#charles chuck wood

[galaxysodapopdraws]

I am very normal about Chuck and Nigel if you couldn’t tell.

[shitcharlesknows]

Charles knows how much wood a woodchuck could chuck - the "average woodchuck can chuck wood at a rate of 361.9237001 cubic centimeters per day" - if a woodchuck could chuck wood; which it can, and does when properly motivated aka to compete on a reality TV show hosted by Nick Offerman.

[rei-ismyname]

Logan tried to murder Chuck. What then?

After the sun set on Krakoa and the dust settled, Charles Xavier surrendered himself to 'human authorities.' He was being transported to his super prison built by Reed Snitchards and Tony Nark when...

Logan came to kill him in a very unsubtle way. Surely those guards died or at minimum suffered serious permanent injuries. What little we get of his motivation is an objection to Chuck's time as Sentinel X - killing a bunch of humans. Logan Behavior, basically. Certainly hypocrisy.

Pretty stylish entrance though, The Shining style. He's just about to gut him after Chuck declines explaining himself or speaking at all. Keep in mind resurrection Protocols just phased into another dimension - Logan is aiming to kill Xavier permanently (comic book permanent obviously) here despite the fact he's going to prison for life. He'd actually be subverting punitive state justice here.

I hardly need to say that this is pretty extreme for Logan. He's killed countless people, but for the last few decades he's worshipped the ground Charles walks on. After AvX, when Chuck committed suicide by Phoenix, Logan appointed himself the custodian of 'the dream' and ran the school (though he renamed it after Jean because he's a creepy and petty man.) Cyclops is often held up as Chuck's heir, but I think Logan is just as much. (Though Jean and Storm beat them both out and surpass him.) Maybe this is a hypocritical broken pedestal moment.

Magneto objects, freezing him in place and proclaiming 'no more martyrs.'

Did you know 9/10 failed murderers say 'cripes?'

Then he yeets him out of the prison and levitates it so he can't get back in. Mags and Chuck have a chat and we see nothing of Logan until Wolverine #1.

These people all need therapy. Emotional intelligence so low.

That murderous unilateral motivation seems to have cooled - 'Charles doin' what he did' is third on his list of things that took their toll. Not to minimise his pain, but everyone else has experienced those things too. Many had it worse. Scott, for example, was tortured for six months with his eyes sewn shut and a broken back (which... healed somehow.) If someone else was doing this he'd call them out at best, more likely he'd tell them to get over it. This is #Logan Behavior, though it's weird he doesn't mention Daken's death.

Brief aside - was he truly needed in the pack? I can't see what use a throng of wolves would have for a naked guy with opposite sleep patterns, very different dietary requirements, and the inability to breed with them. His presence got them killed. He was tolerated at best, more likely an imposition. Kevin Costner motherfucker.

I'm 99% sure this is next chronologically. Scott says Logan was 'in the area so he asked him to investigate' - 'the area' being Santo Marco, a fictional South American country that Magneto briefly conquered in 1963. The X-Men answered his distress call.

No mention of Chuck here, and he greets Scott warmly. No thank you though. They patch him up back at the Factory. Looks like he does have use for X-Men.

Wolverine can absolutely give up. It's his thing.

From 'I never should have left the woods' this has to be after Wolverine #1, but before Uncanny X-Men #1-4, because that takes place over a few days and the phone call between Rogue and Scott implies so. We only get the end of this conversation, but it's very safe to assume it was a soft recruitment offer and assumption of a family relationship. No mention of Chuck here either. He claims he's done, citing Krakoa as a loss. It is a loss, but it also bought back the 16 million Genoshan dead and established a mutant paradise in a heaven dimension - one he could have gone to.

Also, Logan didn't build shit. He had nothing to do with Genosha, in fact he opposed and obstructed it. He bailed on Utopia and the narrative kept genocidal threats away from the school. He had little to do with building Krakoa itself and while he went on the missions he was asked to, he remained a skeptic the entire time. He didn't trust the island and lived on the moon in a polycule. Anyway, he tells Scott not to come looking for him. I promise you he wouldn't say that to Jean.

Sure, stay in the woods, idiot. Get more wolves killed.

She's right, they're not strategists.

Looks like he's fine hanging out with Rogue and Gambit. Rogue seemed fine with joining Cyclops and co, but doesn't argue at all when Logan (who is hours away from leaving and has no intention of staying) shoots it down for... reasons? They were X-Men enough when they rescued him from Santo Marco, ingrate.

Neither should struggle to imagine a community 'run' by Scott Summers. Logan has been living with him for at least 3 years and he wasn't everywhere when Logan and Jean were banging. Rogue was on a Krakoan X-Men team with Scott and he and Jean prepped new leaders and stepped back. They all considered themselves Krakoan and Scott 'lived to serve.' How does it end this way? The Chuck question answers itself, though Logan doesn't say 'I wish Magneto didn't stop me killing him' or something. Scott? Uhhh, you took this misanthrope's grumbling as gospel. Go to Alaska and say hi! Or maybe he'll call you. Kate? Uhm, she just told you. She broke in Fall of X, you know this.

Interestingly, Logan uses the term 'fill Chuck's chair.' I thought he was quitting the parts that don't work? 'Why do you even want to?' should be self explanatory. Rogue receives a phone call after this from Scott, and she says he's 'the last person she wants to speak to.' Maybe Logan is right and he shouldn't be around people. He infected Rogue with Scott haterism very quickly.

The Outliers show up and less than a day later he leaves, heading for the nearest forest. Even the swamp hag that guts him thinks he's a whining bitch. Logan is aware that Rogue's group are planning a prison break, that children are being hunted, though it doesn't stop him leaving.

Put all this together and it paints a very human portrait of a traumatized person pushing everyone away, albeit in the most immature way possible. This is what Magneto referred to when he said Logan Behavior, and he's right. If I was talking about a real life person it'd be unforgivably callous, but I'm not. I wrote this piece to interrogate his continuity from Krakoa to FTA, and I was expecting it to make less sense to be honest. As I said, this is textbook trauma response. It portrays that well, but the whiplash of Logan going from 'murder Chuck no matter the collateral damage' to 'Chuck did bad things but Cyclops is worse - don't be friends with him, Rogue' is severe and unsatisfying.

Uncanny #700 was one of the last things written for Krakoa, so it's likely that information wasn't available for FTA writers. Except Logan and Kate had both sworn they'd kill Chuck with plenty of notice, so I don't think that deserves a pass. Is anyone surprised by this? Maybe I should just write a post that says 'From The Ashes doesn't care about smooth continuity and has clumsily broken up these teams by fiat. Just ask Havok, Polaris, Angel, Storm, Omega Red, Jubilee and Shogo, etc etc. Also, it's pretty fucking mid' and pin it on my Tumblr.

That's no fun though. Even when it sucks, when it's safe and nostalgic, when everything you loved has been swept away and replaced with cardboard cutouts, when it's 'fine I guess', and even when it's great; the play's the thing. I love the X-Men and fans have as much ownership of the story as anyone. Not entitlement, just the right to be a part of the narrative, close to the characters. I find it fun and if I ever don't I'll stop (or spend a few years covering Krakoa). I hope you do too. Importantly, you should be critical of the things you love in good faith. As for Marvel the capitalist entity - all bets are off. Fuck em. They do it for the money, we do it for the love.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Frostbite is in the list. As always feel free to use this as an ask for said verse if needed, and hope things are going decent enough with everything going on.

Snowflakes lay like lace against your hair and your cloak. An Elder who could sense lies stood behind you grasping your neck like a vice. And smoke from the fire twisted toward the darkening sky.

You faced the council. The heads of other families. The elders. Your gaze cool and detached. And Logan felt a chill. It seemed almost as if they weren't YOUR eyes gazing out at them.

He couldn't hear- he could only see. And it was surreal. "No wonder," he snorted. No wonder people thought you were witches. He wasn't even sure it wasn't magic. And he KNEW what mutations were. He could only imagine the fear a gathering like this could have caused. What GROUPS of you could have caused- and why you all banded together. Safety in numbers.

Angelina seethed. The other Elders listened.

But. It was clear that you weren't lying. You could answer to the charges because you had done nothing to be afraid of. You had been taken. You had been experimented on. You had escaped. Your injuries had been treated and while you were being treated, in an effort to discover your identity another person had looked into your mind.

You hadn't SOLD anything.

Logan nodded to himself as you were unbound and an old woman approached you and pulled you down, pressing her forehead to yours. No one else seemed to notice. But she had white hair and when she tapped the pendant on one of your necklaces, you nodded knowingly.

The Age of it all seeped like an ancient brew. He couldn't trace the origins. And he wondered how he'd never known, how you'd all managed to stay so well hidden. Marriages, births, and deaths. Orphans taken in. Ties and fears so strong you'd had another set of charges JUST for Logan coming here on his own.

It made him want a drink.

And it made him wonder what it felt like to have roots that deep.

You walked out of the woods and children met you then. Unafraid of Warden White Fox. Grabbing at your hands and pulling you towards the house. He watched and wondered who they belonged to. But then, it probably didn't matter. They knew you. A Warden. The Matriarch in waiting. Safe.

"I didn't mean to get you in worse trouble," Logan said. "Chuck thought you might need-"

You look up at him and smile a little waving away his explanation and his worries, "Clear conscience," you remind him. "I can offer you all our hospitality while you're here just... don't do anything stupid."

"Angelina's still watching, huh?" he murmured.

"So close she can see my underwear ride up," you sigh. "And she will until Madam- well. Not. Not here." You od towards the kids skipping ahead, "Little pitchers."

Logan nodded. Later. He'd find you later. Then he'd call Charles. This kind of shit was his favorite kind of gossip.

[meetmypointlessaddiction]

WIP Wednesday

This isn't even nearly complete or ready to be posted but I just wanted to share it to see what people thought.

Warning: mentions of child abuse

“What did you want Chuck? Let’s skip the chit chat so I can get back home and cut some more wood before it snows again.” Charles smiled at the man in front of him and gestured for them to walk and talk. 

“The team went on a recon mission last week as I’m sure you have been told.” 

“Yeah? So what? I don’t need to be a part of a mission debrief if I wasn’t there.” 

“I am aware of that Logan, however there was something we found on this recon mission. A child, 9 or 10 years old, already showing their mutation and coming from a terrible background.” 

“Don’t we all.” Logan joked and Charles shook his head. 

“This child was abused by their parents for the first 7 years of their life, strict rules to follow, strict punishments, strict timings. The parents kept paying for doctors to find out what was wrong with their child, test after test was performed on such a young body until eventually the child reverted to factory settings.” 

“Factory settings? What does that mean and what does it have to do with me?” Logan asked, not quite following Charles’ explanation. 

“The child is almost military trained in a wall. Yes sir, no ma’am, bedtime at 8, wake up at 6:30. The child simply doesn’t fit in at the school and we don’t want them facing any sort of… well any trouble from the other children. We want them to get used to being treated like an actual child before we bring them back to the school and teach them to control their powers.” Charles explained, waiting for Logan to catch up.

“As touching as your little story time was, bub, I still don’t understand why you’re telling me this.” Logan grumbled, stopping as they reached one of the empty classrooms where Storm was watching over a child. 

“I’d like for you to take the child to your cabin for a while. A nice, quiet life where you can show them the childhood they should have been given, teach them how to behave in a normal setting, allow them to flourish as a human before we try to teach them about their mutant side. Do you understand that, Logan?” 

“With all due respect professor, I ain’t exactly a mother hen. Wouldn’t one of the others be better suited for this?” Charles simply shakes his head, pointing to where you were sitting in the corner, reading, ignoring Storm’s existence. 

“You were in the army. I believe the only way to help the child learn the proper way to act and for them to be able to relax into their role in society and role in a family, they need someone who shows enough dominant characteristics to be able to give into them. Does that make sense?”

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 10 - Since Last I Held That Hand In Mine

Summary: The Course of True Love and other Revelations

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

AN: ~8k words, I want to start tagging people in the next chapters. So if you'd like to be tagged when I post let me know!

Story Tags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

As the soft light of dawn filtered through the trees, the melodious chorus of birdsong stirred Kate from her slumber. Rising from her cot, she welcomed the new day with a sense of purpose. Arthur's unexpected kiss last night had left her reeling, yet she felt its undeniable reality like the solid ground beneath her feet.

From the moment they first met, something about Arthur had intrigued her—an unspoken vulnerability beneath his tough exterior. She glimpsed it again last night, in the tender way he cradled Jack and the gentle touch of his calloused hands against her cheek. His kiss carried a longing, a shared ache that resonated with her own soul.

Despite the stories she had heard about Arthur's reputation as an outlaw, Kate refused to believe that violence defined him. She sensed a yearning for a better life within him, much like her own. He desired a world where strength did not equate to brutality, where he could shed the role of a hardened outlaw for something more tender and genuine.

With a satisfying stretch, Kate rose from her cot and cast a glance toward Arthur's tent, finding it empty—an indication that he was already up and about. Determined to catch him, she made her way over to the chuck wagon, exchanging greetings with others in camp as she helped herself to breakfast. Despite her hopes of a shared meal, she realized Arthur must have been out working already. Slightly disappointed, she sat alone, her thoughts lingering on their fleeting moment and the desire for another chance to talk.

As the day passed swiftly, Kate kept an eye out for Arthur's return, but to her surprise, he hadn't shown up by dinner. Contemplating waiting through the evening, she hesitated, feeling the ache of sore muscles from chopping wood and hauling buckets of water. Eventually, she resigned herself to the night, hoping for a better opportunity in the morning.

The following day mirrored the routine—Kate rising early, only to find Arthur's tent deserted once more. Concern gnawed at her as she asked Karen, who had been on guard duty the previous night, if Arthur had returned. The answer was no, leaving Kate troubled and wondering about the cause of his absence.

By the evening of the third day, Kate's worry had escalated into a swirling storm of thoughts. Had she said or done something to upset him? Did Arthur regret their shared kiss, causing him to avoid her? Unable to find solace in uncertainty, she tossed and turned that night, her mind racing with possibilities and unanswered questions.

The next morning, Kate was roused from sleep by the rhythmic sound of approaching hoofbeats. Her heart quickened with hope, expecting to catch a glimpse of Arthur's brilliant white mare, Belle. However, it was Charles arriving on Taima, dismounting with a few pheasants in tow. Kate rubbed her temple, frustrated with herself for feeling so eager. Since when have I become such a lovesick maiden? She thought bitterly, pushing the thoughts aside. Determined to appear nonchalant, she pulled on her boots and made her way over to Charles by the hitching post.

"Morning, Charles," she greeted, leaning casually against the post.

"Good morning, Kate," Charles replied warmly.

She couldn't hide the uncertainty in her voice. "Have you seen Arthur lately? I, um, wanted to talk with him about something."

Charles glanced back toward the trail. "He should be back any minute. I ran into him on my way in. I think he was out with Trelawny for a bit, robbing a stagecoach or something," he muttered, focusing on his hunt.

Kate blew out a breath and turned back toward camp, searching for some work to distract her while she waited for Arthur's return. To her surprise, she noticed Hosea waving to her from the center of camp. He sat comfortably in a folding chair, a newspaper folded in his lap.

"How's the heat treating that bullet wound?" Hosea asked, his tone friendly yet concerned.

Kate placed a hand over her stitches. "Aside from sweating through all the cloth, I'd say it's healing just fine," she replied with a smile. "And how are you feeling?"

Hosea waved off her concern with a chuckle. "I'm as good as they come, sweetheart, just an antique in need of a little polish, is all." He motioned for Kate to take a seat across from him, and she obliged.

"I've been thinking," Hosea continued, "you're a smart woman, and we could certainly use your help in this mess we've found ourselves in between the two dumbest families in Lemoyne."

Kate was about to voice her concern when Hosea cut in again. "Now, Arthur's told me you like to keep your nose out of trouble, and I don't blame you. Although it's not that easy when you're surrounded by a bunch of half-wits," he chuckled dryly.

Her mind lingered on the second part of their conversation. Arthur talked about me with him?

"I was thinking you and Arthur could go explore the Gray's plantation, talk to some folks, see what you can find out. Nothing illegal, no harming anybody, just gathering information."

Kate's face brightened at the prospect of spending the day with Arthur, even if it meant work. "I'd be happy to help, Hosea. I'll do my best to gather whatever information we need," she replied eagerly, a spark of determination in her eyes.

"Atta girl," Hosea nodded approvingly before calling out to Arthur, who had just returned to camp. "Arthur! Come join us. We're discussing a little venture for you and Kate. Think you two can handle Caliga Hall today?"

Arthur approached them with a warm smile, leaning casually against the post of the awning to escape the relentless sun. "I'm gone for three days, and suddenly you wanna run with the outlaws?" he teased, nodding towards Kate. "I thought you wanted to keep out of trouble."

Kate leaned back in her chair, a hint of smugness in her tone. "Last I checked, I've been running with outlaws for the past three weeks. Besides, there's no harm in talking to folks," she retorted confidently.

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. "Well, Miss McCanon, wherever I go, trouble always seems to find me. You sure you want to go?"

Kate wasn't sure why Arthur was using formalities with her all of a sudden. Was he being playful or trying to create distance? Whatever his intentions, she was determined to find out. "I think you know better than most, Mr. Morgan. I can handle myself just fine," she replied, emphasizing the formality of his name.

Arthur chortled as he gestured for Kate to follow him towards the horses. "Well, c’mon then woman. We've got work to do!"

Kate glanced back at Hosea, who wore a knowing smile as he returned to his newspaper. It seemed as though everything had gone according to his plan. She began to wonder if he had invited her on purpose, giving the two of them a chance to talk alone.

Kate felt suddenly nervous as she followed Arthur towards the horses. His playful demeanor and the sudden use of her formal name had sparked a whirlwind of questions in her head. Was he trying to keep their interactions professional, given their recent intimate moment? Or perhaps he was trying to mask his own feelings, unsure of how to navigate the situation himself.

As they reached the horses, Kate grabbed the reins of her mare, Lorena, and glanced over at Arthur, who was securing his saddlebag. She couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty that lingered between them. A part of her felt a flutter of nerves. What if she misread the situation? What if their connection meant more to her than it did to him? She longed to talk to him about it, but found herself unsure how to broach the subject. 

As they rode through the bustling streets of Rhodes and then onto the dusty road leading to Caliga Hall, Arthur began to fill Kate in on his recent adventures. The past three days had been eventful, to say the least. Trelawny had tipped him off about a lucrative stagecoach passing through Rhodes, but tracking down the informant had taken longer than expected.

Arthur's voice was tinged with gravity as he recounted the ordeal. "Took me nearly two days to track down Trelawny. Turns out, the poor bastard had been snatched up by bounty hunters. They roughed him up pretty good too." His words were laced with concern, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for her earlier assumptions.

Kate listened intently, the rhythmic clop of their horses' hooves matching the steady pace of Arthur's story. The reality of their lives as outlaws became all too clear in that moment. Here they were, riding through the sunlit countryside, but the shadows of danger loomed ever closer. Trouble always seems to find me, and he wasn’t lying.

As Arthur finished recounting the past few days, some of Kate's concerns melted away. She realized how trivial her worries about their recent encounter had been. Arthur had been preoccupied with far weightier matters, yet he was here now, by her side. Perhaps his mind had raced with a million thoughts as well. 

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Kate said softly, her gaze fixed ahead on the winding road, “I hope your friend is alright. It sounds like you two have been through a lot.” 

Arthur turned to her, his expression softening. "No need to apologize, Kate. S’just part of the life we lead. Besides, it's good to be out here with you, away from all the chaos."

A soft flush crept up Kate's cheeks at Arthur's compliment, and for a fleeting moment, she entertained the idea of abandoning their mission altogether. The notion of spending the afternoon riding together, engaged in easy conversation, tugged at her thoughts like a gentle breeze. She longed to feel his lips on hers once more, the memory vivid in her mind—the taste of his mouth, the comforting scent of his presence.

With a bashful smile, Kate turned her gaze away, her attention drawn to the dusty road ahead. The path was flanked by open fields, the sprawling land filled with tobacco plants. As they approached the grand entrance of Caliga Hall, the imposing structure loomed in the distance, a reminder of the task that awaited them. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate marveled at the ease with which they slipped past the guards, thanks to Arthur's clever use of his newly acquired Sheriff badge and her guise as a journalist. The ruse seemed to fit naturally, lending an air of legitimacy to their visit. Their pretext? To delve into the rich history of the Gray family—a tale that promised intrigue and secrets.

Navigating through the vast estate, they engaged with a few hesitant workers, who reluctantly directed them toward Beau Gray, the youngest son of the family. The workers seemed wary, reluctant to speak openly about their employer, but they hinted that Beau was known for being talkative, perhaps to a fault.

They finally located Beau outside a tool shed, engrossed in scribbling a letter on an open book, seemingly evading his labor duties. His demeanor suggested a man eager for distraction, a perfect opportunity for Kate and Arthur to unravel the mysteries veiled within the Gray family legacy.

"Mr. Gray?" Arthur inquired, breaking the young man's focus from his notes.

Beau looked up with curiosity, setting aside his notation, “that would be my father, you can just call me Beau,” he replied, extending a hand towards Arthur before acknowledging Kate. “Hello miss,” he greeted with a nod, “what can I do for you friends?” 

Arthur, ever the jester, retorted, "Oh, we's friends now, are we?" 

Beau chuckled, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Not yet, but here's hoping," he quipped, flashing a friendly smile. "You know, we don't get a lot of traveling men around here, and suddenly there's a whole phalanx of mysterious, yet strangely helpful Yankees about the place." 

Arthur's hand unconsciously drifted to his gun belt as the other scratched his chin. "Is that so?" he replied, intrigued by Beau's sudden observation. 

Sensing the tension, Kate interjected, "Mr. Gray—sorry, Beau—we'd just like to ask you some questions about your family. You see, we're writing an article for the paper about your tobacco fields. The plantation has been quite successful, especially since the war." 

Beau eyed her with suspicion, snapping his book closed. "And what did you say your name was, Miss?"

Kate hesitated, feeling the weight of her fabricated identity. "I'm Madeleine. Madeleine McCanon," she stammered, her confidence waning.

"Miss Madeleine, you're either a terrible journalist or an exceptional bullshitter," Beau teased with a grin. "Nobody in this old dust bucket town gives a damn about our tobacco fields. They're too busy getting drunk off the Braithwaites' moonshine." 

Kate gawked, “I um, well we—you see we’re just,” she stumbled over the words. Arthur eyed the young man with a threatening gaze. 

Suddenly, Beau burst into laughter, slapping his book against his thigh. "I'm just messin' with ya, Miss! I can tell you're looking for something. And it ain't some groundbreaking story. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," he assured with a wink.

Kate flushed with embarrassment, unsure if she had just blown their cover.  Was I really that obvious? Perhaps they weren’t the first travelers to sniff around their family feud. Arthur smirked under his hat and hid his gaze from Kate, it amused him to see her so flustered on her first job. Especially since she had teased him so many times with her own playful jabs. 

Arthur maintained his facade as a simple sheriff. "I don't know nothin' 'bout a secret," he replied casually, playing along with the charade. 

"Well, I got a secret of my own," Beau announced, setting his book down on a nearby wooden crate.

"You secretly normal?" Arthur quipped under his breath, shooting a quick glance at Kate.

Beau raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Nothin’," Arthur muttered, scratching the back of his neck. Kate swallowed a laugh at Arthur's impatience with the boy—a side of him she hadn't seen before. When he wasn't being gruff or soft, he could be surprisingly playful.

Unfazed, Beau continued, "The thing is, I don't care if you kill the whole lot of us," surprising Kate with his nonchalance, "and the Braithwaites too," he added in a hushed tone, checking around to ensure they weren't overheard.

Kate raised her hands defensively. "We ain't here to kill anyone."

"I love her, you know," Beau declared earnestly.

Arthur exhaled. "Love who?"

"Penelope," Beau replied dreamily, then shook his head. “But it's impossible, she’s a Braithewaite.” 

Kate couldn't help but smile at the young man's lovesick dream. "Love tends to be complicated," she added sympathetically. 

"I'm the son of Tavish Gray, nephew of Leigh Gray, and the grandson of old Murdo Gray," Beau paced with frustration. Arthur crossed his arms and leaned against the wooden shed, letting Beau ramble.

"We Grays have been loyal to the state. We've been murdering Braithwaites for years," Beau explained, revealing the deep-seated family feud. Kate's nerves prickled; this feud was more than stolen goods and moonshine—it was generations of bloodshed, and could get very ugly if they were not careful. 

"Why are your families so hell-bent on killing each other?" Kate asked, intrigued.

"Who the hell knows! It was so long ago nobody even remembers," Beau exclaimed, his hands waving through the air. 

Kate shot a glance at Arthur. This feud was messy, and they were tracking mud through their own home. "Sounds like a lot of blind loyalty and stupidity," she remarked.

"Exactly!" Beau exclaimed with emphasis, relieved that someone understood. "Why should I be loyal to some nonsense while she—" He paused, breathless, as thoughts of Penelope overwhelmed him. "Oh, Miss Madeleine, she's amazing."

Arthur chuckled at Beau's lovesick revelations as he continued. "She's like a woman from the future! Like tomorrow… if tomorrow turns out fine."

Kate smiled warmly, a glimmer in her eyes. Oh, to be young and in love again, she thought. She had missed that feeling—the rush of emotions, the intensity of desire. It was as if Beau and Penelope were characters straight out of Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet, caught in the throes of a tragic family feud. Yet, despite the adversities, nothing could sever the deep bond they shared. She silently hoped their story would have a different ending than the fairytale. 

Arthur stepped away, shaking his head slightly. “Kid, I’m sorry for your predicament. But there ain't much we can do ‘bout that. We don’t wanna get involved in your family’s feud.” he said firmly as he started to walk off. Beau looked crestfallen, and Kate hung back for a moment.

Turning to her with pleading eyes, Beau implored, "Please, Miss, will you help me?" Arthur halted at his question. "I'll pay you. The Grays, we always have money."

Taking Beau's hand in hers, Kate spoke confidently, "Of course I'll help you, Beau, and please, keep your money." Arthur shot her a disapproving look, but she paid it no mind. 

Beau's face brightened as he hurriedly finished addressing his letter to Penelope. “oh thank you! Thank you miss, I know she loves to sit out in the gazebo on the edge of the Braithewaite property,” he explained, sealing the envelope with a lick. He then pulled out a small blue box from his pocket and handed it to Kate gently.  “Will you give her this bracelet too? It's real sapphire, a brilliant blue, just like her eyes.” 

Kate nodded, tucking the items into her bag. Her heart ached as she looked at Beau, wishing she could pluck the two lovebirds from their tangled nest and set them free. They deserved happiness. Families could be complicated, and blind loyalty only served to clip wings and poison blood. The least she could do was deliver a letter for him.

As they mounted their horses and set off towards Braithwaite Manor, Arthur finally voiced his thoughts on Kate's new approach to the family feud.

"So, now we're running errands for the boy with puppy eyes for some Braithwaite woman?" Arthur remarked, a tinge of bitterness in his tone. He seemed agitated that Kate had agreed to deliver the letter, for free nonetheless. "We were supposed to be gathering information, not delivering little trinkets and love letters."

"We can do both, Arthur," Kate responded calmly, her gaze steady. "We've learned that this feud runs deep and has a lot of history. We also know how influential the Grays are in this town, and they've got money—according to Beau, at least. Besides, this gives us an opportunity to speak with a Braithwaite. If Penelope is anything like Beau, she might shed some light on this mess."

Arthur sighed and shook his head. "This just seems foolish. Sneakin’ onto their property, looking for some young maiden. What if we get caught?"

Kate chuckled. "Oh, don't tell me you and Mary never snuck around," she teased. Arthur's head snapped in her direction at the mention of Mary's name. "Yeah, the girls told me all about that. You would sneak out of camp just to see her. Abigail even mentioned her father catching you two in the barn once—"

"Alright, that's enough," Arthur interjected, clearly embarrassed. "That's different. And remind me to tell the girls to quit gossipin’ about my love life," he muttered.

"It's not so different, Arthur," Kate continued, her voice softening. "It's young love. Delivering this letter is the right thing to do, the kind thing. And it might benefit us too. And don’t give me that 'what if we get caught' nonsense. You're a damn thief!" She grinned.

Arthur chuckled, a smirk playing on his lips. "Can't argue with that, I reckon.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As they approached the grand white manor, Arthur led the way with purpose, and Kate followed closely behind. They dismounted their mares and hitched them to a sturdy tree just shy of the estate's property line. With a finger pressed to his lips, Arthur gestured for Kate to follow him quietly.

They moved between small sheds and dense trees, keeping low to avoid the prying eyes of the guards patrolling the area. The shoreline provided some cover as they made their way toward the back of the manor. Then, just as they had hoped, they spotted a picturesque white gazebo adorned with bright yellow and pink tulips.

In the middle of the gazebo sat a young woman with a plait of golden yellow hair—Penelope Braithwaite. She was a vision against the backdrop of blooming flowers, her delicate features illuminated by the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees as she fanned herself in the heat. Kate could see how a young man like Beau would be enraptured by her. 

The two messengers approached Penelope as she sat on a chair in n the gazebo, Arthur taking the lead. "Are you Penelope Braithwaite?" he inquired politely.

"Why, yes I am," Penelope replied with a warm smile. "Who might you folks be?"

Arthur introduced himself, "Names Arthur, and this is Madel—"

"Kate," she interjected smoothly, correcting him. "Beau asked us to deliver a letter for him." Kate reached into her bag and produced the parcels, handing Penelope the letter first, followed by the small blue box, “and a gift.” 

Penelope's eyes sparkled with delight as she clutched the letters to her chest. "Oh, Beau!" she exclaimed, "he is just so—"

"Strange?" Arthur blurted out, earning a light smack on the arm from Kate and a pointed look.

Penelope giggled softly. "Well, yes, he is a bit strange. But also so human," she mused, rising to pour tea from a nearby pot. "Our families are stuck in the Dark Ages, or cave people perhaps. I don’t know," she explained, handing them each a cup of tea, which Kate accepted gratefully.

Penelope continued, her tone becoming more serious. "Beau, he's different from all that, you know? But if they found out about us, my family would kill him. And probably send me to live someplace horrible like… Ohio," she added, clearly disliking the idea.

Kate listened intently, settling into a wicker chair across from Penelope. Arthur stood to the side, leaning casually against the railing, sipping his tea as if he were content to let the women handle the conversation.

"Have you ever been to Ohio, miss?" Penelope inquired, her expression thoughtful. Kate shook her head in response.

"Well, neither have I, but my Uncle has a factory there. He was the only one to leave the family. But he’s still a vicious snob," Penelope sighed, clearly frustrated. "Families are... are..."

"Complicated," Arthur finished her sentence, his tone understanding. He placed his empty cup down on the railing and leaned back comfortably, arms crossed.

Penelope turned to Arthur, sitting up in her chair with curiosity. "Have you got a family, sir?"

Kate noticed the brief glance exchanged between them, Arthur's eyes darting away when they met hers. "No... not really, miss," Arthur answered softly, his gaze distant.

"Well, my family can’t stand me. They say my ideas are above my station," Penelope huffed, her grievances evident. "They can all rot," she added sourly.

Kate sympathized with her, she was feeling suffocated by her family, misunderstood and invisible. From what Beau had shared about the ongoing family feud and the rigid divisions between the Grays and Braithwaites, Kate could understand why Penelope felt trapped. The feud seemed to extend beyond mere disputes over land or assets; it was ingrained in their identities, dictating their choices and relationships. The gravity of their circumstances painted a vivid picture of the isolation and despair that came from being caught in such a divisive and long-standing conflict. 

As a woman of Penelope's status, Kate understood that her family would likely orchestrate a marriage, selecting a suitor deemed suitable based on social standing and economic advantage. This prospect robbed Penelope of her agency, relegating her fate to the whims of her kin. It was not a fate she wished upon anyone, unable to choose whom you love. 

Penelope pulled a delicately sealed envelope from her purse and slid it across the table toward Kate. "If you see Beau again, could you please give this to him?" she asked earnestly.

Kate smiled warmly and took the letter without hesitation. "Of course, Penelope. I'd be happy to," she replied, her eyes reflecting Penelope's joy.

The young woman beamed gratefully. "I can't thank you enough!"

After bidding Penelope farewell, Kate and Arthur retraced their steps back toward their waiting horses, moving with stealth to avoid drawing attention from the vigilant guards. As they reached the safety of their mounts, Kate turned to Arthur, anticipating his response.

"I know what you're gonna say, Arthur," she began, her tone determined. “But we still have all day. If there’s something else you need to do, I can manage here just fine." Sensing he may disapprove of another letter delivery.

Arthur mounted his horse, turning to her with a genuine smile, and fondness in his eyes, “I’m right where I need to be Kate,” his voice carrying a warmth that caught her by surprise, “lead the way.” 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As they rode back towards Caliga Hall, the late afternoon sun bathed the landscape in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows across the rolling hills and reflecting off the surface of the nearby lake. The air was filled with the soft sounds of birdsong and the rhythmic clop of their horses' hooves. Kate and Arthur rode side by side, their horses moving with an easy familiarity. Occasionally, their eyes met for fleeting moments. 

Approaching the stables, the rustic wooden buildings came into view, surrounded by the verdant greenery of the estate grounds. Amidst the bustle of stable hands and horses, the figure of Beau Gray emerged, his attention wholly focused on grooming his chestnut mare.

Kate dismounted gracefully, her boots landing softly on the packed earth. Arthur followed suit, swinging down from his horse with practiced ease. With a confident stride, the two approached Beau.

The young man looked up from his task, surprise lighting up his features as he recognized Kate and Arthur approaching. A broad smile spread across his face. "You're back so soon! Did she give you anything for me?" Beau asked eagerly.

Arthur casually draped his arms over the stable gate, leaning his weight against it as Kate retrieved the parcel once again from her bag. She handed it over to Beau's anxious hands, and he snatched it eagerly. "Oh, thank you!" he exclaimed, pushing past the gate and causing Arthur to stumble backwards.

"Easy, kid. Your woman ain’t goin’ anywhere," Arthur said with a chuckle, attempting to calm Beau's excitement.

Beau tore into the letter as he moved into the sunlight, finding a seat on a nearby wooden crate. Arthur shook his head with a smile and reached up to pat the boy's horse. Meanwhile, Kate moved to where Beau was sitting and leaned against the stable wall beside him while he read the letter.

"You two make quite the pair, you know," Kate mused, her gaze softening.

Beau glanced up briefly from the letter, his eyes filled with adoration. "Penelope is my sun and my stars, Miss. I count myself lucky to be graced by her light," he said poetically. It was clear that he loved her dearly.

Beau's eyes returned to scanning the handwritten letter, and after a moment, his voice grew concerned. "My god… this woman, she is going to get herself killed," he added, his tone grave.

Kate perked up at his comment, and Arthur turned around to face them. "What did she say?" he asked, curiosity etched on his features.

Beau sighed heavily, his distress evident. "The women’s suffrage march is today. 'Round here, they don’t even like the idea of men voting. They’d bring back the monarchy if they were given half the chance," he said with a bitter tone, placing a hand on his forehead in distress. "Progress is a dirty word in these parts, unlike incest," he added bitterly, folding the letter and sliding it into his back pocket.

He paced the floor of the stable, biting his nails eagerly as he continued to rant. "They want me to marry my cousin Matilda!" Kate grimaced at the idea. "I want to marry Penelope!" Beau's movements quickened, displaying the helplessness he felt in his heart. "They’re gonna—oh, her family will kill her if they know she’s at the rally!"

Kate intercepted his movements and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Take a breath, Beau," she urged, her voice calm.

But he seemed unable to calm down, continuing his lamentation and shaking his head at Kate. "They’ve done it before, miss. They locked her older sister in some old shed and left her there to die, all because she tried to run away."

"Shit," Arthur muttered under his breath, his expression darkening with concern.

Kate nodded understandingly, masking the fear that rose in her own heart. Their families were brutal, not only killing each other but murdering their own kin. Beau was not lying; Penelope would be harmed if something was not done. "What can we do?" she asked calmly.

"You’ve gotta help me," Beau pleaded, desperation clear in his eyes.

Kate nodded firmly, her resolve clear. "Of course we will, Beau. Where is the rally? We should get moving quickly." The young man eagerly nodded in response, slipping from her grasp to immediately start saddling the horse he had been brushing just moments ago.

Arthur stepped closer to Kate, his expression no longer one of annoyance but of genuine concern. He spoke in a low voice near her ear, his tone serious. "You know this is more than just runnin’ love letters now. This could get real ugly," he warned.

Meeting his gaze with determination, Kate replied firmly, "Nobody is dying today if I can help it. And I can’t in good conscience let them take this on alone. They’re just kids, Arthur."

He nodded with a solemn smile, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. "You're a good woman, Kate," he said quietly.

Their moment was interrupted by Beau's urgent voice. "We're losing time, mount up!" he called out, already heading down the dirt path.

Kate and Arthur swiftly climbed into their saddles, ready to follow. "Slow down, kid!" Arthur shouted after Beau, who was racing ahead.

"If we don’t get there in time, my true love might be shot!" Beau retorted, his voice filled with worry as they tried to close the distance.

Arthur nudged his mare forward to catch up with Beau. "Listen, Beau. If she wants to rally, you gotta let her rally. It’s her choice," he advised.

"As good as the cause is, Mr., I can’t let her become a martyr for it," Beau replied earnestly. "I can’t marry some statue built in her honor."

"She's a smart woman, I'm sure she knows what she's doing," Arthur reassured him, his voice calm yet firm.

With Beau leading the way like a knight in shining armor, the trio left the plantation behind, galloping down the road toward Rhodes. The urgency in Beau's movements reflected his determination to reach his beloved in time.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

They swiftly approached the wagon at the intersection leading into Rhodes, where women gathered around the sides holding up signs, preparing to march for their rights. Kate was awestruck by the turnout—a formidable group of determined women, their resilience and strength on full display.

Beau nearly threw himself out of the saddle and approached Penelope eagerly, who looked shocked at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?” she said earnestly.

Beau took her hands in his own, pleading, “I cannot let you go through with this, my love,” Penelope pulled her hands away disapprovingly, “they’ll kill you!” he urged.

“I’m ready to die for the cause,” she said rather dramatically, puffing out her chest and standing tall.

The young man gawked, his head turning between Penelope and Arthur before focusing on him altogether. “Do something, please!”

Arthur chuckled with a shake of his head, “Do what? Fight this mob?” He gestured to the group of women as the leader of the march gave a speech from atop a soapbox. “They’d eat me alive,” he quipped.

“This is not a laughing matter, sir! They need protection, mostly from my family. My uncle is the sheriff of this town, remember?” Beau said earnestly, turning his attention back to Penelope. “My darling, I beg you.”

Kate stepped between the two squabbling love birds, a determined look on her face. “I’ll tell you what, why doesn’t Arthur drive the wagon for you? That way you can focus on making your voices heard,” she suggested with a warm smile. “Beau and I will ride alongside you, keeping our eyes peeled for any signs of trouble.”

“Sure thing,” Arthur agreed, adjusting his hat. “I can handle that for you.”

Penelope beamed with gratitude. “That would be wonderful!”

Beau looked down, defeated, and Kate gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before they headed back to their horses. His lover climbed into the back of the wagon with the other girls as Arthur took up the reins.

Kate paused beside Beau, offering him heartfelt advice. “Beau, that woman of yours is like forged iron—strong, resilient, meant to withstand the heat. But if you try to hold her back, she'll start to rust. Let her show her strength, encourage her resilience. Support her, and you'll both turn out just fine.”

They followed along the back of the wagon as it began to steadily move down the dusty streets of Rhodes. Beau looked up at Kate with gratitude. “Thanks, Miss. I really appreciate that.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate found something profoundly captivating about forbidden love. It defied all reason and logic, drawing strength from adversity. Their love was a testament to resilience, a beacon of hope amidst turmoil. Despite every obstacle life threw their way, their love persisted like a flame in the dark, unwavering and enduring. It was a reminder of the spirit of young hearts, yearning for connection and understanding in a world fraught with division. The human desire to be loved would stretch across any ocean, face any storm. Kate wondered if Arthur's heart had felt like a hurricane the night they kissed, much like hers did.

As the wagon reached the end of the road near the bank, Arthur smoothly dismounted from the driver's seat and extended a hand to assist Penelope down. They had drawn quite a crowd—angry, drunken men stumbled out from their homes, shouting lewd remarks at the women.

“Mr. Morgan, I present to you the male of the species,” Penelope remarked sourly.

Arthur chuckled and rubbed his neck. “It’s a pretty dumb specimen, I’ll grant you that.”

The leader of the march ascended the stairs and resumed her impassioned speech. Arthur scanned the crowd and spotted Beau and Kate standing to the side of the building. Kate kept a watchful eye on the proceedings, while Beau's attention was solely focused on Penelope. Arthur noticed two men approaching them and decided to intervene.

“What are you doing here, boy?” demanded a balding man with a large gut, addressing Beau.

Without turning to meet his gaze, Beau replied sarcastically, “Hello, darling cousin.”

The man raised his hand as if to strike Beau. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that! Now answer me, what are you doing here?”

Beau sighed, showing annoyance but remaining unfazed by his cousin. “Trying to listen, I suppose,” he answered casually. Kate edged closer to Beau, assessing whether these men posed a threat. She shared a quick glance with Arthur, who was making his way towards them.

“Haven't you got something better to do? You cocky little—” The man raised his fist again, only to find Arthur gripping his wrist firmly. “What the?”

Swiftly, Kate positioned herself behind the second man and gently squeezed his shoulder. “We were just leaving,” she said calmly. “No need to get up in arms.”

“Who the hell are you?” the other man demanded.

“Like the lady said, we were just leaving,” Arthur repeated, guiding Beau away from the confrontation. They moved quietly to the back of the bank, out of earshot of Beau's relatives.

Once they felt they were out of immediate danger, Arthur chuckled and clapped a hand on Beau's back. “You know, I ain’t never voted before, but I'm kinda gettin’ hot for voting rights,” he joked.

Beau pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hide his smile. “I don’t know whether to take you seriously, Mr. Morgan,” he sighed. “My cousins are a cause for concern. If they found out about Penelope and me…”

“I think everyone already knows about Penelope and you,” Arthur said sympathetically. “I just met you and I already know about Penelope and you.”

Kate turned to them, adjusting her hat. “Beau, I think it's for the best if you just rip the band-aid clean off. The sooner it's out, the sooner it's resolved.”

The young man sighed deeply. “Our families, we bury our secrets and we bury them deep. If we come clean about this, we would both end up buried under some silo next week. That’s our family's idea of resolved.”

Kate and Arthur exchanged a sympathetic look. “Listen kid, I think you and the girl need to leave. Get out of here while you still can,” Arthur advised reassuringly.

The trio made their way over to their horses, the sounds of the women's rally having died down in the bacground. “I will,” Beau said hopefully. “Once I have enough money. My family, well, they have plenty of money. But I don't.” He glanced back toward where Penelope mingled with the crowd. “I love her, I truly do.”

“Well, if you stay long enough, maybe you’ll die for her too,” Arthur said gravely.

“I thought you were trying to make me feel better,” Beau quipped with a smirk. “But I should probably go before my cousins find me again.” He reached out a hand and shook Arthur's firmly. “I appreciate your help, Mr. Morgan.” Then he turned to Kate and did the same. “Miss, I can’t thank you enough for your kindness. I hope I see you again sometime.”

Kate placed her hand over his and smiled warmly. “And I hope that when we do, it's far away from this nonsense,” she added with a wink.

Beau mounted his horse and took off down the dirt road back toward the plantation. Turning her attention back to Arthur, a satisfying smile tugged at her lips as the two climbed into the saddle of their own mares and made their way out of town.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As evening settled in gracefully, casting a golden glow over the landscape, Arthur and Kate found themselves in a secluded haven about a mile from camp. They nestled into the soft grass near the serene shoreline of the lake, savoring a well-earned meal together. The air was filled with the delightful aroma of flowers, and the melodic song of mourning doves mingled with the soft rustle of leaves.

They laid out a simple feast of canned strawberries, crackers, and cheese, enjoying each bite amidst the tranquility of nature. The sun, now dipping toward the horizon, painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, casting a warm and comforting light over the scene. The gentle breeze carried with it the whispers of the day, bringing a sense of peace and contentment.

Their horses, nearby but unbothered, grazed leisurely on the lush grass, grateful for the treat after the day's journey. As they shared this quiet moment together, the beauty of the surroundings seemed to mirror the warmth and closeness between them, creating a space of solace and connection away from the chaos of the world. 

Arthur removed his hat and laid back in the grass, he watched as Kate sat next to him, her eyes fixed on the changing colors dancing across the water's surface. In the warm glow of the sun, Arthur couldn't help but admire Kate's profile—the graceful curve of her nose, the delicate sweep of her eyelashes, the soft contour of her lips. Memories of the night they kissed stirred within him, a rush of nerves mingling with a sense of doubt. The past three days his mind had wrestled over the moment. 

As if sensing his gaze, Kate turned to meet his eyes, her own radiating warmth like the sun's gentle embrace., “I had a great time with you today,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of shared moments. “Thank you for staying with me, and helping those young love birds.” She smiled.

Arthur nodded, a slight breeze tousling Kate's hair. They sat so close the wind brought her scent right to his lungs, he could smell the lavender shampoo she used, and the sweet smell of strawberries on her breath. His heart began to thump loudly in his ears, the familiarity of her presence stirring something within him. “You certainly make it hard to say no,” he remarked with a faint smile, “those two make quite the pair. You think they'll be alright in the end?” 

Kate sighed wistfully, stretching out on her back beside him, their shoulders brushing lightly. "I know they'll figure it out," she said, her gaze drifting upward to the evening sky. "They're smart kids. They deserve happiness, especially in the midst of all they’ve been through." 

Arthur glanced skyward too, clouds morphing into shapes above them. "If only it turned out that way for everyone," he murmured quietly. 

Turning her attention back to him, Kate watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and studied the rough features of his face. She noticed the small scar on his chin beneath his beard. The dimple at the bottom of his nose, and the way it was slightly crooked. No doubt from a bar fight. Feeling bold, she snaked her hand through the grass until she felt the gentle warmth of his fingers. Sliding her own beneath his palm, seeking his touch. 

Arthur turned to her, his expression slightly surprised. The air between them felt charged, filled with unspoken words that seemed to hang in the balance. As Kate sat up, she extended her hand to stroke his cheek, feeling the softness of his beard beneath her fingertips. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and she summoned her courage.

"Arthur," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "I want to kiss you again."

Arthur's throat tightened, his thoughts obscured by shadows of uncertainty. He gently released her hand from his cheek, but retained it in his own grasp, his touch conveying a mix of affection and restraint. He looked into her eyes, which held a sea of anticipation and vulnerability.

Kate blinked, her breath caught momentarily. The response she received was not what she had expected, and a flicker of disappointment passed over her features.

"Sweetheart," Arthur murmured softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her skin, "you're a good woman. I know that. But I’m not some starry-eyed, lovesick teenager anymore." His voice carried a raw honesty, revealing a vulnerability rarely seen. "I–I’m not a," He faltered, avoiding her gaze, his thumb seeking reassurance along the ridges of her knuckles. "I'm mean, nasty, and ugly. You, you’re kind, honest, and beautiful. I ain’t the kind of man you deserve."

Kate's eyes traced the shadows on his face cast by the setting sun, her heart heavy with understanding. She couldn't bear the weight of his self-doubt. "I don’t think that's true at all," she said softly, her voice a blend of compassion and conviction. "Arthur, you’ve got a good heart. Maybe it’s been hardened by life, but I see the man you are beneath it all."

Arthur glanced down, and Kate lifted her hand, placing it gently under his chin to urge him to meet her gaze. "We’ve all got our scars," she continued, her eyes reflecting unwavering sincerity. "But those scars don’t define who we are. You’re strong, and you’re capable of kindness. I see it in you."

Arthur's expression softened, his gaze meeting hers with a mixture of gratitude and doubt. “Kate,” he murmured, his voice wavering. “I’ve seen things. Done things... I ain’t proud of. It’s just who I am, and I know I’m only gonna disappoint you.”

“But I’ve seen you stand up for what’s right,” Kate replied, her voice steady.

The air around them seemed to hold its breath, the evening sunlight filtering through the trees casting dappled patterns on their intertwined hands. Kate's touch was a silent reassurance, a gesture of unwavering support amidst the unspoken fears that haunted Arthur's mind.

As they sat there, a tranquil moment enveloped them, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds. Kate continued to hold his gaze, her eyes conveying a quiet determination. She believed in the goodness that lay beneath Arthur's hardened exterior, in the man he could be if given the chance.

Arthur had built walls around his heart, layers of protection forged from past regrets and hardships. But Kate was stubborn, undettered to find the cracks in those walls and gently chip away at them, revealing the heart within. She knew that beneath the rough exterior, Arthur deserved to feel the love and acceptance he had denied himself for too long.

“I’m sorry, Kate, but I can’t drag you down with me,” Arthur finally confessed, his voice heavy with regret, his inner turmoil laid bare by the words he spoke. He sat up abruptly, and Kate's hand fell into her lap. She longed to speak, to plead with him to stay and open up, but she sensed his nerves, his vulnerability. This was difficult for him, and he was struggling with his own demons. She realized this wouldn’t be easy. Real love takes time, effort, and patience.

“It’s getting late, we should head back,” he said standing, mounting Belle a moment later. Kate followed closely behind, settling into Lorena’s saddle. 

As Arthur led the way back to camp with a steady gait, Kate rode behind, her gaze fixed on the broad back of the man she was beginning to understand more deeply. Shadows lengthened in the fading light, casting an ethereal glow over the landscape, but within Arthur's heart, she sensed a darkness that transcended the approaching night.

She noticed how his shoulders tensed and relaxed with each movement of Belle beneath him, as if he carried the weight of the world on his broad frame. The air seemed charged with unspoken emotions, heavy with the weight of his doubts and fears.

Kate's heart ached with a newfound ambition. She knew Arthur wanted to be held like a knife—sharp and unyielding—but she was determined to hold him like water, gentle and patient, allowing his ambiguity and unease to slip through her fingers. She longed to reveal what glimmered beneath the surface of this complex man, to show him the capacity for tenderness and love that he believed himself unworthy of.

As they rode on, the setting sun painted the sky in hues of gold and amber, the trees casting a long shadowy figure across the path. Kate's thoughts swirled like the breeze around them, grappling with the intensity of her feelings for Arthur and her resolve to break through the walls he had erected around his heart, and reveal the silver lining.

"I've got nothing but time, Arthur Morgan," she murmured, her voice a whisper on the wind, "I'm not giving up on you."

[greatrunner]

@tododeku-or-bust's post asking for examples of racism (experienced/witnessed) in fandom has got me thinking about how abstract the experience of antiblackness is once you (as in me, because I can only tell you my perspective) 'remove' yourself from the situation or the situation is considered 'settled.'

A lot of that is, obviously, a defense mechanism. If I didn't learn how to dissociate or numb myself from said experiences, I think I would be in a much worse place than I am right now.

But it also highlights how much I spent on Tumblr reading or experiencing antiblackness in different fandoms. Within the moment, the experience is raw and extremely triggering.

Left 4 Dead 2, Pacific Rim, Princess and the Frog, and Star Wars were probably the most active I'd been within a fanspace on Tumblr, and the antiblackness that ran rampant in those spaces was pretty vile.

At every turn, instead of owning up to the acts of passive and active racism, yt and non-Black users would break their backs to defend their position as 'not racist.'

The absolute refusal to investigate why they were so comfortable calling characters like Rochelle and Tiana boring or annoying compared to Lottie or Zoey allowed antiblackness to run rampant because, "I should be allowed to dislike a character!"

Do you know how aggravating it was to watch old-ass shows like Buffy and Angel at 14-then-22 and watch not only the writers but the audience (or LiveJournal or Television Without Pity) demonize characters like Charles Gunn and Robin Wood for doing things they cheered white characters on for doing... on the same shows? All while engaging in some truly racist stereotypes? It feels like you're going crazy when you see it. It made me wanna cry for help.

The fact that I had to remind Star Wars fans that 'DLF didn't mean it that way' wasn't an excuse for how LucasFilm treated Finn or John Boyega. That "actual racism" was benign, passive, uncritical, and often intentional.

The fact that much of my Pacific Rim experience was watching yt fandom call Stacker Pentecost an "asshole" or "control freak" because he was holding Raleigh and Chuck to account, or they wouldn't engage with his and Mako's relationship with the same respect they did with Herc and Chuck's.

I decided not to engage with the media outside of isolation or friend circles. As I moved further and further away from it, and it became vague and less sharp, I'd start to question, "Was it really that serious?" When so many people failed to read the room and centered themselves as victims of 'harassment,' was it really that serious?

And I have to remind myself, "Yeah, it was." Even as it becomes hard to verbalize or put into words to recall, it was and is that fucking serious.

And the worst part of all of this? Most of those racist shitheads knew that too. But they could get away with it, so...

The point ultimately is to drive people who'll challenge positions out of those spaces. That's why so many fanspaces don't promote growth or shifting dynamics. They prioritize anti-intellectualism and infantilization of the self or the work itself.

[chaplinfortheages]

An archive of Charlie Chaplin photographs from the collection of Loyal Underwood put up for auction on Bonhams.com (x)

Loyal Underwood was one of Charlie’s stock players, appearing in 11 Chaplin from 1916-1923 and a final appearance and last screen credit "Limelight" 1952.

Top photo: Shows Charlie Chaplin during production of "Sunnyside", Charlie with Eric Campbell, Albert Austin and Loyal Underwood while he shot some footage for a never released film "Golf Links, 1917. Charlie used this idea in his later film "The Idle Class".

Second photo: Charlie posing with the wood nymphs from "Sunnyside" 1919

Third photo: Charles "Chuck" Reisner, Charlie and Loyal Underwood with Charlie during production of "The Kid" 1921.

Fourth photo: More photos from his collection, two of them autographed from Paulette Goddard and Edna Purviance.

[friendlyhostile]

That pulp and paper mill behind me, sure goes through a lot of wood. But how much wood could a woodchuck chuck of a woodchuck could chuck wood? Well, as much wood as a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could indeed chuck wood right? Well... not quite. Let's assume our woodchuck has good luck and trucks through the crux of his woodchuck adulthood. In order for our woodchuck to chuck as much wood as a woodchuck could chuck this woodchuck would chuck wood from daybreak 'til the owls wake and would have to tolerate a deluxe inflix of woodchuck toothaches. Now look, I'm by the book. Throb through the job by hook or by crook, but no rest? Come on. Talk about stressed! I'd sooner request to be a guest during a Ray Charles road test but I digress... The question shouldn't be "How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood"? Any good woodchuck would use his woodchucking talents to find the work/life balance for a good woodchuck livelihood but, *sigh* you see theres something we missed. The question should be: "How much wood, SHOULD a woodchuck chuck 'til he can call it quits and exist in bliss by strucking bit by bit struck, from the pits and the midst of his woodchuck bucket list"? To which the answer is: Only as much wood as a woodchuck thinks it should chuck because really, who gives a care. You know like, who cares?

hey anon what if we kissed sloppy style. what if we made out. anon what if i chained you up in my basement and ##################################################################

[magewolf-the-artist]

Domestic K-9 Story Teaser

March 5th, 1975 

It was a day like any other in the shithole underground bunker known as the K-9 facility. Which was to say it was dull, dreary, painful, miserable, and just about any other negative adjective you could think of.

Today has, thus far, proven to be duller than dishwater for one Susan Woodings. In search of something to occupy her time, she found herself wandering into the animatronic storage room where they all slept and into the tool closet in the back. Which then led to where she was now, reorganizing the entire damn thing, top to bottom.

Now, it wasn’t like the closet had been perfectly neat and orderly when she found it; The technicians always left such a mess behind, which on one hand grated on her nerves and made her wonder what they’re teaching anymore, but on the other, it did provide her with something to do, so she couldn’t complain too much.

She had just started on yet another drawer full of out of place tools and discarded wrappers when she heard it.

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

The sound of hard metal and plastic slamming into solid concrete reverberated off walls and echoed down the winding halls of the facility, right into Susan’s ears. Her (?) hand clenched tightly around the handful of wrenches she was holding, causing them to bend slightly. Her (?) lower left eyelid twitched as she tried to fight off the growing irritation.

She forced herself away from those thoughts and instead focused entirely on her work. Refocusing her attention back on her work, she began to group together all the wrenches, screwdrivers, and pliers into separate groups, organized by size. Once that was done, she carefully placed them back into the drawer, taking extra care that the handles were perfectly lined up.

She hadn’t been nearly this much of a neat freak in life, but now it served well enough as a distraction from-

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

Susan didn’t realize how hard her (?) hand was clutching onto the dusty wood until she heard a sharp crack and felt it splinter in her grip. It didn’t hurt of course, it could barely even scratch the vivid purple plastic, but it brought her back to herself.

Thankfully the damage was on the front, not on the sides, so it’d still be able to fit back into the dresser.

‘Just ignore him.’ She told herself as she bent down and slid the drawer back in, ‘He’ll tire himself out eventually. It’s not worth the effort. Just ignore him.’

BANG!

‘Just ignore him…’

BANG!

‘Just ignore him…’

BANG!

‘Just-’

BANG-CRRK!

Susan clenched the animatronic’s jaw so hard that she was surprised it didn’t break. She let out a primal cry of anger and with all her might chucked the unwieldy bench vise she was holding at the far wall. Its sharp thud barely even registered to her, not over that godforsaken noise and the red quickly clouding her vision.

“GOD FUCKING DAMNIT, CHARLES!”

...

[octuscle]

I see the chronivac has switched to a subscription model what happens when you don’t renew your subscription?

For almost a month, Charles had already had the Chronivac license without having used it. But this weekend he finally wanted to make the most of it. Right after work, he selected the preset he had carefully prepared and saved under "Stoner Bro". Valid until Monday morning at 06:00. Then everything should be back to the way it was. Charles sat in the living room of his spacious house. He took a deep breath. And pressed "execute immediately". A window popped up that he pushed right away in his excitement. Too bad… "The preset will end after your subscription ends. Are you sure you want to start the execution?"

Charles' nearly 60-year-old body rejuvenated in seconds. Tattoos covered large parts of his body. He hadn't been shaved in days. And his bushy armpit hair reeked of sweat. The changes gripped his surroundings. His clothes changed to a washed out and worn out tank top. His Blancpain became a cheap digital watch. Nipples and ear holes were pierced. And from the shabby sofa bed, he no longer looked out into the large garden. Instead, he looked directly at a brick wall.

Chuck took a deep drag from his freshly made joint. Finally, the weekend. And no tattoo parlor duty this time. Finally party again, smoke weed, fuck. That's what he needed now after an exhausting week. And that his parents had once again sent him a little money, of course, fit perfectly! First he called his dealer. And then a few pals. The party could begin.

Fuck, those were two really cool days, Chuck thought to himself as he lay down on the sofa bed on Sunday. He was still wearing the clothes from Friday night. And he wasn't showered either. But he had fucked like a world champion.

Monday morning, 06:00. Charles is awakened by an unknown ringing. Next to him, between pizza boxes and ashtrays, rings the alarm of an iPhone with a cracked display. Phew, what stinks so wretchedly here, Charles thought to himself. Until he realized that his face was too close to his armpit. Still half asleep, he started jerking off his massive morning wood. Until he realized that something was wrong. With the expiration of the subscription Charles had returned. Stupidly, however, only his mind.

[urlsaremeaningless]

collection of funny things people I know have said (part 2)

Feel free to change pronouns as needed <3 have fun! please reblog this if you enjoy it.

whats art without a little bit of OSHA violations

Ten-nessee implies the existence of nine-ssee

Mary-land must have been Mary-sea

While we're still here, whoop his ass too

their new companion Space Turtle, Hero from Space that they picked up after a drunken college party

That’s more of an ask than you think

We will let you fuck the monsters but I’m drawing the line at buildings

If you ignore all the ugly parts, it looks kinda nice

there was definitely gay love in there...somewhere

That’s like asking a beaver the size of his wood

I want to be in a hospital in Canada or France! Oui, oui, ow

Sir, do you know how fast your wheels were gyrating?

your honor, my client is in goblin mode

No mine isn’t a fun fact. It’s about animal abuse.

If an eel isnt just a snake fish then idk what is lol

..................where is the CORN STORE?!

thats like calling the tamborine the shakey wakey or the tuba the blowey blowey

I thought that said turn [name] into a mommy for a sec and I got real concerned for what was happening in this chiles tonight. Doesn’t mummy in retrospect sound less alarming now?

what THE FUCK is HALLOWS OF WEENS?!

He’s not giving the boobs their due diligence

I haven't seen any beer cans in a while and i'm getting concerned

It makes my nostrils feel lemony fresh

Wow, these people don’t know how milkshakes work…. Idk how we’re gonna get the boys to the yard

You’re like high fiving god right now

OSHA violations are like warcrimes for working people

I'm sorry, did you just say the dead baby has charisma?

cannibalism confirmed 13/10

Well, I could throw babies into an incinerator. That would be unforgettable, doesn't mean it's GOOD

[Person A] is the main character but okay [Person B] sure

shit!...i just killed someone

Oh shut the fuck up, no you're fucking not

...so like....is pluto a slave?

Corner cobbler corn cob, that’s where corner cobbler is on the corn cob-corn corner corn cobbler

If Charlie can be short for Charles, then Carly can be short for Carles

If shorten Charles to Chuck, then what can you shorten Carles to?

How do we Othello you?

look man, I'm just saying... who the fuck says 'yeah I want a bar of milky way,' like they're not gonna pick literally any other chocolate

The vibe I get is like you're a fancy butler by day but you have a rave later tonight

[halloweenvalentine1997]

A recommended reading list of books I own and have read

A Demon in my View by Ruth Rendell

A Judgment in Stone by Ruth Rendell

A Place Called Freedom by Ken Follett

A Season in Purgatory by Dominick Dunne

A Slow Fire Burning by Paula Hawkins

A Spy in the House of Love by Anais Nin

All Around the Town by Mary Higgins Clark

An Anonymous Girl by Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen

And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie

Angels & Demons by Dan Brown

Anthem by Ayn Rand

Bag of Bones by Stephen King

Bleak House by Charles Dickens

Breaking Blue by Timothy Egan

Bright Young Women by Jessica Knoll

Carrie by Stephen King

Catherine House by Elisabeth Thomas

Cat’s Eye by Margaret Atwood

Coraline by Neil Gaiman

Crank by Ellen Hopkins

Dark Places by Gillian Flynn

Dark Tales by Shirley Jackson

Dead Man Walking by Sister Helen Prejean

Dead Run by Erica Spindler

Dream Girl by Laura Lippman

Elmer Gantry by Sinclair Lewis

Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton

Every Breath You Take by Ann Rule

Every Secret Thing by Laura Lippman

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

Fatal Flowers by Rosemary Daniell

Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk

Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes

Flowers in the Attic by V.C. Andrews

Garden of Shadows by V.C. Andrews

Girl, Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen

Give Me Your Hand by Megan Abbott

Go Ask Alice by Anonymous

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

Good Girls Lie by J.T. Ellison

Green River, Running Red by Ann Rule

Help the Poor Struggler by Martha Grimes

High Lonesome by Joyce Carol Oates

I Am the Only Running Footman by Martha Grimes

I Know You Know by Gilly Macmillan

I Never Promised You a Rose Garden by Joanne Greenberg

If You Really Loved Me by Ann Rule

In a Dark, Dark Wood by Ruth Ware

In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice

Into the Water by Paula Hawkins

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

Just Kids by Patti Smith

Lost Souls by Lisa Jackson

Luckiest Girl Alive by Jessica Knoll

Menfreya in the Morning by Victoria Holt

Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie

My Dark Vanessa by Kate Elizabeth Russell

My Sweet Audrina by by V.C. Andrews

Never Look Back by Alison Gaylin

Night Gaunts by Joyce Carol Oates

Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger

Nowhere Like Home by Sara Shepard

Over Tumbled Graves by Jess Walter

Pearl in the Mist by V.C. Andrews

Petals on the Wind by V.C. Andrews

Pursuit by Joyce Carol Oates

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier

Ruby by V.C. Andrews

Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs

Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn

She’s Come Undone by Wally Lamb

Slenderman by Kathleen Hale

Small Sacrifices by Ann Rule

Southern Cross by Patricia Cornwell

Steppenwolf by Hermann Hesse

Suicide Blonde by Darcey Steinke

Summer by Edith Wharton

Tess of the d’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy

The 9th Girl by Tami Hoag

The Accursed by Joyce Carol Oates

The Anodyne Necklace by Martha Grimes

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

The Black Dahlia by James Ellroy

The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

The Blooding by Joseph Wambaugh

The Blue Hour by Paula Hawkins

The Butterfly Girl by Rene Denfeld

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger

The Cutler series by V.C. Andrews

The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown

The Death of Mrs. Westaway by Ruth Ware

The Deer Leap by Martha Grimes

The Doll Master by Joyce Carol Oates

The Elizas by Sara Shepard

The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty

The Family Upstairs by Lisa Jewell

The Female of the Species by Joyce Carol Oates

The Gemma Doyle trilogy by Libba Bray

The Girl Before by J.P. Delaney

The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins

The Girl who Played with Fire by Stieg Larsson

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers

The Hudson series by V.C. Andrews

The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins

The It Girl by Ruth Ware

The Logan series by V.C. Andrews

The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold

The Lying Game by Sara Shepard

The Old Contemptibles By Martha Grimes

The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

The Prince of Lost Places by Kathy Hepinstall

The Rainbow by D.H. Lawrence

The Right Hand of Evil by John Saul

The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Orczy

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd

The Shining by Stephen King

The Silver Star by Jeannette Walls

The Stand by Stephen King

The Strange Beautiful by Carla Crujido

The Sundial by Shirley Jackson

The Testaments by Margaret Atwood

The Third Twin by Ken Follett

The Torn Skirt by Rebecca Godfrey

The Turn of the Key by Ruth Ware

The Turn of the Screw & Daisy Miller by Henry James

The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides

The Woman in Cabin 10 by Ruth Ware

The Woman in the Window by A.J. Finn

Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller

Under the Bridge by Rebecca Godfrey

Vanish by Tess Gerritsen

Villette by Charlotte Bronte

Wait for Me by Sara Shepard

Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech

Watching You by Lisa Jewell

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson

What Remains of Me by Alison Gaylin

Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens

White Oleander by Janet Fitch

Wonderland by Joyce Carol Oates

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

You Are Not Alone by Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen

[builttextough]

Charles Margiotta

1,000 meter Row

20 Power Cleans (135/95 lb)

1,000 meter Row

20 Power Snatches (135/95 lb)

1,000 meter Row

20 Thrusters (135/95 lb)

1,000 meter Row

his Firefighter Hero WOD is dedicated to Charles Margiotta, FDNY, Battalion 22, who was killed on September 11, 2001.

There’s a story — so old it must be true — about the time some wannabe hardcase was trying to pick a fight at Demyan’s Hofbrau in Stapleton, another piece of Staten Island that isn’t here anymore.

“You Chuck Margiotta?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard you were tough. You don’t look so tough.”

The guy took a swing. Mr. Margiotta took it, and turned back to face his attacker, who braced for the mayhem that was certain to follow. “If that’s the best you’ve got,” Mr. Margiotta told him, “you better sit next to me and have a beer.”

Lt. Charles (Chuck) Margiotta was a tough guy — a football player, movie stuntman and 20-year veteran of the Fire Department — long before the morning of Sept. 11, when he heard the news on his truck radio and drove to the nearest firehouse in time to jump on the rig with the guys from Rescue Co. 5 in Concord. Now, he is among the thousands missing as a result of the attack on the World Trade Center.

But beneath his forbidding exterior — the stern facade, the tattoos and 240 pounds of muscle — was a gardener who nurtured tomato plants alongside Ladder Co. 85 in New Dorp; a caring neighbor who ran into the street in his pajamas to help an elderly woman who had fallen; a loving father who coached his kids’ basketball, softball and soccer teams.

“He was the nicest tough guy I ever met,” said Jimmy Ernst, a classmate at Monsignor Farrell High School. For every burning building he ran into, there are three stories about the college student who brought stranded classmates home at Thanksgiving; the Samaritan who plowed every sidewalk on the block when it snowed; the hunter who stopped to give mouth-to-straw-to-beak resuscitation to a bird that had fallen from a tree.

“He was the champion of the underdog,” said his brother, Mike. “If you were the kid nobody wanted in a choose-up game, you wouldn’t be his last pick. You’d be his first pick.”

Mr. Margiotta, 44, lived most of his life on the same block in Meiers Corners, where he knew everyone by name. He played football almost as long — at Monsignor Farrell, where he was a hard-blocking tight end and a member of the National Honor Society; at Brown University, where he was an undersized nose guard, and later for the Fire Department team and in the Staten Island Touch Tackle League. When Brown’s 1976 Ivy League champions were honored at their 20th reunion, his teammates chose Mr. Margiotta to speak for them.

But football wasn’t his first sport. He was an indefatigable outdoorsman, having learned to hunt and fish at an early age. “That was his passion,” said his father, Charles Vito. “If you were in the woods, lost, you wanted to be with Chuck.”

Marriage and children didn’t curb that enthusiasm for the outdoors. He just rearranged his schedule, often leaving in the dead of night to go hunting, so he could be home to coach a soccer game later that day. He was the youth basketball director at St. Rita’s R.C. Parish in Meiers Corners.

After graduating Brown with a double major in English and sociology, Mr. Margiotta worked for General Motors before being called by the Fire Department in 1981. He was first in his class at probie school and worked 15 years at Ladder Co. 40 in Harlem, earning eight departmental citations. After his promotion to lieutenant in 1996 he was assigned to Staten Island’s 22nd Battalion, and spent the bulk of that time as an interim lieutenant at Ladder Co. 85.

At the time of his death, the paperwork had just been finalized on his permanent assignment to Ladder Co. 83 in Westerleigh. In his “spare” time, Mr. Margiotta found time to work as a stuntman in dozens of feature films, including “Hannibal”; as a private investigator, and for 20 years as a substitute school teacher for the New York City Board of Education.

“He wasn’t happy,” his brother said, “unless he was doing four things at once.” He was driving home from Brooklyn after working a “mutual” for another officer Sept. 11 when he heard the news on the radio, turned off the Staten Island Expressway and found the Rescue Co. 5 truck ready to go.

His wife was working, so Mr. Margiotta called his mother from the speeding rig, concerned that because he wasn’t on a duty roster, nobody would know where he was.

By then, the men from Rescue Co. 5 were minutes from the World Trade Center, close enough to see the horror awaiting them.

[1-800-c3dr1c]

CHARACTERS I WILL WRITE FOR

requests : open! (will slowly but surely get to them, i have lots of unfinished ones at the moment.)

emoji anons always open! taken ones: none so far <3

if in bold i much prefer to write for these characters more.

if in italics i will only write sfw content of them.

let me know if you’d like to be in any of these character’s tag lists to be tagged whenever i post anything related to them, whether it be in a post with them, under this post, or my inbox asks! <3

also, please ask questions (if you have any) about what i will write below! i will answer them all to the best of my abilities, but currently, i’m obsessed with writing yandere characters. (I DO NOT CONDONE YANDERE ACTIVITIES/TENDENCIES OR ANYTHING ELSE IRL.)

SHADOWHUNTER CHRONICLES :

theresa “tessa” gray. james carstairs. william herondale. magnus bane. cecily herondale. gabriel lightwood. charlotte branwell. henry branwell. jessamine lovelace. gideon lightwood. sophie collins. james herondale. thomas lightwood. cordelia carstairs. lucie herondale. anna lightwood. christopher lightwood. jesse blackthorn. grace blackthorn. matthew fairchild. alastair carstairs. ariadne bridgestock. charles fairchild.

SIX OF CROWS :

kaz brekker. inej ghafa. nina zenik. matthias helvar. jesper fahey. wylan van eck.

SHADOW AND BONE :

adrik zhabin. alina starkov. david kostyk. genya safin. malyen oretsev. nikolai lantsov. tamar kir-bataar. the darkling. tolya yul-bataar. soya nazyalensky.

GENSHIN IMPACT :

aether. albedo. alhaitham. amber. arataki itto. baizhu. barbara. beidou. bennett. candace. collei. cyno. dehya. diluc. diona. dori. eula. faruzan. fischl. freminet. ganyu. gorou. hu tao. jean. kaedehara kazuha. kaeya. kamisato ayaka. kamisato ayato. kaveh. keqing. kirara. klee. kujou sara. kuki shinobu. layla. lisa. lumine. lynette. lyney. mona. nahida. neuvilette. nilou. ningguang. noelle. qiqi. raiden shogun. razor. rosaria. sangonomiya kokomi. sayu. shenhe. shikanoin heizou. sucrose. tartaglia. thoma. tighnari. venti. wanderer. wriothesley. xiangling. xiao. xinqiu. xinyan. yae miko. yanfei. yaoyao. yelan. yoimiya. yun jin. zhongli.

PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS :

percy jackson. luke castellan. annabeth chase. nico di angelo. grover underwood. clarisse la rue. will solace.

HONKAI: STAR RAIL :

arlan. asta. bailu. bronya. clara. dan heng. gepard. herta. himeko. hook. jing yuan. luocha. march 7th. natasha. pela. sampo. seele. serval. stelle. caelus. welt.

NIER AUTOMATA :

9S. 2B. A2.

THE SELECTION :

america singer. maxon schreave. aspen leger. marlee tames. celeste newsome.

THE MAZE RUNNER :

newt. gally. minho. teresa agnes. alby. chuck. thomas. aris jones. brenda. frypan. sonya. zart. winston. harriet. clint. jeff. ben.

HARRY POTTER :

lavender brown. cho chang. fleur delacour. cedric diggory. seamus finnigan. hermione granger. neville longbottom. luna lovegood. draco malfoy. harry potter. dean thomas. bill weasley. charlie weasley. fred weasley. george weasley. ginny weasley. percy weasley. ron weasley. oliver wood.

STRANGER THINGS :

eleven. mike wheeler. will byers. lucas sinclair. erica sinclair. max mayfield. dustin henderson. steve harrington. nancy wheeler. jonathan byers.

MEAN GIRLS :

regina george. karen smith. gretchen wieners. cady heron. aaron samuels. janis ian. damian.

ALICE IN BORDERLAND :

akane heiya. chota segawa. daikichi karube. hikari kuina. kodai tatta. mira kano. morizono aguni. rizuna an. ryohei arisu. shuntaro chishiya. suguru niragi. yuzuha usagi.

DIVERGENT :

beatrice prior. tobias eaton. caleb prior. peter. uriah pedrad. eric coulter. christina. tori wu.

THE HUNGER GAMES :

katniss everdeen. peeta mellark. rue. cato hadley. clove kentwell. gale hawthorne. primrose everdeen. finnick odair. johanna mason. young! coriolanus snow. sejanus plinth. clemensia dovecote.

SQUID GAME :

seong gi-hun. kang sae-byeok. hwang jun-ho. ali abdul.

ALL OF US ARE DEAD :

lee cheong-san. yoon gwi-nam. nam on-jo. lee su-hyeok. lee na-yeon. choi nam-ra.

THE WALKING DEAD :

daryl dixon. rick grimes. carl grimes. michonne. maggie rhee. shane walsh. glenn rhee.

MY HERO ACADEMIA :

shota aizawa. hizashi yamada. nemuri kayama. yuga aoyoma. mina ashido. tsuyu asui. tenya ida. ochako uraraka. mashirao ojiro. denki kaminari. eijiro kirishima. koji koda. rikido sato. mezo shoji. kyoka jiro. hanta sero. fumikage tokoyami. shoto todoroki. toru hagakure. katsuki bakugo. izuku midoriya. momo yaoyorozu. yosetsu awase. sen kaibara. togaru kamakiri. shihai kuroiro. itsuka kendo. yui kodai. kinoko komori. ibara shiozaki. jurota shishida. nirengeki shoda. pony tsunotori. kosei tsuburaba. tetsutetsu tetsutetsu. setsuna tokage. manga fukidashi. juzo honenuki. kojiro bondo. neito monoma. reiko yanagi. hiryu rin. mirio togata. nejire hado. tamaki amajiki. hitoshi shinso. mei hatsume. emi fukukado. camie utsushimi. keigo takami. rumi usagiyama. yu takeyama. tomura shigaraki. dabi. himiko toga. rody soul.

HAIKYUU!! :

kenma kozume. yu nishinoya. toru oikawa. tobio kageyama. tetsurō kuroo. kei tsukishima. shoyo hinata. kiyoko shimizu. kōtarō bokuto. asahi azumane. koshi sugawara. hitoka yachi. tadashi yamaguchi. ryūnosuke tanaka. hajime iwaizumi. daichi sawamura.

DEMON SLAYER :

giyu tomioka. mitsuri kanroji. obanai iguro. sanemi shinazugawa. gyomei himejima. muichiro tokito. shinobu kocho. kyojuro rengoku. kanae kocho. tengen uzui. kanao tsuyuri. tanjiro kamado. zenitsu agatsuma. inosuke hashibira. genya shinazugawa. aoi kanzaki. nezuko kamado. muzan kibutsuji. tamayo. yushiro yamamoto. susumaru. sabito. makomo. senjuro rengoku. hinatsuru uzui. makio uzui. suma uzui. kokushibo. doma. akaza. nakime. hantengu. gyokko. kaigaku. gyutaro. daki. enmu. rui.

THE PROMISED NEVERLAND :

emma. ray. norman. isabella. krone. don. gilda.

OBEY ME! SHALL WE DATE? :

lucifer. mammon. leviathan. satan. asmodeus. beelzebub. belphegor. diavolo. barbatos. luke. simeon. soloman.

YANDERE SIMULATOR :

ayano aishi. ayato aishi. osana najimi. osano najimi. amai odayaka. amao odayaka. kizana sunobu. kizano sunobu. oka ruto. asu rito. aso rito. muja kina. mujo kina. mida rana. mido rana. osoro shidesu. osorō shidesu. hanako yamada. hanakō yamada. megami saikou. megamo saikou. umeji kizuguchi.

TOP GUN :

pete “maverick” mitchell. bradley “rooster” bradshaw. jake “hangman” seresin. natasha “phoenix” trace. robert “bob” floyd. reuben “payback” fitch. mickey “fanboy” garcia.

[tragady]

                     CHARLES  WOOD         BEATING  SOUL  AND  BREATHING  BLOOD.

basics.

given  name.     charles  wood. nickname.     charlie,   chuck,   give  him  some.     call  him  anything  but  charles. age.     thirty-three   (   november  10,   1990   ). place  of  birth.     long  beach,   california. song.     mr  sandman  by  the  chordettes. orientation.     bisexual,   slight  preference  for  women.     probably  left  many  a  situationship  at  home  but  would’ve  still  called  himself  single. occupation.     the  wretched  butcher  for  a  glum  town. education.     passed  high  school:   held  no  love  for  his  studies. religion.     possibly  been  baptised  but,   otherwise,   holds  no  emotion  towards  any  branch  of  faith.     occupied  his  younger  brothers’  weekends  by  sending  them  to  sunday  school.

physical  characteristics.

height.     one-hundred  seventy-eight  centimetres,   five  foot  ten. eyes.     shy  of  a  deep  brown,   livened  in  the  light  when  he  flashes  his  teeth. hair.     jet  black.     can’t  gel  his  hair  properly  anymore;   absolutely  slicks  it  back  with  his  sweat  now. gender  identity.     cis  man   (   he   +   him   ). build.     broad  shoulders  and  long-legged. distinguishing  marks.     a  white  grin  dripping  red  from  his  bloodied  lip.     ever  the  charmer.

personality   &   behaviour.

hobbies.     the  demanding  kind,   especially  pertaining  to  his  hands:   fiddling  with  a  car  engine,   sculpting  wood,   scaling  stone  walls  and  chainlink  fences.     with  all  the  time  in  the  world,   these  hobbies  probably  bore  a  craftsman’s  hands.     a  big  gamer,   and  winner  against  his  brothers.     recently  began  hunting  before  arriving  in  the  town. likes.     shuffling  a  pack  of  cards,   watching  the  moon,   now,   and  the  path  it  lights  for  him  to  follow,   when  a  vein  pops,   a  crowded  bonfire,   cracking  full  beer  bottles  against  skinny  trees   –   for  target  practice,   of  course. dislikes.     the  songs  crickets  sing,   dry  mornings  peppered  by  an  animal’s  lightfoot,   true  silence,   a  bedroom  of  his  own,   freshly  cleaned  hands. quirks.     bites  his  bottom  lip  so  often   –   therein  will  lie  a  moment  of  genuine  emotion:   his  deep  sneer  and  lowered  chin   –   that  it  often  looks  swollen. strengths.     when  he’s  talkative  in  a  way  that  reads  as  friendly. weaknesses.     when  he’s  glib  like  a  hungry,   pink  cat. moral  alignment.     chaotic  evil. character  inspiration.     lalo  salamanca   (   better  call  saul   ),   feyd-rautha  harkonnen   (   dune   ),   billy  butcher   (   the  boys   ),   wade  wilson   /   deadpool   (   marvel   ),   spike  spiegel   (   cowboy  bebop   ),   tyler  durden   (   fight  club   ),   vaas  montenegro   (   far  cry  series   ),   mr  blonde   (   reservoir  dogs   ),   handsome  jack   (   borderlands  series   ).

background.

before  your  mother,   there  is  your  sister,   biting  your  shoulder  after  you   –   wide  and  itching;   greedy  down  to  your  fingertips   –   stole  another  fry  from  her  plate.     your  mother  isn’t  there,   in  your  mind’s  eye,   but  she  must  be,   ignoring  your  sister’s  indignant  cries.     but  not  your  reddening  cheek,   nor  the  deep  teeth-marks  now  dampening  your  washed  shirt.     the  cupboard  hinge  creaks,   the  sink  continues  to  drip,   and  your  mother  watches  a  salt-lipped  smile  cling  like  a  loose  scab.     there’s  a  pinched  cheek,   and  a  wet  temple.     a  gaunt  laugh.     this   is  how  she  pockmarks  your  memory.     how  you  mark  your  territory.     yes,   your  mother  was  there.     it  wasn’t  your  aunt,   or  their  mother,   or  a  neighbour.     or  a  kind  stranger  at  the  supermarket.     she  was  there.

after  you  and  your  sister,   there’s  a  flock  of  younger  brothers.     stretched  years  between  you  and  them;   your  hands  must  warm  their  blankets.     offer  their  toothless  mouths  your  food,   this  time.     your  mother  is  less  than  a  memory  now,   barely  a  footnote.     your  sister  knew  this  before  you  did.     she  accepts  a  dream  for  what  it  is,   and  then  provides  anew.     chips  the  colour  away  with  her  nail  until  their  beds  remember  what  mother  means  in  this  house.     how  it,   too,   yearns  for  that  woman’s  touch.     weeps  its  paint  off  the  old,   plaster  walls.     it  admits  something  that  you  never  will.     not  even  when  you  surrender  to  the  same  fate.

there  is  a  man  in  the  house.     out  on  the  patio.     in  the  garden,   amid  the  wilted  soil  and  yellow  grass,   leaning  against  the  old  tree.     just  as  crooked,   bending  into  the  neighbour’s  garden.     the  silhouette  of  a  man,   which  is  all  any  of  you  could  know,   without  you  in  the  house.     you  learn  to  provide   –   under  the  quiet,   harsh  press  of  your  sister’s  thumb   –   with  quick  work  cutting  meat  at  the  book-end  of  a  grocery  store.     uniformed,   yet  rowdy.     you’re  messy  when  you  skin  an  animal.     your  teeth  are  still  white,   like  the  milky  edges  of  your  eyes.     you  are  the  man,   and  now  you  are  the  silhouette  too.     your  mother’s  son,   your  father’s  legacy.     your  own  rotten  dream.

where  was  charles  when  he  saw  the  tree  and  the  murder  of  crows?     where  was  he  going?     was  he  travelling  alone?     how  did  he  feel?

he  was  returning  to  the  family  cabin  after  a  morning  hunt.     alone,   of  course,   like  any  older  brother  would  be.     and  the  empty  pit  in  his  chest  that  comes  with  it.     if  anything,   he  thinks  of  the  cold,   and  how  he  needs  a  new  jacket.

describe  charles’  first  day  in  town.     did  he  arrive  in  the  daytime?     was  he  warned  by  the  residents?     did  he  have  to  be  restrained?

roved  through  the  red-sunned  woods  for  a  while.     despite  knowing  the  trek  is  longer  than  it  should  be,   he  levels  his  hunting  rifle  at  the  first  person  that  crosses  his  path.     you’re  trespassing,   he  would  say,   this  is  my  land.     but  there,   he  learns  that  there  is  no  land.     or  how  all  that  remains  is  land.     the  news  doesn’t  disturb  him   –   not  in  the  way  the  villagers  might  expect   –   he  just  laughs  and  laughs.     forgets  that  there’s  a  rifle  in  his  hands.     sun-blistered  face,   again,   under  a  new  set  of  stars.

what  did  he  leave  behind?     what  was  his  life  like  on  the  outside?

he  leaves  a  family  that  was  rich  with  warmth.     the  sister  that  will  look  into  the  mirror  in  his  room,   and  see  her  mother’s  face.     the  butcher  will  only  notice  that  his  hand  shakes  more,   now  that  he  cuts  more  meat.     charles’  empty  heart  joins  him.