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red-doll-face · 18 hours ago

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Snow Angel 11

Chapter 11: fevered Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. Huge HUGe Voyeurism bit, arthur being a perv 🤨👀 huge weirdo energy LMAO small mention of wanting death, WC: 7780 Hello snow angels : ) here is chapter 11!!! this chapter will be from arthurs perspective so very exciting 😳 i had a ton of fun just getting nasty with him and writing his fucked up little thoughts 😈 arthur inner monologue was a bit weird at first but im sure ill get better at it by actually attempting to do it LMAO i hope you guys enjoy and pls let me know what you think!!! i wanna thank everyone who has left replies and asks about this series, all of you have been so supportive and amazing, couldnt do it without you guys 🥹🥹💖💖💖 also this ended up way too long so sorry Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol - What does it matter if the man who saved your life is a little strange?

It must be dusk falling too soon. Slow deprivation of heat and light; does things to his head, as if that wasn’t half screwed off already. Arthur’s fingers clutch the dusty curtain in front of one of two main windows at the front of his cabin; his eyes swear they can see…something out in the treeline. At first he thought of Pinkertons; to collect that bounty they were on about. Why they would follow him to the ends of the earth for that would be beyond him but Arthur had been known to do stupid things for a big payout. And of course, he hadn’t lived this long without a healthy amount of paranoia. Or what he called caution. Or perhaps Charles should have left his ass at the nearest asylum.

But he can sense that he’s wrong when nothing comes of it. No gunshots, no desperate shoot out for his life. Just the quiet again. In a minute, he’ll look out the window and watch the figure disappear. And he’ll shake his head, rub his calloused fingers over his tired eyes. He drops the curtain, pouring another cup of coffee at the silver percolator in the kitchen. He is not losing his grip; he isn’t. He’d leave that to Dutch.

It’s gotten worse with the winter; those strange things he sees from time to time. They make him feel more out of place than he already does. As if there’s something wrong with him, wrong with this moment. The frost grows over the windows like mold.

The summer sun kept the darkness from slipping in and leaking into his vision. But that’s long gone, been gone for a month. Shit weather up here, long dragging winters. Summers that were too short for his liking and an autumn that was beautiful but also short lived. The winter is too heavy now to do much of anything but loop out to the stable and back. Not much sightseeing to do, the same shock white landscape to see everyday.

In spite of how beautiful the mountain is; with its sprawling forest, creeks like liquid glass, the fresh winter air… Arthur finds it arduous to see it. Closing himself inside his cabin is easier. He could go and hunt something, draw the scenery. But was that any better than the fireplace? The comfort and simultaneous unease of staying inside the confines of his new home drag him in opposite directions. And even if his paranoid visions are just residue from another time in his life; he knows there are people who could be still searching, who might remember his face. Bad things had a way of following Arthur wherever he went.

Even more loathsome is the lack of sunlight. The sun disappears around 4 or 5 and it feels like it was midnight by 6. The windows of his wooden cabin blacken like soot, leaving him tired and groggy.

Arthur tries to keep himself going with bitterness like always. Coffee, cigarettes, and alcohol. He thinks the lack of light plays with his head. It’s easy to mistake shadows for ghosts, trusting himself was hard as it was.

Damn snow, cuts to the bone.

The stunning silence surprises him still at these odd moments in the day. Arthur thought that maybe the peace would do him some good. But there was a need that scratched incessantly at the front of his skull. Over and over and over.

He spent a long time being needed by other people. Dutch made him feel needed at the very least. Like he was part of something that symbolized how free a man could be. And he had devoted every shred of himself to the vision that Dutch had for the world. It was all that mattered to Arthur. His fealty was really all he had to give and so he gave it.

God, had he felt the fool on the last day he saw him, when Dutch walked away, as if everything Arthur had ever done was nothing to him. Twenty goddamn years of his life. If he was being honest, he knew that his loyalty was wasted before that day but he had waited to see if the man he knew would emerge. If he could kill that gutless rat and show Dutch the truth but he refused, leaving Arthur with nothing to show for it. Helping John, Abigail and Jack to safety was barely a comfort when he thought of all that he wasted. All he did was hand another man a chance at the life that he wanted.

But it was too late. As always with Arthur. (Everything was always too little; too late) Providing for others was embedded deeply in his being. It was something he had done for years, especially when he decided to get his shit together. He might have dallied, thoroughly enjoying his youth. But he learned (through several extremely painful lessons) why it was important that he pick up the slack. Loyalty isn’t represented by inaction. He hadn’t been all too kind to people but he had kept his comfort that in some part, his work was what kept that camp running. And when that fell apart; he really did try to help the less fortunate.

Really, he was making up for his failures to the people he cared about most. Arthur questioned if he had cared enough. If he did, maybe things would have ended differently between him and the people he harmed by being selfish.

Maybe Dutch put some modicum of power in his hands and Arthur had wielded it badly, went around acting like the cesspool he felt like most of the time. But at the end of the day, the camp ate because of him, they had medicine because of him, hell, they even drank because it was him that brought back more money than anyone else.

There is no one who needs him now. Arthur scrubs his hand over his face then down to rub over his shoulders. Leans his head back. At first it was nice. The independence. No more debt collecting for Strauss, no more worrying if there’s enough food for Pearson, no more looking out for O’Driscolls. He thought he would like only having one person to worry about; he had been lying to himself. Although he still had other things missing from him. They’re like phantom limbs. He can feel where they were supposed to be but when he looks down they’re gone. Hosea’s guidance was missing from him. Even if he was terrible at following it. The sound of the girl’s giggling and gossiping. Even Uncle and Swanson ambling around, drunker than he thought was possible. Dutch looming, watching through his haze of maduro sweetened smoke. He keeps looking down but they’re gone.

The fire crackles and the wind howls; picks up the silence. Sometimes the wind from the flue sounds like the breeze over Flat Iron Lake. The fire doesn’t sound any different than it did when it crackled warmly around a circle of a mismatched band of criminals singing songs together, alongside the chatter and the drunken crooning. When it was the background noise to thick Irish blabbering. The poor kid. He was going places, as most of the younger ones were, he and Lenny would have run that gang when they got past their growing pains. He could have told them that when they were living, that sentiment would have meant something then.

It’s been a year or two, the days sort of connect like train cars and chug along, not because he wants them to but because that’s how life goes. It’s an endless drag, an endless struggle. He can’t see how this is much better than being dead. Arthur Morgan is one of the few people who knows how precious life can be, he spent a lifetime taking it away from people as he pleased.

He tries to savor this peace (as if he knows how to). Tries to remember what it was like, not having any time to himself, always at Dutch’s beck and call. Barely any time to take a piss, let alone really rest, really give himself room to be anything but what others wanted. How he loathes those memories. The years he spent dedicating himself to another man's dreams. Watched all those years slip away, ashes in a smoke stack, rising forever upwards until they’re forgotten.

Arthur refuses to recall how many things he gave up for that life; down to the simple pleasures. Love, privacy, a family. He convinced himself that anything else wasn’t living, that he couldn’t ever be tied down. That old life was just… what he had. There was nowhere else to go and when he was old enough to go his own way, there were kids like him with nothing left; nothing to return to, no one to look after them. He might not have been anyone to look up to. Maybe he was a shining example of what not to be. It was Arthur who was there to keep people in line, to show them how to be killers for Dutch’s aspirations. He’s sure he ruined lives more than he taught them anything useful.

Nothing about that life was rooted in anything real, substantial to the world. Pipe dreams. Vague imaginings of living free in the west or some such tropical paradise. What a waste. Just the thought of a secluded island with palm trees on it summons a bitter laugh.

He sits and watches the fire. Tries to ignore the shadow in the corner. It's thin and wavering. Today, it looks a bit too much like Hosea for his taste. Especially when the log on the hearth cracks, it sounds like that ominous cough that followed the graying conniver everywhere he went.

Arthur lights another cigarette. He’s been making (quite frankly, just awful) attempts at rationing and this is his allotted second cigarette of the day. He’s two for five. He curses himself every time he forgets to take the drags and it crumbles to ash too quickly, landing on the rug beneath his boots. He hisses, a singe on his fingers snaps him back to the present moment. It burns his fingers when he forgets that he’s holding one entirely, too busy drilling holes in the walls with his eyes. He can’t stand it but he doesn’t have another choice. The silence has the mysterious property of making Arthur lose track of himself. He should have listened but he never learns.

This deep into winter, not too far from the base of Mt. Pàtu, he can’t just head out on the road and get more cigarettes. The nearest town is a six or seven hour ride and that isn’t happening, not in this weather. He might take Currant out for a light trot so he can get some exercise but he can tell something big is coming soon. The bellows of air from the west have him readying for storm weather. Best to get a move on now if he were to be going out.

It’s dinner now. He’s not sure where the time went but he doesn’t mind too much. He’s got coffee and he’s got hot food. Salt pork with potatoes, boiled in the salt water from soaking the corns of salt off the meat. He’s gotten better at cooking at least. Arthur scoffs at the thought of the slop he used to be eating. He takes a glass out and sets it on the counter, along with his fifth bottle of Kentucky bourbon. He’s allowed 6 bottles a month. By anyone else’s standards it might be a lot but where he spent most of his time; around other drunkards and degenerates, it’s not enough.

The storm hits full force now, there’s gonna be snow all the way up to the porch by tomorrow morning. But the air inside of his cabin is still and smoky. From the window, he checks the stable to see if the doors stay closed. It’s well insulated so Currant should be fine. The storm will have scared most of the game into hiding away, he contemplates when he’ll head back out for hunting. He takes a seat at his plain dining table, spends a while on the same glass of bourbon. The smell of cedar and salt is nice. So is the warmth of his cabin but it’s all lost to him. His sense for how fortunate he is to be here and not dead in a ditch is dull. Only he could be the man to crave chaos and blood and the sound of gunshots while sitting on his ass all day, sipping bourbon.

He thinks he’ll read a boring book or pretend to keep busy by stoking the fire. Arthur listens to the silence, waiting to hear something but the crackling and the draft from a small crack in the wall. But there’s nothing. He should have listened to Charles. But he insisted that he would be fine. He can’t go back on that now, he’s always been fine by himself. He’ll just wear the groove into his leather chair even further like the sorry bastard he is, trying to ignore how small and stiflingly warm the room feels.

The blizzard gets louder and louder. Dozing off on the sofa or in his chair sounds like as good a time as any. But he isn’t exhausted, just annoyingly groggy. Bouncing his knee does not count as activity. Neither does all the fidgeting he does, twitching his fingers, putting his legs up and bringing them back down. He tries to pace a little but wearing treads on the floorboards isn’t doing any good either. He puts his hands on his hips.

He grabs his journal but he doesn’t have much to write. What would he write about? Surely, the exciting things he experiences everyday. Waking up feeling like hot shit on a platter after having too much whiskey was not the kind of thing worth memorializing in his journal anymore. He’s a little past the shame now too, the embarrassment. He lets his fingers feel the blank page, the tooth of the paper.

He lets his hand form images of spring, the point of his pencil worn into a dull tip, recollected as best as possible. It’s nothing but a pale comparison.

There’s a pat on the door. It’s soft and weak. And just as softly, there’s a voice pleading for help, asking if anyone is inside. A light shining in through the cracks of his world.

He pushes himself up. He knows he hasn’t had that much to drink tonight. The worst possible outcomes play in his head. A ruse from bounty hunters, a local gang taking advantage (not a whole lot better than he would have done only 3 years ago), or another ghost from his past (the ones that play at the corner of his eye). His chest gets a little tight but he’s been good at keeping unease from holding him back. Arthur shakes his hand out, placing the book on the mantle of the fireplace.

“Who’s out there?” It’s an oddity. To hear another voice. One that isn’t his own. It’s a beautiful noise, a pleasing beckon. But he’s no fool. He doesn’t even particularly want to be here, why would anyone be here if they didn’t have to be? He grabs his revolver from the small table next to the entrance, one of the only loaded guns in the house. “Please, sir, I promise it’s just me,” and the earnestness in that voice, he has to believe that promise is true. He has to open the door. With a deep sigh, he stuffs the gun away after a second thought.

The figure is much too bundled up to gather any immediate details. She’s not very much, standing there out in the cold icy fluff. It isn’t until he nods his head to direct her does she realize she should probably come in. He peeks out at the tracks, just one long line of horse tracks in the process of getting blown over by the harsh wind and the lashing ice. Her struggle up to the porch marked in snow. Arthur scans the tree line for any of those dark silhouettes but they’ve blown away in the wind, they’re pushed from his mind when he turns back and closes the door shut behind the both of them.

He turns to her, he doesn’t mind the way she shrinks away from his body, skittish and slight. Such a small girl, alone in a snowstorm. He can’t think of a single good reason why she would be going it alone and what she could possibly need more than a night in. She should be warming her hands next to a fire. He could do it for her, could gather them and breathe on them. He tosses that behind him like an empty tin can. He has other things to focus on, mostly trying to get a better look at her and prying an answer out of her as to why she’s out here like this.

He’s more rude than he intended to be but a little rudeness is nothing new to him. “What the hell were you doin’ out there?” He has been described as coarse. Intentionally and unintentionally. He’s a little bit like a puffed up rooster when he catches her looking him over, marveling at the size of him. But he lets that fall away, surely she needed no old man assuming things on her part. He knows he ain’t much to look at. At his gruff tone, she has no response. The poor thing is so cold, her teeth chatter, whatever she mustered up to yell at him over the storm has run out. Arthur feels a little of his hard veneer chip away.

He thinks to take her coat, covered in frost and not nearly as insulated as he had hoped, it’s damp with melting ice now that she’s inside. But he feels like he’s dreaming again, peeling her coat off and hanging it on the rack, a faux gentleman. He doesn't know why he’s trying to impress but there’s a chance that she’d like a man like that. So he plays, pretends. He’s surely done that before.

When her coat is shed, all of those visions he’s been having must have caught up to him.

Jesus, Morgan. You’ve really lost it now.

This disease of loneliness he’s been given has surely destroyed the vestiges of his sanity. He must be imagining some young soft handed girl with warm bright eyes and vibrant, shiny hair. Face of an angel, looking hopeful; grateful. Her eyes on him burn like hellfire. He feels strange, watching much too close at how her tongue wets her lips; chapped from the cold. Beautiful; she must be someone’s girl, he hopes for a widow who had lost her husband to the winter frost. He’d gladly pick up where the fucker left off. Pry her from his cold hands. Could just be the loneliness talking. He can’t bring himself to care all that much about it.

Arthur can feel shame eating away at him, like ants at the corners of a scrap fallen off the table. He could have found himself sick to his stomach not too short a time ago. A girl as young as her and he, an old dog with even older tricks have no business together. He knows it too. But he was done with that crushing feeling of dread that ate away at his very soul some days. He had enough of his life to feel awful about. Blood on the floorboards, forgotten promises, disregarded words of affection. Just these moments, where he can hoard the vision that is this girl to himself after so long of giving pieces of himself away.

What has that shame ever done but made you worse?

If there isn’t the will to keep his eyes off the girl then there’s the give in him. Like a levy, it cracks a little, breaks into a million pieces of splintered wood for her. It’s been too long since he’s seen something so pretty. All flesh and blood. No graphite on paper; recollections of the women from his past, no Gem of Beauty cigarette card. She carries the smell of soap and perfumed cotton. He thinks it's geranium scented or another delicate flower crushed to pieces to make her smell like she came from heaven too. It’s a weakness he hadn’t culled.

This girl of his; she must be something quite real. His wishful daydream would have diverted to more intimate topics by now, and he’d probably imagine a woman he’s at least met before. Deciding if he’d prefer her to be real or a misty figment of his imagination; he can’t make heads nor tails of it. Arthur knows he’d probably end up disappointing a real person more than he could offend a figure cooked up in his mind. He sighs. He turns to the iron stove beside the dining table. There’s still coffee and he can distract himself from his ridiculous train of thought by clumsily pouring it out for her.

Hopeful bastard.

“You mute, girl? Asked you a question.” He knows she isn't but he wants to hear her talk some more. And maybe if she hears what a brute he makes himself out to be most of the time, she’ll turn her nose up at him the way she’s supposed to. Lots of women have, she wouldn’t be the first warned away by his attitude like a bad smell. He could almost let that temptation win. To change who he is at this moment. If only for the selfish purpose of luring her further into his home. However, he’s too impulsive and his tongue is too practiced at offending. He has words that are about as gentle as a fist to the nose.

He sets her cup down on the table. Arthur doesn’t wait for her to figure herself out, grabbing another cigarette, swiping them off of the coffee table in front of the fireplace. To hell with the rations. It was a special day after all, a goddamned holiday. He strikes the match on the table, lighting it as she tentatively steps forward. Nearly singes his finger on the match he forgot to put out, wincing and waving it out to put out the flame.

She’s a pearl, surrounded by the ugly oyster that is the less than stellar home he keeps. Carefully, she steps into his space. Suddenly, he’s hyper aware of every thing she could find awful or garish; his hunting trophies or the weapons or the wall. Or the mess of papers on the desk in the corner. It has him gripping his cigarette a bit too tight. Her face hardly moves in any particular reaction, as if used to him already. A simple neutrality is what takes her as she looks at some of the things over the mantle, then her eyes track over the small hallway, leading to the bedroom and some storage. She’s quick to bring her attention back to him, a soft smile that stuns him graces her face, kicking up some long buried hope of his.

If there was a woman who should be a lady, it’s her. She sets herself down on the sofa, neatly keeping her hands to herself, reaching for the cup he set out for her. But first checking to see if it wasn’t for him with a nervous flick of her eyes up to his own. He can hardly ignore how it pulls at him. She holds the blue speckled cup on her thigh.

“No, I…was getting something for my granny…” She explains she couldn’t make it to the doctor in the almost fatal weather outside. He has a humorless laugh. How could anyone send her out for the sake of some old hag; already knocking on death's door? Selfless girl but stupid. Defenseless. Her own mother, too. He supposes he can relate. The man he regarded as his father had been the one to let him down the most.

It’s always the ones you trust.

He makes his opinion known to her, maybe he can talk some sense into her.

“I can imagine. What kinda mother sends a pretty thing like you on a fool's errand? You really thought you was gonna bring your ol’ granny a doctor in this?” He reprimands her, she might need it.

Little girl gone out by herself. Needs you, don’t she?

What she probably needs is someone to keep her from doing things that risk her life for nothing at all. Doesn’t have to be him but he won’t turn the thought away. Breaking her open on her marriage bed. Such a pretty thing, a distracted smile into her cup of coffee. Lost in a snow drift because no one cared enough to keep her inside.

And she does nip back. Trying to give a rebuttal but he won’t have it. He knows he’s right, giving his idea of a light hearted joke, his particular brand of poking humor. Heavy handed as always.

“Your granny probably already kicked the bucket while you were out here, damn near gettin’ yourself killed.”

Perhaps insinuating her grandmother was already dead wasn’t the best attempt at familiarizing her with himself, her face tinges with an expression he’s used to seeing. Dutch said he had a sharper tongue than people thought. Hosea said it was too blunt.

“And if it weren’t for me, well…” she’d be dead. Forgotten somewhere in the snow with a dead horse for company. Such an image should hopefully be sobering for her. It’s a harsh reality but one he would prevent from happening. His hand comes up to scratch at his brambly jaw. She probably thought his slightly overgrown beard was ugly and unkempt. His fingers raise the delicate rolled cigarette to his lips. A nice calming drag helps his nerves calm down, they quit jumping under his skin every time her eyes pull over him, over his scarred face and his crooked nose and his gnarled hands. She looks like she holds something back. Her tongue, he thinks. He wished she would have just come out and said it.

But she’s a polite little thing, stifling herself with another drink of the coffee. The satisfaction on her face and the small droop in her shoulders now that she’s warm makes him smile.

She speaks up with a tremor stuck to her words. “I’m sorry mister,” her nose scrunches a little, doesn’t even know how darling he finds it. “but I don’t think you gave me your name…”

In a well practiced motion, he leans and ashes his cigarette. It took him a while to remember that he can’t just ash them on the ground anymore. He had floors and a permanent roof now. He tends to get the hang of things at some point. He kicks his legs up on the table, gently so as to not frighten the girl on his sofa, warming herself by his fire, and drinking his coffee. The thoughts tickle that provider’s instinct so deeply embedded in his being. His name, he almost forgets all about that, looking into her pretty eyes, blinking curiously. Right.

“Arthur. You married?” He never liked small talk too much. Never one for the surface level bullshit people put on. He watches each of her features form into something like a smile but not. Too nerve-y, falls into something else when she presses her lips together, her brows twitch as they pull together and her fingers scrunch in her gloves.

As if she’d marry you, ain’t exactly the pick of the litter, are ya?

His fingers twitch, squeeze his short nails into the give of his palm. Then why does she call him? So enticing, then, looking at him with soft eyes, her legs pressed together and slanted. A real proper girl. Cute thing. Naive enough not to recognize someone like him at first glance. He’s something to be avoided. He wishes he could see a ring glittering on her finger, to ward away the seething heat in his head and his gut. Like a prayer muttered in the presence of evil but he doubted it’d be strong enough.

“No, I’m afraid not,” her voice is like velvet, the rub of a rose petal between his fingers. Her eyes flick away and her teeth press gently into her bottom lip, sweet looking. No man to look after her besides her worthless father, left her out here to freeze. Alone, really. Or she might as well be. The world has been known to be cruel to women. To his mother, to a woman whose life he had ruined, to Mary even, to Susan and Molly. Well, most every woman he knew. It wasn’t fair but many things in their lives were disparagingly slanted away from them, scales always uneven.

“Young lady like you, unwed and caring for your Ma, Pa, all by yourself?” Arthur scoffs, even as he points out her tragedy. “Now that’s just sad, is what it is,” His fingers push his cigarette into the ash tray a bit too hard, twisting it. And he looks at her blouse, drawing the outline of her with his eyes. He’d put it to paper later. She has a small nod for him. A shining opportunity. But he has to introduce his own dingy reality. The one where he was probably old enough to have been able to hold her when she had just been born.

“You are… a sight, for an old ugly bastard like me is all,” Honest words slip from him, too loose for him to keep them behind his teeth. The bashful look crosses over her face makes his lip curl up just a little. She deserved to have someone tell her how pretty she is, who wouldn’t ever let her forget for a second how lovely she looked. Where all of these sappy things come from is beyond him. They ooze into his mind anyway.

Delicately, she sets the cup down on the table littered with other cups he had forgotten to put away and empty packages of cigarettes. He rolls his eyes at himself, of course he doesn’t clean up the day he has company.

“I left my horse in the stable out front, I hope you don’t mind,” her hands pet at her thighs, he can see where the fabric is damp. Immediately, his mind clicks into place, thinking on how he can fix it. That’s what the fairer sex truly craved, wasn’t it? Not some puffed up egomaniac. A fixer. A solution. His hands itch to move. To pick up the pieces of her problems and push them back into the shape of something whole. “Ain’t no trouble,” the relieved sag in her shoulders tells him that she actually worried about it.

So Arthur does, he’s nothing if not a man of action. “Why don’t I get you somethin’ dry to wear? Should be turnin’ in soon. Gettin’ late.” He’s up before he can hear a protest. But she doesn’t give much of one. In his bedroom, his hands swipe his hair backwards. The small mirror he usually keeps around strictly for shaving catches the light of the small oil lamp.

God, his best years are way behind him. So say the lines at the corners of his eyes, the gouges of his age on his forehead and the delicate webbing of wrinkles under his eyes. All of the evidence of his lifestyle glares back at him. There’s a ruddiness over the higher planes of his cheekbones from burning them under the sun. Some of the fist and knife fights from his youth have left permanent evidence of his misgivings on his face. Mostly in the form of scars and his odd nose.

You disgust her, don’t go kidding yourself.

If he ever told her the truth of himself, he’s sure a girl like her would go running, suddenly not minding the cold. He never was good at keeping beautiful things by his side. They rotted or wilted, or blew away with the wind. His rough fingers rub at the back of his neck. He stares deep into his own eyes. Trying to force some normalcy, some sense into himself but it’s all in vain. He grunts, paying mind to other things.

He opens his cabinet, all of the simple clothes he keeps. Something new and not so weathered, or dirty, something clean. Like her. Some nice cotton knit union suit, something he bought when he was preparing for winter. He grips them tight and hesitates at the door.

Just go n’ give it to her, and try not to be an idiot; for god’s sake.

And the sweet smile he sees knocks whatever sense he had gathered out of him, he can hardly form a word. He just holds the fabric out to her like an oaf. And she rises, as to keep things comfortable, good at reading his brutish signaling, taking them gently and skirting around him. And then she’s in his bedroom. With a mental cuss, he realizes that he forgot to clean the room before he left.

Ah, she’ll find out how pathetic you are at some point. Just a matter a’ when…

All those empty bottles and habits he’s formed from living alone. Dirty clothes piled somewhere and sheets that probably smelled a bit too much like sweat. Christ. He sighs, pinching his nose. He’s not sure why he’s putting so much thought into this. He doesn’t care. Not a care at all. Right…sure.

At first, he distracts himself with preparing food, his leftovers, hopefully enough for her. Doing this is an action which is perhaps a bit selfish. He wants to make it clear that he can give her things she needs. He could figure out wants later.. Typically, he hadn’t thought too much of what women wanted but with her he makes lists, takes out the fine brandy. Sometimes he took after Dutch more than he would like to admit, the man was all too good at forgetting about a woman’s wants and needs.

The food hasn’t gone too cold. His hands look for things to do, stirring unnecessarily. Fumbling the dish he places it on. However, the little comfort he gains from activity fades. He can only grip the counter like a vice while staring out the window above his sink for so long. The shades of brown and orange that make up his cabin blur into nothing, the wood grain isn’t as grounding as he wants it to be.

But then his legs drift in the opposite direction, He can hear a soft sigh and the rustle of clothing behind the door. He wets his dry throat. Arthur shouldn’t salivate. He does anyway.

You’re a creep. Something in his head laughs at him.

Been too long since you had a woman this close to your bed and she ain’t even in it with ya…c’mon. C’mon, just open the damn door.

His heart is about to pound his ribs into dust. He’s among the worst of the worst but this… pushes boundaries. Lines drawn in the sand. Peeping on women wasn’t something he was raised to do. And if he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see, it was an accident.

You ain’t that bad.

He’s used to letting the tide wash those out so he can draw new ones. And here is a new one. When his fingers push at the door and he can see the sliver where she bares her own flesh. Rubs her hands up her thighs, stepping out of her clothes. His throat goes dry, his teeth bite bluntly at the tip of his tongue as his jaw gets tense.

His eyes follow the natural plush curve of her body, pale yellow lamp light glancing off of her. He’d kill a man to touch her and he’d kill a man for touching her. Devouring every inch, his eyes soak it all up, dedicating her to memory.

And then she’s stepping into the creamy cotton of his clothes. Doing up the buttons at her front. Unbidden by him, his cock fills out, half hard, pressing uncomfortably at just the sight of her. The perfection of her hips, her hair brushing over her back.

The guilt is chewing a hole in his conscience. It’s like there are termites gnawing away at the foundation of whatever restraint he had. He’s felt less disgusting after killing a man, making him choke on his own blood as it fills his lungs. But the reward had never been so delightful. A sweet girl, so trusting, putting her hand to her chest and smiling as she realizes he’s there. It doesn’t feel good at all, the realization that he’s drooling over her like a mutt. All she has given him is reluctance, nervous glances. She doesn’t touch him or leave her hand to linger. A sweet-as-cream smile is all he has, enough to tide him over. He wants her anyway, needs her to stay. Letting her walk out after this will be next to impossible.

“You scared me, Mister…” Mister. So polite, an angel delivered unto him. He can feel how his body is tense, tight like a spring. How she doesn’t notice the evidence of his wrongdoing, pressing at the front of his pants is luck or her naivety. His expression must be dazed, a foolish look because all he can do is stare, unable to stop himself. Observing the way his clothes drape over her, exaggerating how much smaller she is in comparison. How stunning she’d look, sprawled over his bed sheets. Precious girl; struggling not to cry when she gets all stretched out on something wholly too big for her. In his mind's eye, she mouths his name, looks at him like all she wants is him inside of her. Right. His name again.

He dips back into his own ease in which he controls all of himself with. He is self assured and well handled. And he certainly doesn’t curl in on himself. Lets her see how big he is, slips back into old habits with the ease that comes with capability. “Morgan, Arthur Morgan,” his real name, no Kilgore’s or Calahan’s. She should know it anyhow, if he has any real intention in giving it to her.

It’s dangerous and it’s like she can feel it, somewhere in her body is that base instinct. One she was born with to protect herself from people with bad intentions. But she has another instinct, bares her neck to him. Arthur has always been good at suppressing his hunger, desire for soft pretty things. Settling like sediment on them was the control he had, buried them and buried them and buried them. She's a rainstorm, flooding his mind, washing out his carefully maintained resistance. Leaves his want raw and exposed and actionable. He wants her too much, wants her more than he has any right to.

He feels what little control he has over his urges begin to slip with that thought. Usually, he let them take over. Let whatever pain and anguish in him manifest into pure rage, cold and unadulterated. At first, it revolted him, his actions. And the reputation he built to go along with them. But they began to grow over him like a second skin until they encased whatever hope he had for a better life completely. His self induced hatred hid whatever pieces of him weren't supposed to be his to have and to share. The things he had to hide from himself even to feel like a whole person at any given moment. And he let himself be that awful thing people thought he was. Arthur Morgan. A force of nature.

But he deserved it, didn't he? Everyone should keep their distance anyway. He has a habit of making things worse than when he found them. But all he wanted was for her to be close. Sure, he could play the vulnerable man who could pine after his sweetheart, go out riding after her, guide her home where she would forget all about him. Just a kind man out to help the world.

That's not what he wanted. He wanted her to stay here. Can’t bear the thought of being a good man, sending her away when the storm blows over. In sickness and in health, til’ death do us part. That’s what he sees when he closes his eyes. She’s standing in the kitchen, turning the spoils of his hunts into dinner. With that easy smile. His too empty house just wouldn’t feel like a home without her in it. He’s sick, he knows; but he’s sure she can cure him.

Arthur Morgan has always wanted more than he could have. He chews on the thought like tobacco. Bitter but eventually he begins to need the taste, to crave it.

“Put somethin’ on the stove for ya, man can’t leave no woman hungry…” God, his tongue feels too thick in his mouth and his jaw aches from gritting his teeth too hard. And of course, he lays all his cards on the table. Man can’t leave his woman hungry.

Every little gesture she makes, wrapping her arms shyly around herself, the gentle tilt of her head and the small affirmative gesture she makes is in no way unordinary. But they’re all dripping with her appeal. How can she smile at him like he doesn't look the way he does? Like he hasn't made the world worse just by existing in it?

He soils her just by laying greedy eyes on her neck, on her nipples which he can make out through the fabric of his union suit. And when she opens her mouth, he knows he’ll end up calling her what she is. Sweet and syrupy, soothing on his throat.

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I really appreciate your kindness,” Arthur is convinced he heard her wrong. But her honesty is in those radiant eyes, in her easy posture. It must be meant to be, it’s not every day a woman talked to him like that. Or talked to him at all. He was perhaps too busy making sure they knew what they would be getting into; dealing with him.

It may just be the respectful manners instilled in her. He supposed her parents had given her that; mannerisms that made her quite the catch. Utter perfection. But really, even that was a disservice. They damned her to him. Makes him see glimpses of a life he could have. Hundreds of conversations, every iteration of the precious babe they'd have together with his hair and her eyes, a son or a daughter. Two of each perhaps. Hours and hours of her gentle, refined voice taking up the empty room. He bows his head as if he can keep his disbelief and joy under the brim of his hat, currently hanging by his front door.

She comes nearer. He can smell her cotton scent, can see the way the light casts around her hair, feathering over her, turning it into gold. His body moves to make the smallest space for her. Hoping she’ll nudge against him. He doesn’t even realize the way he’s formed himself to keep her here for just a moment. So close, Arthur nearly loses track of what he was supposed to be doing.

“Been a long time since somebody called me a kind man, usually it was the opposite,” apprehension floods her body, her features. Her eyes focus on him, waiting for something terrible to happen. Arthur sees how she bristles. He only meant to be honest but she’s already read between his lines. Smart girl.

He shows her just what he means. Even when he knows better, even if he’s never been this far. It’s like he has to touch though. No where uncomfortable, just to be sure she isn’t a sign that he’s truly gone from this world.

“Please, I-”

Her plea goes down his spine. It rakes its teeth over the parts of him that are wrong. That weren’t formed with gentleness, aren’t intricate. Just instinct that he’s indulged.

He may not be a good man. But he can behave well enough to keep her. Now that he has the room for her. He doesn’t live in a drafty tent. He’s not a dog chained to the hand that fed him too many years ago. He would never treat her like an object to display or a mistake made in a drunken night of pleasure. He wouldn’t throw this away, this one chance at having something real. Wouldn’t lay waste to this opportunity to fill a hole in him that yawned empty for what felt like eternity. She’d be his wife and he; her man. A husband. Mister and Missus Arthur Morgan. A crock of shit, he would have said a month ago.

That ain’t the hand you been dealt and you know it. You’ve made a mess of things enough.

But now… it's a dreamy reality. It hasn’t quite taken shape but he can get it there. Determination starts to crystallize over the idea. She’s something good; doesn’t need him. He could try to make something better too, could make the best of a situation, try to show her the best in him. But he knows it’d never be enough for her. He always throws these good things away, always ruins it somehow. But he grips and shakes like a mutt at this idea, gnaws it until it's raw. He can just take what he wants. Done that before, hasn’t he?

Just leave’er alone. God, you never learn, goddamned fool…

His fingers graze over the skin on her neck, uncovered by the collar of the union suit he lent her. Here in the dark of the small hallway, he can swear there’s something in the way she breathes, shudders. “I think you need a man to take care of you, honey, need a man to keep you inside- wouldn’t let you go out alone like this if you was my woman… Lemme show you how a man looks after a girl like you,” He’s aware that he sounds like a right bastard but he’s only telling the truth. His hand settles at her back, like it’s supposed to be there. They’re meant to be, all he has to do is show her.

ok yall how we feeling LMAO i think his perspective was interesting and fun for me to write but idk if its any good, but i hope with practice ill get more confident 🥹🥹 bro is a freak sooo yeah it was fun to write him as a freak he is very conflicted about everything and he is super weird but also sexy sooo😳 i hope you guys enjoyed this lil backstory on why arthur is a weirdo 😊😊😭😭 lmk what you guys think !!

#❄️ snow angel #red writes #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #low honor arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #tw dark content #tw dark fic #tw dubcon #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption #arthur morgan x female reader #low honor arthur morgan

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joelmillerisapunk · 3 days ago

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get to know your moots

ty for the tags loves <3 @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ace-turned-confused @thundermartini @kedsandtubesocks and @reddedmiller

what's the origin of your blog title?: me being an uncreative basic bitch. but it's fine we are suffering through the consequences of the most uncreative username of all time.

OTP(s) + shipname: me, joel miller AND javier pena <3

favorite color: black and mint green (yes ik its very specific idk really what to say I even have a tattoo that is partially this color lol)

favorite game: rdr2, dreamlight valley, tlou, bg3, mariooooo, zelda, assasins creed

song stuck in your head: hold the line - toto and whatever is on my fic playlist

weirdest habit/trait?: probably a lot but the most annoying as a lot of us have mentioned is assuming no one really likes me. but also doing that thing where you start a task and then see something else that has to be done so by the time you have finished you've begun 50 other tasks

hobbies: video games, reading, writing stories, poems and music, pretending I can bake cute aesthetic things I find on Instagram reels, calligraphy, collecting sea glass and sea shells.

if you work, what's your profession? i worked on a cow farm

if you could have any job you wish what would it be? a sugar baby, someone who lives on a beach, but really anything in music bts or in front or a psychologist but instead I went to school two times for things I did not end up staying with haaaaaa

something you're good at: giving you compliments until you tell me to stfu

something you're bad at: i like this answer so same -> putting myself first, also as it's been said a few times socializing, and flirting

something you love: documentaries ommmg jdkfdakjf <3 <3, downtime when I can have it, also I always forget how much I love the sun until this time of year, hearing a favorite song you haven't heard in a long time, watching stuff with people whether its movies or youtube videos or shows

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: video games, music, joel miller, the octopus lifecycle, Shakespeare, fun bts facts of my favorite movies and tv shows (I could spend days upon days looking up facts about how movies and shows are made and the little details in each of my favorite movies and shows)

something you hate: when its too hot or too cold, when I do that thing and don't buy snacks to be "healthy" and then wish I had a snack and math.

something you collect: i was collecting miniatures until they all got lost in a move, sea shells, coca cola memrobilia, Marilyn Monroe memorabilia, coral, anything vintage, trauma, and wips

something you forget: what don't I forget

what's your love language?: acts of service, words of affirmation, physical touch

favorite movie/show: beauty and the beast, most keanu reeves movies as I've been binging them lately, lotr, how to lose a guy in 10 days, donnie darko,

favorite food: potatoes any day, any way, any form

favorite animal: cows, platypus', whales and dolphins

what were you like as a child? the quiet kid who was basically a mute because anxiety sucks and being perceived is frightening - lemme just fade into the floor

favorite subject at school? psychology, english because we could read Shakespeare and really cool books, science, music class, history, french, home ec, woodshop

least favorite subject? math and phys ed cause ya girl ain't a runner but yet they're all like "ohh its not that hard" but bro you're not even doing it

what's your best character trait? why are these questions so hard though? like idk my ability to make people feel comfortable?? i feel weird answering this lol

what's your worst character trait? i guess my inability to put myself first still and my dad jokes and sometimes I get quiet because I have a huge fear of rejection or abandonment

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be? that I was on vacation instead of driving around for hours today or sleeping more that'd be great

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet? Beethoven, Shakespeare, my grandparents, Marilyn Monroe, John Lennon, Frida Kahlo, idkkkk

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!): there's so many this is rude asking for one so I'll give you two series. recently I read late night texts by @jolapeno and the wolf you feed by @arcanefox207 these series changed my brain chemistry for the best. I could scream on every rooftop in the world about these to every person in the world like please READ THEM!!!

npt: @arcanefox207 @gothcsz @syd-djarin @sunshinehaze1 @sunshineispunk @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape @604to647 @myownwholewildworld @evolnoomym @slimybeth69 @almostfoxglove @lotusbxtch @baronessvonglitter me smooching you all through the phone <3 <3 <3 cause you all deserve every ounce of love and joy in the whole world

#tag games #<3 <3 <3 <3

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alchemicourtesy · 3 days ago

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HEYEY! glad to see more people into vat7k!!! Would you mind sharing more of the insight n what your perceptions of the characters are? I saw your post about Hugo n Var as well as the involvement with Nuru in the tags and was wondering!!! No pressure ofc <3 also love your art it's REALLY AWESOME !

hi! thank you so much :] im rlly glad ur interested... as new as i am to this story and world i'm still ironing out my own opinions and headcanons and ideas so everything is in a rough place atm but i'd love to talk about what i Do have right now ^^

i'm sort of operating under the idea of what this would look like if it were a tv show rather than a comic only for the sake of structure and me being able to visualize it haha. doesnt mean anything beyond that.

i love the idea of there being 7 kingdoms, 7 alchemic laws, and 7 "lessons" for the characters to learn and id probably divide it through 3 seasons with the last season focusing on either 2 or 1 (heavy emphasis on what would be the "library arc") and allocating the extra "arcs" to s1. but anyways

mainly i like the idea of like. each of the group getting a chance to shine an equal amount. obviously they'd all have something to gain from every lesson but imo id put a particular emphasis on them all getting 2 each to hammer home their development and experiences. i havent ironed out who learns what and its not like...an exact science rn so thats a work in progress

nuru is interesting to me in particular bc i think theres a notable position she is in being a princess and wanting to be hands on. for her character particularly i feel like its important she be able to learn how to care for her subjects and hone the skills she needs for the responsibility she has but also allowing herself to understand herself as a person and an individual without having to sacrifice her duty to her people and her community. too many times i see in media where a character has this huge responsibility and they have to learn to care about and understand Themselves first and while thats important i feel like its not always possible or feasible and also it's hard. it's rlly hard to grapple with both of those things at the same time. and nuru being a princess she Wants to help her people. she Wants to have the responsibility to care for them but she still must learn what that will look like for her specifically and how she can be that person she wants to be without phoning it in or anything.

with yong i saw it was mentioned he has a huge loving family that supports him and wants to see him succeed, but he's just sort of wild and unpredictable in ways i think varian can relate to from when he was younger. there's nothing really "wrong" with yong, but he has to understand and learn balance and control where he struggles with it and that he can be the person he wants to be but there has to be instances where he takes his time and understands that progress isnt linear. which gives varian a good place to act as an older brother figure obviously bc thats shit he himself learned in tts lol

varian's arc Kind of began and ended in tts so i just see vat7k as a way of expanding on stuff he already has learned yet not rlly like. rehashing stuff he should already know

hugo is a little trickier for me bc i think there are a Lot of similarities he shares narratively with eugene (which makes sense given that he was said to have been acquainted with eugene in the past, at least somewhat). they're similar but they're not the Same, so i wouldnt want hugo to just be repeating the same beats that eugene already learned. in my opinion hugo is smug and he thinks somewhat highly of himself, but hes not a bragger. hes not snarky nor will he actively antagonize the group. what reason would he have to? he wants them to like and trust him and i dont rlly see that happening if hes always being a jerk to them haha.

thats all i got for now i think but feel free to ask me abt more stuff if ur interested : )

#vat7k #.txt #ask

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conundrumrespeculis · 2 days ago

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tags by @briarmoon1015 #Barry’s trauma and depression after his death and rebirth has undoubtedly changed him #I’m glad others have picked up on it #and I honestly am here for it #we have gotten some excellent writing exploring how his trauma has reshaped him as a person #it’s very intriguing #I’ve seen a lot of people not adress this and it becomes a little annoying #especially when talking about silver age comics #Barry’s changed as a character we got to understand that not everything he did in the silver age he would do today #context is also really important and a lot of people tend to ignore it lol#either way though #I’m super interested in seeing more of Barry’s family having to adress this change #it’s part of why I hate Barry’s retirement that happened recently #please adress his depression before we write him out of stuff lol

Okay this is a Wally post but I HAVE to talk about this. He literally has his entire life growing up changed when he comes back to life!!! He's been reshaped by childhood trauma that previously didn't exist.

He's literally a different character. He's literally a different character and everyone pretends he's the same guy which INCLUDES everyone who knew him and remembers him before time reset and stuff but also that man is probably ignoring some of the differences.

I would not be surprised if he looks back on his memories of things that happened once upon a time and doesn't understand why exactly he did those things.

I have admittedly not read NEARLY as many modern comics with Barry in them than Silver age and heck, even bronze age! But he just. He's so alone in modern comics, when one of the fantastic things about him to me originally is he's such a friendly guy???

In the death of Iris West arc he literally makes TWO whole new friends one of which was AFTER his wife died!! His wife died and he was still out there making friends!!

And in the silver age he SO often had a friend he knew from something or other showing up as part of the plot. He was the guy you went "Yeah that makes sense" when he knows some astronaut or fashion designer or something because he's friendly and just.

Modern Barry is inherently isolated. Which is what Eobard planned all along with rewriting his history and I can respect that but STILL. I cannot name a single thing where he was making friends or knew a guy.

He has old friends and family he's somewhat estranged from to varying degrees at varying times but he doesn't have anyone new.

Man has no social life it reads like!!!

The only modern comic I can name where he feels at all like the friendly guy he originally is is in the Voidsong mini-series which I don't even know if that's main canon??? (it's a lovely story btw. fantastic friendship focus.) And that's him and Aquaman becoming friends!!!

Hey...

Has anyone considered the thought of like. Maybe some of the anger Wally displays towards Barry is because he came back from death a different person kinda?

He had an entirely different upbringing and went from "Knows a Guy" (that's so many of his old stories it's fantastic. Why does he know the local gorilla actor? He's just like that) to being isolated and alienated and then also had depression on top of that.

Imagine your dad comes back from the dead after leaving you with such a dark and thick shadow to crawl out of- that he only comes back AFTER you crawled out of- and then he's not even the same guy. He's not even the man that you remember because not only have you and everyone else built him up in your memory but half his life before becoming a hero was different.

And then. y'know. The whole "accidentally trapped most of the speedsters in the speedforce" thing. And also depression can change a person. And- there's a lot okay??

Barry after Flash Rebirth and especially after the new 52 reboot is a very different character to how he started/the man Wally knew as a kid and even now like. They look the same age??? Sometimes??? that's gotta be weird. I know they're speedsters but STILL...

...

Uhhhh anyways

TLDR: Some of Wally's anger at Barry is because he's irrevocably no longer the same as he was before his death

#Fun thing: aquaman has also become an entirely different character in personality from the golden and silver age #so him and Barry can handshake #Arthur just got lore reboots though and kinda needed the personality I do really like modern aquaman sometimes even if he's a jerk #Barry they pretend he's the SAME GUY and it's infuriating #sorry I can go on about this forever #I'm probably not even entirely right because like I said #I haven't read nearly as many modern comics

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i-dreamed-i-had-a-son · 5 months ago

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Broke (2016): BBC Sherlock is a phenomenal piece of media and anything that seems like a flaw just hasn't been fully explored yet

Woke (2020): BBC Sherlock is an incredibly flawed series run by an egotistical writer, it never deserved the hype and is actively bad on so many fronts (especially representation)

Bespoke (2024): BBC Sherlock is flawed and bogged down by increasingly poor writing, which many fans refused to see while it was airing, leading to hugely misplaced expectations (particularly for the final series), AND it has the seeds of some compelling characterizations and portrayals, some genuinely solid performances, and touches--albeit imperfectly--on complexities that are still being discussed today (particularly as it relates to the relationship between Sherlock and John). The huge cultural impact of the show has created a massive pendulum effect in its public perception, leading to most people today remembering a caricature of the show (whether positive or negative) rather than appreciating its nuanced merits and failings...that being said Season 4 sucked

#these just sum up my personal takes at the years in question and also what i'm seeing on tumblr/other social media #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #and i actually have a lot more thoughts to share on this series #specifically relating to the cultural impact #there is SO much about the show that goes unappreciated in hindsight because of how public perception of it has soured #and i totally fell into this as well--i still regularly rewatch hbomberguy's video absolutely dismantling the series and he isn't wrong!!#but what i'm saying is that i think it's easy for us to look at a piece of media (especially one so massively popular) like sherlock...#with very black-and-white lenses. it wouldn't have become so popular if there wasn't something inherent in it that resonated with people #and that's being buried (and i totally forgot it) because 'sherlock is cringe and problematic. can't believe i liked that'#which again it IS full of issues and those are well-documented as they should be. future portrayals should not repeat those mistakes #BUT being able to impact so many people is a merit in itself. and that's only possible because of other genuinely good things about the show #yes the way they handled the relationship between john and sherlock was riddled with problems YES it was often queerbaiting #AND the way they portrayed that relationship had a deep effect on me. i saw a lot of myself in sherlock and the complex way he loved john #the nuanced feelings he had about john's marriage to mary. the part (in s4!) where john calls him inhuman for not feeling romantic love #there was genuine intention and care put into some parts of this show and it comes through in scenes like those. they impact people.#and because of this realization i'm going to (eventually) do a rewatch of the show. i'm much older and i want to see how i'll view it now #but i want to go into it--and i want everyone who engages with it still--to have an open mind and evaluate it for what it is #not what we expected it to be (secret episode anyone?) or what the cultural drift has turned it into (the tiktok of sherlock's mind palace)#but the messy problematic somewhat-heartfelt massively significant and ultimately meaningful piece of media it actually was #anyway that's my thoughts would love to hear y'all's perspectives #funny how after all this time making a sherlock post still feels like i'm poking a bees' nest lol please be kind!#kay can i just catch my breath for a second #kay has a party in the tags

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vynnyal · 8 months ago

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Turns out Sunlit Trail isn't quite done just yet, so after all that they just send you to a dead end 😂

#rain world #comic #rw chasing wind #sunlit Trail #Hunter #Art #Chasing wind spoilers #I can't imagine anyone filters that tag but just in case sksksks #ANYWAYS turns out mod is way better than I expected and it's super well made.#So far made the trip as hunter (first time) then riv and now working on arti.#For arti I realized that howling rifts led to sub and sub led to dar shore so I was like sweet! A shortcut!#Now imagine for a sec trying to get through a parkcore + miros bird gauntlet with a corpse and a worm within 5 cycles #before the scav ran out of karma and you were stuck inside forever. Yeah #Besides that tho I've been messing around and been very tenderly modding the game.#Turns out you can have a bit of fun with most sprites without too much effort by simply cloning the MSC mod in your files #Then changing the copy's mod info so it doesn't clash and simply swapping images out for whatever you want #As long as you have the sprite name you can do this. You can also change region names and decals and music all sorts of stuff.#In short I've been brewing a custom mod for a friend to make her suffer as much as possible <3 #Thanks to a buddy on the rw server for showing me that trick btw lol. The best cesspool I've ever participated in #Oh before I forget- the symbol on CW's head is completely made up. They just looked so... Bald.#Tbh I wasn't expecting their personality to be so... bright? Most interpretations make them kinda solemn and gloomy #But nah this CW is what NSH should've been 100%. I like them. Not gonna spoil too much but their situation is somehow so... chill.#Still bad tho!#Other fun news! There's a scammer going around on discord that's basically like ''bad news I reported you for fraud''#And they're getting a lot of people. My buddy that owned my home server got hit and we lost everything. It's all OK tho nobody was hurt #I keep trying to ask them questions on my alts but they're ignoring me... I kinda wanna bait them into doing the scam with me #to see how far I get before they catch on 😜#Wasting a scammer's time is never a waste of time #Ah I had more to say but I reached my tag max. Till next time- hopefully my animation project will be done by then!

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piko-rose · 5 months ago

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My Personal Headcanon On Why Amy's Love For Sonic Died Down Lately (and their dynamic)

When they were younger, Amy's love for Sonic was pretty extreme, and Sonic was, understandable, uncomfortable for the most part. He knows she means well, but that girl needs to calm down.

She can fight, but sometimes her hammer could only stun her enemies for a while. (It took her a long time to get rid of that robot that has been chasing her around Station Square.) She wasn't fully independent yet, even if she fought on her own a couple of times.

She often follows Sonic and his friends around. She is part of the team, but she was not a strong as she is now at the time yet.

She admires Sonic. A LOT. And Sonic knows that. Obviously, he could only run away from something like that, since he is NOT ready for that kind of thing, and whether Amy takes the hint or stop, she still loves him.

...BUT, I think things were slightly starting to change between her and Sonic after Lost World.

Remember this line?

You remember that? Okay, okay. Here's another totally unrelated question:

Before the events of Lost World, when was the last time Amy said "I love you" to Sonic out loud?

...YEP. 😈 (Unless I'm missing something, let me know lmao)

As more games and adventures come out, the characters get slightly older, and Amy is 12 to 13 now, and she is most certainly at that age where her body starts to change, but especially on how she views Sonic.

She knows she loves Sonic, but it was this moment during her change where she actually wanted to admit that she loves him.

I believe that Amy was all about sharing her affection to him not through confessions, but through obvious hints. Sonic totally got it, and there was no need to confess. Sonic knows she loves her.

...But she never said it. And she almost did, but she never did again for a while.

I think this was the moment in her life where, oh, God, she actually loves Sonic. SHE LOVES HIM, WHAT.

And she was looking back at all the times she had with Sonic that she can now see were unpleasant to Sonic (At least that's what she thinks) and that's probably why she isn't so expressive about her love to him than how she used to back then.

She wasn't sure what to do with this realization, and sets aside it for a while, and nearly stayed as her casual, peppy self... until the Eggman War happened.

During the 6 months of being with the Resistance, fighting Eggman's army all day and all night, all she can think of was Sonic.

She dreams that he still with not just her, but with her friends. She just wanted to see Sonic again, she just wants to be with her hero again.

But I'd like to think that she was also thinking about how she used to treat Sonic back when they were younger, how Sonic would almost always run away from her whenever she asks him out, or always look so uncomfortable whenever she gets so close to him.

Cringing at those memories big time, she wanted to change and hopefully when Sonic is okay and comes back, she can be better for him.

...Or will he still find her uncomfortable regardless? Would he even be happy to see her at all if he did survive?

But, hold on! She can't just give up her love for Sonic! He made her who she is today! A peppy, nature-loving, hammer-swinging, confident, brave... loud-mouth... annoying... Sonic obsessed... weak... pathetic... lonely little girl.

If she gives up on Sonic, it'll be like she gave up on the one hedgehog who saved her life. If she didn't she'll still be the same ol' Amy.

I also like to think she had parents a long while before she met Sonic, and was even expecting a little sister, but a robot invasion happened from where she was and attacked her parents and instead of trying to save them, after getting hurt, she ran away, hoping that they'll come back okay. But they never did.

She was all alone, and needed someone, a friend, a new family, someone who will hold her hand, anyone, to be there for her. But she was ignored by lots, and at that point, she's better off by herself, but still longed for company.

Eventually though, her tarot cards told her her future hero, and there might be hope after all. She encountered Sonic, held onto the belief of the cards tight, and the rest is history.

So, with that headcanon in mind, not only did Amy loose her parents that she didn't save because of her cowardliness (she was only so little at the time that happened) and also Sonic, who she thought will be her only hope, but now gone.

She doesn't even care if he did come back, he'd probably hate her now after everything she did to him, always talking about their "future wedding" or forcing him to go to Twinkle Park.

For the last few months of the war, it was nothing but Amy mentally beating herself up for either refusing to change or moving on, and they are both not fine choices.

She loves Sonic, but he does not love her, and she finally, finally realized it. And it's probably for the best if no body loved her at all.

But of course Sonic did survive and all of her worries wash away in an instant, she's just not expressive about her love for Sonic AT ALL now, since she's still worried about it but rather not mention it to Sonic because it doesn't matter.

If Sonic doesn't love her, then her feelings don't matter to him, and according to Amy herself, that is okay.

But also, I'd like to think that Sonic was thinking about his friends a lot up in the Death Egg for the past months, sometimes it's Tails (worried for his safety), sometimes it's Shadow (because he's wondering why he would join Eggman.) At some point, for a few days, Amy was in his mind the longest, and he felt bad about how he thought he was rude and pushy to her.

He wondered if she's not thinking about it too much, and if she is, will she give up on him? Yeah, he doesn't feel the same and still not looking for a relationship, but it's so strange but interesting how anyone could ever like someone like Sonic the Hedgehog. Amy was never afraid to show that, and she probably might be now.

He couldn't help but feel guilty. They were kids when she was like this, but he was so... arrogant at the time too. Not a lot happened at the time yet. He'd always have trouble expressing how much he value his friends, until he shattered the Paradox Prism. (I'd like to think Prime took place before Forces. It makes sense.)

She is such a sweet girl, and he probably made her believe that he didn't care for her. Just because he doesn't feel the same, that doesn't mean he hates her at all.

He wished he never ran away from Amy... Worrying for his little bro and wishing to be a good person for Amy was when Sonic cried in the Death Egg for the first and only time.

Frontiers, in my opinion, is kind of confirming their dynamic now. Sonic is a lot more sincere and kinder to Amy and she is not all hyperactive and lovey to Sonic. There is probably a real reason for this now.

They are both hiding their feelings from them, and they are both unaware of this. Amy, hiding her mental issues from Sonic, and Sonic, hiding his guilt away from Amy.

None of those things are important now. Sonic is with Amy and Amy is with Sonic. They are here with each other. They can be finally be better for each other now.

They don't care if they'll ever be something more when they get older. None of that matters anymore. They are here with each other. They can be finally be better for each other now.

Maybe someday they'll both talk about it, but for now, the present is important. They care about each other too much to think about it right now.

It's the kind of love that is unbreakable. It doesn't even have to be romantic. It's just love. Love is important for everyone, in any form. It's something Sonic and his friends need. And especially Sonic and Amy.

Amy Rose is the living embodiment of love, and without her, a lot would go downhill for Sonic and co. Heck, if it weren't for her, Shadow wouldn't have never remembered Maria's promise, which lead him to save the world with Sonic, before he temporarily disappeared from their lives for a while.

She is always there to lend a helping hand for anybody, even bad guys like Metal Sonic, and despite what she had been through, both in Forces and headcanon wise, she still fights back, even without her hammer.

She will pick you back up on your feet, reminding you that you are important and that you are loved, and that you should never give up. It's pretty much the words of encouragement she herself needed also...

She is still the happy, hyper, butt-kicking hedgehog we all know and love, but she still need someone to pick her back up on her feet after so long. Thankfully, she has her friends and her blue hero. The hero who made her who she is today.

I think Amy has no idea how important she thought she is, but Sonic does. Sonic knows fully well how important she is to a lot of people. It's about time he returns the favor to her. It's his turn to remind her how much a lot of people love her.

How much he loves her.

And I feel like The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog was the moment where their dynamic really shined, but also the starting point of their relationship not only healing, but also the next chapter of what's to come for them.

Everyone, friends old and new, gathered around for a special birthday. A birthday for the confident, unshakable, and radiant Amy Rose.

It was such a special moment in Amy's life. After years of chasing and following the people she look up to, she is part of the team, but most importantly, she is part of the family.

She is fully realized as someone more than just a fangirl, but someone strong, courageous, creative, kind and a big inspiration for others.

I feel like this moment here...

-is where Amy is eternally grateful to call her friends her family. A family she thought she'll never have again. She's not alone anymore, and as long as they're by her side, she'll never will be again.

Her chasing days are over. She's finally caught up to them. She's finally home.

And it's all thanks to Sonic.

If it weren't for him, she'd probably be alone forever. Her past moments with Sonic might be embarrassing to look back on for a while, but they are good memories regardless, because they involve him.

Sonic saved her life in more ways than one, and despite everything, he's grateful to have her too.

He cares about her. He really does... And in her eyes, that all she needed to know. As long as Sonic loves her in his own way, she'll be happy.

Amy hasn't given up on Sonic. As long as Amy always supports him, he'll be happy.

Maybe sometime in the future, they can talk about their problems, but that's a story for another time. At this point, they need to. Right now, they are happy. They are okay.

They are here for each other. They are finally better for each other now.

"You guys won't ever leave me, right?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

#piko rambles #sonic the hedgehog #amy rose #Meant to be platonic but I don't care if you tag as ship lol #I've been meaning to post something like this for the longest time now but never really got into posting it-#-because you guys REALLY hate seeing these two together for some reason.#Well not for SOME reason. There are valid reasons why you don't ship them. Everyone has valid reason why they don't ship this or that.#But sometimes those reasons can just sound so petty to me. Like the reason why is because Amy is a stalker or Sonic hates her which is FALS #Also those age gap arguments are understandable but so goddamn annoying sometimes. Maybe when they hit their late teens or early twenties-#then they can be together if they want to. Besides a good percentage of Sonic ships are better off if they waited til they're old enough im #I love them regardless of whether they're just friends or an awkward older cringe fail couple lmao #But them being just friends and hiding away all their emotions towards each other just to keep them safe and happy with them- 😭😭😭#Son/adow is my favorite ship of all time and sonamy is my favorite childhood ship/platonic ship because they both have one thing in common.#ANGST 😀#I've been thinking about Sonic and Amy's dynamic as of late and MAN-#Mixed with some personal headcanons of mine and their dynamic as of late just makes me so emotional.#Sonic and Amy have gotten so close now and it's so sweet but so heartbreaking at the same time when you think about it.#I'm so happy they are getting along better and being there for each other but there is so much to dissect here. So much to think about.#I might be a little silly but Amy losing her parents and being alone for so long and being the reason why she's always hanging onto Sonic-#-explains SOOOOOOOOO much about her. At least that's my headcanon for WHY that is.#Amy with abandonment issues speaks to me on a personal level. I'm always afraid of being forgotten or left behind by my family.#I sometimes feel like I'm not good enough no matter how hard I try. I do not blame Amy. I relate to her a lot. It's one of the many reasons #-why Amy is my favorite character besides Sonic and Shadow.#She fights hard to prove she's a valuable member of the team and hates getting left behind but despite all that she wasn't afraid to-#-express herself and her love for people. But after the Eggman War there was some changes that made her less expressive about her love.#Yeah she still loves Sonic but she doesn't admit it because none of that matters anymore and she thought that not being loved by Sonic #-is better than being loved since she nearly wasted her life loving someone who she thought has constantly bothered. 🥲#But I think after TMoStH I think she'll be less afraid of being expressive about it. She and Sonic are just so caring for each other 😭#I love these two way too much that when I think about them for too long I'll start SOBBING 😭😭 I'M EVEN SOBBING RIGHT NOW LMAO

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sieglinde-freud · 1 month ago

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oh im obsessed with this actually… who ever wrote this one i am kissing u on the forehead and hugging you real tight… inigo is such a loverboy im kkkhhhhhhijnsdnfng

#ann plays awakening #EDITING TO SAY I STARTED TAG VENTING HIT READMORE AT YOUR OWN RISK #anyways #LAST LINE IS A KILLERRRR WOW #‘ann werent you just pairing olivia with thar—‘ OLIVIA IS A BUSY WOMAN OKAY #but also i just had this old save file from when i wanted to see pink inigo and decided to get some more supports #im obsessed actually like #ok tag venting time maybe this should be its own post but u guys know who i am #not only does this support in my very educated opinion do a good job at emulating inigo’s way of speaking #but i think theres also a very underrated characteristic he has that not a lot of people talk about and its that hes honestly quite morbid #him spending hours talking to and dancing with his mother’s grave is very beautiful and moving but it is also not a normal way to grieve #which makes sense because duh nothing about his life is normal but its j like. you know #if robin is his father (and maybe j the normal convo i dont remember) in the hot springs scramble he’ll insist upon bringing—#severed risen limbs home as a way to remember the peacefulness (lol) of the springs #and he thinks absolutely nothing of it!!#i think he gets attached to things just a little too intensely and because his life is surrounded by death how he expresses that can be #very interesting. and he talks about death all time more than the other kids #bc while a lot of their coping mechanisms are based in fear and the need to instill confidence in themselves (think cyn or gerome or owain #or sev or yarne or noire)#and how their SCARED of death and of loss and adapt different behaviors to act like theyre not (to varying degrees of success)#i think inigo is much more accepting of the fact that death follows him and has made it a normal presence in his life #which is not a good thing it means that he hasnt let himself grieve. he lets death hang over him and follow him instead of pushing back #also guess which one of the awakening trio in fates has the canonical story death. just by the way lmao #anyways bc im writing this in the tags on my phone i cant actually see what the hell ive been saying im j stream of consciousnessing this #but my point is that inigo has a weird fixation on death and dying that stems from his inability to make peace with death and grieve #and i think him idolizing death in this support (this BRILLIANT fan support that made me ill) is so in character and so lovely #i miss him so bad (hes literally in the photos im posting) grghhhrgah #i wuv him :(

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rolandkaros · 4 months ago

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one day we will talk about how tennis fans talk about/treat players they find attractive versus players they dont…………

#and sorry but. a lot of you do this!#im sure i do it as well #but sometimes it’s just feels like…idk really obvious that that’s what’s happening #idk it pisses me off. but especially with the wta it feels reductive sometimes to call it out #like ‘oh you’re only supporting her bc she’s pretty’ like EWWW. what a nasty thing to say #BUT i do think it’s true sometimes!!!!#not that people only support players they think are pretty #but that people are far more sympathetic or that they’re more likely to get behind a player they aren’t *usually* a fan of #does this make sense?#and i think it extends to the atp as well but partially less obvious bc ppl let men get away with anything anyway lol #lowkey it feels mean to talk about because any comparisons i make have to insinuate someone’s attractiveness…#but like it really feels like the elephant in the room sometimes…like how do you not see what you’re doing here #and can i be real! i think karo is a massive beneficiary of this!#and i think that’s part of why i notice it so much because i notice the way people talk about her and support her (which of course i love)#but then i compare that with other players who have had similar stories…and i feel like i do have the perspective here—#because i see so much of what is said about karo #so it feels quite obvious when she’s honestly? treated *very* well considering her career #we’ve seen plenty of players who have injury issues who are just labeled inconsistent or as having ‘physical issues’#i think karo gets a lot of sympathy in comparison…and id even go so far as to say i think she’s overhyped sometimes!#which i know is a wild thing to say as a huge fan of hers but i think it’s true! idk. this is not really the point but im trying to explain #what i meant by the earlier tags. that some players who are seen as attractive are given way more leniency in general

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giantkillerjack · 8 months ago

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Uh-oh! You are like, SOOO awkward!!

You're so awkward that it is occasionally mildly uncomfortable for people!

You're so awkward that sometimes people are confused by you and then there are awkward silences!

You're so awkward ...... that ultimately no one is harmed!!

Oh damn!!! What a vile crime you have committed! What an unforgivable thing it is to make a fellow human briefly confused!

Why, if *I* were ever briefly confused and kind of uncomfortable as a result, I'd be devastated.... by the absolute net zero change in my happiness and health! - From which I might never recover!! Yes indeed! No punishment can ever be enough for you!!

So you better absolutely hate yourself for it.

Better be SO MEAN to yourself about every single missed social cue so you don't forget your horrible crime! Meaner than you'd ever dream of being to someone else for the same thing! This is YOUR responsibility!

You need to show the world that you KNOW you are bad by punishing yourself constantly! After all, think of all the people who BENEFIT from you punishing yourself! - No, really! Think about it! Think about who benefits from your pain.

Think of alllllll the definitely-good people that your definitely-necessary self-torment definitely helps! I mean, you can't just cut off their definitely-life-sustaining supply of your suffering, right?? Sure, everyone else has a breaking point, but you're probably the only person in human history who doesn't, right? Best not to question it probably. Sure, it's a symptom that billions of people with trauma have had, but who knows? You could be a one-in-seven-billion exception. Anything's possible!

Instead, better just accept that idea that bullies carry like guns in holsters - the idea that people who have trouble with social cues deserve to suffer. Better carry on the burden they placed on you until you drop. Aid the cause of the callous by enforcing shame and suffering upon yourself extra hard; try your best to do their work for them. They're very busy.

Better not recognize that you need patience and kindness to heal from your trauma. Better not find out that it was trauma rather than personal weakness filling your head with self-hating thoughts. Better not find out it wasn't your fault.

Better not find out that awkwardness is not inherently harmful or unkind, and, in fact, the people who act like it is *are the ones enacting harm and being cruel.*

Better not get righteously angry when you realize just how much unnecessary damage this has done to you. After all, if you get mad, you might realize you deserve better. You might even feel brave enough to DEMAND better! You might build boundaries that keep you safe! You might make other people think they deserve to feel safe too! And we obviously can't be having that, so...

Better not show yourself even a little kindness a little bit at a time.

Better not make a habit out of it after all that practice.

Better not get confident.

Especially if you can't first wipe out every trace of awkward. (And you probably never will. Because people who experience absolute social certainty at all times tend to be insufferable assholes that enforce the status quo. And you just don't have the stock portfolio for that.)

Better not be confident and awkward because then you might confuse and delight people

- you might accidentally end up making other people feel less shame for their social difficulties

- you might make isolated, traumatized, and shy people feel like they deserve to be included in social situations

- you might even make them feel they can be themselves around you

- you might start loving the effect you have on a room

- you might enjoy conversations more

- you might forgive yourself and bounce back from shame more easily and frequently

- you might come to enjoy some of those moments of harmless confusion you cause because NOBODY expects the Confident Awkward, and that can genuinely be an advantage in social situations

- you might stop apologizing so much.

- you might find that socializing is like a video game: it requires practice but also a safe space for it to be fun and positive.

Or if you can't become assertive and confident, better not remain awkward and shy and quiet, and then love and forgive yourself anyway!

Why, it would be carnage!!

In either scenario, you run the risk of finding out that it's not your fault that safe spaces full of kind people can be really hard to find, create, and nurture. You could end up building a skillset that helps you do those things if you're not careful!

If you start giving yourself even the tiniest amount of grace at a time, you will find that you've accessed a gateway drug with extreme long-term side effects:

- You might realize that it was never your fault that it took so long to like yourself.

- You might realize that you were always worth talking to, even when you didn't like yourself and communication felt impossibly difficult.

- You might realize that you'll still be worth talking to even if communication becomes harder as you age and/or experience disability.

- You might come to know that you deserve to be heard even on bad days when words come slow and blurry.

You might discover that you were always deserving of kindness, first and foremost from yourself.

So. As you can see, it's FAR too much of a risk to start granting your awkward self free pardons for your many heinous and harmless crimes. Better to just leave it there.

#social skills #i have a few posts now in my ' social skills' tag #original #maybe eventually I will compile them and polish them in some meaningful way. I know what I want to call the book title #in big text it'll say 'I'M AUTISTIC' and then beneath that in smaller text 'And I Have Better Social Skills Than You'#or something to that effect. and the cover of the book will be me making an exaggerated smug face like the little rascal I am #challenging the viewer to pick up the book and see if they can prove me wrong.#and then the entire first section of the book is about how actually the issue with our society's social skills is the harsh judgment #for people who have trouble communicating and not the other way around. I don't actually think I'm the #most charismatic person in the world by a very long shot. but i do know that I have put more thought into my social skills than #most allistic people and frankly i have surpassed most of them. not because i am more persuasive or smooth or funny #(tho i am persuasive and funny lol) but bc i have questioned which social functions are more restriction than utility.#and instead i have focused my energy on actively learning how to make people feel safe. i feel social rules would benefit all people by #being a little more autistic tyvm. i don't think every person should dedicate themselves to being better at communicating #i think people should dedicate themselves to being kind and patient to everyone regardless of their ability to communicate #I think our society wrongly links communication ability to intelligence and intelligence to level of humanity.#when in fact all three of those things are fucking unrelated and connecting them inevitably leads to #really fucked up views on disabled people that hurt us. and then with that aspect of the book firmly understood and established I would #go on to recommend some ways to make socializing easier and more fulfilling (and less shameful and terrifying) for all kinds of people #it wouldn't be a book about Leaning In To Succeed in Business or 'here's how to avoid being the awkward loner at a party'#it'd be a book about how if you see someone alone at a party here's how to invite them to join your group without pressuring them #stuff like 'hot tip! if someone takes a while to type or speak a full sentence - talking over them b4 they can finish makes u an asshole!'#I know that a lot of people cannot or don't want to dump a lot of skill points into socializing like i did and they shouldn't have to in #order to experience basic dignity and respect. if we treat people like that then we just validate that people - especially #autistic children and elders and disabled people of manu varieties - have to suffer unless they learn all these arbitrary bullshit rules #and a lot of them are arbitrary bullshit! one of the reasons I throw people off so much is because I harmlessly break a lot of social rules #but I know I'm doing it and I'm not ashamed and people just don't know what to do with that! but a lot of them like it actually!!#i think it's a relief to be around someone so openly and unrelentingly weird bc what am I gonna do? judge you for being weird??#I only care if you're kind. not necessarily 'nice' or passive. Kind. Brave enough to care about people being treated well. Kind.#also I recognize that at least some of my ability to be openly weird is white privilege so that's important to acknowledge too

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