#romance of the thee kingdoms

[zhoudadudugongjin]

[the-monkey-ruler]

I was reading some Chinese texts and stories, and I have seen that while the immortals have their magic, they despise sorcery. Why is sorcery seen as negative by immortals and why are they different? (like, I think it's mentioned that Shen Gongbao relied more on sorcery even thought he has an immortal teacher)

I'm afraid I don't quite understand the English difference of how 'sorcery' and 'magic' are different things let alone how the translator from what you read translated the original characters. I have never seen any king of cultivation in Daoism being translated as 'sorcery' so I can't say what really say what the original characters could be talking about. It could be talking about 巫术 which I think sometimes include blood rituals but never seen in stories as something ‘bad’ or even acknowledged in Daoist stories. If anything, I think they were more regarded as doctors with unusual methods and fairly good with technology. But I really only seen it to describe Western wizards/witches the most so I cannot say how mush it is used in Daoist stories.

As far as I have been aware Shen Gongbao uses cultivation just as any other immortal and I do not think that he has ever killed/taken his cultivation from any other living creature. That is the only thing I can assume would be 'bad' as it is feeding off another's life force or perhaps even just meaning 'using cultivation for trouble.' I recall that most of his 'evil' deeds come more from Shen Gongbao's ability to manipulate people are his words and being a vengeful man rather than anything dark with his cultivation.

The best guess I can give you is that Shen Gongbao in your translation is the bad guy of the narrative and thus the term 'sorcery' has negative implications in Western term and that is why it is used. Similar to how 'fairy' is used for 仙 when 'immortal' is more proper but this chance depends on whether the immortal is a woman or not.

You can take a read yourself but I think it is just a translation preference.

"Taoism branched from witchcraft. During the Jin and Tang dynasties, due to the participation and compilation of literati and the absorption of a large number of Buddhist scriptures and theories, the original religious form of witchcraft and Taoism became theorized, and Taoism developed a large distance from witchcraft. Taoism has since risen to the level of the upper ruling class, while shamanism has continued to flow among the people. Since the ruling class in history banned witchcraft and " obscene sacrifices" from an orthodox position, the survival of witchcraft has become very difficult. Therefore, witchcraft began to seek survival and a way out. First of all, it was to get closer to Taoism. So that the people also agree that they belong to Taoism. As this development continued, witchcraft and Taoism gradually merged, forming a form of shamanism consisting of both witchcraft and Taoism, and the "two gates of Taoism and Law", namely internal witchcraft and external Taoism.

First of all, shamanism must identify Taishang Laojun , the ancestor god of Taoism , as its leader to confirm that shamanism also belongs to "Laojun's religion" or "Laojun's sect". So based on the legend of Laozi , I compiled the origin of Taishang Laojun, thinking that witchcraft became the original version of Taoism. In addition to moving Taishang Laojun, Zhang Tianshi , Sanqing , Sanyuan, Sanguan, Wuyue , Sidu , Xuantian God and many Taoist gods were also moved into the witch altar, and they were named "Taishang Wuling Laojun" Or "The Supreme Three-Yuan Heart Zhengfa", "The Supreme Five Thunder Purple Micro Thunder Court" and other titles were listed on it, and they absorbed a large number of Taoist scriptures such as "The Supreme Sutra of Changing Purity", "The Supreme Xuantian Miao Sutra", "Tai Shang Zi Wei Treasure Repentance", "Tai Shang Laojun Xing Treasure Repentance", "Three Officials Sutra", "The Three Officials of Heaven, Earth and Water to Eliminate Disasters and Sinless Confessions", "Eleven Days", "South Dou Sutra", The Beidou Sutra and other sutras and confessions are enriched in the witchcraft and Taoist altar with Taoist rituals.

- "A Discussion on the Formation of Witch-Tao Culture in the Symbiosis Cultural Circle" by Ye Mingsheng

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 24 - The Story of That Past

Summary: Tension runs high as Arthur grapples with the weight of impossible choices, his loyalty to the gang tested against his growing desperation to protect Kate. Meanwhile, Kate endures her own silent battle, caught between the chilling reality of her imprisonment and the lingering hope that Arthur will not abandon her.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

AN: This is a shorter chapter (8k words), a bit of a break from what happened in the last one while also setting up what's coming....

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

In the center of the clock, inside the now–choices gather, waiting to be made. The swamp is alive with anticipation. Dangers and saviors. Lovers and predators. The lie is in the separation. The truth is always growing. ~ Lily Brooks-Dalton

The darkness begins to dissolve with the dawn. The morning birds take up their chorus and claim the day as the encroaching sun warms the land and chases the fog. Arthur trudged toward Shady Belle; their home, their refuge. A kingdom of lesser glory, nestled within the embrace of the bayou. His clothes clung to him, damp and heavy, a physical reminder of the regret and fury that weighed on his soul. The events of the night replayed endlessly in his mind, each iteration amplifying the bitter truth: he had lost her.

Kate was gone—taken prisoner. 

The woman he loved was in the clutches of the law. Being held in a cell he knew was meant for someone like him. The money they'd risked so much for was swallowed by the Lanahachee.Whatever riches they had, slipped from their pockets in their escape. The river's hungry waves lay claim to the treasure. 

Time was of the essence now, the ticking clock posed the next greatest threat. Like a predator nipping at his heels. Arthur needed to act fast, before a fate that should have been his own was inflicted upon her. He couldn’t bear the thought of the noose tightening around Kate’s neck, of the life they’d barely begun slipping away forever.

At camp, the day unfolded with routine indifference. Figures moved sluggishly through the morning haze: Pearson cracking eggs and humming an off-key tune, the girls gathering laundry into baskets, and others nursing steaming cups of coffee as they shook off the remnants of sleep. A few greeted Arthur, their voices warm and casual, but he ignored them. His gaze locked on the weathered table where Dutch, Hosea, John, and Micah sat in conversation, and he made a beeline for it.

“Arthur!” Dutch called cheerfully, a smile curling beneath his mustache. “You look like you’ve seen better days. Where’s your companions?” His eyes flicked to the muddy, damp clothing and Arthur’s lone arrival.

“Riverboat was a bust,” Arthur snapped. “We lost the money—and they took Kate.”

The atmosphere shifted in an instant. Hosea and John turned toward him, their faces mirroring his urgency—first shock, then confusion. Dutch sighed, leaning back in his chair and swirling his coffee lazily. “That’s a shame,” he mused. “There was a lot of money on that boat.”

Arthur’s anger boiled over, his fist slamming onto the table with enough force to rattle the plates and cups. “Did I stutter?” he growled in a low roar. “The law has Kate, we need to hit the prison before they hang her!”

His outburst drew the attention of the entire camp, heads swiveling to watch the confrontation. Hosea raised a calming hand, his tone measured but firm. “Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, son. They’ve no reason to hang her—not yet. Most likely, she’ll get a trial.” His gaze softened as he gestured for Arthur to sit. “But we need to know exactly what happened on that boat.”

Arthur leaned forward, his fists pressed against the splintered surface of the table, knuckles whitening under the strain. His breath hissed out, slow and measured, as he fought to temper the storm building inside him. “Same thing that always happens, ‘Sea,” he began, low and ragged. “Ran into some fella that recognized me. Didn’t have time to think—I killed ‘em before he even drew. You know how the rest goes.”

John tilted his head, his curiosity cutting through the tension. “How’d he recognize you? From Blackwater?”

Arthur shook his head sharply, his lips pressing into a grim line as guilt weighed on him like a millstone around his neck. There was no time to dwell on the how or the why, not now. But the truth corroded the edges of his mind—this was his fault. It always was. 

Having lived his life with a heavy hand, Arthur carved his way through the world with the kind of cruelty that had been beaten into him from the start. It was all he knew, but that didn’t make it right. 

If only he’d done things differently—if he’d been kinder, softer, more patient. Or maybe if he’d refused to help Mary altogether. His chest tightened at the thought, a bitter cocktail of regret and remorse. If he’d turned her away, none of this would’ve happened. Kate wouldn’t be rotting in a cell because of his choices. But there was no going back, no undoing the path he had carved.

“Does it matter?” He didn’t wait for an answer, the words tumbling out in a growl. “Javier and I damn near killed every lawman on that boat. Civilians got caught in it too.” He hesitated, his jaw tightening as emotion threatened to overwhelm him. “Kate’s pianist...he—” Arthur stopped himself, swallowing hard. “None of it matters. What matters is Kate’s not well, hasn’t been for some time. She’s alone in that cell, and she’s countin’ on me to get her out.”

The table fell silent, John and Hosea exchanging somber glances. Hosea leaned back in his chair, his face creased with thought, while Dutch smoothed the edge of his mustache, staring off into the distance as if searching for answers in the murky swamp beyond.

Dutch exhaled slowly, setting down his coffee with deliberate calm. “Arthur,” he said finally, measured yet edged with caution. “I understand how you feel, but breaking her out right now? That’s suicide. The law’s probably on high alert after last night, and Saint Denis is crawling with Pinkertons. You’d get yourself killed—or worse, all of us.”

Arthur straightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “She ain’t just anyone, Dutch. She’s one of us.” His voice cracked, betraying his anger and desperation. “We can’t just leave her there to rot.”

“We’re not leaving her,” Hosea gently reminded. 

Dutch countered, his eyes narrowing. “We need to be smart about this. Rushing in without a plan isn’t going to help anyone, least of all her.”

Micah, who had been lounging in his seat with a smug grin, leaned forward, tapping the table with his finger. “Now hold on a second,” his oily voice drawled. “Ain’t the Saint Denis Bank on the same block as the jail?”

The air went still, everyone turning to look at him. Micah’s grin widened as he leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Two birds, one stone, gentlemen. We plan it right, we hit the bank and spring the lady. Walk out with Kate plus a whole lotta money.”

Arthur shot Micah a look of pure disdain. “What the fuck are you gettin’ on about? This ain’t about the goddamn money, Micah—”

“Now, wait a moment, Arthur,” Dutch interrupted cautiously, leaning forward with a glint in his eye that Arthur had seen too many times before. The gears in Dutch’s mind were already spinning, and his voice took on that same smooth edge, the one he used when trying to sell his schemes to the gang. “That… is certainly an idea,” he said, a finger rising to punctuate the thought. “This might be a new opportunity for us.”

John scoffed audibly, shaking his head with exasperation. “Jesus fucking Christ, Dutch,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for everyone to hear. “It never ends with you, does it?” 

Arthur could feel the heat rising under his skin, his anger simmering close to the surface. He stared at the man he had devoted his life to, the man who was supposed to lead them—not gamble their lives for profit. “You want to rob the bank and break Kate out at the same time?” His voice dripped with disbelief, tinged with bitter disappointment. “That,” he emphasized, shaking his head, “is how you’ll get her killed.”

“You’d be risking her life, Dutch,” Hosea added firmly in agreement, carrying the weight of reason. Arthur felt a flicker of gratitude for the older man’s support, but it did little to cool the fire inside him.

Dutch waved them both off with a dismissive flick of his hand, taking a deliberate sip of coffee as though the conversation didn’t warrant urgency. Before anyone could speak again, Micah leaned forward with that snake-like grin, slick and taunting. “She knew the risks when she started sleepin’ with ya, cowpoke. Hell, I’m surprised—the women you touch don’t seem to live long—”

The words barely left Micah’s mouth before Arthur lunged across the table, his hand gripping Micah’s collar and yanking him forward with a crash that sent cups and plates flying. The sound of clattering metal rang out as Arthur hauled him over the table, his voice was venomous. “You got somethin’ to say to me?” Arthur snarled, eyes burning with fury. “Go on, say it again—I’d sure love to shut you up right now.”

Dutch shot to his feet, his chair tumbling back against the dirt floor as he shouted, “That’s enough!” 

His voice carried a commanding weight, but Arthur didn’t let go, his grip on Micah tight as iron. Dutch stepped closer, grabbing Arthur’s arm in an attempt to pull him away. Arthur wrenched free with a sharp jerk, his glare snapping to Dutch.

“We need money, Arthur!” Dutch bellowed, his gravelly voice echoing through the hollow, rotting camp of Shady Belle. “We need more money! Or do you think this world is just gonna hand us a goddamn miracle?”

Arthur released Micah with a rough shove, sending him sprawling backward, but his fury didn’t fade—it only burned inside him, bitter and heavy. The tension around camp was substantial, every gaze locked on the fractured core of their so-called family. Their fearless leader and his right-hand man. 

With a growl Arthur shot back, “you’re gamblin’ with her life, Dutch. Or is she just another pawn in your grand plan?” His eyes darkened with anger. 

“You lost the money and the girl. What do you expect me to do? March in there, guns blazing, and demand her release? Oh, and while I’m at it, maybe ask for ten thousand dollars too?” Dutch snapped, sharp with irritation as his patience wore thin.

Dutch’s words hung in the air, unyielding, echoing with the desperation of a man who had tied his soul to his schemes. Arthur didn’t need to hear any more to know the truth: Dutch wasn’t thinking about Kate, or the gang, or even their survival. It was the allure of money, of power, of proving to the world that he was still the man with all the answers. 

It burned in his eyes, that unrelenting need to reclaim what he thought he deserved. Arthur could see it clear as day, a fire that consumed everything—loyalty, love, even common sense. No matter how much Arthur wanted to fight it, to question his authority, he knew it was already too late.

The weight of it settled in Arthur’s chest like a stone, pressing down with every breath he took. He’d been through this too many times before—watching Dutch chase an ideal that was as hollow as the promises he made. Arthur’s heart twisted with something deeper than anger, even deeper than frustration: it was betrayal. 

Using Kate’s imprisonment to achieve his greed goes far beyond Arthur’s moral code. It was unforgivable. 

A bitter realization that no matter how hard he fought, how much of himself he gave, he was losing the man he had once believed in. Kate’s life, the gang’s safety, his own hopes—they were all just collateral in Dutch’s endless pursuit of an impossible dream. 

Arthur turned away, his gaze falling to the dirt beneath his boots, as if he could find some clarity there. But all he saw was the shadow of what they had been and the ruin they were becoming.

Hosea cleared his throat and stood up cautiously, his movements slow like he was approaching a spooked animal. “Dutch, please,” he said, soft but firm. “I insist we discuss this in more detail before making any rash decisions.” He gestured toward the decrepit manor, trying to guide Dutch away from the growing tension and toward a calmer space where reason might prevail.

“Indeed,” Dutch nodded, the fire in his eyes momentarily dimming. “Let’s work out the kinks, old girl. We could pull this off as soon as a week from now,” he mused, already envisioning the glory of his next big scheme.

The words hit Arthur like a physical blow. A week? The thought of leaving Kate alone, vulnerable, for even another hour gnawed at him like a caged wild animal. As Dutch passed by, Arthur reached out, his hand clamping down on the older man’s shoulder with restrained force. 

Leaning close, he growled in his throat, “all these years Dutch, you’ve had my devotion. But you know, I can really hate you sometimes.”

Dutch stopped, his expression unshaken, the picture of calculated calm. “You can hate me all you want, son,” he said, his tone almost paternal, as though scolding a rebellious child. 

“But you will respect me. I know this woman means a lot to you, but these people,” he gestured broadly to the camp, “they follow me. And when I’m gone, they’ll just find another monster. Do you know why, Arthur?” 

He leaned in close, dropping to a near whisper, heavy with the weight of his convictions. “Because they have to. They have to justify their wages. You’ll see.”

Arthur’s glare lingered, his fists tightening as Dutch walked away with that same confident stride, the one Arthur had once found reassuring. But now, it filled him with bitter resentment. The man he’d followed so faithfully, the man he’d believed in, felt more like a stranger with each passing day. Every decision Dutch made seemed to pull them further into chaos, and Arthur could feel the threads of his loyalty fraying, unraveling one by one.

His mind drifted to Kate, the only constant in a life of shifting sands. She was the one who truly held his loyalty, the one who knew his heart. And now, she was alone, locked away in a cold, unforgiving cell, likely wondering if he was coming for her. He wanted nothing more than to pull her out of this mess, to take her far away from Dutch, the gang, and the endless trail of blood and lies. For once, he longed to devote himself to something pure—someone who had become his entire world. His reason for breathing.

The weight of his past chained him to this life, and the thought of breaking free left him torn between duty and desire.

Micah stood next, brushing off his shirt as he sneered at Arthur. “You should be thanking me, you know,” he drawled, grin cutting like a dagger. “I just saved your girl’s ass back there— I’d say she owes me more than you do.” With a snide chuckle, he sauntered off, leaving Arthur’s fists clenched and his jaw tight with rage.

Only John remained at the table, leaning back in his chair as he watched the others disperse. After a moment of silence, he spoke, steady and reassuring. “You know I’ll help you, Arthur. I owe you that much.” His words carried a quiet resolve, a loyalty that Arthur felt down to his core, and for a moment, the weight on his shoulders felt just a little lighter.

Arthur let out a weary sigh, dragging a calloused hand down his face as if trying to wipe away the weight of the day. His body felt heavy, drained of energy, but his thoughts churned endlessly, circling back to Kate. She was strong—he knew that. Capable. But the thought of her sitting alone in that cell plagued him like a sickness. He clung to the small mercy that they wouldn’t hang her without a trial, and the trial was still days away. 

There’s still time, he told himself, as much to convince his heart as his mind. It was a fragile hope, but it was all he had.

“Thanks, Marston,” Arthur muttered, his voice rough and quiet. 

He didn’t wait for a response before turning and heading toward the manor, towards the room he shared with Kate. As he climbed the stairs he thought about how the space that once felt warm and alive, illuminated by her presence, now felt empty and hollow. He ached to change out of his damp, grimy clothes, to collapse onto that bed and let the weight of regret crush him fully. The anger that had burned so fiercely earlier had faded, leaving only a raw, consuming grief that settled deep in his chest like a parasite.

Arthur couldn’t help but toy with the thought of turning himself in to secure her freedom. He’d been a wanted man for so long—maybe it was time to finally hang up his old hat and face the reckoning he’d been dodging. But what good would he be to her if he was dead? The thought gnawed at him, twisting his insides. Maybe she’d be better off without him anyway, safer without his shadow looming over her. 

A bitter voice in the back of his mind whispered that, after all this, she might not even want him anymore. Perhaps seeing the darker, unforgivable side of him had poisoned whatever bond they shared, leaving her with nothing but regret.

But it mattered little what she thought of him now, he would never leave her behind. Arthur loved her too much for that.

As Arthur finished buttoning his shirt and adjusting his suspenders, the momentary calm was shattered by a sharp, piercing cry that cut through the morning air. The weight of his exhaustion vanished in an instant, replaced by the familiar sting of adrenaline. Grabbing his revolver and rifle, he pushed through the bedroom porch door, his boots heavy against the wooden floor. His eyes scanned the camp, every muscle tensed for action.

A lone figure approached on horseback, and Arthur’s heart skipped as he saw the women scattering in distress. His eyes narrowed, and he lifted his rifle, ready to take aim. But as the figure drew closer, he saw Mary-Beth running toward the rider.

Her voice breaking as she screamed, “Oh God! It’s Kieran!” 

Arthur squinted, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, but the grotesque sight made his blood run cold. Kieran, once a quiet member of their gang, was now an unrecognizable horror. His head, gruesomely severed and held in his hands, revealed empty sockets where his eyes had once been. Mary-Beth’s horrified wail pierced the air as she reached for him, but Tilly pulled her back, sensing a deeper threat.

The horse reared, and Kieran’s lifeless body slumped to the ground with a sickening thud, the wet crunch of his fall echoing through the camp. The silence stretched on for a moment, as everyone anticipated what’s next. Arthur’s stomach churned, but there was no time to grieve. The trees at the edge of the camp shifted, and figures began to emerge—more men. 

The O'Driscolls.

Arthur’s blood turned to ice. “Everybody take cover!” he shouted, voice carrying over the chaos. 

Their quiet morning was changed in an instant. He moved swiftly, taking shelter behind the railing and firing off shots, his mind racing as he aimed with precision. Colm O'Driscoll had finally found them, and was taking his revenge. The time for sorrow and regret was gone. He couldn’t afford to hesitate now. 

The sight of Kieran’s brutal end ignited a new rage in Arthur, but it was quickly buried under the cold resolve that had become his second skin. The gang was fractured, and their world was falling apart—the bitter truth was that there was no saving it. Dutch was blinded by his obsession with power, and the others were powerless without him, each consumed by their own sins and survival. 

There was no hope in this place, and there hadn’t been for a very long time. 

But for Kate, Arthur knew he had to make it out alive. He reminded himself he had to keep fighting for her. He wasn’t going to let her die in a cell, forgotten and abandoned. No, he would tear through every O'Driscoll in his path, and when this war was over, he would go to her. Even if he had to crawl on his knees.

He would make damn sure of it.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate stirred in the darkness, the cold seeping into her bones as her consciousness clawed its way back to the surface. Flashes of the previous night's event assaulting her mind in fragments. Her body felt impossibly heavy, her limbs unresponsive as she lay curled on the rough, cold bench of the jail cell. A sharp chill ran through her, and the air reeked of unfamiliar smells, making her stomach churn. As her senses slowly returned, her head began to spin, a pounding ache radiating behind her eyes. She squeezed them shut, but the motion only made the dizziness worse. Her vision blurred when she finally forced them open, the dim light of the jail swimming before her like a mirage.

Her mouth was dry, her throat raw, and bile rose to the back of her throat. She tried to make a sound, but all that came out was air. Panic gripped her chest as she realized she was going to be sick. She tried to push herself up, her weak arms trembling beneath her. A distant murmur of voices caught her attention, faint and distorted, as though underwater.

“She’s waking up,” one of the guards said, sharp and impatient.

Another voice, gruffer and closer, barked out an order. “Get her a bucket before she makes a mess of herself.”

Heavy boots echoed down the corridor, each step reverberating in her pounding head as Kate struggled to focus on the sound—anything to ground her swirling thoughts. Her stomach churned violently, her trembling body coated in a cold sweat as she desperately fought back another wave of nausea. Darkness threatened to close in around her again, and she feared she might lose consciousness. The sharp clang of the cell door unlocking jolted through her like a gunshot, intensifying the ache in her skull. The heavy door groaned open, its rusty hinges protesting, and a metal bucket clattered to the floor in front of her, the noise cutting through the suffocating silence. 

On cue, her stomach lurched violently, a wave of nausea sweeping over her with crushing force. She barely managed to grab the edge of the bucket they had shoved toward her, retching up what little remained in her stomach. The sound was harsh and guttural, echoing through the small cell. Her chest heaved uncontrollably as she gagged, the sharp spasms making it nearly impossible to catch her breath. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the drool that clung to her trembling chin.

Shame washed over her like a tidal wave, burning hotter than the fever she could feel building in her body. She imagined how pathetic she must look to the guards watching, and the thought made her throat tighten with fresh humiliation. The effort drained what little strength she had left, her limbs trembling as the world tilted dangerously. Darkness crept at the edges of her vision, and as the cold stone pressed against her cheek, she gave in to the pull of unconsciousness once more.

In her senseless state, Kate dreamed she was riding with Arthur through endless fields of tall golden grass, the warm sun bathing them in a soft glow. Lorena’s steady breaths beneath her thighs were a comforting rhythm, and Arthur’s smile—a real, genuine smile—made her heart flutter with a fleeting sense of peace. She wanted to linger in the moment, to hold on to the rare sight of his happiness, but a creeping dread began to seep in. 

The sky darkened, and a massive black wave rose on the horizon, surging forward with roaring ferocity. Its foaming white edges swept over the field like a predator’s teeth, and before she could react, it tore Arthur away from her. The distance between them grew vast, and she reached out, calling his name in desperation as the wave swallowed the light and left her alone in the void.

Kate woke with a startled cry, her body convulsing as her stomach churned violently. She lunged for the rusted bucket, pulling it into her lap with trembling hands, her knuckles bone-white against the cold metal. She heaved, dry and fruitless, each spasm tightening the iron vise around her throbbing head. The pounding pain drowned out her senses, and it wasn’t until a calm, authoritative voice broke through that she realized she wasn’t alone.

“You don’t look too well, Miss McCanon,” the man said, carrying a weight of control that sent a shiver through her fevered body. 

Something about it scratched at the edges of her memory, but before she could piece it together, another wave of nausea hit. She doubled over, dry-heaving again, the sound pitiful in the quiet cell.

The man turned sharply, addressing a guard with a harshness that cut through Kate’s misery. “I want a doctor in here, now.”

“Sir, we have strict orders from the chief. No outside contact,” the guard replied hesitantly, his words laced with unease.

The man’s growl was filled with impatience. “Your chief takes orders from me. Go get the doctor.” 

His voice cracked like a whip, and the command froze Kate mid-breath. She wiped her sleeve across her mouth, the lingering taste of bile stinging her tongue, and watched as the man unlocked the cell door and stepped inside.

He carried a stool in one hand, a small tray with food and water in the other. Each movement deliberate, he bent to set the items on the stone bench, and Kate’s breath hitched as recognition struck her like a blow to the chest. 

Agent Andrew Milton, lead detective from the Pinkerton Agency.

Her heart sank, ice spreading through her veins as she stared at the man who had haunted their every step, the very agent of destruction threatening to unravel Arthur’s world—and hers—with a noose. She had crossed paths with him twice before, each encounter a warning she and the gang had barely escaped. Now, there was no running. No one to shield her.

Milton settled onto the stool, his gaze boring into her as if cataloging every weakness. Kate’s mouth went dry, her eyes flickering to the cup of water on the tray. It tempted her, offering the promise of relief to her parched throat and knotted stomach. Milton followed her glance and gestured toward the tray with an open palm. The gesture caught her off guard—calm, almost courteous, yet it felt like a mirage to something more sinister.

Leaning back on the stool, Milton’s fingers drummed a steady rhythm on his thigh as a cold smile tugged at his lips. “What an unfortunate circumstance we find ourselves in,” he said smoothly, as though they were sharing afternoon tea rather than a cell.

Kate ignored him, her trembling hands reaching for the cup. She drank deeply, the water cool and soothing against her raw throat. It felt like heaven, a small mercy in the nightmare she was living. Setting the cup down with a soft clink, she reached for the plate. The apple slices and crackers were humble offerings, but to her, they were a feast. She bit into an apple slice, the tangy sweetness stinging her cracked lips, and chewed slowly, savoring every bite.

“Why bother calling for a doctor if you’re just going to hang me?” she rasped, her voice hoarse and brittle, a faint shadow of the woman she once was.

Milton chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’m not a monster, Miss McCanon. I’m simply a man doing his job,” he replied casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Kate scoffed, the sound rough in her throat. She bit into another slice of apple, her jaw working mechanically as her mind raced and throbbed with every pulse of her heart.

Clearing his throat, Milton shifted his tone to one of authority. “We’ve been digging into your past,” he started in a light voice, but his words carried weight. Kate’s stomach tightened, her heart pounding in her ears. She kept her focus on the plate, refusing to meet his eyes.

“The second-born child of Italian immigrant Madeleine Biviano and Englishman Thomas Walker,” Milton recited like a storyteller weaving a tale. “Raised on a modest dairy farm outside Boston. Your first tragedy was the Wollaston train derailment in ’78. Lost your mother and little sister in the wreck.”

Kate’s chest tightened as the memories clawed their way to the surface, raw and unrelenting. She was only twelve years old at the time, but that day had shattered her childhood. Clenching her jaw, she forced herself to chew, as if by continuing to eat she could stifle the rising tide of pain. The story of her past was one she had spent years burying beneath layers of resolve, yet here it was, laid bare by the stranger across from her. Her mind whirled, trying to untangle the threads of why this man was weaving her history into his game.

“The farm was lost a few years after their deaths. So you and your father moved in with family friends. Where you met your deceased husband Noah McCanon. Then your brother took up work in the mines, only to meet his end in a collapse in ’86.” He shook his head, his mock sympathy dripping with condescension. “And poor old daddy couldn’t handle the grief. Tough break.”

Leaning forward slightly, he continued, “Kate McCanon,” emphasizing her name like he was peeling away a mask, “orphaned. Widowed. Childless after the red death claimed what was left of your family. You’ve had a hard life—a long way from Boston now, aren’t we?”

Kate’s fear tightened its grip around her throat, but she swallowed it down. “You don’t know anything about my life,” she bit out, sharper now, though it wavered at the edges.

“Oh, I know plenty,” Milton said evenly. “I know you fell in with savages after leaving home. Played Injun for a while before striking out on your own.” His gaze was steady, pinning her in place.

Kate turned her face away, her mind racing. How could he know all of this? How had they pieced together her past—a life she had buried so long ago? None of it mattered now. The truth wasn’t her ally here; it was his weapon. He would twist it, use it, until there was nothing left of her to defend.

“We only brought justice to those who deserved it,” she said quietly though the words rang hollow. 

Milton clicked his tongue, “doing my job for me, I can imagine.” He quipped sarcastically. 

“I was a different person back then,” Kate countered, though the effort was futile. 

Her heart raced as Milton leaned back in his chair, the faintest smirk curling the corners of his lips. “We talked to a few people in town after Van Der Linde fled. Picked up a kid in Rhodes, heir to the Gray family fortune. Beau, as I’m sure you remember.” He paused, watching for her reaction. “He was a chatty kid. Only had pleasant things to say about you.”

Kate’s eyes darted up, her breath catching in her throat. Confusion settling over her pallid features. “What does he have to do with this?” she asked.

Milton raised a brow, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on his thigh as he shrugged. “Well, it’s not every day we come across someone with such fond memories of a criminal,” he said casually. “Beau told us all about Miss McCanon. How you stood by his side when nobody else would, helped him stand up to his family. Even mentioned how you wanted to leave that gang behind for good.”

Kate’s stomach churned, the apple slices she had forced down threatening to come back up. “If you’re trying to guilt me, it won’t work,” she bit out, though her voice trembled with the effort.

“Oh, I’m not here to guilt you,” Milton replied smoothly. “Just pointing out that you’ve got a history of helping people in need. As you can imagine this came to me as a surprise. It’s admirable, really.”

The subtle compliment aroused something in her, giving her a morsel of confidence. Straightening herself she answered, “like I said, I’ve changed.” 

“But it does make me wonder…” He leaned forward, his dark eyes boring into hers. “What is a woman like you still doing with Arthur Morgan?”

Kate was quiet, and the silence stretched between them for what felt like an eternity. “Arthur he’s—,” Kate said quietly. “He’s just trying to protect his own.”

Milton’s expression hardened. “He’s a degenerate murderer, same as that maniac they all follow so blindly. Don’t tell me you’re naive enough to think otherwise. The rose-colored glasses have to come off, Miss McCanon. He is a killer. Last night should’ve been enough to prove that to you.”

Kate swallowed hard as fractured memories from the night before clawed their way to the surface. “Th-there must have been a reason,” she stammered. “We weren’t there to hurt anyone—”

“Yet innocent people always seem to end up dead wherever he goes,” Milton interrupted, his voice biting.

Images she had tried to suppress flooded back: lifeless bodies crumpled on blood-soaked floors, the screams of panicked bystanders, and the chaos that seemed to follow in Arthur’s wake. Her stomach churned as the memory of Vin, her pianist, lying among the carnage, forced the air from her lungs, tightening her throat. She clenched her fists, willing the nausea to subside, the weight of Milton’s words pressing down on her like a stone.

What had happened? Kate's mind raced, desperately trying to piece together the chaos of the previous night. Something had gone horribly wrong—she’d known it the moment she saw the hollow, detached look in Arthur’s eyes. The memory of his body pressed against hers brought a painful mix of longing and grief. Even in the throes of his rage, he had shielded her from the damage, clinging to the last shreds of his humanity. 

She was the thread holding him together, the link between the man he was and the man he was trying to be. The weight of that realization made her stomach twist violently. Reaching for the bucket, she retched, the taste of bile and apple burning the back of her throat.

As if on cue, the sound of heavy boots echoed down the hallway. The guards approached, a doctor trailing in their wake. Milton greeted the physician and stood, gathering the stool and empty tray with ease.

Before leaving the cell, the agent paused, cold eyes settling on her. “I know you and Mr. Morgan are quite fond of each other,” he said smoothly. 

“I’m counting on that connection to bring him right to me.”

Kate’s chest tightening as the weight of Milton’s words settled over her. Her hands trembled, curling into the fabric of her skirt as she watched him leave. The cell felt colder, smaller, as if his threat had sucked the air from it. Her mind raced, the implications twisting into her gut like a knife. Milton wasn’t just toying with her—he was using the situation to his advantage. Kate was the bait, and Arthur was the prey. Her heart ached with equal parts dread and guilt, knowing that her capture might lead him straight to his death.

The doctor set his worn leather bag on the bench and knelt down, his weathered face creased with both age and a quiet concern that seemed out of place in this grim setting. His hands trembled slightly as he rummaged through his tools, the faint metallic clink of instruments filling the tense silence. When his gaze met Kate’s pale, sweat-dampened face, his eyes lingered on the dark shadows beneath her eyes and the unsteady tremor in her frame.

“You’re in a bad way, miss,” he said softly, his voice carrying a kindness she hadn’t anticipated. He adjusted the glasses resting on his nose and leaned in closer. “Let’s get a proper look at you.”

Kate sat still, her fingers gripping the edge of the bench as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. She winced as his fingers pressed gently against her throat and around her temple. Every touch sent a fresh wave of pain radiating through her skull. Her throat burned with each shallow breath, and her heart thudded unevenly in her chest.

“Dizzy spells? Vomiting?” he asked, his tone calm but probing. Kate nodded weakly, unable to find the strength to respond aloud.

He worked methodically, his hands steady as he pressed along her scalp, searching for signs of injury. She flinched when his fingers found a tender spot at the base of her head, drawing a quiet hiss of pain from her lips. The doctor pulled back, his brow furrowing. With a heavy sigh, he sat back on his heels, folding his hands on his knee.

“You’ve got a nasty concussion, likely from a blow to the head,” he said gravely.

Kate didn’t respond, her grip tightening on the bench as her vision swam slightly.

The doctor moved on, lifting her wrist to check her pulse, his lips moving silently as he counted. He pinched the skin on the back of her hand, watching how slowly it settled back into place. 

His frown deepened. “You’re anemic,” he announced, his voice edged with clinical detachment.

Kate blinked at him, her mind slow to process the words.

“Your blood’s weak,” he explained. “Could be from malnourishment or blood loss. Either way, you’re in no condition to withstand much. You need iron-rich foods—beef liver, beans, leafy greens—and plenty of rest and fluids. When was the last time you ate properly?”

Her memory felt fragmented, the previous night already blurred by exhaustion and trauma. “I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor straightened with a groan, his joints popping as he stood. He turned to one of the guards stationed outside the cell. “She needs proper meals, quiet, and a few days to recover,” he said firmly. “Don’t expect her to run—she doesn’t have the strength for it.”

The guard gave a curt nod, his expression impassive.

The doctor gathered his tools, casting one last glance at Kate as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “Try to rest,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “It won’t be quick, but you’ll mend.”

Kate nodded faintly, watching as he exited the cell. The heavy door slammed shut behind him, the sound reverberating in her aching skull.

Leaning back against the cold wall, Kate closed her eyes and let her fingers trail over the frayed hem of her dress, the coarse fabric grounding her in the present. Her thoughts churned, a dark cocktail of worry for Arthur combined with Milton’s threatening words. 

She longed for him—the warmth of his presence, the way he always knew how to calm her fears, how he had shielded her from the cruelty. How he spoke to her softly despite the intensity of their situation. But now, in the cold silence of her cell, his absence was a weight that crushed her chest. The doctor had said she would mend, but she felt as though she were unraveling piece by piece—and somewhere in the shadows, the storm was only beginning. 

Silent tears slipped down her cheeks, her breath hitching in quiet sobs as she struggled to hold onto the hope that by some miracle Arthur would come for her, even as Milton’s words echoed in her mind.

Threatening to tear everything apart.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The smoke of gunfire still hung heavy in the air around the shattered remnants of their camp. Arthur leaned against the crumbling fountain in the courtyard, his body burdened with exhaustion. His breath came in shallow gasps, the adrenaline that had carried him through the attack now ebbing, leaving a dull ache in its place. The old wound on his shoulder throbbed deeply, the pain radiating in waves with his drumming heartbeat. He was so terribly tired.

Arthur’s hands trembled as he reloaded his revolver, though the threat had passed for the moment, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t over—not truly.

“Arthur,” Charles’ steady voice broke through the haze. He approached carefully, his bow slung over his shoulder, the faint lines of concern etched into his face. “You alright?”

Arthur nodded stiffly, though he knew he didn’t look it. His shirt clung to his back with sweat, and his legs felt like they might give out any second. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, waving Charles off even as the other man’s steady gaze lingered.

“You should try to find some rest,” Charles said, his tone leaving little room for argument. “You’ve been carrying too much lately.”

Arthur managed a bitter chuckle, his gaze averting to assess the damage of the rest of camp. “Ain’t nobody else gonna do it,” he muttered under his breath, though he knew Charles heard. The truth of it was a weight he couldn’t put down. No matter how hard he tried.

Charles sighed and sat on the edge of the fountain beside him. “Colm can really hate,” he said after a moment, his eyes trailing to the lifeless O’Driscolls littering the ground. His gaze lingered on Kieran’s body, a stark reminder of what loyalty cost.

Arthur rubbed a hand over his jaw, saying nothing. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant murmur of the gang regrouping. Charles tried again, his voice softer this time. “I heard what happened to Kate,” he said. “Part of me is glad she wasn’t here to see this.”

Arthur turned to him, and in his eyes, Charles saw the weight of unspoken words. Sorrow. Remorse. Anger. A storm of emotions that spoke of a burden far heavier than exhaustion. It wasn’t just the weight of the world that was crushing him, but Kate as well. He had let her down.

“Oh, Arthur,” Charles said quietly. “She’ll be okay. She’s alive—that’s what matters right now.”

It was the only solace he could offer, though he knew it would never be enough. The truth hung heavy between them: they were all at the mercy of uncertainty now, clinging to hope in a world that offered none.

The others were emerging cautiously from their hiding spots, murmuring amongst themselves as they took stock of the damage. A few broken crates, some scattered supplies—but no one was hurt. For that, Arthur was silently grateful, though it didn’t ease the gnawing pit in his stomach.

His gaze drifted toward the central campfire, where Dutch’s figure loomed. Assessing the damage and the situation they’ve found themselves in. Arthur hated to admit it, but they needed him now. More than ever. The gang was shaken, uncertain of their next steps, and as much as Dutch had steered them wrong in recent days, his voice was the only one they’d follow.

“Arthur,” Dutch’s sharp voice cut through the heavy stillness of the aftermath, carrying an edge that demanded attention. His measured strides crunched against the dirt, his eyes flitting over the wreckage of the camp and the wary faces of the gang. “We need to get moving.”

Arthur straightened with an effort, his body screaming against the weight of his fatigue. His shoulder throbbed where the bullet had grazed him earlier, but he pushed the pain aside. He was the gang’s anchor, the one who couldn’t afford to falter. His jaw clenched as Dutch stopped in front of him, his expression unreadable. Whatever Dutch had to say, it would come with consequences.

“You thinkin’ we should start lookin’ for another camp?” Arthur asked quietly, careful not to stir the simmering tension among the others.

Dutch’s lips curved into a thin smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. Before he could answer, John and Hosea approached, their steps slow and cautious. Charles rose to stand beside them, his stance rigid and ready, like he was bracing for a fight.

“You’re not thinking big enough, Arthur,” Dutch said finally, carrying a note of patronage. He gestured broadly to the ruined camp, the lifeless O’Driscolls scattered across the ground. “You’re focused on the small picture—survival. I’m looking at the bigger game. Vast problems require vast solutions. And opportunities.”

Arthur shook his head, standing to meet Dutch at eye level. “I’m not sure I get what you’re sayin’, Dutch,” he said, though the weariness in his voice gave it a sharper edge than he intended.

Dutch’s grin widened, his expression almost feverish, like a man on the brink of revelation. “Oh, you will, son,” he said with unnerving confidence. He turned, addressing the small group that had gathered. “We can’t stay here. Colm’s made sure of that. He’ll bring heat down on us, and we can’t afford the attention.”

Arthur folded his arms, his frown deepening as Dutch’s words sank in.

“Tomorrow,” Dutch continued, “we move deeper into Lagras. We’ll find a temporary camp, and after we regroup, we start preparing.”

“Prepare for what?” Arthur snapped, his exhaustion sharpening his tone. “We’ve been scramblin’ for more money for six months, Dutch. You really think another move’s gonna fix all this?”

Dutch’s gaze darkened, but he kept his composure, tilting his head like a patient teacher lecturing a stubborn student. “The bank,” he said simply, his voice cutting through the growing murmurs of unease.

Charles let out a low sigh, and John shook his head, muttering something under his breath. The tension was thick, every man weighing Dutch’s words against the grim reality they faced.

“We hit the bank tomorrow,” Dutch declared, his voice rising with conviction. “We send a group ahead to set up camp, and the rest of us get what we need to leave this hell behind for good.”

Arthur felt his blood start to boil, the fatigue giving way to something hotter and more dangerous. “And what about Kate?” he insisted, voice rising despite himself. “You just plannin’ on leavin’ her behind in all this mess?”

Dutch raised a hand, silencing Arthur with a single commanding gesture. “Kate,” he said, drawing out her name like a curse. “She’s coming with us. You, Hosea, and a few others will go get her from the prison. While myself and the others rob the bank.”

As he spoke, Dutch stepped closer, placing a heavy hand on Arthur’s injured shoulder. Arthur’s teeth clenched against the dull pain, but he didn’t pull away. The weight of Dutch’s hand was no comfort—it was a warning.

Dutch’s voice dropped, low and menacing, just for Arthur to hear. “I’ve got a plan, son. It’s all coming together. But if you keep doubting me, you’ll be the one who doesn’t make it out alive. And poor Katie…” His lips curled into a cruel smile. “She’ll be waiting on her loyal cowboy for the rest of her goddamn life.”

Arthur felt a chill crawl up his spine, but he refused to flinch. Dutch leaned in even closer, his voice a venomous whisper. “I need that loyalty, Arthur. But I have a feeling you’ll betray me in the end.”

Dutch pulled back, his expression smoothing into something almost fatherly as he addressed the rest of the group. But the words he’d left in Arthur’s ear burned hotter than the ache in his shoulder. Arthur swallowed hard, his fists clenching at his sides, the weight of Dutch’s manipulation pressing down like an iron shackle. The mask was finally starting to crack, and Arthur was seeing the ugly man beneath it. 

Tomorrow. 

The word echoed in Arthur’s mind, heavy with both hope and dread. It was a promise he clung to—Kate would be with him again soon. But Dutch’s plan, reckless as it was, turned that hope into something fragile, like a thread pulled too taut. His gut churned at the thought of what lay ahead. To use her escape as a distraction for robbing the bank—it wasn’t just risking her life. It was risking everything. The dwindling trust, and what little sense of unity the gang had left.

Arthur’s mind raced, playing out the million ways it could go wrong. Colm O’Driscolls might already be planning another attack, the law could close in too fast, or Dutch’s obsession could spiral into chaos. And yet, what choice did he have? She was in this mess because of him. Every path forward felt like it sent them two steps back. And it always ended in blood. 

But no matter how it all played out, Arthur would shoulder the responsibility. He always did.

There was no room for hesitation. No time to dwell on the "what ifs." Arthur rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers coming away grimy from the sweat, dirt and blood that clung to his skin. He needed to pack, needed to meet with Dutch and Hosea to finalize the plan, needed to keep moving. 

Sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford, not now. Not until she was safe in his arms again. Even if he tried, he knew the voice in the back of his mind would rob him of any rest, whispering doubts, fears, and guilt like an unrelenting ache.

The weight of what was coming pressed on Arthur’s chest, squeezing his resolve tighter with every shallow breath. He didn’t deserve absolution, not from Kate or anyone else. But still, a quiet, desperate plea slipped through the cracks of his battered soul.

Please, forgive me Kate.

AN: Alright guys, another heavy chapter coming up next. I'm really excited to get into the next several chapters, I've had them planned out since I first began brainstorming this fic and I can't believe it's finally time to work on them!

I'm going to try and work on Ch 25 throughout the week and have it up before Christmas but I can't make any promises because I'm going to be so so busy with the holidays. So at the latest, hopefully two weeks. Thankfully, I work for a public school so I have the entire holiday break off :)

[bookyeom]

Seventeen Fic Recs (September 2023)

Hello everyone! I wanted to make an official post to share some of my favourite Seventeen x Reader fics that I’ve read lately, or ones that have continued to stay on my mind. I guarantee I’m going to miss a bunch of them because there are so many talented people on this website, but I plan to make another one of these soon!

(Also, a side plug for my own fics here. I’ve finally gotten around to posting some of my writing, and hope to continue, so if you want to have a browse and reblog/message me your thoughts, please feel free!)

@wqnwoos first up, I wanted to shoutout Hana for all of her writing. I’m going to include some of my favourite recent drabbles, but I literally love all of them, so please go read everything over on her blog. A couple of my faves here, here, here, here and here.

Secondly, I need to shoutout @savventeen: Savv!!! You know how I feel about your writing, and I need to include my favourite Dino fic of all time immediately or I WILL burst: Got My Heart in My Feet (Cause They Lead Me to You) aka one of my favourite fics in any fandom ever. I cannot express how many times I have read this.

The rest below the cut:

Promise Ring by @lovelyhan - Dino x Reader, F2L royalty/fantasy au aka two of my all time favourite things put together, smut at the end

The Physics of Love by @cheolism - As a DK bias, I have such a hard time finding DK fics, but this one… This is it. This is the one. DK x Reader, F2L (god, I really have a type)

Coming home by @fairyhaos - DK x Reader, Established Relationship

Under the Collar by @miraclewoozi - Go read this fic immediately, but don’t talk to me about it unless you want me to cry. DK x Reader, F2??

What? Like It’s Hard? By @starsstuddedsky - THEE Hoshy fic. Hoshi x Reader, F2L/idiots-to-lovers, Star I love ur mind

These Endless Summer Nights by @blossom-hwa - One of my favourite Hoshi x Reader fics. Absolutely stunning. S2L, smut if i recall correctly, summer romance

2.22AM by @secndlife - Hoshi x Reader, F2??

Burn, Palace, Burn by @fairyhaos - So this was written as part of the 2k celebration (!!!) and I loved it so much, but everything Yena writes is iconic tbh so go read them all. This one in particular is a Jeonghan x Reader historical/fantasy au and… hehehe. See for yourself

“I Know, But Don’t Say It” by @taetaespeaches - Jeonghan x Reader, angst, ouchie, so good.

Heart is Full of Fairy Lights by @savventeen - Another one by the inimitable Savv. Joshua x Reader, Friends/Roomates-to-Lovers

Golden Hour by @dkfile - Joshua x Reader, F2L

you are my kingdom by @fairyhaos - Jun x Reader, royalty au

Other People’s Weddings by @neoneun-au - Seungcheol x Reader. Fake dating. Help

You say the stupidest (sweetest) things by @savventeen - Seungkwan x Reader, F2L. Look, I know this wasn’t solely written for me, but it was requested by me, therefore I claim this as mine and Seungkwan’s life story. xoxo

On Idiocy, Bugs and the Prospect Of Forever by @wqnwoos - Vernon x Reader, F2L, one of my favourite lil Vernon fics ever tbh

Every Page is Empty by @neoneun-au - Another one of my favourite fics, ever. Vernon x Reader, F2L

Sure by @beahae - Why am I just now realizing that all of my favourite fics are Vernon fics? No comment… Anyway! THIS FIC!!!!!!!!! Wow. WOW. Vernon x Reader, F2L, smut, absolutely stunning

Tidal by @eoieopda - Vernon x Reader, established relationship, smut (it’s just smut but it’s SO CUTE HELP)

Don’t Sweat It by @miraclewoozi - Aka the best Lee Jihoon fic ever written. Woozi x Reader, S2L, smut, I’m obsessed with them

The Spring to Your Smile by @wooahaes - This is a link to all the members’ parts of this series. Loved every single one of them! Genre changes based on member :)

All of @nonranghaes little drabbles hit deep (go read them all) but here and here are two faves!!

A/N: awful, horrible, terrible Hao, Wonwoo and Mingyu slander here. I am so disorganized and couldn’t find any of the fics I wanted to post, so they will be back in earnest in the next one, I swear it.

[nats-revival]

Love story au: you and Abby have a sort of forbidden secret romance 💛 takes place during medieval time.

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙨 | 𝙖. 𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣

pairing: abby anderson x afab!reader

tags: (sorta modernized!) shakespearean english, no smut, abbys father is mentioned, reader lowkey living that rapunzel lifestyle but like not rlly. 😭🙏, abby has a bow and arrow, im still terrible at tagging, so i probably missed some stuff??

a/n: honestly, i rlly only chose this song for this fic bc i was watching berlin while writing this and lowk.. i figured that it was fitting! honestly this prompt was super fun to do!!! i absolutely loved doing this, and i promise i will finish out my requests soon. 😭🙏 there’s still two more i have to start. uploads might be slow next week since i have some tests at school but ill def still try to be active here. ^^

You weren’t supposed to see each other, it was forbidden. Ever since your families began to quarrel, they had kept you held up in your room for seemingly no reason at all. Your father often fought with Abby’s, and they’d go extreme lengths to show their superiority, whether it be trading and buying the most expensive things they could, draping their daughters and significant other in the finest silks, or flat out going toe-to-toe with each other. Of course, you had already been seeing her secretly beforehand, and she showed you things you weren’t ever gonna be allowed to see. Fighting tournaments, erotic literature, the finest alcoholic beverages her kingdom had to offer, and how it felt to rebel. You loved doing these things with her.

These days, you’d been confined to the stone walls of your room, cold floors, and whatever other luxuries your father decided to drape you in. You were only allowed outside for a few minutes, or whatever your father allowed. It happened to be 45 minutes today. During this time you and Abby meet up secretly. Today, you found yourself running through the thick forest behind your castle. You were out of breath and your mouth went dry, but there she was. Her long braid would’ve been noticeable from any distance. You catch your breath and you stand up straight. “Abby.” You say with a smile. She turns to you with a smile, holding her bow and arrow. “Wherefore doth thee at each moment come running to see me? What is the reason behind thy eag'rness to seeth me?” The curiosity in her tone was playful. “I couldn’t possibly miss out on seeing thee. I'm willing to wend to most wondrous lengths just to beest with thee, coequal if 't be true t means running a million miles. You know that I can't be outside f'r long these days, so I want to make it count.” You admit as your smile grows. Abby chuckles. “Nobodys ever did like me so much to running to me ev'ryday. Concluded, be it, follow me. I want to showeth thee something, and I think you’d plaited it.”

   Abby takes your hand and she leads you deeper into the forest. The flora of the forest was to die for this season. The beautiful greens, the flowers, the dew drops sliding off tree leaves, it was a sight that was just impossible to want to not see. But it was only something the two of you knew about. After some time, she stops by some trees. Attached to them were some targets. “I suppose thee haven’t forgotten that day we spent a few fortnights ago? Did thee say.. thee did want to see how valorous mine aim was, no?” Abby asked with a smile. You nod enthusiastically. “Oh, of course I’d want to see how well thee uses yond bow and arrow. You speak so highly of thy aim, I’m sure it’s better than any sirs in the entire kingdom.” Abby always found your enthusiasm cute. Her body felt warm and fuzzy, as stupid and cliche it sounds, but she always felt that way around you. She loved how alive you made her feel. She readies her bow and arrow, and you watch her. You observe her pulling the string back and being mindful of how much she does. She inhales and loses the arrow in the middle of her exhale. Dead center of the target! She turns to you with a smile as your face lights up equally as bright.

   She was amazing! God, you’ve seen men competing for the other princesses hands in marriage (thanks to Abby), but you wanted her to do this for you when your time came. “That wast most wondrous! Oh my gosh, thee should it again. I want to see you do it again!” You say as you give her a face of pleading. She lets out a small chuckle before she turns to another target. This time, she decides to be flashy. She readies an arrow yet again, closing her eyes before she lets it loose. She opens her eyes to find that it had just nearly hit beneath the target. She shrugs her shoulders with a small smile. “Well, art thee did impress, princess?” She asks as she goes to collect her arrows. You turn to her with a small smile. “Of course I’m impressed.  Thee nev'r faileth to impresseth me, Abigail.” “That’s the second timeth you’ve hath called me that. I still rememb'r the first liketh it’s yest'rday.” Abby’s cheeks were dusted in a pink blush as she remembered that day you’d asked her out. All loopy from your drinking, your drunken rambling had resulted in you asking her out. “I rememb'r that day fondly. It was the day I hath asked thee out.” You reply in a soft tone almost as if you were falling in love with her all over again. But you couldn’t help it. This woman was timeless, and she never failed to take your breath away no matter what she did. Whether it be simple housework, gardening, or using that bow and arrow. Every aspect of Abby was attractive. Once all her arrows had been collected, she walks back over to you. She grabs your hands, her thumb gently grazing your knuckles as she looks in your eyes. Your gaze meets hers. She smiles, you look away with a giggle. She turns you back to face her. “I loveth thee. For many nights, I’ve hadst these dreams. Those dreams beshrew mine own mind.  All of those were about thee. Well, us.  Running hence. Being joyous. Not having to encave our love.” Her voice was soft. Her tone was sincere.

   Her gaze softened. One hand comes to softly hold your face. You melt. You couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of your mouth now. “I want to be with thee. I’m not restful of hiding. I want to run in the lush gardens, waketh to a sleep chamber that isn’t bitter cold, and stay out with thee for howev'r long mine own heart desires.” You smile at her and she smiles back. Slowly, her eyes become half lidded and she moves closer to you. “Run away with me, princess.” She whispered before she softly pressed her lips to yours. She pulled away for a moment to see if you were okay with it, but when you pulled her right back in, it solidified that you were more than okay with this. Her arms wrap around your waist, and yours find solace around her neck. This moment felt surreal. Being surrounded by forest, her hands on your body, the humming sound of cicadas and whatever else was in the forest, and the sounds of her soft, quiet moans filled your ears and burned in your memory. While you’re kissing her, you remember its way past the time you should’ve returned. You pull away. “Goodness, it’s getting late. We shall meet. Here, before sundown. I expect to see thee waiting for me here.” You say sweetly but in a rushed manner. She crosses her arms, then closing her eyes as she gives you a confirming nod before she bids you farewell. “I’ll see you soon, princess.” She says as she watches you walk off, then turning to head towards her own castle. This was the start of living freely, not confined by the restraints of parents.

[holyprncess]

YOU SHOULD STAY REAL CLOSE TO JESUS

isana, the kenyan nonbinary femme princess from your dreams 🤍, twenty , black, she/her, quanxi's real wife!, that one femme who dont play about mel medarda, megan thee stallion and butches ✩ navigation

-nsfw blog! send me request!

DNI IF UR A LESBOPHOBIC, HOMOPHOBIC, RACIST, COLORIST, DONT INTERACT U GET BLOCKED

if u support some western shit i don't agree with u get blocked too idk idc!!

KEEP THAT BOTTLE AT YOUR HAND, MY MAN

i only write fem! readers, might take me a moment to post new fics, i write nsfw, fluff and angst.

i love acnh, kingdom hearts, final fantasy, re, ohshc, sailor moon, LDR, mitski, chappel, faye webster, fiona apple, arcane, tlou, aot, mha, nana, romance novels + more!

[inkbane]

My Top Ongoing Manga Series This Year

I read a lot of manga this year, and I wanted to celebrate some of my favorites. My top completed manga series this year can be found here.

Details on these series below the cut!

The volume counts are for the number of volumes published in English. In no particular order.

Tearmoon Empire [ongoing, 6 vols] Reincarnated villainess, but skews younger than the typical villainess manga. I really like the cute, self-centered main character. She's such a little brat and I love her.

The Strange House [ongoing, 2 vols] Spooky urban horror type story. Genuinely spooked me at several points, while not being outwardly that scary. The story revolves around investigating a house with strange architecture.

The White Cat's Revenge as Plotted from the Dragon King's Lap [ongoing, 4 vols] Pretty, fairytale-esque isekai. The main character transforms herself into a cat to hide from her problems, which is something I wish I could do.

Nina the Starry Bride [ongoing, 13 vols] Achingly beautiful fantasy romance story. Lovely art and amazing characters. One of those series that can make you hate a character so much and then twist it and make you fall in love with them.

[Oshi no Ko] [ongoing, 8 vols] Very weird premise, but very enjoyable story. I like seeing the portrayal of the entertainment industry, and the different ways the young professionals in that world are going about achieving their goals.

The Weakest Tamer Began a Journey to Pick Up Trash [ongoing, 6 vols] Sosososo cute!! A typical fantasy adventure story, with the protagonist being shunned for having no skills. But I really like that her skills genuinely are weak. Her strength comes from her kindness and sincerity, and I love that.

Witch Hat Atelier [ongoing, 12 vols] Thee most beautiful manga I have ever read, bar none. I love the characters, and I want them all to be happy! Very stressful, but very good.

Reincarnated into a Game as the Hero's Friend: Running the Kingdom Behind the Scenes [ongoing, 3 vols] Fantasy isekai with the main character reincarnated as a no-name NPC. I really like the friendship between the protagonist and his best friend (the hero of the game), and the art style is nostalgically reminiscent of old JRPG promotional art.

Alpi the Soul Sender [ongoing, 5 vols] Fantasy story following a girl who puts her life at risk to put dead spirits to rest. A very piercing story, showing a harsh but beautiful world.

[choiceofgames]

Author Interview: Nic Vasudeva-Barkdull

Author Interview: Nic Vasudeva-Barkdull. Author of Magehinter: Phoenix Flame

Magehunter: Phoenix Flame will be available on Wednesday, November 27th. You can wishlist it on Steam in advance of its release—it really helps! Full interview can be found here:

https://www.choiceofgames.com/2024/10/new-author-interview-nic-vasudeva-barkdull-magehunter-phoenix-flame/

We’re so thrilled to have another game from the author of Battlemage: Magic by Mail. Tell our readers about Magehunter and how its setting and characters relate to Battlemage.

Although it’s a standalone story, Magehunter takes place a few generations after Battlemage, but in the same kingdom. Knights and squires are a thing of the past, and the Kingdom of Jubai is undergoing a technological revolution due to the discovery of slipflame, a powerful new energy source. The most important difference is the oppressive rule of the mage class. The monarchy of Jubai is long gone, and Archmage Nylund and his mage council have ruled for decades. All these changes can be traced back to a war with battlemages—the events of which make up the plot of Battlemage. Of course, Battlemage has multiple endings, so the details of that war and its aftermath are unclear to the characters of Magehunter. The history has faded into legend, and it’s up to the player to uncover those legends if they so choose. As far as characters, I won’t give any spoilers but I will say there are Easter eggs to be found if you’re willing to look!

I’m especially excited about indirect sequels like this one, that let the players steep themselves in a familiar but new world. What inspired the shift to the future in Magehunter?

I honestly just wanted to write a world with alternate technology, but something unique from, say, steampunk. I was also inspired by the really interesting magic system in Foundryside, a trilogy in which a thiefy main character can change the properties of objects around her by arguing with the rules of the physical world. It’s a fascinating mix of hacking and magic, and there’s a bit of that in the “magic” system of my world in the form of Brutal Flame. I also love the classic Thief games, and I think The Metal Age is an amazing example of narrative design with its fantasy technology in the form of robots and surveillance cameras set in a medieval world. The inspiration of Thief on the dark fantasy setting of Magehunter is obvious from the start. Finally, in Battlemage, I wanted to bend the rules of the fantasy genre because I was always bothered by the hegemonic Britishness of the genre rules. With Magehunter, I wanted to continue that trend and lean toward my comfort genre of science fiction while maintaining the court politics of Jubai. Going to the future also gave me even more distance from the “thees” and “thous” of high fantasy language. I think more contemporary language helps with the fun, adventurous tone I’m looking for. All of these elements just clicked together while I was working on the ending of Battlemage, where the player’s actions literally become legend. I thought, why not build on that legend with another adventure?

Was there an NPC you particularly liked writing?

Honestly, it changed throughout the project. At first, I didn’t really like Gael or Embla, two fellow hunters, but I was determined to write characters outside my personal preferences to give players a variety of friends and romance options. By the end, I really fell in love with them and their respective arcs, and as a result, they are now probably the most fleshed-out characters in the game. Gael is hard to get along with in the beginning, but befriending him can lead the player on an entirely different, slightly nerdy adventure. And Embla is just a sweetheart. She can be a bit cheesy and saccharine at first, but hers quickly becomes one of the more valid viewpoints for the struggles of a divided world (in my opinion, anyway). On the other hand, I liked writing the mage apprentice Frey because his motivations are uncomplicated, but he’s deeper than most of the characters give him credit for. I also liked Rio, the self-declared people’s hero, for being an outlet of gender expression (for me and hopefully for the player too) in a world that’s much freer than our own society. Oddly, Xiaoxi, another fellow hunter, started out as my no-brainer favorite but by the end that was no longer the case—although she definitely redeems herself if you make the right choices.

Players will have a really enjoyable power mechanic in this game. Tell us a little about slipflame.

Slipflame comes in three forms, and it can do anything from manipulating the physical properties of objects (Brutal Flame), to siphoning essence from a living being (Living Flame), to sneakier things like tricking the mind (Silent Flame). The uses of slipflame are really only limited by the player’s slipflame supply. I try to add a unique mechanic to every game I make—it was the combat system in Battlemage, and in this game it’s the slipflame reservoir, which is a pool of slipflame that depletes with each use. But players shouldn’t try to hoard slipflame either, since it recharges over time due to the conduits throughout the city. Slipflame is a public good, and it’s used for everything from lighting up the city to powering small gadgets that citizens use. As useful as it is, mages won’t touch it because its network is maintained by the hunters—a sort of resistance movement/organized crime syndicate that is in a constant power struggle with the mage regime. Since the player is a hunter themselves, they get to enjoy the full power of slipflame, and its different forms allow for play styles that are big and explosive, supportive and peaceful, or cunning and stealthy.

[apilgrimpassingby]

So, a while back I got really into Alaskan saints and so decided to write an Akathist to St. Peter the Aleut; if you don't know who he was, you'll learn from reading this Akathist. Tagging @idylls-of-the-divine-romance (my go-to guy for reviewing theological poetry) and @sapphosremains (because Anglo-Catholics are some of the few non-Orthodox who won't find this at least a little objectionable).

Kontakion 1: The gospel hath gone out unto the ends of the earth and disciples hath been made of every nation, o Lord; even in the ice-bound darkness of the North Thy church hath been established. For this we cry, with angels and all nations: alleluia!

Oikos 1: And in all places and at all times, o Christ God, Thou art wondrous in Thy saints. Hence we praise Saint Peter the Aleut, Protomartyr of America!

Rejoice, glory of the Arctic ice!

Rejoice, fame of Kodiak Island!

Rejoice, thou who burnest brighter than the Northern Lights!

Rejoice, thou who outshinest the sun upon snow!

Rejoice, for the New World is ennobled by thy blood!

Rejoice, for thy triumph is a blessing to America!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 2: Thou wast reared amidst pagan darkness, o holy Peter, the depth of which was not known in the Old World at that time, on a snow-bound lonely island. But when the call of the Shepherd was first heard on Kodiak Island, thou didst reply with the cry of: alleluia!

Oikos 2: The monks of Russia didst administer the light of Christ to a people burdened by avaricious colonists and the religion of demons alike; it opened thine eyes, o righteous one.

Rejoice, first-fruit of Alaska!

Rejoice, sheep of an island where sheep were not known!

Rejoice, for the light of Christ pierceth all darkness!

Rejoice, for by Its light we are enlightened!

Rejoice, pagan adopted as a son of God!

Rejoie, heathen who by grace partook of the glory of the Lord!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 3: When thou wert offered baptism, thou most eagerly accepted. The priest immersed thee in saving water in the name of the blessed Trinity, and upon thee was bestowed the name Peter, mystically linking thee to the glorious Apostle. A soul entered the Kingdom of God, and all the powers of Heaven exclaimed: alleluia!

Oikos 3: The mystery of baptism bestowed upon thee a new name and new life; henceforth, thou wouldst no more be named Cungagnaq, but Peter.

Rejoice, successor to the blessed Apostle!

Rejoice, thou who betrayed not Christ at any time!

Rejoice, son of snow reborn in the water!

Rejoice, child of ice regenerated in the font!

Rejoice, firstborn of a Christian nation!

Rejoice, guide of thy people to the Word!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 4: Not long after thou wast received into the Church, Spanish raiders abducted thee, carrying thee and nineteen others away to California. In spite of thy youth, the terror of the event and the great distance thou wast taken, thou feared not, but sang: alleluia!

Oikos 4: Though thou wast carried from the frozen shores of Alaska to the burning heat of California, the gold of thy soul was neither melted nor diluted, o longsuffering victor.

Rejoice, prize who sought the prize of life eternal!

Rejoice, captive of God and not of men!

Rejoice, thou who wast free in Christ while in chains!

Rejoice, thou who wore thy bonds as a string of pearls!

Rejoice, gold refined in the fire of the sun!

Rejoice, silver purified in the southern crucible!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 5: Thou wast confined to a gloomy dungeon with the other abducted Aleut, thy captors deigning to convert thee to the Church of Rome. But thou didst believe in the Father and in Christ, and so thine heart was not troubled and thou didst exclaim with the others in unison: alleluia!

Oikos 5: Although imprisoned in a foreign land by wicked men with evil designs, thou didst rejoice in the Lord who made thy feet like the deer’s.

Rejoice, servant of the lord who freeth captives!

Rejoice, freedman of Christ!

Rejoice, rampart of Orthodoxy!

Rejoice, one stalwart in the faith of the Apostles!

Rejoice, northern light in the Roman darkness!

Rejoice, torch of faith in foreign lands!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 6: Some monks of the Pope approached thee and thy fellow captives, availing to convert thee to the Roman church. But thou and thy fellow prisoners refused to renounce Holy Orthodoxy, in spite of their threats and abuse, singing: alleluia!

Oikos 6: Though unlearned and far from any learning, thou didst discourse with the educated in defence of the faith, rebuking their many accusations.

Rejoice, thou who succumbed not to falsehood!

Rejoice, thou who spoke the truth with boldness!

Rejoice, one stalwart in Orthodoxy!

Rejoice, opponent of the heterodox!

Rejoice, crown-bearer from a nation without kings!

Rejoice, soldier for Christ from a people without soldiers!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 7: The Franciscans began to threaten torture, their diabolical determination to break thy faith undeterred by thy steadfastness. But thou wast also undeterred, o Peter, refusing to renounce thine Orthodoxy, appealing instead to Christ and the Mother of God and crying: alleluia!

Oikos 7: Even as they presented the implements of thy torment, thou wast not swayed, instead being comforted by the Lord and readying thyself for thy cross.

Rejoice, confessor like the confessors of old!

Rejoice, hero walking the road of heroes!

Rejoice, ice not melted by the heat of terror!

Rejoice, cedar not bent by the persecutor’s rancour!

Rejoice, rock resistant to the hammer and axe!

Rejoice, jade uncut yet sparkling!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 8: The hard-hearted Franciscans then began to torture thee, cutting off a toe from each hand. When finished, they asked thee to convert, but thou remained faithful. After removing a finger from each hand, they asked thee again, but thou simply sang: alleluia!

Oikos 8: Burning with impotent rage, the monks then cut off thy hands and thy feet alike, but no mortal or bodiless tyrant could prise thee from the Lord.

Rejoice, for thy blood hath brought thee a crown!

Rejoice, for thy sufferings are recompensed in Heaven!

Rejoice, diamond cut to glittering brilliance!

Rejoice, gold refined in a fire of agony!

Rejoice, victor over thine and thy companion’s enemies!

Rejoice, athlete who hath run the holy race!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 9: The Franciscans were unable to subject thee to any further tortures, for the loss of blood proved fatal, and thou didst exit the earth and ascend to Christ with thy faith incorrupt. As a new saint entered the Father’s mansions, the chorus of apostles and prophets exclaimed: alleluia!

Oikos 9: The futile anger of the monks continued as thou rose to the bosom of the Lord, but all sorrows of the flesh were behind thee forever as thy soul reaped its reward.

Rejoice, conqueror of the world and the flesh!

Rejoice, triumphant hero of Alaska!

Rejoice, prisoner rewarded with undying freedom!

Rejoice, tortured one compensated with incorruptibility!

Rejoice, prince dressed in blood!

Rejoice, saint adorned with wounds!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 10: The wicked monks had planned to torture others, endeavouring to capture souls as they had laboured to capture thine, but they received orders to return the prisoners to their native land; the captives set free sang with one voice: alleluia!

Oikos 10: Thy body remained behind, o Peter; they returned it not, in a last gesture of spite towards the one swayed by none of their tortures.

Rejoice, for though thy body is captive thy soul is free!

Rejoice, for thy fellow captives hath been freed from torment!

Rejoice, for thou didst never waver from Christ!

Rejoice, for thou wert always allied with His Church!

Rejoice, unshakeable pillar of the Truth!

Rejoice, impenetrable wall of the Faith!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 11: The ship of thy fellows at last returned to Kodiak, whence all dismounted in the sight of Saint Herman, equal to the Apostles and evangelist of Alaska. Not finding thee, he enquired as to the cause of thine absence; thy story was related by a friend and witness, at which he cried: alleluia!

Oikos 11: Upon hearing of the many sufferings and the death in faith thou hadst suffered, he made the sign of the cross and exclaimed “holy new martyr Peter, pray to God for us!”

Rejoice, thou who standest at the gate of Paradise!

Rejoice, thou who hast passed through the doors of Heaven!

Rejoice, advocate for our souls before the Father!

Rejoice, intercessor before the Holy Trinity!

Rejoice, first-born saint of the Alutiiq!

Rejoice, glory of the tribes of Alaska!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 12: In this present age the light of Orthodoxy shineth brightly in Kodiak; there a Christian nation hath been established. All of them, and the rest of the Orthodox people, looketh to thee as a shining example in the past and an intercessor in the future, singing in perfect unity: alleluia!

Oikos 12: Thou, o Peter, attained sainthood by thy sufferings and trials, and by faith; thou didst synergise with the mind of Christ, attaining union with the energies of God.

Rejoice, bearer of a crown shining with the Northern Lights!

Rejoice, one dressed in robes of shimmering snows!

Rejoice, hero stronger than the ocean storms!

Rejoice, martyr mightier than the winter wind!

Rejoice, for mortal sufferings hath won thee immortal glory!

Rejoice, for thy trials were an adornment to the New World!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

[zhoudadudugongjin]

When Zhuge Liang fled the seven star altar did he leave his shoes behind? Did he run barefoot all the way to the riverbank where Zhao Yun picked him up? How big was that fishing boat? Did Zhao Yun diligently clean and wrap the soles of the bloodied feet of this bright and miraculous man that his lord brought home less than a year before? How long was the journey back to Jingzhou? Did they lie together under the stars as the waves gently rocked them to sleep in each other's arms?

[ultimatecryptid]

9 people you want to get to know better

tagged by @ghostwise thanks! i love these :]

Three Ships: Mei Changsu/Mu Nihuang (Nirvana in Fire) no i dont think it should ever be realized the longing is the appeal. the left behind of it all. the i would find you in any life but that doesnt mean i can have you. makes me crazy. Caster Hawke/Isabela (Dragon Age 2) look i know i havent talked about Caster a lot but these two make me UNWELL. 2 people completely obsessed with each other cosplaying as normal. and my OC ship Yoovi/Anri/Elisabeth they arent in love theres no romance involved two of them are actually divorced (Anri queen of alimony) but their dynamic is genuinely the best thing ive ever written.

First Ship: i had to go DEEP into the annals of memory for this, but i think that my first ship was Stormfur/Squirrelpaw from Warrior cats. Brambleclaw youre nothing.

Last Song: pretty sure it was Desde El Barrio from Los Crudos

Last Movie: Metropolis (1927), which has some of THEE best sets i have EVER seen. u can see how it almost bankrupt them though lmao

Currenty Reading: The Heavy Bright by Cathy Malkasian, Erotic Poems from the Sanskrit compiled/translated by R. Parthasarathy, A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall, Lucan's Pharsalia, and Superman: Birthright

Currently Watching: im planning to start Dead Boy Detectives today! ive seen some stuff that looks up my alley so well see how it goes

Currently Eating: its too early for food. coffee only.

Currently Craving: brazilian lemonade.... best drink in the world... theoretically i could make it i have all the supplies but my blender is broken so i have to make it like. lime by lime in a BULLET. it takes like an hour i dont deserve this...

lets pass the tag along to @cat-with-a-keyboard @sevdalinkas @hollow-keys @forever-carlyle @kingdom-dance @nananarc @ursie @thekidthesuperkid @vlwv

[qin-shi-huang-di]

Hi citizens, op here! I just wanted to say thanks for taking part in the bit! It was an honour to reign as your awful, cringefail Emperor and I had a great time! I hope everyone found this as funny and educational as I did. I originally started this blog as a one-off joke but it was just so damn fun and the reception was so overwhelmingly positive I decided to keep it running. Unfortunately all good things must come to an end, so effective today, I will be graciously abdicating. I think QSH rage-quitting to go to hell twitter after being served a big plate of Kung Pow Penis by the revolting peasants (haha pun) of tumblr.com is a very fitting way to give this blog a send-off. It parallels the historical events rather well. IRL Jing Ke and Gao Jianli were a pair of failed assassins who didn't accomplish much (but definitely deserve a B+ for effort!) so I thought it would be quite poetic if they actually succeed this time. Jing Ke struck the first blow, Gao Jianli followed up with a shot in the dark, and after Qin Shi Huang's death, the peasants rose up to overthrow the dynasty. So thank you again for helping me bring history to life! Round of applause for everyone!

I've only covered a tiny fraction of all the batshit events that went down in BCE China. Here are some cool youtube channels if you want to learn more: Cool History Bros , Xiran Zhao's channel and if you like fiction, check out Romance of the Three Kingdoms which has one of THEE best subtitles ever, courtesy of the people at @hanchaozhilang

I'm @its-not-a-pen on main and I draw comics. Come say hi!

P.S. ok I posted a bunch of stuff after QSH supposedly buggered off, so I’m gonna say this was all totally planned and definitely not my poor management skills. After IRL QSH died during his 5th inspection of the realm, his closest circle pretended he was still alive and issued commands on his behalf. They just hid his body in the fucking carriage. Cartloads of rotting seafood was involved. So yknown. my version is actually way more dignified.

[salosion]

“Happy Balloon”

/♾️\

“ #AdmiralsClub “ 🫡🌟💫♣️✈️♣️🚀🛫🛩️ 🚀🛬♣️

coming along way

such the sweetest essence from abo’e

what we’ll do my way what a long way has become

coming a long stay for a short term aint enough

tell me short for a say

I need you

I need you now enough

I Need you now enough

I Need you now enough

now open slide up your very wide your legs that’s fine

by the happy balloons

divine

just go slow with collisions when combine

to see passed the digits theorization

just go slow when transitions come arise

and Realize

A

Been that way before

oh what delicate blossoms on temporal temporary tempurpedic tempura temperatures

what a merry oh it seems the gift of life obscene and its given twice beyond the its seams it seems is seaming out the seams it seems to be seaming and seaming out what is seeming the seams of sea’s of see’s of oh my breeze so Pa-Lease Have Your Stay come my way love all day healthiest pieces of slathered slithered chocolate chocolate cake. The one made famous by mistakes no mistakes the breaker the times you breaks the divinity comes awake before and after you open thy eyes and see thy face created by thy phase that created to create a world in which love could harbor its dances swaying and romances trippin’ till you’re melting sweating pounds of genetelia.

Memrobelia this miracle let’s get some miracle memrobelia no money for free come take what’s a stake don’t sell the short end of the tree smoke it straight wake up bake praise the Lord go to sleep wake for the sake of Love that gave repeat times infinity times the pancakes you couldn’t cake or take for granted all the tales Grant thee all the takes the cakes the wakes the tales between the stories the tails between the sails of the wind so far come search for stars or diamonds made of gold so old your greed ain’t horny anymore cause it was satisfied when its orgasm came to realize it is what it was as it was coming the whole time just had to hold the seed not spill the energy the whole time in divine in time make her squirt showers and storms of off the rain screaming like she’s in pain but joy it pounds the stay humping all the way to the deep breathes of the heartbeat of the lungs of the wings of the heart palpitating into its depths extremes feeling every fiber pour into melting creaming your pores are bumped it seems by goose swan geese ponds in gardens of royalty where the tea hosts Boating on Serpetine and kayaks as well as canoes the groves the water meets at is the groves we come grill at sparks the orange stars illuminescent shades of hues

Come packed in dark so damn heavy its powering through some

Broken full part transkladescope probe vibration phone peer into what you’ve done see the others post wish but love to all thy fellows spread but love to all don’t try make impressions jello ego only goes so far but when understood with skeptic al intellectual mellows then fine lines can be scarred overcome and path took to kingdoms of who and what we are. Don’t try to estimate seem great or make others feel a low were all in in all the same place and are here but to grow, ladders don’t work great if there’s no garden for the ladder grow go stay show itself our plants and seeds plans and needs whatever this it thy tree come and mix both root Qi’s IQ’s Are frequency in the breeze downloads are for all to keep clouds they keep the storage of rain the bundance of life take all your reciprocals and collect that shattered liquid glass diamond pass 3 days last without no wine..imagine glass that fits in a glass is liquid and gas when heated sighs its own reflections vaporating informal informational traditional inspiration from light source truth it wakens the rousal inside don’t be scared don’t go hide come out full flower pride stride with the rays of all the shine the sun bestows upon divine divide time in time and come to find yourself finding yourself in places time came to find itself before the after it came for beyond our keeping score comprehension is a mess when comprehensiveness at is core is modes of expression inherently subject perception the subjectivity to perceive the perceivers limitations of the fabric of infinitude is existence in our form it’s resistant to exist in some typa/ what is this I didn’t just come here to wake up all day and say hey I’m here what is the day Tuesday my dear what did I say grandson come here put this away it’s the sweetness of the sounds of the sugar that surrounds the songs that saved swelled sold sweet bought your souls whole fresh new breathe and pair of lungs to smoke thy ganja and eat thy chunks of cookie chunks piece of leaf corner sheet drop a liquid LSD to chemicals natural in light natural can be elements on the periodic T dressed in its gown dressed in its cloth dressed for a magicians assistant to get lost and find that Psylocybin helps you don’t go hide the rescue caveats must be careful not for every mind is special wisdom knows thy vessel intuition knows thy best so beat thy fear to rest beat it with your best take that bloody mop and sweep it like the rest broom it with a pang that hit the floor like moon it didn’t spank the sun in shine too soon to take the stick of wood and holy magic hit it while you spit on all the Idolotarous madness, drink all of your gladness don’t regurgitate your madness know when your control is limitations strong not sadness find the perfect balance between sugar and salt sprinkle sometimes on your sacrifices - Korbanot

Take the stick you’re hitting with and hit like it’s no joke you’re in a joke cause the piñata already broke at the very first was birthday today the day you woke was is birthday but everyday a joke to get the pun and have your loads of fun throw away the guns smoke thy garden dance as one serve your L👑RD In Love Serve Y👑UR Lord In Servitude. Realize what you’ve won come here to be served to you only if you earn a seat at the table ain cheap boy, VIP BOVE Elite Boy. Toppest Tiers Here Don’t Speak Boy, Only Language Is The Beats Boy & Girl, Hearts that beat and twirl.

The only things you can take with you

When you pass aren’t these material things that you can feel now but never last.

Sure money we need who doesn’t love their needs + More. But wisdom can’t be bought at stores neither can Love for free ain’t a price the market has shelf space for anymore or ever so be that clever be the ever create the infinity you were made to tether the ether real with your feel this times better may you blessed with lifetimes of infinite gorgeous whether inside and outside; inside and outside of the storm you tell her what way to feed thy seeds that grow thy plants don’t explode in thy pants hold thy seed pound thy dance hump thy partner ONLY dance no one else Find Your Chance don’t go sleep around thinking you’re finding your chance you’re wasting and withering away excuses to let your beauty get the best in the worst way pleasure lust satisfaction that won’t ever last or stay in fashion like the swaying of emotions it’s by seasons come wait however many lifetimes must be patiently cum to pound the soul out of your breathes souls heaves fresh lungs feel blessed dressed in overwhelmed orgasm chest pound heart beating faster then the rest faster baby deeper baby you’re my only and the best didn’t

Don’t need no nothing to find myself in that the end hold thy seed don’t waste the gardens spread unless to birth yourself a prince king co creator loving friend child you nourished flourished into a sprouting special beautiful treasured royal garden.

A garden is a kept jungle.

Eye.

Don’t you cry unless it’s joy and then the sigh when you explode when split thy thighs and rocket rode its energy ride all the time till it imploded on in itself forever recirculating life in infinite wells and wells of Torah wells of springs of wealth wellspring of Torah are the diamonds beyond comprehension able or emotional wealth

Love is infinitely abounding love is not what else

On a world created by G👑D what else is There?

Words in forms of expression to you in forms of actions and words of understanding and expressions of Love to Him.

Otherwise how do you know manifest understand or win?

You’re a G that needs the G

G👑D

Add the G you Are That Created Y👁️U at the end of Win and you get

Wing

Wings Fly

Don’t spill your buffalo wolf sauce

Fly all up in the moons sauce and ponds and lakes and parks and places that celestially create beautiful romantacisms of our “scenes” and what we imagine what means

What means

What means what?

What means

What means what what means

What means what what means to mean its meaning what it’s meaning means it’s meanings means meanings means X

INfinitidue

INFinitude

🕳️

🪞

🕳️

OutbegNotYOwed

The only things you can take with you

When you pass are the things you pack inside your heart.

Ration energy actions passed created energy reverberating passed the actions reverbarations. That’s the power of G👑D That’s The Power Truth and Reality of Love.

INFINITUDE.

tell me short for a say

I need you

I need you now enough

I Need you now enough

I Need you now enough

now open slide up your very wide your legs that’s fine

by the happy balloons

divine

just go slow with collisions when combine

to see passed the digits theorized magnificence theorize but what is science but a way to put ✌️ words and describe the shine that is phenomena

At the end all is phen✨ mena

You are phenomena which mean

Y 🫵U Are Phenom✨nal.

just go slow when transitions come arise

and Realize

Just go slow

G👑♾️D please show continue to show gives us your unbound unblind infinite unmerited love protection and mercy to all.

We adore you even those that aren’t aware awake and even those that fall we adore you more then our calls can describe descriptions of the greatness is our humble beautiful limitation.

We love you so much with unbound Love and Infinite thanks Greatfullness LOVEEE & ∀DMI👑R👁️TI 🎁N.

[bakuliwrites]

Lunar Halo, Chapter 4- Trespasser

Rating: 18+ (for future chapters), Minors DNI!!!!!

Chapter Links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, Ending 1, Ending 2, Ending 3

Fandom: Dark Souls

Relationships: Dark Sun Gwyndolin/OC, Dark Sun Gwyndolin/Chosen Undead

Tags for Whole Work: Major Character Death, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Romance, Grief/Mourning, Body Horror, Body Worship, Oral S*x, Penetrative S*x, Vaginal Fingering, Friends to Lovers, Bodyguard Romance, Blades of the Darkmoon, Marriage (and not in the Dark Souls 3 definition of it...), Marriage Proposal, Gwyndolin uses he/him pronouns, Falling in Love

Chapter Summary: A trespasser has entered Anor Londo and threatens to breach the fog gate leading to Lord Gwyn's Tomb. Gwyndolin must defend against this interloper, but worries he is out of practice due to years of idleness. A familiar face comes to his aid. Read here or on my AO3

Panic courses through the halls of Anor Londo. A trespasser has been spotted, elusive and swift. Not even the Silver Knights seem to be able to fell this wretched sinner. Yorshka is guarded by members of the Covenant, but Gwyndolin must remain at his post, by his Father’s Tomb. He readies himself, armed with an arsenal of sorceries that surely no average interloper could withstand. Yet a vitriolic voice, one that sounds exactly like his own, echoes in his mind, reminding him how ineffectual and frail the Dark Sun is. So long, it has been, since any malefic interlopers have dared to test the mettle of Lord Gwyndolin. He fears he has grown rusty in his idleness. 

Gwyndolin pushes these thoughts away. He has a duty to uphold and right now is not the time for ruminations. He stands tall, poised and ready to defend his kingdom. He can sense the trespasser drawing nearer, their aura a well of dark energy. He hears the pained cries of his knights, the clatter of armor as they fall. A deep shadow swims beyond the fog, the strength of its darkness almost oppressive. 

“Halt!” Gwyndolin calls out, his voice steady despite the tremors of anxiety within him, “This is the Tomb of the Great Lord Gwyn. Tarnished, it shall not be, by the feet of men.”

But the villain does not stop. They push forth, sword drawn and resolve steady. Gwyndolin prepares himself, lifting his bow and readying arrows to volley at the rogue should they dare to pass the barrier. 

“Halt!” he repeats, more forcefully this time, “Lest you desire an eternal curse laid upon thee. For heretics do not escape this sanctum unscathed.” 

The intruder either doesn’t hear him or does not care, a juggernaut pushing forth to complete what Gwyndolin can only assume is an assassination. Or a defilement of the Holy Tomb. He will defend his familial estate, tooth and nail. But just as his would-be assailant is about to breach the illusory gate, they are pulled back and nearly stumble to the ground. As they right themselves, Gwyndolin sees his Blade behind them, returned from a long journey, drained and in need of rest. However, when he looks closer, he can see the wrath in her eyes, the fury. Her sword clashes against the trespassers as they dance around one another. Brutal swing after brutal swing crescendos through the snaking hallways. Despite her exhaustion, Gwyndolin’s Blade does not back down. 

She has the upper hand on the intruder, having surprised them, but they won’t give up without a fight. With a hard kick, the intruder sends Gwyndolin’s Blade flying. She tumbles through the fog, her helmet skittering across the marbled floors, ribbons of her hair pooling around her head like a halo. Gwyndolin fires several volleys of arrows, starry darts streaking through the corridor, piercing the dreaded interloper and knocking them back. This gives Gwyndolin’s Blade enough time to recover herself. Neither she nor Gwyndolin pause to assess the crime she has just committed by traversing the fog, whether she meant to or not. She picks up her sword from where it fell from her grasp and drives it straight through the trespasser's heart. Her vow is to the safety of Lord Gwyndolin, and she would not so easily abandon that. 

It all happens so quickly, Gwyndolin barely has time to process it. He’s just as flummoxed as his Blade is when she pulls her weapon from the chest of the defeated rogue. Catching her breath, she glances around and it dawns on her. She whips around to face her Lord, who lets his bow fall to his side. Her eyes are filled with bewilderment, then fear and shame. 

“My Lord, I am sorry,” she cries, throwing her hands up, covering her eyes. She drops to her knees before bending back into child’s pose, lying prostrate at the Dark Sun’s feet, knowing she has committed a grave offense. 

“I have committed the sin of gazing upon you and entering this Tomb meant to remain unsullied by the feet of man. Punish me as you see fit,” she panics, “Should my name be written in the Book of the Guilty, I deserve nothing but whatever penance you inflict upon me.” 

Gwyndolin stares down at her, head tilting with curiosity. This is the closest she’s ever been to him. Probably the closest he’s ever been to a human in a long while. He bends to sit before her, cautiously peering at her from behind his gilded mask. She is dusted in ash, as usual, and smells of something smoky and sweet. The armor Gwyndolin crafted for her needs polishing, but it seems to serve her well. There are scratches, a few dents to show the daily use it gets, but its sturdy material remains otherwise unscathed.  

“Thy name is not written in the Book of the Guilty,” the Dark Sun almost chuckles after a moment, cracking a small smile. He finds her nervousness endearing, almost comical. Gwyndolin helps lift his Blade to a seated position, but still she will not look at him, squeezing her eyelids shut and keeping her head low. The Dark Sun cannot help but laugh at her insistence upon upholding his reclusiveness. She is no ordinary trespasser. She is a Blade of the Dark Moon. His Blade, to be more precise. When he started thinking of her as his, and his alone, Gwyndolin cannot be sure. But he’s settled on this decision and thinks that, perhaps, he wouldn’t mind if she viewed him, just the once. Maybe it is a gift for her loyalty. Or maybe it is a test. Or perhaps, Gwyndolin simply wants to be seen by eyes that have searched so long for him.

“You may gaze upon me,” he permits, lifting her chin with his finger. Hesitantly, she cracks an eye open, peeking up at him behind her lashes. When she realizes that this isn’t some sort of cruel trick, she allows herself to fully look upon the Dark Sun. And as she gazes, her cheeks turn pink. She looks at him with wonderment, eyes filled with curiosity and awe. She traces his form from the tips of his spired crown to the tongues of the snakes at his feet. Feeling her eyes on the scales of his serpents, Gwyndolin shifts the hem of his dress to cover them, a sudden mortification creeping into his heart. Perhaps this was a bad idea, he thinks, wondering if she is disgusted by his “unnatural” appearance. Her eyes linger there only briefly, but it feels like an eternity in his mind. 

When her gaze shifts back to the Dark Sun’s face, Gwyndolin takes this opportunity to examine his Blade as closely as she is examining him. She is smaller than him, but not by as much as he initially believed. Her human fragility is apparent in the small cuts upon her cheek that seep a crimson blood. Her eyes are bright, filled with intrigue and not an ounce of fear. Though battle hardened, there is something soft about her. 

“You are lovely, My Lord,” she sheepishly whispers after some time. Taken aback, Gwyndolin wonders if this is perhaps the first time he’s ever been called something like that. To his Father, Gwyndolin was always sickly, frail, weak. Everyone knew him as Lord Gwyn’s most fragile and insipid offspring. He was often hidden away from the prying eyes of outsiders, lest he embarrass or somehow demean Lord Gwyn’s powerful rule with his delicate appearance. But this human just now called him lovely. 

“You are not- repulsed by me?” he questions, voice wavering. He hadn’t realized how nervous he was to allow her to view him. What if he had been rejected by her? What if she had been repulsed? What then? To open himself up so freely only to be cast aside yet again would be unbearable. Instead, she looks at him quizzically, as if he’s said something in a language she can’t understand.

“Why would I be repulsed by you?” she tenderly replies, sadness creeping into the facets of her irises. Gwyndolin knows not how to respond. I am sickly and frail. Small and weak compared to my fellow gods, he wants to say, but can’t, Surely you can pray to and serve beings far greater than I. And yet, you have chosen me. He lets go of the hem of his dress, his grasp on it so tight, he has to flex his fingers to return feeling to them. His Blade takes no notice, glancing demurely away at Gwyndolin’s prolonged eye contact. He looks off into the distance, embarrassed, not realizing he’d been staring so intensely at her. There’s an awkward silence as Gwyndolin searches for something to say in return. 

“Thou art injured,” he finally offers, feeling rather stupid all of a sudden that that’s all he can come up with to say. He reaches a cautious hand to her cheek, caresses his thumb against the wound that tarnishes it. 

“Oh, it is nothing, My Lord,” she speaks, blushing ever deeper. 

“Hold still,” Gwyndolin ignores, conjuring light into his palm. A blessing heals her wound, stitching muscle and sealing skin with potent sunlight, the only power Gwyndolin has of the star he was robbed of. When he is finished, she feels the spot with her fingertips, no trace of injury present any longer. 

“I thank thee, my Lord,” she beams, a smile that lights this Tomb with a radiance unmatched. 

“It is I who should be thanking thee, my Blade,” he returns, helping lift her to her feet, “Had you not arrived when you did, my life could have been forfeit.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but Gwyndolin cuts her off, “Please, stay a while. Rest. I should like thy company. And thou art deserving of respite after such a harrowing ordeal.”

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone for your likes and your kind comments. I truly appreciate it. Glad to see there are other Gwyndolin enthusiasts out there! For this chapter, I wanted to give Gwyndolin just one little miracle, like a healing spell, just as an homage to the tie his Father and siblings have to the sun. I'm having a wonderful time writing this fic and can't wait to post more! Hope you are having a great start to your week! Lots of love 💜

[multifairyus]

Hey There!

Welcome to my Lexicon of interests! My name is Multifairyus, (whatstheswitch if ya nasty 💋) and friends call me Fairy!

Skip to “Keep Reading” for my fandom stuff, stick around to know me better 💖

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demographics: HBCU & tertiary educated, neurodivergent, queer, zillenial Black-American woman

Occupation: IRL wizard and resident Hot Girl™️ of my laboratory

Interests: Exploring new cities, astrology, make-up, Dungeons and Dragons, Biblical hermeneutics, BDSM, womanism, JRPGs, social commentary/media analysis video essays, weed, orchestral/8-bit/bardcore/Lo-Fi covers of songs, internet/social media memes and culture, being beautiful on the inside and out, committing to the bit

(Tumblr Active) Fandoms: The Legendborn Cycle, Spider-Verse Cinnematic Universe, Kingdom Hearts, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Critical Role, Megan Thee Stallion, Persona 5, Inu-Yasha

Social Media: @/multifairyus on all platforms. I’m pretty hot too ngl @/lexie.day just don’t be weird or get blocked

Fandom Styles: Playlist curation, headcannon/hot take sharing, fanfiction writing (eventually…), fandom community challenge issuer, fandom discord administration, comment section hypeman.

Genres: General, romance, friendship, found family dynamics, missing scenes/POV switches, porn w/feelings and porn w/warnings, angst with a happy ending, fluff, AUs.

Pro/Anti-Shipping: No. Shut up. Listen to her speak on it for my thoughts.

Asks?: The more fun, thought-provoking, or unhinged the better

DMs?: Yes if you interacted with my stuff. Hell yes if you’re Black and wanna cold open ask to be friends I love that stuff

Note: I like to reblog...a lot. If you aren't interested in one of these fandoms I recommend blocking some of these tags so you get what you signed up for with me: #legendborn #bloodmarked #ATSV #Hobie Brown #Spiderpunk.

That said I'm liable to go on a reblogging spree on any of my interests. My @ is a play on the word "multifarious" for a reason, lmao. I like a lot of stuff and I'm making it y'alls problem...adjust accordingly or develop exquisite taste that just so happens to be exactly like mine!

The Legendborn Cycle

Brelwyn Story Playlists

Volume I

Volume II

Fandom Challenges

• Kane Coded Bingo Challenge and Wrap-Up

Commissions

Birthday Firefly Kiss

Headcannons/Hot Takes

Legendborn AUs

Missing Moments in Volition

LBC and Queer Narratives

Erebus is Secretly a Brelwyn Shipper

Valec Carries Bloodmarked's Humor

Brelwyn & Kanthony

Spider-Verse Cinematic Universe

Playlists

(Hobie-inspired if not stated to be otherwise)

xReader Delulu Vibes (WIP)

A Doobie for your Thoughts (WIP)

Tik Tok Fan-Edit Trash (WIP)

Arachnakids Cover Band Setlist (WIP)

Headcannons/Hot Takes

• Hobie’s Grandma

Kthxbai 💖

[miiniiniight]

I'm timidly adding on some recs of my own:

Strange Practice (and the rest of the Dr. Greta Helsing novels) by Vivian Shaw: It follows Dr. Greta Helsing (descended from thee Helsing) who is one of the only doctors in London who treats non-human and 'monster' patients. There's some weird shit going on that's unnatural even for the supernatural threatening her patients and for some reason Greta keeps getting caught in the middle of it. Features cool medical descriptions about supernatural creatures and the maladies that can affect them put into practical layman's terms. Also fun history and classic supernatural and horror lit references. Also there's a slow burn (ish) romance.

The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon: When I picked it up in the bookstore it was an employee pick labeled "if Game of Thrones didn't hate women" and don't get me wrong I love GoT but tbh it truly was a breath of fresh air. An evil ancient dragon is waking up after 1000 years and the divided East and West refuse to make amends. Mostly follows an exile from the West trying to make a home in the East, a spy from a hidden society of mages, a dragon rider from the East keeping a dark secret, and the Queen of a Western kingdom terrified of conceiving an heir. Features: an enemies (sort of one-sided tbh) to friends to lovers arc that feels extremely natural and is also very queer, cool ass dragons, and twists and turns that are genuinely shocking and exciting and not just edgy and murder-y.

Vicious by V. E. Schwab: follows Victor Vale after he's broken out of prison determined to get his revenge on their former best friend and research partner. 10 years ago, they found the key to claiming extraordinary abilities for themselves. Taking their thesis from theoretical to experimental lead to tragedy and Victors thirst for revenge. Turns out his old foe is on a dark violent mission of their own, leading Victor to team up with a young girl with a weird connection to his ex best-friend. Features: really cool theory on how people gain superpowers and how it determines what those superpowers will manifest into. Also found family and a huge moral grayness that leaves it hard to tell who is the hero and who is the villain. Vicious is also my favorite book in my entire collection!

listen I ended up regretting saying anything about this on my old blog because people will interpret literally any and every statement maliciously on this hellsite but I want to start like. a helpline for people who are like “hey I pretty much only read YA but I’m like 22 now and don’t relate to teenagers as much, it’s such a shame that there are no fun books written for adults :(” because boy HOWDY are there some fun books for adults