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serawritesthings · 4 months ago

Text

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.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan imagine #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption

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rutlancecf · 1 month ago

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Damian Wayne's letter to the Tooth Fairy (being read by his brothers)

"Respected Tooth Fairy:

I know that I haven't written to you before, and I had no idea of your existence either. I apologize for my ignorance. My older brothers have told me about you, and how you carry out your monetary transaction every time you find a tooth under a child's pillow. I know that many times I have declared to my elders and others that I'm not an infant, but in confidence, I never really became one because of the way my mother's family raised me. It was vitally important to them that I be a perfect being, without flaws or defects, so I became an adult instead of living the sweet childhood and innocence that little ones exude.

But it is not my first years of life that I would like to argue in this letter, no. According to my dear older siblings, whom I am sure you have visited countless times, (and look, it makes me a little jealous to know that you perceived them at such a tender age) I should perpetuate the ritual by which is based your existence.

But I don't want to, I don't want to, and that's why I've written you this letter to make you understand my reason.

Due to my position, and lifestyle, I do not require a stimulus or monetary compensation, I already have too much of that. So I ask you to give it to another little one who is in a precarious situation.

But if you can grant a wish, I ask with great fervor and sympathy for myself, that you help me influence a change in other people about the perception they have of me. I have done so many things and actions that perpetuate a place in Hell for me, I know, I have been there; that I need your help, not to free me from my destiny until the end of time, but so that in the time I have left to walk among the living, my peers can express a little love to me, a little empathy, a little pride towards my person. And let this be to endure my stay in Tartarus.

Please, please. Help me, help me so that the people I love open their eyes and see that I am here, so that they don't abandon me. My soul was already lost since I was born.

I know that I have requested something difficult, perhaps impossible, but I have a little faith, a little faith that someone will look at me without fear or hatred in the eyes and smile at me.

I am sorry, then, for having taken away some of your valuable time that you have taken to read this letter, which I hope you will receive and give me an answer if possible.

I say goodbye hoping to hear from you again, possible because I still have baby teeth. With sincere decorum, Ibn al Xu'ffasch Damian Thomas Wayne Al Ghul.

PS. Due to my recent knowledge of your work in the world, I have taken the liberty of choosing a box of ginger tea and making it available to you, to counteract the effects of fatigue.

Jason finished reading the letter and stared at his other two brothers, who looked away and stared at the floor, having mixed thoughts and feelings. He put the sheet back in the envelope and carefully tucked it back under Damian's pillow, who was still asleep under the residual effects of the anesthetic.

- Good night, little demon.- He gently caressed his hair and left the boy's room.

Tim approached the bed and leaning down, he kissed his younger brother on the forehead.

- Sweet dreams, gremlin.- He said quietly, going after Todd.

Left alone, Grayson sat on the edge of the bed, took out the envelope and the tooth to put them inside his pants, looked at the sleeping boy for a moment, and with a heavy heart, leaned against his side, hugging against him.

- We love you, Little D, and I am very proud to have you as my little brother.- He caressed his hair and kissed his forehead.- Whatever happens, we will always be with you, little bird. And I promise you that, no matter what, I will go to hell myself and pull you out of the depths of the abyss. Don't give up, Damian. Do not give up.-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Link:

#damian wayne #fanfiction #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake

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teleportzz · 6 months ago

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i think i need to start making something very clear, as i should have done a long time ago.

Ukraine hasn't stopped needing your help and listening to our voices hasn't stopped being important

i think i've been way too patient and understanding with non-ukrainians following me. but i'm tired and angry and hurting and i've been carrying this burden, as all ukrainians have, for a very long time.

i am officially completely done with all those posts fucking "comparing" ukraine and palestine. i've tried to be understanding. i know you're trying to say that ukrainians get slightly better press coverage in the west due to white privilege, but our press coverage in the west is still dogshit. our genocide and colonization is still reduced to a "war" ukraine is still described as a "post-soviet state" and ethnic minorities in ukraine are still never mentioned. crimean tatars, koryo-saram, romani-ukrainians, jewish ukrainians, muslim-ukrainians, and many other communities have been disproportionately targeted by ruzzia's relentless violence and you still say nothing of their unique struggles and experiences. not to even mention how, although ukrainian diaspora in north america, like myself, have white privilege, ukrainians in europe face discrimination from both ruzzia and western europeans. they are not privileged

we are called slurs and subjected to other ethnically and culturally motivated violence by ruzzians very frequently when we try to tell our stories. ukrainian diaspora try to use our privilege and knowledge of english to advocate, but we are always shut down by ruzzians because we are always somehow either "too western" or "too ukrainian" to know what we are talking about.

and it really doesn't help that SOMEHOW none of you seem capable of caring about more than one genocide at a time. those posts comparing ukraine to palestine is all you have to say about us as our printing houses are being destroyed and our babies are being taken away and raised as ruzzians. weird! i don't seem to have this problem! caring about multiple genocides at a time and advocating for the liberty and power of all oppressed people is second nature to me. maybe because i don't have the privilege of only caring about one genocide at a time.

like sorry but i'm officially done. comparing which genocide is """""worse""""" is such a horrible and incomprehensibly evil thing to do. victims of genocide are standing together in solidarity. westerners with no connection to these issues do not have a seat at this table

#i don't expect this to achieve anything but it made me feel a little better so. there's that i guess #ukraine #colonial violence #colonialism #слава україні

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fletchingbrilliant · 2 months ago

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It's Only a Crooked Moon, Chapter One

•••

Read it on AO3!

So I started a fic all by my onesies. Let's see how this goes.

Highly canon divergent, but many many same elements as canon. Some geography changed. Many lore liberties taken.

Many ships will occur, probably. But it's mainly Radiodust. Go figure.

•••

“Come out and face me, Radio Demon! For weeks you have evaded my assault, but no more! I have ensured that you'll have no choice but to accept my challenge!”

Gears whirred, pistons whined, and steam erupted in a sharp whistle, Sir Pentious’ newest machine of destruction taking one lurching mechanical step, then another, gaining in speed as it went. It was a proud moment for the serpentine Sinner, debuting such an impressive marvel, a creation that could one day rival his own precious War Machine. It was large, clearing the height of a two-story building, bearing the form of a sort of robotic giraffe, yet possessing many jointed brass tentacles in the place of its legs. They wound around each other, the base of each hitting the ground hard and cracking the already ruined pavement that made up the streets of Pentagram City. From the head of his newly finished weapon, arranged as a cockpit designed exclusively for his use, Sir Pentious gave a hard pull on the lever that raised the giraffe’s horns, making their internal chambers open wide to charge their vicious attack. He grabbed onto the horn that amplified his voice down the street.

“I know you are here, Alastor! It is no use to hide!! Vengeance will be mine!!!”

“Vengeance for what?”

Sir Pentious squacked and flew backwards as the sight of the Radio Demon materialized on the other side of the viewport, perched right on the tip of the giraffe’s nose. He was bent over at a sharp angle, leaning on his staff.

“Alastor!!” Pentious hissed, sweeping upright again and righting his distressed top hat. “Just as I intended, you have come to do battle! I will now prove once and for all that it is I who truly deserves to stand as the most feared Sinner to ever stalk the streets of Hell!”

To Pentious’ dismay, Alastor tilted his head far down to his shoulder. “I'm sorry… who are you, again?”

“Wha– I'm Sir Pentious!! The architect of destruction! The engineer of disaster!! The mechanic of doom!!!”

“My my my, with so many impressive titles, it's a wonder that I've never heard of you!”

“You insolent wretch!” Pentious shouted, forcing back the foul and bitter taste of once again going unacknowledged, unseen by those he aspired to stand beside. “I swear to you, Radio Demon, that by the time I am done with you, you will remember the name Sir Pentious!!”

The dual horn beam finished its slow and steady charge, and Pentious grinned manically at the befuddled Overlord.

“This will be my greatest revenge!”

“This will wha– oh. Oh my.”

He saw Alastor’s eyes widen for a moment, then nothing but blinding light as his laser blast shot down at his creation’s own nose, hitting his opponent squarely in his chest. When the light cleared, Pentious followed the trail of smoke down the narrow street. Alastor was bouncing, tumbling over the ruined pavement like an abandoned rag doll, landing in a smoking heap.

“Yes yes yes yes!!” Pentious cried in pure joy, throwing his fist into the air. “Feel the power of my wrath, Alastor, and know that you have finally met your match!”

The giraffe lurched forward, tentacled legs closing in on their helpless prey. The deerlike demon was not moving, not even a twitch. Was Pentious’ new weapon truly powerful enough to completely incapacitate the Radio Demon with only one blow?

This, of course, was not the case, and Sir Pentious preemptively cursed himself for allowing even a moment of such blind optimism. He brought his mechanical marvel directly in front of the unmoving demon, released one of its flexible tentacular ‘arms’ from its housing, brought it to bear down onto Alastor, ready to grab him. But in a moment that stirred utter dread within the serpent, Alastor’s hand shot up while the rest of his body lay unmoving. The Radio Demon seized the tendril, which coiled about his arm in response.

Then his body twitched and writhed, undulating and rising like liquid back to his feet. His clothing, his face, his hands, were all singed by Pentious’ weapon, smoke rising from his maniacally grinning visage.

“I suppose, little goose, that you think you got the bulge on me,” he said, his voice sounding detached from his own body. It was practically leaking into Pentious’ mind as though seeping through his pores as a wicked vapor, the crackle and static of radio waves prickling his skin. “I’ll certainly give you credit for your moxie, and no mistake. But…”

He closed his fist around the tendril, then gave it a mighty tug. Sir Pentious, stunned with disbelief, was pulled forward with the force of it. The entire machine was pulled from the center where the cavity that housed the arms was held. It must have been a nearly humorous sight, such a small man folding a massive tentacled giraffe in half with a single hand. But Pentious was not laughing. He was currently busy trying to keep from losing a fang by way of facial collision.

Suddenly, everything jerked to a halt. Sir Pentious pulled himself up to look out the viewport again, peering down at where his prey-turned-predator was still standing.

He was laughing. No, he was cackling. His head was thrown back in delight, and with dread Pentious saw that his antlers were beginning to twist and writhe like some wicked crooked tree that would bear no fruit. Like a living faerie tale the monster grew, Pentious’ great invention soon becoming dwarfed by Alastor's rapidly increasing height.

It was in moments like this that Sir Pentious, passionate and inspired inventor though he was, was left to marvel at the seemingly unknowable power that dwelt dormant within the tormented flesh of the Sinner. It was a power so natural yet so corrupt, limited only by each soul’s own unique nature. He could spend even more lifetimes than he already had trying to truly harness that untapped potential only to barely graze the surface, to dip his proverbial toe into those sweet and addictive waters.

He wasn't sure whether the feeling raised him up with inspiration or crushed him into the dirt with hopelessness.

Alastor, the Radio Demon whose legend began such a relatively short time ago, lived up to the nightmares recounted by Sinner and hellborn alike. His eyes became endless black voids, pitiless, hungry, ready to suck up any fool who gazed too long into their infinite depths. His grin, a permanent fixture on his terrible visage, grew wider and wider still, beyond what any gentle nature would allow. Yellow and brown teeth curved as they grew, stained with the viscera of every victim he devoured, gums black and breath foul, hiding a gray and slimy tongue, as long and winding as Pentious’ own tail. The vibrant green stitches that appeared on Alastor's face and pulled at his cheeks, covering the edges of his lips, seemed to be both keeping something out and keeping something in. His joints popped, his limbs stretched and contorted, their positions growing more and more unnatural as the demon's size increased. His crimson claws glimmered in the low light, each now roughly the size of scythe’s blade. Pentious was staring into the face of truest horror, truest evil… and he could not look away.

“So you desire to have the Radio Demon know your name, little wyrmling?” Alastor said, the pits of his eyes flickering red as he spoke, his mouth unmoving, audio distortion warping the sound. If Sir Pentious had suddenly gone deaf, he was certain he still would have heard it.

Alastor's giant hand grabbed onto Pentious’ machine by its neck, lifting it to bring the viewport to his eye level. Sir Pentious could only cling onto the main console in a bid to remain upright. He was suddenly extremely grateful that he had not made accommodations for his Egg Bois in this design, but in the same moment wondered how they would survive without him to look after them.

All Pentious could see through the glass was the Radio Demon’s horrific face. “You'll receive an even greater honor,” he said, “as a proud new member of my radio chorus!”

Pentious felt something strange, a sort of tugging that felt at first like there was a metal ball in his gut, and a magnet was trying to pull it out. But that dull pressure soon gave way to terrible pain, rending, tearing. Something vital was being torn from him, his very essence was being ripped apart!

There came with this pain a sort of weightlessness, perhaps an out of body experience, and Sir Pentious became aware that he was no longer screaming. In fact, he was quite lucid, his awareness now sharp yet utterly calm. He knew he had only moments before Alastor would devour him completely, he had only one chance to escape a fate far worse than any death could be.

Still clinging to the control panel, Pentious freed one hand to grab onto the black lever on the left hand side. He looked up into the void once more and he did not flinch. This was not how his story was going to end.

He pulled the lever.

There was a jolt, a deep rumble within the earth, the scream of audio feedback, a flash of blinding green light, then nothing.

•••

“Are you bitches ready to have the biggest damn party this side of Hell?! Lemme hear you scream for me, babies!!!”

The crowd did scream, and Velvette grinned, flipping her glittering microphone in her hand. It was a fairly small stage, but it was sleek and it made a statement, and it fit just so between the shabby buildings of the street she'd commandeered for this event. And the mob did not care. They packed the place, a swarm of sweaty and smelly plebeians desperate for just a whiff of everything she was. Their hands slapped the stage, reaching and grasping to touch her. Every time one got close, she stomped it with her heeled boot, and was sure they'd cherish the scar she'd gifted to them.

It wasn't as large an event as Velvette wanted, nor as grand as she had been promised. She hadn't been with the Vees long, fine, whatever. But Vox had made her one of them. That was supposed to come with a better setup than what she'd been working with before. When she had to scrape and claw and work her ass off for a handful of Subscribers (her affectionate name for the souls she collected). He told her to be patient, that she had to settle into her place at VoxTech. But Vox needed to get in on social media, like, ten years ago, and she was his answer to that problem.

It wasn't wise to piss off the person who basically controlled the internet of Hell.

“That's right, duckies. You'd kill for it. I know.” She didn't let those frustrations show as she worked the crowd into a greater frenzy, blowing kisses and flipping birds, making them go nuts the less effort she appeared to put into her performance.

Those fuckwits have no idea how much effort this actually takes.

With a nod to the crew, the music kicked on and she started her next dance, singing whenever she felt like gracing her fans with a bar or two. They were frothing at the mouth, so desperate and sad. Verosika Mayday wished she could work a crowd like this. They were going to be lined up around the block to sign themselves away. Velvette wondered how many gigs like this it would take to possess more souls than Vox himself.

“Now who wants to have it all?” she barked. “Who wants to be like me?”

They all did. This was so much easier than selling influencer courses.

“Then c'mon baby dolls, GIMME ALL YOU GOT!!”

They surged, Velvette could practically taste all these new contracts…

…and then everything went tits up in five seconds flat.

One of the intersections her impromptu block party was cutting off suddenly lit up in a green blaze that totally clashed with her red and violet light show, accompanied by a booming sound that soon gave way to the crackle of static. The high pitched wail of audio feedback came right after it, then every one of Velvette’s speakers blew up, sending fire and electricity and potential Subscribers flying all over the place. The screens projecting her face to the back of the crowd went next, sparking and crashing onto the stage.

Velvette whipped her head around to a panicking crew member.

“You! Figure out what the fuck that is and fix it right the fuck now.”

The frantic demon was stammering something completely fucking useless when another loud crash came from the block that had at least stopped glowing green. Her audience was so densely packed there was no way they'd be able to scatter quickly enough, and could only flail around as the massive form of something collapsed onto a large swath of them. Desperately the rest of the crowd scrambled to flee, though Velvette noticed with no small amount of pleasure that several of them were filming the carnage on their phones even as they backed away.

She hopped off of the flaming stage and parted the crowd in waves with only a touch of her finger to the shoulders of flabbergasted fanboys. In a matter of moments she made it to the wreckage, which was somehow quite a bit smaller than it had looked only moments ago.

It was still large, larger than the handful of fans who were squashed under its heavy metallic girth. The thing was a machine of some sort, but its aesthetic was totally ancient. Either that, or someone was just way too devoted to Steampunk roughly a millennium since it was even remotely trendy. If she had to guess, Velvette would have described it as… an ugly fucking mess.

Velvette snapped a few pics herself, zooming in on key parts that looked like joints or busted control panels. She moved around to where the remains of a cockpit appeared to be, large shards of glass from a window littering the ground. Whoever was to blame for this mess shouldn't have been too far away. Clouds of smoke were still billowing up from inside the cockpit, illuminated in an eerie way by a small green fire that had no clear source. Was this where the blast initiated? And if so, did the machine do it, or was it that massive thing that somehow vanished the moment it hit the ground?

Tired of waiting for the smoke to clear, Velvette turned to her still-captive audience, projecting over their panicking little heads. “Who wants to be a big help to their favorite babydoll?!!”

They all did.

“You're all such precious little things, oh my god you're so cute! Alright, duckies, all I need is the shirt off of your backs!! Now give ‘em to me!!”

Because people, Sinners, and especially her fans were disgusting wastes of carbon, Velvette was practically showered with shirts, jackets, even trousers and… how did they get their knickers off so fast nevermind I don't actually want to know. Her staff deftly kept the clothes from landing on her, and gave her the least offensive offerings while the crowd screamed, desperate to have their clothing chosen for a sacrifice. A couple of large coats and a skirt in hand, Velvette herself marched into the wreckage and threw the wretched crimes against fashion over the fire, stomping down to quash the flames. The sounds of the crowd and security keeping them at bay began to fade away as she squinted through the haze. She snapped a few more pictures, stepped forward, and–

squelch

The hair on Velvette’s neck and arms shot up and she grimaced as she stepped on something thick and slimy. She hopped back, looked down, and saw the long winding tail of a serpentine Sinner. A very familiar Sinner.

“Ohhh, that's why the tacky steampunk looked familiar,” she said to herself, photographing the collapsed idiot who thought that he was more qualified than her. Apparently this idiot – whatever his fucking name was – had been here longer than Vox and even longer than the Radio Demon, and yet never got strong enough on his own to become an Overlord. So instead he begged to be part of the Vees. When he tried to raise a fuss about Velvette’s appointment, it didn't do much outside of making for a really funny side story to go along with her debut. And now he was giving her a part two.

The smoke cleared enough that she could see the rest of him now. His Victorian chic was tattered and burned, the eye on his top hat closed along with the ones on his face, and the ones that lined his tail. She laughed and raised her phone to take more pictures. But the moment she tapped the screen, her phone shook in her hand, the screen flickered and glitched out, green artifacting taking over everything. Then it grew hot, really hot, in an instant, causing Velvette to drop it in surprise. It wasn't a moment too soon either, because the damn thing exploded just before hitting the ground.

There were cries of shock and surprise, and Velvette turned away from the wreckage to see her staff members distracted by their own tech shorting out, phones and headsets catching fire. And the fans too, their phones jumping out of their hands as they popped and burst in a wave apparently radiating from the point where Velvette stood.

“Okay, I'd really love to know just what the fuck is–” Velvette turned back to the unconscious snake, but was struck by what she saw in his place.

“I can not say that I bear much surprise, to see thy presence at the center here.” The long and tall figure that seemed to be made of shadow itself loomed over Velvette, bright green eyes narrowing at her. “Thou art well appointed, and no mistake, to stand alongside the Voice and the Moth.”

“Cut the poetry reading, Zestial,” Velvette said, successfully glaring up at the old fuck now that the initial shock wore off. The same couldn't be said for the Sinners around her, though. There was renewed screaming as the weak-willed started freaking out at Zestial’s mere presence. “This right here is a private issue, on my turf, so back off. Unless you had something to do with this?”

To Velvette's irritation, Zestial smiled. He looked like a fucked up jack-o-lantern. “I possess not the desire to destroy such a marvel as this. Thou wouldst be wise to demonstrate some small shred of humility in the face of a power so great.”

“You're telling me that you think this scrap heap was something special?”

“Indeed I do, but it is not to Sir Pentious' marvel that I speak in this case. Rather, I would advise thou to regard the force that brought both of these titans to heel.”

“Titans? You're calling that slug– wait, both?!”

But Zestial wasn't paying her any more attention. He turned away, and leaned down over Pentious’ unmoving body. Velvette couldn't see what he was doing, and some force – perhaps just her sense of self preservation – kept her from interfering. He lifted Sir Pentious from the ground with one arm, and with the other he was picking up… something else. Shadows swept up around him, swirling into a frenzy until she could only see the other Overlord in patches. He turned as the darkness enveloped him completely, meeting Velvette’s eyes. For only one fleeting moment, she saw the other figure Zestial was holding. The long and tattered red coat, small and twisted black antlers, nasty crooked teeth fixed in a permanent smile even while unconscious…

The whole world was suddenly plunged into total darkness, then seconds later the light returned, and Zestial was gone. But echoing around her, or maybe only in her own mind, she heard his voice.

The nights of Hell are darker still

Than all thy scheming could fulfill–

Powers thou could Never know

Are frothing, teeming, Deep below.

In fleeting moments do they rise,

And beg for newfound sacrifice.

A glimpse is all I was allowed

'Fore even I was rendered cowed;

Yet thou, thy Triad, seek to hone

These forces thou could Never own.

What happened here is but a Taste

Of what I Fear shall only grow.

All that you treasure is but waste

To the Laughter in the

Deep…

…Green…

…Glow.

Velvette looked around, dizzy and disoriented, infuriated and confused. But Zestial was gone, and he took Sir Pentious… and the Radio Demon… with him. Those left after the chaos were gathering around, hoping that their idol could give them any guidance, protection… something.

I couldn't even if I wanted to, duckies.

Whatever the fuck just happened, it's really going to shake things up around here.

In spite of herself, Velvette smiled.

I can't wait to tell the boys about this.

•••

The waning moon was high in the sky, a crooked smile of pale red against the spilled red wine that made up the night sky. The sky of Hell. Or just the sky of Angel Dust’s Hell, the Hell of Sinners. But what other Hell mattered? It was the only one he would ever know. His ankles hurt, an impressive feat given how long he could last in heels of any shape or size, in any position. The problem was that he was usually dancing, or doing something that wasn't quite so repetitive the way that walking was. And he had long since lost track of how long he had been walking. It had been at least a day, that much he had figured. The one baggie he'd had on him when he left Val's place was empty, all the adrenaline spent, and now he was just running on fumes. His scalp itched, his eyes hurt, and he probably smelled awful.

Last time he gathered his bearings, having any idea where he might be, he had taken a turn out of the entertainment district into one of the five large slums that made up the ‘points’ of Pentagram City, lovingly referred to as the Sloth Districts. It was easy to get mugged or raped or whatever in these dark and somehow even more miserable corners of the city, but it was also easier to pass by unnoticed. Angel Dust was no stranger to the slums, both in life and in death. And anything that could possibly threaten him here was nothing – nothing – compared to what he was running away from.

“Go ahead and leave, then! You really think you can last one day out there without me? Those snarling, drooling beasts will devour you. And no matter how loud you scream, no matter how much you beg, I won't come to save you.

Is that what you want, amorcito?”

Angel Dust gritted his teeth and scoffed at the memory. He didn't care. He didn't need him. He said as much, screamed it, dodging insults and threats and grabbing hands. The smell of Valentino’s foul breath, that oozed through every fiber that made up his den of sweet promises and seductive lies, lingered in Angel’s nostrils, making him gag even now. That wasn’t what he needed anymore. It had never been what he needed. He was better than that. Or at least, he would be. He would be.

I’m gonna be better. That was the mantra he repeated in his mind over and over, with each step reinforcing it. He had successfully removed the tracking app from his phone in preparation for his escape, but heard it ring, felt it vibrate, as Valentino continued to press him, trying to convince him to return. Turning notifications off worked for a while. Then he got the nerve to block him. But finally, as his legs threatened to give out and he realized he was running out of street, he made the choice.

After one more turn, headed north, Angel Dust skittered up a wall and hopped over it to find that he was on the outskirts of Pentagram City. There was hardly anywhere to go here, the land stretching out barren and dry, leading to a sheer drop into nothingness. The space between spaces lay beyond, so they said, and no Sinner could hope to successfully breach those outer limits of Hell. Still he was overcome with a maddening rush of emotion that had only one possible outlet. He let out a guttural cry that soon turned to hysterical laughter, and he ran. He ran with a new burst of energy that made his legs burn, all the way to that drop into nowhere. He skidded to a halt right at the edge…

…and he hurled his cell phone into the chasm, laughing all the while.

“FUCK YOU, VAL!! I AIN’T NEVER, NEVER GONNA BE YOURS! NEVER AGAIN!!!”

Tears flooding his eyes and spraying into the air like jewels, Angel Dust fell onto his back and continued to cackle, the sound becoming high and deranged and not at all like his own voice. But he let it go. He was free.

He was free.

How long he lay there, staring up at the crooked smile of the moon, he didn’t know. It wasn’t as long as he’d spent walking, but was longer than he’d meant to. Maybe he fell asleep. The crooked smile moon looked like it was moving. Then a pair of wide and unblinking eyes appeared above it, and the crooked face began to sing. Angel Dust smiled back at the face in the sky that had become his new companion, and he sang along with it.

This was nice. But all nice things ended way too soon.

“It’s alright. No, Dad. Yes. No. No, it– that’s fine. Please, you don’t have to. Okay, I’ll call you back– right. Bye.”

Angel turned his head away from his crooked-smile-face-moon-friend towards the voice. Just who in the fuck would be walking around this nothing space was beyond him, and when he saw her, he was no less confused.

She was fairly tall, it looked, wearing a cute little number in red and black, with the thickest, platinum-est blonde hair he’d ever seen, tied in a black ribbon and flowing like water behind her. She was just hanging up her phone, looking completely done, stuffing it in her pocket while carrying a whole shitload of boxes balanced precariously on her other arm. Following her course with his eyes, Angel saw her destination. There was a hill, of a sort, that kind of jutted out over the chasm, and on that hill was a building. It looked old and sort of faded, like a photograph from when he was alive. A hotel, if he had to guess. He was weighing the pros and cons of bailing before she noticed him when she started to really struggle with her burden. Before he could question himself, he was on his aching feet, hurrying over to her and catching the boxes seconds before they fell.

“Woah there, Little Miss Overachiever!” he said, collecting four boxes in his lower arms. “It’s okay, you got the part.”

“Oh! I– wha– thank you so much!” she said, turning to look at him with a very white and very flushed face. Her eyes were huge and too cute, save for the sharpness of her red pupils and how wickedly sharp her fangs were. From this close he noticed that she was balancing all this on narrow pointed feet, probably hooves. Maybe she’d been dead long enough to really get a handle on them.

“Don’t worry about it,” Angel said, raising an eyebrow as he continued to assess this completely bonkers situation. “What are ya doin’ all the way out here, anyway? Not exactly what I’d call safe to be traipsing around outside the city all by your lonesome. There’s like, boogiemans out here or some shit.”

“Boogie… what?” She blinked at him in utter confusion. “I don’t know what that means. But I’m okay! I’m just getting the hotel set up!”

He gestured to her and they started walking toward the spooky old place together. “You own this weird old creep shack? The fuck you want with a place like this? Who even built a place like this??”

“Oh… my dad,” she said, her voice falling a little flat. “He’s helping… I mean he sort of… I’m taking it over, fixing it up, since he wasn’t using it for anything anymore.”

“That’s… weird and vague,” Angel allowed, really feeling it in his thighs as they worked their way up the hill. “Expecting to get a lot of guests all the way out here?”

“I’m hoping so! I have a special mission in mind for the hotel, and I think a lot of people will really respond to it!”

“Yeah? And what mission is that?”

“I’m going to help Sinners find redemption!”

Angel Dust stopped several feet from the front doors, turning to give her the most withering stare he could manage. “You’re gonna what.”

“I’m going to help Sinners– oh you heard me.” She looked no less enthusiastic, however, delivering what must have been an oft-practiced speech. “Things in Pentagram City just keep getting worse and worse for everyone, and with the exterminations, so many Sinners feel like they have no hope for a future of any kind! So I thought that if I could provide a place for Sinners to come together and learn to change their ways, however it is they wound up getting sent here, then maybe they could be redeemed, be brought up to Heaven! And then there wouldn’t be any more overcrowding in Hell, everybody would be able to be in Heaven, and be happy, and everyone will be better off!”

Angel took several moments to process the lunacy he’d just heard. “And this is a thing you thought of with your brain, and your brain told you it was a good idea that would definitely work?”

“Yup!”

“...You’re not a Sinner, then, huh?”

“Oh! No. No, I’m not,” she said.

“Then why would you give a single fuck about us?”

“Well… because you’re my people. Oh! I should introduce myself!” The weird, weird demon scurried to the doors, set her boxes down on the doorstep, then scurried back and extended her hand. “Hi! My name is Charlie Morningstar!”

“Charlie Morningstar. You’re Charlie Morningstar? The fucking Princess of Hell?!” Angel nearly dropped the boxes he was carrying.

She didn’t drop her hand. “It’s nice to meet you… Um…?”

“Oh. Uh. Angel. Angel Dust.” He took her hand tentatively, wondering just how this is where his life had led. “Nice to meet you too, uh, your Highness.��

“Nooo, no no no, please not that,” Charlie said awkwardly, giggling in a very un-princess-like way. “Just Charlie. I don’t want to be treated like I’m any better than anyone else.”

Angel Dust shook his head slowly, finally setting down his own burden. “You ain’t never been seen in public since you were like, a little kid or some shit, least that’s what they say, and now you’re just setting up shop in some shitty hotel in the middle of nowhere… wait, so this is Lucifer’s place? The fuck’s he got a shithole like this for?”

“I… honestly don’t know what he did with it before,” she said, sounding forlorn. “But it’s mine now, and I’m going to pursue my dream! It’s basically all done up, now I just need to find some guests!”

Angel looked at the hotel. Then at Charlie. Then at the hotel again. It was dingy. It was dark, probably damp, looked like it smelled funny… but it wasn’t Valentino’s place.

“You know… I happen to be a really famous po– uh. Movie star!” Angel Dust said. “Okay, porn star, but that’s as big as it gets down here. Maybe you’d be able to draw in some clientele if they knew you had a real A-lister settin’ up shop here.”

Charlie’s eyes widened, sparkling with an eager joy that instantly made Angel Dust feel a little guilty. “You want to try to get redeemed?”

“Well, let’s not go that far, but, I mean… I’ll try anything once, baby.” He gave her one of his most winning smiles with a dashing wink.

It seemed to work. She blushed and grinned, and clapped her hands together, and then – to Angel’s shock – threw her arms around him in a tight hug. “Oh I’m so glad! Thank you thank you thank you this is going to be so–”

Just what it was going to ‘be so’, he never found out, because in that moment, the red sky suddenly turned completely black, and they were both thrust into total darkness. He felt Charlie pull away, but he took hold of her shoulders and kept her grounded lest she float off into the nether. In another handful of moments the darkness was gone, and there was a tall and imposing figure standing in front of them, even taller than Angel was himself. Taller than Valentino, maybe.

“Good evening to thee, sweet young Charlie,” said the Sinner, one Angel Dust knew only by reputation. The spooky guy with the top hat, spidery in some ways Angel was, and in some ways Angel wasn’t. He was an Overlord, a super old one, and one the Vees really didn’t like. “I do hope I am not intruding upon some clandestine meeting ‘twixt thee two.”

“No, Uncle Zestial, not at all! It’s so good to see you, it’s been so long!” Charlie said. Angel Dust was flummoxed. He half expected her to hug him too, but she held off. “Is… is everything okay?”

“That I cannot say for sure. But perhaps…” he tilted his head toward Angel Dust for a second, and he felt all of his nerves suddenly tense up in a weird and unnamable horror. Then he looked back at Charlie, but the chill remained. “...Perhaps I might ask, if thou art willing, for a favor, small I hope, large I fear.”

Charlie smiled. “I’ll help in any way I can. What do you need?”

“An incident occurred this very night, under conditions still I cannot say. Two Sinners, wayward, found some plight, and need a place where they might stay. Perhaps for respite, perhaps for change.”

“Well, that’s perfect!” Charlie said, while Angel tried to parse what exactly this Shakesperean fucker was trying to say. “I have plenty of space for anyone who needs it.”

“Even if those Sinners are… quite deranged?” Zestial’s glowing green smile turned even creepier, and Angel shuddered.

But Charlie was undeterred. “No matter what, I won’t turn anyone away.”

Just where they had been stored, Angel had no idea, but Zestial spread out his arms and pulled from under his cloak two bodies. He laid them on the ground, gently, then took a couple of steps back. Charlie and Angel Dust approached, peering down at them. One looked like a snake man, wearing a top hat and a fancy coat. The other was a creepy, bony, angular man. His face was a dark and murky gray, his hair as cherry red as his tattered suit, and he had two tiny black antlers on his head. Two large tufts of hair looked almost like ears. Maybe they were his ears. And even though he was unconscious… he was smiling. They were both badly singed, and injured in several places.

Both of them started to rouse at the same moment, slow and groaning at first, but when they both blinked their bright red eyes and took stock of their surroundings, they both shot up like bolts of lightning, locking their gazes with each other.

“Alastor!!” The serpent hissed, surging upright with remarkable fluidity. “What happened? What have you done to my beautiful machine??!”

The deer man hopped up too, his angular joints cracking as he did. “It went precisely where I’m going to send you, no doubt! It was… Sir Pentious, wasn’t it? Well, Sir Pentious, say hello to Oblivion for me!!”

As Charlie let out a startled cry and made to intervene, the one called Alastor flung his hand out into the air, clearly with the intent to do some kind of magic shit or something. But nothing happened. His smile, which was wide and yellow and gross (and made Angel think of the crooked moon) sort of cracked, and his ear fluff flattened on his head.

Sir Pentious stared ahead. “You… you were going for something there, weren’t you?”

Alastor glared. “I bothered to remember your name, don’t ruin it by mocking me.”

He pulled his hand back, then jutted it out again. Still nothing happened.

“Maybe you’re just not doing it right,” Pentious suggested.

“Maybe you’re not doing it right!!”

“But I wasn’t–! Oh… maybe you should try it like this…”

Sir Pentious stuck his own hand out this time, doing a fancy little flourish that Angel Dust found hilarious. And then, to the shock of everyone – especially Alastor and Pentious, it seemed – a flash of black energy swirled around Sir Pentious’ hand, turning acid green for just an instant, and then a staff appeared in the serpent’s grasp. It looked kind of like an old school microphone, with a big red eye set into the base.

For several moments, no one said anything. No one even moved, or breathed. Then Alastor straightened his back, his hair bristling.

“What the fuck??!”

#my writing #my fics #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfiction #radiodust #hazbin hotel au #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin zestial #hazbin velvette #hazbin charlie #charlie morningstar #alastor #angel dust

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swaps55 · 2 months ago

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Hi! Sorry if you have already answered this somewhere, I love reading about your writing process for Opus and was wondering if you would talk about how you pick and choose which missions to assign Sam and Kaidan, like Kaidan taking on the Project Overlord mission? Also, lol, will Sam ever have the misfortune of driving a Hammerhead and how much would he hate it?

Hahahahaha, Sam would hate the Hammerhead so much. I will probably spare him that displeasure, given how much else he has to deal with.

This is such an awesome question; thank you so much for asking it, and I am so sorry this answer is probably far more involved than you were looking for.

Stories like Cantata, Fugue, and Kaidan's portion of Mezzo necessitated missions that weren't main plot for the trilogy. But since the codex is so rich and there are so many side missions across the three games, I made it an unwritten rule that I wouldn't make up a mission from thin air if I could help it. Instead I'd pull something from canon and twist it into a new shape. That put less pressure on me to invent something from scratch, and it meant fun Easter eggs for the reader.

This has taken different shapes. In Cantata, the mission where Sam experiences a blood sugar crash in mid-combat was going to be heavy on action, which meant a fairly elaborate "combat chess board." Designing a visual setting is one of my big weaknesses as a writer, so I set it on Benning because I could then use the ME3MP map as a template to craft the rest of the mission around.

The underwater mission Sam does on Proteus is what it is because the codex states that combat diving is part of the N program. I thought that was cool, and while perusing planets in the codex, the description for Proteus included an underwater colony. "Great!" I said to myself. "What if I broke it?"

Virtually every place the Yang Gang visits in Cantata is pulled straight from canon, as well as what they find there. It's something I'm pretty proud of.

(The big exception is the thresher maw on Sharjilla, which is pure artistic liberty, but I am beyond delighted that people have played that mission expecting to find one because of Cantata. At one point I had planned a really great joke where Sam nukes the thresher maw from orbit out of pure spite, so when they come back to Sharjila in ME1 and Kaidan mentions threshers, someone could go, "wait, there's thresher maws down there?!" and Sam would growl under his breath, "not anymore." But I couldn't fit it into Cantata, lol.)

As for all the side missions I've woven in, they provide a neat opportunity to spread the love. They are Shepard's responsibility in the games because Shepard is the player character, so the entire world revolves around them. In fic, I don't have that constraint, so I am free to take missions that have some good narrative potential and give them to other characters.

Side quests like Bring Down the Sky don't offer much to the canon plot, but for Opus it provided an opportunity for some pretty sharp character development while also advancing my reimagined plans for ME3.

In the case of Overlord, I loved the complexity it would add to something like Horizon: if Kaidan got a first hand glimpse at the terrible things Cerberus does right before discovering Shepard on Horizon, suddenly his distrust and anger take on new meaning.

Kasumi became Kaidan's partner in crime because the cast of ME2 is so dense that I went looking for ways to weed down the cast without having to just leave people out or inflict mass casualties. Kasumi's skillset as a thief never made sense to me for something like the suicide mission, but Kasumi herself is a delight. And like Kaidan, she has experienced the death of a partner. They seemed like such a natural fit for each other, and Keiji's role as a double agent with the Alliance also worked narratively in my favor: I got to use him to answer questions like, "how the hell does Cerberus get their hands on the Normandy design docs?"

Fugue also incorporates a few ME2 side missions that, again, just dovetailed nicely into what I was trying to do. Superimposing Keiji over the Cerberus agent in N7: Lost Operative just worked well for what I wanted to do, and N7: Imminent Ship Crash gave me a good segue into it, while also giving me the chance to explore how Kara and Aslany dealt with the loss of the 'Yang.

So how I choose what missions I use comes down to what I need for the story. I have a vague idea of what I need to accomplish, then look for a side mission or DLC that can help me get there. The Hammerhead DLC missions are utterly terrible to play, but there is just enough of an interesting story to them that I was able to weave something useful to future Opus plans while also letting Kaidan grow into his role as a leader.

The DLC and side missions are really fun to work with, and one of my favorite parts of Opus, even if I almost went bald tearing my hear out over N7: Imminent Ship Crash. XD

#swaps replies #viridianvalor #opus!verse #how writing is written

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ilsanslut · 2 months ago

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UPDATE! SEMI-HIATUS STILL IN EFFECT.

hiya lovelies, long time no chat! ♡

first off, i would like to thank all of you for all the love on my bots and support on j.ai as of late! i wish c.ai was as interactive so that i may interact with you all there as well, but i'm certainly feeling the love on the alt site.

though, there is a massive elphant in the room, and that is my consistent inactivity AND long periods of disappearing without a trace.

if you are interested in knowing how i'll precede in the future and how my content will be affected, please proceed below the cut.

so, first thing's first - work. i'm incredibly busy outside of the internet and if i'm not working, i'm most likely sleeping. just to reiterate, that is mainly because i'm a full-time nurse and work 3-4 12hr night shifts a week. for this reason, the main reasoning behind my inactivity should be self-explanatory.

secondly, i am not ignoring my inbox requests. i see them all and i hear you! however, for the aforementioned reasons, i have not replied and i apologize for keeping you all in the dark. while i cannot get to everyone, i've taken some of the requests into consideration and, in the future, bots will be published to hopefully fulfill them. it will be in no particular order, however, requests that interest me the most or involve my favorite characters (bc im a hopeless simp) will be indulged in first. sorry if this is unappealing, but this is the best way for me to pump out some content without burning out my muse for writing so quickly.

thirdly, c.ai vs. j.ai. as of late, i have been more active on my j.ai as opposed to my c.ai. that is simply because, once again, i'm a hopeless delulu simp and j.ai feeds me better than c.ai does, despite c.ai having the better ai responses/organizaiton. that being said, i have had multiple requests to convert j.ai bots to c.ai and vice versa. in due time, i play to convert my c.ai bots into j.ai FIRST and then proceed to converting my j.ai bots into c.ai.

that being said, due to my slow efforts, some of you can take the liberty of converting my bots on your own. all i'm asking is that if you want to use my bots, please, PLEASE credit me or state that my bot inspired your own (if they are very similar) and please ask/tell me either in my j.ai comments or tumblr inbox before you do so that there's no confusion later down the line. seeing as your reading this far, this should be no issue. thank you, lovelies.

if yall do see anyone stealing/using my works, please, let me know, report it, and/or make others aware that the content is stolen. i would appreciate it so, so much. 🫶🏾

lastly, i'll be active here and there and maybe share a little blurb or a horny/fluffy thought every now and then, but it will take some time for me to get back into writing full fics like i was before. if i'm honest i barely even read smut anymore after indulging in so many ai bots and only use tumblr to either check my inbox or to promote my own bots. however, this does not mean that i've stopped writing. once i'm able to fully balance work and writing, i'll be back to writing fics in no time!

but if i'm honest, that's pretty much it from me! i look forward to interacting with you all soon, and hope you all have a gorgeous day/night! ♡

#vampiiespeakz

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worldsgreatest-actor · 1 month ago

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WHOOO Krita allowed me to download a non-corrupted image! I've made a few changes to what's in my original post (which has gotten stuck in a queue or something), so here's the updated information.

Donovan "Van" Viotto

His name means "a strong and confident person who is ready to defend what they believe in."

I'm not sure this is strictly true for *this* Van...

▪︎Van died via drowning. He lept into the open ocean to save a young girl he had taken in. He worked as a lighthouse keeper and the girl, nicknamed Crown, had turned up.

▪︎Now he somewhat considers himself Crown's guardian angel, although she has little idea that he's still 'alive'.

▪︎He's got moderate OCD, as well as a few phobias too many for the average person. He is scared of dogs, heights, storms... and now drowning's been added to the list he can't bear to look at the water ever again.

▪︎Loves everything space related, espically constellations. He often draws them in his Handbook, projecting them off the paper.

▪︎He doesn't like the fact that he has been brought back as a Knight. The idea of immortality has never appealed to him.

▪︎He supports Jules as Queen, but isn't too hyped about the whole thing.

▪︎He's slowly going insane from his new found life, trying to find a way to get out of it. He doesn't like the thought of dying a second time though—

▪︎Van's weapon, a Harpe, is much like a sickle or scythe, although it has a much longer handle. When he feels too bound up about his whole situation, he's often found spinning it around it the likewise.

▪︎His mortal wound, found on the side of his neck, is shaped like a roaring lion with a upwards facing triangle beneath it. Because of it's colour, he's wondering whether he could play it off for a flesh wound on Earth. Van likes to think he got his Wound in this shape (as well as his powers) because of a connection to Leo Minor, a constellation. It's just one of his fantasy's though.

▪︎As for his powers, he can shift into a lion... but only a cub (sorry Van). He is quite embarrassed of it and mostly denies to use it near any other Knights.

▪︎He prefers to wear more formal attire than not, as if he was in the realm professionally and only on business, that he could leave any time. A false comfort. He often wears a cape on too, which is constantly getting caught on his harpe.

▪︎As it's a little hard to see in the picture, his traditional outfit consists of a blue, red and brown pallet. His shirt has short sleeve and one long, the former being blue, and the latter being a dark red. His leggings are an off brown, as well as his occasional cape. His eyes have turned blue-red since death, as well as the strip in his hair, which used to be white.

I'm not all that great at designing character outfits, so there's a lot of liberty there.

#the knight's handbook #art #TKH #oc

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virgo-mess · 10 months ago

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Silver Thread Chapter 8 part 2

Finally finished this part for you guys! I was ridiculously hung up on the Gala for some reason, and I think it's because the events of the Gala aren't super important, but the context is. So, there is some vague small talk surrounding it and some cute fluffy build-up, but ultimately, this chapter is very dark. So please read with discretion or skip this chapter all together if you have to. That being said, this part is over 16,000 words so I'm sorry if you're reading this super late. I hope that those of you are able to get through this and like it for what it is... and I'm sorry.

BIG TRIGGER WARNINGS: Graphic Violence, Abduction, Date rape drugging, Graphic attempted rape, and Graphic sexual assault, I left it kind of vague, but you can interpret that one part with the...however you'd like. There's a new character Pov in this part and Veda, Terry, Margaret, and Larry all have some cute moments in here.

PS: As usual some creative liberties were taken the pictures of the Majestic Downtown in downtown LA, but I've moved the location to Hollywood just because I can, jk it's just because I overthink everything and thought it was necessary for the plot. So, the "Majestic Hollywood" isn't a real place but is a real place all at the same time. Just ignore my rambling here.

Veda’s Pov

Sunday rolled around much quicker than Veda would’ve liked but it wasn’t because she was still nervous about going to the annual charity Gala at the Majestic Hollywood venue with Terry. She was still kind of nervous about the gala but the weekend she spent getting to know some of the kind of people in Terry’s world defiantly helped diminish a lot of her nerves. Now she was more excited about it than anything, but she still found herself not wanting their trip at the ranch to end. It was mostly because they made so many lasting memories in such a short period of time, they took enough pictures to fill two photo albums already and now she felt even closer to Terry on an emotional level.

Terry was able to open up to her a bit more about the time he spent in Vietnam after his emotional undoing during the fourth of July and as always Veda listened empathetically, planting comforting kisses on his temple as she stroked his hair. They spent most of Saturday cuddled up on the terrace or in their private whirlpool just enjoying each other’s company before taking their serene walk up to the waterfalls. They laughed, snapped pictures, and playfully splashed each other for what felt like hours in their perfect little bubble loving and taking care of each other like it was the only thing they lived for. So, when Sunday did finally come, and Veda had to watch the beautiful lavender and grand olive trees swaying in the summer wind like they were bidding her a farewell she couldn’t help but feel sad, a single tear rolled down her rosy cheek as the pulled out of the winding driveway.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Terry asked softly, as he pulled the car out of the winding driveway and onto the main road and gave her hand a gentle reassuring squeeze. Veda smiled at him adoringly, loving how he never seemed to miss a thing and knew her so well now.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not a big deal. I just really loved staying at the ranch with you and I’d definitely love to come back to it one day” she said sweetly, Terry’s eyes softened as he looked over at her in the glow of the summer sunshine.

“Oh, baby girl, we can go back every year if you want to, it can be our annual weekend getaway” he beamed, bringing her hand up to his lips to pepper it with adoring kisses. Veda giggled; her heart always fluttered at him making so many future plans for them always gently reassuring her that they were very much a sure thing.

“I’d love that, my love” Veda cooed, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek before resting her cheek on his strong with a content smile on her face. They spent the rest of the drive back to the Ennis house in one of their serene silences giving each other tender kisses as they got stuck in some of LA’s notoriously bad traffic. They didn’t mind of course, there was very few people either of them would enjoy being couped up in car with for a few hours with and Veda was glad Terry was one of hers and that she was one of his. She imagined she could quite happily live her life practically anywhere as long as Terry was by her side and that was something she never wanted to change. She loved and craved Terry with every fiber of her being.

They made it home around noon and spent the rest of the afternoon cuddled up by the pool reading and making small talk while they shared a sweet lunch. Just trying to fill in some time before they had to go get ready for the gala, Margaret and Veda agreed to help each other with their hair and make up which Veda was very excited about. Veda and Lucielle hadn’t had much time to do any mother and daughter bonding these days even though her mom wanted to drop her job in Fresno after hearing what happened at the pier. Veda of course refused to let her do that no matter how much she missed seeing and spending time with her on a daily basis. Margaret was very keen to help her fill that little void; she had no shame in admitting to Terry that Veda was the only reason she even agreed to attend the gala with them tonight.

“Alright, Mr. Silver, I’m stealing this darling away from you now and there’s nothing you can do about it” Maragret quipped, stepping out onto the pool patio with a dress bag in her hands. Veda giggled watching a playful scowl cross Terry’s face as he narrowed his eyes at her from the chair they were currently cuddled up on.

“Watch it Margaret, if you keep stealing my girlfriend from me, I might have to let you go with a very good severance package of course” Terry said jokingly, playfully pouting at Veda with big blue puppy eyes when she wiggled out of his grasp. Veda rolled her eyes and quickly peppered his face with kisses before bouncing over to Margaret excitedly.

“Doing that won’t stop me from stealing her from you, sir. So, you’d just be without a girlfriend and a million dollars” Margaret said, flashing Terry a coy smile before tugging Veda into the house gently. Veda could hear Terry chuckling softly as they entered the house and made their way down the loggia to the master bedroom.

“What kind of dress did you get Margaret” Veda asked excitedly as she pointed to the dress bag she was still holding. Veda had gone dress shopping with Terry not too long before they left for their trip, Terry as usual was very eager to have her try on a ton of very pricey dresses. At some point she could just tell he was having a lot of fun dressing and undressing her in the dressing room, they did get a little handsy in there and she knew the snobby store attendant knew based on the nasty look she shot her when they were leaving.

“Take a look darling” Maragret said giving her a fond smile as she unzipped the bag, revealing a tea length navy blue dress with quarter length sheer sleeves that was covered in a pretty silver floral pattern. Veda gasped with big grin on her face as she eyed the dress.

“Oh, wow, Margaret it’s beautiful. You’re going to look amazing” Veda said sweetly, Margaret chuckled stroking one of Veda’s cheeks affectionately.

“You’re such a darling, what dress did you and Mr. Silver end up picking?” Margaret asked with a warm maternal smile as she moved toward the vanity to pull out a curling wand and make up. Veda giggled with a slightly impish grin on her face as she urged Margaret to sit on the vanity chair.

“You’ll just have to wait and see. I’m determined to get you all dolled up for tonight, who knows you might even go home with a handsome stranger tonight” Veda chirped, plugging in the curling wand, and getting right to work on Margaret’s makeup. Margaret chuckled with an amused smile on her face as Veda eagerly started doing her eyeshadow and liner.

“Darling, I haven’t met a handsome stranger since my late Mr. Spencer the only one leaving with a handsome man tonight is you. I do have to warn you that tons of desperate girls fawn over Mr. Silver at these events, and I don’t want you to feel discouraged. Mr. Silver only has eyes for you and if any of those women are anything less than polite to you, I’ll handle them.” Margaret said seriously, Veda smiled bashfully as she applied a little concealer and a soft pink blush to Margaret’s fair cheeks and started curling her light blonde hair.

“I know you will Margaret, you all take such good care of me and I’m not too worried about any of those desperate girls. Terry hardly even looks at them unless they’re being rude to me, and I know how to kill them with kindness. Here take a look” Veda said, finishing up with her hair Margaret flashed her another warm maternal smile before taking a look at herself in the mirror.

“Thank you, darling, I like it very much” Margaret said sincerely, stroking one of Veda’s cheeks affectionately for a long moment Veda gave her a sweet smile and placed her hand on top of hers gently.

“Are you okay?” Veda asked softly, Margaret nodded seeming to snap out whatever daydream she was in and rose up from the vanity seat to wrap Veda in a warm embrace. Veda didn’t hesitate to hug her back sensing that she really needed it after whatever distant memory plagued her mind.

“Yes, darling I’m fine, you just remind of someone I used to know is all. Here, have a seat and we’ll get started on you now” Maragaret said, gently urging her to sit down on the vanity seat, Veda sat and wondered who she could possibly remind her of, but she could sense that it might be a touchy subject and didn’t want to pry. So, Veda left the topic alone and shifted their conversation into something more lighthearted while Margaret got to work on her hair and makeup. Margaret was always so sweet to her but never really delved into the more personal aspects of her life. All Veda really knew was that her late husband had passed away in a car accident about fifteen years ago, Margaret never remarried after that, and she never mentioned ever having any children. Veda had always assumed she didn’t, but she never considered the possibility that maybe something had happened to any children they did have either.

Veda and Margaret laughed and gossiped in a way that was very similar to the way Veda and Lucille often did, dancing on that sweet spot between having a strong mother- daughter bond and being the best of friends. While Margaret applied her makeup in a warm smokey look with shades of gold and deep burgundy, a thin layer of eyeliner and mascara, and then a very soft pink blush. Veda liked that it was a lot softer than some of the more shocking looks they usually published in the high fashion magazines, and it would go perfectly with the short burgundy cocktail dress she and Terry had picked out. Margaret then styled her black wavy hair into a more uniform curled half updo with pretty face framing strands just the way Veda liked it.

“Thank you, Margaret, this will go perfectly with my outfit tonight” Veda said happily, pulling her in for another warm hug with a beaming smile on her face. Margaret chuckled softly, smiling back affectionately when she let her go.

“You’re very welcome, darling, I’d love to see your outfit, why don’t you go get dressed while I tell Mr. Silver we’ll be ready shortly so he can come get dressed too. I’ll just use the guest bath, alight” Margaret said warmly, Veda nodded giving her one last quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before skipping towards the closet to pull out her short, form fitted burgundy off the shoulder cocktail dress, sheer black tights, and closed toed Jimmy Choo black suede platforms. Veda thought the ankle strap and thicker heel might help her walk in them a little better even though she knew Terry had no problem carrying her around if she asked him to. By the time Veda had dressed and stepped out of the close, Terry was already tying his tie in front of the full-length mirror.

“Need any help with that, my love?” Veda asked coyly, as she leaned against the closet doorway causally, Terry’s blue eyes lit up when he looked at her just like she knew they would.

“Yes, please. You’re so gorgeous” he breathed out, eagerly walking towards her with a bashful smile on his face, Veda smiled back at him with rosy cheeks she gave him a sweet kiss on the lips before reaching up to tie his black tie. Terry beamed down at her, stoking her cheek softly with a finger.

“And you’re very handsome.” she cooed, gently smoothing out his tie before giving him another sweet kiss on the lips. “May I ask you something” Veda said, looking up at Terry with curious eyes as she moved to grab the blazer he was planning to wear tonight.

“Of course, you may, baby girl, you can always ask me anything. Are you still a little nervous about tonight” Terry said softly, still stroking her cheek as he gazed into her brown eyes lovingly. Veda gave him a reassuring smile as she shook her head, gently urging him to turn around for her.

“No, I’m really excited about tonight actually. My question was in regard to Margaret, she doesn’t really talk about Mr. Spencer or her life back in England too much. Was Mr. Spencer the only family she had?” Veda asked curiously, helping Terry into his burgundy blazer which he matched to her dress perfectly Veda’s heart fluttered when he said it was so everyone knew they were an item, she loved that he loved being as exclusive with her as she was with him. Terry turned around to meet her gaze once she was done, there was a bit of a somber dancing in his blue eyes and Veda immediately regretted her nosy line of questioning.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I was just wondering because she said that I remind her of someone is all.” Veda said softly, reaching out to hold both of his hands gently, Terry flashed her a reassuring smile as be brought her small hands up to his lips and placed comforting kisses on the backs of them.

“No need to apologize, sweetheart. Margaret is very reserved when it comes to personal matters, if she told you that much that means she really adores you and I’m sure she doesn’t mind me telling you. It’s just a tough subject to talk about because she does have other family, but she hasn’t talked to them in years there’s a whole Spencer family feud going on from my knowledge. She was probably referring to her daughter, Rebecca, they’ve had a very difficult relationship since Mr. Spencer passed but I know Margaret really misses her, and she wishes they were closer.” Terry said softly, Veda nodded feeling a bit relieved but still concerned, that wasn’t the answer she was expecting but it was much better than her first assumption.

“Aw, that’s so sad, I understand why that wouldn’t be something she would want to talk about. Have they not tried to reconcile?” Veda asked, still looking up at him with curious eyes while Terry rubbed soothing circles on her hands.

“I know Margaret has tried to reach out but I’m not sure if she ever got a response, I’m not too sure what exactly happened between them, but I hope Rebecca comes around though I can understand what it might be like on her side of things too.” Terry said sincerely, Veda nodded knowing exactly what he meant since moving in she noticed Terry avoided a lot of his parents calls. She didn’t know what it was like not to have supportive parents even when her dad was around, he always encouraged her to find her own path, she wasn’t sure why Rebecca wasn’t reaching back out to Margaret, but she hoped Rebecca could put whatever it was aside for Margaret’s sake. She couldn’t imagine abandoning her own Mom in a foreign country no matter how upset she was at her.

“Yeah, I hope so too for Margaret’s sake, shall we get going I know the traffic up towards Hollywood can be rough at this time and Larry deserves to eat at a decent hour” Veda said shifting their conversation out of the somber dive it had taken with a bright smile. Terry chuckled nodding in acknowledgement.

“That we shall but first off, I got you something” Terry said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, Veda rolled her eyes though she was still smiling at him with loving brown eyes. She wished he would stop spending so much money on gifts for her she hadn’t exactly planned on going anywhere anytime soon, the transfer request felt like some weird far-off dream to her now.

“You have to stop showering me with gifts, Romeo, believe it or not we’re running out of space in here” she said jokingly, Terry shrugged giving her a kiss on the tip of her nose before pulling out a large black velvet box and revealing a beautiful diamond necklace with a tear drop ruby hanging in the middle of the chain. Veda gasped looking at the expensive necklace with wide doe eyes.

“We’ll just have to buy a bigger house then” Terry said nonchalantly, pulling the necklace out and clasping it around her neck gently. “See, it goes with your dress perfectly. You look amazing, baby girl” he said giving her another sweet kiss on the cheek with an adoring smile on his face. Veda blushed getting slightly teary eyed at the fact he looked so serious about them buying a bigger house together.

“We can’t buy a house until I can pay for half of it Mr. Silver, but thank you for the beautiful necklace, my love. I love it and I love you so much” Veda cooed, wrapping her arms around his torso in the form of a hug, Terry didn’t hesitate to hug her back as he placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

“I love you more, sweetheart, your wish is always my command you know that. Now let’s go show you off, huh” Terry said, giving her another tender kiss on the forehead he offered her his arm in true gentleman fashion and led her out of the bedroom and down the center loggia. The traffic over to Hollywood was as heavy as Veda predicted it would be, she and Terry took the opportunity to express just how good they thought the other looked while Veda sat in Terry’s lap in the backseat of the Rolls Royce Silver Wraith. Margaret had insisted on sitting up front by Larry as soon as she saw the slightly hungry look, they were giving each other by the time they ventured into the living room.

“If you mess her hair up Mr. Silver, I swear I won’t be saving you from the loquacious Walter Getty’s incessant bragging this evening” Maragaret quipped, pulling them out of their ardent kissing session with a pointed look on her face just as Larry was pulling in front of the Majestic Hollywood’s grand arched windows and marble columns. Veda blushed shifting in Terry’s lap with a bashful smile paying on her face.

“That’s not fair, Margaret, she threw herself at me what’s a man to do” Terry said teasingly, Veda pouted up at him and gave him a playful swat on the arm.

“That’s not true Margaret, he pounced on me you saw him” Veda said jokingly, Terry gave her a look of mock offense as he gripped one of her ass cheeks teasingly and trailed a few open mouth kisses down the length of her neck and shoulder. Veda bit back a moan as she felt a love bite forming on her shoulder, she crossed her legs to ease some of the throbbing she currently had radiating through her heat at the moment. She was mildly regretting wearing tights this evening. She should’ve known it was going to be virtually impossible for them to keep their hands off each other, now she was doomed to cross her fabric covered legs all night just to get a little friction. Larry chuckled softly under his breath as he parked the car in front of the venues main entrance.

“My innocent darling would never do such a thing; Mr. Silver and you know it. I’m going to go check us all in, you two are free to take as much time as you need to get whatever’s in your system out of it. We have foster children to raise money for” Margaret said firmly as Larry got out of the car to open her door for her while Terry and Veda giggled in the backseat.

“I can’t believe you threw me under the bus and told Margaret a little white lie, baby girl. You’re the one that pounced on me, and you know it” Terry chided, playfully narrowing his amused blue eyes at her Veda giggled with a mad blush on her cheeks. She had in fact been the one to pounce on him, those invisible walls she had built up were tumbling down quickly and they were taking her discomfort towards intimacy with them, and it was all because of Terry. Veda gazed up at him with shy eyes, playing with the ends of his black curls gently so she wouldn’t mess up his perfect ponytail.

“I know I did, Terry it’s just that I feel so close to you on an emotional and mental level and now I think I’m ready to feel that way with you on a physical level too…” she trailed shyly, Terry’s blue eyes softened as they gazed deeply into her brown ones for a long moment. They sat in silence for a moment, just staring at each other and Veda began to worry that the confession had brought forth some of her initial fears surrounding the nature of their relationship. Veda dropped her hand from his hair sharply and moved to pull away from him, suddenly feeling very self-conscious and a little discourage by his lack of response.

Her moving seemed to snap Terry out of whatever place his mind had wandered off to, he wrapped his arms around her tightly and gave her a soft reassuring smile before he pulled her in for a very passionate kiss. Veda melted into him almost immediately, every ounce of discouragement seemed to melt away and all she felt was his endless love and devotion radiating off of him. It filled her entire being, all consuming in the most beautiful way possible.

“I’m sorry, Veda, I didn’t mean to space out on you like that, you just surprised me that’s all. I’m so happy and honored that you’re considering being intimate with me. I just want to make sure that you’re saying it because you really want to and not because you think I want to.” Terry said softly, reaching up to cradle her face in his hands and gently stroke her cheeks with his thumbs, still gazing deeply into her eyes. Veda nodded her head eagerly with a coy smile playing on her lips as she gazed back at him.

“Yes, Terry I really want to, we don’t have to do it tonight of course. You just told me to let you know when I was ready and I am, my love” she said sincerely, Terry let out a content sigh as he peppered her face with more adoring kisses than Veda could count. She let out a content sigh of her own, feeling her heart swell with a joy that she only ever felt when she was with Terry.

“You make me so happy, sweetheart. I love you so much, I really wished you had told me about this back at the house. I would’ve skipped the gala and flew us out to France in a heartbeat, we can still do that tomorrow.” Terry said happily, Veda giggled shaking her head at him with a beaming smile on her face.

“We can’t just fly to France, silly, we just got back from a trip this morning. We really should be getting to Margaret though” she said teasingly, giving him a playful kiss on the tip of his nose. Terry chuckled, gently setting her down on the seat so he could open up the door and escort her to the gala.

“Don’t be silly, there’s no rule against taking two trips in a row. I’m sure your boss doesn’t mind you skipping work one bit” he said, stepping out of the car and offering her his hand. Veda giggled, rolling her eyes at him playfully.

Terry helped Veda out of the car, and they ventured under the venue’s large archway, Veda gawked at the imposing columns and the gorgeous large glass window she could hear Terry chuckling softly beside her as he gazed at her adoringly.

“Just you wait, baby girl” he cooed, placing a quick kiss on her cheek just as a worker opened the large, gilded door for them. Veda beamed up at him with rosy cheeks, Terry smiled back her adoringly as he led her into the lively lobby, her ears picked up some smooth jazz music echoing through the majestic room and the happy chatter of other gala attendees dressed in relaxed suits and classy cocktail dresses, Veda felt her excitement pick up as she gazed up at the 30-foot-high Italian ceilings, marble columns, and marble floor. Terry gently guided her further into the lobby and down a grand marble staircase.

“This is so beautiful, Terry” Veda said dreamily, as they walked into the main ballroom to see gorgeous chandeliers and a plethora of tables adorned in luscious clothes and awe-inspiring center pieces. Terry beamed at her adoringly before placing a tender kiss on her cheek, they found Margaret patiently waiting for them as she glanced at some of the things up for auction on a large table. Veda noticed a lot of nosy parties gaping at her and Terry while they had some hushed conversations, Veda leaned further into Terry’s side having felt a little uncomfortable under their scrutinizing eyes. The most intense gaze was coming from very leggy blonde woman with catlike green eyes, she was dressed in a revealing gold cocktail dress with a high slit up on thigh. Veda wrapped her arms around Terry’s torso possessively, she had a feeling the woman’s intense gaze had everything to do with the fact she was glued to Terry’s arm.

“I’m glad you like it, sweetheart. Don’t worry about them, you’re the most beautiful woman here by far” he cooed into her ear as he gave her another tender kiss on the cheek, Veda gave him a sweet smile with a mildly bashful blush gracing her cheeks. He could read her like a book now.

“Thank you, my love. So, what’s on the agenda?” she asked, Terry chuckled he always found her eagerness adorable.

“First, we mingle over cocktails I’ve got some people I really would like you to meet tonight, the dean of admissions from USC is here. I know you’re still thinking about USC, this is absolutely a no pressure meeting, baby girl. I just thought you’d like to hear about some other scholarship options, and she can answer all your questions. After cocktail hour we have dinner then there will be a lot of speeches and after that the real party begins. There are auctions as you know but there will also be dancing….” Terry trailed teasingly; Veda giggled because he knew the promise of dancing sold her on any deal, her heart fluttered at him tracking down the USC dean of admissions for her.

“You didn’t tell me there would be dancing, Mr. Silver, we haven’t gotten to dance since my birthday ball. Thank you for tracking down the dean of admissions for me, I really appreciate it and you, my love” she cooed lovingly, Terry gave her a sweet peck on the lips and a beaming smile.

“You’re very welcome, baby girl, should we go have a chat with her now?” Terry asked, Veda noticed the hopeful note in his tone, and she let her eyes soften as she gazed up at him.

“Of course I do, Romeo, lets go”

🖤🖤🩶🖤🩶🖤🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🖤🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶

Tommy’s Pov

Tommy sighed, anxiously tapping his fingers on his steering wheel of his dad’s Cadilac Fleetwood watching men clad in classic suits and women dressed in modish cocktail dresses of various lengths wander in and out of the Majestic Hollywood’s lobby. If people were wandering around that meant dinner was over and the auctions, live music, and dancing had started. Sneaking into the hotel’s annual charity gala shouldn’t be that hard, he’s been to a few of them himself, but Tommy didn’t want to be at this one, not tonight, not with Dutch, not Chad. Not now that he knew what they were gearing up to do. Right now, Tommy was just waiting for an opening to rush in and warn Veda and her fiancé what Dutch and Chad were planning, he knew her fiancé was the one that smashed his mom’s China and keyed his new Corvette. Tommy didn’t really care though; he couldn’t deny he deserved some sort of punishment after what he said and what he let Chad do to her. For now, he was just glad his spot at Berkley wasn’t being threatened at the present moment.

Tommy could vaguely hear Dutch and Chad engaging in a hushed conversation from where they stood outside the car surveying the patrons lingering in the cobblestone garden. They’d been increasingly hostile towards him since he asked them a pointed question about what they were up to tonight when they passed Hollywood Blvd but really their growing contempt for him started weeks prior. Tommy felt extremely guilty about what he let Chad do to Veda at the pier and about threatening her like that, he had only said most of what he said out of jealousy. Tommy had developed a crush on her shortly after she moved to Pasadena, but the guys thought it’d be a good idea to have one of them mess with her as a way to get back at Daniel.

Tommy hated the idea, obviously, but he didn’t have the guts to stand up to his friends back then, he knew they’d chew him out for wanting to be with some poor girl from Jersey no matter how beautiful she was. Veda was right nothing that happened with Cobra Kai was her fault and yet she was the one who suffered most, and this really struck a chord in Tommy. So, he never ended up telling Dutch about running into her or her new fiancé and he made Chad swear not to say anything either given his own criminal actions at the pier that day. Tommy should’ve known Chad wouldn’t stay true to his word, if there was one thing Chad couldn’t do it was keep a secret. He let everything spill long before he even got the restraining order she filed against him, and he made sure to leave his little misdeed out of the retelling of course. After he and Dutch got into a violent confrontation about the whole thing, Tommy stopped hanging out with him and Chad all together. He’d been spending the last few weeks with Bobby and Johnny going to Golf N’ Stuff and the movies.

So needless to say, Tommy was shocked when they showed up at his front door tonight asking for a ride because not only did Chad have a horrible new haircut and two broken arms, but his parents confiscated his Camero and kicked him out of the house. Tommy blindly agreed but only because Chad looked like he’d been through the ringer even though he was dressed in a nice suit. If he had known what they were planning to do before he pulled up to the hotel, he would’ve turned back, and they knew it. They kept him in the dark up until Dutch swung his passenger door open and revealed his plan to violate Veda LaRusso for having the nerve to dump him and find a man he could never compete with. Tommy could empathize with him on not being picked at least, first he lost Ali to Johnny and then he lost Veda to Dutch, he was sure Veda didn’t know he liked her that way but that didn’t stop his ego from being bruised. But Tommy couldn’t condone what Dutch was about to do to her in retaliation just like he couldn’t condone what he and Chad did to her at the pier. Tommy wished he had spoken up in the dojo that day he heard Dutch and Johnny were cooking up another way to mess with Daniel LaRusso. Veda wasn’t the first girl Dutch emotionally and physically abused; she was just the first one that had someone to defend her. Now his silence had Dutch thinking he was untouchable, invincible even. Tommy knew he couldn’t change the past, but he was hoping he could change the future.

Tommy glared at them from the driver’s seat, watching Dutch hastily adjust his tie and help fix Chad’s mess of a haircut. Tommy had to stifle a laugh when he swung open his front door to see Chad looking like his golden boy locks were in a losing battle with a weedwhacker.

“This is ridiculous guys, seriously how is Chad even going to help with two fucked up arms and a restraining order, huh, he’s not even supposed to be within 100 yards of Veda. You’re violating that right now Chaddy. Let’s just go see that new movie Back to the Future it’s got that kid from Teen Wolf and Family Ties and Christoper Lloyd, Bobby and Jimmy said it was pretty good.” Tommy said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, he supposed he could just leave them here it would at least slow them down if they didn’t have a getaway driver, but he knew if he could get to Veda’s giant of a fiancé first Dutch and Chad didn’t stand a chance. He really couldn’t believe they were even considering this an option after Chad was in the ER for a day and in the hospital for three. Dutch bent down to glare at him through the open passenger door with intimidating, hollow brown eyes and a wicked looking smirk plastered on his face as he raked a rough hand through his peroxide strands.

“Well, no shit, Tommy, that’s why you’re going to help me and Chaddy here is only handling this” he said lowly, holding up a vile filled with clear liquid in his hand. Tommy’s eyes widened in disbelief, as if planning to rape and beat his ex-girlfriend to death wasn’t bad enough. Dutch was also in violation of his probation and was willing to throw his entire life away at this point, he didn’t have the luxury of being 17 anymore and Tommy doubted he could handle being tried as an adult. Tommy felt nauseated as he jolted himself out of the car, charging at Dutch with a speed he didn’t know he was capable of.

“What the hell is wrong with you, you can’t give her that shit! You’re not even supposed to have that shit with your probation what are you, fucking stupid?! Give me that!” Tommy sneered, attempting to pry the vile out of Dutch’s iron grip erratically. Dutch chuckled darkly, amusement dancing in his darkened eyes as he held the vile just out of reach. Chad eye’s darted between them, their commotion was starting to attract curious on lookers.

“Dutch, people are watching” Chad said in a hushed tone, Dutch rolled his eyes stuffing the vile in one of his suit pockets and landing a rough punch to Tommy’s gut. Tommy gasped, struggling for breath as he doubled over clutching his stomach, Dutch chuckled again placing a mock comforting hand on Tommy’s shoulder as he leaned down to speak to him with menacing black eyes.

“Fine Tommy, I won’t use this but only if you agree to help me get her out of there as quickly and quietly as possible. Otherwise Chaddy will be slipping this into her champagne glass, you see I’m going to get what I want from that little slut either way and I don’t really care how I get there. I guess the little lesson I taught her back in November when she tried wiggle out of my grasp the first time didn’t sink in. Now she and the rich giant she whored herself out for are going to pay the price for what they’ve both done. Look at all the stuff they’ve done to poor Chaddy here, look what they did to your new Corvette and do you really think your mom’s China just magically shattered all by itself, Tommy.” Dutch said disingenuously, he already knew Veda didn’t have a hand in any of those calculated attacks. She was smart but way too pure for any of that save for maybe some pointless China. Tommy glared at him, finally catching his breath he straightened up and took a threatening step towards him.

“I’m not helping you throw your life away, Dutch Howard. What do you think you’re gaining by doing this, huh. You just turned 18 three weeks ago, you have a vile of illegal GHB in your pocket, and you’re with a guy that’s not allowed to be within 100 yards of the girl you’re planning to use it on. A guy that’s already fucked up his life, Chad, you’re homeless right now, you don’t have a car, you don’t have a job, you don’t a have spot at Berkley. What you do have right now is two broken arms and restraining order that you’re in violation of right now. Is this really what you guys want to do? If it is then I won’t have any other choice but to stop you, I’ll get her fiancé and I’ll call the cops and tell them everything about you violating your probation and all the premeditating you’ve clearly done, Dutch, and you violating your restraining order Chad and being an accessory. I’ll forget everything if you guys get back in the car right now and let me take you home.” Tommy pleaded, Dutch clenched his jaw and for once appeared conflicted as he pondered over the ultimatum. Chad shifted uncomfortably looking down at his dress shoes with an abashed expression on his face.

“You don’t understand, Tommy. Veda abandoned me and I can’t allow her to think that’s okay, if she’s not going to be happy with me then she’s not going to be happy with anyone. So, you’re either with me or against me, Tommy, Chad, what’s it gonna be” Dutch said in an eerily calm voice, Tommy shook his head as he took a fighting stance ready to fight because Veda’s life depended on it. Chad glanced between them as he shakily made a move towards the still open passenger door.

“Dutch, you said we were just going to scare her, you didn’t say…I can’t go to prison” Chad stuttered looking a ghostly shade of white as he sat down on the passenger seat. Dutch let out a deeply disappointed sounding sigh before lunging at Tommy with enough force to tackle him onto the concrete. Tommy gasped, craning his head so it wouldn’t crack against the pavement, he didn’t have time to react, feeling slightly dazed as he felt two cool metal prongs embed themselves into the side of his neck.

“Dutch, stop” Chad yelled, cowering in the passenger seat with wide horrified green eyes. Dutch flashed him a sinister glare.

“You’re going to follow me inside and slip this in that pretty little bitch’s drink. Understand” he snarled, pulling the trigger on the stun gun more times than was legally necessary. Tommy soundlessly convulsed beneath Dutch feeling never ending torturous shocks radiate trough his body.

“Okay, okay, I’ll do it man. Just stop doing that, you’ll kill him” Chad pleaded frantically, a satisfied devilish smirk crossed Dutch’s face as he pulled the trigger one final excruciating time. Dutch snatched the Cadillac keys out of his pocket before, rising slowly to his feet leering down at Tommy with black eyes as he lay convulsing involuntarily, still having no control over his muscles.

“I’m sorry, Tommy, if it’s any consolation this is probably the last time, you’ll ever have to see me because if I’m not happy with her then I won’t be happy with anyone either. You just rest now, hmm, you’ll be just fine.” Dutch said with an eerie note of sincerity as he beckoned a cowering Chad towards him.

Tommy gasped sharply watching Dutch leave his line of sight and Chad stopping momentarily, glancing down at him with concern swirling in his still frightened green eyes.

“Find tall man, go, go, be there soon” Tommy managed to gasp out hoarsely, Chad nodded with teary eyes before trailing after Dutch. Tommy laid on the ground for what felt like forever, starring up at the starry LA sky with a heavy heart as he thought of Veda innocently gulping a lethal glass of champagne. The thought was enough to motivate him to roll over on concrete, weakly rising to his knees and then his feet with a newfound determination. Dutch may be beyond saving at this point, but Veda wasn’t she deserved to be happy after all the things Dutch had done to her while they sat idly by. Tommy shakily made his way up to the Majestic Hollywood, ignoring the incredulous looks he was getting from snobby patrons for being underdressed as he trudged into the lobby and shoved past the brooding security guard sitting at the front desk to pick up the phone.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave” the guard said, roughly trying to pry the telephone out of his fingers.

“Can’t, sorry, I’m calling the police and you’re going to go do your job, okay. There’s a crazy looking kid with bleach blonde hair roaming around right now that you have to find, you hear me. He’s violent and if you don’t want any of these folks getting hurt you better move, now!” Tommy exclaimed as he finished dialing the three-digit number into the keypad with shaky fingers and wild blue eyes.

“911, what’s your emergency.”

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Veda’s Pov

The gala began with a lively cocktail hour and a very delicious dinner, Veda’s chat with the dean of admissions went perfectly, she told her all about the gifted program the university was planning to implement next fall. She also said that if Veda ended her freshman year at CalTech with academic excellence there was a possibility of Veda receiving a special grant so she could attend USC almost tuition free save for housing and school supplies. With this newfound information, Veda thought the odds of her starting her sophomore year at USC were very likely and she had her Romeo to thank for it. By the time dinner rolled around Terry had been unwittingly sucked into a very stale conversation with Walter Getty, a slightly self-centered business tycoon who was planning on opening two art museums in the next few years. Veda politely conversed with him about the future art museums he was planning to open but Walter only seemed interested in wooing her away from Terry. Veda thought it was funny Walter thought that was a possibility as if she and Terry weren’t basically on top of each other. Terry could tell Walter’s advances were making her uncomfortable and “suggested” she and Margaret go look at all the auction items for a while. So, Veda and Margaret happily sipped on tons champagne while they gossiped, made small talk with some other gala goers, and looked at auction items. All the champagne they were drinking seemed to go right through them and before they knew it, they were searching for a bathroom.

Veda went back to the table to tell Terry where they were going, Terry pouted at her with big blue puppy eyes because Walter Getty was still talking his ear off about something pointless.

“I’m sorry, my love, by the time I get back it should be time for dancing at least” Veda cooed, Terry chuckled softly and pointedly pulled her in for a very fiery kiss just to rub it in Walter’s face. It did serve to put a stop to Walter’s incessant babbling for a moment at least but the leer he was giving Veda made her skin crawl.

“Alright, baby girl but I’m going to hold you to that” Terry said teasingly, Veda giggled giving him another sweet kiss on the cheek before skipping off with Margaret. After a waiting in line for a while, Veda and Margaret decided to go look for a bathroom that didn’t have an insane line wrapped around the corner. They made their usual small talk as they wandered out of the ballroom to take the elevator up to the second-floor balcony. Veda took a little extra time gawking at some of the gorgeous architecture she hadn’t had a chance to peek at on the way in.

“So, that blonde girl, Julia, what’s her deal?” Veda asked nonchalantly, even though she was silently seething over the sheer audacity Julia had to brazenly flirt with Terry like she wasn’t even there as soon as they sat down at their table. Margaret chuckled softly, giving Veda a maternal pat on the shoulder and an affectionate light pinch on her cheek. Veda giggled rolling her eyes playfully, looping an arm with Margaret as they continued walking past a few stray party goers. She could faintly hear the music below them grow a bit louder indicating the auctions were taking their final bids and would soon be ending. Veda picked up their pace a bit because after the winners were announced the real dancing of the evening would commence and she wasn’t about to let Julia Vanderbilt snag her first gala dance out from under her nose.

“She has no deal, darling. She’s just a spoiled rich girl who can’t stand it when she doesn’t get her way. Julia’s been throwing herself at Mr. Silver for years, mostly all on Mr. Silver Sr.’s wishes to combine their family’s businesses and wealth. Obviously, our Mr. Silver couldn’t care less about his father’s dream, he still enlisted and begrudgingly agreed to take over Dynatox and that’s where the older Mr. Silver’s dream dies. Julia is so not his type anyway darling; you have nothing to worry about on that front, trust me” Maragret said with a reassuring smile on her face, Veda smiled back at her nodding in acknowledgment. Though she wished she didn’t have to care so much about making a good impression on these people for appearances sake. If she didn’t have to, she would have turned on the Jersey girl mystic before Julia even placed a perfectly manicured finger on Terry’s arm.

Veda and Margaret settled on the ladies’ room just off the main staircase, it was more secluded and virtually empty seen as how mostly everyone was trying to see if they won anything at the auction. Veda shuffled into a stall being mindful not to make a run in her sheer tights, they provided a nice barrier because the suede platform heels, she was wearing weren’t as comfortable as she had been hoping though they were notably easier to walk in. Veda knew Terry would probably be carrying her back to the Rolls Royce tonight anyway especially after their little moment in the car earlier.

“I’ll be just out here in the hall, darling” Maragaret called out by the bathroom door, having already finished freshening herself up for the evening. Veda nodded, giggling softly at herself for acting like Margaret could see her behind the door perhaps she should let up on the champagne for a while.

“Okay, Margaret” Veda chirped, hearing the click of Maragret’s heels become softer as she exited the bathroom. Veda finished up not to long after, but she took a little extra time in front of the bathroom mirror after washing her hands to smooth out her dress, adjusting the way the burgundy frill fell off her tanned shoulders. Veda hummed softly to herself as she pulled some lip gloss and some concealer out of her black and gold clutch, she quickly applied concealer over the little love bite Terry left on her shoulder in the car, she had forgotten all about it in her child like wonder fixation upon entering. Veda found the fact Julia and Walter were still blazingly trying to steal her and Terry from each other with this display on her shoulder incredibly odd. Veda applied her gloss over her plump lips in a thin even coat, and furrowed her brows as she vaguely heard a bit of a ruckus just outside the bathroom door. She gave herself one last look over, fixing one of her stray curls before tossing her things back into her bag and swinging the bathroom door open.

“Alright, Margaret, ready to see if you won that all-inclusive package to Hawaii, you know Terry will probably give you one if you’d just ask” Veda giggled, stepping out into the hallway to find it empty.

“Margaret” Veda called, wandering further down the secluded hallway to find it completely empty. Veda furrowed her brows again because it wasn’t like Margaret to just say she was going to be somewhere and not be there, Veda considered that Margaret may have meant the larger hallway by the balcony overlooking the gala. They did down a lot of champagne during their little gossip session near the auction and raffle table when Terry got tied up with Walter Getty. Veda ventured past the elevators and into the larger hallway near the balcony, letting her eyes sweep through the empty hall before craning her head to look over the banister. She sighed; she couldn’t really see anything going on down on the gala floor from where she was, but she could hear the faint buzz of excited chatter, lively jazz piano music, and the small ding of one of the elevators behind her.

“Maybe she went back to Terry” Veda mumbled under her breath to herself, she could find her way back to the ballroom easily, but she was still worried about where Margaret disappeared to. Veda continued looking over the banister, beginning her short journey back towards the ballroom in short strides still trying to catch a glimpse of Margaret’s blue and silver adorned dress skirt. Veda walked slowly down the empty hallway; she was looking up at some of the intricate paintings on the ceiling when a muffled cry caught her attention. Veda stopped for a moment listening to the sound intently from where she stood, she could pinpoint that it was coming from the hall leading to the bathroom and she felt her chest twinge with both concern and curiosity.

“Margaret, is that you?” Veda called out, turning on her heel she rushed back towards the elevators to find the hall still as empty as it was when she left it. Veda felt some of her curiosity shift into a realm of confusion and fear, she felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck as she cautiously backed up towards the elevators with wide, doe like brown eyes. She felt her adrenaline pick up as goosebumps started to rise all over her tan skin, her ears drowned out the party chatter and live music long enough for her to hear one of the elevator doors ding and slide open next to her. Veda stopped in her tracks when she caught a glimpse of Margaret’s blue and silvery tulle skirt in the elevator out of the corner of her eye. Veda let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding as she turned to face the elevator fully, taking in Margaret’s sprawled out form face down on the elevator floor. Veda gasped rushing to kneel beside her still, unmoving form frantically.

“Oh, Margaret!” Veda cried running her hand up her back, she too afraid to shift her if she was hurt badly. Margaret gave her a muffled reply turning her head to face Veda groggily, there was a gag on her mouth and a crimson stream gliding down her forehead. Veda gasped again, feeling unbearably sickened at the state Margaret was currently in as she gingerly untied the gag around her mouth before inspecting the gash hidden in her light blonde hairline.

“Maragret what happened, who did this to you” Veda asked softly, as she brushed some of her light hair off her forehead gently, she was relieved to see Margaret perk up slightly, but her blue eyes were filled with panic and concern as she gazed up into her brown ones. Margaret gripped Veda’s left hand firmly.

“You need to go to Mr. Silver, Veda, now” Margaret said firmly, but Veda caught the twinge of fear in her steely tone. Veda shook her head using her right hand to wipe off a bit of the blood trailing down her pale cheek with the gag she just removed from her mouth.

“No, I can’t leave you in here like this Margaret, let’s get you down to the lobby first come on” Veda said, ignoring the way the elevator doors persistently kept attempting to shut around her outstretched legs. Margaret shook her head frantically tightening the iron grip she had on Veda’s left hand with serious blue eyes.

“No, Veda, you have to go now! Dutch is here looking for you, I told him you went down to see the new Reserve bar downstairs before you headed back to the party. It’s not going to take him long to figure out I lied, so go, I’ll be fine darling. I’ve been through a lot worse believe me, now go!” Margaret pleaded, gently trying to shove her out of the elevator. Veda inhaled sharply feeling her blood run cold as she sat trying to process all the newfound information. The punishment for daring to be happy without Dutch Howard was finally catching up to her, she had hoped having Terry in the driver’s seat would at least give her a head start but it would appear Dutch had outwitted both of them. He showed up on the one-night Terry was too engrossed with keeping up social appearances to keep her glued to his side every second, she and Margaret had left him there almost twenty minutes ago now, Veda knew Terry was definitely getting anxious by now but since she’d left with Margaret, he’d be less compelled to come looking for her immediately. Veda didn’t have time to wonder how Dutch had even gotten into the gala or how he knew Margaret worked for Terry, let alone how he even knew any of them would even be here tonight.

Veda nodded letting out a shaky breath as she reached up to hit the button for the lobby, she was sure Dutch wouldn’t try to hurt Margaret further if she was in a room full of people. He liked to keep his more brutal assaults quiet and tonight he had no dojo or tournament rules to abide by. Veda let out another shaky breath as she stared back at Margaret with lifeless brown eyes.

“Okay, Margaret, I’ll see you later, be safe” Veda said shakily crawling out of the elevator not having the strength to rise to her feet at the moment. She forced herself to flash Margaret a reassuring smile though she was really doubting there was a possibility that she’d ever actually be seeing her, Terry, her mom, Daniel, Larry, Rob and Zoe, or Milos ever again. At least the other’s last memories of her would be happy, the last time she saw her brother she slammed the door in his face and told him she was disappointed in him. Veda sat on the ground unmoving as she watched Margaret struggling to sit up just as the elevator doors glided shut, seemingly in slow motion.

Veda struggled to her feet, listening once again to the lively music and happy chatter floating up through the marble floors and filling the stock-still empty hallways in a way that made her feel like they were sending her off. Veda was having trouble seeing past her present dire circumstances to consider all her other options. She could run to the staircase or toTerry screaming at the top of her lungs, part of her knew Dutch would still find her there but if she was going to die tonight, she would at least want to see Terry one last time. Veda forced herself to move her feet as quickly as she could in the devilish black heels currently trying to stymie her journey back to the ballroom. Their frantic clicks echoed through the empty hall, melding with the distant sounds of happy commotion and soft music in an eerily perfect harmony. The anxious clicks seemed to swell with the jazzy piano solo lulling up the staircase in an unpropitious crescendo. That was soon followed by a gloomy, dragging, direful diminuendo.

Veda’s plan to scream bloody murder were impeded by the cruel clammy hand that flew over her mouth and pinched her nose shut. She let out a muffled whimper thrashing in the cruel arm snaked firmly around her waist in a leachy vice. The only sounds filling her ears now were the screeching sound her heels made against the hard tiled floors and Dutch’s labored breathing.

“I’m assuming you never made it to the Reserve bar downstairs did ya, doll face. Don’t worry, you can have a drink in the car” Dutch snarled, planting a nasty kiss on her cheek that made her stomach churn as she struggled to breathe. Dutch tightened the hold around her waist as he violently yanked her into the elevator.

“I can tell by all your thrashing Chaddy didn’t hold up his end of the deal, but that’s alright I’ve got more in my pocket for you right here, honey and I’ll be dealing with Chaddy later. When these doors open, you’re going act normal and not draw any attention to us if you do, you’re dead before we get out of the lobby, understand?” Dutch said, painfully yanking on her chin to make her look at him, Dutch removed the arm he had wrapped around her waist to dig in one of his suit pockets. Veda whimpered as the iridescent abalone hilt of Dutch’s nefarious nine-inch Italian stiletto switchblade came into view.

“You remember Lilith don’t you, doll face. I picked her because she reminded me of you, you know, beautiful, sexy, and impish. I named her after Adam’s first wife, you know the one who was banished from Eden for disobeying the rules Adam laid out for her. That’s also why I used her during our first little lesson back in November, honey. I wanted you to learn what would happen if you disobeyed me, but I guess the lesson didn’t take, huh. I’m willing to not use her tonight if you can show me that my teaching didn’t fall on deaf ears after all. Can you do that doll face?” Dutch taunted with a wicked smirk and wild brown eyes, Veda nodded franticly, feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen as a few hot tears rolled down her cheek. Dutch flashed her a nauseating smile finally removing his rough hand from her mouth and nose so she could breathe.

“Good, now push the button and we can save these for later” Dutch taunted, vilely licking the stray tears sliding down the length of her flushed cheek as he clasped a rotten hand around her throat firmly. Veda shuddered pushing the button to the lobby with one trembling finger, she tried to ignore the way Dutch trailed his other hand up to roughly fondle her breasts. She found herself wishing he’d just kill her if tonight meant she’d be losing her virginity to anyone other than Terry.

“They’re so big now, doll face, I should’ve been the first and only one to ever touch or look at these, Veda. Now you have to pay for being a little fucking slut” he hissed, the elevator doors slid open to reveal the lively lobby and Dutch took the opportunity to shove her as hard as he could without letting her actually hit the ground. He gripped her upper arm wrenching her through the lobby like a cop hauls away a monstrous criminal, ripping her away from Terry like a tornado rips up trees. She couldn’t help the tears that welled in eyes at the prospect of never being in Terry’s gentle arms again, of never seeing him again, of never loving him again if she couldn’t do any of that again she might as well be in a prison because being without him felt like that already. Veda’s terrified eyes were silently pleading to everyone, they passed to save her. Nobody really paid them any mind; they didn’t stick out amongst all the other patrons dressed up in suits and cocktail dresses. Veda caught sight of Larry shouting at one of the security guards while Margaret was being tended to by a paramedic. For a second Veda felt a small glimmer of hope, if she could find a way to catch their attention, she might live to see her Romeo again.

Without giving it much thought Veda unclipped the clasp on the clutch she managed to hang on to in their scuffle upstairs and let the contents topple out onto the floor she made it a point to slip on the tube of concealer. Dutch flashed her a sinister look as she slid out of his hold and onto the floor with a painful thud, Veda winced as her head collided with the hard marble floor but the sea of concerned patrons rushing to her aid was worth it, getting to be in Terry’s arms again was worth everything. Not even the sinister look Dutch was giving her right now could convince her otherwise.

Veda whimpered attempting to crawl away from him and into the sea of people stomping their way. Dutch let out a deep animalistic growl looking between her and the stampede with wild dark brown eyes. Veda felt her heart plummet into the pits of her still nauseated stomach when Dutch lunged at her with a speed, she didn’t think was possible. She didn’t have time to move out of the path of his ferocious hands before they tangled in her perfect black curls and ruthlessly yanked and dragged her across the white tiled floor. Veda didn’t hesitate to let out a blood curdling scream that echoed through the lobby, she was sure they could hear her all the way upstairs in the ballroom by now. Veda reached up to dig her nails into his vicious hands, scratching at them like a disgruntled kitten aggressively. Dutch only tightened his hold as he dragged her thrashing body towards the front entrance, dodging all the patrons making rescue attempts.

“You little bitch!” Dutch growled kicking all the items from her purse across the lobby with the same amount of force you’d use to kick down a door. Veda didn’t cease her Banshi like howling even when Dutch yanked her to her feet, and she felt him press Lilith’s cold baleful blade into the side of her neck. A buzz of hundreds of concerned, frantic protests flooded through the lobby as Dutch let them see what he had pressed against a very vulnerable part of her body. Veda only halted her screeching because she needed a moment to catch her breath, she could make out some of the voices calling out towards them now.

“That’s him right there!” Margaret cried, pointing to where Dutch was still standing frozen in the doorway. The security guard was advancing on them, speaking into his walkie talkie with his gun drawn.

“Sir, the police are already on their way, don’t make this worse for yourself by doing something stupid. Let the young lady go, now” the guard said, trying to get a clear shot at Dutch who simply positioned Veda further in front of him like a shield. Veda fought back tears as the small glimmer of hope in her heart started to extinguish.

“Oh, you’ve really done it this time, doll face. In case you haven’t noticed there’s no version of this where you will be getting away from me alive. If you’re not happy with me, you won’t be happy be with anyone and there’s nothing your rich pretty boy fiancé can do about it” Dutch whispered menacingly in her ear, Veda shuddered swallowing thickly as she felt Dutch backing them outside, she could see Larry cautiously approaching them out of the corner of her eye. The intense glare he was giving Dutch caught her by surprise because she had never seen Larry look anything less than warm and fatherly before. Now he looked so brooding, so incredibly formidable as he stalked towards Dutch like a lion stalks prey, he let his grey, fatherly eyes soften for a moment as they settled on her trembling form. Veda relaxed a bit under his protective gaze, for a moment she thought she might live to see another day.

“It’s okay little one, Mr. Silver will be here any second now” Larry said with a warm reassuring smile, Veda stared back at him with big teary brown eyes reaching out to him with trembling arms like a child reaches out to a parent when they want to be held. Larry reached an arm out to her but let it fall limp at his side when Veda let out a pained yelp as she felt Dutch yank her roughly by the hair again. The action stood in stark contrast to the gentle soothing passes Terry’s tender fingers always made through her thick hair. Veda inhaled sharply as she felt Lilith’s blade dig into her pregnable neck leaving a small crimson stream in her wake.

Larry’s grey eyes hardened settling on Dutch in the form of a menacing steely eyed glare that had Veda questioning everything, she thought she knew about him. She knew he sometimes helped Terry with violent matters, she naturally assumed he was merely the getaway driver and didn’t actually partake in any of the fighting. Veda caught a glimpse of a tattoo on Larry’s flexed forearm when he finished rolling up his sleeves like some big bad mob boss, she couldn’t help but stare at him in awe as he closed in on them. Unlike Dutch his steely grey eyes weren’t wild and ferocious instead they were controlled, wise, and calculated as they glowered at Dutch in the bright lobby lighting.

“If you don’t get that knife away from that little girl’s neck right now son, so help me I will pop you one and you won’t live to tell the tale about it” Larry said coolly, taking another intimidating step towards them. Veda felt Dutch tense a bit behind her, the last time she had seen him tense up in such a way was when Mr. Miyagi sought him out after picking her up from the hospital. It was the first time she ever saw Dutch look genuinely afraid and she found herself fighting the urge to crane her neck to relish in seeing it a second time.

“Take a shot at me, mustache, I dare you. I’ll slit her pretty little neck before you even take one more elderly step this way” Dutch said in a way that made Veda realize he was trying to sound more confident than he actually was. Larry’s threat was enough to make Dutch remove Lilith’s minatory blade from her neck, but he settled for clamping one of his rough clammy hands around her throat again firmly. Veda whimpered as Dutch planted another sickening kiss on Lilith’s fresh nick before slowly back walking her out of the building. Larry took several steps forward but stopped when Dutch tightened his hand around her neck hard enough to have Veda struggling to breath as she feebly tried to pry his wicked hand off her. If she got out of the way at least the security guard could get a clear shot at him, Dutch snarled in her ear gradually tightening his grasp around her throat as she flayed in his hold.

“Stop moving now or the old man gets it and we both know he’s no Mr. Miyagi don’t we doll face. You’re really forcing my hand here, my promise to not let Lilith have her way with you will now only be off the table if you lay down and take this cock the way you were made to. I may not have been the first to enter you, honey, but I’ll definitely be the last. Say your goodbyes to mustache here” Dutch taunted, only letting up on his hold on her throat when her face started to turn purple. Veda wheezed trying to get some air back in her burning lungs, she could vaguely feel Dutch roughly groping one of her breasts with his free hand as he dragged her away from the building.

“One step old man that’s all it’ll take. Tell your boss to come say his final goodbyes, huh.” Dutch cackled.

Veda felt the blood drain from her face as she gazed back at Larry with wide fearful eyes, any reaming fight she had left in her seemed to evaporate into thin air and she felt herself detach from her body for a moment. Everything there after felt like being stuck in one of her nightmares, unable to run or utter a single sound while Dutch is dragging her somewhere to rape and kill her for daring to not want him. None of the steps Dutch took down the long winding sidewalk felt real. Veda felt like she was looking down at herself from above as Dutch forced her into the Cadillac and took a moment to run his leachy hands all over her body. She knew he was being rough as he tried to feel her heat through her sheer tights, but Veda couldn’t quite feel what he was doing to her at the moment.

“Some one still doesn’t know how to obey I see” Dutch snarled, back handing her across her recently healed left cheek with enough force to make her head crash against the glove box. Veda snapped out of her episode with a wail, clutching her cheek in both pain and despair as Dutch slammed the Cadillac door shut and rounded to the driver’s side to start up the car. Veda watched a now blurry, group of people flood out of the Majestic Hollywood’s doors with multiple cries of her name the loudest cry emitting from a very frantic Terry Silver flying towards the car. Veda sobbed staring at Terry longingly through the window as Dutch purposely revved the engine and let Terry approach the car with a sinister smirk plastered across his face.

“Take a good look, honey because this is the last time, you’ll ever see that rich pretty boy face of his. I can’t believe you let that giant inside that tight little pussy of yours, how loose are you now, huh” Dutch sneered, eyeing Terry’s strong build jealously as he pounded on the car window. Veda ignored him staring up at Terry with hopeful brown eyes, she could tell Terry heard what Dutch had said based on the intensity of his bangs on the window.

“Terry, help me” Veda sobbed, desperately trying to unlock her car door but had no success and settled for pounding her small fists against the glass that was keeping her from launching herself into Terry’s comforting arms. Veda ignored all of Dutch’s amused cackles from behind her as she pushed her face up against the glass sobbing uncontrollably. Terry’s eyes softened as the sound of police sirens added to the building tension.

“Hold on, baby girl. I don’t want to hurt you with the glass” Terry said, running his finger down the passenger window the same way he usually ran it down her cheek maintaining her gaze as Larry wordlessly smashed in the driver’s side window.

“I warned you son” Larry barked, smashing Dutch’s head against the steering wheel with a shocking amount of force. Dutch snarled throwing the car into drive and stepping on the accelerator, Veda yelped falling back into Dutch’s glass covered lap with a thud. Veda wailed as she heard Terry’s panicked screams and cries dying down with the sirens in the distance. Veda continued to sob with repeated panicked cries of Terry’s name pouring out of her mouth like rain falls from the sky during a summer thunderstorm.

“You really thought your fiancé was going to be your knight in shining armor didn’t you, why don’t you put that pretty little mouth to work while you’re down there, huh. Seen as how fucking you is going to feel like walking into a cave now” Dutch snarled, fisting her hair, and shoving her face into his glass riddled lap, she hissed in between sobs as she felt a shard of glass slice through her forehead. Dutch cackled darkly finally shoving her back into the passenger’s seat with a wicked smile on his face.

“Still not following directions I see. That’s alright, doll face, that’ll change real soon” Dutch said darkly, Veda glowered at him with a tear-stained face and a thick river of crimson streaming down her freshly re-bruised cheek. She bore into him with calculating eyes as he turned down too many streets and alleys for her to keep track of where they were or where they were going. Dutch met her gaze, chuckling darkly at the challenging eyebrow, she raised at him in the soft glow of the rapidly passing streetlamps. Veda, but she didn’t let up on her harsh gaze because she could tell Dutch was getting uncomfortable, she watched him shift in his seat and focus his black eyes back on the road.

“Shit” Dutch hissed, shaking the glass from broken window off the arm of his nice little Gorgio Armani suit blazer, Veda couldn’t help the scowl that crossed her face at him having the audacity to wear a suit Terry could only wear, she wished she could rip it off his body. Veda really wished she could chew him out, but she knew that wouldn’t be a good idea with the present circumstances. She could still see Lilith’s iridescent handle peeking out of his right pocket, Veda wondered if she could swipe it without him noticing but to do that she’d have to get close to him and the thought of getting any closer to him than she was right now was absolutely revolting.

“Staring at me with those big brown puppy eyes won’t change what’s happening tonight, doll face. I’m taking what I’m owed even if your pussy is all used up now you’ve got another little hole I can use. Now drink this” Dutch taunted, holding up an already opened bottle of orange soda with a sinister smirk still plastered on his face. Veda gulped as he shoved the promised laced bottle of soda towards her with a wicked smirk plastered across his vile face, drinking this would definitely screw up any prospect of an escape plan. Veda shook her head scooting as far away from him and the debilitating concoction as she could. Dutch leered at her with dark eyes and the same wicked smirk spread across his face.

“You’re either going to drink some of it willingly or I’ll force the whole thing down your throat take your pick, honey. But the second option definitely ends with your pretty little body dead in a ditch” he said flatly, Veda held back tears as she reluctantly took the bottle from him with trembling hands, she brought it up to her lips but couldn’t bring herself to drink it. If she drank it Dutch could quite easily keep her drugged up and submissive to him for the rest of her life. That seemed to be what he was really aiming for he’d rather sentence her to a life of eternal suffering without Terry, than give her the mercy of being free from him whether it be dead or alive. If he by chance did let her get away the odds of remembering what he did to her tonight would be slim but he’d of still had his way with her by then and Veda couldn’t decide which one was worse.

“Should we see what Lilith thinks you should do” he barked, Veda whimpered taking a large gulp of the slightly salty soda with fresh tears streaming down her face. Dutch reached over to pet her hair with depraved hands in some mock attempt to soothe her as he urged her to take another gulp of the noxious drink before taking it calmly out of her trembling grasp. Veda glowered at him in the dim glow of the passing streetlamps. Lilith appeared to be her only hope of escape right now, it would be oddly poetic if she subdued him with the blade he bought in her honor.

“There you go, doll face, that wasn’t so bad was it. You’ll feel nice and relaxed in no time but there’s no reason I can’t have a little fun while we’re waiting, huh. I’ve got to see how much damage you’ve done to my little toy here before I can pick a fitting punishment” Dutch sneered, pawing at Veda’s sheer tights as he turned the car down a secluded park trail. Veda felt her stomach churn as Dutch put the car in park and killed the engine, his wild eyes glinted in the eerie glow of the lone streetlamp in front of the car, they observed the vacant park with a sickening hint of sinister glee. Veda could make out Dutch’s maroon Chevy Monte Carlo a little further down the trial, he had clearly been meticulously planning this out for quite a while. At least the car change presented Veda with a better opportunity to make a break for it if she did manage to slip Lilith from his wicked clutches, but she didn’t know how she was going to stomach what Dutch had planned to do to her until then. Once whatever poison he gave her finally kicked in, she was sure making her way by foot through the streets of Downtown Los Angeles was going to be difficult but any prospect of getting back to her sweet Terry was worth the hardship. Dutch’s wild eyes settled back on her in the form of a pervy, lecherous gaze that made her skin crawl. Dutch smirked, slowly pulling Lilith’s shimmery hilt out of his pocket and pushed her sliver button gently. Veda whimpered watching her long gleaming silver blade spring out with a soft click, spearing any hope Veda had of swiping her as she twirled in Dutch’s dark hands.

“Alright, honey, it’s time to assess the damage done to my property. Now, you can either lay on the back seat willingly or Lilith and I will give you a little push, what’s it gonna be, doll face.” Dutch purred fisting her black hair in one of his rough hands so he could bury his rotten nose in it, inhaling the scent like a depraved animal.

“I’m still a virgin” Veda whimpered, hoping the confession would deter some of Dutch’s unadulterated wishes to ravish and destroy her for a moment but she instantly regretted it as Dutch’s lewd eyes roamed over her body with a newfound sickening desire to deflower her. Dutch loosened his hold on her black locks and run his hand down her bloody bruised cheek and shoulder petting her with a lascivious glint in his almost black eyes.

“Are you lying to me, doll face” Dutch purred in her ear, running a rough hand over her breasts with wild lecherous eyes that gleamed at her in the glow of the streetlamp the same way an animals eyes glint in the darkness. Veda shook her head still feeling incredibly nauseated as she forced herself to stare at him with innocent brown eyes.

“No” she said meekly, wishing she could pry his filthy hands off of her, but he was still clutching Lilith’s iridescent hilt in his left hand, and she already knew he wouldn’t hesitate to slice her with her sinister blade because he had done it before.

“I want to believe you, doll face, you know I don’t like hurting you. Let’s get you back there so I can inspect you and judge for myself, hmm” Dutch coaxed eerily, shrugging his blazer off his shoulders he laid it on the backseat, still playacting the role of the gentleman. Veda shuddered as he placed an imitation of a sweet kiss on her bruised cheek before clambering to the backseat. Dutch leered at her with dark eyes, beckoning her with Lilith’s glinting blade wordlessly gripping her soft flesh with rough hand. Veda had to hold back a sob as the harsh reality of the situation finally solidified in her mind it wouldn’t be long until the drugs finally sunk their teeth in her and she knew he wouldn’t be transferring her to his car unless she let him do this to her. So, Veda threw a shaky leg over the arm rest once again feeling herself detach from her body as Dutch forced her sit on the seat neck to him and planted another filthy sham of a tender kiss on her cheek with hungry brown eyes.

Veda sat unmoving as Dutch roughly captured her in a kiss when his odious chapped lips touched hers, she swore she felt a part of her die. Veda kept her eyes wide open and didn’t move her head as he assaulted her mouth because if she didn’t move it didn’t feel like kissing him back. Silent tears poured from her eyes as she thought of Terry and all the soft tender kisses, he gave her. He would never kiss her this aggressively, he would never touch her like this, he would never treat her like this. Dutch broke the vile kiss with a devilish smile on his face, he trailed a sham of a tender finger down her bloody and bruised cheek like he hadn’t been the one who put them there.

“Alright, time for me to see if lied to me, doll face. Ready?” Dutch purred, forcing her to lay on top of his blazer he eagerly slid a rough hand up the length of her legs and under her dress with Lilith’s blade still glinting at her menacingly. Veda let a sob escape her trembling lips, squirming uncomfortably her stomach churned as his predatory hand savagely shoved her cocktail dress up to her waist.

“No, please stop” Veda cried, her fight response seemed to finally kick in as she clawed the hand roaming over her stomach, aggressively. Dutch chortled darkly, watching her claw and kick at him with amused dark eyes before swopping in to hit her savagely across the face again. Veda hissed feeling blood start to flow from her right nostril and trail down the length of her cheek, she brought her knees up to her chest in an attempt to shield herself from his devious fingers. Dutch leered at her coiled form with dark sinister eyes as he tangled a rough hand in her black hair once more.

“This is a losing battle, honey. Straighten out now” Dutch hissed, forcefully prying her legs open with a sinister smile on his face. Veda sobbed still flailing her legs around in a desperate attempt to hinder his mission to deflower her in the backseat of Tommy’s dad’s Cadillac.

“Hold still now, or she’ll leave another stream on your pretty little thigh” Dutch taunted, pressing the glinting blade into the thin fabric of her sheer tights slashing through them in one sweep before giving her lacy panties the same vicious treatment. The only sounds filling the car were Veda’s desperate sobs, whimpers and protests as Dutch leered at the folds she had only reserved for Terry’s loving eyes. Dutch looked up at her with a wolfish grin, pressing the blade into the delicate flesh of her toned stomach as a sinister reminder not to fight. He ignored her sobs and squirms, ravishing and violating her heat with rough tugs, pulls, stretches, and repeated painful dips into her taut dry nonconsenting entrance. Veda whimpered, struggling against him with hot tears rolling down her cheeks and soft cries of pain escaping her lips, her obvious discontentment with his rough molestation only seemed to spur him on.

“You didn’t lie to me, doll face and for that I’m going to give you a little reward before we really get started” Dutch said, roughly using a finger to toy with her puckered anus before trailing his filthy tongue from her clit to her still taut entrance. Veda trembled, still sobbing uncontrollably as Dutch let out a depraved moan and he forced three aggressive fingers inside of her nonconsenting entrance. Veda let out an agonized wail as he painfully pumped his burning fingers inside of her, it never hurt like this when Terry touched her. Veda feebly tried lurching away from him, but Dutch dug the blade into the flesh of her stomach in warning.

“Please, stop, you’re hurting me” Veda pleaded between dry heaves as she desperately tried to clamp her thighs together. Dutch rolled his dark eyes at her in his true crude form.

“Relax, doll face, just relax. You’re fine” he said indifferently, placing his filthy tongue back on her clit once more. Veda sobbed softly as he repeatedly pumped his harsh fingers inside of her, painfully stretching her out in a way Terry would never. Veda wasn’t sure what came over her, but she found the strength to tangle her fingers in Dutch’s grotesque bleach blonde hair and grip Lilith’s conniving blade in her other hand. She didn’t care that she could have severed a finger as she tore the wicked blade from his retched hand and ripped a golf ball sized chunk of hair from his vile head. The same way he came raging into her perfect little world like a tornado to rip her apart, to rip her away from Terry, to uproot her life. Dutch snarled, lurching away from her and toppling onto the carpeted car floor with a soft thud as he silently seethed at her.

“Stay back” Veda cried, her body still trembling as she held the long blade in front of her ready to strike if she had to. Dutch let out an annoyed sigh as he bore into her with blackened brown eyes clutching his head with a slightly pained expression.

“Let me out, now” Veda said firmly, Dutch chuckled darkly surveying her with deeply amused eyes in the soft glow of the streetlamp. He looked deeply satisfied to see her crimson stream stain the hilt of the blade he brought here just for her.

“Not until you give me what I want, doll face. I see you want to do this the hard way, so, let’s do it the hard way” Dutch taunted, pouncing on her like a deranged hyena he tried to wrestle the blade out her hand as he fisted her dark hair. Veda screeched, fighting back against him with everything she had, flailing around on the backseat, slashing at him with the blade, and kicking at him like her depended on it.

“Give me that” he growled, twisting her arm behind her back he pried the iridescent hilt from her bloody fingers with a sicken smile. Veda hissed in pain with her bruised cheek pressed up against the leather seat, Dutch gave her arm another painful twist just for fun.

“Look at what you did to your pretty little fingers now, honey” he taunted darkly, Dutch chuckled as he yanked her up by the hair boring into her with sinister eyes as he ran his tongue across the fresh cuts with a depraved moan. Veda felt her stomach churn disgust, trying to free herself from his vice as she felt his hard cock prod the small of her back. Dutch cocked his head at her with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Is that it now, doll. That GHB should be kicking in any second now and I still need to use one of these little holes of yours. After this ridiculous outburst of yours, you, and I both know which one it’s going to be now don’t we” he snarled, shoving her head back down against the car seat roughly. Veda felt the color drain from her face as Dutch roughly spread her legs apart and toyed with her taut anus once more, he dug a boney elbow into her back to keep her from lurching forward. Veda felt a long string of his disgusting spit drip onto her hole, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything but cry hysterically, completely petrified as his tip pushed against her puckered hole.

“Shit” Dutch hissed, suddenly lifting his weight off of her as he clambered back up to the front seat. Veda let out a relieved sigh, but sobs still racked thorough her shaky body as she sat back up to see what had made him stop his assault so suddenly. Not that she wasn’t grateful to or for whatever it was that helped her hold onto her purity for a little longer. Veda could see the glow of red and blue flashing lights flood through the windows of the Cadillac and she felt her heart leap with a newfound hope. As she watched Dutch frantically gather everything from the front seat and dump the orange carbonated poison out the broken window like that was really going to make a difference if the cops found her beaten in his backseat. Veda repressed a scoff as she pulled her cocktail dress over her mangled tights and sore heat gingerly before looking for her devilish, yet very expensive black heels on the carpeted car floor. She found them awkwardly shoved under the passengers along with a sleek jet-black stun gun, Veda silently thanked a bazillion people before picking the gun up gingerly and shoving it in one of her heels discreetly.

“Don’t get too excited there, honey. We’re just moving to the other car” Dutch said cooly, but Veda could see a wild hint of panic in his crazed eyes before he unlocked the door.

“Do I need to repeat my directions from the elevator, or do you think you can actually manage this time” Dutch taunted, glaring down at her from the driver’s seat with seething eyes as if this whole situation was all her fault somehow. Veda resisted the urge to snap at him just yet as she innocently nodded her head and batted her eyelashes at him, she could playact the role of the innocent maiden better than he could playact the role of a gentleman. Dutch gazed at her suspiciously for a moment.

“If you try to run, you’re dead, understand. You come out this door and you wait for me to get out first” he said roughly, pointing to the back passenger’s door on the driver’s side with wild eyes. Veda nodded again gripping the handle, she at least tried not to look too eager as she saw all the patrols going up and down the main street slowly. Dutch threw his door open and quickly scrambled out onto the park trail, his wild eyes were still glued on the patrol.

“Come on, hurry up” Dutch hissed impatiently, looking around the park anxiously. Veda pointedly took her sweet time opening up the door and she had to repress a smirk as she finally stepped out onto the slightly wet pavement because seeing him be the one suffering for once was deeply gratifying. Veda closed the car door gently, feeling the water on the ground seep through the soles of her tattered tights as she stood observing their surroundings for a moment. She was relieved to see they were somewhere in Downtown LA; she settled her eyes on Dutch’s still unmoving form as one of the patrol cars came to a halt across the street.

“Let’s go, now” Dutch said, giving her a harsh shove towards his Chevy Monte Carlo with a crazed look in his eyes as the patrol car turned on its harsh spotlight. Veda gripped the stun gun in her bloody hand but let Dutch pull her along for a bit, patiently waiting for the right time to strike. Veda slowed her steps a bit as they neared the Chevy, trying to pinpoint what the best exit route would be she doubted Dutch would follow her towards the patrols, but she knew he'd do whatever it took to keep her from getting there. Dutch unlocked the car door, frantically throwing the stuff in his hand on the backseat. Veda decided she really had nothing else to lose, she took advantage of his mild distraction and hurriedly veered off towards the park still gripping the gun and her heels in her small hands firmly as she neared the concrete steps. Veda jumped, feeling her adrenaline surge through her veins in anticipation when Dutch slammed the car door shut behind her with an ominous thud.

“Hey!” Dutch barked; she could hear him flying after her with a shocking amount of speed, his heavy footsteps reverberated off the cool concrete in eerie thumps like a baleful melody. Veda bounded down the first flight of concrete stairs as fast as her aching legs would carry, she was hoping to at least make it to the clearing so at least one of the patrol cars would see them if she wasn’t able to successfully subdue him. Veda’s frantic pitter-patters on the cool concrete were suspended when she felt Dutch seize her upper arm with a vicious hand, impelling her back into his barbarous clutches with a deranged snarl.

“You little bitch, what the hell did I just say” Dutch seethed clasping her throat with deranged wild eyes until she was gasping for air. Veda could tell by the determined look in his dark eyes he had every intention to strangle her and leave her for dead right under the cop’s noses and she wasn’t about to let it happen. Veda threw her expensive heels to the ground and aggressively imbedded the stun guns cobra like prongs into the flesh of Dutch’s strangling arm, pushing the button more times than necessary. Dutch let out a pained growl, recoiling his murderous hand from her neck immediately, stumbling back on to the cool pavement with a thud. Veda wished she could take a minute to relish in his just karma but knew Dutch wouldn’t take long to recover from the blow so, she bolted towards the second flight of steps in determination. She wasn’t going to die tonight and certainly not at Dutch’s hand, she was going to get out of here, she was going to get back to Terry because she had to.

“Where do you think you’re going, huh. I told you, if you’re not going to be happy with me, you’re not going to be happy with anyone.” Dutch snarled after his quick recovery, he flew towards Veda like a rabid animal, resolving to give her a violent shove down the second flight of concrete stairs. Veda yelped in both surprise and fear, she instinctively stuck out her left arm to brace herself as she went flying and landed on the cool harsh pavement with a loud thud, a sickening crack, and a loud pop. Veda let out her second Banshee shriek of the night coiling into herself on the damp ground as an excruciating, searing pain radiated through her entire arm.

“Aw, honey did you hurt yourself again?” Dutch taunted, strutting down the flight of stairs nonchalantly so he could watch her thrashing on the ground in agony up close. Veda clutched her mangled left arm with fresh tears streaming down her battered face for the hundredth time tonight. She glared up at Dutch still shrieking like a wounded animal, Dutch leered down at her with a sinister smile reaching out to pet her hair with a mock look of pity in his dark eyes. Veda lurched away from him angrily, momentarily letting go of her mangled arm to snatch up the sleek stun gun that slid out of her grasp during her violent fall. She pounced on him viciously, Dutch laid under her dumbfounded as she hammered the guns cobra-like prongs into as many parts of his vile flesh as she could.

“You and Lilith might want to turn yourselves in before my fiancé finds you” Veda said breathlessly, she watched Dutch thrash around on the cool pavement for a moment with emotionless brown eyes. Veda thought she’d at least feel happy watching him suffer like this but now she just found herself longing to be with Terry. Veda shakily crawled off a still angry thrashing Dutch, cradling her throbbing mangled arm in her bloody hand she hobbled down the remaining concrete steps, phlegmatic and dazed. Veda could tell the GHB laced orange soda he gave her was finally starting to sink its poisonous teeth into her and she didn’t want to be anywhere near Dutch when it finally got her. Veda ignored all of Dutch’s raging profanities and insults, staggering through the lush green clearing too focused on getting back to Terry to acknowledge the police sirens and the arrest being made behind her.

“Dutch Howard, put your hands where I can see them, where’s Veda LaRusso, what did you do to her.”

Veda clutched her arm wandering into the LA night in a haze of confusion, paranoia, and hopeless longing. In a maze of dancing buildings, dodging concerned good Samaritans and lecherous pervs she called out Terry’s name at everything she passed. Hoping he would magically appear before her and rescue her, she didn’t know where she was, but she knew she wanted him right now, she knew needed him right now. Veda cried out his name repeatedly as she threw a rock at a window and hobbled through its jagged frame, hoping who she was looking for was on the other side.

#terry silver #terry silver smut #thomas ian griffith #terry silver x oc #enemies to lovers #eventual smut #karate kid

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