#i know it’s not technically but you know what I mean

[tinystepsforward]

autocrattic (more matt shenanigans, not tumblr this time)

I am almost definitely not the right person for this writeup, but I'm closer than most people on here, so here goes! This is all open-source tech drama, and I take my time laying out the context, but the short version is: Matt tried to extort another company, who immediately posted receipts, and now he's refusing to log off again. The long version is... long.

If you don't need software context, scroll down/find the "ok tony that's enough. tell me what's actually happening" heading, or just go read the pink sections. Or look at this PDF.

the background

So. Matt's original Good Idea was starting WordPress with fellow developer Mike Little in 2003, which is free and open-source software (FOSS) that was originally just for blogging, but now powers lots of websites that do other things. In particular, Automattic acquired WooCommerce a long time ago, which is free online store software you can run on WordPress.

FOSS is... interesting. It's a world that ultimately is powered by people who believe deeply that information and resources should be free, but often have massive blind spots (for example, Wikipedia's consistently had issues with bias, since no amount of "anyone can edit" will overcome systemic bias in terms of who has time to edit or is not going to be driven away by the existing contributor culture). As with anything else that people spend thousands of hours doing online, there's drama. As with anything else that's technically free but can be monetized, there are:

Heaps of companies and solo developers who profit off WordPress themes, plugins, hosting, and other services;

Conflicts between volunteer contributors and for-profit contributors;

Annoying founders who get way too much credit for everything the project has become.

the WordPress ecosystem

A project as heavily used as WordPress (some double-digit percentage of the Internet uses WP. I refuse to believe it's the 43% that Matt claims it is, but it's a pretty large chunk) can't survive just on the spare hours of volunteers, especially in an increasingly monetised world where its users demand functional software, are less and less tech or FOSS literate, and its contributors have no fucking time to build things for that userbase.

Matt runs Automattic, which is a privately-traded, for-profit company. The free software is run by the WordPress Foundation, which is technically completely separate (wordpress.org). The main products Automattic offers are WordPress-related: WordPress.com, a host which was designed to be beginner-friendly; Jetpack, a suite of plugins which extend WordPress in a whole bunch of ways that may or may not make sense as one big product; WooCommerce, which I've already mentioned. There's also WordPress VIP, which is the fancy bespoke five-digit-plus option for enterprise customers. And there's Tumblr, if Matt ever succeeds in putting it on WordPress. (Every Tumblr or WordPress dev I know thinks that's fucking ridiculous and impossible. Automattic's hiring for it anyway.)

Automattic devotes a chunk of its employees toward developing Core, which is what people in the WordPress space call WordPress.org, the free software. This is part of an initiative called Five for the Future — 5% of your company's profits off WordPress should go back into making the project better. Many other companies don't do this.

There are lots of other companies in the space. GoDaddy, for example, barely gives back in any way (and also sucks). WP Engine is the company this drama is about. They don't really contribute to Core. They offer relatively expensive WordPress hosting, as well as providing a series of other WordPress-related products like LocalWP (local site development software), Advanced Custom Fields (the easiest way to set up advanced taxonomies and other fields when making new types of posts. If you don't know what this means don't worry about it), etc.

Anyway. Lots of strong personalities. Lots of for-profit companies. Lots of them getting invested in, or bought by, private equity firms.

Matt being Matt, tech being tech

As was said repeatedly when Matt was flipping out about Tumblr, all of the stuff happening at Automattic is pretty normal tech company behaviour. Shit gets worse. People get less for their money. WordPress.com used to be a really good place for people starting out with a website who didn't need "real" WordPress — for $48 a year on the Personal plan, you had really limited features (no plugins or other customisable extensions), but you had a simple website with good SEO that was pretty secure, relatively easy to use, and 24-hour access to Happiness Engineers (HEs for short. Bad job title. This was my job) who could walk you through everything no matter how bad at tech you were. Then Personal plan users got moved from chat to emails only. Emails started being responded to by contractors who didn't know as much as HEs did and certainly didn't get paid half as well. Then came AI, and the mandate for HEs to try to upsell everyone things they didn't necessarily need. (This is the point at which I quit.)

But as was said then as well, most tech CEOs don't publicly get into this kind of shitfight with their users. They're horrid tyrants, but they don't do it this publicly.

ok tony that's enough. tell me what's actually happening

WordCamp US, one of the biggest WordPress industry events of the year, is the backdrop for all this. It just finished.

There are.... a lot of posts by Matt across multiple platforms because, as always, he can't log off. But here's the broad strokes.

Sep 17

Matt publishes a wanky blog post about companies that profit off open source without giving back. It targets a specific company, WP Engine.

Compare the Five For the Future pages from Automattic and WP Engine, two companies that are roughly the same size with revenue in the ballpark of half a billion. These pledges are just a proxy and aren’t perfectly accurate, but as I write this, Automattic has 3,786 hours per week (not even counting me!), and WP Engine has 47 hours. WP Engine has good people, some of whom are listed on that page, but the company is controlled by Silver Lake, a private equity firm with $102 billion in assets under management. Silver Lake doesn’t give a dang about your Open Source ideals. It just wants a return on capital. So it’s at this point that I ask everyone in the WordPress community to vote with your wallet. Who are you giving your money to? Someone who’s going to nourish the ecosystem, or someone who’s going to frack every bit of value out of it until it withers?

(It's worth noting here that Automattic is funded in part by BlackRock, who Wikipedia calls "the world's largest asset manager".)

Sep 20 (WCUS final day)

WP Engine puts out a blog post detailing their contributions to WordPress.

Matt devotes his keynote/closing speech to slamming WP Engine.

He also implies people inside WP Engine are sending him information.

For the people sending me stuff from inside companies, please do not do it on your work device. Use a personal phone, Signal with disappearing messages, etc. I have a bunch of journalists happy to connect you with as well. #wcus — Twitter I know private equity and investors can be brutal (read the book Barbarians at the Gate). Please let me know if any employee faces firing or retaliation for speaking up about their company's participation (or lack thereof) in WordPress. We'll make sure it's a big public deal and that you get support. — Tumblr

Matt also puts out an offer live at WordCamp US:

“If anyone of you gets in trouble for speaking up in favor of WordPress and/or open source, reach out to me. I’ll do my best to help you find a new job.” — source tweet, RTed by Matt

He also puts up a poll asking the community if WP Engine should be allowed back at WordCamps.

Sep 21

Matt writes a blog post on the WordPress.org blog (the official project blog!): WP Engine is not WordPress.

He opens this blog post by claiming his mom was confused and thought WP Engine was official.

The blog post goes on about how WP Engine disabled post revisions (which is a pretty normal thing to do when you need to free up some resources), therefore being not "real" WordPress. (As I said earlier, WordPress.com disables most features for Personal and Premium plans. Or whatever those plans are called, they've been renamed like 12 times in the last few years. But that's a different complaint.)

Sep 22: More bullshit on Twitter. Matt makes a Reddit post on r/Wordpress about WP Engine that promptly gets deleted. Writeups start to come out:

Search Engine Journal: WordPress Co-Founder Mullenweg Sparks Backlash

TechCrunch: Matt Mullenweg calls WP Engine a ‘cancer to WordPress’ and urges community to switch providers

Sep 23 onward

Okay, time zones mean I can't effectively sequence the rest of this.

Matt defends himself on Reddit, casually mentioning that WP Engine is now suing him.

Also here's a decent writeup from someone involved with the community that may be of interest.

WP Engine drops the full PDF of their cease and desist, which includes screenshots of Matt apparently threatening them via text.

Twitter link | Direct PDF link

This PDF includes some truly fucked texts where Matt appears to be trying to get WP Engine to pay him money unless they want him to tell his audience at WCUS that they're evil.

Matt, after saying he's been sued and can't talk about it, hosts a Twitter Space and talks about it for a couple hours.

He also continues to post on Reddit, Twitter, and on the Core contributor Slack.

Here's a comment where he says WP Engine could have avoided this by paying Automattic 8% of their revenue.

Another, 20 hours ago, where he says he's being downvoted by "trolls, probably WPE employees"

At some point, Matt updates the WordPress Foundation trademark policy. I am 90% sure this was him — it's not legalese and makes no fucking sense to single out WP Engine.

Old text: The abbreviation “WP” is not covered by the WordPress trademarks and you are free to use it in any way you see fit. New text: The abbreviation “WP” is not covered by the WordPress trademarks, but please don’t use it in a way that confuses people. For example, many people think WP Engine is “WordPress Engine” and officially associated with WordPress, which it’s not. They have never once even donated to the WordPress Foundation, despite making billions of revenue on top of WordPress.

Sep 25: Automattic puts up their own legal response.

anyway this fucking sucks

This is bigger than anything Matt's done before. I'm so worried about my friends who're still there. The internal ramifications have... been not great so far, including that Matt's naturally being extra gung-ho about "you're either for me or against me and if you're against me then don't bother working your two weeks".

Despite everything, I like WordPress. (If you dig into this, you'll see plenty of people commenting about blocks or Gutenberg or React other things they hate. Unlike many of the old FOSSheads, I actually also think Gutenberg/the block editor was a good idea, even if it was poorly implemented.)

I think that the original mission — to make it so anyone can spin up a website that's easy enough to use and blog with — is a good thing. I think, despite all the ways being part of FOSS communities since my early teens has led to all kinds of racist, homophobic and sexual harm for me and for many other people, that free and open-source software is important.

So many people were already burning out of the project. Matt has been doing this for so long that those with long memories can recite all the ways he's wrecked shit back a decade or more. Most of us are exhausted and need to make money to live. The world is worse than it ever was.

Social media sucks worse and worse, and this was a world in which people missed old webrings, old blogs, RSS readers, the world where you curated your own whimsical, unpaid corner of the Internet. I started actually actively using my own WordPress blog this year, and I've really enjoyed it.

And people don't want to deal with any of this.

The thing is, Matt's right about one thing: capital is ruining free open-source software. What he's wrong about is everything else: the idea that WordPress.com isn't enshittifying (or confusing) at a much higher rate than WP Engine, the idea that WP Engine or Silver Lake are the only big players in the field, the notion that he's part of the solution and not part of the problem.

But he's started a battle where there are no winners but the lawyers who get paid to duke it out, and all the volunteers who've survived this long in an ecosystem increasingly dominated by big money are giving up and leaving.

Anyway if you got this far, consider donating to someone on gazafunds.com. It'll take much less time than reading this did.

[fairyhaos]

◈ love of my life // yoon jeonghan

jeonghan x gn!reader, 2k+ words

tags: technically requested by lots of people bc everyone wants jeonghan fluff, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, crack, mutual pining, almost-confessions

warnings: light swearing

summary: in which your relationship with jeonghan isn't exactly platonic and isn't exactly romantic... but rather, it's a secret third thing.

It has to be at least two in the morning when Jeonghan's ringtone blares throughout his bedroom, and he rolls over with a groan, grappling blindly at his nightstand before finding his phone and pressing it against his cheek. 

“Who is this and what do you want?”

“Jeonghan, let's go on a date.”

He recognises your voice in an instant, even in his half-asleep state, and he huffs a laugh, flopping back against the pillows and rubbing his eyes. 

“Gee, at least ask me when it's not ass o'clock in the morning, won't you?”

“No, no, this only works if you get up right now,” you say. “Come on, Jeonghan, just go on a date with me. Right at this very moment.”

Jeonghan rubs his eyes, before taking his phone away from his cheek and peering at the screen so he can read the time. “See, you’re not presenting a very good argument,” he says, once he’s put the phone against his ear again. It’s almost three in the morning. What are you thinking? “I don’t wanna date you that much.”

You make a sad sound on the other end of the phone. “What will it take to get you out of the house?”

“Wire me an obscene amount of money right now and I’ll think about it.”

There’s a pause.

“No. Best I can offer is a pretty please.”

Jeonghan can’t help smiling at your dry tone, and he rubs his eyes once again with a yawn. “Fine. I guess I can’t expect anything better from you, anyway.” He can almost see you biting your lip in annoyance, wanting to quip something witty back at him but also wanting to keep quiet so he’ll actually come. 

“You know me so well.”

“Yes I do,” Jeonghan teases, and groggily hauls himself out of bed. “I’ll be ready in ten. Where do you want me to go?”

“Don’t worry, princess, I’ll pick you up,” you say, suddenly sounding excited. “Just wait for me and I’ll come over to take you out.”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

You laugh, bright and happy, like it’s not four in the morning and you’ve asked your best friend to go on a date with you. Jeonghan can’t help but smile again, even as he grapples blindly through his dark room to find some clothes.

“Don’t worry. It’s a promise.”

───────────── 🌘

Jeonghan is, admittedly, more than a little confused when you just take him to the nearest playground.

Sure, maybe this entire thing is weird—you calling him up during ridiculous hours of the morning to “go on a date” is definitely not something you’ve done before—but that’s just the kind of friendship he and you have. 

It’s like how, last year, he spent an entire month calling you increasingly ridiculous pet names, ranging from “beloved” to “honey butter snuggles bunny bear”, and purposefully took you out to public cafes and restaurants to test them out for everyone to see and hear, preventing you from punching him as hard as he probably deserved. 

So this is, like, nothing new. Just a funny and silly thing the two of you do, because you've known each other for the whole of your lives, and when it comes to the way your relationship works, the lines separating “platonic” and “romantic” have always been curiously nonexistent. 

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s never meant to mean anything.

But sometimes, sometimes, it feels like it should.

“I think I’m going to end up alone forever,” you say abruptly, and Jeonghan looks over at you in surprise. You’re sitting on the swings next to him, dragging yourself back and forth as you look up at the sky. There’s nothing to see up there, with the clouds obscuring any moonlight, so it's obvious that you're just looking away so he can't see your face. 

It's so quiet; Jeonghan didn't realise that the world could be this quiet at 2 in the morning, and it makes your words echo extra loud into the abyss, before they're swallowed by the darkness. 

Jeonghan shrugs. “Maybe you will.”

Instantly, you're leaning over to swat him on the arm, and he laughs. 

“Asshole,” you say, but there's no venom in your voice, even as you level him with a glare. “You're really no help. I'm trying to unload all my deepest fears for you, here, practically begging you to reassure me, and yet all you can do is be mean.”

“You said one thing,” Jeonghan points out. “I don't think that counts as unloading all your deepest fears.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it's my only deepest fear.”

“Why are you unloading your deepest fear on me?” Jeonghan asks, kicking his legs out in front of him. “We're on a date. Our first date, mind you, so this hardly seems appropriate.”

“Asshole,” you say again, but like before, the word has no bite. You glance over at him, before realising that he's looking at you, and then quickly raise your gaze to the sky. “I'm being serious about this, you know.”

Jeonghan says nothing for a long moment. Watches the way the pale light from a nearby lamppost gives you an unearthly, almost otherworldly glow. 

“I'm being serious too,” he decides to say, looking up at the cloudy sky with you. “You shouldn't be saying that stuff on a first date. Kinda makes it sound like you don't think things will work out between us, you know?”

You huff a confused laugh, looking over at him again. “Jeonghan, wha—?”

“And maybe you will end up alone,” he carries on, thoughtfully, as if he's talking to himself, forgetting that you're sitting there too. “But maybe you won't. I think you probably won't. And even if you do, it's fine, because I'll still be with you.”

It's a painfully vulnerable thing to say, made doubly so by the quietness of the night. Like a love confession, almost. Except it's not, because he's not in love with you. 

He isn't. 

“That's really sweet,” you say, almost begrudgingly, as if it pains you to admit that Jeonghan actually said something nice, and he laughs. “Though wrong. If you’re with me, then I'm not alone, am I?”

“Oh, I see. When you said alone, you meant in general. I thought you meant, like, romantically.”

“Well, maybe. But maybe I also meant overall,” you shrug. “I didn't think you'd want to spend the rest of your life with me.”

Jeonghan swallows, tilts back on the swings, head still raised to look at the sky. “I want to spend every life with you.”

You look away from the sky at his words, turning to face him in surprise. The echoes of what he’d just said were already fading away, muffled and pressed into the velvet dark of the night, but the surprisingly soft air that followed in its wake still remained.

 Now, he's the one avoiding your gaze, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the shapeless, misty blur of clouds above him so he doesn’t have to look at you. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you tilt your head, and smile. 

“Oh, look at you, you sap,” you say, bright and teasing. “Face it, you like being with me. Oh! I bet you're in love with me, seeing as how you agreed to date me and everything! Isn't that right, Jeonghan? You love me.”

Jeonghan pulls a face, and you burst into laughter, so ridiculously loud and happy even though it's two in the morning and the whole playground is silent, the sound of your happiness ringing against the cool air of the night. He can't help but look at you then, exasperated and fond, shaking his head as you grip the swing chains and sway back and forth, still giggling to yourself. 

He sniffs, feigning annoyance as he leans to the side, making a dramatic show of pulling his swing away from you. 

“This isn't a real date. I could never date you.” He scrunches his face in faux disgust for good measure, and you laugh again, rolling your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. And yet you still came out when I called, didn't you?” you tease, smiling widely, and Jeonghan has to admit that you're right. He's here because you asked him to be here. He’s here for you.

Hm. This was getting weirdly soul-baringly truthful for what he’d thought would be a silly little hangout in the middle of the night.

“Next time you call me at 2am, I’m blocking you forever,” he says dryly, giving you an exaggerated look of disdain just so he can revel in the laugh that it pulls out of you.

“No you won’t,” you say cheerily. “Because you looove me.”

“Um, lies.”

“No lies. You literally love me so much.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do. You do, you do, you do, you’re actually genuinely in love with me and there’s nothing you can do to deny it, because it’s so obvious that I’m literally the love of your l—”

Jeonghan makes a clicking sound with his tongue and leans over to shove your arm, causing you to swing to the side as you cackle with delight at his reaction. He glares at you, again, sighing with exasperation as you continue to laugh.

“Yes, yes, I love you, just as much as you love me. Now if we’re not actually doing anything of importance, then can I go home?”

“What?” you say indignantly. “Of course not! If I can’t sleep, then that means you’re not allowed to sleep either.”

“I knew it. You called me out here because you couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Duh. Now come and push my swing, will you?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes and stands up from his swing, groaning and holding his knees like he’s some kind of grumpy grandpa. You laugh, mocking him for his bad joints as he walks around to stand behind you, and he snarks back something ridiculously funny and rippling with light, twisting through the cool air.

And then his hand presses against the small of your back, soft and yet sure, and suddenly all you can focus on is that gentle, feathery point of contact that connects you to him.

Your laughter subsides as he begins to gently push your swing, and you move up, and down, and up, and down, the fleeting warmth of his hand an intermittent pressure against your back. He doesn’t say a word. Everything is quiet, in your head. Like his touch alone could silence any worries that still floated around in your brain.

It’s one of the things you adore most about Jeonghan. He makes you feel safe.

“For the record, by the way,” you say, voice quiet, “I really do love you.”

There’s no noise but the metallic creak of the swing, sounding weirdly small in the yawning abyss of the dark. Jeonghan’s hand is still steady as he pushes you, again and again.

“As a friend?” he asks, eventually.

You can’t see him, and maybe that’s for the best. His voice is tinged with a colour, an emotion, that you can’t quite name, warm and cool and fleeting and present all at once.

Yet more silence greets his words. You continue swinging, and he continues helping.

It’s hard to know what he means by that. As a friend, in a hopeful way? As a friend, in a meaningful way? Or as a friend, in a way that could maybe, maybe, signal that he thinks, or wishes, that you mean... something else.

More.

These things are difficult to tell, when it comes to Jeonghan. Who wears his heart on his sleeve and yet also hides it away where no one can see.

“Yeah,” you say, after it has been far too long since he’d asked, but it’s clear that you were both waiting for your answer anyway. The word leaves you as a sigh, threadbare and thin. “As a friend.”

Jeonghan huffs a soft laugh. Maybe because he believes you, or maybe because he doesn’t. You’re not too sure.

“Okay,” he murmurs, pale as moonlight. “In which case, I love you too.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @haodore @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

[thaatdigitaldiary]

for the first time

hopkins paige bueckers x hopkins fem reader

for a long time, paige didn’t know why she felt the way she did about her best friend, someone who she “wasn’t” supposed to love, she didn’t want to ruin things. it was unfortunate she didn’t know you were waiting for her first. (kinda got this idea while listening to bags by clairo so i hope this makes your heart tingle and your eyes water!)

fluff and flirtationnnn (ofc🙏🏽), slight angst & minor argument, internal homophobia, cuteness and clarity at the end | this is lengthy! i hope ya like

enjoy!🙂‍↕️

disclaimer: i write nothing but angst or fluff when it comes to hopkins p, considering she was in highschool. thank you! - im considering this a “throwback story” so i can make a part two for older reader and older paige. 🫶🏽

paige and you were completely different when it came to high school. her priorities consisted of basketball, her future career, and passing senior year so she can make way to uconn. you however, were all about academics. you were in basically any club available, maintained a 4.0 gpa, and quickly climbed the rank of class president. how you two met was random, your sophomore year you were in photography club, meaning you took pictures of all the sports teams for the yearbook, and she stayed behind to talk to you.

"cool ass camera." she said going to touch it, but you quickly swat her hand away.

"hey! no touching. you break you buy." you say slightly stern, pointing your finger at her.

"technically YOU'D have to buy, this has nothing to do with me." she says laughing and shrugging her shoulders, getting a smile out of you. for her first time seeing you smile, she sure was in love with it.

"okay "miss photographer", what's your name?" she asks you, hoping she can get to know you. "mine's paige."

"i know, i see you all the time, you're like.. the best basketball player here." you say bragging on her, feeling kind of shy when you give away that you're a big fan of her.

"oh really, you think so?" she says in a flirty tone while she flexes, making you blush out of nervousness.

"okay, okay, don't get too in your head now, but yeah, you're really good. i'm the one who records and snaps all your shots. but my name is y/n, since you asked." you say with such a sweet voice, something that sent her in a trance, completely dazed in the sound of you speaking.

"cute name. hey uh, i was gonna ask did you need any help packing this stuff up, i won't break it i promise." paige says chuckling, her smile pure and full of life, an image that stayed in your head since you met her.

two years pass, and you and paige can never separate. despite being utter opposites of each other, you're glued to the hip. you still did photography, getting the best candid photos of your best friend on the court, excited to post them on social media so she gets the attention she deserves. you gathered the pictures together and created a collage to post on instagram.

you were paige's biggest fan to say the least, buying a hoodie with her name and number on it, and being able to sit on the sidelines and watch her play, with your photographer privilege of course. anytime she made a three, she'd point at you, making you smile. watching her play was something you couldn't get enough of, learning the game so you could understand when she was frustrated with a play, or if she just rambled on to you about it, you'd know exactly what she was talking about.

paige and your bond grew stronger, going to family events together, having sleepovers every weekend, even during the week, as well as going on family trips with her. you felt like you had your person when it came down to paige. you didn't really know much about anyone at your school, and you definitely didn't expect the school's star basketball player to befriend you.

life wasn't always so peachy though. you really struggled finding yourself. for a long time you were confused, not when it came to school, when it came down to your feelings. ever since you met paige, there was this feeling you couldn't shake, this feeling of nurture and love that you gained from her, the type no one else could give you. growing up, you weren't one to express your feelings to your parents. they were always busy, super strict, and for some reason never found too much time for you. but paige, she always dropped anything even if meant seeing you for 5 minutes.

the first time paige saw you, she noticed how you radiated positive energy, even though she had no clue what you were going through at home. all she wanted was to be the person by your side through thick and thin, forever and always.

with about a month and a half of school left, paige and her teammates took home the trophy for the final game of the season, and you were more than proud for her, ecstatic even. when the final buzzer went off for the end of the game, paige made a 3 pointer, beating the buzzer. you stood up and cheered as loud as you could, while paige ran towards you and swiftly lifted you up into a hug, making your feet dangle in the air.

"i'm so proud of you p." you said, muffled into her shoulder, as you feel her start to tear up from her words, and one of her biggest achievements.

"i really couldn't have done it without you, you're my motivation y/n." you feel a catch in your throat, signaling you're about to cry, and she quickly wipes your tears.

her family takes you both out to eat, and you had a duffel bag in their trunk that you packed the night before, so you could stay over at paige's house tonight.

after eating and making it to paige's place, you and paige made it up to her room, where she dropped her bags and your duffel that she insisted on carrying so you didn't "hurt your pretty hands" as she'd say. her room has evolved so much over the years, furniture moved around, basketball posters growing on the walls every visit, but one thing that never changed, was the framed picture of you and her on your nightstand, you on her back after her first win, both of your smiles bright and lively. the same picture lingered on her lockscreen ever since you two took it, your lockscreen being a picture you and her took at a sleepover at your house, you two under a fuzzy olive green blanket, exceptionally close for "best friends", but you never really cared.

that's another thing when it came down to paige, you never really cared. sure, questions and rumors spread, "are y/n and paige together?" "is paige gay?" "what's y/n's sexuality?"

it got annoying after a while, and paige and you always seemed to avoid the questions, and simply ignore them. it sucked that you wondered the same thing though. that was a sensitive topic, you couldn't ask paige about that, what if she finds you weird and stops talking to you?

you though, you should've been asking yourself that question. you've dated one guy throughout high school, and sure you liked him, (so you thought), but he was rude and belittling. after a conversation with paige, you immediately broke up with him. "he's not good enough for you," she said to you, always knowing what was best.

the real question was, what really was good enough for me?

paige never dated anyone in highschool, she turned down girls AND guys, so it made it extra hard to read her, even though you knew her like a book, cover page to the summary on the back of it. you wanted to know, but you didn't want to lose her in the midst of your curiosity.

sitting on paige's bed, you took your shoes off and got comfortable like you usually do, and she took off her practice gear and sat next to you.

"thank you for always being here for me y/n, like seriously." she sounds so genuine and would do anything to keep you here forever.

"p, i'm always gonna be here for you, you're my best friend." you go to embrace her, her muscular arms holding you close, your perfume lingering in her nose, making her feel at home.

you and her let go and look at each other for a while, eye contact never breaking, when she leans in for a kiss, and you let her in. the kiss is slow, as she tries to learn your body language, the kiss is meaningful, but is cut short when she starts freaking out.

"jesus christ y/n i'm sorry."

"i didn't mean to do that, it was an accident,"

an accident?

"oh, uh, yeah it's fine." you say, confused on what the big deal was, you've been wanting to do that forever, but i guess things weren't reciprocated.

things quickly got awkward, and then paige says something that honestly breaks your heart a little.

"maybe you shouldn't stay the night tonight, i uh, got family stuff."

you knew that wasn't true, she just didn't want you around after a moment like this just happened. but why is she shutting it down?

"you don't wanna talk first, i mean a lot just happened i think we should ta-" you try to explain to her when she cuts you off.

"just go home y/n." her voice cold and bleak, making you queasy.

paige was never like this with you, can a kiss really change everything? you thought asking your best friend a question would make you lose her, but you two KISSED. your heart dropped to your feet with the thoughts swarming in your head, "is she gonna leave me?" being the main one.

the next day rolls around, it was 12:30, the time she usually got back home after practicing with her dad, and you’ve received no sign of her, no texts or missed facetimes, which was unusual since you promised each other two years ago you'd try to facetime every. single. day. "she just needs time," you thought to yourself, but you text her anyway.

"hey paigeyyy, i'm gonna go to the store later, did you want me to pick anything up for you? i can drop by your house and give it to you?"

read 12:35pm

she read your message, but didn't respond until ten minutes later with a simple and dry "no" which made you sigh and move on about the day.

you missed paige. you slowly start to regret last night, but there's nothing you can do to change it. you already miss her face, her hugs, her lips, and how she looked at you. you open your camera roll to see a picture you and her took last night after her game, her holding you bridal style while you hold up her trophy, both of you smiling at each other. you put your phone down and decide to lay down for the rest of the day, as you had no motivation to do anything knowing your best friend didn't even wanna speak to you.

but deep down it was more than that, you had really fallen for paige, not wanting anyone but her, was that so wrong?

paige on the other hand, was losing it. she didn't know what to do with herself. there was no way she liked girls, let alone her best friend.

so why did she kiss her?

she wanted answers, but she couldn't and didn't want to talk to anyone about it, scared of how others would perceive her, worried she'd lose people over this, and worst of all, she didn't want to lose her best friend. she had to push her away, she needed space to think.

she thought there was nothing wrong with that, but it was the worst thing she could've done.

a week passes, neither of you are talking much, you haven't facetimed in what seems like forever, and her responses to you are weak and bland, making you feel as if she's not interested in talking to you anymore.

prom is approaching, you and paige planned to go together, to dance, make fun of other peoples dancing, and have another lively moment before summer break. but after that night, you're not sure what you two are gonna do, mainly because the day of prom, paige hadn't texted you at all. you weren't gonna go since you figured she wasn't, but you needed to get out of bed and go do something fun to get your mind off of the situation.

a couple hours go by, and you're finished getting ready. you have on an all black floor length dress, with small purple accents, since you already pre picked it out, intending to match with paige. you took your pictures with your parents, and drove to the school, as prom was being held in the gym this year.

you get there, hands clammy from your nervousness. you hate being here without paige, you wanted to take so many pictures, make so many memories, slow dance, and this was gonna be the night you were ACTUALLY planning on kissing her for the first time, showing her how long you've loved her.

the whole time you've been standing around looking bored, knowing you'd have so much fun if paige were here. that's until a guy from the football team comes up to you, asking you to dance with him. you insist, as you have nothing better to do. a slow song starts, and you and him are dancing slowly, until you notice a familiar face walk in the gym. paige.

she sees you and him and storms off to the bathroom, furious at the fact that you looked so beautiful, and that she wasn't the one with hands around your waist, taking in all your beauty.

you excuse yourself from his grasp, walking towards the bathroom, letting it clear out before you walk in.

"hey.." you say softly, not wanting to come off aggressive as if she hasn't been talking to you in what seemed like ages.

"what the fuck is he doing slow dancing with you? that was our thing y/n." she says, sort of yelling at you, but you quickly retaliate.

"no paige. you don't get to be mad at me because YOU shut me out. all i wanted to do was talk to you, you made me feel crazy, like something was wrong with me." you say, starting to cry.

"you completely went ghost on me, since before that night i've wanted no one but you, but i guess it doesn't matter,"

"i didn't come with him, he just asked me to dance because i looked bored, so i said yes." you tell her, looking at the tiled bathroom floor.

paige cups your chin and pulls your head up so you can look her in the eyes.

"i'm sorry y/n. i shouldn't have ran from you, i was scared. i really did mean to kiss you, just not like that. i wanted it to be special, i wanted it to be while we danced. i thought he was about to take that opportunity away from me. it woulda been memorable y'know?" she says while looking deep in your eyes, hoping you'd forgive her. “i know i’ve been acting weird, i just didn’t know what to do if i lost you.”

"i was also scared of what people would think of me, yknow, liking girls and shit. especially liking you, you're perfect, i didn't wanna ruin anything for you."

you don't respond immediately, until she says what's been on her mind since she met you.

"i'm in love with you, y/n. i've loved you since the first time i met you, you keep me sane, and without you i was losing my shit. there’s nothing wrong with you ma, and i apologize for making you feel that way."

your eyes go a little bit wider, and you finally respond, "i love you too paige, i always have. forget what other people think p, nobody matters but me with you." you smile wide at her and she smiles back, finally feeling content with herself, knowing she said what needed to be said, and could kiss you whenever she wanted to.

she leans in to kiss you, but you stop her.

"what cmon, i can't kiss you now?" she said to you while rolling her eyes.

"you said you wanted it to be special right?" you grab her hand and hold it for a while.

"yes ma'am i did," she says, leading you out of the bathroom and back to the gym, where another slow song has started. she quickly rests her hands on your waist, your hands on her shoulders, as you two sway to the song blasting through the cheap speakers the school borrowed.

"god, you look beautiful baby." paige says, finally taking in all of your perfection. your hair, makeup, and jewelry aligned perfectly, fitting you so well, she just loved looking at you. before you two continue dancing, she pulls her phone out of her dress pants pocket, and while she does so you take a good look at her. she looks stunning. a black button up and black dress pants, a silver chain completing the look. she goes to her camera app, and you kiss her on the cheek as a pose for the picture. she snaps multiple and eagerly changes her lockscreen.

"i love seeing this beautiful face everytime i turn my phone on," she says, you roll your eyes out of her corniness, but it still makes you blush. you also take a picture of the two of you, and you update your lockscreen as well.

"and i love seeing yours, and plus, this button up looks a little too good on you," you tell her, making her bite her lip slightly.

she grabs your hand and twirls you, bringing you back in, your faces exceptionally close to one another. the slow song comes to and end, and paige takes one hand off of your waist to cup your face, and connects her lips with yours and utters the words that make you happy to have met her,

"i love you y/n."

"i love you too paige."

and for the first time, you knew you had a forever person, and that person was paige bueckers.

HEY BAD BITCHESSS!! I HOPE YOU ENJOYEDDD I KNOW THERE’S NOT MANY HOPKINS FICS OUT THERE SO I WANTED TO TRY! i’ll try and be consistent with posting, just bare with me 🙂‍↕️ love you

tags: @rosemariiaa @mrsarnold @wbbgetsmewetter

🫶🏽🫶🏽

the collage that “would’ve been posted”

[sugarzpastries]

My favorite princess

[megamindsecretlair]

Hi, beloved! ❤️ Would you be down to write about Terry Richmond using some rope tricks that he learned from his Marine training on reader? 🤭 If not, I completely understand and you’re still amazing !😘

A/N: Forgive me, I know this doesn't technically fit the bill, but this got my mind spinning. Let me know if you want a more faithful response.

Touch Me Like You Care

Pairing: Daddy Dom!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female), fingering (fem receiving), teasing, size kink, dirty talk, mean Terry, daddy kink, praise kink, spanking, lite bondage, overstimulation, reader is able to be picked up, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some, rushing.

Summary: See Ask. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog . Terry comes home to find you reading in bed, all thoughts of getting dressed out of your mind as you rest. He was prepared to let you, truly, but then he finds that you’re not wearing the bracelets he bought you. And well, he can’t let that slide, can he?

Word Count: 4,475k

AO3 Link

A/N: @planetblaque knows I can deny her nothing!! Whew, everytime I think I can take a break from this man, ya'll pop out with all of these amazing fics! I'm so over the moon to see so much activity. We fr just tossing this man around like a beach ball and I love that for us!!! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You pulled your dresser open and searched for your favorite pair of thigh high socks. Ever since the weather turned, you were back to shivering every two seconds, feeling colder than a witch’s broomstick no matter what you did. 

After a refreshing shower, you opted to dry under your blanket hoodie, feeling the need to retreat from having to be “on” all the time. Navigating the world as a Black woman was fucking exhausting. 

You picked up your phone, scrolling through your latest dirty book. There was a subtle increase in Black led romances that were making you stay up to the wee hours of the morning reading. The latest book was absolutely filthy from your favorite author. The anticipation for this book had been immense, the group chat blowing up with speculations and guesses.

The book was getting better, when the couple who swore they hated each other was about to fuck that tension out since fighting got them nowhere. You squealed, picking up the nearest pair of socks. You tore your gaze away long enough to put your socks on.

You looked around the room for your blanket hoodie. It was sitting on the famous chair, piled on top of a mountain of clothing that was near toppling over. You grabbed the hoodie and then checked in on your phone. 

Oh, the tension. The passion. It just ate you up inside when the characters got to that part. Confessing their love in drunken confessions or in the middle of an argument. Ouee, your body was on fire just thinking about it. Your pussy clenching at the details. The rich words creating a movie in your mind’s eye.

Abandoning your hoodie, you laid across the bed and decided to air dry. With the way this book was going, you might need a second shower. You rested your head on your closed fist and let your mind drift, picturing the scene.

You didn’t hear when your boyfriend called your name after he arrived home. Or how his heavy footfalls padded down the hallway to your bedroom. Or how he called your name again when he stood in the doorway. You didn’t hear the subtle camera click as a picture was taken.

Somewhere between the fifth and…counting?... sex scene, you ended up on your tummy, legs high behind you, tapping your socked feet together. You were literally kicking your feet as the characters kept telling each other that they hated each other as they were clutching onto each other for dear life. 

You sighed. You simply ate this shit up. You were already mentally typing up your notes for your review on Goodreads. Ouee, maybe you should start keeping a side notebook. Just to jot down bullet points so your scatterbrained mind didn’t forget a single detail. 

Fingers reached across your ass and you yelped, looking behind you ready to scream. Terry stood behind you, his head tilted and a smirk on his luscious face. You choked out a laugh, rolling to one side so you could look at him better. 

He looked damn good in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Terry slid his fingers absently across your bare ass, tracing the globes up and down. Your body shivered, pussy clenching with need. You gazed at your man. At the smooth planes and lines of his face, the cut of jaw, those big pink lips. 

“You didn’t hear me calling you?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Sorry,” you said, giving him a cutesy grin. 

His lips twitched but he didn’t let himself smile. “You’re not cute. You have to be more aware of your surroundings,” he said. 

“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding. “Though to be fair, the only man getting in here is you.”

“Mhm,” he said, nodding his own head. “You reading your dirty books?” 

“Yes! You remember my favorite author?” You asked. 

Terry nodded, hiking his eyebrow up as he encouraged you to tell him all about your favorite author. And the book you were currently reading. “And I just got to the good part,” you said.

Terry chuckled and nodded. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it,” he said. He trailed his fingers between your legs as he moved away and you gasped. For two reasons. On the one hand, Terry’s hands on you always instantly put you in the mood. With your pussy already wet, you were thinking it was a good time for a break. 

On the other hand, you forgot that you had taken off your gifts from him while you showered. It was the only time you were allowed to do so. You meant to put the ankle and thigh bracelet back on when you lotioned up but plum forgot.

Terry stopped and you could feel his stare. It burned in the back of your head. Your heart thumped in your chest. You had no idea what he was going to do.

“Baby,” Terry’s deep timbre was a physical caress down your spine. You stretched your back and bit your lip. 

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you said, pitching your voice higher. 

“Where are your bracelets?” He rubbed his thumb across your thick thigh. The weight of those words pressed down on you, making you want to retreat in your mind. You began to pant, feeling out of sorts. You were so turned on you could barely breathe. But you were also worried about what kind of punishment you were about to receive. 

“I just showered,” you said. You rolled so that you could look at his pretty face. To at least try to gauge where his mind went. Terry stopped you by wrapping his hand around your thigh. 

“I believe you. But you’re out of the shower now,” he said. 

“I really forgot this time,” you said. 

Terry sighed, the sound like a coin drop in an empty room. “You know what we have to do now, right?” He asked.

“You sure I can’t bargain out of this one? I can be pretty cute, you said so,” you said. 

“Up,” he said, his calm voice making matters worse. You may as well have been pleading your case to a brick wall. There was no changing his mind.

You got to your knees and then flipped over, scooting to the edge of the bed. Terry rolled his shoulders as he moved to your closet. He pulled a pine green box down from the top shelf. 

He placed the large, repurposed gift box on your dresser and opened it. Cheery snowmen looked at you from the painted edges as Terry rummaged around. He drew out a pair of leather cuffs and crossed over to you.

You pouted at him as he strapped the cuffs to your wrists. There was a small golden link between them keeping it connected and not giving you much room to escape. You tested the pull on it as you tried to separate your wrists. No dice. 

Terry grabbed the link and pulled you into a standing position. He sighed deeply, his voice a rumbling thunder behind it with a hum as he stared you down. “I had plans to treat you so well when I got back,” he said. 

“Fuck,” you said, the curse flying fast. You rubbed your thighs together, staring up into his pretty colorful eyes. Every time you looked at them, they were a different color. You loved to see the changes, especially this up close. His eyes went more brown when he was like this, when he’d sunk into that role of being in charge. Of being protective. 

He kissed your cheek, softly, reverently, his juicy lips leaving a small wet spot behind. He moved down to your lips, not quite kissing you. He hummed and smirked. “Whatever happens, just know that I love you, okay?” 

“Terry,” you huffed. His name was a plea and a curse all in one. You didn’t know what was worse. Knowing the torture was coming or having to live through it. Your thighs were on fire, burning with the need to have him between them. 

He pulled you closer by the cuffs, kissing you completely this time. He brought his free hand up to cup your cheek, hands warm. You licked his lips and he moaned. “Nice try,” he said against your lips. 

He said that, but you stepped closer, rubbing yourself against his growing bulge. He chuckled, letting you, looking down while you rubbed on him. He grinned and then grabbed your shoulders, turning you around. He pushed you down. You let out a soft oomph, flopping onto the bed. 

He grabbed your hips, pushing you further up your big ass bed. He positioned you how he wanted, close to the edge, but not so close that he didn’t have free range behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you could only hear him moving around behind you.

It sounded like he was rummaging through the goody box again. You sighed. Digging your toes into the bed. “Start reading,” he commanded, voice sharp.

How the hell were you supposed to read anything? You hesitated, looking at your phone. There was no way you’d be able to concentrate and he knew that. 

“Baby,” you said and licked your lips. 

Terry said nothing and again, you felt his gaze bearing down on you. You whimpered as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it, and swiping back to your phone. You began reading aloud, reading about the sex scene you were in the middle of. 

Reading it aloud to Terry, picturing him as the main male character, you were miserably wet. Dripping practically. You sighed, thinking of your ruined bed. You’d have to spend tonight doing laundry. 

Terry’s massive hand slapped across your ass, the recoil loud enough to rival a gunshot. You squealed, falling forward onto the bed. Heat bloomed between your thighs, warming up your core to a dangerous level. 

It still really fucking hurt though. Your ass stung and you swore that you could feel aftershocks of his hand, slapping across your ass over and over. “Fuck, fuck!” You yelled out. 

“Keep reading,” he said. 

You got back to your knees and arched your back like he positioned you in before. You returned to reading out loud, pussy throbbing at the way the words made you feel. You got to an explicit part when Terry’s hands came back down. He smacked your ass a handful more times, covering a wide area and making your ass light up like a Christmas tree.

Tears welled in your eyes from the pain and the pleasure. It was too much stimulation. “Please, please, fuck me. I can’t take it,” you whimpered. The words on your phone swam in your vision as your body contracted with shivers. Both from the radiating waves of heat and the burn low in your belly. 

Terry rubbed his hands across your ass and you screamed, kneeling away from his hands. Wherever he touched, your ass sang with pain. “Are you going to remember to put your bracelets on?” 

You nodded. “Yes, I swear,” you said. 

Terry shoved his fingers between your legs, plunging right up your pussy. You collapsed onto the bed, twitching. “Mhm, I didn’t give you permission to cum,” he said. 

“Daddy, pleaseeee,” you pleaded, lower belly twinging with the pain of fighting off your orgasm. 

“You can get wetter than this, baby,” he said. 

“I can’t,” you said, drool seeping into the navy covers beneath you. Your face was smashed into the bed, no way to hold yourself up while his fingers stroked your walls. The loud squelching of your pussy, wet because of him, made you clench around his fingers and moan. 

He placed his free hand on your ass, giving you the dual sensation of sweet torture and cruel relief. He moved his fingers faster, stretching you out with his long, thick fingers. You rode yourself on his fingers, throwing it back and he moaned. He smacked your ass more lightly this time, more in encouragement than anything else. 

“Please let me cum. Please let me cum,” you said, legs twitching. You couldn’t hold off any longer. 

Terry leaned down over your body, placing his lips as close to your ear as he could get it. “Nahhh,” he said slowly, a subtle rasp in his voice. You bit your lip and rode him harder, showing him that you needed more. “Gotta earn that shit.” 

You sobbed into your bed, tears streaming freely. You were about to explode. Come undone at the seams. “Daddy, please. Pleaaseee. Pleaaasseeee, ouee, pleeasseee,” you moaned, desperately riding his fingers. 

“You know what Daddy needs,” he said. 

Tears leaked freely, mixing with the drool and pooling onto the covers. Your mind turned to mush, no longer able to keep reading. Your moans were loud and near screaming. Your throat raw with the effort. Your essence flooded his fingers and he hummed in satisfaction. 

“There’s my good girl,” he purred. He suddenly flipped you over, not giving you a chance to work with him. He was too impatient, too needy, too rough as he positioned you on your back. He pushed your arms above your head, giving you a look. You planted your hands above your head and knew better to move them. 

It pushed your breasts up, giving him a total view of your chest. He groaned, eyes tracking to your pert nipples. Terry folded you in half, scooting his thighs beneath your back, holding you spread open for him. 

He placed soft kisses to your wet pussy, lips smacking from your juices. “Baby, I can’t hold it no more,” you said.

“You’re gonna hold it because Daddy told you to,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. You whimpered, whined, trying to breathe through being folded like a pretzel. 

Your toes brushed against the bed with every rocking motion from Terry as he got himself comfortable. He continued kissing your pussy, stopping to look back and stare at your pussy. His lips began to glisten with your essence. 

You groaned, a primal, possessive side of you jumping out. You marked your claim. It was your juices on him. Your essence feeding him. 

“Daddy, please,” you cried out. From this position, you saw his face perfectly. He stared at your pussy like a man possessed. Like a greedy man with the richest treasure in the world. Your heart softened just as your pussy throbbed. 

Terry smirked. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy. She miss me?” He asked. As if you hadn’t gone two and half rounds when you woke up this morning. As if he wasn’t driving you insane nearly every time you got within two feet of each other. 

“Yes, Daddy, she missed you,” you moaned. 

“Yeah? She gon’ be good and cum when I say?” He asked. He stared at you from beneath his long eyelashes framing his stormy blue eyes while his tongue rolled out of his mouth. He used the tip of his tongue to search through your soaked curls, separate your pussy lips, and flick across that little bundle of nerves. 

“Ouee, shit,” you moaned. Sweat beaded on your forehead. Your heart beat so loudly, it was a miracle he couldn’t hear it. You huffed, watching his tongue work around your clit. Feeling it was even better. His breath was hot across your pussy, making your breaths stutter in your chest.

His lips followed his tongue, going deeper, playing with the rim of your entrance before dipping his tongue inside you. You cried out, belly fluttering. You moved your hands and Terry’s eyes narrowed. 

Fresh tears leaked from your eyes, dripping down the side of your face. “Pleasseee,” you begged. 

“You’re doing so well, already,” he moaned. He sped up, licking you, eating you, devouring you as he lapped at your pussy. Fresh essence dripped out of you and he licked that up too. He moaned, burying his nose and face into your pussy. He ate like a man starved. Sloppily. Messily. 

“Oue, fuck, ouee,” you screamed.

Terry moved closer, like he was trying to shove his whole face inside of you. His plush lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. 

“Oh fuck! Terry! Terry!” You screamed. Your body began twitching. The orgasm you staved off was coming whether you wanted it to or not. Terry stopped altogether, suspending your body in the midpoint between denial and reprieve. 

Your eyes rolled lazily to him, panting, huffing, body feeling like you had been tossed into a barbeque pit. “T-T-”

Terry tilted his head, tongue flat against your clit. You throbbed and pulsed on his tongue but he didn’t move. Your body retreated from the edge in slow increments, relaxing against him. 

You blinked at him, no longer able to communicate a single thought. Terry’s eyes gleamed with sick pleasure. He hummed, moving his tongue against your clit once more. He brought you to the edge and then denied you the rush of pleasure at the last minute. He did it one more time, letting you relax and then bringing you back to the precipice. 

Your belly cramped so bad. Your mouth stopped working. You couldn’t do anything but pathetically moan as he ate his fill. Your toes brushed against the bed again as he leaned back far enough.

“She too tired now?” He asked.

You shook your head. Furthest thing from it. Terry smirked. “You nice and dumb for me, baby?” He asked. He gave you teasing little licks. You hissed and moaned, eyes aching from how hard you closed them from the torture. 

“Answer me when I’m talking to you,” Terry said, smacking your ass for good measure. It woke you from the fog long enough to nod. 

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you said. 

Terry grinned and then relented, giving in and eating you with a renewed fervor. “You can cum now, baby,” he moaned into your pussy. His tongue and lips teased your clit. His fingers dipped back inside your entrance, coaxing that sweet, sweet orgasm out of you.

You screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Or hell, maybe you joined them. Lights burst behind your eyelids as you came with so much force, you couldn’t breathe. Your pussy ached and throbbed, thighs shaking against Terry’s face as he teased you throughout the whole ride. 

He slowed down as he sensed that you were coming down, drawing out his teasing licks and kisses to your pussy. He pulled back and your essence dripped from his face. He looked like he went swimming in your pussy. His entire jaw was covered, shiny and wet. You wish you could take a picture of him like this.

A long spit chain connected you to him and he moaned, ending on a hiss. “That’s a good fuckin’ pussy,” he huffed as he regained his own breathing. “Turn that ass over.”

Terry lowered you to the bed while he hopped off. He made quick work of his clothes, his huffs and puffs the only indication of how badly he was rushing. You were just a noodle, watching him reveal inches of his bronze skin, the veins in his biceps, the tattoos on his arms.

You traced the tattoos more times than you could count, lips twitching with the urge to do so now. His thighs were equally delicious. As big as tree trunks, a light dusting of hair. And that ass. He turned to the side briefly so he could free his long legs from his underwear and sweats. 

“You are so damn pretty,” you mumbled. 

Terry chuckled. You didn’t think he heard you. “That’s my line,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure I told you what you need to be doing.” 

You couldn’t flip over fast enough, giggling. He’d just bent you over and ate you so well, your leg was still wobbly and shaky. Yet you yearned for more. Yearned for his body surrounding you, protecting you, caging you in his embrace. You were greedy. Needing, wanting, craving more. 

Terry descended onto the bed, roughly grabbing your hips and sliding inside with a savage thrust. 

“Oueeee, SHIT, Daddy!” You screamed. He slid out and then slid back in, coating his long dick with your essence. 

“Cream this shit,” he moaned, sliding inside faster. His massive hands gripped your hips and pulled you onto his punishing dick, ramming into you. “Made for me. You were made for me, weren’t you?” He asked.

“Yes, Daddy, I was made for you,” you moaned. He stretched you beautifully, slamming into you just as rough as you wanted. As you needed. 

“Just a pretty, tight hole for me to abuse whenever I want?” He asked.

You sobbed, tears gathering in your eyes once more. He hit that magical spot inside of you, the spot only he could reach. No other man, not even your toys, could hit that spot with such precision. With accuracy. He was just as much made for you. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned, voice muffled by the covers. The bed dipped as Terry leaned over, planting a fist beside your head to hold up his weight. He used his other hand to grab a handful of braids and yank, baring your throat to him. 

“I wish you could see how creamy you are. Pretty little ring on my dick. So nice and wet,” he cooed into your ear. He pulled your head back so that he could kiss you. His face smelled like you. You moaned and clenched around his dick. He hissed and then growled in your ear. 

“Filling me so deep, Daddy,” you moaned. “So fuckin’ deep, ohmygoood.”

Terry chuckled. He shifted his hips and drove in deeper, possibly down to his base, as he fucked you into the mattress. Your hands stretched out in front of you, gripping onto the covers just trying to meet his thrusts. 

“Untie me, Daddy. Let me feel you,” you begged. 

Terry responded by kissing you, tongue licking your lips. You opened your mouth and played with his tongue. His beautiful, amazing tongue that was capable of the sweetest words and the filthiest things. 

“You don’t know how to behave when you’re free,” he said against your cheek. 

“I’ll behave, I promise,” you whispered. 

Terry moaned, dick throbbing inside you. “I want to believe you,” he said. 

He kept up his brutal, savage thrusts, digging into you and making your belly clench. “Pleasse, Daddy. I want to feel you,” you moaned. 

“All you need to do is feel this dick, baby. Feel how much you mean to me. How much I want to take care of you,” he said.

Each thrust felt like it was going straight to your heart. There was no way you were still flooding his dick. Still making it easier for him to glide and thrust and stroke so far inside you, you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. 

“Fuck me so good. So well,” you moaned. 

Terry gripped your hips and then pulled you down harder, faster, rougher. You yelped and squealed, stretched out on the bed, trying to escape. Terry yanked you back, fingers digging into your skin harder. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you moaned. Your thighs trembled from trying to hold yourself up from his hold. He kept you in place, filling you, fucking you good and deep. Your eyes rolled back into your head. But still, your body propelled you forward. Both because of his thrusts and because you just couldn’t take any more. All the edging from earlier had you spent. 

“Sit that ass up,” he panted, breaths falling across your damp back. 

“C-Can’t,” you stuttered. 

Terry grunted and pulled you by the hair until you were on your knees. He sat on his haunches, continuing to pound inside you. 

“You keep telling me what you can’t do. But all this time you been takin’ this dick and doing what Daddy tell you to. Do you know how proud I am of you? So pretty when you listen,” he moaned. 

“Fuck, Daddy, please,” you moaned. 

Terry grabbed your arms and pulled it until the cuffs went over his head. It made you thrust out your chest and he grabbed your titties, playing with your sensitive nipples. He pinched and plucked as he fucked you, kissing your neck and biting your shoulder. 

Your pussy made smacking noises on his dick, sounding thick and creamy. You moans mingled in the room, mixing with the pound of the headboard against the wall. You were constantly getting little dents in it from the force of your lovemaking. It was too much. You tried to sit on his lap but he grunted.  “Mhm,” he said, pulling you into a kneeling position one more time. 

“If I gotta stand you up one more time, you ain’t gon’ like it,” he snapped. 

You whimpered and whined but concentrated on holding yourself up. His dick slammed into your walls while he kissed your neck. One hand gripped your titty and squeezed while his other hand searched lower, rubbing two fingers against your pussy. 

You screamed out, unable to hold off this one. It gobbled you up with the force of it. Tearing you down to your roots, breaking you down to your center, to the very last atom that makes you you. You cried out, shaking, twitching. 

Your vision turned black and your right ear rung with a tinny bell as you came and came in rolling waves. One triggered another for an extended orgasm, body jerking uncontrollably. 

“Cum so pretty,” he said. “You ready for this nut?” 

You could only manage a nod as he rolled his shoulders and moaned in your ear while he came, unloading a thick load of cum inside of you. 

There was no more air in your lungs enough to moan. You could only sigh as he warmed you up from the inside, soaking your walls with his cum. Nothing leaked out as he continued to stroke into you.

Your body arched as he stilled, buried to the hilt. He kissed your neck, your cheek, your jaw. He brought the fingers he used to play with your clit up to your mouth and bid you to suck. 

“Taste that?” He asked.

You nodded. Too spent, too tired, to fucked out to do anything else but yawn. Terry chuckled, and slipped out. His cum leaked out with him, sliding down your leg and dripping onto the bed. 

“Sleepy,” you mumbled.

“I know, baby. But let’s run you a bath first and I’ll change these sheets,” he said. He lowered your arms from his neck and then laid you on your side. He gave you a kiss on your forehead. 

“Don’t let me catch you without your bracelets again,” he said.

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you yawned, stretching out onto the bed to await his tender, loving aftercare.

WHEW. If you need more like I do, here ya gooo! The Secret Terry Richmond Files

Taglist: how did this get so big? I love ya'll!

@planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

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@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

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@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

[tpwrtrmnky]

image description: two stick figures stand at the bottom of the image. one is teal with a ribbon on its head, and the other is red with anime glasses and a very crudely drawn jacket.

at the top of the image, teal text reads "i mean I guess I'm like, technically disabled, but not really, you know?"

red text responds, saying "really? i mean, what was it you were saying about that comic earlier?"

the teal text replies "oh yeah, the fanart I wanted to make. yeah, i've been meaning to get that done, but every time i try, i either can't start or get so nervous about it that it goes nowhere.

red text asks "how long has that been happening for?"

the answer: "pretty much since the first one came out, I think."

to which red asks: "wasn't that three months ago?"

teal responds: "… oh."

end ID.

There's a lot of mindset overlap between "surely I don't have it bad enough to be disabled" and "surely what I'm feeling doesn't qualify as trans", as it turns out!

[audliminal]

It's just a game, right? Pt 2

pt 1

"It's like. Crazy, y'know?" Bernard's voice echoes in Tim's ears as he fiddles with his mask. "Like, when they started posting, I was kinda meh about it? I mean the first few videos they posted were just like. Basic shitty, scrambled audio, and the first clues were just like, real simple. Basic word replacement stuff; mostly vigenères, right? But now it's- they're using everything! The current drop is. It's layers, man. And I think it's intentional."

"Isn't it supposed to be intentional? I thought that was like, the whole point of an ARG."

"No I mean, like yeah obviously the clues are intentional, but like. The way the difficulty curve is just increasing. When this started it was so easy, but I don't think it was because they like, didn't know what they were doing or anything. Which, cool yeah that makes sense, you want people to buy in before it gets super hard or whatever, but there are, like all these threads that never went anywhere. And everybody kind of wrote them off as red herrings because they didn't seem to fit into the narrative that we had so far, but I can't stop thinking about them, you know?"

"I mean, they could still be red herrings, couldn't they?"

"Well, technically, yeah, but like. Why? It's one thing to have a dead end that maybe calls back to a previous clue or, like, reaffirms some detail from before but having something completely unconnected seems like a weird choice. Especially when the creator keeps telling us to dig deeper."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Tim asks with a laugh.

"No that's the thing!" Bernard's voice goes intense, and Tim momentarily stops putting his mask back together. "Literally every fucking drop those exact words are hidden somewhere in the mess of encryptions, and as things get more complicated, it's showing up more not less. And that together with all the fucking loose details that don't seem to fit in anywhere? I'm literally on the verge of going back to the beginning of the whole thing and solving it from scratch, bc I think we're missing a lot." Tim kind of forgets, sometimes, how similar he and Bernard are, but the in his boyfriend's voice is one he's intimately familiar with. That combination of obsession and frustration - and obviously it's not really serious because like, it's an internet game, but it doesn't matter what the stakes are, being stuck on a puzzle fucking sucks, and he can't exactly patrol what with his broken ankle, so maybe a fun, no-stakes challenge would be good for him.

"We were planning on hanging out on Friday, so what if you walked me through it from the start, and maybe together we can come up with some answers?"

"Seriously? Dude that would be so awesome! I will teach you everything I know about code breaking!"

"I mean, I do know some things, you know. You think I didn't have a spy phase as a teenager?" Tim smiles at Bernard's responding laughter. It'll be nice, he thinks, to mess with a puzzle where nobody's life is at stake.

[loveshotzz]

He’s not tech savvy, and he doesn’t really like to be laughed at. It doesn’t stop you from giggling under your breath at every wrong button he presses. The lag on the connection from the remote to the TV consistently getting letters wrong.

“If you don’t stop…” he mutters, frustrated. The curl you love so much falling over his glasses while he leans further forward on the couch. He squints at the television, jutting the remote toward the screen in an angry thrust just to accidentally hit ‘delete’. You break, letting out a loud laugh that wakes Bandit up from his nap on the dog bed. Steve can’t help it, he laughs too, a chuckle birthed from how annoyed he is trying to set up a ‘party watch’ for the Friday the 13th movies with Peach and Eddie in New York.

It made his heart soften at any hint of his best friend that he found in you. Smirking to himself when you mentioned watching them whenever a Friday the 13th happened to fall. It’s like Ed spoke through you. So he made a whole plan for it — a stay at home date night where he made snacks, ordered cannolis, got a good fall candle, and set the lights to an eerie low red.

And it would be perfect if he could figure out how to get the fucking link to work.

“If you think it’s so easy, why don’t you do it tough girl?” he asks, putting the remote on the center cushion on the couch, “Go ahead, show me how smart you are.”

“You’re just not being patient,” you tease in a measured, holier-than-thou tone, “You have to be one with the remote.”

“Okay,” he says smoothly, “Show me then, karate kid. Show me how to become one with the remote.”

You can smell the spice and cedar on him when he inches closer, big hand closing over yours while you take the remote in your hand, slowly spelling out Eddie’s email address for the invite on the screen. A silence falls between you, feeling the scruff of his five o’clock shadow near your cheek.

“You’re showin’ off, angel,” he murmurs, he breath coasting over your ear.

“So what if I am?” you ask headily, turning your head so your lips nearly brush. The remote drops between you, noses teasing against each other with gentle smiles on your lips, eyes closing.

Steve’s phone rings, Eddie’s ringtone — Creep by Radiohead blowing from the speaker.

“Hold that thought,” Steve sighs. He picks up, screen reflecting himself back when he realizes it’s a FaceTime call.

“‘Yyyello,” Steve says, settling the phone against a mug of decaf on the coffee table. You sigh at the way he can’t help but answer the phone like a geriatric.

“I’ve been waiting for this invite for like, twenty minutes — what’s the deal?” Eddie asks, from the background it looks like his phone is in a similar spot. Halloween decorations set and ready, fairy lights flickering orange and purple hanging prettily on the wall.

“We’re getting there man, relax,” Steve says, taking his glasses off to massage the bridge of his nose, “Technical difficulties.”

“Or you just don’t know how to do it,” he grins, “Where’s your girl? Ask if she can help.”

“I’m trying,” you pipe up, putting yourself in the frame and waving.

“Hey lady,” he smiles lazily, “You teachin’ him a thing or two?’

“Every day,” you smile back.

“They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” Eddie shrugs, “So…”

“Well, you’re older than me, so,” Steve bites back.

“Ooh, I love when you’re a little mean,” Ed flirts, “Do it again.”

“The invite should come in for you in a couple minutes, are you on the main page? It’ll pop up there,” you say, picking the remote up again.

“Yeah, I’m ready when you are,” he nods. You both can hear the lock click in Ed’s apartment, his face splitting into a smile and gentle eyes.

“Hey baby,” he says to his wife off screen, “Com’ere we’re gonna watch Jason with St—”

Off camera you can hear Peach’s voice, soft, and laced with a hint of disappointment, “You decorated…”

His face quirks, “Yeah, d-do you not like it?”

“I like it but…you um, you did it without me. We were supposed to do it together.”

“Oh, honey,” he frowns, “Wait no, don’t frown like that — Peach…”

Eddie looks at the screen, “Sorry guys, can you send the invite in like a half hour? Peach, sweetheart, I’m so sorry…don’t be upset…I — fuck, hold on — Yeah, send it in like a half hour — bye.”

The call disconnects, leaving you both sitting there in the glow of the TV, the cursor blinking waiting for you to click ‘Invite’ now that Eddie’s email was successfully entered.

“All that and now we have to wait,” Steve snaps, “He’s never on time.”

“I feel bad,” you give a small pout in solidarity, “She sounded so sad.”

“She’ll get over it,” Steve lets out a breath, shaking his head like he’s used to this, “She just wants some attention. Speaking of…”

“Speaking of…?” you respond, turning toward him on the couch.

“We were having a lot of fun before we were interrupted,” Steve smiles, leaning forward, lips skimming your cheek to press a kiss by your ear, “And I can think of a few good ways to kill a half hour.”

- not Carol, oh wait, yes it is

🥺 i’ve been selfish and kept this to myself for a little while and have been reading it when i get overwhelmed at work. you spoil me bf 🥺💕 I love him so much.

[foone]

The annoying thing is that every time I play the VR game I Expect You To Die 3, I get to the robot butler part, and I think the voice sounds familiar.

Usually, I look it up. It's Luis Bermudez, a very prolific voice actor. Dude's only been doing this for a decade, but he's already got 112 credits on IMDB.

None of which I have seen! At all!

Other than this one game, the closest to something I've seen is him appearing in a long running anime dub that I used to watch. He showed up 20 years after I stopped watching, but technically there's another overlap in the categories of "shows/movies/games Luis Bermudez has been in" and "shows/movies/games/letsplays foone has watched* at least some of".

And the part that's specifically annoying is that this whole cycle of watching/playing and then having to research this voice just to be baffled has happened enough times that I'm annoyed by the repetition!

* well technically watched/watched/played/watched but you know what I mean. I'd love a word that means most that isn't "consumed". Eww. Like it's a nutrient slime.

[vevobly]

Being Natalie Scatorccio Girlfriend Headcanons (Pre-Crash) [Part 1]

A/N: This is technically my first headcanons post. But I ended up posting Jackie's first then Misty's, so yeah! Heads up for sensitive topics such as addiction, smoking, and implied/referenced terrible home.

Since Nat comes from a rough home life and doesn't exactly have the best reputation at school, your relationship is probably being kept on the down low. It's not because Nat might be ashamed of you or anything like that; she just doesn't want to drag you down with her. She already gets a lot of unwanted attention and judgment from others. She doesn't want more—especially if it affects you too.

She isn't big on public displays of affection. But you CAN catch her giving you these small, meaningful gestures! A light touch on the arm, a passing glance, or, if you smoke, she'll quietly give you a cigarette when no one's looking.

Nat doesn't open up easily. But with you? As cheesy as it might be, it's different. You're one of the very few people she can be vulnerable with when life decides to shit on her. She doesn't tell you everything, but it's fine. You understand, and you aren't going to push her to do so (unless something warrants it).

She'll call you up late at night just to talk about whatever. Sometimes she crashes at your place to avoid the bullshit she deals with at home, sleeping more soundly in your bed than anywhere else. When you bring that up, she'll either respond with something witty or sappy. And you? You'll like whatever she chooses to tell you instead of the other.

Dating Nat means late night drives in her beat up car with no clear destination! She loves going where the road takes you two, and you're always down to ride shotgun with her.

With this in mind, you two occasionally sneak off to places that are abandoned. Why? For privacy and peace, of course! Oh, and because those locations usually have great views. You can bet your ass that Nat has taken you to loads of romantic places (though she would argue that they're plain) already, talking about how shitty Wiskayok is and how you guys could escape it one day together. Neither of you are sure of anything, but it is nice to dream about, right?

Nat is VERY loyal to you. She might not say it, but she shows it by defending you in her own subtle (some of the yellowjackets would disagree with that—I think you already know who) way when people at school talk behind your back.

Of course, being Nat's girlfriend grants you the special privilege of seeing a side of her that others don't. Which is her being surprisingly sweet when it's just the two of you. She’ll let you pick the music when she's driving (even if she grumbles about your taste) and surprise you with small gifts like mixtapes or a pack of your favorite candy.

Nat's not the most affectionate, but when she is, she turns into this huge sap. Point that one out and she'll deny it vehemently. Either rolling her eyes or crossing her arms to her chest before insisting you're the one being a massive sap. Touché, you'll tell her, and then she'll start laughing; saying you're her sap.

Being together with Nat means you've got to deal with rumors about her at school from time to time. You hate it but what can you do? People will talk whatever about her whenever. While it certainly made you pissed that people do that to her, you've learned to just ignore what they say about her. You know her. You know Nat. And she is way different from how people see her. While she appreciates you defending her, she doesn't need you to. She's not a charit

When things get bad, she'll seek you out. Sometimes she'll show up at your door in the middle of the night, simply saying "I needed to see you." and you'll let her stay. Your place is always welcome for her.

Believe it or not, you're the first person Natalie tells about her frustations (usually the team or her dad). Annnnd, even though she might try to brush off her feelings; you know how to read her and help her without pushing too hard. Still, it makes her feel like a damn--

You know about her addiction. And while you always make sure she's okay, that just isn't enough. So you give her space, let her know that you will be there for her no matter what (but will you though? your relationship is just a faulty boat that's been leaking from the very start. No matter how many times you try to bail the water out, it will sink. It was just destined to). You'll always love her. You'll always love Natalie.

When she's spiraling, you'll be the one to bring her back. Nothing big has to be done, neither of you guys could care about those. Just a quiet word, a reassuring look, or being there is enough. She loves you, she really does. But how the fuck do you love her? She's a mess, and being with her brings you absolutely nothing. why. Why. WHy. WHY. WHY DO YOU LOVE HER OF AL--

If you smoke: Nat loves sharing cigarettes with you. It's almost like a ritual. You or Natalie light one up, pass it back and forth with each other while talking. You'll both sneak out sometimes during school breaks, find a secluded spot to talk and smoke freely there from everyone else.

If you don't smoke: it'll still happen. The difference is that Nat will just be the only one smoking while you'll just watch her take a drag maybe and talk with her. It's a bummer you don't smoke but Nat will take whatever company you can give her whenever.

[casuallyanidiot]

What if another high profile manager was interested in Yandere Manager's darling ( in both a business and platonic sense ) all while their darling is slipping away ( their beginning to see that yan is hurting them more than helping them and is full of shit ).

You've got this spark, this kind of air about you that's hard to ignore. It's why the other manager takes notice of you even though she's not technically in charge of you.

She likes the way your eyes have this hunger in them that she knows will take you far, and every time she crosses paths with you, she smiles a little bit despite her usually cold demeanor. To put it short, she likes you. She wishes she was the one who got to sign you, but oh well. The other manager decides to send an opportunity to Yan Manager. It's a modeling gig. Nothing too big and totally up you're alley. She knows you'll get accepted instantly, especially with her recommendation, and she looks forward to seeing to mockups.

But she never does get them.

The next time the Other manager sees you, she asks.

"So... what happened with that spring photoshoot? You not like it or something?" She asks lazily between a few drags of her cigarette. Your looking at the ground outside, your shoulders hunched as you flinch at the question. Her eyes crinkle in curiosity. Maybe you didn't have the moxy she intially thought you did.

"No... no my manager sent them my photos, but they said they didn't think I was right for it," You mumbled, quite sadly too.

She has to stop herself from biting into her cigarette. What do you mean they didn't want you? She literally handed you that job on a silver platter, and they rejected you? You further explain that your manager just didn't think it was right for you either, and she knows that something's up then.

She does a bit of digging into you. You do a couple of jobs every now and then, but you do nothing major even though she starts getting some stray questions about you here and there. They all boiled down to why on earth are you, a rather no-name little model/actress, so hard to book?

She's gonna get to the bottom of this, kid, and she's gonna make you a god damn star, even if it kills her.

[toiletclown]

breathless. (part five.)

spencer agnew x gn!reader

only fluff from here on out who cheered!

summary: you and spencer spend a night together, and talk about making your relationship 'official'.

word count: 2030

a/n: this project has been such a labor of love (and obsession). this is the penultimate part, the finale will be posted on fri 9/27

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Spence POV

You had both decided that watching some movies in bed and eating your favorite takeout was the best way to end this tumultuous, heavy day. Spencer knew you were tired, and he fully anticipated you falling asleep mid-movie. It didn’t happen often, you always tried your best to stay awake or would communicate that you were ready to head to bed.

All the times you had had movie marathons together, you stayed the night. Spencer would always wake up in the morning, his arm wrapped around you and your leg over his. You both tended to gravitate towards each other in the middle of the night, no matter how far apart on the bed you were before bed. He cherished it more than he’d care to admit, and he was hoping for a repeat tonight. He put on an extra long movie knowing you would get bored and fall asleep.

While it was sneaky, he supposed he was allowed to do that now. The emotions were out and in the open, and while you both still needed to discuss what that entailed and where your relationship was going to go, or how it would change, he was selfish at heart. And with the lack of physical touch in these past few weeks, he was begging for an excuse to touch you.

“Y/N?” He nudged you softly, hoping you wouldn’t stir.

You didn’t. 

He turned the TV off, and hit the bedside lamp too. He checked to make sure your phone was plugged in before plugging in his own phone on his side of the bed. While it wasn’t technically ‘his side’ by any means, he was sure you hadn’t had anyone else in your bed. Minus maybe Angela. And it might as well be his side anyway, considering he had had his own charger plugged in on that side for months, and it hadn’t been moved. He also had a backup pair of glasses here, and half your dresser was filled with his clothes. Though mainly that was because you stole so many of his shirts. 

Once he had calmed you down from his intrusion, he had noticed you were already in one of his shirts. An old, tattered Creed shirt he had retired once he bought a new one. You stole it almost immediately. He smiled to himself, finally letting himself relax.

He knew the morning would entail a long and emotional conversation, but for now he was going to give into his selfish ways, and hold you tight to him while you slept. Hopefully you wouldn’t mind if he was still here in the morning.

He set an alarm for 10am, kissed the top of your head, featherlight, and drifted off to sleep himself.

//

Reader POV

You woke up naturally, no alarm blaring or construction starting. You took your time fully opening your eyes, the sunlight hitting your face a little too hard for your liking. You hadn’t closed the curtains last night before bed, something you’re usually pretty good about. Hmm. A noise to your left startled you slightly. That’s when you took note of your extremities. You were wrapped up in Spencer’s legs, the covers haphazardly thrown across the two of you. The noise was simply him shuffling, but you had fallen asleep so suddenly last night you hadn’t realized he had stayed.

But, the realization made you quite happy. Your heart started to pick up its pace again, and you willed it into normalcy. You weren’t sure you’d ever get used to it. But how could you ask your heart to act normal when you weren’t sure what normal was anymore? Everything was changing. And that was fucking scary. Change is hard, change is painful, but it’s happening. Constantly. Besides, this was good change, right? The kind you had wanted for so long now? Why harp on the fact that it’s change and not harp on the fact that you were finally going to be with your soulmate? You decided to just enjoy this moment, instead of letting it fester deep inside and drive you crazy. 

Spencer’s curls had gotten all messy in his sleep. You knew that happened, you had stayed the night with him more times than anyone else in your life. This wasn’t the first time you had woken up together, your limbs woven tighter than you thought possible, drool drying on the corner of one or both of your mouths because you both slept better when you slept next to each other. You almost always woke up first, and you were thankful for that. It gave you time to stare at Spencer openly. Sometimes you pretended to be asleep when he started waking, so you could hear him whisper sweet things to you while you ‘slept’.

You hadn’t been able to look at him like this in so long, and you took advantage of it. You pushed his brown curls out of his eyes, your touch as light as you could manage, not wanting to wake him prematurely. But Spencer lay dormant, hands under his head as he faced you. His chest was rising and falling in a slow rhythm, clearly at peace. Trailing your finger along his shoulder, then torso and hips, you ran the length of his body. Then you brought your eyes back up to his face, hoping the sun was hitting him just right and giving him that beautiful morning glow. And it was, but his green eyes were shining down at you now. “Hi,” he whispered. His face was lit up, a toothy smile and glittering eyes, the sun draping over him and painting him in gorgeous gold.

His hand reached for yours, a Midas touch. A warmth unmatched blossomed in your chest, spreading and filling every atom of your existence. You felt like liquid gold, and your eyes filled with tears, unprompted. You gave in and let them spill over. Spencer pulled you close, tears spilling from his eyes as well. At least you both knew they were happy tears this time.

You lay in his arms for some time. No words, no more tears, just the sound of both of your hearts beating in tune. The moment was ruined by Spencer’s alarm. 

“Jesus, sorry, I forgot to turn that off.” Spencer rolled over, hitting the ‘stop’ button. He grabbed your hand again, “I was a little distracted.”

“Whatever by?” You cocked your head, feigning innocence.

Spencer leaned in close, and the air was ripped from your lungs. “By my partner. If you’ll have me, anyway?”

He glanced to your lips, and you had to force your lungs to start working again. “Only if you’ll have me, too.” You closed the minimal distance between your lips, doing your best to remain calm.

It was soft, chaste, and everything you had been fantasizing about for six goddamn years. It didn’t last too long, it wasn’t too hot and heavy right off the bat. It was Spencer. And it was perfect. Of course it was.

You pulled back, noting Spencer’s blown pupils. “I probably should have asked before I did that. Sorry.” 

“Consent is important but I promise I am not complaining, Peach.” He leaned in again, smiling. “You can do it again, if you want.”

How wonderful it was to be able to laugh while kissing someone. This couldn’t be considered a make-out session by any means, it was much too silly. That’s to be expected of you and Spencer, though, isn’t it?

He kissed you, and kissed you, and kissed you. It wasn’t always the right angle, what with the amount of laughing and smiling you were both doing, but it was still perfect to you. You let Spencer’s hands wander over you, and he kept asking if it was okay when he reached a new area. Your arms, your torso, your legs. He didn’t come too high up your thigh, and he never reached around to your ass. Ever the gentleman, Spencer Agnew was.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get my head out of my ass, baby, really,” Spencer breathed, his lips on your neck. You shuddered at the new nickname, wanting to hear it again. “We could have been doing this for years, huh?” You could only nod in response. He pulled back, putting a minute amount of space between you. Far enough that you weren’t touching all over, but close enough that he was still very much in your bubble. You loved it. Especially because he knew exactly what you wanted, often without you needing to voice it.

“Y/N, I love you so much,” he started, “And I’m pissed we lost so much time, really, and I can’t apologize enough for making you wait.” He laced your fingers together, rubbing circles into your hand, just like you did for him yesterday. “But I also don’t want to rush this. We might have been in love with each other for years, at least I have, but this is still a new relationship, you know?” 

You started tearing up again, but only because you were enamored with Spencer’s thoughtfulness and vulnerability. “Good tears,” you laughed, reassuring him. “Thank you, for being so honest with me. I feel the same way, actually.” He kissed the back of your hand, nodding for you to continue. “This,” you gestured between the two of you, “is still us, still our friendship. But the relationship aspect is new, and we should treat it as such, right?”

Spencer nodded, enthusiastic that you were on the same page. “Exactly! I don’t want us to, like, jump right into it just because of the history we have. I want to take you on dates, and buy you flowers, and get to know you all over again. I don’t care how many times you’ve told me about your favorite movie – tell me about it again. Show me your favorite albums again, your favorite TV shows and stand-up specials. I want to discover you all over again.”

The tears were falling in droves at this point, and you were really wondering how you wound up so lucky. “Fucking hell, Spence. Are you trying to kill me?” You wiped your tears on your shirt, laughing. “You’re so fucking perfect. Thank you.”

“No, thank you. I love you, babe. Do you want to get some breakfast?”

“Or I could make us breakfast?”

“Fuck yes.”

//

After breakfast you both decided it was time to have the dreaded conversation. ‘Dreaded’ because you both would rather be lazily making out right now and watching Neon Genesis Evangelion, but instead you had to talk about ‘feelings’ and ‘labels’ and ‘hard and soft launches’. God, dating nowadays was so stupid. Especially when you’re dating your best friend of eight years and you’re both entirely unsure where your limits were because for years there were none. None that were spoken anyway.

Spencer wanted to go public immediately, because, according to him “anyone who doesn’t want to show you off is fucking insane”, but you thought it might be better to wait a little while. You don’t have to pull the long con like Court and Shayne, but just having the office and your friends knowing would be good enough until you both settled into this.

“Then we could maybe be annoying and drop little hints on IG or in videos, see who all catches on,” You offered, knowing his mischievous side would absolutely love that.

“So many fans already ship us anyway, it might be fun to drive them a little crazy with it.” Spencer laughed, bright and full of love, and you just could not believe you finally had Spencer to yourself.

Realistically, you had for a few years now, but now it’s real.

The conversation wasn’t as long as you had expected, luckily you were both on the same page about nearly everything. Soulmatism is just like that, you supposed. After about thirty-or-so minutes, you both had worked it all out and decided another lazy day in bed was in order.

You could get used to how easy it was to love Spencer, and how he made you feel even easier to love.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

taglist: @lokidokieokie @chaoticlizzzzzz @babble28 @starstriker027 @langaslefthairstrand @vc55bughead @kneelforloki @cosmichahn @lisiliely

[evilminji]

I Am? Still? Thinking?? Of My Hive Mind Crechelings Au? (Prev <-)

The Creepy Crechelings? My Fuuuuckin POSSESSED Lil Babies (absolutely affectionate and full of love)?

I CAN'T STOP, man. It's the SOFTEST and WARMEST Epilog? Just... fuck, I wanna cry. It's SO FULL OF LIGHT? So content and happy and "then... our Hero gets to REST. No more struggle. No more pain. Just golden sweetness and simple days."???

The Tragedy Of Darth Vader WAS, ultimately, utterly and completely, because Anakin Skywalker was a GOOD MAN.

Because the Dark took something GOOD and twisted it. Made it MONSTROUS. Killing his soul with ten thousand cuts of doubt and fear. Anger, arrogance, and unwarranted pride. He had COMPASSION. So much love in him he could barely stand to BREATHE.

The world BURNED for how great his Empathy, made the weight of all the universe's suffering, upon his shoulders.

He was GOOD. Could STILL be good. And? The Force DOES work in mysterious ways. It just needs... an in. Someone, ANYONE, to ask the right question. At ANY point. Because it CAN NOT push upon them the answers. Fix for them all life's woes. The Force is not a God... it simple IS. And though it wishes to help, loves them dearly, it can only OFFER what is ASKED for.

And, yes, there are loopholes. Visions and gifts it might give. Technicalities it might work off of. That gut feeling? Well... your INSTINCTS want you to survive. Surely THEY are asking? Are they not? "How do we survive?" They ask. Endlessly. So the Force may answer.

And SURELY, The Force knows, the you of 20 seconds from now, would ASK them to warn you not to eat that fruit. It is poison. That is definitely in line with what you would ask! It can see it. Because Time is simultaneous to the Force. Why, it can even use this to justify, too itself, the Visions! SOMEONE is asking! It can even tell you whom! And when!

It WON'T.

But it COULD.

Yet! Let us focus! Anikin Skywalker!

Do YOU remember how he was born? Oh, sure, we are all PASSINGLY familiar. Born to Shmi Skywalker. "No Father". Etc etc? BUT!!! Details MATTER! And in science? In HEALTH? "Spontaneous Baby" is NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

How. What, SPECIFICALLY, made UP the spontaneous baby? From WHERE? Was it air? Energy? A clone? A hypothetical child of Shmi and some long dead individual she could not possibly have met?

These are important questions! Specifically, important to understand WHAT ANIKIN'S SPECIES IS. Cause "humanoid" is NOT a species! A race! Stewjoni and Naboolians are subtly different! Yes, both human variants. But that's the THING, isn't it?

They. Are. VARIANTS.

As in DIFFERENT. Divergent from one another. Perhaps not A LOT, but enough that their unique medical needs might be significant! Different environmental strains, different diets, different evolutionary paths for thousands of years. In SOME cases? They might no longer be COMPATIBLE anymore! Or barely! A tiger and a cat are both feline, but you'd be blind to mistake them as the same thing.

Then we have Anikin.

Who is haaaaalf??? What exactly?

Well, "The Force" according to research. By means of Sith meddling. But! And for the purpose of this ramble??

He is birth was "a work of the midi-chlorians".

.......let that sink in for a second. The Force channeling, HIVE MINDED, symbiotic micro organisms inside Shmi? Were instructed or guided to? Just take energy? Food and DNA. And... 3D print a baby into existence. They did, obviously, it was easy. But CONSIDER WHAT THAT MEANS.

It MEANS?

Anikin is HALF MIDI-CHLORIAN.

(At least in this AU.)

It's WHY he is so, SO fuckin desperate to connect. So ungodly powerful. So destabilized by not having "attachments". His brain is structured by organisms and half IS, of a sort, the sort of organism that REQUIRES an interconnected system. To offload the massive amount of sensory input the Force gives him. To regulate Big Emotions. To form councils and crunch through problems.

To get those good, good Soul Hugs.

Anikin? Not doing so hot. He's been SURROUNDED by what FEELS like a hive? But they keep EXCLUDING him and he doesn't have the words to explain why that upset him. Why he wants to crawl inside their brains an just... just hang. Not touch anything! Just... just nap! Maybe get a hug? P... Please?

Why does EVERYONE HATE HIM?!

But they don't. They just have different boundaries. Are NOT Hive Minds. THEIR Midi-chlorians? Are not at such a high concentration that it affects their thought patterns.

Unlike? The Creepy Crechelings.

Who absolutely doooooo. THEY are still in the We/Us phase. Boundaries? What Boundaries? We're crawling through each other's brains and on the ceiling! Full of light, love, and horrifying prophecy! Eating sand! Many thoughts, head full! We can taste TIME!!! :D

And it takes a SPECIAL breed of Creche Master with VERY strong shields to interact with them. Mind tricks are both accidental and daily. Poker face of kindness is a must. Good emotional regulation. So when one sees Anikin losing his shit again?

They sigh. Put down their muffin. And go deal with it.

Probably not even awake.

They just feel *Overwhelming Power* and hear upset noises and go "Ah, starting early, today is." Then wander over. And effortlessly defuse the situation. Flop their Force presence on Anikin like a weighted blanket. It would be UNSPEAKABLY rude and invasive to most anyone else? But Obi-Wan just...? Watchs his ex-padawan go BONELESS against this Crech Master he's never met? Like :O

T-teach me. Please, for the love of the Force, teach me to do that.

Next thing you know? They are talking, Obi-Wan getting a crash course in Super Powerful Younglings™ that honestly he should have gotten YEARS ago, but was run too ragged to. And Anikin? Blissed out, high as a kite, at the bottom of a Youngling pile. Mmmmm, lumpy pillow. We gonna sit and sleep and climb all over you, Master Skywalker.

*adoring, emotionally gooey voice* Okay.

He volunteers. Fuck it, he practically LIVES out of that Creche. Padme! Padme, we're adopting. He wants to be a stay at home dad. Build droids. Everything is Beautiful and nothing hurts. *war is still happening* ah. Shit. Right. THAT™.

Okay! New plan. AFTER the war. He has discovered his calling. Is suddenly bonding with Jedi he's never even talked to before. Is that Plo Koon? Plo! PLO! Hey, thanks for lending me that youngling development module! You got any others you recommend?

Him and Obi-Wan? Suddenly getting along better then they have in YEARS. His Master seems genuinely THRILLED he has a clear goal he's working towards and is supporting him ten thousand percent. Openly bragging. Consulting with him. AND? Is so much more OPEN! That Creche Master really helped him Understand how Anikin's brain works!

Which? Leads to Anikin getting healthier. More and more stable. The babies fuckin sneaking aboard. His Men LOSING THEIR SHIT because WHY ARE THERE TUBIES, SIR?! Babies! Infants! Smol, itty bitty, BABY CHILDS!!!???

And? On one hand? He has never felt so clear head and stable as when they are with him. Interconnected. US and WE and THE HIVE. The Force is With Us and We are The Force.

Buuuuuut on the OTHER hand? He is an adult. He CAN seperate what HE wants from what is good for his lil baby friends. This isn't safe. They could get HURT. Die! It... honestly? It makes him think about his mom a lot. He thinks he finally GETS it. Hates that he does. Is in AWE of how strong she was. Hopes he can take the lessons she taught him and live up to them.

Because it's not about what HE wants. It's about what's best for these kids.

They have to go back.

.....except the man he THOUGHT was his friend? THOUGHT was a GOOD MAN? Won't let them LEAVE THE FRONT LINES. Won't even authorize an emergency shuttle. There are vulnerable children. On the FRONT LINES. And Shee-...no. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, won't let them GET THEM TO SAFETY?

Is THIS what over a decade of friendship means to this man? Is THIS what his "sympathies" are truely WORTH? Empty words and no action? Saying what you want to hear then sitting in his fancy office while CHILDREN are shot at?

Anikin wants to put his fist through a durasteel WALL.

Through some careful maneuvering, some Ships on the way back are are able to pick up the VERY In Trouble kiddos. It'll be about five ship hops. But they'll get there. And in the mean time? The entire GAR now knows where the Chancellor's priorities lay.

But? What to do, what to do? The kiddos are GONE! Anikin's head is gonna start getting crowded. Fuzzy. Crushed up and too small! He literally, physically, NEEDS people. For his mental and ultimately physical health!

"Well... you DID say Midi-chlorians are in every living thing, didn't you? It's just that most Sentients don't have enough to reach the threshold of Force Sensitive. Right?" Says Anikin's medic.

Anikin raises a finger. Opens his mouth to respond.

Considers this genuinely.

Puts DOWN his finger and closes his mouth. Nods. Yes. Yes, they DO. Why? Where exactly are you going with this? Medic taps a message to the GAR in ship message board. Please. You know EXACTLY where he's going with this.

Yeah.

Yeah, Anikin does.

And the Vode? Gotta admit. Having their General curled up like a comm system in the back of their brains? Kiiiiinda weird at first. But he's not? Actually? Touching anything? It's kinda like having someone follow you around, hanging off your shoulders in a hug. Because they feel needy and desperately need the contact. Little awkward? Yeah.

But we move on.

And the General respects boundaries. Politely pulls back and out/away when they want "personal" time. Something he had practice doing cause he's in a relationship. And there are Thoughts and Feelings you DO NOT want to share with younglings. It apparently helped him learn to shield. Quickly. Very, VERY quickly.

They only laugh at him a little bit.

He imagines throwing pillow blocks at them.

But THEN? One of them gets a head wound. Nothing to terrible. But bad enough that the midi-chlorians flow up to the area, to help speed up and properly regulate the healing. Because their's have become more active. Not STRONGER mind you. Just... more ACTIVE.

And they can fucking FEEL their General mentally screech to a full stop. Perfectly, utterly, FURIOUSLY Blank. Like the dead silence before the blaster bolts start flying. Like just after the flash but before the blast hits. A terrible, TERRIBLE silence.

Something is Wrong.

"What Is That?"

What is... WHAT? Sir?

And then things move very, very quickly. All things possible, through the Force. A baby created. Chips UN-created. It really is? Just directing the Midi-chlorians all ready THERE to do what you want them too. Offering up some extra energy, if needed. A Leader to guide the hive.

One deep enough meditation, reaching though-out "HIS" sprawling body? Really, what is the difference between purging a chip from your thigh in THIS body? And being over there? Or over there? What are "walls" or "distance" or this silly concept of "other"?

We Are One With The Force, And The Force Is One With US.

He is every Vode on the Ship. He is Anikin Skywalker. He was a Slave. But now? NOW both he and they and US? Are FREE. He will suffer no slaves in his presence. No more chips or collars with bombs. Time to free the others. Free everyone. Demand ANSWERS.

And they do.

The epilog? Oh THAT I can not stop thinking of.

Padme in the senate. Fierce and accomplished. A storied carrier fighting for the people of the galaxy. Anikin a Creche Master for the POWERFUL kiddos. The strange ones who need someone sturdy.

Who can handle their Us/We phase with grace. Who learns and grows, honors and remembers Shmi Skywalker every time one of them one of them starts to pull away. Starts to develop boundaries. Barriers. Starts to want to be their OWN person. Has not just grown strong in shielding but old enough to develop a defined personality, seperate from their friends.

The twins growing up with a whole Creche of siblings. Because their parents LIVE at the temple. Their mother works at the senate! They wave bye-bye every morning. And spend the day with dad. Not separated, not quite living with them fully either. Not after infancy at least. But the Order is changing.

Vode everywhere. Kids born of Jedi. The Corps withdrawn back to the temple to help handle the influx. Lots of debates about Tradition and Change that Anikin care not a lick about. HE'S taking his Crechelings to the Naboolian Embassy's Spring Festival. Does everyone remember how to be polite? Say "hello"! *various smol children chorus Hello in Naboolian, badly but very earnestly*

Just? Field trips. Droids and Vode dropping by to say hello. Padme being the LION of the senate while her retired kindergarten tearcher equivalent, war hero husband cheers. Adorable but freaky children popping out of the vents. Anikin treating his tiny squad of Tiny Anti-christ Acting Babies as though this were TOTALLY NORMAL and just how children act.

SOFT AND FLUFFY EPILOG~☆

@legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @hypewinter @hdgnj @spidori @tiredafel

[cemetegee]

Determinism in TLT

The three people who actively follow my blog will know it, but for the others I'll say it: I don't judge TLT characters personally. (Except if I want to make a point or if I want to provoke a little.) That's not because I think their actions are not bad (they often are). But thing is, I think the characters are hardly made to be judged.

We can, for example, take Ianthe, my blorbo, my wife and my love. It was, all jokes aside, surely a horrible crime to kill her cav. Besides of that, it would maybe really have been better, if she hadn't saved Jod. (I mean, we didn't know it back then, but it seems obvious regarding NtN, even if it's understandable that she doesn't wanted her loved ones to die.) She has a lot of complicated character traits as well.

But if we look at where she is from, it's obvious that she had to be like that to survive. She is manipulative? So is her sister and probably her whole House. She is unnecessary eager to reach her goals (on cost of others)? Surprise, that's what her sister is like and her whole House too!

It's extremly obvious, that all characters are basically caricatures of how their Houses are. Palamedes, the scholar, the Warden... Dulcie, the beauty that blossoms and dies... Oh, even Silas. You would think it was extremly stupid of him to fight Ianthe, but actually, based of all what we know about him, I really think he had no other choice (technically, but not practically) as fighting her for his beliefs. It's so obvious, that even the characters themselves talk about it at a point:

That means: Ianthe is maybe a questionable person, but she wouldn't have been, if she had grown up on the Sixth. Palamedes is a (comperatively) sweet person, but he isn't like that because he naturally is like that, but because he's grown up on the Sixth.

[Let's make a sad little literary class trip:

Palamedes even says himself in TUG, that from (House specific) point of view, Ianthe is not wrong. It's a very interesting moment, because a character of the series admits, that (in TLT) moral is not static, but a question of the point of view. (What's made by the circumstances (in TLT).)

]

And that's what Determinism means. It's the idea, that people don't (only) do things, because of decisions, but because of their circumstances. The idea of Determinism is really important for leftist ideas because it enables ideas like: if you put a bunch of people with no money and boredom in a quarter, crimes will happen. (The idea shifts the attention from decisions to the circumstances.)

Even if the characters of the TLT universe are able to make decisions (maybe), I think it's pretty obvious how much the books are influenced by the idea of Determinism. And therefore, even if some of the characters awake the wish in me to... Oh! What did I want to say? Anyway, I think it's important to regard the context of the characters. It's possible to judge them, but it's also interesting to do it not and look at their reasons. (What doesn't apologize them, but makes them understandable)

This post is involuntary sponsored by this horrorshow interesting post of @swordrogue. I just couldn't get it out of my mind. Please go read it, it's very interesting

[turtle-paced]

I was reading some of your older answers and came across one where you mentioned you'd read parts of 50 Shades of Grey. I'd love to hear anything you have to say about that one!

Oh, I think you can probably guess at my extensive range of complaints about writing quality and attitude to intimate relationships...

Ethically, I'm not a huge fan of something that is so clearly fanfic with the serial numbers filed off either. The heavy lifting of creating those characters and their dynamic - the central, saleable appeal of the book - was done by another writer. What is the contribution E.L. James is making to the story here? It's not plot, the books are sex scenes ranging from badly written to badly written domestic violence scenes pretending to be sex scenes, with no real conflict to propel it along. Where there is conflict, it's often conflict the author didn't mean to include or it's resolved in such freakin' stupid ways it's an insult to resolution to call it resolution. The characters are someone else's and renaming them doesn't disguise that. 50 Shades of Grey doesn't have an original universe or any worldbuilding worth the name. There's far better and more imaginative Twilight fanfic out there. I can confidently say that without having read a damn word of Twilight fanfic, because I know fans, and I know fans put stacks of effort into writing stories for the properties they love. 50 Shades of Grey ... is not that.

No. E.L. James coasted on Stephenie Meyer's work, doing just enough to not technically infringe on her intellectual property. If it's fanfic, whatever, go nuts, play with that modern AU. Don't like don't read. If it's being sold to other people for money... that's both lazy and shitty.

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 19 - We Loved Each Other Then

Summary: The Gilded Cage. Kate and Arthur attend an exclusive garden party hosted by the Mayor of Saint Denis. As the night progresses, their mutual desire intensifies.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter /

A/N: This is a long one folks, and I must admit I’m very proud of it. 15k words! Technically this chapter is unfinished, but I've been in a slump lately so I want to publish what I do have instead of making everyone wait (for god knows how long it'll take me to finish this)

TW: Slight NSFW. Adult content 18+.

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams @lunawolfclaw  @yallgotkik

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

Story Tags: Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Caretaking, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

Bang!

Shot and a miss. Exhaling sharply, Kate repositioned her stance, squaring her shoulders as she steadied her grip on the revolver. Her thumb gently pulled back the hammer until it locked with a soft, almost inaudible click. Closing one eye to better focus, she zeroed in on her target—a cluster of glass bottles that dangled from a weathered tree branch, swaying gently in the breeze like strange, delicate ornaments. The soft clinking of glass was a stark contrast to the tense silence that enveloped her. She exhaled slowly, steadying her breath, and squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

Yet another miss. 

From behind her came a faint chuckling, disrupting the quiet concentration. Frustrated, Kate lowered the revolver and turned around to face Arthur. He stood a few feet away, a bemused expression on his face, his hands nonchalantly resting on his gun belt as he observed her attempts.

"It’s useless," Kate grumbled with irritation. "I’m just no good at hitting moving targets. Why can’t I stick to my bow?"

The revolver felt foreign and cumbersome in her hand, more a symbol than a tool she could claim mastery over. Although she knew the basics of shooting, her true proficiency lay in close-quarters combat—wielding lighter, more agile weapons that felt like natural extensions of her body, not the cold, impersonal steel of the gun she now held.

Arthur’s chuckle softened as he walked towards her, an understanding smile playing on his lips. "The world’s changin’, Kate," he began, gentle yet firm. "These days, everyone’s got a gun, and out here, bein’ quick on the draw can mean the difference between life and death. It’s not just about being able to shoot, but being able to do it under pressure."

He reached for the revolver, his fingers deftly opening the cylinder to check the empty shells. "Let’s reload and try again," he suggested, pulling a handful of bullets from his belt. "You’ll get the hang of it."

The afternoon had stretched long and hot, the sun a relentless observer as Kate and Arthur stood in the secluded clearing. They’d been at this for hours—ever since the day Kate made that promise to Arthur, he had been adamant about her shooting practice. The sessions began with large, immobile targets that seemed forgiving, but as the days wore on, the challenges increased. Now, they were onto the smallest, most unforgiving targets of all: glass bottles swinging unpredictably from a gnarled oak branch.

Kate had managed to clip the tree itself a few times, its bark chipped where her bullets had strayed. But the elusive bottles, dancing in the gentle breeze, remained intact. Frustration was evident in her stance, her shoulders tense and her grip on the revolver overly tight.

As she prepared for another attempt, Arthur closed the distance between them. His presence was a palpable heat at her back, his chest touching her as he leaned in to adjust her stance. "Keep both eyes open," he murmured, his voice a low rumble near her ear, sending a shiver down her spine despite the warmth of the day. His large hand slid down her arm to adjust her grip gently. "And give your dominant arm some slack to brace for the recoil," he instructed, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin, causing her to inhale slowly.

Her heart hammered in her chest, the closeness of his body overwhelming her senses. The rough timbre of his voice, the heat of his breath tinged with the scent of gunpowder and the wild, earthy musk that was uniquely Arthur, filled her with a dizzying mix of concentration and desire.

"But the target keeps moving," Kate protested weakly, almost a whisper.

Arthur's hands then moved from her arms to her waist, his fingers splayed wide over the fabric of her shirt, anchoring her. "Watch the movement," he advised, his lips nearly grazing the shell of her ear. "Don't turn your body, just pivot your arm."

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Kate tried to focus on the swaying targets. Arthur's hands on her hips spread warmth through her body, it was comforting yet arousing. 

“And always shoot on empty lungs,” his deep voice was low in her ear.

With a determined exhale, she squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

The shot rang out, a sharp crack in the quiet of the clearing. Wood splintered from the tree, just a hair's breadth from a bottle. A near miss. She let out a frustrated sigh and turned to face Arthur, his proximity suddenly more pronounced as she looked up into his eyes, their blue depths flickering with amusement and something deeper, more intense.

“I’m starting to think you’ve given me an impossible task just to watch me suffer,” she said with sarcasm and a playful challenge.

Arthur's smile was slow and knowing as he took the revolver from her hand. “It ain’t impossible, darlin',” he spoke, voice deep and reassuring. “Just takes some practice.” His fingers brushed against hers as he took the gun, sending a spark of electricity through her. He stepped back, leaving a cold void in his wake where his warmth had been moments before, his eyes never leaving hers as he prepared to demonstrate.

Arthur glanced back, with hint of a challenge as he readied himself. "Watch closely now," he said, voice low and teasing. He raised the revolver, his posture relaxed and confident. Within moments, he swiftly pulled the trigger three times in quick succession.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Each shot rang out, sharp and clear. One by one, the bottles exploded into shards of glass, glinting as they scattered in the afternoon sun. He turned to Kate with a triumphant smirk, holstering the gun with a flourish that made her roll her eyes.

"Show-off," she chided, her annoyance mixed with reluctant admiration. She crossed her arms, watching as he basked in the glory of his flawless performance. He was enjoying himself, and there was something incredibly attractive about his playful confidence.

Since settling into Shady Belle, Arthur's days were a whirlwind of activity. He was constantly on the move—securing provisions for the gang, filling the camp's coffers, and executing the myriad of tasks Dutch dictated. Moments of leisure were few and fleeting, often just quick exchanges over dinner where he'd share the day's events with Kate, or the precious few minutes each night when they could find solace in each other's arms on their cramped cot. For Kate, these snippets of time together were bittersweet, underscored by a yearning for more—more time, more closeness, more of a life beyond the relentless demands of gang life. Their commitments left scant space for the intimacy and tenderness both desperately needed.

Arthur chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "Just proving a point, sweetheart. It’s all in the technique."

Kate's competitive spirit flared up, a playful glint appearing in her eyes. "Alright, then. If it’s so easy, how about a challenge?" she proposed, her tone light but her gaze intense. "Bet you can't handle my weapons as well as I can."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Is that so? What's the wager?"

"If I hit the next target, you'll let me teach you about my knives. And not just the basics—I mean really learn them," Kate stated confidently, her previous frustration now fueling her determination.

Arthur’s smile widened, "alright, you’ve got yourself a deal," he replied, his voice tinged with genuine eagerness. “But if you miss, you have to spend the whole day practicing with the revolver, no complaints." He teased.

Arthur's fascination with Kate's weaponry wasn't just about adding another skill to his repertoire; it was deeply personal, a gateway into understanding the complexities of the woman he loved. Her weapons weren't merely tools of survival—they were relics of her past, each one carrying stories of necessity and regret. He had seen her wield them with terrifying precision, her movements as fluid as they were lethal, during the chaos of a raid. It was a side of her that mingled brutality with vulnerability, revealing the depths of strength she possessed.

This was more than just a friendly wager; it was an opportunity to connect with Kate on a level they seldom explored—the raw edges of their pasts that they both tended to shield from the world.

Kate grinned, excitement coursing through her veins. She picked up the revolver again, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. Arthur stood a respectable distance away this time, watching her intently but not crowding her.

She took a deep breath, allowing herself a moment to find her center. With a steady hand and a clear mind, she aimed at a new bottle, swinging gently in the breeze. She remembered to keep both her eyes open, and follow the bottle with the pivot of her arm. Time seemed to slow as she focused, the world narrowing down to her, the gun, and the target.

Bang!

The bottle shattered, the sound of breaking glass music to her ears. Arthur let out a holler, “atta girl!” He encouraged with a clap of his hands. She lowered the revolver, turning to face Arthur with a victorious smile.

"Looks like you’ve got some learning to do, cowboy," Kate teased, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and victory as she deftly holstered her weapon. Arthur's stride was confident as he closed the distance between them, his grin broad and unabashedly proud.

"I never doubted you for a second," he murmured, his voice a low rumble as he leaned in to brush a soft kiss against her forehead. A blush crept across her cheeks, the warmth of his lips igniting a flutter in her chest.

Emboldened by his affection and her own burgeoning confidence, Kate reached up, her fingers playfully catching the edge of his neckerchief, pulling him closer. Her lips met his in a bold, teasing kiss that quickly deepened as Arthur responded with equal fervor. His hands found the small of her back, pulling her tightly against him, his touch firm yet tender.

"I do have a good teacher," she whispered against his lips, her breath hitching as his kisses migrated from the corner of her mouth down to her jawline. His lips traced a burning path down her neck, each kiss planting the promise of deeper pleasures. The slight scratch of his stubble against her skin sent a thrill through her, her laughter mingling with a soft moan.

Arthur's voice was husky as he spoke, each word laced with tantalizing arousal. "Maybe it's time I teach you some of my other skills..." His implication was unmistakably suggestive, his desire clear in the deepening timbre of his voice.

"Arthur!" Kate's exclamation was half shock, half delight, as she playfully attempted to wriggle free from his embrace. Yet, the heat building within her belied her protests, drawing her closer instead of pushing her away. Arthur knew how to be a delicious tease.

"What? You started it," he taunted, his breath warm against her ear, his feigned innocence betrayed by the intensity in his eyes. "And you do look damn good shooting that gun, sweetheart."

He captured her lips once more, his kiss deep and consuming, leaving her breathless. "We only have a few hours of daylight left, and you did lose a bet," she reminded him, her voice thick with need. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate rummaged through her saddlebag, her fingers finding the familiar, worn texture of a small, leather pouch. Pulling it out, she untied the strings with practiced ease and rolled open the flap, revealing an assortment of small, meticulously crafted knives and other tools. Each piece was uniquely made from various animal bones, their handles polished to a smooth finish, reflecting the dying light of the sun.

She laid the collection out on a nearby stump, each weapon catching the light as she arranged them in order of size and function. The smallest was a fine-pointed push dagger, designed for precision work, while the largest, a jaw-bone club, bore the marks of many uses. Between them lay a variety of throwing knives, daggers, arrow-heads and an intricate bone-handled tomahawk, the edge sharp and deadly.

Arthur noticed that among the weapons, there was one that was not. A red feathered headband lay neatly folded and intact, as if it were a precious relic. Kate gently placed the object back in the leather sack before he had time to ask. She continued to pick up her first blade. 

“This one was my favorite,” Kate said, glancing up at Arthur to ensure he was paying attention. She picked up the tomahawk, turning it in her hand to show off the craftsmanship. “Made this from the bone of a bear I tracked many years back.”

Arthur stepped closer, his fascination evident as he surveyed the array of meticulously crafted tools laid out before him. The sunset cast a milky-orange glow on the blades, enhancing their lethal allure. "They’re beautiful," he said, his tone rich with admiration not just for the weaponry but also for Kate's adeptness as both a hunter and an artisan. "You used that tomahawk during the skirmish with the Lemoyne raiders, didn't you?"

Kate nodded, her movements fluid as she placed the tomahawk back onto the weathered stump that served as their makeshift table. She picked up one of the smaller throwing knives. "I used some of these too. I gave my firearms to the Marstons, so these were my best option for long-range," she explained, her voice carrying a hint of pride. 

At the time of the raid, Kate had long abandoned her old weapons. Her bow had remained unstrung for some time as she traveled through the west. But now, she couldn't deny the nostalgia and sense and pride that came with her craftsmanship, and being able to use her tools to hunt and protect the gang. 

Arthur observed intently as she expertly balanced the blade on her pointer finger, the blade catching the light and glinting sharply. It was a diminutive weapon, its blade no longer than his pinky, yet its design spoke of deadly precision. With a practiced flick of her wrist, Kate caught the blade deftly between her fingers and offered him the hilt.

He took it carefully, aware of the fragility and lethality it embodied. "They’re made from deer bones. They break pretty easily, but they're light and effective for throwing. If you hit a target deep enough, the bone usually breaks off, leaving the sharp edge embedded inside," Kate detailed, painting a vivid, albeit grim, picture of the knife's capabilities.

Shivering slightly, Arthur imagined the sensation of such a weapon puncturing flesh, a reminder starkly similar to the bullet wound he once nursed on his shoulder.

Kate’s next demonstration involved a push dagger, ingeniously crafted from elk ribs. She held it up for him to see—the ribs had been sharpened into a trio of protruding points, while the connecting bone fit snugly between her knuckles. When she made a fist, the weapon resembled the ferocious claws of a panther, ready to strike.

Arthur chuckled, his intrigue peaking as he compared it to a familiar weapon. "Like brass knuckles but with blades," he observed, his expression a mixture of awe and humor.

Kate’s smile widened, her eyes sparkling with amusement at his comparison. "Ah, so you are familiar with the art of ranged weapons," she teased, enjoying the easy banter and Arthur's genuine interest in the deadly crafts she had mastered.

She placed the weapon down and Arthur followed the gesture, placing the fragile yet deadly throwing knife down with ease. 

Arthur listened intently as Kate shared the origins of her unique weapons, each piece not only a tool of survival but also a work of art, reflecting the cultural heritage and personal histories entwined with her past. The weapons, with their meticulously crafted blades, ornately decorated handles, and leather-bound grips were testaments to the traditional skills passed down through generations.  

“It’s impressive, how you created these from the materials you have around you. They remind me a lot of the weapons Charles has made,” he commented, his eyes scanning over the array of weapons.

“Yes, Charles's mother was Indian, if I remember correctly,” she responded, linking her knowledge to the familiar. “I learned a lot from River, many years ago. His ability to work with what the land offered was incredible,” Kate continued, her voice carrying a tone of deep respect mixed with a trace of sorrow.

She carefully lifted a knife whose handle bore intricate carvings that spiraled around its length, creating patterns that danced in the orange light. “This one’s inspired by a Lakota design,” she explained, a softness entering her voice. “It signifies one’s role as a hunter within the tribe. It was River’s favorite pattern.” Her fingers traced the carvings tenderly, as if each line connected her back to moments long passed.

Arthur sensed the complexity of her emotions as she mentioned River. Although she had spoken of him before, it was always with a certain reservation, as if he were both a cherished memory and a chapter long closed. It was evident that River had been a significant figure in her life, someone who had shaped her understanding of the world and her place within it. Yet, there was an unmistakable hint of sadness, a lingering sense of what might have been if not for the harsh realities that eventually drove them apart.

He admired her for the strength it took to make such a choice, to step away from someone who had been a cornerstone of her existence. It spoke volumes of her resilience and the burdens she carried, choosing survival over a shared path that led to destruction. 

Her fingers brushed over the intricate carvings on the handle of a knife that seemed to hold countless stories. "You must miss him," he said softly, his tone respectful and curious, aiming to bridge the gap between their shared experiences and her concealed past.

Kate's eyes briefly clouded with a mix of fondness and sorrow, her voice carrying a weight as she replied, "I do, every day." She paused, her gaze settling on the old, weathered pouch that lay beside the weapons—containing the headband from her time with River.

Arthur sensed the depth of her connection. "Think you'll ever see him again?" he asked, cautiously aware of the emotional terrain he was navigating.

Kate paused, her eyes clouding with a mix of hope and realism. "It's unlikely," she finally said, voice tinged with resignation. "Our paths diverged too sharply. His fight was different from mine, tied to a place and a people I could no longer stay with."

Her memories of River were laced with both fondness and sorrow. Arthur sensed there was much more she held back about the man who had played such a pivotal role in her past. The man who had once stood by her side, shielding her in ways Arthur was only beginning to understand. He wanted to know more—not just about the weapons or the skills she had acquired but about the bond that tied her to River, the bond that still tugged at her heartstrings

Arthur explored further, the question revealing his deep interest in every layer of her past. "Could he have ended up on a reservation? With the other Natives?" His inquiry was gentle, probing without overstepping.

Kate responded with a wry half-smile, a mix of respect and sadness in her tone. "River? On a reservation?" she chuckled softly, more to herself than to Arthur. "He would rather have died than let himself be penned in like that. River was too free a spirit; he couldn’t stand being confined, not by anything or anyone."

Arthur nodded, appreciating the fervor of her words. "Sounds like he was one of us then," he remarked, drawing a parallel between their own restless spirits and the boundless life River had led. "Always searching for freedom in a world that’s too eager to cage the wild ones."

Kate's eyes softened, reflecting a bittersweet nostalgia. "Yes, in many ways, he was," she agreed. "River was more than a survivor; he was a guardian, a steadfast ally. He didn't just teach me how to live through each day; he showed me how to live with purpose, even when it seemed the whole world was against you."

Arthur’s voice lowered to a contemplative murmur, resonating with the gravity of their shared loss and the battles they’d fought, both internally and against the world. "Sometimes, dying does seem easier than living, doesn't it?" he mused, his eyes briefly tracing the outline of the weapons before returning to meet hers, acknowledging the weight of the life they had chosen—or perhaps, that had chosen them.

Shifting their focus back to the lesson at hand, Kate handed Arthur a small dagger with a handle wrapped in rawhide for grip. The blade, polished to a gleaming shine, was affixed to the handle with sinew. 

“The weight is perfect for close-combat. The natives prioritize harmony with their tools, believing each piece should feel like an extension of the body.”

Arthur tested the weight, giving a few practice swings that cut through the air with a satisfying swoosh. “Almost feels alive,” he remarked, genuinely impressed.

Kate chuckled, watching him handle the dagger with an awkward yet keen interest. “They also believe that the weapon chooses the warrior, not the other way around.”

Arthur's expression shifted between concentration and hesitation as he rolled the dagger between his fingers, feeling the weight and balance of the weapon. "Do you think this one's choosing me, then?" he asked, half-joking yet intrigued by the notion.

"Maybe," Kate replied with a playful glint in her eyes. "Or it might just be testing you, seeing if you're worthy." Her tone shifted to one of challenge. "I want you to try and strike me with it," she dared.

Arthur looked up sharply, his eyes wide with surprise and a flicker of alarm. "You outta your mind woman?" he responded immediately, his voice firm.

"Why not? You don’t trust my ability to handle myself?" Kate teased, her tone light yet probing, watching him closely for his reaction.

Arthur's awe was palpable; he shook his head, a mix of admiration and concern etched across his face. "Kate, I've no doubt you'd make short work of me with this. But there’s not a chance in hell I’d raise a hand against you, even in a game," he declared earnestly, his deep affection and respect for her shining through his words.

Kate's face softened, touched by his sincerity and the depth of his care. She knew he meant every word, his gentle nature ever-present in their interactions. Yet, the challenge remained, and she was not quite ready to let it go. Standing up, she took the dagger and held it with a confident grip.

"Alright, if direct combat isn't on the table, then let's try something different." Her voice was laced with excitement, a new game forming in her mind. "I want you to try and take it from me," she declared, positioning herself in a stance that was both inviting and defensive, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes.

Arthur watched her for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face as he accepted the challenge, ready to engage in a different kind of dance with Kate—one that involved wit, speed, and perhaps a little cunning.

The sun traded shifts with the moon and soon the playful contest between Kate and Arthur quickly escalated. The night air thick with the thrill of their chase. Arthur, larger and stronger, found himself surprisingly outmatched by Kate’s swiftness and agility. Her body danced around him, a lithe and teasing presence that ducked beneath his outstretched arms and spun away from his grasping hands with the grace of a trained warrior.

"Is that all you've got?" Kate teased, her voice breathy and light, a stark contrast to their intense exertion. She darted close, her body momentarily pressing against his as she feigned a strike, then spun away before he could react, her laughter mingling with the rustling leaves.

Arthur's heart raced not just from the chase but from the electric touch of her body against his. Each brush of her hand, each time her body aligned with his, sent a jolt of desire through him, making the game far more tantalizing. "You're quicker than you look," he grunted, feigning annoyance but secretly delighted by the challenge and her laughter.

The dance of evasion and pursuit continued, their movements a blur of shadows under the moonlight. Kate's speed had her slipping through his fingers like water, but each failed attempt only drew him closer, their bodies colliding with increasing frequency, the shared heat palpable between them.

"You’re going to have to do better than that, cowboy," Kate chuckled, her eyes alight with mischief as she narrowly evaded another of his attempts.

"Trust me darlin’, I’m just getting started," Arthur replied, his voice low and teasing. His strategy shifted from capture to simply prolonging their closeness. His hands lingered, his touch a deliberate stroke against her side or the small of her back, drawing her closer, feeling the rise and fall of her breath.

Finally, Arthur managed to corner her against the rough bark of a tree. His body pressed firmly against hers, his hips instinctively rolling against Kate's, eliciting a shudder from deep within her. In that charged moment, her focus faltered, her grip on the dagger loosening enough for him to snatch it away, tossing it aside as their bodies melded in the shadows.

His breath was hot against her neck, his voice husky with desire. "Got you," he whispered, not just in victory but as a promise of what was to come. His lips found hers, hungry and insistent, his kiss deepening as if he could consume her soul.

Kate responded with fervor, her body arching against his, her hands pulling him closer. The rough tree bark pressed into her back, but all she could feel was Arthur, his body aligned with hers in a perfect symphony of desire.

Their kiss was a clash of passion and need, their bodies a tangle of limbs and whispered promises. Arthur's hands roamed, exploring her with a mix of reverence and urgency that made her head spin. Kate's fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, her own moans mingling with his in the cool night air.

As they finally parted, breathless and flushed, the world seemed to stand still. The forest around them was silent, holding its breath as if in reverence to the passion displayed. Their eyes locked, a silent agreement that this was just the beginning, a prelude to a night where they would explore the depths of their desire without restraint.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

It was late in the evening when Kate and Arthur rode into Shady Belle. They had shared a makeshift dinner beneath the sprawling branches of the bottle tree, where empty glass bottles dangled like bizarre fruit, catching the last light of day. Their plan upon arriving had been simple: a brief moment to clean up followed by an early retreat to Arthur’s room for a private continuation of the day's intimacy.

The camp was bathed in the tranquil hues of yellow moonlight as they returned. A few of the gang's members were scattered around a dying fire, their silhouettes illuminated by the occasional flicker of flames. They nursed bottles of whiskey, attempting to quench their thirst amidst the humid evening air. Over the murmurs of conversation and the crackle of the fire, Javier’s guitar strings hummed with the melodies of his homeland, his voice a gentle undertone that added to the night’s calm.

Kate and Arthur dismounted with practiced ease. They were just untying their saddlebags when Dutch and Hosea approached, their figures emerging from the shadows. Hosea, ever the gentleman, tipped his hat to Kate, offering a warm but weary smile. Dutch, however, had that all-too-familiar intensity in his eyes, a prelude to the storm of plans brewing in his mind.

Placing a firm hand on Arthur's shoulder, Dutch drew him slightly aside, his voice low as he outlined the contours of yet another job. The quiet of the evening was pierced by his hushed, strategic directives, which seemed to hang heavy in the sticky air. Arthur's face, caught in the flickering light of the nearby campfire, was a mask of resignation—a stark contrast to the relaxed demeanor he had held moments earlier with Kate.

Kate stood a respectful distance away, her expression a blend of disappointment and resignation. The romantic evening they had envisioned was slipping away, superseded by the gang's relentless demands. She watched as Arthur nodded slowly, his shoulders set in a familiar slouch of burdened acceptance.

Arthur caught her eye, his expression apologetic. He mouthed a silent promise to her, "Soon," his voice almost audible in the quiet night. Kate nodded, her smile weak but supportive. “I’ll wait for you,” she mouthed softly, her voice barely above a whisper, lost in the crackle of the campfire.

With a kiss on the snout of her mare Lorena, she bid her a goodnight. Her companion whinnied softly and slipped into the darkness to find her friend. Kate turned on her heel and made her way toward the manor, the old structure loomed ominously against the night sky, its walls weathered and weary from years of neglect. The wooden floorboards creaked under her feet as she stepped onto the porch, the sound echoing hollowly in the empty hallways. 

The manor's interior held a silence that seemed to swallow sound, turning the chatter and music from outside into distant whispers. As Kate reached the foot of the staircase leading to the room she shared with Arthur, a faint, unsettling cry echoed from the depths of the old house. She hesitated, her hand on the banister, half-expecting the sound to be a trick of the wind. When the cry came again, followed by a clear, unmistakable sniffle, it was evident someone was in distress.

With a quiet tread, Kate moved toward the back of the house, her steps careful on the creaking floorboards. The hall felt longer than usual, shrouded in shadows that made the familiar feel foreign. She considered the possibility it might be Jack; the boy was often put to bed early, though it was rare for him to be left alone. The thought of him crying in the dark, possibly after an argument between John and Abigail, tightened her chest with empathy.

Softly, she called out, "Hello?" Her voice felt too loud in the oppressive quiet, and she rounded the corner with a gentle wariness.

The back room was dimly lit by a flickering oil lamp set upon a battered coffee table. The weak light cast long, dancing shadows and revealed the outline of a figure curled up on the couch. "Are you alright?" Kate's voice softened as she stepped closer, her eyes adjusting to the dim light.

At her inquiry, the figure stirred and sat up, revealing herself in the wavering glow. It was unmistakably Molly O’Shea, her disheveled head of bright red curls and puffy green eyes framed her pale face in the ghostly light.

As Kate entered the room, the dim lamplight cast long shadows, deepening the somber atmosphere. Molly sat up from her huddled position on the couch, hastily wiping away tears and attempting to compose herself. Her voice was faint, slightly tremulous. “Hello, Kate,” she managed to say, the surprise evident in her tone. It was clear she hadn't expected company, especially not Kate's.

Kate had always held a soft spot for Molly since the days at Clemens Point. Back then, Molly had divulged crucial information that ultimately saved Arthur’s life—a gesture of bravery that had not gone unnoticed by Kate. Since then, she had made efforts to draw Molly out of her shell, inviting her to join the circle of women at camp for coffee or late-night chats. However, Molly usually kept to herself, often found alone with a book or lost in thought near the edge of camp.

“I’m sorry for barging in,” Kate began, her words tumbling out as she navigated her awkwardness. “I heard someone crying and thought it might be Jack. I was worried that maybe he—”

“It’s alright,” Molly cut in, her voice a mixture of resignation and faint irritation.

A heavy silence hung between them, filled with the unspoken complexities of their acquaintance. Kate, feeling both intrusive and concerned, hesitated before taking a step closer. “Is everything okay?” she asked softly, her tone laced with genuine concern.

Molly turned her gaze away, her eyes shadowed by the flickering lamp light. She took a deep breath, her posture stiffening slightly under the scrutiny. “Couldn’t be better,” she replied with a sharp edge of sarcasm.

Kate recognized the defensiveness in Molly’s response. Known around camp for her sharp tongue and aloof demeanor, Molly was often perceived as ornery or distant. Yet, Kate couldn’t help but remember the act of kindness Molly had shown, an act that hinted at a depth not often displayed. Molly was an enigma, wrapped in layers of self-preservation and subtle grace. Despite the brusqueness, Kate felt a pull of empathy, a desire to bridge the gap between them, to understand the elusive woman before her who was so integral, yet so misunderstood, within their gang.

“Should I go get Dutch?” Kate suggested, she wasn’t entirely familiar with the complexities of their relationship. But he was the only one Molly preferred to talk to. 

Molly's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she dismissed the notion with a humorless laugh, shaking her head. "No, Kate. It wouldn’t make any difference," she said, her voice a mix of resignation and bitterness. 

Kate sensed that there was something deeper going on between them, “do you want to talk about him?” She approached the subject lightly.

Molly was silent for a minute, her mind racing with uncertainties and the suffocating loneliness she felt. With a sigh she turned her gaze back to Kate’s. "I left everything behind for him—my family, my home in Ireland... all for what? For him to ignore me as if I’m nothing more than a ghost."

Kate felt a pang of sympathy for Molly. It was clear how much she had sacrificed and how deeply she was hurting. She moved to sit beside her on the worn couch, the cushions sagging under their combined weight, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I’m so sorry. It’s not right, what he’s putting you through."

The young Irishwoman took a shuddering breath. “I just feel like I’m going crazy,” she whispered meekly. 

Kate squeezed her shoulder, “Molly, you are not crazy.” 

Molly looked at her, a mixture of surprise and relief in her eyes at the acknowledgment of her pain. "I love him, you know? Really love him. Gave him everything, thinking it meant something to him."

Kate's voice was gentle, her eyes warm with empathy. "I know how much you've given, and you deserve so much better than this. I'll speak with Arthur and see if he can have a word with Dutch. Perhaps he can help him see things more clearly."

Molly exhaled slowly, her expression resigned yet touched by Kate's kindness. "Thank you, Kate. I don't have much hope left, but I appreciate your effort," she murmured.

Kate gave Molly's shoulder a gentle rub with her thumb. "You're not alone here," she reassured her. "We're family, and we take care of our own. I'll do whatever I can." 

Rising to leave, Molly called her name softly, “Kate I–” Kate paused at the doorway. “I’m–” the words caught in her throat and she heaved a sigh, “oh, nevermind. Goodnight then.” 

Kate turned back with a soft smile. "Try to get some rest, okay?" she suggested gently, Molly replied with a faint smile that quickly faded back into sorrow.

Weary from the day's events, Kate ascended the stairs to the room she shared with Arthur. Her movements were mechanical as she shed her gun belt and boots, each thud against the floor echoing her exhaustion. Peeling off her clothes, damp with sweat from the day's labors, she reached for a cloth in the wash bin. The cool water was a small relief as she wiped the grime from her skin.

She then slipped into one of Arthur’s shirts, the fabric still carrying his scent. It enveloped her like a comforting embrace, grounding her amidst the swirling thoughts of the day. The soft, familiar smell brought an immediate sense of comfort, weaving memories of Arthur around her in the dimly lit room.

Exhaustion tugged at her as she approached their small cot. It creaked under her weight, the sound a stark reminder of the makeshift comfort they shared. The cot, cramped with Arthur’s broad frame, somehow always felt just right with him by her side. The intimacy of their shared space was a small sanctuary in their chaotic world.

Lying back, she gazed through the broken balcony window, watching the moon ascend in the night sky. Its light cast ghostly shadows across the sparse room, the silvery glow a silent companion as she waited for Arthur. Kate's eyelids grew heavy, her mind adrift between wakefulness and sleep, holding onto the promise of seeing him again. Despite her best intentions to stay awake, the rhythm of her breath slowed, and she succumbed to sleep, not noticing the exact moment she drifted off, lost in dreams tinged with longing for her partner's return. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The first tendrils of dawn crept silently across the horizon as Kate stirred to the gentle melody of distant birds. A cool morning breeze slipped through the open windows, its chill a fleeting reprieve before the day's heat enveloped everything. She luxuriated in the refreshing air, a rare pleasure in these early hours when the world was still hushed and the heavy humidity of the day had not yet taken hold.

Inhaling deeply, Kate allowed the earthy scent of the old wood surrounding them to mingle with the distinct musk that was uniquely Arthur. A comforting reminder of his constant presence. His arm, heavy and warm, was draped protectively around her, anchoring her to the moment.

Leaning back into Arthur's embrace, Kate's contentment was briefly interrupted by a peculiar pressure against bottom. Instinctively, she thought of Arthur's gun belt, perhaps carelessly left on. Her eyes flicked to the corner where the cold gleam of his pistol caught the first light, resting over the back of a chair. A flush warmed her cheeks as she realized the true nature of the hardness pressing into her. With a quiet chuckle, she couldn't help but smile to herself at his need for her. Even in sleep his body craved hers.

These mornings together were a rare gift. Arthur typically rose with the dawn, often before the sun even painted the sky with its first strokes of light. But today, by some gracious allowance of the universe, he remained beside her, his breathing deep and even in sleep. She treasured these moments of shared stillness, a precious pause in the relentless pace of their lives.

As Kate gently shifted to face Arthur, his breath hitched slightly in his sleep before settling into a deep, even rhythm once more. She took a moment to study him, the soft morning light casting delicate shadows across his face, smoothing the rugged lines that daylight and duty often sharpened. His features, usually set in a stoic or pensive expression, now relaxed in sleep, offered a rare vulnerability that tugged at her heart.

Tracing her fingers lightly along the line of his jaw, Kate marveled at the rough texture of his stubble, contrasting with the softness of his skin. She leaned in and placed a tender kiss on his chin, feeling the slight indentation of a scar beneath her lips—an imperfection that only added to his rugged appeal. Her lips found his next, savoring the familiar taste and texture—chapped yet surprisingly gentle, parting ever so slightly to reveal a hint of teeth behind them.

Rising slightly to reach his nose, she brushed her lips across the bridge, pausing to admire the light dusting of freckles that seemed to dance across his sun-kissed skin. The early sunlight, now a soft golden hue, highlighted the tiny marks.

Arthur, with his thick lashes resting softly on his cheeks and a faint smile curving his lips as if he sensed her love even in sleep, was undeniably beautiful.

Feeling her love overwhelm her, she sat up and leaned down to place a deeper kiss. Her hand traced his chest, fingers gliding softly over the hair. Arthur breathed deeply, and stirred from his sleep with a soft noise of surprise. As soon as he registered what was going on, he snaked his hand to her back and pulled her close to his body. Jolting himself with a groan of pleasure as he quickly realized the state he was in. 

As Arthur slowly began to regain his senses, Kate's movements brought a rush of heat and desire that mingled with his lingering sleepiness. Before he could form words, a soft moan escaped him, his mind swirling with a delicious blend of daze and arousal. "Kate…" he murmured as their lips met in a slow, intoxicating kiss.

With a gentle but firm hand, Kate eased him onto his back, leaning on her elbow as she positioned herself above him without breaking their deep connection. "G’morning," she whispered, the sound husky with sleep and desire.

Her fingers traced a path across his chest and down to his stomach, her nails lightly grazing his skin, sending tingles spreading through him, igniting a heat that pooled intensely between his legs. She shifted, sliding her leg over him, drawing herself closer so that the hard press of his arousal was unmistakable against her thigh.

"Late night?" she breathed, her voice warm against his lips. Arthur could only nod as they resumed their tender exploration, their kisses deepening, pausing only when their breath became short. Their conversation was sparse, their bodies communicating much more profoundly as their tongues danced together languidly.

Arthur's hand traveled up the side of her body, savoring the feel of her under his touch. Starting from her thighs, he admired the contours of her figure, his fingers wandering under the shirt she had claimed as her own. His rough palm cupped her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple, eliciting a soft gasp from her lips. The delicate touch of his calloused skin against her sensitive flesh was both soothing and electrifying, deepening their connection in the quiet dawn.

Kate's movements grew more deliberate as she sought her own relief, her hips subtly rocking against him. She slid her thigh firmly across his arousal, feeling him respond beneath her with a growing intensity. Arthur's breathing turned ragged, a raw edge to his gasps as her hand wandered lower, tracing a path through the curls below his navel. With a knowing touch, she explored further, her fingers finding him over the tented fabric, mapping the length of him with a bold, steady stroke from tip to base. Twitching hard at her touch.

Arthur's response was a moan of pure bliss, a sound that filled the room with a tangible heat. This moment was more intimate than any they had shared, even more profound than their secluded night in the privacy of a steam-filled bath. It was a revelation of comfort and desire, a relief that he was truly finding solace in his own skin again.

Encouraged by his reaction, Kate pressed down with her palm, her movements becoming more assertive. Her thumb brushed over the tip, feeling the damp evidence of his need. She stroked him again with increased confidence, squeezing gently, delighting in the way he arched into her touch, moaning in a tone that was both vulnerable and deeply hungry.

"Fuck, Kate," Arthur groaned, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that vibrated through her. His hand clutched at her waist, his grip firm and encouraging.

Fueled by his responses, Kate felt a surge of boldness. She continued her explorations, each stroke and squeeze drawing him further into a haze of pleasure. His body relaxed into the mattress, his breaths quickening with each soft moan that he tried to stifle.

Finding his lips again, Kate couldn't resist biting down gently, her own whimper mingling with the heat of his breath. Arthur's hand ventured daringly into her bottoms, their mutual desire building a bridge of fervent, unspoken words between them.

Arthur's fingers slid through the tousled dark curls, finding their way to the delicate nerve hidden amid the folds of her skin. Already damp with her need for him. Her gasp—a soft, melodic burst of pleasure—encouraged him, and he began to trace slow, deliberate figure eights. Each touch was precise, designed to unravel her composure thread by delicate thread.

Kate's response was immediate; a breathless pant escaped her as her hand grasped him again, feeling the eager throb of him beneath her palm. Arthur inhaled sharply, followed by a deep, ragged groan that resonated in the quiet room, sending a wave of heat cascading through her body. His fingers teased her, circling with practiced ease, drawing nearer to her entrance.

Exhaustion and arousal mingled within Arthur, pushing him dangerously close to the edge. Already teetering on the brink of an orgasm. His body was starved for touch, craving the intimacy and pleasure he had denied himself for far too long. Once despising his own body, and finding fleeting relief in his own personal attempts at pleasure. He slowly began to surrender to the euphoria. 

Kate's body was a perfect echo to his own, her arousal palpable as the slick warmth of her welcomed his exploring touch. Their shared breaths and soft moans filled the air, a symphony of affection and longing that tied them closer with each passing second. He ached to claim her fully, to lose himself in the welcoming heat of her body. Carving a space for himself between her legs. 

As he slipped a finger inside her, Kate's soft whimper broke the last of their restraint. She withdrew slightly from their kiss, her expression one of exquisite pleasure. Her lips parted, and she bit down softly, eyes fluttering closed as he moved within her with a gentle, insistent rhythm. Despite the overwhelming sensations he provoked, she maintained her own rhythm, her thumb caressing him tenderly, circling the sensitive tip where his desire was most evident.

Arthur intensified his touch, adding a second finger and expertly curling them to stroke her most sensitive spot. Kate's response was passionate—a sharp intake of breath followed by a breathy utterance of his name that resonated with pure ecstasy. “Arthur.” Hearing his name spoken in such a rapturous tone pushed him past the brink.

Overcome by his escalating desire, Arthur felt the taut coil of restraint within him snap. A deep groan escaped him as he tensed and surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure, and Kate felt the warmth of his release seep through the thin fabric of his underwear, marking their entwined bodies with traces of his climax.

"Shit," Arthur muttered, his voice thick with both frustration and satisfaction, as his body continued to shudder under the aftershocks of his release. It had been an age since he'd allowed himself such unguarded surrender to his desires.

Embarrassed by the premature conclusion, especially before he could satisfy Kate, he felt like a fool. “M’sorry,” he mumbled moments later. His breath was still ragged. Kate, ever understanding and tender, smiled and reassured him by resuming her gentle strokes, eliciting another groan from him.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," she murmured, her voice laced with affection. "I enjoyed waking up to that." She leaned in to seal her reassurance with a soft kiss, her lips meeting his in a gentle connection.

Realizing he was still within her heat, Arthur refocused his efforts. With less distraction, he was now more determined. He resumed the rhythmic motion of his fingers, driven by the desire to return the pleasure she had so openly given. The thought of bringing her to climax rejuvenated him, and he felt his cock stir once again.

As Arthur's fingers traced intricate patterns inside her, Kate's response was instinctive and profound. Her moan transformed into a delicate whimper, the sound a tender symphony in the quiet room. She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, her voice a soft crescendo filled with unspoken pleas. "Arthur," she whispered like a prayer. Her breath hot against his skin, each syllable punctuated by the rhythm of his touch.

"That's it, baby," Arthur murmured, his voice low and husky, breath teasing the delicate shell of her ear. He felt the gentle flutter of her walls around his fingers, a testament to the rising tide of her climax. With each calculated stroke, he grew more attuned to her body's subtle signals, reveling in the discovery of her deepest pleasures.

Kate's breathing grew shallow and rapid, a wild cadence that matched the urgent thrusts of her hips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if to merge their bodies into one. Each of Arthur's movements was deliberate, pushing her closer to the brink. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to cry out, her body tense with the effort to remain silent. The stillness of the early morning hung around them like a thick blanket, punctuated only by the sound of their synchronized breathing and the quiet slick of desire.

In the dim light, her eyes locked with his, intense with a silent communication passing between them. She was close, so close, her body coiled tight with anticipation. Arthur increased the pressure, his fingers moving with a precision that was both tender and insistent. Kate's grip on his hair tightened, a silent acknowledgment of the exquisite pressure building within her. With a few more skillful movements, she was on the edge, ready to tumble into an abyss of euphoria.

When a heavy knock came from the door. 

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The soft, desperate whine that escaped Kate's lips as Arthur paused his movements reverberated through him like a siren call. She was teetering on the brink, her body tensed in exquisite anticipation, each of his calculated strokes pushing her closer to release. He longed to hear his name whispered in a rush of ecstasy, to feel her body clench around him in a sweet, shuddering climax, giving her the same profound pleasure she had so generously offered him.

Kate's expression was one of torment; her cheeks flushed a vivid pink, and her lush hair cascaded around her face in disheveled waves. Her eyes, heavy with sleep and thick with desire, also betrayed a touch of frustration at his sudden stop—a frustration Arthur knew all too well. 

He leaned in close, his voice a soft murmur against her temple. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he whispered, his lips brushing her skin in a tender apology. "I’ll make it up to you, I promise."

With a reassuring nod from Kate, Arthur reluctantly swung his legs off the bed to dress. He was just shimmying into his jeans when the persistent knock sounded again, this time accompanied by Dutch’s unmistakable, booming voice. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty, we have a big day!”

Arthur exhaled a heavy sigh as he pulled his jeans up, his frame silhouetted against the early morning light streaming through the window. The sun bathed him in a warm glow, highlighting the contours of his muscular back and shoulders. Kate watched from the bed, her gaze admiring the sheer physicality of him, appreciating the intimate and vulnerable moments they had just shared. Despite the interruption, she cherished this new closeness with Arthur, dreaming of a time when they could fully explore their connection without the omnipresent eyes of the gang.

Arthur flung the door open with a brisk tug, his tone laced with irritation as he confronted Dutch. “This couldn’t wait until breakfast?” His annoyance was palpable, his voice rough with frustration as he addressed the interruption. Clad only in his work jeans, with leather suspenders dangling at his sides, he stood framed in the doorway, the morning sun casting a halo around his imposing figure. 

Arthur’s expression was a mix of irritation and resignation as he blocked the doorway, the morning light outlining his broad frame. "Greatness, waits for no man," Dutch quipped, a gleam of mischief in his eyes, clearly enjoying the disruption of Arthur’s morning tranquility.

"I never knew you to be so ornery in the mornings, Arthur," Dutch teased, his voice carrying a jovial undertone that contrasted sharply with Arthur’s evident annoyance.

Arthur sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "I thought I had at least a few more hours. Kate doesn't even know the plan yet." he asked, glancing back towards Kate.

“What plan?” Kate interjected sharply, rising from the bed with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Clad only in Arthur’s shirt, which modestly covered her to just above the knees, she seemed oblivious to her appearance as she stepped closer.

Seizing the moment, Dutch stepped fully into the room, his eyes briefly sweeping over Kate before refocusing on his mission. “We're attending a ball, Cinderella, and we need to find you a dress,” he announced with a theatrical flair, then turned to Arthur with a smirk. “And a suit for you, son.”

“Wait, what ball?” Kate asked, her brow furrowing as she tried to piece together the sudden news with her still groggy mind.

Arthur leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “We’ve been invited to a garden party hosted by Mayor Lemieux,” he explained, though his tone suggested he was less than thrilled about the prospect.

“We were?” Kate’s voice rose in disbelief, skeptical of why they, a notorious band of outlaws, would be invited to such an event.

Dutch chuckled heartily. “Indeed, we are guests of honor, thanks to our dear friend Angelo Bronte,” he said, the sarcasm in his voice barely masked.

Kate’s eyes narrowed. “Bronte? The same Bronte that took Jack? Why on earth would we go to this party? It sounds like a trap.”

Dutch’s demeanor shifted; the usual charming façade faded into a calculated intensity. “Because, my dear, the mayor is blissfully unaware that we’re anything but upstanding citizens. Bronte and I have orchestrated a little... arrangement,” he divulged, his smile thinning into a cunning line. “Where there’s affluence, there’s ample opportunity to lighten a few heavy pockets.”

Kate's mind reeled at the audacity of the plan. Attending a grand ball populated with the city’s elite, wealthy benefactors from across the state, and undoubtedly, a scattering of vigilant lawmen, presented a staggering risk.

Sensing her apprehension, Arthur quickly added, “We’re not there to rob anyone—at least not tonight. It's about mingling, gathering intel on the mayor and the city’s movers and shakers.” He attempted to reassure her, his tone earnest. “Nothing risky, I promise.”

“But why involve me?” Kate’s brow furrowed in confusion. Historically, Dutch had never directly enlisted her in such schemes, and she had remained a background figure in their more delicate operations. His insistence now implied she had little choice but to participate.

Dutch’s reply came with a strategic flourish. “Bringing a lady along makes a man look less suspicious. Tonight, you and Arthur are Mr. and Mrs. Kilgore,” he declared with a dramatic wave of his hand, as if he were bestowing royal titles.

The suddenness of it all left Kate grappling with the reality of the situation. A ball, tonight? And she was to act as Arthur’s wife? She had never graced such opulent events, her own wedding being a modest affair far removed from the sophisticated galas of the wealthy urbanites.

“Who else is attending?” she asked, her mind racing.

“Dutch, Hosea, and us,” Arthur replied, his voice a steadying presence.

Kate pondered Dutch’s strategy—bringing a companion to appear innocuous. Yet, her thoughts drifted to Molly O’Shea, weeping alone the previous night. Why not include her? She was Dutch’s girl after all. Molly, with her refined high-class Irish upbringing, was tailor-made for such events, having likely graced countless balls and galas back home.

“I’ll agree to this on one condition,” Kate asserted, her tone firm. Arthur’s eyebrow arched, intrigued by her audacity.

“Oh? Is that so?” Dutch’s interest was piqued.

“Yes,” she said resolutely. “Molly comes with us.”

The room tensed at her declaration, her proposal hanging in the air like a challenge. It wasn’t just about blending in—it was a statement, a chance to give Molly an opportunity that could mend her relationship with Dutch.

Dutch's face shifted from amusement to intrigue as he considered Kate's unexpected condition. His sharp eyes studied her for a moment, then a small smile crept up his face. "Well, that's an interesting twist," he mused aloud. "I suppose having another proper lady could indeed add to our cover."

Kate felt a surge of relief mixed with apprehension as she registered the gravity of what she was about to undertake. She was not just going to a ball; she was stepping into a lion's den dressed in lambskin. The stakes were high, and the play had to be perfect.

Arthur, seeing her resolve, added, "It’s all about appearances tonight. We need to blend in, gather intel, and leave without raising suspicions." His voice was steady, aiming to instill confidence in her. "Think of it as more of a reconnaissance mission than anything else. We're just there to observe and listen."

Kate nodded, processing the information. "And Bronte? What's his part in all this?"

Dutch clapped his hands together, the sound echoing slightly in the sparse room. "Ah, Bronte is our gracious host. He's the one who got us the invites. Through him, we're 'respectable citizens' for the evening," he explained, his tone dripping with irony. "This could open up some lucrative opportunities for us if we play our cards right."

Kate felt a flicker of excitement at the challenge, tempered by the realization of the complex dynamics at play. "So, we're Mr. and Mrs. Kilgore for the night, hobnobbing with Saint Denis' elite," she said, trying to lighten the mood with a faint smile.

Arthur caught her smile, returning it with a reassuring nod. "Exactly,” his gaze held hers, filled with a mixture of pride and earnest affection. “And I don’t think I could survive this night without you at my side." He said quietly with a subtle wink. 

Dutch broke the moment, his energy shifting towards preparation. "I’ll arrange for Molly. And we better get moving if we're to find you two something suitable to wear. Time is of the essence."

As Dutch exited the room to set the plan in motion, Kate's mind raced with the implications of the evening ahead. Playing the part of Arthur's wife, infiltrating a high society event, the risk of exposure—they were all elements of a dangerous game. Yet, underpinning it all was a deeper trust and partnership with Arthur that felt more real and vital than any role she might play. She knew they were in for a long night, and her reluctance was replaced by excitement at the thought of attending such an event with her lover. 

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Kate's image in the softly lit, dusty mirror was a vision she scarcely recognized—transformed by the exquisite gown borrowed from Molly. The gown was crafted from a sumptuous velvet, rich and deep red, that clung to her form and cascaded elegantly to the floor. It's off-the-shoulder design highlighted the low-cut neckline, with small ruffled sleeves that grazed her arms, leaving her shoulders and the expanse of her upper chest exposed. The careful stitching was lined with black and white lace, adding to the grandeur of her attire.

A striking gold brooch was affixed at the center of her bust, drawing the eye to the gentle curve of her neckline. This touch of opulence was complemented by a simple yet elegant pearl necklace, which lay delicately against her skin, its simplicity a perfect counterpoint to the richness of her attire. Her hair, pulled up into an intricate mass of curls and twists, added a final note of sophistication, completing the transformation from rugged cowgirl to a lady of subtle grace and formidable presence.

The room was a flurry of activity, each woman contributing to the transformation. Molly, sharing this critical evening with Kate, was more than a wardrobe consultant; she was a quiet presence, guiding Kate through the intricacies of high society etiquette. They dressed side by side in camaraderie, preparing for an evening that felt more like a strategic mission than a social outing.

As Molly delicately fastened the final button on Kate's gown, her reflection in the mirror bore an expression of earnest intensity. "Tonight is about poise and presence. You must embody both," she instructed crisply. "Watch my actions closely and avoid any gestures that could be deemed unladylike." Kate nodded, absorbing every word, her throat tightening with nervous anticipation.

"You are a woman of refined class this evening," Molly continued, her voice firm yet not unkind, her eyes meeting Kate's in the mirror. "Project confidence, but temper it, you don’t want to appear overbearing. We need them to find us charming—be yourself, but avoid being crass."

Just then, Tilly entered with a timely interruption, offering Kate a glass of water with a reassuring smile. "Ease up, Molly, you're making her jittery," she chided gently before leaning in to whisper to Kate, "You look absolutely stunning."

Taking the glass, Kate's hands shook slightly, the coolness of the water a small comfort against the flutter of nerves. "Thank you, Tilly," she replied, her voice a soft murmur of gratitude. "Molly means well. I'm just out of my depth with high society," she admitted, her eyes reflecting her vulnerability.

Karen, busy tidying up the space, laughed heartily from the corner. "I bet Arthur's feeling just as out of place. Imagine him trying to mingle with the upper crust," she remarked with amusement, her laughter echoing warmly in the room.

Arthur and Hosea had earlier been whisked away by Trelawny to find appropriate suits, leaving the women to navigate their own elaborate preparations. As Kate sipped her water, Abigail applied a delicate blush to her cheeks, her touch gentle yet precise. "Don't fret, Kate," she murmured, catching Kate's gaze in the mirror. "Arthur will be by your side tonight. Just stick close to Molly, and you'll manage just fine."

Mary-Beth, ever the optimist, added her own sprinkle of encouragement as she packed away a few last-minute essentials into Kate's clutch. "You’re going to shine tonight, Kate. Let the evening unfold naturally. The boys will handle the rest," she said cheerily, giving Kate a playful wink. "And don’t forget to enjoy a dance or two."

Though reassured by their words, Kate felt a knot of apprehension tighten in her stomach. This evening would transport her far from the familiar roughness of her daily life into a realm of gleaming shoes and polished conversation, where every smile might mask a challenge and every word could unveil a new chess move.

The creak of the front door heralded new arrivals, and soon Sadie’s brisk tone filled the room, signaling a shift in the late afternoon's pace. “Lenny’s back with the stagecoach. They’re ready for you ladies,” she called out, indicating it was time for Kate and Molly to make their entrance. The night's masquerade was about to begin.

Molly clasped their hands together with renewed enthusiasm, “shall we?” Kate smiled at the gesture, she knew then it was the right thing to do by inviting her. She had never seen the young woman smile so much in all the time she’s known her. Molly was in her element. 

As Kate descended the stairs of the old manor, the fabric of her velvet dress whispering with each step, she felt every eye in the room shift toward her. The deep red of her gown caught the fading light, casting a warm glow on her skin. Her hair, usually free and untamed, was styled into an elegant updo, adorned with small pearls that shimmered with her movements. The matching delicate pearl necklace around her neck caught the light, drawing attention to the subtle, dignified elegance she emanated.

Arthur stood near the entryway, discussing last-minute plans with Dutch and Hosea. His conversation halted abruptly as his gaze landed on Kate. The transformation from rugged woman to a vision of refined grace left him momentarily speechless. His eyes widened, not just in surprise but with a depth of emotion that flickered briefly across his face. The awe and admiration in his expression were palpable, and as he stepped toward her, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

"Oh Kate..." His voice was a low murmur, heavy with emotion. He approached her slowly, as if fearing any sudden movement might shatter the vision before him. When he finally reached her, he took her hand gently, his rough fingers contrasting with the softness of her skin. "Christ, you look...," he whispered, trailing his eyes over her face, lingering on her eyes, her lips, then down to the gold brooch nestled at her chest.

“Like a weed among the roses,” she answered. Offering a weary smile that was laced with doubt. 

Arthur chortled as he placed his hand on the small of her back, drawing her closer to him. “I was going to say beautiful. But sure, if the weed is this stunning then to hell with the roses.” 

The intensity of his gaze sent a warm flush across her cheeks. She could feel his admiration, not just for her appearance but for the strength and courage she embodied—the same qualities that had drawn him to her from the beginning. "Thank you, Arthur," she replied, her voice soft but filled with a confidence she didn't feel. "I feel a bit like I'm playing dress-up."

Kate's gaze lingered appreciatively on Arthur as he stood before her, transformed from the rugged outlaw she knew so intimately into a figure who could easily blend with the elite. He wore a tailored black suit that hugged his broad shoulders and defined his strong silhouette, the crisp white shirt beneath accentuating the tan of his skin. The ensemble was completed with a stark white bow tie, lending him an air of sophistication she found both endearing and slightly amusing, given his usual disdain for such finery.

His hair, normally a tousled mane that matched his untamed spirit, was now neatly barbered. The sides were trimmed short, enhancing the strong lines of his face, while the top was slicked back with a pomade that caught the light, giving him a polished, almost dapper appearance. A finely groomed pencil mustache adorned his upper lip, a testament to the barber's skill, and it added a hint of roguish charm that was so quintessentially Arthur.

Arthur chuckled softly, the sound deep and reassuring. "Maybe so, but I've never seen a more beautiful sight. I, uh... I’m finding it hard to believe that a woman like you would even be seen with me." His words were sincere, his usual stoic demeanor softened by the vulnerability he felt in that moment. 

Kate relaxed a little, sensing that Arthur was just as nervous as she. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the lapel of his jacket, feeling the fine fabric under her touch. "You clean up rather well, Mr. Morgan," she teased lightly, her eyes twinkling with mirth and a hint of something deeper, something akin to awe.

Arthur took her hand in his again and brought her knuckles to his lips, “that’s Mr. Kilgore,” he gently reminded. “You got that, Mrs. Kilgore?” His breath was hot against her skin as he glanced up at her with mischievous deep blue eyes. 

The playfulness in his eyes was infectious, and Kate found herself laughing, the sound mingling with the chirping of crickets outside. "I suppose I can manage that for one evening, Mr. Kilgore," she played along, her voice light, teasing. The nervousness that had tangled her thoughts began to unravel, replaced by an excitement she hadn't expected.

As they stepped into the courtyard, Dutch and Hosea were waiting, both looking equally as transformed. Dutch was clad in a striking suit that made him appear more like a statesman than the gang leader he was. Hosea, with his wise eyes and knowing smile, looked every bit the distinguished gentleman. Together, they presented an image of deceptive respectability.

The group made their way to the waiting stagecoach, where Lenny held the door open with a grin. "You all look like you're off to meet the queen," he joked, his eyes twinkling.

Dutch climbed in first, followed by Hosea, then Arthur and Kate, and finally Molly, who looked radiant in an emerald gown that whispered of her lost heritage. As the coach lurched forward, the rough dirt paths of the hideout gave way to smoother roads, signifying their approach to the bustling city of Saint Denis.

Arthur and Dutch shared a cigar, the glow from the tip casting a warm light in the dim interior. Their laughter filled the space, a sound of camaraderie and shared secrets. Kate leaned back against the plush seat, her eyes drifting to the window. Outside, the landscape transformed—from the secluded wilds of their camp to the grandeur of Saint Denis. The city lights began to twinkle in the distance, like stars brought down to earth, each one promising a night of possibilities and peril.

As the stagecoach rolled through the city gates, the full splendor of Saint Denis unfolded before them. The streets were alive with the hum of activity; the air was thick with the scents of exotic spices and the sound of distant music. It was a world away from anything Kate had ever known, and as she watched it all, a thrill ran through her, mingled with a touch of fear. 

Arthur grabbed her hand, and held it tight in his as they approached the Mayors grand iron gates.  

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The night unfolded with an elegance that was almost surreal to the group of outlaws. They were greeted at the opulent iron gates of Mayor Lemieux's mansion by none other than Angelo Bronte himself, who extended a warm welcome with an air of European grace. The atmosphere was charged with the subtle tension of a high-stakes play, each member of the gang playing their part flawlessly.

As they made their introductions, Arthur took Kate's hand and presented her with an unexpected formality. "May I introduce my wife, Katherine Kilgore," he announced, his voice carrying a tone of pride and reverence that made Kate's heart skip a beat. 

The use of her full name coupled by ‘my wife’, imbued the moment with a regality that resonated deeply within her. She felt a flutter of excitement rise in her chest, her cheeks warming under the attentive gaze of their host.

Bronte responded with a flourish, kissing Kate's knuckles as if she were a duchess, his eyes sparkling with intrigue. The gesture, added with his rich Italian accent, momentarily transported her back to her mother's stories of the old country, filling her with a mix of nostalgia and pride. She caught some of the phrases he murmured to his servants in his tongue, surprising herself at her memory of the language she hadn't heard in so long. 

The grandeur of the mansion was overwhelming as they entered. Candles and chandeliers cast a warm glow over rich floral arrangements and marble columns, each detail meticulously curated to impress. Kate couldn't help but wonder about the lives that filled these halls, the silent stories hidden within the extravagant walls.

Led by a young servant, they were shown to their designated seats in the dining hall, just as the bell signaled the arrival of the other distinguished guests. The dining experience promised to be a lavish affair, with Bronte ensuring they were seated at his table— a strategic position for mingling with some of Saint Denis' most influential figures.

As they settled into the evening, Arthur's introduction echoed in Kate's mind, lending her an air of confidence she clung to amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces. The night ahead was set to be a dance of diplomacy and discretion, and Kate, now Katherine Kilgore, was ready to play her part.

As the dinner progressed, the opulent dining hall of Mayor Lemieux's mansion buzzed with the soft clinking of fine china and the murmur of high-society chatter. Poised at Bronte's table, Kate tried to settle into the rhythm of the evening. Yet her every move was subtly corrected by Molly, who sat beside her. With a gentle nudge under the table or a whispered word, Molly guided Kate through the nuances of etiquette that the high class demanded.

“Remember, small bites, Katherine," Molly instructed gently while demonstrating with her own meal, slicing her food with an elegance that seemed effortless. "And mind your posture."

Despite her best efforts to blend in, Kate found herself increasingly nervous. Conversation flowed around the table, and occasionally, a guest would inquire about her or Arthur. With a tentative smile, she spun a half-true tale about their supposed meeting involving a stolen stagecoach, drawing polite laughter and nods of amusement from those around her. As the story concluded, she reached for her wine glass, taking a large gulp to quench her growing anxiety.

Molly's hand was quick and discreet as she gave Kate's arm a soft pinch. "A lady doesn't chug," she murmured with a hint of sternness. "And hold it by the stem, dear. You're smudging the glass." Chastened, Kate set the wine glass back down with a small sigh.

Kate was grateful for the guidance, even if it was a reminder of how out of place she felt among the finely dressed elites. As courses were served and conversation flowed, Dutch and Bronte delved into discussions about local politics and business, particularly the Saint Denis Trolley Association. Rumors had swirled around the trolley lines being used for money laundering, and as the conversation deepened, Kate noticed Dutch's interest peak. Arthur, ever the observant second-in-command, watched Dutch closely, likely calculating the risk and reward of their next big job.

As the plates were cleared and the final toasts were made, Kate caught a low exchange between Bronte and one of his men that sent a chill down her spine. She couldn't translate the full conversation, but the burlesque in Bronte's tone was unmistakable. It was a reminder that beneath the veneer of this luxurious gathering, there were still undercurrents of danger and deceit. Kate made a mental note to discuss what she heard later, when there weren't so many lingering ears about. 

Relieved when the dinner finally concluded, Kate was more than ready to escape the stuffy atmosphere of the dining hall. The guests were invited to mingle in the garden, a beautifully manicured space illuminated by strings of lights and lanterns that cast a romantic glow over the evening.

The garden was bathed in the gentle warmth of firelight as Kate stepped into the fresh air, the tension melting from her shoulders. The soft strains of an orchestra filled the night, mingling with the laughter and chatter of the elegantly dressed guests who moved fluidly across the stone paths. Arthur approached with a warm smile, extending his arm in an inviting gesture.

"Would you dance with me, Katherine?" he asked, the playful spark in his eyes igniting a flutter in her chest. His formal address, laced with familiarity, heightened the moment's charm.

"Absolutely, as long as you keep off my toes," Kate responded playfully, her voice light with anticipation. She allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, the weight of the evening's responsibilities fading amid the rhythmic sway of the music.

As they found their rhythm in the melody, Arthur's surprisingly graceful steps impressed her. "I had no idea you could waltz, Mr. Kilgore," she quipped with a smile, the music lifting her spirits.

Arthur drew her closer, his hand reassuringly warm on her lower back. "Bessie insisted I learn," he confessed, referencing Hosea’s late wife with a fond chuckle. "Said she’d be damned if she didn’t teach this gutter trash some respectable manners."

Her laughter, light and melodic, echoed softly between them. "Oh Arthur, you are the farthest thing from gutter trash.” She remarked, taking in how undeniably beautiful and handsome he looked tonight. 

Arthur chortled, “maybe so. But I was quite the handful as a kid.” 

“I’m sure you had your charm. In any case, it seems she succeeded. You're quite the gentleman tonight," Kate teased, her tone playful as she mimicked his drawl.

Their gazes locked, the world around them dimming to a blur of music and moonlight. Arthur's hand traced gentle, unseen patterns on her back, the warmth of his touch seeping through the velvet of her dress. She breathed in his familiar scent—wine mingled with the faint smokiness of cigars. She admired the clean shave of his beard, and the neat trim of his hair. He looked so different from the rugged man she woke up to this morning, but there was no doubt in her heart it was the same man. Her cowboy, her Arthur. 

"What were you dreaming of this morning?" She whispered, curiosity coloring her words as they moved in perfect sync.

"You," came his husky reply, his breath warm against her ear. "I always dream of you."

Her smile deepened, her heart dancing to the same rhythm as their steps. "And was I wearing this dress in your dreams?" she flirted, her body swaying enticingly against his.

Arthur’s grin was both mischievous and endearing. "Not exactly," he murmured, his eyes glinting with a hint of devilry. "You wore something very different."

Intrigued, she leaned closer, her voice a soft tease. "Oh? And what might that have been?"

"Me," he growled softly, his voice low and seductive, drawing a delighted shiver from Kate as they continued to waltz under the starlit sky. The single word flooded Kate’s mind with all sorts of erotic pictures.

Arthur's voice was a seductive murmur, laced with raw desire, as he leaned in close, his breath warm against Kate's ear. "Do you want to know what I'm thinking about right now?" he whispered, his hands tightening on her waist as he drew her closer into his embrace.

Kate's heart pounded in her chest, her skin tingling with anticipation. She nodded, her voice a mere whisper, "Yes."

Arthur's fingers traced a line up her spine, sending shivers cascading down her body. He dipped his head, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of her neck, inhaling deeply. "I'm thinking about how stunning you're going to look laid out beneath me," he breathed out, his words painting a vivid, enticing picture. "I imagine you on my cot, your skin glowing in the dim light, your hair spread out like a wild mane, your lips tender and flushed from my kisses."

Her eyes fluttered shut, lost in the fantasy he described. "Your eyes," he continued, his voice dropping to a husky growl, "dark with longing, just like they are now. I think about the soft moans you’ll make, the ones that drive me wild, make me desperate to be inside you."

Kate’s breath caught in her throat, her body instinctively pressing closer to his. The garden, the music, the murmur of the guests faded into the background, overshadowed by the intensity of the moment between them.

"And I think about how fiercely we’ll make love," Arthur added, his hands sliding down to grip her hips, pulling her against him. "How you’ll claw at my back, pulling me deeper, your body welcoming me home. How tight and perfect you’ll feel around me, and how with each thrust, you’ll moan my name until it’s etched into the night air."

Overwhelmed by his words, Kate's knees weakened, her entire being alight with desire. Arthur steadied her, his gaze intense and full of promise. "I can’t wait any longer, Kate," he declared, a resolute edge to his voice. "Tonight, I will have you. Completely and utterly. No interruptions, no holding back. Just you and me, lost in each other until dawn."

The certainty in his tone, the undeniable hunger in his eyes, left her breathless. This was a side of Arthur she had glimpsed but never fully experienced—passionate, possessive, and profoundly in love with her.

“Arthur,” Kate said softly, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability as she looked up at him. “When you say things like that, you make me feel…”

“Warm all over?” Arthur suggested with a gentle smile, trying to lighten her mood.

“Yes,” she whispered, a blush coloring her cheeks. “It’s a bit forward of me to admit it, isn't it?” Her irony drew a hearty laugh from Arthur, and her smile returned, comforted by his joyful response.

“Can I ask you something else, maybe a bit silly?” Kate continued, her spirits lifted by his laughter.

“You can ask me anything, sweetheart,” Arthur responded, his eyes sparkling with both amusement and affection.

She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze with earnestness. “When you were telling me about...us, about how you imagined us together, was I… was I smiling in your dream?” she asked, her question tinged with a need for reassurance.

With a faint chuckle he pulled her into a tight hug. His chin dropped down to rest on the top of her head, and he assured her in a tender, loving voice that in all his erotic fantasies and dreams about her, she had been very happy, extremely happy as a matter of fact. She was satisfied, content, humbled, appreciative and grateful, and completely overwhelmed by his magnificence and, now that he had time to think about it, really amazing sexual prowess. Kate’s light laughter rumbled against his chest. 

“You couldn’t find enough ways to thank me,” he added to his relentless teasing. 

She leaned away from him and looked up into his eyes, “I thanked you for making love to me?” 

“You were exceedingly grateful,” Arthur played along, with lighthearted arrogance. “In fact, you seemed quite taken with my many...talents.”

“Oh, is that so?” Kate retorted, her tone playful yet filled with affection. 

“It was my dream, sweetheart, not yours,” Arthur chuckled. 

She nestled back into his arms, comforted by his presence and the easy banter that flowed between them. “And here you were, telling me how Bessie taught you to be such a gentleman?”

“She tried her best,” Arthur quipped, his voice low and filled with mirth. “Though I fear she may have overlooked a few lessons on modesty.”

Tucking her head back under his chin, she wrapped her arms around his waist, splaying her hands wide against his broad and warm back. “Heaven help me. What am I going to do with you?” 

Arthur’s smile widened, filled with both love and a hint of mischief. “Keep me, I hope,” he chuckled softly, holding her close as the music around them began to dwindle.

Several other suggestions came to mind, but Arthur decided now wasn’t the time to share them with her. He recognized the weight behind Kate's seemingly light-hearted question. Her vulnerability had surfaced briefly, revealing the scars of her past experiences, ones that Arthur knew all too well. Despite the mutual desire igniting between them, he could see the shadows of uncertainty and fear that still lingered in her eyes. He knew of the trauma she had endured, the times when her autonomy was stripped away, leaving wounds deep and tender. With every fiber of his being, Arthur was determined to honor her, the way she had honored him in his time of need. To rebuild the trust that had been tarnished by others before him. He made a silent vow then, as he often did, to be patient, to give her the space and choice she deserved.

“Whatever happens tonight, tomorrow, or any time after, it’s your choice, Kate. Nothing we do together will ever be without your heart in it too. I love you, and you could never disappoint me. Got that?” he whispered, sealing his vow with a kiss on her forehead as the last notes of their song played out.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As the evening waned and the symphony of the night softened to a quiet hum, the luscious garden party began to draw to a close. Under a canopy of stars, guests strolled leisurely, their conversations light and laughter mingling with the crackle of fireworks that painted the sky above Saint Denis. Dessert tables were laden with an extravagant assortment of sweets, tempting the well-heeled crowd as they meandered through the meticulously landscaped gardens.

Kate, alongside Arthur, Hosea, Dutch, and Molly, found themselves engaged in a lively discussion with Mayor Lemieux and his companion, the celebrated author Evelyn Miller. Their conversation flowed easily, touching on topics from literature to local politics and banking, until it was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of two distinctly out-of-place figures.

The pair, native men with proud postures and serious expressions, approached the group with a reserved dignity. The elder of the two introduced himself as Chief Rains Fall, and the younger, his son, as Eagle Flies. Their introductions were courteous yet carried an underlying urgency that shifted the atmosphere slightly. Rains Fall explained they had come to deliver a letter to the mayor, urging him to read it with great consideration due to its pressing nature.

With formalities briefly exchanged and the letter handed off, the two natives departed as swiftly as they had arrived, leaving a trail of curiosity in their wake. Kate felt a twinge of disappointment at their quick departure; the mystery of the letter and its urgent delivery had piqued her interest deeply.

Arthur shared her intrigue, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as the garden's ambient noise hummed around them. Their contemplative silence was broken when Lemieux’s butler approached, his expression taut with concern. He whispered something to the mayor, who nodded gravely before handing off the chief's letter.

As the butler walked away, Dutch’s keen ears picked up on the mention of a telegram from the notorious industrialist Leviticus Cornwall. Catching Arthur’s eye, Dutch subtly gestured for him to follow the butler, an unspoken strategy quickly forming between them. With a tender kiss to Kate’s temple, Arthur excused himself, his steps quick and determined as he followed the butler towards the stately manor's office.

Dutch and Molly soon found their own excuse to depart, leaving Kate in the company of Hosea. The fireworks had dwindled to a sporadic glow by the time Hosea turned to Kate with a gentle offer. "Miss Katherine, may I have the pleasure of the last dance?" he asked, his voice carrying the warmth of a protective father figure.

Kate hesitated, her gaze lingering on the path Arthur had taken. The worry was evident in her eyes, the fear that he might get caught weaving through her thoughts. Sensing her unease, Hosea offered a reassuring smile. "Arthur will be fine. I taught the boy everything he knows, remember?" His tone was light, but his assurance was firm.

Convinced by Hosea's confidence, Kate placed her hand in his. "Thank you, Hosea. I'd love to have this dance," she replied, allowing a smile to curve her lips as they stepped onto the now nearly empty dance floor. 

The last song was slow, almost mournful. A ‘goodbye’ or ‘goodnight’ song, Kate could not tell. The lively piano had been replaced by a violin and cello. Their haunting melody cascaded around them. Enveloping the night air with a somber, poignant tune that seemed to whisper of endings and beginnings. 

As the bow glided over the strings of the violin, the notes flowing into one another like streams blending into a river of sound. The cello responded in kind, its notes a comforting echo that spoke of strength and of beauty, found within the depths of melancholy.

The orchestra played as if narrating a story of love that was beautiful because it was fleeting, a dance of shadows under the moonlight that would soon fade at the break of dawn. Each note resonated within the space, filling the garden with an aching beauty that made the moment feel suspended in time, a precious memory to be cherished before it slipped away.

Kate and Hosea moved slowly, their steps measured and deliberate, as if trying to savor each beat of the music, each moment that passed. The song wrapped around them like a soft shawl, and Kate found herself drawn into the emotion of it, her movements becoming more reflective, more infused with the subtle gravity of the tune.

As they moved together, Hosea's steps were sure and steady, guiding Kate through the waltz. The music was a soft fitting backdrop for Hosea's reflective mood. "You know, watching you and Arthur together—it's been something quite special," he began, his eyes thoughtful. "He's changed since you've been with us. For the better."

Kate's cheeks warmed under his kind gray eyes, her heart swelling with a mixture of pride and love. "He's a good man, Hosea. He's shown me a great deal of kindness," she responded, soft with affection. 

Hosea nodded. "The same kindness you’ve shown him. And he's been happier, more at peace. It's not often someone comes along who can reach into the heart of a man like Arthur and turn on the light." His words were not just observations; it was gratitude, a recognition of the positive influence Kate had on his wayward son.

As the dance unfolded, Kate eased into the rhythm, finding solace in Hosea's reassuring presence. His guidance, both in dance and in life, was imbued with a serene wisdom and infinite patience that calmed her restless spirit.

Hosea's voice softened as he continued, a trace of somber tinting his words. "Arthur was saddled in darkness for far too long," he confessed. "He's shouldered too much—loss, guilt... and the fear of failing those he loves. I suppose Dutch and I have our share of blame for that." A wry chuckle escaped him, though it held little humor.

"It pained me to see him keep his heart guarded, steeling himself against the world. I never imagined he’d open up again, let alone to someone new," Hosea admitted, his gaze fond yet filled with the pain of old regrets. Kate remained silent, allowing him the space to reflect aloud. "But then you came along," he said, his eyes meeting hers with warmth.

The music swelled into a poignant crescendo, mirroring the depth of their conversation. As Hosea spoke of Arthur's past pains—his family, his lost loves, his unspoken turmoils within himself—the words offered explanation for his insecurities. Kate felt a profound connection to the man she loved. Discovering more of him with each word Hosea shared from the perspective of a loving father, who will always see the man before him as his young boy. A mere child, in need of his love and guidance.  

"He’s endured so much, Kate," Hosea continued, his voice thick with emotion. "But so have you—you've faced losses just as deep." His acknowledgment of her own grief resonated deeply, tightening her throat with emotion. “It's a cruel kind of kinship, isn’t it? But perhaps it's why your bond is so strong.” 

“Knowing someone's pain, really sharing it, now that's love." Hosea mused softly, his voice rich with reflection.

The violin's lament seemed to weave around them, a sad serenade to their shared understanding. Kate squeezed Hosea's hand, her gesture one of both comfort and thanks.

“To truly love someone is to understand their suffering," Hosea said softly. "You’ve shown him patience and kindness that astounds me. Arthur gives so much of himself, sometimes more than he should. He's fiercely loyal, maybe to a fault. I've often worried he doesn't think enough of his own needs. But I've seen a change in him. He’s found a reason to think for himself again because of you. To think of a future beyond this. That’s a gift, Kate, a precious one.”

Kate's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she listened to Hosea's heartfelt words, each syllable heavy with emotion and the weight of shared history. As the last notes of their dance dwindled, Hosea paused and reached into his coat pocket, his movements deliberate and meaningful. “Speaking of gifts, I have something for you. But it comes with a promise,” he said, his voice resonant with a solemnity that stilled the air between them.

“Yes?” Her response was a breathless whisper, a soft echo in the quiet of the night.

Hosea took her hand, holding her gaze with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the shadows of the garden. Into her palm, he pressed something cool and firm—a tangible symbol of his next words. “Keep him honest, and keep him kind. Promise me, Kate, that you both will find a way out of this life and never look back,” he implored with a firmness that belied his gentle demeanor.

Opening her hand, Kate gasped softly at the sight of two gold wedding rings, linked by a delicate chain, glimmering under the moonlight. Their soft halo seemed to whisper a prayer into the very air around them, turning the moment into something sacred. “Hosea, I can’t accept this,” she protested, recognizing the deep personal significance of the rings. And where they had come from. 

“Take them,” Hosea insisted, gently closing her fingers around the rings. “And take Arthur with you, away from all this.”

“But why me? Arthur would be honored to receive these from you. It would mean the world to him,” she countered, her voice thick with emotion.

Hosea’s eyes held a twinge of sadness as he faced a truth only he fully appreciated. “I may not be around when the time comes for you to use these,” he said quietly, acknowledging his own mortality and the precarious life they led. “Give one to him when the moment is right. I trust you’ll know when.”

Kate felt the weight of the promise now resting in her hand, symbolizing more than just their union but a future filled with hope and love. As she slipped the rings into her clutch for safekeeping, she pulled Hosea into a tight embrace. “I promise, Hosea. I...I don’t know how to thank you enough. I’m just so grateful for everything.” Her voice broke with the magnitude of her promise, her arms tightening around him as if to anchor herself to the pledge she had just made.

As they stepped back from their embrace, Hosea's eyes twinkled with warmth and fondness that made Kate's heart swell. He smiled, his expression one of deep satisfaction and peace. "I’m the one trying to say thank you, Kate," he said imbued with gratitude. "My son is happy because of you."

"And I just gained a daughter." 

AN: Thank you guys for being patient with me. I don't even remember how long its been since I updated this fic. I've had this chapter written for awhile, but I just couldn't get the ending right. (aka the smut part). I promise it will happen in the next chapter, but I don't know when that will be. Truthfully, my BPD has been absolutely kicking my ass as of late. But writing is one of the few things that bring me joy, and I'm trying to get a little done with each day.

I love you guys <3