#stories from frog swamp

[hazelfoureyes]

A boiling frog (Alastor x Reader smut)

saw someone talk about “boiling frog syndrome”, when a situation becomes dire so slowly you don’t realize how dangerous it is until it’s too late, like a frog slipping into death as the cold water comes to a boil, never trying to leap out. Made me think of Louisiana frog legs and, of course, our self obsessed deer demon. my longwinded ass used restraint and went for a PWP (I hope…. No, theres still plot. I’m a slut for plot. Sorry?)

Your companionship was peppered onto Alastor so gently and slowly he didn’t realize he was too far gone until he was hopelessly dependent on your attention. He decides the only remedy is to drown you in his.

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x fem reader, cunnilingus, biting, work attire, realistic descriptions of yet another job I once had, fingering, mentions of my favorite alcoholic beverage, southern shit, filing, that asshole in room 127

Minors DNI

When you first arrived at the hotel, Alastor was pleased to have some help. Charlie informed him of your experience on earth managing apartments and how you would be taking on the role of ‘Resident Relations Manager’. Any issues, complaints, or room adjustments would go to you first. Marvelous. As his underling, you often came to him with your own gripes and stories of the latest drama around the hotel. It became a sort of ritual to meet at the bar after work, talking about the day’s trivial matters over two fingers of rye and a cassis orange. One morning you joined him for coffee in the sunroom he added shortly after your arrival, silently enjoying the view. Then you returned the next day. At some point you started filling his mug and bringing it to the chair he always used. Neither of you spoke, which he found refreshing.

The group dinners were never his scene, the familiarity they bore was uncomfortable and dangerous to his plans. But he overheard your laughter as you and Angel teased each other about what could or couldn’t be defined as a kink. When he joined the table, he was pleasantly surprised at the in-depth conversations you sparked among the band of hopeless fools he’d come to enjoy.

So when he entered the sunroom one morning to see his cup, but not you, it ruffled his fur, so to speak. At dinner, he heard from Charlie you were eating in your office. The bar was full of residents and yet empty all the same when you never arrived.

Three days was all it took. Three days of not seeing you. When he walked past the bar at 9pm to see just Angel and Husk, he continued onward until in the safety of the darkened hall. Licking his teeth, he found himself getting angry. Annoyed that he was promised, by your actions, interesting conversation and like-minded company. His fists curled out of frustration, lights strobing as he stalked down the hall.

But that melted into something even more upsetting, he felt… worried. Not that his smile showed it, passing Vaggie with a nod of his head.

When did you manage to creep into his mind? Like an overlord taking territory, you had taken space in his thoughts with ruthless speed. Never one to be passive in competition, he realized he needed to take drastic measures to catch up to you. He knew of many ways to get *ahead, but he found an ambush always worked like a charm.

Alastor’s shadows gathered before he rose from the floor of your office.

You were standing near a filing cabinet, looking intently at something, “Hello there Alastor, to what-“ you turned the page, not looking at him, “do I owe the pleasure?” You hadn’t actually lifted your head from the file until you felt a hand in the small of your back. You flinched and took a step away, turning around to ask what he was doing when you noticed you weren’t in your office anymore.

The large hole in the wall that led into an endless swamp of a forest hinted at whose room this was.

Closing the file with one hand, you gestured around the room, “Is there a reason I’m here?”

He motioned for you to sit on the bed, and when you laughed he used the microphone to corral you to the edge. “You’ve been busy, as of late.”

“Swamped.” Usually your puns would get atleast a chuckle from your boss, but this time he passed right over it.

“I realized today we haven’t had one of our usual chats in quite a while. What’s been keeping you oh-so-occupied?” He pushed down on your shoulders until you came to rest on the bed.

Nervously, you scooted back a little from him, “Well, so many new residents has meant so many petty little issues. This guy on the 34th floor is angry that the man who killed him is on 37– Alastor?!” He had knelt down and lifted your ankle, slipping your shoe off.

“And?”

“What are you doing?”

“Isn't it obvious?" He picked up the other ankle, "Listening. Continue.”

You laughed breathlessly, “wha-,” but the way he looked up at you seemed to catch your tongue, “uhm, so- yeah so he doesn’t think his killer deserves redemption-,” the other shoe was taken off, neatly set besides its twin. You took a deep breath to try and calm down, “and even if he does, he shouldn’t be—,”Alastor’s hand slipped up your right thigh, fingers taking your stocking and rolling it down. His gaze on your face never wavering.

“Keep going.” The look in his eyes told you he wasn’t just suggesting it.

“-be on a higher floor.” He peeled the left stocking down, delicately pulling it over your toes.

You forgot to breath for a second. Instinctively you brought your knees together.

“That is quite annoying! What ever will you do?” That toothy grin widened as he looked up at you. His hand began to massage the sole of your right foot.

“Huh? Do what?”

“About the man on 34’s complaint”, his hand then moved up to your calf, he hummed, “what supple flesh, my dear.”

“Thank you?” Should you be scared or horny? Was he tenderizing his dinner? He looked up at you expectantly. “I told him if the angels return, higher floors would be the most dangerous.”

"Ha! Quite a clever response! Did it placate him?" He raised your right knee to his mouth, placing his lips above the joint. You felt his breath over your inner thigh as he let out a soft huff of a laugh, a reaction to your confused face. You were absolutely panicked; frozen. That wild look you were giving him, if he could he would drown himself in those eyes. Alastor felt his own excitement build, a twitch pressing his cock against the zipper of his dress pants. What a delicious reaction. His long hands crawled under your work skirt, nails grazing your skin as he grabbed the sides of your panties, "It's rude to leave someone waiting, dear."

You shook your head, crawling backward on the bed, "Okay, I get it. Ha ha, you managed to frazzle me."

A darkness fell over his face, "I don't think you do get it." He opened his mouth and dragged his teeth over the skin of your inner thigh, "You've neglected me quite rudely! Most people wouldn't dare such a thing and yet you don't even seem slightly concerned about it."

Rude? "Alastor, oh my god. What did I do? I've been at work every morning on time, if not early. I have been staying up late to make sure the resident files are up to date. I've been meeting with Charlie like you wanted about-,” He brought the panties down your thighs.

"It is what you haven't been doing, mon cher.” He pulled them clear of one leg, leaving them to hang off the ankle of the other leg. "I've been drinking my coffee alone in the sunroom, do you think I had the set of rocking chairs delivered for my own amusement? Dinner has been monotonous without your conversation. And what about our nightly gossip at the bar?" When he lifted your leg and hooked your knee over his shoulder, you fell back on your elbows to keep from lying flat.

"Listen-- Alastor!" His name was squeaked out as a bite stung you, dangerously close to your now naked pussy.

"Sir." He chided.

"Sir?!" He pushed your skirt up, exposing you, "Sir. I don't really like people going down on me."

"That's odd.” His hands gripped your thighs and dragged your ass to the edge of the bed, your pussy now inches from his face. His eyes rolled from left to right, “I don’t remember asking.” Your other leg was pulled over his shoulder, causing you to finally fall onto your back.

A long, wide tongue licked from mid thigh to the place where your legs met your crotch. You felt the heat of his mouth before he finally made contact with your core, one long lick from entrance to clit.

You buried your face inside the file, inhaling the smell of ink and paper with each pant. Your heart was pounding, the rush of blood from your head to your lap left you dizzy and seeing spots.

“Ah ah! I need your full attention.” He took the file and tossed it to the side. He needed to see your face, this was pointless if he couldn’t watch you go dumb in his mouth.

He had started this wanting to ensure you would be thinking about him as much as he had been you, but the way you couldn’t even speak when he touched you shifted his mission. Now, he wanted to win. Maybe he would be bothered by the absence of your presence in the sunroom, but you’d lie awake at night pained by the absence of his tongue in your cunt.

“I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.” Your face was beet red.

“Good. I’ve never been very fond of sharing my toys.” His nose grazed your already throbbing clit as he sunk his tongue into you. Reflexively your thighs pressed against his ears, his head keeping you from closing them entirely. His tongue seemed to lick at your walls as if reaching for something, the sensation wet and warm. You whined, embarrassed at how you were twitching against his lips.

You could feel his smile widen, thumb pressing down on your clit. Gripping the sheets you tried to ease away, the pressure too rough. His nails dug into your left leg, keeping you from making any real difference.

As he dragged his tongue along your walls you felt something you normally didn’t when getting eaten out; the beginning tension of an orgasm slinking into your stomach.

When his mouth left your cunt you gasped, the air stinging at your wet hole and thighs.

“Starting from the morning, tell me exactly what you did today that was so important you didn’t feel the need to entertain me with your company. If your mouth stops moving, so will mine.” He brought his lips to your other thigh, nipping at the skin.

“I made your coffee but got a call about a resident.” His finger pressed against your entrance before breaching.

“Oh, it has been awhile. I thought you were just being modest”, he laughed, your embarrassed expression spurring him forward. He hadn’t expected you to be so tight on just a single digit.

“She feels unsafe, there’s a jackal demon on her floor who keeps”, his finger curled, hitting that bundle of nerves that made your eyes cross, “who is giving her really scary looks.” He bit down again, breaking the skin. You yelled, yanking your leg back but he didn’t release you. “Alastor- please. This is cruel enough.”

“You haven’t even begun to see me be cruel.” He lapped at the wound, finger in you slowly dragging out before entering again. Still bent, it would hit your spongey g-spot with every move. “After that?”

“I had a meeting with Charlie. About the different growth activities.” Eyes closed, you could feel your pleasure slowly inching up that peak. “I needed to organize the files first, so I ate at my desk again.”

His lips cupped your clit as he began to suck. Your hips rose off the bed and his mouth went with you.

“It’s a lot of paperwork, you won’t let me use a computer for it.” His hand pulled back as a second finger joined. The way your cunt was gripping his fingers, he couldn’t imagine how much you’d hiss around his cock. His hips rutted against the air beside the bed, out of your view.

You put your arm over your eyes to hide yourself in some way, breath hitching when his fingers began pumping in and out of you. The moans tumbling from your mouth made Alastor’s grip on you tighten further. His cock leaking into the front of his pants.

When his tongue stopped flitting over your clit you groaned a complaint.

“Ffuuuck, Alastor. D- Uh, Room 127 hates the view o-,” your jaw clenched around the words, “something something blah blah blah —nngh” your head went back, your hips now fully grinding into his mouth. You needed more friction, your orgasm rolling just to the precipice.

His tongue slowed.

“He- he uh, I said he could move,” his fingers curled, pressing over and over into your g-spot, “when he stops being such an asshole. fuck me, please don’t stop—,” you reached down for his head and took a fist full of hair, earning you a surprised moan from him.

Alastor removed his hand from your leg to palm his clothed erection. His nose buried into your bush as his own breathing picked up.

So close.

“-and now I’m here and you’re here,” your words breathy, “and I’m gonna cum—I’m so close, so close,” your lips tingled from the way you were panting.

You choked out a moan as your orgasm reached its climax and pleasure wracked your body. Your grip on his hair stinging, your pussy sucked his fingers in with so much need he closed his eyes and let himself cum against his palm at the thought of his cock in their place. He felt the warmth soak into his pants.

Both of your hands came to your face, too embarrassed to speak.

Alastor placed your shoes and tights beside you, and rested both of his elbows on either side of your head. His weight pressed into you, and you finally looked at him. He was resting his chin on his cradled hands, staring down at you.

With a smug grin and raised his eyebrows he said, “Apology accepted.” He pushed off of you, bringing both fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean with a wet ‘pop’. “See you in the sun room at 8am! Bring that cheery smile I’ve come to enjoy!” He sunk back into the shadows and was gone.

You looked around, you were back in your office. He’d transported you seamlessly from lying on his bed to lying on your desk.

“Yes, sir.”

*get it? He wanted to “get ahead”… head. The slang for cunnilingus ? I’ll see myself out

༻Masterlist༺

[brattyfics]

Summary: Set against the eerie backdrop of the Florida swamps in the 1980s, this supernatural tale follows Adla Bennett, a woman navigating life after the loss of her father. When she discovers a wounded creature resembling a wolf on her porch, she takes it in for the night, only to find out the creature is a shapeshifter named Terry Richmond. He asks Adla for her help in locating his missing cousin, Mike, intertwining their fates in a way she never expected.

A/N: Divider by firefly-graphics. This is the beginning of my Swampbound story for Scary Terry Night (October 30) featuring Werewolf!Terry Richmond with my fave @uzumaki-rebellion! If you haven’t already, check out her Tattoos and Bloodsucker Blues preview. I struggled to choose an excerpt, so I’m sharing the entire first part. This story features supernatural elements and some mild gore, so please keep that in mind. Happy Reading!

Adla had spent all of her life in Florida, yet the strange things that washed ashore after storms still startled her. Destruction was to be expected—broken tree limbs, uprooted plants, even splintered pieces of homes carried away by the wind.

Tangled in seaweed, turtle hatchlings, along with frogs and crabs scurried frantically, struggling to reclaim their place in the chaos. Sometimes she'd find the occasional oddity: a tattered shirt, a weathered cloth bag, knotted fishing line.

But she'd never come across anything like this—a mangled, bloody deer carcass strewn across the tall grass, torn flesh and fur mingling with pieces of shredded cloth. 

Her instincts screamed at her to back, but curiosity got the better of her.

She knelt down, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. Something violent had happened here. She scanned the scene, trying to make sense of it. 

A gator? No, they usually dragged their prey back into the water. 

Maybe a hawk? But even with its sharp talons, a bird of prey wouldn’t make this kind of mess. 

Possibly a bobcat? They prowled the swamps, their hunting disturbed by storms, always opportunistic. 

But no, the tracks didn’t match.

These footprints were too big—far too big. The prints were wolf-like but larger, deeper, as though the creature was far heavier than any wolf she'd ever heard of. 

Four prints ran parallel, perfectly spaced in the mud, until they faded into something stranger—two flatter, elongated impressions. 

Like feet. 

Human feet.

The footprints appeared far too big to be her own, and there shouldn’t have been anyone else wandering around the property.

A chill ran down her back even though the sun was shining. The mangrove seemed way too quiet, like the world was holding its breath. The usual racket of gulls and cicadas had vanished—like even they knew the storm had left more than just broken branches behind. One of the first lessons her father had drilled into her as a girl was to never run; not from a person nor an animal. 

Running makes you prey.

Adla pulled her hunting knife from her waistband, steadying her wrist as her eyes swept over the wide, open space around her. She was ready to defend herself if it came down to it, but there was nothing– no one hiding in the brush, no animal stalking her. Just thick humidity, carrying the earthy scent of wet soil and decaying leaves. 

She figured it was time to head back. 

With caution, she began her trek home, her footsteps muffled by the spongy ground, all while keeping a watchful eye on her surroundings. This land held secrets—some of which she had come to accept, and others she feared. 

The old myths— of beastly protectors with vengeful spirits, born of the swamp’s dark magic during the era of slavery— often lingered like shadows in the back of her mind, but today, the possibility felt much closer. The swamp was alive; gnarled roots of mangroves twisted out of the water like skeletal fingers and casted dark shadows on the surface of the water. 

Adla focused on the worn path ahead, until the low rumble of an engine made her pause.

She wasn’t expecting anybody—she never did. As a child, she had hated the isolation of living out here, but now? It kept the outside world at arm’s length, just as she wanted.

She hurried up the muddy incline, her boots kicking loose clumps of wet earth. At the porch of the old Cracker house, she leaned against the weathered wood, squinting down the overgrown path. A boxy, faded green Jeep Cherokee from the late '70s bounced along the uneven track, its tires struggling for traction in the soft ground. With an exasperated breath, she lowered the knife to her side.

It was none other than Jesse Hampton. She should’ve known.

The vehicle pulled to a stop, and Jesse stepped out, scanning the trees before his eyes settled on her. His mahogany skin glistened under the humid late-afternoon sun, and his damp t-shirt clung to his chest. His cap sat low, shadowing his normally neat hair, now curling wildly in the moisture. A few days' stubble covered his jaw—unusual for him but understandable after the chaos of the storm.

Even so, he was as handsome as ever.

"Adla," he called, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "You shouldn't be out here alone." His gaze darted behind her, as if sensing unseen dangers lurking in the shadows. "I get that it feels peaceful, but it's still dangerous."

The last thing she wanted was to give him more reason to worry or lecture her, so she swallowed the uneasiness she’d just felt moments before.

"You sound like my father, Jesse." She rolled her eyes, dismissing his caution. But Jesse's expression tightened, a hint of something unspoken hovering between them. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Adla, just... promise me you'll watch yourself. You've got a light in you that attracts attention, and sometimes that attention ain't the kind you want."

The weight of his words hung in the space between them. She could feel the worry lacing his words and caught an uncharacteristic flicker of fear in his eyes that was hard to overlook. “Quit that. I’m fine,” she shot back, the nagging feeling returning to her chest. She hated when he used that tone– like he knew something she didn't. 

She couldn’t understand the source of Jesse's recent worries. They had grown up playing in the wild jungle that was her backyard, always safe. The worst they ever faced was a snake that sent them running to her father for protection. Wild boars and gators lurked about, but they didn't bother anyone who didn’t bother them. 

“Live and let live” had always served her well.

“What you doing out here?” she asked, crossing her arms tightly.

“Do I gotta have a reason now?” Jesse countered, flashing a charming smile. She wrinkled her nose, picking up on the mischief in his tone. “You always have a reason when you show up at my place unannounced. So, what’s the story this time?”

Jesse owned a bustling convenience store in town, but most of his income came from various side hustles. He was the go-to guy for anything anyone needed, always finding a way to get things done, no matter the cost. 

“Just checking in on you, that’s all. Wanted to see how you were holding up after the storm. But if I’m not welcome…” He paused, a mock-serious expression crossing his face. “I can turn right back around.”

Adla scoffed, turning her back on him as she ascended the steps of the screened-in porch. “You say that every time, but you always end up following me inside.” He fell into step behind her, his boots thudding against the weathered floorboards. “You don’t even bother asking if you can come in anymore,” she teased, shooting him a sidelong glance.

“After all the times I’ve been here, why would I bother? Especially when you’ve welcomed me in plenty of times.” He leaned against the doorframe with an easy grace, arms crossed and a playful glint in his eye. “Sometimes at night, if I’m not mistaken.”

Adla shook her head as she headed to the kitchen. “Come on, Jess, that ain’t the same, and you know it.” 

She opened the fridge and retrieved a pitcher of cold water, then grabbed one of the glass cups from the cupboard. After she poured, she handed it over to him, her hands wrinkled from long hours spent clearing debris in the yard. When he took the cup, their fingers brushed against each other, stirring the subtle tension that always rested just below the surface between them.

“Now, why you gotta put it like that?” Jesse asked, a pouty frown appearing on his face as he took a sip.

“'Cause I need you to get this,” Adla paused, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t like folks showing up here without a heads-up, and that goes for you too.” She hoped her sweet smile softened the message. Before anything, he was her closest friend, and she never wanted to hurt him. 

He grinned, leaning casually against the counter beside her. She considered asking if he’d been snooping around her property without her knowing— Jesse was sneaky like that— but figured it’d raise too many questions if he said no.

He set his glass down, inching closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought I was special, though.” 

She arched an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. “Now, where’d you get an idea like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He tugged a curl loose from her messy ponytail, the spiral bouncing back like a rubber band. “I figured if I did that thing you like enough times, it might earn me a few privileges around here.”

She fought a smile. “What kind of privileges are we talking about?” 

“The kind that lets me show up whenever I feel like it.” He leaned in, his intentions clear as he tried to kiss her, wanting more than just a friendly chat. Adla pressed her palm against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

Jesse was undeniably handsome, and she enjoyed having him around, but she wasn’t about to let anyone—no matter how charming—think they had a claim on her. She was in charge of her life, and she liked it that way. Getting serious with Jesse, no matter how often he hinted at it, simply wasn’t part of her plans. Especially knowing other women were enjoying that thing she liked too.

“No, sir,” she replied, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she shook her head, trying to lighten the mood. “You thought wrong. But since you’re already here, you might as well lend me a hand with something.”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned in, steadily pressing closer, an eyebrow raised as his interest deepened. “And what would that be?”

“You can come help me set these traps and see what else washed up after the storm,” she said, avoiding his lips to steal a drink from his cup. She hoped to score some fat crabs and a few fish to stock the freezer for the next few days. Her generator had held up well during the storm, keeping the food fresh, but it was always smart to restock. Hurricane season wasn’t over yet and she felt a bit uneasy about heading back into the woods by herself. 

“Aww, man,” Jesse groaned dramatically. “I should’ve known that coming over here meant I was gonna have to work. You’re a real slave driver, girl, you know that?”

They spent the next couple of hours working side by side, enjoying a comfortable rhythm of silence mixed with casual conversation.

First, they checked her garden for storm damage while Jesse caught her up on the latest town gossip—apparently, Mrs. Flowers had been caught with Mr. Jenkins in Mr. Flowers' house. The mustard greens were ruined, uprooted and twisted by the wind, so she pulled them up. Thankfully, the okra and sweet potatoes had weathered the storm just fine; she just hoped the excess moisture wouldn’t lead to any rot.

Next, they moved on to setting her fishing nets and traps, but instead stumbled upon another surprise.

Like the mangled bird she'd spotted earlier, several fish heads littered the bank where she usually set her traps, alongside crab skeletons missing their claws and backs, stripped bare. This wasn’t the typical gator damage—no, this was something far worse, disturbingly messy and strange for the area’s usual predators.

She scanned the ground for any more footprints but saw nothing. No paw prints or torn cloth either.

“What in the world?” Adla muttered, staring at the destruction. “What you think did this? A gator?”

Jesse leaned down, his brow furrowed. “A gator wouldn’t leave pieces like this.”

“Something else did this,” She finished his sentence. Adla’s skin prickled and suddenly, hiding her unsettling feelings from earlier felt foolish. She described the strange prints and the shredded bird she’d found to Jesse as he listened intently. He ran his hands over her shoulders, trying to soothe her.

“You shouldn’t stay out here alone tonight, Addy. Why don’t you spend the night at my place?”

Adla couldn’t shake the feeling of unease about what the darkness might bring, but she couldn’t take Jesse up on his offer, even if his grandmother’s old house was just a few miles up the road.

The old woman had adored her, having been the one to deliver her. Still, it just didn’t feel right to spend the night in another woman’s house, even if that woman was no longer alive.

Plus, sneaking around with Jesse where others could see was out of the question. 

She wasn’t about to give anyone a reason to stir up drama or question her independence. Lord knows she couldn’t bear the thought of becoming the next Mrs. Flowers, her good name dragged through the mud to anyone willing to listen.

“No one—and nothing—is gonna run me out of my house,” she replied, her stubbornness rising to the surface. This place was her sanctuary, the fruit of her labor and her ancestors' struggles. They’d fought hard for what they had, and she felt a fierce pride in maintaining the one thing that truly belonged to her. 

Out here in the swamps, peace was something you earned, not given. She would defend her home if it came to that.

“You don’t even know who or what it is, and you want to stay out here alone? That doesn’t make a lick of sense, baby doll,” Jesse insisted, his persistence typical but unusually intense.

“I’m not your ‘baby doll,’” she shot back, irritation rising. He seemed to be making a habit of testing her clearly established boundaries more recently. 

“I already told you—I’m staying here. You should head out before it gets dark.”

“Come on, don’t be like that—” Jesse began, his voice smooth like molasses. He might’ve been charming, but today, she wasn’t about to let those sweet words sway her.

“Go,” she pressed, stepping forward to cut him off. “I’ll handle the cleanup and make sure everything’s locked up tight, but I want you to leave—now, please.” 

Jesse held her gaze for a long moment, recognizing that determined look in her eye. He knew better than to push too far when she was set on something. “Alright, I’ll go,” he finally relented. “But I need you to promise me you won’t leave the house tonight. Whatever you do, don’t cross that threshold, okay?”

Her face contorted at his strange choice of words.

“Why would I be outside? I’m not foolish enough to wander around out here at night. What’s got you so riled up today, anyway?” She reached out and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“Just trust me on this,” he urged, his tone serious as he finally locked eyes with her. She’d never seen him look so grim before—what was he hiding? 

“You’ll be safe if you stay inside tonight.” He repeated carefully. 

Last she checked, danger didn’t give a damn about doors, but it was clear he wasn’t leaving until he knew she’d listen to his advice. 

“Alright,” she said, dragging the word out as her confusion showed. “I’ll stay inside tonight. Not like I was planning on wandering around anyway.”

“Good,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead and lingering there as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I’ll call you tonight, and you better answer. If you don’t, I’ll be back out here, with or without your blessing.”

As he turned to leave, Adla couldn’t help but smile after him. Jesse could be a handful, but beneath that cool exterior, she knew he cared for her as fiercely as she did for him. 

In the wilderness of the swamps, that bond meant everything.

He lingered in her driveway while she hurried to gather the crab shells, tossing them into her compost bin—no sense letting them go to waste. He didn’t start his engine and pull away until she was safely inside with the door closed, waving his goodbye from the street as she watched him from the window.

After locking up, she sank into a well-deserved bubble bath, a simple yet sweet reward for a day’s hard work. The clawfoot tub, older than she was but still in impeccable shape, had become a beloved fixture in her home. 

The bathroom, filled with the soothing scents of incense and candles, wrapped around her like a comforting hug. After her father’s passing, her top priority had been to breathe life back into the old house and make it feel like home again.

Every now and then, she spotted reminders of her past, like the doorframe where her father had marked her height on the first day of school every year or the cast-iron pans he used to whip up their dinners each night. But mostly, she had truly claimed the space as her own—weathered yet undeniably new in some ways– hers. 

Her short time in the city had been a far cry from the peace she now enjoyed in the country. Balancing multiple jobs just to get by, she constantly dealt with nosy neighbors prying into her life, questioning why a young woman like her was living on her own. The men she met often couldn’t take “no” for an answer, turning her daily life into a constant struggle against unwanted advances.

Worse yet, she had attracted the attention of a stalker—someone she’d never even seen who kept slipping threatening handwritten notes under her apartment door, claiming they knew who she was and had been watching her. It was both terrifying and emotionally draining, but she hadn’t tucked her tail and run home until her father died. 

Whenever thoughts of him lingered too long, the guilt of not being there when it mattered most consumed her, so she kept herself busy. 

Her part-time job at the new bed-and-breakfast in town helped her pay the bills and left her enough time to create. On weekends, she sold her art—pieces made from found objects collected in the woods—at the flea market a couple of towns over. Any spare moment was spent bringing something to life, whether sculpting or tending to her flowers. She loved working on the coastal hibiscus that grew in her yard, their bright blooms a small splash of beauty against the swampy backdrop. Her life wasn’t glamorous, but the peace she found in it was worth far more than anything else.

“When You're Young and in Love” by The Marvelettes played softly on the record player. It had been one of her mother’s cherished favorites, or so her father often reminisced. To Adla, the song captured the slow, simple peace she felt only at home. While she couldn’t completely understand the carefree idea of being swept away by a fleeting romance, it still forged a bond with the mother she never got the chance to know.

Her father had only a handful of pictures, but from those, she could see the resemblance. She had inherited her father’s height and perhaps his temperament, but everything else came from her mother—her rich skin tone, flat nose, and wide, expressive eyes. Those features made her feel close to a woman whose memory was etched in her heart but absent from her life.

With a soft sigh, Adla rose from the now-cool bathwater, wrapping a towel snugly around her waist. Taking a moment for herself, she slathered on a generous layer of cocoa butter lotion, the rich, nutty scent enveloping her like a comforting embrace from home. Her earlier worries faded into the background. Satisfied, she slipped into an oversized cotton nightgown, covered in bright floral patterns that mirrored the blooms in her garden. 

She went through her nighttime routine, carefully checking that everything was turned off and every door was locked tight. As she switched off the last light in her cozy home, the old wooden floors creaked softly beneath her feet—a comforting sound that added to the charm of the place.

Just as she was about to settle into bed, faint sounds echoed from outside—rhythmic, insistent scraping and thumping carried to her ears by the wind. Strange noises weren’t uncommon out in the boonies, but something about this one sent a shiver down her spine, drawing her into the hallway.

Adla glanced toward the door, a strange compulsion tugging at her, urging her to step outside despite Jesse's warnings. It felt as if something—or someone—was calling her, and the pull was too strong to ignore. She hesitated, biting her lip, fighting the overwhelming temptation.

Something clattered loose as she unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open. Through the screen, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Adla squinted, trying to make sense of the dimness outside. There, bathed in the cold glow of the moonlight, lay a massive creature. Its shadow loomed so large that it seemed to stretch across the entire porch.

A knot twisted in her stomach. What in the world? This wasn’t no bobcat. This creature was more like a coyote, but much larger. It resembled a wolf, though she knew they didn’t roam these parts of Florida. Its amber eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark of the night, locking onto her with an intensity that sent chills racing down her spine. Jesse’s warnings echoed in the back of her mind. What if this creature was more than it seemed? 

I know this fool ain’t lookin’ at me like I’m dinner. 

Adla squared her shoulders, drawing on every ounce of strength she had. “You don’t belong here,” she called out, her voice steady and commanding. “Now, git!”

The wolf let out a low growl, a deep rumble that reverberated through the still night air, commanding her silence. It took a slow step forward, large paws thudding against the wooden floor, and she noticed it was limping. 

A deep gash ran from its back down to one of its hind legs, blood dripping from the wound and staining the old wood beneath it. The sight of its injury stirred something deep within her—a mix of concern and fascination that left her momentarily spellbound. It was odd but something kept her feet rooted in place, drawn to the creature and its imposing presence for reasons she couldn’t quite understand.

“Don’t you come any closer,” she warned, her heart racing as she reached for the shotgun she kept above the door, her gaze fixed on the beast. Adla tightened her grip on the cold metal, the weight of the gun both comforting and alarming as she aimed it at the creature through the screen.

The wolf paused right in front of her, as if held back by something she couldn’t see or understand. She glanced down at the door’s threshold, recalling Jesse’s cryptic words.

This was her moment—a choice between life or death. But Adla found herself frozen, her finger hovering over the trigger, unable to pull it. 

The large, beautiful creature let out a mournful whine before collapsing in a heap on her porch, nearly at her feet, its strength finally giving out as if it had resigned itself to whatever fate awaited it.

Despite its pain, something flickered in its amber gaze—a silent plea, asking not to be seen as a threat. The creature’s body shook, not with aggression, but with a desperate need to protect itself rather than harm her. The sight of that defeated animal struck a chord deep within her, stirring up memories of her own struggles not so long ago—exhausted by the burdens of life, yet somehow still pushing forward. 

A lesson her father had once shared echoed in her mind: “Listen, baby girl, we only take what we need from this world, and we don’t kick folks when they’re already down. Respect the creatures out here, just like you respect yourself. Life's tough enough without us makin’ it harder on each other.” She could almost hear his voice, the warmth of his wisdom wrapping around her like a protective blanket. 

Adla let out a deep sigh, lowering the shotgun. She hoped the wolf had enough sense to slip off her porch and find its way back through that little doggy door, the one that had been shredded and left with a gaping hole. Sure, it was already intruding on her space, but it showed no signs of being able to bust down her doors with its weakened strength.

The blood staining the porch was already beginning to dry, and she knew she’d have to scrub it down in the morning. If the wolf didn’t make it through the night and died on her porch, she could always call Animal Control to handle it— it wouldn’t cost her a dime to let the creature have one more night of life. 

That thought offered a flicker of comfort as she triple-checked that both the screen door and the sturdy wooden door were locked tight for the night.

Adla placed the shotgun within arm’s reach and settled into bed, her mind lingering on the wolf outside. She couldn’t shake the strange pull she felt. Yet, there was a quiet resolve in her heart—she would let the creature be. 

Maybe it wasn’t just a wolf. Maybe it was something more—a mirror reflecting her own struggles and wounds, a sign sent from her father to teach her something. The night was thick with uncertainty, but she felt no fear, only calm curiosity. She’d done all she could for now. 

As sleep tugged at her, she hoped that the wolf, with its heavy wounds and haunted eyes, would make it through the night. Tomorrow, she’d face whatever came next, but for now, she surrendered to the stillness, trusting that both she and the wolf would both survive until morning.

I’m open to any feedback, especially since this is my first time finishing and publishing something of this length. Does this preview raise engaging questions that make you want to know more, or is something unclear or missing? Did it draw you in or did it drag on? Please let me know your thoughts. Any insight would be invaluable to me as I continue to develop the story. (Send an anonymous ask if necessary).

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 18 - To Hear the Distant Church Bells Chime

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

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters   Previous Chapter /

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please let me go Miss, I-I’m sorry!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course,” Kate answered immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for reading guys :)

[fatehbaz]

Because tuatara are very long lived - between 100 and 200 years by most estimates […] - the founding of Aotearoa/New Zealand as a modern nation and the unfolding of settler-wrought changes to its environment have transpired over the course of the lives of perhaps just two tuatara [...].

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[T]he tuatara (Sphenodon punctatus) [...] [is] the sole surviving representative of an order of reptiles that pre-dates the dinosaurs. [...] [T]he tuatara is of immense global and local significance and its story is pre-eminently one of deep timescales, of life-in-place [...]. Epithets abound for the unique and ancient biodiversity found in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Prized as “Ghosts of Gondwana” (Gibbs 2008), or as denizens of “Moa’s Ark” (Bellamy et al. 1990) or “The Southern Ark” (Andrews 1986), the country’s faunal species invoke fascination and inspire strong language [...]. In rounded terms, it [has been] [...] just 250 years since James Cook made landfall; just 200 years since the founding of the handful of [...] settlements that instigated agricultural transformation of the land [...]. European newcomers [...] were disconcerted by the biota [...]: the country was seen to “lack” terrestrial mammals; many of its birds were flightless and/or songless; its bats crawled through leaf-litter; its penguins inhabited forests; its parrots were mountain-dwellers; its frogs laid eggs that hatched miniature frogs rather than tadpoles [...].

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Despite having met a reassuringly temperate climate [mild, oceanic, comparable to western Europe], too, the newcomers nevertheless sought to make adjustments to that climate, and it was clear to them that profits beckoned. Surveying the towering lowland forests from the deck of HMS Endeavour in 1769, and perceiving scope for expansion of the fenland drainage schemes being undertaken at that time in England and across swathes of Europe, Joseph Banks [botanist on Cook's voyage] reported on “swamps which might doubtless Easily be drained” [...]. Almost a century later, in New Zealand or Zealandia, the Britain of the South, [...] Hursthouse offered a fuller explication of this ethos: The cultivation of a new country materially improves its climate. Damp and dripping forests, exhaling pestilent vapours from rank and rotten vegetation, fall before the axe [...]. Fen and march and swamp, the bittern’s dank domain, fertile only in miasma, are drained; and the plough converts them into wholesome plains of fruit, and grain, and grass. [...]

[The British administrators] duly set about felling the ancient forests of Aotearoa/New Zealand, draining the country’s swamps [...]. They also began importing and acclimatising a vast array of exotic (predominantly northern-world) species [sheep, cattle, rodents, weasels, cats, crops, English pasture grasses, etc.] [...]. [T]hey constructed the seemingly ordinary agronomic patchwork of Aotearoa/New Zealand's productive, workaday landscapes [...]. This is effected through and/or accompanied by drastic deforestation, alteration of the water table and the flow of waterways, displacement and decline of endemic species, re-organisation of predation chains and pollination sequences and so on [...]. Aotearoa/New Zealand was founded in and through climate crisis [...]. Climate crisis is not a disastrous event waiting to happen in the future in this part of the world; rather, it has been with us for two centuries already [...].

---

[T]he crest formed by the twinned themes of absence and exceptionalism [...] has shaped this creature's niche in the western imagination. As one of the very oldest species on earth, tuatara have come to be recognised [in Euro-American scientific schemas] [...] as an evolutionary and biodiversity treasure [...]. In 1867, [...] Gunther [...] pronounced that it was not a lizard at all [...] [and] placed the tuatara [...] in a new order, Rhynchocephalia, [...] igniting a frenzy of scientific interest worldwide. Specifically, the tuatara was seen to afford opportunities for "astonished witnessing" [...], for "the excitement of having the chance to see, to study, to observe a true saurian of Mesozoic times in the flesh, still living, but only on this tiny speck of the earth [...], while all its ancestors [...] died about one hundred and thirty-five million years ago" [...]. Tuatara have, however, long held special status as a taonga or treasured species in Māori epistemologies, featuring in a range of [...] stories where [...] [they] are described by different climates and archaeologies of knowledge [...] (see Waitangi Tribunal 2011, p. 134). [...]

While unconfirmed sightings in the Wellington district were reported in the nineteenth century, tuatara currently survive only in actively managed - that is, monitored and pest-controlled - areas on scattered offshore islands, as well as in mainland zoo and sanctuary populations. As this confinement suggests, tuatara are functionally “extinct” in almost all of their former wild ranges. [...] [Italicized text in the heading of this post originally situated here in Boswell's article.] [...] In the remaining areas of Aotearoa/New Zealand where this species does now live [...], tuatara may in some cases be the oldest living inhabitants. Yet [...] if the tuatara is a creature of long memory, this memory is at risk of elimination or erasure. [...] [T]uatara expose and complicate the [...] machineries of public memory [...] and attendant environmental ideologies and management paradigms [...].

---

All text above by: Anna Boswell. "Climates of Change: A Tuatara's-Eye View". Humanities, 2020, Volume 9, Issue 2, 38. Published 1 May 2020. This article belongs to the Special Issue Environmental Humanities Approaches to Climate Change. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Text within brackets added by me for clarity. The first paragraph/heading in this post, with text in italics, are also the words of Boswell from this same article. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[blueishspace]

Adventures of the Darkest Witch Shelby. (1?)

For @emilynyaesmp.

Shelby was proud of being a dark witch and maybe that was a bit obvious for the few who knew her, but who wouldn't be in her place? A member of the shadow coven, group once founded a thousands year ago by the darkest and most evil witch in history: Gemini Tay of the Crystal Spikes. The coven had been behind most of the conflicts in recent years, and though very few outside of the magic community knew about them they were feared in the magic world. Now, she was ready to fulfill her destiny, ready to bring chaos and destruction to the newly built empires, nothing was going to stop her.

.

.

.

She had missed her alarm, she was going to be late. She had just been made an official witch in training, this was her first day, and she was late. The urge to turn the first stranger into a frog and boil them was strong... Yet a true witch always schemes and does not act on Impulse so She forced herself to breathe. This was fine, she had been sent to the most peaceful region to get rid of her... But she wasn't going to give up! She was going to bring disaster onto this land and claim the title of full fledged evil witch...she could hardly contain her excitement.

Shelby: "So this is it then? The Nevermore?"

It was spooky, dark and humid... she loved it already, this was going to be the perfect place to pratice her evil spells away from prying eyes... Yes, this was the perfect place to build a hut.

Shelby: "Perfect".

Now... to meet the emperors whose life she was going to ruin.

The first one wandered into her swamp, rookie mistake. She could smell his fear as he got lost... This was the perfect time to strike.

Joey: "Hello? HELLO? is anyone near? I have lost my way!"

Shelby: "Hello there?"

Joey: "H-Argggh matey"

A pirate? This far inlands? What a weird sight... still pirates were group to fear, also bringers of chaos ... Maybe she could wait a bit before turning him into a bug abd smashing him with her boot.

Shelby: "A pirate? Come to steal my things? You can't. They are mine. I have toads."

Still better to make sure he wouldn't try anything funny-.

Joey: "Oh no no no! I'm just glad someone came to help me!"

...What? No that wasn't why she had come to him when she heard his screams, he had gotten it all wrong.

Joey: "Right, I am pirate Joe."

Shelby: "Shelby...witch".

Joey: "I heard there was someone you! I never met a good witch before!"

And he thought she was a good witch? How dare he? She was close to just turning him into a frog, possible alliances unregarded.

Joey: "Ever since the skeleton army sank my ship I have been exploring these lands in search of others that could bring the undead army down for good"

An army of skeletons sank his ship? Shelby had a brilliant idea to torture him, she summoned a skeleton so that his final moment would remind him of what he had lost... The result of that however was ...small and the pirate quickly destroyed it.

Joey: "Oh thank you!"

... Why was she being thanked?

Joey: "You heard my story and created a small skeleton for me to vent a bit of my frustration at! That helped a bit, so thank you new friend!"

No! No! That wasn't what she meant to do! How did this happen!? She knew what she had to do, trow a fireball at him.

.

.

.

She missed and hit a bunch of trees which upon burning left a visible opening to the outside.

Joey: "Oh! Is that the way out? Thank you witch friend! See you soon!"

And with that he left... Shelby was counfounded now, how had this gone badly this quickly? This wasn't supposed to happen! She was an evil witch! She was going to scream!

She decided to spy on the other emperors, someone had opened the end portal and she was ready to take the credit for herself, that would surely brew fear and terror in the hearts of those foolish rulers ... She could already hear the pleas for mercy.

She stayed near and soon it was time, she jumped in little after the rulers and found herself in the nether when-

Joey: "Oh It's the good witch I met earlier!"

Lizzie: "Oh! Why is she here though?"

Joey: "She must have come in to help. She is a good witch after all."

No, no, not again! Why did this keep happening! She wasn't meant to- Fine, she was going to go along with this charade if only to make the suffering end quicker.

The end was in short a bust, the bad kind, still she had learned something from it. She had learned the identity of all other emperors and she ... She was scared. She wasn't ready to seeing a god glowing in divine light and she wasn't ready to see the coldhearted dictator called empress Katherine with them. She knew her, everyone did, born from a cursed kindom and powerful conquerer with an iron fist. She was a fan and yet... She was scared at the idea of being her enemy, she needed to contact her and work together. Yes, the distraction their alliance could bring... Even the god would be unable to do anything!

... In the meantime though she would prepare potions for the future, you never know when you'll need more toads.

Next

[thelunarsystemwrites]

anyways Minecraft OC time

So, the story behind them is a witch was in the lush caves, doing magic stuff, and accidently turned an axolotl humanoid. Which as you can probably tell, Witchlet isn't happy about, they liked being an axolotl. 🤷‍♂️

The reason I picked this combo, is because Witch huts live in the swamp. So do frogs (or atleast in mangrove ones) and frogs and axolotls are amphibians. So since the watch and axolotl are my favourite mobs, I decided to combine them!

Their hat is moss, with some glow lichen. And a spore blossom!

They have some glow berries and glow lichen wrapped around their waist, which holds their regen potions. Their "wand" is a trident! Though the first image was an amethyst rod, because I thought the breeze rod was an amethyst rod ^^"

They're a mix between a witch and axolotl. So their powers are regeneration, and they can brew potions by using their crafting bar instead of a brewing stand. They can breathe under water and land, but have slowness and fatigue on land. They have fourteen hearts, (from what I looked up. Witches have 13 and Axolotls have seven, so I took one from the axolotl and added it to a witches health to decide.) Take extra fire damage. Can't sleep at night but can at day.

And yeah, their name is Witchlet! They're they/them because uhh all my ocs are /j

I feel like they'd live in an amethyst geo, and it's opened to a small lush cave. They prefer dark and wet areas, they have a ehh relationship with drowned, and mostly eat fish and mushroom stews!

Also they have an Alley named Fae, based off my own Minecraft pet! And Fae helps Witchlet do witchy stuff lol. I feel like they'd also have a skeleton horse, since it can go under water.

Uhhh other thing about themmm....

Their trident has loyalty and channeling, they also carry a fully enchanted fishing rod. They prefer colder biomes, their "mother" is the witch that transformed them. The witch tries, she really does, but they dislike her alot.

They'd be a neutral mob, and attack the player if they're attacked first. They're neutral to drowned and guardians mostly, but randomly attack them sometimes.

Their favourite potions to use are weaknesses and slowness on people.

And uh... yeah. I think that they can't talk, but squeak/chirp alot like an axolotl to chat!

Hey tend to lurk in very deep, dark parts of oceans if they aren't home.

Would drop glow berries, bottles, amethyst, and even their trident or fishing rod if killed!

[werezmastarbucks]

kevin khatchadourian x female reader timeline of relationship

(actually, a story I am too lazy to write, but which is just clear and palpable in my head)

• you meet him three times

warnings: violence, manipulation, underage relationships (no grooming), mentions of dissecting frogs, abuse (duh), toxic relationship, unpleasant and traumatic first sex, the OC is kinda very, very human and stupid, exactly as a fifteen year old girl should be. School shooting obv. Also, it's ve-e-ery long, but I'm really not in the mood of writing a book here, so, it's just bullet points. Sorry.

author's note: yes! I watched We need to talk about Kevin around 2014, actually. It seems, considering the nature of this whole blog, I've always had the hots for the worst kind of guys. Enjoy my sublimation!

it was so long I had to divide it into two parts. second part

• you're at the same school, and Kevin is closed, brooding and completely antisocial. You constantly see him smile when there's a fight. He never participates in scuffles but seems to observe people; the other half of the time, he just doesn't care about his surrounding at all. Seemingly

• you've been raised to sympathize with the outcasts, reading all the right books and youself, not being the most popular, the smartest or the most beautiful

• at the biology class, you flat out refuse to dissect a frog. You can't stand the sight of dead animals, to say nothing about cutting them with a freaking knife. You close your eyes and shake your head aggressively, while the teacher is getting angry with your childish stubborness

• until you feel that someone is standing next to you. Kevin says 'she doesn't want to cut the frog' assertively, and takes it to his desk. He doesn't look at you a second, but it feels like a momentary salvation

• you're thinking of thanking him; that seems like a nice thing considering he's never talking to people, and always having lunch alone. He has this loner allure, the misunderstood poet, the lone wolf, if you will. You're fifteen.

• your friends tell you 'are you nuts? he's the cat in the bag'

• there are all kinds of rumors about Kevin; about strangling someone as a joke, and swearing, and watching gore.

• "I didn't do it for you", he smiles, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and you misunderstood the incident so badly that it's funny and totally makes you look like an idiot. "I just like to dissect frogs". But he looks at you so intensely that it tells you something more.

• he never goes to PE

• Kevin is bullied from time to time; he doesn't really react to it, like the other children don't even exist. He never replies to nasty remarks, but just watches them, head tilted forward, like a dog ready to bite.

• you wonder why nobody else is worried about this gaze.

• sometimes you catch him watching you during classes as if he's contemplating something. You think yourself some kind of sacred redeemer, not less. You don't look away, you don't realize you're getting yourself into a swamp. You're fifteen

• at one occasion you tell Kevin he doesn't need to be alone all the time, and there are nice people at school who would accept him

• he just grins at everything you say

• the same guy who bullies Kevin the most acrtively, or is trying to, steals your folder containing some notes, your journal and you photo album. He doesn't admit it but laughs in a way that makes it clear

• you go to the teacher, to the principal, but the conversations do nothing to that guy. He's just a bully, just a dumb jock who has very little thought behind his forehead. You're worried; he might not know, but your personal diary is in that folder.

• you confront him with the fists swaying, to no avail

• the next morning, Kevin walks by your desk and throws the folder, complete with everything, in front of you. You watch his back, wondering when he had got it, and whether he had read your diary. One of the entires was about him, and it was embarrassing.

• "he's tall; taller than the other boys. His face is like milk, but he has this pitch-black hair and vampire stare thing going on. He is always quiet, just watches people. He's reeeeeally good-looking, but damn, Khatchadourian might just be nuts like people say"

• your friends wisely advise you not to get involved with him, but you feel so special all of a sudden

• you start fantasizing about being the only girl at school who managed to get through to him

• as you talk, he notices your desire to be special, and uses it. He observes you with your friends, focuses his laser attention on your grades, tries to get into what makes up your world.

• soon, he manages to make you feel like you really are the one person he reacts to. It is incredibly funny to him. He deems you fuckable.

• he's attacking someone in the yard. The guys from the parallel were getting the best out of Kevin, and rightfully so. This time he's had enough. When it's just talking, he didn't care, but physical assault, he couldn't tolerate, because that was crossing his personal borders. So, when one of the boys tried to steal his backpack, Kevin took out a razor he carried with him

• you try to stop the fight and get in between them just in time to shield the other boy, and Kevin slices your arm across

• the boys run away horrified, and Kevin just stands there, disappointed and dark.

• he evaluates the situation, sees that the cut is pretty deep, and watches the gushes of blood leaving your arm. The first seconds you're silent with shock; then it dies down, and you start feeling pain and yelp.

• he cuts off a piece of his shirt and bandages your arm tightly, saying nothing, just lasers you with his glance. The sight of this wound on you, not unlike his own scar, even in the same spot, accidentally. He finds it curious, invigorating. He watches the expression of physical pain on your face and brings you to the medic's office, saying "I sliced her". It feels good to say that.

• there's a conversation at the principal office. You're quiet, he's almost pleased with himself. His excuse is, I was going for another person ¯_(ツ)_/¯

• he gets away with it. You notice his dad dotes on him, and is absolutely blind to anything Kevin does. He buys the legend of 'I brought it for biology class, because I'm used to working with my own instruments' so easily it's astonishing.

• you don't speak for a while, and Kevin doesn't say sorry. He doesn't look guilty and is equally unimpressed that other students start to avoid him even more

• but his presence is like an oil stain, you can't avoid looking. You want to get to the bottom of him, you actively put yourself in this situation. You're fifteen, edgy, you have a crush on the sexy strange bad guy.

• you catch him after classes and tell him, whatever you're feeling, you don't have to. There are good people, that are worthy of your time. You don't mean yourself, but you're trying to make him defrost a little

• for some reason, the topic of feelings triggers him, and he does the thing he would repeat several times. He gets angry, standing right in your face, hovering over with his height. He puts his face as close as possible to yours and tries to make you pee yourself.

• "how the fuck would you know how I feel? What do you know about how I feel? Tell me, how can a person like you know anything about me?"

• he doesn't apologize for slicing you because he knows he didn't mean it, hense, there's no reason to say sorry. But he sees the prospect of playing with you, and he's so bored. So, he thinks about what a normal person would do in his place. ?

• once, you go to your locker and inside, find a little bunch of field flowers, neatly tied together with a yellow thread. No note, but somehow you have ideas what it means.

• you go on to a party in one of your classmates' house. You still rock a tight bandage on your arm. The party is good. You see Kevin and he looks at you like he wants to talk. You think, this is just like one of those vampire stories. You evade your watchful friends who think you dumb for playing a heroine from the Vampire Diaries. You need to grow up, they say

• you go outside in the terrace and sit down. You drink and ask why Kevin isn't drinking

• "I never drink. It dulls the concentration"

• you tell him that what he said sounds like 'I'm not like all of you idiots'. He confirms that's the gist of most of what he says. You ask if he considers you dumb, too. Biting his tongue, he avoids replying, saying that you're 'nice'

• you keep drinking, feeling the need to master up some bravery in his presence. For what, you don't know. Finally you ask him about how he feels, since he got so angry when you assumed

• surprisingly, Kevin says,

• "angry, bored most of the time. I guess it makes me angry how boring everything is. And dumb. Sitting there at school for six hours every day to do what exactly? It's like torture"

• it's a good thing he found a toy to play with.

• he tells you about his mother, and how she broke his arm when he was little, for shitting himself, on purpose. You talk about mums, and fathers, and how you don't have a very good relationship with your parents. Kevin finds it very interesting. You tell him how your mum mostly ignores your existence because she's more preoccupied with the shattering marriage with your dad, and your dad, finds you annoying and 'too girly'. He tells you about his little sister who is so annoying, and she constantly jumps around him and nags on him. You try to explain that a little girl sees that her brother is big, and strong, and pretty, and is forming a bond. He gives one of the worst performances, but it grills you

• "Pretty?" with a suggesting smile.

• you kiss, mostly because you're drunk, and you both think about each other's background.

• you think how tragic it is, that a boy like Kevin doesn't get the love from the person a child needs the most. Think about his mum, imagine her looking at baby Kevin with hatred and disgust. No wonder he is growing up to be this unapologetic, menacing, edgy guy who brings razor to school and takes it out on others.

• you're partially wrong

• Kevin thinks about how you have daddy issues and feel unloved, unneeded, mediocre

• although everybody at school knows that Kevin Khatchadourian had cut your arm in a violent fashion, the literature teacher pairs you for a half-year assignment. You're supposed to prepare a one-hundred pages analysis of the book of your choice, complete with the presentation.

• you're actually down to such tasks as you can ramble about your favorite books for ages, but you're not sure how it'll work out with Kevin. Casual friendship, if you can call it that, is strange and non-regular; sometimes he ignores you completely in the corridors, sometimes he starts talking about history, and awful things like Unit 731, out of nowhere.

• the first time you assembled to work on the paper was at the library, and it was pretty uneventuful; even boring a little. Kevin was not in the mood, and didn't talk much, and then, after an hour and a half said he was bored, and just left.

• you remembered the kiss from the party, but Kevin acted like nothing happened. Every time, though, when you almost decided he had played you, it was like he read your thoughts, and appeared to reinforce hope in you.

• he suggested you should go to his house at the weekend, and spend the day working on the paper. His family will be away as they usually do, so

• a gut feeling told you not to go, and you really listened to it, refusing the offer. Kevin smiled with his special smile that was like blood and honey, that was very difficult to resist

• "you think I'll do something awful to you?" "Will you?"

• he had a habit of speaking more with his eyes than with his mouth. One of the reasons you were so drawn to him was, he seemed adult, on the inside. Sometimes he said things you didn't expect to hear from a fifteen-year old.

• "Only if you ask".

• you skipped this weekend, and Kevin refused to go to the library, saying he had some things to do after school. But you were free to work on the project alone, of course.

• after a week more you caved in and agreed to go to his place. The whole week he was being uncharacteristically neat, friendly and pleasant. You saw him smile at teachers and even say hi to someone from class. You wondered if he had other friends you didn't know about.

• Kevin had a massive, cool home. Both his parents were rich, but you wouldn't tell it by looking at him act. You were amazed at the interior: artsy, light, with interesting living room and shapes on the walls. Kevin was bored, unimpressed by your interest. He was slacking, stretching time not to get to work that was clearly dull to him; he showed you the bathroom, and his parents bedroom (which made you uncomfortable). As he went downstairs to make tea that he almost forced you to have, you washed your hands in the bathroom on the second floor. Going down towards the stairs, you passed his room with the door open. A song you liked very much played on his computer. You wondered.

• on the wall, you saw the picture of the family. Kevin was smiling like the happiest boy ever, and it looked like a person from another world. His parents, blonde and dark-haired, were so different. The dad, whom Kevin described as 'the dumbest creature I've met', smiled carelessly, totally satisfied with the day. His mom, on the other hand, looked exhausted. The deep dark eyes, like Kevin's, didn't have half of demonic suggestion in them, but she looked weary. She smiled like a person who was wise, and had a death wish. His little sister 'that perfect little princess who never does anything wrong', whom Kevin clearly had very mixed feelings about, had only one eye.

• while having tea in the kitchen, you asked him about his sister.

• "Oh, yeah, it happened a while ago. She poured solvent into her own eye. Mum left the bottle on the table in the open". "Why would she do that?" you were horrified, painting a picture in your head. "Well, kids are dumb", he said so nonchalantly that it sent shivers down your spine. You could understand not liking a younger, more adored sibling, but talking about how they got a disability in such an unaffected way...

• Kevin added "I was there, with her. I called the ambulance. It was go-o-ory". And he smiled.

• you had the intention of working in the living room - light, spacious, with a broad sofa and a huge coffee table. Kevin insisted that he needed to work on his laptop and it was uncomfortable to bend over the little table. You needed to go to his bedroom. Eventually, you agreed, so now, you were sitting elbow to elbow at his desk, so close that you could feel the warmth of his body.

• the first thing you noticed about his room was how minimalistic and boring it was. Nothing on the walls, clean, tidy, impersonal. The only thing on display was a wooden bow, placed against the wall, and a stack of red-feathered arrows, beautiful, hanging above.

• "Wow, do you do archery?" He was unphased, like it was a totally usual hobby. "Yeah". Whatever tickles the rich people's bum, you thought.

• Fifteen minutes into project your phone lit up. Kevin asked who's messaging you and you said it was your common classmate, Paul, who is your good friend. Kevin knew your - your common - surrounding, so he knew that Paul was a good guy, and a good friend, and also had an innocent teenage crush on you.

• "Let me see", he grabbed the phone from your hand and stretched out his arm so that you wouldn't reach. It turned into a game. You both laughed, and giggled, as you tried to get to your phone. It was half-serious, playful 'hey, don't be a jerk!' and him, watching you reach for the phone helplessly. He then threw it on his bed and, as you raced after it, gave you a little push, and you fell.

• Kevin managed to create that feeling of comfort. As he landed next to you on his bed, he pretended not to see your unease. "Come on, let me see. You know I'm nosy". You sighed, deciding that there was nothing incriminating in messages between two friends. After all, there was nothing but memes and schedule discussion in your chat. Kevin scrolled it, giggling, discussing other classmates, and soon, you were snuggled against each other, talking about everything. You showed him your gallery on the phone and he grilled you for the insane amount of pictures of Damon Salvatore.

• "Come on. Come on now, you know they manufacture those dreamy characters specifically with the accordance to the desirable image for teenage girls. They cater specifically to you, and you buy it".

• "I know! But you haven't watched it".

• A long silence with growing smiles on both sides decided the destiny of that evening. You watched the show together, bonding, discussing, talking about how stupid everything is, and how the vampiric lore cannot possibly be depicted perfectly in any movie you've seen.

• he felt so normal, so human, so warm, that you were drunk on love. You felt safe, entertained, enfatuated. You thought to yourself that maybe, this whole thing about Kevin being different, and dangerous, was a front. After all, he had to protect himself, he hadn't gotten any love at home, and he didn't really know how to act around people. You felt appreciated, understood, wholesome.

• it was already dark when you've finished watching the sixth episode, and you were both a little sleepy. As the episode was over, the screen got darker, and you realized that there was barely any light. Kevin was silent beside you; you heard him breathe calmly, but you could tell he's looking at you. Like a snake aiming for your throat and waiting for the right moment.

• as you were about to say something to discharge the situation, your phone rang. It was your mum, checking on you, and you confessed you hadn't gone through with the paper at all. You explained how boring it was, and that the whole day, you drank tea, or talked, or watched the show. She laughed at it and told you not to stay the night. Maybe she did love you after all.

• "My mum", you explained, as the light from the phone died out, as well. "She's worried about you?" "Just checking". "Checking what?" You didn't find what to say here. "Doesn't your mum check on you when you're late and not home?" "No. Usually, I'm the threat".

• somehow, you were kissing. It felt exhilarating. Scary, amazing and fast. You didn't notice how twenty minutes have gone buy, completely taken by the intensity of it. I'm in his bed, you thought, and he's kissing me. The prettiest boy in school, and the most interesting. The rest were boring, you thought, and realized, this thing you had in common. You thought majority of people, even some of your friends, boring. Kevin was the only one who made you look.

• as he went for your thighs, you shivered. "I'm not ready". "Ready for what?" he asked, jokingly. Constantly dismissing your words, as if he always wanted you to speak clearly and not mumble behind the metaphors. "I'm scared, I'm a virgin". Kevin gave you a long look. "Who hurt you?" he immediately assumed there was some dark reason for your fright. Reality was, "Nobody. I'm fifteen, I'm afraid".

• you made him promise he won't force you to anything. Even the fact that you had to make him give you his word should've been a sign. Kissing him, and making out, was the best thing that happened to you the whole year though.

• Paul was strangely cold, even rude to you the last days. Every time you tried to bring up something funny to him, he dismissed you and made himself scarce almost instantly. You could feel, although Kevin didn't openly follow you, that he watched you, like before. Sometimes you had the urge to ask him the banal 'what are we?'

• you approached him in between classes to ask what he's done to Paul.

• he wouldn't tell you 'I confronted him in the bathroom and put my razor right to his throat, making him understand who you belong to; I pushed it so hard it actually left a mark on his Adam's apple. Must have hurt. He looked like a scared puppy. I told him not to text you anymore and not to look in your direction. He ran so fast you could tell he would be a great cast for the Flash'

• he said, "Oh, I spoke to him. You were clearly annoyed by his advances, or was I wrong?" You were annoyed when you talked about it at his place. You lamented your friendship and said you found it irritateing that every guy you were actively friends with, started to fall for you.

• you didn't believe he just 'spoke' to him. You tried to call for the good in him again, but when it didn't work, decided to threat.

• "Don't do the things you'll regret later, Kevin". You tried to walk away, but he put himself between you and the whole world, hovering again, his face as close as possible. His eyes, the eyes of a snake, cold, black, menacing, asked you.

• "What things?" "You know what I'm talking about". "No, I don't. Say it". He dared you. You wanted to say 'violent things'. You remembered his face, full of cold rage, as he swung the razor at that guy in the yard. You looked at his face now, changed from the peaceful everyday mask he always wore, and suddenly it hit you. He was psychopathic. There was no other way he would be so unaffected by things, then jumping into sudden fury, then pleasant and sociable the next moment. He could stand like this for hours, it seemed, burning you down with his trying stare as if he was forcing you to show what you're worth.

• your friend broke this intense exchange by exclaiming, "wow. Get a room?" her voice was casually laughing, like, ha-ha, I'm mocking a PDA. But when you looked at her, her face was expressing concern. Her eyes didn't laugh and were fixed on you. Kevin slowly focused on her with a slight smile and then walked away, saying nothing.

• he stalked you, although you didn't know about it. Listened to your conversations, hiding in the bathroom, and stole your phone for a lesson, and then returned it into your tote bag, making you think you're absent-minded. You were entertainment to him, a goal to reach, with no prizes. He was deciding what to do with you after, in spring.

• the other weekend that you spent working on paper, the Khatchadourian house was full. The previous one, his mum and his sister were away in the countryside, and his dad worked. Now the whole family was at home, and Kevin wasn't really happy.

• his mom was excessively happy to see you, shaking your hand, and giving you a motherly hug. You read in her face that she was glad that her son was socialising.

• his dad was a big booming guy with the lumberjack energy.

• his little sister was a little angel: silky pearl hair, nice little face, only one eye. She was airy, happy, unspoiled. She was everything Kevin wasn't. He stood at the top of the stairs as his stunningly normal family swarmed you. His sister was looking at you curiously, considering the new concept: his brother's friend. She has never encountered that before. You took her little hand and something horrible stung your temples, almost like a vision. Kevin smiling with his absent, self-pleasing smile as she was on the kitchen floor, her eye bubbling, sizzling, blood and goo coming out.

• Kevin lost his patience and ran downstairs, took your hand and led you away from them, giving his mum a certain look. He refused to be served lemonade, and snacks, he just wanted to be left alone with you.

• as you entered the room, he locked the door, and you started making out immediately. The thought of his parents at home made him almost blind with excitement.

• you collapsed on the bed, kissing, rubbing against each other, panting. You were very wet, for the first time in your life for a real person. It was exalting, to desire something so much and get it immediately, to be desired back.

• he caresses the scar on your arm and kisses it. You take it as his way to finally say sorry.

• you don't know that he's never felt sorry, for anything, in his life. That he's calculating, cold, that he is only happy when it's physical satisfaction because all other is imitation. He's like a robot and he feels like a robot. To try to feel something, he used to watch the hardest porn he could find, the trashiest, goriest movies, he watched the nsfw news where the pieces of humans, chunks of meat and bones, were shown; he went to the dark web and watched snuff, and it made him feel nothing. The closest to happiness he felt when he was mildly entertained or cumming; and you were entertaining, for all the possible things he could do to you; and you almost let him cum.

• but you weren't ready for sex yet and, remembering the word he had given to you, he backed up. Building the tension was good for the eventual climax, and he would break you, he knew that, by the way you whimpered when he rubbed against you and kissed your neck.

• you finally had sex at the party once. Closer to spring, when the spirits were lifted. You snuck away from your friends who have half-way accepted that you were spending time with Kevin. You went upstairs and locked yourselves in someone's bedroom; you had been drinking for bravery because you knew what was coming. You wanted it, but you didn't know what to expect; maybe Kevin had a dragon in his pants for all you knew.

• he wasn't soft, but he was cutting the pain short. He made you feel hurt and kissed you tenderly the next second not to let you retaliate. At first, you just had to whitstand the pain, thinking it was normal. That's how it happens for the first time: the feeling of something tearing, and blood, and razor sharp pain. You were very aroused and very drunk, so even the pain ceased soon, and it was actually almost good.

• you went to the bathroom to clean yourself and cried, you didn't know why. Not like you now were a different person. You emerged, talking about the sad state of your makeup, and the room was empty.

• Kevin was downstairs chatting with a girl you didn't know, and when you tugged on his sleeve, he gave you a blind look, like he was seeing you for the first time. He was done with you, the look said. He didn't even smile anymore; he just looked tired, like you intervened in a mildly entertaining experience.

• for the rest of the month you were crushed. You didn't talk about it with friends: in fact, you lied to them that you had an argument with Kevin and never had sex. You were so ashamed to be a victim of such a simple, banal, everyday scam. You were now seeing him for what he was. Just a guy with the looks who was bored.

• you completely forgot about the project, it just came to a halt by itself

• you started alienating yourself from your friends, which wasn't too hard

• you started having lunch alone, and going to classes alone, too.

• you spent a lot of time thinking about the damn dress you wore at a party, as if it was the root of all evil that happened

• you were wallowing in the feeling of betrayal, the impotent desire to crash his face with a hammer. You were brokenhearted, being dragged down from the heavens of being special right to the pits of being played.

• after weeks of mourning your naivity, and your pure feelings for him, your past wish to awaken something good in Kevin, you felt so idiotic, perhaps even more idiotic than the stupidest person in this school. You were a laughing stock for your own self. Your pride was crushed, and your heart was broken.

• eventually you thought, well, it's schooltime. A lot of girls experience this. Maybe in fifteen years' time it will all seem like a minor failure and a useful lesson.

• right? In fifteen years?

• in the beginning of May, Kevin suddenly sat at your table at the closing of lunch. After weeks of literally no communication, dismissive, slightly surprised glances when you happened to be in his eye sight spot, he suddenly reappeared.

• "You didn't tell your friends even? Will you let me get away with it after all?"

• you looked at his face drawn with curiosity and laughter. He was laughing at you. His boyish, demonic beauty was now poisoned with the ugliness of his insides. Earlier, he was like a rare animal from the northern mountains, that was so evasive it seemed like treasure. He was mysterious, impeccable. Too good for you. Now, it was the handsomness of a used mannequin, with the paint faded. Too much blood in the smile.

• "What do you want, Kevin?"

• it's been moments after a short exchange that you felt rage in you. The rage you've been fostering this whole month. You stood up from the table and swung your arm with enthusiasm, and then landed your closed fist on his cheekbone.

• Kevin's reaction was slow, horrifying. In his eyes, you saw the immediate danger to your whole life. He didn't say anything as he rose from the chair, and you noticed his eyes scanning the yard. What if someone witnessed the punch?

• you tried to hit him again, on the shoulder, but he caught your hand, and suddenly, crushing pain sliced through your wrist. He was much stronger than you.

• this time, he approached you so decisively that for a second your only instinct was to fly, but your hand was caught up in his fist. Really, you got scared of him.

• "Never do that again", he said, as his hand took you by the back of your neck. He tilted your head back to look straight into your face, and all the possible trauma made you see the allure again. Yes, he was still laughably attractive, without even trying. He was just a walking trap, and all of your good intentions for him had just been horny.

• "Or I will snap your neck and forget about you in a second".

• the punch was good; a scarlett spot was forming on the side of his face. You were afraid to move because you could feel your wrist on the point of breaking. Such sharp pain, the third time in nine months, and the source of it, again, was Kevin.

• "Say you're sorry"

• "I'm sorry", you whimpered, "that you're such a monster who's unable to love, Kevin".

• you got ready to deal with the broken wrist and closed your eyes, expecting anything. He let go of you. "Love is a big word for you".

• you didn't know how jealous he was of Damon Salvatore.

• as the school year was drawing to an end, the school team started rehearsing

• the rehearsals were always fun; although you never even thought of getting into the cheerleaders, and you had exactly the amount of interest in basketball to understand what's going on.

• it was fun because the team consisted of all the people you knew; there was a lot of students you had good relationship with; the cheerleaders were all very easy going girls, and beautiful, at that. It wasn't like in the Mean Girls.

• and the spectators always brought pizza, or some snacks, to entertain themselves during the long, repetitive rehearsals. You liked to visit them because it was better than hanging out at home with your dysfunctional family.

• the last rehearsals were held in the evening of the 8th of April.

• as you sat there, you vaguely remembered, randomly, that it was to be Kevin's birthday soon; maybe in a week, or less. You pretended not to care, pretended to yourself.

• closer to the end of rehearsal, as people started leaving, your best friend, the one who was concerned about Kevin and even put herself in the position between you, said that her boyfriend had messaged her. She had to leave. You said goodbye and decided to wait for the end. Looking at the girls was mesmerizing; the way they did the combinations and screamed the chants. You thought it was very cool to be a cheerleader; but you weren't tall, or nimble, or beautiful enough.

• the main door was locked from the outside; probably the strings have gone bad again, and the entrance has been deemed a no go. So, your friend circled around the hall a little, tugging the doors with surprise. Finally, she found one working exit and left. As she was leaving, Khatchadourian walked into her, or rather, they ran into each other.

• "Leaving already?" he asked, with a smile. She said nothing and walked away.

• Kevin locked the door behind her. She turned around, puzzled, because her brain hadn't registered at once that Kevin was carrying a stack of arrows with him.

• As he started shooting his classmates, the swarm of people was lifted up, like an avalanche, and started making it for the entrance. The doors were locked. He repositioned, climbing up the spectator's rows, and finally had the perfect spot. From above, in the bunch of people, he saw you.

• you wondered, as all the noise left your brain, and the pale circles started pulsating in your eyes, why you didn't know earlier.

• in the moments he was swinging for someone's throat, or when he was threatening you, or when his face dropped the smile by the snap of the fingers. How do you even foresee something like that?

• you watched his face, a grimace of hatred, not indifferent anymore. He was aiming with his bare teeth, wallowing in every cry of the people he shot; the sound of arrows was almost comforting, whistling around like a seagull that passes over you quietly. Among the roar of the hall, the sound of arrows was so calming and so loud.

• you tried to group yourself, to make yourself smaller, because there were actually very few people left; seven or nine, in fact. But there was nowhere to run. Macey Walken, who ran for the side entrance, got a scarlet arrow into her back, and fell suddenly as if something pulled her. You looked at the floor, into a pool of someone's blood. Kevin was walking down carefully, between the seats, sending the arrows with accurate aim. He didn't even look like a human anymore; it was hard to describe him.

• he neutralized the three teachers first, then went for the students. Paul died in the other side of the hall in his purple and gold uniform. The cheerleader girls were running in circles, in zigzags, clearly entertaining him, moving targets. Kevin now almost approached the last group of five people, where you sat on the floor, numb with scream that never left your mouth, your legs paralyzed completely. He was killing you all one by one, from left to right. Ben, Mary, Meredith. Finally, the bow and arrow were turned towards you, mechanically.

• Kevin pulled the string and then relaxed it, keeping the arrow to himself, and moved on.

• you did manage to become the special girl after all.

[whatswrongwithblue]

The Fire in the Sin

Chapter 24 - Just Pretend

Word count: 5,932. Read on AO3. Series Masterlist. <- Previous Chapter.

Summary: Old tensions come to the surface.

Series Summary

In the 1950's, Alastor met the woman he would eventually marry but unfortunately his Radio Demon persona went for her soul rather than her hand. He has to learn what it means to love, and cherish, without possessing and he does. Their relationship is beautiful, strong, unbreakable . . . but he carries a dark secret through their marriage for decades until eventually he has to face the consequences of that secret and leave her, without warning, for seven years. He returns, finding her at the Hazbin Hotel, and has to convince her to forgive him, while being literally bound to secrecy, unable to tell her any of things he now is desperate to explain to her.

(This is a duel timeline fic, timestamps will be a the top of every chapter.)

Chapter 24 - Just Pretend

Present Day

It was the silence that pulled her from her sleep more than anything.

Over the last few months, Mina had grown accustomed to the white noise of the bayou in her room; the sound of crickets and frogs singing and the whisper of a light breeze through the willow tree leaves. Even in her sleep she heard those sounds; the soothing melody of the swamp lulling her into sweet dreams.

There was also the background hum of the hotel. The barely audible sound of electricity running through the walls, the occasional footsteps from down the hall, a cough or a sneeze or a laugh from another resident. A hotel full of other people, even in the dead of night, was a chorus of sounds that one usually tuned out.

But once those sounds were missing, the silence was deafening.

Mina sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes, still half asleep and confused by how eerily quiet everything was. And dark. There was supposed to be the soft green blue glow of the bayou in her room but she kept blinking and it was still blindingly dark.

Her feline eyes eventually adjusted and she saw the bayou was gone. Her room was just the same as it had been before Alastor had returned.

Mina threw the covers off, suddenly alert and panicked, and jumped out of bed as if to run somewhere. But then she just stood in the middle of her bedroom, dazed and puzzled, unsure of what to do next.

No, the room wasn’t exactly as it had been before Alastor returned.

The bayou was gone, but all of his stuff was still there. A half finished whiskey glass left on his nightstand, the book he had been slowly making his way through next to it with the bookmark still in place, a few pages of doodles scattered across his work desk.

She walked over to the fireplace, which usually burned all night with the magical, cooling fire Alastor had used as their air conditioning. It was completely out, the ashes at the bottom room temperature, as if it hadn’t just been a roaring fire when she fell asleep.

The room was the same, only all of the magic had been pulled from it.

Mina’s heart stuck in her throat as she realized she had lived this moment before.

She pulled on her robe, tying it loosely over her nightgown, and ran out of the room.

“Alastor!” she screamed as she fled in the direction of his radio tower but her voice echoed back at her.

She raced up the several flight of stairs, her panic and the sudden exertion making her gasp for air, but she didn’t slow down and when she finally reached the end of the last hallway and flung open the doorway that led up to his radio tower, she nearly fell right over the edge.

It was gone. The entire structure that stuck out from the side of the very top of the hotel was completely gone, and she was nearly dangling over several stories of empty air.

Mina just barely managed to pull herself and the door back and she stumbled several steps away from the gaping wound of the hotel where her husband’s tower once stood.

“No,” she whimpered, choking on the sob that boiled up with the singular word.

This couldn’t be happening again. She wouldn’t survive this again.

She made her way through the rest of the hotel, unsure if she was running, or walking, or floating. It felt like an out of body experience and it was so dark.

The lights of the hallways wouldn’t flip on but it wasn’t the darkness itself that scared her. Mina would rejoice if she saw shadows deepening, moving towards her to wrap her in a cool embrace. But this darkness didn’t move; it was stagnant, empty, dead.

With nerves turning numb, her legs feeling like ice, she made her way down the final set of stairs and into the lobby.

Charlie was there, sitting in the middle of the floor, with her back turned to her. She was crying softly, her quiet sniffles the first sounds Mina had heard other than ones she had made herself.

Mina ran to her, her barefeet slapping against the hard polished floor of the lobby, and the sound felt hollow.

“Charlie!” she said as she fell to her knees in front of the other woman, grabbing her by her shoulders. “What happened?!”

There was blood on Charlie, which confused Mina because she didn't seem physically hurt.

“How could you let him do it?” she asked. Charlie’s eyes burned red with hate as she looked up at Mina finally. “Why didn’t you warn us?”

Mina pulled away from her and looked down at her hands. That was why she had seen blood on Charlie when she touched her. 

Mina’s hands and arms were covered in red.

She looked back up at Charlie, an apology on her lips. She still didn’t know what had happened but she felt the burning blade of guilt lodged deep in her gut.

Charlie was standing over her now, a look of disgust and contempt on her face, one that matched Mina’s sister’s expression the last time she had seen her.

“We trusted him. We trusted you.”

____

It was the morning before the Extermination and Alastor was expecting it to be a busy one. There was still so much prepping to do in order to fortify the hotel; make sure everyone was armed and capable of wielding their weapon of choice, going over battle strategies one last time, etc etc. Plus, all of the ordinary tasks of running a hotel full of people. Making sure the bar and kitchens were stocked and meals were prepped on time. The laundry room was barely functioning as it was and now the two small machines were having to service dozens of people. It was disturbing how much toilet paper they were all going through in one day. Not a single cannibal had thought to bring shampoo or body wash with them. Charlie only had half the rooms stalked with towels and linens at first. Somebody had broken the ice machine on the second floor. There were constant complaints about water pressure in the showers and the damn toilets kept clogging. It was a mess.

Rather than get any work done on his station, Alastor sat alone in his radio tower, savoring his morning coffee and the peace and quiet before the storm. He had his feet up on his workstation, completely relaxed and content, thoroughly enjoying this little slice of alone time he was indulging in.

His shadow interrupted him, spreading itself out across the window in front of him, impossible to ignore.

Alastor sighed. “What is it now, old friend?”

It darted from wall to wall, visibly anxious. Alastor rolled his eyes and sighed again.

“Use your words,” he chided.

Its glowing eyes narrowed at him, insulted and annoyed, and then Alastor was flooded with a sickening feeling of pity and worry that twisted his insides enough to make him sit up. Then Mina’s face flashed before him, her large eyes brimming with tears.

“Well, you could have led with that,” he huffed and stood, joining with his shadow and slipping through the floorboards.

He found her still in bed, the large comforter pulled tight around her, with only the tips of her black and gold ears peaking out over the top, but he could hear her crying even from across the room.

Alastor materialized on the bed, seated on the edge and rubbed her shoulder through the thick comforter.

“Now, now, ma cher,” he whispered to her, and began to pull the blankets slowly away from her face. “Who do I have to kill this time?”

“Alastor?” She sounded confused and hopeful when she said his name and blinked up at him in a daze.

“Were you expecting someone else in our bed?” he teased and brushed a strand of her black hair away from her tear-soaked face.

She sat up and pulled him into her arms, hugging him in a vice-like grip.

And suddenly, he understood the source of her affliction.

“Bad dream?” he asked, rubbing her back as she cried into his shoulder.

“You left,” she croaked out, her ears pulling flat out to the sides.

“In the dream or are you talking about before?”

“Yes.”

“Which?”

“What?” she asked, pulling away to look up at him, her eyebrows pinched in confusion and hurt.

He summoned a tissue for her and she took it silently, wiping her nose and then her eyes.

“Did you have a nightmare that I left again or were you dreaming about before?” he clarified.

Her scowl deepened.

“Does it matter?” she said, her voice less shaky with crying now but a single tear still fell down her cheek. “It could happen again, either way.”

“Not possible,” he said with a shake of his head. “I told you before, I’m not going anywhere.”

��I don’t want to talk about this.”

She pulled the covers off and stood. He reached for her hand, trying to keep her next to him, but she yanked it away.

“Mina- “

“I just want to be alone right now.”

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head at her, feeling his irritation rise at her dismissal of him.

“You’re afraid I’m going to leave you so you want me to leave?”

“Don’t be a spanner,” she said as she turned her back on him and headed for the bathroom.

He materialized in front of her, blocking her way, and holding her by her biceps. She startled at first but then glared up at him.

“Darling, I am really tired of you punishing me for things out of my control.”

“I’m not punishing you, Al’. I know this is out of your control and that’s what scares me the most. For the longest time, I thought you were unbreakable. And then you’re ripped out of my life and now I have to try and live with the fact that you’re in chains. That you belong to someone else and they could take you again if they wanted to. And I’ll fight for you, love, I really will. But it’s fucking exhausting.”

He let go of her and crossed his arms.

“You think you’re tired of all this? You don’t know the half of it.”

“I know I don’t, no thanks to your deal. I didn’t ask for any of this to happen, you did. If I had known . . .”

She trailed off, looking away from him, and he swore his undead heart skipped a beat. He dropped his arms to the side, afraid of what she had left unsaid, but that fear quickly turned into indignation.

“Care to finish that sentence, my dear?”

He watched her swallow back more tears before she looked back up at him.

“It was just a dream. Let me just . . . take a shower and forget it, alright?”

She walked away, made it all the way to the bathroom door and flipped on the lights.

He shouldn’t say it, shouldn’t ask a question if he was afraid to hear the answer to, but as she went to shut the door, he heard the words leave his lips despite himself.

“Do you wish you’d never met me?”

He watched her pause in the doorway and turn to him, her eyes full of fresh tears.

“Loving you used to be so easy,” she said.

Alastor wanted to fade away then, disappear before she could say the rest. He knew what she would say next, knew it was his worst fear about to be realized. That she regretted being with him, that she was scared of him now, and that if one more thing went wrong she would run out of his life forever.

But then she went to him, crossing the room in a few short steps, and was holding him. Mina stood on tiptoe and he melted into her embrace, suddenly needing the comfort of her arms around him as his anger gave way in the face of all his insecurities. He pressed his face into the side of her head, kissing her on the jaw and neck, fighting the ache in his throat that threatened to tear out of him in the form of a sob.

“It’s hard now,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, but it is. It hurts so much some days, but I could never stop loving you. I would do it all over again with no regrets.”

Every promise he wanted to make stuck in his throat. All the explanation he was desperate to give to her, to help her see and understand the reality of their situation, could not form into words. It was as frustrating and tiring as ever, seeing her so afraid, knowing how traumatized she was, and being able to give so little comfort to her.

All he could do to soothe both their frayed nerves was hold her tight and repeat the same promise he had made to her the day he had returned.

“I’m never letting you go again. Never,” he said darkly. He looked down at her, the reflection of his red furious eyes shining back at him in hers. “Haven’t I always made sure you get your revenge? I promise you, I will break my chains. And these beautiful hands,” he kissed her fingertips, letting her claws brush against his lips, “will be bloody with justice.”

She smiled weakly at him and pulled away. It baffled him, he had expected more of thrill in her expression, but instead she kept the same tired and sad look about her.

Mina leaned back up and kissed him quickly on the cheek.

“I’m going to take that shower now. I’ll see you downstairs in a bit.”

Alastor frowned, feeling his smile twitch with uncertainty as she shut the door behind her.

___

He did his best to keep one eye on her the rest of the day; a distraction he wasn’t sure he could afford but he felt a growing unease at the idea of her having her mind on other matters with the battle so close. His own safety was of no concern, he was plenty confident in his role in things and Adam would be easy enough to handle. But Mina, despite her return to power, had little idea of what she was getting herself into. The angels were one thing but the consequences of Charlie winning the fight, which she was sure to do, was another.

The decision to keep her there with him rather than pushing her away still tore at him. He knew, from the very beginning, that his reluctance to keep her at bay any longer was caused by a combination of his pride and his spite. It was insulting enough to have been forced to do what he had done; his ego simply wouldn’t let him lose anything else. And it was a rather large fuck you to the forces that had made him leave her behind in the first place that she was back in his life when they hadn’t expected her to be. But the hungry guilt still gnawed on him day and night, more ravenous with each passing day, that his selfishness was putting her in danger.

Alastor just had to make sure that the risk was worth the reward. Make certain Mina was levelheaded come the morning.

He stepped out into the courtyard in front of the hotel and came to stand next to Charlie, who like him, seemed to be observing the preparations of the rest of the staff.

Vaggie was taking turns sparring with cannibals, teaching them proper defensive stances and attack maneuvers, while Mina and her friends were sorting through weapons and helping others choose which ones would be best for them.

He watched as she picked up an axe and eyed it approvingly before setting it aside for herself. Mina always had a bit of a thing for axes, ever since she had hacked her first husband to bits with one and his smile grew wider at the thought of getting to watch her use one on the angels tomorrow.

“A bit exciting, isn’t it?” he said to Charlie as they watched over those they each cared about the most. “Knowing that victory is right around the corner. It almost makes one feel young again, or at least, alive.”

“I guess,” Charlie said. She looked unsure of herself, anxious and almost miserable with worry. That wouldn’t do. He needed Charlie’s head in the game even more than he needed Mina’s.

“My dear girl,” he said sweetly, putting an arm around her shoulders. “There’s no need to worry! They all know what they signed up for and they wouldn’t be here if they weren’t confident in your ability to lead them into success. And you,” he tapped her nose with a finger, “are much more powerful than you give yourself credit for.”

“I don’t know about that. My parents are . . . maybe. But they won’t be here. And even if they were, it’s not like they haven’t lost against Heaven before.”

“Tomorrow will be different, trust me.” He tried to say even a little more but with Charlie, just as it was with Mina, the truth stuck in his throat. Annoyed, he felt his power slip out a little but decided to lean into it, towering over Charlie as his voice warped and his antlers spread out wide. “Tomorrow you will wipe the floor with their golden blood.”

“Okaaaaay, Al’,” Charlie said and pulled herself out from under his arm as he returned back to his normal height.

“If you don’t believe me, you should at least believe your own eyes,” he said, brushing off his jacket sleeves and then giving her a side eye. “You saw how much power was released when we made our deal. That was all you, darling. So have a little faith in yourself, hmm? I know I do.”

The air was knocked out of him when she crashed herself into his side, wrapping her arms tightly around his ribs. At first the intrusive contact irritated him but then his eyes softened as he looked down at her.

“There, there,” he said, patting her head and rolling his eyes. “No need to get emotional on me.”

“Sorry . . . sorry,” she mumbled and pulled away from him, looking abashed and blushing. “Just . . . thank you. For believing in me. Even though you’re . . . you, it means a lot that you think I can really do this. And I’m glad you’re here. I don’t think I would have made it even this far without you.”

“Yes, well,” he said, clearing his throat and straightening his bow tie. “I’ll remember you said that the next time you call me an asshole and tell me to go away.”

She laughed and was about to say something in response when something across the courtyard caught her eye and her smile fell.

“Oh shit.”

Alastor followed her line of sight and saw Mina and Vaggie, clearly getting into a heated argument.

“Don’t lecture me about weapons when you only know how to use one.” Mina’s voice carried across the courtyard, his ears picking up the bite in her voice now that he was paying attention.

“This one is all the exterminators are going to be wielding, so you should be choosing weapons best at defending against them.”

“I am,” Mina hissed. “I know what I’m doing child, so go back to playing and let the professionals handle the rest.”

Vaggie raised up her spear and let its base hit the cobblestones beneath her feet with a metallic clank that echoed through the courtyard.

 “Alright, perra, you think you know so much about Exterminators? Show me what you got. But you might want to put on some padding.”

Mina laughed in her face. “I’m not going to need protection to fight you.”

Charlie started to walk towards them but Alastor grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Best to let them work this out themselves. I believe this has been building for quite some time.”

“You’re really okay with them beating each other to a pulp?”

Alastor waved his hand dismissively at her and leaned against the pillar behind him. “Just shut up and enjoy the show,” he replied with a cackle.

Mina shocked him by unbuttoning her sweater, exposing her spots along her shoulders and back for the first time, and sitting it on top of the wagon full of weapons before grabbing a spear for herself. She really was a sight to behold when she was pissed off.

Vaggie raised an eyebrow at her.

“Want to change out of your sundress?”

“I’m gonna beat your ass bloody with my skirt on and my hair down, thank you very much.”

Vaggie charged at her, aggressively and directly, and Mina blocked it easily, lifting the other woman’s spear up before slamming the tip of it into the ground with her own.

“Not used to people fighting back, are you?” she challenged.

Vaggie yanked her spear out from under Mina’s and came at her again, faster and more agile, and Mina stepped back several paces as she had to focus on her blocks.

“You’re good at defense,” Vaggie said, stepping back and twirling her spear. “But I’ve yet to see you make a move that impresses me.”

Mina snarled and jumped into the air, spinning and bringing her spear down hard, making Vaggie block her attack with both hands braced on her spear, and Charlie gasped at how close Mina’s spear still managed to get to Vaggie’s shoulder before the shorter woman shoved back, using Mina’s own weight against her.

It was like a dance after that, both women spinning and flourishing their weapons with expert grace and precision, the sharp whack of their weapons ringing through the air over and over again, and Alastor was certain Charlie flinched with every hit.

After several minutes went by, both women were visibly panting, sweating, and red in the face with the exertion from their fight but at the same time, they both looked like they were beginning to thoroughly enjoy the challenge.

With a roar, Vaggie swung her spear, forcing Mina to duck, but the taller woman quickly recovered, standing back up before Vaggie could bring her weapon back around, and Mina spun the end of her spear up and the blunt end hit Vaggie in side of her face.

Charlie gasped and Vaggie stumbled to the side from the force of it, before she looked back up at Mina with a look mixed with respect, shock, and fury.

It was the only hesitation the warrior gave before she went back on the offensive, coming at Mina in a way that forced her to brace her own spear with both hands. Vaggie swiftly brought her spear up and back down, threading it in between Mina and her own weapon, locked her arm down and spun, flipping Mina onto the ground and on her back and Vaggie towered over her with both spears now in her grasp.

Vaggie raised her spear up and Mina’s rolled backward over her shoulder and came up in a crouch, her fist engulfed in angelic fire with her teeth bared and her ears pinned back.

“Been a while since someone actually managed to land a hit on me,” Vaggie said.

“I don’t think anyone’s been able to take my own weapon from me before,” Mina admitted, slowing standing up from her crouched position.

“Truce?” Vaggie said, holding out her hand.

Mina smiled, flashing all her sharp teeth at Vaggie as she took her hand. “Truce. Lunch?”

Vaggie sighed. “Oh fuck yeah, I’m starving after that work out.”

Mina went over to the weapon’s wagon and grabbed her sweater.

Vaggie walked away, heading for the hotel but she looked over her shoulder at Mina as she was buttoning up. “Those spots are kinda hot, by the way.”

Alastor laughed inwardly as he watched the blush creep up his wife’s neck and cheeks.

When Mina headed for the doors herself a moment later, Alastor joined her.

“My, you have learned a thing or two in the last few years,” he said flirtatiously.

“Enjoy the show?” she asked, still sounding a bit winded but her mood was clearly lifted.

“Ooooh, yes, quite a bit,” he laughed and playfully slapped her ass, uncaring for a rare moment who was watching.

____

Mina was feeling a lot more like herself after her sparing match with Vaggie. It had given her the much needed opportunity to blow off some steam and get her head out the funk her nightmare had put her in.

She had already been awake when Alastor had found her that morning but still lost in the emotions it had left in her. Though the light of the bayou had instantly soothed her when she opened her eyes, telling her logically it had all just been a dream, the feelings of abandonment and shame had stayed with her. And when Alastor had made his comment about getting her hands bloody, it had unnerved her. The way that dream had ended, with her covered in blood and feeling betrayed and guilty over . . . something she still didn’t understand, but it had been haunting her all morning.

Now there was a full blown party happening at the hotel and Mina had a pleasant buzz going as she sipped her cocktail and lounged with her friends.

Alastor had been down there earlier, socializing with everyone, playing the gracious host, and had shared a couple dances with her but then he had wandered off, a full glass of whiskey in his hand.

“So you guys torture people like Mina used to,” Angel said, pointing at the hyena twins, Kaden and Silva. “And you, too huh?” he asked, looking over at Alina.

The vampiric silver haired beauty smiled widely at Angel and laughed.

“Not for centuries. No, I’ve been hunting for Abaddon for most of my existence. I’m very good at it,” her black eyes flashed luminously with pride before she took a sip of her drink.

Mina was pressed between her friends on the couch, the twins on her right and Alina on her left, with Angel laying across a lounge chair in front of them, his long limbs hanging off either side.

“Bounty hunting. What a gig that would be,” Angel said, mostly to himself.

“I’d rather stick to torture,” Silva said with a giggle. “More control over the situation. And tastier.”

“You two are cannibals, too?” Angel asked.

“Sure, most carnivorous demons are. You’ve never tried it?” Kaden asked.

“Not my thing,” Angel replied, barely hiding his disgust.

“Well, since Mina left, we’ve gotten to take over most couple sessions and less of the cannibalizing ones. That was always her thing, and since we were her apprentices, we got to step up to the plate,” Silva said.

“Couple’s sessions?” Angel asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mina opened her mouth to explain but Silva beat her to it.

“Yeah, Mina fucking invented them. If a couple gets sent to The Pit, she came up with the idea of offering them a deal. Their own torture gets to stop, but only if they can handle torturing the significant other they got sent in with.”

Angel looked at Mina warily and she smiled shyly back at him.

“But there’s a catch,” Kaden interrupted. “Whoever breaks first, Mina only lets them up for a fraction of the time they were meant to be serving. Then she lets the other one get their revenge and torture them back. That way, the demon that betrayed the person they supposedly loved, has to live with that fact and still get tortured. It’s fucking beautiful man. The woman is always so much more vicious than the guy.”

“What, like it’s always the guy that gives in first with straight couples?” Angel asked.

“Usually,” Mina and the twins answered together.

“You guys are fucked up,” Angel said and got up, stumbling his way back over to the bar and to Husk.

“He’s a sensitive one, isn’t he?” Alina asked.

The hyenas cackled and Mina felt the need to defend her new friend to her old ones, but bit her tongue. They all had a way of hardening their hearts against their jobs and Angel didn’t quite understand that the souls they dealt with in The Pit were the worst of the worst that Hell had to offer. It was two worlds collide with the two found families Mina had built around herself but she knew that given time, they would all warm up to each other.

Astra and Lilah came over with a fresh tray of drinks and Lilah took over Angel’s discarded seat with Astra lounged comfortably across the floor, her blue skin shimmering before it settled into a darker indigo color.

“Where did Al’ run off to, I got a rye just for him,” Lilah said.

Silva scoffed. “Still taking off without a word, huh?”

Astra sat up and smacked her on the shin. “He’s right up on the balcony, talking with Niffty, you twit.”

Mina glanced up and sure enough, he was there, leaning over the railing and even from the distance, she could see his fond smile as he watched the animated Niffty telling him about something she was clearly excited about.

“Whatever,” Silva said, crossing her arms after taking a peek for herself. “I still don’t buy his story. He left Mina totally broken hearted. A pathetic shell of herself-”

“Thank you,” Mina interjected sarcastically.

“It’s true! And you just take him back the moment he gets back-”

“Shut up, Silva,” Lilah said. Like Astra, she had been there for the very start of Mina and Alastor’s relationship. Had seen their rise and fall, and everything in between, so they both understood Mina’s decision to stay, but others were more skeptical.

Mina gave her an appreciative smile and downed the rest of her drink, then stood up before the group could get into a proper argument over her marriage.

“Well, this has been wonderful, but before we all die tomorrow, I think I’m going to go get laid,” Mina said and walked away.

___

She found Alastor right where she had last seen him, leaning against the rail of the balcony that looked over the lobby, but now he was alone. He looked up and smiled a wide and bright smile as he saw her approaching and the closer she got, the stronger the smell of whiskey became. Mina may have been tipsy but Alastor was properly drunk.

That boded well for her. He was usually a happy drunk, jovial and lively when in the company of others but when she was alone with him, he was very handsy and that was exactly what she was looking for tonight.

“What are you doing up here, all alone?” she asked and he stood up straighter, holding his microphone and both hands behind his back.

“Looking down on my royal subjects.”

She smiled and raised an eyebrow, glancing up at the ring of dead roaches he was wearing in his hair like a crown.

“Alastor, what in the world-”

“Ah ah,” he corrected, and cleared his throat before puffing out his chest and putting his hand over his heart. “It is King Roach to you, my lady.”

He broke into a fit of laughter, once again leaning over the railing, giggling until there were tears in his eyes.

His mood was infectious and Mina felt herself start to laugh as well. It had been too long since she’d seen this side of him; this goofy, childish, strange, and a little insane but happy version of him. Her worries about the battle and the lingering unease that her dream had left her with were dispelled in that moment.

She stepped closer until they were toe to toe and wrapped her arms around his waist, smiling up at him. The crown of bugs was crooked, pushing down a lock of hair awkwardly over his forehead, and his red eyelids were heavy, making every blink slow and adorably mesmerizing.

“You have very pretty eyes, my King.”

Alastor’s smile went wide with surprise, the sleepiness left his expression for a moment, before he relaxed again and tilted his head at her, his long ears flopping a bit to the side.

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Hmmm,” she said, feeling the effects of that last drink she had downed hitting her, making her head a little warmer and fuzzier than just a moment before. She pressed her face into his chest, purring and nuzzling her cheek into his jacket. “You’re beautiful.”

“That’s an odd compliment for a King,” he mused. “One would think I should be called regal, or handsome, perhaps aristocratic or even dapper. The very image of omnipotence, a terrifying sight to behold, the horrors of which haven’t been seen since the Eldritch Terrors roamed the Earth.”

“Hmmm mmm,” she nodded, still pressed against his chest with her eyes closed. “You are all those things and more, my love, but you’re also my pretty man. My fruitcake.”

“You’re . . . what?”

He pulled away from her a bit and she looked up to meet his expression, her arms still wrapped around him, but when they made eye contact, they both broke into another fit of laughter.

After a moment, Alastor caught his breath again and brought a hand up to cup her cheek.

“So what are our opinions on sex tonight?” he asked, his strange wording making another giggle break out of her. “Would you be willing to bed this fruity King of yours?”

She reached up and straightened his crown and brushed the stray lock of hair away from his forehead.

“There’s no one else I’d rather spend tonight with,” she said quietly, and his smile softened before, to her utter astonishment, he pressed his lips to hers.

They were alone on the balcony but still in full view of the packed lobby and sure enough, with Alastor’s mouth still firmly on her own, she heard the distinctive sound of Angel’s voice from down below.

“OW OOWWWW!” he shouted and then someone else followed his cheering with a wolf whistle.

Alastor didn’t break the kiss but she felt his weight shift a little and his hand left her cheek. She turned her face to the side and opened her eyes, and saw Alastor’s arm pulled straight over the railing, his middle finger lifted on proud display for the crowd below, even as he peppered her jawline with more kisses.

He was never this brazen with her in front of others and she felt wetness begin to gather between her legs at the unusual thrill of it.

Alastor pulled his face away from hers and let his hand fall back to her hips, but the smirk on his face told her he had no regrets.

“That’s enough of a show for them, wouldn’t you say? Shall we find a place more private?”

She could only nod, at a loss for words, as she looked up at him over her lashes.

He leaned forward and kissed her once more and she felt her body melting with his shadow as he whisked them away into the darkness of the hallway.

Next Chapter ->

@inuhalfdemon @saccharine-nectarine @whoknowswhoiamtoday @redvexillum @visara-valentina @reath-solia

[blackblooms]

Irredeamable developpement retrospective Part 3: The fountain So just as presented in the last part, this was my attempt at creating a single complex and interconnected setting for all of my games. I even had a bunch of games planned for this, including one some of you may have seen before.

This game was made on a whole other engine, so i won`t linger too much on it, but the planned story was about a small elf huntress, ascending the great titan (giant tree) to find increasingly imposing preys to hunt, such as troglodytes (giant frog people), drakes, wyrms, other sentient bugs and concluding on a battle with the nevermore, a black crow/dragon that served as the god of the tree.

Anyway, back to our actual game. The fountain took place in a nexus between several worlds, where several species from all over the multiverse lived, including humans, lizardfolk, goblins, elves, trolls, and several races of fae. At the heart of this world, was the coveted fountain, a well of pure magic that was the source of all reality and could remake it to the whims of any who were bold enough to find and use it.

From this premise, a main game was planned, an epic journey through the crossroads of lands, where a group from different races would meet and unite in their common quest to find the fountain and achieve their deepest wishes.

So the journey starts on human lands, a continent consisting of mostly deserts. The fountain is where i finally settled on an aesthetic for humans, making them mechanical, and fire-themed. They usually wield guns and use the metal, oil, and coal of their land to build fiery machines and factories. Other stories also give them the ability to nearly fully mechanize their bodies, turning themselves into metal demons. the second area would have been the lizardfolks/mermaid archipelago (don't ask why they are the second to last area in the plans, i dont know either) These would be themed around water and serve as an artificial/life amphibious force, working under the centaurians from the last few settings. The mermaids specifically were centaurians-humans hybrid, hence why they have features of both. Then the group arrives upon the mainland, where they are met with an overgrown swamp, infested with demi-fae, a group of several races mixed with fae blood, giving them the ability to use magic. This is followed by a series of urbanized forests controlled by the tiny, but industrious elves who are able to build dozens of man-sized war machines. The last obstacle on the journey is the shadowlands, a dark, cold, and desolated region, guarded by a race of ancient stone creatures. These old traditionalists and users of mystical shadow arts despise change and will do anything to prevent the fountain from being tampered with. ( i remember hearing the line "dwarves are incorruptible as stone" in shadow of mordor and it stuck in my head ever since, becoming a defining aspect of the trolls in my own stories.") And finally, the fountain, a place of infinite potential and home of the Fae, creatures that have been encountered during the whole journey, avatars of magic, nature and change. The fountain is a fantastical realm, a city of candy, floating over an ever-flowing lake of golden honey. The purest of faes reside in this realm, but they are far from the nature-loving beings met in the outside world. These Faes are cruel and ravenous, eager to consume the world and make a new one that will one day also be ruthlessly consumed.

Anyway, as you can tell from all the lore, i ended up putting a whole lot of effort into that setting. There was even supposed to be a whole second half of the game where the characters made their wish and the world would be twisted by the Fae magic into nightmares that would have to be fought and repelled before they replaced the region. We are slowly, but surely getting close to the end of this retrospective. Next we will go into the game that ended up giving irredeamable much of its mechanics. A small, self-contained story that ended up bridging the gap between the fountain and the current setting i have been building. See you in part 4: The city of dolls.

[artfightdramaconfessions]

Confession/Rant ig that I swear loops back around to artfight

TLDR:

I'm planning to steal someone's "Ocs" that blocked me !! :D

---

K long story short-ish

Someone who I was friends with got mad at me for drawing a frog on my SWAMP themed ocs head + adding frogs to her profile bc frogs were a "life threatening trigger" that they never mentioned anywhere + they have frog ocs so they end up blocking me bc I'm only willing to change the css and not willing to delete the art I spent 8-9 hours on

So like week ago I log onto my alt n see them in my notifs bc ig they forgot to block me there, no biggie!! I'll just block them myself- BUT- I get jumpscared by MY OC that I bought from them in the featured character section on their profile.

So like I'm sure anyone would I click to see wtf is going on and that oc is in a folder FULL like I'm talking 3 pages on the max characters per page settings full of knock offs of my ocs and ocs they'd sold to me (+ it was labeled " Bitches ocs")

I just block them thinking I'll grab screenshots later bc I was tired of their shit forgetting their account is auth users only 😭

So like basically just now I'm on call with my boyfriend discussing our artfight plans and he mentioned that he's removing his "I attack everyone back" note because he refuses to attack one person back from last year because "Oh yeah you beefed with them and I think they attacked me just to spite you" LOW AND BEHOLD ITS FROG TRIGGER PERSON so I go to block them on af because ofc

AND HALLELUJAH 13 (out of like 100+ but wins a win) knock offs on my ocs are PUBLIC in their artfight soooo guess who's stealing knock offs of their ocs back :3 who knew my ocs secretly had family members that had never been mentioned in their lore before :D!

Ik this is long and could have been summed up but like I wanna rant 😒

.

[wuxianxkexing]

Mu Qing x Goddess Reader: Stop Fucking With My Cat Part 5

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

What do you mean I have to actually write this story and it won't just magically appear? Yeah, I didn't forget, I've just been too busy for the past like 5 months? Or however long it's been since the last update. Lol

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

Ghosts of all types were most active at night. It was a fact of life and it seemed like humans were born with that innate knowledge, the innate fear of the dark. Y/N didn't really mind the dark too much usually. However she really wasn't prepared for how all consuming the darkness of the swamp really was. It was her first time ever being in one. The torch she carried was practically useless. Between the darkness and thick of the swamp the eye could only see maybe a foot or two in front of it even with the help of the torch. Still it was better than nothing. With it's help Y/N was able to traverse the swamp with all of the delicatecy and grace of a couple hours old fawn, instead of one just born mere minutes ago. It was more difficult than walking on just solid ice! Y/N thought as she gave a dismayed look to Mu Qing who was impatiently stopping every few feet or so to wait for Y/N to catch up again. At least solid ice usually doesn't have so many damned obstacles! Y/N had long ago lost count of how many twigs, mossy rocks, fallen trees, roots and just plain mud she had fallen over during their trek deeper into the murky swamp. It didn't help that despite being so dark it was also super loud. Bugs, owls, frogs, everything seemed to be screaming, or rather singing, it's lungs out. Though Y/N supposed that was a good thing. A silent forest is a bad forest.

"At this rate I might as well carry you." Y/N froze over the large tree root she was making her way over. Mu Qing rolled his eyes so hard she wasn't sure if they'd ever return back to normal. Unlike Y/N Mu Qing was making his way through the swamps like an elf. Never a foot misplaced, barely making any noise. He had the footwork that one would expect of a martial God. It kind of annoyed Y/N, nevermind the insult he had just given her. Why was she the only one suffering in this stupid swamp? "Feng Xin could move through this faster and quieter than you. I'm surprised you haven't scared off everything in the area. The frogs must know that you are too clumsy to be a threat." He smirked.

"Well if you hadn't interrupted my hunting lesson with Echo I could've learned cat like footwork from him!"

"Pfft, so you'd make your master my cat? Well I suppose no one else /would/ take you under their wing." Y/N puffed her cheeks in mocking fake anger. She was a martial Goddess. If anything people would fight each other to be able to claim her as their student. They both surely knew that to be true.

"I think your cat would be a good master. The worst he'd do to me is maybe scratch or bite me, but at least he wouldn't have me run laps until my legs fall off." Y/N smiled back.

Mu Qing huffed and rolled his eyes. "Actually the worst he might do to you is try to suffocate you in your sleep by laying directly on your face like he does to me every night. He's not as innocent as he looks."

"Maybe I shouldn't have given him that demon collar after all. Sounds like he is already halfway there." Y/N laughed at her joke but Mu Qing just stared at her, clearly unamused. Y/N mentally hit herself. Right, he still didn't find the whole thing funny. Y/N liked to fancy herself as a comedian but undeniably most people didn't think she was very funny. She made the rest of her way over the large tree root and went to stand next to Mu Qing, who quickly turned on his heel and continued deeper into the swamp. 'Psh, maybe I should just have him carry me.' Y/N thought grumpily to herself. But she knew it was just a thought. No way would she ever ask to be carried by anyone, let alone Mu Qing. He obviously already thought that she was useless, she didn't need to make it worse. And really it was rather pathetic that a martial Goddess was having such a hard time just walking around. Y/N decided to focus harder on making her way through the swamp with some element of grace, and whether through actual focus or just more experience on where to step the duo actually started making decent time on their descent into the swamp. However their slow going in the beginning finally caught up to them as their last torch finally died.

"Nice going Y/N, now we have to walk around in the dark." Y/N felt her eye twitch in the pitch darkness. It wasn't her fault! She was pretty sure that they needed to bring twice as many torches than they did but Mu Qing was the one who didn't want to carry them around!

"General Xuan Zhen, why don't you just light a palm torch? I was pretty sure that we didn't bring enough torches along but you were the one who said that we'd be fine. Don't blame me for your lapse in judgment." Y/N let out through a very forced smile. She wasn't sure why she even bothered since neither of them could see anything at the moment but that's just a part of playing nice she supposed.

"Tch, why don't you light a palm torch. I need to conserve my spiritual energy." Y/N didn't need to see to know that he just rolled his eyes at her though. She thought about telling him to go fuck himself, she needed to conserve her spiritual power as well and being the very popular God that he was he surely had a lot more of it to spare than she did. Y/N waited a few seconds, listening to the sounds of frogs croaking in the night, considering whether or not she would use her spiritual power. To be honest she didn't really need her spiritual powers, her martial abilities were exceptional even without them, so she ultimately decided to cooperate and lit a palm torch for them.

Unexpectedly Mu Qing was standing a whole lot closer to her than she remembered and she almost caught his robe sleeve on fire. "Watch it!" He screamed out as he pulled himself out of the line of fire. Y/N almost laughed. What was he even doing standing so close to her in the first place after he had just told her to light a palm torch?

"Sorry General Xuan Zhen. My bad." Y/N weakly apologized with a small smile on her face. Mu Qing fixed her with a scrutinizing gaze.

"You did that on purpose."

"No I didn't. I thought you were standing over there." Y/N pointed to where Mu Qing was definitely standing when the last torch went out. His eyes followed the line of Y/N's finger and he pressed his lips together firmly. Maybe it was just the lighting from her palm torch but Y/N was pretty sure that Mu Qing was blushing.

"Whatever, let's get going." Mu Qing turned and started to walk off into the darkness, leaving Y/N to chase after him so he didn't get lost or hurt without light.

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME THE GOLDEN GIRLS / SEASON 01 EPISODES 03 + 04

you know i'm whacked out on medication.

i like being whacked out.

would you please be a friend and go out with him?

i'd really love to go, but as you can see i'm busy.

we're playing cards and she stinks at it.

tonight, the years of humiliation ends.

i'm so scared, my dentures are chattering.

are you up for a night on the town with two handsome, eligible bachelors?

i'm not that interested in dating anymore.

everyone seems so ordinary after [name].

i'm gonna regret this and i know i'm gonna have a miserable time, but i'll go.

why do you look so depressed?

i'm tired of going out and not enjoying myself.

nothing could be more fun than beating her at cards tonight.

you're too competitive.

next time, i'm gonna date both brothers before i give one away.

i haven't laughed so much or acted so silly since i was a teenager.

he is the most outrageous, unpredictable man i have ever met.

i think it's terrific that you had a good time tonight.

take a cold shower and go to bed.

it looks like you two are getting pretty serious.

if the situation is right, you'll know it.

if you take chance in life, sometimes good things happen, sometimes bad things happen, but if you don't take a chance, nothing happens.

if you like me, it's for who i am, not for who i remind you of.

we could finally consummate our long and burning passion.

i think you'd better take a sedative before you look.

you couldn't possibly look terrible to me.

you'd just make love and feel lousy?

for fun, i ate onion sandwiches.

whatever you want to do is fine with me.

you're the only one who gets any enjoyment out of it.

i don't want anybody asking embarrassing questions.

some women don't kiss and tell.

most of the boys i dated in college were just for the stories.

it's a nice feeling, that when one part of your life is over, another part can begin.

how can you hate your sister?

we cannot have a baby in this house.

when she was born, i ceased to exist.

he used to call me the bad seed.

i'm sure my heart stopped beating for a minute.

i just didn't think you'd recognize good taste.

i wonder what she wants, the conniving little witch.

we never held a real conversation our entire lives.

to the beginning of a new and wonderful relationship.

you just step on any kind of tender moment.

i can't believe that you're still crazy about that.

i looked just like a swamp frog.

i'm in a no-win situation here.

either way, no matter what i do, i'm gonna lose something.

i only hear from him at christmas when he sends me a cheddar cheese nativity scene.

it's a terrible choice i've given you.

i don't even know what i would do under the same circumstances.

whatever happens, i love you.

then he called me an idiot.

she's an awful, selfish, neurotic woman.

sometimes you have to almost lose somebody before you realize how much they really mean to you.

let's go out and celebrate life.

let's go out and do something crazy.

[indigovigilance]

Aziraphale, Kermit the Frog, and Fraggle Rock

Inspo from @crowleys-hips, images shamelessly ripped from original post:

The costumes and set design in the Book of Job episode were supposedly inspired mostly by The Ten Commandments but I’m ignoring that for right now because this is more fun. Now that I’ve written it, this is actually one of my dark ones.

Ready? Let’s go.

read on Ao3

The Frog Prince

[Source]

Kermit, created in 1955, was originally an abstract character without a defined species. He did not [officially] become a frog until The Frog Prince episode in 1971. At the same time, he gained his pointed collar. Kermit is not the prince in this retelling, but is one of the many frogs, who don’t believe that the Frog Prince is actually human and try to convince the Frog Prince that even if there is a curse, they don’t need to try to break it, being a frog is great!

Sing out for the swamp and sing out for the ooze The life of a frog is the life you should choose Sing out for the mud and sing out for the bog It’s ever so jolly just being a frog We love the old mud hole, we say that we soak The feeling’s so good that we just gotta croak The muck and the mire, the slush and the slime Are the reasons a frog has a wonderful time

It’s a very weird musical number. I have exactly one semester of music theory under my belt but it sounds awfully minor key to me.

It’s very much about bullying someone who doesn’t feel like they belong into conforming. Exchange “frog” for “angel” and we’ve got a pretty on-the-nose parallel story here.

Two Interpretations

First: Aziraphale is a prince among frogs whose unique identity is being ignored. The ones he has turned to for help are ignoring his pleas and insisting that their way is the best way, even though it is clearly not.

Second: Aziraphale is the frog! Kermit gained his collar when he finally began to solidify as a character with a set identity. Both of these themes apply to Aziraphale’s arc in Book of Job.

*topic change*

Jim Henson & Richard Hunt

Coming back to the extreme queer theming of Season 2 (God bless you GO production team) we have a nod to Jim Henson and Richard Hunt. Much like Pterry and the Notorious NRG, both men began their artistic journeys very young. Henson began in high school, where he began developing what would later become the Muppets; he continued his work on puppets on Sesame Street. He is the creator of Kermit the Frog. He’s also well-known for The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth, other queer culture mainstays. Some years later, at 18 years old, Richard Hunt shot his shot and asked for a job puppeteering on Sesame Street in 1972; he got it. He would continue to work as a puppeteer with Jim Henson on the Muppets and related works until he died in 1992 at the age of 40 due to complications of AIDS.

Gone But Not Forgotten || Terry Pratchett

If you have not read my meta on Terry Pratchett’s representation in the Final Fifteen, I will link it at the bottom as well and highly suggest you read it. It’s not necessary reading for what comes next, but it is relevant.

Richard Hunt was openly gay and heavily involved in the New York gay community during the AIDS epidemic. He was in a relationship with a painter named Nelson Bird, who died of AIDS related complications in 1985. There is some speculation that Fraggle Rock Season 5 Episode 7 is an artistic representation of Richard Hunt losing his partner. In that episode, Wembley makes a new friend, Mudwell, played by Richard Hunt, that he abruptly loses at the end of the episode following a confession of mutual affection. You can follow the link below to watch the full episode. The final-fifteen parallel content begins at 12:30:

Gone But Not Forgotten (Fraggle Rock S05E07)

The loss is followed by a conversation between two characters that centers around remembering those who have been lost by keeping the things and memories they left behind, and the partner who [survived] goes through rituals of grieving.

If you scrolled past it but would like to read it now, here’s a link to my meta Terry Pratchett’s representation in the Final Fifteen.

[adarkrainbow]

Fairytales in BD: Garulfo

I will conclude (so far, because there's a lot more to say) this look at Franco-Belgian comics with THE most famous BD series when it comes to fairy tales. I speak, of course, of Garulfo.

Published in six volumes between 1995 and 2000, created by Alain Ayroles and Bruno Maïorana (with colors by Thierry Leprévost), Garulfo began as a two-part (two volumes) humoristic retelling/parody that many summarized as "What if the tale of The Frog Prince had been told by Voltaire"? Garulfo is a talking frog living in a pond in a fairytale realm. And he has enough of living among wild and savages animals in a dirty, uncivilized swamp. He is endlessly fascinated and obsessed by humans, that he believes to be the epitome of beauty, biology and civilization: he dreams to become one. As such, hearing about stories of princess' kisses turning frogs into princes, he goes to a fairy so she can cast such a spell on him...

Problem is the "fairy" Garulfo visits is a witch - and quite open about her witchcraft, but Garulfo believes fairy and witches are all the same. So she does put the spell on him, but with the warning that it will only bring bad things... And indeed, as Garulfo is kissed by the princess of the realm and welcomed as a prince by the court, the naive frog ends up causing the most massive chain of "butterfly effect" you ever saw within the kingdom. Because, as he comes to learn, the world of human is filled with corruption, cruelty, lust, hypocrisy and other manipulations, and the arrival of an innocent, mysterious newcomer starts a whole series of events - courtly conspirations, assassination attempts, peasant rebellion, old secrets brought to light, tragic misunderstood identites - all culminating, of course, with the arrival of a dragon...

This humoristic, though cynical, BD proved such a success it was extended by four more volumes for a series of six tomes - the second "arc" of Garulfo exploring the relationship between the nice Garulfo the frog, and the human prince who he "took" the shape of, who turns out to be a selfish, arrogant jerk. The two end up again entangled in a set of transformations and identity swap, as a tournament is organized to win the hand of the princess in marriage - and this journey of the naive and the jerk learning from each other for personal growth gets derailed when an ogre kidnaps the princess and makes her a prisoner of his castle. But the rescue mission reveals that the story might not be so much "The Little Thumbling" as rather a bittersweet "Beauty and the Beast"...

As I said before, Garulfo is considered the number 1 BD when it comes to fairy-tales in the Franco-Belgian comics. And one of the classics of humoristic fantasy in BDs.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The Princess, The Fairy, and the Goat-hearted Swamp

Prologue

Not all fairy godmothers are as talented as the stories say. Some fairy godmothers bumble their way through their duties. Thistle was one of those fairies and Calendar was one of those princesses–a little bit off. The king and queen of a poor country asked the fairy first if they could fix her. When she said maybe. With the right curse. The king and queen’s second question was quite plainly before she cast the spell: “Why a swamp?”

Calendar wished she remembered the day better in general but in her defense, the mice were a bit distracting. Bright syrupy midday light streamed in through the throne room windows and it was a meeting of four. The fairy, her parents, and Calendar.

Thistle carried a thorny branch instead of a wand and was absently stroking the leaves. A family of small mice were ducking in and out of her shoulder satchel and Princess Calendar, named such for curse-related reasons, was also watching their progress. The little mice were making their way from one end of the drawing room to another, their cheeks stuffed with seeds or berries or some other foodstuff Calendar figured. Her mother’s lips pinched together and her prudent gaze flicked back and forth between the fairy’s elfin face and the mice.

They were probably being robbed. Hospitality bid they not mention it.

“Well?” Her mother was never one for patience. 

Cal sat in the center of the grand hall on a three-legged stool. She often thought three-legged stools had a magical and romantic quality and sitting on one might make her the type of princess worth saving. Her curse was not to be the usual type after all.

“Miss Thistle.” The queen, tiny and exacting, leaned forward. “Why a swamp?”

“Pardon?” The fairy Thistle was adjusting her bag for the mice to scurry up and down from. They were smaller than field mice with little brown bodies you could squish to your cheek against–Cal’s main priority in her imagination right then. 

Cal’s mom was red in the face but the energy seemed to leave her body all at once and arms went slack at her sides. “We’ll do whatever you deem best.” 

The fairy Thistle smiled brightly. “Why, the fresh air will be good for the girl.” She gestured at Cal’s perfectly pale and limp body, a testament to how far you can ring youth dry until you felt more like a dishrag than a girl. “Besides, how else will true love reach her? Holed up in this stuffy castle will limit the poor thing.”

“And a swamp will open up her options?” Cal’s father muttered dryly. He hadn’t so much glanced at the mice, a man of studied stoicism. 

Her mother simply groaned and joined him under her breath, “second rate fairies. Oh yes, a bargain deal.”

“I don’t mind,” Cal said brightly. “I’ve never been so far outside of the lands . . . and I’m sure my true love will find me either way. That’s the way the spell works.” She shot the fairy a pointed look to confirm that was how the spell worked and Thistle nodded. Thank the stars.

Princess Calendar beamed. “I’m quite looking forward to it.”

The princess was to be put to sleep in the middle of the swamp on an enchanted bed that could neither sink nor be found by unkind hearts. The netting up above was enchanted to keep out the rain and weather and bugs and the pillow was enchanted to keep her asleep lest the curse work its magic.

Being an unlucky princess was such a bother. You often wonder, ‘why wasn’t I born normal?’ Or at least, born taller. She might have some better stories by the time she was 22 then. Cal kept fretting over the details: What would she talk to her true love about? They would only have the swamp to talk about or the kiss Cal figured she’d only half-remember. She wasn’t entirely sure how to talk about swamps either–she wished she spent more time reading up on the trees or funny little green frogs that hopped around. If it was really her true love, they would know what to say. They would know what to do where Cal did not. It would be easy.

Her head filled with the dreaminess of love, true and all, and the prospect of never having to be alone again. To be wanted before they even knew her or had to know her. She liked that thought more than any in the whole world.

The last sight before Cal floated to an unseen and unknown world was Thistle leaning over her and giving a tense smile. “This won’t hurt.” Then, she kissed on the forehead and the world disappeared.

------

Part 1 to come!

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[whereserpentswalk]

There's a cryptid out there. Something ghostly and ancient, with glowing yellow eyes and a slender frame, and massive pale wings like a white raven's, and it takes people in the night. People traveling through the woods will go missing, and turn up with everything they owned stripped from them. Those who walked through the woods kindly appear back in town naked and confused, those that walk through the malice come back with their organs and blood torn from their bodies.

When the cryptid was first born it was the servent of a goddess. It would come down in her name, and tell her followers things, and whisper messages to and from other gods. It was nice back then, most of the local cities and towns thought it would protect them.

But now that goddess has been obliterated from human culture, her cult destroyed, her people forcibly converted. Even her name is lost to human history. All we have are the ruins of her temples and the creatures she created.

After the creature stopped being able to serve its goddess, it became known as a farie. It was more bitter and deadly then, but still kind to its people. It would take care of the wolves and the deer and the frogs and the eagles of the land. And people would come to it for advice, and they would give it little gifts to make it happy and keep it well fed. And the forest wild give gifts in return.

But the people have stoped telling local stories, and most of the woods is private property now. And half the woods are gone, giving way to highway and endless sprawl, and towns where nobody can walk outside and see the world for themselves. And the wolves are gone, and the egeals are gone, and the frogs have no swamps to live in, and the deer are so very afraid.

And now it's a cryptid. Few remember what it once was and no one remembers its name. And it's tired of being the type of cryptid that doesn't hurt anyone. It has to get those gifts somehow, even if there's nobody around to give them.