#me never rereading these posts before posting them. god knows what i said on there

[leojurand]

house of niccolò reread rambling thoughts: niccolò rising edition (final part)

writing this like a week after finishing the book because i'm lazy but hey! at least i'm doing it!

i think niccolò rising is a great introduction to the series. it's not as emotionally gripping as the game of kings, but it is way more polished and easier to understand and get into, i think.

that being said, it's still one of my least favourite dunnett books. which says a lot about the quality of her novels because i still really, really love it.

so yeah, a couple of reread thoughts before i (eventually) move on to book 2 :)

1.

“Although,” said Tobie, “we’ll never know, will we, what brought it on? Relief or disappointment?”

i think it's fascinating that after 8 books, and considering nicholas is one of my favourite characters of all time (possibly even my number 1!), i still can't 100% tell if something is a part of his plan, or fate making those things happen.

did he always plan to marry the widow? on paper it seemed like a last resort because he didn't want her to sell the company, and it gave him status so it was, mostly, a win/win situation (if we ignore the fact that she brought him up and he was ten, which i definitely can't ignore, but i do wonder if it bothers nicholas especially considering his childhood).

did he want felix to die, even if he wasn't happy about it? he was the one to encourage felix to go to battle, though trying to convince him not to go would've had the opposite effect. and right before felix gets shot, julius was thinking that people on horse make an easier target (something nicholas would know because the dauphin's men threw him off his own horse before that). so maybe if nicholas hadn't tried to save felix, felix would be alive. but who knows!!

and i love this. i think some readers are frustrated by how little they understand of nicholas as they read the series, but to me that just makes him more complex and more real. it's a testament to dunnett's prowess as an author that she can create a protagonist like this, and not only does she make it work, she keeps adding layer upon layer as the series continues. and nicholas is already super complex in this first book! by the end of his series there's so much going on with him, and somehow it's not chaotic at all. or, well, it is a chaotic, but a controlled and deliberate sort of chaos.

i could talk about nicholas's characterization forever. and i will in this ramblings 😁

let me finish this part with THEE quote of this book for me:

Nicholas said, “I thought of a way to do it. That was all.”

“And did it,” said Adorne. “Why?”

“To see what would happen,” said Nicholas flatly.

2.

For himself, Julius felt neither anger nor envy but a growing pleasure, and a growing curiosity. For whatever reason, it had begun. And now, what would come of it?

i know for a fact there are fans who don't like the julius reveal in gemini and don't think it makes sense on reread. i can't say i loved it when i read it, and i don't know yet how much sense it does or doesn't make, but at least i can say that in book 1 it was super fun to look at julius under a microscope.

i think i've mentioned this in my previous post, but julius was one of my favourite characters in the series because i think he's funny, and i love his reactions to the things nicholas does. because most of the time he's out there winning the idgaf war while everyone else is horrified. like tobie, he fulfilled his role in the story perfectly, but he was never that deep; and i was never going to write essays about him. he was just a silly guy.

but julius going from an amoral, selfish, entertainingly idiotic jerk, to a perfect example of lazy and opportunistic evil (while still being all those other things lol)? i do criticize dunnett's choice of leaving the reveal for the last half of the last book, but i do think that's really fun. and whether or not there are enough clues, or if they don't add up or only add up when dunnett wants them to, i will judge for myself. either way, taking a character that i enjoyed a fair amount on first reread because he was kinda dumb, and making me look at him really closely on reread... well i think that slays and i commend dorothy for it

[serawritesthings]

WHERE THE DEERS REST, first part

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Arthur!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s happening?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The law, I already told ya,” 

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

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

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

“And the man in my be-”

“Jesse.”

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmh.” 

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

“Come here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you only knew.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he said.

“You killed their leader, you mean.”

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

“And the law?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded.

“How did you know I was in Blackwater?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[stationintern]

Hello my friends! I am late, but we won't mention it. April was a very busy month, but I managed to read way more than I've been able to the last few months, so I have a good selection for you. There's a couple rereads, a couple fics I put off reading for far too long, and a few that I found at the perfect time and devoured on sight.

Let's go!

Yours Truly by @skeptiquewrites for H/D Bodice Ripper Fest 2022 M, 14.8k

Every single one of Harry’s exes has gone on to marry the next person they date, and with the upcoming nuptials of numbers six and seven to each other, Harry’s feeling exhausted by it all. It doesn’t really matter if he lets people assume Draco Malfoy is his boyfriend for a moment of peace. In any case, Draco’s been away for five years and there’s no way he would find out, right?

I read this fic about a year ago, and I am so glad that I chose to revisit it this month. It is just so, so good. Endlessly hilarious, with a solid plot that is resolved neatly in 14 thousand words. I really love Harry here. His letters are so adorable. This aspect comes in later in this list as well, but I love when Draco is kind of a mysterious figure for a good chunk of a fic. The wondering, the anticipation. What kind of Draco will we meet this time? It's all very delicious.

Seeker's High by @corvuscrowned M, 40k

Harry Potter doesn’t expect to take up running years after the war ends; it just sort of happens. He also doesn’t expect that — as he fights tooth and nail to climb out of a post-war depression he didn’t realize he’d fallen into — he’ll end up running right into the arms of Draco Malfoy. A half angsty drama, half romcom of Harry working on himself, learning how to accept help from his friends, and falling in love with his childhood nemesis.

Another reread. This is one of those fics I've found myself periodically thinking about, mostly because it just feels so right. Harry's characterization in this is fascinating, and I really enjoyed watching his slow evolution as his relationships grow, both with running and with Draco. A unique premise that I really enjoyed and know I will revisit again.

Turn by Saras_Girl E, 306k

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Okay, so, I'm not even gonna say anything. I put off reading this for way too long, and not knowing a single thing about this fic was probably the reason I devoured every chapter the way I did. Just know I was clawing at the walls.

Rookie Moves by peu_a_peu E, 75.3k

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

Oh my fucking god. I have never in my life laughed out loud this many times while reading a fic. Truly, two dumb, horny assholes just trying to crack the case. But, behind all the side-splitting humor (and searingly hot sex) is a deep understanding of both characters that shines through and makes every moment hit so much harder. As in, they would fucking say that. Every single follow-up in the series is a banger, too. Thanks to @tackytigerfic for pointing those out to me!

Make This Leap by @oflights M, 118k

Harry owns a struggling restaurant which is running out of money, and his Head Chef has just handed in notice. He's at a bit of a loss as to what to do until Narcissa Malfoy presents an obvious solution: bring in Draco Malfoy as Chef and part owner. Harry does.

I relived four years of my life reading this fic. Both the good and the bad. Truly, a wonderful portrayal of the epic highs and lows of restaurant work. From personal drama to work-related catastrophes, this fic has it all. Like I said before, I love having to wait a bit to see Draco. I love hearing about him through the grapevine. I had so much fun reading this, and it was a treat to see these characters in an environment that I hadn't really envisioned them in before. Lovable (and punchable) side characters, a very stressed out Harry Potter, and a solid amount of health code infractions. Amazing.

See you at the end of May! xx, Moon.

[crazystargirl]

it's over y/n! i have the high ground! ♥︎

pairing - jack champion x fem!reader

(NOT PROOFREAD)

a/n - this is literally as old as my writing acc- (p.s. this may be one of the last jack/ethan fics i ever post since ong coriolanus snow HAS A CHOKEHOLD ON ME)

"Y/n, my allegiance is to the Republic, to Democracy!"

How did you get here again?

Oh yeah, Jack had dragged you to Disney World a few days early and it was all fun until he dragged you into the gift shop and spent a whole hour there.

You were utterly convinced that your boyfriend was secretly a 10 year old. Like who goes to Disney World and buys 300 dollars worth of lightsabers? Only Jack but you had to admit some of them were actually really cool.

And the minute you guys got home, Jack insisted on recreating a scene from one of the movies. You initially said no since you were exhausted from the day's events but Jack gave you his puppy eyes, knowing you couldn't say no to those. You gave in and he decided he wanted to recreate Anakin and Obi-Wan's iconic fight from Revenge of the Sith.

As much as you wanted to be Obi-Wan for obvious reasons, Jack once again convinced you to let him be Obi-Wan. God you loved him but sometimes it wasn't fair how easily he was able to convince you.

So here you were now and after rereading the script for that scene, you finally got down the lines. 

"If you're not with me, you're my enemy" you manage to say with a straight face despite wanting to laugh because of Jack's overly dramatic shocked face. 

"Only a sith lord deals in absolutes, i will do what i must"

"You will try…"

You both ignite your lightsabers and Jack immediately advances over to you, clashing his lightsaber with yours. Since he is taller and stronger you stumbled back a few times, but were able to get back on your feet and return his hits with the same energy.

After fighting for what felt like hours, you guys had made a huge mess of all the pillows in the hotel room but you could care less. 

Eventually you're standing on the couch and Jack is standing on the bed, which in all honesty makes him more intimidating than before since he's so tall. His head is also about to hit the ceiling but you're not about to mention that to him. 

"I have failed you y/n. I was never able to teach you how to think"

You suppress a smile as you say your next line.

"I should've known the jedi were plotting to take over…"

"From the sith point of view, y/n my love, chancellor palpatine is evil"

You giggle so much at his words that you almost fall off the couch

"From the jedi point of view! Jack, from my point of view the jedi are evil"

"Well than you are lost!"

"This is the end for you my love! I wish it were otherwise"

You jump on the bed and start fighting with Jack until you end up on the couch again.

"It’s over y/n, I have the high ground!"

"You underestimate my power jack!"

"Don't try it baby"

You start to jump on the bed and Jack hits you in the knee with the light saber. You let out a scream and Jack freezes, actually thinking he hurt you. You use this to your advantage and get on the bed, forgetting about what actually happened in the movie. 

After fighting for 5 minutes, Jack gets you on the ground and pins you there with his body weight

"Jack get off of me! You're so fucking heavy!" 

"Noooo you have to surrender first!"

He starts peppering kisses on your face as you struggle from under him.

"Ok Jack, i actually surrender, i'm gonna actually suffocate from under you."

He got up and wrapped himself around you. You wrapped yourself around him too and you guys just stayed like that for a while. Eventually you started squirming to let him know you guys needed to get up. He got the hint and untangled himself from you.

"Well that was fun but we're leaving tomorrow and we need to clean up the mess we made…"

Jack gets up and looks around. He stands there for a bit and thinks.

"Why don't we just go get some food first?"

"Jack…we have to clean up and then we can get food."

He turns back to you and throws you over his shoulder. He starts walking to the door of the hotel room.

"I think we can go get food and then we can clean up…or play again" He says with a smirk.

You sigh and stop trying to escape from his grasp. Your boyfriend is truly something else

@xyzstar, @gwenlore, @dizscreams, @urmomcomsiimiamour, @nonniesworld, @chemtr4ilz, @phsychobanana

© crazystargirl 2023 || do NOT copy or repost my work without my permission

[gotham-daydreams]

i’ve been rereading your not [] series and WOWOWOWOWOW i love it sm. the writing? mwah chefs kiss 🤌🏽 the soul crushing loneliness is felt throughout the whole series and as the reader i can really feel every single emotion y/n goes through while reading it’s amazing. i’m excited for part three to see how it all goes down most importantly y/n’s reaction. i can only imagine the intense anger they’ll probably have after getting taken back to the manor. they’ll be angry cuz of the kidnapping thing but also it took them going missing for their family to acknowledge them. that’s a whole different type of anger and frustration. trying practically all your life to get your family’s attention, to them notice your there, all for it to be vain but the moment you’re gone and don’t exist, just like they’ve been treating your whole life, suddenly they notice. they felt guilty after realizing the damage they’ve done to you and just NOW they want to fix even though you’ll probably be carrying the trauma of the neglect for life so what’s the point of trying to fix it now? especially at this big age? the anger y/n must feel at this is insane. there’s also the fact that if y/n *does* want to give in to the sudden affection there’s that fear they’ll just leave again. they get kidnapped, imprison in what was their once home with high security, are being bomb with a bunch of love from their family they’ve never received before and then suddenly it’s gone, all their left with is just their freedom being taken away. y/n most likely feels intense anger, maybe even hatred, at their current actions but also fear of their future ones. it’s the perfect soup of angst and mannnn i’m eating it up.

sorry for the ramble i just wanted to let out my thoughts on your series but to sum it up i LOOVE your series and i’m patiently waiting for your next chapter to continue to see what of y/n’s fate becomes 🫶🏽

I'm so glad you're enjoying the series!!! And oh my god I love your interpretation as well!!!

As I've kind of stated/hinted at through various posts (I promise a masterlist will be made soon because there is a lot of things now that are piling up-), I don't really tend for Y/n in the "Not [ ]" series to get kidnapped just yet (not in part 3 anyways), but I think we all know that it's bound to happen considering things. And it will!

Honestly, I think a lot of people are kind of overestimating how 'loud' Y/n's anger, frustration, hurt, and pain will be in part 3, and it does make me a little worried about the reception of it. However, depending on one's interpretation, what the reader does instead can make the angst that much heavier. Because, well. They don't get that 'relief' that can sometimes come with shouting out your problems to the world- especially to the person that caused you such pain for such a long time, as it is also kind of acts like an unmistakable "hey!!! i'm fucked up and it's all your fault!!! i'll never forgive you for this and want nothing to do with you!!!" message. Though it is a mix within itself.

However, you are right, honestly!

Y/n in the start of the "Not [ ]" series is upset enough. Not only towards the family, but all the time they feel like they've wasted to try and just have a chance to just... get something they never had. All they wanted was a relationship, some kind of connection with anyone in the family besides Alfred, anything. Which is also mentioned in "Not Tonight" as there is that repeating theme/mention of Y/n doing too much but receiving so little, if not, nothing at all, for their efforts.

So just knowing that — as you've said — it basically took them essentially 'giving up' and being gone for months, for the Batfam to notice them? To try and even attempt to give not even half of what the reader had tried to before? Yet was rejected at every twist and turn? Up until this point?

Yeah, no. Y/n is plenty pissed, and incredibly hurt. Among other things as it's just... too little too late. Way too late.

Yet why I also say that I feel as if others overestimate how Y/n is going to express their anger, and how loud about it they're going to be, is because... well- this is a small kind of character spoiler, I guess, but they feel so detached from the family that the very thought of the Batfam even looking for them, is unfathomable. They don't realize at first how the Batfam is looking for them (despite the obvious signs), because it's never happened before, not even on accident.

They never got saved when they got into fights. They never got help when shit got tough. They were never heard, seen or even acknowledged in the house besides Alfred unless they initiated the 'conversation'. Why would they think that anyone who's acted to them like that, and wouldn't even let them exist in their space for a few minutes, go out searching for them? To put in even the smallest effort towards finding them — and because they were worried for Y/n's health no less — and not because they were the absolute last resort? They wouldn't. They don't.

It's a part of why part 3 goes the way it does, but again-its a part. The other pieces make it bad as well. Though that's all the spoilers I'm willing to give on that, which will go more indepth in part 3 itself (hopefully).

Basically, Y/n is a mess. Everyone is in a way, and that's what makes everything go to hell.

Y/n is angry, yes, but it starts quiet before it gets loud. Along with everything else.

So if and when Y/n does get kidnapped... hm.

I did say in a previous ask that depending on how it goes that Y/n would fight back if they're able to and such depending on how the kidnapping itself goes. And though I won't say much on Y/n's reaction in case it does go into future parts if more than 4 are made, I will say that you're right to assume that Y/n is incredibly pissed. You're also right on the whole idea with them being worried about the family basically neglecting them all over again, when everything is said and done. And that's great!

It's a mix. A whole push-and-pull deal where, yeah, even if more shit hits the fan- their own trauma will, in a way, protect them as well as make their life more miserable than it already is. Y/n'll probably never be able to naturally get close with the Batfam, not without 'help' anyway.

But these are yanderes. Their definition of 'help' is a little... twisted.

Though, yeah! And don't worry about rambling- I clearly do the same seeing as I think this whole post is almost just as long as what you wrote. So it's fine! If anything I really did enjoy reading it! Seeing all these different interpretations, and thoughts about the series and other things is incredibly interesting and I love it a lot! Especially with Part 3 on the rise.

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

THE COMPLETE COPOLLO MASTERLIST

Desperately looking for fics to satisfy your obsession with the RRverse's most dumpsterfire of a ship? Look no further than this post :3

I have Copollo fics ranging from Ao3, FF.net, and here on tumblr! Each fic will be linked, and if the author has a tumblr (that I know of - if you know their tumblr let me know!), they will be tagged.

Also, before we begin, I would just like to say that when I say every Copollo fic I can find is on this list, I mean all of them. This includes fics that are canon compliant, crack, aus, and those with darker tones. If that isn't your thing, all you have to do is avoid clicking on said fics. They're all organzied very nicely if I do say so myself. Nothing more to it :3

Look below the cut for the list! If you have any fics that slipped between my grabby fingers let me know so I can add them! :3

Roman Empire Era

A Cruel Occasion by @seductivegrapethrowing

Grapes and Blood (written in German) by Buttons_Buttons (Rated G)

Fairness by mothmansaysgayrights (Rated G)

The Death of Emperor Commodus by LusiaLovegood (Rated G)

Long Life to You by kitatyourservice (Rated G)

Death's Embrace by me (Rated G)

When the Day Met the Night by me (Rated G)

When Everything's Wrong, You Make It Right by me (Rated G)

Call Me Commodus / Today I'll Be Your Ruler / I'll Also Die Here by kitatyourservice (Rated G)

Of Broken Promises by @money-and-dandellions (Rated G)

Rewrite The Stars by me (Rated G)

drunk off that love, it my head up (there's no forgetting you) by me (Rated G)

Keeping Warm by @soleil-in-retrograde (I reread the Copollo part of this over and over :3) (Rated T)

vow by @daisy-mooon (Rated T)

my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear by localcryptidlivinlife (Rated T)

Always Told You Not To Love Me (Now Look What You Made Me Do) by anxious_tofu (Rated E)

ghost of mine (you're taking up all my time) by anxious_tofu (Mainly perpollo, but I read it for the Copollo :3) (Rated E)

i’ll break your little heart in two by Anonymous (Rated E)

Trials of Apollo

Canon Compliant

As Far As I'm Concerned, You're Just Another Picture To Burn by @solahflare

It Isn't Love, It Isn't Hate, It's Just Indifference by @solahflare

A Pity by kitatyourservice (Rated G)

forget - me - not by localcryptidlivinlife (Rated G)

Song of Apollo by @tsarinatorment (For the Copollo crumb within :3) (Rated T)

Fractures of the Mind (Heart) by me :3 (Rated T)

The Devil Within (His Mind) also by me (Rated T)

Chapter 5 of some ToApril drabbles because my head is as empty as Meg's by orphan_account (Rated T)

Divinity, Fire, and Former Lovers by @seapinecone (Rated T)

Aus

All's Fair in Love & War by me (Rated G)

and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started by patsusan (Rated G) (nom nomming)

It's Be Okay by Apollo4612 (Rated Fiction T)

i loved you dangerously (more than the air that i breathe) by @okathleen (Rated T)

i will only break your pretty things by localcryptidlivinlife (Rated T)

@daisy-mooon

Taunt (Rated G)

Outnumbered (Rated T)

Blindfold (Rated T)

Spark (Rated M)

Triumvirate Wins Au by bacchis

to eros, in secrecy

den of the lion (Rated E)

there are a couple more fics in this series if you're interested but only the two above have brief Copollo moments (i will admit this au lives rent-free in my brain)

AUs

Winds of Ruin by me (Rated G)

Coward by @nyaningthroughlife (Rated T)

Moonrise by me (Rated T)

and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started by patsusan

And historians will call them close friends, besties, murderers of each others’ souls by patsusan

God of Truth (He Never Knew) by patsusan

The Moon Brooch by @trials-of-apollo-my-beloved

Hazbin Hotel nonlinear AUs

Stayed Gone by me (Rated T)

Hell Hath No Fury by me (Rated T)

Crack (when i say every fic, I mean every fic)

It's a Fun Time in Commodupolis! by Anonymous (Rated M)

Dark

Nothing Like The Sun by Cola_bubblegum

Day & Night by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash) (Rated E)

TAG LIST: @moodyseal @plastikstarz @hazardous-lightdas12 @worlds-oldest-teenager here it is! :3

[thelittleliars]

Love Forever? | Pt. 4

Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader Yelena Belova x fem!Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: a bit of fluff, sadness, SPOILER: (death)

Words: 2.7K

AN: I'm pretty sure that Part 5 will be the finale. I don't have plans to continue this any longer. Enjoy this messy chapter :) Next time I post will be for P.S. I Want You .

Part 1 , Part 5

"I can feel you starring detka." Natasha blushed, she wasn't sure if it was because she got caught or because you called her detka. "Sorry." She apologized shyly. You turned your head to her, as you opened your eyes you saw her green ones looking at you softly. "Why are you sorry?" 

Her eyes gazed around your face for a few seconds before completely adverting them from you. "We're not anything anymore. I don't have the right to stare at you." It hurt her deeply for loosing you. One some days she still feels like love is only for children but her sister did a great job to show that it wasn't true, Yelena showed her daily how much more powerful we all are with love. You smiled sadly at the shorter woman. "Considering I'm dying you have every right to stare at me." 

"And I have every right to throw up if you guys continue this shit in front of me." Yelena groaned but didn't open her eyes. "Good morning to you too. The offer of starring at me also stands for you." The blonde sister snorted. "Yeah no thanks. I'd rather give up eating mac & cheese instead of starring at your ugly face." Your heart bloomed with warmth at her teasing. You were going to miss this. Natasha sensed the sudden sadness in you but honestly didn't know how to cheer you up. It wasn't easy for any of them. "What is still left on your bucket list?" You thought about it for a while and came up with nothing. Then you remembered having s list on your phone. "Let me unlock my phone. I have a list on there." You sat up, then pushed your body over Natasha's and stretched your arm to the edge of the air mattress where you phone laid. The red head couldn't breathe at the closeness of your body. Even though you were only hovering over her, it drove her insane. She could only function properly after you plopped back into your previous position.

"Alright let's see." You muttered to yourself. Yelena who was suddenly wide awake looked at your phone curiously. "Number 1: find your soulmate." Her fingers touched your phone screen and deleted that point. "Won't happened now that you stopped yourself and leave yourself to death." Natasha cleared her throat, she doesn't understand how her sister can be so chill about your deaths. Yelena only seemed so chill, she had to joke or constantly bring up your death to cope with it. "Number 2: Reread a book." You said out loud which instantly followed by a boring from Yelena. "Number 3: Have se-" You stopped yourself from saying more. It said have sex on the quinjet. Both of the women next to you had read it though. Natasha's face was a red as her hair, she knew you had that fantasy but you guys never could made that one true since somewhat always came in between. The thought of having sex with you brought up a longing feeling inside of her chest. You guys always made love in the softest way possible which felt like you were high on clouds. "Disgusting.. and I actually thought you two did that already but anyways. Number 4: learn how to throw a knife in a cool way." Yelena tried to move on from the awkward situation that quickly turned into excitement for her. "Oh my god Y/N! I can totally teach you cool moves. I'm a master with knives." 

You nodded and smiled at Yelena. The excitement on her face was erasing away all the sad thoughts in your mind. "Number 5: go on a blind date. Nope, not gonna happen. I'm done with that shit. Number 6: ride a Zip Line, Number 7: learn how to do a backflip, Number 8: make a candle, Number 9: Take Natasha on a ferris wheel ride and kiss her on the top." The list was totally not updated, thanks to that you had to deal with the awkwardness and embarrassment. "We still could do that. I-I mean just without the kiss." Natasha suggested while having rosy cheeks. "Sorry to butt in again." Yelena started. "But y'all should do number 9 exactly like it's written out. Y/N, you know I don't like romance shit but you always told me you absolutely adore those kinda things. Fuck the past and the divorce.. You're dying so why not just do them? At least you'd get one last kiss out of it." You didn't know what to say so you just told her you'd think about it and continued with the list. Number 10 was to hug a giant sequoia tree, Number 11 visit Finland and Number 12 was to see the Eiffel Tower. Afterwards you all brainstormed for things to put on your bucket list, you even asked Alexei and Melina. He suggested to get a tattoo. You loved the idea and immediately knew what you wanted to get. A red hour glass in a circle with a black widow spider hanging down from it. You got that tattoo on your upper left arm and a tiny tattoo of Natasha's & Yelena's initials on your right wrist. Why you did Nat's initials is a mystery to you, it was such an impulsive decision that by the time you realized what you agreed to, it was already on your skin. 

One of the sisters suggested to go out and eat dinner. The restaurant choice was easy, all three of you wanted some italian pasta. While you waited for the food, plans were made for the upcoming days. The next day, the first real adventure of your bucket list was going strong. You flew to the mountainous desert of Ras Al Khaimah which is located in the United Arab Emirates. Why there? Because there was the longest zip line in the world. Yelena accompanied you on this trip, Natasha sadly had to go back to New York to figure some things out with Tony Stark. 

Three minutes. It took three minutes to race or fly down the zip line and it was full of adrenaline. The happiness and excitement you felt was like nothing else you'd ever experienced before. You even shred some tears towards the end since you won't get to experience a lot things before your death would knock on your door for your final breath. Your sister in law also had the time of her life. She wanted to go another round as badly as you wanted too. Hours flew by fast and before you knew it, both of you were back in Yelena's apartment in New York. The next morning Yelena took you to one of her favorite spots on a secret Avengers property to show off some knife skills. She taught you basic tricks before you felt more confident for harder ones. During breaks you two ran around, hugged and climbed trees before Natasha joined in the last afternoon. Her heart melted at the sight of you and her sister having fun and being so close. She adored how patient Yelena was with you when she taught you the most difficult and coolest trick she could do. You didn't notice the red head until she complimented your new skills you had just learned. You were embarrassed though since all you did in the last 10 minutes was failing what Yelena tried to teach you. "No really, you're doing amazing Y/N. I'm proud of you, both of you." The sudden need to touch her came out of nowhere but you tried hard to distance yourself emotionally from her. You still had to get in touch with yourself and the past decades you'd lived through. Your heart and mind were a chaotic mess, in some universes there was a version of Natasha and you honestly fell in love with those versions but it never worked out. Your heart was full of love for them but the heartbreak of it all was too painful to let yet another woman come close. 

"Sit." Was all Natasha said when you stumbled into Yelena's kitchen. Another new day, another new adventure. She turned back to the stove, from the smell you guessed she was cooking pancakes. You never thought of getting another pancake from her, those heavenly made pancakes were one of the highlights in your marriage. Natasha couldn't cook well but the one thing she could cook beyond fucking great were pancakes. The moment she served you pancakes with a glass of water, you swore there was someone ghost who punched you in your gut. You couldn't breath anymore, all air gone. Her eyes so soft as if she was a puppy, her skin glowing like a goddess and her wearing what seemed like one of your old t-shirts was more than you could take. "T-t-thank you." You started at her for a while longer before finally digging into your stack of pancakes. Natasha didn't say a word of your starring since she loved the attention, she tried to soak in every moment she still has left with you. "You're welcome. By the way Yelena had to go. Kate had a problem with something so you have to deal with me today, if that's alright?" You nodded. Though the divorce still left a bitter taste in your mouth, you enjoyed spending time with your ex-wife. This was nothing compared to the messy divorce in another universe you had. 

After light conversation that you had over breakfast, Natasha suggested visiting the Ferris Wheel in Chicago. You agreed and immediately went off flying in a quinjet that Natasha borrowed from the Avengers. On that two hour flight the weird sensation you felt when you came back on earth 4-1-1 made itself present again, but this time it got stronger. You feared that your time was running out faster than you had hoped. "Are you alright?" Natasha asked you with concern laced in her voice. "Yeah, just anxious I guess." It was only the half truth though, you didn't want her to know that your time was getting shorter faster. "Anxious about what could go wrong in that Ferris Wheel?" You nodded your head. "That and everything else that could go wrong." 

"Do I need to call Yelena for her to help you through it?" Natasha never knew your anxiety were this bad. While you were together it was only the start until it developed into this huge lump that followed you everywhere. "No I'm alright for now." And everything was alright until the second you both sat in the cabin of the Ferris Wheel. The pit of your stomach suddenly felt hollow. You felt how your planet sucked the energy out of you slowly. Tuuli said you had at least two weeks left but with how things were looking now, you weren't so sure of it anymore. Your surrounding became more clear again once the cabin stopped, it was almost completely on top. "Y/N, are you sure you're alright?" Her green eyes shined so bright that you desired to be drowned by them. You were so mesmerized by her that you didn't notice how close you leaned in. She closed the distance between you two with a short but very soft and passionate kiss. It was amazing, one of the best kisses you'd ever had. Natasha knew how fatal that kiss was, she couldn't let you leave alone. She was addicted to you and it was going to break her once you died. Awkwardness hung in the air after the kiss but neither of you seemed to mind it much. 

The ride seemed short. Maybe because it was short. You were battling between going for another ride or running away as fast as possible. A decision couldn't be made in time since your own time came in between it all. As you wanted to stand up you collapsed to the ground, constantly falling in and out of consciousness. When you did wake up, it was as if the gravity crushed your body. Everything hurt to the bone. Opening your eyes were the hardest part but worth it since you saw all the Avengers plus the Black Widow family. A weak smile was on your lips. "Hi."

"I thought we had more time left." Yelena said, tears streaming down her face. "Me too. But I'm grateful to have known you all. Thanks for everything." It got harder to talk, every word you said physically hurt you. Everybody saw in how much pain you were in so they all started to say their goodbye's to you. When they all left, only Yelena and Natasha were left, you knew the both of them would not leave your side until your final breath. You sighed loudly. "I didn't even get to see Finland." 

"I can't believe that you traveled and lived in multiple universes but not once have you been to Finland." It was weird but you thought there was a reason for you never being there. "I was in Norway a couple of times. I swear you and Natasha have to visit that country."

Bringing up Norway brought back memories for Natasha. She never got to tell you about her time in Norway hiding from the authorities but it made her smile. You wanted them to visit Norway kinda felt like a full circle for her. "We should! Sestra, do you still have that trailer there?" Yelena turned her attention to you. "Not sure if you know but after the civil war she decided to hide in Norway. Fucking brilliant." It was now official, every Natasha you knew had been to Norway for one or another reason. Somehow you longed for a trip with this Natasha and Yelena. Seeing dears and norther lights, eating fish and driving through the fjords. But it could not happen anymore, not even in your afterlife if that even existed. So instead of listening to them talking about planing a trip there, you imagined a life with your soulmate in Finland. You wished for a woman to be your one and only. Sexuality was not much of a thing on your home planet, you still considered yourself a lesbian. In your early days of searching, you tried dating men, it never worked out and though you never had a previous memory until recently, you only exclusively dated and married women. Now with the search being over and having every single memory, the pressure of needing to be open for anyone to be your soulmate was gone. And that pressure kept you in a box, you were free to be yourself and with that you knew for sure that you weren't attracted to men. 

You only notice that your breath became uneven when breathing suddenly became harder and exhausting. Your time was coming to an end. "E-each.. s-side. Cud-cuddling." How talking got so hard so fast was was crazy to you. Anxiety and fear was roaring through you, many possible lives flashed in front of you. Things you could have done, things you regretted, thing that made you happy.. all of them played in your head while the sister duo made themselves comfortable next to you. Once they hugged you close, there was a peaceful atmosphere around you, it brought you a calmness that you needed before passing away.

"I'm sorry." Natasha suddenly whispered in your ear softly. "I wasn't careful enough on that mission and look where it got us. I'm sorry  for how I acted before and after my injury. I should have demanded a divorce and I shouldn't have continued flirting to get things. That was literally cheating and I am so sorry for it. I didn't treat you like you deserved to be treated." Tears slowly started to stream down her face. "I'd do so many things differently if I had another chance. Just know that I don't regret the time I had with you." You tried to squeeze her hand with the little energy you had left. It took you over a minute to get out a I Love You. The words left your lips so quiet that nobody could hear it if they were pressed closely to your body. Those three little words were meant for them both. You loved them both, just in different ways. 

A comfortable warmth spread through your body seconds before you exhaled a final breath. The last thing you felt was Natasha kissing your temple. 

Tags: @iamthescarlettwitch , @dark-hunter16 , @marvel-fan-2021 , @myfturn , @natsxwife , @wandanats-goodgirl , @supaheroine , @00alycia , @xxsekhmet , @franfrolix , @lonewalker17 , @newawakening9 , @marvelwomen-simp , @automaticwizardnerd , @wifeofnatasharomanoff , @tigerlillyruiz , @lifeontop , @blackwidow-3

[a-little-unsteddie]

Give Love a Chance || Original Post

the other day @ladykailitha posted something that just sparked so much joy, i decided i absolutely had to expand upon and write a full story abt it. idk how fast i’ll work on this, as my main focus currently is on the big bang fic, but i wanted to post a prologue/teaser of sorts. (side note: i am definitely stealing piratefishmama’s layout, shhh)

enjoy! -rowan

Steve wasn’t sure how he had gotten here, to be honest. Well, he did, but he didn’t know it would actually get this far. He would like to place the blame on either Dustin or Robin—or both, both was good, too. The point was, Steve was completely faultless in it.

When Steve got home earlier, after a long day at work, he had checked the mail, as he usually does. He saw a letter addressed to him, which, to be fair, makes sense, seeing as it was in his mailbox, but it was the sender that had surprised him. It had been several weeks—at least—since Robin and Dustin had cornered him and forced him to fill out an application to be a bachelor on Give Love a Chance, and he had honestly forgotten about it. He had only agreed to submit an application to the show because he had been so sure that he wasn’t going to make the cut. Who would want to watch a dumb reality love gameshow with Steve as the bachelor? A middle school guidance counselor with a five year old daughter?

Steve had still held that opinion even as he opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. The confidence in his thoughts only waned when he began to read the letter, his eyes had slowly widened and his mouth fell open. He reached for his cell, instinctually calling Robin as he reread the contents of the letter.

“Y’ello?”

“Did you seriously just answer with—nevermind. Robin tell me why the fuck I’m staring at a letter telling me I was chosen to be on Give Love a Chance?” He asked, pacing the length of his kitchen.

“Oh my God!” Robin shouted from his phone, causing Steve to wince and adjust his hearing aid. “Why do you sound upset? This is what you agreed to! This is why we sent in the application in the first place! This is great news!”

��Robin, you and I both know that I only agreed because I thought nothing would come of it.” Steve said flatly, checking the time on the stove. He still had twenty or so minutes before he needed to leave to grab Matilda from preschool. “I’m going to tell them I changed my mind.”

“Absolutely not! I’ll never forgive you. Dustin will never forgive you.”

“What? Am I supposed to just do the show?”

“Yes!” Robin said enthusiastically. Steve let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What am I going to do with Mattie, huh? I can’t just take her with me, she has school!”

“Dustin already told you that he and Will would take her in!”

“‘Take her in’? Rob, she isn’t a stray cat. She’s a whole tiny human.” Steve said with heavy exasperation. “He may have said that, but that doesn’t mean he will say the same thing now! There’s a difference between us joking about me getting accepted and the reality of taking care of a four year old!” Steve walked to the kitchen sink, filled himself a glass of tap water and set it to the side.

“So, we ask them again! I’m sure they’ll agree! You know they’ve been wanting to adopt! You can think of this as practice for them!”

Steve stared blankly out of the window above his kitchen sink, then groaned loudly and tipped his head back to glare at the ceiling.

“I don’t think I can leave her for the month—or more—it’ll take to film.” Steve admitted with a frown. He could immediately feel Robin’s shift in demeanor with the soft sigh she let out.

“Oh, dingus. You’ll be okay. We can video call her everyday while we're gone.” Robin said softly, trying to soothe him. “I think you should give it a go. You deserve to give love a chance.”

Steve let out a loud groan, which dissolved into a soft laugh. “You did not just say that.”

“I did.”

“That was so bad.”

“I know. But it’s true!”

“You’ll be with me?”

“Every step of the way.”

“..Fine.”

—x—

Dear Steve Harrington,

Congratulations! You have been selected as one of the bachelors to move forward into the next stage—interviewing and filming! We believe you are a perfect fit, and cannot wait to have you at our Los Angeles studio!

If you are still interested, please contact us via email to receive more details about what comes next.

Thank you,

Murray Bauman, Host of ‘Give Love a Chance’

[crystaiskiess]

Okay, it’s me, the person rereading OAFK to find where Arthur falls in love with Merlin.  This is very long because I may have gotten a bit carried away.  I’m so sorry, but I wanted to cover all the bases (and then just got really into it because I love this fic).  Although I want confirmation if I’m right, you don’t have to publicly post this or anything, because, once again, this is long and you may not want people to know.

So, I think Arthur’s feelings start when he meets Merlin, which may sound so soon and may be very wrong.  But in chapter one, when they meet for the second time, there are several lines that I feel like radiate the idea of “I have a slight instant crush on this guy, but I’d never know for multiple reasons.  First thing is their banter about the dungeons (honestly, love that part, it’s so cute/funny).  Then there’s the paragraph about Arthur having fun, which I feel screams “instant attraction.”

Arthur blinks, unable to stop himself from smiling.  A thrill runs through him like a surging wave, starting at his toes and ending in the tips of his fingers.  Excitement.  He finally identifies what is so entertaining about Merlin, why he feels this pull to torment him, this desire to goad him into action.  For the first time in years Arthur is having fun.

Arthur, as a character, just isn’t the type of find interest in things that are the same thing he deals with every day.  There’s literally an example of that at the beginning of that scene where he’s like “yeah, let me figure out where I’m supposed to respond because I am so bored right now.” I think the excitement Merlin brings immediately forms a sense of attraction to him (which makes sense because in real life, we tend to be attracted to the people we desire to have in our lives).  In canon, he starts showing attraction to Gwen when she speaks against him (not like Merlin does, but a variation, you know?), which fits into the idea that Arthur wants excitement in his life and he wants people who will create it.  I think half of this doesn’t make sense, but it’s important to have for my next thing.

Going back to OAFK; in chapter two, Arthur thinks about how he doesn’t know if he wants Merlin to change and become a proper servant.  While that’s explicitly said, you go into why he feels like that.  He finds Merlin entertaining and like no one else he’s ever met before, and that Merlin’s rudeness enthralls Arthur.  However, he’s like “yeah, but he’s also infuriating.” I feel like this goes into Arthur not really having someone speak out against him (or friends), so he’s unable to properly navigate how he feels about this.  This back and forth on who he wants Merlin to be is realistic and I very much love it.  Also, yes, he could just see Merlin in a platonic light at this point (anything is possible), but I just think about the scene where Arthur trusts Merlin about Valiant.  Yeah, that’s a canon scene, but it adds to later where it’s like “An odd part of Arthur warms at the sight of Merlin’s slight smile.” Arthur has feelings for Merlin, even if they’re platonic or romantic.  They’re strong, but he’s just a bit unaware.

Now, to where I think he falls in love with Merlin.  This could be too soon, but the amount of passages from it that just make sense he loves Merlin is in The Poisoned Chalice.  I have like 20 highlighted areas that I feel like capture that Arthur loves Merlin.  I will obviously not share all of them because that’s a lot.  The first line is, “a man who understands that Arthur needs Merlin around.  Merlin matters to him.” I adore this line so much, like I think about it a lot because it captures to me how much Arthur’s feeling have grown over the last bit (I don’t remember your timeline off the top of my head, sorry) they’ve known each other.  I am a big believer in that Arthur feels fear, but it’s not exhibited the same way nor is it easy for him to feel it because of how he was raised, but oh my God, the moment where it’s like “He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, feel it in his throat, he’s never felt fear like this,” just hit so hard.  The amount of love and care he has for Merlin makes his situation terrify him. (Also, that entire paragraph containing that sentence and the paragraph above just capture Arthur so well.)

So, this could be debated like slightly of it’s in Arthur’s character, but I’m not entirely sure.  The line “They both hear the words that go unspoken.  If it were just my life, I would risk it in a heartbeat.” Some could say that that’s just how Arthur is.  (Him thinking about how he wishes he could feed everyone and guarantee their safety in The Moment of Truth.) In this situation, I feel like it being Merlin has a big part in this (Also, in The Moment of Truth of why Arthur goes to begin with).

So, to wrap this up before it gets to be over 1,000 words, Arthur starts liking Merlin the second time they meet (or the realization he doesn’t understand is there), but he starts (realizes but doesn't realize?) he loves Merlin in The Poisoned Chalice.

I’m so sorry for how long this is and that parts may not be coherent.  I do want to say that I love this fic and it’s always a pleasure to reread it.

OAFK SPOILERS AHEAD

also now that it’s been quite a while since chapter 28 was posted here is a moment of deep appreciation for this incredible person who got arthur’s feelings revelation so INSANELY spot on that i actually couldn’t post his analysis bc it’s basically spoilers

like incredible, immaculate, i still reread this often just to be in awe

[bi-bats]

5, 6, 10, and 18 <3

Hiya bestie!! Thank you for the ask 💖

5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write?

Probably The Birth of a God, which is a very complicated greek mythology au where Jason is Icarus and he falls in love with Apollo (Tim) and builds the wax wings because he's trying to reach him. After his death he gets revived as Ares (I've assigned out greek gods to over half of the characters in this fic including Dick as Aphrodite, Bruce as Hades, Damian as Thanatos, Barbara as Hephaestus, Cass as Athena, Alfred as Hestia, Duke as Helios) and doesn't tell anyone, but Tim goes to Bruce to get Jason back, which Bruce refuses because he can't. He doesn't tell Tim that he can't because Jason isn't actually there, so of course Tim wages war on him, which drags Jason into it because he's the god of war even though Tim doesn't know that and adkljfdlkfjdlkfdlfjlkdj

Look I love this idea and I'd love to read it but. I'd have to WRITE it and the amount of research I would have to do to twist the plot around the way I want would be insane so it's probably going to die in my brain 😭😭😭

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

Oh yeah absolutely. Lemme link a few (that aren't just smut lol):

sweet dreams (are made of thee) by @yasmindifference (jaytim dreamsharing 😭😭😭)

and a hand to bite by Sister (the jaytim exes to lovers of all time and also the fic that inspired Rooftops and Bookshops)

chaos is a color I wear well (and it looks mighty good on you) by @glaciya (jaytim angsty feels fic I love this one so much)

Like a Bat out of Hell by @allacesandeights (this fic. This fucking FIC. It's literally one of my go-to recs for when I'm trying to get people into JayTim and it deserves so so so much more recognition than it has holy shit this fic is so fucking good like. I very rarely read fics where I think the plot is perfect but this one is just so well done all around and akjdfajdfsdf read it)

I Didn't Say I Liked You by Generatorcat (I reread this one a LOT it's just delightful I love when they play chicken and you do it SO well, thank you for this one 💖)

Show Me the Meaning (Of Being Lonely) by @timmyjaybird (like. holy shit this whole series. I owe my life as an author to this series. This is the series that got me to consider shipping jaytim and also the first damitim fic that ever made my brain go brrrrrrr I've literally read this series like. 20 times at least and I never would have fallen deep enough into this fandom to start writing without it so thank you thank you thank you and everyone go read it)

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

Definitely, and it's Now Kiss. I did not expect the response on that and if you know me, you've heard me talk about that. It just felt so rushed when I was writing it and I didn't get a chance to really edit it the way I wanted to and I've worked way harder on fics before and even if it was one of the ones that I was the most excited to share for JTW, there's just a part of me that's like: that's the one everyone loves so much?

That said, one thing about the response that has been lovely is that I've taken it as permission to trust myself a little more. There were a lot of things with that fic that I was uncertain about, but I liked them and decided to leave them alone even if I wasn't 100% sure because I was on a deadline and wanted it posted. They were probably the kinds of things that I would've fretted about incessantly and edited to death if I'd had more time, but people liked them, so it's been really nice to be able to let go of some of my self-doubt!

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

Damian has always hated that Tim can carve the meat from an action, pull the bone of it out clean.

grughauhgaruharhgau just. I love this line so much. It says so much about both of them. It was also a tight race between that and this:

Everyone believes Goldie, all of the time. He just flashes that gorgeous smile like a fucking master key, and Jason’s always been a tiny bit jealous that everyone else turned out so goddamn endearing. 

also this one 😭😭😭 I really like the way that it reads like Jason's voice and also this is one of those things that he would never ever say because he can barely admit that it's true, even though it is

[run2seob]

5 things you like about 5 of your moots?

turned from subtly fangirling to "i'm (not)subtly in love with u and your blog" but thank u for the ask bcs i have an excuse to >:)

@gyuletters

her ability to write a variety of genres without using cliches

her kindness ^^ she's always complimenting accounts and writng the best reblogs

her theme (it's soo pretty) and how well it represents her. star's personality is so sweet and i feel like her theme reflects that

she comes up with the best prompts too! like i'm envious of her brain

how comforting her fics are (and binge worthy~)

@junoswrlld

even before me and juno became close, they were so so kind to me T0T

her ability to pace herself and balance her fics and personal life (i genuinely could not do this like.. admirable, seriously)

her crack ficshehsh they're so good >< she makes chapters leave you with suspense every time

how many memes she finds. it's one of my fav things because how do i wake up to 40 cat and scrimbo memes 😭

how reliable she is!! i can trust her with my fics and spoilers and it's so nice :> she gives motivation and gained my trust so easily :')

@mazeinthemoon

i can't believe i only have to do five?? i need more space to write about how moon writes. the way emotion is captured into her writing is filled with suspense but also comfort? like, in between dialogue, there's those quotes that you replay in your mind over and over again because how could someone think of that?

^^ adding onto this, the way she incorporates figurative language into her text perfectly captures the moment. it's not blatant and keeps the sentence flow which is impressive. as a writer i respect moon even more because even i struggle with that T0T

i've said this for everyone but can you blame me? they're all kind, moon included! she's always answering asks in the kindest way

^^ additionally, the way she types is so cute. and by this i mean kaomojis and emoticons. i love emoji faces so much hehe

best for last ofc~ her fics in general! glitter and the goalie both had me hooked. like essay long notes and annotations. i might reread glitter because of how on the edge it had me and bcs of her recent post.. detective reader activated >:)

@hueningsloverr

RHIA'S ANGST. that's shakespeare's child now, seriously. the way she writes angst is beautiful.. but like beautiful in a way where it feels like a pretty statue of a little girl crying but it's beautiful. beautiful in the way where it hurts but is pretty... makes you cry tears bcs of how well it was written yk?

the way she views things is soo beautiful. like in her reblogs and how she views songs. (could write an essay) when she wrote txt x time in a bottle it fit with the boys perfect and was just so pretty. there's so many quotes i remmeber and trust i'm not forgetting

i'm gonna make these shorter but how many ideas she comes up with. i could never T0T

her themeee

i wished i talk to her more!! i'm always scared to talk to my moots but i love her pseonality i would be so happy to talk to her more but i'm too scared

@huenation

themethemetheme it's so cute

idk if this counts but i was reading their bf beomgyu texts and was listening to hea and read the "oh my god" as the same time as the song said it and can't forget about that 😭

ugh my top 5 comfort fic being soobin meeting yns parents like.. i love this fic so much and ik this isn't recs but they write so well 😭 the moment is always described in the best ways and i can visualize them so well

i don't talk to amor much but i love their posts/txt reblogs ><

and that i wish them happiness. i know a lot of people's posts and writings reflect their emotions, and i just hope they're doing well. everyone has bad times, but it really depends what mindset you approach them with, you know? i just hope they get to smile :)

[yuanology]

what’s your favorite books as of now?? i’d love to hear you talk about them if you have some

HAHA this has to be honestly one of the most endearing asks i've ever had in my inbox. fair warning, i will literally be talking a lot for this one because i am first and foremost a nerd before all else. all links bring you to the books' respective goodreads page :)

remember to read through the content / trigger warnings of each book before you read them! reading should never come at the expense of your own mental well-being. be wise.

my number one current favourite novel is these violent delights by chloe gong. it's actually the first book in a duology, but i've been procrastinating on the second novel lol. the premise is a romeo & juliette retelling set in 1920s shanghai with a mafia setting and childhood lovers turned bitter enemies. it's one of my favourite tropes ever, and these violent delights executed it beautifully. honestly unsurrpised that it was as much of a hit as it was because god. it deserves it.

i also really, really, really love the seven husbands of evelyn hugo with my whole heart. the premise of it is positively stunning and i'm a sucker for tragic gay people. i lowkey jumped into it half-blind sided by the cool edits i found on instagram only to get smacked in the face with a lot more depth than meets the eye. the line about non-sexual intimacy in this book both smothered me to death and brought me back to life. i read this book in one day and walked out of it gasping for air.

i am also into the invisible life of addie larue due to the poignant way the author depicts a life without being remembered... even if the ending brutally demolished me. it was the epitome of 'immortality is a curse,' for me and it was just. fuck, man. it's fucking brilliant from the beginning to the end, and it's just a novel that i hold very close to my heart.

now, i know you said books, but i will be incomplete if not for the fanfiction i read. therefore, i will list all-time favourite fanfiction (that i remember right now). all of them are linked to archive of our own <3

being neck-deep in satosugu hell right now, i will have to start with them. i'd like to begin with my two favourite satosugu fanfictions which are caesura by cielelyse, otherwise known as the only canon 15 satosugu in my mind ever. the dynamic is fucking insane, and i cried a lot when i read it. there is also, of course, and carry my home by valleykey which i have reread despite the fact that it's 50k words and killed me brutally the first time. it follows 17!satosugu who gets time traveled towards the present time / pre-shibuya. it goes about as well as you would expect it to be.

other fics that also brutally murdered me and made me physically cry was punishment for a monster by mimiquack (suguru loses his memories post-shibuya and lives a non-sorcerer life; satoru copes...or something), i'd like the sun to set with you by chuuyasoup (satoru goes with suguru that day in shinjuku), smile like brass by chuuyasoup (role reversal au that starts with suguru being too late on that day), and laundry and taxes by hamsterqinghua (everything, everywhere, all at once au, you can guess where it goes from here). these are all angst fics that ripped a hand through my ribs and crushed my heart in their palms. there's more, but. well.

my favourite satosugu smut fics (because i am, after all, a smut author) is the midnight rendezvous series by damiselart. also, let's climb the cliff and jump again by ruche which hm, i suppose technically counts as an age gap fic because it's 28!satoru getting his shit rocked by 17!suguru (time travel finicky stuff; you know how it goes). and then, there are also these two other fics, lovesick lullabye and i'm done carrying the weight of this world (i just wanna feel this love) which are both by pastelcoloureddreams.

now, onto my next idiotic duo, i would like to present soukoku (dazai osamu / nakahara chuuya from bsd) and my favourite fics for them. starting off strong as a combination one of my favourite ships and one of my favourite books, i'd like to present empire of dirt by arkastadt which is a the seven husbands of evelyn hugo inspired soukoku fanfic with similar premise, but a massively different setting & plot. one of the best known soukoku fics for a reason. there is also, of course, i step from here without you by chuuyasoup that follows soukoku throughout the multiverse and murdered me in cold blood by the time it was done. genuinely one of the best fics i have ever read ever.

onto smut soukoku fics, everyone welcome bottom of the deep blue sea by arkastadt which is the only soukoku smut fic ever. you cannot ask me to give you a smut recommendation better than this. the premise is gorgeous, featuring an arrogant and self-assured dazai who challenges chuuya to make him cry and chuuya does. it's so fucking good.

there's definitely more that i've cut back from this list due to laziness, but feel free to ask for more if you're still interested! i was also neckdeep in hell in genshin & voltron & boku no hero academia for a while, so i should have fic recs for them, too, but i'm too lazy to hunt them down right now. if you want me to, just shoot me another ask and i'll drop the recs in the future <3

[sugartitstownley]

HC’s for Post Option C Trikey

Hey, everyone! This is nothing too formal or well written— just some thoughts put down. All mistakes are mine because I didn’t reread this at all. Trigger warnings for mentions of violence and canon compliant themes. Here’s some Trikey + a bit of Amanda/Mike/T friendship.

Michael and Amanda’s divorce is rather amicable despite years of prior arguing.

Neither want to admit their marriage is over—both worried about the kids’ reactions. But they know it’s in everyone’s best interest.

Amanda moves out of the house, opting for a beach front property like she once asked Michael for months before.

Mike decides to stay at the house for now, even if it reminds him of what a lonely, washed-up jock he really is.

It doesn’t matter, though, because he’s never home. Instead, he spends his time at the movie studio, threatening actors and crew alike (because old habits die hard, right?).

If he accidentally hits too hard and the actor just doesn’t wake up…well, who can blame him?

The rest of his time is spent in the company of Franklin, Trevor, and Lamar.

“Jesus, sugar tits. You finally have time for us outside of kissing Solomon Richards’ ass.”

“Oh, bite me, T,” Michael says, rolling his eyes as he slides into the backseat of Franklin’s car. “I’ve been busy doing my job on set.”

“Well, sorry! I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a huge celebrity.”

Franklin slams on the brakes, the car coming to a halt in front of the stoplight. “Man, if y’all two don’t shut the fuck up, I’m dropping you both off.”

In hindsight, maybe things don’t seem that different between him and Trevor after The Big One. But he knows something has changed.

Trevor’s insults and quips don’t pack as much punch; they don’t leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

And Michael? Well, he stops regulates how many times he calls his former running buddy a psycho.

Their tentative friendship rebuilds for the most part, but there’s still an added component that neither party wants to speak aloud. That, or maybe it was a returning feeling resurfacing from their youth.

Either way, Michael tries to let it go and focus on making himself semi-happy for once. However, he doesn’t factor in until later that maybe he’s been so damn unhappy for the last 10 years because of a certain murderous, incest-loving hipster.

Michael feels his heart jump out of his skin as he turns around to see Trevor leaning against the glass outside of his house. He watches Trevor give a small salute before walking over to let the taller man in.

“You can’t knock on the front door like a normal human being?” Michael asks, his voice dripping with mild annoyance. “What am I saying? Of course you can’t.”

“For your information, pork chop,” Trevor starts, walking straight past Michael to look through his fridge, “I do this to keep you young— keep you on your toes.”

He watches Trevor pull out the soup container they made a few days prior while hanging out. Like a reflex, he opens the drawer and pulls out two spoons while they wait for it to heat up in the microwave.

“Yeah, whatever. What are you even doing here anyway?”

“Can’t a guy come see his best friend without there being a reason? Not all of us are looking to gain something from their relationships, sugar.”

Michael sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, T. When are you going to let it go? Just once I’d like to spend time with you without thinking of our past. I said I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Trevor’s eyes find his, and surprisingly, there’s nothing but understanding in them. They hold each other’s gaze a moment too long until the microwave’s beeps fill the quiet room.

Their companionship settles into a routine that even surprises Michael himself. Food will be cooked together, movies will be watched, bikers will be shot (you can’t blame Mike for getting involved sometimes most times— it’s in his blood).

The taller man’s presence becomes so normal in Michael’s life that even Jimmy and Tracey aren’t surprised to see Trevor walking throughout the house when they’re visiting.

If Michael didn’t know any better, he’d say the kids even missed their uncle— enough to visit the Rockford Hills house even when Mike himself wasn’t there.

“Argh! This game fucking sucks!”

Michael’s lips twitch into a small smile as he heads up the stairs towards Jimmy’s room. The sight in front of him doesn’t surprise him all that much considering Trevor’s cursing could likely be heard from across the street.

Michael stops at his son’s doorway, watching him and Trevor furiously tapping on controllers to try and shoot the on-screen targets.

“Uncle T,” Jimmy pipes up, cringing at the screen. “You’re standing too close to the bomb, you’re going die if you don’t—”

The blood of Trevor’s character splatters across the screen before Jimmy starts laughing uncontrollably.

“Shut the fuck up, kid! C’mon, Mikey. Let’s go do something actually worth our time.”

Michael chuckles, reaching over to fist bump Jimmy, before leaving the room with Trevor.

He’s not sure when it happened—or why— but every time he looks at Trevor and his kids while they’re together, he can’t help but think of them as a family.

Sure, Trevor is already family. His kids call him Uncle T for a reason. But that’s not what Michael means. He sees them as his family. Trevor, Michael, Jimmy, and Tracey— a family.

It could be the people of Los Santos getting inside his brain with their comments and assumptions. Every time the pair go out with the kids, there’s at least one person who calls them a “two-dad family.”

For some reason, though, it doesn’t bother Michael like it used to. He doesn’t feel guilty anymore, like he’s cheating on Amanda.

After realizing that, it hit him harder than Martin Madrazo’s baseball bat. He loves Trevor. He’s in love with Trevor, and he probably always has been. Why else would he feel like he’s doing something wrong to Mandy every time he’s with him?

He doesn’t want to even think about telling his friend, but he also knows he wants to be done keeping secrets from him forever. And apparently, he’s done keeping secrets from everyone.

“Dad,” Jimmy starts off nervously from his side of the couch. “So, like, can I ask you something?”

Michael shoots him a weary look. “If this is about me buying you that new game, I already told you no Jim.”

“No, no. Nothing like that. It’s more, ya know, personal.”

The silence drags on as Michael waits for Jimmy to continue, but he never does. “Spit it out already.”

“Look, are you and Uncle T, like, closer than you were before the divorce? You know, closer. Because, like, that’s totally cool with me. I have gay friends now, and I guess it’s better than you staying with mom and cheating. Maybe you and uncle T can, ya know, keep each other alive and shit but—”

“What? Jim! No! Trevor and I aren’t…”

Jimmy interrupts him. “But you want to be?”

“When did you get so observant all of a sudden? You sound like a fuckin’ psychologist.”

“Well, pop, you raised me in Los Santos.”

Jimmy, much to Michael’s embarrassment, prodded at him until he agreed to talk to Trevor about the “issue.”

It takes Michael another month, plus one more terribly uncomfortable conversation with Jimmy, to confess to Trevor.

“Christ, T. I think it’s possible that maybe…”

“I’ll be dead by the time you finish your sentence, sugar.”

Michael sighs. “Have you ever thought that there might be more to this?”

“More—” Trevor groans. “Can you just say what you mean for once in your life?”

“I love you, you asshole.”

Horns honking and police sirens can be heard from outside as the room becomes eerily quiet. Before Michael can truly panic, Trevor leans forward so fast that Mike’s sure he’s about to slam his head into his nose, but the searing pain never comes.

Instead, Trevor’s lips push against his while his hands tug Michael’s hair to bring him closer.

It’s cliché. It’s really fucking cliché. But, for once, Michael feels like he’s doing something right for a change.

“I love you, Mikey.”

After that, not much changes really. The only difference is that, now, when Trevor comes over after a long day of doing God knows what, Michael gets to sit on the couch wasting away with his boyfriend’s head lazily rested on his shoulder.

Or, sometimes, between his legs.

Telling Franklin and Lamar ended up being easy. Neither was all that surprised. In fact, Lamar even tried to start a bet once about when they’d “stop sucking as people and start sucking each other,” but Franklin put a stop to that real quick.

Other than that, Frank was supportive.

“I’m happy for you, dog. Maybe now you’ll stop being so miserable.”

Michael smirks. “I don’t know, but I think this is a good start.”

Telling Amanda and the kids was…interesting.

Jimmy, of course, knew already. But he was surprised that his dad actually grew the balls to do it.

Tracey was a little more shocked; she always thought the jokes about her dad and Uncle T were just that— jokes. Plus, she worried that her dad had been cheating before with him, but they assured her that wasn’t the case.

Tracey tried to act a little stubborn just in case her mom wasn’t okay with the relationship, but she was secretly happy for them.

Amanda, having found her own happiness outside of Michael, took it rather well too.

“This just started, right? You weren’t…together…during our marriage?”

“No, Mand,” Michael reassures her before sparing a glance at Trevor who is across the room talking to Tracey and Jim. “I only just realized it.”

“Well, I always wondered why on Earth you would stick by his side through some of the shit he has done,” Amanda says, her voice growing softer. “And now I know.”

Michael lets his gaze move back to his ex-wife’s. “I’m sorry I was such a prick to you.”

“I wasn’t perfect either.”

He’s about to respond when he feels a hand land on his shoulder. He looks up to see Trevor hovering above him while looking at Amanda.

“Hey,” Trevor points a finger at her. “You better accept his apology or I’ll be hearing about it for the rest of the year.”

Michael watches Amanda actually crack a smile towards Trevor. “He was always really miserable. But, lucky for me, he’s your problem now.”

Michael scoffs. “Hello, I’m right here!”

“Yeah, we know. It’s hard to miss you, pork chop.”

Despite Trevor’s remarks, Michael can hear the man’s smile as he walks back over to join Tracey and Jim, and that makes the sides of his lips curl into a small smile too.

“I’m not going to say I understand it completely,” Amanda admits. “But if you’re happy, then I’m glad.”

“I am. I think I finally am.”

[wetcatspellcaster]

I can totally get why you feel pressured with Pieces! When you write a popular fic, you do write it for yourself, but it's hard not to think of the thousands of people who give you their undying support, and you want to do right by them!! But, we are here because we love your writing (all of it. If I told you how many times I've reread Party Favors... Or dipped my toes back into An Honest Lie. God, God. I'd say too many, but it's honestly not enough) and we are here for the ride you choose to take us on. I have a firm belief in your abilities that has been proven true again again.

Personally I love your writing because it's amazing and well thought out, not because it's perfect. Which isn't to say that I notice any flaws (because I don't) but it is to say that perfection is unachievable. Pieces is fucking ambitious as hell, and you are slaying with each chapter, but you also aren't being paid. We are all freeloaders off of your google doc. Don't sweat about it too much.

That being said the last chapter had me SCREAMING. SCREAMING. I AM UNWELL!!!! THE HAIR REF,,,,,,,,,, HIS LITTLE CATTINESS,,,, ROSE BEING CRINGEFAIL,,,,,,,,,,,,,, ugh. UGH! IT'S JUST LIKE THE GOOD OL' DAYS ONLY NOT AT ALL AND EVERYTHING IS ON FIRE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

hello petal! thank you for sending this! I have been very tired for the last week or so, so I'm sorry to say that is why it sat in my askbox, I didn't want to not do the reply justice.

Thank you for being so kind! I'm really glad you enjoy my writing. I will 100% admit that I didn't think Pieces would become what it did, it's honestly amazing and I'm consistently blown away by the response it gets from readers and how nice everyone is, but it is very strange to write something ambitious just for your own curiosity versus suddenly hundreds of people getting an email when you're essentially 'fucking around and finding out'. I'm never going to complain! I'm very very lucky!! People like you now come to my tiny little tumblr and say nice things to me! But it has been a big change and it has definitely involved some adjustment lol.

It is nice to be reminded that some readers actually like the brand of Astarion/Tav I wrote before I touched an Ascendency AU, and that returning to that isn't a massive letdown lol. What is coming in the next few chapters of Pieces is a much softer brand of problem, and it's nice to be able to be a little kinder to the characters even if they're stewing in their own feelings! I hope people enjoy it when it happens, there is more repression and more absolute cringefail moments to come :')

I'm aware that I haven't updated anything in a few weeks, but unfortunately I am spending my days wrangling my PhD thesis and trying to edit it down to the wordcount. I have been writing, but I have not got an editing braincell in my body by the end of the day and that is why I haven't felt comfortable posting. I hope to be back soon, or at least by the end of the month once my draft is handed in. I know that's not what your purpose was in sending the message, but I just want to reassure you and other readers that I've not fallen off the face of the earth I am just. very very tired. Thank you for your kind words when my brain is on fire xx

[krikeymate]

Top 5 moments of your life thus far.

These can be good, bad, or any variation thereof.

Please feel free to disregard if it's too personal of an ask.

Honestly, I... am so boring. Not a lot has happened in my life to be honest, for better or worse.

Top has definitely been deciding to make those Scream posts back in March, I've got to talk to and befriend so many incredible people because of that, and I've never been in a better place mentally. Even in my low moments, I've bounced back faster than ever before. It's really made a significant impact on me as a person and helped continue my growth, and I don't have the words to describe how thankful I am. This fandom experience has been my favourite so far from the past... god, 20 years. I want to give a special shoutout to Bailey and Dreamer, who have inspired me so much and I am so incredibly lucky to call them my friends, I don't remember what it's like before they started talking to me and gave me a chance. One that people really haven't before. Friends, real friends, aren't something I have much experience with.

I guess another formative experience has to be my first foray into fanfiction, I was like 9, maybe younger, it was Pokemon, it was an independent little website as was the norm back in the day, AAML 4 lyfe. God I feel old. Anyway those fics were NOT APPROPRIATE and I still think of them to this day. Would love to reread them, but doubt they're still around, and even if they are it would be impossible to find I think.

Over a decade ago now, when I was much younger, I made a couple of fandom friends, that ended badly, but I don't regret making them. They were important and formative for me too, and more importantly, one of them was the first person to ever call me Kai, instead of my full username Kaishei, although now I tend to go by Kailyr, and that... it changed my life. It felt right.

Uhm. I can drive? I passed my driving test in 2021... on like the fifth attempt or something in two years - and barely at that. The instructor literally said I was a borderline fail, but he decided to pass me because he can see that I know how to drive. And also because I said I was probably going to give up if I failed. I hate driving, it's very stressful, but necessary where I live now.

Oh, when I was like five - yes, literally 5 - I played my first real video game, back in 1999. I'd played some, some educational ones. But this was a real video game, and it was - there's a pattern you see - not age-appropriate. The game was Dungeon Keeper (Gold), and it is to this day my very favourite game of all time, the game that nothing since has matched for me.

As a bonus, here's some things I'm really looking forward to: Top Surgery, eventually (the UK trans medical system is a joke); Dreamer coming to visit me next year; when I eventually get to go visit Dreamer on their turf too; and getting to decorate my new bedroom in the house my parents have just bought, and having some real space to make it my own and exist.

[aachria]

AAAAHHHH oh this fic means so much to me you have no idea.

I have finally had time to catch up fully from the end of Skypiea, and now having scrolled through all the blog posts I've had to skip because of spoilers amd now my ass has so many thoughts. So I apologize in advance but this fic has made a permanant home in my brain

After reading Skypiea again I noticed that Aisa said that the voices around Ed sounded like trumpets and that made me think about if they sound like the trumpets from 'Overtaken' because that would fit with Luffys drums. But then you mentioned the book of revelation and trumpets in that so I googled it and now I'm scared, not sure if I should be scared on behalf of Ed or their opponenets though...

AND then you mentioned briefly that in Enis lobby Ed would be fighting someone we've met before and of god please dont make it be mr. blue hair guy from the casino in Alabasta, he made me nervous even back then you cant do this to me bb

AND I just adore how you wrote g8, it's such a fun arc in the anime and you captured Jonathan so well, I love his and Ed's interactios so much, their talk over chess what amazing!

And the Ed and Ace interactions were so good I am in love, i too would kick anybodys ass for Ed.

And I am so exited to learn more about mr. Tone D. ial

ALSO Ed slowly gaining haki!!!! AAAAHHHH it makes me incredibly exited.

Not to mention the dream sequences they make me so giddy I am a sucker for symbolism (SUNFLOWERS AND ED AND LUFFY AND THE SUN!!!) and such and it makes me so giddy, I am moments away from drawing the dream with Ms. Fathers day. I am going to be rereading and dissecting them multiple times because I am a sucker for lore and being able to figure things out!!!

Also I am so pumped to see how Enis Lobby turns out, please my poor Ed has already been throught so much pain in the last chapters please let them have a singular breath I am begging

Again I have an unhealthy obsession with this fic and I love it!!!

Kind regards I will now reread this fic for the 8th time <3

Wow this is a lot pop off.

The Book of Revelations thing was mostly a joke but hey- you never know.

Oh? He made you nervous? Whyever for?

I miss Jonathan. Loved that guy. I miss Ace too. Y’all remember what is supposed to happen to him during this arc? …yeah me either.

LORE LORE LORE! I’m such a sucker for sunflower symbolism always. And when I tell you it will get more layers I am telling you to strap in and prepare.

Oml I would cry if you made art of that. Real tears.

Ed? Breath?? Ever??? I think the fuck not.