#or if that sacrifice is just a plain wrong move

[saphirered]

Caged Birds Don't Sing

And here's the third and final part of this request! You can find part two here. I hope you have all enjoyed this little angsty piece as much as I have. Happy reading my darlings! 😘

You walk among the gore and decay, stepping over those who have left this world and the horrors that tore them away. You hear the wails be they cries of pain, of grief or relieve. You’re covered in grime, head to toe. The silk and gossamer had been exchanged for steel and leather but the burden is equally heavy. You just wander. No purpose. No direction. You hear the faintest echo pierce through your hazy mind. The world is numb. You are numb and waiting for it all to come crashing down, for the realisation to hit you viciously. You’re free. You’re free of her, free of it all. You were a fool to think it’d magically all be better. All those sacrifices you made, they were a blood price for this. The goal was reached but the price steep. You find your gaze connecting to the eyes of one who paid the price for your silence. The White Wolf of Doranelle steps up to you. You can see his lips moving. He speaks your name but his words are a distant echo. He grabs onto your arm and gently shakes you. 

Fenrys saw you walking among the corpses and chaos. You looked like an angel of death among them; reaping the souls of the fallen and walking them to the afterlife. Once upon a time he might have jested you looked horrible, that the battlefield did not suit you and you should return to your life of finery, that blood tarnishes even the prettiest diamonds. You might have clapped back but he knows now you won’t. You’re too far out of it. You don’t even respond when he calls your name. He realises why when he shakes you, when he sees that hand you had clasped over your abdomen move, and sees that blood and gore is not your enemy’s. You’re ashen, and have lost your radiance. You could never be plain but this must have been the closest you’d ever got to it. He’s all too aware how you straighten your back, you don’t even feel the pain anymore but still make it a point to appear presentable, as if you’re ready to meet your end.

“Have you come to finish the job yourself?” There’s an airiness to your voice. You’re ready. You know what’s coming. It’s all lead to this. “It’s okay, Fenrys. I’m ready to face the consequences of my actions.” Conflict crosses his features so you reassure him. You find it with yourself to take his hand and guide it to his sword. He doesn’t shake you off nor stop you. Still he looks conflicted. 

“I used to dream of this moment,” He starts holding onto that sword but then he takes your hand instead, placing it over your abdomen and keeps pressure on it. “But I was wrong. I know what you did. I know why. It wasn’t worth it. You did what you could to be selfless, to protect and preserve. You did it at the expense of so many others.” Fenrys thinks for a second while you take in his words. He continues no less. 

“How is it any different than any of this? Why do you deserve to die when we’ve done just the same? When I’ve done just the same in those years of service. It doesn’t make it right but I know I’ll be spending the rest of my days making things right. You are clever and quick witted. You see through lies and deception, and are a master of persuasion. You are stubborn and thickheaded and annoying but most of all you can be a complete and utter bitch. We need that. We need you.” 

“For now I would like to see the stars.” One last time… You don’t say it but something in your heart knows this to be true. The sun is close to set. You don’t even know how long you’d been wandering the fields. It might have been eternity. You knew it would end here on the battlefield. You knew this life of yours would come to an end with Fenrys standing there in front of you. That was your curse wasn’t it? You knew how it would end for Maeve but you never gave her the opportunity to get rid of those who would lead to her downfall prematurely. You had no intention of changing this moment of yours either. It’s best to not mess with the way things are supposed to be. You learned that lesson the hard way. 

Fenrys sees the solemn distance in your eyes. He cannot begin to imagine what runs through your head, not even now he knows the gravity of your life, of the burden you’ve carried ever since you met him. He doesn’t envy you. He simply nods and throws your arm over his shoulder and lifts you as if you were no more than a rag doll. If you wish to see the stars then you will witness them away from death and ruin. With what energy he replenished he takes you to the beautiful hills of some forgotten place. As the last light of the sun sets over the horizon and the grasses rustle in the wind he sets you down. He debates if he should sit down next to you but then he feels the gentle tuck on his sleeve. You stare up at him with bright and peaceful eyes and he finds himself lowering next to you. How is it in the aftermath of it all you have become the embodiment of peace among the chaos? How is he feels that pleasant relief and release now he is near you? 

Together you sit until the silver speckles fill the night’s sky. The air grows cooler, and the wind dances ever so lightly; the only sound of the rustling blades of grass banishing the echoes of haunted clashing steel. You feel warm and comfy and cozy so you slowly lay down and gaze up. An easy smile graces your features, even when you see Fenrys at your side. If someone had told you you’d be here right now in this very moment, you’d have called them fool. Yet here you are. Here he is and he stares at you with something you can’t quite place. There’s pity, regret but that’s as far as you can uncover. 

“It was easy to hate you for all she did to us. We couldn’t do anything about Maeve, loyal or not but you… I see now it wasn’t right- I don’t know- I think what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry it had come to this.” Fenrys stumbles over his words. For that smooth talking and quick-witted fae he is known to be he half expected you to give him shit for it. He’s surprised you don’t. You just smile up at the stars. 

“I’m sorry too. For everything. I wish I could have done better.” There are so many words you want to speak but don’t have the energy for to voice them nor does it seem to be the moment to bring up that horrible past now the healing can finally begin. 

He watches as you struggle to breathe a little. He adjusts, lifts your head and sits behind you so you may lean against him. Throughout his weeks of torture, you’d been the one to clean up the mess. You’d been the one to nurture his wounds and held him while he slept. He’d refused your help at first solely for the fact he hated you, or told himself he did. He meant what he said; it was easy to hate you, to blame you and tell himself you were the villain in the story. You patched him up. You’d given his brother a final resting place when no one else dared to. You’d lied to Maeve’s face about it too. You’d risked it all for him. How could he hate you now knowing what he knows? You’ve been so strong but so broken for so long. You deserve your peace. You deserve the one thing you asked for. He’ll keep you company just as you kept him. That’s what he tried to tell himself at least. 

Hatred can turn from many things. Fenrys is not ashamed to say he’d miss you if you’d become another casualty of this grand scheme of Maeve’s. You asked to see the stars for a reason, thinking it’d be the last thing you’d see. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t try. Your odds might not be looking good but he knows you’re stubborn. He brushes some tangles from your hair with his fingers. 

“Then do better. I dare you to do better, you stubborn little bitch.” He speaks with a laugh. You tilt your head backwards more to look at him and manage to raise an eyebrow, sniffling a snort.

“What?” You’re confused but something within you sparks beneath the surface of your skin. You’d never been one to back down from a challenge set by a furry bastard. A part of your mind asks the right questions; why should you stop now?

“You heard me.” He guides you into a sitting position and pats your cheek. “Think you can’t do it? You lost your game, sunshine.” 

“Fenrys, now is not-“ He places a hand over your mouth and your next words are muffled. You try to remove it but can’t get a grasp.

“No no. I expect a grand apology for all the years of slander of my esteemed character. Besides, if I’m going to do this ambassador thing, I need you to write me a good reference. It’s the least you could do.” He lowers his hand just in time for you to snort.

“Ambassador? You? You don’t even know the first thing about basic etiquette, let alone foreign etiquettes. You’ll start a war within the week.” There’s that spark again. There’s that life in your eyes, that chaos among the calm that he’s hated facing only to be reminded it was the only consistent thing, the thing he took joy in over all these years. It was easy to hate you and blame you but it was never truly satisfying. Fenrys had found great satisfaction in challenging you, teasing you because despite everything, you made a worthy opponent who would meet his challenge. You were a sparring partner in a fight none of his friends could match. 

“What you gonna do about it? Stop me? I’d like to see you try.” He crosses his arms and raises his chin in defiance. Your lips part and you scoff shaking your head. “You can spend the rest if your life looking at the stars right here or you can tell me exactly how I fucked up the precious table settings and ate with the wrong cutlery. Hell, you can even judge me for all the princess I’ll sleep with and haunt me for being banished from nations. Someone needs to know what they’re doing and I sure as hell don’t.” He’s not wrong. He doesn’t know what he’s doing and you do. When he looks forward on his own, all he sees is shortcomings and the need to learn. he could be taught and would be of course. And he’s not completely incompetent but when he looks at you, if he had you with him, he feels safe and confident. 

“Only an idiot would leave you unsupervised.” You’re not wrong and you can see the horrible scenarios play in your mind of Fenrys running half naked out of a country or greatly offending a court for not knowing their customs. He’d be a mess. You know no amount of tutors could put up with his bullshit or have the dog pay attention for more than five minutes. 

“Well then, hello there idiot. You’re my supervisor. Now let’s get you to a healer and a bath because frankly you reek of death.” You feel your heart beat in your ears, feel the rush of blood when he reaches out his hand and offers it to you. He needs you. And in a way you need him. You need Fenrys to remind you what it feels to be alive because that’s what he’s done. He’s taken many hurtful blows to your armour in the past but when you were at a loss, you knew him to be consistent, you knew what to expect and when it mattered most, you had each other despite it all, despite the hatred you had for each other. It won’t be an easy road but then again nothing about Fenrys is easy except maybe his tendency to share his bed with others. You sigh and close your eyes. You nod as you place your hand in his. 

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” 

“Eternally.”

“You better make it worth my time.” The look he gives you when you speak those words; the one that is filled with the most indecent thoughts, tells you enough. 

“You’re the only person who’s ever shared my bed and I haven’t fucked. We can change that.” He teases. Old habits die hard but he’ll never go out of his way to let you know you’re his type. Previously it would be followed by a comment of how your horrible attitude or the moment you’d open your mouth would be an instant mood kill. There’s no follow up comment. 

“I’d like to see you try.” You couldn’t resist the urge to make that comment, to set that challenge and while your initial thought is you’d regret this, everything else screams you won’t. You just won’t make it easy on him. Fenrys laces his fingers with yours, gently pulling your entwined hands towards him and therefore urging you forward. Cocky bastard. 

“How about a kiss first? I’m told it leaves the many wanting for so much more. You up for the challenge?” You don’t answer but instead close the distance and so his lips meet yours. He’s damned. He’s down the rabbit hole and falling forever more. He’s breathless. Few people managed to get him so and he’d be damned if he’d let you win that easily. He’ll still take great pleasure in this moment but when your lips finally part, he has the both of you falling through the worlds and reappear in the healer’s ward. 

“I hate you.” You groan.

“And you can hate me even more after you’re all patched up.” 

#throne of glass x reader #fenrys x reader #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys #throne of glass fenrys #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass fic #throne of glass #sjmaas #sjm fanfic #sjm fic

[genesis-king]

Teen Wolf: The Movie released in 2023 should NOT exist and is an ABSOLUTE ATROCITY. Here’s why:

Not only was it absolute bullshit that Jeff Davis killed Derek the same way his family was killed, by burning him alive! But he also had Derek’s 15 year old son WATCH him die. JUST LIKE how Derek watched his family die from a fire when HE was 15!

Where the hell is Stiles, a key character to the series? So major of a character that when he didn’t appear in the beginning of season 6 of the original series, views decreased SIGNIFICANTLY. And when he returned in season 6 episode 11 (with Derek, might I add), views SKYROCKETED like crazy.

A majority of the movies plot points don’t line up with the original show. For example: Chris Argent and Isaac Lahey took the jar containing the Nogitsune with them when they went to France. So why is it on a shelf, let me repeat: a GOD DAMN SHELF, in Japan?! Another thing is that in the original show Derek (as an alpha) was able to survive a wolfsbane bullet wound for almost, if not, 24 hours. While in the movie Chris says Scott (also an alpha) only has a few hours to survive before the poison kills him.

Stiles would never abandon not only his Jeep, as stated in season 4 episode 1: The Dark Moon, but ALSO Scott and Lydia, his two best friends.

There’s so many other things that just don’t line up but it would take way too long to explain and that’s not the reason I’m posting this. The reason for this post is up next. So moving on…

Since Jeff Davis HAS decided to give us this movie with its OUTRAGEOUS plot line and BULLSHIT ending (no offense to Davis entirely, he did very good on the original series but he honestly should have left it there), I have decided (as I’m sure others have as well) that there needs to be a sequel to fix it. Here’s some of the things I think need to happen in said hypothetical and much needed sequel:

Eli’s the main character (not Scott McAsshole) and we learn who his other biological parent is (most likely Kate because even if everyone hates it, it would serve as a very interesting plot).

Stiles comes back because the show is absolute SHIT without him. AND he’s pissed about Scott & the pack not calling him for his help, resulting in Derek being DEAD! He’s also mad at Scott because he, an ALPHA, allowed one of his betas to SACRIFICE himself. In front of his KID no less! The TRAUMA the poor pup will have now. (Can’t there be ONE Hale generation that DOESN’T have life altering trauma and hogwash happen to them!)

Isaac should also return so we can see his reaction to Allison being resurrected and Derek being dead. His reaction is so important to me because when Allison died they were dating and Derek was his original alpha & took him in after his dad died.

In fact, since we’re bringing Stiles and Isaac back, let’s bring EVERYONE that was still alive at the end of the original series and were still part of the pack (or once was) back. Let’s have them make a major debut for an amazing kick ass battle against some new big bad. (Possibly “Captain America: Civil War” style. ✨SCOTT vs STILES✨ …That’s actually not a bad idea. I’ll post about that next, but first we got to continue with what else needs to happen.)

Derek isn’t ACTUALLY dead! Yay! He should be in bardo because 1: he’s a stubborn, self sacrificing pain in the ass who has been wronged in SO many ways. And 2: he has realized his mistake of sacrificing himself (while needed in the movie, it could have easily been prevented if Stiles was there) causing him to leave his son and outright REFUSES to fully die. PLUS, right before Derek died we saw his eyes turn RED, meaning that he is now a True Alpha. That changes a LOT of things! I don’t care if there’s no body and he can’t logically return to this plane of existence physically. He’s in bardo. Plain and simple. The show has already broken so many perceived supernatural rules, what’s one more?

Stiles has ✨magic✨ (as hinted on by Deaton saying he has a Spark MULTIPLE times throughout the series) and brings Derek back from being almost-dead-but-not-quite-dead.

And finally, what a MAJORITY of Teen Wolf fans (myself included 😌) have been waiting for *drumroll*: STEREK!!! FINALLY it happens! *jazz hands*

BOOM! DONE! STORY FIXED! Your welcome!

Feel free to comment what you think is wrong with the movie and what should be added to the hypothetical & desperately needed sequel.

Until next time…

~Peace,

Genesis. ✌️

#teen wolf the movie #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #eli hale #teen wolf fix it #scott mccall #isaac lahey #sterek #sterek is eternal #jeff davis #lydia martin #allison argent #alan deaton #chris argent #mccall pack #kate argent

[misspearly1]

When Two Worlds Collide Series

Chp1 || Chp2 || Chp3 || Chp4 || Chp5 || Chp6 || Chp7 || Chp8

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader x Arthur Morgan

Chapter Eight: Home

WC: 10k

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Alternative TLOU & RDR2 Universe. M/F/M Relationship. Story events relating to in-game missions (Our Best Selves & Red Dead Redemption). Dutch being scary, intimidating and unhinged. Graphic Violence (death/murder/robbery. The usual rdr2 stuff). There’s some angst and tension between Joel, Arthur and Reader in this chapter, but I promise it isn’t what it seems. I don’t want to give away too much in the warnings lol. Light smut. Kissing & mentions of sex. Angst with a happy ending and some fluffy vibes. 

Spoiler Warnings in the AN notes below the cut. Please read carefully. 

AN: There are mentions of character deaths in this chapter. If you haven’t played RDR2 and do not wish to know about who dies, then don’t read this chapter, my loves. Otherwise, if you don’t mind reading about that, then you can continue with the story. I hope you’ve enjoyed this series, and while there is such a huge amount of plot that I’ve missed out (bc the game is humongous), there will be future one-shots to fill in the gaps. Thank you so much for reading <3.

There’s a lot that can happen in the space of twenty-four hours. A lot of good things, and a lot of bad things that you cannot control no matter how much you try to. Some things aren’t meant to be controlled and that’s just, unfortunately, the way life goes. It’s plain and simple. You can try to go against fate, but what’s meant to be, will be. 

You could, however, try to plan something to perfection, but it’s bound to go wrong somewhere along the way. In one moment, you could be fine, and in the next, you could be so neck deep in shit that you don’t even know if you’ll make it out alive. A flawlessly executed plan cannot be achieved, especially not when it involves a mad-man who’s surrounded by a small group of paranoid men. 

In order to survive, there are risks you must be willing to gamble on, sacrifices that you need to take and life-saving decisions that need to be made in the heat of the moment. Freedom isn’t something that can be bought with money, even if you were the richest person in the world. It has to be paid for in blood, but the questions are: whose blood will be spilled, and who will survive? 

Well, there is a shortened version of what happened to the Van Der Linde gang in the last twenty-four hours, but the longer version would begin last night when Joel, Arthur and John returned to Beaver Hollow after blowing up Bacchus Bridge… 

You hate this place; hate living in a camp where the air reeks of decayed flesh and rotten bones. It’s an ugly environment, and smells twice as bad as it looks. The gang moved here many weeks ago to avoid the law patrolling Saint Denis and the surrounding area, meaning you could no longer hideout at Shady Belle. That camp was no better anyway. The crocs made an appearance everyday and reminded you of your place in the food chain, which would depend on how good you are with a weapon or how fast you could run. 

Though, here at Beaver Hollow in the wooded area of Roanoke Ridge, you are reminded of the previous settlers that used to live in this camp everyday. The Murfree Brood gang. They are a homicidal group of individuals, territorial and just down-right inhumane. They were feared by many, and the locals told you of the horrifying things they used to do in these neck of the woods, hence the reason for that lingering smell of decayed flesh and rotten bones. It still remains in the air, and it burns the hairs in your nostrils and makes your stomach churn. 

You hate this place, but most importantly, you hate what this gang has become over the last several months. You hardly recognise some of the people anymore. Many are depressed and ready to call it quits, whereas others are just getting started with the savagery. It’s been many moons since you’ve felt a slither of peace and serenity, but hopefully, that will soon change. 

At the sound of hoofbeats drawing near camp, you snapped out of your thoughts and rose to your feet. “What the hell took ya’ll so damn long? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” You stormed toward the edge of camp as Joel and Arthur approached on their horses. The anger was palpable in your tone of voice and it caught the attention of many curious eyes within the gang as they all looked in your direction and watched the dispute unfold. 

You crossed your arms and waited for either of them to answer your questions, but all you got instead was some incoherent mumbling under their breaths as they rolled their eyes. This, of course, pissed you off even more and you went on to berate Arthur and Joel for their actions today. “Neither of you told me where you were going, nor did you even say goodbye. I had to find out you were blowing up a goddamn bridge from someone else!... Why didn’t you talk to me before you left?” 

“Because of this attitude right here.” Joel pointed to you, sighing. “Because you’ll complain about it and try to stop us from leaving. We have to blow up that bridge for the train robbery tomorrow.” 

You argued further and asked. “And why does it have to be you and Arthur? Why couldn’t someone else go with John? There’s plenty of people around here who're more than capable of handling explosives… I don’t even get why you have to blow up the fucking bridge in the first place.” 

“Darlin’, you must understand. It’s all part of Dutch’s plan to get outta here and gone for good.” Joel tried to calm you down, but it didn’t work as you waved your hands around and replied acidly. “You think I care about him? I don’t give a fuck about his goddamn plans!” 

“Check your tone, Y/N.” Arthur cut in now, his voice firm and his brows wrinkled with a mild warning. “I understand you worry for our safety, but we’re not little boys that you can boss around… We can take care of business without getting hurt, so don’t doubt, Dutch. He knows what’s best for us.” 

“Oh, so almost dying on many occasions now is ‘taking care of business’, right?” You made a gesture with your fingers when quoting him, and emphasized your dislike over their secret decision making. They went ahead with this job without talking to you about it first. “I thought we were a team, but apparently not… You left in the dark, and I don’t like that at all so don’t fucking do it again.” You concluded your argument before walking off, leaving them both to think about the mistake they made. 

Once you were out of their sight and had entered your tent, they turned to each other and shook their heads frustratingly, expressing just how much they couldn’t be bothered with another war of words. It was exhausting and they were just simply too tired to argue again tonight. As they dismounted their horses, the sound of snickering could be heard from the back of Beaver Hollow near the cave entrance. It was evident that Dutch and Micah found the altercation hilarious, whereas everyone else remained quiet and went back to what they were doing prior. 

Dutch was smirking as he watched Joel walk towards your tent, “Going to reconcile with the nag, I imagine.” He sneered, then rose to his feet to chat with Arthur and John as they came forth to report how they got on with the job today. “Well done, my son.” He clasped a hand over Arthur’s shoulder, praising him for how he handled the situation with you just now. The man simply enjoyed watching him put you in your place. It was entertaining indeed, but most importantly, the loyalty was most appreciated. 

“Ahh, she’s just frustrated, Dutch. Pay her no mind.” Arthur brushed off the compliment, grinning devilishly. “I’ll take care of that later tonight anyhow.” He uttered with a wink, insinuating that you needed some sexual attention and that was the reason for your outburst. The comment made the men chuckle amongst themselves, but the sound of your voice shouting in the distance cut through their laughter, causing each of them to turn and look towards your tent. 

“Hm.” Dutch hummed, then speculated confidently. “That doesn’t sound like frustration, my boy. It’s more like she’s ready to kill you both.”

Micah added to that, saying. “I don’t know how you put up with it day n’ night… Must be some good pussy, Arthur.”

“The best there is.” Arthur stated when turning to face them again, still wearing that devilish grin on his lips. “You need me for anything? I gotta go lend a hand before it gets real ugly in there.” They laughed with each other once again before Dutch shook his head, confirming that he didn’t need anything further. They’re all set for the day now and all that’s left to do is to wake up tomorrow, rob the train and from there, they can hop on a boat and flee to another country. 

Dutch doesn’t really care for the ongoing quarrels between you, Arthur and Joel. It doesn’t keep him up at night. He could care less, so long as you don't get in the way of his plans or take two of his most trusted allies away from him. Even if you do complain and kick up a fuss about it. To put it simply, Dutch is happy; everyone is happy. “Good luck in there. We’re rooting for ya, son.” He waved to Arthur as he walked away. 

Micah couldn’t resist the urge to provoke the man and suggested crudely. “If ya can’t handle that woman, send her over to me. I’ll shut her up for ya.” 

Arthur, however, didn’t give any reaction Micah was hoping for and simply shook his head with a quiet chuckle escaping his lips instead. Since his back was turned to them as he walked towards your tent, they couldn’t see the look of disgust on his face or the blind rage behind his darkened eyes, so they were none the wiser about how he truly felt at this exact moment. 

If there was a chance that he could get away with it, he would empty his gun into Micah and beat Dutch to the ground for their foul-mouthed remarks towards you this evening. It was sickening words to say about any woman, let alone the woman he’d lay down his life for and that pissed off Arthur beyond comparison.

Stay focused, he told himself as he exhaled calmly, trying to release some of that anger locked away deep within. It didn’t really work as well as he hoped it would. He was still angry, disgusted, and most of all, he was disappointed too; disappointed that it’s gone this far. 

Every day and night, Arthur wore a mask in front of everyone, but when he opened the tent and stepped inside, the man he truly is inside was revealed. “Are you ok, sweetheart?” He asked in a whisper, swallowing the lump of regret in the back of his throat. 

“Of course.” You nodded. Furrowing your brows with worry as you reached out to take his hand, you could see the way Arthur was appalled with himself for how he spoke to you a few minutes ago. He doesn’t like talking to you like that, but it was absolutely necessary and he had to make it look real. There was no other way to do it. “Wipe your eyes and come over here before anybody sees you, baby. It’s ok.” You reassured him quietly so that no one else could hear. 

“It’ll be over soon, tough guy.” Joel murmured as he, too, reached out for Arthur and pulled him into a hug. “We won’t have to keep this up for much longer. I promise… It’ll all be over soon.” 

Together, you lay down in the darkness of your tent and held each other closely. You kept a tight lid on your emotions as now wasn’t the time to break character, otherwise this ruse that you’ve worked hard to create would crumble in a matter of seconds. You weren’t mad with Arthur, nor was he really warning you to watch your tone about Dutch earlier. It’s just part of the plan to escape tomorrow. 

Tomorrow when Dutch isn’t around Beaver Hollow to stop the gang from leaving with his chest full of cash.  

The chattering twitter of a bird reached your ears when you awoke at the crack of dawn. Nature singing its morning song was most soothing and you opened your eyes to find a beam of light shining down on your tent like it was a sign of good luck. You hoped it was a sign of good luck because you’re in dire need of it. As a matter of fact, the whole gang needs it because today is the day you finally make your escape and there’s only one shot at this. It has to be executed perfectly or else innocent people could die. 

Tilting your head and gazing across the beauty of Arthur’s face as he rested deeply, you managed to smile through the intolerable levels of hardship in which you’ve all endured. You wished that he looked peaceful, but even in repose, he looked plagued with a mass amount of concerns eating away at his brain during the night. The man was just so exhausted, mentally and physically, and it was starting to show too. His eyes were heavy and sunken, and his face marred with worrying 24/7. 

None of this is fair, you thought while gingerly tracing your fingers across his face. It wasn’t fair that he had the weight of the world on his shoulders all the damn time like this. Nor was it fair on Joel either, or anybody else for that matter. It wasn’t fair on you and the gang, and it certainly wasn’t fair at all for those who were killed along the way. There were so many, and all of them died in vain. 

“I love you, Arthur Morgan.” You leaned in close to say softly, paranoia keeping your voice barely above a whisper in case someone was eavesdropping outside of your tent. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened, hence your reasoning to be so secretive about how much you truly love each other. “I love you too, Joel Miller.” You added to that whilst palming your hand across his muscular arm draped over your stomach. 

It’s been a long, hellish journey so far together. This world and the life of an outlaw gang is cruel to those who least deserve it, but you won’t be suffering for much longer now. We’re almost there, you said inside and gave yourself the push you desperately needed to get moving. After planting a kiss on Arthur’s lips and turning to Joel to kiss him too, you climbed out of bed and continued with the ruse you’ve been playing for months. 

As much as it pained you to do so, you couldn’t let yourself get carried away when displaying your affection towards them. Someone could see and they’d quickly piece together that you’re lying. Dutch or Micah could see that Joel and Arthur are pretending to be loyal. It’s just part of the plan, and it’s been working flawlessly so far. Hopefully it continues to be flawless, you thought. 

Getting dressed and mentally preparing yourself for the enormous task ahead, you try to stay in the moment rather than thinking about the future. It would be silly to indulge in the hopeful thoughts of what happens after you escape because you need to escape first. Then, and only then, you can be free to think about what happens next. Besides, you don’t want to say it out loud, or even think it in your mind, but you already know where you’re going when all of this is finally over and done with. 

Once you were ready to leave, you grabbed your light summer jacket and draped it over your arm, but one step forward is all you took when suddenly, a hand was placed on your hip, urging you backwards. You closed your eyes to fight the oncoming tears and savoured the tender embrace you’ve missed so dearly. Arthur and Joel sat you down on the edge of the bed, cradling the back of your head gently as they kissed your neck. They moved upwards in a delicate manner, tickling your skin with their beards before placing their lips against the shell of your ear. 

“We love you too.” They breathed in unison, their voices heavy and laden with nothing but lust, endearment and devotion. The beautiful moment in which you shared together was short-lived as you slipped away from their grasps. You couldn’t let yourselves get carried away. It’s too dangerous and risky, today more than ever. 

Jerking the tent open and marching your way outside, you angrily put your jacket on whilst walking to the edge of camp. “Fucking useless idiots…. They will never understand,” you complained under your breath, and it’s just as well that you did because Dutch was also awake and he was watching you carefully. You could see him in the corner of your eyes as he stood by his tent, observing the camp like he does everyday now. It’s become a daily occurrence since he’s become an unrecognizable paranoid monster of a human being. 

With the timely fashion of Joel marching out of the tent as well, and Arthur right behind stopping him from chasing after you, it sold the act perfectly as Dutch grinned with delight. He believed the performance and puffed on his cigar like it was a victory to have them on his side. You wished it was possible to see the look on his face when he realizes that he’s lost everything, but you’ll be long gone by then. The man can’t be forgiven for the things he’s done. Too many people have lost their lives and many more have suffered for too long. 

Instead of standing around the edge of camp like you initially planned to do, you decided to walk further away and hopefully clear your mind a little before getting to work. Arthur however, also decided to play into his character a little more by yelling out. “I don’t have time for your games today, woman. If you leave and get lost, hurt or taken away somewhere, don’t count on me to come get ya… I’ve fucking had it with your childish behaviour.” 

Shaking your head at the man, you stayed within eye distance and sat down in the grass, your head plopped between your hands like a spoiled brat who was told ‘no’. You closed your eyes and smiled on the inside, thinking about what Joel and Arthur were truly saying in their minds right now. It’s probably something to do with worrying for your safety. They’re always worrying these days. 

You sat in silence for a short while until someone came along and disturbed your peace. You would have welcomed the company, but the man who approached is not who you were expecting. “Good morning, Y/N.” Dutch greeted you, and his smug tone of voice had your eyes rolling behind closed lids. 

“Morning, Dutch.” You opened your eyes and turned to look at him, your lips pressed together with detest. “What can I possibly help you with today?” You asked, to which the man chuckled deeply before crouching to the floor to be at your eye level. It was an intimidation tactic, and you certainly felt intimidated, but you didn’t show it. 

“You can help me understand what the big issue is.” He elaborated with a deep sigh of annoyance. “Why must you insist on giving Joel and Arthur so much hassle? They’re doing their best for all of us.” 

“Because I don’t want them to die like the others.” You retorted, then went on to list those people who died and really emphasized just how much he has lost because of his madness. “Jenny, The Callander Boys, Kieran Duffy, Bill Williamson, Molly O’Shea and Hosea Matthews. You remember their names, right Dutch?” 

“Of course I remember their names.” His jaw clenched in reply, but he missed your point entirely as he added to that. “They didn’t die for nothing. They died fighting for our freedom from the law. Can’t you see what we’re all trying to do here? It’s just one more job, then we are gone for good.” 

You closed your eyes briefly and shook your head over the mention of Hosea. He would’ve died for nothing — he would have died if you didn’t fake his death and get him away from Dutch. Nobody knows that he is alive. Not even Joel and Arthur, but it was all part of your own secret little plan all along. The old man will be coming here to Beaver Hollow when most of the men leave to rob that train, and he will be the one convincing the remaining members of the gang to escape, not yourself like Joel and Arthur believe. 

After a long pause for thought, you couldn’t hold your tongue anymore and expressed exactly how you feel towards Dutch. “Yeah well, there’s always one more job though. Always one more big score to take and we’ll be gone for good.” As those words sank in, you rolled your lips together and nodded. “That’s what my big issue is. You don’t know when to stop until it’s too late, and we’ve lost too many innocent people along the way, so forgive me for my lack of trust in you, but it’s really hard to trust someone that’s going to get the people I love killed.” 

Dutch also took a pause for thought. He took your words into account and processed them before replying. “Well, my choices haven’t exactly been the best these last couple of months, so that lack of trust is something I can understand.” He empathized with you, and you don’t know why he’s even trying to in the first place. Empathy isn’t his forte. It’s not like him to be understanding and reasonable like this at all, and that worries you more than his intimidation tactic of leaning in so close that you could feel his breath fanning across your face. 

You wanted to look to Joel and Arthur for some guidance through this unfamiliar territory, but you’re supposed to be angry with them. So rather than crumbling under Dutch’s pressure, you simply asked. “If you can understand my lack of trust, why don’t you try to get it back? You had my faith once before. You could have it again if you didn't do so many foolish things.”

“Foolish?” He raised his brow in a way that offers you a chance to take back what you said, but you didn’t. Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline you got when finally speaking a piece of your mind to Dutch, but you nodded to him and confirmed that you meant it. And he didn’t like that at all, not in the slightest. There was a difference in his demeanour that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The difference was subtle and barely noticeable to the eyes, but you felt the shift in his energy. 

You were instantly put on high alert and felt queasy. It was alarming to see such a sudden difference in the man. You watched the wickedness take over his eyes when he grinned, and it was an ominous looking grin. The kind that displays a glimpse of his soul within, which was dark and sinister. Dutch didn’t look at you. He looked through you with a cold, empty stare and his unbroken gaze sent a chilling shiver down your spine. 

“You seem to have misunderstood, Y/N.” He lowered his voice to a dangerously low octave. His tone was calm, but make no mistake, he was revealing his true colors. They were malevolent and hostile. “ I do not care for your faith in me. I care for your blind obedience… Do you understand that?” 

By now, you were sure that Joel and Arthur were watching this interaction very carefully, and it was reassuring to know that they’re quick with drawing a gun from their hips. Quicker than you’ve ever seen before, and should Dutch do something reckless such as raising his hands to you, it would be the last thing he ever did. The man would be dead before he’d even think about drawing his weapon.  

However, back-chatting him right now and endangering the lives of other people in camp was not a risk you were willing to take. He wanted your compliance, so you gave it to him. “Yes, Dutch.” You nodded. “I understand that loud and clear.” 

“Good.” He rose to his feet quickly, the rapidness in his movement startling you. “Oh, don’t be afraid. I wouldn’t do something so… foolish to you now, would I?” The man mocked you, and it stung. He patronized you for flinching, and it hurt. He teased you and ridiculed you for being frightened with one simple word, and it boiled the blood in your veins to a level in which you’ve never felt before. 

Dutch Van Der Linde is a monstrous person. He, who caused the death of Jenny, The Callander Boys, Kieran Duffy, Bill Williamson, Molly O’Shea and countless more innocent people in his lifetime, cannot be forgiven. He, who left Joel and Arthur behind for dead, cannot be trusted. He, who uses fear and intimidation to bend people to his every beck and call, is a cowardly man. You harboured nothing but hatred for him, and it physically pained you to give a satisfactory answer. 

“No.” You shook your head and fed his sick, evil, twisted ego. “No, you wouldn’t do something so foolish to me.” 

“That’s better, Y/N.” He concluded before walking away with a boastful gait, as if he were so proud of himself to make you fall in line like the rest who ever dared to question him. You looked at Joel and Arthur briefly, and merely because of the fact Micah was watching, you made a point to scoff and look away, acting like you were offended that they didn’t step in to help just now. 

You couldn’t communicate that you were fine because Micah would see that you’re trying to reassure them. He is as extremely paranoid as Dutch was and you have to be careful around those sorts of people. You opted to look beyond the camp and tried to enjoy the comforting scenery of nature instead. Joel and Arthur could visibly see that you were okay and that’s all they needed to be reassured. 

As the morning breezed over and the gang geared up to leave, you stayed around the edge of camp and kept a lookout for Hosea. He said he wouldn’t get too close, and you trust that he’s capable of keeping himself hidden amongst the trees in the wooded area of Roanoke Ridge. Freedom was nearing and you could almost taste it when Dutch finally left Beaver Hollow. He took ten people with him, including Joel, Arthur and John, and left ten people behind – all of whom you could trust. 

Just for safety measures and extra precaution, you waited twenty minutes for the ‘all clear’ signal from Hosea and rose to your feet with a smile on your face. It felt so victorious and overwhelming to actually express your joy. It was nice to let that mask slip away and stop acting like you’re so damn angry all the time. You turned to the camp and looked across the many miserable faces that people wore, feeling giddy and excited to reveal everything you’ve worked so hard for. 

“Everyone! Gather round everyone… Gather round.” You called out happily, capturing their undivided attention. “I have good news to tell you and it’s really important that you all listen very carefully.” 

“Oh God.” Mary-Beth and Karen gasped simultaneously, and Abigail finished off voicing their immediate concerns. “Oh no… Please tell me you're not pregnant. You can’t be pregnant at a time like this, Y/N.” 

“What—no, no. Jesus, no. I’m not pregnant, ladies. Settle down.” You barked out a laugh, and felt the tension leaving your shoulders as they all sighed with relief. Hell, even Miss Grimshaw was relieved to hear that, and she’s the one who asked Joel and Arthur to knock you up. Albeit, that was months ago when she was full of booze, but it was nice to see the gang smiling again, and they felt a shimmer of happiness because Dutch wasn’t around to ruin everything like he always does. 

You tried to explain what you so eagerly wanted to tell them, but the words never passed your lips as they all gasped at the man approaching the camp behind you. That man was Hosea, and everyone ran towards him in a flurry of panic. There was complete pandemonium as he was surrounded by the men and women remaining in camp. Abigail and Jack hugged him tightly, then Susan, Tilly, Karen and Mary-Beth moved in afterwards to convey just how much they missed him. Charles, Mr. Pearson, Reverend Swanson and Uncle also shook the man’s hand and held him close. 

It took a whole fifteen minutes just to calm everybody down before you could even begin to explain what happened. Time was ticking fast and you didn’t have very long to retrieve their belongings, steal the savings chest from the cave and get gone before Dutch came back. You and Hosea had already amassed a large sum of cash by yourselves anyway, and so has Joel and Arthur too, but the savings chest would ensure everyone had a head-start in their new lives. 

Once you gave everyone a quick rundown of the plan and why you both went through all the trouble to help them escape, nobody refused to leave or opposed the idea of getting out while they still had the chance. This was their only chance and they snatched it up without hesitation. You were more than relieved to hear their reactions. Words simply couldn’t portray the unfathomable level of joy you felt, and without wasting anymore time, you all got the work right away, which didn’t take very long in the end as most were willing to leave everything behind and start fresh. 

When everyone was on their horse and ready to leave, the next order of business was heading towards the Grizzlies East region of Ambarino. There’s a hideout called The Loft, and you are to wait there for Joel and Arthur’s return with John, Lenny, Sean and Sadie – the last members of the gang needing to be saved, once and for all. 

Everything went wrong. The plan went south… In the space of hours, the plan went horribly wrong. 

This morning when Joel and Arthur watched Dutch get in your face, their hands balled up into fists at their side so tight that their knuckles turned white. The urge to break character was strong. They were ready to jeopardize everything they’ve been working towards and kill anyone who tried to hurt you or the gang. But they couldn’t. No matter how hard it was for them, they couldn’t break character. 

It was a bad day for Joel and Arthur right from the moment they opened their eyes and couldn’t hold you like they really wanted to. It hurt and cut them deeper than any knife could when they shared a kiss with you for no longer than two seconds. They wanted to tear your clothes off and make love to you, but they couldn’t. They haven’t been able to for weeks. But when they left camp and couldn’t say goodbye how they really wanted to either, they knew that you’d be out of there the second that they left. 

That train robbery is where everything went wrong. They made it to Saint Denis without a problem and boarded the train without any further issues as well, but later down the tracks when they made their intent known to the passengers on board, that’s where it started going downhill rapidly. There were many army guards to kill and twice as many more chasing them on horseback. 

The train was a slaughtering machine on wheels since the gang were aboard. They killed each and every one of those men hunting them down via horseback. Except there was one more hiding in the treeline who shot John in the shoulder and caused him to fall off the back of the train cart. He would be dead or captured, but just in case there was a chance that he could be saved, Dutch, Micah, Cleet, Joe and Javier went back for him while the rest stayed on the train to fight yet another patrol of army men. 

Determinedly, the army didn’t give up and continued pursuing the gang. There were too many to fight all at once. The train was never supposed to be this heavily guarded, therefore Arthur was forced to get behind the maxim gun. He mowed them all down until the coast was finally clear, then they moved up the train and blew a hole in the armed carriage before grabbing everything they could. It was packed full with sacks of army payroll, and they took it all.  

At the end of the line, everyone quickly hopped off the train before it rode over Bacchus Bridge. The very same bridge that Joel, Arthur and John blew up to smithereens yesterday. It was a spectacular show watching the train fall down the gap in the tracks and smash into the canyon below. The job was done and they did it. Joel and Arthur did it. They got the money and had the opportunity right there and then to take Sadie, Sean and Lenny out of there for good, but it would mean leaving John behind. They couldn’t do it–wouldn’t do it. 

Rather than snatching up the opportunity to escape with enough money to supplement the gang's new life, Arthur and Joel made their way back to Beaver Hollow instead. It wasn’t supposed to go down this way. John wasn’t supposed to get shot and fall off the back of the train, but they couldn’t control the situation no matter how much they tried to. 

However, it only got worse from that point onwards as they approached the path leading into camp and found Charles waiting for them. He wasn’t supposed to be there either. He should’ve been at The Loft with you and the rest of the gang, but he stayed behind to alert Joel and Arthur of Abigail's predicament. She was separated from the gang when they left Beaver Hollow and taken away by Agent Milton to be put on a boat and tried for murder. 

Arthur had to save her. He couldn’t leave the woman behind and make her child an orphan. So he and five people that he could trust with his life stormed their way through Van Horn, killing the Pinkertons stationed there, including Agent Milton. Rescuing Abigail wasn’t an issue. The issue was making the decision to go back for John, or go to The Loft and be reunited with you. 

Even if Marston wasn’t alive, they had to be absolutely sure before they left without him. But this time, Arthur and Joel weren’t taking anyone else with them. They strictly ordered the others to take Abigail and go to The Loft to wait for their return. They would go back to Beaver Hollow and finish this thing once and for all. Besides, they wanted to have a little chat with Dutch anyhow, and let him know who the real rat in the gang was. That person was Micah Bell. He was selling out the gang at every chance he could get, and maybe, just maybe that information would buy their freedom. It could give them a chance to get out of there alive. Well, that’s what they hoped for. 

Arthur was naïve enough to think Dutch would believe him over the rat, but he was sorely mistaken. The confrontation finally came to a head and Joel drew his weapon first, pointing it directly at Micah. Everyone else drew their guns too. There was a standoff between two people against five, and all of them were ready to shoot each other, but when John suddenly emerged from the trees, yelling at Dutch for leaving him behind, it alerted another squad of Pinkertons roaming around Roanoke Ridge. They had no choice but to fight the wave of detective agents closing in. 

Of course, Dutch being Dutch, it came as no surprise that he left John behind for dead and it came as no further surprise when he ran away with Micah, Cleet, Joe and Javier, leaving Arthur, Joel and John to defend themselves at Beaver Hollow. The camp was completely overrun and they were surrounded by Pinkertons. It was so dark and misty in those woods that they could barely see two feet in front of them. So trekking through the cave was the only way out. 

That cave had always spooked Joel and Arthur. It was a torture chamber for the Murfree Brood Gang when they used to live there, but today, they were chased through the tunnels by agents instead. Once they eventually found their way out on the other side, they whistled for their horses and only had a moment to catch their breaths before taking off again in a hurry. The chase continued and they were hunted down by Dutch and the Pinkertons at the same time. 

Having been chased up the mountains, the fight was inescapable. They couldn’t out run them any further and decided to stand their ground. Maybe it was meant to be or maybe it was just a long list of things going wrong today, but Joel, Arthur and John couldn’t avoid one more battle. Arthur drew his gun and shot first, dropping one of the agents firing from the treeline in the distance. They were everywhere. 

Bullets came from all directions and whizzed past their bodies. It was miraculous that neither of them got shot. John had already taken a bullet today. He couldn't take another. Eventually, all the agents were killed and the coast was clear to keep going forward, but when Micah came out of nowhere and tackled Arthur to the ground, they fought each other viciously. He managed to land a few punches before Joel raised his gun to kill him, but then Dutch called out and put a stop to that. 

“Let them handle this like men.” He said at the time, and lowered his weapon to show that he wouldn’t interfere with the brawl. John and Joel kept an eye on the man, their fingers steady on the trigger of their weapons in case he tried anything while Micah and Arthur continued to beat each other up. It was a fight to death, and it was brutal to watch unfold. They’ve seen Arthur fight many times in the past, but not like that before. He managed to get the upper hand on Micah, and he didn’t stop striking him with his bare fists until he was dead. 

When Dutch saw a copious amount of blood spilling from Micah, he didn’t utter a single word and ultimately accepted his defeat. It was over. He lost everything and it was finally over. There was nothing left for him and he walked away, completely and utterly broken. John stood back with a sickened stomach as Joel pulled Arthur off Micah’s lifeless body. And finally from there, all three of them walked away too, leaving a trail of death behind in their wake. 

As unfortunate as it was, their horses were killed during the chase up the mountains and they had to walk the rest of the way. It would be a treacherous hike through the Grizzlies East region of Ambarino, locating you and the rest of the gang hiding out in The Loft, but it was a journey they needed most. The time they spent together was serene, but freedom didn’t feel real to them and it took a while to actually believe it. There were a few moments today where they didn’t think they’d make it out alive. 

But they did make it out alive, and here they are now. 

Joel and Arthur were walking along a trail when the silence was broken, and it was from John speaking about taking Abigail and Jack far away from here to settle down someplace that he can call home. Suppose that’s when it finally settled in that he was free from Dutch, and the first thing he thought about was his family. It was a heart-warming thing to hear, but Arthur made him promise to never look back once he does leave to find his forever home someplace far away from here. 

Arthur made John promise to never return to the old ways of being an outlaw as it would bring nothing but harm to him and those he loves. He just wanted the man to make use of this fresh start in life and live out the rest of his days in peace. He deserves it. They all do. And that’s something Arthur can’t wait to give each of the remaining members of the Van Der Linde Gang – a new life filled with peace and security. 

When climbing over the peak of a hill and The Loft finally came into view, they could see a couple people standing in the watchtower above the lodge. The place was divine and beautiful, purposefully located within the mountains to provide a set of eyes in all directions. Arthur smiles upon remembering the first time he brought you here, and it really didn’t come as any surprise that you suggested this place as the meet-up point. 

Perhaps if this was a perfect world, he’d live out the rest of days here in Ambarino with you and Joel, but that could never happen because someone, from somewhere, will eventually come for that bounty on his head. Further, Arthur thought to himself, someplace further away from all this. As they neared the lodge and watched the gang in the watchtower scrambling around anxiously, they saw the door down below open up and two people barrelling outside. 

Those two people were you and Abigail. You both ran along the trail so fast that Joel, Arthur and John stopped walking to brace for the impact. You came hurtling towards them and they held their arms open as you crashed into their chests, the sight making them smile and laugh as they held you tightly. “We’re alright, sweetheart.” Arthur murmured, his lips pressed against your forehead. “We did it… We survived.” 

You grabbed them both as hard as you could and sniffled through an apology, “I’m sorry. We tried to save Abigail but…There were too many and I’m so sorry I put that on your shoulders.”   

“S’okay, darlin’.” Joel shushed you gently when burying his face into your neck. You could feel the man’s tears against your skin and it made you cry with him. It was an equal mixture of happy and sad tears. You were so profoundly happy to see that they’re alive, but you’re still grieving over everything that’s happened in the last few hours. God only knows what they’ve been through together, but you could see the blood splatter on Arthur’s clothes, and his knuckles were black and blue. 

You could also see that John was shot in the shoulder, and he winced plentifully when sharing a few loving words between fervent kisses with Abigail. They broke off and looked at Joel and Arthur, nodding appreciatively. “Thank you.” Whispered Abigail as she took them into her embrace. “I could never thank you enough for bringing him back to me… And you,” she pulled back to look at you now, crying. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You did everything you possibly could to save me, but Jack was your first responsibility first.”  

“Thank you for taking care of him, Y/N.” John added, his tone deeply grateful for everything you’ve done to help his child and the gang. You felt a little more at ease upon hearing their gratitude and wiped your teary eyes. It was rewarding to know that you did something right at least. There was so much that went wrong today, and you fought for a way to save Abigail, but Jack and the rest of the gang would have been put in danger. You had no choice. They had to be taken care of first, and Charles offered to stay behind to save her instead. 

“I’m glad we’re all together now.” You breathed with a ghost of a smile on your lips, then took Joel and Arthur hands in your grasp before leading them both toward The Loft. “Come with me and Abigail. There’s someone very important here to see you three.” 

“Who?” Joel, Arthur and John asked in unison, the sound of their curiosity making you laugh softly. It was so sweet and endearing to hear them in suspense about whom you're referring to. Their minds were boggled, and your heart was leaping out of your chest when you reached the door to the lodge because the man who so desperately wanted to see them would be waiting inside. You and Abigail entered first, then stepped aside to make room. 

There were thirteen people inside the lodge all together and it was cramped. Most were up-top in the watchtower, but Hosea sat on the bed in the corner, sipping on a hot tea. “Howdy fellers.” He smiled as he rose to his feet. “Long time no see, eh?” 

It was uncertain how they would react, but when John rushed forward and stumbled straight into Hosea’s chest, it made you gasp with joy. And when Joel moved across the floor, also taking the man into a tight hug, it made you grin with delight, but when Arthur stood in the doorway, his face as white as a ghost, you held your breath. He didn’t move an inch because he feared that what he was seeing wasn't real. He couldn’t feel his heart beating and didn’t blink at all, only stared at the man he believed to be dead for weeks. 

“Is that any way to greet me?” Hosea made a joke and chuckled, but his laughter quickly faded once he saw the tears welling up in the corners of Arthur’s eyes. It was a heart-rending and tragic sight to witness. The old man approached him carefully and reached out to hold his shoulder. “Take it easy, my son. It’s ok, just take it easy.” He whispered in a soothing tone of voice, hoping to ease Arthur’s distress. 

“W-wha… How…” Arthur tried to speak, but couldn’t properly form the words. It was astonishing and miraculous, unbelievable. But once he felt Hosea’s hand holding his shoulder, his knees buckled beneath him and he fell into the man's arms, heaving a heavy breath of relief. 

For a moment there, Arthur truly believed that he had died and gone to heaven. It would explain why he’s able to see the old man again, but with the sudden realization that he wasn’t dead, and he was in fact, very much alive, the comfort and reassurance flooded his veins rapidly. He just couldn’t express how insanely happy he felt to see Hosea again and simply held him instead. 

Crying is not something you see Arthur do very often. He’s shed a few tears here and there in the past, but for the most part, he’s generally quite emotionally guarded. Right now though, he let the tears fall freely from his eyes and sobbed in Hosea’s arms, releasing all of the emotions he’s kept bottled up inside for weeks and months. The sight was incredibly upsetting to witness and you moved towards Joel to bury your face into his chest, hiding your own tears. You’ve never heard such agonized cries before and it was painful to listen to. 

In spite of how distressing it was, they needed this moment together. Arthur needed to hold the man who raised him since the age of fourteen. He needed to be given that very specific kind of consolation that only a father figure like Hosea could offer. They spent hours in close proximity to each other. You couldn’t pry them apart even if you wanted to. They were inseparable. 

Hosea explained everything that had happened and why he needed to fake his own death while you stayed outside the lodge and helped Susan put together a small encampment. The gang needed somewhere to sleep for the night, possibly several nights, and you wanted to keep yourself busy anyhow. It was a great distraction from this whole mess with Dutch which helped to ease your mind. 

Later, when the dust eventually settled and everyone felt a sense of normality again, you sat around a small fire with the gang and enjoyed every passing moment in their company. Jack was resting on your lap while Abigail was tending to John's wounds in the lodge with the help of Susan and Reverend Swanson. They know a thing or two about stitching up a bullet hole in the shoulder, and he should be back on his feet in a couple of days once the pain eases off. 

Joel leaned into your side and whispered in your ear. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you look with a child in your arms, darlin?” 

“No actually. You haven’t.” You felt your cheeks burning and smiled a flattered kind of smile under his playful gaze. It felt so good to be yourselves again. “Don’t be getting any bright ideas, Joel.” You returned the teasing banter, to which Arthur joined in now and asked. “Why not, sweetheart? Haven’t ya thought about it before?”

“Oh no… Not this again.” You shook your head and laughed at them both. 

“C’mon gorgeous… Enlighten us with how you feel about having our babies.” Arthur chuckled deeply, his tone seductive and fun-loving. He isn’t being serious about having kids. Surely he isn’t. But you have to admit that the topic of conversation would be a whole lot better than talking about all the shit you’ve just been through today. You zoned out for a moment and thought about having kids with Joel and Arthur at some point. The answer to that question wasn’t an immediate no. You could see yourself round and plump with their babies, but not now and not anytime soon. 

“A penny for your thoughts?” Joel looked at you with a smirking smile, his beautiful hazel-coloured eyes exhibiting a hint of lust. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it, but it’s just something me and Arthur think about from time to time.” 

“Really? You and Arthur think about that?” You asked, shocked to hear that they are, in fact, serious about having kids. You didn’t think they’d want to, especially not after everything that Arthur went through when he lost his son, Isaac. It hurt you so much just hearing about what happened to the young boy, and you can only begin to imagine how he felt during that time of his life. He only ever talked about Isaac and his mother Eliza once, and once was more than enough, but… Maybe someday when he's ready, he could open up a little more and allow himself to heal. 

You didn’t know at which point you started crying, but Joel and Arthur instantly put themselves to blame and apologized for bringing up the subject about having kids again. They mentioned it months ago when Susan asked them for a grandbaby, and the way you feel now was the exact same way you felt back then: deeply flattered, admired and honoured. 

“No, it’s okay.” You wiped your eyes and refused their apologies. “You haven’t upset me, I promise. It’s just that I um… Ok, I am a little upset, but it’s not for the reasons that you think.” 

“You wanna talk about it?” Joel offered an outlet; offered a way for you to attain some release by talking out your feelings, but you politely declined and shook your head. “No, not yet, handsome… But I think that, for now I’d just like to hear what you and Arthur have been thinking about from time to time.” You laughed sweetly, your eyes glossed over with a pretty tint of love and affection for them both. 

They blushed a little and explained in their own ways why they wanted to have your children at some point in the future. It’s simply because they love you so much and they can see themselves living a long life with you as their lady. ‘Our one and only gal’, they often say, bringing you nothing but the best of compliments. Even now as they lean in close to whisper those words in your ear, it consumes your whole entire being with love. 

After exhausting the idea of having kids with them, you concluded. “I suppose that when we’re ready, I’ll remove this implant in my arm.” 

“I never quite understood how that thing worked.” Arthur looked down at your arm, his finger lightly gliding across the little flexible plastic rod beneath your skin. “How does that stop you from getting pregnant?” 

“It releases a hormone in my bloodstream.” You shrugged. Laughing with the vulgar thoughts popping into your mind, you covered Jack’s ears and whispered to Arthur. “Besides, don’t you think it’s nice to pump me full of cum without consequence, sexy?” 

“Oh.” He looked away from you, blushing a lot more this time. The man’s skin was flushed with a rosy red colour as he thought about what you said and how it made him feel.  “Yeah. I do think that’s really nice, sweetheart. And it’s also something that we’ve not had the chance to do in a little while now either.” He looked back into your eyes and smirked, his gaze dropping to your lips briefly. “Why don’t you and Joel go wait for me in the tent? I’ll take Jack back to his momma and come see you both after.” 

“Yes sir.” You winked with the authoritative term, knowing exactly how that makes Arthur feel. Carefully handing Jack over and kissing him on the head, you whispered goodnight to him and took Joel’s hand before heading towards your tent. It wasn’t placed too far away from the rest, nor was it too close either, but one thing you’re certain about is that you’ll have to be quiet. 

And that would be difficult to do, just like it always is when Joel and Arthur make love to you. 

“Is there anything else you’d like to come clean about, sweetheart?” Arthur turned to you and asked, as if he were annoyed, but his facial expression said otherwise. He smiled at you with a twinkle in his eyes and shook his head, shocked and disbelieved. You not only kept a secret about Hosea from him and Joel, but you also kept another secret from them too; a secret that brings you right back to the oak tree on the hill. 

“No, that’s everything. I promise.” You giggled in reply, the sound so sweet to his ears that it made him laugh with you. “I didn’t like lying to you both about these things, but I had to because you already had so much going. Besides, it all worked out in the end, right?” 

They both sighed. “Yeah,” and Joel added to that. “I suppose you did the right thing by keeping all that mess with Francis from us. We’d just worry about yer and make it worse.” 

“M-hm.” You hummed in agreement with that. They certainly would have worried for your safety all those months ago when you freed Mr Sinclair from rotting away in that jail cell. The reason Arthur never got a written response from the man is because the law picked up the letter from the post office. Francis addressed the letter with Arthur’s full name instead of his cover name, Tacitus Kilgore, and he, of course, was pulled in for questioning. The law, however, didn’t release him right away and decided to keep the man in lock up. 

Six months ago exactly, when you sat around a small fire with Hosea outside of Shady Belle, he brought good news about Francis. The old man had found where the law was keeping him detained and had already devised a crafty little plan on how to break him out too. You had a lot of fun that day. It felt like a breeze to work alongside Hosea and the act of breaking someone out of jail wasn’t all that hard in the end. Perhaps it’s because of good planning, or maybe it’s because Hosea is the wittiest con-man there is, and he can bluff his way through just about anything. 

You were admired by the man's work and it was a pleasure to work with him each and every time after that point. Francis was freed from his jail cell and once you made it someplace safe, he finally showed you the way back home through the mirror. That was months ago, but now several weeks have passed since escaping Dutch and it’s time for you to go home now. The gang was taken care of and their safety was ensured. Joel, Arthur, Hosea and yourself made sure of it. 

John took his family out west and bought his very own plot of land, where he will build his own ranch with the help of Charles, Hosea and Uncle to live out the rest of his days. Sadie lives close by so that she can visit regularly too. Mr Pearson and Miss Grimshaw are currently working in Rhodes. They bought their own stores there and will live a happy life in proximity to each other. Karen and Sean left the country via boat. They’re going to Ireland and maybe even travel across Europe. Lenny is heading home to find his mother and be reunited with her. Mary-Beth resides in Valentine where she’s taken up the hobby of writing romantic novels. Swanson moved to New York to become a preacher and Tilly moved to Saint Denis. 

Everyone has been taken care of. Arthur wouldn’t be leaving this world behind if they weren’t. You remember asking him a long time ago to come with you and Joel, but he declined the offer to stay and protect his family instead. You understood his decision back then, but didn’t truly see just how devoted he was to ensuring their safety until you became a part of the gang as well. It made a lot of sense once you became a part of the family, and you, too, became determined to secure a better, safer, future for them. 

However, the time has come now for you to go home and start a new chapter in life. It’s for the best since Arthur still has a large bounty on his head. He doesn’t want to flee to another country across the seas, but with some persuasion from Hosea, he agreed to go with you and Joel instead. It’s going to be another tough adjustment for each of you to get used to. A whole year has passed since you’ve seen your home, and Arthur isn’t familiar with the future of course. There’s a lot that you’ll need to go when you get back, but for now, you’re taking it one step at a time. 

“Are we ready?” You ask them both excitedly. “It’s going to be hard for the first couple of days, maybe even weeks, but I can’t wait to go home with the two men I love most.” 

“Who are these two men you speak of?” Joel teased with a smirk on his lips. “Surely it can't be a pair of fools like us.” He said, and his remark made you slap his chest playfully as Arthur chuckled beside him. After a moment, Joel took your hand and Arthur’s hand before leading you both towards the tree. “Yes, darlin’. We’re ready to go home with the woman we love most.” 

You smiled and leaned in to plant a kiss on his lips, before turning to Arthur and kissing his lips too. The adventure you all went through was frightening and difficult, but you managed to find love along the way from two beautiful men. You got the best of both worlds when those two worlds collided. 

Tagging

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[sanerontheinside]

Look, Goncharov is an excellent movie. It has the sense of inevitability about it, of ever-encroaching tragedy. Its execution of both the suspense and the despair, the mounting fear of what you knew was coming all along—it’s staggering, the perfection of it.

But at the same time, this isn’t a Scorsese, not truly. It’s a Matteo JWHJ 0715. It is, in some ways, a little hamfisted in its execution, and I would argue the American audience is not wrong to analyze it in terms of very American themes. They are! Hollywood movies set the tone for much around the world, from fashion to storytelling in a media as globalized as film.

And as I’ve said, I do love this movie. I love it even for its anachronistic quirks—many of them deliberate and thought-through stylistic choices. I think the fact that goncharov’s primary activities are moving drugs and guns are one of these stylistic departures. Guns and drugs are easy to understand; goncharov is the bad guy, the antihero we’re meant to sympathize with. Certainly, he makes for a rather charming and impressive bastard.

But I think the movie, this particular script rather misses out on the poignancy of the alternative: that goncharov likely wasn’t dealing drugs and weapons, at least not at the beginning. Truth is, you could make an unimaginable amount of money just by smuggling ordinary European goods across the Iron Curtain.

Painfully ordinary. Shoes and coats and and dresses and suits, like all those pretty things that Katya wears. Turntables. Jeans! Plain old dishware. Sure, maybe eventually goncharov didn’t have much of a choice and got into the hard stuff

(this would actually serve the narrative—Goncharov stepping clear over his own lines in the sand, over and over again until he no longer recognizes who he is—perfection)

(anyway)

but you see, the Soviet Union didn’t have a whole variety in production, nor even necessarily great quality of it. There was no (legal) access to imported goods. I’ve already seen mention of the bootleg copy of the film that became a cult classic in the USSR itself (and probably inspired generations of bratva in years to come 🙄) but I wonder if it simply didn’t occur to anyone to consider that the Soviet bloc had largely isolated itself after WWII, and with a struggling economy, with creakily functioning infrastructure, did its best to achieve the impossible and pull itself ‘up by its bootstraps’.

So just think about it: almost every item that Katya owns is like those pretty gowns and crystal shoes in old fairytales; the moment she steps out of this magical realm—the moment the scales fall from her eyes—all of it will begin to melt away into nothing. She would never have had anything like it, were she not married to Goncharov. And he gave her the keys to this magical kingdom, didn’t he? Her Prince, who in the end is not a prince at all, not a fairytale. The illusion, the glamour falls away from him as well.

And then there is Sofia. Sofia, for whom all these clothes and shoes and jewels are very real. All right, sure—Sofia’s backstory tells us she lucked into this world, and in some sense it is also a sort of fairytale space for her. But the thing is, Katya’s grasp on it is far more tenuous. Sofia is nowhere near as richly dressed as Katya, but when everything goes to pot Sofia will still have something of her own, hard-won with sacrifice.

Katya will not. And how unfair is that: Katya is her own woman, she survives her husband’s world and makes her own way, only to be left with nothing if the worst should happen.

#unreality #goncharov 1973 #goncharov #katya goncharova #sofia #katya/sofia #mostly wishful thinking #like I don’t rly have the brain ram right now to properly articulate this #but I kept thinking about it today while rewarching

[heliads]

I shall make a return with my iffy requests, okay so maybe Tom!peter x male reader where the reader doesn’t forget who peter is? And they end up moving in together and reader comforts peter on all that he lost ?💞 you can very much take it from there or rearrange some things as usual ☺️❤️

your requests are not iffy they SLAY. also i'm glad that reader was able to make that choice not to forget, i respect that deeply

masterlist

The first thing you see is darkness. The second thing is a dim blur, hazed over by tears that must be someone else’s, for you don’t ever remember crying. When you open your eyes, though, the only person in sight is too far away for the salt to come from anyone else. The boy is crouched on the ground, looking at you hesitantly as if he is certain that one wrong move from him might shatter you like glass.

This is not just some boy, however. You blink your eyes once, twice, and then you remember. This is no stranger, this is Peter Parker. Your friend. Someone you value more than a friend. Someone you thought you were going to lose today, which is why you were crying.

You didn’t lose him, though. Peter is still here, and most importantly, he is still Peter to you. Details of what had happened earlier come slowly back to you, falling in place like a reversed video of a glass shattering on the floor. Peter was supposed to be gone. He made an awful sacrifice, which is so terribly like him, but one that should have spelled the end of you ever remembering who he was.

A spell. Yes, that was it. Peter had a fellow superhero, that Doctor Strange coworker of his, cast a spell to tie up all the loose ends scattered across the multiverse. It would stop everyone from pouring into your universe, but it would also call for an end to everyone’s memories of Peter Parker. Peter said it was worth it, though. Peter has always been used to giving things up, small bits and pieces of himself, to make a situation better again.

This was no small fragment of his time, however, this was something on a completely different level. This was Peter giving up everyone in his life that had ever known him. This was horrific, which is why you were crying. It was why everyone was crying, but now it’s just you and Peter on the rooftop, and you have no idea why.

That is the part you don’t remember. Not Peter himself, but where everyone went. Slowly, carefully, you force your mouth to give up on its silence and begin to formulate all of the questions you so desperately want answered.

“Peter?” you ask slowly.

It is just one word that you form, one name, two syllables, but to Peter Parker it might as well have been a thousand. You watch the relief clear his eyes of some unnameable burden. Peter has lost more than anyone should have to in their lives, and that sort of grief will hang about his shoulders until the day he dies, but at this moment, he is untouched by it. Plain happiness plays about his countenance, assuaging him of torment for the time being.

“Yeah,” he says in a sigh, “yeah, it’s me.”

You nod once. “I knew that. Why is that a surprise?”

Peter’s brow knits over again when he thinks about the reason, but it’s still not as bad as before. “The memory spell had to be cast to save the multiverse. Ned, MJ, everyone else, they don’t recall a thing about me. That’s why they’re gone, they wouldn’t have a single reason to be out here in the first place.”

Glancing around you, you realize that you’re still near the broken wastes of the Statue of Liberty. The fight must have just ended. In all likelihood, the spell was probably cast mere minutes ago. Your temporary confusion could only be the result of such powerful magic rebounding into the multiverse. It would throw anyone for a loop.

Still, that magic was supposed to affect you as well, and for some reason, it hasn’t. You want to ask more about why that is, but Peter remains so flinching, so afraid, that you find you don’t want to prod anymore and risk scaring him off.

Instead, you stand, wincing at the sudden rush of blood to your legs. “Alright, then. Let’s go make the best of that second chance.”

Peter blinks up at you, then nods, accepting your hand when you offer it to him and using it to pull himself up. The two of you pick your way over the rubble and back into the streets. Only once you’re back in the normal, salvaged city does Peter remember that he actually has nowhere to go.

“My apartment isn’t mine anymore,” he whispers, “May’s name is on the lease and–”

His voice cuts out abruptly, the words disappearing like static on a ruined cassette tape. Where there was once confidence, solidity, there is only now hesitation and empty gaps.

You speak quickly before he can get too lost in his own head. “Grab your stuff and move into my place.”

Peter stares at you. “Really? You don’t have to do that.”

You brush past the absurdity of that claim. “My apartment’s pretty quiet when it’s just me, I could use a roommate.”

There’s something else lingering there, nestled in the empty spaces of the sentence. Peter has gotten rather good at reading between the lines when it’s you speaking and him listening, so he doesn’t have to ask again why you’d want him there.

A few hours later, once Peter has managed to throw his essentials into several cardboard boxes and tote them over to your place, the two of you collapse on any and all available space in your apartment. Peter deserved a rest earlier, not a frantic move out of his only home, but if you didn’t move quickly, someone else would claim his stuff. That doesn’t make it any better, though. Not all reasons are good. Sometimes they just exist and you have to accept them for that anyway.

That day is easier to handle; mainly, the two of you are too exhausted to think about anything, least of all why you can remember Peter when no one else can. The next day is quiet, but on the third, the silence begs to be answered. You can hardly avoid its call, so you give in to your curiosity at last.

You and Peter are hanging listlessly off of your couch. The two of you had started off on opposite ends, but through seemingly accidental maneuvering, you’ve slowly but surely drifted towards the middle, towards each other.

You must be more uneasy than you thought, because halfway through a B-grade movie playing on one of the TV channels, Peter reaches over to mute the screen and turns to you. “What is it? You’ve been fidgeting for hours.”

You sigh with a smile, having been caught. “I’m just still thinking about the spell, that’s all.”

Peter nods. “It’s a fairly big deal. I’m surprised you haven’t asked more about it.”

You tilt your head towards him, acknowledging the truth in his words. “I didn’t want to push too much. It’s horrible to think about. I mean, no one else knows you as anything but Spider-Man, right?”

Peter hums in agreement. “All things Peter Parker are gone. My identity as Spider-Man stays, so people still remember that I’ve been wearing a mask and trying to save people, but nothing else. You’re the only exception.”

You frown slightly and pose another question to Peter. “So why do I remember you?”

Peter shrugs, one of his shoulders jerking up and down in tune with his staccato syllables. “I asked Stephen to keep you out of the spell.”

You arch a brow. “Easy as that?”

“Easy as that,” Peter affirms.

This doesn’t answer half as many questions as you’d like. “Why me, though? Why protect my memories as opposed to anyone else’s?”

Peter looks you dead in the eyes. For once, he is no longer uncertain. “I think you know.”

You don’t, which is worse. Peter sees that you don’t and turns away quickly, starts up a conversation on where he should put some moving boxes so he’s no longer doing parkour in an attempt to walk between his bedroom and the kitchen. The air is thick with unsaid things for a while, but then the tension evens out and all is well again.

You’re glad it is; you don’t know that you could handle a fight with Peter, not now. To know that he wanted you of all people here with him so he could survive the aftermath of the spell and then you went and stopped talking to him over something as simple as a mere squabble– no, it would destroy him. It would destroy you too because of that.

So you keep your questions to yourself, and you stop asking about the spell for good. Peter seems to relax after that, once he’s certain that you’re not going to make him explain himself anything more. After that, it’s easy to get lost in a map of trying to hear back from colleges and help Peter plan for a future in which all of his hard work in school and life has suddenly been unraveled from the very start.

It’s exhausting stuff. Peter has offered about a thousand times to go room with someone else or even by himself, to stop forcing you to carry all of his burden just because you’re the only one who remembers him. 

Every time, you deny his attempts to remove himself from your life. It’s the two of you against the world, you argue, and you aren’t going to let him cut himself out of your heart just because he feels guilty about it. He’s too much of a punishment, he argues. Not in the slightest, you reply, he could never be anything but a blessing. That makes him go silent every time, and usually Peter responds belatedly with something about how you’re the most impossible boy he’s ever known.

Recently, though, the silence morphs into something better, something warm that makes your chest heat up like drinking overheated broth. You don’t know how to describe it, that something, and it takes a month or two until it strikes you at last.

The two of you are sitting at the kitchen table in your shared apartment. The place has long stopped being just yours, but instead morphed into a home belonging to the two of you together. Peter is sighing over a job application and ruminating on why it’s so hard to be employed when you have no discernable history of having ever existed on this earth before.

“I’m such a pain,” he groans, then gives you that look of his, the one where he knows the response you’ll give before you even open his mouth. As if you were so easy to predict that he could say every word along with you. As if it is just as much of a joy to hear himself proved right every time.

“You’re my pain,” you answer, “my pain and mine alone. Don’t you even think about leaving me. I’m not letting you go just because you feel like being a martyr.”

Peter smiles indulgently. “I know,” he says, “I know.”

The pen slips to an ungainly angle in his hand, the muscles in Peter’s fingers relaxing the more he looks at you. You didn’t think you were thinking about much at the moment– you don’t have to when you’re around Peter, not really– but then a thought hits you in the midst of that quiet eternity and suddenly everything makes sense.

Under the humming light bulbs of your kitchen, jutting out of the semidarkness, you realize at last why Peter would want you to remember him and no one else.

Peter senses that a change has come over you, and he leans forward, causing the light to slip further forward over his forehead like a saint’s halo. “What is it?” He asks.

You just look at him. “I love you too,” you say simply, and it is all the answer Peter needs to finally be happy. He has been holding himself back from it all this time, you didn’t know that until now, but it is okay from here on out.

Peter reaches across your kitchen table and takes your hand, squeezing it in triplicate before returning to his application. It is not a loud confession, this. It does not take up room in screaming neon lights or kisses in the middle of thunderstorms. It is soft and plain and perfect. Neither of you have ever wanted anything more.

requested by @fadedver, i hope you enjoy!

marvel tag list: @namoreno, @rogueanschel, @thatfangirl42, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @callsign-scully, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes, @w1shes43, @deafsuperhero, @/fadedver

#peter parker #peter parker imagines #peter parker x reader #peter parker oneshot #spiderman #spiderman imagines #spiderman x reader #spiderman oneshot #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel x reader #marvel oneshot #mcu #mcu imagines #mcu x reader #mcu oneshot #avengers #avengers imagines #avengers x reader #tom holland spiderman #tom holland spiderman imagines #tom holland spiderman x reader #tom holland spiderman oneshot

[enby-hawke]

Do white people understand Merrill's story? So much about her arc is about convincing her she was wrong but that tells me that no poc were in the room.

I'm filipino. What I know about my people come from my colonizers. I am constantly learning that common knowledge of my lore was twisted beyond recognition.

The eluvian was a monumental discovery that should have been given it's weight. Anders was given a whole act to talk about his plight but Merrill's plight is practically ignored and even worse. The story encourages you to discourage her. Make her feel selfish.

If I had an actual piece of my people's history like that, I would sacrifice as much as Merrill.

Merrill is called selfish for that but she is not wrong that her discovery changed the whole direction of the face of Thedas of the elves. But does the story even recognize her brilliance? Does the story even understand what a paternalistic twat they made canon Hawke to be regardless of gender?

The fact that elves are just plain forgotten about until their trauma can spice up the story is incredibly frustrating. There is something to be said about Dragon Age message about moving forward but to know your own history is to understand your place in the world and is how you know how to move forward.

Tldr; Merrill was right. White people are just racist. Surprising no one.

#Dragon age #Merrill

[beheworthy]

Jane looks very shocked when Thor tells her he loves her.  After everything they've been through, I thought she already knew.  So she never felt loved?

*takes a deep breath* This is so hard to articulate.

You're right. He shouldn't need to say it. He gave up the throne for her. He calls her his Queen to his father - 1. Equating her and him to his mother and father who he idolizes, and 2. In his head, she is his Queen if he were to ever rule. He lives in her tiny apartment and does everything for her happily.

There is absolutely no doubt in his head. But he's never going to tell her of his sacrifice. So to her, it was that he made that arrangement, not that he gave up his birthright. Don't get me wrong, she spent 2 long years hurting longing for him, so for him to be hers all the time is huge. But she doesn't know what went behind the scenes, so to speak (she would've never let him do it!).

It's not that she didn't feel loved. She definitely did. It's about wanting to hear him say it. She is not wrong to want that. It's very natural. But he never does put in words what his actions very loudly say. And then him never saying it stands out more than it should when he intentionally starts hurting her to sabotage their relationship.

She'd rationalize away him not saying with him always showing it. So, when he starts hurting her, that rationalization is gone. That just hurts her more and more. As in, he never said it because he never did love her the way she does him, as evidenced by him constantly hurting her now.

[He really does hurt her a lot and it speaks volumes about how much she loves him that she doesn't hate or fault him for it. Even when they get back together, she's on board with whatever vague promises he makes. He still doesn't say he loves her or anything concrete, and she still agrees to everything because that's how much she loves him :( ]

So when he finally says, it moves her so much. She is finally getting what she always wanted from him, just in the worst situation! He says it here because he came prepared to do whatever he needed to make her stay. He never said it before because it was obvious to him. He says here to let her know that he doesn't just love her but he never stopped loving her in the past 8 years 7 months and 6 days they weren't together.

This is the ONE AND ONLY thing Waititi got right about my Thor which rocks my world but credit where due. Him never saying I love you and it affecting Jane so adversely was always my understanding of Thor as well.

Like, that's just plain wrong on his part. We know for a fact that he loves her more than anything. Then why not say it? She deserves to hear it from you. Otherwise, it looks like you were just using her. Like, you're living with her, sleeping with her, but you never said it?! Even if it's obvious to you, it clearly means the world to her. So say it for her sake at least, you a-hole!

#answers #anonymous #analysis #thor #thor odinson #jane foster #thor x jane #poor jane i feel for her :( #this was so hard to put in words !!!!

[shywhumpauthor]

Whumpuary Day 1

Discovered

failed escape | concussion | nightmares

Masterlist

Cw: guns, spy whump, death threat, mentioned murder, mentioned mass killings, weapons, corrupt businesses, slight invasion of privacy, a bit of self sacrifice in the name of a cause

Static filled Noah’s ear as he set his jaw, the sound crackling around his mind as their nerves spiked. A thousand doubts flooded his thoughts, but he didn’t break their confident stride, not letting a glimpse of his inner turmoil betray against their expression. He nodded to those they passed by, presenting his badge to a guard as he was stopped outside of the Northern wing.

The action had been done a thousand times before, without so much as a sweat, it was standard protocol. Anyone with a scheduled conference had to undergo the same procedure, to ensure the integrity of both Declan’s office, and the delicate information encapsulated within. Noah himself had been in there a dozen time in the past week, more often than any other employee of Declan’s. To be fair, Noah wasn’t just any other employee.

Noah was his right hand. Top of the ranks that he could possibly climb, the highest position of power one could render without money as an asset. Even with the disadvantage, the lack of funds to support them, Noah had still managed to get in close. Close enough where one wrong move, or rather, one right move could send the entire operation crashing to the ground. Would.

He had swiped the file weeks ago. Copied and downloaded all of Declan’s plans when he first had been presented with a chance. He had spent days afterwards, restless nights staring at the door just waiting for the guards to come barging in and surrender him to the consequences of his actions. It had been utter hell, living with the USB tucked inside the stuffing of his pillow, tossing and turning on the bed knowing just what would happen if, hell, when Declan found out.

He couldn’t say that the fear was beginning to fade, but as the days had stretched into upwards of the one month mark, it had settled. The pulsing panic subsided to a steady beat, his worries always present but not quite as prominent. He knew that even though it seemed like he was in the clear, he wasn’t. He refused to allow themself to get cocky, confident. Arrogance led to mistakes, and mistakes would lead to a bullet being lodged in his brain.

“Cleared.”

Noah took his badge from the guard’s outstretched hand, pinning it back to the pocket of his uniform jacket. He didn’t speak, he knew better than to do so. He gave a stiff nod, stepping through the opening as the guard typed in the pin and the door slid open.

The north wing was unlike any else in the compound. Contrasting greatly to the almost prison-like feel of the rest of the base, where the only decorations were the white accent tiles along the grey floors, or the occasional door stationed to the plain walls, this was designed intricately, as if Noah had stepped through a barrier into a rich new world. The door slid shut behind them, and he took a breath.

Declan hadn’t given a reason for his summoning, yet to be fair, he often did not. Declan didn’t need reasons for what he did, as long as his sly words and deep pockets were enough to convince those he partnered with. If he wanted to manufacture missiles capable of destroying entire cities, so be it, he could buy the funding and the government’s blind eye. If he wanted to run an illegal weapons ring of the deadliest proportions, use live targets as demonstrations and make millions through the goods he had stolen the prints for, as long as they had a way to pay. Cash or check, though perhaps a glass of wine and a conversation enough would convince.

Noah was still plagued by the things he had seen, even if he hadn’t stepped foot outside of the offices in months. He tried not to think about that too much. The first time Declan had invited him to watch the demonstration, it was clear he had noticed Noah’s discomfort. And for as horrible as a person Declan was, as little regard for human life he held so long as it was within his own profit, he had been surprisingly considerate. He had walked Noah out to the grounds, for a rare glimpse outside the industrialized walls, comforted him with a drink and a hand on the shoulder.

“It’s not for everyone,” Declan had chuckled, staring up at the night sky speckled with stars.

That was certainly the truth. Even if Noah was deeply traumatized by the events, it didn’t matter. That night he had gathered the evidence they needed, switched it over to the hard drive the moment he had gotten back to his room under the guise of taking a shower—the only place he knew the cameras didn’t reach. Even then, he had to be cautions, destroying the recording device moments after and discarding the pieces through multiple outlets. He let a few fragments wash down the drain, a few more through the toilet, and the remaining the next morning in his leftover oatmeal as he dumped the bowl into the trash. He wasn’t sure how far Declan went with the surveillance, he doubted they’d go as far as to monitor the trash and sewers, but it was a precaution.

Noah had already uploaded those files. It had been a long process, sending one recording through. Declan had eyes and ears everywhere, and though the drive was small it was complex. Upload the condemning evidence, press the button on the side. Everything else had been designed by some tech mastermind. Noah still wasn’t entirely sure how it worked, but he didn’t need to. That wasn’t part of his job. All he knew was that it sent over the information over a stretched time span, fragment by fragment in order to bypass Declan’s encrypted surveillance. It took weeks, months to send over that one record, and even then Noah had no ways to confirm that it had gone through. But he had been working for nearly a year and a half there now, and still had a ways to go before they gathered enough to condemn the man.

Noah stopped outside of Declan’s office door. The dark mahogany was ajar, a crack of warm light filtering through the slit, but Noah still raised his hand to knock on the frame.

The reply was almost immediate.

“Noah. Come in.”

Noah inhaled. The breath lodged in his chest as he pushed open the door, stepping inside. His shoes made a sharp sound as the flooring switched from the fine carpet to wood, and he nearly cringed at how loud his step had been. Typically he wasn’t heavy footed, but with his nervousness weighing down his mind, it seemed to weigh down his body as well.

“Close the door and take a seat.”

Noah hadn’t even looked up at Declan yet before he turned and eased the door closed behind him. In a sharp contrast to nearly every other room in the compound, closing the door to this one didn’t come along with the confined, claustrophobic pressure they were used to. Rather, in that way it felt opening, like a certain pressure eased off their chest while a thousand more took its place. Declan’s wing was the only wing in such with windows, not the little slits that barely allowed light to finger through, but big glass windows that opened out to the small field and fence surrounding the building. On one hand it felt freeing, like they had just been released from a dark box they had been trapped in. But on the other, it felt so much deeper. Out of a box and into a cage. Sure, they could see out, but did they really want to?

“Come on, sit down, no need to bow, you know I’m not one for formalities,” Declan chuckled, amused by their own joke, which Noah could only bring themself to crack a smile at as they moved to take the seat opposite of Declan’s desk.

The office was rather simple, in a controlled, minimalistic sort of way. One wall held a small hearth, currently unlit with books laid across the mantle. Behind the desk was a small sofa, and Noah had yet to determine if it was simply for decoration or if it had a functional use—every time he’d been in there, he’d only ever sat across from the desk. A small bookshelf lay against the other wall, a fish tank on top, framed by two black and white lined canvas. Declan had explained the art to them at one point, by Ellsworth Kerry or something like that, Noah couldn’t quite remember the name.

“They’re worth more than you are,” Declan had joked the first time Noah had entered the office, but quickly rephrased once they realized his obvious discomfort with the remark. “I’m only teasing, my friend, I’m sure you’ll be of much greater value to me.”

Somehow, that hadn’t sat right with Noah either.

Declan’s desk was messier than usual, but that honestly wasn’t saying much. Messy wasn’t the right word, no, that could hardly be considered messy. Cluttered? Noah was used to only seeing their laptop, lamp, and some new decorative trinket every other week or so. Now it was a Newton’s cradle, the silver polished so clear Noah could see his reflection. A few files were placed off to the side in a neat stack, a single pen resting on top. Uncapped, as if Declan had just completed whatever task required them to use such and hadn’t had a chance to return it to the drawer yet.

“Really? Nothing? Alright.” Declan folded his hands on his desk, grin slipping into a smirk. The glare of the lamp caught his eyes, face shadowed against the light filtering through the windows behind them. “Someone’s in a bad mood. Understandable, though, today was an eggs afternoon, wasn’t it? You don’t like those, as I recall. You know what, to make up for it, I’ll tell the kitchen to change tomorrow’s dinner to that beef stew—that’s your favorite, right? How’s that sound?”

At that, Noah let out a short, breathy laugh, crossing his arms over his stomach as he settled back into his chair. He weren’t sure why—well, obviously he knew why—he’d always get so anxious in the minutes leading up to a meeting with Declan, only for it to turn out to be some trivial topic such as the day’s lunch.

“No sir,” Noah shook his head, allowing the tension to fade from his muscles and his mind. “They were almost entirely cooked this time, so I can’t complain, though the thought is very much appreciated.”

Declan unclasped his hands, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated huff. “Always so formal with you, my friend, when will you learn to lighten up? And if not the eggs, what’s on your mind?”

Noah didn’t have to think before answering. “Old habits die hard,” The words slipped from their lips so casually, like they were talking to a friend rather than the brilliant, terrifying murder known as their boss. Sometimes, especially in these circumstances, Noah had to remind themself that Declan was in fact responsible for the death of thousands. There was blood on his hands, staining the cuffs of his sleeves below his fine jacket. It dripped from the man’s tie, from his lips as he smiled, bits of gore clinging to the strands of hair that hung in his eyes. “I suppose the eggs are part of the reason, but mostly it’s just work. I’ve been drowning with reports, after that factory accident the other day. All the complaints and questions about the stability of the branch, it’s a lot of papers.”

“Oh well, why didn’t you mention anything sooner? I could have easily taken care of that, I’ll have someone bring me the rest of the files this afternoon, I’ll get it all sorted out by evening.” Declan waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, and Noah just had to smile, knowing exactly what would happen to that poor recruit once Declan caught word of what had happened, the very thing they had been trying to avoid.

“Anyways, sir, if I may, what is the reason you called me in?” Noah asked after a moment, their gaze shifting off of Declan’s face to the window behind him, flicking back a moment later.

“Oh, can’t a guy just chat with his buddy nowadays? Does it always have to be business? Really,” Declan shook his head, though his tone was teasing. “Truly, though, if you must know. We have quite a pressing matter to discuss.”

Noah found their stare slipping to the window once more, drawn back to Declan this time with a sharp click.

And in a moment, all of Noah’s fear came crashing over him once more, snagging his heart with a barbed hook and ripping a line straight through his chest.

Declan rested his hand against the table, sleek black pistol gleaming as his finger wrapped around the trigger, barrel angled directly at Noah’s chest.

“Let us start with your real name, hm?”

—————————————

Next

Tag list? Let me know if you’re interested! @whumpuary

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #its me coal #whump writing #coal wrote something #whumpee #whumper #whump prompt #creepy whumper #captured whumpee #captivity whump #whump prompts #intimate whumper #writing prompt #whump drabble #kidnapped whumpee #abused whumpee #tw torture #torture #whump series #writing prompts #whumpuary #whumpuary2023 #whumpuary day 1 #no.1 #nightmares

[redmirrorshard]

I'll probably delete this later... but I just wanted to come on here to vent a little bit. So please be aware. THIS IS A VENT. I AM SAD AND EMOTIONAL AND UPSET AND I WILL SAY THINGS THAT MAY SOUND HARSH. PLEASE KEEP THIS IN MIND WHEN READING AND DONT READ IF IT WILL MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!! (TL:DR at the end)

You have been warned

When I got into TWST probably two years ago now, there was so much room and potential for wonderful fan interactions and creations. And I have had wonderful interactions with wonderful people from this fandom and I will continue to treasure those I've met through it.

I love everything about TWST. The lore, the characters, the art, the story. It means so much to me as a piece of media and is a huge inspiration to me as both an artist and a writer. Idia in particular speaks to me on personal levels and he has become one of my favourite characters in all of media.

TWST has also taught me about love. Love for who you are despite what others think. Familial love (blood or no). Love between friends. TWST has taught me about bravery, protecting those you love, sticking to your ambitions, sacrifice and surprisingly cooking and food heh. TWST has also made me laugh like a maniac in the way only one other piece of media ever could (aha I'm so funny).

I was aware, however, that it would have it's issues just like any other fandom.

For one, I was VERY aware of Yana's rocky history as a creator. I knew she was controversial from the start and anything she created would subsequently also be very controversial. In the end, while I do disagree heavily with some parts of the media and I knew Yana could have done so much better with other parts (cough-leona event- cough), I think she did a great job overall. You can tell how much love and dedication went into creating TWST and I'm eternally thankful to her. Thank you, Yana-sensei.

For second...

I feel that you should be allowed to create and say whatever you want, but also take responsibility (to a certain extent) for the thing you created. For instance, if I make a piece of art and post it on the internet, that is my responsibility. I could choose NOT to post the piece of art (nasty comment, offensive joke etc etc etc but you get the idea), but I chose to do it anyway. Now, I can't completely control what people will do with the art (comment/post etc), but I still chose to post it. Same with this post. I CHOSE to post this, and I am ready to take responsibility for this post. If you're not ready to accept responsibility for your post, DON'T POST. As simple as that. (But alas nothing is ever simple)

There is a sore lack of responsibility it the TWST fandom (in any fandom, really, but this is about TWST specifically). Maybe less so here, but definitely so on other platforms.

People throw around nasty and downright hurtful jokes and comments like it's confetti, but cry and whine that they're innocent when called out about it. This is especially hurtful to the smaller, less represented groups in the fandom who create content they want to see. My advice? If you see something you don't agree with,mute,block and report if necessary and just move along. No one is forcing you to interact with what that person is making. A lot of hurt and asshole-ery would be avoided if people followed this simple rule.

I've also seen people throw hate to younger artists or members of the fandom and this always upsets me. TWST is especially prone to having a younger audience due to it being a Disney property, and that's FINE. Leave them be. They're not hurting anyone.

And finally, the amount of misinformation and misinterpretations of the TWST characters floating around is practically insulting. I've seen so many just plain wrong interpretations of a character or a line and I'm frankly sick of it. There are so many hard working and dedicated translators working their asses off to translate the game and put it on the internet for free. (Note: I am eternally grateful to the EN translation team for doing their absolute best on TWST EN. While it's still a solid translation, it has several big flaws and misses a lot of character nuances. I'd still recommend anyone getting into TWST to read the JP translations along with EN)

Here are my go to, feel free to add your own:

-TWST Wiki/Miraheze (always. These people are powerhouses)

- YuuRei (Twitter and YT). They make excellent analysis and translations.

-Shell_BB (YT)

-Otome Ayui (YT)

So, in closing... (TL:DR)

The internet sucks. People suck. Get used to it. Protect yourself and your mental health and move along.

TWST has flaws, and that's FINE.

Respect eachother

Take responsibility for what you say or post

Kids will be cringe. Leave them be. You were cringe too.

Read. Please. I beg of you.

SUPPORT THE PEOPLE I MENTIONED. THEY'RE WORKING THEIR ASSES OFF FOR US, THEY DESERVE THE WORLD.

Anyway, thanks for reading all that and sorry for the long vent. A cookie and a hug for you.

Now go forth and have a great day/night on purpose!!⭐🩷

~shard

#twisted wonderland #vent post #twst

[ducktales-lucktales]

Hi! may i please get a comedy/angst one shot of a gn, possibly adhd, young adult reader getting caught up in a duck-mcduck adventure (donald, scrooge, the triplets, della, &/or webby) and just. Being so tired(depressed but in denial abt it) & having no regard for their own life (they fall like 10 feet and go "ow." in a deadpan voice, "lol too bad that didn't kill met, etc)? But they're fully willing to sacrifice their life for others? If too dark, just same reader being comforted on a bad day?

10 Feet Down

Scrooge McDuck & GN!Reader

Word Count: 1K+

Warnings: Implied suicide attempt/no interest in being alive sort of thing. Honestly I just thought Scrooge was such a bad comfort character, but I was wrong, although Donald is the best comfort character and cannot be used for a comedic hurt/comfort with low quality comedy lmao. for real tho, this is not my best work, but it's all i got

AO3: Link

Master List 1, 2

[Y/N] yawned and tiredly recounted the days they have been couped up in the McDuck manor—76 days with the exception of yesterday and that “disaster of an adventure” Donald had called it. It wasn’t because they were being held hostage at the manor or anything of that sort, it was more of [Y/N] not being a fan of going outside and getting a taste of the harsh Calisota sun and breathing in the ocean air. They stared at the humming machine in front of them as it slowly brewed another pot of coffee. They were obsessed with the heavily caffeinated beverage regardless of the off-putting taste when they drank it plain. The homeowner loathed the bitter caffeinated drink but continued to buy the cute little machine capsules for [Y/N]. Despite Scrooge’s generosity, he constantly pushed for [Y/N] to try to drink something healthier, like tea. But to no avail. They refused time and time again. His tea didn’t have enough caffeine for them to make it through the long and boring days, it wasn’t sugaring enough to please their tastebuds, it just wasn’t a good drink.

They sighed and grabbed their favorite Irish pot’o’gold themed mug out of the designated mug cabinet (little joys in life consisted of collecting unnecessary objects that reminded them of their father-figure, but in a “I’m making fun of you, this isn’t meant to be affectionate” sort of way). They placed the mug down by the whirring machine and paced the kitchen, waiting for the slow machine to brew a full pot.

“Good morning [Y]—.” Bentina froze in the kitchen entry way. She watched the young adult pace back and forth in front of the machine. “[Y/N], you shouldn’t be up and about just yet. What are you doing up?” She asked.

[Y/N] stopped in their tracks and glanced over at the housekeeper. “I never went to bed.”

“Oh…” Bentina’s voice trailed. “Dear, that’s not good.” She started.

“I don’t want a lecture about what’s good for me. I know what’s good for me and what’s not, Mrs. B. There is only so much I can control.” [Y/N] snapped. They watched Bentina closely. “Sorry.”

Bentina shook her head. “It’s quite alright, you’re exhausted/. Exhaustion causes irritation.”

“I suppose…” Their voice trailed.

“Mr. McDuck wanted to speak with you today, he’s in his study if you want to talk with him now.” Bentina walked past [Y/N] and continued with her house keeping duties. “And try not to drink your coffee in front of him.”

They smirked. “I’ll drink the whole pot in front of him.”

Bentina sighed and nodded. “I know you will.”

[Y/N] quickly grabbed the finished pot and with a newfound and mischievous energy. They made their way to Scrooge’s study, walking faster than their legs have been moving. They slunk past a groggy Donald, who barely managed a “good morning” as he passed them. [Y/N] nodded in response. They almost felt bad for Donald, but they remembered that he’s only tired because chose to join the McDuck family on their adventure, much like [Y/N] and virtually everyone else. The adventure was something… [Y/N] stopped in their tracks and shifted their thoughts from the events from yesterday to the pot of coffee in their hands. They quickly lifted the pot to their bill and chugged what felt like half of the pot (but in reality, it was probably only two large gulps worth of liquid). They continued their journey toward Scrooge’s favorite hiding place in the manor.

It was strange to [Y/N], being part of the McDuck family without actually being related to anyone within the manor. How it came about was nothing but a blur to the young adult because it literally happened in a blur. They stopped at the door to Scrooge’s study and knocked.

“Come in.” Scrooge bellowed from behind the cracked door.

[Y/N] pushed the door open and flashed their father-figure a tired and lopsided grin. “Mornin’.”

“Do I smell that disgusting drink?” He didn’t look up from his desk. “Close the door behind ya.”

“Mhm.” [Y/N] pushed the door closed behind them and walked toward his desk. They sat down on one of the two chairs in front of the desk. “Mrs. B said you wanted to see me this morning?” They asked.

Scrooge nodded, still not looking up from his desk. “Yes, but I wasn’t expecting ya this early!” He peered up at the young adult. “You’re still full’a surprises.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” They deadpanned.

Scrooge nodded disappointedly. “I know you don’t.”

The silence grew between them as Scrooge had begun to forget [Y/N]’s presence in his study in favor of finishing his work before the day had really begun. His bill was buried deep in financials for the Money Bin and requests and suggestions from the Board and complaints and other papers from his employees and papers upon papers for other things concerning the Money Bin. His desk was full of business things that [Y/N] refused to understand because it looked too tedious and time consuming, they would much rather do anything but business—adventuring, directing, teaching, dance, acting, retail, food service, anything but owning a business! Well, none of those things actually seemed like things [Y/N] would like, but sometimes they did like those things. From their own rising boredom of the world around them, they begun to suspect that Scrooge was going to drill them about their future again. He only did that because he cared about them and wanted nothing more than for [Y/N] to have a future (unlike Donald who became a freeloader and unlike Della who has a list of mistakes that matches the length of her lists of successes). [Y/N] wasn’t the only one Scrooge cared for, the children ought to have futures better than Donald and Della as well; he wanted the future, the new generation to be as successful as he is, if not more so.

“I don’t want another lecture about my future.” [Y/N] spoke up and pulled their father-figure out of his work.

Scrooge looked up at the duck and raised his eyebrows. “What made ya think we were going to discuss that?”

They shrugged their shoulders. “Honestly, it seems to be the only conversation we have anymore. I miss when I could tell you about why the sky is blue or why a car engine works.”

“But you don’t know how a car engine works.” Scrooge knitted his eyebrows together.

“That’s beside the point, Scrooge.” They sighed.

Scrooge leaned back in his chair. “Scrooge?”

“That’s your name and I ought to use it, right?” [Y/N] said.

He blinked. “You’re family.”

[Y/N] inhaled deeply. “Am I?”

“What do you mean?” Scrooge asked.

“I don’t really feel like family, I never have.” [Y/N] said. “And I don’t actually want to talk about that either. I don’t really want to talk to you about anything personal.”

Scrooge swallowed. “I wanted to talk to you about what I witnessed yesterday.”

“I don’t understand.” They said.

“We could’ve lost you. That was a nasty fall. You could’ve died.” Scrooge said firmly. “That was more than a 10-foot drop, [Y/N]. I’m surprised you walked away with scratches.”

[Y/N] inhaled sharply. “I’m fine.”

Scrooge shook his head. “No, I don’t think you are. Honestly, I was beginning to think you were going through a phase that was similar to Donald’s—you know, the one he doesn’t talk about. I thought you were just avoiding the family, being rebellious, and learning who you are. But I was wrong. You willingly let that happened and you laughed about it. You laughed and wished it had killed you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” They played dumb.

Scrooge sighed. “You’re not well, whether you want to admit it or not. None of us are daft, it’s not like we haven’t seen it before. Sure, at first, we missed the obvious signs, but we all know better now and we’re all very worried about you. [Y/N], family is the greatest adventure of all, and it would be a shame if you weren’t part of that adventure. I don’t want to see a repeat of yesterday.” He said.

“You can’t stop how I feel.” [Y/N] deadpanned.

Scrooge shook his head. “No, but I can get you some help. I have friends who know people, Donald knows people. There are people out there who help people like you for a living.”

[Y/N] looked down. “Are you going to get rid of me?”

“That’s not what I said at all. We’re getting you some help.” Scrooge repeated himself.

“I don’t want—.”

“Instead of getting help, you decide to try to throw your life away?” He asked as he leaned forward on his desk.

“No—yes—I mean…” [Y/N] stuttered. “I don’t think I thought you cared about me. You’re not the greatest at… parenting. But I was never your child to begin with, I was just another problem you picked up along the way.

Scrooge looked down at his hands. “A problem, yes, but you’re my problem, [Y/N]. Whether you like it or not, you’re a part of my family and I will do everything for my family. I will spare no expense on keeping my family alive and well.”

“I still don’t want help.” [Y/N] said.

“I will raise your allowance if you take the help.” Scrooge said. “And I won’t complain about your coffee habit.”

[Y/N] thought for a moment. “Don’t tell the children either. I don’t want them asking me questions the way they do with Donald’s anger management.”

“Deal.”

“And I want to use karate as a cover up since that’s something I did in my youth and the children don’t know about it. Easy lie.” [Y/N] smiled sadly.

Scrooge furrowed his eyebrows. “You took karate?”

“I wanted to take ballet, but the karate studio was the only place that would take an orphan.” [Y/N] chuckled.

“That explains so much about you.” Scrooge chuckled along. “No more adding anything to our deal.”

“Fine.”

Scrooge smiled. “That’s the first time you’ve laughed in months.” “Don’t ruin it.” [Y/N] smiled. “Thanks, dad.”

#ducktales fanfiction #ducktales 2017 fanfiction #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #scrooge mcduck x reader #scrooge mcduck x child reader #gn reader #scrooge mcduck x gn reader #request #reader insert #ao3 link

[class1akids]

Linked to the anon who mentioned phosphorus etc… Shoto gave a lot of importance about his own feelings while building his new super move and style. Similarly Touya specified that when he cries - so when he feels negative emotions - his flames gets hotter, so he also has a type of power linked to feelings. This whole battle is emotional and a, and finally Touya had someone who went far to just stop him and show compassion and love. What if it’s just this instead ? That finally Touya is feeling something else rather than anger , hate , sadness and despair?

Also, pretty much in the fandom hinted Touya’s hair was turning whither because of the stress he underwent. But that can’t be entirely true , his hair started to change sooner than being discard. It always hit weird to me that he has the most white hair of all of his siblings and Rei’s constitution and yet he showed no inclination , even the minimal towards ice. Like , I’d not expect Shoto’s balance , but none, even a 10% of ice vs fire?

So in wondered if this is it. Hori gave much space to heart in Shoto’s explanation of how phosphorus works and heart seems to be the key, both metaphorically and phisically. So if Touya even have a little ice in him Shoto might have been a kindling of something Touya can do by himself and have a little of cool down (even if not at the same level of Shoto of course).

Plus if that would be true that would be devasting and if I were as sadistic as AFO I’d totally use this. This would mean Enji doomed his son just because he wanted to produce some mini endeavours instead of raising children to be heroes considering their needs, personalities and personal abilities.

Yeah, @thyandrawrites wrote up here well how it could all come together thematically for Touya to have some kind of quirk awakening and natural cooling powers.

Just looking at the light on Touya's chest, I'm mostly reminded of Shouto training Phosphor.

For me, it makes most sense if this "mingling" with Shouto awakens in Touya something as well - something that he perhaps possessed too his whole life, but never experienced. This is the first time after all that he experiences the fire they both inherited from Endeavor not just constantly turned up hotter, but controlled and cool. Not trained to burn and destroy, but to cool and save.

And I like the symbol of Shouto leaving a literal piece of his heart / his light that he created for Touya, so he too can find the reason for his existence and to maybe discover that the two of them are not so different after all.

I just think also that there should be a narrative reward for Touya's backbone - the way that he turned down AFO's offers twice. It would be cheap if AFO gave him a power while in coma or something like that.

And yes, it's definitely been implied that Endeavor gave up on Touya too soon. So to find that he's been perfect all along, would be another blow for Endeavor (though I think eventually, the narrative has to somehow square the circle: measuring children's value based on their hero potential is plain wrong / but also a hero can be inside anyone if only they get the encouragement).

I've been rolling this around my head what could Endeavor's resolution be here. I think narratively it's fitting if he's left in a personal hell where AFO's psychological warfare confronts him with all his sins giving voice to his guilt and doubt. It's the final punishment he built for himself by sacrificing everyone to get to No. 1. I also feel like Endeavor will fail here as a hero, but rise as a father. It was never his role to go over that symbolic bridge, so he cannot achieve what All Might couldn't, and he can't defeat AFO.

I used to think that it was only for Shouto to cross that bridge finally, but lately I'm feeling like it would be more fitting for his sons to cross instead together, and for Endeavor to sacrifice the hero / his ego to help them get there.

#c1a asks #bnha manga spoilers #bnha 354 #endeavor #dabi #todoroki touya #todoroki shouto #bnha meta

[whimsyqueen]

To Make a Fool of Death; Opening Scene

Hey friends!

I've finally typed up this draft of the opening scene, so I figured I would share it for everyone on here, so that you can finally get a sense of some of my more long-form writing, and I can post something other than a snippet! I've included the taglist and how to join underneath, if that's something you're interested in!

Word count: 1,502

Tw: mentions of blood, prominent character death, general vampire shenanigans.

The grass was thick with the scent of fresh rain, and the skin of the traitor-woman’s neck was cool in Verity’s hands. It hadn’t been long since they last sat like this, Verity standing over Benevolence, kneeling like a true worshipper. A saint. There was a time where Benevolence had worshipped Verity— had chosen her over all of the false gods that had been chosen for them at birth. That time now seemed eons in the past, and so much had changed. That version of Benevolence would look down on this one in heartache and shame, wondering what had gone wrong. That version of Verity would be able to forgive, to wipe away the blood staining her lover’s lips and neck, replacing the scarlet fluid with the most tender of kisses. But both of those versions were gone now, and in their places knelt a grinning traitor and a horrified would-be vampire queen. 

Verity watched as Benevolence’s mouth split open wider, razorblades teeth on full display. Her heart ached to look into B’s intense red eyes, remembering the warm brown they used to be. How comforting and deep, those eyes that used to burrow their way under Verity’s skin and into her soul. Benevolence was cold now. Stiff. Her hands nothing like the ones that used to hold Verity. Caress her. Remind her that everything was okay and no matter how bad things got, at least they still had each other. None of that was true anymore, and the woman kneeling in front of Verity was not capable of such kindness. She was but a monster, plain and true. 

A movement in the forest behind them diverted Verity’s attention, but not her gaze. A bystander, she assumed, there to observe Benevolence’s execution. As was their right, of course. Benevolence had gone too far, killed too many without express permission, and as her creator, it was Verity’s responsibility to handle the issue. She had made too many excuses for B in the past, blind defenses in a desperate reach to protect the woman she thought she loved. The woman she thought loved her. But excuses didn’t hold, and it was made known that if Verity couldn’t control her charge, they would both be punished for Benevolence’s mistakes. That was something that Verity had considered, to be sure. Part of her knew that it was possible that Benevolence would take Verity with her upon death, leaving her no more than a shell of who she once was. 

But now, looking at the woman on her knees before her, Verity realized that the sacrifice would be useless. She didn’t even know who she would be sacrificing herself for, or if the monster that claimed to be her love would even give a damn. Benevolence’s eyes fluttered shut, long lashes brushing the tops of perfect pale cheeks. 

“Are you going to kill me,” she whispered, her voice delicate like broken glass, “or are you just waiting because you get off on it?” She peered one careful eye open, the bastard child of a wink, and shut it again. “Do you even think you could?” Her smile was delicate now, more of a smirk than a grin. “I think you’re far too much of a coward to go through with it.” 

“Benevolence, please.” Verity moved her hands from Benevolence’s neck to the sides of her face, some semblance of the way they used to hold each other. 

“Do you consider me a monster?” The other girl leaned her cheek into Verity’s left hand, smearing blood across her palm. 

“I didn’t.” 

“But now?” She lifted her head up, opening her eyes and staring at Verity. Impatient. Expectant. 

“Yes.” Verity’s voice shook, betraying the exact cowardice that Benevolence had accused her of. If it meant pausing the moment, letting Verity remember the feeling of Benevolence’s skin on her hand and cherish it, then she would claim the coward’s title happily. 

“Have you made peace with all of it being your fault?” Her eyes drifted shut again, and she looked at peace for once. Almost as if she were sleeping. 

“I don’t understand.” Verity spoke, her voice much more broken than she would have liked. 

“What’s there not to understand, my love?” The question came out with a laugh, “You did this to me. I wouldn’t have done this if it weren’t for you. All those innocent people would still be alive if it weren’t for you.” Her voice rose, growing shrill, and her eyes sealed shut, tight and squinted. “I would have died a century ago if not for you! You made me!” She screamed, “YOU’RE the monster!” She released a painful sob, and Verity found her hands on Benevolence’s neck again, a silent reminder of the threat that loomed over them both. 

“I never wanted this for either of us.” Verity silently begged for Benevolence to open her eyes, to look at her just one last time. She didn’t. 

“Neither did I.” Benevolence wiped her face, smearing what must’ve been a bloody tear across her cheeks. “Kill me.” She said, her voice clear and strong, “I want you to live with it, and know that I did what I did because you made me do it.” She laughed again, manic, “Kill me, whore! We both know all you want is to wipe your hands of this and go back to pretending to be human.” The laughter didn’t cease, but lessened to a soft giggle. Verity felt the sting of the slap on her palm before she realized what she’d done. Benevolence’s head had turned with the force of the hit, but her expression hadn’t changed. 

“Don’t assume to know how I feel about any of this.” Verity’s voice had lost any semblance of the fear it once held, “And if you truly think that, then you don’t know me at all.”

But Benevolence wasn’t listening. Her lips moved silently, and Verity realized that for the first time in over a century, Benevolence was praying. It was almost a comfort. Almost. For those brief seconds, Verity wanted to be able to pretend that her old love was still in there, somewhere. To travel back in time and erase all of her past mistakes. To pretend that Benevolence, her Benevolence, was just a wish away from being who Verity remembered. But it wasn’t possible. That Benevolence was human, and as this Benevolence had so fondly pointed out, human was something they could never be again. 

“Benevolence Hayrick,” Verity continued over B’s silent prayer, “I, Verity Hayrick—“ it was a struggle not to choke on the name Benevolence had given her— “sentence you to death as punishment for your crimes. Aforementioned crimes include the following: needless and reckless murder of the innocent for purposes of joy rather than necessity, torture of more than one human, again out of joy, the flaunting of the aforementioned murder and torture to the public, thereby putting all vampires at the risk of reckless and painful exposure.” She took a breath, pausing to look down at the woman below her. Against all odds, Benevolence was crying. Rivers of blood ran down her face, staining her perfect white gown. “Have you anything to say for yourself?” 

She shook her head, opening her eyes for the final time. 

“Verity,” Benevolence whispered, as Verity placed her hands on either side of her head, “I love you.” 

It should have been difficult, tearing the other woman’s head from her body. But it wasn’t. It cracked and shattered like stone, but to Verity, it wasn’t much more than tearing paper. The Vampire Benevolence Hayrick died with her eyes open and the ghost of a smile on her lips. 

The sound that Verity made as the body fell to the ground was unholy, but then again, according to her former god, wouldn’t that be said for all sounds that escaped her? 

She didn’t remember falling alongside Benevolence, but she ended up on the ground as well, cradling the disembodied head close to her chest. At some point, someone came to take the body away, to toss it into the fire that had been built during the conversation. Verity didn’t truly remember this either— not much more than the faint longing for the body, the feeling of not wanting to give it up, but knowing she had no other choice. She had been right. The loss of Benevolence had broken something within her, and she wept with a sadness she hadn’t felt in years. 

She stayed in the clearing for much longer than she should’ve, letting her thoughts and memories consume her. She wanted to bottle them, save them forever so that she would never forget what had happened. What she had done. 

Long ago, she had tried to convince Benevolence of the truth that she had known since the moment she was turned. B had always, always pushed back. But in her final moments, Benevolence had realized it as well. There was nothing left for Verity to be other than a monster. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#fool of death #writeblr #my writing #creative writing #my ocs #my wips #verity #writing #writer things #writing community #horror #romance #vampires #benevolence #benevolence +verity #opening scene #snippet #wipnook #tmafod snippet

[kitspindles]

'Apollo learned a lesson' Okay good for him? Jason is still a child that died needlessly and never got a real chance at life? And I dunno how you can say Nico learned to let the dead stay dead in the first series when. He literally brought Hazel back to life right before HoO started (and was still trying to revive Bianca) lol?

Hello and welcome to my silly little opinion post about fictional characters on this silly little site.

1). Yes, I'm aware that Jason was like 16 and never had a chance at life. That was... sort of the whole issue behind him dying. It's called being a demigod, unfortunately. That's what made Apollo see how wrong it was for gods to treat demigods like playthings. But as a mortal, he saw what Jason's life amounted to. He realized how problematic the relationship between gods and demigods was. And he didn't want to be like that anymore. You can dislike Apollo as a character (readers were meant to have mixed feelings about him along the way), but you can't dismiss this part of his character growth just because you're mad that Jason died. Jason's death was within his character-- to die protecting his friends because he knew it was what needed to happen. Yes, it was sad. Yes, it was unfair to him, after all he'd gone through his whole life serving the gods, but that was the point. If you're mad about Jason's death then the story worked. The message got across.

2). I should have elaborated in my post more: yes, Nico was still searching for Bianca at one point in HoO, but he learned that the dead should stay dead because the cost of bringing them back isn't worth it. He wasn't willing to sacrifice anybody else in order to bring Bianca back in the original series. And we know that Bianca made it clear she wasn't intent on coming back to life. He only went searching again because the Doors of Death were open and it would've been easy to bring her back, no sacrifice needed. But would Nico have acted selfishly against her wishes and brought her back anyway? Well, we don't know because nothing came of it. Bianca moved on in the underworld (to be reborn, if I can remember right?) and Nico respected that she chose her own path in doing so. He let the matter go.

3). Yes, Nico did bring Hazel back to life. But this was under different circumstances. This was Fated to happen regardless because she was one of the Seven and needed to be returned to the world of the living. He didn't know who she was yet. All he could see was that it wasn't her time to be idling away in Asphodel. She was supposed to have another chance at life. She wasn't like the other spirits. He states as much in the books. By bringing her back, he wasn't technically breaking any rules or moral rulings within himself. Hazel was supposed to be alive, plain and simple.

#asks and replies #nico di angelo #bianca di angelo #hazel levesque #jason grace #pjo fandom #rick riordan #pjo hoo toa #rrverse #my asks #my stuff

[agoddamn]

Had an EMS class that went over carrying people and when I asked the instructor what the best way to do a one-person carry was got "don't" 😂 apparently, energy-expenditure-wise, one-person carry is just not a good idea and you're much better off doing a drag or improvising a sling. "Never carry what you can drag" is a firefighter axiom. In addition to that, situations where a one-person carry is better than waiting for another set of hands or dragging are rarer than you'd think; if you need to move someone because the environment is dangerous, you probably are not gonna be in a state where you can afford to sacrifice both hands, your move speed, and all of your effort.

The exception to this is firefighters, and they do train specifically to do one-person carries precisely because they're so awkward, unwieldy, and dangerous. You probably wouldn't think of carrying someone as "dangerous," but if you're in an environment that's so hazardous that you need to immediately get someone out of it and you throw your back out lifting them wrong (or lifting them right and just plain tripping!), well...now you have two patients in an extremely hazardous environment, and you're down one rescuer.

...of course, when it comes to dramatic princess carries I will pretend not to know this.

#he said something like 'yeah the ranger roll is a thing but i didn't come here to watch you all throw your backs out' #tccc at home

[glynndraws]

This is Gregor Unger, one of the characters I'm playing in Dnd.

A little bit about his backstory,

He was adopted Into a very well off family. He was a bit ordinary, a daydreamer, and unassuming. Oddly, that was why his adopted father chose him. His father wasn’t entirely who the public saw him. He was a crime boss who used his son to move goods in plain sight. On occasion he would send and receive messages or run an errand. He never really paid attention to what was happening around him. So, he was incredibly easy to lie to. He caught two of his father’s goons burying evidence of a murder. They told him they were “just gardening”. Another time he found a severed hand, they told him that it was, “a commission for a realistic props for local theater group.” And Gregor 100% believed them.

His father constructed a life for his son like he was a dementia patient. Gregor would unknowingly send cryptic messages to his father’s associates by what small talk and gossip he would tell him. The local police have been trying to crack the code for some time but haven’t had much luck. He had the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker in his pocket and they would go to great lengths to make sure their secrets were kept.

One day Gregor was assigned a special task. He waited with his mule outside of town next to the moat. The mule grazed as he sat on a rock drawing in the dirt and occasionally looking at the town wall. Above the wall he could see the roof of the town bank. The stick he was using to draw in the dirt snapped and he let out a sigh. The water in front of him started to bubble. Then a large man holding a larger saddlebag filled with clanging metallic objects emerged from the water. They strapped it to the mule, not saying a word, and walked off. Gregor took the mule and walked the other direction into the forest. They kept walking until they came to a clearing with two stones leaning against each other. He cocked his head and squinted and thought they kinda looked like two almonds. He dug a hole in-between the stones and buried the saddle bag.

He was told to wait by the road for another associate to escort him but he was getting hungry and decided to head home himself. He figured he was old and mature enough to do that on his own. It wasn’t that far and he knew the way.

As he was walking over the bridge into the town he could hear people fighting. There was shouting, clanging of swords, bursts of light, and citizens running past him. Through the fighting he saw his father fighting the town’s guards. He seemed to dance around them leaping and cutting down men. He didn’t even seem like his father. It was like he was a completely different person. Gregor noticed all the familiar faces he would see day to day were fighting alongside his father. But they were now almost unrecognizable.The mule by Gregor was becoming increasingly skittish Gregor saw his father look at him. A stray arrow landed in front of Gregor and the mule and startled them. The mule bayed and knocked Gregor over the edge of the bridge. Gregor was swept away. He was eventually found but it was too late.

Gregor’s father hired a wizard to bring him back because Gregor was the only one that knew where the valuables he stole were. His entire fortune was on the line and he needed to revive him. This particular wizard was disgusted by necromancy. He suggested to revive him using a warforged body as a vessel. And he just happened to have a spar mithril one on hand. The wizard said he needed a sacrifice in order for the spell to work. So, Gregor’s father brought a pig. The wizard set up the ritual and gave them specific instructions and left the room. They performed the ritual and what his father didn’t know was that they were purposely given the wrong instructions. Instead of the pig dying he did. The wizard’s plan was to take the treasure all for himself.

Gregor woke up being nudged by a pig eating the straw underneath him. He stood up and saw his old body and his father laying on the ground. They were in a large circle on the ground with strange symbols. He saw a paper in his father’s hand and he pulled it out and looked at it and it was written in a language he didn’t speak. His hands looked strange and he leaped back and he realized his body was made of metal and wood. The wizard entered the room and greeted Gregor. And told him that the ritual had gone wrong and the pig was meant to die. “Your father was painstakingly trying to bring you back and there weren't many options that aligned with his morals. He had no choice but to..” Gregor didn’t pay attention to anything the wizard was saying.

Something inside of him told him to straddle the pig. He slapped the pig and it launched forward, knocking the wizard down and leaped through the front door. The wizard, being of a considerable age, struggled to get back on his feet. He saw Gregor riding the pig through the streets causing havoc. The pig was eventually able to buck him off once it got back to its pig pen. Greger looked around and found tattered clothes, a farmer's hat, a backpack, and other supplies. He snuck into the field before the angry townsfolk could find him.

He became a wanderer. Now and again he was picked up by adventurers promising to pay him with experience, glory, gold, riches, pleasures beyond your imagination. You name it. Greggor just went along because there wasn’t much else to do. And maybe he could find out what it all means.

One group of adventurers wanted to steal a gold mask from a tomb in the desert. While in the middle of that desert, everyone except him ended up starving to death when their rations were stolen by a group of shape shifting foxes.

Another group was rewarded with a banquette for killing some king’s rival. Everyone around Gregor turned green and went limp. A small goblin that was one of the minions they spared climbed onto the table and started to monologue. After the impressive and very passionate and personal speech Gregor clamped. The goblin was mortified because they admitted to multiple embarrassing affairs. They thought he would be dead too. It scurried away mortified because Gregor heard all of it.

Currently, he is adventuring with a new group. Oz, who he previously had met a couple times invited him into the group. Ducky, a small roguish character. George, a rock and roll bad-boy bard. They lost George who traded his services for their freedom after they got into some trouble. They gained two more companions. Ella joined us because we were tasked to be emissaries for the queen we disrespected. Gregor still doesn’t understand how that worked but he doesn’t understand most things. The last member, Nune, came through a portal right when they were being ambushed.

Now that he is in a new and strange land it’s just a matter of time before the same pattern happens again and he’s left alone. 

#ttrpg oc #ttrpg #dnd art #dnd character #dnd 3.5 #warforged

[rubywolf0201]

Weird fandom takes I really don’t get

*WARNING*: May contain sensitive topics and to let you know that these are my personal opinions on the topics.

“If Sonic we’re to die, Amy would commit su*c*de just to be with him”

First off, I’m pretty sure that would’ve been a pretty selfish move on Amy's part since she’s one of the most selfless character in the franchise. IF Sonic were to die, Amy would’ve live her life to the fullest because she knew that’s what Sonic would’ve wanted her and their friends to do. Plus she’s 12 pls stop vilifying it.

P.S. I’m never a fan of the take where if Character A were to die, Character B would kill/sacrifice themselves just to be with them since I find it to be selfish in a narrative sense but also throwing away any potential either character would have.

“Rhea is a tyrannical and controlling bitch”

Huh what? Like since when? I mean ok maybe she could’ve worded some things better but she is not controlling in any sense. She took in Shamir, an atheist and never once does she forced her ideology onto the aloof archer at all. She took in Cyril, an orphan and gave him a purpose there. Cyril's support with Seteth has the latter implying that if the former were to have his own motivations, she would happily supported him in his decisions.

And this may go a little off topic, but she genuinely worried about Flayn's disapperance in the academic phase, expressed grievance when Jeralt died, gave Byleth a task of helping the students feel at ease, organising events, so on and so forth. All in all, Rhea is just one of the most misrepresented character in the FE fandom.

“Leonie is plain unsympathetic because her Support with Byleth and Marianne said so”

Well this take appeared on TVTropes but… how is she unsympathetic when her A and B Support for Byleth and Marianne respectively has her apologizing to the latter two for her actions. Really, I think that certain factions of the fandom judge Leonie too harshly and while I understand that she might be everyone's favourite character, but twisting her whole entire character and taking everything out of context all because of one notorious Support is just plain wrong.

Don’t get me wrong. The way her B support with Byleth happened right after Jeralt died did make her a little unsympathetic but I’m gonna say it’s the timing of when the Support happen. Speaking of Supports, I’m pretty sure she has plenty of good ones there such as with Lorenz and Felix for example.

“Claude hates Rhea”

Well yes initially. He was distrustful of Rhea at first in VW along with calling her out once you defeat Edelgard but his Support with Cyril has him changing his viewpoint of Rhea and as such it happens within VW as well. Also, it fits in with Claude's nature as being a distrusting individual (what with his upbringing and whatnot) but overtime with character development has him trusting people but not without caution of course.

“Professor Turo is into N*T and is therefore a cryptobro”

Don’t know where people get the idea that he is into crypto stuff but there’s hardly any info on his and Professor Sada's personality just yet. Again, while I accept any fan interpretation since everyone is allowed to take creative liberties, I think it’s best to not judge a book by its cover, especially since the info on Scarlet and Violet is just recent and we may or may not have to wait for a few weeks/month to see what kind of purpose Professor Sada/Turo may serve.

The same goes for either version-exclusive Professor being a villainous team while the other is good since I don’t want to see another Disney Villian Twist Syndrome™️ again. (Also them being villains with no foreshadowing would make it like an asspull or in my own words, last minute change)

#my post #rubi’s post #weird takes #meta #sonic the hedgehog #fire emblem three houses #pokemon #amy rose #rhea #leonie pinelli #ok I think my post has mostly have 3H in it but just want to let out some things