#when conflicts rarely work that way in real life

[bloomzone]

strawberry shortcake sweet personality ✧

Hiii everyone , lately I’ve been rewatching my favorite childhood cartoons and always studying the kindest character like kokoro yotsuba , kitty , barbie ect ect .. (because yes, healing your inner child is girl core), and I spent the whole day falling in love again with Strawberry Shortcake. She’s not just cute she’s kind, warm, confident, and the definition of sweet without ever losing herself and that energy is so rare these days ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

We live in a world where people think being cold, mysterious, or emotionally distant is the only way to be taken seriously . Being soft doesn’t mean being naïve , being kind doesn’t mean being weak , u can be the softest girl in the room and still be the strongest. It’s about choosing love over ego, peace over drama, softness over bitterness and doing it because that’s who you are !

This lil blog ! is for any girl who wants to bring back that berry-sweet energy into her life. A little more kindness. Here's how to stay soft and gentle without ever losing your self-respect.

🍓 Always look for solutions instead of dwelling on problems :

Sweet girls know that sulking forever doesn't help anyone. It's okay to feel sad or stuck for a moment, but don't build a house there. Put on your thinking cap and ask yourself, "What can I do next?" Turning frustration into action is the ultimate girl power.

🍓 Speak softly but with confidence no need to be loud to be heard :

You don't have to yell to be taken seriously. A gentle voice can carry so much power when it's laced with purpose and grace. Be the girl who speaks kindly but firmly people will listen because your calm energy demands respect without ever needing to raise your voice. (by experience.!)

🍓 Give genuine compliments and notice the good in people :

Being sweet means seeing beauty where others don't even look. Compliment the girl next to you on her handwriting or her laugh. That tiny sparkle you give someone could light up their whole day. It doesn't cost anything to be kind, but it means everything .

🍓 Be optimistic even when things look tough :

It's easy to fall into negativity, but sweetness means choosing hope again and again. Believe that things will get better, even if you can't see how yet. This isn't about being delusional it's about refusing to give up your light just because the world seems dark.

🍓 Show genuine care for your friends' feelings :

Real sweetness is heartfelt. Listen when your friends vent. Remember the things they love. If someone's quiet, check in. Being emotionally present isn't clingy or weak it's how you build deep, lasting friendships !

🍓 Stay humble even when you're doing well :

It's so powerful to shine without dimming others. Be proud of yourself, of course but don't brag. Let your work speak for itself , sweet girls clap for others just as loud as they clap for themselves. Humility is magnetic.

🍓 Turn conflicts into learning moments :

Disagreements don't have to be ugly. You don't have to yell or go silent. You can say, "Hey, I didn't like how that felt. Can we talk about it?" That's soft and strong. Sweetness means wanting growth, not grudges.

🍓 Believe the best in people until they prove otherwise :

Don't let the world make you bitter. Believe that people are good until they show you they're not. And when they do, you can walk away gracefully no drama needed ofc . Being trusting isn't naive it means you choose hope, not fear.

🍓 Be encouraging and supportive to everyone around you :

Lift others up. If someone's trying, cheer them on. Be the girl who says, "you've got this!" even to strangers. When you create that energy, it always finds its way back to you. Sweetness creates a ripple effect.

🍓 Keep your sweet, gentle energy even when setting boundaries

You can say "no" with love. You can protect ur peace without being mean. It's all about tone and intention. Boundaries are healthy. Being sweet doesn't mean letting people walk over you. It means loving yourself enough to choose peace.

🍓 Focus on bringing people together instead of creating drama :

We're not here to compete, tear down, or stir the pot. Real girlhood is about sisterhood. Bring people together, help smooth things over, and spread love . Drama might seem exciting but peace is way more powerful.

🍓 Always be willing to help, even with small things :

Hold the door. Pick up something someone dropped. Ask "Need help?" It's in those tiny acts that true sweetness shine

🍓 Stay true to your values no matter what others do :

Don't let peer pressure dull your shine. Be sweet, be soft, be kind even when others aren't. You don't need to "harden up" just to fit in. Real strength is staying gentle in a world that tells you not to be.

🍓 Approach challenges with curiosity instead of fear

Life will throw things at you but you can meet them with wide eyes instead of clenched fists. Ask, "What is this trying to teach me?" Sweet girls grow through what they go through. Your softness doesn't stop you from being brave it makes you even braver.

🍓 Spread positivity wherever you go :

Smile , say "thank you." Leave kind comments online. Compliment the moon. The world doesn't need more cold, mysterious energy all the time. Be the warmth in the room. Be the reason someone feels safe today.

I know someone will say "nooo this is not kindness, people will put you under their shoes..." But there's a huge difference between being sweet and being a doormat.Being sweet doesn't mean you let people walk all over you. It means you choose your battles wisely, u set boundaries with luv and you respond to negativity with strength not weakness. When someone tries to take advantage of your kindness, you can still say no firmly while keeping your gentle energy.The world needs more girls who choose softness as their superpower. Don't let anyone convince you that being kind makes you weak. It takes so much more strength to stay sweet in a world that wants to make you bitter. 🧁

@bloomzone

[warblogs17282]

Probably the worst paint.net thing I've ever created but screw it, some of you all are getting way too one-sided between these two following Sinsmas so I just want to post this and dip

[airenyah]

Hard agree on your and anon's take on JoongDunk's platonic dudebros vibe and that is actually the reason I like JD. Have you seen the vid of Joong introducing Dunk as "small and easy to carry" and Dunk one-upped him by calling Joong "big and easy to ride" and Joong reacts like "Oh dude, you got game!?". It's obvious it's performative fanservice aimed to entertain audience, but at the same time it's playful banter, seeing if they could match or one-up each other's jokes and that dynamic of being able to have fun while keeping it playful and unserious is probably the one I'd want if I were a bl actor. I cannot enjoy fanservice when actors act like they're in a real relationship, too cringe and toxic *cough* mg *cough* and if it's real, I'd feel like a creep intruding on personal lives. I can freely enjoy JoongDunk for their neonsign "platonic friends being playful", along with their sheer force of social media marketing. Joong obviously a pro with his longtime experience in the industry and even majoring in university, while Dunk somehow maintaing that level of engagement when he doesn't even dance or sing is a mystery to me (tho I think he found his niche in cooking vids which had good views that Joong actually imitated him), but I think both working hard on social media promotion also makes them a good match for maintaining the same level of engagement. And I heard that's how they built their popularity even though SIMM was lackluster? Kudos to them.

yep, i saw that clip at the time!

i said this before in another ask, but i do think their "flirting" and fanservice does very much come from a genuine place. i think they just play it up for fun and not necessarily even as a "service" for the fans but also for their own enjoyment, either because they enjoy the other's reaction to whatever cheesy thing they say or do or because they enjoy one-upping each other (as you mention in your ask) or also because they simply just enjoy the fan's reaction as well. i think they're as entertained by us as we are entertained by them (mostly, at least kjkjsdfgdkg) (maybe not when joong is asked "WhErE iS dUnK" for the 43943945th time that day)

like, they are clearly also getting something out of their flirty banter, not just us. they're clearly having a blast with it while at the same time it's so obvious that it really only is a joke and that they really are just friends, nothing more, and that makes it so enjoyable to me to watch them and to follow them. they're clowns and i'm right here riding their clown car with them

and i agree with you, i can't enjoy it either when it seems like a cp is trying too hard to seem "real". it's like. why? why are you trying to sell me a lie? and if they are dating, then i'd feel even weirder for the exact same reason you mention, like... i don't know them. i'd very much feel like i'd be intruding

i much prefer knowing exactly where i'm at and so i very much enjoy the "we are strictly bros who just happen to say the flirtiest shit for fun" energy that joong and dunk bring. i'm super seated for that

and i just find it extremely fascinating how that bro-energy that they have in private just completely disappears when they're on camera playing characters. when i watch joong and dunk in private i'm always like "ain't no way these two are in love" (like delulu stans would like to believe) whereas when i watch any of their bls i'm like "ain't no way these two are NOT in love". love it when actors do actor things <3

and yeah, i wasn't really following them back during simm era (though i watched the series live after ep2) but i do remember that a lot of people said that they didn't enjoy simm but they very much enjoyed joongdunk "in private"! idk how active they were on social media bc yeah, i only really started following them more closely outside their series at the end of 2023, but i wouldn't be surprised if their social media activity helped them become popular

[lesbianlenas]

the way that some ppl thrive off of drama and conflict is wild to me…..like i cannot imagine. some ppl live their lives trying to get other ppl to argue w them and it’s like why are u doing that…..and then they’re like why does everyone dislike me 🥺 and ppl like that never look inward either they’re like it must be other ppl that are the problem as if there is not one common factor in every conflict they have had. truly i just don’t get it. like try being personable for five mins and maybe u will have some joy in life. on god.

[pr0cyon-lotor]

AU where SJ is a horror movie director and actor. All the movies he makes aren't overly gore filled and they focus on psychological horror (and have an all female cast with very few exceptions because of course). However, all the movies he acts in have him get brutally murdered (it's in his contract).

SY is a horror movie nerd and got hooked on SJ through his acting. He loved the monsters and the creative deaths. The interviews he watched of SJ, he's enamored (in a TOTALLY PLATONIC AND PARASOCIAL WAY) with the way SJ says he's usually the one writing his own death scenes. That led him to find SJ's movies and he was even more hooked.

But SY is also an actor, but he plays love interests in cheesy romance dramas (he did it originally to beat his sister in a bet but it's not a bit anymore). He's charming and sweet with all his co-actors and even amassed his own irl harem. He wishes he could act in horror movies, but he's too well known as the kind pretty boy from the romance genre. And people will most certainly riot if his characters die, so :(

And as cheesy and sappy SY thinks his roles are, SJ is absolutely enamored as well. His guilty pleasure is watching cheesy romance dramas. He loves them in secret and wishes saintly men like SY's characters existed in real life.

Anyway, during an interview with SY, he's asked what genre he likes, and he tells them that he's actually fond of horror. They ask what type of horror and he immediately starts gushing about SJ. About his acting, his genius, his writing, his directing skills, etc. He tells the interviewer that his dream is to either work with or under SJ, but he laments that he always gets rejected for horror roles.

In the distance you here all the woman SY has enchanted wail in unison as they realize they don't have a chance because he likes men.

SJ obviously sees this and doesn't know what to do with the obvious praise. He panics as SY says he wants to work with/under him, and is struck with inspiration (he had writer's block for a long time). And he writes a script with a kind man that gets everyone to love him with a few words that is actually a siren that secretly consumes his admirers (or something IDK I'm uncreative. it doesn't matter it just has to be a monster role that is obviously made for SY)

He refines the script and starts casting. SY hears SJ is looking for roles openly, which is rare because SJ usually has closed castings. So he hurries over and auditions for the main villain, and he gets the role (to no one's surprise).

When they start the filming process, SY has basically enchanted the whole crew and they all agree that SY was the best option. And then one of the scenes where SY reveals himself as evil, and everyone had something awake in them.

The entire time SY is hoping he's doing well so SJ will like him. And in SJ's corner, he's fighting demons to stay professional. Everyone is fighting their battles while SY keeps looking at SJ after each shoot to see if he's doing a good job. But SJ keeps leaving, so obviously he's not. So he tries even harder (causing so much emotional distress in everyone that wants him desperately)

When everything wraps up, SY asks if SJ would be interested in dinner so he can pick his brain. SJ hesitates thinking SY was going to reveal that he too was two-faced like his character. But no, SY genuinely asks him so many questions and looked stary eyed when he answered. SY didn't try anything and they left with SY walking SJ to his car before going to his.

SJ drives home conflicted because apparently a prince charming does exist and he casted him as a murderer in his show/movie. And SY is happy because he thinks he did so well in getting his favorite actor/director to finally like him.

The movie/show releases and everyone also has a violent awakening and want SY in more villain roles.

SY is happy because he can finally be in horror movies. SJ is actively making scripts to just invite SY to act in them (the most productive he's been in a while). SY is over the moon when he gets an invite to act in another of SJ's scripts and puts his all in his characters. He ends up shining so much that even if he was a side character, he'd be a fan favorite.

And eventually he and SJ get invited to play in a movie. SY is excited to act with SJ (he didn't read the script before accepting the role), and SJ is so conflicted because not only does the movie have a kiss scene between their characters but SY kills him. It's like evil, toxic yaoi or something.

SY finally reads his damn script and is having a whole sexuality crisis, but he shuts up because he doesn't want to lose this opportunity (and he doesn't want to offend SJ, who is openly and maliciously gay). The director (Airplane) is doing this for the love of the game and fan service, so he makes them redo scenes over and over again until he liked a shoot.

SY locks in and tries not to think much of it. Then SJ tells him they have to practice the kiss scene because it has to look authentic (Airplane is a tyrant and demands it to be sloppy and crazy and REAL), and suddenly SY is thinking WAY too much about it. They try, SJ tells him he kisses stiff, and that he figured all his romantic main lead roles would make him a better kisser.

SY doesn't know how to say that he uses stage kisses instead of actually kissing his co-actor because he always felt uncomfortable with it, so he settles on saying something accidentally suave. Probably something like "It's different to kiss someone you admire so much".

SJ takes at least 15 points of psychic damage and tells him that they better practice for him to get used to it (excuse to kiss SY).

Then the day of the scene comes and like... I can't think of anything to end this with. Idk they get caught in the moment and have weird sex on set or something and Airplane calls it genius and takes the movie to production.

This optional if you want to write this au. I just don't have a way to end this post :3

[not-neverland06]

conflicted spaces

Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

a/n: He doesn’t get TB in this. Why? Because this is fanfiction and I’m god and fuck canon (I just finished the game, I’m emotionally distraught and needed this)

Warnings: brief attempted SA

Summary: Your father is a gambling man and you’re always the collateral. He refuses to pay the wrong man and now you’re being dragged across country roads to a man you’ve never met. Arthur Morgan, an outlaw down to the bone, is in charge of making sure you get there in one piece. Except, he doesn’t feel right selling a woman off like she’s property.

You’re done being a doormat and letting the men in your life tell you what you’re worth. You’ve got three days to escape him, but you’re not prepared for the reality of the real world.

“Put your hands where I can see ‘em, cowboy.” Arthur’s shoulders tense and he curses under his breath. His hand darts to the revolver on his hip, but the second his fingers twitch towards it he hears a hammer being pulled back. The cool barrel of a gun digs into his neck and he raises his hand in surrender. 

The man behind him lets out a familiar laugh and tugs him around. Arthur rolls his eyes and glares at Dutch. “The hell are you doing?”

Dutch clears his throat, still laughing slightly. “Relax, Arthur, but if I had been an O’Driscoll you’d be dead right now.” Arthur doesn’t point out that the only thing they have to worry about out here are the Lemonye raiders. He’s more focused on why Dutch is even out here. Rarely does he leave Shady Belle to traverse the streets of St. Denis. 

None of them are particularly fond of the place. If he wanted to step in horse shit every other step he’d go to a stable. At least those smell better. Dutch slings an arm around Arthur’s shoulder, tugging him away from the saloon he was heading towards. 

“You’re gonna have to save the cheating for later, Arthur, I need you for something.”

“You know I don’t cheat,” Arthur jokes and Dutch grins at him and it’s nice. This is familiar to him. This feels right. Dutch has been odd lately, the jobs he’s been taking, the risks he’s been imposing, none of them feels like the man he knows. 

Now, Arthur would follow Dutch straight into hell without being asked. But he can’t abide by how he’s putting their people in harm's way. He’s felt like a stranger more often than not and he’s been doubting the people he shouldn’t. Right now, though, he can see the man he knows in the teasing curl of his lips. 

“What’dya need?”

Dutch pauses in front of a tailor and pats Arthur’s chest. “I need you to look prim and proper for a party we’ve got tonight.”

Arthur’s brows furrow cynically and he scoffs. “Someone invited us to a party?”

Dutch hesitates, a stiff smile on his face. “Well, let’s just say someone is interested in our work.” Arthur wants to question him further, he’s hiding something from him. But Dutch is pushing him towards the door of the shop before he can argue. “And get a haircut, we need to look presentable not like a bunch of mountain men.”

Arthur watches as Dutch leaves, something heavy weighing down on him. Dutch doesn’t usually tell people about his plans beforehand. At least not every step of them. But this is odd, he’s definitely hiding something and Arthur isn’t sure he wants to know what. 

With a resigned huff, he heads into the tailor. He has to mentally prepare himself for being stuffed into a starched collar and a stiff suit for the rest of the night. He hates these damn parties, hates having to pretend like he knows what the hell is being said. 

Most of the people that attend are educated or pretend to be. And when he lets it slip that he’s more likely to shoot a gun than read a book they turn on him like jackals. You can’t let them see that you’re different than them or you’ll never get a word in edgewise. 

The only part he enjoys is the booze and robbing them of their money. It’s not like they earned any of it. Most of it was made by breaking the backs of the people they mock for being too poor to afford a fancy suit. 

Arthur takes a deep breath and looks for the cheapest suit he can find in the overpriced shop. 

“Now,” Mr. Crane’s hand tightens around your bicep and he jerks you closer to him. You keep your face impassive, not letting him see just how much he’s hurting you. But you can feel your skin being stretched to its limits by his clammy fingers. “You’re going to behave tonight. I’ve got a few gentlemen I’d like you to meet.”

He looks at you expectantly but you keep your mouth firmly shut. His eyes narrow and he jerks you around roughly. “Understood,” you force the word out through gritted teeth. You’re trying to breathe as little as possible, not wanting to smell his cigar-laced breath any longer. 

Finally, after a tortuously long moment, he releases you. You take ten steps back, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles from the silk skirt he’d forced you in. You glance out the window of his office, watching as the workers scramble to set up the tables for tonight. You can hear cooks in the kitchen, shouting out orders for the food for tonight. 

Everything must be perfect. Mr. Crane never fails to deliver on his extravagantly indulgent parties. The man himself is the very embodiment of greed. You glance over with a disgusted sneer as he sinks himself into his leather chair and pulls out a wad of cash. 

He catches your eye and sends you a sickly sweet smile. “This,” he waves the money at you and you track the movement boredly. “Is how much you’re worth, sweetheart.” Your brows raise in amusement and you scoff. More than you thought he would put up for you. 

You wonder who he’s going to have transport you. He’ll need you out of the city soon, your father is starting to catch onto what’s happening. It took him long enough. You’ve been missing a month, you’d think he would have put two and two together faster. Then again, he’d never been very interested in you beyond what you were worth to others. 

“When will I be able to meet these gentlemen?” You ask, taking a step towards him. Your eyes dart towards the letter opener on his desk and for a brief moment you picture yourself strabbing it into his fattened jugular. 

But he flicks his wrist and like magic the door opens, his men coming inside and standing resolutely by your side. “Not anytime soon, my dear.” He looks to the men surrounding you and you take in a sharp breath, wishing you’d just taken the chance when you had it. “My associate is feeling quite tired, take her back to her room, please.”

They grab you by the elbows, even though it's entirely unnecessary. You wouldn’t run, and even if you did you wouldn’t get far with the chains he has hidden under your dress. A punishment for the first time you snuck from his home. You’ve been well behaved since then but he doesn’t trust you. 

You’re whisked away without another word. The trek of the stairs is a slow one. They’re forced to help you navigate by lifting your skirts and not tripping on the chains. It no longer brings you any satisfaction to cause a hindrance in any of their days. 

Before, you would think of being an annoyance as a small victory. But it’s not, it never was. It was just a way for them to keep you complacent by allowing you to think you’d done something for yourself. You believe your father used to do the same thing. 

It’s just another way of keeping you quiet. 

When you make it to your rooms, they shove you inside. Like clockwork, you hear the jingle of the keys and then the lock clicks. You sigh and take a step towards your vanity, working on touching up your hair. 

You think the worst part of this must be how well you’re treated. You have meals made by a private chef. Your quarters are decorated more lavishly than they ever were at your father’s house. Yet, you hear the suffocating tick of the clock as it counts down your doom. 

You’re not entirely sure what their plan is with you. You know your father had made a promise to Mr. Crane involving some land. Or perhaps it had been a wager. But as always, you were collateral when your father refused to pay up. 

You know Mr. Crane wants you out of town so that he has more time to negotiate with your father, to call in the interest he owes him. You also know the only reason your father is interested in finding you is because you’re meant to marry the son of a business partner in two months. The money he’ll get from that will be enough to finally pay off his debts. 

Except, now, Mr. Crane tells you that should your father refuse to pay you’ll be married to one of his associates. And the deal he’ll make from that will be enough to cover what your father has refused to pay. 

No matter what, you’re going to be married off to some man you’ve never met and yet again be a quiet trophy on a shelf. It’s a very convoluted situation, one which makes you think leaping from a window might be a better fate. 

None of the men your father or Mr. Crane is in business with are particularly kind. They’ve got more skeletons in the closet than there are in the graveyard. You doubt you’ll live a very happy life with whoever they pick for you. 

You slump forward onto the vanity, trying to fight off the burning feeling in the back of your eyes. You’ve known this would happen for years. Even before Mr. Crane had you kidnapped, you knew that this would be your destiny. You would never get to be one of the free-spirited women who fought for the right to choose. You would always be forced into this role. 

Yet, being so close to it coming to fruition makes you feel choked and suffocated. You can feel the noose around your neck tightening, the hangman’s fingers twitching as he waits to see you drop. 

You dig your nails into your palm, taking in a deep breath and fighting back the wave of despair. Where there is doom, you also see a sliver of hope. Your next journey will be a long one. He’s hiring someone to have you transported to an area further up the map. 

If you play your cards right you might be able to escape while you’re traveling. If you’re incredibly smart about this, thinking with your head and not your heart, you might have a shot at freedom. 

You take in a deep breath, reapplying your makeup and resolving yourself to another night of mindless entertainment. But you hold onto that fleeting feeling of hope. You have a shot, you just have to take it. 

Arthur’s heard of these parties before. Some Mr. Crane fella that likes to blow all his money on food and booze. He indulges his guests and when they’re weakest, gets their secrets from them. He’s a snake and everyone knows it. Yet, missing his party is social suicide. They have no choice but to go and indulge in him. 

Arthur had never had any interest in meeting him or doing any business with him. But Dutch had informed him that’s exactly what’s happening tonight. They’ll mingle for a little while, maybe scout some other jobs, and then Mr. Crane will invite them up to his office for a private discussion. 

Dutch still hasn’t told him what exactly their business with him is. He brought Hosea along tonight so he has to assume it’s not going to be anything violent. But he can’t think of anything else they could be good for. 

“Alright, gentlemen,” Dutch places his hands on Hosea’s and Arthur’s shoulders, a scheming smile on his face. “Try not to embarrass me.” He slips behind them, heading up the stairs of the home. Hosea and Arthur share a brief look before they split up, blending into the background of the garden. 

Arthur lurks near the bar, he knows he should be talking to these assholes, possibly learning something useful. But he can’t be bothered. He orders a whiskey, gaze surveying the partygoers. They’re all loud with painted faces and fake smiles. Not a goddamn person here seems to be genuinely interested in anything they’re doing. 

“First time?” The soft voice beside him catches him off guard. He glances to the side and is surprised to see that you’ve slipped past him. He hadn’t even noticed you slide up next to him. You laugh at the look on his face and it’s the first thing here that seems real. “Sorry, it’s just that look on your face, I recognize the disappointment. You’ve never been to one of Crane’s parties before?”

“No,” he clears his throat, still recovering from the surprise. “Uh, I can’t say I have.”

You suck on your teeth, narrowing your eyes at the people passing by. “They’re not worth the effort. Everyone who leaves here leaves carrying his debt on their back.”

Arthur chuckles a little, lips twitching up into a small smile. He’s surprised by your frankness, most people like to hide behind passive-aggressive digs. He appreciates the straightforward attitude. “Then why are you here?”

You shrug and Arthur finds himself enchanted. He shouldn’t be, he’s never been one for romance. He finds women pretty and he’s been in love before, but he’s never bought into the idea of love at first sight. Or any of that mushy stuff that Mary Beth devours in those books of hers. 

But you are absolutely gorgeous, dressed in a silk dress that’s so expensive he’s sure he could buy two new horses with it. Your fingers and neck are decorated in dainty jewels that you fidget with as you stare down at your drink. When you set your eyes on him again he thinks he might have been struck by Cupid’s arrow. 

“I don’t have a choice,” you finally answer, sending him a stiff smile. “What about you? Why are you here?”

Arthur suddenly remembers himself, remembers why he’s here and what he’s supposed to be doing. The fog in his head dissipates and he’s disappointed in himself. Pretty women have never done anything except get him in trouble. 

“Business,” he answers vaguely. Your eyes narrow and your brows twitch in discontent. Something like realization dawns on your face and you back away from him. The easy attitude you’d carried yourself with is gone, replaced by a vague look of distrust. 

“Right, should’ve known.” You let out a rough sigh and Arthur can’t help but feel like he’s said the wrong thing. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you again soon.” You slip past him before he can ask you what you mean. He hears the faint sound of metal clinking as you walk back up the stairs. 

Something silver flashes under your skirts but he can’t get a good glimpse of it. He feels unsettled as he turns back to the bar. The whole interaction was odd. From how stricken he was with you to how cold you turned. 

He doesn’t know what you saw in him but it was probably for the best that you left when you did. Neither of you needed the trouble the other would bring. He shakes his head, downing his whiskey and muttering nonsense to himself about not thinking with the wrong head. 

It’s not that much later that Dutch is appearing on the balcony and silently motions him forward. Arthur leaves the bar behind and slips up the same stairs you’d disappeared on. Dutch says nothing as he leads Hosea and Arthur through the house. 

The mansion is a maze more than anything. Arthur loses track of all the turns they take and the winding staircases they descend. Finally, Dutch stops them all in front of two large oak doors. He raps once on the door and then lets himself in. 

A large, balding man with a shiny head is perched on top of a leather chair. He looms behind his desk, fingers steepled as he greets them all with a false smile. “Ah, gentlemen, so nice to finally meet you.”

Dutch grins and motions to Arthur, “This is the man who will be doing the transporting, Arthur.” Arthur’s eyes narrow in confusion but he says nothing as Dutch moves to Hosea, “And this is my associate, Hosea. He’s a lot better with money than I am, Mr. Crane. You understand.”

Mr. Crane lets out a boisterous laugh that makes Arthur’s ears hurt and nods his head, his cheeks jiggling with the movement. “That I do! Well,” he waves them forward when they linger in the doorway too long, “come in, come in.”

Arthur closes the doors behind them as Mr. Crane lifts himself from his desk. There are two couches positioned in front of an unlit fire. He takes one of them and Dutch and Hosea take the other. Arthur perches himself on the armrest of their couch, eyes surveying the office like it might reveal the truth of their visit. 

“I trust Mr. Van der Linde has kept this all quiet?” 

“He has,” Arthur grouses. 

At the same time, Dutch says, “Of course, Mr. Crane. I promised confidentiality and Dutch Van der Linde is nothing if not a man who keeps to his promises.” Crane nods, looking satisfied and  Arthur holds back a laugh at how easily he seems to trust Dutch.

“Good, good.” He dips his hand inside his jacket and Arthur’s palm instinctively drops to where his gun should be. Of course, they’d had to give up their weapons before they came into the party, if he does has a gun Arthur can’t do a damn thing. 

But he doesn’t, instead, he pulls out the thickest stack of cash that Arthur has ever laid his eyes on. A loud thud resounds through the room as he slams the bills on top of the table between them. Arthur’s eyes widen and Hosea’s jaw nearly drops at the sight of it all. 

This would be enough to get them out of St. Denis tonight. Shock sours quickly into suspicion. What the hell has Dutch signed up for? “Now, this is the first half. This is simply for accepting the job and,” he gives them all severe looks, “for your silence.”

Arthur shifts uncomfortably on his perch and waits for Mr. Crane to finish. “The other half will be given once the package has been safely delivered.” There’s a certain lilt to his words when he says package that has Arthur’s hackles raising. Whatever is getting delivered is not going to be good. 

Crane turns towards the bookshelves on the wall and calls out, “Darling, won’t you join us?” Arthur figures the man must have lost his mind, they should just take the money and leave. But there’s a loud creak and something like metal gears grinding together. One of the shelves pops open and the panel swings forward. 

You pop your head out, glancing towards Crane and then taking a step forward. Arthur, without even thinking about it, finds himself sitting up, and brushing some of the dirt off his pants from the ride over. 

At first, he’s so confused by seeing you again that he doesn’t realize why exactly he’s seeing you again. Then you glance towards him, a knowing look on your face and it clicks. You’re the package. You’re what he’s meant to be transporting. 

He glares over at Dutch, when exactly did they get into the business of trading women?

Hosea voices his doubts in a much calmer manner. “If I may, sir, why does she need to be delivered so discreetly?”

Mr. Crane laughs and your face twitches unpleasantly. You grimace, glaring at the back of the man’s head with something like murder in your eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s done to cause such a visceral look of hate and he doesn’t want to think about it. This whole situation is bothering him. You’re not here willingly, which means you’re not going to be transported willingly either. 

None of this makes sense. Dutch would never have taken a job like this before, even when they needed the money. And there’s no way in hell a rich man like this one would want to pay a couple of grungy outlaws so much money. There’s got to be some sort of trick in all of this. 

Cran clears his throat, “She’s a daughter of a, well,” he frowns and struggles for the words. “Let’s just say we’re in a hostile competition for a lot of land. This land, boys, could be very beneficial in expanding my business. He’s not interested in selling and, well, desperate times, desperate measures.”

You scoff, laughing slightly at him and rounding the couch. Dutch ignores you, Hosea looks uncomfortable, and Crane continues prattling on without missing a beat. “Should her father not pay me, she will be married to the associate you’re bringing her to. He’s promised me enough land and money to cover what I lost to her father. And if he does pay, she’ll be returned in time for her wedding here.”

Arthur’s eyes dart towards you and you send him a bitter smile. It makes him shift where he sits, hating the way your eyes bore into him. “I just need someone who's not afraid of getting their hands a little dirty to make sure she behaves while she’s delivered to my friend,” Crane glances over at Arthur. He asses him, the bulge of his arms in the suit and the scars on his face, whatever he finds must be satisfactory because he smiles over at Dutch. 

Arthur stands, ready for Dutch to tell Mr. Crane that they’re not in the business of selling women off. But Dutch doesn’t, he smiles at Mr. Crane and reaches for the money, passing it off to Hosea to count. “Well, I do believe my friend Arthur is just the man for the job.” 

“I think you’re right, Dutch.” He stands up now, pot belly nearly bursting the buttons of his shirt, and reaches for Dutch’s hand. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Dutch smiles and takes his sweaty palm, “You as well, sir.” Dutch walks towards you and holds his arm out. “This way, my dear.” You glance between him and his elbow before rolling your eyes and reluctantly placing your hand on his arm. You follow him silently and obediently, no fight is left in you. Hosea follows after you both, a concerned look on his face. 

Arthur remains in the office, standing dumbfounded and staring at the doorway you’d disappeared through. He’s struggling to process what just happened. Arthur has helped people get home safely before and provided protection. But he’s never been one to traffic a hostage. 

Crane glances up, finally noticing him still standing there. He walks past him, patting his shoulder as he does and giving him an approving smile. “Don’t be afraid to take care of her should she get out of hand.” He’s nearly out the door but he looks back and adds, “Just don’t bruise her too much.”

Arthur’s fingers twitch for his revolver once more and he’s never wanted to shoot a man more. But he knows Dutch is waiting for him and he’d never make it out of here alive if he started a fight right now. Reluctantly, he makes his way out of the manor and towards where you’re all waiting for him. 

He’s fuming by the time he stops in front of Dutch. He’s trying to help you onto his horse and Arthur finally realizes what the metal sound he heard earlier is. There are chains around your ankles and you can’t maneuver yourself on the saddle. 

His eyes narrow and he glares at Dutch, “What the hell are you doing? We’re selling women now?”

Dutch glowers at the tone of Arthur’s voice. You watch them both passively, fiddling with the rings on your fingers and looking unbothered by the entire situation. “Watch yourself, Arthur,” there’s a clear warning in his tone but Arthur’s too upset to care. 

They’ve done a lot of bad things. They weren’t good men. But this was just going too far. “We need this, Arthur. You want to get out of here, you want to keep our people safe?” Arthur let out a deep exhale, gritting his teeth together and nodding reluctantly. Dutch huffs, “That’s what I thought. We’re not selling anyone, Arthur. It’s a simple delivery.”

His jaw clenches as he watches Dutch struggle to help you again. “It’s not going to work,” you inform Dutch. You lift your skirts, flashing him the chains he hadn’t seemed to notice yet. Neither of you gets a chance to say anything as Arthur pulls out his gun and shoots the lock off. 

He feels a little guilty at how startled you look. Your eyes widen until they look like they might bulge out. Your hands fly up to cover your ears as the sound rocks through you. It breaks violently through the silence of the night. 

Dutch turns and gives him a stern look, “Have you forgotten the meaning of subtlety?” Arthur can tell he’s trying not to shout and drag any more attention towards you all. 

Arthur glares at Dutch, something wicked brewing in his stomach. “The lady wouldn’t be able to ride a horse like that.” He mounts his horse and rides off without a look back. He can’t stand to be near you or Dutch any longer. 

The reality of what they’ve turned into hits him like a bag of rocks and it makes him irate. They’ve never been these people. Never traded a person off like they were an object. He’s sure plenty of people in camp would have a problem with this. But he doubts Dutch will let them know the truth until the job is done. 

And by then, everyone will be too happy with the money to complain. Dutch is nothing if not good at saving his ass. He’s hitching his horse as the rest of you ride into camp. He lingers by Diablo, resting a hand on the thick neck of the shire while Dutch helps you off the saddle. 

His eyes narrow in on the way Dutch’s fingers glide along your waist as you jump down. You take a step back the second your legs are steady sending Dutch a dirty look that almost makes Arthur laugh. 

He starts towards Dutch, ready to try and reason with him again. But he holds his hand up and walks away, not even giving him a chance to speak. Arthur lets out a rough sigh as Hosea comes up behind him. 

He pats his shoulder comfortingly, “You should get some sleep, Arthur. You’ll ride with her to Strawberry tomorrow morning.” He almost walks off but he whispers a quiet, “I’m sorry,” before he goes. 

Arthur glances towards you but you’re looking around the camp, eyes lingering on Javier as he sings by the fire. He swears he almost sees you smile but it's gone as quickly as it came. He takes his hat off, running his hand through his hair and letting out a tired sigh. 

“Alright, come with me,” he starts towards the house. It takes a minute to realize you’re not directly behind him. When he looks over your shoulder he sees you with your skirts lifted, tiptoeing through the mud and trying not to get your pretty skirts dirty. 

He rolls his eyes, storming back towards you. Your eyes widen at the look on his face and you stumble back a few steps. Undeterred, he bends over, throwing you over his shoulder and walking towards the house. 

Your hands claw at his back, desperately grasping onto his shirt so you keep your balance. He storms up the stairs, ignoring the alarmed looks he gets from others in camp. He can already hear them whispering, wondering who you are and why he’s dragging you into his room. 

They can make up whatever the hell they want. Arthur’s too pissed off to give a shit about rumors tonight. He drops you unceremoniously onto his bed and storms back out. He heads downstairs, rooting around in one of the chests for some extra clothes. 

You won’t be able to ride to Strawberry in those ridiculous clothes. You’ll need some pants if you’re going to sit on the horse properly. He tucks the outfit under his arm and makes his way back to you. 

When he opens the door your hand immediately darts away from his shaving kit and shoves itself under your butt. His brows furrow as he catches a flash of silver in your hand. He places the clothes down on the end of the bed, eyes drifting towards his shaving kit. Sure enough, his razor seems to be missing. 

He lets out a sigh and you tense up, hand clenching around your prize. He briefly debates taking it from you. But he figures you should be allowed a modicum of comfort. Even if you did try and use it against him it’s dull, he hasn’t sharpened it in a while and you wouldn’t be able to do much damage anyway. 

He lets you keep it, leaving you on your own without another word. He can hear the exhale of relief you let out when he walks away and it makes him feel just a little better about this. At least you’re not completely terrified. 

You change into the clothes Arthur gave you. They’re a little big, but you appreciate the pants. It’s much better than the ridiculous dresses Crane had you in. You collect your dress and toss it out the window of Arthur’s room, watching it sink into the mud pit below. It brings you some satisfaction to see Crane’s pretty silk getting ruined. 

You take off the jewelry you’d been given and stuff it into your boots. If you did manage to escape while you were traveling with Arthur then you were going to need some cash. You could sell off the jewels and hopefully, it would be enough to keep you comfortable. 

It feels nice, to wear real clothes. Not being dressed up like a doll for once. You envy some of the women here, who can wear what they want. There is an appeal to the outlaw life. As long as you’re on the right side of it, which, currently, you’re not. 

You slip out of the house before anyone has a chance to retrieve you. The whole night you were curled up around a dull razor with your eyes wide open. Spending a night surrounded by outlaws isn’t exactly restful. 

You figure you might as well try and walk around before you’re on the back of a horse for the rest of the day. There are more people up than you’d expected. Luckily, you don’t see Dutch around anywhere. You don’t feel like having to deal with any more of his false charm or empty apologies. 

The same man you’d seen strumming his guitar the night before is asleep next to the dying fire. A blonde woman catches your eye, she’s walking past some other women in dresses. They’re still asleep but she looks like she’s been up for hours. 

There’s a bit of blood on her pants and you briefly wonder what she’d been doing. “Who are you?” She asks, surveying you from head to toe with suspicion in her eyes. 

“A package,” you tell her bluntly, walking past her towards the only lit fire of camp. She follows you, a wry grin on her face as she watches you pour yourself some coffee. 

“You’ve got a real attitude, I like it.” 

You huff out a laugh, taking a sip of the burnt coffee and giving her a brief smile. “I’m sure my future husband won’t.” 

She rolls her eyes and scoffs, waving you off. “Husbands, good for nothing. I loved mine but he was useless as a sack o’ flour. You’re better off without them.”

Your smile turns strained and you look down at your feet, at the boots that aren’t your own. You’ll never get to dress like this again. Or speak like this to a woman who isn’t afraid to voice what's on her mind. 

“Yes, well,” you shrug and meet her eyes again, “I don’t seem to have much of a choice.”

Her eyes narrow and she frowns, “What’s that supposed to-”

“Mrs. Adler!” Dutch’s voice booms from across the camp and forces the others awake. Most of them grumble, but they’re quick to get started on morning chores. “I see you’ve met our guest,” he says your name with a flourish that almost makes you laugh. 

He’s a good actor. He’s especially good at covering up his mistakes. “Yeah, what’s going on, Dutch? Who is she? Why don’t you guys ever let me in on this stuff?” She fires off questions rapidly, you almost don’t catch them all. There are clearly underlying issues here other than your unexpected presence. 

“In due time,” he assures her, laying the charm on thick. But even you can tell he’s full of it. He’s not planning on letting her in on anything unless it benefits him. “And this is our guest, her fiancee has paid us handsomely to provide her safe passage back to him.” 

He walks towards you, laying a hand over your arm and squeezing slightly. You give Sadie a stiff smile and let him lead you away. “I do believe it’s best that you just wait for Arthur, dear.” He gives you a look that lets you know it’s an order, not a suggestion. 

Still, you play along, “I think you might be right, Mr. Van der Linde, thank you for the hospitality.” You run a tired hand over your face, sitting down on the stoop of the house and finishing off the rest of your coffee. Dutch watches you for a while, never straying too far from where you are and intercepting anyone who asks about you. 

He spins quite the romantic tale of your lost love and how he desperately wants you back. You wish it were true, that you were living out some wonderful fairytale and were about to be reunited with the love of your life. Instead, it feels like one long walk to the gallows. 

The wood creaks behind you and you don’t need to turn to see who it is. “Ready?” Arthur asks and you figure he means, ready to leave freedom and happiness and the will to live behind? 

No, “Sure,” you toss the rest of the coffee into the grass and leave the mug on the stairs. You get to your feet and let him lead you towards the horses. He shares a brief look with Dutch as you pass by him but it doesn’t look entirely pleasant. 

He makes his way toward a towering black shire and your eyes widen in horror. “What’s this?”

He works on saddling the horse up, not paying much attention to you. “This is Diablo.” You take a step closer and the horse starts huffing, swinging his neck towards you with his lips pulled back. You jump back a step back, eyeing him warily. 

Arthur glances over and lets out a low chuckle, “He won’t bite. He’s just curious.”

“Mhm,” you give him a disbelieving look. “You’ll have to excuse me for being wary, I’ve not met a lot of horses.”

Arthur looks a bit shocked by your admission. “Really?” He questions, sounding doubtful. 

You give him a brief smile and nod. “Hard to believe, I know, but I’ve lived a very sheltered life, Mr. Morgan. Haven’t had many opportunities for exploring on my own.” 

He opens his mouth, looking like he wants to say something. At the last second, he stops himself, instead taking a step closer to you. You flinch away from him when he reaches for you and he lets out a sigh. “You can’t spend the next three days terrified of him, come on.”

He coaxes you forward and you reluctantly step closer to the beast. He chuckles at the scared look on your face. You don’t appreciate how much amusement he’s gaining from this. “Come on,” he mutters, taking your wrist and leading you closer to Diablo. 

The damn thing is named Devil, how could you not be terrified of it? 

“He won’t bite, I promise.” You don’t trust him but he doesn’t give you much of a choice. He presses your open palm to Diablo’s nose and you wince, bracing for him to lash out at you. 

But he doesn’t, he lets out a soft knicker and it seems like he doesn’t even care that you’re there. You let out a relieved laugh, running your hand tentatively over his muzzle. It’s shockingly soft and oddly squishy. 

He doesn’t seem to mind as you awe over him. You smile and glance over at Arthur but it drops when you see the odd look on his face. He seems perplexed by your reaction and you can’t fathom why. “You really never have ridden a horse before, have you?”

You shake your head, “No. I told you.”

He purses his lips and nods. You don’t know what it is about this that’s bothering him and you don’t care to ask. If he doesn’t believe just how strict your upbringing has been then fine. “Alright, come on, we need to get a move on.” 

He leads you around to the saddle and helps you up on the back of the horse. It’s beyond odd, sitting on something in pants. Getting to spread your legs freely is something you are going to greatly enjoy during this journey. 

Arthur takes off without much warning and you yelp, throwing your arms around his waist to steady yourself. He glances over his shoulder at you but says nothing. You turn your head, watching as the camp gets smaller and smaller. 

The people mill about, greet each other, and break bread together. It hits you suddenly, this will be the last time you get to see people being free. If you don’t get out, if you can’t escape, your life will be filled with starched collars and powdered faces. You’ll never have a genuine conversation with someone again. You’ll be turned into pretty jewelry hanging off the arm of a man you never met. 

The ride to Strawberry is three days at least. You have three days to get your plan together and to escape. You almost feel sorry for Arthur and the repercussions he’ll have to face losing you. But not sorry enough that you’re not gonna try. 

Arthur’s speed evens out and you let your arms relax, easing away from him slightly. Your wrist jolts against the gun on his hip and you eye it curiously. If you had a gun there would be no doubt you could escape. You see Arthur’s fingers twitch on the reigns of the horse and you move your arms higher up his torso. 

You doubt you’ll be a quicker draw than he is. He is an outlaw after all. You don’t think he’d have many qualms about delivering you to your fiancee with a few extra holes in your gut. Your mind drifts to the razor in your pocket and you consider it for a moment. 

You’re sure you’d be quick enough to just whip it out and slit his throat. You sigh and dismiss the thought. You were a lot of things but you were not a murderer. There are lines you can’t bring yourself to cross. Besides, as wicked as what he’s doing to you is, you know he’s a good man. 

It was an instinctual feeling. Mr. Crane and your father were both horrible, evil men. They knew nothing but greed and would never be satisfied by all the riches they reaped. They were the type of men you looked at and knew deep down that there was nothing left to save. 

Arthur has undoubtedly bad things. You don’t become an outlaw without spilling some blood. He was weathered and rough from a hard life, but that didn’t mean there was nothing good left in him. You won’t have his blood on your hands, no matter how much you might want to get away from him. 

As grateful as Arthur is for the silence, it is odd. He’s helped a few ladies find their way back home before and for some reason, they seem to think he’s the best listener in the world. It seems everyone who rides with him wants to tell him their life stories. 

You’re completely silent, though. He has to keep looking back just to make sure you haven’t fallen off the back of the horse. You’re pretty complacent, following along with whatever Dutch said and coming along quietly. You seem beaten down, the fight dragged out of you. 

He wonders what Mr. Crane had done to you. A few times, he’s seen just a glimpse of the spark that used to be there. But it was snuffed out before he got a chance to know it. He almost wishes you would talk. It would distract him from what he was doing right now.

It didn’t feel right, bringing you along to marry a man you’ve never even met. He has to keep reminding himself that it would have happened no matter what. Ladies like you are always sold off into a profitable marriage. The only thing he’s doing is switching up who the fiancee might be. 

None of that makes him feel better, though. He should be helping you, not dragging you away to your worst nightmare. But, his people come first. The amount of money Dutch’ll get from this will be enough to get them all out of here. This could finally be the last score. 

You gasp behind him and he whips his head around, immediately expecting someone to be following along beside you both. Maybe your father’s men or just some raiders. But he doesn’t see anything except a herd of deer running through the trees. 

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances back at you. You’re watching them like they’re something spectacular. Arthur’s always been a fan of the quiet beauty of nature. He appreciates them in ways most folks don’t understand. But you’re looking at ‘em like you just found God. 

“Never seen deer before?” He teases, chuckling a little at your reaction. 

You startle, not realizing he had been watching. You clear your throat and look away from them sheepishly. He almost feels bad for ruining the moment for you. “No. No, I haven’t.” 

He knows it's possible, but it’s astounding to him that someone truly lived their whole life in the city. It just doesn’t seem right. Cities are full of shit, smog, and bad people. Not even having a moment out of that your whole life seems like torture. 

“I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts,” you mutter, eyes darting back to the tree line. But the deer are gone and you don’t look very interested anymore. 

“Right,” he shifts forward, the air between you awkward. He’d only meant it in jest. He didn’t mean to remind you of what was about to happen to you. He doesn’t like the silence, not this time, it feels wrong. It makes him stew in his shame and that’s a nasty feeling. 

Selfishly, he prods you for more. “A few days on the road, you’ll be eager for the city again.”

You laugh but there’s no humor to it. “I very much doubt that Mr. Morgan.”

“Arthur,” he corrects, “just call me Arthur.”

“Right,” your tone remains cold, “well if you don’t mind Arthur, I’d like to ride there in silence.”

He's got no other choice but to comply. If you don’t want to talk he won’t make you. He just wishes he could make this a little easier for you both. 

Camping is something. You don’t have a word for it. It’s nice to be out in nature and embrace it for the first time in your life. But you really would not mind the comfort of your bed right now. 

Rocks digging into your spine and head do not make for a good night’s sleep. You’ve been lying in front of the fire for hours, flipping around uselessly. It doesn’t matter how much you shift, the rock stays digging painfully into you. 

You let out a loud huff, flopping onto your back and glaring up at the starry sky in defeat. At least the view is nice. In the city, you can’t see the stars. The smoke’s too thick and you never get a good look at them.

Out here, they almost feel fake. They’re so bright and beautiful, you thought the paintings in the museum had always been exaggerating just how breathtaking a night sky can be. But you were wrong. And you hate that there’s a potential future where you’ll never get to see this again. 

“Would you quit squirming so damn much?”

You shoot up, resting on your elbows and glaring over at Arthur. He’s got his hat over his eyes, arms crossed, and looking like he’s been asleep for the past few hours. You hadn’t realized you’d been keeping him up. 

“Some of us aren’t used to sleeping outside,” you hiss, throwing yourself back down to the ground. He doesn’t say anything for a while and you figure that’s the end of it. You clench your eyes shut, counting sheep in your mind and trying to force yourself asleep. 

You hear boots crunching across leaves and your eyes fly open. Arthur’s standing over you, hands propped on his hips as he glares down at you. “Can I help you?” You snap when you get tired of the staring. 

He scoffs and shakes his head, kneeling to be eye level with you. You’re startled by the proximity, an odd heat creeping up your neck. “Come on, I’m gonna tire you out. Maybe then you’ll get some sleep.”

You gasp, astonished at the audacity of his suggestion. “Excuse me?” You demand, tone incredulous. 

His brows furrow before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Not like that,” he grouses. “Get up,” he doesn’t give you much of a choice. He places his hand under your back, shoving you onto your feet. You stand with a slight stumble, glaring at him as you brush dirt off your shirt and pants. 

You can’t help the snotty tone of your voice as you ask, “What are we doing?” 

“Huntin,’” He answers gruffly, going over to the horse and taking the bow out of his saddle. 

Your brows furrow as you recall the few stories your father told you of hunting bison. “Aren’t you supposed to use a rifle?”

He shakes his head and nods towards the treeline. You glance back at the fire before reluctantly following him into the dark forest. The moon is full enough that it provides just enough light for you not to be terrified of what’s lurking in the underbrush. 

“Got a friend,” he tells you, kneeling and glancing at some tracks on the ground. “Taught me how to hunt properly. Bows are quieter, less disruptive, and they provide quicker, cleaner kills.” He looks back at you and motions towards the arrows, “Less pain for the animal.”

Your face slacks with something like astonishment. All you’d heard from your father was the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of the kill. He never mentioned keeping anything from the animal, using it for meat, or about how long it took for them to die. You’d never thought there was anybody who actually cared for the creature’s comfort as it died. 

You suppose there’s going to be a lot about Arthur that’s different from the men you know. 

“Arthur,” a twig snaps behind you, and your eyes widen. You drop your voice to a whisper, not wanting to draw too much attention towards you both. “I don’t want to kill anything,” you hiss.

“Ha!” He barks out a laugh and you purse your lips in irritation. He stands and looks at you, chuckling again before shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be so confident in your huntin’ skill, kid.”

You click your tongue and glare at him, “Don’t call me that,” you snap. It’s the same patronizing nickname your father loved to use on you and you detest it. He raises his hands in surrender and you roll your eyes at the smirk on his face. “Then what’s the point of this?”

He shrugs and heads further into the trees, you have no choice but to follow along behind him. “Figure you should be taught a few skills before I get rid of ya.”

You want to argue with him that there’s no point. If you are given to Crane’s associate, you’ll never set foot in the woods again. However, if you do manage to escape him, learning a few survival skills wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

So, you keep your mouth shut and let him lead you through the forest. “How do you know where to go?” You ask, trying to figure out what it is he keeps looking at in the mud. He waves you forward, moving you so you’re standing directly in front of him. 

“You see that?” You have to squint, relying solely on the light from the moon, to make out what he’s pointing at. There are some tracks in the mud that look vaguely like hooves. “It’s buck tracks, you can tell by the size.” He kneels and when you don’t follow he tugs you down by the sleeve. “You can’t rely on just the tracks, though. You have to look for other signs of ‘em.”

You glance around, noticing some crushed twigs and grass a few feet ahead. “Like that?” You point towards it and he huffs in amusement. 

“Caught on quicker than I thought.”

You feel vaguely offended by that but don’t bother voicing it, just glare at his back as he gets up. You walk silently through the forest, letting Arthur show you which tracks to follow and which to avoid. You’re not comforted by how many cougar prints you find. You stare up into the branches always expecting something to already be looking down at you. 

Miraculously, no wild cat chooses you for dinner as you track the buck down. You find him near a small stream, antlers dipping into the water as he takes a drink. He’s got to be one of the most gorgeous creatures you’ve ever seen. 

You’ve lived your whole life in St. Denis. The most you’ve seen are overworked carriage horses and mangy dogs. No life slips through the cracks of that place. There’s just smoke and misery. This is nature, real beauty. It’s breathtaking, the way the leaves ripple in the wind and the starlight reflects in the water. 

You can’t imagine seeing this and wanting to tear it down to put up an oily machine that contributes nothing to the earth but death. It just makes you hate your father more. It also makes you more resolved to not be forced back into that life. You can’t do it. You can’t have this one taste of freedom and then let it go without a fight. 

Arthur pulls the bow out and nocks an arrow. You glance between him and the buck and rapidly shake your head. “No,” you hiss, “I don’t wanna kill it.”

He rolls his eyes and moves you in front of him. You don’t have much choice as he places your hands on the string and guides you into the right position. “Relax,” he murmurs in your ear as you fight against his grip. “You ain’t gonna kill it.” 

It doesn’t bring you much comfort, but if you’re going to make it on your own, sometimes you’ll have to do something you don’t like. “Now,” his hand drifts down your bicep and you suck in a sharp breath. “Don’t hold it too long, you’ll get tired.” 

It’s dawning on you just how close you both are. You’re kneeling on the ground with him behind you, essentially cradling your body to him. You’ve never been this familiar with a man before, it’s making your brain short-circuit. You can hardly pay attention to what he’s telling you. 

He lifts your elbow slightly and points you towards the left. “You need to keep your arm steady even after you let go or your aim will be off. Take in a deep breath and release on the exhale.” You give him an apprehensive look, still not wanting to hurt the buck. He just nods and there’s something in his gaze that lets you relax slightly. 

You release the string and the arrow flies over the buck’s head, burying itself into the tree behind it. Its head shoots up and it turns towards you both before dashing off. You let out an astonished laugh, glancing down the bow and then back at Arthur. 

“My god, I’ve never shot anything before.”

“Congratulations, you’ve killed your first tree,” he remarks dryly, but you see the glint of humor in his eye. 

He gets to his feet and offers you a hand up. You smile up at him, undeterred by his attitude. “Thank you for this,” you tell him earnestly. He gives you an odd look but nods anyway. He doesn’t understand just how important this is to you. Knowing how to do something like this is the difference between life and death when you’re on your own. Of course, he doesn’t realize you’ll be making an escape attempt soon. 

He retrieves the arrow from the tree and you run your hand over the curve of the bow. You wonder just how much he’d miss this if you took it from him. 

Arthur’s tearing down the camp and you’re standing by Diablo, feeding him some apples. You stroke absentmindedly over the horse's muzzle, watching Arthur intently. He’s too busy pulling the tent apart to be paying attention to you. 

You got better sleep last night than you did at Crane’s. He was right, hunting had tired you out. You were eager enough to sleep that you didn’t even feel the rough ground underneath you. He seems to be a little more lax about his watch over you. 

Something about last night must have eased him into a sense of comfort that you’re not going to run. That’s his own fault, though. You glance over the curve of the hill, noticing a carriage that will be passing by soon enough. 

You look back at Arthur and ease slightly away from Diablo. Arthur is still collecting the blankets and rolling them up. He turns towards the dying fire and tosses the rest of the coffee out. You take another step back and he keeps his back to you. 

Slowly, you release Diablo’s reigns, giving him one last apple before you turn on your heel and run down the hill. Your foot slips out from under you and you let out a loud yelp as you go flying headfirst down the grass. 

You land on your back with enough impact to make the breath rush out of you. But your descent is still going and you’re flipping over headfirst into the road. You slide forward, the dirt scraping up your chin as you cough and try and catch your breath. 

“Look out!” You roll out of the way just before the carriage rolls over you. Someone shouts your name from the top of the hill and you see Arthur glaring down at you. He starts towards you and you scramble to your feet. 

“Stop!” You scream, waving your arms wildly and chasing after the carriage. The man gives you a bewildered look as you throw yourself at him. “Please, sir, I’ve been kidnapped, you must help me get back to my husband.”

The man looks behind you, sees a very angry Arthur bellowing out your name, and moves to the side. “Hurry up,” he urges, giving you a hand on the bench beside him. You let out a relieved breath, taking his hand and throwing yourself the rest of the way up. 

He whips the horses, hurrying them along all the while Arthur is yelling after you. It’s not hard to believe that he would kidnap you. He looks half-crazed as he follows along behind you. You turn over your shoulder, giving him a brief wave and a smile. “Thanks for the help,” you tell the man beside you. You offer your hand and name. 

He glances down at it but doesn’t take it, instead looking forward and ignoring you entirely. Something uneasy settles in your stomach but you push it aside. You blame the feeling on the adrenaline still pumping through you. 

“Where are you headed?” You ask, glancing into the back of the carriage. You notice some moonshine and a crate full of guns but decide not to question it. 

“Said yer husband’s waitin’ for ya?” He demands, completely ignoring your question. You stare at the side of his face but his expression isn’t giving anything away. He comes to an intersection. You see a sign pointing towards a town and figure he’s going to take it, but instead, he pulls onto a smaller trail leading to the woods. 

“Um,” you clear your throat uncertainly, glancing back at the sign. “Yes,” your voice cracks and you know you sound like you’re full of shit. 

He laughs and the sound sends chills down your spine. You rip your eyes off of him, looking down at the horses and suddenly realizing just what you’d gotten yourself into. “You sure about that, little lady?”

Something cold digs into your side and you gasp quietly, looking down to see a gun pressed against your ribs. “You scream, run, or do anythin’ to piss me off and I’ll put a fourth hole in ya.” When you don’t say anything he digs it harder into you. “Understand?” He growls and you can do nothing but nod your head. 

You want to move, want to shove him off the side of the carriage and make a run for it. But you can’t, you’re frozen solid. You’re so petrified with fear you can’t even blink. You think you’re holding your breath, as if taking in air is going to set the gun off. 

He grins, a blackened curl of lips over rotted teeth, at your obedience and comes to a stop in the trees. “What are you doing?” You whisper, staring at the secluded area with a newfound sense of horror. 

“Shut up,” he snaps, his voice echoing through the quiet of the woods. You hear no birds or animals and you feel so alone it makes you want to cry. He gets off the carriage and turns towards you. “Down,” he demands. Your eyes dart towards the reigns of the horses and he pulls the hammer of the gun back. “Don’t even think about it.”

You lift your hands in the air, slowly slipping down the seat. He doesn’t appreciate you taking your time He grabs the front of your shirt, jerking you further into the trees and tossing you to the ground. 

You let out a rough groan at the impact, blood staining your shirt as your elbow slips across a jagged rock. It’s like something is snapped loose in your mind. He comes stomping towards you, kneeling between your spread legs and it finally clicks. 

You lunge forward with a shout and he rears back in surprise. You wonder how often someone’s actually fought against him or just let it happen. You don’t want to die, you don’t want to get shot by this scum, but there are a lot of things worse than dying. 

You grab the arm holding the gun, jerking it around, and knocking it out of his hand. “You bitch!” He hisses, bringing his open palm down across your cheek. The smack rings through the trees and ricochets through the air. Your head whips to the side so hard you think you might have snapped your neck. 

Blood dribbles out from your lips, your teeth having bitten into the fat of your cheeks. You spot the gun nearby, the silver of the barrel glinting from under the leaves. Just as you reach for it, he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles and dragging you back towards him. 

You feel like screaming as your hands desperately grasp at the dirt underneath you. But there’s not enough air to scream. You dig your nails into the mud, feel them split against the rocks, and kick at his chest hard enough to make him lose his breath. 

His grip on you loosens and you throw yourself at the pile of leaves. Hands groping for something solid. Just as he flips you over you wrap your hand around the handle of the gun. You pull the trigger and the bang is deafening. 

Your ears ring and your hands are trembling from the recoil. His jaw goes slack and he tumbles on top of you. You let out a grunt, breath pushed out of you by his weight. You scramble against his chest, something warm making your hands slip as you struggle to roll him off of you. 

You glance over, waiting for him to spring back up. But there’s something dark pooling around him and sinking into the dirt below. There’s a hole in his chest and his eyes are already flattening. You fall back against the earth, staring up at the trees above you. 

The sounds rush back to you all at once. The birds singing, deers prancing somewhere in the distance. You hear a stream rushing nearby and let out a stunned laugh. There’s a smile on your face but there’s nothing to be happy about. 

You think you might be in shock. Mind still trying to catch up to what just happened. You glance down at the gun in your hand and toss it to the side, not wanting it near you anymore. Only a second later do you reach for it again. 

You struggle onto your hands and knees, checking over yourself for any injuries that you might be numb to right now. The only blood on you is from the dead man on the ground. You keel over, hands on your knees, and suck in a deep gasping breath. 

You stumble back, limping towards the carriage. You dig around in the back of the wagon, tugging out a giant hunting knife and walking towards the horses. You cut them loose, keeping the rope on one of them and tugging yourself onto her back. You tuck the knife in your belt and nudge her side, leading her forward gently. 

You don't even have time to process the fact that you’re riding a horse on your own. Your body is moving on autopilot. You can only think about getting ahead, getting away. What just happened will hit you later. You slump against the neck of the horse, adrenaline leaking out of you and exhaustion catching up. 

He’s going to find you and he’s going to kill you. Leaving while he had his back turned. Getting on some carriage with a man you’ve never met before. How dumb do you have to be? You can’t trust people out here. Not when there are gangs, raiders, hell, he’s encountered a few cannibals. 

For all he knows, you’re already dead and he’ll be delivering a body to the train station. The thought makes him curse and urge Diablo forward. It’s not hard to follow the tracks of the carriage, what concerns him is when they lead into the forest instead of the town. 

“Goddammit,” he mutters, “the hell have you done woman?” He leaps off Diablo, figuring it will be easier to track you on foot. He follows the paths of the wheels, finding the wagon abandoned and the horses cut loose. 

His brows furrow in confusion as he wanders around the side and spots a lump in the leaves. All he can see is the bottom of a boot and blood splattered across the orange of the fallen leaves. 

His stomach plummets and he races towards it. But it’s not you buried under the foliage, it’s the man who offered you a ride. “What the hell?” He kneels, brushing the leaves off his chest and frowning when he sees the blood splattered all along his chest. 

He doesn’t need to look long to figure out what killed him. He’s sure the bullet buried in his heart did the job. Arthur curses and stalks away from the man. There are prints where the horses were but there are too many to tell which one you might have taken. 

He’ll have to rely on instinct to find you. You’re becoming a real pain in the ass for what was supposed to be a simple job. Still, he can’t help but be a little relieved that it was a stranger and not you lying dead on the ground. 

He turns back onto the road, taking the turn into town. Someone on horseback rides past him, they look disgusted by something up ahead and it makes alarms go off in his head. He urges Diablo forward, running the rest of the way into town. 

An unsaddled mare lazily eats some grass as the sound of a rushing river meets his ears. Diablo’s hooves sound off against the wood of the bridge. He finally sees what disturbed the other rider so much. 

You’re sitting on the railing of the bridge, legs dangling dangerously over the edge as you stare down into the crashing waters below you. Arthur gets off his horse, approaching you slowly. He doesn’t want to startle you and have you go tumbling over the edge. 

He calls out your name and you glance briefly over at him. Blood is splattered across your neck and the front of your shirt is soaked with it. He knows it isn’t yours but it still puts him on edge. “What’re you doin’ kid?” 

You don’t answer him, “Did you follow me?” He eases up beside you, straddling the railing so he can catch you if you slip. He nods and you let out a rough sigh. “Is he dead?”

He scoffs, “Sure as shit hope so, don’t know how someone would survive that.”

A manic laugh bursts through your lips and you double over your head falling into your hands. Arthur surges forward, steadying you before you dive headfirst into the river. “Alright, let’s go,” he quietly urges you around. You don’t put up a fight, letting him maneuver you how he likes.

He gets you on your feet and leads you back to Diablo. You latch onto the horse's reigns immediately, stroking your hand over his mane. Your silence is concerning. Arthur doesn’t know what your regular behavior is, the most he’s seen of you, you have been quiet. This is different, though. He’s seen this sort of quiet in women before and it never ends pretty. 

“You’re alright, come on,” he tries to keep his voice low so he doesn’t set you off. He keeps his hands light as they land around your waist, giving you help onto Diablo’s saddle. Your gaze is distant and you move like someone else is controlling your body. 

He collects the mare you’d brought along with you and leads both horses into town. He’ll have to get a saddle for her, she already seems attached to you. And maybe taking a horse with you into the city will let you escape a little. 

The town, at least, is on the way to Strawberry so he doesn’t have to worry about being too far off schedule. Though, that’s the least of his concerns right now. His eyes keep darting up to you. Waiting for you to try and bolt again or finally break down. It doesn’t look like anything is going on in your head, you seem completely distanced from the situation. 

It’s a good thing for him. He can’t handle a distraught woman. He’s not a kind enough man for it. 

He hitches the horses in front of the hotel. You turn in the saddle, staring down at him and waiting for a hand down. You slide easily through his hands, landing in the mud with a dull thud and heading up the stairs of the hotel without prompt. 

He huffs and follows after you. He doesn’t know how to explain the blood on your clothes away and hopes he won’t have to. The man running the place, thankfully, doesn’t have many questions. He looks disturbed but keeps his qualms to himself when Arthur slips him a little extra cash. 

Arthur guides you up the stairs with a light hand on your back, opening the door of the bath for you. “Alright, here’s your room key. I’ll be out for a while so, just,” he sighs, taking in the blank look on your face and shaking his head. “Try not to cause any more trouble.” You nod and close the door behind him. 

There’s no worries that you’re going to make a run for it again. He’s sure whatever happened in those woods was scarring enough to make you want to go back to the city and never see country folk again. He wouldn’t blame you, there are some nasty people out here. Himself included, but he could never imagine hurting a woman like that. It just ain’t right. 

He heads to the shop across the street, buying some new clothes for you that actually fight properly. The horses are brought to the stables and he goes ahead and gets a paper for your mare under your name. Diablo will be faster tomorrow if he doesn’t have to carry the weight of two people. You might make it to your handler in time. 

Arthur still doesn’t feel right about this whole thing. Leaving you with a man you’ve never met feels even worse knowing what happened to you today. He doesn’t think you being so calm about it all is a good thing. Shouldn’t women react?

Dutch likes to tell him women are a more sensitive breed. He’s seen some tough ones in his life, but this seems like the time to be in hysterics if there ever was one. He heads back to the hotel, planning on just leaving the change of clothes in your room. 

He passes by the bath and hears an odd sound seeping through the cracks. Frowning, he presses his ear up against the door. A man passes by him, giving him a disgusted look as he goes into his room. Arthur sighs but he stays where he is. 

It’s clearer now, you’re crying and it’s hard to listen to. It's the type that makes it hard to breathe. That sort of crying makes your ribs ache and bruise. It’s wrong to keep listening to such a vulnerable moment. So, he does what he planned, drops the clothes in your room, and then heads to bed himself. 

Sleep comes easier than he thought it would. It’s not as restful as he’d been hoping but it draws over him faster than it normally does. He’s always been a light sleeper, though. It comes from years of having to be on guard in case some O’Driscoll is gonna try and slit his throat while he’s asleep. 

When he hears the door creak his hand is already on the trigger of his revolver as he shoots up in bed. The glow of the lamps outside illuminates what’s clearly a woman’s form. But he can’t see your face until you take a step further into the room and the moonlight provides some light. 

“Arthur?” You whisper his name, peering into his room. “Are you awake?”

“I am now,” he grumbles. With a sigh, he shoves the gun back under his pillow and runs a rough hand over his face. “What'd ya want?”

You let out a low breath and rock back on your heels. “I’m sorry,” you mutter. “I just, I can’t sleep. I keep thinking he’s gonna creep out of my closet or bust through the door, I-”

You cut yourself off but he can hear the emotion thickening your voice. He clenches his eyes shut in irritation, arguing with himself over what he’s about to say. “You wanna sleep in here?” He mumbles reluctantly. 

You close the door immediately, practically running towards his bed. “You don’t mind?”

You’re not really giving him a choice, but he’s not going to say that to you. “No.” He grabs a pillow and blanket off the bed and rounds the end of the mattress. You frown as you watch him toss everything to the ground. 

“Well, what’re you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” He snaps, angrily gesturing towards the floor. “I’m givin’ you the bed.” 

You bite your lip and he feels horrible instantly because you look like you’re about to cry. He’s not trying to be rude but you woke him up in the dead of night. What’d you expect him to say?

“I was sort of hoping we could share the bed.”

His eyes widen and he glares at you in disbelief. “You mean-”

“No!” You cut him off with an aggrieved sigh. “You fool, that’s not what I mean at all. I just don’t want to be alone, alright?” 

“Look,” he scoffs and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m the man you want to bunk with for company, alright. I’m not that kind of guy.” You glare at him and snatch his pillow and blanket off the floor. 

“Don’t be so damn stubborn.” You aggressively fluff the pillows, throwing the covers back and gesturing towards them, your brow set in anger. 

“Right,” he huffs, “I’m stubborn.” He reluctantly crawls into bed and you follow behind him. It’s not that he minds sharing a bed with a pretty lady. He’s just not the sort of guy you should be coming to for comfort. 

He doesn’t think he can provide whatever it is you need at this moment. But you seem to think otherwise as you inch towards him slowly. He lays on his back, arms under his head as he watches you out of the side of his eye. You think you’re being subtle, slowly moving into his side until you’re flush against him. 

He doesn’t say anything to object and you don’t bring up the proximity. He doesn’t want to admit it but it is nice having someone else beside him. He’s so used to camping out on his own. He hasn’t had anyone beside him in a long while. He lost interest in women of leisure a long while ago. And ever since Mary, he’s given up on any sort of intimacy. 

He hates to admit it, but he finds himself easing towards the warmth you provide. The second you feel him reciprocating you’re inching a tentative hand around his waist, cuddling closer to him. He recognizes it for what it is. 

He’s always been looked at as someone who can protect, at least by the gang. He’s their muscle. To most others, he incites nothing but fear. It should be the same for you. But after what happened today, you just see someone who can keep the monsters in the dark away. 

He doesn’t mind being used like this. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and waits until he feels you settle to ease into sleep again. 

Arthur figures you should both get breakfast in town while you’re here. He reasons you should enjoy a hot meal before you’re on the road again. You don’t point out that you know he’s just trying to ease you into the day. 

You appreciate it, honestly, but yesterday wasn’t your first run-in with men like that. It’s become incomprehensibly normal in day-to-day life, even for a city girl like yourself. You’d cried everything out in the bath once you’d scrubbed your skin raw. 

You don’t think Arthur will ever understand just how much his presence helped you last night. If you’d been on your own, jumping every time you heard the wood creaking outside, you’d have driven yourself over the edge. He protected you, even if there was nothing to be protected from. 

You don’t think he gives himself enough credit. Ignoring the situation you’re both in and what he’s taking you to do, he’s a good man. While the caliber of the men you’ve met is questionable at best, he’s one of the best ones you’ve ever known. At the end of the day, he disagrees with the whole situation, but he’s doing this for his family. That’s admirable in its own way. 

But, god, does he have poor conversational skills. “So, yesterday.” You glance up from your toast, brows raised in question. He clears his throat, eyes darting between you and his food like he can’t choose what to focus on. “That man, did he…”

He trails off and you feel your hackles rise. “Don’t worry,” you hiss, a bite to your words, “I’m still pure for my husband. Your pay won’t be docked, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His hand clenches around his fork and his eyes bore into yours, “That’s not what I meant,” he growls. “I wasn’t worried about that,” he snaps, “I was worried ‘bout you, woman.”

You take in a deep breath, actively biting your tongue from saying something spiteful. He wasn’t being rude, that’s just what you’re used to. “I’m sorry,” you concede lowly. “Nothing happened,” you repeat without the attitude. 

“Well,” he huffs and goes back to his breakfast, “good,” he settles on dully. 

“Good,” you agree quietly, pushing the rest of your food around. You find your appetite dulled and you push the plate away. You lean back in the booth and stare out the window. The horses seem to be getting on well enough. “Did you name her?”

Arthur gives you an odd look and you nod towards the mare hitched next to Diablo. He swallows the food he’d been chewing and takes a swig of his coffee. “No, figured you’d want to do it.”

Your brows furrow and your lips quirk in confusion. “Why?”

“She’s yours, ain’t she?” He grouses. 

You shake your head, “Nope,” you tell him, popping the p. “I just took her so I’d have something to get me to town.”

“Yeah, well,” he sounds less sure of himself and he’s looking like he made a mistake. “I thought she’d be nice for you to have with you in the city. A way for you to get around without relyin’ on someone else.”

You can’t help but smile, something in your chest easing away at the kind gesture. “I appreciate it,” he lights up a little at your approval, but you crush it in an instant. “But I can’t keep her, I won’t be allowed to. I’ve tried to have my own horse before, hard to control something that can get away from you,” you tell him blankly. There’s no emotion in your voice because it’s something you’re used to. 

He looks slightly horrified at how blunt you are. He can’t comprehend not having that freedom but he fails to recognize that he’s got a leash of his own. You doubt a man like Dutch would ever let his main asset just run off to wherever he wants to. 

A few people walk into the saloon, the women giving you odd looks when they see the pants on your legs. You smile cheekily at them, reveling in what you know will be a short-lived experience. You’ve never been on the receiving end of a judgmental look like that. 

You’ve always blended in. Been the perfect wallflower for the men in your life. You were never something to gawk at or cause trouble. It’s a relief to stick out for once, to break the mould for the first time in your life. 

Arthur clocks the interaction and chuckles. “Missin’ the skirts yet?”

“Not one damn bit,” you tell him, smiling as you take a sip of your coffee. “I’m going to miss being able to run around without having to lug an extra four pounds of fabric behind me.” 

“Ya know, you could just wear some pants, you’ve got a choice.”

You grin patronizingly at him, propping your head on your chin and watching him finish the rest of his breakfast. “You don’t know city men very well, do you?”

“Glad for it,” he grumbles, distaste clear in his tone.

A laugh breaks through your chest, the first real one in a while. “I’m going to be marrying one, Arthur. I won’t have a choice in much of anything anymore.” You can tell he wants to object, tell you there’s always a choice. 

He’ll never truly understand what’s going to happen to you, though. You’re no longer human once you’re married. You’re cattle and property, meant to be bred and shown off. You accepted your fate a long while ago. And after you’re failed escape attempt, you’ve realized this is what you were always meant to be. There’s no point in fighting fate. 

“Don’t apologize or argue,” you tell him, no spite or bitterness in your tone, just the honest truth. “I don’t mind anymore, really. What place is there for me in this world, anyway? I can’t exactly take care of myself.”

“You did a damn good job yesterday,” he snaps back quickly. He doesn’t seem too keen on the way you’re talking about yourself. But you’re not lying. Yesterday was a wake-up call. If you let yourself get screwed over by a hillbilly that quickly then how were you ever going to make it on your own? In your defense, you were raised to be dependent, you never had a chance. 

“Sure, but that was a one-off incident. I’m not going to run again, Arthur. There’s no point. And there’s no point in fighting against the way things are, they’re never going to change for me.” You take in a deep breath, the easy mood ruined by your sincerity. 

“I’m just gonna wait by the horses.”

You slide out of the booth, leaving Arthur to stare pensively at his plate. You’ve nearly slipped through the door when Arthur calls out, “You should name her.” You pause at the doorway, glancing back at him. He’s settling the bill at the front and you walk back out to the horses. 

The mare picks her head up as you walk towards her, ears perked and tail flicking. “Hey, girl,” you run a hand over her muzzle, admiring the sleek silver of her coat. “I guess I should name you.”

You run a hand over her mane and swing yourself onto the saddle. “How ‘bout Bullet, it’s how I got you, anyway.” A dark joke, but it eases the macabre feeling hanging around you. 

Arthur walks out of the saloon, tucking his money away into his bag. He lifts himself onto Diablo, glancing over at you with a knowing glint. 

“Name her?”

You resent how smug he sounds. “Bullet,” you answer reluctantly. 

“Bullet?” He questions, tone incredulous. 

You grin at him, “It’s how I got her.” There’s a slightly stunned expression on his face before it slacks away into something more amused. 

He shakes his head and nudges Diablo forward, Bullet follows alongside him eagerly. “Clever,” he mutters.

“Not really,” you snort, running a hand over her neck lovingly. “But I think it works for her.”

“Your husband’s gonna have his hands full with you,” you know he means it in jest. The lightness of the conversation turns into something heavier. Realization sinks over both of you and the smiles slowly drop away. “I-”

“How much further to Strawberry, anyway?” You effectively cut off whatever train of thought he was going to follow, distracting you both from the truth. 

“Half a day,” he tells you, frowning when you refuse to meet his eye again. Half a day. That’s all you’ve got to enjoy the last bits of freedom you have. You’re gonna take your damn time getting there, that’s for sure. 

You slow down from the steady trot Arthur had led the horses into, easing Bullet into a slow walk. You’re slowly getting the hang of riding a horse. It’s easy when she’s so intuitive. By god, though, your ass is sore. 

Arthur shoots you a questioning glance at the slow pace and you shrug. “Might as well take the time I’ve got left.”

“You’re actin’ like you’re on death row,” he chuckles. 

“Aren’t I?” He falls silent and you don’t know what’s bothering him but you don’t have the energy to inquire. 

He’s slowing you down on purpose, he knows it and you know it. Neither of you says a damn thing about it but it’s bugging him. He shouldn’t be this bothered by a job. He knows how to separate himself from what he does. He just can’t this time. 

There’s something about you that glows. You’re sitting beside him on the peak of a hill, overlooking the roads below you, and laughing as you make up stories for the people that pass by. It’s a far cry from the beaten-down woman he’d seen at Crane’s house. 

Even after what happened yesterday, you somehow manage to seem happier. There’s nothing about it that makes him happy. This feels like the last goodbye of someone who knows they’re going soon. The last bout of happiness before they just give in. 

You’re not gaining your spark back, you’re just giving in to what you think is inevitable. But it doesn’t have to be inevitable. You could fight back you just refuse to. He’s sure growing up the way you have, you don’t think it's possible to stand up for yourself. 

But you don’t have to give in like this. You don’t have to roll over and let someone else dictate your life. Which is rich, coming from him. He’s practically Dutch’s lap dog now. Even when he disagrees he still follows along behind him. 

He shouldn’t even be thinking like this. He can’t criticize you for not standing up for yourself when he’s the one thing standing between you and freedom. “Not hungry?” You nod towards the uneaten meat on his knife. 

He shakes his head, plucking it off the blade and passing it to you. You give him an odd look before popping it in your mouth. “Ya know,” you mutter around a full mouth. You take a moment to swallow it down before smiling over at him. “I’ve grown up with private chefs my whole life, but there’s is something infinitely more satisfying about this.”

He takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair. He snorts at your comment, “I find that hard to believe.”

“No,” you shake your head, insistent, “I mean it. Being out here, hunting the game myself, I don’t know, it’s nice.” You shrug and lean back on your hands, gazing across the way at the trees and river. 

“You can always get a bow and go hunting.” He speaks to you like it's a cut-and-dry truth that you’re just not accepting. Your face screws up and you give him an annoyed glare. 

“No. I can’t,” you tell him again. Where your words were patient before, he can tell you’re growing irritated at how much he’s pushing this.

“Yes, you can,” he snaps. “You don’t have to keep yourself boxed up in some manor in the city. Get out, woman, do something with your life!” His voice echoes through the air and you flinch back from it, lips pulling down into a sneer. 

“You know, that’s really easy for you to say, Arthur. You have a goddamn choice. Sure, I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, little miss rich girl crying about being pampered.”

He lets out a rough sigh, “That’s not what I meant-”

You cut him off, getting to your feet and glaring down at him. “You got to grow up with a choice. What to do with your body, your life, your career. You get to have an education if you want it. Every goddamn door is open to you. You don’t get hated for not wanting to have a family. You get to choose. And as much as you insist I can too, you will never understand the position I am in.”

You kick dirt over the fire and head back towards Bullet. “It’s a double-edged sword, Arthur. Sure, my life might be comfortable, but it’s never really gonna be my life.” He stays there on the ground, too stunned to get up. 

You glare down at him, impatiently waiting for him to get a move on. This isn’t how he wants things to end. He doesn’t want you to go off thinking he’s just some ignorant fool. But he is, much as he denies it, he’s always been a fool. 

He should never have thought he could make a difference in your life. Not when he’s the one backing you into this corner. He could have helped you escape the very first night he saw you. But he was too selfish to let you go, now you’re both paying for it. 

He mounts Diablo and you both head back to the roads silently. You’re moving faster now, leaving him behind if he lingers in one area for too long. You’re too pissed off to enjoy the rest of your day and he hates that he ruined it for you. You, at the very least, deserved a slower journey towards your future. 

You’re in Strawberry before he’s ready, he’s sure you aren’t. “Hey, we could-”

“I think that’s him.” You cut him off before he says something stupid like spend another night in town before you go. He’ll miss you, he thinks. Odd, he’s known you such a short time but it’s been so different having someone beside him as he rides. It was nice, what he wished he and Mary could have had. 

Arthur follows your gaze and lets out a tired sigh. Sure enough, some prim and proper ass is standing in front of the ticket station, foot tapping impatiently. He’s got a large bag beside him, gaze wandering around expectantly. He doesn’t doubt the man who looks like he’s got a five-foot stick up his ass is Mr. Crane’s associate. He’s got the same slimy glint.

You slide off Bullet and Arthur follows suit, taking the reigns of both horses and leading them towards the platform. The man’s eyes narrow in on you before lighting up. He calls out your name and it’s like a mask being dropped over your face. 

The spark is gone once more, a subdued and demure smile resting on your face as you wave at him. “I apologize for my dress,” you tell him as you walk up the steps. “Pants were more conducive to such a long ride.”

He takes your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles that makes Arthur roll his eyes. “No apologies necessary, I brought you a change of clothes. I figured you would be less than put together after such a journey. I’m only sorry I couldn’t accompany you.”

You scoff and nod along, “Okay,” you mutter, not believing a word of his bullshit. You take the bag from him and move towards the saloon to find a room to change in. They both watch you leave, though the other man with a much more devious glint in his eye. 

Arthur’s hands tighten on the reigns of the horses, anything to keep him from reaching for his revolver. He’s already getting a bad feeling about this. There’s nothing trustworthy about the man in front of him. 

“Mr. Finch,” he holds out his hand and Arthur gives it a distrusting look before reluctantly shaking. Finch attempts to squeeze the life out of his hand but Arthur can barely feel it. He tightens his own grip and revels in the way Finch’s face blanches. 

“Arthur Morgan.”

Mr. Finch looks him up and down in the same way Crane had. He sees a commodity, not a person. “I trust,” he drawls, “nothing unsavory happened.”

Arthur feels rage bubbling in his gut. The only damn thing he cares about is whether or not you’re “pure.” Not if you were okay or injured during the journey. If he told him that he’d punched you out for talking back Finch would just ask if you were bruised. 

“She’s fine,” Arthur grits out. 

“Oh, good, good. Glad everything went smoothly.” Finch has a way of talking he’s found most self-important men do. He draws everything he says out, and forces you to listen to him speak. Makes you pay attention so he can pretend he has power for a moment. 

His gaze darts behind Arthur and he turns just in time to see you slipping out of the saloon. The dress Finch has provided you is ridiculously large. It poofs out at the waist in a way that makes Arthur wonder how you’re going to fit into your seat. 

You look beyond uncomfortable. Grimacing as you join them again. You try and plaster a smile on but it’s a struggle. You look to Arthur, a finality on your face that makes him want to throw you over his shoulder and run. He’s doing this for the others, he reminds himself. They’ll be on a boat to Tahiti in a week. 

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan, for everything.” The smile you leave him with is real, if just barely. Something lurks under your words that Mr. Finch will never understand and Arthur knows it will drive him crazy. 

“Let’s go,” Finch grabs your hand, looping it through his arm and tugging you towards the doors of the station. 

“Wait!” Arthur calls out, feeling foolish when you both look back at him with perplexed expressions. “You’ll be wanting Bullet, won’t you?”

Mr. Finch answers for you with a condescending tone, “She won’t be needing a horse, thank you.” You give him a knowing smile, turning away and slipping through the doors of the station and onto the train. 

Arthur stays rooted where he is, something crawling up in his chest and rooting around restlessly. The whistle blows and the wheels start cranking slowly forward. Arthur just barely catches a glimpse of you through a window as the train chugs past. 

“Shit!” He hisses. He tugs himself up onto Diablo’s saddle and urges him after the train. He was born a fool, he’s always going to be a damn fool. But he’d have to be a complete moron to just let you go. 

Mr. Finch keeps a painfully tight grip on your elbow, jerking you through the passenger cars and practically throwing you into your seat. You land with a thud, your arm bouncing against the window painfully. You keep a stoic expression, trying not to let him break you so soon. 

He takes a seat beside you, straightening out his jacket and tugging on his tie. Something white flashes in his jacket pocket and you lean forward, perplexed when you realize what it is. “What is that?” You question, not quite believing your eyes. Finch glances down at the thick wad of cash in his jacket and grins. 

“Oh, this? Mr. Morgan must have forgotten to collect the rest of his payment.” He sends you a condescending smile and you flinch away in disgust. “He was too enamored with my fiancee to pay much attention, I’m afraid.”

“That’s his money,” you snap, the volume of your voice catching the attention of a few other passengers. Finch sends them apologetic smiles, making you seem like a mad woman. “He earned that!” You object, eyeing the money warily. 

His hand snakes out, gripping you tightly around the arm and dragging you towards him until your noses are nearly touching. You nearly gag at the smell of his cigar-infused breath. It’s not like when Arthur would smoke one, you didn’t mind that. But this was making you sick to your stomach. 

“Let's get a few things clear, I will not be dealing with an obstinate wife. You can either get yourself in order or I’ll do it for you.”

Your lips pull back in disgust and you jerk yourself out of his grip. He’s not as strong as he pretends to be and you’re not going to be scared into submission again. “I’m not your wife yet. My father still has time to pay.”

He laughs at you, spittle flying from your lips and sprinkling across your cheeks. “He has time to pay, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be getting you back, sweetheart.” Your eyes widen with the realization and you want to throw yourself off the side of the train. 

You never had any chance to get out of this situation. Mr. Crane was always in control of it all. To even think of having a hope of getting back home was foolish. To believe for a second that you were going to escape this had been utter idiocy. 

He sees the crestfallen expression and sinks into his seat with a satisfactory look on his face. He thinks you to be subdued. But now you’re nothing more than a cornered animal with no other choice of escape. You’ve got nothing left for you, nothing to hold onto. 

As much as you’d thought you’d bonded with Arthur, you were still nothing more than a job to him. You were nothing more than a commodity to be traded between men. You would never have a say over your life. 

You have nothing, you doubt you ever actually had anything left for you. You glance over at the man beside you and feel a cool dread blanket itself over you. Nothing left to lose. 

There’s a solid weight tucked into the bodice of your dress. Its cool metal has been warmed by your skin. Its handle curves around your ribs and it only has one bullet left. You reach down the front of your dress, fingers curling around the revolver you’d stolen from a dead man. 

Finch glowers at your inappropriate behavior “What are-” You pull the gun out, turning it on him. He jumps back in shock and throws his hands in the air on instinct. “Please-” you revel in his pathetic pleading only for a moment. Pulling the trigger a second time is surprisingly easy. The screams that ring out through the train car are less enjoyable. “Shit!” He cusses, hands coming up to try and staunch the flow of blood pouring from his stomach. 

You slip your hand into his blazer, stealing the money before he can object. You run out of the passenger car, leaping to the flat car with all the cargo. It will take a few minutes for them to catch onto what happened and figure out where you went. 

You don’t know what you’re going to do now. You’re stuck on a moving train, there’s nowhere for you to hide. You hadn’t thought when you’d shot him, you just wanted that smug look on his face to disappear. 

“Where is she?” You hear the guards shouting out your name, flipping over crates to find you. They’re still at the front of the train, but you don’t have long until they start moving back here. 

God, what have you done?

You just know, if you made it to that train station, you were never going to make it out. His men would be waiting there to transport you. You’d be watched every second of your life, you can’t do it again. You can’t be locked in a gilded cage, that’s not a life worth living. 

There’s no escape for you. Nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide. You glance over the left side of the train. There’s a slight dip into a deep ravine. The crashing water looks almost peaceful from up here. 

You don’t know if it would be a quick death but you know it would be merciful compared to what’s waiting for you at your last stop. You keep your eyes on the water, see yourself taking control of your life for the first time, and take a step up on the rail. 

Someone shouts your name from the right side of the train and you gasp, arms circling wildly as you almost go toppling over the edge. They shout your name again, panic laced in the tone. This doesn’t sound like Finch or any of the other guards. You whip around and find Arthur riding his horse beside the train. 

“What the hell are you doing, woman?” 

Your brows furrow in confusion and your eyes dart between him and the ravine. “Jumping! What the hell are you doing?”

His gaze narrows and he shouts to be heard over the rumble of the train tracks. “Stopping you from being a goddamn fool. Get over here!” You hear the guards getting closer as they storm down the rest of the train. 

You don’t have long to make a decision, you can already see his horse struggling to keep up with the speed of the train. There’s a bridge coming up in a moment, he won’t be able to go any further and they won’t be able to come after you. 

It’s a split-second decision, one that has you pushing off the railing of the car and rushing towards him. You don’t have time to doubt yourself or plan this out further, you take a running leap off the train, towards his outstretched arms. 

He barely catches you in time, jerking on the reigns of the horse and bringing him to a sudden stop before all three of you go tumbling into the water. Shots fire off on the train, but they’re gone before they can do any real damage. 

Your chest heaves as you dangle from his arms, fingers digging into his shirt desperately. Your heart is pounding so hard against your chest that you almost can’t hear what he’s saying, but you get the gist of it. 

“The hell were you thinking? Trying to jump off the damn train! You’re a fool, woman.” He tugs you onto the saddle the rest of the way. As much as he tries to sound angry you can feel his relief in the way he squeezes you close to him. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, head sinking into his neck and breathing in the familiar scent. 

He sighs, struggling between yelling at you more and just enjoying the fact that he got to you before you did something neither of you could recover from. “You’re welcome, just,” he pauses, holding you a little closer, “don’t be so damn stupid again.”

You laugh and it’s a little wet as tears start to pool in your eyes. “I’m not planning on it.” You sit up, easing away from him and glancing over your shoulder. You watch as the train grows smaller until you can only see a plume of smoke and nothing more. “What the hell are we going to do?”

He sighs and turns the horse around. You maneuver yourself around, facing forward and pushing back against him.  “I don’t know. Dutch ain’t gonna be happy about you comin’ back with me.” 

You bite your lip, a hundred different possibilities swirling through your head. You’ve never been able to make a choice before, faced with it, you’re overwhelmed with options. You can’t pick one so you blurt out the first coherent thought you have. 

“What if we don’t go back?”

Arthur stills behind you, “What?” His tone is low and filled with something you know means he’s ready to say no. 

“Just for a little while,” you rush the words out quickly, trying to fight for a chance to get him to listen. “We can send this to the camp,” you tug out the wad of cash you’d stolen from Finch and Arthur barks out a laugh. You feel his chest tremble behind you and it makes you grin. 

“Did you steal his money?”

“Your money, technically,” you correct, grinning over your shoulder at him. “Besides, he doesn’t need it anymore.” He gives you a concerned look but you just wave him off. “We can send the camp some money and go off on our own for a while.”

“I don’t know, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” you interrupt, glaring at him. “It’ll only be for a little while, Arthur. Come on, I’m free for the first time in my life, enjoy it with me.”

He looks uncertain and you know it’s an odd notion to him, putting himself first instead of the camp or Dutch. You’re sure he’s never done it before. Breaking away from them instead of going about like the loyal soldier he is. 

“Just a little while?”

You nod, turning just enough to tuck the money in his pocket. “Just a little while,” you swear.

“John Marston!” You frown, turning away from the oven and glancing out the window. Arthur’s grinning by the gates of the horse pen, leaping over the wood, and walking out to greet someone. You abandon the stew, heading towards the door of your home. 

Outside are two horses, one with a woman and her son, and an abandoned one. The owner is currently bringing Arthur into a brief embrace, John, you presume. Arthur’s told you about him a bit. They weren’t always close but it was getting better before Arthur went away. 

Sometimes you feel bad, having dragged him away from everything he was familiar with. You meant it when you said you only wanted to be gone for a little while. You knew if you went back immediately there would be hell to pay with Dutch and you’d both be put to work. 

You’d be going from one owner to another. All you’d wanted was a few weeks on the road on your own. But a few weeks turned into six months and then a year, and it was Arthur telling you he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t stand what the gang was turning into. What Dutch was turning into. All you’d given him was an excuse to finally get out before it all blew up.

You walk down the steps of the home Arthur built, wiping your hands off on your apron. You give a brief wave to the woman you assume is Abigail. She waves back, slipping off the horse and helping Jack down. 

Arthur pulls away from John, turning towards you and motioning you forward. John gives you an apprehensive look. “Do I know you?”

Arthur gives him your name, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you in closer. “That job Dutch got from Crane.” John’s face lights up with recognition and he smirks. 

“I see,” he shakes his head and gives Arthur a knowing look. “It’s always a woman with you, isn’t it?” You snort at how aggrieved Arthur looks. “Well,” John turns towards you and smiles, “nice to finally meet the woman that got him under control.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you smile lightly at him, pulling away from Arthur. “Are you going to be joining us for dinner?”

“No, he’s not,” Arthur answers at the same time John says, “I would love to.”

Arthur and John share a look you can’t understand. You glance past John and wave Abigail forward, “Come in, please. I’d enjoy the company.”

“Forgive my obstinate husband, he tends to linger where he ain’t wanted.” She brushes past him and you lead her inside your home. Leaving Arthur and John to bicker outside. Jack stays outside, smiling up at Arthur. You know he’s missed the boy, you’re sure he’s okay entertaining them for one night. 

Abigail helps you set the table while Arthur and John catch up over a bottle of whiskey. Arthur tried to pull out a cigar but you’d shut that down quick. He’d had a cough a little while ago and the doctor advised cutting down on tobacco if he wanted it to go away. You know it’s hard but you’re cracking down on how much he smokes. 

“We got the money you sent,” John’s telling Arthur as they come over to join you all at the table. Jack eagerly hops into the seat beside Arthur before you can snag it and you grin. “Dutch blew it all and wouldn’t tell us on what. He kept saying we still needed another score.”

John shakes his head and the distant look in his eyes makes your stomach churn. “You’re a lucky bastard you got out when you did, Arthur, truly.”

“Hosea?” Arthur questions and you grimace at the look on John’s face. You can see Arthur deflate as John shakes his head. 

“There was a bank robbery, Molly told the Pinkertons we were going to be there, he didn’t make it.”

Arthur’s hand clenches around the fork and you wish you could say something that would make him realize it’s not his fault. “I should have been there,” he mutters. 

“Wouldn’t have done anything, man. Hosea had given up in the end. We all had. It was so damn divided, the family was gone.”

“Still.” Arthur insists, glaring down at his plate like it had offended him. 

“No,” to your surprise it’s Abigail that snaps. “Dutch was gone and that bastard Micah just kept pushing him over the edge. The only thing you would have done is get yourself killed. You’re damn lucky Arthur Morgan.”

You’re sure he’ll still blame himself later. Reason a hundred times over that had he been there something would have been different. Even if it was him on the other end of the gun he’d be happier knowing someone else hadn’t died when it could have been him. You couldn’t stand that these self-sacrificing ideals Dutch had drilled into him were still present. 

But you know Abigail and John help ease the guilt slightly. It’s on Arthur to let it go entirely, though you doubt that will happen anytime soon. John picks up on the change in mood, he’s reluctant to let the night sour so soon. 

He turns towards you with a look that makes you feel like you need to prepare for trouble. “So you did all that to escape getting married. And then you marry this moron?” He motions towards Arthur and you can’t help but laugh. 

“John!” Abigail snaps but he only smiles at her. You can see the way she fights the twitch of her lips and it makes you smile in turn. 

You correct him, “We’re not technically married-”

“Might as well be,” Arthur argues, glaring at John. You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours and gently squeezing. You can’t help but laugh at him. 

“Yeah, we might as well be,” you agree. “But it was never about not wanting to be a wife. I just wanted to have a damn choice. That’s what I got out here. I can hunt or cook. Sew or go out and make some money. And it’s a lot nicer being a wife out in the country than it is in the city, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Here’s hoping,” Abigail mutters. She glances towards Arthur, “That’s why we’re out here. We got word from a few people that you might be lurking around here. John’s thinking of getting a house, really settling down.”

Arthur sighs, leaning back in his chair and glaring at John. “That’s why you’re here? You want a handout,” he accuses. 

“No!” John snaps. “Dammit, Arthur, why you always gotta assume the worst of me?”

“Because it’s usually true,” Arthur mutters. “If that’s not what you want then what is it?”

John purses his lips and lets out a spluttering breath. “A loan,” he lands on, struggling to find the right word. 

Arthur barks out a laugh, slapping his hand on the table and poking a knowing finger into John’s chest. “I knew it!”

John swats his hand away and glares. “Look, Morgan, I only need a little. Just to buy some animals, get started on the house.”

“What’d ya want Marston, my whole damn house?”

Abigail lands a gentle hand on your arm and nods to the porch. “They’ll be at it for a while.” You nod and leave the table, following her to the swing out back. She settles down on it with a sigh, gazing out at the trees that line your home. 

“You’ve got a nice life out here.”

You smile fondly, “I like to think so. We’re thinking about getting a few cows, maybe starting a proper ranch.”

Her face lights up at the idea and she laughs. “That’s what John wants. It’s unbelievable how similar they are, they’re too thick-headed to see it.”

You can still vaguely hear them bickering inside the house. You peer inside and see Jack sitting at the table, watching them both with an entranced expression. You can’t help but grin at the look on Arthur’s face. He’s laying into John but he looks happier than you’ve seen him in a while. 

You know he’s missing everybody, has been for a long time. Maybe if Abigail and John are close by he’ll have that sense of familiarity again. “The others,” you start, turning back to Abigail. “Charles and Sadie, what happened to everyone else?”

“A few of them are living good lives, some of them aren’t. Most of them are drifting, not ready to give up the outlaw life just yet.”

“It’s hard to watch the world change while you’re still stuck in the same spot.” You brush some hair out of your eyes and smile at Abigail. “Me and Arthur are gonna help you and John. But I’d like it if you were both close by. It would be nice to have someone familiar near us, we’re pretty lonely up here.”

She gives you a brief smile back, “I think that would be nice.”

John’s voice picks up from inside and you jump, “Oh that’s a load of bull-”

Abigail’s smile drops and she leans over your shoulder to shout, “Watch it!” at John. You laugh when you see the perturbed look on his face. She motions towards his son and Arthur gives John a smug look. 

“You gonna help him?” You ask Arthur as you settle into bed later. He opens his arms, pulling you into his embrace once you’re settled under the covers. 

“John?” You nod, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, ‘course I’m gonna help him. But there’s nothing wrong with jerking him around a little bit first.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, tucking yourself under his chin. You almost think he’s asleep but then he’s speaking up again. “We should really do it.”

You pull back, brows furrowed in confusion. “Do what?”

There’s a certain look in his eyes that causes something to swirl in your stomach. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, just an excited one, “Get married.”

You give him a bewildered look, shaking your head in disbelief. Nearly five years you’ve both been living out here and he’s never once mentioned getting married. You never thought you two actually needed it. You always knew what you were to each other, how much you meant to one another. 

You were each other’s salvation. There’s no telling what graves you would be laying in were it not for Dutch bringing you both together. You hadn’t thought he wanted to be married, he always told you he’d given those dreams up. “You really mean that?”

He shrugs like it’s the easiest decision in the world. “Might as well, right?” 

You shake your head, but there’s no fighting the way your lips curl up. “You’re a fool, Arthur Morgan.”

He nods, dipping his head down to press a gentle kiss on your temple. He treats you so gently, it makes you want to cry. But then he goes and says something ridiculous like, “Yeah, a fool for you,” and he makes you laugh. 

You tug him down, lips nearly touching his. “Yes,” you whisper, “I’ll marry you.” You were always scared of living a life like this. Being tied to one man for the rest of your time on earth. But he’s not some city man looking to make you into a pet. He lets you live, breathe, and be free. He’s a partner not a warden and that’s all you’ve ever wanted. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[lavenderhateswritting]

Heyyyyy so I lap up angst like a starving raccoon so could we mayhaps get the batkid’s reactions to your divorcee reader and Bruce’s separation? Ik in the original hc post you did you said that people had been asking/wondering why reader hadn’t left yet, so maybe seeing which Batfam members were on team divorce and which (if any) were on team parent-trap. If you we’re already planning on doing that, I was also wondering how Reader reacted to Jayson’s death and subsequent revival and how he handled Red Hood and the dynamics between his son and (then) hubby.

No pressure on this, I just love this idea and pretty don’t see people tackling Bruce’s serial rouge-kissing habits in the batmom/dad fics. I rlly love your take on it!!

I will totally be writting the fanfic about BatDad, Bruce and Jason's dynamic later because I would love to think about what that absolute mess will look like

Dick

Dick in my opinion was the person who was the most conflicted when it came to the divorce.

On one hand he had known you for as long as he had known Bruce and in his head you and Bruce were one connected entity. You worked off eachother well and supported each other. You stopped Bruce from going to far over the edge, constantly pulling him, away from the brink of obsession. He remembered watching you take care of Bruce on his worst nights and stich up both of them when they came home from rough missions. You guys worked well together and loved each other or at least he thought you did when he was younger.

Because on the other hand as he got older he started to realize that maybe it wasn't you both supporting each other, maybe it was just you supportng Bruce. You making sure Bruce didn't die. You making sure Bruce kept up with his civilian life. You forgiving Bruce after he found another way to let you down.

When he and Bruce were at their worst so angry that they couldn't even be in the same room together you still found a away to keep in touch. Half the time he was running around with the Titans blowing up at people over the smallest things and you still tried to invite him over for dinner. God. He just assumed you'd always be there even when he blew up at you or ignored your calls for weeks on end.

A world without you and Bruce together seemed impossible to imagine in a way, even after he realized it would probably be better for you if you and Bruce did divorce.

Jason

Jason was against you two getting a divorce probably the most out of anyone else.

He had seen you and Bruce at your best. His days in the manor were filled with you two takig him to school and museums. He remembered walking into the kitchen for breakfast and seeing Bruce fumble through trying to help you while you laughed at him. In his head you guys were perfect especially when compared to the relationship he saw between Catherine and Willis. You and Bruce loved eachother and often didn't even argue in front of him.

He also idealizes you and Bruce's relationship in the same way he idealizes everything before his death. The negative moments have been smoothed over with time and he rarely sees you two together anymore so there's nothing to prove him wrong in his idea.

For his enitre life even after his death you and Bruce were his example of what love was. He watched you two together and he truly believed that maybe someday he could love someone the way you two loved. Hearing about the divorce is kinda like realizing that maybe even the moments of his life he truly thought were good weren't.

How many times were you and Bruce angry at eachother, but didn't want to argue in front of him? How many nights did he walk into Bruce sleeping at his desk because he wasn't allowed back into the bedroom? How much of Batman's private talks with Catwoman were betrayals of your trust?

It makes him have to come to terms with the real sadness you were experiencing with a child and how even the best parts of his childhood weren't nearly as good as he thought.

Tim

Tim was anti divorce because he really didn't want to think about how Bruce would fall a part without you.

He saw Bruce after Jason died and you had nearly completly withdrawn from the relationship. He had to make sure that Bruce was okay and Bruce was pulling his punches because Bruce had lost his son and had basically lost his husband. He knows what Bruce does when you aren't their for him he spent his time making sure that Bruce without you didn't die.

So he doesn't want you two to get divorce and he even found out where you were staying to try and convince you to take Bruce back. Which did not work and just left you both in a screaming match.

You and Tim are both in seprate parts of your journey to realizing that it isn't your job to make sure Bruce is okay. In a way it frustrates him because he thought he understood you the most out of anyone. Others were wondering when you two would finally break it off and why you commited your life to Bruce, but he understood the fight to keep Batman alive even if it cut into your own life.

He gets even more upset with you as Bruce begins to fall a part in your absence. In his head you two were on a mission together and you just left. Tim likely doesn't get in contact with you for a long time after the divorce and if you guys do talk he's very short and to the point. I don't think the relationship gets better until he's later into his adult life and finally realizing he can't spend his life looking out for Bruce.

"Do you think he can ever get better." He asks you after crawling onto your balcony one night.

"I don't know, maybe, if he really wanted to, but you know its not your job to get him to that point its his." You guys sit there for a while and then he leaves and starts getting in contact more often.

Damian

Damian was pro divorce.

He had no about you as a person outside of the road bloack you had acted as towards his mother and father's relationship. He acts older than he is, but he is still a child and in a way wanted his parents to be together at the end of the day.

Whe he meets you he's even more pro the divorce. In his eyes you're weak and you make his father weak. You aren't a capable fighter or hyper inteligent like the rest of the family you're just a normal person and to him that makes you largely useless.

I think there are times when he is a little jealous about the way his other siblings describe the family and manor before the divorce. Outside of Tim and Jason most people could see the writing on the wall, but they still missed you. Dick was constantly talking about the way you would give him pep talks after bad nights out or fights with Bruce. Tim rarely talked about you, but when he did it was obvious that he found a kenship with you that ran deep even if he denied it. Jason acted like you were a saint who had never done anything wrong in your life which Damian doubted. Barbra talked about the nights you spent together cordinating the ever growing opperation across the city. Stephanie remembered how when she was just starting you truly did try your best to get Bruce to give her a chance and help her. Cassandra described you as kind and troubled even on your best days and Duke seemed to like you more than he liked Bruce most days.

There was a connection they all had to you that led to family dinners at your new home and late night meetups to talk about fears and hopes before the city called for them again. He didn't have that at least not with you and the mansion felt like a ghost town most nights.

Barbra

Barbra was pro divorce and had been for years at the point it happened.

She was further away from the situation than Dick and the rest of the boys and that's likely what made it obvious to her that you and Bruce simply didn't work. She watched as you forgave him constantly without ever being sure that he wouldn't hurt you again. Bruce was terrible for you and she was not going to let you pretend otherwise.

Barbra was around as long as Dick, but she wasn't burdened with nostalgia about the relationship. She watched as Bruce's lifestlye made it nearly impossible for you to have friends who cared about you and not just friends who were friends of Bruce. She watched while you were cheated on multiple times. She watched you have breakdowns next to Bruce's unconcious battered body wondering if he would ever wake up again.

She was very open about the dislike she had towards you two together she wasn't subtle either. She would send you links to divorce lawyers, couples therapy, or anonymous groups for failing marriages. She liked you and for a long time you and her were the ones who worked closest together. She didn't like watching Bruce breakdown what little of you there was left.

Sometimes she would watch you and Bruce together and think maybe she was wrong. Maybe there was love their that was great enough to come back from past failures. But the Bruce would break your heart again and she would be reminded of why you needed to leave.

Stephanie

Stephanie was pro divorce and she has said that to Bruce's face.

Stephanie didn't have the blinders on about Bruce being an amazing father or mentor because of the way he treated her when she first began to fight crime. During her short time as Robin she watched the way he treated you and it was just another check in the reasons why Batman is an ass list. Because for all the kindness and understanding that you showed Bruce he had a habit of acting like you being their was expected like it was your job to take care of him.

Stephanie and Bruce argued often and she has on multiple occasions called a cheater/manwhore who was going to be divorced. In her defense she definitely called it. She liked you and it frustrated her that you allowed for Bruce to just bulldoze over your life for so long.

After the divorce she definitely went to your house and said she was there to cheer you. It devolved into you both bitching about the worst moments in your relationships with Bruce and calling him an ass.

She's happy for you. Proud that you finally found a way out of it all.

Cassandra

Cassandra was pro divorce.

She had a view of Bruce that was developed through him saving her and showing her a path in life toward being a person she could be proud of. I think that Bruce's relationship with you was definitely a moment for her where she learned that Bruce was better as a symbol than a person most days.

She watched the way the days weighed on you. She could see the exhaustion in your body even when you were happy. She could also tell that you and Bruce loved eachother. You and Bruce were madly in love with eachother, but that didn't really change anything. She was pro divorce from the moment she saw you two together to be honest.

She also worried because she and Bruce were so alike. They both had a devotion to the cause that others at times found hard to understand. In a way I think she started to worry about what someone who fell in love with her would have to deal with because she didn't want to treat them like Bruce treated you.

I'd like to think she has on multiple occasions grabbed your are and told you its okay to leave. She was very happy for you when you finally did.

Holy shit this was a long one. I'm sorry for not adding Duke I just really haven't read anything with him in it and I have no clue how he acts

[megankoumori]

In defense of a "Wicked Stepmother":

Sarah's Stepmother in "Labyrinth", named Irene in tie-in media, only gets about a minute of screen time before Sarah rushes off to her room in a soaked snit. Fanfic writers usually turn her into an evil bitch and even the manga sequel, "Return to Labyrinth", has her cold and abusive to Toby, her biological child. But here's the thing...

I think Sarah's mother gets a bum rap.

Dressing nicely for an evening out and having mild conflict with a teenager does not a Lady Tremaine make. And as someone who actually lived with a narcissistic, manipulative, emotionally abusive stepfather, I can tell you that Irene doesn't even come close to wicked step parent territory.

Backstory first. It's never spoken of in the film, but clues in Sarah's room tell us that her real mother is a stage actress who abandoned her and her father for another actor. Sarah idolizes her mother and tries to emulate her with play acting. Sarah's father met and married Irene sometime after Linda ran off, and Sarah, who thinks her mom walks on water, resents the hell out of Irene for taking her place. A place that Linda abandoned for another man.

She couldn't help it. He looked like David Bowie.

Let's look at her first alledged transgression. She won't let Merlin into the house. Instead she orders him into the garage. Heartless, we assume because we all love dogs and only the most soulless of monsters don't. But slow down. She didn't leave him out in the rain. She put him in the garage. Furthermore, Merlin is an Old English Sheepdog. Is he a nice dog? Sure, but he's also a breed that's notorious for being high maintenance and hard to keep clean and right now he's soaking wet and filthy. Irene isn't being cruel, she's trying to keep him from ruining the carpet.

So now Sarah and Irene are in the house about to have their confrontation. "Sarah, you're an hour late..."

Sarah lost track of time. Sarah is the one who screwed up. Irene has every right to be frustrated. For all we know, she and Robert were supposed to see a movie or meet someone and Sarah's tardiness wrecks their plans. Note, please, that while she is frustrated, she's not even yelling. My mom would have screamed bloody murder and then held it over my head for weeks.

"Your father and I go out very rarely..."

"You go out every single weekend!"

There is no way to confirm who is right on this. I will say Sarah is the one prone to hysterics and exaggeration, so it's not looking good for her.

"And I ask you to babysit only if it won't interfere with your plans."

I ask. Irene asks. She doesn't demand, and she doesn't expect Sarah to give up her previous plans.

"Well how would you know what my plans are? You don't even ask me anymore!"

Sarah, you were LARPing in a park by yourself. Furthermore, with the storm you would have gone home anyway.

"Well I assume you would tell me if you had a date. I'd like it if you had a date. You should have dates at your age."

Irene doesn't want Sarah to be a Cinderella stuck at home every night. She wants her to go out and have a social life. This is literally the opposite of the bedtime story Sarah tells Toby later.

Also, "I'd assume you tell me..." Irene might not be wording it in the best way here, but she wants Sarah to communicate with her. She wants them to have a relationship.

Then Robert enters the scene. "Sarah, you're home. We were worried about you."

WE were worried. As in both he and Irene. You think that's the reason she was waiting on the porch? Because their sixteen year old daughter is an hour past when she said she'd be home and now it's raining and getting dark?

It's not like she'd ever talk to a stranger.

Sarah runs up the stairs in a snit, not even acknowledging her father and leaving Irene dismayed. "She treats me like a wicked stepmother in a fairy story no matter what I say." Her voice isn't angry, it's hurt. She's making an effort to reach Sarah, but nothings working. She can't break through the tantrums and the anger and the hero worship of Linda.

Sarah is a fantasy junkie. It's all over her room. Her books are all fairy tales. Her dog and her teddy bear are named after figures from Arthurian legend. But she's wrapped herself in a different kind of fantasy, a toxic one. One where Irene, well meaning and kind, is one of the evil stepmothers from her fairytale books, while Linda is good and virtuous like one of the dead moms at the beginning. Except Linda isn't dead. She's shtupping a costar.

Part of Sarah's coming of age and maturity is rejecting Jareth, the stand in for her mother's lover and therefore finally rejecting following her mother's selfish path. We see her finally let go of Linda by putting her picture and clippings in the drawer. Hopefully, the next morning, after she picks the confetti out of her hair, she'll finally be able to start over with Irene.

[yannaryartside]

CARMY IS NOT AN AVOIDANT

A brief revision of attachment styles

This may be a little random, and I may be wrong, but I'm a little frustrated with the people, especially those who support Clairexcarmy, who say Carmy is an avoidant, and that's where the conflict lies in their relationship. Additionally, this directly dismisses the other factors at play, such as the fact that Claire is a parallel to Donna or the superficiality of their relationship. But for now, let's get back to attachment styles.

I'm not a psychologist, but I have been reading this book, and I have a few thoughts. @thoughtfulchaos773 wrote an excellent essay covering Carmy's pursuit of Sydney, and his examination of her in conversations, which I revisited while thinking about this. The GIFs in this post also belong to that post.

Attachment styles refer to the ways in which individuals approach and respond to intimacy. For me, Carmy is not an avoidant; if he is, perhaps he is anxious-avoidant, but that type is quite rare, and I think he mostly falls into the anxious attachment style. I will not be quoting the book here but I will get you some definitions that align with it.

An anxious attachment style is characterized by a strong desire for closeness and intimacy in relationships, coupled with a fear of abandonment and rejection

Anxious attachment styles are also more common in people with abusive or narcissistic parents. For what we know, Donna despised Carmy since his birth, and an anxious attachment style correlates more with a person who never bonded safely with their caregiver.

I didn't see one Clairexcarmy scene that displayed avoidance of intimacy. If anything, once he let himself believe he could have a girlfriend, he leaned so heavily into the intimacy Claire gave him that he didn't realize Claire was love-bombing him. The relationship is superficial, yes, but the intimacy feels real, at least for Carmy, even if they don't really know each other. There is not a single scene where Claire is like "let's do this" and Carmy says no, not even when it would have been a natural response or clear boundaries, like the frat party or being absent from the restaurant. He is so desperate for intimacy that he doesn't realize the parts of himself that suffer because of it, and that includes the panic attacks he gets because of her.

Carmy is also in alignment with the mindset of an abused child, some of whom avoid conflict at all costs. He is trapped in the freeze response, which is something you feel when you are in danger. He developed that response by being paralyzed by fear in front of his mother, unpredictable and violent displays of rage.

But it is in his interactions with Syd, one of the most genuine relationships he has, the one based on a healthy dynamic, that his anxious attachment tends to show the most. He stresses a lot when he notices her retreating from him. He wants to please her, and when his efforts to create intimacy with her don't work, he gets quite defensive and combative. That's kinda the root of lines like "This is what you wanted" and "I gave you what you wanted." His brain is basically yelling at him: "You are not doing enough for this person to love you," like he felt with his mother, which of course hurts him.

All this is extremely interesting to me, because you know who I would actually consider an avoidant?

Sydney!

One of the most common romantic pairs (and sometimes quite damaging) is an anxious person paired with an avoidant person. I would love if the show were totally dedicated to exploring this dynamic between Sydney and Carmy, because there is a lot to untangle.

There was this post about how Sydney never tells her father that she loves her, never out loud. She was also unable to look Marcus in the eye after he asked her out. And what does Sydney do every time Carmy tries to talk about something in her life outside work? She changes the subject or fails to fully engage. Funny enough, both when they are making pasta and in this scene, cutting fruit, Carmy asks something about her dad, and in both scenes, Sydney changes the subject.

This may be a clue as to where this avoidance originates. I think it is fair to say that Sydney is not always the most transparent with her father. I think she feels that she can't show all her fears and worries because she either doesn't want to appear as lost as she feels, or she believes that sharing them may make the situation worse. I don't have enough to make a conclusion about it, but she didn't get that sentiment of "It's scary to rely on someone" out of thin air. We don't see her having friends. I think she was pretty lonely growing up, or maybe it has to do with the failed romantic relationship she had. For all of this, I would call her an insecure avoidant.

Individuals with this style tend to prioritize independence and self-sufficiency, often struggling with intimacy and emotional closeness in relationships. They may have difficulty expressing their feelings and may push others away to avoid feeling vulnerable.

The thing is, Sydney is also emotionally mature and patient, which gives Carmy the reassurance he needs. Scenes like the table scene also show how she reaches for intimacy and vulnerability with him, but only when she feels secure enough to do so. Which is also the reason why, at this moment in the show, they are at an impasse. She cannot be truthful unless she feels secure, but perhaps she needs to value herself to resolve their conflicts instead of waiting; she doesn't trust herself to make choices, even emotionally.

[sugoi-writes]

Alastor x Reader - First Time, First Deal

A/N: Let me preface this with: yes, I am aware that Alastor is ace (and likely aroace). This is simply a work of fiction and nothing more! I tried keeping things pretty tame for the most part, but there's an opportunity for spice later down the road, should anyone enjoy this.

The reader uses she/her pronouns. The reader is a sinner whose body is essentially a ghost that changes/become corporal at times. Reader is EXTREMELY touch starved. (And let's be honest, aren't we all?) This part is fluffy and sickeningly sweet, with room for angst and smut down the road... so please enjoy my newfound brainrot~

Your time spent with the Hazbin Hotel had been progressing more positively than you hoped. Being a demon with a semi corporal body came with ups and downs... namely, that you had a hard time controlling your body's functions.

During bouts of anger or sadness, your body would change. You'd usually becoming hard, jagged, and brutal, or, one that you feared most: you became completely invisible. The only person who seemed to understand appeared to be Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon. Despite being a reserved, somewhat distant person... he seemed to either understand or take pity on your situation.

You felt confident in his companionship, moreso as your sleepless nights crept upon you. You had all but sobbed in his private quarters, lamenting how touch starved you were. How the only time you've felt the touch of another being was during fits of rage or in conflict. When defending the hotel, you typically get pretty banged up and bruised. The sensations you did experience were never good... and you longed for something that felt right. Something that felt REAL and gentle.

Alastor seemed more than sympathetic, and would listen and even humor you. When your world was crumbling in, he always managed to make you smile and laugh... And the bond between the two of you festered, before erupting to an untamable flame.... at least, you knew it did for you.

When you were close to him, you found your body's hues changing... bright, soft pinks would flood your visage, especially in your face. Angel Dust would tease you especially hard, causing flecks of green and red to appear: annoyance, anger.... No matter your emotions and despite your best attempts, they were always on your sleeve.

One night in particular, you were having a very difficult time. You had thought back to your life in the human realm, to living on Earth... You had shared many things with others. Touch, kisses, and... more intimate gestures. You could imagine the sensations, but never experience them on your own. No, you would need someone that you TRULY trusted to help you... someone whose touch would be as rare as your predicament. Someone who wouldn't taint that touch with ulterior motives. Someone who wouldn't take advantage of your vulnerable state the second your walls caved in.

You had thought to ask Angel initially, but didn't want it to appear that you were using a sex worker only for his body... you had considered other sinners you met along the way, many of which who had left the hotel.

But there was one constant that crossed your mind: Alastor.

And with that, against your better judgment, you rapped quietly against his oak door. You were sheepish, hoping that he would be asleep, or too busy to answer. Hues of purple swirled through your body, as you felt your shape ebb and flow... the parts that felt real, the ones you could sense... they were soft, and just as pliable as your mind.

But you had no time to linger as the door to the Radio Demon's chambers creaked open. You fumbled with your appearance as Alastor's eyes and grin fell upon you, a singular brow raised.

"My Dear, it's quite late in the evening... are you troubled? Struggling to sleep again?" Alastor opened the door entirely, allowing you to enter. You nod, before nervously walking past the threshold. No going back now, you thought.

"I-- I know, Alastor. I hate bugging you so late at night, but-- you're the only person who can help me with my-- issue." Hues of hot pink swirled within you as Alastor gingerly closed his door, his head cocking to the side.

" Would you like to have tea with me, then? Perhaps something warm could help ease your--"

"Warmer than that," you practically yelped, your hands flying to mouth to cover it. You sigh, as your colors fluctuated again, your body acting as a kaleidoscope for Alastor to observe.

"I... i only ask of you because, well-- I feel like you would handle this... respectfully. Delicately." Alastor continues to grow more interested, the light emitting from you dancing about his chambers.

"Well, trying not to assume what you may need me for, I am flattered that you considered me for the task. I can assure you, a gentleman will always take the qualms of the fairer means seriously... Discreetly, if need arises."

Alastor's grin grows, a familiar glow reaching his wide eyes," Now then... what dea--.... arrangement... have you come to propose?"

You turn to face Alastor, your face warm as you spew your feelings at him, deep from your core. Your colors flash, swirling and colliding with each other haphazardly as you speak. At first, Alastor is intrigued, then appalled, and the more that you spill... the more his mind shifts. He can clearly see you weren't here for some petty favor, or a sinner's gambit... You were here for something more earnest than that. He should have known better than that, regarding you... You, the sinner who didn't deserve to be trapped here in Hell.

"I want-- I just want my first time in Hell to be with someone I can trust. In fact, it's only possible IF I can trust that person," you quickly added, advancing a few paces towards him.

For the first time since you've entered, you're silent. You don't make a sound as Alastor struggles to form a response. His eyes seem a little hazy, lost... You've stupefied him into speechlessness.

You sigh, your colors becoming more uniform, softer... you begin to shed the night gown that you managed to keep on this entire time (With your embarrassing predicament? It was RATHER impressive).

As it fell to the floor, Alastor's bewildered eyes were able to take in your full form... how the colors hugged and accentuated your form... how your hair bellowed behind you... how soft your face had become. For a moment, he swore he wasn't standing before his friend, but an angel from on High.

"Please... I know--- i know this is a lot to ask of you. But I can't spend an eternity of torment like this-- not when I have the option of seeing if it's possible. I NEED to know if its possible to be with someone like this."

Your attempts in this endeavor have been fruitless in the past, yet somehow: you were hopeful that this would be different. You were hopeful that Alastor would be different.

Alastor's smile softened, as he adjusted himself. She wasn't coming to him as a desperate harlot, nor some heated lover, he thought... she sought him without any sort of carnal threat. This sinner came to him as a friend.

This emotion made his core swell and seize simultaneously, his emotions conflicted. He had little to no desires of the flesh anymore, nor did he ever desire you past a platonic companionship... but here he was: feeling something. Something that he hadnt felt in such a long time.

He cleared his throat, before loosening his tie. You swallowed shallowly as it was taken off and tossed to the floor. Alastor approached your slowly, his mask still plastered to his face, though shakily.

"Let's make a deal, then...," Alastor speaks softly, the normal filter on his voice all but silenced. He reached out a hand, cautiously approaching your cheek.

"I will agree to see this event to a proper conclusion... whatever you'd like me to do, or try... I will earnestly do so until you're satisfied. In exchange..."

You felt your throat swell shut, as if you were being strangled. You could hardly see straight as Alastor came so close to you. You gasped when Alastor's hand finally made contact with the swell of your cheek, a thumb running over it tenderly. You sighed into the feeling, your face flushing a deep pink as you leaned into it. Yes, yes... this was EXACTLY what you needed!

"In exchange," he repeated," You will never let anyone else touch you like this: ever."

Your eyes shoot open, startled by the forwardness of the deal. You could hardly speak as you felt another hand come to rest on your hip, squeezing earnestly.

Alastor's smile seemed to shine more vividly due to the light you emmited, but it was... soft. It appeared genuine. A smile that was new to you. If Alastor had ulterior motives, you could not sense them at all...

You stammered over your words, perplexed," I-- I hadn't know that you-- that you had--"

Alastor chuckles, pulling you closer," Dear, call me a product of my time... but I don't believe in boughts of one-night passions. I don't believe in swingers or flings... if my mother taught me anything, she taught me that courting takes time. That it should be shared between two people, and two people alone."

You felt his hand reach for yours, before bringing it to his lips. Your eyelids fluttered as he began kissing your knuckles, one by one.

"You are the one I've been wanting to court; the only one that I plan to. And... it seems like it has been successful, thus far." A slight stretch of the truth, but one that Alastor knew you wouldn't be able to see through.

You were still reeling at your revelation as you were gently pushed backwards, landing on the edge of Alastor's bed. Your breathing picked up as Alastor knelt before you between your legs, his eyes level with yours.

"So... will you allow me to continue?"

You practically sighed out your answer, your head feeling hazy as your body practically sung for him to start," O-Of course.... please, make me yours, Alastor."

[galactic-magick]

Life Changes: Viktor x Reader

Part 3 of my Viktor story, find Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Summary: Viktor confides in you about his meeting with Jayce, and he contemplates his future with you a lot more seriously.

Words: 1.2k

Author's Notes: This part was a little harder to write for some reason now that the story is directly coinciding with the canon, but hope y'all still enjoy. This AU means a lot to me and I appreciate every single one of my readers :)

-

“It’s intriguing, isn’t it?” Viktor asks, eyes bright from discussing the events of the day with you. “I mean, what if it really is possible?”

Viktor got reacquainted with a fellow Academy student today, a man named Jayce Talis who was caught doing illegal research. Viktor has spent the last hour explaining the whole situation to you—how Jayce was attempting to create magic with science—but the equipment was so dangerous it blew up the lab. Jayce’s trial with the council resulted in him being expelled and banished from Academy grounds, and Heimerdinger believes it best to destroy everything.

Viktor was able to snag Jayce’s notes and journals, furiously reading through them and sharing his findings with you. You’re certainly not as science-brained as he is, but you’ve been with him long enough that you can somewhat follow his train of thought.

“I wish I…” he trails off, flipping back and forth on a particular page.

“What?” you ask, scooching closer to him to see what he’s reading.

“I wish I could help him.”

You shrug, “Who says you can’t?”

“He’s banished from the Academy, remember?”

“So? You’re Heimerdinger’s assistant. If anyone can sneak him in, it’s you. Don’t you have access to everything?”

“I do—but darling—I could lose my job if I’m caught. I can’t afford that, especially not if we want to-”

“Viktor,” you cut him off, knowing exactly what he’s going to say. He’s made it very clear he wants a future with you, saying he wants to marry you and move in together as soon as you’re both more stable in your careers. You’ve told him time and time again you don’t mind waiting, and you wouldn’t mind just a simple wedding, but his ambition often gets the best of him. He’s always insisted on giving you the best, never satisfied with what his current position can provide you. He’s been the Dean’s assistant for a few years now, and you can see how it frustrates him at times that he hasn’t been able to work on his own studies and aspirations. Viktor is a scientist, a brilliant one at that, and his life is lived entirely in someone else’s shadow. He respects Heimerdinger greatly, just as everyone does in this city, but the Professor is set deep in his ways and rarely takes risks. The amount of times Viktor’s had to hold his tongue around him is insurmountable, and their conflicting opinions on Jayce’s Hextech seems to be the last straw.

You take his hand, “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it, okay?”

He nods, “You’re right.”

You kiss his cheek and smile, “Now go find him.”

-

You don’t see or hear from Viktor the next couple days. You desperately hope he hasn’t gotten caught, and he’s able to get what Jayce needs without much trouble.

Both your hopes and worries are confirmed when you see glowing blue light coming from the Academy building, and a commotion of enforcers chasing towards it. You loosely follow them, managing to sneak in.

You wonder if it was the wrong decision, to encourage him to pursue this. What if he got arrested? What if he got banished as well? You know how much his dreams mean to him, how hard he worked to get where he is now. You couldn’t live with yourself if he lost all his opportunities to be a real scientist.

The worst part is—you know Viktor would never blame you or resent you for anything. He would move on and keep going out of stubbornness, as he always does. He’s too strong willed to truly let anyone ruin him completely. He would continue to believe in himself, finding the next best thing for him to succeed in. But you would know. You would forever live with the idea of what could’ve been.

You need this to work out for him.

The ruckus finally stops, and you peek out of your hiding spot down the hall. You see several council members come out of the lab, closely followed by Jayce and Viktor.

“We stabilized it!” Viktor exclaims, seeing you waiting for him. He stumbles over to you, his cane broken in his grip. He drops it to the ground and grabs your face, kissing you in excitement, hardly able to contain himself.

You run your hands down his body, terrified you’ll find any wounds, “Are you okay? I thought there was another explosion-”

“I’m fine, we’re all fine,” he assures you. “The council is going to reconsider their decision. Jayce wants me to be his partner in the Hextech company if it gets approved. My life is about to change, our lives are about to change…”

“Viktor, this is amazing.” you share in his joy. “I can’t wait to see what you do.”

Jayce approaches the two of you, placing a hand on Viktor’s shoulder.

“You must be Y/N. I’ve heard quite a bit about you the past couple days,” he moves his hand out in front of him. “I’m Jayce.”

You shake it with a smile, “I’ve heard a lot about you too. Try not to kill my boyfriend with all this Hextech stuff, yeah?”

Jayce laughs, “Don’t worry, the first thing we’re going to work on is safety. I’ll meet up with you tomorrow, alright, Vik?”

Viktor nods in response, watching as Jayce walks away. He then turns his attention back to you, his eyes softening.

“Are you ready for this, darling?” he asks.

“I...don’t know,” you say, truthfully. “A lot of things are going to change, but it’ll be good change, right?”

He breaks your gaze, his mind firing at a million miles a minute. The adrenaline rush is finally clearing enough for the reality of it all to set in, and honestly he should be asking the same question to himself. He has grown used to his simple life as the Dean’s assistant, slowly building a relationship with you and focusing his aspirations on a future with you more than his career. He would’ve been happy to just have you, but now he can have both.

All he knows for sure right now is that he wants you by his side no matter what. He’s tired of waiting to make you his—tired of not coming home to you and waking up next to you every day. If his life is really going to flip upside down, he needs you there with him.

“Vik?” you turn his face back to you and giggle. “Zoning out on me?”

He kisses your palm, eyes locked back on yours, “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You,” he says. “And how badly I want to marry you right now.”

“Right now?” you chuckle, unsure how literal he meant that.

“Mmm mm,” he shakes his head, brushing a hair out of your face. “Tomorrow. I at least want time to make everything special for you. But I can’t wait any longer than that. I refuse to move on to this next phase of my life without being married to you.”

You lips quiver into a smile, joyful tears filing your eyes.

“Oh, Viktor…”

He kisses you desperately, cradling your head in his lanky hands, “Please say yes, sweetheart.”

“Of course the answer’s yes, silly.”

-

More Author's Notes: Next part will be the wedding and some sloppy freshly married smut heehee

[thedubiousdallon]

Okay, fuck it, I've built up enough goodwill with this sideblog - let's risk it all by sharing my opinions on how Amy is handled in Ward.

It's kinda complicated I think.

Okay, now that I've resisted the urge to immediately hit post for the bit: I think the way her interludes are written substantially flattens her character in a way that I find distasteful and unpleasant, but I find the overall shape of her arc and her role in the narrative compelling. The things I dislike have been well-covered by plenty of other people in the fandom, so I'm going to focus on the things I like.

To talk about Amy's role in Ward, I first need to talk about my interpretation of Ward as a whole. To me, Ward is, above all else, about trauma and recovery. Society is traumatized by the end of the world, the shards are traumatized by the death of Scion and their loss of purpose, individuals are traumatized by all the things individuals are traumatized by. As an aside, this reading is a big reason why I'm not too bothered by a lot of the world building choices that other people frequently (and fairly) criticize - I think many of them serve this theme effectively.

One specific facet of that reading that I find particularly compelling is Ward's interest in people who are traumatized not just by the harm done to them, but by the harm they've done. Characters don't just regret what they've done, they don't just want to be better, they are traumatized by it, and their reactions to that trauma are as messy and complicated as any other traumatized people. I don't always agree with the stances the text takes on how to deal with having done harm and been traumatized as a result, but I find the exploration of the topic compelling.

Enter The Altruistic Amy Dallon.

Amy's arc in Worm was, to a degree, a prototype of this kind of storytelling. She is repeatedly and horrifically traumatized, the actions she eventually takes in response to that experience inflict equally horrific trauma on her victim, and she is further traumatized by her own actions almost to the point of ego death. She removes herself from the environment she was in, begins rebuilding her sense of identity and ethics, and reemerges having grown, prepared to do better going forward and to make reparations for her past actions as best she can. Arc done! It's satisfying and cathartic, and we leave content in the knowledge that the part she's on will take her to better places. It's the quintessential appeal of a redemption arc, and it's a strong example of its type.

There's something people like to say a lot when talking about mental health and personal growth in real life, and that is that progress isn't linear. It's an important truth to understand.

It's rarely true in fiction. Very often, in redemption arcs, in personal growth arcs, after a series of false starts and setbacks, the character reaches a critical point where they resolve their conflict and either overcome it or succumb to it. From that point on, their nature or behavior is fundamentally changed - if they've grown they never relapse past a certain point, or do so only fleetingly, or else never improve past a certain point. This makes sense from a storytelling perspective, but it doesn't map to how growth often works in real life.

In Ward, Amy occupies the very rare narrative position of being who completes her arc of growth and redemption, who crosses that critical threshold of lasting, meaningful change... but backslides anyway, to the point of essentially losing all that progress.

It's an outcome that I find very believable for her, honestly. Her newfound worldview and conviction were forged in the very insular environment of the Birdcage - of course they would be impacted by her new environment. She says at the end of Ward that she had been able to excuse all of her worst behavior because she had convinced herself that she could fix anything - and at the end of Worm, I can see how she would come to think that! She's been pardoned and released from Forever Prison, she overcame her old aversion to brains to create Khepri and thereby saved the world, she's formed a positive relationship with the father she never thought she'd meet, she's receiving love and support from parents she never felt good enough for, she's using her powers to help people in a way that doesn't make her want to die, and she even "fixed" Victoria, when failing to do that before was the final nail in the coffin she just finished clawing her way out of! The sheer number of seemingly impossible things she's accomplished, of apparently irreversible failures she's seemingly put right, is mind boggling! It'd be the easiest thing in the world to let that go to your head!

Her social circle is also a perfect environment to enable her worst tendencies - there's no one left in it whose opinion she trusts that's willing to call her on her shit. Marquis doesn't see anything wrong with her behavior, Carol is trying to make up for a decade of neglect and unwarranted criticism, Mark just wants everybody to get along and be happy, and Riley and Rinke are pretty shaky on this whole human decency thing themselves! With a (not unjustified) pride in how far she'd come, a circle of willing enablers, a complete lack of moderating influences, and a bulletproof get-out-of-moral-culpability-free card, and two years to spiral, I find her backsliding to be completely believable. And given that Victoria is the fly in the ointment to all of this, that her continued refusal to have anything to do with Amy gives lie to Amy's belief that she can fix anything, and thereby puts the entire edifice of her self-rationalizations at risk, it also makes perfect sense to me that Amy would become fixated on her, on proving that she really can fix anything.

Of course, being believable isn't the same thing as being compelling. The thing that makes all this so resonant for me is that, at the end of Ward, after being this grasping spectre that haunts Victoria the whole book, after rejecting countless opportunities to demonstrate a hint of self-awareness or the slimmest motivation to change - Amy does. She sits down with a therapist. She rips off the band-aid - both the metaphorical one and the literal one made out of Victoria's skin, jesus christ Amy - looks at what she's done, at how she went awry, and resolves to do better. And we end with her in essentially the same place she was at the end of Worm: prepared to do better going forward and to make reparations as best she can. But the journey she has taken to get there gives the destination entirely new meaning for me. She's already fumbled her chance at redemption! But her journey gives lie to the idea that you only have one chance, or two, or any finite number! Every moment you draw breath is a chance to do better.

To me, Amy Dallon's arc in Ward shows that the most important step you can take is the next one, and no matter how many times you walk up and down that road, it never stops being true. And I find that compelling as hell.

[s1ut-4-rafe]

UNDER THE SAME ROOF | Rafe Cameron | 01

MASTERLIST (Series - In Progress)

Pairing - Rafe Cameron x Kook! Reader

Summary - Your family returns to the Outer Banks for the summer, and you’re not expecting to fall for Sofia’s boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, the golden boy of the Kooks. When Sofia asks if you can stay at his place, Rafe is hesitant — until he sees you. What starts as irritation quickly turns into obsession, and Rafe begins questioning everything. You might just be the storm that unravels it all. Sometimes love comes when it’s least expected, and once it does, there’s no turning back.

Word Count - 2354

Content - Angst, enemies to lovers, emotional conflict, forbidden love, betrayal (no hate against Sofia's character, this is just for the plot)!

Dedication - To the one who sent this request in, thank you for sparking this story. Your anonymity makes it all the more special, this one is for you!

You were fourteen when the waves of the Outer Banks first touched your feet, just a girl dragged across the world because your father had taken a temporary consulting role with a marine research company in North Carolina. It was meant to be a quiet year, a pause between lives, just long enough to feel out of place, but not long enough to belong.

You hated it at first. The endless sun, the sand that found its way into everything, and the way the locals seemed like family. You felt like a ghost in someone else’s town.

Until you met Sofia.

When you were quiet, Sofia was loud. Where you hesitated, Sofia jumped in. She had this way of dragging you out of your shell, and soon enough, you were inseparable. You had sleepovers, beach days, secrets scribbled in notebooks. You were teenagers, but your bond felt sacred, the kind of rare friendship that stretches across continents.

When the year ended and your father was promoted to a long-term role in Florence, Italy, the goodbye was your first real heartbreak. But distance didn’t ruin you. It just changed the way you stayed close. FaceTimes under different moons, voice notes laced with laughter, late-night texts that made it feel like nothing had changed.

Your father, Erik, has always been the steady one. He’s calm, collected, and wrapped in an air of quiet authority. But that authority, though grounding, was often distant. The work that kept your family moving across the globe also kept him away, always focused, always busy with his consulting roles, leaving your mother to take the lead in everything else. 

He’s always been there, but in a way that felt more like a shadow than a presence. Still, when you moved, he would bring stability, and though you never quite understood him, you always knew he was there when you needed him.

And then there’s your mom, Kate. She's a force of nature, the one who filled in all the gaps your dad left behind. She made every house feel like home, every holiday feel like a celebration, and every goodbye a little easier to swallow. She never showed how hard it was, how much she carried. But sometimes, when you’d catch her alone, a shadow would flicker across her face, a hint of tiredness, of longing for a life that wasn’t always defined by the next move. But still, she kept it together, for all of you.

And Tyler. Your older brother. He enlisted in the Marines right after high school, and that’s where he’s been ever since, overseas, stationed God-knows-where, with just the occasional letter or message. He’s proud of his service, but to you, he’s more like an idea than an actual person. A presence that looms large when you need someone to talk to, but is always just out of reach.

Now, six years later, your family is returning to the Outer Banks for the summer. Your father’s overseeing a U.S. expansion for the company, or maybe he just needed a break from Europe; either way, you’re going back. But this time, you’re not the same girl who left. The braces are gone, the awkwardness faded. You’ve grown into yourself, and it shows.

You’ve learned to guard your heart. It’s easier to protect yourself than risk the vulnerability of opening up again. But still, you can’t shake the quiet desire to be seen, truly seen, by someone who understands you without trying to fix you. Someone who won’t ask you to be anything other than who you already are. 

And maybe, just maybe, the Outer Banks will be the place where you find that, the place where you leave behind the girl you once were and step into the woman you’re becoming, one who isn’t afraid to embrace the quiet power within you and let yourself be loved for who you truly are.

Florence gave you art, beauty, style… and a heartbreak that nearly broke you.

At 17, you fell for someone older, a university student who was charming, sophisticated, intense. He made you feel seen, adored, chosen. Until slowly, that warmth turned cold.

He began to criticize you: the way you dressed, the people you talked to, how much attention you got. He isolated you under the guise of “protection.”

He’d love-bomb, then punish. Worship you, then ignore you. Tell you you were his muse, then remind you that you were replaceable.

It ended with you questioning your worth, and for a long time, you thought maybe love just wasn’t for you. But you got help. You did the work. And slowly, painfully, you reclaimed your identity.

You haven’t dated seriously since. There have been flings, casual flirtations, maybe even late-night hookups, but nothing that touched your heart.

Because you’re afraid. And because you won’t settle ever again. You refuse to let anyone, ever again, take pieces of you you’re not ready to give. But sometimes, just sometimes, you wonder if maybe there’s someone out there who won’t ask you to. 

You’re going to reclaim your past in the Outer Banks, to feel powerful in a place where you once felt small.

Sofia, of course, is part of that. She’s always been your safe space, the one person who understands you without judgment. Your friendship feels like a lifeline, one that’s withstood distance, time, and change. 

Now, standing in your room with your suitcase half-packed, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The soft silk of your tank top. The new tattoo peeking out on your collarbone. The fire in your eyes.

Not the same girl they once knew.

And you kind of hope they notice.

The drive to your summer home felt endless. The further you went, the more the world around you seemed to shift from familiar to foreign. You passed the usual bustling spots: the pier where you spent hours as a teenager watching the fishermen, the ice cream stand that always seemed to attract a line of tourists, and the beach town that once buzzed with locals and summer visitors. 

The new developments, the fresh coat of paint on the shops, the trendy restaurants that replaced the old seafood joints, all seemed like attempts to package the Outer Banks into something polished, something new. 

Finally, you turned off the main road, leaving the familiar world behind. Your dad had gone quiet in the front seat, probably making sure he didn’t get lost. He’d always been a bit of a perfectionist, especially when it came to your family’s comfort. You knew this place had to be something special if he insisted on it, his boss had arranged it, after all. They never did things halfway.

You reached the house after what felt like an eternity of winding roads. The house was tucked away, far from the town, hidden by thick trees that seemed to shelter it from the rest of the world. You couldn’t help but stare at it, unsure whether to be impressed or irritated.

It was beautiful, you’d give it that, a massive, modern beach house that looked more like it belonged in Malibu than the Outer Banks. Huge windows, an open floor plan that led straight out to the beach, and a deck that seemed to stretch for miles. But the location... it felt like a retreat, secluded, isolated.

"Well, here we are," Dad said, stepping out of the car and giving you a small, hopeful smile.

"Yeah, it’s... it’s a lot," you muttered, trying to sound polite.

You dragged your suitcase toward the house, the weight of it suddenly feeling heavier than before. You had spent so much time looking forward to seeing Sofia, reconnecting with the Outer Banks in a way that felt like coming home. But this... this felt like a prison. You were a half hour’s drive from town, more than that from Sofia.

"This place is—" you began, but your mom cut you off before you could finish your thought.

"Look, we’re going to be here for a while," she said, walking ahead of you. "Let’s make the most of it. You’ll have the whole beach to yourself."

You didn’t reply. Instead, you let the silence settle between you as you moved into the house. It was beautiful, sure. But it wasn’t home.

Later that evening, after dinner, you found your dad standing by the sliding glass door that opened to the beach. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore filled the silence, but it didn’t ease the knot in your stomach. You walked up beside him, crossing your arms.

"So, is this it?" you asked, trying to keep your tone casual, though your frustration slipped through.

"What do you mean?" he asked, glancing at you before looking back at the ocean.

"I mean, it’s great and all, but this place is way out there," you said, gesturing vaguely toward the horizon. "I thought I’d be closer to... everything. To the town. And Sofia."

He frowned, a slight wrinkle of confusion on his forehead. "Sofia?"

"Yeah. You know, my best friend," you added, a little snappier than you intended. "I mean, I was hoping this trip would be about reconnecting, you know? Seeing the Outer Banks again... but it’s like we’re stuck here in the middle of nowhere."

He shrugged, a motion that was almost too careless. "It's not that far. It’s only a few minutes' drive into town."

"A few minutes? It's over half an hour! That’s like... three lifetimes in Kook terms," you retorted, your voice rising slightly. "I can’t just pop over to see Sofia. I won’t be able to hang out with her like we used to. It’s... frustrating."

His expression softened, and he gave you one of those rare, understanding looks, the ones you didn't get from him often. "I get it," he said quietly. "I thought you’d like the place. Your mother and I wanted something that felt special, you know?"

You didn’t respond right away. His words were kind, but they didn’t change the fact that you were miles away from what you really wanted. It felt like another layer of distance added between you and what you’d hoped for.

"I just... I really thought we’d be closer to everything," you said softly, letting the frustration fade into disappointment.

He sighed, looking at you with that look of his, the one that said he wanted to make it right but didn’t quite know how. "I know. I’m sorry. But we’re here now. Let’s try to make the best of it, okay?"

"Yeah. I’ll try," you muttered, not quite convinced.

You wandered through the sprawling rooms, feeling like a visitor in a home you were supposed to be familiar with. It didn’t help that everything looked so different, modern furniture, clean lines, big windows, it felt like a hotel. Not a family home. 

Your footsteps echoed across the floor as you passed the rooms, the sound of the waves barely audible through the thick glass that separated you from the ocean. It was beautiful, but it felt… disconnected. You weren’t sure if it was the house or you. Or maybe both.

You finally found yourself standing by the large window in the living room, staring out at the beach. The horizon stretched endlessly, the ocean moving in slow, rhythmic waves, but it didn’t feel like the place you’d known before. 

You pulled your phone from your pocket and you dialed Sofia’s number and waited, listening to the dial tone that seemed to echo in the silence of the house. Your thumb brushed against the screen, making a nervous pattern as the seconds dragged on.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the line clicked, and her voice broke through.

"Hey, stranger." Sofia’s voice came through with her usual warmth.

"Sofia," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "I made it. I’m at the house. It’s… it’s not what I expected. It's so far from everything, far from you especially.”

She paused, and you could practically hear her furrowing her brow. "What do you mean, far from me? How far are we talking?"

"It’s like… it’s in the middle of nowhere," you explained. "I mean, yeah, it’s still on the Outer Banks, but this house is way out from everything. There’s no quick run to the beach or anything. And it's not like we’re staying near any of the places we used to go. It’s just... isolating."

There was a silence on the other end of the line, and then Sofia’s voice came back, sharper now, full of disbelief.

"No way. Seriously?"

"Yeah," you said, rubbing your eyes. "It’s ridiculous. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this." you let out a sigh, frustration leaking into your words.

"Oh my god, I can’t believe this," she said, clearly upset. "That sucks. Why would they do that?”

"I don’t know," you admitted. "I guess my dad’s boss set it up, and they thought it would be a nice quiet place for the summer.”

Sofia exhaled on the other end. "That’s complete bullshit," she said with an edge to her voice. 

"Listen to me," Sofia continued, her voice firm, the kind of tone that told you she wasn’t going to just let this slide. "I’ll figure something out. I swear, we’ll make this work.”

You felt your chest tighten at her words. “But what can you do? I’m already here, and it’s not like we can just move to another house."

"I’ll make it work," she insisted. "It’s gonna suck for a bit, but I’ll figure something out. I think I have an idea, okay?”

You smiled, feeling the weight lift from your shoulders. "Thanks, Sof. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"Oh, I know," she said, with the same old, comforting certainty that had always been there. 

You talked for a few more minutes, and as the conversation came to an end, you felt a little lighter. The house may have been far from everything you’d known, but Sofia was right: it wasn’t the end of everything. She’d figure it out.

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[affogato-analysis]

War as the great equalizer and Arcane

War is often defined at the greatest equalizer: everyone bleeds and dies the same after all. Having a common enemy is also often a rallying factor and helps create community despite conflicts.

However, in real life, not everyone is in fact equal in the face of war. There is a gendered experience of armed conflicts, an ethnic experience too and economic status also impacts one’s journey through war. Identities don’t disappear entirely and they still play a role in war time.

So, Arcane.

Spoilers ahead for the entire show.

also i get heated throughout this post.

Arcane uses the Noxian invasion as the common enemy™ to bring the two warring sister cities together, push them to get over their mutual hatred to ally for the greater good. The war is meant to be the great equalizer that helps them wipe the slate clean and start over, with equal forces in the council and a better mutual understanding.

Does it work? Well, Sevika does get a seat on the Council and it does stop the martial law.

But.

But.

I argue for a less hopeful take. I think Piltover’s domination over Zaun is still very much present throughout the war.

For one, equipment. Yes, Zaunites are given Enforcers uniform for protection. But Zaunites do not fight like enforcers. Enforcers can’t twist like Smeech, they don’t fight with Jinx’s flexibility, they don’t use the firelights’ hoverboards. Enforcers have a lot of brute force and special equipment. Zaunites are used to running a lot, jumping, fighting barehanded and with a lot less formal training.

Enforcers’ uniforms are blocks. They don’t favor flexibility. Zaunites are given uniforms that they do not know how to fight in, that they have to adapt to in a record time and figure out how to even move in. The weight is different, their range of movement is different, their speed is affected. And I’m not a fighter, I don’t know if this is all relevant and how it's relevant. All I know is, armor is a tool, and this tool looks really, really ill-fitted for the Zaunites.

(I wholeheartedly invite anyone who actually knows what they’re talking about to tell us some more on the subject).

Two, training. That ties closely with the previous point. Zaunites are taught to fight by enforcers, according to Piltover’s strategies. Both parties could complete each other’s training, both fought Noxus (for sparring purposes or due to the riots). And as we’ve said, Piltovians and Zauns are not moving the same way (it’s especially visible in season 1, when Vi and Caitlyn go back to the Undercity in episode 4 where the two girls do not run across the place at the same pace and through the same path). Zaunites have to copy their moves on Piltover’s strategies and are not shown to be teaching their own experience — reminder that they are the ones who had to put up with actual Noxian violence. I’m not saying it didn’t happen, but we didn’t see it so I very much think it didn’t. Side note, historically, dominated groups are very rarely invited to share their knowledge, let alone have that knowledge be seen as legitimate (you can see that in colonization, where indigenous knowledge is erased in favor of colons’ practices and opinions; it’s also seen when it comes to women’s words being disregarded in favor of men’s).

And finally, last but not least, the place of the battle. The barricades are set, therefore marking the area that the forces will be made to protect. Anything that is outside of this area is left to Noxus.

And the barricades are set on the bridges. Piltover is to be kept safe and used as a military bastion, Zaun is left to fend for itself. Had Noxus chosen to burn it to the ground, Piltover would have watched. That is, in itself, quite a brutal truth but on top of that, Piltovians ask Zaunites to help protect their home. This is again asking Zaunites for more sacrifices for Piltover’s protection, while Zaun is abandoned to Noxian forces.

And just so we’re clear, good war strategies would have seen a use of both cities. Guerilla techniques are used a lot in asymmetrical wars, when one party is significantly stronger than the other. They rely on the weaker party’s knowledge of the field, their abilities to move around and to lure their opponents into traps. These have been known to be efficient. I’m not kidding, guerrillas can see the slaughter of entire armies if played correctly (see wikipedia page on Napoleon versus Spain. These strategies defeated Napoleon, who, reminder, had a massive empire across Europe that he got through war and conquest.)

But no. Zaunites strategies, experience and even land are dismissed and sacrificed to protect Piltover!

(And yes, the writers could have thought about it, because they already did. Caitlyn uses the grey to clear the streets precisely because Zaunites rule their city and they can fight in it. It is also how Zaunites can resist the martial law so long.)

When Arcane pulls the War™ card on Pitlover and Zaun, it wants us to believe that it is enough to smooth over the differences between the two sides of the Pilt. But, and as many, many have said before, Zaun and Piltover were never warring sisters! The situation has always been that Piltover is an oppressive force on Zaun. It’s never been a war, it’s always been an oppressor/oppressed situation. The show tries to sell the ‘they were equals but angy all along!’ narrative throughout season 2 and it fails dramatically. The Noxian Invasion just exposes further the inequalities between the two cities, despite it being an attempt at making things right by the writers.

(and it doesn’t even make sense for the battle to happen in Piltover because Noxians were established in Piltover and only sent a team down to take down the commune and Jinx so technically Ambessa could have just snatched leadership ages ago before Mel came back and then try to take down Zaun only and for fuck’s sake we could have had a season 3 about resistance and guerilla in a Zaun vs Noxus war with actual time for a reconciliation between Zaun and Piltover through acknowledging Piltover’s oppression and making right by Zaunites, time for a Cailtyn/Vi proper reconciliation, actual Timebomb, Sevika with an decent arc and Jayvik in the commune getting some massive drama about the hexcore and magic and WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN)

(Yes, you can argue it’s because the show lacked time to show all of these elements, to which I answer fuck that, they had time for Timebomb, Isha and Vander/Warwick and all of these would easily have been sacrificed. Plus, it’s their job to make the show! I get to ask of them that they make a good one! And I get to say fuck Riot for making this show only to sell their videogame and not having respect from the integrity of the art and the artists! it’s capitalism’s fault and it can fuck off too.)

And how do I know I’m right and not making things up? None of the Zaunites we see going to war wearing an enforcer suit survives it, except Vi who, 1- only wears half of her uniform, 2- has a prior experience with it, 3- has her gauntlets, 4- has her sister showing up with a machine gun, what i guess is a hot air balloon and the rest of Zaun’s fighting forces!

(Grey zone for Loris by the way, because he looks like he’s in between the two cities and I can’t be sure if he’s piltovian or zaunite.)

“Oh but are you sure that’s what the writers’ train of thought was?” No! I’m pretty sure it wasn’t actually, but it is what the art is showing. A lot of things happen due to biases and implicit unknown social habits that we internalized without realizing it, that happens! Our job is to check those habits (because that’s how a lot of racism, sexism, ableism, insert here other discriminations there are too many of them, keep on happening!) and make sure we don’t spread shit messages that contradict what we actually want to say.

“Are you not reading too much into this?” No.

“The showrunners just wanted to add some angst and so they killed off characters we liked!” I don’t care. I don’t care what the showrunners wanted, I care about what happened in the show. I don’t care that it’s a show, the story deserves to be looked at, not as just a rushed show with poorly implemented centrist retcons, but as the universe, characters and arcs it is drawing. Arcane’s worldbuilding is great, its characters interesting and the story immersive, I get to interact with it as if the show was just a glimpse at a different world, I get to look further than what we got to see, I get to analyze this as if it was real. I don’t care that the showrunners meant something else or that I’m reading too much into it, to quote tumblr posts, “It’s not that deep but the ground is soft and I’m willing to dig”. And when I dig with that goddamn shovel, I see that Zaun’s oppression is far from being over.

I am passionate about this, yes.

I so want to talk about arcane by the way, and I can be calm when doing so. I didn’t want to in this post because it’s just me and google docs but I can be normal.

[mayumml]

Midori is not a good lover

The REAL Sou Hiyori relationship headcanons <3

first off, you don’t know if he genuinely likes you or not and most likely will never be sure 

Maybe you’re a piece of pawn in his stupid chess game but what can you do?

Midori manipulates and gaslights you just like with anyone else, you’re the primary victim that receives most of it though

He seems like a man that didn’t have a heart, and he literally doesn’t 

Feels like he doesn’t know how to act in a relationship or more like he doesn’t care enough to

You think he’d choose his work over you anytime 

He’s so on and off with his affection

He treats you like everyone else, particularly more strict with you sometimes and scolds you more often than the other participants

This fucker is adamant about “being fair to all participants and not letting a personal relation change that” and yet you feel like he’s being the most unfair to you

Even more passive aggressive when it comes to you, he loves to bring up the past and laugh when you get pissed

But then sometimes, he would appear out of nowhere and gives you a quick peck

You’d expect him to be open to PDA, and yet he only ever initiates (and allows) any affection when it’s just the two of you 

You’re conflicted, though, at certain times he’ll choose a timing where most of everyone is gathered in one place and approach you with the most affection you’ll ever receive from him

He makes sure everyone is looking, maybe it’s his way of showing his twisted sense of superiority?

Midori very quickly reverts back to ignoring you if he is satisfied 

You learn that he is extremely possessive

Yes, you get fed up with his shit many times and he knows it well

Does he ever apologize? Never. 

Like ever. 

You could confront him, but he’ll give you the same saccharine smile and feigns innocence

“What’s wrong with me showing my lover off to everyone? Does that upset you?” 

When you try to explain that’s not why you’re upset, he convinces you that you’re overreacting and somehow makes you seem like the bad guy for “not wanting to be seen with him.” (bitchass) 

Weirdly loves small talk 

Midori would interrogate you whenever he pleases and ask about your favorite color to wear on a rainy day 

You cant tell if he really cares about your responses at all because he just stands there and blinks with his smile and throws follow up questions at you

Kind of feels like he wants to know everything about you but also nothing at the same time 

Remembers small, itty bitty details about you

It’s endearing but also freaks you out because he remembers which angle you prefer to wear your collar

Very touchy when he wants to be, but acts like a jerk when he decides he doesn’t feel like it 

Limited use of pet names because he prefers calling you by your name 

Will call you sweetheart (mockingly most of the time), “my favorite participant,” or a shortened version of your name

Likes to receive but doesn’t give, unless he needs something

You don’t know why you’re still with him 

Midori is very good at making you feel special but also worthless

Will give you overly expensive presents that you don’t need and stare at your reaction as you open them 

(does he think this makes up for his neglect as a partner?)

Very likely to give you jewelry with his initials, he might have one with your initials but won’t wear it 

Sucks at comforting

He actually just doesn’t comfort at all

He makes things worse when you’re upset 

“You’re crying? Humans really are sentimental beings, after all. I guess crying is all that you’re capable of.” 

Let you play and style with his hair in private 

Gets defensive and change the subject when you mention Shin’s history with him

Avoids personal questions like the plague 

Actively tries to poke into every corner of your life. Boundaries? What’s that?

Not a very good partner, he’s just not a good person in general

Midori rarely mentions your relationship in front of the other participants, but when he does, he refers to you as his lover

Will pair you with him with the red light, he knows you don’t have the guts to kill him 

Urges you on to kill him way too often 

He gives you a smug knowing grin and a kiss when you can’t do it

Don’t try to physically hurt him, it turns him on (he won’t hesitate to break your arm)

Remember when I said he’s very possessive? 

Fucker treats you like an object

no one takes what belongs to him

Won’t be the type to defend you and won’t fight if someone hits on you

He would direct the conversation elsewhere and weird out whoever it is somehow (always works) 

Shows up a few days later with news that the attacker mysteriously jumped of a building (willingly?) 

His romantic side is very unconventional

“Would you love me even if I was a worm?” 

“Worms are rather dirty and invasive, are they not? I’d rather not deal with a pest, thanks.” 

[comicaurora]

In your asks and other outside-of-comic statements, you seem to draw on parallels to programming a lot when talking about lacrimas.

And this makes me think as a programmer: the primordial rules that are used in Auroras to do magic and lacrimas are part of the primordial language. You are literally telling the primordial's dead bodies what to do, and they obey.

Yet, the difference that comes to my mind is that Primordial was at one point a language actually spoken. Used to communicate in day-to-day life by normal sentient beings. That's quite different from programming languages, which aren't meant to be talked in at all, and are built from the ground up purely to convey a series of precise instructions. They're very formalised and structured. There are no synonyms, no double meanings, no altering of word order, no redundant information etc. It's extremely rigid, much unlike languages people actually talk in, for which a degree of fluidity and ambiguity is essential.

And in Aurora it would seem the latter is being used as the former.

Have you ever thought about this tension/contradiction/conflict? How it affects the world, how it affects your writing, etc?

Or has this distinction never crossed your mind?

Or was this something you have noticed, but never really had the right knowledge to engage with much?

Or any other thoughts on the subject, really

So! This is an interesting thing I have actually thought about.

When the Elder Races were first created, they were born knowing and speaking a language innovatively called the First Language. Every new Young Race is also initially created speaking this language. The language then drifts over the generations, developing into regional dialects and then into separate linguistic descendants if given enough time.

The Ancients spoke a close descendent of the First Language for most of their time in existence, and made a writing system of their own very early on, which has no innate power. But in the early days of the world, the generally accepted story is that a god granted the three elder races knowledge of the written Runic language, which could command the elements. The Ancients acquired it late and used it very sparingly, only for the programming of lacrimas, but for the Elves and Humans living in the depths of the Caves, this was their first and primary writing system. It's even possible that a rare cave-dweller brave enough to venture to the surface was the one who taught the Ancients these runes in the first place.

It's posed an obvious question, of course. Why does this one specific form of writing manifest as a language of magic? Why can it command the dead Primordials? Why is it so well-suited to the phonemes of the First Language that every child of this world is created speaking?

The predominant theory - and, with two living primordials to check with, one which is potentially on the cusp of being proven - is that the First Language and its runic writing system are the language that the Primordials spoke. Its words, written or spoken, can be understood by the remnants of thought that still linger in the sleeping, dead-but-not-entirely-gone primordials that make up the world.

Primordial magic is different from programming in one key way: real computers are entirely unthinking entities. They are not in any way smart - not even smart enough to be stupid. A computer parsing a program cannot observe a missing parentheses and compensate like a human could do in their sleep - it simply fails to parse, because the mathematics don't work out.

Magic in this world is like what every programmer wishes programming could be. Tell the computer what to do, and it might be a little confused, but it'll get the gist. Tell Fire to burn in this direction - Fire, even if it's just running on an echo of a seven-thousand-year-old memory, knows what that means. Tell the wind to printf this statement to this recipient, it'll try to find them and send the message. Tell Life to make this body do what it's doing faster, it can do that. It's simple executions of simple commands, almost reflexive - things that require no complex higher thought from a being that is no longer alive enough to have them. They're not as unthinking as computers, and that means the nuances of language can actually have an effect on them. Some mages think more poetic and emotionally-charged spell invocations can lead to better, more efficient results - an appeal to a long-dead emotion might be easier for the Primordial to execute than an appeal to a half-forgotten complex thought.

When a mage takes direct control of a magical energy and funnels it into an elemental effect, their own higher thought allows the element to do more complicated things - Fire can't transmute on its own like it could when it was alive, but it can when bent to a mortal will. No need to translate a spell into the language of magic when the mage can simply use their own mind to shape the effect. This is the primary advantage mages have over lacrima-users - flexibility, complexity, and speed.

Another interesting factor. Alinua's dynamic with Life demonstrates what a living Primordial's living thought can do when in the hands of a mortal. A normal, simple healing spell cast by anybody but her just accelerates a body's own healing, but with Alinua's guidance steadying Life's hand, they can do much more complicated things of her own free will - things Life knows how to do that no mage knows how to command her to do.