#and where is the line for her between Delilah made me do it and *Delilah made me do it*?

[sbrn10]

C3E23

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[msbigredmachine]

New To This - Chapter 18

MASTERLIST

Delilah leaned against the locker room bench, utterly drained. Her body ached in places she didn’t even know could hurt, and the weight of exhaustion pressed on her chest like a boulder. Last night had been… intense, to say the least. Between the altercation with Yandi, the stress of competition, and her “training” session in her room with Josh, she’d barely managed to scrape together two hours of sleep. Now, the morning tournament loomed over her like a cruel taskmaster, demanding strength she wasn’t sure she had left.

The locker room buzzed with quiet conversation as a few girls chatted in the corner. Their laughter felt distant and foreign, like it came from another world where people weren’t suffocating under the weight of expectations. Delilah couldn’t bring herself to join in—or even to care. If she could just survive this day without anyone bothering her, she’d consider it a victory.

She had just finished lacing up her boots when a voice cut through her solitude.

“You hear that Yandi got kicked out of the tournament?”

Delilah glanced up to see a young, dark-skinned woman, bright-eyed and confident, plop down beside her. The girl grinned, clearly expecting some kind of response, but Delilah’s exhaustion wouldn’t let her muster more than a faint shrug.

“Thanks, by the way,” the girl continued, undeterred. “That’s one less bitch to worry about.”

Delilah raised an eyebrow, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Right,” she replied coolly, returning to her bag for a roll of tape. The news should have brought her some relief—Yandi had been an absolute menace to her—but right now, even relief felt like too much effort.

“I’m Temi,” the girl introduced herself, extending a hand into Delilah’s line of sight. When Delilah didn’t reciprocate, Temi simply cracked her knuckles and leaned back against the lockers. “Brrr, cold. Everyone knows she started the fight, so you can chill. You don’t gotta worry about that bitch no more.”

Before Delilah could respond, Temi stood and gave her a friendly pat on the back. “She was just jealous. She’s about the only girl in this locker room that hasn’t fucked a famous wrestler at some point.”

Delilah froze mid-wrap, her head snapping up to meet Temi’s smirking gaze. “Excuse me?”

Temi shrugged, completely unfazed. “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret, is it? You’ve been hanging out with Jey, right? People talk.”

Delilah’s stomach churned. “How do they even know that?”

Temi chuckled as two other girls sauntered over, joining the conversation. “You train with, what? Five, six other girls?” she asked. Delilah held up five fingers, her expression guarded. “And you’re the only one with a WWE contract? Bitches talk, babe, mostly out of jealousy. Then Jey shows up at your gym a couple of times? Somebody sees him around town? They've probably seen y'all together, too. People notice things.”

“And they connect the dots,” one of the other girls chimed in. “Or, you know, they make up their own dots. Doesn’t matter. Somebody’s always watching you now.”

That realization hit Delilah like a freight train. She’d known the spotlight would come with scrutiny, but this was different. It wasn’t just trainers and scouts evaluating her potential; it was everyone. Every move she made, every interaction, every whisper—it was all under a microscope.

“How long you been doing this?” Delilah asked, trying to steady her voice.

Temi smirked, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. “Six years. And yeah, I’ve been through it. We all have.” She gestured to the girls behind her. “Cassie over there? She’s been hooking up with Damian Priest.”

Cassie beamed. “He’s flying me to New York after the tournament. We’re spending the week together.”

“Lauryn?” Temi nodded at the other girl. “She had a thing with Montez and Bianca. At the same time.”

Delilah’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

Lauryn shrugged. “It was fun. They’re premiere athletes for a good reason.”

It was getting more and more difficult to keep her jaw from dropping. “And you?” Delilah pressed, crossing her arms. “What’s your story?” When the girls behind her giggled, Delilah's eyebrow shot up. "Who?"

Lauryn put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Temi here has seduced no less than three world champions," she winked, counting off on her fingers. "Rollins, Punk, and Drew. She was all their first dark meat." 

Shaking her head, Delilah’s mouth finally fell open. "Bullshit," she spat. "There is no fucking way."

Temi just nodded confidently. "Oh, there's a way," she assured. "Actually, with Rollins, there's a lotta ways," she smirked, reaching out to pat Delilah's shoulder in reassurance. "Listen, Yandi's a bitch. Nobody likes her, and now she's gone. Let that shit go," she advised with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Do your thing. Go as far as you can in this tournament. Boost your profile. You’ll need it when you start training properly at the Performance Center."

As the girls filed out, Delilah couldn’t shake the conversation. Their blasé attitudes, their stories, their warnings—it was all too much. She turned to the mirror, adjusting her gear when another voice, low and cool, cut through her thoughts again.

“So you’re the one he left me for.”

Delilah spun around, her eyes narrowing at the woman who stepped out of the shadows, immediately put Delilah on edge. She’d seen her wrestle several times through this tournament. Chloe. A striking presence both in and out of the ring, her athletic build and confident demeanor commanding attention wherever she went. With a rich brown complexion that seemed to glow under the spotlight and expressive hazel eyes, her curls, often styled in bold, intricate looks, were as dynamic as her wrestling persona—a combination of grace and grit that made her memorable. Offstage, she didn’t interact much with the others, a guarded side to her, shaped by the challenges she had faced in a male-dominated industry.

“I come in peace,” Chloe said with a faint smirk. “I was listening in on all the bragging. Quite the stellar lineup of superstars, huh? If only most of them weren’t recycled. Like yours, sorry to say.”

“What are you talking about?” Delilah asked, her voice sharp.

She extended a hand. “I’m Chloe.” When Delilah didn’t shake it, Chloe shrugged. “You’re not the only one Josh has had a fling with.”

Delilah frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

Chloe smirked as she leaned against the lockers, her tone casual but tinged with a deliberate edge. “It was about two years ago, back in Atlanta. I was out with some girlfriends celebrating a birthday—looking fine, if I do say so myself—when Josh and his crew strolled into the club after SmackDown. His presence was impossible to ignore; he had that swagger, you know? I caught him looking at me from across the room, and let’s just say, he wasn’t subtle. He sent over a drink, then another, and before I knew it, I was in the VIP section with him. He had this way of making you feel like you were the only woman in the room. Smooth, charming, with that cocky little smirk that told you he thought he had you wrapped around his finger. And yeah, I guess he did—at least for a while.”

Delilah was speechless. Sounds about right.

She paused, brushing imaginary lint off her sleeve, as if the memory wasn’t worth more than a moment’s thought. “But, you know, it fizzled out. He wasn’t exactly available, if you catch my drift.” Her eyes flick to Delilah meaningfully. “Married men have a way of forgetting their wedding rings when they’re on the road. And sure, it was fun at first, but it got old fast. Sneaking around, his half-assed excuses, him dodging my calls when he was in town sometimes? Not my style. I don’t chase nobody, so I ended it. Of course, he didn’t take it too hard—men like Josh always find someone else to keep them entertained.” She flashed a smug smile. “Looks like you’re the lucky rebound.”

Delilah’s stomach churned as the words sank in. For nearly a year she’d been seeing Josh, and not once had he mentioned anything like this. The idea that she could be just another notch on his belt—the way Chloe clearly saw her—made her heart twist. Her hands tightened into fists at her sides, but she forced her face to remain neutral, unwilling to give Chloe the satisfaction of seeing her rattle. Still, the revelation gnawed at her, a sour taste rising in her throat as she wondered if everything she thought she had with Josh was just another game to him.

But just as she feared, Chloe could see right through her thoughts. She flashed Delilah a kind smile. “Don’t worry, sweetie, that’s all said and done. It’s all in the past. Besides, I think I’ve more than upgraded.”

Delilah’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

Chloe leaned in, her tone conspiratorial. “I woulda said his name out loud, but the NDA I signed means I can’t say much.” Her smirk widened. “I could show you though, if you’d like.”

Delilah couldn’t help but nod, curiosity getting the best of her. She watched as Chloe pulled out her phone. She handed Delilah an AirPod. “You’re the only one I’m showing this to, so if this gets out, it's you, and I'll fuck you up.”

Delilah hesitated, but eventually placed the AirPod in her ear. The video on Chloe’s phone played, showing a man with long, dark hair between Chloe’s legs, his hands gripping her thighs as her moans rang through Delilah’s ears. Her breath hitched as the man lifted his head, revealing Roman Reigns’ unmistakable face.

He licked his lips, smirked at the camera, and growled, “Turn that shit off.”

The video cut, and Delilah stared at Chloe in complete shock.

“Hot, right?” Chloe teased, fanning herself dramatically. “That family’s got top-tier pussy eaters.” She shrugged. “But here’s the thing: to them, we’re not special. Just another warm body. Don’t take it personal. Use them for what they’re worth—get your rent paid, get a contract, whatever. But don’t give them your heart. That’s the game, sweetheart. If you wanna survive this business, you need to learn how to play it.”

--------------

Thankfully, the remainder of the tournament unfolded without a hitch. Delilah advanced to the semi-finals, where her journey came to an end. Though she didn’t take home the win, she left with a sense of accomplishment and gratitude for the experience. By the time she was heading back to Pensacola, she was content with how far she had come. True to his word, Josh had upgraded her seat to first class so they could sit together on the flight back. It wasn’t just a plane ride; it felt like their own private six-hour date in the sky.

They made the most of every moment. Between sharing a few tequila shots, stealing sweet kisses, and watching movies, they fell into an easy rhythm that felt both playful and intimate. As the hours passed, they curled up together, their seats reclined into makeshift beds. Delilah found comfort in the warmth of Josh’s embrace, and before she knew it, she had drifted off to sleep with his arm draped protectively around her. For those fleeting hours, it was as if the outside world didn’t exist—just the two of them savoring what little time they had left.

But as the plane began its descent into Pensacola, reality crept back in. Delilah’s chest tightened with the weight of what was coming next. When the wheels touched down, she felt a sharp pang in her heart, knowing this was the moment they’d part ways for good. The knowledge made her throat ache, and she wished, just for a second, that they had a little more time.

The private wing of the airport felt colder than it should have, the early morning silence pressing heavily on Delilah’s chest. Josh stood in front of her, his duffel slung casually over his shoulder, but his eyes told a different story—there was a heaviness in them that mirrored the ache in her heart. They had shared so many moments, stolen kisses, and whispered secrets over the past year, but this felt like the end of something neither of them was truly ready to let go of.

Josh rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled slowly, his broad shoulders sagging under the weight of their unspoken goodbye. “So this is it, huh,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, as though speaking louder would shatter the fragile connection still lingering between them.

Delilah bit her lip, willing herself not to cry, but it was a losing battle. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “This is it.” Her words trembled under the weight of her emotions. She knew this was the right decision—for her career, for her sanity—but it didn’t make it any easier to let go of someone who had become so much a part of her world.

Josh stepped closer, his thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip, a touch so gentle it made her knees weak. “You gon’ miss me?” he asked, his tone teasing but laced with an undeniable sadness.

Delilah’s lip trembled despite her best efforts, and her eyes filled with tears. “More than you’ll ever know,” she admitted, her voice cracking. The truth of it burned in her throat. She would miss the way he made her laugh, the way he looked at her like she was the only woman in the room, the way he always knew just what to say to calm her nerves. She would miss everything about him, and the thought of not having him in her life felt unbearable.

Josh didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could feel his heartbeat against her cheek. She clung to him like she was afraid he’d disappear the moment she let go, her tears soaking into his shirt. 

“I don’t wanna let you go,” she whispered, her voice breaking with raw emotion.

He pressed his lips to her hair, his own voice thick with longing. “Then don’t.” The words hung in the air between them—a plea, a promise, and a goodbye all at once.

Delilah pulled back just enough to look up at him, her hand resting on his cheek. “We have to,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears clogging it. “I can’t do this right now, Josh. I need to focus on my career, and you—” She stopped, swallowing the lump in her throat. “You need to figure out what you want.”

Josh’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might argue, might ask her to stay, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. It wasn’t the kind of kiss meant to ignite a fire; it was the kind meant to say everything he couldn’t put into words. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. “Take care, Delilah,” he murmured, his voice so soft she almost didn’t hear it.

“You too,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She forced a weak smile, though her heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces. “And thank you… for everything.”

Josh just nodded, his dark eyes searching hers for a moment longer before he stepped back, creating a distance that felt insurmountable. For a split second, Delilah considered running after him, begging him to stay, but she knew it wouldn’t change anything. She had to let him go.

As she watched him walk away, her chest tightened, the reality of their parting sinking in. Tank, standing a few feet away, awkwardly cleared his throat and gestured toward the waiting car. Delilah wiped at her tears, slipping on her sunglasses to hide the evidence of her heartbreak. Tank nudged her shoulder gently as they walked to the car. “You did the right thing, kid,” he said, his voice kind but firm. “He gets that.”

Delilah nodded, but the words offered little comfort. As the car pulled away, she stared out the window, replaying every moment with Josh in her mind—the laughter, the fights, the stolen moments that had made the past several months unforgettable. She knew she’d made the right choice, but the ache in her chest told her it was going to be a long time before she stopped missing him.

She was pulling up to her sister Simone’s front door when her phone rang. The area code wasn’t from here, and she didn't recognize the number. Still, something pushed at her to answer the call. "Hello?"

"May I speak to Delilah Parrish, please?" the sweet voice on the other end asked.

Delilah leaned her hip against her suitcase. "Yes, this is Delilah," she responded, her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"Hi Delilah, my name is Emilia, and I'm with Dr. Gonzalez's office in Orlando," she said, "You came in for a physical last week?" she questioned.

Nodding and exhaling a sigh of relief, Delilah cleared her throat. "Yes, I did," she assured the nurse. As part of the recruitment process, WWE had requested she take a physical with their recommended medical facility. Delilah had done it with zero issues. She was determined that nothing was going to hinder her commencing training at the PC, and though she knew she was in good health, she would jump through any other hoop they asked to prove it.

"Well," Emilia spoke with a cheerful smile that for some reason was grating Delilah's nerves in her current state of mind. "Everything looks great. You're healthy as a horse, and we just sent the results to you via email," she said. "However, there’s just one thing that we want to make sure you are aware of, considering the degree of physicality you regularly engage in." Emilia cleared her throat. "You’re pregnant, Miss Parrish. Congratulations."

—————–

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[photo1030]

Leather and Lace - Chapter16:  Feelings Revealed

PART 2 - WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

Summary: After Arthur’s rejection, tensions run high between the two of you and decisions need to be made.

*As always, special thank you to my best-y @rivetingrosie4​ for beta-reading and all the helpful notes & encouragement. 

*Full disclosure: The line about “the moon and stars” further in the story is based on a meme I read. And I have images from @red-dead-simp​ and @regwishesshehadmagic​ in here. 

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter 

*This stunning image comes from @red-dead-simp​

Tag List:  @rivetingrosie4 @bimbo-dollz @pine4pple-b0i @redwritr @kuri-chans-blog @queer-sadie-adler @joelmillerswifey @gimmethosedaddymilkers @pcotarelo @delilah-grimes @maemortem @wistfulwisteriawitch @lilacxxdreams @mentallyillfrogs @absolutegeek @spurz @sophiaj650 @uniqueclodzinevoid @lookingformaurice @pawoui @randomidk-123 @yyiikes @eddiemetalheadmunson @twola @kmartkiddieisle @red-dead-simp​ @regwishesshehadmagic​

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know.

The ride back to camp from the overlook is terribly awkward. Your mind is blank and foggy and your body numb as you sit slightly slumped in Blue's saddle. You are reeling from the preceding events. You keep your horse moving at a quicker pace to stay ahead of Arthur's as you head home. Any time that you hear him approaching closer to you, your muscles tense up and you spur your heels into Blue's side to encourage him to go just a bit faster to maintain the distance between you. You can't even bring yourself to look at Arthur for fear of shattering into inconsolable pieces out of humiliation.  

For Arthur, the entire ride back is riddled with regret and second-guessing. He casts his gloomy eyes on your backside the entire way home, without so much as a glance back or sound from you. It causes his heart to break in two. And oh, how he wants to give the other half of it to you. But as he looks down at his gnarled hands and the worn metal of the guns that hang so naturally on his hips, he knows this is the way it has it be. He is going to keep you safe, whether you like it or not. You may hate him for it, but at least you'll be alive to do it.

When you hit the treeline of the camp, you push Blue just a bit faster and lead him to the far end of the hitching posts, determined to stay as far away from Arthur as you can for the time being. You quickly dismount, with the hair on the back of your neck standing up as you feel his eyes watching you, while keeping your back to the man. Once you have Blue settled in for the day, you make haste to head to your tent, walking briskly and keeping your head down. Your eyes stay focused along the soft grass at your feet, desperate to avoid any attention from anyone else in camp. Somewhere in the distance, you can hear Karen calling your name, but you pretend not to hear her. You are not in the mood for visiting and carrying-on with your friends right now.

As soon as you reach your tent, your trembling fingers fumble to draw the sides down, a clear indication that you do not want to be disturbed. You can only hope that no one hears you sobbing quietly within the canvas. You are numb, totally and completely, as you fold your arms around yourself to keep from shaking. You cannot wrap your swimming mind around what has just happened. You poured your heart out to Arthur. You literally begged the man to be with you. And he rejected you. And worse yet, he basically severed himself from you in the process.

Arthur slowly climbs down from his own horse upon arrival, and silently watches you walk away and head to your tent. Regret coats his insides like water pouring over a river rock. But he doesn't have time to wallow too long. The man isn't even in camp for five minutes and Dutch is calling his name. He lets out a heavy groan, accompanied by a long sigh, at the sound of Dutch's voice carrying through the camp. Dutch is the last thing he wants to deal with right now.

Of course, Arthur's heavy footfalls and scowl are lost on Dutch as he approaches the older man's tent. Arthur is his guard dog; Dutch is used to seeing him angry and sullen. In fact, he almost prefers it. Dutch needs him this way. Arthur stands in front of Dutch's tent, his gaze unfocused and mind wandering as Dutch speaks to him. The man's deep voice sounds muffled in Arthur's ear as he half-halfheartedly pays attention to what is being said to him, his mind somewhere else entirely.

"Think you can handle that?" Dutch's words finally catch Arthur's attention, snapping him out of his listless thoughts.

Arthur lifts his eyes to meet Dutch's expectant gaze. "Whatever. Just make sure the tip is solid and I'll make it work."

------------------

Arthur takes advantage of the quick job Dutch sends him on the day that you have confessed your feelings for him. He smartly uses the opportunity to give you some breathing room and time to calm down a bit. After checking in with Dutch upon his return, he heads over to his tent to put away his things and takes a minute to breathe. Arthur stands with his thumbs hanging from his gun belt as he surveys the camp, checking the state of things. His body naturally falls into this stance whenever he stands still for a moment. And right now, he is more weary than he’s been in a long while.

His wandering eyes eventually find you working alone in your med-tent. Your hair is pulled back and out of your face so you can work, but a few tendrils of soft locks have escaped and dangle to frame your face. Your hands move slowly, practically dancing around the bowl that has enveloped your attention. Arthur takes in the heavenly sight of you, standing in a simple white blouse and green skirt set comfortably upon your hips, mulling over what he should do, as he nervously chews his plump bottom lip for a moment. Eventually, he decides to see how things feel between you two and tentatively makes his way over to your med-tent.

Arthur kneads his thumb into the palm of the opposite hand nervously while he waits for you to notice him standing there outside the tent.  He stands with an uneasy grin, fidgeting slightly. "Hey you.”

You briefly look up from the steaming bowl of herbs and boiling water that you are stirring, careful not to look him in the eye for too long. "What can I do for you, Arthur?" Your voice carries none of the usual excitement that he hears when you see him.

Arthur's face drops, disappointed with your short reply. He clears his throat to attempt to dislodge the knot there before trying to continue. "I was out earlier and found some of that yarrow and dandelion root you use all the time. Grabbed some for you." He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a bundle of the fragrant herbs. He carefully unwraps them from the white cotton rag he's kept them in and holds them out to you with his large hands. A hopeful look sits upon his brow as he cranes his neck a bit to see if this peace offering will get you to look at him.

"Thank you. You can set them down on the table there," you instruct softly, pointing to the end of the table with your wooden spoon. Usually you'd jump at the chance to take something from Arthur, seizing any opportunity to touch his hands and for your fingers to teasingly graze across each other’s. But not this time. And this deviation in your behavior isn’t lost on Arthur, either.

"I could take you out and show you where I found it, if you like? In case you need more?" He gingerly sets the bundle of plants down, watchful for your reaction.

“Actually, that bundle there will last me awhile. But thank you.” With a quick and awkward smile, you return your full attention to the steaming liquid in front of you.

“Sure” he murmurs, feeling crushed. Arthur stands there a moment longer, as there is usually some sort of chatter from you. You always try to utilize his attention as much as you can when you have it. But now, you venture nothing else for him. So he turns and walks away, his boots slow to move in the grass. He does not notice that you discreetly reach up to wipe a rogue tear that escapes and cascades down your cheek as he turns away.

And so it goes on this way for a few days. You speak to Arthur only when he speaks to you, and even then, it's simple exchanges. There's no more joking or banter between you. Gone are the stolen glances and discreet blushes when catching each other staring. You have no harshness towards him, of course. But you can't bring yourself to maintain the flirtatious nature of your relationship either. You are not mad at Arthur after your revelation at the overlook, nor are you mean to him. You simply treat him like anyone else. Which, as it turns out, is something that Arthur is not prepared for. He is used to your smiles and greetings just for him. He is used to being special to you. But now, Arthur is just like everyone else in the gang.

This change in the dynamic weighs heavily on Arthur. His feelings aside, he simply misses you. It's been a long time since Arthur has had someone he can talk to and confide in. For someone who is generally annoyed by other people, Arthur has found that he enjoys your specific company. Your conversations and activities together range from the profound and insightful to the delightfully mundane and ordinary. In fact, he has come to need your companionship to balance the negativity of his life. Your softness counteracts the harshness that he experiences every time he is away from you. He craves the blissful distraction that your honey-sweet voice offers him.

One afternoon, Arthur decides to make another attempt to talk about this precarious situation. He catches you by the laundry while you are hanging today's wash to dry. You notice him out of the corner of your eye making his way over to you and you can feel your stomach start to churn as you avert your eyes to the task at hand.

He stops just in front of you as his hand comes up to rub against his chin nervously. "Y/N? Can I talk to you a minute, please?"

With a blank stare, you say nothing in response. You slowly lower your hands from the clothes line, twirling the clothes pins in your hands in distraction.

"Look, I know you're not happy with me right now, and I understand that," he starts. "But I was hoping we could still be friendly and all." Arthur's sapphire eyes search yours, looking for some indication that you are willing to put this unpleasantness behind you both.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you hesitate before you answer him. "Did you change your mind?"

"No," he shakes his head, glancing down at his boots. "No, I can't go about that. But I want things to just go back to how they were between us." Arthur is a simple man, and he is also a creature of habit. He is used to your presence in his life and, more importantly, the impact that you have on it.

“It doesn’t work like that, Arthur." You furrow your brows at him, finally speaking more than a few words at a time. "I understand your reasoning, I suppose. I don’t agree with it, but I accept it." You pause, looking down as your eyes begin to flutter at the emotional wave that you are trying to halt in your gut before you continue. "You’re allowed to feel what you do about it. I suppose I can’t be angry with you for that." Rolling the smooth wooden clothespins between your fingertips and inhaling deeply through your nose, you lift your chin to catch his gaze again. "But don’t expect me to act like nothing happened, Arthur.”

"I just can’t go down that road again, (Y/N)," he says, gesturing with his palm out, imploring you to understand. "Besides, I just want you to have a normal life."

With a slight shake of your head, you look up into his face. "Arthur, I have no interest in a 'normal life'. And besides, my life has been anything but normal already."

His only response is an eye roll before looking off to the side in frustration, trying not to start a fight with you again. The movement causes a pang of annoyance to strike in your chest as your hand plants onto your hip.

"I don't need your constant protection, Arthur." Your statement comes across a little more harshly than you intend to when you notice he is trying not to look you in the eye.

It is a comment that makes him slowly turn his face back to you with a sarcastic scowl. "Oh, I beg to differ on that one." God, the condescension is almost tangible.

You let out a deep and disappointed sigh as you study him a moment. "Nevermind. You just don’t get it." Shaking your head and dismissing this whole conversation, you bend over and harshly snatch up the laundry basket at your feet. You maneuver around him to head back to the tents and leave him standing there.

---------------------

By this point, you have become quiet and melancholy around camp. Everyone notices that you're not your usual bubbly self, as you seem to float through camp now, rather than be a part of it. Always observant, Abigail has had enough and pins you down to ask what the hell is going on with you.

"Why are you and Arthur so odd lately? Did something happen? Did you have a fight or something?" She eyes you suspiciously, handing you a cup of coffee while you and the girls take a break from chores and sit at one of the tables. The weather is still fairly warm today and everyone is bustling about to prepare for the oncoming colder months ahead.

You look over at Abigail with a woeful look as you accept the hot cup. "I told Arthur how I feel about him."

The girls all gasp in excitement, eager to finally talk about this thrilling topic. But your somber expression immediately halts their celebratory giggles.

"I don't understand, (Y/N), why aren't you more excited about this?" asks Tilly, leaning in closer to you from across the table to know more, astonishment draped across her cherub face.

You stare listlessly at the cup in your hands. "He turned me down. He said no."  

“He said what?!” Abigail’s eyes shoot wide before quickly screwing down in confusion.

“No! Why would he say that?” breathes Mary-Beth in hushed wonder, bringing her hand up to her mouth in shock. She exchanges a confused glance with Tilly before looking back to you, anxious for details.

You shrug softly with a sorrowful smile. “He doesn’t think he’s good enough for me, I guess.”

“Well, duh, of course he isn’t!” Karen blurts out with a wave of her hand before it slams down onto the table with a loud clap next to you. “But let’s be honest, there probably isn’t a man alive who is.”

“He’s entitled to his decision,” you quietly repeat the worn excuse you had given to Arthur already. “Besides, he’s been hurt before. I suppose I can’t blame him.”

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard," argues Karen, her pouty red lips frowning. "Do you want me to go talk some sense into him, honey? I’ll put my foot in his ass and set him straight.” Her doll-like eyes burn with intensity as she crosses her arms over her chest in a huff.

“No, no." You can’t help but smile at your friend's defense of you as the image of Karen taking on Arthur makes you chuckle a bit. "I can’t force him to be with me and I wouldn’t want to anyway.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense, (Y/N),” Mary-Beth points out. “I mean, we’ve all seen the way he looks at you. And when you two are dancin’ by the fire… I wish I had that.” Mary-Beth is so sweet and always the hopeless romantic of your circle. And while all of the girls have been pulling for you and Arthur to be together, it is always Mary-Beth who is the biggest supporter of it. When you had your hang-over confession of your crush on Arthur after your drunken night out with Karen, Mary-Beth told you that you and Arthur are like a real-life story out of one of her romance novels. At the time, you dismissed the silly notion as nothing more than a foolish daydream. But, still, it was a comment that made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

With a dejected sigh, your chin lands into the palm of your hand. Your shoulders sink as you lean onto the table. "Well, doesn’t matter now, does it?"

There is an awkward stillness as this discussion settles amongst your little group. Frankly, the girls are speechless. But your quiet moment with the girls doesn't last too long before Ms. Grimshaw saunters over and disperses you all. As long as there is daylight, there is work to do, and she will make damn sure that it gets done. Dividing up the chores between you all, the matriarch ushers you and Abigail over to Pearson's wagon to start prepping vegetables for tonight's dinner. You grab yourself a cutting board and a bowl of potatoes and amble over to a small work table to start peeling.

Once she has Jack occupied, Abigail grabs a bowl of carrots for herself and sits down across the table from you. She watches you with a heartbroken and disappointed look as you set about your task. You and she have become quite close since you've come here to join the Van Der Linde gang. While she certainly cares for Arthur as her own family, she feels just awful for you. She knows how much you care for Arthur. It's so obvious in everything that you do. And she knows that you could make Arthur truly happy, too. 'Damn him,' Abigail thinks to herself. 'Why does he have to be so god-awful stubborn?'

"I’m sorry, (Y/N), really I am." Abigail's voice breaks the painful silence as the two of you work. You look up at her with the eyes of a puppy that's been kicked. "I don’t know what’s gotten into Arthur. I really thought he’d jump at the chance to call you his," she insists tenderly.

You nod in understanding, but honestly, the whole situation is becoming exhausting. You've tried so hard to come to terms with it, but it's becoming harder than you expected. “Maybe it was a mistake to come here," you admit softly, your voice slightly broken. "But back home in the east, I have nowhere to go, and I can’t go back to Rosewood." You reach into the bowl of potatoes again, your fingers working as you precariously drag the knife over the starchy vegetables. "But, I don’t want to be a problem here either, though. I’d leave here but I'm afraid to even do that." You cringe internally at how pathetic you sound, especially complaining to Abigail who has had her fair share of hardship in this world.

She observes you with a sympathetic click of her tongue being the only sound she is able to muster at the moment as you continue.

"You know," lifting your eyes back Abigail, "Arthur said I shouldn’t even be here. Suppose he’s right about that. As usual." You roll your eyes a bit. "I guess I just don’t belong anywhere."

Abigail reaches over the table and wraps her hand over top of yours. "Oh, (Y/N) please don’t say that. Of course you belong here." She affectionately squeezes your hand a bit more. "Don't listen to that fool. You're one of us now." Chuckling, she adds, "Whether you like it or not."

You finally stop peeling potatoes and give her a tired but appreciative smile. "It's times like this that I really miss my father, you know? At least we were misfits together.” Your face drops a bit at the memory of him. You and he came out west together to start a new life and, well, that is certainly what has happened. You have forged a new path for yourself with this gang of thieves and miscreants and found a new family within it.

But still, you miss your father terribly, as he was always your one true and unyielding ally in this world. There have been many moments where you have caught yourself in tears and heartache over his abrupt death. While the members of the Van Der Linde gang have been most gracious in welcoming you into their circle, that pang of sorrow still lingers like a fresh wound. And now in light of this situation with Arthur, it seems to have come back to the surface ten-fold as you're not sure what to do now. Your father was always such a kind and understanding man, very pragmatic. You’d give anything just to have his council again.

After the two of you are done helping Mr. Pearson with dinner, you head back to the privacy of your tent to nurse a throbbing headache, and Abigail wanders over to the fire with Jack in tow. While her boy plays with his wooden figurines at her feet, Abigail sits cross-legged on the ground with her chin in her hand, staring into the crackling flames with a contemplative scowl on her face. Soon enough, an all-too familiar raspy voice catches her attention.

"Oh boy, who's on your shit-list now?" jokes John as he playfully tugs on the few wisps of hair that hang from her loose bun and dance along the nape of her neck. He slowly lowers himself to sit next to her, leaning out onto his knees with his elbows. "I'm hopin' it ain't me." He bumps into her shoulder with a smirk.

She snorts in his direction. "No, for once, it's not you. It's that idiot brother of yours."

John listens to Abigail vent her frustrations out to him as she goes on for a good twenty minutes. (Honestly, it feels good to him to not be the target of her ire for a change.) And after hearing of what is going on between you two, John decides to talk to Arthur about it. He actually agrees with his woman for once and wants to see if he can nudge Arthur in the right direction. You and John may have gotten off on the wrong foot when you first came to join the gang, but since then, he has come to be quite fond of you. He appreciates the friendship you have provided for Abigail, and you’ve helped him to create a better relationship with her. And, as much as he and Arthur bicker, John has to admit that you are good for Arthur. Plus, if he doesn't talk to Arthur, Abigail certainly will. And John will try to spare his brother her wrath that he knows all too well himself.

John finds Arthur over by the horses, getting them fed and watered for the night before everyone settles in by the fires. He saunters over to Arthur, no announcement, no greeting. He just blurts out “Are you crazy?!"

Arthur halts in his movements, looking over his shoulder and giving John a confused look. "What in the hell are you goin' on about now, Marston?"

"You have a woman like (Y/N) throwing herself at you and you say 'no'?! Jesus, I don’t ever want to hear you talk about how stupid I am!” John plants his hands on his narrow hips as he scolds the man in front of him. Arthur just gives him another confused look. "Abigail told me," replies John. "Apparently (Y/N) is all upset and was talking to Abigail about it."

Arthur rolls his eyes to the sky. "Shit..."  

"And before you get all mad at (Y/N) for blabbin', Abigail had to drag it out of her," John says quickly. "She was wonderin' why (Y/N)'s been actin' funny the last few days. "

"Oh..." Arthur sighs. He tosses the horse brush that is in his hand into the bucket at his feet and shoves his fingertips into his eye sockets in frustration. Great. Now the whole damn camp is going to know his business. "It ain’t that easy, Marston." He offers John his feeble excuse with a dismissive wave of his arm towards his brother.

John rolls his eyes in exasperation. "Well, what’s so damn hard about it, Arthur? She likes you, you like her - and don't tell me that you don't!" he quickly points his finger at Arthur before the man can even deny it. "It don’t get much easier than that!"

"What if..." Arthur's hand waves haplessly in the air, his eyes scattering across the camp, as he tries to find the words. "What if I get her killed? Huh?" A long, depressed sigh escapes his chest as he turns to lean his burly arms out over top of Buck's backside as he thinks. "Or, what if she decides that she really doesn't like me after all?" His chin turns back over his shoulder to meet John's questioning gaze again. "What then?"

"Well, that's a real possibility. I mean, I've known you for years and I still don't like you," John snickers.

"Don't be an ass," Arthur snaps back.

John proudly places his hand over his chest. "I can honestly say that for once, between the two of us, Arthur, I am not the ass in this situation here."

“She deserves better than the likes of me,” Arthur continues, flipping his hand about wildly again to indicate himself and the camp. And as he hears his own words hanging in the air, Arthur knows he's trying to convince himself more than John right now. Deep down, he's desperately trying to justify the huge mistake he knows that he is making.

“Well, that goes without saying." John walks a few steps closer to Arthur, casually patting Buck's hind quarters as he speaks. "But I say, if you really want (Y/N) to be happy, then just give her what she wants. And for whatever reason, that’s you, jack-ass." He looks his brother in the eye, an impish grin on his thin lips. "(Y/N) is not dumb, Arthur. Did you ever stop to think that if someone like her fancies you, then you can’t be all that bad?”

Arthur thinks on this for a moment, stunned by this idea. He's never considered it from that perspective. His vividly colored eyes dart around as the notion rolls about in his head. "You know, Marston, you may not be all that dense, after all."

John simply snorts in response. "Well, ain't that hard, considering the company that I keep."

"I can't believe I'm taking relationship advice from you of all people," Arthur mutters, as he draws his hand over his face in disbelief.

"I know, right?" John chuckles a bit as he slaps Arthur on the shoulder.

To Arthur's surprise, his talk with John actually makes him feel better. He decides to try to make things up to you, or to at least make the focused effort to go back to how things were before. But to his dismay, you resist his advances. You are trying to keep your distance from him at this point, avoiding him whenever you can, as you find that it's just too painful to be around him. You eat your meals in your tent, and you keep to yourself when you work. You are not unkind or rude to Arthur, using only simple one word answers when you have to talk to him. But there is no fondness or attachment with him as usual. The familiarity between the two of you has dwindled like a dying candle flame about to be swallowed in a bed of used wax.

You strategically place yourself the furthest away from Arthur whenever he is in camp, volunteering for any task that Ms. Grimshaw has available to keep yourself preoccupied. Grimshaw hates it when you girls are interrupted from whatever work she has dictated you to do. So you will use her iron-will to your advantage to shield yourself from Arthur if you can.

Aside from washing laundry all day, you run errands with Mr. Pearson, run scouts with Javier, and try to get out of camp altogether whenever you have the opportunity. You jump at the chance to go hunting with Charles any time he offers. In fact, you have come to rely on Charles quite a bit lately. Charles naturally has a calming presence about him and he has become a great comfort to you. He himself is also a bit of a loner and outsider in this group, and you have found a kindred spirit in him.

At one point you are in your tent cleaning up and turn to head out to find Charles. You are not paying attention, looking down as you shake out the jacket in your hands and you run right into Arthur, almost bouncing off of his chest. He has come to try to talk to you yet again, and corners you by your tent. He is standing in front of you with his thumbs tucked into his gun belt, as he usually does, but this time he has a slight scowl set upon his face, his eyes dark. If you didn't know him better, you'd be intimidated by his demeanor standing there.

You gasp, jumping slightly and placing a hand over your chest in surprise. "Jesus, Arthur! You scared the hell out of me!"  

“Figured I had to sneak up on you lest you run away from me again," he retorts, his voice carrying a tinge of annoyance to it. "What, are you trying to make me jealous by hangin' 'round with other men, now?”

You halt at his accusation, your face twisting up. "Excuse me?"

“You’ve been hangin' 'round with Charles quite a bit lately." His eyes level at you with a cold and mirthless stare.

"Have I?" Your reply is sarcastically innocent. You do not care for his insinuation in the slightest, and now it is you who is getting annoyed.

"Yeah, you have," Arthur pushes. "You won’t go out hunting with me, but you’ll go out with him.” He juts his thumb over his shoulder back at the camp behind him.

“I like Charles," you counter harshly. "He doesn’t talk much. I don’t have to worry about stupid shit coming out of his mouth.”

"Is that a fact?" His slow drawl is clearly an indication that he is not amused at your statement.

"Yes, it is. Is that a problem, Arthur?" You are not about to back down from him, no matter how much he towers over you as he steps even closer to you now while you glare up at him bitterly.

He waves his hand at you in irritation. "No. No, you do whatever you damn well want.” You can tell he is getting riled up now, as his eyes are flashing, and you can see his jaw clenching, even under his beard.

“Good, because I plan to," you snap at him again. "Besides, what am I supposed to do?" You toss the jacket that you are still holding onto your cot behind you before crossing your arms defensively over your chest. "And where’s this coming from, anyway, Arthur? I thought you wanted no part of that?"

He just stares at you, not really sure what to say to that. The argument is right there on the tip of his tongue, ready to strike its ugly head. He wants nothing more than to grab you and hold you tight, never letting you go; needing you to just stop lashing out at him for a damn second. But he can’t. He just…can’t. So instead, he stands there like a mountain; silent and not moving.

Anger begins to build in your chest, causing the brows above your beautiful eyes to crease. You can feel your heart beating painfully faster as the adrenaline courses through your body. And you can sense that your mouth is about to pour forth words that will be an unstoppable waterfall.

"First there’s the glances, the lingering touches, taking me out places, talking to me all the time," you start rambling, your composure quickly crumbling now that you are speaking to him again. "Then all of a sudden acting like I'm nothing to you-“

"Hey! I never said you were nothing to me!” he interrupts with a shout as he takes another step closer to you.

"- only to be jealous, now?!" Your voice squeaks as it hits the louder decibel.

“I ain’t jealous and I never promised you anything! You’re the one who made it complicated!” He points his large finger in your face, mere inches from your nose.

"Right, my error. My miserable error for giving a damn about you!" Your arms shoot straight at your sides as your voice continues to rise in anger, your eyes dangerously brimmed with tears that threaten to spill forth and betray your hard front.

You lower your head to your hands, driving your fingertips into your temples, desperately trying to keep your brain from exploding. "What are you doing, Arthur?"

"What?" he snaps defensively.

"What are you doing to me?!," you holler at him, lifting your face back to his. "You want me here, but you don’t want me here. You don’t want me, but you don’t want me with anyone else, either. You can’t keep stringing me like that! What is it that you want, Arthur?!"

"I don’t know what the hell I want!” His voice roars into your face, standing nose to nose with you now, so close that you can feel his hot breath across your cheeks.

"Well that’s obvious," you say flatly.

And as you fearlessly hold his stony gaze, it occurs to you that you're going to have to let this fantasy of yours die. You've tried so hard to make him see what’s in himself, and to see you; to get him to see that your heart is here for his taking and, more importantly, that he deserves to be loved in return.

But he’s a broken outlaw. And you're going to have to come to terms with that and let him go. The reality of this idea painfully nets over your heart as your gaze flutters before it drops from his angry eyes to his heaving chest and finally falls to the ground to his dusty boots.

Defeated, your shoulders drop. You shake your head as you turn away from him, not able to look upon his face anymore. "Just…get the hell out of my tent, Arthur." Your tone is quiet and broken now after all of the yelling. He's done it. He's won the argument and finally gotten what he's been pushing you for. You're done with your childish fantasy of making this fearsome outlaw a partner to you.

Arthur stands there staring at your back for a moment, the corner of his eyes stinging slightly. Rage electrifies and radiates throughout his whole body as his hands flex in and out of a fist at his sides. Finally, he turns and storms away from your tent. "God damn it!" he mutters harshly to himself. Why is it that everything he touches turns to shit?

From where he's been watching this whole exchange, Hosea quickly stands up from his chair, alarmed, as he watches Arthur stalk angrily away from your tent.

“Arthur!” Hosea calls out, his face clearly laced with concern. For an "angry Arthur" is a "dangerous Arthur" for sure.

"Not now, Hosea!" Arthur snaps, waving the older man off without so much as a glance in his direction as he stomps off.

Arthur is so infuriated right now, he's not really sure what to do. He's irrationally upset with you. He keeps replaying that day at the overlook when you revealed your affection for him. Why in the hell did you have to do that? It ruined everything. The two of you could have remained friends, and if he longed for you, he could just do it secretly as he's been doing since he's met you. But no, you had to push the idea and now the two of you are either hollering at each other or not speaking altogether. Why did you have to come here and be so nice to him? Why did you have to make him fall for you?

But he soon realizes how foolish he is being, chastising himself. It's not your fault, but his. He never should have let it get this far. He should have kept his distance from you from the start. He should have known he’d be weak-willed and defenseless against someone as good and pure as you.

Arthur stalks back to his tent and as he does, he looks up and sees Charles sitting outside of his own tent. He's sitting upon a log as a makeshift chair, his attention acutely fixated on the materials in his hands. Looks like he is making more arrows. 'Probably so he can take (Y/N) out hunting again,' Arthur sourly thinks to himself.

Arthur walks over to Charles, knowing he probably shouldn't right now. All of his reasoning argues that he should just stop and try to calm down. But unfortunately, Arthur is not thinking rationally at the moment. Charles casually lifts his head as he sees Arthur approach out of the corner of his eye.

"Arthur." Charles greets him with an air of caution, as he can see the tension on his friend's face. He could hear you and Arthur arguing just a few minutes ago. From where his tent is situated in camp, it is farther from yours, so Charles couldn't hear exactly what was said, only the volume and tone with which it was.

"Charles," Arthur coolly greets in return. "What you workin' on there? Hmm? More arrows to go huntin' with?" He cocks his head to the side as he coldly stares down at the items in Charles' hands.

"Yeah. I promised (Y/N) the next time we go out that we'd work on her bow skills. Been working with her on tracking lately. But she really wants to get a grasp on working with a bow."

Arthur looks on with disdain as Charles’ large fingertips delicately wrap the end of the arrow shaft with feathers.

"Oh, I'm sure she wants to get a grasp on somethin', alright," Arthur retorts bitterly.

Arthur's tone makes Charles hesitate. He looks back to Arthur and measures his words carefully. "You got a problem with me taking (Y/N) out hunting, Arthur?"

"Maybe I do."

Charles is not a violent man by nature, but he will stand his ground if need be. He has no designs to "steal" you from Arthur, if that is what the other man thinks he's doing. He has no intention of fighting over you, either. But Charles will fight for you if he has to. He puts the shafts and string in his lap down on the ground next to his feet. Arthur doesn’t move a muscle of his large frame as Charles slowly stands to square off and meets him at eye level.

“If you got a problem with (Y/N), Arthur, that’s between you two. She and I are only hunting together. That's all." Charles's voice is low and even. He doesn't want to provoke his good friend, but he also resents his tone. "Apparently, she's looking to get out of camp a lot lately, looking for some peace and quiet. And, she's a good shot, damn good shot, in fact. So she is welcome to hunt with me whenever she wants." Charles pauses, standing a little straighter, pushing his chest out a bit. "Besides, she’s my friend, too.”

Arthur cocks a knowing eyebrow at Charles. “Yeah, and we all know how friendships can go.”

“Mind yourself, Arthur,” warns Charles, pointing his finger at his chest and giving his friend a look that is more of disappointment than anger, before he sits back down and calmly resumes his work. He understands Arthur's frustration, and understands that he is not the target of the outlaw's anger. He also knows Arthur is better than this pettiness, too. But more importantly, Charles won't stand for anyone speaking badly about you, regardless of who it is.

Arthur says nothing else, realizing that he is not getting anywhere with Charles. So to avoid ruining yet another relationship that he has come to rely on, Arthur smartly buttons his lips and walks off to sulk in the solitude of his tent.

------------------------------

This stunning image comes from @regwishesshehadmagic​

The morning following your fight, Arthur is awake before the sun. He watches with bleary eyes as the crisp morning sun begins to fracture into his tent between the opening in the canvas. Not being able to sleep all night, he drags himself to sit up on his cot with a groan, rubbing his hands through his disheveled hair.  Despite his overwhelming fatigue, he is so restless, he can’t stand it. Feeling as if he is on the edge of going crazy, Arthur quickly gets himself together and rides out of camp before anyone is aware. He doesn't know where he is going or what he is going to do, only that he has to get out of this godforsaken camp and clear his head.

He spends the next two days out in the woods, thinking about what to do and what he really wants. He is being torn apart by this rift between you and him, torn between what he wants and what he feels is right. Arthur sits among the trees, silent as a statue, while the forest life goes on about its merry way around him, and rolls his doubts and misgivings over and over again in his mind, along with what Micah had said. Torturing himself with angry and hurtful words, the man blames himself for allowing himself to be in this situation to begin with.

As the long day draws out into the night, Arthur still sits, legs stretched out before him as the small campfire illuminates the now-encroaching darkness. And of course, Arthur also thinks of you. He takes his journal out and reads over the entries. Refreshing his memory with thoughts of you, he relives the moments you've spent together. Each passage brings forth a plethora of emotions, each stronger than the last. Your image is scattered throughout the worn pages in various forms, from the details of your eyes and lips, to the graceful curve of your neck, visible when your hair is pulled up, to a full-body likeness of you standing with Jack on your hip. His rough fingers trace over the lines of your face as he sits in deep thought, a small smile involuntarily blooming across his features.

But most importantly, he thinks about what you said at the overlook. His eyes relax and stare unfocused into the dancing flames of his fire, and Arthur's chest tightens as he vividly remembers the look on your face when he declined your affections and sat there and did nothing as he watched your eyes rim with tears. Your voice still booms in his ears:  “What is it that you want, Arthur?!”

Arthur’s fingers move as if combing through mud as he pulls a cigarette out of his satchel and lights it. Pulling a long drag off of the end, he lets out an extended and tired sigh. What does he want?

He knows he’s lonely. He hates to admit it, but he is. Cold nights and empty beds; no warm arms waiting to welcome him home. But the fear of exposing himself to love again, only for it to end horribly, is terrifying, even to a fearsome, hard outlaw. Losing Eliza and Issac shattered his heart. And Mary’s rejection has left him bitter and angry. Over the years, Arthur has channeled his hurt and pain into an armor until he has become someone else altogether; a shell of what he once was, and he wasn’t all that great to begin with. He’s no good, like a rotten apple that’s fallen from the tree that no one wants to take. Arthur doesn’t think he has it in him to do it all over again. And now, he is in a position to be stuck between living his life and running from it.

But you are different. You are not as young and naive as Eliza was. Nor are you as self-serving as Mary. Though he cared for and loved both women, Arthur knew, even then, that he was doomed, for these women did not fit with his family and lifestyle. But with you, that burden is removed. Not only do you accept the gang, but you have embraced it. And you are someone who cares for him, not for what he does, but for who he is.

You are delightfully chaotic; quite the beautiful mess, in fact. Arthur finds you to be wonderfully out of place in his life, but maybe that is as it should be. Kind of like when you see the moon during the daytime. You’ve turned your broken into beautiful and made your strength look invincible. You have never asked Arthur for the moon and the stars, but only to lay in the damp grass at night with you to watch them. And to Arthur, this means more than anything. The way your nose wrinkles when you smile. The way your eyes light up when you see him. The way you snort sometimes when you laugh. The way you get impassioned when you speak of something that touches you. Even the way you walk away from the fire at night to head back to your tent. Arthur wants it all.

And it is then that Arthur is hit with a profound realization. His eyes open wide and the air is sucked out of his chest as if he's been thrown from his horse. Arthur loves you. He loves you. And, more importantly, he wants the two of you to be together. More than anything. But can he do that?

He knows it's not the safe path, and probably not what is best for you. But John is right: if this is what you both really want, why not do it? He finally comprehends that he’s spent so much time being strong for everyone else that he’s never allowed himself to be happy. Maybe that needs to change now.

With resolve in his veins, Arthur quickly packs up his makeshift camp, literally tripping over himself in his haste, and heads back home.

As Arthur comes down the path back to camp, his eyes immediately notice that your horse is gone. Disappointed, but not discouraged, Arthur thinks about his next move and decides to ask Abigail and Mary-Beth what to do. If he is going to fix this great divide between you and him, he is going to need help to do it, as so far, he clearly doesn't know what he's doing on his own. He needs to bring "the big guns," as they say. And fortunately, Arthur finds the very two people he needs sitting together at a table.

“Can I talk to you ladies a minute?" Arthur calls over as he walks with purpose in their direction with a very determined look upon his face. The two women halt their conversation upon hearing him, curious about what he could want.

Mary-Beth smiles up at him as Arthur gets close to their table. "Sure, Arthur. What do you need?" He sits down next to Mary-Beth, pausing to organize his thoughts before he just comes right out with it.

"(Y/N) told me how she feels about me. You know, that she likes me an’ all. And like a fool, I pushed her away.” His eyes dart back and forth from both of their faces before shamefully down at his own hands that fidget on the table. "I guess I underestimated how I’d feel about that."

Abigail sits up straighter as a huge smile begins to cross her lips. “Are you saying that you want to be with her then, Arthur?”

"The question was never if I wanted to," he says to Abigail. "But she won’t even speak to me now." He holds his hands up in defeat before letting them fall haplessly onto the table, and looks to the women with a pathetic face, pleading for help. "Every time I try, we end up yellin’, and I make it worse."

Abigail gives him a scolding look. "Well, Arthur, you wounded her pride and broke her heart. What do you expect?" 

“Maybe you need a grand gesture?” suggests Mary-Beth, gesturing with her arms in emphasis. Her eyes go wide with excitement, eager to help usher this new relationship into existence. "(Y/N) can be stubborn, for sure. So if she won't talk to you, Arthur, then make her listen. Maybe you need to show her how you feel?"

“If you’re going to do something, you may need to do it soon, Arthur," warns Abigail, tapping her finger on the table. She goes on to tell him that you feel as if you don’t belong and have been distancing yourself from the whole camp.

 "She's up and out before anyone else, and when she is in camp, she rarely leaves her tent now." This worries Arthur because what if you decide to leave? Then what? He’s scared to lose you even though you're not his to lose.

Arthur sits quietly, taking in all of this information. He tries to think of what he could possibly do while Abigail and Mary-Beth both stare at him, waiting for the answer. "Thank you, girls. I appreciate your help," he finally says. "Do me a favor though, and don't mention this to (Y/N), please? I don't know what I'm doin' just yet, and I don't want to disappoint her even more than I already have."

"Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say," Mary-Beth answers with a hopeful grin. “Good Luck!”

He then looks to Abigail, who just stares back obstinately.

"Abigail?"

"Ugh, OK fine! I won't say anything. But you had better do something, Arthur Morgan!" as she points her finger at him. "Or so help me-"

"OK, OK!" he holds up his hands in surrender as he stands up. "I don't need two women in camp after me. I'll take care of it." And he smiles to himself as he heads to his tent to plan.

After mulling over his options, Arthur decides to ride back to Rosewood where you came from to see if he can find anything of your father's there. If you are missing your family, as Abigail told him, Arthur is hoping to bring back some sort of remembrance of him for you. After a quick check-in with Dutch, Arthur immediately heads out of camp and on his way to Rosewood. It's a few days' ride, so he needs to get going so he can hurry and get back.

Meanwhile, back at camp, you notice Arthur has been gone intermittently since your revelation, and now he’s been gone for several days after your fight. Things seem to be going from bad to worse. Figuring he’s outright avoiding the camp itself because of you, you don’t know what to do. This is his family, his people. And if you're the one making things difficult, then you will need to be the one to leave. So, you start coming to terms with the idea that you will need to find a new place of your own.

This evening, as the sun starts to crawl back behind the mountains, you find yourself sitting outside of camp by yourself. You stare out into the watercolor-painted sky, thinking over where you'll go and what you'll do. The idea of leaving is terrifying. You'll have to start over yet again. You'll miss everyone in this camp who you have come to love so dearly. You’ll surely miss Abigail and Jack. And of course Hosea. You'll miss Arthur. 

You draw your knees up closer to your chin and wrap your arms around them as an overwhelming fatigue cascades over you. You are so lost in your own thoughts that you do not hear footsteps behind you.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing out here?” You hear Charles' soft voice cut through your thoughts. When he didn't see you at dinner yet again tonight, he decided to come to check on you.

You hastily wipe away a few tears from your cheeks and try to smile for him. “Hi, Charles. What can I do for you?”

He cautiously approaches you as one does a wounded animal. His brows knit in concern when, even in the setting sunlight, he can see the red-rim of your wet eyes. "Arthur ain’t gonna be too happy if he finds out we’ve let you wander off by your lonesome.”

You scoff at that. "Oh, I highly doubt that," giving Charles a sad smile. "Although Arthur is the expert on what I shouldn’t be doing, it seems." You turn your attention back to the horizon, watching the last flecks of golden sunlight begin to fade for the day. "Besides, he won't have to worry about it much longer."

Charles freezes before nervously shifting his weight from hip to hip. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh…nothing. Forget I said anything." You wave off the comment as if it is nothing more than a rambling thought, but you still avoid his dark eyes.  

"(Y/N)…you OK?"

"Yeah…sure. I’ll be fine"

Charles steps closer to you, studying your face and countenance, not believing you for a second. "Listen (Y/N), I know you and Arthur are in a weird place right now-“

"Oh, Charles, I really don’t want to talk about Arthur. Really, I don’t,” you insist, shaking your head vehemently. Your eyes have a glassy sheen that causes Charles to cringe in pity for you.

“OK,” He’s silent for a moment. "Can I do anything for you?" His hand tentatively reaches out to you, not really sure what, if anything, he can do.

"No, sweet man, I’m OK. Thank you." You try to give him another smile for reassurance. "Go ahead back to everyone. I won't be out here much longer. I promise."

Charles hesitates a bit longer, before turning to head back to camp. "All right, if you're sure you're OK, then."

When you see him disappear amongst the tents again, you turn back to the horizon. The sun is gone now. The light has been snuffed out, leaving a cold and lonely atmosphere in its wake. The first few pin-pricks of starlight begin to emerge in the purple sky. You sigh deeply as your shoulders drop even more and your eyelids fall like stones. 

"I'm not sure of anything anymore," you whisper to yourself.  

A/N: *Oh my goodness, half-way there! More drama to come, but I promise, we’re getting there, and it’s definitely worth it (I hope anyway)

[ilanarose7]

Bells Hells Episode 95 Morning After Thoughts

SPOILERS BELOW!!! (This has become a weekly thing for me to help digest the episodes and I'm probably gonna keep doing it. really helps with my episode memory as well)

New favorite Campaign 3 episode unlocked!!!! The title of this episode has been released on Beacon (I won't spoil that), but I will personally be referring to it as "Shopping and Shipping" in my own head. It just had the perfect amount of everything and felt so incredibly cathartic (then stressful in the best way) after everything that's happened in recent episodes.

Let's break it down:

The Essek v Astrid verbal showdown!!! Essek appears to hold all the grudges that Caleb doesn't (or at least didn't really at the end of M9). When Astrid dropped the "Ludinus has an itch in the back of his neck" lore I was thinking back to when they first learned more about the harness and someone (I think it was either Marisha or Laura) wrote in their notes "We cut off Ludinus's head!!!" that was later read aloud. After that convo, that action seems like a decent play. That or maybe the Cadeuces-style Dispell Magic to the back of the neck. (side note: of course Fearne bought the Vasselheim version of the Kama Sutra 😂)

NEW CLOTHES FOR EVERYONE!!! We know there's new Dorian art waiting to be released since he rejoined the party, but everyone is getting an Aeor-ready makeover! It makes perfect sense, but I was still thrown off by the level of outfit upgrades and am so excited for the art!

Pumat is BACK! Well, his Simulacrum are at least. I don't care, just hearing that voice made me so happy. And also Dorian giving all his money to Orym so he can buy the armor? So what if I was squealing?

Downtime at the Cabaret ❤️ The Imodna kiss as Laudna went back upstairs. The Callowmoore flirting leads to Ashton, for the first time in a LONG time, successfully pick-pocketing Fearne. Dorian and Chetney banter back in full swing. Fearne leaving the EXU group hug to give Dorym a moment together. going back slightly but Iva Deshin made Bells Hells clock that YES, YOU ALL DO GIVE OFF POLYAMOROUS VIBES! So many character moments that have been needed in such a plot-heavy story

Ashton shows their head off to Essek! I have been waiting for this for sooooo long!!! Allura had given some answers, but talking more about how Dunamancy and the Assembly's manipulation of Dunamis has played a role in everything going on. While the cast know this info out of character, its good that they finally can do so in character as well

Laudna, Delilah, and the Sword-Shaped Elephant in the Room. Well, damn. First off, the acting in this last hour or so was AMAZING!! Also incredibly demonstrative of the level of trust at the table. Now to talk about the moment itself. The line between Laudna and Delilah has been getting blurrier and last night I don't think Marisha even knew fully where Laudna ended and Delilah began. The cast and many insightful Critters have been comparing Laudna to an addict and last night is an incredible example. The way Laudna handled it was wrong, this could have been a conversation rather than an initial attack. But was Laudna or Delilah the one making those choices? Or being manipulated into them? In the moment, the calm approach the group tried to take was the right one, but honestly, Laudna needs a harsher talking-to like what Chetney did with Ashton post-shard incident. Taliesin on 4SD said that's what saved Ashton from leaving the group. It might be something that, other than Imogen's love, may be enough of a wake-up call to help her break away from her Delilah-induced magic addiction

TLDR: The whole episode was full of amazing moments that were cathartic, informative, tense, and heartwarming. THE PERFECT BELLS HELLS EPISODE! again, that's just my opinion. I'd love to hear what everyone else thought too!

[rei-is-still-here]

Finding Delilah (Part 2)

Summary: Delilah goes back to the things that she promised herself not to do help with the pain.

<Part 1

Part 3>

Content includes : Use of drugs

The cigarettes were hidden in the third drawer, tucked beneath old envelopes and folded tissues she could not remember ever using. Delilah sat on the edge of her bed, the sky outside streaked with that grey-pink dusk that made everything feel liminal. She lit one with fingers that trembled faintly, holding it between her lips. Smoke curled upward, lazy and slow, and she closed her eyes, trying to pretend it didn’t sting.

She had promised herself she wouldn’t go back to this. No cigarettes. No opium. No long nights sitting by the window hoping that grief would pass like the weather. She had promised. And yet here she was, watching the cigarette burn down.

Her hands fumbled in the drawer again, this time uncovering a small paper-wrapped vial of opium. It felt heavier than it should have. She stared at it for a long time, debating. Just this once, she told herself. Just to quiet the ache. Just to forget how quiet the flat had become. Just to pretend that Polly might walk through the door any minute.

Later during the day, she made her way to the church again. Her steps were uncertain, her body lighter and heavier all at once. Inside, the candlelight flickered in steady rhythm, casting long, comforting shadows across the stone walls. Lucas Woods stood near the altar, as he always seemed to, his posture relaxed and hands loosely folded before him. He looked at her, eyes catching everything. The way her pupils were blown, the slightly uneven drag of her steps.

Delilah collapsed gently into one of the pews, rubbing her arms. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I needed somewhere that didn’t feel like it was collapsing.”

Lucas gave her a soft nod and sat beside her. “You’re always welcome here,” he said. His voice was a balm, quiet. “Would you like to talk?”

She nodded slowly. “I don’t even know what I want to say.” She took a breath. “It’s all tangled. My family… my brother, Tommy… He thinks he has to protect us all. Like that alone gives him the right to decide who we become.”

Lucas remained still, listening. “And your father?”

Delilah laughed without joy. “Wasn’t really there to be anything…but I suppose he was okay” Her voice faltered. Lucas nodded, “Grief changes the way we see people”. She looked down at her lap, where her fingers were pulling at a loose thread in her coat. “I feel like I’m walking backwards through my life,” she whispered. “I keep ending up here.”

Lucas finally spoke, softly but with weight. “Then take care as you walk. Even backwards. The path is still yours.”

She turned to him, her eyes red and glassy. “You’re not going to tell me to stop?”

He smiled, faintly. “No. Just take care of yourself, Delilah.”

—

She returned home that evening, and sat on the floor for a long while before picking up the telephone to dial Ada.

“Delilah?” Ada’s voice was cautious with a hint of tiredness.

“Ada,” Delilah said softly. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

There was a pause. “Are you alright? Do you want me to come over?”

Delilah shook her head, forgetting for a moment Ada couldn’t see her. “No. I’m okay. I just needed my sister tonight.”

Ada’s voice softened. “You sound far away. Not just on the line. In your head, I mean.”

Delilah exhaled, slow and quiet. “Yeah. I feel like I’ve been floating outside of myself all day.”

“You went to the church again?” Ada asked.

“I did.”

“Did it help?”

Delilah paused. “I don’t know. Lucas talked to me. He doesn’t try to fix anything. Just listens.”

“That’s good enough, men always tend to give advice you don't need anyway” Ada murmured. “But I wish you’d talk to me more. You don’t always have to be alone with this.”

“I know. I just… you’re the only person who still makes me feel like I haven’t completely disappeared.”

Ada’s silence was warm and steady. “You haven’t. I promise you, Dilly. You’re still here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Delilah blinked hard, eyes stinging. “Thanks, Ada.”

“Always.”

She hung up and immediately dialed another number.

“Thomas Shelby speaking.”

“It’s me,” she said, her voice less steady now. “I went to the church again today.”

He was silent for a moment, “Talk to the priest?”

“Yeah. He listens.”

Tommy’s voice tightened a little. “Good. Just don’t let him feed you too much nonsense.”

Delilah almost smiled. “No more than I can handle.”

Tommy smiled softly, “You home safe?”

“Yeah. I’m alright.”

“Good,” he said. “Get some sleep.”

“You too, Tommy.”

Delilah pressed the phone to her cheek for a moment longer after the line had gone silent, then slowly set the receiver back onto the hook. The soft click echoed in the quiet flat like a full stop at the end of a sentence she hadn’t wanted to finish.

But elsewhere, the sound of a pen scratching paper.

Tommy, alone in his study, flipped open his journal. The pages were neat and in an orderly manner. On one page, a single black star, pressed deep into the parchment. A date. Circled. Underlined once.

It was a mark he had used only a few times before.

Something was coming.

[mintywolf]

A Long Road Home - Page 98 Author's Notes

Page 98

In the version of this chapter when the overall plot arc and the main source of conflict between them was “Imogen knows what Delilah did but doesn’t believe she’s actually in Laudna’s head” rather than “Imogen believes Delilah is real but doesn’t know who or what she really is” this conversation was, naturally, very different. ***

Panel 1: The next morning. They take stock of their supply of food, which is meager. A few cans and half a loaf of bread. Laudna looks guilty.

Imogen: That's not gonna hold us for long. Gonna have to get to a town or somethin' where we can buy some more supplies.

Panel 2: They set out again. As Laudna dithers, Imogen starts to get impatient.

Laudna: I'm sorry.

Imogen: Not your fault. Or at least, it's mine too. But what was it you said about . . . knowin' it was gonna happen?

Laudna: Oh . . . nothing, really. Just -- it's nothing.

Imogen: Laudna, what is it?

Panel 3: She stops to look at her. Laudna intertwines her fingers uncomfortably.

Laudna: It's just that . . . she warned me that you -- that -- that you might hurt me, and then . . . that . . . happened. I know it wasn't your fault! You were under a great deal of stress.

Panel 4: Shouldering her pack, Imogen moves on ahead.

Imogen: If you don't feel safe travelin' with me, I understand.

Laudna: No, that's not it at all! I didn't want to believe her, but I think -- when she lashed out like that -- I think she was just trying to protect me.

Imogen: You don't have to make excuses for what you did. I know I deserved it.

Panel 5: Wide view of the mountain scene as Laudna stops, forlornly.

Laudna's Thoughts: You don't believe me.

Imogen: (sighs) I dunno what I believe. But that doesn't matter.

Laudna: You -- you don't -- you don't think Delilah is real?

Panel 1: Imogen realizes she has made a mistake.

Imogen: She's real enough to you. Look, forget I said anything. I'm just in a bad mood this mornin'. C'mon, we gotta find a new town.

Panel 2: Laudna opens her hood and points angrily at the scar on her neck.

Laudna: Do you think this isn't real, too? Or do you want a closer look at my ears? Do you think I carved them up myself?

Panel 3: Imogen returns to her, trying to broach the topic gently.

Imogen: No, of course not. Laudna. . . . I know she existed, historically. And I'd never doubt you about all those horrible things she did to you. But all this time you say she's been speakin' to you . . . I've never heard her. And I can hear everyone. So . . . maybe whatever she is now is real like Pâté is real. Somethin' your mind gave you to help you cope with what happened to you, or punish yourself for some guilt you don't deserve.

Laudna: You don't think Pâté is real?!

Panel 4: Imogen looks pained as Laudna stomps ahead of her.

Imogen: Laudna, wait . . . gods, I'm sayin' everything wrong.

Laudna: No need to explain. After thirty years of living in the woods in total isolation, who wouldn't go a little crazy and start talking to a dead rat and an imaginary ghost woman?

Panel 5: Imogen runs to catch up with her.

Imogen: But that's just it. You were alone because she made you that way. And now you're not alone. I'm here with you. Whatever . . . comfort, or protection, or company you were gettin' from her memory . . . I can be that for you. You don't need her anymore, Laudna. You don't have to let her keep hurtin' you.

Panel 6: Laudna looks troubled, but she smiles.

***

Some of the lines are the same but have a different meaning depending on whether Imogen is trying to persuade Laudna to let go of a delusion or break her pact with her warlock patron.

(To make things worse, the “Pâté isn’t the greatest conversationalist” line is a paraphrasing of what Delilah said to her about him back on this page.)

I really like the conflict between them caused by Imogen not believing in warlock patron Delilah, until faced with undeniable evidence of her control over Laudna, but I think the gradual reveal of D’s awfulness and Imogen’s horror that Laudna’s killer has been with them the whole time and Laudna is actually still pretty attached to her because she had no one else to be attached to all this time works better overall.

Before I started drawing this chapter I also asked around for opinions on SG Discord about the four possible combinations of events (Imogen learning about Laudna’s history at the beginning or the end of the chapter, and believing or not believing that the Delilah in Laudna’s head is real) and it was unanimously agreed that the one where she believes in Delilah but doesn’t know what she did until the end of the chapter was the best version, so that’s what we are reading now. :)

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

Fuck it, PaulChani playlist but it's updated and improved

Work Song - Hozier

And I was burning up a fever/Didn't care much how long I lived/But I swear I thought I dreamed her/She never asked me once about the wrong I did

Whatever May Come - Ramin Djawadi (from House of the Dragon)

A Time of Quiet Between the Storms - Hans ZImmer (from Dune Part 2)

Silhouettes - Of Monsters and Men

There's nothing that I'd take back/But it's hard to say there's nothing I regret No matter where I sleep/You are haunting me

Dreams - Fleetwood Mac

Now here I go again, I see the crystal vision/I keep my visions to myself/But it's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams and/Have you any dreams you'd like to sell, dreams of loneliness/Like a heartbeat, drives you mad/In the stillness of remembering what you had

Put Your Money on Me - Arcade Fire

All my presents are broken before they're open/And the promises, the second they're spoken/I know I've been different/My skin keeps shedding/My mother was crying on the day of our wedding

Running Up That Hill - Kate Bush

You don't wanna hurt me/But see how deep the bullet lies/ Unaware I'm tearing you asunder/There is thunder in our hearts/Is there so much hate for the ones we love?/Tell me we both matter, don't we?

White Blank Page - Mumford & Sons

Can you lie next to her/And give her your heart, your heart as well as your body?/And can you lie next to her/And confess your love, your love as well as your folly? Oh tell me now where was my fault, in loving you with my whole heart?

No Light, No Light - Florence & the Machine

And in the crowd I was crying out/and in your place there were a thousand other faces/I was disappearing in plain sight/Heaven help me, I need to make it right Would you leave me if I told you what I've done?/And would you leave me if I told you what I've become?/'Cause it's so easy to sing it to a crowd/But it's so hard my love, to say it to you out loud

History of Man - Maisie Peters

You didn't even falter/Didn't look back once, did you?/So Samson blamed Delilah, but given half the chance/I would've made him weaker too I've seen it, in the poems and in the sands/I've pleaded with the powers and their plans/I tried to rewrite it but I can't/it's the history, the history of man

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived - Taylor Swift

Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?/Did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?/Were you writing a book? Were you a sleeper cell spy?/In fifty years will all this be declassified?/And you'll confess why you did it/And I'll say 'good riddance'

Elastic Heart - Sia

And I might've thought that we were one/Wanted to fight this war without weapons/And I wanted it, I wanted it bad/But there were so many red flags Now another one bites the dust/It's hard to lose a chosen one

Can't Catch Me Now - Olivia Rodrigo

There's snow falling over the city/You thought that it would wash away/The bitter taste of my fury/And all of the messes you made

No Children - The Mountain Goats

And I hope when you think of me years down the line/You can't find one good thing to say/And I hope that if I'd found the strength to walk out/You'd stay the hell out of my way

Landfill - Daughter

Throw me in the water/Don't think about the splash I will create/Leave me at the altar/Knowing all the things you just escaped Well this is torturous/Electricity between both of us/And this is dangerous/'Cause I want you so much/But I hate your guts

The Night We Met - Lord Huron

And then I can tell myself/What the hell I'm supposed to do/And then I can tell myself/Not to ride along with you I had all and then most of you/Some and now none of you/Take me back to the night we met

Send My Love (To Your New Lover) - Adele

I was too strong/You were trembling/You couldn't handle the hot heat rising/I was running/You were walking/You couldn't keep up, you were falling down Send my love to your new lover/Treat her better/We've gotta let go of all of our ghosts/We both know we ain't kids no more

For No One - The Beatles

Your day breaks/Your mind aches/There will be times when all the things she said will fill your head/You won't forget her/And in her eyes you see nothing/No sign of love behind the tears, cried for no one

The Language of Girls - Ramin Djawadi (from House of the Dragon)

Cosmic Love - Florence & the Machine

A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes/I screamed aloud as it tore through them/And now it's left me blind/The stars, the moon/They have all been blown out/You've left me in the dark

The Scientist - Coldplay

I was just guessing at numbers and figures/Pulling the puzzles apart/Questions of science, science and progress/Did not speak as loud as my heart/Oh tell me you love me, come back and haunt me Nobody said it was easy/it's such a shame for us to part/Nobody said it was easy/No one ever said it would be this hard

Shrike - Hozier

And I'd no idea on what ground I was founded/All of that goodness is going with you now/Then when I met you, my virtues uncounted/All of my goodness is going with you now Dragging along, following your form/Hung like the pelt of some prey you had worn/Remember me love, when I'm reborn/As the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

[blorbologist]

briarwoods!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! cadaver, cross, century

[I'm LATE but this idea hit me while crossing the road. like a car. and it's maybe MOSTLY Delilah but she's constantly thinking about Sylas it's ok]

--

Delilah can’t say she’s bored. She really can’t. But - oh. The cemetery is tempting.

If it’s bodies she wants - and of course she wants, from the head of this table, with an entire city at her disposal - she can want them and then have them. Brought to her: already dead, or alive, or in-between. Or down the secret stairs, in the crypts, neatly labeled samples. Or in the servant’s quarters, where she could choose a body herself and redistribute the staff. 

All the funding of the assembly means little compared to this wealth, this absolute wealth, of cadavers. Enough to test the limits of her control - to find those lines malleable. And fresh, so fresh, in whatever state she wants. 

But she wants the cemetery. 

So: here she is, soft shoes muddied, sweat at her back. And it’s underwhelming. The markers are in wobbling rows, skirting ground too rocky for graves. 

(Rexxentrum’s graveyards are neat. Efficient in their use of space; they only take urns. Tiny, cramped urns. Far too small.)

Whitestone is a well-trained city by now, brought to heel. It watched politely, quietly as she walked, and probably averts its eyes as she walks, feeling the dead underneath, around, everywhere. Or maybe little people try their very best to peer through the fog, to glimpse the Lady of the city seeks on such a night.

You see - no, do look. You see, it is very difficult to get away with grave robbery near Rexxentrum. Or several miles outside it. Even within reasonable distance of most major roads. Which is such a shame when decomposition is a fascinating process, one so heavily influenced by the size of the corpse and the content of its insides and how it is buried. 

Delilah almost floats over the loamy ground. At what point is a body beyond even her talents? Is it a matter of time, or preservation? To the best of her knowledge, a minimum amount of material from the same individual is needed - but how degraded could they be? She’s never really had the sample size to experiment before.

(Decomposition begins as the body begins to eat itself. Then the littlest creatures begin to eat it, too. Everyone so hungry for it, so hungry. Three days later and there is bloat, and fluid, and flies, and maggots. And he looks just like any of her bodies, and he looks wrong.)

She peruses the markers with a smile. Cute, in wood or stone, they are fashioned into sunbeams pouring over where the deceased’s head should be. One for date of birth, one for their name, and one describing when and how they died. Sometimes another with a short message, but she really only cares for the cause of death.

(A few are broken, crooked. Made into crosses; made into wooden daggers. Pretty, petty threats. Cause of death: nothing, never, he did not die, he will not.)

For centuries she walks. Down one row, up the next. Consumption. Lethargie. Accident, accident, accident. Erathis’ judgment. Tympany. Coffin birth - oh, interesting. Here there is not a marker but a shovel, at the head of an empty grave. Flanked by another, another, another. They’ve been busy. 

She peeks in. Shame - nobody. No body yet. 

(In a fit, she had bought a plot for him. For her. So he could have something, even if she failed him. And she did. Until she didn’t anymore. Now it probably sits empty.)

Her heart is too loud, baying in this quiet. Delilah inhales. Exhales. Petrichor and moss and a whiff of her own perfume. Heel, she wills it. Heel. It would do her no good to worry Sylas, if he listens for her.

(They would fit neatly in one of the graves, in any of them. Six feet and Sylas would help her down with a hand. The dirt would be cool; he would be colder. A burial just for them, only moving things in this cemetery.)

When she is confident her blood is as still as it can be, as close to death as she can be between breaths - when she is here and now and not then and there. Only then does she reach for the nameless dead and make them move.

[12pt-times-new-roman]

c3e69 (nice)

At present, because it wasn't obvious whatsoever from the end of the last episode, their game plan is to a) fix Ludinus' harness and use it to defeat him; and b) use the harness in the Shattered Teeth to absorb energy to make themselves stronger.

New Ashton outfit! Highlights include knee-high boots, color-shifting fabric, black gloves with brass buckling on them, the pentagon symbol on the back of the black spiked jacket, a deep crimson lining in the jacket. "Do you believe in fate? Chaos has a fucked up sense of humor. It feels... I feel seen. It feels like a uniform. It feels just."

Orym, Fearne, FCG, and Nell travel to Zephrah's graveyard. It's a terrace atop a hill with flowers, impossibly bright and vibrant, connected to multiple of the same structures on different mountaintops. Will and Derrig's graves are marked by stacks of stones; a weathered chestplate sits against the base of Derrig's, and Will's sword is stuck into the dirt in front of his.

Meanwhile, Chetney, Laudna, and Imogen (with Ashton tagging along behind) head toward a hilltop to see if they can ride a skysail. They eventually bribe their way onto a handful of "training" skysails.

I forgot how much I love Chetney and Laudna's interactions. They're so fucking chaotic.

Chetney and Laudna dogfighting on skysails while Laudna's tandem is trying and failing to take back control of the thing and Imogen is just flying around near them -- this is peak comedy and has the exact same energy as Beau and Veth racing up the tree

Orym goes and picks up his commission. His new armor is almost a bodysuit made of dark brown leather; it's more battle-ready, more appropriate for the front lines than the more "Zephran casual" outfit he was wearing. The blacksmith tells him that Keyleth has paid for the armor, that it's his "uniform."

They head to Orym's favorite beer garden, the Aerie Eire, to have a drink.

Naturally, FCG finds this an appropriate place to bring up his god shit again. Like, I understand why -- it's a completely reasonable character choice for Sam to make, and perfectly reflects FCG's immaturity, naivety, and inability to make decisions on their own -- but fuck, it's really grating. FCG has had this black-and-white line of thinking since the campaign started, and they've just stayed behind while the rest of the Hells have grown out of those early-campaign things.

Laudna steps outside and goes to sit on a cliffside and meditate. Quietly, under her breath -- "Delilah? Are you still there? I felt a little pulse, back in Issylra. So I'm just curious." Nothing, then Imogen approaches, sits next to her. They kiss.

As they stand to go, Laudna hears a voice. "No matter who you pray to, no matter who you reach for, you are, and will always be, mine."

Chetney takes out the sword, and it tries to convince him that Keyleth is untrustworthy because she's an ally of the Council of Tal'dorei. (Sigh.)

Liam is way too good at acting half-drunk, lmao

"We should make a fire!" "Not on the roof." "Aww..." They return to Orym's mom's house, and debate sleeping on the roof or in the backyard.

Fearne scries on Dancer. She's in a dark city street, a little past sunset -- she's in Yios, being accompanied by a little spherical helper robot and a metallic bat-like creature. In her eyes, there's a battle between the magnificence of the city around her and the reality of enjoying it alone.

Ope, the players have started calling D "Devexian" --

Orym uses the sending stone. "Hey Caleb. I am in Tal'dorei after shit went down. You alive? We been drinkin'. But seriously, are you alive? Talk to me, goose." Orym's connection to the stone's enchantment feels crackly and broken, and there's no response. Laudna checks the scry ball, and it's dark.

They complete a long rest, and set off to see Keyleth. She's going to be hopping around the world to contact her allies, though they have very little information about where they're going and who they're facing.

The Bells Hells have decided that they're going to go to either Yios (to see Dancer) or the Menagerie Coast (to see D), then to the Shattered Teeth. Keyleth notes that, although she herself hasn't been to Evan'travir, Jirana can guide them there.

Keyleth has had a thought. "Perhaps... perhaps, when you feel comfortable and ready, maybe a mission of information, to go there and back, to see what we're dealing with." "A mission to the moon?" "I know it seems strange, but just yesterday, you told me there were people there, so..."

I think, through all this, that is the clue they needed. That statement is Matt definitively telling them that they do have time, they can go find Dancer and D, they can go to the Shattered Teeth and make it back on time for the fight.

Now that they're talking about it, it seems prudent to mention that Imogen summoning the reiloran spirit is her using summon aberration, and that the reiloran uses the star spawn stat block (see its psychic aura). And star spawn are specifically the twisted forms of followers of elder evils.

There was some left over, so Keyleth offers them the remainder of the salve that cured her wounds.

Also, Keyleth offers them a plan for transportation: she'll travel with them to either Dancer or D (and could regrow Dancer's arm with regenerate if that's where they go), then send them to the Shattered Teeth once they're done.

oh I cannot wait for Chetney to take a swing at Keyleth, just to see him get hit with a feeblemind

They teleport to Yios. "You ever been to a casino, Tempest?" Fearne uses locate creature and immediately clocks Dancer's presence.

They head to a nearby inn, and FCG and Imogen go up to Dancer's room. "FCG... I don't need to be fixed, alright? What I've been able to make here is a reminder of being careful where I put my trust." "Well, then can you... can you at least... I can't move on, I can't do my job, until I conclude this chapter with you. I did something horrible, something I can't live with unless you let me -- I'm not asking you to forgive me, I'm asking you to do something good for someone else." "If you really came here to help, to fulfil whatever fuckin' savior mission you put yourself on, I'll help, but... I can't do anything about whatever you've decided to put yourself through. The only one hanging on is you. I know it sounds harsh, but you gotta fuckin' move on."

She accepts their offer. She'll look at Ludinus' vest and will try to fix it, in exchange for FCG never talking to her again. She herself doesn't know exactly what it does, but thinks that Imahara Joe could offer some insight; so Keyleth transports them to Bassuras.

Upon arrival, FCG is attacked by Shithead, which is promptly killed and begins to reform. FCG casts identify on it, revealing an extremely strong necromantic power seated within the bird. Fearne uses speak with animals on it. "My master is gone and I cannot die, so I just shit on [FCG]... it's been so long, I can't even remember, but I once had a name... she called me Gargo." Alright, so this fucker is 100% the familiar of the mage FCG murdered during the Care and Culling, right?

So, on this: turn undead does not affect Laudna. She shouldn't have made a save, because Hollow Ones are not mechanically undead (they only count as such for detection, not spell effects); but regardless, she never could've been destroyed by it, because a PC's challenge rating is usually their character level minus 1 or 2 (so the Bells Hells' CR are all 9, Keyleth's is 19, etc.)

In Bassuras, everything has a red hue, as the perpetually flaring Ruidus casts its cursed light upon the Hellcatch Valley. And that's where we pick up next time.

[tagobejoy]

CONFESSION #5 (Delilah): He Touched Me… and Realized I Wasn't What He Expected

You ever want something so bad you lie to yourself just to taste it? That’s what Delilah did. Not out of malice, not to trick anyone—but because, like a lot of us, she wanted to be wanted. She wanted to feel normal, sexy, real… in someone else’s arms. And when Frankie—the kind of man you dream about but never expect to kiss you back—actually did, she let the moment carry her.

This isn’t a story about deception. It’s about risk. It’s about that terrifying line between honesty and rejection, and how sometimes, being loved for who you are means first being seen, fully and naked. What happened that night wasn’t just sex—it was surrender. Not just of bodies, but of fear, shame, identity. You might think you’d never be in Delilah’s shoes. But if you’ve ever been scared to show someone your full truth, or held your breath waiting to see if they'd still want you after they knew everything… then maybe, just maybe, you already have.

I’m Sève Noire De Tonga. Welcome to the confession booth—where nothing stays hidden.

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---

<<And now the confession!>>

---

Sève Noire: (warmly, like I’m lighting a cigarette with my tone) Delilah. First of all, thank you for sitting across from me tonight. You already know what this is—Confession of the Flesh. No filters, no shame. Just you, me, and the truth. Are you ready?

Delilah: Ready as I’ll ever be, Sève. Though… part of me still wonders why I’m even doing this.

Sève Noire: (laughs) Because the flesh remembers, and you’ve got something unforgettable tucked in your memory. So tell me. Start at the beginning. Who was he?

Delilah: Frankie. God, Frankie was… charismatic in that way you only see in movies or rockstars. And that’s because he was one. Touring artist. Leather jacket, cigarette lips, the whole thing.

Sève Noire: Mmm. The kind of man who makes you forget how to walk straight. So what was the setting?

Delilah: Hotel suite. Presidential. Everything expensive but dim—like the room knew what was about to happen. I followed him in, and the city lights painted his face gold. It felt like the world had stepped out and left us alone.

Sève Noire: So you knew something might happen.

Delilah: I did. But I also didn’t. We flirted the way people do when they’re pretending they don’t want to devour each other. He offered wine. I made jokes in a fake British accent. He matched my energy, like we’d been doing this for years.

Sève Noire: (teasing) And you thought you could just sip a Malbec and walk out with your skirt still zipped?

Delilah: (laughs) I wanted to believe I could. But he kissed me. Out of nowhere. And I kissed him back—hard.

Sève Noire: Tell me how it felt.

Delilah: Like gravity reversed. He touched my cheek like it was a violin, and my thigh like it was a secret. I felt… wanted. Not just for my body. For my rhythm, my presence, my nerve.

Sève Noire: (serious tone now) But you stopped him.

Delilah: Yeah. Right before it got serious. I pulled away. Told him maybe it wasn’t the right time. I didn’t want to be a chapter he forgot by morning.

Sève Noire: Or maybe you were scared he’d find something you didn’t know how to explain.

Delilah: Exactly. I was terrified. My heart was sprinting. He could tell something was off. But I tried to leave. He stopped me—gentle, not pushy. Said, “Don’t go. Please.” Just like that. As if I mattered.

Sève Noire: Did he know then?

Delilah: No. Not yet. He just saw fear and thought it was about feelings, not identity.

Sève Noire: So what changed your mind?

Delilah: (quietly) He looked at me like I was the only truth he wanted that night. I told him, “There’s stuff you don’t know about me.” And he said, “I don’t care.” I fell into his arms after that. I was weak for him. For the moment.

Sève Noire: (pauses) That’s heavy. Did it feel like you were betraying yourself?

Delilah: It felt like I was betraying him. Because I hadn’t told him I’m trans. Pre-op. And things… they escalated quickly.

Sève Noire: You got lost in the fire.

Delilah: Yeah. He kissed my neck. Took off my top. I touched him—felt how hard he was for me. And I forgot everything I’d rehearsed to say if this moment ever came.

Sève Noire: Then what?

Delilah: He undid his pants. God, Sève, he was beautiful. Like sculpture. And when he reached under my skirt, everything stopped. He touched me… and realized.

Sève Noire: (leans forward, voice low) What did he say?

Delilah: “You’re a man.” Just like that. Four words like cold water down my back.

Sève Noire: Did you correct him?

Delilah: I said, “I was a man. I’m a woman now.” And he stared—stuck in a loop of shock and disbelief. I covered myself. I could feel the shame crawling up my skin.

Sève Noire: Did he make you feel ashamed?

Delilah: No. I did that to myself. I assumed he’d leave. That he’d curse or call me a liar. So I stood up, gathered my things. But before I made it to the door, he said, “Don’t go.”

Sève Noire: (gently) He said that?

Delilah: He did. I was frozen. And then I asked him, “But what about my cock?”—because I needed the truth. He looked at it, then said, “I want it.”

Sève Noire: (whistles softly) That’s a man who knows what he wants. Or is brave enough to admit it.

Delilah: It shattered me. In the best way. I ran back into his arms, and for the first time in years, I felt seen—not in spite of my body, but with it.

Sève Noire: Tell me what that felt like—when he accepted all of you.

Delilah: Like I was reborn. We kissed, and this time it wasn’t frantic. It was worship. He took his time, touched me everywhere. He stroked me with both hands like he was learning my language.

Sève Noire: Did you still feel fear?

Delilah: A little. But it got drowned out by how hungry we were for each other. I went down on him—slow, loving. He tasted like desire and salt and everything I hadn’t let myself crave.

Sève Noire: (a soft hum) I imagine he was moaning your name.

Delilah: He was. Holding my hair, whispering it like a song. Then he took control again—pulled me onto the bed, spread my legs.

Sève Noire: (curious) Did you expect him to want you… like that?

Delilah: Never. I thought he’d be afraid of my body. But instead, he celebrated it. He looked at my cock like it was a jewel. Then he kissed me again and said, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Sève Noire: (deep breath) Delilah… that’s more than lust. That’s revelation.

Delilah: I know. And then—he wanted to feel me. Inside him. So he climbed on top of me, guided me in. I’ll never forget the way he gasped, bit his lip. It was like he was discovering a new universe.

Sève Noire: (gently) Was it passionate? Or something deeper?

Delilah: Both. He rode me, held my hands against the mattress, kissed my chest. I stroked him while I was inside him. It was messy, beautiful, overwhelming. We finished—together. Collapsed like stars colliding.

Sève Noire: (quiet for a moment) Delilah… that’s one of the most intimate confessions I’ve ever heard.

Delilah: It broke something open in me. For the first time, I felt not just validated—but chosen.

Sève Noire: But he had to leave, didn’t he?

Delilah: Yeah. Touring life. He said he didn’t know when he’d be back. I begged him to stay. But he promised—“I’ll come back.” And then he kissed me again, this time with all the weight of goodbye.

Sève Noire: (soft laugh, bittersweet) Why is it that the people who light us on fire are always on their way to another city?

Delilah: I still think about him. Still wonder if he meant it. If he’ll return.

Sève Noire: Would you let him back in?

Delilah: In a heartbeat. Even if just for another night of knowing I’m not too much, or not enough—I’m exactly what someone wants.

Sève Noire: Delilah… you’re a symphony of desire, bravery, and truth. You gave him more than your body. You gave him the chance to grow into a better man. And maybe that was the real climax.

Delilah: (chuckles) Trust you to make poetry out of sweat and wine.

Sève Noire: Poetry lives there, darling. Between the “don’t go” and the “I want you.” Thank you for trusting me with this. You’ve added fire to the archive.

Delilah: Thank you, Sève. I didn’t realize how much I needed to say it all out loud.

Sève Noire: (smiles, the sound of a glass being set down) And now it’s out in the world. Confession made. Story told. Lust, love, and something deeper.

Delilah: And messy romance.

Sève Noire: The best kind.

---

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This confession is brought to you by: SÈVE NOIRE DE TONGA.

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God Bless 🙏.

[bravoxjacex]

"The Goodbye That Wasn't Mine" (Finale)

I stood there for a long time, the ring heavy in my palm, feeling like I was the only one not saying goodbye to someone I still had.

Because she was already gone. And I was still here.

I finally made my way onto the waiting bird. Brothers already aboard. I was last to fall in line. Atlas grabbed my shoulder, waiting to make some snide remark about my lack of responsibility. He never got the words out.

His touch woke me from the daze I had found myself in. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. To say I was hurt would have been an understatement. As I let out a roaring growl mixed with anger and frustration, I threw the ring that had still been clutched in my hand. It pinged off the metal of the plane before landing at Sly’s feet.

It was then my brothers knew the damage she had done.

The bird was soon after flying high into the sky. Flying off to some remote area where I could forget. I had seventeen hours to begin to forget. To begin to get her off my mind. Erase the last fucking three years I’d wasted on her.

Atlas sat near my hammock. His hands folded tightly together as he tried to compose his words. “Listen kid,” he started off in an annoyingly upbeat tone. He stood to his feet so he could look at me better. He must have sensed I wasn’t in the mood because his next choice of words wasn’t what I had been expecting.

“I’ve been where you are J, and it stings like hell right now. But I promise you, if you use that as your fuel in the battlefield, you will come home a better man than when you left.”

I gave him a nod and watched him go back to his hammock for the remainder of the flight. Frogmen slept when they could.

Atlas hadn’t been wrong.

We returned home three weeks early. Surprised to see Delilah Riggins in the parking lot, I gave Sly a look.

“She ain’t here for me brother, my rides over there,” he said pointing to Lilah’s cousin Charlie.

“Eddie is going to kill you,” I joked before making my way to Delilah. “Am I in trouble or something?”

Delilah shook her head as she grinned. “The opposite actually? Those two stopped sneaking around with whatever that is and my dad’s called a family dinner tonight. I will literally pay you ten grand just to play security.”

I honestly couldn’t help but laugh at her request.

Delilah wasn’t wrong. On the contrary, she couldn’t have more correct.

“Look, I know I’m dating his brother, but everybody is looking at me like I purposely brought Sly around to sexually satisfy my strangely horny cousin. You are Sly’s best friend, and I have known you since you were a kid. So, I am literally BEGGING you Jason, please!”

For Delilah, that was begging. It was the best I would get. And I couldn’t say no. I had questions first.

“When you say, family dinner, is that everyone in the family? Or just the Riggins side?”

Lilah gave me a look that could have stabbed me in the heart. She didn’t get my joke.

“Do I get to eat?”

“Only if you sit between Charlie and Sly and don’t worry, I’ve made sure we will all be seated before they arrive at the table, and you tell Sly NO when he tells you move.”

I nodded in agreement. I loaded the gear into her truck and got into the backseat with her. Delilah was the only person I knew with this beautiful of a truck and paid to have a driver. I understood why she did though. As we reached the house, I realized the news I had heard while gone.

I followed Lilah into the house. She wasn’t joking when she said family dinner. I forgot how many of them there were. Spotting Savannah, alone, from the corner of my eye, I snuck away from Delilah.

I didn’t know how to approach her at first. I would never understand the pain she was feeling. I found myself wanting to take it all away. I stuffed my hands into my pocket and cleared my throat as I closed the gap between us.

“I’m really sorry I couldn’t be here for the funeral,” I told her softly.

It was all I could think of to say.

[darkdisrepair]

cr c3e25 imogen meta

of course i was going to write this, because it's been a MONTH in the making and we GOT WHAT WE CAME FOR FRIENDS it's my favorite genre called IMOGEN ANGST!!!

topics: imogen, fearne, ollie and birdie | imogen and orym + a little laudna and fcg | laudna's message to dusk |

messaging birdie

although the thing The Shippers are talking about is the conversations surrounding the imodna angst, one of the most interesting aspects of this episode to me was how fearne's backstory ties, more than i thought it would, into imogen.

preface: i did not watch the OG exu, so i'm approaching knowledge of fearne like any of the other non-exu c3 characters.

firstly: imogen's reaction to fearne, being split up from her parents- fearne, saying that she was very young when they left, that they had something important to do and they didn't come back, fearne, spending most of her life not knowing where her parents are, and then suddenly finding a tie to them in the middle of something unexpected-

sounds familiar, dosen't it? to how imogen has no memories of liliana, how she finds her mother's name written in a list of contributors, blindsided by the idea that her mother hadn't died when she thought that she did, or that she was doing something that imogen hadn't even thought of- how, when she sees her mother, will she even know who she is?

fearne is getting a reunion she never thought she would have. and for imogen, it's exciting but it's also heartbreaking.

now, onto the messaging itself: i had talked before about the burden of mind reading, and that issue is ever-more relevant now that imogen has actively become the messenger for something that carried such personal weight.

there was that moment, before birdie responded, that imogen was probably thinking- what if they don't answer? what if i fail? how do i know if i failed, because they're dead, or i failed, because they don't want to see fearne? who am i, to do this? and if i say the wrong thing, what if

and thank goodness it works, because if imogen hadn't been able to help fearne, it would just be another indicator of her failure, to help her friends, another decision that she made that ended up with someone getting hurt.

and yet, there's a deep longing in her words, that she sends to birdie, and a deep sadness there, too, for what she's lost, for the reunions that she may or may not have.

imogen says to orym something along the lines of "i hope it's a happy reunion."

what kind of reunion does she expect with her father? and when she meeets liliana, will that be truly happy, either, knowing the last time she saw a trace of her mother was in a study about the thing of imogen's nightmares?

the parallels are so interesting between fearne and imogen. because they are two very different people- but looking into it, they are cut from the same, devastating cloth.

imogen and orym

imogen's conversation with orym was also heartbreaking. like fcg mentioned- she's been through so much, in the past days and weeks, and when they listed her struggles out like that, it's not hard to see why she carried so much heaviness with her, despite doing something amazing for fearne.

admitting that it's a good thing, the incident between her and laudna- i don't think she meant the broken trust. i think it tears her apart, that aspect of it. i think she knows, though, deep down that that rock was never something good, and she knows she never could have gotten rid of it by herself.

but it's hard to admit that. it's hard to admit you had an attachment- an addiction, really- and hard to admit that you put more of your self-worth into it than you should have. it's hard to admit you prioritized the wrong side of what i'll call The Incident.

because she did focus on the rock, when laudna broke it. she didn't acknowledge the terror in her best friend's eyes when delilah took control of her body- and imogen can't help but wonder if she's the worse friend, for that.

she certainly feels shitty- about everything.

imogen watches laudna and dusk, and the easy friendship between them, and can't help but wonder if, in pulling away from laudna after the rock broke, that she'd severed a bond that laudna didn't want to fix.

in pushing laudna away, for this incident, had she pushed her away for good? had laudna decided, that after all that imogen hurt her, that the nightmares and the migraines and the anxiety that she wasn't worth it?

maybe i'm pushing the meta a little too far... but we'll see...

laudna and fcg

now, i'm not going to go as in-depth (because this is an imogen centric meta) about laudna's conversation with fcg but it revealed so much? and i continue to be impressed with how accurate fanfic characterizations of laudna often are.

because laudna has said now, that she wants to give imogen the chance to have an unburdened, carefree youth. a youth that for her, was plagued by the briarwoods after and even before her death.

so yes, she talked almost entirely about The Incident through the lens of needing to do these things For Imogen, but it's very telling that in her determination to fix things, For Imogen, to find answers, For Imogen, that it's really about Laudna, and not facing what she's lost. It's about Laudna, desperately striving to do this For Imogen, because this is something she can control, this is something she can help, and she can't help the fact that she was hung from a tree.

the whole imogen and laudna dynamic really boils down to control, now that i think about it- and not in a kinky or aggressive way. it's about finding control over your own life, taking the reins, learning to wield responsibility over power and responsibility over relationships.

ugh. i love their bond (romance, friendship, queer platonic relationship, whatever it becomes) because it's so complex.

the whole dusk affair

can i just say that dusk came in at a PERFECT time? obviously matt couldn't have planned specifically for a guest star to come in at one of the most tumultuous (haha) times in regard to in-party conflict, but it's so perfect.

because here is a character that imogen doesn't know that swoops in and becomes a bright spot for laudna, a person that takes heaviness that's been sitting over her shoulders and lifts it away, so effortlessly, so easily, in a way that imogen hasn't been able to do for days.

here is a character, who wears their secrets and heart and everything on their sleeve, who trusts the party wholeheartedly with their past (which is partially a role of a guest star- to push a certain narrative) but still.

dusk is so, so different from imogen. they're free, in a strange way for someone so lost, and they click so easily with laudna that's terrifying to imogen.

is she losing laudna?

for so long, imogen has kept her walls up. she can't afford to let them down, even for a moment. living in a constant barrage has made her defensive, maybe prematurely, of everything around her because if she lets anyone in oh god how will she ever live with herself if they see her pain and turn away-

and maybe, she's starting to wonder, if keeping up her walls and shutting everything out will be her downfall.

but she's terrified, because if she lets her guard down, and lets people in- laudna, orym, fearne, anyone- she's scared she'll lose herself, in whatever she's becoming.

i'll say it again- i love imogen as a character. i think she has such depth to her, in a way that no cr character has had before, and in part it's because of her powers. they add this extra layer- because for all imogen can read people's thoughts, she keeps hers close to her chest, because she's seen the worst of the world and she doesn't know if she can let herself be hurt like that.

[the-promise-has-been-made]

okay, okay, here it is! None of this is coherent this is just me screaming in my brain.

The 'Darling take off the mask' scene though. I didn't make a post then, but when the Anders confrontation happened and the scene did NOT happen then, I never once believed they had cut it out completely. Mostly because Laura and Taliesin know EXACTLY what they did to us with that scene, like, that was the scene that set an entire ship afloat. No way in hell were they gonna cut that out entirely. So I figured 'oh, they're not doing it here so they'll put it somewhere more meaningful!' and BOY HOWDY AM I HAPPY WITH HOW IT TURNED OUT.

Killing Anders and pulling Percy back from that was MEANT for Cass. Her voice being what pulled him back then was very very important and meaningful and while it worked in the campaign to have it be Vex simply because she was a PC and Cass was an NPC - and a good DM doesn't steal the show when his players are having A MOMENT - narratively it works much nicer with having Cass be the one here. Because this is an animated show and there are no 'NPCs' they are all imprtant characters.

Then I thought okay okay where are they gonna put it instead? My first thought was 'Ripley?!' because as a writer who lives for the DRAMA - how poetically ironic would it have been if Vex had kept him from killing Ripley, had made him spare her, only for her to turn around a few months down the line KILLING HIM?? How much of a gut punch would that have been huh? Ultimately though I am happy that wasn't how it turned out (though I do think it was Vex who stopped him from shooting Ripley at the zigurrat but because of the noise and the stealth soooo...).[EDIT: Nope, it was Kiki and their friendship is a whole other chapter Ilove!]

But the decision to give it the moment when he is about to kill Delilah?! GALAXY. BRAIN. MOVE. Like, I always considered the Briarwoods narrative foils to Percy and Vex. The lengths to which they would each go to save the other: Delilah famously 'broke the world' for love. She rather made a deal with an evil entity than live n a world without Sylas. Percy was about to inflict unimaginable horrors on Delilah in the name of vengeance (and because, ya know, demon). He would have destroyed his own soul for this revenge. And Vex stepped between that. She put herself between what was arguably a terifying monster and Delilah, and tried to guide him back, knowing very well he could kill her right there. And Orthax WOULD HAVE killed her but Percy fought him tooth and nail. He was ready to shoot himself before ever hurting Vex, had Orthax not interfered and taken full control to keep him from suicide. The FACE Percy made when the mask came off. The PAIN and fear and desperation of his very valid grief over his family and also the monster clawing away at his soul, and it all came to a breaking point because Vex was standing directly in his line of fire.

And then they went and made hers the first voice that managed to get through to him in Orthax hallucination. And they made her and Cass support him after he had shot his hand and dropped the list. Just... ugh it was so much better this way. Like, in a campaign it would not have played out like this because no matter how great the DM, NPCs will (and must) always take a backseat to the players, so the scene happened when it happened in campaign. But with a scripted show, you can choose the PERFECT narrative moment for a scene like that to hammer home exactly how IMPORTANT Vex is beconing to him, and they DID!

I have a lot of feelings about this okay?!! Also about Kiki protecting Vex, and the twins fighting and Vex making her peace with having to kill her own brother. Okay I have FEELINGS! I think most of them are about Vex. I love her, okay?!! But these are all separate posts alltogether, this one is about Vex and Percy!

[mintywolf]

A Long Road Home - Author Notes

Page 27

Cleric: Shadow sorcery isn’t unholy. Matilda: (meanwhile beheading an effigy of the Dawnfather)

Someone please supervise this child.

There was a longer sequence of events here planned initially; she was supposed to get burned by the candle at first and then get mad at it and snuff it out with her shadow powers and start playing around with the shadow, but there ended up not being room to make clear what was happening with all this dialogue. (Also realistically she would have yelped and called attention to herself, precluding the entire conversation.) I had also planned for the entire scene to take place with the “camera” in front of the adults at her level, so we don’t see their faces, just her wandering around doing things in the background between them, but the distance made it hard to tell what exactly she was doing. (The static perspective would have definitely saved me some time though!!)

The circumstances of Matilda’s birth are also discussed in Remember Us (which is not quite part of the Mintywolf Comic Universe but it is adjacent to it), where it is suggested that she Strength of the Grave’d herself back to life after being born a stillbirth. (Because that’s actually a level 1 shadow sorcerer skill, so was already Like That her entire life, long before Delilah’s interference!) Back when chapter 2 of this was Laudna’s whole backstory still in one solid, blunt-force-trauma-inducing brick, it started with that scene, before I had the idea of having it broken up into achronological pieces and conveyed to Imogen via telepathy. The scene got cut, because she obviously doesn’t have an actual memory of the incident to show her but it went pretty much how she describes it in the fic. It’s snowing, dad is hurrying home because the baby is coming early but arrives to find his wife in tears. The midwife tries to reassure him that perhaps it was “a mercy” because, being born too soon and in the dead of winter, the child would have had a hard time of it. Then a cleric comes to perform the last rites and the presumed-dead infant alarms everyone by being in fact alive, thank you very much. (I changed that version a little for this; instead of actively resisting her last rites she’s just kind of bewildered but content to be alive, which I think fits better with the ongoing theme Marisha has described for Laudna as not really being an active participant in her destiny, just kind of being swept along through history by a series of incomprehensibly horrible events and making the best of it.)

I tried preserving some of those lines in her dad’s retelling of the incident here but her parents are already on thin ice with some of you people (adoption applications for Matilda have been steadily accumulating since page 24, haha) and I didn’t want to risk implying that they didn’t want her. They did! Despite what happens in the coming pages I think she was very loved and wanted and they were really trying to do what they thought was best for her.

This page also introduces a concept I hinted at earlier — that there are simultaneous, conflicting but equally-true versions of Laudna’s past in her memory, a paradox caused by Bells Hells entering her memories through the Domain of Dread. In DnD, sorcerous origins are either ancestral or the result of some life-changing incident, and with the shadow sorcerer origin the incident is exposure to the Shadowfell. Are her powers hereditary, or did she have a brush with the Raven Queen’s realm in the Shadowfell at birth, or did her powers start manifesting after first coming into contact with Imogen and her friends in Darkstone?

[rainisrui]

Okay so now that I listened to the song a bunch, technically the song is about like a breakup I think— but putting the actual message of the song aside and focusing on the lyrics that actually fit— maybe it could work? Or maybe I just jumped the gun, I dunno. Sorry it took me so long! Meant to write this literally when I got home but I was high key dead, and like had no energy to write it, but I’m doing it now!

So here’s the lyrics!

Tale as old as honey

A moment everybody knows

Yeah, I'm sure there was heartbreak

Inside the walls of Jericho

(This scene maybe when Clara jumped into the tenth / 11th doctors time stream.)

I couldn't believe it

How you could just stop wanting me?

You burnt down Easter Island

As if it wasn't sacred, as if it wasn't sacred to me

(In Listen, when Clara said ‘Because I’m not going to leave you in danger’ and The Doctor said ‘Then you will never travel with me again because that is the deal! Tardis, now! Do as you are told!’ )

I've seen it, in the poems and the sands

I've pleaded, with the powers and their plans

I tried to rewrite it but I can't

It's the history, the history of man

(For the poems in the sands I have no idea, maybe just some scenic shots? That’s what pops into my head, but for the powers and their plans part it’s the scene where he literally gets on his knees and is like ‘You have to save Clara.’ Or something like that. )

She stays up, he's sleeping like a lamb

(The scene in the first episode of Season 8, where Clara’s by the window and he’s asleep in the bed)

She begs him, he says he doesn't understand

She loves him, more than anyone ever has in the history, the history of man

It's the history of man (yep)

(I have no idea what would be good for these four lines.)

You didn't even falter

Didn't look back once, did you?

(When The Doctor left her during ‘Kill The Moon’?) or even in ep 1 with the Dino, when he leaves her after the door shuts between them.)

So Samson blamed Delilah, but given half the chance I

I would have made him weaker too

Sirens sounded, trumpets blaring

You walked out oh, without sweating

I've seen it, in the poems and the sands

I've pleaded, with the powers and their plans

I tried to rewrite it but I can't

(This, when The Doctor is like ‘but you won’t be there.’ Line)

It's the history, the history of man

She stays up, he's sleeping like a lamb

She begs him, he says he doesn't understand

She loves him more than anyone ever has in the history (history)

The history of man

He stole our youth and promised heaven

The men start wars yet Troy hates Helen

Women's hearts are lethal weapons

Did you hold mine and feel threatened?

Hear my lyrics, taste my venom

You are still my great obsession

(For this!! This is when Clara says that The Doctor is her hobby.)

I've seen it, in the poems and the sands

I've pleaded, with the powers and their plans

I tried to rewrite it but I can't

It's the history (history), the history of man

I stay up, you're sleeping like a lamb

I beg you and you don't understand

I hold on, I try to hold your hand

(Montage of them holding hands here?)

I save you a seat, and then you say you wanna stand

(The scene in the forest episode when The Doctor says ‘I can save you’ and Clara says that she doesn’t want to be saved. )

So you'll lose me, the best you'll ever have

It's the history, the history of man

(For this.. Maybe it ends with that scene of the Doctor sitting in the chair with Clara’s painting in the background? I think there’s a scene like that anyways, with Clara’s voice line saying ‘Goodbye Doctor.’)

And that’s it! Obviously it repeats so one would have to use the same scenes over and over— or even cut um.. chunks? Refrains? From the song to make it work better.

YALL PEOPLE WHO ARE GIFTED IN THE ART OF EDITING HEAR ME OUT!

Okay! So I was listening to “The history of man” by Masie Peters and the lyrics work so well with TwelveClara! Like listen to it it does!!

[annabellelux]

Favorite Books of 2022📚

I had so much fun doing this for 2021–so I’m back at it with a list of my favorite books of 2022!

I’m not going to lie to you, I didn’t have a great reading year. I read significantly less than last year and a lot more mindless books since this year I was overwhelmed with graduating law school, taking (and passing!!!) the bar exam, and starting a full time job at a busy (but amazing) law firm. BUT I did find some diamonds in the rough:

Without further ado, the 5 books I read this year that I would ABSOLUTELY recommend under the cut:

5. The Kind Worth Killing by Peter Swanson

a bunch of sociopaths cross paths and the result is lots of murder

the characters were all amoral and all SO INTERESTING

i weirdly have a crush on the MC. i want whatever she wants, even if that’s blood on her hands. like i don’t care how many people she’s killed she’s hot 

lots of twists and turns you don’t see coming. the one halfway through the book absolutely FLOORED me 

lots of really good Plotting from literally every character

the improbability of some of the coincidences is made real by the authenticity of the characters. like (hopefully) no one actually relates to them but you get them and why they’re so amoral 

the last line took my breath away

read when you wanna believe you could get away with murder 

4. The Undertaking of Hart and Mercy by Megan Bannen

fantasy You’ve Got Mail with a sunshine undertaker and a grumpy demi-god 

enemies to lovers!!! you know that I’m always here for that 

Hart is so fucking morose that I physically cannot. King of angst. He’s so lonely and prickly but also a sweetheart 

Mercy has got true eldest daughter syndrome and I, for one, get it 

the relationship progression was perfection!!! the book keeps the tension really really well 

the cafe scene was so heart-breaking. you will get that lurching feeling in your gut when you read it

I actually loved all the side plots. there’s a LOT going on in this book but it all weaves together really well 

there’s this interesting juxtaposition between a kinda terrifying world and the mundane reality of small-town life. it’s weirdly heavy and light-hearted at the same time??? 

this book is doing a lot but i loved everything it did 

read when you want your small town romance to have a bit of blood & magic in it

3. Delilah Green Doesn’t Care by Ashley Herring Blake

two women pretend casual will work for them. however, they are absolutely useless sapphics. so you know where this is going

Delilah is honestly a whole fucking mood. queen of peaking AFTER high school 

Claire is a sweet angel. I would have fallen in love with her too tbh

honestly i would kill for Delilah’s experience of having her step-sister (who she hates)’s best friend unknowingly hitting on her in the bar and not recognizing her. it’s icon moves 

but seriously Claire and Delilah are adorable. and hot 

my parents were having a party while i was upstairs in my bedroom listening to this audiobook. I was washing my face in the bathroom hallway listening to a SEX SCENE, and a 50 year old woman came up to use my bathroom. i cannot describe in words what we felt in that moment.

despite that mortifying context, the sex scenes were passionate and hot and well-written

there’s really good girl group representation here that i’m super into. the friendship is just as strong as the romance here, which I LOVE

i haven’t gotten to book 2 yet but this is gunna be a sapphic trilogy!! gods bless

read when you wanna feel sapphic euphoria 

2. Book Lovers by Emily Henry 

two colleagues who previously disliked one another keep running into each other in the small town they’re in for the summer and find out they’re actually the same person  

the prologue is so hilarious and genius and well-written that i knew instantly this book would be a favorite of the year

Nora is the Hallmark Christmas Movie Villain Girlfriend. The foil to the doe-eyed, small town girl that always gets the guy. She’s the one who keeps getting DUMPED by that guy. And honestly? I’ve ALWAYS related more to that girl. Seeing her get her happy ending is what I needed for my own career driven, type A soul

Charlie is a brooding book lover. Need I say more? (I was in love within 50 pages)

childfree rep!!! not at all common in romance books, and i love to see it 

miscommunication actually well-done. it all feels reasonable given the circumstances  and doesn’t make you want to punch them. rare 

i really, really enjoy Emily Henry’s adult romances. they’ve just got a depth to them that romances can easily lack. and her Emily  metaphors REALLY get me. she’s an instant-tbr author for me now 

read when you want to feel the mortifying ordeal of being known 

1. Never Ever Getting Back Together by Sophie Gonzales

A bisexual disaster goes on a reality television show to re-date her ex in order to destroy him, but ends up falling in love with her ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend

John Tucker Must Die but make it sapphic 

A little bit of Charm Offensive vibes (which was a 2021 top favorite!) 

Maya’s revenge plot is so fucking poorly planned but hilarious

Skye’s mommy issues and refusal to open herself hit a little too close to home but in the best way 

Jordy is such a perfect awful ex. It was so much fun to pray on his downfall 

Isaac is my hero. I will not elaborate if you know you know 

After Perfect on Paper, I knew Sophie could write GOOD bisexual rep. This book confirms that she knows what she’s about — she gave me not ONE but TWO amazing bisexuals. 

Reading this will make you laugh and blush and blast Taylor Swift songs on repeat 

Read when you wanna light your ex’s house on fire and then make out at red lights with a hot girl in the getaway car

And that's the best five out of the 110 books I read. See you in 2023 (hopefully with a top ten!) Cheers to another year of reading too much!