#and keep their business afloat doing their work while their losing their minds

[velvetcloxds]

i miss being a teacher’s assistant and working with my babies and doing what i love and working towards something good

[obsessiveagony2point0]

Similarities

Edwin and Dream share something in common. Something more than a love of books.

⚠️❓ - Possible Trigger Warning

[ficlet contains mentions of fear/anxiety and being afraid of small spaces/claustrophobia]

•—-•—-•—-•—-•

Dream didn’t talk about his imprisonment much.

It was said mostly in passing, as a way to explain why he hadn’t met Hob when that story was told, but the how and why and other details had never been told.

Hob, of course, knew. He knew what had happened to Dream as the Being had told Hob everything. So, when he reminisced about the past, which he often did, Hob never talks about those details. That was for Dream to talk about and Dream alone, when he was ready.

No one ever expected or anticipated that the day Dream would be ready to tell someone else about it, it would be in a chaotic, noisy pub.

Dream, Edwin and Charles were loitering around The New Inn, as they usually did when it was absurdly busy and Hob needed to jump in and lend a hand.

Edwin was at the bar, reading a book Dream had produced from his library in the Dreaming, while Charles was trailing closely behind Hob, asking questions and knowing no one else could see him while Hob, who could see him, talked away.

In the beginning, the customers would ask Hob if he was ok, concerned that maybe he was working too hard and was slowly losing his sanity, but he would just flash them a big grin and say, “I’m alright. Just talking to a ghost.”

They stopped asking.

Dream was perched next to Edwin by the bar, sipping on a glass of white wine that never seemed to grow to room temperature no matter how long it sat there. He wasn’t paying much attention to Charles’ mischief or to Hob’s multitasking chaos.

Instead, he was keeping an eye on Edwin.

If you passed a quick glance at the young spirit, you wouldn’t notice anything amiss. Just a boy, casually reading his book, trying to dive into the pages and words.

But Dream knew better.

Edwin may have had the book open, but in the hour they’d been sitting there he had barely gone through 5 pages. His gaze may have been trained on the inked words in front of him, but his eyes showed that his mind was elsewhere. His jaw was tight, his shoulder’s stiff, and Dream could see a small tremor in his hands where they gripped the edges of the book.

Dream recognized this look. The look of fighting the rough waves as you tried to stay afloat, trying not to sink and drown. He himself had to tread through those rough waters until they settled.

Sometimes, he still had to.

“You do not have to read the book if you are not enjoying it.” Dream said before bringing the glass of wine to his lips.

Edwin blinked, the fog in his eyes dissipating as he looked at Dream. “I am.”

Dream raised an eyebrow. “Are you, though, Edwin Payne..?”

Edwin opened his mouth, closed it, looked back at the book, and then shut it softly before whispering, “No…”

Dream hummed.

“It’s not that it’s not a good book.” The young spirit said quickly as to not offend the Prince of Stories. “I just…”

“Are currently unable to enjoy it.” Dream finished. “Your mind is…occupied. By feelings and images of the past.”

Edwin looked again at Dream, eyes wide. “How did you know?”

“It is not often I find myself understanding how one may feel.” Dream said softly as his thumb ran up the curved glass. “It is even more rare that I understand because I have gone through a fairly similar experience myself.”

Edwin stared at Dream, who was staring at his white wine with furrowed brows. He realized, with surprise, that Dream was very much referring to his own imprisonment. “You’re…well…you’re you. How could you possibly have gone through what I have?”

Dream’s eyes hardened, growing dark. “Endless may not be able die like most creatures do…but we can be captured and hurt through the use of the occult.” White stars glanced at Edwin. “Humans often meddle with things they do not understand. You know this to be true.”

Edwin was silent for a while, turning his attention back to the book that laid on the bar counter. He brought a hand up to stroke the velvet cover and traced his fingers over the gold lettering.

Perhaps…Dream could truly understand…

“I thought what I experienced in Hell would be the trigger to this fear…” Edwin whispered after silently gathering his thoughts, his hands dropping to his lap. “But…instead…what triggered it the first time was a dark basement. It wasn’t until it happened a second time I realized it was because of that room. That room in the attic of the school where I was dragged to and sacrificed….” He scoffed venomously. “4 bloody walls in the dark overpowered all the terrors of Hell.”

“It’s frustrating…” Edwin continued. “It’s been decades since that night and the fear of it prevents me from going into any small, dark space that remotely resembles an attic. It impedes on our detective work if I cannot enter a small room where a crime has been committed.” He clenched his fists tight as he hissed, “I want it to stop.”

The dream eldritch was silent as he stared at the young, frustrated spirit. Though Edwin was over a century old and very wise, there were times where he showed that, deep down, he was still a 16 year old boy.

Eventually, Dream spoke. “I was also confined to a small room, much like your attic. Inside this small room was my prison, that was even smaller than the space it resided in.” He stared at his warped reflection in the wine glass. “My prison was a sphere. A sphere made of steel and glass…hidden away in a pathetic man’s basement where ancient markings kept me in place and where above me was cruelly decorated like the night sky to mock me and remind me of what I was missing.”

Dream let out soft sigh. “Once I was free, it took me many months to finally be able to stay for long periods in a small room where the walls felt too close and the ceiling too low.” He looked up at the ceiling of the pub. “Even now, there are times that this space becomes fearful.”

“It does…?” Edwin asked, his voice trembling a little. “So…the fear…it doesn’t leave?”

“No.” Dream replied turning his gaze back on Edwin. “It does not. Though it happens less, that fear still plagues me. It will always be there in the back of your mind, trying to drown you.”

“Then there is no hope for me.” Edwin said, defeatedly, his shoulders dropping.

Dream smiled a little. “There is always hope, Edwin Payne. That hope, that raft that will keep you afloat during those fears…that comes from the people around you.”

“The…people around me…?”

The Being turned his gaze. Edwin follow his line of sight, seeing it had landed onto Hob, who was laughing with some of his customers. The immortal caught their stares and waved. Charles looked where Hob was looking, noticed them as well, and grinned widely, also waving.

“The people who love you and care for you…they will be your raft. Your life line. Even if you have no hope in yourself, even if you tell yourself you cannot do it…they will be the hope that will tell you that you can.”

“Hob was…and still is…my raft…” Dream said softly. “He possesses an otherworldly patience I have only ever seen in my sister…and even she has her limits. He has endlessly showered me with it as he has helped me through my fear.” He turned to look at Edwin again, still smiling. “You do not have to battle those waves alone, Edwin. You have many around you who are willing to be your raft.” He placed a slender hand over Edwin’s that had loosened their grip on his slacks. “Myself included.”

Edwin opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Hob, who had finally been able to make his way down to the end of the bar.

“Bloody hell what a night.” The immortal smiled apologetically at them. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to be around much this evening. One of the hazards to owning a business.”

“You were around me.” Teased Charles, who had come up behind Hob.

“Look here, you little shit, that was not because I chose that. That was because you decided that tonight was the night to make ol’ Hob seem more crazy than usual.” Charles laughed as he dodged a swat from Hob, running around to hide behind Edwin.

To any remaining concerned patrons in the pub that evening it looked like Hob was scolding the air next to a shadow of a man and then swatting at a fly.

Those patrons quickly returned their attention back to their drinks.

Hob shook his head at Charles, trying to look stern but unable to as he laughed at the young ghost stick his tongue out. “To make up for it, I’ll watch whatever movies you wanna watch. No complaining.”

“Really!?” Charles beamed.

“Not you.” Hob said as he pointed a finger at Charles. “You don’t get to pick.”

“What!? Robbie, c’mon!”

“Don’t ‘c’mon’ me, you menace.”

“I’ll just possess the TV again.” Charles replied, smugly.

“Do that and I’ll invite Death over for a visit.”

The spirit boys had long since been told by Death herself that she wasn’t going to take them. They were free to roam on earth as long as they continued their work.

Regardless, Charles still paled at the threat. Death was still Death, the taker of souls, the Grim Reaper. Their non-lives were in her hands.

Charles huffed and crossed his arms. “Well played…you win.”

A few customers waved at Hob, beckoning him over to order. “Ah, bollocks…here we go again.” He smiled sheepishly at the spirits and the Endless. “Only a couple more hours, promise.”

Hob hurried away and Charles was about to follow, when he stopped and turned to Edwin. “Hey, are you doing alright? I know…I know you don’t like small rooms very much.”

Edwin blinked, then glanced at Dream. “I…I’m ok right now. Thank you, Charles.”

“Of course. Anything for my best mate.” He placed a hand in Edwin’s shoulder. “If you aren’t ok…please come get me. We’ll…we’ll go outside or something, alright?”

Dream’s words echoed in Edwin’s mind.

‘The people who love you and care for you…they will be your raft…You do not have to battle those waves alone, Edwin.’

The young spirit smiled and placed his hand over Charles’. “I will come get you, I promise.”

Charles grinned and gave Edwin’s shoulder a squeeze before he bounded after Hob once more.

Dream smiled at Edwin. “I believe you will find yourself able to read now.”

The ghost boy looked down at the velvet covered book. He picked it back up, then took in a deep breath and opened it once more.

He did, indeed, find he was able to read.

•—-•—-•—-•—-•

Twitter/X•AO3•Pillowfort •Linktree•Bluesky•Ko-fi

I struggled a bit with this one.

I will admit, I haven’t watched DBD yet. I will be this weekend tho.

But that doesn’t stop me from falling in love with the characters. I am the type of person who “spoils” movies and shows for themselves. I enjoy learning about the characters and the plot and story before I dive into the show. It helps me connect.

The problem with this…method…is I don’t always know the entire plot of something.

Which was issue here.

(If you do not wanna read spoilers for the show and comic, then do not read past the line)

Because DBD is so new, there not a lot out there yet on the show’s version of things. What I mean is, is that in the DBD comic fandom wiki, it says:

“He (Edwin) was abused by bullies who, one evening in 1914, dragged him up to the attics where they dressed up, drew a circle on the floor, and sacrificed him along with frogs and rabbits in an effort to raise devils that never came.

They hid Edwin's body in a trunk, and it was never found, Edwin thought no one looked particularly hard for him since his killers barely covered their tracks.”

I do not know how accurately the show went with the comic as the only thing I can find is an article about how the boys died, which states:

“Edwin's past in 1916 is quite heartbreaking. He had a crush on Simon at their British boarding school. He was invited to a date, only to be ambushed by Simon and his friends. The bullies thought they would have some fun with an occult ritual meant to summon the demonic Sa'al. It feels like they weren't sure that the tome they had would really bring the demon up. But they just wanted to hear Edwin scream and cry. The drunken hazing quickly turns sour as Sa'al comes up and roasts the bullies to ashes. He apologizes to Edwin, but the rules are the rules. Sa'al drags Edwin to Hell as the sacrificial part of the ceremony must be honored.”

So, as I stated above, I struggled. I truly wanted Edwin’s fear to be of the box his body had been hidden in. The fear of the confined space and the four walls and the darkness, because, perhaps, maybe his spirit had been stuck in the box too before he realized and figured out he could leave it.

But the box wasn’t used in the show.

So, I opted for the room, the attic.

Anyway, I’m rambling about this too seriously. I can headcanon things and situations all day long, but I like when those headcanons and my fics have true to the original story details if I can get them in there.

[metalheadsforblacklivesmatter]

The idea of universal basic income is to protect the working class from corporate greed. We got notices of massive layoffs, while the government was giving businesses money to stay afloat and keep their doors open, and now we're hearing that companies are putting out fake job postings so they don't lose their PPP Loans after holding massive layoffs to record record profits?

If anything, this COVID economy has shown us that trickle down economics is absolute bullshit, and instead of giving that money to businesses in hopes it'll protect the people, you'd do far better protecting the people by giving the money straight to them.

Support the writing class, don't forget to unionize.

-fae

[fleetingcalypso]

Work In Progress - Henry Winter x AFAB!Reader.

≋ Greetings, my darlings. I have been absent for some time, and though my heart has always remained anchored here I apologize for having disappeared in such a way and wholly thank you for your patience. Alas, I've had little time to write, but I haven't forgotten you, my companions, my heroes, my world. I'm working on new stories that I hope you'll enjoy, so as proof that my soul has never strayed too far, I present to you a small part of what I'm currently busying myself with. It is not much, but it is enough to show my devotion to our heaven.

≋ Word Count: 700 words.

≋ CW: hallucinations, afab!reader but no feminine pronouns are used while referring to them.

Unfortunately ‘good things never last’ is a hymn I’ve grown to fully comprehend a lifetime ago, the very moment I heard the gut wrenching, bone chilling noise Bunny’s body made when it was done falling off that damned cliff. I still hear it sometimes: sitting on the porch of our villa – another, perhaps too kind, gift by my now mother-in-law – sipping a warm cup of tea, watching the birds fly back to their nests after a long day of losing themselves in the thrill of flight. As always, Henry is in his study, surrounded by inks, papers and documents I do not much care about and for just a second my insubordinate mind drifts to the past, to an echo of what once was laughter and academic conversations, now turned deafening silence and haunting guilt. It only takes a second, a fleeting moment of reminiscing for me to feel Bunny’s thud right next to me, on my porch. I do not dare move a muscle because I know he is watching me with glassy eyes, his glasses broken and his head turned at an inhuman angle. I don’t have it in me to sneak a peek and give into my hallucinations. Allowing him the pleasure of plaguing my reality, as well as my nightmares, would drag me too deep into culpability.

I’m sure Henry sees him as well, at times. He will never admit to it.

His voice snaps me out of my thoughts, yanking me back into a most heavenly and cruel present: Bunny is dead, my friends have drifted away, I am somewhere in the countryside alienated from society, but at last, I’m with my lover who cares deeply for me and handles me as if I’m made of crystal. “Dearest, come inside, it’s getting dark.” Wordlessly I follow my husband into our home. It’s an arduous task for the terrors to follow me when he takes my hand in mine ever so gently and guides me to safety, like a knight in shining armor. My savior leading me through our own private pearly gates.

Dinner is eerily silent, the only noise being cutlery scraping against porcelain plates and ice cold wine being poured in glasses. I scattered the quiet that has settled upon us with quite the daring observation, "Are you happy?" 

His arm stills mid-air as he was bringing a fork to his mouth. The look he gives me through his glasses it's as if I am an open book and he could recite every single one of the inked paragraphs inside of me. 

I insist, "Are you?" And finally he sets his fork down. I hold his attention in my shaking palm. His shoulders are stiff and there’s a small muscle in his jaw that twitches before he speaks and his voice fills the calm of our dining room.

"I am."

"Despite us only having each other, with not a single soul around for miles?"

“Where is this coming from?” I don’t miss the accusative tone buried in what appears to be an innocent question, only a fool would be capable of ignoring it. His gaze pierces right through me, it renders me unable to ever look away, the ocean blue of his eyes is a sea I would gladly choose to swim into until my limbs no longer could keep me afloat and my lungs were filled with him, only with him.

"I'm not too sure," I lie with not little difficulty, it all tastes far too bitter on my tongue, "I suppose I was wondering about our future. Are we to bury ourselves in our solitude for the rest of our lives?" The absence of our friends is more than noticeable, Bunny's absence even more than that. Living like this, pretending we did not murder our friend and abandon the rest to their fate is an herculean feat. 

"What if I said yes? What if that's precisely what I want? For us to only have each other, for the rest of our lives, until our home is but dust and ruins with the only thing remaining of us being our bones entangled with each other in one final hug. Wouldn't you like that?" 

[cosmic--dandelion]

I've seen people call Stolas everything from a weepy damsel in distress to straight up lobotomized in season 2, but overall, I like his character arc in the most recent episodes.

It takes a lot of courage and conviction to stand up to someone who's abused you for almost twenty years. Stolas knows full well he'll be punished by the rest of the Goetia for this, but he's done being trapped in this miserable, loveless marriage.

It's genuinely disturbing to see so many people try to pretend that Stell isn't abusive. Even before the affair, we see her start insulting him the second he walks into the room. She throws a huge party with all the Goetia royalty and spends the whole time LOUDLY mocking him for not being able to perform in bed. Keep in mind that he was literally FORCED to produce an heir. The man is either gay or so physically and mentally repulsed by his wife that he has to dissociate while she's "doing everything herself". It's non-consentual for both of them, and she's laughing at him for being supremely unenthusiastic and probably traumatized over it.

Yeah, he cheated on her. She has a right to be pissed at that. But the reasonable thing to do would be to divorce HIM, not threaten him when he tries to get to leave.

If it wasn't completely obvious by her yeeting this poor bastard at mach 5, she's more embarssed that Stolas was having an affair with an IMP, a lower lifeform as far as she's concerned, than genuinely hurt at his unfaithfulness.

Based on what we've seen so far, she's been shoving all the parenting duties onto Stolas for Octavia's entire life.

("But it was probably just Stolas's turn!" I hear you say. "I'm sure Stella's a GREAT mom off screen, we just haven't seen any hint of it for a season and a half!" That is NOT how visual storytelling works. This scene was written and drawn the way that it is for a reason. It's trying to tell us something about the characters and their relationships. And the fact remains that Stolas hugged and comforted Octavia and sang her a lullaby while Stella, who refers to her daughter as "that egg that dropped out of me" just rolled over and went back to sleep.

Stella is by default a bad mother for hiring an assassin to kill Stolas. Losing her father is Octavia's very worst fear, and Stella doesn't even care what kind of effect it would have on the girl. Stolas getting distracted arguing with his ex-wife and forgetting to take Octavia to see a meteor shower kind of pales in comparison.

Stolas isn't perfect, and he's still kind of a shitty person, but he's making at least some effort to fix his past mistakes. He tried to get an Asmodean crystal for Blitzø so he wouldn't have to sleep with him to keep his business afloat. He stopped calling Blitzø humiliating pet names like "my little imp". He took the hint after "Loo Loo Land" and "Seeing Stars" and stopped flirting with Blitzø and fighting with Stella in front of Octavia. He helped Asmodeus stay calm during Fizzarolli's hostage negotiation and prevented him from getting taken advantage of by Crimson's sleazy lawyer, even after Asmodeus refused to help him.

That's character development, baby.

[melon-wing]

Hidden Wings [Etho/Grian]

[Fanfiction Masterlist] [Snip/Request Masterlist]

Grian hummed to himself, walking through the new shopping district, looking at the shops that had started popping up everywhere. He still needed to build his own little shop he had reserved a spot for, but planning his mansion took all his time and resources away. And with Scar as his neighbour he got so easily distracted from that as well, so it always ended up with barely anything getting done.

Grian giggled, thinking of his latest prank and the way Larry had glared at him over the huge moustache now attached to its face. It could glare all it wanted, Grian knew that Larry had let him do it. Otherwise he would have gotten a big bite mark as a proof of disdain, just like the time when Grian climbed it, assuming it was just a very well made statue and not actually alive.

And he just knew Scar would be amused at the prank as well. Scar was the sweetest and most fun loving neighbour he had ever had. Even Mumbo didn’t come close to how good natured Scar was and how well he handled the constant pranks hitting him and his base.

His thoughts drifted from Scar to his shop as he walked up to the little lake he would begin his emporium on. He had to really start out small this time. Last time he had gone overboard with his pickle shop and barely ever made a diamond. This time though, he was gonna end up rich. Sure, it was no bookstore or rocket shop, but when it came to grinding the Hermits were just as lazy as he was when it came to building farms. So now their laziness would be supplying him with the much needed diamonds. His addiction to flying by Elytra wouldn’t cost him all his wealth this time.

He glanced at the lake again, his mind working at full speed. For now he’d put something simple there. Just something to get started on and earn himself some diamonds. And then he’d fill in the lake and build a gigantic shop… If he ever found the energy to do so.

Maybe for now he’d just build something that fit the area. A small hut? No, he’d have to drain the water for that. A barge would probably work best at the moment.

It didn’t take him too long to finish his little floating shop. He had built castles and towns, this was like a walk through the park. He could have done it in his sleep. Well… Looking at it now, maybe it looked like he had done it while half asleep. It was just… so simple. He made a thoughtful noise, unsure if his on the spot design really worked well. Because even if it was meant to be temporary, he still didn’t want to put something ugly in the middle of their shopping district. He couldn’t lose face in front of his friends like that.

For a few moments he glanced around. Nobody was in the Shopping District. It had been empty this whole time while he had been working on his barge. The Hermits were all busy building their starter bases after all. There were barely any shops that pulled them to the island. And he could see the portal from here. If somebody stepped through he could just hide. He probably shouldn’t do it, but he had yet to get an Elytra. Grian hesitated for another moment before feathery wings sprouted from his back, his sweater opening holes for them as the fabric responded to his magic. He glanced around once more before a strong beat of those wings catapulted him up into the air. It was so different from flying with an elytra. Getting into the air always required more work than just firing off a rocket and jumping up. But once he was in the air…Grian stopped mid air, his wings spread far apart, almost parallel to the ground, the wind keeping him afloat in position, letting him hover high above the land. This made it far easier to look at his shop from a distance. His eyes moved over the lake and the wooden construct, darting to the portal every now and again, making sure nobody was coming over.

It didn’t take him long to assess his build. It looked good enough to his liking for a temporary build. Not too big or too small for the lake, and if he needed to make it a big bitter before tearing it down he still had enough room. He knew how lazy he was sometimes when it came to starting large builds. 

With one last glance to the portal he sank down to the ground, his feet gently touching the ground as he landed without making a single sound. He was about to hide his wings again when he froze, staring at a person standing right in front of him. Etho had just walked out of one of the stores and frozen up just as much as Grian did. How had he not noticed Etho being here? He had watched the portal so closely and he had seen nobody come through and go into one of the shops.

Neither of them said a word, though a thousand excuses were running through Grian’s mind. It was a prank. It was a costume. He drank some weird potion. A witch put a curse on him. Etho was dreaming. Nothing left his mouth. Etho wouldn’t buy it. He was too smart for that. The only way Grian had to get out of this mess was using his magic once more. Erasing the short term memory wouldn’t be too hard to pull off and solve all of his problems. He took a small step forward, his wings fluttering as his muscles tensed.

But just when he took his second step Etho disappeared without a trace within the blink of an eye, a small stick lying on the ground where he had just stood. Grian blinked in confusion, not comprehending what had just happened.

A soft touch on his right wing startled him as a shiver ran down his whole body. There was a hand on his wing, softly moving down the feathers, gently caressing them. For a moment his brain just stopped working as the hand kept moving, his eyes drifting shut. He felt like he was melting below the touch. Nobody had ever touched his wings before. And it felt… good?

A soft chuckle came from behind him. “I didn’t know you’d purr like that.” 

Grian wanted to reply, to deny that he was making any sorts of noises, but now that Etho had brought it to his attention he realised he was indeed purring like some little kitten and somehow even though he tried to, he was unable to stop that noise leaving his mouth.

A pause as the hand moved to his other wing, tracing the upper part all the way to where it connected to Grian’s skin. “So they are real wings, huh? Fascinating.”

Grian should have run, he should have hidden his wings. Why was he still just standing there? He should have hated this, should have been scared. But it felt too good. He leaned back a bit, his wings moving to press against the hand caressing it. Etho’s hand just kept moving, softly, carefully, making him feel so warm inside. A sound from the portal startled Grian, his wings suddenly flapping in panic, throwing Etho back. His wings glowed and then shrunk back into his body, his sweater mending itself hiding the feathery tattoo that was left behind on his skin. The portal did spit someone out a moment later, though not another Hermit, it was just a stupid pigman. Grian felt himself get disappointed at the fact that this thing had made them stop, only realising a moment later that he had wanted Etho to keep going.

Grian turned around slowly, eager to learn if his disappointment was mirrored on Etho’s face, but when he did, nobody was standing behind him anymore. Damn. He looked around, slightly panicked, but nobody was there anymore and so he hurriedly took out his communicator, frantically typing a message to send to Etho. He couldn’t have him tell the others. Nobody could know. It was troublesome enough that Etho had found out already.

Before he could send the message a soft hand touched his, stopping him from going on. He looked up into Etho’s face who had somehow reappeared in front of him once more. “I won’t tell anyone. We all have our secrets after all.” Etho paused for a moment, looking past Grian’s shoulders where the wings had been earlier. “They’re beautiful by the way. Very fitting for a man like you.”

“What-”, Grian started but just like that Etho disappeared for the final time. It took Grian all the way home to his base until he realised that Etho had not just complimented his wings but called him beautiful. Larry looked over towards him with much more annoyance than ever before when Grian let out a loud embarrassed squeal, his whole face turning bright red.

~*~

Grian was in trouble. He hadn’t planned on this happening. He had just tried to get away from the enemy and now he was sitting in a cave, holding his breath, hoping nobody would come in. He was half tempted to go deeper into the cave system to find a creeper lurking in the dark tunnels that killed him so he’d respawn. Even turning into a yellow life was better than his wings getting discovered.

He tried to push his magic inside them again, but once more a pain flared up in his left wing, making him cry out and stopping the magic. He tried to reach the arrow still stuck between the feathers, but the spot was way too close to his back. They had aimed for his heart after all. He was in so much trouble right now. They were still searching the area, he was pretty sure about it.

He couldn’t escape…. Not without help.

Grian took out his communicator, staring at Scar’s name. They had become really close lately, being neighbours and then getting thrown into this murderous game together and pairing up. Maybe it was time Scar knew about his secret. He was sure he could trust Scar with that. Scar would never betray him, right?

<Grian> Help me. I’m stuck in a cave. 2453/765

He hit the send button, blankly staring at his communicator. This had been stupid. A mistake. Why had he decided to do this? Why did he think he could trust him of all people right now? He should move away from the cave he had just given out the coordinates to. It was too dangerous even with the agreement they had.

He didn’t move.

He could hear steps get closer and hear voices in the distance. 

“Check everywhere. He can’t have gotten far bleeding like that!”

Grian began shaking. He needed help. Ren couldn’t see him like that. Not now. Not when the games had gotten to him so much. What would he do with this knowledge when the red life had made him just as distorted as Scar.

When steps came closer Grian moved back a little, letting out a small whimper as his injured wing hit the cave’s wall.

A figure stepped through the entrance of the cave, looking at him directly. Grian could barely breathe, his wings moving to cover his body as he shrunk into the dark.

“There’s nobody here. The cave’s empty. No trace of Grian. Move on. I’ll go back to base to restock my food and then I’ll join you again.” 

A confirmation was shouted and the voices got further and further away again. Only one pair of steps moved closer and closer, stopping right in front of him, a soft hand touching his wing, slowly moving it to the side until Grian’s face was no longer hidden behind it.

“Etho…”, Grian whispered, his wings fluttering a little at the relief he felt.

“I got your message”, Etho just stated, voice unreadable as he searched Grian’s face. “You do know we’re on opposing teams in this? Do you know how stupid and dangerous it was to send me your coordinates? What if I had betrayed you?”

Grian shrugged. He didn’t even know. He had just changed his mind at the last second, pulling up Etho’s chat instead of Scar’s. “I knew you wouldn’t if you saw me. I just knew. You promised to keep my secret. You promised.”

Etho nodded to confirm just his words and Grian breathed a sigh of relief, his muscles relaxing slightly. He hadn’t even realised how scared he had been that his trust in Etho might have been displaced.

“Why didn’t you just hide them? Like last time. They were gone pretty quickly without a trace.”

Instead of giving a reply, Grian just turned around slowly and the gasp he heard meant Etho had seen the problem. “The arrow Ren shot…”

“I was about to take off. Nobody here has an Elytra so I knew they wouldn’t be searching the sky and the forest was dense enough to hide me taking off. I didn’t expect Ren to shoot and hit in a situation like that. He sometimes acts so aloof, but he is a good fighter.”

A soft warm hand touched his injured wing and Grian let out a soft sigh. It still hurt like hell, but somehow this simple little touch made him feel better already. Just like the last time when Etho had caressed his wings.

“I’m- This will hurt. I need to pull it out.”

“Can’t hurt worse than being shot”, Grian said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he was making light of the situation they were in.

“I think I still have some shears in my inventory. Maybe I can cut it in half.”

Grian could hear the sound of the inventory being opened and after a moment an item materialised in Etho’s hands. He looked so hesitant with those shears, staring at the arrow, his free hand still absentmindedly tracing Grian’s wing.

“I won’t break. You’re not hurting me, the arrow is. Just do it.”

Etho seemed to be calmed slightly by his words and nodded, moving Grian’s body gently with a hand on his shoulder so he was standing with his side to the wall, his wing stretched out parallel to the wall, his other wing tucked in to give Etho some room with the arrow. A hand gently moved the feathers out of the way before putting the shears to the wood. He paused and then the shears closed down, snapping the wood in half. The vibration it sent through it and the wound made Grian whine as pain shot through the whole wing and his back.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault”, Grian mumbled, trying to catch his breath. The worst part was still to come though he was really glad Etho had managed to cut the arrow or it might have been so much worse. “Get it out. I can do this.” Grian tried to sound brave, but it was kind of scary to anticipate pain, he clenched his hands to fists, trying to steel himself for what was coming. When the arrow started slowly moving forward it felt like fire was rushing through all of his nerves. He felt his muscles spasm without being able to stop it. The hand that had been so gentle on his wing now pressed against it, pressing it against the wall of the cave to stop it from moving. The pushing stopped as he could feel Etho become hesitant again.

“Stay strong. We’re getting there! I’ve seen you take worse”, Etho encouraged him and Grian let out a huff half in pain, half in amusement. 

“You’ve been watching me, Mr. Ninja?”

Etho stopped for a moment and then chuckled. “I might have been. You’re… certainly interesting. Now… Take a deep breath. I’m gonna push it all the way through on the count of three. One, T-”

Before Etho had even finished the second count he pushed the arrow out. Grian screamed, his whole body shaking as waves of pain shot through him. He would have collapsed, had Etho not noticed his legs getting weak. He was caught by strong arms and both of them slowly slid to the ground. There were arms around him, a body pressed against his back and Grian leaned back a little, catching his breath.

“It’s out?”

“Yeah. You did well. I’m sorry. I thought it might be better to do it quickly after all. The slow way seemed to hurt worse.”

Grian just nodded. 

“Can you move a little? I got some healing potion on me for emergencies. I feel like this counts as one, even though I don’t think this is what Martyn meant when he gave it to me. But oh well, what the king doesn’t know…”

Grian chuckled softly, still breathing heavily, but he still moved forward slightly, to give Etho access to his wings again. The warm hands were back on him once more, but again so soft, so gentle as they moved through the feathers.

“It’s sad. They looked so pretty in white.”

Grian huffed, smiling fondly. “I am capable of washing my wings, you know that?”

Etho just hummed. One hand moved back and a moment later it came back, coated in what must have been the potion. The moment the fingers touched his wound, Grian could feel the familiar healing magic entering him, knitting his skin together slowly but surely with each coat Etho applied. Grian’s eyes drifted shut. It felt so good. The gentle touch, the warm magic, the pain fading. 

And then Etho started humming softly. It was a tune Grian didn’t recognize. It sounded so melancholic, filled with sadness and sorrow. Grian knew the wound had healed enough by now, but Etho didn’t stop caressing the slightly bent feathers and Grian didn’t stop him. There was a short pause, an inventory being opened and then a wet rag touched his feathers. They didn’t speak. Etho just kept humming as he carefully wiped the half dried blood from the feathers. After about the third repetition of the melody Grian joined in, quiet and uncertain. The humming stopped for a second and Grian was worried he had somehow destroyed whatever moment they had, but Etho started up again and Grian was pretty sure he could hear his smile in the melody even if that was impossible.

The hands on his wings moved away from the wound after a while, no longer wet, no longer cleaning, just moving along the feathers, carefully caressing them, setting them straight where they had been slightly ruffled. 

Grian could have stayed like this in the cave forever and Etho didn’t seem any more inclined to move and get back outside. But they were in the middle of a war and time for peace and quiet wasn’t a luxury they had. A loud beep came from Grian’s communicator, making him falter and stop humming and when he took it out Etho stopped as well.

“It’s Scar… He’s worried. Ren might have taunted him a bit about me lying somewhere dying”, Grian gave a soft sigh as he smiled fondly at the message. For all the trouble Scar caused him, he was a good and caring man. Grian shot a quick message back, assuring his partner that everything was fine. That he was hiding and coming back soon. His only reply was a bunch of happy cheering faces that made him giggle quietly. He could just imagine the look on Scar’s face, lighting up with joy. The moment he had let out the sound, Etho’s hand twitched, moving away from his wing. Grian could barely hold back a disappointed noise. He just wished this moment could have lasted longer.

“Why did you message me? Why didn’t you call Scar. He’s your partner after all, not me.”

The question came out of the blue and it made Grian stop a moment, thinking about the reason Etho asked now and not earlier when he had come to the cave

“I knew you’d be close by. Ren was chasing me after all. Scar would have run in guns blazing. He’s on his red life. I can’t have him die trying to save me while I’m still on my green life…” He stopped, hesitant, but he felt like he had to be honest with Etho after the moment they had shared. “And I couldn’t let Scar see.”

He glanced over his shoulder and he could see the confusion in Etho’s eyes. “You haven’t told him yet?”

Grian just shook his head, almost feeling guilty that he kept holding on to this secret so badly. The Hermits wouldn’t shun him. They wouldn’t judge. They’d listen him out and nobody would ban him unlike in all those other worlds he had been in.

“Grian… You should tell him. It’s important to be honest in a relationship. If he finds out his lover has been hiding a secret like that…” The touch against his wings was hesitant now and he swore he could hear a hint of guilt and sadness in Etho’s voice. Though it was hard to focus on those emotions when what had been said caught up to his brain.

“Wait… His what?” Grian’s head whipped around once more, staring at the man behind him, mouth slightly agape.

Etho’s eyebrows knitted together, the confusion clear even when half his face was covered by a mask.

“Your lover. No need to hide it. Unlike your wings it is not a very well kept secret. Scar let it slip on accident that he had a secret relationship and you guys being mushy like that all the time… It was pretty obvious.”

Giran let out a laugh at that, his wings fluttering a little in amusement and he turned around, fully facing Etho now.

“We’re not. How could you ever think that was the case? Almost everybody back in Hermitcraft knows he’s dating Ren. They started flirting during the Civil War interviews. He’s just pretending it’s a huge secret in this world. It’s part of their little game here. I thought you’d know as well. You’re usually so observant. Their fighting is just over the top flirting. Ren even went red for Scar, so he wasn’t the only one, so he would have an enemy to have fun with. Me and Scar? No way.”

As he explained everything, he saw Etho’s cheeks turn the slightest hint of red. But there was something else. Something that looked akin to hope. Just a glint. A hint of something hidden. A secret kept behind a mask. Grian knew that feeling all too well. Gently, Grian lifted his hand, touching the fabric on Etho’s cheek, looking him right in the eyes as he took hold of the mask. He gave Etho every chance to move back and stop him. Etho didn’t, not even flinching.

Grian slowly pulled the fabric down, revealing soft lips he had never been before.

“Why? Why do you look at me like this?”, Grian just asked. He wasn’t even sure what he meant by this question. He couldn’t even put it into words what Etho’s face told him. The emotions were only stronger now that he could see the other’s mouth. And it was intriguing.

“I don’t know. I- I was over this. I thought. And yet I can’t forget that time in the shopping district when you landed in front of me like an angel. I thought you were with him. So I didn’t dare… I’m a loner. I’ve been for so long, ever since- it doesn’t matter now.”

Grian felt hesitant. He was pretty sure now, where this was going, but while he was so certain on what Etho was feeling he didn’t know about himself. What was he going to say? What would Etho want him to say?

Etho smiled softly as if reading his mind, leaning forward a bit and planting a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. Before Grian’s brain had even registered the action, he had moved back again.

“I like you, Grian. I have for a while. But I think we both know this is not the right moment and certainly not the right place. After this is over… After we’re done and back home… Let me tell you properly and then you can give me an answer.”

Grian could feel his whole face heat up and somehow that heat spread down his body and into his wings. It was something he had never felt. His wings felt so warm and it was like his magic was vibrating inside.

Etho let out a chuckle, tilting his head to the side a little to look at his wings. “They do that when you‘re flustered, huh? Cute.” Grian looked to the side, following Etho‘s gaze to look at his wings where all his feathers had somehow fluffed up, all standing  up ever so slightly, giving his wings a weird puffy look. It only made him blush a little more.

So instead of answering to Etho’s observation he gave an answer to his earlier statement. “I think… I‘d like that. When we‘re done. When this is all over.”

Etho nodded, leaning forward and Grian closed his eyes, somehow expecting another soft kiss, but instead a warm hand touched his wing again, gently bending some of the feathers back down. Grian didn't know whether to be disappointed about that or not.

“See you, little bird.”

When Grian opened his eyes, Etho was gone already. He had disappeared as always so quickly that Grian wondered if he possessed some sort of magic of his own. 

Grian smiled softly, taking a deep breath. He almost didn‘t want to magic his wings away. He wanted to stay with the lingering feeling of Etho‘s touch. But still he slowly let his wings disappear, waiting as they slowly turned into nothing more but painted feathers on his skin.

Now more than ever he really wished that their game was already done. Because he knew that for the rest of their days in this world there would be nothing on his mind but that sweet chaste kiss they had shared. And he was pretty sure he already knew what answer he was going to give Etho when they met up back in Hermitcraft.

[shady-swan-jones]

A story in the Soy Luna universe. Simon and Ambar. Season 3.

Ao3 . Wattpad

Wherever Luna Valente is, a buzz of activity surrounds her. She’s in the middle of the cafeteria, chatting animatedly with the Roller Jam team about yet another idea she has for the costumes of their next choreography.

The words glitter and amazing come up more than twice.

Of course they do, Ambar thinks, rolling her eyes. The scene unfolding in front of her, though not unusual, still manages to annoy her. Here she is, buried in her papers trying to keep a whole business afloat, one that provides both everyone's entertainment and several jobs, while sweet, cheerful Luna Valente is picking colour themes like she doesn’t have a care in the world apart from skating. Ambar watches as the group agrees with her ideas, praising her imagination and artistic spirit.

Flowers. She suppresses her inner Miranda Prisley. For spring? Groundbreaking.

Not only they’re shamelessly agreeing with everything her -former- sworn enemy suggests, -that’s what friends are supposed to do- they are doing it in Ambar's face, and loudly. She hasn’t seen that level of excitement since, probably the last time Luna made a suggestion.

Ugh, where can one get some peace around here? Ambar wonders, looking at her folder for answers. The papers stare at her wordlessly, refusing to pick sides. The presence of the calculator mocks her, as if there’s a chance of being able to focus with so much noise around her.

She gathers up her things and gets up to leave, when a body collides with hers sending said cowardly calculator flying around, along with a few papers and a good chunk of Ambar’s dignity. The rest of it slowly evaporates as she looks up to see whose -warm- body impedes her exit.

“Not a fan of the flower painted skates?” Simon asks as he crouches to gather her things. Ambar looks down to see him smiling at her, as if he is amused by her annoyance.

"You know I prefer black and silver”. She answers sarcastically, both knowing her annoyed face isn’t about the skate colour at all. “But there’s no way Luna and her friends could pull them off, so this floral it is”. She motions to take her things as he gets up, his smile meeting her icy gaze.

"I know they can be a lot. You need some quiet to work, right?” he asks, his eyes full of understanding.

She nods, not expecting he’d get her so easily, but again, it’s Simon. Guitarist with a heart of gold. And arms of a greek god, her mind supplies unhelpfully.

"I get it, Ambar. But be nicer, they are brainstorming for the competition”. His eyes are begging her to understand. The competition and Luna are important to him.

"Should they be doing it here? If I listen to one more conversation about tulle I’m going to lose my mind, Simon!” she exclaims, her hand lifting in a desperate attempt to communicate her frustration.

Simon barks a laugh, quickly hiding it behind his hand, as if it would insult his friends. Said friends are deeply engrossed in tulle themed conversation to notice them. His eyes are still shining playfully when they meet hers. The brown orbs are focused on her and it doesn’t fail to nudge that longing in her insides that she constantly tries to push down. Maybe that’s why he does it, maybe he’s aware of the effect his gaze has on her.

Before she gets more lost in her unexplored feelings, Simon interrupts her thoughts.

"They’ll go back to practice in the rink in a few minutes. You’ll have the place almost to yourself. In the meantime, do you want to take a walk around, clear your head? I’ll have a smoothie waiting when you come back.”

Though the idea of space right now is enticing, there’s one thing missing from being perfect.

"Only if you come with me.” His eyes spark as they try to decipher her intentions. “Just a few minutes. You haven’t taken a break yet”. Damn, the last one she shouldn’t have said.

"You’re keeping tabs on me, senorita Ambar”.

"Because I am your boss, Simon.” she clarifies. As if this is the only motive for watching him waiting tables, playing the guitar, laughing at Nico’s jokes and being a goofball all day long. Her goofball, she hopes, someday.

"Right, boss”, he plays along. “Since you’re asking so nicely, I will accompany you.” he motions to Nico that he’s taking a break, ignoring his friend's dagger filled look and they head for the door.

Ambar hides her smile.

They're in this bottomless limbo these days, Simon and her. She had apologized for the secret she kept from Luna, he's trying to figure out if he'll continue to give her chances to prove herself. It seems like every interaction they have has angry undertones and there's a place in her soul that's gaping open, longing for the kind of selfless affection only Simon has ever given her. This new normal they have fallen into is a poor substitute for what she knows they can have again.

Simon's mind seems to be in similar plains. His eyebrows furrow and casts a tentative look in her way.

"This doesn’t mean I have forgiven you, Ambar. Nor that I’ll play along next time you hide something from Luna", he asserts. He casts his sight downwards and Ambar's eyes fall to his necklace. She's dying to ask about the story behind his pendant. Maybe another time, when they're alright again.

"I know, I know, Simon, I am apologizing again-"

"-or cover for you again next time you and your teammates have an evil plan. I am tired of it. I won’t do it to my friends", he says as they cross the street, the tall trees of the park welcoming them.

"You mean you’re tired of me?” She stops walking and looks at him, the vulnerability evident in her eyes. She bares her soul to him, in this moment she’s wide open.

"No, no. I didn’t mean that, Ambar.” He stops and puts a hand to her shoulder to comfort her. It’s a quick gesture, but she feels relieved. “You know I didn’t mean that”, he says quietly, almost to himself. His hand caresses her shoulder once more and returns to his pocket.

They continue walking, a veil of silence upon them. It’s not uncomfortable, Ambar thinks, but this is the park where they had such emotional conversations and the memories it brings are too emotional to ignore. They're walking along the place where she started opening up to him, all those months ago. She remembers the person she was before finding and confiding in him, how alone and powerless she felt. The memory of his kind words and understanding eyes would seem worlds away, if he wasn’t looking at her with the same openness now. Now, after everything she’d done to him and his friends, after him coming face to face with her darkness and being on the opposite side of her evil plans. He still chooses to see the best in her, even now that he has ample evidence of her worst side.

She’s feeling her emotions build up as they walk side by side, looking in front but very aware of each other’s presence. It’s almost surreal that in the eyes of the world they are on completely opposing sides, yet in their own little universe. They’re walking close, in the same direction.

Time to start bridging the gap, Ambar thinks and she feels a spark in her fingers. She closes the small distance between them, and softly caresses Simon's hand, linking their fingers together. She squeezes his hand as her eyes close, basking in the warmth of their link. Simon looks at her surprised, but she’s avoiding her eyes and looks straight ahead. She’s smiling, a secret smile she reserves for private moments. He squeezes her hand back timidly.

"Simon." Their eyes meet. "I know there are many things left to fix between us to even think about the possibility of us. I know I have more apologies to make and steps to take before I’m ready for another chance." He seems surprised by her sudden honesty. "But please, only for the 15 minutes left in your break, let’s pretend we're in that happy place where we've resolved our issues. Let's say we’re there, together. Just the two of us, like this.” she tucks her head on his shoulder, sighting happily. She molds herself to his side, basking in his warmth.

Affection doesn’t come naturally to Ambar, having grown up with a cold and distant mother figure can do that. But with Simon, it felt second nature, his body always responding to her touch.

"Pretend we’re together? Simon asks. The way he holds her, he seems to enjoy the idea of acting the part of a normal couple, without obstacles in their way. He squeezes her hand and whispers “Like a glimpse into the future?”

Hearing the hope in his voice, it almost brings tears to her eyes. This man, this loyal, loving man. She slows down their walking and finally stops in front of him. She searches in his eyes and only finds honesty and longing. They will get through this.

She untagles her hand from his, only to go for a long hug. He immediately envelops her in his arms, resting on her midriff and her hair. Ambar rests her cheek on his chest, hearing the steady thud of his heartbeat. She could stay hours like this.

“Like a glimpse into the future”, she affirms softly. Simon arms squeeze her, the unspoken emotion bursting through his skin. She hasn’t felt safer and lighter than in his arms.

She feels a soft kiss pressed into her hair. For the first time in a while, she lets herself hope.

[folliesofmiceandmen]

if you’re hearing NORMAL PROBLEMS BY HONEYCHURCH playing, you have to know QUINTON BURKE (HE/HIM, CISMALE) is near by! the 31 year old BARTENDER AT LUCKY PENNY (FORMER BROADWAY ACTOR) has been in town for, like, SIX MONTHS. they’re known to be quite COLD, but being WISE seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble CHARLES MELTON. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those HOLDING A GRUDGE LIKE ITS A CAREER, MESH TANK TOPS IN DECEMBER, WORKING OUT WHILE LISTENING TO SHOWTUNES, SPICY FOOD IS THE ONLY FOOD vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around BRIGHTSIDE long enough!

(TW for car accident; drug and alcohol use under the cut)

name: quinton 'quin' burke age: 31 d.o.b. & sign: february 14th, aquarius occupation: bartender at lucky penny and former broadway actor hometown: france gender identity & sexuality: cismale & homosexual relationship status: single

+3 likes: whiskey, old vinyl records, his niece +3: dislikes: a certain person who shall remain nameless, polo shirts, cats

Quin never had the strongest relationship with his mother growing up. She was in and out of his life like a postcard, moving away from France and from him when he was just a baby to go back to her family in Korea. He would visit once every couple of years as a child, and only on her terms. His relationship with his father was far more deep, far stronger. Oscar was always there, too, an extra person to help, to guide him, to make sure he understood the world a little bit better than he had before.

He wasn't a particularly gifted schoolboy, passing classes in the way that made it clear he wasn't a studious young man. He had grades that his mother considered terrible, passing not good enough, and though it wasn't for lack of trying, the boy simply couldn't pick up on the material in a way that felt right and made sense in his mind. He gravitated to the arts, loving music, adoring being on stage, even enjoying painting as a casual medium.

He was a teenager when he gave up on traditional schooling and convinced his father to let him enroll in a fine arts school, putting him on stage and in plays and musicals a lot more often. This school was where he met his first talent agent, booked his first show on a professional stage, managed to get all the way to the west end.

He had just finished a run in a show when he travelled across the pond to watch his sister graduate, and while the family had plans to spend the summer together in France, while Quin filmed and sent in a million self tapes, he decided to take a quick week trip to visit his mother and maternal grandparents before he met up with them. It was on the third night of that trip he got the call that changed his life forever.

Everything felt dark and hollow for a while after he got home. Anger and sadness were a constant war in his body and mind, and he tried his best to drown it out, but between losing his real father, and the man who was practically a second father to him shutting it all off, Quin grew angrier and angrier, and eventually, that anger directed itself all toward Oscar. It had to be his fault that all of this had happened, had to be him that ruined their lives. He packed up his things and moved to New York without much fanfare, finding a new agent there and working as a bartender and waiter to keep himself afloat while he auditioned for work. He tried to cut contact with everyone while the New York life took him over. He drank every night, he found recreation in drugs and meaningless sex, he spiraled into self destruction for nearly five years.

It all changed when Rowen called him to tell him the news. She was having a baby. Quin wasn't quite sure what to do with that information. He was in the middle of a run on a broadway show, eight shows a week, busy and doing well for himself, and his sister wanted to move to some place that looked like it should be on the paramount lot, because their dad's former lover had moved there. He said no at first. Rowan wore him down, and eventually he agreed, feeling a stab in his chest as he resigned from the show he was in, packing up and moving yet again.

[truly-quirkless]

Twenty Day Challenge 2024 - Day Three

This is mostly for the Medieval!YagiFin/Cracked Facades/Bloody Cinnamon. ONWARDS-

Dude kept finding excuses to visit Fin's shop. Fellow knight under Nezu broke a sword? He'll take it to the best blacksmith he knows. Armor needs repairing? Let him take it, he knows a place. Need a new weapon? Sure, he'll introduce you.

Literally any reason to head to Fin's blacksmith shop, anything he could get his hands on, he grabbed.

Has a local pub he goes to near-daily (True Form), invited Fin there for their first date.

Absolutely figured out just from meeting them that Fin was a blanket lover. Proceeded to gift them blankets at least once a month for a year.

Never referred to All Might by name before telling Fin he was All Might- just...kinda danced around it. A lot. A lot of 'well, my friend...' and 'my close ally...' and whatnot.

Spat blood the first time Fin called him an assassin.

When he found out Fin was the academy's 'siren'? He started just heading out and sitting in the plains while Fin sang on those full-moon nights.

Silently slides Fin a few extra copper every single time he pays them (more than the general price of their gear) because after hearing they loved books, he decided to help contribute to their book fund. Mate won't let him do it directly, so fine! Indirect it is, bitch-

Just about screams if any of his coworkers actually accompany him to Fin's place.

It's not because he's jealous, just that he doesn't want them to see that side of him. He wants them to all see him as a Hero, never--- just--- a man. (And yes maybe he's nervous one of the younger ones will steal Fin's heart.)

Absolutely realizes that trading items for free is a huge courting sign but plays oblivious to it until he and Fin start actually courting.

Kept letting Yagi pay less than all their other customers, even from day one (really wanted him to visit again).

Got so confused when he kept showing up to their shop all the same like--- he couldn't get enchanted gear from them???? Was he losing his mind--

The first date Fin actually planned with him, they took Yagi up to their room and offered him one of their books. They kept reading until they passed out, and woke up cuddling in the blankets.

Absolutely panics if ever Yagi shows up with an injury, is literally two seconds from ripping out the jewel Nezu gifted them and giving it to Yagi.

"There are better shops closer to the castl-" "--they're too far away." Their shop is literally in the sticks--

Does little metalworkings/crafts things for Yagi even before the two start courting.

Legit made him an ice chest with the help of a friend.

Most of the dates Fin plans end up being hunting trips, or mining trips for specific ores. Very rarely is it anything else- Fin's got a job to do and a business to keep afloat, after all!

Nearly faints when they find out Yagi is AM.

Actually faints when AM asks if they can work with another nation's top blacksmith/inventor and enchanter- David Shield- to make him some new armor.

Funny since Yagi knows he'll be retiring within the year.

Said armor is eventually worn to protect one of the cities in the kingdom- Kamino- from the ruthless king of another nation, All for One. It's also destroyed in that battle.

Has an entire 'junk pile' of little trinkets they made for Yagi pre-courting that they're too embarrassed to give him. Slowly just reveals this pile to him at some point, when they get more confident---

[liminal-storage]

9!

Content warnings: None really. Vague mentions of crime I guess?

Characters: Kuni Muinvel and a bunch of nameless nightclub attendees.

Song: Stopwatch Hearts by Delerium feat Emily Haines.

Nightlife had never really been her thing.

While it was true enough that she operated at all sorts of ungodly hours, from the crack of dawn to the deepest heartbeat of night, she’d never been one to indulge in thumping music or crowded venues. Not to say she’d never had the urge or inclination, it was simply owed to the fact that she usually had other commitments. Jobs after hours, minutes stretching into hours following after suspicious figures for the sake of scraping up evidence for paying clients. 

But tonight bright neon lights, too-loud music, and the scent of sweat all encircled around her, pressed against her like an expanding bubble. Too hot. Too claustrophobic. 

Her eyes remained glued to a person of interest; a lean and spindly-limbed man at the bar who a client had hired her to look into under suspicion of illegal arms dealing. With the rush of loud music and equally loud chatter, she almost forgot why. The sensory overload was certainly enough to make her mind short-circuit. She realized that was probably why people came here in the first place. 

It was a potentially dangerous job if it evolved into something more beyond tonight. She doubted it, given the background she'd been provided, but the work still required some measure of focus.

There’d been offers sent her way; invitations to dance and drink amidst the crowd of scantily clad people. Leather and shining fabric, glittering coverings that hardly counted as clothing at all. Bright, paint-like makeup and heels so tall they could be used as weapons in case of an emergency. It all swirled together in a blur between the ebb and flow of bodies. Perhaps she did long to join them, long to lose herself for once and let her near constant worries trickle away to the beat of the music. But that was not what she’d come for. 

Her person of interest sat between two other men. Their talk proved impossible to hear in the noisy din. That was fine, she didn’t need to hear them. Just needed to see and follow them wherever they happened to go, needed to record proof of their exchange with the tiny, fragile magitech device that she’d been gifted some years ago. It’d been gathering dust in a box at the back of her office, awaiting its glory days until she found it and had it fixed up. 

It was perfect for an occasion like this, and it let her do her work while also letting her attention drift a little. 

Unlike nightlife, people-watching had always been her thing. From grubby backalley pubs to flashy and body-packed venues like this, her gaze always danced among the crowds wondering about the lives of the people around her.

Cheating wives and lying husbands. Traffickers and thieves. Mystical and dangerous. The mundane and the strange. All of them gathered here, and some of them would come to her door on later dates to seek her assistance. Even when chaos overtook her other places of work, when nothing made sense and she felt out of her league, she could count on the populace to keep her coffers full and her paperwork filed. 

Hail to the cheaters and liars and thieves. Hail to the strange and the suspicious, she thought. Praise for the party-starved, the privileged and the prudish. A shotglass lifted in toast to the mingling sea of bodies and the ear-shattering bass, thanks given for the misdeeds that kept her business afloat. 

What a strange line of thought. 

She cut off the recording device, having gotten what she needed, and slipped into the crowd.

[imabillyami]

Do you still like Jey and his story?

Hey anon! Thank you for asking!

I'm sorry in advance if I go off topic at some point in my reply & I hope you don't mind me using this as a way to let everyone asking - including the unkind people talking trash in my inbox (I see you, I just choose to not interact with you) - know:

Yes, I still very much like Jey. I still like all of them. Sami, Jey, Jimmy, Kevin, Solo, Roman, Paul and so on - everyone. But especially Jey & Sami as individuals and/or together.

Jey's story, well - I like that they're going for a redemption arc with him. I like that he's allowed to be a star and shine bright far away from the rest of his family. At least for a while. I like that he's not automatically everyone's best friend just because he turned babyface. I like that they're including Kevin and Sami and even Drew and others he has history with in his story. I don't even mind Cody being there (which is huge - cause y'all know my opinion on Cody). I think that speaks for how much I like and support Jey's single's run.

The only thing I really don't enjoy is the whole TJD being involved thing and Jey losing twice in a row. Jey is the biggest babyface and TJD is the biggest heel faction on Raw currently, so of course it's probably good for business if Jey appears on screen with them. Doesn't mean I have to like it.

I like every single individual member of TJD, i really really do, I'm just extremely tired of them as a group and have been for a while now. I was a fan for a while, but they got extremely stale to me. And before anyone argues, it's not the same as it was with The Bloodline, cause there's two very obvious things that TJD doesn't have, and it's the two things that kept (and are keeping) the Bloodline afloat and working well for so long: (1) Deep, meaningful, layered characters & (2) an intriguing story to tell. (Istg if I never have to see a 6-man-tag match involving TJD again it'll still be too soon.)

I'm tired of the people in charge just constantly feeding the top talent to them, doesn't matter if it's Seth or Kevin or Sami or Jey or anyone else. I get that they're heels, they're not supposed to play clean and fair all the time and you're supposed to dislike them and their actions, sure. But there's a difference between disliking someone's actions and being downright tired and annoyed to the point where you switch off the TV mid-segment. If you're a TJD fan I'm happy for y'all, I truly am. But I'm tired.

I've been keeping up with all my boys and girls, but with TJD being pretty much around and dominant and constantly involved in all 3 shows, I haven't been extremely enthusiastic about it lately.

Sorry, this turned into a bit of a rant.

The point is: I love Jey, I'll always love Jey, I'll always keep up with his storylines and everything, I just need a minute or two to catch a breather, cause lately I find myself not enjoying the parts I want to be enjoying, so I hope a little distance and casually keeping up with everything will get me to the point where I can be happily and fully invested again.

That being said, I'm still here, I'm still reading and replying to messages most of the time and just generally enjoying life and good things and writing and all that rn, but if you don't see me as active and around all that much, don't be surprised and also don't think for a second that I stopped liking or supporting my boys and girls. <3

[thatmcgwords]

“Many people spend their whole lives fighting for financial well-being, but it often seems that the more you try, the more you move away from your cherished goal — prosperity, happiness, and confidence. Oddly enough, this is not always related to your intelligence, the quality of education, or hard work. More common causes of financial problems include:

• Negative core beliefs about money and childhood trauma.

• Lack of planning and conscious budget analysis.

• Impulsive spending and risk-taking instead of moderation.”

Your financial situation reflects your inner state, so qualitative changes must start with your mindset. ~ Jill Schlesinger

“We all make mistakes; if you're willing to investigate and correct them, you're already halfway to victory. Such a strategy will allow you to:

• Improve and secure your future.

• Set an example for your children to manage money properly.

• Take care of a dignified old age for your parents.”

“People who became wealthy after a childhood in very modest families risk becoming obsessed with earnings. They often view poverty as an integral attribute of their personality, on which they are emotionally dependent — afraid and yearning for it simultaneously. In addition, people who once knew the need often drown in guilt when they allow themselves expensive benefits. Paradoxically, most people admit they feel more prosperous when earning less.

Finance is a sphere of life through which people can manifest their hidden psychological problems. As a rule, it is an anxiety disorder caused by fear of uncertainty. Neuroscientists have found that the most significant stress in a person is caused not by the certainty of failure but by the likelihood of failure. Therefore, very low-income people can feel calmer and happier than those with wealth and savings. The latter are often unnerved by the possibility of losing what they have and the lack of guarantees for the future.”

“When investing, choosing a strategy that focuses on safety and moderate promotion is best. To do this, follow the five rules:

1. Start investing only after you pay off all your debts, form a financial airbag for a year, and take care of your pension. These three items of expenditure should be your priority.

2. Review your general financial situation. Analyze your sources of income and your goals. Based on this, determine your risk tolerance.

3. Diversify your investments, that is, invest in different types of businesses. Thus, you will be able to maintain a stable average result despite changes in the market situation. If one of your stocks falls, the others will allow you to stay afloat.

4. Stick to a plan tailored to your individual needs. Review it no more than once a quarter. It will help you avoid impulsive rash actions.

5. After three years, analyze how your life circumstances have changed. If there have been fundamental changes (for example, you received an inheritance or, conversely, became unable to work), adjust your plan. Perhaps your risk tolerance has risen or, on the contrary, has fallen.

In addition, it is essential to remember two basic principles when you invest. First, don't compare yourself to others. Each of us has unique circumstances and needs. So do not try to compete with somebody else’s success. Second, keep your main goal in mind. It should be a quietly happy life without worrying about money. Investments and passive income are just a tool to achieve this goal. Let it work for you while you enjoy life, youth, health, and time with your loved ones.”

“To instill a healthy attitude toward money in children, follow these rules:

• Talk directly to your children about your family's financial situation. Explain to them that earning more or less in different periods is normal and should not cause alarm.

• Tell your kids about the mistakes you have made with money. Show by example that it is okay to make mistakes and learn from experience.

• From an early age, give children tasks for which they will receive monetary rewards. In this way, you will teach them that hard work pays off.

• Do not dump your financial problems on your children — this can give rise to complexes and deprive them of a sense of security.

• Teach your kids to manage their pocket money responsibly by planning and saving for the big purchase they want.”

Don't make money sacral and taboo. Transparent communication will make your children confident about financial issues for the rest of their lives. ~ Jill Schlesinger

“Paying off large loans tends to become burdensome, so you should think twice before borrowing money from a bank.

Most young people get a loan for the first time when they go to college. More than half of them eventually find such a decision unjustified and stressful. Although the loan was meant to improve their lives, it often turns out to be something that, in the end, does not allow them to live freely and happily. For example, to pay off an education loan, people may need to live with their parents until they are 30, work in well-paid jobs they may not enjoy, and put off starting a family. With all due respect to the importance of education, college is too expensive and not worth it for many people.”

In all significant financial decisions, the key is to prioritize and consider your circumstances. ~ Jill Schlesinger

“If you still decide to take a student loan, it is crucial to adhere to the following rules:

• Take an amount that does not exceed your estimated annual income immediately upon starting work.

• Expect to repay the loan within ten years.

• Set up automatic monthly payments from your bank to avoid extra interest charges for missed payments.

• If you have free money, pay off the most expensive of your loans.

In other cases, parents consider it their duty to pay for their children's education at a prestigious college. They also take loans or donate their savings, significantly delaying their retirement. If you have children, you’re probably familiar with the desire to give them the best possible education as a start in life. However, no universal benefit is binding on everyone. And maybe your child does not need five years of study in the university but six months of sewing courses or three years of practice in an atelier. In the second case, they will succeed much more and will not get weighed down by loans and the need to finance in old age since they can save up for retirement.

No one likes to imagine that difficulties and misfortunes may lie ahead, but no one is immune from them, and the best thing you can do for your future is to go into it without the baggage of debts.”

“The best time to have this conversation is when your parents are in their seventies. Your main task is to discuss with your family the options for parental care in old age, but not make decisions for them. You are only an executor of your parents' will, so listen to how they would like to spend the last years of their lives and make a plan according to their desires.”

“Moreover, it would be best if you thought about your old age, death, and unforeseen accidents and illnesses. Every mature, responsible person should make a will so that their loved ones do not have to go through an attempt to deal with documents, accounts, and property if something happens. And if you have young children, you should take care of your will immediately. This document must include the following:

• A power of attorney that allows another person to manage your financial and legal affairs.

• An individual who will make decisions about your care if you cannot do so yourself.

• A letter of instruction outlining what you would like to happen to your remains. It could be a funeral, cremation, memorial service, or quiet farewell.

Also, you must decide what will happen to your money: bequeath it to your children, donate it to charity, or invest in stocks. Distribute everything in advance, and you will deprive your loved ones of unnecessary headaches. Think about who you will entrust with the execution of your last will, and leave this person:

• Your bank statements

• Login details for your accounts

• Insurance contracts

• Documents for your business

• Contact details of your lawyers”

“To achieve financial well-being, you need to master the art of balance, which means:

• Earn enough for a comfortable life, but do not reduce your entire existence to work.

• Do not squander money thoughtlessly, making impulsive mistakes, but at the same time, do not deny yourself all your desires.

• Take care of a comfortable old age and future, but remember that you cannot predict what awaits you tomorrow, and you need to be ready for anything.

• Invest, but only with moderate risks that are safe for you.

Also, accepting that your financial situation is unique is essential, and comparing yourself with others is pointless. The only measure of well-being is your sense of contentment, confidence, and peace of mind. You don't need to earn as much as your millionaire buddy to be happy. And if you are comfortable renting, there is probably no need to buy a property simply because it is customary. Focus solely on your own desires and needs.

Learn to notice your benefits and everything you have achieved, and thank yourself for your work and the world for its generosity.

Try this

• Ask your parents what financial mistakes they made and what major lessons they have learned about money from their experiences.

• Study the topic of insurance, find the best option, and insure your property and health to protect yourself in case of unforeseen misfortunes.

• Discuss your deepest beliefs about money with your therapist and work through the complexes that limit you. Analyze your attitude toward poverty and wealth.

• Teach your children financial literacy and instill a healthy attitude towards money.”

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[frankhightower]

12 things I learned after depending on commissions for 2 years

I've been meaning to write about this for a while now, but PayPal charitably reminded me of the $600 reporting threshold this morning (which will no longer require you to pay taxes, but still, wasn't originally planning on assigning neurons to that today) so it's as good a time as any.

I started seriously pursuing commissions in the summer of 2021 (you may remember I'd been talking before the pandemic about automating most of my badly-paying dayjob away to free up time for other pursuits, this was the point where I finally said "I've done it!"). The failure of the 2017 opening still weighed heavily on my mind, though, so I was pretty sure simply posting "hey, I'm open" and uploading 5 "samples" a week wasn't going to work. I tried to get an art stream set up since I remembered getting followers that way in 2014, but I could never get it to work.

So instead, I took to Discord. I've always been bad at keeping up with multiple forums, but I made an effort to participate in all of them. I was very casual about my commissions (since, you know, pandemic: I kinda needed the social interaction more ...and pandemic stimuluses were keeping me afloat) and sold a grand total of 2 commissions that way in the whole year.

Here came the first hard lesson: Do not give free samples of your work. People will always say "do you have a sample?" and since I was being asked for combinations I'd never done (such as, let's say, "cell-shaded and macro"), I'd always say "no, but I can make one", and then would go off to do just that. Several things can happen in that process:

You take so long to produce the sample, the would-be commissioner loses interest

They judge your sample as not good enough

The free sample satisfies their "need" and they no longer want "the paid version"

(also, commissioners, don't ask "do you have a sample", look at the artist's gallery and talk to them about that; artists love gushing about their art!)

From here, I decided to be systematic about it: I was going to create a sample of every possible combination and put them on a price sheet (I don't recommend this, by the way). I'd long planned to get "volunteers" to appear on my price sheet, but by this point, the pandemic stimuli had stopped so I decided to sell the slots in a huge YCH. To promote it, I started using Twitter ...I mean really use it. I'd never "gotten" Twitter much, but again, I made the effort and soon went from replying to 1 or 2 tweets every few days, to replying to 20 tweets a day.

And here I learned the second lesson: The online art space is an interconnected ecosystem. I only sold 2 slots on Twitter itself (people I knew saw my retweets), but by posting the slots sold on FA, DA and Tumblr, I was able to get more attention there. Then, by making reminders for FA and DA since they don't have a retweet option (and posting those reminders on Twitter), I was able to get more attention back on Twitter ...and the feedback loop continued until I had people asking for slots when I'd run out! I kind of already knew this, to be honest. I'd always praised EA's pre-2007 strategy of "cross pollination" (releasing the "same" game on multiple platforms to motivate people from one platform to get the other) but seeing it firsthand was just next level.

I considered myself too busy during the Winter Quarter of 2022 (we work in quarters at my school) so, though I was still brimming with ideas, I wasn't posting anything. ...Then I noticed my friends on Twitter were depressed. I mean, a lot of them were. They needed me. I'd been to therapy during the pandemic (and it bankrupted me so I knew not everyone could afford it) but it had given me the tools necessary to deal with it. I could tell they didn't have them. And one of those tools (which I was underusing) was "draw something every day". So I started the "Free Hugs" series. From a commercial standpoint, this was a great way to get "out there", since gift art is far more visible than the average twitter reply, but that was not the main reason to do it.

So let's call this the third lesson: Gifts are good. A gift is not a free sample, it is a labor of love. You wouldn't buy a gift for someone you don't know at all, and giving the gift doesn't weigh on your conscience as a waste of time in the same way as "the prospective commissioner never got back to me" does. Sometimes the receiver only responds with a like, and that's more than enough. Sometimes they'll comment show their followers in turn. But because you're not doing it for the attention, it's always a bonus.

What really changed things was something unexpected: I reached 150 followers on Twitter! I'd always planned that, if I reached 150, I would draw the 150 pokémon. I'd kind of resigned on the idea years ago because I'd "stopped growing"... and then it happened. I now had to put that plan into action! (and no, "celebrate milestones" isn't a lesson learned, I'll come back to this later)

Turning my daily drawing into "the next pokémon on the list" was a huge boost to my productivity (so long as I kept the list handy) and it contributed to the "ecosystem" positive feedback loop. Let's call this the fourth lesson: Always have something to do. If you're ever "out of ideas", have something you can turn to that will allow you to keep posting. Something that doesn't stress you out (drawing Pokémon is a huge comfort for me, it's literally therapeutic). Something that doesn't require a lot of effort to decide what to do next. Something that (for all practical purposes) you could do forever.

And now, having a huge roster of pokémon under my belt, came the next turning point. I'd always considered black and white sketches to be "unfinished" art, but people were quite happy with them as they were. And with Pandemic payments stopping, I offered to "finish" them... as a commission. Approximately one out of every ten people who received a pokémon sketch were willing to pay to see it "finished", which is the exact ratio taught in marketing classes. This brings me to the fifth lesson: Direct marketing works (ha,ha, just kidding, please don't spam your followers). The fifth lesson is: Keep in touch with your follower base. They already made the decision to follow you, they are clearly interested in what you have to offer. Make sure you talk to them, listen to them, study them individually, and yes, give them fan service (and I mean this literally: give them what they came for, not what a stereotype says they want).

After about a year of toil, my price sheet was ready (remember I said I don't advise making them like I did?) and I sold 2. and here I learned another hard lesson: Commissioners are creative people (they just lack the time, tools, or skill to do the art themselves) This should be a good thing; what better person to work with as a creative, than a creative? The problem is that not many people are creative, so a broad "throw anything you want at me, the only limit is your imagination", only works with people who have unlimited imaginations. Not even lowering prices helps in this situation. If you want to reach a larger audience, you need to do what most artists do and offer donation drives, YCHs and adopts. If you need ideas for these, celebrate holidays or milestones (told you I'd come back to it) but do it with intent, not out of obligation. Try to stay away from newsbites or trending topics as these will become dated very quickly (and you want the stuff people paid for to act as an ad).

So I launched a donation drive. I'd always been planning one for Macro March. This taught me the next lesson: People want to give you money! This may come as a shock to many of you, but it's true. Your followers do like you that much. Give them opportunities to show it on their terms. And never fail to acknowledge it!

I soon after launched another huge YCH, got only 1 response, and learned the 8th hard lesson: Some months are just dead. If you've ever wondered why no artist ever does X in the month of Y, this is why. People just disconnect from the internet at certain times of the year (and with the pandemic ending, doubly so!). Trying to get anyone to even see what you're doing at these times is literally shouting into the void.

By this time, my mother had lost her job, and her severance pay had run out. My family was financially in trouble. I went back to my list of pokémon, and people who said they'd be interested in paying to get it finished "later". Only 2 of them still did, which taught me two new hard lessons: 9: Buying art is an emotional endeavor. Once emotions subside, the push to put money on that particular piece is gone. This also means that art should always have emotion (and probably why so many people hate AI art for non-"it was made by AI" reasons) 10: People wait for their paycheck. Even if your followers may recognize your situation on the 23rd of the month, even if they want to give you money, they won't have any money to give until the 30th. But by that point, they may have forgotten (after all, what is the internet but a myriad of things trying to get your attention?) so you need to time your announcements considering this. Use that week for a personal project or try to cut back.

Things went very well for a while... but then there came the Death of Twitter. What do I mean by that? I track "views per followers" on my art tweets. I normally get 1 view for every follower, thanks to my carefully scheduled retweets. However, I've noticed a steady decline in that number since July (when the "rate limited" debacle happened). Starting at about the last week of September, it's been stuck at about 0.2 views for every follower. I doubt this is a matter of algorithm suppression, though, since I'm also seeing people I follow, post less. I conclude people really are spending less time on Twitter, which brings me to the final hard lesson: Don't put all your eggs in one basket, don't even put the majority of your eggs in one basket! From the beginning, having many more followers on Twitter than on any other platform set off alarm bells in my head (and if it's been your situation, it should do so, for you, too!) The fear was not that Twitter, as a whole, would fail, it was that I could lose my account! I am happy with the fact that I currently only have about 50% more followers on Twitter than I do on FA (ideally the numbers would be equal, but since FA relies on people using "browse" and "search", that number is really hard to raise!) To bring it full circle, cross-pollinate! Link your other accounts constantly. Anyone who's finding you for the first time in one platform should quickly be able to know if you're in any of the other platforms they use. This is how I've managed to survive the Twitter-pocalypse.

So those are my 12 hard lessons:

Do not give free samples of your work

The online art space is an interconnected ecosystem

Gifts are good

Always have something to do

Keep in touch with your follower base

Commissioners are creative people

People want to give you money!

Some months are just dead

Buying art is an emotional endeavor

People wait for their paycheck

Don't put all your eggs in one basket

Cross-pollinate!

They're all "easier said than done", but don't let anyone tell you that artists hate sharing their secrets!

And Merry Christmas.

Posted using PostyBirb

[psychelis-new]

Cafe asks 🍵

Matcha

Rooibos

Espresso

Macchiato

Chai

Teacup

Nutmeg

Honey

Oolong

And serious question:

Have you ever drank rooibos tea before?

Hello Nari! Thanks for sending. I hope you're having a great day/night :) So let's start from the serious question: Have you ever drank rooibos tea before? Sadly nope, it's not very famous here where I live I guess. TBH, there's a cafè that has a nice variety and amount of teas too, but I haven't been there in a while so I am not sure they have the rooibos tea. I'll try to get there and check once the weather gets colder.

Other questions:

matcha: if you had the opportunity to meet one person from history, who would you choose and why? This question always gives me problems cause I am never so sure about who I'd like to meet. For sure someone I could learn or understand something from. Honestly, I have a long list but at this time I'd probably go for Osho or Carl Gustav Jung. I would totally like to talk with them about life and unconscious mind, for example.

rooibos: what’s the best compliment that you’ve ever received?  I mentioned about my mind, let's move onto... no. Someone once told me they trusted me very much and I think it's a very nice compliment (it may be me and my problems but yeah).

espresso: imagine that you could obtain any superpower that you wanted. What would you choose? I mentioned teleportation, what else? Hmm... telekinesis maybe. My lazy a** self would love that.

macchiato: if you had to change your name, what would you change it to? As said in the other ask, I don't think I would really change my name as I am liking it now but another version of it I could go for would be "elize".

chai: do you believe in ghosts? Why or why not? Yes, I believe in ghosts. I haven't seen any standing in front of me, but I have seen shadows, felt energies around me and heard souls moving (like really making noises as if they were moving chairs, opening/closing doors and moving upstairs) so... why not ghosts as well.

teacup: your least favourite job that you’ve had and why? Hmm let me think... Probably when I worked in a support organization for local artisans and similar. It wasn't very well organized and some of the facilitations we offered weren't really of huge support... like too many cons and just a little pros imo. Plus, I hadn't been treated too fairly (at least by some) and I had to do stuff that weren't totally my duty.

nutmeg: if you were hypothetically stranded on an island, how long do you think you could last? It depends on how many things I could do or come up with doing on there: I need to keep myself busy or I get bored and bored me is not easy to deal with lol (yeah sleeping is cool, and reflecting/meditating in silence too but I generally do need to create as well haha)

honey: share a valuable life lesson that you’ve learned while growing up. To not repeat what I just answered, what can I mention... Well, once someone told me that trying to keep afloat, to fight strenuously when life hits you, is often just a loss of energy and time. It's not that you're really giving up or losing anything... You are just accepting that what is going on is too much, so you need to recover before going on. Sometimes it's better to let yourself go in retreat mode and to process accurately all that may hurt and let yourself even fall a bit (=letting go of the hold you're keeping onto some things that aren't working). This way, once you hit the floor you'll have saved a lot of energies and even gained more, and you can jump back up faster and swim again or do anything you wanted. There's not always a real prize for those that just keep on fighting without taking a look at where they are, sometimes is good to take a step back and watch things from a different pov and start a different approach or strategy to win. Or to just feel better.

oolong: if you could learn any magical spell, what would you learn and what would it do? I'd love to learn any type of magical spell that could help people understand each other a bit better, see others better through all the walls we may create while growing up and living, and try to be a little more kinder, accepting and respectful of themselves, others and the world.

[revvnant]

Abatina, anemone !

ABATINA :   is there anything in life your muse has changed their mind about over time   (   due to becoming more educated on the topic ,   certain experiences  ,   etc .   ) ,    or that they   would   change their mind about under certain circumstances ?  

running a business. he hated it when he was picking up william's slack ( in later years, when william's priorities had shifted from 'run a successful pizzeria' to 'keep the place afloat so i can keep killing/marketing my killer robots' ), but once he's in charge of his own location, he actually really enjoys it. it's easy for him to lose himself in work, and though he can get absorbed in the fine details, having someone ( helpy lol ) to pull him back to see the big picture can really balance things out and make him an extremely effective manager. i have an au where he's the manager of the megaplex, and he's the type to pull ten hour days and not ask his employees to do anything he wouldn't do -- in part because of the bliss of creating a boss who cares, in part because he has been on the bottom rung and knows how it feels. he's very pro-worker solidarity and the megaplex under mike is one of the best locations to work at if you can tolerate the occasional supernatural crisis.

ANEMONE :   how does your muse view the world ;   as a cruel   &   unforgiving place ,   a land full of wonders ,   or something in - between ?  where does that world view come from   (what experiences ,   life lessons ,   etc .   ) ?  

i would love to say that michael is the type of person who has recovered from his trauma to the point where he can understand that the world is a beautiful or at least ambiguous place full of delicious possibilities -- but he's not, and not just because he has experienced cruelty, but because he's more of a... 'realist?' like i've played characters who suffer and are hopeful, and i've played characters who suffer and turn cruel, and michael isn't really in either of those categories; he sits in between in a space where his experience of abuse and violence has made him capable of the same in extremes, but he also works hard not to do unto others. he has not internalised william's worldview, obviously, but it has impacted him. it both drives him to try to be kinder and destabilises him so expressing that kindness is really hard. he can be unreasonable and bristly and lash out at people for no real reason, and it's not in a subconscious 'i have to defend myself' sort of way, but rather, he is so fucking worn down from being on the receiving end of antagonism that he has developed a permanent seething anger that boils just below the surface nearly all the time, and sometimes that shit just comes out.

more broadly, while there are aspects to living that he enjoys, such as good food, music, travel, etc., he is also like. sadly cursed to live as a forever zombie, and has intentionally tied himself to the freddy's nightmare so hard that it's created a bit of a bubble. inside that bubble almost everything is horrible. so he definitely has his days of being like. the world is cruel the world is ugly etc. etc. but on the whole i feel like... even if he has a negative worldview, he's not the type of person to come out and be like, 'THE WORLD IS HARSH AND UNFORGIVING AND PEOPLE ARE TERRIBLE.' he's not super philosophical, just, in general. so while i'd say that he definitely doesn't have a positive view of the world, he's also not languishing over the state of humanity. instead, he's languishing over the state of a few very specific humans and one very cruel man. anything beyond that he kind of sees as this formless blur that he sometimes dips into to go to the grocery store or buy gas station dvds.

i would steer clear of saying that he is a 'woe is me' type, again he trends more towards anger than sadness, but he's also a very... self-contained kind of guy? he has no greater cause beyond 'fuck this dude specifically' and it doesn't really transfer to other Evil People unless they remind him of william on a personal level. no time for considering the state of the world do you see what's happening in this one town in utah.

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

if requests still opened can i have one where reader and arthur get into a huge fight then reader almost dies the next day and arthur says i love you for the first time >:)

Undoubtedly Deceived

Warnings: Violence, brief hints of SA (but not the act)

Word Count: 5,753

A/N: So this isn't the next day, per se...but otherwise I hope you enjoy! This one took me a while to plan out appropriately. Onto the next!

Arthur was gone by the time you arose. 

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence; that man was often up with the sun, ready to take the day and accept whichever job needs done. He however did not skim on affection when it was warranted. Rainy mornings meant an extra hour of cuddling and sweet whispers exchanged in the comfort of your tent. 

Now, you were rewarded the privacy of your own room together in Shady Belle. A solid roof and thick walls, aside from the decrepit appearance, allowed what felt like was a scarcity: time. Time to enjoy each other’s company with rare interruption; freedom and peace even if it were short-lived. 

Normally you’d keep busy by helping around camp or journey out on your own devices to hunt or acquire money to contribute. It however had been a rough few weeks; between losing Sean, Jack’s kidnapping, and a myriad of other misfortunes, it was hard to keep from drowning in a sea of sorrow. You and Arthur kept each other afloat with the tiny spark of hope for greener pastures. 

After lacing your boots, you stood straight to stretch, forcing the remainder of your body to awaken regardless of the protest screaming from your joints. You hunted yesterday, taking it upon yourself to replenish Pearson’s stocks after having to listen to Bill’s and Uncle’s groaning complaints about the lack of stew, despite their refusal to lift a finger to offer a remedy. 

You’d brought back an impressive 6-pointed buck for the table, thus rustling the grumbles of certain gang members about having a woman do a man’s job. Though hoisting up upon Pearson’s butcher table proved easier said than done. You managed to do it, albeit rather clumsily, hiding the fact that you damn near dislocated your shoulder while performing the stunt. 

Nothing could be hidden from Arthur’s watchful eyes. 

Later that night he gave you a gentle massage while praising you of your hard work, whilst simultaneously chuckling over how you showed up their less useful counterparts. You’d smiled through your wince as his thumb dragged against a particularly tender spot in the groove of your shoulder. 

“Bill’s face was so damn red, you’d think he’d pop a gasket!” Arthur laughed as he eased his pressure. It amazed you how gentle he could be with you. 

You had relaxed into his grip, giving a content sigh as the pain slowly dissipated from your shoulder. “You’d think he’d go out and get a damn deer himself,” you’d said with a roll of your eyes. 

“Naw, ya know that’s too much work for him,” Arthur snorted. “We’re thankful you’re here to pick up the slack.” 

Your head turned to look at him, hand raised to cup his stubbled cheek. “Even you, Arthur?” you’d questioned with a cocked brow. “Sounds like I’m your maid!” you giggled. 

“’Course not,” he leaned into your palm. “You do ‘nough, ain’t fair of me to do that to ya.” 

“Good,” you murmured to him, drawing him for a quick kiss. 

The memory made you smile. You certainly didn’t mind keeping your living space tidy, and Arthur was careful to respect your cleanliness. He wasn’t a dirty person, but after spending years outdoors he sometimes forgot simple rules of domestication. 

You supposed you could tidy up before joining the others down below for some coffee. 

The first area capturing your attention was the desk. Fairly cluttered with old paper and a map as well as an assortment of bullets, you began by reaching for the nearest in your grasp. 

It was a letter. It wasn’t uncommon for Arthur to collect such mementos; traveling over the years meant he procured quite a few. More than once you’ve watched him dig out a thick stack of papers, dog-eared and frayed at the edges from being tucked away for too long. This one however was fresh; new and untouched by time. 

You weren’t surprised by the occasional arrival of mail. There were a few trusted outside who knew of the gang’s whereabouts. Connections and old friends alike, usually for business or otherwise just reminiscence.  

You gathered it up in your hand, paying no mind to the content as you moved to replace it towards a bare corner. As the page slid from your hand, something caught your eye. 

A simple name. A name of which you’ve heard a few times: Mary. 

Arthur told you about Mary before; a woman he nearly married in his youth. They hadn’t spoken to one another in years until she managed to reach out to him for help just a month or so prior. Knowing their history, you were naturally wary. Arthur assured you nothing had happened, and you believed him. 

So why was she reaching out again? 

You skimmed the letter, gathering she was once again asking his help—and she was in Saint Denis. How convenient. 

You chewed on your bottom lip, furrowing as your gaze ended on the signature. Carefully written with a flourish, an indication of a life far more comfortable than what was held behind these walls. 

Was Arthur on his way to see her, again? 

Arthur wasn’t the one to commit unfaithful acts, or so you’d hoped. 

Glancing outside through the halfway shattered window, your view of the horses showed that his was certainly not amongst the herd. 

You shouldn’t jump to conclusions. 

Taking a deep breath, you abandoned the cleanup in favor of something else to clear your mind. You made your way outside, forming a smile in hopes it would quell those roiling thoughts.  A few of the others were milling around quietly, either carrying a small conversation or beginning a routine morning task. Pearson walked away after setting down some freshly brewed coffee. You made a beeline toward it and helped yourself, immediately taking a sip and paying no mind to the scalding temperature. 

Tears and regret formed as the sting of the afterburn took hold. As you wiped your eyes, a voice calling your name caught your attention. 

“Good morning,” Abigail said as you turned to face her. The friendly smile on her face quickly disappeared when she saw you. “What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, nothing, just drank too quickly,” you answered with a gesture to your cup. “Good morning, Abigail.” 

“Oh, I thought Arthur might’ve done something,” Abigail jokingly responded as she helped herself to a cup of her own. “Though I’d be surprised, I swear that man dotes on you hand and foot,” she mumbled something about John afterward, though not loudly enough for you to catch. 

You didn’t respond to that. Your face tightened as you were reminded of your discovery upstairs, yet quickly hid it behind your coffee as Abigail straightened up to face you. 

But those eyes were quick, the small grimace wasn’t overlooked. The joking smile dissolved as she gazed at your face, her brow furrowing. “Unless something did happen?” 

Damn your slow reflexes. You sighed and lowered the cup. “I think he went to see Mary.” 

Once she realized what you meant, a look of knowing slowly formed. “And he didn’t tell you?” 

You shook your head. “I don’t know for sure if he did…but when I woke up, I found a letter from her, opened, in our room. She was asking for his help again.” 

Abigail listened, a thoughtful look crossing her young face. “Well, you know how Arthur is…always jumpin’ in to help folk even when he doesn’t like it,” she pointed out. “A good man he is, even if he doesn’t believe it. I don’t think you got anything to worry about.” 

Abigail was right. Arthur would moan and complain about helping people sometimes, but he still did so regardless of who they were (within reason). The previous time he and Mary spoke, he learned she was recently widowed, and he expressed his disdain for the way she lured him in to ask for his assistance. Even though he did help her in the form of rescuing her brother from a cult, he assured you he also made it clear that he was unavailable and that he had no interest in trying to pursue anything with her. 

So why didn’t this ease any of your concerns about this time? 

The coffee was suddenly less appealing. Spilling the rest of the liquid, you tossed the tin cup toward a pile of dirty dishes. “I know I shouldn’t worry, Abigail. But I still am. Once is fine, but twice…?” 

“He may not be even meeting her at all,” Abigail assured you, her free hand reaching to rest on your shoulder comfortingly. “You won’t know ‘til he comes back.” 

“That’s the part I’m afraid of,” you admitted with a frown. “What he’d tell me when he comes back.” 

Abigail’s dark eyes were soft and understanding. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, okay? If I know Arthur, I know he loves you more than anything in this world.” 

Love. That word hadn’t even been a topic of conversation yet, and you were unsure how to respond. Part of you wanted to believe Abigail and take the chance that he wasn’t in Saint Denis at all. Perhaps he was out, attempting to track down a new lead. 

Another part of you wanted to ride directly into Saint Denis. As vast as the city was, surely there would be some indication. Mary did say she was staying at one of the hotels… 

Abigail’s assurance did nothing to deter the dark cloud of thoughts gathering over your head. You only just feigned a smile to her and walked off aimlessly, chewing your lip and trying to ignore the knot of worry forming in your stomach. 

You ended up by the gazebo, which thankfully was unoccupied. You stepped onto the creaky, moisture-swollen wood and leaned against the railing, staring out across the swamp toward Saint Denis. The thick vegetation did not allow a clear view of the rooftops, but somehow you felt as if Arthur was there. An outlaw out of his element, wandering the cobblestone streets to meet a pretty woman… 

You straightened up immediately, your movement aggressive as you bounded your way from the gazebo toward the horses. Your mare popped her head up from grazing, ears perked toward you, almost as if understanding what was about to happen. 

Tossing the reins over her neck, you quickly mounted and steered her toward the worn path. Once past the gateway and bidding goodbye to whoever was on guard duty (you didn’t really care to check), you spurred your horse into a gallop. 

Dense treetops soon gave way to the azure expanse of sky, melding into the churning waters and the smoggy horizon of Saint Denis. The closer you drew, the more your heart pounded in the mere thought of even discovering Arthur in any proximity. You stopped along the path aligning the white fence of Caliga Hall, hoping that your search would leave you empty handed. 

Urging your mare into a smooth lope, you found yourself at the crossroads by the old slaughterhouse; turning right would take you straight into the city, while continuing your path forward would just drive you deeper into the swamps. The small voice in the back of your mind told you there was no real reason for you to be here, perhaps you were just wasting time and energy trying to prove something that may not even be true. 

But you had to be sure. 

At the last second you turned your horse to the right, narrowly missing a stagecoach traveling the opposite way. Surprised shouts and curses fell upon deaf ears as you and your mare galloped across the metal bridge. 

You were familiar with the hotel Mary mentioned in her letter, having stayed there a handful of times when it was too late to ride back to camp. You almost hated to admit you had these streets memorized by now, winding in between carriages and riders, paying no mind to your surroundings. 

The hotel soon loomed into view, and your eyes quickly scanned the posts in front for any familiar horses. To your surprise and relief, Arthur’s horse wasn’t parked in front. 

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding released, and the knot in your stomach dissipated. He wasn’t here. 

Unless he’d already come and gone. 

You shook your head, trying to banish those damned thoughts. He could be halfway across Lemoyne or even back at camp, wondering where you went off to. How silly of you to even come out this way to only— 

A familiar nicker caught your attention. Within seconds your sights settled onto a horse down the road, riderless, trotting along the road with its ears pricked. 

Heart dropping to your stomach, you urged your own horse into a lope to catch up. The closer you grew the more you began to recognize the strong, beautiful steed as Arthur’s. The stallion seemed to be focused on an alleyway. You stopped right next to him, frowning in confusion as your sweetheart’s steed turned his head down a narrow path between the brick buildings. 

Arthur’s horse was smart; always finding his whereabouts better than any hunting dog ever could. This must mean Arthur was nearby. 

The nerves fired up again, balling deep in your guts. Your inner voice urged you to venture inward, to see if he was lurking behind those walls. Or, just sit and wait out here. 

Before you knew it, you were on the ground, moving toward the entrance though it were as if another force was moving you entirely. Out from the open and into the narrow passage, journeying further in. 

At first there hadn’t been anything prominent. The smell of garbage and smog hanging in the damp, heavy air filled your nose. The ambience of the city muffled by brick and mortar. 

The further you ventured the less you heard the city around you, until there were footsteps ahead, other than your own. Your movement increased, running lightly on your toes. Thoughts buzzed in your head, unsure, unhopeful of what you’d might find. 

The footsteps stopped just ahead, around a corner. You pulled ahead, expecting to see either him or someone else entirely. 

As the picture before you unfolded, you were damned to be both right and wrong. 

You recognized Arthur’s thick frame, facing away from you, arms up and hands resting upon the building before him. It took you a second to see the smaller figure caged between his arms. 

Alarm shot through you like a bullet, forcing you to expel the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Anger was quick to follow, boiling through your veins like lava. 

“Arthur Morgan!” 

The way that man turned to face you, as if you’d stabbed him with your words alone. His blue eyes were wide with shock, spluttering your name out in a breathless gasp. 

“What’re you doin’ here?” 

“Finding out what YOU’RE up to,” you growled, stamping your foot. “Looks like I found my answer!” glancing over at the second person—you gathered quickly it was indeed Mary. You’d only seen her in an old photo once or twice, and the years hardly touched her. 

The other woman was just as surprised, leaning against the wall frozen against the wall. Her dainty lips shaped in an ‘O’ shape, staring at you. 

“Sweetheart, it ain’t what it—“ 

“Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me!” you hissed. “I can see clearly what was happening!” 

“It ain’t what you think!” Arthur nearly shouted back, stepping towards you. “I promise I— “ 

You reeled back from him, smacking his hand away as he reached out. “You said you were done!” 

The hurt in Arthur’s eyes flashed as he recoiled from your swipe, though recovering quickly. “I was—I am! We was jus’— “ 

“That don’t look like done to me, Arthur Morgan!” you nearly screamed. “I shoulda known better than to believe you, as soon as you went to help her the first time— “ 

“He was helping me,” Mary spoke up for the first time. Her voice was soft, timid, yet somehow enough to pierce through the predicament. 

You focused on her, gritting your teeth in anger. The memory of what was before you flashed vividly again. “Yeah right, I know what I saw!” 

“You don’t even know—“ 

“Save it!” 

“Let me explain!” 

You glared daggers back at him, nostrils flaring and breathing like a dragon. “Explain that you left without telling me, letting me find HER— “ your arm swung out towards Mary "—letter on our desk? After you said you weren’t involved with her anymore?” 

Arthur’s lips were agape, as if he were trying to search for words. But you could see the horror in his face; a look of knowing he made a grave mistake. He sighed heavily and once again tried to reach out to you. “It ain’t like that, you know me better than that. I’m sorry—“ 

“No, Arthur,” you stepped back out of his reach, your back grazing against the cold, rough surface of the behind you. “I thought I did. Turns out I didn’t.” 

The anger simmered, boiling down to complete heartache and disappointment. He had a reason to hide it from you, and damn you got even thinking to trust him that first time. You turned, swiftly, running back down the alley you came through. With footsteps echoing off the close walls, you had no idea if he was following you or not. Quite frankly, you didn’t care. 

The mouth of the alley opened up to the cobblestone street, where both horses were still waiting patiently. You stormed toward your mare and mounted quickly, turning her away from Arthur’s stallion and once again spurring her into a gallop. The mare didn’t hesitate to rocket forward. Shod hooves beat hard against the path, drowning out the urban ambience surrounding you. 

The faintest call of your name had been drowned out by your heavy sobbing. 

--- 

You didn’t stop until the tears did. 

Face stained with dust, clinging to your tear-streaked face. It seemed as if you weren’t going to stop, vision blurred and head-throbbing. An hour or two might’ve passed, your horse slowing becoming the navigator after passing the outskirts. You were deep in the swamps now, somewhere North or West of Saint Denis. The sun had been swallowed up by the thick canopy of trees ahead. The air was thick and smelled like damp wood and stagnant water. 

You hadn’t been this far out before. 

Aside from one or two people you’d passed a while ago, you were completely alone. 

You pulled your mare off from the main path to the side, favoring a small area that wasn’t half-drowned by the surrounding swamp. With a swift dismount and a wipe of your eyes, you dug a bottle of whiskey from your saddle bag and wiped the dirt from your face. It was a perfect spot for you to just collect your thoughts. 

A log you found was suitable enough to just sit down. Your body had been drained from crying. Your head was still pounding. The humidity hadn’t helped. The sting of the bitter liquid sliding past your lips was just enough to dull the pain. 

At least the physical pain. 

Thoughts raced in your head, far too quick to even focus on one. The filthy image of Arthur pinning Mary replayed in your head, over and over, further enticing the vice in your hand. 

More time was lost to you, sipping that whiskey and surrounded by nothing but the sounds of nature. Frogs croaking, birds calling, the occasional hiss of an alligator in the distance. The mosquitos were favoring you less with the more booze brewing in your system. Regardless of how busy nature was around you, you were none the wiser. 

Leaves of the dense brush rustled as a gentle breeze caressed your face. The smell of rain carried with it, just as the trees began to sway with an even stronger gust. A storm was beginning to settle in, an indication that you should be on your way. 

The rustle surrounding you grew louder as the wind only increased, bringing forth the first few droplets of rain, splattering against your cheeks. You sighed and moved to stand up. 

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” 

The voice sounded from behind you was too close for comfort. You didn’t recognize it, yet the tone in of itself made your hairs stand on end. You glanced over your shoulder to see a man stepping out from the thicket. The first thing you noticed was the ash gray coat and what appeared to be an old war cap in the same color. 

Your stomach formed into a knot immediately. A Lemoyne Raider. 

Releasing the whiskey, your hand flew to the revolver sitting at your hip. You drew on him within a millisecond of him retaliating, the barrel of his Cattleman pointed right at your head. 

“No need to get feisty, now,” the Raider chuckled, a wolfish grin forming on his lips. “We can play nice.” 

You opened your mouth to respond, when the bushes rustled once again. Two more Raiders appeared, stepping in on either side of the first, eyes alight with excitement and yellowed, toothy grins. 

“You’re outnumbered here, lil’ lady,” the first Raider purred. “So, I suggest you put that piece away.” 

You didn’t move, arm frozen in place as you glared hotly at them. It was immediately obvious what they wanted, and any sort of defense would mean a bullet between your eyes. 

It would be easy to shoot one and hoped that bought you enough time to run for it, at least mount your horse and gallop away. On the other hand, they might be quick to try and disarm you. 

“Ain’t got all day,” one of them drawled. Your eyes shot to him briefly, just enough to catch the bound-up rope in his hand. 

Thunder rolled in the distance, and the droplets became heavier. Your heart hammered so loud it may as well be thundering out of your chest. The longer you stood there the more vulnerable you became. How fast could you manage to shoot all three of them? The booze had taken a hold of you, but not yet quite enough to completely hinder your aim. 

Only one way to find out. 

Your finger was quick so squeeze the trigger. In a deafening split second, a bullet fired out and nailed the middle Raider right in the chest. A splatter of dark crimson and a choked gurgle, the filthy excuse of a man dropped to his knees. 

Without a second of hesitation, you turned and launched forward, boots nearly slipping on the muddy ground to scramble towards your horse. Shouts and jeers echoed behind you, soon drowned out by another thunderclap. Your mare was just a few yards away— 

Your ankle had been yanked out from underneath you, nearly flipping your entire body upside down as you fell, face-first, into the mud. The gun in your hand flung forward in favor of a failed attempt to catch yourself. The impact stole the breath from your lungs and introduced a mouthful of swamp. You coughed and spluttered, spitting out the earth, wriggling to roll onto your back. 

As you blinked the mud from your eyes, the remaining Raiders were soon descending, a rope snug around your ankle. 

Your heart plummeted into your stomach. The twisted grins on their faces were a vision of nightmares, as if the Devil himself had possessed them. 

“Now why you gotta play rough, lil’ missy?” the one holding the rope taunted, yanking the tether back and dragging you towward him. Your hands clambered and attempted to grasp something—anything—to fight his force. “We was gonna make it easy, now…” his free hand reached for his belt, where the glint of a knife shone as he freed it from its sheath. “I think we’ll have to get revenge.” 

Without your gun, the only other chance of defense was your own knife. Fingers twitched toward the sheath on your belt, gripping the dampened handle and yanking it free. Just as you swung it, however, a shot rang out and the knife flew out your hand. 

Eyes widened, you set your sights on the barrel of a smoking Cattleman and the snickering Raider on the opposite end. 

“Nice try!” 

Shit. 

Panic began to stir in your stomach as you frantically tried to think of any means of escape. The rope tightened as they dragged you closer. Your arms flailed, once again failing to find purchase in this god-forsaken soaked environment. Palms sunk into the mud, slowing you for half a second before their grimy hands were on your body. 

You struggled to free at least one of your legs, to land the toe of your boot into their smirking faces. The droplets soon turned into a sheet of heavy rain. Their maniacal laughter rang through the thunder and downpour. Your hands were yanked together and bound. 

A scream exploded from your throat, hoping that some passerby would hear. A fraction of a second only passed when a rag was shoved into your mouth, muffling you to just a pathetic whimper. 

You were truly trapped, surrounded by filth and wilderness, at the mercy of these...parasites...to have their way with you, or even worse. 

You were hoisted from the ground, the mud squelching as your body was freed from its slimy confinements before being unceremoniously tossed over a shoulder. Their guffaws rang incessantly in your ears. 

You closed your eyes, regretting having even woken up today. The tears you thought you’d shed all out earlier began to form once again. This may as well be the end. Lonely, soaked, and violated to no end. 

A single gunshot rang out. A pained gasp. The thud and splash of a body wrenched your eyes open. The Raider who carried you spun around so quickly he almost lost grip on you, the world spinning for a brief second before your vision cleared to the plain sight of the now fallen Raider, face down in a puddle, his gray suit rapidly turning crimson from the fresh bullet hole in his spine, the rain pooling the excess blood into the green swamp around him. 

The remaining Raider shifted to yank his gun out. 

“Let the lady go!” 

You knew that voice. 

A mixture of surprise and relief flooded over you. With the Raider distracted, this was your chance. With as much force as your body allowed, you threw your legs up and curled, wriggling like a fish out of water. The arm that was clamped around your waist loosened before disappearing altogether. 

The fall wasn’t ideal, or graceful. You landed on your side with a squelch next to the dead Raider, thankful for once it wasn’t solid ground beneath you. 

The second gunshot followed just as you managed to get a glimpse of Arthur on his horse, just a few yards away. The final Raider dropped to his knees and, like his companion, fell face first into the mud. This time, the hole went straight through his head. 

Heart pounding, stomach flipping, every nerve firing in every inch of your body. You watched as Arthur slowly holstered his gun, no doubt assessing the situation before completely lowering his guard. He hopped down from his stallion. 

Regardless of how relieved you felt, you were still on edge. 

You didn’t look at him as he stepped up to you, unsheathing his hunting knife to carefully release you from your binding. Once freed you rolled your ankles and wrists as he moved to the rag covering your mouth, making easy work of the flimsy fabric. You took a deep breath, welcoming the heavy, wet air to fill your lungs. 

His eyes were on you, looking for injury. His calloused fingers caressed the bare skin of your arms and neck. You still couldn’t meet his gaze. 

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?” 

“No,” you murmured, your voice trembling. 

“Good,” he sighed. “They didn’t...” He trailed off, having no need to specify. 

“No,” you repeated louder, though fighting to keep your voice level. “They didn’t get that far.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, Arthur nodded slowly, giving his own sigh of relief. “Then we should get outta here.” 

Every rational thought in your mind agreed with him, but the thought of riding alongside him right now was less than appealing. You shot up to your feet, stumbling slightly from the unstable ground beneath you. “I think I’ll ride back myself,” you said tartly, beginning to head back to your horse. 

You heard Arthur scramble to his feet. “Now hold on,” he called out. “May not be safe by yourself right now, don’t know how many more--” 

“I killed one before you even showed up,” you retorted. Your gun had thankfully landed in a somewhat less muddy patch of land. You swiped it up and wiped away the dirt with your skirt—only to realize your skirt was just as dirty. You huffed and holstered it. “Woulda had them if--” 

“If they didn’t tie you up,” Arthur finished. “Don’t be stupid. It’s pourin’ out, jus’ come back to camp with me.” 

“No!” you spat, having to raise your voice over the steadily increasing torrential downpour. “I’ll be just fine on my own!” 

“Not like this you ain’t!” Arthur argued, matching your stride to pace alongside you. “I almost lost ya--” 

“Hah!” you barked. “After you were acting all sweet on Mary? Seems like you don’t even care!” you finally looked at his face, shooting him a hot glare that nearly made him wither in the spot.  

Just as you were beginning to stomp away, you heard him speak again. “Don’t even care?” he repeated incredulously, speed walking to block your path. “I jus’ saved your life! I think you at least owe me the chance to explain!” 

You halted and stared at him, lips parting in the form of a protest. Those eyes, still ablaze from the fight, did not touch the desperation beneath. Those damn beautiful eyes like windows to his soul would catch you breathless every time. Finally, you folded your arms, took a deep breath and said, “Fine.” 

Arthur’s eyes darted to the ground, hidden beneath the brim of his hat. “Mary asked for my help. I know we’d discussed this, and I know you wasn’t happy with me doin’ it the first time. I’d gone to tell her I ain’t doin’ anymore favors for her.” 

“That doesn’t explain why I found you looking like you were about to kiss her,” you seethed. 

His head perked up, meeting your gaze evenly. There was a slight frown on his face. “I know what it looked like, but we wasn’t,” he shook his head and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Even though I wanted to refuse, she needed help gettin' back a broach that her father sold. It was her mother’s.” 

You were silent then, slowly absorbing the story. 

“It’s the only thing she had left of her mother, couldn’t let that one go. We was followin’ her father to see what we could find out. He almost caught us. Mary pulled me back, and...” he trailed off, arms in a half shrug to indicate what happened next. 

The image once again disgraced your brain, stoking the embers in your stomach. Your jaw clenched as you settled deep into thought, contemplating on whether you believed him. 

“Truth is, I couldn’t even continue after that. Seein’ your face then jus’ about broke me,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I told her that was it, can’t go askin’ me for no more favors.” 

“You said that last time,” you quietly pointed out. 

“I know,” he sighed. “My own fault for even goin’ over there. I shoulda ignored her letter altogether.” 

“So why even entertain the consideration?” 

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. 

A question teased the tip of your tongue. You were afraid to ask it in an even greater fear of what the answer might be. But there was only one way to find out. “Do you...still love her?” 

He looked at you again. “No, ‘course not,” he answered immediately. “What we had was long gone.” 

That didn’t ease your concern. “But you still went to see her. That don’t seem so convincing.” 

I know it don’t,” Arthur groaned. "I regretted it the firs’ time, shoulda listened to myself...to you...sweetheart.” 

The intimacy in his voice fluttered your heart. 

“I’m so sorry, I don’t expect ya to forgive me, but...” he raised his hands, hesitant at first, and placed his palms upon your cheeks. His gaze was soft and pleading. “I...love you.” 

Your eyes grew wide, your mouth agape. Your heart thumped wildly against your ribcage. Those three simple words you’d dreamed of hearing for years, finally come to fruition. There had been a few times where you were convinced Arthur was the one. Moments alone in fantasy, thinking of life along his side for much longer than you’d anticipated. 

He’d proven himself time and time again to be more than the front he masked himself with. More than just a brute, more than just an outlaw. A sweet, charming man who was willing to go to the ends of the Earth and back for you. 

Just as he did now, despite how angry and accusatory you’d been towards him. 

Water blurred your vision. Was it the rain, or your own tears? A mixture of both, perhaps—you breathed in with a shudder, dipping your head, overwhelmed with the onslaught of emotion. Happiness, sadness, elation and disappointment, all rolled into one big wave. 

He whispered your name, a tinge of concern in his voice. Somehow you’d heard it through the thunder, through the sheets of rain soaking you to the bone. You were almost afraid to look back up, until his fingers slipped beneath your chin. 

He didn’t force you to look up. Instead, you slowly lifted your head, your eyes last to follow until level with his gaze. There hasn’t been a tinge of expectancy in his face, just patience. 

There wasn’t even a question to how you felt. 

“I...” 

Your throat was dry. Swallowing hard, you wanted to form the words just right. “I...love you, too,” you finally managed to squeak, throwing your arms to wrap around his neck. He caught you with ease, drawing you into a sweet, albeit wet, kiss.