#fetch-22

[dogmanincorrectquotes]

Most people your age die. So WHY. WON'T. YOU?!

Petey, to... take a wild guess

[a-little-artsy]

shitpost for today bc i got nothing

DogManber Day 23 : Fetch-22

Yeah i couldnt even be BOTHERED to draw the fair fairy but whatevs

his face speaks to me

[thenweatefivesoups]

Okay, I know a lot of people think Grampa's name is a variant of Petey's (Pete, Peter, etc), but...

I think it's Ralph.

It makes sense that he would call Li'l Petey "Ralphie" here, given that he doesn't bother to remember his grandson's name.

It explains Petey's expression really well

He's clearly imposing himself on these two, especially since he called Petey "Junior" in the last book. After all, they look like him, so they take after him by nature! (...right?)

[whumpsmith-participates]

Medwhump May 2024

Day 22 - Sirens / Needles

TW: needles, amateur handling a needle

@medwhumpmay

Ever since taking Erick in, Fetch would often teach him some new things. Things he considered important skills, however questionable. Some made sense, like simple car maintenance, building a fire and foraging for food. You never knew when you had to hide out in the middle of nowhere after all. Other skills were...a little more odd and weirdly specific, like hot-wiring cars, preparing coolers for organ transport, and how to clean blood out of anything.

Today, however, the lesson included needles.

"Why do I have to learn this?" Erick asked, looking through the plastic-wrapped supplies Fetch had handed him.

"Because being able to administer medication or fluids is literally life-saving and I may not always be around to do it," Fetch said, "God forbid I'd be the one needing it."

"Thanks for the trust?" Erick slowly said.

"Don't worry, we'll start with something simple, like intramuscular," Fetch said, "and before that the basics of course, like cleaning the site and how to open the wrapping without contaminating the materials."

"And then what?" Erick asked, "I get to practice on you?"

"Hell no, I hate needles," Fetch said, "no, you can practice on this guy."

He finally revealed what was behind the curtain in the back of the room, pulling it aside to show a young man tied to a chair. He was slumped over, still unconscious, but he was already blindfolded. Erick blinked, before turning back to Fetch.

"You kidnapped someone?!"

"Did you forget what I do for a living?" Fetch said, "of course I kidnapped someone."

"Yeah, but for this?" Erick said, "or is someone paying you to use him as target practice?"

"Why I have him doesn't matter, but we might as well use him while he's here," Fetch said with a shrug, "anyway, the basics."

He proceeded to show him how to handle the syringes long before the cap even came off, and then explained the different types of injection. All the while, the young man in the chair began stirring more and more.

Erick tried to pay him no mind. He already felt bad enough for him, and he would probably get in trouble himself if he didn't pay enough attention to Fetch's instructions. Though it didn't seem too complicated. The first type of injection he had to learn used a small needle and a muscle was hard to miss honestly.

"And...what am I going to inject him with?" Erick said, "I don't wanna kill someone."

"Relax, it's just a bit of saline solution, it's harmless," Fetch assured him, "unless you somehow manage to mess this up."

"...no pressure," Erick said.

"You got this," Fetch said, smacking a hand on the teen's shoulder.

Erick sighed, carefully approaching the young man with fresh supplies, only for him to suddenly lift his head up and begin pulling against his restraints.

"P-please," he said breathlessly, "please don't hurt me! I-I'll do whatever you ask!"

Erick froze, turning back to Fetch.

"He's awake."

"Yes, and?"

"You want me to...while he's awake?"

"Sometimes you're gonna have an unwilling patient, might as well learn how to deal with that now," Fetch said with a shrug.

Erick sighed, turning back to the hostage and watching him struggle a bit more. He had to get him to calm down, else he could never get it right...

"H-hi," he started, "listen, listen, I know you're scared, but I promise you, you'll be okay."

"W-who are you?!" the young man gasped, pulling away so suddenly he nearly tipped his chair over.

"Easy," Erick gently said, steadying the chair, "take a deep breath."

"D-don't touch me!"

"I'm not touching you, I'm just making sure you don't fall over," Erick said, trying to stay calm, "I-I know you're scared, so just take a deep breath, I promise I won't hurt you. You're safe for now."

The young man whimpered, taking a shaky breath. He didn't feel safe at all, but he didn't want to find out what would happen if he didn't at least try to follow instructions.

"W-what are you going to do to me?" he asked quietly.

"I...have to give you a shot," Erick slowly said, "I can't tell you why, but, I promise it won't hurt much more than at the doctor's. I'll be very careful."

"W-what?"

"I know what it sounds like," Erick said, "and I know you have no reason whatsoever to trust me, but I'm really speaking the truth. Just talk to me, okay? I'll help you through it. What's your name?"

The young man hesitated. Erick didn't blame him. He wouldn't trust the situation either if he were in his shoes. And he had been in his shoes.

"E-Elliott..."

"Okay, Elliott," Erick said, "I'm gonna tell you what I'm going to do so you don't get startled when I do it, okay?"

The young man nodded, still not seeming entirely comfortable, but for now that was good enough for Erick.

"First I'm going to roll up your sleeve, Elliott, and then I'm going to clean a patch with this alcohol wipe. Are you ready, Elliott?"

Erick winced slightly as he caught himself using one of Fetch's tactics to try and get the young man to calm down, but it seemed to work. And if he was calm, he wouldn't get hurt. Erick rolled up Elliott's sleeve, before opening the alcohol wipe. The distinctive scent seemed to fill the room immediately, bu Erick tried to pay it no mind. He just quickly rubbed clean a spot on Elliott's arm before picking up the syringe he'd prepared.

"Okay, just hold still, Elliott," he said, "I promise there's nothing harmful in this."

"B-but why..." Elliott asked, "I-I don't understand, what about the other guy?"

"He's on the other side of the room," Erick said, "I'll be real, Elliott. If I don't do as he says we could both get hurt. That's the only reason I'm doing this, Elliott, and I don't ask any follow-up questions."

Elliott groaned quietly, but nodded, holding still while Erick uncapped the needle.

"Okay, Elliott, here I go..."

He put his hand on his arm to steady him, only to find that his own hand was trembling slightly as he brought the needle closer. He took a deep breath to force himself to relax, before following Fetch's instructions. He pushed the needle in, pressed down on the plunger, and then pulled it back out. Elliott winced, but seemed unharmed otherwise, a single drop of blood beading on the puncture site before slowly dripping down a bit.

"Good job."

Erick jumped as Fetch seemed to suddenly have appeared right behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder before taking the used syringe from him so he could put the cap back on.

"See? Easy-peasy," he said, "now veins are a lot harder..."

"W-we're diving straight into veins?!" Erick asked nervously.

"I gotta bring him back tomorrow, so we better get the most out of him," Fetch said.

"W-wait, what?" Elliott whimpered, "w-what's going on?"

"Shut up," Fetch just said, "get the tape, kid, you can't focus when someone's sobbing in the background."

Erick sighed, turning back to Elliott for a moment before following Fetch's order.

"I'm sorry, Elliott."

Elliott belongs to my friend @overdoseofanimation or CosmicChrysalis on Deviantart. Elliott's story starts here~

MasterlistMain account

Taglist for the dynamic duo: @lavndvrr

[gigglebone6]

wat we could've gotten........

[arfofhangingon]

shouldn't be allowed to wake up this early on days off... is far too early for ouppy time... and yet...

[valdevia]

The following documents were retrieved from the remains of the ship 'Storaker', its crew and most of its cargo lost in a storm off the coast of Denmark while returning from an archeology expedition to the Viking burial ground of Söndrum:

Excerpt from the diary of main archeologist Ture J. Arne (pictured right on item #2), March 22 1905: “We found something strange today. It wasn't far from the other graves in the area, but it was buried deeper. The extraction was difficult since it had become encased in a hard piece of stone we had to break through. […] This… artifact, it doesn't look like anything we've seen from the old Norse. A piece of loot from one of their raids, perhaps?”

“The crew is quite disturbed by the artifact, and I've heard far-fetched speculation about its origins. As much as I hate to admit it, it makes me feel uneasy too. […] There's one more thing I'm hesitating to write down. When I touched its surface I felt a nearly imperceptible vibration inside. None of the others seemed to notice. […] Tomorrow we'll load it on the ship and take it to Copenhagen.”

Arne's diary, March 25: “The mood on the ship has been odd. Some men have grown obsessed with my artifact. They try to pry it open, free what's inside. The captain sent crewmen to watch over the cargo and stop the fights. I tried to sneak in to see it at night, but they saw me.”

Arne's diary, March 27: “They will not take it away from me. I am the head of this expedition. This finding will put my name on history books. I will not let these thugs see what's inside before me. […] They say a storm is coming. That may be my moment to take it. Free it.”

Undated entry in Arne's diary: “The storm is here. I hear the men fighting outside now. It is time.”

The remains of the ship Storaker were found in April 1905, drifting in the Kattegat area. The ship was heavily damaged and no living crew was found on board. Artifacts matching the images were never located, and are presumed lost at sea.

[Read more Megalomorpha]

[reasonsforhope]

"In Zimbabwe, an Africa-born mobility startup is providing women with the catalyst they need to drive change in their community and society.

Called the Hamba, this durable electric tricycle is mobilizing a generation of working women and mothers, allowing them to perform arduous tasks with relative ease and comfort.

Manufactured in Africa and managed by the startup Mobility for Africa (MFA), a leasing program for women allowed one or several locals to lease a Hamba for $15 a month. This pilot program was a huge success, and now these electric tricycles are available to buy, on a lease-to-purchase agreement, and to rent—all on an ad-hoc basis.

It allows women to fetch water and firewood, take family members to medical facilities, or bring and buy produce at local markets, saving sometimes dozens of miles of walking each day.

“In the past transporting our produce to the market was a nightmare we would wake up at 3 am and travel a very long distance using an ox-drawn cart but now it is much easier we can reach the market on time,” a 34-year-old tomato farmer and mother of six, Hilda Takadini, told Africa News.

92% of female customers participating in the company’s pilot program noted an improvement in how safe they feel whilst traveling since they started using the Hamba compared with walking, and some have offered their services as couriers and drivers to other community members, sparking the spirit of entrepreneurialism.

Among the women whose stories were changed by the appearance of the Hamba was Anna Bhobho, a 31-year-old housewife from rural Zimbabwe who was excluded from economic life.

Now, she’s the major bread winner in her house, and Takadini relies on her to bring tomatoes to market before they spoil.

“Even my husband and in-laws have more respect for me now. No one used to listen to me, but now I have a seat when important decisions are being made,” the mother of three told Africa News.

70% of the Hambas are reserved for women, and 300 are estimated to currently own or rent one. The solar-powered trikes have just one moving part in the motor, making them easy to maintain and fix. Batteries can be exchanged when depleted at a cost of $5.00 at one of Infraco Africa’s solar power stations, a partner with MFA on the initiative.

Each Hamba can carry 1,000 pounds or so of cargo, and have a top speed of 37 mph (you couldn’t go much faster on a rural Zimbabwe road anyway)."

-Article via Good News Network, April 9, 2025. Video via Africa News, March 22, 2025.

[riekirei]

00:00 — nishimura riki

your boyfriend, riki, came home after an exhausting day, working and practicing. you stay up and wait for him til late to see him come home, tired.

pairing: idol bf!riki x afab!reader | genre(s): fluff | content/warning: reader and riki call each other baby, reader kisses riki on the forehead and cheek

[requested]

word count: 735

author’s note: this is just so cutee. i enjoyed writing this sm and i hope you enjoy reading it as well! not proofreaadd btw

[🎧 now playing: soren by beabadobee]

22:12

you were scrolling on your phone, laying down across the couch with a fluffy blanket covering you body. you were waiting for riki to get home from working at the hybe building. you figured he was up practicing after a long day of promoting and shooting for their recent comeback. you weren't too sure where he was at the moment. he might've been on his way home, maybe even at the studio this late at night. 

22:27

you decide to text him.

“babyyy”

“where r uu :(“

you type in and send. you blink a few times, feeling how droopy your eyes were. it was getting late and you couldn’t deny how sleepy you were. you yawned as you shut your phone off, laying it by your side. you pulled your blanket up to your chin and laid there, wondering were riki could be.

22:46

some time later, you check your phone to see if he had responded. ‘delivered.’ riki hadn’t opened your message. he was probably on his way home right now so you didn’t really worry. 

your eyelids were heavy and you couldn’t fight off how much you wanted to sleep. eventually, you fell asleep on the couch, tucked into the fluffy blanket. 

23:07

you awake to the sound of keys clanking right outside the door. the doorknob twisted and the door opened, revealing the sight of your boyfriend. he took his shoes off and dropped his bag onto the floor. you rubbed your eyes and just as you were about to stand up and greet him, you see him walk into the bedroom with his eyes half shut.

“woah woah woah, where do you think you’re going?” you ask him as he trailed off. “sleep” he said. “noo, baby. not just yet. we need to get you washed up first” you told him. riki stops and turns to see you. “babyy~ can we go to sleep?” he asks you, slowly blinking and standing still, clearly tired. you walk towards him and grabbed his arm, tugging him towards the bathroom you had in the room. “let’s wash up first, pleaaaseee?” you softly say, looking into his eyes. riki nods and walks with you towards the bathroom.

you help him get into the shower and handed him his towel and his new change of clothes. riki took a quick shower and as soon as he got out, you helped him dry his hair and body. you made sure he was feeling okay. as you pat his face down with a towel, you could tell just by his eyes how exhausted he was. “tired hm?” you asked him. all he did was nod. you smile and caress his cheek. 

23:32

after riki washed up, brushed his teeth, and changed his clothes, he laid down onto his side of the bed. you came shortly after with a glass of water you took from the kitchen while riki was changing. you handed it over to him and waited for him to finish before setting it aside for him on the bedside table. you pulled the blanket over the two of you and closed the lights, leaving only a dim one by the doorway lit up. 

you watched riki as his eyes shut. you rub circles onto his temples and forehead to help him relax and release any tension he had. riki then rested his hand by your waist, bringing you in slightly closer. your hands move up and made its way onto his hair. you play with it and lightly massaged his scalp. riki had a smile across his face.

23:49

you thought of putting pain relief patches on his shoulders to relieve any of the pain his muscles might’ve had from practicing and working all day. you get up to fetch them from a drawer in your closet. you gently lift his shoulders up to place the patches onto them. you lay him back down, looking at him, admiring how pretty he was.

23:59 

you pushed riki’s hair back and gave him a kiss on the forehead and on the cheek. going back down, riki hugged your torso and you buried your face into his chest. “i’m so proud of you for always working hard. good night. i love you, riki” you say before closing your eyes and finally falling asleep in his embrace.

00:00

“i do it for you. i love you more, y/n”

[ak319]

Lovesick A.M x f!reader

--★ Rose Hats and Rough Hearts

(AN: So, a fic idea I have serves as an inspo for this one-shot. The reader is a morally gray character and doesn't like being part of the gang. Anyway, enjoy reading!.) Syno: When her sharp tongue turns on Dutch, Arthur wonders if she’s gone too far, or if he’s fallen too deep. Warnings/MDNI: Age gap (you are in early 20's and Arthur is 30-31), pining, angst, fluff. ✰ -11k.

“Well, wasn’t that easy? Been a long time since I enjoyed a robbery like that,” Hosea chuckled, tugging down his bandana.

Arthur glanced at the bag tied to the horse, heavy with valuables, and gave a small nod. “Definitely.”

The two rode at a leisurely pace, the quiet night stretching around them like a blanket, the stars casting a soft glow over the landscape. Arthur’s eyes drifted as they moved, catching on a patch of bushes nearby.

Roses.

Even in the faint starlight, their delicate shapes stood out, and an idea bloomed in his mind.

“Uh, Hosea,” Arthur started, breaking the calm, “I’ve got an errand to run.”

“An errand? At this time of night?” Hosea raised a brow, his tone lightly scolding. “You oughta rest now, son. You’ve earned it.”

“No, no, jus' need to head into town for a bit. Won’t be long, don’t you worry.”

Hosea paused for a moment, then gave a knowing smile and nodded. “Alright, if you say so. Just don’t go gettin’ yourself into trouble.”

He handed Hosea the score and with a final farewell, the two parted ways, Arthur veering off towards the town, his thoughts already on the next step of his plan.

Arthur arrived at the shop and dismounted, but instead of heading inside, he lingered by his horse, running a hand over the animal’s neck. Was this even a good idea? Why was it all so damn complicated?

There’s no harm in buying something, right? Just a harmless gesture. He could figure out what to do with it later... later.

For days now, it had been the same cycle.

Don’t think about her. Just don’t.

There’s no harm in it, right?

And yet he does.

Don’t look at her, it’s strange. Keep your distance.

A few stolen glances don’t mean anything when she’s far away, right?

And yet he does.

Don’t buy her a gift. What kind of fool even does that? Who is he to her, anyway?

And here he is, standing outside the shop, heart pounding like a damn fool, a love fool.

“Yes, sir? How may I help you? By the way, there’s a 15% discount on the winter stock. Perhaps you’d like to try the waistcoats?”

Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his eyes drifting around the shop. Was he in the right place? He scanned the shelves and displays until his gaze landed on the wall.

Yes, there it was. The item he’d noticed before.

“Can you show me that hat?”

The shopkeeper immediately retrieved it with a practiced hand and held it out with a smile. “Our latest and most popular piece, sir. Only $22.”

Arthur took the hat, turning it over in his hands. The black leather gleamed, unscathed and pristine, a far cry from his well-worn one. His eyes lingered on the rose corsage affixed to the middle, subtle but striking.

He stepped toward the mirror, setting the hat on his head, and studied his reflection. It was a fine hat

"Goes perfectly with your outfit, sir."

Arthur’s lips curled into a faint smile, but it quickly faded as he turned back to the shelves. “I saw a scarf, too. The one with the, uh... rose pattern.”

“Oh, the women’s one! Let me fetch it for you.”

The shopkeeper moved swiftly, his hands deftly retrieving the scarf. He prattled on about its fine quality and craftsmanship, but Arthur barely registered the words. They flew past him like horses leaping over a fence.

His thoughts were elsewhere, on you. On how the scarf would look wrapped around your neck, the way it might frame your face. The image was enough to push him to hand over the dollar bills for both items, not even noticing he’d given more than what was asked.

The shopkeeper’s voice called out behind him, but Arthur had already turned, mounting his Irish Draught, Clover, and riding off without a second glance.

He’d be wearing the rose hat, and you’d be wearing the scarf. The thought sat heavy in his chest, a strange mix of warmth and unease. Was he really going to give it to you now?

The wind tugged at his coat, but it couldn’t scatter the doubts and questions circling his mind. Was this... a confession?

Would you, confounding as you were, with your quicksilver moods and quiet distance, accept anything from him? You, who rarely spared him more than a glance, choosing instead to linger with the girls, Molly especially.

It ate at him sometimes, the way you seemed so unreachable. Always just out of his grasp, moving through the camp like a wisp of smoke, untouchable and wholly your own. And yet, he couldn’t stop watching.

Couldn’t stop wanting.

You didn’t belong here, not like him, at least. You carried yourself with an air of defiance, tethered to the camp not by loyalty but necessity. A reluctant, bitter presence that had no reason to look twice at someone as rooted in this life as he was.

He saw the way you didn’t fit, the way you wanted to leave. And maybe that’s why the thought of you wearing the scarf--his scarf now--stirred something fierce inside him. The idea that, for once, he might give you something that tethered you to him, however briefly. Better than being tied to someone else. God, you have made him so selfish.

He clenched the scarf tighter, his jaw set. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was a start.

He didn’t know much about you, except years ago when one day he came to the camp and discovered that Hosea and Bessie had found somewhere, taken you in as a baby, and raised you as their own as they always wanted a child. Nobody in the camp knew where they found you except perhaps Dutch but it was never told properly and he didn't pry much too, no one really did. Everything had been fine-peaceful, even, until Bessie passed.

After that, you’d wanted out. To leave the camp, carve out a life of your own, away from the shadow of the gang. But Hosea couldn’t let you go. He was your father, after all, the one who had protected you, shielding you from the blood and grime of their world just as Bessie had wished for.

And then there was himself whose hands were drenched in blood.

All of this screamed doom. Yet, he was doomed... doomed by his stupid feelings and that desperate longing to have someone to call his own, to have someone waiting for him. A foolish wish, considering the life he’d led, the blood he’d spilled, and the world he was tied to.

He slowed the stallion, the weight of bubbling anxiety and frustration pressing down on him. God, it was all a mess. Even if he could manage to stop thinking for a while, to quiet the storm in his head... when he'd return to the camp and see you again, just going about your business, sulking in some corner after an argument, or throwing those sharp, witty remarks, especially at Pearson as you cooked, that pull, that ache, would come rushing back.

Curiosity was the root of it all. He just wanted to know. Why? Why were you like this? Was it because of Molly, how she’d twisted your heart with her bitterness, making you turn your back on Dutch and the rest of the gang? Or did you simply not care at all about any of them?

He huffed at the thought of the stew you probably made, not out of love, but out of duty, or maybe a touch of malice. If it tasted so good, made with nothing but spite, he couldn’t help but wonder how much better it would be if you made it with love.

❀˖°

With a final pat to Clover’s neck, Arthur made his way back to camp, greeting the men as he passed. But there was something off, a silence hanging heavier than usual. He made his way toward Dutch, figuring he might have some thoughts on the score with Hosea.

"Dutch?"

The older man turned his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, his gaze fixed on the lake.

"Arthur."

Before Arthur could speak, Dutch continued, his tone slow, almost contemplative. "You know we’re a family, right? That everything we do is for each other, not just for ourselves..."

"Of course, Dutch."

Dutch chuckled softly, the sound more gravel than humor, before crushing the cigar underfoot casually. "Some people, immature people, just can't seem to understand that."

With that, Dutch turned and walked back to his tent, leaving Arthur standing there.

"Is... something the matter?"

"Thing? No, someone is the matter." Dutch’s words were sharp, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Arthur.

Arthur gave him an impatient look, silently urging him to get to the point. This wasn’t how he’d planned to spend the evening. Not at all. He’d been hoping to retreat to his tent, to let his mind drift into thoughts of you, to finally sit and think about the gift he’d picked out for you, wondering if you'd even notice if you'd even like it. He could already picture himself, the soft scarf fabric between his fingers, tracing the rose pattern as his thoughts wandered, imagining what it would feel like to wrap it around your neck... his gift for you.

Dutch exhaled sharply, clearly agitated. "Hosea has let her get away with too much. You know what she did? When Hosea returned to drop off the share from your little endeavor, she-" He cut himself off with a frustrated growl. "She thought I wasn’t here. She came charging out, and started an argument, telling him he was doing the wrong thing--the wrong thing! Can you believe that?"

Dutch shook his head in disbelief. "She actually had the nerve to say that, Arthur. And that instead of doing this--helping us all--he should be out saving for them both and getting away from this life. "I swear, Arthur... turning one of my most trusted men, a friend, against me? Over some damn bills? But Hosea... being Hosea...what does he do? Runs out of camp to bring her back."

"So what did you suggest?!" Hosea’s voice cut through the tension as he entered the tent, his eyes flashing with frustration. "Let my daughter go out in the wild alone? At night? How could you do that, say 'get lost' just like that? Knowing she will take it seriously? She grew up right in front of you!"

"Oh, so it hurt her ego, huh?! Like I care. For me , nothing’s worse than a selfish, disloyal piece of trash that you just had to take in because-"

"Enough! No! Don’t you dare bring that up."

With a heavy sigh, Hosea turned on his heel, walking away from the confrontation, leaving Dutch to seethe in silence.

Dutch watched him go, muttering under his breath, "Take those damn dollars you bestowed on us, Hosea, and gift her a house, for all I care! Fine by my ass!"

Arthur’s mind was a tangled mess, unable to process the whirlwind of events. So much had happened, so many emotions he could hardly keep up. Confusion clouded his mind, frustration clawed at his chest, exhaustion weighed down on his bones, and fury burned in his gut. But none of it made sense. He couldn't even figure out who--or what--his anger was really directed at.

Was it you? Was it your reckless, thoughtless actions that set this all in motion? Or was it Dutch's words and how casually he was ready to kick a girl out, kick you out, just like that?

It was at both.

It was both, but more than anything, it was you. Because you’d started it, hadn’t you? You always had a problem with Dutch’s authority, even when you kept your sweet little mouth shut. It was in your eyes, those eyes. The eyes he could never get enough of, the ones he craved to meet his own. If only for a second. A second where the same longing, the same hunger for something more, reflected back at him.

But instead, there you were. Acting like everything was just... nothing. Like none of it mattered. Like he didn’t matter. You went out there recklessly and carelessly, as if you could just walk away from everything. From him. How fucking could you? What if it had gotten worse and someone just decided to harm you because of your damn tongue in the camp and even Hosea couldn't do anything-

"Arthur?"

"U-Um, yes?"

"What do you think? Hm?"

"About...what happened? I--it’s... yeah, she shouldn’t have said that," Arthur muttered, the words clumsy and heavy on his tongue.

Dutch hummed, a slow and pointed sound, as though weighing Arthur’s response and finding it just barely acceptable. Arthur didn’t wait for more. He muttered a farewell and slipped out of the tent, the cool air doing little to clear the haze in his mind.

His eyes found Hosea almost immediately. The old man was sitting on his bedroll, his posture stiff and guarded. His eyes screamed of hurt, Dutch's words had affected him deeply. After some seconds his eyes would flicker at your tent. The sight made Arthur’s chest ache. Hosea’s protectiveness was undeniable.

Because no matter how much Hosea wanted to protect you, Arthur wanted something deeper, something more selfish.

What the hell am I even thinking? he chastised himself, shaking his head. She’s not my responsibility. She’s not mine.

He wanted to say something to Hosea, to offer comfort or at least commiseration, but his feet wouldn’t move. Instead, he turned away, retreating to his own tent with a heavy sigh. Once inside, he shut the flaps, placed his hat on the table, and dropped onto the cot with a grunt of annoyance.

Reaching for the scarf, Arthur held it above him, the dim light tracing over its soft, silken material. He let it graze his face, the faint scent of the shop lingering on it, but it was his mind that did the real work. He imagined the fabric tangled in your hair, how it would feel wrapped around you as he held you close. He could almost feel the tickle of those strands against his skin, his breath hot against the side of your neck.

The thought of having you here, in his arms, that close, his hands gripping you, pulling you to him, ignited something fierce inside him. It wasn’t just the touch. It was the idea that you could be his, fully, if only you’d let him. He clenched the scarf tighter, frustration and something darker simmering in his chest.

With that vision playing in his mind, he let the scarf fall, draping it across his face and chest, the weight of it somehow both comforting and unbearable.

Lying there in the dark, his lips brushed over the fabric absently, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips. It was maddening, the way you consumed his thoughts without even trying. Even now, with frustration still simmering under his skin, all he wanted was to see you, to watch your expression, even if it meant enduring one of your scowls.

You little menace, I swear one of these days I might just lose my patience.

But you didn’t care, did you? You’d stormed out, reckless and fiery, with no thought of him or anyone, not even yourself. And here he was, lying alone, haunted by the feeling of silk and the ghost of a life he’d never have. With a frustrated grunt, Arthur shifted onto his side, clutching it closer, the tension in his body growing. He couldn't help but think if he had been here earlier, he would have tied you to him, not out of malice, but out of desperate, aching need. The kind of need that he couldn’t push down, no matter how much he tried. The kind that made him crave something from you that you didn’t even know you had to give. Something more. Something that would finally make you stay.

Sleep wouldn’t come easily.

He wanted you to feel it, to bear the same punishment he carried every night. To know what it was like to lie awake, tormented by the thought of someone you couldn’t have, unable to chase the fleeting peace of sleep because they haunted you in ways you couldn’t name. He wanted you to understand how it felt to be unraveled by longing, to have your very being tethered to someone who wouldn’t even look your way.

But then...what was he even saying?

Why did he keep forgetting the truth? That you didn’t deserve his anger, his silent pleas for recognition. That the fault wasn’t yours for not seeing him, no, it was his for daring to want you in the first place. Of course, you wouldn’t ever look at him that way. He was older, too far removed from your world, your interests, your life. And he knew, deep down, that you wouldn’t ever imagine, not in a thousand years, that someone like him could ever be interested in you. Even he could admit it, this was all stupid, unexpected, and nothing more than a fantasy.

And still, knowing this, he couldn’t stop himself. The heart never makes sense, does it? It doesn’t listen to reason or its owner, dragging you where it pleases, no matter the cost. Even he, a man who prided himself on control, had been reduced to a mere servant of its whims.

His fingers curled around the scarf as if it could somehow hold the pieces of him together. As if its softness could soothe the fire that burned inside him, one that you had lit and would never know.

Meanwhile, you lay in bed, staring at the worn canvas of the tent above. You weren’t leaving this tent. Not now. Not later. Not for anyone. They could all be damned for all you cared, it had all been damned ever since your mother died.

She was your anchor, the one thing tethering you to any sense of stability. And the moment she was gone, the world had cracked open, spilling truths you’d long suspected but never wanted confirmed. You weren’t really theirs. You weren’t their daughter.

Hosea refused to tell you why or how you ended up here, tucked into the folds of their chaos. But the truth was, you didn’t care anymore. You were tired. Tired of the games, the blind loyalty to Dutch’s every whim, the endless cycle of running and stealing and pretending any of it had meaning.

All you wanted was a normal life, a roof over your head that didn’t leak when it rained, a place where fear didn’t cling to the walls like smoke. But that dream stayed out of reach, just like everything else. Hosea wouldn’t let you go. He was scared to lose you, to lose something that was never even his.

Pathetic.

That’s what it was. That’s what they all were. And maybe Molly was right, Dutch’s charm was nothing but poison, bleeding into everything and everyone

"Bastard..."

You wanted a job, something stable to call your own. Or, if that wasn’t in the cards, maybe just to find some rich fool to marry so you could finally live in peace. Far from all this chaos. But no, these people couldn’t leave well enough alone, they had to loot every rich soul they came across.

Leave someone for me to marry at least, you scoffed bitterly, lips curling in a faint, humourless smile.

Sigh.

Dream on, (Y/N). Dream on.

Hosea’s familiar voice drifted in from nearby, low and steady as he spoke with Abigail. No doubt she was serving him food since you hadn’t bothered to. The sound grated on you, making you roll your eyes and turn to the other side of your bedroll. It wouldn’t be long, two days, maximum, before Hosea came to lecture you, or worse, dragged you out of this tent himself.

He was always so damn strict when it came to pulling your weight.

But right now?

Screw it. Screw him. Screw all of them.

Let them fend for themselves.

❀˖°

"Why do you do all this?"

Not did that. Do this.

Arthur’s voice was low, almost fragile, but there was a weight to it. A question layered with meanings he couldn’t bring himself to say outright. He just hoped you’d hear it, the real question, underneath the words. His gaze stayed fixed on the worn soles of your shoes, watching as you scrubbed at the dishes with an edge of restrained aggression that didn’t go unnoticed.

The sight would be funny to anyone in the camp right now. He was reduced to barely speaking above a whisper when it came to you, his usual steady tone faltering in a way it never did with anyone else. Whilst you were the only one who wasn't afraid of even him. While others tiptoed around him, wary of the weight his presence carried, you treated him with the same indifference, the same biting sharpness that you spared for everyone else.

Dammit, he fucking loved it.

It wasn’t fear he wanted from you, not respect or even obedience. It was something, anything, that showed he wasn’t just another face in the camp to you. It made him feel like that was all he was. Just another man under Dutch rule.

And it was maddening.

"I could ask the same question to everyone here," you replied, voice steady but sharp, like a blade dulled just enough to wound without cutting too deep.

"But you know the answer."

"And you do too," you shot back, turning slightly to glance over your shoulder, "but here you are. Playing the mediator of sorts."

Arthur exhaled sharply, his gaze falling to the ground as if the weight of your words had struck him in the chest. For someone who claimed to want nothing to do with this place, with these people, you had an uncanny way of stirring up trouble within it.

Perhaps you wanted that. You wanted to get kicked out.

He wanted to throw the thought out into the open, let it snap between you like a taut rope. But the bitterness in your tone, the heaviness in your stance, made him hesitate. Throwing oil on the fire wasn’t going to do either of you any good, not today.

"You’re wasting your breath on someone who isn't listening to whatever you have to say."

"Then I’ll just keep talkin’ until you do."

"Do whatever, I don't care. This place is full of people barking orders and trying to be big. Pft. How adorable."

At least spare me a glance. Just one.

"If you don't care about yourself, then at least do it for Hosea..." His voice was strained, laced with a desperation he couldn't quite hide.

That made you turn, finally, but the look you gave him was anything but kind. Your gaze was sharp, cutting, laced with a mix of disdain and challenge. "Oh, so now you're worried about me being a bad daughter or something?" you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "I wonder if you all think the same way when you're out there making other daughters cry, making women widows and destroying families without a second thought."

This was the longest conversation you both had. Ever. And damn it was a wrecked one.

Your lips curled into a humorless smile as you snorted, mocking. "Tsk, I bet that's an exception, right? Family only exists here." You pitched your voice to mimic Dutch's smooth drawl, the mockery biting. Then, as if dismissing him entirely, you turned back to the washing, your hands moving with renewed fervor, the sound of water splashing filling the silence.

Arthur stood there, jaw tight, the weight of your words sinking into him like stones in a river.

He stood rooted in place, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. He wanted to say something, needed to say something, but the words lodged themselves somewhere in his throat, refusing to come out. Maybe it was the truth in your words that had him stunned.

Before Arthur could find a way to steer the conversation elsewhere, Hosea stepped into the fray, his tone calm yet firm. “(Y/N)...dear, today or tomorrow, you’ve got to apologize to Dutch and bury this hatchet.”

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, looking off to the side, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. His heart thumped unevenly as he anticipated your response.

You turned to Hosea sharply, your expression a volatile mix of shock and simmering fury. “You want me to apologize to him?! For what?. Just for talking to you about something I’ve wanted to for so damn long?!”

Arthur’s head snapped back in your direction. He could see the fire in your eyes now, blazing and relentless, and it struck something in him. That fire, he both loved and hated it, craved it and feared it. It was the very thing that made you impossible to ignore, yet it was also what pushed you farther from him. And still, he couldn’t help but think how maddeningly beautiful you looked right now, even if it tore him apart to watch you lock yourself away further from everyone, including him.

“It’s not about what was said, it’s about how it was said. Dutch... he’s not perfect, but he’s trying. We all are.”

“Trying? Trying to keep us all in line like dogs? Sure, that sounds like areallyl noble effort. If you want to grovel to Dutch, go ahead, Papa. But don’t drag me into it.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his fingers brushing against his holster as if searching for something to ground himself. He knew that your words were not only directed at Hosea but him too.

“You’ve got too much pride,” Hosea muttered, shaking his head in exasperation.

"And you’ve got too much blind loyalty."

Hosea held your gaze, his own softening but remaining firm. "Look, let me say this again, this isn’t about the words you said, it’s about the way you said them. You can stand by your beliefs without tearing everyone else down in the process, sweetheart."

"So what? Dutch can tear everyone down, but when someone calls him out, it’s suddenly a problem?! That’s rich."

"It doesn't matter!" Hosea’s voice rose slightly before he caught himself, lowering it to a pleading tone. "And quiet down, don’t create a scene, again. Have mercy on your old man, at least. For now, we’re in the camp, and as long as we are, Dutch shouldn’t be disrespected like that. You can be as angry as you want with me, but please, just apologize to him. He’s always been like an uncle to you... (Y/N)."

You let out a bitter scoff, your lips curling in defiance. "And he's the one who clearly doesn't want me here but--fine...fine Papa," your hands slammed the plate down in the basin. "I’ll do whatever you say. Because, apparently, my words are nothing but bullets of disloyalty now. The same words that were once adorable wishes to you."

Your words hit like a lash, leaving Hosea standing frozen as you stormed off toward your tent. Arthur watched the older man, his chest tightening when he saw the same hurt settle in Hosea’s eyes, the kind of pain that only festers in the heart of someone who loves deeply and feels powerless.

"I wish..." Hosea began, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling under the weight of emotions he rarely let show. "I wish I never told her the truth... that she’s not my child. Maybe it messed her up... It broke me more than it broke her."

Arthur stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the dirt as he hesitated for a moment before closing the distance. Hosea turned his head slightly, and Arthur's heart clenched when he saw the glint of tears streaking down the older man’s face. It was the second time Arthur had witnessed Hosea cry, the first being after Bessie's death.

"It... it terrified me," Hosea whispered, voice thick with emotion. "I kept thinkin' last night, what if one day I'm not here, and Dutch just turns on her like that? Sure, the women might object, but that’s it. They’re powerless against him. No one would stand up for her... and she'd be all alone..." He sniffed, wiping his eyes, trying to regain control. "And that’s what broke me, Arthur."

It broke me too...

"Jus' don't think about all that happened. Forget it and don't worry Dutch will forget about it. He won’t hold onto it, not like that. And she... she’ll forget too. You’ll see."

Hosea let out a dry chuckle, wiping a stray tear from his weathered cheek. "She? I don’t think so. Not about this. When it comes to this topic, she won’t let it go." He paused, leaning heavily against the wooden counter, his shoulders sagging, "I want it too, Arthur. The house, the quiet life… I want to give her that. But it’s not easy. It’s not."

He gestured vaguely toward the camp, the flickering lantern light catching in his tired eyes. "Leaving all this behind, all of you, it’d feel like... like a betrayal. Even if I left on a good note, it wouldn’t sit right. Do you get what I mean?"

Arthur nodded, his posture relaxing now that you weren’t there to sharpen the tension in the air. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think we all... kind of want that." His words trailed off, his thoughts unraveling into something more personal. Something he couldn’t bring himself to say.

I do. I want it... with you. Maybe. No...

Only.

Hosea turned his head to study him, Arthur caught the look and quickly shrugged it off, letting out a small exhale as if to clear the thought entirely. "Jus’ don’t let Dutch know," he muttered with a faint smirk. Hosea returned the gesture. " 'Course not. Let's go have some coffee, boy." He reached to pat the man's shoulder but Arthur’s hand shot out, grabbing Hosea’s with a suddenness that made the older man freeze. His eyes, wide and questioning, met Arthur’s with a flicker of concern.

"Um--there’s... something that I want to..." Arthur’s voice faltered as he cleared his throat. His gaze darted to the ground, to the side, anywhere but Hosea’s eyes. The same sheepish, uncertain look Hosea had seen a hundred times, but now it felt different.

Hosea arched a brow, waiting for him to continue. "Well, go on then. What did you do?"

Arthur’s mind was a mess, his thoughts tangled with nerves and fear. What the hell am I doing? His heart raced as his hand shook slightly. What the hell am I about to do?

His breath caught as he reached into the inside of his jacket, fingers brushing the fabric of the chest pocket where he’d hidden it. It was a decision that had plagued him for days, one that felt impossible to avoid now.

He pulled out the scarf--silken, covered in his scent, soft to the touch, but now burning in his hand like a symbol of everything he couldn’t say.

 For her.

It’s for her.

"I- I bought this..." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying the words aloud made them too real, too vulnerable.

Hosea’s face was unreadable at first, but then he saw the scarf, and a brief chuckle escaped him, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I thought it was clear I’m a man, Arthur."

The joke hit Arthur like a slap, and he couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten. God, this was harder than he’d imagined. His throat went dry, his fingers tightening around the scarf as if it could somehow anchor him, give him the courage to keep going. But he was drowning in hesitation.

Arthur’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, his entire body trembling with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. The thought of Hosea’s reaction, the uncertainty of what might follow this moment, made him question if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life. Would Hosea kill him? Would he laugh at him? Or worse, would he pity him?

Hosea’s eyes bore into him, patient, yet expectant. "Well, boy?"

Arthur’s mouth went dry, but he forced the words out. "It’s for... (Y/N)."

For a moment, there was a stillness, and then to his shock, Hosea’s expression softened, eyes widening, almost in a kind of jubilant surprise.

Hosea took the scarf from Arthur, his hands gentle as he examined the gift. A sense of something unspoken passed between them, something Arthur couldn’t quite name, but it was there in the way Hosea’s gaze softened. "Really?"

Arthur barely had the strength to nod, his eyes avoiding Hosea’s, his face burning with embarrassment and a kind of fear he couldn’t even process. Was this really happening? He was spilling it to him, of all people, your father.

He nodded again, his voice barely a whisper. "Yeah..."

Hosea’s hand reached out to pat Arthur’s arm in an almost fatherly gesture, a gentle smile forming on his face. "Well then... I’ll be sure to give it to her. Thank you. Y’know... you’re the only one I trust after me."

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat, the words sinking in like the heaviest of weights. It felt like he’d won a game, but one he hadn’t even realized he was playing.

Arthur’s throat tightened at the thought, his breath catching. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d attached to the simple scarf until now. It was just a piece of fabric, yet the meaning behind it had become so much more than he’d ever expected.

"Just... tell her to, you know... don’t burn it at least," he muttered, his chuckle awkward and thin. But the words weren’t a joke. They were the truth, and they hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

The image burned in his mind, you, angry, perhaps unaware, throwing it into the campfire or tearing it apart with a pair of scissors. The thought was almost unbearable, each possibility worse than the last. The way his hands clenched into fists at his sides showed just how deep the fear ran.

He couldn’t let that happen.

If you did something like that, if you so much as damaged it, he... he didn’t know what he’d do. His thoughts spiraled out of control. Would he lash out? Would he burn the whole camp down if it meant getting you back, getting that thing back, untainted by your disregard? The intensity of his protectiveness shocked him, made his pulse quicken.

He forced himself to exhale, slow and controlled, but the tightness in his chest remained.

"Tell her," he repeated softly, though his voice cracked with something that felt more desperate than he'd intended.

"I will, I will. Don't you worry."

❀˖°

You nearly sewed your own finger, but kept going, the needle trembling slightly in your hand as you tried to focus. Jack sure knew how to break his damn button every week. But you never minded of course. That adorable little kid is like your brother. You couldn't remember the last time you’d felt calm enough to sit still and stitch something--anything--together without your mind wandering.

"I’m proud of you, y'know. You apologized. Thank you." Hosea’s voice broke through the silence, as he sipped his coffee. His words sank into the quiet of the tent.

"Of course you are."

His response was a low chuckle, tinged with affection. He knew you loved him and valued his advice,. His mind played the memories of the times when you always waited worriedly whenever he went on jobs and made sure he was looked after in the camp. Bandaged him. Never slacked off because you knew he hated that...well apart from the times when you were mad. Then even he couldn't convince you to move an inch of stone. Though, he couldn't be proud to have you as his daughter even if both of you clashed at moments like these.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. Even if you’d done it for Hosea, for your own reasons, you couldn't shake the irritation that still lingered beneath your skin. But he was happy, and that was enough for him. His approval always mattered to you, more than you’d ever admit.

The silence stretched out between you as you continued to sew, the rhythmic motion almost comforting. But Hosea’s gaze shifted, the way it always did when something was on his mind. He glanced at the closed flap of the tent, his attention drawn to the world outside. Then, after a moment, he spoke again.

"Here," Hosea said, holding the item out to you, his expression tight, as if he wasn't entirely sure how you would take it. You eyed the scarf suspiciously before taking it, your fingers brushing against the fabric, your thoughts clouded.

"Wow! Thanks...it's so pretty."

Hosea shifted on his feet, averting his gaze, as if the next words were stuck in his throat.

"It's...from Arthur."

"Wha---huh? Why?"

Hosea looked away again, the embarrassment and discomfort evident in his posture, but the message was clear. You felt the shift in the air, a kind of pressure that built between you both.

Your blood ran cold, and you couldn't stop the words that spilled from your lips. "Wha- excuse me??! Did you... did you just sell me or something?!"

The words landed, and Hosea's head snapped back, his face darkening, his jaw tight with frustration.

"What even---Are you out of your mind? Listen to me. I am not going to be here for you forever, and I worry for you, even if you think I don't! And him, he’s the only one I would trust to-"

"What are you on about?!" you cut him off, your voice rising with anger. "Am I some child that needs to be babysat?! I won’t stay here forever, either, Papa! Hell, I won't! And you’re here finding ways to bind me here?! I understand everything! Don’t think I’m a fool!"

You couldn’t stop yourself. With a burst of pent-up fury, you threw the scarf on the floor, your hands shaking with the force of your frustration. "Handing me to some old lap dog, you’re out of your mind! I can't believe it, have some shame!."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you both, as Hosea stood there, his hand still frozen in the air where he'd offered you the scarf, his eyes full of something raw, hurt, frustration, confusion. Hosea opened his mouth, but no words came. His gaze softened, his lips parted as if he were trying to find something to say. But the words you had just spoken hung heavy in the air, too loud and too real to take back now.

"You think I want this for you?" he finally whispered, more to himself than to you, his voice strained with frustration. "I just want you safe, damn it. Safe."

"If you want that, then find someone else, someone normal. A proper suitor, maybe? A decent citizen? Like Mama would have wanted!"

"And you think a 'normal citizen,' or the rich kind you dream of marrying, won’t ask about our background? Won’t dig into our truth? You want something built on lies, instead of what’s real? The most honest person you could have is right here, willing to do anything for you. I raised that boy, and I damn well know he will never disappoint me."

You rolled your eyes, fed up with another one of his lectures. "Yeah, because after spending half my life with outlaws, I've definitely lost the chance to be with anyone 'normal,' haven’t I? Then I'd rather die alone! Every man here is raised by you in some way but that doesn't mean that I have to trust them let alone be with THEM! You are being delusional! Whatever--just give it back, for God's sake," you snapped, your voice thick with frustration as you turned away, trying to put distance between yourself and the scarf as if it could somehow erase the conversation.

Hosea didn't move to leave. He just stood there. After a long pause, he shook his head gently, as if reconciling himself with something painful. "No, no I won't. Gifts are not meant to be... given back."

He picked the scarf up, his hands cradling it carefully as if it were something fragile, and for a moment, you could see him lost in thought, his eyes distant, remembering something else.

"I remember... the first time I held you in my arms," he murmured, his voice softer now, the anger and frustration fading into something more vulnerable. "You were my gift, too. You still are."

Your heart stuttered for a moment, the memory of being held like that, cradled in his arms when you were small, a time before all the complexities of your relationship had gotten so tangled. The warmth of his embrace felt distant now, like a fading echo.

Or it's just his way of manipulation.

"Papa, please, why are you even siding with him-"

"Enough, because I know better and I know you better," he interrupted, his voice firm this time, though it cracked slightly with emotion. "Just keep it." His words hung in the air, and he turned to leave the tent but paused just before he stepped outside.

He looked back, his gaze meeting yours for a moment, something flickered in his eyes, something deep, filled with regret, but also resolve. "If I couldn't, or am unable to give you the life you want," he said softly, each word deliberate, "my heart says he will."

"Oh please, wait till you see when he kicks me out one day on your beloved Dutch's orders."

Hosea didn’t respond right away. He just looked at you, his expression a mixture of sorrow and a kind of quiet resignation, before he finally turned and walked out of the tent.

He would never be able to make you understand that Arthur would be the last person to do that.

❀˖°

The days that followed felt heavier, like a fog had settled around you. Arthur's presence, once easily ignored, now seemed to infiltrate every corner of your space. He started lingering around more often, always appearing at the most inconvenient times when you and Hosea were sharing a quiet meal or having (tea/coffee). At first, you thought it was just a coincidence, maybe just a shared moment of camaraderie, but the more it happened, the more uncomfortable it made you.

Arthur wasn’t doing anything overtly wrong, of course. He sat quietly, politely joining the conversation when spoken to, sipping coffee, offering a nod here and there.

It bothered you. You loathed it.

Is this some sort of indirect courting? Were you imagining things, or was this his way of trying to ingratiate himself with you? Was he trying to get Hosea's approval? To intimidate you? Or, perhaps, was it something more direct? Was he trying to... what, win you over? Hosea, for all his kindness and wisdom, didn’t mind Arthur’s company, even encouraged it.

The words Hosea had said echoed in your mind, lingering like smoke. "If I couldn’t, or am unable to give you the life you want, my heart says he will."

You scoffed internally, trying to push it away, but the more you thought about it, the more it gnawed at you. Was that really true? Hosea seemed to believe it, but you weren’t so sure. Arthur? The golden boy of Dutch’s gang? Or was Hosea just trying to soften the blow, making it sound like there was hope when in reality there was none?

Why can't he get it that I don't want to stay here or get associated with anyone! Especially someone so older and worse the most obedient to Dutch of them all.

You rolled your eyes, staring out into the distance. And why the hell would he go after you? Out of all the people in the camp, why you?

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Still, a small part of you wondered... Should you ask him?

But what if you were wrong? What if Hosea was just speaking out of some misplaced hope? You didn’t know. And that uncertainty, it made you uncomfortable. Because you weren’t one to be uncertain. You didn't like it.

He just wants someone young to play with now that he's lonely.

Arthur stared at the journal in his lap, the unfinished sketch of eyes glaring up at him, imperfect and frustrating. He let out a slow, almost imperceptible sigh, his pencil hovering over the page, but he couldn’t seem to get it right. The eyes, those eyes, kept staring back at him, their gaze too empty, too raw. The frown on his face deepened as he bit his lip, his mind spiraling in frustration.

But that frown, that damn cute frown, it wouldn't fade. It never did. The curve of your lips when you were irritated or deep in thought, the way your brows furrowed as you focused on something else... It was almost intoxicating how endearing it was. Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about it, and worse, he couldn’t stop wanting to be the one to make that frown disappear.

If only you'd look at him once with a smile, he thought bitterly, the words tasting both sweet and impossible.

Because deep down, Arthur knew, he'd do anything. He’d break the sky and bring the world to your feet if you ever gave him that smile. 

He longed for that.

But no, that’s just a dream, Arthur thought with a resigned sigh, closing his journal and resting his hands on his knees. You wouldn’t even notice me that way. I'm just some damn fool in Dutch’s gang.

❀˖°

It was another evening, quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional crackle of the campfire. You were chopping vegetables at the makeshift table, the rhythmic thud of the knife against the wood filling the air. Hosea sat a few feet away on an overturned crate, sipping his coffee with a watchful but calm expression.

Arthur appeared at the edge of the clearing, his hat tilted low and his hands shoved into his pockets. You barely glanced at him, focused on your task.

“Evenin’,” Arthur mumbled, his voice unusually hesitant.

Hosea nodded in acknowledgment, setting his cup down. “Evening, Arthur.”

Arthur glanced at you, then back at Hosea. His jaw worked for a moment, as though wrestling with what

And then you heard the words. Full of hesitation.

“I was wonderin’... if I could take her out. Just, ya know, get her outta this camp for a bit. I figure... she could use some air.” His words hung in the air, but his eyes seemed distant, almost like he was hoping for a miracle.

Wow, just great. They are going to pretend that I am not even here now huh?

And you hadn’t been in the mood for any of this. "I am absolutely fine staying here, got it?"

Arthur’s jaw tightened as he stared at your hunched frame, your defiance practically radiating off you. His voice softened, though there was a trace of frustration. “You’re not fine. Not always, and not here.”

“What do you know about what I need, huh? You think you can just waltz in here and decide things for me? I said I am not going so I am not!”

Arthur took a step back, but not because he was intimidated. He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words. “Ain’t about me decidin’ nothin’. You don’t even gotta like me. But you deserve better than to keep hiding in this damn camp, snappin' at everyone tryin' to care for you.”

 "You’ve got some nerve asking me that. I don't need anyone taking me anywhere. Just 'cause you brought me a damn scarf doesn’t mean I owe you a thing."

Arthur seemed to bristle at your sharp reaction, but Hosea leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, studying the both of you with a quiet smile. He wasn’t offended, he understood.

Your glare didn’t falter, but Hosea cleared his throat before you could respond. “He’s got a point, my dear.” His tone was calm, and measured. “A little ride won’t kill you.”

You crossed your arms. “I said no Papa and that means, NO. Stop forcing things on me."

And of course, Hosea didn't miss your taunt and somehow Arthur too.

The younger male stepped closer again, his voice lower now, almost pleading. “I ain't Dutch. I ain’t gonna force ya into anything. But sometimes, you gotta trust someone’s tryin’ to help, even if it don’t make sense at first.. Just...give me a chance...please.”

Before you could reply, the unmistakable sound of Dutch’s boots approached. “Well, isn’t this cozy,” Dutch drawled, stepping into the space with a deliberate slowness that made everyone tense. He looked from Arthur to you, a sly smile curling on his lips. “Arthur, you’re not causin’ any trouble now, are you?”

“Just talkin’. Nothin’ more.”

Dutch’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his smile growing sharper. “Talkin’, huh? Always knew you had a soft spot, Arthur. You got that puppy-dog look about you. But...you sure you’re barkin’ up the right tree here?”

The air went cold, and you froze, your grip tightening on the knife in your hand. Dutch’s words stung, a mixture of insult and insinuation that made your face burn with anger and shame.

“Dutch,” Hosea interjected, standing up from his crate, his tone calm but firm. “C'mon...don't say that."

Dutch laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave y’all to it. Just a little friendly advice, Arthur. Watch where you step. You wouldn’t want to trip.” With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered off, his laughter echoing behind him. Hosea shot Arthur a brief look before following after Dutch, likely to smooth things over or ensure the situation didn’t escalate further.

Arthur lingered awkwardly near the table. His fingers toyed with the brim of his hat, his eyes darting between you and the ground as though he couldn’t quite decide where to settle. He hesitated, his hand lifting slightly as if to reach out to you, his face a mix of guilt and frustration. “Look, I-”

"What? Just go away."

Arthur flinched, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Didn’t mean to bother you,” he muttered, his voice low and almost apologetic. “Just...ignore what he said.”

"But what he said was right."

"No, it wasn't." He looked up then, the defensiveness clear as day in his eyes. “It ain’t like that,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Dutch--he just likes to run his mouth. Don’t mean nothin’.”

“Doesn’t it? You didn’t exactly deny it back there.”

“Look, I ain’t tryin’ to make your life harder. I thought maybe... I don’t know. Thought you’d wanna get out for a bit. Thought it might help.”

“Help with what, exactly?” You gestured around you, exasperated.

“I just… I thought it’d be nice. Thought maybe you’d... enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it? Arthur, I don’t even know what you’re trying to do here. Why you’re trying so hard.”

His jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides before relaxing again. “Maybe I am tryin’, don’t know why you think that’s a crime.”

“I didn’t ask for any of it, I didn’t ask for you or anyone to care.”

He laughed softly, a bitter sound that barely reached his lips. “Yeah. I know. But it ain’t somethin’ I can help. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“You’re making it more complicated, you know.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’d rather be here makin’ things complicated than not be here at all.”

You didn’t know what to do with him, with any of this. So you did what you always did, you deflected.

“I’ve got work to do,” you said, pushing off the crate and brushing past him towards the wagon. As you walked past him, your voice cut through the heavy silence, sharp as always.

"Why don’t you take all this energy and use it on something worthwhile? Perhaps finding the right tree." You chuckled tauntingly as you went inside the wagon.

He didn’t try to stop you, didn’t say anything else, not wanting to draw too much attention to the scene. With a heavy sigh, he decided to go for a ride.

❀˖°

When he returned later that night, most of the camp was either finishing up their dinner, indulging in late-night games, or sitting quietly by the fire.

He didn’t sense your presence anywhere, and he figured you were probably in your tent, finally savoring some solitude after a long day of work and being surrounded by the others. But he also knew that Dutch’s words from earlier weren’t easy to shake off, especially for you. Your blood was likely still boiling. Worse, you must be hurt too.

Taking advantage of everyone being preoccupied, his steps naturally gravitated toward your tent, your sanctuary. A place he had only ever dared to dream of being close to. What was it like inside? He often wondered. Would the air inside smell faintly of you? Would he ever be someone who belonged in your space? He imagined a future where he could step into it freely, with no hesitation, no uncertainty. A time when he wouldn’t even need to knock when he could enter with a smile on his face and a gift in his hand, your relationship so natural and warm that it felt like home.

But maybe that was the point. You didn’t need anyone in that space, and a part of him liked that. Liked that you existed here, hidden away, out of reach of the world’s harsh gaze. It wasn’t fair or right, but it soothed something deep and primal in him. If he had his way, the world would never touch you. You’d stay tucked away where only he could find you as if this tent was built for the two of you alone. Still, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to see you in his world, in his tent, on his bed, wrapped up in everything that was his.

Hidden away, yes, but hidden with him.

He cleared his throat, his eyes too shy to even glance fully inside, though the tent flap hung half-open.

"Who is it now?"

"Me... I--uh...can I?"

A soft, irritated sound followed, then your voice gave reluctant confirmation. “Leave the flap wide open.”

He obeyed, pushing the fabric aside, the cool night air spilling in. Then he stood there like a fool, frozen for several seconds as his eyes found you sitting on the edge of the cot, one leg bouncing with impatience. Enchanting nonetheless.

“Well? What now?”

The sharpness of your tone jolted him back to his senses. For a moment, he still couldn’t believe you’d allowed him inside. Maybe you were too tired to step out yourself, but he couldn’t help feeling grateful anyway.

Taking a cautious step closer, his gaze drifted and landed on the scarf in the corner, dangling from the back of a chair.

At least you kept it.

You kept it.

That was enough for him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he dropped to his knee in front of you, his height aligning perfectly with yours now. The act wasn’t one of submission but of devotion, a silent acknowledgment that your hatred, cold and unyielding, loomed larger than the fire of his love. And yet, he stayed there, resolute.

If he had to kneel to earn even a fragment of your gaze, he would. If being this close meant bearing the weight of your disdain, so be it. Because in this moment, it wasn’t his pride that mattered, it was you.

Your first instinct was shock. His sudden closeness threw you off, but as the silence stretched and his hesitation became almost unbearable, you decided to speak, cutting through the tension.

“I think you’re only acting like this because Dutch reckons it’s the best way to keep me in line. So that you can scare me or something. Y’know, keep me stuck in this camp so Pa’s happy, Dutch is happy, and my life here is just that much more miserable.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed immediately, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. “No,” he said firmly, his voice quiet but resolute. “It ain’t like that. It ain’t even close to that.”

He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting lightly on his knees as he searched for the right words. “Do I look like someone who’d think that way? Or...who’d go along with somethin’ like that? Do you really think Hosea would do that to you? Think about you like that?”

“You ain’t some animal we gotta control, alright? You’re...more than that. Always have been."

Arthur sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I know...there’s a whole lotta differences between us. But...I can’t help myself, y’know? I’ve tried. Lord knows I’ve tried.” His words faltered, and he cursed under his breath.

Damn, I forgot half of what I wanted to say.

You tilted your head, watching him struggle. Internally finding it quite entertaining in a way.

He took a deep breath and pressed on, his voice quieter but no less earnest. “I don’t deserve this, I know that. Hell, you don’t deserve this, either. But one thing I can promise you, right here, right now...I’ll make this better. I’ll try every damn day to make your life here bearable, to give you somethin’ better. Until...”

He stopped himself, biting back the words he wasn’t sure you were ready to hear. “Until I can give you somethin’ far better than all this.”

He paused, his jaw tightening before he met your eyes again. “And no one, not a damn soul, will have the guts to disrespect you here. Not while I’m around.”

“....Not even Dutch?”

Arthur swallowed hard, but he nodded firmly. “Yeah....not even him.”

Without thinking, he reached out and grasped your hands, his touch rough but grounding. He held on like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of trust, of understanding, of...hope.

"But why though? All of a sudden? And me?"

"I...wish I knew. But I am helpless right now. Helpless against these questions and these...feelings."

His eyes searched yours, desperate and pleading, but your words cut through him like a knife.

“If this is all true, then...why didn’t your lover, what was her name? Oh yeah, Mary, who even loved you, stick around?”

Arthur flinched as if you’d struck him. His heart trembled at the weight of your words, your tone unclear, was it innocent? Genuine? Or just plain cruel?

"That...that was different."

“Okay but if she didn’t trust you enough to stay, then why should I? We’re not even-”

He moved before you could finish, his jaw tightening as he stood. With a single step, he reached for the scarf draped over the chair. Silent and deliberate, he placed it on the bed beside you, his every motion measured.

You watched him, confused and uncertain, as he pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket. He smoothed them flat and placed them in the middle of the scarf. His hands moved deftly, folding the fabric around the money with a care that felt almost reverent.

Finally, he turned to you, kneeling once more. His rough, calloused hands gently wrapped around yours, closing your fingers firmly over the bundle. His touch was warm, grounding, yet carried the weight of something far greater.

“Here, this...this is the only proof I can give you. I’ll keep fillin’ it, day by day, until we’ve got enough to leave. And you’ll keep it safe. You’ll keep it with you. It's yours. Only yours."

And I am too.

"I know...that the money is not gonna come from honest ways which you hate of course, but...there's no other way it can be done...but it will be done, alright?"

His breath hitched as he leaned closer, his shadow falling over you like a shroud. The proximity made your heart thrum unevenly, though you’d never admit it.

You stared at the scarf in your hands, his grip firm but trembling ever so slightly. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up, to meet his eyes. A dozen questions churned in your mind, your heart caught between disbelief and something else you couldn’t name.

Why was he doing this? Why for you? Damn, you never pegged him for such a fool. Well...does this mean you will at least get to escape this hell if you just close your eyes and accept whatever this is?

Mhm...not bad of a deal.

It was as if he could sense the weight of your weariness. His voice softened, low and earnest.

“I just want you to greet me every time I come back…and every time I go. With that smile of yours.” He paused, his gaze dropping for a moment, as though the vulnerability of his words was too much. “That’s all I ask of you...that’s all this idiot asks of you.”

And to have you in my arms every night.

The thought came unbidden, a longing too deep and too dangerous to voice aloud.

No. It was too much to ask.

You blinked at him, caught off guard, your lips parting slightly as if to respond. “Um...I don't--” You cleared your throat, but the words still wouldn’t come.

When you finally looked up, he saw it, emotions swirling in your eyes, unguarded for once. Fear, confusion, a flicker of nervousness. But there was something else, something softer, something innocent buried beneath it all. His heart, racing only moments ago, steadied as if your gaze alone could calm him.

Unable to stop himself, he leaned closer, closing the space between you. His lips brushed the top of your head in a tender kiss, one that lingered longer than it should have.

You flinched a little but didn't pull away, and that, to him, was enough. A sign of acceptance, no matter how small.

The scent of your hair, the warmth of your presence, it was intoxicating. For the first time, he felt hope unfurling in his chest. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours once more. He didn’t say anything else, not wanting to break the fragile moment, and instead rose to his feet. His shadow stretched across the tent as he turned toward the flap, his steps deliberate and slow.

And just before he stepped out into the night, he glanced over his shoulder. “Goodnight, darlin’.”

Tonight, he might finally be able to sleep.

Arthur lay down on his cot, an idiotic smile tugging at his lips as he stared at the hat resting on the table. It wasn’t just a hat, it was your approval, your silent acknowledgment, your acceptance. For the first time in a long while, he felt...hopeful.

And now, he thought, he’d finally be able to wear it.

❀˖°

The outlaw's gaze drifted to the sketches, one was complete, your softer expression, that innocent curiosity you had when your guard wasn’t up. The other remained unfinished, a portrait of your infamous frown. Not that he hated it, hell, that frown had a charm of its own, sharp and stubborn. But something about leaving it incomplete felt right. He decided it would remain that way. He didn’t want to immortalise that side of you, not in his art or heart.

Arthur reached for the softer sketch, running a thumb over the lines as if touching the paper could bring you closer to him. He studied it, his heart aching with an almost unbearable tenderness.

No, you deserved better. You deserved to keep smiling. And if it took him a lifetime to make that happen, so be it.

Hosea watched from a distance, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips as Arthur hugged your stiff form, bidding you farewell. He observed the way Arthur's demeanour had softened, the usual rough edges of the man becoming more relaxed in your presence. The smile and the way he tipped his hat to you before mounting the horse were enough to confirm the change that had occurred in him.

Arthur's gaze briefly flicked over to where Hosea stood, his eyes meeting the older man’s. With a small, almost sheepish nod of acknowledgment, Arthur gave a quick tip of his head. It was subtle, but Hosea had known him long enough to recognize the shift in his posture, the lightness in his eyes.

The mentor's smile deepened, though there was a softness to it that spoke of more than just amusement. It was the kind of smile a father would give when he saw something unexpected in a child, something tender, something hopeful.

It was good to see Arthur's content again. What truly surprised him, though, was that it was his daughter who had made it possible after all this time. The last person he imagined to ever do that and that made him chuckle quietly.

A match made in heaven indeed...

(AN: •⩊• u better interact for high honour++)

[lara4eclipze]

camera!..

[sypnosis] famous actor, y/n l/n had caught herself in a sticky situation — the situation? she was slowly falling in love with her co-star lara raj, will she succumb and take her chance or stay silent and lose the opportunity

[tags] fluff, angst, smau, swearing, offensive jokes, avantika is the face claim for reader, lara is sort of numb, reader is sort of problematic

[featuring] katseye, rośe, DA trainees, le serrafim, aespa, reneé rapp, and etc.

gaslight center || katzeye

01 - new world

02 - diamonds

03 - baddie

04 - FRIED HAIR

05 - loser lesbian

06 - coffee

07 - sweetie

08 - all because i liked a girl

09 - shes mine!

10 - is this pg 13?

11 - WTF?

12 - HOE

13 - haters mad

14 - i still get jelouse

15 - masc

16 - honey by kehlani

17 - PUH LEASE

18 - tokyo

19 - annoyed

20 - new character

21 - the jelouse game

22 - a thread

23 - 3 months

24 - talk

25 - giselles first tweet

26 - clubbing

27 - awake

28 - fetch

29 - fetus lara

30 - confession

31 - shutter [end]

[taglist] @wtfisthisnoclueman @reiiaokii @1luvkarina @yazzyminny @justtluvrr @sunshinez4 @jaythegirlkisser @meizinisnumberone @yeetaberry127 @goofymickeyr @awhrin @karli6 @p1hbrook @xochitlisbest @caratinluv @bowforgodjihyo @lunawriteskstuff @pionarchive

[revelboo]

it’s my birthday today and I turn 22, got to celebrate with lots of presents, loads of keychains and themed sticky notes for my cubicle at work 😄

Can we get some more tarn! I need that evil sociopath 👀👀 how’s reader holding up anyway 😂

Happy birthday! Reader is very carefully feeling him out now that they can understand each other

L.G. FUAD Pt 18

Tarn x Reader

• Stunned speechless that he can understand you, that you can talk to each other and aren’t limited to very bad charades anymore, you’re half tempted to go off on him. To scream about the bath, the food, the soap. Every atrocity he’s unwittingly visited on you. But it’s not escaped you that your survival is dependent on him. And while he seems to like you, it’s the affection of a pet owner for their pet. You’re not sure if he’ll tolerate being told off by the equivalent of his space gerbil. “These are coverings and human food?” Tarn asks, attention on the bins as he slides you into one hand and just grabs stuff. Apparently confiscating stuff for you and the little guy doesn’t even try to argue as he takes what he wants. Now that he knows you’re not a pet, he has to take you home, right? You can talk to him, he knows you’re sentient. He seems reasonable for a giant, alien robot, so he has to listen.

• “Big guy?” You ask and he glances at you in his palm, wide eyes staring up at him. That’s what you’ve been calling him? ‘Tarn,’ he corrects gently, watching Swindle fetch an empty container for him, scrambling to help because he wants him off the ship and far away. Dumping his handful of human things in the small bin, he stares the smaller mech down daring him to protest as he grabs more things for you, especially food. “Tarn, right,” you say and he hesitates, surprised that he likes the sound of his name on your lips, that it does wholly inappropriate things to him. “I really appreciate you taking care of me.” Amused, he slides a servo against your jaw, grabbing the bin in his other hand and turning. Heading back to his own ship without a word. Knowing Swindle will be terrified the whole time that the DJD’s ship will fire on his and he smiles slowly behind his mask. A little fear will be good for the mech.

• Leaning against him as he goes through the airlocks back into his ship, he glances at you, red optics brightening slightly behind his mask. “I appreciate that you didn’t mention the accidental poisonings,” he murmurs and you wince. Though, the unwanted bath and unintentional groping had been worse. “For something so small, you’re surprisingly difficult to keep alive.” Smiling thinly as your jaw works, you inhale. Reminding yourself that you need to stay on his good side. Still need his help. Can’t tell him what you really think of his ‘care.’

• “And I appreciate that you did your best,” you say, expression strained to make him clear his vents with an amused huff. Do you not realize how expressive your little face is? How easily he can read you? “But I really need to go home.” And he rumbles, optics narrowing. ‘We are going home,’ he says, purposefully misunderstanding, because he likes having you around. Doesn’t want to lose your warmth or your affection. You’re his. And now that he can understand you, he has someone to talk to, because the rest of the DJD can be exhausting. “Not your ship, my home. My planet? Earth?” Venting, he uses a servo to tip your chin up.

• “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he growls, striding through the halls of his ship and you see one of his scary buddies turn to give him a look, because he’s speaking your language. “Your home is here.” Yeah, except it’s not. Emotional support space gerbil to a giant, alien robot isn’t at all appealing to you. But there’s a look in his red optics when his head tips to stare at you that makes your argument die a swift, trembling death when you just want to argue. Remembering when he’d snarled at you and you’d stopped breathing. That he’d done something to you.

Previous

Next

[citruzybee]

EDIT: She goes under starfallbluez now on Tiktok. Not sure if she goes by that name everywhere else now. She reverted her username on bsky back to jell-o101 Short form evidence pile that has a couple of screenshots and a video of our interactions over the course of a few years while I was 12, herself 19. To put it into perspective, she's 27 years old now, I'm about to turn 22 this month. Our interactions went on for years, talking up to when I was 16, when I cut her off. Working on a document with @carriioneater a lot more evidence and a lot less scrambled together against @jelly-fish-wishes/starfallbluez/jell-o101 (and also formally known on Tiktok under the same user -- and Youtube) in the works.

The last screenshot batch was taken on Tumblr, her username was jell-o101. We mostly talked in messenger, where she'd spent time trying (and successfully) taught me how to draw NSFW art pieces for her to consume and get off to. Her FB name was publically available, so for the interest of clarity, I censored her last name, but her name is Yendy. In that time, she had me draw Under'tail' pieces of Sans and Papyrus, which I didn't agree to her liking, but she was a huge inspiration for me and I ended up rolling with it because she shipped them. She had me fetch art works from the internet for her as well to get off to. She's currently more localized in the Super Mario Bro's fandom, (and Super Paper Mario), and Cookie Run Kingdom which is. All very concerning to me because of her history with me. Anyway - until the longer form version I'm making comes out, happy pride month!! Especially to @jelly-fish-wishes, or now, under starfallbluez -- who said she couldn't be with me not because I was a minor, but because that'd make her a lesbian :D — EDIT TO CLARIFY SHE IS NOT HOMOPHOBIC: she was more worried abt her mom finding out she’d have been dating a girl (at the time) rather than a minor (my DA post on this same topic goes into it further, the whole story, rather than short and summarized https://www.deviantart.com/stariitea/art/VENT-PA-Finally-talking-about-it-1202841161)

[kooffeecup]

POCKETS OF STARLIGHT

valentine special!

Your soft boyfriend bakes amazing fortune cookies with love notes inside.

genre : fluff fluffff

Pairing : soft baby boy jk! x reader.

Very short and cute

banner by me @kooffeecup

—

The scent of rosemary and burnt crust greeted You as you stepped into the apartment, your keys jingling softly in the quiet. The lights were dimmed, replaced by the flicker of tea candles scattered across the kitchen counter and there, in the center of it all, stood Jungkook.

He was wearing the apron you’d bought him as a joke last Christmas bright pink with “Kiss the Chef” embroidered in looping cursive his sleeves rolled up to reveal faint flour smudges along his forearms. A lasagna sat half-sliced on the stove, its edges charred but the center oozing cheese.

“You… cooked?” You breathed, unable to hide your grin.

Jungkook’s ears reddened. “Tried to,” he mumbled, twisting a dishcloth between his hands. “The recipe said it was ‘foolproof,’ but I think I—oh.”

You crossed the room before he could finish, cupping his face and pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. He stilled, then leaned into your touch, his shoulders relaxing.

“It’s perfect,” you said, thumbing away a smudge of tomato sauce on his cheek.

“Liar,” he whispered, but his eyes crinkled, pleased.

Dinner was eaten cross-legged on the living room floor, where Jungkook had built a makeshift fortress of blankets and fairy lights. The lasagna was, objectively, a disaster undercooked in some layers, volcanic in others but You devoured every bite, laughing as Jungkook sheepishly picked blackened noodles off his plate.

“I have dessert,” he announced suddenly, scrambling to his feet. He returned with a lumpy mason jar clutched in his hands, filled with what looked like…

“Fortunes?” You tilted her head.

“Fortunate cookies,” he corrected, cheeks puffing. “I wrote notes inside. For you.” His voice softened. “Just… things I’ve wanted to say but… couldn’t figure out how.”

Your chest tightened. Carefully, you cracked open a cookie. The slip inside read: “Your laugh on rainy days > all my playlists.”

Another, “I stole your shampoo last week. Smells like home.”

Another, “Wish I could paint the way you look when you sleep. But I’d need more colors.”

By the fifth note, your vision blurred. Jungkook watched you, knees drawn to his chest, gnawing his thumbnail until you reached for his hand.

“Baby,” youbwhispered, “this is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever....”

“There’s more,” he interjected, suddenly urgent. From beneath the couch, he pulled a small wooden box, its surface sanded smooth and stained the deep blue of twilight. Inside lay a cluster of folded paper stars.

“Open one,” he urged, voice shaky.

You unfolded a star to find a date scribbled inside: 10/22. First time we danced in the kitchen. You were barefoot. I stepped on your toes twice. You said it didn’t hurt. It did. I saw you limp.

Another, 3/14. You cried during that dog documentary. I wanted to hug you but didn’t. Regret it every day.

The last star, Today. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When you looked up, Jungkook’s eyes were glistening, his lips pressed into a wobbly line. Without a word, you tugged him into your lap, his back against your chest, and wrapped your arms around him. He shuddered, melting into your embrace, his fingers interlacing with yours.

“Why the stars?” you asked, nose buried in his hair.

“So you’d always have constellations,” he murmured. “Even on nights the sky’s too dark to see them.”

You stayed like that for hours, trading stories mapped by paper and ink, until the candles burned low. When You finally fetched your gift a hand-bound book of poems she’d written, each one a vignette of their quietest moments Jungkook traced the words with reverent fingers, pausing at the entry titled “Him, in the Half-Light.”

“You see me,” he said quietly.

“Always,” you replied.

Later, as they lay tangled in blankets, Jungkook’s head resting over your heartbeat, You realized he’d slipped something into your palm a final fortune, unfurled to reveal a single request:

“Let me be yours forever?”

Your answer was a kiss, slow and syrup-sweet, and the way his shy hands finally, finally learned the shape of your without trembling.

[frost-queen]

Girl behind the glass window (Reader x Human!Damon Salvatore)

Requested by anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @alex–awesome–22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @markive-m,

“Catch.” – Stefan called out, throwing the ball over to Katherine. Hoisting up her skirt, she took a run for it, catching the ball before it landed on the ground. Nearly making her loose her balance. Stefan flinched, ready to catch her if she would fall. Katherine giggling loud. She moved the ball down with a mischievous laugh. – “I bet you won’t catch this.” – she said throwing the ball away. Damon had his eyes on the ball, seeing it immediately fly over his head.

Jogging after it in an attempt to catch it before he saw it get tossed over the hedge. It made him slow down, panting brief. – “Wonderful.” – he gestured out of breath. Katherine came joining Stefan’s side. – “Well go on. Fetch it.” – she ordered with a motion of her hand. 

Damon looked over his shoulder to her. – “You serious?” – he asked to be sure since she was the one who threw the ball over the hedge. Katherine hummed loud with a nod of her head. Damon glanced over to his brother, who only shrugged his shoulders to him. Sighing loud, he started to make his way to the hedges.

“Do hurry up!” – Katherine called out, waving him goodbye. That made Damon sigh again, grabbing the hedge to climb over it. Grabbing onto greenery and sturdy branches to get across. Annoyed he puffed the leaves out of his face as they had come really close. With a few good pulls, was he at the top.

Letting himself roll over the hedge, disappearing out of sight. Losing his balance and grip, he tumbled down. Landing with a loud thud on his back. Making him groan chucklingly out of pain. Getting up to his feet, he brushed his pants clean. Removing all traces of ground and hedge. His gaze fell on the enormous garden.

Trees perfectly cut into shape. Up a head a fountain. Looking around for the ball, he went over to the fountain. Scooping a hand in to splash some water in his face. Patting his wet hand in his neck, he caught something in the corner of his eye. Up by the window from the mansion a few yards away. He saw the last of a curtain ripple, hinting someone must have been watching a second earlier.

It made Damon swallow nervously. Knowing very well he was trespassing. Backing away from the fountain, he brought his gaze down again. Searching low for the ball. Eyes not missing a thing. With his hand, he pushed into one of the trees, to see if the ball wasn’t caught in it. – “Where are you?” – he whispered out desperate.

Knowing each second longer spend here, was the more opportunity for the owner to come out and hold a riffle up to him. He had drifted away from the hedge he had crawled over. Knowing Katherine was waiting impatiently. Damon was close to just give up and return before he would get shot, when he heard knocking. Knocking on a glass window that caught his attention.

It was subtle. Not the loud thumping kind that would alarm him to take a run for it. More a soothing knock to get his attention. Damon turned around, facing the mansion. Furrowing his brows, he saw nothing but curtains closed behind the only available window in sight. Looking away, he scratched his head confused.

There it was again. Gentle knocks to catch his attention. He immediately turned around, seeing the last of the curtains ruffle. With a quizzable brow, he went over. Keeping himself low and out of sight. He neared the window in crouched position. Kneeling down under it as his gaze fell on the bush beneath the window.

There in its full glory was the ball that got tossed over. Intrigued, picked Damon the ball up. Someone clearly must have called his attention over to this place for him to find the ball. But who? Moving his gaze up, Damon got startled, seeing a pair of curious eyes peek through the curtains.

His reaction made the curtains move shut. Probably having scared the poor person. – “No, no…” – Damon whispered waving his hands across as he didn’t mean to startle them. He waited for the person to appear once more. When they didn’t, dared Damon to gently knock on the window at his side.

Two gentle knocks to get their attention. He waited a few more seconds before the curtain got moved aside. Just a bit for him to make out half a face. A sweet face. Clearly a girl. Damon showed you his sweetest smile, wanting you to reveal more of you. His smile made you smile bashful back, looking shyly down. Damon waved at you, hoping you’d become more comfortable with him.

You moved the curtains more aside, revealing you fully to him. You sat by the window, waving shyly back at him. Damon pointed at the ball under his armpit, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to you. You moved your hand to your chest. With one nod, you gestured to him it was alright. Damon curled up a smile, unable to look away from you.

“Do you want to play along?” – he asked, seeing how you furrowed your brows to focus on his wording through the glass. His words deafened out. As a response, you shook your head saddened. Damon’s gaze widened with shock as he saw you flinch. Look clearly to your side. Then your hands motioning for him to get away before the curtains got pulled closed.

Damon got up, stumbling back as he knew he’d be discovered if he’d stay. He started running back to the hedge. Throwing the ball over it, hearing his brother complain in pain. Probably the ball had hit his head. Followed by Katherine’s laughing. Damon grabbed onto the hedge, pulling himself up to get over. Swinging his leg over it, he lowered himself on the other side.

Jumping the last height down. – “Took you long enough.” – Katherine said unamused, faking a yawn. – “Couldn’t find it.” – Damon replied picking up the ball. The three of them started to move away from the hedge, more into Katherine’s garden. Damon tossed the ball to his brother. – “Do you know who lives over there?” – he asked Katherine curiously.

“Some rich grumpy man. I believe his name is Y/l/n.” – Katherine answered plainly catching the ball from Stefan. Katherine tossed the ball back to Damon. – “Does… does he have a daughter?” – Damon then asked, having caught the ball. Katherine shrugged her shoulders. – “If he did, I have never seen her.” – was her simple response. Damon nodded thoughtfully, clearly with his head elsewhere.

“Why do you ask?” – Katherine said curious. – “Nothing for.” – Damon replied, tossing the ball over to Stefan once more. – “Did you run into him?” – Stefan questioned. – “No luckily I didn’t.” – Damon responded. Stefan threw the ball back at Damon as he did no effort to catching it. Simply letting it drop to the ground as he started moving. – “I’m done playing.” – he said walking off. Katherine and Stefan looking confused at each other.

You narrowed your eyes confused, seeing a ball fly over the hedge. Not a moment later the same boy from yesterday climbing over the hedge. This time the ball was out in the open. Very obvious to see. The boy landed on his feet, looking anxiously around. He then jogged over to the ball, picking it up. You expected him to just go back over the hedge, when he came jogging over to the window you sat the day before.

Knowing you weren’t sitting there anymore, you knocked loudly on the glass. He froze, gaze towards your knocks. You waved shyly at him seeing a smile curl up. He came jogging over to the window you sat by. Coming to sit on his knees in the grass. He held his hand up, waving at you. He moved his hand down to his chest. – “I’m Damon.”  - he said loud, exaggerating in his words. He then gestured to you.

Chuckling shyly at his reaction, you pressed your hand on your chest. – “Y/n!” – you responded. Damon furrowed his brows, trying to distinguish your words. – “Y/n!” – you repeated, spelling your name onto the glass. Letter per letter for him to know. – “Y/n?” – he asked to be certain as you could see your name form on his lips. Nodding excitingly that he got it right.

“Can you come out?” – Damon asked with gestures. For a moment, you were happy. Chest moving forwards in joy till your joy faltered. Being reminded of your restrictions once more. Shoulders slouching down, you shook your head pitiful. – “Can you open the window?” – Damon asked. – “I’ll come in.” – he pointed at the glass, making you widen your eyes frantically. Shaking your head, you waved your hands across. – “Is… is your father home?” – Damon said curious.

He saw you look over your shoulder, gazing into the distance, before looking back at him with a nod. Damon pressed his hands against the glass with a sorrowful expression. You held a finger up for him to wait. He watched you leave, returning with a notebook. Sitting back down, you started scribbling on the paper. It was better than shouting against the glass. You surely didn’t want to alarm your father.

You held the notebook up to the glass for Damon to read. ‘I’m not allowed out.’ It read. – “Like ever?” – Damon questioned as you wrote down underneath your previous words. ‘ever.’ Was your response, holding it up to him once more. – “Why?” – Damon asked. Damon watched you write more. Hesitantly holding the notebook up to the glass once more. ‘Dangerous world.’ – it read. Damon looked in shock at you. – “He… he surely can’t keep you locked up forever.” – he said out loud. You only pulled your shoulders up to your known reality.

You heard footsteps, knowing it would be your father. The panic was clear on your face as Damon picked up on it quickly. He got up, nearly tripping backwards over his own stumbling. In a last second he threw the ball back into the bushes just underneath the window before running off. You watched him sprint back to the hedge, climbing over it with such effort, he made it over the top in a matter of moments.

“What are you doing by the window again!” – your father declared loudly. – “Aren’t I even allowed to look outside?” – you asked coming to stand before him. Your father moved around you, shutting the curtains closed. – “You may think I’m mad, but it is a dangerous world out there Y/n. It is best for you to stay here, where you are save and I can protect you.” – he spoke pushing you slightly away from the window. – “It is not save for a girl of your status to be out. Out where men want to harm you.” – your father continued. – “Because of you?” – you responded, shocked by yourself that you dared to go against him.

His expression angered. He grabbed you firm by the shoulder, dragging you away from the window. He dragged you all the way up to your room, locking you inside. Exhaling deep, you were once greeted by the same four familiar walls. Locked inside, just because your father had made a terrible mistake so many years ago.

Now he is haunted by the thought anyone of his previous co-workers would come and get revenge by hurting him or you. Even moving away, didn’t do anything to his fear. The sheer panic he had that his old workers would venge his cruel work conditions he put them through. The death of the little boy under his care, that shouldn’t even be there didn’t make it easier.

Damon wasn’t able to return within the next few days. He couldn’t shake his brother and Katherine off him. Having never been able to stop thinking about you. About the girl locked in her mansion. Each day he yearned to see you smile once more. Finally he had the time to climb back over the hedge when Stefan and Katherine were out. Stefan needing to accompany their dear friend on a matter.

Damon should be accompanying her too if it wasn’t for him faking that he didn’t feel so well. It took a lot of convincing for Katherine to stop bugging him about it. Now having crawled back over the hedge, he snuck right to the window where he had dropped his ball. He knocked gently on the window. Only to not hear a response.

He knocked again, thinking he might have not knocked loudly enough for you to hear. Scratching his hair confused, he started to look around. Looking at more window, to find your presence. Moving a bit back, his attention got drawn upwards. Looking up, he saw you knock saddened against your window glass.

Damon curling up a smile. You knew you couldn’t be close, so you turned around. Damon breathed loud, looking quickly around. Seeing some vines grow upwards to your window, made him reckless. He dropped the ball, running over to it. Grabbing tightly onto the vines to find a sturdy grip. It seemed to carry his weight as Damon started to climb up. Holding yourself, you hated being in the same room day in and out.

You wished to be outside. To feel the grass underneath your feet and the sun on your face. You wanted to feel the rain, get cold, warm and run endlessly without any walls holding you down. A desperate knock made you jump out of your skin. Turning round, you saw Damon pop up at your window. Motioning to you to get the window open quickly.

Panicking that he might fall, you rushed up to him. Opening the window in a haste. – “Lords Damon, are you insane?” – you called out, grabbing for his arm so he wouldn’t fall. Damon only chuckled, pulling himself more up. With the help of you, he tumbled into your room, making you move back.

He breathed out a laugh, relieved to have made it inside. – “Damon if my father sees you.” – you outed, keeping your voice low but with enough power to frighten him. Damon got up, walking up to you. Hesitantly he moved his hands out. Letting them fall on your shoulders with a smile. His touch made you blink surprised. – “Y/n.” – he said, wanting to speak your name. – “You shouldn’t be here.” – you told Damon, punching him in the armpit.

He rubbed the area. – “Neither should you.” – he responded. His words made your eyes widen, moving away from him. Knowing there wasn’t anything you could do about it. You walked up to the window, placing your hands on the windowsill. – “How… how come you aren’t allowed outside?” – Damon asked.

You breathed in deep, not even sure you remembered the last day you were outside. – “My… my father…” – you started unsure if you should continue. Damon started to come near as you started to explain. Explain what happened what made your father paranoid into staying inside.

Damon came placing his hands on the windowsill as well. Slowly letting his fingers spread to you. Till his pink came in contact with yours, guiding the rest of his fingers over yours. His little gesture, made you turn your head to him. The way he was looking at you, made your heart thump louder. – “I am sorry.” – he said, keeping his hand above yours. – “Don’t be…” – you answered, not wanting any pity.

For a moment, you were caught in his gaze. Mindless staring into his blue diamond eyes that bewitched you. Damon’s gaze went briefly from your eyes to your lips. Wondering what they would taste like. What it would be like to kiss those sweet innocent lips. Footsteps coming up the stairs, made you pull your hand from underneath him. Ushering him back out of the window.

You watched as Damon climbed down, taking his ball with him. Waving him goodbye, you kept watching till he was over the hedge. Damon was panting loud, looking up to the sky from Katherine’s side. – “I’ll get you out Y/n. One day.” – he said as a promise.

From then on dared Damon to danger himself frequently just to visit you. Climbing up to your room to spend time with you. Most days, you just talked. Some days, he would take your hand and lead you into a dance. The moments were brief, but never enough. He wanted you close, every day. Each moment spend with you, made him realize just how much in love he was with you.

The forbidden girl behind the glass. One day, Damon was in your room. Seeing how a bad day you were having. Sitting on your bed whilst staring into the distance. Damon would approach you, holding his hand out to you. Turning your head, you stared at his hand without any thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you placed your hand in his. Allowing him to pull you up.

Damon came standing beside you, keeping your hand up. Having placed his palm against it. Slowly he started to turn, forcing you to turn along. Placing a hand on your lower back, he spun you around. Making you chuckle as you had tried to hold it in. Damon smiled from hearing you laugh, wanting to hear that sound every day. So caught up in your dance, you didn’t hear the footsteps.

You didn’t hear your father come up till it was too late. He barged into the room, panting loud. His eyes flashed with anger at Damon. He started to make his way over as you jumped in front of Damon. Your father pushed you aside. You dropped to the floor out of breath. – “Y/n!” – Damon called out with worry. – “I had a feeling someone was sneaking in my garden!” – your father called out.  

“You’re here to kill my daughter?” – your father shouted in a panic. – “Father, father please.” – you begged him to leave Damon alone. Your father left the room as Damon rushed over to you. Helping you up to your feet. – “Y/n we’ve got to go.” – he said as you panicked. – “No!” – you called out a Damon kept pushing you towards the window. – “Y/n it isn’t save.” – Damon made clear, holding both your shoulders.

Your father had returned, holding up the riffle. It made you gasp loud. – “Father no!” – you screamed out as he readied it at Damon. – “You are dead!” – he shouted ready to fire as Damon jumped at him. Surprised him by grabbing the riffle and pointing it upwards. You screamed loud when a shot got fired directly up in the ceiling.

Some dust and pieces falling down. – “Y/n climb down!” – Damon ordered you, fighting off your father for control for the riffle. Another shot fired directly to the wall not far from you. – “Y/n now!” – Damon shouted with worry that you might be the next undeliberate target. Crying loud, you climbed out of your window, grabbing onto the vines.

You heard your father shout loud, followed by commotion. You didn’t had to see anything, knowing they were fighting. The last few meters you dropped to the ground, arms unable to carry you any longer. Falling onto the ground, you looked up with panic. The hearing of another shot made you flinch. Not sure who it had hit, you screamed it out in agony.

“Y/n get up!” – you suddenly heard. Opening your eyes, you saw Damon hurry himself down. Shocked, you stared at him, unable to grasp what had happened. If he was here, they that meant your father was shot? He jumped the last part down, hurrying over to you. Pulling you up in a haste. – “We have to go Y/n.” – he said, dragging you along to the hedge. – “My… my father…” – you said, hand extended to your home.

From out of the window appeared your father. Panting loud, but he seemed unharmed. – “Give me back my daughter!” – your father shouted swinging his fists around. Damon and you got to the hedge as he gave you an assist to climb over. You tumbled over as Damon gave you a little push to make it go faster. Landing on your stomach on the other side.

Damon jumped beside you, dropping through his knees. Dusting his hands off he took you by the elbow, pulling you along. Leaving in a haste. He kept running till he was out of breath. Not wanting your father to go over the wall to find you.

Both of you were panting loud. Gazes catching each other. Damon neared letting his hand brush against your cheek. – “You’re out Y/n.” – he said. It took you a moment to realize. Looking around you to actually see your feet stand in grass. Damon lifted your chin up to him by his finger. Wanting you to look at him. Never had he lost sight of what he wanted.

You. Having missed you deeply. Each day apart from you, was a torment. Having found love where it wasn’t supposed to be. Letting his gaze go from your eyes to your lips. You intentionally neared, closing your eyes as Damon’s lips touched yours. First gently. A simple touch till they parted your mouth to deep the kiss. Finally having broken the girl behind the glass from her tower. To finally have her for a lifetime to love and to hold.

------------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[mariacallous]

Almost a year ago, Russian border guards removed half the buoys that had been placed to mark the border between Russia and Estonia in the Narva River. Estonia’s government has repeatedly (and politely) reminded Russia to return the buoys, without which users of the Narva River have no way of knowing on which side of the border they are. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Russia has failed to do so.

Altering maritime borders is no trivial matter—especially when Russia is using force to try to redraw the map of Europe.

The Russian border guards arrived in the middle of the night between May 22 and 23, 2024. When they left, they took with them 24 buoys marking Estonia’s border with Russia along the Narva River. Although maritime borders are typically marked only on naval charts, not through visible cues, such buoys have long demarcated the two countries’ maritime border and allow anyone using the Narva River to know which side of the border they are on—which is particularly important for Estonians being careful not to stray into Russian waters.

Before Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, the arrangement worked satisfactorily. Since riverbeds shift, every spring—just before the summer season, when all manner of anglers, small-boat owners, and canoeists use the river—the two sides would assess the Narva’s riverbed and correspondingly adjust the light buoys marking the border.

Last spring, Estonia repeated the procedure the way it has done every year. But there was one major difference: In 2023, Russia had declared that it disagreed with Estonia’s proposed positioning of the buoys. So last year, “we decided to release the floating marks into the water for the summer season according to the 2022 agreement, because they are necessary to avoid navigational errors, so that our fishermen and other hobbyists do not accidentally wander into Russian waters,” Eerik Purgel, the head of the Estonian Border Guard Bureau of the East Prefecture, said in a statement.

Russia, though, objected to the locations of around half of the planned 250 floating marks. What to do? Estonia decided to install the buoys anyway, in Estonian waters, on the basis of the border as it had been agreed in 2022. On May 13, 2024, Estonian authorities installed the first 50 buoys. Nine nights later, the Russian border guards removed half of them. Because the buoys were on the Estonian side, fetching them involved Russian guards intruding into Estonian waters to execute the removal.

Since then, they’ve been gone. Estonia could put them back, but Russia would simply take them away again. Instead, Estonia has been asking Russia to put the buoys back, arguing that they form the official marking of a legitimate border. Russia, alas, has not complied. The maritime border (or rather, its visible part) is gone.

Imagine if Russia or another country had unashamedly removed border markings on land. We’d notice it; in fact, it would be a huge deal, especially if it involved a NATO member state. But until now, water has been different, the borders more flexible and less visible.

Since the early 2010s, China has exploited the world’s lack of attention to maritime borders by starting to build artificial islands in parts of the South China Sea that belong to the Philippines and other countries. It was a blatant violation of internationally agreed borders, but since the construction proceeded gradually, a few concrete layers at a time, no one could think of what, exactly, to do about the violation.

Turning to an arbitral tribunal under the U.N. Convention on the Law of the Sea, as the Philippines did, changed nothing: Even though the tribunal unanimously sided with Manila, China simply ignored the ruling. Now China possesses artificial islands, complete with military installations, in these waters.

The buoys place Estonia in a conundrum. Russian nationalists have long indicated that they want to retake the Baltic states, annexed by force in 1940 and not freed until 1991, and they have plenty of advocates in the Kremlin. Removing border buoys is hardly the equivalent of a full-blown invasion, but it’s also not a negligible act. It is, in other words, gray-zone aggression—or, as former Estonian President Toomas Hendrik Ilves calls it, geopolitical microaggression. “It’s another silly game the Russians play,” he told me. “Just in the past few months, we’ve seen them put explosives in sex toys in Lithuania, we’ve seen the shadow fleet, we’ve seen cable cuts, and at the moment there’s a lot of GPS jamming in Estonia. It’s a constant policy of harassment. They’re letting us know that they’re there and can be a problem.”

Removals of maritime borders are far from the only Russia-related headache in the Baltic region these days. For the past 18 months or so, nations in the region have been affected by GPS jamming, most of which originates in Kaliningrad, a Russian exclave sandwiched between Poland and Lithuania. Last year, Estonian authorities received 307 official reports of aviation disruptions, 85 percent of which related to GPS. The cause appears to be Russian jamming to protect its military installations, Estonian authorities say.

Regardless of the cause, GPS disruption poses a risk to aviation. Estonian authorities say civil aviation in Estonian airspace remains safe—if only because pilots and air traffic controllers know how to navigate without GPS. “Fortunately, there was a time before GPS, and people still remember the procedures and the equipment that ensure safety and navigational capability,” Mihkel Haug, a member of the board of the Estonian Air Navigation Services, told public broadcaster ERR News.

And this spring, Polish authorities uncovered Russian-steered aggression involving explosive-laden sex toys. The Polish authorities allege that on instructions from a GRU officer, a Ukrainian residing in Poland had inserted explosives into cosmetics, pillows, and sex toys; driven to Vilnius, Lithuania’s capital; and handed them over to a woman also working for Russia, whose task was to get the items to different places in the region where they would explode and harm, even kill, people.

Last fall, parcel bombs were discovered in airliner facilities in the United Kingdom, Germany, and Poland; prosecutors and intelligence agencies linked the parcels to Russia and said some of the parcels originated in Lithuania, though it’s not clear whether they too had been handled by the as-yet-unidentified woman with the sex toy explosives.

Compared with the risk of explosions, heaven forbid aviation accidents, the removal of maritime border markers may seems manageable. But a border is a border, even if it’s in the water. If Russia can remove the Narva buoys with impunity, it’s likely to conclude that it can disregard or alter other maritime borders, too. The removal of border buoys, though, falls short of the military attacks that NATO was set up to counter, and so does other gray-zone aggression.

“Even getting something onto the NATO agenda as an Article 4 matter is big,” Ilves said. “Even when we were targeted by the big cyberattack in 2007, we were blocked from putting it on the NATO agenda. Whenever we raise issues like these at NATO, we’re being told that it’s just below the level of outright aggression.” NATO’s Article 4 states that the “Parties will consult together whenever, in the opinion of any of them, the territorial integrity, political independence or security of any of the Parties is threatened.”

In The Defender’s Dilemma, I set out ways in which the Western alliance can better detect and counter gray-zone aggression. Many of them include building and enhancing societal resilience. When I wrote the book, I didn’t think of border buoys as vulnerable to gray-zone aggression, but societal resilience can help there, too. Imagine if Russia (or China, for that matter) tried to alter another maritime border and ordinary citizens turned up in such numbers that taking action would result in civilians being harmed or even killed. Ilves has another solution: Europe, he said, needs an organization that focuses on threats that don’t quite meet the level of collective defense under NATO’s Article 5.

Either way, Estonia’s border buoys belong along its side of the maritime border with Russia. If we keep highlighting the issue, the Kremlin might just decide that altering the border isn’t worth the price.