#i also didn’t reread this so if it makes no sense don’t come for me

[serawritesthings]

WHERE THE DEERS REST, first part

Pairing | LowHonor!Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary | How can we do good when all we were raised to do is bad? A cruel fate, indeed. Yet when your past, and a certain outlaw, finds a way to set its claws in you once more, perhaps you'll soon find there is a way to change fate's design. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, smut, heavy description of violence and wounds, angsty Word Count | 22k A/N | Oh god, I'm so nervous about posting this. First of all, thank you SO much for the love you showed to Our Dear, Green Little Friend. It has completely warmed my heart that so many of you like it, and even though it's taken me very long to post my next fic, it was one of the key motivations for me to continue writing on it. So thank you very, very much! <3 Also, like I said earlier, I'm very nervous about posting this fic since it's very long and perhaps quite different than what I've written before, but I hope to god you like it! I haven't been in the best mindset when writing it since I've dealt with some stress both privately and at work. I will let you know that I will soon go through it once more and edit it slightly, but I felt like I had to get it out to you guys since I feel bad that I haven't posted in a while, and I'm honestly quite sick of rereading the story time and time again. Please let me know if there are any serious misspellings, and I'll fix it directly! Anyway, sorry for the long text, and I hope you like it!<3

For some, it might’ve seemed cowardly, yet you couldn’t bear to unravel some memories, for they hurt too deeply–wounded too far. However, the thought of letting them fade was somehow worse, and while you feared the pain they would surely bring when confronted, you hadn’t been forced to face them until now. So, it turned out to be quite the coincidence they would come to haunt you now that time seemed to be at a standstill; the world around you had never been this calm before.  

“Miss, would you mind taking these back?” A hearty voice broke your thoughts, speaking in a mumbling fashion as the loud sound of books hit the wooden table. Wading through the dust that floated around you that stirred from Eustace’s sudden motion, you found his ageing eyes gazing at you amusedly, chuckling at the sour expression that formed on your otherwise soft features. 

“I don’t mind,” you said, giving him a small smile that turned vicious once the heavy pile of books was cradled in your arms. “If you don’t mind taking a round with the whisk.” You didn’t get the chance to see the irked look on his face, disappearing quickly into the towering bookshelves. 

“Don’t forget to dust the higher places as well!” Chuckling warmly at the man’s miffed mumbling, you walked on carefully, making sure not to stumble on the ratty carpet as his grumbling grew distant.

The bickering that seemed constant when you conversed with the older man was by all means with no ill intent, more so done in jest. And, while your friendship might seem rather unusual, there was no doubt that his presence brought you an undeniable comfort in a world that had done you more wrong than right. Sure, it might sound dreary, but you recently concluded that you grew more and more content with the thought of staying here.

You loved how a sense of calm always seemed to rest over the building, the smell of old books filling your senses, although an ever-so-poignant whiff of hot steel and grease found its way in from the open window as the train chugged to a stop and steam billowed through the surrounding air. Sighing, you took the liberty of closing the window, the sharp whistle making you cringe as it brought you out of your solitude.

Eustace had taken you under his wing when the bearings of your life had become too heavy, giving you a roof over your head and warm food in your stomach. It made you wonder how sparse kind souls like his were in this world, never having met one quite like him. While your compromised situation originally had been the reason for his kindness, he had found your fascination and vast knowledge of books intriguing and, therefore, refused to take no for an answer when he asked you to start helping him around his bookstore. Yet, despite how much you appreciated it, you couldn’t flee from the unease that still hooked its claws in you when you pondered the reason you had ended up here in the first place, the tendrils of it creeping into the sanctuary of the bookshop like ivy upon ancient stone. Despite your dislike of it, you bore the weight of it every second, and although well hidden, you had become tethered to the memories that followed your past. 

Like shattered glass, memories pierced your heart with sharp edges at every twist and turn. Distant echoes of laughter that had long since faded into silence, the faces blurred by time yet etched into your very being passing before you as your pace slowed down, the wooden panels creaking something so terribly under your weight.

With a heavy sigh, you moved among the hundreds of books, fingers deftly tracing the spines as you sought their rightful place amongst their brethren. Arranging them on the shelves, you tried to distract yourself from your thoughts by humming quietly in the otherwise quiet room. The shop had been empty for quite some time now; the townsfolk’s interest in the subtle words on the pages dimmed in their struggle to survive their daily life—only pretentious men stepped inside at times who, by crook or hook, imagined they would leave a mark on this world with their clever words and supposed hierarchy in society. It lessened, though, as they went for bigger–more extraordinary–things than this muck of a town, wherever that might be.

Amidst the quiet rustle of pages and the soft creak of wood–and your less than favourable words, the air suddenly turned congeal, thick with a sudden tension that tickled your senses with its uncertainty. A chill coursed down your spine as you felt an ominous presence looming behind you, casting you in its shadow as the weight of something cold and unyielding pressed against the tender flesh of your temple. With a tremble, you froze, the books once held tightly against your chest cascading to the ground in a tumble.

Your heart was hammering against your chest, beating against your ribs like a caged bird as its frantic beat drowned out the world around you. You grew too fearful to move, the clicking sound of a gun daring you to resist. 

“Easy there, miss,” a gravelly voice spoke, vibrating dangerously in your ear as warm breaths turned cold on the bare skin of your neck. “No sudden moves, and I won’t have to hurt you.”

You remembered that voice, feeling it dance just beyond the reaches of your consciousness, its familiarity almost touchable. How could you not voice it when the name lingered on your tongue, teasing and beckoning you? There had to be a mistake; there was no other conclusion to be made, for if it happened to be someone you had known, they might be less agreeable than the common bypasser.

“What do you want?” you managed to whisper, voice barely above a breath.

“Money, jewels. Whatever you got,” the voice replied, words heavy with a certain kind of roughness only a man holding a gun to a woman’s head could possess. “Just keep quiet and do as you’re told, and we’ll be on our way.”

Your mind raced in a jumbled mess of fear and uncertainty at the sudden intrusion you should have known was a high possibility in such a city as Blackwater. Yet, the thought only made your heart heavier against your chest, knowing all too well what kind of men hid in the darker corners of the alleyways. For one to threaten a woman in broad daylight, though, seemed very daring yet not an ounce less terrifying.

Summoning every bit of courage you possessed, you tilted your head to glimpse at the man pushing his head against the side of your face, opposite where the cold metal touched your temple dauntingly. As you did, you met the eyes of the man who held your fate in his hands–and in that fleeting moment, as your gazes met, you saw something flicker behind the hardened exterior of the outlaw.

Recognition dawned like a bolt of lightning. What stared back at you was not the face of a stranger but the familiar features of a man you had once known—a man whose presence had once held the promise of escape amidst the terrible deeds that clouded your life. Arthur Morgan, that’s who was standing behind you. His name echoed in your mind like from a long-forgotten dream, memories hidden so well you could barely remember them. 

Two broken souls, trying to find what others seemed to have handed to them on a silver platter: warmth and solace, the comforting thought of finding a home–somewhere to belong. Yet, the relationship wasn’t made to be perfect, and in your despair, nothing good could’ve come from it. As many things go, it became too fragile. It couldn’t—didn’t—last, and what you once saw as a light beyond the heavy curtains of darkness was quickly swallowed up.

Instead of the kind ones you remember, dark, dangerous eyes stared into yours, the swirls of blue coated in a rich black that ran like coal through his acidic gaze. So harsh and cold were they, burning through yours as thick brows fell like a shield over the dark pools, hiding behind his squint and hostile snarl. Almost unrecognizable, he was seemingly both older and larger as the lines on his face were more defined and wrinkles on his nose nearly etched onto his face. 

As your fearful eyes stared into his stoic yet calculating ones, you felt your body shiver in fright, every bell of alarm that once sounded so clearly in your mind turning quiet, now only the clock ticking discernible as blood rushed in your ears like a flood. The gun cocked dangerously, dread creeping through you at the wordless threat when you stayed quiet for longer than he had the patience for.

 “You deaf?” His growling voice burned deep in his throat. A warm breath brushed against your cheek as he kept your gaze wholly, completely disregarding the unmistakable fear in your expression. 

“I-”

You stumbled over your words, voice thick before a gasp left you. Between the disbelief of seeing Arthur’s face once again, although more weathered than you remember, and the thought of having a gun pressed to your temple, there was not a single word you could utter that would seem sensible.

Suddenly, you were turned around, hands pushing you against the bookshelves in a hasty motion, never minding their grip on you. Your head craned as the gun now found your neck, trying desperately to get away from it but instead having it digging harder into your skin. 

“Now, are you going to do as I say?” You could feel the tendrils of disgust burn through you, face contorting as you twisted in his arms, proving futile against his leverage. 

“Nah, none of that. You hear me?” His grumbling could be heard from deep within his chest while his face soured, the sharp lines of his frown growing darker under the shadow of his hat. Tightening the grip he had on you, his arms wound themselves like vices around you, daring you to make another move. 

He was close now, his hot breath chilling the skin on your face as the smell of sweat and leather filled your senses–tears almost welled up in your eyes from the stinging feel of smoke emitted from his clothing. Every calm yet strained breath that left him was audible, contrasting heavily with your hectic breathing that filled the now-empty room. 

It was daunting yet all too familiar as memories clouded your mind of the same man who was now threatening your life. Did he even recognize you? Or was he too far gone? Had the devil set its claws so deep inside him that he couldn’t longer differentiate friend from foe? It would seem so, you concluded, gazing again at his hardened face, which only recognized a stranger before him–a puppet to get what he desired the most.

“We ain’t got much.” Your voice strained against your throat, thick with unshed tears that lingered in the corners of your eyes. All you got in return was a faint squint of his eyes, gazing at you cautiously as he looked behind him calmly before returning his eyes to you. 

“Do as I say.” Not a word left you, and whether it was from stubbornness or fear, you couldn’t be sure, but the look you were given made sure to convey that crossing him would not end well for you. 

That was until it changed. Arthur’s features softened after he observed your face, running his eyes over your eyes and the slope of your nose until they reached your lips, quickly averting his gaze as he turned his head away momentarily. Did he remember you, you wondered, finding no other explanation to make sense.

It was a long time ago, too long for you to consider the shadow of a man standing before you a friend, yet you had never remembered him to be quite so harsh. So, brutal, perhaps? You had undoubtedly missed a few chapters, but the years were far apart, and time had a funny way of doing its worst to those who deserved it the least. Like wet paint, it spreads, leaching onto good people like a virus–just like bad fosters bad, and good fosters good. 

“Please…” You pleaded with him, fright seeping like syrup into your shaking voice, pathetic and childish. “I-”

There was no time to finish your sentence. The loud thundering of hooves broke through the room’s tension, audible even through the closed window. Loud calls could be heard, as well as swear words further into the building that you did not recognize as Eustace. Worry filled you when you realized Arthur hadn’t come alone in his business to rob you blind, and now you were fearful that your companion might be in an even worse predicament.

The frown on his face deepened, the hold on his gun softening just enough as he pushed you hastily back towards the bookshelf, your legs weakening underneath you as you fell towards the ground. In long strides, he marched towards the window, hiding behind the wall as he peered out, almost blending into the shadows as the light from outside shone brightly. You could see people running past it, in too much of a hurry to peer inside as the shouts grew louder.

“Arthur!” A voice called out, recognizable as the rich timbre echoed through the corridor, gravelly yet smooth. “We have to leave!” As the last syllable left his mouth, you jerked as the first sound of a gun going off could be heard, hands quick to cover your ears as the noise punched a hole in your gut. “Now, Arthur!” 

Everything after that became a blur, your whole body growing rigid as the world turned into chaos. Bullets could be heard going off left and right, rather like a thunderstorm than a gunfight echoing outside the room that now held you in prison. Your body stiffened, muscles tensing as you were brought back to the sounds that filled you with dread, memories flooding you, both unbidden and unwelcome. 

Faces twisted in fear, the acrid smell of burning flesh, rising smoke, and gunpowder–sounds of screams echoing in your ears. You wished for it to cease, for the images to disappear, searching every corner of the room for an escape, somewhere you could go to to rid yourself of the horrid thoughts.

Momentarily, amidst your glancing around in stress, you found a pair of calculating eyes boring into yours, seemingly undecided as they stayed planted beside the window. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, the staccato rhythm of gunfire echoing through the building, mingling with shouts of panic and the sound of breaking glass.

Arthur’s gaze was fixated intensely on you, and a sense of uneasiness settled when you realized. It was heavy, and your heart raced as your eyes stayed plastered to the others–the urgent shouts from outside pierced through the silence as danger lurked outside the room’s walls. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel as if he was searching for something in the depths of your soul, piercing you with a scrutiny that left you barer than if he were to strip you of all your clothes and examine you naked. You found yourself unable to look away, moved by the indescribable way he didn’t seem to be either.

“Arthur!” 

Barreling through the door in a flash of binges breaking loose and dust clouding your vision, a pair of men fell roughly onto the ground a few meters before you, blood seeping through their clothes like a rich, red paint. Splattering on the ground, it almost reached your clothes as bullets rained after them, shooting holes in the walls the few times it missed their targets. 

Frantic eyes searched the now corpses in front of you, expecting to see Eustace's body among them. Yet, you found none–and hadn’t you been too preoccupied with the currants of relief coursing through you, you would have seen the young faces of the poor boys who had found their doom that day only because their perpetrators wanted to fill their pockets.

It didn’t seem that Arthur paid any mind to the mess that transpired in front of your very eyes, more so, still focusing on you like you were the only one in the room. Visibly distressed, it didn’t seem to deter him, his fingers flexing as his gaze burned dangerously under the shadow of his hat. 

That was until he suddenly tore his attention from you in annoyance, seemingly finding the dead bodies in front of you a menace, a simple block in the road. That was until a faint grunt seemed to leave one of them, a grunt filled with pain as frantic eyes flickered around while the rest of his limbs appeared paralyzed, only able to stare at the roof.

Rounding him immediately, Arthur stepped around the man, walking with his dirty boots and rattling spurs into the blood that loitered the floor as the sound of the thick, wet fluid reverberated in your ears. Without a single word, he gave you one last glance. You stayed on the floor, clutching your shoulders with your hands as he bent over the man and stared him unapologetically in the eyes–the only sound after being the loud bang of his gun. 

The sight was gruesome, and to think a man could do something like that without a blink of an eye, you considered even more cruel. You had seen your fair share of malice and anger, anger that turned even the kindest of men into herds of both sheep and wolves, meaning you couldn’t possibly be surprised. Yet, it reminded you too terribly of a time you thought you now would get the chance to lay behind you, never more having to stare these horrible men in the eyes any longer but instead keep them closed.

And you did keep your eyes closed this time, waiting for the moment pain would fill your chest. Yet, it didn’t come since only silence followed, and when you opened them again, the room was devoid of any life except your own; Arthur now only seemed to have been a figment of your imagination if it weren't for the poor victim, his blue eyes staring lifelessly into yous, wide open and terrified, seemingly having turned to you in the last second, hoping you would save him from his terrible fate.

—

Some would say you were of the quiet sort, choosing the words that fell from your lips carefully, both pondering and cautious. It came from a life where those assets were vital, a simple way to keep your tongue in check and do what you had to survive –which you would like to say wasn’t easy when it felt like your mind ran a thousand miles a second, never resting and finding it troublesome to make sense of the world that unveiled itself before you. 

With your mother gone, you found yourself thrust into a world of uncertainty, your father's callousness only serving to worsen the fate you seemed to have been handed as he appeared indifferent to your loss, attention consumed by the demands of those around him. But alas, he was affected too, and you had come to learn that different people react differently to whatever hardships they come by–and those who don’t respond at all seem to be the ones that eventually act the harshest.

That was at least how your father had acted; you perceived his anger as something only a daughter could experience from a father. It was brutal and sudden, only appearing after a silence that rang like sirens in your ears–then grappling and choking. What could possess a man to harbor such anger, you couldn’t say, and while you knew he had it worse when he was little, you wondered if the thought of you only being a child ever crossed his mind.

You should be filled with anger and resentment, so much it could consume your life, fuel every action, and affect every choice you make. You should’ve been immersed in sadness, crying until your voice gave out and tears dried up, yet you couldn’t. They were inside of you; you could feel them leaking into your chest, and as you stared into your own dry eyes, you could only see the malice of your father reflected in them–the malice that seemed to be reflected in most eyes these days.

 It didn’t matter if it was the ladies who sometimes passed by the dusty town of Blackwater or the lone man begging for coins in the corner of some run-down store. Deep-seated anger was in them all, rooted so gravely it felt like the air blackened when you stepped outside. Like a curse, it seeped into the very bones and festered there. 

Why? Perhaps that’s just how humans work, always needing something to prove that the inhabited anger they felt had a cause, always searching to direct it to someone else less deserving of it. So, perhaps there wasn’t anyone to blame for the whole thing—maybe it was just the nature of humans–just like happiness or sadness is a natural way of expressing oneself. It seemed more manageable for you to grapple with it when thought of that way, for it became more of a fact than somewhere to cast your blame. 

That’s why, when the bodies being dragged out the door left their track of dark, red blood, you could only gaze at Eustace, who spoke to one of the officers, refusing to look at the bloodshed around you. It turned out that your old man had been fine, answering in irritation while he told the sheriff that the outlaws probably hadn’t found him big enough of a threat as they searched every cabinet and shelf, taking no care to be careful of the things around them as it tumbled in heaps to the floor.

You couldn’t be sure if you felt relieved or not to have been further away from Eustace than you had been, wondering how your fate would have been decided if the lot of them had found you instead. Perhaps it had been your saving grace to see that the man from your past reached you first, but you couldn’t possibly say. Or maybe your saving grace was the officers who reached you just in time, for there was no telling what Arthur would have done with you had they not arrived when they did.

When you thought about it,  he’d always been unpredictable. While his face was familiar to you, he was unrecognizable in many ways. His movements had been calculating and menacing, and his eyes looked right through you as if it didn’t matter who was standing before him. The only thought reflected in his eyes was the hope of shiny gold and glittering diamonds. But there was also greed–greed and hunger.

You could tell, for you had seen it before. There was a time when that was all you saw, and for a long while, you wondered how far a man could go to satiate his needs–if greed only could grow, worsen like a drug. The more you got, the more you needed, the high never enough, and the thought of gaining more pleasurable to the point of doing anything to receive it.

 However, it was never a look you had seen coming from Arthur when you’d known him, as he’d been more prone to emit a childish want for justice and righteousness, pride, and a strong sense of doing what was right though the act was considered wrong. But it was a long time ago, and you realized that your vision might be clouded by a young girl's naivety that the world was a good place–that people could be wholeheartedly good.

“Dear girl.” Your thoughts were broken by Eustace’s low, seemingly now more careful voice, walking over to where you stood amidst the rushing forms of lawmen. “Are you alright?”

Were you? It was hard to tell, so you had no straight answer to give him. It was too crowded, and since you had nowhere to gather yourself, you weren’t in the right mind to devise a sensible response. So, instead, you answered in a way that would get you the least amount of questions–even though it might have been considered lying.

“Oh, I’m alright, Eustace; they never got the chance to find me.” Giving him a tight-knit smile, you touched his arm, grateful for his concern. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” 

You glanced up at him, finding his sharp eyes doubtful. You should have known. He never took kindly to lying and had an incredible knack for noticing when someone did. It would indeed be your doom one day–and many others, no doubt. 

“No, I suspect they didn’t find the old man much of a threat.” 

“Well, I’m glad they didn’t.” His eyes softened, and he heard your words despite your mumbling. Your gaze stayed stuck on his shoulder, deep in thought. 

Even though the danger had passed for some time, it still felt like your heart resided somewhere deep in your stomach. Your thoughts and the looming dread–the slightly metallic smell of blood filling your nose—were heavy. It didn’t help that Arthur’s face became more prone to showing up after that incident, his grim expression wearing a sharp nose and piercing eyes cutting through the yellowed paper plastered on the city walls, surrounded by his unlawful friends that didn’t look any less menacingly. 

5000§. That was the price for a man taking what he deemed his own, countless murders and robberies on his hands, blood heavy on his mind, and dollars flooding his pockets. It didn’t help your case that the poor boy selling newspapers in the corner outside the bookstore had pipes to last for days, reminding both you and the townspeople of their latest misfortune of having a gang hiding in the shadows. 

Since trouble always seemed to find you, there wasn’t much for you to chastise yourself with, all too familiar with the thought of being at the deep end of one conflict or another. It was laughable, really, that one person could be doomed with such a case of bad luck and an increasing magnetism towards people who fought with bloodied knuckles for power and status. But, in the end, maybe the weak belonged to the strong—just like flies sought feed from the skin of rotting corpses to consume the waste left by those who always strived forward, no matter their intentions or values. Perhaps it was an unspoken law of nature, an inevitable dance between vulnerability and dominance, where the fragile were snared in its horrid embrace. 

What could you possibly do against nature’s firm grip on the world? It wasn’t as if it was an imagined force you could call upon when needed—it was just how it was, and no amount of will or strength could make that fact undeniable. You came to terms with that realization long ago, but the gnawing feeling in your chest was more stomach-twisting than anything you had felt before. What you were scared of, you possibly couldn’t say. Perhaps it was the leftover tremors that still coursed through you or the dampening feeling of nausea that persisted, yet somehow, it was something else, a faint sense that the danger wasn’t over yet.

Could Arthur be the one causing the cold sweat to run down your back even though the room was boiling from the heat outside, making you twist and turn in your bed as you prayed that the wind that sometimes passed through the slightly open window would carry an ounce of coldness so you could feel anything but the enclosing heat that now seemed to warm you to the bone? Your eyes closed tight as if you pressed them hard enough; you would fool your mind that you were asleep, the gnawing voices in your head ceasing so you could, perhaps, finally rest.

There was no doubt about it—you were frightened. It was unusual, this feeling, since while you’ve had many instances in your life where fear was the key factor, after some time, your body—or mind perhaps— grows familiar with it, so familiar that it washes away with the wind. Some fare well when scared, responding automatically as if their minds grow clearer when faced with the means to survive. In others, which is the category where you fit in, grow blank, like a heavy fog settles, keeping you from sensing left and right. A perfect prey, indeed.

And a perfect prey you were, the open window inviting anyone who happened to pass by, and in excellent condition for someone to climb the two stories to reach the wooden frames and then slink into the room with their grubby fingers and glinting eyes—stupid girl, to think so carelessly as if the streets were safe and people were kind. 

Clothes rustling into the quiet night could be heard if you focused your ears hard enough, the floorboards creaking under the soles of muddy boots and clinking metal. Whoever could it be, one might wonder—and you grew paralyzed as the thought hit you, only able to stare at the tapestry that covered the wall in intricate patterns. The room’s darkness lets you hear every slight sound that would otherwise blend into the background, your senses heightened.

Perhaps the perpetrator thought you were asleep, your dreams already taking you to a land where you were dancing among clouds, not a single thought of the fright that would soon take over and turn the clouds so dark you couldn’t differentiate them from reality. Then, you thought, maybe you had been asleep as the sounds disappeared, all too familiar with waking up along the frantic beating of your heart, wide awake as horrible nightmares chased you till morning.

Your laboured breaths were the only thing that could be heard now, only a fool mistaking them for sleeping as you tried to steady your erratic heart. But you would soon find that the cold chill that ran up your clothed arm wasn’t the wind from the window caressing you but the hand of something more foul, riddled with scars that seemed insignificant in contrast to its owner’s sin.

Creaking under you, the bed groaned from the sudden weight, bedsheets rustling slightly as you closed your eyes tightly shut. The figure loomed over you, its large hand carefully moving further down your arm. You wondered, perhaps, if you stayed still long enough, you would be left alone or maybe dismissed as dead if you held your breath long enough. The thought seemed more appealing when you felt the cold skin burn through the garment, the smell of smoke so strong it felt as if you took a drag of the tobacco and let it scald its way to your lungs. It was vile, and in the presence of the sweat that bit its way through your nose, your eyes watered, your body begging to escape the horrid stench.

That was until the pressure lessened, and the room stayed quiet for a while, your heart beating so heavily it felt like someone held it right up to your ear, breath shaking with every small intake. But then, as the silence continued, you felt a warmth spread slowly down your arms, the substance thick like syrup as it made its way through the cotton of your shirt, spreading til the white fabric darkened to a deep, unsettling red. The scent of iron filled the air, subtle yet unmistakable as the shirt clung tighter to the skin beneath. 

You shot your squinting eyes wide open just in time to feel a heavy weight falling over you, unmoving and grim as what you now saw was a man gasping for air. Your first instinct was to scream, but you didn’t get the chance as a hand roughly placed its palm against your mouth, leaving the terrified noise that escaped you muted while your eyes flickered around wildly, trying to make sense of what was going on.

“Quiet now,” a rough voice spoke, removing its hand from your mouth when you became quiet, too shocked when recognizing who it was that spoke. It only grew heavier when your eyes got more familiar with your surroundings, the heaviness that lingered over you being in the form of a man, the warmth you had felt turning out to be from the deep cut across his neck, blood seeping like a waterfall from the paling flesh.

Another scream left you as you struggled to get the limbs away, squirming and trashing as you pushed the hand off you in the process as you begged for the suffocating smell of iron and sweat to disappear. When it did, you crawled backward, body bathing in the slick, blood-soaked sheets. Pushed to the floor, the man was left in a lifeless heap, eyes staring vacantly into the distance.

Those eyes–the sharp nose and squinting eyes—seemed familiar, reminding you of someone you couldn’t quite put your finger on, not while the room remained dark. However, you didn’t have the chance to ponder any longer as more harshly than before, a hand covered your mouth as you remained pushed up against the bedframe, coddling your hands to your chest.

Wet eyes stared into a pair of dark pools, once blue eyes now appearing black in the obscurity of the night as its facial features bathed in the light from the moon. Even still, it was hard to make out who it was, but his voice alone was enough for the realization to set in, now undoubtedly aware of who held your mouth with one hand and the shining blade of a knife in the other. 

“Keep screaming, and you’ll damn us both.” A familiar, grumbling voice spoke out, hushed, yet the warning of danger lay smoldering underneath the surface. 

“Arthur?” Your voice was hoarse when you spoke, riddled with shock when you realized that the man you had feared was in your bedroom, unwelcomed and unwished for. 

“Wh-” You didn’t get to finish your question before he ripped his hand from you, casting you a dark look as he stepped off the bed, the floorboards groaning awfully at the sudden weight.

“Quiet.” There was no need for him to say anything else as you complied, the rattling anger in his voice only fueling his hasty, rigid movements as he bent down, checking the pulse of the man bleeding out on the floor. 

The sight was gruesome, blank eyes shining in the moonlight as if they were somewhere far away, lost in a dream. A dream, you pondered amidst your shock. Yes, this could all very well be a dream—a bad dream, perhaps, yet the thought of it maybe not being real brought you a sense of comfort. But how could it be? It felt too real, and you could vividly recall every moment as it played out in front of you, feel every touch, and smell every scent.

Lost in a haze, you stared down at your body, the thick, red blood more visible as your eyes got used to your surroundings. Closing your eyes, you cast away the faint memories that grew bolder as the smell of iron crawled up your nose, almost gagged by the sight and the imposing smell that grew stuffier, fuller somehow.

Your eyes shot open, watching the dead body heaved on Arthur’s shoulder being thrown over the window sill, the impact noticeable with a loud thud. You could only stare at him as he leaned over, looking around quickly before turning towards you again, nodding his head towards the window. 

If you had been in the right mindset and not scared witless, you would have laughed at his blatant naivety for thinking you would dive head-first into the darkness of the night, with him no less. There might have been a time when you knew him, but that wasn’t the case anymore—the dark eyes cowering behind his hat were unrecognizable, and the unkind tone of his voice was entirely someone else’s. 

“Shit,” you heard him mumble when you made no motion to move from your spot, only cradling your arms tighter around you. Rubbing his eyes in stress, he glanced at you again, almost scoffing at you when you gave him a blank stare.

“Come on then, I ain’t got all day.” As you made no further movement that would give him the impression you were complying, he sighed and, with heavy steps, stalked towards you as the bed rattled slightly from his movements. You only held out your hands when he grabbed your waist roughly, fingers betraying you as they trembled wildly against his chest.

“What are you doing, Arthur?” His movements halted, his leatherbound hands stopped around your middle, and his eyes twitched when he heard his name being spoken. Along the ridges of harshness, you could see a faint confusion lingering in his stare, blatantly staring deep into your eyes unabashedly as he lifted you from the bed. 

“Wha—” You pushed against his chest, and while it didn’t succeed in making him back off, it only made his brows furrow deeper.

“Listen here,” he said darkly, grabbing your upper arms and shaking you slightly. “Do as I say—follow my every word, and you won’t die.” 

You stopped for a moment, bewildered by his words. You couldn’t make sense of it—none of it. Questions were brewing in your mind, but you couldn’t find the words to speak them, couldn’t find the words to scream for help. It might seem funny to be scared of a man you once knew to have a good heart, but you have known men your whole life, and it never takes much for them to see right from wrong and still do the wrong thing.

“What’s going on, Arthur?” you breathed shakily, glancing at his hands, which gripped your arms when they tightened. It was hard to imagine that they had once been so gentle, the thought seemingly miles away as you returned your gaze to his squinting eyes, so close now that you could feel his breath against your skin. “Why are you here?”

Your voice had grown quiet as the question hung loose in the air. Shuddering, the wind flowed wildly into the room, banging the windows against the wall.

“Come on,” Arthur curtly said as he pushed you in front of him. You quickly realized you could hear footsteps from the stairs behind the shut door—Eustace, you thought, a cold chill running up your back as you gasped. 

When you stopped before Arthur in protest, he only gave you a mean glance when you gazed back in concern, telling you all you needed to know. Disbelief was written on your face when you realized his cruelty, feeling it reverberating in your head a few moments before you could make sense of it. 

“Don’t-” 

“Then do as I say.” He whispered harshly, pushing you forward to make you move, and this time, your feet strode hastily toward the window. Two stories high, the room was, and before you could glance back in protest, Arthur pushed past you quickly, landing with a heavy thud against the dusty ground, clouds of it forming as it danced in the falling glow from the lamppost. 

The street below was bathing in darkness, the sullied street more daunting from this high up and saddening when Eustace’s voice could be heard echoing through the hallway, his worried tone reverberating through the walls. It was hard to leave and listen to him calling out for you, yet you realized there wasn’t a choice for you now, and a big part of you refused to see him come to harm. If Arthur would’ve stayed true to his threat, that is.

You couldn’t say why you were so scared, having faced dangers more bone-chilling than this. But perhaps you feared to once more fall into the wrong arms, the arms of a man who reminded you of a past you’d rather lay behind you. But that might’ve always been the case for people who lived a hard life, feeling it better to put it to rest than reawaken it.

Without casting a glance behind you to see the shadow in the hallway flicker wildly as a stressed cane could be heard audibly hitting the wooden floor; you climbed over the window frame, the chipping paint sticking to your tightly gripping hands. It wasn’t until the trashing of air surrounded you that you fell into a pair of arms that immediately embraced you, hands gripping under your waist to ease your landing. 

Quickly, before his hand could linger, you backed away, relieved when you no longer felt the tight hold he had managed to capture you in. His gaze remained heavy on you, and you did your utmost to avoid him, letting your eyes falter, not daring to meet him. How he could act so carelessly, you couldn’t possibly justify, yet his presence alone made you take a few steps back.

His movements were harsh as he adverted his eyes, and you could see how his body was rigid and tense, as if he’d been bathing in ice-cold water. He glanced towards the window, walking towards you as he motioned you to turn around and walk through the streets until the building disappeared behind tons of others, his grip on your arm tight like he worried you would slip out his grasp—or attempt to. Most likely, you thought, knowing exactly what he would do if you tried when considering his earlier threat.

“Where are you taking me?” You applauded yourself for dampening the tremble in your voice when you spoke, somehow finding the simple thought mildly embarrassing while aware it would be entirely valid if you did. This time, you found yourself getting an answer to your question, and although harsh and hasty, it gave you reason to question its meaning. 

“Somewhere safe,” Arthur grumbled under his breath before pushing your back against the local general’s store wall, your figure hidden behind his large frame in the deserted alley. You made another attempt to question him further, only managing to open your mouth before the leather of his gloves covered it, hushing you as his eyes found yours, a threat lying deep within them. 

A few moments passed in silence, the brick wall against your back cold as the small stones pressed uncomfortably against your shoulder blades. Moving slightly, you turned your head to gaze out towards the street, finding Arthur’s hand turning your face back instantly, shaking his head.

It wasn’t long before loud footsteps could be heard through the streets, metal clanking and murmurs echoing as their shadows grew taller from the orange light of the lamppost.

“Be still,” Arthur whispered under his breath, the sound of his gun cocking slowly as if to make as little noise as possible. Stepping away from you, he motioned you to step further into the alley, where the darkness would almost swallow you whole. “Stay there until l come back, and keep quiet.”

You didn’t get the chance to follow his command, though; the sharp sound of a gun went off, the noise so bone-rattling in the quiet, sleeping town it likened to the sound of thunder—a thunder turning into a full-blown storm as it didn’t even take a millisecond before bullets rained through the air, shooting holes into walls and shattering surrounding windows. 

Your back found the brick wall again, Arthur’s back meeting your front as he shielded you with his body. Peeking from behind the building, the sound of his gun went off booming in your ear, his face growing even more grim, cursing under his breath as a bullet flew right past him. His weight pushed against yours when he once more took cover, taking the chance to reload as you gazed at the small cut on his neck where the bullet had grazed him—happy that it hadn’t been you.

Your hands turned pale as they gripped Arthur’s jacket, eyes screwing shut as the noise around you only grew nearer, each intake of breath shallow and rapid, as if the air in and of itself had turned hostile. Desperation clawed at your mind, begging you to slip away from the man holding you back and make a run for it, but you found that you couldn’t, damning yourself for staying still when all you wanted to do was get away.

Although warmth suddenly enveloped your hand, the rough leather and warm fingers wrapped around your sweaty ones. You opened your eyes, breathing erratically as you were once more met with the familiarity of Arthur’s jacket. As you glanced down, you caught a glimpse of his hand encasing you before the sight disappeared just as the feeling passed. You wondered if the hard, cold man in front of you had been the one to do it or if you’d imagined it.

With no more time to ponder, Arthur hastily stepped out on the streets, wildly looking around him with his gun raised as he turned his body in all directions. All dead, you presumed, as no more shots were being fired, yet you could hear more footsteps coming your way, alarmed voices shouting as doors slammed open in the distance. 

“Shit,” Arthur muttered, a loud whistle cutting through the air before he returned to you, casting a glance your way as you gazed worryingly towards the direction of the loud calls, stumbling towards Arthur, feeling like the ground was tilting beneath your feet. 

“What’s happening?”

“Law,” he stated, grasping your waist and hoisting you up what you discovered was his horse. The strong muscles flexed under your weight as you sat behind the saddle, and the chestnut coat softened under your fingers as you tried to find stability.

“Hold on,” Arthur said after heaving himself onto the saddle, casting a look backward when you took too long to follow his words, only setting off when your hands crawled tentatively around his waist, gripping the material under your hands firmly.

You wanted to ask him where he was taking you, but fear choked up your words and rattled your brain as you tried to comprehend your current predicament. So, instead, you held onto his jacket til your fingers turned a paler shade, closing your eyes as you wished that with it, you could disappear—perhaps wake up in your bed once more and feel the morning sun shine brightly upon you as it had done now for quite some time, instead of the cold, harsh air blowing against you, seeping through every garment you were wearing.

You had happily laid the unknown fate behind you when you found Eustace, not knowing the past from the present—not knowing what lay before you. As a child, it had been everything you’d known. And, being brought up always moving, you’d grown used to a stable home, a far-off dream, if even that, since you had never known that stability existed. Food on the table, clean clothes that didn’t reek of sweat and were stained with dirt, and clean water that would surely do you better than the burning alcohol you often got as a substitute for liquid. 

All in all, finding a home with Eustace had been a blessing, no matter how absurd your situation may have looked to others. Therefore, suddenly, having to leave made everything ten times worse—you didn’t want to go, and you cursed the man in front of you, cursing him for disrupting your peace, for taking you away for—well, you weren’t quite so sure yet. 

Although it itched inside you to ask him, you hadn’t missed the part where Arthur seemingly wasn’t the man you had once known. Therefore, you kept your mouth shut, not daring to speak a word while you gazed behind you as the city lights dimmed with time, buildings replaced with trees, and people with animals that scourged away into the woods surrounding the path when the clacking of hooves grew near. 

You rode for a long while in silence, and with every chance you got, you glanced behind you, expecting to see the sheriff’s men closing in on you despite Arthur’s brutal pace—to see the pistols aimed at you in a way you’d thought you’d laid behind you after all those years on the run. But no, no galloping horses followed you, only darkness engulfing your sight as you looked back, the only noise the huffing of the horse beneath you.

Night turned to day, and you never stopped to regain your breath, to make sense of your surroundings. It was consuming, yet you took the chance to feel the now brisk air of the morning caress your cheeks softly, smell the bracing dew and the carrying of fresh air before the heat would set in a few hours. For a long while, you’d forgotten how good it felt to be outside of the city map with no walls confining you, no bustling crowds jostling for space. Nature’s gentle, soothing sounds replaced the constant hum of urban life—machinery and voices. The rustling leaves, the chirping of birds, and the distant call of wildlife may have once done their best to soothe your rattled nerves, yet it didn’t ease now, and you found yourself only growing more nervous.

—

“We ain’t got no other choice but to stay here tonight,” Arthur said as the horse slowed to a trot, examining the area as he squinted against the sharp evening sun. “Reckon, we’ll be safe enough out here. If they ain’t following us, of course.”

A small sigh left you, almost letting a groan escape you as you moved slightly behind the saddle. Feeling the muscles ache deep within, you were unwilling to face a second longer seated atop the horse. You didn’t even register his last words and their hidden threat, trying to remind you what heap of danger you were in—as if you weren’t aware, as if he didn’t already make you more at edge.

As the horse finally stopped at a place Arthur found agreeable, you didn’t wait a second to glide down towards the ground, feeling your feet planted on firm ground, the grass underneath them heavenly as you stretched with your newly-found freedom. 

“Don’t run away,” Arthur muttered as his gaze stayed on you, warning laying deep in his voice.

“And where would I go?” Raising your arms, you gave him a frustrated look, not understanding how he would even make the assumption that you could, the landscape stretching on for miles with only vegetation and no roads as far as the eye could see, only lurking animals awaiting you with open mouths and greedy arms.

“I don’t know, just don’t do it,” he grumbled, sliding off the saddle before throwing you a blanket. As he crouched down, making you believe he was setting up a fire, you walked closer to him, carefully watching the guns on his back, like devil horns sprouting like bone from his shoulders.

“Arthur,” you began, hugging the blanket to your chest. “Will you tell me who those men were?” His mood was terrible, yet somehow, the words left you before you could stop them. There was, of course, still lingering anger at him inside of you, the underlying tones of sorrow that stung its way through you. Yet, you had to know—had to understand why he had turned his visit into a raging bloodbath and who that man was whose blood had dried up your clothes as the fabric had now grown thick and pasty.

“The law, I already told ya,” 

“I know that,” you sighed, trying again, finding it easier to look at him when his back was turned. “But the men before that, and the man in my bedroom….” you trailed off, recalling the horrid moment and the consuming smell of blood, the lifeless eyes once again staring straight through you, brows still furrowed while the eyes stayed wide open.

He halted slightly in his motions, casting a glance sideways yet not entirely looking at you as he rubbed his eyes. Sweat ran down his face as he lowered his hat to rid himself of the still-blazing sun, cursing under his breath at the damned warmth that almost felt torturous when the wind laid to rest.

“Jesse’s men,” he said, continuing his earlier action. Your stomach plunged, shock traveling through your body as you froze, wishing sincerely he’d said any name but that. 

“And the man in my be-”

“Jesse.”

“Oh.”

Backing slightly, you could feel your throat constricting when the familiar name left Arthur’s mouth. It had been a long time ago, yet now it seemed so near, almost too near, being able to grasp the memories that made your heart lurch and stomach turn, something waxy and cold lining your insides at the thought.

Although, with it being given more thought, wasn’t this just your luck? Had it not always been your luck? To find yourself amid everything terrible, of all that was rancid and chaotic—entangled in the embrace of men who, above all else, desired more, strove towards gaining what they deemed necessary. Because of this, there had been many instances where you had felt greed, the familiarity with currents so strong there was no other explanation than rendering yourself no better than others when it came to it. And, unfortunately, it was consistent, for it appeared in everyone—everywhere—whether consciously or not, there had been no way for you to unsee it. 

“But I don’t understand,” you said, your voice quiet as you spoke to yourself, gaze far off as you absentmindedly stared into thin air. “Jesse already killed Charlie. Why would he go after me, and now of all times? He couldn’t possibly be that greedy?” Silence followed, Arthur’s eyes finally meeting yours with reluctance, as if your question bothered him more than he wanted to let on. “Could he?”

“It ain’t—” he trailed off, eyes flickering as if pondering how best to form the words soon to be said. “Well,” he said more directly this time. “Death ain’t enough for some, I guess.”

As his words sunk in, Arthur avoided your gaze, the silence from you enough to tell him that he’d struck a chord in you with his admittance. Horrifying, yet how could it surprise you when you had faced the inner turmoil of men many times, knowing the ways of honor and respect they so desperately clung to? Although there was an underlying dread to his words—like someone had wrapped a bag over your lungs when you thought of what could’ve been—where you could’ve been if Arthur hadn’t been there that night.

When you were both smaller and much more naive than today, you’d seen the bullet that flew right through your father’s skull with both eyes by the hand of Jesse, wide open and undoubtedly too young to stand witness to such a thing—no less it being a parent. You’d been too little; you simply didn’t understand it, and while you can honestly say it didn’t impact you then, being too used to seeing things like that firsthand and not particularly close to your father, it plastered itself onto you like a stamp whether you liked it or not.

Charlie, your father, had grown too careless and brave to think himself above others, particularly Jesse. All in all, that didn’t sit right with him, and as your father went through the grief of losing your mother, growing both colder and meaner with time—an image of his former self—he didn’t have much to care for except the gluttony that grew more consistent as the years passed. Sometimes, you’d ponder if any man could be blamed for it, for it seemingly was engraved in our bones, perhaps a fundamental part of the human mind. 

You’d concluded you couldn’t cast that blame at your father when he tried to usurp Jesse, for then greed battled greed, and you had to choose which one was more deserving of understanding. Yet, you soon came to realize it didn’t matter who was more deserving, for power played a bigger part, and it didn’t care for either justice or discernment—only in which hands it could grow stronger, in which mind it could spread its dark tendrils until it grew satisfied. The only problem was that it never did, and you deemed it the downfall of many, both great and horrible men, those who deserved it and those who didn’t.

After that, you didn’t have much more to say, continuing the late evening in silence as your mind raced terribly after your conversation. You couldn’t help but stay unsurprised by Arthur’s theory, somewhere deep down knowing they probably did have much more in the plan for their leader’s revenge. Death, all in all, might not be so horrible after all when you’d imagine all the other vile and stomach-wrenching things one could do to deem their revenge agreeable—righteous. 

It was impossible to imagine yourself being the one to endure it. You almost felt lighthearted at the thought of men’s grabby hands and hungry eyes, conjuring up bone-chilling scenarios that would make any sane person’s face pale and skin gray. The slap of a harsh backside of someone’s palm was, of course, humiliating enough for you. Still, with time, it somehow felt less personal, as if the memory healed with the bruise, while someone infringed on the fleshier part of yourself, not quite humiliation, for it stretched farther than that—scarred deeper. Pure rot and filth would surely spread through your body and mind, growing until it became a part of you, your past, and your future. 

Your fright for Arthur did lessen as you pondered, growing thankful when you deemed his company much more preferable than the men who sought after you. It reminded you of a time he’d been the safest point in your life—perhaps the first since you laid in your mother’s arms, the warmth only a child could feel from a parent. Safe and undoubtedly free, his arms around you not encasing you—caging you in—but pushing you forward so you could feel the air of the wild blow through your hair, showing you there was more to life than death and violence, that there could be more to a man than his demons.

Of course, you had known what he was capable of—the brutality he wielded with his hands, the blood that tainted them, tainted him. In some deranged way, that thought had always made him even more comforting than he would be without it. It was what you’d known your whole life, and there was no hiding it. It drew you in, but never once had he made the slightest incantation of hurting you, and that’s what made you stay. 

God, you’d been so alike, you and Arthur, and your childhood likewise. It felt like he’d been explaining your life when he told you of his. It didn’t help, for it glued you together, and you wondered if it could even be undone, knowing the rip of the glue, if you ever did, would strip away both skin and bones—take so much from you you were unsure if it could ever heal again. To think it would be horrifying indeed, and in the end, it was; the bruising went so deep you’d wanted to dry-heave when you left, almost ripping your heart out with everything else as you pushed him away.

You wondered, the saddest smile almost showing on your lips, if he had realized how carefully he had handled you since you first laid eyes on him, thinking not of his threats and harsh demeanor but the thoughts behind his actions. Ever so thoughtful and very unbecoming of him, yet somehow entirely expected of his character. You lowered your head, letting your hair fall around you as you tried hiding how the corners of your lips suddenly turned into a frowning smile like you were in on a sad secret only you knew about. 

As you tried forcing your lips to maintain their straight appearance, you raised your eyes carefully after some time, observing Arthur through your lashes as he gazed into the fire. Leaning against an oak, he sought shade from the sun after providing you with something to eat. He seemed deep in thought as the flames caressed his face in the darkening evening, highlighting his sharp, harsh features. A heavy shadow cast over his eyes, hiding what thoughts lay behind them. 

He looked no doubt like a man to fear, with features just as deadly as he was, like the guns resting on his hips and the twitching of his fingers ready for even the slightest inclination of danger. It looked like he was sleeping, yet he was vibrating with tension, like his mind was resting without his body, as if it ran on auto, already aware of every danger that could occur upon you as if it was plastered in the back of his eyelids. 

You conclude that living the life he did would surely do that to a person. You’re not sure what he’s been through since you last saw him but deem it nothing good. Your eyes wandered over his face, gazing over the slightly suntanned skin, watching how the evening breeze made his roughly cut hair tickle his face. The trail of beard started to form, littering down to his neck, where a cluster of chest hair took over, disappearing invitingly into the unbuttoned part of his shirt.

Lingering over the bare skin that glistened with an inclination of sweat from the still humid air and fading sun, they followed over the expanse of his chest that stretched the fabric of his shirt, rising steadily in harmony with his breathing. The faint feeling of his skin under your fingertips ran through your mind, the slight memory so far away that only the feeling persisted. The sharp, musky smell of smoke was almost burning under your nostrils as the feeling persisted, coupled with a smoldering scent that was hard to word; you could nearly feel the warm skin underneath you—the faint sense of hair tickling your cheek. 

It calmed you to watch him, the slow breaths that left him making your eyes grow heavy as time ticked on, the chilling fog of night settling in, accompanied by the warmth of the fire you so desperately relied on. It wasn’t until you were at the brink of sleep a pair of darkened eyes met yours, bathing in the glow from the fire, that your eyes faltered, a scorching blush fighting its way up the skin of your chest till it covered your cheeks wholly—shit. It grew hotter, the air suddenly turning stuffed as embarrassment from your delirious, wandering eyes had been caught red-handed.

You could only stare at the ground in shame, the small pebbles suddenly turning interesting as your eyes stared in false interest. You blamed it on your worn-out mind, the fatigue that had overtaken your body, trying to justify it to yourself. You felt the brutality of another pair planted on you, unwavering, hoping to higher powers they would dissipate so you could pity yourself without an audience. 

“Cold?” Arthur’s gruff voice broke the silence, the words still quiet, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

Did he mistake your blushing cheeks for you being cold? Or, had your distracted mind kept you from realizing that the cold air had done so when the darkening sky fell upon you, too? Crossing your arms over your chest, you felt a shudder run through you, hairs raising as if on cue. 

“I suppose so,” you mumbled, inching closer to the fire that had begun to falter. The embers around it were glowing red as they crackled loudly into the night, the sudden noise making you jump slightly. 

“Mmh.” 

You stared into the flames as silence followed, refusing to meet his eyes. Your pulse was still pounding quickly, and your mind was caught in the horrible moment. Hell, you’d say it bordered on humiliating, throwing off your facade of irritation directed at Arthur and his actions that you were so dead-set on keeping up as well as your walls—so high he couldn’t peer over them the way you couldn’t look over his.

“Come here.”

Your eyes fitted to his, in an instance, baffled by the words that left his mouth, if even that was what he said and not something your sleep-deprived mind made up.

You could only stare at him for a while, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words. Your face was straight as Arthur stared back at you with an expression that could rival yours, arms crossed over his chest, and he leaned against the tall oak. You damned his ability to keep his face so unreadable, eyes still as sharp as they always seemed. His voice was calmer, perhaps slightly warmer, heating like embers glowing in the hearth.

“What?” you mumbled tiredly, voice laced with a sleepy confusion.

“You’ll die of hypothermia before I even get the chance to get you out of here.” His tone was laced with annoyance, grumbling irritably as if the mere thought of the conversation you had bothered him immensely—as if the words leaving him were reluctant and bothersome. 

He didn’t continue, staring at the flames flickering wildly when the wind suddenly picked up—if it was a means to avoid your now wakened eyes or the nonchalance in his spoken words, you couldn’t tell.

The irritation that had been simmering in your mind grew at his words. Your throat constricted with words you wanted to speak, wanting to tell him that there wasn’t a single fiber of your being wishing to be close to him, to give him such a privilege. Had the world turned his head that daft, or had he simply stopped caring what effect his words and actions had on others, no less you?

A few moments passed, and you stared at him, eyes growing hard and sharp like glass, where confusion and fear were replenished. So, to rid both of you from the onslaught of feelings coursing through you, you turned around on the hard ground, bringing your arms tighter against you for warmth as a shudder ran through you.

“When did you grow so cruel?” you asked quietly into the night, watching the warm air leaving your mouth become clouds when you breathed a shaking breath. You weren’t sure if you were speaking about his sudden audacity or the change in his character that so starkly contrasted the one you had known. Nonetheless, you didn’t expect an answer, but you did get one, and a humorless laugh accompanied it as if the truth was some masochistic joke.

“If you only knew.”

—

The night continued in silence, and you woke between the hours from the cold, staring heedlessly into the darkness, ears taut as every noise made your breath hitch, almost expecting to find prying eyes staring back at you when you got the guts to open them. But, as sunlight found its way to you behind the trees, rising warmly over the cliffs, you could finally feel yourself relaxing against the hard ground, bringing the jacket that lay over you closer as you breathed in the scent of smoke and something warmer, muskier.

Blue orbs, hidden beneath the surface of anger and hatred, gazed at you through squinted eyes as the orange tendrils hit the skin of your cheeks just above ĥis jacket. They followed along the strands of hair that ran down your face, tickling your skin slightly as you shook them away from your face in deep sleep.

For far too long, they had only seen gruesome sights—things that would make even the strongest men empty their stomachs. So they stayed a while longer, feasting their eyes on something lovelier—a forbidden fruit laid out before them. The steady breathing lulled them closer as if calling for them, begging them to stray nearer until skin touched skin.

The skin he had once known so well, so well the mere thought of it had become less of a luxury and more of a second nature, a constant need. You might’ve let time do its part in receding the memories, but not him—not when every thought of you had become his way of finding something good in this world—his world. Whatever was left of it gnawed at him, clawed at the inside of his flesh, the scars with age growing visible, larger to only himself; only the aftermath of anger and resentment was what was shown to the world. 

Embedded in the darkest corners of his mind, you laid like a hidden haven, formless yet shaped by recollection. He rarely touched it, for every time he did, he found the flesh of you that was once so bright, so warm, turned colder and grayer, rot spreading its way up your delicate skin, his disease only managing to span through your body. The eyes had grown too lifeless to be associated with yours, the sunken eyes dull and almost bordering on hateful. He couldn’t stand it, so he let it be after some time, outmost refusing to taint your memory with his cruelty and violence, refusing to cover you any longer with his filthy hands. 

It was a part of his life he’d had to lay behind him, a chapter that he had looked upon so fondly laid to rest, only for the next to take form. Oh, how it was riddled with filth and violence, the edge of the papers burnt and soiled. It was simply how it was, he’d concluded at the time, all too aware that it was what lay before him, what had always been destined to be his life. 

What once was a heroic attempt, a means to do good, had been overtaken by gluttony, the constant want for more. A bare and raw sin was what he had turned into, a hungry wolf, led by his brutality and fear—a fear of realizing what he was, what he had always been.

So, he couldn’t help but just for once take you in now that your watchful eyes weren’t gazing at him in fright—a fright he had grown all too used to when others looked at him, whether it was by the end of his gun or in the final short few breaths of their life. You had turned in your sleep, chin resting against the hard ground, when his eyes fitted over you, resting in the soft curves of your face and lashes that lay delicately on your skin. 

The gentle rise and fall of your chest was a lullaby of sorts, a contrast to the storm inside of him. He wondered what dreams might be drifting through your mind, hoping they were far removed from the darkness that often clouded his own, hoping he wasn’t turning them vile.

Arthur gazed over the plump cheeks that seemed fuller, akin to his memories, a soft glow over them as the morning sun washed over you. You had always looked prettier in the sunlight; it was something he had always thought, for it was like two twins meeting each other again, laden with the same light and warmth. The ghost of a wistful smile begged to tug at the corners of his mouth as he indulged in this rare moment of stillness—the rough edges of his hardened soul seemed to soften, if only for a heartbeat.

He wanted to reach out a hand, rough and scarred, and try to let it hesitate above your cheek as he thought it would break the spell of sleep that enveloped you. He could feel his breath caught in his throat, a mixture of awe and sorrow, for deep down, he was aware that the world he lived in had no place for such beauty and peace. He was a ghost in your serene world, an intruder with no right to stay. Still, he would linger, savoring the moment like a condemned man savoring his last meal. 

A dream was all it was, to imagine a different life where you could bask in the sun’s glow without fear and violence. But, as the sun climbed higher, reality would begin to seep back in, and he would reluctantly pull his hand away, the humid air now filling the spaces between you. The weight of his choices and the path he’s walked pressed down on him, so for now,  he’d indulge in the simple act of watching over you as you rested—not sure where to go where the men now seeking your death couldn’t find you yet promising to himself he would keep you far, far away from them.

—

When the sun’s warmth began to cover your skin in a faint layer of sweat, you awoke, being met with the smoking of a dying fire and a soreness in your body that only laying on hard ground could create. You had almost expected to awake in the comfort of your old bed, feeling the soft wind caress your face as it blew through the open window, curtains fluttering in the air as the far-away sound of people chattering could be heard, and the constant chugging of the train.

Homesickness, you thought. It was strange; never before had that feeling grappled you so intensely; never had the thought of being back with Eustace seemed so wishful, so desperate. It pulled something inside of you, and as you sat up, you could only find yourself wishing the feeling away, rubbing your eyes as you set your gaze forward, refusing to ponder over it any longer. 

“No sight of Jesse’s men yet, so I think we’re good,” a voice called out nearby. Looking behind you, you found Arthur going through the saddlebag, his back facing you as you slowly stood up.

“Do you-” You cleared your throat, still riddled with sleep, both rough and quiet. “Do you think they’re still after us?”

“Sure,” he drawled, fastening the bag before patting his horse encouragingly. “We just killed their leader; I don’t think we’re off the hook that easily.”

“You,” you stated, dragging your fingers through your hair as you felt the various knots get stuck in your hand. You tried to sort them out but found your effort unsuccessful. 

“What?” he said.

“You killed their leader, you mean.”

“Yeah, I guess, but they’re still coming for you nonetheless.”

“And the law?”

“If we keep away from Blackwater, we’ll be fine,” he said, turning towards you.

“Then where do we go now?” you asked, staring at the ground as you grieved at the thought of not being able to head back to Blackwater, back to Eustace. He only glanced at you, the slight movement of his shoulders indicating he wasn’t so sure either. 

You walked tentatively towards him, meeting his gaze as he leaned towards the tree where his horse was stabled. He watched you cautiously as if he had any reason to be careful around you.

“How did you know Jesse’s men were after me?”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his eyes narrowing as he considered his response. “I have my ways,” he muttered, eyes darting to the horizon. “Words travel fast in these parts, and I keep my ears open.”

You only gazed at him for a while, hearing him sigh when you didn’t let your eyes waver, his eyes narrowing as he studied you, measuring how much truth to reveal. He adjusted his hat, the shadow casting a veil over his expression. “We heard things. Rumors in the towns. Jesse’s men have a way of making themselves known.” You nodded, absorbing the information. It made sense in a twisted way; your past seemed to chase you no matter where you ran or how far you went.

Arthur shifted his weight, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “And when we ran into some of his boys a few days back, well,” He stared at you hard. “They mentioned you.”

“Me?” Your breath got caught in your throat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded.

“How did you know I was in Blackwater?”

Arthur’s eyes darkened slightly, a shadow crossing his face. He took a moment before answering, his voice low and steady. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you,” he admitted tersely.

You blinked in surprise, the revelation catching you off guard. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, your tone betraying none of the turmoil. 

He only sighed, glancing away briefly before meeting your questioning eyes again. “Because I had to make sure you weren’t getting yourself killed,” he retorted sharply, his words tinged with frustration. “Especially after everything that happened all those years ago.”

Many emotions flooded through you—confusion riddled with anger, a strange sense of relief you wanted to cast far away. Anger at his presumption, a deep ache for the man he once was when he mentioned the past. “So you’ve been watching me all these years?” you countered, your voice carrying a cutting edge.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, his temper flaring. “I’ve been trying to keep you safe,” he mumbled, his voice growing snappier. 

The reality of his words sank in, and you struggled to process the implications. You met his gaze, trying to keep your composure, refusing to let his anger shake you. “Protecting me by keeping me under surveillance?” you shot back.

“Call it what you want, but I had to make sure you wouldn’t end up lying dead somewhere,” he said gruffly, staring stubbornly at you. “Jesse’s men aren’t exactly known for sending love letters.” 

“And did it ever occur to you that I might’ve been wanting to be left alone?”

“You don’t get it, do you? They’ve been after you this whole time; they still are. You think you can just walk away and be fine?” 

The air hung tense between you and Arthur, his words cutting through the warm air like a sharp blade. “You had no right,” you hissed, your voice low but filled with simmering anger. You knew you were right, and you were sure Arthur knew as he quieted down, grumbling as he strode past you, stepping on the fire’s dying embers to put it out, his movements stiff and rigid.

“We’ll keep moving, get you out of the wild for a bit.” You stayed facing away from him when he spoke, only moving when he extended his hand, motioning you towards the horse. 

“Listen,” he murmured, turning you around before you could sit behind the saddle. “I didn’t—” he turned his head away from you for a moment as if thinking about his following words, hands gripping your shoulders carefully, flexing slightly. “I know how these types of men work, and you would thank me for keeping an eye on you if I told you what they would’ve done to you.”

“And how are you so different from these men you talk of, Arthur?” Your voice was accusing and bitter, and only silence followed from his side. “I used to know a different man,” you murmured. One who was understanding,” you finally said, your voice barely a whisper as your walls crashed, a somber look glazing over your eyes. “Kind.”

You felt him stiffen before you, and he didn’t respond immediately, as if surprised by your words. “Things change,” he replied curtly, his voice devoid of sentiment.

“I can see that,” you said, lifting your hand as if to move his hat out of the way but faltering at the last second. “ I barely recognize you.”

You hadn’t failed to realize it, and it had consumed your thoughts fully since you first discovered it was him when he held that gun toward your head. Never did you imagine he would be the type of man to wield such a dangerous weapon towards a woman—towards you—yet that’s precisely what he’d done.

“You don’t understand the world we live in now,” he said, his tone hardening. “Things aren’t as simple as they used to be.”

“Maybe not,” you replied, feeling the weight of your disappointment settle in your chest. “But I didn’t think you’d let it change like this; I didn’t think you’d become-”

“What? Like them?” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “You think I had a choice?

“There’s always a choice,” you shot back. “You used to be a different man.”

“And what good did that ever do me?” he snapped, stepping closer. His breath was warm against your cheek when you lowered your face, staring at the fabric of his shirt. 

“The world is cruel, whether you want to acknowledge it or not, and I had to make sure to keep the gang safe, and I still do.” The last part, he muttered to himself. “And since you decided to leave me-”

“Leave you?!” you gasped, appalled at his choice of words. The familiar stabbing pain gripped your heart when he accused you, and you stepped backward slightly only to find his hands rooting you in place. “I had no choice!”

“No choice, huh?” He said, his lips curling into a bitter smile as if your words were ridiculous and filled with lies.

“I asked-, no begged, you to come with me, but you refused! Talking all sorts of rubbish about loyalty and Dutch this and Dutch that!” It felt like a stone the size of your fist was plunged down your throat while the muscle could only constrict around it, twisting your body slightly so he would let go of you. 

“I realized there wasn’t a place for me there, with you, any longer, so I had to leave before I went insane!” you said. “I couldn’t bear it, living that life anymore. My whole life had been filled with cruelty and violence, and I needed to feel as if I was the one living it instead of watching myself from the sidelines!” Flashes of faces, both grim and cruel, passed your vision, the image of a younger you looking for somewhere to hide but only finding broken souls wandering around you.

Like lost in a maze, you had tried left and right, but with no guidance, it proved useless as you kept wandering, trying to make sense of the world that you grew up in, parentless and abandoned in a gang whose hearts had been ripped out of their chests and feasted on by the devil. His pupils were all that was left, and you, a lost child, were made to endure a world that had been stripped of both kindness and care.

“But you-” your voice was choked up, trembling as your frenzied eyes flickered around you. “You didn’t care enough to see that, and now I can see why.”

“You’re just like them.” As your words ended, the onslaught of feeling simmered underneath your hectic breathing, and you finally felt the pressure loosen on your shoulders. Taking a few steps back, you passed the back of your hands over your eyes, feeling the warm liquid rub into your skin.

Those years felt distant now that they were brought up, and you had done your utmost to keep them far away until one day, you woke up feeling like that life hadn’t been your own; the person you were hadn’t been you and the memories entirely someone else’s. It had become too much, the air around you thick and nauseating when it felt like none of it would stop, like you were in a loop that never ended, only bringing you back to where you first started but with different people this time.

You soon realized that since you managed to remove yourself from Jesse and his men, you’d only wound up sleeping on a hard ground once more, the twigs and sticks poking you through your back like they’d always done. However, the people around you were new, but they were still the same lost souls as you, and the thought terrified you. You couldn’t handle the idea of that being your life, of always following someone who strived towards a goal that, when reached, would only be replaced by another one.

You didn’t dare glance at Arthur, yet you felt his eyes on you. As you tried to calm your breathing, you wondered why he didn’t say anything, defend himself, or retort and fight back like you thought he would. Yet, his lack of words made you second guess your revelations, shame soon filling your body when you realized how much of yourself you’d given a man who no longer cared to understand, who was so far gone your words meant nothing, just like the men he killed in cold-blood—a menace and an obstacle.

“Let’s go,” was all that he replied with after some time, avoiding glancing at you before grabbing your waist carefully to sit you behind the saddle, stomping one last time at the dying fire before sitting before you, no doubt noticing how your hands ghosted around his waist as if touching him alone was a vile and horrid thought.

—

You couldn’t help but ponder over what transpired this morning, all too aware it had to be spoken about sooner or later, but you wished he’d tell you more, explain why he’d acted the way he did and why he’d changed so much even though the words might’ve been said in anger. Yet, perhaps, that is a ridiculous exception, for who can say why they’d change if they even stopped enough to notice they did?  Still, you realized what he had to say might not be what you wanted to hear, and the thought didn’t fail to make your heart sink.

It’s terrible what time can do to one person, but you could not understand how it could wound its way into Arthur so firmly, as if not considering his past self that had been so different from who was before you now. Perhaps being young and in love had made you fail to realize that maybe the man he was now is only an older version of who he’d been then and that he’d only shown the sides he felt deemed to you. Why, you wondered. Had it been shame or fear, knowing very well the cruel place you came from, not wanting to admit that he was a criminal—that he did exactly what every other man would do when following another blindly?

Bringing yourself out of your thoughts, you observed that day had once more turned into night, the familiar setting sun casting its warm gaze over the landscape as the horse huffed underneath you in exhaustion from running all day—tired from the lack of rest and the growing tension that was heavy between its riders. 

Rising your gaze to look at his back for the first time since you set off, you let the follow along the chestnut tone of his hair, trailing over his tense back, eyes focusing on the various scratches and stains on his clothing, the blood that had been rubbed so many times it had turned into a lighter shade, yet the slight pinkness still resided, marking him unknowingly, as if his clothing represented his being. 

It was so unfair, you concluded, yet you felt angry at him, furious at yourself and the world for being unpredictable, for never making anything easy, and more so for laying trouble over minds that from the start were pure, a blank canvas now to be trifled with. But there was also a tinge of sadness over the people you had turned out to be and grieving over the man you seemed to have lost behind smokes of black and anguish.

The pit of darkness that now filled you turned into thunder, and as the rain began to pour, the cold drops doing nothing to wash away the hollowness you felt, you failed to hear the hooves that could be heard from a distance. Arthur, though, had sensed them for some time now, trying to make his abrupt, faster pace less noticeable, hoping to gain some distance before you could see their dark figures form behind you.

Unfortunately, they only gained on you with every minute that passed, reaching out for you with their slinky arms and wild gazes, bullets vibrating in the metal, begging to be released so they could bury themselves into your flesh. Yet, it was hard for them to see, the heavy downpour blurring their vision of you, the fading sun offering them no help, and the galloping of their horses dizzied their sight.

A gasp left you as the horse suddenly stopped abruptly, the reigns held tightly as it skidded across the slippery ground. You didn’t get the chance to be surprised, hastily brought down to the ground, Arthur’s hands almost lifting you with the way he pushed you as you clumsily glided across the ground, grasping onto his arms to find stability as you walked up the small stairs that appeared on front of you.

A small porch, desolated and lonely, spread out around you; from the hasty look you could get, the windows seemed dark and lifeless—not a single light shining through them. The two-story structure seemed to stand on the outskirts of a forgotten, overgrown field, its once-white paint nor a peeling, weather-beaten gray where ivy and wild vines clung to the sides, creeping through the cracks in the wooden boards. The roof sagged precariously, shingles missing in place, revealing patches of rotting wood underneath.

“Shit!” You could hear Arthur shout as the loud weather dampened his voice, grasping the handle as it refused to open. 

“What’s going on, Arthur?!” you said loudly so he could hear you, but you got no answer to your question. He pushed you to the side with one motion, trashing his shoulder into the door, and rusty hinges groaned in protest; the flimsy wood bent slightly before he bolted against it again. With this attempt, he opened it, and it smashed against the wall; the smell of something musty reached your nose as it escaped the house, contrasting heavily with the freshness of the rain. 

“Get inside!” he shouted, and as you hurried inside, you heard the door slam shut. Your back pressed against the wall beside it, and Arthur stood before you, peeking out carefully from the window beside it.

It grew quiet the minute you stepped inside, the rain reduced to a slight humming as it splattered against the one-story house that seemed long abandoned, the faint smell of mold and neglect traveling through the air–the stale, dry air left a metallic tang in your mouth, the taste of dust was ever-present, gritty and unpleasant, seemingly coating your tongue and throat with each short, terrified breath you took.

“Arthur,” you whispered, craning your neck so you could gaze up at him where he leaned against the window, his eyes scanning the storm outside as his hands squeezed your arms gently but firmly.

“I gotta hide you,” he said, his voice low, his throat straining around the words when he finally looked into your eyes.

He pulled you from the wall, leading you deeper into the cabin. The floorboards creaked underfoot, threatening to give away with each step you took. Moving through the tiny parlor, past the broken chairs and sagging sofa, you moved into the kitchen where the cabinets hung open, their contents long since scavenged or rotted away. 

As you gazed back, you found Arthurs’s eyes darting around the place, searching for a place where you would be hidden from the gruesome and horrible event that would soon take place in this already damned building. A small pantry, its doors hanging loosely on its hinges, seemed to be the only hiding place he deemed approvable.

“In here,” he said, guiding you towards it. 

“Why?” you asked, hesitating to enter the small space.

“They caught up to us,” he murmured, watching your hand grasp his shirt. “Jesse’s men.”

“What about you?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll be fine,” Arthur replied, momentarily passing his hand over yours. “I’ll handle them, just please-” he trailed off, grasping your cheeks between your hands so you would focus entirely on his and his words. “Please don’t come out until I tell you.”

A few moments passed before you tentatively nodded, feeling his hands leave you so you could squeeze into the pantry. The small space was barely big enough to hold you as the doors were closed gently, slightly ajar so you could breathe through the thick, consuming air.

A few moments passed, your eyes wide in the darkness as you took in his words. It surprised you there were still so many, remembering the night in Blackwater where it seemed like bodies littered every corner of the streets when you passed them, lifeless and now soulless. How many, you wondered, were outside now, and how had you not managed to feel their presence before, to catch sight of them behind you, yet Arthur could without a glance?

As the first sign could be heard, you held your breath, the beating of your heart almost audible in the small space as it fought against your chest, your hands covering it as if it would give away your position. That was when the door burst open, and you could only clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle a gasp that escaped against your will, listening tentatively at every noise that could reach you.

You could only make out Arthur’s voice, low and steady, even though you couldn’t make out the words that left him, almost wanting to cover your ears as if it would help against the terror you knew would soon erupt, praying-no begging Arthur would be alright, that you wouldn’t have to be dragged away from there a weeping mess as Arthur lifeless eyes stared into your own, bullets imbedded in his flesh as you awaited your fate.

The sound of struggle filtered through the storm—the clatter of boots, shouts of men that boomed through the cabin, and the crackle of gunfire. Each noise made you cringe, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to block out the terrifying reality, hands shooting up to cover your ears as the loud sounds lessened; instead, the more vile noise of flesh hitting flesh ensued, the noise bones made when broked and the bloodily smack of skin against skin. 

It ensued for a while, the disgusting sound of grunting and groaning making you remember the many times you had to hide your smaller self and only listen. Listen till the danger was over, examining every sound that could be heard to tell if you’d be alright stepping out or whether it would lead to your death—which had most of the time been the biggest possibility. You felt like you had traveled back in time, with not an ounce more courage than you had lacked back then, quivering like a fool while others fought like madmen around you, wishing you could be somewhere else—for someone to swoop down and save you like in some sad fairytale.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited, heart pounding in your ears as you didn’t dare to peek out from the cracks. Then, amidst the chaos, you heard a voice—Arthur’s voice, calling your name as you heard him breathing heavily, your name strained as he spoke. A sense of relief coursed through you, now knowing he was alright, yet you still lingered for a second, hand hesitating at the door as you feared what sight you’d be presented with. Yet, as you pushed it open, you stepped into the cabin again, taking small steps leading further into the house, trailing over the dark red liquid as you closed your eyes at the bodies it came from.

“They won’t hurt you no more,” Arthur murmured. 

He stood there, hands at his side, his eyes as blood-filled as his hands, the red liquid dripping onto the wooden planks, staining them til they flowed beneath the cracks. Fitting to yours, you could only gasp, taking a step back as you were filled with dread over what he just did, the brutality of his actions, and the lives that now lay devoid of it around you. There had been too much death over the last few days, and although it was either their life or yours, you couldn’t help but detest the constant smell of the deceased resting just under the tip of your nose. 

You gazed over the chaos; the broken glass shattered on the floor, blinding you when the sun was reflected on their surface. The white porcelain was stained red, and the walls had been painted the same color. You felt his eyes stay on you, unmoving and seemingly not bothered by the brutality he just possessed—always had possessed—but not making any attempt to move, as if he was waiting for you to make the first move, speak the first word. 

He looked tense where he stood, and despite his horrible deeds, he looked at you as if he searched for your acceptance, as if trying to convey that he did this for you, that he dirtied his hands only to keep you safe, just like he’d always done. And, as you stared at him, you could almost see his hand flex slightly, as if it wanted to reach out to you, yet was held back, rooting him to the spot.

It might surprise him what you would do next, as the first tentative step towards him—although riddled with a faint fright and shaking hands—never wavered, carefully stepping over the bodies in your way until you stood in front of Arthur, ignoring their deathly, vengeful eyes that almost followed you, rolling into the back of their heads when you went out of sight. 

His hands were still shut tight, knuckles white against the suntanned skin that flexed slightly when your fingers ran over them, bringing them higher as you felt the callousness that bruised his hands. They contrasted so heavily with your own, soft against hard, the veins beneath his skin protruding til the blue shades created valleys, irritated and angry. The warmth of your touch contrasted starkly with the cold reality of his actions, a shiver running down your spine when the blood on his hands painted your untouched skin. Arthur didn’t attempt to push away from your touch but stood like a statue, eyes cautious when you brought his knuckles to your lips, closing your eyes as you ghosted over them.

Every breath you took was heavy; each inhale difficult to make as his gaze remained locked onto yours. The bluish shade grew molten on the edges, warming up the coldness of the otherwise sharp hues, staring into yours like he was waiting for something or perhaps fearing something. It made the ache in your heart settle daftly, staring into the eyes you could now recognize from the ones you had known many years ago, see the man you hadn’t been able to remember till now rightfully.

You pulled away slightly when you realized that man wasn’t standing before you but a figment of him, perhaps a vivid remembrance yet not reality. Your fingers lingered on his skin, though, as if afraid to let go, afraid you might’ve lost him as you’d done before even though he wasn’t whole—the pieces of him scattered wherever he went, falling away like fragments with every step.

Brutally and cold, the devil resided in his eyes, each glance laden with sin and searing pain that engulfed like wildfire, encircling and trapping in its flickering, scorching embrace. It was a warmth that turned cold, caressing with its chilling touch, raising the hairs on your skin in protest—an unwelcome sensation that one dared not wish for. Yet, amidst this, your heart beats heavily–not in fear, but in yearning for his touch to linger.

How could your heart betray you so? How could it stray so far from reason, captivated by a man who made you unable to tell between reason and desire? Traitorously, it thudded heavily within, not out of fear but wishfully. It created an ache that settled so deep in your bones it hurt, a pain born of longing—a desire that scorched like a fever. Every instinct screamed for you to flee, to turn away against your now abandonment of all sense and sensibility—to run far away from the life he reminded you of, a life you’d so desperately feared.

You were caught between shame and confusion as if he could sense your pulse racing against the barriers of cotton and leather. Did he notice your heart’s betrayal and the quivering of your lips as your shaking breath rose like wisps of smoke in the cold air? Maybe he did, for as you closed your eyes, unable to handle the downpour of emotions coursing through you, you suddenly felt his breath against your lips as his presence enveloped you, casting a shadow over the world when he drew closer. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes opened in protest; the space between you dwindled, narrowing to nothingness until you could feel the heat of his breath mingling with your own. 

His eyes burned like smoldering coal, holding you captive as every voice in your head told you to run, hit, scream–anything to get away from him—only to silence when his lips brushed against yours in a feather-light caress. It was far away and fleeting, the small touch of skin almost ghostly as they moved over your trembling lips. His breath was warm, so warm it made heat crawl up your neck, spreading slowly throughout your body.

His careful touch made you wonder when the world turned him so cold. To carry the burns of his soul, hideous and bare, with not a single kindness seemingly left inside him. Was he ashamed of his skin, which wrapped so harshly around his bones, scarred yet strong–cold but fond? Was it right for you to fear the hands that once fell so delicately on your skin, porcelain never having been touched as carefully as he had touched you? There were days you now could remember so clearly, the warm look in his eyes as they caressed over your skin, the naivety and desperation that shone so bright within them—a want so fundamental it made you wonder if it was even possible. 

The years had passed now, and you were both older and saner, but through the shades of blue in his eyes that were covered with darkness that rested like a veil over them, you thought you could still see the same man you had once known, and as his lips met yours firmer if felt like the past washed over you again. And it was good, so good you felt your knees almost give out, stumbling backward slightly but finding yourself not falling heedlessly towards the ground. Instead, the pressure of standing on the ground disappeared as your felt fingers worm their way under your thigh, lifting you in the air. 

Softly, your back met the planks that creaked audibly when Arthur pushed you against them, the material groaning and protesting when he leaned more of his weight against you as if the pressure was too much to bear. You were trapped in his embrace that spoke only of desperation—desperation so raw you wondered if it spread from his skin to yours like a disease, if it traveled through your body, infecting everything it passed in its way.

A certain rigidness could be felt in the hands that held you, their grip tight yet unmoving as if he battled against letting them touch any other part of you. They were there, yet somehow unwilling, like he needed to touch you but couldn’t bring himself to go any further. Perhaps, you thought, he shouldn’t. Maybe it would be best to end it here, not to get any more pain that would surely hurt more than do good. Yet you missed him, missed Arthur so much it felt like a part of you had returned when he was this close as if you could imagine him being who he once was. 

You chastised yourself for it when his lips caressed you softly, letting them push further against yours. The distant sound of chattering and calls beckoned you from afar, the clanking of pots loud in your ears as he had you pushed up against a tree, far and hidden from curious eyes, all your senses focused on him. It had been so simple then, such a warm, inviting touch, the feeling differing strongly against the violence and pain that had followed you until you met Arthur. It was the only reason you’d stayed with him for as long as you had, for never had hands handled you so carefully, so tender; never before had you stared into a pair of eyes that, without a blink, promised to keep you safe and sane.

It felt different yet the same; for now, those feelings mingled together, the brutality shining so strongly within him. Yet, his hands were so gentle, his means to keep you and cradle you in his arms til no one else could touch you so palpable it made every fear you had for him dissipate with the wind that flew through the cracks in the wall. It felt like you held a giant in your grasp, a lost soul seeking the goodness of his past, wishing to erase the bad and expel the vile, monstrous thoughts that he’d been forced upon—expectations he grew up with. How could you possibly blame him? How unfair was it for you to tell him he was wrong, that he acted wrongfully?

Your hands shook as you brought them up to his cheeks, claiming< them in your grasp, feeling him sigh when your fingertips ghosted over him as if the feeling alone chilled his blazing—scorching—skin. Following that means of human nature, his hands that kept you lifted from the ground raised one, caressed its way over the swell of your hips, letting it feel the warm flesh emitting from under your clothes until it followed the path of your sides til it found the valley which where your waist sunk in, letting fingers grip under the harsh bones of your ribs.

A gasp left you, lips parting as if to speak but only inhaling his warm breath, pushing your head away, yet your grasp on his cheeks making him follow you—ordering him to chase the pink, swollen skin that begged for the sensation of more—demanded it. You realized soon that you didn’t have to, his imposing frame pressing you further into the wall, no longer needing to hold you by the tight to keep you from the ground as his lips sensually now found yours again, a deep, dark rumbling—like thunder brewing—could be heard deep into his chest.

It was sickening, the air thick and pasty, like breathing into sourdough bread, the swelling yeast filling all spaces around you, making it difficult to breathe. When you needed air too much, begged for the oxygen yet displeased with the thought of parting with Arthur, he pulled his head away slightly, eyes opening to gaze at your closed eyes, the warm tint of red rising from your chest to your cheeks.

 Opening them, you’d only be given a moment to stare upon his face until he leaned in again, his lips finding their way to the dip of your collarbone, rising to cover the space where your shoulders dipped up to the slope of your neck. Inhaling, exhaling, he breathed in the dizzying warmth of your neck, groaning when he let his tongue taste the humid skin that was scorching under his wet, slippery touch. 

So divine, yet so dangerous to touch what wasn’t his anymore, what couldn’t be his—but he couldn’t deny he longed for you, couldn’t deny that your smell alone awakened the man he had been, your hands reaching out to him like the gates of heaven shining with its door wide open. A cruel joke was what it was, but he had no want to dispel it, to turn it away. It taunted him, laughed at him, giving him a fair bit of pleasure so the rest of his living days would turn to torture, a small taste of what he could’ve had before dooming him to an eternal defeat—dooming him to live the rest of his days a hollow shell.

Your hands found the back of his head, fingers threading through the strips of hair that felt like velvet under your skin. You couldn’t help but push on the back of his scalp to bring him even closer, dismayed when you realized he was as close as he could be, fingers gripping his hair so tight you feared you would leave tufts of it when you released your grip. You only got a hum of satisfaction in return, the feeling of a wet muscle traveling down your collarbones til they ghosted over the swell of your breasts carefully, like waiting on a signal before they could devour, let their touch consume you.

“Arthur,” you mumbled, lost in what was wholly him, the very fibre of your being begging for him never to stop, wishing he’d never done all those years ago.

You only got a low, appreciating groan in return, only gained the feeling of cold air hitting your legs as he snaked his hands under your skirt, hitching it up as he let them run over the bare skin like a starved man, not even an inch of you left untouched. The wind’s chill lessened when his rough, warm hands caressed you, soothing your aching, quivering legs. Almost, it seemed, he mended every bruise and hurt, internally or externally, replacing them with something that felt so divine you were nearly sure you were dreaming when he returned to your lips, his once guarded eyes bare before you.

He took a few steps back, letting your feet hit the floor as you followed him. You did not let him back away further as you walked with him, rising on your toes and writhing your arms around his neck. You were now the one to cage him in—cage him with your want and desire, your love and hope. It would be a terrible defeat if he stepped away from you, and your stomach twisted at the thought, the familiar pang of sadness only love could create.

“Don’t go,” you whispered, feeling his arms wound around your waist as he stumbled backward, his tall frame big and clumsy in the tiny house. He frantically ran his hands over you before hoisting you up again, seating you on the dark wooden table in the kitchen’s front of the sink. Your mind had grown clouded, his whole being morphing into the man that had once caressed you so gently—and when he did now, it made you dizzy, wondering if they were so unlike as you thought.

“I won’t,” he mumbled against your lips, the words hasty and muted when he didn’t want to waste a second of feeling you against him.

“I won’t,” he spoke once more, this time the words only coming out in nonsensical grumbling as he pushed you softly towards the poorly sawed planks after pushing the various knickknacks of it, plates falling audibly to the floor to join the rest of the mess, burying his face into the nape of your neck to once more take a final breath before standing up.

The mess around you turned vile and filthy compared to the wondrous look on your face as you watched him, the familiar pang of pleasure beating so heavily in his stomach he thought he might puke—coupled with the still warm, wet blood now lining the skin of your legs from his hands. A few moments passed where he stared at you, ignoring your hands that reached out to him as the horrid monster clad in black garments and poisonous fingers got to him first, digging its claws into his back, wrapping its fabric over his mouth till he felt himself suffocating. 

It wasn’t until he felt nimble fingers ghosting over his hands, running along the inside of his wrist until they intertwined with his, that the small, supple kisses on his cheeks became his saving grace. Diminished the cruel and twisted devil that rested on his back, all he could think about was the gentleness of your hands, gazing to watch your furrowed eyes filled with understanding—yet a gracious knowledge at that.

“I know you, Arthur,” you whispered, laying your head on his chest. Listening to his wildly beating heart, you found comfort in his erratic breathing.

“No,” he mumbled, resting his head on top of yours. His arms were slack on his sides as your hands passed over the broadness of his back. You gripped the dark leather of his haunches as you slid them down his arms, letting them hang in the stuffy, thick air. “Not anymore, you don’t.”

“Well, you’re still as stubborn as you used to be,” you said softly, the corners of your mouth rising slightly when a grumble left him, acting like you couldn’t feel his slight smile against your head. “Still as warm as you were then,” you mumbled, hands slowly running over his arms that flexed slightly at your touch, mouth opening slightly as they came to rest on the table, trapping you beneath them. “Still as strong,” you gasped when he leaned over you, pressing his weight into you.

He closed his eyes as you spoke, basking in your quiet, warm tone, which he missed hearing. “That don’t matter anymore,” he said, feeling you snake your arms around his neck, arching your body against his, as one of his hands naturally found sanction on your waist. “What I’ve done—” he trailed off. “What I am, it’s not something I can run from.”

You felt your brows furrow, grief finding you at his words that rang so melancholy into the quiet air, the heaviness of his voice alone ripping the tapestry and breaking the windows. As you were about to tell him he was wrong—that although his actions had been so blood-filled and vile, you knew who he was deep down, for you had seen it, seen it in his eyes when he looked at you, seen it in the way he still cared about you—he instead laid you back down on the table carefully, covering you with his body as he hitched your legs around his waist.

Your breath hitched when you felt the rigidness rest against your warmth, feeling it lay heavily under the fabric of his pants. “Yes, you can,” you gasped, hands finding his shirt as you searched for something to hold onto, wishing it away so you could see the skin underneath it and feel it against your own. 

You didn’t gain an answer, only the tugging of your undergarments, the chill from being bare cold against your skin, yet Arthur’s hands warming them straight back up when he tenderly caressed your inner thighs, stabilizing their trembling although never letting his palms stray too far, ignoring the way your legs tightened around him, trying to chase his touch as they attempted to chase his touch but finding his hips pressing into yours further, leaving you no place to go but stay in place.

The motion made a groan, quiet and unprepared, leave him, yet you had heard him. As your hands wound their way beneath his shirt to palm over the broadness of his chest, hips moving against him with the bit of space you had in protest, you looked up to find his gaze planted on you, head raised. Yet, eyes looking down at you, like he was trying to hold himself away, failing to escape from the softness of your touch. 

He was too deep into it now. He felt the restraints that once were so tight around him lessen as he kept staring into your eyes, those deep and fascinating eyes that he didn’t deserve—that no one would ever get the chance to deserve. It was selfish for him to continue, but he wished to feel you one more time so he could restore his memory of you until he turned viler, meaner, the black poison coiling around his heart til he faced its death wrapped up in its grasp.

So, he found himself leaning into you once more, focusing on your hands that now had seen the planes of his back, his muscles flexing involuntarily as you did, his hand hitching your dress up further, letting it go past the delicious curve of your waist, groaning internally when he realized he couldn’t rise it further. So, he let his head rest between your breasts, pulled out from the tightness of the fabric, letting his tongue run over the warm skin. 

You felt the arms of your dress hastily go over your shoulders down your arms, breath hitching when you felt his mouth able to travel lower until it caressed the inside of your breast, his rough stubble like sandpaper against the sensitive flesh. It was addictive, his whole persona making you desperately cling to every bit of him you could manage, grasping wildly as if he was made from thin air, trying to find something that would turn him back into a solid form, something you could touch. 

The slight feeling of him grinding into you made you clasp harder. Your hands found his biceps as the back of your head hit harshly against the table, and your hips wound tighter against his waist. The roof above you blended, the colors of brown and ashen blond mingling as the morning sun shone through the windows, the tendrils of the light casting the room in a way that almost looked ethereal—too good to be true.

And it was, the whole moment was, and you memorized the touch of his hands and traveling mouth, imprinting it in your mind so you could remember it forever. It still, despite his words, felt like he would somehow dissipate, and it turned into your worst nightmare, like the last pages of a book that would send you reeling, biting at the corners in despair and slamming yourself against the wall in anger. It was pitiful, the way you were brought to your knees in front of the man you had not nearly long ago feared—more so wondering if you feared his actuality or feared how long a time had passed, how time changed and ruled people's character, how you didn’t know him anymore.

Or perhaps you feared the way you knew it had been doomed from the start, always known, the very first day he had planted his brisk, blue eyes on you, full of life yet the underlying promise of something that could only be transcribed into pain—of hurt and blame. Perhaps you were afraid of knowing that it didn’t matter how often you’d come upon one another; it would always end the same way, for you were both too broken by the life you laid upon you. The chance of redemption was maybe possible once when you were younger, but you feared that it was lost. And, while Arthur reminded you of a past you’d rather lay behind you, prayed and prayed through years of peril and hurt, wished you could run from it, you perhaps had reminded him of what he’d once had and what he could never deserve to have again.

As Arthur lifted his head, you could see in his eyes that he knew, knew there might not be a time when you could live out your life together, for he too was aware that it might be too late, that the world's grip on the both of you was too firm. Yet you both ignored it, entangled with one another as your limbs melted into the others, your motions becoming erratic and desperate, wishing—no, seeking desperately to bring the other back to life, back to what you once had been. 

“Please, Arthur.” Clawing and almost beating his chest in desperation, the tension so ripe it felt like you might combust, you begged him to let his skin lay upon yours, bare and exposed, as close to each other as was humanly possible. It felt like a border, keeping you apart in a pitiful, almost laughable way. 

“I know, honey,” he murmured, his voice steady, yet the beating of his heart speaking more than his tone ever could. “I know.”

Rising from you for the slightest of seconds, he hoisted his pants down his hips and over his thighs, dark, desirous eyes never taking their gaze off you where you lay breathless on the table that, compared to you, looked like rotting wood. He damned himself for letting you lay upon such misery, to unveil you in such an appalling space that now reeked of death and foulness.

When your hands reached out to him, he let them bring him back down, watching the way your eyes fluttered when he graced upon your pulsating warmth, his own eyes closing for a second before opening again, looking away so he could regain his senses, regain his clouded vision that only flashed with pictures of you beneath him, as if you had surrounded him. That is, only for a short while, not taking long before he had to—needed to— return to you once more, to slip through the warmth of your walls that wrapped around him, the palm of his hands slamming down the table as you clenched around him, the sheer bliss that left your throat burning like embers inside of him.

There was no outlet for him, nowhere to go, so he hitched you further up the table, pressing into you so he could feel you closer. The feeling of your hands in his hair was nauseating, the taste of your skin intoxicating as he kissed the corner of your neck, burying his head into it as he felt your strands tickle his cheek. Slowly pushing out to then enter you once more, he grew greedy, not wanting to spend even the slightest of time away from you.

It was tender the way he moved—careful—and you could only follow his movements as he stayed on top of you, the strokes desperate and short. The small moans that left you rose into the quiet house, your breathing hitching with every thrust of his, almost feeling like the air was being punched out from your chest as you slid further up the table. Arms wound themselves under your shoulders, one hand grasping the back of your head to keep you in place—to avoid letting your head hit the hard surface.

It wasn’t enough; how could it ever be enough? Wrapping your arms around his neck, you gasped audibly when his hips moved faster, now almost grinding into you, his breath shallow and erratic, white knuckles grasping on the end of the table, as if he was controlling himself, unsure what to do with the pleasure that was riding through his body, bleeding into his very bones.

“Come here,” he murmured, gently lifting you so you were seated upon the edge of the table, looking up to meet his eyes. Continuing his tender thrusts, your lips sought him, finding his eyes not closing but planted on you, eyes lidded and chest red from exhaust. A sheen of sweat dripped slowly down his neck to his chest, disappearing through the unbuttoned shirt, the material sticking to his skin like glue. 

Pushing your hips further against his, he groaned, resting his head atop of yours when you placed mindless kisses on his exposed skin, mumbling nonsense as he hugged you closer, his breath hot and ragged. Every movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you, sharply white and burning red, coiling tighter and increasingly tighter within you. The sound of your mingled breaths filled the room, and you could feel his muscles tensing beneath your touch, almost seeming to tremble.

You whispered his name, a plea and a promise all at once, and he responded with a low rumble that resonated deep within his chest—a guttural groan escaping his lips as he pushed deeper, the table beneath you creaking with the force of his movements. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, just like you were before, just like you once had been—Arthur guiding your movements as if he was determined to merge his body with yours. 

His arms tightened around you when you straighten your back to reach his lips, capturing them in a kiss that left you more breathless than you had already been as his pace quickened. The friction, heat, and sheer desperation were too much to bear, yet you craved more. His eyes were wild, almost desperate, as he responded to your plea, every thrust, every gasp, every whisper filling up inside you as you begged to god it would never end, hoping and demanding that nothing would take it away from you.

Yet, you knew it wouldn’t last, and therefore, you felt the tears burn at your eyelids, the hot liquid falling slowly down your cheeks as you found your back pushed against the surface of the table once more, Arthur’s hand softly wiping away the tear that fell from your eyes as despair filled his own.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbled, a low groan leaving him when you tightened around him, unable to ignore the way you sucked him back in. “I can’t-” He ground his teeth when the familiar coil spread through his stomach, wrapping itself around every organ and bone. “Please, honey, I don’t want you to cry.”

“I miss you,” you gasped under your breath, words choked up as you focused on the way he dragged himself in and out of you, feeling like someone was twisting your guts inside your stomach when you thought once more about him disappearing from you hold like ash, only leaving faint memories before blowing away with the wind. “God, I missed you, Arthur.”

He struggled to catch his breath, his hand finding your thigh as he pushed it further up the table, the new angle making your breath hitch. “I know,” he groaned. “God, I know-”

Was it all a dream, he wondered, would fade away from him as his evil deeds caught up to him, for once letting karma do its part? Would you vanish right before him, leaving him to face the consequences of his actions alone? He only held you closer as the thoughts passed, keeping you tight in his embrace as his elbows encased your head. Capturing your lips on his own, his eyes shut tightly as he tried to memorize the feel of you—the warmth of your breath, the softness of your lips, the way your body moulded against his. 

The time seemed to stand still, yet it passed too fast, the coil wrung so tight it felt like your stomach would combust, pleasure so raw filling you it felt more like torture than anything else, and as you felt his hips ground themselves into you, one hand stroking so tenderly over your brest it felt like shots of electricity zapped its way through your body, you thought yourself tightening around him, gasping for air.

“You’re alright,” he murmured against your lips, consoling you as your moans left you without your allowance, desperate and bordering on pitiful as your whole body felt like it was burning up—like the very flesh was set afire with gasoline. 

“Please, Arthur,” you gasped, not knowing what you were pleading with him for, yet the words left you involuntarily. Perhaps you wished for him to remove the hollow feeling that resided deep within you, to soothe the pain that never seemed to go. Or, possibly, it was deeper than that as you pleaded for him to return to you, to show that he was the man you’d remembered.

“That’s it,” he cooed at you, kissing your forehead softly as you clenched around him. Your hands found his shoulder as they gripped tightly, head knocked back against the table as a long, drawn-out moan left you. Staring up at the ceiling as the world grew dizzy around you, the bliss that traveled through your body was like no other. 

His movements didn’t slow as you relaxed slightly on the table, now running your hands over his skin soothingly, gazing into his eyes as he groaned audibly, chest heaving heavily as he frowningly stared into yours, observing you like you held something he couldn’t have that he strived for, pushing and pulling you closer to him.

Lost in pleasure, it felt like he was gasping for air, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing through the now quiet house, only the splatter of rain still audible from outside, yet his ears were focused on something else entirely as you whispered his name, beckoning him to your as your eyes were tired yet warm in the afterglow, looking like something not quite real—more or less surreal—or perhaps ethereal.

With one final thrust, he buried his head in the nape of your neck, hands grasping the edges of the bale as he grimaced, taking a few seconds before letting a guttural groan leave his chest and travel through his throat, muted into your skin as he gritted his teeth. Pulses of pleasure wound themselves through him in intervals, the warm, wet feeling of your walls encasing him, wrapping around him wholly as he, with one last movement, buried himself deep, so deep there was no way out—and god, he thought as his breathing stayed hectic, god how he wished there wasn’t.

Especially when he rested against you, trying to catch his breath, revelling in how you hugged his head closer to you, pressing small, quiet kisses against his jaw as if you tried not to disturb him, letting him regain his senses. Letting a hand travel down your sides, he caressed your skin, feeling the softness underneath it as it went further down to then rise back up again, finding pleasure in the way your breath hitched from the sensitivity as he passed a thumb over your breast. 

You didn’t speak much, for there was so much you wanted to say that it became overwhelming, leading to you saying nothing. How could you, when you weren’t even sure how to describe your emotions, which seemed still but then everywhere at the same time, running through your mind endlessly with no sense of direction or heading? Where could you go from here that would satisfy you both and let you stay with one another despite your differences? 

You wished you could drag answers out of Arthur, torture his mind and soul until he had no choice but to respond, yet you doubted he could even know what to tell you, for he wasn’t sure, and you could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch that contradicted his mind starkly. Every motion and caress was soft yet reluctant, and you could hear the slight sway in his voice when he spoke to you as if he battled against his will and obligations. It tore you apart to realize he struggled against himself, struggled against his beliefs and wants.

You realized that whichever hands managed to strangle your relationship before would surely do it again. To be quite honest, it did scare you, more than you dared to admit, for you knew you were two different people now, and when your bond wasn’t strong enough all those years back, how could it be now that you both had your inner anguish that clawed itself inside your walls, thrashing and screaming. More so, changing for someone else is a terrifying thought per se, and there was no mistake in thinking that would be the case for both of you. A cruel, horrendous fate, indeed.

[emilys-bangs]

Awww congrats on 200 followers lovely!!! You deserve it, I always find myself rereading your works! So I went to the first section Andromeda, saw prompt #1 “Pull over. Let me drive for awhile.” and thought YES that’s an Emily prompt right there 🤣 I feel like Emily being able to immediately sense reader’s feelings would be super sweet. Like maybe it was rough case/day for reader, Emily steps up, and then starts rambling trying to distract reader so they’re both just laughing and even more in love by the end? Will also read whatever you want to write 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Tysm lovely!!! It amazes me that you reread my fics, I'm so happy you like them🥹!! I changed a tiny bit of this at the end, hope you don't mind <3

Word count: 0.9k

Join my celebration here <3

You’re upset. It’s not hard to see—shoulders rising to your ears, your jaw set, the skin pulled tight over your knuckles as you grip the steering wheel. Add that to the lack of your usual easy chatter and Emily’s worried, absently picking at the loose skin around her nail as she tries not to make it too obvious she’s staring.

The case was hard on you. The two of you shared a room this time, so she was more in tune with you than she normally is. She heard the sounds of distress you let out in your sleep almost every night, the way you’d toss and turn on the bed for hours after. Emily didn’t say anything, held back her urge to talk to you about it, but she noticed the restless frustration building in you, the way you poured yourself into the case. 

It ended badly, and you’ve been quiet ever since.

She hadn’t argued when you grabbed the car keys, figuring you’d appreciate the small modicum of control, but it’s been almost half an hour and she’s grown uneasy from your still-tight grip on the wheel. Her eyes flick to your face just in time to see the tick in your clenched jaw.

Before Emily can think about it, the words are out of her mouth. “Pull over,” she says softly, breaking the stillness. “Let me drive for a while.”

You give no indication that you heard her; silence makes her words hang in the air, unanswered. Her worry increases when you don’t protest, simply pulling over and unbuckling your seatbelt. 

Emily gets out of the car and makes her way to the driver’s seat just as you’re getting out. She knows her gaze must be hot on your cheeks, but you don’t look at her. Instead, your gaze tips up, and she follows it.

The one road leading out of town is dark. Apart from the headlights of the car and a few spare street lamps, it’s swathed almost entirely in darkness, and the sky above you is lit up with stars.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” Emily murmurs, desperately trying to draw an answer from your lips.

You hum noncommittally and move past her to get back in the car.

Helplessness crawls up Emily’s throat and settles there like a hard lump. She swallows tightly and gets into the car, briefly unmoored at her reaction to your reaction, unsure why it is that she so desperately wants you to be okay.

The silence is back as she drives off. From the corner of her eye, she sees you rest your head on the window and cross your arms, turning away.

Emily is an expert on body language—she has to be—but this time, she can’t sit and watch you drift away from her, further into your mind.

“Did you recognize any constellations out there?” She blurts out, then winces at the stupid question. 

You’re slow to respond. 

“Think I saw…what was that famous one called? The hunter?”

Relief floods Emily’s veins. “Yeah, Orion.” She nods, turning to get a glimpse of you. Your head is still on the window, but your body is tilted toward hers. Her next breath comes a little easier. “It’s arguably the most recognizable constellation in the Milky Way. It lies on the celestial equator, so it’s visible from both the Northern and Southern Hemispheres.”

“Okay, Reid,” you retort, but the gentleness to your voice tells her you don’t mean any malice. Emily turns and finds a small quirk to your lips; she bites back a smile of her own.

“Yeah, I was a big geek about the stars,” she whispers. Still am. Emily clears her throat. “When I was younger, I used to spend summers in a cabin up in the Alps with my grandfather. He had these huge books about stars and constellations.” You’re quiet next to her, but she sees the way you perk up and shift closer. She never shares her past—or any aspect of her life, really—with anyone, but it’s you, and if it makes you feel even a little bit better, she’ll spell out her whole life’s story for you to hear. 

“The sky was so clear there, it’s insane. I used to draw constellations on the back of my hand and try to search for them in the sky; I spent hours looking up until Grandad called me back. And for each one I’d found, he’d tell me a story.” A wistful smile pulls at her lips. When Emily turns and finds you staring with your head cushioned on your arm, her smile widens.

“Do you want to hear the story of Orion?” She asks softly.

She hears the low whoosh of air as you breathe in, then nod once. “Yeah,” you give her a small smile and warmth spreads all over her body, “I do.”

You’re asleep by the end of it, exhaustion claiming your body, but somehow, at some point, your pinky linked with hers. Both your hands rest on the console now, and Emily looks away from the empty road ahead of her. Your lashes rest on your cheeks, the tense lines of your face relaxing in sleep, and she squeezes your pinky before turning back to the road, her heart somewhat lighter.

taglist: @suckerforcate

[sunshineandspencer]

Cowboy hat rule, Part 3 (Tyler Owens, Twisters)

A/N: This was written as soon as I woke up the morning after seeing the movie, I woke up at 5am for some reason and this was spat out of me. I have no knowledge of it even after rereading it all, but the groupchat liked it so here you are. Also I’m working under the headcannon that you don’t get your hat back until you complete the rule.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader.

Summary: In between butting heads with Javi’s team and running a successful YouTube channel based entirely around tornadoes, Tyler Owens is introduced to the most interesting woman he’s seen in a good while - and her sister.

Word Count: 946

Warnings: past emotional(?) infidelity (fuck anthony ramos for cheating on his fiancé), talk of beer, slightly suggestive (again, cowboy hat rule)

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

I have redone the form for the taglist now that I’m apparently expanding from Criminal Minds

So, apparently, Javi was working for a company that profited off the suffering of people that were most recently affected by the storms. 

Of course, it makes sense. Old white guy, white hair, irritating face, makes sense he’s into real estate. 

What doesn’t make it any better, is the fact that while both her and Kate found out, he only bothered to go and explain himself to Kate.

Nice to know he hasn’t changed. He’s always preferred Kate to her, even when they dated, he always called for Kate first on the radio. 

If she tries hard enough, she can hear them through the wall. 

But she’s not going to try.

Doom scrolling through that old guy’s website and pretending she’s not feeling sick about inadvertently helping this guy was cut short by a knock to her door. 

Shutting the lid of her laptop, she shook her head and pressed the base of her palms to her eyes. 

Getting up and walking to the door, she gave herself a few moments to try and decide what emotion to put on, not sure she’s ready to face her sister or - God forbid - Javi. Pulling it open and leaning against it. 

Fighting the smile, and the genuine relief, when she was met with Tyler. 

“Evenin’ wrangler, what you all the way up here for?”

It’s the second level of a motel, there are a lot of people up here. If he didn’t sleep in the RV with everyone else he’d be up here. 

“Heard you hadn’t eaten, wondered if you wanted a pizza? It was the last one before the lady went home, should still be warm.”

Shrugging, he offers the pizza, margarita. Safe, lots of people like it - thankfully it’s also the only pizza she likes. And God she needs a pizza, and a beer, but she needs the pizza first. 

“You actually- nevermind, come in, bring the pizza.”

As if he’d leave it outside, she holds the door open a little more and he steps in. Taking a good look around the room. 

It’s not like this place has meaning to her, it’s a shitty motel room in tornado valley; they don’t build these with the expectation to last. The most you can do is collect stuff from home and wherever you’re staying and try to give it some personality.

But then his eyes fall on the white cowboy hat on her bedpost. Let’s correct that, his cowboy hat on her bedpost. 

There’s the splash of meaning. 

“You still have my hat.”

She lets out a soft snort, a pretty kind of laugh that she probably hates. 

Sitting down on the bed with her pizza and opening it up. Resisting the urge to dive head first into the greasy shit she knows it’s going to be. 

God- she’s never hated New York and her fucking fad diet more than she did right now. 

Luckily, she’s not in New York, she’s in Oklahoma and a cowboy just bought her a pizza, she couldn’t turn it down now could she. 

Offering him the first slice, she gives him a smug little grin, tilting her head. Acting all innocent as if she doesn’t know exactly what it means, his stupid cowboy hat has kept pride of place since she stole it.

“And you know how you have to get it back. Otherwise it’s staying on my wall. Add it to the collection.”

She’s not had a collection of guy’s cowboy hats since she was in college - it was a pretty decoration, and she loved watching the guys find their hats once they left. 

But he doesn’t know that, and she liked the upset glint in his eyes at thinking there are still some hats waiting for their owners. 

He took the slice and sat with her, and the itching silence caused her to sigh. Able to see his kicked-puppy look in the corner of her eye. Cursing her inability to say no to a pretty face, or even allow herself to hurt someone in the slightest.

“I’m joking, by the way. The only hat I have is my own, and that’s in Texas.”

Whether he knows it or not, Tyler Owens visibly relaxed at being told that. And that sends a concerning rush through her chest. 

Something she really does not need right now, especially not with her sister and ex-boyfriend’s voice coming through the wall. A little louder now, probably an argument. 

Her head turns, staring unseeing at the ugly painting above the bed. Not really paying attention, but knowing the words would come back to her later. When she really didn’t want them to. 

Honestly, he’s barely said a word since he came in, still surprised he actually convinced himself to bring her the pizza. And now he’s sat on her bed.

Not wanting this odd little dream to disappear before he could grasp it fully. 

This woman is a wisp of smoke, the angry clouds before a tornado forms, unpredictable and dangerous. Unpredictability and danger, the two things he’s dedicated his life to.. he wouldn’t mind making her a third. 

Nudging her foot with his, he dipped his head down to finally meet her gaze. Habit from wearing the hat, the damn thing somewhere off in his periphery. 

“I have something I want to show you, if you’ll let me. It’s a hell of a lot better than anything this place has given us yet.”

“Like what?”

He doesn’t appreciate her dull tone, but knows she didn’t really mean it. Not when her gaze slowly returned to his, the fractals of guilt swimming in her eyes. 

“A home away from home for you Alpine, trust me.”

Want more?! Good!

[papercorgiworld]

Not into you

A Regulus Black imagine

This is part two to Lily’s Potion. Read it here.

Regulus is taunting you, hoping you will confess that you’re into him. When you try to get your revenge things get very interesting.

Warning: slightly suggestive, but also just sweet

I was super excited about this one when I wrote it, but I just reread and meh. But I really hope you like it. It's less smutty than part one and more fluffy, I think... Feedback is always welcome. Sending you all lots of love and of course happy readings!

– The request –

NEED a part two for Lilys Potion pleaseeee 🙏🙏

– The writing –

When Lily and Marlene had told you that avoiding Regulus wasn’t that difficult they clearly forgot that you’re both in the same year and that he can be an obnoxious ass if he wants to be. You feel your whole body tense when you notice he’s taking the seat behind you. You hear a little shuffling but try to focus on your book, checking today’s subject before class. Regulus gets up from his seat slightly leaning over his desk to get closer to you. “I did some research and there’s no way that the things you said and did… or at least tried to do, were all induced by that potion. You wanted it.” His raspy whisper and words make you forget to breathe for a second. There’s a silence and Regulus’ smile grows smug, convinced that you’ll admit you like him, but you regain composure. “Don’t flatter yourself, Regulus. You’re my best friend’s baby brother.” Merlin, he hated it when you referred to him as just his brother's ‘baby’ brother, but his scowl was mostly caused by your ridiculous argument. “What does that have to do with you being horny for me?” Regulus asks bluntly, eyes taunting and smug. You’re absolutely baffled by his choice of words. Horny? Who does this brat think he is! You turn slightly but don’t face him and protest with an annoyed but hushed voice. “I’m not horny for you!” Far from convinced, Regulus' eyes turn even more cocky than they usually are with a filthy smile tugging on his lips. He’s about to open his mouth when the professor walks in, bringing an end to the conversation.

***

You join your friends at the gryffindor table, but do so with a scowl on your face. “What’s gotten you in such a pissy mood?” Peter asks, making everyone look at you. “Them.” You say, making all eyes move to the slytherin table, not needing any further reference to who you were talking about. Regulus and his friends were snickering about something but Regulus’ eyes were focussed on you. When he sees half the gryffindor table look at him, he just smirks and looks away. “Yeah… what’s up with that?” Sirius asks you and you frown. “What happened at the party? I mean Regulus pulled you away from me and next we find you both in your room?” You feel your cheeks heat up and avert your eyes to the food instead of your friends’ questioning looks. “Nothing happened.” You say, sounding annoyed and anything but convincing. Lily tactfully changes the subject and most of the table follows her lead, except for James who keeps his eyes focused on you. “You know there’s such a thing as revenge.” He whispers just loud enough to get your attention and avoid the rest from picking up on what he’s saying. “What do you mean?” You ask confused but also genuinely interested in whatever James’ brain had cooked up. “Put him through the same and see if he’s still laughing at you then.” 

Your smile slowly mirrors James’ grin as you see the whole plot work out, but at the slytherin table a very wary Regulus senses trouble. 

***

James had come up with a plan. You had to distract Lily so he could steal the last dose of her crappy potion. You didn’t like going behind your friend’s back but James had convinced you that it was best to avoid Lily since she had somewhat of a moral compass and purposely drugging a guy to get some petty revenge was a bit ‘morally grey’ as James put it. The second step of the two step plan was to convince Sirius to join in so he could slip Regulus the potion. After some judgmental frowning Sirius quickly decided to pick James’ plan of mischief over his own flesh and blood. 

***

So now here you were, casually hanging at a party with Marlene and Remus by your side discussing the immense workload the professors had hit you with over the past few weeks. You occasionally scan the room to see if you could spot Regulus. When an hour had passed and you still hadn’t seen him you began to worry. You clearly hadn’t thought this through at all, what if you had caused Regulus to end up with someone. You and James had agreed to not let things escalate but James had clearly forgotten about that since he was more than a little wasted already. 

You leave your friends in search of Regulus, but he’s nowhere to be found at the party. So you decide to be brave and approach a drunk and wickedly smiling Barty. Who’s smile turns filthy as soon as he notices you walking over to him. “Well, look at that, pretty girl looking for some entertainment? Come to the right place.” He winks and leans a little closer to you. You roll your eyes and just ignore his words. “I’m looking for Regulus.” You state and Barty rolls his eyes. “Really that's the guy you want to go for?” Barty teases with wiggling eyebrows. “You could have me. I’m better looking, funnier and slightly less emo.” You raise your eyebrows and feel saved when Evan shouts from a nearby couch. “Sit your drunk ass down Barty.” Barty complies without a single word of protest, his eyes suggestively looking at Evan now. “I’m afraid you missed him, pretty sure Regulus left for his dorm about half an hour ago.” Evan says and you quickly thank him rushing out to find Regulus.

You fling the door of Regulus’ room open to find him pacing around in his room. His tie was undone, shirt wrinkly and hair messy. There was a cauldron and a mess of ingredients surrounding it. As your eyes focus on whatever he was brewing, Regulus spots you and turns red. When you meet his eyes he spins around, away from you. “You! What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.” A stressed hand moves through his hair and you observe him carefully. “You alright?” You ask, closing the door behind you and taking a step towards him. “No! I’m not alright. I know what you did! You gave me that potion and now my mind’s running wild!” He turns around, but takes a step back to keep some distance between you two. For the past hour his mind and body had been craving you. He had done his best to keep himself in check and work on a cure rather than run to you, confessing his secret crush on you. You feel guilty, seeing him this distressed. 

“I’m so sorry, Regulus. James and I just didn’t think this one through at all, but you were being a bit of  a dick and we thought it was funny.” As you apologise and explain yourself, Regulus’ mind wanders. His eyes lustfully move over your figure, taking in every beautiful detail. He feels his whole body heat up and his member twitches in his pants. Her lips are so kissable. Fuck, I need her in my bed, underneath me. Or she could just hold me and kiss me. She’s wearing that perfume again. It’s killing me. I bet she tastes even better than she smells. - What the hell am I thinking? She’s just a stupid girl. - Merlin, I want her, need her. Damn potion. She’s the one. So fuckable. She would be such a sweet and beautiful mom to our children. “Regulus? Did you even hear a thing I said?” You snap your fingers in front of the dreamy slytherin.

“Just help me make a cure before I confess my feelings for you.” Regulus snaps, turning to the cauldron on the table. Your eyes widen and it takes a second before his eyes fill with horror. “Feelings?” You ask, feeling your cheeks heat up and your heart swell with joy. “It’s the potion talking.” Regulus quickly argues, but a cheeky smile tugs on your lips as you remember what he had told you just a few days earlier. “No, Reg, I clearly remember you telling me that the potion doesn’t induce any feelings of any sort.” 

“Shit.” Regulus curses, looking down. He had been so eager to have you confess your feelings and now it was blowing up in his face. “Well since I’ve already embarrassed myself today, I might as well do this while I'm still high on this potion.” He takes two big steps towards you and brings a hand to the back of your head, pulling you into an intensely deep and passionate kiss. He pulls away and takes a deep breath, calling up on all his self control to ignore you and focus on the potion. Meanwhile you’re still on cloud nine due to that amazing kiss. “Hey, twinkle eyes, you gonna help me or just stand there being beautiful and distracting me.” Though he was giving a compliment there was clear annoyance in his voice. He hated being so vulnerable and was still embarrassed about confessing. 

You eventually snap out of it and tell Regulus to take a seat on his bed and relax so you can work properly without his mess of hormones interfering. When you finally finish the potion he swallows it down eagerly. You watch him carefully to see if it worked. Regulus lets himself fall onto his bed again, relieved that the horny hunger inside of him had somewhat calmed down to a normal amount. However, now that the effects of the potion had worn out you were still on his mind, as always. He runs a hand over his face. “Fine. Laugh all you want.” Regulus finally says, throwing his arms wide in surrender and you chuckle at his dramatics, but you don’t laugh to Regulus’ surprise. Instead you move closer to him and straddle him. He’s confused for a second, but more than happy to welcome you on his lap. 

“You’re kinda hot when you’re all bothered like this.” You whisper as you comb through his hair with your fingers, making him smirk, satisfied to have you. He pulls you closer and pushes himself up so his lips brush yours. “I thought you weren’t into me?” Regulus whispers teasingly. “I lied.” You say with a cheeky smile and Regulus, squeeze your side making you yelp before kissing you lovingly. I knew it. 

Word count: 1728

[luveline]

how do u deal with adult loneliness? i’m 22, i live at home but my family’s never been close to do stuff or hang out and work is just not an environment i can be close to people in and all my friends work or live together so i don’t ever get to spend time with them like they do each other so i always feel out of the loop. i come home and just hang out by myself and it’s been making me so sad recently. (i’m so sorry for venting in ur asks but u seem very wise.)

I am so sorry I wrote a massive answer to this and it just didn’t save but most of it wasn’t helpful anyways so let’s do round two of the better points

it’s totally okay to vent if you want, I can’t always answer but I try to when I can cos I know how it feels to really want to tell someone something and feel like you have no one to tell! I am also a very lonely adult, but I used to be even lonelier, and here are the things I do to cope with being lonely and to improve how often I feel lonely

I think we must first poke the relationship between poor self-esteem and loneliness, I hope you love yourself dearly but if you don’t it does tend to make you feel lonelier, so if that’s one of the reasons here is my case as to why you should like yourself more : you said you come home and hang out with yourself and that makes you sad but I actually loved how you phrased it, you’re hanging out with you. Not only are you unique and special and interesting, but you do have the ability to be your own company (though I won’t suggest it’s easy to just suddenly feel content by yourself OR that this will erase the need for connection with others). But I do think that anyone who knows you is experiencing a great privilege and that you should feel that way about yourself, you are amazing, you can do amazing things. my scenario was when you’re with Friend A, you’re not lonely because Friend A is amazing and good company. When Friend A goes home she feels lonely too, but why? Wasn’t she amazing to be around? I think if you can put some weight on the pleasure of being yourself even if that’s like. Even if it’s just that when you’re alone you don’t have to worry about being judged, and you give yourself leniency or something, does that make sense?

My next point is that to cope with loneliness I started writing about wish fulfilment stuff, fics where someone appreciated me, loved me, saw my struggles, and I read those so much. When I first started writing, a thousand words probably took me a week, and I would just constantly reread the things I wrote because they always made me feel less alone, even the process of writing now years later makes me feel less alone. If I couldn’t write I’m sure I’d constantly feel alone because I don’t have many friends either and I don’t see them much!! I feel so out of the loop with everything that I realised I actually can’t deal with social media and the feelings they give me and I deleted them all over again a few weeks ago (besides of course this and one other evil app). It’s actually my big recommendation to everyone ever to get off of social media if you can but I totally understand that it’s not easy and can make it worse rather than better. My point here before is that having a hobby and something to work on and to be with yourself instead of by yourself is a great way to deal.

Other ways I coped with loneliness were jigsaw puzzles (so many), rewatching the same TV shows, movies, reading A LOT, daydreaming, learning how to make friendship bracelets, nature documentaries (especially good to see how huge the world is)

If being alone is upsetting you and you can’t cope, please don’t be afraid to reach out for help. You’re very important, and the way you feel is important to. You don’t have to suffer through any bad feelings even loneliness which may feel incurable alone. In the UK there are lots of free resources (many terrible) but ones I would actually recommend are the Samaritan email service and the SHOUT crisis text line for stress anxiety and depression. Both are busy services which can make the loneliness more exasperating but they can help when you’re feeling awful. I’m really sorry you’re feeling lonely right now because it’s an awful feeling that genuinely goes to the bone, and I hope you feel less alone soon!! I’m sorry if this has assumed anything wrong about you but just based off of how I experienced my worst loneliness and what I did to feel better I hope my advice can help you ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[farshootergotme]

Oh you and your friend make some interesting points about why Bruce adopting Dick so late in his life was a problem. It’s something writers clearly didn’t take into account when the trying to make this scene work while also not letting go of the not being adopted thing plot line while also trying to have their cake too by having Dick and Bruce makeup and finally having Dick be adopted by Bruce.

I know the writer writing Protugal wanted it to be a touching moment between the two of them. But the problem is it isn’t about what Dick wants and it written in a way where Bruce while has good intention offering him the adoption papers, he doesn’t own up to the fact he caused this issue in the first place if I am remembering correctly although I will have double check and reread that scene so take my statement with a grain of salt. Poor communication is truly the worst emery of them all and cough comic book writers loving to hammer in unnecessary drama and conflict even if makes no bloody sense at times or take into account how it effect the characters going forward. 

The thing about what is a good Batman writer is not necessarily if they nail Bruce Wayne and Batman as a whole but rather if they care about Robin as a concept or even like characters Dick Grayson in general. Same goes to Nightwing writers as well you can absolutely love Dick Grayson but do you actually understand Bruce Wayne as a character and are you willing to explore that aspect of their relationship Ie father/son. (Then again some of Nightwing writers do him so bloody dirty it’s honestly mind boggling to me.)

Another thing to think about is how most modern day writers and even some of older best writers from back in day of Batman is that they refuse to let him be wrong or admit he has messed up. Like my god, I like Bruce as character I really do but it’s so frustrating to see how he is treated in modern books like my god just stop the drama already with his family, I’m tired of Batman being regressed to his younger less mature self mentality and acts like he has learned nothing. Why is it so hard to just let him be a flawed but well meaning dad who yes messes up sometimes but is willing to get better and grow as a person because at the end of the day he truly cares about his children.

My problem with Richard getting adopted as an adult is well mainly with how it was handled. It never about what Dick wants if it was the writers would have made Bruce apologise for his failing as a father to him and make it so it’s up to Richard if he decides to forgive him or not because let’s be honest Bruce hurt his eldest son by his selfish actions but Bruce should also just be honest with him about he has always seen him as a son maybe not at first but it grew into that overtime and that he was wrong for assuming how Dick felt about being adopted and should have done sooner in fact he should have done around the same time as Jason. Again he should have done the minute or at least offered it when he and Dick had a heart to heart in the Marv wolf man run at Donna wedding but I don’t know. You know what amusing about his run is before this story was made he refer to Dick as Bruce adopted child early in his run which is an interesting thing to think about or maybe I misremember and it was a different writer altogether. OvO’)

Or maybe we can just skip all the stupid drama of adopting or no adopting bs and just have Bruce adopt Richard as a young teen which gives Dick enough time to think about it and probably change his mind. It also gives them time to bond as father and son, now I am not asking for Bruce to be a perfect father figure mistakes will happen as he learns what it means to be a father figure to Dick. Like come on give me fun and compassionate Batman please I miss him like geez why are the writers afraid to just let Bruce grow and move on from his past to some extent. 

Another to get off my chest with DC is well isn’t time to just retire the whole ward thing because it not really used anymore and might as well change to Dick being a foster child because that is what he is. Like the 2004 cartoon The Batman made this change to just that. Like I get Ward is historically important to Richard but I don’t know. Another thing I wish for is just to let Dick be adopted earlier at this point because the drama of not being adopted is just hurting both Dick and Bruce as characters at this point. 

When you could instead be focusing on why Dick wanting space and independence from Bruce like how his parenting style can be quite old fashioned the strict yet overprotective father figure and how he shows his love through his actions rather then his words. You could also explore how Bruce being a dad with a mental health issue aka ptsd, being kind of a control freak and suffer from self loathing issues and how he thinks he never be a good enough parent to his adopted soon. Effects Dick development and how Dick felt like over-coddled and suppressed by Bruce being overprotective and at times being super critical of his decisions as a young teen and young adult.

Honestly what frustrating about Tom Tyler run of Nightwing is that the scene with Dick and Bruce in the bat cave is so good but the problem is it is not earned because Tom Tyler hasn’t really taken the time to explore Dick’s and Bruce’s relationship as father and son or having the balls to actually explore the nuances of it and gasp let Dick call Bruce out on where he has hurt him and that Bruce needing to take responsibility for his actions as father. 

This is why I hate when people say they aren’t father and son or god damn family because one it makes it out Bruce actions aren’t as bad because they’re just “coworkers/partners” which just gross to me and also takes away Richard agency and why he repels so heavily against Bruce and why he is so upset about not being adopted you can’t just sit there and tell me they’re not family because it’s simply not true because this effects Richard heavily because in his mind he thought he wasn’t good enough to be Bruce’s son and felt replaced. Literally Eldest feeling replaced by the new baby sibling coded right there.

Another thing, I feel people will have come and accept about superhero comics mostly by Marvel and DC is well they’re kinda like fairy tales in a way, writers giving their own spin and takes on the world and the characters that function within it. They only things that keep them connected is how characters themselves and if they develop and grows carries over or sticks within that part of the lore. I also feel that writers are afraid to take big risks like changing how Dick Grayson became Nightwing even though they’re already one or two versions where it doesn’t lead to him fighting with Bruce and getting fired.

Now I am not saying ignore canon completely but I feel you’re at the mercy of the writers or eras of comic book runs and I think people should pick the writers they like rather try to stitch all these different takes and continuities together. Then again, I guess it doesn’t help that most media has Batman alone and completely disregard the concept of Robin or his found family in general and that honestly such a shame because Robin aka Dick Grayson is the reason Batman comics stayed alive for so alive for so long, hell he was created even before blooming Alfred.

Which leads to final point this whole thing about Dick Grayson not being adopted, has made so that is all is ever talked about. Who Dick Grayson the character like what are his goals who he is like yes he relationship with his father figure is important as it what lead him to this pathway and wether he likes or not he can quite similar to Bruce in terms of his beliefs and parts of his personality but also what about his friends the titans or his journey into adulthood and he finds himself that’s more interesting to me. Modern writers what are you doing with Richard he has so much potential and yet it feels like they have no idea on what they want to do with. No more Tony Zuuco no more changing to his backstory leave it alone please it’s fine how it is there is no reason to make it more complicated and by doing that you take away how the parallel between Bruce and Dick backstories 👏👏👏Hot take I know. 

Also, there is nothing wrong with wanting to write Dick and Bruce patching up their relationship as father and son, I love Bruce being a good dad that is trying to best despite being mentally ill himself. But keep in mind how you go about writing Bruce and make sure he faces consequences for his decisions and actions as a parental figure to  Dick Grayson and his other children. 

Oh wow sorry for making another kinda essay in your ask box again. 😅 (Hmm, I could talk about how Dick parents and his lifestyle at the circus effect his personality and how his flaws were already there before Bruce took him in but that probably for another time ha ha.

Anyway, that is enough of my rambles and inner never ending thought of this complicated father and son duo.

Hey, thanks for sharing your thoughts! I personally can agree with a lot that you're saying.

The problem when it comes to writing Dick and Bruce is that their characters are so old that many of the things from the earliest comics would be very different if one wants to write them in a more modern era. But many writers seem to choose to keep things (despite also changing things that are actually alright and should be left alone, but, oh, well...)

I mean, I don't think the drama of Bruce not being able to adopt is all that bad. For example, in one of the origins, there was woman, Sister Mary, who took care of Dick during his time at the orphanage. She mentions doubting Bruce's capabilities as a father because of his reputation as a womanizer, but that she was convinced she'd be good for Dick after talking with him in private.

They could still use this conflict in modern era and how his image as the playboy billionaire could influence the jury's decision to only give him custody of Dick as his new guardian rather than his adoptive father. Plus (I don't remember if it was in the same origin or not) Dick at the beginning wasn't fully ready to have a 'replacement' for his dad, so Bruce would respect that and accept the responsibility as his guardian.

However, here's where I'd say that they screw up; they let the years pass, no mention of adoption whatsoever (despite both clearly growing to see each other as father and son, respectively) and they just leave it at that until, check this out! Jason is adopted! I would assume now the jury is okay with letting him adopt a child because he's proven himself by taking care of Dick all these years. But, yeah, actually, back to Dick, what about him, then?

I don't believe for a second nobody would bring up the adoption issues. Like, if not Bruce or Dick (maybe because they're both afraid of being rejected by the other if they bring it up) why not Alfred? He's not shy about voicing his thoughts to Bruce, and I'm sure he could convince him to have a chat with Dick about a possible adoption because Dick is only getting older and one day it'll be too late to ask.

(Except not apparently because DC wrote Bruce asking a Dick in his early twenty's if he can adopt him which is definitely not late at all! Not to mention they had the first real conversation about adoption years ago, but Bruce just ignored Dick clears desires to be adopted and only brought it up when he thought it was the right time because why make a father that cares also about his son's emotions, am I right?

It just feels like a cheap compensation for all the years they (specially Dick) waited to become an official family. So what if the bond is more important? Maybe Dick wanted the reassurance that no matter what he would still be Bruce's family without meaning the end of their relationship everytime he left the manor to make a life for himself, is that so wrong?)

And it just makes Bruce look so bad when someone comes up with the excuse that "Dick didn't want to be adopted so Bruce was only respecting his wishes". Well, of fucking course he didn't want to get a new father a few weeks after he saw his dad's bloody corpse laying on the floor of the circus! But years later? When he's already learnt to deal with the grief and has found a new family in these two older men that chose to take care of him? What excuse does Bruce have then to not have ever brought it up again? The only 'excuse' I could think of is that he was insecure that he wouldn't be a good father to Dick (or as good as Jhon Grayson) or, as I mentioned before, afraid of being rejected. But this isn't just about him!! And as the adult in the situation he needs to save those feelings for later and communicate with Dick first without coming to any assumptions. What will change from the current relationship, anyway? Other than the security that Bruce can't just get rid of Dick whenever he wants since he's just his guardian and he can pass the responsibility to anyone else which sounds a lot more like a plus to me than a negative change.

And Bruce himself said "it doesn't really change anything" when he gave Dick the papers, so it really was a non-issue since the beginning.

I get he can have doubts and insecurities, but when it's between putting your feelings first or the ones of the child you're raising, I think the decision should come pretty easily. (Not to Bruce, apparently)

So, yeah, if DC really wanted, they could just change the early years again (we know they can, they've done it enough times already) and make Dick Bruce's officially adopted son during his Robin years and fix the whole issue very easily.

Now, I wanted to address the part about Bruce's parenting and DC not letting him develop and grow as both a character and a father, but I don't want to make this too long and you already said enough about the topic, so I'll leave it at that.

(also, would definitely love to hear about your thoughts on Dick's upbringing at the circus and how his issues began from his early childhood and not everything was for Bruce's influence. I have my own thoughts about that and it'd be great to discuss them with you)

[irisbleufic]

Of all the current Devil’s Minion writers your playlist is the one I want to see. Do you have one? If not, are there particular songs you’ve been listening into to while you write? The vibe of your prose with them is hypnotizing like the short story about them in the books, it’s impressive, and does your music also inform this choice if at all?

Intense question, anon. Fourteen-year-old me fucking hyperventilated after reading the DM chapter in Queen of the Damned (me, on the floor of my bedroom at 3am because I don’t want to get caught reading this book, staring dazed at the ceiling; me, now, three weeks ago, sitting shellshocked on the sofa after watching S1 and S2 over two days as a binge; me, over two of those weeks following the binge, rereading the first half of the Chronicles and starting to see double, tilt the prism, see what happens when the narratives are overlaid and blurred), and it still feels like that. Likely my prose turning out the way it is in these stories is about 90% my giddy teenage self having access to my adult self’s writing experience to finally write this beloved pairing without fear of litigious letters (IYKYK, my fellow elder Millennials in the fandom). I don’t often love film and TV adaptations of my favorite books, but I adore this show. It’s flawlessly transformative; its improvements only make the resonances and overlaps that much more meaningful. No notes.

However, I have been listening to the same small handful of songs on repeat for 6 days as I write these pieces. I imagine they are affecting my sense of scansion at points; my writing life didn’t begin with fiction, it began with years of poetry before I ever tried prose. These tracks are as meaningful to me as poems as they are songs. It’s as good a starting point for a playlist as any; I’ll keep adding and put it together on Spotify at some point.

1. Vesuvius - Sufjan Stevens

Vesuvius, I am here

You are all I have

Fire of fire, I'm insecure

for it is all been made to plan

Though I know I will fail

I cannot be made to laugh

for in life as in death

I'd rather be burned

than be living in debt

This song was my entire first 72 hours of writing. I’m that Autistic weirdo who will listen to a single song on repeat for a month and think nothing of it. Villa of the Mysteries in Pompeii being the nexus point of their love story from beginning to end in QotD, this is everything to me; I was never going to be able to write about the show incarnation of them without integrating this location and this imagery in the most reverent love letter I know how. This is why my series title for these stories is Caldera. Volcanic crater blowout if ever I saw one; I ran with it.

2. I Forget Where We Were - Ben Howard

Hello love, my invincible friend; hello, love, the thistle and the burr. For you, I have so many words—and I, I forget where we were. I haven’t known this song for all that long in the grand scheme, but it found me via Spotify shuffle in 2022 right after something awful happened. The longing in this song hinges on one of the lovers in it waking up to something they’ve forgotten about their relationship, something precious, and I’m thrilled to finally have a fandom application for it.

3. Make You Better - The Decemberists

I sung you your twinges

I suffered you your tattle-tales

and when you broke sideways

I wanted you, I needed you, oh

to make me better

Oh, to make me better

But we're not so starry-eyed anymore

like the perfect paramour you were in your letters

And won't it all just come around to make you

let it all un-break you to the day that you met her

No excuse for this one; it does a great job of speaking for itself. Front-man Colin Meloy is one of my all-time favorite songwriters, and his work is frequently dark, creepy, and/or gothic enough in flavor that I could find a few more.

4. Song to the Siren - Elisabeth Fraser & This Mortal Coil

On the floating shipless oceans

I did all my best to smile

till your singing eyes and fingers

drew me loving to your isle

and you sang, “Sail to me,

sail to me, let me enfold you—

here I am, here I am,

waiting to hold you.”

This cover of Tim Buckley’s folk masterpiece completely transforms the vibe of the song, and in the kind of way you need for this pairing. This one is at responsible for the events and imagery in my “Still Life with Sunken Treasure.”

5. Hal - Yasmine Hamdan, Only Lovers Left Alive OST

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اطلعي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي شرّفي

لأ ما أقدرشي

وطلعت يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

يا عزيزة اتريحي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي اتلحلحي

لأ ما أقدرشي

وسمعت يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اتفرفشي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي قربي

لأ ما أقدرشي

فرشنا يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

يا عزيزة اقلعي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي اتجرأي

لأ مش ممكن

شلحنا يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اتغندريله

يا حبيبتي اتذوقيله

افهمي يا سيدي مش قادرة

وطبعا تقنعني مش واخدة

ايه يا عزيزة؟

ايه اللي إنتي عملاه ده؟

يا يا يا راجل يا هوه!

مش عيب عليك اختشي ونو

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اخلعي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي اتشخلعي

لأ مش ممكن

يا خيبتي يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

يا عزيزة اتبغددي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي جربي

لأ ما أقدرشي

وجينا يا ناس، غلبنا يا ناس

جينا يا ناس، غلبنا يا ناس

I don’t think the Arabic justified to the correct side when I copied this, but the translation is very easy to find. I don’t speak Arabic, but honestly the English translation is dull compared to the beauty of this language. If you haven’t watched Only Lovers Left Alive, what the hell are you even doing with your vampire-loving, monster-fucking life? All the tracks on it have the right vibe for DM, really.

[madockisser]

Why do you wanna kiss Madoc?

not sure if ppl are actually weirded out by my user or not, which most certainly is not my intention, but i feel the need to rant abt my thoughts on madoc! i also don’t wanna deter anyone bc of my user 😭! btw i totally understand if u hate him w all your guts like truly i get it but don’t hate on me for not! my user is mostly a joke! (also i LOVE cardan and jude sm more than madoc obviously just the “madockisser” user is funnier and so few ppl talk abt madoc so i feel the need to 😭)

madoc raised 3 children that weren’t his, was willing to risk quite literally everything to become king so his poor mortal daughters will be treated like princesses in a world where they’re treated like garbage. madoc has his faults(like trying to make poor oakey pokey king), but a lot of them can be chalked up to his redcap nature, being bloodthirsty and power hungry and just not understanding jude and her morals since their morals and life experiences are just SO different

him and jude have the same goal, except madoc and his nature, his morals, make the execution of that goal and the endpoint a bit different. jude is trying to save oak from being king so he won’t have to grow up bloodthirsty and drenched in blood like she did, while madoc is trying to make oak king, which he thinks is obviously the best thing he can do for him since madoc is so power hungry.

in their own eyes, they each think what they have planned for oak is best, and obviously to madoc making his son king after slaughtering nearly the rest of the greenbriar bloodline which solidifies his succession to the throne is a great boon, and in his eyes, jude isn’t trying to keep him from doing that to protect oak, (since he doesn’t understand that jude grew up so miserably) he sees jude trying to take/keep oaks throne from him.

jude says in her inner monologue at some point that she’s sure that madoc would relinquish the throne to oak when he’s of age, since he’s a man of honor or wtv, and madoc obv thinks this is just the best course for oak. why wouldn’t madoc want his children powerful and bloodthirsty? he wants them to be like him, and more than that, he doesn’t want them to slave away for a greenbriar like madoc did to eldred and balekin and dain(which he reveals in the stolen heir duo)

another thing is his morals when it comes to dain. he was livid in a way oriana had never seen when he heard about what dain did to oak and liriope. which makes perfect sense for him because he has honor enough to not slaughter a woman for being pregnant and by extent taking the life of the child inside just to remain in power and in favor.

dain did something that madoc inherently disagreed w. so madocs decision was obviously to betray him and run him through after replanning. it’s just in his nature. he replans, betrays, and resorts to murder when it matters lol. he does the same (sorta) w balekin by using him as a ploy to get oaks throne. balekin who has human slaves treated terribly, while madoc had a human wife and human children. i’m shocked balekin didn’t see madocs betrayal coming.

and even tho jude did something he inherently disagreed w/ and didn’t try to understand (which frustrates me sm) he gives her so many chances to come back to his side, he gives her advice, he gives her chances, betraying his nature for his daughter until qon, when he finally resorts to murder. fucking devastating.

on a lighter note, i do think it’s funny tho that despite it all he was still a better father than eldred and dain, and better guardian than balekin. though i will say that i do NOT excuse so many of madocs actions (bc he causes my poor baby jude so much pain), and when i’m actively rereading esp during qon i do in fact hate that mf, …i just think he’s dilf-y.

unrelated but he’s like the lead of a monster romance. holly black actually has another green sweetheart-chemist murdery bf, in her book valiant, but he’s too niche like nobody knows abt him which is so sad bc he’s sooooo cute and sweet. “ravuskisser” would be my user

i love reading his and jude’s dynamic, i love reading abt him and eva and him and oriana. i love in tpt when he FINALLY says something abt eva, finally understanding why she left him, and him owning up to his mistakes, but then saying , “but if it were not for my mistakes, i would not have the family i have today.” 😭😭😭😭😭

ALSO, the exile. it was so necessary. madoc living amongst humans helps him realize so much about eva, jude and taryn. “since humans have a shorter lifespan, they would risk much for happiness.” he says (not word for word) in tpt when speaking of eva, but ofc it also applies to jude and taryn.

anyway i guess moral of the story i like madoc bc daddy issues ig and also his complexity, holly black is a genius at writing morally grey faeries w diff mindsets! also how jude describes him to be a “tall man” the second he’s on the page like damn i get it eva and ori! anyway even holly black supports madoc kissers like me so don’t judge me!

[sooniebby]

Hi js wanted to share a poem I made today 🫠 pls rate 🥰

Hmmmmmmmmmm, I’m not the absolute best when it comes to poems so honestly you can ignore my criticism if you want! But as is, I like the poem, it’s really nice, sweet! 8/10!!!

But it feels a bit wordy.. if you were going for that route that’s fine! But I would take out some words to make it punch more.. a few words also make me pause a bit

Like i had to reread it a second for it to flow easily, that was just the second line in the first stanza

The line “ just like my love for you, I must silence the night” I didn’t get it… I kept rereading it but it just didn’t make any sense to me

“would cease to exist” i had to reread a few times because i kept thinking “but how does that work? Sunsets don’t cease to exist, they always come back” maybe that’s just my own brain taking things too literally tho so don’t take it to heart!

Also it doesn’t work with the message of the poem, you’re not forgetting your lover, you end it with “my heart still beats for you” and if the sunset is your love, it never faded

But I also really like how you compare your love to the sunset. It’s not exactly revolutionary but it’s nice. Especially the part about “stirring” the flame.. but I would use a different word to make it have a better punch!

When it comes to poems.. the words you use really matter!!! They can add a whole different meaning to a line so easily.

Imma guess that the love you have with this person isn’t exactly healthy for you. It feels like you, the writer, was the one who ruined the love, so. I feel you could’ve expanded more on that, especially because you are the sunset.

I viewed it as you are the sunset and the lover is the moon.

My favorite part is “crying isn’t enough to embrace you tight once more; but like the tides at the sea, the water will soon leave the shore.” It feels like heartbreak, if that makes sense, it’s practically perfect in my eyes, but I’d probably make it a little shorter.

Now, imma put a little version of your poem down at the bottom, but pls pls don’t take this as me saying my version is better!!! It’s just an idea, you could even ignore it if you want. It’s just to show you an example of what I meant by shortening a few sentences and changing the words to evoke stronger emotions.

The sunset is beautiful, isn’t it?

Sunsets fade, leaving without a goodbye

As the waves kiss the shore, I whisper in your ear

The pain consumes me as the waves swallow your tears

Forgetting you isn’t hard but it aches my soul

The other half of my heart, one you made whole

Crying isn’t enough to embrace you once more

But like the tides at sea, the water will leave shore

My soul yearns for you, yet I drown in the pain

Memories of you strangled in chains

“I still love you,” the sun sets

I could hurt you again, igniting the same flame

The sunset abandons the eternal moon’s somber light

Silence greets you, leaving you alone another night

Yet on the shore, a truth remains clear

My sun sets on your horizon

I hope my rambling made sense. Anyway this was fun—totally pointless cuz I’m pretty sure you weren’t expecting a whole ass essay but I was bored! Anyway I hope this helps you… in anyway possible!

[pinkorchidsinspring]

Liverpool Night 3 Surprise Song ✨Breakdown✨:

A lyrical breakdown of course…

Let’s get started on the sheer importance of this combination of songs- CAUSE WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THIS

Carolina + no body, no crime

Carolina as in KARLI-e??

Anyway, she had that smirk on her face and called this the “murder Mash-up”?!!! Murder of what darling? Possibly Taylor Swift™️? I digress, lyric time:

Lonesome I'll always stay / Carolina knows / Why for years I roam / Free as these birds, light as whispers

Translated to: Karlie knows why Taylor roams from man to man and is so “lonesome” in the public eye. After all she’s just as free as any musician right…?

And you didn't see me here / No, they never did see me here

Translated to: the fans didn’t see her there with Karlie, no they never really saw her with karlie. Most of them never saw the intent behind Taylor’s eyes when she looked at Karlie, and vice versa. :(

And she's in my dreams / Into the mist, into the clouds

Oh, Carolina knows / Why for years they've said /That I was guilty as sin / And sleep in a liar's bed /But the sleep comes fast

Translation: Karlie knows why the fans have said for years that she’s gay and sleeps in another liars bed (aka Karlie’s), however she lives peacefully when she’s alone with her lover, and simultaneously lies to the public weekly about her real lover.

No body, no crime as in if there’s no evidence than it never happened??

Much like how she emphasized “infidelity” when she sings

Her husband’s actin’ different and it smells like infidelity.

How very telling of whether or not the same muse in the first song (Karlie) has a ‘faithful’ husband (-when you’re in a lavender marriage it is different morally, but to the public it is disloyalty to even consider he is with anyone other than her)

I think I’m gonna call him out

Maybe as in… I don’t know… 🏳️‍🌈call her husband out of the closet… coughs in coumingoutlor*

ALSO just an added bonus is the sheer amount of times she emphasizes the word “SHE” in the performance… there’s way more than just this short clip 🏳️‍🌈✨💅

The manuscript + Red

The Manuscript as in the ENTIRE torrid affair?!

Whilst reading this part of the analysis keep in mind that I believe that the manuscript is most likely from Karlie’s point of view in the future, it may be from Taylor’s, but it makes the most sense as Karlie’s POV.

Now and then she rereads the manuscript / Of the entire torrid affair

Now and then Karlie remembers (aka rereading) a time (a manuscript) full of ‘difficulty and tribulation’ (the definition of torrid), that was her lavender marriage to Josh.

They compared their licenses

I believe that this could possibly be about Taylor & Karlie in the way that Taylor has a drivers license but Karlie has a Marriage License in the era of this memory.

He said, "I'm not a donor but / I'd give you my heart if you needed it"

Gay best friend offers to give Karlie his heart, or at least his legal (-and for show) heart if she needs it.

And the years passed / Like scenes of a show

From there the marriage begins, and much like a show, Karlie and Josh are constantly performing.

Then the actors / Were hitting their marks/ And the slow dance/ Was alight with the sparks / And the tears fell / In synchronicity with the score

This is her looking back at the lavender marriage/ bearding time of their public relationship. The actors (aka the girls and their men) truly were hitting their marks and convincing the public of a romance worthy of a small Nicolas sparks novel. Obviously this isn’t a happy thing to look back on, and with the pretend comes all the times she wished she could just be done with the agony of pretending all the time. The agony that caused her so many years at the time.

And at last / She knew what the agony had been for

At last, present day (the future) Karlie knows why they did it, she looks back and knows they made the right decision because something good has clearly come from it.

The only thing that's left is the manuscript / One last souvenir from my trip to your shores

The only thing that’s left are the memories of this time.

Now and then I reread the manuscript / But the story isn't mine anymore

Now and then she remembers, but she’s out now. The story isn’t hers anymore. She isn’t in the closet anymore.

Red as in

Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes / Tell myself it's time now gotta let go/ But moving on from him is impossible / When I still see it all in my head

IF you have read this, tell me how I’m wrong when this entire combination of surprise songs so obviously has an invisible string CONNECTING THEM all together. (not so invisible now 😉) Because no I didn’t pick and choose what lyrics from red Taylor sang night 3. She did that herself. AND THESE WERE what TAYLOR Alison SWIFT chose to play directly after the manuscript.

Happy pride month people 🏳️‍🌈✨💗

[shipmistress9]

Thoughts on Violet’s signet.

(Iron Flame Spoilers)

Rebecca confirmed that Violet is going to have a second signet in book three, that it’s already manifesting in Iron Flame, and that the hints are all there between the lines for us to figure it out. 

I’ve read the posts about how her second signet is probably going to be slowing/stopping time, with how she counted seconds and was able to observe so much, and I’m not saying those are wrong. Actually, I think there’s a good chance this is what’s going to happen. It was such a useful gift in Fourth Wing, and it would only make sense to bring it back, but as something that Violet controls and fuels this time. 

But I also… hope that’s not it? I don’t know how to really say it, but to me, that would be boring in a way. Andarna lost her power, only for Violet to manifest the same power as her signet? Meh… 

Personally, I have another theory. One that could cause a lot of future trouble. Violet’s second signet makes her ‘kind of an inntinnsic’, too. Okay, this might seem boring, too, but hear me out. 

The signets don’t come from the dragons, not from Andarna, but from the rider’s personality and needs. And one of the things Violet needs more than ever after her entire life got turned upside down is information. It’s knowing what’s true and what not. So this could make her a Truthsayer, which is arguably also a ‘kind of inntinnsic’. But that’s not really where I meant to go. 

Her dreams. What if those were never her dreams but always only Xaden’s? What if they didn’t leak through their bond but she read his mind while they were both sleeping? (On my next reread, I’m gonna pay attention to whether those graphic nighmares, the ones where she actually sees the Sage, are happening when Xaden’s close by or not)

But even more important… The way she heard Xaden’s thoughts as he had her on the throne. She thought that ‘his emotions must have flooded their bond’, but what if that’s not it? What if it was she who slipped into his mind? Because the way the narration shifted there felt a lot like how that guy Jeremiah in Fourth Wing babbled the thought of those around him. 

And, arguably, during the entirety of Iron Flame—the time after Andarna’s first growth spurt, where she probably started to channel for real at some point and Violet’s second signet develops—the one thing Violet needs the most… is knowing what’s going on in Xaden’s head. She wants to know the truth, wants to be let in completely. 

So maybe, the reason why Xaden tore away from Violet so suddenly in that throne scene wasn’t because he wanted to fuck her so badly and had to physically restrain himself. Maybe he recognised her manifesting signet for what it was and panicked. Maybe he needed that moment to recompose himself, to play it down, for her sake as well as his own. And maybe, just like with the lightning, it was just an idea, nothing he could be sure of since the power didn’t clearly manifest again after that one incident. Nothing he would talk about until he had to. 

I like the idea of how Violet also being able to read Xaden’s mind levels the playing field between them again. I like the idea of the sheer panic Xaden would feel after learning that’s her signet, knowing what fate awaits her should anyone else learn about it. I like the idea of him sticking around to teach her how to keep it secret, even when he thinks he should stay away from her, since the venin’s craving for power inside him might lead to him harming her. 

[starsyearn]

favorite (hpdm) fics of 2024 'til may.

hi hey hello! this year was the year i truly plunged into drarry and took a deep dive and i love that for me. came on here to show my appreciation for some of the best fics that i’ve read so far this year. let the praise commence for these fics that have caused me immense brainrot!!!

Teeter by @shiftylinguini (E, 10k)

Draco wants to come, Harry has other ideas, and they both might be doing this whole 'casually sleeping together' thing a bit wrong. Excerpt: If he’d been thinking straight, Draco would have guessed that Harry didn’t do things by halves, and that hopping into bed with him would be as exhilarating and impossible to control as anything Draco’d ever felt about the stupid tosser ― but even Draco could admit that keeping a level-head around Harry wasn’t exactly his strong point.

my thoughts: spice with a side of emotional mess, i stan. (reread it like thrice within a week of finishing it the first time because it was so beautiful somehow even though it was pure filth.)

By Any Other Name by @dracognition (E, 8k)

Draco would like to say that when Potter barged into his office at nine-thirty in the morning, locked the door, and demanded, “Are you in love with me?”, he sneered back and said something quite clever and cutting along the lines of please, Potter, I know we’re not trying to kill each other anymore but I have the good sense and, more importantly, standards not to throw myself at you or maybe at least I see your ego hasn’t gotten any more tolerable since school. What he said in reality, though, was, “What? I—what?” He tried again. “Have you gone completely mental?”

A botched love potion makes it so that everyone in Harry's vicinity is madly in love with him—everyone except Draco, that is.

my thoughts: i’m in such a haze ohmygod this was delicious and so fucking good i physically cannot — *clenches fist* these two have my whole and entire heart. AND THE WRITING I AM UNWELL. it’s so pretty!! anyways. read if you want pining draco & oblivious harry dialed up to immense levels of cuteness.

break the bad luck in my life by seaworn (E, 12k)

“Let’s have dinner." “I - what?” “I know a decent Muggle pub that serves adequate food, and it’s very private," Potter said. “‘Decent’. ‘Adequate’. You really know how to sell it, don’t you?” “Phenomenal company,” he offered. ** Draco and Harry are both brooding on Christmas Eve.

my thoughts: oh. my. god. smut with a side of life-altering decisions + christmas vibes = me giggling & kicking my legs up. so lovely. i love powerful harry and snarky draco and how they come together (no pun intended).

No Harm by @tessacrowley (E, 47k)

After a long, bloody war, Draco Malfoy just wants to do something good with his life for a change, and resolves to become a healer. But magical society refuses to make it easy for him, and an increasingly dramatic series of events—all of them instigated by Harry Potter—get him kicked out of med school, force him to live in exile, and threaten to destroy the new life he’s trying so desperately to build. But Harry isn’t instigating anything—at least not on purpose. He’s just trying to work up the nerve to ask him out. His efforts don’t appear to be going great.

my thoughts: this was such a quiet love story that touched my heart and i just. i’m melting. this really showed me how some of the deepest love can be rooted with so much history and pain but also deeply seated with a strong foundation of affection and mutual desire. harry and draco were perfect in this. auror harry/healer draco will forever have my heart now, and i personally feel it fits them so well (i will hear no arguments). their characterizations were so on-point in my opinion because of course it fits them. of course harry’s impatient and rushes into things headfirst but knows his morals and knows who he loves and wants to protect and cherish for the rest of his life (draco). of course draco’s snarky and vulnerable and sassy and penitent about everything that happened, because he was only just a kid. i love how they’re so idiots in love coded, once they get past the initial misunderstandings about how harry was trying to “ruin” draco’s life lol (which was sad in its own way). but then!!! when harry finally starts to “woo” draco, it was just so hilarious and beautiful and lovely. absolutely recommend.

AITA for being “obsessed” with my childhood nemesis? by RainstormRadish (M, 4k)

Alrakis • I [24M] attended a small boarding school in the UK. There was a boy in my year, a couple of months younger than me, and he became my nemesis after we developed an intense rivalry. My friend [25F] told me recently that our dynamic was "weird back then" and that "it’s even weirder" that I still think about him today. She argued that I talk about him all the time, but I believe the amount I talk about him is reasonable. AITA? prongymcprongface • i completely get what you mean. i had a nemesis (like a school one, separate to my other nemesis) and we had a dynamic super similar to what you are describing. having a nemesis is a very cool and normal thing dw about it. NTA In which Draco asks the internet if he's being reasonable. Only one commenter is sympathetic. They start talking.

my thoughts: this was just so funny and cute and surprisingly portrayed a reddit comment section so realistically (i was laughing so hard IT WAS HILARIOUS). again, what draco & harry share is a rivalry ok it’s definitely not a crush. not at all.

Darling, You’re Wiggling by @softlystarstruck, @lou-isfake (T, 5k)

Draco has a secret. Harry doesn’t have a secret, until he does. Then he goes to Claire’s.

my thoughts: in a nutshell: domestic drarry. they had me beaming so hard my cheeks hurt.

Pocket Full Of Starlight (Never Let It Fade Away) by @noeeon, @femmequixotic (E, 46k)

When Scorpius Malfoy and Jamie Potter meet at Quidditch camp, they take an instant dislike to each other. Then they discover their lives are more connected than they could possibly imagine.

my thoughts: scorpius & james parent trap-ping harry & draco? what’s not to like there. the family moments were everything, and this was just genuinely so feel-good even when the angst was angsting that i couldn’t help loving everything about it. anyways drarry are rather stupid here (affectionate) but thank fuck the kids are there to knock some sense into them. also jamie having harry’s recklessness while scorpius has draco’s shyness and coldness is just so lovely i cannot.

something in the static by cloudings (E, 92k)

When Draco Malfoy is sent numerous threats warning of what exactly will happen to him if he returns to Hogwarts, he is assigned a young, handsome Auror as his bodyguard. Harry hates him. He hates how close he stands to Malfoy, how highly he thinks of himself, how he insists on holding Malfoy’s shoulder every time they walk into a room. Really, Harry thinks. He’s the one who defeated the evilest of the evil. He could do a far better job of protecting him than a self-absorbed, shiny-haired prick like that. And you know what? He just might.

my thoughts: probably my favorite eighth year fic by far! the jealousy and pining was so good, holy shit. the tension was off the roof. genuinely so much fun.

Evitative by Vichan (T, 222k)

In the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry is drawn to a room in Grimmauld Place. Like the Gryffindor he is, he enters the room without fear. The room is a library, and Harry is surprised to find that he’s eager to learn. Then he gets the bad news: he’s been accidentally expelled from Hogwarts, and he needs to be sorted again. Everyone is confident that he’ll go straight back to Gryffindor, but with what he's been learning, Harry’s not so sure.

my thoughts: this was amazing, addictive, and honestly fucking awesome. from the beginning i got so hooked and literally went “alriiiiight i think we have a winner on our hands folks” cause it really seemed like it would hit. and oh did it. i have no idea how i’m gonna hold out from reading Redivider (the sequel) since it’s a WIP (i think 76k words are done at the moment) and i generally avoid those because i cannot bear the waiting time (+ unfortunately the author doesn’t seem to have updated since may 2022) but like. i miss this world already and i love the way the world-building was done in this AU of Order of the Phoenix. the whole concept of dark arts introduced so many nuances to the original book and i loved this take on it. i also liked how despite characters having ingrained prejudices, they worked to meet in the middle and found common ground. and isn’t that what this fic was all about? insane and crazy plot twists, yes, but also character development in the most spectacular way. the romance is very light but i’m looking forward to seeing it develop more in the sequel!

Lily’s Boy by SomewheresSword (E, 746k)

Before his third year of Hogwarts has even begun, Harry faces three whole weeks of unsupervised time in Diagon Alley. In that time he takes a trip to Gringotts - and that changes everything. Burdened with the knowledge that Dumbledore has been blocking his family magic, and manipulating far more than he ever thought possible, Harry doesn't know who he can trust; but he knows he can't keep going that way. There's a whole world of lore and politics and history to catch up on, and the more he learns, the more Harry realises his true place in the world, and how much is being kept hidden from him. All the while, Dumbledore's twinkling eyes are constantly watching, and Harry can't let on how much he knows. With help from unexpected places, Harry starts on a journey to end the war, and reshape the wizarding world. With how much he looks like James Potter, people have forgotten one important thing about him - he is Lily Evans' son, and she was one hell of a witch.

my thoughts: i have no words to express what this means to me, so i’m just gonna leave it at that. but this was a whole-ass experience, and it’s just so comforting to me.

Turn by Saras_Girl (E, 307k)

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

my thoughts: did i ever mention i loved soft, slow stories when i’m in the mood for it (which is pretty much always)? well, i do. and this was exactly that. something so adorable, sweet, softly angsty and character-driven, not even an ounce of conflict from the “world”. it’s more about figuring yourself out, your place in the world, who you are. and fics like these teach me so much about how people try to mold themselves to fit a standard they think they should be upholding instead of saying “fuck the world, i’m gonna do as i damn well please and no one can stop me.” that’s what happened to harry. harry woke up one day and realized the way he was living wasn’t truly him living, he was merely surviving for the sake of it. just existing. the way people thought he was just having a mid-life crisis is just so incredibly sad and funny because those sort of thoughts can creep in at any point in life when you realize you’re dissatisfied with life. it doesn’t have to be necessarily only when you’re young, or at a certain age. i loved seeing these men falling in love, letting down their guard and finally righting the “mistakes” they made in the past. harry was just doing his best™️ as we all are, and i feel like he’s representing all of us in a way. i love that for us and for him.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

i adore reading your analytical posts abt soc so much jts not even funny; stumbling upon your account was like a coming across a goldmine 🙏 ALSO I RLLY WANT TO ONOW ABT THE SHE TREATS US LJKE MARKS ESSAY IVE NEVER THOIGHT ABT THAT RLLY also i loved the mr crimson post anw im sorry i’ll shut up now

Thank you so much, I’m so glad you like them!!

This is the first time someone’s submitted a question so bare with me because if there’s any way to do this wrong I’ll probably manage it, but here are my thoughts on the red herrings :)

She’s treating us like marks - an analysis of Leigh Bardugo’s use of red herrings in Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom

*warning: CONSTANT SPOILERS AHEAD!*

I happen to be an absolute sucker for a good bit of foreshadowing, I think if it’s done well it’s one of the best literary techniques out there, so it’s something I always like to try and be on the look out for when I read. With books that I go back and reread, in this case many many times (seriously I’ve never specifically counted but I’m pretty sure I’m at over ten times each for the duology, it’s ridiculous), I like to find the things I didn’t realise were foreshadowing the first time round. When rereading six of crows and crooked kingdom, I realised that a lot of the things I expected to be foreshadowing didn’t actually come to fruition whilst other, seemingly less important, details were the actual foreshadowing. I LOVE IT! It’s genius, because it leaves the reader worrying about one thing so they’re too distracted to realise the groundwork is being laid for something else. But you know what that makes me think of? Kaz’s ideology of “What’s the easiest way to steal a man’s wallet? […] Tell him you’re going to steal his watch,” and “you have to let the mark feel like he’s won”. Leigh Bardugo literally cons us, and she tells us that she’s doing it in Crooked Kingdom when the group are certain that they know where Inej is being kept, but Kaz says “Too obvious. He’s treating us like marks”. GENIUS

So I compiled a few of my favourite examples (in no particular order), if you know of any I’ve missed please add more I would love to see them!!

The cannon at the Ice Court. When the Crows first arrive in Djerholm they see a cannon built into the the cliff face, a defence mechanism for the Court, and Kaz says what might be one of my favourite underrated lines of his: “I’ve broken into banks, warehouses, mansions, museums, vaults, a rare book library, and once the bedchamber of a visiting Kaelish diplomat whose wife had a passion for emeralds. But I’ve never had a cannon shot at me”. Jesper jokes that “there’s something to be said for novelty” but then continues to say that a cannon would be useless against a ship as small as theirs and that it’s designed for “invading armadas”. They don’t mention the cannon again, but it stuck in my mind when I first read it as a looming threat, a reminder that the danger wouldn’t end when they left the court. So when they arrived in the harbour was I expecting soldiers, or a heartrender, or for Nina to take parem? Nope, I was too busy worrying about the schooner being blown to pieces - especially when the Crows all have such specific painful and/or traumatic experiences linking to water, with 4 out of 6 of them being drowning related. But that isn’t to say that the waiting soldiers at the dock weren’t foreshadowed. All the way through Leigh Bardugo constantly reminds us that Matthias had never seen black protocol in action, and that his time in the prison sector had been brief, but she lulls us into a false sense of security by letting us believe that the secret bridge onto the White Island was all Matthias was hiding. We trust him by this point, so we don’t expect anything to be different to what he’s told us, even though this is an aspect he couldn’t possibly have predicted. Bonus points for the fact that Nina’s poor well-being in the aftermath of the drug is foreshadowed by a joke at the awful Inn they go to before the job; the food is disgusting and she says “when I don’t want to eat, you know there’s a problem”, and in Crooked Kingdom it’s many times emphasised that she’s unhealthily losing weight and her appetite has vastly decreased, with Matthias buying her chocolate biscuits “in the hopes she’d eat something”.

The poison pill. Leigh Bardugo worked very hard in Crooked Kingdom to make us think that Nina might die. We went into that book knowing there was a strong possibility that she wouldn’t come out the other side; we knew very little about how she was coping with parem withdrawal at the end of soc, but we had seen around a minimum of five grisha being destroyed by the drug so far. (That’s a guess I haven’t actually counted). So we went in with the idea that she was already in a precarious situation, and even though we begin to see her regain herself she struggles throughout the novel both physically and mentally in the aftermath of the drug. Matthias begins to dream of being lost on the ice in the worst storms known to Fjerda, knowing that she was out there somewhere and that he could not reach her. This sounds like it’s foreshadowing her death. Then when the pair go to the Ravkan embassy, Tamar gives Nina a small yellow pill that Genya made; she explains that it kills instantly and painlessly, saying “we all have them” to make sure they cannot be drugged and enslaved by the Shu government, who are hunting for grisha with the Khergud at the time. Matthias is terrified by this, but Nina just slips it into her pocket without a second thought. At that moment I thought that Nina would almost take the pill only to be stopped by someone else, because it felt too obvious that it would kill her, but I did wonder if the Khergud would be the ones to stop her and so she would still be lost. But the pill never gets mentioned again, except when the Dime Lions come for Nina at Sweet Reef and she briefly remembers that it’s still in her pocket. Then never again. And Matthias’ dreams were, of course, actually foreshadowing the FESTIVAL OF PAIN AND TORTURE that is chapter 40.

Mr Crimson. I’m so glad you like my Mr Crimson idea! Basically I posted saying I think that he represents death in the novels and I’ve also talked before about how I think the Komedie Brute costumes that the characters usually adopt are representative of their character; Kaz the Madman, Nina the Lost Bride, Inej and Wylan the Grey Imp, and Jesper and Matthias Mr Crimson. I won’t go into detail about all of them but if you’re interested the post is on my page, but with the idea that Mr Crimson represents death it’s very important to me that, although all of them wear his cloak at least once, he is the only Komedie Brute character taken on by Jesper and Matthias (at least to my recollection, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong). So of course I would argue that Matthias taking on the image in Crooked Kingdom foreshadows his death, but in that case what does Jesper’s represent? I came up with two options but I actually think you could combine them into one: it’s a red herring to make us align him with the literal death of Matthias, whilst actually foreshadowing the metaphorical death that his addiction and mental well-being are driving him towards as he tries desperately to stop them - in his own words to Colm “I’m dying anyway, Da, I’m just doing it slow”

Oh god sorry that this is yet another long post I hope y’all enjoyed this enough for it to be worth the time it takes for you to read all my ramblings 😭

Tagging people who asked for this one in the replies to my essay titles post - @the-magnificunt @flerkenkiddingme @luridorangeandviolentviolet @snowblack-charcoalwhite

[kytiapseud]

A Long Time Coming

Emile is a vampire who has been running his bar for vampires and humans for a long time. Remy is a human customer and friend who has been coming for a while (by human standards). He is known for being down for almost any vampire there to feed from him. So Emile is surprised when one day Remy asks Emile to be the one to feed from him. Why does the thought fluster him so much though?

Set in @edupunkn00b's 'Beside Me' universe

Pairing: Emile/Remy

Wordcount: 2662

Warning: blood drinking, suggestive content

Notes: Vampires have been on my mind lately. So that lead me to rereading again one of my favorite vampire fic series, 'Beside Me'. This prompted me to get several ideas related to that series. Since I've gotten Edupunk's enthusiastic permission to do so, stay tuned for some of those. I think I have maybe four other ideas aside from this one.

This fic makes more sense if you've read those fics, but I do try to give context in it that is needed to understand the premise.

This is set after the second fic in that series, 'Dee'.

Emile hummed as he prepared a tray of drinks. It was still early into the night, but a lot of times his evenings at his bar became pretty routine. It wasn’t hard to catch the types of drinks his regulars preferred. Most of his customers were regulars after all. There weren’t a lot of new vampires to have to prepare for anyways. It actually wasn’t a common thing. Aside from Virgil’s group that was.

“Hey there, hot stuff,” A familiar voice said. Emile smiled and turned to Remy who had just sat at the bar. He was a human regular who often arrived early into the night. Something about having more opportunities for willing vamps to feed that way. Emile giggled. Then he got Remy a glass of water. Remy was totally down to drink, but he usually didn’t right away. Some vampires weren’t comfortable drinking from an intoxicated human. He typically didn’t want to chance a rejection.

“Good evening, Remy. Would you like for me help pick out a vampire to feed from you?” Emile asked.

“Actually,” Remy lowered his sunglasses and looked at Emile, with less caution than he really should. He knew better too.

“I was hoping you could feed from me,” He said.

“W-what?” Emile asked and then cleared his throat. He was usually more composed than that.

Remy smirked.

“You heard me, Em. I’m in the mood for my favorite vampire to feed from me. You work hard here. You deserve to get a treat,” He said.

Emile let out a bit of a nervous laugh.

“I appreciate the offer, Remy. But I don’t usually feed while I’m on the clock,” Emile said.

Remy shrugged.

“So take a break. There’s gotta be someone who can fill in for you for a little bit.”

Emile sighed.

 “I also don’t need to at the moment. When I need to feed, I tend to do so before arriving here,” Emile said.

Remy sighed a bit dramatically.

“Well, when is the next time you’ll need to feed?” Remy asked.

Emile blinked, a bit surprised Remy was still offering for the future.

“Uh, not for a while,” Emile said.

Remy hummed and shrugged.

“Well, I guess I’ll just wait until then,” Remy said.

That was really not like Remy. He had a tendency to take on many vampires in one night. Emile had never seen him willing to wait for a specific vampire, let alone for him. Remy had been going to this bar for a long time too. Not nearly as long as Emile had opened the place, Remy was only human after all. But as long as he could really.

He’d flirted of course, but tended to flirt more with the vampires who could feed from him while at the bar.

“Y-you don’t have to do that, Remy. I know how much you enjoy it,” Emile said.

Remy hummed in consideration.

“True…alright, just let me know before the next time you do feed, alright? Please? I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to of course,” Remy said, shifting a bit like he was nervous. Also unusual for Remy.

“N-no,” Emile cleared his throat. “I’m fine with it. Yeah, I’ll uh I’ll let you know.”

Remy smiled and winked.

“Great! Can’t wait,” Remy said. He finished off the rest of his water before slinking off onto the dance floor.

Emile just watched him for a moment, still processing their conversation.

Then he shook his head, turning to face the new group that had entered. It was Virgil’s group, Emile should have known. They’d  been coming more frequently than Virgil used to with the two newer vampires to feed. He smiled at them as the three of them came in. No Dracula tonight though. He didn’t often come with them. Emile wasn't really sure why. He got the impression maybe the count just wasn't used to drinking from places like his bar. Emile could tell the ancient vampire was still around though.

 Emile gestured for them to go to their usual booth and then went on to set up their drinks.

After they were seated, Emile made his way over. He set down the glasses in front of each of them.

“Good to see you three this evening!” Emile cheered. He went on to pour juice for Virgil and Remus. Then whiskey for Logan.

Logan narrowed his eyes at Emile.

“Is everything alright?” He asked. At Logan’s words, Virgil brought his attention to Emile and looked him over.

Emile felt his face heat up a bit. He let out a bit of a nervous laugh.

“Yeah! Why?” He asked.

Logan hummed.

“I don’t know, something just seems off,” He said. Emile waved his hand.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m fine. I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t do my job well tonight after all,” He said.

Logan frowned.

“That’s not why I asked,” He said.

Virgil nodded.

“Emile, I’ve been coming here for a while. You can talk to me.”

Emile hesitantly nodded. He shifted a bit, then decided to set the bottles on the table for the moment. He would be the type to just suddenly become clumsy.

Remus looked at him and then chuckled.

“Did someone hot flirt with you at the bar or something?” Remus asked.

“Emile’s been running this bar for a long time, and has no doubt been flirted with many times. I haven’t seen him react this way to such a thing before, have you?” Logan asked. Virgil shook his head, now looking more curious then concerned.

Emile waved that off.

“Oh, it’s nothing like that. Just,” Emile sighed.

“Remy said he wanted me to feed from him. I told him I didn’t need to tonight. But then he asked me to let him know the next time I do need to, so I can feed from him. I just didn’t expect his insistence at being an option, I guess?”

Virgil raised his eyebrows then shared a look with Logan.

“I know I haven’t been around you when you’ve fed, but that seems like an unusual reaction to such an offer,” Virgil said. Logan nodded. Remus chuckled.

“Could there be another reason such an offer has flustered you so?” Remus asked.

As Emile thought about it, his breath catches a bit as he imagines how close he would get to Remy while feeding.

“You have known him for a while,” Virgil said.

“For human standards, yes,” Emile said.

“Not that length of time is necessary to fall for someone,” Remus said, smiling at Virgil and Logan. They both smiled back at him.

Emile reached up and fidgeted with his hair some, smiling shyly as he thought about what he liked about Remy. He was charming, funny, flirty. Good at showing confidence. He wasn’t afraid to go after what he wanted. Plus he also had his sweet side that not everyone got to see. Emile had always felt honored he was one of the few who got to.

 It’s not like Emile was new to liking someone, so why did he feel so out of his element here?

“This may be a strange question, but have you dated before?” Logan asked, almost as though he knew what Emile was thinking. Emile nodded.

“Of course I have…” Not in a while though. It just wasn’t something that was often on his mind. He was usually occupied by helping people at the bar.

Logan hummed and nodded.

“You seemed very unsure about why Remy would want this with you. Perhaps it would be a good idea to ask him? That may help keep you from overthinking the interaction,” Logan said.

Emile wanted to protest that he wasn’t doing that, but well…he was, wasn’t he? Emile nodded.

“That is probably a good idea. Thank you all, for the help,” He said. Virgil smiled and nodded.

“Of course.”

“You’ve helped us many times. It’s the least we could do,” Logan said, lifting his glass up to Emile before drinking from it.

“You deserve to be happy as well,” Remus said.

Emile giggled.

“Alright, let me know is there’s anything else I can for you,” He said.

They nodded.

“We’re good for now. Thank you though,” Virgil said. Emile waved to them before going back to his duties checking on other customers. He was admittedly a bit distracted now, thinking about this feeding with Remy. He almost wished he hadn’t just fed right before arriving tonight. Because now he’d just be thinking about it until next time.

*

The next time Emile was thirsty, he texted Remy. He also let his usual human friends know that someone else offered this time. He arrived at the bar early, before opening, so it would be easier to meet with Remy. He shifted a bit in place, nervous about what was to come. He’d been around Remy many times. But this would definitely be the most intimate thing they did. Something felt more special about it too with how much Remy wanted it.

“Hello~ Emile.”

Emile’s breath caught as the delicious scent of Remy’s blood wafted over him. He’d usually been pretty good at keeping himself healthy. And with willing human friends who were kind about it, he hadn’t gotten to a point much where he would be thirsty long. Really it hadn’t been that long for him. But he was desiring it more than usual. And Remy smelled good.

He looked over to Remy, struggling more to not meet his eyes. He gave him a shy smile.

“H-hey, Remy,” Emile croaked. His eyes were drawn to Remy’s neck, fixated on his pulse.

Remy chuckled.

“Oh, you’re definitely ready for me now,” He said.

Emile swallowed.

“Here, let’s take this somewhere more private,” Remy said.

Emile blinked and carefully looked up at Remy’s face again. He wanted to know why. No one else was here anyways, and Remy had never seemed to care who watched him as vampires drank from his neck. But in that moment, Emile was too thirsty to care.

“I live in the basement under the bar,” He said. The basement had been there before he opened the bar. Although it was more traditional for business owners to live over their places of business, living under had worked out to be safer from the sun anyways.

Remy smiled.

“Sounds good.” Remy gestured for Emile to lead the way. Emile mechanically walked him over to the stairs and then down. Barely thinking past the draw of Remy’s blood overcoming him. When they got to his door, the hand holding his keys was nearly trembling. Remy gently took the keys from him and opened the door.

“Bedroom?” Remy asked. Emile didn’t even question it, just walking straight over there. Not bothering to close any doors. Just wanting Remy to be close. Remy must have closed the doors behind them because it was a moment before he joined Emile in the bedroom. The bed was big enough for both of them.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Remy said. Emile didn’t respond. Remy cooed.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you Em.” Remy sat on the bed. He kicked his shoes off and scooted up. Then he  gestured for Emile to join him. Emile plopped onto the bed next to Remy. He started reaching for Remy’s wrist, but Remy pulled his arm back. He shook his head.

“Aw, come on, Em. We’re close enough you can go for my neck,” He said. He shifted so he was facing Emile. Then he bent his neck to make it enticing. Emile almost reached forward then had the mind to pause when he saw the scars on Remy’s neck from all the feedings. Remy sighed.

“Don’t worry about those, Em,” He said. He reached forward and brushed a hand over Emile’s arm.

“I don’t mind. And I want you,” Remy said. That’s what finally did it. Emile rumbled as he launched himself onto Remy. He knocked them both over so they were laying on the bed when Emile finally sank his teeth into Remy. Remy laughed and then let out a very pleased sound as Emile began to drink.

He tasted so good. Emile felt how warm Remy was against him. Remy continued to make pleased sounds, touching over Emile as he fed from him. Remy’s scent so enticing and around him. There was something so satisfying about getting to feed from him. As enjoyable as this was, Emile knew better than to overindulge. So when Remy tapped him, Emile was already pulling off. He had to catch his breath before he rolled off and laid next to Remy. Still facing him.

Remy hummed pleased and turned to face Emile as well.

“Well, that was certainly worth the wait,” Remy said, running his hand along Emile’s side. Emile smiled a bit dreamily at him. Remy chuckled.

“You really enjoyed yourself too, hm?” He asked. Emile hummed and nodded.

“I’ll always be available for you, okay?” Remy said. He used a finger to catch some blood from the punctures on his neck. Then he waved it over Emile’s mouth. Emile immediately put his mouth over the finger and sucked the blood off. Then he blushed at his own eagerness. Remy laughed.

“Aw, it’s okay doll.” He scooted closer to Emile and put a hand to the side of Emile’s head.

“I don’t mind,” He said quieter. Emile’s breath stuttered when he felt how close Remy’s lips were to his own.

“Can I kiss you?” Remy asked. Emile sucked in a breath at that.

“Yeah,” He said quietly, voice shaking a little. Emile could feel Remy’s smile before he leaned in. The first kiss was slow. Then he kissed Emile again, gradually deepening it. He rolled over on top of Emile as he continued, in a reverse of their positions when Emile fed from him. Apparently Remy didn’t mind any lingering taste of his own blood from Emile’s mouth. They made out for a bit more, Remy getting more handsy. Just as his touches started to move to the next level, Emile pulled away, laughing.

“Remy,” He said.

“Hmm?” Remy asked. His hands paused, but he continued to kiss along Emile’s jaw then down his neck. Emile hummed and his eyes fluttered. Then he shook his head.

“Remy, I do still have to eventually open the bar,” Emile said.

Remy sighed and pulled his mouth away. His hand going back to just feeling over Emile’s side.

“Fine. I guess I’ll just have to wait for you until after,” Remy said. Emile blinked at him.

“You’d be willing to wait?” Emile asked.

Remy smiled at him.

“Of course.” He moved his hand up to card some hair behind Emile’s ear.

“I like you, Em. I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” Remy said.

Emile giggled.

“I like you too Remy,” Emile said. Remy smirked and leaned forward to kiss Emile again. This time a slow sweet kiss that lingered. Remy made a rumbling sound as well as he pulled away.

“Damn, I could just keep kissing you, Em.”

Emile blushed and giggled.

“Later, or we’ll never get up,” He said. Remy sighed as he started to sit up.

“Alright.”

Emile sat up as well. Seeing Remy’s neck, he seemed to remember himself.

“Oh! Let me get that taken care of for you,” Emile said. Remy watched Emile with a fond look as he went about getting Remy some fruit juice and cookies. He didn’t even bother to complain. He just continued to look at Emile in adoration when he started to drink the juice he was given. Emile blushed and shifted again, smiling shyly. But then Remy leaned on his side, so Emile leaned against him as well.

“It’s a shame you’re always working at the bar. It would be really nice to get to dance with you there,” Remy said. Emile hadn’t even considered hiring another until Remy’s suggestions. But now it seemed like a good idea.

“Maybe we’ll get to at some point,” Emile said with a smile, glancing to the side at Remy.

“We have time.”

Remy smiled back.

“Yeah, I like the sound of that.”

[redsparko]

Now that the Legacy of Gods books are done I’ve come to bestow everyone with my rankings of all six books.

6. God of Pain

Starting with GOP, it did not touch me like the other books did, I don’t hate but don’t love it, but compared to the others it’s definitely my least favorite. Plus his nickname for her? Little purple? Rina, please. If anything little annoyance. No but seriously, this may have been a unique nickname, I give props but the nickname does not hit for me.

5. God of War

Do not come at me with the pitch forks and knives. I do not hate Eli or Ava, in fact, I love them both very dearly. It’s just that their book confused me the most and that a lot of the buildup I had for them was just… meh.

The amnesia trope with Ava was confusing as fuck. The psychosis and praise kink however? Good shit. But compared to how the others books made me feel? Meh.

But him calling her beautiful? Has me feeling some sort of way.

4. God of Wrath

People will def hate me for this one. I know Jeremy and GOW is a BIG fan favorite, if not, second/first to GOF. But first reading GOW it did not touch me the same way a few of the other books did y’know? Like after rereading it like 5 more times I got a little more attached but Jeremy somewhat just didn’t do it for me.

This book however has the best parent-male love interest interactions

Lisichka as a nickname lowkey be cute but don’t got me feeling anything much

3. God of Malice

When I tell yall Killian and Glyndon are > I mean it. Killian is so—hot. Like actually has me on my knees. He’s most hated by Levi? Has lowkey all of the King men at his head? Hello? What’s not to like? Also obsessed with her? Plus the little scenarios they have together, the picnic scene where he kisses her forehead? Tells her to be good? The way she kissed his chest after telling him she just wanted to sleep? That sort of intimacy with a psychopath? Damn.

The use of “Baby” and “Sweetheart” has me fucking fluttering. Little Rabbit however? Made me feel nothing, pussy dry. Feel like it could’ve been substituted with Bunny, feels cuter, little bunny, adorable bunny, cheeky lil bunny. Bunny rolls off the tongue better but may be more on the nose, still better than Little Purple.

2. God of Ruin

I have a bias for Mia and Landon, they’re so perfect. I’m an artist, too, so like,.. the flattery of being someone’s muse is so touching, specially when Landon just,.. can’t stop observing every slope of her just to sculpt her, the fact he’s a genius sculptor yet believes nothing he’s made is worthy of the attention he gets. He’s not humble by no means but his menace energy is just funny.

Like this dude is asking for whatever he’s getting.

And the risk of choosing her over his own art? Thags dedication that’s everything. Him choosing his love over his passion? Which is badically the equivalent to his love? I can’t even. Landon the most annoying and unfeeling mother fucker? Chooses Mia over his passion? The best.

Don’t get me started on the running, primal kink anyone?

1. GOD OF FURRRYYYYY

Y’all saw this one coming, yall had to. My absolute favorite (though some scenes make no damn sense). It’s very dramatic, I eat up dramatic. I have a physical copy of it, gifted by a friend and I will be rereading that shit word for word.

Nikolai is my type. He’s green forest galore. He’s hedonistic and doesn’t care abt what anyone says, but still extremely caring and obsessive of those around him and he’s EXTREMELY PROTECTIVE of those he loves, (THAT GARETH SCENE GMFU). Thats just everything I want, plus he’s got big muscles and his fan cast is universally accepted as Mike Debeer. I love my well built, tattooed, muscled men.

Please, I want myself a Nikolai. He’s so loving, caring, obsessive, and funny. To others he’s got the cold sheer personality of a Doberman/Cane corso, but to his one and only, he’s a golden retriever.

PLUS PLUS HE KNOWS HOW TO FIGHT, DO YALL UNDERSTAND HOW HOT IT IS TO PLAY FIGHT? Manhandle me.

Lotus Flower best nickname, fucking FIGHT ME.

Also? Landon and Nikolai? HELLO? BEST PAIR? Canon Landon is best brother. Landon and Brandon best brothers.

[livinggeekchic]

I’ve been thinking a lot more about Harvey on my most recent reread of Purple Hyacinth. He is set up as this kind of bumbling but good-natured kid, whose death hits us hard—only for us to later find out that he was a spy for the Phantom Scythe all along. And we, like Lauren, feel betrayed.

But we are given clues that everything is not as it seems. To start, Bella tells Kieran that Harvey was eliminated because he wasn’t useful.

That got me thinking about this set of panels. March and Hermann are having a conversation about Lune. This is surely information that the leader would be interested in hearing about. Harvey is in the perfect position to listen in, walking by with a stack of papers. But instead, he hightails it out of there. If you zoom in, you can see the “spinning” of his feet, he’s booking it so fast out of there.

So while he was a spy, he either wasn’t a very good one, or he didn’t really want to be one. We also see Harvey mentioning that he has to do his best for his grandpa--is it possible that his grandfather needs money, and that's why he's doing it? This is just one possibility of many. Kieran says as much to Lauren, after she tells him that Harvey was a mole. Kieran knows there are many reasons someone might join the Phantom Scythe, but Lauren is still thinking in black and white--right and wrong. While it makes sense that Lauren feels betrayed, she's failing to grasp the nuance of the situation.

Nothing showcases this better than Harvey’s funeral. We see Harvey’s grandfather violently sobbing, obviously devastated. He says “you didn’t need to try so hard.” (Another indicator that Harvey was likely making choices for his grandfather’s benefit.)

And how does Lauren react? Her expression here doesn’t look like one of sympathy, or even pity. She looks shocked and almost affronted. She’s so consumed by her hatred of the Phantom Scythe, for what happened at Allendale, that she can’t even see Harvey as a person. She can stand by and watch his close family member grieve, and all she thinks is, “they don’t know what I know.” But regardless of what misdeeds Harvey committed, he was still loved. He still deserves to be mourned.

She calls him a traitor. She’s almost disgusted by the fact that everyone is mourning him. But was he really a traitor? How much information did he actually give the Scythe? He was "useless" after all. Even if he did help the Scythe stall the APD's investigations, we know he wasn't this inherently evil character. He was genuinely concerned for his coworkers' safety. Lauren tells us that he never lied or showed any signs of being part of the PS. She sees this as evidence that she was blind to the truth, but I think she's actually blind to the fact that not everyone in the PS is "the enemy." Their motivations can be complicated.

In S1, Lauren views Kieran similarly. He’s an assassin, and therefore, he is reprehensible. She can’t understand why it's so important to him that he kills only when ordered or when it's the only solution. She doesn't really attempt to unearth his reasoning for wanting to take down the leader, beyond asking about it just once. She is inflexible, and rigid in her thinking: good people don't work for the Phantom Scythe. But of course, we come to see that it's more complicated than that.

A lot happens in S2 that helps open her eyes to this, which I won’t go into now. But I will leave you with a quote from Kieran in episode 93: “all these years within this wretched organization have taught me…it’s not a monolith. Not everyone agrees nor is aware of what is truly going on.”

Perhaps Harvey truly didn’t know the half of it. Maybe he was given a chance to provide for his grandfather and took it. Maybe he was told that the Scythe was helping the poor, and he related to that struggle. Maybe he was told they would only use the info he gave them to protect themselves from the APD, and wouldn't ever go on the offense. Ultimately, we don’t know. But what I do know is that if Harvey was outed as a spy in S3, I think Lauren would try harder to understand.