#WE WERE ROBBED OF SOMETHING THAT COULD'VE BEEN SO GOOD

[bloodfreak-boyking]

while technically not a sam moment it still happens in his body so I'm counting it as a fav sam moment <3

[buddierealm]

ʚ MISTAKES NEVER LAST — e. diaz x reader

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 Wordcount: 4.1k Summary: Someone almost dies. You freak out. Alternatively, those accused of robbing banks together, stay together. Warnings: cheating, panic attacks, vomiting, yearning overload, idiot4idiot, they’re broken up but HR still hates them. A/N: anyone else feel like someone's gearing up to die and haunt the narrative?

13 times. Thirteen, thirteen, thirteen. You repeat the number so much in your head it doesn't even sound like a real word anymore. It's all you've done since you hung up on Bobby. It's all you can think about on the drive over. 13 times Chimney's been stabbed.

Howie Han can be annoying at times, but he's always been a loyal and kind friend. You don't understand why anyone would do such a thing.

And Maddie's been kidnapped, too.

They've seriously got to be the most cursed couple of all time.

You rush through the hospital doors, and tell the front desk your name. You're sure you look a mess. You had no time to even look in the mirror after getting that call. They ask for the patient's name and it takes you a long minute to come up with anything, cycling through Chim's endless list of nicknames in your mind.

“Howard Han. His name's Howard Han, he was...um,” you can't even bring yourself to say the words.

He was stabbed thirteen times.

The nurse at the desk's mouth drops open as she opens something up on the screen in front of her. You nod, you can tell she's just uncovered what's happened to him. Her eyes are full of pity as she directs you to the hallway adjacent to the ICU.

There, you find Athena and Bobby leaning against the wall, while Buck and Eddie sit in the corner. You walk up to Athena and she offers you a hug, before Bobby does the same.

“Anything new?” you ask Athena.

“No, he's stable for now. Last we heard they were getting him prepped for surgery,” she responds.

“Good, good,” you sigh, “What about the case? I mean, who the hell did all of this?”

“We don't know yet. There isn't much we can reveal. But before he fell unconscious, Howard mentioned a Jason Bailey. That name ring a bell?”

You think it does. You wrack your brain for a few minutes, trying to come up with anything from your conversations with Chim, but nothing comes up. As you're about to shake your head in response, though, you remember.

“Oh my god! Yes,” you yell, grabbing Eddie and Buck's attention, “This guy I met outside a bar we were all at. He asked for my number. I gave it to him.”

“He said his name was Jason Bailey.”

“Did he ever end up calling you?” Athena asks.

“Yeah, he called me a bunch after. I never responded, though,” you confess, as Buck and Eddie make their way over to the three of you.

“Would you mind giving me the number?”

You nod in agreement frantically, and pull your phone out. You read the digits out loud to her, and she logs them onto her phone. She explains that she'll try to track the phone attached to the number, and then leaves with Buck.

Shortly after, Bobby follows them. You're left standing there with Eddie, too stunned to speak. You can feel your throat closing up and a large pit forming in your stomach.

You move to sit down at the chair where Buck sat just minutes ago. You put your head between your knees and try to even out your breathing. Your mind is flooding with all of the different possible ways this could've gone. Repositioning your head fails miserably, when you start remembering all of the bad memories from the past month.

You've felt so lonely lately, the breakup with Eddie hitting you hard. You wonder, if it had been you, how long would it have taken anyone to find you?

You shoot out of your seat and make your way into the nearest storage closet you can find, slamming the door shut. If you're about to break down, it might as well be private. You can hear Eddie call after you, but you pay him no mind. You slide down the floor and sit in a crouched position, letting the cold floor cool you down.

Your face is running hot, you can barely hear your own heavy breathing with your mind running at 100 miles per hour, and it feels like someone's stabbed you in the stomach. You close your eyes tightly, trying to zero in on anything positive, but nothing comes up. And then Eddie walks in.

He closes the door behind him gently, and you're too busy wigging out to tell him to leave you the fuck alone, please. He grabs something off of a shelf above you and bends down to sit beside you.

“Hey,” he whispers, and your eyes turn to look at him. You're still freaking out but his voice is making this a little easier.

It could've been you. You instead of Chim. Maybe it should've been. You could've saved him. Maybe you would've been able to tell this guy was bad news. Why hadn't you responded to Jason's calls? If you had, it might've been you kidnapped right now. It might've been Eddie stabbed and left to die. Or you. You aren't too sure what this psycho's end goal is exactly.

“Take this, okay? Breathe into it for me,” he hands you a paper bag. You grab it desperately, and put it over your mouth.

You focus on filling the bag up with air, and breathing it back in. Eddie whispers praises into the dark, with a steady hand on your shoulder.

“You’re okay, cariño. You’re okay,” he tells you, “You’re doing so well.”

Your breathing's still irregular, though, and two breaths later you can feel the contents of your stomach come back up. You're immensely grateful for the bag, which Eddie grabs and throws into a trash can nearby. He makes his way back to your side immediately, placing his open palm on the middle of your back.

The worst of it is over, the endorphins from throwing up carrying you over. You feel a lot better almost instantly. Your breathing's gone back to normal, and you feel a little dizzy but it's a lot better than whatever the fuck that was. You rest your head against the shelf behind you as Eddie does the same. He sighs in relief, like he was the one who's just had a panic attack. Somehow, you can see it's affected him just as much as you.

“You okay, now?” he checks.

“Mhm. Much better,” you respond.

He rubs your back gently in circles. A few moments after you've both calmed down, you walk out of the storage closet. He leads you to a bathroom to get cleaned up, and waits outside.

Neither of you talks for the rest of the night. He takes care of you silently; he brings you food and coffee, holds your hand when Chimney goes into surgery, and consistently reassures you everything's going to be fine with just his eyes.

The morning after feels a little like dying inside. Chim's still in surgery, you haven't spoken to Eddie yet, and you're all going around sharing anecdotes about Howie like he's about to die.

When you feel like you're about to start panicking again, you put your head between your legs and claim it's just because you're tired. You can feel Eddie look for any signs of distress you might be exhibiting whenever you do this anyway.

The moment Michael and Harry turn up with drinks and baked goods, Eddie goes to grab you both a cup of the fancy coffee they brought by. You take the cup from his hand and thank him with a smile.

“We don't have to talk about last night if you don't want to,” he blurts out, as he takes a seat again.

You frown, “It's not that I don't want to. There's nothing to talk about. I freaked out. Chimney's my friend. I was worried.”

“It wasn't just that,” he accuses. “C'mon, we were both there. That wasn't just worry or sadness. It was guilt.”

You roll your eyes, “What the hell do I have to feel guilty for?”

He leans back, “You should ask yourself.”

He glances around to make sure no one's looking and puts a reassuring hand on your back, “None of this is your fault. It doesn't matter that this guy was trying to harass you first. It's not your fault, okay?”

His tone has a finality to it that almost makes you believe him. You nod anyway, and it's more of a promise that you'll try, than an affirmation. It's good enough for him.

You sip on your coffee slowly, and his hand never leaves your back.

There's still a smooth rhythm to your conversation. The quick-witted quips and jokes you shared during your time together still flow between you like you've never been apart. You're listening intently to Eddie talk about something that happened on a call the other week when his attention is pulled by something else.

“I happen to think...” he pauses, his eyes are now trained on someone behind you.

“Shannon?” he says, getting up.

You turn around to look. Yep, definitely Shannon.

He walks a few steps closer to lean down and hug Christopher. You smile at the sight, and get up to greet Shannon.

“Hey,” you say, introducing yourself.

She introduces herself as well, and you nod. Like you'd ever forget her. When Christopher hears your voice, he walks over to hug you. You pick him up into your arms, as Eddie grabs his walking sticks.

“Hey, buddy. How's it going?” you ask excitedly.

“Great,” he says, “Missed you.”

“Yeah?” you grin.

“Yeah,” Shannon responds, “He's mentioned you a lot.”

You nod at her, trying not to look visibly uncomfortable, and then ask Chris if he'd like to go see Chim. He's very enthusiastic for a kid that has to spend his Saturday at a hospital, but you entertain him anyway. You both walk further into the hospital, as his parents talk for a moment, before Eddie joins you and Shannon leaves.

It seems you have an insanely useless and incredibly inconvenient talent: it's crossing paths with Shannon Diaz. It's almost like the universe is punishing you by putting her in your life every time you have the gall to try forgetting about her.

And the curse doesn't stop at the hospital, it follows you all the way back to the station. Eddie's been out on a call for an hour and fifty-two minutes. Not just Eddie, everyone else too, but his shift had ended within those two hours, as had your own. You were just sticking behind in case anyone needed anything, definitely not to keep tabs on him.

Besides, no one ever said you couldn't keep tabs on your ex in your mind, even if he does have a wife. It's completely innocent. No one's getting hurt, and you find a little bit of solace in making sure he's fine after every call.

So, when you look over the railing to see if it's the team that's just stepped into the station and you catch sight of Shannon Diaz instead, you feel a little caught. It's almost like that woman has a sixth sense when it comes to you and Eddie.

She catches you staring at her from upstairs and waves her arm at you. She makes her way up with Christopher, and you greet them both, bending down to give Chris a hug.

“Hey, uh, Eddie's on his last call right now,” you inform Shannon.

She nods, and for some reason, you invite her to sit at the couch and decide take a seat with them. Christopher goes out of his way to sit next to you.

You entertain them with stories about rescuing people from the most inconvenient emergencies, but you keep out all of the graphic details for Chris' sake.

“Y'know, when I was with your dad, responding to an emergency once,” you narrate, looking at Christopher.

“There was a fire we had to put out. At the very last minute, I had to pull him away before he got caught in it. I practically saved his life. You should make sure he never forgets that,” you joke.

He laughs and nods like he’s actually going to remind his dad every 5 minutes. You can tell Shannon’s getting a little bored with all of the story-telling.

“Good thinking,” she comments, like she's praising a child for a cute drawing.

Chris almost immediately decides he wants a drink of water. He insists on going to the fridge for it alone. You watch him anyway, worried about the uneven flooring of the station. You finally look away when you realize one of your co-workers helping him out at the kitchenette.

“He's so independent for a kid. Wants to do everything himself,” you admire.

“Yeah, I know,” she responds, but she sounds like something else is on her mind.

“It is you, isn’t it?” she blurts out.

“Um,” you look around and repeat your own name back to her, nodding.

“You know what I mean,” she says, her voice heavy with accusation.

It’s clear she knows exactly what transpired between you and Eddie, before she decided to turn back up. If not, then she has a pretty damn good idea. You're too stunned to respond. You make sure to frown at her tone, though.

“What...” you begin, but you're thankfully interrupted by Eddie running up the stairs.

He hugs Shannon with one arm from behind the couch, and goes to say hi to Chris. When they both come back, Shannon looks positively furious. You feel like she might get up and kill you. Then, she does the most unexpected thing ever.

“Why don't you join us for dinner tonight? I'll make something nice.”

Is she seriously fucking inviting you to dinner?

Your eyes go so wide you might pop an eyeball. You turn to Eddie for a moment and then back to her.

“I kind of have plans. A date,” you lie.

That catches Eddie’s attention. You try your hardest to ignore his eyes boring into the side of your head, on account of his wife, who's literally sitting five feet away. There’s a palpable tension in the air. It makes you want to find the nearest sink and drown yourself in it.

“Maybe some other time,” you lie again.

You bid Christopher goodbye, and run to get dressed and leave.

A day later, it's Chimney's survived-a-brutal-stabbing party. Eddie and Buck hold up the party banner that reads, 'Chimney: 2, Death: 0.' Buck argues with Hen about respecting Chim's wishes, but she's having none of it. And, just on time, Athena brings the cake she picked up for the party being held at the station.

Hen announces that Chim's ten minutes away.

Perfect, you think, that's just enough time.

You walk up to Eddie as discreetly as possible and tell him to follow you into the bathroom. You go inside, and a few seconds later he's in there too.

“What?” he asks, a little concerned.

“Did you tell your wife about us?” you ask abruptly.

“Excuse me?” he whisper-shouts. “What I do and don’t tell my wife is none of your business,” he adds.

“Oh, don’t give me that. Just answer the damn question.”

He sighs in defeat, “Fine. Yes, I did. Of course I did. Happy now?”

“No, actually,” you respond, with snark.

“So what does she want now? For all of us to be friends?” you question, talking about how she so casually tried to invite you to dinner.

“I have no idea, okay?” he admits, "All I know is that I wouldn’t mind it.”

He waits for you to respond, expectantly. It's clear he's waiting for you to say the same.

You won't. You can't. The implications of it would be so fucked up. Especially after what happened at the hospital, which you're 100 percent sure Shannon doesn't know about.

“What do you want me to say? That I miss you? That it doesn’t kill me every time I see you with her and I remember what we had, and just how easily you let it all go?

“No. I won’t say any of that. Because it’s pathetic. And I’m not going to say anything to ease your guilty conscience. You should feel guilty.

“And I hate you for what you did.”

He's staring so intently into your eyes, you think he might be looking for any indication that what you're saying isn't true. Then, what you've just said dawns on you.

You've just admitted every single feeling you have for him in double negatives. And it's all true.

He grabs both sides of your face and pulls you into a hard kiss. He walks forward and pushes you into the tiled wall behind you.

It takes you a moment to slip your eyes shut, and delight in the feeling of his lips on yours. Just one word flashes through your brain, and it makes you pull back immediately like he's just burned you.

Wrong. This is all so, so wrong.

Looking into his eyes at this moment is the biggest mistake of your life. It instantly makes you forget everything. Your morals, your past, and his wife, it all fades away into the background.

You do remember the way he's made you feel, though. How sad, and dejected, and lonely he rendered you the day you realized he'd been lying to you. Your brows furrow at him, like looking into his eyes is causing you physical, palpable pain.

You slap him.

And before he can react, you pull him in for a kiss again.

His fingers are wrapped up in your hair in an instant. He pulls you impossibly closer, smushing your mouths together in desperation. You whine into his mouth at the feeling, but it reaches your ears as nothing more than a muffled, barely audible noise.

Your hands are cradling his face, but they just serve as leverage to keep him close. To make sure he receives everything you're pouring into this kiss.

You endlessly pour every single emotion he's made you feel since that night at the bar into the gesture. You hope he can feel the result, which just feels like a mess of love, and lust, and misery, and guilt.

So, so much guilt. So much guilt you're choking on it. When you almost can't breathe anymore, you pull back quickly. It makes you remember why you feel so guilty.

“No, no. Oh my god,” you exclaim, pulling his hands away and stepping back, all the way to the other side of the bathroom.

“You're married. Still married,” you think out loud, and it makes you feel a thousand times worse.

You shake your head firmly, “I'm not going to be some kind of mistress.”

You walk towards the bathroom door to leave, needing as much space between you and him as possible.

Since it's all out in the open now, so you feel the need to call him out on his bullshit once and for all.

“I won't tell you how to live your life. But if you keep playing house with someone you don't love, it'll do a lot more harm than good. To you and to Christopher.”

You had no idea a call could end so badly. You'd spent 12 hours locked up in a vault, unconscious and drugged. And now you're being interrogated. After having had to wait for everyone else in the 118 to be interrogated, naturally.

As you wait in an interrogation room in the LA police station ten minutes away from the 118, you tap your foot impatiently. You're so tired you could fall sleep right here on the metal table you're leaning against. You're also so angry you could annoy the idiots who brought you in here for hours. You probably will.

Two detectives step into the room, and take a seat in front of you. It's a man and a woman. They look familiar, and you already hope you never have to see them again after today.

The way they walk to their chairs, smiling at you, and look at each other plays out like a very badly written act they're trying to perform.

“Hello, firefighter…um,”

The woman checks your name and then says it out loud, tapping the piece of paper in front of her.

“I’m Detective Mercer,” she says, and then points at her partner, “And this is Detective Wash. We just have a few questions for you.”

You nod, because it’s the only reaction you can manage without completely freaking out at them. Your nerves are fried. Not only have you just gotten accused of being involved in a bank robbery, you had to wait four hours for these idiots to be done interrogating everyone else to bring you in.

“Look, we know you’re probably not involved in any of this,” Detective Mercer says.

You shoot her an expression you hope conveys, ‘Really? Then, why’d you bring me in here, idiot?’

“Yes,” she says with certainty at your disbelieving glare.

“I mean, you were already a Fire Cadet, who was qualified for Ride-Alongs by 17. Recognized by the Board of Fire Commission for your dedication. You graduated top of your class at the academy. The top graduate for three years after too, if I recall correctly,” Detective Wash notes, reading off of the file that rests in front of him. His partner just nods. 

“Your record’s completely clean. You’ve had no financial problems. Hell, your credit score’s better than either of us,” Mercer says, pointing at herself and her partner.

They both laugh, but you aren’t laughing with them. You know they don’t believe in all of the bullshit they’re spewing.

It’s all real, of course, but it doesn’t absolve you from looking guilty in their eyes. They’re just trying to pull you in by making you feel so holier-than-thou that you rat the 118 out, which you wouldn’t do in a million years. So, it seems there’s a few things they don’t know.

“So, where are the questions?” you ask, clearly too tired for this demeaning attempt at manipulation. 

Detective Wash sighs, and then looks at his partner like they’re gearing up to reveal a big secret to you. 

He then leans in, across the table, and almost whispers, “We heard, uh, somewhere, that there’s been some involvement between yourself and Probationary Firefighter Diaz. We also heard he hurt you pretty badly.”

Detective Mercer nods again, “Lord knows I wouldn't forgive an ex for lying to me that easily, either.”

You cock your head to the side.

What the actual hell...

You wish you could just run away. Or hide in the corner, or something. You were aware everyone in the station knew what was going on, but it being spoken back to you like this makes you want to pull your own hair out.

You haven't spoken to him since the kiss, but hearing his name still leaves you embarrassed and a little hurt.

“What are you trying to say?” you ask, annoyed.

Wash sits back like they've just caught you red-handed.

They haven't. It's why they're resorting to all of these cheap tactics, you tell yourself.

"What we're trying to say is..." Mercer sighs, feigning disappointment, “You don't have to go down for this with him.”

You roll your eyes, slamming your hands down on the table as gently as you can manage right now. They're bigger idiots than you previously thought if they genuinely think they can manipulate you into saying anything.

“Of course,” you laugh.

“Look, I didn't do anything. Diaz didn't do anything. The 118 didn't do anything. I was unconscious with my friend in a vault for almost 12 hours that day, but I can tell you with utmost certainty: you're barking up the wrong tree.”

You sit back in your seat. They look shocked at how plainly you speak. You hope they didn't realize the fury in your eyes when they suggested you might rat Eddie out. Of all people. He's the last person you'd betray.

They ask you a million other questions. They even try to insinuate you might've cooked this up to help Eddie out with his finances, which you had no idea he was even having problems with.

It's all irrelevant. Everything else sounds irrelevant to your ears after they've asked about your fight with Eddie. Your answers are clipped, enough to be cooperative, but not enough to give them any false hope that they might be right.

The investigation fizzles out, and you're all found innocent, obviously. But they've taken Captain Nash away from you. It tips the carefully curated balance you've all got going on when Chim assumes the role of Interim Captain Han.

It's the most entertaining thing to have happened at the station, since Buck got fired. You have no idea why everyone hates it so much. You loved having Bobby Nash as your captain, but you wouldn't mind if he stayed on the bench a little longer.

To be fair, Howard Han is pretty much completely afraid of you.

He wouldn't be able to boss you around if he tried. And he has, many times. When you first joined the 118 as a probie, he tried to act as a guiding hand. It seemed more like he was just trying to get you to do everything he tells you to do, constantly.

So, when you got tired of it, you put him in his place. Very loudly. For thirty minutes. And he hasn't tried to order you to do anything since.

It's just the dynamic you two have. Him becoming a temporary replacement for Captain Nash will never change that.

That being said, you still miss having Cap around, so you decide to visit him.

You're sure you might be the unluckiest person alive, though, because it isn't Bobby who opens the door for you. It's the very last person you want to see. And he looks as stunned to see you as you are.

As you walk into Bobby's apartment, and set down the cookies you've brought over, you realize he has the same stunned look on his face as you and Eddie.

“What? You guys look like I've just caught you sharing dirty secrets,” you joke.

“Oh,” you realize.

They were probably talking about Shannon, or Christopher. Or anything else you have no business butting into. Maybe Bobby even knows about the kiss. God, you hope he doesn't.

“Never mind,” you counter.

You sit down beside Bobby. The awkward silence becomes a little too much to bear, so you decide to ignore Eddie's presence completely.

“Bobby, I have to tell you, I'm so incredibly entertained by Chimney playing captain,” you gush.

“Really?” Bobby questions, “Everyone's been saying the exact opposite.”

“Yeah, well. Howie's too afraid of me to try any of his weird power-play stuff on me,” you explain, popping open the Tupperware you brought to grab a cookie. You urge them to do the same.

“I've got free passes out of all of the boring stuff he's having everyone else do."

“How'd you do that?” Eddie asks, smiling into a bite of a cookie.

You're a little disoriented for a moment. It's the first time he's directly spoken to you since the... well, the thing. And it was completely by accident. You can tell by the way his eyes went wide right after.

Now, you're stuck between a rock and a hard place. You could respond, and lose your credibility in this ongoing contest to see who's going to initiate friendship first. Or you could ignore him and make this entire visit a hundred times more awkward.

You respond, for Bobby's sake, “It's a long story. Maybe later.”

You start talking about all of the interesting calls you've had since Bobby left, and Eddie listens intently, despite having already been there for most of them. He laughs at every joke and grins at every other word.

Sooner rather than later, you check your phone and notice you're about to be late to brunch with Hen.

Eddie watches your every movement, like he's been doing for the past hour.

He must think he's subtle, but he really isn't.

“I have to leave in ten, Cap,” you announce, “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright,” he says, “I'm booked and busy.”

“Yeah, uh, me too,” Eddie seems to realize, “I'm already twenty minutes late to lunch with the family.”

The family? You're sure Christopher has a physical therapy session right now, like he does every week.

Maybe he means Shannon? Why not say her name? Is he trying to spare you all the feeling of awkwardness when he mentions her in your presence? Or does he remember the things you told him the last time you...spoke. If you can even call it that.

He gets up to grab his coat, and hugs Cap goodbye. He spares you a long glance, too.

Before he can leave, Bobby speaks up.

“Hey, Eddie,” Bobby calls out to him, “I think you'll find the answer to your question within. You need to figure out how you feel.”

It sounds so cryptic, you're sure the question's related to his marriage somehow. It's the only reason Bobby wouldn't speak plainly.

So, you do your best to busy yourself getting your stuff together. Eddie does no such thing, though. He lets his eyes drift to you for a long moment, before nodding at Bobby.

“Wow. That's some Yoda shit. Has staying at home already made you wise beyond your many years, Bobby?” you joke.

Eddie laughs out loud as he closes the front door behind him.

A/N: if u remember what eddie asked bobby in 2.17 u get 10 points!

[apomaro-mellow]

Wrong Number 1

Eddie kept up a texting chain with Steve while making himself a breakfast of coffee and cereal. He hadn't felt like this in a long time. Not since, well, when he thought of it when he was a teenager up all night in chat rooms and forums. When you found someone who you just clicked with.

[11:30] Any advice on how to fry an egg with a perfectly runny yolk?

(11:32) You like runny yolks??? 🤢 (11:33) It's scrambled or nothing for me (11:33) Cant help ya even if I wanted to

[11:35] I just want an egg on my avo toast

Normally Robin fried the eggs for breakfast. Her yolks were always perfect. But unlike Steve, she'd actually scored last night and was still with whoever she'd gone home with last night.

Eddie couldn't help but roll his eyes at the cliche. A guy who jogged and then came back home for some avocado toast with an egg on top? He just had to let his stance be known.

(11:35) Next ur gonna tell me bout your acai smoothie bowl rite? (11:36) Avo toast? Really???

Steve realized how he was coming off and had to quickly amend it.

[11:38] It's not what you think! We only got the avocados to make some guac the other day. There was one left and I wanted to use it before it went bad. And I'm all guac'd out. Hence the toast.

(11:39) At least you didn't use the avocado to make like ice cream or some shit

Finished with his own, normal, regular, average citizen breakfast, Eddie cleared his place and started to actually get ready for the day. His shift went from 2 to 10 tonight, so he needed to prepare for the long haul.

While brushing his teeth, getting dressed, and making something for his lunch later, he and Steve kept up the texts. Through their conversation he found out Steve's favorite ice cream (peanut butter), that he could cook eggs just about any way except sunny side up, and that he lived with a roommate named Robin.

Eddie got to his place of work and in a place like that you need to have some semblance of focus and attention, so he told Steve he had to get to work. He realized he was basically saying 'busy now, text you later?' to a stranger he'd only started talking to last night. Steve was completely in his rights to end the conversation there.

He could've ended it at any time really. What obligation did he have to keep on talking to him?

[2:01] Okay. Talk to you later

Steve stared at the message, already in the middle of agonizing over it when Robin finally came through the door of their apartment.

"Good afternoon. I wanna feel offended that I didn't get any texts or calls asking if I'm okay but I'm gonna choose to think it means you trust me and are a great judge of character."

For the first time in a while, Steve checked the time and actually realized how long it had been.

"Shit, Robs, I'm sorry." It had been over 12 hours and he hadn't checked in on her. All because he'd been texting a random number. "So you had a good time?"

Steve had been sitting on the couch and Robin plopped right down, laying her head in his lap.

"It was magical. Like something out of a movie."

"Aren't you glad I made you go and talk to her?", Steve smiled smug.

Robin smushed his face with her hands with a groan. "Don't look at me like that. You were right, okay? Me and her hit it off like, like uh, one of your sports metaphors."

"Robin you were in a soccer league just last year, stop acting like you don't know sports."

"Anyway, something grand must've kept your attention off me. Things go well with that girl you were talking to?"

"Umm, yeah."

Robin sat up, eyes narrowing. "And you came back here with her? Gross! Steve! Did you do it on the couch?!" She shot up immediately.

"I didn't", Steve rolled his eyes.

It was one of their main rules. No sex in the common areas of the apartment. Steve wasn't gonna tell her about the wrong number given to him. And he especially wasn't going to tell her he kept talking to it. The following lecture would have been unbearable.

"She gave me her number and we've just been texting back and forth."

Robin slowly sat back down on the couch. "Just texting? That's all you did?"

"That's all."

"Wow. You usually move faster than that."

"Well, I want something a little more this time. But enough about my snail pace romance. Let's talk about you and that girl, what was her name?"

He and Robin sat a long while, talking about her night, eventually going out for lunch together too. Not-Misty had said they were at work, but Steve couldn't help himself when he saw that Robin had ordered a burger with avocado on it and Steve had gotten a taco salad that came with, you guessed it, avocado.

[3:14] image.jpeg [314] Okay me and Robin might have a problem. But I swear it's not on purpose!

"Did you just send a picture of our lunch to someone?", Robin asked.

"Yeah to uh, to Misty. We were talking about avocados earlier and I figured she'd get a kick out of it."

Robin smiled through her chewing. She teased but she was glad that her friend had made a connection last night.

Meanwhile, Eddie saw the message, but didn't have a chance to reply, even on his lunch break. Through all the texting, he had forgotten to charge his phone, so it was on the plug and he was leaving it alone for now while he talked to his co-worker, Grant. He went through the rest of his shift, thinking about Steve.

What did he look like? How old was he? Where did he live?

He got off and made his way back home, stopping off somewhere to get dinner. It was a sandwich shop and he honestly contemplated getting avocado on his just to see Steve's reaction but he resisted.

'I can't be that down bad that I'm overthinking food now', he thought to himself.

When he got back home, he turned the tv on and took out his phone to reply to Steve right away.

(10:31) Back at home now (10:32) Work was crazy (10:34) And the 1st step to recovery is admitting u have a problem (10:36) But thru hard work we can get you addicted to a sensible veggie (10:37) Like broccoli

He thought since he kept Steve waiting for so long it might take some time for a reply to come, but his phone pinged almost immediately.

[10:39] First of all, avocado is a fruit. Second, I eat plenty of other vegetables. And third, what happened at work?

(10:41) It may be a fruit but I dont want it in my smoothie (10:42) And some guy came in and started throwing axes at the wall

Sunday evenings were usually more relaxed. It was why Eddie typically didn't work Friday or Saturday nights unless he needed some extra cash or they needed someone on deck.

[10:44] Hold the duck up someone was throwing axes!! [10:44] *duck [10:45] *FUCK

Eddie snickered through his eating and had to take a moment to swallow before something came up. He always enjoyed telling people what he did for a living.

(10:46) Cool your jets man (10:47) I work at an axe throwing range (10:48) The problem with this dude was he didn't have an appointment (10:48) Just came in and started throwing an axe at the wall

[10:50] Are you okay? That sounds dangerous

(10:50) My uncle handled it (10:51) Eventually the dude left

[10:52] Oh wow. Well I'm glad you're okay. Axe throwing tho. What an interesting job for someone of your age? 🤷

Steve was lying in bed and he buried his face into his pillow as he sent it with the shrug emoji. It was so transparent, he knew it. But he needed to have a better idea of who he was talking to. That way when Robin did eventually find out, he'd be able to tell her something, anything.

(10:53) Smooth (10:53) I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours

Eddie knew now was the time to be cautious. But he was also curious as to how much Steve would tell him and just what he wanted to know. He wasn't disappointed.

[10:54] Male, 23, 5'11

It was like the bare minimum of information and yet Eddie was already aggressively tamping down any hope that he might have a chance. Without his permission, hope bubbled up anyway

(10:55) Male, 24 going on 25, also 5'11

Steve stared at the text with the mystery person, mystery man's information. It seemed like so little and yet so much. He still hadn't an idea of what he looked like. But now he could at least get a general silhouette.

(10:56) Ur not one of those guys who lies about his height are you?

[10:57] Robin says my hair gives me two inches but she has no idea what she's talking about.

Eddie was thinking about how Steve must wear his hair. It could be in a sizeable pompadour, or maybe a nice afro. Maybe it was in a bun all the time? That was not what he typed out however.

(10:59) You know what they say (10:59) It's not the size but what u do with it

Okay this was it. This was where Steve stopped texting him. You can't just say that to guys you don't know-ping!

Eddie bit his lip and only had one eye open as he looked at Steve reply, preparing for the worst.

[11:01] Oh I know how to use my inches

Eddie dropped his phone onto the table and had to get up and pace, touch his face, his hair, throwing his hands in the air. Was this flirting? This felt like flirting. He wished he knew for sure. Maybe it was the lack of emoji. Had Steve put a winking face, he'd know for certain. Eddie leaned against his fridge, staring at his phone, sitting innocently on the table.

On the other side, Steve was burying his face into his pillow, pretending he didn't just say that. Would it come off as playful? As flirty? As casual? Should he have sent a wink? The seconds ticked and it felt too late. Like coughing after saying something awkward.

God, he was so desperate. Why was he even still texting? He had work in the morning. He should start preparing for bed so he had any hope of getting up on time. Steve pushed off the bed and went to his closet when he heard the notification sound and instantly returned.

(11:05) Let's get out the measuring tape (11:05) image.jpeg

Steve felt his heart skip a beat. The picture attached was of the very top of mystery man's head. He was holding up a lock of long, curly hair into the air. Steve studied the picture like he was getting paid to do it. He couldn't see any lower than the bangs on his forehead but there was still plenty to see.

The rings on his fingers for one, how his curls went this way and that. Steve quickly saved it and then replied with a similar pose, holding some hair by the fingers as far as it would go above his head.

[11:07] image.jpeg [11:08] I think you have me beat

They texted for about an hour more before Steve finally decided to be an adult and put himself to sleep, bidding mystery man good night.

Part 3

Fun fact, years ago I worked at an axe throwing place and yes, what happened to Eddie did in fact happen to me! On like my first week too I think

Tag Team

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @estrellami-1 @newtstabber @omletlove @ifyoudonlysurrender @rehfan @morganski-19 @corvidcantina @dragonmama76 @just-ladyme @tinyplanet95 @lolawonsstuff @goodolefashionedloverboi @idoquitelikebread @kittydeadbones @manda-panda-monium @rhapsodyinalto @paintsplatteredandimperfect @keylime-green @ihavekidneys @samsoble @honorarybrit81 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @420-hun @aizawa-emma @deleataecount @thesuninyaface

[steddieas-shegoes]

Nother Idea: Steve has a really bad migraine when he sees his parents for the first time post spring break from hell. He is still recovering from his injuries & his parsnts don't know how to help him. He is in tears begging his father or mother to get him Rob or Eds. And they have no clue who that is. The other parent finds a note by the main house phone and one by his bedroom phone with the names Robin & Eddie with their numbers. And they watch their adult son get coddled by a lesbian and a metalhead. Bsjsjcjdjd maybe they find out about the UD???

I TOOK A BREAK FROM PLANNING OUR WEDDING FOR THIS MY LOVE!!! You know how I feel about migraine Steve and you know how I feel about some good old hurt/comfort and how I feel about Steve's parents just being shitty always. It's like you wrote this request from MY BRAIN. It's a bit shorter than I could've done, but I am rushing out the door at this point and wanted to have it posted today in case I can't tonight. Hope you love it!!! - Mickala ❤️

-------------------------------------------------------

Luck was never on Steve’s side.

He hadn’t slept more than a few hours in weeks, his brain and body constantly running through checklists of things he had to do and people he needed to check on.

It was catching up with him in the form of the worst migraine he’s had in months.

And now his parents were home.

He could hear them talking downstairs, their voices carrying and making Steve wince against his pillow.

He managed to close his curtains when he got up to use the bathroom this morning, but hadn’t managed to do anything else. Including close his door.

He hadn’t really expected that to be an issue since he was alone all the time.

His parents hadn’t been home in nearly six months. They hadn’t even bothered to call when the “earthquake” hit.

He kept his eyes closed in hopes that they wouldn’t bother him, maybe they’d even close his door for him if they thought he was asleep.

Wishful thinking.

His dad’s booming voice was suddenly right next to him, echoing around his room and his head.

“It’s the middle of the damn day, Anne! He can’t sleep his life away!”

Steve let out a groan, burying his head as far into his pillows as he could to avoid some of the noise.

His father would give up eventually, probably call him something terrible, be disappointed, the usual. But he’d leave, and Steve could bask in the peace and quiet again.

“Do you hear me, Steven? Anne, he’s ignoring me!”

Steve groaned again as he heard his mother’s voice from the doorway.

“Richard, he’s clearly hungover. We should come back later.”

Steve loved that idea. If they left, he could try to sleep this migraine off.

“I’m not just leaving him! He has to act like a responsible adult someday, Anne. We don’t pay for this house for him to spend his days hungover in it.”

“Not hungover.”

Steve’s voice was muffled against the pillow, his head pounding with every movement of his lips, but he knew he had to at least try to stick up for himself.

“So you’re just a useless sack in the middle of the day on a Thursday for no reason, then?”

Steve let out a whine at the sharp pains shooting through his head.

“Eddie. Call?”

Words were hard when your head was trying to implode on itself.

“Who is Eddie? Is that the person who got you drunk? I will not be calling this Eddie person, and I expect you to be up, showered, and dressed by the time we are back from our business dinner. Do you understand?”

“Robin.”

“Isn’t that your girlfriend? Is she responsible for this?”

Steve wanted to scream that the people responsible for this were dead or Russian spies who were hopefully dead and no thanks to either of his parents, he often spent days like this.

Not as often since he practically had Robin and Eddie living with him, but enough.

“No. Eddie.”

“Eddie isn’t your girlfriend.” Anne was closer now. “Do you need medical attention? You’re not making any sense. Oh goodness, Richard, maybe he’s having a stroke.”

His side was pulsing. Eddie said his did too sometimes, a casual reminder that they’d been nearly eaten alive. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as his head, though.

He needed to get to his phone so he could call Eddie.

Eddie knew what to do to help. He wouldn’t be scared of his parents.

Just as he started to move his head so he could try to roll out of bed, he heard his mom speak again, much lower, probably directly to his dad.

He had extremely sensitive hearing when he had migraines, though, so he could still hear what she was saying.

“This note has those names with phone numbers. Maybe we should call them?”

“It’s just a hangover. He has to man up.”

“It just seems like more than a hangover. He’s in real pain.”

“You do what you want. Coddle him if you must. I have a business dinner to get ready for.”

He heard his father leave the room, but didn’t bother moving.

His mom was suddenly talking into the phone.

“Is this Eddie? Yes, this is Anne Harrington. Steve’s mom, yes. He had your number written down by the phone. He’s asking for you and he seems to be quite hungover. It’s not? Oh. Oh. Okay. Well, could you come keep an eye on him, then? I would appreciate it. I could pay you.” Steve heard yelling on the other end and tried to smirk, but his face was in too much pain. “Okay, see you soon.”

“Steve? Eddie’s coming. He didn’t want any money or anything to sit with you, but I’ll leave some on the counter just in case.”

“Loves me.”

“What was that?”

Steve turned his head to the side so he could say it again, emphasize to his mother that people actually loved him.

“He loves me.”

He was met with silence, but he was happy about it, his head still finding new ways to hurt even after 100 migraines.

His mom left the room, but he knew Eddie was coming, so he rested.

When he woke up, Robin’s hands were in his hair. She was gently combing through it, from scalp to ends, being careful to avoid any tangles that may have been hiding.

“Robs.”

“Hey Dingus,” she whispered, knowing he couldn’t handle normal talking voices when it was this bad. “Gave Eds and I quite a scare having your mom call, you know.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“Eddie?”

“He’s downstairs giving your parents the riot act while he unloads groceries. He’s pissed.”

“At me?”

“No, never you. He’s got your extra strength pain meds that you were out of though.”

Steve had forgotten to get more last time he went to the store and he admittedly wouldn’t be this bad off if he had them ready to go when he woke up this morning.

But Eddie always took care of him and Robin always took care of him, and he was allowed to not have to do everything for himself anymore.

“It’s like you don’t even care that he’s hurt because of fucking government conspiracies!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Robin’s hand froze as they listened to Eddie and his dad go back and forth.

“The Russians almost killed him! Where were you? Not fucking here! The monsters almost killed him! Where were you? Probably on a business trip or whatever it is you rich fucks like to do with your time that should be spent checking in on your son.”

“Oh boy,” Robin slowly started to get up, causing Steve to whimper. “I’m gonna send him up here to cool off. Just breathe.”

So he did. He breathed in, then out, in, then out.

He did that until he felt Eddie’s hands in his hair, lips on his forehead.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered against his hair. “Brought you some water and meds.”

“Yelling?”

“They deserve it. But don’t worry about that right now. Just take these pills and sleep. I got ya.”

“Got me.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, always got you.”

He could hear Robin yelling downstairs now, but he didn’t focus on it, following Eddie’s advice and sitting up just enough to swallow the pills and half a glass of water.

As he fell asleep, he heard Robin whispering to Eddie.

“He’s got us, at least.”

“Yeah, he does.”

[scuttlingcrab]

A Hellish Dealer

Inspired by the Merchant Raphael that could've been, but now only exists in our imaginations. RIP. Gone but not forgotten. Thank you @firlionemoontav for the prompt idea and letting me know that we were robbed of Merchant Raphael!

Summary: Raphael isn't only a saviour, but a proficient salesman. After coming to Tav’s rescue, again, he offers the little mouse an item, straight from his Devilish line of goods, that he hopes will aid her in the fights ahead.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via devils-little-mouse)

Tav gasped for air, clutching at her chest. Her temples pulsed, her skull vibrating along with each thumping heartbeat. Her throat burned as she inhaled, like she had swallowed a bucket full of coal. It made her want to vomit, a cold sweat dripping from her forehead. Tav shivered, struggling to sit up. She eventually found the strength to hug her knees in a sad attempt to warm herself.

Without warning, memories flashed before her eyes. Just moments ago, she had been falling, her body plunging into something sharp. Pain jetted through her chest, a searing sensation stemming from the pits of her soul. Her companions' screams echoed in the recesses of her mind, their pleas for help, cries of agony had blended into one… until there was only quiet, her entire world consumed by nothing but shadows. 

Tav blinked, her eyes caked with dirt. She rubbed away the grime, her mind scrambling, attempting to put the millions of shattered pieces of this reality back together. She loosened the laces of her tunic, hoping that would give her some more room to breathe. Her hands stopped abruptly, running over a massive tear in the middle of her chest. She looked down, eyes widening at the discovery that her entire tunic was covered in dried blood. She instantly reached for her back, feeling an identical rip between her shoulder blades.

Tav’s chest tightened, spots of black dotting across her vision. 

Breathe, Tav. Breathe. 

She felt the floor with her fingertips. Stones. It was damp, slippery. 

She’s still here. Breathe. That’s it. 

She turned her head, attempting to look around, to search for her companions… but her vision was hazy, the specks of black refusing to leave her alone. 

Tav’s nose itched and she suppressed a cough, tears forming from the corner of her eyes as the scent of sulphur suddenly assaulted her senses.  

A large black shadow came into view, looming above her ominously. She blinked again and the area around her slowly came into focus, the shapeless being forming a clearer silhouette… and then a face. Their features morphed into something familiar. Big dark eyes stared down at her, the irises briefly flickering orange, like tiny flames. They were tall, their hair short and brown… 

Wait a damned second. 

“Raphael?” Tav whispered, confusion contorting her face.

Raphael smiled wide, bearing his teeth. He wore the same shit eating grin from when they first met on that bridge, when this entire fiasco began.

“It seems you’re not very perceptive after all, despite my countless warnings.” 

“Your… W-what?” Tav coughed, blood splattering on her palms. She immediately wiped it away on her trousers, growing more disgusted with herself. 

“The infernal markings, scattered throughout this Mausoleum. So simple I had assumed even a half-wit such as yourself could’ve spotted them.” 

Tav swallowed, another lump forming in her throat. Now that Raphael mentioned it, there were a bunch of weird symbols littered throughout the doorways of that stupid fucking Mausoleum, and a few of those scribbles suspiciously resembled arrows. She had shrugged them off, thinking it was some kind of joke or just someone’s sad attempt at artwork. Not actual warning signs from the Devil himself… pointing in the right bloody direction this entire time. They had been lost for hours, going back and forth one twisted hallway after another.

Well, Karlach was right… and Tav was a fucking idiot. 

Tav stood abruptly, hoping to cover up her festering embarrassment. As soon as she rose, the room rotated, faster and faster like she was caught in the middle of a windstorm. The floor came up to meet her in a blur and she shut her eyes, bracing herself for another explosive impact. She instead felt a sharp tug on her arm as her body was yanked to one side, promptly followed by a pleasant embrace. Tav leaned into the hold, enjoying the stillness and melting against the comforting heat radiating from… 

She opened her eyes, only to find herself snuggled in Raphael’s arms, her head resting against his chest. She held her breath as she glanced up at him. He winked in response and Tav blushed, her cheeks catching fire almost immediately. That damned face, that damned Devil… she never thought his smile could get any more condescending.

Tav ripped herself away from Raphael, wobbling as she tried to keep herself upright without his support, but it only got worse. 

“Oh Gods, I’m going to be sic–” 

The sound of a snap ricocheted throughout the chamber walls, settling her stomach and the spinning room simultaneously. 

“The little mouse, ever so hasty to escape the hands that saved it. You nearly soiled my favourite pair of boots. I will have you know, these are quite expensive.”

Tav held her hands out wide to keep her balance, shaking away any lingering bouts of nausea. 

“My f-friends… what have you don…”

“Oh, they aren’t going anywhere. Besides, I’d like a few more minutes alone with you.” Raphael paused, his eyes travelling up Tav’s body as if he was about to devour her for supper. “And please wipe that bewildered look off your face. Yes, that boney little cretin that lingers at your camp isn’t the only one who can bring mortals back from the dead. Now sit still, else you’ll ruin my handiwork.” 

There was another snap and Tav was transported away from the Mausoleum in a rush of sparks that tickled her skin. She materialised on a spacious balcony, her body gently fitting into a plush leather chair. The material stuck to her exposed skin like glue as she fidgeted. Tav inhaled sharply at the view, blood-red skies and an otherwise barren wasteland overtaking her vision. The air was thicker here, weighing on her shoulders like a heavy piece of armour.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Tav whispered, just as a dark Hellish cloud appeared on the horizon, growing more ferocious as it crept closer. 

Raphael sat in front of her, legs crossed and cradling a silver goblet. His eyes glimmered against the fiery skies of Avernus as he continued to gaze at her. Out of fondness or hunger? Tav had no fucking clue anymore.

A small table was placed between them, lined with a tray of refreshments.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I’d like to offer you some commodities for the fight ahead.”

“Hold on. Since when are you , the almighty Raphael, scary Devil-man who threatens foolish mortals, a vendor?” Tav leaned back, laughing hysterically. She watched as Raphael’s smile faded, a menacing scowl replacing any hint of amusement that had previously occupied his face. “Gods, I must’ve really, I mean really, hit my head back there.”

Raphael’s neck twitched and his eyes narrowed, but he remained calm, taking a sip from the goblet. 

“There is a whole world of services you’ve yet to discover that only I can provide. I just so happen to have an entire line of goods that are simply too Devilish to keep all to myself.”

“Do you think I have any bloody gold left? I don’t want anything from you. I just want to be done with this never-ending bullshit! As if this damned tadpole wasn’t enough, you have to be creeping and crawling around every corner! I’ve ju–”

Raphael leapt towards Tav, erupting into his cambion form. Tav cried out in shock as the table burst into flames, the bottles of wine and various jars of food exploding. She winced, covering her face to protect herself from the flying shards of glass. Raphael crushed the goblet in his hand like it was nothing but cheap, flimsy material. Wine oozed from his fist like blood, the liquid sizzling as it touched his skin.

He leaned closer to Tav, pointing a claw at her face. 

“I would hold that wretched, ungrateful tongue if I were you. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be nothing but a sack of flesh rotting on the shores of the Chionthar.” 

“Raphael, I’m sorry.” Tav muttered, her words barely audible against the thunder from the approaching storm. 

“I cannot hear your pitiful squeaks, little mouse.”

“I’m sorry.” Tav said again, her voice shaking. “I-I w…” 

She hid her face in her hands before Raphael could see her weep. She felt humiliated. Actually worse, like she was a spoiled child having a temper tantrum. Ungrateful. 

Tav choked on her tears, her body trembling against each emotional wave that crashed against her, destroying what was left of her self-control. The sadness was suffocating, her exhaustion crippling. She was just so tired. Of everything. Everyone. Fed up with being bent and moulded like she was merely a piece of metal in a forge. It wasn’t only Raphael. No . But her companions, pulling her in twelve different directions all at once, each with their own personal vendettas. And that tadpole, swimming around her brain, digging deeper and deeper into her subconscious. The sleepless nights, tossing and turning from the voices in her head. 

It was too much. 

“Why did you bring me back?” Tav muttered eventually. 

There was a brief pause as thunder cracked through the air, a hot gust of wind blowing across her hands.

“I’m not done with you yet.” Raphael replied, softly. 

“I hope you make it quick then. So the next time I fall you can just leave me to die in peace.”

“Yes…” Raphael began, delicately peeling Tav’s fingers away from her face, lowering her shield. He placed his own hand on her cheek, the warmth from his palm drying the tears that fell. He held his hand there for what felt like an eternity, and in truth, Tav didn’t want him to let go. She tried to look away, but she was drawn into his gaze; those dark, deceitful eyes, slowly losing herself the more she stared into that welcoming abyss. 

“I think I’m satisfied.” Raphael continued, releasing Tav from his hold. “Consider that my first and only warning. Next time I won’t be so… generous.”

Raphael returned to his seat and Tav let out a sigh, pressing her fingers to her cheek where the remains of his touch still lingered. 

He clapped his hands twice and a massive wooden wardrobe appeared behind him. He twirled his wrist, opening the double doors and showcasing an endless expanse of weapons, armour, and potions. He swiped his hand and the thousands of artefacts flew past him at a rapid speed. He hummed thoughtfully until he raised an index finger and stopped the movement, staring at a large metallic staff in front of him. It floated patiently, the metal was smooth and twisted, almost like silver vines.

“That’ll do nicely…”

Raphael moved his index finger and the staff flew out of the wardrobe, hovering before Tav.

“Feast your eyes on this . It can detect creatures who might not want to be found, simply activate the barrier with an intermediate incantation and nothing can hide within its boundaries. I think it suits your strengths just enough to get this next job done.” 

The staff bounced in the air as it twirled, beckoning Tav to touch it. She reached towards the staff, but Raphael yanked it away with the flick of his wrist. 

“Tut, tut. I don’t just hand things out for free, not even to my most treasured customers. I can give you a discount, however.”

Tav opened her mouth in protest but Raphael raised his hand dramatically to silence her. 

“Those soul coins, I can hear them screaming from your person. A far more satisfactory payment for my services. I don’t stoop so low as to accept gold .” Raphael practically shuddered as the words left his lips.

Tav hesitated, her hand resting above her trousers.

“Come now, Karlach doesn’t need them. If you give her any more, she’ll likely explode before you reach Baldur’s Gate.”

“How did you… riiight .” Tav muttered, nodding to herself. “You’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, yes, yes, I know.”

“Ah, has that tadpole riddled brain finally caught up?”

“Fine.”

Tav unclipped a leather pouch from her belt, digging her fingers inside it. She removed a soul coin and held it up to Raphael. 

“And for an additional soul coin I can throw in a few revivify scrolls, 4 for the price of 1. Seeing as you could barely walk the halls of the Mausoleum without falling into a trap meant for the undead. I simply don’t have enough time on my agenda to wait for you buffoons to drop like flies again. Which will undoubtedly happen, I can assure you. I might even bet you on it.”

Tav bit the side of her mouth, trying to keep herself from saying anything stupid to rile his temper a second time. She shook her head as she pulled another soul coin from the pouch. She placed both coins in her palm, extending it towards Raphael. He giddily accepted, snatching the Hellish currency in one showy movement. 

“Ta.”

Raphael inspected each soul coin carefully, rubbing his thumb over the jagged designs. He brought them to his ear, closing his eyes as he listened to music that Tav could not hear. He sighed with pleasure, nodding along to a silent melody. 

“Oh, how delicious. There is nothing that brings me more delight than the screams of doomed mortals. One of life’s simple pleasures.”

Raphael bounced the soul coins between his fingers, like he was trying to impress Tav with an amateur magic trick, until they vanished in a puff of smoke. The goods Tav purchased flew into her hands, nearly causing her to topple over in the chair.

“Well then, thank you for your business. I’ll be sure to keep my fingers crossed you can survive the next few hours. You know what’s at stake. Until we meet again.”

Before Tav could even utter her thanks, Raphael stood from his chair, gifting her with one of his flourishing bows. Her body was enveloped in another burst of sparks and just like that, she was swiftly returned to the Mausoleum. She unexpectedly found herself yearning for the stifling air of Avernus, her thoughts rushing back to Raphael. 

Tav stood in the same chamber, but she was no longer alone. Her companions were lying at her feet, just like the Devil had promised, groaning as they regained consciousness.  

“Gods, my head. That nearly ended us all…” Astarion whispered, jumping to his feet. 

“Yeah, what a fucking close call. Good job getting us out of that one, Tav,” Karlach added. She remained on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. 

“It would have been an undignified death.” Minthara said, rising to her knees as she released a healing spell. “And worst of all, my vengeance would have remained unquenched.”

Karlach laughed, using her elbows to lift herself up. 

“We’ll get that bastard Thorm soon enough, Minthara.”

Minthara huffed and the companions continued the idle chatter, their voices slowly fading from Tav’s focus.

Tav looked down at the metal staff in her hands, her grip tightening around it.

Right, she better not fuck this up. For all of their sakes.

[everybody-loves-purdy]

same Duskfur anon but now i want to talk about other cool things Duskfur did that proves she should've been a complete asshole: - Was willing to attack Jayfeather (a blind medicine cat) - Attacked Cloverfoot (Shadowclan deputy) - Mocked Scorchfur - Met with Berryheart - Mocked Tigerheartstar - Supported Frostpaw's exile to a degree (for mocking Tigerheartstar when he took her in) - Argued about Frostdawn training as a warrior - Argued about Icestar being temporary leader - Once again literally argued Mistystar to death and shown little to no remorse afterward - Argued about Harelight being Frostpaw's mentor - "I'm not convinced the living world needed saving." Just wanted to include that quote from her Also Duskfur is just interesting to me as a character. Her kits have no listed father, so I like to interpret it as the father being a rogue. ik a lot of fan interpretation is Reedwhisker being the father, sorry lol. but a rogue is just more interesting to me. It also makes more sense to me. Podlight has white on him, and is shown to be at least partially a point. Neither Duskfur nor Reedwhisker have a hint of white or is a point (Reedwhisker is described as a black tom). ik warriors doesn't follow irl cat genetics, but Duskfur has unknown parents, so my headcanon is that recessive point runs in the bloodline, and that Duskfur is just a tabby masking point (having the colorpoint gene but not expressing it, thus being a tabby instead) from her parents, and the recessive gene passed to Podlight who expressed it bc the rogue was a colorpoint. how Frostdawn is a colorpoint despite neither Curlfeather nor Jayclaw being described as colorpoints is beyond me. Mistpaw being a tortoiseshell could be explained if the Curlfeather's father was a point w/ white (which is rare but possible), and Jayclaw's side of the family--cutting myself off here before i get completely off topic I would say a kittypet could've been the father, but Duskfur seems to like Leopardstar, who was aligned with Tigerstar I. Obviously that's not saying much in these books, but if Erin Hunter authors were better writers, she'd most likely have some sort of prejudice. Also, despite Tigerheartstar fighting with her, he appointed her as temporary leader. I think it was Finchlight or Sunbeam who said that he liked her for some reason. Literally how?? Did they have a conversation off-screen? This also leads into Duskfur being robbed of deputyship in Star, since she, along with Icestar, were chosen as temporary leaders at one point. hell, I'm pretty sure Jayfeather mentioned at some point that Duskfur was doing Mistystar's job for her, which makes sense imo. she never seemed inclined for leadership, but she also seemed to never turn down the chance when it was offered. I know she's old and everyone and their mother wants a young leader, but I just want someone in power who's an asshole, young or not. I don't think we had a decent one since Leopardstar and debatably Blackstar. Everyone else since then has been "nice" (broad spectrum; Tigerheartstar can be considered nice despite being a bit of a problem) if they weren't antagonists. i want someone who will cause issues because they were mildly inconvenienced, and mean Duskfur would've 100% did that considering she mocked Scorchfur for choking on a mouse (or something similar). Frostpaw also seemed to value Duskfur's opinion to a degree. iirc Duskfur was one of the cats Frostpaw wondered about in regards to Owlnose being accepted as temporary leader. I cannot say the same for Star bc I haven't read it yet (I only read spoilers), but it seems even nice Duskfur in the prologue on the website STILL argues with Frostpaw, even if she's more subdued about it. i could talk more about Duskfur in general (and Riverclan cats actually) but i feel like this ask is getting too long but if i could pretty please send more Duskfur/Riverclan asks that'd be lovely :D also sorry for the tangents lol

This is great stuff, some really good analysis about her!

Erin Hunter please read this and respond and give us mean Duskfur again from now on thank you

Also about an asshole leader I can 100% see Crowfeather being an asshole if he ever makes it that far

[summerroseart]

Ooogh got back from the theater <3 gonna start off: LOVED the movie. Had a lot of fun. That is to say... I don't.... really...think it was good. It was not. (I'm sorry) But I highly recommend it! Felt like a direct to DVD sequel. I encourage piracy of this one. (/j for legal reasons)

In any case, it was fun!! Very very fun!! Absolutely no shade to anyone who disagrees with my takes lol. <3

FULL SPOILERS under the cut!!!

No seriously I'm gonna go over like. all the major plot points. Look away if you wish not to be spoiled.

- Okay. SO. not a fan of the pacing. Felt very choppy and incomplete like. RIGHT off the bat. Did not improve throughout the film, sadly. Writing and line delivery were also kinda bummer for all the characters, but those were my biggest gripes overall.

- 99 Red Balloons Green Day Cover?! Wasn't expecting that.

- Tom. Tom you KNEW that cave was there. Unless Maddie was the only one who went and got his stuff, and in that case, you BETTER have been the one cleaning out that attic.

- They are really having fun with dramatic irony in this one. Also not great callbacks to the first 2 films.

- WHY THE FUCK would you let them go with GUN???? They absolutely should have been tearing those boys from your arms wtf

- SA2 line ref, fun!!

- He... Shadow just. Hatched. fully grown. from a meteorite?? Disappointed but also EXTREMELY fascinated. What does this imply for Sonic? And Amy? Is it just because of the Black Arms? Is he fully Black Arms? Is he an unwitting spy for them??

I didn't watch the Knuckles series. Didn't they namedrop the Black Arms? But as another government branch or something rediculous?

- you guys have been alone for ONE DAY?? And you managed to crochet multiple projects, bake like 30 sourdough loaves, make a felt ventriloquist dummy, learn ventriloquism, and is that hand woven basket also implied to have been a project?? I'm impressed. But also. Do you... no longer have jobs? Does the government pay you now? I thought the knuckles series was irrelevant. What did i miss?? What happened to your work??

- Ily Maddie you deserve the world <33 they should've called you mom </3

- Sonic is giving major Boom Sonic characterization vibes, so I get why people don't like him in these films. (I love Boom Sonic wholeheartedly, but like. I Get it.)

- "Why are you tied up? Do that on your own time! You sicken me." AUSJHAJANABJAJBDJW

- Gerald is just. Alive. And 110 years old. There is no ARK. Maria didn't have an illness. The guy shooting didn't even intentionally kill her. Where is my corrupt government entity?? Devastating.

- Wish they'd done more with 70s Maria. Her character still seemed cool.

- Okay so Shadow just lived that over and over again for 50 years. Okay. I'm okay. Don't look at me.

- HATE that they inadvertently pinned the Blame for Maria's death on Shadow by having it be containers of his own Chaos energy that exploded and killed her, instead of the gun soldier shooting her in the back.

- WALTERS IS NOT A HERO SCREW HIM FUCK YOU GUN

- GUN is just... completely neutral in this :/ what was the point of Rockwell? She added nothing other than an unnecessary red herring. There could've been an EASY sideplot of Rouge stealing the master emerald instead. Especially with Wade watching it. EASY I TELL YOU!! WHERE IS MY GIRL????! WE WERE ROBBED!! ROBBED OF THE BEST THIEF IN THE GALAXY!

- Seriously though that Rockwell plotline went NOWHERE, WHY DID THEY DO ALL THAT???

(it seemed like they were setting her up to have been the one to commission Gerald for the Eclipse Cannon, but they just. Dropped her? after she gave Tom the key card?? Why did she want it??? Why was it relevant???)

- (paraphrasing bc my memory is Bad) "No person of any gender found me appealing" Sir your boyfriend is RIGHT THERE (obligatory WHOA HE'S BISEXUAL I DIDN'T KNOW THAT)

- Second act low point, but at least it felt sorta believable bc it felt like a legit sibling fight, and not a real falling out. They all just really love each other and want to protect each other. Knuckles you're wonderful, you have never done anything wrong ever.

- Missed opportunity for Dark Sonic. That would've been so FUCKING COOL! WHYYY???

- we both lost everything pep talk 2 (this time on the moon)

- just nicked the moon lmao it's fiiiiiiiinneee

- TAILS YOU'RE DOING AMAZING SWEETIE!!!

- Gerald getting zapped like a bug made me lose it.

- so like. Is everyone on earth just. Okay with finding out a world-wide government agency built a massive rocket powered death laser aimed straight for the planet that got hijacked immediately orrrrrrr

- Historians will say they were just good friends :)

- KNUCKLES YOU'RE WONDERFUL YOU HAVE NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG EVER

- "Team Sonic :)" "How about just team?" FUCKING SONIC BOOM REFERENCE????

- METAL!!! FUCK YEAH!! <- knew that'd mean Amy in the next film regardless

- AAAAMMYYYYYY MY GIRL AMY I CALLED IT I WASN'T EXPECTING BOTH OF THEM BUT HOLY FUCK!!! YEAHHHGGHGSHAHHDKKDO3BSJOXKNWHWISJBDNDJKDM I LOVE HER DESIGN SHE'S SO CUTE!!AA!!

- didn't catch the 2nd end credit scene but I'd already heard about the Shadow spinoff show (and/or movie??), so looking it up after, really not the least bit surprising.

Okay but i really did laugh at pretty much all the jokes. It was a fun time.

[colourful-void]

[truly off the charts levels of aitsf nirvana initiative spoilers]

some thoughts on mizuki date and mizuki kuranushi

the whole timeline switch thing is admittedly: cool as fuck. love it conceptually. its neat as hell. in practice i think it required some of the game to be a bit... strained in logic and perhaps if we were less committed to clone Mizuki and some other aspects it would feel a little less like we had to rob Mizuki (Date) as a character to make it work.

I can explain why i feel this way:

Don't get me wrong, its set up really really well in a lot of places. i see now which is awesome. the set up isn't so much the problem, there definitely could've been a bit more in the set up but overall it's solid.

my problem is that, in order to make this work, Mizuki and Bibi need to be functionally indistinguishable from each other not just in appearance but in personality. NOW there are key differences I noted which was very good!!! I did see this, i just think like, the fundamental concept means they have to be significantly more similar than they are dissimilar and that makes for....

Okay like:

Mizuki and Bibi having the same scooter? Fantastic, it's mentioned early on that's abis provided, of course they're the same. having the same gun, sure even, it might be a 'mizuki custom' but if we assume mizuki date didn't actually care that much about her gun's specifics I totally see boss replicating the first one. I'm sure bibi would've wanted that too. Having the same PIPE is bothering me. Because now we're verging into some nature over nurture territory.

Mizuki Date loved that pipe when she was 12, it's something she picked up afaik after coming to live with date even, bcs she didn't have it when she was getting bullied in school. Her having one makes sense. But bibi has a pipe, seemingly because... Mizuki has one.

So then, was it a unique choice Mizuki made when she was younger, or does 'being mizuki' mean predestined to wield a pipe? (i can also see Bibi like, watching over mizuki and deciding she also wants a pipe but that's only slightly better because it's still externally denying the characters individuality) [A minor way of adjusting this could be having Mizuki Date only ever use the pipe, and Bibi only ever use the Evolver.]

There are some good moments of them being different i can recall off hand, bibi talking about her younger sister (mizuki) for example, to shoma, etc. but like. 90% of the time you're not supposed to be able to tell them apart. So they think the same way, and act the same way, and when you're playing a game literally in the brain of a character its hard to even pass off as just, presentation or a front. and i wanna be clear i know there are minor differences.

Bibi doesn't react to Date's appearance in the warehouse (because she didn't know him like Mizuki Date, but also looking back since that was in the past like, Mizuki Date wouldn't have reacted either.), I think there's a little difference in how bibi and mizuki treat boss, maybe? But since mizuki is still playing around with boss and giving her puppy dog eyes in the first investigation scene when That's Mizuki Date and not Bibi, it doesn't quite land.

Because the small pool of people who actually know, Ryuki and Boss and all have to TREAT Mizuki Date and Bibi basically identical for this to work. And again, you can stretch it. Boss is trying to maintain professionalism, etc. But it's another layer of them being... basically the same.

Mainly, my biggest problem is less everyone else and how Mizuki Date and Bibi think and act.

Mizuki Date and Bibi are allegedly two different characters. They're given two different backstories, and lived two very different lives. Despite that, aside from a few minor hints and character quirks, they behave and interact indistinguishably from each other. And that kind of cheapens both of them as people.

Like, we just had this whole game that had everyone saying "if this hadn't happened, if my father hadn't been killed, if this child hadn't been kidnapped, if So Sejima had just kicked it at 20, maybe none of this would've happened, life could've been so different" and then also showed us 'Even if your life was extremely different you would still think and act exactly the same'.

TC-PERGE and alcoholism was a huge part of it, but the cited reason for a lot of Ryuki's behaviour is the trauma right?? Like it comes up multiple times, but the unique traumas that both Mizuki's faced? I guess impacted them exactly the same. or not at all, in Mizuki date's case because we never get proper resolution on the whole 'you were adopted and then your adopted parents couldn't or wouldn't raise you properly so gave you off to Date, who then disappeared." i'm still entirely unclear on who was the guardian of this 12 year old child after that.

TLDR

i think a lot of this twist is really cool conceptually, i'm on board with a lot of it. But in practice, Bibi and Mizuki are only different characters because of their wildly different backstories. They think and act identically, despite having such different circumstances which should lead to different thoughts and actions. In a game where the final Somnium ends in a long chain of "What ifs" where it's characters ask if they could've lived differently had just a few things been different, the central characters appear to demonstrate that no, they wouldn't.

and that kinda bums me out.

[ewingstan]

are you still doing the philosophy ask game. if so jessie...for me...

Okay I'm gonna go more in-depth than I usually do for these, because the thing that best works is a whole article that itself is responding to a lot of different arguments. So this is gonna be a bit of a journey. It’ll start out morbid, but end on a more positive note. Jessie fans should read Kaufman’s Lucretius and the Fear of Death.

The question of whether we see death as a bad thing has been contentious for as long as we have records of people arguing. Its simpler for those who believe in an afterlife: If what comes after is bad, you should fear it, if it isn't, you shouldn't. But for those who don't believe in an afterlife, why should death be considered bad for you?

The question might seem ridiculous, but its worth pointing out that most bad things that can happen to us are experiences. Pain, sorrow, humiliation, all are bad because they happen to us. But death? When it comes we're not around anymore to experience it. As Epicurus argued, "so long as we exist, death is not with us; but when death comes, then we do not exist. It does not then concern either the living or the dead, since for the former it is not, and the latter are no more.”

So if things can only be bad by virtue of us experiencing them, and if we can't experience death (we can experience dying, but not death), then why should death be feared? A popular answer is to expand what counts as bad to include deprivation, or the absence of positive things we're owed. Consider a case where someone sends us jewelry as an anonymous gift, but the gift gets stolen in transit. We don't feel any negative emotions as a result; we weren't expecting a gift, so its absence doesn't make us frustrated or sorrowful. But we can still say the theft was bad for us, because it deprived us of something that should've been ours. So Epicurus is often answered using The Deprivation Account: Death is bad because it deprives us of the goods of life. When I die, I'm robbed of all the good experiences I could've had by living longer.

The good times we shared will always have happened. But I deserve more, and our expiration dates mean I'm not going to get them.

But this argument already had its critics as far back as first-century BC. Lucretius challenged it with The Symmetry Argument: If its nonexistence that we find terrible, our absence from the universe after our death that we find tragic, why isn't our absence before our birth similarly tragic? Our prenatal nonexistence mirrors exactly our post-death nonexistence. And if death is bad because our nonexistence deprives us of all the goods we could've experienced in the future, doesn't our late time of birth deprive us of all the goods we could've experienced in the past?

If I'm sad that I didn't get to live another twenty years, than it shouldn't matter that those twenty years not lived were in the future and not the past. And if I'm not sad about having been deprived of past existence, I shouldn't be sad about having been deprived of future existence.

(Of course, Jessie could mourn that she wasn't born earlier. All the happiness you had growing up, that I read about him having. The closeness you shared, that pushed you away from getting close to me for so long. What would it have been like for us, if I was there from the start?)

So why should we hold asymmetrical attitudes towards the earliness o our death and the lateness of our birth? Kaufman gives a good reason: We couldn't have been born earlier. "I" am not my body or my genetic code—if I was, I'd share an identity with my identical twin. "I" am a psychological continuity, a chain of memories and mental states, a process of one experience leading to another. The memories I have, the connections I've forged, how my experiences have made me who I am—that's what makes me me. So a hypothetical version of me born earlier couldn't be "me" in any robust sense, because that hypothetical me's earlier birth would mean it shared no psychological continuity with me.

I can talk about myself using counterfactuals: What if I'd gone to trade school? What if I pursued a career as a boxing manager? But the reason I can talk about those counterfactual people and call them me, despite how they've lived a different life, is because they share a psychological continuity with me up to a point. We have the same start, and from there have the same chain of experiences and mental events up till some point of divergence. But someone can't share a continuity with me if their continuity had a different starting point. If I ask "what if I was born in ancient Egypt" or "what if I was born in 4000 AD," I'm not actually asking what I'd be like in those circumstances at all—I'd only be asking what a person with my genetic code would be like. I am my history, and even if they lived within my actual lifetime, an earlier start means they wouldn't share any of that history. I might as well be talking about my twin, or a stranger who looks like me.

After all, Jessie was born earlier—but not as herself. Jamie the first had the same body, same genes, but wasn't the same person as Jessie. The start of her psychological continuity, her birth, was not a continuation of Jamie's continuity, but a break and an end.

I can imagine what it was like to be him. You know he was good at painting a picture, for all his quietness. But I didn't live his life, I've just read his words.

Thankfully, I could never really be him. My story is a clean slate. I'm here, and I'm ready to live.

[olliethecat13]

Someone I think about a lot is Lionblaze. Not necessarily because he did a lot, or was an exceptionally good character (in his own point of view, at least), but rather because of the POSSIBILITY that could've been met with him. He had so much potential, and I think about that a lot.

He's an arrogant little boy whose grandfather & half-uncle who are both notorious for their crimes, but ALSO for their strength. They want to train Lionpaw and see what Lionpaw wishes everyone else would- That he's the son of the clan deputy and he's just as strong as his kin! He has greatness in his blood, he's Firestar's grandson and also Tigerstar's.

He must battle with all that, wouldn't he? He must feel bad for being violent and training with Tigerstar and Hawkfrost, but its really all he grows to know.

When the rest of the clan treats him like a little kid, like Ashfur, it wouldn't be a shock to see him turn to some cats who seem to treat him as more than a little kid.

Think about how cool it could've been if his morals began to crumble because he was becoming strong with his kin. Slowly he would stop feeling bad. It would just feel natural. Berrypaw's teasing wouldn't mean too much, when Lionpaw was being trained by some of the strongest cats in clan history, would it?

And when Heatherpaw comes along, just think about how differently things could've went down if it was not only Hollypaw who found out, but Tigerstar. Maybe by then Lionpaw would've been too far gone. Maybe Heatherpaw would've been meant to stay in the tunnels she had found.

Lionpaw can't be defeated, maybe he thinks he's just strong. Heatherpaw might've struggled, but in the end he left without a scratch, hadn't he?

He could grapple with the guilt. The looks from cats would always feel like they knew something. Slowly he'd learn about the prophecy, and realize that Tigerstar and Hawkfrost didn't define him anymore.

Think of the arc he could've had. He could've done bad things & lived his life in remorse, giving his ALL to defend the clans in the final battle, to make up for the wrongs and to avenge the childhood he and others after him were robbed of. Think of how he'd feel when he watches Hollyleaf spiral into the same shell of guilt he did. Think of how much worse he'd feel when he couldn't save her.

I do like him in the Broken Code, though. I think he's much colder than we've ever seen him and that is so much cooler than the cardboard cutout of a character we were reading about for so long.

Morally challenged Lionblaze for the win!!!!

[dark-night-star-light]

Currently obsessed with Conor and Shane's relationship. Or rather, what it could've been because Shane died way too early and we were robbed of awesome Shane-Conor content.

First of all, Conor expressed several times that Shane is a weasel and that he wanted to punch him in the face. This should've happened. I need this physically. It is a need. I need to see Conor get to punch Shane in the face. He knocks him in the stomach in that same book, I think, but it's not the same as a rage-filled punch in the face. Conor was robbed.

Also, in canon, Shane is an incredibly unreliable narrator when it comes to Conor. In The Book of Shane, he claims Conor had bragged to him about Gar's wolverine dying in Rise and Fall, which is blatantly incorrect. So Shane clearly holds a slanted view of everything Conor does. Also, since Shane's gentle, kind exterior was an act that hid his true colors for so long, I think it makes sense that he thinks that Conor's is, too. From Shane's perspective, Conor's as much a weasel as he is. He tries to catch Conor off-guard, but he's always so perfectly kind and pure, it unsettles Shane.

Conor collects wood for the fire when it's Rollan's turn? He's not just being nice, he wants something from Rollan. Conor stays an extra hour despite saying he needed to go home to his family? Maybe he's in a fight with one of his brothers. Conor lets Meilin take the bed and sleeps on the floor for the third night in a row? Well, obviously, he just feels guilty that he has been sleeping in a nice, warm bed for the past few months. Shane doesn't see anything Conor does for the sake of being kind as kind. He sees it as manipulative. Because that's what he was like.

And it unsettles him to his very core, because how could someone be that good, that kind, that pure just to be like that? It makes Shane feel even worse, and that is deeply aggravating to him. So he either keeps his distance or when he is forced to be in the same vicinity as Conor, he makes snide remarks about him. Conor still doesn't really like Shane, so he makes them right back at him, and this just strengthens Shane's belief that Conor is not as kind as he pretends to be. So he waits and waits for Conor to slip. But he'll be waiting a long time.

[mii-ruby]

Analysis of the political aspect in Akayona:

I enjoy Akayona a lot, however there are aspects I enjoy more than others. I know that most people praise it for being a story that alternates between politics, fantasy, adventure and romance, but personally I think that politics is far from being its strongest point.

In order to have a good story about politics, it is essential to introduce a lot of political figures. However, there's a cruel lack of such figures in this story. Besides the King and his advisor, who do we have? Where are the ministers? The diplomats? The different officials? The local governors besides Yang Kumji? Even the nobles are practically absent. We are told they exist and we see them briefly, but they're just a bunch of nameless NPCs, watching from the sidelines, never actively participating in the story.

Usually a King's power depends on how many nobles are on his side, because these people will support him and spread his influence. During the castle arc, and once Yona could no longer reach her allies Lili and Taejun, it would've been interesting to allow her to build relationships with certain nobles and get them on her side. This way we could've had an interesting confrontation with Soowon, some juicy court drama.

Regarding the tribe leaders, they could've participated in a lot of political activities, however, we barely see them doing anything that's not related to their military status. It's a bit of a shame, because other than being generals, they're also Chiefs of their tribes. They are responsible for their people's comfort, for meeting their needs and fighting the scourges that befall them, *proceeds to nudge Joongi* right Mister "I'm waiting for Soowon to handle the Nadai crisis that eats at my tribe"?, *proceeds to wink at Geuntae* right Mister "I keep complaining in my castle cause there's is no war on the horizon while letting the economy of my tribe crumble"? Actually, we do see Geuntae once doing something for his people

Deploying soldiers to allow citizens to work at ease is a good move, but clearly not enough. Kin provence was under Kai's rule until recently. Geuntae would've needed to do a lot for them in order to gain their trust. He should've also been the one to handle the damages caused by the recent flood too, but I guess relaxing on his bed in the middle of the field was more tempting🤷‍♀️

Indeed Joodoh, I think you should've killed him.

So yeah, reducing the tribe leaders to their "general" role was a bit underwhelming imo.

As a last point: When a King wants to make an important decision, like waging war for example, he'd usually gather his ministers and high officials and consult them on the subject. The Minister of Military Affairs would give his opinion on whether there'd be a strategic benefit in attacking that specific region, and whether their current Military resources are enough to rise an army or if they should recruit more soldiers. The Minister of Economy would speak on whether they have the necessary funds to secure supplies, hourses and weapons or if they should increase taxes as a source of income. However, because Ministers don't exist in Akayona, we were robbed from such scenes

It seems that Soowon doesn't need a single minister, that he's single handedly making every decision and handling everything. I don't know if I should call this incredible courage or utter madness.

In conclusion, I'd say that the politics in Akayona are above average. Not mediocre like Akagami no Shirayuki, nor stunning like Joou no Hana, but it's obviously fine to enjoy it. A political story doesn't need to be deep and convoluted, it's okay to keep it at a surface level -even if imo it would've been better to at least have one or two ministers- it's still an enjoyable story.

[orbital-obvious]

Some Thought on the Second season (the parts I watched, anyway)

In no order in particular, really.

=> The scene in the first episode of Jace trying to report Rhaenyra about the forces he aquired but breaking down in tears due to Luke's death was amazing. It's the conflict between being royals/rulers and being people/family. It also gave us more info about the state of the upcoming war, and showed us the relationship between Rhaenyra and her son.

=> Could have done without the "Rhaenyra looking at the distance" scenes, though. There must be a better way to explore her grief.

=> We got to see Lord Stark!!! And get some Winterfell lore!!! and go see the Watch!!!! The North is my fav I'm so glad to get that little glimpse. Also Cregan Stark is the most Stark dude I've seen on this show(s). Hopefully we'll see some fun wild blood of the wolf moments from him.

=> "I want Aemond's head" *leaves* ok girlboss but maybe come up with a plan

=> Jace hair is just.... So much better. I love character development.

=> We were robbed for not getting the Green's reaction to Aemond's kinslaying, especially since they'll have to manage the fallout from this act.

=> I don't like sexual turn in Allicent/Cole relationship. Not because I blame Allicent or whatever, I just really liked how their relationship was not grounded in romance/sex (in a way, they were respite to one another from sexual pressures) but I guess "she was a woman, he was a man" writing logic wins.

Edit: you know what? I thing that the criston -allicent thing could have been really good if we saw them get to that point. They were boinking out of nowhere . Was there something I missed in season 1?

=> I can go off all the ways this show strips women of agency and the ability to want anything, and perhaps I will (once I finish the season), but for now I don't like how Mysaria was "poor unfortunate soul forced to introduce Daemon to B&C for her freedom" and not, you know, an active perpetrator in this.

=> LOL not Daemon confronting Rheanys about the dumb scene in the dragon pit from season 1. Yes. Rheanys could've ended this war with minimum casualties. It's not her fault she didn't, the writers just decided to blow up a meaningful scene in the dumbest way ever.

=> Also there is a lot of talk during this season about the smallfolk and how their opinion can sway who wins the war, which is good, but it's odd that Rheanys' dragon stomping, killing and maiming all those smallfolk doesn't ever come up.

=> Daeron's existence being confirmed in an offhand remark after not even being MENTIONED in the last season is the FUNNIEST moment in this show for me.

=> It feels really odd to me that Aemond is still visiting the women who essentially was forced on him as a child. Like. It's the same kind of logic of "Larys has foot fetish becasue his disability is based around his foot" and I don't like it.

=> A lot of people say "They killed the boy" was Heleana not caring about her son dying, but for me it was a perfect encapsulation of her unable to handle the immense pain she's in and trying to distance herself from reality. This and the funeral scene later show Heleana trying to process her grief through her neurodivergence.

=> Real talk: why did B&C have a dog?

=> Daemon in Harrenhall is my favorite storyline, sitting there having indie horror game esque visions and phasing in and out an unfortunate reality of having to do diplomacy. Chef's kiss.

=> Daemon saying "have you considered kinslaying" to a Tully boy whos motto is "Family, Honor, Duty" is so fucking funny. He is so freaking bad at this.

=> ALYS RIVERSSSSSS MY FAVVVVVVVVV "you will die here", refuses to elaborates, leaves. Yes brew blood cocktails to give Daemon nightmares. Yessss gaslight him into thinking its the bed.

=> Ok the plan of Rhaenyra to sneak and meet with Alicent was so... Cartoonish. Also highly irresponsible for the ruling queen to dissapear without a trace during a WAR. Worse of all, it was kind of boring, and cost us valuable time we could use to expand upon other characters.

=> Like I know Cole sent the twin with a similar plan but at least that was acknowledged as stupid by the narrative, and also had an explosive and emotionally satisfying conclusion.

=> LMAO at Otto complaining about Aegon as he was fired, alll the way up to and including when he was packing to go back to the Reach.

=> What team am I if I think Aegon is a legit Usurper but Rhaenyra is kinda boring?

[doloresdisparue]

i just finished chapter 24.... kinda in shock.... i have so many thoughts about charlotte and who she was as a character i should make a post when i can better organize them but the gist of it is something like how (if we are to trust H.H.'s narration) she constantly belittles her daughter and doesn't know how to connect with her and yet when she catches a glimpse of H.H.'s true personality doesn't hesitate to take steps to protect her daughter, like with the way she was shown to be so infatuated with H.H. before combined with the disregard for her daughter's existence it could've easily gone the very sour and horrible way it sometimes does in real life where partners shield and enable abusers but it wouldn't have, not if she had lived and we (and delores) were robbed of a world where charlotte started a new life for the two of them... i have a feeling that i will be thinking about her character for a long time...

I'm SO sad more people don't appreciate Charlottes character. She may not have been a good mother to Dolly most of the time but she was also a single mother in the 40s who lost both her husband and her very young son. A lot of people overlook Dollys brother and while that may not be an excuse to be so cold and harsh with Dolly it does explain it to a degree imo. She was struggling immensely, propbably depressed and as far as we know didn't have any friends. She moved to Ramsdale not that long ago and she might have had to move because the house in Ramsdale was left by Harolds mother for all of them and with his death she might not have been able to afford their living situation in Pisky(sp?) anymore at some point. And thats before the added struggle of Dolly entering puberty at which point theres always fighting even without the pre-existing trauma.

But despite all her struggles and complicated feelings towards Dolly she put her foot down when it counted. She did love Dolly and loved her more than she loved Humbert and the life and social status he could give her if she looked away and let him have his way with Dolly.

And thats only if we trust his framing of Charlottes death being an accident (which is dubious and doesn't even hold up for the entirety of the novel). He also deliberately omits (and draws attention to that omission) what he said to Charlotte before her death so you could make an easy case that she may have stood up to him even more than he lets us know.

She is a complex character and I wish more people saw past the caricature Humbert draws of her for most of the novel.

[youremyheaven]

OKAY STORYTIME u guyysss

so my friend, we'll call her Mishti was in a long term relationship with a deadbeat loser guy who was toxic and crusty af (she's a Solar girl- Krittika Moon and she basically provided for him and he never gave her anything, not even peace of mind 😭) they started seeing each other in 2021 and I always thought their breakup was imminent because she was a straight A student and ambitious af and he was an unemployed toad 🐸 (they started dating when she was 21 and he was 26 btw 😬 to have no education or job AND expect your girl to spoil u at that big ass age is 🤢🤢🤮) they were always fighting and arguing and never had a moment of peace. She was talking to him ALL the time (she's Revati Sun)

I made my IG account in early 2023 and this guy started following me. He would unfollow and refollow me every few days so I just stopped letting him back in (i have a private acc) and he send me DMs like "why won't you let me follow you" and I was like ??? bc you keep unfollowing me?? and he was like "ohhh i was just trying to get your attention 😜" and I was like ???? (mind you, I had never ever met this guy and I'm sure he knew I was in his gf's college but I don't know if he knew that we were good friends) and he was all like "I know all about you, aren't you studying for ______ and aren't you from _____" (this is basic info bc it's just his gf's details basically) and I was like huh??? and he was like "I like looking at your profile, I look at it often" and I stopped replying after that 💀🤡😬😬 I know it doesn't seem immoral exactly but i don't think you should be talking to your girlfriend's friend this way 😬😬🤮

I thought of telling her but then I didn't want her to think I was a bitch 🤡 bc girlies in love will defend their philandering men and blame the women,,, so I just shut up even tho it really bothered me to think that I was the only friend of hers that he followed and he felt fine ??? talking to me like that ??? like was he not in the corner of his mind thinking that I might tell her that he's a bit sus 💀 IDK

Anywayyysss months go by and he sends me messages that I ignore (all of them are compliments and it doesn't feel right 😬😬) finally in June, he send me a long message about how he just wants to be my friend and wish I'd just talk to him 💀💀💀🤡 and I was like okay that's it, I can't do this shit anymore and I blocked him and messaged her to tell her about her man weirding me out

She told me that they'd broken up in early 2024 and that he'd been cheating on her 💀💀💀💀💀🤡

And I was like damn it I should've said something 😩😩😩😩 like clearly that man was lusty messaging and cheating with many women 😩😩and maybe i could've made the breakup happen sooner 😩😩🤡

But honestly Solar girlies stay in relationships they gain nothing from for far too long 😔

They're always dating men who give them breadcrumbs

She had 9383838 reasons to dump his ass but she stuck by him for YEARRSSS until finally he did something she couldn't forgive 😔😔😔

If you're a Solar woman, please stop giving your time and energy to men who give u absolutely nothing. I know you're an independent queen who needs nothing from anyone but don't carry around people who are dead weights and rob u of ur light 😩😩🙏 don't be independent at the expense of being with someone uncaring

[say-hwaet]

That's the Way It Is

Chapter 28: This is America, Part I Next Chapter: Twenty-Nine Summary: You, Arthur, and select members of the gang rob the Lemoyne National Bank. Warnings: Language, Mature themes, Violence, Action Word Count: ~9,100

Today is the day. The birds singing and crickets chirping could be a good sign, if it didn’t sound like they were either laughing or warbling a warning. Before the sun came up, you slipped out of Arthur’s arms as he slept, got dressed, and climbed back down the trellis. You were still careful as you made your way back to your tent and, thinking to catch an hour or two more of sleep, you could only lie awake and think about things. About the gang. About Arthur. About this mess.

About escape.

You have to be ready. You can’t fail Arthur or any of them. If you’re successful, the money could get them all to paradise, away from here and from the Pinkertons. 

But it could also draw them in. Any commotion is like Dutch’s signature and the law is sure to follow. 

Once you start to hear the gentle rise and bustle of people moving about the camp, you decide to emerge from your tent. 

You see everyone packing. You’re a little surprised, considering how discreet you tried to be last night when you packed. You see Mary Beth carrying a wrapped bundle of blankets and she meets your eyes. You see a little anxiety in her freckled expression. She stops in her tracks and you walk over to meet her. 

“Would you like some help?” you ask, offering your arms to assist. 

She shakes her head. “I got it, Kitka, thank you.”

You nod and lower your hands to your sides. She doesn’t walk away, only tucking her chin into her chest. “What is it?” you ask. 

She shrugs. “It feels strange. Packing like this.”

“Why are we packing?”

She looks up at you. “Dutch told us to be ready. We are getting on a boat as soon as we get the money.”

You raise your brow. That quickly? How did he manage to arrange for a boat? He’d have to talk to someone, meaning they could know who you all are. Could Dutch be that foolish? “A boat in Saint Denis?”

Mary Beth nods.

You can’t help but furrow your brow. “Wouldn’t it be better to lay low? Leave from a different city that has boats? Surely, the law will be looking for us. That comes with the territory.”

She shakes her head, clutching onto the blanket. “I don’t know. I am only doing what I can. And that’s getting ready.”

You realize that it isn’t fair to bombard her with your frustrations. And it doesn’t help you to be concerned. You are getting the hell out of here. You won’t have to worry about being on a boat.

But Mary Beth is your friend. You care deeply about her safety and happiness.

You soften your expression and reach out to touch her arm. When she looks back up at you, you speak quietly to her. “I’m sorry for getting upset. There’s just a lot riding on this job.”

Mary Beth offers a faint smile, almost as if she appreciates you acknowledging the shared agitation swirling through the camp. "It's alright, Kitka. We're all on edge," she says quietly, her voice slightly tremulous. "But I trust Dutch. He’s got a plan; he always has a plan."

You frown. You used to believe those words, but not so much anymore. “Do you suppose he planned things to go wrong in Blackwater?”

Mary Beth pauses, her features knitting in contemplation, then slowly shakes her head. "I don't think anyone could've seen that coming, Kitka." Her voice is a whisper, barely audible over the rustle of the leaves in the breeze. "But we've got to hold on to something, don't we?”

You look away, your eyes finding Kieran as he tends to his horse. “I find that I prefer to hold onto people that I can trust.” Then you look back at her. “People that I love and care about.”

Mary Beth nods slowly, understanding etching deep across her worried face. "I get it," she murmurs, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "After all we've been through, trust ain't something easily given. But maybe, just maybe, this time will be different."

Always optimistic, always loving Mary Beth. She always sees the good in people, even when there is none. You take a step closer to her. “Mary Beth…” you begin. “Should things go wrong…I want you to—”

“Charles…!” The sudden alert to his name immediately gets your attention, and you turn around to see Javier running up to meet Charles as he comes riding in on Taima. “Where have you been, amigo?”

You look back at Mary Beth, who has already begun to walk in the opposite direction, clearly her thoughts too muddled to welcome back the returning gang member. You suppose that it is fate that you can’t say anything to her, but you hope that she will at least think about all of the things you have said.

Eager to reach Charles before Dutch does, you hurry over to him.

And just as you make your way over, you see Arthur hurrying out of the mansion, locking eyes with you for a brief moment. He must be thinking the same thing.

To warn Charles of what is to come. 

Charles dismounts from his horse, leading her to one of the nearby hitching posts. You try to read his expression as he answers Javier. “I’ve been helping some people. They clearly have it worse than we do.”

Javier frowns. “You haven’t been here in over a week, hombre, so I don’t think you can make that call.”

Charles studies Javier for a moment, narrowing his eyes. “What’s happened?”

Javier shrugs. “Oh, nothing much, only we’re about to rob the bank in Saint Denis.”

Charles lifts his eyes to see you and Arthur. “That true, Arthur?”

He nods. “Today.”

Javier pats Charles’ shoulder. “You came back just in time. Dutch is gonna need your help.”

Though Charles is often unexpressive, you can tell that he isn’t enthusiastic about that prospect. “I see.” 

Arthur takes a step forward, brushing past you. “Let me walk wit’chu, Charles. I’ll take you to Dutch.”

You look up at your husband and see the determination in his eyes. This might be his way of catching Charles before he loses the chance to say anything at all. 

After a moment, Charles nods and follows Arthur as he walks back into camp. 

Leaving you and Javier alone. 

He smiles at you, which puts you at ease for a moment. “I guess you’ll be glad you won’t have to dress as a guard this time, eh Kit?” He chuckles. “Or should I say, Romualdo?”

You chortle, shaking your head. “I should be so lucky.”

“It isn’t about luck, amiga,” he says as he points at you. “It’s about something we have that others don’t. Loyalty. Faith. This robbery will change our lives forever.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

He blinks. “Of course, I do. Don’t you?”

You don’t know how to answer that without it being taken wrong, but you have to give him an answer. “I am loyal to what matters most, Javier. I place my faith in what we can’t see, isn’t that the definition of it anyway?”

He grins, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “You tell me, señorita. You were the one with the encyclopedias.”

You shrug your shoulders. “I wouldn’t know, exactly.”

“Still can’t remember, huh?”

“I’ve remembered some things, like Annabelle’s death and how I fell into the gang. There are still gaps, but not like how it used to be.”

“You seem like your old self, though.”

You look at him with a tug at the corner of your mouth. “I hope that’s a good thing…”

“Believe me, it is. We need people like you.”

You feel a little melancholy at his words. You don’t want to be needed, not anymore. You don’t want to feel guilty for leaving. You shake your head, playing it off. “No, you don’t need me. You’d carry on if I was gone. You all had thought I was dead, so it wouldn’t be any different.”

“We live or die, Kit, that’s true. But you are one of the original members and have stayed on almost as long as Arthur and John have. You may not think it, but you carry weight in this gang.”

You lift a brow. “Doesn’t Dutch disagree with that?”

He shrugs. “Does he have reason to?”

You quickly shake your head, hoping to ease his subtle accusation. “Of course not.” You just think you have reason to feel that way about Dutch. 

He makes a gesture toward you with a sweep of his arm, offering you a soft grin. “Well, that’s it, then.”

You have to ask him. You have to see where he is with all this. “Do you think we will really make it to Tahiti?”

Javier laughs, a sound tinged with both hope and something else. "Tahiti?" His gaze wanders off to the distant horizon, brushed with the last strokes of twilight. "Maybe not Tahiti specifically, but somewhere better than here? Yes, I believe we can make it somewhere better."

You nod slowly. “Dutch says we now have a boat.”

“I know.”

“But you think we won’t make it?”

Javier quickly looks at you. “That isn’t what I said.”

You narrow your eyes slightly, ready to turn the question of faith over to him. You want to challenge him a bit, see how far you can go with this. “But if Dutch says Tahiti, don’t you think that is where we are going?”

He shakes his head, taking a subtle step back. “I’m not saying that it doesn’t exist, but I think we could go somewhere that at least one of us is sure of. Like Cuba.”

Your eyebrows knit together as you consider his words. “I remember reading that in an encyclopedia…I think…”

“But not Tahiti?”

You shrug. “It doesn’t come to mind.”

Javier shrugs his shoulders, tilting his head as he rests his hands on his gun belt. “I guess what matters more than the destination is that we all get out…together.”

Your heart clenches at the mention of ‘together.’ The very idea seems both a far-off dream, and encompassed with guilt. You won’t be with these people much longer and while it breaks your heart, you know that it is a necessary salvation. You sigh, looking out towards the haze of humidity in the trees beyond the camp, a place you are looking forward to never seeing again. "Together," you repeat, letting the word linger between you and Javier.

“Alright!” Dutch’s booming voice echoes throughout the camp and you turn around to see him exiting the mansion, dressed in finer clothing. You see Charles and Arthur following him, your husband dressed in the suit he wore to the gambling robbery in Saint Denis. “Everyone, this is it! In thirty minutes we are mounting up and riding to Saint Denis! Everyone now knows their role to play and there is no room for mistakes or idleness.” He looks at you. “Kitka, get out of those scroungy clothes. You and Hosea are to look your best going into town, this isn’t a backwater saloon heist and we gotta go in style.”

You nod, feeling the weight of each word settle onto your shoulders like a heavy woolen coat in the heat of summer. You force a smile, trying to radiate confidence you don't truly feel. "Of course, Dutch," you say, and seeing Arthur give you a gentle nod, you leave Javier and head to Susan, who is waving you over.

“I might have somethin’ for you, girl. Come with me.”

***

You clutch at your skirts as you and Hosea separate from the rest of the band. He flicks the reins gently to pick up speed. And the rattling of the wagon makes you more uneasy. 

“Breathe, Kitka,” Hosea says calmly. “It won’t do you any good to lose your head.”

You nod in agreeance. You know from all of your memories that it pays to be calm doing any risky task, but you know what’s at stake here. “I’m trying, Hosea. I just…” You look back and wish you saw Arthur following you, but you know that you won’t be seeing him again until you both can find an opening to escape the chaos and meet at the parked wagon. “I care about you all.”

Hosea makes his right hand free to pat yours. “We will be fine, Kitka.”

As the wagon continues to bounce along the cobbled streets towards the heart of Saint Denis, you try to focus on the rhythmic clatter of horse hooves and wagon wheels against stone rather than the churn of anxiety in your belly. The city is a swirling mass of people, horses, and carriages, all moving with an independent purpose.

Driving the wagon, Hosea turns into the stables, entering the first stage of the plan: your alibi.

You had questioned the need for one. As soon as the warehouse gets blown up, you intend to get gone, but Hosea brought up the fact that any bit of evidence you can provide on your behalf is better than none at all.

Hosea dismounts from the wagon and comes to your side, helping you down. Just as you both walk into the stables, you are approached by a stable hand who wipes his hands on a rag. “Can I help you?”

And just as smoothly as possible, Hosea assumes his character, taking a step forward. “Yes, my good man! I am here to pick up my shire mare.”

The stable hand nods. “Oh, of course! She is ready for you.” And he goes to retrieve her. After a moment, her hoofbeats echo with a nice clip-clop and when she sees you, she whinnies softly. You take her lead gratefully and give her a nice pat on the neck. “Thank you,” you say with a smile.

The man nods. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Hosea nods. “Yes,” and he gestures to Silver Dollar, Odliv, and the large wagon you both came in on. “I need my horses groomed and wagon cleaned.”

The man blinks, raising a brow. “Your wagon?” he looks at it, looking between you and Hosea with a confused gaze. “No offense, sir, but I don’t think that will do much good.”

Hosea chuckles, the sound light and carefree, a stark contrast to the tension coiled tight in your stomach. "Perhaps not, but we've come a long way and these old bones could use some rest while our beasts are tended to."

The stable hand nods, still eyeing the wagon skeptically but waves you both inside. "Alright then, let’s get them taken care of."

“Thank you, my good man! I will wait over here.” As the stable hand leads the horses away, Hosea leans in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Remember, stay calm and look inconspicuous. We need to blend in as much as possible." He looks once back into the stables before patting your arm. “I’ll meet you at the warehouse in a few minutes.”

You nod, absorbing his words like a sponge soaks up water. Hosea then tips his hat to you and walks over to a bench near the entrance, taking a seat and pretending to read a newspaper.

And with that, you go ahead and leave, taking Večer with you.

You don’t want to make it too obvious that you are leading a horse through backstreets of Saint Denis, so you avoid eye contact and stick to the path that you and Hosea planned out. The parked wagon is a few blocks from the warehouse that you intend to destroy and you know that your steps will have to be quick.

The air is thick with the tang of iron and coal, a reminder of the industrial heart that beats within Saint Denis. Your grip on Večer's lead is steady, despite the nerves fluttering like caged birds in your chest. Each step you take is deliberate, measured to avoid drawing attention, though the pounding of your heart doesn’t subside.

Rounding the corner of a backstreet, you spot the wagon.

“Dobře, Večer…” you sigh. “Let’s get you hitched to this thing.”

Leading her to the wagon, you position the mare in front of the wagon and begin to secure it to her. You have to stand on your tiptoes to reach her back, being 17 hands. Once secured you pat her back one more time. “I’ll come back as soon as I can. With Arthur, John, and money.”

And with that, you slip away in the direction of the warehouse. 

***

After finding the warehouse, you sneak in the opening that you had found when Hosea brought you here yesterday. It is dark, and you wish that you weren’t wearing shoes so you could navigate your way around easier. You have to find the pile of old hay, where the crates of dynamite are stashed. You have to ready the charges before Hosea gets here, so it will be a quick matter of lighting them before you make your escape.

You move quickly, feeling along the rough walls for guidance. Taking in a deep breath, you smell the hay, all musty and damp, almost swallowing up the faint odor of the explosives hidden within. Following the smell, and seeing the faint light from holes and cracks in the warehouse walls, you locate the hay. Kneeling down, you dig your hands into the coarse strands, pulling away layers until your fingers meet the wooden texture of the crates. You go into your dress jacket and pull out a bag of gunpowder from your inner pocket. After finding it, you shed your jacket and hat, and willingly pull off your boots. You want to look different when you leave this building. You don’t want anyone to recognize you. You will have to find some clothes on a clothesline later, but at least part of your attire will be different.

The final touch is to undo your smooth updo. With a quick removal of some hairpins, your long, wavy tresses drape down your shoulders.

You exhale sharply. Now, for the second phase: setting up the charges.

Your fingers work deftly, removing the lids and pulling out the bundles from each crate, the weight of the red cylinders giving you a sense of ease. This part of your life, the precise and dangerous dance with explosives, feels like a whispered legacy from your past—a part of you that never dulled, even when so much else was forgotten, you had managed to recover some of it when you needed it most. When you and Jeremy were attacked all those months ago.

Jeremy. A good man. Died like a man. What a waste of life. If only you had left with Arthur when you did, maybe things could have been different for him.

You wish you could go back in time somehow and fix it, but now, all you can do is focus on what lies ahead. Hosea's words echo in your mind, a reminder of the plan and the need for precision. "Be quick, be silent, and above all, be smart," he had said as you both got in the wagon, with that stern look that managed to be both reassuring and commanding. You finish taking out the remaining bundles of dynamite, and begin to connect the bundles with a piece of twine that is soaked in kerosene. You figured that the best way to light the dynamite isn’t with the typical wire and plunger, you need to make this look like an accident. With twine and gunpowder, you can simply light a line and the flame will follow it into the warehouse, eventually blowing the place sky-high. 

You start feeling the weight of every second ticking by. The soaked twine almost comforting in your hands, a grim reminder of the stakes at play. You know the risks, but the promise of a new life with Arthur far outweighs the fear that claws at your insides.

With everything set, you rise to your feet, and taking the bag of gunpowder and can of kerosine, you pour out the remaining kerosine onto the hay. Tossing the can aside, you bend down and begin to pour out a line of gunpowder. Your steps light, and you move backward, making sure there are no breaks in the line of powder to ensure it reaches its mark. You re-enter the dark areas of the warehouse, but it is just as Arthur had said, once you know where you’ve been you can find your way back anywhere.

You think of that doe, how she had helped you find your way once. Maybe that is when it all started.

You reach the little opening where you entered and continue to pour the gunpowder, going around the corner and stopping just as it empties out.

“Ready?”

You jump and turn around to see Hosea with Odliv. But Silver Dollar isn’t with him.

“Hosea, where’s—?”

“He’s fine. We can get him later.”

You want to question him, considering the pit that has just formed in your stomach, but you only nod your head. “It’s ready to light.”

He nods, pulling out a box of matches from his pocket. “How long will it take to reach the dynamite?”

You answer without even thinking, your known expertise speaking up before you can catch up. “Twenty seconds, at the most.”

“Good, that should give us plenty of time to make it to a safe distance. There’s a lot of dynamite in there.”

Your mouth forms a flat line as you watch him light a match. “I know.”

And sealing your fates, he lowers the flame to the line of gunpowder. You watch as it immediately ignites, the little spark and brightness following the trail that you had just created, snaking its way back toward the warehouse with an ominous hiss. The small flame seems almost alive, a fiery serpent racing back to its lair. Hosea has to hold you back with a firm hand so you don’t follow it back inside, the glow is its own temptation. 

You take a deep breath, the smell of kerosene mixing with the cooler morning air. Hosea lets go of your arm to pat your shoulder, a silent signal that you both better make yourself scarce.

Taking Odliv, you lead her as you follow Hosea out of the alleyway, around the corner, and down the street. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, counting down the seconds that will lead up to an earth-shaking kaboom.

Thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten…

Hosea maintains a calm pace, but you can see it in his face, too.

Five, four, three, two…

One.

But there isn’t an explosion.

Maybe you just counted down too quickly.

You both keep walking.

A few seconds go by, but still nothing.

That is when Hosea stops and turns back to look at you. You lock eyes.

“Hosea?” you ask, hoping he will sense the bigger question you are asking.

“Did you—?”

You nod fervently. “Yes, I did. The line was perfect.”

He looks back towards the warehouse. “I need to be sure.”

And just as he starts to walk back, you take his arm, shaking your head. “It is too dangerous, it could happen at any moment.”

“Don’t worry, my dear…” he says through a feigned grin. “It has to work, you and your husband need it to work.” And before you can protest further, he pulls his arm out of your grasp and quickly makes his way back to the warehouse as nonchalantly as he can. You don’t dare risk yelling for him, lest you draw attention to yourself and blow everything. You watch him disappear around the corner, trying to time his steps to predict when he makes it back inside. 

But you couldn’t have predicted the next sound you hear.

KABOOM…!!!!!

The ground beneath your feet trembles violently, and a thunderous roar overwhelms the morning’s calm. In the distance, flaming debris soars into the sky, painting it momentarily with sparks of red and orange before descending in a rain of fire. Your heart clambers up your throat as panic grips you tightly.

Hosea.

“Hosea…!” you shout and as people run away from the explosion, you find yourself running towards it, grabbing at your skirts and leaving Odliv behind.

As you draw closer to the warehouse, the thick, gray smoke becomes too much and you cover your mouth and nose with your sleeve. You wish you had your embroidered bandana, but you had packed that away in your saddlebag, which is now on Odliv. 

You wave at the smoke, hoping to clear it enough so you can see, and in a desperate action, you call for Hosea. “Hosea…! Can you hear me?!”

Please don’t be dead. 

Please don’t be dead. 

Please don’t be dead. 

You don’t doubt that the gang has already entered the bank and so you know you’re running out of time. The law and fire brigade will be here soon. 

“Hosea…!”

You see a pile of rubble and the back of the warehouse where the dynamite was planted has the most damage. There’s still parts of the wall that remain standing. 

You scan the area quickly, panic riddling your very bones. “I should have checked it instead, I should have—!”

And amongst a pile of siding, there is a spot of blue. The same blue in Hosea’s suit jacket. You hurry to it, hoping that it is what you think it is. Without a second thought, you begin tossing aside charred wood and twisted metal with frantic urgency. Each piece you discard adds a pound to the dread pulling at your stomach, but you cannot—will not—let it slow you down. “Hosea!” you call again, your voice hoarse and barely audible over the crackling flames.

And that is when you reveal an arm. A hand.

And it twitches. Just barely.

You let out an exhale. He’s alive! By some miracle, he’s alive.

“I’m going to get you out!” you cry as you continue to free him from the rubble. “It’s going to be alright!”

Your hands, trembling yet determined, scrape through debris, burnt wood poking and prodding at your soft skin. You feel the heat against your face, the stench of charred materials filling your nostrils as you tirelessly work to free Hosea. Beneath the weight of destroyed architecture, his voice finally emerges, weak but present.

“Go…” he wheezes. “Go…Kitka.”

You shake your head, an image of Annabelle caught in that trap coming into your mind’s eye. “No, I’m not doing that this time.” With all the strength you can muster, you begin to pull him out from the rest of the debris. “Now, come on!”

Hosea's hand grips yours, his knuckles white against the dust and soot. "You can't… they'll be here…any moment...You need to get out of here, Kitka." His voice is barely a whisper, strained from the smoke and his injuries.

You shake your head again, more determined than ever. “You can’t con your way out of this one…” you grunt and with one final heave, you pull him out before the rubble falls where his body was.

You fall back and sit on the ground to catch your breath for just a moment and you see Hosea’s chest rise and fall.

That’s when you hear the sharp whistles.

No time to rest now. You got to move. 

You get to your feet, keeping in a squat, and you try to pull Hosea onto your shoulder. Using the strength in your legs, you stand and successfully bear his weight. “Can you stand?” You see him try, but it is a failed effort, his ankles rolling underneath him. “That’s alright, I just…need to move faster.”

Looking ahead, you try to quickly make your way down the alley. If you can get through here, you can take him to the wagon and wait for Arthur there. 

The screams and shouts usher you forward, the distraction won’t last forever. 

You reach the end of the alleyway, facing another street. You look right and left, and don’t see any law. You can act like you and Hosea were a victim of the rubble. Hosea would play along. It could work. 

You keep moving, trying to make quick paces down the sidewalk. A man running sees you and makes like he’s about to come to your aid. “Madame, are you hurt?”

You quickly shake your head. “No! I’m taking my father to the doctor. He’s been hurt bad!”

The man nods. “I can help you carry him—”

“No!” you snap. “I can do it. You go get somewhere safe. Who knows if it will happen again!”

You see the paranoia in the man’s eyes, which was your objective, and he turns to run down the street in the opposite direction. 

You feel yourself growing weak but you can’t stop now. 

You readjust Hosea’s weight on your shoulder. “Come on,” you grunt and you keep walking. 

Just as you cross the street, you hear gunshots. Turning, you see three blue-suited men chasing a man with dark, shoulder-length hair in a dark suit. 

As you squint, you see the scars on the man’s face. 

It’s John! And this could only mean the whole plan has gone to hell. 

You can’t help him with Hosea on your back. Finding a nearby bench, you set Hosea down with a soft plop. “I’ll be back,” you exhale. 

He tries to grab your arm. “Don’t go in there,” he pants. “Dutch…he…Micah accused you of…” You pause your hurried movements to watch him. “I tried to convince them…by having you come…” He struggles to breathe and he doesn’t manage to say anything more.

You don’t have time to wait and figure out what he means and after squeezing his hand and watching him lay his head back, you turn to run. 

You are short-winded. You are running out of energy, but you have to help John. You have to help him get back to Abigail. If you can succeed in anything, it would be this. 

John leads them into another alley and with your bare feet pounding into the cobbled streets, you run faster than you have in a long while, the adrenaline overriding the exhaustion.

As you turn into the alley, you slide to a stop, seeing the three lawmen corner John, all guns pointed.

“Nowhere to run, boy!” the lawman in the middle sneers. “We have orders to take you alive, so come easy and you will be brought in without broken bones.”

John’s hand hovers over his holster. “I’d rather die.”

But you beg to disagree. You see a couple of glass bottles in a crate and try to come up with something.

You aren’t much of a juggler, but you do have a good arm.

The second lawman laughs. “You’re makin’ this really hard to obey orders…”

John grins. “Aw, like you’ve never disobeyed before? You ain’t no different than I am.”

You grab one bottle in each hand by their necks, gripping them tightly.

“Shut up!” the third lawman barks. “Or I’m gonna—”

In the middle of his sentence, you have thrown the first bottle and it hits him directly in the back of the head. It shatters, beer spilling everywhere.

The other two quickly whip around, guns ready.

The middle man speaks first. “What the he—?”

The second bottle is thrown, and it hits him in the face, he falls backward into the wall beside John and slides down to the ground, knocked out and nose bloodied.

Now, that leaves the third one.

John, seizing the moment of confusion, draws his revolver and points it squarely at the remaining lawman. "Drop it," he commands with a growl, his gaze unyielding.

The lawman hesitates, eyeing the fallen comrades and then John's determined stance. His hand trembles slightly as he slowly unbuckles his gun belt and lets it clang to the cobblestones. His eyes dart between you and John, weighing his options in this sudden turn of events. John keeps his revolver trained on the man, stepping closer. "Move away from it," he orders, and the lawman complies, stepping back with his hands raised slightly, a clear sign of surrender. John nods at you, a silent gesture of gratitude mixed with relief.

You keep a wary eye on the lawman as you approach, picking up the discarded gun belt with one hand, the weight of it familiar and somehow reassuring. You immediately put it around your waist and once you lift your head to look at John, he turns to the lawman, not giving it a second thought as he takes the grip of his revolver and clubs the man hard upside the head.

You jump a little, not expecting that, and watch the man’s body fall to the ground.

John slides his revolver back into his holster with a click that echoes slightly in the now-silent alley. “You came just in time, sis,” he says with a huff. “I weren’t lookin’ forward to where they wanted to take me.”

You nod. “Me either.”

He nods towards you. “Where’s Hosea?”

“Just down the street. What happened?”

He shakes his head, his grey eyes more steel-like than usual. “It went all to hell, Kit. As soon as we got the money, there were Pinkertons all around us. They got Strauss somehow. Tried to barter with his life. Dutch or his.” 

Your eyes widen. “Does that mean he’s–?”

He nods his head. “Dutch wasn’t willin’ to negotiate…”

But Strauss…while you didn’t like him, he didn’t deserve to die like that. And he was supposed to be at the docks to secure the boat ride. “But the boat—”

“Well, that clearly has sailed.”

This isn’t the time for jokes, but you don’t have the strength to chide him. “And Arthur…?”

He shakes his head. “We split up. He told me to go to Abigail.”

Arthur. It is like him to put others before himself. He might have used his opening for escape and gave it to John. At this thought, your heart aches. “We need to find him,” you assert, the urgency evident in your voice even as it trembles slightly with concern.

John nods, his expression grim. “We do, but this town’s crawlin’ with Pinkertons now. We need to lay low, meet Abigail at Copperhead Landin’ as planned.”

You shake your head. “There’s no time for that! He could be dead by the time we return.” You look back down the alleyway, your mind going in the direction of the bank. You feel your heart beating faster, your mind racing as a plan forms in your head. It may be stupid, it may be foolish.

But you don’t care.

You look at the lawmen on the ground. One looks to be about your size.

You swore you wouldn’t do this again, but you don’t have many options left.

Without a second thought, you remove the gun belt from your hips and begin to unbutton your dress.

John takes a quick step back, turning his head away. “Sis, what the hell are you doin’?”

“Something that I need to do.” Discarding your dress and your undergarments, you begin to tear your bloomers into one big strip, using it to bind your bust like you had done before. It wouldn’t hurt to do it, considering you need to blend in as best as you can. You go to work at pulling off the dead lawman’s boots to get to his pants. Once you pull them off and put them on you look up to John, who is still looking away. “Help me get his clothes off!”

John turns carefully and seeing that you’re more decent he hurries to help you, first removing the officer’s blue woolen coat. “I hope you know what you’re doin’, wastin’ time like this.”

Your brow furrows at him as you put on the man’s boots, feeling the heat and sweat in them. “I do. Now hurry.”

John moves more swiftly now, understanding the urgency. He helps you pull on the officer's shirt, then his jacket, and finally hands you his hat. You tuck your dark hair up under it, pressing it down to hide your face as much as possible.

"Got the gun?" John asks, his voice low and taut as he scans the end of the alley for any sign of danger.

You nod, grabbing the gun belt and putting it around your waist. "Yes," you affirm, your voice muffled slightly by the gunshots in the distance.

“Now what?”

You lift your head to meet his eyes, and at the thought of what you’re about to say, you feel a rush of emotions well in your eyes. “You go. Get Hosea. Take him to the wagon. It is just another street down,” you point in its direction. “That way. Go to Copperhead Landing. If Arthur and I aren’t there by nightfall…” You blink hard at the tears. “Go on without us.”

John's jaw tightens, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and sadness. “No, Kit, I ain’t leavin’ you. Not this time.” He pauses for a moment, rubbing a hand over his face. “I left you on that ferry. You told me to, but if I hadn’t listened—”

You know he’s talking about Blackwater. Any other time to talk about this would be welcomed, but things are too treacherous now. You sigh exasperatedly. “We don’t have time for this, John!” You go to him and push him towards the alley’s entrance. “Go to your family! Make yourself a new home!” You back away from him before he can grab you. “I need to go to my husband.” You see his eyes widen and you glance down at the ring on your finger, feeling a flicker of sentiment and love there. “My home isn’t anywhere else.”

John takes a step toward you. “Kit—!”

You quickly pull out your revolver and shoot it at his feet, forcing him to jump back. The noise echoes against the cobblestones, loud enough to attract attention if anyone’s nearby. “Now go,” you say, your voice heavy with sorrow as the words leave your lips. “I’m not telling you again!”

He holds up his hands, surrendering. “Alright…” You see the shine in his eyes as he takes steps backward. “You stay alive, you hear?”

You sniff, nodding. “I will.”

And no more words are shared as he backs out of the alleyway and runs in the direction where you left Hosea.

You only wait a second or two, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, before running out of the alleyway, turning in the opposite direction.

And you don’t look back.

***

You reach the top of a roof, finding that the best way to see much of the city is from above, where the chaos of the streets doesn't reach as loudly, and you can think clearly. The warm breeze sticks at your clothes as you catch your breath, scanning the horizon. Below, Saint Denis buzzes like a disturbed hive, completely submerged in the chaos from the robbery.

As you peer across the roofs, you see figures running. You try to get a closer look and see men in bowler hats. They aren’t lawmen.

Pinkertons.

And running toward them, from another direction on a roof, is a young black man.

Lenny.

They don’t see him yet, they have yet to turn the corner.

But does he see them? You don’t know.

You could shoot them, but you remember your vow. You don’t want to kill anymore and you don’t know if your shot will make it that far, anyway.

But you have to act quickly.

Taking your revolver, you hesitate for only a moment before firing a single shot in the air. The sharp crack splits into the air, and immediately the figures pause, turning in your direction. Once they see you, you are relieved that they take you for a lawman, as they don’t point their guns at you.

You see Lenny duck behind a part of the roof and a man that was following him crouches to the ground.

You recognize the suit. The body. The dark blue jacket and black pants. The fawn-colored hair glistening in the remaining sun. 

It’s Arthur. He’s alive!

You feel your heart flutter in relief, but you still have the Pinkertons watching you.

You point in a direction opposite of your husband and Lenny and lower your voice the best you can. “They’ve headed that way! They might try to make it for Rhodes! We gotta catch them on the bridge!”

The Pinkertons, clearly confused but eager to follow any lead in the chaos, nod stiffly at each other before sprinting off in the direction you pointed. You watch them as they reach a ladder, sliding down to the city floor, their footsteps fading into the din of the city's turmoil. Only then do you allow yourself to breathe a sigh of relief and as you lift your eyes to where you last saw Arthur and Lenny, but you can see that they are gone. Your only hope is to find them before the Pinkertons or the law do.

You decide to start where you last saw them. Leaping from the roof to the next, you move with a fluidity that reminds you of your circus days. Each jump and landing, despite the danger, feels familiar and almost comforting in its execution. You’ve always been at home in the air, twisting, bending, leaping—your body remembers even if your mind sometimes falters.

You just wish you could take off these damned boots.

You navigate the rooftops until you reach the one where Lenny was last seen and you try to look around. You aren’t a tracker, that much is true, but you can use your common sense to think if you were Lenny or Arthur, where would you have gone?

Seeing as how there are no buildings to the side, as down below is another open street, you assume they jumped across to the next building beside you. Turning around, you get a running start and leap across. But it is slick under your boots and as your foot reaches it, you slip and fumble forward, rolling down the slanted roof and disturbing the clay tiles.

You stop on the flat part before the second peak slants upwards. Heart pounding, you push yourself up, feeling the sting from the scraping of tiles against your skin. It’s a stark reminder of how dangerous this all is. Not only the danger of falling off the roof, but into the hands of those who would not hesitate to deliver you to a fate worse than death. Shaking off the stinging pain, you scramble to your feet, wincing as you examine the damage to your palms.

With no time to dwell on the pain, you continue your pursuit, determined and fierce. You must find Arthur and Lenny and when you do, you can all get out of here, if Lenny will be willing to join you.

You decide to climb up the slope of the next roof, gritting your teeth against the sharp discomfort in your palms. The skin is raw, but your determination burns hotter. You reach the apex of the roof, taking a moment to scan the horizon for any signs of movement or familiarity.

The city sprawls out below you in a chaotic tapestry of sounds and colors. To anyone else, this might seem like a dangerous maze, but for you, each alleyway and street holds a potential escape route, a hiding spot, a place to catch your breath. Your eyes flicker over the landscape, searching for any hint of Arthur or Lenny—a shift in the crowds, the flash of familiar clothing.

But you don’t see anything.

You begin to feel discouraged. But you can’t give up.

Maybe if you rest to catch your breath for a moment, you can gather your bearings and come up with a better plan.

After taking a few deep breaths, you hop down and roll to break your fall and leap over a railing into an old balcony. As you reach its end, you look up and see an old building with a broken window.

Just as you see a big, lumbering man crawl through it.

Coming from behind a smoke stack are two other men and you recognize them immediately.

Javier and Charles.

You don’t want to call out to them, lest you gather the attention of any lawmen below. 

But you have to reach them before they head inside.

Your heart leaps in your chest as you anticipate this reunion. Faces whom you thought you’d never get to see again, while inconvenient timing, make you grateful to have this extra bit of time, however long it will be. With careful movements, you start making your way towards the old building, ensuring each step is as silent as a whisper. The last thing you need is to alert anyone—or anything—to your presence.

Reaching the building, you press against the smoke stack and peek around it to see Charles go in through the window, Javier ready behind him.

On a whim, you whisper to them. “Psst…!”

Javier turns, and he sees you. His eyes don’t flash with recognition and once you see him pull out his gun, that’s when you remember what you are wearing.

He shoots above your head, going right through your hat.

“Hey!” you hear a thunderous voice. “What’re you doin’, Javier?!”

“There’s a lawman on the roof, Arthur!”

Arthur. He’s with them!

“Just shoot him, then! We can’t have him alert anyone else!”

No, don’t shoot!

You take your gun and hold it out for them to see. “Don’t shoot!” you shout. And you drop the gun, letting it slide down the roof. “I’m unarmed!”

There is a sudden pause, as though the tension was sliced through for just a brief moment.

You remain still behind the chimney, waiting for permission to come out.

“Wait a minute…” you hear Arthur say. “Javier, get in here.”

“But there’s—”

“Now, Javier!”

You hear a quiet scuffle, and then the sound of footsteps receding. The tension in the air lightens ever so slightly, and you dare to lean a little further around the chimney.

Arthur’s head appears in the window frame, his sharp blue eyes scanning the rooftop until they land on you. His expression shifts from alert to bewildered, and then, his jaw drops open. “My god…” And without another moment passing, he hurriedly climbs out of the window.

“Arthur!” you hear Dutch shout. “Get back here!”

“I got this fool, Dutch!” Bill barks.

“No!” Arthur shouts back as he makes his way to you. “Don’t shoot!”

That’s when you step away from the chimney and are immediately taken in his hands as he kisses you passionately.

You can hear the confusion in Bill’s voice. “What the hell am I lookin’ at?!”

Then you hear an audible smack, and realization in Javier’s voice. “It’s Romualdo!!”

But Arthur doesn’t seem to hear them, for when you part his eyes are focused on you. “You’re a fool, Kit!” he cries before he kisses you again, his lips hungry as they insistently press into yours. “Why’d you go on and do that, huh?!” And again. “D’you wanna get yourself killed?!” But his voice doesn’t give off anger or frustration, more like a raspy relief, mixed with an undercurrent of fear that you might have been lost to him again. His hands, rough and calloused, hold your face gently as if you're the most delicate thing he's ever touched. "I wanted you to go on without me," he murmurs, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of his emotions.

You hold onto his hands as he kisses your forehead. “I couldn’t…” you sob. “Not after everything.” Your voice is a whisper, almost lost against the howling wind that whips around the rooftop, but he hears you, each word sinking in as his eyes never leave yours. “For better or for worse, remember?” you whisper so only he can hear. 

“Damn it, Kitka,” he breathes out, his forehead resting against yours.

“Damn it, is right!” Dutch roars in a whisper and you both break away. “Get in here or we’re all dead!”

Arthur takes your hand and leads you to the broken window. Letting you slip in first, Dutch and Bill step out of the way to give you room. Once you step inside, your eyes try to adjust to the darkened room.

You see Charles, Javier, Lenny, and Micah, and you are relieved to see most of them. When your eyes fall on Micah you can see the disappointment of your survival.

Arthur makes his way inside, and Dutch, pulling an old board hammered into the wall, uses it to block the window.

“Now,” he grunts. “Before we move on,” He regards the men and then looks at you. “Where’s Hosea?”

You have to decide how to answer him. And as you look into his eyes, you know what to say. “He’s dead.” It’s a lie. A bald-faced lie. But if Hosea taught you well, it will be believed.

Dutch narrows his eyes at you and takes an intimidating step forward. “How?”

You let your eyes grow glossy, putting on crocodile tears to make it more believable. “The explosion. Rubble fell on top of us. I made it out. He didn’t.”

You feel a hand on your shoulder and look at Arthur. You see the grief in his eyes, but you can’t tell him the truth now. You only hope he can forgive you for lying like this later, when you both make it out of here and meet Hosea and John at Copperhead Landing.

“He’s…?” Arthur asks and you nod your head.

His lips form a flat line and his sadness makes the burden greater. You blink, letting a tear fall down your cheek. “Yes.”

“And how do we know it wasn’t you who killed Hosea?” Micah asks, already trying to stir the pot. “Why is it that every time someone Dutch loves dies, you’re the one who lives?”

Arthur's fingers tighten on your shoulder, a silent promise of protection. "That's enough, Micah," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. The room holds its breath, the tension palpable as stares lock and the crackle of distrust simmers just beneath the surface.

You stand taller, meeting Micah's threat with a stern gaze. You remember what Jenny said, and you are more than ready to face him head-on, for everyone to see. “I’m not the one who’s letting people die, Micah,” you say. “I live because there are others more noble, more braver than me, but I’m not a coward like you.” You step even closer. “You dare say that Hosea was killed by a little woman like me? You aren’t even worthy to speak his name.”

Micah's face twists into a sneer, his eyes narrowing at your words. "Brave words for someone who could've easily been lost to the river," he spits back, his hands balling into fists.

Dutch steps forward, his presence commanding silence. "Enough!" he bellows, and the room instantly silent. “Hosea was one to put himself above others….” He looks down at the floor, a vacant look in his eyes. “Always…” He looks back at Micah. “I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

Arthur squeezes your shoulder, a silent reassurance amidst the tumult. His presence is a balm to the chaos that threatens to rise within you. You watch as Dutch turns, walking away with heavy steps, each one echoing the grief that has settled over the gang like a thick fog.

He is the first to step out of the room and you all seem to take that as your cue to follow. Eventually, you all end up on a lower floor of the building and Dutch opens the door to a larger room with boarded windows that still manage to let some of the last remaining light in.

“What now?” Bill asks, breaking the silence.

Dutch turns around looking at all of you. “I don’t know. I don’t. This whole town is filled with cops.”

Arthur stays close by you, clearly resisting the urge to put his hands on you. “Well, how long we gonna stay here? A-a few hours?”

“We go back to camp, they’re gonna get every last one of us.” Dutch goes to the window and glances through it, his hand still holding the saddlebag filled with what you assume is money. “I know they’re gonna be watchin’ the roads…” Then, suddenly, he stands away from the window, and turning to face you all you see a gleam in his eye. “I got it. A boat.”

What? You remember what happened to Strauss. That part of the plan is mute.

“What’chu mean?” Arthur asks, clearly sharing in your confusion.

Dutch continues with his idea. “We stay here ‘til nightfall. Then we sneak on down to the docks, we get ourselves outta here.”

Bill’s brow furrows as he sits down on the floor. “Where?”

“Any place will do. That’s all we got. We leave, we lie low, we come back for the rest in a few weeks.”

Arthur looks at you and you see it in his eyes. If you weren’t here, it would probably be an easier decision to make, but you’ve made it clear that you aren’t leaving him. Not anymore. “I’m guessin’ it's that,” He looks out toward the window, as the sun sinks behind the buildings. “or we die out there right now.”

Dutch’s voice comes in confident, emulating the attitude he used to carry in times like these. “Exactly. Now, everybody, calm down.” Arthur takes your hand and leads you to a chair and encourages you to sit down. The other men seem to follow suit, finding a place where they can sit and try to rest for a moment. Dutch, sitting on a barrel, looks at all of you, letting his shoulders droop. “I mean…look at us.”

Arthur leaves the window and stands behind you, letting his hand fall on your shoulder. You are grateful for his touch but you wish that there was a moment to yourselves, so you could tell him that John is alive. Hosea is alive. And so that you can ask him if he was able to talk to Charles. If he was able to convince any of them to leave.

So many things to do.

But you don’t have any time.

Thank you for reading my fic in my tiny corner of tumblr. I appreciate you.

Tag Requests: @photo1030 , @eternalsams