#but ill go back to the days ive missed so far

[dklem]

On the first magnitude star in the dark, we’re connected by interwoven threads.

27. Regulus

[luck-of-the-drawings]

"And soda; runs off into the street..." "...and soda... is totally okay!"

[skunkes]

Please try to find some sort of therapy or something because you have So so much more potential and worth than you think you do and its earnestly so saddening to see you resigning yourself to a fate you don't deserve

its ok because its my own fault honestly :[ im going to try to stop complaining now that it's just becoming more and more evident that im just choosing not to take da reins of my own life

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[cozy-in-my-head-my-bed]

i miss living in ohio :(

[81folklore]

heaven - PIASTRI - final part

pairings: oscar piastri x private!reader (fc: gracie abrams + pinterest)

summary: on the 2 year anniversary of oscars first win in f1, everyone’s favorite couple has a surprise

type: social media au (smau)

note: well this is it!! the final part to heaven!! this ending has always been the plan and im so pleased i can finally post it, this win has been a longgg time coming and i am super stoked for oscar!!! obviously not the best race (esp for mclaren fans) but we got through it and oscar won!!!! super duper proud of my mclaren boys and i cant wait to see many more 1-2 with them!!

i honestly cant believe this is the last part to this series, this was one of the first fics i ever posted and its crazy how far its come!! to this day i get notifs that people have found the first part to this series and it blows my mind how big this has gotten. i know ive been inactive for a long time but i hope by finally finishing this fic i will find love for creating fics again!!!! love u all🩵

heaven masterlist masterlist

set 2026

youruser

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 11,629 others

two years ago my best friend asked me to marry him, i said yes immediately. how could i say no to spending the rest of my life with someone i love so deeply?

today marks 6 months of him being my husband and i feel so incredibly blessed to be able to call him that, to be able to say that someone i love, loves me back just as much

but today is also the anniversary of my boys first win, which seems crazy now that he has many more under his belt but its true, its been two years since that crazy day in hungary and one that changed us forever

i have grown so much in the time we have been together and im so pleased i was able to do it with you, osc. i love you forever and always!

tagged oscarpiastri

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oscarpiastri my favorite forever🤍

oscarpiastri marrying you was the best decision i have ever made

youruser my boy🌟🌟

comments on this post have been limited

oscarpiastri

liked by youruser, logansargeant and 1,382,003 others

i cant believe i get to call this gorgeous girl my wife, and i’ll be able to do so for the rest of our lives

you had never shone as brightly as on our wedding day, however youve continued to shine ever so bright since and i hope it never goes away, seeing you happy and content makes me feel like the luckiest man alive

thank you for saying yes all those years ago and thank you for trusting me with your heart, ill love you forever and always

your osc x

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youruser i love you so much osc

youruser you mean the world to me

landonorris congrats mate x

logansargeant i miss you guys :(

youruser we miss you too logie!!! we’ll be home soon and we will take you to dinner!!

logansargeant oscarpiastri promise?

oscarpiastri we promise

georgerussell63 happy for you both!

frederikvestiofficial come back soon i think logans withering away

oscarpiastri he’ll be fine for a few more days🙄

logansargeant nu huh!! i cant last much longer☹️

user66 oh my god she looks gorgeous 🥹🥹

oscarpiastri she is

user72 YOUR OSC😭😭😭😭

user6 im never getting over them☹️

user91 THEYRE MARRIED☹️☹️😭😭

user10 remember when yn said they werent getting married yet because they still had so much growing to do,, look at them now☹️

user47 i feel like everyones being too calm, WE DIDNT EVEN KNOW THEY WERE ENGAGED?!?!!?!

user64 LIKE WHY ARE WE NOT MORE SHOCKED

user22 bcs they are written in the stars and we all knew this was going to happen!!! liked by youruser

user30 yn with all the little babes oh i cant do this🥹🥹 liked by oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri

liked by youruser, lewishamilton and 1,392,027 others

17.01.2026

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lewishamilton so happy for you mate, it was a gorgeous ceremony💜

logansargeant my favorite people in the whole world

oscarpiastri we love you

logansargeant 🥹🥹 (i love you guys too)

youruser my boy forever and ever and ever

oscarpiastri 🤍🤍

landonorris you guysss😕😕

youruser love you lan!!!!

youruser

liked by oscarpiastri, yourmum 11,483 others

a story told in many parts💐

comments on this post have been limited

pinned youruser to osc, my best friend, my love, my husband i will love you until the end of time. i will hold your hand through everything and more, until death do us part x

youruser added to their story

story song added heaven by niall horan text reads: my 🏠

seen by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 12,472 others

replies

user72 OH MY FUCKING GODDDDD

user19 I CANNOT DEAL WITH YOU TWO 😔😔😔😔

user63 ur literally perfect for eachother wtfwtfwtf

user90 I FEEL SICK THIS IS SO CUTE

user6 oscar is so sweet🥹🥹

youruser the sweetest!!!!

[divinesolas]

Flowers | The Series | Chapter 17 | Surprise!

Summary: You receive even more unexpected visitors and receive some upsetting news that you are not looking forward to.

Jacaerys Velaryon x Dunn!Reader

a.n: GOD SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT !!! i really appreciate all the comments and promise to get around to responding to any ive missed !! hoping to have this story done by the end of the month <3 im already working on the next one as i write so dont worry about another long wait i swear.

series masterlist

taglist ! (open)

@newestobsessionishere @alexa554 @th3b4tm4n @hazzapotter @claire-loves-music @tssf-imagines @melsunshine @majoso12 @brain-empty-only-draken @urmomsgirlfriend1 @emmalvei-blog

You had thought that would be the most exciting thing to happen, Joffrey would stay for awhile before he returned to his duties in the eyrie and then everything would go back to the sort of normalcy you had before.

Yet your parents received a raven that had your stomach turning inside out. “We are to go to the Highgarden's to welcome prince Jacaerys and his soon to be wife lady Cassandra Baratheon for their engagement tour, Highgarden is apparently the first stop.” Your father ripped the letter for your mothers hands and skimmed it over himself, “They are asking all the families to arrive and bring an engagement gift? this is ridiculous!” Dorothy, the head maid of the house scoff as she placed a plate of food on the table. “The nerve of them.”

You have lost all your appetite.

you measly push around the food on your plate while everyone around you erupts into boisterous chatter. "after that man publicly humiliated my daughter? they dare ask this of us? the nerve!" "maybe she could fake illness and wont have to attend the festivities?" "i can already see their snug faces as they look upon her ugh i refuse to attend such an ordeal."

When your hands slam on the table all chatter seizes and all eyes turn to you where you keep your head down towards the table. wordlessly you walk out the hall and the others in the room look at each other concerned.

you find yourself mindlessly walking through the fields as you attempt to catch your breath. it is fine. you were simply not chosen that is all. and now he wants you to attend his stupid engagement tour? for an engagement to a women that is not you? you fall on your back and stare at the sky in disbelief. this was ridiculous almost outright shameless to point you cannot believe it was his idea. Cassandra never did like you maybe this was her way of trying to stick it to you and laugh in your face.

your face grows sour at the idea of having to watch her snarkily brag with jacaerys on her arm you were going to be sick.

You had thought you were finally making progress moving pass your feelings for the prince but if anything they have only gotten worse. you think of him far too often these days especially with joffrey and trisk here. a part of you wonder if he thinks of you too. its a foolish thought, he had made his choice and there was nothing else to do but to live with it and move on.

You close your eyes and fall into a light sleep unable to continue thinking in reality and far more interested in living in dream land where he laid with you as well. hes there waiting for you, the familiar flower fields of your homeland being a comforting sight and with him sitting there you fell all the more better. He strokes your cheek gently when you open your eyes to greet him, a comforting smile on his face. “my love.” your eyes fall closed as you grab his hand and press it closer to your skin. “wont you look at me?”

Harshly you shake your head, though the limbo you meet him in is merely a dream the pain of reality still stings at your skin. “you will not even allow me to hear your voice my love?” you squeeze your eyes shut as he caresses your face. “it hurts.” his other hand comes up and plays with your hair, “its alright my love just look at me.” you fight with yourself for a few moments before your eyes flutter open and your heart aches. He looks as beautiful as ever, smiling down at you with moon crested eyes.

“there you are.” you hate the way a smile creeps up on your face and you especially hate the way his grin grows at that. “i hate to see you so upset.” this has you huffing and you try to sit uo but he keeps you firmly in his lap. “you have no right to say that to me.” his face falls and he cups your cheek as you turn your head away from him. “im sorry.” “then why did you do it?” your fictional prince has no response and thats because you have no clue as well.

as if he is a brush of air he disappears as you willed him to and sit up with your head in your hands. he had basically told you he wanted to marry you, scared off any other suitors you could have had gods you were even in a courtship before he wormed his way in and for what? nothing.

You force your eyes open and suddenly you are right back to reality where you huff as you shakily stand taking a deep breath as you realize the sun is much higher in the sky. how long had you been out here? you decide you should head inside before you freeze at the silence around you.

the fields especially this time of year are bursting with people tending to the flowers for the seasons prep but you can’t see a single soul out there. You wonder where everyone could have gone, maybe you are still dreaming. you walk back towards the castle once taking one last final look around before heading inside and you pause.

now you know this must be a dream because why would three dragons be sitting on one of the empty fields not too far from your home. you must be seeing things.

Yet when you walk into the hall you quickly realize you are not making things up or seeing things as when you pinch your arm the group of three stands before you and you feel your stomach plummet. “just the lady we wished to see.”

you find yourself bowing as your mind races trying to understand what was going on, “my princes, princess.” “just the lady i was looking to see!” “you honor me my prince.” lucerys eagerly walks over to you and grips your hands in his. “i have missed you. things ive been grim without you.” Despite how confused you are by his presence or even his words you force out a smile, “You honor me.”

You have no clue what else to say or what else to do. Every single pair of eyes in the room are looking upon you and you look down at your hands as you mind tries to make sense of this mess. thankfully aemond grips lucerys back and tugs him away from you. “he is as eager as always do not mind him lady dunn.” You’re more than thankful for the saving, you weakly grin at him as you still try to make sense that members of the royal family now stand in your familys main hall.

your eyes drift towards your parents who seem just as bewildered and lost as you are. You use the opportunity of lucerys and aemond bickering with one another to slip around them to go stand next to your parents who urge you next to them. “what is happening?” Your mother tilts her head down towards your ear and your eyes widen in horror at her words.

—

jacaerys realizes his life ie much quieter today. As he roams around the halls he feels as though he is missing something but he has no clue what. He’s done all his studying, hes sat through the unbearable meeting with cassandra and his mother about the wedding preparations, he did his afternoon training what was missing?

He tried not to think about most things these days. Simply allowing life to pass around him while he keeps a mundane routine but today was truly throwing him off. When he walks into one of the common rooms he stops before cassandra and aegon who seem to be chatting about something at the table but the two stop when jacaery approaches, cassandra even looks embarrassed that jace had walked in on them but he does not acknowledge it. “my sweet nephew! finally done being broody today?”

He rolls his eyes, why does he even bother but as he turns to walk away he freezes and turns back around. “Where is everyone else?” Normally the rest of his siblings and lucerys would all be sitting around with him but only cassandra is there awkward sipping at her chalice full of what he only hopes to be tea.

Aegons grin turns sinister and jacaerys feels a pit of dread grow in his stomach. “oh did you not hear? they left to the reach just this morning. you know, for your tour.” Jacaerys stares in confusion as aegon takes a happy chug from his wine. “the engagement tour.” “i know the tour you speak of.” Aegons chuckles fill the room as cassandra looks back and forth between the two men. “why ever would they leave now? the tyrells are no where near ready to host.”

“oh no. theyre not staying with the tyrells.” jacaerys head turns in confusion while aegon only seems to be happier the more and more this conversation goes on. “did they not tell you? the dunn’s will be hosting them for our stay in the reach. Theyve gone to go hang out with our good friend lady y/n.”

Aegon cannot stop the roar of laughter that bubbles up in his throat at his own words and he folds over in his own fit of laughter. Cassandra looks bewildered by this news and sits up straight. “house dunn? truly? i thought flower hall was a rather, small place.”

Her real feelings about the matter and the state of house dunn and its hall very clear in her expression and tone. She looks over at jacaerys too worried about his reaction to only see a blank look on his face as he looks upon the two of them. Jacaerys rapidly blinks for a moment before he slowly opens his mouth. “how pleasant.” after which he spins on his heel and walks out the room swiftly.

Aegon pouts as he watches jacaerys leave, clearly he had been hoping for a better reaction out of the crowned prince. aegon however turns back towards cassandra with a smirk. “bah who cares about all that though right? lets go back to what we were talking about.” A blush creeps up on her face as aegon leans towards her the conversation they had just had with jacaerys already gone from her mind.

[signedeclipse]

Signed with Love - Upper Moons

What is this? - A valentines gift to my lovely fem!readers! Its valentines/love letters cards from your favourites <3

Characters - Akaza | Daki | Douma | Gyokko | Gyutaro | Hantengu | Kaigaku | Kokushibo | Muzan | Nakime

Series Parts Kamaboko Squad - HERE The Hashira - HERE

Akaza

To the girl of my dreams, Happy valentines! I'm sure you thought i'd forget sorry about last year, but I've got plans and everything. Theres a light show in the city, if you want to come I'm sure we can stop for some snacks and i'll get you the best view of them. If that sounds like a plan, i'll be by your house the moment the sun goes down. Can't wait to see you dolled up, Akaza.

Daki

Dove, Free your schedule on the 14th, I won't let plans get in the way of us spending this year together after so many times of it falling through! Oiron duties always take precedent, but I'm sure I can pull some strings to spend the night with you, the "new" girl, to do some "training". Dress for the part, I know you can lie your way in. Good luck, even if I know you won't need it, 'Warabihime'

Douma

Hello, lovely! I am over the moon knowing i'll get to spend valentines with you again! I miss you more and more every day you are away... How about this year we sneak away from the cult and I show you someplace you might really enjoy, and we can pick up some treats you like to keep at the estate! Don't leave me waiting too long. You know who ♡

Gyokko

To my precious muse, This velentines marks a decade together, and I figure its about time I let you closer than ive let any other. I know I can be more conservative in sharing my art, but this year i'd like to take you into my studio and teach you some of my craft. You know where to find me. Wear something you don't mind having ruined. Gყσƙƙσ

Gyutaro

Angel, I promised i'd always ask, so I expect you to say yes when I ask you to be my valentine again. It's too risky to go out with being on the radar, so when you come back home keep low and we'll do something simple. I can't risk getting you in trouble. Don't stray too far, GT.

Hantengu

Dearest, If possible, I would really appreciate if maybe you might consider being my valentine Whatever you'd like is yours Please H/S/K/A/Uro/Z/Ura

Kaigaku

Princess, I know you'll say yes anyways, so instead ill congradulate you for keeping me intrigued for so long. Long enough to call you my valentine. I'll be home to see you the moment the sun drops, and we can spend all night hanging out. I like you better where no one else can chew on you like eye candy, so I'll bring some snacks you like if it keeps you inside, Don't get too flattered, Yours, Inadama

Kokushibo

To the most beautiful woman I know, I would be honoured if you would decide to be my valentine once again. If you are inclined to accept my invintation, know that not a drop of the night would be wasted on anything you wouldn't like. You know you can trust me. I anticipate your responce, 黒死牟

Muzan

To the only sunshine I require; With this letter is a box of clothing. It's all custom to your fit and yours now, pick whatever you like and wait outside the gates of tokyo by sundown tonight. We'll be visitng some places I know you've wanted to see, and I'll make sure it's not on an empty stomach. Don't leave me waiting, M. Kibutsuji

Nakime

My dearest lullaby I am not one to partake in holidays, however, I cannot help myself when it comes to you. I was hoping you would be my valentine; not just today, but in life as well. There is a concert hall I used to perform at, and I would like to bring you there to hear the music I was so very fond of. It is very formal, so if you need any help getting ready you have my assistance. I miss your sweet song, Nakime Otokawa

Authors Note - This took me so long ahhhh thank you for your patience darlings <3 The tags took me longer than writing this entire thing /j

Disclaimer - All characters within have been aged up to at least 18 or older, and have been altered to reflect such change as needed.

[squerlly]

flames of desire chapter 8: how sweet...

Alastor x (f! bunny reader) -FLUFF-

Alastors POV:

Ever since that day, the day I came to terms with the fact that I am indeed infatuated with y/n its driving me crazy. why couldn't she just push me away, why didn't she deny my feelings, I feel weak...

your POV:

well last night was quite the shit show. I almost got raped, angel might pay for it later, and Alastor just confessed he loves me. what do I even do with myself, god my head hurts what was in those drinks. with a groan I get up heading to the bathroom to freshen up, it was a Saturday and I was feeling lazy so tank top and shorts it is. after changing I take a moment to look at myself, for a demon I look so....pathetic?, I really gotta learn how to defend myself, maybe ill ask vaggie later.

walking to the lobby I see Alastor on the arm chair with a book, husk at the bar, and angel flipping through channels on the TV. Alastor spots me and I stiffen, my face heating up remembering what happened last night, "good morning my dear" "oh uhh good morning, what are you guys doing?" I plop on the couch beside angel "ehh its my day off and my fucken head hurts" I roll my eyes "what happened to gotta start off strong" angel shoots me a scowl "I'm not one for weak alcohol like you~" "sounds like a you problem" "oh you little-" "ehem" looking at alastor he shoots angel a warning look, I try to hold in a laugh maybe having creepy deer man at my side isn't to bad "anyways I was going to go out for a walk to visit a dear friend of mine and would like for you to attend if you would like" "well I wasn't planning on doing anything today so why not" "wonderful dear tell me when your ready to go and we shall be off" as alastor leaves I avert my gaze back to angel as he throws me a suspicious look "what?" "what are ya giving smiles under the table or somethin, he never invites people out" with a flustered face I yell "angel!!!!" "what!? just sayin no need to get your panties in a bunch~" "whatever..." angel cackles as I walk away heading back to my room to get dressed. once again tearing up my closet I settle on a white sweetheart neckline puffy sleeved dress, brushing my hair and ears I hear a knock on the door, opening its alastor "hello my dear are you ready to go?" "yes!" "wonderful" heading to the hotel doors I turn back to angel who smirks doing a jerking off motion, I just flip him off I we both leave.

walking the streets of hell once again I notice that demon stray away from us, leaving the sidewalk free of any sinners blocking the path, damn just how scared were these people of Alastor, noticing him staring down at me "whats the matter?" "nothing cher you just look nice today" oh that's a new nick name "thank you but, were are we going?" "well none other then one of my favorite places in all of hell!" with a curious look I see a sign that says cannibal town written on it "cannibal town? Al am I going to get eaten" I joke seeing the people all around before watching a man get mangled and eaten, wait a damn minute- "I assure you cher nobody will eat you with me here" lovely.... "o-ok" I say trying to ignore the fact somebody literally got eaten alive in front of me, aside from that the town looked nice, don't get me wrong the people are terrifying but this is the most well managed place if seen thus far, its mostly just chaos down here. "there's somebody I would like you to meet, I'm sure she will love you~" walking into a place called Rosie's Emporium, it had nice dresses and is that- body parts!!?, suddenly a tall pale woman wearing a long dress and a large hat with feathers comes pushing past the crowed "alastor? alastor!!!, were have you been iv missed you" "hello Rosie, good to see you doing well" as she grabs him and hugs him she looks to me as I awkwardly wave "Alastor whos this lovely lady, introduce me will ya" "ah yes y/n dear this is Rosie one of the most darling and dangerous overlords this side of the pentagram!" "oh no need for such flattery~" "Rosie this is y/n a resident at charlies hotel" "oh hello, its nice to meet you" "my my she's a cutie!" "Rosie you don't mind if she picks though some of your lovely dresses" "oh of course, any friend of alastors is a friend of mine" "wait what-" "cher why don't you look through these lovely dresses at her shop I'm sure you will find something you like" "I- are you sure?" "yes, me and Rosie will talk for a bit, pick anything you like~" "oh uhm alright!"

Alastors POV:

sitting on one of Rosie's tables she hands me a cup of bitter coffee as we talk "well alastor its not everyday you bring a lady to my place~, who is she?" "we need to hang out less dear" she lets out a little laugh, "she's a shy one, quite a lucky girl aswell, it takes a lot to gain the likes of you" glancing at y/n looking through the dresses "she's quite interesting, and I don't know why..." "well your all googly eyed for her so I presume you love her" unconsciously some static cracks through my voice as I speak "love is a strong word don't you think?" "sounds like your in denial~" "I'm not in denial!, this is just a new form of interest" "I think this is good for you, she seems like bright girl. you guys haven't done anything yet hmm?" I give her a glare before averting my gaze elsewhere sipping my coffee "ohh~?" "nothing serious so don't get your hopes up" nothing serious yet, the truth was that kiss tasted sweet, it stir something in me, and I don't like sweet things. so why do I want more...I need more, I need another taste.

your POV:

looking at the clothing racks of dresses they were all old fashioned, not that it was a bad thing but not my style, I still looked around anyways setting my sights on a nice red and white dress, it had a high neckline with the top half being white and the bottom a deep red color. the sleeves were puffy, taking it off the rack I hang it over my arm "uhh Rosie you don't mind if I try anything on right?" turning her attention from there conversation "of course dear try on anything ya like, the dressing rooms are in the back!" I give her a smile as I hurry on back, looking at the dress I see there was buttons along the sides wear you slip it on, stepping into it I button them on, walking out I look at myself in the mirror, giving it a spin it looked pretty but the waist is a bit tight...seeing alastor in the mirrors reflection I turn "alastor you scared me for a second" "sorry cher I didn't intend to scare you, found something you like?" "I don't know I feel silly..." "nonsense you look wonderful" grabbing my hand he spins me earning a giggle "red is truly your color" "say the one who wears nothing but red" "well then I suppose we match don't we~" "can I have this one?" "of course, why don't you change and ill get it for you" "thank you Al" "anything for you my dear" running off to change I come back out with the dress in hand as we walk back to the front with Rosie "well take this one Rosie" "oh what a lovely choice you made, I'm sure this looked beautiful on you" "how much will that be?" "don't worry about it its on the house!" giving a wide smile she waves it off "thank you so much!" "yes thank you again Rosie" "anything for a friend, after all you've never done me wrong before~" packaging the dress in a nice bag she hands it to me with a card, "if you ever need some dresses don't hesitate to pay me a visit" she said with a wink and I nod with a wide smile.

Alastors POV:

it does my dead heart good to see her smile, to know I caused that smile, oh she had no idea what she's done to me. "y/n dear why don't we walk back to the hotel, wouldn't want to make Charlie worried" "oh yes!" I wave off Rosie finding her much needed advice quite useful "did you enjoy yourself cher?" "most defiantly!, I can see why you like this place" "yes it takes me back to my time were things were much simpler" "I wish I could live in this time, it was...nice" "glad you think so".

back at the hotel we walk in as it was already starting to get late, I walk her back to her room "consider this a date, I would love to take you out more cher" seeing a shade of red on her cheeks makes me feel giddy, taken out of my thought she suddenly gives me a hug, surprised I return her affectionate gesture hearing a small mumble from her "thank you alastor, it means a lot" "anything for you darling, now sleep well, don't let the nightmares' haunt you, that's my job~"

eat eat eat this up please because I pray you love this chapter as much as I didddd!!!! Rosie is my everything!!!! and are we gonna talk about last weekend were I woke up to 99+ NOTIFICATIONS!!!! I love you guys so much I could cry have a wonderful day/night lots of hugs

-squerlly

@pooplyface1423 @strippezzz

for more content or chapters please click this masterlist

[harriertail]

Omen of the Stars reread + a lot of thoughts

The Fourth Apprentice

The cover is actually the best cover in the series are you kidding me? Its so pretty. The yellow blue and dark green r so nice

Why does the TC/ShC stream drying up affect the lake water level and not the RiverClan... river? Does the Moonpool stream still run???

Every mention of Squirrel and Leaf sitting together "so close they were like kits just out the nursery" is an actual STAB in the chest. They go thru so much :((((

A flash flood seems to take out the beaver den (or its just poorly worded?) so what was the point of the journey...

Dovewings personality is snappier than i think pple give her credit for, I kinda enjoy her

Tigerheart literally does not interact with her on the mission lmao what is he on about 'I'm gonna miss you'

Jayfeather missing Lionblaze is act so painful :(

Fading Echoes

So much of the opening of these books is just recounting previous events and character arcs omg this goes for all WC books.

Hollyleaf :(

Blossompaw's siblings joke that she moons over Toadstep. Idk why fucking Thornclaw becomes her mate later on then :/

What is Tigerheart doing on the border ? he doesnt explain it? I actually thought that he was already meeting Dovepaw secretly but then hes not like what is he doing...?

Dovepaw being worried for the other Clans + her thoughts about having this power should put her above the Clan rules could be so interesting. the series back-and-forths over Lionblaze (we must protect ThunderClan) and Dovepaw (we must protect all the Clans) even though Lionblaze gets annoyed at Dovepaw for using her powers to look after ThunderClan???

The whole "being obsessed with Prophecy and what it means" is probs a part of Jay's character (as he baso became a med cat to fulfil his destiny) but it also feels like a gross misunderstanding of what a Prophecy is. All the "the dark forest is rising. This might be what the Three is meant for" is like putting the horse before the cart- a prophecy is meant to describe a situation and hint at the character/means to solve it; but PO3/OoTS has the characters/means to solve, but no conflict :/ its a bit backwards.

I like the mentions of Firestar + Sandstorm going on night hunts etc.

Blossompaw/fall's a cunt lol. Shes kinda fun but shes not nice at all especially to Ivypool.

I love Littlecloud. I love when the med cats share ideas and discuss things 10/10 makes my day everytime

The pacing is actually... not good. Ive defo always been on thr camp of "too many povs and too few chapters ruins the book" but wow FE really shows it.

So much of Doves characterisation so far is about agency and not wanting to be special and have Firestar/Lion/Jay talk to her. I wish this was not forgotten about in later Super Editions.... kittypetdovewing2k24

this battle is crazy tho. I wish more of the DF plot was about stirring up trouble between the Clans and specific troublemakers in each Clan rather than the later nebelous 'dark warriors invade the forest' battle. Ill get to that one day

Night Whispers

Picking right back up in the battle...

and again just recounting the last books events. hollyleaf death/disappearance explanation count: 3

Kinda love how many times shes mentioned. From Lionblaze avoiding the tunnel she ran into to Jayfeather finding the fur that Leafpool hid.... cute

Okay i actuallt love ShadowClan discussing the battle + tactics + training and then the chapter immediately after the TC camp doesnt mention it at all and Ivypaw is like "why arent we discussing the battle? Just because we won doesn't mean we will again!!" interesting character moments + a nice look at differences between the Clans

Ivypaw and dovepaw fighting over tigerheart????? they fight so much but then always wanna be together like jfc.

Dove n tiger have negative chemistry like it just jumps right into "no boundaries can keep us apart". I get shes using him as an escape from TC/prophecy bullshit but like.... rlly? I wish it was just like expanded on. Tbh i wish every chapter had like just two extra pages to actually delve into things a bit better.

Lmaoo lionblaze cinderheart leafpool dovepaw patrol this is so fucking funny brambleclaw u get one point for this

Tigerheart break up scene count: 1

Flametail POV. Interesting but... why? Bad things r coming we know... what was his point narratively? It was cool tho. I liked seeing ShadowClan.

Every single book Dovepaw has a character die/get really hurt and is haunted by their screams. Rippletail, Longtail/Briarpaw, and later on its Antpelt... jesus christ girlie has it SO rough

The ivypaw "nernernenerner im better than you im being trained by tigerstar" to "oh fuck hes actually a bad guy i cant believe the terroristic maniac lied to me" is so rapid shes so funny/stupid

The imagery in this book is kinda crazy. Fire and ice cats and drowning in darkness visions. Very fun.

Sign of the Moon

So the med cats are divided and split up and StarClan does not trust any other Clan cat- but when in StarClan, Barkface and Flametail are hanging out? Crookedstar offers to share prey with Yellowfang? But StarClan is super fractured rn each Clan must stand alone. Okay

Antpelt nooooooooooooooo

Idk what the mountain prophecy actually means like. Firestar was always going to lead ThunderClan into battle.... what is he gonna do that's different...

Rock: i was the first Stoneteller Five chapters later Half Moon becomes the first Stoneteller. This is egregious

Swoop death. that's the fourth death Dovewing is going to be haunted by

The Forgotten Warrior

all the hints to Hollyleaf still... its a nice throughline... the yarrow and tansy and Molepaw/Cherrypaw scenes... shes my fave. sometimes the foreshadowing feels like it could be just Jayfeather coping that she's 'defo still out there' but TFW ties it up well. especially when you get surprised by Sol coming back and its like 'oh they were convinced she was defo still out there :(' and then she's actually back!!!

also the title??? is banger. the Forgotten Warrior, with Leafpool on the OG cover??? wow. espec as its constantly brought up that Leafpool was the medicine cat but no one sees her as a warrior really.... TBH all these titles are just as good as the TPB titles in terms of meaning/how good they are.

Another fox? okay.

SOL.... okay

tunnel adventures part 3.

All this like.. Bumeblstripeing is just kinda naff. Dovewing is clearly tryna force herself into liking him. But then she's also going on about how Tigerheart used her??? NGL i do really wanna see like.. why she changes her mind in AVOS

Brambleclaw lying to protect Hollyleaf is actually like. GOD that hurts. especially when you consider Bramblestar's Storm and how much he misses her. thats his favourite

the cinderheart shit is so stupid my jaw is actually on the floor. what you do mean you've been in love with a cat you shouldn't have. is cinderheart having cinderpelt's feelings for fucking firestar and that's why she doesn't want to be with lionblaze. also they have negative chemistry they literally are CONSTANTLY having issues.

oh my god i swear the 'Sol is secretly working with WindClan' was brought up chapters ago and we are only now dealing with it okay. anyway hollyleaf moment.

its kinda weird we dont get any like. scenes of the siblings just being siblings... they only discuss prophecy/plot shit and dont get to be siblings again - which i guess fits with the whole 'everything has changed' but god it'd be so god to just have them doing like. normal cat stuff - especially when so much of this series has had Jayfeather missing her and Lionblaze

i love Dustpelt and Brackenfur building shit... its so good

Dawnpelt murder accusations. okay.... i can't wait for Flametail to suddenly be argumentative again next book

the battle we've been building to all book is one chapter. cool. Sol runs off again and it's the end of the book. cool.

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, 3x9, A Deep Fried Korean Thanksgiving, Part IV

I just realized the winter carnival episode is next and tbh I'm pretty stoked about that one.

Ugh, someone left Gilmores on my front porch. Fetch me my broom. Shoo! Shoo! At Thanksgiving number one, we find out Lane is spinning yet another tangled web of lies to ensnare Soggy Rygalski (my new pet name for him, don't ask). Mrs Kim thinks Soggy is actually in a Christian band that Lane discovered through church and not a sinful rock band. Mrs Kim serves Tofurky and I feel as if our little vegetarian diner rat would have enjoyed that.

Welcome back, Soggy.

Dang. When Rory sees how people like her mother and Luke and Mrs Kim treat their employees, it's no wonder she doesn't want to get a job! Bad dum tssssh. Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all night.

Why did I remember that scene as being a lot longer than it was? It lasted less than three minutes. Weird!

Onward, from Soggy to Sookie.

"According to the National Fire Protection Association: deep fryer fires cause an average of 5 deaths, 60 injuries and more than $15 million in property damage each year. Deep-frying turkeys has become increasingly popular, but the new tradition is a recipe for holiday tragedy."

Men, eh? One minute they're lying about turkey preparation and the next they're lying about having a vasectomy.

Rory looking gravely concerned or lost in thought as usual. Thinking deep thoughts about frying. Asked Sookie not once but twice "What do you use the oil for"?

Granny creakily rising from her lawn chair to join the hordes of Jackson's screaming white trash relatives has to be one of my favorite bits in this episode (maybe the season?) so far.

Gather round, white trash young and old. Your king has arrived.

THE FACES!

This whole scene is top notch. I tip my hat to you, Miss AmyShermanPalladino. After departing the white trash jubilee, it's time to circle back to Lukes. I know small business owners are hard working people who don't always have the luxury of shutting down and taking a break, but do you think he ever closes the diner? For anything? Christmas Day? Yeah, I'm sure ya'll can name a few times on the show where he closes up shop (would actually be interested to hear what they were). It wouldn't matter. He'd try to close on Christmas Day and the Gilmores would show up anyway and demand to be served instead of drinking eggnog in their own home. For Christmas, Lorelai should buy Luke a massage. (A LEGITIMATE MASSAGE. You filthy readers).

Mommy Daddy please stop fighting

*smashes Jess and Rory together like I'm 9 years old forcing two Barbie dolls to make out*

Alarming to see Lorelai treat Jess this nicely because I worry she may be ill. Or possibly delirious from hunger (she didn't eat at Sookie's or Lane's, she threw out Mrs Kim's tofurky and just gawked at Sookie's house). It looks like Luke was nice enough to give Jess the day off, but Walmart (and its Hunger Games-style Black Friday festivities) may still be calling. Is this the first real, hot, home made, lovingly prepared holiday meal anyone had ever served him in his entire life? (I'll give partial credit to The Bracebridge Dinner). No street wieners for Jess Mariano this Thanksgiving! Jess says he's starving, but Luke told him not to eat until the Gilmores arrived first. That's some grade a bullshit.

All he wants this Thanksgiving is for his fellow white people to Check Their Privilege. Good luck with that, Lucas.

Serving lewks. Luke has just served the table four heaping plates of hot food and upon hearing that the Gilmores will be trotting off to the McMansion next, presumably to eat way fancier, he says they can just throw everything the fuck out and drink soda if they want. Kay... Jess: Please, Uncle Lucas, don't take away my hot meal. I'm ever so hungry.

A screen shot of Milo eating makes a great gift or any holiday or special occasion.

How DARE you Lucas. You are not going to make my poor tired boy serve coffee to the Gilmores on Thanksgiving Day! Lorelai's your ball and chain, you do it.

Yeah, what a pity that not everyone can kiss like Dean.

"You and Jess are a couple of chickens pecking each other." Yooo, it's about time you pick a lane, Lorelai. You're confusing the poor girl. The last time an adult got wind that Jess and Rory were about to peck like chickens The Incredible HulkLuke smashed down the door and put those two chickens out to pasture. Rory: Mind your own business. Lorelai:???????? I assure you she does not know the meaning of the phrase. R: I'm not good with public displays. L: You didn't have that problem with Dean Me: Trying fruitlessly to remember any scene where Dean and Rory passionately made out in public or showed any sort of affection with each other anywhere that Lorelai could see it R: I don't know how this first second boyfriend thing is supposed to go. L: Well he's your first second boyfriend so give it time. R: The whole town got used to me with Dean. L: It'll get easier, you'll have hundreds of men. Well maybe not hundreds. A couple. Three more. Dean again, Logan, then Logan again. L:They'll adjust to seeing with you Jess! R: What do I do about Dean? L: Well he'll move on too. All this sensible advice coming from Lorelai? It is truly the Thanksgiving of Miracles.

God bless you, Babette. God bless you.

The next scene, a Friday (Thursday) Night Gilmores Showdown at the McMansion goes on for around 8 minutes which is going to feel like more than an hour in Salty Time. I'm going to wilt.

[xbunnybunz]

entropy as a flame that flickers red [Arcane!Viktor/Reader]

Summary:

He holds his other hand out to you, upturned and already beginning to pool with rainwater. Even in the dark, his eyes catch shrapnels of light like flint and amber.

You’ll always agree to anything he asks of you.

Or, in which you are loved, and you are changed, and you are lost. Told in three parts, in ten pieces.

Genres: Romance, Angst, Sci-Fi/Fantasy

I.

“A gradual, irreversible change into disorder.”

-Oxford Dictionary on: Entropy.

“To be loved is to be changed.”

-tacticalcoquette

II. 

“Viktor.”

A boy is crouched in front of the creek, clutching a toy boat to his chest with one hand and winding it with the other. “Yes?”

Another child stands beside him, behind him, just slightly. “I’m afraid.”

“Of?”

There is no response, only the sound of running water.

III. 0

You stand there, in that foreign, wet darkness, staring straight ahead.

The sound of falling water. The cold bite of nighttime air. The rise and fall of your chest.

Close your eyes. Feel the slide of rain moving from the crown of your head down to your jaw, feel how it stagnates at the comb of your eyelashes, at the jut of your lips, beading, motionless, before inevitably collapsing over the edge.

You hear the hush of water under the dock, how the push and pull of water overpowers the rain, even when the downpour is raucous. 

Either the tide or the stormwater licks at your feet, wicking upwards into the holes of the soles of your half-size too-large leather shoes, cobbled specially for staff at the University of Piltover, for Viktor, who had requested them in what he thought was your size.

When he arrives, he arrives soaked, hair dark from the rain, wetly sticking to his forehead and ears.

“I didn’t think I would catch up to you.” He says.

It’s a lie and both you and him know this, something to say for the sake of saying anything at all. You would never flee too far from the University, too far from where his illness would allow him to travel. 

You wonder if he’s aware that you will never be upset enough to be gone for good.

And you don’t respond to him, because maybe you don’t want him to know this. Instead, shift nervously, foot from foot. Your left leg hisses under the weight and the gears, crude, give way and you nearly buckle.

Viktor notices. 

He produces an umbrella from the inside of his blazer, leaning heavily on his cane with one hand to pull it out from the inner pocket. 

“Please,” He says simply, and you notice the way his right knee trembles.

You don’t have to ask why he didn’t use it. You can only move so fast when wielding both an open umbrella and a cane in a storm. 

Take it. It opens large enough for the both of you, but he insists that you keep yourself dry. You do not miss how he pushes the umbrella over your left side. 

“I’m sorry.” You say.

Your eyes slide from the hand lingering on yours to his face, and he smiles. Really, smiles.

“Come,” He says. “Let’s go.”

He holds his other hand out to you, upturned and already beginning to pool with rainwater. Even in the dark, his eyes catch shrapnels of light like flint and amber. They’re ringed with dark circles, they’ve been this way for some time, now.

You’ll always agree to anything he asks of you.

Take his hand.

IV. 0

It starts before the first sign of lightning breaks from over the rolling mountains. Before the stunningly red sunset from last week, or the flurry of shooting stars tearing across a blue-black canvas from the months before that.

A crack of lightning illuminates your memory. Pinch each photon into darkness, compress the fractured sky back down into a hair-raising, sizzling type of imminent danger. 

Push the sunset until the sky unripens from a deep cherry red to a fierce magenta to a cloudless blue. Keep going until the night fades into the day before, until the stars ripping a seam into the sky alight it again and fade just as quickly as they come.

Unwind the spool of time until the pair of you arrive in Piltover, fresh from the slums of the undercity, sick with poison and sicker with want, in the glittering, glamorous city of Progress, then keep going.

Go further back still, until there is a matchstick, then stop. Watch.

Watch as the wooden grain of the match gives slightly as it is pressed against rock. Watch the slide of the match against a cavern wall, kinetic power building, friction reaching a burning point until sparks catch in the darkness. Until a flame engulfs the hot pink igniter, held tentatively between a forefinger and a thumb.

Watch as one of the children hold up the match to the other, like it is magic.

“Entropy.” He says. “Irreversible change.”

You listen to him carefully.

“I can undo the damage,” He says, “I have the concept down, and the blueprints. Given, they are crude. But with time that can change.”

You are in his modest bed in his modest Piltover apartment, sizeable enough for one and cluttered enough for two, attached to the University’s established wing for notable scholars and graduates.

Watch as a bird lands outside his window, head bobbing as it moves to and fro along the sill.

You collapsed today, finally. You knew your leg would give out eventually, but just not where.

“How?” You ask him when the bird disappears behind the vents.

“Hextech.” He says, his brows furrowing. 

You recognize that name, and you know he knows this, too. It’s the technology he’d been working on in his laboratory for nearly a year now, that strange azure-colored stone that shone like a star, pulsed like the sun, and lashed out like a living thing.

Close your eyes and sink further into the bed. The comforter smells like Viktor and all his astringent body wash and odorless fabric softener. 

“Listen,” He begs. And you hate it when he begs. You hate it when someone like Viktor ever has to beg with someone like you. 

“Hextech has the potential to restore what the undercity did to us,” He speaks with a glimmer in his eye, urgency down turning his lips just a fraction, placing a slight stutter in his speech, “Not just for me, but… You, too.” 

When he speaks, he gestures to your leg under the white blankets, an odd lump now due to its placement above a pillow. He gestures to your chest, where under skin and fat and muscle lays your slow-beating heart, an organ that the undercity pollutants had eaten away at until it hammered an irregular rhythm into your body. And you get what he wants, but he doesn’t shy away from saying it aloud.

“It will work if the math is all correct, and I’ve run through it… Almost dozens of times.” He shakes his head, as if he, himself, is in disbelief at how many times he’s poured over the equations. “The council, the Professor, Jayce… They would never let me fuse with Hextech. But even if I cannot save myself, I can save you.”

The bird is back, trudging along the bustling skyline. You can see now that it is a crimson pigeon, its scarlet bust thrumming as it coos, coos, coos, turns yellow, turns violet, like a flickering flame.

You hear an edge in his voice, one that rings free of desperation and determination. It lilts his voice almost musically, tilts it upwards into an almost-question at the end of his sentences. A kind of keenness.

“Please. It will succeed. I just… Have to try it.”

You let it sit in the air for a whole, let it grow stale. You wonder if he knows what he is asking of you. You wonder if he knows what he is promising you. 

The look on his face says he does, he does.

“You think Hextech can save me, Viktor?” You ask. You think you can save me, you wanted to ask.

“I know I can.” Maybe a slip of the tongue. Maybe not. But he reaches for your hand anyway.

The crimson pigeon takes flight, its batting wings beat against the glass pane and maybe it's not your heart that is making that sound in your ears.

You will never be able to refuse him.

V. 90

The first thing you do with your new leg is dance.

In the lab, before Viktor and the Hexcore, you begin by skipping in a circle, then spinning, then before you know it you are going from foot to foot and laughing, hard.

You don’t know when this happens, but Viktor is soon out of his chair, spinning you.

There is no music. There does not have to be. In this moment, it is you and him, together, on the path to a better life. 

But you are not sure what comes first, him falling, or you trying to catch him. He doesn’t seem to know this either, and you think that may hurt him more.

When he’s on the floor, you are stopped from helping him by a single waving hand, dismissing you. The other one reaches for his cane, and he fumbles with it for one, two, seconds before he is back on his feet.

“Are you okay?” You ask, immediately flitting to his side. 

He flinches at your newfound speed and this makes you hesitate, and this makes him turn from you.

“I…” He coughs into a closed fist, trying hard to keep an even breath and failing. This only frustrates him more. “I am.” He says, finally. And he makes haste to sit back in his chair, leaning heavily on his cane.

At his proximity, the Hexcore trembles.

At his distance, you sink.

VI. 90

“Piltover is everything you could ever imagine. The clean air, the roadways, transportation, technology, potential!” 

He finishes his grand statement with a sweep of his hand, garnishing a pencil, across a gridded sheet, the page curled with moisture. The final stroke on something called an “airship” he had seen above, featuring a metal casing on the hull, as detailed in his notes.

“Something that only flies in open skies…” You say, tracing the divot of his words in the paper. “...I can’t imagine that in the undercity.”

Viktor gives a curt laugh, one of disbelief, one of an embezzled kind of hope. “Neither can I.” Then he places a thoughtful finger on his chin, shaking his head. Looks at you.

“Our future is up there.” He says, solemnly.

Yours, you think. 

And you wonder how big Piltover University is. How big Piltover is. If Viktor will grow to like its roominess, its blue skies, the airships dotting the clouds. If he will forget all about you.

Then he places his hands on your shoulders, and he is warm.

“Ours.” He says, a resoluteness in his voice.

And you throw back your head and laugh, because if you do not you are sure you will cry.

When he shows it to you first, you feel lightheaded, then sick, then you actually get sick.

You empty the contents of your stomach into a metal bin sitting near the edge of his workspace, and by the time you realize it is only full of papers and does not have a trash bag in it, it’s too late.

You don’t look up, but you see a vague reflection of him by the outer rim of the garbage bin, a smear of brown, maroon, and yellow.

He’s got a hand on your back, rubbing up and down the length of your spine, creasing then smoothing, creasing then smoothing your shirt under his calloused hand.

He still hasn’t put down the heart he’s holding, all sculpted from stainless steel, hued yellow and glinting gold in the old fluorescent lighting of the lab. Carries it carefully, balancing it just within your peripheral vision, probably accidentally.

When you catch sight of it again, that metal husk, made to fit around your heart like an armor, simulates pumping the way a heart should pump, the way yours doesn’t, you dry heave again. 

This time, nothing comes out. You don’t sit up.

“The idea is foreign, I understand. But this can help you live your life to its fullest. This is… Revolutionary.”

You wonder what that means, living life to its fullest. 

You think of Viktor and his leg and you. Did he not think his life was full, like that? You think of all the times your heart swelled and beat hard in your chest, how maybe, even then, your life was good, but was always underlined with could’ve been better.

“It won’t be just me, alone.” Viktor confesses, stooping low, so he can meet your eyes where you are. He pauses and doesn’t continue.

You squeeze your eyes closed, so hard that colors swirl behind your lids, magenta, indigo, purple, and pulse a headache into your temples.

“Who else?” You ask. You already know before he speaks.

He clears his throat before he speaks, “Singed.”

You try to get your bearings. Breathe in deep, the air in Piltover, as always, was crisp. Clean, and pure, and not fatal, fatalistic. 

You wonder if his science can explain this, if any amount of particles bouncing around can be stopped in time, counted and calculated to predict this future, to prevent it. 

Breathe in deep. Take in how the tiles under your shoes shine with a champagne color, the shade richer and more luminous than any coin that you’ve seen and used in the undercity.

Viktor shifts to sit back up and the motion throws an obnoxious gleam on the artificial heart, lighting his hands an opalescent purple hue, catching on one of the horrible, minuscule electric threads meant to embed into your muscle. You imagine it squelching around your heart. 

Wrap your arms around yourself to stop the chill from settling in.

Know what will happen, even before it does.

—

VII. 90

Back then, Viktor went away every other afternoon for a while, until he didn’t.

Back then, he’d used to come back, his fingers stained purple with some shimmering wildflower, until he didn’t.

And when he stopped, he didn’t talk about why he did until he was ready to.

“She was a mutation named Rio.” He said to you suddenly one day, while you were both overlooking the undercity from a rot-eaten rooftop. You stilled. Listened to his voice quiver.

“I thought he loved her. He fed her. Kept her well, and alive. He let me touch her, she was sick, but happy.”

He picked at a shingle from the roof, which came away into his hands easily. The shingle shone bright red, with rust, a tangerine hue of rust biting into the edges. He tossed it into the empty alleyway below. You hold your breath and hear it bounce from surface to surface before it clinks onto the floor, distantly.

You think about being sick and happy all the time.

Viktor continues, putting his fingers, intertwined, on his lap.

“But one day he had her in a… Tank. And she was in a solution to keep her alive. Only, alive. ” 

He turns to you.

“Promise me something,” He holds out his pinky finger, a sickly pale color, and you can almost still see the indigo stain on the pad of it. But you blink, and it’s gone. “Promise me that you’ll stop me before I get that bad.”

You watch his pinky finger, presented level with your hearts, how shakes with fear for the future, how stills with conviction.

“How will I know?” You ask. And he responds without missing a beat, as if he knew you’d ask. He probably did, because that was just who he was.

“If I ever put living above livelihood.”

You laugh at the face he was making, so serious about his undone crime, and push down his pinky promise.

“Viktor, you would never.”

“But– Promise me you will! If I do!”

You look at him, really look at him. See how his lower lip juts out, trembling slightly, how his eyes gleam with a fresh sheen of wetness. And in that moment, you think that nothing will ever change him, or you, or anything between you. 

“You won’t. I know it.” Your fingers find a shingle and tear.

—

The heart doesn’t beat as much as it pulses inside you, now. 

When you put your hand over it, it sounds like this:

“You’d never, you’d never, you’d never.”

VIII. 270

Viktor has been sicker than usual, and you know this because he refuses to see you, even for a little while.

Though you’ve stopped seeing him, you’ve noticed him everywhere in the way the world has lost its hue.

IX: 270

A student at Piltover University has died, and the news reaches you by word of idle undercity chatter. 

It has been months since Viktor has last seen you, and you grow more and more tireless yet. When this shred of information falls into your lap, a sting of alarm pierces your psyche like a hot needle.

You dial him two times and hear it ring before you stop at the third, after the line cuts straight to a dial tone. 

A sigh of relief.

You sit by the sea, on the dock at sunrise. Watch the white of the sun bleach the sky azure.

Water comes and water goes. But it all looks like the same stretch of blue to you. 

Your fingers curl around the edge of the boardwalk and the moist wood is studded with barnacles, which you pick at half-heartedly, just for something to do.

In just the past hour you’ve been sitting here, you’ve heard the topsiders mention the Piltover University death dozens of times. An assistant girl, her name Skye, bright young woman, full of potential.

You’ve seen flowers and gifts of condolence carted past you, off cargo ships in bunches and delivered to the direction of the school.

Your leather shoes are beside you, still half a size too big, now patched with charcoal rubber gum.

You suppose you’ve been blindsided to Piltover University’s prestigious attending class. Most were from rich families and bright futures, irregardless of where they would attend school. Students from places like Viktor, hopeless places, tended to fall through the cracks, unnoticed.

You swing your legs a little, letting the toe of your enhanced foot just barely skim the surface of the water, feel it surge every time it gets too close to the sea– or maybe it's only your imagination.

You think about Skye, about who she was, what she was doing, who she loved.

See the white seafroth spell out words that you can read for a second before it is gone.

Viktor. Viktor. Viktor. Every word says this, and it makes you dizzy.

Feel the breeze wash over you, salty and sweet. Feel your heart throbbing inside you, every milisecond of a thump calculated and executed with painstaking perfection. 

Are you sick anymore, then, you wonder?

You know the answer is no, technically. But you feel that the answer is yes, figuratively.

Place a hand over your heart and stare out, over the horizon, far into the blue, deep blue. And even when you close your eyes, you can’t erase the hue, it’s just colored over.

X: 180

You end up by the harbor again, on the sand at dawn, when the water is near green.

Every beat of your heart reminds you of change and it pains you more than any ailment you have ever suffered.

You wonder where Rio is now, if she is still alive. If she should be.

Don’t really think when you feel the tides lap at your shoes.

Don’t think as it fills it with water and loggs your socks with salt and sand grains, except for maybe how light it feels to be in the water again, after spending so much of your life unable to swim.

Tread deeper. Feel the Hextech in your leg vibrate to life, feel your heart do the same.

Close your eyes and imagine how Viktor is doing. What he is doing now, if he is asleep, if he is studying, scratching glyphs into paper with a charcoal pencil, if maybe he’s eased his pain with Hextech, like he had done for you, if Heimerdinger knew, if Jayce did.

The water sloshes by your knees, cold at first, then warmer as you grow immune to the bite.

You think back as far as you can remember, wonder if this is what death of self feels like– unravelling yourself back into a spool that cannot go any further.

You remember a pale wooden matchstick with a reddish-pink tip. Remember him holding it between his thumb and index finger, a quirk tipping his lips upward into a grin.

“This is the solution to all of our problems.” He had said.

Waist deep in the water, you feel the water pushing back against your body, pressing you back to the shore. 

The chill settles into your bones, makes it hard to keep going, but the adamantine leg glints at you from beneath the water, hammers, hard, under your ribcage. These things do not struggle, and that is what keeps you going. 

Dig your heels in, kick off the sand and dive into the water. 

“How is that going to fix anything?” You asked.

Under the water, your vision goes dark and a numbing rumble overtakes your hearing, flooding your ears with a deep gurgling. 

Within it, you can feel the pulse of your heart, first the organic beat, then the synthetic one. Ba dum dum, ba dum dum, ba dum dum.

“Not just anything. Everything.” He motions to the world around you, clogged with purple and grey smog at every turn and you turn to look, imagine cleansing the undercity of illness, debris, crime, and the harrowing desperation that haunts like a ghost. In the depths of your imaginings, you miss how, also, he gestures you and to himself. 

“Do you know what entropy is?”

You emerge for air when you can no longer keep yourself under. 

Break the surface and gasp, gasp, up at clementine sky, up at the low-hanging moon, lined up amongst the rising sun. 

“Entropy?”

The water pulls you under mid-breath. When all goes from a hazy dawn-hued yellow to a dark shroud, you swallow a mouthful of sea brine. Feel that the leg and heart still bind to you, resolutely and let yourself sink.

“It’s change.”

The water swallows you whole. Under the waves, past the fight, letting go comes easy, after all.

A set of hands grabbing you, pulling you to shore, shaking sense into you. What were you doing, what were you doing, they ask. 

Then they hold you, press you firm to themselves, as if you were sand through the sieve, so small and so prone to slipping. 

You imagine this, and imagine this still, as you float down, the sea rocks you back and forth as you descend, as if to sway you to sleep.

You can see him, now, under the ocean. See his face in the waves, breaking with light above you. 

Watch as he presses a matchstick to the wall and drags it along the rocky surface, watch as time seems to slow down, as you see the match bend under pressure, catch a spark against the limestone, then come away, red and ablaze, in Viktor’s hands.

“Entropy, irreversible change.”

When the sun breaks the horizon in tiny strips of light, you are alone and awash on the shore, half submerged in the water, on your hands and knees, gagging on the sea and oxygen. Collapse there. 

The sky is red, alight, and searing hot all around you. 

Water envelopes you in a teal puddle, coming and going with the waves. 

Washes away that fiery feeling in your limbs, in your leg, in your lungs, and still drumming heart. 

Washes away that fire, that fire, smoldering it, as it smokes and sputters, that fire, now only ash.

Putting it out does not reverse it, and you know this. 

Feel the sea kiss at your palms, turned downwards into sand and stones and shells. See how it shifts the world below you, little by little, one tiny tide at a time. 

And on that shore, leg intact, heart intact, you are alive. 

Only, alive. 

And love has changed you, irreversibly.

[phagodyke]

day 2 of no wifi.. hanging in there 😔😔😔😔

[chososdiscordkitten]

life update:

im still in a rut, recently there's been a lot of construction in mai house so I haven't been getting that much sleep :( added with the horrid smokers/tuburculosis cough I had, and still having to go to work, I have been completely drained of my energy, inspiration, and money.

it has been a week since Ive last posted, and I have no fucking clue when ill post again (im so so so sorry)

it also doesn't help that people have been very mean in my inbox, and I put my life on hold to maintain this account- only to not see much progress in growth (im such an attention whore, I know) and to get back such negative marks on my writing.

by no means am I saying I am leaving this account- no. I just need a lil sabbatical where I have the opportunity to go outside on my days off, and not stay home for the sheer reason of, "I have to write." because I felt guilty for spending my free time not writing.

and I think that's why I have been so drained- ive spent allll my weekends since November saying, "no I cant go out today- I have to finish this piece before tommorrow."

people have taken advantage of my eagerness to please- being so demanding of free content and not giving me feedback on it- why spend days in my inbox asking for a req and when I finally post it- not even a reblog or a comment? whatever.

this has turned into a rant I didn't mean for it to, SORRRRYYY

anyway. I am grateful for the people who are active in my inbox and my comments, I see y'all and I love y'all for making me feel like my writing isnt some lower quality version of another author on here.

because, yes ive been told that, that I am a less talented version of a popular author on here.

and me thinks, from how much effort ive put into my fics, time, sleep, ignoring my physical needs just because I didn't wanna disappoint strangers on the internet, isnt worth it if im just gonna be compared to others on here.

I chose this- I know I did. and I will continue to choose it. I love the lil community ive built with people who I fucking appreciate sooooo very much for how much they've offered to me.

I will be back, I promise I will. my brain just hasn't been braining recently.

ive said it before- I will never fully leave this acc because I love it sooooo much, so I wont. but just for a lil bit.

if u wanna keep interacting w/ me, I have a twt where I spam shit, here it is :D

if you've read this far- KISS ME. ty for supporting me nd reading my 'lesser' writing lmaoooo

from a sad cowboy who misses choso,

Ten.

(p.s) I hate my new shower head :(

[cowboydisaster]

The Fire In Your Eyes

part IV: colter

originally posted on 8 march 2023

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 14k

summary: you and the others ascend into the mountains with the law hot on your tails. A nasty storm picks up, making matters worse for everyone. You're bed ridden and ill, trying to heal both your physical ailments and your mental ones.

a/n: this chapter is huge, and important! Firstly you all voted and decided that reader should have a nickname given by Arthur that all the gang members call her, and that comes up in this chapter. Plus we get some really good fluff between reader and Arthur. Thank you to margowritesthings for always rising up to the massive chapters I've been throwing at her.

warning: wounds, gore, mentions of past trauma and post traumatic stress

SERIES MASTERPOST

The wind whips through the air, chilling everyone to the point of numbness as you all ascend the mountains in hope of some form of sanctuary. John and Micah are still out scouting ahead, and Arthur’s now been sent out too, in search of a place to hole up. Everyone is hungry, frozen and afraid. Who knows how close the rest of the Pinkertons are, or if they were bold enough to follow you up into this hellstorm. You have no idea how many days you’ve been traveling, two or three? To be fair, it's been hard to keep track in your state. 

Your back is resting against the wooden slats of the wagon, curled up to fend from the whipping blizzard. The canvas on the conestoga-style wagon provides little defense from the storm. With everything going on, the girls are huddled around you, keeping you covered in blankets while fighting your protests. Your skin is icy to the touch, but youre so hot. Cold sweat runs down your forehead, covering you in a sheen. Your eyes are red and sunken in as you shiver and groan. The sewn up shot in your thigh is swollen, red and oozing. It's infected, and if Grimshaw doesn’t get you some help soon… Well, you’ll be on the pile with Jenny and Davey. 

You peel a blanket off of yourself, groaning, mind foggy from your body fighting to stop the infection. You’re so hot, it's torturous. Immediately, Tilly covers you back up with the blanket. 

“Please- I'm so hot.” You moan, whimpering at the throbbing pain that is shooting down your entire left leg. 

“I know, I do, but if you take this off you’ll freeze to death.” Tilly argues, and you know she’s right.

The wind is loud, but even through it you can hear Dutch yelling. He’s driving the wagon with Hosea, and both are praying for some shelter. 

“Arthur! Any luck?” Dutch hollers over the wind, and you perk up at the familiar name. All the girls, wrapped in blankets and coats, huddling around Jack and you, glance in the direction of Dutch. 

“I found a place where we can get some shelter. An old mining town, abandoned. It ain’t far. c’mon!” Arthur yells back before spurring Taima in the direction of your sanctuary. Everyone in the caravan lets out a breath, relieved at any kind of hope. 

The wagon continues on while you fade in and out of consciousness, the fever too much for your body to handle at times. The closer you all creep towards the mining town, the more Grimshaw’s anxiety grows. She doesn’t know if you’re gonna make it much further, but by god she won’t let anything happen to you. They’ve lost too much. The wagon comes to a stop, and you blink your eyes open, watching as everyone files out of the wagon. 

“Miss?”

It’s Dutch, he’s come around to the back of the wagon, extending a hand out to help the women and Jack get into a building. Despite your best efforts, you can’t bring yourself to move. Your muscles strain, but the pile of blankets is too heavy and you’re too weak. 

“I can’t-” You whisper, pissed off that you’re incapable of handling your own at the minute. Asking for help isn’t exactly your specialty, but the cold sweat running down your forehead combined with your heavy, flushed and swollen eyelids prove enough that you’re unwell. 

Dutch places his hand on the floor of the wagon, pushing himself up into the back. He peels the blankets away from you to find your once white shirt from however many days ago drenched in sweat and dried blood. You’re practically gasping for breath, panting in the frozen air, it doesn’t appear that you’re winning the battle against your body. 

“Oh, miss… Here, let’s get you down.” Dutch whispers before taking your arms and helping you to climb down. It hurts like hell, climbing out of the wagon. Every muscle in your body twitches and aches, and the wound in your thigh throbs and oozes, it’s awful. Eventually, with Dutch’s help, you manage to stand in the calf-deep snow. He supports all of your weight, which you’re begrudgingly thankful for. Truthfully, he’s the last person you want help from right now, but without it, you’d be dead in the snow already. Slowly, you both shuffle through the damp, icy snow, trying to ignore the way it soaks your pants and freezes onto your eyelashes. You can see, foggily, the lantern lights of other gang members that are filing into a large, abandoned wooden building. You whimper at the idea of shelter, shuddering and tripping as the frozen air wars with your fever. 

“Almost there..” Dutch whispers to you before yelling towards the building, “Miss Grimshaw, Mister Pearson! We need help!” 

Dutch’s arm is tight around your waist, and the other holds a lantern in the air as he guides you through the door of the building. You’re struggling to stay awake, vision blurring as Dutch guides you to an old, makeshift cot off the main room. The warmth is immediate. There's no fire in the keeper yet, but the protection from the wind alone is noticeable. You’re not sure if you should be thankful for the shelter, or upset that the warmth worsens your fever. A few people rush over, standing around you as he lays you down.

“I am not losing anyone else! You get her patched up. I don't care what it takes!” Dutch hollers, pointing to you for emphasis as he glances at the miserable, frozen faces around the room. 

You hear the slip of a knife, the shred of denim as Susan cuts away the patch of denim from your thigh to get a better view. She makes a noise of distaste, one that worries you. The skin around your stitches is red, and hot to the touch, with pus leaking from the suture holes. You arch your back against the wooden cot, gritting your teeth and groaning as she prods at your leg. 

“We’re gonna have to redo these, I'm afraid, and you need dressings for this once I'm done. Abigail! Bandages!” Grimshaw orders around. You nod, a tear slipping down your cheek. 

“Am I- You think I’m gonna be alright, or…?” Your voice is barely audible, like a breath on the wind. You’re not ready to die, not before you’ve even lived. 

“You’re gonna be just fine.” Grimshaw says with a tight lipped smile, grabbing Strauss’ medical kit once again. She’s lying, both for her sake and your own. She has no idea if you’ll pull through this. Infections are bad, and in these conditions, with no supplies? Well, your chances aren’t good. Jack is quietly crying in the corner, wrapped up in his momma’s arms, and next to his cries you hear large boots thumping against the wood, someone has entered the building. The footfalls grow quicker, rushing into a light jog approaching you. You force your eyelids to part, providing a thin view. 

“Shit, Grimshaw? What’s going on?! She okay?!” Arthur growls, skidding to his knees at your bedside to help. He’s covered in snow, cheeks bright pink from wind whip, and his black hat is covered in a thick white dusting of ice. He’s suddenly more awake than he’s been for the last three or so days, and despite his lack of sleep, there is nothing but clarity and fear on his face when he sees the state you’re in. You look so small on the bed, so frail.

“I’m fine, Arthur.” You whisper, hand snaking down the mattress to rest on top of Arthur’s. Your lie doesn’t faze him at all, and he runs his eyes down your hip and thigh to where Grimshaw is cutting open your stitches, squeezing your hand as he does. Your nose wrinkles at the pressure and pull of Grimmshaw’s hands on your thigh. 

“Mr. Morgan, she needs medicine and she needs it now. Got a bad infection. I’m afraid she can’t wait much longer.” Grimshaw states, looking up to your pale, sickly face. Arthur rests the back of his hand against your forehead, and you grimace, head pounding from everything that's going on. 

“You’re burnin’ up real bad,” Arthur’s stomach turns with anxiety as he glances between your eyes and Grimshaw’s hands, “I’ll find some medicine. I will.” He growls, as if making himself a promise.

You know he may not be able to keep it. It took days to find this place, and he won’t make it far in the storm. John and Micah haven’t returned yet, and the chances of him finding medicine is low. If he leaves now, he might as well sign his death certificate along with yours. 

“No- please don’t go out there, Arthur. The storms too bad.” You protest, hanging onto Arthur’s hand with every bit of strength you have in you, little as it may be. Arthur squeezes your hand, kneeling down to look into your eyes. 

“I'm not just gonna sit around and watch you die. I'm goin’ to find you medicine.” There’s no room for debate in Arthur’s eyes. Begrudgingly, you nod your head, terrified that your illness is going to get more people killed. Once you nod, he leaves go of your hand. You wince, gripping the corner of the cot till your knuckles turn white as Grimshaw pulls the ruined sutures out of your infected thigh.

“I’m going too. Anywhere that has medicine could have food or supplies too. And maybe we’ll run into John or Micah on the road. Who knows where they are in this storm, I just hope they’re okay.” Dutch says, cracking his knuckles through his thick black gloves as he steps over to you. 

You don’t try to protest as they head out the door, and you're thankful for Grimshaw’s stitching, as the pain keeps your mind off the fact that four of the gang members are out in the storm of the century, two are buried outside, and two are missing. 

—

You drift in and out of sleep, eyes fluttering open and closed as the girls take shifts holding cool rags over your forehead, helping you sip cool water and changing your bandages. You have no idea how long you’re out, but at some point you wake up, once again surrounded by the frozen wind. 

“W-what?” You whimper, eyelashes fluttering in the snow as you attempt to come to your senses, despite the pain that radiates through your entire body, and the fog that clouds your mind. There's a solid strength under your knees and your neck that you can't place. But it's warm, soft and strong. The chilly wind feels ethereal, and you want to cover yourself in its blissful coolness that soothes the fire blazing through your body.

“Takin’ you to your cabin. Miss Grimshaw got it fixed up. There's a real bed in there, it’s warmer, be better for you to heal.” A familiar, gruff, voice says. Despite the freezing, howling wind, there is a warmth against your side, radiating and wrapping around you. You want to push away from the heat, already too hot from your fever, but as you weakly pull away it only wraps around you tighter. You're too weak to fully protest, fighting to stay awake as your head becomes light and your senses begin to slip away to darkness again. You succumb to the blackness, and the howling, screaming wind grows further away as you lose yourself to sleep once again. 

— 

A cold, red hand shakes your shoulder lightly, rousing you a little as you groan. 

"Hey… hey can you sit up a little for me? It's Arthur." 

You squint, eyes fluttering open once again. Your surroundings are unfamiliar, a wooden cabin similar to the one you were in previously, but this one is smaller, cozier. You're laying in a real bed now, a decent sized one, with a thick pillow under your head and a heap of faded serape blankets pulled up over your shoulders. 

"Mmmm.." You moan, wincing as your head pounds and your skin boils with a heat that you can't seem to shake. Your hair is soaked through with sweat, and your clothes cling uncomfortably around your body in their wet state. The hand on your shoulder shakes you a little harder now, coaxing you to sit up. 

"I- I don't feel good, Arthur." You whimper, feeling unusually weak and vulnerable, but knowing you're not strong enough to do anything about it, "God, everything hurts and I'm so hot." You whisper, tears forming in your eyes at the unbridled misery that you're feeling. Every bone in your body aches, your muscles twitch and cramp from both a lack of food and the infection and it's miserable. 

"I know… I know, here. I'll make it better, I'll make it go away, just please- sit up for me, alright?" Arthur pleads with you. 

You nod, doing your best to sit up, wincing at the pain it sends through your body. Arthur helps you, placing his hand on your back to help you adjust as you lean up a little and rest your head against the old cracked headboard. 

"Good girl… real good. Here." You finally manage to open your eyes and see Arthur holding a little metal cup up to your lips. It's the one that he keeps in his satchel for coffee, but the smell that's arising from the little silver cup is god awful. You're too weak to fight Arthur's cold hand as he presses the metal cup to your lips, tilting it so that the majority of the liquid slides down your throat. You cough lightly, as some of the medicine travels down the wrong pipe, and Arthur uses his thumb to wipe away the tonic that has dribbled down your chin. After a few coughs, and a whimper of misery, the tonic is all down. 

"You got me medicine…" You mumble, partially a question and partially a statement. You glance up to Arthur with red, bloodshot eyes and see the worry that lines his face. 

"Course I did. I told you I would." Arthur whispers back, placing the metal cup onto the dusty wooden floor. He's kneeling on the hard floor, knees digging uncomfortably into the wood. There's no chairs in the room, but he's not leaving you here alone. 

"Scooch over, I'm comin in. Floors tearin' up these old knees." Arthur chuckles, helping you adjust closer to the wall under the heavy mass of blankets. After he's situated you, leaving just enough space for him to squeeze in, he sits down on the bed. He doesn't bother to kick his boots off, resting his feet up on the lower side of the mattress. 

"There." He whispers, looking after you with concern, although he's less worried now that you've managed to drink down some tonic. 

Your eyes have slipped closed once again, but you aren't sleeping, just resting as your fever has you by the neck. Arthur's body is solid beside you, gentlemanly of course. He brings his black hat down over his eyes in hopes of getting some sleep.

It only takes a few seconds for you both to succumb to sleep. For Arthur, it's the first he's gotten in days. And for you? All you've done is sleep. You'd be irritated with yourself if you weren't too sick to care. Quiet snores and slow breaths pass through the room as the two of you catch up on sleep and heal beside another.

Many things begin to change tonight, shifting the course as they do. The snow turns from a heavy downpour of ice, carried by the raging wind, to a slow sprinkling of fat, light snowflakes. They land on the roof, melting together and dripping chilly water down through the cracks until they splash against the wooden floor just feet away from you and Arthur. The snow and ice outside begins to melt away, just a bit, but it's an improvement from the blizzard.

Your fever breaks, and the red hot blaze that was dragging you closer to the brink of death with its fiery grasps turns to an even, cool temperature. The tonic spreads through your veins, starting the process of mending your leg back together. There will be a scar, a constant reminder of what happened here, but gone will be the pain. As the fever breaks, your sleeping body becomes more aware of the cold, subconsciously wrapping the blankets tighter around your small frame, begging the inanimate comforter to provide you with warmth that it doesn't hold. 

And the last change; the one between you and Arthur. Something settles between you two, like two magnets feeling the first waves of force pulling them together. There's something there. There's hope with Arthur, there's friendship and compassion, companionship, and something more, you both just have to find it. 

Your eyes flicker back and forth beneath their lids as you sleep, mind lost on a world of stars and flowers. The smell of fresh lilies and wildflowers surround you as you laugh, biting into fresh strawberries under the moon in a field of tall grass. The stars shine so brightly that you're sure they could fall out of the sky and land in your lap. The night is young, the world is beautiful. It's familiar, it's safe and it's good.  

…and then you wake up. 

Gone are the lillies, the warm night and the breeze. They are replaced by a cold cabin, by a chilly wind that howls outside and water that drips down from the ceiling. You roll onto your back, looking up to see Arthur still beside you. His hat is still resting over his eyes and nose, protecting him from any distractions that may prevent sleep. Your eyes linger on him for just a moment longer, taking note of the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his broad shoulders, and his beard that has grown a bit since you've fled Blackwater. You sigh, feeling the residual ache in your thigh. Reaching down, you lift the blankets to peek at the wound. You peel back your bandage some, wincing as you assess the damage.

The red ring around it has gone away, and Grimshaw did a nice job on her stitch work. It no longer oozes, but it's still a messy wound. You sigh out of frustration, fixing the bandage and pulling the blankets back over yourself. With the fever now gone, you've gone from one extreme to the other, shifting from an unbearable heat to a terrible chill, and you can't shake it. After a few moments of your teeth chattering, the solid mass of a man beside you begins to stir.

"You alright over there?" Arthur asks, ever the light sleeper. His voice is deep and gravelly from sleep as he takes his hat off of his eyes and places it onto the floor below. He notices your teeth clacking together, and the light shake of your shoulders as you curl into yourself under the blankets.

"Y-yeah, fevers c-comin' down is all." You stutter, trying to restrain your jaw from shaking in the cold night. 

Arthur leans in towards you to press the back of his hand over your forehead. His hand is so warm, and you lean into his touch, chasing after the heat that never seems to leave his body. He assesses that your fever is gone, and his worry shifts from you dying of infection to you dying of hypothermia. Your skin is like ice as you shiver and writhe under the blankets, searching for any kind of warmth you can grasp onto. 

"Shit, you're freezin'. C'mere." 

Arthur snakes his hands under the blankets, pulling you into the crook of his side so that you're partially laying against him, and partially on top of him. Immediately, his body heat wraps around you, as his hands run up and down your arms to create warmth. You shudder, leaning into him as much as possible to chase after the ever giving fountain of warmth that he gives off. 

"If I'm makin' you uncomfortable, just say the word and I'll move. Just don't want you freezin' is all." Arthur whispers. He tells himself that this is solely to warm you up, that he would do this for any of the girls. But as much as he tries to convince himself, he knows it's a lie. The feeling of your small, cold hands gripping onto his shirt is one he never wants to forget. Having you so close, he knows he'll likely never get this chance again and he wants to soak up every moment. 

"No- no, this is nice." You whisper against him, truthfully. He pulls the blankets over you both, and you're surrounded by his scent under the confines of the blanket. You focus on keeping warm, on getting better, trying not to think about being pressed this close to Arthur. Already you can feel his body defrosting your own, melting away the ice that resides in your fingertips and the chill that shivers up your spine.

You want to distract yourself, to get away from this vulnerable feeling because it's dangerous. You think about what happened with Lenny and Jenny, what happened to the good people who let their guards down and what they lost. You won't allow yourself this, and as soon as you're warm enough, you plan to move back to your side of the bed. He's only in here because there's not enough space in the other cabins anyways, you lie to yourself. 

Desperate for a distraction, you think of a topic to bring up. Arthur's hand running up and down your back is far too consuming and you have to find something else to focus on.

"What happened while you were off lookin' for medicine anyway? You were gone a long while." You whisper against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart beating against your ear. It's beating a bit quick, and you try not to think about why that is. 

"Well we ran into Micah. He got separated from John and we still haven't found him…" Arthur pauses for a moment, concern tracing his words although he would never admit to worrying over his bastard little brother, "We found a big farm up north from here. Seemed like a good place to look but it was overrun with O'driscolls. They started threatenin' us so we took em out and-" 

You interject Arthur with a furrow in your brows, confused by the mention of a name you haven't heard before. 

"O'driscolls?" You ask, thinking back and deducting that you've not heard of these folks before. 

"Guess you ain't been with us long enough to run into them yet -well we've been out further west than them for a while too- They're another gang, big bunch of cruel bastards run by Colm O'driscoll. He and Dutch go way back in a proper blood feud. Bad business…" Arthur says the last line with a particularly dark edge, and you make a note to ask about it at some point in the future. A breeze shakes the little cabin, and you burrow in tighter against Arthur, shivering lightly. 

"They had a woman holed up in the basement, it was her and her husband's house. I can't imagine what they did to her. We found her husband shot outside, and then Micah got the goddamn house burned down. It was a right mess." Arthur says quietly, lightly shaking his head as if recounting the day with distaste. You rest your chin on his chest, looking up to see the remorse on his face, knowing he is punishing himself for an act he's not responsible for.

"And the woman…? What happened to her?" You inquire, fearing the worst for this girl. If the O'driscolls are as big and nasty a group as Arthur described, then you can only hope that she's okay. 

"We brought her back with us, just till she gets on her feet again… y'know Dutch weren't too happy about finding O'driscolls up in these parts. He wants to hit them first thing in the morning."

You nod, resting your head back on Arthur's chest, glancing up through the cracks of the roof to get an estimate for the time. Your watch, the one you stole off of your current pillow and personal heater, was abandoned in Blackwater. The moon filters through the broken down roof, signaling that it's very early in the morning. You sigh, tracing the moonlight that trickles through until you see a few flickers of light. It's the stars, shining brightly now that the fog of a storm has passed. Arthur is seemingly eyeing them as well, as he speaks. 

"Y’know you're like my little star." Arthur whispers, voice gravelly against your ear. You crane your neck to look up at him, pulling your eyebrows together. He doesn't look down to you, feeling too vulnerable to make eye contact. 

"Everything that's goin' on, all the chaos, and you're still burnin'." His thumb rubs slow circles on your back as he talks. 

"Shinin', bright, beautiful, but'll burn your ass faster than you can blink." Arthur chuckles, not even realizing what he's just said until he feels your breath hitch against his neck. You move your eyes away from the stars to rest your chin on his chest, looking up to him once more. 

"You think I'm beautiful…?" You whisper, trying to hide your smile at Arthur's flustered state. His cheeks turn pink and his jaw falls slack as he stutters and avoids your eyes. 

"I- I didn't mean nothin' by it, I was just- didn't mean to say- I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry-" Arthur rambles, cursing his damn big mouth and his thoughts for getting him in this situation that he's digging himself deeper into. You laugh at Arthur's quick embarrassment and self reprimandation. You move to lay on your back so you can better see the stars, still nuzzled tightly against Arthur, with his arm under your head, and his thumb tracing back and forth over your shoulder.

"Y'know my momma used to call me Star before she passed." You whisper, pushing down the emotions as you think of your sweet mother and her all too early fate. 

Arthur squeezes you just a bit tighter in a show of comfort when he hears your sniffle. He lost his momma at a young age too. No matter how old you get, or how long it's been, the ache is still there. 

"Well I think it's a fittin' nickname for you, considerin' how much time you spend lookin' at em." Arthur smiles, glancing between you lying beside him, cuddled into the crook of his arm, and the twinkling stars that are peeking through the abandoned cabin's splintered roof. 

"Star… I think that's gonna stick." Arthur adds, adjusting himself a little and crossing an ankle over the other at the bottom of the bed. 

"God Arthur, isn't it just beautiful?" You whisper, awestruck by the stunning, shimmering lights in the sky. They peek down through the cabin's cracks, causing your eyes to fill with them and sparkle as well.

"So beautiful…" Arthur whispers, but his eyes are not looking up. No, Arthur's eyes are fixated on you at his side, until he forces them to pull away on account of decency. He pulls you closer to him, savoring every second and cursing himself for being selfish enough to allow himself this moment. 

"You warmer now? Comfortable?" He whispers, so close that you can feel his warm breath on your ear. You try to convince yourself that this is normal, that snuggling tightly in a bed with your best friend is normal. 

"Toasty warm, mister." You reply, looking away from the stars to lay back on Arthur's chest. He holds his hand out in the air, waiting for you to situate yourself before resting it on your back, swallowing thickly at your actions. 

"Try to get some sleep." He says. It takes only minutes for you to slip into slumber. Arthur on the other hand? He doesn't sleep the rest of the night. 

—

"Honey?" A voice calls to you through your sleep. It's far away, beckoning you to join the realm of the living as you come to. 

"Hmm?" You respond, too tired to form a coherent answer. 

"I brought you some bandages, figure those are gonna need to be switched by tonight." 

It's Abigail, and once you realize it's her, you finally perk up. She's standing beside your bed, placing a little roll of fresh bandages on the broken bedside table. You watch her hand release the roll, and notice the little fluttering paper beside it that is being held down by a glass bottle of tonic. 

Arthur is already gone, he's been swept away by Dutch to go raid the O'driscolls. It's a foolish move. The gang is barely on its feet. The miniscule supply of food that had been brought from Blackwater has already dwindled, and while people here starve and freeze to death, Dutch is off with the strongest boys on a merry chase. When Arthur had woken up, only a few hours after he'd held you back to sleep, he had brushed a hair out of your face, pulled the blankets up for you, tucked you in and left you a note on the table. Unfortunately for you, when Arthur left he also took his warmth with him. 

"Abigail? Could you help me get to the main cabin? It's mighty cold in here and I'm afraid my leg ain't lettin' me put much weight on it."

Abigail turns back to you, smiling. 

"Course', c'mere." 

She takes your hands, helping to pull you up to your feet. The weight on your leg aches something fierce, but at least the fever is gone. 

You step towards the little table, eyeing the paper and tonic. You recognize the paper, the texture and torn edges tell you that Arthur has ripped it out of his journal, scribbling to you with his beloved charcoal. 

Star, I've gone after these O'driscolls with some of the boys, should be back by nightfall. Drink the rest of this tonic to keep from getting sick again- Arthur

You pick up the delicate paper, smiling at Arthur's nickname for you. Folding it, you place it in your pocket before reaching for the medicine.

"Star?" Abigail questions, peeking over your shoulder, curious of the note you've been left. 

"Yeah, little nickname Arthur came up with. Well, my momma used to call me Star too. Been a nickname since I was a girl, but I haven't heard it in awhile. It's nice." You explain, grimacing before you drink down the few swigs of tonic that are still left in the dark glass bottle.

The note stays tucked in your pocket as Abigail tosses your arm around her shoulders so that she can take some weight off your leg. 

"Arthur told me about John last night… I can't imagine what you must be goin' through. I'm sorry Abigail. John is tough though, he'll be okay and we will find him." 

Abigail is quiet, nodding her head lightly with a slight wobble to her lip. 

"I hope so, Jack would be- what would he do without John?" 

You know she's projecting a bit, as Jack is surely not the only one who would be lost without John. There's tension in Abigail and Johns relationship, something likely happened before you joined the gang, but it doesn't change that Abigail loves him. No, love isn't conditional like that. 

That's all that is said, all that needs to be said as Abigail helps you to limp outside. Your leg is getting a little stronger but it still hurts like a son of a bitch to fully support yourself, something you'll have to get used to sooner or later because you'll be damned if you have to be helped along everywhere. 

The snow is still thick on the ground, but the heavy downpour of snow and ice has stopped almost completely. Instead, the sun shines, finally having escaped the confines of the clouds. Eventually, after some struggling, you both make it to the main cabin where most of the gang is residing. 

When you push the door open, the relief is immediate. It's much warmer inside, and you notice that someone already has a fire going in the fireplace. 

"Just set me down over here, I'll be fine." You whisper to Abigail, nodding towards an empty bench on the left side of the wall. She gets you situated down on the bench, checking that you're comfortable before heading over towards Jack. 

It's a boring day, and you're frustrated on account of your uselessness. Soft cries can be heard throughout the cabin, of friends and lovers who have lost their other halves. You crane your neck to glance out the broken window, sighing and wincing at the sight of two freshly dug graves that are marked with wooden crosses. The one closer to you, separated only by the cold, foggy glass, is marked with a 'J'.  You've been repressing the emotion, repressing the memory, not allowing yourself to feel or to grieve. For just a moment, your mask slips down and a pain stabs your heart from the loss that you endured just a few days ago. But quickly you pull yourself together, wiping away the unshed tears and forcing yourself to bottle up like you always do.

You need a distraction, a vent to keep your mind busy so that it can't pull you down into the dark thoughts that threaten to eat you alive. You've been sitting here, not busy for far too long and it's starting to eat away at you, slowly creeping into your mind. You need to do something. 

Charles enters the cabin with a pail filled with chunks of meat, and you stand up, putting most of the weight on your right leg as you walk over to him. He sets the pail on a wooden table off the center of the room, next to a decent sized stove. 

"Charles, let me." You say, wiping your hands on your coat before taking in the ingredients in front of you. The pail of meat is fresh, likely just butchered. It appears to be venison, and it'll make a nice, gamey stew. 

He rests against the table, eyeing you up and down quickly before cocking his head, as if unsure. 

“You sure it's good for you to be standing for so long? Why don’t you go sit, its no trouble for me to-” Charles starts to rebuttal before you interrupt him. 

“Please- all I've done since we got here is sit, and I need to do somethin’, I need to keep busy. What's good for me isn't sittin’ down and thinkin’ over all the shit that just happened.” You plead. There is understanding in Charles’ eyes, he knows exactly how you feel. Your eyes then travel to his hand, and you remember that he’d been hurt too. You’d seen the burn on his hand when he and Jenny carried Davey out of the boat. Now it's wrapped in clean gauze, pale against his skin. 

“Sides’, you’re hurt too. What happened to your hand? Looked like a burn when I saw you on the boat...” You whisper, taking the meat out of the bucket and putting it into a pot, even though Charles never explicitly told you that it was okay for you to take over. 

Out of reflex he stretches his hand a little, putting some pressure on the throbbing pain. 

“When that oil barrel got shot I was standing too close, had my hand on a metal rail when everything went up in flames, burned me pretty good, but I’ll be fine.” Charles explains, glancing towards the sound of whimpering sobs. You follow his gaze to a woman you’ve never seen before, presumably Mrs. Adler. She’s wearing nothing but a chemise and a coat, her blonde hair is dirty and her freckled face is red and puffy from her cries that haven’t ceased since arriving. Slowly, you bring your eyes back to Charles, checking inside the stove to make sure the fire was still lit and hot. You poke the burning coals and wood with an iron prod that was sitting beside the stove. 

“Charles when I went in there… everyone was-” You pause, looking around at all the miserable faces in the room, pausing on Jack and deciding to choose your words carefully, “I saw all the people, what the hell happened?” You ask, thinking back to the passengers on the floor, dead, and the ones cowering in the corner. Charles purses his lips as you take the pail of water that he’d brought in earlier and pour it into the pot. Steam rises from the simmering pot, along with the first mouth watering scents of real food.

“Dutch, it's like he lost his mind in there. Once the boat caught on fire, he was gone, he started yelling, he shot a girl in a bad way. I haven’t been with him long but… it was unlike him.” Charles whispers, distaste coloring his face, and a scowl that matches your own. You nod, thinking over the hell that has been the last few weeks. Nothing can really be said about it, what is there to say? The silence is comfortable as you stir the pot. 

“Thank you, Charles. I’ve got this from here, why don’t you go rest, you’ve done plenty.” You thank him, and he dips his head lightly, resting his hand on your shoulder as he steps past you.

The meat simmers in the pot, and the water begins to boil lightly. Amongst your ingredients on the table are a carrot, salted offal, two apples, an onion, rosemary, thyme and a whole lotta rum. It's apparent that Pearson’s priorities were not with grabbing the gang food, but rather fueling his own addictions. You sigh, taking the carrot and pulling your knife out of its sheath. You chop it into slices and add it to the pot, just as you do with the onion and herbs. It's a simple stew, but it's still going to be delicious. The savory aroma begins to fill the room, and soon the hungry bellies of the gang begin to rumble. 

After some more stirring, and some additions of more herbs thrown into the pot, you deem the stew done. There are enough metal bowls on the table for everyone in the room, and you fill them almost halfway. As much as you’d like to hand everyone a  full bowl, there isn’t enough and you need to ration it. The boys will be hungry when they get back, and you make sure there is enough for everyone.

“Alright everyone, stews ready!” You holler, wiping your hands on your coat once more and watching as a huddle of cold faces light up at the mention of warm food. 

Karen and Tilly come up together, arms linked to stay warm. Both are swaddled in coats, and Tilly has a scarf wrapped over her head to protect her ears. 

“It smells so good, this’ll be the first meal any of us have eaten since Blackwater.” Tilly sighs, excited and hungry. Karen nods, taking two bowls, one for her and one for Mary-beth who is reading on a bench by the door. 

“Thanks for cooking, Star!” Marybeth giggles from across the room and your jaw drops with a chuckle. 

“Y'know gossip spreads around this place faster than the goddamn plague.” You laugh. Apparently, Abigail had told the girls about your note from Arthur, and the nickname that he had signed onto the top of the paper. 

You sigh, shaking your head and handing out stew bowls to the people waiting in line. You thank Grimshaw for all her help with her leg as you hand her a bowl. Reverend Swanson, who is mostly unfamiliar to you, mentions that he’d expected you to have coins on your eyes when he’d seen you coming out of the wagon. Miss O’shea takes a bowl with a wicked scowl on her face, and Hosea thanks you, wishing you well with your leg before taking his bowl and resigning back to his cabin. Everyone who is there comes up, except for Abigail because Jack is sleeping in her lap.

Once everyone has gone through you turn around and see that Mrs. Adler hasn’t gotten a bowl. You bite your lip, toying with it while deciding to take some to her. Maybe she’ll want nothing to do with you. Maybe she’ll see your place in this gang as no different than the O’driscolls who took everything from her. But you won’t know until you try. Throwing caution to the wind, to take a bowl in hand and carry it over towards her. Her knees are brought up to her chest, and her arms are wrapped around them as she sobs into herself. Once you are in front of her, you hesitate. She hasn’t noticed you in front of her yet. 

“Mrs? Do you- Are you hungry…?”  You ask, extending the bowl of stew towards her. 

Her head snaps up at you, and the glare she sends your way is ice cold. 

“Could you eat if you were in my situation?” She hisses with a thick Texan accent. You nod your head, pursing your lips as you begin to turn on your heels to head back to the table.

“Take that as a no then…” You mumble under your breath. You only make it a step away before she calls out to you, gripping your wrist and pulling you lightly so that you face her again. 

“I, wait- Im sorry.” She says, feeling regret from pushing you away so rudely just moments ago. 

“Please, sit.” The woman offers, gesturing towards the open area on the bench next to her. You extend the stew out to her, and this time she smiles before you sit next to her. You wince as it pulls at your healing thigh, but the pain is already getting better. Mrs. Adler notices, and then thinks back to when the man that had brought her in, Arthur, had asked for medicine from her cabinet.  

“You were sick when I got here right?” She asks, eyebrows pulling together slightly as she takes a bite of the stew. Her eyes slip closed for a second as she relishes the flavor. Instinctually, you run your hand down to your thigh, tracing over the bandaged wound. 

“Bullet to the leg, I’m afraid… Nasty business.” You all but whisper, once again fighting your memory in an attempt to repress them. Your eyes flicker around the room, and for the first time in a while you see a few smiles. The food has brought some hope.

“Yeah. I'm glad to see you back on your feet then. I… I wasn’t doin’ so well last night. Couldn’t hear much other than my own cryin’, but from what I did hear, you weren’t doing so hot either.”

You’re at a loss for words, not sure whether or not to respond on the matter of her grieving her husband. After a little debating in your head, you decide on the former. If something happened to the love of your life you would probably want to talk about it.

“Mrs. Adler-” You start, but she holds her hand up quickly and interjects.

“Please, call me Sadie.”

“Sadie, I’m sorry for what they’ve done to you. I know how it feels to have someone you love taken from you for nothing other than selfish greed.” You offer, thinking about your Pa. A few tears form in your eyes as you think about him. He was a bastard towards the end of his all too short life, but he was still your Papa.

She smiles, seemingly remembering something, but it falters, and forms into a deep frown with tears rimming her eyes. Watching Sadie remember her husband is like the sun being driven out by a thunderstorm. The good memories flash over her face for a moment before she realizes that they will never be anything but memories. There is no chance for making new ones now. 

“I- we…” Sadie starts, tears dripping silently down her cheeks, falling into her bowl of stew. She can’t find the words to express her heartache, or her gratitude towards you. But how could she? How can one put emotions so vast and contrasting into words?

“Jake and I, our farm-” She starts again, unable to put her grief into words. You place your hand on her knee, and she stops to look up at you.  

“Hey, it's alright. Don't gotta talk about it now, just eat somethin, yeah?” You whisper, hoping that you haven’t made her feel worse. She looks up at you with a nod, and a sincerity. 

“Thank you. You’re the first person who's actually talked to me since I got here. But I guess what could people even say…?” Sadie thanks you, taking another bite of stew. 

“It’s no problem at all, Sadie.” You go to stand, but stop when she speaks once again, embarrassed that she didn’t ask your name. 

“I didn’t catch your name.” She says, and you noticed the tears have stopped trailing down her cheeks. 

“Well,” you chuckle, and tell her your real name, “but the new running nickname is Star, so why don’t you just call me that?” 

“Thank you, Star…” Sadie offers sincerely, before letting you go. You smile at her once more before heading back to the table. Jack is still asleep, and you want to get some soup to Abigail. She hasn’t eaten either, but isn’t going to move the poor kid. He’s so young, too young to be going through all this. You pity Abigail, and how hard it must be for her to explain to her son what's going on. 

Just as you go to grab the bowl off the table, a hand gently touches your elbow. You turn to see who it may be, needing some food or to give you an empty bowl. To your surprise the person in front of you is Lenny. Your jaw falls slack a little, and your eyes start to water before you stop them. You’ve been avoiding him, because what can you even say?

“Lenny…” You whisper, and there is so much pity and heartbreak in your voice that it sounds foreign to your ears.

He smiles at you, as if everything is going to be okay before he pulls you a little aside, away from the ears of others. It’s then that you see the unkempt look about him, his red eyes and the haunting grief that hasn’t left him since those few days ago. 

“You were a good friend to Jenny… and I thank you for that.” Lenny says, glistening tears in his eyes that match your own. You hastily wipe them away, before glancing across the room, out the window to the fresh grave that is haunting you. You haven’t allowed yourself to feel it, to grieve it. You only knew Jenny a short time but in that time she was your friend and she’s gone. It took just a half-second for her life to be erased. Just a moment. If the shot had been off by a foot it would be you in that grave instead of her, and you wonder if it would be better off that way.

“She told me about your plans, about going to Tumbleweed. Lenny, I’m so sorry.” You whimper, asking yourself if Jenny’s death is your fault. They should be in Tumbleweed getting married by now. But Lenny is here with you, with tears in his eyes and a broken heart, and Jenny is buried outside.

“She- that never should have happened.” You pause, thinking over Jenny’s dying wish that she had whispered to you with the last breath of air that ever left her lungs. 

“Jenny asked me to tell her how much she loves you… I was there with her, the whole time until she- until she…” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, but Lenny understands, nodding with a smile that holds so much pain.

“I thank you for that, for staying with her. We dont get many chances for love in this life. Im glad for the time we spent together. God I miss her so much already, my sweet Jenny…” Lenny mutters, before pulling you into a hug. He’s so young, just barely an adult, and he’s already lost so much. The grief in the room is almost unbearable. Everyone has lost something, and yet you're the only one who won’t allow yourself to feel. Every time the emotion bubbles up, you stomp it back down. Lenny’s arms are tight around you in a show of friendship and heartache before he pulls away.

“Thanks for all you did for her, even in the end.”

“She would have done the same for me.” You smile, although there is no joy behind it.  

“I'm sure she would have, miss.” Lenny adds before tipping his head to you and walking out of the room back to his cabin. 

As soon as the door swings back into place, and Lenny’s figure disappears behind it, you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. A few tears and one quiet sob escape from you, but you quickly put yourself back together, wiping away your tears and avoiding the window that gives view to her grave. Just as you’ve finished collecting yourself, a little hand tugs on the bottom of your coat. When you look down, slightly startled, you see little Jack, cheeks pink from the cold as he looks up to you with tired eyes, despite the sleep he's gotten. He tugs on your coat until you give him your full attention.

“Are you okay? When I was with Mama I saw you crying. Is Lenny okay too?” Jack says, his little high pitched voice a light in the dark. You kneel down onto the ground beside him, ignoring your thigh, and once you're on the ground, he holds on to the lapels of your coat. His little chubby features are so worried. Jack’s too sweet for this life, too innocent.

“Yes, we’re just fine, little mister, I promise.” You chuckle, looking into Jack’s sparkling eyes that haven’t yet lost their childlike wonder. 

“I was meaning to ask since you woke up, you hungry?” You ask, stretching from the ground to grab a bowl of stew from the table at your back. Jack lights up, looking forwards to his first meal in days. 

“Oh yes, please! My tummy has been growling since we got here.” 

You smile, handing him the bowl of stew and leaning your back against the wooden wall, still sitting on the floor. Much to your surprise, Jack settles himself right in your lap, scarfing down the soup as politely as he can. You tense for a moment, not expecting him to have sat in your lap. But after a few seconds you relax, resting back against the wall to let him be comforted, the poor boy just wants to be coddled, which is understandable. 

“You are a very good cook! Better than Mister Pearson!” Jack says, excitedly. His bowl is almost half gone as he uses his sleeve to wipe away the broth dripping down his lip. 

“Well thank you, Jack. Maybe I'll have to cook more often.” You respond. You enjoyed cooking for the gang, even though it's quite different from your usual line of work.

“Oh, please do!”

“Can I call you my aunt?” Jack blurts out, setting his empty bowl on the floor. Abigail overhears her sometimes overbearing son and chuckles knowingly.

“Uh, I- what?” You stutter, at a loss for words. Of everything he could have said, you didn’t expect him to say that. 

“Well there's Uncle Dutch, Uncle Hosea and Uncle Arthur. I have aunt Tilly and aunt Karen… so are you my aunt now too? I asked if I could call Micah my uncle, but papa got mad…” Jack whispers, looking up to you with anticipation for your answer. With a little tap to his cherry red nose you respond.

“Well of course I’ll be your aunt, silly.” You smile at the pure joy radiating from Jack as he squeezes you into the tightest hug his little arms can manage. 

“Okay so you’re my aunt Star!” He yells out, and your jaw drops with a laugh. 

“You too? Has everyone picked this nickname up now?” You chuckle, surprised. 

“Sure have!” Jack responds, cuddling back down into your lap.

—

A few hours later you wake up to yelling. You startle awake, gasping and out of instinct you pull your knife out before your eyes are even fully open. It's a habit you’re working on stopping. When you feel that unfamiliar weight in your lap, you pause to realize Jack is still sitting on you, nuzzled into your coat. He’s still asleep, and by the dark night outside, you presume he won’t be waking up soon. 

“Abigail?” You whisper, not wanting to wake up the boy. 

“I can take him now. Thank you. I didn’t wanna wake you either.” Abigail smiles, coming over from her makeshift bed on a bench. The yelling outside ceases for a moment before it continues again, but it's muffled. Abigail’s eyebrows pull together in worry before she gently picks up her sleeping boy and carries him over to his spot. She settles him down, and you move to stand but the ache in your leg has grown tenfold and is stiff as a board. 

“Goddamnit.” You curse, realizing that you’d neglected to take the tonic that Arthur had left you that morning, and had spent all day walking on the bad leg. The lack of medicine combined with the sudden use has swollen your leg up and made it unbearable to put weight on. 

Simply put, you can’t get up. 

Anxiety suffocates you for a moment as you feel vulnerable and stuck. And yet you’re too proud to ask for help. You desperately want to investigate the noise outside, but you can't even stand on your own two legs. It’s the most frustrated you’ve been in your entire life. With a sigh, you give up, slinking back against the wall. After a while of internal struggle, you begin to drift to sleep again. It seems to be all you can do as of late, but your body is still fighting the latter end of an infection, and has been completely wracked by the trauma you’ve endured. 

Your eyes are heavy, winning the battle as you fight to stay awake. That is until a large boot nudges your own on the ground. 

“Hey you alright? Why you sleepin’ on the floor?” Arthur asks, standing above you. He looks exhausted, dark circles underline his eyes and purple bruises line his fists, which you choose to ignore.

“Just got tired and decided to stay here is all.” You lie, not wanting to ask another favor from Arthur. All he's done is help you, and you have nothing to give him in return. Asking him for more help would be just another debt to the man whom you can’t repay. He eyes you for a moment, hands resting on his gun belt before speaking.

“I'm goin’ back to the cabin. You headin’ over too?” He asks, gesturing towards the door.Your pride will not allow you this, and so you lie again. 

“Yeah, I’ll go over in a few.” 

Arthur chews on his lip, thinking for a moment before he dips his head and turns towards the door. His hands rest in the pockets of his large blue coat as he walks past the array of people who are sleeping, sprawled around the large room. He reaches the door and places his hand on the knob, but he doesn’t open it. With a small chuckle, and a shake of his head, he turns around and struts straight back over to you.

“What?” you ask, raising your eyebrow at the cowboy and pulling your coat tighter around your shoulders. One hand lightly massages the sore, tender flesh of your shot thigh. 

“You can’t get up, can ya?” Arthur asks, all too amused by your scowl. 

“I can get up just fine. Just choosin’ not to…” You mumble, avoiding Arthur’s eye contact. With a sigh, he leans down, wrapping his arm around your waist and helping you to stand. He’s on the same side as your bad leg, and he holds your arm tightly to help you along. 

“I said I was fine-” You hiss, wincing when you take the first step.

“Yeah and I’m a dancin’ girl, now let me help you. C’mon.” Arthur jokes, taking his time to help you across the room. He goes at your pace, and you force yourself not to think about his hand on your waist. Slowly but surely you make it outside, across the road, and into the cabin.

As soon as Arthur sits you down on the bed he sighs. 

“You are so goddamn stubborn, woman, you know that?” He chastises lightly, grabbing the tonic and bandages that you were supposed to use about… twelve hours ago.

“Been told once or twice.” You rebuttal. 

Arthur kneels on the ground in front of the bed, right between your knees to grant him easier access to your wound. He’s careful, slow and patient as he peel back some of the cut denim to take the gauze off of your leg. It’s quiet as he wipes away some old poultice from your wound, apologizing quietly when you wince or tense up. In those moments, when you gasp or tense, his hand immediately leaves your thigh. He doesn’t want to cause you pain. 

“Real good…” Arthur says, putting new bandages in place of the old. He glances up to your eyes every now and again to make sure he’s not hurting you, and there’s something so intimate about it. Him kneeling on the ground between your knees, his hand on your thigh as he helps you to heal makes your heart ache in an unfamiliar way and it’s so overwhelming that you have to look away and change the subject. 

“So… What was all that yellin’ about before you came in?” You ask, referring to the commotion that had woken you up earlier. 

Arthur nods, carefully wrapping the gauze around your thigh. 

“That would be an O’Driscoll.” Arthur says, irritated. 

You have to do a double take to make sure your ears are working. 

“A-an O’Driscoll?! You lot brought an O’Driscoll to the camp where we sleep? Where Jack sleeps??” You bite, eyes wide with shock and confusion. Arthur had just told you last night about this dangerous, cold gang with no morals and a leader that is as sneaky as a serpent. 

“Weren’t my idea, Star, trust me.” Arthur says, seemingly as surprised about it as you. 

“He’s a harmless feller. Dutch wants to question him for information, that’s all.” Arthur adds, trying to ease your upset. 

You nod, accepting his response for what is rather than what should be. One thing about your decision to run with a gang is that you signed up to follow Dutch. You live with his shots, that was your choice. So even though you strongly disapprove of this move, it isn’t your call. 

“Okay…” You whisper. The wind howls loudly in the distance, and as you glance out the window you see the graveyard across the way that you've been desperately trying to avoid. Of course, Arthur notices this. He finishes bandaging your thigh before he speaks up.

“How you feelin’?” He asks, squeezing your knee a little. You know what he’s asking. He’s asking how you’re holding up after everything that you’ve gone through. And yet, you have a feeling that he already knows without you ever having to speak a word. You can’t bring yourself to open up, not even to him. You’ve built walls for a reason and taking them down is hard.

“It hurts, but I'll be fine. Grimshaw says the infections already gone down, just gotta keep it that way now..” You say, feigning ignorance to the depth behind Arthur’s question.

You rub at the tender skin around the gun wound in an attempt to ease the ache. By the look on Arthur’s face, he’s not fooled, and you frown deeply, avoiding his gaze. To your surprise, he stands up and sits on the bed beside you. Even as you avoid his eye contact, you can feel him staring at you. When you refuse to look at him, afraid that the tears will  start falling, he places his index finger under your chin and pulls your gaze to his own.

“Star…you ain’t gotta lie to me, y’know. Not with me.” He whispers. 

Your eyes flutter shut and you try your damndest to hold it in, but a single tear falls down your cheek, and your lip quivers. The conversation with Lenny today was almost too much. It brought back every memory of Blackwater that you had been trying so hard to repress. Arthur wipes the sole tear away with his thumb, smearing it across your cheek before taking both your hands and placing them in his own.

“You’re tough. You’re strong for everyone around you, and you’ve always got this damn wall up. You’re-” Arthur pauses for a second, looking down to his lap in thought before looking back up.

“You’re my friend. You ain’t gotta hide around me, alright?” He whispers, bright green eyes looking straight through your tough facade and boring into your soul.

The tears just start falling and you can’t stop them. For the first time in your adult life, you don’t try to. You bring your hands away from Arthur’s, and up to your face as you sob into your palms. Immediately, Arthur pulls your hands away from your face and wraps his arms around your small frame, swaying you gently on the bed and shushing you. You cling to his blue coat with every bit of strength you have, dampening the wool as you cry.

“I- I can’t believe they’re gone, Arthur.” You sob. All of the passengers that died on the boat, then Sean, Davey and Mac, possibly John. Jenny and Boadicea…You gasp for air, lungs shaking as you release all the emotions that have been building up for far too long. 

“I know, I know…” Arthur whispers into your hair, running his hand up and down your back to comfort you. You’ve not been looked after like this in a long time. It's nice to know you have someone to bear your soul too, but right now all you can think of is the ones you lost. 

“Jenny- Jenny was my friend!” You half cry, half gasp into Arthur’s coat, clenching your fists so tight onto his coat that your hands are on the verge of shattering.

“She was- she was talkin’ to me about Lenny. They was- They were gonna-” You sob, hiccuping and snotting against him. It's not an aesthetic visual, but it's raw.

“I know sweetheart, I know they was, c’mere.” He mumbles, pulling you against his chest to hold you even tighter. 

You don’t correct him for the pet name like you did in Tumbleweed. Maybe you’re too emotionally drained to care, maybe you don’t mind it. Your sobs turn to cries, that turn to whimpers, until after a long while of crying, you're just breathing against Arthur’s chest. His grip on you hasn’t let up, but neither of you have said anything, just swaying and shushing. Your eyes begin to feel heavy again, but you push out one last whisper before they close. 

“Arthur… I'm so sorry about Boadicea…”

Arthur sucks in a deep breath, fighting the emotion that bubbles up from the mention of his former horse. 

“That wasn’t your fault. You hear me? That’s not on you.” He growls, holding you even tighter. His heart breaks to know that you’ve been carrying that weight. None of this is your fault. 

Before long, you’re asleep in his arms. Even after he hears your breathing settle, and the light snores that you make, he doesn't go. He rests his back against the wooden wall and falls asleep with you in his arms. He can’t bring himself to let go of you, even for a second. Terrified that you’ll disappear from his arms or feel the need to close yourself off or be alone again. Because you're not alone, not anymore.

—

You wake up slowly. Underneath you is a slow rise and fall, accompanied by light snoring. You smile warmly before even opening your eyes. Arthur’s arms are still wrapped around your waist tightly.

When your eyes open, you are met with Arthur’s sleeping face. His eyes are peacefully shut, and his lips are parted to allow his little snores to fall from his lips. Besides his absolutely killer morning breath, he looks as snug as a bug. You chuckle, slowly prying yourself from his grip, trying not to wake him. He needs the sleep. You crawl over him, yelping as he snores particularly loudly, shaking you with his rumbles. Eventually you make it out of the bed alive. Arthur is still sleeping, and you pull the blankets up over him.

You want to leave him a note, and pull your leather bound journal out of your satchel. You haven’t opened it since everything went to shit, and you run your hand over the cover before flipping through the pages. The last entry was from a few weeks ago, the night that you had laid under the stars and picked wildflowers. Before venturing out you had written about meeting Jenny. It was also the same day Arthur bought his journal. Oh, how quickly things change. 

You eye your last entry for a moment before turning the page, and tearing the next section out. You take your pencil and scribble onto the paper before setting it on the table next to Arthur’s hat. You go to sign your name at the bottom, signing the first letter before pausing for a moment and changing it.

Thank you for last night, really. -Star

It's short and sweet. Once it’s secured on the table, you glance back at Arthur one more time before heading to the door. Maybe it’s from the tender care he had shown you yesterday, or maybe it’s coincidence, but your leg feels much better today. You’re confident enough to head to the main cabin yourself. Your thigh is sore, but not the burning pain that had torn through you yesterday. You walk past the stables, glancing in pity towards the wails of the O’Driscoll being held captive. Some of the snow has melted from the sun, which you're grateful for, as it’s easier to navigate across the road. Still it takes you a bit longer than usual, and you curse whatever may be out there that you’re stuck in this position. 

Before you’ve even breached the door, you can hear the arguing, the crying. God, what now? The gang seems to be falling apart at the seams and everyone is shattering. Once you pull open the door, the muffled voices become clear. 

“Dutch van der Linde, it has been two days! He ain’t been seen in two days!” Abigail yells, storming after Dutch who is glaring at a very worried Hosea.

“Abigail, your John is just fine. Lost in the storm, he's probably on his way back from wherever he is right now.” Dutch rebuttals, causing Hosea to grow irritated. 

“The girl is right, Dutch. He could very well be dead out there. We barely survived here and we have walls, who knows where the poor boy ended up.” Hosea states, worried over the state of the closest relationship he’ll ever have to a son. Dutch turns, glaring daggers at Hosea, but he's met with a glare just as strong. 

“I’ll go get him.” You state, and all eyes in the room shift to you. Abigail practically whimpers, uttering out her thanks as you pull your coat back over your shoulders. Hosea steps forward, a look of pity on his face. 

“Dear girl, your leg… You’re barely back on your feet, you can’t venture into this mess.” Hosea says, gesturing to the freshly wrapped bandages around your thigh.

You pull your revolver out of its holster, squinting and looking down the barrel to make sure it's clean and fully loaded before you reholster it. 

“I have to. For Jack, for Abigail. If he's out there I gotta find him. Sides’ my leg is fine, really.” It’s a bit of a white lie that your leg is fine, but you need to find John. 

“I’ll bring him back, Abigail. I will.” You promise, hugging her tightly before heading towards the door.

“Estrella! I'm coming too.” Javier calls out, pulling a patterned poncho over his coat and grabbing a sawed off shotgun from his items. You nod, chuckling as Javier approaches.

“Estrella? I even wanna know what that means?” You laugh, gearing up with Javier. 

“It’s nothing,” he laughs, “You think we can handle this? Just the two of us?” Javier asks, holstering his gun before holding the door for you. You walk towards the barn while you think. You’re not even sure who to ask, but you’re not waking Arthur up, he needs the sleep. You chew on your lip for a second, thinking it over before you come to a decision.

“Yeah, just us. We can handle it.”

When you push the barn doors open, you see Charles, sitting in a wooden chair about ten feet in front of the tied up O’driscoll. He’s sharpening a knife, barely paying attention to the smaller man’s cries. 

You dip your head to Charles in greeting before going through the open stalls. Boadicea isnt here, and it causes that dull ache to grow a little stronger. You do see however, right next to your still unnamed buckskin, an unfamiliar horse. 

“Where’d this guy come from?” You ask, petting the skittish tobiano. 

“Oh. Arthur found him when they raided those O’Driscolls. He’s keeping him for now.” Javier says before grabbing the reins to his paint, Boaz. He leads the stallion outside, and you grab the buckskin to chase after him. 

“Can you track?” Javier asks, mounting up on Boaz in time with you. He starts off at a trot, leading you towards the main road. 

“Yeah, my Pa taught me when I was just a girl. If he was through, I’ll see. I just hope his tracks aren’t covered with snow…” You say, retaining hope that John is alive and well. 

“Good. we’ll go back to the main road, try to find where he broke off.”  Javier calls back to you, pushing Boaz into a canter. You run after him, pulling your coat up over your nose to protect it from the cold. 

You cut across the river, and it isn’t long before you find a few sets of tracks. 

“Hey is John’s horse shod?” You yell up to Javier, who chuckles. 

“No. That horse is the most sure-footed bastard you’ll ever ride. Carajo, he’s more like a mule than a horse.” Javier jokes. One set of hoof tracks resembles a shod horse, and one an unshod, so you start following the latter trail. 

“It cuts across the crick here.” You yell, running across the little creek and picking up the trail on the other side. Javier and Boaz fall behind you, following as you lead the way. 

After following the trail for a bit, you come upon a gorge. It causes your limbs to tingle with anxiety, and you try not to look down and see how deep it goes. 

“Shit, be careful. There's a hell of a drop here.” You say, navigating your horse around the fault. John was more reckless, his tracks prove that his horse cantered around the gorge, cutting deep as if running from something. After some more following, splatters and drips of blood are evident against the crisp white snow. 

“Javier…” You whisper, following the trail that shows evidence of the horse spooking, and jumping around, like there was a fight. More blood is spilled in the snow the further you travel along. 

“I see it too…” He whispers, and both of you are less sure that John is okay.

“Oh no.” You mutter under your breath as a large body comes into view. You gallop towards it, sliding your buckskin into a stop as you jump down. 

“It’s John’s horse. He must have went on foot from here.” You say, glancing between the initials “JM” that have been tooled into the leather, and the disappearing trail of footprints in front of you.

You take in the poor horse before jumping onto your own. It was brought down and partially eaten by something, either a bear or a wolf, most likely the latter. 

“His tracks disappear, but we gotta keep goin’!” You holler over the wind. The cold is almost unbearable as you ascend higher up the mountains, and the snow grows deeper, making it harder for the horses to climb. 

“Estrella, the horses are getting tired.” Javier calls up, unsure of when to stop following the lost trail. 

You feel your horse’s gait getting sluggish, and feel his breaths become hot and heavy. 

“So we’ll go on foot.” You rebuttal, refusing to give up just yet. 

After cantering to the top of the hill, you hop down, grabbing a springfield rifle and enough ammo to kill whatever may be prowling. 

“JOHN!!” You scream into the wind, receiving no reply except your own echo and the whipping wind. You can barely stand the wind, but you push on anyway. 

“I don’t- we dont even know he’s up here.” Javier tries to reason, but you continue to walk away, sliding down a small slope before coming to a ridge that youll have to jump up to. Its taller than you, and you sigh in frustration. Javier notices your hesitation, and he jumps up, grabbing the rock platform and pulling himself up before extending his hand down to you. 

"I'll help you, come on." He calls down and you hesitate to take his hand, a scowl formin on your lips. 

"I don't need your help." You hiss, knowing fully that you absolutely do need his help. The platform is way taller than you. 

"Easy there tigra, I'm just trying to help." Javier placates, and you feel bad for snapping at him. You jump up as high as you can manage, gripping onto his hand and allowing him to pull you up by your arms. 

"I'm sorry. Just tired of sittin' down and askin' for help all the t-time." You explain, standing up and dusting the snow off your legs while shivering heavily.  

"I understand that." Javier smiles, leading you towards a crack in between the rocks. It's big enough for you to walk through, and you squeeze in, feeling both frozen to death and terrified by the altitude you’re at. Javier is quick to slip in after you, noticing the chills that wrack your body.

“Here this should warm you up.” He extends a bottle of bourbon out to you. The cap is already popped off, and you down a swig before handing it back. The bourbon burns down your throat, warming you as it does. 

“Thanks.”

Just as Javier takes the bottle back, you hear a voice. You can't make out what it says, but it's raspy and familiar. You and Javier share a glance before you start running to the other side of the tunnel.

"John!! Keep talkin' so we can follow your voice!" You beg, jogging after the initial sound. 

"Help!" John yells, and you dart to the left in the snow until you come upon a dip. Your leg aches, but it doesn't matter. This is too important. You run to the edge of the little cliff and look down. 

Down the cliff, John looks up at you, frozen and exhausted. There are bloody gashes in his face, markers of a wolf attack. Blood trickles down his chin, staining the snow white. Really, it's a miracle he didn't bleed to death.

"John, you look like shit." You say before whistling to the horses. Javier is only a few steps behind you, and he hops down into the hole. John groans in pain as Javier tosses him over his shoulder. 

"Good to see you both too." John says with a small laugh despite his bleak situation. 

"Brother, we were worried about you." Javier says, waiting as Boaz canters up the hill alongside your buckskin. 

Once the horses reach you, Javier helps John mount up behind his saddle. You both get on and start cantering down the hill towards Colter. 

"Your woman's been worried sick about you, y'know." You holler over the wind towards John who looks far too close to sleep for your liking. 

"Oh there will be hell to pay when I get back." 

The three of you grow quiet, too concerned with getting John back to really chat. You make it about halfway, pushing the horses as hard as you can through the snow before you hear them. 

Howls sound out from the top of the mountain, and you whip around on your horse to see five snow white wolves running down the bank towards you.

"Shit, John looks like your buddies came back to finish their meal!" You yell, pulling your rifle from the holster on your saddle. You flip the safety off, load a bullet into the chamber, aim right for the closest wolf's chest and fire. 

The first wolf goes down, and as the shot rings out, the other four falter for a moment before returning to their chase. 

You aim for the next closest wolf, but right as you squeeze the trigger, your buckskin trips on a rock hidden under the snow and you miss. The horses are galloping so fast down the mountain, and turning around makes it difficult to aim. The wolves are getting far too close for your liking, and anxiety causes you to have tunnel vision. 

You take a deep breath, and as you exhale time seems to slow down. You aim, squeezing the trigger four times and taking down all four wolves. When the last one hits the ground, your vision returns to normal and time seems to resume. 

"Fine shootin, lady." John says as you come out of your trance. It's unlike anything you've ever experienced before, and you have to shake your head. 

"Thanks." You say, tossing your rifle strap over your shoulder and spurring your horse across the river. 

Colter has come into view now, and you see the few people loading up wagons outside. So we're leaving then? 

You slow down your horses, coming into the town. 

"We need help!" You call out, dismounting and jogging to Javier's horse. 

Abigail runs out the main cabin door, and the relief that washes over her face is clear as day. But as she takes in his poor state, it is replaced by concern.

"John Marston where in the hell have you been?!" She yells, rushing over to where Javier is lifting John down. 

"Oh you know, up on the mountains gettin' eaten by damn wolves. I missed you too, dear." John jokes, wincing as they carry him inside. 

You are left alone outside the cabin, and you take the horses by their reins and lead them the a hitching post. After tying their reins up, you offer both horses an outtake from your satchel, which they greedily accept. 

Just as you're about to head back to the main cabin, the door swings open. 

"Why didn't you wake me up? I was worried sick." Arthur says, walking hastily towards you before, to your surprise, wrapping you in a hug. It lasts only a few moments, and you exhale, releasing the day's tension as he hugs you. When he lets you go, he leans down to inspect your thigh. 

"You okay? It hurt? You shoulda got me up, that was a dangerous trip." Arthur says, worry evident on his face. You raise one eyebrow at him, giggling at his 'mother hen’ state.

"Haven't you learned that I can handle my own yet, Arthur?" You ask, a little offended that he's suggesting you needed help. You know he means nothing by it, but still. 

"Oh, I know, trust me I do. But you shouldn't have to do everything alone."

The air grows too serious for your comfort, and you nod towards the main cabin before heading over to the door. Arthur is by your side as you open the door. 

"Further East?" Uncle says, getting up out of his chair, "Why don't we just run down to the city and turn ourselves in?  How you mean we're going further east?" 

"The west is blocked off, we have no choice! We go east, lay low for a little while. We can hide out and lick our wounds. And then my friends, once they have long forgotten our troop, we seek absolution out west, as far as we can go." Dutch says, addressing everyone in the middle of the room. 

You and Arthur give each other a look, not too sure about heading further east. Hosea steps up beside Dutch and looks around at his family. 

"I don't like it, but he's right. We have nowhere else to go." Hosea adds. 

"And where will we go? Do we have a spot picked out? Twenty people ain't exactly easy to hide, Hosea." Tilly points out, and as you look around the room, everyone seems to be at a loss. 

"I don't know, dear girl. We'll find it when we come across it I suppose…  

An idea sparks in your head, and you step forward from Arthur a bit.

"Actually I may know a place." You interject, and everyone's eyes land on you. 

"My daddy was a gunsmith, and every year he took us to this trade fair in Valentine. It's just down the mountain." You say, and Hosea nods, thinking. 

"Valentine… I know it, little livestock town, our kinda place." Hosea thinks out loud.

"Just off the town is an open space, hidden in the woods that overlooks the valley. It's well hidden and big enough for all of us. We used to set up camp there every year when I was a girl. 

"And it's safe? Well hidden?" Arthur asks,  stepping up towards you. You nod, craning your neck to look at him. 

"Yeah. There's trees around all sides except for the overlook. Plenty of good spots for lookouts, it's not too close to the road. And we'll have a pretty view too." 

"And this place, it have a name?" Dutch asks,  stepping forward.  

"Horseshoe Overlook." 

Dutch and Hosea share a look, thinking it over, before Hosea comes forward and places a hand on your shoulder. 

"Thank you miss- what are they callin' you now? Star?" Hosea cuts himself off. 

"Apparently." You chuckle, quickly glancing back to Arthur. 

"Well it's fitting. You're a bright girl, my dear and you may have just saved our sorry asses." Hosea pats your shoulder for good measure before turning to the rest of the room.

"As soon as Johns back on his feet we are heading out!" 

You sink back beside Arthur, looking up at him for a few moments. He knows that look. You're worried. Here you all are, heading towards yet another unknown, another situation that may hold death for everyone. But Arthur will be by your side through it all. And if even just for a little while… that makes it all okay.

[hehearse]

i keep trying to like. hold myself back from sending too many asks but im listening to my orv playlist again and every single song starts playing and i immediately fall ill. anyways!!

idk if u mind or not but ORV Spoilers for anyone reading this 👍

eighteen is Francis Forever by Mitski. hsy and yjh about kdj. specifically when theyre both trying to cope with him being gone post scenarios.

"i dont know what to do without you, i dont know where to put my hands. ive been trying to lay my head down, but im writing this at 3am" is so hsy.

"on sunny days i go out walking, i end up on a tree-lined street. i look up at the gaps of sunlight, i miss you more than anything" is yjh. i always think about how he takes to running post scenarios.

"i dont think i could stand to be where you dont see me" feels so much like how as a constellation kdj could join the channel and watch them even when he wasnt in the scenarios.

nineteen is Welly Boots by The Amazing Devil. kdj and his kids. sys and lgy and even ljh. i feel like the anger about it fits with jihye more than yoosung and gilyoung, despite her not being like. His Child. in the same way the other two are.

twenty! Soldier, Poet, King by The Oh Hellos!! yjh, hsy, kdj. a soldier, a poet, and a king. thats just what they are.

twenty-one. Boats & Birds by Gregory and the Hawk!! kimcom in general abt kdj. the whole stardust part is upsettingly accurate to how he fucking scattered himself over the entire universe.

so many evil songs get added to my playlist. i don't think i got that many new songs in the last 4 years that i got in the last. whatever number of days it was. the playlist is so fresh and unfamiliar now...

Francis Forever by Mitski

a murder from the start huh. but also the lines "i don't think i could stand to be where you don't see me". rotating in my brain. something something about kdj on the train but not watching him despite being able too. scared to see them smiling in front of a sunset along with him - without him. something about them visiting him in the hospital, unchanging, unconcious, so close yet unseeing, scattered far away... head in hands

Welly Boots by The Amazing Devil

WOHOO back to the songs i know B)

specifically lee jihye grabbing his collar, screaming about them betraying and letting die the constellations that were on their side. and the song as a whole. very much kids and kdj. loving but distant and speaking different language. realisation of love hitting with a delay.

(but as the devil on your shoulder, let me whisper sweet nothings into your ear. in an evil, fucked up way it could be 17yo yoohyun about yoojin. still holding trust and belief that they are not that far apart even if he leaves)

do you see my vision?? do you???? (<- possessed by the sctir demons)

i feel like the Soldier, Poet, King by The Oh Hellos i got shown along with several DIFFERENT animatics even during my voluntarily confinment in the non-spoiler bubble FSDECDE so there is nothing more to say about it....

Boats & Birds by Gregory and the Hawk

this is so evil of you. so cruel to miette. "I live to make you free"??? head in hands. yeah. the gentle melancholy etc etc... i would even. more spicifically point at ysa. because she knew all along.... and she let him go (even if she didn't want to, even if she didn't want to so bad...... i wonder if that's what being in his head for so long did to her. or strengthened her resolve in that regard.)