#just thinkin' about coming back anew

[gale-gaze]

[ consider — rebirth. ]

[l0ve-dov3]

where the sun shines.

percy jackson x demeter! reader

summary: in which you take percy strawberry picking for the first time!

warnings: none!

word count: 606

authors note: hey hey hey! this is really short (the following parts should be longer) but i felt like i wasn’t seeing much of percy, so i wanted to fix that and write a little something for my percy girls out there. this series is betrayal free, so no need to worry about castellan. anyways, that’s all, enjoy the fic!!!!

“Why do we even have a strawberry field?”

“Because…Demeter, I guess?”

It was mid summer, and you’d forced Percy to join you in picking strawberries. It was his first summer staying at camp, and since you were his closest friend, you showed him all the things you loved about this time of year. Today, that thing was strawberry picking.

“I mean, camp has some of the best strawberries I’ve ever tasted.” You started calmly, imagining the flavor of your favorite fruit, “You’re gonna love ‘em, I promise.”

Percy nodded, half believing you as he reached down for another strawberry. He didn’t care so much about picking berries, finding it a rather simple activity at a camp for demigods, but he listened to each word you spoke as if it would be your last. “I’m trusting you on this one, pollen-head.”

In the time Percy had been at camp, you had become one of his closer friends, outside of Annabeth and Grover. You’d met in his first few days when he wandered off during the bonfire, which you often did to get some alone time, leading him to find you just by the edge of the forest.

“Hello?” Percy called, clutching Riptide as he approached a moving figure. He had thought that, in his wandering, he wouldn’t find anyone by the forest; but apparently he was wrong. When you turned to him, his fist unclenched, releasing Riptide back into his pocket when he met your tearful gaze.

“Sorry for scaring you.” You chuckled, wiping your tears as you returned your eyes to the dark, unmoving forest. “I’m not really used to people finding me here.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, I guess.” The boy returned awkwardly, sitting next to you in an uncertain manner.

Usually, if Percy ran into someone crying, he would have pretended not to notice and walked away. But for whatever reason, and he couldn’t tell you why, he sat next to you that night; thus beginning a year-long friendship.

“What’cha thinkin’ about, fish face?” Your voice resonated in his head, pulling him away from the wistful memory.

“The day we met, when I should’ve been at my first bonfire.” He chuckled, looking at you with that cheeky grin, “I actually think about it a lot.”

“Woah there partner, you may start thinking we’re really friends.” You teased, giving him a light push as you gathered your last berries. The boy chuckled half-heartedly, not knowing why the words made him feel so off. Somewhat confused, he followed behind you with his own basket, coming to a stop as you sat under a great oak tree. “But…I guess I think about it too.”

He journeyed toward you, carefully putting his basket next to yours before settling at your side. “Oh? And here I thought we were pretending to be friends.” Percy tried to joke, nudging you gently.

“Yeah,” You sighed, “But you know, you really are a good friend Percy. I’m glad you found me in the forest that day.”

Percy’s heart pounded harder in his chest, stunning him with a sense of alarm. You looked at him with that gentle smile, and he felt light as air, staring back at you like the world was anew. A new feeling, unfamiliar and odd, wracked his body like a thousand waves. “Yeah…Yeah, I’m glad too.” He breathed, just above a whisper.

You raised a brow at his change in nature, shaking your head with a light chuckle.

Percy Jackson, you thought.

What a weird kid.

[kharti]

[ The Wind Will Blow Me Home #2 ]

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Life on a mercantile ship was—different. Or maybe it wasn’t so different, and Izzy was. He was no longer the first mate, no longer Blackbeard’s dog. He was just another crew member with no special title or privileges.

      ( Continue reading on AO3 or... )

Life on a mercantile ship was—different. Or maybe it wasn’t so different, and Izzy was. He was no longer the first mate, no longer Blackbeard’s dog. He was just another crew member with no special title or privileges.

It didn’t stop him from being annoyed by mediocrity, however.

“Is that the best rigging you can do?” he barked out. “And what are you going to do when it comes undone at the first fooking gust of wind?”

The man scowled, but wordlessly started to redo his work, sending a glare over his shoulder when Izzy snorted.

“Do it right the first time and you wouldn’t have to do it again.”

His gaze wandered the ship, stopping when he spotted Buttons with the captain. He had already been voted into first mate position—and why not? Buttons had an uncanny sense for the sea.

It did mean that he was frequently at the captain’s side, and opportunities to be alone together were equally infrequent.

Izzy couldn’t decide if he was an idiot or not. Buttons had made no advances, no hints of there being anything between them, no clues that there could be.

But there was. Wasn’t there?

So Izzy waited until nightfall, and just as he did on the Revenge, Buttons was nude on the upper deck and basking in the moonglow.

“Joinin’ me fer a bask, Mr. Hands?”

Izzy hesitated, not letting his eyes take in anything below the shoulders. “You can call me Izzy.”

Buttons turned to face him, and Izzy couldn’t fight the dip of his gaze. The man was completely, disappointingly soft. “Aye, I can, but feels weird.”

“Israel?” he offered.

Buttons stared at him, unblinking. “Joinin’ me fer a bask, Israel?”

The name was said softly, almost fondly, and Izzy’s heart squeezed at the sound of it.

“I’ve never basked before,” he admitted with a curl of his lips. “Teach me?”

“Isn’t anythin’ tae it.” Buttons gestured at him with both hands. “Strip the kit and bask in her radiant glow.”

Izzy hesitated, then reached up with an unsteady hand to start unbuttoning his shirt. “That’s it?”

“Aye.”

Izzy didn’t say another word as he undressed right there out in the open, right there in front of the man he wanted to love and wanted to be loved by.

Was it just his imagination, or was Buttons watching him? Was it with interest? Fuck, he needed to keep his thoughts in order, or his complicated feelings would show the moment he got his pants off.

Keep it together, Israel. You still don’t know what’s going on.

Once he was fully naked, he stepped forward to stand beside Buttons and looked up at the full moon. “Now what?”

“Ye stand there and let her wash over ye. Simple as that.”

Izzy’s mouth went dry as he tried and tried and failed not to think about their moonlit encounter. It seemed like a lifetime ago, long enough that he had to let it go.

If anything happened, it would happen anew.

“Don’t think, Israel.”

His own name shouldn’t affect him so much, but he swore that Buttons said it with distinct fondness again, so it was impossible not to shiver a bit at the sound.

“Thinkin’ gets in tae way of her magic.”

Izzy snorted. “Does she have magic? I recall being promised a hex once upon a time from the ocean.”

He swore under his breath.

So much for letting go.

Buttons was quiet for a while, and Izzy glanced over to see a contemplative expression on his face. Finally, he replied, “The moon is capable of many awesome and fearsome things.”

It wasn’t an answer to what he was really asking, but Izzy hoped nonetheless. His heart had crawled its way up into his throat, and he swallowed to try to push it back down.

      ( next )

📚 view a list of all my current stories!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Twisted Tarot XVI — The Tower

"Everything happens for a reason. That reason causes change. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it's sad. But in the end, it is all for the best."

The Tower, Upright: sudden change, upheaval, chaos, revelation, awakening

The Tower, Reversed: personal transformation, fear of change, averting disaster

He is disaster incarnate, the bringer of ruin--or so the rumors and whispers of the court and his people say. Sounding upheaval like no other, he will incite change that will have ripple effects on generations to come. From the rubble of disaster, he will be reborn anew... Stronger, wiser, and more resilient than ever.

Reveal the Shape of thy Soul...

... Leona Kingscholar!

“I can’t believe you snuck out of the palace again. You’d think princes had better things to do than run around the streets like peasants.”

“Shut up, Ruggie,” Leona growled, slamming a fist down on a rickety coffee table. The force caused some wood to splinter off and scatter across the patchwork floor.

Leaving more destruction in his wake.

“Be careful!!” the hyena hissed, rushing over with a platter of mismatched cups and bowls. He had had enough practice from his part-time jobs to not spill any while running. “You’re gonna ruin the one good table we’ve got!!”

“... Tch.”

Leona didn’t apologize. Instead, he swiped a chipped bowl from Ruggie and downed the contents in one gulp—praying it would help to drown his frustrations.

It didn’t.

Leona grimaced at the strange flavor that spilled across his tongue. Salt, chicken, milk, and tea encased in a minty note. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

The walls and floors and furniture slowly falling apart around him. No matching items in a tea set—not even a complete tea set from the looks of the bowl Leona had just drank out of. Not enough coin to afford to regularly wash their silverware.

“... Are you sure this isn’t a dog house?”

“Figures you silver spoon types would say stuff like that.” Ruggie sighed and rolled his eyes as he collapsed beside the lion at the coffee table. “Alright, ‘fess up. What happened this time, huh?”

Leona scowled into the small pool of tea-soup that remained in his bowl. “................................. Falena got on my case about school again. A letter came in the mail. Black envelope, gold embossing. Wax seal with a bird on it.”

Ruggie’s ears perked up. “You don’t mean...”

Leona nodded. “Night Raven College.”

“Man.” The hyena let out a low whistle. “Imagine being picked to go there. Sure is a step up from the hoity toity Royal Sword Academy your bro was thinkin’ of sendin’ you off to. Congrats, Leo—”

“I don’t want to go.”

“HUH?!” Ruggie almost spilled his own cup of tea-soup. “You don’t want to go to school? Why not?!”

“I already know everything I need to,” Leona scoffed bitterly. “Why attend when they can’t teach me anything new? It’d be a waste of time and energy.”

“So you’re just gonna ditch?! That’s just... just... gaaah, I don’t get you rich people sometimes...!!” Ruggie groaned, clutching at his forehead. “You know how many of us normal people would kill to get that invite to NRC?”

“Yeah, like now. You look like you’d try to kill me and claim my spot as your own.”

“Hell yeah I would. Too bad I can’t pass as Sunset Savanna royalty so easily though. You lucked out.” Ruggie playfully punched Leona on the shoulder. “... Seriously though, you’re just throwing away your golden opportunity like this? You’re giving up on school? On your future?”

“I said I didn’t want to go. But... I’ve decided I need to anyway.”

“Ehh? That’s a shocker.” Ruggie’s ears twitched as he suspiciously regarded his prince. “Alright, what gives?”

A deep glower set itself onto Leona’s regal features. “Anything to spite Falena—anything to avoid going to his stupid, stuck-up alma mater. And anything to get out of the damn palace, away from everything.”

“What about already knowing everything? You’ll probably be super bored in class.”

“... Clearly, there’s stuff I’ve missed out on.” Leona gestured to the crumbling living space they sat in. “All of this, for example. I still can’t believe you manage to survive like this.”

“When you’re born with nothing, you’ve got no choice bit to scrape by to make ends meet,” Ruggie had once explained to him.

It was a mind-bending concept for one born into privilege.

“Wow, you got so repulsed by poorness that it 180’d you thoughts on learning?” The hyena’s face crumpled in confusion.

“Heh. Nothing quite as simple as that. It was just a reminder, a wake-up call—that’s all. Something to jump start a number of thoughts.”

Rumbling laughter filled the room as Leona toyed with the rim of his bowl. It was chilling, causing even Ruggie to shiver.

“Inequality exists everywhere you turn, doesn’t it? Haves and have-nots. The fortunate and the unfortunate. It’s the difference between the rich and the poor, between heaven and hell. Life’s just not fair. That’s why...”

A dark look passed his face as his grip on the bowl tightened. The material softened at his touch, melting away into fine granules of sand on the table.

Something that crumbled away into nothing so easily.

Ruggie’s mouth went bone-dry, and his hands and forehead, clammy. Such a raw display of power set even the easygoing hyena on edge.

“L-Leona-san...?”

The lion smirked.

“... I’ll tear it all down from within.”

[writingwhimsey]

My Pirate Lord and Our life Ch. 34

Chapter 34

After parting with Ava, Motonari went to his meetings with some local merchants. Hiroyoshi accompanied him, of course. He had this feeling that this was the day, this was the port. Kicho would come to him today and the show would begin anew.

After his last meeting, securing a new line of trade, he felt the eyes on him before he heard the approach. He turned as he saw a man he recognized as Kicho's assistant approach him. The man gave him a bow. "Hello my lord." The man greeted.

"So, yer boss finally decided to find me." Motonari said, smiling.

"Yes, he requests a meeting with you, my lord." The man replied. "If you will follow me."

Motonari nodded. "Lead the way."

Kicho's assistant led Motonari to a small manor that was just on the outskirts of the port city. "My lord requests..."

Motonari held up his hand. "I know his rules." He replied, removing his sword and pistol, setting them aside just outside of the meeting room. Though he kept another pistol tucked close to his breast and a dagger, as well as a throwing knife in his boot.

Motonari then walked into the room. Hiroyoshi and Kicho's assistant waited outside. Kicho was sitting behind a small desk. This manor lacked he splendor of his former merchant house in Sakai, but it still showed that even in exile, he was doing well. It took everything in Motonari's power not to walk up and start beating the shit out of Kicho's expressionless, doll-like face. He was of course used to playing nice when all he wanted was to pummel someone, but knowing what Kicho wanted to do...how it would hurt Ava...it was a lot harder for him than before.

"I see you made it back." Kicho greeted him.

"Yeah." He answered.

"How did you find the future?" Though his face was an expressionlessness, there was something in his eyes, sharp and observant.

Motonari would have to put on his best act yet. "Too crowded." He answered. "Too loud...and too much." He decided to rattle off his first impressions of the future. It had overwhelmed his senses in the beginning. But Ava had been there for him. She'd showed him around and showed him what was good about the future. She'd comforted him and soothed his uneasiness.

"So, you see why it needs to be stopped?"

Motonari nodded. "Yeah...but I got one problem though."

"Ava still does not want to say goodbye to her future?" Kicho asked.

Motonari nodded. "Yeah. She don't see what's so horrible about it."

"Perhaps you'll be able to convince her." Kicho said.

"It'll take time...till then though she can't know I'm workin' with you." Motonari answered.

"We can keep your name out of things." Kicho agreed.

"Of course the Oda thinkin' I'm still on their side can be useful to us." Motonari replied.

"Yes." Kicho agreed, though something in his eyes told Motonari that the man clearly didn't fully trust that him. Not that Motonari blamed him. He did want to cut out his heart afterall, but he needed to make sure Kicho didn't have things ready for in case he died or was captured.

Just then there was a bell ringing, sounding an alarm. Kicho's assistant and Hiroyoshi were rushing in then. "The Oda forces are attacking." The assistant announced. "They're being led by Hideyoshi."

Kicho looked over at Motonari. "You led them here."

"I did not." Motonari lied. "Hiroyoshi, we have ta get outta here."

Kicho sighed. "There is a back exit."

They each grabbed their weapons and then Kicho and his assistant were leading Motonari and Hiroyoshi out of the back exit. They were immediately surrounded by the Oda forces, led by Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi fixed them both with a harsh glare.

Though this was all part of the plan, Motonari was having a hard time fighting back a smile. Hideyoshi is going to enjoy this. He thought. He knew despite the apology the other day, Hideyoshi still hated his guts.

"You really did lead them here." Kicho said, looking at Motonari.

"No, I didn't." Motonari insisted, keeping up his lie.

"Yes you did Motonari...even if you didn't intend to. I always knew you would betray us...betray Ava." Hideyoshi spat at him.

Though this was all part of the plan, Motonari still felt the sting of those words. "I ain't betrayin' my girl." He growled.

"You're not getting away with this." Hideyoshi said.

It was then that members of Motonari's crew and vassals were showing up. The only guys missing were the ones he'd assigned ot guard Ava and Misa. Motonari looked around, as if he were assessing the situation, as if it weren't going according to plan.

"There's no point in lying your way out of this either, God of Deceit." Hideyoshi spat at him. "Keiji and Mitsuhide have already rescued Ava and captured your men. Mitsuhide questioned them and they admitted to everything right there in front of Ava. She knows about your betrayal."

"You bastard!" Motonari shouted at him. He then turned to Hiroyoshi and his men. "Fight the Oda and let's get the hell outta here!"

"Don't let Kicho and Motonari escape!" Hideyoshi ordered the Oda forces.

Fighting broke out at those orders. The secluded area became a mess of chaos and violence. Clanging metal rang out with the clash of swords. Pistols were fired. Motonari and Kicho seemed to be fighting in perfect sync together.

"Motonari is mine!" Hideyoshi shouted as he came at Motonari, swinging his sword.

Motonari easily blocked the blow with his own sword. "You've been itchin' to stab me fer a long time, haven't ya, Hideyoshi?" Motonari quipped, grinning.

"You're a vile bastard and I can't wait to rid this world of you." Hideyoshi replied as the two came to blows over and over again. "The only thing I regret is that it will probably still hurt Ava...but not nearly as much as your betrayal has. She broke into tears when she found out."

Motonari glared hard at Hideyoshi and then swung his sword, harder than intended. "You keep her outta this."

"She's coming back to Azuchi." Hideyoshi said. "Where you can't hurt her anymore."

"I'll get my girl back." Motonari replied. "She's still my wife."

"Not once I kill you." Hideyoshi replied.

"Good luck with that." Motonari countered. "After I get rid of you, I'll go get my flower girl back."

"She won't forgive you." Hideyoshi countered. "Even if you did manage to kill me, she's going to hate you for this. She's better off without you."

Motonari glared daggers at him. He pushed Hideyoshi back and lifted his sword ready to strike. However that was when Hideyoshi moved. He noticed it at the last second and managed to push the sword away from a killing blow...though it still struck him across the chest. Motonari let out a grunt of pain as he dropped his sword and fell back.

Hideyoshi was lifting his sword, ready to strike Motonari. Motonari withdrew his pistol, his hand shaking. He aimed and fired at Hideyoshi, hitting him in the shoulder. He was reaching for his throwing knife tucked in his boot when the fight was suddenly surrounded by white smoke, a smoke bomb he had picked up from Kenshin's ninja.

Hiroyoshi was then helping Motonari up and they were running off with the crew and Kicho in tow. Motonari kept fresh cloth pressed to his wounds, as they ran.

They managed to make it back to the ship. Immediately they began to sail away before the Oda forces could board the ship. Hiroyoshi began to help Motonari treat his wounds on the deck of the ship.

They had gotten a good distance from port when there was sound of cannon fire. Motonari and Kicho looked back to see a ship baring the Oda crest sailing towards them. Nobunaga himself stood on the ship giving orders. "Fire!" Nobunaga ordered.

“To the cannons!” Motonari ordered his men.

His crew quickly got to work, taking their places and loading up the cannons. They were preparing to fire back as the Oda forces were preparing for another attack. That was when another voice sounded. One Motonari would hear over anyone else’s no matter where in the world they were.

“Nobunaga, stop! Motonari, stop!”

Though he knew this was coming, it had all been part of the plan after all… it still wrenched his heart to hear it. To see Ava on the ship that was on the business end of his cannons. She turned to face him, tears in her eyes…real tears. Though he knew they weren’t because she thought he had really betrayed her, they were because she knew they would be parting for who knew how long.

“Hold yer fire!” Motonari ordered.

“Motonari…please…don’t…don’t do this.” She pleaded.

The air seemed to leave Motonari’s lungs. His heart beat painfully in his chest. He had Kicho on his ship. He could easily count the man captured and tie him up…give up the charade and go back home with Ava. But he knew he had to see this plan through. He had to make sure he put a stop to whatever Kicho was up to. He had to stop him from being able to ruin the future…Ava’s future.

Regaining his resolve, he shouted back to her. “Sorry flower girl, but I have ta see this through! I’ll come back for ya and make everything right again!”

Without him having to tell his crew, they were already working to sail away faster, no longer in range for the Oda cannons, nor could they fire back. Motonari stood on the deck, the cloth still pressed to the wound Hideyoshi had given him. His eyes stayed locked on Ava’s as they sailed further and further away. I’ll finish this and return to ya, I swear. He thought hoping she could see the truth in his eyes.

He was certain she had as her eyes told him she would be waiting for him. She would always wait and always love him. She trusted him and he swore he wouldn’t let her faith in him be wasted.

“You really did it.” Kicho said, once they were no longer in sight of the Oda.

“Damn those Oda bastards.” Motonari said.

“I’m surprised you didn’t try getting Ava back just now.” Kicho said.

“Now ain’t the right time.” He replied. “I’ll do it when I cut Nobunaga’s stinkin’ head off.”

“My lord, we should treat your wound.” Hiroyoshi said, interrupting. He was then helping Motonari to his cabin.

Once Motonari was inside, he sent Hiroyoshi away and took off his shirt. He began to treat his wound himself. He practically fell into his chair as he sat to clean and dress his wound. The water and salve stung, but it was nothing compared to what he had just done.

“Heh, he got me pretty good.” Motonari muttered. “He’s been wantin’ ta do that fer a long time.”

Once he was finished, he found himself looking over at the bed across from his table. It seemed much colder and lonelier without Ava there already. He wasn’t looking forward to this night. He knew it was only the first night, likely of many, that he would be apart from her.

“At least she’s safe.” Motonari assured himself. He made his way over to the bed and laid down. He heard something when his head hit the pillow. He reached underneath and pulled out a folded piece of paper. His name was written on the outside in her hand.

He quickly opened the letter.

Motonari,

I know you have to do this. I trust you and I know you will pull this off. Just make it quick and come back to me. This baby and I…we need you. I love you so much. Be safe and come back to us in one piece.

Yours always,

Ava

Motonari felt his eyes burning with unshed tears. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “What have ya done to me, flower girl?” He muttered. “Good thing ya ain’t here to see what a mess ya’ve made me. Of course, you’d probably be pretty proud of yerself for makin’ this mean ole pirate soft.”

He coughed out a laugh at himself. It had been many years since he had last cried. Not since he was a kid…and yet here Ava was, not even present and she was making him cry. Her faith in him, her love for him…and the fact that he missed her like crazy all brought those tears on.

“I swear…I won’t let ya down.” He said, looking at her letter before tucking it away.

Chapter 35 below!

https://writingwhimsey.tumblr.com/post/671931532815056896/my-pirate-lord-and-our-life-ch-35

[early20sfailingplenty]

Hey sugar,

Vincent and Jonesy are startin’ to miss you a whole lot. I’d be a damn fool if I said I wasn’t feelin’ the same too. Just want ya to know we’re thinkin’ ‘bout you. Sounds like it’s been a rough few days for ya’, so I thought that I’d send a little something to cheer ya up.

Shit, even Les misses ya! Last time he came ‘round he was askin’ ‘bout you. Vincent’s been sulkin’ all over without ya. Barely comes up from the basement. Though he is poutin’ that he’s missin’ a sweater. I won’t tell him you took it, yet…

Anyways, we miss ya and hope you come ‘round real soon. I’ve been havin’ a hard time sleepin’ without ya next to me, and it sure would be nice to wake up next to that pretty face. Vin wants me to tell ya’ that he loves you, and that Jonsey does too.

Love ya sweetpea. See ya soon.

-Your Beauregard (+ Vinny and Jonesy)

(WHO DID THIS?????🥺🥺🥺🥺😍😍😍😭😭😭🥰🥰🥰🫂🫂🫂💖💖💖 I'VE READ THIS OVER AND OVER AGAIN OMG I KEEP DROPPING MY UWUS HHHHHHHHHHH THANK YOU NONNIE THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUUUUUUU ~ 🥺😍😭🥰🫂💖 I'm sooooo ~ jumping on this chance to 'talk' to Bo...👀)

Beautiful Bo (Bo-tiful?🥰😂)

This is so sweet of you; typical, you try and cheer me up and your efforts only make me cry (in a good way, though! Not all tears are sad ones, but they're always a release)! Thank you for staying with me through all of this; ever since we met, life has been a wild ride and every time I think I have a handle on things, something changes or crops up and the cycle begins anew. But I get to come home to you and your brothers and the bestest girl Jonesy, so how bad are things, really?

I miss all of you a lot. Ambrose isn't so far away, not really, all I have to do is close my eyes and concentrate and I can find you easily, and yet I never seem to find the time to come home.It won't be long before Lester is rocking up to my door threatening to drag me back.😂 Making time for you means making time for me, too, and I need to be better about that. Many a person has told me so, and with you telling me too, I really should start listening.

Ohhh, Vincent🥺🥺🥺🥺 I'm gonna have to come over just so I can drag him outta the basement! Bet he hasn't changed the sheets on that bed since the last time I was there... not that I can say anything; I haven't done mine for a while but I will once I've sent this text. PLEASE don't tell him I took one of his sweaters; he'll want it back and if I don't have something which is HIS, it'll make me sad💔he shouldn't have put it in the dirty wash basket if he didn't want me to swipe it.😂

I'm on my way, Bo. For you, for Lester, for Vincent and for Jonesy!! You better have been giving her lots of kissies in my absence! Can't wait to come home, Bo. I'll be there soon, sit tight. I love you all very much! There are forehead kissies for each of you and big biiiiig hugs!!!

I love YOU Bo. Very much.

- Your Erika💖

[thetomorrowshow]

Slower Than Words Ch. 22

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Hey all! It’s good to be back! The break was much-needed, but I’ve missed interacting with y’all. Have a relatively calm chapter!

cw: food

~

Weeks passed, and Patton realized that lip-reading was harder than he thought it would be. Patton practiced every single day, studying the diagrams in the book and taking down notes on everything. Remus had at first practiced with him by saying a phrase and having Patton guess, but they had quickly realized that it was too advanced at this stage. Now, Remus held up a notecard with a phrase or word and said it. After going through five different different notecards, Remus would start over again without displaying the notecards. This helped Patton grasp it much quicker, and he had advanced to picking up several words that his therapists spoke in everyday conversation.

Sometimes, when he felt really excited, Patton would mimic the diagrams in the mirror, making the mouth movements for his own name, Remus's name, and Virgil's name. He already knew what his own name looked like, he found—he'd been unknowingly able to recognize it for years.

Patton always had the same translator at his doctor and therapy appointments, so he asked her a few questions about lip-reading and speaking. The woman was able to answer, usually, but there was rarely any time to get into a conversation. The woman did recommend some online resources and teachers for learning to speak, which Patton passed along to Remus. Patton didn't really understand the whole online thing yet. Virgil had tried to explain it several times, but it didn't make a lot of sense. Where did all of the information come from? Who put it there, ready for everyone to use? How was it usable?

Patton had learned how to use the internet in basic terms. He knew how to look for something in specific on Google, and he knew that Youtube was a thing because Remus liked showing him videos from it. Youtube had captions, unlike the television. Patton had found himself watching a lot of comedy videos, sometimes writing down the best jokes from them. He had a cheap blue notebook that he wrote the jokes and his notes in, and he kept it under his bed, like he used to do with his journal back ho—back at the cult.

Patton had researched the cult briefly on the internet, but had quickly become upset at seeing his own face on the cover of one of the articles that popped up. He'd closed it after seeing that several of the scientists, as well as the two prophets, were facing legal charges. That was all he'd needed to know.

Well, not really all. He'd been looking for any mention of Virgil. The one he'd read had mentioned him briefly, if not by name, and was now written in Patton's notebook: Investigations began after the appearance of two young men, both of whom required immediate medical care.

One was Remus. The other had to be Virgil. That meant Virgil was alive somewhere. Patton wondered if Virgil too was reading the articles, seeing that Patton was out, wondering how to find him.

Gosh, Patton missed him.

Right now, Patton was following along with a video on tongue movements for forming different letters. He wasn't sure that he was getting the S quite right, he'd have to ask Remus later. He took a few more notes on how to do it, then folded his notebook closed and took Father's laptop off incognito. Remus had taught him how to turn on and off incognito mode with a little wink, and now Patton used it almost every time he was on the laptop, which was only while Father was at his second job. For some reason, Patton felt that he wouldn't be allowed to do this.

He was just in time out of Father's room for Remus to get home from work, shooting him a fingergun (Virgil used to do those all the time) before throwing himself onto the couch. Patton longed to shake his shoulder, ask him for help practicing, but Remus was always tired right after work. Patton wasn't sure what he did, only that he was trying to find something else that paid better, so sometimes he would be out for hours after he was supposed to be home looking for a new job.

Patton slid into his room, flicking the light switch to turn it off. He rarely sat in his room with the light on, it made him uncomfortable. It almost felt as though someone was watching, though he knew that it was just a response developed from a traumatic situation, as his therapist had told him.

He'd barely been in his room for thirty seconds when Remus wandered in. He gestured to his mouth, and Patton watched carefully as he spoke.

“You - - - - to eat pr - - - - -.”

“One more time?” Patton signed. Remus repeated himself, but Patton still didn't pick it all up, so he asked Remus to sign it.

“You need to eat protein,” Remus signed slowly. “Diet time.”

Patton wasn't particularly hungry, but a part of regaining his body mass and retraining his body to eat normally was eating six or seven small, 'enriching' meals instead of three big ones. Remus was right, Patton realized as he checked the clock—it was time for his protein supplement, a meal usually made up of beef jerky and peanuts. Yay.

-

The weeks turned into months, and Remus decided that it was time for Patton to get some real world practice. Sure, he'd been going to therapy and all, but those folks rarely talked to him. It was time to play to Logan's weaknesses.

He brought it up over dinner one night, when Patton had already gone to bed. It rubbed him the wrong way that Logan sent him to bed instead of letting him stay up and talk to his pops, who had only been home for ten minutes. Sure, Pat had a schedule or whatever, and he had to follow it to stay healthy, but it should be his own decision. Still, there was nothing Remus could do about it. Except maybe this.

“So, when's your next day off?”

Logan shrugged. “I believe I have the morning of next Wednesday off, but that's all for next week. Why?”

Remus twirled his fork through the cheap macaroni and cheese, pretending to not be too interested in the outcome. “Just thinkin'. Pat's almost out of books again, we should probably make a trip to the library.”

Logan smiled softly at the suggestion—or maybe at Patton's name. There was no telling with the man.

“And his therapist's been saying he needs to go to a new place for enrichment or something like that. Wouldn't—”

Logan's face had already shuttered. “Absolutely out of the question. I cannot—”

“Lo, he really wants to,” Remus pleaded, letting his fork fall to the table. “He's gotta get out of this house. And what better place than a quiet library, where it's easy to watch him and sometimes there's a cop hanging out?”

“Remus, I—I can't,” Logan said, his face still stone, but now his eyes had grown sad. “I cannot, in good conscience, allow Patton to be in an unsafe environment. If I lost him again. . . .”

“You won't,” Remus cajoled. “I'll come too, watch him be safe. Just imagine how much he'll love it! Father-son bonding and all that crap!”

Logan looked down at his plate, clearly thinking deeply. Remus could almost see him weighing the options in his head. Internally, his heart rabbited, but externally Remus was the picture of calm. Hopefully. Maybe. He was probably not, but he could dream.

“I'll consider it,” Logan said eventually. “You are correct in assuming that the library is a place I would very much like to share with him. Tomorrow after tutoring Andy I will stop at the library and inquire after safety precautions. By Monday, I will have my decision.”

Remus leaned back, picking his fork up again. That was as close as he was going to get Logan tonight. If he continued to push it, Logan would completely shut down the conversation and then there'd be no chance of getting Pat out of the apartment.

They'd been watching a stupid black-and-white movie a week or three ago, and one of the characters had said a line that Patton had obviously related to. Remus had looked over to see tears brimming after the old man on screen said, “I thought I was supposed to be getting fresh air. So far, I've been in a train and a room, and a car and a room, and a room and a room.”

That probably really sucked for Patton. Remus went stir-crazy in this tiny apartment, and he was able to leave whenever he wanted. Patton left three times a week, and went straight to his appointments and then straight home. One of his doctors had actually just switched over to doing virtual appointments, so Pat was only leaving twice a week now. Kid had to be going insane.

-

Patton felt a bit like he was going insane.

He marked a tally in his notebook every day, one for each day that he had been out without Virgil. It sort of was a continuation of his tallies in the cell, but he couldn't remember where he had left off, so he had just started anew.

He had just filled a second page of tally marks. It had been months since he'd escaped, even longer since he'd seen Virgil. Every time Remus tried to tell him that everything was going to be okay, or Father told him that everything was okay, Patton felt anger simmer in his stomach. It was not okay, it couldn't be okay, it would never be okay without Virgil. Even if he had to be trapped in this horrible apartment for years, it would be wonderful with Virgil by his side.

Every day, he followed the same schedule. Therapy exercises, meals at precise times, lip-reading studies, regular reading, bed at ten PM. It was terrible.

He couldn't help but feel excited, though. He was leaving, at least for a little bit! Father had asked him if he wanted to go to the library with him tomorrow, and Patton had thought his heart was going to drop out of his chest. Both Father and Virgil had told him about libraries, and how beautiful they were, and how many books were always there.

Patton was finally going to a new place, and it was the library. All of the anger he'd been feeling over the past weeks had washed away, replaced only with anticipation. Even with Father there, this had to be the best thing to happen in months.

~

Taglist: @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @patt0n-sanders @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @maybedefinitely404 @broken-pencils @thewhimsicallibrarytech @doomllily @hereissananxiousmess @judyismydog  @arodynamic-enby @at-that-one-nerd @therapysides @awkwardandanxiousfander @thekitchenpan @im-an-anxious-wreck

[anari3l]

Far Away pt 3

words: 1387 /// pairing: cullen bohannon x reader /// summary: you wake in the morning after spending a night with cullen and find you don’t really want to leave. /// notes: got a comment on ao3 asking if i was gonna continue this, so ...

You were content. 

Content, comfy, and utterly happy. 

It had been too long since you had felt this way. The loss of your daughter and husband had almost killed you. 

Cullen had lost his wife, son, his home to the war, and had waged a revenge plot that had sent him searching across the country before dropping him in the middle of a railroad camp. 

Two sad souls had gravitated towards one another. 

Laying in his arms, the morning sun warming the side of your canvas housing, you felt content. As if the hardships the two of you had faced over the years could be healed from. Both of you knew this relationship was maybe not the best idea. Cullen had too much on his plate now, running the railroad. His work kept him out on long days at the cut, or had him spending hours in his office, pouring over the paperwork Durant was once in charge of and oh so good at. 

Cullen belonged out there. With the workers. Risking his own life alongside them. 

Which, admittedly, you felt very scared off. Your husband had died during construction of that damned trellis bridge over the river. You couldn’t bear the thought of Cullen dying out there too. 

But laying in his arms, you could forget about all that for a little while. You could press your ear against his chest, listen to the steady heartbeat beneath, and just be there with him, even if the moment would be lost in a few moments when duties called.

Cullen hummed, a short chuckle leaving his throat as he lay beneath you, arm curled around your shoulders and hand brushing along your hair. “What are you thinkin’?” he asked.

You shrugged, adjusting as you lay beside him on the small bed. “You. Us. This railroad.”

“Hmm.” He paused, hand raising to run through his own hair before falling back to your shoulder. “Anything in particular?”

“You and the General,” you hummed, relaxing into his embrace. “How you’re gonna fight Durant this time …” 

“He’s gonna try to pull everythin’ out to get his railroad back,” Cullen sighed. “We gotta fight for it.”

“We will,” you smiled, pushing up onto your elbow. “You, me, Elam, even the General … we’re with you, Mister Bohannon.” 

Cullen laughed, eyes closing as you spoke his name in a forced accent reminiscent of Durant’s. 

You smiled down to him, watching as he laughed at your mimicry. 

He was content. 

Content, comfy, and utterly happy. 

It had been too long since you had seen Cullen smile a genuine smile, or laugh a hearty laugh. 

“Alright, Mister,” you sighed, shoving his chest playfully before leaning in and kissing him. “Up you get. You’ll be late for work.”

Cullen stepped out of your tent a bit later, fully dressed, hat in hand, and stood for a moment on your small stoop. The morning fog blanketed the prairie, casting an eerie gloom over the town as the sun rose over the distant hills. As you stepped outside beside him, tying the apron around your waist, he turned to you, fidgeting with his hat as if he was a child, too nervous to ask a question. 

“Why … we should …” he started, dropping his gaze to his hat. “We should have a picnic,” he finally managed after a few moments of silence. “Today. For lunch.”

“A picnic?” you prodded, folding your hands in front of you. 

“A picnic.” He placed his hat on his head with a nod, his smile returning. “After my meeting with Grant,” he started once more. “A picnic. You and me, and all the daisy chains you can make.”

You smiled brightly. “I would like that very much, Mister Bohannon.”

“I would too,” he smiled. 

***

You didn’t know how he managed it, but you couldn’t put it past him. He was Cullen after all. Hell on Wheels loved him. 

Mickey and Sean had pulled together two bottles of alcohol, Ruth and Eva had pitched in food, and Cullen had packed it all into a sideboard and rolled up to the infirmary tent with a very smitten look on his face. 

“Well,” you smiled as you watched Cullen jump from the wagon bench. “This is a surprise. I had thought you meant a lunch date on the steps of your train car as a picnic.”

“Now,” he smiled, “I did promise you daisy chains,” he joked. “We’ll disappear for a while. Get away from camp.”

“Then,” you sighed, untying your apron and draping it over the wooden chair on the stoop of the infirmary tent. “It would be a pleasure.”

You couldn’t help but feel like a young girl again as you rode beside Cullen on the wagon bench. He stayed mostly quiet, but you could tell whatever tension he had been carrying since the Board arrived had lessened a bit. He seemed at ease, and calm. Able to forget about his duties for a moment and get away. 

Not too far from Hell on Wheels, still close enough to hear the echoing of pick axes and hammers on the line, Cullen stopped the wagon at a small grouping of trees. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say Mister Bohannon has done this before,” you smiled, taking his hand as he helped you from the wagon. “Your wife must have been the luckiest woman.”

He nodded, a bit shyly as you brought up the mention of his wife, but the two of you knew each other well enough to not find the topic awkward. 

“She didn’t enjoy daisy chains quite as much as you do,” he smirked. 

The day was nice. A perfect day for a picnic under a tree. You let Cullen lay his head on your lap as you threaded daisies together, smiling as he watched you.

“What is it?” you asked, focused on the tiny flower stem you were braiding into the chain. 

Below you, Cullen just watched you, his blue eyes affectionate as he laid against your lap. “When I met you all in Omaha … Were you planning on coming back? Before I asked?”

 You stayed silent for a moment before lowering your hands, draping the daisy chain over Cullen’s head to drape around his neck as he sat up, leaning against his arm. 

“No,” you answered. “Before I … Before you found me, I was … I was planning on going back to Savannah. Find my family. Start anew.” You sighed, looking down to your hands. “After the war, James came home to me. He came home, and we promised we would make a new life together, he’d find a job, and we’d be well off. After losing him … I … i couldn’t stand the thought of this railroad anymore, and when I heard there were talks of shutting down … I … thought about it.”

Cullen nodded, meeting your gaze with his intense, but somehow, saddened look. Bowing his head, looking down to the daisy chain you had draped over his neck, he nodded. “I’m glad you came back.”

“I’m glad you came back,” you repeated, emphasizing your words as you poked him on the shoulder. “When I saw you had survived the winter, were meeting with the Board in NEw York … when I learned you were trying so hard to keep the railroad going, I was … so happy.” 

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” he started, voice low as he sat up, resting his arm against his raised knee. 

“Yes I do,” you smiled, sitting forward. 

“You don’t,” he pressed. “This is Hell. Literally. I … I would hate to lose you to it.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, running a hand through his hair as you brushed it from his face. “You’re gonna have to find someone else to put up with your crap if I leave, and honestly, not many people can,” you smiled. 

He turned to face you with a broad smile on his face. “True.”

“I … I love you, Cullen.”

His gaze shot back up to yours at the words, his eyes wide at the confession. “I …. “

“I thought you should know,” you mumbled, turning away. 

“I love you too,” he responded, hand on your cheek as he leaned in, kissing you.

[arthurmorgan-s-heart]

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader: What Will Be Left Behind

Summary: Robbing the Saint Denis bank will be dangerous - why wouldn’t it be? You know that, but you can’t help being nervous. Arthur tries to help.

Warning: Smut

It’s almost midnight, and Shady Belle is quiet and still. The room you share with Arthur is dark as you push open the door leading to the balcony overlooking the back of the house, letting the moonlight stream in as you come to stand at the banister. The cool night breeze sweeps through the leaves of the trees, and you take a deep breath as you look at the darkened swamp, trying to steady your nerves.

It’s a familiar feeling, this anxiety that finds itself clawing at your heart tonight. You always felt like this, the night before a big job - where everything that could go wrong would run through your mind over and over in an endless loop, making you restless and anxious. And this would be the biggest job of all. 

The last.

Despite your nervousness, you can’t help the flutter of excitement that your heart gives at the thought that, in a matter of weeks, all of this will be behind you. You close your eyes, focusing on the thought that you’ll have a new life, free and safe, with the man you love. You smile, allowing a small part of yourself to believe that, perhaps, everything would be fine, after all.

You open your eyes when you hear the door to Arthur’s room open and close, the rhythm of familiar footsteps thudding against Shady Belle’s worn floors as someone comes to stand at the threshold of the door you’d left open.

“Hey, darlin’,” Arthur says from behind you, and you turn your head to look at him. He seems tired, but he’s smiling as he steps forward, letting his hand brush against yours as he comes to stand next to you. “Thought you’d be asleep.”

You answer with a smile of your own, though the sight of him kindling the dark fears that had haunted you for the last few days anew. God, it would be so easy for him to be killed, or hurt, or captured, or -

The feeling of Arthur draping an arm around your waist and drawing you against his side pulls you from your thoughts, and he kisses your temple, seemingly quieting the storm raging in your mind, if only for a second.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, lips lingering on your skin, and you nod, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you answer. “Nervous, is all.”

“I know,” he says. You feel him kiss the top of your head before laying his cheek against your hair. “S’gonna be okay. Ain’t the first bank we robbed.”

You chuckle quietly, feeling yourself relax slightly.

“No, it sure ain’t,” you reply, lifting your head to look at him, and he smiles reassuringly before turning to wrap both of his arms around you in a warm embrace. You hold onto him tightly, burying your face in his shoulder.

“I just - “ you start, trying you best to keep your voice steady. “I worry, Arthur. About you. About what could happen tomorrow. I don’t - I don’t know if I - “

He pulls away slightly, and you feel his fingers under your chin, raising your head and making you look up at him. You open your eyes, and he’s still smiling, his hand shifting from your chin to your cheek as he leans down to press his forehead against yours.

“I ain’t never gonna leave you,” he whispers. “Whatever happens.”

You heave a quiet sigh, shaking your head slowly as you close your eyes again.

“Sometimes, it just ain’t up to you,” you say quietly. He doesn’t answer, simply tightening his grasp on you as he takes a deep breath before exhaling slowly.

You stand like this for a while, simply holding each other, swaying slightly from side to side as you try not to think of what the next day might bring.

“You know,” Arthur starts eventually, one hand coming up to thread through the strands of your hair in a steady, soothing rhythm, “this time next year, things’re gonna be different. We gonna be far away from here. From all this. And free.”

You open your eyes, and you raise your head, meeting his gaze - his eyes are bright and filled with hope. You can’t help but smile at seeing him like this - it seems like years since you’d last seen him so optimistic about anything. You can almost forget the obstacles that await the both of you before you can ever get there.

“Together,” you add quietly, and you feel warmth spread through your chest as he leans down to press a feather-light kiss to your lips, his hands smoothing down your back to rest at your hips before he pulls away slightly, looking at you for a moment before he brings on hand back up to your face, cradling your cheek.

“Always,” he whispers before leaning in, his kiss long and deep and slow this time. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing yourself as close to him as you possibly can, and he tightens his grip on you, kissing you again, and again, reverently, adoringly, as if he had never kissed you before. His hand shifts from your cheek to the back of your head, tangling in your hair, and you moan encouragingly as you feel him take half a step forward, pinning you between himself and the banister behind you. He kisses you ardently, greedily, with all the heat of a man who had finally found a reason to want to live, after years of searching, grieving and drifting. Your hands slip down to his chest, bunching into his shirt, all thoughts of the next day’s robbery and its dangers leaving your mind as you let yourself be consumed by him. 

“Arthur…” you whisper breathlessly in between kisses, and he pulls away just enough to meet your eyes and take in the sight of your fevered eyes and flushed skin before his mouth is on you again, kissing down the side of your neck. You can’t help a quiet moan, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of his head as you feel him press himself even closer to you, his hand leaving your hair to roam down your back to your hip, gripping tight, moving lower still, splaying low on your stomach for a moment before you feel his fingers between your legs. Even through the thick material of your trousers, his touch sends sparks skittering up from your core to your stomach, wrenching a small moan from your throat.

"Shh, darlin'," he whispers, even as he moves his fingers against you, with just enough pressure to send shivers running up your spine, laying hot kisses to the skin of your throat. You spread your legs slightly as you cling to him, silently begging for more as you grind yourself against his hand, and he huffs out a quiet chuckle, lips grazing the hollow of your throat before he comes back up to your mouth for another kiss.

"Thinkin' we should take this elsewhere," he breathes as he parts from you, his hand leaving you to rest at your hip instead, and you nod eagerly, your hands falling away from his chest as you let him guide you the few short steps you need to go back inside. The bedroom is dark, but neither of you notice, too engulfed in each other to care about anything else. He slams the door to the balcony closed before turning back to you, hands finding your hips as he kisses you again. You bring your hands to the collar of his shirt, experly working the buttons holding his shirt closed free as he pushes you further into the room. You laugh breathily at the groan that claws itself out of his throat when he feels you press your palm against his bare chest, your laughter turning into a gasp of surprise when you feel the edge of a table at the back of your thighs, your free hand grabbing at the back of his neck reflexively as you pull away slightly, just enough to shoot him a reproachful look.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he whispers with a low, quiet chuckle before leaning forward to press his lips to the side of your neck as his hands leave your hips to come find the buckle of your belt. It falls open easily under his fingers, and he makes quick work of the buttons of your trousers, groaning when he feels one of your hands brush down over his chest and his stomach, hovering at his belt for just a moment before reaching lower. He growls when he feels you press a hand against him, hips rolling into your palm greedily as he heaves a long, shuddering breath.

“Sweetheart…” he whispers hoarsely as you stroke him through the thick fabric of his trousers, bracing himself with one hand on the table behind you while the other comes to grip your hip tightly, his head falling forward as he presses his lips to the side of your neck. You turn your head to kiss his temple, allowing him a bit more pressure, earning yourself a half smothered groan against your skin that has heat running through every vein in your body, gathering at your center.

He almost whines when you remove your hand, raising his head to look at you with veiled eyes. You meet his gaze as you reach for the waist of your trousers, and you hear his breath catch in his throat when he sees you start to pull them down your legs, along with your underwear. His hands leave you to start working at his own clothes, shrugging his suspenders off his shoulder before making quick work of his belt and trousers. You kick off your boots, stepping out of your clothes, and he’s on you again in half a breath, his hands finding the bare skin of your thighs as he kisses you. Your hands reach up to grab his shoulders, and he lifts you up to sit on the edge of the table, immediately taking his place between your spread thighs as he presses himself as close to you as he possibly can. His lips are still on yours as you feel his hands smooth up your thighs, over your hips and the dip of your waist, cupping your breasts through your clothes before his fingers find the buttons of your shirt. He only has time to unbutton a few before you reach down to his trousers, pulling them down just enough to free him before you wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly. You feel his fingers falter and stop, your shirt hanging half-undone as he unwittingly thrusts into your hand, a deep growl rumbling up from deep within his chest as he closes his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to get lost in the slow, steady rhythm of your motion. His hands reach down, hooking beneath your thighs and pulling you closer to him as he lowers his head to kiss your throat. You steady yourself with one hand at the nape of his neck, the other still on him as you bring him against you, the feeling of you so close to him making his breath hitch in his throat.

You stroke him for a few more moments, slowly, lazily, until he shifts restlessly, gathering every shred of his remaining will to not simply move forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a pleading groan as he holds himself still as best he can. After a long while, you finally, mercifully let go of him, instead reaching for his hip to pull him closer, and he pushes himself inside you with a low, rumbling groan, echoed by a moan of your own as your hand bunches into the loose fabric of his shirt. He stays still for half a heartbeat before rolling his hips into yours, deep and slow, wrenching a breathless sigh from you, and he does it again, and again, heat gathering low in your stomach as you pull him close. He lays open-mouthed kisses to whatever skin your half-undone shirt allows him to reach as he sets a languid pace, and you close your eyes, your hand letting go of his shirt and smoothing up his back to come rest at the back of his head, your fingers tangling in his hair as you moan quietly with every thrust, feeling yourself being slowly overcome by the warm waves of pleasure that wash through you with every motion. You feel his hot breath against your skin as his lips brush back up to your mouth to kiss you, sweetly, tenderly, even as his thrusts grow harder, faster, and you part from him with a gasp as you feel the heat running through your body constrict into a tight ball in the pit of your stomach, waiting to burst. Your hand comes to cradle his cheek as you open your eyes to meet his, whispering quiet praise as you feel him near his end as well. Soon, he’s squeezing his eyes shut, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours as he grips your thighs tight enough to sting, his breath coming in gasps and moans as he sways just on the edge of his pleasure. The ball in your stomach slowly unravels into fiery tendrils that snake into every corner of your body as you reach down between the two of you, finding your core to trace tight, quick circles at your center, closing your eyes as you feel yourself start to come apart, before, finally, you're pushed over the edge, with a moan that sounds half like his name. The feeling of you tightening around him is what breaks him, and he comes with a too-loud growl, though neither of you can bring yourself to care as he pulls from you to spill himself on the inside of your thighs, murmuring half-mumbled words that you can’t quite catch.

He exhales shakily as he leans down to rest his forehead against your shoulder, still shuddering with the remnants of his pleasure, and you say nothing, simply threading your fingers through his hair gently as you try to catch your breath. A few moments pass by before he lifts his head, meeting your eyes as he slowly brings your legs back down to the table, kissing your temple before he steps away to the washbasin tucked in a corner of the room, coming back to you with a damp washcloth. His touch is gentle as he cleans the both of you, looking back up to meet your eyes when he’s done. Your hands reach for his shoulders, pulling him close to press a long, soft kiss to his lips, and he leans into you, hands finding your waist and holding tight.

“I’ll always be here,” he whispers when you finally part, moving away to meet your eyes. “I’ll always be with you. Whatever happens.”

You smile, bringing both of your hands up to cup his face, leaning forward to kiss his forehead.

“I know,” you whisper against his skin - and, somehow, really, you do.

Don’t know if anyone is even still reading these, but here, have more nasty porn.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[queen-scribbles]

"No reason at all" from the kiss prompts for whoever you most want to write for!

One AJ/Nate BECAUSE I CAN kiss coming right up. :D

It was funny, Abigail mused, how even though so much had changed, some things stayed the same.

The supernatural was real, she’d met several different races, negotiated a treaty with one group, found out her father had known about this world, she and Mason were actually sort of friends now...

And still she hesitated outside Nate’s door with butterflies in her stomach. But even those were different; anticipation rather than nerves. Well. Along with nerves. With one last deep breath and slight biting of her lower lip, Abigail raised one hand and rapped her knuckles against the door.

It opened fast enough to make her wonder if Nate had been standing there waiting for her to knock. A theory further born out by the warm smile already curving his lips. “AJ, this is a pleasant surprise; I wasn’t expecting to see you today. Did you need something?”

“No. Well, sort of, yeah.” She winced at the stumbling words and shoved her hands in her pockets, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. “I’m off today for the first time in absolute ages an’ I wanted to, um, spend at least part of it with you. If you don’t have anything important to do, I mean.”

Nate’s face lit up and his smile widened until it crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I’d love to. But you could have called; I would have been more than happy to come to you. I know the drive out isn’t exactly kind to your car.”

“Eh, I just walked today,” Abigail shrugged, smile of her own tugging her lips.  “Besides, It’s handled worse. And I’ll deal with any terrain I hafta if you’re waitin’ at the other end.”

Nate chuckled, clearly catching the reference.

“Are you sure-” She leaned against the doorframe, but misjudged the balance and started to teeter.

He caught her arm to steady her and was gentleman enough not to laugh, even if she saw the mirth flickering in his eyes. “Careful.”

“Thanks.” Abigail cleared her throat and tried not to think too much about either the flush climbing her cheeks or the warmth of his hand on her arm. “Are y’ sure you don’t have anything important...?”

“Nothing more important than you,” Nate said, letting go of her arm to brush stray curls back behind her ear.

Abigail bit her lip as she smiled, the butterflies in her stomach whirling anew.  “Right, then. I know it isn’t a terribly excitin’ plan, but I was thinkin’ we could sit in the library an’ read together for a while?”

“Ah, so it’s the books you really wanted,” he said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“No, b’cause we both-” She caught the glimmer of laughter in his eyes and narrowed her own, one brow arched playfully. “Are you teasin’ me, Agent Sewell?”

Nate broke into a wide, warm smile. “Maybe just a little, Detective Jenings.” His smile softened in a way that made her bite her lip as he freed one hand to hold out toward her. “Truthfully, I can think of no better way to spend my day.”

“It’s a date, then,” Abigail grinned, slipping her hand into his with alacrity for the walk through the halls.

                                                 ---

It proved every bit the perfect choice she’d thought it would be. Settled in on one of the deep comfortable couches, all the books a girl could want, and Nate right next to her. Abigail was so lost in her book it wasn’t even a conscious decision to shift so she was leaning more against Nate than the back of the couch, but he didn’t seem fazed by it. He just moved his arm out of the way til she’d settled, then let it rest around her shoulders, his thumb rubbing gentle, absent-minded arcs against her arm.

A few pages further into her book, Abigail reached up to intertwine her fingers with his, confident they could both read one-handed without too much difficulty. That confidence proved well-founded, and they promptly lost all track of time. It wasn’t until an idle glance at her finished books revealed the stack had grown to six that she realized how much of the day had passed. Guilt curled briefly in her chest, but was quickly dispelled with a single glance up at Nate. Even if she’d not meant to claim so much of his time, he hardly looked like he minded that she had; contentedness plain on his face and his thumb brushing across her knuckles as he read.

I could just stare at him forever, she thought, entranced by the way the sunlight caught his hair and played across his face, how happy he looked. It made her chest ache--but it was a good ache--to know she was part of why he looked so content.

”How could I not be? Having you with me in my favorite place,” he’d said before, as if it were more than enough explanation, and it was apparently just as true now.

Abigail wasn’t sure what compelled her to break the silence, but she did. “Nate?”

Those dizzyingly warm brown eyes swung without hesitation from his book to her. “Yes, Abigail?”

The happy ache in her chest strangled off her voice, so instead she untangled her hand from his to cup his jaw and tug him down into a kiss.

It quickly turned deeper than intended, and Abigail was only vaguely aware of the faint thud as Nate’s book hit the floor before his fingers slid into her hair. Both of them leaned into the kiss, holding each other close as it lingered and deepened further.

Unfortunately, breathing was still a necessity, and Abigail was forced to break the kiss with a ragged gasp for air.

Nate chuckled and rested his forehead against hers. “What was that for?”

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, grinning to match the spark she saw in them as she mumbled, “Do I need a reason?”

He smiled and leaned in for a quick, soft--almost chaste--kiss. “No.”

“Good, I don’t really have one,” Abigail confessed, wrinkling her nose over a small, sheepish smile. She traced her fingers down his jawline and back up, smiling wider at the quiet, shaky breath he pulled as she did. “It’s just good seein’ you so happy, and being so happy, and...” The words trailed off, insufficient to describe the wonderful ache in her chest and distracted by the smile tugging his lips. “What?”

Nate shook his head, pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “I’m very glad you chose to spend your day with me, AJ,” he said simply, then bent down to retrieve his book and settled back in to resume reading.

Abigail did the same, biting back a giddy smile as she found her lost page in the tome resting across her lap. They lapsed into the comfortable silence of shared contentment and lost themselves in good company and good books once more.

At least until Abigail’s stomach started growling too loudly to be ignored, driving them from their solitude in search of something for her to eat.

[redeadepression]

Colter | John Marston/Abigail Roberts Marston

Reflections Series:  Part 7. 

These stories are intended to be a series but can be read as standalones. However this is the first story of the series that relies heavily on backstory from it’s predecessor, Shattering. I do recommend you at least read that one first for the entire story to make sense to you as there are flashback sequences that take place straight after that story. However it is not completely necessary.

Relationships: John Marston/Abigail Roberts Marston

Prominent Characters: John Marston, Abigail Marston, Arthur Morgan, Susan Grimshaw, Mary-Beth Gaskill

Summery: Following on from the events of Shattering we skip to the events at the beginning of the game, just after the Blackwater job gone wrong. John struggles with his injury after nearly being eaten alive and we follow him through the canon and random camp events that happen in Chapter 1: Colter.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of self harm, Mild gore (mostly medical-care), Suicidal thoughts, Drug use.

Tags: Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly love, suicidal thoughts, self-harm  Words: 16699

Author’s Notes: We’ve finally moved into canon! Yay! This took me 6 months so hopefully you guys like it! Normally the fics in this series have a lot of Abigail’s internal thoughts as well but this fic is very John-centric. Also there is as usual, lots of brotherly John|Arthur interactions in this fic.

~~~~~

John stared out over the cliff-side with glazed eyes, too dry for how soaked through the rest of his body was. His back ached as it pressed against the sharp edge of the precipice. Exhausted muscles shivering against the bracing cold. Wet snow seeped through every inch of his clothing, making the fabric heavy and tacky.

His teeth chattered together so violently he worried they might shatter. He was so viciously cold. His entire body being swallowed by the chill as he slowly froze to death.

His face was on fire. Burning as if he was being branded in two long streaks along the side of his cheek. He licked his lips, the cold not enough to numb the sting of where they had been ripped opened by dirty claws.

The whistle of the wind was almost loud enough to muffle the howls of the wolves in the distance. He unconsciously pressed himself further back against the rocks and snow. Curling in on himself at the sound. The ever-present fear that they would return for him had his heart in his throat.

He had never feared death. The inevitability of it made fearing it seem stupid. He found no point in wallowing over where and when. But if he had ever spent any time wondering. If he had, had one thousand guesses as to when and where his time would come. He never would have thought at the age of twenty six. In the middle of a blizzard, stuck on the side of a mountain, worlds away from where anyone would logically think to look for him.

As the wild beasts howled not too far away, he closed his eyes and pursed his cracked and bleeding lips. He just hoped if this really was his time that he would succumb to the cold before they found him.

~~

 *Flashback*

John ran the saddle soap over the leather tack on his knee and ignored the heavy crunch of footsteps he heard halt a few feet in front of him.

He swallowed, inhaling a deep breath to keep himself from speaking. To force himself to keep his eyes on his saddle and not look up to meet Arthur’s eyes before the other man spoke first.

The silence stretched on. The scrape of the soap against the leather the only sound between them as they both waited stubbornly for the other to make the first move.

John heard Arthur sigh, long and loud. The crunch of his boots on the gravel starting anew as he made his way around John and plonked himself down on a crate by his side.

John could see him out of the corner of his eye. Holding his hat in his hands as he rested his forearms on his knees. He twirled the suede gambler in his fingertips as he mulled over his own thoughts. The silence continuing on for some time until John felt he couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Just say it!” He shouted, slamming the saddle soap down on the table behind him and holding back a satisfied smirk at the small jump Arthur made at the gesture.

Arthur frowned, his grip on the brim of his hat making his knuckles shine white as he narrowed his eyes at the younger man.

He took a second to compose himself, licking his lips as he calmly placed the hat down on the table behind him and clasped his hands together.

“You ain’t thinkin’ right.” He said simply. Making John roll his eyes in response. Of course that would be his opinion.

“Oh yeah?” John asked, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his front pocket and placing one in his mouth. “How’s that?” He asked, voice muffled by the hand he cupped around his face to protect the flame of his match from the wind.

The cig caught fire easily and John took a long drag, taking a second to hold the smoke in his lungs as he flicked his lit match to the ground and stomped it out with his boot.

“You’re hurtin’.” Arthur said in a matter-of-fact way that made John’s skin crawl. As if it was common knowledge that he was in pain.

That his heart was broken.

John exhaled the smoke through his nose. Raising the butt to his mouth once more and quickly taking another drag to avoid having to speak.

“Now I don’t know why. But you can’t abandon Abigail and your boy over a silly fight.” Arthur said gruffly, irritation seeping into his tone at the fact that John was avoiding the conversation.

“I ain’t abanodnin’ no one.” John said firmly, turning to look at Arthur for the first time since he’d approached. His eyes grazing over the other man’s hardened expression slowly before turning back to the scenery in front of him. For the first time in his life, he truly felt like he was in the right. He wasn’t about to sit and be lectured for something he actually felt good about.

“You’re makin’ ‘em sleep outside.” Arthur hissed.

“I’m makin’ Abigail sleep outside. She’s makin’ Jack sleep outside.” John retorted, stressing the pronoun in the hopes Arthur would see his side of it all.

“She don’t want to be away from her son, you can’t fault her for that.”

“I ain’t faultin’ no one for nothin’.” John hissed back, venom in his tone. “She don’t want to be with me, she don’t get to sleep in my tent. End of story.” John spat, taking another drag on his smoke before dropping it on the ground in front of him. He stood, stepping over it with his boot as he walked away, intending to leave the conversation.

Arthur followed, grabbing hold of John’s bicep and spinning him around so they were facing one another once more. John hissed uncomfortably but recovered himself quick enough that Arthur didn’t question. He cocked a brow at the annoyed wince on the other man’s face but powered on none-the less.

“What you mean she don’t want to be with you?” Arthur asked quietly, eyes flicking towards some of the other Gang members that were casually staring in their direction. “You said she loved you.” He said even softer, barely a whisper as he leaned towards the other man.

John swallowed audibly. Tongue darting out to lick at his lips as he averted his eyes.

“Yeah well… Turns out it she don’t.” He answered after a moment. Voice stiff, lips pursed.

“What you mean?” Arthur frowned, hand squeezing John’s bicep again after a moment of silence and eliciting another hiss from the younger man.

John shrugged away, voice rising, annoyance in his tone.

“She just said it to keep me ‘round. She don’t mean it.” He snapped, clearly hurt and trying to keep it at bay. Arthur rolled his eyes

“Sure she does.”

“No… She don’t.” John swallowed thickly. “Guess I shoulda’ figured when she never said it back all those years.”

Arthur felt a pang to his heart at the words. An uncomfortable sting he hadn’t expected as he took in the hurt in his brother’s eyes. He looked miserable. Truly, miserable. Arthur realised as John frowned in his direction.

“You’re blowin’ things out of proportion.” Arthur said in an effort to console him. “Spiralling.” He added as John narrowed his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about Arthur.” John said slowly after a tense moment. It was all well and good for the older man to have an opinion based on what he knew of the situation. But when ‘what he knew’ wasn’t enough to go on, it made John’s blood boil that he was being so harshly judged.

There was a long silence. Tension in the air as Arthur contemplated how to reply. He had no idea what to say. He had known John was in pain. But the question as to why hung around the gang like a thick cloud that wouldn’t dissipate.

Gossip and rumours spreading through them like wildfire as they all made sure to tread likely around John’s fragile exterior and Abigail’s temper.

Karen was probably the only person that came close to having a clue and John resented the fact that for some reason, she seemed to want to keep her mouth shut for the first time in her life.

He watched Arthur sadly; waiting.

When nothing was said in reply he huffed audibly. Turning to leave, this time not being followed.

Arthur wanted to protect Abigail and Jack even if that meant throwing John in the lake and letting him drown in the process. The older man didn’t care to hear John’s side of things and John wasn’t about to volunteer it if he wasn’t asked. The very real threat of being mocked for having feelings was too much for him. He couldn’t deal with explaining everything to Arthur only to be shut down because his brother hadn’t asked for his sob-story.

Arthur watched him go, feeling regretful that he hadn’t spoken. He had confronted John with the intent of shaking some sense into him. Physically if he had to. But after only a brief conversation he could see plainly what others had been whispering the last few days.

John was hurt and for some reason that fact resonated within him more than he thought it ought to.

 ~~

 The loud crack of a gunshot startled John from his thoughts. He gasped for air, the shock of the sound having shaken him.

He listened intently, the whistling of the wind the only sound his ears would register. He started to wonder if maybe he had imagined it. His own breathing the loudest sound in the vicinity.

He sat bolt upright at the sound of voices. In the distance he heard them calling. Calling his name and asking if he could hear them.

“I’m here!” He screamed, pushing himself away from the cliffside as if the few inches he shuffled would help his voice travel. “I’m over here!” He shouted again, hands coming up to cup his mouth in an effort to make himself louder. “Help!” He added after a second of thought, voice weakening with the word.

He hated it with a passion. He’d had to scream it more times in his life than any other word.

He recognized Arthur’s voice, sighing internally as he slumped back against the cliff. They could hear him. He was going to be okay. But why the hell did it have to be Arthur?

He waited what felt like an eternity for his friends to come into view. Calling out every now and then after what he deemed to be a long enough silence that he was worried he may have hallucinated the entire situation.

Javier reassured him every time that they were coming. He was going to be alright.

He looked up at Arthur weakly as the older man squatted on the cliff-face above him. Feeling incredibly small in his time of need. The smirk on his brother’s face irritating the shit out of him. But he was grateful non-the-less.

“Never thought I’d say this…” John started sarcastically. “But, good to see you Arthur Morgan.” He finished with a genuine thankfulness to his tone.

“That’s quite a scratch you got there.” Arthur said blatantly, ignoring the thanks and getting straight to the point. John narrowed his eyes as the other continued. “You don’t look too good.”

“Don’t feel too good neither.” John replied simply as the older man jumped down to his level. Effortlessly plucking him off the ground and on to his shoulder. “I’m freezing.” John croaked, grunting in pain as he was roughly shoved up onto the next level of cliffside and Javier grabbed his arms to steady him.

“Don’t die yet cowboy.” He heard Arthur mumble from somewhere behind him as he breathed an unsteady sigh of relief to be in safe hands.

 ~~

John hugged Javier’s waist as tightly as he was able. The burning ache in his face was exacerbated by the scratchy fabric of the other main’s coat as he pressed his face into it. He huddled against him, wincing at the pain but knowing full well to turn his head would be vomiting the bile steadily rising in his throat at the movement.

He shook uncontrollably, hoping to hell Javier couldn’t hear the small whimpers he was letting slip against his shoulder blades as they galloped towards shelter. Wind whipped his wet hair around his unmarred cheek and neck, adding another uncomfortable sensation to his already over-sensitive, throbbing body.

“I don’t feel too good.” He choked, managing to keep the vomit down as he warned his saddle-mate of his state. He’d never felt so sick. So… hurt. From the second he’d heard them calling his name he had been ready to pass out. Knowing that they meant safety. His body wanting to shut down now that he knew they would take him to shelter. The imminent threat of death seeming more distant than it did while he was alone on the mountain, even if it hadn’t really left his side.

“You still with us Marston?” Arthur shouted from somewhere to his left, voice muffled by the snow-storm.

“Just about…” John answered weakly.

“You’re gonna be okay! We have some shelter now!” Javier shouted over the sound of the blizzard. Feeling John’s arms start to loosen around his waist he felt it best to keep him talking. Keep his mind working and his tongue moving to prevent blacking out.

“Thanks for comin’ for me…” John said, louder than his last statement so Arthur could hear it too. The older man stayed silent while Javier answered.

“Of course!” He exclaimed, petting one of John’s hands with his own. “That bullet in Blackwater, now this! You’ve had a hell of a time.”

John hummed in agreement before replying.

“And Arthur always says I’m lucky.” He jabbed, poking the bear on purpose as punishment for him not replying to his thanks.

“None of us are lucky right now.” Javier said in an effort to end the conversation he could feel turning sour. It worked briefly, both men stayed silent for a beat before Arthur piped up.

“You know, we’re gonna need to come up with a better story for that scar.” He prodded, mirth in his tone.

John scoffed, feeling a spark of anger course through him and liven him enough to rebuttal.

“So, freezing, Bleeding, Starving and damn near getting eaten’ to death ain’t good enough for you?” He asked incredulously. Letting his head loll to the side after he finished speaking. The darkness closing in.

Arthur ignored the statement, choosing instead to encourage them onwards. Javier pointing out the buildings in the distance to John, who couldn’t really see anything if he was being honest.

They rode into the little mining town less than a minute later. Arthur yelling out for help as they stopped in front of a small wooden shack. The door flew opened, Abigail bursting forth, quickly followed by Bill and Lenny.

“You’re alive!” She screamed! “Oh, you’re alive!”

John felt his heart flutter at the sound. A brief moment of weightlessness descended upon him as he heard the genuine concern in her voice.

“Help him down!” Javier shouted, as John was jolted from his place. He gasped, crying out as his leg twisted while he was being lowered down onto the other men’s shoulders. “Ay, careful idiotas, it’s his leg!” Javier yelled, shaking his head as John rested his weight on the other men and was carried towards the cabin.

“Come on let’s get you warm!” Abigail exclaimed, running ahead of them to hold the door opened. John closed his eyes, feeling his heart quicken at her tone. Sounds around him suddenly becoming more muffled as he was dragged through the doorway and the warmth of the room hit him.

Abigail led them to the cot at the far end of the room. Fussing over his clothes as he was being laid down.

“This is a new low even by your standards.” She snapped as his ass hit the cot and he grunted in pain.

The darkness finally took its hold as Arthur grumbled outside about lost maiden’s needing saving.

 ~~

He regained consciousness with a gasp, crying out at the force of his face being shoved to the side. He struggled in someone else’s grip. Arms waving frantically as he fought to fend off the large snarling animals on top of him.

“No!” He screamed. “No!” He was held down roughly by two sets of hands. Voices he couldn’t discern telling him it was alright. Asking him to calm down.

“It’s okay! It’s alright!” Susan’s voice stood out above the rest. Her shrill tone shushing him more affectively than anyone else’s as he started to remember where he was.

Being saved.

His breathing began to calm. Heartbeat returning to a somewhat normal pace as he remembered he was with his family.

“It’s alright John. Just checking you out.” Reverend Swanson assured, hand holding tightly on his left arm while Susan pressed down on his chest. The Reverend help up a syringe. John couldn’t tell if he was waving it lazily or if it was his vision moving it for him. “Gonna give you something for the pain.” Swanson explained as Susan began to roll up his sleeve.

He wasn’t sure when he had been dressed down to his union suit, but that was all he was wearing in this moment.

He watched as Grimshaw’s tired face began to frown. Turning his bare arm in her hand and looking it over from all angles before flicking her eyes towards his. He swallowed audibly, knowing what she saw and begging her to ignore it.

She did, rolling his sleeve back down to just above his elbow before holding him still for the Reverend.

He felt the sting of the needle and the cool of the morphine running through his veins. The ache of his body already starting to dull as the medicine worked its magic.

He suddenly felt light. Weightless as he started to wonder if perhaps, he had been overdosed. He’d had morphine in the past but it had never made him feel this heavenly.

He looked around him slowly through half-lidded eyes. Suddenly registering that there were other people in the room. All the women were gathered around a small fireplace. Most of them blatantly looking in his direction until Susan snapped at them to mind their beeswax.

They looked away, Tilly turning Jack back to face the fire and shielding his little eyes from his failure of a Father.

John inhaled sharply, looking around for Abigail and realising she was now stood in between Grimshaw and Swanson. He held his hand out by reflex. Forgetting they weren’t really on the best terms. But she seemed to pity him. Looking at it for a moment before taking it in hers and looking away awkwardly.

John felt better for the fact that she had afforded him that small comfort. Remembering her words as he had drifted off before.

“This is a new low, even by your standards.”

His heart panged as the words echoed through his head. He squeezed her hand softly with what little strength he had and felt her squeeze back once before letting go and taking a step back.

He frowned as Susan leaned into his vision. The firelight glinting off the large crooked needle she held in her hand.

John’s eyes widened, throat feeling dry as he tried to speak. Words didn’t come as easily as he had imagined and before he knew what was happening, Grimshaw was asking Swanson to hold him down.

He struggled frantically, trying to get out of her reach. She had stitched him with that bastard in the past and it hurt enough to bring tears to his eyes when it was on his thigh. He wasn’t about to let her touch his face with it.

He shook his head desperately, trying to get out of Swanson’s grip but he was too weakened from his time on the mountain.

“Abi?” He asked, lips trembling as he resigned himself to the pain. At the very least he wanted her by his side while he endured it. “Abi?” He asked again, blurry vision focusing on her pale face as she covered her mouth in disgust.

She took a step back, shaking her head as she looked at the needle with fearful eyes. She had never had a strong stomach for gore.

John whined, the morphine slurring his speech as he pleaded for her not to leave. She shook her head sadly, backing away even as he reached for her with wide eyes. Terrified.

“Please?” He asked softly. The room full of eyes behind her burning into him as he begged her to come back. His outstretched hand shaking uncontrollably as fear pooled in his gut.

A warm hand took his suddenly, soft fingers lacing between his as he turned to face its owner. Mary-Beth smiled at him sadly, her other hand coming to rest on top of his as she squeezed reassuringly.

Abigail looked between them briefly before taking her leave. The cold wind whistling inside and chilling him to the bone as she exited the door above his head.

He inhaled a stuttered breath as he managed to break free from Swanson’s grip enough to curl in on the mattress. Susan’s comforting hand petting his shoulder softly before she moved it to hold his cheek taut so she could begin her work stitching him.

He felt himself whimper as the needle pressed against his cheek and he clenched his teeth against a cry as she pressed it into him, making him tremble.

The morphine dulled the pain somewhat. Making the room spin and vomit rise in his throat as he struggled to keep his composure. He could hear the whispers of hushed voices in the distance and knew they were all laughing at how weak he was. He was sure he could hear his name. Muffled laughter as he held Mary-Beth’s hand tight enough to break her fingers.

She hissed against the pain but kept her mouth shut. Not wanting to snuff out his only light in the darkness.

“It’ll be alright John.” She said kindly, leaning closer to talk to him softly. She averted her eyes as she caught a glimpse of Mrs Grimshaw’s work. Her stomach turning at the sight. “It’s not that bad.” She lied, eyes flicking to his briefly. She exhaled sharply at the sight of a single tear rolling over the bridge of his nose. Her heart aching for him in this moment.

This was the kind of thing she wrote about. Not lived through. She couldn’t even imagine what he had been feeling as Abigail left him in his moment of need.

“You’ll be okay…” She cooed quietly, tightening her own grip on his hand and petting it tightly with her other.

“Nearly finished this one Mr Marston.” Susan said softly, her thumb running lightly over his unmarred flesh in an effort to soothe him. “Not long now.”

John swallowed thickly, body trembling as their voices started to fade. He wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out or if shock was finally settling him. But either way the sting of the needle was slowly disappearing and the room was becoming oddly silent. A ringing in his ears overtook the quiet assurances of his friends and his eyes rolled back in his head as he slid into unconsciousness.

 ~

 John gasped. Eyes blinking in the darkness as he awoke with a fight. Heart racing, breath uneven as the sound of snarling jaws snapping together and the glint of white teeth faded into the dark room.

He turned to the left, focusing on the last smouldering embers of what was once a roaring fire. The women were still huddled around it, clinging together to shut out the bracing cold. They were slumped against one another, most snoring softly as the blankets they had tucked up under their chins rustled in the cold wind filtering through the broken planks on the wall.

John felt his breath leave him in stuttered pants. The morphine had worn off during his slumber and the burning hot, throbbing pain of infection had overtaken his entire face. His cheek felt as though it could boil water. The tension on his stitches pulled his mouth in to a scowl and he winced as he tried to correct it.

The scratches on his arms and legs had also been attended to while he was out. They didn’t burn as bad as his face. But they still throbbed heartily, making his entire body twitch uncomfortably.

The desire to cool his face down began to overwhelm him as he looked frantically around the room for Abigail.

He could see her slumped against the wall at the opposite end of the cabin. Jack in her lap as they cuddled together under a large fur blanket.

He tried to speak. A strangled sound leaving him as he realised how dry his mouth was. He cleared his throat. Trying in vain to wet his mouth with saliva as he whispered for her attention.

“Abi…” He croaked, not wanting to wake anyone else unnecessarily. “A… Abi…” He tried again, a little louder. Voice giving way to a dry cough as he waved his hand to try and get her attention.

He knew deep down it was useless. But the desperation he felt inside his chest was mounting and he felt it only fair to at least try something rational before he did something stupid in an effort to take away the pain.

Afterall, Arthur and Javier had risked their lives to pull him off that mountainside and bring him back to shelter and safety.

He sighed deeply, closing his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall at his predicament. He hadn’t been much of a crier since he hit adulthood. But these last few years had really taken its toll on him. It seemed to be one thing after another, day in day out and he was finding it increasingly hard to hold back the anxiety and depression that had been looming under the surface for the last few months.

Being physically injured had always brought out his vulnerability. He had held it together real well when he had been shot in Blackwater. But now, after damn near freezing, starving and being eaten he wasn’t so sure he would be able to keep his composure much longer.

His leg ached where he’d been hit by the bullet. Throbbed painfully like his face and added to his misery.

He rolled on to his side, wincing at the pain that shot up his leg as he put pressure on his wound.

Grabbing at the edge of the bed with both hands he slowly inched himself closer to the edge. His left arm shot out to stabilize himself on the ground and stop the entire cot from toppling. Slowly he dragged himself out of bed. Teeth gritted together against the pain and whimpers threatening to escape his throat.

He crawled along the floor, favouring his good leg as he hobbled up to the door and shoved his body weight against it. The cold wind that rushed through felt amazing on his face. He turned to look at the sleeping gang members, making sure he didn’t wake them before pushing through the small opening and crawling out in to the snow.

The cold ice melted through his gloves, chilling his fingers to the bone as he dragged his bad leg along behind him. He didn’t make it more than a metre before his muscles gave out. His body collapsing into the soft mush. He rolled to his right, pressing his injured face into the snow and sighing in relief as the burning he had been feeling was eased.

His eyes drifted closed, warm breath clouding around him as it slowed down to an even pace. His body was freezing. But the snow on his wounds felt too glorious for him to care.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew what he was doing was dangerous. He wasn’t dressed for the cold like he had been when he went out days earlier. It was a miracle he had survived on the mountain side at all even in his attire. But dressed only in his union suit in this moment, he would freeze to death in no time at all.

For all the wishing to be saved he had done on the side of that cliff, he found he didn’t care in this moment if he died. He was in so much pain. The fog of his fever clouding his judgement as he nuzzled deeper into the ice.

Suddenly he was being lurched upwards. He cried out in pain as his leg wound scraped along the ground. His arms forced upwards as strong arms hooked under his armpits.

“Fuckin’ idiot Marston.” Arthur growled from somewhere behind him. The smell of liquor and cigarette smoke assaulted his nostrils as the breath hot on his ear berated him for being so stupid. “You tryin’ to catch your death you moron?” Arthur asked as he dragged his limp body back inside the shelter.

The older man smashed himself against the door, making it crash opened dramatically as he moved inside. His boots and spurs scraping loudly against the uneven wooden slats as he grumbled about risking his neck to save him.

John stayed quiet, unable to answer even if he wanted to. Shame bubbling up inside his chest as the chattering of startled gang members started up around the fire.

“John!” Abigail exclaimed angrily, flying towards them from her place across the cabin. “What happened?” She asked apprehensively, moving to help John swing his legs back on to the bed.

“This idiot’s tryin’ to kill himself out in the snow.” Arthur growled, making John grimace as his was placed down on the cot roughly. The wind knocked out of him.

Not technically untrue, he supposed. But he wouldn’t have worded it like that. Or shouted it for the entire room to hear either.

“John Marston!” Abigail exclaimed, hands coming to rest on his arm as she sat down on the seat next to him. “You idiot we got a son to support. Don’t you go dyin’ on me.” She shouted, hands tightening on his arm and making him huff in annoyance.

“So… hot.” He ground out. Turning his face away from both of them as he writhed uncomfortably.

“What are you talkin’ about it’s freezin’ in here!” Abigail retorted, hand coming up to rest on his forehead.

“My face.” John clarified, turning back to her and pleading for her to understand. His voice was so hoarse, he wouldn’t be able to say much more. “Pain.” He whispered, trembling hand coming up to point at his bandaged cheek.

Abigail inhaled softly, a small sound of recognition leaving her as she asked Arthur to watch over him while she went to find the Reverend.

Arthur agreed, sitting down in Abigail’s place and folding his arms over his chest as he looked to John with distain.

John looked away once more, unable to take the criticism in his fragile state. His clouded mind could only concentrate on the burning of his wounds as he shivered inside his soaked clothing.

Arthur leant forwards, a large sigh leaving him as he pulled the blanket off the end of the bed and brought it up to John’s chin. Somewhere in the back of John’s clouded mind he knew he should change out of his drenched clothes.

Arthur thought along the same lines. But he wasn’t about to help another man get undressed if he didn’t need to. He would wait for Abigail to return.

John stared at the ceiling with his one good eye. He could see the sky starting to lighten through the cracks in the wooden roof. He wondered vaguely how long he had been out of it. He assumed only hours. But for all he knew it could be days.

Abigail returned covered in a light layer of freshly fallen snow. She brushed it off her shoulders as she directed the Reverend to take Arthur’s place in the chair next to him.

John turned to face the wall. Holding out his left arm and gritting his teeth as he felt a tourniquet tighten around his bicep.

For all the times he’d been shot or cut open without making a fuss. He still couldn’t do needles. Something about the fact that they touched his veins made him squirm. He swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath as he waited for the sting. He scrunched his nose as he felt the metal pierce his skin and the cold liquid morphine pass through into his veins.

He let his eyes drift closed. An almost instant relief filled him as the medicine started to work its magic. He inhaled deeply, letting his arm fall limp by his side as he felt Swanson let him go and Abigail take his place in the chair.

She stroked over his temple with gentle fingers, making him shiver. He felt a strong sense of comfort at her touch and briefly regretted any and all fights they had ever had.

Until her fingers left him. He heard her move and couldn’t help the way his face fell at the realisation. He opened his eyes, the room spinning as he turned to look where she had gone and saw her settle back down against the opposite wall next to Jack.

He stared at her sadly, catching her eye and biting the inside of his cheek as she paused briefly to look at him before continuing to pull the blanket back over herself and closed her eyes.

His eyes wandered away from her, over the rest of the women sleeping in the small cabin before stopping on a form he didn’t recognise.

Piercing brown eyes stared directly at him from under golden bangs that had been swept aside. He narrowed his own eyes, squinting in the darkness at the new addition.

Sadie didn’t look away, matching his stare until he finally turned back to face the ceiling.

Whoever she was, she wasn’t about to let her guard down.

 ~

 The next time John awoke it was to warm hands rewrapping his bandage. He had been so dead to the world that he hadn’t even felt them take it off and change it. He jolted away, his instinct to bat the hands away after so many years living outdoors with a bunch of people that liked to fuck with you if you passed out first.

The hand holding the bandage caught his firmly as he swiped at it. Holding it in place briefly before gently placing it back by his side. He turned to see who had a hold of him, relaxing as he realised it was Susan.

“You’re alright.” She cooed softly, squeezing his wrist briefly as he let his head fall back into the mattress. He looked away, letting her finish her work as he tried to block out the chatter of the room’s other occupants.

The women often joked Susan was a dragon of a woman and she could be at times. When John was younger and refused to do his chores. He’d never been hit quite as hard as she had smacked him. Knocking him on his ass, lip trembling as he clutched at his cheek. She stood over him, shouting about what an ungrateful little shit he was. He had never crossed her again after that and she had certainly softened towards him over time.

In a way she was like the Mama he’d always wished he had. Pushing him to better himself, making him do his chores and appreciate the things he was given. But still showing compassion towards him when he was ill. Taking care of him when he was sick or injured.

Although if he had to choose someone to be his Ma, no other contender could come close to the memory of Bessie Matthews.

Despite that, he liked Susan, a lot. Something Abigail didn’t and would never come to understand.

He turned back to her, testing the stitches in his lip as he moved them to ask.

She shushed him, answering his unasked question by telling him Abigail had taken Jack to spend some time with Hosea. He was too young to understand what was happening to his Pa and Abigail couldn’t deflect the questions any longer so she had taken him out for a distraction.

John nodded in understanding. Despite that he still felt the stab of heartbreak fresh in his chest as he was reminded of the fact that she didn’t really care what had happened to him. Not after their fight right before Blackwater, where he had thrown her out of his tent.

She would be content if they never reconciled. So long as John continued to provide for her and made an effort to parent the boy every now and then.

Susan brushed his arm lightly to get his attention. Seemingly following his train of thought as she worked on the wound there.

“She’ll come around.” She said encouragingly. “And if she don’t… Well this gang is no place to raise a boy anyhow.” She said bluntly, her tone turning sour. John frowned at her, a question on his lips but she shushed him once more. A grunt leaving him instead as she tightened the bandage roughly. “She’s lucky you stepped up to provide for that boy.” Susan continued, shifting her chair around the cot and sitting back down to tend to the wound on his leg.

John shifted uncomfortably as she touched his thigh. Her hands suddenly feeling as cold as her tone.

“No one else would have done that John.” Susan said, her finger waving in the air as if she was scolding someone. “A whore that gets herself pregnant ain’t a good one.” She laughed. “It weren’t your responsibility to take care of her.” She paused. “Or that boy.” She added gruffly. “We all know he ain’t yours.”

John felt his heart quicken when Susan mentioned Jack. He had his own doubts but he didn’t realise anyone else felt the same. As Arthur had put it during their argument just before the Blackwater job:

‘It don’t matter if he’s yours or not. He’s your responsibility.’

John narrowed his eyes at the memory. He listened to Susan’s rant for a little long, feeling content in the fact that he had at least one ally in amongst the growing mass of assholes that expected ‘better’ of him.

“You’re a good man.” She continued, unaware John had stopped listening for his own thoughts.

He felt a weird sense of justification in the fact that someone else felt the same way he did about the situation. Someone saw his life for what it was and also had the thoughts that maybe it wasn’t fair.

Susan recognised his struggle and was praising him for it.

He was inclined to agree with her. Loudly. But as he glanced around the room and felt the judging eyes of the other camp women on him, he felt compelled to defend his wife. The pricked ears of bored women, hungry for gossip would be lapping this up.

The last thing he needed right now was for Abigail to think he didn’t respect her. Because he did, so deeply. Which is why it hurt him so badly to push her away.

“Abigail did what she felt was right for herself.” He said softly, stitched lip stinging at the movement.

“But not what was right for you.” Susan pushed back, raising her brows as she looked down at him with a knowing stare.

“I’m a grown man Mrs Grimshaw.” He rasped, eyes flicking between her and the women by the fire. “Abigail didn’t make me do nothing. I support her because I want to.” He said firmly, voice faltering towards the end of his sentence. He grimaced at his own weakness.

A gruff chuckle from his left caught his attention. He turned to see Arthur striding towards him, having just entered the cabin and caught the end of their conversation.

All eyes averted themselves at his presence. John found himself wishing he could assert that sort of dominance in a room.

“I was under the impression you was done supportin’ her.” Arthur growled as he stepped up beside John’s cot. Cigarette smoking from the corner of his mouth as he warmed his hands in his coat pocket.

“Arthur get out of here.” Susan snapped, shoeing him with her hands as she turned back to John’s wound.

“Don’t mind me!” Arthur laughed heartily. “Just came to pay my respects to the fallen hero.” He said condescendingly. Susan glared up at him from her place next to the bed.

“Consider them paid.” She said dangerously. “Go on, get out of here.” She slapped his thigh with the back of her hand, making him huff in annoyance. But he did as he was told, not one to ignore a warning from an angry woman.

“Thank you.” John said quietly as he watched Arthur’s retreating back. The last thing he needed in this moment was to have Arthur on his ass about the whole Abigail situation. Especially when he had been defending her against this better judgement. He was currently too fragile to deal with Arthur’s judgement.

“He ain’t even mad at you. He’s just sour he ain’t got anyone chasing his tail after that awful Mary business.” Susan tutted, brushing off her skirts as she stood.

“I don’t know, I definitely think he’s mad at me.” John replied softly, clearing his throat after he spoke to try and remove the lump he could inexplicably feel there.

“Shhh.” Susan breathed, leaning down to place a comforting hand on his arm. “Leave all that behind you for now. Rest.” She ordered, squeezing his arm briefly before disappearing back to the fireplace.

John stared above him, teeth clenching as he found himself wishing she would come back. Her conversation had been a nice distraction from the burning feeling returning to his scratched-up face.

He closed his eyes, trying to rest amongst the quiet chatter and the distant wail of a woman deep in grief.

 ~~

 “Is It bad?” John asked, gritting his teeth and staring straight at the ceiling, waiting for an answer that would never come. He felt Abigail tense next to him at the question. But she stayed silent and when he dared to glance at her, she was acting as though she hadn’t heard him.

He swallowed thickly, letting out a slow breath that clouded around his mouth and nose in the cold air.

He knew it was bad. Deep down he knew. He had never exactly been the poster boy for male allure but having his face all scratched up wasn’t going to do him any favours.

He supposed Abigail was upset. She already felt trapped by his affections. Suffocated, as she had so eloquently put it years before. But despite that she had stayed all this time. For his money and protection he gathered. Even though he desperately hoped that wasn’t the case or if it was, that he could change it. Make her fall in love with him for real.

But the chances of that had been torn away from him in the same way the wolves tore at his flesh. There was no way she was going to fall for him for real with his face all fucked up. He felt the hope he had been holding in his heart crumple and burn like a discarded piece of paper thrown into the fire.

He looked at her sadly, wishing she would say something. Anything to assure him that everything would be okay.

Others had made an effort to reassure him but she was the only one he really wanted to hear it from. The only one that stayed silent. The only one that had nothing to say about it.

He swallowed audibly, sniffing and blinking back his emotions as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

He saw her eyes flick towards him out of the corner of his vision and heard her take a deep breath as if she wanted to say something. Hope ignited in his chest.

She snuffed it out faster than it had appeared. Her shrill voice putting him on edge.

“I just don’t understand it!” She exclaimed, making him jolt. He looked to her with misty eyes, questioning her with his gaze. She stared back at him with a look of distain, a frown furrowing her brows as she continued. “You’re a silly, silly man!” She barked, making him recoil. “Eaten by wolves. I’ve never heard such a ridiculous idea.” She shouted in exasperation. “Who gets themselves eaten by wolves? I mean really who?” She asked incredulously.

John looked at her, his heart pounding in his chest as her words sunk in. She acted as if he chose this for himself. He felt anger rise inside him, mixing with the pain as he lifted his head to glare at her with his one good eye.

“I didn’t mean to, Abigail.” He spat, mouth forming a sneer as she balked at his response. She took a breath, opening her mouth to speak before exhaling sharply and petting his arm with both of her hands. She seemed to soften slightly as she replied. He wondered if it was because she felt bad for her outburst or if it was just because she remembered he was injured when she looked at him.

“You never mean to.” She sighed, shaking her head. “You never mean to but you always do. Always…” She paused, as if searching for the right word. “Trouble.” She said softly. John averted his eyes briefly, mouth twitching with the response he wanted to give but knew he wasn’t allowed to. He had never been trouble for her. Not in his life. He had been nothing but a gentleman towards her despite the hurt she had caused him over the last few years.

He felt a strong sense of resent settle deeply in his chest as he exhaled sharply through his nose and looked back at her with an expression that matched her own.

“Well I’ve certainly made my mistakes.” He spat venomously, turning away from her as he felt her hands tighten.

“What the hell does that mean?” She shouted, eyes narrowed as she leaned closer, daring him to say it.

That she was his mistake.

John hesitated, not taking the bait but unsure how to reply. His lip quaked momentarily, nose scrunching as he shouted.

“Whatever you want it to!”

He let his head fall back against the pillow as the last of his strength faded, his muscles giving out.

Abigail eyed him, anger seething through her as she exhaled forcefully. Taking a second to compose herself before speaking again.

She petted his arm lightly, resisting the urge to squeeze it tight and make him squeal.

“Just… Get some rest.” She said softly, gritting her teeth and pushing past his comment for the sake of his health.

She stood, leaving him to wallow as she returned to Jack who was sitting by the fire. Putting her arm around his little shoulders and asking him if he was doing alright.

She hoped he hadn’t heard John’s comment, although she suspected by the eerie silence that seemed to descend on the room that the entire cabin had been listening.

Jack confirmed he was okay and Abigail breathed a small sigh of relief, turning to look at John momentarily before settling herself beside Jack and letting him huddle in her arms.

 ~~

 John swallowed audibly, a grunt of frustration leaving him at the gravely feeling in his throat.

No one had spoken to him since he’d taken that jab at Abigail. He could feel her steely eyes on him from across the room. Her anger just barely contained for the sake of keeping the peace in this trying time. She refused to sit by his side. Rightly so he supposed.

Still it hurt. He understood deep down he was not granted a free pass to be rude just because he was injured. But if there was ever a time he felt he really deserved one, it was now.

He had never been in quite so much pain in his life and although he wouldn’t dare liken it to pain of childbirth; he couldn’t help but think back on how horrid Abigail had been to him while she was in labour. He had ignored her hurtful comments and downright nasty statements for the sake of her health. Scared for her and the fact that she might not make it through.

He wondered if it ever occurred to her to do the same for him or if he wasn’t deserving of that kindness as this situation, not unlike her being forced to give birth, was his fault.

He raised a shaky hand to his face, finger pads brushing lightly against the bandage covering his right eye. He winced at the pain, surprised by how tender the injury was to touch. Pulling his hand back quickly he replaced it by his side, closing his eyes and tensing his jaw as he began to feel overwhelmed.

He couldn’t move properly. Couldn’t see right. He felt lightheaded and weak. It was too much all at once. The aching of his entire body making him hitch his breathing as he tried and failed to take in a deep breath.

He heard the stool by his side shift and turned in surprise to see Mary-Beth sitting by his bedside once more. She was holding a small bowl. John assumed it was food until he realised she had a cloth in her other hand. She smiled at him kindly, placing the rag in the bowl of water and wringing it out.

He looked past her to Abigail. Her eyes floating between them tensely before she seemed to reason it was alright and turned herself back to the fire.

John looked up to Mary-Beth with grateful eyes as she dabbed the cold cloth on his clammy forehead. Smiling at her weakly as she ran it over his unbandaged eye and cheek. The coolness of the water somewhat lessening the throbbing of his head and calming him exponentially.

“Thank you.” He croaked and she nodded in acknowledgment. She had always been such a kind soul. Her maternal instincts were stronger than Abigail’s by far. Although John would never dare say such a thing. He wasn’t surprised she felt compelled to care for him. It wasn’t about who he was as a person in relation to her. But about him being wounded and needing care in general.

She was always going out of her way to make sure others felt loved.

‘She’s so lovely.’ John caught himself thinking. Letting his eyes flutter closed as she wiped at his neck, careful to avoid the small marks left by crooked claws that weren’t quite big enough to need stitching. Part of him wished he had fallen for her instead. How different his life could be right now.

His lip quirked at the feeling of relief but he didn’t dare make a sound or even smile. Not wanting Mary-Beth to feel uncomfortable as much as he detested the idea of Abigail thinking maybe he was getting some sort of sordid satisfaction out of her comfort.

“You’re still here.” Arthur’s gruff voice cut through the silence like a knife. Jolting John’s eyes open and causing him to choke on his ragged inhale. “Maybe I should scratch myself and feign a limp.” The older man continued, an air of mirth in his tone as he pressed John’s patience with his teasing.

“Ain’t you got nothin’ better to do?” John asked angrily, glaring with his good eye in the older man’s direction.

The last thing John was expecting was the sudden movement from the woman next to him. Making him jump once more as she rose to her feet in one swift movement, turning to face Arthur with fuming eyes.

“Whatever the beef is between you two now ain’t the time!” She reprimanded, looking between them both with disdain. Arthur’s brows rose swiftly. Shocked in to silence for a second by the blatant display of anger from such a typically calm person.

Arthur seemed to compose himself quickly. A smirk on his lips where his stunned face has just been.

“I’m only jokin’ Marston you know that.” He said somewhat remorsefully. Gesturing towards John with one hand and holding the other up in front of Mary-Beth to calm her.

She glared at the older man with a look of hesitation. Turning back to her seat and continuing to wipe her clothe over John’s forehead as he looked to Arthur with sad eyes.

“Yeah well, you really pick your moments.” John said softly, too weak to argue as he normally would. He let Mary-Beth push his head back to the mattress, inhaling slowly as the cool rag relieved some of the aching.

“Okay.” Arthur said after a second. Seeming to really take in the moment before he continued. I’ll let you rest.” He finished, turning on his heel and being blindsided by Susan who had hurried up behind him while he was speaking.

“Arthur.” She chastised. Flicking her head towards the door as she gestured for the younger man to follow her. The smirk on his lips faded as he took in her serious expression. He followed her without question. Silent as he slipped past the women and into the bracing cold.

He’d barely stepped foot outside before she had turned, rounding on him like a hungry cougar as she began to hiss and snarl her disapproval.

“You leave him alone!” She growled, hands on her hips as she leant hard into his personal space.

Arthur threw up his hands in defence, shielding his face from a smack that didn’t come. He paused, pulling his hands away and taking in the sadness in her eyes. Her mouth a thin line as she looked at him with a mix of sorrow and condescension.

“Just… Leave him be.” She said tiredly, shaking her head as she moved to pushed past him.

Arthur grabbed her arm, stopping her before she could reach the door. She looked to him with an expression that said he had about 3 seconds to say his piece.

“Why’re you all protective of him all the sudden?” He asked slowly, letting go of her and giving her a chance to take it as a rhetorical question.

“We all got things goin’ on that others don’t know about Arthur.” She said simply, hinting at a greater secret that tugged at his curiosity. He ignored his many questions, nodding simply and letting her push past, back to her place by the fire.

He looked to John, face hidden by Mary-Beth’s body and felt a pang of sadness for the younger man.

Arthur thought perhaps he knew what Susan was talking about. He understood better than anyone, the things John had going on that others didn’t know about.

 ~~

*Flashback*

Arthur tried to act disinterested towards John and Abigail’s relationship. But hearing little Jack cry about sleeping away from his Father was like nails on a chalkboard.

He knew he was being bias. Not able to help but imagine little Isaac making the same small sounds. Speaking the same heart-wrenching words.

It irritated him more than he could rationally explain. It made him angry. Furious that John could throw away what Arthur had longed for, for many years.

He had decided he didn’t care to know the details. Didn’t want to hear John’s excuses. He knew the other man was hurting. After their conversation earlier that day he was sure of it. But in his own mind, it didn’t excuse hurting others. At first he had wish he’d asked for particulars. But seeing Jack cry for the third time this week had changed his mind. John was being a turd and there was no rational excuse for it.

John had always been this way though. He thought to himself as he slung a heavy bag of feed over his shoulder and walked it to Pearson’s wagon.

He had always been a bottle it up and explode later type of guy ever since he was a teen. Arthur supposed that was his fault really. Although he refused to take any of the blame for the way John was acting at this moment in time.

Arthur sighed openly. Letting his thoughts wander and grumbling to himself as he realised he probably gave John a hard-time more often than he needed to. Especially since he’d returned to the gang after his year away. He teased him a lot. Judged him even more. But John put up with it, knowing there really wasn’t all that much to be done about it.

He felt a little guilty. Knowing John was hurting over this situation with Abigail and still treating him the same regardless. But there was a child involved and John was a grown man. Some 26 years old. Arthur realised, wondering where the time had gone. Regardless of Marston’s actual age, Arthur often found he still had some growing to do.

John had never been good with his emotions. As a child he would cry frequently. Scared, frustrated or even just plain angry. There was always tears.

Dutch had decided this wasn’t a good look for the gang. Hosea had protested, saying that he was still young. He was a child, he still had time to learn how to be a man.

Arthur had agreed with Dutch. Often being the one stuck babysitting, he couldn’t stand the cry-baby act. Together, they’d shut it down real’ quick and it was something Arthur felt regret for to this day.

He knew he was the primary reason John was a ‘bottle it up’ kind of man, as an adult. Although he had tried to fix it once he had realised his mistake it was to no avail. He had been thinking of himself first and foremost. He hadn’t contemplated the adverse effects of shutting down John’s healthy emotional outlet for his feelings. Telling him to be a man every time he shed a tear and watching on with little care for the fact that he was killing John’s childhood in the same way his Father had killed his own.

He hadn’t made the connection when the tears suddenly turned to anger and as a result, violence. Cute little John’s fearful demeanour had taken a turn and suddenly everything was worth yelling over. Arguments, screaming, hitting and sometimes even biting became common place for the feral bastard. Dutch seemed to see it as an improvement but everyone else was non-too pleased.

Dutch was the only person in no danger of having Marston’s pointy little teeth sink into his forearm.

Hosea had tried to talk with him. Seeing what he already was as a prepubescent boy and fearing what he would turn into once he hit puberty.

John had cussed him out. Essentially telling the older man to go fuck himself and running away from the conversation.

Hosea had let him go, thinking he would be back after an hour or so in a better mood, having let off some steam.

When John didn’t return after several hours the worry started to set in. Dutch organised a few people to go and look for him. Arthur reluctantly joining in on his Father-figure’s order, rather than out of his own concern for John.

Despite not really wanting to be a part of the search party, Arthur was the one that had found him. Being able to think like a kid from the streets had helped him look in places others hadn’t thought to.

He had rolled his eyes as he spotted John darting across the road in front of him and under a nearby veranda. He’d started yelling before he’d even finished crossing the road himself. Telling the little idiot to stay put. He cringed now when he thought about the fact that he had told him he would beat the shit out of him if he made him chase him further.

He’d cornered the boy, stature entirely too menacing for what he came upon. John was just out of reach, backed against a wall and tucked between two packing crates. He curled in on himself at Arthur’s approach. Trembling and shouting about how he hadn’t meant it.

It had taken a second for Arthur to realise what he was talking about. John was begging for forgiveness. He hadn’t meant to yell at Hosea. He was just so angry. He was terrified of being shown the door over his behaviour and had run away before they’d had the chance to kick him out of the gang.

Arthur had softened immediately. Coaxing him out with the promise that they weren’t mad. They were out searching for him because they were worried for him.

It had taken a lot of convincing that it wasn’t a trick. Arthur had sat with him for a long while, talking about his feelings. Explaining how even though he firmly believed tears should not be shed in front of others, it was also okay to not keep all of his feelings inside, all the time.

Arthur dropped the bag of feed and stood tall to stretch his back. Hand rubbing over his face before scratching at his chin absently. Fingers running over his scarred flesh and pulling a smile from his lips as he remembered fondly, the day he had acquired the mark.

The official story he told when asked was that he had fallen while drunk. Smashed his chin on the stairs as he flew down an entire flight, landing in a mangled heap at the bottom. He always joked he didn’t mind the mark since really, he could have gotten a lot worse.

The real story had much less fanfare and although he knew as a teen John was grateful Arthur took the brunt of the mocking when he came up with an alibi, he was sure as an adult he wished that everyone knew the truth.

John was just shy of 17 when he had finally had enough of Arthur’s teasing. Having been accepted as an adult at the local tavern, he was living it up, drowning himself in his first real taste of alcohol.

While Arthur tended to lean towards whiskey for a good time, it turned out it made John mean.

Arthur had jabbed him about something arbitrary. Heavy on the drink himself he hadn’t felt the mood change. Seen the dangerous look in the younger man’s eyes as he charged up his fist and swung at this brother with the force of his entire body behind it.

He had hit hard. Catching Arthur by surprise and knocking him down off his bar stool. The saloon had quietened. A tiny kid like little Johnny Marston knocking a man like Arthur on his ass had stunned the crowd. The silence deafening as the air was sucked out of the room in a collective gasp.

Arthur had touched at his clean-shaven chin, looking at his fingers in surprise as they came away bloody.

The shit-eating grin that spread over the young Marston’s face was something Arthur was sure he would remember on his deathbed. The way that little brat had smiled down at him smugly was not something he would forget easily. Neither was the way his eyes widened in shock as Arthur swept his legs out from under him. Nor the look of absolute terror on the kid’s face as he pinned him to the ground in one swift motion.

The way John stared up at him, wide eyes filled with true fear if Arthur had ever seen it. He had closed them quickly. Scrunching his face in anticipation of a retaliation blow and opening them moments later when he’d felt Arthur’s weight shift off him.

Arthur had held out a hand, helping him off the ground and ordered another round of drinks for them both. The saloon had returned to its usual rambunctious state and the true story of how Arthur had acquired his scar was never spoken of again.

He had lied to Dutch and Hosea. Covering for himself mostly for letting John drink. But also covering for John and the fact that he had gotten riled enough to lay a hand on a fellow gang member. Which was much more of a never-ever rule back in those days than it had been of late.

John had gotten a lot better at controlling himself as he reached his late teens. His emotional outbursts were few and far between and if Arthur was being honest, he knew he was pushing him too far in the days leading up to it. He deserved the blow and the scar served as a reminder to not push John that far in the future. Although he rarely listened to it. It was a nice sentiment.

Arthur brought himself back from his thoughts. Sighing aloud as he realised he probably owed John an apology. He shouldn’t have tried to get into his business earlier. Shouldn’t have tried to force him to do right by Abigail and Jack when he hadn’t even heard John’s side of things.

He supposed as long as Jack was clothed and fed there was no rush for John to forgive whatever Abigail had done to cause such a volatile reaction from him.

Looking around camp, Arthur realised he couldn’t see John in his immediate vicinity. Actually he realised, he hadn’t seen him at all since he’d walked away from their conversation this morning.

He turned towards Abigail instinctively, ready to ask her where he was before he realised what a terrible idea that would be. He headed instead in the direction of John’s tent. Finding it empty but noticing his fishing rod was missing from its usual place in the corner.

He turned to see Old Boy still hitched to his post and knew John would be somewhere close by. Walking towards the small lake they were camped by it didn’t take him long to come across the other man.

Hunched at the base of a tree, John had his knees drawn up and arms resting on them. His right hand dangled a cigarette loosely as he stared out over the lake completely oblivious to Arthur’s approach.

Arthur stood a little further along the shoreline, watching as John pulled the smoke to his mouth and took a long drag. He seemed to be in a contemplative mood and there was a second or two where Arthur just watched, thinking maybe he shouldn’t disturb him. He could apologise later.

As he made to turn around he stopped himself, doing a double take. Realising as the younger man changed his position so he was sitting cross legged that his dress shirt was completely unbuttoned and untucked from his pants.

Arthur felt compelled to observe him a second longer. Remembering that day down by the river some years earlier and feeling his heartrate quicken. The very dramatic display had pissed him off at the time, having not yet forgiven John for leaving. But it didn’t negate the fact that John trying to drown himself had been a real threat he had made and tried to follow through on.

He crossed his arms as John took another drag on the cigarette. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get in the water if that’s what his plan was. Arthur let himself relax a little. He had plenty of time get to him before he flung himself into the lake.

John pulled the cigarette away from his mouth and let his head fall back against the tree trunk. Holding the smoke in his lungs for a long moment before blowing rings into the sky above him. He stayed like that for a second, just staring up at the branches above him. Arthur was too far away to see his eyes and started to think he may have fell asleep.

John sat up suddenly, Arthur frowned as he watched the younger man pull his shirt off his left shoulder. Taking a step forward in preparation he stopped in shock as he watched John press the burning end of his cigarette into the skin of his bicep. Left arm shaking as he held it there for as long as he could stand. Hand constricting and contracting as he grunted in pain.

Arthur felt his mouth fall open as John finally pulled the butt away, flinging it into the lake and sitting himself back against the tree.

“Jesus Christ.” Arthur exclaimed, making the younger man jump in surprise. He looked over, catching sight of Arthur and hurriedly tried to pull his shirt back over his shoulder as the older man advanced.

Arthur reached him as he was trying frantically to do up his top button. Pushing John’s hands out of the way and ripping the fabric back to inspect the smouldering burn shaped like a perfect little circle.

Arthur inhaled sharply at the sight. John’s arm was littered with marks. At least 10 other circle shaped scars all in different stages of heeling and those were only the ones his shirt wasn’t covering.

“What the hell?” He asked gruffly, shaking John’s arm and making him wince. Arthur looked to him, immediately regretting his rough tone as he was met with the same wide eyes that had looked up at him in that saloon all those years ago.

That same fearful stare as if he was terrified what Arthur was about to do to him. What punishment was about to be inflicted for his idiotic behaviour.

Arthur let go of his arm. Pulling back and allowing him the space he needed to do up his shirt. He squatted in the dirt in front of him. Watching the brunette’s hands move, struggling to do up the buttons with trembling fingers.

Arthur leaned forwards instinctively, taking John’s shirt and starting from the bottom button. He made his way up, meeting with John’s shaking hands still struggling with the first one and watching as they fell to his sides in defeat.

Arthur moved to sit next to him. Silence deafening as John waited. Knowing there was no way in hell this was just going to be forgotten about.

“So…” Arthur started awkwardly, unsure where to go from here. “Abigail.” He said simply, nodding at nothing in particular as he tried his best to strike up a conversation. John looked at him doubtfully. Nearly positive Abigail wasn’t what Arthur really wanted to talk about.

“Really?” John asked incredulously. “You’re just gonna dive right back in to beratin’ me about Abigail?” He asked tiredly.

He suddenly felt exhausted. Emotionally rather than physically. Like every fibre of his being was just begging him to stop existing. He looked to Arthur with an expression the older man couldn’t discern. His eyes misty as he stared for a moment before looking away entirely and shaking his head.

He couldn’t deal with this right now. Arthur had seen his secret shame. Realised he was at his absolute breaking point and still felt it was alright to push him farther. Honestly John wasn’t sure how much farther he could be pushed.

“No.” Arthur answered after what John deemed to be way too long of a silence. “No, I ain’t here to berate you.” He mumbled, looking at his hands as John turned to him in surprise. “I wanted to talk about…” He paused, feeling extremely uncomfortable. He wasn’t the best at speaking about sensitive subjects. “Well… What happened to make you kick her out?” He asked gently, ignoring the scowl on the younger man’s face.

“Why do you care?” John asked simply, not offering anything else as Arthur sighed in reply. He supposed it was a fair question. He had jumped pretty quickly from seeing Abigail in her lean-to to judging John for his actions. He hadn’t taken the time to ask him what was happening. Abigail complaining loudly about being kicked out was all the information he’d felt he needed. John being a deadbeat Father didn’t sound too far off the mark at the time. Especially after the whole Maggie incident.

“I’ve realised I’ve judged you harshly. Without hearing your side.” Arthur explained, trying not to sound patronizing. John scoffed, folding his arms and shaking his head, making it hard for Arthur to continue to genuinely care.

“You mean just now?” John asked. “When you saw this?” He added, gesturing to where his shirt was beginning to discolour from sticking to his fresh wound.

“No.” Arthur replied hurriedly. “Earlier, after we spoke. Seeing this…” He paused, gesturing. “Is unrelated to my question.”

John watched him curiously, eyes flicking over his face as if trying to deduce if it was a trick.

“I told you.” He said after a while, looking back out over the lake as he spoke. “She don’t love me. She don’t deserve to sleep in my tent.”

Arthur furrowed his brows, not taking his eyes off the younger man as he repeated his statement from earlier.

“Why do you think she doesn’t love you?” He asked, more urgently.

“Because she said it!” John shouted, hands balling into fists as he rounded on the other man. “She fucking said it! I heard her!” He spat, voice cracking. “She said, she told me she loved me because she found out about Maggie and wanted to keep me around!” He yelled, resolve weaker than before. “She was makin’ fun of me Arthur. Boastin’ about trickin’ me.” He cried, eyes watering as he let out a stuttered breath.

Arthur watched sadly, feeling oddly compelled to pull the younger man into an embrace but holding himself back. He felt for John, guilt welling up in his chest for not only being the one to mention Maggie to Abigail but to then worsen John’s situation by trying to force him to stick with her despite her having said something so horrible.

He listened as John ranted. Seemingly unable to stop as he went on to tell Arthur about the stocks of food he had found hidden on her side of the tent. The fact that he had been starving. The way she complained about money. He never made enough for her. Couldn’t keep her clothed as fancy as she liked so therefore was considered a deadbeat.

Borrowed money from people, Arthur himself primarily for frivolous things they didn’t need and then acted put out that John couldn’t pay it back right away after a job.

He went off the beaten track a few times. Ranting about other things, other people and their opinions but he always came back to the same place. Abigail had hurt him deeply in more ways than he had ever cared to admit before this moment. He was absolutely miserable in his relationship and the worst part of it all was that he still loved her regardless.

He wished desperately for her to apologise so he could invite her back into his tent. For her to say she was sorry and she didn’t mean what he had overheard. But he knew it was a moot point. There was no way in hell she was begging his forgiveness after the scene she had made. After the way she had turned people against him for what he deemed to be a rational choice considering the circumstances.  

Arthur tried not to openly agree with him. Not really wanting to stir the pot anymore than he already had by adding fuel to the fire should Abigail find out that he had taken John’s side. But he wanted the other man to feel heard.

He nodded along as John raved. Offering a comforting pat to the shoulder every now and then. Making sounds of acknowledgement where appropriate. When everything was said and done John stopped talking almost as abruptly as he had started. Staring out at the moonlight shining on the surface of the lake. Feeling empty as he realised day had turned to night in the time he had been speaking.

Arthur took a deep breath, placing a hand on John’s thigh and patting it lightly as he wondered where the hell they were supposed to go from here.

John secretly hoped Arthur would just leave. Pretend he had never said anything and walk away. Leave him to press another cigarette into his already marred flesh as a way of feeling something, anything else other than the emotional pain he was faced with after finally letting it all out.

The silence stretched between them in a way that told John he had gone too far. Opened up too much and irreparably damaged Arthur’s perception of him.

He was weak.

A failure, as Abigail would say.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur said simply, taking John by surprise.

“What for?” He croaked, unsure what was happening.

“Everything.” Arthur responded simply. John looked to him, only really able to see the glint of his eyes in the darkness.

“It ain’t your fault.” John whispered, sniffing as he looked down at his lap.

“I know.” Arthur answered. “But I ain’t made it any better for you have I?” He asked with a half-hearted chuckle. “I been real’ shitty ‘bout the whole thing.”

“Yeah.” John laughed. “You have.”

Arthur huffed a laugh of his own, shaking his head at his brother’s candidness.

“I just want what’s right for that boy.” Arthur admitted quietly. His thoughts turning dark as Isaac flittered through his mind.

“Me too.” John said blatantly. Wanting what was best for Jack had never been a question in John’s mind. He just happened to believe most of the time that having himself as a Father, wasn’t what was best for him.

There was another long silence as both men contemplated their past mistakes. Quiet breathing and the soft coo of a distant owl the only sounds around them for a long while.

John spoke first. Breaking the silence tersely and starling Arthur from his thoughts.

“Don’t you go treatin’ me any different now that you know ‘bout this.” He rasped, gesturing towards his shoulder, although he wasn’t sure Arthur could see.

“Course not.” Arthur said quietly, his voice incredibly serious. “We all got our demons.” He muttered, making John frown. He wondered if he would ever know what Arthur’s specific demons were.

“Besides!” Arthur exclaimed, his dark demeanour changing almost instantly and spooking the younger man. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think Marston was a damsel that needed savin’ now would we?” He asked loudly, pushing himself to his feet and laughing as John swatted at his legs. “Come on Princess!” Arthur continued, almost shouting now as John scrambled to pick up his abandoned fishing rod and follow behind him.

Arthur made quite the scene returning to camp. Talking loudly about how he had been worried for John, only to find him napping under a tree by the lake like the child he was. The other gang members joined in on the teasing and Arthur turned to look at him apologetically. His face hidden from everyone but John.

John smiled weakly, feeling grateful for the older man’s explanation for their absence and knowing deep down that Arthur didn’t mean the words he was so obnoxiously shouting.

 ~~

 Abigail’s voice cut through the thick fog John had been wading through. Trying his hardest to regain consciousness as he ran from relentless snapping jaws. Grey muzzles stained red with his blood.

He gasped, her words scaring him as he jumped back into the world of the living. He hadn’t realised he had dosed off. The lighting off the room different to what felt like seconds earlier when she had left him to sit by the fire with Jack.

She was once again perched on the stool next to him, hand on his arm and body twisted back towards the fire as she conversed with Karen across the cabin.

His jolt brought her attention back to him. She turned quickly, looking him over as his heart raced in his chest. Blood rushing in his ears as he struggled to breath evenly. The misty clouds of breath leaving his mouth coming in stuttered huffs.

He must have looked a mess because Abigail had frowned at him. He thought she almost looked worried.

“You okay?” She asked softly, surprising him with her concern. He nodded weakly, feeling grateful for her presence as he came down from the shock of his night terror.

“How long was I out?” He rasped, closing his eyes against the throb of his cheek.

“Few hours.” She answered simply, pulling away her hand and placing it back in her lap. He mourned the loss of contact, reaching out his hand for hers as she suddenly stood and walked away. He watched her go, confused as she moved back to the fire.

John stared at her longingly, heart aching and eyes welling with tears. He wanted nothing more than to go to her. To join her by the fire and use the heat of his body to keep her warm. He wished she would come back to him. Come and sit by him, even if she wasn’t close. Just, within reach. Instead of across the cabin, as far as she could physically be from him without leaving the room.

He knew he deserved her coldness. But the chill nipped at his skin worse than the snow. Sinking deep inside his body and constricting his chest as he inhaled another stuttered breath to join to others he had afforded himself in the last few days.

He was drowning. As close to drowning as he felt he could be without physically being in the water. He was surprised how similar it felt to having his head held underwater by a firm hand on the back of his neck. He understood now why the saying existed.

He felt his usually stoic face falling as he really started to process everything. He wanted to cry; really cry. But for every person with their back to him there were three facing him. Staring. Pitying eyes boring into him and making him feel sick to his stomach.

He blinked several times, trying to will away the tears he couldn’t physically stop as he turned back to the ceiling. Unable to stop the tremble of his lips as he inhaled unevenly.

Abigail didn’t care about him. She sat with him when she felt it was necessary for appearances but other than that she was more concerned about warming herself. She had left the second he awoke. He felt it was tell-tale of not actually wanting to converse with him at all. She sat by him when she knew he was asleep but left him to wallow when he awoke and actually needed her.

She preferred sitting with Jack. Making sure he wasn’t scared by the mangled remains of his Father freezing to death in the corner.

She wouldn’t let him come over to be by John’s side. Even though he had heard the kid ask more than once. He knew she was still pissed about what he had said that day he’d thrown her out of his tent. They had argued about it again as recently as the day before the Blackwater job.

He supposed this was how she was choosing to punish him. So blatantly in front of the world and yet he could guarantee no one noticed. She was paying her dues by sitting with him from time to time. No one cared to notice when or if it actually helped him.

He turned himself over to face the wall, hissing at the sting of his scars pressing against the pillow under his bandages.

She had deserved it at the time. Hoarding food while he starved with little to no thanks for his efforts. But he had come to regret it soon after. Letting his emotions get the best of him and pushing her away had done him no favours. She was pissed. Arthur was pissed. It felt as though the entire camp was pissed. Something that had been weighing heavily on him for weeks now.

He couldn’t help but flashback to the mountain. Sitting on that ledge with no way of knowing whether or not he would survive. Thinking that maybe if he did, he would just go. Leave again and no one would ever know the difference.

They would find his mangled horse and assume he had been killed along side it and dragged off somewhere to becomes some wolf-pup’s supper.

He could have started a new life. Proper this time. Knowing for real that he wasn’t wanted and going back to the Gang wasn’t an option. Unlike the last time he ran where he spent the entire time wondering if anyone even missed him. Feeling bad for leaving Dutch, Hosea and Arthur only to return to a punch in the face instead of open, welcoming arms.

He knew better now. Knew where not to go, what not to do. If only he hadn’t been so damn scared.

He knew deep down he would have died if he hadn’t of called out for help when he’d heard Javier’s gunshot. But there was a small part of him that still believed maybe he could have ignored it. Let them go in the wrong direction and never find him.

Abigail wouldn’t even be sad, he was sure. He felt bad for Jack but knew in his heart he would be better off without a failure like himself as a Father.  

He didn’t want to believe it after their heart to heart a few weeks before the Blackwater incident, but he knew deep down that if Arthur felt he had a chance, he would take his place in an instant.

The fact that John knew whole-heartedly that Arthur had every chance, he just had to make the right move, stung harder than a needle in his face ever could.

He had always suspected Abigail was interested in Arthur. Long before he had made his move all those years ago. He had spent so much of his time watching her that he had noticed who she had been watching. Her eyes always flicking towards the older man when he was in camp.

She had propositioned him at least once that John knew of. But he was with Mary at the time and had turned her down. He had observed her sorrow from afar. Way too awkward to ever speak to her about it. But with Arthur’s rejection came renewed hope for himself. Women never looked twice at him when he was with Arthur. If he was being honest, half the allure of Maggie was that she had picked him over his brother without knowing a thing about him.

With Arthur out of the picture John felt more confident in asking Abigail out. It was only after he was rejected that he had realised his mistake. Giving up on the thought of her, knowing deep down he had lost her to Arthur regardless of the fact that Arthur didn’t even want her.

When she had come crawling back, announcing her pregnancy John had known that he wasn’t her first choice. But having not been able to quell his feelings for her, he hoped inside his heart that she could find it in hers to fall in love with him.

He stared at the wall now, vision blurry as he shook with sadness. He hoped if anyone was watching that they would assume he was shivering from the cold. He hoped that the pathetic sound of his weeping was concealed by the crackling of the fire or the creaking of the door above his head.

Most of all he hoped she and she alone was watching. He hoped she knew, and he hoped it hurt her.

 ~~

 John couldn’t tell how long it had been.

Hours?

Days?

He had no semblance of time. Just pain and the sweet relief of morphine every time he thought the pain had finally reached it’s peak. The medicine sending him in to deep slumber he only woke from once it started to wear-off. Leaving him awake and aching for sometimes hours at a time until some angelic voice took pity on him and told the Reverend to dose him again.

Everything was hazy. He wasn’t sure what were real memories and what he had hallucinated.

At some point in the last couple of hours the women had seemed to move to another building. He awoke to find himself completely alone. The only evidence that others had been there recently was smoke from a dead fire in the pit across the room.

He wouldn’t admit it when Abigail had eventually come to check on him. But he had been scared. Afraid they had left him, knowing he wasn’t going to make it and moving on without him.

He had resisted the urge to call out. Choosing instead to quietly hope someone would come for him soon.

Anyone.

If he really was going to be alone for the rest of his days he didn’t want to know it.

When that door had finally opened, he had been relieved it was Abigail. Feelings of helplessness overwhelming him and pushing him to an emotional outburst. No sooner had she sat beside him, he had reached for her and cried into her skirts as she reluctantly patted his head.

When she had questioned him, he never spoke of his fears. Only of the pain he was in as a cover.

In reality he had been feeling a little better lately. Like maybe he could start to get back to normal again soon.

She had let him cry for a while. Offering a mild comfort before she finally left him to call for the Reverend. John composed himself while she was gone. Relief at not being abandoned flooding through him and making it hard to keep himself together.

Swanson entered the building a long while after Abigail had left. John wondered what had kept him but was glad he had taken his time. He was completely unaware that his face was still so red and angry that no one would be able to tell he had been crying anyway.

The Reverend gave him a reassuring pat on the arm before setting about his business. John squirmed under the needle as he always did. Something about them making him uncomfortable in a way guns and knives didn’t.

The wooden door creaked opened and Arthur wandered through. Quipping at the Reverend about his penchant for morphine and making John realise why they had been so stringent with his dosages. They didn’t want him having it more often than he needed and getting addicted.

“I’ll mind you to show me some respect, Mr Morgan.” Swanson spat, standing tall in front of the burly man and not cowering at the snigger Arthur afforded him.

“Mind away, Reverend.” Arthur smiled as the older man walked past him to leave them alone.

“You’re still here, then?” Arthur asked after a moment, gesturing at John as he sat down on the chair by his beside.

John looked at him for a second. Deciding how to respond.

“I owe you.” He said softly. Genuinely.

Arthur made a noise of approval before speaking.

“And you’ll pay me…” He said matter-of-factly. Making John look to him with an air of derision. “But for now, just rest.” Arthur said kindly.

John wanted to respond but didn’t get a chance before the door swung open again, startling them both.

“Arthur!” Dutch exclaimed, making them both turn as he marched towards them. “I think it’s time for the train.”

John raised his brows at the statement. He had only been catching snippets here and there of the current plan to get out of this frozen hellhole. A train robbery sounded like fun despite his ailment. He was so damn bored and desperate to be useful again.

“Want me to come?” John asked quickly, starting to sit up without even thinking. The morphine making his head spin as they both looked at him with concerned eyes. He was so sick of feeling helpless. Surely there was something he could do.

“Of course I do but…” Dutch started, trailing off momentarily. “Look at you.” He said gently.

John waved him off, starting to pull his blankets off. The medicine had given him a renewed sense of confidence. Never mind the fact that he hadn’t walked in days and the reality of using his stiff muscles for the first time in a while would probably not be as grand as he imagined it in hazy state.

“I was always ugly, Dutch.” He laughed half-heartedly. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Lie still son!” Dutch said firmly as he and Arthur both leaned towards him to push him back down. John huffed, feeling more useless than before. “Hello Abigail!” Dutch greeted loudly as the door creaked open for a third time.

She hesitated in the doorway, not expecting anyone to be with John after she saw the Reverend return to the cabin she was in with the other women.

“Dutch.” She returned, staying true to her purpose and walking straight to John as Dutch greeted Jack who was trailing behind her. “The boy wanted to see you, John.” She said resolutely, stepping aside as Jack sidled up to his bedside and looked him over with large, sad eyes.

John looked at him momentarily. Feeling hurt well inside his chest at the sight of him.

“Well he’s seen me now.” He said simply, unsure what else to say. “Or what’s left of me.” He added defeatedly. He looked up at her, ignoring the other people in the room as he asked. “What about you?”

“Guess I was hopin’ to see a corpse.” Abigail spat sarcastically for the sake of the others around her. She wasn’t exactly the best at expressing her feelings in front of a crowd.

John scoffed. Of course that was her reaction. He wasn’t sure why he even bothered. “Bide your time.” He said frankly. “You’ll see plenty of them.”

Abigail growled under her breath. Her answer hadn’t exactly been friendly but his went too far when Jack was present.

“You’re a rotten man, John Marston!” She snapped, taking Jack’s hand and leading him away from John.

“He is an idiot, Abigail!” Dutch shouted, gesturing wildly. “We all know it!”

John frowned as Arthur tried and failed to hold back a snicker.

“Now! Railway men!” Dutch shouted as he was exiting the room. That was Arthur’s queue to follow. He did so, giving John a nod as he left him once again in complete isolation.

Regret seeped into his thoughts as he stared at he ceiling. Listening to the sound of Dutch shouting outside his door and knowing he was at least stuck alone in this room until the other men made it back from robbing the train.

He wished Abigail would come back.

 ~~

 John had no idea how long it had been since Dutch and Arthur had left him. The morphine had kicked in not long after they’d gone and he had fallen into a deep sleep. Waking only after his face had started to ache and his stomach had started to growl.

Being alone he hadn’t had anyone to ask for help. He couldn’t accurately describe the despair if he’d tried.

It seemed to be morning now. The sunlight peaking through the cracks in the walls and making John wonder just how much longer he was going to be stuck here.

Had the men come back yet?

Did it go well?

Was anyone else hurt?

So man questions flittered through his mind. Frustration mounting as he decided it was time to try and use his legs. Time to stop feeling sorry for himself and find out what the hell was going on.

He flipped his blankets off, leaning up on his elbows and groaning in pain. His fervour halted in its tracks as he realised how badly he was still injured.

As if on cue, Abigail burst through the door, her arms full of clothes. She explained they were moving out and she needed to get him dressed.

He was grateful. Truly feeling as though he couldn’t stomach another second in this bed.

She helped him sit, ignoring his uncontrollable shaking and she covered his torso with a simple shirt and began working on his coat. His muscles were protesting being used for the first time in days. He felt weak and sick to the stomach. Swallowing back bile as Charles entered the room and helped Abigail get him standing.

They worked together to get his jeans on. He was embarrassed to be so frail in front of Charles but the other man assured him without him needing to speak that he knew the pain of working through an infected wound first-hand. He commented on how terrible it was as he was helping him into his boots and John felt better for it.

Charles encouraged him to lean his weight on his shoulder and he did so as Abigail wrapped his scarf around his neck. Charles was on his right and Abigail moved to his left.

Walking felt like pure hell. His legs aching and his heart beating out of his chest at the effort. They stopped in the doorway for him to be sick. Charles taking the brunt of his weight as he wretched up nothing but bile.

Abigail wiped at his mouth with her handkerchief before fussing over his limp as they led him towards the back of a wagon. Uncle was already waiting there and helped Charles pull him up. John grunted in pain, lying back as soon as he was able and breathing heavily as he tried to calm his body.

Abigail climbed in as Charles left. Sitting beside him and leaning her back against the side of the wagon. He looked up at her sadly, knowing the rocky road out of here was going to be hell as he was jolted all around the cart.

She looked him over, pursing her lips and smiling sympathetically as she slowly slipped her hand into his. He gripped it tightly, heart fluttering at the sentiment.

Perhaps she had finally forgiven him? He inched himself closer to her, his side touching the toes of her boots.

Her lips quirked at his actions. She knew her touch was comforting him and found herself regretting the fact that it would be inappropriate to simply lie beside him for the journey.

She had missed him lately. She knew she’d been unnecessarily hard on him the last few days. She felt guilt well in her chest as she looked down at him sadly. He had deserved it for all the fighting they had done before he’d gone and got himself shot in Blackwater.

Just when she was about to forgive him and apologise, he had to go and nearly get himself killed being reckless. Then again as soon as he was able to sit on a horse he was out almost getting himself eaten.

She was furious she’d nearly lost him. Twice. Part of her didn’t want to forgive him. To make it easier for herself if he did end up dying from his wounds. But she knew deep down that would just lead to more guilt. The kind she could never rid herself of.

She looked at him now. Beaten and battered, probably a little scared about the ride ahead and sighed softly. Deciding it wasn’t worth staying mad anymore. She wasn’t about to apologise any time soon. But she could quietly forgive him and let him revel in her comfort for the journey ahead.

She really was glad he was alive.

End.

~~~~~~~~

If you enjoyed this please check out the rest of the series if you haven’t already! Please let me know what you thought! It took me 6 months to finish this fic and any and all feedback is appreciated!! 

Prequel: Taking Part 1: Falling Part 2: Leaving Part 3: Pining Part 4: Hurting Part 5: Shattering

[cchexmex]

“Ah, I’m just gonna air out my dogs...”

“Did you fare well on your journey back?”

“It was fine, can’t say I had a grand ol’ time... my damn feet are absolutely killing me. The things I do for you, Kotal... been thinkin’ about asking for a raise.” He stared at his boots, taking note of the muck still clinging to them. A frown crossed his face as the dull ache of his feet seemed to grow stronger again.

“Erron, truly... is your current pay not enough?”

He leaned back in his seat, grumbling as he turned his head up to the ceiling. It was more than enough. There was a lengthy silence in the room before Kotal broke it “Pass me one of your ‘dogs’” he sat down beside Erron, motioning with a hand.

“Are you being serious right now?” Erron turned to face him, incredulous. “Nah, don’t worry about me I’m just...”

Kotal leaned back, appraising Erron “Are you certain? I’ll only offer once.”

Kotal touching him? He pushed away the thoughts that wanted to spring forth in his mind, wanting to keep himself firmly planted in reality. It was an offer he didn’t want to turn down, but he was keen to hide his eagerness. “If you insist... sure” he twisted in the seat, pressing back against the edge of the arm rest and cautiously lifting his legs, feet towards Kotal. His feet rested in the man’s lap. Kotal keeping his gaze down and reaching for one. The heat of his hands sent a jolt through Erron. Strong and rough hands, fingers squeezing tightly along his tired flesh, knuckles rolling into stiff tendons. Resolutely Kotal continued, fully focused on the task he had given himself. His hands drew away, coming to rest on Erron’s other foot “ya doing this in place of a raise, Kotal?”

“If that is how you wish to interpret this...” Kotal replied with a soft laugh, raising a brow at a low groan that left Erron as he began anew.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

https://raven-at-the-writing-desk.tumblr.com/post/677862211311616000/adding-on-to-the-dorm-leader-rook-thing-that-just 👀👀👀👀 that’s got me thinkin to like a cinderella sort of situation (at least in my mind) where you have a potion that lasts until a certain time and beyond that, you’ll be transformed back into what she regularly looks like. (like cinderella with her having to go home by midnight or she’d be back to rags in front of all those people) with all the other students informed to be on the look out for suspicious behavior you unfortunately stick out like a sore thumb with shutting yourself in your room by a certain time and not coming out after it, with even getting meals sent to your room. Rook obviously gets curious and tests this theory out when he invited you for a ‘chat’ and unfortunately all plots to reschedule said chat are thwarted by the determined man. of course that just means he’ll have to corner you in your own territory- your room- if you won’t come out and face him.

[Referencing this post!]

Bruh 😷 That’s such a bad plan (for Rook’s prey, not for Rook)... Why would you hide in plain sight when your potion’s so inefficient, obviously someone as perceptive as Rook would immediately notice. It also seems like dorm rooms are shared by multiple students (unless you’re a dorm leader), so you’d better hope and pray Pomefiore mobs don’t rat you out either—

It would probably be a better plan to run somewhere else, change your appearance, and start life anew? It’s sort of a reverse classic fairy tale situation, where instead of a royal being rescued by their one true love, the royal’s on the run from their “one true love” (heavy quotation marks) and actively trying to not be discovered. Buuut of course, it just backfires on them since Rook’s a deviant that lives for the thrill of the hunt—

Traveling across the land on horseback to find you... and then he hears rumors about a strange person in a secluded village, a person that always retires before a certain time of night and refuses to see anyone until morning. Maybe a rumor spreads that they’re cursed and secretly become an ogre (ayyy Shrek vibes) or a monster at night, so they beg Rook (a skilled huntsman) to get rid of that person for them... and he’s pleasantly surprised to discover it’s who he’s been looking for all along!

Rook just gets on one knee and asks you to come back with him, where he’ll keep you safe and warm and happy—because if you stay, then you’ll continue to live a lie, or die trying by the other villagers’ hands... “Even should the world turn against you, you will always have a haven to call home in my heart.” 😌 The drama ✨

Side note, I just want to say that these Rook dorm leader AU asks I’ve been getting are progressively getting more and more horni 🤣

[join-the-joywrite]

Time After Time -- 8

a boy a girl a time turner

when a time turner is shattered in a small fight, it’s up to the unlikely pair to figure out how to survive until the end of the war. it’s their only shot at breaking the loop.

masterpost prev 

Chapter 8 - When Hermione died in the end

Surprisingly, Hermione and Draco both made it to the hall before Harry revealed himself.

They survived Pansy, the flood, the Fiendfyre, watching Snape's death, saving Fred and the eventual raid of the Death Eaters.

Once again, they found themselves standing at the edge of the debris, overlooking the waves.

Draco looked out to the castle, to the clock that still stood. "Five minutes. Are you sure you don't want to--"

Hermione stepped down and pulled Draco with her. "I've cheated death so many times. I won't deny that I've been selfish about it. I could've tried harder to save Lavender sooner. But I knew as long as I still failed, you'd never suspect why I kept resetting. With the flood, I could've thought of the answer too, but I kept drowning, knowing I'd soon see you again."

"Hermione, please."

"I've been selfish, Draco. Abusing the loop. Cheating death. It's a pity it took my death for you to come to me. But we've run out of time. I'll be surprised if I live past the next two minutes."

"No. I'll jump off the bridge."

Hermione tilted her head. "Then you'll have let our love be forgotten. I promised you I'd be with you forever if I survive. Promise me that if I don't, you'll live. For me."

"I can't. I can't do that. No one here would accept me the way you do."

"Then run away," Hermione pleaded, squeezing Draco's hands. "Leave the Wizarding World. Live with Muggles. Start anew. Be yourself, whoever that is, whoever you want to be. Just . . . live. For me. Please don't follow me this time."

In the square, Ginny let go of Harry after at least ten minutes.

"Since when is Malfoy even a friend?"

"It's a long story," Ron said, watching the pair in the distance. He turned back to see the time.

5:45.

When Hermione slumped forward into Draco's arms and he called out her name, Ron reached past Ginny to grab Harry's arm, stopping them both from moving any further forward. They stared at him questioningly.

"Long story."

In the middle of the bridge, Draco sank to the floor, cradling Hermione. "You should have survived."

"Some things are meant to happen no matter what."

"Shut up," Draco whispered, "stop hurting yourself further."

"You promised."

"I didn't."

"You didn't have to say it. I know you did. Muggles are fascinating. You'll like it among them."

"I'm not leaving you."

Hermione took a shuddering breath. "You know, I was almost a Slytherin too."

"Hermione, please."

"I'll be fine."

"Don't go."

Hermione smiled. She closed her eyes. "You promised," she reminded Draco one last time. "I love you."

Draco refused to accept it as Hermione's body stilled. He waited for the familiar tug, to find himself standing in the cottage, jug and glass in hand.

It never happened.

How was he supposed to live without the person who had saved his life so many times -- the first two, or ten, without the knowledge that she would live past that? How could he go on without her? How could he live amongst the kind of people that had raised her? The Muggles.

Draco froze. Muggles! In some ways, Muggles were better than wizards. It was his last chance. He had nothing else to try.

Ron, Ginny and Harry watched as Draco vanished from sight.

"Why'd you stop us?" Harry asked, "she's our best friend. We barely even know him. Just because we helped each other these last few hours--"

"There's more at play here than you know, Harry. Come on, there's a lot to explain."

///////////////

Nearly four months later, well after Hogwarts had been fully reconstructed, Harry received a letter to his home via the post.

The envelope had no return address and merely had his last name on the envelope. It was a miracle the letter had even made it to his letterbox. Perhaps the letter's true state had been concealed to look like those of the Muggles -- if it was sent by someone from a magical community somewhere.

"What is it, Harry?"

"Dunno yet," Harry said as he made his way back to the living room, where Ron and Ginny were sitting with their tea.

"Any word from Malfoy?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. "Pass me a wand, please."

Ginny held hers out with a sigh. "You've lost your letter opener again, haven't you?"

With a sheepish grin, Harry stabbed the envelope. Holding the letter and shaking the envelope off, he passed Ginny's wand back to her.

While the siblings picked up their conversation, Harry read through the letter.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, startling the Weasleys.

"What?" Ron asked, panicked. "What is it?"

"Privet Drive, now!"

"What?" Ginny said. "Where you used to live? For what d'you want to visit those pigs?"

"Meet me there! Number four, Privet Drive!" Harry yelled, already heading to the front door so he could apparate from outside the boundaries of the protection charms around Godric's Hollow.

Ron reached for the letter Harry had dropped and held it between himself and Ginny.

Harry I do regret not sending word sooner. I've only just received word that you'll be attending Hogwarts to complete your final year. She's quite proud of you and Ron, no doubt. I know she's your best friend and it's been incredibly selfish of me to try and keep her all to myself. If you're wondering how I know about Hogwarts and where you stay, I just have one name for you: Luna. I'm writing this letter to apologise for keeping silent all these months. It was wrong and I know she's going to make me pay for it. Number four, Privet Drive. I trust you know it. Come when you please, she's not getting out of bed anytime soon. Malfoy.

Ron glanced at Ginny. "We should go to Privet Drive."

"Already on it," Ginny said, snatching up the keys to the house and walking to the front door.

///////////////

Harry stared at the front door. Ginny nudged him forward.

He'd barely knocked before the door opened.

"Wards caught you," Draco explained, "I wondered how long I was going to have to wait before you actually knocked. Hermione's asleep. I wasn't expecting you to show up immediately."

"Why are you in my old house?" Harry blurted.

Draco shrugged. "They moved out. Who knows where? I needed a place and it was available. Don't worry, Hermione . . . redecorated."

As soon as he crossed the threshold, Harry knew the entire house had changed since he last stepped foot in it.

"I'm confused," Harry said, "I thought you vanished off the map because Hermione died. Ron thought you were dead too."

"Almost," Draco said, locking the door again and walking in the direction of the kitchen. "Tea? Hermione bought this awful stuff and I've been giving it to everyone that visits. Try some."

Harry, Ron and Ginny shared a confused glance as Draco vanished into the kitchen, returning with three steaming cups. Ron sniffed the cup before emptying it into the small palm tree's pot against the wall.

"Fair enough," Draco said, nodding as he produced a bottle of Firewhiskey. "Will this do?"

Ron held out the cup. "You're not delusional, are you?" he asked as Draco filled the cup with the liquor.

"Surprisingly, no. Hermione may be bedridden, but she's pretty well known up and down the street."

"How?" Harry asked.

"Oh, she made me take her to some stupid barbecue thing and took down everyone's numbers before we came back."

"No, I meant how is she alive?"

"Oh." Draco sat down on the sofa and gestured for the trio to sit. "Wizards are shit, mate. Absolute garbage. Hermione would've died because they'd be looking for some convoluted problem to solve."

"So, what happened?" Ginny asked.

"Heart attack," Draco said, leaning back. "It took the Muggles nearly twenty minutes to restart her heart. She'd slipped into a coma and . . . well, they said she might never wake up. Some said I was wasting finances on keeping her alive." Draco shrugged. "Then, two weeks ago, she just . . . woke up."

"Just like that?" Ginny raised her eyebrows.

Draco shrugged again. "Pretty much, yeah. Stunned the doctors quite a bit. Stunned herself."

"If Hermione woke up three weeks ago," Harry said, "why only send a letter now?"

"I said she woke up three weeks ago. I only brought her here two weeks ago. After that barbecue, she couldn't even get out of bed for longer than a few minutes. She started walking again a few days ago only. She needed the space to get used to living again. Before, coming back from certain death was an easy thing."

Ginny shuddered, catching Draco's attention. Her cheeks tinged slightly pink. "Sorry. I still can't get my head around the whole thing. Ron's explained it to us but . . . it's still strange to think about."

Draco nodded. "I suppose that's fair. Could you imagine, losing Hermione Granger to a heart attack? She's battled monsters and dragons and all sorts of things--"

"MATE, WE HAD A FUCKING FUNERAL!" Ron burst out.

Draco paused. "I did not know that. I should have expected that, though."

"She's got a bloody headstone! And flowers! I mean, the flowers are dead now 'cause we've been in Scotland most of the time rebuilding Hogwarts, but that's beside the point!"

"Ron?"

The four of them turned to see Hermione come around the wall, leaning against it. She looked quite shabby in her rumpled pyjamas and her hair was in all sorts of knots, but her face was full of colour and her eyes were as vibrant as they'd ever been. Hermione turned to Draco as he stood up and walked over to her. "You could've told me they were coming. I'd have brushed my hair."

"I didn't think they'd come as soon as they got the letter, love," Draco said, offering Hermione his arm.

"What really happened?" Ginny asked, watching as Hermione sat down in the corner of the couch and curled up into it.

"I died," Hermione said simply, "for the eighty-seventh time."

"Eighty-seven," Harry murmured, "that's ridiculous."

Hermione shrugged. "I couldn't figure out how to stop Pansy from killing Draco. Half of those deaths were spent thinking I was in the loop alone."

Draco recoiled as Hermione shot him a scalding glare. She was still bitter about it.

"I'm honestly surprised to still be here. I thought I was going to die for real there on the bridge. However, having been stuck in a time loop where I repeatedly died in various ways, I'm not about to question the fundamentals of my survival. I'm just thankful to be alive and lucky to be able to go back to being me."

"You realise we're going to have to get that headstone, as well as that empty coffin we buried, demolished," Ron said, "right?"

Hermione smiled. "So, I hear you're both going back to Hogwarts when it opens in a week."

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding, "We figured you'd want us to."

"You're right. I do want that for you. But . . . if you can find your means without Seventh Year, then you don't need to go. You don't have to do this for me."

Ginny frowned. "You're not coming with, are you?"

Both boys stared at Hermione. She shook her head.

"Well, then what are you gonna do? Sit around here all day, counting the lines on the walls?"

"No, Ron. We've decided to stay here, in the Muggle world. For that, we'd need Muggle jobs."

"You're going to college," Harry said, studying them both, "aren't you?"

Hermione and Draco nodded.

"What are going to do?"

Hermione glanced at Draco. "Medicine," he said.

"And you?" Harry asked, turning to Hermione.

She shrugged. "I'm . . . undecided."

"You should try teaching -- or nursing. Ron says he watched you with the younger students while I was in the Pensieve."

Ron nodded. "You were really good with them. A lot of them wouldn't sit still to let anyone else treat them the way they did for Malfoy. You'd make a great teacher, though. Brightest witch of her age, teaching Muggles how to spell."

Hermione laughed. "I promise to visit for dinner at least once a month."

"Mum's going to hold you to that," Ginny said.

Draco leaned forward. "So, Luna says we're to expect wedding invites soon?"

"Yeah," Ginny said, "I do suppose yours will return from one of those Muggle print stores soon."

Hermione snickered. "You deserve that."

"Shut up," Draco grumbled, glaring at the coffee table.

"Make me," Hermione said cheekily, sticking her tongue out at Draco.

Draco raised an eyebrow as he turned to look at her. "Love, we have guests. Maybe later."

"Oh, gross!" Ron cried. "In front of my Firewhiskey! Don't you have any self-control?"

Draco grinned. "Oh, yeah, can't wait for dinner."

And so they spent the rest of the day in the living room of Number 4, Privet Drive, laughing, joking, playfully insulting, and reminiscing.

Harry had never felt more at home than he did, surrounded by his two best friends, his girlfriend, and the unlikeliest of friends he could've possibly made.

///////////////

Years and years later, when they all had hair the colour of snow and wrinkles all over, long after they'd welcomed great-grandchildren into their families, Draco Malfoy planted daisies and marigolds at his wife's grave. He followed her not long after, but for every day they were apart, he visited the grave and took care of the flowers.

prev

[pinkbelugacollective]

THIS IS ALL IN REGARDS TO THE KAYFABE, GL MARKS, DON’T WORK YOURSELVES INTO A SHOOT!

thinkin about how after all these years, kota still aint made friends in new japan, and how all the people who would run up to save his life are all back in the promotion everyone looks down. with all this bc and elite mess, if raggedy kenneth ever decides to turn on him again, who gon run up to help him? daisuke aint gon play backup bitchboy to GL ever again, he done got his shit together and started anew with DAMNATION, got himself good friends who are practically family, he aint never gon need kota to validate him ever again (especially when u remember that daisuke validated him when he came back to DDT post-resignation and didn’t drag the fuck outta him like tana did). shuji outchea livin his best life, sasadango doin the same, akito got the new ace under his care, dino gettin ready to get married, gota gettin his life together with ken’s help... everybody got they life together and done moved on, and kota went right back to the boy who done ruined his life once.

like, i think the thing that hurts me most is that everyone else learned to move on from their pain and built new relationships and set new goals in life. kota, on the other hand, done ran back to the same bitchass whiteboy who fucked over his shot at the big title he was ready to lay his life down for, and instead of realizing that the kenny he was in love with died a long time ago, he done set himself up for another tragedy while the rest of his friends moved the fuck on. and is there anyone, anyone at all in new japan that truly gives a fuck about his health? his well-being? his goals and aspirations? no, because his whole life, he thought wrestling, loving kenny, keeping friends, and setting off fire crackers were enough. but suddenly, wrestling aint fun no more cuz the yung fucks involved, the kenny he loved is a manipulative asswipe now, all his friends are grown and livin they best life back in the mother promotion cuz they not 22 and walnuts no more, and kota... he’s just there. 

sasaki. sasaki daisuke, the biggest joke back in the gl vs apollo 55 wars, he was the one who validated him and told him ‘issalright.’ the same asshole y’all now compare to chase owens, he’s the one who told ibushi he deserved to live his best life, and that despite the fact that kota abandoned him- he wasn’t gonna shame him for it. he wasn’t gonna drag him by the roots and expose his weaknesses, his crippling depression, his inability to stay grounded- ALL OF WHICH KENNETH DID, AS DID TANAHASHI, AS DID ALL OF NEW JAPAN. 

so im mad- im mad as hell that my boy aint learn in 2015, and that he’s probably gonna get his ass beat again soon, cuz there’s no way this ends with him staying. because then we’d have to admit that tana was right (he is not, he will never be right). he wasn’t weak for getting hurt and having to leave and having to travel all over the world to heal his mental wounds, he wasn’t a bad person for leaving daisuke and suguru behind even tho daisuke was a known manic depressive and in constant need of validation and reckless as hell with no care for his well-being, he wasn’t a bad wrestler and he didn’t fail his fans because we still love and care for him and wish him the best.

but the best aint kenneth, it aint new japan, and it’s not that iwgp heavyweight belt that seems to suck out every soul it comes across. until he learns (which i truly believe he will), we’re gonna be stuck in this hellish cycle of him bein boo boo the fool.

[xxxdragonfucker69xxx]

inanna went down

When she entered the first gate, From her head the crown was removed. When she entered the second gate, From her neck the lapis was removed. When she entered the third gate, From her breast the double beads were removed. When she entered the fourth gate, From her chest the breastplate was removed. When she entered the fifth gate, From her wrist the gold bracelet was removed. When she entered the sixth gate, From her hand the rod and line were removed. When she entered the seventh gate, From her body the royal robe was removed. When Inanna entered the throne room of Hell, When the judges surrounded her, Inanna was naked, and she was ashamed.

At first, the sea will still be the colour of night behind glass, but then we'll see the light below. The colour of the water will change: rain-wet slate, then darkest jade, then deep rich green. Green as fresh emeralds. Green as remembered rivers.

You are going away now. Maybe you are with others. Maybe you are alone. Maybe you will come back, someday. Maybe you will die first. But you are going, going, gone.

This is the journey, and the destination.

To play, you and your friends require a Tarot deck (and, optionally, a pamphlet or website on interpreting Tarot cards). Each of you will draw three cards and arrange them as you choose: past, present and future. Interpret these to create a character and a backstory: where they came from, how they feel and what they are journeying for. (If this is a shared journey, you may decide that you are journeying to the same place but not necessarily for the same reasons: everyone is going to Hell, but one is doing it to rescue their daughter and one is doing it to fight the devil. Or everyone is going to fight the devil, but one is doing it out of spite and one is doing it out of theological duty.) Note the cards you drew, then shuffle them back into the deck.

Draw seven cards and lay them facedown in the middle. These are the gates of your journey. They may be gas stations or checkpoints or literal gates to Hell or simply moments of looking at scenery and having an epiphany. No matter what, you must give something up to pass through the gates.

Describe your gathering and setting off on the journey. Are you traveling by car, by foot or by camel? Have you provisioned wisely, or is this a spur-of-the-moment flight? Describe, if you like, a short interlude of travel. Then reveal the first card. Someone may describe what is happening: has the Tower kicked things off with a terrible tragedy? Has the Two of Cups sent you after your lover?

If a Major Arcana is revealed, it affects everyone; not everyone must sacrifice, but everyone will feel the effects. If one of the court cards is revealed (Page, Knight, Queen, King), one of you may take it for yourself if you think it fits your current identity. If the revealed card is one that helped generate a character, that player must sacrifice.

Describe what you are giving up. This must relate to one of your cards: if you are stopped by armed guards, you may sacrifice your past with the Sun: give up your innocent childhood, realizing that in fact you were raised in blissful ignorance of violence but trained for moments like these. Or you may sacrifice your future of the Tower: no longer do you expect this journey to end in disaster, and your optimism infects the guards such that they must let you pass. When you have given something up, cross that card off, or put it on the bottom of the deck if it was a court card.

In between gates, you may rest. You may talk to each other, eat together, think of your losses, or simply look at the moon. You may choose, during this time, to give one of your cards to another. It must be the same card, but it may be in a different slot: talking about your present with the Ten of Swords causes someone to interpret their past as terrible tragedy instead. Once in the entire game, one of the players may draw a new card, when it is dramatically and narratively appropriate.

If you give up everything, you are nothing. You may watch, and your character may appear in the scenes of other characters, but they cannot contribute meaningfully. If nobody survives to the end, that's it. Rocks fall, everyone dies. It doesn't actually matter how the journey ends, because no one cares enough to watch it.

If you reach the end of your journey with identities left to spare, congratulations! You have reached your destination, and you may return home older and wiser. You are the magician, who has brought fire back from heaven. You have not, however, won the game. This was not a game for you; it was merely a blip in your life.

If you give up your last card at the last gate, if your sacrifice is what finally opens the way, that is when you win the game. You are the one who has truly understood the journey: that it is not possible to live without dying, without being destroyed and remade anew. The you that you are now is not the you that left home, but is the you that you were meant to be all along. If you are this person, the game starts again, but you are the gatekeeper now. Everyone draws cards for the same characters and interprets them the same way, except for you. For this game, the journey back home, you describe each aspect of the story and you may choose who has to sacrifice at each gate.

sending off the month in true nordic style

lets just get generically esoteric

still thinkin bout road to kandahar