#May struggles with a lot of survivors guilt
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Op was feeling some kinda way.
Nightmares
She was falling again deep into the nothingness, it was all dark around her save for the ambient glow from her own body lighting the small space around her. She stared up as she descended, arms limply hanging in the air, her tail swaying as she let herself fall deeper. It wasn't so bad really, she was used to this part of it all the weightlessness and yet the awareness of being pulled down sometimes she couldn't tell if she was floating or falling and it was surprisingly easing. She closed her eyes letting herself exist and drift falling floating flying whatever it was, the silence was deafening as it tends to be all she could hear was herself her heartbeat her breathing her thoughts, her horrid lonely thoughts and occasionally she tricked herself into thinking of water hearing bubbles and feeling them float up past her bouncing against her as they past.
She stopped, and she felt the area shift around her and yet she knew nothing changed. It would all still be blackness; she simply felt upright now, arms curling to cross her chest legs tucking in close. She knew this feeling, she knew this dream, in a way she felt home and at the same time so lost, her tail wrapping around herself as she floated in space hoping to stay in that moment forever.
Voices swirled around her, giggling, chatting squeals of joy and play, 'please no, please not this dream,' she could only think as the sounds grew louder. She opened her eyes against her will, already feeling the tears falling off of her face and floating upwards away like bubbles. There they all were. Past an invisible barrier that she knew was there like a thick sheet of glass they all played. The others who'd been made the others who were part of the same development mewtwo project as her. They swirled and flew around like they were running, one blue, one white, another green, curls and teeth, claws and fins, horns and fluff.
She choked a sob, her hand covering her mouth, she could see their faces were blurred that their features would shift and change, they'd pass each other and they'd merge briefly and separate looking different. She couldn't remember them properly but they were small just children like she had been back then, they never got to grow up. And there were others now, Arceus, she knew these ones too. They almost looked like her a lot of them sometimes with patterns or different shades, some had birth defects and they ranged in age and size. There were some full grown bigger than her even, her chest ached as one with glowing yellow crystals implanted into their flesh that oozed droplets of blood floated by their expression twisted into one of agony and she could still hear their screams. A tiny barely fully developed one was being cradled by another, they had a stumpy tail even shorter than her own and during development their ribcage had sunk inwards, they were only a few weeks old when they'd been terminated by that monster.
She'd tried to name all of them when she was conscious, her body had been driven by a parasite that squeezed on her state of self crushing and smothering her as they piloted her body for their own twisted use. She'd screamed and yelled and struggled in her own head desperate to take back control but she wasn't strong enough, she never had been strong enough… The parasite had become intertwined with her genetics, she wasn't sure how but it needed to use her body as it could no longer freely possess any other victim. And so that's what they did. They used her body using her genes to create and clone a perfect vessel as they despised her form. They made, observed, monitored, altered, maimed, harvested, mauled and killed…they'd killed so many in their attempts to create the perfect body. All her clones, all her siblings as they were to her, they didn't deserve that but they were treated as worthless and she was powerless in it all. It was her fault. She killed them by being so weak.
She felt herself move her hands touching the barrier, that Arceus forsaken barrier, it had always been here even before the nightmares before she was even technically born. She was never that strong and her psychic powers were pitiful at best, but she'd always been able to sense the others around her as she was growing in her development tube, her brothers, sisters and siblings. They had far better psychic abilities than her even with their genetic tampering, they'd reached out to each other calling to each other playing together in a mental realm despite their bodies being far apart. Their auras, their life and energy brought color to the black mind world they played in, colors flew and dashed around it was bright and loud and joyous. She could hear them see the life color and whimsy, but she couldn't reach them, she spent so long pounding on that barrier shouting crying to be with her family who played together without noticing her. She was forced to watch them together from her dark place on the other side, and watch as they began to fade away, color and life fading as they disappeared. Until only she was left in the bleak empty mind place in the darkness. Alone.
She could only sob as her hands pressed against the barrier, guilt tangling around her body and soul like vines to squeeze her until she choked out. The barrier whined quietly in cruel irony it finally formed a crack, splitting quietly like glass in sharp twinges. The playing twos from her childhood stopped and looked down at the crumbling barrier, as their bodies changed and grew taking on adult appearances, their faces that were blurred gaining full red eyes that looked at her in nothing but hatred and rage. She stared back at them slowly floating backwards as she watched their bodies press together fusing and merging growing in size, arms stacking on top of each other patches of colored skin fusing, melding, together eyes growing only larger with hate streams of red flaring out like growing flames. The clones simply looked at her in disdain as they floated away backwards into the bleakness disappearing as the colossal fusion of her original siblings and her first guilt punched their many arms through what was left of the barrier grabbing her in a hand that fused with the others to crush the life out of her.
"How is it that you are alive, you were the weakest of us, you did not deserve to survive and yet we perished for you to persist?!" All their voices yelled directly into her head while also screaming all around her some of the voices slower some louder creating a painful overlap of their rage.
"You stole our lives, you should not have lived! You should have faded to nothing, cease to be before you even existed. None of us would've ever known or had to deal with the despair or care of it and you wouldn't have wasted so many resources. You are nothing more than a waste of existence. Yet you refuse to die! Your body was a puppet for something powerful and cruel yet here you still are. They should have left you a rotted husk devoured from the inside out, yet they let you live when others far more worthy went through so much worse!" Their fist clenched around her as she made a pained sob like scream, her vision was blurry from tears and pain but she could make out her clones vaguely floating around behind the colossal fusion in emphasis of their point.
"You are just as much of that monster in your survival, your continued existence is but cruelty to others. You are no better than the parasite that grew inside you."
"I know!" She loudly sobbed, "I know and I'm so sorry! I never deserved to survive! I'm so sorry I've forgotten your faces and I've forgotten your names, you were just kids! You deserved better you deserved your chance at life to be free," she couldn't see through her tears, "I have nothing to show for my survival, each of you would've used your lives better, you would've soared, saved people, just-just done everything I can't and better. You would've been able to fight off the gaia energy, you wouldn't have been used and hurt even more people." She choked around tears and the grip around her, trying to look past her blurry vision to the disapproving clones watching her from behind the fusion of her siblings.
"I'm so sorry that you were made and tortured, that you were used and that you were hurt so badly. I should've fought harder to take back control, none of you deserved what happened. I'm sorry I never got to meet you, that you never got to live and see the world and pick your own names and have your own existence. If I could I would trade my life for any, for all of you to live instead."
"Something we agree on, your life for OURS," Her siblings all spoke at once, their fist shifting around her to expose her chest as their other hands came and plunged through her chest all at once to rip out her soul to trade their lives.
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"AH!" May shot upright from her sleep grasping at her chest with her hand gasping choking struggling to breathe past her tears. She gasped and struggled as though winded short rapid breaths as streams of tears fell down her face and evident by her soaking wet shoulders she'd been crying for a while in her sleep. Her other hand came up to wipe clumsily at her face as she sat still trying to breathe properly, cringing to herself as her arm received a layer of snot, trying to breathe through her nose she choked coughing abruptly in a way that made her whole body and head hurt. Her hand holding her chest grasped and released around the space where the mega stone and parasite used to be implanted, the scar from it's removal still tender, hurting as she agitated it.
Still mouth breathing with difficulty around the tightness of her chest she sniffled with loud difficulty. Her eyes were still streaming as she slowly pulled her legs to her body curling in on herself, tail wrapping over her feet. Her free hand came to hold her face once more as her body trembled, she gasped a short hiccup of a breath burying her face into her knees, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry everyone," she could only quietly croak.
She started to try to name them all, speaking their names into the world like a prayer like it'd fix things like by speaking their names they'll get to exist, apologizing to each of them in turn as she did hoping to eventually earn their forgiveness for being alive to earn her right of life.
The mewtwo cried and wailed to herself in the darkness of the forest holding herself for security trembling and shaking as the sobs shook her whole body, nothing was around to hear her and if it was it didn't care enough to check on her. Once more she was all alone with nothing but her horrid thoughts, her guilt and shame. The squeeze of her tail around herself brought no comfort. She likely would not get back to sleep..
'Why did I get to live while they did not?' A question she had asked herself in her mind many, many times before that she would never receive an answer for. She would simply have to live with it.
#My writing#Mewtwosona#Mewtwosona May#tw violence#Tw blood#Tw infant mortality#Probably don't read if you're feeling down#May struggles with a lot of survivors guilt#She was the only one who survived the project she was on and then later survived being possessed as a shadowtwo#And unfortunately witness a lot of the cruelty and violence the shadowtwo possession did and is deeply traumatised by it#In reality her original siblings would be glad she's alive#They knew she existed and actually tried to break the barrier too because that's their sister!!#Let us play with her!!#Unfortunately her psychic ability wasn't strong enough on her side and to them she didn't look conscious but they did want to get to her#As for the clones made by shadowtwo they weren't even conscious and had been made without souls or minds#So like a lot of that is her projecting guilt and assuming consciousness from them#But despite that she did still name them because she felt they deserve to live and be seen as more than vessels for shadowtwl#Idk she's just heavily traumatised and alone#And would never tell anyone about her trauma ever#Honestly the barrier is also a metaphor for the autistic experience#Being separated from your peers and not knowing why you're different and why you can't connect with them#It also means if Mattwo was canon she'd be incredibly protective of him and also sobbing because a brother#Patting twosona: this sad girl can fit so much trauma
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Snippet from: When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it. Chapter 5
Ghost Mace speaks to past Jaster (alive) and tells him what he knows of Jango's future, in the life he lived.
Mace's brow stiffened. "When we realised what we had done, we tried to find him but we could not."
"We tried to find the True Mandolorian's but the survivors had fled in all directions. We did try and see justice done, there was an overhaul of our internal mission preparation process. We changed our training. Dooku left the order as did his apprentice."
"None of it could make up for what we did. Years after the fact, I learnt that Jango was sold in to slavery by the governor. It took him years to escape. I learnt of the weight of what we had done in helping end the True Mandolorian's. In leaving Death Watch unchecked."
He meets Jaster's eyes. "We are here to discuss why we haunt Jango, but it would be remiss of me to not tell you that your son has haunted me every single day since the day I left on a mission to retrieve him; to attempt to offer reparations for what my peoples neglect brought down on him, and came home empty handed."
" We thought him dead, but I did not forget him. From that day, I've carried the weight of what we did to him. I have often thought of him over the years." Mace shook his head.
"You hold no blame here, but we just might."
And isn't that a thing. His son haunting a Jedi even before that Jedi might haunt him.
Jango is tangled up in something here far beyond Jaster's reckoning.
Mace is laying out the constituent parts that when put together, make Jango in to the man that is responsible for the death of every single person standing in that warehouse. Jaster isn't sure where that leaves him, because once he's done hearing this story, in the years that lay ahead of them yet, every single one of these horrible pieces is going to fall in to place. Tragedy after Tragedy ready to be pasted and slapped on to the boy he loves, his son, in order to make him in to the man that did this.
How the hell can Jaster stand by and let that happen?
There are no rules that apply to Jaster, not anymore. He doesn't care about morality or the ethics of fucking with a future that's apparently already happened. He has no care for his own code, not now. None of it matters.
Jaster is Jango's buir, before all else. He has been from the day he stepped in to a smoldering farmhouse and against the odds saw signs of life dancing across his HUD. The Ka'ra gave him Jango and by god, it can stand back while he brings his son back from the abyss.
Mace is watching him. "Jaster, you had no hand in making Jango Fett the man he became at the end. You did not abandon him, you were taken from him. I need you to know this. You should know that none of this was your fault. "
Jaster doesn't care. It doesn't matter if its his fault or not, he is responsible all the same; because he wants to be. He didn't fall in to parenthood, he walked in to it willingly. For Jango, there is no monster that Jaster will not face.
The ka'ra has given him one last gift. The opportunity to see Jango's life after Jaster, and a few precious years in which to try and change them. It may not be in Jaster's power to save his son from himself but by god, he'll die trying.
He looks at the Jedi. "Tell me the rest."
Some of my thoughts below the cut
Some of my thoughts (because clearly rambling in the comments hasn't been enough for me lol)
I had a lot of fun with this one. I've written about ghosts before but with this one, I went at it from another angle. In this au, ghosts aren't bound by linear time. If you do something that leaves a ghost tied to your soul, they are tied to you in the past as well as the future. Jango and Jaster are both Force Sensitive (tho with a Mando understanding of it. They call it 'star touched') and so can see ghosts.
In this fic, moving in with Jaster sets Jango on the path that brings him to the prequels. Once he's on that path, the ghosts that'll be tied to him in his future, can move freely along the timeline, with each of them pulled to a particular version of Jango. Jango will obviously be responsible for the deaths of quite a few people, there are his bounties, the Jedi and the clones and so on; but when the first ghost appears he's just a kid. The story deals with Jaster coming to terms with the fact that his kid, who he loves beyond reason, even if he stumbled upon him quite by accident, one day becomes the person that will make all these ghosts.
At first there's only one ghost in their time, but Jaster can't let it go (tho he knows he should), he needs to know what happens. So he keeps asking until she admits that she isn't the only ghost and that they are tied to Jango as he's responsible for their deaths. Then, he keeps pushing until she introduces him to the others. She gathers them in a warehouse (so Jango doesn't see) and takes Jaster there.
In the part of the story this snippet is from, Jaster has just been confronted with an excessive number of people (including children) who are all tied to Jango as he's responsible for their deaths. He's had a (understandable) freak out, and ghost Mace has taken him aside and offered to tell him what he knows of Jango's future, and how it led to the death of so many people.
What follows is a buddy up adventure between Mace and Jaster (unlikely duo) in which Jaster tries to come to terms with what Mace has told him, and the horrible events that led to Jango becoming the man that would one day be responsible for all these ghosts. While he tries to save Jango from himself, long before he needs saving.
The idea behind the fic is the inevitability of a tragedy. There's a feeling when you're watching a tragedy play out, that it's all so unnecessary, that it didn't need to happen, but you only know that because as the audience you know that they are in a tragedy, the characters don't know. So what if a character did know? Jaster is served advance notice, will having that allow him to save Jango, or will it just feed in to the fulfillment of this prophetic future?
I wanted to explore the fact that there's only so much one particular character can do, in trying to prevent the end another is headed towards and also, the power of familial love, even when it's found somewhere unexpected. Jaster isn't Jango's blood family, he didn't even know him till he was an older child, which I think makes his love for Jango in spite of knowing what he will become, all the more powerful. The glimpse of Jango's future is disgusting to Jaster, it goes against all he believes in, but its Jango so he can't hate him for it, he loves him too much and so, he's determined to save him from himself. He's willing to do the impossible.
Then there's Mace: so in this au, Mace is sent out shortly after Galidraan, when it becomes clear to the order that they've made a mistake, to find the survivor they left in the hands of the Governor, and to right a wrong. He isn't successful, he looks everywhere but he can't find him, and in the end the order write him off as dead. In this au, Jango was 18 on Galidraan and what Mace sees as his failure to save someone that was little more as a child, and suffered so greatly thanks to what the order see as their own neglect, haunts him for the rest of his career.
Its that idea of 'the one case you couldn't close'. It's at the start of his career and he goes on to do amazing things, Mace is peak Jedi, he invents a new form, he's one of the youngest Jedi to be elected to the council, he ends up heading that council, but he is still human (or near human lol sw complicates everything. he's 100% human in a fallible/emotional/sapient sense) I think that as a Master Jedi he's very aware of his own weaknesses, and he tries to work through it, he talks to it with other Jedi, and he certainly doesn't let it affect his judgement, but he can't forget it all the same.
So it's this version of Mace that ended up meeting Jango in the arena. Which I think adds such an interesting angle.
#Jaster Mereel#Mace#I've been thinking about this one (and a part of chapter 7 which i might post as another snippet)#cause i saw a poll talking about who was responsible for Jango's death and I've got a lot of opinions about that#that can not be contained by a poll lol. it's something i explored in this fic#pretty much. i think that Mace had no choice but i don't think he'd agree with that. i think he'd struggle with having killed Jango and#how he killed him. (decapitation. a particularly violent move. which i don't think he had a choice in. but yeah think he'd struggle)#i think that Jango pretty much ensured his own end and was too intelligent to not realise he was doing that so i think that was a#self hatred/survivors guilt/'i have lived past my end' kind of thing#i also think that Jango was only the person that always would have brought death upon himself like that because his past made him so#and i think his past was bad enough to make him that because it suited the greater narrative to have him end up like that#it suited palps ends pretty much. did palps know he was doing that or did the universe just work in his favour? who knows.#still worked out well for him#the poll got me thinking about Mace which got me thinking about this fic but writing about the fic has me thinking about this fic again#kinda tempted to go through it again and give it a bit of a face lift. old once over. shine it up a bit#I've always hated that it's 17 chapters tbh. want it to be 15 or 20. i don't think I'll address that this time tho.#might just try an edit however#has this???? no i won't say it. not to curse it but... the editing/ read back block may... be shifting. possibly.#considering an edit hadn't seemed so possible in a while.#there are so many things i need to look over once i can lol I've posted things still in draft state#that's cool tho. no problem. not thinking about that just thinking about how nice it would be to give this old thing a shine#Mace is so ready here to absorb all the blame for everything on the order (and by extension him) but its really not on them
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Okay something I haven't really had the words for so far is to describe the surreal weirdness of interacting with Current Events™️ as a ger.
Partially this has been me trying not to make this about my feelings, and partially this is a lack of ability to articulate the feelings anyway. But I'm gonna try because I think others might be in the same boat.
So one of the interesting things about being a Jew by Choice is that a number of us don't have any prior connections to Judaism. We are not culturally Jewish when we start, we do not have Jewish family or ancestry, and we are not joining a Jewish family through marriage. We just.... felt drawn. Called, if you will. A lot of us in that boat are seekers, moved by some moment of truth or divine connection.
At any rate, that leaves us in a weird position when it comes to Jewish cultural trauma, both new and old. We don’t carry the ancestral trauma of knowing we have lost literal family to atrocities, but we accept that may be our future. We don’t have the literal trauma, but the collective grief and community trauma seeps into your bones very quickly, the more you identify with the Jewish people. We don’t have the literal trauma, but we then worry about whether we also lack the resilience that has sustained Jews by birth throughout history.
"We are made of strong stuff! Your ancestors passed on their strength!" An excellent and true statement for many, but what if our specific ancestors did not? Worse: what if they were on the other side of the equation?
We are also confronting, for the first time, the reality of seeing how few people care about Jews outside of other Jews. For many born Jews, that makes this a time to consolidate into family, to hunker down. For gerim, we find strength in community but many of us have family that do not and cannot fully understand (and honestly many of us are praying our families don't understand it for any number of reasons.)
So we are processing this for the first time as adults, outside of a Jewish family. And it's surreal and weird and hard and alienating and you feel both like you are inside and outside of the community. You are profoundly affected, but do you have any right to complain? You chose this. You knew what was coming, probably. This kind of antisemitism? Brutally predictable, if you know Jewish history. You have survivors' guilt and secondhand trauma, but other people have it far worse, far more personal, and so it feels like there's no appropriate space to discuss that. You want to speak up and also, you don't want to draw attention to yourself. You want people to see you. You want to hide. This is the only thing anyone in your community can focus on, and you are struggling the same way. It's been two months and you need to snap out of this. This doesn't hurt you directly. But it does. It does. Because no matter how isolated you feel, you cannot separate yourself from your people.
Idk it's a lot. But I'm fine. I'm fine, of course.
#המצב#don't engage with this if you can't be kind#I totally get it if you don't have spoons for this#but please just scroll past then
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Ten-ish panels to sum up Dick Grayson
@roma107 challenged me some time back: “10 Nightwing Panels That Perfectly Sum Up His Character. Your turn. Go.” It’s been hard to even get close, and in the end I couldn't quite keep it to ten panels... But, enjoy disagreeing with me all the same. 😉
1. Robin vol 2 # 13 (1995)
Dick has issues with Bruce – they have had occasional problems with communication since the early 1940s – but he is loyal to a fault.
2. Teen Titans vol 3 # 6 (2004)
Just about every one of DC’s heroes respects, trusts and is prepared to listen to Dick. Obviously, that's not because he's a nice guy – which he is, don't get me wrong – or because he puts in the work with relationships – which he does. That may make people like you, but it's not enough to get them to follow you into battle...
No, that's because he's smart, professional and competent. As you see here, he can also be intense and knows how to make a dramatic entrance...
3. World's Finest Comics vol 1 # 200 (1971)
Dick is (often, but not always) ready with a smile and a joke. He loved being Robin as a kid, he wanted to do it forever (see, for instance, Nightwing vol 2 # 75). As Batman after Final Crisis, he smiled enough to convince Two-Face it wasn't the old Batman.
To what extent Dick jokes because he's in a good mood, he’s trying to keep his spirits up or he wants to annoy criminals enough to gaude them into sloppy mistakes – it varies between creators and Dick’s mood at the time😉
However, there have certainly been periods when Dick has not put on his best behaviour. He snaps at Alfred, he's unpleasant to close friends in the Titans, etc. I'd argue this is a sign he's not in a good place, mentally. Most of the panels of short fuse/asshole Dick Grayson you will find floating around are either from when he was leading The Outsiders (vol 3), and was struggling after the death of Donna Troy. Or from the almost five years' worth of New Teen Titans comics where his behaviour is influenced by being tortured and brainwashed by Brother Blood (New Teen Titans vol 1 # 22, August 1982, to New Teen Titans # 31, May 1987).
Alternate panel: Teen Titans vol 2 # 12 (1997)
4. Battle for the Cowl # 3 (2009)
Dick is prepared to change. Whether it's about a new mantle, getting a new job to pay the bills, or moving to a new city.
5. The New Teen Titans vol 2 # 6 (1985)
Dick might drop everything when somebody asks for help, and he is open to asking for help and working with teams better than Batman. But he does have his own set of control issues. He wants to have a job instead of living on Bruce’s money; he wants to know how to cook etc so he can take care of himself. You could argue it's a response to being orphaned and losing his home at a young age, and then having several episodes when he doesn't feel secure about his place with Bruce Wayne (see, for instance Robin Year One, Batman plays a lone hand in Batman vol 1 # 13, Partner to Batman in Batman vol 1 # 65)
6. Action comics weekly # 613 (1988)
Dick is uncomfortable with casual relationships/sex. When he had a fling with Huntress (Nightwing/Huntress, 1988–1989), he tried to start a relationship. It took him a long time to accept that he could live with Kory after she had gone through with a marriage of state on her home planet, and he felt strange living with her because they weren't married (see NTT vol 2 #48).
7. Detective Comics vol 1 # 881 (2011)
Dick is a nice guy who chooses to be kind, optimistic and to give people the benefit of a doubt – but he's still sneaky and definitely not stupid.
8. Titans vol 1 # 3 (1999)
Yes, Dick jokes a lot, and he enjoys hanging out with his friends. But he's also a workaholic and holds himself to a very high standard.
Alternate panel: New Teen Titans vol 1 # 29 (1983)
9. Nightwing vol 4 # 41 (2018)
He has a tendency to self-blame - and he is also very stubborn! Presumably, the tendency to feel guilty over things outside his control is partly survivor's guilt, but also related to the very high standards he holds himself to, and the very high expectations others have on him. And, I would argue, this tendency is a reason he sometimes lets friends an family punish him without fighting back.
Bonus panel: sometimes, he can admit he has a problem with self-blame. The New Titans vol 1 # 57 (1989)
10. Nightwing vol 3 # 29 (2014)
He wants to be a safety net for everyone. That's a good summary of Nightwing as a character, in my opinion.
And... Nightwing vol 4 # 43 (2018)
Bonus. This one-shot is a good Nightwing story, but very unfair on Roy Harper/Arsenal. It touches on several things – how Dick is always ready to help, that he does not want to be like Batman, his tendency to blame himself...
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So @dorky-malorky left a really good reply on this post I made earlier, and it was so good I had to reply- BUT my reply got way too long, so I'm making a new post. I'm going to quote their reply, and then add my own under.
So true, besties. As someone who was bullied pretty mercilessly all through grade school and right up until graduation, I see a lot of that same mask in Halsin. He puts up with so much and it's not because he's a sage wise old druid, it's because he has unresolved trauma!!!
Man basically says Thaniel was his only friend growing up and that's why he became a druid. Imagine making a friend as a little kid and then finding out that no one else knows of him or can even see him. To all those people Thaniel may as well have been an imaginary playmate to a sad lonely boy.
Then he grows up and loses pretty much everyone he cares about. He's cut off from Thaniel, he's cut off from his peers, and he puts so much of the blame on himself for that. Then he's thrust into a position of leadership where he, again, struggles to make connections. Sure some people at the grove are like 'sure wish Halsin was here' but then they all just go along with Khaga and the Rite of Thorns anyways instead of doing anything about it and they basically write him off as lost.
In my view, Halsin has just been swallowing grief and disappointment his whole life and has been putting on the brave face because that's what people expect from him. Don't make waves, just keep on keeping on. Even with Tav and the tadpole crew he will keep swallowing that same shit beyond what a normal person would put up with because Halsin just wants to belong. He will take scraps if that's all he can get, and be thankful for it, when what he deserves is to be at the table with everyone else.
And the heartbreaking thing is just how deeply he cares despite everything he's gone through. He could be bitter and angry like Astarion, but instead he suppresses and buries the hurt way down deep, and just keeps going, holding onto a hope that the future will be a better place. :(
And here is my response:
ALL OF THIS. There is a REASON so much of the fandom has independently come to the conclusion that Halsin is both autistic and a victim of bullying- realize it or not, the writers just put too many tell-tale behaviors in.
Your part about taking scraps just hits the nail on the head. He takes whatever the player gives, and he is still so damn nice- if he loses all of his approval towards the player (which is quite a feat since rescuing Thaniel and breaking the curse gets you 40-50 depending on choices made) he may be snippy in his greetings and in his point-n-click lines which are currently bugged, but he still never actually... really does anything about it.
And that he's able to still care after all of this- even setting aside headcanons, this is still a man who had few to no friends growing up, has been othered for his size and treated like his feelings don't matter, has lost everyone he loved, was made a sex slave for three years to one of the cruelest groups out there, with said slavery including seeing the bodies of other elves like him made into decorations, was forced to fight a huge battle and then faced a curse that killed so many friends of his that it would "take [him] a day and a night to recite the names of all the friends [he] lost" AND he had to kill the reanimated corpse of the previous Archdruid, a man he speaks admiringly of every time he mentions him, leaving him with survivor's guilt and pretty obvious PTSD, AND it took away his best/possibly only friend from childhood, he was forced into a leadership role he never wanted and in fact was actively miserable in, stressed to the point that he started thinking fondly of his past as a sex slave (with the implication being he romanticized it because he wanted not to have to be responsible for such hard decisions anymore) and with not a single soul to confide in who might tell him these thoughts weren't healthy, he spent years begging for help breaking the curse but even the Emerald Enclave was basically like "yeah you're on your own buddy", he fell into what was strongly implied to be alcoholism and had to swear it off entirely, his attempt to jump at the first chance he saw in 100 years to break the curse resulted in him being held captive again and tortured- by goblins, which got him mocked later- while his Grove was infiltrated, psyoped (seriously, too many people don't seem to know that Ketheric orchestrated the Shadow Druids infiltrating the Grove because he knew what a threat they/Halsin would be and wanted it neutralized) and turned against him by Kagha, requiring him to send in a new Archdruid while he left to try to solve the mindflayer crisis- and almost immediately discovering she was a better leader than he EVER was, which I'm sure left him with a feeling of not just inadequacy as he alluded to in his scenes, but also with a feeling he'd wasted all those 100 years trying to lead if he could have just handed it off to someone better all along, then after he finally breaks the curse that has been plaguing his homeland for 100 years he goes into the city, is promptly gut-punched with how much people, especially children, are suffering there, tries everything short of screaming to get people's attention that this is NOT OKAY and is promptly brushed off and dismissed at every turn, then finally goes to fight a Nether Brain to save the world, which he admits he had little faith he would survive- but he put on a brave face for the player (especially if romanced). And that's literally just the main canon path, not including things that can be done to him in darker branches, like his Grove being slaughtered and his attempt to avenge them all failing, or the Rite of Thorns succeeding and him losing his home forever, or him getting kidnapped by Orin, or, once that new update goes into place, him having casual sex with his friend/love interest (depending on the circumstances) and some prostitutes, opening up about his time as a sex slave, and then being promptly threatened to be sold back into slavery by the person he trusted. No, this stuff is literally just the main, good canon path.
I know people tend to say Halsin clearly worked through his traumas in a healthy way offscreen (this line gets used most with his time as a sex slave) but the lack of support system Halsin has, his inability to center his own needs, even to himself, for a single minute, his desperation to be validated for just a single moment, his idolization of the player if they break the curse even if they subsequently treat him badly, his emotions being so turbulent that he alludes to being unable to control his wildshape on two different occasions with both specifically being linked to turbulent emotions (one being intense arousal and excitement, the other being anger and fear when escaping the goblin camp at the player's side), all of which is incredibly unusual for any Druid let alone an Archdruid hailed as one of the most powerful around... none of this really?? points to that being true???
He doesn't act like he is a wise, zen old Druid, he acts like he's trying to be a wise, zen old Druid, and there is a huge difference.
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All righty
Ethan Winters Yuu-Except being a hybrid of mold there a hybrid of blot.They survive shit they weren't supposed ,lived through being burned, ripped up by leaves,and water blasted with the force of a power washer.
How Ethan got his heart ripped out by Mother Miranda.Yuu has there heart ripped or pierced either by lida or malleus.lida probably, then after doing a test finding out Yuu is more blot then human.
"Get up your journey's not done yet.You are still needed."
After Grim's overblot is defected they are fill with a sense of relief "It's over everyone's fine,we won,we won. Grim is breatheing.Its over"
Think of that scene of Ethan handing off rose but it's grim to Ace and Decue.This is when you body breaks apart,well Yuu just laughing saying, "We won boys come on,we won it's over".
Ace and Decue are just holding you ,well you body breaks apart in to blot or ashe.There will be no funeral to attend because there will be no body.The only thing left of them is the black and white tie of there unform.
Yuu died with a smile on your face. Completed what you where brought here to do.Like a true hero.
"The Aftermath"- Yuu is Dead
Soooo I kinda got carried away… This is after Yuu dies as i feel it would be much more angsty... Can be interpreted as suicide. Ortho is with the first year squad and admires Yuu as a sibling/parent. Gender Neutral.
There was a storm over the entirety of the Sage Isles since last week, courtesy of Malleus’ foul mood. No one could blame him though, for he was mourning his only friend. Everyone felt the impact of Yuu’s… disappearance as some called it, too afraid to call it as it was— death. There was nobody found, so how could they be so sure Yuu died?
They were lost, poofed back to their own world, alive and well— an idea Crowley even encouraged, he couldn’t handle the guilt. It leads to a lot of tension between certain groups of friends. Disgusted about the events that transpired. If Crowley was just a bit more competent…
"I hope Yuu is okay back home” “For the last time Kalim— They. Are. Dead."
“Even I thought you were more mature than that, Floyd, they’re gone.”
“In all of my years of living, I have seen people come and go, yet the pain of losing someone stays the same.”
“Yuu still isn’t back huh?”
Survivors' guilt was rampant. If only I were stronger, a certain wolf thinks to himself. If only I was more supportive, another duo agree. If only I listened for once, a croco-fae cries. If only I predicted this, a bot calculates. If only I was a real man, a farmer mourns. If only I were less greedy, the octopus sighs, curling away. If only I wasn’t so closed off, a servant huffs. If only I was kinder, the lion concludes. If only I wasn’t so vain, the queen mumbles. If only I tried to see things from their perspective a rose groans. If only I was braver, a fiery figure lamented. If only I was there, a dragon grieved. If only I didn’t— a housecat cuts himself off.
Ramshackle was duller than ever. A few students leave offerings and gifts on their doorstep. No one dares to touch them. Friends going inside to help clean. Even Jack found himself wandering into Yuu’s room, remembering how barren it is. Nothing to call their own. They never had a single personal item that they could claim as theirs. Nothing to remember them by. Ace finds himself laying on Yuu’s bed, remembering when he first slept over
Sebek struggles to walk through the door. Epel can only sit in the living room with his memory of the camp that was held here. Deuce can only pace around the dusty house, trying to tidy here and there. Yuu’s death hasn’t truly hit him yet, it hasn’t really sunk in for anyone yet, actually— judging by the fact Ortho is still calculating the possibilities of Yuu being alive that is.
Grim can’t even stand being in Ramshackle anymore. He sleeps in Ace and Deuce’s shared room, on the tie they left behind. He refuses to wash it in fear it will lose Yuu’s scent. May god have mercy on the first person to try and touch it. No one really knows what to do…
Sam gave away many free items to students so they can also make offerings. It’s the least he could do for the little imp. Vargas couldn’t push his students to do their best in P.E, he couldn’t blame them, even he has lost some motivation. Perhaps he should start a self-defense routine to teach students. Vargas remembers the many bruises and wounds on Yuu’s body from their many fights.
Trein was also much more light in his lectures. The loss of Yuu was heavy on his heart. He saw them as another child of his and even told his daughters about them. He remembered how they wrote about wanting to meet their honorary sibling. What was he going to tell them? He couldn’t save the only other addition he had to his family. It was like losing his beloved all over again.
Crewel was distraught. Yuu was his pup, you know? Yuu was one of the most responsible and kind students there were on this campus. They always went out of their way to help everyone. They were roped into everything. Yet they studied hard and always did the best in class. He often found himself left with them or working with them. He remembers draping his coat over Yuu when they fell asleep in his classroom after they passed out from exhaustion from their hard work. A domestic moment he hoped to have more of. They didn’t have parents right? Crewel never fancied himself a father figure but...
At least Yuu will hopefully rest easy knowing that there are no more blots causing issues.
A few more weeks passed, and many more went to leave an offering at the graveyards around Ramshackle. The first years have all decided to go visit Ramshackle together, hoping it could help with the mourning process. The whole way Ortho held Grim and buried his face in his fur to dry his tears. Jack held the child’s hand as they approached the dorm.
The solemn atmosphere between the group turned to shock when they see the state of the dorm. Run down and being torn apart. Crowley stood in front of the dorm as many sports club members helped to prepare for demolition.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS CROWLEY?! THIS IS YUU’S DORM!” Crowley paused, the usual eccentric headmage now solemn. He turned around to face the young men, all of them in states of anger and shock.
“I am well aware of that, young Zigvolt. However, since this dorm is no longer in use there is no need to keep it around. It was costing too much in maintenance anyways.”
The crew’s eyes widened, Ortho shook his head in disbelief. “What in tha hell?!” “You can’t just destroy it!” Deuce sputters out in shock. Ace nodded in agreement, brows knit together. “Yeah, Deuce is right! There’s so many memories in here. Ones with Yuu—“
“Which is precisely why it must be destroyed.” Crowley retorts, his voice leaving no room for debate. “No one can bear to be around that dorm anymore.”
Ortho sobbed, “Y-you can't just do that! I won’t let you. They’re like my big bro! This is all I have left of them!” “I’m sorry Ortho, but it must be that way.” Jack tsked “So is that how’re your gonna be headmage.” You could practically see the disgust in Jack's eyes. A vein was threatening to burst out of Epel's head, Sebek looked on with a mix of pure shock and rage.
Deuce tried to hold back his delinquent side as he held onto Ortho to soothe the child, allowing the boy to hold onto his blazer and sob. Ortho allowed himself to let go of Jack's hand. Ace was so close to just going up and punching Crowley, the same way he did to Riddle. Until...
Grim piped up. “W-well now that Yuu is gone, I can be housewarden now! You can’t just destroy my dorm!” “If you remember what I said at the beginning of the year, you and Yuu were only half of a student. Now that they are gone, you can no longer attend Night Raven College.” “NYANI?!” “If you all want something from the dorm, get it now before it is completely scrapped.”
“So you’re kicking Grim out now too?!” barked the redhead, absolute disbelief dripping out of his words. “Yes,” Crowley replied, coldly, cruelly. It was off-putting. “If it wasn’t for him, Yuu would still be here, wouldn’t they?”
#angst#twisted wonderland#dire crowley#epel felmier#jack howl#ace trappola#deuce spade#grim#sebek zigvolt#ortho shroud#twisted wonderland x reader#naughtybodypillow
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The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee
Ch 14 - A Hundred Months ‘Twas Flowery May
Summary: As Kate navigates Arthur’s recovery, she discovers that true strength lies within her trusted companions, finding relief in their unwavering support during the trials of his healing journey.
Ao3
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A/N: ~10.6k words. Sorry this chapter took longer than I anticipated. It's more of a filler than anything, but lots of fluff/comfort nonetheless :') (trying out a new layout!)
Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist
**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!
Story Tags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff
Nearly three months had slipped by since Kate and Arthur's lives intersected on that fateful day at Emerald Ranch, though to Kate, it felt like an eternity. The days following Arthur's return with her had stretched out endlessly, each moment laden with uncertainty and worry. It seemed as if a hundred months could have passed in that single week alone, as Kate grappled with the ever-present fear that each day could be Arthur's last. Despite the relentless onslaught of challenges and worries, Kate found herself adapting to the rhythm of each new day.
Determined to provide Arthur with the best possible care during his recovery, Kate took to heart the doctor's instructions. She made it her mission to ensure Arthur's comfort, meticulously tending to his wounds and faithfully administering his medication. She gave him the penicillin each day, crushed and mixed with a spoonful of honey. And yet, every day brought its own set of trials, but Kate faced each one with unwavering resolve.
As Arthur battled against the fever that ravaged his body, Kate remained steadfast in her optimism. Though his skin burned hot to the touch and his body trembled with chills, Kate saw the fever not only as a sign of infection but also as a testament to Arthur's fighting spirit. With each passing hour, she held onto the hope that Arthur would prevail in the battle against the illness that threatened to consume him. Only time would reveal the outcome of their struggle—where victory hung in the balance between sickness and survival.
Kate tended to Arthur's needs with resolute care and devotion. She recognized the subtle cues indicating his thirst, gently offering him water-soaked cloths to moisten his parched lips, ensuring he stayed hydrated despite the challenges. When his stomach rebelled, she was quick to react, keeping a bucket nearby and assisting him to sit up, determined to prevent any mishaps like before.
The day following the doctor's departure, Kate took on the task of bathing Arthur herself. Knowing he would be more comfortable in clean skin. With a bucket of warm water and fresh cloths in hand, she ventured into his makeshift room, drawing the canvas flaps closed to provide them with privacy. As she worked, memories flooded her mind—recollections of the night Arthur had confided in her about his body, merely days before he would be tortured. He didn’t have to say it, but she knew he felt ashamed of the way he looked. Though the reasons why were beyond her, his body was perfect in her eyes.
And yet, on that haunting night when she found him again, she had seen beyond his physical scars. His whole body laid before her, his most vulnerable secrets exposed from the cruel hands of fate. Scars carved so deep she knew they would reach his soul. Kate knew how violating it felt, and she vowed to respect every part of his body with tenderness and acceptance.
Regret weighed heavily on Kate's heart as she took in the sight of him, wishing she had expressed the admiration she felt for him during their intimate encounter. To her, Arthur's form was a testament to his strength, he was a strong man built to withstand the storm. But he was also gentle and soft. It was a canvas of stories waiting to be discovered. His body carried with it the song of his past, and Kate longed to hear it.
Lost in her thoughts, she entertained fleeting fantasies of exploring his body with affection and adoration. Lips gently brushing over every insecurity. Warm hands wandering over every inch.
Kate shook her head at the thought, jolting herself back to reality with the pressing tasks at hand. Blushing at her own thoughts, she refocused her attention on caring for Arthur, knowing that there were more immediate concerns demanding her attention.
Deep down, she cherished the secret longing that stirred within her—a silent promise to honor every aspect of Arthur, body and soul.
Starting with his face, Kate delicately wiped away the layers of sweat and grime, unveiling the sun-kissed skin beneath adorned with a constellation of freckles. As her fingers trailed across his beard, she marveled at its softness, each stroke a tender caress. With gentle, wet fingers, she combed through his hair, untangling knots and brushing away dirt and dried blood, restoring its natural silky luster.
Moving down to his arms and abdomen, she carefully pulled back the sheet to reveal his stomach, noting the dampness of the blanket beneath him from sweat. Making a mental note to replace it, she reached for more cloth. The water, now cold, offered a refreshing contrast against Arthur's fever warm skin. Despite the chill, each touch was infused with tenderness.
Kate hummed a quiet melody, her touch gentle as she traced the cool cloth over Arthur's skin. His face twitched, rousing him from his slumber. Blinking wearily, he uttered her name, his voice a whisper in the dim light.
"I'm right here, honey. Need to sit up?" Kate's voice was soft, friendly. As if they were discussing the simplest of tasks.
Their eyes met, Arthur's still bloodshot but slowly regaining their vibrant blue hue. He shook his head, a silent response to her question.
"Did I wake you?" Kate inquired, her head tilted with concern. Arthur nodded, his weariness evident even in this small gesture. "I'm sorry, hon," Kate offered with a jaded smile.
"S’alright," Arthur breathed, his eyes closing again, reassured by her presence. "Feels good. M'really hot," he mumbled, words heavy with fatigue.
Kate hummed softly, dipping the cloth back into the cold water, letting its refreshing droplets cascade over his overheated skin. Arthur sighed in relief, savoring the cool sensation. "Feels good," he repeated, his voice muffled by exhaustion. "You washin' me?" he asked, words tinged with a hint of vulnerability.
"Yes," Kate replied honestly, her touch tender as she continued her ministrations. "Is that alright?" She was prepared to stop if he was uncomfortable.
Arthur nodded once more, "S'rotten work, Kate," he murmured, the echoes of past torment still haunting his thoughts. His expression a mixture of gratitude and self-deprecation.
Kate paused, her hand resting on his now-clean cheek, he opened his blue eyes meeting her gaze with unwavering sincerity. "Not to me," she whispered, her words carrying a depth of emotion. "Not if it's you."
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As the days passed, life in the camp gradually resumed its familiar rhythm. Kate, Lenny, and Sadie took turns tending to Arthur, but Kate remained a constant presence by his side, especially during the long, dark hours of night. Only swapping shifts with her trusted companions when she needed to eat or bathe.
Arthur spent most of his time asleep, rousing only when he needed something. Kate felt immense gratitude for the assistance of Charles and Hosea, especially during the more intimate moments of caregiving. Their help spared Arthur any unnecessary embarrassment, allowing him to retain some semblance of dignity amidst his recovery.
Despite her body's protests, Kate stubbornly refused to leave Arthur's side for a proper rest. Nights were particularly challenging for him, the fever raging through his body like a wildfire, casting his veins in searing, white-hot flames. With just a week's supply of antibiotics remaining, Kate found herself praying fervently for them to be effective, desperately hoping they would be enough to quell the relentless onslaught of infection.
Arthur's evenings were plagued by haunting night terrors and feverish delirium, his mind a battleground of fear and confusion. He would often awaken in a state of panic, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he grappled with the phantoms that tormented his dreams.
In the quiet of the night, amidst the shadows that danced around them, Kate would find herself stirred awake by the sounds of Arthur's restless slumber. His cries, soft yet troubled, echoed through the stillness of the camp, tugging at her heartstrings like a grim melody. With each silent hiccup, his face contorted in pain, resembling that of a child lost in the throes of a nightmare. It was a sight that weighed heavily upon her, casting a veil of sorrow over her weary soul.
Drawing closer to him, Kate would perch on the edge of his cot, her presence a beacon of relief in the darkness. With tender care, she enveloped his uninjured hand in her own, the warmth of their touch a fragile lifeline amidst the turmoil of his dreams. Her fingers traced soothing patterns through his tousled hair, a gentle caress to ease his troubled mind. In whispered words, she offered him a remedy, weaving a tapestry of reassurance around him like a protective cloak.
In those moments, as she sat vigil beside him, Kate found herself transported back to a distant memory, a bittersweet recollection of her infant daughter Lorena. The late-night awakenings, the cries for comfort that echoed through the still darkness—each moment a testament to the unbreakable bond between a mother and her child. Kate offered him the same unwavering love and protection that had once been bestowed upon her own flesh and blood.
Reflecting on those tender moments of bonding with her newborn daughter, Kate's heart swelled with a mixture of nostalgia and longing. The sleepless nights, the endless feedings, all intertwined with an indescribable sense of purpose and fulfillment. It was a journey marked by both exhaustion and euphoria, a testament to the depths of a mother's love and devotion.
As she gazed upon Arthur's sleeping form, a soft smile graced Kate's lips, her heart swelling with a bittersweet tenderness. The trail of tears that had once stained his cheeks had now dried, replaced by the tranquility of peaceful slumber. With a soft kiss pressed against his forehead, she allowed herself to be enveloped by the comforting embrace of sleep, where memories of her daughter awaited her in the quiet space of her dreams.
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As Arthur’s first week of recovery drew to a close, the camp adjusted to his absence, each member picking up his slack with newfound determination. No longer the camp's handyman, Arthur's absence was palpable, highlighting the countless tasks he once effortlessly juggled. Even before his injury, he never knew a moment's rest, always putting the gang's needs above his own.
The afternoon sun bore down on the camp, its intensity softened by rare clouds that offered brief reprieves from the oppressive heat of a July day in Lemoyne. Despite the welcome shade and gentle breeze, the air remained thick with humidity. In Arthur’s tent, Kate sat perched, using a folded newspaper as a makeshift fan to combat the stifling heat. Exhaustion threatened to overtake her, her eyelids growing heavy as she battled to stay awake, the weight of fatigue pressing against her.
Kate sat upright, shifting uncomfortably on the hard wooden chair, as the sound of John's urgent call echoed through the camp, accompanied by the quick patter of footsteps. "Jack! Get over here!" John's voice rang out, his own footsteps hastening toward the tent.
Suddenly, Jack's eager face appeared at the tent entrance, his eyes alight with excitement. "Uncle Arthur!" he exclaimed with a wide grin, poised to step inside before he was swiftly scooped up by someone outside, his protests muffled by the canvas flaps.
In Jack's place, John's weary face appeared, offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry 'bout that," he said, his arms occupied by the squirming boy. Jack wriggled against his father's hip, clutching a book in his small hands. "Put me down! Why can't I see Uncle Arthur?" he demanded with a hint of frustration.
Kate rose from her seat, bridging the distance between them with a reassuring smile. "It's alright. I can keep an eye on him for a bit, John," she offered warmly, her words soft and comforting.
John hesitated, lowering Jack to the ground. Uncertainty etched in the lines of his face as he glanced at Arthur's slumbering form. "Y’sure? I don't want to..." he trailed off, his grip tightening on Jack's hand, “trouble you.” He silently noted the tiredness in her eyes.
With a gentle smile, Kate reassured him, "It's no trouble at all." She crouched down to Jack's level, her eyes sparkling with kindness. "Did you bring Arthur a book?" she asked with genuine interest.
John sighed ponderously, ruffling Jack's hair affectionately before departing. Kate watched him go, a soft smile playing on her lips as she noticed John's growing presence in Jack's life.
"Papa Hosea taught me a lot of new words. I wanted to show Uncle Arthur," Jack piped up excitedly, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.
Kate's smile widened. "That's a wonderful idea, Jack! Why don't you come sit on my lap, and we can read to him together?" she suggested, voice warm with invitation.
Jack nodded eagerly, allowing Kate to lift him into her arms as she settled back into the familiar wooden chair. His gaze shifted to Arthur, a puzzled expression on his face. "How long is he gonna sleep for, Auntie Kate?" he asked with innocent curiosity.
"I'm not so sure. He'll sleep as long as he needs to, I suppose," Kate replied honestly, gentle yet tinged with uncertainty.
Jack turned his gaze back to Kate with a worried frown. "Is he gonna sleep forever?" His voice trembled with a hint of fear, his young mind grappling with the concept of mortality.
Kate could sense the weight of Jack's question, knowing that he had been exposed to the harsh realities of life at a tender age. She struggled to find the right words to comfort him, to shield him from the harsh truth that lingered in the air.
"Arthur will wake up when his body is ready, Jack," she reassured him, offering a comforting squeeze. "Right now, he just needs all the rest he can get so he can keep up with you once he's feeling better." She playfully tickled his sides, coaxing a bright giggle from the boy as he squirmed in her lap.
After a moment, Jack's expression softened as he revealed his longing. "I miss him," he admitted softly, voice tinged with sadness.
Kate's heart swelled with empathy as she felt the depth of Jack's affection for his uncle. She fondly remembered Arthur's dedication to the boy. Abigail had told her how he stepped into the role of a father figure during John's absence from the gang. The thought of their bond being severed filled her with a profound sense of sorrow.
"I miss him too, Jack," she whispered softly, pressing a kiss atop the boy's head, her touch warm and comforting like that of a mother's embrace. "But I know Arthur would love to hear those big words you've learned." Her smile radiated reassurance, instilling confidence in the young boy.
Jack beamed back at her, his grin revealing a gap where his tooth had recently fallen out. With newfound enthusiasm, he eagerly opened the book, its size seeming comically large in his tiny hands.
"The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn," he announced proudly, each word spoken with growing confidence.
As Jack read in her lap, Kate marveled at his proficiency, surprised by his advanced reading skills at such a tender age. Since the day she joined the gang, her mind recalled memories of Hosea's patient efforts in teaching Jack, a heartwarming display of mentorship and care that would surely be treasured by the boy for years to come.
Kate entertained the idea that Hosea must have been the one to teach Arthur to read. She pondered this as her gaze drifted to Arthur's journal, a testament to his inner thoughts and reflections. Despite his reserved nature, Arthur was diligent in recording his thoughts, a habit that intrigued Kate endlessly. What tales did he document within those pages? Did he share his dreams or pour out his frustrations? And amidst it all, did he ever write about her? The questions swirled in her mind, a curious blend of wonder and anticipation.
Although Arthur's journal sat tantalizingly close on his bedside table, Kate resisted the urge to pry into his private musings. Instead, she harbored a hope that one day he would willingly share his thoughts with her, trusting her enough to confide in her the words he committed to paper.
Jack nestled comfortably in Kate's lap, his small frame relaxed against her chest, his feet swaying gently. The rhythm of his soft voice, intertwined with the gentle cadence of his breaths, lulled Kate into a serene half-slumber, the cares of the world momentarily forgotten.
Minutes later, her peaceful reverie was shattered by Jack's urgent grip on her arm, Kate jolted awake, her eyes snapping open in alarm. Startled, she sat up abruptly, her heart racing as she followed Jack's pointed finger to Arthur's cot.
Kate's gaze shifted to Arthur, his discomfort palpable as he shifted restlessly, his brow glistening with sweat, signaling the onset of nausea. With a weary sigh, Kate sprang into action, moving him from her lap. She swiftly lifted Arthur's body while shielding Jack from the distressing scene unfolding before them. With practiced efficiency, she reached for the bucket, ready to offer relief to her ailing friend.
As Arthur lay back on his cot, Kate's gaze shifted to Jack, her heart twisting at the sight before her. Jack stood by the entrance, his book clutched tightly to his chest, his lips pursed and cheeks stained with tears. His big, sad brown eyes met hers, his voice barely a whisper as he choked out his question, "Is... is he going to die?" The words hung heavy in the air, trembling on his tongue.
"Oh, Jack," Kate murmured softly, lowering herself to her knees to meet his gaze at eye level. "Arthur's fighting with all his might. He just needs some time, sweetheart," she reassured him, reaching out to grasp his small hand in hers, her touch warm and steady, enveloping him in comfort. "And a whole lot of love," she added, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
Jack nodded somberly, wiping away his tears with a sniffle before darting off without another word. As the tent flaps billowed in his wake, Kate sighed, understanding his fear but determined not to let him dwell too deeply on Arthur's condition.
Kate eased back into her chair, a low groan escaping her lips as she massaged the soreness from her back, her fingers kneading the tension from her shoulders as she rolled her neck. Suddenly, a groggy voice broke the silence, startling her from her trance. "Did I scare the kid?"
Arthur's tired pink eyes met hers, a hint of blue returning with each passing day. Kate offered him a solemn smile. "He'll be alright. You need somethin’?" she asked gently, weariness lacing her words.
Arthur let out a deep sigh, his good hand dragging down his face in a gesture of fatigue. "I feel like I'm losing my mind, Kate," he confessed, his voice raw with honesty. "I don't feel like I'm in control."
Kate's expression softened with understanding as she realized he was speaking about his night terrors. Tainting his once quiet evenings with haunting shadows. "It's just the fever, Arthur. The dreams will fade with time," she reassured him, placing a comforting hand on his arm.
Arthur glanced up at her, his eyes tinged with sadness, and she sensed the weight of his torment mirrored in his gaze. "Seems all I’m good for is makin’ people suffer, and it’s finally caught up to me."
“I don’t think that’s the case Arthur,” she added soothingly, leaning closer to him. “You’re suffering is not a punishment, it’s a second chance.” Her thumb traced gentle patterns against his warm skin. Lulling him back into a blissful slumber. Her sweet words like a sugar cube, disappearing into the heat of a dark cup of tea.
━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the evening air took on a refreshing chill, carrying the aroma of Pearson’s savory beef stew. Kate’s stomach, stirred by the tantalizing scent, demanded attention, and she finally complied, settling into her chair beside Arthur’s slumbering figure with a steaming bowl cradled in her lap. With each spoonful, the warmth of the hearty stew spread through her body, offering relief amidst the trials of the day.
With dusk settling in, Kate made the decision to open the tent flaps of Arthur’s makeshift shelter, inviting in the cool embrace of the summer night. The once stuffy confines now filled with a gentle breeze, carrying with it the symphony of the wilderness awakening with the ascent of the moon. The chorus of crickets, the rhythmic chirping of cicadas, the haunting calls of owls, and the resonant croaks of bullfrogs formed a comforting backdrop to the solitude of the evening.
Amidst the serene ambiance, Kate discerned the approach of two sets of footsteps, drawing closer to Arthur’s tent with purposeful intent.
"Hey Kate," Bill's familiar, slurred voice cut through the evening calm, accompanied by the shuffling footsteps of Micah behind him. Kate let out a weary sigh, her hopes of enjoying a peaceful meal dashed by their unwelcome intrusion.
"Seems Arthur’s gone and turned himself into a real crybaby," Bill jeered with a drunken swagger, casting a mocking glance at Micah. "Think when she’s done playin’ nursemaid, she’ll wipe my ass if I get shot?" His words dripped with alcohol-infused arrogance, punctuated by a bitter laugh that grated on Kate's nerves.
Kate leaned back in her chair with casual indifference, reaching an idle hand for her pistol that rested on Arthur’s table, “you wanna find out?” She retorted, her voice cool and composed, tinged with a hint of warning.
Micah chuckled at her bold response, while Bill's face flushed with embarrassment, his drunken bravado deflated. "Relax, princess," he muttered gruffly, “was just pokin’ fun.” He retreated back to his seat by the campfire. Micah lingered near the tent, his hands resting casually on his gun belt.
Kate stifled a deep yawn, rubbing her face wearily. Feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her like a heavy blanket. Each movement was a struggle against the fatigue that threatened to overwhelm her. Micah's chuckle grated on her nerves as he closed the distance, casually leaning against the makeshift table that served as one of the walls of Arthur’s tent. He lingered like a pesky mosquito, buzzing around her head.
"Poor little cowpoke is tired," he remarked with feigned amusement.
Rolling her eyes, Kate brushed off his comment with a sharp retort, "Spare me, Micah. I’m not in the mood for this."
Micah raised his hands in a mock surrender, his smirk still evident. "Just making an observation," he quipped. "Why don’t I take over for a bit? Me and Arthur got some catching up to do anyway."
Kate's response was swift and sharp, her tone laced with defiance, "Over my dead body."
Micah sighed, a moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them as he eyed her with suspicion. "How were you able to find him, anyway?" he asked, curiosity and skepticism coloring his words.
Kate's patience wore thin, her fatigue adding to her irritation. "Dumb luck," she snapped curtly.
Micah huffed, his disdain evident in the tilt of his head. “Sure don’t seem like he got too lucky.”
Kate's gaze turned steely, her eyes flashing with spite. "If only someone had spoken up sooner when he didn't show up after the parley."
Micah shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t call the shots ‘round here, sweetheart,” he replied dismissively, showing no hint of remorse for Arthur’s condition.
“Oh, really?” Kate shifted in her chair, facing Micah directly. “Because it seems to me Dutch has quite the worm in his ear.”
Micah's grin was wolfish, his amusement unsettling. “Care to explain that?” he challenged.
“I don’t buy into your games, Micah,” Kate spat, dripping with contempt. “And Arthur doesn’t either,” she added, gesturing toward the sleeping figure beside them.
Leaning in, Micah loomed over her, his presence imposing. “There’s no game, Kate. Arthur is nothing more than an old dog at Dutch’s heel, just begging for scraps,” he growled. “He’ll do whatever that man asks him to do. You’ll see that soon enough.” With a final tip of his hat, he vanished into the darkness without another word, leaving Kate alone with her thoughts and the quiet of the night.
Kate sighed, feeling burnt out as the weight of exhaustion settled on her shoulders while she observed Arthur's slumbering figure. "Quite the friends you got here," she murmured to him, words tinged with weariness. Yet, her moment of respite was short-lived as the sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears once more. With a groan, she buried her face in her hands, bracing herself for whatever interruption was to come.
Turning her gaze towards the source of the noise, Kate spotted Jack hurrying towards the tent, dragging something bulky and hollow-sounding behind him. Javier trailed close behind, calling after the energetic boy. "Más despacio, hermano!" he urged, his voice filled with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
Furrowing her brow, Kate strained to make out what Jack was hauling in the fading light of dusk. As he reached the entrance, panting heavily, it became clear—he was bringing her Javier's guitar. "Auntie Kate!" Jack called out eagerly, his small frame vibrating with urgency. Kate's heart softened at the sight, touched by the earnestness in the boy's actions. "You have to sing to Uncle Arthur!" he insisted, presenting the heavy wooden instrument to her with small mighty hands gripping its neck.
Kate's chuckle resonated softly in the tent as she cradled the guitar in her lap, its weight a comforting presence against her. Her gaze lifted to Javier, who had followed Jack inside. "Sorry for his antics," she murmured. Apologizing on Jack’s behalf for his uncanny thieving. Her tone tinged with a hint of amusement, "do you mind if I borrow this for a while?"
Javier brushed off her apology with a warm smile, his demeanor relaxed and jovial. "Little hombre insists your voice is the best medicine," he remarked. “How could I argue with that?” A fondness was evident in his tone. Stepping closer, he regarded Kate with a hint of concern, his brows knitting together in a silent question.
Kate's surprise flickered briefly across her features as Javier's hand gently guided her chin upwards. His touch was tender, filled with a quiet concern that spoke volumes. "Ay, cariño," he murmured softly. "Have you been getting any rest?" His eyes searched hers, Kate’s dark circles and tired hollowness not escaping his notice.
A reflexive instinct prompted Kate to pull away slightly, a feeble attempt to shield her exhaustion from Javier's perceptive gaze. "M’fine," she replied, her voice carrying a weary resolve. "Just a little tired, s’nothing I can't handle." Her reassurance was touched with the gravity of her fatigue.
Javier's worried expression softened into one of understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the burdens she bore. With a nod of farewell and a gentle squeeze of her shoulder, he left Kate with her little companion.
Jack had nestled himself into Arthur’s cot, finding security in the space beneath his uncle's uninjured arm. Curled up like a beloved house cat, he nestled snugly against Arthur's side, seeking comfort in his embrace.
Kate's heart swelled at the sight, her lips curving into a tender smile. Jack's innocent affection for his uncle made her feel like she could endure every sleepless night if it meant they would be reunited again.
As she adjusted the guitar strings to her liking, Kate's voice softened to a gentle murmur. "Jack, sweetheart," she began, warm with affection, "where did you get the idea to sing to Arthur?"
A warm virtue radiated from Jack's heartfelt gaze. “Mama told me Uncle Arthur was having nightmares,” he said honestly, “you have to sing him a lullaby so he knows he’s safe.” His wide eyes reflected honey-brown in the low lamp light. Radiating a genuine sincerity. Kate adored how big his young heart was, and she prayed he would retain that kindness long into his adult years.
Her mind wandered to a cherished memory—the night Arthur had kissed her. The warmth of his touch, the tenderness in his eyes. Kate was lost in her emotions as she sang Jack to sleep, and Arthur’s presence was like warm sunshine after rain. Shrouding her in comfort and protection amidst the storming clouds of her loss. She began to notice that Arthur always brought out a tender side in her, one she had long thought vanished with the woes of her past.
A soft chuckle escaped Kate's lips at Jack's earnestness, her affection for him overflowing. "Arthur is lucky to have you, Jack," she murmured, her voice filled with admiration.
With a quiet hum, Kate's fingers began to dance across the guitar strings, weaving a melody that echoed through the tranquil night air. Each note resonated with the quiet beauty of their makeshift home in Clemens Point, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of their nomadic existence. As she sang, the words flowed effortlessly from her lips, a heartfelt lullaby born from the depths of her soul.
I don't know what steps to take, I do the easy ones until it helps.
Little acts of conversation, I don’t think I really like myself.
Am I comfortable in this silence, or is it eating me alive?
Nothin’s ever really quiet when you need distraction to survive.
It’s part of me, wouldn’t you believe it’s nothing?
I’m already going under, nothing I can do but sit and wait.
Are you really having fun, or do you like becoming what you hate?
Am I comfortable in this silence, or am I waiting till it ends?
You were just too stubborn to pretend.
It’s all you need, to keep the rain from coming.
I’m good at letting you go, I’m good at letting it get to me.
I’m good at letting you go. No, you were never the enemy.
Kate's fingers danced over the guitar strings, the soft melody lingering in the air even after she had stopped playing. Her eyes were fixed on the tender sight before her: Arthur and Jack, their bond unbreakable in the way Arthur's arm had moved to enveloped the small boy, a gesture of pure love and affection. Defying the trials of his torment.
A heavy sorrow settled over Kate, like a thick fog descending upon her weary soul. The burden of her exhaustion pressed down on her being. Her eyes felt raw and heavy, strained by the lack of rest. It was a relentless force that threatened to overwhelm her at any moment. In the quiet of the tent, emotions swirled within her, a tempest of longing and love that stirred her heart. She fought the urge to surrender her resolve.
Kate watched Arthur and Jack, a lump forming in her throat as she struggled to contain the torrent of emotions threatening to spill forth. It wasn't just concern for Arthur's well-being that kept her rooted to his side, but a deep-seated devotion that bound her to him in ways she couldn't fully comprehend.
As she looked upon Arthur's sleeping form, a pang of fear gripped her heart. The shadows of her past loomed large in her mind, casting a dark shadow over her hopes for the future. Like some divine conspiracy was once again taking a man of her heart from her grasp. But she had vowed to do better, to not let Arthur meet the same fate.
Though exhaustion threatened to drag her into the depths of sleep, Kate remained vigilant, her eyes fixed on Arthur's face, her heart remaining unshaken to see him through the storm.
As her emotions threatened to spill from her tired eyes, she sighed and put the guitar down. In a moment of spontaneity, she reached for Arthur’s journal. Flipping to a blank page, she grasped his worn dull pencil and spewed her plaguing thoughts onto its pages:
Dearest Arthur,
As I write these words by the light of the moon Jack has curled up by your side, sleeping peacefully. He insisted that I must sing to you, to chase away those bad men that haunt your dreams. How could I refuse? His heart is as vast as the sky above, and he holds you in the highest regard. Oh Arthur, one of life’s greatest tragedies, is that you will always be loved more than you’ll ever know.
In these quiet moments, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on my life. I've come to understand the depth of my feelings for you. They have come on gradually from the day we first met and I have been ever so sweet on you since.
Arthur, there are no words sufficient to convey what you mean to me. And yet, some part of me fears that you will never hear these words from my lips, so I commit them to these pages in the hopes that they'll reach you when you return to this journal.
I yearn to live an honest life, and never be cruel. A quiet life, where I can be good to you. A life filled with family and friends, where we soar like birds in the endless sky. But I fear we may never change, that we may never learn from our past.
In my fleeting moments of slumber, I dream of a wooden house. Filled with our laughter and love. Where we can sit upon a porch swing, admiring the sunset. As we whisper to each other and say, “it was hard, but we made it.”
As challenging as it has been, to sit by your side in these dark times. My heart aches to see you back in the saddle, riding free across the open plains. To witness once again the spark in your eyes and the warmth of your smile, the very essence of the man I hold so dear.
You are a beautiful soul, Arthur Morgan, and I am blessed beyond measure to have crossed your path. If you'll have me, I will give you the beautiful life you deserve.
With all my love, Kate
p.s. On my honor, your words contained within have not graced my eyes. They belong to you, and to you alone.
━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━
With a weary sigh, Kate closed the heavy leather journal, the weight of its contents lingering in her thoughts. As she rose from her seat, she stretched her arms wide, her tired muscles protesting the day's strain. "C'mere, little love bug," she whispered softly, lifting Jack's sleeping form and cradling him in her arms.
Like a mouse with gentle steps, she navigated through the camp, the darkness enveloping her like a comforting shroud. Intending to settle Jack into his own bed. She returned to Arthur's tent, only to find Hosea occupying her usual spot.
"Evening, Hosea," Kate greeted, her voice soft with fatigue, though her smile held a flicker of warmth.
Hosea nodded in response, his gaze distant, lost in the recesses of his thoughts. "A fine evening it is," he murmured quietly, his tone tinged with a hint of melancholy.
Leaning against the post of Arthur's tent, Kate studied Hosea's weary demeanor, a pang of concern tugging at her heart. "Something troubling you?" she inquired, her voice laced with genuine curiosity despite her exhaustion.
“I can't shake this feeling that I should have done things differently,” Hosea confessed, his voice tinged with regret. “I raised him to be the way that he is. I’ve come to realize that my teachings were a death sentence.”
Kate took a moment to absorb Hosea's words before responding. “Hosea,” she began softly, “you've been a father to Arthur in ways that go beyond his actions. You gave him guidance when he needed it, and stood by his side. You gave him a home and the tools to navigate an unforgiving world.”
Hosea let out a rueful chuckle, tinged with bitterness. “Taught him how to kill and steal, and look where that got him.” He gestured to Arthur’s sleeping form.
“Arthur was taken by Colm,” Kate gently reminded him, “protecting what he holds dear. Because he was taught to fight for his family.”
With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of years, Hosea leaned back into the chair, his eyes fixed on his son's still form. The lines etched on his weathered face told stories of countless battles fought, both on the frontier and within himself. After a moment of silence that hung heavy in the air, he spoke up again, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that seldom surfaced.
“Do you mind if I stay with him tonight?” His request was simple, yet carried a profound sincerity that resonated with Kate.
She smiled softly, a tender expression that spoke volumes of her trust and respect for the older man. She would have hesitated to leave Arthur with anyone else, but she knew he was in loving hands with Hosea by his side. With a nod of understanding, she gathered her belongings, preparing to take her leave. But before she could step away, Hosea called out to her once more.
“By the way,” his voice carried across the dimly lit tent, “Abigail is looking for you. I believe she’s over by the chuck wagon.”
As she stepped out into the cool night air, the stars above seemed to twinkle with secrets, whispering tales of uncertainty. What could Abigail possibly need her for at this hour? Perhaps she doesn’t want Jack to be around Arthur too much, or maybe she wants Jack to visit him more to give herself a break. With each step Kate felt the world bearing down on her shoulders, her muscles aching with the weight of her own body. As much as she loved the little filly, she was growing increasingly more drained with each encounter. Kate's heart ached with the weight of her responsibilities, the constant juggling act of tending to Arthur's needs while fulfilling the demands of their community.
As she neared the back of the chuck wagon, the soft murmur of familiar voices reached her ears, weaving a tapestry of comfort and familiarity. With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, she rounded the corner, her eyes alighting on the gathered group before her.
"What's all this?" Kate exclaimed breathlessly, her eyes widening in astonishment. There, amidst the soft glow of lanterns and the gentle summer breeze, stood Abigail, flanked by Sadie, Mary-Beth, Tilly, and even Karen, gathered together in a tight-knit circle. They had fashioned a cozy enclave behind the bustling chuck wagon, cocooned by canvas blankets that offered a sense of sanctuary from the outside world. The space was dimly lit by flickering candles and oil lamps, casting warm shadows that danced across the makeshift walls.
In the center of the little haven sat a large wooden wash barrel, steam rising from its depths like wisps of magic. Nearby, a small table was adorned with a bounty of provisions: fresh fruit, savory meats, and an assortment of cheeses, a feast fit for royalty.
Overwhelmed by the gesture, Kate felt her eyes welling with tears, her heart swelling with gratitude. "I... I don’t—" she stammered, unable to find the words to express her emotions.
Abigail approached her with a gentle smile, her eyes shimmering with warmth and compassion. Taking Kate's trembling hands in hers, she guided her into the cozy sanctuary. "You've been working so hard, Kate," she murmured softly, her voice like a soothing lullaby. "We thought you deserved a proper rest."
As Kate stepped inside, she was enveloped in a hug by Mary-Beth, who stood by her side with a reassuring presence. "We turned the storage wagon into a room for you," Mary-Beth whispered, her voice filled with tenderness. "You can use it for as long as you need."
With a heartfelt smile, Kate allowed herself to be led into the haven of peace and comfort. The weight of the week’s burdens seemed to lift from her shoulders as she stepped into the warm embrace of the steaming bath. Had it not been for the supportive presence of the girls, she feared she might have collapsed to her knees from the overwhelming gesture of kindness.
With tender care, they helped her undress, their movements gentle yet purposeful. They said nothing about her scars, silently embracing every aspect of her being with no questions asked.
Mary-Beth meticulously washed away the grime of the day from her arms and body, while Tilly worked her nimble fingers through the tangled knots of her hair. Karen, ever the nurturing soul, offered her bits of succulent fruit and creamy cheese, providing nourishment for both body and soul. Meanwhile, Sadie tended to the bath, ensuring that the water remained at the perfect temperature, adding more as it threatened to spill over the sides. Eventually bringing her a fresh clean pair of clothing to change into.
By her side, Abigail sat with a comforting presence, her skilled hands kneading away the tension from Kate's shoulders and palms. The warmth of their collective care enveloped Kate, soothing her weary soul in ways she had never imagined.
As she surrendered to the comforting embrace of the bath and the love of her companions, Kate felt a swell of emotion rising within her. Overwhelmed by a mixture of love and exhaustion, she could no longer contain the flood of tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Hot droplets mingled with the bathwater, forming a poignant symphony of release. Her sniffling hiccups echoing into the night.
They held her close, offering silent comfort and understanding as she allowed herself to be vulnerable in their presence. Their actions showed no judgment for the state she was in.
Abigail tenderly tucked Kate's head against her chest, her fingers tracing soothing circles on her cheek as if she were comforting a crying child. "It's okay, Kate. We're all here for you," she whispered softly, the warmth of her embrace a comforting balm to her shattered spirit.
Kate sniffled, her voice quivering with emotion as she struggled to articulate her overwhelming grief. "Christ," she choked out between sobs, "I've barely graced his life. I just–I can't–I thought I had more time with him." Her heartache was palpable, the ache of longing for the man she had grown to cherish threatening to consume her.
Karen's voice broke through the heavy tension, her words carrying a mixture of tenderness and determination. "Arthur won't go down without a fight, sweetpea," she reassured Kate, "but you need to look out for yourself too."
From behind her, Tilly's gentle voice joined the chorus of support, her hands working magic as she massaged Kate's scalp with a tender touch. "You can't take on all these burdens by yourself, Kate," she urged softly.
Abigail echoed their sentiments, her voice filled with unwavering solidarity. "Anything you need, you've got us girls. Just say the word, and we'll be there," she promised.
As Kate nodded in silent acknowledgment, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirled within her soul, painting the canvas of her heart with hues of gratitude and awe. In that moment, she realized she was not just an individual navigating the tumultuous seas of life, but a cherished member of a sisterhood, bound together by threads of resilience and unwavering love.
Each tear that traced its path down her cheek was a testament to the profound impact these women had made on her life, transforming her solitary journey into a tapestry of shared experiences and dreams. With them, she found solace in the embrace of kindred spirits, a sanctuary where her fears were met with understanding and her joys amplified by celebration. They were the pillars of strength that held her aloft, the guiding stars that illuminated her path through the darkest of nights. And in their warm embrace, Kate discovered a sense of belonging, a home within the hearts of her newfound sisters, where she was cherished, accepted, and loved.
Kate had found family once again, and they had become her fortress.
As Kate whispered amidst the tide of tears, her voice trembled like the flickering candlelight around them. Each word carried the weight of a soul laid bare, grappling with emotions too vast to contain. "Thank you," she confessed softly, her words barely audible above the rustle of water and fabric, "I don't know how to say it. Arthur he– I just... I..." Her voice trailed off into the night, lost in the labyrinth of her thoughts as exhaustion cloaked her in its tender embrace. With each passing moment, she felt herself surrendering to the warmth of their love and care, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of her mind.
Mary-Beth's voice, filled with gentle understanding, saw the depth of her heart. "You love him, Kate," she murmured, her words laden with shared experiences and whispered confidences. Kate's nod was accompanied by a choked sob, her cheeks flushed with the heat of her emotions. Once more, the girls gathered around her, their arms forming a protective cocoon against the harsh realities of their existence.
"But what kind of woman loves a man she barely knows? I may never know if he even feels the same," Kate lamented, tinged with doubt and longing.
In that moment, the air seemed to shimmer with unspoken truths as the girls exchanged knowing glances. They had witnessed the subtle nuances of Arthur's heart, the tender gestures and lingering gazes that spoke volumes of his affection for Kate. Though shrouded in the shadows of their unfavorable situation, his feelings were as undeniable as the stars that adorned the night sky. All he needed was time, and perhaps a gentle nudge, to unveil the depths of his love for the woman who had captured his heart.
Tilly's soft giggle cut through the heavy air, a beacon of light in the midst of Kate's swirling doubts. "You and Arthur, my oh my. You two are like a match made in heaven," she chimed, her voice dancing with warmth. Drawn from her reverie, she could hear the smile in Tilly's words.
"Really?" Kate's voice trembled with uncertainty, her heart hanging on the edge of Tilly's response. The other girls exchanged cheeky grins, their eyes sparkling with mischief as if they were engaged in the usual camp gossip that takes place during their shared chores.
"If I were none the wiser I’d say your souls were meant to find each other," Karen interjected, her fingers delicately plucking a piece of fruit from the tray Kate had abandoned.
Abigail, ever the beacon of reassurance, enveloped Kate's shoulders in a comforting embrace. "Love waits for no one, Kate. It has no rhyme or reason, it comes when it comes," she whispered.
As Kate nodded, her vision blurred by tears she couldn't contain, Sadie's strong hands enveloped hers with a tenderness that belied her fierce exterior. Kneeling before her with unwavering sincerity, Sadie met Kate's gaze with an unspoken understanding born of shared loss and unwavering resilience.
"I understand what it's like to lose a husband, Kate," she began softly, her words drawing from the depths of sorrow. "That fear of losing someone you love, it can weigh heavy on your heart for a long time." A silent understanding passing between them. "But you can't let that fear chain you down," she continued, her tone urging Kate to consider her own well-being. "You've got to rise above the waves, put yourself first to stay afloat. Or else you’ll drown in that fear."
As Kate felt the weight of Sadie's words sink in, she was overcome with a sense of gratitude for the support surrounding her. Abigail stepped forward, eyes brimming with admiration. "You're the strongest woman we know, Kate," she said with a warm smile. "But even the strongest need time to rest."
With gentle hands and loving care, the girls helped Kate dress in fresh clothes, their actions speaking volumes. As she settled into the cozy embrace of the transformed wagon, now a sanctuary of comfort, Kate felt a wave of tranquility wash over her.
With a whispered "thank you" to her companions, Kate allowed herself to surrender to the embrace of sleep. In the warmth of their support and the quiet comfort of the unlikely bedroom, she found peace, knowing that she was not alone in her journey. And as she drifted into slumber, she silently hoped that Arthur also felt the love and support of his makeshift family.
━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━
Kate slept through two moons, rising with the dawn of the third day. She felt like a new woman, rejuvenated and ready to tackle the challenges ahead. The girl's kind gesture had filled her with an undeniable surge of gratitude and strength. She knew Arthur was in good hands, and together, they would see him through his recovery.
Rising from her cozy makeshift bedroom in the back of the storage wagon, Kate stretched her limbs with a satisfied groan, feeling every muscle come alive. She stepped out into the fresh morning air, the camp bustling with the start of a new day. The sun cast a golden hue over Clemens Point, and the familiar sounds of morning chatter and clinking pots filled the air.
Making her way to the chuck wagon, she was greeted warmly by Mr. Pearson, who looked up from his preparations and smiled. "Well, look who's finally up and about! You look refreshed, Kate. Like your usual self."
Kate returned the smile, her heart lightened by his words. "Thanks, Pearson. I feel much better."
Pearson wiped his hands on a rag and approached her. "I was thinking of heading into Rhodes later to get some ingredients for a soup. It would be easier on Arthur’s stomach and help him keep down food so he can recover his strength."
Kate nodded appreciatively, touched by his thoughtfulness. "That's a great idea. Thank you. It's good to know everyone cares about his well-being."
As she savored a hearty breakfast, Kate realized it wasn't just the girls who were looking out for Arthur. The entire camp shared the burden of his recovery. Pearson's gesture struck a chord in her, reminding her of the importance of community and the support that surrounded them.
With newfound energy, she decided to make some house calls to the other members, expressing her gratitude and checking in on their needs. She was determined to give back to those who had shown her such kindness.
While the women normally took care of the chores, Kate knew the rest of the gang had stepped up in Arthur’s absence. She finished her meal with a sense of purpose, ready to contribute in any way she could. Rising from her seat at the table, she made her way to greet her mare, Lorena. She had been neglecting her faithful companion, only tending to her in fleeting moments when she could steal away from her duties.
As she neared the hitching station, a tender sight met her eyes. Lorena’s familiar black coat lay next to another horse, Belle, whose brilliant white contrasted sharply with Lorena's midnight sheen. The two horses were comfortably sprawled in the grass together, nuzzling their heads in a display of equine affection. The scene warmed Kate’s heart, momentarily lifting the weight of her worries.
Approaching them, she was suddenly interrupted by a wavering voice calling from beyond the treeline. "I-I wouldn’t get too close to them!" A moment later, Kieran stepped into view, visibly relaxing when he saw her. "Oh, it’s just you."
Kate smiled warmly, appreciating the sight of the skittish young man. "Morning, Kieran," she greeted. Raising a curious eyebrow, she asked, "Is something the matter with them?" referring to his earlier warning.
"N-no! Nothin’s wrong," Kieran stammered, scratching his neck nervously. "It’s just, um—your mare, Lorena. She don’t really like when anyone gets too close to Belle," he explained, his voice trailing off. "She’s become real protective of her since, um, you know." Kieran looked away, a guilty expression crossing his face.
Kate’s eyes softened as she regarded the two horses. Lorena’s protectiveness over Belle mirrored her own feelings toward Arthur.
Kate recalled how Kieran had come to join the gang, once a reluctant member of Colm’s crew. His past affiliation with the O'Driscolls had initially cast a shadow of doubt over him, but over time, he had proved himself loyal and trustworthy. Nodding in understanding, she approached the horses cautiously. Lorena, recognizing her rider, whinnied in excitement, while Belle's ears perked up with curiosity.
“I’ve missed you girls,” Kate cooed, bending down to scratch their snouts affectionately. As she ran her hands over Belle, she noticed the horse's wounds had been carefully stitched and tended to. “You did this?” she asked, turning to look at Kieran, who stood awkwardly nearby.
He nodded, shuffling his feet. “I did the best I could. She’s still a little skittish about getting the saddle on, but she should recover fine.”
Kate beamed at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. Arthur would be immensely thankful for Kieran’s care, she was sure of it. “Thank you, Kieran. Really, you’ve been a huge help. I don’t know how I can repay your kindness.”
Kieran shrugged modestly, brushing off her gratitude as a faint blush colored his cheeks. “No need for that, Kate. Just glad I could do something useful.”
“I’m serious, I would be lost without my girl. Arthur too. I’m really grateful for your help.” Kate urged.
A wide smile tugged at Kieran's lips as he looked down bashfully. "Oh, s’nothing. I just really love horses. I’d do it for any of ’em," he said, gesturing to where the other horses were idly grazing.
Feeling a new sense of confidence, he joined Kate on the grass, running his hand along Lorena’s strong neck. "You know, I tried singing to her."
Kate chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? How’d that go?" she asked, her grin cheeky.
Kieran raised his brows in amusement. "Oh, she loved it so much she nearly bit my ear off!" He laughed, the sound rich and genuine. Kate couldn't help but join him, their laughter mingling with the gentle rustle of the trees.
As their laughter subsided, Kate found herself reflecting on Kieran's presence in the camp. She had never had much of an opportunity to get to know him, but she was finding him to be quite pleasant. A pang of guilt struck her heart as she recalled how some of the other members, especially the guys, had treated him with suspicion and disdain.
"I took the hint after that," Kieran added, shaking his head with a chuckle.
Kate's smile softened. "Well, sounds like you've done a great job with them, Kieran. They look happy and healthy. Arthur’s gonna be real happy when he sees how well you’ve taken care of Belle."
Kieran's eyes lit up at her praise. "Thanks, Kate. That means a lot. I just want to be useful, y’know?"
Kate nodded, understanding all too well the desire to prove oneself. "You are useful, Kieran. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. We all have our roles to play, and you’ve found yours."
A moment of comfortable silence passed between them as they groomed the horses. The simple act of brushing the horses' coats brought a sense of normalcy and peace to Kate's heart. The rhythmic motions, the gentle rustling of the leaves, and the occasional snort from Lorena and Belle created a tranquil atmosphere.
Kieran suddenly faced her with a hesitant expression. “Kate, I-I’m sorry for what happened to Arthur,” he squeaked, his voice shaky despite his earnest apology.
Kate’s expression softened as she looked at him. “S’not your fault, Kieran. You got nothing to apologize for.”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, s’just… Colm, he’s a nasty man. Scares the piss outta me for sure. I’m terrified he’s gonna find me one day, and Arthur he’s—” Kieran hesitated, searching for the right words. “He’s lucky to be alive. I’m honestly shocked Colm let him live.”
The gravity of his words sank into Kate, a cold shiver running down her spine. She had never met Colm, but after what he did to Arthur, their feud had become personal to her as well. They had tried to take someone from her, and she had vowed long ago to never let anyone make her feel so powerless again.
“I’m sure Colm will get what's coming to him,” she said gravely, her gaze distant and hard.
Kieran scoffed, shaking his head. “That man is like a cockroach. Every time you think he’s dead, he ain’t. And somehow he always comes back with more men. And he will come back.”
A heavy silence enveloped them, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the breathy whine of the horses. Kieran kept his focus trained on the horses, his hands moving methodically through their manes. After a moment, he spoke again, his tone serious and low. “Colm don’t care what Arthur means to you, Kate. If you were wise, you’d keep your head down and out of the crossfire. 'Cause he’ll kill you too and won’t think twice about it.”
Kate swallowed hard, the weight of his warning pressing on her. She understood the danger, but the thought of hiding away while others fought for their lives felt unbearable. Micah’s words hung heavy in her heart ���Arthur will do whatever Dutch asks of him’. As much as she despised the greasy blue-eyed snake, she couldn’t help but feel his words held some truth. She glanced at Kieran, his face etched with genuine concern, and gave a resolute nod.
“I hear you, Kieran,” she said softly.
Kate bid Kieran farewell with a gentle smile and a grateful nod. She watched him for a moment as he continued to tend to the horses, his quiet dedication a testament to his loyalty. With a sigh, she turned and made her way across the camp towards Dutch’s tent. Each step felt heavy, laden with the weight of the confrontation she knew was coming.
Dutch's tent stood at the heart of the camp, its presence grand and imposing. As she approached, she felt a mixture of determination and apprehension. Dutch had always been a commanding figure, his charisma and vision drawing people to him like moths to a flame. But beneath his charm, Kate sensed a deep responsibility that he sometimes seemed to neglect. She felt that Dutch bore some responsibility for Arthur’s condition, and he had not even so much as glanced in his direction nor asked about his recovery. It made Kate’s blood boil, the facade of brotherhood and family that he so often preached about. But was never a man of his words.
She stopped outside the entrance, taking a deep breath to steady herself. The flap of the tent was slightly ajar, and she could hear Dutch inside, muttering to himself as he pored over maps and plans. Steeling her nerves, Kate stepped inside. Slightly surprised to see he was sitting alone, Molly must be occupied elsewhere.
“Dutch,” she called softly, her voice firm but respectful.
Dutch looked up, surprise flickering across his features before he masked it with a charming smile. “Kate, my dear. What brings you here?”
She met his gaze steadily, refusing to be swayed by his easy charm. “I need to talk to you about Arthur.” As frustrated as she was, she dared not to challenge his command.
Dutch’s expression shifted slightly, the charm dimming as he registered the seriousness in her voice. “Arthur? Worry not. I’ve already got a plan to get back at Colm. We’ll show the O’Driscoll’s who’s in charge ‘round here.”
Kate shook her head, frustration bubbling beneath her calm exterior. “You know that’s not what I mean Dutch. He needs to see you, now.” Her words came out with a sharp bite.
Dutch leaned back in his chair, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. “Kate, you have to understand. Everything I do, I do for the gang. Arthur knows that. He understands the bigger picture.”
Her patience waning, Kate took a step closer, her eyes flashing with determination. “I don’t care about the bigger picture. Arthur is fighting for his life. He needs you by his side. Not plans, not strategies. He needs you.” Kate emphasized her words, straining to get her point across without insulting him.
A heavy silence filled the tent as Dutch stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. He looked away, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he struggled to maintain his composure.
“Kate, you have to trust that I’m doing what’s best for all of us,” he said, his voice softer but still laced with stubbornness. “I had a plan to get Arthur back–”
“Enough about the plans!” Kate shouted, her voice echoing through the tent. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Dutch's eyes widened in surprise, but his hard gaze never left hers. At that moment, Kate realized it wasn’t about the money, nor the family Dutch claimed to have created. It was about control.
Dutch always had to be the one in control, dishing out orders, calling all the shots. Kate knew, deep down, there was a part of Dutch that truly cared for Arthur. But his disappearance meant little to nothing to him; he had bigger plans, different goals on his agenda. Now that Arthur was back, Dutch seemed confident he had regained his throne, as if Arthur's torture were nothing but a minor setback in his grand scheme.
The realization made Kate seethe. Dutch treated Arthur like a soldier, cannon fodder in his relentless pursuit of power and influence. His indifference to Arthur’s suffering was a betrayal of the brotherhood he so often preached about.
“Don’t you get it?” Kate's voice was raw with emotion. “You talk about family and loyalty, but where is that now? You say you make all these grand sacrifices for the gang, but where is your sympathy for the sacrifice Arthur made?” Her voice boomed, and though she knew she was losing composure, she couldn't hold back.
Dutch's eyes softened slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Kate, it was a miscalculation. I had no idea that—”
Kate cut him off, stepping closer with an accusatory finger, like a mother scolding a child. “You should count yourself lucky it didn’t cost him his life. He may never use his arm again, did you know that? His ankle was nearly shattered. It’ll be a miracle if he can even ride.”
Her worries and fears bubbled to the surface, and she poured every ounce of frustration onto Dutch, heedless of the consequences. “He ain’t gonna be the same, Dutch. And I’m real worried because you haven't shown a care in the world. Like he’s just some retired workhorse.”
Dutch's gaze hardened again, but he rose from his seat, his posture stiff. “No, no, of course not,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Arthur is... Arthur is more than that.”
Kate's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she continued, her voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “Arthur thinks highly of you, Dutch. He looks up to you, always has. And now he needs you more than ever. He’s lying in that bed, fighting for his life, and he needs to know you’re there for him.”
Dutch swallowed thickly, his expression grave as he nodded silently. “Alright, I'll go to him,” he said, his voice carrying a weight of solemn determination. With a final, meaningful glance at Kate, he bid her farewell, his footsteps heavy as he left the tent.
As Dutch's departure left Kate alone with her frustrations, she couldn't help but feel a weight being lifted from her shoulders. Though uncertainty lingered, she found solace in the knowledge that her words had struck a chord with Dutch. For the first time, she dared to hope that perhaps things could change between them. That Arthur can be the kind of man he wanted to be, despite the changes in himself that lie ahead.
~~~
A/N: My lord, I wrote way too much. That last section with Kieran and Dutch was added last minute because I forgot about the horses and then that reminded me of Dutch and I was like AHH! So much tooth rotting fluff coming up next. Also lots of healing and tender moments. Things between Kate and Arthur are finally beginning to pick up pace. I’m sorry for making y’all wait so long…sometimes I have to remind myself this is a slow burn.
#arthur morgan#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#ao3 fanfic#rdr2 fanfic#arthur morgan x original female character#arthur morgan x reader#red dead fandom#ao3#red dead redemption community#arthur morgan rdr2#arthur morgan x oc#hurt/comfort#lots of angst#healing#rdr2 community#rdr2 dutch#dutch van der linde#charles smith#orginal character#oc x canon#ao3fic#ao3 link#ao3 writer
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I love that newer star trek series are exploring Spock's past, I do- I love Micheal and Spock, I love snw hinting at Sybok, I love them exploring Amanda and Sarek and their relationship with Spock- I love all that!
But!
I wish they'd also explore Kirk's backstory a bit more?? Because it's incredibly complex and it shapes his character in so many ways??
James Tiberius Kirk is a famine survivor, he spent his teenage years on a colony called Tarsus IV during a food crisis, where the governor, Kodos, believed in eugenics and tried to save a portion of his colony by killing the four thousand colonists he deemed least desirable or able to survive. He witnessed their execution at 15 years old.
And even in TOS we CAN see episodes where he struggles with survivor's guilt, and a lot of it! I think paramount is really missing an opportunity to explore that aspect of Kirk, because it's so damn important to so many people that he is a famine survivor!
And I've seen fanfiction handle his past so SO well, which makes me think that if a bunch of people writing on ao3 can do a perfect job of explaining in a story how that affects his life, so can the writers of snw or whatever star trek series may come that will finally touch the subject of Tarsus
Thank you for reading my little rant about Kirk's past<3
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That’s so valid about Owen. “I’m gonna go annoy my kids now”
And there was something so squishy about the 3 of them being a lil family unit now 🥹
I'm sure whoever you are, dear sweet nonny, you threw this in here knowing I would likely meta on about it.
And I've been thinking about the end scenes nearly all day.
I'm notoriously interested in Owen as a character. He's a facinating character who, like his son, has had his life scarred by loss. Owen's whole raison d'etre is saving his brother. It's why saving that one little girl from drowning sent him into a life focused on saving others. Then he lost his entire firehouse in 9/11, and slowly lost other survivors of 9/11 to cancer and mental health disorders.
Then, he has to bring his son back from the dead and moves him to Texas in an attempt to save his life and restart, all while diagnosed with cancer. We lose Tim Rosewater which sets Owen into deep levels of depression and guilt, because he'll never be able to keep the promise that everyone who starts a shift goes home at the end of it.
Gwyn is in town, and they're still in love and he's working on making it work. They're gonna have a baby and Owen has a redo. He's got a chance to do it RIGHT this time. Because Owen's fatal flaw is always believing if things had been different, if he had been better, if he'd beena moment sooner: maybe he could have fixed things. He had a whole speech to that effect in last night's episode, where he figured if he'd known about 9/11 ahead of time that he could have prevented his whole team from dying.
Then the baby's not his and Gwyn leaves and whatever Owen managed to cobble together of his mental health for Gwyn and teh baby disipates and there's a lot of very classic PTSD/depressive/anxiety things that come up in Owen.
And then we lose Gwyn which is devestating to everyone but Owen soldiers on for TK, but he's...not doing well, at all. He finally gets his ass to therapy and even though we see him make some progress he's still keeping TK at a distance. Mostly because TK's doing well and Owen CANT be Captain Save a Ho for TK in these moments. He does crop up (usually) when TK's struggling, but only when there's something TO DO.
This episode marked a change.
Owen, in talking with O'Brien, who is giving a speech pretty reminicent of Owen's own speeches, about how he made a promise and he didn't keep it because look at this awful thing that happened, and Owen manages to give solid reasoning to be like "Look, he's alive and his son's alive and that's something."
And then it's like the lightbulb goes off in Owen's brain as O'Brien takes off after his great nephew - that Owen is indeed alive, and his son is also alive, and that's something. He may not have saved everyone but he saved TK.
Then, Owen goes and picks up food (which is really one of Carlos and TK's main love langauges, is feeding people - TK does it with takeout because he shouldn't be in the kitchen) and brings it over. But he doesn't just pick up any take out, he picks up the chinese food that TK introduced Gwyn to that they used to eat as a family.
I take this to be significant in multiple ways:
One, the Gwyneth Morgan of it all. Owen picked something that was a family thing and brought it over. Which is a very significant thing to do.
Two, it's one of the few times that food is involved and Owen doesn't mention the healthy/unhealthy nature of the food. Look, I could probably write a whole disertation on why Owen Strand, who has survived 21 1/2 years post 9/11 is obsessed with his health, but nearly every interaction with food, Owen has a coment about it. He doesn't make a single comment about this round of chinese food. I lied, he doesn't mention it in 3.08 either. But that's in the wake of grief, and maybe here Owen's still living in it.
Three, ordering chinese is very clearly TK's comfort meal. Look, a lot of us who are neurospicy joke about TK being neurospicy. And when you are neurospicy, there are certain foods that are..."safe" or an instant "yes" all the time. And we default to them often. I know when I'm struggling when I'm like "It's a comfort food day." (I have a rotation) but it eliminates decision fatigue and the need to emotionally regulate if it's not exactly what you wanted. Chinese food has a connection to Gwyn, and comfort and it comes up a lot when TK's stressed. (Even in 3.03, when Carlos doesn't come home, TK ordered chinese for them)
And then Owen does something he hasn't done...at all...since TK moved out (maybe they did when they moved into Owen's house and I don't know where they had chinese in 3.08) but Owen shows up at their place to share a meal with them.
And it's significant because TK and Carlos have invited him over for many meals between seasons 2 and 3, and Owen never accepts. Or, in the case of 2.11, Owen accepts and then goes off to catch an arsonist instead, which could be his hero complex but could also be a general avoidance of things that are uncomfortable for Owen, like TK growing up and not needing Owen anymore.
For as much as Owen has been an absent father for various parts of TK's life, because of his PTSD and trauma and general *waves hands* Owenness, Owen is a loving dad who would do just about anything for his son. We know this, we've watched him do it. But Carlos is also a competent control freak who Owen trusts implicitly with TK's life on numerous occasions. I do believe there's a big part of Owen's psyche that doesn't know what to do if he's not NEEDED.
But at the end of 4.06, he shows up, with chinese food, which is not needed because TK and Carlos already made a beautiful dinner and are looking very handsome, but he comes in and tells TK that he's proud of him, again. And you know, not trying to blow people up is a very low bar, but you know, TK clears it. And then they stay and have dinner, and Owen inserts himself in his son's life, not because TK needs him, but because Owen WANTS to be there, and that's such a drastic change for these two.
I love that Carlos and TK bring him in. Look, we could punish Owen for his mistakes and transgressions, but that's never been who TK is and this is his last living biological parent (Enzo forever) and TK loves him. And Carlos loves TK and respects Owen and wants them to have a good relationship.
And I cannot wait for Owen to "do what he does best" (owen's words) and be a pain in their asses about this wedding.
#911 lone star spoilers#owen strand#owen strand meta#tk strand#the strands#911 lone star#911 lone star 4.06#911 lone star meta#doublel27 talks#anon ask#anon reply
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While I see people drawing Right Robot a lot (or at least, considering the context of the images, who I can assume to be Right Robot), I don't often see people talking about his position in the game post canon- hypothetically reunited with Prism or otherwise... I think about him and his experiences a lot for a character who only showed up two, technically three times. And a lot of the times I wonder how the ordeal of the third game affected him... how KBOOM- Zor- affected him post waking up from being low on power...
I wonder if he has survivor's guilt. Out of all the robots Prism made, he was the only one to survive... Because he was in the right place at the right time. He went to sleep missing the others, but assuming them to be okay, to waking up to find... he's the only one out of all of them left. If he had been anywhere else- if he had left the mines too late to dodge the explosion, if Phoenix hadn't been adept enough to cut his power and stop him from frying his core, he wouldn't have woken up at all...
... The only reason he even confronted Phoenix was because he drove the truck. And... Well... He always drove the truck. Even if Left Robot really wanted a turn, and he knew that. All the robots knew that... But he selfishly decided to drive the truck anyways. And now Left Robot is dead, and he never got the chance to apologize, or give him a turn driving, or say goodbye...
And there's the fact of the matter to consider that the robots probably don't have a very thorough understanding of death. They know they want to kill the Phoenix, but how in the world are they supposed to process something that they don't believe will ever happen to them? They don't have a fear of death specifically because they're comfortable in the fact that they have backups (which may have been why it took them so long to actually start flying away when they fell prey to the KBOOM practice launch).
Imagine going to sleep thinking you and your siblings are immortal, and waking up to hear that you're the only one out of all of them that survived. And that you didn't have to survive. Struggling to put together the fact that you'll never see the other robots again... Even if they're rebuilt (an impossible feat, considering Prism's mindset and lack of resources), they're not going to be the same... Their personalities and life experiences are lost to time. It's just him now... Him and Prism, if they can be reunited again.
Essentially what I'm saying is if there's a robot therapist that we can get him in touch with or something?? I think that'd be great
#ieytd#robutler#<- feel really bad tagging it as that when im not. actively talking abt robutler specifically ABHKFD#but there's no better tag for the robots as a whole.... sorrys#i think him and prism should go to family therapy.... should i tag prism in this too#i........ think i will. i think i'll do this#roxana prism#anyways they need to go to family therapy so they can hopefully heal. or come close to it. i KNOW that bobot has trauma dude.#ieytd3 spoilers
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Overdose awareness day was yesterday.. for those who didn’t know, I was addicted to OxyContin, heroin, and then fentanyl for about 3-4 years. I got clean in December and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It was the sickest I have ever been in my life, and lasted for months. To give you an idea, I did enough to kill probably 10 people who have no tolerance every hour of every day. Towards the end, I did it just to not get horribly ill. There were many many times that I did a line and then passed out and fell over and went unconscious for several minutes. I would wake up on the ground minutes later confused about why I was on the ground. I overdosed a LOT and never really even acknowledged it until I got clean. I could have died on any given day. And the saddest part is that I knew that and acknowledged it and even welcomed it. I truly did not care if I lived or died at that point. In my life I’ve lost too many people to overdoses and sometimes I feel a bad survivors guilt and a confusion as to why I survived so many times and others didn’t :( but I believe that I am meant to be here.
Anyways, if you are going to be using substances, please be safe. Please test your drugs before using them. You never know what is in these drugs off the street and it is worth it to test it. If you can access it, please keep Narcan on your person and also in your car, you never know when you may need it and it could save a life. When using, please remember that you can always do more but you cannot do less. Do small amounts and add more as needed if you really need to. If you are using deadly drugs, please don’t do it alone. Also, please take into account any mental health issues you struggle with and do not do things such as psychedelics that could make these problems much worse. From my own experience, doing drugs does not help. It is a temporary gratification, not a lasting happiness. It puts you in a place in which you feel stuck and unable to move forward. I have been using since the age of 14 (10 years) and it has done nothing but made things worse for me and my physical/mental health issues. Let yourself feel your emotions naturally instead of blocking them out or bottling them up.
https://harmreduction.org
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The Haunting - Masterlist
My blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI 🔞 Don't reposed my work anywhere.
Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader
Series Summary: It’s been a few months ever since your boyfriend, Billy Hargrove, died in the battle of Starcourt Mall. You’re still struggling to come to terms with his death, when weird things start happening in your house - almost as if you’re being haunted. Against your better judgement, you get the growing feeling that it’s Billy, and that he’s trying to tell you something, but you cannot figure out what. And then the Vecna attacks start happening, and you and your friends are hurled back into an adventure that seems closely tied to the weird activities in your house, to Billy, and above all, the cursed town of Hawkins, Indiana.
Warnings: A lot of grief (especially in the first few chapters), angst and heavy survivor’s guilt. Some spooky stuff, but no outright horror. Mentions of nightmares and past trauma. Fluff and a lot of hurt/comfort. Swearing. Implication of an us against the world type of relationship.
Overall, this story features heavier topics, please bear that in mind before reading, but it will also, definitely, have a happy ending!
Also, as an additional disclaimer, this story does not follow all of the events and timelines of season 3 and 4. Yet it will contain spoilers for both.
As I am still writing parts of the series, the warnings will be updated accordingly and may be subjected to change.
A/N: This idea has been stuck in my mind for ages now! Initially, I planned for this story to be released for Halloween but, uh, looks like that worked out great!
Anyway, I really wanted to capture a certain eerie atmosphere in this story, and you can find some of the visual inspirations I’ve used for it here, as well as a playlist, which you can find on Spotify here.
I've also decided to start doing a taglist, so if you want to get tagged in anything I write, you can fill out this form, or let me know in a comment or something <3
Read this story on AO3 here.
Chapter I - I See You In Everyone
Chapter II - coming soon
#billy hargrove#billy hargrove x reader#billy hargrove fanfiction#billy hargrove imagine#billy hargrove x you#billy hargrove fluff
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On "consensual incest"
PT: On "consensual incest" END PT
I know I said this wouldn't be an education account, but as this affected me personally and is something other anti-radqueers struggle to argue against, I decided to briefly explain why "consensual incest" is a lie and how it's almost always harmful.
Let's start this out by explaining that, when you're being hurt, you often don't notice it. Any abuse or grooming victim can tell you that when you're currently being abused, you usually don't recognize it. Even if you do recognize that something is wrong, you convince yourself that it is either normal/it'll get better soon or it's entirely your fault. An abuser rarely ever directly states "I'm abusing you" (and when they do, it's often a sarcastic joke made to make the victim think they're imagining it).
When you're a minor being abused by a family member who lives with you, it is nearly impossible to leave. Because of this, your brain tries to convince you that everything is fine because you have no other option besides staying. On top of this, abusers often follow up abuse with love, gifts, and apologies, pretending that they're going to change and that it actually wasn't that bad. This further manipulates the victim into believing everything is actually just fine - and when you can't physically leave your abuser, your brain is already trying to latch onto anything to make it seem better.
People who support "consensual incest" are probably already skeptical of this because I keep talking about abuse - however, there have been many, many studies that incestual relationships badly affect your mental health and traumatize you.
According to this study in 1983, incest victims are much more prone to drug and alcohol abuse, depression, and intense guilt, and are also at an increased risk of marital problems and abusing their children. It also states that victims will usually have PTSD, which will worsen if they don't receive help.
In this study from 1992, victims of incest were shown to have much higher rates of anxiety, depression, phobias, PTSD, and alcohol addiction.
In this article from 2018, it states that survivors of incest are more likely to report feeling depressed and psychologically damaged than survivors of other types of sexual abuse. They are also more likely to be shamed and shunned when they try to go to others for help.
There are many, many more studies and articles explaining the same thing. If you google "stories from survivors of incest", you can find many stories from people who went through this type of abuse.
You can say that everything is actually fine and you're in a happy, healthy relationship, but as I explained above, it may seem like that, but it is often not the case. If you believe that your partner is an amazing person and would never do that to you: your partner is most likely lying to you. You are probably experiencing love bombing - where an abuser tries to act all sorry and loving to keep their victim trapped in the relationship.
Many victims of incest report that they convinced themselves everything was fine. Ex-radqueer victims (including myself) have, time and time again, talked about how they were encouraged to stay quiet about their abuse because it was "consensual" and they were only grossed out because it's "stigmatized".
I was manipulated by radqueers into pursuing a relationship with my sibling. My sibling and I have always been best friends, partially because we've both been through a lot of abuse and trauma from family members. Because of the abuse I went through, I felt incestual attraction towards my sibling as a trauma response. I was in the radqueer community at the time.
People in the radqueer community offered no help. All they did was tell me that I was an example of how people who went through incest-related trauma can still support and be in happy "consang" relationships. They told me to pursue a relationship with my sibling, because that was just what being radqueer was all about.
My sibling and I briefly dated for a few weeks. I was sent to a mental hospital due to several suicide attempts. While staying at the mental hospital, I realized how awful the community was, and I realized how badly being in an incestual relationship was affecting me. I'd tried to normalize and rationalize everything in my mind, I'd tried to see the best in everyone and do my research before supporting things, but the radqueer and "pro-consang" communities had taken advantage of that and used it to turn me into a living proship fanfic.
We both consented. We both desired a relationship. Neither of us intentionally abused each other. Despite that, we both have trauma from it and may never recover.
I'm in therapy now, and I'm recovering, so don't worry about me. Worry about the young, traumatized kids in the radqueer community who are being manipulated into accepting abuse as "consensual" and "normal". After everything I've typed up here, I think it's as clear as can be that nothing about incest can ever be consensual.
#consang#pro consang#consanguinamory#consanguinity#consang safe#<- tagging for reach#anti consang#anti radqueer#former radqueer#ex radqueer#tw incest#tw discourse#tw csa#tw abuse#tw grooming#tw child abuse
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i feel so guilty for coping in unhealthy ways. it seems like i can only stay sane by sexualizing my trauma
I’m happy you reached out. Sooo many cult survivors struggle with guilt, and it’s often such a difficult burden to carry. Now, I understand reassurances are hit-or-miss. Guilt–especially when brought on by abuse–can be . . . weedy. Pervasive and deep-rooted. It takes time to shake self-blame.
Still, I want you to know that:
1. Both consciously and otherwise, you’re working extremely hard to manage trauma. A lot of energy goes toward it, in fact. This constant, sometimes overwhelming process may not manifest how you desire. Be patient with yourself. Be kind to yourself. Recognition is an amazing first step.
2. You’re not wrong for coping this way. You’re not a bad person, either. There is absolutely nothing to feel ashamed of.
3. Only your abuser(s) is/are at fault. No thoughts, feelings, or fantasies will ever justify what you endured.
And for the record, I’m glad you’re staying sane! Zero judgment here. An unhealthy coping mechanism can turn destructive fast, though, so here are some of my favorite resources:
Writing to Reckon – workshops (plus more recently, a journal!) for writing through cult abuse.
#igotout – share your story, read about other survivors, and find empowerment. So many great books, podcasts, documentaries, and hotlines are recommended here!
People Leave Cults – individual consultation as well as support groups (including a minority exclusive one, if interested).
ICSA (International Cultic Studies Association) Arts – some truly astounding work (visual, literary, and musical) from a diverse range of survivors. You can even submit your own!
I really hope you find peace, anon. Please take care of yourself, and feel free to message me again whenever.
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No idea if youve seen it yet but thoughts/opinions on the new surv Matthias that is coming? Do you like his desing or the trailer and what do you think his backstory may be?
If there's one thing I can do in this world, it's run my mouth. Of course I have thoughts ;)
Firstly, the puppet is creepy...but I am glad this survivor leans into the horror aspect of the game so much! I've watched the trailer a few times and I have three ideas about the relationship between Matthias and his puppet. But first, a few general notes from the trailer.
First, Mattias's father was a vintriloquist. He uses the line "a puppet without strings," but we do in fact see the puppet being manipulated by strings at the beginning of the video. "No strings" is relevant only to a shot of the puppet sitting on his father's lap.
Second, I think Matthias likely has schizophrenia. Most of the idv characters have a mental disorder of some sort, and this would fit him for several reasons. The first being that auditory hallucinations are common, and Matthias's father being a vintriloquist may exacerbate his struggles with this. A man who specializes in throwing his voice onto other subjects, with a son who hears voices? His mentioning of "a nightmare" may hint at certain delusions as well, which i'll get into more below. Additionally, though this may be a stretch, people with schizophrenia are sometimes characterized with "unusual movement" which may be nodded at by the shot of Matthias being jerked around by puppet strings.
Third, there was an actual fire at some point (that Matthias either set or took the blame for.) There's a LOT of fire in the trailer, and it's not just symbolic. Near the end we can see part of a newpaper at the bottom of the screen, with the headlines "Major...Accident" and "The Puppet...Collapse" with an image of a building up in flames.
Now for the ideas about the puppet itself.
Matthias believes he is the puppet. With this one, Matthias, for some reason or another, feels replaced by his father's ventriloquism puppet. To cope, he develops a delusion that the puppet is the REAL him, and his human body is the puppet he's controlling. In this theory, I think Matthias damaged his own eye as a form of self-mutilation. Children tend to treat their dolls in a way that mirrors their sense of self-worth. Matthias developed such low self worth that he needed to become the more valued puppet to survive. As a result, the puppet is kept in pristine "health," and Matthias treats his real body--the "doll"--accordingly. With this one, the fire may have occurred before Matthias had fully accepted this delusion and was still fighting against projecting himself onto the puppet. OR, he set the fire to "rescue himself" from a life on the stage. The ending shots with the puppet and Matthias switching places in the box represent him switching which body he identifies as his real one.
The puppet is a surrogate for a deceased sibling/twin. This part hinges on the fact that the doll looks like Matthias but has a different name, "Louis." In this case, Matthias may have caused the fire when he was much younger. His sibling did not survive, and maybe his parents didn't either, and so he's stuck with survivor's guilt and a delusion about keeping his sibling "alive" through this puppet. For this theory, any camera shots of Matthias with two eyes is actually meant to be his sibling (Matthias lost an eye in the accident), and the shot of him setting fire to the puppet is just symbolism for Matthias accidentally causing the death of his sibling when they were younger. This would also explain the symbolism of the puppet being kept in a coffin-like box, and Matthias being in one at the end--he feels like he should be the one who died. The dates flashing at the end of the trailer may be specifically chosen because they have some significance to his sibling, rather than at random to show the passing of time.
Matthias believes the puppet is evil/possessed and is in some way forcing him to do bad things. (This one would likely make him a nod to Chucky in Child's Play, as he was recently added to Dead by Daylight.) The trailer really tries to set it up that Matthias is being tormented by this living doll in some way, but as far as the actual canon goes, netease is rarely that upfront with eldrich and paranormal events. So I think it's unlikely that the puppet is actually alive or conscious in anyway, and instead this is all caused by Matthias's own mind. In this case, he has auditory hallucinations of the puppet speaking to him. His hallucinations are reinforced by his father's ventriloquism, so Matthias is even more vulnerable to the delusion that this puppet is conscious. Maybe he set the fire because it told him to, or because he wanted so desperately to be rid of the puppet that he didn't consider the method and the casualties it would result in. Either way, both he and the puppet survived, but only one of them was unscathed.
As far as his gameplay goes, it's hard to guess what he'll be able to do without being too close to Mechanic or Journalist. But I think it would be neat if he and the puppet existed on the map at the same time, with the exact same stats, but only one can be controlled at a time, similar to the mechanic's doll. BUT as a Hunter, they both look exactly the same, and you only know which one is the puppet when you chair them because it either falls apart or launches immediately. Maybe the puppet and Matthias have to stay within a certain range of one another too?
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I AM HOPPPPPPPPING ALONG, I SAW REQUESTS OPEN--
Okokokokok. May I have a oneshot in canonverse with Levi and reader - already in a relationship - where after an expedition the reader is struggling a lot. Like with low mood, anxiety or nightmares, and Levi is there to provide TLC? In his usual Levi way? Like with tea, soft physical gestures and-- just levi being soft in private with reader after an expedition?
no pressure !!!!! you know how much i love your oneshots! !!!!
Thank you so much for the request, @peace-for-levi! For more caretaking fluff, I have written some similar pieces here, here, and here ^^ I hope you enjoy ~ <3
Word count: 1500
Tags: levi x reader, sfw, canonverse, angst turned fluff, hurt-comfort, levi calls reader “princess”
Everyone had their own reactions to expeditions. Eren, of course, was angry as always. Mikasa would pine after him until he shooed her away, when she would then hole up in her room - knees hugged to her chest. Erwin was quick to head to the books, taking inventory of all that was lost, distracting him from the overwhelming guilt of overseeing it all. Hange buried themselves in their lab work, certain that if they could just make a breakthrough, they could prevent future tragedies. Everyone had their coping mechanisms. For the Scouts, they were as key to survival as any long-range formations or ODM maneuvers.
Still, all others believed that Levi remained immune to it all, that his prior upbringing in the underground had hardened him to the point of solidity. He had even volunteered himself and his squad to take on the most difficult task: alerting the families of those lost. His comrades took note that on those trying visits, he never once cried. He never cried.
Until you had started a relationship with him, you also bought into that assumption, but only when you started spending your nights in his bed did you see how deeply he was affected by tragedy. He never wanted to talk things out, but he would smoke a cigarette out his bedroom window. He never wanted to go for a run, but he would stay up and active - tossing and turning all night. On especially trying missions, the insomniac would be knocked out for entire stretches of days. Even though the failures kept him up at night, his body would take over, forcing him to sleep - building back those muscles and regaining the energy he had exhausted beyond the walls.
Tonight, unfortunately for you, was one of those nights.
You were selfless beyond belief. Too selfless for your own good, as Levi put it. Though, for as much as he encouraged you to look after yourself, that selflessness was what caught his attention and ultimately snared your partner. You loved Levi. You admired his leadership. However, you still stayed stubborn in your ways: refusing to ask for help even from the man who loved you more than life.
Off the brink of post-expedition nightmares - the titans, the screams, the terror - you were still quick to quell your instinctual need for safety. In the midst of reaching out to his figure, consideration stopped your movements. Moonlight on Levi’s skin revealed him to look so at peace. The even rise and fall of his breaths validated his calm. Survivor’s guilt, the bloodshed you had seen, were already weighing on you. If you were to wake Levi up from the first good sleep he had gotten all year, you were not sure you could bear it.
Such was what brought you here: in his living area, curled up on his recliner, bundled beneath a blanket and into a ball. Tears fell down your face, but your sobs were thwarted. The distant howls of wolves and winds were louder than any sound you made here. You were quiet on the outside, screaming on the inside. You had walked away from your comfort, but were yearning to rejoin him. If anyone were to come and ask if you were alright, you would vehemently nod even though the answer was no.
Back in the bedroom, Levi was also awake. Apparently you thought that deserting him would be the best for his rest, but the opposite was true. As soon as you departed, he could feel it. The mattress became uneven. The sheets lost their taut. Warmth had left his side, leaving him cold, empty, shivering - everything but content.
You jumped at his shadow, squealed at his approaching footsteps. Of course, Levi noticed your reaction, and of course, it pained him. He took a deep breath, a shaky exhale you could hear, and took solace knowing he would make you feel better soon.
“Levi?” You leaned forward in the rocker, wooden creaks a complement to your anxious tone, “You’re awake?”
Levi continued his approach. Silver eyes shone down to you in pity. His palm pet your head, smoothing the tangles flat. His low voice cascaded, “Can’t sleep when you’re like this.”
“Oh, I…” you swallowed, “I’m sor-”
“No.” Levi put his hand atop yours, fingers curled around your wrist, keeping you sound in his hold, “Don’t be.”
At his command, your eyes rose to meet his eye contact. Not angry, just concerned. Tired, but not of you. Bruises ravaged his body. Cold sweat caked his bangs. Yet still, you caught a spark of alert and adrenaline - anticipating the opportunity to aid your ailments. Levi squeezed your hand tighter, “Can I make you something?” Leaning down just a bit, “A midnight snack? Some tea?”
“... Chamomile?”
A slight smile, “Chamomile.”
Levi gave another lingering pet, temporarily leaving your side, but not before reassuring you, “I’ll be right back.” The kitchen was just a handful of paces away. From there, you heard the drag of his drawer, the jostle of a box, and the strike of a match. Levi lit a candle for light, the stove for heat.
You closed your eyes, leaned back, and oscillated in your chair. Back and forth. Back and forth. Levi opened his cabinets, stepped on his tip toes, and unscrewed the canister to his most valued tea. To him, this was the least he could do. To you, he was moving mountains.
A rustic squeak, Levi started his faucet, filling the pot just an inch beneath the brim. A metal clang, resting it atop the flame. Only steam, no boil, Levi propped his head in his hand, his hand on the counter, “You know, I’ve been thinking…” a silent yawn, “maybe we should take some personal days.”
“Personal days?”
“Exactly.” He blinked, “That’s why we should use them.”
You giggled, What a cutie. Folding your hands together, “But where would we go?”
The kettle was just about to scream, Levi snatched it before it could, “Doesn’t matter,” he tipped the lid back and poured the water into two ceramic mugs, “just somewhere away from here.” Levi lifted his attention from the drinks to you. A wink so swift, you wondered if it was real or imagined, “You’ve earned it.”
Somehow, after your many years together, he still managed to make your heart race. Breathless, you reciprocated his affection, “You too, Captain.”
Whenever you whipped out his pet name, it always turned his ears red. Levi flicked his head to the side, letting his locks cover them. “Don’t tell me, after all this time, you’re just a kiss-ass subordinate?”
You tossed your hands in the air, palms open to him, “Guilty.” Instead of easing up, you doubled-down. Biting your lip, batting your eyelashes, “Besides, isn’t Captain Levi too important to go on vacation?”
A flicker in his eyes, “I’m sure Erwin and Hange can handle.” Levi used his muted, joking tone, “Maybe they can put the hot-head in the dungeon again, stick the other Ackerman down there to supervise, I bet she’d do a great job.”
Levi extinguished the stove and carried over the candlelit lantern. Two cups of tea - one sweetened, one unsweetened - both steaming hot, Levi balanced them on his trek back to you. “Two hands,” he warned, “it’s hot.”
You grinned wide, teeth shining. That smile of yours, Levi thought, he could tell this was working. “Hot like my boyfriend.”
Levi rolled his eyes and scoffed, but in its wake, you swore you caught a smirk, “You really are just a kiss-ass.”
Levi joined you on the chair. He sat upright, reclined. You rested atop him, legs slung over the armrest, arms hugged around his neck. Silently, the two of you sipped your tea. Words reserved, but sentiments spoken. Sturdy, he was here for you. Wrapped, you were tied to him. Levi had your happiness. You had that connection. With those promises, both of you began to lower your defenses, too tired to fight off the wave of 3 AM tire.
Fingers lazily threaded through his locks, “And what will we do on our days off?”
Levi nuzzled himself into your neck, your chest his favorite pillow, “Whatever you want, princess.”
Ten minutes. A half-hour. An hour. In the pitch black night, neither of you could keep track. For that length of time, you rattled off all the potential activities for your time away. For each one, Levi nodded, his Mhms increasingly sleepy. Eventually, you both had drifted off to sleep - that anticipated vacation leading the way of your dreams.
Those dreams in your future. Harsh nightmares in your past. Now, at last, and together, both of you could rest easy.
// masterlist //
#levi x reader#levi ackerman x reader#levi x you#levi ackerman x you#levi#levi ackerman#fluff#angst#2022#oneshot#request#anlian writes#my writing#alias's
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