, but a fool who also cannot understand these numbers and what they mean and why i feel like they reflect on me and my ability.

87, 75.

the thoughts are as follows:

• the orange numbers are big, so why are you being ugly about the yellow ones? you should be happy with what you have. so many nice big numbers! not everyone receives that.

• is it that there are two different audiences for these two different fics? perhaps. they are quite different works, with different appeals, and different themes. maybe you are reading too much into it.

• why are you obsessing over numbers anyway? you don't like maths! you left maths behind when you were 16, put it down!

okay, okay, fine! i'll put the maths down. right here, in fact!:

that 87 was an 83 at the start of the year. the 6161 it is attached to was a 5453.

4, 708.

ugly maths.

the 75 is a nice number. in fact, compared to 87, it is beautiful, radiant, enchanting. at the start of the year, 75 was 48. wow. now that is one sexy number!

27.

mmmm.

6161, 1061.

5100.

87, 75.

12.

mmmm.

you know, my most favourite comment left recently on a fic of mine was 2 characters long: :(

it made me :)

well, actually, it made me >:) because it was left in response, presumably, to one of the key scenes in a new chapter which left the exact impression on someone that i hoped it would.

they must be the only one who reacted like that, though.

1.

have i mentioned that that 87 and 75 include author responses?

i won't try to do more maths, there. it might not end well for me. the maths is making me tired enough as it is, and i have an early start tomorrow.

oh! but, that being said, i have another set of ugly numbers to show you, so keep 87 and 75 in mind.

ready?

838, 245.

(want a hint? the green numbers!)

838, 87. 245, 75.

9.6, 3.3.

ugly maths. it's ugly again, see? i don't like it. i'm seeing numbers within numbers within numbers, and i can't seem to stop!

the numbers make me ask new questions:

• why is it not good enough?

• people seem to engage more with one fic over the other, so shouldn't you prioritise?

• is all this maths this really good for you?

no, it isn't.

i want to avoid ugly maths. ugly maths makes me want to tear my hair out. it makes me want to start from scratch. it makes me want to grab someone and scream. it makes me want to cry and press a button that has tempted me many times before when the numbers become too ugly to bear.

ugly maths turn me into an ugly person.

ugly maths make me obsessive, paranoid, anxious, regretful, vindictive, spiteful, alone.

i hate maths. i hate numbers, just like, it feels, the numbers hate me.

[fazcinatingblog]

I think I had a dream that Mason Cox had a girlfriend and I don't know why my subconscious would send me something like that and

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

just saw the 'if ur oc was canon what discourse would there be' post and suddenly i remember that actually i dont want Celia & co to be seen by a large audience.