#mistrustful survivor with a heart

[romances-not-tragedies]

OC Questions Tag

Thank you, @thewriteflame for the tag!

Let us focus on the OC of my Perfect 'Verse, Miguel Chua y Hizon:

5 words to physically describe your OC:

Tan-skinned, dark-eyed, medium-height, smirking, and snarky.

Who inspired your OC?:

I do not have a singular source of inspiration for my OC, but he is the product of the questions in my mind like how would Jo Gar and Sadi Ratan would deal with someone with a victim-slash-survivor of Filipino and Chinese heritage (he is a Chinese mestizo, BTW). Someone who would rather gouge his eyes than deal with the likes of them for various reasons. Someone who defies the two men's way of thinking of his kind, someone who does not let them bully him.

Give me a song to define your OC:

Cassandra by Taylor Swift, which expresses his fears of not being believed by many (especially by Jo Gar and Sadi Ratan) and paying the ultimate price for trying to expose the truth about a family that actually committed crimes.

If I met your OC on the street, how would they greet me?:

If I bump with him on the street, he would be freaking out and go apologetic about me being hurt, like "Oh no! I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Are you hurt?" But he would be gentlemanly with me throughout our interactions and ensure that I am safe if I decide to leave.

Can your OC be your best friend? Why?:

If he is in the current state he is in the 'Verse, it is going to be difficult to get through his armor of sarcasm. But if he lets you in, you will see that underneath all the layers of snark, you will see that he cares about his family and friends, he has fears and insecurities, and that he does his best to keep himself above water. He is a sweet, smart, loyal guy bogged down by his personal baggage (and his secret mission) but tries not to show it to others due to his upbringing, training, and circumstances. Given the circumstances, it may take time, but yes, I can be besties with Miguel because I see his struggles and I go through such as well and we love to roast the two guys (because why the hell not? The feeling is mutual!)

1 adjective and 1 noun to describe your OC:

Mistrustful survivor

Soft-tagging: @avoidingcertaindoom, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @winterandwords, @laplumedemaureen, but this is also an open tag for those who want to participate in the game.

Happy Writing!

[orphiclovers]

I think the most notable bit of character insight on Yoo Joonghyuk that Yoo Mia SS provides is how much the apocalypse did not change him at all.

It's one of those Big Themes orv has, and simply brilliant writing. Y'know how they kept beating us over the head with the concept of 'the people who find it easiest to adapt in a ruined world are those who could not adapt to real life?'. That applies to YJH too, and even more than other characters. But it's hard to notice on a casual main story read because genre conventions and his character archetype tell us not to look deeper, that he is just a basic brooding power fantasy manhwa protagonist, even when he's really not.

So the audience writes off his quirks because it's expected of his brooding hero archetype and the other apocalypse survivors write off his quirks because everyone who has gotten this far is a little nuts and also they have bigger problems.

But when Yoo Joonghyuk acts exactly like he does during the apocalypse in a pre-scenario world where there's no convienient explanation it's really clear that he is different and he just comes off as...off.

His silence during conversations is no longer mysterious and cool but just weird and a failure to read social cues. His 'glare' is frightening and people don't like when he makes eye contact with them. His manner of speech is off-putting. His blank emotionless face is not stoic repressed hero-esque but ""rude"" etc etc. Every single mainstream society conforming person can tell there's something off about him so they avoid him. And YJH doesn't know how to communicate so he ends up totally friendless (save for a literal mafia boss and a crazy time-traveling teenage girl - and only them, because they don't fit well into society either.)

Umm where was I. So, but I don't know how much effect all of that has on World of Zero. Firstly, because between Yoo Mia side story and World of Zero there are 3-4 years of '?????' where afaik we have no idea what Yoo Joonghyuk was doing. He stopped being a gamer at some point but also got rich at the same time (doing what?) and bought the house he daydreamed about and also became a total shut-in who 'doesn't go outside often'. I have fanfic-y theories but nothing canon.

Onto the second part of the ask.

With World of Zero era joongdok I feel like there's a lot of writers out there who have made their own versions that are better than anything I could come up with so I hope you wont be disapointed. That being said I do have some thoughts.

Speaking of fanfic, here is mine under read more lol.

I think it's super that Kim Dokja gains the power of an omnipotent god and the very first thing he does is devote his time to Yoo Joonghyuk's happiness and safety. The whole reason he became OD was because of his massive guilt complex about YJH, so it makes sense that he would try to atone.

Zero starts off mistrusting him but gradually KDJ proves himself as having Zero's best interests at heart 100% of the time. DKOS is YJH's guardian angel. And then KDJ stays watching over him even after the scenarios were over, seeing him go through boring life milestones, happy as long as YJH is happy, for seemingly no reason.

So it's no wonder Yoo Jooghyuk fell in love.

He might not know Salvation's real name or appearance or anything about him but he wants to get to know him, this person who has saved him so many times while asking nothing in return. It doesn't matter that he's a constellation because he is good, Yoo Joonghyuk knows. He confesses all of this to Salvation, looking up at the sky with eyes sparkling with life and passion.

Salvation lets him down gently, for what it's worth, but rejection is still rejection and it hurts.

In the following weeks, as he goes through the motions and pretends nothing happened, he continues to feel the gaze of Salvation on his back, but the constellation stays mercifully silent. Yoo Joonghyuk does not want to know if it's pity he's looking at him with. Even heartbreak heals, of course. Months pass, then years. Lee Seolhwa was a dependable companion to him during the scenarios and stays a steadying presence in the world after. They're compatable. She is someone with who he could see himself growing old.

Salvation told him to 'be free, to fall in love with someone who could be with him, to not waste his time chasing after a dream, to live his life to the fullest'

He knows about his attribute of course, just like he knows everything about Yoo Joonghyuk.

Yoo Joonghyuk sees no point in lying. He tells Lee Seolhwa everything. How due to his attribute he will grown old and die while the rest of them stay youthful as ever, how he doesn't remember his childhood or know his parents. His hopes and dreams, how he yearns to learn his origins. About the first scenario, about the constellation who would have been his sponsor, whom he loves.

Then he asks to marry her. She says yes.

Salvation is the first person Yoo Joonghyuk tells. He's happy for him, of course, says he always knew there was a spark between them.

They live a long 50 years together.

When Yoo Joonghyuk's hair started turning more salt than pepper, he told Lee Seolhwa that he wouldn't hold her. She laughed, stroked his head and said that she might not look it but she is two years older than him, that she vowed to be by his side till death did them apart and she will not break that promise.

When his time comes and he knows he has to leave, he tries to explain himself to Lee Seolhwa at least, if not the rest of his old companions. But he needn't have bothered. Before he could start, she took his hands in hers and smiled wistfully. She told him she always knew this day would come. That his heart has always belonged to someone else. She's thankful for the time he has given her anyway and that she could not have asked for a better husband. She sheads a few tears and Yoo Joonghyuk does too, but he leaves their house with a sense of purpose and a lightness in his heart he has not felt once since the day he beat the final scenario.

And then he accepts the sponsorship contract with Salvation.

... .. Sooo, that's how I think round zero went.

[twola]

Devil's Backbone - Owanjila VII

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV 

Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Owanjila VII: You, Amongst the Lupines

Time passes, and Arthur jumps at the chance to take you out of camp.

CW: References to child loss, violence, and Arthur being a big mean outlaw.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

Mud squelches under his boot. It is everything he is not to scowl at the sound. 

Ain’t no way that Genevieve was going to stay with him now. Not with him sent on this fool’s errand. He was supposed to stay on assignment in Saint Denis, not get his boots covered in mud and horseshit in this backwater town. Genevieve was far too cosmopolitan to be following him around anywhere but Saint Denis. 

Strawberry was just a blip on a map, no matter how the mayor of this town was trying to push it.

Angus Carmody kicks the muck from his boot against the wooden step up to the mail depot. He scowls as the stink of meat from the butcher’s tent wafts his way.  This was a goddamn fool’s errand. He knows that Milton has it out for him. How angry he is about that damned woman being in the wind. He knows also that his trekking around West Elizabeth is a punishment instead of leading the search back in Lemoyne. 

The Pinkerton steps up to the depot’s clerk, standing behind the counter full of mail and other parcels.

“Mornin’.” The man greets, shuffling between boxes and baskets of letters. His full mustache and beard certainly made him blend in with the rough and tumble nature of the town that the mayor was so desperately trying to rid of.

“Mornin’, sir. Agent Carmody with the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

The clerk stops, setting down a pile of papers on the counter. He looks Carmody up and down, eyes lingering on his polished badge, pinned to his breast pocket.

“Hector Barlow. How can I help you, Agent?” He responds, measured and wary. Carmody is used to this. It is often, out in the West, that folk respond to him with caution and wariness rather than respect. Some sort of Western mistrust of government and authority, he always thought.

“You heard talk of a widow from that town that burned down on the Dakota?”

Hector Barlow strokes his mustache, nodding his head, “Heard about the fire, but not about anyone who survived it.”

“I’m tryin’ to find a Missus Shaw. She survived the fire and my employer is tryin’ to locate her to finalize some business items he had ongoin’ with her husband.” Angus responds, annoyed that this also seemed like a dead end. 

Barlow remains quiet for a moment, “I’ll keep an ear out. She supposed to be around here?”

Carmody pulls a stack of papers that he had tucked within his jacket, “Yes - petite woman, blonde hair if she finds herself up this way.”

“These also - a bunch of bounty posters we don’t got time to chase down.  A few thousand for these. Out of Blackwater. Some hillbilly could find ‘imself real rich if he tries hard enough.”  He shoves several crinkled pieces of paper forward on the worn finish of the counter. Hector nods, mumbling something about bringing them up to the sheriff’s office. Angus lifts his chin in response, before leaving the mail depot. The bright sunshine is an assault on his eyes as he steps outside.

Two other Pinkerton agents stand across the street, near the small town’s general store. Smoking cigarettes, the two men clad in bowler hats seem to stand out amongst the rough and tumble mountain men that peruse the muddy street. 

“Anythin’ here?” One pipes up as Carmody approaches, holding out a cigarette that Angus quickly takes. 

“Nothin’,” Carmody grunts, rooting around his pocket for his matchbook, “We’ll head north, to Wallace Station, to see if there is any word around there.”

He knows there won’t be, but alas, Carmody breathes out heavily before striking a match against his boot, he has his orders.

-

The cold mountain waters of the stream that feeds Owanjila are a shock to the system at first, but you figure that the clean, clear stream could do you no harm as you hoist your skirts to bare your calves, stepping ankle deep into the current.

A sob claws its way up from your throat, and you cover your mouth with one hand, one side of your skirts dipping under the stream.

“Ruth, what are you doing up here?” 

You sniff, wiping your eyes quickly, giving up on keeping your skirts dry as both of your hands cover your face. 

“Oh, sweet girl,” Hosea’s pace picks up as he walks closer to you, and he ignores the ache in his knees as steps down into the stream next to you where you stand, uncaring of the water starting to run over his boots.

“I- I just-”  You hiccup, dropping your hands and looking back into the rushing waters at your feet. 

“C’mon, let's get you out of the stream. Are y’still feelin’ ill?” Hosea pulls you, delicately, back to the shore, where the two of you step onto higher, drier ground.

“No- no, it’s just-” You let go of a shuddering breath as you feel his hand rub gently, slowly between your shoulder blades, “It’s…”

“Missin’ your husband?” Hosea offers.

“Y-yes…” You hiccup, closing your eyes again, unable to stop the tears from pouring forth, “And… and-”

Silence falls between you, interrupted only by the sniffles you cannot stifle and the bubbling of the creek waters as they rush down to collect in the lake. Another harrowing exhale, and you turn to look at Hosea, the older man’s silhouette blurred in your vision over your shoulder. 

“I look at Jack and… my…my little-” You sob, voice cracking,  “He came too early. I-in the winter - he… he just- he was so tiny…my boy-” 

Hosea’s hand immediately moves from your back to cup the back of your head, and he pulls you into his chest, you slightly stumble as you have to readjust your bare feet on the ground. The fur trim on his coat smells of the tobacco he smokes in his pipe. It’s something familiar - comforting - and the fight in you - what little you have left, leaves you as you sink into his embrace. You sob, the ache in your chest clawing its way out like a rabid animal. 

He holds you, rubbing your back, murmuring random words of comfort into your hair. 

-

The coffee is strong and bitter this morning. Maybe the off-handed threats he had been making to Pearson about the quality of his coffee finally sunk in. Or someone else had made it.

Arthur blows on the cup before taking another sip, trying to spare his mouth from getting burned.

His gaze floats, unknowingly searching for those soft golden curls amongst the women. He finds himself seeking out the soft-spoken widow. Missus Adler seethed in her grief. Missus Shaw, well, other than the time he certainly deserved her ire, didn’t seem to have a mean bone in her body. 

She’d been sick as of recent, catching whatever poor Jack had. Abigail was apoplectic, the lantern in the sick tent blazing at all hours of the night. It was only in the past few days he had seen her out of the sick tent for longer periods.

This morning, he was hell-bent on finally getting a new horse - the old Walker he had been riding got run down by an angry farmer and his mount when he and Javier had robbed a homestead the other day. Finally, after a few jobs, he had enough money to get a horse that he wouldn’t have to rustle - it was just taking the time to go over to Valentine to get one. 

Herr Strauss cornered him the other day, needing collection from a debtor on a ranch near Valentine. He figured he’d get it all done in one day, maybe swing by Strawberry before crossing the state line. For too long he’d been jumping from job to job - homestead robberies and coaches, even sheep rustling with John. That went swimmingly.

Maybe he’d grab Missus Shaw and take her out on the errands he has to do. He finally finds her, sitting across the way near the women’s lean-to, working on a pile of sewing. Arthur dumps out the last bit of his coffee before stowing his cup back in his satchel. He takes the first step toward the women’s tent before being stopped.

“Arthur.”

Arthur looks back toward the campfire as the occupant stokes it. Hosea looks up at him with that weathered look about him that only comes about when he is serious about something.

“She’s fragile right now.” His brow furrows, jaw set, “Don’t you go upsettin’ her.”

“I ain’t an idiot, Hosea.” Arthur bristles, scowling back at his surrogate father. He also scowled at the thought of being so damn transparent that Hosea was that quickly able to figure out where he was going.

“You sure as hell are sometimes.” Hosea points up at him, “You can be a real ass-”

A cough interrupts his retort, and Hosea turns his head to hack into his bicep. After he clears his throat, he looks back at Arthur with hard eyes, “I’m tellin’ you, Arthur. The poor girl doesn’t deserve any shit from you. She’s gotten enough recently.” 

Arthur shifts, his hand gripping the buckle of his gunbelt in agitation. He scowls again, the lines betraying his age and lifestyle set in on his face. He dismissively waves at Hosea, stepping past the man and continuing on his original journey toward the women’s area.

“Missus Shaw.”

You look up from the sewing that you are doing - one of John’s shirts that he tore the armpit open. You grabbed it from Abigail’s pile the other night as she was scolding him for his carelessness.

“Was wonderin’ if you wanted to get outta camp for a bit - y’haven’t had much of a chance lately,” Arthur asks, his large hands draped over the buckle of his gun belt.

“Oh, I mean… maybe after I finish this shirt.” You nod down toward the fabric you are holding in your hands.

“Marston’s shirt can wait. Especially because it's his.” Arthur reaches down and yanks the shirt from your hands, surprising you with his speed. He tosses the shirt back in the pile and you scowl up at him, aggravated at his impetuousness.

“I was in the middle of that!” You complain, but nonetheless take the thread and needle you were working with and store it in the tin next to your seat.

“Serves the dumbass right. Not like he ripped his shirt doin’ any work around here.” Arthur chortles, holding his hand out for you to take, “C’mon, I’m sure you’re sick of staring at the same thing every day. I have some errands to do in Strawberry and Valentine.”

-

From the banks of Owanjila, Arthur leads his horse up through the hills to Strawberry, claiming to need to stop by the General Store for something. He was scant on details but shooed you off to check the mail in the freight depot after he had hitched the horse outside the Trackers Hotel.

You check to see if there is any mail under the pseudonyms that Arthur gave you, and upon finding none, set to leave before the clerk calls out to you.

“D’ya mind bringing these down to the Sheriff’s Office, ma’am?”

You nod and feel a slight unease as the clerk’s gaze lingers on you. In the months since Frederick’s death, you have once again become wary of men - the leering and possessive glares that you receive when it is obvious you are untied to a man. Like those leering and possessive gazes you received before you got married. Those gazes your daddy warned you about, all those years ago. 

Taking the stack of papers, you nod a hushed farewell as you move out of the mail depot and back to the street, sidestepping mud puddles as you lift your skirt above your ankles with one hand to avoid completely ruining the hems.

Your curiosity gets the best of you and as you pass the staircase, you pull the papers back from your chest and look at the contents of the first page.

$5000 Reward!

For the Capture Dead or Alive of 

ARTHUR MORGAN

You bite your lip to keep from gasping. Glancing around, you crush the first poster to your chest for a moment before crumbling it into a little ball that you shove into your skirt. 

You look at the other posters as you quickly duck into an alley next to the hotel, where a large, flowering cherry blossom stands before the cliff face. Shuffling past the gardens, you take a seat on a small bench and warily leaf through the papers.

John Marston. Hosea Matthews. Micah Bell. Javier Escuella. Bill Williamson. Dutch Van der Linde. Each piece of paper that you look at shows fearsome renderings of the men of the gang that you have been living alongside for the last months.

Larceny. Horse Theft. Burglary. Train Robbery. Bank Robbery. Assault. Murder.

The pit in your stomach opens; fear clawing up through your chest into your throat. Hosea, who just this morning dried your tears and held you as you cried? John, who struggled with the pressures of being a young father? Javier, who swears he will get you to dance with him one night around the fire to Dutch’s phonograph, even after your declination, always with a smile. 

Even Dutch, who welcomed you into this motley group when you had nothing but the clothes on your back. 

And Arthur. Arthur, whose cold, angry face stared back at you from the poster, the man who has been teaching you to shoot, who took you out on his errands today - who braved the raging fire at the Adler ranch to save you-

The jingle of spurs makes you look up.

“Arthur-” You hiss as he lopes across the road, moseying as he lights a cigarette.  He gives a grin as he tosses the match to the muddy ground, breathing out a plume of smoke as he comes closer, eyeing the cherry blossoms that wave in the cool mountain breeze. “Get over here!”

You nervously look around you before reaching up handing him the crumpled-up wad of paper you had shoved in your pocket. 

He frowns, then snorts, half a grin as he takes the cigarette from his mouth, dropping it to the ground and mashing it underfoot.

“Five thousand, for little ol’ me?” He looks back to you with a hint of mischief in his eye, “God, that’s one ugly lookin’ drawin’.”

“Arthur-” You scold, completely taken aback at his nonconcern at the situation. 

He shoves the poster into his satchel and holds his hand out for the other ones, curling his fingers in request before you hand the pile to him. He takes them and thrusts them all into that seemingly bottomless satchel of his before turning his gaze back to you.

“Alright, alright. Let’s get. If these are comin’ from Blackwater we should get the whole gang outta West Elizabeth.” He reaches for your hand, almost gallantly, and pulls you up from your seat when you give it to him, “We’re gonna head toward Valentine. I gotta stop by a ranch out there for one of Strauss’s debtors. I’m gonna get a new horse and we’re gonna look for a new place to set up. Get on that side of the state line.”

He walks you out of the alley, back toward where his horse is hitched near the mail depot. He slows to allow you to try and duck the large mud puddles underfoot.

Through the main street of town, Arthur does not let go of your hand.

-

The ride to Valentine is long - long enough to be troublesome. You were able to convince Arthur to give you back the wanted poster of him, and you straighten it out as he guides the old Walker on the path out of the mountains and toward the Dakota.

You read the printed text, fearsome in its lettering, all capitalized, “Wanted for activities such as Larceny. Robbery. Burglary...”

Arthur snorts, interrupting, bemused.

“Gotta get money somehow.”

“Assault.” You reply, upping the ante.

“They usually deserve it.” He drawls in response.

“Murder.” You continue, stressing the severity of the crime.

“You’ve seen that. More than once.” Arthur nonchalantly replies, as if killing were the same as stealing a horse. 

It was true - from the O’Driscolls that he waylaid on the road the first day that you met him, the man threatening you at the campfire after the failed Blackwater job - he kills without hesitation. There is a pregnant pause as the poster crinkles under the tension of your fingers.

 “Have you ever raped a woman?”

Arthur stiffens in the saddle, then turns his entire torso to get the closest to facing you that he can. The easy conversation that you had been having immediately ended.

“No. Why the hell you askin’ that?”

“Seems like you’ve done everything else-” You defend your line of questioning, but immediately with that you hadn’t gone that far.

“Have I ever acted untoward to you?” Arthur interrupts, turning back to face the road. He bristles with agitation, rolling his shoulders as he tightly grasps the reins. The old Walker beneath you notices, and throws his head to the side, whinnying. 

“No….”  You try to push the intruding thoughts of Micah from your mind.

“Ain’t that type of degenerate.” He grumbles, “Sides, it wouldn’t speak highly of your smarts if you was out alone with a man who forces himself on women.”

You can tell he’s offended.

Unfortunately, the rest of the ride to Valentine is long, awkward, and silent.

-

By the time Arthur acquired himself a new horse, a strong and tall Kentucky Saddler mare, buttermilk-hide and blackmaned, his gruff silence makes you wish that you hadn’t come out with him at all. Wordlessly, he lifted you back onto the horse’s rump and mumbled something about a job he had to do on the way back to camp. Not far out of Valentine, Arthur guides the horse toward an old, ramshackle ranch house.

“Just stay here. Herr Strauss said this guy is tryin’ to weasel out of payin’.” 

Arthur approaches a thin, middle-aged man in the garden, “Mr. Thomas Downes…”

The man looks up, a hoe in his hand, and squints at the outlaw as he storms closer, “Yep, that’s me.”

“You owe me money.”

It is as if the floor was pulled out from underneath the man. He turns ghastly white in fear, stumbling backward from Arthur’s encroachment. The anger that radiates off the gunslinger is terrifying, even to yourself as an observer.

Downes holds the hoe in front of him as if to fight off the man twice his size, “Please, sir… I’m… I’ll…”

Arthur laughs cruelly, grabbing the hoe and throwing it across the garden. “Really? Threaten me, would you? How’s that debt looking now? You borrowed money from my business partner Herr Strauss. You owe him. You took the money. He wants it back. What’s not to understand?”

“I don’t have it all!”

You slide down from the horse as Arthur drags the man to the fence, throwing him against the post with frightening force.  You hurry toward the unfurling scene.

“Ruth-” Arthur growls as you push him away. Obviously, you could never move the man without his consent, but for some reason, he allows it.  You stand in front of this miserable man, who gazes up with fear-stricken eyes and a pale, clammy complexion.

“See, look, Mister Downes…. You could do this the easy way and give me the money now that we’re askin’ for it, or my friend over here can get the money from you the way he was gonna before.” You say over-sweetly, holding your hand out to help him up, “I think my way is better for you.”

“I… I don't have a-all of it.” Downes coughs, blood sputtering from his mouth as you recoil in surprise. God, this man was pitiful. 

“Then sell your place.” Arthur barks from behind you, having stepped closer as Downes goes into a coughing fit. 

“W-we already - hrgh - owe more than it’s worth.” The man coughs between words.

You frown, drawing your hand back from where the man wipes his mouth with his sleeve. You can feel Arthur tensing behind you, and one of his hands finds your waist, and you can tell he is about to yank you behind him. You brush away his arm before he has the chance to do so.

“Whatever you have is fine. We’ll give you more time for the rest. I’ll be sure to come - but Mister Downes-” You cross your arms, trying to look as composed as possible, “You do owe us.”

“Thomas-!” A woman rushes out of the house, followed by a teenage boy, and she falls to her knees next to the man, immediately taking a handkerchief and wiping the blood from his mouth.

“Can’t- can’t you see, my husband isn’t well, if we could just have more-”

Arthur does manage to grab you by the waist and maneuver you behind him, and you’re unable to move against his strength. He glares down at the woman and her pleading. “We ain’t nobody’s idea of charity.”

The woman frowns, desperate - “But-...”

“Give it to him.” The stricken man garbles, his breath heaving. With a set jaw, she reaches into her skirt and takes out a small wad of bills, standing up from her husband's side and shoving it into Arthur’s waiting hand. 

Arthur gives you a bemused look after he pockets the money. “Pleasure doin’ business with you.”

The gunslinger places his hand behind your back and pushes you back toward the horse, holding you upright as you stumble on the first step. 

“You’ll do alright, Missus Shaw.” His hands wrap around your waist like they have so many times before as he easily picks you up to place you on the horse’s rump, but you swear you feel his fingers pulse through the layers of fabric. You swear you feel his thumb press against the curve of the bottom of your ribcage.

Arthur swings himself up on the horse and urges it down the path leaving the ranch. With the horse’s jolting first steps, you wrap your arm around his waist to steady yourself before looking back toward the ranch.

You watch as the woman helps her struggling husband to her feet, and the teenage son stares after you with a vicious, hateful glare. You frown, before turning back around and pressing your forehead against Arthur’s back. They could have just as easily been you. These poor folks, already struggling, are now set back even farther.

The wave of guilt through your throat makes you swallow audibly.

Arthur’s large, gloved hand finds your own slung ‘round his waist, covering it with a gentle squeeze. His fingers press between your own, and for a selfish moment, all you can think about is how warm you feel. As Arthur leads the horse down the road to the east, the thoughts of the family whose miserable lives you just made worse flee from your mind.

How is it that all thought of the folk you just left more destitute than they had been left your mind as soon as Arthur touches your hand? How is it that you feel at ease pressed against a man who was just beating another one for money? How is it, that in this moment, with this murderer, you feel safer than you have felt in weeks?

Arthur hums, in a better mood than he had been all day. He holds your hand against the hard slab of muscle of his abdomen, and you lean further against his back to assuage the concern alight in your soul.

-

The ride northward along the Dakota is quiet. You surmise that Arthur doesn’t want to have further conversations about debt-collecting.  It is not until the two of you have ridden across Cumberland Falls and the pine forests of Big Valley have opened out to a large valley that he speaks again.

“C’mon, been riding for a while, let’s stop and stretch our legs.” He gruffly calls back as he leads the Saddler off of the trail and into the meadow, bright and sunny as the creek meanders through it.  The mountain air, cold and clean, burns your lungs slightly as you inhale, closing your eyes against the sun for a moment.

In that gentle, cold breeze, tall purple lupines sway among the grasses, reaching the horse’s knees as it slowly walks into the open plain. This place is so open and bright, its beauty takes you aback as Arthur slows the horse to a stop. Sliding out of the saddle, he immediately reaches up and takes you by the waist, as was customary, and helps you down.

“Nice out ‘here, ain’t it?”

“Beautiful,” you murmur, shielding your eyes from the sun as you survey the large valley.

Arthur pulls out a worn woolen blanket from his horse’s saddlebag. He lays it out upon the ground, nodding up at you to take a seat. You do so, and a comfortable silence falls between the two of you as Arthur sits opposite you and fiddles with his satchel, looping the strap over his head and hat, placing the bag next to him before flipping the lid open and searching around in it. 

You turn away and look on as a herd of pronghorn does graze in the distance.

“Saw this out the other day.”

You glance back at the gunslinger, to find him opening his leather-bound journal to a page and taking out a small, dried head of blossoms pressed between its pages. He holds it out to you, and your eyes widen as you gaze upon it - gaze upon the outrageousness of it all, the man with a five-thousand-dollar bounty, beating a debtor not two hours earlier, delicately holding the smallest, most fragile dried blossom between his thumb and trigger finger.

“That’s…” You trail off, incredulously.

“Never did tell me why you was named after a plant.”

You ignore the quip as you reach toward his gloved hand and the dried flower. The soft purple blossom, fragile and delicate, exchanges hands as he gently places it in your palm. His fingers linger for a moment, suspended in time.

The proper name, Latin, printed next to sketches in scientific books.

You smile, snorting lightly through your nose, “My mother… There was a heather bush outside her window on the farm she grew up on. Back in Ireland. She used to tell me seein’ those blossoms made her some kind of happy. Would tell me that when I was born, seeing me made her feel the same way. So, Calluna it was.”

There’s an ache in your chest. An ache of fondness. Not dissimilar to the ache that you felt when Abigail held your hand as you cradled her son to your chest in a feverish haze. Not dissimilar to the ache in your chest when Hosea held you to him when you sobbed on the banks of Owanjila. 

Someone thinking of you. These moments, they hack away at the depth of despair and loneliness that you have been drowning in. Maybe... Just maybe, you weren’t just Calluna Shaw, widow, alone in the world.

You look back up at Arthur, that ache fluttering up like a butterfly in flight.

“Thank you, Mister Morgan. You can be awful sweet.”

You smile, and with the way his battered heart aches in his chest, he knows he’s in trouble. He can feel the blush bloom across his cheeks and he looks away, desperate to save face. Movement in the distance of the meadow draws his attention.

“Look, how’s about we bring back somethin’ for Pearson’s stew, huh?” Arthur looks out past the waving lupines to where the creek meanders back and forth through the valley. In the soft light of sunset, he points about a hundred yards up the valley.

A pronghorn buck drinks from the stream, finally visible to you as you squint and pull a stray curl of hair back, tucking it behind your ear.

“Go on and shoot it.” He nods forward.

“Me?!”

“Yes you, Missus Shaw. Come on, here you go.” Arthur gets up from his seat and steps toward his horse, pulling out a rifle for you to take from his saddlebag. You carefully place the blossom on the blanket before standing up, dusting off your skirts as you step toward Arthur and the buttermilk-hided horse.

The firearm nearly drops from your hand when you grasp it, completely unprepared for the weight of the gun. Arthur snorts under his breath as you grasp the Springfield with both hands, holding it up in front of you, and pointing toward the pronghorn in the distance. You frown, the barrel of the rifle swaying as you try to point it. The gun is much heavier than the repeater that Arthur showed you to shoot with earlier.

“C’mere, little lady.”

Oh.

Before you can move, his arms quickly brace yours as he steadies the rifle, heavy in your grasp. Your back presses against his broad chest. A whole head taller than you, you just reach the curve of his shoulder.

You are positive you are blushing fiercely and extremely thankful that he cannot see your face as he leans over your shoulder to line up the sights of the gun. As he does so, you close your eyes, breathing softly out your nose. The leather of his worn jacket - the tobacco he so often smokes, the musk of horse, the tang of whiskey - they all invade your senses as your head spins.

You want to melt into his embrace - he’s tall and broad and handsome in a rugged way. He’s solid and warm and oh, how swept up you feel to be wrapped up in his arms - even if this is in no way intimate. 

You want. You want to keep your eyes shut, tilt your neck, and give him access to suckle at your skin. You want his arm to leave yours and his large hand to engulf your breast. You want to be covered by him, held and possessed, and smothered and cherished. Everything melts away. The debt earlier, Arthur’s anger and threats, the fearful man and his family. It all just…fades.

You want.

“Both eyes open, darlin’.”

At the term of endearment, you steady your arms, holding the firearm jointly with him. Arthur is warm and solid and oh, with his arms around you, you feel so safe.

The buck raises his head from the stream.

Arthur’s breath tickles your ear as his whiskered jaw brushes your temple.

“Now.”

You pull the trigger.

[ayakingsley]

Okay, so, I'm back again….

And I have more to say (yayy..) and I have to say, Eurylochus survivors guilt and over all mental state when everything finally came to a head in Thunderbringer must’ve been CRAZY.

I’ve seen a lot of people say this already but I was thinking it too so I’m still gonna say it… Fuck the gods, and fuck the fates. Y’all ain’t shit fr.

Okay, now on to the analysis. Remember what I was saying about the Polities thing? I now think Eurylochus does somewhat blame Odysseus for his death now. Not by much but like I said, grief is powerful and can lead to rash decisions. (Like Odysseus going to far with leading with an open heart) Like Eurylochus losing trust within his Captain, brother, and friend and going too far in his distrust…

He felt like Odysseus was hiding something from them, he was suspicious and paranoid at that point. They went from not losing a single man to losing (don’t remember the number, help!) and they were all still reeling from that. Imagine with me, imagine your crew mates leaving with your Captain, his second in command and his best friend…. And the group of men that have been sent in have been halfed, their Captain and second in command looking ragged and horrified… and their best friend GONE.

That’s a horrifying visual, I can’t imagine the horror the men that were still on the boats felt at that moment. Our brothers were up against a Cyclops? But our Captain and Polities said it was safe, we were supposed to be safe but our brothers aren’t safe, they’re dead… You picking up what I’m putting down? None of these men were doing okay, yeah, that was the first time that we know of that Odysseus has failed them in some way but I doubt it’s everyday that you find yourself up against monsters and you’re feeling guilt for not being there for their now fallen brothers and… they need someone to blame.

It’s not right, none of this is right. They are in an impossible situation and are processing it in the only way that they can (which isn’t very well but you get my point), I feel sympathy for all of them. It’s so easy to see things as black n white but I hate seeing things that way, humans are so fucking complicated and we are just too hard to understand that we often can’t understand each other!

I’m not sure what I would’ve done in their situation but from re-listening and analyzing I get it, I do and I am so unwell right now, holy shit.

And have had a horrible realization re-listening to Keep Your Friends Close…

“Everything’s changed since Polities..”

“Everything’s changed since Polities” The Captain’s changed since Polities, Eurylochus has changed since Polities.. My gods I am so fucking unwell right now, I am in shambles writing this but unfortunately the show must go on.

Eurylochus mistrust got his crew mates killed and that realization left him scrambling in his racing mind, by the gods our crew mates… dead.. all because I couldn’t trust my brother. What has gotten in to me?? Is this ocean madness? (Which is an actual thing, go figure) Eurylochus got burnt once and he’s not looking forward to getting burnt again so he behaves.

Circes island, the guilt of what he has done weighs heavy on his heart and mind. He needs to tell someone what he has done, he needs to tell his brother what he has done… but he doesn’t want to listen but Eurylochus NEEDS to get this off his chest, he NEEDS to free himself of this but he must follow orders, disobeying hasn’t gotten him anywhere.

Their men have stupidly ran into Circes arms seeking comfort and safety, a break from the madness, something to soothe the hunger.. Eurylochus doesn’t want to fight another Demi-god, he just wants to hold onto the men he has left with his brother by his side… but Odysseus, once more being a better man than he goes. Odysseus himself goes on to save their men, their brother in arms while Eurylochus… does nothing but watch their Captain save their men like he said he would, once more proving his mistrust of him false and adding on to his guilt. He was willingly going to leave his brothers behind, what if he had successfully convinced Odysseus to leave them behind? Then what?

Now in the Underworld, they are being haunted by the souls there. They haven’t slept a wink and their are exhausted… then they start to see familiar faces. The faces of their men that their Captain got killed, no, that Eurylochus got killed. Their damned souls blame their Captain when it was Eurylochus to blame. And then they see Polities and…. I really want to know what Eurylochus was feeling in that moment, all animatics focus on Odysseus reaction (protagonist type shit) that don’t know how he reacted but I can’t imagine it was anything good. And I don’t know about y’all but I think Eurylochus noticed how there was something different about Odysseus when he came back from the Prophet, I wonder if he noticed his darker aura, his grim and serious face. Could Eurylochus see the monster wearing his brother face?

Aaaand we have come back full circle. Trust, Distrust, Trust, Distrust. Back and forth, the tides come and go.

We’re a Different beast now, we are the monsters, Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves, Six torches, Six men gone… everything was going so well. Eurylochus finally got what he had to say off his chest, his Captain told him to light six torches so he did, he was just following orders. He was believing and trusting his captain, brother, friend like he should have from the start… but Eurylochus was right? His Captain, his brother, friend betrayed them? (Betrayed him?) Odysseus was supposed to be better than Eurylochus, he NEEDED to be better than Eurylochus, he wasn’t supposed to prove him right!

But after all, he’s just a man… but so is Eurylochus.

He’s making his final stand and their crew either side with the captain that willingly sacrificed them, tried to sacrifice his own Second in command, brother, friend or side with him. He isn’t the better option, he’s just a necessary evil. And even though his brother tried to kill him (twice now “I’m not letting you get in my way!”) he couldn’t bring himself to kill him. Eurylochus was starving and tired and worn and would rather die on his own terms with a full stomach by his brothers in arms than whatever Odysseus has planned next.

And I have more to say on THAT but this post is too long and my fingers are tired and I am so unwell right now… excuse me while I go cry.

[oneshotnewbie]

hi, I hope you're well! I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to write a Carol Peletier x child or teen!reader where she's super overprotective of reader because reader reminds her so much of Sophia and doesn't want to lose reader who is like a daughter to her like she lost Sophia? ty! -🍄

Authors note: Reader is approximately Sophia's age when she disappeared. So around 11-13 years old, at least that's how I imagined it. Hope you like it, little mushroom ♥

ᕚ---ᕘ

Carol Peletier stood on night watch at the edge of the camp, her eyes piercing the dense treetops as her mind sank into memories of days gone by. The loss of her daughter Sophia a few years ago had scarred her; her heart was broken by the turmoil of the entire apocalypse. But on this day an unexpected encounter would take a positive turn in her life.

A group of new survivors approached the gates of Alexandria slowly and with hunger. Among them was a young person whose appearance immediately caught Carol's attention. With disheveled hair and a torn sweater, your figure appeared fragile and insecure in the group of older people. There was something in your gaze that made the gray-haired woman pause.

When you newcomers entered the society, an atmosphere of uncertainty and mistrust surrounded you. But Carol was already determined to stand by you and give you a new, better life. She recognized in you something of Sophia, her beloved but departed daughter. It wasn't just your looks, but also the innocent and shy way you moved and spoke that made Carol remember.

"What is your name, my child?" Carol asked softly as she approached you. The other survivors looked on suspiciously, but Carol didn't let that stop her. “Y/n,” you replied quietly, your gaze full of fear, the terror reflecting in your eyes.

Carol felt a pang in her heart and she knew immediately that she would do anything to protect you, just as she would have done for her own daughter. She smiled comfortingly and gently placed a hand on your shoulder, immediately feeling the connection between the two of you. "Welcome to Alexandria, Y/n. You're safe here," she assured you, averting the gaze of the other survivors.

In the days and week that followed, Carol watched you carefully. She helped you navigate in the community, gave you advice, and stood by you when you were shunned or teased by other younger survivors. The gray-haired woman recognized in you not only the vulnerability of a child in this harsh world, but also an incredible strength and will to survive behind the shy facade.

You slowly began to crawl out of your shell, fueled by Carol's care and support. You began to settle into the community and even made a few friends like Judith among the other survivors.

But you remained special to Carol. You were a second chance for her, a chance to right the wrongs of the past and replace a lost daughter. Every day she fought to keep you safe, because in your eyes she still saw the innocent face of her beloved Sophia.

And so she watched over you with dogged determination, ready to fight anyone who even tried to harm you.

Over the weeks, the atmosphere in Alexandria became significantly more tense as news of Alpha's threat spread. The residents were alarmed when they heard that the feared leader of the Whisperers was nearby with her community and was personally threatening to attack the community and especially the new addition if she didn't get what she demanded. Carol felt the fear in the air and the worry in her heart, but also the determination to protect her group, which had long been a close family to her.

Her thoughts immediately went to you. You had now become an integral part of Carol's life, like a daughter, and the worry for you burned in her heart like a blazing flame while the very idea made her throat tight. She couldn't imagine losing you like she had once lost her own daughter.

When she heard that Alpha and her followers were approaching, Carol prepared to do everything she could to defend her community, and especially you. She knew she couldn't let anyone hurt you or the other residents. Especially not Alpha, whose hatred towards the gray-haired woman was particularly severe.

The tension reached its peak when the Whisperers finally appeared at the gates of Alexandria. Carol stood ready on the tower, clutching her bow tightly, her eyes blazing with pure hatred and anger. The menacing figure in her leather mask stepped forward and fixed Carol with a cold and unyielding gaze, ignoring the others in the group, before her gaze shifted to you, who was standing behind Carol, trying to hide.

"My child, why are you trying to hide? Come out and show your pretty face," Alpha began, cutting through the silence with a voice as sharp as steel. Carol felt a shiver run down her spine as she realized her only interest was in you. As you stepped forward and grabbed her forearm, you sought her proximity to bind your fear while you showed yourself to Alpha. "You don't get to talk to her, do you understand me? Y/n is part of our community and I won't hand her over to you."

The tension hung over Alexandria like a heavy veil and the residents stood in silence behind the gates as they waited for the inevitable. "She has such a beautiful, young face. And I want it."

Carol's eyes darted down to you for a brief moment before she bit her lip hard, the metallic taste spreading in her mouth. "She will be the first to die if we attack," Alpha spoke and a feeling of terror gripped Carol. She promised herself that nothing would happen to you. Not after everything she'd been through. She knew she had to fight to protect you now. Even if it meant going against Alpha and the rest of the Whisperers.

"You don't dare harm a single hair on her head." replied the gray-haired one in a firm and determined voice, her eyes sparkling in a dark hue. She couldn't allow herself to act without thinking and put you in danger. "I will protect her, no matter what the cost."

You looked at Carol with wide eyes. You were scared, but you trusted her enough to know she was doing the right thing. Meanwhile, Alpha laughed darkly and took a step closer to the gate, her eyes still glued to you. "You think you can protect her? You're just as weak as the others in this community."

Carol felt anger seeping into every fiber of her being, but she forced herself to remain calm. She had to keep a calm mind if she wanted to protect you, and her love drove her to calm her racing heart. She signaled you with a nudge of her head to step back behind her and you did as you were told while she remained steadfast in her position like a lioness.

"You may think I'm weak, but I'll do anything to protect her." Carol declared firmly. Alpha laughed scornfully, but the grey-haired woman could see the uncertainty in her eyes. "You will see how weak you are when the time comes. But until then we will retreat. But remember, the clock is ticking for your little protege."

With these words, Alpha turned and disappeared into the darkness with her company. Carol took a deep breath, her hands shaking with tension as she sank to her knees and pulled you into a tight hug. She knew the fight for survival had only just begun. But she would do anything to make sure you survived. "Are you okay, my love?"

You nodded and she began to smile, although her eyes were still shining with worry. "As long as I'm here, I'll make sure you're safe. You're like a daughter to me, and I won't ever let you down." She knew you were safe, at least for now. But Carol also knew that the fight for survival was far from over. And she would fight until her last breath to protect you.

[purplebass]

A little analysis on Lila, Kell and Holland's dynamics as Antari

In the beginning, Lila hates Holland because he killed Barron and he isn't remorseful. When she's on the Ghost with him and the others, though, we see that one of the reasons she doesn't like him is also imo, that he reminds her of herself. In particular, of her fear of betrayal and mistrust. After her near death experience in Rosenal, Lila can't sleep because she's thinking about what happened and how powerless she felt and she goes to Holland's cabin because she hears sounds coming from there.

Holland is having a nightmare and she wants to wake him up but he wakes before she can lay a hand on him. One thing that Lila notices is that he's used to sleep alerted 24/7, just like she does. Lila used to sleep with her back to the wall and a knife at the ready, just like Holland can't really sleep and has nightmares about his past.

They are both survivors in different ways, and I see how Kell sits in the middle between them: there is an Antari parallel before those moments, which shows Kell's dynamic with both Holland and Lila. How Kell tends to be more feeling/unreasonable when it comes to her and rational/logical when it comes to him.

Antari meets Antari.

We see how Kell met Holland when Vor became king and how haughty he acts when he teaches him the Antari words. But also, how he is somewhat excited to have found another Antari, while Holland is not. Kell is the one in control here. He is in a superior position than Holland because he knows all the Antari words thanks to his training, but he also possesses the tokens to travel words, which Holland doesn't. Holland feels like in a subordinate position here, and we see how Holland also was Vor's knight (right-hand) when he meets Kell for the first time. Holland is always being controlled. It also shows it how he can't trust anyone, not even his loved ones - they also control him. They also want to get rid of him, make use of him. By the end of the series, Kell and Holland's relationship feels more balanced.

We see, on the contrary, how Kell teaches Lila the words. Their relationship doesn't have labels but we can tell that Lila trusts Kell to some degree, and she trusts him enough to lower her guard as they share a moment of physical intimacy. Kell seems in control because he knows the words, but not in a haughty way like with Holland. Here Kell wants to comfort Lila and makes her feel better. It's a way to say that she can still control her powers and defend herself in case something like this happens again, but also that he deeply cares about her and he would be desperate in case she doesn't survive. Lila sits on him to return the favor. It's like Lila is thanking Kell for his affection but also because she know has new weapons in her hands (the Antari words but also... something else like Kell's heart, because love is also about giving up control and trust). In Kell's and Lila's relationship, she is often the one in control (think about their first encounter as well), but we see how their romance progresses, she is on the same foot as him, and they are equals by the end. Kell also has problems letting others "control" him and thanks to Lila, he learns how to be more irrational. We can tell that Kell is a really caring partner.

Morally good vs. morally grey

Holland is used to betrayal and distrust, just like Lila is. The difference is that there is still hope for Lila, but all hope is gone in Holland. Kell is the one balancing the hope, in a way.

We see how Holland and Kell's relationship is often tense but Kell always tries to have hope for Holland in spite of all the bad things Holland has done. Unlike Holland and Lila, Kell is morally good and not morally grey. He thinks that it is right to save Holland's life and show him benevolence even though he killed, because Holland is an Antari and because Kell realizes that Holland could've been him. That was Osaron's plan, after all. By saving Holland, is like Kell is also saving himself - his morality tells him that it is the right thing to do. If he doesn't do it, he feels guilty. Kell is afraid of becoming like Holland: he doesn't want to be compelled and have his consent taken away from him, nor he wants his power to overtake him. Kell wants to stay in control.

Kell as the Antari who keeps the balance.

Like I said, Holland and Lila are morally ambiguous. They do not care about whether is right to kill or to steal - they just do it. They do it to survive. Just like Lila steals, Holland killed for survival. Kell was spared this because, again, he sits in the middle of them and he's the one who had the better end of the stick because he might not be free like Lila is, but he still a sort of possession like Holland is. He is the Antari who keeps the balance between unreasoning/impulsivity/freedom (Lila) and rationality/logic/possession (Holland). Kell is at the heart of that. He is able to balance feelings and rationality and we see how that does him when the black stone tries to make him lose his mind.

Turning point.

When in ACOL they go on the Ghost and Lila risks to die, it's a turning point. Lila lets herself be vulnerable with Kell because she understands that the only way to survive as an Antari is finding the balance, is knowing how to use her magic and don't be reckless. Recklessness and pride do not lead anywhere. Up until then, Kell has shown her repeatedly that he cares about her (by this point, Kell is already deep in love with her). He always waited for her return and he won't leave, if not with her. Kell also realizes he needs to lower his guard and be more irrational and try to enjoy his life more instead of being worried about what the Maresh family may think of his actions.

On the other side, Holland is aware that he has to be the one to sacrifice himself with the Inheritor business. He offered himself to Osaron at first, offered himself again as bait. Holland is ready to die because that is the logical solution to all of this. What it must be done. It is now Holland who is thinking like Kell: sacrifice is the right thing to do and I have to do it. Holland wants to end the circle because he knows that Antari power is a blessing but mostly a curse.

[traumasurvivors]

This is a short article I wrote that is on my personal website.

If you want to read it without clicking an external link, you can read it below the read more.

Society likes to talk about the survivors who overcame the bad, and came out kind.

They like to talk about the childhood sexual abuse survivor who became a social worker to help children in their situation.

They like to talk about the rape survivor who now runs a campaign to help other rape survivors.

They like to talk about the domestic abuse survivor who took an stand and found his voice. The one who now speaks out and spreads awareness for others in his situation.

They like to talk about the emotional abuse survivor who found her strength and uses a public platform to empower others.

While these are all amazing things, they can leave survivors who are still struggling with the messy parts feeling like they’re “wrong” or “weak” because they can’t handle it as gracefully.

And I see you.

I see the survivors who went through their trauma and didn’t come out kind, but came out mistrusting and hardened. They came out bitter.

I see the tears. And I don’t mean the “beautiful” crying you see shown in popular media. I mean the ugly crying. The heart wrenching sobs that take over your entire body and leave your eyes a bloodshot mess and snot coming out of your nose. I see the sobs that consume and can even leave you throwing up uncontrollably.

I see the angry survivors. I see the screaming and the angry outbursts. I see broken glass. And then there’s the quiet anger. I see the bloodied knuckles, cuts and burns because someone has so much anger but internalizes it so as not to “disturb” others. I see you. I see all of you.

And there is nothing wrong with you.

Society tries to portray us all as these beautifully tragic individuals. No one wants to believe something so terrible could happen in our world. They deal with it by saying, “everything happens for a reason. Just look at how it changes these people for the better.”

Rape is ugly. Abuse is ugly. Your healing does not have to be beautifully poetic.

Don’t let society bring you down. You are strong. You survived. And don’t let anyone make you feel ashamed because you didn’t do it the way society thinks you should.

[pink-strawberry-kissess]

people: capcom won’t make Leon and Ada end up together

me: UM ACTUALLY ☝️

Leon is the most likely thematically and story wise to end up leaving the government on his own terms to pursue something he’s personally and emotionally wanted to for years (Ada)

It’s a missed opportunity to not let Leon have his break and to not let him continue on being the doormat for Americans government. we've seen a lifetime of leon's life not being his own. from the minute we meet him in re2 and the ending of it, he

never

has

a choice

he’s forced into becoming a government agent. Blackmailed with the idea of them hurting Sherry.

And forced into a life he never wanted.

During re4 we see how he handles it. Sarcasm and aggression to others and a hostility that doesn't align with his actual personality anymore. he puts on a front, a way to cope with everything that had happened to him and to manage it somehow. he's one of the few characters that's portrayed to not be able to handle it. he's always had survivors guilt and it's been one of the primary characterizations that we go back to

the multitude of times where he loses everyone he knows and or cares about- leaves another dent in his heart and he HAS ONE. he's not like the other characters that can so mindlessly go through things and come out from the other side. he'd rather DIE than let someone down.

we see his reluctance to work with the government in

infinite darkness, damnation, re6, vendetta, (and also probably death island)

his character arc has always been "wants to help people, but knows that what he's doing isn't enough anymore-"

"when i was a kid, i used to think about the kind of man i'd grow up to be- i never... thought my life would turn out this way."

"I keep fighting...and fighting and fighting. Instead of seeing an end to this shit, it just keep getting worse. Is this what my life is supposed to be? Fighting the living dead and bastards that make them? What's the point of it all?"

HE KNOWS HE CAN'T KEEP GOING- but his heart is what makes him do it

his suicidal ideation had always been a focal point to his characterization since re2. whenever he gets into the dark places, he goes into self harm with ways like his alcoholism. if he can't kill himself, he's going to do it slowly. if he can't pull the trigger on himself, he'd rather die in combat.

he knows that people still need him though, he wouldn't do it.

and that's also one of his major faults. he'll always put other people before what he wants and needs.

it MAKES SENSE, and is a missed opportunity to not have him chase the ONE women he had been able to have a connection with since 1998. ada makes the MOST sense to have her be the one thing that leon has had personal desire for ada

"-sacrifice is a very huge thing for him (Leon), and after that it's honour, it's duty, and the only time you ever really see him grasping for personal need seems to be anything involved with- well- Ada Wong... that long history there, she's the one continuing facet throughout this entire experience, his life has been, the recurring element of personal need but at the same time of mistrusting that need, because it goes against everything that he believes he stands for- so it makes for interesting character dynamic-"

WHICH LEADS INTO

ADA gaining his trust

the biggest arc for Ada has been her "redeeming" herself in her eyes. She's always been portrayed as a woman working on the opposite side of leon's objectives but she CONTINUALLY GOES OUT OF HER WAY TO KEEP LEON SAFE.

THIS GOES AGAINST WHAT ADA'S CHARACTERIZATION HAS ALWAYS BEEN. he's been the one facet of HER life where she can not leave him behind- even though she was portrayed EARLY ON to show that she WANTS HIM TO LEAVE.

her arc has always been, and i think it's so much clearer in re4r, that she's redeeming herself in her own eyes. that despite her work, she finds comfort in the idea of leon still being there.

by the time we have re6, we have a full arc. her saving sherry

something that she DOES NOT NEED TO DO

she's shown time and time again that she will GLADLY LET THE OTHER PERSON DIE if it BENEFITS HER (EXCEPT FOR WHEN IT COMES TO LEON)

but sherry is important to Leon, and in extension, now important to Ada. she takes her time to save civilians, save Helena even though helena literally held a gun up towards ada. (which to be fair, is fair, since ada killed helena's mutated sister.)

i've used the helena gifs over and over again so i will refrain for now and hit you with the texts lol

"she's more than just a friend, isn't she, you have feelings for her,"

re6 has always been the aeon game that the resolution has been, they trust each other, even if the world is against them. they will go out of their way for each other

a climax of the arc would be for leon to leave the government on his own terms so he can actually have something he has wanted. and he could still pursue his other desires like to help people without being under the thumb of the government.

and ada can finally redeem herself in her eyes and leons. we already see that leon was willing to do LITERALLY ANYTHING TO STOP CHRIS FROM HURTING ADA.

ada has always had her history shrouded in mystery, but the one thing we've always been clear about is her feelings for leon and her choices haunting her. she actively pushes leon away when she can but like a moth to a flame, she finds herself unable to stay away from him even if it's better for the both of them to stay away

they pull towards each other- and it would MAKE SENSE if she were able to leave her life behind as WELL.

both of them were forced into a life they both did not want.

both of them find refuge in each other

both of them grow to have an understanding for each other

to have them continue on like this doesn't give them a resolution

it doesn't give them closure

and frankly, it's a disservice to have them just work until they're dead

both ada and leon have a fleshed out story (sure it could've been more fleshed out), but they have a story. a conflict, an arc, a storyline, back and forths, a climax, and now we need a resolution. an ending that i'm sure fans have been waiting for for 25+ years.

[outofangband]

(Just some more free form Maedhros post Angband thoughts as I work on revising my more detailed trauma posts! As always more can be found in the post Angband tag

Note: I now have a specific tag for the status and conditions of former prisoners in Beleriand in addition to my post Angband tag. It’s “but ever the Noldor feared”. There’s obviously overlap between this and my post Angband tags because the ways trauma manifests and how it’s understood or misunderstood contributes to the dynamics but I wanted to have a specific tag for it!

Semi related post

Written in part for @nelyoslegalteam for always being so kind about my Maedhros content

but the shadow of his pain was on his heart

This is one of the only lines we receive with regards to Maedhros’s ordeal in Angband. Despite how brief it is I find it so poignant and evocative.

Beleriand lies in the shadow of Angband and that shadow lives in the hearts of those who know intimately that place of horror

A shadow darkens, it envelops, it obscures, and it does everything. Maedhros’s pain, the fear and grief and anger and shame that now live within him, can at times seem to eclipse all that he does and is.

Maedhros’s memories are glass and he cannot hold them without bringing blood, sharp and fragile as though contained something that would shatter around his thoughts and feelings when they came close to the surface. Often pieces would dig in so one word spoken, one finger upon his neck, one whiff of the suffocating smell of blood and heat and iron would embed itself in him until he wanted nothing more than oblivion. The throne room floor, the chains around his limbs and his neck. The voice of the Moringotto.

It could take him as suddenly as the sun obscured, the weight of his body as the ghost of his chains choked him.

And to others. The shadow of his pain is in his heart and upon his bearing; even years after there is pain in his steps on certain days, if you know how to see it.

(just a side note: the description of Tulkas's feelings seeing Melkor in Morgoth's Ring, how it "clouded his mirth" is genuinely such a good description of trauma even if it was intended that way)

The scrutiny that former thralls are subjected to becomes another shadow over him, one that he is perpetually aware of. Even when he has done nothing to cause any to doubt his loyalty, even when he pushes himself to the brink of collapse to fight and plan against the enemy, there are those who will never trust one who has returned from the pits of hell, who hold that he still lives against him or believe he simply wears the face of one of the Eldar

And for all that he is still fundamentally Maedhros, there are those who will see only the ways he has changed from the memories or stories of him that came before

The ways that one survives in Angband do not fade once one is no longer physically confined there. Angband seeks to strip away everything that one is and the fight to reclaim it is vicious, agonizing, and unsightly. The shame that weighs upon survivors is melded with the mistrust and hostility with which they are viewed with by others.

Survivors are known to steal (because nothing can be theirs and they do not trust that they will be given anything without a terrible price), to lie (because they have been forced to choke down the truth when it might lead to further pain, and so much leads to pain), they are known to attack even their own kin (because they are so very afraid).

Maedhros is not like this. He does not lie (not that might be detected) or steal and if he does not any longer attack others out of the fear they might not see

And his status, both before and after his imprisonment absolutely ease this particular burden. He might be among kinslaying nobles but they are nobles nonetheless and the mistrust and even hostility that is felt towards him, specifically regarding his captivity, is certainly mitigated by this. But it still reaches him.

His kinship to others who have been in the Hells of iron is a precarious thing. He can use it to his advantage at times and it can be used against him.

And as another shadow, post Angband there is always the ever present fear of imprisonment again. It ranges from a creeping dread to a visceral, desperate panic that can override all strategy and reason. Especially after some years of recovering and of recovering himself, there is the profound resolve that he cannot return to what he was there and that any violence or death, including and at times perhaps especially his own, is preferable to imprisonment and powerlessness to the extent that he suffered in Angband.

He will not go back to that again even if it means becoming unrecognizable in new ways.

[lostxndbroken]

Name: Aelric Duskwalker Background: Haunted One Class: Sorcerer (Shadow Magic) Race: Half-Elf Alignment: Neutral (Leaning Chaotic)

Early Life and Tragedy Aelric was born on the outskirts of a remote village, the child of a human healer and an elven scholar. His parents were devoted to their craft but often emotionally distant, leaving Aelric to navigate much of life on his own. Despite this, he had a deep bond with them and admired their wisdom and dedication.

The village, known for its superstitions, feared the ancient shadow that lurked in the nearby forest. One night, that fear became reality when the shadow emerged, consuming much of the village and leaving destruction in its wake. Aelric’s parents were among the victims, and though he survived, he was left marked by the shadows that now seemed a part of him.

The Weight of Blame and Exile Survivors of the village, driven by fear and superstition, accused Aelric of bringing the shadow upon them. Branded as a cursed child, he was cast out, forced to fend for himself at a young age. This betrayal and abandonment planted the seeds of deep mistrust in his heart.

A Life in the Shadows As Aelric grew, he learned to rely on his agility and resilience to survive in the wilderness and the fringes of society. He became adept at slipping through shadows, evading danger, and using his wits to outmaneuver those who would harm him. His quick mind and adaptability allowed him to learn from every encounter, while his charismatic presence became a tool to manipulate situations to his advantage.

The Wounds of Betrayal Throughout his journey, Aelric encountered others who seemed to offer friendship or aid, only to betray him for personal gain. One of the most significant betrayals came when he was lured into a false sense of security by a group who promised to help him control his shadow powers. They instead sold him out to a dark cult seeking to exploit his abilities for their sinister rituals.

Aelric managed to escape, but the ordeal left a permanent scar, reinforcing his belief that trust was a dangerous weakness. From then on, he kept his guard up, trusting no one fully and relying only on himself.

Shadows and Morality Aelric's connection to the shadows grew stronger, and with it, his power to manipulate fear and darkness. He walked a fine line between using his powers to protect himself and slipping into darker methods to ensure survival. His moral code became fluid, shaped by necessity and the harshness of the world around him. While not inherently cruel, Aelric believes that sometimes harsh measures are the only way to maintain control and avoid becoming a victim again.

The Inner Conflict Despite his hardened exterior, Aelric carries a deep internal conflict. He longs for a world where he doesn’t have to be constantly on guard, where trust and kindness are not met with betrayal. This dream conflicts with the reality he faces, leading him to act in ways that further isolate him. His journey is one of navigating this conflict, seeking a balance between the shadows that protect him and the light that still flickers within.

[matan4il]

Hey, feel free to ignore - I found your blog after going through jumblr for a bit and I just want to get some stuff off my chest to someone who understands… My dad and his family are Jewish, so even though I’m technically not, I consider my Jewish heritage to be a big part of my identity. I have a *very* Jewish name to the point where I usually go by my middle name for safety reasons. (You never know who someone is when you introduce yourself, eh.) My dad has often said to me that I’m being overly cautious, that antisemitism is uncommon where we live. I had a conversation with him the other week where he expressed his shock and horror at the quick and monumental rise in visible global antisemitism… it broke my heart. In real life, I feel like the only people who care about this are my jewish friends and family. I feel very alienated and… I’m caught between apologising for not speaking Hebrew, for not being religious, and then on the other side I always gotta be on the defensive, always lead with “I’m not a Zionist”, always measure every word of support that I’m extending to Jews or Israel. I’m so tired…

Hi Nonnie! I am just gonna start by hugging you SO BIG!

I feel like antisemitism (or maybe its overt expression) has been on the rise for a long time, but it's been happening so gradually, and a lot of it has either been focused on the ultra orthodox community (those who are visibly Jewish, and who are very mistrusting of their non-Jewish surroundings, so they're less likely to report it to the authorities), or it's been disguised as anti-Zionism, and neither form got too much attention from non-Jewish news outlets. So I totally get your dad's surprise, at the same time that I am not surprised at all, even though I'm still shocked by the audacity of so openly justifying an actual massacre.

I am so sorry that you feel so alienated! Please remember you don't actually have to speak Hebrew to be a good Jew. My grandma was a Holocaust survivor, she tried to learn Hebrew, but never managed to absorb more than a few words. And she was a fantastic Jew, not just a good one, who really reflected some core Jewish values, like how she never stopped being so incredibly fair and kind to others, despite the unjust brutality she had suffered when a part of her family was murdered by the Nazis in Auschwitz, and another was murdered by their own neighbors. Same goes for being religious. There are LOADS of Jews who aren't, because being Jewish is so much more than just the religious aspects of our identity.

Also, I hope it's okay to share with you my POV on patrilineal Jews, but feel free to ignore this if it's not helpful. So why does the halacha (Jewish law) only recognize matrilineal Jews? Well, two thousand years ago, maternity was much easier to determine than paternity. Also, back then fathers barely dealt with their kids' education. It was basically on mothers, and that means they were the ones who passed on a sense of their culture, values, beliefs and world view to their kids. At the time, Jews also didn't have surnames, so that form of passing on this identity through the father didn't exist yet.

What I find interesting is, that this means Judaism says ONE parent who is DEF Jewish, and who passes on to you a meaningful Jewish identity, is enough. Today, when paternity can be determined for sure, I think that if we had rabbis with a great enough rabbinical stature across the Jewish world, the halacha would have been changed to include patrilineal Jews. In any case, I personally count patrilineal Jews no less than matrilineal ones. IMO, it's most of all a question of whether your Jewish identity is meaningful to you. And since it is, to me you're Jewish, period. *hearts*

And even if we look at it from the narrower POV from the halacha, just remember that it does recognize you, even if not religiously. Patrilineal Jews are called "Mi'Zera Yisrael," of the seed of Israel. So yeah, IDK... but I hope this helps!

As for not being a Zionist, of course you don't have to be. But I hope whatever your position is on the right of Jews to have a state in our ancestral homeland, it's not dictated by the hope that this will help people accept you. People who can't do that, unless you throw the majority of Jews (between Israeli ones, and the ones who support the Jewish state) under the bus, they will forever be capable of turning on you in a heartbeat. If they think it's wrong to murder you, but only so long as you live outside of Israel, or denounce it, they will never be people you can truly rely you.

I hope you're feeling better, having shared! And again, IDK if my words helped in any way, but I hope they did. Please don't hesitate to write me, and let me know either way, if you feel like it. Take good care of yourself! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

On The Hunt Preview

Instead, you went to where T’Challa held debriefings. Slipping into a seat, you glanced around the room. Okoye was in her designated seat, along with Nakia who was fidgeting ready to return back to the survivors, other panthers of power within Wakanda, and then there, at the end of the table sat Steve and Bucky. 

Bucky looked on edge, you imagined the White Wolf in him would be bristling with energy. So many shifters in one space and Bucky typically kept to himself from what you were told even before he was captured. His gaze kept shifting around the room, taking note of who was there as well as any escape exits available.

Steve was calm by appearance, but you could see his slight fidget where he was bouncing a leg underneath the table, clear blue eyes sliding face to face, categorizing friend or foe to those he considered in his protection. Meaning Bucky. You were no longer considered his. 

<You know Steve would step in if we were threatened.> Your Little Wolf chiming into your inner thoughts made you want to push her away and give you absolute privacy. But you couldn’t do that, not when you knew you both shared each other. 

I know he would, you are not telling me anything I don’t already know. 

<Then why are you lying to yourself?> 

Because it’s easier to think I don’t matter to him, okay! You watched as his eyes bounced to you occasionally, softening before his expression dropped to the table. Like he wasn’t allowing himself to look at you. But you didn’t miss the longing there. 

Good, let him suffer. You thought to yourself while your Little Wolf gave a huff of her own, frustrated with the tension. You turned towards where T’Challa was calling for everyone's attention. “The camp was dismantled.” He announced and an approved mummer went up among the crowd. “Ulysses though managed to evade us.” You glanced at Okoye, her stoic features never breaking but you imagined she was upset that the mission didn’t pan out as planned. “But… Shuri…” T’Challa’s hand waved towards his sister, who chose this moment to bounce into the room with a cheery grin on her face, a tablet clutched to her chest. “Has a drone following his movements.” 

“Perfect.” You hear one of the panthers growl out, casting a mistrusting eye to Steve and Bucky at the end of the table. “Why do we have more wolves at the table then?” 

You knew you weren’t welcomed by everyone but to have Steve and Bucky elicit such a welcome made your Little Wolf growl sharply and it bubbled from you, a warning for anyone to try attacking them. Bucky stiffened slightly but Steve met the challenging panther's gaze face-on, unintimidated by the panther’s remark. 

T’Challa cleared his throat to break the sudden change in the room. “I welcomed them, they too are hunting the same man that we are. I trust them to join this council." You felt your heart sink, you felt it coming. “I am having them join us, Steve and Bucky are both well known for their skills in the field. Where Shuri can’t track Ulysses, the wolves can. None of you can deny that the wolves have a skill we panthers do not possess. Ulysses has been evading us for years, kidnapping our people and resources. Even I’m not too proud to admit we need their help. With Y/N’s help, we have been closer than ever before” He leveled a look for any protesting panther at the table, but all of them kept their mouths shut. 

You would be working with Steve, closely and you didn't know how to handle that.

For previous chapters, go check out On The Hunt Masterlist

[4ngelict0uch]

​🇧​​🇪​​🇫​​🇴​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇸​​🇹​​🇴​​🇷​​🇲​ . . . ​ ( ​🇵​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇰​​🇳​​🇴​​🇼​​🇮​​🇳​​🇬​ ​🇭​​🇮​​🇸​ ​🇫​​🇦​​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​​🇷​ ) warning : mentions of abuse , drugs , abandonment , etc. read at own risk !

Theodore Rhodes’ childhood was a turbulent journey through neglect, instability, and survival. Born to a single mother battling bipolar disorder and addiction, Theo’s earliest memories were defined by unpredictability. His mother, though occasionally loving in her lucid moments, often became consumed by her struggles, cycling through moods that ranged from volatile rage to heartbreaking despondency. She constantly blamed Theo for her hardships, accusing him of being the root of her pain. These words, spoken during her darker moments, cut deeply into Theo's young heart, shaping his belief that he was unworthy of love.

When his mother’s condition worsened, Theo's life became a revolving door of temporary homes. Whenever she couldn’t cope, she would drop him off at the homes of friends, acquaintances, or his grandmother. Each place was different — some offered a brief semblance of care, others were cold and indifferent. His mother’s friends, often struggling with their own issues, saw Theo as a burden, leaving him to fend for himself. At his grandmother’s house, he found a shred of stability, but her advanced age and strained relationship with her daughter made it difficult for her to provide the emotional support Theo desperately needed.

Theo often felt like a ghost in his own life — never truly belonging, always packing his few belongings into a small bag and moving on to the next house. He learned early on not to get attached to anyone or anything. The inconsistency of his caregivers meant he grew up quickly, shouldering responsibilities far beyond his years. He often cooked his own meals, navigated unfamiliar neighborhoods, and tried to stay out of trouble — though trouble sometimes found him.

School was another battleground. Theo was quiet and withdrawn, often the target of bullies who sensed his vulnerability. But beneath his fragile exterior was a survivor. Theo developed a sharp tongue and a keen sense of how to defend himself with words, if not always with fists. He rarely let anyone see him cry, bottling up his emotions in a way that would haunt him later in life.

Perhaps the most haunting moment of his early years was witnessing his mother’s final spiral into addiction. As her health deteriorated, Theo became the unwilling witness to the devastating effects of her choices. He was the one who found her passed out on the couch or frantically searched the cabinets for something to eat when there was no food in the house. The day she died, he was there — helpless, angry, and deeply scarred by the realization that he was utterly alone.

Theo's childhood left him with a profound sense of abandonment and mistrust. He dreamed of escape, of finding a place where he could belong, though he had no idea what that might look like. Little did he know, his life was about to change forever when his father, Cody Rhodes, stepped into the picture.

[ridmachete]

Stepping outside the coddling glorified safety of Alexandria’s walls is revelatory; there’s an element of purity, a touch of deathly holiness. Rick does not believe in God—not anymore. His faith is a tattered fruitless tragedy, a gutted lighthouse, a death song. In hallowed cavernous churches, he seethed and prayed and knelt on his knees, his truculent heart offered in the cupful of his calloused palms and only silent indifference washed over him in harrowing waves. Rick’s faith is housed in the oiled hinges of his colt, in the smooth well-used grip of his machete, in the instincts he has cultivated and bred and nurtured so carefully, with such tempestuous resolve. And he will not part with them, come peace, come comfort, come the jubilant prosperity of their community. He scrubs a weathered hand over his growing beard (he will not shave again.

Let him be the impulsive savage the Alexandrians believe him to be. He will not disabuse them of the notion. No one will fuck with him then. Certainly not after the little performance he put on for them, the blues of his eyes watery, sanguine streaks splashed over his cheeks, blood crusting underneath his fingernails). He glances over at the most recent addition to their little deranged settlement: he did not expect anyone new to join them, but lo & behold, she did, bearing a formidable rifle that she sure looks like she knows how to handle with polished expertise. Rick is no stranger to sizing survivors up and the mechanic walks with the gait of a person familiar with the spitting hurtle of danger. Now, he just needs to see if her mettle can be tested; is she as valuable as she seems to be? This wet run will tell. Perhaps, he should not have taken her out so soon, but better be safe than sorry, better position her in the face of risk in a controlled environment than have her endanger any of his people and make corpses out of them. He begins striding in the direction of an abandoned decaying town that one of his scouts chanced upon while doing the rounds a week ago: there is an outdoor strip mall with a grocery store and a mechanic’s shop they can strip for parts. Promising enough that it is worth the trip.

“Are you alright with walkin’ on your feet?” his voice comes out brittle, a harsh intonation with flickers of dim humor. “Could take a vehicle but seems a waste when we could stretch out our legs. Been a while since we trekked out like this. It’s better than bein’ cooped up in those suffocatin’ houses.”

Mired in the timorous mistrust of the docile sheep and their lacklustre malice, it is a comfort to pull himself away from it all: the politics, the backstabbing, the whispers behind closed doors and drawn curtains. At least, out here, it is all laid bare, truthful. The forest may as well be a house of glass.

@tradcrs

[laskar1s]

→ CHARACTER OUTLINE — [MAGNA LASKARIS]

[BASICS]

Status: Active, open for plotting

Verse: The Walking Dead, open to play her in other horror and apocalypse verses

Full name: Magna Laskaris

Place of birth: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Date of birth: April 17, 1989

Religion: Spiritual

Orientation: Lesbian

Occupation: Survivor; group leader, formerly a truck stop waitress

[APPEARANCE]

Faceclaim: Nadia Hilker

Height: 5’8"

Build: Muscular, slim

Skin: Olive

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Medium brown with natural light brown highlights, wavy, chest length

Tattoos: Various, including a tattoo above her chest and tattoos on her arms, thighs and hips

Attire: Favors darker and neutral shades like black, grey, khaki green

Distinguishing features: Her thick wavy hair, full lips and tattoos

[MENTAL]

Positive traits: Intelligent, brave, cunning, pragmatic, loyal, caring, protective, disciplined

Negative traits: Ruthless, reclusive, mistrusting, cynical, aloof, temperamental, sullen, calculated

Labels/tropes: Adaptional Jerkass, Dark and Troubled Past, Jerk with a Heart of Gold, Sugar and Ice Personality

Zodiac: Aries

Temperament: Melancholic-Choleric

[SKILLS]

Archery

Knife & melee weapon combat

Firearms

Leadership

Horseback riding

Sign Language

Various other specialized survival skills

[BIOGRAPHY]

Growing up, Magna had identity issues and felt ashamed of her sexuality as she had a homophobic father.

When Magna was twenty, she found out her cousin was raped. Seeing that that the authorities wouldn't do anything against her rapist, she was unwilling to live with the fact that the man was able to hurt her cousin again. That led Magna to take the extreme measure of killing him. Unfortunately, evidence suggested her guilt and Magna went to prison. Everybody who knew Magna but her cousin either turned against her or was not willing to stand up to her. Her reputation was ruined, with many people going as far as believing she had killed an innocent man. While Magna has always had a rather cynical nature, this incident led her to become even more guarded and pessimistic.

She eventually managed to get out of prison after the outbreak happened and she found a group of surviviors including Luke, Kelly, Connie and Yumiko, who became her girlfriend.

[survivorsads]

the  outbreak  of  a  devastating  virus  left  a  group  of  fifty - two  people  isolated  at  the  university  of  colorado  where  they  managed  not  only  to  survive  but  to  build  a  thriving,  collaborative  community  over  the  years.  yet  the  accomplishments  of  the  uc’s  members  and  the  prosperity  of  their  society  soon  started  to  stir  greediness  and  envy  in  others,  wicked  feelings  that  only  grew  with  time  as  insurgent  and  violent  groups  started  to  emerge.  the  doom  looming  over  the  buffalos’  home  finally  fell  upon  their  heads  a  year  ago,  when  the  antagonistic  faction  that’d  been  harassing  the  community  for  months  managed  to  finally  infiltrate  the  place,  destroying  everything  in  their  path  and  forcing  the  survivors  to  close  their  shelter’s  gates  to  newcomers  indefinitely,  mistrust  and  grief  and  absolute  dread  caging  their  hearts  and  leading  their  decision.  but  not  every  member  of  the  sanctuary  agrees  with  the  measure,  some  of  them  considering  it  extreme,  some  others  heartless,  however,  it’s  the  only  way  they’ve  found  to  stay  alive,  to  keep  their  home  safe.  will  there  ever  be  another  one ?  will  one  of  the  opponents  to  this  resolution  come  up  with  that  other  option  they  so  desperately  want  to  find  someday ?

SURVIVORSFM  is  a  21+ , tumblr  based , original  roleplay  group  inspired  by  diverse  apocalyptic  media  following  the  lives,  struggles,  triumphs,  and  losses  of  a  small  community  settled  at  the  university  of colorado, survivors  who  have  managed  to  prevail  in  a  world  wrecked  by  a  ravaging  virus  for  more  than  a  decade,  and  who  recently  realized  they  have  a  greater  enemy  than  the  remnants  of  the  biological  weapon  that  destroyed  the  planet:  their  own  kind.