#not me crying about touch starved old men

[mossmx]

I need to make Monk gifs, but what really wrecks me is that he *loves* the physical comfort from people, when he can relax enough to accept it... I bet, before Trudy's death, Monk and Leland were more physical, since even after all the trauma Monk still goes for him for physical comfort: hugs, hand touches, just general "please hold me"...

[princessbrunette]

oofff flashing criminal!rafe through the divider glass when you visit him in prison 🥰🥰🥰

𐙚 ㅤ  ❦︎ ㅤ ₍ᐢᐢ₎

you promise yourself you won’t cry, and you don’t — brows etched in a permanent knit as the stoic officer leads you through to the visitation centre. you’re seated infront of a glass window and a telephone, awaiting the men in uniform to escort your boyfriend into the room.

he’d been in jail for a few weeks now, and today was finally the day you were able to visit him. it had been long and lonely without him, your communication wittled down to measly 2 minute phone calls that was likely listened in on by guards or other prisoners. you’d only hoped he had been doing okay, trying to put the horror stories you’d heard of prison out of your mind.

they bring in rafe, the man looking already more bulky from his time away, head shaved and orange uniform worn lazily, the shirt open to reveal a wife beater. you try to swallow down the urge to fully check him out, the concern getting the better of you as you snatch the phone to your ear, staring at him with wide glassy eyes. a smirk tugs at his lips at the eagerness as he raises his own to his ear.

“hi, baby.” his voice comes through drawled but clear as day.

“hi, are you okay in there? do you need me to send you anything? i— i just recently got in touch with this lawyer who said there may be a loophole —”

“yeah uh, let’s not talk about that a’ight? another time. i’m… i’m in here now, okay so— let’s just talk. normal shit.” he raises his eyebrows, to show it’s not a request but more so a demand— however at the end his expression melts into a reassuring smile. you sink a little in your seat, sucking in a deep breath.

“yeah, sorry.” you shake your head and he waves you off with a hand to show he didn’t mind, leaning back in his seat with his legs spread a little, phone still pressed to his ear. you stare at eachother in silence for a moment before he speaks again. “that dress… i haven’t seen that one.”

“its new.” you nod, looking down at yourself. he presses a few fingers over his lips, nodding slowly as he stares at the way the fabric is taught around your chest.

“mm… walkin’ round lettin’ other guys see you like that, huh?” he speaks but it’s soft, like he’s not really accusing you of anything — but old habits die hard. you frown, shaking your head anyway and he returns your gaze with his eyes hung low.

“wore it for you.”

“yeah…” he glances at the robotic officers stood stationed at the back of the booth, minding their business whilst simply doing there job. “why don’t you uh… gimme somethin’ to remember when i head back in? hm?” he cocks his head, eyes jumping down to your chest again.

“like what?” you sit forward slightly. you wanted to help him with whatever you could, you just wasn’t so sure what he was getting at.

“like… why don’t you pull that dress down for a sec? just real quick baby, i’m tryna see something.” he lowers his voice, and your eyes naturally flutter at the nasally rich-boy drawl that comes through the phones receiver. you burst into a giggle, looking around at the other visitors.

“rafe!” you sweetly scold, and whilst his lips jump up just a tad, he sits forward like he means business.

“m’not joking, okay? look if— if i could reach through this glass n’grab those fuckin’ titties right now i would, but i can not so i’m beggin’ you to work with me here. you don’t know what it’s like in here, kid — i’m a man starved, a’ight, please.” he drops his voice even more to hiss in a desperate whisper and you look around, wetting your lips as you consider making your move.

you return your gaze to him, and as your dress was strapless all you had to do was pull it down. you giggle mischievously as you do so, pushing your tits together with your hands, squeezing at them a little before yanking your dress up after you suspected the officer taking peeks. rafe grins, pleased — before shifting in his seat, adjusting his crotch area and glancing around. “mm, s’what i’m talkin’ about baby.”

“i miss you.” you’re still giggling, the smiling gently fading into a pout and he presses his lips together with a nod.

“miss you too. when i get outta here it’s fucking over for you, hope you know that. don’t expect to be walkin’ for a few days. that’s a damn promise.”

“well, i look forward to it, big bad rafe cameron.”

𐙚 ㅤ  ❦︎ ㅤ ₍ᐢᐢ₎

[writingoddess1125]

My Heart Breaks Pt. 2

Warning: Angst then Fluff

Buggy X FemReader

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Part 1

Replaced the Photo! Cause this was too perfect! Art belongs to Vamos_MK on twitter!!

You stared up at the blue sky with a tired sigh, finally you were free.. Over two fucking decades it had taken to escape and you did it God damn it!

For the last 20 years you had been imprisoned in the Impel Down- It had been awful yo say the least.. constantly you were trying to protect yourself and saw that the man who had sent you here had been extra cruel in doing so- well not you but the women who you took her place..

You still felt guilt in knowing she had died in your place.. but you couldnt help but be greatful she had wanted to die due to her cause in an accidental death. You hoped in her afterlife she was happy..

However death was definitely kinder then the prison- with monsters at every turn and trying to keep sex deprived prisoners from trying to have their way with you it had been a battle. You had scratched, fought and squeezed your way out of that hellhole.

After a changing of guards you had managed to slip out- unlike most of the prisoners in the Impel Down you had the enate abilies to swim so you did. Stealing a dingy that a negligent marine most likely left behind you made it out. Paddling like your life depended on it sway from that place, however you were in no position to cry in relief yet.

It was another 2 days of paddling before you manages to get to an island. Starving and dehydrated you snuck to the back end of the tiny island so no one saw your prison uniform. Stealing some berries and a pair of clothes from a small cottage you made it through the village, it was clear this place was poor- you blended in with the people who were just as hungry as you and with less berries then you had nabbed.

You went into a pub getting what you could afford, which was bread and cheese and a ale. You took these and stood outside to eat your meal which tasted no better then ash in your mouth.

Looking around you saw two better dressed men walk out of the pub, batting a poor boy on the back and laughing. Congratulating him for joining their merchant ship- catching your ear you finished your meal and drink quickly, following the men. Seeing a large ship with a line of young men wanting to join the ship for a better life and opportunity, so you join them.

Once you reached to the top of the ship, a old man held out a cane to your chest to keep you from moving forward.

"What do you want lady?-" The old Captian sneered at you, Glaring down at your dirty form.

"You're looking for sailors correct?" You say sharply, Taking a steady breath to still your nerves.

"What can a thing like you do on a ship? Do you even have sailing experience?" The Captian laughed in your face. You clenched your fist and glared hard at the asshole.

"Yes I have sailed since I was young- I can.. do cleaning and maintance" You lied a bit- not talking about your skills as a thief since this is just a merchant and not pirates like you were used to. The Captian stared at you for a moment before sighing with a shrug.

"Fine- Welcome to the May's Fairy Lady" He grumbled as he gestured for you to get on board. Sighing in relief as you had a way to sea and a income.

However that was better said then in reality-

To say the merchant ship was terrible as well had been an understatement- It was like the Impel Down all over again.. a group of touch starved and angry men who saw you as an easy target. Thankfully due to your skills you were able to evade any advances, during the day you would stay in the Lower Deck to avoid the men, cleaning and eating the stale bread and water you snagged not trusting the cook since he liked to Leer at you far too long.

At night you would travel to the Main Deck and clean up there and sleep till dawn or if the ship rocked a bit too hard. This had been your like for 3 months till one evening.

While mopping the floor of the deck you looked up at the dark sky, remembering the night with Buggy before that big heist. Grabbing him and kissing his suddently as a way to express your interest in him... your heart hurt at remembering his face when you saw him last at the bars of the window, Placing your bandana and kissing a kiss on the back of his hand.

Snapping you from your melancholy thoughs was a loud bang, seeing what looked like a firework shoot up right above you. Several crew mates from below deck also came up at hearing the noise, you watched the firework come directly on top of the ship before exploding in a cloud of red- It was beautiful. Your favorite shade of red too. The crew began to panic at seeing this as the cloud settled on the ship, you felt woozy and uneasy on your feet before you fell to the damp ground before darkness took you a large shadowy form of a ship came closer and you swore you heard circus music.

Groaning you felt yourself sitting up, a harsh digging from metal against your ankles and wrist. Jerking awake you saw you were seated in wooden benches in a dark room, Hearing the groaning and panic of others around you. You pulled at the chains slightly but winced at how tight they were.

Suddently bright lights turned on, You saw your crew chained up and seated next to you staring at a lowered stage. Your breath picking up as circus music started up, watching as different acts come up- it was almost exactly like how you remembered the show you went to in your childhood? Like someone recreating it from memory? People pulled out sighs to applaud which you saw the merchant nervously do.

"No No NO! It's wrong! That is not how a crowd should clap!" You heard a sharp voice say, walking onto the stage- He looked like a pirate Captian and not apart of the circus. You did see clown paint on his face and a red clown nose- which made your eyes narrow at the sight.

Your eyes focused on the grown man- Watching as he commanded the crowd with a twisted smile and yelled at the circus people. He sighed dramtically and looked in the direction of the crowd- chastising them for their lack of enthusiasm and not laughing with the cues. However the wind felt like it was knocked from your lungs.. You knew those eyes.. that blue hair expertly tucked away and real rounded red nose.

"Bugs?" You called out loud by accident- You saw his whole body freezes mid step. A twitch seemed to have shot through his system as your merchant crew mates all looked back at you with a mixture of pity and fear. You swallow a nervous lump as he did a slow turn in your direction, your face still clouded in shadows by the lack of lights in the audience section. Doing a silent hand movement his crewmates assended on you, yanking you from your restraints roughly and pulling you to the stage with little grace and tossing you at Buggy's feet. Rubbing your swore wrist you looked up at your childhood friend through your mess of hair.

"What the Hell Bugs? Shackles!? When the fuck do you use Mph!-" You were cut off as he grabbed your face hard tp pull you to your feet, his eyes wide and overly dilated like he was seeing a ghost. You actually felt afraid? His eyes seemed different and there was a unknown emotion behind them, you tried to wiggle free but he held you firmly taking his free hand and pushing the hair from your face fully at seeing your face you see it looks like all the air has been sucked from his lungs and he releases you quickly, you stumble back barely able to catch yourself as he stares at you with wide eyes.

"You're alive?..." He said in utter shock. You nod and cough a bit as you rub your sore jaw from his grasp. You open your mouth to speak but he holds a hand to you to silence you. His eyes looking more like what you remembered, that swirl of never ending emotions.

"Cabaji- Take her to be washed, fed and dressed. Leave her in my quarters" He commanded, the green man nodded heavily and grabbed you far gentler now to lead you off stage.

Just as instructed a group of people washed you up in a massive copper bath with nice hot water, dressed you in simple trousers and a tunic and quickly dropped you off with a plate on the end table of the large bedroom.

Seated in a massive bed you look down at the hot plate set before you, your manners thrown out the window as you tucked in. Having been far too long since you had a hot filling meal-

Without thinking you rapidly start eating it, it tasted like heaven enough for tears to well in your eyes as you ate. Before long the plate was gone- and you felt nauseous, yout mistake of eating too quickly and food you hadn't experienced in 20 years. You scrambled up to the nearest trashcan and began to vomit- so hard you didn't hear the door open. Only when a gentle hand touched your back which made you flitch and turn around to see Buggy, his eyes wide at your reaction before your body lurches and you vomited again. Buggy held your hair back this time as you vomited into the poor trashcan.

"Sorry... it's been a while since I got a hot meal" You admitted, spitting the taste of bile away from your lips as you sat back.

"It really is you" Buggy said in disbelief still, Getting down on his knees next to you as he looked over you. How you looked so unhealthy and weak- even after being cleaned he could see that abuse had done its work on you.

"Dear Gods... What happened to you?..." Buggy voice finally cracked, his hand reaching out and cupping your cheek his thumb running over the heavy bags under your eyes and the new scars that had set on your face.

"...I survived" You say softly, Leaning into his warm touch feeling tears begin to fall. In seconds Buggy held you tightly in his arms, your face pressed against his chest as ragged sobs left you, maybe it was finally being free from both jail and the hardships on that awful merchant ship but feeling Buggy's arms around you holding you close just finally released that emotional valve and you cried.. Harder then you had in your entire life into his chest.

You felt his hands smooth over your messy hair and rock you side to side as you sobbed against him. You tried to speak but sobbing nonsense was all that left you and was mumbled through Buggy's shirt.

After almost an hour of crying against Buggy you had worn yourself out, sniffling against him as he gently pulled back to look at your reddened face. His own makeup having dripped away from his red eyes- clearly he had been crying too while holding you.

He wiped your face with his gloved hand and laid kisses on your forehead to comfort you.

"You never have to just survive again... I-Im sorry (Y/N) I couldn't save you" His voice cracked at that, you shook your head.

"I-It would have been impossible. You two would have been killed..." You say with a sniffling tone, trying to control your tone and keep from crying again. Buggy asked what had happened, as you told him the story of your escape, prison time, the pain you had suffered and how you'd escaped to be hired by those merchants. He listened dead silent the whole time his hands rubbing circles in your arms to comfort you. However you saw the rage in his eyes at the pain you'd gone through.

Once done explaining yourself he nodded at this, like he was trying to find the words to explain but couldn't. Instead just giving a bitter chuckle at this, shaking his head in anger. He reached up and took off his hat with a angry sigh and tossed it aside. Your eyes catching the bandana underneath and reaching a hand out to touch the fabric.

"You kept that?.. after all these years?" You whispered confused, the anger on his face leaving as he heard this and left your touch. Reaching up and gently pulling off the old bandana for you to see.

"Of course- you gave it to me... W-When you... left. I was destroyed" He admitted, you stared at him with tears starting to fall from you again.

"I couldn't look at myself in the mirror without seeing the face that had let you down.. so I changed- I smiled for you, wore your favorite red and became Buggy the Clown"

He said with a chuckle and gestured to himself. You bit your lip to keep from crying more, he wiped your tears away with a shaky breath.

"You did that for me? Why?" You whispered, he stared at you silently before having a nervous smile.

"I love you"

His words made your heart skip- like that spark of life from when you were 15 had hit you again. Your eyes met his, he also seemed taken aback by his admittance.

"You love me?" You questioned, seeing him nervously mess with his gloves. He always did have little nervous tics like this whenever he was in a odd position, however peeling off one of his gloves to dig his nail into his palm he nodded. You reached forward and took his hand into your own to keep him from harming his hand further.

"Well I'd hope so after giving you my first kiss on that little boat"

You both giggled at this. You rubbing your thumb on his naked palm, seeing the deep scars that covered his hands- like he had dug his nails into them so many times that his palms was covered in smiley faces.

"Of course, didn't hurt it was my first kiss too" He chuckled but you winked at him.

"Don't lie, I remember the story of you and Shanks running on deck and your guys mouth smashing together. That counted" Buggy shiffered in disgust at the memory and wrinkled his face which made you laugh.

"That doesn't count!" He protest which earned more laughter from you, he smiled widely at this.

"Sooo if both of us are still interested, Would you like to continue what should have been?" You asked, giving him a blushing smile which he returned. A big Goofy grin on his face-

"Well, let's get you healthier first. What about a dinner date?" He suggested, almost giddy and you could see that same boy you once knew under that makeup again.

"Sounds perfect"

TAG LIST:

@oxbunnehxo @starsali @avatar-lover @severesongstarfish @flooftoof @lavalampskyy @blogname-18 @ven1cez

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 18 - To Hear the Distant Church Bells Chime

Summary: The gang finds a new hideout at Shady Belle, just outside the heart of the new modern America. With Jack still missing, Kate and Arthur must work together to find him. Amidst the tension, Arthur confides in Kate about his deepest regrets.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters   Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

A/N: 9.5k words yippee! Not gonna lie gang, I'm really proud of this one. So many feels. So many emotions. Little disclaimer, when I talk about Arthurs past, I am not following the canon events. I've changed the details to suit the story. Anyways, I'm so glad to be able to share this and not make you wait another two months (oopsie)

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

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

StoryTags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the dense swamps of Lemoyne, the gang found themselves approaching their new hideout—Shady Belle. The journey had been grueling, filled with the constant threat of pursuit and the weight of recent tragedies. They had to pack quickly, and unfortunately had to leave things behind in the rush. Now, as they rode up to the dilapidated manor, a sense of uneasy relief washed over them. Physical and mental exhaustion settled into their bones as they took in the site of their new “home”.

Shady Belle was a far cry from the relative peace of Clemens Point. The old plantation house stood partially reclaimed by the swamp, its once-grand façade now crumbling and overgrown with ivy. The windows were shattered, and the wooden walls were rotting, giving the manor an eerie, haunted appearance. A thick fog clung to the ground, swirling around their horses' hooves as they approached. Even as the moon began its ascent, the sun retiring after another long day, the humidity clung to the air like thistles. The dry fever of western Lemoyne was replaced with a sweltering sticky heat from the southern swamps. 

The surrounding grounds were equally foreboding. Gnarled trees twisted upwards, their branches draped with Spanish moss that hung like ghostly curtains. The stagnant water of the nearby bayou reflected the deepening twilight, and the air was thick with the hum of insects and the distant croaking of frogs. It was a place that seemed to whisper of long-forgotten secrets and unseen dangers lurking just beyond the shadows. The cover over the bayou would keep them hidden, but the single path leading to the manor meant it would be difficult to escape if they were ambushed. 

Arthur and John were waiting for the gang upon their arrival. Having cleared out the space per Dutch's commands. It was a quick, bloody battle. The old manor had been claimed by squatters and drunks. Homeless people just looking for a roof over their head and a place to rest. There was no time for negotiation, and so they opened fire. They had just cleared the last of the bodies as the sound of hooves and wagons approached them. 

“Welcome to my humble abode!” Arthur called out with a hint of mockery and sarcasm. “If you can ignore the corpses and the alligators. It's practically paradise.” 

Dutch dismounted and surveyed the scene, his keen eyes scanning for any immediate threats. He motioned for the others to spread out and park the wagons by the front. Approaching Arthur and John with a confident smile, “nice work boys.” He turned back towards the chuck wagon, “Ms. Grimshaw, Mr. Pearson,” he addressed. “Work your magic if you’d please.” The two dismounted from the wagon with a nod and began unloading supplies. 

Dutch strode up the creaking steps to the front porch. The door hung loosely on its hinges, and with a firm push, he swung it open, revealing the dim interior. Dust motes danced in the fading light, and the musty smell of decay permeated the air. The once-opulent hallways were now lined with peeling wallpaper and broken furniture, evidence of years of neglect and abandonment.

Inside, the gang fanned out to explore their new home. Javier and Bill took to the upper floors, their footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. Lenny and Charles headed towards the back of the house, checking the kitchens and servant quarters. Meanwhile, Arthur and John remained outside to help unload their wagons. 

Kate lingered near the entrance, her eyes drawn to the remnants of what was once a grand chandelier, now shattered and strewn across the floor. She felt a shiver run down her spine, the oppressive atmosphere of the place seeping into her bones. Sadie stood beside her, brows knitted together with uncertainty.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Sadie whispered, her voice carrying a hint of doubt.

Kate nodded, “It’s not ideal, but it’ll have to do. At least we’re out of danger, for now.” 

As the gang settled in, Dutch gathered them in the main courtyard around a broken and withered fountain. “This ain’t much, but it’s ours for the time being,” he said, his voice echoing from the front steps. “We’ll make do. We always have.”

Arthur glanced around the group, noting the weary expressions and the unspoken fears. Shady Belle might provide them with temporary refuge, but the looming threat of Bronte and Jack, and the relentless pursuit of the Pinkertons weighed heavily on them all. His eyes found Kate’s amongst the crowd, she was watching him instead of paying attention to Dutch. Arthur was relieved that she didn’t leave, regretting his previous words to her almost as soon as he said them. But his duty and his ego stopped him from turning around and apologizing right then and there. He desperately needed to talk to her, he had let his anger and anxiety take hold of him. As the crowd began to disperse he was ready to approach her, when he heard his name called from the small dock jutting out into the water. It was John. 

Arthur sighed, Jack was still their top priority. His time with Kate would have to wait for another day. As he left the scene he noticed Ms. Grimshaw handed her a crate, she would be occupied with her own tasks anyhow. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

“This is crazy, right? Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks this whole thing is crazy,” John sputtered, pacing the rotting wooden dock as Arthur approached.

The small wooden fishing bench called his name, and Arthur sat down with a weary sigh. He felt so tired, so drained, and so old. The years of running were catching up to him. “It’s gonna be alright, John.”

“We should be going after Jack!” John exclaimed, his voice laced with frustration.

“We will. As soon as everyone is safe and settled in. We need to be careful. Milton is coming back, and he’ll bring an army with him,” Arthur explained. “Jack will be alright. We’re no use to him dead.”

John sighed, defeated, and took the seat next to Arthur. He pulled out a cigarette and lit the match with the tip of his boot. After a long drag, he passed the burning tobacco to his elder brother. “I don't even know what to think anymore.”

Arthur nodded and accepted the cigarette, taking a slow drag and letting the smoke pool around them in a cloud. “I know, but we gotta be smart about this.”

John scoffed. “Smart? Are you joking? We stirred up so much trouble and drew ‘em right to us again! How many people have we killed in the past week?”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of their actions. “Far too many, I reckon.”

“I’m tired of Dutch’s games, Hosea’s too. ‘Master con men’ my ass. They’re getting old and running out of ideas. Why should we suffer for it?” John said bitterly.

“Watch your mouth, Marston,” Arthur shot him a warning glare. “They thought those families were sitting on gold. I don’t know what else to tell you. Things don’t always work out—”

“Yeah, they thought there was money,” John interrupted. “Ain’t this always about money? And yet we never seem to have any!”

Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as John stood up abruptly. “Jack’s gone. Sean’s dead, Mac, Davey, Jenny. All of this death, and for what?”

John was beginning to sound like Kate, and Arthur understood why she had joined him on their revenge mission. “We can’t change what’s done. We can only move on.”

“We need to start learning from our mistakes. We need to leave,” John said with confidence. “After we get Jack. My family, you, and Kate. We high tail.”

“We’ve had a rocky run, but it ain’t all bad. Dutch has a plan—” Arthur tried to make his brother see reason and logic. Running away wasn't going to be easy on their own, and they had the whole gang to take care of.

“This whole plan is a goddamn mess! Dutch keeps gettin’ us into worse trouble! You nearly died because he was too ignorant to see he was being set up.”

Arthur rose from his seat and pointed an accusatory finger at his brother. “And I hear you decided to take care of that little problem. Maybe if you hadn’t left, Jack wouldn’t be gone!” John swallowed and narrowed his gaze.

“You could have gotten yourself killed, Marston. Or worse. You keep this up, and you’ll never make it out alive.” Arthur shoved past him, intending to leave with those words.

He had heard enough. The situation gnawed at him. John and Kate were right, and he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to go against Dutch. He had to have faith that things would work out, that he would see them through this. Dutch had always taken care of them, since the day he found them when they were children.

“I know Kate broke your promise,” John said slowly. Arthur stopped in his tracks. “I asked her to. And she fought unlike any woman I’ve seen before.” A moment of silence passed between them, sweat running down Arthur’s neck and tickling his spine.

“I don’t know what she sees in you, Morgan, but she loves you something fierce,” John said finally.

Red. Arthur’s vision went red. Images of a woman long gone flashed before his eyes, letters of love burning in a fire. Memories of his past mingled with his present, the pain and guilt intermingling in a relentless assault on his senses.

He whirled around and shoved John back harshly, nearly pushing him into the water. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about Kate!” he shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

John’s eyes darkened, but he held his ground. “I know you're terrified she’ll end up like Eliza,” he said, adding salt to the wound he knew he was reopening.

“You have the chance to do this differently, Arthur. Think about that.” This time John was the one to push past Arthur, making his way back into the bustling camp as everyone continued to unpack.

Arthur took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Grief and regret flooded over him, each memory of Eliza and Isaac tearing at his heart. He longed for Kate’s comfort, her presence more than anything. Her words always filled him with reassurance, grounding him in a way nothing else could. She might be the only woman who truly understood him. And yet he knew he couldn’t face her now, not after what he said. And all the words that still remained unsaid, the truth about Eliza and Isaac.

He willed the memories to leave, but they haunted him and pressed down on his soul like a heavy weight. He remembered Eliza’s gentle smile, the way she cradled Isaac in her arms, the hope that they had kindled together only to have it brutally extinguished. The regret of not being there, not protecting them, tore at him every day. The fear of losing Kate the same way gnawed at his heart, driving him to the brink of despair.

Arthur pulled out another cigarette, lighting it with a shaky hand. He sat back down on the rotting bench, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. The sound of cicadas and tree frogs filled the air, a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. He closed his eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace in the night sounds of their new hideout. But the pain, the fear, and the unspoken words lingered, wrapping around his heart like a vice, leaving him to grapple with his demons in the stillness of the night.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Saint Denis was a world away from the rugged, untamed wilderness that the gang was used to. It was a bustling city, teeming with life and activity at all hours of the day and night. The streets were lined with tall, elegant buildings, their facades adorned with intricate ironwork and ornate detailing. Electric lamps illuminated the sidewalks, casting a warm glow that contrasted sharply with the cool, modernity of the city. The cobblestone streets were filled with carriages, horses, and pedestrians, all moving in a chaotic but oddly harmonious dance. The distant ring of the trolly cart could be heard as it made frequent stops at every main intersection. 

The air was thick with the scents of the city – the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread from the bakeries, the pungent smell of horse manure, and the ever-present tang of coal smoke from the factories. Street vendors hawked their wares, calling out to passersby with promises of the finest goods and the best prices. The sounds of the city were equally overwhelming – the clatter of hooves on cobblestones, the murmur of conversations, the clanging of streetcars, and the distant wail of a train whistle.

Kate had joined Arthur, Dutch, John, and Charles in their search for Angelo Bronte, the elusive figure who held the key to Jack’s whereabouts. Despite the fight they had, Arthur didn’t protest her presence. The tension between them was palpable, but there was an unspoken understanding that the mission at hand was more important than their personal grievances.

Dutch halted the group at the small central park in Saint Denis, the sprawling city looming around them with its grand architecture and bustling streets. The cacophony of voices and the distant hum of machinery filled the air. The scent of smoke and industry mingled with the aroma of street food vendors, creating a sensory overload that was both thrilling and overwhelming.

“Alright, we split up,” Dutch ordered, his eyes scanning the faces of his small posse. “We need to find Bronte’s whereabouts. Ask around, see if anyone knows anything. Be discreet, but don’t waste time.”

Kate nodded, her heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and determination. The city felt like a labyrinth, each turn leading to more questions and fewer answers. She glanced a look at Arthur, their eyes meeting briefly. She saw a flicker of concern in his gaze, before he nodded and left. 

Kate set off down a side street, the sound of her boots echoing on the cobblestones. The city was alive with activity, children laughing and playing, and people bustling about their daily lives. It was a stark contrast to the quiet desperation that had settled over their camp.

She approached various shops and vendors and asked about a man named Bronte. Most of them ignored her questions, opting to try and convince her to buy their goods. Some merchants gave her a weary look at the mention of his name, and informed her that they don’t want to get involved. Their demeanor suggested that this Bronte man was dangerous, and this mission may be bigger than they realized. 

As she walked, a distant sound caught her attention—church bells, their clear, melodic tones cutting through the noise of the city. Drawn by the sound, Kate followed the bells, winding her way through the streets until she reached a grand cathedral. Its towering spires reached towards the heavens, the stones adorned with intricate carvings and stained glass windows that glinted in the sunlight. It reminded her of the church back in Boston, the one her catholic mother would bring the whole family to for Sunday worship. It had been so long since Kate attended church, after her mother passed, her father never kept up with religion. 

The ringing bells announced the joining of two souls in marriage, their song filling the air with a sense of celebration and hope. Kate stood at the entrance, watching as the wedding party gathered on the steps. The bride, radiant in her white gown, and the groom, beaming with pride, were surrounded by family and friends, their laughter and joy a stark contrast to the sorrow in Kate’s heart.

She closed her eyes, the memories of her own wedding day flooding back. The scent of blooming flowers, the sound of her family’s laughter, and the feel of her husband’s hand in hers. She remembered the warmth of his embrace, the way he looked at her with so much love. But those days were long gone, stolen away by the harsh realities of life. Her family was gone, her husband and child lost to the world of chaos that seemed to follow her every step. She missed them all fiercely, the pain of their absence a constant ache in her heart.

Drawing in a deep breath, Kate squared her shoulders. She couldn’t afford to dwell on the past, not when there was so much at stake. The bells continued to ring, a reminder of what she had lost, but also a beacon of hope for what she could still protect.

As she rejoined the bustling streets of Saint Denis, she kept her ears open and her eyes sharp, ready to follow any lead that would bring them closer to Angelo Bronte and the answers they desperately needed.

Kate navigated through the narrow streets of Saint Denis, her eyes scanning the faces of passersby for any hint of familiarity or recognition. The city’s vibrant energy of the city was distracting but she remained focused on the task at hand. The distant sound of the church bells still echoed in her ears. 

As she turned down a side street, a sudden blur of comotion caught her attention. A young boy, no older than twelve, sprinted past her, nearly knocking her over. He clutched something tightly to his chest, his eyes wide with fear and determination.

"Hey!" Kate called out, but the boy didn’t stop. Moments later, Arthur came barreling down the street, his face a mix of frustration and urgency. He was limping slightly, favoring his uninjured ankle.

"You little shit!" he shouted, breathless, "I’ll kill you ya thieving bastard!" Arthur ran past Kate and darted down the alley after the young boy. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Kate sprinted after the boy, her boots echoing in the narrow alley. She could hear Arthur’s labored breathing behind her, pushing through the pain to keep up. The boy was fast, weaving through the crowd with the agility of a street urchin well-versed in the art of escape. Kate spotted an alleyway ahead and made a split-second decision. She darted down the narrow passage, hoping to cut the boy off.

The alley was dimly lit and cluttered with discarded crates and barrels, but she navigated it with ease. As she emerged on the other side, she saw the boy racing towards her. He didn’t notice her until it was too late, running straight into her towering figure.

Kate gripped the boy's shoulders tightly, enough to warn him without causing harm. He looked up at her, eyes wide with shock and fear.

“I believe you took something that belongs to my friend,” she said calmly. “Hand it over. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Arthur finally caught up to them, breathing hard as he leaned against the stone archway when he saw Kate. “Goddamn rotten bastard,” he growled, pushing off the wall and approaching them.

The young boy looked back and stuttered, “I-I was only playing mister, I swear!” He threw the satchel to the ground at Arthur’s feet, trying to worm his way out of Kate’s grasp. He struggled as she tightened her hold.

“Please let me go Miss, I-I’m sorry!”

“Fuckin' right you’re sorry,” Arthur mumbled, picking up his things. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill ya right here.” He spat.

Kate shot him a vehement look, and he turned his face shamefully. Checking his bag to make sure nothing was gone. 

Kate knelt down to the boy's level, her grip still holding his shoulders tightly. “What’s your name, kid?”

“J-Joey. My name’s Joey,” the boy sputtered.

Kate breathed and relaxed her grip, trying to show him she meant no harm. “It’s nice to meet you, Joey. Can you tell me where your family is?”

Joey shook his head, his voice trembling. “Don’t have one, Miss.”

Arthur’s eyes softened slightly, but his voice remained stern. “Then what the hell were you doin’ runnin’ around with my satchel?”

Joey hesitated, his eyes darting between Kate and Arthur. “I-I work for Mister Bronte. He said we could keep anything we stole. Said it’d make us rich.”

Kate exchanged a glance with Arthur, her heart pounding with relief and urgency. They finally had a lead. “Where does Bronte live, Joey?” she asked gently.

The boy’s eyes filled with fear, but Kate’s calming presence seemed to reassure him. “He’s got a big house by the water, right near the docks. Lots of men guardin' it.”

Kate sighed and released the boy. “You did good, Joey. Now get outta here and don’t let me catch you stealin’ again.”

Joey nodded quickly and took off down the alley, disappearing into the labyrinth of Saint Denis. Kate stood up and locked eyes with Arthur. It had been two days since Jack went missing, two days since their fight. There was a heavy, awkward silence between them, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

Arthur's eyes were filled with relief and something else—something she couldn't quite place. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Kate tried to form her own thoughts into words, but her mind was whirling with emotions. 

Finally, Arthur cleared his throat. Breaking the silence. “I left Charles near the market. He’s keepin' an eye out.”

Kate nodded, “right.” Her voice is steady despite the trouble within. “I’ll go roundup John and Dutch. We’ll meet at Bronte's manor.”

They stood there for a moment longer, neither knowing what else to say. The tension between them was palpable, but there was also a shared determination. They had a mission to complete, and Jack’s life depended on it.

Arthur gave her a brief, tight nod before turning and heading back towards the market. Kate watched him go, her heart aching with the desire to bridge the gap between them, but now was not the time.

With a deep breath, she turned and made her way through the bustling streets of Saint Denis. The city was alive with activity, the noise and chaos a stark contrast to the heavy silence that had hung between her and Arthur. She spotted John and Dutch near a corner store. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Charles had been a quiet, solid presence in Arthur’s life, a true friend and trusted companion. Despite having been with the gang for less than a year, Charles had quickly developed a meaningful friendship with Arthur, seeing the man beneath the tough outlaw exterior. As they rode side by side toward Bronte’s manor, Arthur couldn’t help but reflect on how much he valued Charles’ calm and steady demeanor. He was truly a good man if Arthur had anything to say about him. 

The city of Saint Denis gradually gave way to the more serene, albeit equally intimidating, waterside district where Bronte’s manor was located. The grandeur of the city was lost on Arthur; his mind was too occupied with worry and the mission at hand.

Charles glanced over at Arthur, sensing the conflict within him. “You alright, Arthur?” he asked, his voice low and steady, a grounding force.

Arthur let out a heavy sigh, his grip tightening on the reins. “I dunno, Charles. Feels like everything’s fallin’ apart.”

Charles nodded, his eyes thoughtful. “It’s been a rough few days. Jack’s missing, Sean’s death, the new hide out... it’s a lot to take in.”

Arthur looked ahead, his jaw clenched. “It’s more than that. Feels like everythin’ I do just makes things worse. Dutch’s plans, they’re not workin’. And then there’s Kate…”

Charles turned his gaze to Arthur, waiting patiently for him to continue.

“I told her not to go after Colm’s men. Made her promise,” Arthur continued, his voice tinged with regret. “But she did it anyway. And now I can’t stop thinkin’ about—” he hesitated for a breath. “I can’t protect her when she goes off like that.”

Charles nodded again, understanding the depth of Arthur’s pain. He wasn’t around when Arthur had lost his family, but he had heard the others talk about the burden he carried.

“Kate’s a strong woman. She’s been through a lot, just like you. She thought she was doin’ the right thing, even if it went against what you wanted.”

Arthur sighed, the weight of his past bearing down on him. “She promised me—”

“Stop. It’s not about her promise, I know you’re not as dense as all that.” Charles gave Arthur a moment to process what he said before he continued, treading lightly with his words. “You’ve gotta let go of your guilt, Arthur. It’s eating you alive.” He said softly.

“I love her, Charles,” Arthur’s voice trembled. His facade of strength was crumbling away with every moment.

“I love her so much it scares me. But my loyalty to the gang, it’s…it’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a family again. Kate doesn’t deserve to get swept into this mess.”

Charles sighed deeply, understanding the strain Arthur was under. “Kate is smart, she understands the risks that come with this life. But she chose you, Arthur. She’s devoted herself to you. What she deserves is the truth.”

Arthur nodded, but the words still hurt to hear. He knew his friend was right. “Something big is coming, the law is breathin’ right down our necks. I’m putting her in danger, and I am so goddamn selfish because despite it all, I love her. And I can’t let her go.”

“It’s not selfish if she wants the same thing.” Charles said, as the grand manor came into view on the edge of the shoreline. The others had already dismounted and were waiting for them by the gate.

“Tell her the truth, Arthur. I have a feeling no matter what you say, she’s not going anywhere.”

Arthur and Charles rode up to the grand gates of Bronte's manor, the imposing structure casting long shadows in the afternoon sun. Dutch and John were already speaking to the guards, their voices low and tense. Charles took the reins of their horses, patting them gently to keep them calm. Arthur scanned the scene, his eyes immediately seeking out Kate.

He found her standing a little apart from the others, her gaze fixed on the manor with a determined look. Arthur approached her quietly, the weight of the past few days heavy on his shoulders. He stopped beside her, gazing up at the grand house. His presence was a silent reassurance.

“Kate,” Arthur murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kate turned to him, her eyes softening with concern. “Arthur,” she breathed. He looked down, searching her eyes, seeing trust and understanding shimmering within them. Arthur was sure of it.

“Will you stay with Charles? Keep an eye on things, for me?” He had no idea what they were about to walk into, but if he could keep her safe from it, Arthur would damn well do it.

“Of course,” Kate answered immediately.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief just as Dutch called his name. The heavy metal gates opened with a loud creaking sound, and before Arthur could turn away, Kate grabbed his hand.

“You be safe, ya hear?” she said sternly. “And you get that boy back, no matter what.” A small grin played on her lips.

“I’m countin’ on it, sweetheart,” he replied, bringing their conjoined hands to his face and kissing her knuckles.

His fierce, determined eyes locked on hers for a moment, before he broke away, rising to his duties. The simple gesture spoke volumes, a promise of protection and unwavering love.

As the gates closed with a loud bang behind them, Kate watched the three of them ascend the long white marble steps and enter the manor. She whispered a silent prayer to the wind for their safety, and Jack's return. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

By some miracle, the illusive man, Angelo Bronte, had not harmed a single hair on Jack's head. Much to everyone's surprise, Mr. Bronte had fed him, clothed him, and even given him a room of his own, full of toys, books, and games that every child could only dream of. The ride back to Shady Belle was filled with a silent relief. It was a win by all means, for once in their lives the conflict did not end with bloodshed. And for that, everyone was grateful. 

Jack was home safe with his mother once again. Smothering him with kisses and checking every inch of his body for signs of harm. The young boy protested and whined, promising his Ma that he was fine. But as they sat around the fire, Abigail held her boy tightly in her lap. Resting her head against his, and promising never to let him out of her sight ever again. 

The gang decided to celebrate Jack's return, letting the tension of the past days melt away in the warmth of a roaring fire. Singing and dancing erupted around the flames, creating a tapestry of joy and camaraderie under the moonlit sky. The flickering firelight cast playful shadows, illuminating the faces of the outlaws who, for one night, could forget their troubles.

Kate mingled with the others, trying to shake off the weight of recent events. But her eyes kept drifting to the periphery, where she noticed Arthur standing at a distance, watching the festivities with a sorrowful expression. His silhouette was stark against the dark backdrop of the night, a silent guardian on the edge of the light. He stood alone, like a wolf banished from the pack. The only signs of life were the red glow of his cigarette, as he lifted it to lips every so often. 

She entertained the party for a while longer, joining in the songs and clapping along with the rhythm of the music. But when she looked back to where Arthur had been standing, he was gone. The empty space he left behind tugged at her heart, and she knew she had to find him. 

Excusing herself from the group, Kate made her way through the camp, the laughter and music fading behind her. She walked towards the dimly lit manor, her footsteps soft against the grass and gravel.

Instead of focussing on the dreadful state of their new home – the peeling walls, the rotting stairs and missing floorboards – she focused instead, on the flickering light of Arthur’s room. She paused for a moment outside the door, gathering her thoughts.

All was silent on the second floor, except for the gentle creaking of the door that stood between them. It was missing one of its hinges, and the knob was long gong, the wind rocked the wooden frame in a gentle dance. Kate knocked quietly. 

“Come in,” Arthur called. His voice sounded hoarse and tired.

Kate pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Arthur was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, lost in thought. The dim light from a single oil lantern cast a warm glow over his rugged features, highlighting the lines of weariness and worry etched into his face. He looked up as she entered, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of surprise and something else—something deeper, more vulnerable.

She glanced around the room, noting how his things had been neatly unpacked by the others. A map lay sprawled across a large wooden crate, detailing their recent escapades and potential new routes. Old shelves were lined with gun ammo and other supplies. But it was the small china cabinet in the corner that drew her attention. Amongst the few items on display, there were two photographs. One was facing down.

Curiosity piqued, Kate picked up the photo and recognized the man in it – Arthur’s father. She placed it back down, hiding his old face in the darkness, and turned her attention back to Arthur.

“This place could use a woman’s touch,” she joked, trying to ease the tension in the air.

Arthur forced a chuckle, but his head hung low, elbows propped on his knees. He played with the frayed edges of his hat, a gesture Kate had come to recognize as one of his tell-tale signs when his mind was off in a darker place.

She sat down beside him, bumping her knee into his, trying to break through the heavy silence. She felt awkward, unsure what to say. Their emotions hung thick in the air, wrapping around them like a heavy blanket.

Arthur's eyes remained fixed on the worn brim of his hat, his voice low and rough. "You know," he began, "this old thing, it was my father's."

Kate glanced at him, her heart aching at the pain in his voice. She remained silent, giving him the space to continue. Arthur rarely spoke about his father, and she was curious about what had him in such sorrow.

“He died by the end of a rope when I was just a kid, but he lived longer than what was good for any of us,” Arthur sighed, flipping the old leather in his hands.

“He was an awful man. Hated me since the day I was born for bein’ another mouth to feed. Robbed everyone he could and spent all the money on booze. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the night he come home from a bar, reeking of rot-gut whiskey. He lost all his money in a game of poker, and took his anger out on my Ma. Blamed her for bein’ the reason we had no money. But I knew he did it because of me.”

Arthur blew a short huff out of his nose, shaking his head as if the memory of them was just a simple misunderstanding. “He took me that night, and I never saw Ma again.”

Kate gasped softly at what Arthur was insinuating. He had told her a few stories about his parents, but they were never painted in a good light. Arthur always said he didn't remember much about his mother. Her heart ached; he must have been so young to witness such violence.

Shifting his weight, the bed creaked softly. Subtly, almost unconsciously, he moved closer to Kate. Their shoulders brushing, Arthur's figure nearly leaned into her. “When I was old enough to be useful, he had me robbing folks ‘fore I could even feed myself. If I put up a fight, he would whoop my hide with some old leather chaps till I couldn’t walk.” Arthur breathed deeply; the memories still pained him.

“I tried to run away once, hid in some fellas' barn in the hay loft,” he chuckled bitterly. “Lyle nearly killed me when he found me. Told me if I ever thought ‘bout leaving again, he would put me in the ground with my mother.”

Kate couldn’t find the words to comfort him. It was too much to bear—the thought of Arthur, so young and innocent, being hurt in ways a child should never have to endure. To be raised without a mother, and a father who despised him. The abuse of power, as he was the only means of staying alive. Kate knew he had lived through hell. 

“Sometimes I wish they had put me up on that rope with him. Would’ve saved the world a lot of trouble,” he tossed the hat aside, landing on the ground with a soft whisper.

“Guess I ain’t too different from my old man.” Arthur sighed and leaned back against the wall behind his bed, looking defeated.

Kate gaped at him for a moment. How he could compare himself to such an evil man was beyond her. She looked between him and his hat, Lyle’s hat, and found herself wondering why he would keep such a thing—whether it was out of spite for his father or purely out of his own self-hatred. There was still so much about him she had yet to discover. So many scars that ran deeper than the ones Colm’s men had inflicted on him.

“I’ve met bad men. Truly evil men, Arthur,” Kate began, her voice gentle and reassuring. “But you are nothing like your father. That much I know is true.”

From the moment she said the words, she could tell Arthur wasn’t going to hear them. He had 36 years to make himself in his father’s image, on purpose or simply by his nature.

Arthur despised his father with a fervor that burned deep within him. Lyle Morgan had been a cruel, selfish man, leaving scars that never fully healed. Arthur’s childhood had been marred by violence and neglect, his father's shadow looming over every aspect of his life. The man had failed him in every conceivable way, shaping Arthur into the man he had become – a man who now felt he had no other choice but to follow in those very footsteps.

Kate had that determined look about her, like she could conquer the world if she willed it. Her unwavering strength was one of the many qualities Arthur had come to love about her. Kate was a good woman, and a loyal friend to her bones. It scared him how deeply he had fallen for her. His years with Mary felt lost to time, her decline at his proposal had hurt. But his heart had healed from rejection, and she remains alive. In the back of his mind, he knew the safest thing for her was to be far away from him. 

But now Kate is safe, Jack is home. The gang is out of trouble for the time being. But Arthur’s past regrets kept him locked in the dark. He often told the others that they can’t change the past, only move forward. But he found himself struggling to take his own advice. 

Arthur's eyes met hers, and she saw the trust and understanding shimmering within them. His gaze softened, yet the pain lingered. “I haven’t been completely honest with ya, darlin’,” Arthur finally spoke, his voice softening at the tone of endearment.

“Then tell me the truth. I’m here to listen,” Kate answered, trying to hide her restlessness. She was desperate to know what was eating him alive. It was obvious his pain ran deeper than her broken promise.

Arthur sighed and placed a hand on her thigh. Kate immediately placed her hand over his own. “Those stories I told you about Isaac, I… I wasn’t actually there for any of ‘em.” He said hesitantly. Kate nodded ever so slightly, encouraging him to continue.

In moments of introspection, Arthur felt the crushing weight of that legacy. His father had set him on this path, and despite his best efforts to forge a different future, Arthur found himself repeating the same cycle of failure and regret. His father had failed him, just as Arthur had failed his own son, Isaac. The boy had deserved a better life, a chance to grow up free from the violence and chaos that had defined Arthur’s world. Instead, Arthur’s own fears and inadequacies had sealed Isaac’s fate.

“After the kid was born, I didn’t want him raised with the gang. I didn’t want him ‘round that kinda trouble. So I put Eliza and her boy up in a cabin, not too far from where we was, but a safe distance. I promised her I would visit often, bringing her food and money. Whatever they needed.”

His fingers trembled slightly, and Kate gave them a squeeze. “As Isaac got older, he began askin’ about me, wantin’ to see me more. And… I don’t know. Guess I got scared. I was terrified he’d end up like me. Like my father. So I stopped visiting, and I never told Eliza why. She always wrote me letters, telling me stories about Isaac. But I never wrote her back, and then I lost every letter in Blackwater.”

He sighed deeply. Thinking about his first journal, the one he had carried with him for nearly a decade. All those memories, drawings, and letters were gone. Never to be graced by his eyes again. 

“The gang had a nasty run-in with the law. So we had to leave and stay hidden for a few months. When things died down, I was able to collect her letters from the post office. Eliza didn’t know if I was dead or alive and yet she begged me to come back, to visit Isaac, to send her money for food. In her last letter, she told me she had borrowed a small amount of money. They were desperate and out of options. I knew she didn’t have the means to pay them back.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “I was only days too late. Some bastard had killed both her and my son over ten dollars.” Arthur closed his eyes and pressed a fist to his mouth. “Because I was too goddamn afraid of failing, I was too afraid to raise my own kid. So, I sent them to an early grave.” 

Arthur felt a wave of shame wash over him at the memory. Knowing that he had ruined other families, just like his own. When he was sent to collect the gang's money that was loaned out. The thought of his own actions made him sick. How Kate had stuck with him after the mess at Downes ranch was a mystery to him. 

Kate's breath caught in her throat as Arthur's words settled into the quiet room. Her heart ached for him, the weight of his past sins and regrets pressing down on her own soul. She had always known there was darkness in him, but hearing it laid bare, raw and unfiltered, shattered her. She understood why her broken promise and Jack’s disappearance had ravaged his emotions. And she felt a deeper understanding of the giant that often consumed him. 

Arthur’s fear of failure was an all-pervasive, mind-numbing, greedy serpent coiled deep in his belly. Devouring his strength and will. It changed his world from one of fleeting curiosities and riveting mischief to a cold, airless box. Suffocating and relentless, it whispered of past mistakes and potential losses, dragging him into a quagmire of self-doubt. Each breath felt like a battle, every decision a gamble with impossible stakes. The weight of his regrets, and the haunting memories of those he failed to protect, gnawed at his soul. He feared that every step he took might lead to another disaster, another life lost. And yet, despite the paralyzing dread, he pushed forward, driven by a desperate hope that was as old as his weary soul. 

Kate pulled him closer, her arms wrapping around him tightly, as if her embrace could somehow shield him from the pain of his memories. "Oh honey, I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "But you didn't send them to their graves. You can't blame yourself for what happened. Life is cruel and unforgiving, no man can bear that kind of weight."

Arthur leaned into her embrace, his body trembling with the force of silent sobs. "But I do, Kate. I carry that shit with me deep in my chest. I failed them. I couldn’t protect my own family, and I’m terrified I’ll fail you too."

Kate pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her hands. "Arthur, look at me." His eyes met hers, filled with a deep sorrow that broke her heart. Dark blue eyes reflecting his desperate ache.

"You haven’t failed me. And I have faith that you never will. But I need you to trust me too. I need you to believe that I can handle myself, that I can be there for you just as much as you are for me."

Arthur shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "I trust you. But the only way I can protect you is if I know you’re safe, if I know you’re not running off to find trouble without me at least knowing about it. I can’t bear the thought of losing you too. Not after everything."

Kate's heart swelled with love for the man before her, so strong and yet so vulnerable. Tears clung to her eyelashes, like shooting stars in the night sky. Threatening to fall down into their world.

She nodded, understanding the depth of his fear. "I promise, Arthur. I won’t run off without telling you first. But you have to promise me something too."

Arthur looked at her, his expression filled with a mixture of hope and fear. "Anything, darlin’."

"Promise me that you’ll let me stand by your side, no matter what. That you won’t try to push me away to protect me. We’re in this together, Arthur. And I want to be with you, through everything."

Arthur's eyes softened, and he nodded slowly. "I promise I will try."

Kate smiled through her tears, "that’s all I ask." She leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. Full of comfort and compassion. 

Arthur pulled away from her lips and took a deep breath, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. "Kate,” he whispered. His blue eyes searched hers, wondering how such a woman was created for him.

“I love you,” he breathed, the words heavy with the weight of his emotions. "I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone."

Kate's heart soared at his confession, her eyes filling with tears once more. "I love you, Arthur.” Her voice breaks with the strength of her words. “More than you could imagine."

Arthur kissed her then, and it was like kissing a new man. A man who had shared the depths of his soul, bearing all of his broken and ugly parts. The kiss was slow and deliberate, every touch of their lips a promise of the love they had found in each other. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, allowing the both of them to soar to new heights. As their lips moved together, the world outside ceased to exist, and in that moment, they were all that mattered.

The warmth of his hand on her cheek, the gentle pressure of his lips, and the soft whispers of their breaths intertwined, creating a cocoon of intimacy and connection. Kate felt the depth of his love in every touch, every caress, and she knew that despite the hardships they faced, they had found something truly worth fighting for, in each other.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate and Arthur sat together on the porch off his room, watching the full moon rise over the distant horizon. The night was calm, the air filled with the soft sounds of crickets and the gentle rustle of leaves. The flickering glow of lighting bugs danced across the night. The faint scent of blooming night orchid wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy smell of the surrounding bayou. A gentle breeze brushed against their skin, cool and refreshing.

Kate nestled comfortably in Arthur’s lap, her head resting against his chest. She could feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath her cheek, a rhythmic reminder of the man she loved. He smelled of tobacco, mixed with cedar and musk. A comforting and familiar scent. Her thumb brushed over the softness of his beard, savoring the quiet moments of peace they had carved out for themselves. She traced the lines of his jaw, feeling the strength and roughness of his skin, the evidence of a life hard-lived.

Arthur’s face was lit by a tender smile, his eyes reflecting the serene glow of the moon. The silver light cast soft shadows across his features, highlighting the creases and scars that told stories of battles fought and survived. He held her close, one arm wrapped securely around her waist, the other gently combing through her wind tousled hair. 

After a moment, he spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence. “I’m sorry, for what I said the other day,” he murmured, his deep voice soft and tinged with regret.

“Hmm?” Kate responded, her gaze shifting to meet his.

“Bout you leaving; how I wouldn’t stop you. I’m sorry I said that.” He clarified. 

Kate smiled tenderly. “You’re forgiven, Arthur. I knew you didn’t mean it,” she said, her voice gentle and soothing.

“Good. Cause you can bet if you try to leave me now, I’ll hog-tie ya and run away with you on the back of my horse,” he said with a playful grin, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh yeah? Is that a promise, cowboy?” she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Arthur chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Damn right it is.”

With that, Arthur pulled her closer, his lips attacking hers with playful, hungry kisses. He nipped gently at her lower lip, eliciting a soft giggle from Kate. His kisses trailed down her neck, each one filled with a mix of teasing affection and unspoken desire. Kate’s laughter mingled with the soft rustling of the night, her fingers tangling in his hair as he continued his assault of love, his touch igniting a warmth that spread through her entire being.

Kate sighed contentedly, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I’m sorry too. For breaking your promise,” she said finally, composing herself and sitting up in his lap. “If it makes you feel any better, I found those boys who took you.”

Arthur’s expression grew serious, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “I’d imagine you gave ‘em hell,” he spoke. “Still worries me that they saw your face though.”

Kate straightened herself and gave Arthur a serious look, “It’s not like we had time for introductions, besides, one of them already knew who I was. But they can’t hunt me from the grave, Arthur.” 

Arthur sighed and looked away from her for a moment, remembering the young O’Driscoll who had stolen his portrait of her. “Colm’s a dangerous man. I’m just worried he’ll use you against me. That’s all.”

Kate sank a little at his words, feeling guilt stir in her belly, “I understand.” 

As if sensing her regret, Arthur attempted to lighten her mood, “Oh, don’t give me that look sweetheart. Just invite me next time you’re making house calls and…” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “You didn’t have to do that for me, y’know.”

“I know,” she said softly. “Part of me was just being selfish,” she admitted, her voice tinged with a mix of guilt and embarrassment.

Arthur furrowed his brows in confusion and looked down at her, “Selfish ain’t quite the word I would use.”

Kate let out a breathy giggle, appreciating Arthur’s attempt to be sweet. Her heart throbbed at his recent confession, and she felt he deserved the truth behind her actions.

“It’s true. Ever since I lost my family I–” She suddenly felt a frog in her throat, and her face felt warm with oncoming tears. 

It was easy to talk about them, to talk about her grief with Arthur. To share memories of her loved ones was as simple as breathing. She could paint vivid pictures of her family's laughter, the warmth of their embrace, and the love that had once filled her life. It was a way to keep them alive in her heart, to ensure they were never truly gone. But what was hard was admitting how her strength and resolve were merely a facade, covering up the darker parts of her. The parts desperate to regain some semblance of control in her life.

Kate's past was marred by tragedy and loss. The day she lost her husband and child had shattered her world. She remembered the suffocating grief, the unbearable weight of their absence. But fate wasn’t satisfied with her loved ones, it took a piece of her as well the day she was taken prisoner. In the aftermath, she had vowed never to feel that powerless again. She built walls around her heart, armor made of determination and resolve. To the world, she appeared strong and unyielding, a woman who could handle anything thrown her way. But beneath that facade lay a deep-seated fear.

“I’m terrified of feeling powerless again,” she continued. Arthur listened closely to her every word. “Unable to save my loved ones or save myself.”

She paused, her voice catching as she fought to continue. “It’s like this relentless force driving me, this need to control everything around me. I’m afraid, Arthur. I’m afraid of losing you, afraid of losing everyone I care about.”

Arthur’s eyes softened with understanding, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. Kate took a deep breath, her fingers tracing the lines of Arthur’s face as if trying to memorize every detail.

“It’s been so hard on my own. I’ve spent so long pretending to be strong, convincing myself that if I can control things, I won’t get hurt again. But it’s exhausting, and it’s not real. The truth is I am not a strong woman, just a scared one.”

This need for control was consuming her. It left her anxious and restless, always on edge, always waiting for the next disaster. Kate's journey had been a solitary one. She had relied on herself for so long, she had forgotten how to lean on others. Her independence was both her strength and her weakness. It kept her moving forward, but it also kept her isolated. She had been so focused on surviving, on maintaining her semblance of control, that she had forgotten what it meant to truly live.

“No,” Arthur sat up abruptly and gripped her hands. “No, Kate, that is not true. You’re bein’ too hard on yourself.” His voice was firm but gentle, filled with a reassurance that made her lips tremble. Silent tears ran down her cheeks as she absorbed his words.

“Goddammit woman. I don’t ever want to hear you speak like that,” Arthur's voice was stern, like he was scolding a child, but it was laced with overwhelming support and love. “You can be both. You understand me? I’m scared too, darlin’. I promise you, I’m just as scared. But that don’t mean you ain’t strong. You’ve done so much for this gang, for me.”

Kate looked into his eyes, feeling the intensity of his conviction. Meeting Arthur had changed everything. He saw through her facade, saw the pain and fear she tried so hard to hide. With him, she didn't have to pretend. She could be vulnerable, could share the darkness that lurked within her. It was terrifying, but it was also liberating. For the first time in years, she felt like she could breathe.

Arthur's grip on her hands tightened as he continued, his voice a soft rumble. “The devil may have dealt you some nasty cards, but you faced that fire and you came out stronger. You’re one of the bravest people I know, Kate. When I look at you I am filled with pride knowing how brave and compassionate my woman is.”

Kate's tears flowed freely now, not from sadness, but from the relief of being understood, of being accepted for all that she was. She leaned into Arthur, resting her head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“I love you, Arthur Morgan.” Her voice felt tiny in his presence. Kate couldn’t find the words to express how much Arthur meant to her, but in her heart she knew he understood. 

Arthur squeezed her tight to his chest, resting his chin atop her head. “And I love you, Kate McCanon.”

As she sat with Arthur on the porch, the moon casting a gentle glow over them, Kate realized that she didn't have to face her fears alone. She didn't have to be in control all the time. She had Arthur by her side, and he had her by his. She could let go, if only a little, and trust that he would catch her if she fell.

A/N: I know this chapter was super dialogue heavy. But tbh I just love writing conversations lmao. I particularly enjoyed the segment with John, he’s just a fun character to write. I was intending to end the chapter with Arthur’s confession about his father/son. But then i was like nah i really think Kate should open up about this too. It’s time to air out the dirty laundry, you know XD

Anyways. Big things coming my friends. If my little ADHD brain can work with me next chapter will be incredibly steamy. Lots of smut. It’s about damn time!! It’ll be a longer chapter, as there’s some other characters I’ve been neglecting for a while. And I’m also going to another wedding! So I’ll be gone for a few days, and I’ll be working on it when I get back.

Thanks for reading guys :)

[neil-perrys-suicidal-tendencies]

INTRO POST <3

Here's a long-overdue intro post.

NOTE - Do not dm me if we're not mutuals.

LINKS SIDE BLOGS: @i-think-im-breaking-down-again - more personal blog @cappuccino-circa-capillaries - mental health stuff /pos @a-bitch-can-write-poetry - poetry and web weaving reblogs, will post my original work if I ever get the courage @honestly-im-honest- silly stuff @edwinpayneshomosexualtendencies - dbda side blog

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DA BASICS- ABOUT ME: Name - Lisa Avenir (you can call me Lise or Liz) Nationality - Indian Languages - English, Hindi, a1 French, aspiring German, a dialect of Hindi spoken in my home state which is completely incomprehensible to anyone who does not speak it to the point its an entirely new language (which it is but I'm not going to reveal it because I don't want my home state to be known) Age - minor Gender - Genderqueer Pronouns - they/them/she Sexuality - ace-spec lesbian Religion - Atheist DNI: Homophobic, Transphobic, sexist, racist, ableist, any kind of phobic in general No assholes allowed either I love receiving asks just no freaky stuff FACTS- 🪶Only Child who keeps losing friends 🪶I love any form of Noodles Soup 🪶I have a huge crush on Maya Hawke 🪶I love biology and anatomy 🪶I need psychological help /srs 🪶I cry a lot, it's an art 🪶I might have a migraine issue which might be getting better :D 🪶I have brown ass basic eyes 🪶Reading mythology is my bae 🪶My vocabulary might be good but I can't spell for shit. 🪶I love making little collages on PowerPoint 🪶I'm touch starved but touch aversed. Yes, we exist. 🪶I'm a nerd fighter 🪶I love dissecting song lyrics 🪶My aesthetic is dark academia, dark feminine(excluding the femcel bs), witchcore and sickly victorian child dying of the plague core 🪶I am a hyper-organized person who might have germophobia 🪶I'm pretty sure I have trichotillomania 🪶I have these sneeze attacks on a daily basis where I sneeze like 15 times over the course of 3 minutes

HOBBIES- 🪶Reading 🪶Writing poetry or songs 🪶Listening to Music 🪶Talking about stars 🪶The Universe 🪶Literature 🪶Science (fuck physics)

INTERESTS- MUSIC: I love listening to albums(like a LOT of them) 🪶Genre - Indie, Indie pop, Rock, Alt-Indie, Basic white girl pop, Pop-rock, Pop-punk, Folk, Old Bollywood, Male manipulator, Female Manipulator, Lesbian Manipulator, ghazal, anything that slaps 🪶Artists - Ricky Montgomery, Lana Del Rey, Chappel Roan, Flower Face, Taylor Swift, Hozier, Phoebe Bridgers, Girl in Red, Clario, Conan Gray, Hank Green, Hayley Williams, Joji, Indila, Sabrina Carpenter, Adele. Kishore Kumar, Lata Mangeshkar, Jagjit Singh, Muhammad Rafi, Asha Bhosle etc etc 🪶Bands - Wallows, Florence and the Machine, Sir Chloe, Hole, The Smiths, Paramore, Beach House, The Jayhawks, The Neighborhood, Fun Guns, Cage The Elephant, Arctic Monkeys, Chase Atlantic, Radiohead, My Chemical Romance, Hayley Kiyoko. 🪶Albums(favorites) - evermore and folklore by Taylor Swift, Montgomery Ricky by Ricky Montgomery, Depression Cherry by Beach House, Ceremonials and Lungs By Florence and The Machine, Superache by Conan Gray, Emails I can't send frwd: by Sabrina Carpenter, Hozier by Hozier, Riot! and Paramore by Paramore, AM by Arctic Monkeys, Party Flavors and I am the Dog by Sir Chloe, Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers, Rainy Day Music by The Jayhawks, Petals for Armour by Hayley Willams, The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess by Chappell Roan, Social Cues by Cage The Elephant, Live through this by Hole, Born to Die(The Paradise Edition) and Ultraviolence by Lana Del Rey, Nothing Happens by Wallows, Baby Teeth and Fever Dreams and The Shark in your Water by Flower Face, Lilt by Hikes, Get up and Move by Fun Guns, The Black Parade by MCR. 🪶Artists that I lowkey neglect but should high-key eat - Nirvana, Tame Impala, Men we trust, Cavetown, Pink Floyd, blink-182, Green Day, boygenius, Mitski, The Smashing Pumpkins, Suki Waterhouse. BOOKS- 🪶Genre - Dark, War pieces, Dystopias, Young Adult, Depressing, Dark Academia, Classics, Psychological Thriller. 🪶Ride or Die- The Book Thief, The Perks Of Being a Wallflower, The Picture of Dorian Grey, MAUS, Paper Towns, Looking for Alaska, All the Bright Places, The Midnight Library, The Handmaid's Tale, The Diary of a Young Girl, The Boy In The Stripped Pajamas, Circe, Before the coffee gets cold, Sharp Objects, The Martian, The DaVinci Code, The Emperor of All Maladies, Turtles all the way down, And Then There Were None, The Catcher in The Rye, No Longer Human, Grandpa's Great Escape, Wild Bird, The Giver. 🪶Honorable Mentions from my TBR - A Little Life, Bunny, If We Were Villains, The Secret History, 1984, To Kill A Mockingbird, Six Of Crows, Lord of the Flies, Piranesi, Cleopatra and Frankenstein, Crime and Punishment, How it Feels to Float, Orbiting Jupiter, Normal People, Fahrenheit 451, The Myth of Sisyphus, Lessons in Chemistry, Slaughterhouse-five, Dark Matter. 🪶Poets - Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson, William Wordsworth. Sappho,

MOVIES- Dead Poets Society, Good Will Hunting, Lady Bird, Whiplash, Spiderman: Into the Spider-Verse, Forrest Gump, Duck Duck Goose, Rapunzel SERIES- BBC Sherlock, Orange Is The New Black, Brooklyn99, Dead Boy Detectives, Heartstopper, Derry Girls, Modern Family, House md?

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USERBOXES-

MOOTS APPRICIATION!!!! @lv3buzzz, @noctilucaa(my wife), @wilsons-three-legged-siamese, @yourfavvgal, @1mlostnow, @arrr-im-a-dead-poet, @perksofbeingpoet, @mighthavebeenmurder, @take-me-to-the-rooftop15, @poetsinnyc, @joonof1989, @deadcrowcalling, @pingunaa, @xxcherryberriezxx @burgundykicks (text me if you would like your name to be removed <3333 ) -🪶

[irrelevantwriter]

Tactus

Pairing: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things) x Touchstarved!Female Reader/You

Rating: SFW, Angst, Comfort

Warnings: Language, angst, comfort, family shit, mentions of sick/divorced parents, touch-starved reader 

Word Count: 2263

Summary: An emotional moment gets the best of you. Eddie comforts you and realizes you need more than encouraging words.

A/N: I made myself cry writing this so I hope you hoes appreciate it. I went with a reader who was having a bit of an emotional breakdown and who also happened to be going through it. Oh, and touch starved. Which is coincidentally what the title of this fic is in Latin. Enjoy and share with your friends! Feedback is that good shit.💗

Disclaimer: As always, reader inserts are true reader inserts. If you find any specifics in regards to reader’s appearance, kindly let me know and I will fix that.

Disclaimer: Characters are of age in my fics.

*Check out my other Eddie fics here

*Masterlist in bio.

***********************

Tears pooled in your eyes. A sob simmered just under the surface, but you did your best to hide it. You sniffled, taking a deep breath in. The action had little effect. Your lashes were still dotted with wetness, your mascara no doubt transferring to the skin under your eyes.

You shook your head, willing yourself to stop. Crying at work was the last thing you wanted to be doing. It was embarrassing, especially around a group of men who didn’t have the capacity to soothe a crying baby doll, much less an actual human.

You ignored the tightness in your chest and went about your evening routine of closing down the auto shop. You turned off the lights and locked the door, flipping the ancient sign in the window from OPEN to CLOSED. A few of the guys still worked in the garage, a bay left open to let the minimal summer breeze through.

You wiped away an errant tear as you made your way to the break room. You worked on autopilot, setting the coffee maker up for the morning, the men claiming to not know how the machine worked. They insisted you did it better. It was a ruse you were very much aware of, but you also didn’t mind. You did it anyway. It felt nice to be needed. Even if it was only for your subpar coffee skills.

The thought made a stream of moisture trail down your cheek, the movement startling you. Your hands shook as you bit your lip, on the cusp of a full blown crying fit. A  faint thud of boots and a melodic whistle sounded in your ears, signaling someone was approaching.

You knew that song. You knew that person.

You hurriedly turned away from the door, patting your face dry as Eddie Munson strolled in. He brought with him an aroma of motor oil and faded Old Spice, the cigarette he’d just smoked lingering on his clothes. You kept your head down, busying your hands with the coffee filters.

“Hey…didn’t know you were still here,” he offered, standing next to you at the sink.

You watched from the corner of your eye as he rinsed his coffee mug, the lettering across the front chipped and scratched. Once upon a time the piece of ceramic read Son of a Bitch with a caricature of the devil beneath it. It always made you laugh. Eddie was far from the devilish persona he liked to portray at times. He’d been the warmest and most welcoming of the bunch when you’d first started.

You cleared your throat, hoping the flood of emotions hadn’t made its way to your voice box yet, “Just finishing up.”

He nodded, placing the mug on the drying rack and making his way over to the fridge in the corner. He pulled out a can of cola, his name scrawled in black marker across the front. He always drank a soda at the end of the day. It was a habit you’d picked up on in your time as receptionist at the shop. All the guys had habits. Eddie’s habits were your favorite.

The pop and hiss of the can being opened reverberated in the otherwise empty room. He made his way back over to you, sipping loudly from the can.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“Because you’ve been counting the same stack of filters since I walked in.”

Your fingers stopped, pushing said filters away. You scoffed at his observation, still not meeting his eyes. “Just distracted.”

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked, grease covered forearm shifting closer.

You shook your head.

“Sweetheart,” he called softly. Too soft.

You hesitantly met his gaze, feeling silly for the outburst you’d nearly allowed yourself to have.

His eyes were warm and welcoming, his lips pulled into a tender smile, but when he noticed the redness in your own eyes and the drops clinging to your lash line, his brows furrowed.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” you said with a shake of your head, wiping the evidence away.

“Did something happen?”

He reached a hand out, but didn’t touch you. He hovered over your shoulder, wanting to but not crossing that line. You were coworkers. Friends even. But you’d never touched one another. Not with intention. And when he didn’t inch closer, you realized how badly you wanted it.

“Just some stuff with my parents. It’s kind of a shit show right now,” you offered, voice betraying your real emotions.

“Can I do anything?”

You smiled up at him, heart warming at the sight of such a selfless human. You hadn’t known they still existed.

More tears came.

“Woah, what happened?” Eddie asked, brown orbs going wide with panic as he set his can of soda to the side.

You’d frightened him. You could see the worry in his face; that he’d said something wrong. It was quite the opposite.

“M’fine,” you sniffled, willing the tears to stop. But they wouldn’t. Everything rushed back to the surface, making you feel vulnerable and way too exposed.

“Says the girl sobbing in front of me,” he deadpanned.

The comment made you giggle, a hiccup following.

His expression flipped at seeing a hint of a smile on your lips. “There she is.”

You were both quiet for a moment, the hum of the appliances a constant in the background. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, feeling Eddie’s gaze on you. Humiliation crept its way up your spine.

And then, a warm caress near your shoulder made you pause. It was slight and hardly noticeable, but you felt it nonetheless. Felt the heavy weight of his rings through your blouse as he rubbed soothing circles. Felt the hard calluses of his fingers rub against the fabric. Felt the warmth.

The unexpected contact had a duality you weren’t prepared for. Your senses came alive while your body succumbed to the comfort, relaxing in on itself. You swore you could feel every microscopic aspect of his touch. And yet it all blended together to create the most all consuming embrace.

A simple touch set you aflame.

“My dad is really sick. And my mom can’t deal with it. I’ve been helping them out. With finances and doctors appointments. But it’s not easy. Especially when my mom talks about divorcing my dad. It’s just…,” you stopped to catch your breath, feeling your lip begin to tremble. “A lot.”

Eddie didn’t say anything for a while. He’d pulled his hand away while you’d been speaking and you already missed it.

“Jesus, M’sorry sweetheart. That’s…shit,” he sighed, scratching at his stubbly chin.

You nodded at his words, laughing at his interpretation. “The shittiest,” you agreed.

You finally turned to face him, no longer hiding your tear-stricken face. You thought you saw something akin to sadness pass over his features before it was quickly wiped away.

“M’sorry,” you apologized with a self-deprecating laugh, accepting the balled up paper towel he’d torn off the roll for you.

“What’re you sorry for?”

“For crying at you. Unloading all my shit.”

“Hey,” he paused, making you meet his eyes at the seriousness in his tone. “Don’t apologize for that. You can always talk to me.”

You simply nodded, fearing words would fail you.

“I’ve never seen you cry before.”

“That’s not really unusual. I don’t have many reasons to cry most days. Despite my current predicament,” you joked, gesturing to your wet eyes and sniffly nose.

“You’ve seen me cry,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, when Brady brought that puppy he found near the creek that you wanted to adopt,” you explained with a laugh, thinking back on the memory.

“Because he wouldn’t let me,” Eddie added, pouting.

“Because you try to adopt every animal you come across.”

He shrugged, a wide smile on his lips.

“I’m not big on crying. Or emotions really,” you confessed, wringing the tattered paper towel in your hands. You avoided his gaze, but a gentle tip of your chin made his mahogany stare meet yours. He didn’t move his finger away from you. Instead, he trailed the digit up and over your cheek, cupping your face in his palm.

“This okay?” he whispered, watching you.

“Yes,” you croaked, trying hard not to let your eyes fall shut at the feel of his skin on yours.

“It’s been awhile, huh?”

The question lingered in the air, your silence a response.

“Since someone touched you like this. Like you matter.”

His words made your heart stutter, the burn behind your eyes now unbearable. Could he really see all of that just by looking at you? Could he sense it?

“I-I,” you struggled to respond, shame clouding your mind. The raw emotion of overexposure came back tenfold and you stepped away.

“Don’t. Don’t do that, sweetheart.”

“Do what?” you practically growled, hating that he was seeing you like this.

“Push me away.” He said the words like it pained him to say them.

“Don’t do that,” you threw back. “Don’t act like you care.”

“I do care.”

“Why?”

He stared at you for a long moment. So long that you became uncomfortable.

“What kind of question is that?” he asked with a shake of his head. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it.

He moved forward, closing the distance between you both. You fought against the urge to pull back, waiting for his next move.

He approached you as one would a wild horse. With ease and patience. He extended his hand back towards you, angling for your face. You didn’t flinch when skin met skin. Rather, you basked in it. You closed your eyes and burrowed into his heat.

“Just—just let me help you.”

You'd never heard him so desperate before.

The question was on your tongue, ready to roll off.

Why?

He could see it in your eyes.

“I like you.”

Why?

He shrugged, “Your guess is as good as mine.”

You laughed, the sound watery and broken, but there all the same.

A single tear slid down your cheek and into his palm. His thumb lightly traced the curve of your lips, still gently cradling your cheek. You succumbed to him, too weak to deny your body of such intimacy. Because he was right. It had been too long since someone had touched you with meaning. With care. With a fragility you deserved but weren’t often afforded. Too many times you’d been dropped and broken and shattered, put back together in a half-assed attempt at mending.

“Close your eyes,” he softly demanded, his sugary laced breath hitting you in the face.

You obeyed, spine straightening when you felt his free hand land on your other cheek. You waited, anxiety soaring through your veins like the blood that pumped through them.

“S’okay,” Eddie soothed. He was closer, you could feel it. You could practically hear his heartbeat. “I got you.”

His chapped lips lightly touched yours, giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted. When you didn’t, he surged forward, kissing you none too gently. Like he’d been waiting for the chance. The notion made you melt. Melt right into his hands.

You kissed him back, albeit with less fervor. It’d been so long. And both your body and mind were struggling to play catch up. But the minute his hands drifted down to your hips, you lost yourself. Finally feeling anchored in a sea of thunderous waves.

You only pulled back when air became a necessity, realizing you’d been clinging to his stained t-shirt. You became bashful suddenly, avoiding his ever observant gaze.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled, catching you off guard.

You looked at him in question, hoping he didn’t regret what had just taken place. “For what?”

“For not doing that sooner. For everything you're going through. For the pain you’re feeling.”

The words came out jumbled and entirely too fast, but you caught every syllable. Neither of you were surprised this time when a trickle of tears escaped your eyes.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Eddie.”

He nodded, pulling you close. It wasn’t until he’d wrapped his arms around you that you realized he was hugging you. A full body hug.

His arms held you tight, but not too tight. Just enough to make you feel safe. His chin was tucked near your forehead, allowing you to nuzzle into his chest. His scent wafted through your nostrils, soothing you like a fidgety toddler.

And it worked. Oh how it worked.

“Let me take you home, yeah?” he asked into your hair, his breath making the strands move against your scalp.

“Okay.”

“I’ll stop and get you some food. Anything you want.”

His chest vibrated under you, luring you in closer. The act was physically impossible. You were as close as two people could get. And yet, you wanted more. You were utterly addicted to his touch.

He pulled back too soon for your liking, but he made up for it by dragging his lips across your forehead. You closed your eyes at the sensation, lost in it.

“You’re so pretty.”

You blinked, seeing him staring at you in what could only be described as awe.

“I’m a mess,” you replied with a shake of your head, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“So,” he grabbed your hand, pulling it to his chest. “You can still be pretty and a mess.”

You laughed, unable to come up with a retort. “Thank you.”

And you meant it. For more than just his words. And he somehow understood.

“No problem, sweetheart. I got you.”

[smilesrobotlover]

Odyssey notes I took while reading the odyssey since I finished it!:

Imagine surviving the sea, monsters, and curses, and how you die is by breaking your neck LMAO. I guess that’s the nicest way to die compared to the others I guess 💀

Odysseus seeing his mom in the underworld nearly brought me to TEARS HE COULDNT HUG HER AUGHHUFHFHFJHFJ

Dang Scylla is pretty terrifying. Poor Odysseus, couldn’t save his men :c

Can the men listen to Odysseus, for FIVE SECONDS

he probably needed that sleep so bad.

Also those mfs just left him 💀

POSEIDON NEEDS TO COOL HIS TITS!!! HIS GRUDGE AGAINST ODYSSEUS IS GETTING OLD!!!! Bro was gone for like, 17-20 years and he lost everyone, almost died, and was prisoner to Calypso for 7 years. Leave him alone dawg

The freaking fact that Odysseus couldn’t recognize Ithaca and just assumed that he was on an island of monsters or somethin makes me so sad bruh. He’s been through so much that he just can’t accept that he’s back home. Even when Athena herself telling him he’s home he JUST can’t believe it. This man needs so much therapy omg

How did homie come up with that elaborate backstory under his disguise??? Why is Odysseus so extra???

Also that fake backstory kinda paralleled his own. Very loosely but it’s neat.

I bet it was so hard not to sob right in front of Telemachus as soon as he saw him. Odysseus was using all his strength to fight against the tears.

Also Odysseus and Telemachus reuniting also nearly brought me to tears. I am not ok

“On hearing this Telemachus smiled to his father, but so that Eumaeus could not see him.” PLEASE I LOVE THEM SO MUCH AKSHDKSBSKSBSK

“Penelope came out of her room looking like Diana or Venus, and wept as she flung her arms around her son. She kissed his forehead and both his beautiful eyes, “Light of my eyes,” she cried as she spoke fondly to him” 🥺🥺🥺🥺 this is making me touch starved lmao. Oh to have everyone kiss my head and shoulders when I return home. Also love seeing momma Penelope

Penelope 🤝 Odysseus

Crying a lot

“As soon as he saw Odysseus standing there, he dropped his ears and wagged his tail, but he could not get close up to his master. When Odysseus saw the dog on the other side of the yard, he dashed a tear from his eyes without Eymaeus seeing it…” WHAT IF I CRIIIIIIIIIEEEEED 😭😭😭😭 HIS DOGGO

NOOOO ARGOS!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭 he died as soon as he saw Odysseus. He was able to see him one last time. I am unwell

“As she spoke Telemachus sneezed so loudly that the whole house resounded with it” THAT IS THE MOST RANDIM THING TO ADD IN THERE HSKDBSKSBSK. It’s so cute tho 😭😭😭 oh Telemachus you’re Adorable. And his momma laughed. Aww.

Nvm Telemachus’s sneeze was apparently an omen that the suitors will die lmao. This story just has things Happen

Telemachus: *sneezes*

Penelope: this is a sign that the suitors will die

Eymaeus: what

Odysseus has THUNDER THIGHS

“This was what she said, and Odysseus was glad when he heard her trying to get presents out of the suitors, and flattering them with fair words which he knew she did not mean.” HE LOVES HIS WIFE!!!!

“…I believe the light had not been coming from the torches, but from his own head—for his hair is all gone, every bit of it.”

Did this mf just make a bald joke 💀

Me and my homies hate the maids and suitors

Also Penelope rocks. Deceiving everyone cuz she doesn’t want to get married to those douche bags. Pop off queen. Poor lady, forced to get married :((

Odysseus trying not to cry upon talking to his wife after years 😭😭😭 that dude is TOUGH

Odysseus: oh yeah, I met Odysseus. He was wearing fancy clothes and was hot af.

Odysseus is trying so hard to convince Penelope that he’s coming home. Ough… sweet man

Ok so Odysseus was officially gone for 20 years. Ok Coolio. Yikes

Bro went on a huge tangent about the boar. It’s neat to hear about but sheesh.

Penelope had a dream that explicitly told her that Odysseus was coming home to kill the suitors and she’s like “can you interpret it for me?” I assume she’s trying to mess with Odysseus, cuz even tho he’s in disguise, she’s sensing something with him.

Oh she knows Odysseus is somewhere. Why is she setting up a tournament that only Odysseus could do now?? She knows…. She knows….

Book XX: Odysseus cannot sleep. What else is new?

Odysseus’s name meaning anger is starting to make sense now that he’s home and wanting to murder people out of anger. I guess the fact that he pisses everyone off to is also an indicator of that 💀

Oh the Odysseus and Penelope parallel augh

Odysseus is just brooding all the time huh

I like the idea that Telemachus is very timid and soft spoken. Everytime he speaks against the suitors they’re always surprised; now that he’s older with Athena and his father by his side, he’s beginning to break out of this shell and become more bold. It’s neat for his character. wonder how he’d feel about himself compared to his lion-hearted father

Telemachus is sooo cuuuuute he tried to do that trial for his momma… he was so excited too. My son

Love how Odysseus is absolutely JACKED. Just super strong. An absolute tank. Love him

“Eurymachus,” Penelope answered, “people who persist in eating up the estate of a great chieftain and dishonoring his house must not expect others to think well of them.” EAT EM UP PENELOPE!

I FREAKING LOVE THE ARROW SCENE. GO ODYSSEUS GO

I guess people in Ancient Greek times just killed each other without any thought lmao. I have a feeling that it’s less about the law and more about the revenge that would fall upon you if you killed someone. It was satisfying to read the suitors and maids die tho. Heck yeah

Athena is a great wing man. Just making Ody hot and godlike

Love Penelope testing Odysseus to make sure it was him. Very good. She’s a very cunning women indeed

OUGHHHH THEYRE HUGGING HDBSBSKSBSKSBSKSBSSKSBKWKW 😭😭😭😭

Gosh. The love and chemistry between Odysseus and Penelope is so strong, even tho they’re barely together in the story. Like, it’s interesting to hear how much love they poured into each other that night, (especially compared to Circe and Calypso. Odysseus clearly did not love them.) and then they talked and explained their times away from each other. Augh they’re so in love 😭😭😭

Odysseus just tell your father that you’re home why are you LIKE THIS

WHY ARE YOU MAKING UP ANOTHER ELABORATE BACKSTORY JUST TELL HIM WHO YOU ARE

Dang, that was an abrupt ending. But why did Athena like… tell Odysseus’s father to kill the guy and then told them not to kill each other lmao. Idk. But overall yay. Interesting how Odysseus didn’t listen at first. I think he’s truly changed since his adventure

Something I noticed was that Odysseus was probably a very happy and joyful man. He had family and friends, a wife and a newborn son. He treated everyone fairly and with kindness and everyone adored him for it. But after his adventure, he seemed far more somber and angry. Sad change of character, but ultimately he didn’t change too much. I love him. I enjoyed that WAAYYYY more than I thought I would. Sure the writing was different than what I was used to—there was so much yapping and tangents and metaphors—but it wasn’t impossible to follow! I’ve read difficult stories from Shakespeare to scriptures and this was an overall easy read. The culture of Ancient Greece is very…. Strange to me, but it’s always neat to see differences in cultures, no matter how uncomfy it makes me feel. Love how both Odysseus and Penelope remained faithful to each other and cried over each other a lot. They got married for a reason <3 and Telemachus my son. He’s so precious. Good good story I enjoyed that a lot

[goblinselfshippr]

Here’s the intro for my ship w ol Maxy <3<3

I’m choosing to call their shipname “MagnetMir” (Magneto + Cazimir)

Warnings: first-person/Caz’s pov, mentions of blood and near-fatal wounds (not TOO much description, but uh… it doesn’t look great), talks of death/dying but no actual death, slight spoilers for X//men Red. Words: 1.6k Further notes: Since this takes place on Arakko, I use both his name and his alias interchangeably. My insert is a rogue angel who uses Sam’s last name, as always. She looks young, but she’s just an immortal.

I don’t know who this off-brand Thanos is, and I don’t care. He has caused pain to my Max, and that is all I care about. I’d seen the image, and I thought I could handle it.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t handle the way his powers made his blood unnaturally swirl around him. It was almost poetic how the hole in his chest mirrored Wanda’s own event. I couldn’t run to him, I had to stay calm. If I ran full speed to him— a stranger!— I would be seen as an aggressor and dealt with. And so I stumbled, bleary-eyed, through the carnage. Tried not to think about what lay among the wreckage.

“Max!”

He turned automatically. His teammates did too. I must look crazy, some random woman in ordinary clothes wiping tears from my face. Accidentally wiping dirt onto myself. Or maybe they just thought I was a citizen displaced by the carnage, but I knew his name. Did that make me a threat?

I’m definitely sobbing too much to be seen as such. I don’t get too close before I’m stopped. I tried to push past regardless, “He needs healing— let me-!” We’ve never met, but he utters my name. Steps forward. A shaky hand pushes downward on my shoulder, “Cazimir.” I make a pathetic sound. “You’re too far ahead of yourself, as always. Go back,” he’s forcing a smile. We both know how this looks for him. “And quit crying, you silly thing.” Breathe. Breathe. Come on. “We- I’ve never-“ He cuts me off, “We’ve met. You’re peeking ahead at the end, my love.” Oh. Oh, no, don’t call me that. My stomach flips, I’m starving for comfort, and I might be sick.

I force myself to stay the tears. My voice shakes, “I can’t ask you to stay alive for me. I can’t force you to live. Not after everything… You deserve rest.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I’m reduced to quiet sobs. “Thank you, my dear. Besides, who knows where you’ll land? Maybe we are from separate timelines, and your Magneto is not ready to meet his end yet.”

A roar tears through the air and I can’t hold back the scream that leaves me. This synthetic creature. I forgot about it and didn’t properly analyze the situation. And it was going straight for its aggressor. For Max.

“It’s plastic and silicone. Sunspot can you melt it?” I yell, flying up. I can’t hear if he answers, so I draw my sword anyway. If this thing can regenerate, then it is living. Then I will smite it— Storm’s here, sharing her power with her old enemy. “I won’t tell you again, Cazimir Faust! Go back,” Max yells. I obey, running through a portal before the lighting he aims at me hits.

I find myself hyperventilating in my brother’s room. This has always been my reality, I know it. I see their lives— mostly— and often their fates. There are ways to get around a perceived death, but… Max deserves to go on his terms. He has been torn apart and reassembled so many times… how cruel would I be if I forced him to live for my sake? That wouldn’t be an act of love. He would not love me any longer because I would be his captor, his tormentor.

Amaimon is touching me, I’m only vaguely aware of the cool feeling of his scales. “I know,” my brother coos, “I know it’s hard. I know it hurts.” It wouldn’t have hurt so bad if Magneto hadn’t kissed me. If he hadn’t called me his love. Treated me so fondly. My love. My love. That cruel bastard. I gave him permission to go, and he made me want to rip it back from him. “Go back.” He’d demanded— wait! He wanted me to find him again. He wanted us to meet each other. He was right, I got ahead of myself. Peeking at the end. I need to go back, it’s what he wanted. Maybe he’s right… maybe he was not my Max. He knew of me, but he knew of lots of timelines. Maybe… maybe…

“I have to… I have to recalibrate.” I say shakily, beginning the process of recycling the magic. I will do as he commanded. I love him. He loves me. Or he will, eventually, if what I witnessed today was right.

—

A week later, I teleport into the mutant city. The entire place is enveloped in night. Genosha is small still. Well, “small” may not be the right word for the densely packed city that comes into view in front of me. The city itself is only a few square miles, but there’s been significant upward expansion on the island. I move on my own. My eyes don’t see. I’m pulled past the people occasionally out and about in the night. I stopped on the steps to the palace, yet to expand to its full glory. This was technically a government building, wasn’t it? Did it have business hours like any other? Was I supposed to knock? How did this work?

“Are you just going to stand there and loiter outside my home?”

I look up, and there he is. Magneto. Looming over me on the second-story balcony. “Sorry, I just got… lost.” The reality mixes with my memory of him, the hole through his chest, the two images flickering back and forth. He’s thinner, slightly. He’s bulkier on Arakko, but even now he’s still an Omega-level mutant. You can feel it in the air, which could just be a purposeful illusion on this part. I wouldn’t put it past him to project an EMF field at a frequency that makes most normal people feel sick for intimidation purposes. I wondered if it made him able to analyze the other person, their abilities, their emotions, anything…

Oh!

There he was, in all his glory. He’d floated slowly down from the balcony and in front of me during my thoughts. I just stood there, dazed. I didn’t know what to say, so I settled on, “Hello.” He repeated my greeting with an amused look, circling me.

“What is your name?”

“Cazimir Faust.”

“You don’t look like a spy.”

This was one of those loaded statements cops used, like saying “Well if you are drunk, you’re the steadiest drunk I’ve ever seen”. Which is to say that any noncommittal answer— A laugh, a nod, a hum of acknowledgment— will be treated as an agreement. As if you’re saying “Yes, I am drunk”, or in this case, “Yes, I am a spy.”

“I’m not a spy.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Well, you don’t seem like a mutant.”

I risked being a little mouthy with him, “That’s a rude assumption, would you prefer I fly off a balcony at 11 o’clock at night?” He huffs a laugh in response.

“Now who’s being rude?”

“Sorry.”

He looked at me curiously when I apologized quickly, almost reflexively. “Now I know you’re not one of Xavier’s, you’re far too polite,” he decided. Another loaded statement. Would I be more suspicious if I played dumb, or were they still underground at this point? I didn’t know.

“Why are they rude to you?”

“Because they hate me.”

Oh, you damn drama queen, they only hate you because you’re a terror.

“But I thought Charles Xavier assisted you in your trial?”

There was that flash of interest again.

“He did…”

“So then why would he represent you if he hated you?”

“Oh, don’t be so naïve. He did it for his own self-image.”

“How would representing someone described as a terrorist be good for his image?”

He did it because he cares for you, stupid. He waved his hand as if causing the topic to dissipate like smoke.

“So why are you here? Not here, as in this exact location, I do recall you claiming to be lost. What brings you to my island?”

“I was told to.”

“By who, exactly?”

I didn’t even realize the sigh that escaped me. Magneto stepped closer, “There you are looking like a kicked dog again. Is it really that bad of a story?” If only you knew. “I’d like to avoid the topic if I’m allowed.”

“Very well, I’ll ignore it for now. You teleported here, I see.”

“How do you know?”

“There’s a certain pattern of electric charge that happens when one moves quickly from one location to another via a portal.”

“I see.”

“Don’t make a habit of it.”

“Teleporting?”

“Teleporting onto my island without my knowledge. Travel within the city is allowed, but I’d prefer not being surprised.”

“Am I being detained?”

“I am not the police. Besides, if I wanted to do that, you would be detained already. I’ll let it go this time”

“Right…”

“but since I am doing you a favor, you must now do me one.”

“That seems fair.” Please don’t be scary. Or crazy. Or deadly.

“Tell me why you’re here.”

Shit. He’ll know if I’m lying now, too.

“Because you’re here.”

“And what purpose do you seek me?”

“Uh— I don’t know?”

He heaves a sigh, shoulders deflating as his head lowers, “Sadly, I believe you.” Normally, I’d be pissed at his smartass comment, but I’m not looking this gift horse in the mouth. Or anywhere else, as a matter of fact. I’m terrified of horses, I’m not even looking at said proverbial horse.

“You said you were lost, are you staying somewhere?”

“No, I hadn’t planned on staying…”

“Well, its late. I suppose I’ll let you sleep here.”

“That’s the nice way of saying you’re keeping an eye on me, isn’t it?”

“Quite.”

Taglist (join here): @over--heaven

[theiceweaver]

@thevampiremael

Nolwenn stumbled down the dark street of Ravenna. Moving sent stabs of sharp burning pain through her but she couldn't stop and rest. She had to keep going. She didn't know where, but she couldn't just stay here alone in the streets. She was sick, exhausted, starving, and injured but if she let herself rest in an alley or park, she was sure someone would snatch her and kill her. Ever since she'd been set on fire she had only managed to get a few hours of sleep, just enough to keep her from collapsing.

The clothes she wore concealed most of her injuries. The burns on her face were still visible though. She wore a dark blue long-sleeved linen shirt, a long multi-layered black skirt, and black combat boots. Her original clothes had been burned when the vampire had set her on fire but luckily her bag was only singed and its contents weren't damaged.

Her entire body hurt. Still-healing second-degree burns covered most of her body. It felt like the heat was trapped inside her skin. Blisters covered her red, itching, swollen skin. Both fresh and dried blood and pus covered her skin and clothes.

Pain, fear, and stress radiated from her in thick waves. Tears ran down her face and stung her burned skin. She couldn't stop crying. Her body violently trembled from fear and pain. She felt terrified and hopeless and didn't know what to do. She fantasized about slipping out of her body like it was a heavy coat, leaving behind the sack of meat and bones and letting her soul go wherever it was meant to go.

The burns were only six days old but looked older --- the pricolici and strigoi blood in her body had helped accelerate the healing process but they were still there and still sensitive. The feeling of cloth touching them was unbearable. She fantasized about drinking the healing blood and her burns fading away. She wished she hadn't drunk the bottles of blood so quickly.

I'll go back to Gwenhael. He can heal me. I'll let him give me enough of his blood to change me into a pricolici, she thought to herself. If she hadn't run from him, none of this would've happened. She wouldn't have been attacked by a strigoi who had violently torn her throat out and had only saved her from dying because he'd seen Gwenhael in her memories. She wouldn't have been almost kidnapped by two torturer-rapists. She wouldn't have been lit on fire by a vampire who'd wanted to kill her because she'd known about vampires.

Nolwenn chewed on her lip as she continued walking. If she hadn't been attacked by those two men, she wouldn't have killed them. If she hadn't killed them, they would've continued to torture and kill more people. They'd already done so five times before. Hell, they'd already had a 15 year old girl locked in their house when they'd tried to kidnap her. After she killed them, she went to the house to rescue the girl; thankfully, nothing bad happened to the girl yet when she got there. At least one good thing had come from her running from Gwenhael --- she'd prevented someone from being raped and tortured.

All those many different thoughts swirled and roiled in her mind as she slowly made her way down the street. She was so lost in her pain and thoughts that she didn't notice if any vampire or other nonhuman creature was nearby.

[courtingchaos]

.

I am staring down the barrel of 35. It’s a loaded gun but there’s no finger on the trigger yet. It inches closer every year but turning 33 means I can feel it pressed into the bridge of my nose. Cold but warming to my touch.

I don’t know what to do about it because I never thought this far, at least not realistically. Objectively I’d have had a degree in fine arts and I would be story boarding my own show right now. I would have toiled away in Orlando or Anaheim at a Disney studio until I’d had my million dollar idea and I’d be making my own Steven Universe or Over the Garden Wall. Being weird and artsy would have paid off and I would have made friends in the right places and I would have been able to show everyone that I did know what I was talking about, thankyouverymuch.

I went to school. 4 times actually. First time for art and I failed out of two math classes. Second time for English and I failed out of one of those math classes again. Third time was the charm I thought and I ended up not going back to my culinary class because they got rid of my chef. Fourth time was for carpentry and I got sick of listening to old men tell me what I was going to have to put up with on sites so I didn’t go back when the semester ended. I don’t think I’m built for school, the thought of it terrifies my little mammal brain. The only time I ever wanted to pursue anything I was told I’d be a starving artist and I let any of the threads of talent unravel.

My whole life my parents have always told me that they support me. I’m an only child who’s always been a homebody so they never had anything to worry about. I didn’t sneak out, I didn’t party, I didn’t date anyone until I was 16. They’re proud of me but every time I’m home I’m asked when I’m going back to school. When I’m quitting my job that I hate. When I’m having a kid. A lot of questions from people who have given me, in writing and words, their pride.

In my daydreams at 15 I’d said I wouldn’t get married until I had a degree and I wouldn’t have kids until I had a career, until I was stable in some way. It’s fun getting to your thirties and finding out your mentally unwell and then all the pieces fall into place. A lot of what ifs and could have beens if my brain worked correctly. I think a lot about things I wished I’d done when I was younger and I realize I never could have done these things because it was just never in the cards. People talk about a squandered youth when they mention parties and friends, trips for nothing other than to drive somewhere for the day and I want to cry.

I have a squandered youth and she’s holding the barrel to my nose for all my regrets. I’ve been angry my whole life and I’ve never found peace with it. It’s never carved a home out in my chest to lay in, to rest in. It paces tirelessly through my ribs and makes my chest ache. It blurs my vision and makes my thoughts run quick while it hangs like a ghoul in the background of my life. I joke that I do all things out of spite but it’s not a joke anymore. I spitefully get out of bed every day. I spitefully do my job well. I spitefully try to curate my hobby and hone my craft. I spitefully keep friends in my life to prove to myself that I’m not as miserable as the girl holding the gun to my face likes to make me think I am.

I am tired and I am unfulfilled. My life feels too small for my body, or maybe my body is too big for my life. I feel like Alice growing out of her home, arms pushed through windows and legs out the front door. I keep growing in weird spots and no one knows how to help me least of all myself.

All things through spite though. I’ll break out of the house and I’ll slap the gun away. I’ll wrangle my youth into a bear hug and when she least expects it I’ll put her in a headlock and we can start this whole game again when 40 is coming down the line.

[jinkicake]

And then back to Lucifer!! Like every time I see fanart if him I’m like god I LOVE old men😭 like him and Zhongli really scratch my “tall hot serious men” itch and they’re so corny it’s great!! Zhongli being like “someone said im dummy thick what does that mean?” And Lucifer texting “you are shaving years off my life” in every in game chat is hilarious 😭 like I read a fic where mammon traps you both in a closet unaware his prank backfired and you’re stuck in there too and Lucifer trying his best not to fuck you in this cramped closet(spoiler he fails) and he’s like “hmm maybe o need to look into human anatomy I could be too big” sir🥴 like outside his dom aura he’s so soft and will flusted if he notices he’s been holding your hand for too long. Like if I want to see him melt I just have to kiss his forehead a few times!! He’s so touch starved and experiencing unconditional love and care WILL have him tearing up. Omg remembering the paws and claws event! Wish mc got to spend a few chapters as a sheep bc Lucifer was already struggling to not whip it out being a wolf. He sees cute soft sheep mc shaking in fear he’s going to take you in the foyer😭 but if I remember correctly sheep go into heat every 17 days and stay in heat 30 to 36 hours👀 so I will cry much have to tie him to the bed. The brothers having to call up Michael im the Celestial realm💀 “tf do YALL want??” “So maybe giving humans the capacity to overindulge in worldly desires was a bad idea🙂” lmao the angels aren’t safe either im gunna get a cease and desist from sky daddy bc they were here to be students!! And they got a sex tape floating around on devilhub😔

LUCIFERRRRRRR </33333 ive been waiting for this one!!!!

there is something about old men that just makes me fucking foam at the mouth like i think about gray-haired zhongli and i just want to rip my hair out-

NO EXACTLYYYYY i love how luci is an asshole but also such a big softie like it makes my heart so soft.... you can be mean to me luci but you have to pamper my ass to make it up to me!! (i talk about this man way too seriously for him not to be real it's kinda concerning like i think we should be concerned about it but i dont care!!!)

the way he kisses us any chance he gets and then always promises to fuck us too heheheh he's been waiting centuries for us!!!!! OH- NOT THE PAWS AND CLAWS EVENTTTTT i never played it but watched youtube videos and ugh- i wish i had-

hmm every 17 days being stuck (GLUED) to Lucifer for 36 hours... I could do that... yeah I could take him!!! .... i could take him.

not devilhub LMFAOOOOOOOOOO T T

i just..... i love luci T T

[twerkingoftheshrew]

I made a list of things that are "mecore" for fun. Here's mine.

TW: mention of self harm, NSFW as hell

Soxcore:

Silly knee socks, cannabis, gin and limeade, mismatched footie socks, foxes, fuzzy blankets, cute plushies, creepy plushies, stained glass, colored glass, granny aesthetic Halloween decor, big cocks, 2D muscle men, 2D hot twinks, 2D dommy mommies, cryptids (esp. Mothman), ghost sex, monsterfuckery, jean overall shorts with rainbow straps, band/punny/nerdy tshirts, silky fabrics, stupid adorable cats, mint and dark chocolate KitKats, sprite, original ramune, instant ramen, sailor moon, David Bowie, InuYasha, Fruits Basket, eeveelutions, pins and buttons, pet play, shibari, restraints, holding hands during sex, kitchen witchcraft, wholesome witchcraft, baking sweets for people you care about, one man show in the kitchen, rain in every form, distant thunder, reading smut, toe beans, male ahegao, soft yanderes (all yanderes), impressionist art, making a playlist for every occasion and mood, 2D simping, Ren faire, overcast days, having a moody day, spending the day in bed, cute shoes/boots/heels, rubber toe sneakers (high and low top), cardigan sweaters, nightmare before Christmas, dad hats, witch hats, flower crowns, silver or gunmetal jewelry, vampire movies, goth femmes from 90s cartoons, hugs, gentle casual touches, surprise kisses, tickles and cute pokes, tappy fingies, blushing, being flustered, being oblivious to flirting, being clumsy, being derpy, string led lights, cool spectrum colors (miss me with those warm tones), the sound of water (especially underwater sounds), the moon and stars, walking at night, soft nighttime breezes, running through the woods, shoulder freckles, weirdly good with animals, being shy but polite, being an open book in a comfortable conversation, constant body language, can always read their emotions plain on their face, hand gestures while talking/talking with hands, wild arm flailing (muppet flailing), muppets, tabletop gaming, spring, daffodils, hyacinths, lavender fields, heather meadows, orchids, weeping willows, big old trees, passionate infodumping, platonic cuddling and spooning, granny floral prints, paisley, tarot cards, reading tea leaves, reading runes, amethyst, goldstone, lapis lazuli, smoky quartz, geodes, found animal bones, fangs and claws, pointed ears, oddly shaped pupils, burying your face in things (pillow, crook of lover's neck, cat belly, etc.), early emo shit, random hodgepodge of different 90s aesthetic and nostalgia, those fuckin cups from the 90s with that purple and blue pattern, wildberry poptart colors, wildberry poptarts, smutty dating Sims, hot fictional men who will kill my character, dead doves, the most toe curling fucked up fanfics imaginable, romcom BL, crying a lot, crying from any intense emotional response even if it's positive, crying because of a piece of media, crying for release, crying in the shower, curling up on the floor and clutching yourself tightly while you sob, singing in the shower, singing around the house, singing to my fur children, a live narration of my actions done in song, changing song lyrics to be about silly things, doing character voices in everyday conversation, speaking in meme references, referencing old vines and then having to explain them because someone hasn't seen that one,

gin gins (ginger hard candy), being touch starved, touch as primary love language, sleeping while hugging a pillow, side sleeping, sleeping in, suddenly realizing you've been awake far too long, coming out of a hyperfixation like time travel and figuring out what year you're in now, surprise naps, nap roulette, garlic rye chips, cheese, cheesecake, baby, so so baby, masking mental health in public and to unfamiliar people, thinking no one would ever put up with you, cutting, cutting scars, tattoos that cover scars, piercings and body mods, Oreos, walking down train tracks with a friend, cosplay and LARPing, musical theatre, standing in the rain just to feel it on your skin, stretching like a cat, nose and feet are always cold for some reason, mushroom swiss burgers, psychedelics, MLP:FiM, beanies all winter, choker necklaces, space as an aesthetic, glass pipes and bongs, glassblowing, small venue punk and rock shows, the concert poster plastered bathrooms of a small punk venue, please pet me uwu, neon hair dye, anatomically inaccurate plastic Halloween skeleton animals, clingy but pushes it down, needy but won't ask for things, multiple texts in a row, reading constantly, crowd anxiety, corvids, cephalopods, freshwater shrimp, dying after a fat bong rip/fat dab, simping, passive darling, needing a caretaker relationship, Alolan Vulpix and Ninetails, Greek food, dumbass fudanshi, animal crossing, pop punk, early techno, sad indie, 80s-90s goth kid music, red bean ice cream, ramune flavored candy, Marius from Lez Miz, hobbits, DC, drawn/animated furries, hugging people in fur suits at cons, nigiri sushi, onigiri, the works of Neil Gaiman, femme authored classic literature, classic and modern poetry, occult nonsense, romantic literature, the works of D.H. Lawrence, fantasy fiction, bi panic, "you're so funny" thanks it's a coping mechanism, cast iron wood stoves, generational cast iron pans, family recipes, emerald and silver, dainty works of metal art like broochs, pins and hair pins, band and random sew on patches, night mist, kintsugi (using liquid gold to fix broken things), memories that are so obscure and buried in references and inside jokes it's almost a two person play to explain them,

looking like a Victorian ghost, looking like the host of a punk rock children's show, seaside cliffs, sea storms, Vicky's story in The Gargoyle, The Gargoyle, househusband vibes, chill edits of toonami anime, stupid puns and wordplay, over the shoulder glances, over the edge of sunglasses glances, not getting rid of plushies because you don't want them to be sad and miss you and you're worried about whether or not they'll have a happy life elsewhere, having spoiled fur children because you're a pushover, kissing while crying from happiness, walking arm in arm, face touches, hand on face, hand over hand on face, soft neck and shoulder bites, bite marks, hugging from behind and kissing the top of someone's head, headpats, rubbing your nose on soft things, judging a mug solely by how it feels in your hands, loose leaf tea, having a tea shelf/cabinet, a nice, comfortable pair of boots, lemon, vanilla, clove, sandalwood, sage, lavender, bed head, wants to make you breakfast, embroidering memes and shit posts, wooden rocking chairs, owns way too many accessories, various collections of seemingly mundane items that have more meaning than they should, casually sex/sexual health positive but shy about personal tastes, awkward creetchur vibes, gives genuine compliments to strangers often, always gassin up the homies, forced optimism, character/pop culture mini backpacks, sunglasses with colorful lenses, I like you so I did a deep dive of your Spotify, can and will remodel the house for you, "I can fix that", "please let me put together the furniture it's like a big puzzle!", painting/customizing bits of furniture or clothing because I got bored, making friends in the smoking area, smoke breaks because I'm anxious/overstimulated, telling the band "great show" at the merch table, things that glow in the dark, fireflies, forest rivers and streams, moss covered stones, trees or tree roots that have a surprisingly comfy place to sit, reading a book outside, the smell of books, libraries, old libraries, book spines under fingertips, page edges and corners against fingertips, holding a book to your chest to feel the story close to your soul, overcast days that press down on your soul a bit and make everything feel slightly heavy and bittersweet, crock pot meals on cold days, clutching the edges of sweater or hoodie sleeves, frost covered grass, misty dawns, museum dates, chai lattes, nose boops, edible mushrooms, flowering trees, needing white noise/music to sleep, borrows your hoodie because it smells like you, walking through a cemetery together reading the stones and imagining the lives of the people buried there, "ooo they have a charcuterie board!", Ghibli food and domestic fluff vibes, will absolutely cook with you or for you, spooky cute, gently bonks my head against you like a cat, slow blinks/bleps of affection, book dragons, I really like this new song so I'm going to listen to it on repeat for hours on end, corner store snack runs, PS2 startup noise, "not technically a shota, but his vibes are unmistakable", vine covered brickwork, nitro+chiral BLVNs, toxic/doomed yaoi, old man yaoi

[huntingingoodwill]

Hiiii

Perfect time for me to unload those dreams on you cuz I’ve gotten my period yet again 😀 (relating to my Daniel dream)

Your opinion on rafe is maybe half true? I think he’s supposed to hate his dad although I’ve no clue, I still have not watched the show. I only like him cuz he’s hot 🙈

The dream with him was so like out of body but not cuz it rlly felt like I was there?? Idek how to explain it was wild. I think it had to have been a rlly old college campus and we were just chilling on the couch of this beautiful house. It was prob a frat house or something but I think I was watching too much scream queens so the house is just huge and beautiful with so much warmth and wood everywhere. Drooling for the interior design here before I even get to the man 😭

I am truly just so touch starved and wanting to be in a relationship cuz legitimately it was the most cozy and domestic vibe ever we are just lazing on this couch him laying back on me I’m playing with his super soft hair😩 also somehow my younger sister is there? Jump scare😳 we’re just arguing about this amazing flowering tree in the neighbors backyard (it must have been the prettiest tree ive seen in my life) and I’m going to google it cuz I must prove my point duh and I do this in real life where I sometimes need a moment to think about how to phrase a question or search to actually get the answer i need and of course he knows that so being the bestest boyfriend there is he just grabs the phone from me and searches up my first attempt at phrasing. I took it in the best casual dominance way ever paired with silence encouragement that my phrasing was right on the first try and I don’t need to overthink so much 😍😍 and then he just grabs my hand and interlocks (SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP MY ROMCOM DREAMS COMING TRUE) and everything just settles I completely forget about what I searched and don’t even care about the answer anymore just enjoying the feeling of holding hands and staring at this tree and the breeze coming through the window 💖💖💖

And then of course since it’s on a college campus I’m somehow whisked away to help at some random event and then I wake up 🥲

This was terribly long for me to truly relive this amazing dream that I hope I’ll never forget

Pls share any cool dreams you’ve had and I’ve rlly gotta find someone to request writing a fic for this 🤔

-😊💕

hiiii

lmao at this point i feel like you send me asks based on your cycle which im not really mad about bc that’s hilarious

girl i know all about liking men just because they’re hot don’t worry

shut up i LOVE SCREAM QUEENS nobody talks about that show enough. im very much a chanel oberlin.

dan kinda has frat bro vibes. is that controversial.

wait this is such a pleasant dream 😭😭 that’s so nice all my dreams are fucking weird. like ive had multiple dreams where i shot my friend and everytime it happens i report it to them irl and we laugh about me murdering them in my sleep that’s how u know ur friend is a ride or die

ALSO IM SORRY ik u sent me another ask and i was in the middle of replying it and it disappeared 😭 like it’s not in my inbox or drafts or anything 😭😭😭 sorry about that

[moreventsthanamongus]

big time vent

The first memory I have of my body is when I was 8. In year 4 we were learning about the different states, solid liquid gas. Miss Nolan handed around a bag of cholate buttons and asked us all to take one, hold it in your hand or place it on your tongue, and see what happens she said. I’ll hold mind in my hand I thought, then my classmates will know I’m not fat because I’m greedy, I just happen to look that way. No one else held theirs, I walk to the bathroom alone to wash my hands.

When I’m 10 I walk to school alone. I’ve only just started to be interested in boys, and I’m even more aware of how I look. I know I'm bigger than the other kids my age. A group of men in a car stop for me at the zebra crossing. They tell me I'll grow into my body soon. They tell me to give them a call. I'm only 10 I think, can't they see my school uniform? I'll never know their names.

When I'm 13 I have a friend named Luce. She's pretty and skinny. She's a vegetarian, so I become one, maybe I can be skinny too. She's anorexic, so I imitate it, maybe I can be skinny too. I starve myself when people can see, and I go home and eat. I develop binge eating disorder. My weight doesn't change. I'll never forget her name.

When I'm 14, we spend out time at sleepovers on Omegle. It's what everyone did. You laugh when old men flash you and ask how old you are. Something doesn't feel right, but everyone's doing it. I'll never know their names.

When I'm 15, I use Tagged. Everyone around me is in a relationship, and I think my chances are better online. I speak to all sorts of men from different ages. I'm not being groomed I think. I know what grooming is. These men are just kind to me when they talk about my body. A 21 year old man named Nick plans for me to visit him. I'll never forget his name.

When I'm 16, I loose my virginity to Jake. It wasn't special, or mind blowing. But I loved him, and it was intimate. I still remember small details, how we went to London and the science museum, my red lipstick, his blue camo coat, how we raced my parents home so we would have a free house. I consented, and he checked. I'll never forget his name.

When I'm 16, I start college. I meet Quaid. He tells me I'm pretty. He convinces me to send him photos of myself, I think he likes me. He shares the photos with his friends. I don't know the names of the men who have seen my breasts now. I cry because I'm a slut, I've only had sex with one man. I'll never forget his name.

When I'm 16, I date Julien. I think he loves me. He rapes me. It's not rape I tell myself, he thinks my no's are playing. Like when he tickles me. He leaves me and gets with another woman, and starts telling everyone about my saggy tits. I don't bother explaining gravity. I go to the youth centre in town, and the man tells me that it's hard to prove rape if he was my boyfriend. I steal ibuprofen from my nan, and swallow them. I get scared and call 999 for myself, dying is scary. I survive. I'll never forget his name.

When I'm 17, me and Ryan break up. I still have to stay at his house, as we made plans. He's drunk and he starts to touch me. I don't want him to, so I say no. I sleep on the floor that night. I know how to say no, and he respected it. He ends up cheating on me and getting chlamydia, I'll never forget his name.

When I'm 18, I start university. I haven't experience night life before this, except drinking in a field with friends. One night my friends go home early, they leave me with someone, I can't remember who. Another man wants to take me home, no-one checks what I want. I remember trying to stop him. I remember waking up and he was gone. I remember the comments from my flatmates about the good night I just had. I don't know if anything happened, what proof do I have if I don't even know what he looks like. I'll never know his name.

When I'm 18, My binge eating disorder gets worse. I plan it days ahead. I still do not know that I have an eating disorder. One cheat day won't hurt I tell myself.

When I'm 26, My boyfriend of 3 years sexually assaults me. I don't know that yet. I wake up from a nap with Liam. One of his hands were down my pants, and the other down his. He notices I wake up and he stops. Maybe he thought I was awake, I tell myself. He breaks up with me 6 months later, that was the last time he touched me. Maybe if I stayed asleep he would still love me I tell myself. Maybe if I let him he would still love me. It's not assault if he's my boyfriend right. It's not rape if he didn't use his penis. I bring it up the last time we speak, he doesn't remember it happening. Maybe I'm just making it up. I'll never forget his name.

When I'm 26, I am the most suicidal I've ever felt. I plan my suicide using tools from amazon. I stop working, I binge nearly every day. My boss buys me 6 hours of therapy. I start to realise that I was sexually assaulted. I was asleep, I could not consent. I did not consent. I realise that I have an eating disorder, and that every time I do it, I've been self harming. I continue therapy from my own wallet, until the desire to kill myself subsides.

My name is Ally and I'm 26 years old, and I start to wonder when I lost ownership of my own body. Was it when I was 8 and decided that my peers opinion of my body mattered more than mine? Was it when I was first catcalled or flashed. Was it when images of me were shared without my consent, or when sexual acts were taken from me without consent. Did I get ownership back when I said no, and proved I could say no, only to loose it again to the next man to take it?

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 23 - To Call Up Their Shadowy Forms

Summary: In a chaotic, adrenaline-fueled poker game, Arthur and Kate find themselves ensnared in the deadly consequences of their choices during a fine night of debauchery.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

AN: 15k words (holy hell). Please don't look too deeply into the schematics of how this night plays out. I don't know squat about poker, and I loosely followed the game mission for this chapter. So I hope that makes it all the more interesting! It's going to be a very wild ride ;)

TW: Descriptions of blood, gore, and violence.

Credit to @ arthurlicious on X for the Arthur photo!

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

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

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

The Lanahachee Riverboat loomed grandly in the distance, its regal silhouette framed against a setting sun that bathed the world in molten gold. The river’s surface mirrored the heavens, a shimmering expanse of pinks and fiery oranges rippling with each subtle current. Lanterns already glowed along the vessel’s decks, their warm light twinkling like stars as the evening settled in. 

The Grand Korrigan was no mere boat—it was a floating palace, a monument to wealth and decadence, its every detail demanding admiration.

The harbor itself seemed unnervingly still. Despite being so close to the lively heart of Saint Denis, the usual bustle of docks and murmurs of workers were absent. The silence wrapped around Kate like a heavy cloak, amplifying the drumbeat of her thoughts. Too quiet, she mused, though she wasn’t sure if it was the harbor or her own nerves drowning out the noise. She shifted in her seat as the stagecoach jostled over uneven terrain, her gloved hands fidgeting in her lap.

Strauss and Trelawney’s voices droned on, rehearsing the evening’s intricate plan yet again. Kate had long since stopped listening to the specifics, their words blurring into the rhythmic clatter of wheels and hooves. Across the cramped space, she caught sight of Arthur. He sat stiffly, grumbling under his breath as he fumbled with his ascot tie. The sight made her smile—a rare flicker of humor breaking through the mounting tension. His polished black suit and golden cravat gave him a dashing air. But the way he tugged at his collar made it clear he’d rather be wearing his old, familiar coat. He looked utterly out of place, yet undeniably handsome.

Her own gown was an exquisite contradiction—beautiful yet burdensome. The deep black fabric shimmered faintly as if caressed by the fading sunlight, it reminded her of Lorena’s midnight coat in the dying light. Its ruffled skirts cascading around her legs like a waterfall, trimmed in gold lace. Each thread of embroidery on the corset seemed to hold a story of elegance. Cinched tight, it stole the air from her lungs, leaving her breath shallow and measured. The puffed sleeves barely clung to her shoulders, a precarious balance that made her feel both exposed and weighed down all at once. Kate glanced down at the opulent layers pooling around her feet. It was a dress meant to captivate, to draw every eye in the room. But standing there on the edge of the plan, she didn’t feel like the dazzling centerpiece she was meant to be. She felt like an imposter, masquerading in another woman’s splendor. A pigeon parading as a peacock. 

“Remember Arthur, you’re new money from the oil fields. Loud, drunk, and maybe a little too proud. Don’t overdo it, but don’t be subtle either,” Trelawny instructed, his voice clipped and precise. “Watch Strauss. He’ll signal you when it’s time to act.”  

Arthur grunted, adjusting his cravat with an exaggerated scowl. “I’ll try not to embarrass myself too much, but don’t expect any miracles.”

“And absolutely no shuffling and mumbling. Puff your chest out, get outside yourself.” Trelawny continued, berating him like he was a scoundrel. 

With a huff Arthur waved him off, “yeah, alright alright. This ain’t Hamlet.��� 

Kate barely registered their words. The stagecoach rolled to a halt, and her eyes were drawn to the Grand Korrigan. Its lanterns glimmered like a constellation against the encroaching night, while finely dressed gentlemen filed aboard, their laughter and chatter carrying faintly over the dock. She forced her gaze away, focusing instead on the tight coil of nerves in her stomach. Tonight, she wouldn’t just be part of the plan—she was the plan. The centerpiece. The singer. The distraction.  

“Kate, my dear, are you listening?”  

Trelawny’s voice snapped her back to the present. She blinked and nodded, offering a tight smile. “Sorry. The suspense is killing me.” She answered half-heartedly. Her voice was calm, but inside she was anything but.  

“Oh, don’t be so jaded. It’s all just a bit of innocent fun,” Trelawny said with a grin, offering his gloved hand as she stepped down.

Innocent fun. Kate nearly laughed at the thought. When had anything Dutch orchestrated ever been innocent? She couldn’t even remember how she’d been roped into this role—Dutch’s charm had a way of clouding specifics. It was easy to see why Arthur and John clung so tightly to their faith in him. That kind of persuasion was hard to shake.

The salt-tinged air hit her as soon as she stepped out. It was sharp and heavy, carrying the mingling scent of the river. She tried to take a deep breath to steady herself, but the corset refused to let her. As she walked toward the glowing riverboat, Arthur passed by her side. He gave her a small, confident nod. No words were exchanged, but the meaning was clear—a silent promise that they’d get through this night together.  

Kate ran over her role in her mind, repeating the name she was meant to embody: Marietta Sacchi, a renowned Italian singer. Her task was simple, yet the weight of it felt anything but. She would sing in her mother’s native language, captivating the room while Arthur and the others worked the tables. Speak as little as possible, Hosea had instructed. Let the allure of mystery do most of the talking. 

And pray that none of these drunken card sharks could tell the difference.  

Tonight, Arthur’s target was Desmond Blythe, a man who exuded wealth and arrogance in equal measure. Known for his indulgence in all things luxurious, Blythe wasn’t shy about gambling big, nor did he seem to care much when he lost—so long as it was on his terms. The hosiery magnate had a reputation for keeping extra collateral close at hand, tucked away in a safe nearby whenever he ventured out to gamble. It was this cache, more than the game itself, that had caught Dutch’s interest. Arthur’s job was simple in theory: cheat Blythe at poker, rake in the winnings, and push the stakes sky-high to draw out the collateral. The haul could mean a fortune, enough to pull the gang out of their latest mire of trouble.

Ahead, Javier waited on the dock, his posture rigid in a police uniform that suited him almost too well. The sight was both reassuring and unnerving. The air buzzed with faint music and the hum of conversation as Arthur and the group approached the dock, the glowing riverboat looming like a floating palace.

Javier, clad in his borrowed uniform, smirked as they neared. “Well, would you look at that?” he called out, his tone teasing. “From toad to prince! You’re looking like a lucky man tonight Arthur.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, his hand tugging at the too-tight cravat around his neck. “Sure, feelin’ luckier than a turkey that survived Thanksgiving,” he drawled sarcastically, his lips curving into a faint grin.

Javier turned his attention to Kate, his expression softening. He reached for her gloved hand with an exaggerated flourish, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Ay, hermosa,” he said warmly. “Beautiful as always.”

Kate smiled, her nerves momentarily soothed by the familiar company. She dipped into a small curtsy, her layered skirts rustling softly. “Grazie, amico,” she replied, her Italian accent smooth and practiced.

Arthur's eyes lingered on her, drawn against his better judgment. Kate was breathtaking, radiant in her gown of black and gold, her movements elegant enough to belong among the wealthy elite. Yet, he knew better. Knew her heart, her strength, and the lengths she’d go to for the people she cared about. It made him both proud and uneasy, stirring something fierce and protective deep inside. He worried constantly—for her safety, her health, her happiness. The job tonight only added to the weight pressing on his shoulders. But Kate had insisted. She promised him this was the last job. Now all they needed to do was make it through the night.  

He prayed the payoff would be enough to break free from the endless cycle of running and scheming. Enough to finally put this life behind them.  

Leaning close, his voice low and gravelly, he murmured near her ear, “Still not too late to turn back, darlin’.”  

Her laugh was soft, warming him despite the tension in the air. “Oh, don’t you start that now,” she teased, brushing past him with a wink that carried far more confidence than she felt.  Waving for the rest of the men to follow her. 

Kate moved ahead, her steps deliberate as she led the group toward the boat. She was a vision of poise, her head held high, but Arthur could see the faint hesitation in her movements—the cracks beneath the polished surface. She was good at this, though. Hosea had made sure of it.  

He’d taken time with her, teaching her the nuances of her role. Going off of what she remembered from the garden party. He reminded her how to hold herself with a dignity that came naturally to the wealthy. Confidence, Hosea had said. That’s all it takes. Just fake it till you make it. Kate had clung to his lessons, grateful for his patience and guidance. Now it was her time to prove it.  

The dock creaked beneath their feet as they approached the towering riverboat, the Grand Korrigan glowing like a gilded jewel against the darkening sky. The faint scent of brackish water and wood polish hung in the air. Lanterns flickered overhead, casting warm light on polished brass and lacquered railings. Kate’s heart pounded, adrenaline dulling the lingering fatigue that had plagued her for days. She could do this. She had to do this.  

At the ticket booth, she paused, addressing the attendant with a measured tone that mirrored the airs of her fabricated persona. Introducing herself and her companions. The man barely glanced up, his practiced professionalism working in their favor. With a perfunctory nod, he waved them through, welcoming them aboard with a flourish. And just like that, they were in.  

The weight on her chest eased slightly as her heels clicked against the polished deck. She tried to let herself breathe, though her dress left little room for air. The grandeur of the boat swallowed some of her nerves for a moment. The soft hum of music drifted from the main hall, mingling with the distant clink of glasses and polite laughter. The night had begun.  

Kate led the way to the left, her golden train sweeping behind her as she found the entrance to the stage room. Pausing at the doorway, she glanced back over her shoulder. Her gaze found Arthur, and for a moment, they shared a silent exchange. Her eyes were steady, filled with determination. He gave her the smallest nod, and she knew he would be close by.  

Strauss and Trelawny veered right, disappearing into the main room to mingle with their marks. Arthur moved to follow, but his hand shot out, grabbing Javier by the arm.  

“Need you to do somethin’ for me,” Arthur said quietly, his tone urgent.  

Javier tilted his head, his expression serious. “Whatever you need, hermano.”  

Arthur’s grip tightened. “Don’t let her outta your sight. Not for a second.”  

Crossing a finger over his chest, Javier nodded. His eyes flicked toward Kate as she stepped into the stage room. “You have my word.”  

Arthur released him, watching as Javier followed after her. Only when she was out of sight did Arthur turn away, his jaw tight. Tonight had to go right. There was no room in their tumultuous lives for anything else.  

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate paced the small room, her heels tapping against the gleaming mahogany floor with a rhythm that betrayed her nerves. The faint scent of cigar smoke and brandy drifted through the air, a reminder of the indulgent crowd just beyond the walls. From where she stood, she could hear the low murmur of conversation, punctuated by bursts of laughter—a sharp contrast to the raging of her own thoughts.

The ship’s interior was nothing short of opulent. Brass sconces lined the walls, their light warm and flickering, as though from real flames. Heavy velvet drapes in a deep, blood-red hue framed the windows, muting the faint glow of the setting sun. Everywhere she looked, there was an excess of detail: gilded mirrors that reflected the light in soft, golden ripples, carvings that twisted and curled like ivy along every edge. The atmosphere was almost suffocating in its grandeur.

Her gaze wandered through the open archway ahead. The stage awaited her—a small, raised platform that seemed dwarfed beside the grand staircase curling elegantly to the second floor. The staircase was a masterpiece in itself, with railings that gleamed with gold and ivory steps polished to a shine. Above it, a chandelier cascaded like frozen rain, scattering shards of light across the room. Swaying gently as it rocked with the rhythm of the moving boat. It was stunning. Intimidating.

Only the crimson curtains separated her from the spotlight. Kate's gloved fingers traced the cool brass of the banister, the distorted reflection staring back at her. It almost startled her how well she fit the role tonight. She looked every inch the part—poised, regal, like a queen ready to command her court.

For a fleeting moment, she let the thought play out: a famous singer, adored by audiences, traveling the world in luxury. The image shimmered in her mind, tempting and hollow. It was a life of applause and adoration, but it was also a life without Arthur.

That version of herself—a woman untethered by love or loyalty—felt foreign to her now. It wasn’t a life she wanted. She had new dreams, new hopes. And all of them included her rugged cowboy. Kate exhaled softly, letting the thought fade, as the sound of a voice behind her pulled her back to the moment.

“Marietta Sacchi, wow.” The words carried a youthful awe.

She turned and found herself face-to-face with a young man who couldn’t have been more than seventeen. His face was smooth, untouched by the weight of years, and his bright green eyes practically shone with admiration behind a pair of round glasses. Thick waves of dark brown hair framed his features, neatly combed to one side, though a few rebellious strands fell across his brow. He stood tall in a crisp black-and-white suit, looking like he was trying to embody the very idea of sophistication.

“An honor to meet you,” he said, thrusting out a hand, his excitement barely contained.

Kate blinked, momentarily taken aback by his earnestness. After a moment’s hesitation, she smiled, slipping her gloved hand into his for a polite shake. She reminded herself of Hosea’s advice: keep conversation to a minimum, maintain a sense of mystery.

“Vincent Dupont,” he introduced himself, his grip firm and eager. “But please, call me Vin. I’ll be your pianist tonight.” He gestured toward the stage, a proud grin lighting up his face.

Kate’s smile didn’t falter, but her mind churned. A pianist? This wasn’t part of the plan. She quickly assessed the situation, deciding she’d have to improvise. 

“A pleasure,” she replied, her tone warm but measured.

Vin beamed. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Sacchi. I’ve been playing since before I could walk. Whatever song you choose, I’ll match you note for note.”

“That’s wonderful,” Kate said, her voice even, maintaining the poised demeanor she’d been coached to adopt.

Vin took a step back, his gaze wandering over to the windows, eyes reflecting the last golden tendrils of burning light. “This night is going to change everything,” he said dreamily, almost to himself. Returning to her, he explained. “When the administrators at Berklee find out I played on the Grand Korrigan, they’ll have to let me attend.” His enthusiasm bubbled over, and he laughed.

Kate felt a pang in her chest. He was just a boy; innocent, wide-eyed and full of dreams, entirely unaware that this moment was part of a carefully staged illusion. She thought of the young Beau Gray and his fierce passion for life, love, and change. The memory was bittersweet. But there was no room for honesty here, she couldn’t risk exposing the truth. Instead, she leaned into her role.

“Berklee, you say? Boston is a beautiful city,” she replied, with an accent that fit her Italian heritage.

Vin’s face lit up at her response. “Oh, it’s the best city in the world! Have you been? The parks, the music halls, the smell of roasted peanuts in Fenway—there’s no place quite like it.” His words tumbled out with the unchecked enthusiasm of someone deeply in love with a dream.

Kate smiled softly, letting his excitement wash over her like a balm. “I lived there once,” she said smoothly, practically the only small truth she would allow herself to tell this evening. “Many years ago. It was… charming.”

“Charming,” Vin said with a grin, his enthusiasm lighting up the dim room. “That’s the perfect word for it. It’s where I’m headed after this, you know. Been saving every penny, practicing every day. My father says I’m not good enough, that it’s too big a leap,” he paused, seemingly lost in thought. “But what does he know,” he muttered.

“Boston is huge, and Berklee? Well, that’s the top of the mountain, isn’t it?” He paused, his confidence wavering for just a moment. “I—uh, I’m sorry. I must sound like I’m rambling.”

A faint smile tugged at Kate’s lips as a wave of nostalgia swept over her. She pictured cobblestone streets, towering buildings, and the distant hum of life that once filled her days. She remembered her mother, and their Sunday trips to church as a family. She wondered if her parents could see her now, would they be proud? 

Boston was no longer her home, it hadn’t been for a very long time, but the memories of a bustling city—so much like Saint Denis—felt strangely close. The details blurred in her mind, but the feelings were vivid, like a familiar melody playing faintly in the distance.

She could tell Vin was a bright and passionate young man. Though they were both chasing dreams tonight, he deserved the spotlight more than she did. His whole life awaited him. 

“Not at all,” Kate said, her smile growing softer. “It’s good to have dreams. And it sounds like you have the grit to match your talent. They’d be fools not to take you.”

Vin’s cheeks flushed a light pink, and he rubbed the back of his neck, his grin turning bashful. “You’re too kind, Miss Sacchi.”

The noise from the main room outside quieted, a telltale sign that her performance was drawing near. The tight fabric of her gown clung too closely, making her breaths feel shallow. She twisted her gloved hands together, her nerves bubbling to the surface despite her best efforts.

Vin noticed, his sharp green eyes softening as he reached out to place a steadying hand on her shoulder. She flinched slightly, caught off guard by the gesture, but his voice was gentle, almost calming. “Forgive me for saying so—but you look nervous.”

Kate straightened, forcing a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nervous? No, no. Just… eager to get started,” she replied, though her fingers betrayed her, fidgeting with the edge of her glove.

Vin tilted his head, his expression knowing but kind. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me,” he said quietly. “I get nervous too, every time I sit at the keys. But here’s the thing—we’re performers. We get to decide what they see, and who we want to be. To them, you’re a star. Just be yourself, Miss Sacchi and shine as bright as you can”

Kate hesitated, the weight of his words pressing gently against the truths she couldn’t share. If only it were that simple. She wasn’t a star—she was a liar, playing a role and deceiving him from the moment they met. Yet, there was something so genuine about Vin’s belief in her, his unshakable confidence in her ability to shine. It stirred something in her, something bittersweet.

She was taken aback by his innocent sincerity, his earnestness. It was rare to see such pure kindness, especially in a setting like this. 

“Thank you, Vin,” she said softly, her voice losing some of its practiced air. “That means a lot.”

He smiled, clearly pleased that he’d reassured her. “We’ll make a great team out there, you and me. I promise.”

Before Kate could respond, a voice called from beyond the curtain. “Miss Sacchi, Mr. Dupont, we’re ready for you.”

Vin offered her an encouraging nod and extended his arm. “Shall we, ma’am?”

For a fleeting moment, Kate forgot the charade, the stakes, and the lies. She saw only the hope and sincerity in Vin’s eyes, and for the first time that night, she felt a small measure of calm. Placing her hand lightly on his arm, she allowed herself a genuine smile. “Let’s.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━ 

Arthur trailed Trelawny down the narrow corridors, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet beneath. The walls were lined with ornate sconces, their golden light casting flickering shadows that seemed to dance mockingly in his peripheral vision. He tugged at his cuff sleeves, an anxious habit he couldn’t quite shake. Something about tonight gnawed at his conscience, a restless unease that made his skin crawl. Was it Kate’s frail health and the risk she was taking? Or the fact that he felt naked and exposed in this den of lions, his gun left behind at the door? Every step felt heavier as his mind raced with the myriad ways this could spiral into chaos—and how he could ensure Kate’s safety when it did.

“You seem unsure, Arthur,” Trelawny’s voice cut through his thoughts, light and tinged with that ever-present air of smug confidence.

Arthur barely registered the servant they passed, who offered them a polite greeting. His focus remained on the knot tightening in his chest. 

“Forgive me,” Arthur said, thick with sarcasm. “Robbing a heavily armed boat while my woman stands like bait in the middle of a pack of hungry wolves…” He shook his head, his lips curling into a bitter smirk. “Tends to bring out the self-doubt in me.”

Trelawny stopped, turning to face him with a placating smile. “These people are practically idiots, my boy,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Simple stuff. Stick to the plan, and all will go swimmingly.” He motioned for Arthur to follow as they approached the grand double doors ahead. With a flourish, Trelawny pushed them open. “Now, let’s have a good time.”

Arthur stepped into the main room, his senses assaulted by the atmosphere. A faint haze of cigar smoke hovered in the air, mingling with the heady aroma of bourbon and expensive cologne. The clink of glasses, the rustle of fine fabric, and the occasional burst of laughter from the card tables filled the space, yet it all felt distant to him. His eyes darted around, scanning every corner, every detail. 

His gaze locked onto the lawmen standing rigid against the posts that supported the second floor, their presence as imposing as the staircase that curled upward. More officers lined the balcony above, their watchful eyes scanning the room with cold precision. The pit in Arthur’s stomach grew heavier. His jaw clenched as he forced himself to memorize the layout—the exits, the entrances, the obstacles. If this went south, he needed a way out.

Arthur exhaled sharply through his nose, steeling his shoulders as he made his way to an open card table. Relief flickered briefly when he noted the proximity to the stage. Just beyond the velvet curtains, he knew Kate waited, a sense of calm in the storm brewing in his mind. He adjusted his coat and took a seat, settling into the role he was here to play.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a nonchalant wave. “Arthur Callahan. Apologies for my tardiness—had to tend to some unfinished business at the bar.”

The man across from him offered a curt nod. “Desmond Blythe,” he replied smoothly. “Not to worry. Welcome to the game, Mr. Callahan.”

Arthur forced a grin, his hand brushing against the stack of poker chips in front of him. The table was surrounded by well-dressed men, their eyes sharp and calculating. It felt like a world he didn’t belong to—a stage he didn’t want to be on. But at the end of the day, he was a cheat, just like the rest of them. Only dressed in finer clothing. 

But he would play his part. For Kate. For her safety. For the sake of their future. His grip on the chips tightened slightly as he leaned forward, projecting an air of ease to conceal the storm inside.

As the dealer shuffled the deck with methodical precision, the room seemed to hold its breath. Arthur’s focus drifted, the rustle of the cards fading as he caught the sound of the curtains lifting. It was a delicate, almost intimate sound, like a lover’s whispered promise in the quiet of night. The chandelier overhead dimmed, softening the room’s sharp edges. The smaller lights above the card tables glowed like scattered stars against the backdrop of cigar smoke and shadow, as if suspended over a foggy sea.

A servant stepped forward, his voice a polished announcement that faded into the distance of Arthur’s mind as Kate stepped into the spotlight.

And suddenly, the air left his lungs.

The moment her eyes met his, the world seemed to narrow, folding in on itself until nothing existed but her. Those luminous eyes, shimmering with adoration, strength, and devotion, sliced through his soul with the precision of a blade. They didn’t just look at him; they saw him, baring his soul in a way that made him feel both vulnerable and whole. She was everything—divine and untouchable, yet undeniably his. In that instant, Arthur felt unworthy and utterly captivated.

The pianist settled behind her, fingers poised above the keys. A gentle tune began to rise, like the first rays of dawn spilling over a quiet landscape. Kate swayed to its rhythm, her movements subtle but mesmerizing, as if she carried the music in her very bones. The delicate melody wrapped itself around her like a silken veil, enhancing her beauty in ways Arthur couldn’t have imagined possible.

She waited for her cue, and Arthur could feel her energy building. He had heard her rehearse this song with him countless times—each note, each breath etched into his memory—but seeing her here, now, was entirely different.

The song she chose was a ballad from her past, Ancora Qui—I’m Still Here. The notes spilled forth, hopeful yet tinged with mourning, weaving a story of longing, nostalgia, and the quiet ache of time’s passage. Each word seemed to hang in the air, lingering before it drifted into the hearts of everyone in the room. But for Arthur, the song felt like a thread connecting them, a fragile but unbreakable bond.

“I’m still here, you're still you,

but now I know who you are,

who you will always be

and when you see me again,

you will remember.”

It was like she had mastered the language, flowing from her tongue effortlessly. But Arthur knew their meaning. Her voice was a revelation, soft but commanding, carrying the weight of her story, their story, and all the stories left unsaid. It was as if she sang not just for the room but for him alone, a message that spoke of resilience, longing, and the quiet promise of enduring through life’s storms together.

“And I hope you will forgive me.

You, with the same sad eyes.

Look like you are coming back

to ask me about myself.

And how it feels, 

here from the other side,

how does it go.”

Arthur’s chest tightened as the melody poured over him, his hand unconsciously curling into a fist on the table. Every note resonated deeply, as if her voice were the anchor keeping him steady in a chaotic sea. In that moment, he wasn’t Arthur Callahan, the gambler at the table, or even Arthur Morgan, the outlaw who carried too many regrets. 

He was simply hers, and she was his.

The dealer began passing out the cards with precision, the smooth shuffle and snap of the deck cutting through the soft hum of conversation and song. Each card landed effortlessly in front of the players, who instinctively reached for them. Arthur forced himself to tear his gaze away from Kate, her voice still lingering in his mind like the tender caress of her lips against his flesh. It wrapped around his shoulders, steadying him like the wings of a guardian angel, urging him to focus.

With a deep breath, he donned his best poker face, masking the unease roiling in his gut. He needed the night to go by quickly and without incident, a tall order in a room full of armed egos and thinly veiled threats.

Desmond Blythe, seated across the table, leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on Kate as she performed. A sly grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “I’d like to place my winnings on her tonight,” he mused, his tone oozing confidence and arrogance.

The other men chuckled, nodding in agreement, their laughter grating against Arthur’s ears like nails on a chalkboard.

Arthur’s jaw tightened as he picked up his cards. He forced himself to glance at his hand, taking note of his spread. The ache in his chest grew sharper with each passing moment, but he couldn’t let it show. 

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You couldn’t afford her,” he muttered under his breath, low enough to feign indifference but loud enough to make his point.

Desmond’s eyes flicked toward Arthur, his grin sharpening. “Ah, a man with a tongue,” he said, his voice cool but amused. “You seem like a player, Mr. Callahan. Been too many cowards at these tables recently.”

Arthur met Desmond’s gaze with a shrug, his expression unreadable. “Nothing less dignified than a man afraid to lose a little money,” he replied casually, though there was an edge to his voice, like the crack of a whip.

The table went quiet for a moment, tension curling in the air like the smoke from Desmond’s cigar. Then he chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that carried a challenge. “I think this is going to be an interesting night, my friend.”

Arthur didn’t respond immediately. His fingers drummed lightly against the table as he studied Desmond. The man was sharp—too sharp for Arthur’s liking. But also arrogant, the type of gambler who liked to bait his opponents into reckless moves. Arthur knew the type well; he’d been up against men like this before. And he knew how to use it to his advantage.

“I guess we’ll see,” Arthur said finally, calm and almost bored. But beneath the surface, his mind was working fast.

“The green grass, the warm air

on my feet and on the flowers.

Some wind rises up between the colors,

it looks nearly like you.

Even the sky changes its name,

so white that the cotton

which is fast, which moves

lost inside the blue.”

As the next hand began, Arthur risked a quick glance toward the stage. Kate was still singing, her voice calming his fraying nerves. She moved with an effortless grace, commanding the room without breaking a sweat. He tightened his grip on his cards, grounding himself in the knowledge that she was here, within sight.

Arthur spotted Strauss lounging in a chair to the right of Desmond, looking every bit the casual observer. He sipped his drink with an air of detachment, his eyes flicking lazily over the table as if he were merely a disinterested spectator. But Arthur knew better. Strauss was no idle onlooker. His role tonight was critical—he had already met with the dealer, familiarized himself with the cards, and devised a system of subtle cues to guide Arthur’s hand.

Each member of the gang had their part to play tonight, and Strauss’s calm demeanor belied the precision of his task. A tilt of his glass, a scratch of his nose, the way he adjusted his cuff—these seemingly innocuous gestures were the keys to Arthur’s success.

“It’s something in you.

it’s what will come back

as it already was.

How it feels

in this strange world,

how does it go.”

Arthur carefully picked up his hand and fanned the cards in front of him. A pair of tens and a jack. Not great, but not a disaster. He glanced at Strauss, who raised his glass slightly. Call. Arthur matched the current bet with a practiced nonchalance, his fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the table as the dealer burned a card and laid out the flop.

The first three community cards were a ten, a six, and a king. Arthur’s heart gave a small leap—three of a kind. He fought to keep his expression neutral, instead letting his gaze drift to Desmond, whose grin had only widened. Stretching across his face like a predator catching the scent of prey. The man leaned forward, placing a hefty stack of chips in the center of the table.

“Well now,” Desmond drawled, thick with smug assurance. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Mr. Callahan.”

Arthur smirked faintly, just enough to convey the faintest hint of amusement. His eyes flicked toward Strauss, seated unobtrusively nearby. The older man’s subtle adjustment of his cufflink was all the signal Arthur needed. Raise.

With a casual air, Arthur pushed a modest stack of chips forward. His movements were deliberate, his confidence measured—not too eager, not too indifferent. “I think I’ve got enough to keep you interested,” he replied, calm and edged with just enough arrogance to match Desmond’s.

The dealer’s hand moved like clockwork, revealing the turn card: a queen. Arthur’s stomach twisted slightly, the potential for a straight on the board setting his nerves alight. He glanced toward Strauss again, noting the man’s nonchalant sip of his drink. It was a subtle gesture, but one that reassured him. Stay steady.

Desmond leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath his weight as he studied the table. Fingers working along the lines of his greasy mustache. His eyes flicked to Arthur, sharp and devious, before he reached for his chips. The move was slow, calculated, meant to unnerve. He tossed another large stack into the pot, the satisfying clink of chips echoing in the air. 

“Interesting spread,” he remarked, with a casual curiosity that belied the sharp edge of his intent.

Arthur let a small grin tug at the corner of his mouth as he leaned slightly forward, resting his forearms on the table. “That it is,” he replied easily, though his mind was a flurry of calculations. Was Desmond bluffing, or was there something more behind that grin?

The other players shifted in their seats, their eyes darting between Arthur and Desmond. The tension at the table had thickened, the unspoken stakes rising with each passing moment. Arthur glanced down at the pile of chips in the center of the table—a small fortune, and growing.

Arthur picked up his cards, running his thumb along the edge as he feigned a moment of indecision. He reached for his chips. Adding to the pot, his stack noticeably smaller than Desmond’s but enough to keep the game moving. He was playing a risky game, betting it all on Strauss’ cues. 

Desmond chuckled low, the sound rumbling in his chest like thunder. “Oh, I like you,” he said, settling back into his chair. “Let’s see if you’re really worth something.”

“You will come back and I will come back.

You will remember, and I will remember.

I will remember you.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Several hands and countless whiskey glasses later, Arthur’s confidence had ballooned alongside the growing pile of poker chips in front of him. The other men at the table had already folded, their pockets emptied and their spirits dampened, leaving only Arthur and Desmond in the game. Arthur leaned back in his chair, a cocky grin stretching across his face as he watched Desmond spiral, his cool demeanor slipping with every hand lost.  

The dealer laid out the community cards: a seven, a ten, and a jack. Arthur glanced at his hand, the alcohol lending a loose swagger to his movements. His confidence only grew when Desmond called his bet and revealed his cards—a pair of jacks.  

“Ain’t that interestin’,” Arthur drawled, his southern accent exaggerated by the whiskey warming his veins. He set his cards down with a flourish, two queens staring up from the table. “Pair of cowgirls,” he smirked.  

The dealer methodically revealed the turn and river cards—a king and a three. Arthur’s grin widened as the realization sank in: the pot was his. A cool $500 lay before him, and Desmond had nothing left to play with.  

Arthur slapped the table and laughed heartily, scooping the chips toward him in a show of triumph. “I guess my luck held.”  

Desmond stared at the table, his face reddening as he tossed his cards aside in frustration. “Shit… SHIT!”  

Arthur’s grin didn’t waver as he continued to stack his winnings. “Is that you done?” he asked, his tone light and dripping with feigned indifference.  

Desmond looked up sharply, narrowing his eyes. “Done?”  

Arthur counted out a few chips, letting them clink dramatically as he spoke. “You know, bust. Or, uh… you got something else to play with?”  

This was it—the moment Arthur had been angling for all night. The final part of the plan was to push Desmond into a corner, leaving him with no choice but to wager his collateral. He needed to make Desmond believe there was one last shot to redeem himself.  

“Meaning?” Desmond’s tone was cautious, his pride warring with suspicion.  

Arthur leaned back, shrugging with calculated indifference. “Well, I heard there were some big boys on this boat,” he mused, picking at an imaginary speck of dust on his sleeve. “Maybe that’s not you…”  

The bait was set, and Desmond took it. His fist came down hard on the table, sending the poker chips scattering and earning a sharp look from the dealer. “Sit your hillbilly ass back down,” he growled.  

Arthur arched a brow, his grin fading just enough to feign curiosity. “Why?”  

Desmond straightened his posture, puffing up like a rooster in a cockfight. He cleared his throat and leaned forward, voice low and gravelly. “I got a watch. An expensive one, real fine. A Reutlinger, no less. It’s in the safe upstairs.” He paused, lighting a cigar with the ease of a man trying to reclaim his composure. “It’s worth more than your life.”  

Bullseye. Arthur’s grin returned, wider and more predatory this time. The fool had taken the bait, hook, line, and sinker.  

“Well, now,” Arthur said, settling back into his chair with an exaggerated air of ease. He tossed a hefty pile of chips into the pot, letting them fall with a satisfying clatter. “As you wish. Let’s play.”  

Desmond grinned back, but it was strained, his confidence already faltering. The tension at the table was unmistakable, the stakes higher than ever as the game continued. Arthur, for all his swagger and charm, remained focused on the end goal. The plan was working, and Desmond didn’t even know it. 

It was almost too easy, like taking candy from a child. Desmond, desperate to claw his way back to the top, leaned forward with a cocky grin, his voice slick with overconfidence. “All in,” he declared, shoving his remaining chips into the pot.  

Arthur masked his pride with a show of reluctant hesitation. He sighed heavily, furrowing his brow as if genuinely troubled. “Guess I can’t back out now,” he muttered, his tone laced with just enough doubt to sell the act. Slowly, he pushed his pile of chips toward the center of the table.  

The dealer glanced between them, his disinterest barely masked by the motionless raise of an eyebrow. “Gentlemen,” he muttered, dealing out the cards with practiced precision.  

Desmond, unable to contain himself, slapped his cards face up on the table before the community cards were even revealed. “Ha! Pair of Aces,” he announced triumphantly, leaning back with a smug grin.  

Arthur blew out a measured breath, placing his cards to the table with exaggerated care. “Pair of kings,” he said casually, though his tone betrayed a flicker of amusement.  

Desmond’s grin widened. “Very good, Mr. Callahan,” he said, dripping with patronizing satisfaction. “But not good enough.”  

The dealer began flipping over the house cards. A nine, an ace, and a four came first. Desmond smirked as a fire ignited in his eyes, like a dog begging for a bone. He was already tasting victory. But then came the jack, followed by a two—both diamonds.  

The dealer gestured to Arthur’s hand with a flourish, his monotone voice cutting through the room. “Mr. Callahan wins with an ace-high diamond flush.”  

For a moment, the room was utterly silent. Then Arthur leaned back in his chair, letting out a low whistle before he reached forward to collect the mountain of chips. “Yes, you little beauty,” he said with a broad grin, examining his cards as though they had been blessed by the gambling gods.  

Desmond’s face twisted in rage before he quickly masked it, sucking in a sharp breath and forcing himself to sit back down. “God damn you,” he hissed, his voice trembling with barely restrained anger. Catching himself, he added, “N-no offense.”  

“None taken,” Arthur replied easily, his grin widening with a chuckle. He continued stacking his chips, whistling a jaunty tune under his breath as though this were just another day on the job. “Now, forgive my lack of discretion, but, uh... where might I find this watch of yours?”  

Desmond exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening as his mind worked furiously to save face. “It’s upstairs,” he said finally, standing with stiff movements. He smoothed his jacket with an agitated flick of his hand. “Shall we go have a look?”  

Arthur rose from his seat as he straightened his coat. “Why not,” he said nonchalantly.

The two men made their way toward the staircase, Desmond leading the way with a thin veneer of composure while Arthur followed, his eyes scanning the room with the relaxed confidence of a man who knew he had already won far more than a card game. 

The path to the grand staircase was alive with the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter from one of the tables. The air buzzed with energy, the evening in full swing. As Arthur and Desmond made their way toward the opulent structure leading to the second floor, Arthur’s gaze instinctively drifted to the stage.  

Kate was there, leaning casually against the piano as she exchanged a few words with her accompanist. Taking a break between her performances. Her soft laughter cut through the ambient noise, warm and genuine, like a ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. She was smiling, her face radiant under the glow of the stage lights. Arthur’s chest swelled with pride, the weight he was carrying momentarily lifted from his shoulders.  

She had nailed her performance. Every note, every calculated smile, every subtle gesture had landed perfectly. The room had been wrapped around her finger, just as they’d planned. Arthur’s concerns from earlier seemed distant now, dissipating like the smoke from a cigar.  

As they passed, Kate glanced up and caught his eye. For a brief moment, their gazes locked. Arthur gave her a subtle nod—confident, assured. We did it. Her lips curved into the faintest smile, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. The exchange was silent but powerful, a shared acknowledgment of a job well done. Arthur felt a surge of pleasure, a rare moment of triumph coursing through him. The thrill of a successful heist always had him feeling sublime. 

For the first time in weeks, the prospect of a better future didn’t feel like a dream. The gang could finally move on, leave the chaos behind, and start anew. This could be the turning point. This was the start of their future. 

He forced himself to look away, though the image of her smile lingered in his mind. The night wasn’t over yet, and he couldn’t afford to lose focus. But the thought of the evening’s success—and what it meant—had his blood humming with anticipation. He could hardly wait to tell her how proud he was in the private space of their room, though words wouldn’t be his chosen medium of expression.  

Desmond’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You there,” he called, addressing the guard stationed opposite the stage.  

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat when he realized the guard was Javier. His trusted friend had been keeping watch, his rifle at the ready. Arthur felt a flicker of unease at the interruption. Javier’s job was to keep an eye on Kate, ensuring her safety. He didn’t like the idea of him leaving his post.  

Desmond gestured toward the stairs. “Perhaps you could escort us up to the office?”  

Javier straightened, nodding crisply. “Yes, of course, sir.” He picked up his rifle with a practiced ease and stepped forward. “Follow me, gentlemen.”  

Arthur hesitated, his instincts bristling. But the tension slipped away as he reminded himself that they were nearly at the finish line. The hardest part was over. Now it was just a matter of tying up loose ends and walking out with the prize.  

He shot one last glance toward Kate, her laughter ringing in his ears. Then, with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, he followed Desmond and Javier up the stairs, the promise of victory spurring him onward.

“Do you know that woman?” Desmond asked casually, his voice just light enough to sound conversational, yet laced with curiosity.  

His sudden question came like a bolt from the blue as they ascended the grand staircase.

Arthur faltered, missing a step. “What? N-no, we just met—well, no, I, uh…” His tongue tripped over itself as he tried to find his footing. “I’ve never met her. This is my first time hearin’ her sing.” His words spilled out clumsily before he managed to rein them in. “Why you askin’?”  

Desmond chuckled, a sly grin tugging at his lips as they reached the top of the stairs and veered left down the carpeted hallway. “She’s been undressing you with her eyes the whole night. You must have some serious luck on you, sir.”  

Arthur felt his face grow uncomfortably warm, a sharp contrast to the cool air drifting through the hallway. “Yeah,” he said with a short, uneasy laugh, scratching at the back of his neck. “I guess so.”  

They trailed behind Javier, who moved with purpose through the corridor, his rifle slung casually over his shoulder. The hallway opened into a lavish lounge where the decadence of the riverboat came into full display. A second bar was alive with activity, bartenders expertly pouring drinks for a crowd of finely dressed men and women of questionable repute. Hookers lounged in booths, draped over their clients like silk scarves, while other patrons whispered in tight circles, their gazes following Arthur as he passed.  

The men’s eyes were cold, predatory, like snakes sizing up their prey. Arthur’s skin prickled with unease. A flicker of doubt wormed its way into his chest, tightening his breath. He hated the idea of leaving Kate downstairs, away from him. Strauss and Trelawny had their own schemes to juggle, and if anything went sideways, she’d be on her own.  

Javier led them through a set of polished double doors, stepping out onto the bow of the ship. The sudden rush of night air was startlingly refreshing. Arthur inhaled deeply, letting the chill cut through the thick haze of cigar smoke and liquor clinging to his senses. The icy breeze kissed his flushed cheeks, his breath puffing visibly in front of him like a phantom as they climbed another flight of stairs toward the captain’s office.  

“I think you’re going to like this watch, Mr. Callahan,” Desmond said, his tone dripping with the kind of casual arrogance that only money could buy. “It really is a handsome piece.” He smirked, as though this were just a minor inconvenience—a trivial dent in his wealth. “Right this way.”  

Javier pushed open the door to the captain’s office, revealing a well-appointed room with polished oak furniture and brass fixtures gleaming under the gaslight. Arthur’s sharp eyes caught the two men already present: the ship’s captain, a stout man with a neatly trimmed mustache, and a uniformed guard standing rigid near the desk.  

Desmond raised a hand, signaling for Arthur and Javier to wait. Arthur nodded, stepping back slightly as he clasped his hands behind him, his gaze drifting over the room. The faint creak of the ship beneath his boots and the distant hum of activity from below filled the silence as Desmond moved to the safe against the wall.  

The faint click of the safe’s lock disengaging was a sound Arthur had heard countless times before, but just as Desmond began to turn the handle, another door opened at the far end of the room. Arthur’s eyes snapped to the figure stepping inside. Their gazes locked, and for an instant, everything stopped.  

His pulse thundered in his ears, his breath catching in his throat. The man’s expression shifted, recognition sparking in his eyes like a struck match.  

Arthur’s heart dropped. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate gave a short bow from center stage, the spotlight warming her skin, her gown flowing like liquid gold around her as she finished her song. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt alive—a rare sensation these days, at the mayor’s garden party she felt beautiful and elegant only for a fleeting evening. But tonight? Tonight, she was the star. The crowd’s admiration filled her chest with a different kind of confidence she hadn’t known in years, and for a moment, the weight of her illness and the strain in her body had melted away. A smile graced her cheeks as she realized she was having genuine fun.

Her voice, steady and rich, wove through the night air, each note hit with precision, capturing the room’s attention and holding it there. They were all watching her, their eyes fixed, entranced by the music and the way she commanded the space. Some even paused their card games and drinking to listen. The energy in the room, buzzing and alive, lifted her high.

But through it all, there was one constant—Arthur. His broad, familiar frame and that confident grin lighting up his face. The storm of nerves and excitement she felt every time she sang seemed to quiet in his presence, as though his very gaze could calm the jittery flutter of butterflies of her stomach. Yet even as his presence steadied her, she couldn’t quite ignore the sharp ache in her chest, the weariness in her bones. The ship swayed beneath her feet, and despite the thrill of the night, her illness clung to her like a shadow.

She knew she was pushing herself too far, but she couldn’t stop—not now. The applause, the attention, the sense of purpose—it was intoxicating. But after a few more songs, she made the decision to let herself rest.

The poker players had already finished a few rounds by then, their voices drifting up from below, blending with the soft laughter and clinking glasses. Some had moved to the second floor to socialize, others to the bar for another drink. Arthur passed by her, making his way up the grand staircase, shooting her a smile that told her everything she needed to know. The night was a success. 

Her pianist, Vin, was a steady presence beside her, the perfect musical companion. His fingers had danced effortlessly over the piano keys, matching her every note, creating a melody that intertwined with her voice like magic. His talent was undeniable, and Kate found herself grateful for his partnership tonight. He was young—so much younger than she—and his skill was extraordinary. She had no doubt that one day his name would echo across the great concert halls of the world.

Vin leaned toward her, his voice warm with mirth as he carried on their conversation. “My father wants me to join the union, slaving away in the coal mines with him. But I think I’d rather die first.” He laughed.

Kate chuckled softly, shaking her head as she adjusted her posture leaning against the piano. “Well, you’re not your father. You’re your own man,” she said, gentle but firm, as though she were offering him the world’s most precious secret.

She watched him for a moment, his youthful face lit with the fire of his dreams, and it made her heart ache in a way she hadn’t expected. He reminded her so much of her brother—so young, so full of life. It was the cruel hand of fate that had stolen her brother away so long ago, and she couldn’t help but feel the sting again. The same coal dust, the same mines, had taken his life far too early.

Her expression softened, and she placed a hand on his arm. “Man? No," she corrected gently, almost to herself. “You’re just a kid. Your life is just beginning, Vin. You’ve got so much ahead of you. You’re smart, you’re talented... you’ve got all the time in the world to make this life whatever you want it to be.”

She gave him a smile, not just for him but for the hope she wished for herself— a hope she had nearly forgotten. Her hand subconsciously rubbed over her belly. 

Vin returned the smile, and looked down bashfully, a flush creeping up to his ears and he idly poked at the ivory keys. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, when a sudden noise caught her attention. 

From three stories up, the sound of gunfire cut through the air like distant whispers of thunder. The cracks were faint but sharp, the rhythm unsettling—three quick pops in succession. Each shot seemed to linger for a moment, hanging in the air before it scattered, ricocheting off the walls, fading into the chaos below. The noise was swallowed by the hum of the crowd, as though it never happened at all.

Kate's heart skipped a beat, the fear shooting up her spine like a dart lodged in her back. Her blood ran cold, instincts prickling with warning. She glanced frantically around the room, but no one else seemed to notice the gunfire. The patrons of the hall continued to talk and laugh, the click of dice and the shuffle of cards blending together. There was no panic, no rush to take cover. They were completely oblivious.

She shook her head, trying to push the unease away. Maybe it’s just the nerves from the performance, she thought. Maybe it’s nothing. But the faint, hollow pops still echoed in her mind, each one sending a ripple of dread through her chest. Something wasn’t right. Her instincts told her to act—she couldn’t ignore it.

Excusing herself from the stage, she moved quickly towards the bar, weaving through the dense crowd of gamblers. The noise was a blur of voices and clinking glasses. Her dress, heavy with layers of fabric, caught on chair legs, tugged by the movement of people passing by. With each step, she huffed out an annoyed breath, lifting the ruffles of her gown to avoid tripping. She quickened her pace, heels clicking against the wooden floor.

Trelawny was chatting casually with a group of patrons leaning against the bar. She caught sight of him, laughing too loudly, his voice thick with alcohol. His cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with the kind of joviality that only came from too many drinks. Kate’s eyes narrowed. There was no time for small talk.

She reached him, placing a gloved hand firmly on his shoulder. He turned to face her with a broad smile, his mannerisms exaggerated, as he was putting on a performance for the crowd.

"Ah! The beautiful songbird graces us with her presence. To what do I owe the pleasure, my dear?" he said with a flourish, introducing her to the people around him like she was a guest of honor.

Kate’s fingers tightened on his arm. “I need to speak to you,” she said, voice low and hurried. Leaving little room for pleasantries.

Trelawny raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Oh my, a bit forward, aren’t we?” he teased, winking flirtatiously.

Her grip tightened, pulling him closer. She met his eyes with an intensity that stopped him cold. "Josiah," she said, steady but laced with urgency. "This is serious."

The teasing faded from his face. His eyes shifted slightly, reading the tension in her. His posture changed, becoming more guarded. “What troubles you?” he asked, dropping his voice to a whisper.

Kate glanced around the room, her gaze sweeping over the crowd to make sure no one was eavesdropping. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to match his. “I think Arthur might be in some kind of trouble. Someone needs to check on him.”

Trelawny’s expression hardened, the playful air evaporating. He paused, processing her words, his mind calculating the possibilities. There was a long beat of silence before he nodded, his demeanor shifting into one of purpose. He started to move away from the bar, but then his gaze caught two familiar figures descending the staircase.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his smile returning but colder this time, voice pitched lower. "No need to worry, darling," he said lightly, though his eyes remained sharp. “Here comes the man of the hour himself.”

Kate turned, her gaze following his, and there they were—Arthur and Javier, descending the staircase with purpose. Their movements were quick yet deliberate, as if every step carried the weight of urgency. Relief washed over her when Arthur’s eyes met hers, but the feeling was short-lived. There was something behind his gaze she couldn’t place, something raw and unnerving, mirroring the anxiety that had been building in her chest.

He gave her a reluctant smile, but it was hollow, not reaching his eyes. When he reached the bar, he moved quickly, his hand coming to rest around her waist as he turned her away from the staircase, shielding her with his body. His grip was firm—too firm—and his touch burned with tension.

It was then she saw it. His knuckles, cracked and bloody, told a story he hadn’t yet spoken aloud. His shoulders were taut, his posture rigid, like a bowstring pulled to its limit. Ready to snap. The air around him seemed to hum with dread, his unease radiating off him like heat waves rising from the desert. Kate’s heart thudded heavily in her chest. 

Something had gone terribly wrong.

Before she could ask, the sharp cry of the steam whistle tore through the room, its wail slicing the noise. Ringing loudly in her ears. The sound reverberated off the walls, amplifying the panic that was spreading like wildfire among the passengers. People glanced around in confusion, voices rising in alarm. Across the hall, guards scrambled to ready their rifles, the metallic clatter of weapons adding to the chaos.

Kate’s breath hitched, and she spun to face Arthur. “Arthur, what did you do?” she shouted, strained as it fought to cut through the cacophony.

His eyes locked onto hers, and what she saw froze her in place. They were hollow, drained of color, as if a shadow had crept into his soul and stolen the light. He looked like a man haunted, his expression a mix of fear and something darker—surrender. As if he had given himself fully to the violence that often tore at his mind. His voice, when it came, was a low strained growl.

“I did what I had to.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Hugo Fucking Abernathy. 

The same pompous, self-important collector Arthur had relieved of a prized family brooch for Mary’s sake just the day before. Abernathy moved with a stiff arrogance, his finely tailored coat doing little to hide the puffed-up ego of a man who thought himself untouchable—until Arthur had proven otherwise. The evidence of their encounter was plain as day: a swollen, purpling bruise encircled his left eye, and a single stitch upon a busted lip. The skin was still tender and angry. It was a gift Arthur had delivered with a well-placed fist, and by the stiffness in Abernathy’s posture, it was clear he hadn’t forgotten.

Arthur straightened, his jaw tightening as he adjusted his stance. He kept his head bowed low, hoping the dim light would shield him. He turned slightly, as if studying the ledgers piled on the captain’s desk, but his ears honed in on Abernathy's voice.

He risked a glance, only to be sure, his gaze flicking to Hugo’s face. The collector’s good eye twitched, his expression suddenly sharpening as if a thread in his mind had been plucked. His gaze lingered on Arthur for a fraction too long.

“Wait…” Abernathy’s voice faltered, a seed of recognition blooming into full blown panic. His hand shot out, pointing directly at Arthur. “It’s you! The thief! You’re the bastard who robbed me yesterday!”

The room froze, the accusation hanging heavy in the air. Arthur caught Javier's subtle fixed look from the corner of his eye. Silently asking, what now? The captain stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the wooden floor.

“Now, let’s not be rash,” the captain said, his tone even but edged with caution.

But Abernathy wasn’t listening. His face flushed with anger and humiliation, and his hand darted toward his own weapon, fumbling with the holster. “Guards! Guards, this man is a criminal!”

The tension snapped like a taut wire. He nodded to Javier, who understood the assignment immediately. They needed to get out, and fast. Arthur surged forward, his instincts taking over as Abernathy’s hand closed around his pistol. The captain shouted something—perhaps an order, or maybe a warning—but the chaos drowned him out.

Javier raised his rifle with a sharp, deliberate motion, bringing the butt of it crashing down onto the temple of the nearest guard. The sound was sickening—a dull, wet thud followed by the crack of bone. The guard crumpled to the ground, blood trickling from a split in his scalp. Javier’s rifle swung back up in a fluid arc, now trained on Desmond, who staggered back with his hands raised, his eyes wide with terror.

Arthur’s chest heaved as his pulse thundered in his ears. His gaze locked onto Abernathy, whose pallid face was frozen in a grotesque mixture of fear and indignation. Arthur’s lips curled into a sneer, his voice a low, venomous growl. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.”

The words dripped with fury, but they weren’t just words—they were a promise. Arthur surged forward, a storm of rage and violence. His fist collided with Abernathy’s jaw, a brutal, bone-jarring impact that sent the man staggering. Arthur grabbed him before he could hit the ground, dragging him upright like a puppet.

Torment and doubt churned within Arthur, warring with the blinding fury that had taken hold. This was the part of himself he both feared and embraced—the part that felt nothing but the raw, savage satisfaction of dominance. He wasn’t a man in these moments. Not like a creature that was born, but rather a fire that was set. Consuming everything in its path.

“You’re a dead man,” Arthur hissed through gritted teeth, his breath hot against Abernathy’s face. 

One hand clamped down around the man’s throat, fingers digging into the soft flesh, while the other wrenched the pistol from his trembling grip. Abernathy sputtered and clawed at Arthur’s arm, his nails raking against fabric and skin, but Arthur didn’t relent.

Abernathy’s eyes darted wildly, his lips moving soundlessly as if searching for some plea that might save him. Arthur shoved him against the wall, the dull thud of his skull meeting wood reverberating through the room.

The cold barrel of the pistol pressed against Abernathy’s chin, the metal slick with sweat and shaking ever so slightly as Arthur’s hand trembled—not with fear, but with uncontainable rage.

“Please…” Abernathy croaked, hoarse and wet with desperation.

Arthur didn’t hear it. Or maybe he just didn’t care. In that moment, there was nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat, the deafening roar of anger that drowned out reason.

He pulled the trigger.

The gunshot was ringing in the enclosed space, a sharp, echoing crack that seemed to stretch into eternity. Blood sprayed upward in a crimson arc, splattering the walls and ceiling in a macabre display. Abernathy’s body went limp instantly, his lifeless eyes staring blankly as his head lolled to the side.

Arthur let the body drop, his hand still gripping the pistol tightly. Blood dripped from his knuckles, mixing with the crimson pool spreading across the floor. His chest rose and fell, each breath ragged and shallow.

Behind him, Javier shifted uneasily, his rifle still at the ready. “Arthur, we need to go. Now.”

Arthur didn’t respond. The fire in his chest hadn’t dimmed; if anything, it burned hotter. Slowly, he turned toward the captain who was already backing away, his hands raised in trembling surrender.

“Please, sir,” the old man began, his voice breaking as he tried to keep it steady. “Your quarrel with this man is no business of mine. Let’s all sit down and—”

Arthur raised the gun, and he froze mid-sentence, his lips parted. The words died in his throat as Arthur’s finger tightened on the trigger.

The second shot rang out in the confined space. The bullet struck him square between the eyes, snapping his head back violently. A red mist filled the air as it splattered across the wooden console behind him. The impact sent the man’s body careening backward over the ship’s wheel. He hit the floor with a sickening thud, his lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling.

Arthur didn’t even flinch.

The room was silent for a beat, save for the sound of Arthur’s labored breathing. His grip on the pistol tightened, his knuckles white, as he stared down at the carnage.

“Arthur…” Javier’s voice was softer now, cautious.

Desmond let out a strangled gasp from the corner of the room. “Oh, God,” he whispered, his voice shaking as his hands rose defensively. “Please! T-take whatever you want from the safe! I won’t say a thing, I swear!”

Arthur turned to face him, the pistol still gripped tightly in his hand. His eyes burned with a cold, detached fury, but there was something else behind them—something darker, heavier. Regret. It clawed at his insides, twisting like a knife. Leaving scars on his soul. 

Their luck had turned on a dime, but deep down, Arthur knew this was always how it would end. He felt like a fool for ever believing things might go smoothly. And he hated himself even more knowing he’d dragged Kate into this mess. The thought of her in danger because of his choices churned his stomach. He should’ve trusted his instincts. Should’ve made her stay home, even if it meant tying her to a chair. But he didn’t, and now the weight of that failure hung on him like a noose, tightening with every breath.

Desmond fell to his knees, his hands clasped together in a desperate plea. “Please, sir! I’ve got a family—a little girl! I-I’ll give you whatever you want! I’ve got money!”

For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Arthur stared down at the sniveling man before him, his chest rising and falling with the effort of keeping his emotions in check. Desmond's once arrogant smirk was gone, replaced by a pale, quivering mask of fear. Arthur’s jaw tightened as he took in the sight, a sickening satisfaction curling in his gut. It was his doing—his fury, his violence—that had shattered the man’s smug façade, and for a fleeting second, it felt like justice. But the satisfaction was hollow, tainted by the weight of everything it had cost them.

“You think I haven’t heard that before?” Arthur’s voice was low, almost gentle, but the gravity behind it was crushing. His hand trembled slightly as he raised the gun, the barrel leveling with Desmond’s forehead.

Desmond sobbed, his shoulders shaking. “I’m begging you, Arthur. Please I’m sorry—”

Arthur’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together as he fought against the tide of anger and sorrow threatening to overwhelm him. For a brief moment, he saw his reflection in Desmond—he pictured himself, on his knees, staring down his own death. The desperation, the fear, the willingness to do anything to survive. 

A father begging for one more chance. 

Kate’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, a desperate, pleading whisper begging him to put the gun down. To stop before it was too late. Do the right thing, Arthur. There’s still time. But her words felt distant, muted, like they were coming from somewhere far away, distorted as if he were submerged underwater. The pull of her voice fought against the roaring tide of his rage, but it wasn’t enough to break through.

“I’m sorry too,” Arthur murmured.

The shot rang out, and Desmond’s plea was silenced. His body jerked violently before crumpling to the floor, blood pooling beneath him. Arthur stared down at the lifeless form, his grip on the pistol slackening as the weight of it clattered to the floor. What he’d done settled over him like wet cement.

He wasn’t a man anymore. He was something else, something primal and unforgiving. And yet, beneath the rage and violence, a deep sadness gnawed at him, threatening to hollow him out entirely.

“Arthur!” Javier’s shout snapped him out of his daze. “We’ve got to move. Now.”

Arthur nodded stiffly, his body trembling as he fought to steady his ragged breathing and calm the furious pounding of his heart. He tore his gaze away from the carnage, the metallic tang of blood heavy in the air and clinging to his throat. His boots squelched slightly against the floor, leaving dark, bloody prints as he turned toward the door. He didn’t dare look back.

Outside the office, the chaos was eerily quiet, the silence almost suffocating. Only the hurried thud of their boots echoed down the stairs and through the narrow corridors, each step dragging them closer to whatever fight awaited. Arthur’s hand came up to his face, wiping away a mix of blood and sweat, leaving smudges across his skin. His jaw clenched as he forced himself to focus, shoving the storm of emotions back into the pit where they belonged.

“The alarm will sound any second,” Javier muttered, glancing back. “We don’t have much time.”

Arthur’s reply was low, flat, and void of anything but grim resolve. “We regroup with Kate and the others,” his words like iron. “Then we get the fuck off this ship.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Complete disorder and anarchy poured forth in the blink of an eye. Screams filled the air as passengers scattered like leaves in a storm, overturning chairs and smashing glasses in their frantic bid to escape. The cacophony of shouts and breaking glass was deafening. Kate's chest tightened, the panic clawing up her throat as the guards raised their rifles, their barrels gleaming in the dim light. Arthur moved without hesitation, his body a wall of protection as he pressed her against the bar, shielding her from their line of fire.

“Get down!” one of the lawmen barked, cutting through the din as he took aim.

Arthur’s hand shot out, seizing a barstool by its leg. With a roar of effort, he hurled it at the guard. The stool connected with a sickening crunch, sending the man sprawling to the ground. Kate froze, her wide eyes locked on Arthur as the raw power radiating from him seemed to fill the room. She thought she had known him—seen every facet of his being—but this primal, violent side was something else entirely.

He said something to her urgently, but it was drowned out by the thunder of gunfire and the pounding of her own heartbeat. Her corset squeezed her ribs like sin as she fought to draw breath, every inhale shallow and desperate. The metallic scent of gunpowder stung her nose, adding to the dizzying swirl of sensations.

Nearby, Strauss and Trelawny darted through the chaos, their figures disappearing into the sea of fleeing bodies. Javier was only a few feet away, his rifle barking round after round as he shouted something unintelligible over the melee.

Kate's instincts screamed at her to run. She had no weapon, and no means of defense in her heavy gown. Her pulse thundered as her feet moved on their own, ready to bolt for any semblance of safety. But before she could take more than a step, Arthur’s arm locked around her waist. With ease, he hoisted her onto the bar, his strength momentarily taking her breath away. Confusion flickered across her face, but it vanished as he shoved her backward, guiding her behind the bar's shelter.

“Stay down, and stay with me,” he commanded, edging with a desperation she could feel in her bones.

Arthur moved with purpose, reaching beneath the bar and finding the rifle stashed there—a precaution every barkeep worth his salt knew to take. Relief flickered in his eyes for a fleeting moment as his hands gripped the familiar weight of the weapon.

The sharp crack of gunfire punctuated the chaos, each shot tightening the knot of dread coiled in Arthur’s stomach. He moved on instinct, his mind a whirlwind of emotions buried deep beneath a layer of practiced focus. He couldn’t afford to be vulnerable, not with Kate's life hanging in the balance.

The anger he felt toward himself burned like a furnace, fueling his every motion. She shouldn’t have been here. He shouldn’t have let her come. He’d made a mistake—a deadly one—and now the weight of it pressed down on him as heavily as the rifle in his hands.

The words he couldn’t say clawed at the back of his throat as he scanned the room for their next move. Regret. Fear. Guilt. They all churned within him, but there was no time to dwell on them now. He tightened his grip on the rifle and prepared for whatever hell was coming next.

Kate’s breath was ragged, clawing at her chest as panic swirled within her like a storm. Her hands trembled as they fumbled at the tight corset, desperate to loosen the constricting fabric that seemed to tighten with every breath. The world spun around her, the ship rocking against the river, its erratic movement only adding to the dizziness in her head and roiling in her stomach. Her heart thundered in her chest, breaths coming in quick, shallow pants.

The stench of gunpowder mixed with the iron tang of blood made her stomach churn. She felt something wet beneath her gloves, sticky and foreign, and for a terrifying moment, she feared it was her blood. But when she looked down, all she saw were shards of glass and spilled whiskey pooling around her, dark and viscous, like fallen stars scattered across the floor.

“Arthur...” Her voice broke as it slipped from her lips—soft, desperate, and raw, like a wounded animal pleading for its life. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force her mind into focus, willing herself to breathe deeply, to regain control.

Suddenly, a sharp grip on her arm yanked her roughly to her feet. A strangled yelp tore from her throat as she jerked back, but the moment she looked up, she saw him. 

Arthur Morgan.

Without a word, she leaned into him, her body trembling against his as she whispered, “A-Arthur, I can’t breathe.” The panic in her voice made his chest ache, his protective instinct kicking in as he tightened his grip around her.

“C’mon sweetheart, we gotta move,” he urged, softer than she expected, but it trembled with the weight of what they’d just been through. His heart wrenched when he saw the fear in her eyes, the way her body shook under his touch. He could feel her fear like a snake coiled around his own chest, crushing him.

She was trembling in his arms, but it wasn’t just from the chaos—it was him. He was the cause of this fear, of this vulnerability. And in that moment, it felt like the world had come crashing down around him. He wasn’t sure how to fix this—how to make it better. All he could do was hold her, guide her through the madness, and hope that somehow, they’d make it out alive.

Pulling her from behind the bar, Arthur tried his best to shield Kate from the horrors strewn across the room. The lifeless bodies, twisted and broken, lay in pools of blood that reflected the shattered lights above. Chairs and tables were overturned, glass shards glittering like jagged stars on the ground. The acrid stench of gunpowder mixed with a sickly metallic scent filled the air, suffocating and heavy.

Arthur led her after Javier, weaving through the carnage and into the narrow corridors in search of an escape. He knew the odds were stacked against them. They couldn’t just take a rowboat—the open water would leave them vulnerable, exposed. Yet, for Kate’s safety, he’d fight through every guard, every impossible hurdle, even the devil himself.

The sound of boots thundering down the hallway made Arthur spin, his hand on Kate’s arm as three guards rushed into view. Gunshots exploded, ringing sharply in the confined space as Javier fired off rounds. Arthur shoved Kate into the nearest room, slamming the door shut behind them.

The room was dark, the air stale and quiet save for the muffled chaos outside. A thin beam of light streamed through a gap in the heavy red velvet curtains that led to the main room. Kate’s breath hitched, her mind racing as realization dawned. This was the stage room. 

“Vin?” she called, her voice trembling as she pushed herself off the wall. Ignoring the ache in her chest, she began frantically searching the room. Her hands tore open closets, peered into corners, and clawed through shadows, her voice growing louder, more desperate with every unanswered call.

Arthur stayed near the door, his back pressed to it as he fired at any movement in the corridor. Between rounds, he glanced back at Kate, her panic slicing through him like a blade.

Kate’s search slowed as her gaze fell on the curtains. They fluttered softly in the cold draft from the open door, beckoning her. A sick dread twisted her stomach as she pulled them aside.

There, on the stage, was Vin.

Her breath caught in her throat, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis. His young body slumped against the piano, head lolled at an unnatural angle. Blood streaked the white keys, dripping onto the stage below. His face—or what was left of it—was an ugly ruin. The gaping hole where his eye had been was surrounded by torn flesh and splintered bone. Pieces of him, pieces she remembered so vividly—his wide grin, the dimple in his cheek, the light in his eyes—were now scattered across the black piano like a butcher’s table.

One of life's biggest cruelties; being caught in the wrong moment at the wrong time.

Kate staggered back, her vision swimming as bile rose in her throat. She turned away, clutching at the wall for support, and retched violently. Her stomach emptied onto the floor until there was nothing left, her body convulsing as sobs tore from her chest. The room spun, her knees buckling under the weight of her grief.

“Oh god,” she choked, gasping for air as tears blinded her. “Oh my god, Vin!”

Arthur was at her side in an instant, his hand steady and firm on her back as she heaved. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to offer empty words of comfort. Instead, he reached out and pulled the curtain closed, his jaw tightening as he caught a glimpse of the stage.

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath, the image searing itself into his memory. He turned back to Kate, voice low and urgent. “We have to go, Kate. We can’t stay here.”

Arthur pulled Kate’s trembling body up, his arm steady as he guided her toward the door. She moved like a ghost, her legs stumbling beneath her, her mind shattered.

“H-he was just a kid, Arthur,” she whispered, thick with unspeakable sorrow. The sound of it cut his soul deeper than anything ever could.

“I know, baby,” Arthur said, his tone soft, though the urgency in his eyes betrayed his own turmoil. “But we gotta keep moving. Just a little longer.”

Javier peeked into the corridor and nodded; the coast was clear for the moment. Arthur tightened his grip on Kate’s hand and whispered, “We gotta run now, alright? Just hold on to me.”

Kate swallowed the lump in her throat, her hot tears still streaming down her cold cheeks. With shaking hands, she wiped at her face and nodded. Arthur managed a small, pained smile and squeezed her hand. “That’s my girl.”

They bolted into the night, the bitter cold gnawing at Kate’s exposed skin like a predator. Her dress clung to her legs, heavy and dragging her down with every desperate step, as if the fabric itself sought to betray her. The wind howled around them, its icy fingers slicing through the thin material and biting at her cheeks until they burned. Her sobs, raw and unending, were snatched away by the roaring gusts, leaving her chest heaving in silence as her tears froze to her skin.

Arthur’s hand in hers was a lifeline, his grip strong and unyielding. The rough calluses of his palm pressed firmly into her own, grounding her in a way nothing else could. It was more than just a physical hold—it was a steady reassurance that no matter how dark and unforgiving the night became, he wouldn’t let her go. Through the biting cold and the pounding of her own heart, that grip was the only thing that kept her from sinking into darkness.

Javier led the way across the hull, and when they reached the bow, he glanced over his shoulder. “We gotta jump!” he shouted over the roar of the wind and water. “The others are already in the river. No time left—vamanos!”

Without hesitation, Javier vaulted over the guard rail and vanished into the churning abyss below. Kate froze, her breath catching as she stared at the Lanahachee River. Its dark waters twisted and writhed like a living thing, crashing against the ship with a relentless, hungry fury. Each wave clawed at the hull, rising and falling with a deafening roar. The white foam frothing like the teeth of a beast. The faint lights of Saint Denis flickered on the horizon, their serene glow a cruel contrast to the chaos around her, as if the city itself was mocking her terror.

It whispered to her—abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Arthur stepped over the railing, his boots squeaked as they gripped the slick metal. He turned to her, his hand outstretched. “C’mon, darlin’. I promise—it’ll be alright.”

But his words rang hollow, an empty comfort against the reality before them. The river was a churning tempest, its currents violent and unforgiving, ready to drag anything beneath its black surface. Even if they survived the fall, the odds of making it to shore were slim at best. Kate’s legs felt like stone, refusing to move as her heart thundered painfully in her chest, each beat a reminder of the uncertainty that loomed.

“I can’t,” she whimpered, tears returning to streak her already tear-soaked face.

Arthur glanced behind her, spotting the flash of metal and the heavy stomps of boots. The guards were closing in. He reached back and grabbed her waist, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m sorry love, but we don’t have a choice.”

“No!” she screamed, “No, no, please!” Pushing against him with what little strength she had left.

Arthur clenched his jaw, his heart aching at her resistance. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, more to himself than to her. 

A massive wave slammed into the side of the ship, sending icy spray cascading over them like shards of glass. The deck bucked violently beneath their feet, tilting sharply as the world seemed to lurch sideways. Kate’s scream ripped through the chaos, raw and desperate, as she instinctively reached for Arthur’s steadying hand. But when the ship groaned and righted itself, the space beside her was empty.

He was gone, swallowed by the abyss below.

“Arthur!” she screamed, raw and ragged as she lunged for the edge. The spray soaked her dress, and her eyes frantically searched the dark, rolling waves. There was no sign of him, no reassuring voice calling her back.

Her knees hit the railing, trembling as she braced to throw herself after him, her sobs choked and frantic. But before she could leap, something hard and unyielding struck the back of her skull with a sickening crack. The world erupted in a searing burst of white-hot pain, her vision splintering into blinding stars. The cold bite of the metal railing dug into her ribs as she swayed, bile surging up her throat. The roar of the river below seemed to call her, and she teetered on the edge, her body dangerously close to collapse.

“Kate!” a familiar voice roared from the darkness, full of desperation.

Everything faded to black. Her thoughts dissolved into a void, and all the pain, fear, and desperation slipped away, leaving only an empty, cold darkness.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur’s mind and heart waged a brutal war, each strike tearing into the fragile remnants of his humanity. Clawing at his consciousness, rending the flesh of his soul, the agony was relentless. The icy water gnawed at his skin, but he barely felt it. The surge of adrenaline that kept his body moving was nothing more than a hollow echo in the void that had consumed him.

He stared, a deadened numbness suffusing his being, as the guards dragged her away. His woman. His Kate. His entire world. Ripped from him in a heartbeat, and it was all his doing. His fault.

A cruel, familiar voice slithered into his mind—a ghost from the days when he drowned himself in whiskey, trying to forget how he had failed the mother of his child and only son. Doomed to repeat the same mistakes.

Did you forget Arthur? No sleep for the wicked. Not for you.

The words coiled around his heart like a noose, pulling tighter with every beat. His gut twisted as the truth seeped into his marrow. 

You have blood on your hands. On your lips. On your teeth.

The weight of it crushed him, suffocating him beneath the silence of his own guilt. The river surged around him, uncaring, as the voice whispered its condemnation.

You can’t outrun it. You never will. You’re a curse and death follows you like a shadow.

It’s mocking echo rang in his ears.

Smile, Arthur. You’re the Devil’s favorite joke.

AN: I fear this chapter was kinda all over the place. The switching POVs probably got a little confusing. But WHEW! Talk about that ending huh? I had a few ideas for how this would go, but I think this makes the most sense. I hate torturing them, the last scene with Arthur was gut wrenching to write. But the show must go on.

Thank you for reading, I really enjoy writing this fic and seeing all your feedback. It means so much to me <3

Below are some inspo pics for Kate's dress!!

[punchelf]

I give you: The Idiots

He's a Sad DILF (TM) with survivor's guilt, she's a retired hooker with a heart of gold and trust issues. They're middle aged, traumatized, and touch-starved. Their joints hurt. Neither of them thought they'd find love at their age. They snore. They don't know how to talk about their feelings, but by god they're trying their best. They're an old married couple and the horniest newlyweds you know. They do laundry on sundays.

More seriously, I was drawn to Raubahn immediately as Ship Potential; he's a Professional Violence Man who is also gentle, intelligent, noble, patient, loyal, and kind. For Moni, who has only ever been used and abused by men, that is both extremely attractive and utterly terrifying, and that alone is like catnip. As I fleshed out Moni's backstory and personality, the ship only got more compelling.

Both of them clawed their way up from the bottom by putting their bodies on the line - him in the Coliseum, her in the pleasure house, - but instead of saying 'fuck you I got mine' they decided to use their positions/power in service of the greater good. They live for their duty, always putting other first at the expense of their own health and happiness.

They're also both competent, mature adults who have lived through unimaginable trauma and who deserve all the tenderness and softness they offer to others without a second thought. I LIVE for that shit. I love taking characters who are never allowed to be vulnerable and forcing them to face the mortifying ordeal of being known (and loved). I love making characters who live by violence shatter under a gentle touch. I love making grown women question their life choices and grown men cry. This ship gives me all of that, and I have written 120k+ words and counting about these idiots. They live rent free in my brain.

tldr; I'm a slut for characters who have known nothing but hardship finding tenderness for the first time and struggling to accept that they deserve it, and this ship is that x2 + they're both hot + I'm a useless bisexual.

Another random WoLQotD/OC question

I thought I'd ask this while I worked on my other questions. :)

If you're a WoL x NPC shipper, what drew you to that ship and why? What makes that ship the pinnacle for you and your oc? Is it that you love the canon character you write them with, you find their dynamic interesting or something in between?

If you're not a WoL x NPC shipper, but you have a ship with another person, how did that come about? What makes that ship fulfilling for you? Has the ship impacted your relationship with that other person? Feel free to gush, I wanna hear it!

Oh, and pictures are a must (if you have them).