#farewell image quality

[annomalysstuff]

[Edit: click for better quality!]

Fan art from the newest chapter of Ghost in the shell by @bluepeachstudios !

If you somehow haven’t read this fan fic I strongly recommend you to do so, it is amazing on so many ways

The last chapter in particular was pretty good, I love the direction the story is heading to, and I can’t wait to see more

[gideonysis]

Harrow Nova

hARrow nOva

hARROW NOVAAAAAa

[sabrondabrainrot]

🫂💮🥀Farewell Puppet🥀💮🫂

(I hope the quality of the image isn't totally killed)

I just want to share some thoughts on Puppet! I really like Puppet, she grew a lot on me over the short time I've been binge watching all the shows. Puppet started off as this silly guy that loves anime and is Monty's dubious friend. She just grew from there. She met Foxy and Monty, and tried helping Sun and Moon. She revealed her own secret identity of being a woman and accepted that and lived as herself more and more. She made up with Golden and rekindled a relationship with her son, Freddy.

She found a life partner in Foxy and took on the role of being Foxy's own adoptive son's Mother. She helped save Earth when New Moon/Nexus first chose to go down his path and attacked his family. She helped advise Monty to make better decisions in their own life. She tried being more involved in the bigger universe because she was tired of being on the side and watching from the background. Unable to interfere.

She was never a perfect being, she made mistakes and had just as many flaws as the rest of the cast. Her dimension died because of her choices and she did leave Freddy when he was born. She's made mistakes even with decisions to use her own powers and when and when not to interfere and help.

I just like how she's changed so much. How she showed the rest of the cast of characters they can be more. They are not just animatronics.

Her death was sad, no kindness was spared to her. She had no kind words. Eclipse saw her off but even now he's still learning and not able to express to his friend the things he probably wanted to. Puppet didn't get to say goodbye to all her friends and family. To me that's sad. There's still beauty in her death. She laid her life down to save a child. She was given no real options but chose to let her last moments and last decisions still mean something.

She's just neat and I don't know how much Matt contribute to the writing of her character but I think she's neat and while her ending is sad I'm still excited for Matt. I heard he's moving to do greater things with his career and that's awesome for him. (he's also coming back to do occasional cameos so it's not a total goodbye!)

I used flower language for this farewell image by the way! White chrysanthemums, white lilies, pink and purple orchids, and purple carnations are used in farewells and funerals. I also did stained glass cause idk it's pretty. (useless info, but the glass is also transparent)

Goodbye Puppet and Goodbye Matt!!!

[ak319]

Lovesick A.M x f!reader

--★ Rose Hats and Rough Hearts

(AN: So, a fic idea I have serves as an inspo for this one-shot. The reader is a morally gray character and doesn't like being part of the gang. Anyway, enjoy reading!.) Syno: When her sharp tongue turns on Dutch, Arthur wonders if she’s gone too far, or if he’s fallen too deep. Warnings/MDNI: Age gap (you are in early 20's and Arthur is 30-31), pining, angst, fluff. ✰ -11k.

“Well, wasn’t that easy? Been a long time since I enjoyed a robbery like that,” Hosea chuckled, tugging down his bandana.

Arthur glanced at the bag tied to the horse, heavy with valuables, and gave a small nod. “Definitely.”

The two rode at a leisurely pace, the quiet night stretching around them like a blanket, the stars casting a soft glow over the landscape. Arthur’s eyes drifted as they moved, catching on a patch of bushes nearby.

Roses.

Even in the faint starlight, their delicate shapes stood out, and an idea bloomed in his mind.

“Uh, Hosea,” Arthur started, breaking the calm, “I’ve got an errand to run.”

“An errand? At this time of night?” Hosea raised a brow, his tone lightly scolding. “You oughta rest now, son. You’ve earned it.”

“No, no,” Arthur replied quickly, waving it off. “Just need to head into town for a bit. Won’t be long, don’t you worry.”

Hosea paused for a moment, then gave a knowing smile and nodded. “Alright, if you say so. Just don’t go gettin’ yourself into trouble.”

He handed Hosea the score and with a final farewell, the two parted ways, Arthur veering off towards the town, his thoughts already on the next step of his plan.

Arthur arrived at the shop and dismounted, but instead of heading inside, he lingered by his horse, running a hand over the animal’s neck. Was this even a good idea? Why was it all so damn complicated?

There’s no harm in buying something, right? Just a harmless gesture. He could figure out what to do with it later... later.

For days now, it had been the same cycle.

Don’t think about her. Just don’t.

There’s no harm in it, right?

And yet he does.

Don’t look at her, it’s strange. Keep your distance.

A few stolen glances don’t mean anything when she’s far away, right?

And yet he does.

Don’t buy her a gift. What kind of fool even does that? Who is he to her, anyway?

And here he is, standing outside the shop, heart pounding like a damn fool, a love fool.

“Yes, sir? How may I help you? By the way, there’s a 15% discount on the winter stock. Perhaps you’d like to try the waistcoats?”

Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his eyes drifting around the shop. Was he in the right place? He scanned the shelves and displays until his gaze landed on the wall.

Yes, there it was. The item he’d noticed before.

“Can you show me that hat?”

The shopkeeper immediately retrieved it with a practiced hand and held it out with a smile. “Our latest and most popular piece, sir. Only $22.”

Arthur took the hat, turning it over in his hands. The black leather gleamed, unscathed and pristine, a far cry from his well-worn one. His eyes lingered on the rose corsage affixed to the middle, subtle but striking.

He stepped toward the mirror, setting the hat on his head, and studied his reflection. It was a fine hat

“Goes perfectly with your outfit, sir,” the shopkeeper remarked, his voice warm with flattery.

Arthur’s lips curled into a faint smile, but it quickly faded as he turned back to the shelves. “I saw a scarf, too. The one with the, uh... rose pattern.”

“Oh, the women’s one! Let me fetch it for you.”

The shopkeeper moved swiftly, his hands deftly retrieving the scarf. He prattled on about its fine quality and craftsmanship, but Arthur barely registered the words. They flew past him like horses leaping over a fence.

His thoughts were elsewhere, on you. On how the scarf would look wrapped around your neck, the way it might frame your face. The image was enough to push him to hand over the dollar bills for both items, not even noticing he’d given more than what was asked.

The shopkeeper’s voice called out behind him, but Arthur had already turned, mounting his Irish Draught, Clover, and riding off without a second glance.

He’d be wearing the rose hat, and you’d be wearing the scarf. The thought sat heavy in his chest, a strange mix of warmth and unease. Was he really going to give it to you now?

The wind tugged at his coat, but it couldn’t scatter the doubts and questions circling his mind. Was this... a confession?

Would you, confounding as you were, with your quicksilver moods and quiet distance, accept anything from him? You, who rarely spared him more than a glance, choosing instead to linger with the girls, Molly especially.

It ate at him sometimes, the way you seemed so unreachable. Always just out of his grasp, moving through the camp like a wisp of smoke, untouchable and wholly your own. And yet, he couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop wanting.

You didn’t belong here, not like him, at least. You carried yourself with an air of defiance, tethered to the camp not by loyalty but necessity. A reluctant, bitter presence that had no reason to look twice at someone as rooted in this life as he was.

He saw the way you didn’t fit, the way you wanted to leave. And maybe that’s why the thought of you wearing the scarf--his scarf now--stirred something fierce inside him. The idea that, for once, he might give you something that tethered you to him, however briefly. Better than being tied to someone else. God, you have made him so selfish.

He clenched the scarf tighter, his jaw set. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was a start.

He didn’t know much about you, except years ago when one day he came to the camp and discovered that Hosea and Bessie had found somewhere, taken you in, and raised you as their own as they always wanted a child. Nobody in the camp knew where they found you except perhaps Dutch but it was never told properly and he didn't pry much too, no one really did. Everything had been fine-peaceful, even, until Bessie passed.

After that, you’d wanted out. To leave the camp, carve out a life of your own, away from the shadow of the gang. But Hosea couldn’t let you go. He was your father, after all, the one who had protected you, shielding you from the blood and grime of their world just as Bessie had wished for.

And then there was himself whose hands were drenched in blood.

All of this screamed doom. Yet, he was doomed... doomed by his stupid feelings and that desperate longing to have someone to call his own, to have someone waiting for him. A foolish wish, considering the life he’d led, the blood he’d spilled, and the world he was tied to.

He slowed the stallion, the weight of bubbling anxiety and frustration pressing down on him. God, it was all a mess. Even if he could manage to stop thinking for a while, to quiet the storm in his head... when he'd return to the camp and see you again, just going about your business, sulking in some corner after an argument, or throwing those sharp, witty remarks, especially at Pearson as you cooked, that pull, that ache, would come rushing back.

Curiosity was the root of it all. He just wanted to know. Why? Why were you like this? Was it because of Molly, how she’d twisted your heart with her bitterness, making you turn your back on Dutch and the rest of the gang? Or did you simply not care at all about any of them?

He huffed at the thought of the stew you probably made, not out of love, but out of duty, or maybe a touch of malice. If it tasted so good, made with nothing but spite, he couldn’t help but wonder how much better it would be if you made it with love.

❀˖°

With a final pat to Clover’s neck, Arthur made his way back to camp, greeting the men as he passed. But there was something off, a silence hanging heavier than usual. He made his way toward Dutch, figuring he might have some thoughts on the score with Hosea.

"Dutch?"

The older man turned his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, his gaze fixed on the lake.

"Arthur."

Before Arthur could speak, Dutch continued, his tone slow, almost contemplative. "You know we’re a family, right? That everything we do is for each other, not just for ourselves..."

"Of course, Dutch."

Dutch chuckled softly, the sound more gravel than humor, before crushing the cigar underfoot with a casual motion. "Some people, immature people, just can't seem to understand that."

With that, Dutch turned and walked back to his tent, leaving Arthur standing there.

"Is... something the matter?"

"Thing? No, someone is the matter." Dutch’s words were sharp, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Arthur.

Arthur gave him an impatient look, silently urging him to get to the point. This wasn’t how he’d planned to spend the evening. Not at all. He’d been hoping to retreat to his tent, to let his mind drift into thoughts of you, to finally sit and think about the gift he’d picked out for you, wondering if you'd even notice if you'd even like it. He could already picture himself, the soft scarf fabric between his fingers, tracing the rose pattern as his thoughts wandered, imagining what it would feel like to wrap it around your neck... his gift for you.

Dutch exhaled sharply, clearly agitated. "Hosea has let her get away with too much. You know what she did? When Hosea returned to drop off the share from your little endeavour, she-" He cut himself off with a frustrated growl. "She thought I wasn’t here. She came charging out, and started an argument, telling him he was doing the wrong thing--the wrong thing! Can you believe that?"

Dutch shook his head in disbelief. "She actually had the nerve to say that, Arthur. And that instead of doing this--helping us all--he should be out saving for them both and getting away from this life." He paused, his chest rising with each breath. "I swear, Arthur... turning one of my most trusted men, a friend, against me? Over some damn bills? But Hosea... being Hosea...what does he do? Runs out of camp to bring her back."

"So what did you suggest?!" Hosea’s voice cut through the tension as he entered the tent, his eyes flashing with frustration. "Let my daughter go out in the wild alone? At night? How could you do that, say 'get lost' just like that? Knowing she will take it seriously? She grew up right in front of you!"

Dutch’s face tightened at Hosea’s outburst, his anger simmering. "Oh, so it hurt her ego, huh?! Like I care. For me , nothing’s worse than a selfish, disloyal piece of trash that you just had to take in because-"

"Enough! No!" Hosea snapped, his voice sharp as a whip. "Don’t you dare bring that up."

With a heavy sigh, Hosea turned on his heel, walking away from the confrontation, leaving Dutch to seethe in silence.

Dutch watched him go, muttering under his breath, "Take those damn dollars you bestowed on us, Hosea, and gift her a house, for all I care! Fine by my ass!"

Arthur’s mind was a tangled mess, unable to process the whirlwind of events. So much had happened, so many emotions he could hardly keep up. Confusion clouded his mind, frustration clawed at his chest, exhaustion weighed down on his bones, and fury burned in his gut. But none of it made sense. He couldn't even figure out who--or what--his anger was really directed at.

Was it you? Was it your reckless, thoughtless actions that set this all in motion? Or was it Dutch's words and how casually he was ready to kick a girl out, kick you out, just like that?

It was at both.

It was both, but more than anything, it was you. Because you’d started it, hadn’t you? You always had a problem with Dutch’s authority, even when you kept your sweet little mouth shut. It was in your eyes, those eyes. The eyes he could never get enough of, the ones he craved to meet his own. If only for a second. A second where the same longing, the same hunger for something more, reflected back at him.

But instead, there you were. Acting like everything was just... nothing. Like none of it mattered. Like he didn’t matter. You went out there, reckless, careless, as if you could just walk away from everything. From him. How fucking could you? What if it had gotten worse and someone just decided to harm you in the camp and even Hosea couldn't do anything-

"Arthur?"

"U-Um, yes?"

Dutch’s sharp gaze fixed on him, deliberate and piercing. He let the silence stretch just long enough to unsettle, his expression unreadable. "What do you think? Hm?"

"About...what happened? I--it’s... yeah, she shouldn’t have said that," Arthur muttered, the words clumsy and heavy on his tongue.

Dutch hummed, a slow and pointed sound, as though weighing Arthur’s response and finding it just barely acceptable. Arthur didn’t wait for more. He muttered a farewell and slipped out of the tent, the cool air doing little to clear the haze in his mind.

His eyes found Hosea almost immediately. The old man was sitting on his bedroll, his posture stiff and guarded. His eyes screamed of hurt, Dutch's words had affected him deeply. After some seconds his eyes would flicker at your tent. The sight made Arthur’s chest ache. Hosea’s protectiveness was undeniable.

Because no matter how much Hosea wanted to protect you, Arthur wanted something deeper, something more selfish.

What the hell am I even thinking? he chastised himself, shaking his head. She’s not my responsibility. She’s not mine.

He wanted to say something to Hosea, to offer comfort or at least commiseration, but his feet wouldn’t move. Instead, he turned away, retreating to his own tent with a heavy sigh. Once inside, he shut the flaps, placed his hat on the table, and dropped onto the cot with a grunt of annoyance.

Reaching for the scarf, Arthur held it above him, the dim light tracing over its soft, silken material. He let it graze his face, the faint scent of the shop lingering on it, but it was his mind that did the real work. He imagined the fabric tangled in your hair, how it would feel wrapped around you as he held you close. He could almost feel the tickle of those strands against his skin, his breath hot against the side of your neck.

The thought of having you here, in his arms, that close, his hands gripping you, pulling you to him, ignited something fierce inside him. It wasn’t just the touch. It was the idea that you could be his, fully, if only you’d let him. He clenched the scarf tighter, frustration and something darker simmering in his chest.

With that vision playing in his mind, he let the scarf fall, draping it across his face and chest, the weight of it somehow both comforting and unbearable.

Lying there in the dark, his lips brushed over the fabric absently, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips. It was maddening, the way you consumed his thoughts without even trying. Even now, with frustration still simmering under his skin, all he wanted was to see you, to watch your expression, even if it meant enduring one of your scowls.

You little menace, I swear one of these days I might just lose my patience.

But you didn’t care, did you? You’d stormed out, reckless and fiery, with no thought of him or anyone, not even yourself. And here he was, lying alone, haunted by the feeling of silk and the ghost of a life he’d never have. With a frustrated grunt, Arthur shifted onto his side, clutching it closer, the tension in his body growing. He couldn't help but think if he had been here earlier, he would have tied you to him, not out of malice, but out of desperate, aching need. The kind of need that he couldn’t push down, no matter how much he tried. The kind that made him crave something from you that you didn’t even know you had to give. Something more. Something that would finally make you stay.

Sleep wouldn’t come easily.

He wanted you to feel it, to bear the same punishment he carried every night. To know what it was like to lie awake, tormented by the thought of someone you couldn’t have, unable to chase the fleeting peace of sleep because they haunted you in ways you couldn’t name. He wanted you to understand how it felt to be unraveled by longing, to have your very being tethered to someone who wouldn’t even look your way.

But then...what was he even saying?

Why did he keep forgetting the truth? That you didn’t deserve his anger, his silent pleas for recognition. That the fault wasn’t yours for not seeing him, no, it was his for daring to want you in the first place. Of course, you wouldn’t ever look at him that way. He was older, too far removed from your world, your interests, your life. And he knew, deep down, that you wouldn’t ever imagine, not in a thousand years, that someone like him could ever be interested in you. Even he could admit it, this was all stupid, unexpected, and nothing more than a fantasy.

And still, knowing this, he couldn’t stop himself. The heart never makes sense, does it? It doesn’t listen to reason or its owner, dragging you where it pleases, no matter the cost. Even he, a man who prided himself on control, had been reduced to a mere servant of its whims.

His fingers curled around the scarf as if it could somehow hold the pieces of him together. As if its softness could soothe the fire that burned inside him, one that you had lit and would never know.

Meanwhile, you lay in bed, staring at the worn canvas of the tent above. You weren’t leaving this tent. Not now. Not later. Not for anyone. They could all be damned for all you cared, it had all been damned ever since your mother died.

She was your anchor, the one thing tethering you to any sense of stability. And the moment she was gone, the world had cracked open, spilling truths you’d long suspected but never wanted confirmed. You weren’t really theirs. You weren’t their daughter.

Hosea refused to tell you why or how you ended up here, tucked into the folds of their chaos. But the truth was, you didn’t care anymore. You were tired. Tired of the games, the blind loyalty to Dutch’s every whim, the endless cycle of running and stealing and pretending any of it had meaning.

All you wanted was a normal life, a roof over your head that didn’t leak when it rained, a place where fear didn’t cling to the walls like smoke. But that dream stayed out of reach, just like everything else. Hosea wouldn’t let you go. He was scared to lose you, to lose something that was never even his.

Pathetic.

That’s what it was. That’s what they all were. And maybe Molly was right, Dutch’s charm was nothing but poison, bleeding into everything and everyone

"Bastard..."

You wanted a job, something stable to call your own. Or, if that wasn’t in the cards, maybe just to find some rich fool to marry so you could finally live in peace. Far from all this chaos. But no, these people couldn’t leave well enough alone, they had to loot every rich soul they came across.

Leave someone for me to marry at least, you scoffed bitterly, lips curling in a faint, humourless smile.

Sigh.

Dream on, (Y/N). Dream on.

Hosea’s familiar voice drifted in from nearby, low and steady as he spoke with Abigail. No doubt she was serving him food since you hadn’t bothered to. The sound grated on you, making you roll your eyes and turn to the other side of your bedroll. It wouldn’t be long, two days, maximum, before Hosea came to lecture you, or worse, dragged you out of this tent himself.

He was always so damn strict when it came to pulling your weight.

But right now?

Screw it. Screw him. Screw all of them.

Let them fend for themselves.

❀˖°

"Why do you do all this?"

Not did that. Do this.

Arthur’s voice was low, almost fragile, but there was a weight to it. A question layered with meanings he couldn’t bring himself to say outright. He just hoped you’d hear it, the real question, underneath the words. His gaze stayed fixed on the worn soles of your shoes, watching as you scrubbed at the dishes with an edge of restrained aggression that didn’t go unnoticed.

The sight would be funny to anyone in the camp right now. He was reduced to barely speaking above a whisper when it came to you, his usual steady tone faltering in a way it never did with anyone else. Whilst you were the only one who wasn't afraid of even him. While others tiptoed around him, wary of the weight his presence carried, you treated him with the same indifference, the same biting sharpness that you spared for everyone else.

Dammit, he fucking loved it.

It wasn’t fear he wanted from you, not respect or even obedience. It was something, anything, that showed he wasn’t just another face in the camp to you. It made him feel like that was all he was. Just another man under Dutch rule.

And it was maddening.

"I could ask the same question to everyone here," you replied, voice steady but sharp, like a blade dulled just enough to wound without cutting too deep.

"But you know the answer," he countered, quieter now, his words almost swallowed by the night air.

"And you do too," you shot back, turning slightly to glance over your shoulder, "but here you are. Playing the mediator of sorts."

Arthur exhaled sharply, his gaze falling to the ground as if the weight of your words had struck him in the chest. For someone who claimed to want nothing to do with this place, with these people, you had an uncanny way of stirring up trouble within it.

Perhaps you wanted that. You wanted to get kicked out.

He wanted to throw the thought out into the open, let it snap between you like a taut rope. But the bitterness in your tone, the heaviness in your stance, made him hesitate. Throwing oil on the fire wasn’t going to do either of you any good, not today.

"You’re wasting your breath on someone who isn't listening to whatever you have to say."

"Then I’ll just keep talkin’ until you do," he shot back, his voice low but resolute.

"Do whatever, I don't care. This place is full of people barking orders and trying to be big. Pft. How adorable."

At least spare me a glance. Just one.

"If you don't care about yourself, then at least do it for Hosea." His voice was strained, laced with a desperation he couldn't quite hide.

That made you turn, finally, but the look you gave him was anything but kind. Your gaze was sharp, cutting, laced with a mix of disdain and challenge. "Oh, so now you're worried about me being a bad daughter or something?" you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "I wonder if you all think the same way when you're out there making other daughters cry, making women widows and destroying families without a second thought."

This was the longest conversation you both had. Ever. And damn it was a wrecked one.

Your lips curled into a humorless smile as you snorted, mocking. "Tsk, I bet that's an exception, right? Family only exists here." You pitched your voice to mimic Dutch's smooth drawl, the mockery biting. Then, as if dismissing him entirely, you turned back to the washing, your hands moving with renewed fervor, the sound of water splashing filling the silence.

Arthur stood there, jaw tight, the weight of your words sinking into him like stones in a river.

He stood rooted in place, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. He wanted to say something, needed to say something, but the words lodged themselves somewhere in his throat, refusing to come out. Maybe it was the truth in your words that had him stunned.

Before Arthur could find a way to steer the conversation elsewhere, Hosea stepped into the fray, his tone calm yet firm. “(Y/N)...dear, today or tomorrow, you’ve got to apologize to Dutch and bury this hatchet.”

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, looking off to the side, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. His heart thumped unevenly as he anticipated your response.

You turned to Hosea sharply, your expression a volatile mix of shock and simmering fury. “You want me to apologize to him?! For what?” Your voice rose, cutting through the camp’s quiet. “Just for talking to you about something I’ve wanted to for so damn long?!”

Arthur’s head snapped back in your direction. He could see the fire in your eyes now, blazing and relentless, and it struck something in him. That fire, he both loved and hated it, craved it and feared it. It was the very thing that made you impossible to ignore, yet it was also what pushed you farther from him. And still, he couldn’t help but think how maddeningly beautiful you looked right now, even if it tore him apart to watch you lock yourself away further from everyone, including him.

Hosea sighed, his calm facade slipping just slightly. “It’s not about what was said, it’s about how it was said. Dutch... he’s not perfect, but he’s trying. We all are.”

Your laugh was hollow, bitter. “Trying? Trying to keep us all in line like dogs? Sure, that sounds like a real noble effort.” You crossed your arms, your gaze icy as it met Hosea’s. “If you want to grovel to Dutch, go ahead. But don’t drag me into it.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his fingers brushing against his holster as if searching for something to ground himself. He knew that your words were not only directed at Hosea but him too.

“You’ve got too much pride,” Hosea muttered, shaking his head in exasperation.

“And you’ve got too much blind loyalty,” you shot back, unrelenting.

Hosea held your gaze, his own softening but remaining firm. "Look, let me say this again, this isn’t about the words you said, it’s about the way you said them. You can stand by your beliefs without tearing everyone else down in the process, sweetheart."

You scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. "So what? Dutch can tear everyone down, but when someone calls him out, it’s suddenly a problem?! That’s rich."

"It doesn't matter!" Hosea’s voice rose slightly before he caught himself, lowering it to a pleading tone. "And quiet down, don’t create a scene, again. Have mercy on your old man, at least. For now, we’re in the camp, and as long as we are, Dutch shouldn’t be disrespected like that. You can be as angry as you want with me, but please, just apologize to him. He’s always been like an uncle to you... (Y/N)."

You let out a bitter scoff, your lips curling in defiance. "And he's the one who clearly doesn't want me here but--fine...fine Papa," your hands slammed the plate down in the basin. "I’ll do whatever you say. Because, apparently, my words are nothing but bullets of disloyalty now. The same words that were once adorable wishes to you."

Your words hit like a lash, leaving Hosea standing frozen as you stormed off toward your tent. Arthur watched the older man, his chest tightening when he saw the same hurt settle in Hosea’s eyes, the kind of pain that only festers in the heart of someone who loves deeply and feels powerless.

"I wish..." Hosea began, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling under the weight of emotions he rarely let show. "I wish I never told her the truth... that she’s not my child. Maybe it messed her up... It broke me more than it broke her."

Arthur stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the dirt as he hesitated for a moment before closing the distance. Hosea turned his head slightly, and Arthur's heart clenched when he saw the glint of tears streaking down the older man’s face. It was the second time Arthur had witnessed Hosea cry, the first being after Bessie's death.

"It... it terrified me," Hosea whispered, voice thick with emotion. "I kept thinkin' last night, what if one day I'm not here, and Dutch just turns on her like that? Sure, the women might object, but that’s it. They’re powerless against him. No one would stand up for her... and she'd be all alone..." He sniffed, wiping his eyes, trying to regain control. "And that’s what broke me, Arthur."

It broke me too...

Arthur stepped closer, his voice low but steady. "Jus' don't think about all that happened. Forget it and don't worry Dutch will forget about it. He won’t hold onto it, not like that. And she... she’ll forget too. You’ll see."

Hosea let out a dry chuckle, wiping a stray tear from his weathered cheek. "She? I don’t think so. Not about this. When it comes to this topic, she won’t let it go." He paused, leaning heavily against the wooden counter, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of years pressed harder in that moment. "I want it too, Arthur. The house, the quiet life… I want to give her that. But it’s not easy. It’s not."

He gestured vaguely toward the camp, the flickering lantern light catching in his tired eyes. "Leaving all this behind, all of you, it’d feel like... like a betrayal. Even if I left on a good note, it wouldn’t sit right. Do you get what I mean?"

Arthur nodded, his posture relaxing now that you weren’t there to sharpen the tension in the air. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think we all... kind of want that." His words trailed off, his thoughts unraveling into something more personal. Something he couldn’t bring himself to say.

I do. I want it... with you. Maybe. No...

Only.

Hosea turned his head to study him, an unspoken question hanging in the silence. Arthur caught the look and quickly shrugged it off, letting out a small exhale as if to clear the thought entirely. "Jus’ don’t let Dutch know," he muttered with a faint smirk. Hosea returned the gesture. " 'Course not. Let's go have some coffee, boy." He reached to pat the man's shoulder but Arthur’s hand shot out, grabbing Hosea’s with a suddenness that made the older man freeze. His eyes, wide and questioning, met Arthur’s with a flicker of concern, but also an understanding that something serious was coming.

"Um--there’s... something that I want to..." Arthur’s voice faltered as he cleared his throat. His gaze darted to the ground, to the side, anywhere but Hosea’s eyes. The same sheepish, uncertain look Hosea had seen a hundred times, but now it felt different.

Hosea arched a brow, waiting for him to continue. "Well, go on then. What did you do?"

Arthur’s mind was a mess, his thoughts tangled with nerves and fear. What the hell am I doing? His heart raced as his hand shook slightly. What the hell am I about to do?

His breath caught as he reached into the inside of his jacket, fingers brushing the fabric of the chest pocket where he’d hidden it. It was a decision that had plagued him for days, one that felt impossible to avoid now.

He pulled out the scarf--silken, covered in his scent, soft to the touch, but now burning in his hand like a symbol of everything he couldn’t say.

 For her.

It’s for her.

"I- I bought this..." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying the words aloud made them too real, too vulnerable.

Hosea’s face was unreadable at first, but then he saw the scarf, and a brief chuckle escaped him, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I thought it was clear I’m a man, Arthur."

The joke hit Arthur like a slap, and he couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten. God, this was harder than he’d imagined. His throat went dry, his fingers tightening around the scarf as if it could somehow anchor him, give him the courage to keep going. But he was drowning in hesitation.

Arthur’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, his entire body trembling with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. The thought of Hosea’s reaction, the uncertainty of what might follow this moment, made him question if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life. Would Hosea kill him? Would he laugh at him? Or worse, would he pity him?

Hosea’s eyes bore into him, patient, yet expectant. "Well, boy?"

Arthur’s mouth went dry, but he forced the words out. "It’s for... (Y/N)."

For a moment, there was a stillness, and then to his shock, Hosea’s expression softened, eyes widening, almost in a kind of jubilant surprise. The older man’s lips curled into a smile, the warmth of it almost disarming.

Hosea took the scarf from Arthur, his hands gentle as he examined the gift. A sense of something unspoken passed between them, something Arthur couldn’t quite name, but it was there in the way Hosea’s gaze softened. "Really?"

Arthur barely had the strength to nod, his eyes avoiding Hosea’s, his face burning with embarrassment and a kind of fear he couldn’t even process. Was this really happening? He was spilling it to him, of all people, your father.

He nodded again, his voice barely a whisper. "Yeah..."

Hosea’s hand reached out to pat Arthur’s arm in an almost fatherly gesture, the older man’s voice low and steady. "Well then... I’ll be sure to give it to her." He smiled, a knowing warmth in his eyes that made Arthur’s chest tighten in an unfamiliar way. "Thank you. Y’know... you’re the only one I trust after me."

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat, the words sinking in like the heaviest of weights. It felt like he’d won a game, but one he hadn’t even realized he was playing.

Arthur’s throat tightened at the thought, his breath catching. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d attached to the simple scarf until now. It was just a piece of fabric, yet the meaning behind it had become so much more than he’d ever expected.

"Just... tell her to, you know... don’t burn it at least," he muttered, his chuckle awkward and thin, as if trying to deflect the intensity of his own feelings. But the words weren’t a joke. They were the truth, and they hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

The image burned in his mind, you, angry, perhaps unaware, throwing it into the campfire or tearing it apart with a pair of scissors. The thought was almost unbearable, each possibility worse than the last. The way his hands clenched into fists at his sides showed just how deep the fear ran.

He couldn’t let that happen.

If you did something like that, if you so much as damaged it, he... he didn’t know what he’d do. His thoughts spiraled out of control. Would he lash out? Would he burn the whole camp down if it meant getting you back, getting that thing back, untainted by your disregard? The intensity of his protectiveness shocked him, made his pulse quicken.

He forced himself to exhale, slow and controlled, but the tightness in his chest remained.

"Tell her," he repeated softly, though his voice cracked with something that felt more desperate than he'd intended.

"I will, I will. Don't you worry."

❀˖°

You nearly sewed your own finger, but kept going, the needle trembling slightly in your hand as you tried to focus. Jack sure knew how to break his damn button every week. But you never minded of course. That adorable little kid is like your brother. You couldn't remember the last time you’d felt calm enough to sit still and stitch something--anything--together without your mind wandering.

"I’m proud of you, y'know. You apologized. Thank you." Hosea’s voice broke through the silence, warm but layered with something else, something like relief, as he sipped his coffee. His words sank into the quiet of the tent, the flickering lamplight casting soft shadows over his face.

"Of course you are."

His response was a low chuckle, tinged with affection. He knew you loved him and valued his advice,. His mind played the memories of the times when you always waited worriedly whenever he went on jobs and made sure he was looked after in the camp. He couldn't be proud to have you as his daughter even if both of you clashed at moments like these.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. Even if you’d done it for Hosea, for your own reasons, you couldn't shake the irritation that still lingered beneath your skin. But he was happy, and that was enough for him. His approval always mattered to you, more than you’d ever admit.

The silence stretched out between you as you continued to sew, the rhythmic motion almost comforting. But Hosea’s gaze shifted, the way it always did when something was on his mind. He glanced at the closed flap of the tent, his attention drawn to the world outside. Then, after a moment, he spoke again.

"Here," Hosea said, holding the item out to you, his expression tight, as if he wasn't entirely sure how you would take it. You eyed the scarf suspiciously before taking it, your fingers brushing against the fabric, your thoughts clouded.

"Wow, thanks...it's so pretty," you muttered, still trying to piece together what was happening. Though genuinely happy to receive a beautiful gift.

Hosea shifted on his feet, averting his gaze, as if the words were stuck in his throat. After a long pause, you saw the truth flicker in his eyes.

"It's...from Arthur."

"Wha---huh? Why?" you asked, the suspicion in your tone now more palpable than ever.

Hosea looked away again, the embarrassment and discomfort evident in his posture, but the message was clear. You felt the shift in the air, a kind of pressure that built between you both.

Your blood ran cold, and you couldn't stop the words that spilled from your lips. "Wha- excuse me??! Did you... did you just sell me or something?!"

The words landed, and Hosea's head snapped back, his face darkening, his jaw tight with frustration.

"What even---Are you out of your mind?" he shot back, his voice low, heated now. "Listen to me. I am not going to be here for you forever, and I worry for you, even if you think I don't! And him, he’s the only one I would trust to-"

"What are you on about?!" you cut him off, your voice rising with anger. "Am I some child that needs to be babysat?! I won’t stay here forever, either, Papa! Hell, I won't! And you’re here finding ways to bind me here?!" You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the frustration turning into something you couldn’t hold in any longer. "I understand everything! Don’t think I’m a fool!"

You couldn’t stop yourself. With a burst of pent-up fury, you threw the scarf on the floor, your hands shaking with the force of your frustration. "Handing me to some old lap dog, you’re out of your mind! I can't believe it, have some shame!."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you both, as Hosea stood there, his hand still frozen in the air where he'd offered you the scarf, his eyes full of something raw, hurt, frustration, confusion. Hosea opened his mouth, but no words came. His gaze softened, his lips parted as if he were trying to find something to say. But the words you had just spoken hung heavy in the air, too loud and too real to take back now.

"You think I want this for you?" he finally whispered, more to himself than to you, his voice strained with frustration. "I just want you safe, damn it. Safe."

"If you want that, then find someone else, someone normal. A proper suitor, maybe? A decent citizen? Like Mama would have wanted!"

"And you think a 'normal citizen,' or the rich kind you dream of marrying, won’t ask about our background? Won’t dig into our truth? You want something built on lies, instead of what’s real? The most honest person you could have is right here, willing to do anything for you. I raised that boy, and I damn well know he will never disappoint me."

You rolled your eyes, fed up with another one of his lectures. "Yeah, because after spending half my life with outlaws, I've definitely lost the chance to be with anyone 'normal,' haven’t I? Then I'd rather die alone! Every man here is raised by you in some way but that doesn't mean that I have to trust them let alone be with THEM! You are being delusional! Whatever--just give it back, for God's sake," you snapped, your voice thick with frustration as you turned away, trying to put distance between yourself and the scarf as if it could somehow erase the conversation.

Hosea didn't move to leave. He just stood there. After a long pause, he shook his head gently, as if reconciling himself with something painful. "No, no I won't. Gifts are not meant to be... given back."

He picked the scarf up, his hands cradling it carefully as if it were something fragile, and for a moment, you could see him lost in thought, his eyes distant, remembering something else.

"I remember... the first time I held you in my arms," he murmured, his voice softer now, the anger and frustration fading into something more vulnerable. "You were my gift, too. You still are."

Your heart stuttered for a moment, the memory of being held like that, cradled in his arms when you were small, a time before all the complexities of your relationship had gotten so tangled. The warmth of his embrace felt distant now, like a fading echo.

Or it's just his way of manipulation.

"Papa, please, why are you even siding with him-"

"Enough, because I know better and I know you better," he interrupted, his voice firm this time, though it cracked slightly with emotion. "Just keep it." His words hung in the air, and he turned to leave the tent but paused just before he stepped outside.

He looked back, his gaze meeting yours for a moment, something flickered in his eyes, something deep, filled with regret, but also resolve. "If I couldn't, or am unable to give you the life you want," he said softly, each word deliberate, "my heart says he will."

You shook your head, your voice bitter as it escaped you. "Oh please, wait till you see when he kicks me out one day on your beloved Dutch's orders."

Hosea didn’t respond right away. He just looked at you, his expression a mixture of sorrow and a kind of quiet resignation, before he finally turned and walked out of the tent.

He would never be able to make you understand that Arthur would be the last person to do that.

❀˖°

The days that followed felt heavier, like a fog had settled around you. Arthur's presence, once easily ignored, now seemed to infiltrate every corner of your space. He started lingering around more often, always appearing at the most inconvenient times when you and Hosea were sharing a quiet meal or having (tea/coffee). At first, you thought it was just a coincidence, maybe just a shared moment of camaraderie, but the more it happened, the more uncomfortable it made you.

Arthur wasn’t doing anything overtly wrong, of course. He sat quietly, politely joining the conversation when spoken to, sipping coffee, offering a nod here and there.

It bothered you. You loathed it.

Is this some sort of indirect courting? Were you imagining things, or was this his way of trying to ingratiate himself with you? Was he trying to get Hosea's approval? To intimidate you? Or, perhaps, was it something more direct? Was he trying to... what, win you over? Hosea, for all his kindness and wisdom, didn’t mind Arthur’s company, even encouraged it.

The words Hosea had said echoed in your mind, lingering like smoke. "If I couldn’t, or am unable to give you the life you want, my heart says he will."

You scoffed internally, trying to push it away, but the more you thought about it, the more it gnawed at you. Was that really true? Hosea seemed to believe it, but you weren’t so sure. Arthur? The golden boy of Dutch’s gang? Or was Hosea just trying to soften the blow, making it sound like there was hope when in reality there was none?

You rolled your eyes, staring out into the distance. Why would he go after you? Out of all the people in the camp, why you?

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Still, a small part of you wondered... Should you ask him?

But what if you were wrong? What if Hosea was just speaking out of some misplaced hope? You didn’t know. And that uncertainty, it made you uncomfortable. Because you weren’t one to be uncertain. You didn't like it.

He just wants someone young to play with now that he's lonely.

Arthur stared at the journal in his lap, the unfinished sketch of eyes glaring up at him, imperfect and frustrating. He let out a slow, almost imperceptible sigh, his pencil hovering over the page, but he couldn’t seem to get it right. The eyes, those eyes, kept staring back at him, their gaze too empty, too raw. The frown on his face deepened as he bit his lip, his mind spiraling in frustration.

But that frown, that damn cute frown, it wouldn't fade. It never did. The curve of your lips when you were irritated or deep in thought, the way your brows furrowed as you focused on something else... It was almost intoxicating how endearing it was. Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about it, and worse, he couldn’t stop wanting to be the one to make that frown disappear.

If only you'd look at him once with a smile, he thought bitterly, the words tasting both sweet and impossible.

Because deep down, Arthur knew, he'd do anything. He’d break the sky and bring the world to your feet if you ever gave him that smile. 

He longed for that.

But no, that’s just a dream, Arthur thought with a resigned sigh, closing his journal and resting his hands on his knees. You wouldn’t even notice me that way. I'm just some damn fool in Dutch’s gang.

❀˖°

It was another evening, quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional crackle of the campfire. You were chopping vegetables at the makeshift table, the rhythmic thud of the knife against the wood filling the air. Hosea sat a few feet away on an overturned crate, sipping his coffee with a watchful but calm expression.

Arthur appeared at the edge of the clearing, his hat tilted low and his hands shoved into his pockets. You barely glanced at him, focused on your task, but the tension in his gait was impossible to ignore. Hosea caught it too, his brow raising ever so slightly as Arthur cleared his throat.

“Evenin’,” Arthur mumbled, his voice unusually hesitant.

Hosea nodded in acknowledgment, setting his cup down. “Evening, Arthur.”

Arthur glanced at you, then back at Hosea. His jaw worked for a moment, as though wrestling with what

And then you heard the words. Full of hesitation.

“I was wonderin’... if I could take her out. Just, ya know, get her outta this camp for a bit. I figure... she could use some air.” His words hung in the air, but his eyes seemed distant, almost like he was hoping for a miracle.

You stiffened immediately, your brows furrowing in disbelief. You hadn’t been in the mood for any of this, and you weren’t sure how you felt about Arthur’s proposal. "I am absolutely fine staying here, got it?"

Arthur’s jaw tightened as he stared at your hunched frame, your defiance practically radiating off you. His voice softened, though there was a trace of frustration. “You’re not fine. Not always, and not here.”

You turned sharply, glaring at him with a fire that made his breath hitch for a moment. “What do you know about what I need, huh? You think you can just waltz in here and decide things for me? I said I am not going so I am not!”

Arthur took a step back, but not because he was intimidated. He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words. “Ain’t about me decidin’ nothin’. You don’t even gotta like me. But you deserve better than to keep hiding in this damn camp, snappin' at everyone tryin' to care for you.”

 "You’ve got some nerve asking me that. I don't need anyone taking me anywhere. Just 'cause you brought me a damn scarf doesn’t mean I owe you a thing."

Arthur seemed to bristle at your sharp reaction, but Hosea leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, studying the both of you with a quiet smile. He wasn’t offended, he understood.

Your glare didn’t falter, but Hosea cleared his throat before you could respond. “He’s got a point, you know.” His tone was calm, measured. “A little ride won’t kill you.”

You crossed your arms. “I said no Papa and that means, NO."

Arthur stepped closer again, his voice lower now, almost pleading. “I ain't Dutch. I ain’t gonna force ya into anything. But sometimes, you gotta trust someone’s tryin’ to help, even if it don’t make sense at first.. Just...give me a chance...please.”

Before you could reply, the unmistakable sound of Dutch’s boots approached. “Well, isn’t this cozy,” Dutch drawled, stepping into the space with a deliberate slowness that made everyone tense. He looked from Arthur to you, a sly smile curling on his lips. “Arthur, you’re not causin’ any trouble now, are you?”

Arthur’s shoulders squared. “Just talkin’. Nothin’ more.”

Dutch’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his smile growing sharper. “Talkin’, huh? Always knew you had a soft spot, Arthur. You got that puppy-dog look about you. But...you sure you’re barkin’ up the right tree here?”

The air went cold, and you froze, your grip tightening on the knife in your hand. Dutch’s words stung, a mixture of insult and insinuation that made your face burn with anger and shame.

“Dutch,” Hosea interjected, standing up from his crate, his tone calm but firm. “C'mon...don't say that."

Dutch laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave y’all to it. Just a little friendly advice, Arthur. Watch where you step. You wouldn’t want to trip.” With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered off, his laughter echoing behind him. Hosea shot Arthur a brief look before following after Dutch, likely to smooth things over or ensure the situation didn’t escalate further.

Arthur lingered awkwardly near the table. His fingers toyed with the brim of his hat, his eyes darting between you and the ground as though he couldn’t quite decide where to settle. He hesitated, his hand lifting slightly as if to reach out to you, his face a mix of guilt and frustration. “Look, I-”

You sighed, stabbing the knife into the cutting board and crossing your arms. "What? Just go away."

Arthur flinched, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Didn’t mean to bother you,” he muttered, his voice low and almost apologetic. “Just...ignore what he said.”

"But what he said was right."

"No, it wasn't." He looked up then, the defensiveness clear as day in his eyes. “It ain’t like that,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Dutch--he just likes to run his mouth. Don’t mean nothin’.”

“Doesn’t it?” you challenged, your tone sharp. “You didn’t exactly deny it back there.”

Arthur hesitated, his jaw tightening as though he was weighing his next words carefully. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Look, I ain’t tryin’ to make your life harder. I thought maybe... I don’t know. Thought you’d wanna get out for a bit. Thought it might help.”

“Help with what, exactly?” You gestured around you, exasperated.

“I just… I thought it’d be nice. Thought maybe you’d... enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it?” you repeated, incredulous. “Arthur, I don’t even know what you’re trying to do here. Why you’re trying so hard.”

His jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides before relaxing again. “Maybe I am tryin’,” he admitted, his voice low and uneven. “Don’t know why you think that’s a crime.”

“I didn’t ask for any of it,” you said, your tone quieter now, less biting. “I didn’t ask for you to care.”

He laughed softly, a bitter sound that barely reached his lips. “Yeah. I know. But it ain’t somethin’ I can help. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“You’re making it more complicated, you know.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’d rather be here makin’ things complicated than not be here at all.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between you, suffocating and undeniable. You didn’t know what to do with it, with him, with any of this. So you did what you always did, you deflected.

“I’ve got work to do,” you said, pushing off the crate and brushing past him towards the wagon. As you walked past him, your voice cut through the heavy silence, sharp and low enough that he almost missed it.

"Why don’t you take all this energy and use it on something worthwhile? Perhaps finding the right tree." You chuckled tauntingly as you went inside the wagon.

He didn’t try to stop you, didn’t say anything else, not wanting to draw too much attention to the scene. With a heavy sigh, he decided to go for a ride.

❀˖°

When he returned later that night, most of the camp was either finishing up their dinner, indulging in late-night games, or sitting quietly by the fire.

He didn’t sense your presence anywhere, and he figured you were probably in your tent, finally savoring some solitude after a long day of work and being surrounded by the others. But he also knew that Dutch’s words from earlier weren’t easy to shake off, especially for you. Your blood was likely still boiling. Worse, you must be hurt too.

Taking advantage of everyone being preoccupied, his steps naturally gravitated toward your tent, your sanctuary. A place he had only ever dared to dream of being close to. What was it like inside? He often wondered. Would the air inside smell faintly of you? Would he ever be someone who belonged in your space? He imagined a future where he could step into it freely, with no hesitation, no uncertainty. A time when he wouldn’t even need to knock when he could enter with a smile on his face and a gift in his hand, your relationship so natural and warm that it felt like home.

But maybe that was the point. You didn’t need anyone in that space, and a part of him liked that. Liked that you existed here, hidden away, out of reach of the world’s harsh gaze. It wasn’t fair or right, but it soothed something deep and primal in him. If he had his way, the world would never touch you. You’d stay tucked away where only he could find you as if this tent was built for the two of you alone. Still, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to see you in his world, in his tent, on his bed, wrapped up in everything that was his.

Hidden away, yes, but hidden with him.

He cleared his throat, his eyes too shy to even glance fully inside, though the tent flap hung half-open.

"Who is it now?"

"Me... I--uh...can I?"

A soft, irritated sound followed, then your voice gave reluctant confirmation. “Leave the flap wide open.”

He obeyed, pushing the fabric aside, the cool night air spilling in. Then he stood there like a fool, frozen for several seconds as his eyes found you sitting on the edge of the cot, one leg bouncing with impatience. Enchanting nonetheless.

“Well? What now?”

The sharpness of your tone jolted him back to his senses. For a moment, he still couldn’t believe you’d allowed him inside. Maybe you were too tired to step out yourself, but he couldn’t help feeling grateful anyway.

Taking a cautious step closer, his gaze drifted and landed on the scarf in the corner, dangling from the back of a chair.

At least you kept it.

You kept it.

That was enough for him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he dropped to his knee in front of you, his height aligning perfectly with yours now. The act wasn’t one of submission but of devotion, a silent acknowledgment that your hatred, cold and unyielding, loomed larger than the fire of his love. And yet, he stayed there, resolute.

If he had to kneel to earn even a fragment of your gaze, he would. If being this close meant bearing the weight of your disdain, so be it. Because in this moment, it wasn’t his pride that mattered, it was you.

Your first instinct was shock. His sudden closeness threw you off, but as the silence stretched and his hesitation became almost unbearable, you decided to speak, cutting through the tension.

“I think you’re only acting like this because Dutch reckons it’s the best way to keep me in line. So that you can scare me or something. Y’know, keep me stuck in this camp so Pa’s happy, Dutch is happy, and my life here is just that much more miserable.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed immediately, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. “No,” he said firmly, his voice quiet but resolute. “It ain’t like that. It ain’t even close to that.”

He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting lightly on his knees as he searched for the right words. “Do I look like someone who’d think that way? Or...who’d go along with somethin’ like that? Do you really think Hosea would do that to you? Think about you like that?” His voice softened at the edges, but there was an undeniable conviction in it.

“You ain’t some animal we gotta control, alright?” He shook his head, as if shaking off the very thought of it. “You’re...more than that. Always have been."

Arthur sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I know...there’s a whole lotta differences between us. But...I can’t help myself, y’know? I’ve tried. Lord knows I’ve tried.” His words faltered, and he cursed under his breath.

Damn, I forgot half of what I wanted to say.

You tilted your head, watching him struggle, your patience wearing thin.

He took a deep breath and pressed on, his voice quieter but no less earnest. “I don’t deserve this, I know that. Hell, you don’t deserve this, either. But one thing I can promise you, right here, right now...I’ll make this better. I’ll try every damn day to make your life here bearable, to give you somethin’ better. Until...”

He stopped himself, biting back the words he wasn’t sure you were ready to hear. “Until I can give you somethin’ far better than all this.”

He paused, his jaw tightening before he met your eyes again. “And no one, not a damn soul, will have the guts to disrespect you here. Not while I’m around.”

You raised a brow, skepticism clear in your voice. “Not even Dutch?”

Arthur swallowed hard, but he nodded firmly. “Yeah....not even him.”

Without thinking, he reached out and grasped your hands, his touch rough but grounding. He held on like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of trust, of understanding, of...hope.

"But why though? All of a sudden? And me?"

"I...wish I knew. But I am helpless right now. Helpless against these questions and these...feelings."

His eyes searched yours, desperate and pleading, but your words cut through him like a knife.

“If this is all true, then...why didn’t your lover, what was her name? Oh yeah, Mary, who even loved you, stick around?”

Arthur flinched as if you’d struck him. His heart trembled at the weight of your words, your tone unclear, was it innocent? Genuine? Or just plain cruel?

"That...that was different."

Your gaze didn’t waver, and your tongue stayed edged. “Okay but if she didn’t trust you enough to stay, then why should I? We’re not even-”

He moved before you could finish, his jaw tightening as he stood. With a single step, he reached for the scarf draped over the chair. Silent and deliberate, he placed it on the bed beside you, his every motion measured.

You watched him, confused and uncertain, as he pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket. He smoothed them flat and placed them in the middle of the scarf. His hands moved deftly, folding the fabric around the money with a care that felt almost reverent.

Finally, he turned to you, kneeling once more. His rough, calloused hands gently wrapped around yours, closing your fingers firmly over the bundle. His touch was warm, grounding, yet carried the weight of something far greater.

“Here,” he said, his voice low but steady. “This...this is the only proof I can give you. I’ll keep fillin’ it, day by day, until we’ve got enough to leave. And you’ll keep it safe. You’ll keep it with you. It's yours. Only yours."

And I am too.

"I know...that the money is not gonna come from honest ways which you hate of course, but...there's no other way it can be done...but it will be done, alright?"

His breath hitched as he leaned closer, his shadow falling over you like a shroud. The proximity made your heart thrum unevenly, though you’d never admit it.

You stared at the scarf in your hands, his grip firm but trembling ever so slightly. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up, to meet his eyes. A dozen questions churned in your mind, your heart caught between disbelief and something else you couldn’t name.

Why was he doing this? Why for you? Damn, you never pegged him for such a fool.

It was as if he could sense the weight of your weariness. His voice softened, low and earnest.

“I just want you to greet me every time I come back…and every time I go. With that smile of yours.” He paused, his gaze dropping for a moment, as though the vulnerability of his words was too much. “That’s all I ask of you...that’s all this idiot asks of you.”

And to have you in my arms every night.

The thought came unbidden, a longing too deep and too dangerous to voice aloud. No, he couldn’t say that, not yet. It was too much to ask.

You blinked at him, caught off guard, your lips parting slightly as if to respond. “Um...I don't--” You cleared your throat, but the words still wouldn’t come.

When you finally looked up, he saw it, emotions swirling in your eyes, unguarded for once. Fear, confusion, a flicker of nervousness. But there was something else, something softer, buried beneath it all. His heart, racing only moments ago, steadied as if your gaze alone could calm him.

Unable to stop himself, he leaned closer, closing the space between you. His lips brushed the top of your head in a tender kiss, one that lingered longer than it should have.

You flinched a little but didn't pull away, and that, to him, was enough. A sign of acceptance, no matter how small.

The scent of your hair, the warmth of your presence, it was intoxicating. For the first time, he felt hope unfurling in his chest. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours once more. He didn’t say anything else, not wanting to break the fragile moment, and instead rose to his feet. His shadow stretched across the tent as he turned toward the flap, his steps deliberate and slow.

And just before he stepped out into the night, he glanced over his shoulder. “Goodnight, darlin’.”

Tonight, he might finally be able to sleep.

Arthur lay down on his cot, an idiotic smile tugging at his lips as he stared at the hat resting on the table. It wasn’t just a hat, it was your approval, your silent acknowledgment, your acceptance. For the first time in a long while, he felt...hopeful.

And now, he thought, he’d finally be able to wear it.

❀˖°

The outlaw's gaze drifted to the sketches, one was complete, your softer expression, that innocent curiosity you had when your guard wasn’t up. The other remained unfinished, a portrait of your infamous frown. Not that he hated it, hell, that frown had a charm of its own, sharp and stubborn. But something about leaving it incomplete felt right. He decided it would remain that way. He didn’t want to immortalise that side of you, not in his art or heart.

Arthur reached for the softer sketch, running a thumb over the lines as if touching the paper could bring you closer to him. He studied it, his heart aching with an almost unbearable tenderness.

No, you deserved better. You deserved to keep smiling. And if it took him a lifetime to make that happen, so be it.

Hosea watched from a distance, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips as Arthur hugged your stiff form, bidding you farewell. He observed the way Arthur's demeanour had softened, the usual rough edges of the man becoming more relaxed in your presence. The smile and the way he tipped his hat to you before mounting the horse were enough to confirm the change that had occurred in him.

Arthur's gaze briefly flicked over to where Hosea stood, his eyes meeting the older man’s. With a small, almost sheepish nod of acknowledgment, Arthur gave a quick tip of his head. It was subtle, but Hosea had known him long enough to recognize the shift in his posture, the lightness in his eyes.

The mentor's smile deepened, though there was a softness to it that spoke of more than just amusement. It was the kind of smile a father would give when he saw something unexpected in a child, something tender, something hopeful.

It was good to see Arthur's content again. What truly surprised him, though, was that it was his daughter who had made it possible after all this time. The last person he imagined to ever do that and that made him chuckle quietly.

A match made in heaven indeed...

(AN: •⩊• u better interact for high honour++)

[inbarfink]

One of the major themes of ‘Ace Attorney’ has always been trust, obviously. Like, this is the most important creed that Mia Fey passed down to Phoenix and from there to anyone he has touched.

As well as just generally being one of Phoenix’s most important positive qualities.

The entire arc of the first game hinges on the idea of the Power of Trust, with it being a core pillar of Phoenix's relationships with both Miles and Maya.

And even the main gameplay themes of ‘turnabout’ and ‘turning your thinking around’ are linked to this theme of Trust. The whole idea around the narrative of a ‘turnabout’ is that the Defendant seems obviously totally guilty, but the defense attorney proves them innocent by Trusting in their innocence. 

And ‘turning your thinking around’ is generally framed as - rather than the general mystery-solver mindset of trying to deduce what has happened from the evidence given - trusting in your client’s innocence and looking for evidence that should be there if they are innocent/that other person is the culprit. Using the Trust in the client as the foundation to build your logic from.

And being such a core theme of the franchise, the games started reiterating on and deconstructing it almost immediately. “Farewell, My Turnabout'' having a Guilty Client feels like the most obvious example, maybe. But actually the game starts casting suspicions on Engarde pretty early on, and most of the emotional turmoil related to him is more of the, like “will Phoenix sacrifice the truth for Maya’s sake” hostage situation stuff. 

I think the more important stuff in that case is more about the Phoenix-Edgeworth drama. How Phoenix’ sense of trust, which seems like such an unwavering and unbreakable virtue in the first game, does actually have limits. Phoenix feels that Miles has betrayed his trust by, y’know, running off to Europe and making him think he was dead - and it takes him time to learn how to regain this sense of trust in him.

Meanwhile, Matt Engarde, he considers himself strong because he trusts in no one. In contrast to Adrian, who both he and she herself see as ‘weak’ because of her tendency to blindly trust the person she is dependent on. But at the end, it’s Matt’s distrust in everyone around him that brings on his own downfall. 

And the game after that adds in Dahlia Hawthorne who is, as Mia Fey’s nemesis, a sort of representation of the dangers of trust. A character who uses and manipulates those who put their trust in her.

“Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney” establishes its more cynical and deconstructivist tone compared to the original trilogy in part by always putting some sort of element of distrust between the Lawyer and the Defendant. With Apollo basically unable to really have a decent conversation with any of his clients, many of them being antagonistic towards him or hiding things from him. Phoenix Wright was basically the only defendant Apollo went into court actually 100% putting his trust in him… and we all know how that worked out.

And this moment is especially effective because… if you’re playing this game unspoiled after finishing the Phoenix Wright Trilogy, you probably trust Phoenix as well! The emotions Apollo feels as he sees who Phoenix had become are meant to mirror the emotions the Player probably feels at this very moment. And the hints and questions about what Phoenix did in the trial seven years ago are a challenge to the trust of both Apollo and the Player. Both of them are stuck between what they knew of Phoenix before and the revelation of what Phoenix confessed to in “Turnabout Trump”. Apollo’s uncertainty is the player’s uncertainty as well. 

And even if Apollo’s image of Phoenix is somewhat improved by “Turnabout Successions” and it’s clearly established that, no, Phoenix never knowingly used forged evidence as an attorney… There’s no big reconciliation that fixes everything like with Phoenix and Miles. It’s clear that Apollo’s sense of trust, in Phoenix Wright and in general, never quite recovered from the events of AJAA. Later games do still reiterate that he’s a lot more distrustful than other playable attorneys.

(And that’s also a point where the Player-Player Character Synergy from ‘Turnabout Trump’ kinda diverges, since I think most Players do regain their trust in Phoenix by the end of AA4 at least. Especially as unlike Apollo, we actually got to be inside his head again - that’s not exactly an experience Apollo will ever get to have. )

But, well, maybe it’s because it’s just really fresh in my mind, but I just think what ‘The Great Ace Attorney’ Duology does with this theme is just… really cool!

These games really play on the idea of challenging the trust… not just of the Player Character Ryunosuke, but also of the Player themselves. Because Ryunosuke also gets to have a Guilty Client… as his very-first actual client who is not himself. And since the game doesn’t lay on the suspicion quite as thick as with Matt Engarde, and since there’s no hostage situation of course… This plotline can have emotional synergy between the Player and the Player Character and focus a lot more about the emotional repercussion of putting your trust in someone totally absolutely unworthy of trust. 

And how this betrayal of trust haunts the characters moving forwards. How Ryunosuke now finds himself being held back by his doubts due to the memories of this terrible trial, and... not necessarily a lack of trust in others as much as a lack of trust in himself. How Susato is driven to do something she considers unforgivable - tempering with the Crime Scene behind the police’s back - because that trial had made her lose trust in the entire British Justice System.

The entire climax of the first game is thus a reaffirmation of the power of trust. By unwaveringly defending Gina - a girl they have bonded with, but has also been extremely uncooperative, shady, dishonest and literally involved in what went down in the McGilded Trial, in a very grueling and seemingly unbeatable trial  - Ryunosuke and Susato rediscover their ability to trust their defendant. Because, yeah, trust is a leap of faith - you never know when you’re gonna meet a McGilded or a Dahlia Hawthorne - but it’s also absolutely worth it.

And then with the themes of conspiracy strawn throughout the games and especially ramping up in the second game, that’s really kinda a thing that’s bound to sow seeds of paranoia and distrust in the Players about… all sorts of characters. Like, okay, I am fairly sure that pretty much every player who first walked into the Lord Chief Justice’s office and saw Mael Stronghart was like “Oh look! That’s the Final Boss!”. But with the hints for there being some sort of web of intrigue being hidden in the shadows, there’s plenty of other characters that skirt the line between feeling suspicious and trustworthy. The reveal that Seishiro Jigoku is actually a culprit was one of the best-done reveals in the whole franchise. And on the other hand, there are many reasons to be suspicious of Yujin due to the amount of secrets he clearly keeps, and yet he turns out to be a very straightforwardly heroic character. 

And then there’s Kazuma. And Mael Stronghart might be the Obvious Final Boss to the Conspiracy and Murder Mystery parts of the game, but within this thematic throughline of the challenges of trust, Kazuma is pretty much that part’s Final Boss. 

Initially designed to be someone both the characters and the players intently trust, both in terms of the meta-perspective of how he’s set up to be a kinda Mia-Miles hybrid and any Player with knowledge of the previous games will know that’s a kind of person you can rely on. And in general, even to newcomers, everything he says and does in the first two chapters of the game make him feel like just a very upstanding guy you can trust.

Then, when he comes back in the second games, he comes back with a new attitude that feels colder towards Ryunosuke (and thus the Player) and that’s also coupled with a whole bunch of mysteries about him that were hinted in the previous game, but are now coming to the forefront. 

And as the Trial of Barok Van Zieks progresses, it becomes increasingly clear that Karuma has, theoretically, all the possible motivation to kill Greyson and frame Barok for it, that he was one of the last people to see Gregson before his death and that he literally brandished a sword at him. And despite how cagey and shady he acts, he still insists he never killed anyone.

And the reveal that he has knowingly participated in an assassination plot behind the backs of both Ryunosuke and Susato is bound to cause a feeling of shock, confusion and betrayal not just in these characters - but also in the Player. The Player and Player Characters are in a lot of emotional synergy through this entire Kazuma storyline. These feelings of conflict between wanting to trust Kazuma after seeing him in his best and all the mounting suspicions due to all the revelations about him are really felt by all three of us.

And in the end the challenge for Ryunosuke and Susato is not to abandon Kazuma completely, and it’s not to continue blindly trusting their old idealized view of Kazuma - it’s to face the fact that he has kinda lost his way for single-minded revenge, while also still trusting that he is deep-down the same good not-murdery man they have known him as before.

[godteri-takk]

There indeed lay Thorin Oakenshield, wounded with many wounds, and his rent armour and notched axe were cast upon the floor. He looked up as Bilbo came beside him. "Farewell, good thief," he said, "I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed. Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate." Bilbo knelt on one knee filled with sorrow. "Farewell, King under the Mountain!" he said, "This is a bitter adventure, if it must end so; and not a mountain of gold can amend it. Yet I am glad that I have shared in your perils, that has been more than any Baggins deserves." "No!" said Thorin. "There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold it would be a merrier world. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewelf!" Then Bilbo turned away, and he went by himself, and sat alone wrapped in a blanket, and, whether you believe it or not, he wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse. He was a kindly little soul. Indeed it was long before he had the heart to make a joke again.

I drew this right after the scene in the book it was emotionally devastating QwQ Mostly because of Bilbo and what it meant for him as a character, i never cared for Thorin much. But it seems their relationship was deeper than i assumed.

Btw i DID imagine his beard as white the whole book but for the comic i wanted to be sure it was correct so i Googled it. But the search results was appearently movie lore, his beard was indeed white in the book TwT aaaaa

Closeups below, please click images for better quality!

[peterbscaprisweatpants]

thanks for the crumbs

[image description: 3 panels from Venom War (2024) #5 show, first, Dylan and the Venom symbiote as Venom in gold mode, from the chest up, but hunched forward in a battle stance, drawing one arm back for a punch. Behind them, Eddie is down on one knee in lethal agony, bleeding out. The captions read:

Eddie, aloud: "DON'T...DON'T LISTEN TO HIM."

Venom symbiote, internally: "BUT HOW CAN WE NOT? EDDIE IS DYLAN'S FATHER. MY MOST BELOVED HOST. EVEN THIS EDDIE--EVEN MERIDIUS. AND SO...WE HESITATE."

Second, a cropped image from a panel shows Venom in gold mode, from the chest up, mid attack, tongue and chains flailing as it plunges a spear forward. The captions read:

Venom symbiote, internally: "...TO SAVE OUR SON."

Venom, aloud: "TIME'S UP."

And third, the left side of the Venom symbiote's head in profile, without a host, it has a melting, wavering quality, and it bids Dylan a seemingly final farewell, saying, "... I LOVE YOU, SON."

End image description.]

[carinavet]

A while back, after The Witcher seasons 2-3 came out, I Liked a couple of its songs on Spotify. Specifically, a couple of Jaskier's songs. Well, after I did that, Spotify started giving me recommendations based on those Likes. In those recommendations, here was one band in particular that had a male singer whose voice kind of reminded me of Jaskier's honestly, but there was something about it that just ... I have never been more attracted to just a voice in my life.

Now, I like voices. I pay attention to voices. And this dude's voice ... isn't particularly special. But there's something about his voice and the way he uses it that makes me Feel Things that just a voice should not make me feel.

So I made the conscious decision not to look up a picture of this dude. Because if he was ugly I was gonna cry.

So for MONTHS I listened to this band on repeat. And aside from my particular feelings about this voice, they're a great band! There is also a female singer, and she is also fantastic, though her existence is somewhat eclipsed by my Feelings around the male singer. Overall they have this strange sort of fey quality about them, both in the style and in the fact that for some reason I cannot bloody remember any of their lyrics. (Seriously, I'll give a song a listen specifically to pay attention to the words and by the time I'm listening to one line, I've already forgotten the previous one.) Enough that it's a bit startling when there's suddenly a line that mentions a cell phone. And all this time I resist the urge to go looking for any information on them beyond the music itself.

And then one day Spotify recommends me a playlist based on their music, and there's a new band thumbnail attached. (Or, new to me anyway.) It's a slightly better picture of the two lead singers. And this is still a teeny little thumbnail image on my phone, still pretty indistinct, but ... it's more than I had before. And I sit and I squint at that picture for a while, and I go, ".....Fuuuuck, he might actually be cute."

So finally I break, and I decide to look up a music video of the song that got me into this band in the first place. So I pop on over to Youtube and type in the name of the band and the song, and sure enough, there's the official music video, and there's a thumbnail for it with a picture of the guy. And again, this is a small and indistinct picture, but again, it's more than I had before. And again, I squint at this picture for a while and go, "........Wait a fucking minute."

Guess whose band it is. Go on, guess.

I had a friend I'd told about all this months previous, and I had to immediately text her and be like "IT'S JOEY FUCKING BATEY! IT'S BEEN HIM THE WHOLE TIME! WHAT THE FUUUUUCK!!!"

(For those who don't know, the band is called The Amazing Devil. The song that got me into them is "The Horror and the Wild", but my current favourite is "Drinking Song for the Socially Anxious", and my favourite for his voice in particular is "Farewell Wanderlust".)

So anyway, all that's to say, I really like this music....👉👈

[angelsanarchy]

One Long Weekend: - Clyde/YN One-Shot Series CH 02

"Fuck does this mean you get to taser me?" "100 Percent."

FRIDAY 10:30PM

Y/n stood at the foot of the stage taking photos of the metal band currently occupying the stage. Luckily they brought a crowd of headbangers rather than full violent moshing or else the photo quality would suffer. Baby had promised a few hundred bucks for some promotional photos for the local venues and after the rent hike, she could use the extra cash.

Tonight had been different than most. Usually she was strictly business, bouncing from one venue to the next getting the photos taken and crawling into bed at 2AM just to have Baby blowing up her phone for the images before she's even had a chance to get real sleep. Tonight she finally got a chance to meet the shaggy haired, stoner who seemed to travel with one of the local bands. She had thought maybe he was blind at one point with how he stared blankly at her but one of the bartenders assured her that he was pretty harmless, if not a pain in the ass.

"Hey Y/N, you staying for the next couple of bands? We've got some new guys coming in." The bartender knew Baby and had kind of taken me under their wing while I was working these jobs. Bartenders and bouncers seemed to really enjoy her company.

"I might stay for a few. I don't have anymore pressing items on my agenda so I might as well." Y/n packed up her camera and sat on a stool for at least two more performers before bidding farewell to the bartender and heading towards whatever commotion that was trapped at the front door. The owner of the venue had been arguing with someone, cussing loudly at him and telling him that he was banned.

"Oh don't be such a soft dick! I promise not to jump off the tables...much." The voice is what caught her attention.

"Tony! Hey Tony!" Y/n yelled trying to get the attention of the bouncer.

"STAY THE FUCK OUT!" The club owner shoved Clyde out the door and throwing his hands up as he told off the band he traveled with. Johnny tried to plead his case while she squeezed past and saw Clyde on his hands and knees.

"I deserved that." Clyde was trying to peel himself off the pavement. He looked up and met her gaze with a stupid grin.

"That's my girlfriend." Clyde stumbled forward putting his hands on her shoulders.

"In your dreams kid." Tony scoffed.

"Where have you fucking been?" Clyde whispered.

"I didn't get the bat signal that I would need to be peeling you off the sidewalk. That's clearly my fault." Y/n put rested her hand on Clyde's.

"Oh come on Y/n! You aren't really with these guys are you?" Tony whined as the rest of the band shuffled out. They all looked a little dejected.

"Unfortunately Tony, I do. I'm going to need to cash in on that favor. Can you talk to Pete for me? See if you can get them back in to play a set? Even if it's just tomorrow?" Johnny looked at Clyde who's mouth hung open.

"I can give it a try but this is your only favor. No more freebies." Tony shook his head before shaking Johnny's hand.

"Wow um I love Clyde's stalkee. Thank you!" Johnny reached out and pulled y/n into a hug.

"No problem. Crowd is better on Saturday anyway. Just try and keep this one from getting me put on the banned list." Clyde put his hand on his heart.

"Johnny, I told you she wants to have my little deaf babies." Johnny laughed.

"You better make sure she isn't trying to make babies with anyone with both functioning ears first bud." The van pulled up and the band started loaded it up with their gear.

"You gonna be okay to get home?" Y/n asked seeing Clyde stumbling over to her again.

"What answer would get you to come with us?" Clyde tested.

"I mean I know your boyfriend...or girlfriend or they-friend is probably waiting up-" She cut Clyde off.

"I'm not seeing anyone actually but I should probably get home. This is the first night I'll make it to the motor-rail before it closes for the night." Clyde seemed amused.

"What? No! You can't take the train. Come hang out for a bit and then I can drive you home. It's the least I can do for helping the guys out." Clyde tossed his thumb back towards the van as they finished loading it up.

"Honestly I don't know that I trust you to drive me anywhere right now. You're a little loose on your feet." Clyde swayed a bit as he stood in front of her.

"Even more of a reason to come with. I will let you drive. I'm already deaf, do you really want me to be cripple too?" Clyde showed y/n the hearing aid fitted to his ear. She could smell the weed on him when he swayed towards her. She didn't have anywhere to be for the rest of the night and its not like anyone was waiting at home.

"Fuck it. Who am I to let you crash and burn on a perfectly good long weekend." Y/n held her hand out for the keys and Clyde bounced on his feet, handing the keys over.

"Every weekend is a long weekend if you try hard enough." Clyde hopped into the passenger seat.

"Some of us have weekday jobs, sweetheart." Y/n slammed the driver door shut and looked back at the band.

"Guys, this is my new wife Y/n. Y/n these are the guys. They're all stupid fuckers but they play killer music." Clyde introduced her to the band and they threw empty bottles and trash at his introduction.

"It's a pleasure. If one of you can give me a coherent address, I will get you all there in one piece." Y/h promised firing up the van.

"310 W. Utah. It's the really shitty brick apartments on the corner of Tracy Park and Violet Ridge." Clyde said sitting back in the seat. She knew where that was. It was actually about 45 minutes from her apartment if there wasn't any traffic.

Y/n started to pull away from the curb and immediately the horn started blaring.

"Did you fuckers rig my steering wheel again?" Clyde whined returning the trash that was thrown at him.

"Just try not to use the turn signals. These idiots think it's funny when they mess with the only guy who has a van big enough to transport their shit for free." Clyde gave them the finger before reaching across y/n and flipping the signal off.

"No turning signals. Got it. I'm sure the Vegas residence are accustom to it by now." Clyde laughed at the joke as she drove.

"Does your deafness have a great story worth teasing you over or were you born with it?" Y/n asked. Clyde seemed surprised she bothered asking.

"No it's not too recent but I definitely wasn't born with it. You'll have to dig a little deeper for that story though." Clyde smirked. Y/n rolled her eyes with a snort.

"Always a give and take with you." She remarked.

"Hey I can always tell you and waste your payback for saving my ass but then how would you get home?" Clyde teased.

"Oh I won't need a ride home but I already have plans for that payback so by all means, please keep that story in the cards." Y/n kept her eyes on the road and her hands on the wheel as Clyde sighed.

"Fuck, you're gonna taser me aren't you?" Clyde turned his body towards her and she nodded.

"Oh 100%." Y/n's response made Clyde run his hands down his face.

The guys in the back of the van started laughing and ribbing Clyde about being tasered and he swatted at them.

"How are you going to tase a deaf guy? Isn't that like kicking a kid in a wheelchair?" Clyde offered.

"Absolutely not. One is a dick move and the other is for amusement. Besides I wear a night guard when I sleep but you don't see me using it as a crutch." Y/n said confidently.

"Having straight teeth and being down an entire ear are hardly a fair comparison." Clyde was drawn to her sassy nature and quick to joke sense of humor. Even if she had plans to taser him.

"We've all got our baggage. You'll live." She looked over at Clyde and he caught her wink. Fuck was he in trouble.

[kazukazuhas]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 💌 ꒱ old friends, lloyd garmadon.┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 💌 ꒱ act one ;; scene five┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️

  ୧ ⎯⎯ GREEN NINJA

୧ ⎯⎯ WARNINGS ;; some stalking ;; alluding to robbery and possible murder ;; some injures ;; lloyd being a cute dude ;; reader has anxiety and not have that strong of a will to live

  ୧ ⎯⎯ NOTES ;; who knew that i would forget to included the other main character for a little bit. i tried to write anxiety to the best of my ability, but i'm tired af rn

  ୧ ⎯⎯ PREVIOUS ┊MASTERLIST┊NEXT

  ୧ ⎯⎯ 1 IMAGE ;; TEXT [CLICK FOR BETTER QUALITY]

  maybe this was a bad idea: coming to the store by yourself without anyone else to accompany, to chase away and ease your nerves. anxiety began to rack its thin finger against your heart as the car parked off to the side of the pavement. nya checked her phone quickly, angling the screen just short of out of your sight but you don't bother about what she's busy with both out of decency and being out of it.

  the car's safety tried to call you back, singing a song of comfort as you reluctantly stepped out of the vehicle to complete your own tasks of the day. nya, while in the midst of your worrying and fastening breath hidden behind the disposable mask you grabbed, mentioned something you don't quite understand entirely from the slightly deafness you felt but nonetheless the least go along with it as she starts the car, waves and finally drove off to her own destination. maybe you should've let pixal when she offered to accompany you– well too bad it's too late now. 

  it's quick, you think to yourself to reassure the panic from settling in, a simple in and out. all you needed was a few things and you'd be out in a jiff, and the house was nothing but a good ten minutes away– you choose to believe that it is near instead of its realistic distance being further rather than closer. you hesitantly step inside the small convenience store, counting all the heads you see before walking around the side of the aisles to find the one you needed exactly. 

  relief flooded you like a thin stream of mist, the bell rang as the last person and their child, who was half embarrassed by their mother, left the store while bidding a rather noisy goodbye to the clearly tired cashier, who only rolled their eyes before continuing on with their own personal work. you pick the things you need up quickly, checking their prices quickly before grabbing a pack of some ramen you liked and a few energy drinks from one of the neatly packed fridges. skylor did say they normally restocked the night before saturday. with a good attempt, you tried to seem calm while walking up to the cashier. 

  they greeted you softly, still in their own haze of thought and daydreaming when you get to them after a quick moment. they half-smiled before continuing on with their job, taking each of the items from your short list and cashing them. their calm energy radiated and softened your nerves for a moment. they were just someone no older than you, mostly fresh out of high school and maybe even trying to make ends meet? or they were trying to earn enough to cover the cost of university or college, you couldn't tell.

  it was something so fascinating about the whole — outside a single perspective, were the interesting lives of thousands of millions to billions, all filling the pages of their books with ink crafted to them in their own unique writing.

  they handed you the bagged items and slip after they received the cash you handed back to them, letting out a small farewell greeting and going back to their own work and continuing on with their day. never caring of whether it was the last time you'd see them or if this was just the first. 

  but your mind was at ease– maybe you were hyper fixated by anxiety thumping against your head at first but it ceased, at least until you made it halfway down the road. something warned you, a gut feeling that meshed with anxiety and worry that told you to turn back and call someone to pick you up. your heart picked up the pace the faster you began to walk, your breath left you in a heave and pant. 

  regrettably, you spare a look behind you. 

  nothing.

  the anxiety rushes forward, sending your nerves on an electrified run the moment the presence lurking after your steps vanishes from your sights and senses. it crashed roughly and flooded rationality, but you kept the fast pace and reframed from breaking out into a desired sprint back to skylor's place. 

  the steps became loudly, your sometimes false suspicion was now correct; someone was following you and not so discreetly. from the sound of the footsteps, they were heavy and following your exact direction you were heading. and you doubt they were of good intentions. 

  "fuck– please go away," you whispered under your breath, the only person who would have only heard was yourself, but you heard the desperation and fear that something might happen. 

  if only you were in shape, it's been forever since your last workout or try to keep yourself fit and in good health. since your high school career started coming to a close in your last couple years, it swiped you of any energy and time you had left outside your preexisting tuitions and classes. sometimes you wonder how you were still standing when you didn't have any of those energy drinks. 

  there was a drunken snicker from behind you, warily you glance back and catch the sight of a stranger watching you walk at a fastened pace with the utmost interest and caution. 

  you turned, a wrong one by your misjudgement and settling panic rising further than before. you notice you're panting slightly at how your body is coming to terms with how hard its work to keep you moving. vaguely you noticed the mistake you made, you were supposed to take the turn after. and it might cost you gravely. 

  your skin itches, a crawling feeling stretches up your arm and it becomes unreal how disgusting you begin to feel the moment the stranger grabs your arm. they grabbed you— it takes a moment to register that they managed to get a hold on you, but now your back hits the hard wall with a thud that rings heavy against the street's bare, lonely walls. the pain cracks through your body, a thick hurt fleet from your back and along your body with a burning touch. that's a faint sound of the contents from your run earlier meeting the ground, its vague against the loud ringing echoing in your hazy mind. 

  the stranger asks of something from you, their face blurry with the sky and wall meshing together. they ask a second time, louder and much clearer but it still didn't reach your hazy mind. 

  silver, no. a shiny grey moved from side to side in your sight, it was getting hard to see from your hazing eyes and tiredness getting to you. nothing seemed real at the moment, maybe your head hit the wall as well– oh that could be a concussion.

  there was yelling, there was someone else who caught the attention of the stranger who thought of taking advantage of your half conscious state to take your hard earned cash, maybe something darker, death. it would be fine if the latter had occurred, you think. you close your eyes reluctantly. 

  "hey, hey–" the other stranger called to you, the one who chased the other one off. you found their clothing funny, all clad in green and black with a hood and mask hiding their face from everyone. "what's your name? can you tell me?" you tried to focus on their voice, the stranger sounded as young as you. you answered them with your name, fading from consciousness for a moment. their voice brought you back, "do you know who i am?" you shook your head as much as you could manage to, resting your face in the hand they held it, your face with. 

  "i'm the green ninja." ninja? so they were real?

  "gonna pick you up- okay there we go. i'm going to take you to the hospital, do you have an emergency contact?" the ninja asks slowly, letting you process each word before saying the next. they wait patiently but not saying a word, but kept moving, you don't notice the rooftops and breeze until you reopen your eyes. 

  "skylor chen." the ninja chuckles, seemingly knowing of who to call. they quietly thank you for the answer before jumping to the next rooftop and onwards until finally reaching the hospital. 

  haze. haze all you felt. 

  you all but remember that day, except you'll remember the person in the strange clothes. they were quite interesting.

  ୧ ⎯⎯ PREVIOUS ┊MASTERLIST┊NEXT

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˗ˏˋ ꒰ 💌 ꒱ kazukazuhas copr. 2023 darling┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️

[ghostieeeee]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎: 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐄?

ᶜᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ✄-----------------------------------------

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: Ngl, I wrote this a few months ago, and I'm honestly too lazy to edit some parts, so excuse the poor quality 🙏🏻 Also possible spelling errors? :D

ᶜᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ✄-----------------------------------------

A pleasant smell, a smell that reminds you of a particular warmth, a particular comfort, is what greets you with a wide smile and an even wider embrace as you step into Yunjin's place of residence. The interior was cosy, easy to look at and confine within.

Taking another step into the dorm, your eyes drift to the outer canopy of your umbrella. It’s a splash away from creating a waterfall as rain still trails from the end tip, small swells of puffy water clump in cults- shining so delicately under the impression of whatever light it can grasp at. “Here-” Yunjin says, holding her hand out to you as she closes the door behind you.

Handing her the rain-stained umbrella, she places it within a convenient umbrella rack, hanging it with a gentle ease. “Please, make yourself comfortable” She smiles, nodding towards the main living space.

“Thanks” you reply, giving her a grateful nod as you move to take your pick of seat, instantly finding yourself sitting on a soft spot of cushioned padding, naturally lining the surface of her stainless couch.

“Looks like we’re just on time” You look over to where Yunjin had nodded to, eyebrows furrowing slightly as your brain loads the visual of the window behind you and the scene it held.

And surely enough, just as Yunjin had said, it was instantly proven that you had gotten to her place just in time. The outside world beyond the window was that of a mob raid of brainless rain. It thrashed around, whipping and slashing at the glass pane as if it were desperate to get inside, desperate to flee the harshness of the outside situation. But it was bound, flung, and pinned down in a raw entertainment for the twisted sky. The clouds let out great gouts of something between either sorrow or boast- nothing is ever truly certain anymore.

“It seems so” you smile, eyes following the rigid trails the small clusters of water had left behind, little slipstreams for their fellow kind allow for flocks and herds of rushing liquid to squelch themselves from existence- waving a small farewell in their formula race. That's where you draw the winner's flag.

“It wouldn't have ended so well if we had got caught up in that-” Yunjin begins,“being ill isn’t something I plan to do” you hum at the words, averting your attention to the way she moulds herself into the furniture- almost seeming as if she was the house instead of the tenant.

“You? Being ill?” You pause, your direct vision tracing over the smaller decorations present within the room- particularly the small vase of flowers on the coffee table- a delicate assortment of light pinks and soft purple roses- presumably plastic. It’s cute. “Sounds like a nightmare”

“Huh?” her eyebrows raise as her mouth goes slightly slack “Why? How?”

“Relax” you let out an airy laugh, mind relaying the visual image of Yunjin's face,”I’m joking”

“Sorry but who is this?” A new voice interrupts from beyond your sight, soft yet loud as it intrudes on your small conversation.

“Rosie,” Yunjin begins,”I thought you’d be asleep”

“I was” she smiled, her face going smooth against the odds,”But I woke up and now I'm thirsty”

“Oh… well I washed the dishes earlier” Yunjin pauses, glancing back to you,”Rosé, meet Y/n”

It was apparent that this roommate was acting, although, it's also apparent that you’re rather oblivious. Her smile had widened and her balance shifted from one leg to another as she looked at you. “Hello Y/n. I hope Yunjin isn’t freaking you out too much”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yunjin scoffs jokingly, standing up “Y/n, do you want a drink or anything?”

“Uhm… a water please” you tilt your head down, powering on your phone to see the few missed calls and unanswered messages from Lia and your friends.

“A water? You sure? You can have anything”

“Your stash of coffee that even I’m not allowed?” Rosé asks, folding her arms expectantly as she leans slightly closer to her brown haired friend. “Even that” Yunjin nods approvingly.

“Nope, I'm good with just water. Thank you though” You offer them both a smile before they disappear into the kitchen.

You open your phone again and instantly begin to read through your texts.

“Sorry that took so long, Rosie needed me to cut her some apples while she made herself a drink" Yunjin apologises, placing your tall glass of water on the coffee table for you, causing the sea of chilled water to delicately swoosh around like an enraged storm was present within the room with you.

“I thought she was thirsty?” You eye the taller girl as she crashes back into her seat. “So did I… guess she got hungry too” Yunjin smiles, readjusting the way she’s sat to face you better, her elbow upon the top of the couch. “You’re sure you don't want anything else?”

“Yunjinnn!” You almost whine, laughing as the other girl acts almost confused at the sudden drag of her name “I'm sure”

“Sure, sure?”

“Yes”

“Certain?”

“Absolutely certain”

You take a second to just stare at her, your eyes meeting for a brief moment before you suddenly both burst out laughing. An ugly combination of belly-rupturing chortles and sniffles fill the space, bouncing from wall to wall as if the dorm was a soft play area.

“Fine, fine” Yunjin squeezes out between a particularly deep breath,”If you say so”

“I do say so” you claim, calming yourself down as you reach over to coin your drink from its stance.

“Fair enough…” Yunjin pauses, leaning slightly closer to you with a curious glance,”Can I ask you a question?”

You take a second to think, but ultimately nod regardless,”Yeah, sure. Go ahead”

“Are you close with your parents? You mentioned them earlier, about having a set list of jobs to pick from and whatnot…” Yunjin's voice lowers as her sentence comes to an end, her eyes evidently searching yours for a hidden reaction.

You open your mouth to speak, but it’s almost as if even the word ‘yeah’ refused to crawl from your lips, and instead, evaporated at the base of your tongue, leaving like a mist into the depths of a pending volcano, or even the pending of what could easily be described as a crime scene. However, you had to force the four letters out, almost choking upon the basic syllables. “Yeah”

But that was arguably the most simple answer possible. Anyone could say “Yeah” and get away on less than even a warning. Like, for instance, someone being pulled over for speeding- the officer could give them a speech as long as a university essay- and all the offender would have to do is say “Yeah” to get away from the situation faster. Or even a student in a behavioural meeting- the staff could bash on for hours about the students behaviour and attitude- and all the student would have to do is say “Yeah” and leave, only to return the next day and do the exact same thing over... but it worked!

So, the need and urge to expand on your response bubbled around like a plague within your chest. “Yeah- I mean, I haven't talked to them in a while, but personally, i'd like to say we’re okay”

Your hair sticks like another layer of skin on the back of your neck as you gulp down some cool air, feeling it swash around within your anxious lungs. Her look was almost venomous, like the point of a snake’s fang, or a sharpened elephant tusk. It almost hurt to look at her with how much your throat closed at the idea of… everything.

“You sure? You don't look or sound so sure about that” You sigh at her concern, taking another sip of your drink before tutting gently. “You really don’t need to answer, I just wanted to understand if you’re close with your family or not…”

“No. no. It’s okay. Trust me, it’s just complicated. I love my family as much as the next guy, but they’re not always available. I can never seem to call them anymore, not on their personal numbers anyway. I have to call the homeline…” You almost cringe at the fact your family even have a homeline. It just seems so outdated. “-and even then, it’s not them who answers”

“Who answers?”

Pausing, you almost feel your bottom lip quiver. “My grandpa” you smile sadly, exhaling deeply through your mouth. “He lives with my parents due to paralysis in his left leg. His wife- my grandma- still lives in another country due to visa issues. So when I can't get ahold of my parents, I ring the family homeline and talk to my grandpa about grandma and how much they’ve talked”

Noticing a small smile playing on the plush of Yunjin's lips, you can’t help but smile too. “That’s cute” she beams, holding eye contact as she does so. Somehow, her smile felt different this time, and it somehow made the miraculous happen- a certain heat reached your neck. It’s tingly, and it’s certainly not unwelcome as the onlook of your new friend ceases to flatten your mood.

“We’re probably the closest in the family, me and my grandpa. He’s always telling me about a new story every few weeks- and a life lesson that comes along with it too”

“He sounds like a charming man. I can really see where you got yours from”

There it was again, the same warmth that resided upon your neck just seconds ago was back for a suffocating round two. It strangled you in a calm grasp. Your neck acts as a bottle of rose champagne, fizzing and bubbling the more it’s aggravated- rising in volume and colour with the increase of verbal intimacy and attentiveness present within the room.

You were going to need some time to get used to this girls' compliments...

“Thank you, Yunjin”

Yunjin laughs, shaking her head,”Please call me Jennifer, or Jen for short”

Your eyebrows almost lift in surprise, a nickname? “If you say so Yunji- I mean Jen” you’re quick to salute jokingly, face going slack as a smile threatens your lips into a not so covert grin.

This only makes her laugh again though, her hand moving to brush through the brown of her silky hair away from covering her face.

“Sorry” you mumble bashfully, a small smile finally breaking from your lips.

“It’s all good” Yunjin pauses to yawn, her hand moving to now cover her mouth as her jaw inevitably stretches open,”don’t sweat it”

“Are you tired?” You ask, feeling kind of stupid now that you think about it. Why else would she be yawning? “I can leave if you want to get some rest-”

“No!” Yunjin surprises both you and herself with the sudden uproar in her tone, her voice reaching far beyond what it normally does. She coughs,”sorry, it’s just that it’s still raining, and I don’t want you getting sick… you know?”

Glancing back to the window, you take a mental note at the progression of the on-going storm outside. It looks far worse now… “Yeah… I do understand, thanks for looking out for me”

“It’s no big deal, you would’ve done the same for me... I hope?”

“I would've” You confirm, observing as she nuzzles her head against a pillow, her body language seeming more so relaxed. “There’s no way I’d let you go out in that”

"That's good to know"

You hum,"you never answered my other question though…" A flash of concentration blimps within her eyes,"What question?"

"Are you tired?"

"What? What's that got to do with the question you asked earlier? A tired brain wouldn't stop me from remembering, it shouldn't-"

"No, Jen" you smile,"the question was, are you tired?"

Her face morphs to one of disappointment and understanding, eyebrows tightly pinched together "Oh… sorry, that must've completely slipped my mind," she laughs awkwardly. “I guess I am tired”

“You should rest then”

“But who’ll keep you company? I don’t want to leave you alone… not because I don’t trust you or anything! I just want-”

“Want to be a good host?” You cut her off with a smile,”Yeah, I understand”

“I’m glad you do, I don’t want to leave the impression that I don’t care”

“I could never get that impression from you” you reassure, gaze shifting to the blonde that’s walked into the room again, a contentless plate in one hand while her phone occupies the other. You make brief eye contact before she continues on into what you've mapped out to be the kitchen. You sip on your water again.

“What are you looking at?” Yunjin asks, turning to evaluate the rest of the room with a suspicious eye.

“Your roommate came back out” is what you would’ve said… if you hadn’t noticed the small flare in her eyes, a look that spoke a thousand words without a vocal meaning. But instead, you just shook your head. “Nothing, just thinking”

“Oh?” She turns back to face you, quirking an eyebrow at your response,”What were you thinking about?”

"Not much," you smile before downing the rest of your drink,"mind if I go and refill this?"

"Not at all. It's just through there," she points in the general direction.

"Thanks"

Walking into the kitchen meant coming face to face with Yunjin's roommate and her more innocent looking features. Rosie, a name you remember so vaguely, though, that’s not what she used to call her.

ᶜᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ✄-----------------------------------------

: A new college means new faces, and although you already have a set of friends to hang out with, you can't help but be drawn to the two campus heartthrobs... and they can't help but be drawn to you too...

ᶜᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ✄-----------------------------------------

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓

ᶜᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ✄-----------------------------------------

𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: [𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍]

@cosettesrants @havex00 @1luvkarina @lesleepyyy @luvjanexx @jeindall777

@xen-16 @sewiouslyz @verdanst @pandafuriosa60 @misclsims

[gideonysis]

good, wonderful angel :')

[lthienofdorthonion]

Through My Window

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, inspired by the Harry Potter universe and the characters I love so much. I am not trying, under any circumstances, to take authorship of J.K. Rowling's original work. All rights belong to the creator of this incredible saga.

Chapter I: Secrets

Sunlight filtered through the curtains of the room, shining with an intensity that seemed to illuminate every corner, while birds sang cheerful melodies outside. Yet, for Hermione, that sunny day only deepened her melancholy. Reclining on her purple bed, surrounded by books and notes, she tried to read, but the words dissolved into meaningless murmurs in her mind.

Frustrated, her gaze wandered around the room as if searching for answers among the objects that surrounded her. Eventually, it settled on one of her Hogwarts books, her heart weighed down by memories she could not escape. With a sudden motion, she grabbed it and hurled it toward the wardrobe, feeling a mix of anger and sorrow. She sank back onto the bed, her pulse racing, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

Looking out the window, her heart felt heavy with nostalgia. Painful memories overwhelmed her, shadows of a past that refused to fade. Each image was an echo in her mind—a flash of laughter, arguments, and farewells that pulled her into an abyss of sadness. A tear slid slowly down her cheek, then another, and another, until her pillow became a refuge for her grief.

The door opened softly, and her mother, a warm presence with chestnut hair, stepped into the room. Concern was etched into her expression.

—Hermione, are you all right? Why are you crying?— she asked gently, her voice almost fearful.

Hermione quickly wiped her tears away, as if trying to erase the sadness before her mother could see it.

—I’m fine,— she said, though the words came out a bit too quickly. She forced a smile that was almost convincing, but her eyes betrayed her, flickering with uncertainty.

Her mother, unconvinced, sat down beside her and studied her intently, trying to unravel the truth.

—You know you can tell me anything,— she said tenderly.

Hermione averted her gaze, afraid that if she met her mother’s eyes, she would crumble, and she couldn’t allow that.

—It’s nothing, Mum, really. I’m fine, honestly,— she said quickly, though her voice trembled slightly. She lowered her head, pulling the covers up to her chin, and let her thoughts drift, heavy and silent, as she sank back into the solitude of her mind.

Despite her concern, her mother left the room to give her space. Hermione wasn’t usually like this; she was known for her warmth and joy. But for a while now, her mother had noticed a shadow in her daughter’s eyes, a distant quality as if part of her weren’t really there. At first, she dismissed it, convincing herself it was her imagination. “She’ll be fine,” she’d think. But it kept happening, growing more constant until it could no longer be ignored. She didn’t want to admit it, but seeing Hermione this way confirmed her fears. Still, she knew pressing her daughter wouldn’t help. Whatever weighed on Hermione’s heart was tied to the magical world, and she had explicitly asked them not to discuss it after her final year at Hogwarts. Whatever had happened during those seven years had changed her deeply. Closing the door quietly, her mother left her alone.

Outside, the sunlight dimmed as dark clouds gathered, and the birdsong gradually faded. Soon, raindrops began to fall, turning the bright day into one of gray melancholy.

Hermione watched the rain through the glass, her thoughts as heavy and dark as the sky collapsing around her. After the war, she had made a decision that surprised even those closest to her: she had distanced herself entirely from the magical world. To many, Voldemort’s defeat was a victory, but for Hermione, it marked the beginning of an endless internal struggle. The horrors she had witnessed, the lives lost, and the sacrifices made had left deep scars on her soul.

She couldn’t return to that world. She couldn’t face the halls of Hogwarts, now haunted by absences, or the familiar faces that reminded her of all she had lost. She couldn’t even see Harry or Ron. Harry and the others had tried to include her, but each meeting turned into a procession of memories that left her breathless. She avoided all contact, coming up with excuses to stay home.

But it wasn’t just the echoes of war that tormented her. There was a constant presence in her mind—a face that appeared with painful clarity, accompanied by emotions that overwhelmed her. Him. Every time she thought of him, her heart filled with a mix of longing and guilt. She remembered fleeting moments, whispered conversations, and stolen glances that felt like eternity.

She couldn’t face him—not after everything. She had tried to convince herself that her feelings didn’t matter, that they were a mistake, a passing illusion. But the emptiness she felt when she thought of him told her otherwise. He was someone who, by all logic, should never have mattered so much. Yet he was imprinted on every corner of her being.

Hermione sank into a darkness she didn’t know how to confront. The weight of everything she had experienced dragged her into a depression that felt unshakable. The nights were the worst: dreams filled with screams, flashes of green light, and familiar faces disappearing into nothingness. She would wake up drenched in sweat, her heart pounding wildly, trapped in terror as though she were back in the chaos.

The panic attacks came soon after. At first, they were brief flashes of anxiety she thought she could control. But they soon grew into debilitating episodes. She could be sitting at the dining table with her parents, trying to enjoy a family meal, when a sound, a word, or even the scent of a magical object would send her spiraling into sheer terror. The air would vanish, her vision would blur, and all she could do was shake and cry, consumed by an irrational but undeniable fear.

Her parents, worried but unsure how to help, did what they could: they offered her a safe haven. Hermione clung to the Muggle world, seeking solace in its simplicity. She returned to her childhood bedroom, covering every trace of magic with mundane objects, trying to erase any connection to the world she had left behind. She locked her wand away in a box, vowing never to use it again, and avoided any contact with her old friends.

—This is how it has to be, I know it,— she murmured to herself, her brow furrowed in frustration. —So why does it feel so wrong?—

She closed her eyes, trying to escape reality, but the images pursued her. Memories of defining moments, of a life that had worn her down, refused to let her go. She opened her eyes again, attempting to focus on her book, but exhaustion overwhelmed her. The tears from the previous nights had drained her. Finally, she closed the book and allowed herself to drift into a world of dreams where sadness couldn’t follow her.

But even in her sleep, the memories persisted—unyielding and painful, intertwining with her being. They were part of her now, indelible marks of a life she longed to leave behind, secrets that followed her like shadows in the night.

[sonderwrit]

I Have to Be a Great Villain - Translation Masterpost (ongoing)

Disclaimer: These are casual translation by yours truly, an amateur translator, so take them with a grain of salt. I thought the scanlations were getting too MTL quality (no offense meant!) so I started reading the raws and translating them on my own starting with C89 (near the end of World 2/Apocalypse arc). Putting them here for archive purposes in case anyone wants to read them, lol. Picture is latest banner promo image on the manhua site yay, Wang Yi looks so villainous~

Table of Contents (C89 onwards)

World 2 - Zombie Apocalypse Arc C89: Farewell C90: See you next life World 3 - Crazy Scientist Arc C91: Dr. Wang pretends to be a pyscho C92: Slime! C93: It burrowed into the brain C94: Obsession C95: You knew after opening your eyes C96: Transformation C97: Eat! C98: Familiar face C99: Why C100: Danger C101: Memory C102: I don't understand C103: Date C104: Don't want to let go C105: Harem C106: Wanna try it? C107: Critical juncture C108: Overboard! C109: Mission accomplished? C110: We have to...be together World 4 - Cultivation Arc C111: He'd probably beat me up C112: There's a kitty! C113: Deja vu C114: Somewhat familiar C115: Picture book C116: Rest C117: BUG C118: Heaven's will is merciless? C119: Uncontrollable C120: This is enough C121: Sincerely C122: Protracted battle (posted 4/9/2024)* *Thanks to the slowdown in CN update schedule ENG translations are more or less caught to current release, so imma stop this project for now lol (it was for fun anyways) C123: Just you wait, Master C124: This person is not simple C125: Inner demon C126: Safeguard C127: Why did he come? C128: You misunderstood C129: Of course I'm complying C130: Hunger

[sunsolii]

Typography assignment: choose a poem and design it. The poem I chose was Napoleon's Farewell by Lord Byron.

Apologies for the poor quality of the image, InDesign doesn't like to be exported as a jpeg or png😅

[sydney-carton-of-sour-milk]

The Many Illustrators of A Tale of Two Cities 6: Max Cowper

...& some frustration from faulty sources...

"Lucy (sic) Bids Farewell to Sydney Carton"

As we've come to see here, not all sources for these many illustrations are, put simply, all that great or reliable.

To start off, the ↑ above illustration is excellent example: A) Obviously, the name of this illustration doesn't match up with any scene in A Tale of Two Cities! My guess is that it's actually depicting Charles being taken away in "Dusk" (pretty major thing to get wrong!). Multiple online sources cite this as the name, but is that really what Max Cowper himself named it? B) I honestly didn't know until recently that this was, in fact, by Max Cowper! I've had this illustration stored in the archives for years and was only able to confirm it by - you guessed it - looking at that faint signature below the main character's feet and checking it off another color illustration by him (poetically, for Barnaby Rudge).

This is something that happens often in my research: Many illustrators for this novel will have a one-off piece not necessarily related to the work they did for the novel itself, and it's usually much more difficult to connect that piece to their book illustrations (when we get to Fred Barnard eventually...oof!). Oftentimes, the image just gets passed around over decades of republication - sometimes even traced / redrawn - and used as a cover or frontispiece without credit.

There are other forms of unreliability, though - including one I just encountered for the first time: Here are Cowper's eight 1902* illustrations for the novel. One of these is not like the others - see if you can tell which!

If you guessed the fourth ("Monsieur le Marquis"), you'd be correct!

Basically, when I originally downloaded this set from the Internet Archive, I hadn't downloaded them as individual images but rather the entire book as a PDF which I then picked the images off of - and what I hadn't realized until recently was that this compresses the images in a strange way.

Here is what the PDF compression looks like:

See how much beautiful linework and detail gets crunched?

And so, today, to make this post, I went out to that source again and downloaded each individually - only to find that this exact source no longer had the Marquis illustration! Basically, I think that someone working at the Internet Archive rescanned the exact same copy of the book - accidentally skipping one of the illustrations in the process - and then replaced the old scan with this new (honestly really nice) one. Human error strikes again, both on my part and on theirs!

Ultimately, I decided not to try to find these from any other source and to just include the one with the compression error that doesn't quite match the quality of the rest - which will tie in well with the next edition of this series anyway (you'll see)!

And regardless, I'm grateful we have access to these beautiful, humanistic character designs and illustrations at all, no matter the image quality🖼️

*To round it all out, the copy from which I downloaded these is from 1904, but I also read a source that said the first version of this edition was maybe from 1902, so, once again, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

& the standard endnote for all posts in this series:

This post is intended to act as the start of a forum on the given illustrator, so if anyone has anything to add - requests to see certain drawings in higher definition (since Tumblr compresses images), corrections to factual errors, sources for better-quality versions of the illustrations, further reading, fun facts, any questions, or just general commentary - simply do so on this post, be it in a comment/tags or the replies!💫